Not Dead Yet: A Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1 - 2

by K. Bartholomew

  Then hooves were beating around the place as two of my troopers had somehow managed to find me. They downed three in quick succession with blades across the head.

  I saw it in slow motion but I was still too mentally paralysed to help and then the first trooper screamed in agony as one of those things bit into his leg. He tumbled from the horse as two of them savagely tore him apart. I was absolutely appalled as my body refused to listen to my screams, to get up and run.

  The one remaining trooper slashed at another fiend and drew his pistol on one more, turning its head into red spray. He swung at another, missed and whilst off balance was pulled from his horse by three of them. Mercifully, he landed on his feet, impaling one on the way down with a hammer like blow. He was like a killing machine as all I could do was scream. He looked at me as though everything clicked into place, that I wasn’t brave but had somehow found myself amidst this madness like only a true idiot could.

  Well, he could tell the truth to the entire regiment for all I cared, as long as I got to live, and preferably injury free.

  He stuck one through the belly whilst for some abominable reason, the thing clawed its way further up the blade, anything to get at him. My saviour turned on me, an expression of sheer disgust upon his sweating countenance. “God save Ireland, but for the love of God, would yee please help us out here.”

  I scurried further back against the tree and recommenced screaming.

  “Captain, sir, please, I’ve lost me blade, would yee not see yourself to helpin’ us?” He smashed one across the face with an almighty back handed fist, obliterating it in a cloud of mush. Only three left and I dared hope I might live to see another day.

  “Oh bejesus, Captain, yee feckin eejit, they’ll kill us both, please…” he glared at me over his shoulder, trying in vain to free his blade as a gurning dead man pulled himself further towards the hilt.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw the first trooper, who lay on the ground with an opened belly and in that moment, I knew, I had to help.

  I unsheathed my sword, thrust it into the ground and used it to push myself up, then…

  …I threw the blade to the trooper, fell off balance and into a pile of blood and guts, which I thrashed myself out of, rubbing it all over my uniform and face in the process, whilst backing away and falling into a ditch, the safest available place, thank yee God.

  He’d reached out for the blade but missed as it came to land on the floor by his feet “What the feck are yee doin’? Sir, I meant, help by killin’ ‘em.” I shook my head and he gave me another look that words couldn’t describe. “You, sir, are not fit to wear dat uniform, so you’re not. Mark my words, I’ll see to it dat you’re found out…oh bejesis.” He fumbled a flailing dead hand and, having no choice other than to finally let his sabre go, he dived for the ground, snatching up my blade in one smooth motion. “Dat sword was wit me at da Charge, yee bastard.” He ran my blade through a dead skull as red matter gushed over his uniform.

  But his positioning meant he couldn’t retract the sword in time for another strike at the two remaining ghouls who now collapsed on top of him. That’s when I saw the most ghastly sight of my life as the thing opened up my troopers neck with its teeth whilst my man simultaneously pressed his thumbs through its eyeballs - It fell back.

  There was only one left and he must have been in terrible agony, indeed, his screams proved just that. And I don’t know how he found the strength or the will to pull the blade free from the twitching freak on the ground before plunging it through the last remaining head.

  The trooper collapsed supine in the dirt and guts as he laboured through his final breaths.

  But at the time, I wasn’t to know that and all I could think about was retrieving the blade on the off chance that one of those things got up for a second attempt at old Strappy. So I hauled myself out from the safety of my ditch and staggered toward the decaying monster, my ankle hurting like bloody hell, reached for the hilt that rose up from its head and grasped ahold of it…

  …And that was the moment the cavalry arrived.

  I froze as the three horsemen surveyed the wreckage about them. They looked from me, to the pile of carnage, back to me and between several times, seemingly in disbelief. Their wide open mouths spoke nothing, yet said so much.

  Lieutenant Sheehan rubbed his eyes and shook his head before gazing once more at me, my spanking new uniform covered in horrific red, a length of what had to be colon snagged on my crossbelt. “Sir…” he was lost for words as he swung from his horse and stepped toward me, my hands still struggling to pull free my blade. “Sir…may I shake your hand sir.”

  After the experience, I was still in a daze, but I shook his hand, he refusing to let go for a while whilst my head span.

  He again examined the scene - The ten dead enemy and now, apparently, two dead heroes, his eyes pinching together with sadness.

  I gestured with my head toward my two saviours. “They fought gallantly and…”

  “…And modest too, sir. I say…” he shook his head with admiration and pumped my hand again. “Sir, not even at the Charge did I ever encounter such bravery as this and you can rest assured, the whole regiment will hear of your deeds.”

  I shook the fog away and brushed what was probably a piece of kidney from my sleeve.

  Sheehan bound one step closer, concern upon his face. “Are you alright, sir? Are you hurt?”

  I gestured to my ankle as I took one small pathetic limp toward my horse, my face contorting from the shooting pain I hoped wouldn’t prevent me satisfying my carnal urges on some Londonderry whore tonight. “No, Lieutenant, just a scratch.”

  He looked up to the sky and spoke some words in Gaelic, or maybe it was English. “And that you did all this, whilst in such obvious pain…You see that boys?” He called out for everyone’s benefit with a tear rolling down his cheek. “Captain Strapper slaughtered all the dead whilst unable to even walk…here, sir, now don’t you dare walk even one more step without my aid. Oh how I wish our two dead friends Logan and Conroy could have witnessed it. How I wish the whole regiment…no, no…the whole of Ireland could have witnessed you.”

  It was all a bit too much and though I was simply happy to have survived the ordeal, I didn’t think it would do any harm to keep the truth to myself. After all, soldiers needed heroes to look up to, or so I assumed - How would I know? Although I certainly didn’t, despite the 8th having more than its fair share of blood thirsty psychopaths to admire, should I have been so inclined. If it would ingratiate me with the colonel and make life easier then I’d take it. All I wanted in future was not to be singled out by the bloody man and sent on daft initiations that turned out to be real.

  And because Ireland turned out to be in a state of internal chaos, no change there, I had other matters to see to…

  …Namely getting as far away from the place as possible.

  Getting Out Of The Army

  “I must say, when I first saw you, I had you pegged as a bit of a shirker, a cad even…heaven knows where I got that idea from. But after what Lieutenant Sheehan tells me about you…well…survived the bloody Charge with him, did you know, which makes him an excellent judge of character, don’t you think? And that you ordered your men to stay back whilst you went to deal with that first one by yourself…quite remarkable…and then after killing him you charged straight for the oncoming horde with no regards for your own safety…how extraordinary. I only wish I’d been there to see it.” Captain McDonald said, wiping a tear from his eye.

  Fifteen minutes after arriving in the officer’s mess the next day, I was still being congratulated and now my back was sore from the many pats and slaps it’d received. I’d been congratulated and fawned upon by officers of all ranks; lieutenants, captains and majors. All ranks that is apart from a colonel and one captain in particular who regarded me with scepticism from behind an eye patch where he sat in the corner.

  Lynch was the one officer I’d yet to converse with since arri
ving yesterday and I wondered what he was making of all the attention I was receiving.

  Now, Major Murphy approached me for the second time. “I say, old fellow…terrible pity about the uniform. Why don’t you send it my way and I’ll have the wife see to it for you.” He began moving away but turned back. “Say…if you ever get tired of board meals wherever it is you’re staying, we’d love to have you around…talk soldiers, what?”

  It was the third or fourth such invitation from these people and I accepted his offer with good grace, having no intention of actually going through with it. Not because I didn’t like them particularly, but I had no intention of remaining in this country for one minute longer than what was absolutely necessary - And probably less than that if I could get away with it. Indeed, I’d been proactive in that area…

  Last night, before going wenching, I’d read and reread the small print on my confirmation of captaincy.

  EXCHANGES;

  ‘Officers of equal rank on full pay can exchange their commissions. The officers involved will become the junior officers of their grade in their new regiments. Exchange is not permitted as a way of avoiding active service.’

  The latter part made no difference to me because I was sure I could hire some clever lawyer to get round that technicality on the basis it could be argued this wasn’t really a war. I’d been told as much when I signed up.

  But the first two sentences destroyed any hope of using the exchange clause since I couldn’t imagine anyone having the desire to exchange with me, in this place. Besides, finding an agreeable idiot would likely take too long. And finally, I wanted an exchange back to England, safe old Sussex if possible and writing home and going through the army’s slow processes would take months at best.

  I then turned my attention to the next clause…

  SELLING OUT;

  ‘An officer can sell a commission he has purchased and retire at any time. However it is considered dishonourable to sell out to avoid active service.’

  There it was - My ticket home.

  And now, with a friendly officer nearby, I decided to test the waters by asking Major Murphy, “say, you wouldn’t happen to know anyone who’d like to purchase a captaincy, would you?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Purchase a captaincy? Why, no, if I did he’d already be here. We’re short on captains as it is. In fact, we’re short on everyone from troopers to majors, what?”

  This wasn’t good. But my situation was so desperate I’d even be willing to take a severe hit with my father’s money. I’m sure I could be talked into selling the thing at a ninety percent discount even, and what did I care? Anyway, I wasn’t about to give up.

  The colonel entered and the whole mess saluted. Meanwhile I cleared my throat and readjusted my crossbelt in anticipation of his praise I was about to receive and the Irish kissing of English boot.

  He walked straight by without even acknowledging me or my heroic deeds, taking his usual seat at the table head and plunging straight into a stack of papers. For how long was the bastard intending on holding my one little slip of the tongue against me?

  “Quiet! Let’s get straight to business, shall we.” The iron bar didn’t even twitch. “There’ll be a wake this evening for our fallen comrades, troopers Logan and Conroy. I trust you’ll all attend.” There were murmurs of affirmation. “Naturally, this will be a celebration of their lives as well as an acknowledgement to the duty they served the regiment, Ireland and Britannia. Bring your wives if you have one and let’s all share a few ales in their memory.”

  He continued by assigning new lieutenants to captains to majors and informed everybody, new and old as to their squads and what was expected of them. It was all largely irrelevant to me, of course, knowing I wouldn’t be around much longer for any of it to be worth listening to, so I spent the time thinking about what I might do after returning to England. It was a great pity I was only eighteen years of age, because I might have been an ideal candidate to enter politics.

  My mind only regained clarity when my eyes passed over Captain Lynch, who’d evidently been studying me for a while as he twirled his whiskers between two fingers. After seven or eight seconds of him refusing to look away, I admit he cowed me and I looked down to the floor where my gaze remained.

  Then something the colonel said brought my attention back to him in the most sickening way imaginable. “And don’t think for one minute we’ll let the deaths of our comrades rest or go unavenged…no sirs…but we’ll stick it to ‘em presently and see what our new boys are made of. Which is why in three days hence, we’ll be heading south, full force to take the dead head on.” He continued to suggest we spend the rest of the day, before the wake, and then more time after that, training and drilling but all I could think about was how my insides were dissolving within me and that it’d be a near impossible task to obtain a discharge or sell my commission before then.

  If things weren’t bad enough, after arriving on the parade ground to hone my fighting skills, I soon discovered just why Captain Lynch had been glaring at me.

  “I’m under your tutelage?” I asked whilst fearing my heart may stop beating at any moment.

  “Weren’t you listening? Or perhaps you don’t think the colonel speaks loudly enough.” If that was his idea of a joke then it was probably the best I could hope for.

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “And tomorrow we’re definitely heading out to find the dead?”

  He ignored me completely and instead slowly raised his pistol, took aim with his one visible eye, pulled the trigger and the tiny red dot at the centre of the target, which stood all the way over by the far walls, disappeared with the direct hit. He then made me wait even longer whilst recharging the pistol twice more, hitting the same spot on both occasions. “The best damned shot in the regiment…that’s me, and everybody knows it.” Why was he telling me this? Was it some kind of veiled threat, bordering on being overt? Because the man wasn’t bragging - No, he wanted me to know for other reasons, whatever they were. But given the present company, I could simply strike him off as just another lunatic who’d probably have ended up a drunkard if not for the army.

  Not being able to help myself, I stared at the eye patch, which was too much of a distraction.

  He noticed. “Lost my eye during the Charge.” How did I know he’d say that? “And I wouldn’t change a feckin’ thing about it.” He examined me top to bottom and I wasn’t sure whether I saw the smallest smirk creep upon his whiskered lips. “And when you collect your war wounds, you’ll be proud of them too.”

  I wouldn’t tell him I had zero intention of making such a collection and changed the subject back to where I wanted it. “Look, Lynch, I…”

  He bucked and turned on me “…That’s Captain Lynch, or sir, you lowly worm.” He roared from too close a proximity and several troopers stopped playing with their swords to take a look.

  I took two steps away from the crackpot, but pressed on with what I needed to say. “Captain Lynch, sir, look, this is madness. The colonel can’t possibly send the entire regiment out at such short notice. I’m not speaking for myself, you understand, but take a look around you, half our officers arrived only yesterday. We need training, drilling, time to get acquainted with command, time to get to know the men. I’ve barely even broken my horse in and already the colonel,” the blood thirsty maniac, “he’s out for blood. He’s asking too much from green troops and it’s not how Britannia conquered the world. Listen to me…we lost two good men just yesterday. How many more is he willing to lose?” I was getting emotional before an officer who was too seasoned to give a damn, but I didn’t care. I just had to get out of it by any means at my disposal.

  His one eye seemed to recede a touch back inside his head. “Are you quite mad, Strapper? Take a look around you.” He gestured outwards with his hands, which my eyes followed toward men practicing with swords or pistols - so what? “Ireland is dying. Our people are disappearing by the day as the dead rise up to kill the living. Do
you expect the few remaining fighting men to sit back and prance about behind the safety of the barrack walls whilst the women, young and elderly are attacked in their villages?” He raised his voice into a rare passion. “We simply do not have the time or resources to give you a standard thirty week training, because by then the whole population of this island could be dead.” He now thrashed his arms about in a visible demonstration of his lunacy. “You can ride, you can hold a feckin’ sword…so you can fight. And that’s all there is to it.”

  He raised his pistol again but I interrupted him with my hand and I felt his arm tense with fury.

  The man was like a gunpowder store with a stray spark so I moderated my voice to avoid setting him off. “But can’t you see, this is madness? You’re sending out men who aren’t ready to fight, which will only lead to more deaths, and then what good will it do?”

  He uncocked his pistol and turned suddenly on me. “What are you so afraid of Strapper? You’ve already proven yourself, haven’t you? You can fight…unless there’s something you’re not telling everyone?”

  I had to think quick to guide his mind away from that area. “Um, look, these ghouls, they like to attack the villages, right? So why not give them an even better target? Why not bring the people behind the safety of Londonderry’s walls.” I gestured out with my arms as though encompassing my saviour. “We have the largest, highest, thickest walls in Ireland. To the blazes with it, but what’s the point if we don’t use them?”

  He visibly ground his teeth before me. “Are you mad? Bring four million souls behind the walls? And how long would that take? Where would they live? And what about food and clean water?” His fist shook. “Now you listen here, you little green upstart who purchased his captaincy…I’ve had just about enough of this…you’re wasting valuable training time, so why don’t you just leave the business of command and logistics to those who’ve been around more than ten minutes.”

  There was just no making these people see sense and I wondered if experiencing the Charge had made the regiment collectively insane. I’d certainly yet to meet a single Paddy who didn’t wish death upon himself and all those around him.