And at that they sauntered off, back to the camp, laughing and back slapping each other like they were on the training field.
It was then I knew what they’d planned for me. I was to be consumed by the dead whilst I stood helpless, unable to move as I shivered in the freezing night air.
And if they thought I’d cried and wailed and begged before, they’d heard nothing yet. The hours past as I cried out and begged for Lynch to return, to save me, because anything, even a bullet in the head, was preferential to a death by being mauled.
It was so dark I couldn’t see the nose before my face and I wasn’t to know if they’d already left for Garrison, were stood close by or if the dead were even now approaching through the wilderness for breakfast.
After a horrendously long night, first light finally arrived and mercifully, I was still here and so were they.
Smoke drifted into the sky from a fire and they were sitting around it, chewing on something and laughing like it was a Sunday school outing.
I’d screamed so hard my mouth was parched and I could scream no more, but I did anyway.
And all I could think was, why hadn’t they killed me? And what evil would soon be visited upon me?
I wouldn’t have long to find out, because now they strolled back down the rocks, heading casually my way.
“I’m actually quite happy you survived the night.” Lynch said with a crooked smile, his eye patch now in place.
I didn’t hesitate to plead my case. “Listen Captain, I’ve been thinking, if you let me go now, nobody will ever know about any of this. I won’t tell another breathing soul, you have my word. Why, I’ll even put that word in for you at the Horse Guards and…”
“…Quiet!”
“What…what are you going to…”
“I said quiet!”
The men untied me and I staggered forward from the post, my stiff muscles like treacle. I was thrown my cavalry jacket and a fresh pair of breeches, which I donned with haste.
Why were they doing this? And what was next?
Lynch stepped closer, placed his arm around my back and assisted me forward whilst whispering in my ear, all confidential like. “Now, Jack, I’m sorry about all that business last night…but you know how it is…we all got a little upset at hearing such dreadful truths as what you confessed to and we lost all control…and for that I apologise. Do you accept my apology Jack?”
This had to be a game, but I was in no position to negotiate or play any cards of my own. Not that I had any. And so I threw myself upon his new found respect for me and for the rules of common decency. “Yes!” I coughed, “um, I mean, yes, of course I accept your apology.”
He smiled and I felt the relief flood through me. Maybe this Lynch fellow wasn’t so bad after all.
“Because I know you’re a man of honour, Jack, just like myself, and with all the bad things I did to you, why, you’d probably want to demand satisfaction, no?” We were still pacing forward and he gave me a hearty pat on the shoulder.
I pretended to give it some thought and even sucked on my bottom lip for a moment. “You know, Captain…um, Major, it’s all ancient history, so why not allow bygones be bygones, what?” I patted his shoulder too and he stopped and turned to face me, still smiling, which was the crooked thing about it.
“But Jack, I besmirched you terribly, threatened you with a knife, irreparably damaged your reputation, exposed you, threatened you again, struck you several times, insulted your manhood and finally left you exposed for the dead.” He scratched his head and gave me a puzzled expression. “And as a man of honour, Jack, you don’t believe any of this warrants another duel…a rematch, so to speak…settle things once and for all, no?”
I shook my head with as much vigour as my stiff neck would allow. “No! I forgive you of all those things.”
He tutted and spoke to the men, who’d heard the entire conversation, not that they required further proof of my cowardice. “You hear that boys? The brave Captain Jack Strapper, who threw away his fire, no longer wishes to duel, even after all the nasty things I’ve done to him.”
They laughed and then Lynch thrust a pistol in my hand.
I was so appalled all I could do was collapse back onto my knees before I was wrenched up by two goons.
“Your pistol is loaded, Jack. Now, you’re about to be taught a lesson in bravery.” He nodded to the colour sergeant. “Rourke, you have the kerchief?”
“Yes, sir.”
I quickly scanned the surroundings, half minded to make an audacious run for it, but then the carbines jerked into place and I froze. “Won’t you see sense man, this is madness. How do you expect to get away with this? Lynch, you’ll not keep eight men quiet forever. Some day, someone will blab and it’ll be your neck dangling at the end of a rope.”
Lynch didn’t even change expression. “I fought with these men at the Charge, you filth. I trust them with my life!”
And they all nodded along like puppies.
Oh, this was really it. What choice did I have other than to take the gun and attempt to kill the rogue. It was a near impossible task, of course, but it was the only hope I had.
But I wanted some assurances. “And if I kill you, Lynch?”
He gestured with both hands towards the troopers. “Then you have my word, as an officer and a gentleman, that my men will take you to Galway and set you free.”
It was an empty assurance, because I was minutes away from a bullet between the eyes. My chances of defeating and killing Lynch were so close to zero that I felt I had better chances by once again resorting to plan A.
I fell again to my knees and begged, apologised most vigorously for mounting his wife, tried once more to make him believe that I knew not that she was his and finally, received a boot in the back for my efforts before being manhandled along ten paces of bog as Lynch strutted the same in the other direction.
I was placed down, a trooper examined my weapon and returned it to my grasp.
I clutched it tight with a freezing hand and glared at the bastard as tears streamed down my face. Oh God, but there was no way he could miss, but I’d kill him anyway dammit.
Colour Sergeant Rourke raised the kerchief, which blew wildly in the early morning breeze. “When I drop the kerchief, that is your signal to fire.” He looked once to us both, at least he was doing this proper. “I shall drop the kerchief in a few seconds. Are you both read…”
…I raised the pistol and my itchy finger fired…
…hitting the colour sergeant clean in the face.
Feck!
His twin was the first to react. “You killed Paddy, you stupid feckin…” And with that he was stomping my way whilst all I could do was gape aghast where I stood, rooted to the spot.
“Leave him!” Screamed Lynch, who still held his pistol. I won’t attempt to describe the look he gave me in that moment. But I knew I was dead one way or another.
The colour sergeant stalled and stepped closer like he was in two minds over whether to obey his officer or murder me on the spot. Miraculously he obeyed and changed trajectory toward his friend who lay lifeless on the floor with only half a head.
Lynch levelled his pistol, teeth grinding in his mouth, eye pulsing, and his hand absolutely shook, his finger quivering about the trigger.
I raised my hands. “No, Lynch, please, it wasn’t my fault. I thought he dropped the rag…I really did.”
He glanced across to the dead man, the kerchief somehow still there in his cold lifeless grasp - Nope, there was no getting out of it that way.
“That man was with me at the Charge, you swine.” There was something else there in his eye, something beyond anger and hatred.
“I know, I know,” weren’t they all, “please, don’t do this, it was an accident, I promise.”
He was torn, in two minds over what to do. He wanted me dead obviously, but a quick death? No - That was now too good for me and as he uncocked and lowered the pistol, I knew I was in for a fate far worse.
; IT WAS a short rope that tethered me to the horse by my bound hands and I needed to be vigilant to avoid its droppings that periodically slapped against the path I’d been labouring on for hours, for miles.
They’d gagged me within the first twenty minutes, when my screaming became too much to bear and now, having been refused food and water, I felt on the verge of passing out.
We passed through villages and they stared at me, the ‘deserter’ who was being sent for execution and then the spitting began and the kicking and the scratching and so the time soon came when I prayed for the arrival of Garrison and the horrors that awaited me there.
My captors spoke nothing to me and so I didn’t know what my immediate prospects held. Would they torture me, feed me to the dead or did some other cruel fate await? Whatever the outcome however, it was clear to me that after this, it would be impossible to maintain a normal comradely working relationship with these people.
Long before reaching our destination, there was one thing that struck me with fear, something which even Lynch himself felt. I could tell by the way he jerked his arms about and repeatedly scratched the back of his neck - Trees. And they were everywhere and showed no sign of abating.
And then in the evening, we approached the fort of Garrison.
The fort stood on the Galway road and now I could see how, in supposed times of peace, it would be used as a stopping and storage point on the way to Londonderry. It was a square and imposing structure, made entirely of grey stone with slits in the walls where archers would fire arrows at invaders but now, with the threat of an English invasion gone, much of the front wall had been knocked away to create a grand entrance, otherwise known as a gaping hole for the dead to simply walk through - Oh, it was a wonder of Paddy thinking alright.
Behind the fort lay the Lough Melvin, a large lake to which we now headed, or to which I was carried before being dumped in head first. I sank and kicked my legs until I surfaced and then quenched my thirst until the point I thought my belly would burst.
They laughed as they dipped their tin pots in the water and drank themselves before pulling me out via the rope that was still bound to my wrists. Then they laughed again as I waded out the shallows, dripping and shivering, the pathetic sight I must have been.
They dragged me around the perimeter walls to the rather welcoming entrance where we could see inside the courtyard and beyond.
Noises of the scratching and hacking and groaning and thrashing sort drifted over on the chilly wind that froze the uniform to my bones.
The ruffians gathered in a cluster, away from me whilst they checked belts, unsheathed and resheathed their blades several times, ensuring they wouldn’t stick, loaded carbines and one or two made the sign of the cross. Lynch stared at me with an empty expression. The one remaining colour sergeant, who went by the name of Quinn, scowled my way but otherwise kept his distance. I now had right to fear that man more than Lynch and hoped I was never left alone in his company.
“Advance on my command.” Lynch said, rubbing his dicked eye.
My belly lurched. “Wait, wait…you’re not actually going in there, surely? Let them come out and fire at them from a distance.”
They laughed again and then Quinn spoke to the trooper who held the other end of the rope attached to me. “Why don’t yee let me take dis?”
The man looked to Lynch, who nodded and my life was then handed over to the man who wanted nothing more than to torture me witless.
“I t’ink I’m goin’ to enjoy dis.” The big Mick taunted and then, without warning my arm was almost jerked from its socket and we were running with reckless haste toward the fort entrance.
My muscles were like engine oil on a cold day and even if I’d wanted to keep Quinn’s pace, I couldn’t and within seconds I was being dragged, the rope about my wrists chafing and burning while the big man, with unseen strength, maintained the same speed. The pain was too much it was preferential to run with him and so I tumbled back to my feet and somehow managed to keep stride.
“Time to kill some dead, yee murdering filt’.”
And then we were in the courtyard as I cast a quick glance back to the others, who were merely sauntering along the approach, leaving the two of us to deal with the dead, who now approached from the walls, passageways, opened doors, stairs and other places. Not that I was any help, gutless and weaponless as I was.
We were positioned in the courtyard’s centre where we were most vulnerable. He wanted this, to kill, to strike the fear of all Ireland into me.
And then the first demon neared, its face a mask of rot, its eyes sunken and dark, skin faded and withered, its body so emaciated it was hard to tell whether it had once been a man or a woman. Either way, Quinn took its head off with one sweep of the blade and there it stopped and hung, its limbs so stiff it didn’t even topple over, at least not until my captor shoved it down with a boot.
More were upon us, each as ghastly as the last, any living they’d recently consumed showing no sign of having improved their complexion or mood. Ordinarily I’d have screamed, but I was so struck with terror I feared I’d gone mute. I tried to keep low as the blade swung over my head to chop and hack and thrust at the dead who continued to stagger toward us without reason or strategy. All they saw were two victims, two large meals that they had to have and so they kept coming whilst the maniac Quinn continued putting them down.
The corpses piled up until they became a twitching wall around us and occasionally, the bastard Quinn would allow one especially close, just to torment me further.
The others hung back in the entrance and watched with a rare glee as my chilled skin turned white, only the occasional beast heading their way for a quick dispatch.
Then finally, there were no more and I was wrenched from my stupor by Lynch’s slow handclaps. “Well done, Captain, you’ve outdone yourself. Maybe I really did underestimate you and you really were brave all along.”
I threw up on the spot and received a boot in the stomach from Quinn for my trouble.
I wretched on the ground, amongst all the blood and guts, hoping forlornly they’d have mercy - I should’ve known better.
“Make a fire.” Lynch barked out the order, then another. “Find some rabbit, or even better, a deer. And you three, search this place for a shovel. I don’t wish to stare at all this mess any longer than I have to.”
In the meantime, they had fun and games with me, childish stuff mostly, swinging me around on the rope, gaining momentum and then letting go so I went flying into the gut sodden floor. I was swung like a pendulum from the balustrade and finally had my face rubbed inside the gaping stomach cavity of a dead ghoul. Oh, this had now gone far beyond being wrongly tarred as being brave and taking credit for heroics I played no part in. It had gone far beyond romping with a slut at the wake. This had now entered the territory of revenge for accidentally shooting their comrade.
The men returned with logs, a shovel and a deer slung over a big man’s shoulder. And whilst they sat around a bright courtyard fire and cooked like they were on a boys’ camping trip, I was forced to dig a big hole in the earth to bury the dead.
It was the first time in my life I’d dug anything and I didn’t much take to it personally, especially considering I was regularly poked with sticks and subjected to all manner of obscene abuse. At one point the colour sergeant, who I’d stupidly taken as a man of honour, urinated over me whilst I stood helpless in the pit.
“Digging your own grave are we, Strappy boy?” He goaded and there was no way of telling whether it was jest. Personally, I believed they had more cruelties coming my way before dispatching me permanently.
And the coward I was put me in two minds as to whether my death would be a mercy or not. I didn’t wish to die, but neither did I wish to be tortured. Indignity and taunts I could quite happily live with, but not the rest.
But one can learn much when one remains quiet and listens. For one, I learned Lynch’s Christian name - Beegan, of all things which pro
vided me with the only light hearted moment since leaving Strabane. What was odd though was that many of the men referred to him by it. They must’ve been comrades for a long time, which explained the loyalty they had to one another but I knew the day a trooper called me Jack would be the day I’d take the crop to him, bigod.
By now my belly ached from hunger and, chancing my luck and the fact I suspected they wanted to keep me alive to prolong the abuse, I clambered out from the hole and approached the eight of them, interrupting some Paddy yarn Quinn was amusing them with. The chatter and laughter came to a slow stop and then fifteen eyes were glaring back at me, bones of tender meat in their hands.
I licked my lips. “Please, I must have sustenance.”
They laughed and looked to Lynch for a response.
He ripped the balls off the dear and held out his hand. “Here you are, Strappy, some nice nutritious venison for you.”
I backed away shaking my head. “Um, no, it doesn’t matter.”
Quinn stood and made the come here gesture with a finger. “Now, now…don’t yee know dat when your commanding officer issues an order, yee obey it.”
“I’m not eating that. And quite honestly I’ve had just about enough of you degrading me.” My words, although containing defiance, lacked the force and conviction to accompany them.
The rope which for the last two hours had been attached to a hook on the wall was now retrieved by Quinn who now slowly, with calculation, pulled me toward him.
I tried to resist but it was like opposing a force of nature and my boots ground against the floor, bringing up small clouds of dust, whilst he barely seemed to be trying. Within seconds he had a large hand around my neck.
“Open wide, Strappy boy.” The ogre pressed his thumb and finger hard into my cheeks, forcing my jaw open. Lynch then crammed the nut inside my mouth and squeezed the end of my nose, forcing me to quickly chew and swallow lest I die of suffocation.
I’d tasted worse, to be fair, but it was hardly what I was accustomed to, even in Ireland and doubtless it would only be regurgitated the next time one of them chose to kick me in the belly.
Not Dead Yet: A Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1 - 2 Page 12
