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

by K. Bartholomew

  I nodded, already thinking about the money and how I could impress my princess with it. “Oh, Uncle, I had you down as a bad’n, but I’ll have to re-evaluate my opinions of you now.”

  “I hope so son and I expect you must have some good Paddy contacts by now, what? Just line ‘em up, transport them over the river to the docks at Tilbury where they’ll be collected and taken to the giant holes in the ground. Nice and easy for you son, and whilst your Mick friends are toiling away and assuming you’re anything like your old man, you can spend the rest of the day whoring.

  “I will.”

  And if it wasn’t for my greed, things might have turned out differently.

  ONE DAY.

  That was the amount of time needed to know I’d have to change the plan.

  I fancied myself a businessman, which meant I wouldn’t waste my time scouring the area south of the river for Paddies, only to transfer them, at my own cost, north across the Thames to Tilbury. Luther may be a devious bastard who gave me this opportunity, but a genius he wasn’t.

  I found my first brace of Micks early on, staggering down the road, a bottle of rum each in hands and they required small persuasion before scrabbling into the back of the wagon I’d commandeered. They vomited almost immediately and were subsequently thrashed by my crop. After thirty minutes, travelling east from Grays toward the docks, I’d managed to collect forty. Impressed one might be, but Paddies like to congregate in groups whilst idling away the day’s productive hours with drink, chatting gibberish and bare knuckle boxing and I picked up more than a few who were barely able to stand, let alone wield a shovel. Regardless, I was glad to offload the rabble to a squad of screaming sergeants who threatened them with another beating lest they get a move on, quit stumbling and to stop painting the gravel with the contents of their bellies. Aye, it’s quite a contrast, watching a stiff sergeant major of twenty and more years service, spanking in uniform, approaching the Paddies like his ramrod was thrust up his anus, to yell at close quarters into the bleary eyed faces of their day’s unwitting charge.

  The sergeant major recompensed me in coin immediately, to the sum of six hundred shillings, paid in golden pounds of course, all thirty of them, at least a third of which would be owed to my uncle whilst he sat at his desk doing nothing useful. Oh aye, whilst the Paddies were happy, sort of, and my uncle was doubtless laughing all the way to his many bank accounts, I was left thinking I was the dupe being shortchanged by this arrangement. Grasping and thankless most would consider me and whilst I’d personally earned the combined daily wage of eighty labourers for a little under an hour’s work and would probably spend the majority of the day’s remainder wenching somewhere about the capital, whilst I clattered home along the cobbles in my rented wagon, I knew there had to be a better way.

  This opinion was compounded when I arrived the next day, this time with two wagon loads of drunken, foul smelling Irish labourers who wretched and bickered amongst themselves the entire way to Tilbury. I’d since taken on an assistant, a large halfwit who went by the name of Smith and demanded payment only in ale, but he knew how to steer a wagon which was all that mattered.

  The sergeant major insisted on paying for only seventy five of the eighty menials I’d transported, on account of five paddies from yesterday either running away, falling down drunk or otherwise being too unfit for a ten hour shift. I reluctantly agreed, he had my coin on his person after all, but I asked that he point out the rogues should they be present now.

  He did so and I pulled them out from the group before commencing, under the cover of several sergeants for safety, to whip them each in turn, in front of their fellows, to act as an example that a man should work hard for his pay. Afterwards, I threw them to the roadside and promised the sergeant major there’d be no more problems with this lot bigod.

  The problem was I thought too highly of the average Paddy and over the following days there were ever more cases of drunkenness and incapability. If it were any other business you’d discard the stock as defective, but with Irish there was nothing to be done other than doling out regular thrashings, but there came a point when even that yielded a limited return.

  But at least there was some good news, in that Smith had a brother, and on day four I employed the pair of them to take care of the whole lot for me. They collected both wagons early and returned with the coin only a few hours later, always on time and never complaining, only ever requesting drink and occasionally my time as payment - Personally I thought they were quite struck by my fame but so be it. It was a very hands off way of making a fortune, I can tell you, but still, it wasn’t enough for me and I always lamented how Luther was taking almost a third of my bounty, which left more than just a sour taste in my mouth. Indeed, after two weeks, I decided it was time to do something about it.

  Whilst awaiting their fate, the 8th, who were supposedly still my regiment, had taken up squatting in the barracks at Rochester, which was only a seven mile trot on horseback to Gravesend, from where boats made the regular short sail to Tilbury on the other side. It was all too convenient to pass up, especially because a certain somebody now held acting command whilst Horse Guards decided on what to do with the disgraced Colonel Fitzgibbon after losing the colours.

  Major Murphy looked up from his desk to where I leaned in the threshold, chomping on an apple.

  “My boy, my dear boy, Jack.” He wept and gazed at me like a halo hovered over my head. “And that you’d return whilst still obviously somewhat crippled.” This was in reference to the walking cane I’d made sure to purchase on the way here. He slung back his chair, marched on over and threw his arms around my shoulders as I felt him heaving and shuddering from the overwhelming emotion.

  Meanwhile I shuddered from pretending to be in pain. “Ooh, ouch, Major, careful.”

  He jumped back most upset. “My dear Jack, I am so sorry, but I just couldn’t help myself. This is a most overpowering occasion.” After gulping for a while he managed to gather his wits. “Tell me, my dear boy, how goes you?”

  I sighed profoundly and made a sad face. “It comes and goes Major, the pain, I mean. Oh, if only it were just my crooked pin, I’d be back on a horse presently, awaiting the order to advance with the rest of my boys but, you know how it is…it’s my lungs too and God only knows how much dust and filth I inhaled whilst buried deep under that fort for days…sometimes I find it most excruciating to breathe.” His lips trembled as his spectacles steamed up and was about to interrupt when I cut him off. “I begged the doctor to write me a permission note, so I could be with you all, because I miss the old reg so terribly, alas he’d have none of it and even threatened to have me sectioned if I didn’t stop bothering him. ‘Captain Strapper,’ says he, ‘you’re a mad fool when it comes to saving Britannia, but there’s a whole army for that, so why not let them have a turn?’ Well, what choice did I have? For I’d be no good to any of you in a white jacket.” I wiped an eye for effect and Murphy had to turn away for a minute whilst he settled himself. Finally, he turned back, his eyes invisible behind those stupid round spectacles, oh, and there was something different about him too.

  “You’ve noticed, I see?” He said with his arms stretched out à la ta dah.

  “You’ve grown cavalry whiskers.” I said with a hint of panic.

  “Just like you Jack, just like you.” He stepped forward. “Though they’re not quite so thick as yours, I see…clumpy in parts, particularly around the cheeks. What do you think?” He asked, biting his bottom lip.

  I stepped away. “I couldn’t help but notice, as I hobbled into the barracks, that one or two of the men were loitering about in the sun, oh and there was at least one tending to a flower garden and another catching butterflies in a net.” It was an understatement. The regiment had gone to the dogs under Murphy’s acting colonelcy. “I know there’s nothing much to do until they decide what’s to be done with us, but quite honestly, this is disgraceful.”

  He looked down to the filth stained floorbo
ards. “You’re too kind, Jack. I know there’re problems, that’s why we’re here bigad. We’re sharing the place with the 11th and they treat us so unkindly, call us names and say we’re not proper soldiers. The 8th are my brothers in arms, Jack, and it pains me deeply to watch what’s becoming of them; the gradual indiscipline, the loitering about town for all to see, the refusal to attend church of a Sunday, even, and they’re most harsh on us for losing the colours…damn Lynch and Fitzgibbon both. It’s like the very wind has been sapped from their sails, Jack. But what to do about it?”

  “Well there’s nothing you can do about the colours. The swines lost ‘em.” I shook my head in distress, hoping he was thinking about something else. He didn’t disappoint.

  “I meant about the state of the regiment, Jack.” You don’t say. “I’m at a loss about what to do and any advice you can give would be appreciated, especially considering the caliber of soldier that you are, dear Jack.” It’s always preferential when the other person brings it up.

  I hobbled toward the stool in the corner, grimaced as I perched upon it and began rubbing my chin. “Hmm, I’m trying to think what Wellington would say…yes, that’s right…he’d say ‘there’s nothing worse than an idle soldier.’ And would you like to know why that is Major? It’s because an idle soldier can’t be controlled, at least not after they’ve turned lazy, taken to drink and whoring and let’s not forget we’re an Irish regiment, bigod, and there’s nothing in this world that’s harder to command than an out of control Irishman.” I shook my fist with each word for emphasis. “They need the lash and they need to be kept busy, and I’m not talking busy planting shrubs to make the barracks look pretty. My word, but is it any wonder the 11th, with their colours flying proudly in the wind and their captured French eagles, look down on us? Do you want us to be the laughing stock of the whole of Her Britannic Majesty’s army?” I hoped I hadn’t laid it all on a bit too thick and hurt his feelings. Indeed, the major appeared on the brink of tears but that was no rare thing for him. “I’m sorry, Major, but sometimes people just need telling straight. I know you’d expect nothing less from me after all.”

  He nodded and blew his nose into a kerchief. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, dear Jack.”

  “There, there, Major.” I twirled the strands of my cavalry whiskers. “Hmm, if only there was some way of putting them to work and in a manner that would benefit the boys and Britannia.”

  Murphy perked up. “Oh, dear Jack, if you can think of anything, then pray tell me do.”

  I thought about all those beautiful, disciplined and, for the most part, sober troopers at Murphy’s disposal, how there’d been a little over a hundred when I first arrived in Ireland, but after my heroics those numbers had swelled to two hundred and twenty and was now considered a regular sized cavalry battalion, even if they were disgraced after the colour fiasco and the fact they were wasting away their days catching butterflies in the barracks mere miles from where I needed them brought the bile up in my throat. But it wasn’t merely losing out on the money that bothered me so much. Because as the nation’s hero, and a soon to be bloody wealthy one at that, I had my heart set on one of those bunkers and the coward I was demanded I gave it considerable attention - The manpower had to be provided, one way or another, so that those beautiful fortified holes in the ground could be built.

  Clearly I had to play this right. “There is talk, Major, rumour and so forth about a great project taking place below the streets of London and they need men and…” I paused and waved my hand, “never mind Major, it’s probably all hearsay and I doubt it’s for the good men of the 8th anyway…probably more a task for the 11th if you ask me because if this thing truly exists, they don’t need shirkers but men willing to put in a good shift.” I turned toward the window and watched a group of men playing blind man’s buff, which broke my heart, while I waited for Murphy’s inevitable interjection. It came immediately.

  “No, no, Jack, we can brandish a shovel as well as any regiment in the British army.”

  Since he couldn’t see my face, I allowed myself a little smile before turning back and going into a few details about what I’d apparently heard, on account of my now mingling with better people in the upper circles of society. How the project was the greatest feat of engineering ever undertaken. How men were going in as drunkards and were coming out strong, with an improved work ethic and how such a thing was just what the 8th needed, to stop them getting fat, catching the pox and ruining Murphy’s name and short tenure as commander.

  “I’d be there myself, if not for my damaged peg, you understand.”

  By the end of my speech Murphy was rubbing his hands together which was the best moment for me to employ the cat and string tactic, dangling the solution before his grasping mitts before moving it gently away - The name of the game is to get him chasing you so it all seems like his idea.

  “I’ve probably said too much. I promised Lieutenant-General Brudenell I wouldn’t tell anybody about this.” I again turned away and waited for the bursting major to make his plea.

  “Brudenell? You mean the Earl of Cardigan?” There was astonishment in his voice.

  I turned back and raised a brow. “Huh?”

  “The Earl of Cardigan…no less than the former colonel of the 11th.”

  “And a fellow survivor of the Charge, which as you know makes him exceptionally trustworthy.” I rolled my eyes inwardly at that.

  He vibrated against the planks from his standing position as his chubby red cheeks perspired. “Jack, I must have it…the men of the 8th must be a part of this…the consequences of doing nothing are far too great to contemplate. I will not have them turning to the devil, not under my command, no sir, for doing nothing will only damage my reputation.” And perhaps, I thought, he harboured forlorn ambitions to be made colonel permanently.

  I took a step toward the man. “No, Major, I think it would be far better if we found some way of employing the men closer to the barracks. There’s a tannery on the outskirts of town and they’re always in need of fresh faeces. Why not have the men collect the shit from the streets, make the place look and smell better too…everybody wins, no?”

  He shook his fist. “I will not have my men collecting shite for the tannery. That’s the job of the poor, gypsies and other miscreants, bigad, and certainly not for fighting men and heroes of the Charge no less.”

  I backed away with hands raised. “Major, I want you to think hard about this. We’re a cavalry regiment…we need tanners for our boots and saddles, gloves and riding crops. Heaven knows, I’m wearing through enough of those. No…no…no, Major, I think it much better we help out here. We can set the men to mucking out the stables immediately, no? There’s no point in wasting it. Besides, if they were to instead dig the bunkers, it’s so secret, it’d require that the men were taken to the meeting point personally by an approved agent of Cardigan himself…oh I’ve no doubt I could convince one, on account of my name and reputation, you see, but it never harms to have a little something extra…something like a little grease money, just in case the man ain’t a fan of cavalry, you understand.” I again stroked my whiskers. “But where to find such bribes, Major, that’s the problem. No…no…no…much easier we go with the tanners.”

  “We have a petty cash box with nigh on five hundred pounds.” Murphy almost screamed. “Would that do it Jack?”

  “Five hundred, you say?” I considered. “Aye, that’s substantial alright and enough to convince my man to take the lads all the way himself.”

  He clasped his hands in prayer. “And the men will stay away from the perils of drink and debauchery? Oh, dear Jack, but you must dine with me tonight to celebrate.” Just him? What happened to his wife?

  I shuffled away, taking care to wince as I did. “Major, time is of the essence and with my hindered moving ability, one must make a move early if I’m to locate an agent to deliver the men.”

  Well, I never expected it to go this well and I doubted I coul
d now talk the imbecile out of it no matter how hard I tried.

  “The 11th, huh? We’ll show ‘em. We’ll show ‘em all who’s the greater regiment.” He said, punching the air and slapping his thigh.

  “Oh, you certainly will, Major.”

  I probably should have felt bad for what I was about to put my comrades through. But you see, after what I experienced in their rotten country, it was probably only right that they should be made to undergo unpleasantness, such as back breaking labour, in mine. Besides, they were soldiers and were used to being screamed at by insane sergeants, and if they weren’t, they soon would be. Oh, I felt a small pang of regret for Murphy, the gentle fool he was, but let’s face it, he was no commander, and the sooner he realised that the better for himself and everybody else - I was doing the man a favour, and the regiment too, even if they wouldn’t know it as they were shovelling out hundreds of thousands of tonnes of earth from beneath the capital.

  Though the best part was yet to come. Because at four the next morning, yet another of Smith’s brothers arrived to rouse the two hundred and twenty troopers, sergeants, corporals and all. And twenty minutes later they were cheerfully gathering for the short ride to the ‘secret location,’ otherwise known as Tilbury Docks and I’d heard Murphy himself was there to wave them off.

  As soon as my meeting with Murphy had finished, I’d sought out Smith number three, paid the delighted man two hundred and fifty pounds and given the instruction that my name was to be kept out of it, that we weren’t associated, and that the men of the 8th were his. The important thing about this arrangement was that my Uncle Luther could no longer claim his thirty percent, at least not off the labour of the 8th and of course none of the men were ever told they were owed five shillings per day for their toil either. I didn’t feel bad about that on account of them still receiving their shilling a day from Her Majesty.