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

by K. Bartholomew

  I had no idea as to this man’s temperament or sanity. He’d already made several crazy insinuations about doing something potentially suicidal and who was to know, should I divulge, what this man would do then? After the Lynch fiasco, I was all too aware as to the potential consequence of Norris knowing I’d rattled his wife.

  By far the most important thing to consider was my own safety, as always. No - I couldn’t tell Norris anything that might put myself at risk. After all, I had to sleep at some point.

  He looked at me with expectation. “Well?”

  I sighed and gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry Captain, all I know is one moment I was attempting to rattle a brace of French trollops and the next I was being shanghaied north on a speeding carriage.”

  He sank into the corner, covered his head and sobbed, intermittently muttering something about never seeing his beloved wife again.

  Well, it was something I wasn’t used to dealing with. Usually it was myself who broke down, whenever there was a sniff of danger about and I was no good at dealing with the blubbering of other men. So I left him to it whilst I went for a better look through the hole.

  Standing on my toes, I could make out the courtyard from where we’d earlier entered and where men now either loitered about smoking cheroots or tipping back wee drams of Scotch nectar. I didn’t notice it until later, so casual were the Greys with their tethered zombies. But around the central flagpole, atop which flew the colours, of all things, were attached a dozen of the dead from chains. They stretched their shackles to the limit, trying uselessly to reach for anyone who walked or rode to within thirty or forty paces. On the floor scattered around them were limbs and chunks of flesh from every part of the body one could imagine. Right now, only a solitary Scots Grey was bothering with them, trotting by quite leisurely and scything down with his blade, hacking at the nearest zombie who noticed not that with every cut and thrust that little bit more of itself was gone forever. I cringed, almost thankful to be safe down here in this dingy prison.

  After a few minutes our coach driver, the simple minded idiot who’d been beaten nigh on senseless, carried himself and a large pail of something across the yard.

  “He’s bringing our gruel.” Norris was stood behind and made me jump. At least now he’d managed to gather his senses, and dignity. “Like most Scots, he goes by the name of Jimmy.”

  A bunch of likely looking lads approached Jimmy, mischievous smirks upon their countenances and proceeded to push and prod the imbecile in the direction of the zombies, each one straining at the irons to reach him.

  It was a delayed reaction for Jimmy, the trusting fool, and didn’t suspect the game until dangerously close to death. Then he saw it and almost put me to shame, wailing and crying and sobbing and pleading and begging to be left alone. The boy turned red and then blue as the soldiers tugged and pulled and pushed him closer, laughing, doubling over and patting each other on the backs. Oh it was a lark alright and I regretted not being closer to witness the fun, even if I could hear the bone dissolving screams from across the courtyard. I had to give the boy credit though - Not one drop of gruel did he spill, more the pity for us.

  After a minute of this torturous abuse, an older Major hurried over. The men stopped at once, stood rigid at attention and received a severe reprimanding. Jimmy rushed to his saviour, clinging to his shoulder and then they both walked away with their arms around the other.

  “The halfwit’s coming!” Norris said, rubbing his hands together and almost bouncing where he stood. “Captain, I’m convinced that some sort of divine providence has sent you here to me today…you’re a sign alright, a beautiful sign and now with you here the two of us can escape.”

  My mouth plunged open as I inhaled a huge involuntary lungful of stale piss that wafted up from the overflowing pan in the corner. It was such damned fool madness I wasn’t completely convinced I’d even heard correct. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

  He was panicking now, eyes flickering about the room as though searching for weapons to use. If he hadn’t found any by now, he was unlikely to. “Escape man! It’s our solemn, sacred duty as British officers. And I must get back to my wife, dammit.” He said, gritting his teeth and taking huge breaths like he was prepping his mind and body for whatever madness he planned on forcing me to be an unwilling part of.

  I recoiled in disgust from the lunatic. “Escape? Oh you’ve really thought this one through, haven’t you. And then what? No…no, best just stay here and hope a friendly battalion happens by.”

  His face flared up. “Friendly battalion? I’ve been here months, how much longer do you expect me to await this friendly battalion?”

  I wasn’t having this, no sir, not at all. And I could tell from his sudden eagerness, prompted merely by the gruel boy approaching, that this was the kind of spontaneous ‘hero’ who’d act first and think later, precisely the type old Strappy had no business associating with and just to show it, I stepped away, arms folded and nodded once as though that was final, so there. “Well you can count me out of this dangerous scheme and you should take my advice and count yourself out too.”

  “Damn your eyes, Strapper, and will you listen to me.” He was frothing at the mouth now. “You’re the famous Captain Jack Strapper and with what you’re capable of, miracles can happen and I placed fifth in my regiment’s strongman contest where I managed to easily lift a teenager above my head with one arm. Now, this is what we’re going to do; we can overpower the McGurn brothers when that simple lad brings our gruel. You take the larger one, just to be on the safe side…what with your capabilities and all…and I’ll take the other. We’ll escape, take out any other guards we see and maybe, just maybe take a pop at the colonel himself, what? Can’t you see it, Strapper? We could bring the regiment back under Britannia! No more of this bloody rogue nonsense.”

  Finding myself too stricken down to utter but a single word, all I could do was shake my head, wide eyed and sweating, as he took me by the shoulders and gave me a shake, attempting to rattle my unresponsive brain to action.

  “Snap out of it Captain and quick, they’re coming.”

  And with that there was the distant rattling of a key in a lock and of a door swinging open on rusty hinges followed by at least three sets of footsteps tramping down the passage.

  He shook me again and had a demonic look in the eyes. “Captain, are you ready?”

  Well, there was only one thing for it…

  …I dropped to my knees and begged. “Please, please, please, don’t do this. It’s madness, I say, madness. You’ll kill us both you fool.” How I cried and wailed and snivelled and clung to his leg, pleading for him to see sense.

  But whatever happened, wherever I went and whatever I did, why was it I could never escape these satanic psychopaths? Why was there always someone trying to be a bloody hero? And what had I ever done to deserve any of this?

  I crawled closer to the man and clung to his boot as hard as I could. I’d have kissed his feet if only they weren’t so rotten. “Please, by Gad, please see sense.”

  The man stood aghast and a shade paler. “I never prompted any of this. Captain, what’s got into you?”

  I continued to ball my eyes out as I thumped the piss soaked floor. How had all this happened to me? Only a few days ago I was falling in love with a beautiful girl and in a fit of insanity I threw it all down the pan. Now I was here in this awful place, surrounded yet again by Bedlam applicants. How I yearned for Gertrude and her sweet face, wicked teasing and idiotic laugh. In some ways I even missed Brunch, his ridiculously plump thighs, smell of garlic and unwillingness to leave us be, which really was saying something. I’d do anything to change things, but it was too late now. I would die here and all because of this maniac.

  Well I would not die today, not here and not because of the insane antics of one man’s warped mind. “Please Norris, you silly fool, forget these insane ideas. I just want to live, dammit, why is that so much to ask?” I dared
glance up to where the Captain’s mouth hung slack and his eyes were opened wide in disbelief, but mercifully he tried not to rally me once more for his suicidal cause.

  But as the door opened and the McGurns entered with Jimmy, it wasn’t enough for me - I had to be sure Norris would not attempt anything foolish, so I got in there first.

  “The gruel…give!” I wrenched the tin cup from the boy’s hands and dipped it in the gooey mess before backing away into the corner, as far from the crazy Captain as I could scurry, squatting and proceeding to tip the contents down my throat. It was vile stuff, oats and warm water but right now the taste and texture were the furthest things from my mind.

  I kept one eye on Norris as he stood gaping, most transfixed and probably still half expecting the famous Strappy was about to do something and that this was all a part of my clever plan.

  I took another mouthful of the foulness, ensuring I made enough humming and pleasant sounds to show my appreciation to the chef. I licked my lips, rubbed my belly, cleaned out the tin with my tongue and when my tongue could delve no further, I scooped out the remains with my fingers.

  “More!” I demanded as the McGurns laughed at what had become me in such a short time and Jimmy rushed forward as I scooped more oaty goodness from the bucket and applied it to my mouth.

  It was a symbolic acceptance of my submission. That I was a prisoner, that I would do as I was told, take what was dished out, eat gruel and never, ever attempt an escape, so leave me alone Norris.

  There was a loud clatter and I looked up to find gruel dripping from Jimmy’s face and Norris looming over him most threatening. “How dare you serve me this rot. I demand bacon, ham, eggs and fresh coffee you halfwit.” It was quite a contrast and the McGurns chuckled as the wasted bounty dripped from Jimmy’s distressed countenance to the cobbles below.

  “Fine then, yee can starve.” Bad McGurn said and they sauntered out, mercifully closing the door upon us.

  I’d been so far induced with funk I was still cramming as much gruel as possible down my trap, without quite knowing it, and as Norris now glared at me, there was doubtless more than just a little look of madness in my eyes.

  “By Gad.” He shook his head forlornly. “You’re not what they say you are at all, are you?”

  Well, there goes my reputation - It was fun while it lasted but the truth was always bound to come out eventually. But in the moment I didn’t much care. Because I’d narrowly averted getting myself hurt, or worse, which was the most important thing and if I were to tell this story every day for the next one hundred years, to audiences of thousands, there’s not a single sane person who’d have done a damned thing different…

  …Unless of course he happened to be in the British army.

  Saturday Night Entertainment

  It was almost comical, how Norris’s pluck and sudden gusto had evaporated and throughout the night and most of the next day, he did or said very little, which of course suited me. The man was sure not to again attempt to ensnare me into his rotten ideas of bravado and the silence felt like heaven, if a little awkward.

  He spent the time hunched in the corner, sitting on his arse on the cold stones, shaking his head, intermittently stumping to the already overflowing pan to empty his bladder or to peep out through the crack above. He never said it, but I knew he now regretted spurning his gruel, which now mixed on the floor along with our combined waste products. At one point I thought I heard him mumble something about my sculpture and what a waste of good marble it was, but I may have been imagining it.

  It was early evening the day after when, just as suddenly as I was brought down here, I was hauled out and taken by the McGurns to see Dolan in his pigeon coop. I could guess what it would be about.

  He was shaking his head as I entered, leaning back in his seat like before and stroking a pigeon that still had string attached to its foot. He didn’t appear upset at being twice swindled by me, quite the contrary in fact.

  “I knew you wouldn’t have the tin, Strappy.” He tutted as his feathered companion looked at me with indifference. He then produced a small roll of paper from his person and read from it, struggling to hide his smirk. “The account of Captain Jack Strapper at Hoares of London was closed two days after being opened and cleared of all funds to the sum of five thousand pounds.” He looked up from the words and gave me a knowing expression. “I can only guess as to what you did with the money.”

  I was about to interject and tell him to mind his own damned business when suddenly he placed the bird down, threw back his chair and ran to a cage at the wall that stretched from floor to roof, pushing it aside and disappearing into a room that lay behind. Two seconds later I was treated to a gut churning scream as several hundred birds flapped their wings in panic, wafting the stale stench of faeces my way as the messenger bird on the desk flew out the opened window. The screaming continued for several more salvos before he re-emerged, quite composed and retook his seat as though nothing had happened.

  Had I sent the man insane? Or had he always been this way? Were these the lengths he had to go to remain composed and control his inane twitching?

  The dastard had just given me black spots over my vision as the room that was the regiment’s supposed command centre felt more claustrophobic than ever.

  He picked up the dispatch and continued reading. “The captain was spotted leaving Horse Guards limping, the Drury Lane theatre limping, requiring the assistance of a German princess walking up a gentle incline in Hyde Park whilst limping and hobbling into The White House with the aid of a stick.” He threw down the paper and gave me his petulant Paddy smirk. “Well, well, well, Strappy. This is most interesting and I can’t say I’m convinced this is real at all.”

  How dare he! “How dare you, sir, why, I’d call you out by Gad. What is your accusation exactly?”

  He must have seen it. With my kidnapping, pretending to be a cripple had been far down my list of priorities and when in absolute fear and funk, like I’d been several times already, forgetting to limp would have been an easy and forgivable thing to do.

  “Indeed, you seem to have made a miraculous recovery and wouldn’t Colonel Fitzgibbon be most interested to hear about this?” He leaned back with a smug expression as I cursed my carelessness. “Though I’m most puzzled and at a loss to think why someone such as yourself would fake an injury to get out of doing his duty, so I can only assume you were trying to gain the attention and sympathies of a lady otherwise far out of your reach.”

  I cleared my throat and tried to keep my pitch level. “Now, you just listen here, Colonel, I limp dammit. I had no less than a medieval fort fall on me, which is enough to give any man a scratch. You can’t prove anything, oh and by the way, I was most disappointed you never once came to visit me whilst convalescing. What kind of friend do you call yourself?”

  “Quiet!” He stood and began pacing about the room. “And I know you’ve been occupying your time recruiting my countrymen for those damned tunnels they’re building. And don’t think I don’t suspect you had something to do with the boys of my former regiment going the same way. Oh, I don’t know for sure, but I know you Strapper, you damned rogue.”

  Well I felt most violated at this. Obviously the man held a grudge and was unwilling to let it drop. The lengths he’d gone to secure my capture, as it now transpired, went far beyond merely purchasing a brothel and awaiting my lecherous arrival. I’d underestimated this madman since the day we first met.

  He now stepped closer than at any time during our reacquaintance, though still kept a cautionary distance - Clearly he didn’t know as much as he thought. “You’ve been busy acquiring a fortune, I know this. And, as it appears, your money is more valuable to you than your life, you reckless fool.” He shook his head and gave me an almost admiring glance. “You see, Strappy, you and I are the same. We both want the world…or what’s left of it anyway.” He paused and I wondered what in the blazes he was getting at. “So I’ll offer you a choice.”

/>   “A choice? Why don’t you just spit it out, man.”

  He backed away toward the desk and took a perch. “You’ve seen my operation, how I’m profiting from Britannia’s downfall, the non-existence of law and order, here and everywhere else, which makes it easy, if you’re so inclined. Every man must make a choice. Those who wish to profit do so and they so do at the cost of their honour, by committing treason against Britannia. Those who wish no part end up rotting down in the cells, eating gruel but retaining their honour, for what that’s worth. I do believe you’ve experienced a night of it yourself. That was intentional and I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant. Is it worth it? How much do you value honour, Strappy?” The scary thing was, it wasn’t rhetorical and neither did his words possess even a hint of irony. He continued, “I know you’re a damned talented soldier…probably one of the best in fact. You have a gift for leadership and with your accomplishments, men look up to you. My problem, Strappy, is that while I have a reasonable sized force here, it’s in danger of diminishing by the day as more and more of my men suddenly find their misplaced honour and no longer have the desire to become rich at the expense of everyone else.” So far I hadn’t seen where this was going but I had the awful feeling I was on the verge of finding out. “What you can offer, Captain, is legitimacy. With you on board, my men will see that it’s alright to make a tonne of gold, because there’s a famous, decorated officer doing the same, right alongside them. What I’m offering you Captain, is a chance to repay your debts in comfort rather than in squalor. Profit with us and when your debt is squared, you’re free to leave.”

  Aye, free to leave with a charge of treason hanging over me and that could only lead to William Calcraft’s noose around my neck, and that was no place for me.