Three seconds was all that was required for the sickening screams to come, about as long as needed for a brace of angry Scots to haul me out from my sanctuary and fling me sidewards back from whence I came. I hit the ground like a nimble cat and was already charging toward the next safe place.
But things were different now. At least one Royal Scots Grey was being devoured on the floor whilst his pals attempted to avenge their fallen rogue. More zombies had broken off from the herd, which for Norris made picking them off easier and at least two of the dead were skewered through the head by vengeance seeking louts who, having learned a lesson and under orders from nearby officers, hurried back behind the tables to turn their jeers instead to the dead, a partial relief for me perhaps. It was all enough to hope we, or rather Norris, would be granted assistance, especially considering this new seething anger, almost palpable, now surged throughout the hall. No such luck though, because there were still a few too many unresolved bets.
I’d sought safety in the far corner by three Greys who called me bad names, but now with two monsters staggering in my direction, it was time to once again find a new refuge. Unfortunately, in my verve to maintain my well being at all costs, I slipped on what had to be brain matter, landing hard on my rump. It hurt, but not enough to prevent old Strappy from repeating his attempt to abscond. Though horrifically, they’d now closed ground enough to prevent a clean escape and now all I could do was further retreat toward the wall whilst screaming with every sinew of my soul, pleading and begging for Norris to come to my rescue.
Of course, had the situation been reversed I’d laugh at my own misfortune and damn me for the worse than detrimental ‘brother-in-arms’ that I was. Norris though was a better man than I and meanwhile had been thrusting away like a ram in a field of ewes, hacking down the dead with almost every sweep.
Dolan, who I guessed wanted to see a painful death visited upon his love rival now complained to the giant captain to his side, pointing and gesturing wildly with his hands.
But right now the colonel was the least of my problems, cornered as I was by a duo of dead who sensed a rare opportunity to feast upon some prime English upper class flesh. The sword felt like dead weight in my hands and I flapped it at them uselessly, causing not fear nor flinch in my foes. It fell from my grasp to land with the clatter of steel on wood as all else turned to a blur. With feet pointing inwards, they took their next steps, inching closer by the second and unless I acted quick it would be a grisly death for me.
But when in peril the human mind, and mine especially, can act in the most decisive and brilliant of ways, enabling one to perform feats that would otherwise prove strenuous and problematic. They lunged forward and in so doing opened a gap between them. I never even thought about it and dived for the opening with outstretched arms, my body remaining low and parallel to the ground throughout. Considering I was lumbered down with my cavalry tunic, it was a most graceful manoeuvre and I landed at the bloodied boots of Norris who’d left a trail of twitching corpses to his rear.
It was instinctual and I cared not for who or how many witnessed the pitiful spectacle of me clinging to the boot of my saviour, to safety. Norris became unbalanced and tried to kick me away, the job was not done after all, but I wasn’t having any of it because I’d not chance those things coming near me again. My nervous system had already cracked to pieces and rational thinking is not always easy in such circumstances.
The noise level intensified to a near crescendo with the jeers and boos and insults and threats and slanders and what they planned on doing to my poor dead mother.
I shifted around, ensuring Norris was between me and them as they shuffled toward him. I cried for him to take them down, so this nightmare would be over and we could go back to our quiet little cell with its filthy walls, floor and stinking pan. All I wanted was to rest with my head against a brick and fall into a deep sleep. And as Norris prepared to lunge, the human faces behind the zombies came into focus. My red tormentors with bared teeth slowly shook their heads in disbelief, their prior aggression giving way to disgust, that before them, this most decorated of soldiers should have fallen so far, from a warrior famed throughout Britannia to a snivelling specimen unworthy of contempt, of the phlegm from their sinuses, of gruel even.
I felt the lift of Norris’s boots as he swung the blade and then a head tumbled to the floorboards, another following soon after, its evil clown eyes glaring straight at me.
It was over and I was spent. I’d take no more of this nasty business and was willing to do anything to ensure it and I scrambled on my hands and saints knees, again in the direction of Dolan and assumed the familiar begging position.
“Colonel, please, no more, I can’t take it. I’m done…done, I tell you.” I hit the floor with all the force I could summon, my hand striking damp lumpy entrails as I did. For over a minute I cried and wailed and balled out my eyes, begging, pleading for it to be over. The entire hall had fallen silent, save for me, the echoes of my screams tolling almost as loud again, as every living eye in there fixed on the disgrace before them.
Then came the whispers.
“Is this the same man?”
“Poor fellow must have suffered terribly in Ireland.”
Dolan, who’d been enjoying it all, now shook his head and was about to summon for the doors to open once more when in my horror I had no option other than to play the one card I had, the one card I should have played long ago.
“Ok, you win, I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you say, Colonel.” I croaked, my voice hoarse, and hung my emotionally drained head, closing my eyes to the cruel world.
I’d stopped it, for now. But I knew my reprieve would only be temporary. What else would lie ahead for me?
Footsteps approached from my rear and I felt Norris’s hand on my hunched and weary shoulder. “This is no way to treat a hero, but don’t you worry, old boy, we’ll get you out of here and that’s the word of an officer and a gentleman. We’ll find you the help you need.”
I’d survived for now.
Going Rogue
It was a relief, for the third time, to be dragged into Dolan’s office and that I even enjoyed the nasty stench of pigeon shit showed just how desperate things had become.
He scratched his head and scowled. “I’m not quite sure I understand. That fort must have seriously damaged your nob because what we all witnessed in there tonight was arguably the most shocking display by a British soldier since the retreat from Kabul. What’s changed since Ireland? Are you even the same man?”
I saw the opportunity and seized upon it at once. “Correct, Colonel, I’m not the same man and have no recollection whatsoever of this ten thousand pounds you mention.”
“It’s twenty thousand and I’m not letting you off just because you claim not to remember, just like you claimed to have a dicked leg, amongst your other disorders, yet you seem perfectly capable of running, leaping and squatting in the corner whenever there’s a zombie nearby.” He stroked the red overgrowth upon his countenance. “But considering your recent abduction, rough treatment and confinement to a filthy cell, clearly this occurrence was nothing more than a bit of a hard patch, temporary insanity, I can only assume.”
It truly was astounding, that even when presented with overwhelming evidence to the contrary, that people, sane or otherwise, still failed to believe what they saw with their own eyes. It was frightening, the kind of power possessed by the printing press and its ability to alter minds for their own agendas. What more need I do to convince people as to my utter wretchedness and unsuitability to wear one of the great uniforms of Britannia?
“And since you’ve now conceded to join us, we’ll need to give you a rank befitting your bravery, talent, abilities, valour, stature, skill, reputation and merit…nothing too flashy and it’ll all be under the table you understand…can’t have the Horse Guards knowing, you see, cos you’re not one of ours and despite everything, we still need to make it look like we’re doing things prop
er.” He approached one of the cages, opened a flap and thrust a hand inside. “Loot a village and nobody gives a damn but mess up the paperwork and we’ll have the hand of Britannia upon us at the next audit. Aye, don’t think they don’t still waste their time with all that rubbish, even during an apocalypse.”
I jumped in with my suggestion. “How about wagon master? You could use a good man collecting supplies from the south?” From where I’d abscond into the night.
He flapped his freckled hand. “All taken care of Strappy, all taken care of. Besides…can’t risk you buggering off at the first opportunity, can we. Anyway, I had something more hands on in mind for you, something you’re more suited to. No, we need you with the fighting troops, right in the thick of it, because it’s they who’re most important, yet more likely to discover their conscience and become a problem. No, no, no…a good fighting man like you…your talents are more suited to better things than collecting forage and whatnot.”
I didn’t like this one bit and was reminded why I’d refused his offer in the first place. But that option was no longer attractive because I couldn’t handle another Saturday night gauntlet, or whatever else Dolan’s sick mind dreamed up. And what if he chose to throw me in there without Captain Norris to hide behind? No, I’d have to join him and go along with whatever illegal activity he was directing, at least until such time arrived that I could clamber upon a fast horse and flee south. The truth was, that if he asked, I’d gladly get down on my hands and knees, to beg for the opportunity of committing treason against my country - And who in my situation would do any different?
He pulled a handful of eggs out from the cage, returned to his desk and commenced cracking them one by one into a tin mug. “They’re to make my muscles bigger, Strappy. It helps to look the part and I find they boost my sexual prowess into the bargain.”
I held my breath as he tipped back the gunk. “How about messenger or courier?” I massaged my temple. “Or scout? All dangerous positions with a countryside crawling with the dead. Surely you need a man like me out there gathering intelligence and um, to report the places where dead are gathering and where they’re likely to attack.”
He wiped his mouth. “You’re determined to get as far away from here as possible, aren’t you? No doubt to inform Horse Guards as to my treason and bestow yourself with ever more glory.” He spoke in such a damned offhand way as to be unsure whether he was serious or joking.
I stepped forward, unshackled now as I was with the McGurns waiting outside, and he flinched, the smallest sign of alarm flashing across his face. “Now you just listen here, Colonel, I’m a man of honour. I gave you my word, didn’t I?” Would he believe that?
He placed his hands flat on the desk. “I seem to recall your word of honour and I know exactly what that’s worth.” He saw my blank expression. “The twenty thousand?”
“Oh that.”
He shook his ginger whiskered head. “Look, let’s not pretend we both don’t know you’re a rogue…a brave and reckless one…but a rogue nonetheless. I’ve no doubt you’ll soon recoup the adequate funds to compensate me, even with your recent apparent lapses of backbone.” He hummed and then confirmed the grim news which, as it would appear, I was now happy to accept. “You’ll be an honorary captain.”
And with that, my treasonous head would dangle from a rope, if Dolan didn’t find a way of killing me first. An honorary captain, with no troopers to command because as it was transpiring, Dolan just wasn’t that stupid. No - My role was chiefly his Legitimiser General. To be seen and admired, to inspire and to maintain the loyalty of his diminishing force. Because if the famous Strappy could commit treason and work for a jumped up insignificant like Colonel Dolan, well then, where was the harm in it for everyone else?
I was taken at once to my new “better lodgings” by the McGurn brothers who were now acting strangely civil to me, holding doors open rather than using my body as a human battering ram just for the fun of it.
It was a small square room with an opened window facing the latrines, two small beds pushed against the wall, basin and a piss pan in the corner. It smelled marginally better than Dolan’s office but was far preferential to the damp cell I’d previously conceded to spending my time, even if the whole room, for whatever reason, was strewn with discoloured breeches and undergarments.
I gestured to the door. “Well, gentleman, after the evening I’ve had, I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know I’m rather tired. So if you wouldn’t mind…”
They gave each other a look and sniggered. “This be oor room, me lad, and might I suggest that while yee’re oor guest, yee stick to yeer corner and shut it.”
I could have cried all over again. Not because clearly I still couldn’t be trusted and that my escape options had not broadened with this new arrangement, but because I’d already once endured the strong odour of McGurn sweat, their constant bickering and the ever present looming threat that at any moment violence could ensue and all for the most trivial of reasons. Why could I never escape the danger?
Fortunately, the night’s only disturbance came from a brace of brawling Scots outside the latrines, an argument over whether golf was truly a sport or merely a game and in the morning I roused from my spot on the floor feeling almost refreshed.
Shortly before breakfast and no doubt to show their goodwill, my uniform of the 11th was returned washed and pressed, which they said I was allowed to keep to show my special honorary status. I was escorted to the main mess hall where I was permitted to take a hearty breakfast of porridge oats. This was still Scotland, after all, where culinarily speaking, it’s often tricky to tell whether you’re a prisoner or not and the only difference between the gruel we were served down below and what I ate as an honorary captain was that the former was made with water and had a thinner texture, whereas the latter contained milk and was made by someone who probably knew how to cook. I noticed the stares from the men and saw them whispering, but could guess not as to their content. Though in all likelihood they were probably speculating how a man who only the night prior was a prisoner forced to participate in a gauntlet, demonstrating his true appalling character and inability with a blade, and was now eating amongst them, smiling, apparently free. It wasn’t the kind of atmosphere in which I could expect to make a great many friends, which suited me fine.
Afterwards they took me on a tour of the barracks, showing me the officers’ mess, the stables and training grounds before taking me back down to where the cells were. Now I was entering somewhat more voluntarily it was easier to take in the details. We had a detention area back at the barracks in Londonderry, before zombies took the place, just like we have one at Rochester, but neither were anything like this. Either Dolan had expanded its capacity, below the main barrack building, or the Scots in their semi-permanent alcohol inducement were notoriously difficult to discipline. In truth it was probably both and as the three of us strolled down the aisle, big doors with bars on either side, I was treated, once again, to all manner of verbal abuse and threats upon my person - And these were supposed to be the honourable ones.
They recognised me as the poor chap who only two days before had been dragged in kicking, screaming and crying and now here I was again, only this time with my English upper class swagger, fresh uniform and a full belly of breakfast into the bargain. It was obvious to all I’d sold out and as I dodged, ducked and weaved from several salvos of mucus, much of it containing the thick texture and green tint of bronchial catarrh, I understood why I’d been brought down here.
“Yee’d better do as the colonel says, otherwise it’ll be back doon here for yee, me laddy.” Bad McGurn took pleasure in stating the obvious. “Yee’d be better off fayting another gauntlet, if indeed that displee can be considered fayting.”
And in those words were contained the reasons I had to get as far away from this place as possible, even if it meant chancing zombies in the bleak Scottish lowlands south of Edinburgh. But how to carry out such an endeavour when wa
tched constantly by two burly scoundrels, surrounded by arguably the greatest heavy horse regiment that ever existed, in a place I didn’t know, which itself was ringed intermittently by dead? In the moment, all I could do was curse my uncontrollable lust that’d once again landed me in a situation I could only hope to save myself from.
There must have been a hundred men imprisoned at least, mostly in cells with no light, each one a trained killing machine and expert with a sabre. It was the devil of a way to treat good men, especially since the country needed them for they were the last of a diminishing defence against oblivion and that Dolan would keep them rotting down here to protect his profit, and for reasons of megalomania, was testament to the man’s diminishing sanity. For all anybody knew the dead might be amassing, even now, on the capital’s periphery, awaiting only a favourable breeze before stuttering onwards, towards our unprepared selves. At what point would the colonel risk his own position to drag these men out, to help in the defence? And more importantly, when they were, would I be safe?
Then we plunged further into the semi-gloom, toward the large iron door at the far end. It clanged and rattled before it was even visible but as we neared it absolutely omitted a constant thudding. The bars had been bent outwards where even now a half dozen arms poked through, hands clenching and unclenching, clawing to reach us. Much of the door had been stained green and in the flickering of lantern light the shine from what had to be zombie drool ran in long sticky streaks from bars to floor where a large pool of fluid with bits of solid had collected. At closer inspection the lumps were teeth and the wrought iron of the bars was heavily dented. Now, with our proximity, the arms strained against their sockets and I worried the rusty hinges would fragment from the constant bashing upon them. They hissed and spat and fought each other with animal like violence to be at that tiny space in the door which held the slightest possibility of sustenance in human form.
My belly twisted sideways and bile made its way into my throat causing me to double over so I could evacuate the digestive fluid.
Not Dead Yet: A Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1 - 2 Page 30
