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

by K. Bartholomew

  I was too struck insensible to react in any such way. We’d come to fill our pockets with gold, or so I thought, not to slaughter what remained of the nation’s defences against the dead.

  Greys crowded their quarry and hacked down from above with long weapons, most strikes grating against wood or the steel of rifle barrels, but it only required one well placed thrust to bring down an opponent and the Borderers were diminishing by the minute, the square reducing and retracting rapidly.

  One man darted from the protective formation only to be cut down by Skinner, another leapt out to pull down a nearby horseman, stabbing him in the throat when he hit the cobbles. But this move left the square with too big a hole to plug and three horses charged through the opening to find themselves inside with only the backs of the enemy to face. It was like killing rabbits as each stroke told and they knew the game was up, the remaining defenders scattering like ants for a chance to live.

  It was a forlorn hope though because there were many more Greys loitering with nothing to do and the escapees were chased and brought down like it was a Sunday morning on the training field.

  Dolan, with five others, blocked the main exit and had turned visibly pale, which was saying something for him, his sword was drawn, but dripped no blood.

  And now what? We’d massacred the garrison but left a couple hundred witnesses to the crime. How would we expect to escape justice for this latest misdemeanour? Horse Guards would be sure to divert men from the nation’s defence to bring us all to justice. What choice did they have? Mutinies had to be put down or where would it end? Then I remembered…

  …Dolan - He’d told them he was Captain Jack Strapper!

  I flopped forward in my saddle and needed considerable presence of mind to save from toppling from my mount.

  I was finished!

  Dolan, the lunatic.

  Sure, it was all fun and games at the time, but now a city knew me to be in command of the regiment that committed this atrocity, there’d be no getting away from it. I couldn’t escape this, not now.

  How ever could I return to my life in London, or anywhere else? No - The only thing in my future was a tall tree, a bench and a short rope after being paraded through Scotland in a cage. They wouldn’t even allow me the luxury of a long drop and doubtless public viewings would be brought back for us lot, and deservedly so. Either intentionally or not, Dolan had condemned me to a life as a fugitive and as I glared at the fool, all I saw was a boy, not unlike myself, who’d somehow continued ratcheting up everything he did, until he could no longer control it - And all for a whore he barely knew. He was out of his depth and he’d swing for it, just like I would.

  Two bagpipers were run down and trampled beneath hooves and then there was nobody left to kill, unless Skinner had enough bloodlust remaining to turn on the civilians, which wouldn’t surprise me. But there was no need because not a soul in Stirling remained who could resist us even if they wanted.

  Skinner ordered the men to “stand doon” and immediately, the grinning criminals swung from their horses and ran toward the crowds, hands clasped most threateningly on sword hilts.

  I’d dismounted too, if only to ensure I didn’t stand out, and watched with amazement at how casually the men commenced assailing the townsfolk. Not even the more thickset men protested as they began removing any and all jewellery possessed by themselves or their women, emptying pockets of both coin and trinket. Those few who stupidly put up token protests were customarily slapped before succumbing anyway.

  If ever there was an opportunity to begin recouping the twenty thousand pounds, it was this moment and now the worst of it was over, where was the harm? If absconding would prove too difficult, then my only chance of escaping this asylum rested with my purchasing release, like a common negro slave in bondage. Snatching what meagre wealth these people owned was for the greater good, my only chance at salvation and it was even more tempting considering nobody had yet found the good sense to accost what had to be the one fat man living in Stirling, a plump fellow in robe with round cheeks and soft face who stood with his wife and children beside the Wallace statue, easy pickings even for me.

  But good sense, the same that was intertwined with my coward’s instinct stopped me, because you never could quite tell who had a screw loose, and a pistol concealed in his belt.

  No - Escape was what beckoned for old Strappy.

  But how?

  “Strappy,” our most esteemed colonel called with a girl thrashing around in his arm, “we’re off to the castle…see what’s there of the gold…this sword too, which is supposed to hold special powers…just the kind of thing I like.” Skinner and a pack of other officers, Muir included were with him. “You’re free to come if you want, but I suggest you try find the local Jew…as good a place to start as any since you need the tin.” The girl tugged at his thick muttons. “A city this size…he’s likely to have a hearty supply of gold stashed somewhere…perhaps you’ll get lucky and find everything you need. Best get there before he absconds though. Stupid bitch!” This last was to the girl, who’d ripped away half his right chop. He let her go and she ran screaming into the nearest passageway. “Plenty more anyway.”

  My heart soared at this. “The Jew, yes, always the place to go for money. Colonel, you’re a genius.” My legs were already moving, toward my horse and freedom.

  He rubbed the side of his face. “But take the colour sergeants with you. You remember the McGurn brothers, yes? You shared a carriage with them on the way up.”

  My legs froze and I turned slowly around. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that, Colonel. You’d like me to bag your twenty thou and give the Jew a good whipping, what?”

  Would he be stupid enough to fall for that? I doubted it given how proficient in certain areas he’d recently proven himself, but one must try regardless.

  “You can’t trust them, Strappy, the Jews, I mean, and we can’t risk losing you, can we, so take the McGurns for added protection, not that you can’t deal with him by yourself, and many more like him, but why chance it, aye? Yes, one minute and I’ll be with you. Oh, and give him a bloody good roughing up for me, would you? Anyway, must dash before they dispatch the pigeons to Edinburgh or worse…London…can’t be having that, can we?”

  The smirking McGurns were already either side of me. There’d be no absconding from Bedlam tonight and ten minutes after the Royal Scots Greys were permitted to stand down, the city was already embroiled in its aftermath.

  I lead the way through any old passage, the first that appeared safe but after only mere seconds, two women ran out screaming, chased by a brace of lusty cavalrymen with wicked grins. The maidens saw us and turned back the other way, only to find themselves trapped before succumbing, but not without kicking and screaming, to being dragged back inside as one of the men unbuckled his breeches.

  I felt the lump in my throat and genuine sorrow for the girls, but what could I do? An apocalypse, as it transpired, was the only requirement for some men to turn into animals. Had the apocalypse changed me? Not that way, at least not yet. A lot of things I may be, but a rapist was not one of them. For one, it made no sense. Why risk your life and liberty for a woman when every town had a cat house or three and, if you knew where to look and were an old hand at bartering, three rounds could be purchased for the price of a cheap meal.

  “If yee ain’t joining in, then move yeer backside.” Bad McGurn grunted and shoved me along the cobbles. “And wherever yee’re teeking us better be profitable.”

  A shop window was smashed and a second later a civilian in dark cloak jumped through carrying a pair of boots. Further along the street the bagpipe store was being looted along with a hardware business and others. It was a free for all now, no law, and everybody wanted their fill.

  Large groups mingled together for safety, wielding shovels, clubs, sticks and at least one pitchfork like we’d regressed back to medieval times. Most clutched at the customary bottle of Scotch, dulling their senses, not that
it much affected the average Scotsman, or woman anyway.

  Something crashed from several streets away and smoke drifted up from at least three separate locations as men and women ran with no apparent aim or cause, just wanting to find sanctuary in a city that was, not for the first time, being sacked.

  But bugger Dolan and his rotten advise. There were certain things I was an authority on, and that in times of hardship and apocalypse, there’s no longer much need for fine furnishings, tasty wines, paintings and other such luxurious rot. But no matter how bad things become, a man will always have a need to satisfy his carnal urges, which meant that after the Jew, who’d continue to possess a stranglehold over a town’s wealth into Armageddon and beyond, it was to the whorehouse for me because I knew it to be the second most prosperous place in town, and much safer than accosting the local bean counter, who wouldn’t be so stupid as not to take precautions.

  No - Much better we assault the local pimp and it was to that end we three found ourselves in The Bagged Pipe and, ensuring I was nestled neatly between my rotund captors we bounded up the stairs flinging open door after door. Oh the expressions of the occupants, to have their precious moment disturbed by two big barrels and little me ducking behind.

  Whores by the handful loitered in the corridors and it’d been so long since I’d so much as looked at a woman with lechery that it was hard to remain focused on the important task but I found that with myself, even rogering took second place to my long term well-being and the gold I hoped to acquire in this fine place to secure my release, maybe to board a ship to America, and to take my chances there.

  And then I saw him. They always have that look, like they were born to be what they are, a procurer of fine and not so fine harlots. The daddy clocked me as I did him and knew at once he was wanted, turned on his gold encrusted boots and strode down the corridor with a flock of whores flapping behind.

  I feigned slow reactions to allow the McGurns chance to charge ahead, which they did with a rare verve as I trailed them toward the lone door at the corridor’s end.

  “Perhaps yee’d like to kick it in foor us?” Good McGurn kindly asked of me with an invitational hand.

  I flourished my own à la be my guest and the oaf charged forth, familiarly smashing through to crash face first into a low glass table. Well, it was better to be on this side for a change and I languished behind as the other pushed through several screaming tarts to get to the whoremonger.

  Glass shards crunched beneath his boots as he trampled within the den. “Noow, I knoow, yee’ll not be giving us any trouble and will relinquish yeer assets forthwith.”

  The tall rake in red velvet smoking weskit had been reaching into a drawer with a bony hand and paid for his impudence by having it closed upon him.

  “Argh, Jesis!” He screamed and clasped his eyes closed as all but three of the whores ran from the room, the better looking ones unfortunately. “What the bloody heyl do yee want?”

  The other McGurn had scrambled footwards to commence ransacking, throwing up furniture, a rather large bed and flipping through journals. “Yee knoow what we’re here foor, so why doon’t yee just seev us some time and hand oover yeer goold.”

  He denied possessing gold or any other such valuables and then the drawer was opened and closed thrice more upon his trapped mitt, the screams I’m sure were heard outside.

  “Under my desk, yee fiend. I’ll get yee foor this.” His twisted face heaved for breath.

  “Sure yee will, mi laddy.” The bad barrel of beer released and kicked him to the wall, throwing aside the table to reveal the large cast iron box beneath. He tried picking it up but either it was too heavy or bolted to the floor. “What the bloody hell be this then?”

  The pimp had scuttled into the corner from where he now clutched his bleeding paw. “It’s a bloody seef, yee doaty, and the key’s under et, if yeer fingers ain’t too chubby yer fat bassa.”

  They were, as it happened, and I was called forth to slip mine into the narrow space between safe and grimy insect crusted floor.

  McGurn snatched the key from my grasp, fumbled it into the lock and turned, opening the door. He then made strange chirping noises as he removed the heavy jingling sacks one by one.

  His brother had approached and, after barging me aside, stooped down to thrust his stump within the void. “Oot the wee, there’s room foor two.” He brought out not a sack but an odd looking trinket and peered at the thing like he was holding a strange unknown species of animal, which in a way he was. “What the devil es et?”

  He studied the absurd piece of tack, an ornament of a frog, or toad, about the size of a clenched fist. It held a red ball between its hand and throat and donned a crown on its head. Clearly it was the work of a madman, or contemporary artist, or both but then I saw the eyes, which were in fact two large emeralds. The feet also glistened in the light because each toe possessed a sapphire. Oh, and diamonds ran down the entire length of its back, rather a lot of them.

  I tasted saliva in my mouth. An odd piece of rubbish it was, but that was my ticket out of this mess - But it was McGurn, I forget which, who now held it, squinting his bulbous peepers and frowning. “Wh…what es et?” He asked nobody in particular before turning to the wretch squatting in the corner and giving him a kick.

  “Ets Mr Ribbit and please doon’t teek hem, I took hem after the Indian mutiny, fair and square.” He’d come forward to plead but McGurn failed to even acknowledge that our pimp friend was a veteran, possibly of the Highlanders, who’d served in that conflict and must have, in his time, carried out a fair amount of ransacking himself.

  And being a coward, who’d somehow idiotically found himself a serving cavalry captain, it never harmed to know about our nation’s many past conflicts because you never knew when such knowledge would come in handy. Now was one of those such moments. This procurer doubtless could handle himself and would be practiced in the use of firearms and my eyes naturally gravitated to McGurn, the big daft idiot, and the very visible pistol thrust in his belt.

  I was already stepping away as his brother approached and snatched the oddment from his grasp. “Let me see.”

  “Give it back!” The other yelled, elbowing him in the gut as he did.

  It was all too predictable as they began tussling with each other, trying to prise the frog from the other’s grip. Knees followed, then steel toe caps, curses, headbutts and finally the biting of ears. It really was amazing how two brothers kept in each others company for any duration could result in a brawl at any given moment and over a thing of such questionable worth as this.

  Meanwhile, my only concern was for the piece of junk, and myself of course, but the ornament was presently being crushed between four clammy meat hooks.

  “Give.”

  “It’s mine.”

  “I just want to see et.”

  They must’ve known each other really well, because they both, together, primed their heads and unleashed them against the other with a cracking headbutt. The sound, not unlike that of a church roof support beam splitting reverberated within the dingy room and then both pairs of eyes glassed over as their legs flopped and they tumbled to the floor.

  The frog landed with a plop, intact and unharmed between the unconscious brothers and the pimp.

  If I was to make a snatch for it, it would have to be now or live with the consequences.

  Unfortunately the pimp had ideas of his own and I heard the horrifically familiar click of a pistol’s hammer falling into place.

  Forget the frog, freedom and everything else. I was out the door in two giant strides, leaping across the landing and falling into the first room I found, ignoring the tramp and her gentleman friend as I wrenched open the window and glided stealthily onto the protruding stonework, sliding horizontally, blinking at the darkness which was now apparently upon the city, reaching for the drainpipe and slipping down.

  It was all too smooth to last and I lost my grip, falling off with half way to go. My terror stricke
n heart shot into my mouth and then I struck something, which then collapsed beneath me.

  “Thank you…thank you…thank you.” The girl blubbered before pulling down her dress and running into the darkness.

  I was still adjusting to everything, most of all to the cavalryman in Scots Grey uniform that lay still beneath my sprawled form. “Oh, bloody hell, I’m so sorry.” I slapped him once, twice across the face, but I’d knocked him insentient, even as his bared manhood remained stood to attention.

  For precious seconds I found myself unable to move.

  If only I’d reacted sooner.

  If only, after having found my senses, I’d run the other way to which I did. Because what happened next changed everything.

  I turned left and had begun my way to a fast horse at a pace when..

  …There stood a man most familiar. A man whom I’d forgotten and never thought likely to meet again…

  “…Hello Captain Strapper.”

  An Old Friend

  No sooner had we found a quiet arch under a railway bridge did the rain commence lashing down upon the cobbles. Not that the prospect of a soaking put paid to the rampage still happening around the city, the screams of which were still audible above the rain.

  Our hiding place was dark and quiet, bereft of looter, soldier and raper.

  I’d not seen Sheehan since Ireland and the many visits he’d paid whilst undergoing my especially long recovery. I counted him as one of the few friends I had in the army.

  “I see the leg’s still giving you problems.” He looked down and showed genuine concern.

  I tapped it and winced, this time for real. The fall must’ve done something, although it wasn’t too bad, I’d have that blasted limp again and this time I wouldn’t have to fake it. “I fear this pin will be the death of me.”

  He shook his head with a smile and a twinkle in the eye. “I don’t know how you do it. You never rest. Even after finding yourself up here you’re still fighting the good fight, literally leaping from tall buildings, sacrificing your own body and well being, to crush would be rapists and all with a dicked peg and God only knows how many other ailments. Mark my words, sir, but when I get back to Horse Guards I’ll tell my superiors about your deeds…not that any of it still surprises anyone, least of all myself.” He gave me that look again, the same gooey eyed face he pulled back in Ireland when I’d supposedly slaughtered all those dead in the forest. The truth was I feared for his eyesight and wondered how much alcohol he’d ingested since the town orgy began. A Paddy, you see.