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

by K. Bartholomew

  I stood on a chair and perched over the lip, looking down at the creatures below, hundreds of heads turning in unison to look glassy eyed at me, accompanied with the cracking of uncountable vertebrae. The ditch was so thick with dead that jostling each other aside proved impossible. The smell could best be described as compost with some unexplainable extra. And the noise which only augmented whenever someone made an appearance above the parapet was a low, constant banal moaning with only a slight variation in pitch and tempo, and was usually the first thing you ceased to notice, you got used to if after all, but not now. Not after this new development.

  Because now the dead were indeed, albeit with unsteady feet, crossing the second ditch.

  I saw the first one bridge it, a squat moustachioed zombie dressed like a vagrant who lost his footing between two gnashing heads before retrieving his leg and trampling over several more to complete the traverse. He reminded me of me, in some ways, that he’d literally walk all over his brethren to get what he wanted. And then he took a tumble into the final ditch and a spike found its way through his rectum.

  And still they trickled in from the Old Town and still gathered beyond the ditches in ever larger numbers.

  “It’s oonly a matter of time noow.” One trooper stood beside me on his toes and spoke as a matter of fact.

  “Yes.” I agreed, spotting the latrines across the courtyard, where I’d been spending ever more time recently.

  But it was now getting too close for me and too imminent, I had to try something, anything to get away from these ghouls, from the increasingly erratic Greys too, to root some kind of excuse, so that when the time came, I could legitimately excuse myself from being anywhere near the front line.

  I found Dolan in his usual spot, squinting at his chess game and clutching a filthy rodent into his chest.

  “I don’t understand, Strappy, could you repeat that?”

  I tried to sound calm, measured and professional. “Speaking as a well regarded soldier, sir, with more experience of the dead than most, I think it might be a good idea to consider falling back to the barrack building.” Behind yet more fortified walls and now, as my mouth watered at the large, overbearing sight of it, I lamented that I’d not thought of it sooner. “It’s not for me, you understand, but with the dead breaking in, we could hope to hold them off easier and for longer from inside. It’s a fine structure, sir.”

  He looked at me funny. “What? Are they inside?” He craned his freckled neck as though doing so would give him a view over the wall. “Oh no, not yet. Oh well, give it time. Bishop to King’s Rook five.”

  Obviously, I never expected him to abandon the position, indeed, I didn’t want him to. But perhaps he’d compromise and I could get an exception for myself? “You don’t mind if I look to improving the building’s defences, do you, for when the inevitable arrives?”

  “You sound like you’re losing all hope, Strappy.”

  “It never harms to be ready, sir, and I need to think about a bait and flame strategy and perhaps even find a staircase to detach, once we’re all up it, of course.” Why was I only considering this now?

  “Hmm, I suppose if there’s anybody here who can successfully execute these plans…” He pondered it and seemed about to accept when one of his pigeons dropped an egg and then I was dammed if I could get any heed from him, not whilst he petted the bird and cracked the spawn into his tin. I didn’t like this one bit and if I had it within me, I’d have told him so, to pay attention. He sank it in one, wiped his mouth and summoned an aid as though the sludge had brought upon him a great epiphany.

  “Bring up the prisoners and give each a blade, but no firearms…can’t risk that and whatever you do, keep them shackled.” He stomped off leaving me shaking and half tempted to throttle the interruptive bird and the rest of them with it.

  It took over an hour to drag the prisoners out in good order, still attached at the ankles with an added wrist manacle for good measure, which made me wonder if Dolan intended them as fodder for the dead and giving each a blade, which they didn’t yet have, to make them think otherwise.

  How shamefully noisy they were though, clattering chains and scaring the poor animals, all whilst verbally abusing us.

  “Yee want oor help noow, do yee? Noow that the dayd are here, yee decided yee need us, aye?”

  “Tis the devil of a way to treat yeer comrades, yee caber tossin’ scoondrels.”

  “’N’ you, yee English Sassenach. Yee’re lucky we’re cheened up, because there’s enough of us here tee teach even yee a lesson.” This last diatribe was directed at me, though considering their present state and binds, standing firm in the face of him and the rest was easy, in a large posse with my own side as I happened to be, and I grinned, gripped my crop and brandished it in his face most threateningly and not to my surprise, no retort was had.

  There was a rush of feet and then the Greys were forcing the prisoners to sit, facing the gates and demanding they stay hushed, if you know what’s good for you. Then they were chained together in groups of five and due to the arithmetic, only one solitary figure remained. It was Major Duff who, having forgotten only a few days before being knocked on his arse, strode over to the colonel, rattling his irons as he did.

  “Why, oh why, Colonel, did you not sally out when you had the chance? You could have saved them, saved Scotland, Britannia, the Empire. It’s all your doing, sir. Why didn’t you just obey the order? All those men, brave warriors, sent to their deaths to protect us, while you sat here and did nothing.” He was on his knees by this point and it was hard not to be moved by the weepy nature of the tirade. “You cursed us, cursed us all, sir, and I hope you’re able to live with yourself, for how ever long that might be.”

  Dolan was caught off guard by it and now, as most of the men were unsure where to look, there was genuine uncertainty in his eyes as he shuffled on the spot and silently appealed to anybody in the vicinity for help.

  It was Skinner who came and stood between major and colonel. “They all be dayd, Meejor, every last one of ‘em and all because of us.” He displayed his crooked teeth and pointed toward the rest of the prisoners as though the conversation was over and he’d better return to his fellows sat on the ground, or else.

  To the surprise of everyone, especially my own unrelatable self, Major Duff stepped not toward his chaps and temporary safety, but closer to the berserker. “And you…you’re the biggest turncoat of the lot. Don’t think I don’t see things, sir! He,” and he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward Dolan, “he’s just a boy, but you, you’re a monster and unfit to wear one of the great uniforms of Britannia.”

  Skinner stepped forward and it was like seeing the worst mismatch in history. “Well, why doon’t yee try teek it off me then.”

  My proximity to the rapidly escalating dispute had been far too close for my pleasure and even I was surprised to look up only to find I’d spent the last few seconds pacing backwards without knowing it so that I no longer felt threatened. Sometimes my ability to sense danger and my resulting self defence actions amazed even me.

  “Oh, you’d love that wouldn’t you and maybe I still would if I weren’t bound and chained like a negro.” Duff stepped forward again and had to crane his neck to look the demon in the eye.

  Was Duff trying to tempt him into a fight, a duel perhaps? His prospects couldn’t be any more grim regardless. But unless he was planning on fighting Skinner with artillery, I didn’t fancy his chances. Or was he trying to inspire passion in the other prisoners, perhaps with the intention of instigating a coup?

  The latter sounded ridiculous, especially to me, because in no way could I ever relate to military men. But then Duff did something that confirmed he was indeed attempting to put fire into the bellies of his fellows.

  Duff sidestepped Skinner and half stomped, half rattled and jangled toward the men sat agog on the ground, raising his arms repeatedly in a gesture of rise up and clanking his chains.

  “Now’s the time
lads, now’s the time to prove your worth, to prove that no matter what degradation they’ve put you through that you’re still soldiers and British soldiers at that, bigad. I will tell you this, boys, they will not again put me down in that stinking pit, to eat rot served by the town reject, no. We’re all better than common negroes and I refuse to be kicked and shoved and spat on by those traitors,” and again, for whatever reason, I was singled out by his pointy finger, “so it’s time to make your choice. Who’s with me, what? Who’s ready to die for Britannia?”

  The response was mixed, probably because most of them were starving and in no physical state to rise up. That had been my doing and it’s funny how past actions often come back to haunt you, but if Duff could at least somehow take Skinner, and perhaps a few others down too, he’d be doing me a great favour.

  By now though, Duff’s words were having an effect beyond even what he’d intended. Most of the sixteen men under his direct command were vibrating with desire to stand, less malnourished and demoralised that they were, but found themselves prevented from doing so only by the others, the former Greys to whom they were tethered, because wisely, the groups had been mixed. These Greys, the prisoners, would probably have made a better show of it, if not for the fact they barely had enough meat on them to hold their breeches up, although there was one, Captain Norris, in the middle of the downtrodden lot, who, along with another, managed to haul up and support the other three.

  The surprising thing was that even a few of the rogue Greys were biting their bottom lips whilst hands wavered over sword hilts, like they were just seeing where this was going before making up their minds. By this point I’d moved so far away I could barely hear Duff’s words.

  To compound matters, the prisoners had indeed in the meantime been issued with cavalry blades, all apart from Duff himself, not that such small details mattered to him.

  “Shropshires, Greys…on your feet…let’s take back this garrison!” He screamed and then a pistol fired and blood gushed from his nose.

  Major Duff collapsed over the cobbles to reveal Skinner’s form looming behind, smoking pistol in hand.

  He remained on the spot and calmly reloaded the weapon and once he had, strolled to within a few paces of the prisoners, his hairy chest bursting out through unbuttoned tunic. “The next man who stands meets with the seem feyt.” He glared over them all, not the one returning the eye and even Norris, to his credit for a change, was sitting and keeping quiet. “Yee do as yee’re toold, yee fayt the dayd when they come and yee die like the scum that yee is.”

  McGregor appeared as if from the walls and slinked up beside his inamorato, all confidence and laughed. “That’s what happens when you don’t know your place, scum.”

  There was barely a man in the garrison, on either side, not gritting their teeth after hearing that taunt and even I found myself with the urge to employ my crop to him, except he’d probably enjoy it.

  But there was no doubt about it, as Major Duff lay dead on the cobbles, that that was the bravest man I ever came across. And where did it get him? No - It was a reminder to me just where bravery gets you and why I chose not to partake. Unfortunately, I now had to resign myself to the fact that any opportunity for a coup had gone with the passing of that man and that the rest of us were in the hands of a pair of madmen and the multitudes of zombies beyond the walls.

  And when the realisation struck, I felt sicker than at any time I could recall, worse even than that night I spent tethered to a post in the Irish wilderness where any moment I could have been mauled to death without knowing it. This was worse than the duel in which I was forced to partake and the time I slaughtered all those dead in the forest and Strabane and squatting in a dungeon whilst waiting for Lynch to find and finish me. This was worse because it was one slow tragedy after another, all merged into one. There was no hope and there was no way out. And all the time, I missed most appallingly that German princess who, in a fit of madness, I jilted and left in a stream of tears. How I longed for Gertrude and the life I now knew I wanted to give her, the life I wanted for myself, of boredom and routine and monotony and safety, everyday rattling the same girl - It didn’t sound so bad now did it. But instead I was here, in Edinburgh, stuck and helpless and I was sure to die a most horrible death and there was no knowing when that might be, by whose hands and by what method. It was all too much but I could do nothing about any of it.

  That night I was so full of funk and apprehension I even spurned my wench. She went by the name of Aggie and, most unusually for a whore, didn’t like having to find another man to spend one of her last nights on earth rogering. Normally circumstances, no matter how grave, never bothered me enough to take such drastic measures and although yes, I was randy and doubted not my ability to perform, even in such moments, I knew that by doing so, it would remove my mind from more pressing matters, such as escaping this prison.

  Sleeping proved difficult, even without those two snoring oafs who were probably now lying at the bottom of the Clyde with a sack of coal tied to their ankles, and so I ventured out into the courtyard to where, as usual, nightly feasts were being had.

  A half dozen carcasses turned on as many spits where men gathered around the flames, ripping apart their bounties, regaling fellow rogues with stories of yore, sinking back the ales or the drams, smoking cheroots, playing fiddles, those bloody pipes and dancing. Aggie was being bent over a cart by a trooper, with another three in wait behind and nearby other whores were receiving similar. The occasional bout of fisticuffs would ensue from only the slightest provocation and then crowds would gather to watch and cheer, or not, so commonplace it had become. And always, in the gloom, you couldn’t take three steps without treading in animal shit.

  The prisoners were there still, sitting with heads hung so low it was hard to tell whether or not they were sleeping. They must have been starving, yet beg for scraps they did not. It was simple - They were better than us. And each one of them would be put to the dead before a single one of us.

  Daylight revealed a worse than usual yard full of drunken Scots who’d spent the night in the elements, some fully naked, others bleeding from faces, bodies or anuses.

  But the morning revealed one more important detail.

  “It’s really picking up now, Captain.” Muir shook his head, but not at the dead who’d gathered in extraordinary numbers beyond the ditches, but at the state of the courtyard and the men within it. “Sodom and Gomorrah…it’ll almost be a relief when they finally take us.”

  “Bloody hell.” Was my reaction upon looking out over the wall from the stool that I stood. I was far less preoccupied with the sins of man and more affected by the other point. “Tell me, Major, what’s the population of Edinburgh?”

  He turned to me with a grim expression. “Two hundred thousand.”

  Instinctively, I looked again to the latrines, to the cess that dripped from the steps and the feet that poked out from within. “Oh…” my voice came out as a squeak as I could think of little else to utter.

  It was a revelation most diabolical and I hoped the vast majority of Edinburgh’s people had been torn apart within their homes and completely devoured and thus were rendered unable to further torment me. Either that or they were still holed up and resisting, pinning the dead down and keeping them away from the barracks. The infantry had put a stop to many, many untold thousands of them, the evidence of that was on Braid Hills where the corpses still lay in long straight lines where each volley had struck. But plentiful had pushed on to destroy some of the best soldiers that ever existed and now, if that weren’t enough, thanks to Edinburgh, their numbers were augmented more so. The tenements would have been too easy for them, some of the blocks, that housed many dozens of families, lacked doors of all things. But it was hard to guess at how many people from the city would now be turning on us in their new forms. There were indeed zombies in Black Watch and Highlander uniforms loitering without the walls, as though waiting for some invisible signal to attack, but
one had to search hard to find them. Most of the infantrymen had been fully devoured and had therefore not added a great deal to their numbers and I hoped most in the Old Town had met with a similar fate. Whether a living person would end up turning into a walking, shambling mess seemed to depend upon just how much had been devoured and was there enough left over afterwards to rise up and stagger about, and were their brains left suitably intact to enable what little cognitive function they possessed to continue. Either way, it wasn’t like I could ask for their opinion on the matter, but I knew I was as much an expert on this phenomenon as anyone else, and hadn’t asked for any of it.

  My mind digressed most appallingly, because a sense of impending imminence hung rancid in the air. It was like everyone knew it too, which was why ever less love and care to uniform and personal well being was in evidence all around. All except for myself, that is, who still expected to escape.

  And I was never one to waste away the day in grief, not when proactivity at ensuring my longevity could be taken and so, with no help from anyone else, I donned some cavalry gloves and rolled out the barbed wire coils, ensuring to cover all points of possible entry. I didn’t for a moment think the spikes and razors would deliver me, but hoped they would at least delay and dissuade the forthcoming intruders.

  Those watching from the safety of the castle knew something too because there was an increase in pigeons that dived over the barrack walls and through Dolan’s opened office window. From their soaring position they’d have the best possible view of the dead, where they massed, to where they moved, how many and all whilst knowing they were safe. It was a place I longed to be, especially considering I doubted they’d descended into debauchery quite like we had. Not that vice and impropriety bothered me overly, but they were always signs of where things were heading. A few weeks trapped inside with only ourselves was all it required to turn from an extreme of uniformity and regulation, if illegal, to inebriated troopers lying in their own, and everybody else’s filth, the drunken sodomy of their fellows and who knew what else, for I’d not properly looked, and the dead hadn’t even broken in yet.