He remained expressionless and wiped snot from his face with a sleeve, taking the weapon and giving a slight nod.
“Good, now off you go and avenge your friend. It’s what he’d want…nay…expect of you, my lad.” I almost dared breathe as another door slammed shut outside.
“Captain Skinner?” He blubbered.
“Captain Skinner.”
And I watched as he brushed away the uniforms, slowly stood and gave a sweet little look of determination in which his chin wrinkled up and then he was pacing toward the exit like he was carrying his slop, it was all nothing to him. He opened the door as casual as you like, closing it after him as I resubmerged myself into darkness, training all my concentration into the one ear that peeked out.
The seconds ticked by, painful seconds as beyond, the thuds intensified as what could only be Skinner dismantling the room next door in search of me filled my entire existence. Something creaked, another loud thud, some rattling, an expletive and a door slamming.
The shot startled me…
…someone groaned, a large weight slammed into the ground, there was a muffled voice through the thick walls and feet running which diminished to nothing. Finally there was another muffled voice, this one of a higher pitch.
And buried beneath I remained for several minutes as my thoughts played the devil and I contemplated the many possible outcomes. Had Johnny, or whoever, done the deed? Or had the monster got to him first? Worse - Had Skinner been shot and not killed and did my assassin blab my name under extreme duress? And when the time came that I could stand it no more, I threw aside the togs and hobbled for the exit as quietly as possible.
I opened the door, looked to my left and saw the man writhing on the floor in an obscenely large pool of red - Skinner.
“Thank God, he did it.” I could have cried and the giant was pained to swivel his bleeding neck to see me, his mouth making odd pulsating movements like a fish through a bowl and I gave ample room as I manoeuvred around, the heavy pouch of coin jingling in my belt.
By the time I emerged again outside, the situation had deteriorated yet further, if that was even possible. The dead were everywhere, encircling the few remaining prisoners who stood in the middle of vast piles of corpses, what few Greys remained were either with them or fighting futile efforts backed into corners. Cows, sheep, pigs and the rest were playing a never ending game of tig and breaking for the exit whenever possible - But it was possible, because the dead, who’d been pouring in, now merely trickled and I wondered if this was because their numbers had been spent, or otherwise ours had.
Jimmy was busy skipping about boasting he’d shot Skinner and wielding my pistol in a most unthreatening way. It was then I saw McGregor, his body hanging by the neck from a post with a crowd of dead chomping at his legs. After enraging a few too many dangerous people, with Skinner dead his obedient never stood a chance.
But it was to Dolan I made my move, not that he could any longer prevent me doing what I wanted anyway, but why risk a bullet in the back, from him or anyone else who still remained loyal. He was there, leaning back, chess game apparently abandoned, cradling a brace of birds in his arms, twitching much like his friends and watching the scene before him with glassy eyes.
It was now I remembered I was supposed to put a bullet in him, but that was all to pot given Jimmy was proudly displaying my pistol as the weapon that murdered Skinner. Regardless, the dead would have him soon enough anyway and myself too if I wasn’t quick, so Sheehan and Horse Guards could have their order, because I may have been many things, but a murderer I was not.
I threw down the pouch. “Twenty thousand pounds plus change and with that I will bid you good day, sir, and best wishes.” I turned back to face the scene, the carnage, the death, the hopelessness and froze.
I’d been so set on giving Dolan his money and cutting my cable that, even though I’d seen it, my brain had refused to believe it.
The Greys were no more, we were no more, Dolan was no more! And to look at him was to wonder if even he now knew it.
And I saw not a route to the gates, nor even the stables that wasn’t so thick with zombies that I could guarantee safe passage. There were now so few meals to be had that many of the dead had given up bothering and I watched as one large group simply strolled out the gates in the hopes of finding someone else, yet those who still lived found themselves completely immersed and fighting for every second of extra existence. How Dolan had remained untouched from his position I knew not. Perhaps the dead had no love of pigeons, maybe it was his high egg protein diet that did it, or perchance he had too little grey matter to be worth the hassle. Either way - Given the direness of it all, I now doubted even my ability to abscond in one piece from Redford Barracks.
“Oh, da money,” he said in a voice thick of Paddy, yet otherwise surprisingly calm, “I was never really dat bothered about it. I just wanted me old chum Strappy here…help out, inspire da men, help me make somet’ing of meself.” He stood and moved toward me while all I could do was wonder if it had all been for nothing. “I always did admire you and your achievements and bravery.”
“You were never really bothered about it?” I could have wrung his bloody neck and that of all his birds, and would have done if not for William Wallace’s blade strapped to his person. Oh, it would have been fitting, an Englishman dying by it.
“Well, I suppose you’ll be off now den, right? Debt repaid. Oh, ok den. It’ll be a shame to lose you. I was rather hoping it’d be like old times and we could go whoring together.” A zombie approached and Dolan fired his pistol at its head, sending it sprawling back - More were coming.
I moved two steps toward the gates, then changed direction moving three to the stables and only ended up closer to Dolan. I looked at him, his ridiculous muttons thick like copper tumbleweeds. “Aren’t you running for it?”
He shrugged and shook his head. “T’ought I’d stay around, maybe try save da regiment, or what remains o’ it.”
“What? Are you mad? What regiment? It’s gone, you bloody fool. And if you have any desire to survive then we…you, must break for it now, you understand me?” I almost gave his arm a tug but was stood too close to that monstrous blade. Rather off putting.
He stepped away. “Ah, about dat…you see, I don’t t’ink I can abandon me men just like dat Strappy…a captain and his sinking ship and all…” his face jerked in rictus, upsetting the birds, “all I ever wanted was to be a colonel…well, ever since you suggested it anyways and dat’s what I am, but da minute I step out t’rough dose gates, I’m no longer a colonel, but a failure. Do yee understand me?”
“To the blazes with it man!” I was incredulous and none of his moralistic reasoning made any sense to me. What did make sense was my, our lives, and that if we didn’t run for the gates, or anywhere, right now, the chance would be gone.
I knew there was no getting through to him, at least not with anything I’d already attempted, which left me with only one remaining alternative.
“Dolan, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for lying about paying you twenty thousand pounds because I never had it, you see, but what else was there to be done? My life was on the line, dammit, and I never did thank you for saving my wretched existence…you did an incredible job…you saved me, Dolan and now I’d like to try and save you.” Bigad, but I was actually crying and I didn’t know if it was because of the moment or because I knew I was seconds from being killed as the dead crept closer and Dolan fired off a round from another pistol strapped to his belt. “You were better than me, bloody hell, you’ve proven that haven’t you. Who knew you could ever accomplish such things as all this, well you sure showed us, you’re a true warrior, but please, we really must leave this place, now!”
He looked me in the eyes and there was a moment, as the pigeons sprang to the table to rejoin their friends and he nodded and smiled and there was no hint of a twitch. “You really t’ink I did well, Strappy?”
“Yes.”
The word came out with complete solemnity. “Please, let’s go.”
He looked one final time to his pigeons and nodded. “Oh, ok den, just one minute.”
I inhaled a deep breath and turned away, feeling the relief and there was the scrape of steel on steel from somewhere close and I turned back to find Dolan holding the Wallace blade and something in my ribcage thudded so hard it almost knocked me back.
He wielded the ridiculous thing, almost as long as himself and required both hands to maintain any sort of control.
And just when I thought he might jab me with it, instead he gave me one last look with something different in his eye, something I’d not seen since I’d sent him penniless from my front door back in Ireland. Then he took a large gulp of air, nodded and charged headlong, screaming into the nearest pack of kilted dead who were but paces from us.
I was so stunned all I could do was glare agape as he swung that most farcical of weapons like it was made not for the bane of England but for the very hands of this mad Irish fool. The dead fell by the twos and threes as every weighty stroke carried so much forward momentum no single zombie neck could bring it to a stop and the heads soon collected in a circle around the man as he continued screaming and then bounded for the next pack, this one so large he disappeared within. They thrashed for the scarce bounty with such extreme violence that they were on the verge of tearing each other apart, the whole organism pulsating together, more than one leaping over their kin to get to the centre and then the whole lot dropped to their knees, a sure sign Dolan was on the floor. I saw the blade thrust upwards, skewering two throats together and then there was a cry and the blade, with the two dead toppled sidewards.
It had been a noble act, assuming he’d made the sacrifice for my benefit and not because he dug such a deep hole there was no way of pulling himself from it. If Britannia would ultimately remember him as a traitor who doomed Scotland and quite possibly England too, well then, at least there was one person who knew he carried out at least one virtuous deed at the last, even if I could never say it - Would that be enough? Perhaps not for posterity, nor for the Dolan who surprised us all by becoming a rogue colonel, but for the sweet boy I knew before he lost his mind, perhaps. It was just a pity there was no body to bury and I never did find any trace of him, nor his leather bound binder with spring loaded arches, which was perhaps the greatest tragedy of the lot.
But back then, I had little time to regret Dolan, given that the barracks resembled a Scottish distillery town on Burns Night, the dead so thick I could barely even see the gates, never mind make a clean break for them. In my panic, my half blurred vision flicked toward the stables, only to find the dead staggering bodily from that direction too. Not only that, but now, with Dolan and the rest gone, there was only one viable feast remaining - Me!
It was like my worst nightmares had finally been realised as my bowels played the devil within me and any adrenaline, that was supposed to flood my veins in such moments to aid and propel my escape, simply failed to manifest. I was so spent even my own cowardly systems had abandoned me and unlike Dolan, I was far from the type to leave this world in a blaze of glory, sword in hand, stout of heart, and screaming defiance at the enemy. No, my instincts were to search even harder for any kind of crevice, raised platform, ditch, hole in the ground or animal carcass into which I could crawl and linger until that time I was taken by hunger, thirst or the elements.
And when I truly thought my only option was to collapse cobblewards and await my departure, that was when I saw it.
Where an impossibly large throng of dead now concentrated, there was resistance, of some sort, there had to be. In my desperation to witness for what I prayed, I pictured a circle of seasoned, ordered, practiced and, most importantly of all, fighting men, still with that spark of life and possessing the burning want to maintain it.
That was the only place for old Strappy and of their own volition, my feet were already moving at a clip and then amongst it all, the first human materialised - Jimmy.
I physically baulked, recoiled even and could have wept and probably did. To find salvation, if temporary, only to discover that gurning simpleton was what waited. But what other options were there?
He waved me over, that idiot smile fixed upon his face, like he was at the town bake sale, still flourishing my pistol as though he was actually helping.
I pressed on regardless, ignoring the pain shooting through my leg and then I saw it, the prisoners, still chained together and amongst them, standing defiant, Captain Norris. I beamed as my skin tingled.
Like the rest, Norris was too busy jabbing and prodding away to acknowledge my sudden bedraggled appearance and considering I’d once ordered him, under the threat of the cat, to dig faster, I was happy to leave it at that, and hoped he would too. He stood between two men dangling limp at the wrists, fastened by their manacles and required incredible strength, skill and presence to maintain such a strong and effective fighting stance whilst carrying that extra burden.
Finally, and with a beautiful nod, I was acknowledged, my arrival indeed greeted as a blessing, a Godsend and an incredible stroke of luck for them. And why not? I was the famous Captain Jack Strapper, after all. The hero of Ireland, the slayer of the dead, the nation’s champion with a statue to prove it and if Norris, his two remaining fighting comrades and even Jimmy desired the chance to see another day, then like myself, they had no option other than to forget all that trivial stuff from the past and allow me into their protective bosom. Still, it was a relief when Norris, whilst fending off three zombies simultaneously, took a moment to smile.
“Oh, thank Christ, Captain. You couldn’t find your way to perhaps drawing your sword and prodding a few of these chaps for us, could you? Lend a hand, so to speak, what?” His face and entire body was awash with so much blood, guts and other indescribables it was hard to know whether he was English or one from the dark races.
The other men grinned at having Captain Jack Strapper beside them for the finale and I do believe that amongst the cursing, straining and heaving noises, one of them even panted something with regards fighting to the death together and that it would be a pleasure to go down, sword in hand, with such a man as myself, all whilst they maintained defensive positions, jabbing forth and sticking the end into an eye whenever the opportunity would allow.
And let’s not forget Jimmy’s presence, striking them as he did with my pistol butt and doing about as much damage as I was, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to gaze at Norris, mimicking his sword arm and hitting out with the firearm in unison, mirroring his every other movement, flaky skin flushed and grinning like a circus chimp - Oh it was love alright and it was amazing how quickly Muir was forgotten. Pity they’d both be dead soon.
We five survivors stood with our backs together, facing outwards as I now took Norris’ advice, wide eyed and shaking and slid my hand most unfamiliarly toward my sword hilt, grasping air several times until I found the grip.
It was jammed, probably from overuse.
The chap to my right dispatched a ghoul as I strained and struggled to pull the blade free. How embarrassing. There were reasons soldiers checked such things before entering battle.
“How you getting on back there, Captain?” Norris shouted. “I hope you’re leaving some for the rest of us.”
“I hope you’re leaving some for the rest of us.” Jimmy repeated.
“Aye, just dispatched a half dozen…why don’t you mind your own, Captain.”
I continued yanking and heaving and then the comrade to my left screamed because a zombie’s mouth had bitten through his clavicle and I heard the bone break as he was pulled into the pack that surrounded us, leaving both Norris and the other unbalanced. They pulled the dead man back, leaving a third burden for them to carry.
“Damn their eyes…Lennox…he was a good man and now I’ll have to write his wife.” Norris ordered us to close up and now my shoulder was touching Jimmy’s to my left and the other trooper to my
right.
Oh but it was dire. We could have been the last four remaining men in Scotland, nay, Britannia for all I knew; a born killer and leader kidnapped like myself, an imbecile, some chap of no description with whom I had no time nor inclination to acquaint and, well, me, Strappy. And it truly showed how appalling it had become that I somehow managed to summon the strength, to finally draw my blade and with that peculiar grating sound of steel on steel, I slashed the edge across my left cheek and elbowed my flanking trooper in the eye.
I hammered him with such force he doubled over and from there it was no tricky task for the closest three or four zombies to jerk him hither by the head and then he was on the cold ground with blood surging from three wounds as Norris howled and Jimmy howled and would you believe it, but his manacle actually came free, leaving Norris unhindered from one side at least, which I prayed would make the difference.
I knew I was partially responsible, but it was an accident and in the moment I didn’t much care, as my cheek leaked blood and stung like a throat full of Scotch. After all, it wasn’t like I was the one presently gorging on his knackers, amongst other appendages.
Suddenly, Norris was aware of the situation and of his burden as he took down zombie after zombie, dead after dead. He was so worn out that red tinted sweat coursed from him. At some point his sword had bent from overuse and he’d cut through so many skulls it was jagged in several locations. “This is it Captain, but I don’t intend on leaving this world until I’ve taken a few more of these bastards with me.”
Jimmy nodded to his words but even he now recognised we were in our final moments as he’d given up impersonating his hero and had instead regressed into himself, having turned a few shades paler, pistol dangling limp in his mitt.
God only knew how I looked and I couldn’t help but wonder why Norris was saving me again and again, given that deep down he knew my true worth.
He decapitated two zombies with a single sweep. “Don’t worry, Captain, I made a promise to you and as a man of honour, I intend to keep it.”
Not Dead Yet: A Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1 - 2 Page 44
