Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter (Book 2): The Axe Will Fall

by Verstraete, C. A.

  She followed Pierre’s gaze and frowned at his look of consternation when their so-called new “friend” tried to get the attention of the girls’ boyfriend, Aiden.

  “We’d better get out of here,” Lizzie whispered.

  Before they could move, a scraggly-haired giant of a man dressed in ragged pants and a blood-splotched butcher’s apron walked in. Lizzie grabbed Pierre’s hand as she eyed the long dirty cotton roll laid across his bulging arms. Others hurriedly stumbled backwards, leaving the center of the floor clear.

  The man gave a hard laugh and let the roll thump to the floor. He held tight to the ends of both ropes snaking out from inside the cloth. “You’ll be likin’ this one,” he roared. “Which of ye brave souls wants to be fightin’ the monsters this week?”

  Her heart pounding, Lizzie buried her face in Pierre’s jacket, afraid to see the horrific thing the man had brought with him, and afraid to not look. But she did.

  “Unwrap it,” the butcher ordered.

  Two men came from the back of the crowd, knives in hand. They quickly cut the ropes around the bundle and pulled, their actions unrolling the sheet. A gasp went up from the onlookers as a ravaged arm flopped into view, the surface mottled with blackened holes revealing bits of gray bone.

  Grimaces on their faces, the men yanked the end of the sheet, unfurling it even more. Lizzie chewed on her lip, every nerve on edge as the men’s actions uncovered two legs peeking out from a ragged dress no longer distinguishable as blue or gray, one foot clad in a ruined boot, the other but bare bones.

  An ugly, low growl from the creature on the floor pushed the crowd of onlookers back even further. The sheet rustled and moved, holding onto its deadly occupant as it shuffled and tried to emerge from its dirty cocoon. Not one person dared move or make a sound as the monster twisted about, slowly revealing more of itself. The smell of rot grew stronger. Several in the crowd began to cough.

  The undead creature fought and grasped at the covering until it emerged, an ugly, deadly reminder of the end results of this terrible scourge. It clawed at the floor and bar with bony fingers until it somehow managed to pull itself to its feet. Wobbling and standing on one bare foot, one shod foot, it turned its half-skeletal face their way. Its teeth clacked. A low moan drifted from the gruesome lips. It swiped at the crowd and tried to move forward, stopped only by the rope tied around its scrawny waist, the other around its neck like a noose, both held tight in its captor’s beefy hands.

  Lizzie dared let out her breath in relief, thankful this creature was unknown to her, meaning no one she might have recognized in life. Not that it diminished the horror.

  “Well?” The butcher folded his arms across his broad chest and peered out at the crowd. “No one? Come now. No one’s willin’ to be meetin’ this fine lass?” He gave a loud guffaw at his own joke.

  With that, he gave the creature a shove, sending it stumbling and teetering toward the front row of onlookers. It reached out with bony arms and fingers, mouth working, teeth chomping. Screams filled the room. Others coughed as the nasty smell of rot wafted over the small space.

  “Come on, she’s lookin’ for a kiss,” someone yelled.

  Nervous titters broke out as the crowd moved away from the approaching creature. Then a cry went up from the back of the crowd. “How about him?”

  Lizzie sucked in air as the man who’d first sat at their table pushed his way through the rows of people, his finger pointed straight at Pierre. Soon most of the crowd began clapping and stomping their feet on the scarred wooden floor. Agitated by the noise, the creature growled and snarled, teeth chomping as it fought against its restraints. It reached out, fingers grasping. People jumped out of reach, safe for the moment with the monster confined by its bonds. Its groans grew louder and more desperate sounding. UNNHH. ARRRGH.

  Despite the danger, the crowd of onlookers clapped and jeered as they jumped out of reach, taking up the blood-thirsty cry: “Him-Him-Him!”

  But worse were the spiteful looks on the faces of the couple who moved up to the front and stood next to the instigator—none other than her so-called housemaid Eileen and her boyfriend, Aiden.

  Lizzie could stay silent no longer. “No, no, you can’t do this! This is madness!”

  The young woman folded her arms and began to laugh. “Madness? I’d say ‘tis time we be makin’ it a wee bit more interestin’. Sounds like the lady wants to be joinin’ in, don’t ye now? Ye got yer axe Miss Lizzie Borden?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Q. Have you had occasion to consider the subject of the spattering of blood when blows are struck in the manner in which you have heard these blows described?

  A. Yes, sir.

  Q. What can you say as to that generally?

  A. It might spatter in any direction and might not spatter in every direction.

  Q. That is, there is no rule at all?

  A. No, sir.

  —Testimony of Edward S. Wood,

  Trial of Lizzie Borden, June 13, 1893

  T

  he crowd moved in tight, leaving neither Pierre nor Lizzie room for escape.

  “Get ready,” Pierre warned. “I’m not leaving anyone out in this fight.”

  The adrenalin pumped through her as Lizzie leaped to the side and pulled out her bat. Pierre jumped to his right and punched one of the men in the audience square in the face, hard.

  “Hey! You son of—”

  Another man threw several wild punches, most hitting only air. Pierre did his own fighting, caught as he was in center of it all. The whole room erupted into a chaotic melee of screams, curses, and yells, with men striking out at whoever was in the way.

  The women didn’t stand on the sidelines, pulling hair and punching each other as well. Lizzie kept to the back of the fight, hitting out when needed, but careful not to give the same life-threatening blow she’d give to one of the undead. She hit to the body with enough force to get someone out of the way or push them down. Most times the attacker turned, and seeing her wild-eyed stare and bat, they scrambled away before she took a swing.

  A sudden ear-splitting blast acted like water over a flame. Everyone stopped in an instant. The butcher banged on the end of the wood bar with the butt of a well-used Winchester rifle. “Ye all be fightin’ for nothin’! Ye want a fight? Have your fight!”

  He cut the end of one rope, and let go of the other, turning the monster loose. People screamed and ran for the rear exit, some falling, others stumbling in their haste to escape. They stomped and climbed over the fallen, no one caring or looking for who might be beneath their feet.

  Lizzie stayed back and searched the crowd in a panic, trying to find Pierre in the fleeing mob. She saw him in the back, fighting his way out of a group trying to squeeze out the door. The ghoul shambled behind, its groans and snarls growing louder as it closed in on the pile of people who’d fallen. Screams broke out as some of the wounded, and those lying on the floor, tried to push their way out of the pile too late. The ghoul latched onto the arm of someone on top of the pile and bit. The man screamed as it gnawed on him. Others scrambled and pushed away in terror.

  Despite the treatment she and Pierre had received, Lizzie couldn’t leave anyone to such a horrid fate. She stuffed the bat back into her bag and pulled out the hatchet. She repositioned her weight on her heels. Readying herself, she switched the weapon from one hand to the other, letting her anger build. Then she leaped.

  “AIYIIII!” She threw herself at the monster, weapon held high. The creature turned from its intended targets, meeting Lizzie with a loud growl. UNNNNHHHH. It swiped at her, fleshless fingers grasping, but Lizzie wasn’t put off. She jumped aside, raised the hatchet in a two-fisted grip, and swung. WHAM! It hit the monster in the side of the face, jarring several teeth loose. They bounced to the floor like the devil’s own dice in hell’s casino.

  The creature roared and swiped at her again. UNNNHHH. ARGGGH.

  She took a breath, concentrating on correcting her aim. At an earlier
time, this would’ve been a single hit, she knew, realizing her aim was off. Focus. I need to stay in focus.

  “Steady,” Pierre called from across the room. “Keep steady!”

  She nodded, took a deep breath, and swung again. This time the axe landed where it should, dead center in the creature’s bony forehead. It stopped in mid-growl and crumbled, falling to the floor like a pile of discarded building blocks.

  Satisfied with the outcome, she yanked the hatchet from the creature’s skull. A glance at the man laying there, his arm bloodied, his eyes already rolling back in his head, told her he was beyond saving. Without hesitation, she brought the weapon down on his head, ending his undead misery to come.

  Wiping the gory tool on the end of the monster’s ragged gown, she tucked it back in her bag before rushing to Pierre’s side. He helped pull the injured and fallen to their feet. “We need to go,” she whispered.

  He kept his voice low and moved closer. “I know. Let the others finish this. Start backing away, slowly toward the front door. I’ll follow you. Go, go!”

  Lizzie slowly backed away from the pile of injured and those trying to rescue them. She kept going until she reached the last two scarred wood tables and chairs sitting about three feet from the entrance. Taking her time, she tried to look inconspicuous, pretending to grab one of the drinks even as she slid over to the last table. She took a swig, choking on the stale beer, while she looked around. She was glad to see Pierre had moved to the end of the group. He nonchalantly shuffled to the next table and grabbed a drink, as well. He took a sip and nodded at her, mouthing the words, “get ready.”

  Adrenaline pumping, she got ready to run when a man emerged from within the crowd and lunged, a chair held high overhead. “Pierre, look out!” she yelled.

  Her cry of warning came too late. She cringed in horror, frozen to the spot, as Pierre turned but couldn’t escape the brunt of the attack. The man broke the chair over Pierre’s head, who gave a stunned look before slumping to the floor. Lizzie tried to run to him when someone grabbed her arms tight.

  “Not so fast, lassie.”

  She fought against her captor, knowing it was useless when she looked up into the ugly, grinning face of the giant man towering over her—the butcher.

  “No, let me go, leave me alone!”

  “Aye, ye’ll be fine soon, ye will.”

  The man laughed as she struggled against his iron grip, her attempts to scratch and bite only making him laugh harder.

  “Aye, lass, it’s useless to be fightin’. It’s best ye be takin’ yourself a nap now.”

  “No, no, you can’t—”

  No one heard her muffled screams nor paid attention to the giant man who held her tight in what could’v e been taken for an amorous embrace. He held the dirty rag over her mouth and nose. She struggled against the sweet, flowery smell of the chloroform, but soon ceased to fight. Her arms dropped to her sides as she fell into a deep, dark pool of nothingness.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Q. In life what is the consistency of the human skull?

  A. It is brittle.

  —Testimony of Dr. Robert A. Dolan,

  Trial of Lizzie Borden, June 13, 1893

  L

  izzie shook her head and grimaced at the rush of pain. It felt like she’d been trampled, stabbed, or worse. She scrunched her eyes and held her hands at the sides of her throbbing temples, unsure of where she was, or what had happened to her. The onslaught finally calmed several minutes later to a dull ache.

  Now that she could think clearly, the memories trickled in… the crowd… the giant man grabbing her… the awful, moaning creature. She started and tried to push herself away as the distinct keen of the undead came to her ears. Her eyes slit, she slowly acclimated herself to the dim surroundings, her heart pounding in fear like a drum in Mr. Sousa’s marching band. Was the creature close?

  After several minutes of hearing nothing else, she looked around in confusion. Where was she? Rough wooden walls, the wood weathered a dull gray from age, surrounded her. She sat on dirt, unsure why there were pieces of hay scattered here and there. The scent of animal dung filtered through her nose. Her head still felt foggy from whatever that horrible man had drugged her with. She looked around and saw stalls on the other side. Animals, hay… She was in a barn, but where—and why?

  Another moan somewhere to her left made her twitch in alarm. She stifled the urge to yell or make any noise, leery of what else might be in here with her. Then her concern overshadowed her own fears. “Pierre? Is that you? Are you all right?”

  Something, or someone groaned, a sound that made goosebumps break out on her arms. She looked down in shock at the long chain attached to the shackle on her ankle. It hooked to an iron pole behind her. Trapped! What if one of those creatures was in here with her?

  Another sound drifted across the room, causing her to tug at the chain in a panic. It rattled, but held tight. She scanned the room for some kind of escape, disappointed to see nothing that would help. But to her relief, the next thing she heard wasn’t some ghoul’s undead groan, but the more welcome sound of Pierre’s voice.

  “Liz…” He took a deep breath. “Lizzie, are you there? I can’t see you. There’s some kind of wall next to me.”

  “Pierre, I’m here! Are you hurt?”

  He sighed and let out another long groan. “A colossal headache. Where are we?”

  “I think we’re in a barn or something. I don’t know where.”

  She heard shuffling and the clank of chains as he moved. “Oh, I’ve a knot on my head the size of Profile Rock.” He let out a string of muttered curses in both French and Gaelic. “Sorry. It’s best you don’t know what I’m saying.”

  “I understand. I’m chained, too. I don’t see any way to get loose.”

  The chains on his side of the room clanked again. “I’m going to see how far I can pull myself over. You do the same. Maybe we can get closer, or at least see each other.”

  She listened to his grunts, and the jangle and clank of the chains, as he maneuvered himself. Her efforts brought her at least another two feet out beyond the pole, but no further unless she wanted to break her ankle. She stopped pulling and strained to get a better look at the other side of the room in the dimness.

  “Pierre? I see a wall and some gates. I don’t see you.”

  The sounds of clanking and grunts filled the room. She gave an enthusiastic yell as she saw his hand waving. Then he poked his head around the edge of the wall.

  “I’m so glad to see you!”

  “Likewise. It would be much nicer under other circumstances, of course. Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. “No. Ugh. Only a headache. Whatever they knocked me out with, I think.”

  “Well, I know what they knocked me out with judging from the big lump on my head. The question is why.”

  A door banged out of view at the rear of the building. “Quiet now,” he warned.

  She shoved herself closer to the wall, careful not to make any loud sounds in case something unwanted had come in. Her eyes darted side to side as she looked for something, anything, she could use to defend herself. All she saw was the chain around her ankle. She’d have to use it if needed.

  A loud voice broke the silence. “I suppose ye’re waitin’ to find out why ye’re here.”

  Pierre called out in anger. “Show yourself, you slimy bastard. Who’s there?”

  A second later, the large, ungainly form of the butcher came into view. “I’d be savin’ all my bravery for later if I was you. Ye’ll be needin’ it.”

  The man’s laughter made Lizzie bristle. “What do you want with us? Let us go!”

  He took another two steps forward and stood like an iron statue, hands folded in front across the bib of his dirty, bloody apron. “A woman after me own black heart, I’d say. Miss Borden, ‘Tis a pleasure to be meetin’ someone who knows how to swing an axe, and so well. I like a lass who’s got some character and muscle. I’d like to be ma
kin’ more of our time together, but there’s more pressin’ matters right now.”

  “I wouldn’t give you the time of day!” Lizzie protested. “Let me go and I’ll show you what I really think.”

  “Ach, me boy.” He roared with laughter. “Ye sure this one ain’t got a bit a the Irish in her? Such fire!”

  Pierre snorted. “Never mind all the talk. Why are we here?”

  The grizzled old intruder lumbered forward so they could see him better. He stroked his long matted black beard, a strange leer on his face. Lizzie glared back, her hackles rising at his presumption.

  “Aye, lass, a shame we not be meetin’ under other means. A real shame it is. Now, why are we all here? Well, it’s better explained by this, I think.”

  With that, he turned and disappeared out of view.

  “What is he doing?” Lizzie asked.

  “I don’t know. Be on alert.”

  The clank of chain and the susurrus of someone—or some thing’s—feet across the dirt floor filled the room.

  Lizzie gulped. Her nerves tingled in anticipation of what their strange captor was leading their way. Judging from the telltale smell of rot and death, it wasn’t good.

  With a smirk on his face that looked more grimace than smile, the butcher moved back into view and yanked the pole in his hand. “Aye, I think ye might be knowin’ this one, wouldn’t ye?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Q. Did you have any occasion to use the axe or hatchet?

  A. No sir.

  Q. Did you know where they were?

  A. I knew there was an old hatchet down basement; that is all I knew.

  —Testimony of Lizzie Borden at inquest,

  August 9-11, 1892

  L

  izzie moved back and stared, both hands nervously clasped before her. The ugly ghoul, a chain around its scrawny neck attached to the pole the butcher held, staggered into view.