Sherlock Holmes and the Zombie Problem.indb

by Nick S. Thomas; Arthur C. Doyle

  For all our preparation in firearms and swords, it how now come to this, and for a few moments I really did think it was the end of our most important adventure. Holmes, ever the boxer, jabbed at his assailant’s face, just trying to get free of the thing. Not wanting to put my flesh anywhere near the foul creatures mouth I took an undercut at my attacker whilst holding him back with my other hand, it barely caused the beast to flinch. I hit it again, and again, any such wound would have caused a normal man to release, but not these creatures.

  There was a clatter on the wall beside me; we could only hope not more beasts. Something struck my foe on top of the head, sending a length of metal flying across theroom. With the strike to the beast its head was smashed down, revealing the source of the attack. The old man who had been sitting at the bar held an old sword in hand that he had taken from the wall. It was a beautiful Schiavona, with its large and exquisitely sculpted basket hilt, the blade now only half its original length from the first blow that had broken it. Not letting the blade break dissuade him, he struck the creature in the head with the hilt of the sword, again and again, until the hilt was a bloodied mess and the beast was lifeless.

  As I looked over to Holmes, he had taken hold of a steak knife from the bar and was placing it vertically under the jaw, with one sure blow the blade drove up through the creature’s jaw and into the brain, dropping the beast to its knees. Disgusted by the filthy thing Holmes placed his boot upon its chest and kicked it to the floor.

  I looked back to the old man, a new fire in his eyes from the solemn and lonely man we had seen upon entering, and then it struck me who he was.

  “Dick Burton!” I cried.

  Without responding the man dropped the sword to the floor and went to sit at a nearby chair. It had to be him, the scarred face was rather distinctive, I had met him a number of times in the late seventies. Cyril and the rest of his men rushed through the entrance, barrels still hot and spouting smoke.

  “All in one piece?” Cyril asked.

  “Indeed, five minutes and we shall be on our way,” replied Holmes.

  “Then enough time for tea, barman!” Cyril shouted.

  We walked over to the old man, now sitting, quite relaxed and thoughtful.

  “Burton, is it really you?”

  The man looked up directly at me, and it was unmistakeable, the piercing look, he was now quite old, maybe seventy, but none of that fire had gone. What totally baffled me was that his death was reported in the papers six months previously, in Trieste I believe.

  “Watson is it?”

  “Yes Sir,” I gladly replied.

  “Dick Burton died last year, I am all that is left.”

  Drawing up chairs to Burton’s table, we sat to further question him whilst we reloaded our handguns. After some prompting it became clear that Burton had faked his death, wanting to be remembered as the man he used to be, and not the clearly saddened drunk he believed he had become.

  “Whatever your reasoning sir, you just saved our lives, and in doing so, perhaps saved England,” said Holmes.

  Something clearly awoke in Burton upon these words, a newfound pride I should imagine, he straightened his back, now sitting taller and prouder.

  “Thank you gentleman, you must please explain this turn of events in as few words as possible, so you may continue your travels and I will be better prepared,” Burton replied.

  Holmes knew the man’s reputation and did therefore not insult him with any form of simplification of the events; he began with the first attack in my home and paid particular attention to the attributes of the creatures.

  Burton gasped as if remembering something of what we spoke, which struck us as rather odd. He scratched his beard and pondered the information that Holmes had just imparted upon him. We both sat eagerly awaiting a response, for Burton clearly knew something of the matters we were now involved in. Finally he spoke up.

  “I have heard of such a thing, a long time ago, but never given it any credence.”

  “At this stage sir, we are quite willing to consider all possibilities, no matter how bizarre they may be. For the events of the past few days have been nothing that any decent man would believe, without experiencing it with his own eyes,” Holmes replied.

  “In my travels across Africa, a number of times I encountered such a thing called Vodou. The locals believed it to be a form of powerful magic, but then such a thing was not uncommon with uncivilised peoples. Within this Vodou magic, they believed a person could be brought back from the dead and controlled, and that they called these creatures a zombi. Now, I do not know the details of how such a thing may be done, as it was a closely guarded secret that I gave no attention of interest to, dismissing it as mere mystical nonsense.”

  “And I would have done the very same, but the unfortunate reality is that we may face such a magic, or science hiding under the name of magic, on a rather large and devastating scale,” Holmes replied.

  Burton further explained what little he knew, which was a large step up from our current knowledge. It was therefore entirely possible that Moriarty was using such a magic or science to conjure up these beasts. It was still totally unclear as to why he placed such importance in Switzerland, something I was hoping Holmes would shed some light on, and therefore asked him.

  “Switzerland may have no significance to the science or magic, but merely a safe location to pursue research and practice. It is safer and less likely to be drawn into war than any other country in Europe, whilst being a beautiful place to live. Is it not where you would live could you afford to do so Watson, among the splendour of the mountains and chalets?” Holmes replied.

  He made good points, it was far from his intended target, safe and beautiful, what more could any man want? At this stage we began to wonder whether Moriarty himself was the head of the snake, or was it his research and base in Switzerland.

  “Therefore, do we continue on to attempt to find his centre of operations, or do we go for the man himself?” asked Cyril.

  A fair question, and something which had continually been on our minds since this began.

  “At this stage we have too little information to know the answer to that question. Therefore, we must continue to find the villain’s home, which in doing so will eventually lead him to cross our path, ensuring we finish both him and whatever resources he has,” Holmes replied.

  “Should we not inform the authorities here about the impending disaster they face?” Egerton asked.

  “We will leave that to Johann,” Holmes said.

  “For no explanation we can give will be explained, and they will know soon enough, we must be on with our task.”

  They laid their various bags onto tables and began taking ammunition out, reloading the weapons and filling their pockets with what they could, it was a wise idea. Splitting up at this place was nearly the end of us, we had to avoid doing it again at all costs.

  “Will you come with us?” I asked Burton.

  “This is your adventure Watson. As far as the world is concerned I am already dead, and whilst this fight has given me a new reason to live, I do not wish to spend what could be me last days running around with younger men. No, I shall stay here, and defend this place with my life,” Burton replied whilst lifting his glass of wine to us.

  Time was going on and we needed to be on our way, it would likely be morning again by the time we reached Interlaken, though that would at least give us some rest overnight on the train.

  “It is time to move on, good luck to you gentlemen, and good afternoon,” said Holmes.

  We set out into the street, the bodies of twenty creatures, that we now knew were probably called zombis, lay across the cobbled street. Blood trickled into the crevices of what was a beautiful place. After losing Jacob, we moved through these bodies cautiously, we could not afford such a mistake again, now knowing the risk these beasts presented beyond physical harm. Stepping from body to body, my Schmidt-Rubin held at low port, a creature just a yard from my
feet opened its eyes, without hesitation I aimed the barrel at its head and let loose, the powerful round cleanlyfinishing the beast off instantly. As weedged through the bodies, two more rounds were fired from my colleagues for the very same reason. We were now through the carnage and feeling a little more comfortable, though no man relaxed. Each of us held their rifle or shotgun at the ready and continually looked around for potential risks. We made our way towards the station, which at this guarded rate took us at least ten minutes, though it felt much longer. The heat was bearing down upon us, which felt worse for the amount of equipment we were carrying.

  As we came to a small side alley I looked down it to check for threats, a man was leaning over something. I gestured to the others and took a few steps down the alleyway with Holmes alongside me and the others keeping an eye on all other directions. A few more steps in the man looked up at us in anger, blood dripped from his jaw onto what we could now see was his victim. Raising both our guns, we fired simultaneously to the head. I know my shot was accurately placed, but it vanished in the destruction which Holmes’ shotgun had caused, blowing the top half of the zombi’s head off, blood and gore splattering across wall and causing the lifeless body to keel over. Without hesitation Holmes racked the action of his shotgun, took a further few steps to the monster’s victim and fired directly at his head.

  “That poor man was dead, but he may soon have returned as a foul beast, we have both saved him from that fate and us from potential danger,” said Holmes.

  It was cold hearted, but totally necessary, these were wicked days and we must rise to the task, weak stomachs would achieve nothing. We walked back to the others who were still a little shocked by Holmes’ actions.

  “Move on!” shouted Holmes.

  In such a time of need we were blessed to have such a fearless leader at our front, and yet, it was no easier to accept. We continued on our cautious move towards the station, in what was the longest and most uncomfortable way I had ever covered such a short distance.

  Finally we reached the platform, it was empty. As we had found previously, trains and their stations were both a blessing and a curse. For having to wait was a daunting task, and likewise, the potential to be delivered into the jaws of the beast was always in the back of our minds, if only we still had the luxury of Mr. Fogg’s dirigible, I did indeed hope that the fine gentleman and his aide found safety.

  As before, we posted men at each end of the platform whilst the others rested on the benches. This time is was mine and Holmes’ turn to post guard. I took the north end of the platform, twenty feet ahead of the seating, whilst Holmes did the same for the south side.

  I stood on an empty platform, just under the shade of the roof, a small luxury. My suit was now clinging more uncomfortably than ever, with sweat infesting what felt like every thread of it. I looked down at myself, my shoes were caked in mud and grime, dried blood was splashed across the base of my trousers. My jacket was covered in powder residue, several holes were present on my right shoulder, probably from the Marlin’s misfire. I had never felt this dirty and grimy in all my life, not even in war. I truly hoped for a wash basin at the nearest opportunity, though a change of clothes was probably too much to ask for.

  Having been stood for quite a while, my feet now ached, in fact most of my body did. Was there no end to this nightmare? Staring out into the distance at the snow capped mountains, my mind wandered on to more joyous things. Thinking of England, my wife, and a more relaxing time, I fell into a day dream. The death and destruction around us didn’t seem to matter any longer, only our ultimate goal, and perhaps survival, though that was perhaps overly ambitious.

  I was startled from my standing dazed state by the hoot of a train, a pleasant sound right now. As I became fully awake I focused on the locomotive in the distance.

  The sound of a train trundling towards the platform you awaited at was always a relief, but never quite as much as this one. As the sheer excitement of getting away from this place began to take me to a happier mood, movement flickered off to the side of the train, along the length of the platform as a man stumbled onto it. In the shade and at distance I could not make him out. Another followed and then another, the familiar stumble of the zombis became clear to us, damn, this was not good timing.

  “Holmes!” I shouted.

  The men leapt up from their relaxed and semi-sleeping state on the benches, Holmes coming to the front.

  “We must hold them off long enough to get on board this train, or we are all done for,” said Holmes.

  “Form up!” shouted Cyril.

  The group quickly formed a line, we had efficiency, technology and proficiency in our arsenal, we only lacked numbers, a fact that was becoming ever more problematic.

  “Aim for the heads only and take your shots carefully, shotguns, hold fire, rifleman, fire at will!” Cyril shouted.

  We opened up, the first four rounds taking two creatures down. We were firing from a standing position at fifty yards, to hit a man was easy, to hit the head of a man under this pressure, less so. We continued firing, the other men needing to reload before me, with Cyril having his Mosin Nagant, the other two men using Mauser rifles.

  The train was approaching at a steady speed, there was no doubt we would get onboard. It was only a question of would we get moving again and if so, how many enemies were on the train? We fired as fast as we could, by the time I had fired my twelve rounds and Matthey two stripper clips worth, the train was pulling up alongside us and the beasts were just twenty yards away.

  Egerton ripped the nearest door open and we began piling into the carriage, it would at least provide a lot more defence than the open platform, just as we had done previously, we however faced a much larger enemy this time around. Holmes waited alongside the door for us to all be safely onboard. He then jumped on, just as the creatures were reaching the door, slamming the door behind him, hoping it would delay them by any degree, it didn’t. The door was immediately wrenched open and the first beast jumped aboard. Holmes put his shotgun firmly into his shoulder and fired into its face, destroying all recognisable features and making the body slump on to the oncoming horde.

  “Don’t stop, keep going, we must reach the engine, get this thing moving, and then worry about what enemies we have onboard,” Holmes shouted.

  The group kept on the move, we could fortunately move substantially quicker than the zombis. I reloaded my rifle as I moved, no easy feat with such a long rifle in a narrow corridor of the carriage. We ran through three whole carriages until we got to the front of the train, shocking the driver and crew.

  “Get this thing moving immediately!” shouted Holmes.

  The conductor who was talking to the driver tried to accost Holmes with the expected response, but Holmes smashed him across the jaw with the stock of his shotgun, knocking him down, he then aimed the weapon at the driver.

  “Do it, now!” he cried.

  The driver no longer took issue with Holmes and got immediately to work, no matter what he thought we were or our intentions, they were irrelevant. Any harm bestowed on these men to get the train moving they would likely thank us for later, when they saw the extent of the disaster the world now faced. A bruised jaw and ego was quite minor when the other option was death. The men were busy shovelling coal in when Holmes turned back to us.

  “Egerton, stay here, make sure they get us moving in the shortest time possible, the rest of you come with me,” said Holmes.

  We ran a carriage and a half back where we found the horde bearing down upon us. Spreading out across the benches the five of us took aim.

  “Fire!” shouted Holmes.

  An ear shattering volley rang out in the enclosed carriage. The first zombi was riddled with lead, with the second taking enough damage from the volley to drop also. We gave it our all, everything we had. Bullets struck the creatures in every area of their bodies. The shotguns at this range were delivering wicked damage, one took a head clean off, another blew an arm from its
socket. The carnage was as much devastating as it was an amazing thing to behold.

  The train lurched into motion, the most important thing in our lives at this time, and yet, the creatures were still coming at us. God knows how many of these beasts had got aboard the carriages in the last few minutes, it could be a hundred easily. All of our guns were now empty, with a mass of bodies in front of us and further enemies trying to clamber over their dead.

  “Back to the next car, we must sever the link between the cars!” shouted Holmes.

  It was a fine idea, as perhaps the only solution to our survival, as we would quickly run out of space with our backs to the engine. Whether we had enough ammunition was not the just the issue, whether we could reload and keep up the firing in the short spaces we had was. Quickly turning and fleeing to the next car, we shut the door behind us and Holmes took up a shovel from the outer of the carriage and wedged it against the door.

  “Cover me!” he shouted.

  Quickly reloading our weapons as the horde came ever closer to the door we had just left, Holmes got down onto the carriage linkage, he was evidently struggling to get it loose. Only Cyril and I could fit in the doorway to the carriage to give assistance to Holmes. Lifting our rifles, one creature was at the doorway, putting its fist immediately through the glass. We both fired, two shots into the head of the lead zombi, it went immediately limp against the doorway, slumping over the now broken window, giving us clear shots to the next creatures.

  The bolts of our rifles racked in time and we fired until our rifles were dry, but could not really see the extent of the damage we had caused, because for every creature we killed another would fill its place, desperately trying to push through the door, a perfect bottleneck. Below us Holmes was still struggling, he took up his shotgun and began striking the pinion with the stock, desperately attempting to loosen it. Cyril and I drew our pistols and simply fired though the window continually, our only aim here was to give Holmes the time he needed. My Adams revolvers were now empty, but Holmes had his hand on the pinion and was in the last stages of pulling it out. The door in front of us burst open and a creature broke through just as the pinion was released. Holmes rolled over to our side as the creature leapt at him, but with his shotgun at his hip he fired directly at the chest, knocking it back just enough to stop it from reaching our carriage, its head being obliterating by the oncoming carriage it had come from.