by D. R. Martin
It took a brisk thirty-minute walk to arrive at the burnt and shattered remains of St. Egbert’s. Johnny was appalled by what he saw. A library and medieval chapel destroyed. Books and clothing scattered about, soggy and ruined. Charred hulks of dormitories and classroom buildings. St. Egbert’s had practically been wiped off the face of the earth.
“How could anyone burn books?” asked an outraged Nina.
She was a real bookworm. Johnny figured that to her, destroying a novel or volume of history was almost as bad as committing murder.
They were walking across the grounds when someone popped out of an old shack at the near end of the soccer pitch. In a flash, a stubby, powerful man of about fifty rushed at them, an old, two-handed battle sword held at the ready.
Realizing there was no threat, he regarded his unexpected young visitors with a look of amazement. He let the tip of the heavy weapon rest on the ground before him.
“What in the world are you young people doing in a place like this? Don’t you know what happened here two weeks ago? Boys your age were taken by zombies! For all I know, they might have been made into meat pies by now.”
The man had a wild mop of brown hair, a prominent red nose, and a lazy left eye. His well-worn green coat looked as if he had been rolling around in the dirt.
Johnny, who found it a little hard to look at the guy, what with his eyes going in different directions, stepped up and made introductions. He even introduced Raj and Petunia, although he wasn’t certain the man had etheric vision.
“We’re here to do some fact-finding about the attacks,” Johnny explained.
“Yeah,” Marko said. “Johnny here is a news photographer who’s been sent to report on the troubles in MacFreithshire. And Nina is helping him write the stories. Iris and I have been hired to guide them around and keep them safe.”
“Were you here when the attacks happened?” Iris asked.
“That I was,” the man answered. “Name’s Angus Snodgrass. I’ve been the groundskeeper here for two decades and I’ve never seen anything like what happened that night. Dozens of boys taken. None of them heard from since.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“Any tips on how to fight zombies?” Marko asked. “If we run into some of these blokes, I want to be prepared.”
“Well,” Johnny interjected, “I can tell you that they’re big and strong and fast. And the best plan is to keep out of their reach. Whack and hit them with whatever you’ve got. That’s what we did that night in Royalton.”
Angus fixed Johnny with a quizzical expression. “You fought ’em?”
“We did,” said Nina. “But it was a policeman who saved our necks.”
Angus looked at Johnny and Nina with newfound respect. “Then I guess you’ve had as much experience with the creatures as I have. I agree with you about staying out of their grip. That’s why I’d advise you to turn tail and head back where you came from. Don’t press your luck.”
Johnny shook his head vigorously. “But the whole point is to get pictures of them. And write stories, too.” He thought it best not to say anything about their spying mission—he didn’t know who might be in cahoots with Percy.
“And I can’t talk you out of it?” Angus asked.
Johnny shook his head again. He didn’t blame adults for trying to take care of kids. That was often their job. But he kind of wished they would stop trying to take care of him. Hadn’t he proven himself quite capable in that department?
“And you’ve no weapons?”
“Nope,” Johnny said.
“Well, you won’t last long without some. Come along and we’ll see what we can find for you.”
They all followed Angus into the shack, which was clearly his home. There was a cot and a dresser, with a table and chairs and a stove. There was also a heavy wooden cabinet, held shut by two big padlocks. Angus unlocked them and revealed his collection of weapons. Several swords and axes. Two shotguns. A hunting rifle. Two army revolvers.
Marko seemed very impressed as he studied the groundskeeper’s arsenal. “Guess I’ll take a pistol there.”
“’Fraid not, laddie,” Angus replied. “No one shoots Angus Snodgrass’s guns but Angus Snodgrass.”
Marko looked offended. “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly competent to handle a firearm. I’m practically a copper myself. I won’t do anything stupid with it.”
“That’s as may be, but these weapons are my responsibility, and I won’t be putting them into the hands of young people I don’t know. Besides, a pistol like that won’t do you much good. I shot one of the monsters with my revolver, but it seemed just to tickle him a bit and make him even madder.”
“But what about a shotgun?” Johnny asked, thinking back to the attack in Royalton, when Sergeant Clegg had dispatched a couple of zombies with his sawed-off shotgun.
“Aye, a shotgun might do the job,” Angus said. “It’d give them a good thumping. The only thing is, a shotgun has a bit of a kick. Unless you’re used to firing one, you could end up getting knocked on your bum. And then you’d be in a tight situation, should you have missed.”
Johnny was actually relieved. He didn’t like guns. Not one bit. It was just too easy for accidents to happen—especially when guns were in the hands of inexperienced shooters. Uncle Louie had carefully taught Nina how to use a rifle, but their hunting trips still made Johnny nervous.
“What we need more than weapons,” Marko said, “is some information on these zombies. Where did they come from?”
“I’m pretty certain I know,” Angus said. “From Blackcombe Bog.”
“What makes you think that?” Nina asked.
“I’ve been in these parts since I was a pup. The legends about the bog men have been passed down from generation to generation. We all grew up hearing stories about the Eldurians.”
“Who are the Eldurians?” Johnny had never even heard the name before.
“A warlike tribe that lived in this part of the country a couple thousand years ago, back when the Imperium sought to conquer every inch of the land. The Eldurians were the only tribe able to beat back the invaders. They were terrific, fierce fighters. After battles, the Eldurians honored their dead warriors by placing their bodies in the bog.”
Iris raised her good arm, like a student in class. “Didn’t they find a bog man just a few years ago? Someone went to the bog to cut peat for their stove, and ended up uncovering a bog body?”
“Aye, and they gave the bog man to a museum for studying. But now I’m told by people up by Blackcombe that the whole bog’s been disturbed. Dug up, torn up, whatever.” Angus crossed his arms and shook his head in disapproval.
“Then we need to go up there to check things out,” Johnny said.
“Now wait a minute,” Marko objected. “I agreed to escort you around Chippington and the surrounding area. But the bogs are off limits. It’s dangerous to even walk near them. I can’t keep you safe in a place like that.”
“But we can’t gather information if we have to stick to the safe areas.” Johnny continued to be frustrated with Marko. He felt like he had been assigned a babysitter on this trip instead of an escort.
“May I remind you,” Marko said, “about how yesterday someone took a flash photograph that brought zombies after us? That led to us being separated from our ghost escorts? Maybe that person should be a little more concerned about safety and security.”
Johnny blinked at Marko, stung. He knew he had been stupid to use the flash. But he was too embarrassed to admit it. And besides, what could he do about it now?
Nina cleared her throat. “If we’re smart about it, we should be able to stay out of sight. The fog will give us good cover, and I can use my compass to navigate. But it won’t work unless we all stay calm.” She cast a pointed look in Marko’s direction.
Marko let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, at least if I die young I’ll make a good-looking corpse.”
“That you will, Marko,” Iris said with a laugh. “That you wil
l.”
Angus told them to help themselves to supplies in his hut. Johnny took heavy twine and rope, firecrackers, another flashlight, and tape. Nina took some candles and antiseptic ointment. Only Marko and Iris ended up with blades. He grabbed an army saber, she a reproduction of an Imperium short sword.
Johnny and Nina spent the rest of the morning interviewing Angus and taking photos of the burnt remains that used to be St. Egbert’s School for Boys. Johnny kept hoping that the colonel or Rex might show up. They knew Johnny and Nina intended to visit the school.
It was out in front of an ugly building of gray stone that Johnny came across a cricket bat lying in the muddy grass. On the back of the bat a label had been burned into the wood: “Hawkins Super Smash.” Below were the words “Deluxe Willow Bat.” There was a name scratched roughly into the wood with some kind of indelible ink: BASIL HASTINGS.
After Johnny wiped it clean and swung it around to get a feel for it, he stuck it sideways in the flap of his camera bag. Not exactly a hickory Neuport Slugger baseball bat. That would have been perfect. But the Super Smash would have to do, if it came down to zombie bashing.
Angus fed the kids some stale bread and cheese for lunch, with cups of strong coffee. Johnny normally didn’t care for the black brew, but he figured any stimulant he could get had to be a good thing. He grimaced when he drank it and got a little heartburn. But it definitely made him feel livelier.
Johnny kept looking expectantly across the athletic fields, hoping to see a small troop of First Border War ghost soldiers trotting toward them. But there was no sign of the colonel, the troopers, or Rex. And Johnny and his bunch couldn’t wait any longer to be on their way.
Before they left, Angus marked up their map of MacFreithshire, showing the roads that would take them north to Blackcombe Bog. And he tried one last time to convince them to abandon their quest. But Johnny just thanked him and said they were going to push on.
As they tramped off the St. Egbert’s grounds, heading northwest toward Blackcombe Bog, Angus hollered an ominous farewell.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s your funeral!”
Chapter 19
Marko led them up a paved road that curved through some hilly woodland, the stubborn fog still dogging their steps. It came and went with maddening unpredictability, as if it were a cat playing with a mouse.
Johnny would have felt a lot better if the colonel and some of his men were accompanying them. But he had to make do with what he had. So he suggested that Raj fly up ahead, to scout out any threats. It was difficult for the ghost boy to see in the fog, but he should at least be able to hear any ominous activity.
About an hour into their hike, Raj came floating back out of the fog at high speed, looking scared. “Coming at us, fast,” he warned in a desperate tone. “Zombies! We’d best get off the road.”
They all scampered into a nearby woods, and hid behind an embankment covered with moss. Sure enough, within a few minutes Johnny could hear the clomping of heavy boots and low, guttural mutterings.
“Keep perfectly quiet,” Marko whispered. “Not a peep.”
Out of the fog to their left emerged one zombie, then another, and another, until the entire troop of eight revealed itself, moving along at a quick pace.
Although Johnny had caught glimpses of the bog zombies during the attack in Royalton, this was the first chance he had to really study these creatures.
There wasn’t a one who stood less than six feet tall, and they all resembled each other. Their faces looked like darkly tanned leather, and the features on some of them seemed squashed, or asymmetrical. Johnny wondered if that’s what happened when the bog pressed down on them for hundreds of years. They wore no expressions at all—as if they weren’t able to make even a tiny grimace.
They had on the same shapeless tunics and coats that the others had worn in Royalton. And they moved quickly. None of that slow, mindless staggering of movie zombies.
Now that Johnny had seen a troop of them up close, he should get their description back to the Special Ghost Service headquarters. But how could he do that? All phone and telegraph services up here seemed to be out of commission.
Johnny was still pondering the issue as the last of the creatures disappeared into the fog. But the sound of boots was replaced with that of hoofbeats coming from the same direction—a rider still hidden in the mist. As the horseman came into view, Johnny nearly broke Marko’s order to not make noise.
More than anything, he wanted to scream.
There, prancing along on his stubby war pony, was Burilgi. The eyeless Steppe Warrior who had tried to murder Mel on the Night Goose, who had tried to set off the second etheric bomb in the ballroom of the Hotel Splendid.
Looking neither right nor left, the ghost warrior trotted quickly back into the fog, right behind his zombie foot soldiers.
This was not someone Johnny had ever wanted to see again. But the presence of Percy’s hit man confirmed what Johnny had thought. Now there was no doubt whatsoever who was behind this whole, horrible mess.
“I hope my uncle’s saved enough money to give me a good funeral,” Marko moaned. “There is no way I can keep you safe from these guys. I think we’re walking into big trouble here.”
“Yeah, it would help if we had some backup,” Johnny replied, praying for a glimpse of even one member of the First Zenith Brigade. “But I think it’s smart to move toward the bog. They’re probably only using that area to dig up the bodies. I’ll bet they’re reanimating them somewhere else.”
“But who’s reanimating them?” asked Iris. “And how?”
“I can’t tell you how,” Johnny answered. “But a creep called Percy Rathbone is the one who’s doing it. I’m a hundred percent sure it’s him. He’s the guy we came up against last fall, the guy who built the etheric bomb. He nearly killed us all.”
After their zombie encounter, Johnny suggested that they stay off the road and proceed through open fields and woods, heading northwest. The fog continued to play maddening games with them. Thickening and lightening, lifting and settling. Johnny noticed something odd about it, though. Normally, a fog would make some kind of dew on the grasses and brambles that they were tramping through. This fog had no water in it. It didn’t condense on his cold fingertips or in his nostrils or on his camera. What in heckfire could that mean? Here was another puzzle for Mel to figure out.
With Nina and her compass guiding them, they managed to cover a number of miles before dark. No more zombies crossed their path, though they did hear what sounded like an army truck convoy traveling in the distance.
It amazed Johnny how empty this countryside had become. Apart from a hog farmer, they saw no one. Why wasn’t the Royal Army on patrol? Then Johnny remembered the truckload of maimed and defeated soldiers they had seen yesterday. The zombies were apparently more difficult adversaries than the military had bargained for.
Johnny was marching tiredly right behind Nina, when she stopped in her tracks. He put on the brakes, too.
“Oh man,” Nina groaned. “Everyone, stop. I’m afraid we may have stumbled into a bog. Take a look around.”
Johnny inched forward and put his foot into some slushy brown muck. “Soft gunky earth here, guys.”
“I think you’re right,” Iris agreed. “Looks like there’s bog on either side of us.”
“Marko,” Johnny said. “Turn around and we’ll start heading back. Let’s look for some solid ground to set up camp on.”
“Gotcha.” Marko was at the end of the line and pivoted, becoming the new leader.
Everyone began to move back in the direction they had come from. And for a moment or two, they went along without problems, until there was a squawk of surprise from Marko.
“Don’t know what happened, but I seem to have come to a dead end here,” he said. “Nothing but bog up ahead, and on either side.”
“Did you follow our footprints?” Johnny asked, pushing by Iris.
“What footprints?” Ma
rko snapped. “Look down.”
Johnny did just that. The ground under their feet was dense with moss. Any footprints would have vanished within a few moments.
This was bad. What with the thick fog, they could be stuck in this bog overnight or longer. Johnny’s idea to stay off the road didn’t look so smart now.
“Does anyone see any other way to go?” he asked.
“No, nothing,” Iris answered.
“It’s like we’re on an island in a bog,” Nina observed.
Johnny turned around, looking this way and that, when suddenly Marko was right in his face.
“I knew this would happen, Graphic. I said we shouldn’t do this. You have no idea how dangerous it is to get lost in a bog. And evidently Nina isn’t such a great guide after all. She doesn’t seem to even know how to read a compass.”
Though Marko was inches taller and pounds heavier, Johnny stuck out his chin and glared up into the older boy’s eyes.
“Sparks knows exactly what she’s doing with that compass,” Johnny growled. “It’s not her fault that this bog isn’t properly mapped.”
“Yeah, well, we can all stop worrying about zombies killing us. We’re all probably going to die here in the muck because of your stupidity.”
At that, Petunia started to cry. Iris put her good arm around her dead sister and glared at Marko.
“You stop that right now, Marko Herne,” she snapped. “We signed on to help Johnny and Nina find their way through MacFreithshire, and protect them along the way. But all you’ve done is tell them to stop and give up and go back home. How is that supposed to be useful?”
Marko looked like Iris’s words had deflated him a bit. “Yeah, well, it’s just that this is not my kind of territory. I know the city streets. I even know the main roads up here. But I don’t know the bogs. And I don’t see any way out of this.”
“If we’re lost in a bog, then wouldn’t it be wise to wait for the fog to clear, so we can see?”
