“Charge!” shouted Scrooge.
With a roar, the crowd surged down the hill and towards the swirling melee. The boys struck the creatures first and with both speed and agility managed to slip past whilst delivering sniping strikes with their weapons. Mr Cratchit and Scrooge, plus a group of older men, pushed on to the right and started to work their way through a thick throng of the zombies. As Scrooge slashed downwards, the others pushed and stamped. One of the men was dragged down, and it looked as though his fate was sealed. Just in time though, a woman knelt down and struck the creature with a pan, the force of the impact knocking the creature backwards. As it landed on its back, another man jumped in and thrust a sharpened piece of wood into its torso.
Inside the Bank was the small number of surviving soldiers that the creatures had pushed inside the building, and were stuck in a tiny group, each trying desperately to protect the flank of the next. One by one they were dragged to the ground until only the three strongest remained.
Bob Cratchit reached the broken door and pushed inside. Two men followed him and then Scrooge chased behind them. With a cut and slash, they broke through the first group of dead and reached the three soldiers.
“Who are you?” shouted the largest soldier, as he swung his curved blade and brought down another creature.
Scrooge leapt forward and hacked down two as he reached the man.
“Scrooge, and we are here to destroy the artefact.”
“How do you know about it?” asked the second soldier, whilst pushing back two zombies.
“Does it matter?” asked Mr Cratchit. “We need to get there, and fast, or the city will be overrun!”
Scrooge leaned forward and shouted to the tallest soldier.
“We will take care of this, you need to get reinforcements to clear up their survivors when we succeed,” said Scrooge.
“Succeed? You are only a few people!” said the third soldier.
Part of the doorframe collapsed, and through the dust emerged at least twenty more people who rushed in to hack and stab at the undead that were still moving up from the secret underground vault in the Bank.
“Look, there are more outside, this is our chance,” shouted Scrooge.
He turned from the soldier, and towards the dark opening, he knew to lead underground. As he moved forwards, he called to the others around him.
“Come, to the crypt!”
The open area of the Bank only contained a dozen or so zombies, and they were quickly dispatched, by Scrooge’s people as they headed to the steps. The soldiers rushed the door, and in the small window the fight had created, were able to slip outside and into the darkness of the alleys. As they left the building a small number of the undead trickled inside, each one seeming to know exactly where the one, true threat remained.
As the three soldiers sneaked away, the tallest turned back and watched in amazement, as the creatures appeared to close ranks around the Bank. There must have been two or three hundred of them and they formed a thick band of growling death. The local people had fallen back and resorted to hurling objects at the horde though none seemed to want to tangle with such a large and now uniform mass of creatures.
“I hope they know what they’re doing,” said the taller soldier.
“It doesn’t matter, we can’t help them yet. We need to get the lads here and quickly,” said the second.
The soldiers nodded almost in unison and then turned and rushed away though as they moved they were careful to avoid the odd creature making its way to the square.
Inside the Bank, the small group of Scrooge’s followers moved down the stairs and into the underground chamber. It was slightly different to the way he had seen it in his visitations by the Spirits. Icons and imagery hung from the walls and columns, and candles burned in almost every corner of the place. For a moment, it gave the impression of a wondrous grotto full of sparkling lights and wonders. In the centre stood group of twelve men in red, just like the ones Scrooge had seen in his glimpses of the Past. They stood around the item, presumably the artefact.
“Behind us!” cried one of the boys, as he was struck and tumbled down the stairs.
As the noise from their arrival awoke the interest of the Keepers of the artefact, they drew their weapons. Before moving, several of them threw knives or used short bows and then they charged. The first impact of these missiles brought three poor souls to the ground, one certainly dead and the other two were seriously hurt.
Though Scrooge’s group outnumbered the Keepers, they were nowhere near the level of skill of these men. A furious melee broke out with only Scrooge being able to offer the enemy more than token resistance. In less than a minute of fighting, they had lost another five. They were down to just two dozen people able to carry on. Three of the men in red tried to separate Scrooge from the group, but he would not be so. As the first approached, he hacked for his head. The man, well used to fighting with a blade moved it to intercept, but was tricked. It was a simple feint from an old man! As his opponent lifted his weapon in defence, Scrooge slashed the man from the thigh to the chest. The rest of his people rallied around him and they tried to push back the group of men in red.
As the battle continued on, another three of the Keepers died. There were eight of them and those that remained were the strongest and fastest. Scrooge had reached to within ten feet of the artefact when he was seen. It was as though something clicked in their heads as they realised the precious item was in danger. Abandoning the battle, they all swept in to stop Scrooge. From the staircase, at least a dozen of the undead had made it inside and were working their way down to the swirling fight. Two boys, both armed with newly collected swords from the dead Keepers did their best to slow them down.
Scrooge on the other hand seemed possessed. As he swung his blade he was deftly assisted by Mr Cratchit and a group of children and adults determined to fight these evil men. The fight was long and brutal and before long only ten of Scrooge’s party remained, whilst the Keepers’ number whittled down to five.
The gentleman, to whom Scrooge had seen in his vision of the future, was still there and remarkably good with his sword and walking stick. As he stabbed one of the Keepers in the shoulder, he noticed a gap and leapt forward towards the artefact. Scrooge, seeing the man moving ahead tried to help but the fast moving blades stopped him. As the man reached down, he grasped the artefact and placed his hands upon it.
“Destroy it, destroy it now!” cried Scrooge and he desperately hacked another of the Keepers to the ground.
The old man looked confused and stumbled backwards as though afraid of Scrooge or perhaps the Keepers. As he retired, his hands slipped off the artefact. Two of the evil men stepped back and faced him, both with their wicked blades held aloft. Yet none would attack him. As this extraordinary event unfolded, the rest of the fight slowed and then stopped, the two groups staring, waiting for the old man to do something.
The zombies, who had now entered the chamber were just a short distance away and had stopped. They stood silently, as though waiting for an order.
“What is happening?” asked Mr Cratchit.
“It is the artefact. Whoever touches it controls the dead. Good Lord, sir, you must have the power now!” cried Scrooge.
The old man, still clutching his stick and sword dropped to his knees in fear.
“My eyes!” he screamed, “I can see them!”
As he turned and moved, the undead seemed almost to mimic him. It was clear that the dark powers of the artefact had turned him into the Master of the Dead, though what he would do was anybody’s guess.
The boy, the one that just a short while ago had bought the great bird, slid neatly between the legs of the Keepers and, without hesitating brought his weapon, a simple broom handle down hard onto the artefact, still placed in its box. As the weapon struck a crack flash erupted from the case and a shockwave like a blast of wind tore through the room. The Keepers cried out and rushed for the staircase, abandoning the shattered re
lic and both the undead that still lurked. The zombies started to move though they lacked the control or coordination they seemed to have before.
“Good work, my boy, you’ve broken the link, look!” cried Scrooge.
The tired group watched incredulously as the zombies staggered about, each one uncertain as to what to do.
“Finish them, my boys, clear the room!” shouted Scrooge.
With one last push, they rushed about the place, each cutting and hacking until every last one of the creatures was still.
Scrooge, the old man and Mr Cratchit moved over to the shattered relic and looked down at its pieces. The old man moved to pick them up but Scrooge stopped him.
“Be careful, we do not know if any power remains,” said Scrooge, as he moved to a burning lantern on the wall and brought it towards the remains of the relic.
“You, lend me your handkerchief,” ordered Scrooge.
A man in his early twenties handed over a small piece of cloth with which Scrooge carefully scooped up the pieces and deposited them in the broken wooden box.
“Collect anything you can find that burns and bring it here!” called Mr Cratchit.
In just a few minutes, the group had erected a small bonfire over the relic. Without hesitation, Scrooge lowered the torch and started the fire. In took a few minutes for the fuel to take hold and then it burned furiously as though its heart were naphtha itself. As the flamed burnt though the box the fingers of red flame changed to blue, then green and then a screech, like the sound of a harp echoed in the room. The flame returned to normal and in a few minutes the relic, the box and all the fuel reduced to ash.
Scrooge placed his sword in its scabbards and turned to the survivors.
“A great piece of work my friends, you have done great deeds,” he explained with a look of joy.
A mighty roar like the sound of a war horn bellowed from outside and reached the underground chamber and with it a great cry of triumph. Scrooge was at the stairs first and close behind him were the rest, some of them helping to carry the wounded to the surface. They reached the floor of the Bank and found it deserted. Without waiting, they surged outside, expecting to find the horse and a raging battle. Instead, they ran out to see a group of several dozen mounted soldiers who were in the square and waving their swords in the air. On the ground were scores of bodies from the undead horde.
Even better, the wounded seemed to be getting better and those that appeared near death saw life returning to them.
“The darkness must have left them, the spread has stopped,” said Bob Cratchit.
“Indeed it has!” said Scrooge with a smile.
“How about the young lady in my home? Will she be safe or will she turn?” asked a worried Bob Cratchit.
“Look around you, it is over. The fight has been won and it is time to celebrate!” said a joyful Scrooge.
Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. The young boy spared the ravages of the disaster that could have befallen London. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.
As for the artefact, Scrooge never again heard anything of the item or the shards rumoured to have been scattered. No signs of the undead were heard of again, and before long their very existence became nothing more than mystery or myth.
He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!
A Zombie Christmas Carol Page 14