Andie J Fessey
ORIGINS
Book One of the Infected Chronicles
Text copyright © 2017 Andie J Fessey. All Rights Reserved. No part of this
book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means
including information storage and retrieval systems, without the prior consent of
the author.
The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction; all resemblance to actual persons living or dead, places and names is coincidental or are used fictitiously.
Cover Photograph courtesy of Peter Linforth at Hypnoart
Cover Design by Andie J Fessey
Dedications
To my parents, children, TJ and BBE.
Dum Spiro Spero – (Latin)
“Whilst I breathe, I hope”
And a special mention with lots of love to
Harley
Make sure you are at least eighteen years of age before you read this!
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Author Notes
About the Author
Prologue
20th Century
Old Swan Liverpool
In Old Swan, a busy suburb of the vibrant city of Liverpool, there is situated a majestic, red sandstone church, built between the years of 1840 and 1842.
Prior to the outbreak of World War Two, the decision was made for the church to be extended, due to the increasing local populace.
During the planning of the extension of the church, the priest in residence and the workers employed to conduct the works, cleared a previously untouched area of ground to the east, unearthing a macabre discovery.
Once the top layer of soil was removed, they discovered a total of one hundred and seventy-two coffins, in addition to over a dozen buried headstones.
The priest applied to the then Home Secretary for a licence to remove them, having them reinterred to the south-east end of the cemetery.
The matter was forgotten about, for over thirty years.
During 1973, plans were in operation for the demolition of an old primary school close to the church and falling under its diose, founded originally in 1842, to enable the construction of two new modern Infant and Junior schools in its place.
Construction of the first school proceeding as planned, it successfully opened its doors to local children in 1974.
The construction of the second school however, did not run as smoothly.
Work became immediately suspended, as excavations revealed thousands of rotting coffins, piled sixteen deep, along an underground tunnel across an area of approximately forty square feet.
The number finally reached the staggering total of 3561, previously undocumented and unmarked coffins.
The unearthing garnished major press coverage at the time, in addition to plenty of conjecture and speculation regarding the origin of the coffins.
Many thought it a plague pit, but the absence of lime within the burial ground resulted in this theory being dismissed.
A local writer proclaimed it as being the bodies of victims of the Irish Famine, callously killed in a massacre, to fervent denial from the British authorities.
These anonymous bodies were carefully and meticulously exhumed then cremated, whilst the area sealed off. The British Public Health officials, continued their daily rounds for nearly two years afterwards.
In the middle of 1975, the last corpse was removed and all ashes were reburied in the nearby cemetery at Anfield.
The mystery though, persisted and the question remains to the present day, as to where these unknown souls originated from….
Chapter One
1665
“People are approaching over the hill!”
Jonathan and Godfrey stared at each other.
“Do you have witches blood in your veins?” Godfrey asked, smiling.
“No, my lord,” Jonathan replied, “I just knew that I would not be lucky enough to see my bed too early this eve.”
This accursed malady reached them yet again, as Lord Godfrey long feared it may. His prayers to the almighty, it remained contained in the South of the country, apparently unheard.
During the bitterly cold winter of the previous year, a bright comet flew a celestial path across the night sky, witnessed by all across the land.
Though Lord Godfrey did not deem himself a superstitious man, many people across the land were. In addition to being fearful, they wondered if this indicated a portent of forthcoming evil.
The events subsequently occurring in the city of London, gave evidence to indicate their fears were indeed founded.
The accursed Plague, a terror of life in Britain since its first appearance, centuries past in the year 1347, when the inhabitants of this fair land were first introduced to the evil to become later known as, the Black Death.
Reports of the terrible pestilence ravaging Europe, reached them long before the outbreak of the Great Plague.
Steps were introduced, attempting to prevent it crossing over to England. The quarantining of ships from foreign lands, now a practice in regular use.
The nearby district of Liverpool, in which ‘Dignity’, the cargo ship Lord Godfrey owned lay berthed, previously suffered an outbreak only a few years prior.
The homes of the poor wretches fallen foul of the plague, possessed doors marked with a crude red cross adorned with the words ‘Lord have mercy upon us’, a watchman being stationed to stand guard outside their homes.
Godfrey sent several of his own men, to assist in the carrying of this sorrowful duty.
It was commonly thought throughout the land, this outbreak of this plague spread across the water to England from the Netherlands, where tales spoke of outbreaks of the disease occurring intermittently since 1599.
Word reached them only recently from the South, of what was now christened ‘The Great Plague’, ravaging the city of London.
He received the news a few month’s previously, from his good friend Sir John Lawrence, his Highness King Charles took his family, along with his court, to Salisbury to escape the clutches of this dreadful sickness.
Sir John himself opted to stay within the city at his post of Lord Mayor, along with the aldermen and most of the other city authorities, also opting to remain at their posts.
Lord Godfrey feared this was different and more terrible than the deplorable illness blighting his countrymen to th
e South. How it could be worse, he knew not for sure, but the message conveyed from Reverend Mompesson chilled him to the bone.
His ship Dignity was ready to set sail for the Americas a few days hence, but regardless of the plague, he felt a great duty to his family and a moral duty to his people. He deemed Dignity would lay at berth, until this passed and he would not leave the estate, nor his wife Elizabeth, waiting in their home with their only child Mary.
He received the report of something unusual occurring, after one of his carts and the men he sent to the Derbyshire village of Eyam to accompany it, returned a day earlier.
Now, half his workers who worked the estate, hailing from the hamlets and villages scattered around the county, did not arrive for work upon that morn.
With Dignity in the process of preparation for setting sail, he did not have men spare to visit the homes of his workers, to discover what caused this unusual absence.
He prayed it was not related with the tale he heard, the fantastic story his men relayed to him a difficult one to believe.
But, he knew his men well enough to know there must be more than a small element of truth to it.
If his best man Jonathan was not the man asked personally by the Reverend to convey his message, then he may have thought it a tale conjured from the collective imaginations of men terrified by their own shadows.
He knew Jonathan since they were youths, Jonathan fighting alongside him in battle many years before, both on the battle field and off.
He was not only a good man to have by Godfrey’s side, he also considered him to be a dear and loyal friend.
Their journey to the village an uneventful and quiet one, the six men within their party, four on horseback whilst two rode upon the cart, talked between themselves to pass their journey.
Jonathan led the small party of men, riding ahead of the cart on his large bay mare, accompanied by another rider, Peter, riding an equally large horse.
Upon reaching the lane leading into the village, their ride came to a sudden end, encountering a makeshift barricade of carts, wood, trees and debris, blocking their entrance.
“Hello!” Jonathan shouted, riding his horse closer to the barricade.
He received no response.
An eerie unnatural silence hung in the air, save for the sound of running water from the stream running alongside the village.
Both Jonathan and now Peter called out, receiving only silence in return.
“The silence is certainly most unnatural for the village,” Robert, the driver of the cart said, “it may be that it’s deserted Jonathan.”
“It cannot be deserted Robert,” Jonathan replied.
“Looks like they were attacked,” Hugh said, the young man sat beside Robert, “why else would they have a barricade? We should turn and leave, go now.”
“Aye, that may be so lad,” Jonathan replied, “but we have a duty to find out what’s amiss here.”
Deciding upon their next plan of action, they became startled by a voice speaking from across the barricade.
“Who stands there?” The baritone voice of a man demanded.
“Reverend Mompesson is that you?” Jonathan responded, recognising the voice.
“Indeed, it is,” the voice answered, “Who is it I am addressing?”
“Dear Reverend, it is Jonathan from Lord Godfrey’s estate,” Jonathan replied, “his Lordship has sent us to collect the fabrics he ordered. Dignity sets sail a couple of days hence.”
Voices could be heard from behind the barricade, the Reverend obviously not alone.
Noises sounded of wood being moved and orders given in hushed tones.
Jonathan expected the barricade to be opened in some way, but instead found himself greeted with the appearance of a man, hoisted to the top of the barricade.
The man, certainly not the Reverend he knew, drawn with sunken eyes, hair lank, an unkempt fringe falling across his gaunt cheekbones.
“You will have to leave and leave now,” he ordered, nervously turning his head, looking to the village.
“Now,” he said, returning his gaze to them.
“What on earth for man? We’ve travelled for the last couple of days on our Lordship’s bidding, to collect items he’s ordered,to find the village barricaded. Are you in trouble? Has the village been attacked?” Jonathan demanded.
“For the love of God man, please leave now.”
The party sensed he spoke through fear, by his voice and mannerisms, his gaze constantly returning to the direction of the village.
More words were spoken from others behind the barricade, the man looking down to converse with the unseen speaker.
Jonathan, feeling this situation more absurd and worrying by the second, went to speak as the man returned his view to them.
“The plague is upon us.”
“The plague?” Hugh asked, his voice trembling.
“We have to go Robert!” He exclaimed, tugging at the sleeve of the old man alongside him, panic riddled across his young face
“Hush boy” Robert hissed, shrugging his hand away.
“What are you talking about man?” Jonathan called.
“The word our Lordship received, is the plague is contained within the south of the country. Do you need our assistance?”
Both he and Peter raised their arms, revealing the swords and pistols at their sides, letting him understand they were well armed.
“For the love of our Lord, please keep your voice down!” The man replied, understanding the gesture and shaking his head, a look of frustration upon his face.
Dismounting his horse, Jonathan approached the barricade, the rein in his hand as it followed closely behind.
Until reaching the base of the barricade, when his horse pulled hard, causing the rein to nearly slip from his grip.
Sensing it was going to spook and starting to rear up, Jonathan tugged the rein hard in the opposite direction, tying it to a nearby pole.
“Stay here girl,” he whispered, stroking its neck, “no need for both of us to be scared.”
He walked to the base of the barricade, the man above him, becoming more agitated.
“What are you doing? Why do you not listen? Please leave here now,” he pleaded.
“May I speak with the Reverend?” Jonathan asked in response.
A noise rustled from behind the barricade and Jonathan saw the face of Reverend Mompesson, appear between pieces of a broken-up cart.
“We have to be quick Jonathan,” the Reverend said, “and then you must hurry and warn Lord Godfrey and any others whose paths you may cross.”
“It began just over a month or so ago. Our tailor had ordered a consignment of cloth from London and when it finally arrived, he found it to be infested and covered with fleas.
“What with the dark tales coming from London of the return of the accursed illness, he had the right mind to set alight the cloth. Sadly, within a week his assistant George passed on and more in the household began to fall foul of the illness and passed away soon after.”
The Reverend stopped talking for a moment, to speak with one of the others within the village, before turning his gaze to Jonathan through the gap.
“As the disease spread, our villagers turned to both myself and Minister Stanley for our leadership and guidance. Between us, we introduced a number of precautions and ideas to try to slow the spread of the illness. Arrangements were made that the unfortunate families whose loved ones had succumbed to this dreadful illness were, unfortunately and may god be with them, to bury their own dead.”
“We then moved our church services to Cucklett Delph, allowing our flock to thus separate themselves and so reducing the risk of infection. Unfortunately, several of our flock left the village under cover of nightfall and we know not of their fates.”
The Reverend became interrupted by the noise of somebody shouting, followed by a cacophony of noise from beyond the barricade.
“You must go, go now Jonathan,” he hissed urgently.
“But I do not understand,” Jonathan replied, “If it is the plague then why.”
“Your Reverence! She has escaped! Hide yourself,” the voice of a man from further deep within the village, cried.
An unholy scream emanated from deep within the village. Jonathan’s horse began to pull hard on its rein.
“Mr Howe!” A voice called out loud from behind the barricade.
“Grab the snare pole!”
Jonathan knew Howe, employed as the village undertaker. He spoken often to him on the occasions he called to the village, collecting fabrics and cloths for her Ladyship.
Jonathan joked with him, he could never understand why anybody would go into the business of undertaking, as it appeared a gruesome way of earning a keep. He would always receive the same reply.
“Business is good, as people will always pass on.”
What, in good heavens name, does he require a snare-pole for?
Their party felt impotent as there appeared no way to gain access through the barricade without damaging it, to assist the Reverend and the people within the confines of the village.
The sounds emanating from inside, reminded him of when he and a couple more of Lord Godfreys men were involved in a chaotic fracas at the Jerusalem Tavern, many years ago in Nottingham. There were many a chair, table, tankard and window broken and this sounded the same.
“What is going on in there?” Hugh cried, staring at Robert.
From within the village came forth screams and shouts amidst which, Jonathan could clearly hear a voice calling, “Don’t let her near you!”
Amongst the sounds of shouting, they could hear an awful guttural, almost animal-like noise. The noises lasting for what appeared an eternity, but taking only mere minutes.
The party of men looked at each other, uncertain as to their next course of action, until the face of the Reverend appeared once again, through the small gap.
“Jonathan,” he gasped, catchinghis breath, now red faced, sweat freely pouring profusely down his brow and across his cheeks, “we are safe here and have no need of your assistance, though we gladly appreciate your offer of it. But please instead, inform your master that this is like no plague we have encountered before, it is far worse.
The Infected Chronicles (Book 1): Origin Page 1