The Infected Chronicles (Book 1): Origin

by Fessey, Andie

  Both Godfrey and Peter knelt at the side of the injured man.

  “Show me your arm Mathew,” Peter instructed.

  Grimacing in pain, Mathew held his arm out for Peter to examine.

  A chunk of flesh was savagely torn, from the side of his hand.

  Between his little finger and wrist, lay a bloody gash, strips of skin held in tatters surrounded it, the muscles and bone clearly visible.

  “Gods,” Peter said.

  “Get him to the manor with the women and children Peter, so he can be cleaned up and tended to,” Godfrey ordered.

  Nodding, Peter assisted Mathew to his feet.

  Whilst they made their way to the manor, Godfrey called to a man atop of the wall.

  “How many are there?”

  The man stationed on the wall cast another glance at the horde, though already knowing the answer to his question.

  “There must be at least a thousand my Lord,” he replied, “they are amassed ten deep around the walls.”

  A thousand? Dear Lord where have they come from?

  He beckoned to a few of his men standing nearby.

  “I need two of you together on each wall,” he instructed them, pointing at the walls,

  “Grab as much powder and shot as you can carry and try to thin their ranks.”

  “You wish us to fire upon them my lord?” One of the men asked.

  Staring at him, Godfrey pointed to the horde at the gate.

  “Look at them man,” he said quietly, “they mean us nothing but harm. It will be helping these poor souls and give them peace from their torment.”

  They stared at the gate, the spaces within its metal bars, filled with hands, arms or the grotesque faces of the horde attempting to push through.

  The man nodded, turning to head to the stores.

  One of his companions patted him on the shoulder, as they ran to retrieve the powder and shot.

  “And I for one don’t relish the thought of one of them things taking a big bite out of my arse!”

  The men laughed, masking the fear they each felt.

  Reaching the large oak doors of the manor, Peter banged his fist upon it, Mathew leaning against him for support.

  “It’s Peter for the Lord’s sake! We have an injured man to attend to!”

  Presently, he heard the latches of the huge doors being opened.

  One of the doors opened slightly, revealing the figure of an old woman, a look of caution and fear upon her face.

  Staring passed her, Peter saw clearly the crowd of women and children in the great hall huddled together.

  Most held onto one and other, weeping and praying.

  “It’s Mathew,” he said, now recognising the woman, Hannah, a kind soul, who managed and tended to the laundry duties within the manor, “he’s been injured.”

  “Take a hold of his arms and lead him to the kitchen,” she said, turning to two boys nearby.

  Rushing forward, they took the weight of Mathew from Peter.

  “I will tend to his wound Peter,” Hannah said, smiling.

  “With god willing, that may be the worst we have to deal with,” Peter replied, returning the smile before running across the courtyard to re-join the other men.

  “Take him straight to the kitchen,” she called to the two boys, closing and locking the door.

  “What has happened?” A voice called from above.

  “One of his Lordships men have been injured my lady.” Hannah replied, looking up and seeing Elizabeth, leaning over the rail above the great hall, “it’s Mathew O’Briain. I will tend to his wound in the kitchen.”

  “I will be there in a moment,” Elizabeth replied.

  Hannah knew better not to argue with her Ladyship. She loved Elizabeth as if she were her own, possessing a heart of gold and bringing nothing but happiness and kindness with her to the estate, after her marriage to his Lordship.

  Elizabeth turned to Mary, seated in a large chair, clutching one of the dolls her father gifted her, after one of his overseas journeys.

  “I will be right back to you my sweetest,” she said, “I am just going to help Hannah for a short while.”

  “Mama, please no,” Mary pleaded, rushing to hold her mother’s gown.

  “Hush my love,” her mother soothingly, “I shall be but a few moments, and then I shall return. Stay in here until I return.”

  “Please let me go with you mama,” Mary cried.

  “No, my sweet love, stay here and set your dolls out for when I return and then we shall play a game,” her Mother said, smiling at her.

  Nodding her head, Mary stared up into her mother’s beautiful, dark brown eyes, before retreating inside her parents’ bedroom.

  Elizabeth made her way across the landing and down the large staircase, reaching the bottom the moment Hannah and the two youths helped Mathew into the large kitchen.

  “My Lady, truly I can attend to his wounds. You’d be best looking after young Mistress Mary,” Hannah said, helping Mathew into a seat near the table.

  “I know what you say is true Hannah,” Elizabeth replied, smiled then sighing, “but I feel so helpless sat up there whilst you are all down here. Here, at least let me fetch some water to bathe his wound.”

  Walking to the rear of the kitchen to fetch one of the bowls of water left on a side table, she noticed the kitchen door leading to the outside lay ajar.

  Odd.

  Walking to it, she closed it and turning the large key in the lock, locked it. Placing the key in her pocket, she returned to Hannah, carrying the bowl.

  Hannah examined Mathews wound closely. It looked bad, but she seen far worse when she worked her father’s farm many years ago.

  Mathew though, appeared extremely pale and she felt worried the onset of a fever may be upon him.

  “I shall return upstairs to be with Mary dearest Hannah,” Elizabeth said, passing her the bowl, “though promise me, if you need anything at all, then you fetch for me.”

  Hannah promising her, Elizabeth made her way from the kitchen and up the large staircase.

  After soaking a couple of strips of cloth in the water, Hannah placed them upon Mathew’s forehead.

  “Let that cool you down Mathew and I will see what I may do with your wound.”

  In the pantry, Hugh huddled behind the sack piles, shaking both with the fear of the creatures outside and the fear of being discovered.

  Rushing across the courtyard to where Godfrey stood near the gate, Peter heard the loud sound of shots being fired from around the walls.

  To his left he saw two of the men on the wall, one with a musket held to his shoulder, firing downwards outside of the wall, the other man busily filling another musket with powder and shot.

  Glancing to the right wall, he saw this action being mirrored there.

  Close to each pair of men were several muskets lined up against the wall.

  Peter knew even the most experienced shot would take at least fifteen seconds to reload between firing, so this formed an ideal way to maintain a, steady stream of fire.

  “My Lord, what is the plan?” He asked loudly, over the din of both the cracks of the shots and the hordes incessant moaning.

  “Not much of a plan as such Peter,” Godfrey replied, “we lay shot to as many of these wretched things as we can, before they break through.”

  Peter nodded, a grim expression upon his face.

  Whilst Godfrey and his men filled their muskets with shot and powder, several of the others holding pikes, thrust them through the gaps in the gate.

  They were careful to keep firm, tight grips of their weapons, so to ensure these accursed creatures did not manage to grasp them in their clutches.

  The horde, a sickening sight to behold, more than once, several of the men brandishing the pikes turned away to let loose the contents of their stomachs as their weapons found their mark.

  Pikes struck into legs, arms, torsos, necks and faces but for the most part, the infected continued their onslaught
, regardless of whatever wound they sustained.

  Godfrey ordered the men defending the gate to quickly step away.

  After the men moved safely away, Godfrey, Peter and several other men took aim with their muskets. They fired.

  At such close range, the effects upon the bodies were devastating.

  Shot after shot found its mark upon the mass horded at the gate.

  Thick, white smoke billowed around the men.

  “Forward!” Godfrey ordered the men stood to the side with their pikes.

  The men moved forward, to the gate.

  “Prime and load,” Peter ordered.

  The men brandishing muskets surrounding him, as one, made a quarter turn to their right, simultaneously bringing their muskets to a priming position.

  A pike entered one of the creature’s shoulders, half of its lower jaw shot away with the barrage of musket shots.

  It still attempted to open its mouth, the bone and flesh hanging loosely from its face.

  “Handle cartridges!" Peter called out.

  The men drew their cartridges from the bags hanging from their belts. The spherical lead balls wrapped in a paper cartridge, also contained the gunpowder propellant. The end of the cartridges opposite from the ball, were sealed by a mere twist of the paper, the men tearing off the twisted ends of the cartridges with their teeth.

  Samuel, an elderly man who tended to the livestock on the estate, thrust forward the heavy pike he held tightly within his hands, the end of the pike piercing the stomach of one of the creatures at the front of the throng.

  Staring into its face, he saw its expression unchanged, it’s mouth remained grimaced in a snarl, thrusting its arms through the gaps.

  Samuel thrust the pike further, twisting it harshly, but the creature’s expression did not alter.

  Grabbing the shaft of the pike, the creature pulled it further forward, piercing its stomach further.

  Screaming, Samuel stumbled to the gate.

  A hand grasped his shoulder, pulling him.

  Turning, he saw the smiling face of William, who worked the fields surrounding the estate.

  “You still owe me five guineas Samuel, you aren’t getting in their clutches yet.”

  “Prime!” Peter instructed.

  The men alongside him, pulled the hammers of their muskets to half-cock, pouring small amounts of powder into their priming pans.

  “Be careful with this one old friend,” William said, handing Samuel another pike.

  Raising it above his shoulder, Samuel thrust forward yelling.

  The end of the pike pierced the eye-socket of the creature with the other pike protruding from its abdomen.

  He immediately pulled on the pike, not wishing to be dragged forward again to those hellish abominations.

  It appeared the thing remained standing, but Samuel saw it stood not under its own volition, only the relentless pressure from the horde behind it, kept its inert body upright, pressed against the gate.

  “About and draw ramrods!” Peter called.

  Lowering the butts of their muskets against their left calves, the men poured the remaining powder into the muzzles.

  The cartridges were reversed and the ends of the cartridges holding the musket balls inserted into the muzzles, with the remaining paper.

  Drawing the ramrods from their muskets, the men grasped them, returning the large ends into the muzzles.

  William pushed his full weight against the shaft of his pike. It entered the arm of one of the creatures, black ooze pouring out as he immediately pulled with his tiring arms to remove it.

  Pulling back slightly, he pushed forward again, this time catching the creature in its throat, the pike forcing its way through and upwards, until breaking the skin and bone at the rear of its skull.

  Remnants of what once was its laryngeal prominence hung from the pike’s end, amidst cranial matter and pieces of spine and gristle.

  The creature ceased grasping through the gate, its arms became limp at its sides.

  He immediately turned his attention to the next creature.

  “Ram down cartridges!”

  The men, using their ramrods, firmly rammed the wadding, shot, and powder down to the breech of the barrel. Removing the ramrods, the men reversed them and returned them to half way in their muskets.

  “Return rammers!”

  The men complied, quickly pushing on the rammers.

  “Make Ready!”

  Quickly raising their muskets straight up, with locks turned to their faces, the men, as one, pulled the locks to full cock, grasping the wrists of their muskets.

  Samuel, William and the other men brandishing pikes, quickly moved away from the gate, crouching near the wall or to the side of the nearby cart.

  “Present!” Peter called.

  Raising the butts of their muskets to their right shoulders, the men simultaneously lowered the muzzles to firing positions.

  The crouching men, held their hands to their ears.

  “Fire!”

  As one, the men pulled on their triggers, their muskets firing into the amassed throng at the gate.

  The air filled with a dense grey smoke from the discharge of the muskets, the distinct odour of rotten eggs pervading their nostrils.

  The men lowered their muskets as one.

  The other men now rose, returning to the gate, their pikes once again thrusting through into the flesh of the creatures.

  Turning to retrieve more munition from the pile behind him, Peter noticed a light illuminating the darkness in the distance beyond the western wall.

  He called up to the men on the wall to confirm it.

  At first, they were unaware of his voice due to the musket shot, but on hearing him they looked in the distance and shouted.

  “What is it?” Lord Godfrey asked, kneeling to grab another musket as the flintlock on his own jammed.

  Peter turned and looked at him, a slight smile appearing upon his face, for the first time since he rode out to collect Jonathan.

  “The beacon on Everton hill is ablaze my Lord.”

  Chapter Five

  Arriving at Liverpool, Jonathan headed to the quayside.

  Riding through one of the lanes leading to the waterside, he called to two men he recognised, returning to their homes after a long day at the waterfront loading one of the cotton ships.

  After he relayed the fantastic tale to them, they obeyed his instructions, running from building to building, gathering as many able men as they could.

  Reaching the waterfront, he dismounted his horse. A bitter pain throbbing in his side, he ran to where Dignity lay berthed.

  Gathering most of the men upon Godfrey’s ship, he left a small skeleton crew to watch over it.

  Liverpool existed as not a heavily populated parish, but it did contain several hostelries, each of which he made his way to, managing to muster together a score of men from each.

  Upon his instruction, several of the men he gathered, made their way on horseback to the neighbouring parishes, to muster as many others as possible

  Remembering there remained a small garrison of troops stationed in the town; he rode with all speed there. The ache in his hip remained painful, as riding his horse at full canter reminded him, but not enough to prevent him from fulfilling his task.

  Though at first reluctant to assist, the officer in charge of the garrison became persuaded enough by Giles, the local physician present there tending to one of the soldier’s gout ridden feet, to send the half of his men possessing horses to ride to the estate.

  A messenger on horseback, was duly dispatched to another garrison, a good couple of hours ride away in the county of Cheshire to see if they possessed men to spare.

  “Is the situation at Lord Godfreys estate warrant enough to light the beacon?” Giles asked.

  “I assure you,” Jonathan replied gravely, “it more than warrants it.”

  With Giles persuasion, a couple of the men left at the garrison, headed to Everton H
ill with the intention of lighting the beacon stood atop of it, to alert all of danger.

  “If it is a grave as you say Jonathan,” Giles said, “then I shall ride alongside you.”

  Leaving the building and mounting their horses, they headed to the estate.

  Shortly afterwards, they encountered the party of men amassed on the long road leading away from quayside.

  Jonathan, Giles and the soldiers from the garrison, along with a handful of others, led on horseback as their procession of a few hundred men made their way eastwards.

  “Why in damnation will they not just die?” Peter called in exasperation, letting off another shot at the gate.

  This one penetrated the chest of one of the infected, resulting in a gaping wound, shards of bone and burnt skin flying in a wide arc.

  The only effect of the shot on the creature, being it caused it to recoil slightly, before reaching at them through the bars of the gate, thick, dark ooze seeping from its terrible wound.

  The situation became more worrying, as they could see where the metal clasps of the gate attached it to the wall, caused the brickwork around it to break, the sheer energy of the creatures pressing against it, causing the mortar to break away.

  Godfrey instructed his men to place the cart in front of the gate, but the only difference this made, the men could not see and aim at the lower portion of the gate.

  “I’ve killed one!” Samuel called.

  “I to, have drove a couple of these beasts back down into the pits of hell,” William added, panting with exertion.

  Godfrey and Peter exchanged looks.

  Not thirty minutes passed since one of the men on wall informed them the throng of creatures outside of the wall thickened, their valiant defence only managing to slow the flow of this tide of evil besieging them.

  What have we overlooked? What have we missed?

  “The head,” Samuel said, fighting for his breath. “I struck it in the head.”

  Godfrey and Peter stared at each other again, as William affirmed what his friend said.

  “I pierced one through the eye and another through the forehead my Lordship. They were the only times when these beasts stopped. I have not been able to gain a clear strike since.”