Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter

by C. A. Verstraete

  She tried to see if there was a way to get up on the platform with her sister without jostling it more, when the door banged open and startled her. She jumped back with a cry.

  A deep voice uttered a falsely cheery greeting. “Would you look at who it is? Well, we meet again!”

  The man stood in the shadows by the door, making it near impossible for her to determine his features. Then he moved into the light, a wicked grin on his face. Lizzie wobbled, her knees growing weak, as she recognized none other than the mayor’s companion, the man who had threatened her at the trial.

  He gave a low, sinister laugh, his mouth twisted in an ugly smirk. “There, is that better? I expect you now know who I am?”

  Lizzie grabbed at her waist, realizing too late that she again had foolishly left her bag behind, this time in the office. She glared at him. “You! What are you doing here? What do you want? Did you do this to my sister? If you—”

  “If I what?” He laughed louder. “What do you intend to do—lay me out like you did your parents?”

  Lizzie felt her face grow red and hot with anger, which only prompted him to laugh harder.

  “Listen, you don’t fool me. You pretendin’ to be all respectable when you’re nothin’ but a lone duck. You keep your mouth shut if you want to be keepin’ your sister over there safe.”

  As if to make his point, he glanced up at something she’d paid no attention to when she first came in—a worn gallery circling most of the room. The wood looked battered, broken, and ready to fall apart. That wasn’t what made her mouth go dry. She eyed the door at each end. What was behind those two doors worried her the most. She gazed again at her tormentor, willing herself to show no fear as he gave an evil chuckle.

  “Bet you’re wonderin’ what’s goin’ on, aren’t you?” He leered at her in sinister delight. “Well, I’m only the messenger. I’ll let somebody else do the talkin’.”

  With that, he stepped aside. A feeling of dread filled her as a rotund, well-dressed man, his face stern, an unlit cigar hanging from his mouth, stepped into the room. None other than Mayor Coughlin glared at her, his face even more judgmental and hateful than before.

  “Too bad the court let you go, but I won’t see you ruining everything we worked so hard for,” he warned. “Things were going well until your father got himself infected. A shame, since he was the real brains behind the business. Brilliant idea he had, just brilliant.”

  Lizzie’s eyebrows rose as she wondered what he was talking about. “You—you’re mad. You have no—”

  “Be quiet.” He motioned to the other man, who pulled a long leather strap from his pocket. “Keep your mouth shut, or he can take care of you, or maybe that sister of yours.”

  The man took a menacing step toward the sobbing form of Emma.

  “No, no, don’t,” Lizzie yelled. “Please, leave her alone!”

  The mayor waved his accomplice back before he continued his monologue. “Now, as I was saying, it’s such a shame your father got himself sick, but I see it as nothing but a little bump in the plan. One of the ships Andrew invested in came back from the Caribbean with spices, and a crew infected with a strange illness. Several of the men were locked in the cabin below deck, and what do we find? Why, they were not dead as we’d been told! Unfortunately, some of the crew got too close and were attacked. A horrid sight, but we knew then what these creatures needed to survive, so we knew how we could control them.”

  “Disgusting,” Lizzie spat. “You won’t get away with this!”

  The mayor’s face turned dark. His eyes squinty, he pointed the unlit cigar at her. “Who’s going to stop me? You?”

  Lizzie hated the feeling of being unable to do anything. “Someone will be here to rescue us. Then I’ll let the authorities and others in the business community know what you’re doing!”

  “Oh? Why, maybe you should ask Samuel for help,” the mayor chuckled. “Yes, you know who Samuel Smith is, of course. He was a great help to us and to your father, keeping those creatures over at the warehouse. Too bad he’s no longer around, what with that workplace accident and all.”

  He paused to let his words sink in. Lizzie gasped and realized that Samuel was one of the men who’d been attacked! “What happened to being a man of honor in your office?”

  Her words only made him cackle more. “Honor? Oh, I have honor. I’m providing the public with a service. I’m freeing the streets of this plague your father brought upon us. I suspect my colleagues will realize my great service when I tell them how I tried to expose your father’s plan at great risk to myself.”

  Lizzie grimaced, her stomach sour. She glanced at Emma, who squirmed and continued her muffled protests. Lizzie’s mind worked as she tried to figure a way out. I have to get Emma free before this crazed man does anything worse. But how?

  “I wouldn’t worry your pretty head too much,” the mayor warned and stuck the unlit cigar in his pocket. “Don’t think you’re leaving anytime soon. If the jury had done their job, this discussion wouldn’t even be necessary.”

  The way he stared, his eyes as cold as the creatures he was harboring, made Lizzie fear even more what he might do. Somewhere along the way he’d crossed the line from light to darkness, from sanity to insanity. The real question was—how far would he go to keep his evil plan working?

  “So.” He shuffled back and forth, tapping the tips of his fingers against each other. “You’re an intelligent woman. Surely, you have an inkling of the perfect solution?”

  His big-toothed grin made her think of a giant copperhead snake ready to strike. Lizzie glared and folded her arms. She refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer. It made no difference, of course, but made her feel a tad better.

  “What’s wrong? Cat—or should I say, zombie—got your tongue?” He began to cackle again. “Not yet, not yet. You must see that those creatures are the perfect workers. They need absolutely nothing—no food, no water, no payment of any kind. All we had to do was keep them confined so they couldn’t fulfill their bloodlust. And once they served their usefulness, well, they still had value. You saw the workroom below?”

  A dizzy feeling hit her as he pulled a hand from his pocket and held out a small bottle. Even from a distance she knew what the label said. Her mind worked at an explanation for his cryptic comment. The workroom… the bottles…

  Lizzie glanced at the stones still moving, churning, and grinding beneath the platform where Emma was tied. She remembered the look and feel of that mysterious gritty powder…

  Oh, no. Wait! Oh, dear God, no! Lizzie gagged and held a hand over her mouth. What horror is this? Was he telling a tale—or could it indeed be the horrible, gruesome truth?

  The mayor’s ugly smile grew wider. “Ahhh, so you do see! What better way to preserve life, my dear, and offer the promise of health than to use the flesh of those who may never die?”

  “No, no, this is wrong! “Lizzie cried. “This is absurd! Father had nothing to do with such madness. You dare pass the blame to him for your evil deeds? Loose my sister! I’ll see you in jail for this, I will!”

  The mayor’s wild laughter filled the room as he stepped back to the doorway after waving a hand at his intimidating cohort. The other man slipped out to who knew where. The mayor paused, giving one last directive: “I know I can’t find as neat a solution for getting you out of the way as I did with those creatures, but I think this may be as fitting. And if you do manage to escape, well, with all the wild and varied stories you’ve already told, do you think anyone will believe you? I heard you’ve become quite as skilled a killer as you are a liar. I suggest you use those skills wisely.”

  Emma’s muffled screams intensified as the mayor disappeared into the hall. The door slammed behind him. The clank of the lock being thrown let Lizzie know they’d be stuck here for a while, but hopefully not for long. She prayed Pierre, or someone, found Emma’s note on the table at home.

  Trying to remain calm, she glanced around the room for a window the
y could escape through, or maybe they could go out one of the old doors on the upper gallery. But to her horror, as she watched, the first door opened. Then the second thudded open, making it clear that was no longer an option.

  Emma’s cries of alarm drew Lizzie’s attention. She glanced at her sister and when she looked upward again, she knew they had far worse things to worry about. The creatures’ long, deep moans filled the room and echoed off the walls. Her eyes watered at the stench of sewer rot, and the putrid odor of decay that wafted down from above.

  “Emma, hold on!” Lizzie yelled.

  She coughed and covered her nose. Taking a deep breath, she leaped onto the rickety wooden platform next to her sister. The two of them clung to the chains as the platform swayed and creaked, making Lizzie’s heart pound in fear with each arc. She prayed the platform held and didn’t fling them downward to be horribly maimed, or worse.

  “Hang on tight, Emma! Hold on!” She took the gag from Emma’s mouth and then worked at her sister’s bonds, her fingers shaking as she pulled on the knots in the restraints. Finally, they came loose. Emma grabbed her in a hug and then hung on as tight as she could to the platform.

  As the first of the undead creatures shuffled out of the door onto the worn, creaking gallery above, Lizzie leaped off the platform and ran to the door. She grabbed an old rusted metal pole she’d seen lying on the floor. Using every ounce of her strength, she pulled, pried, and banged on the door. Tears streamed down her face as she tried somehow, in any way possible, to ram or wedge the door open.

  Emma’s screams urged her on. Lizzie’s hope surged as she almost got the pole wedged into the tiny gap between the door and the wall.

  “Hurry, oh, God, please, help us,” Emma sobbed. “Lizzie, please hurry!”

  “I’m trying Emma, I’m trying!”

  Even as she uttered the words and attempted to wedge the pole into what looked like an impossibly small space, Lizzie’s optimism faded. She knew it would fail.

  Still, unwilling and unable to give up, she worked on as the moans of the steadily burgeoning group of creatures above them grew louder and hungrier.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The difficulty is, she is not an ordinary woman, she is a puzzle…

  —Joe Howard, The Boston Globe, June 20, 1893

  T

  he sound of the wood creaking above them grew louder as the horrific group of ghouls became larger. Ten soon became twenty, then thirty, and then fifty until Lizzie estimated that the group had ballooned to at least seventy creatures. The gruesome scene had her praying as never before that the gallery would hold until Pierre, or someone, came to rescue them.

  Taking another good look around at their surroundings for a possible escape, Lizzie hesitated to express her worst fears: that they might not make it. As she looked at her sister across the way, she knew nothing needed to be said anyway. Emma understood. Still, no matter what, she could not—and would not—stand here and give in without a fight. Lizzie vowed to protect Emma, regardless of the personal cost.

  The seconds and minutes passed. The door didn’t budge. Lizzie knew then the moment had come. She stopped her pushing and pulling. To her credit, a calm Emma nodded without Lizzie having to make any explanation.

  As Lizzie made her way back to where Emma stood on the platform, she eyed the upper level. The creatures jostled each other as they neared the edge of the gallery, their gray, decayed arms and hands reaching over the railing. Their moans echoed off the walls in an eerie wail she knew would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  Lizzie gasped as one neared the gallery edge and reached out, its foot hanging over, and then rocked backward in a clumsy two-step. If too many of them pushed forward at once, she feared the flimsy railing would break. It would send all the creatures crashing down on them. If that happened, would any of them survive the fall? Most of the creatures would probably end up too crippled to move. But as she’d seen before, somehow even those with the most badly mangled bodies managed to drag themselves along in pursuit of their prey.

  “Emma, can you get down?” Lizzie asked. “Help me find anything we can use for weapons. Stupidly, I left my bag in the office. I thought I’d find you first before I went back there.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emma whimpered. “I thought the note asking me to come here was from you. If I hadn’t let that man…”

  Lizzie wished she could give Emma a much-needed hug. “No, it’s not your fault. Someone sent me the same note. We both must be strong and fight those things off. Put whatever you find in a pile here.”

  Her face sad, Emma glanced upward, but finally nodded in agreement. “Yes, I can do it.” With that she carefully held the hem of her skirt up, moved back and ran, managing to jump across the open expanse surrounding the grinding stones. She began gathering items into a pile.

  “The only thing I can figure is we need to stay here, behind the stones,” Lizzie said. “If those creatures fall, and are still mobile, we have to lure them here so they fall into the pit under the stones.”

  Emma voiced her approval. “That’s a good idea.”

  It was Lizzie’s only good one, since the gathered pile of tools and items looked far less promising—a handful of nails, a hammer and a couple other hand tools, some discarded pieces of clothing, plus other pretty much useless odds and ends.

  “It’s not much. Maybe we can take those shirts and clothes, tie them together, and see how far they stretch. That would give us a little—”

  The rest of Lizzie’s words were drowned out by loud thumps and what sounded like someone yelling on the other side of the door. The creatures moaned and became increasingly agitated, making the gallery sway even more.

  Uneasy, Lizzie ran to the door and held her ear to the wood. “Pierre? Is that you?”

  His voice sounded muffled and hard to make out, but never more welcome. “Trying—break—but…”

  His words kept fading out, replaced by thuds and muffled groans as he attacked the door and the lock from his side. Lizzie’s uneasiness grew as the more he pounded, and the more noise he made, the more agitated the ghoulish group above them became. She ran back to Emma and helped her move their small cache of items closer to the door, and to the rear of the stones.

  “If that floor gives way, they’ll probably fall down on both sides there and there.” She pointed to the open space below each section of the gallery. “Some may be able to move and get close, so you need to get them out of the way.”

  She handed Emma the metal rod she’d used unsuccessfully on the door. “I’d rather you use this. Keep them as far away from you as possible, all right?”

  “But-but what’ll you use?” Emma looked at her and down at the few hand tools among the clothing piled on the floor, her eyes wide in alarm.

  It was a good question. Lizzie glanced at the increasingly active group above. Some of the creatures had begun moving back and forth in a demented dance as their hunger and desperation grew. Teeth gnashing and jaws chomping, they grabbed at the railing, their moans intensifying at being out of biting distance. She didn’t expect them to stay up there for long.

  “Never mind. Give me time, I’ll think of something. Just remember, you get one chance. Make it count. Jab at them. Stab them hard. Don’t let them get close to you.”

  With that, she grabbed Emma in a tight squeeze. Kissing the side of her face, Lizzie wished her well. “Be safe. I’ll protect you as best I can. If it’s too much, jump back on the platform where they can’t reach you. At least from there you can shove them into the pit. All right?”

  Emma returned Lizzie’s hug, blinking away her tears. “I-I will. I’ll try, I promise. I can do it. I know I can.”

  Lizzie felt somewhat reassured that Emma would do her best. She should be fine. Glancing at the swaying gallery above and its horrid occupants, she prayed her words wouldn’t come back to haunt her.

  A minute later the door crashed open, sending Pierre stumbling in. He handed over her bag. His eyebrows rose i
n question, but he kept his admonishments to himself. An ear-splitting creak sounded from above.

  UNNNNHHHHH!

  The creatures moaned and reached out as one, sending the gallery into a deadly swing. It swayed and pitched wildly back and forth. The creatures shuffled from side to side. Lizzie hurriedly grabbed a mid-sized sword from her bag and thrust the hilt at Emma. “Here, take this. Get in position! Go!”

  The room became a cacophony of sound—wails of the undead, Emma’s screams, and the ear-piercing sound of cracking wood. A second later the railing gave way sending the undead bodies to the stone floor below. They hit with a sickening thud and the crack of bones.

  “Get over—”

  Pierre’s orders got lost in the deafening moans of the crippled creatures now writhing on the floor mere steps away. With a cry, he jumped to the right, slashing and stabbing and cutting at the fallen creatures before they became aware enough to untangle themselves from the broken pieces of wood.

  “Wait!” Lizzie waved at her sister to stay in position and ran forward on the left side. “Emma, stay there!”

  Emma gave a nod of encouragement as Lizzie jumped, pointing her own sword toward the stunned group. Some of the creatures looked dazed and slightly confused as they lay tangled in the mess. She put a quick end to them.

  The others, already aware of her presence, growled and snarled like feral cats. The red veiny lines crisscrossing the whites of their eyes had no effect on their ability to pinpoint her location. As one, their ugly heads swiveled in Lizzie’s direction. Their sightless eyes locked on her.

  The creatures opened mouths filled with stubby pieces of their remaining teeth, or released deep, hungry moans from partial mouths, their jaws hanging or snapped off in the fall. The blunt end of her sword knocked off the rest as she plunged the point into the pulpy mass of their diseased brains. The sword released with a wet slurp.

  Lizzie steeled herself, resolving not to go faint at the revolting sights and sounds. She moved on, plunging the sword into the next one and the next after that as fast as she could while her arm strength held.