by Derek Gunn
‘But what about the man that drugged the others, he met you when the sun was high in the sky?’ Lieutenant Fowler interrupted.
‘Yes,’ Butler mused. ‘But he was very weakened by the ordeal. And even in the shade he was nowhere near the speed of the things that attacked us at the boats. Either the sun saps their strength or the man had not yet completed whatever dark change has corrupted the others. I suspect we are dealing with two different adversaries; one that is capable of walking during the day but that is severely weakened in the light and the others, who are vastly more powerful, but who are restricted to the hours of darkness. Either way we should be able to handle them if we wait for dawn and search them out.’
The men nodded their approval and their spirits seemed to lift with a definite plan on the table.
‘Until then, gentlemen, I suggest we all get some rest and prepare for tomorrow. Mister Fowler, please set the watches at three-hour intervals, just in case.’
The HMS Swift was categorised as a Class 5 Frigate. She ran one hundred and thirty seven feet along the lower deck and one hundred and thirteen feet at the keel. The deck stretched to thirty eight feet in width and she was ported for twenty six cannon on the main deck, though with the extra armament on the forecastle and quarterdeck, her full compliment was closer to forty. She had originally been armed with twelve pound guns but after Butler had dumped their weaponry chasing the French frigate with its hold of walking dead, the Admiralty, surprisingly not as angry as expected, had refitted her with the newer and more powerful eighteen-pound guns. However, there had not been enough of the new guns at the time so they still had a number of the older twelve-pound cannon in their compliment.
The attack came an hour before dawn when the storm was at its worst. Dark clouds had completely obscured the moon and heavy sheets of rain and spray crashed against the bedraggled figures on guard around the ship. It was understandable, therefore, that those who guarded the weather-side were less than vigilant as they tried to shield their frozen faces from the wind and rain by turning their backs to the storm.
Understandable, but unfortunate.
The men who scurried up the sides of the ship had swum from shore and yet showed no signs of fatigue. The very bite that slaved them to their master’s will also imparted strength and agility far surpassing the luckless guards that fell to the deck without even knowing they had been boarded.
From there the attackers crossed to the other side and set upon the other guards whose attentions were directed outward. It was at this stage that Midshipman Hackett returned to the deck after having been below to relieve himself. He saw the figures cross the rain-slicked deck and shouted an alarm to the men.
The guards turned towards the shouted warning and saw their attackers as ebony shapes in the darkness. Swords clashed against flesh with dull thuds and against each other with high-pitched screeches. Mayhem ensued as the attackers tore through the tired, frozen guards with ease. The crewmen accounted for themselves bravely, killing three of the boarders before they were overrun.
None of watch survived. But their sacrifice gave the others precious minutes and held the attackers at bay while the ship rallied and prepared to meet the onslaught. Butler ran from his cabin in his shirt with a pistol in one hand and his cutlass in the other. Bodies lay littered about the deck and he could see that most of them were those of his own crew. Shapes moved fluidly through the dark, at times indistinguishable from the night, as if they wore the darkness as a cloak. Men screamed in pain and fell to a deck made wet with rain, blood and entrails.
The crew of the HMS Swift were in trouble. The boarders finished off the last of the original watch and turned to face the growing group of men as they scrambled from below deck. Officers shouted orders but no-one could hear in the rising storm and the men shuffled restlessly away from the approaching boarders. The crew outnumbered the boarders ten to one but still the men hesitated. Butler tried to shout orders but the wind snatched his words away. He fought his way through the men, if they didn’t strike now then the men would lose heart completely and all would be lost.
Suddenly Midshipman Hackett raced forward towards the dark boarders, pushing through any crewmen in his way. The young officer screamed a challenge and waded into the figures without looking to see if anyone followed him. Butler saw him cut and slice at those around him, incredibly, driving them back momentarily.
Men cheered as their young officer continued to hold the attackers at bay and, for a moment, everyone seemed to stop and watch his valiant charge. A shape went down to the Midshipman’s sword as its head was separated from its body but then Hackett slipped on the deck and disappeared beneath the seething press of bodies.
The men around Butler shouted in outrage and launched themselves at their attackers with an abandon and ferocity Butler had never seen before. He felt himself carried along with the tide and then, suddenly, he was face-to-face with one of the boarders. The figure struck with blinding speed and tore a deep furrow along Butler’s cheek. Hot blood burst from the wound and Butler countered with a downward strike of his sword. The blade slashed down and caught the figure in the shoulder, cutting deeply into the flesh and lodging in the bone, but the man ignored it and lunged forward with a long knife. Butler felt the blade tear along his arm as the figure grabbed him by the shoulder. The pain caused a spasm in his arm and his sword fell from his grip and clattered to the deck. The thing in front of him grinned as he withdrew the knife and brought it around to plunge it towards Butler’s stomach. Butler only had a moment to react and he twisted his body feeling the knife slide easily into his side. The weapon felt impossibly cold as it ripped into his flesh and he felt darkness boil over him.
Ironically, it was the stench of his attacker that kept the darkness at bay and Butler used the last of his fading strength to wrench himself free from his maniacal attacker. He slipped on the rain-slicked deck and fell heavily, wincing as pain shot through his side. His attacker seemed to flow with the darkness and then, abruptly, he was standing over him again. Butler backed away but felt the rigging block his path behind him.
He was trapped.
The man smiled and raised his knife but then the smile slipped and Butler saw a sword point erupt through his chest. The man slumped to his knees as Lieutenant Fowler ripped the sword back and then brought it down again in an arc, severing his head.
Fowler nodded and then disappeared back into the throng as Butler made his way painfully to his feet. Two crewmen immediately flanked him, protecting him, as he forced his way back into the fight. The first rays of sunlight began to appear on the horizon and for the first time Butler saw fear on their attackers’ faces.
They began to retreat into a circle to protect their dwindling numbers. There were seven left, from an original fifteen, but too many of the Swift’s crew lay dead at their feet. The fighting stopped for a moment as the crew circled the boarders. The wind seemed to die suddenly, as if in empathy, and the two sides watched each other warily.
Butler could see one of the boarders glance up as the rising sun and he felt his own fear of the attackers disappear as the light revealed the bedraggled enemy in better detail. The air of confidence disappeared from the boarders and they seemed to shrink in on themselves.
‘For Mister Hackett,’ a shout rose from somewhere and the men launched themselves en masse at the enemy. The slaughter was horrifying. Mercy was not offered and the seven figures were hacked to pieces in seconds. Butler made his way to the starboard side and looked out at the island.
‘The sunlight did not kill them, sir,’ he nodded as Lieutenant Fowler stepped up beside him.
‘No, Peter, it did not.’ Butler sighed and gripped the man by the shoulder and smiled as he saw the familiar, rebellious tuft of hair poking from under his lieutenant’s hat. ‘I must thank you again for my life it seems.’
Fowler blushed and dropped his eyes to the deck. ‘I have lost count of the times when you have saved us all, sir. I am happy to repay the debt
in any small way I can.’
‘What of Mister Hackett?’ Butler asked as he turned to view the carnage on the deck. ‘He saved us all today.’
‘He’s still alive, sir, but barely. He is with the surgeon now.’
‘Tell Doctor Sinclair that I will consider it a personal insult if he lets the boy die.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Fowler paused for a moment as if considering his thoughts. ‘It will be harder on the island, won’t it, sir?’
‘It depends on whether they have any more capable of walking in the daylight or not. Also, it may be a small island but there is still a lot of ground to cover. Finding their hiding places before darkness falls will be a tall order. I think…’ Butler paused as if unsure whether he should go on but then, abruptly, he continued in a low voice, ‘…they obviously wanted to take most of us alive. They obviously need able seamen to take them to a populated area, I suspect. I fear, though, that our successful defence may have made us more of a liability. If we do not find them today then they will probably attack in force tonight, kill us all and merely wait for the next ship to come along.’
Fowler looked at his captain and noticed the deep lines of worry on his face. The captain was stooping forward and Fowler suddenly realised that he was holding his arm.
‘You’re wounded, sir,’ he exclaimed and shouted for an aide as Butler sagged against the rigging.
‘Peter,’ Butler waved the men away as he addressed his first Lieutenant, ‘You must organise searches immediately. I will join you presently. We must find them before dark.’
Fowler nodded and ordered the men to help their captain below decks and then he turned back to the survivors. There were far too many dead and wounded on the deck and the men that were left looked exhausted. Almost all had suffered wounds of some sort.
‘Get the cook to light the galley fire,’ Fowler ordered, ‘and issue a ration of rum to each man.’ The men smiled weakly, they weren’t stupid and they knew that this could very well be their last meal. He looked over the sea of faces. There were so many missing; Lieutenant Fletcher had fallen, as had Sergeant Casey. Captain Purcell was on the surgeon’s table and many more lay in terror as they waited their own turn.
Of the two hundred and thirty men they had arrived at the island with, thirty-five were dead and a number more were too badly wounded to help. My God, he thought as the full impact hit him. Fifteen of them nearly over-ran us completely and there are more powerful creatures waiting for us on the island. How can we hope to prevail?
‘Men,’ he began as he pushed his doubts aside and fought for the words to inspire the men. Captain Butler always seemed to know just what to say but now, with his superior wounded, the men would expect him to guide them and his mind had just gone blank.
‘It has fallen to us to stem the tide of this evil before it has a chance to spread,’ he began slowly but his confidence grew as he continued. ‘This enemy is not like those we are used to but we must find them regardless and put an end to their unholy existence.’ The men nodded their agreement but Fowler felt as if his words were empty. He turned to the island and watched as the sun seemed to peel back the darkness like a curtain slowly drawn aside. ‘They drew first blood but they did not find us wanting. They will not be aware that their gambit has failed. What say you we pay them a visit of our own and deliver our response?’
The men cheered and the deck grew busy as the men prepared to go to war.
Chapter 5
They began the search twenty minutes later after a hot breakfast. The men were carried ashore in a line of the ship’s smaller craft. The gig and the launch that had been used before were now joined by the cutter and even the small jolly boat ferried men to shore.
The storm had receded somewhat, though the sky roiled restlessly with barely tempered restraint. The water seemed to boil as they crossed to the island, as if it merely waited for its chance to erupt when they least expected it. A brisk wind snapped at them and brought with it a strange odour of salt and a sweet smell from the forest. It wasn’t a pleasant one by any means, it was more of a cloying, sickly smell and served to subdue the men on their long journey to the island and whatever horrors awaited them there. Above them the sun peaked intermittently from behind the dark clouds but so far it had made little impact on the early morning fog. The island seemed to hide itself behind the swirling mist and only increased the sense of dread that hung over the men. Those men who had already travelled to the island were invisible to those still on the water, as if they had been gobbled up and, were it not for the presence of their officers, many of the men would probably had turned their boats around and headed back to the relative safety of their ship.
Lieutenant Peter Fowler had been one of the first onto the island and had quickly organised the men into search parties as they arrived. He sent the first team, under the third Lieutenant, Mister Warren, to the residence to search carefully for any darkened rooms or basements that might afford the creatures a safe haven. He would have preferred to let the second lieutenant, Mister Winfield, lead the party but he was still too groggy so he would join the party as support until he felt he was sufficiently recovered to assume control. Mister Warren had looked positively green at the prospect of giving orders to his superior as he led his party up towards the house but Fowler had insisted on the arrangement.
Mister Garrett, the former senior midshipman, had been promoted to acting fourth lieutenant; taking Mister Fletcher’s position in the time-honoured naval tradition of promotion in the field. He was only fourteen and young for a lieutenant but he would have to prove himself yet or the commission would pass to the next senior midshipman.
Captain Purcell had already left for the far side of the island in a forced march. He had looked positively ill but had insisted that the marines’ training made them more suited for long marches, while the sailors would tire more quickly, and he, being the only surviving senior officer, was the only person who could lead them. Speed was critical so Fowler had relented and allowed the pale captain to go, but not without confirming that the captain was indeed up to the trek.
He suspected that Purcell’s emphatic assurance was more than a little suspect but he could not question a superior officer’s ability to command any more than he could search the entire island in one day. The logistics of the searches were already becoming a nightmare. He had to balance the need to cover as wide an area as possible with the requirement that each area must be searched thoroughly. He was also very short of officers, what with the Captain and Mister Hackett with the surgeon and Lieutenant Fletcher dead from his wounds.
He sent the other parties off to their allotted areas with instructions to fire two rounds if they found anything, he could not afford a careless shot fired in error to disrupt the search. He waited for the small jolly boat to arrive with the last party and turned to regard the island. The early morning mist still clung tenaciously to the edge of the undergrowth, imparting an almost mystical aura about it like a shroud. The other parties had already disappeared into its corporeal embrace and, for a moment, he feared that the mist led, not into the island itself, but instead to a gateway to another, more terrifying world.
The sound of the boat running high onto the sand and the oars being pulled from the rowlocks startled him from his thoughts and he jumped as he sensed a presence beside him.
‘It is unsettling, isn’t it,’ Fowler snapped his head to the side and felt relief flood through him as he saw his captain standing beside him.
‘Captain,’ he exclaimed, unable to keep the sheer relief from his voice. ‘It is good to see you. I did not think that our good doctor would let you go so easily.’
Butler smiled weakly and Fowler was shocked at how pale he was. ‘In truth,’ Butler answered in a hushed voice, ‘I must admit that I snuck out like a thief in the night while he was otherwise engaged. No doubt I will feel his wrath once we return but, for now, I am too far away to hear even his bellowing.’
Fowler regarded his captain dubiousl
y and could see the effort it had cost him just to make the short journey from the ship. Sir…’ he began as if unsure whether even his friendship with the captain gave him the right to question his superior, ‘…you are hurt and still losing blood. Do you not think that you should…’
Both men looked towards the residence as they heard a terrible scream shatter the silence. Fowler immediately started towards the incline, shouting orders to the men as they drew knives and cutlasses and ran after him. He noticed that the captain was falling behind as he struggled up the hill in the growing heat of the day. The captain would not want his weakness to slow them down so he motioned for the man closest to him to fall back and remain with him as he continued on up to the residence.
Captain Butler fought against the dizziness as he hurried up the incline. He had been about to snap at his first lieutenant for his comments on the beach but the scream had interrupted him and for that he was glad. He knew that Fowler was correct. He shouldn’t be here. But, he just couldn’t bear to sit and wait as their fate, and maybe that of the world, was decided on this small island. He knew that, as a doctor, Miles Sinclair would never understand. Butler may be captain and absolute authority on the ship but, in medical matters at least, the surgeon could, and would, enforce his will. Even to the point of physically restraining him if required.
The surgery was in the bowels of the ship and Butler could still smell the stink of blood and death that had hung heavily in the air as he had waited for the doctor to finish with a poor wretch who had just lost his arm. As he struggled up the hill to the residence Butler remembered the scenes of carnage and suffering as if he were still there. Men lay in cots or against the wooden ribs of the ship and waited for their turn on the surgeons table. Butler shivered as he recalled how two crewmen had held a third to the table while the doctor had poured a generous measure of rum into the wounded man’s mouth and then proceeded to saw at the man’s leg in a relentless motion that seemed to match the rocking of the ship itself. Butler remembered his own feelings as he looked down at his arm and wondered if his own wound would require such drastic action.