Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter (Book 1): Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter

by Verstraete, C. A.

  Luckily, they took off before the ghastly group got within reach. Pierre managed to snake the carriage around the fallen wagons and evade the debris. Lizzie leaned out the window and cracked the whip as hard as she could to keep the ghouls away as they went by. If one came too close, she swung her bat, succeeding in getting most away from their carriage. The horse whinnied in terror and would’ve bolted, sending them careening out of control, if not for Pierre’s calming voice and strong grip on the reins.

  Everywhere they went Lizzie saw nothing but destruction, chaos, and horror. She held the hand of the poor dear next to her, who sobbed softly, and patted her face with a lacy handkerchief. Her husband shook his head, muttering a continuous litany of “my, my, my.”

  Block after block, street after street, the horse clip-clopped past scenes Lizzie knew would haunt her for weeks and months to come. Yet, despite the awfulness, in her heart she couldn’t blame Father for any of this. As she saw it, the only ones at fault were the mayor, and his companions. She vowed to make sure they were brought to justice once reason, order, and peace returned.

  The carriage zigged and zagged past pockets of horror, the scene of creatures gorging on the bloody remains of some poor unwitting citizen they had overtaken so foul, so gruesome and ghastly, that the woman beside her screamed. She fell back in a dead faint, which was for the best, perhaps. Her husband looked down and covered his face with his hat, but not before Lizzie saw his tear-filled eyes and quivering lip.

  Lizzie’s heart hurt for them. She truly wished they didn’t have to witness such horrors. That she didn’t even flinch once made her wonder at her own state of mind, and how hardened she’d become because of it.

  Such self-analysis had to wait. Thankfully, more groups of police fighting off the undead mobs came into view. Flashes of red SAS armbands on the arms of those assisting no longer bothered her. She applauded their efforts in stopping this madness.

  They rounded the corner onto Third Street, her nerves on edge at the thought of the creatures that could be hiding among the leafy branches of the trees in the lovely pear orchard near her old home. The memory of her and Emma sharing one of the freshly picked pears as children made the loss of such innocent moments hurt even more. To her relief, the carriage continued on with no trouble.

  Finally, their elderly passenger motioned for Pierre to stop in front of a charming little house fronted with neat bushes, the lawn nicely trimmed.

  “This is our home,” the man whispered as he helped wake his wife. Lizzie cautioned Pierre to stay in his seat. “I’ll help them to the door and do a quick check so you can watch Emma.”

  Fortunately, a quick inspection uncovered no foul intruders. Lizzie wished the couple well and waited until they got safely inside. She hoped they remained safe as she climbed back into the carriage, and they continued on. The welcome sight of the sturdy stone edifice of St. Mary’s Church as the carriage turned onto Second Street gave her a sense of peace. As the horse trotted down the road, she saw several local hunters, along with many neighbors patrolling the streets, rifles at the ready.

  Lizzie leaned forward as they drove up to the Hill, anxious to get a glimpse of home. She prayed her beloved Maplecroft still stood proud, tall, and undisturbed. Her anticipation grew. It felt like days since she’d left instead of only hours.

  “Look, Emma, we’re almost home!” She patted her sister’s shoulder.

  Emma mumbled again, saying something that sounded like she was leaving, which made no sense.

  “Emma, what did you say?” Lizzie’s excitement faded as she gazed at her sister’s pale face. “Emma? Emma, wake up.”

  She softly shook her sister’s shoulder, yet Emma remained unconscious. Her skin felt hot and clammy. Tiny beads of perspiration dotted her cheeks and forehead. “Pierre, hurry. We need to call the doctor. Emma isn’t waking!”

  Her joy at finding the house undisturbed with no undead visitors shambling about felt insignificant in the face of Emma’s downward spiral. Lizzie hurried to open the door as Pierre carried her sister in.

  “Here, take her to the bath. Never mind her clothing. I need to get her cooled down. Hold her up so I can get some cold water over her.”

  Emma’s skin felt as hot as a poker taken from the fire. Her face looked pale. After removing her sister’s shoes, Lizzie filled the tub with cold water. As she looked Emma over again, she saw nothing wrong: no scratches, marks, or visible gouges on her skin. She had seemed tired and frail before, but nothing as bad as this.

  The cold bath seemed to help. Emma’s skin finally felt cooler to the touch. Pierre helped lift her from the tub and into a chair, then waited outside while Lizzie removed her sister’s wet clothes. Once she was decently covered in a heavy chenille robe, she called Pierre back in.

  “If you could take her into the parlor and put her on the settee,” she suggested. “I can watch her more easily from there.”

  Emma’s breathing appeared steady, but the continued lack of response worried Lizzie. As she said goodbye to Pierre and welcomed in the doctor, he had little to recommend other than crushed aspirin once Emma could swallow it, and an alcohol bath to keep the fever down. “It appears to be some kind of fever,” he said. “There is really nothing I can do for her.”

  His diagnosis only angered Lizzie. She did as he suggested, wiping her sister down with rubbing alcohol, and getting her to ingest a small spoonful of aspirin diluted in water, but Emma still lay quiet and unmoving.

  Lizzie sat and held her sister’s cool hand. Tears filled her eyes as she gazed at the dark circles around Emma’s closed eyelids, and the pale, sickly hue of her face. “Oh, Emma, I am so sorry, so sorry. You tried your best. You acted so bravely. I’m so, so proud of you.”

  As she lifted Emma’s near lifeless hand to her cheek, Lizzie tried to hold back the tears so as not to turn into a blubbering mess. Worry filled her as she went to change into a dressing gown and set a pot of tea on the table, prepared to stay up all night if necessary.

  That done, she pulled the blanket over Emma and settled into the chair, wanting to be near in case her sister needed her, or if there were any changes. She braced herself for the long haul as whether for good or bad, Emma’s condition remained yet unchanged.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The Scourge is Over! Mayor Held for Heinous Crimes.

  —Headlines, The Fall River Herald

  “E

  mma, they did it, they did it! The mayor was arrested!”

  Lizzie bounded down the stairs to the sitting room, a fresh, crisp edition of the newspaper in hand. The paper crinkled as she spread it out on the table. “Emma, this is wonderful news. The newspaper says: REIGN OF TERROR ENDED! FALL RIVER MAYOR ARRESTED! MURDER PLOT UNCOVERED!”

  She smoothed out the front page of The Fall River Herald, glad to share this moment with her sister, whom she was sure felt the same sense of satisfaction she had that the fiends would be brought to justice.

  “This is indeed great news,” Lizzie remarked. “Of course they brought up our name again, and Father’s building, but the real focus is the mayor and his role in this whole fiasco, as it should be. It appears he had others involved in Boston, as well. I’m so glad they caught him. Now we can all put this terrible episode behind us and get on with our lives.”

  Of course, she knew it would take a while for everyone to get over such a disaster. In the ensuing days, order gradually returned to the city, though the damage was extensive. The downtown and the business district resembled a war zone. The burned warehouses on the riverfront were now charred, empty shells.

  However, between the efforts of the police, the citizens, and the Society members, the monsters had all been caught and vanquished. Citizens felt some reassurance that no further public infection had been located. The immediate danger had ended. It would, of course, take years to rebuild and bring their fine city back to its former condition.

  Lizzie also gave her full consent for police officials to confiscate the ghastly m
aterials at the Borden building. She hired workmen to repair the damage, as well. Getting everything from those awful experiments gone for good couldn’t happen soon enough. She and Emma both wanted it to be over.

  The only change she was certain Emma disliked had been her decision to get a dog. “Emma, I know how you feel about dogs, but I decided to bring the most darling Boston Terrier home. I promise to keep him out of your way upstairs.”

  Oddly enough, once the actual danger passed, and those who had left in the height of the attacks began returning home, Lizzie soon learned that her former status as the local pariah hadn’t changed a whit.

  When she took the dog for a morning walk down the street, any neighbors who appeared outside at the same time pretended to not see her. They turned their backs, or hurried inside. It hurt, she had to admit. Soon she confined her outdoor excursions to her own gardens. She and the dog had to be content in their own backyard.

  Past friends and family members continued to shun her as well. It soon became too uncomfortable for everyone when any of Emma’s few acquaintances called to ask about her. Rather than go into a lengthy explanation about Emma’s ill health, and endure the accompanying awkward silence from the caller, Lizzie simply told them Emma had gone to Fairhaven to recuperate. Soon those calls ended, too.

  The break that hurt the most, though, came on the day when she finally decided to say goodbye to Pierre. “I can never, ever, thank you enough for all you’ done for me, and for Emma,” she said when he called to check on her sister. “I’m so glad it’s over. We’ll never forget what you did for us. We both wish you well.”

  The gentleman that he was, Lizzie knew Pierre understood what she meant without her having to explain further. He graciously didn’t make it harder on her by protesting.

  She settled in at home, prepared to lead a quiet life surrounded by her books, her favorite music, and the companionship of her dog, and her sister. After the trial and then all the chaos, fighting, and the horrors of those monsters, both of them had had enough upset and raucousness in their lives to last a lifetime.

  Occasionally a driver came to take her shopping, but Lizzie found it easier to rely on deliveries. A couple of kindhearted women helped her by providing light meals, and cleaned the upstairs rooms when needed. Life became slower, simpler.

  Since too much togetherness could be detrimental, she chose to spend a lot of time by herself on the sun porch reading, or watching the comings and goings on the street, the dog at her side. She usually joined Emma in the sitting room for lunch since her sister preferred the coolness downstairs.

  Their lives went on at an even keel, day after day, until Lizzie grabbed the paper one morning. She saw the headline, and ran downstairs in a panic to share it with Emma. “Emma! Emma! Oh, this is horrible! I thought they caught them all. The mayor’s accomplice. He’s still out there!”

  Lizzie stared at her sister, unwilling, unable, to grasp what this meant. She and Emma had been living quietly, content that the worst was behind them. And now this! She fretted and wrung her hands. Did this mean everything could start up again? Will Emma and I have to live the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders?

  The unexpected blare of the telephone upstairs made her jump. “Oh, what a morning! Emma, I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Pulling up her dress hem to avoid tripping, she rushed upstairs to the parlor and answered the telephone. “Hello. What? Speak up, I can’t hear you.” The earpiece shook in her hand. “What did you say? Who is this? Hello, hello?”

  The phone went dead.

  A chill hit her. What was going on? She tried to process the whispered message when the doorbell rang. Panic fluttered in her chest; her breath caught as she peered through the lacy curtain before opening the door.

  “Pierre, what’re you doing here? Come in. Is something wrong?

  He came in and held out a newspaper. “I had to talk to you. Did you see this?”

  She nodded. “I did. Worse, I think he just called me.”

  He reached out and grasped her shoulders. “What do you mean?”

  “Someone was on the telephone a minute ago. The man spoke so low I could barely hear him.”

  “What did he say?”

  Lizzie took a breath before she answered. “I’m sure it was him. It sounded like he said almost the same thing he told me at the end of my trial except in less polite words. ‘Watch yourself. This isn’t over.’”

  She tried to take comfort in the way Pierre held her hands in his. In his eyes she saw concern, and if she was not mistaken, something more. Maybe his feelings for me haven’t changed, she thought, but knew this was not the time to think about that, or about herself.

  He cleared his throat and released her. “What do you want to do? Should we call the marshal?”

  She thought about the pros and cons, pondering their next move. Her choice was clear, if not welcome.

  “No, not yet. I never wanted to go there again, but we have to go back to Father’s business. The officials cleared it out, but I suspect there are some places they never searched. As you know, Father had many secret hiding places.”

  “I’m free if you need my help. Your sister…” He paused.

  “She’ll be fine. This is her rest time. I would appreciate your going with me.”

  “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  She remained silent on the way to the Borden building. Pierre probably wanted to talk about her decision to push him out of her life, and about Emma. She now felt maybe she’d been too hasty.

  “Liz, I wanted to tell you how glad I am to see you again. I confess I’m still not sure why you felt we should break off communication.”

  “I’m glad to see you, too. I fear I was hasty, but it’s not something I want to discuss now, if you don’t mind.”

  He pulled the carriage to the back of the building. “We’ll talk later. I’ll lock the gate while you unlock the door.”

  It took a few minutes of fighting with the lock before she got the door open. Stale air rushed out. She could still smell the unmistakable lingering odor of rot and shivered. She’d intended to never come back here. If not for this morning’s news, she would’ve rented out the building, or at some point even sold it without ever stepping foot on the premises again.

  Pierre came up behind her and interrupted her musing. “All set?”

  “Yes, I just want to get this over with.”

  He lit two lanterns and handed her one as they crept silently down the labyrinth of hallways. Lizzie’s heart felt like it would explode as the memories rushed in with each turn—the creatures stalking them … the feeling of being trapped … the fear on Emma’s face … the sight of her sister crumpled on the floor. She gasped and touched the wall, as if she could push it all away.

  Pierre set down his lantern and wrapped her in his arms. He held her close as her shoulders shook with sobs. “It’s all right, Liz, I know how hard it is. They’ll get him, they will. You and Emma will be fine.”

  She took a deep breath. “I know. It’s a little overwhelming. I never expected to see this place again, but I’ll do whatever I can. I intend to see Emma remains safe, and that fiend punished. I appreciate your coming with me. All right, I’m ready.”

  They continued down the hall where Lizzie noted the turned-out desk drawers and overturned boxes in the adjacent rooms. Streaks of soot from the fire blackened the walls. It appeared the police had done a thorough search, but she kept going. Once in the main section of the building, she eyed the stairs leading to the upper level a moment before she pointed to a doorway behind the staircase. “We have to go to the cellar.”

  The lanterns cast an eerie glow across the aged stone steps leading to the lower level. Once they got to the bottom, the refuse tossed about told her this had been searched, too.

  “Looks like the police found everything,” Pierre said.

  Lizzie shook her head as she felt along the cold, stone walls. “Maybe not.”

  “What�
��re you looking for?”

  She knelt on the packed earth floor and rubbed her hand horizontally across the surface. “This. I saw it mentioned in some of Father’s papers.”

  She stopped at a section of hewn rock that felt jagged to the touch, but wouldn’t draw anyone’s attention if they didn’t know about it. Ignoring the sharp edges, she pounded the center with her fist. On the second try, the rock section slid out with a scrape of stone against stone. Inside sat a few torn scraps of paper, and nothing else.

  “Oh, no.” She stood to her feet and wrung her hands together. “It looks like he found it. The mayor’s accomplice probably knew where this was long before I came across it in the papers I was putting away.”

  “What was in there?”

  “Father’s note said he hid a copy of the tonic formula, along with details about the experiment and the undead creatures, in what he called a ‘wall safe’ in the cellar.”

  “That may not help anyone else, or maybe those papers were taken long before,” he said.

  “Yes, or it could be a way to resurrect this whole ghastly business if someone evil enough like the mayor’s accomplice had a mind to do it,” she agreed. “It wouldn’t take a lot for them to start over.”

  They went back upstairs where she locked the door for what was hopefully the last time. After taking one last glance, she got in the carriage with a wish it all was over.

  Pierre squeezed Lizzie’s hand as he guided the horse down the road. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him. We will. No matter how long it takes.”

  She had no answer.

  After saying goodbye, she went inside the house, her heart heavy. “Emma? I’m home. I’m going to feed the dog. I’ll bring lunch down in a minute.”

  She placed an assortment of fresh chicken livers, hearts, and gizzards, along with some choice beef bits, in a bowl. She had to put the horror of this recent development behind her. There was nothing she could do but be vigilant until the fiend showed his face or, Lord help them, another outbreak occurred.