I was dying, I knew that and it wasn’t an inner peace I felt. No, far from it, in fact. The babies were crying for dear life and I feared what Lynch might do to them after I’d gone. Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t have fed them to the dead, or anything equally ghastly, but I couldn’t exactly picture him going out of his way to rescue them either.
Then, finally, as all I could hear was a constant wailing, with something somewhere snapping, my vision blurred over as my legs gave out.
And then there was relief as Lynch was pulled violently away, and someone screamed a blood chilling scream and even the babies silenced and my vision returned and my sense of smell was stronger than ever and I wasn’t dead but Lynch was on the floor with the dead man on top, taking mouthfuls from his throat.
I swallowed and felt a shooting pain through my neck, but I needed to leave and fast, because the creep’s foot was severed from its leg - It was free.
The door was still open from when Lynch entered and I charged toward it…
…and stopped.
The babies!
They’d stopped crying and now looked at me with big, blue, pleading eyes.
But it was a ridiculous notion. If I stopped to take them, they’d only weigh me down and make me less mobile for my escape out the fort and across open country. I couldn’t take them.
So why hadn’t I left yet?
I took another step toward the door but something made me look back.
I hesitated…
…and took a single step back toward them.
The ghoul swivelled its head toward me where he crouched, its fingers inside Lynch’s ribcage. Something red spilled from its opened mouth as the one-footed freak struggled to push itself up.
I moved closer to the door, then back to the babies.
It was on its feet now, trying to figure out how to reach me. And I didn’t think it’d need long.
If I didn’t decide within the next second, there’d be no choice to make.
Run for my life, or save the angels?
In the end, it was a choice I never had to decide upon, but for reasons I hadn’t expected.
There was a boom, followed by a deep rumble and then nothing.
Galway
Very occasionally in one’s life, you wake up to nothing but bliss. Gone are the often bad thoughts you sleep on most nights and instead there exists only a deep bliss of which you’d wish never ended.
This was one of those such occasions, where I could feel the crisp cool sheets and the gentle rustling of a fan above my head. I was in a bed somewhere and what’s more, even though it hurt to move my leg, I could wiggle my toes with no problem - All was well with the world.
I didn’t know how I came to be here, and in the moment I didn’t much care either. Clearly I’d been rescued from the fort somehow and brought here injured, but alive.
Somewhere in the distance was the cracking of muskets, but as long as it was far away from me then they could shoot at what they liked. I was so content to lie back, I didn’t even bother to open my eyes to see where I was.
When I did, I found myself in a nice room with whitewashed walls and a drunkard dozing on a chair in the corner, his finger twitching the string that operated the fan above my bed.
When I turned my head it pained me terribly and was in fact bandaged, but even that didn’t dampen my mood because I was alive and had somehow gotten away from Quinn, Lynch, the bloody dead and even the fort. I was wrapped up, cosy in a bed and if anyone wanted anything else from old Strappy, well then, they could whistle for it.
I tried to prop myself up on one elbow, but gave up due to the pain and almost cried out. At that point the drunkard stirred and ran from the room, almost pulling the fan down with him and he squawked that I was awake and would everybody come at once.
Seconds later there was a bustling outside and in ran a man in tweed jacket and top hat with a brace of Paddy assistants. “So glad you’re awake Captain…no, no…you just lie back. Here let me just…” he took my pulse and stared closely into my eyes before pulling back and beaming at me. “Don’t worry, Captain, you have a broken leg here, cracked ribs there and an almighty bump on the nob. Had a bad time of it recently, aye?” He checked my tongue and scrawled something down whilst barking out an order in Paddy to one of his assistants. “Sorry to give you the news, but it looks like you’ll be out of the wars for several months, at least until you can walk about. Then I’m sure they’ll find some more dead for you to slaughter, what? Yes, there’s the spirit.” He turned to the other aid. “Run along and tell that fat major the patient’s awake…what was that Captain? A drink? Here you are. All better? Yes, that’s it, just lie back.”
He yammered on about nothing while I switched off. Murphy was on his way. Did he know the truth? Had Lynch told him everything and more? Had the bastard even survived? He’d better not have, for my sake, otherwise what little reputation I’d gained would be dirt and quite possibly I could face charges, for what, I didn’t know, but if they were minded to they’d find something.
The memories of the fort were all too vivid in my mind, at least up until when Lynch entered the cell in which I’d run to make a last ditch effort at hiding. I must’ve taken a large wallop to the head, because after that, I couldn’t remember anything.
But if Lynch was alive, and had talked, I was finished. He’d sure to be believed before myself, the hero of the Charge and long time stalwart of the regiment he was. I’d be ruined, disgraced and would lose my status. And while yes, I hadn’t cared a dickens for any of them whilst I believed death was near, now that I was all well, it was easier to care for them now.
Oh God, I prayed, but please let Lynch be dead and all the others with him. The doctor must have seen my distress because he babbled something soothing in Mick I had no chance of fathoming.
Then in strode Murphy, his chubby face all red and puffy, eyes watering and his spectacles all steamed up. Sheehan was with him too and a bunch of other officers, some of whom I recognised were jostling for space so they could poke their heads inside the door.
Murphy sat down on the chair beside the bed, reached over for my hand and gazed at me like I was a beautiful sunset. “My boy.” He shook his head and wiped away a tear. “My brave, dear boy.”
Hello - This doesn’t sound too bad at all and I glanced once at Sheehan, who carried a similar dopey expression, then to the others - Likewise. But I needed verbal clarification and I wanted it now.
“Sir,” I croaked, my hoarse voice hurting my throat and I wondered for how long I’d been unconscious, “how is Major Lynch?”
Murphy looked down to the bed as his chin wrinkled up, then to Sheehan and the doctor, who all looked so beautifully solemn.
“His first words.” Sheehan said, blowing into a kerchief. “Always thinking about others, that’s our Strappy.”
Murphy shook his head and looked back to me. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Jack, but your friend and comrade, Major Lynch did not survive the explosion at the fort.” He stared at me glassy eyed. “He died like a true soldier.”
“Thank God,” I said, trying to hide my smile, “I mean, God help him…no, I mean God rest his sweet soul, that is.” My voice was so weak they couldn’t hear me anyway and I strained my face to look downcast.
Murphy squeezed my hand. “I know what his friendship must have meant to you, Jack, coming through adversary as you both did, to find mutual respect, to fight side by side in retaking the fort before slaughtering all those dead.” He shook his teary head. “Oh, my dear boy, we can only guess as to the hardships, for they are written all too plainly on your body…the horrors you must have endured together.” He wiped his eye and croaked, “I should have spared you this news until you were better.”
“No, sir,” I spoke in a strong voice now and managed to sit up, “I really needed to know.”
“And knowing you as we all do, we’d have expected nothing less from you, dear Jack.”
Sheehan stepped forwa
rd. “Be sure in the knowledge your troubles are now over and that you did your duty as few men would have done it…or could have done it and let me just say that I rejoice to see you safe and well, as does the entire regiment.”
Ah yes, the regiment and they made it back from Strabane I assumed, to invent new ways of tormenting me another day.
Murphy filled me in on the details; that a scout had informed Strabane that the fort had been retaken, the mission completed but that then a great battle had ensued, thousands of dead had died again, that the bravery of the men involved had convinced the colonel to sally out in search for survivors within the rubble and that those survivors were taken to Galway for special treatment.
My heart beat a sudden thud and both Murphy and Sheehan saw it in my face. “Those survivors?” I tried to pull myself out from the bed but Murphy settled me with his hands on my shoulders.
“You see, Lieutenant? You see? Even now, while he convalesces, he worries more for the tiny lives he saved than for his own.” What was he blabbering about? Again, he saw the confusion on my face. “Oh, Lieutenant, I think I will faint and all because of this boy. Why, saving the lives of twin boys is such a small thing for him, he barely even recalls the memory.”
I breathed easier on hearing that. Not because evidently I’d saved the babies, the memory of which did now trigger somewhere in my head, but because the rest of them, the rotten bastards, were obviously dead. “Oh, thank God.” I sighed, wiping at my eye. “The Lord hath’d mercy on their tiny souls.” I tapped the major on his hand. “Pray tell me they’re fine?”
“And all because of you, Jack. All because of you.” He shook his head in wonderment. “They say that when they pulled you out from that awful place, you were cradling the angels in your arms and that you’d used your own body as a shield to protect them, even as the wall fell in on top of you, crushing your bones, with no regard or thought for your own self or well being.” He’d managed to work himself up so much by his own eloquence that for three full minutes, he had to go into the corner and gulp, as Sheehan simply nodded solemnly and regarded me with something similar.
Finally he returned, more puffy eyed than before. “The Empire has her new hero, Jack, and heaven knows, we’ve had precious few of those recently. They’ll make much of you at home, I dare say.”
Me, a hero? Well, if they were all so stupid to believe it, then let em. I’d not contradict them. And anyway, they’d all worked themselves into such a state that even if I did, they’d not believe me anyway.
I wasn’t sure exactly what substance they were all taking. All I did know was that appearances and something else, something even greater were on my side and who needs more than that, aye? And besides, I wasn’t so cruel as to destroy this little illusion of me they’d somehow created in their dicked heads, so why not act on it? And in a way they’d expect?
“We only did our duty, sir.” I said, trying to look uncomfortable.
“You see, Lieutenant…” Murphy sniffed and looked back to me, “And I have done mine, dear Jack, for I have written to the Horse Guards with a full account of your actions.” He thrust a grubby mitt into the pocket of his breeches, bringing out a folded sheet of paper. “I’ll read it, dear Jack, because it speaks more clearly than I can at present and you’ll see how everyone else has judged your conduct these last few weeks.”
He coughed and began reading from the paper, smudged heavily in what I guessed to be tears. “Um, let’s see…supply route cut off…the dead in strength…ah, yes, here we are. A detachment under the command of Major Lynch was sent to retake the fort of Garrison, to hold if necessary and to reestablish the supply route north. The mission was accomplished when the dead amassed in overwhelming numbers and assaulted the position. The fort was completely cut off and defensive positions were established before receiving the full force of the enemy. In what manner the heroic men of the 8th resisted, I cannot say in detail, for of its garrison, only three survive, two of them being babies, the other an English officer who protected and delivered the former and who is now insentient with his wounds, but who we all pray will recover. How he came to be holed up in a cell, I know not, but can only envisage it was a heroic last ditch attempt at saving the boys whilst simultaneously fighting a solo rearguard action against the dead, of which many were discovered buried beneath the rubble. The heroic officer’s name is Captain Jack Strapper and is the sole survivor of the original force sent to retake the fort.”
I looked up when he finished. “You’re too kind, sir.” Too kind by a mile, you daft sod, if only you knew the truth.
He regarded me sternly, his eyes invisible behind his clouded specs and returned to the paper, not quite done yet. “Because of the sheer number of dead slain by this heroic officer, we deem that a severe blow has been struck against the enemy, affording the resistance substantial strategic advantages, lifting the burden on Strabane, Galway and numerous other important surrounding locations, inspiring the Irish, that all is not lost, and all because of one man…” he retired to the corner, to again sort himself out and regain his composure before returning several minutes later, “…that one man is the aforementioned Captain Jack Strapper.”
Hallelujah and good night, my future was bright. It was just a pity I hadn’t a broken sword and a ring of defeated dead around me, but the way things were going, there’d be plenty of time for that.
“It is my recommendation that the blame for the loss of the Queen’s colours should not be placed upon the heroic shoulders of the aforementioned gallant officer, but instead on the one man, who, as commander of the expedition, bore the full brunt of responsibility for their safe delivery and therefore the full blame for their loss.”
It just kept getting better - Not that I thought the colonel would agree with that statement necessarily. Well Lynch - If that was what you wanted, you got it.
“The multitudes of slain were in evidence everywhere, not least on the approach to where the gallant captain was discovered. At first he was taken for dead, but to the relief of the whole regiment, the flame of life still flickered within him. I cannot imagine that ever there was a nobler deed than this and it pains me to have missed it and I only wish that the captain’s countrymen could have seen it too and learned of how our heroes protect their country’s honour with selfless devotion, even in these most disturbing of times. I trust that the name of Captain Jack Strapper be remembered throughout every home in England, across every parish and school where his name be forever spoken with reverence.” And he gazed into my eyes for the final part. “Signed Major Fergus Murphy.”
If this is how we conquered the world then thank God the French don’t know or they’d soon be at us again. Oh, it was all such guff, but most wonderful to listen to. And all I had to do was sit by, keep my head low and wait for the fame, acclaim, awards and women to follow.
He placed the grubby paper back into his pocket whilst Sheehan remained stern and I wondered if he thought the major had rubbed it all on a bit too thick. Either way, he kept quiet and then a silence ensued.
Feeling awkward I thought best to say something. “You’ve done us all great credit, sir, so I thank you on behalf of all of us who ventured out from Strabane on that fateful day. It’s no less than they deserve, but as for myself, well, if you don’t mind my saying so, you make it all sound a bit too much. I, um, well I just kind of pitched in with the rest of the boys, you see.”
Even Sheehan smiled at that and at one point I thought Murphy would burst into tears.
We all sobered down, tea was brought and, if I was feeling up to it, and if it weren’t too much trouble, would I mind recounting of how I came to be in the cell, deep under the fort, stripped naked but for my breeches, weaponless and all.
Not wanting to disappoint, I told them of how we fought the dead, retook Garrison, those fateful hours waiting for the enemy whilst we prepared ourselves to face the overwhelming odds and how, after a valiant defence and the loss of several of our men, we retreated back into
the fort whilst taking down as many dead as we could. After that, I told them my memory was still a bit fuzzy, on account of sustaining a nick from a falling fort and no more was asked about it.
And once again, Murphy proclaimed my modesty and courage and endurance and spirit and above all - Luck. Well, he was certainly right about one of them.
What can I say? I told the story well enough, not overly or under modest, just a soldier reporting back to his seniors. It needed good judgement on my part and that is the art of bragging. You must go forth without swaggering, omitting the details but not too many that it seems you weren’t there and above all you must leave your sentences incomplete, allowing your audience to finish them for you, to draw their own conclusions, often better than what you were about to say anyway. What you’re doing is holding them by the hand, bringing them to the half way point and they’ll finish the rest for you, letting them guess more than you say. You must smile rarely, look uncomfortable when they furnish you with compliments and whatever you do, you must sit on your hands so that you don’t touch your face.
Of course, they spread the tale of old Strappy and his heroism, which grew in legend like Chinese whispers, and over the next few days, the only officers from the entire regiment who didn’t visit to shake my hand personally were Dolan and Colonel Fitzgibbon. Major Murphy came in several times each day, to the point I became sick of the sweets and the cards and his wife’s baking and offers of dinner at his residence and the flowers.
It was a wonderful few weeks convalescing, safe in bed whilst the idiots risked their lives for some noble cause and I can tell you my conscience didn’t trouble me one bit. And why would it? I hadn’t asked for any of this, I just didn’t contradict them either, and who would?
At one point Major Murphy came by with Sheehan to tell me the dead had gathered in overwhelming numbers in the hills around Donegal. “Now, don’t you worry about them, dear Jack, we have the measure of them, so we do.”
I patted my crocked leg, which unknown to them had been better for a while, and scowled. “I just wish I could take my share of the burden. It’s just my peg, you see…so frustrating.”
Not Dead Yet: A Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1 - 2 Page 15