Not Dead Yet: A Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1 - 2

by K. Bartholomew

  How had it come to this? One moment I was contemplating a revenge romp in The White House, the next I was bound and being shanghaied in a carriage stinking of tobacco and the kind of sweat only two over exerted fat men could create. But I’d lived through one kidnapping already and it was all too recent in my mind to want to go through anything like that again. Mercifully, this was where my recently accumulated fortune would play its part.

  I cleared my throat. “Gentlemen, since you’re both aware of precisely who I am, I expect you’ll also know about my wealth and position within society and the hearts of the nation at large. Now, it’s probable you’re being recompensed a large sum for this ghastly work, but let me make you both a rather generous counter offer. I don’t know who’s paying you, and though I’m curious, I understand the need for confidentiality in these matters, so whatever it is you’re being given, why not allow me to remunerate you both to the sum of three times the amount…payable on my subsequent release, of course.” I sat back with a thump, a satisfied expression and allowed my inspiring words to sink in. “What say you lads?”

  The grumpy barrel leaned forward and rubbed his chin as I dared to brim with hope. “Thrice the amoont you say? With that kind of money, I could purchase a nice hoose aweey from that stinking shit pile called Glasgoow, or what’s left o’ it.”

  “Yes! Exactly! Let me help you.”

  He looked to his brother whose eyes were likewise shining with excitement. “Tis very tempting, I must say. But the thing is…the boss warned yee’d try buy us off oonly to later welsh on yeer promise.”

  I stamped my foot. “Nooo, I’d never do such a thing. Who said this? This…this is slander, I tell you, and if someone is attempting to blacken my good name with these lies, well…the courts are the only option I’m left with and I will pursue this miscreant for damages, aye, let me tell you. Well?” I could’ve seethed, if only I hadn’t needed to maintain a controlled manner for the benefit of the present negotiations.

  He grabbed ahold of my knee and squeezed. “Let me tell yee this, me laddy. Yee’ve not enough o’ the Queen’s goold by half to oot buy oor boss.”

  I tried to throw up my arms but was again restricted by the damned cords. “To the blazes with it man. You can’t just go about abducting people…sure it might work with most of the gentry and good riddance, but I’m not just any old tramp you picked up off the street. Sooner or later the nation’ll realise their hero’s missing and there’s a whole brothel full of whores of good standing who’ll vouch I was there.”

  The bugger grinned his Scotch stained teeth. “Yee haven’t figured it oot yet have yee laddy?”

  “Figured it out? Figured what out, confound it?”

  He simply laughed and turned away, leaving me infuriated and contemplating the rest of the journey and what lay beyond.

  We continued through the country and thanks to the milestones it didn’t take long to see we were moving north along the Great North Road, the very route that even now, my regiment would be travelling along. Dare I hope we’d pass the 11th along the way and I’d be rescued from whatever was about to befall me? I didn’t know for how long I was insensible, but they couldn’t be any more than a day ahead at most. My kidnappers hadn’t gagged me, the window was open, and at the first sign of Murphy or any one of my boys I could scream for my life and to hell with what anybody thought.

  My hopes were soon dashed when somewhere in Yorkshire the carriage pulled off the main road, turned again and continued along a dirt track flanked by heavy overgrowth. The horses laboured and neighed, another shot startled me as we bumped about within the interior and several minutes later ground to a halt.

  Instinctively I moved to poke my head out the window and that was when the slightly nicer ruffian closed it and drew the curtain.

  “Wait, my lad.”

  At least two pairs of feet jumped down from the front cabin, their footsteps faded out and then there was knock. After a while a door opened followed by muffled voices in the near distance. Two minutes later someone whistled.

  “That’s us.”

  I was pulled out the cabin with a brother attached by rope at either side and escorted toward the run down farm house with its windows and shutters, bushes verging onto the path and a donkey standing lazily by the door left ajar in anticipation. I wobbled the first few steps and wondered what drug they’d force fed me.

  It approached from the side, trampling straight through a gathering of noisy cockerels and naturally I was the first to see it and would have screamed in terror if only my jaw hadn’t been separated from my skull. The guards obviously sensed my panic though.

  “What? Yee of all people een’t afreed of a single dead man are yee? Ach, best teek care of it, aye.” He fumbled one handed for a short blade tucked into his belt, crossing his chubby arm uncomfortably across his girth and trying to reach the weapon.

  “What the…? I toold yee I should’ve been on that side yee stupid bloody idiot. What if the boss saw yee noow?”

  Oh God, he’d only succeeded in attaching his dextrous arm to me and left his less dominant mitt to fend for the three of us whilst the zombie dragged itself ever closer and the birds thrashed around at its feet. And it was one of those longer limbed faster moving freaks too, with horrific grey skin and crooked hand pointing the wrong way.

  “Well why doon’t yee teek care o’ it then, yee daft sod.”

  “Well meeybe I will and why doon’t yee lose some bloody weight.” His brother angled around whilst I used the pair of them as a great human shield and he attempted to reach across his body for the pistol only to experience the same problem in reverse. “Ooh, Jesus Chrayst! This is all yeer doin’ for wanting the bloody windoow seat. I bloody toold yee.”

  The zombie was salivating now, long ropes of yellow ooze as it neared the two imbeciles to whom I’d somehow found myself connected. It was the closest I’d come to a zombie since Ireland and this one was different to those of which I’d become all too appallingly accustomed. Whereas they were victims of the famine who’d risen again and displayed all the aesthetics of having spent years rotting in the earth, chewed by worms or clawed at by all number of rodents, this English zombie was different.

  This ghoul possessed flesh and a hole where its neck should have been - Oh and not forgetting half its face was missing to boot - Quite the terror inducing chap it was, yet even this small fact failed to rouse my Scots keepers to prompt action as they bickered amongst themselves over whether switching positions would enable them to reach their respective weapons.

  Eventually they realised they could, with ease, draw each other’s weapon and with only seconds to spare, the idiot with the pistol now attempted to fire off a round, only to find it unloaded. Expletives followed, leaving us protected only by a keg with a knife in his non-dominant hand and then the gravity of our predicament was finally recognised, as I crouched behind the giants, just as the zombie lurched forward with its bad arm and somehow dislocating it in the undertaking.

  The wrenching of bone cracked a second before the rifle shot and the zombie was pitched back, the remainder of its face now a spray of burgundy. I needed a second to adjust from an unsettled state and then saw the thick smoke drifting out from an opened window of the farm house and nobody behind it.

  Both goons froze and slowly looked to each other. “Quick, get ‘im inside.”

  I was yanked by both arms, surprised somewhat at the speed the duo could move and then we were within the ramshackle hut, nudging beyond a long streak of piss crushed against the wall with a concerned expression and a fistful of gold. He jabbed a bony finger upwards and I was dragged up the creaking steps as my arms threatened to dislodge from their sockets.

  The upper corridor was covered in sawdust, cobwebs, dust and what had to be pig shit and more than a few floorboards groaned from our combined weight and then I was thrust through a door and thrown into a room. When I wiped away the tears and adjusted to my new confines I saw the bed, the rickety window overl
ooking the carriage, dirt track and fields, the basin and piss pan in the corner. It was the lowest form of bed and board imaginable, and I’d travelled Paddyland extensively.

  They jostled me into the corner, produced more binds and with an obscenely tight knot, fastened my feet to a pipe that stretched exposed across the length of the lower wall. Only then did they consider my custody safe enough for one of my hands to be detached from one of them and secured likewise to the pipe, whilst the other remained fixed to a guard. If not for the unknown threat I faced the situation would have been most comical; the sheer lengths to which they went to ensure my continued detention, as well as that unknown factor, of what I was supposedly capable.

  It may seem odd, but when in peril my mind acts in strange ways. And only now, whilst squatting in the corner, did I take a moment to consider the other man or men who’d travelled with us. The coach driver I’d yet to see and at least one other person must have been free to shoot every zombie in sight, and doing a fine job too. It was likely that one of them was the fiend from the brothel, the one who’d tormented me from behind a cigar before ploughing into my face? My jaw ached and I feared having to eventually eat.

  Over the next hour they took turns watching me, whilst the other untethered themselves and either went into the adjacent room to speak with ‘the boss’ or else returned to the coach to fetch up their ‘drenk.’ At times they’d be gone long periods during which the stone dampened voices through the wall were barely audible and no matter how hard I concentrated on deciphering the words, it proved impossible. I had a right to know why I was being ill treated and what they had planned for me, confound it, and it was while the less congenial brother was rummaging through the baggage atop the coach that I took the opportunity to proposition the other.

  “Say, um, what did you say your name was?” I asked from the corner.

  He hesitated and looked with scepticism down his broken nose before growling, “McGurn.”

  “Sergeant McGurn, am I correct?”

  He nodded. “Aye, yee be right boy.”

  “Well, Sergeant, I don’t know about you, but I found it most unfair how your brother went over your head, not even bothering to seek your thoughts with regards my generous offer, but then…silly me…I should have been more specific…” I allowed my words to trail off in the hope I’d rouse his curiosity. It worked.

  “What yee be getting at lad?” He asked, lying on the bed, not even paining himself enough to turn his head, to look my way and I hoped my next words would cause a stir.

  “Twenty thousand pounds is what I be getting at.” I clapped my hands together once to stamp my point and knew from how his ears pricked that I’d attracted his scrutiny. “And there’d be no need for your brother to know or whoever else is in that room yonder.” He was listening, I could tell by the way he sucked his lower lip. “The whole world knows what I’m capable of, Sergeant, and you’ve been left alone with me. Why, there’d be no shame should I happen to take you unawares, maybe bash you about a little, untie myself and make it through the window.” Sure there’d be zombies lurking in the forest beyond and I’d not thought that far ahead. For now I just needed to alter the present trajectory. “Twenty thousand pounds. What say you Sergeant?”

  He rubbed the filthy stubble upon one of his three chins. “Not interested.” He said after a while, turning the other way as I clenched my shaking fists.

  My anger was interrupted by the sound of something outside smashing and I repositioned myself to take a squint in the direction of the coach. Bad McGurn stood on the wagon’s roof but my attention was drawn to the unfamiliar man who gawped open mouthed at what appeared to be a broken mirror in the dirt.

  On closer scrutiny he appeared to be a boy although it was never easy to tell with his type, the drooping eyes and dopey expression revealing he was of the simple nature. He hunched over in his suspenders, rubbing the back of his scrawny neck and then McGurn jumped off the coach roof, giving the imbecile a clout around the head.

  The larger man stooped down, surveying the loss and making wild gesticulations with his arms before proceeding to drag the boy inside with a large claw around the neck.

  I heard the thuds as the pair bounded up the steps and then the door to the adjacent room was opened from where, within seconds, the thumping began and the wailing of which I could quite easily decipher, something else broke, perhaps wood and there was a high pitched yelp.

  After several minutes the boy was manhandled back outside and McGurn tied him front first by the wrists to the coach wheel before ripping away his shirt. I felt my eyes sparkle and my adrenaline rush as McGurn brought out a whip from the front cabin - If I was to be spending several more hours in this position, then there may as well be entertainment and I craned my neck for a better view. Besides, by keeping a watch I could reasonably expect to learn about my captors, or so I told myself - It was all for the good of my own safety, which was the most important thing of all.

  McGurn proceeded to whip and belt and thrash and tan the very consciousness from the boy as his screams pierced through my ears. I rubbed my hands together like a Paddy seeing his first drink in a week and even had to swallow away the excess saliva in my mouth. The man could sure administer a flogging and the boy, on account of his limited cognitive capabilities, could sure absorb it. Then the long streak of piss came rushing out, waving his arms as though doing so would dissuade the madman from beating the poor lad. It didn’t and McGurn gave the man short shrift by threatening him with the same lest he go back inside, shut the door and mind his “oon damned besness.” McGurn returned to the job at hand and only ceased once the boy had passed out, wiped the sweat from his fat face and then almost fell over from shock upon sighting the zombie within five paces as it staggered around from the other side of the carriage. How I’d missed it was testament to the fun I was having watching the spectacle.

  McGurn stepped back, primed his whipping arm and then unleashed a crack across the ghoul’s face as an explosion of former flesh sprayed outwards. I could see its exposed jawbone and teeth now but it didn’t stop and McGurn unsheathed a short blade, approached the zombie, grabbing it by a handful of lank hair before thrusting the knife up through its throat. It collapsed to the ground in a heap, McGurn replaced the whip and strolled back inside like it had all been a trip to the rose garden.

  I recoiled from the window as the footsteps increased in volume and I could feel the vibrations from where I sat. Was he really leaving the lad strapped to the wheel, exposed and vulnerable with an unknown quantity of dead lurking out there? I enjoyed watching a good whipping as much as the next debauched man but this was taking things a bit too far, even for me. It brought back memories of the time, only a few short months ago when I spent a similar night tethered to a stake, an unknown fate awaiting me and I could still feel the chill from that awful lonely night on Irish moorland. Oh I could relate to his pain alright, but considering how precarious a position I once again found myself, it was far better a halfwit should suffer than me. Indeed, if there was one mercy for the chap stranded out there, it was that he was unconscious and would hopefully stay that way.

  That wish soon proved premature, because no sooner had McGurn entered the room did the cries from outside begin.

  “Thought I’d put a stop to that.” Bad McGurn collapsed shattered on the bed and his brother stirred from his bottle.

  “Yee should ‘ave hit ‘im harder. Perhaps I’ll give him a few tickles myself when I next goo oot.”

  I looked outside at the darkening skies and then back to the McGurns. “You mean, you’ll be keeping watch over him?” It made little sense to me. Why not just bring him inside so they didn’t have to?

  The bad one snatched the bottle from his brother. “Mebbe we will or mebbe we woon’t, what’s it too yee?”

  “Get yeer oon bloody bottle.” My preferred sibling grabbed it back before taking a Scottish sized pull and received a thumb to the throat for his trouble.

  “Gi’ m
e et noo.” I’m sure it wasn’t my imagination but the more drunk they got the harder they were to comprehend. “Bisayds, the other bootle weren’t where yee sayd it was.”

  I had many hours of this, not that I could sleep anyway, leaning against the wall with the agonising screams from outside. And they soon became so drunk they seemed not to care nor notice between their petty arguments, card games and more arguments which at one point descended into a bout of fisticuffs. It was then I feared for my wellbeing, tied to a rusty pipe and unable to move should their giant forms collapse over me. Not once did ‘the boss’ nor the long streak of piss bother intervening and then finally Bad McGurn wrenched up a floorboard and broke it over his brother’s head.

  The apparent good brother could now add more ailments to his broken nose as he flopped to the bed, his brother soon taking position beside him before belching and falling straight to sleep. The pair snored until daylight as the dimwit outside screeched for the same duration.

  By morning I was glad to be getting dragged back to the carriage, which was saying something. And there, sat in the front, holding onto the reigns was the simpleton, completely covered in gashes and cuts, the blood from which seeped through his shirt in long red streaks, face semi-pulverised and despite this he still smiled as only a cretin could. It was like the boy remembered not the torturous events of the afore night and was chirp and content like a Scotchman at the distillery. Either way, just like myself after that fateful night in Ireland, with untold numbers of dead around, he was bloody lucky to be alive.

  I was forced into my seat, once more with hands tethered to my guards and after the cabin door was closed footsteps crunched over the dirt outside. I tried to pull aside the curtain and was slapped across the face for doing so.

  It was another long, boring and fetid journey north with the intermittent crackling of rifle shots from whoever I was not permitted to know the identity of. I’d long since concluded he must be the beast who ordered my drugging before taking pleasure in beating my face. But who was he? There was nothing much else to do other than contemplate that very question. I had no enemies, at least not now Lynch was dead and after that unpleasant incident I’d been extra careful not to bounce any married women. I owed no debts and although the list of minor bad experiences I’d had with individuals was quite long and seemed to grow ever longer, I could think of nothing that would merit my kidnapping.