He folded his arms and awaited my answer like I’d jump at the opportunity to make some tin just because it was more pleasant than rotting in a cell along with a heroic madman. More pleasant and more dangerous!
Dolan and his Greys were making money and I wasn’t sure how exactly, but one thing I could be sure of was that whatever it involved would be damned well more dangerous than being confined below ground in a secure room. For all I cared they could bore me half to death whilst force feeding me nothing but gruel for months, I’d take that certain safety every time over the uncertainty of what Dolan was offering. And now that loon Captain Norris knew the truth, he wasn’t about to start proposing any more mad ideas about rushing guards or any other such rot. No - Sorry Dolan, but on this occasion you missed the mark by a highland loch.
“I won’t do it by Gad,” and I tapped my pin, wincing and drawing breath as I did, “I’m crippled and on sabbatical…doctor’s orders and not even Wellington nor Nelson themselves can order me otherwise, God rest their souls.” And what would they think of me now? Not that I cared. What I did care about though was that Dolan now seemed in doubt as to his earlier assertion I was faking it - Persistence, you see. He even betrayed a mite of sympathy at my pain, smiling with sadness, though it didn’t last.
His pale freckled face flared a comical red. “You stubborn, honourable fool, Strapper.” At this rate he’d be calling me brave next. “I will see that you join us, just you wait.”
I found that highly unlikely. “What’s a measly twenty thousand to you anyway? If you’re rich enough to purchase The White House, a lieutenant colonelcy and God only knows what else, what’s the rest to you?”
He stamped his foot like a spoiled school child. “You don’t understand. This particular twenty thousand would be my first twenty thousand and is of singular importance to me, particularly because it will be coming from you.” He called out for the McGurns and then I was being unshackled for the trip back downstairs. “A man must pay his debts, Captain, one way or another and since we’ve already established you don’t possess, of all things, a bank account, you’ll have to pay some other way.”
He left it at that, and me wondering exactly what he meant.
I found out soon enough though, that very night in fact, which happened to be a Saturday, when Norris and I were dragged from our cell, attached together at the wrist by a length of chain ten feet long. We were taken out from the building, across the courtyard to another structure to emerge in the mens’ mess hall to rapturous applause, cheers and jeers.
The tables and chairs had all been pushed to the sides and tipped over to form a wall, behind which now stood a couple of hundred Royal Scots Greys, ale and cheroots in hands. It was hard to ignore, as we were shoved into the centre, the gurning expressions of the regimental rogue element, each man decked in cavalry whiskers of the predominantly red type, tartan skirts baring their almost blue legs below the knee, the stale stench of cigar smoke mixed with liquor and the deafening rapture. But why? Shouldn’t the men be tucked up in bed by now?
There was also that little something else present in the atmosphere, that inexplicable thing, of threat, of intimidation, the knowing that came from being the centre of attention literally, because your bowels reinforced that feeling and because nobody had yet had the decency to tell me what this was all about.
“Whatever they did to you, I hope you’ve rediscovered enough of your old self to help.” Norris crowed into my ear, like the truth that he knew, that I wasn’t quite what he’d hoped had been conveniently forgotten. “And I hope you know what’s about to happen here, Captain.”
I dared not ask for clarification but had a feeling I knew anyway. Something sick was coming and this old Etonian would be at the forefront.
I scanned the hall for Dolan and found him sat atop a bench, brushing his muttons like he was about to enter a dog show. My intention was to make silent pleadings for mercy from afar, but what stopped me was the captain sat beside him, who drew all my attention, even now. To call him large would be to do the man a discredit, for he was the most cumbersome man I’d ever seen, who despite sitting behind those who stood, still loomed out over and beyond. He’d forgone the fashionable cavalry whiskers for a full on beard of deep red that still failed to conceal the lower part of the scar that ran down from eye to cheek. In all, he gave the overall impression of a berserker of yore, except more menacing and obviously another one to stay well clear of. Beside the berserker sat a slender, almost frail in comparison, man in neatly cut tunic, more pressed and turned out than most others around this place. I had little time to consider him, though did note the fragile features, wispy hair parted over to the side and lack of any facial hair at all, which made him most distinct. Evidently the three of them were the authority in Redford Barracks and now Dolan stood and awaited the din to subside.
“My Greys, I hope your ales are topped high and that you’re prepared to slake your thirsts until your bellies burst, because for tonight’s gauntlet we have a guest most special indeed, who’s honoured us this night by braving the journey from London.” He spoke slower than usual and I guessed he was trying extra hard to preserve his credibility by concealing his Mick tongue. Hundreds of eager faces beamed back at me and my name had not yet even been announced. “For those who don’t recognise him, let me introduce, Captain Jack Strapper.”
The resulting applause was louder than before, despite many of the men either being too awed, or else drunk, to clap, yell or spit. There were also shouts of incredulity that somehow their colonel had managed to secure the nation’s hero for the spectacle - Quite a coup indeed.
“Why don’t you give us a bow Captain.” Came the shout from Dolan.
McGurn rushed forth and I was physically bent forward at the hips, the applause erupting once more and it occurred to me that despite my supposed name and reputation, the audience might not be as friendly as one might have hoped. I was yanked back upright with the crack of several vertebrae as my half bleary, yet still frantic vision fixed on another man, an officer who stood out from the rest, merely because it appeared he was the only one present, myself and Norris excluded, who had little desire to be here. He stood alone after a wide clearing, behind his own overturned table, sans smile, cheer, even ale. It was the elderly major from before, who’d come to the aid of Jimmy the idiot and who now roused my curiosity even more - Why was he here, in this place, now, amongst these villains? He wasn’t one of them.
The McGurns removed our chain and then backed away to cover the only exit available, not that running was an option with so many blood thirsty Scots demanding diversion. They were already taking bets, the more likely looking lads running the books and even Dolan himself was getting in on it, handing over a pouch of coin to a kilt who could barely keep his equilibrium.
I understood now. Dolan had his regiment and he’d gone rogue, but in order to retain them, the most important things were to make each man wealthy and keep them entertained and what better way of doing so than with whores or a good bit of blood letting.
Two blades were thrown across the floor and Norris retrieved one before swiping it several times through the air. “Pick up your blade, Captain.” He demanded and for a horrifying moment I feared I’d be fighting this plucky young infantry captain.
The truth was worse, much worse.
At the far end of the hall a door opened, the group of drunks loitering around it dispersing with as much haste as drunkards possibly can, revealing our foe.
A zombie was pushed in on the end of a crude looking pole, as long as a Scotchman’s memory, a hoop on the end constraining the creature. It strained against its confines, sliding and scraping across the floor, not enjoying the sensation of being manhandled and showing its displeasure by growling and snapping, until of course it saw us and then it came forth voluntarily.
“Take your sword, Captain.” Ordered Norris as the hoop was lifted over the zombie’s head and it commenced staggering towards us.
Instinctively, I ran behind Norris, who was ready for it, a chubby, incapable member of the underworld with white lead powdered face, a pair of black beauty spots and long white hair likewise powdered and tied into a neat bun at the back of its head. He much resembled an aristocrat from the 1700’s and had the long stockings stretching crotchwards to prove it.
Norris removed its head with a single swing of his arm, which I praised was practiced, and then we were bombarded from the audience with rotted vegetables and ale, which they could do all they liked for all I cared.
“Oh, thank God.” I cried out and breathed. “Is that it?”
It wasn’t and another round of bets were taken before this time, another two were readied to be let loose from within the gloomy threshold. I had no choice other than to grab the blade with a wobbly hand, glimpsing Dolan’s grinning face as I did. Then they were prodded forth toward us, a roman soldier complete with cardboard armour plating, red undergarment and paper mache spear strapped uselessly to its hand. The other, a fat one, donned a pair of lederhosen à la Herr Brunch, brown clogs and had attached to its mitt via some stiff cord a tankard which splashed ale over the side.
It was too much for me and I immediately ran behind my saviour, even as he was preparing to unleash his sword point into the first ghoul, crouched and clung to his leg.
“Get off me, you dimwit.” He tried kicking me away, but my grip was too strong.
By now the tears were streaming down my horrified face. “Please Captain, don’t let them near me, I really don’t belong here, all I wanted was the ladies attention, oh Christ.”
This was in reference to the head that dropped to my side and I blanched before shuffling back into a space, unable to take my eyes off Norris as he now dispatched the second demon.
He stomped toward me and exhibited the kind of pity filled look I usually reserved for tramps, vagrants and the Irish. “Will you not give me a hand, Captain?”
I pretended not to hear through the din of drunken Scots and retreated further away, sighting a nearby table I could take cover below for if the time arrived when things became truly dire.
My nerves had taken a jiggering but if I’d thought my troubles were over so soon, I was wrong. Several more times the cycle was repeated with a never ending assortment of zombies in fancy dress - Really, had the Greys nothing better to do during an apocalypse than don out the dead as the monster from Frankenstein, a barber with meat cleaver that had to have been the popular Sweeney Todd, Spring Heeled Jack and all manner of other creatures who could only have been intended to amuse themselves and torment me - It bloody worked.
And throughout it all, I was treated to a perpetual storm of verbal abuse and threats from the spectators, accusing me of making a mockery of the event and that I’d cost them money in lost bets and that if I continued shivering in corners or squatting behind my mummy Norris, they’d find some other unpleasant way of taking what they wanted from me. Of course I never asked what they meant by that, as they scratched their heads, unsure whether I really was the man their colonel had introduced me as. Naturally, I didn’t care about any of that, or any of the foul smelling fruit and worse that was projected at me - As long as I didn’t get harmed, I could take their mere slanders until after the apocalypse and beyond.
Norris dispatched a leather strap and belt wearing zombie holding a whip, one of four dominatrices or whatever the male equivalent was, that’d been delivered to us, and then there was a longer interval before the next bout. Last minute wagers were taken, Dolan himself placing what looked to be a particularly large stack, before retaking his roost and we made brief eye contact from across the hall.
Sensing something particularly atrocious was imminent, I used the interim to attempt to crawl beneath the table I’d spotted earlier, only to be physically tossed back by two burly ruffians.
My reluctant hero loomed down on me, shaking his head and muttering words I couldn’t hear. He then turned his back, walked away but stopped after two steps, paused and then stomped back.
“Now you just listen here, Captain. I know what you are, um, I think, even if nobody else can see it, but none of that’ll matter after those doors open and the next lot are let loose upon us. I need your help to keep us both alive. I don’t care about your refusal to do your duty by helping us escape…as far as I care, that’s all in the past and forgiven, but one day, I’d like to get away from this place to see my wife again. I need your help for that, just like you need mine. You have your sword and a backbone as far as I can tell, so now’s your chance to redeem yourself and prove to me, yourself and all of these bastards that maybe, just maybe, there’s a little bit of truth to the legend of Captain Jack Strapper.” He grit his teeth as I saw how the watching drunks had been listening and, like myself, were most moved by the inspiring rant. “What say you Jack? Will you die like an Englishman, on your feet, sword in hand, stout of heart, or will you go down like a Frenchie, on your arse, crying and begging for your mummy’s teat?”
Even the watching Scots cheered at that and I felt my grip tighten around the hilt of my unbloodied sword as I rose to my feet and nodded my defiance.
Is this really Captain Jack Strapper? I hear you ask. Well, yes. Because I couldn’t risk Norris abandoning me out of sheer exasperation, so as long as I at least pretended, and appeared, to be willing to put up a show, then my best chances lay with standing behind Norris while I left him to do the work. That was the plan anyway…
…Until the next batch was released.
From within the gloomy abyss that must have been hell itself, came clown after freakish clown, all enhanced in different colours, designs, patterns and ridiculous red paint giving each the appearance they were smiling, when in fact they were snarling and being prodded and poked closer by the second. Their outfits were outlandish and creepy, each making Caney the Clown, who tormented the nights of my childhood seem like the tooth fairy in comparison.
It was all too much for me and I ran as close to Dolan as possible, dropping to my knees before a trio of disbelieving Scots standing behind their upturned table, all shaking their red whiskered heads, throwing up arms, spitting and likewise slandering. “Colonel please, please, please, stop this madness. You’ll achieve nothing by tormenting me this way. I’m sorry for what I did and it haunts me still, but this is too much, you hound. You can put a stop to this at once.” My hands were clasped together like I was praying to some deity when in fact it was nothing but a Paddy with more than just a single loose screw - My chances were grim but I had to do something.
He simply sat on his altar and laughed at my misfortune before the collective dragging of feet brought my attention back the other way. A dozen of them had been released and, naturally, I was already on my feet and running for the far side of the mess hall, rapidly scanning the many faces for any that might possess even the tiniest flicker of sympathy. How I screamed for help, for mercy, for God even, which showed how truly desperate I was and that Jesus would want them to help me. I even grasped one or two by the collar and shook with vigour because I was human and didn’t deserve a fate like this. It earned me short shrift and I was pushed back with force into the clearing.
Instinctively, I’d been tracking Norris the whole time because that’s how my coward’s mind works. He’d been skilfully keeping them at a distance, playing a patient game of slow retreat whilst jabbing for the face whenever the opportunity was presented. I played the opposite game, of dashing for any wide open space whenever it emerged, as far away from any zombie as I could find. And it played a devil with my companion’s steady strategy, once or twice placing him in even more danger, because the dead changed their, up until now, predictable step of simply following the closest and easiest source of human flesh. They’d become confused, blindly pursuing Norris only to hear my panicking somewhere else, altering their trajectory, only to give up on me because once again I was already sprinting and bounding for the next clearing. This meant that often Norris found himself cornered by an out of pla
ce ghoul, not that I cared particularly, but I most definitely would if I was left alone to deal with those fiends.
“Captain, you couldn’t make yourself useful and jab at a few with your blade, could you?” Norris shouted above the noise.
I thought he’d given up bothering to motivate me into any of this hero nonsense, some people just never learned, in fact I’d forgotten there was even a blade in my hand, useless as it was to me.
No - I wasn’t having any of that and continued my, so far, winning strategy of self-preservation and for my trouble suffered a renewed effort of ghastly projectiles from supposedly some of the most disciplined horse troops in the world, but as long as those evil clowns never came to within a whipping distance, they could well continue with the abuse, for all the fig that I cared. Though I was surprised at how, so far, my bowels had held up. Maybe it was my Ireland experiences that had toughened me or perhaps it was the pure gruel diet. Most likely I was just losing all feeling for this cruel world.
Norris lunged forward, removing a face and then, either knowingly or not, guided the pack closer to one particular group of likely looking cavalrymen, who in their bloodthirsty zeal, had stepped out from behind their protective tables for a closer feel of the action, alcohol induced stupors stalling their reactions.
Three zombies deserted their friends and slobbered an unsteady way toward the easier pickings, oblivious as they were, downing drams of stiff liquor. A momentary silence followed, like the room could sense an impending accident similar to how one would hold their breath as a child runs in front of an out of control horse. I’d anticipated it in advance and seized the opportunity, whilst the hall was distracted, to take a running leap over an upturned table come makeshift wall, squatting behind and burying my head beneath a pair of discarded cavalry tunics that reeked of tobacco and sick.
Not Dead Yet: A Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1 - 2 Page 29