After a long silence, Muir spoke in a low voice. “He goes by the name of Lieutenant McGregor…a staff lieutenant, not a proper fighting one…takes care of the bloody paperwork, ensuring Horse Guards don’t get whiff of what we’re up to but his responsibilities go a little, um, further than mere stock requisitions and purchase orders, if you catch my drift.”
Now, I’m no moralist when it comes to these things, or much else for that matter, and have even happened upon one or two ‘confirmed bachelors’ whence whoring and doing the rounds about Soho, but I’ve always been of the mind that as long as the inverts stayed well clear of old Strappy then I couldn’t care less what happened when the door to their rented room closed. It was, after all, merely their own lives they were placing in danger, should they be discovered by the Old Bill, which they rarely were, of course. But now, here we were, riding through open country, quite a different prospect and it threw up more questions.
“How come you know? How many others know? Do they carry on in the open? Do they not fear Calcraft’s noose?” My mouth plunged open as I considered Skinner’s removal might make the barracks more pleasant.
Muir laughed. “Captain, a gallant and renowned soldier you may be, but you are still young and unworldly. You see, Captain, Calcraft’s noose will one day come for us, for all of us, Skinner included, but buggery will be the least of the crimes for which his neck is stretched.” After another pause he said, “please, just take my advice and stay well clear of the pair of ‘em.”
I considered myself warned, not that I needed it, and it didn’t take long to see a manifestation of Muir’s warnings, and my instincts, regarding Skinner.
It happened in a village named Cramond, on the north western edge of Edinburgh, a pretty little place on a river named Almond with a medieval bridge that spanned it. The villagers had largely relocated to the capital, to the walls, guns and believed protection of the regiments garrisoned there. But here remained the usual gaggle of inflexible, uncompromising and dyed-in-the-wool fools, the ‘I was born here so I will die here’ types. The village had natural protection from the dead in the form of the river, though only on one side and they’d chopped down trees and sacrificed front doors and furniture in a tame attempt at constructing a fence that ringed the thatch roofed cottages.
The laughter rippled down the two hundred horse strong column as two small fishing boats, that obstructed the road through, were barged aside to make way, smashing to fragments under horses’ hooves in the process.
Several villagers of the pitchfork variety came out smoking pipes, shaking fists and demanding to speak to whoever was in charge.
Dolan trotted forth and loomed down over them, but seemed not to take heed as to the villagers’ concerns. Instead he surveyed the makeshift barricade before declaring that the rest would be put to the fire, lest they stump up one hundred pounds as a protection fee.
Incredulous expressions, utterances of disbelief that Her Majesty’s cavalry should be employed in such fashion and then finally, animated negotiations were exchanged before the price was raised to two hundred pounds.
When the villagers of Cramond could not pay, Dolan ordered the walls be dismantled and placed in a heap in the village square upon whence they would be set afire.
Thank God I was an officer and above the menial tasks expected of the common soldier but even I was surprised at the verve with which the men took to the task of damning their fellow countrymen to death.
It was now that Captain Skinner barked out orders, galloping around the column like a maniac let loose, brandishing his crop, not that it was needed, for the most part at least.
I remained back with Muir and tasted the bile as the locals futilely protested, watching the destruction of that thin line that stood between them and certain annihilation. I’ll never understand it, but one woman saw something in me, approaching with hands clasped together before kneeling in the muck to plead for her people. All I could do was turn away, for fear of the consequences, whilst she offered herself, if only I stopped the demolition. It wasn’t like me to be so moved, or to rebuff the offering of a quick rogering behind the stable, and certainly, when confronted with something similar in Ireland, I’d reacted by thrashing the intruder with my crop. But now, I felt no urge for either. These people, like myself, had done whatever they could to keep themselves safe, to keep the dead out and that was something which I most certainly could relate, even if they were stupid enough to have remained here in the first place - It wasn’t like Edinburgh would be much safer, after all.
“Please, ser, please, stop thes.” She wept, thrusting forth her tits and a small pouch that rattled with coin.
I saw the eyes, the pain, the hopelessness, but could do nothing and turned to the distant hills in the hope she’d leave my presence. “I’m sorry.” The distant breeze swayed the trees, furnishing me with feelings of comfort.
She soon left, to try her hand with each of the other officers, my attention in the meantime taken by the distant shouting of Skinner, who’d noticed one trooper wasn’t quite enthusiastic enough about exposing his countrymen to an attack by zombies. I squinted in the direction of what looked like a stable door and the man who’d been breaking it apart whilst committing the crime of not smiling as he did.
Skinner jumped from his horse and wrapped a single hand about the neck of the offender before throwing him to the dirt and proceeding to whip him silly whilst damning him for slowness and that secretly he must be a sympathiser to the old regime. The miscreant howled and bawled as the lashes continued and only when the man whimpered no more were they stopped. Finally, and before the eyes of the entire regiment, Skinner lifted the man up as though he were a piece of lumber and dumped him on the pyre with the rest. A warning was roared out, that should any man attempt a rescue, or rouse him from his slumber, they’d suffer the exact same, only worse, which made no sense, but we were warned nonetheless. It was the devil of a way of rooting out potential non-conformists, but bloody effective and I was left with no more doubts over how the insignificant Dolan maintained command.
The village defences, and a chap named Kennedy, were put to the flame as we continued our journey west and I required two hours at least, and one purging of the belly, before I could again speak with Muir.
“This is normal is it?”
He continued to stare grimly ahead. “Captain, you’ve not seen the half of it.”
“And you…the men…you all put up with this?” I was more than careful about speaking as quietly as possible, above the clattering of eight hundred hooves on cobblestone. “Why has nobody done anything?”
He turned on me with haste. “What you’re suggesting is treas…mutiny, Captain.” I waited for him to say more, afraid as I was to utter the same word. He sighed and stroked his horse’s mane. “Might I suggest yourself as the man to change things? You are the famous Captain Jack Strapper, are you not?”
And with that, there was nothing else to say. It wasn’t because I was a coward. The entire population of the world, throughout history, have been subjugated and live under the thumb and forever they will continue to do so. And who, pray tell, is willing to change such ways?
No, the best I could do was follow orders, keep my head down, lick Dolan’s boots and hope to one day again see London.
“But I will tell you this, Captain,” my gentle companion began, “the colonel…he is mad and remains in position whilst Skinner, and the rest, protect him. He’s a convenient scapegoat and an insurance policy, just in case the proper authorities should ever catch up. Not that a one of us will be saved from the noose either way. He fancies himself quite the warrior, does the colonel, and with a bit of luck, he’ll be unhorsed and gnawed on soon enough anyway, along with the rest of ‘em.” He shook his head and almost laughed. “Some of the men even enjoy having him around. He goes through phases, in between hiding in that rat infested zoo in which he sleeps, of referring to himself as Wellington, Sun Tzu, Richard the Lionheart and even William Wallace,
God rest his sweet soul. The officers take bets on which great soldier he’ll be next and I hear Skinner has twenty on it being Julius Caesar himself.” He rolled his eyes and swatted at a fly. “Like I said, he’s humoured. But that man in front, Skinner…he’s the real colonel.”
I think I preferred it when I thought it was Dolan, because at least he could be reasoned with, at least on some level. But this man Skinner, from what I’d already witnessed, was the devil himself.
We continued along the Firth of Forth embankment until it narrowed to become the Forth, the broad river that connected the North Sea with the great system of Scottish lochs. A great wilderness lay out there, perhaps the last refuge from the dead, unless the Highlands themselves had been taken.
And almost as soon as I’d thought it, evidence to the fact emerged like a demon from my nightmares.
They were to the west, in the direction we were going, though mercifully far southwards in the Lowland hills. They moved eastwards, roughly in the direction of the Marches to Edinburgh’s south, shuffling at a steady yet sluggish pace. They kicked up a great cloud of grey dust that stretched for miles in the sky, the likes of which would doubtless not have been seen on these isles since the Civil War. They made no distinct noise over the distance, but the sheep, hundreds, maybe thousands of them, certainly did as they ran, clattering into each other, flecking the brown of the barren land with white. You’ve not seen sheep run until you’ve seen them run from a mass movement of zombies, their bleating was filled with an urgent fear of which I could well relate and I scanned the land the dead had trailed and saw it littered with fluffy white specs dashed with red.
“How many?” I asked nobody in particular.
“Many tens of thousands.” Muir’s hand, which gripped obscenely tight to his crop, had turned white. “They’re heading over from Glasgow…it’s gone…and they won’t need long to reach Edinburgh. God help us.”
My jaw quivered. Scotland’s largest city had fallen and now they were heading, an army of evil, to the capital and whilst I was glad to be avoiding them for the moment, I had the usual feeling we’d be facing them eventually.
But now, on the low road, there was no escaping them either, though thankfully they were in numbers we could quite easily handle. Indeed, they were no match even for our vanguard, who for the last few miles had been leaving the corpses, with heads split down the middle, twitching and twisted on the roadside.
I should have known better by now, that not all zombies move at the same pace and the first dead we trotted by were of the Scots tall type, quite unlike any in size and stature I’d encountered in Ireland. They did indeed lead the pack, which was nothing too numerous by apocalyptic standards, but enough to instil me with intense funk.
The column was ordered to halt as the mutterings rippled down the line that a group of around three hundred were standing docile, plum in the road. With the help of an eyeglass, Dolan’s aid soon confirmed they’d snagged a carriage, on the road from Stirling, passengers, horses and all and were feasting presently on their bounty.
Men cursed the stupidity of the chancers, like suddenly they cared for the wellbeing of their fellow Scots, but there was also the hum of adrenaline, passed from man to man, because we all knew there was about to be an action.
There was no escaping the fact, given the River Forth meandered on our right flank and the hills, not forgetting the great undead multitudes, lay to our left, not that Dolan and his Greys would avoid a battle even if the chance was presented. But what was to follow, even I, in my most vivid and horrifying of nightmares could not have envisioned.
Had I been colonel, I’d have sent in those troops most green, those in need of experience, whilst I stayed back and watched from atop my steed, surrounded by war hardened ruffians. But no, Dolan, in his quest for the respect of his men decided on an approach quite different.
“Form ranks of ten! Officers to the front! Colours to the rear!” Bellowed the order.
My sight blurred momentarily, face freezing, belly churning, bowels thundering. “Wh…what?” I asked Muir, but the troopers were already arranging around us.
“This way, Captain, quickly now.” He kicked his horse’s flanks and spurred forward.
But what could I do? I’d already witnessed the fate resulting from even the slightest dissension and slipping my cable now and bolting for the hills would only leave me charging toward that great dead mass to the front whilst being hounded down by the world’s finest cavalry at the back.
My hands poured sweat from within their gloves as I scanned the shifting men for answers, for anything, but there was nothing. They grinned, sheathed and unsheathed blades, repeating the ritual over and over, to be certain steel wouldn’t stick within scabbard, some men even leaning forward to whisper words privy only to man and horse and that was when, through a gap in the men, I saw my chance. It was minute but a coward must take what he can.
I kicked forward and manoeuvred to the front, straight for Dolan who was busy twisting strands from his muttons with that ridiculous Irish smirk.
“Ah, Captain Strapper, saved a spot for you, right next to me…Tally ho.”
I tipped my shako to the idiot. “Colonel, I fear the ground’s too narrow…ranks of ten?…No, no, no…the way the river bends like that, we’ll lose half our right flank to the flow…get to Stirling quicker, what, but in what shape, bigad?”
We squinted ahead together, in the direction of the river as I cursed the rotten confounded luck that the dead just happened to stop at the only length between Kincardine and Aberfoyle that flowed in a straight bloody line.
He scratched his ginger head. “No, Captain, I deduce my calculations are correct. Ranks of ten it is.” Deduce? Who was he trying to impress?
I again looked yonder for effect, gritting my teeth as I did. “All the same, sir, I reckon maybe holding back a token force, just to secure our rear…um, act as second wave should it be required…why take a chance with the entire regiment, colours and all? Aye, it’s a bad business, this soldiering lark, but I’m happy to command the second wave myself, sir, should it be required…show the dead what two former officers of the Irish conflict can do, no?”
He acknowledged my good sense and compliment with a nod, wrinkling his freckled chin and even seemed to be giving it some consideration. “Hmm, indeed, but I was rather hoping to have you beside me for the advance.” A group of impatient officers, Skinner included, had rounded upon us, but even his presence would not deter me from my attempts at remaining amongst the living.
“It’s a great shame, sir, but I feel I’ve already layered myself in enough glory from Ireland and that maybe you’d like this one for yourself?” It was getting desperate now, even my horse sensed my agitation as she flapped her tail against the neighbouring mount, that happened to have Skinner established upon it.
“What’re yee muttering in yeer posh mammy wipes me arse accent?” If Skinner couldn’t understand me, I’d take that, but he looked on menacingly with expectation, chewing on the end of an unlit cheroot.
Dolan interjected on my behalf. “The captain’s saying the river bends most unfavourably and that a second wave may be required.”
The cheroot dropped from The Scar’s mouth. “Are yee blind, laddy? It’s a straight gallop across open country, with nigh even a tree nor blade of grass in the way. Yee’d have to be a special kind of fool to fall into the river.” He considered me and God only knows what he saw. “Are yee stalling, yee damned sassenach?” The accusation came out as a threat.
My hands shot upwards in an automatic appeasing gesture. “No, no, no, of course not, I have nothing but the regiment’s best interests at heart, honestly.”
“And our best interest is clearing the path and continuing henceforth towards Stirling.” Henceforth? Dolan glanced over his shoulder to the gurning men who’d formed into an equestrian battering ram. “Prepare to advance.”
“No wait!” My hand leapt out and grabbed ahold of his arm. “Um, oh Gad, the co
lours!” I yelped. “Yes, the bloody colours, they’re far too precious to risk with only two sergeants, the McGurns of all people too. Let me command their protection and deliverance from the rear…um, can’t have the dead chewing them up, what? And should our gallant attack fail, God forbid, you’ll need a good, fast rider to deliver them safely back to the barracks.”
Dolan’s eyes were on my hand, white fingers still clutching for dear life at his wrist and then he craned his neck toward the rear. “No, I think Sergeant McGurn and Sergeant McGurn have the colours secured, Captain, but thanks for your concern.” He pulled away and swished his crop once through the air.
Oh God, but I was all out of ideas and feared making another suggestion because Skinner’s hand was hovering a little too close to his pistol. He’d murder a common soldier and think nothing of it, but surely he wouldn’t shoot a fellow officer and certainly not the famous Captain Jack Strapper? It was one thing I had not the desire to find out. Coercion in the extreme it was, but there was no way out of it. What choice did I have other than to participate in a full bloody cavalry charge against a pack of dead our number and a half on top? And I’d be in the front rank, beside this psychotic Paddy upstart.
At least two hundred yards of dead ground lay between us and the pack, of which several had now broken away after sniffing us. They staggered, dragging themselves over cobbles and grass and grass that sprouted up from between the cobbles. These solitary zombies concerned me least, for they’d be vaporised immediately upon contact with a horse’s forequarter, charging at thirty miles to the hour. But beyond them three hundred still bunched together, clawing and mauling one another to reach the easy feast that had already succumbed.
My vision blurred again as sweat trickled from the tip of my nose to collect in a small pool on my horse’s withers. I hadn’t even drawn my sabre, which everyone else had and the only reason I could know this would be if I was facing the wrong way, which I was.
Not Dead Yet: A Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1 - 2 Page 32