Zombie Revolution

by K. Bartholomew

  This brings my diary entry up to date and I now write this incapacitated in my hammock. What had commenced as a voyage with nine souls on board has dissipated to but three and of those only two are now able bodied seamen. This will inevitably delay and hinder our progress towards the Azores where doubtless I could hire some fresh pairs of hands, non-Irish of course.

  Boy did an adequate enough job bandaging my leg but the pain is severe. Whenever I move, I feel the agony through my entire body. My mouth is constantly dry and my vision is impaired. I am though, noticing the smell of alcohol a great deal more which now seems almost overpowering. My entire right leg around the gaping hole is turning green and I fear it will require amputation. I just hope I don’t frighten my boy Conrad when he next sees me. What’s more, I hope my Daisy still desires a husband with only one leg. I wish I knew somebody else who also had their leg bitten through by their Captain, just so I could ascertain as to their symptoms.

  It looks like I will be spending the majority of this voyage alone in this dank stinking room. It will be lonely but at least I have the rats for company. They crawl about below me and I wonder how close they dare come. Would it really hurt Boy or Volkert to come by and spend but a few minutes every couple of hours, just to ensure I’m managing to keep my sanity? If it wasn’t for writing this diary, I admit, I would probably fall into full-blown madness.

  11

  November 15th 1872

  I could no longer feel my leg, so I decided to take a look at it. The green seems to have spread up to my crotch area, but the pain has for the most part subsided. That’s not to say I can’t feel discomfort in my torso and as far as my fingers, even while I write this. So if I keep these latest entries short, it’s probably due to the pain.

  It’s funny, but I’m always thirsty, yet I don’t seem to feel the need for any water. Perhaps some alcohol is more what I’m in urgent requirement of? The smell of the stuff is even more overpowering than ever and I wonder if rats have bitten through one of the barrels and have spilled a quantity all over the hold. Perhaps even my German friends have given up all hope and have taken to the alcohol uninhibited?

  The rats are another matter. They squeak incessantly and the sound is irritating, deafening even. At one point I noticed one sitting on my leg, gnawing away at my flesh. Lord only knows how long it had been there, for feel it I could not. You’d think I’d be angry, yet I actually found the experience entertaining, for there is little else to do down here.

  I’m hungry. Where are those Germans with sustenance? It’s just too painful to write, I shall recommence later.

  12

  November 16th 1872

  Well I didn’t recommence because I couldn’t really be bothered. What’s the point? Nobody will ever read my silly diary anyway.

  The pain has now stopped. I can now move my body more freely, especially the upper section since it no longer hurts to carry out writing or any small movements. This was evidenced by when Ted, which I’ve named the bigger rat that keeps crawling upon me, ventured upon my belly and I reached over and grabbed him. The Germans, I forget their names, had brought me some bread and cheese but although I was hungry I didn’t really fancy what they had brought. So I just ate Ted! He tasted really nice and I was surprised at how easy my teeth were able to chew through the flesh, intestines and even bones.

  Today I have a new sense of optimism, I really do think everything will be fine. I no longer really care about seeing my boy Conrad grow strong and it’s of no real consequence what Daisy thinks of having a one-legged husband with green and grey skin.

  My only regret is that those two nice German fellows seldom come down for a visit but the next time they do I think I’ll ask them to stick around a while longer.

  13

  November 17th 1872

  This will be my final diary entry. I no longer see any reason for bothering with it.

  Afterword

  Many reading this will know that the Mary Celeste was indeed a real ship, perhaps the most famous ship after the Titanic, Mary Rose and the Victory.

  She set sail from New York on November 7th 1872 enroute to Genoa, Italy. Her cargo was 1701 barrels of raw alcohol. In the story I changed it to 1700 for simplicity’s sake.

  The crew and characters from the story were all real and were all on board the Mary Celeste. However I left out Andrew Gilling, the ships Second Mate from Denmark. I just couldn’t find a role for him within the confines of a short story. So in actual fact there were ten souls aboard the ship.

  The Mary Celeste was discovered on December 4th 1872, seaworthy and still under sail around the area of the Azores in the Atlantic Ocean. She was yawning from side to side and some of the sails appeared torn, but other than that, nothing appeared wrong. She was watched for a couple of hours by the Captain of another ship, who coincidentally had had dinner with Captain Briggs in New York in the nights before sailing.

  When the Mary Celeste was boarded, it had apparently been abandoned, not a single person remained on board. This created one of the most famous legends in history and one that I had wanted to write about for a while. Whilst I was researching the Mary Celeste, imagine my complete surprise when I discovered there had been a horse flu epidemic sweeping the American continent at precisely the same time. The timing was just too perfect to ignore and so I simply made the link between the horse flu, which really did wipe out 90% of all horses on the entire American continent from Canada to Cuba and even Argentina, and the zombie infection. On this occasion I left it for Captain Briggs to be the original bearer of the virus.

  Although it’s unlikely a zombie virus was responsible for the disappearance of the entire crew (none were seen ever again), it cannot be ruled out entirely. Sure enough, other “far-fetched” explanations have also been put forward.

  The clock in the Captain’s cabin had stopped working and this allowed for claims of paranormal activity and alien abductions to explain the disappearances.

  The fact that nine barrels (and not the one in this story) were empty suggested a possible mutiny had taken place.

  However, the most plausible explanation is that Captain Briggs feared the explosion of the alcohol and so evacuated the ship in the lifeboat. The boat which was attached to the Mary Celeste via a rope could possibly have come detached when the rope frayed and severed. Indeed, when the Mary Celeste was discovered, she was minus a lifeboat with a severed rope dangling in the sea. Is the explanation as simple as this or were zombies involved?

  The Mary Celeste really was as unlucky as the book suggests, which is why the fictional Irish refused to step foot on her. Her bad luck continued even after this particular voyage when many years later, she was deliberately sunk in an insurance fraud. The perpetrator of the fraud was found out and imprisoned. Ever since 1884, she has indeed remained on the seabed off the coast of Haiti, where I hope she remains, for she truly is cursed. Could the Mary Celeste be responsible for the ill-fortune of the present day Haitians? It’s also worth pointing out that Haitians are so afraid of their dead loved ones turning into zombies that even today, they routinely dismember them prior to burial. Coincidence, or is there something more to it?

  We must also keep in mind that the Mary Celeste was not the only “ghost ship” found in the Atlantic Ocean even during that single year. In fact the Mary Celeste was one of three. The Mary Celeste only became well known thanks to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, author of Sherlock Holmes, who created a short story entitled the Marie Celeste.

  1st July 1587

  My name’s John White and I’m to be the Governor of the new city of Raleigh whence we arrive in the new world. In addition, Her Majesty has asked me to illustrate everything in particular that can be observed which is peculiar or foreign to English eyes and it is with this task as Scientific Illustrator that I keep these records.

  This stinking voyage is now within the eighth week and as I’m told, is overdue. As I looked through my eyeglass, I saw not the land we were promised today by Captain Fernand
es. Remember I shall, that next time Sir Walter should hire for our disposal an Englishman for the voyage across the Atlantic and not a Portuguese.

  There are people on this ship whose presence I am long since tired and I yearn for dry land in order to gain some distance. My son-in-law Ananias, though he is a suitable match for my daughter, has proven to be a bad seafarer. Our relationship has become testy of late and time apart would prove beneficial for us both. My daughter is now heavily pregnant and could well do with reaching land.

  Then we have Chief Manteo who, along with his son Wanchese insist on carrying out their strange war dance. Around their staffs they skip and hop in a circle whilst alternating legs. We most find it amusing, yet the children still have not become accustomed to the strange ritual and poor little Hastings cowers below deck at the mere sight of them. Well Your Majesty, if it’s something peculiar thou art after then I shall make a record of Chief Manteo and his war dance. Perhaps we can arrange a private display for thee at Whitehall along with his rather ear-piercing screech, a sort of shrill cry which penetrates ones brain. I wonder how Her Majesty’s temperament would fair after hearing it several times a day for three months straight.

  We slaughtered the last of the sheep from the hold just the other day and we only have one remaining goat to endure us, so land would serve us well to arrive soon. I’m fast becoming tired of the hardtack, especially considering the stores are infested with rats.

  That damn Portuguese has now said we’ll arrive at Roanoke Island tomorrow. The plan is to make a quick stop at what remains of the Roanoke colony, replenish their stores and then head straight for the Chesapeake Bay, a journey of no more than three days. These are exciting times. Our small band of 117 men, women and children are at the forefront of history. For England, we plan on establishing a foothold on this great new continent. Who knows what the future will bring for us and how we will prosper. I pray God be with us on our ventures.

  5th July 1587

  Through my spyglass, I finally saw America, a vast expanse of forest, stretching in all directions as far as the eye could see. To the east of the American mainland is Roanoke Island, from where Chief Manteo informs me dwell the Croatan tribe. What makes this island so special is that it’s protected by a long, narrow barrier peninsula. This natural wall should protect us from Spanish shipping, assuming we’ll soon be at war with the Spaniards, it will serve to give us notice of a week and more to prepare a defence. I saw over a hundred spear wielding savages on the vista, whom Chief Manteo informs me are of his own tribe, the Croatans. They danced in a manner I’d become accustomed to, though their shrill cries thankfully did not carry on the wind. I was hoping for a rest from this incessant shrilling whence we arrived on land, but I envisage that will not now happen. At least I know these tribes are friendly, something which I don’t think will be true whence we reach the mainland.

  I could decipher the Roanoke fort and I dare say the soldiers will be happy to see us. Sir Walter informed me the useless former colonists had tired of the new world and returned to England, leaving a solitary fifteen soldiers behind to hold the colony. I couldn’t see them, so I assumed they were sleeping, it was only first light after all, but why leave no sentry on watch? We shall be there within the hour, so I expect they’ll be quick sharp about unloading their supplies so we can be on our way.

  Most of my thoughts have been preoccupied with Eleanor. The baby will be due in around a month. She needs dry land. She needs a bed, warmth, food and shelter. There is so much work to be done. We’re starting new lives from scratch. Everybody will need to pull their weight if we’re to become fully self-sufficient. The last thing I’ll want is to return to England to fetch more materials, tools or skilled labourers. I think I have everything I need and not a thing more. We’ll have to make use of what we have and be frugal with our scarce resources. We’ll be on the breadline for many months, but we’re a resourceful lot, we are English and by God, we are up to the challenge.

  Captain Fernandes is in a foul mood. He wants to offload us in Roanoke so he can make a hastier return to Europe to bring his next batch of pilgrims to the new world. “This journey is overdue by weeks,” he says in a mood most irritable, “and that shrieking is driving me insane!” I’ll be glad to see the back of him also. But he must first fulfil his side of the bargain and take us to the Chesapeake Bay where we’ll establish Raleigh.

  7th July 1587

  What an abominable few days we’ve had. This is no way for us to begin our lives here in the new world.

  We sailed up to the jetty and a landing party consisting of myself, Chief Manteo, Wanchese, Capain Fernandes, the carpenter George Oakwood, his son Hastings and Putnam Bonner our professional soldier set off towards Fort Roanoke. I was angry that nobody had come to greet us, to assist in tethering our ship at the jetty and to play a tune as we entered the fort.

  Even though I had the best reassurances from Chief Manteo that the Croatans were friendly, I was still worried about a potential encounter with the naturals and so I ordered the rest of the colony to remain on ship. Thankfully, the naturals who we’d spotted a few days earlier had since disappeared and we approached the fort unmolested. In fact everything was too quiet. Where were the natives? Where were our soldiers?

  The island was thick with tall oaks, which would make excellent material. I saw rabbits scarper away whence we approached and although the island contained some wildlife, I could see why the colony had failed. Much of the island is soggy marshland, making it nearly impossible to plant crops here. There would have been men within the colony hoping to make their fortunes in tobacco, only growing such a crop would have proven difficult. After some contemplation, I decided only a fool would pitch tent in this back water and was thankful we were soon to venture towards more fertile soils further up river and deeper inside this seemingly infinite continent.

  The fort itself was made from oak and appeared deceptively large from without. As we approached, there were no men on the watchtowers, which alarmed me. However, what concerned me the most was the open gate. The fort looked like it would make adequate protection, if only the occupants would bother in securing it. Despite the poor circumstances and less than ideal location, the original colonists had done a fine job constructing the fort. But then I wondered why things had been so terrible that they’d forsaken the potential riches and returned to England at the first opportunity. The English were a pioneering people and it was never in our nature to give up so readily. Would we ourselves fare any better?

  The fort’s interior encompassed around thirty buildings. There was a mixture of lodgings, stores, workshops, community hall and of course a small chapel. There was open space and a thoroughfare that had been worn down by countless boots. Each side had a tall sentry watchtower. Although there was no theatre, there was ample space with which to construct one. Doubtless Eleanor would be biting my ear off with regards to that subject. Still, there was no sign of any life in the fort, the whole place looked to have been abandoned. Just as disconcerting was the silence of our tribal allies.

  I hoped the garrison had simply left to hunt for sustenance. Yet my head told me something terrible had happened to those fifteen men. I hoped those naturals I saw from the sea would have answers, yet I knew those answers would not necessarily be what I would want to hear. However, they were nowhere to be seen.

  As Governor of our colony, I had my first big decision forced upon me. With Fernandes growing increasingly impatient, wishing to return to Europe and breathing down my neck every minute, I had to make the decision with haste.

  It was my desire to wait at the garrison, for as long as it took, if necessary until the soldiers returned. Then we could offload their supplies and be on our way to Raleigh. Though that rotten Portuguese would have none of it, “I have a living to make and thou hast exhausted thy welcome.” For all my efforts, he could not be persuaded with promises of coin. His tether had truly been spent, “I will not spend another day or night with those screeching l
unatics!”

  I thought about keeping him captive. But I had no desire to begin our new lives, as outlaws. Such business would not reflect well on Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth. Besides, the Portuguese were supposedly our allies and if war broke out with Spain, then Fernandes was one of the few people who’d know of our whereabouts and we would not want him informing Spaniards that easy English plundering lay in the Chesapeake Bay.

  No. It came down to a straight choice. Abandon these soldiers at once and sail to Raleigh. Or else offload the entire ship at Roanoke Island and allow the bastard to leave.

  With the decision forced upon me and having had little time to think about it, I pray I made the right choice. I told Fernandes something that I immediately regretted, that if I saw him again, I’d personally see him hanged. In retort he wished ill on we heathen English and on Her Majesty and that Spain would soon invade and restore the nation to Catholicism, that the next time we met we’d be subjects of Spain.

  If we succeed as a colony, we’ll be the first to do so in the new world. Yet we’ve not had the best of beginnings. Beside a mountain of unloaded supplies from the ship, we watched Fernandes sail back to Europe. Our only means now of reaching the Chesapeake Bay would be a six day return sail in the tiny pinnace which had been left for the disposal of the soldiers. It would mean multiple trips, taking months to transport the entire colony.