The Suburban Dead | Short Story | Recon

by Sorsby, T. A.

  Henry looked at me, almost apologetic. Kid still thought it was her fault.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ I sighed. ‘Command will want somebody to hang for it though. Parsberg…he might be the right fit.’

  ‘Turned his coat once, might be he did it again.’ Henry nodded.

  ‘We should give the man a chance, my friends.’ Dr Bede urged, slicing into his turkey. ‘We may not speak his language, but the Tarachaians have been done great wrongs by the Alsatians. Remember they did not all surrender and join them.’

  ‘I’m not entirely convinced of his guilt or innocence Doc, but I’m keeping him locked up for now.’ I said. ‘Bones, take a couple plates up for Weathersby and Pursall. Parsberg too. I don’t want anyone shouting “warcrimes” when this is done.’

  The skinny soldier looked put out, but set his fork back down, and took a tray from Sandy, the three covered plates loaded on top.

  Once we’d eaten, I gave Henry permission for downtime, and sent Sandy and Dr Bede back out on watch. They sent the next shift in for their rations, kept warm in the oven, but when Shutters didn’t lope in behind them, I wondered where he’d gotten himself off to. We were supposed to go down to the cellar and say our farewells to Jim.

  Shutters had his darkroom above the main hall, down a ways into the west wing, where he’d found a sizeable broom closet. Dim, red light filtered out through a door left ajar, but despite the open door, I knocked anyway.

  ‘You in there, Shutters?’ I asked, opening it a crack wider when there came no response.

  I was leaning around the door, hand close to my pistol, but more for balance than a sense of danger. Might have been just as well though, as Henry’s creaking on the floorboards gave me an awful fright.

  ‘Gods, trying to give me a heart attack, Private?’ I asked, eyebrow climbing.

  ‘Sorry ma’am. Just looking for Shutters. He invited me down to see the Captain after dinner.’

  ‘Me too.’ I said, opening the darkroom door. ‘But he’s not at home.’

  Henry followed me in, and examined the photographs Shutters had strung up to dry.

  ‘Hah. Look, it’s Not-So at his best.’ She said, gesturing to one of them. I peered over her shoulder, to see Private Bright trapped in the bear-pit. Shutters was probably going to whip this one out for a good laugh later. But something else caught my eye.

  It was dark in the photograph, Shutters had been losing the light, he said. But behind Not-So, and his unhappy expression, was something else. Two glints, in otherwise pitch dark, like a pair of cat’s eyes.

  The hairs on the back of my arm stood up. The picture wasn’t clear enough, but I fancied I saw an outline with those eyes, someone else down there in the dark with Not-So. But shining eyes didn’t make sense. Not unless a pair of spectacles had caught a glint from the faint sun.

  ‘That’s unusual.’ Henry said, pointing at the two spots of light, careful her finger didn’t touch the photo.

  The floorboard creaked again, and we spun round, pistols half-clearing their holsters his time.

  ‘At ease, at ease.’ Shutters said, appearing in the doorway with a smile. ‘Sorry, I was just in the loo. Shall we go down then?’

  I cast one last look at the photograph, then we went to say Goodbye to Jim.

  Part Three

  We entered the cellar through a door off the main hall, heading down a spiral staircase. We left the humid summer behind, the air becoming cooler and more breathable as we entered what must have been a bloody nice wine cellar a few hundred years ago.

  Shutters or Dr Bede had already lit the oil lamps that hung from the vaulted ceiling, so I didn’t need my torch as we went, the lamps casting a surprisingly homely glow. The wine racks were perfectly intact, but the collection that they’d housed, much less so. Only a few clusters of dusty bottles sat undisturbed. I couldn’t read the faded Alsatian on the labels, but I’d guess they were the less valuable vintages, left behind when the place was abandoned or overlooked in any later lootings.

  Of course, I noted their location for later.

  ‘We’re just through here.’ Shutters said, pointing to an archway between the shelves, leading us deeper into the cellar. We’d gone by another couple of passages, but they were unlit, and I’d rather not get lost down here. I hadn’t swept the cellar, but Shutters had said it was a bit of a maze when they’d finished.

  The next room seemed to be some kind of storage area for the handyman, and was a bit better organised than much of the rest of the castle. Tools still hung from pegs on the walls, hammers, pliers, drills, clearly worn, but free from the obvious rust and rot that had claimed other parts of the castle.

  Shutters opened another door, heavy, iron-bound, and made a “ladies first” motion. Henry let me go first, filing in behind. As I was passing the door, I noticed there was a grille in the top.

  ‘Shutters, was this a dungeon?’ I asked with half a laugh.

  Henry collided into my back, sending me staggering forwards, the girl instinctively clinging on to me to stay upright. We managed to keep our footing, dragging each other upright – but the door slammed behind us with a flat boom, accompanied by the sound of a heavy lock sliding into place.

  ‘Shutters, what the hell are you playing at?’ I barked at the door, a white tide of panic washing over me.

  ‘Following orders, Ma’am, at ease. Our new CO wanted to brief you.’ He replied, his face just visible through the open grille.

  ‘You better start making sense or-’ I began, but Henry put a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Sarge. Look.’ She said, softly.

  I turned, slowly, to take in the room we were now locked in. The only lights were the lamps lit either side of the door, but they lit a horrid sight.

  In the middle was a bare-framed wooden chair, sat slightly raised on a stone platform, and adorned with leather straps. Iris’ body was fastened in tight, stripped to his underwear and bound around his arms, legs and forehead. His neck was torn open just like Jim’s, but there were flashes of red all over him, from the neck down, streaks and smears of blood around every raw gouge.

  The rattling of chains drew my eyes from the mess that had been our Iris, to the manacled form of Captain Sykes, wrists above his head, chains dangling from the ceiling. He was further into the dungeon, half-hidden in the shadows, but it was plain to see he was staring right at us – not dead – but with skin as grey as a corpse’s, and eyes filled with nothing but hate.

  ‘Jim…’ I breathed, the rest caught in my throat.

  ‘How can he be…alive?’ Henry asked, uncertain.

  ‘Through me, of course.’ A woman’s voice came. ‘At ease.’

  The voice was soft, gentle, and spoke to us in Voison, heavily accented by way of Alsatia.

  She drifted into view from the shadows at the back of the torture chamber, hair in an elaborate bun, with elegant tendrils floating down to frame her face. Her makeup was perfect, dark eyes and red lips, not overdone, just…classy, with a dress to match. Navy blue, A-line, with tan hose and smart, sensible shoes.

  ‘Are you from the Resistance?’ I asked, my eyes bouncing from Jim to Iris and back to her, struggling to make sense of what was happening.

  ‘Of course. At ease, ladies, please.’ The woman asked, drawing closer.

  At the sound of her voice, I found myself relaxing, easing the tension I was carrying in my legs – ready to run – and inching my hand back from my gun – ready to fight. No, there wasn’t any need for that.

  She stepped up onto the podium with a soft click from her heels, and ran a hand behind Iris’ neck, all while keeping her eyes focused on us. They were deep, deep green. Like a bright forest in summer, the woods and fields I’d played in back home, as a nipper. Somewhere you could get lost for hours.

  But a brief motion tore my eyes from hers. Iris. He twitched. Moved. Began to writhe in his bindings, eyes snapping open, and locking on me and Henry. But they weren’t an enchanting green – they were hollow, grey. Not his o
wn.

  ‘Sarge, I don’t like this.’ Henry said, her voice going thin, reedy. ‘Something isn’t right.’

  She was probably onto something. The whole situation seemed off. I mean…well-dressed ladies don’t just show up in the dungeons of Alsatian castles along with two of your unit, one missing, and the other, a corpse you saw yourself.

  It was like waking up from deep sleep, fighting your way through layers of fog, fatigue and a heavy, heavy duvet. Suddenly my thoughts were clear. This was wrong. I didn’t know exactly what was going on, but that woman shouldn’t be here. She was an enemy, for sure, and standing right in front of me. Something to fight. I’d sort out the rest of this mess later.

  In a smooth, well-practiced motion, my pistol was in hand and aimed at the woman’s chest. From this close, there was no way I’d miss. I wasn’t sure what she’d managed to do to me, to muddle my thoughts like that – gas perhaps? Seeping into the room from some unseen canister? I didn’t want her twisting the valve again.

  So I shot her once, low in the torso. A gut shot is a nasty way to die, but it takes time and if you’ve got a doctor on hand, it doesn’t have to be fatal. I’d get to the bottom of who she was long before she died, and if it was a case of friendly-fire, there’s a good chance she’d pull through.

  I’d expected the woman to go down like a sack of spuds, but she just stood there, a patch of her dress darkening, but nowhere near as quickly as it should have been.

  ‘Ach du meine Güte!’ she said, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth in a cartoonish expression of surprise. ‘My goodness, you must learn to be at ease, Sergeant.’

  It was like someone had pressed cups to my ears for a moment. Everything else was drown out, tunnel hearing and tunnel vision, focusing on her eyes and the sound of her voice. But I fought through it, brought up my other hand, and cocked back the hammer to fire again, and again, two more shots. One more in the stomach, another climbing higher with the recoil, taking her in the shoulder.

  She staggered backwards, off the podium and towards Captain Sykes. Perhaps she meant to use him as a body shield. I didn’t want to let her have that chance, so I fired again, the shot going wild, kicking up masonry from the back wall.

  Suddenly, the dungeon door was open again, and I was jostled off my next shot by Shutters. Henry was holding him back, but he had his bayonet in one hand. He’d been about to stab me in the back, for the second time in as many minutes. The nerve!

  ‘Stand down, Shutters!’ I bellowed, forgetting for a moment about the mystery woman – out there but unarmed – and helping Henry wrestle Shutters to the ground. I squeezed his wrist until he dropped the bayonet, tucking it around the back of my own belt, while Henry kept his arms and legs pinned down.

  ‘What’s got into you, you mad bastard? Who the hell is that woman?’ I asked, casting a look across the torture chamber.

  Iris was still in his chair, but there was no sign of the woman. Jim however, was out of his chains, and slinking towards us, shoulders low, legs moving almost too fluidly, silent on the stonework.

  ‘S-stay back, sir!’ Henry shouted, taking a hand off Shutters to go for her pistol. She still had his arm pinned with her knee, but it renewed Shutters’ struggling.

  ‘Jim, I mean it, stop right there!’ I called out too, but he didn’t stop coming.

  ‘Sarge?’ Henry asked, desperate.

  I was torn. I didn’t know what to do. Something was deeply wrong here, with Shutters, Jim, Iris, and whoever that bloody woman was. I didn’t know what decision to make for the best. But there’s one bit of training that always stuck with me, the bit that gets you in trouble when you get back home and people start using words like “inquest” and “court martial”. But it’s the bit that’s likely to keep you and your unit alive. Inaction costs lives. Better to do something than nothing at all.

  ‘Fire!’ I commanded, putting my last few rounds into Jim’s chest.

  Henry unloaded into him too, and between us, the front of Jim’s uniform became a mass of holes, our Captain staggering backwards with the shock of the bullets, losing his feet and going down on one knee, bent forward. All we could see was the top of his head, and the rapid rise and fall of his back as he drew in ragged breaths.

  Blood dripped from the wounds onto the stone, but not much. Not much at all.

  Jim looked up, his teeth bared in an animal snarl, a far cry from the mild mannered officer he’d once been. Rather than stand and charge us down, he lurched forward, moving on hands and feet like an animal, and with surprising speed. Henry and I were both out of bullets, but she was holing Shutters down.

  It was up to me to stop Jim.

  He was coming in low, hard to tackle. But I knew I was stronger than Jim – I’d worked in an automotive factory. He was an academic. So I met him halfway, keeping low myself, ready to grab a leg and pull, putting him on his arse.

  I didn’t work out that way. He was stronger than I expected, stronger than he had any right to be, and what should have been a simple takedown turned into a protracted struggle. We rose to standing as we tussled, him taking the lead and shoving me back into a wall.

  He came in close, uncomfortably close, and I could smell the rot on his breath, hear the rasping in his lungs. Nothing should have been alive after more than half a dozen shots in the chest. He opened his mouth to snap at my face, but with a burst of pure panic, I shoved him back – with my ankle hooked around his. Can’t get around gravity, no matter how strong you are.

  Grasping at air, he tried to catch himself, but went down hard. He was fast for a dead man – already trying to recover his footing, but I knew how to handle myself in a melee. You don’t let them recover, you don’t give them an inch. Let up for a second, and you might not live to regret it.

  I was already on him, straddling his kicking legs, with Shutters’ bayonet in my hand. Jim clawed at my face and I recoiled, but I caught the offending arm and stuck the blade through his elbow with a bloodcurdling crunch. Something wet ran down my cheek, and I’m not sure if it was a tear or blood.

  His other hand was trying to claw through my sleeve, but I left the first one hanging dead, and seized the other with both of mine, pinning it to his body and adjusting my position, getting a leg over it.

  He screamed and thrashed, but there were no words in it. Nothing left of him. Nothing left of a man. He was something else, some kind of animal. Some kind of creature.

  ‘I’m sorry Jim.’ I hissed through gritted teeth, as I brought the bayonet down through his eye.

  The thrashing stopped abruptly, and the dungeon fell strangely silent. I turned to see how Henry was getting on – and found Shutters kneeling over her, hands around her throat. Henry’s arm was stretched out towards me.

  I stumbled to get up from Jim’s body, not in a great position, but managed to stagger over to Shutters. He heard me coming, and raised a hand to defend himself, but I slashed at him with his own bayonet, and he went crawling back off Henry.

  Once again, I didn’t let up, pursuing him as he crawled backwards across the floor, kicking and slashing him until his back was against the wall, the sleeves of his uniform in tatters, blood dripping down his arms.

  ‘You have one chance, Private Roper.’ I said, voice low, ‘One chance to explain yourself. Tell me what’s going on here?’

  He looked at me from around his crossed arms, and his eyes were wet. Tears streaked down his face, which had gone completely ashen. Suddenly, he twisted to one side, and vomited up his last MCI.

  ‘I don’t know…’ he choked. ‘I don’t know what happened…what did I do? Oh Gods what have I done…’

  Nobody loses their lunch on command. This was no act. But it might have been a side effect.

  ‘Gas, I think.’ I told him, voice softening a touch, ‘I think she used something, some chemical. Made you compliant. Might be why you’re throwing up now. She drugged you. I know my head is spinning too. Henry, how are you feeling?’

  I waited a moment for the
response.

  ‘Henry?’ I asked again, turning to look down at her still, lifeless body.

  I started chest compressions, and immediately began to scream for Doctor Bede, at the top of my lungs. But we were in the dungeon. I was pretty sure these things were designed to keep the screams in, but I had to try something.

  My medical was basic, but I knew enough that mouth to mouth wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Chest compressions were more important, and I kept up the rhythm for…I don’t know how long. More than two minutes, less than ten. My arms were aching, my knees were sore, and my voice was hoarse from all the yelling.

  What’s worse, I couldn’t afford to let my guard down for a moment, in case that woman showed up again, or Iris got out of his chair. Was there another exit from the dungeon? Did she get around us in the fight? Were those restraints tight enough?

  I snapped out of it when I heard the gunshot, looking down at my chest to see if it was me that’d been hit.

  But slowly, my eyes drifted over to where I’d left Shutters. Spattered in his own blood, propped up next to a pool of vomit, he’d painted the wall behind his head, his pistol lying between his legs.

  Part Four

  I had reloaded my pistol, and held it in my steady right hand, resting on the back of my shaking left, which was griping the torch. I was swallowing a lot of fear, right then.

  First there was the fear of the unknown. The darkness beyond the beam of my torchlight. The woman – whatever she was – had clearly gotten out of the dungeon somehow, and snuffed out all the lights. I had wanted to sit there in silence, when the light beyond the torture room went out, paralyzed by a child’s fear. But I told myself I wasn’t afraid.

  Second, there was the fear of failure. Four people had died, and I couldn’t stop it – Jim, Iris, Henry and Shutters. If that woman was on the loose up there, she might be working her way through the rest of them. Dr Bede, Sandy, Caterpillar, Bones, Not-So, Weathersby and Pursall. Hell, even Parsberg might have got it in the neck now. But I told myself I wasn’t alone.