Perhaps that was a mistake, as down there in the cellar, only my own breathing for company, being alone was preferable to having that woman out there, waiting in ambush. As I moved further and further from the sound of the thing that had once been Iris, still thrashing madly in his bindings, the silence began to press in from all sides. A quiet emptiness, broken by the thumping of my own heartbeat in my ears.
If finding the stairs out was a relief, then coming back up into the light – even the weak, storm-cast light from those old windows – then that was like rising up into salvation. Or so it felt, for just a moment.
I needed to find people, now. Iris was beyond any help we could offer him, but I wasn’t. A squad needs their sergeant, but wasn’t going to be much good without them either. Whoever that woman was, she was dangerous, and I didn’t want to take her on alone. Getting out of the castle and back behind our lines actually sounded like the best course of action, but I wasn’t going to leave anyone here if I could help it.
Sandy and Bede would be on watch in the courtyard, I could get them as we were leaving. Weathersby and Pursall should have been upstairs, guarding Parsberg’s room. Bones, Caterpillar and Not-So would be in the room we’d bunked down in the other night, probably playing cards when they should be sleeping. They were closest, so they were first.
I flicked the torch off and slid it back into the case on my hip, replacing its position with Shutters’ bayonet. Trying to ignore the twisting in my guts, I double-timed it up the stairs and along the corridor towards our bunk room. I should perhaps have been clearing angles and checking corners first, but it didn’t look like she’d had a gun, and I trusted the bayonet to handle any sudden surprises.
Barging into the bunk room, I saw Bones sprawled out across the chaise. The red upholstery was a lot brighter around his neck, and a slow patter still dripped onto the musty carpet beneath. I tried not to let my eyes linger on the wound at his throat, or the copper tang in the air.Caterpillar and Not-So had died the same way, propped up in two of the three chairs around the coffee table, playing cards scattered about and spattered with blood. It didn’t look like they’d gone for their weapons, which was…strange, more than anything.
I just bent down, and retrieved my Sydow Typewriter from beside my own bedroll, checked the magazine was loaded, and grabbed another one for good measure. The Typewriter may have only fired a handgun cartridge, smaller even, than the one I’d already shot her with, but I’d bet that scaling up to thirty rounds a magazine would do the trick.
‘I’m sorry, Bones.’ I said quietly, just before I closed the door.
My Typewriter wasn’t the kind with the vertical grip at the front, but it did have the under-barrel mount for a bayonet. I felt a lot better going down those halls with it in place.
Weathersby and Pursall were nowhere to be seen as I left the spiral staircase. Most of the castle’s bedrooms were up here, the ones for the family at least, not the servants. Their empty plates were just outside the door we’d stuck Parsberg behind, right across from the room Jim had been killed in. I nudged the door open a crack, holding my breath as it creaked.
The room was empty, save for the plate on the vanity, scraps of food showing that Parsberg didn’t mind turkey loaf but certainly wasn’t going to finish it. The mirror was broken though, the full length mirror mounted to the wall across from the foot of the bed. Just like in Jim’s room – though he’s shot at it, and there was no smell of gunfire in here. That mirror broke a long time ago.
‘Parsberg?’ I asked quietly. ‘Gunther? It’s Sergeant Kelly.’
Suddenly, the broken mirror swung into the room. Parsberg stood behind it, a fearful, wary look behind his beard.
‘What it say, to you?’ Parsberg asked.
Still taken aback by the hidey-hole behind the mirror, I wasn’t sure what he meant. I told him as much.
‘It tell those two “at ease”. They drop guard. I already find this, think of going, but glad I wait.’
He stepped out of the mirror, more than just a hiding spot, but a secret passage, with cobwebbed steps leading down.
‘Do you know where she’s from?’ I asked him. ‘Some kind of elite Alsatian division?’
Parsberg shook his head. ‘Vampir.’
‘Alright.’ I nodded. ‘Makes sense.’
Parsberg looked taken aback. ‘I did not think you would believe in the vampir.’
‘In the last half-hour, I’ve seen two dead men moving around, and another man with his throat torn open. I’ve felt something try to influence my mind, and I’ve put enough bullets into that woman to kill a horse. If you tell me it’s a vampire, then sure. Makes as much sense as anything else.’
It took Parsberg a moment or so to translate that in his head, after which, he nodded.
‘I don’t know where it took them,’ he said, nodding to the door, ‘but I don’t want to be here anymore. And you?’
‘Don’t worry. We’re leaving.’ I told him, turning. I hesitated at the door though, and cast a look over my shoulder to Parsberg.
He looked back at me, slightly puzzled.
Without breaking eye contact, I un-holstered my pistol, and passed it to him. I’d have asked if he knew how to use it, except without a word, he broke open the breech loader, checked the chambers and snapped it back with a flick of his wrist. Tarachian Resistance, of course he knew.
Now I had someone watching my back that I – maybe trusted is a strong word – knew at least wasn’t going to shoot me in it, I felt more confident as we made for the front door. We’d be leaving gear behind, but we were dressed, armed, and if it meant a couple of sleepless, hungry days before we made it back to our line, so be it.
Things were tense, but we weren’t absolutely mad with fear. We’d be going by the bunk room again, and there was no sense wasting an opportunity to pick up a couple of backpacks. We’d be heading out into the rain as well, so we covered each other a moment, while we shrugged oilskin cloaks over our packs.
The sky was almost into full dark by the time we opened the front doors, splashing out into the courtyard. Thunder rolled and the sky cracked with light. Under normal circumstances, I’d rather be indoors, but given what might be waiting for us in that castle, I’d take my chances with the rain. Besides, in some ways, it was perfect weather for moving around behind enemy lines. Patrols would be more concerned with staying dry than looking for soggy recon teams.
A weight lifted from my chest when we saw the two figures of Dr Bede and Sandy standing in the shelter of the gatehouse, their own oilskins dry from the shelter above. We were heading toward them, my eyes scanning to avoid puddles in the broken, uneven slabs, when I realised something, and threw out my arm to stop Parsberg.
‘Landmines.’ I said. ‘Iris hid mines just inside the gate. They wouldn’t have risked stepping on them…’
One of the figures turned towards us, and lowered his hood. It was Sandy.
‘What’re you doing out in the rain, Sarge?’ he asked.
‘We’re leaving. Did you find the landmines?’ I said, keeping my eyes locked on the other hooded soldier. ‘Nobody was to go near the gatehouse until we could make sure it was safe, Sandy.’
‘At ease, ma’am. We had the order it was okay.’
A chill ran down me that had nothing to do with the rain.
‘Whose we? That Bede with you?’ I asked, tightening my grip on the Typewriter.
The hood fell back on the second figure, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally another friendly face.
‘Private, you had me going there.’ I smirked. ‘Look, we need to get out of there, there’s something not right afoot.’
‘I am unsure, ma’am. Perhaps things will be better once we are safe and warm inside, and we can all be at ease?’
There was something familiar about the Private’s voice, but I couldn’t place it. Well, I suppose she was part of the squad, wasn’t she? What was I on about? Forget my head sometimes.
‘Sergeant.’ Parsberg s
aid, quietly, just over my shoulder. ‘How many were in squad? Twelve?’
‘What are you talking about, Parsberg?’ I muttered back, casting an apologetic look back at Sandy and Private…
‘How many were in squad? Their names.’
‘Twelve of us. Captain Sykes, Shutters, Dr Bede, Iris, Bones, Caterpillar, Not-So, Sandy, Henry, Weathersby, Pursall and myself. Thirteen if we include you.’
‘So who is that?’ he said, cocking the hammer back on the pistol I’d given him.
That bastard – he was going to shoot me. All along the traitorous swine…
No. No that’s not right.
I looked up at the new Private, and found I had no memory of her. No laughter in the mess hall, no spit and blood through training, no moments of quiet comfort. But she was just there. Bold as brass. Wearing our olive drab beneath her oilskin.
It might have been the same woman, it might not. But she realised Parsberg had snapped me out of whatever thoughts she’d put in my head. She surged forwards, either knowing where the mines lay or just uncaring if she hit them.
My thoughts were still coming out of the fog again, and I didn’t react quite quickly enough. Parsberg though, he hadn’t been affected, or it didn’t seem so. He managed to put a couple of shots in her chest, slowing her down as she came, staggering her steps.
Like the starting pistol of a race, the sound of the shots brought me back into my own head, and muscle memory, instinct, took over. I dropped my shoulder and charged forwards, skewering the unknown soldier – the disguised vampir – on the end of my bayonet.
I lifted her up into the air, and I held down the trigger.
The automatic weapon began to fire, a rapid, solid beat of tap-tap-tap, like a secretary hammering away on the world’s loudest typewriter. I didn’t know if I needed to drive a wooden stake through her heart or if six inches of steel would do the trick, but I’d only managed to stick her in the gut, and the thirty rounds in her chest were just…messy.
With a twist of my hips, I dumped her onto the ground and thrust forward with the bayonet, aiming for the heart. She was quick, her arm darting like a snake to bat the gun aside.
I caught a glimpse of her eyes then, saw her face properly as the hood fell back, and knew this was not the same woman as the one I’d met in the cellar. How many of them were there?
Parsberg was firing at something else as I struggled with the prone vampire, kicking at her arms and jabbing with the bayonet, not giving her a moment to stand. But that got me nowhere, so I backed off, quick steps, making a choice.
I popped the magazine out of the Typewriter and slammed in another, drawing the bolt back to prime her. The whole action took less than three seconds, but it was long enough for the woman to jump back to her feet, and come for me again.
One, two, three, I fired three bursts into her chest, aiming for the heart, causing her to stagger with each rip of bullets. They might have been tough as anything, but having so much of your body ripped apart can’t have been fun. I gave it to her again, and this time it was definitely on target. The shots chewed up the last part of her uniform tunic that wasn’t already a rain-soaked crimson mess, taking her straight through the heart.
Without surprise, I turned to find Sandy dead, and Parsberg watching me warily, pistol at his side. Almost like he expected me to be angry.
‘He wasn’t himself. Shutters neither.’ I looked back towards the castle, and wondered how many of these creatures were watching us from the darkened windows. Dr Bede might still be in there. But at this point…
‘We’re leaving.’ I said.
‘This sounds good.’ Parsberg nodded, relaxing his shoulders.
We climbed the stairs at the side of the gatehouse, and descended the rope I’d left coiled at the top from when Shutters and Not-So had gone scouting.
‘There going to be more of them, out there?’ I asked as we crossed the bridge, heading for the forest.
He gave me a look. It was…not hopeful.
Operation Debriefing
Director General: And you hold that these accounts are true, Sergeant?
Sergeant Kelly: Yes. Completely.
Director: Perhaps your initial assessment was right, that the squad was compromised by an elite Alsatian operative using some kind of experimental perception-altering drug?
Kelly: If that’s what you’d like to write up. But I don’t think that’s the case.
Director: You believe you were attacked by a vampire? Two vampires?
The record states that Sergeant Kelly paused for several seconds.
Kelly: Two vampires. In addition to two former members of my squad who should have been dead from their wounds, but kept on ticking. I’ll stand by it.
Director: When we reclaimed the castle, we found no sign of any of the things mentioned in your report. No corpses, no blood, no sign of Dr Bede. Are you quite certain, Sergeant?
Kelly: You didn’t find Iris either? Listen to me, I’m telling you-
Director: Sergeant. Please. Your record is exemplary. I want to make it clear that you are not being brought up on any charges, but we would like you to seek psychiatric help. Shell Shock is a very real condition, and it’s not a point of weakness to seek help for a mental wound, just like a physical one.
Kelly: I knew you didn’t believe me. But I didn’t think you’d force me into the bughouse over it.
Director: That is not my intention, Aishling, please. This record will never see the light of day, but I need something to tell the Board. I can’t tell the Sykes family that their youngest son was killed by a vampire and turned into some rabid creature.
The record states that Sergeant Kelly was silent for almost a minute.
Kelly: Perhaps I got a detail wrong. Maybe…Shell Shock. An Alsatian ambush. Gas.
Director: Thank you, Sergeant.
Statement ends.
Afterword
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Acknowledgements
My only acknowledgement for this one is the calendar. I acknowledge that an absolute age has passed since I released a book, a story, or anything really, related to The Suburban Dead. I didn’t even post on social media much! The shame.
It was always the plan that I’d take a break after Reunion and pursue another series, but that I’d slip you a couple of Suburban Dead short stories in the meantime. However, Covid-19 happened, so the year 2020 just…didn’t. My day-job in pharmacy suddenly occupied a lot more of my time, and then even when I came home I was still thinking about it. Hard to escape the news.
I couldn’t quite hack the pressure, so I had to take some stress leave July/August, which is when I had a little push to finish off this tiny story I started writing in Jan/Feb. I’m still pursuing another short story idea or two, still planning a fourth full Suburban Dead novel, and still hacking away at my fantasy series. If you want to keep up to date, follow me on Facebook.
This one’s dedicated to anyone out there who worked a frontline role during th
e pandemic. Whether you were keeping us fed at the supermarket or tethering patients to respirators, and whether you saw it through, or needed to take a little breather like myself.
Either way, they don’t pay you enough…
The Suburban Dead | Short Story | Recon Page 3