Sherlock Holmes and the Zombie Problem (10 page)

Finally the train came to a halt, with our sentries still keeping an eye on either side of the platform. It was empty, thankfully, the last thing we needed were more civilians to get in the way of any potential combat.
Boarding the train all seven of us piled into one compartment, which seated eight but not comfortably, yet safety in numbers was the priority of the day. Every man sat, weapons still in hand, all knowing that safety was not totally provided until the locomotive was on its way to Geneva. All of us sat there for what felt like an age, until finally we began to move.
All of the group, content to be in a safe position, now slumped in their seats. We were exhausted from all of our adventures, but these men had to deal with our troubles after a day of work and heavy drinking, they were as exhausted as we were. We lay there desperately awaiting the train to set off, waiting impatiently, sweat dripping from our powder stained faces, in part from physical exertion and part from the high stress of the situation. No man could relax now, not yet. At last the train began to start our journey.
Jacob looked pale, he was feeling sorry for himself, still bleeding from the wound despite the wrap he had placed around it, there was little else I could do for him on this occasion. All the men lay back in their seats to sleep, all but Holmes, who was as alert as a pointer on a hunt. I did not understand his insistence on being so wide awake when sleep was essential to our combat effectiveness, though I was glad to have him watching over us.
With my rifle propped against my side, and with little room to move, having so many men filling the compartment, I rested my head as best as possible and quickly fell asleep. The sleep was troubled, but far from unwelcome. My dreams wandered from scene to scene, from the battle of Maiwand to the open plains of southern England, and back to the horrors of recent battles. A few hours into the sleep I was abruptly and shockingly awoken by a shot ringing out that deafened me and caused me to jump in shock. I looked around quickly to assess the situation, still dazed from being awakened so quickly. Smoke vented from Holmes’ shotgun, blood was splattered throughout the compartment, across much of our clothes and up to the ceiling. Jacob’s head had almost entirely erupted from the shot; the body laid lifeless, blood pouring down the upholstery. Holmes, shotgun in one hand, drew back upon the pipe protruding from his mouth, quite relaxed.
“Holmes! Please explain yourself immediately!” Cyril shouted.
“We now understand how these creatures expand their number in such a short period of time,” Holmes replied.
“Go on, and do not speak in riddles,” Cyril rightfully said.
“Jacob was bitten by a creature, his blood contaminated by theirs. He deteriorated quickly over a matter of hours, becoming pale, weak, as if dying, no symptoms of a flesh wound such as he received, until I finally saw him draw his last breath, and then return to this world as something completely different and unfriendly.”
Holmes had seen the very real fact that we had all ignored, perhaps subconsciously, not willing to accept the terrible reality of what he was saying. These creatures aimed to kill all among them, but those that survived, but injured from them, became them. No wonder the south of England had fallen at such a rate. Holmes’ cold heartedness was not warming him to our new friends, but they were quickly realising that he had our best interests at heart, even if his means and manner were ungentlemanly.
No one responded to Holmes’ words, not even me, everyone now truly understood our situation. As a doctor I had entertained the fact that disease through physical contact was a possibility, though the fact that our contact with the beasts had not resulted in infection had removed that possibility from my mind. Clearly we had not shared bodily fluid with the beasts and therefore not been infected by their disease. This reality made our task more of a mountain than it already was, and we all wondered if England could even survive such an outbreak.
All the men relaxed, uncomfortably accepting the situation, but all thinking about it carefully. The question remained though, were the first beasts we faced controlled or merely pushed in the right direction? The first beasts appeared to be specifically targeting Holmes, and yet all after had been attacking indiscriminately, rather implying two separate categories of beast. Perhaps those infected by those controlled became uncontrolled beasts, whilst those initially created by whatever means were carefully controlled or directed. It was a rather loose and farfetched theory, but the best I could assemble this late in the day.
So what now? The whole band of gentleman was thinking deeply about what we were doing and how we would save ourselves and all others from this nightmare. We had got far, and Holmes was quick to point out that this new knowledge not only explained a lot of what we had seen, but also showed how dangerous the following days would be.
“This is a horrible deed Holmes, and yet, I understand your reason, if not your cold emotions and manner in handling the situation. We must carefully consider our next actions,” said Matthey.
If the newly infected creatures were not controlled by Moriarty, we had to consider the possibility that ending him or his means of creation would not necessarily end the attack of the hordes. This now left us with two problems of equal proportion. The monsters, now spread across Europe, had to be killed in their entirety as well as all they infected, whilst Moriarty must be stopped in order to prevent further creatures being manifested. The group discussed this matter for some time, until Holmes asked for quiet, having reached the best conclusion.
“We are just six men in a cross country war, we can do little to assist the authorities of the countries involved. However, we are perhaps the only men who understand the root cause of this war and how to prevent it developing or re-kindling in the future, assuming the sovereign states can survive.”
“Then we soldier on to our task, only hoping that the countries in our wake can manage theirs?” Cyril asked.
“It is the only solution that presents itself which achieves some useful result and assists the world in the best way possible,” Holmes replied.
“Agreed,” said Cyril.
“Understand this gentleman, we now face a conflict the likes the world has not ever known. No standing army, declarations of war, loyalty nor uniforms, we fight an enemy from within our own countries. You can either fight and die in a stand-up fight, or come with us, and strike at the heart of the problem.”
The four men looked at each other, mildly shocked by the grim reality which had been laid before them in such brief but informative words.
“We’re all with you Holmes. That fact would never be in doubt in such a time of need,” said Cyril.
We were very fortunate that Cyril held the group together, for many other men would have had our necks for blowing their friend’s head off. Despite this, with Jacob’s body lifeless and still dripping blood beside us, our stomachs were unsettled and our nerves uneasy.
“Help, help, somebody, I need a doctor!” A woman’s voice cried.
The sound was coming from the opposite end of the carriage we inhabited, and it was the accent of an English woman. We had thought the train carried no passengers other than ourselves. I rushed out of the compartment to the corridor to see the well dressed woman in a lot of distress. She immediately clapped eyes on me and rushed towards me. I took a few paces forwards to avoid her seeing the blood stained area I had come from.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Are you a doctor?”
“I am.”
“It is my husband, please come quickly.”
Not ever leaving anyone in need I quickly followed the women to thenext carriage. She led me into a compartment where she and her husband had been travelling. He was drowsy and weak, fever ridden I would have said. The man was fading and was murmuring, but no real words came out.
“When did this start?”
“Just a few hours ago, not long after someone tried to attack us,” she said.
“Explain to me exactly what happened.”
“Back in the town a man tried to attack us, my husband beat the man down with his cane, but of all things he bit him.”
Oh dear, this was not what I was hoping to find, though it did make me more glad that Holmes had kept watch while we slept. I stepped back away from the feverish man.
“What are you doing? Will you not help him?”
“I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do for your husband, and if you stay here you will succumb to the same condition,” I said.
“I am not leaving my husband! What kind of doctor are you that will not help the sick?”
The very notion of leaving someone to die was a horrible one, but I only risked myself staying any longer, and if I left the two, we would soon have potentially two beasts on board the train with us. I drew an Adams gun from beneath my jacket and pulled the hammer back.
“What are you doing?” the woman insisted.
“I am so sorry, but it is impossible to explain to you and have you understand the danger you are now in. In a matter of minutes or hours your husband will no longer be your husband, and be as wretched as the man who attempted to attack you,” I said.
“You’re wrong, and I will not let you harm my husband, you are not a doctor, get out of my sight!”
The woman pushed at me towards the door of the compartment, but she was quickly wrenched back towards her husband and I could only watch as his teeth drove into the side of her neck. It was too late, they were both now condemned, as we had all too recently discovered ourselves. I raised my Adams gun and fired a single shot to the unfortunate husband’s head, the shot ringing through the brain and exiting through the skull and window off into the distance. Blood splattered across the wife’s head and shoulder as her husband now slumped in his seat. The wife was crying in pain from the bite and in shock over the blood which now soaked her. I turned the gun towards her, but could not pull the trigger. I hesitated, knowing full well what had to be done, but being incapable of doing so. A shot rang out beside me, fracturing the woman’s skull, the blood barely showing on the already bloodied face and clothing as she collapsed back in the carriage. I looked to my side, where Holmes stood, Webley smoking slightly, ever the practical man, he had not hesitated. Now we could only hope that the train conductor did not make a pass of our two carriages, as we could not explain the evidence that he would find. The rest of the men lined the hallway behind Holmes, having followed when I had run off.
“This carriage is empty, let us take a new, clean compartment for the rest of the journey,” said Holmes.
We shuffled along the corridor and did exactly that, at least the clean carriage gave us some sense of normality, despite the horrors we had now partaken in and witnessed. We all sat down in the comfortable seats, though finding little comfort in them.
“This situation is clearly far worse than you first realised, and we have already lost one good man because of it, let us not make the same mistake again,” said Cyril.
“Indeed, the coming days will test us to the limits of our strength and character, we will and already have been forced to make the hardest decisions one can ever ask of a man, and there will be many more like them. We now know everything we need to about the beasts themselves, let that serve as a warning to you all. Any hesitation in killing a creature, or anyone who has been infected by one, will risk the lives of us all,” said Holmes.
“Indeed, take stock of Mr. Holmes’ words, for his methods may be stern, but his knowledge and actions true,” said Cyril.
The men went silent, all were in agreement, but their cold, hardened faces were testament to both the terrible things we had witnessed, but the cool resolve they were able to keep.
As the train trundled on, I could not help but be astonished that one man could be so unrelenting and evil, merely to pursue his own gain. Heaven knows how many thousands of people must be dying because of this outbreak, and all to save one crook from the cells, so that he could pursue political and financial gain. It is men like him that could well destroy the world we know.

It had been a long journey with only broken and uneasy sleep, but even the little relaxation we had was a luxury compared to the two days preceding it, especially knowing we had the safety of a group of capable and trustworthy gentlemen. My back now ached and I could feel the temperatures increasing for we were getting further south all the time and now in the heat of the afternoon. The speed of trains was a welcome asset, though their linear journeys meant the risk of what you might find at the next stop a daunting thought. Moriarty was clearly unsure of our location and was lashing out in many directions, hoping to ensnare us by sheer weight of numbers and by casting a wide net.

Finally, the station at Geneva was in sight, it was lunchtime and quite warm. Cyril and Egerton began to take off their jackets, an act that was only justified by the likelihood of impending violence and necessity for maximum physical performance and sustainability.

“Leave those on, gentleman,” said Holmes.

The great detective’s words seemed out of place and rather rude to men we now called friends.
“The sharingof bodily fluids through a bite was enough to turn Jacob from a friend and ally to another foul beast. Protection is a priority, and those jackets at least provide a light layer of protection, you do not want anything less.”
The two men, jackets half off, considered Holmes’ words carefully, before slowly pulling them back on. A wise choice, and something that should have occurred to me sooner, it was only a shame we did not have armour such as the soldiers of past history.
“Let us eat before we die of hunger!” Egerton said.
He was right, having the appropriate allies and weapons was important, but without our strength we were useless, a fact Holmes would both know and be keen to remedy. The men nodded and grunted in agreement, rightly so, Holmes and I hadn’t eaten in a long time, more than was sensible. Strolling out of the station, we found the nearest eating establishment, a welcoming bar with just a few people sat drinking tea.
We went in, walking through a narrow double door into a tall room with plenty of tables set up. A few of the customers looked around in surprise, maybe at such a large group, but more likely the armoury that between us we bore. The barman either didn’t consider us unusual or simply chose not to care. The room was decorated with old swords and muskets, pipe smoke wafted across the room from an old man sitting at the bar. He was the only patron not to give us a moment’s thought or attention. The stranger had a big beard and scruffy hair, he sat like an Englishman, but didn’t look like one, either way, he seemed to be of little importance.
“Six of your finest specials and as many teas if you wouldn’t mind, sir,” said Cyril.
The bartender nodded in acknowledgement. A stiffer drink would have been far more welcome at a time such as this, but also counterproductive to our purpose. We sat down at a small table and relaxed as best we could. It would be twenty minutes before our food arrived, but the tea was enjoyable. Finishing up the meal, and glad to feel some energy returning to our worn out bodies, Cyril spoke up.
“Would it not be an idea to wire London with the new information we now have, regarding the infectious nature of the beasts?”
“It would indeed, sir, a fact that had crossed my mind when we sat down here,” replied Holmes.
Before Holmes could give further explanation footsteps rang out from the doorway, the sound of an important man strutting, not a beast.
Turning to face what we had hoped to be a friend and not a new more intelligent enemy, we were pleased to see Holmes leap to his feet and reach out his hand to the man, a friend evidently. The men shook hands and Holmes invited him to sit with us. He didn’t seem altogether shocked by our attire, perhaps being well accustomed to Holmes’ odd ways.
Holmes introduced the man, and us to him, his name Johann, and was our equivalent in this region, clearly an old acquaintance for Holmes.
“Cyril, please take your chaps and find a way to wire London with all the information necessary as quickly as possible, and be back here with as much speed,” said Holmes.
My old friend rose quickly to his feet, pleased to have a new duty, and knowing full well its importance. His colleagues took up their rifles and strolled out of the room with purpose. Holmes looked back at Johann and gasped, knowing he would yet again have to explain himself and our story of the last few days. Explaining this turn of events to even the most trusted and close friend was a difficult task, and it was becoming tiresome.
“More tea!” barked Holmes.
He was rude and obtuse, giving a bad representation of our countrymen in a foreign land, but I knew exactly why, and would not call him up on the fact. There was no time for fretting over politeness and individual feeling.
As Holmes began to discuss the present matters with his old friend and the tea arrived, I completely blanked out everything in the room, focusing on only the current events and my tea; nothing could break my focus and thoughts. What bothered me about this situation was that Moriarty had not appeared to have dealt his final blow. Why would that be?
We had only ever been attacked by a few dozen creatures at a time, who were unarmed. Did Moriarty assume they would be capable of killing us? Was he simply reducing our ammunition and wearing us down, or goading us in the direction he wanted? It was a horrible thought, to have your life played with as a child plays with a toy, and yet, with the addition of sadistic character. I didn’t have an answer here, because I could not see into the villain’s head, I had not even ever met him, though I suspected that the worst was yet to come, for his potential for havoc was evident.
“I know your thoughts Watson,” said Holmes.
“Oh really?”
“You are wondering why our foe has not made his final move?”
“Excellent.”
“Elementary.”
“Then what will Moriarty do next?” I asked.
“That is the crux of the matter Watson, as the villain’s intentions are not wholly clear. We still do not know the extent to which Moriarty can create these creatures, and to what level he must rely on their number to infect the rest of the population. Based on our findings thus far, I would predict that he is confident of placing himself in power of the British Isles as soon as he has removed any threat to his personal self and whatever goings on he has in Switzerland,” Holmes replied
“Which means killing us is currently his only objective?”
“It would unfortunately seem that way, and we must therefore quite shortly expect an attack on a scale none of us have yet seen.”
Holmes’ face suddenly turned from the look of a calculating conversationalist to the concerned combatant. His eyes tightened on an object further behind me, as my back faced the door. He drew his Bulldog and fired with the barrel just a foot away from my left ear, my hearing popped and I was slightly disorientated, flinching to my right side. I turned more to look over my left shoulder now as Holmes’ gun flashed twice more. A mass of the creatures was pouring through the door, with no clear indication of their number.
There was no time to grab the rifles, and they would not be well suited and could be a hindrance in these confined spaces. The creatures were now just fifteen feet away as I drew my Adams revolvers, Holmes reaching for the Webleys in his satchel. We fired continually, all twenty shots we had, smoke filled our vision and blood gushed from our foes in a glorious display of violence. Now at just three feet from us, the last round of Holmes’ guns rang out, skimming the head of one, taking the flesh off to reveal the skull underneath. I knew I had just one round left, pointing it directly at the brain of the nearest, just a foot away I pulled the trigger. The creature’s eyes went immediately lifeless as the bullet ripped through its skull, the powder burns singeing the flesh around the hole and the exit wound spraying blood out across the last two creatures behind him.
The hearing in my right ear was coming back, though it would be some time for the other to recover. I could hear gunshots in the distance outside the cafe, likely to be our friends engaging the same enemy from the other side, sadly too late to assist us now. Before we could reach for our swords the last two villains were upon us, trying persistently to take hold of us, we were forced with our backs to the bar, struggling desperately to keep away from their bite.
For all our preparation in firearms and swords, it how now come to this, and for a few moments I really did think it was the end of our most important adventure. Holmes, ever the boxer, jabbed at his assailant’s face, just trying to get free of the thing. Not wanting to put my flesh anywhere near the foul creatures mouth I took an undercut at my attacker whilst holding him back with my other hand, it barely caused the beast to flinch. I hit it again, and again, any such wound would have caused a normal man to release, but not these creatures.
There was a clatter on the wall beside me; we could only hope not more beasts. Something struck my foe on top of the head, sending a length of metal flying across theroom. With the strike to the beast its head was smashed down, revealing the source of the attack. The old man who had been sitting at the bar held an old sword in hand that he had taken from the wall. It was a beautiful Schiavona, with its large and exquisitely sculpted basket hilt, the blade now only half its original length from the first blow that had broken it. Not letting the blade break dissuade him, he struck the creature in the head with the hilt of the sword, again and again, until the hilt was a bloodied mess and the beast was lifeless.
As I looked over to Holmes, he had taken hold of a steak knife from the bar and was placing it vertically under the jaw, with one sure blow the blade drove up through the creature’s jaw and into the brain, dropping the beast to its knees. Disgusted by the filthy thing Holmes placed his boot upon its chest and kicked it to the floor.
I looked back to the old man, a new fire in his eyes from the solemn and lonely man we had seen upon entering, and then it struck me who he was.
“Dick Burton!” I cried.
Without responding the man dropped the sword to the floor and went to sit at a nearby chair. It had to be him, the scarred face was rather distinctive, I had met him a number of times in the late seventies. Cyril and the rest of his men rushed through the entrance, barrels still hot and spouting smoke.
“All in one piece?” Cyril asked.
“Indeed, five minutes and we shall be on our way,” replied Holmes.
“Then enough time for tea, barman!” Cyril shouted.
We walked over to the old man, now sitting, quite relaxed and thoughtful.
“Burton, is it really you?”
The man looked up directly at me, and it was unmistakeable, the piercing look, he was now quite old, maybe seventy, but none of that fire had gone. What totally baffled me was that his death was reported in the papers six months previously, in Trieste I believe.
“Watson is it?”
“Yes Sir,” I gladly replied.
“Dick Burton died last year, I am all that is left.”
Drawing up chairs to Burton’s table, we sat to further question him whilst we reloaded our handguns. After some prompting it became clear that Burton had faked his death, wanting to be remembered as the man he used to be, and not the clearly saddened drunk he believed he had become.
“Whatever your reasoning sir, you just saved our lives, and in doing so, perhaps saved England,” said Holmes.
Something clearly awoke in Burton upon these words, a newfound pride I should imagine, he straightened his back, now sitting taller and prouder.
“Thank you gentleman, you must please explain this turn of events in as few words as possible, so you may continue your travels and I will be better prepared,” Burton replied.
Holmes knew the man’s reputation and did therefore not insult him with any form of simplification of the events; he began with the first attack in my home and paid particular attention to the attributes of the creatures.
Burton gasped as if remembering something of what we spoke, which struck us as rather odd. He scratched his beard and pondered the information that Holmes had just imparted upon him. We both sat eagerly awaiting a response, for Burton clearly knew something of the matters we were now involved in. Finally he spoke up.
“I have heard of such a thing, a long time ago, but never given it any credence.”
“At this stage sir, we are quite willing to consider all possibilities, no matter how bizarre they may be. For the events of the past few days have been nothing that any decent man would believe, without experiencing it with his own eyes,” Holmes replied.
“In my travels across Africa, a number of times I encountered such a thing called Vodou. The locals believed it to be a form of powerful magic, but then such a thing was not uncommon with uncivilised peoples. Within this Vodou magic, they believed a person could be brought back from the dead and controlled, and that they called these creatures a zombi. Now, I do not know the details of how such a thing may be done, as it was a closely guarded secret that I gave no attention of interest to, dismissing it as mere mystical nonsense.”
“And I would have done the very same, but the unfortunate reality is that we may face such a magic, or science hiding under the name of magic, on a rather large and devastating scale,” Holmes replied.
Burton further explained what little he knew, which was a large step up from our current knowledge. It was therefore entirely possible that Moriarty was using such a magic or science to conjure up these beasts. It was still totally unclear as to why he placed such importance in Switzerland, something I was hoping Holmes would shed some light on, and therefore asked him.
“Switzerland may have no significance to the science or magic, but merely a safe location to pursue research and practice. It is safer and less likely to be drawn into war than any other country in Europe, whilst being a beautiful place to live. Is it not where you would live could you afford to do so Watson, among the splendour of the mountains and chalets?” Holmes replied.
He made good points, it was far from his intended target, safe and beautiful, what more could any man want? At this stage we began to wonder whether Moriarty himself was the head of the snake, or was it his research and base in Switzerland.
“Therefore, do we continue on to attempt to find his centre of operations, or do we go for the man himself?” asked Cyril.
A fair question, and something which had continually been on our minds since this began.
“At this stage we have too little information to know the answer to that question. Therefore, we must continue to find the villain’s home, which in doing so will eventually lead him to cross our path, ensuring we finish both him and whatever resources he has,” Holmes replied.
“Should we not inform the authorities here about the impending disaster they face?” Egerton asked.
“We will leave that to Johann,” Holmes said.
“For no explanation we can give will be explained, and they will know soon enough, we must be on with our task.”
They laid their various bags onto tables and began taking ammunition out, reloading the weapons and filling their pockets with what they could, it was a wise idea. Splitting up at this place was nearly the end of us, we had to avoid doing it again at all costs.
“Will you come with us?” I asked Burton.
“This is your adventure Watson. As far as the world is concerned I am already dead, and whilst this fight has given me a new reason to live, I do not wish to spend what could be me last days running around with younger men. No, I shall stay here, and defend this place with my life,” Burton replied whilst lifting his glass of wine to us.