Sherlock Holmes and the Zombie Problem (5 page)

A matter of minutes away from the platform, Holmes broke silenceto explain thedetails of the plan he had clearly devised silently in the last ten minutes. The intention was to procure a private boat at Eastbourne Dock and use it to sail to Dieppe. This would be a long and arduous manner of crossing the Channel, and yet, any better option would likely be made impossible by the new horde of enemies. This was a sound plan, but rather relied on a free and clear run from the platform, not that we had a choice in the matter. Some of the inhabitants of the train had clearly overhead our plan and one of the men stood up and spoke out.

“What of the rest of us?” he asked.
“What of it?” replied Holmes.
“You would leave us undefended in light of such an attack?” the man snarled.
“We are upon a mission of whom the entire country’s security and safety lies, your protection was merely a lucky by-product of our journey.”
“This is outrageous!”
“No, this is war, do your part and be silent, we will send the train in a safe direction, you may have to spend many hours aboard, but it will at least keep you from harm,” said Holmes.
“And who will protect us when we come to the next bloodied platform?” he demanded.
“I believe all of the attacks have been made at the few southern towns in order to stop us crossing the Channel, but you will have Winston to protect you.” Holmes replied. “You are leaving us with just one boy to defend us?” “He has proven to be more a man than yourself sir, now be silent and sit down!” Holmes ordered. The man was indignant and miserable, a sad excuse for an Englishman, but he was at least silenced. The platform was now in sight, a quiet sigh of relief echoed the train as all onboard could see the deserted and tranquil space.
This was our chance. I strapped my sword belt around my waist and slung the roll bag over my back, Marlin in hand and ready to go. Holmes stuffed his pockets with
the twelve shotgun shells; we were as ready as we ever could be. Holmes called Winston over.
“Get to the driver, tell him to continue to Hastings, then head north back to London. At Hastings, report to the local police exactly what you have seen and ask them to wire the information back to London immediately before you get on your way. It is a long way back, but you must not for any reason return west. You have done us all a good turn and service, keep that rifle handy, do my bidding, then return to your family and protect them well.”
“Thank you sir,” Winston shouted back as he ran eagerly forward towards the driver.
“Well, Watson, we seem to have fallen upon evil days,” said Holmes.
The carriage ground to a halt at the platform, still bare and lonely. We pulled the door open and edged out onto the platform, weapons at port, full well expecting a fight
on our hands. As Holmes quickly surveyed the location I turned and shut the carriage door behind us. It appeared that so far we had the clear run at things we needed and
had hoped for.
We moved quietly across the platform, despite the noise from the carriage we had just left, at each turn expecting to find trouble. The station was without doubt completely
empty, eerily so. It was time to move on, we walked beyond the stations limits as the locomotive behind us creaked and lurched forward into motion, heading to what was
hopefully the safety of Hastings.
We continued along the dark streets of Eastbourne, weapons at hand, emotions highly strung, we were anticipating disaster. We could just hear the unmistakable sound of steel upon steel ringing out without warning or provocation. These monsters did not use weapons. That was the sound of humans interacting in a way that only the living could.
A sharp crack resounded and we turned to see a mass of evil, a horde of the walking dead stumbling towards us, barely visible, but moonlight reflecting intermittently
across their clothing as they marched in a disorganised rabble.
“Whatever that sound in the distance is it can only be humans engaged in manly pursuits, that may be our safest option in this situation,” Holmes quickly spouted. We turned, heading for the sound of clashing metal, knowing the limited ammunition we had would likely not win against this new mass of enemies. A light jog was all that was needed to gain distance upon these monsters that seemed never to develop beyond a meaningful stagger. Upon reaching the sight of the sounds we were heading towards, it was clear that the pleasant sound of the clash of cold steel was emitting from what was an inn, an elegant and large one. Holmes had already accurately speculated what was before us before we entered and saw with our own eyes.
The inn’s gentlemen’s room was awash with the local men of stature watching a display of arms. In the centre of the room were two men in substantial padded armour
and clashing with large renaissance swords, the like of which would never be normally seen except upon walls of the wealthy or in museums. At this time I understood what Holmes had already devised, this was a display of old swordsmanship from the only man and his friends that would pursue such an interest in this developing age Mr. Hutton.
Without a moment to speak a word, Holmes lifted his shotgun and let a round free upon the roof, echoing wildly across the well filled room and causing all, including those
clashing with blades, to freeze.
“Just moments down that road a horde of creatures the likes you have never witnessed are approaching these fine premises, with the bodies of humans and yet the
aggression of wild beasts.”
The only man I knew in the room, and only through reputation not acquaintance, Mr. Alfred Hutton, removed his fencing mask and looked at us with an odd expression,
sweat dripping from his brow. He wiped across his face with his cuff and then strolled a few paces closer, measuring us up before finally speaking, and the rest of
the room still silent.
“And who dares interrupt such a gathering of fine men, sir?”
“Sherlock Holmes,” a strong and confident reply sounded from my associate and friend. The men of the room gasped faintly, now paying slightly more heed to our words, but still quite reserved. It would be no easy task to explain to such a fine body of
men the burden we had now placed upon them. “Your reputation precedes you my dear sir, and yet your story does not carry such weight,” he said.
“It is not a story I ever expected to be telling to anyone but children sir, but that does not deter from the true facts of the horde which is now bearing down upon this place,”
Holmes replied.
“I am sorry to say sir that I find it hard to believe a tall tale such as this in this place and time, I must ask, how much have you had to drink?”
As Hutton said this he was closely examining our clothes and weapons. Blood speckles ran up our trouser legs and cuffs, powder stains on our shoulders and with stained faces and hands, my rifle showing powder residue.
I could see Hutton’s expression turn from insult and outrage to genuine interest and concern, for he knew the tell tale signs of serious combat just as we did.
As the bold Hutton’s words rang out a resounding crash rang out as something beat against the door, again and again, it got loader, beyond what one man could do. The men of the room fell silent, half in surprise and half in fright, not knowing whether we spoke the truth or coincidence had played a part. A man near the door edged closer, whilst all others stood frozen, heart beats pounding, not wanting to believe our story, but also now worried about the possibility of its truthfulness. The man’s hand reached for the handle of the door, slowly, shaking. His hand finally reached the handle and releasing it he was launched backwards as the door struck him hard and what was now a familiar frenzied human resembling thing stumbled through the open doorway. The foe immediately fell upon the unfortunate man and with all energy tried to kill him.
At this stage, we were only lucky to have entered a room with men experienced in the world and quick to establish the story behind a situation. They may not know everything we did, but they knew what was best for all.
Hutton and his assistant ran towards the assailant, but the beast struck hard, nearly breaking the man’s jaw. Hutton, still wielding a sword as tall as a man, stormed towards
the creature and struck him with all force to the collar, knocking his foe to the ground, creating a gapping whole in the villain’s shoulder, but not killing him. Hutton stuck
his tall leather boot in to the man’s face at high speed, and then used the leverage to pull his sword from his collar, before grasping the sword in a wide two handed grip and
driving the point into the beast’s heart as it lay on the floor. “Close the doors!” bellowed from Hutton’s mouth. Men from all sides stormed to the entrance and attempted to force the door shut against the strength of those pushing against it, and finally managed to get them shut as Holmes beat against the arms of those trying to breach it. The doors would evidently only hold for a limited time, but that was a consolation, knowing we could educate a number of fine strong men before going into combat with the enemy they were to face.
Holmes explained to Hutton the grave situation which we faced in as few succinct words that only Holmes could use, of which the great celebrity handled in the fashion in
which his reputation would suggest.
“Gather any weapons you can and be prepared for the defence,” barked Hutton to the crowd.
The men of the room sprung in to action, a number taking up swords from Hutton’s bags, others drawing personal handguns, some even breaking off table legs as a desperate measure. These men had not seen the enemy, but it was a warming feeling to know that our fellow Englishman could handle such a situation with the cool confidence that we are so famed for. The door buckled back and forth as the mass of enemies hammered against it.
“My good man,” Holmes pressed Hutton.
“As much as I do not want to rob you of men to defend this fine establishment, a war is upon us and for reasons I cannot abruptly outline, we two must make it to France at
any cost, do you offer us any solutions?”
Hutton looked shocked but quickly took in what Holmes had said and understood in a vague sense the state of the situation.
“I can think of but one, wild, but potential route which may take you safely from this place and across the Channel. Two miles north of here a man is preparing a balloon flight to leave shortly, a fine gentleman, but also one that will require much persuasion,” Hutton answered. This news was truly music to our ears, already picturing
the dashing escape we could make. Although my feet had never left the ground higher than a horse could provide, the thought of dangling above the earth was unsettling. “I suggest you use the kitchen door out the back and move swiftly to your destination. The man you seek is called Fogg, of which you may remember from the papers in the seventies, tell him I sent you and he is to do your bidding,” Hutton explained.
The door finally buckled and cracked, bursting open, the first creature stumbling through the entrance. Hutton rushed forwards from the crescent of men, none wanting
to make the first attack. Hutton’s two handed sword, about six feet tall and with broad blade descended upon the neck of the beast and hewed down to the lung, dropping the beast to the ground with immense force. The gaping wound opened as the creature’s body twisted down, releasing the pressure on the embedded blade and allowing blood to gush across what was a beautifully polished wooden floor.
“Go!” Hutton shouted back at us.
We turned tail, both struggling with the thought of leaving the fine gentleman of the inn two men short, but knowing what had to be done. We had to make some distance between us and this combat, as who knows how long it could take to have the balloon ready to fly. We looked back just once more before leaving the room to see Hutton and the other patrons fighting ferociously. Holmes tore the rear door open and the empty plain before us was a nice sight. Gun shots rang out behind us along with an almighty ambience of the clash of men, metal and furniture.
As we exited though the door our peripheral vision quickly eluded us to the danger beside us. Two creatures to each of our sides, just ten yards away, however, it could
have been far worse.
“Shut the door!” cried Holmes.
I slammed the door behind us, as it would quickly lead to Hutton and his men being enveloped, before quickly turning and shouldering my Marlin. Holmes shotgun rang out as he fired at the first target, the right side of its head exploding in a disgusting fashion. I took aim at the nearest creature on the other side of Holmes and fired a shot directly through its eye socket. The clean wound barely showed in this light, but it had been enough to send the beast lifelessly toppling to the dirt. The next creature was upon me before I could cock the rifle so I twisted the rifle stock around into an uppercut to its jaw, a solid and positive strike. The blow made a satisfying crunch as the jaw was broken and the force sent the beast tumbling backwards onto its back. I followed a few paces whilst racking the lever of the Marlin and quickly reshouldering it. Shooting a man on the ground was akin to an assassination, but knowing what these were, it left me with no qualms at all, I squeezed the trigger and its skull fractured. Holmes’ shotgun rang out for a second time behind me. The four beasts were now finished and we were free to move.
Getting up the pace, we could perhaps gain fifteen minutes on the horde, which would presumably continue to swarm past the inn. We could only hope that Hutton and those fine men could either break out or hold up.
In the distance we could see the light haze and loose silhouette of a balloon shape, good old Hutton! Trotting up the footpath to the premises that housed the flying machine, panting from the quick rate we had kept up, we could see the silhouette of a man sitting casually in one of the rooms of the house before us. Holmes beat enthusiastically on the door, and yet, the man not shocked or startled, took a final sip from his cup before casually strolling to the door.
The shabby and rough old door swayed open and before us stood a distinguished and yet roughly clothed man, but clearly a well educated one.
“Mr Fogg?” Holmes blurted out, not giving the gentleman time to enquire about our presence. “At your service gentleman, why would you trouble me at these hours and with such armaments?” The man responded in a plucky and well spoken voice.
Holmes, as he had with Hutton, explained as quickly as he possibly could, tagging Hutton’s name and order on to the end of his words.
“I have travelled the world and seen plenty, this story seems farfetched to say the least my man, but that does not change the responsibility I owe Hutton and now to you.”
Holmes informed him in no uncertain terms that we had to head for Switzerland without delay.
“That does not change the fact my fine men that until my man returns with further supplies of coal, we will not get further than the coastline.”
“Damn it man, have you no way to get this balloon in the air sooner?” snapped Holmes in a rather ungentle and rude fashion, of which I quite understood considering the