Scavengers: Collection - Books 1-4 (Zombie Gentlemen) (m/m zombie steampunk erotic romance) (3 page)

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The way towards James’ family mansion went smoother than expected. They did encounter a few zombies, but Ira dispatched them without any trouble. Truthfully, his proficiency in killing was quite frightening. Stabbing these monsters and ripping their brains out did not seem to move him in the slightest.

They skipped the town and went straight to the mansion through the woods. Five years after the area became deserted, the tracks people used for walking were still recognizable. If not for the constant fear, it would seem they were strolling in the shadow of old oak trees. The bright sunlight shone through the treetops, dancing on the dead leaves on the ground every time the wind blew over them. The smell of fresh air was lovely and James realized that he had forgotten how nice it was. He even took off the front part of his mask, only leaving the back, which covered a part of his head and neck. It felt so long ago that he was somewhere as quiet and peaceful. Peace and quiet were the two luxuries London didn’t offer.

“This place brings back so many memories,” he whispered, as if to an old friend.

Ira looked at him, quietly stepping over brown leaves on the track. “Did you actually live here?”

“Oh yes!” James looked at him and smiled. They were getting closer to the mansion and through the treetops, the building started to become visible. As they approached the massive gates, they only spotted one single undead walking around. In comparison to what James remembered, the whole place seemed devastated. With broken windows, partially burnt and dirty. The gate used to have a bright golden color, which could now be described as copper at best. Belongings were left out in front of the building, as if people deserted the place in a panic. Most frightening of all though, were skeletons of men and animals, scattered all around. “It was once a beautiful, lively place. But now as you can see it’s simply miserable.” he sighed. “When the Plague started, it was each man for himself. The servants stole most of our horses and weapons.”

“How did you survive then?” asked Ira, furrowing his eyebrows.

When they finally got to the gates, James had a chance to look at the mansion he hadn’t seen for almost six years. The Georgian building was massive, with dozens of large windows, staircases to the sides and pillars in front of grand entrance doors, which were now open and almost inviting if it wasn’t for the devastation one could see inside. Green ivy, which used to cover the sides of the mansion in a decorative fashion, now grew all over it, even on some of the windows.

“My father managed to get a horse and help Katherine onto it. I wanted to stay, but couldn’t let her go alone. It was chaos, but father told me to take care of her and within seconds, I was off. My brother promised they would follow behind me, but they never did.” His voice got quieter. “He was a brave man and loved horses dearly, I was sure that if someone would manage, it would be him...”

Ira was quiet for a moment, as if trying to think of a proper thing to say before managing a curt “sorry”. He stopped by the open, slightly rusty gate, took the crossbow off his back to shoot the undead they had in sight, then placed the Firefly on the grass. He already explained to James how to use it if worst came to worst. They brought it here as a sort of emergency backup plan. The device could take two men almost halfway to the station, but was too heavy to take into the building.

“Any last advice?” asked James. “On technique or... something of that sort?” He looked to Ira for support.

“Technique of wha’?” Ira asked, straightening his large, leather-covered body. He once again placed the crossbow on his back.

“Of... getting rid of them. I know the brain is crucial, but are there any tricks to it?” he gulped, when Ira slowly opened the gate. 

The man breathed and fished out an ice pick. He stepped close to his companion, putting a hand on his shoulder and gripped the tool as if with intention of stabbing. “You use this,” he said, “and strike their eyes or temples”. Without waiting for James’ response, he demonstrated the move with sharp jabs of his hand.

James nodded, with a serious expression on his face, but his heart was pounding faster every minute and became almost frantic when Ira pressed the tool to his chest.

“You take it,” the man said with a smirk, starting to walk towards the fallen zombie to retrieve his bolt.

James instantly followed him, glancing to the sides, at the garden, which was once beautifully cared for, but now looked overgrown, rotting. He almost fell over something on the ground and when he noticed it to be bones, his stomach churned a little. All of a sudden, he wasn’t sure if this was the best idea. A steady hand grabbed his arm.

“Easy,” Ira said, cleaning the bolt with a leaf.

“What was your first... I mean, you know, the first one you killed?” James asked, looking at the unidentifiable liquid on the bolt with disgust.

“Alive or undead?” asked Ira, shooting him a questioning look.

“Oh... undead,” James said flatly and fastened his jacket a bit more comfortably.

Ira breathed, slowly pacing towards the opened door to the mansion along a pebbled road connecting it to the gates. “We were at sea when this all ‘appened and so... the first one was at the docks of Aberdeen. Came from Norway and it was all empty,” he said lowly, “And as we managed to get to the land, there they were... mine was an ‘arlot. I think.” He stuck his head through the door, looking inside.

“Did you go back to the ship? Aberdeen is overrun by them as far as I know.” said James, and took a peek into the great hall, with its massive two sided staircase. Furniture was scattered around and moldy. He hardly swallowed when he noticed another decaying corpse on the floor.

“Oh yea, they ‘ad a massive outbreak. We went straight to London,” Ira explained, getting inside and looking around the place. From his grimace, James could read that he too noticed the unpleasant aroma in the air. James immediately detected mold and watery stains on some of the old family portraits hanging in the hall. It was painful to see. Although the windows were now covered by ivy, even in the dim light, they could see that the elegant, white stairs and decorative statues of cherubs and shepherds had become slightly greenish.

James walked up to the portrait of his father slowly, as if in a dream and moved the tips of his fingers along the frame of the painting. “London was so chaotic back then, wasn’t it?” he asked in a quiet voice, not paying much attention to anything but the portrait.

“It was,” Ira breathed, shaking his head and taking out a large dagger. “But they managed to keep the dead out. You weren’t recruited to build the walls, no?” he asked with a skeptical look in his eyes.

James turned to him, holding the ice pick quite nonchalantly. “Oh but I was. Two weeks I worked there! They needed all the hands they could get. Do you ever wonder how could they be dead? Living corpses? That maybe it’s a disease that can be cured?” He walked over to the next portrait. His mother, who died at the tender age of 20 giving birth to him.

“This professor at the university, whatever he’s called, he says if it walks with no heart, it is dead,” said Ira, putting a hand into his pocket and looking around. “And the walls were not built in two weeks,” he commented after a pause, “Was in service for over a year.”

“Yes,” James said, with hesitation, “but there were many other pressing matters that needed my attention.” He gave Ira a short glance and started walking up the stairs. They were made out of strong marble, so there was no fear of rot as there could be with a wooden staircase.

“I’m sure,” the other man answered, following him calmly. It seemed that there were some holes in the roof, because the floor on top of the stairs was slowly disintegrating and there were yellowish spots on the ceiling.

“Did you go back to the army after building the walls?” James asked, starting to walk a bit faster down the corridor on the first floor. They talked about the blueprints of the house many times, so they both knew that James’ office was on the next level. “We’re in luck. It looks as though this place is deserted.” He smiled at Ira.

The other man nodded to him pleasantly. “Nah, why would I do that? I’m no great patriot,” he confessed.

“Maybe for the pay. But I suppose for a man like you, these kinds of jobs are lots more lucrative.” James walked down another big hall, trying not to look down on the floor, at some of the bones scattered around. “We will be done in no time!” he said with optimism, but the moment he had finished his sentence he screamed in horror. James was only inches away from an old, decaying zombie, which lurched for him from the floor and grabbed him by the ankle. The disgusting creature had no legs and was crawling along the carpet. “Fuck! You fucking fuck!” screamed James in panic and started striking at the zombie’s head with the ice pick. It breathed in agony and then went still, covered in its dark blood, which also stained James’ clothes and hand. The whole fight didn’t last five seconds.

“Good,” he heard from behind, where Ira was standing, “but be quiet. There might be more of them.” he said, as if what happened a second ago was no big deal. He helped James to straighten up. “Just don't break your skin with it now.”

James was still breathing heavily and kept looking back at the corpse, as if he was expecting to see it move again. “Yes... It’s good I had gloves on,” he whimpered.

“Was that your first?” Ira asked, starting to climb to the second floor.

James nodded slowly, walking right behind him. “I sort of never had the chance...”

“You’ll get used to it,” the other man said, patting his arm in an appreciative manner, but then furrowed his eyebrows with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Something wrong?” asked James, looking behind his shoulder nervously. Then he heard it himself: there were noises coming from the other corridor.

“Come up!” Ira whispered, speeding up the staircase. Growling and slow, shuffling sounds encircled James whose senses lit up instantly. The only place he had seen zombies since he left the countryside was at the London Zoo.

Ira didn’t have to warn him twice. James shot up the stairs, actually passing him, with the ice pick in one hand and a gun in the other. To his horror, there were more zombies coming at him upstairs. One, that was particularly close, suddenly fell to the carpeted floor with a bolt in his forehead.

“Go, go, go!” shouted Ira running after his companion. James was in front of him and headed for his office, but there were even more undead on this floor. And they all stormed at the men with agitation.

James started shooting at them, desperately trying to hit the heads. Unfortunately, in the state he was in, that was no easy task and he ended up barging into his office with a scream of terror as one of the zombies grabbed him by the arm. It hauled him brutally back into the corridor and into its rotting, surprisingly strong arms.  James’ heart hammered wildly in his chest, making him lightheaded. Reflexively, he tried to hit the zombie’s head with a panicked gasp. The smell of rotting flesh was making him nauseous, but all he could think of was the teeth, that he practically felt on his bare skin already. Seeing another monster coming at them, he desperately opened the jacket, hurriedly taking it off, leaving it behind in the undead’s clutches. He slipped out, almost leaping back towards the office but one look down the corridor assured him that this was not the end. Or rather, this could well be the end.

Once he had this last thought, there was a crackling sound from behind James and it struck him:  there were two entrances to this room. His mind chaotically analyzed his situation: he had lost the ice pick in the corridor and there was no ammunition in the pistol! He could hear the noise of a fight from the corridor, but as he saw grayish hands reaching from behind the hidden door to the office situated by his desk, he knew he had to forget Ira and act. There was a large armchair blocking the second door, which could buy him some time, but the zombie, or zombies that tried to use this passage, managed to shove it inch by inch with powerful pressure to the door. James ran through the room and pushed the armchair forward, trying to block the entrance. Panic gripped at his insides as he saw one of the creatures entering the study through the main door. Did this mean Ira didn't make it?!

The zombies behind the hidden door were surprisingly strong and suddenly, James felt the wooden panel being lifted. Before he could push it back down, the door fell on him, knocking him off his feet and onto the floor. James screamed bloody murder, as he felt the zombies climbing on top of him. They trapped him under the wooden door growling like mad. The only thing James could now think about was how easily the beasts could get at him from the side.

He heard his companion’s voice from the other part of the room, but the danger he was in overshadowed everything, alarming all his senses. The weight of the creatures was almost too much to bear, but the extreme situation bestowed him with almost inhuman strength. Despite that, he could hardly move and the sound of dirty claws scratching the surface that now pushed at his face was absolutely horrifying. Was that it? Would he die here?

His body went rigid as a rotting hand appeared in the space between the floor and the wooden door, but behind it, James saw a pair of chunky boots moving in their direction. He could only imagine what happened, but the weight on top of him lessened a bit with the creatures presumably shifting their attention to a less obscured prey. There was a loud thud and the creature trying to claw its way under the door fell onto the floor with a huge hole in the head, dead eyes fixed on James. The man had a sinking feeling in his gut as he recognized the butler who always brought him his morning tea. By this time he was on the verge of tears.