Scavengers: July (3 page)

Ira shifted his weight to one side, casually gripping his thick belt.

“You want anything?” he asked, looking at the elegant bar. Its back shelves were lavishly carved to look a bit like a clockwork mechanism, which was in fact present on one of the walls. The three children watched with fascination as all the small mechanical bits worked in perfect harmony to put the large station clock in motion.

“Brandy,” said James, biting his lip. “I have not been on a train since the Plague began...”

“Well, you ‘aven’t missed much,” laughed Ira. “It’s fuckin' awful,” he added, strolling over to the bar. The lady to James’ side looked at the aristocrat with anger, apparently thinking it was his responsibility to deal with Ira’s choice of words. James decided to pretend he didn’t hear anything and let his gaze follow his companion instead. In a standing position and without the rucksack, Ira’s undoubtedly masculine shape was especially well pronounced.

“It’s because of all those gates on the way, isn’t it?” James asked.

The man turned around slightly to look at him. “Huh?”

“That it takes so long...” James continued. “Kent is not that far away, yet, we have to wait in front of many gates, to pass security checks. Eh... traveling used to be so much easier,” he sighed.

“True.” Ira nodded, licking his lower lip. “Wouldn’t ‘ad taken more than half a day before the Plague,” he said before turning to the bartender.

James slowly looked down Ira’s back and held back a sigh. He needed to loosen his tie.

*

July 7th, 1893

James was surprised at how well he slept, taking what they were supposed to be doing today into account. When they got off the train, the sun was still only rising with a warm, orange glow. Being the only people on the remote station was already quite unnerving. There were rarely any questions asked. These deserted places gave passengers a chance to leave the train wherever they wanted. But no one took responsibility if they chose to climb over the tall, strong walls surrounding the railway tracks. Most of the time, getting off at a station like this, would mean waiting for a train that came from a different part of the country.

“So after looking at the blueprints...” started James, “What do you think is the best course of action?”

Ira stretched with a groan and eyed the small, red-brick station building. Thankfully, the train stopped at any deserted station a passenger declared. This one was located five miles from James’ mansion.

“We gear up,” the man answered, opening his large rucksack and starting to take out small packets wrapped in rough fabric.

James swallowed, unpacking his own weapons, to show Ira everything they had on hand. “I have a saber, five different knives, and... that’s all I think,” he finished quite flatly.

“You’ll take a gun”, the other man said, unwrapping a pistol and handing it to him unceremoniously. It looked solid and quite expensive, with ivory elements on the handle. “You do know ‘ow to use one, yes?” he asked, taking out a longer package, which turned out to contain a compact crossbow.

James nodded slowly and only now started really feeling the seriousness of what they were about to do. “I have used a gun before, though I am no master,” he said honestly.

“Figured” said Ira, unfolding the weapon. It was large and nicely decorated with copper elements. “That’s fine. It’s my job to take care of your arse out there.” The man unbuckled his belt and pushed the trousers down his legs, revealing thick, muscled thighs.

James opened his mouth a bit, trying not to stare. “That sounds very reasonable, but... what are you doing?” he asked, looking at the gun in his own hands.

Ira’s eyes shot up at him. “We need to change.”

“Into what? I thought a riding outfit would be quite suitable. It’s comfortable, makes running easy, the shoes are also sensible.” As if to make a point, he stretched his arms to the sides and upwards. His elegant jacket had rich burgundy embellishments on a thick, dark brown fabric. Cream colored trousers were tightly fitted and tucked into riding shoes, which reached almost to the knee.

“That might be good for Ascot I think,” Ira said, trying not to laugh and took off his shirt, remaining in just a pair of shorts that did not leave much to imagination. Now, James could see that the tattoos went from the man’s wrist and reached up to above his pecs. The rest of his hairy torso and hard belly were unmarked, except for an occasional scar. “But it’s easy to grab. Got somethin' for ya.”

“You do?” James’ whole body stiffened, and he clasped his hands behind his back, while observing Ira discretely. Only now he started realizing that he never had actually met a man of Ira’s class, who wouldn’t be subservient to him. He could recall going to see the blacksmith with his brother, years ago, only to stare at the man's muscular arms. But the blacksmith never actually talked to him. He remembered him being slightly dirty, sweaty and dressed in a protective apron made of leather... which was exactly the same fabric he just saw in Ira’s hands. The black trousers were tightly fitting, which made the man look practically obscene. James couldn’t help himself and smiled slightly, feeling strange goosebumps. Even Ira’s moves spoke of his confidence. Soon, the former sailor donned a tight fitting leather jacket and handed a similar set to his companion.

“Hope it’s the right size, but betta’ too tight than too slacky, right?” He winked.

James nodded, with an even wider smile, as if they weren’t about to embark on a zombie-killing spree. He put the jacket on over the one he was already wearing, for extra protection, but the trousers were impossible to put on, so he had to stay with the ones he brought himself. He did feel a bit relieved though, when Ira complimented his choice of shoes.

“Where did you learn all this?” James asked, putting on a pair of leather gloves.

Ira strapped on a leather harness that held crossbow bolts, a thick rope, some knives and other supplies. “Oh... when I was in the military service, I guess.” He shrugged. “Then I just did whatever was practical.”

“What’s in that suitcase?” asked James, pointing to the massive sturdy, leather bag, that Ira brought with him.

“The Firefly,” he answered. “For emergencies.”

“Oh! I’ve heard of them, but I have never actually seen one!” said James with excitement. “You see my father was in the army too. This kind of thing was only experimental back in the day.” He didn't know how it worked exactly, but he knew it was called: “The Firefly Steampower Air Mobility Unit”, shortened to: “The Firefly.” It was basically a backpack with a steam engine that allowed the wearer to fly for a short period of time.

“It’s expensive” Ira said, not without pride, looking at him with clear, brown eyes. He looked at their supplies once again, and then stretched. “I need to examine the situation out there. Get ready in the meantime, yes?”

“Alone?!” James asked, stunned. “I’ll come and help!” he offered instantly. “I may not be a sailor, but I am skilled!”

Ira looked at him pensively. “How do you know I was a sailor?” he asked, smiling.

“I... did some research...” James said clearing his throat. “And those tattoos of sea creatures on your arms...”

“Oh... that ain't no sea creatures. That's a fox fightin' snakes,” the man explained, finishing his preparations and looking into the bright sky. It was almost completely blue, except for a few thin, wispy clouds.

“Ah... I thought they were some kind of sea serpents...” James stretched out his arm a bit, as if he wanted to touch Ira, but held it back in the end. “Are you sure you want me to wait here?”

“Yeah, will be safer like that” he insisted and walked into the station building without another word.

James sighed and put on a simple leather mask, unsure of how it would all work out. Though the equipment made him feel safer, it didn’t make running easier. Or breathing for that matter.

*

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.