The Lingering Outbreak At Hope Cove Page 5

  Jonathan got slowly to his feet and offered the old man his hand.

  “My name is Jonathan Wentworth, yon boy is my son, Callum, and the young miss is Sally Hopkins.”

  The old man took Jonathan’s hand and struggled to his feet. “I be Alfred Marsh. Pleased to meet you all. Mighty pleased.”

  Old man Marsh started shaking violently, and Jonathan helped him to a nearby table and chairs.

  “What know you, Alfred? How comes we find you here alone? Surely, you do not work this mill by yourself?”

  The old man looked up into Jonathan’s stern face and began to weep.

  Chapter 7

   “I live and work right here in the mill. My son, Peter, and his wife, Mary, live a hundred yards downriver in the cabin where my dear old wife—God rest her soul—and me raised him. When they married, I moved into the loft upstairs. Newlyweds need their breathing space, and the loft does me well enough. Well, the two of them went into town two days ago, and they have not yet returned.

  “Then, last night I started seeing those things outside. At first, there were just one or two, but their numbers started to grow. I decided to keep an eye on them, so I set myself up by one of the upstairs windows. You see, even with my tired old eyes I can see a goodly distance from up there. I took some food and water upstairs with me, and then I settled in to see how many of those things came this way. They appear to be coming from Warrington, and they’re spreading in all directions. I lost count at two hundred, and I started to think I would never see another living soul again.

  “I almost gave up all hope, but then I saw the three of you, and I thanked God for your appearance. What is happening? What do you think is causing the change in all those poor folks?”

  Jon took the seat beside the old man and placed a hand on his. “I fear it’s some kind of plague and it’s spreading fast. You say those things came from Warrington. If that’s true, then your son and his wife may be in danger.” Jonathan did not want to say his son and daughter in law were most likely dead, but he could see the old man clearly thought it. “Do you have a gun?”

  Alfred nodded and pointed to the back of the mill. “We have a couple out back, plus powder and shot.”

  “Good. We'll wait for light before we make our move.”

  The old man looked alarmed. “I ain’t leaving here. I was born right here, and if it’s God’s will, then I’ll die right here too.”

  “As you wish.” Jonathan looked to his son. “Go fetch the guns and make sure they are loaded. Sally, start the fire. It’ll be getting cold soon, so I think we should get some heat in here.”

  Jonathan stood, but Alfred gripped his wrist. He looked back to the old man.

  “Are you going to go to town in the morning?”

  Jon simply nodded.

  “My son, can you keep an eye out for him?”

  He patted Alfred’s liver spotted hand. “I will be happy to keep an eye out for him, and if I see him I’ll tell him you are safe, but to hurry home.”

  Alfred relaxed a little. “Good, good. By the way. Before your boy looks for those guns, have him take the horses to the store out back. He can find it just by following his nose. It’s part of the main building, so there’s no need to venture outside. We store the wheat there, but I fear we will need it no longer, so your horses may as well eat their fill.” The old man let out a slow sad sigh, and then said, “I think the days of milling flour here are behind us, at least for a while.”

  Jonathan looked at his son, and Callum nodded.

  ***

  As the dark of night deepened, the pounding and groaning from outside grew. Jon set Sally the task of preparing food, and he headed upstairs to see what he could see.

  The upstairs of the mill consisted of one great four-walled room. Each wall had two large windows, offering a panoramic view of the mill’s surroundings. Jon held his lantern aloft, and headed to the first window. He opened the creaking sash, and peered down at the mounting throng below. He then moved to each of the windows and did the same.

  All around the mill, except for the side closest to the river, creatures clamored at the stone. Only the side protected by water was clear. The sound of gentle splashing drifted into the room from the windows positioned above the water. He approached the window and leaned as far out of its open sash as he could. Once comfortable, he peered down.

  He saw a waterwheel turning in the river’s current, and a few yards downstream a small boat bobbed against its tether. He then looked upriver and saw a jetty. It sat just a yard or so from the front of the slowly turning wheel. A handful of creatures stood huddled together on the pier, and all of them appeared to be studying the gently rotating contraption in front of them.

  Without warning, one made a leap for the wheel, and then the rest followed. Each attempt made by the creatures ended the same way. They would jump for the waterwheel, only to find themselves bouncing off it and into the river. He watched on as creature after creature washed briskly downstream. His only hope was they might end up washing out to sea. The noise their efforts made seemed to attract more creatures, and soon a steady flow of the ghouls began bouncing off the wheel. This triggered a spark of an idea in Jonathan’s head.

  He moved to the window above the barricaded door, and studied the horde below. On their race to the mill, he had counted roughly thirty creatures. Now he could see the number had swelled closer to one hundred. He dreaded to think how many there would be by morning. He closed the last of the windows, and thought about how best to overcome the creatures.

  As made clear by those throwing themselves at the wheel, he thought it obvious that movement and sound worked to attract the ghouls. Surely, he could somehow use this weakness to their advantage. He rubbed at his forehead as he worked on their options. He had something in the back of his mind, but he could not force the idea to coalesce. Try as he might, his mind simply would not focus. Resigned to the fact his brain suffered from both hunger and fatigue, he headed downstairs to where the smell of cooking emanated.

  “That smells delicious,” Jon said as he strode down the stairs.

  “Thank you,” Sally beamed. “The Marshs’ have an amazing stock cellar, and it is veritably spilling over with winter provisions.”

  Alarmed by the prospect of another entry point, Jonathan’s gaze quickly shot to the old man. Alfred looked unconcerned as he sat calmly smoking a pipe with Hector at his feet.

  “Have no worry,” Alfred said from his cloud of smoke. “The only way into the cellar is out back of this room, and there’s only one way in to this room, which is through yonder door.” He pointed to the barricade of flour sacks. “We’re safe, because that door is the only way in or out.”

  Reassured, Jonathan pulled his pipe and headed for the old man. “Then before I turn my mind to our escape, I think I’ll take the time to enjoy our meal.”

  “Sounds like a right good idea,” Alfred said as he kicked out a chair for his new friend. “Do you not think the creatures will simply wander off?”

  Jon lit his pipe, and then shook his head. “There number has at least tripled. They ain’t going nowhere.”

  “Pa, I have found old man Marsh’s guns. They are all loaded and in good order. He has two hundred rounds of shot, and powder for twice that. Not only did I find the ammunition, but also four sticks of dynamite and a yard of fuse.”

  “Really. Well, that is at least some good news. I’m starting to think we will get out of here after all.”

  “What are you thinking of doing, Pa?”

  “Let's not talk of my plans now, for they are still scattered and flimsy. Instead, let me fill my stomach, which in turn will help me fill my head. After we’ve eaten I will tell you what I’m thinking.”

  Callum smiled. “Pa, can I have a pipe?”

  “Sorry, Boy, I only have this one.”

  “I think I can remedy that,” Alfred said as he struggled to his feet. The old man hobbled over to the fire, and took a corncob pipe from the mantel. “This
is my son’s, but I guess it’s alright if you have it.”

  Callum looked at his father, and Wentworth the elder nodded slightly. “Thank you, Mr. Marsh.”

  Soon all three males found themselves sat around the table smoking, but only one looked green faced. A hacking cough quickly followed each inhalation Callum took. Jonathan smiled and tipped a wink at old man Marsh. Alfred smiled and leaned back in his chair, lifting the front two legs from the floor. Jonathan did the same. Callum started to mirror the other men, but a coughing fit caused him to lose balance, and he crashed to the floor.

  Everyone erupted with laughter, Callum included. He scrambled to his feet and passed the pipe back to the old man.

  “I think I need a few more years under my belt before I’m ready for this.”

  Alfred held his hands high. “It’s yours now, use it as you might.”

  Callum reseated himself and said, “Thank you kindly, Sir, I’ll treasure it.’

  A tear formed in the old man’s eye, and he quickly looked away from the boy. Callum stood instantly, and move to Alfred’s side. Without a word, he simply placed a caring hand on the old man’s shoulder. A moment later, Alfred’s hand found the boys.

  Jonathan Wentworth watched his son, and in that moment, no man could have felt any prouder. He looked towards the stove and saw Sally simply staring at the boy. She looked at his son with a kind of awe. Slowly, her eyes moved from Callum, and fixed on his father. She smiled shyly, then, red-faced, turned back to her pots.

  Did Jon recognize the spark of love in this young girl? He had met Emily at Callum’s age, and he had loved her from that moment on. Was this the spark of new love? He hoped it was. Love was what the world needed, especially when things seemed darkest.

  He smiled to himself and thought, my empty belly seems to be making me maudlin. The sooner I get some of that fine smelling food in me, the better.

  Chapter 8

  After all had eaten, talk turned to the creatures outside, and to Jonathan’s plans of how to rid themselves of them.

  Jon pushed his plate away and relit his pipe. After two deep puffs, he turned his attention to old man Marsh.

  “Tell me,” Jon asked as he absentmindedly examined his pipe. “Is there a way of stopping the wheel?”

  Alfred placed his elbows on the table and leaned towards his guest. “Well yes, but what good would that do?”

  “I’ll come to that, but first I need to know how much lamp oil you have.”

  Puzzled, Alfred just looked at him. Finally, he said, “I don’t rightly know, but at least a barrel.”

  “Good—good. I have an idea of how to deal with those abominations outside, but it’ll be ugly. By morning, their numbers will have swelled even further, so we can’t just shoot them. If I simply start picking them off from above, then a great pile of bodies would mount below. If I could confirm all were dead, then this wouldn’t be an issue.

  “The trouble is things are never that simple. What if I don’t end all of them with a shot to the head. What if I merely injure one just enough to fell it. What if I injure not one, but many. We’d have ourselves a pile of bodies, some of which may still be dangerous. We might start clearing the corpses only to find a gnashing ghoul buried beneath a mound of bodies. No, we must thin the herd before the real killing starts, and this is where we come to the crux of my idea.”

  Alfred, Callum, and Sally huddled closer. Even Hector seemed to be paying complete attention to every word his master uttered. For more than an hour, Jonathan outlined his idea. Here and there, one or other of them would ask a question. Mostly, they simply listened. When Jonathan finished recounting his plan, his three avid listeners seemed a little dazed.

  Alfred took several long pulls on his pipe, and then let out a long slow exhalation of smoke. He squinted one eye against the veil of bluish vapor now floating between them.

  “It might work.” The old man said as he tapped the mouthpiece of his pipe against his chin. “If it does, well, I might just slap you on the back and call you our savior.”

  Jonathan smiled wryly. “Let’s not be getting carried away. I’m not proposing to turn water into wine; rather I am aiming to turn the undead into the dead.”

  “Is that what you think they are … the undead?” Sally asked tremulously.

  Jonathan turned his gaze to the girl sat beside his son. She looked pale, and more than a little afraid. He saw Callum looking at her with concern, and his heart lifted as he watched his son take the girl’s hand. Sally’s face flushed at the boy’s touch, but she did not pull away.

  “Yes, Sally,” Jonathan said as he looked back towards Alfred. “I think those things are undead, and as such, we must rid them from the earth.”

  “But they were once God’s children. Shouldn’t we still treat them with the respect we would show any of God’s gifts?”

  Jonathan’s gaze remained fixed on the old man, but he coldly replied, “No, we shouldn’t. They’ve fallen from God’s grace, and it is our duty as God-fearing individuals to remove them from a world created by his hand. They belong in hell with all the other ungodly abominations.”

  “But they were once family and friends. Surely, they deserve compassion. What if Emily or Tilly has fallen foul of them?”

  Jonathan Wentworth’s head snapped back in the girl’s direction, and there was both anger and dread in his eyes. “Firstly, my kin is safe! I know this deep down in my heart, but if they’ve fallen, then I would mourn them, and then I would do what had to be done.”

  Sensing things were about to get out of hand, Alfred struggled to his feet and eyed them all. “We have much to do before daybreak, and if we ever plan to sleep again, then I suggest we start on our preparations.”

  Without a word, but with tension hanging in the air, all followed the old man’s lead, and started the task of readying themselves for the morning’s slaughter.

  Four hours later, a little after one in the morning, their preparations were complete. All headed for bed, though none of them slept much. Between the noise coming from the undead outside, and the prospects of the foul deeds they would have to commit in the morning, even the sternest of souls would have found sleep difficult. However, as the hours stretched towards dawn, sleep took each of them. Each drifted into a shallow, fitful slumber, plagued by images of ghouls and half-eaten corpses.

  ***

  As the sun rose, Jon and his son stood looking down at the waterwheel. The creatures still threw themselves at it futilely. Consequently, a steady flow of ghouls floated downriver, and away from their location.

  To Jonathan’s relief, the numbers of creatures below had not grown as much as he had feared. Whether the fewer numbers were the result of the steady stream of the creatures’ falling foul of the wheel, or whether simply less creatures’ made for their location, he did not know. Either way, it lightened his heart to know their day’s work might be somewhat easier than expected.

  “Son, run downstairs and tell old man Marsh to shut down the wheel, and then listen for my whistle. Also, send Sally up to keep an eye on the door.”

  “Sure, Pa. should we start shifting the sacks of flour blocking the door straight away?”

  Jon pondered his son’s question, and then answered, “Once you hear my whistle, start un-barricading the door, but don’t open it until Sally sounds the all clear.”

  Callum nodded, and then ran off leaving his father to ready himself. A minute or so passed, but finally the wheel stopped its slow rotation through the water, and the creatures’ efforts to mount it met with success. On seeing the first of the ungodly things clambering up the wheel, Jon placed two fingers in his mouth and let out an earsplitting whistle. The whistle signaled things were about to get very messy and intense.

  He checked the rope secured to his waist, and then double-checked the other end. Jon tugged on the rope to make sure the tether would not loosen from the beam to which he had knotted it. After his checks were complete, he took a deep breath and headed back to the window.
As he began to climb out, he heard Sally entering the room behind him.

  Jon quickly looked in her direction. “Remember; don’t give the all clear until every last one of those monsters has left the door.”

  Before Sally could reply, he started clambering down the side of the building, and towards the waterwheel below. It took only seconds to reach as far as the rope would allow, at which point he started singing at the top of his lungs.

  “A Yankee boy is trim and tall,

  And never over fat, sir;

  At dance, or frolic, hop and ball,

  As nimble as a rat, sir.”

  As he hung from the rope singing, he began to stamp his boots against the stone of the wall. On and on he sang, and with each stirring chorus, the number of creatures’ assailing the wheel grew. In no time at all, the throng had grown, and those climbing the wheel had reached nearly to his feet. Loud groaning and creaking sounds started to emanate from both the wheel and its housing. Jonathan began to fear the wheels drive shaft would fracture under the weight of its load. If that happened, then they would not be able to restart the wheel, which would be disastrous for their plans.

  If the wheel remained stationary, then the creatures would eventually pile up so high that they would threaten to breach the windows above. Suddenly, a clawing hand on his boot ripped him from his concerns. He looked down and saw a badly decayed creature reaching for him. Luckily, its lower jaw hung loose, obviously busted in some previous fight. If not for this small mercy, the thing would have already latched onto him with its teeth.

  Jon pulled his tomahawk and swung down at the ghoul, and split its head asunder. Almost at the same time, he heard Sally shouting to his son and Alfred below.