“But would Moriarty not risk himself in such an outbreak?”
“Possibly, in which case he must consider the situation rather desperate in order to have played such a risky hand,” I responded.
CHAPTER THREE
The train trundled along through the bleak night, the train’s lights casting long shadows down the already long faces of all onboard. Perhaps the only cheerful one among us was young Winston, standing tall and proud of his new found responsibility and clutching my rifle in glee. He was one of the few to show no fear, a trait of boyhood that had saved our lives.
We truly had no idea what to expect at Eastbourne Station, but it could clearly be no worse than Newhaven. Nobody had said a word since leaving the platform, perhaps not wanting to know what was likely to be the depressing answer to many potential questions. Holmes and I sat opposite each other around a table, weapons still laid out in front of us on the roll mat.
We had just thirty rounds of .455 left, twelve shotgun shells, fifteen 45-70 for the Marlin and a few Adams .450 in each of our pockets. The four .303 stripper clips had gone to Winston for the Metford he had so bravely and exquisitely made use of. Both of us sat looking at the shortage of ammunition, both knew that the figures were not in our favour. I rarely kept more than fifty bullets for any firearm, what man in peacetime needs anymore? We needed to re-supply, but Eastbourne was not a likely place to find such resources, we had to last until we got to the Continent.
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?”