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“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.