Bullets spat out of the engineering marvel at a slow but steady pace and whistled through the bodies of our foes, filling them full of lead. Blood splattered in all directions and clothes ripped and tore as I continued to fire. Far from the accurate headshots I had previously accomplished, this was a matter of quantity over quality. These beasts could be killed like a human, and although it was not as efficient to strike the body as the head, this fine piece of weaponry was doing a grand job of clearing the masses; what I didn’t kill would be readily restrained for bayoneting later.
Holmes beside me drew out his pair of Webleys from his side satchel and ran to my right flank where he evidently saw danger that I did not, I trusted him to resolve the matter as I continued on with my path of destruction.
Finally, the gun ran dry, steam pouring from the barrels, half of the creatures lay lifeless, many more writhing on the floor, at least partly disabled. Standing up I drew my sabre and drove forwards at the surviving creatures. I hacked at the first, with anger and rage more than prevision and focus as I normally would, hitting the collarbone, forcing the beast to its knees. Levering my blade from its divided flesh, I beat down on its skull with the pommel of my weapon.
The dozen or more soldiers that stood before me were fiercely finishing off what was left, driving bayonets through hearts and smashing skulls with rifle stocks. I looked around, Holmes was prizing his blade from a creature’s neck where it had struck the collar bone and driven down to sever the throat. The enemies within reach were now utterly vanquished, but peering up the road beyond, the hordes continued to bear down upon us. Holmes sheathed his sword and picked up one of the rifles lying on the ground from the fallen soldiers, picking through a body’s webbing for ammunition that he stuffed in to his jacket pockets. The men had still not spoken a word to us, but were quickly reloading their weapons.
The officer that commanded them was lying wounded in the arms of one of his men. They evidently did not know the manner in which this infection was transferred, and it would be a difficult one for them to accept. I heard the sound of Holmes’ top-break revolver clicking back into position from being loaded behind me, before he strolled past. This was not going to be a happy situation.
Reaching the dying officer, Holmes lifted his pistol to the man’s head just a few feet away and squeezed the trigger, but as he was firing one of the nearby soldiers knocked his weapon aside with their rifle, sending the round barrelling off aimlessly into the wilderness and the gun to the floor. Before Holmes could recover the man smashed the rifle into him and drove him back up to a tree.
“What do you think you are doing?” the soldier yelled.
“He will soon become one of those creatures,” Holmes replied.
“I do not believe you sir!”
“Nice to be appreciated Watson,” said Holmes.
As the man again began to speak, Holmes drove an uppercut in to the soldier’s ribs, causing him to reel back in pain Not allowing him time to recover, Holmes paced quickly forward delivering a strong right hook to the man’s jaw and sending him tumbling to the ground. Turning over on the floor the man reached for his rifle and swivelled it towards Holmes, but it was kicked from his hands before the trigger could be pulled. Holmes leapt on to the man, delivering a quick jab to his nose which dazed him. Holmes then reached for the soldier’s rifle and laid it across his throat. The rest of the soldiers were still in too much shock, considering the recent attack, our assistance and their injured officer to decide what to do.
I ran towards my friend pleading with him to stop, but before I could bring about an end to the dispute a cry of pain rang out from behind us. Releasing the man’s throat we looked around to see the recently injured officer holding onto the man who had been attending him, teeth firmly imbedded in the throat.
Taking aim with the rifle Holmes now possessed, he fired into the skull of the officer sending blood and gore splashing over his victim. The beast released its grasp on the man and fell back down to the ground, now peaceful. Two of the soldiers rushed to help the wounded man to his feet, blood poured from his wound, though the teeth had not reached his windpipe.
I reached out a hand to the man Holmes had knocked to the ground and helped him to his feet before strolling over to the new casualty with Holmes, this was becoming an all too often and uncomfortable scenario. Holmes handed the rifle back to the man who took it and ceased all hostility. Reaching the officer’s bloody body, a pool of blood was expanding from its skull, the bullet hole having ripped straight through the skull and left a large exit wound. The wounded man looked up at us, given assistance to stand by a comrade. Looking not just in pain but bedraggled and hopeless, he spoke up.
“Thank you, and sorry, that we could not trust your knowledge.”
“It could have saved your life,” replied Holmes.
“Will I face the same fate as him?” the soldier asked.
“With no doubt I am afraid,” Holmes replied.
It was hard information to accept and Holmes pulled no punches in its explanation, but it was better to explain now, so that the man could understand whilst he still had control of his body and put his affairs in order.
“How long do I have?” the soldier asked.
Holmes looked at me to carry on the conversation.
“The last incident like this, the man had just a few hours left, but it now seems it can be much less.”
“Is there no cure?”
“None that we know of, and every minute that an infected man stays among friends is another minute that he puts those friends in danger,” replied Holmes.
Yet again, Holmes did not soften the blow, but he was right. Jacob has turned within a few hours, and all of our other experiences had shown that was typical of the time between infection and change.
“Then please end me now, before I can cause any harm.”
An honourable man no doubt, not many would be as quick thinking and willing to accept death for his friends. But before either of us could answer, another soldier jumped in on the conversation, clearly having some authority among them.
“This is outrageous, I will not stand by and let you kill one of my men while he still lives, breathes and fights alongside us!” the man shouted.
“This must be done and you know it!” the wounded soldier replied.
The enraged man turned towards us now furious.
“How can we begin to trust you, when you ask to kill one of our own?”
“It is not an act I would ever choose to partake in,” I insisted.
Holmes was about to join the argument when the wounded shoulder reached down to the body of the dead officer, drew his pistol from his holster, cocked the hammer back and drove the barrel in to this mouth.
“No!” the angry man yelled.
But it was too late, a shot rang out and blood soared into the air as the man’s eyes went lifeless and his body fell to the ground on top of the dead officer. This was a terrible turn of events, far from the best way to solve the problem; these men’s morale would be heavily hit. The group fell silent, all as shocked and saddened as each other, it was not a pleasant atmosphere.
“Sirs!”
One of the men had called out to us, in light of losing their officer. We looked up at him and wondered what had been the reason for the rushed interruption at a time of silence. The man pointed along the road which we had been travelling towards and our hearts sunk further, hordes of creatures were ambling their way towards us, blocking our path. They were perhaps five hundred yards away up the road. The previously angry man looked at us, fear in his eyes and expression.