“It is time we moved on,” he said.
I couldn’t agree more. I finally reached down the shotgun and passed it on to Holmes, who began to reload it. I moved back to pick up my rifle before joining Holmes once more. It truly was time we moved on.
Seeing the devastation on the Swiss soldiers we were both wondering how our own people would be handling the same situation back home. We had better training and experienced soldiers than these, but many were abroad, it would be some time before they could be rallied to the fight.
For so many years the Royal Navy had protected us against every foe who dared endanger our fine lands, and yet now, they proved completely useless. The large number of men at sea and aboard could well be brought to bear in the future upon England, which meant all was not lost, it would only be a question of how many survivors they would find when landing there.
CHAPTER NINE
It had been a long and arduous journey over these last few days, we were physically and mentally exhausted. Our guns were caked in powder residue, our blades coated in congealed blood and our clothes stained by blood and powder. We were in a sorry state, but we pressed on.
In the homely Alpine villages or in the lonely mountain passes, I could tell by Holmes’ quick glancing eyes and his sharp scrutiny of every place we passed, that he was well convinced that walk where we would, we could not walk ourselves clear of the danger which was dogging our footsteps.
Once, I remember as we passed over the Gemmi, and walked along the border of the melancholy Daubensee, a large rock which had been dislodged from the ridge upon our right clattered down and roared into the lake behind us. In an instant Holmes had raced up onto the ridge and, standing upon a lofty pinnacle, craned his neck in every direction. It was in vain and I assured him that a fall of stones was a common chance in the springtime at that spot. He said nothing, but he smiled at me with the air of a man who sees the fulfilment of that which he had expected.
And yet for all his watchfulness he was never depressed. On the contrary, I can never recollect having seen him in such exuberant spirits. Again and again he recurred to the fact that if he could be assured that society was freed from Professor Moriarty he would cheerfully bring his own career to a conclusion.
“I think that I may go so far as to say, Watson, that I have not lived wholly in vain,” he remarked.
“If my record were closed tonight I could still survey it with equanimity. The air of London is the sweeter for my presence. In over a thousand cases I am not aware that I have ever used my powers upon the wrong side. Of late I have been tempted to look into the problems furnished by nature rather than those more superficial ones for which our artificial state of society is responsible. Your memoirs will draw to an end, Watson, upon the day that I crown my career by the capture or extinction of the most dangerous and capable criminal in Europe.”
I shall be brief, and yet exact, in the little which remains for me to tell. It is not a subject on which I would willingly dwell, and yet I am conscious that a duty devolves upon me to omit no detail.
It was on the 3rd of May when we reached the little town of Meiringen, It was an odd place, far from the busied and panicked streets of Interlaken, it was empty, peaceful, but eerily so. Wewandered the streets for several minutes looking for some sign of life, but our first find was only blood, a small quantity on the ground of the main street, but with no evidence of a body, survivor or zombi. Holmes as ever was quicker to devise an answer to this question than I.
“The army we faced in the valley was at least part of the populace of this place,” said Holmes.
The very thought sent shivers down my spine, the likely possibility that we had just butchered a large part of such a beautiful and innocent town. Both of us stood still, contemplating that possibility and looking around at the tranquilly that our guns had brought.
As we passed a bend we could see more trails of blood, and a shotgun lying on the ground perhaps thirty yards from the beginning of the trail. Following it, shotgun casings littered the path along the line of gore, until finally we reached the gun. It was blood stained also, lying near a wall. Blood ran up the wall, about four feet, an unpleasant sight, especially as no body lay in evidence of the event. The double barrelled hammer gun was locked open, with spent casings still in the chambers.
“What happened here?” I asked.
“I would say it is quite clear, my dear Watson. An injured man with a gun fought whilst trying to retreat from many oncoming foes, until finally he was overcome by the creatures, either from surprise, or from a reduction in strength and speed from his wounds. At which time he joined the ranks of the damned, a shame, for he was a hard fighter, a man we could have used in the future,” said Holmes.
He was right, then clearly at least somebody fought back here, which rather suggested others did also, we could only hope. A mild wind blew through the town, causing signs to creek on their hinges and further dust to imbed in our clothes and skin. What occurred to meat this stage was truly depressing. This was the final location in our journey, the end of Holmes’ knowledge of Moriarty’s plans, and yet we found nothing of note. Had we come all this way for nothing when we could have defended our home country?
If we found no further leads I do not know what we would have done, for we were in foreign lands, with war all around us and little ammunition or allies left to continue the fight.
“What now?” I asked.
“We continue on, there must surely be some survivors somewhere, we need information, and only the living can now provide that for us.”
Holmes was rather optimistic, but I suppose that was the only way to be, for the other alternative was to lay down and die. If we could survive this, surely so could others? We hoped so. We carried on until finally we saw a number of bodies surrounding a building in the distance. We approached the scene with extreme caution, but also hope. It was an inn called the Englicsher Hof. The lower windows were barricaded with many parts of the glass broken, the door firmly shut and no movement inside. With our weapons now brought to high port in readiness, we edged towards the building.
Reaching the edge of the inn we could now see the bodies more closely, we could see that they were zombis. Holmes kicked one over onto their front, revealing several large gunshot wounds, one to the chest, one to the head. I more closely examined another body, it had been struck down at the collarbone with a large cleaving action, something stronger than a sword, perhaps a farm implement of some sort. Somebody had fought back here, likely more than one individual. There was no sign of any creatures in the town, except the dead that littered the ground beneath us, surely then those who were responsible were still here?
Holmes moved up to the door of the inn and struck it three times with his shotgun stock. There was no response, but we would not believe that no one inhabited the inn. All the windows and doors were firmly secure so there must be someone inside. Holmes struck the door again several times, and on the third strike a vision slit was quickly wrenched back at the top of the door, revealing the eyes of a man, perhaps in middle age, and still human.