The Infected Chronicles (Book 1): Origin Read online

  “Stay here,” she instructed Mary, sat on her parent’s bed, one of her dolls in her hands.

  “But mama, I want to be with you.”

  “Mary, my sweet child, please do as I ask of you and stay here with your dolls.” Elizabeth said firmly.

  Mary nodded, clutching her doll tightly to her small frame.

  Walking onto the landing overlooking the great hall, Elizabeth stared at the crowd of fearful women and children below her.

  Quickly rushing down the staircase, she found Hannah looking through one of the small windows overlooking the courtyard.

  “What has happened Hannah? What was that noise?”

  Hannah turned away from the window, allowing Elizabeth to stare at the scene outside.

  “There was an explosion at the gate my Lady. I believe one of the carts has been used.”

  Looking through the window, Elizabeth could see a group of men nearby, huddled behind one of the hedges. Nearby she saw her husband crouched behind the fountain with Peter and several other men.

  Thank the dear Lord, my love is safe.

  Despite her mother’s instruction, Mary exited the bedroom, crouching at the bannister to look down into the great hall. She could clearly see her mother stood near the doorway talking to Hannah.

  She marvelled at so many people in their home.

  Turning, her Mother addressed them, directing them to the rear of the hall.

  Watching from her vantage point, she saw Hannah lead them to the large fireplace where her Great Grandfathers picture hung, along with various swords and shields, adorned with their family crest.

  She did not want to be up here alone anymore. She knew she should obey her Mother, but wanted to help her with the sad people in the hall.

  Slowly, she descended the stairs.

  Godfrey felt the heat of the blast as he knelt behind the fountain, splinters of wood and cinders falling around them like fiery snowflakes, as he patted hard at his arm, lest they cause rise to a flame.

  The smell of sulphur hung heavily in the air amidst another odour, drifting across the courtyard to them. This other odour, the acrid, sulphurous stench of burnt hair, mingled with the unforgettable stench of burning flesh.

  Several men retched and vomited as the smell invaded their nostrils. A sickly sweet, nauseating aroma carried over the courtyard as if the devil himself created a grisly meal of fried beef and sizzling pork.

  Peter raised himself up, the first of the group of men huddled behind the fountain to look over to where the cart stood.

  What remained of the cart, stood ablaze, the rear totally disintegrated, leaving only the remnants of the two front wheels.

  Amidst the burning wreckage of the cart lay the charred remains of countless infected, flesh singed and burnt away. Any clothing remaining, alight with flames.

  The walls were blackened but standing, though the gates twisted with the force of the cart striking them.

  The smoke lay dense, nearly impenetrable, the grey smoke of the powder now intermingled with the black smoke of the cart and bodies.

  “Dear God,” Peter exclaimed.

  Standing, comfortable he would not be hurt by the debris lying scattered, though his ears were still ringing, Godfrey stared at the gates.

  He saw a giant bonfire of bodies, scorched remains scattered around the courtyard, several still moving. Stood or crawling with their bodies and clothes ablaze, the sight almost too unbearable for his eyes to take.

  I’ll be surprised if I ever sleep again without waking screaming from this nightmare.

  The sound of musket shot penetrated from beyond the walls.

  Godfrey, Peter and the other men, ran to the wall.

  They swiftly climbed the stone steps and once atop of it, could see beyond the throng of the infected, rode Jonathan, with a couple of dozen other riders, riding and shooting into the mass of bodies.

  Flickering lights in the distance caught their eyes and they could make out the torches of a huge crowd of men, advancing from Liverpool.

  With renewed vigour, Godfrey and his men fired into the throng below.

  There sounded an enormous clang and what remained of the gates, finally gave in.

  Slowly, dozens of the infected creatures, entered the courtyard.

  The men who retreated to the house, now grabbed at their pikes, pitchforks and mere pieces of wood, advancing to the mass of infected, knowing they were the only thing between the horde and the women and children in the house.

  The fight now became an even bloodier affair, one after another, the terrible horde of creatures falling to the furious thrusts of the pikes.

  Anger overcame their feelings of revulsion and fear, as the men thrust pikes and swords into the horde.

  Samuel, already besting several of the beasts, brought his tiring arms above his head to lay the final blow to the creature lay before him.

  He screamed, as shards of pain ran throughout his body as he became grabbed from behind, teeth biting deeply into the side of his neck.

  Pulling away he stumbled, grasping onto the gaping wound, a fountain of blood gushing through his fingers.

  William watched in vain as his friend staggered, falling to the ground, his legs giving way beneath him.

  He moved closer to him, but tripped over the decapitated corpse of one of the infected. Cursing and standing, he felt his head harshly wrenched.

  Allowing himself to fall backwards to gain leverage to break free of the grip holding him, for a split second, he caught sight of the woman dragging him.

  Her face a grimace of purest evil, his moment’s hesitation, thinking he recognised her, the moment she needed to lean forward and bite into his face, her teeth closing tightly on his brow, as she bit into his eye socket.

  Outside the walls, the fighting escalated with the arrival of the men on foot. Until that point, the men on horseback kept from the reach of the infected, but with the arrival of the other men, they brought their horses in close to enable them to use their swords, rather than muskets and pistols, for fear of hitting their own men.

  The shouts from outside brought Elizabeth, Hannah and several others to the windows to see what was occurring outside.

  Upon witnessing the scene of carnage within the courtyard, Hannah instructed the others to return to the other end of the hall, Elizabeth walking with them.

  Seeing a small girl crouched on the floor crying, she knelt next to her, placing an arm over her shoulders and pulling her tightly to her bosom.

  “Hush sweet one, it will all be well.”

  Turning her gaze to the window, Hannah noticed movement from the door leading to the kitchen.

  Mathew.

  She forgot about him during this chaos.

  She took a few steps to the kitchen door.

  A hand appeared from behind the door, struggling to pull it open further.

  “Stay where you are Mathew,” Hannah called, approaching the door, “go sit back down and I will fetch you some water.”

  Reaching the doorway, her eyes caught sight of the figure to her left, sat upon the bottom of the stairs.

  “Mary?” she asked, before noticing the figure of a young man huddled into a corner.

  “Come out!” She demanded, recognising Hugh, but he remained still, aside from vigorously shaking his head.

  Pushing the kitchen door open a few inches, she continued demanding Hugh exit from his hiding place.

  “There are men fighting out there for our lives as well as their own, so get out of there now and.”

  She was interrupted as the figure of Mathew lurched through the open doorway.

  Stumbling, she gasped at the sight in front of her.

  She was in no doubt, the figure in front of her was Mathew, wearing the same clothes, his hand covered with the same strips of cloth where she tended his wound.

  But, his face.

  His eyes were pools of blood, his skin as white as moonlight, criss-crossed with dark, thick, pulsating veins, lips drawn into
a snarl, baring teeth gnashing away at the air.

  Has he bit his tongue?

  Dark spittle seeped from his mouth, causing an unholy rasp to accompany the guttural groan escaping his throat.

  Knowing he meant her harm, she stepped into the hall.

  Shambling forward, as she hurried from his reach, he stopped, his eyes falling upon the man huddled under the stairs.

  He slowly approached the crouching figure.

  Hugh wasted no time scrambling away from the monstrosity, leaning to him.

  Legs feeling, they no longer belonged to him, he tried forcing them to stand upright, instead managing only to scramble part way on the floor passed the horrendous figure.

  His progress, abruptly stopped by the hand grasping his foot.

  “No!” He cried out, hands gripping the wooden banister as he pulled himself away from the unholy monster, his leg still held in its grotesque, monstrous grip.

  He whimpered, hearing the chattering of its teeth.

  Seeing the little girl sat terrified on the nearby stairs, through pure fear he grabbed her. Both her and Hannah screamed as he pulled her closely to him, before pushing her to the creature, releasing its grip upon his leg, to grasp at its new prey.

  What was once Mathew, grabbed the girl’s hair, her shrill scream resonating through the expanse of the hall, as she became raised from the ground.

  The battle outside of the walls raged on, the piles of dead infected growing larger.

  Jonathan and the others on horseback, rode close to the throng, swiping with their swords, throwing the infected creatures off balance, ensuring it became easier for the men on foot to finish them off with their pistols, pikes and swords.

  The almighty may be watching down over us after all.

  “More men are marching this way Jonathan,” Giles panted, pulling his horse alongside him, pointing to the North.

  As soon as they saw the battle raging in front of them, the men arriving from the other parishes, held their weapons overhead and charged as one.

  Armed with all manner of weapons from sickles, swords, forks and scythes, they charged the horde from behind.

  Jonathan called to them, ordering they slow their charge, but for the men at the front, it was already too late.

  Expecting to fight other men, they were not prepared for the things in front of them, clawing and biting.

  One of the first to reach the horde attempted to turn around, but a hand clawed at his face, until fingers entered his mouth. He did not have time to react, before they gripped his mouth and jaw, wrenching hard.

  The sheer pain of his jaw dislocating sent spasms of agony throughout the whole of his being. His scream pierced the air, cut short by the creature clamping its own jaw around his nose, biting deeply, wrenching it from his face in a gushing fountain of blood.

  Riding forward, Jonathan swung his sword in a wide arc, decapitating the creature’s gruesome head from its body with a deft blow.

  “The tide is turning! Be at them!” Giles yelled, raising his sword high above his head.

  Hearing the screams from near the kitchen door, Elizabeth looked around her and her eyes fell upon the two long swords above the fireplace.

  Using all her strength she wrested one from the hinges holding it to the wall and made her way to the kitchen.

  Looked around also to see if anything lay within reach to use a weapon, Hannah found nothing lay at hand. But seeing the foul beast raise Mary from the ground by her hair, with all the speed and strength she could muster, she launched herself at it.

  But a few seconds earlier, she may have been able to stop it clawing at Mary’s young stomach, but it raked its nails across her soft, young flesh.

  The force of Hannah colliding with it, forced it to release the child’s hair, Mary falling to her knees in front of the beast, its attention now turned to the woman entangled with it.

  “Run Mary, run child, run!” Hannah screamed, as the foul creature dug its teeth into the muscle of her shoulder, tearing at her flesh.

  Hearing her daughter’s name, Elizabeth sprinted across the great hall, dragging the great sword along the floor behind her.

  Turning at the bottom of the stairs leading to the kitchen, she saw her daughter crawling away from a horrific sight belonging to hell itself, not her home.

  Knelt facing Elizabeth on her knees, the thing behind Hannah held her arms outstretched, as if a mockery to the Lord Almighty, lain upon the cross he bore.

  “Hugh,” she uttered, as the flesh became ripped from her back by Mathew’s teeth, “it was, it was Hugh.”

  Pushing Mary behind her, to the hall, Elizabeth stared into Hannah’s tear-filled eyes as the creature wrenched her head.

  Elizabeth saw his face clearly, his lips and lower half of his face, crimson with Hannah’s blood, his snarling mouth holding pieces of muscle and gristle as he tugged and pulled at the sinews of flesh still attached to Hannah’s spine.

  “Hugh,” Hannah said one last time, before her eyes closed for eternity, feeling her pain disappear as she drifted into sweet oblivion.

  Screaming and with an unnatural strength, Elizabeth raised the sword with both hands.

  Running to the two figures, she thrust the sword at the figures head, closing her eyes as the sword found its mark, penetrating Mathew’s mouth, smashing teeth as its thick blade passed through into the lower half of his skull.

  His mouth sliced open into a demonic grin, as he stumbled and lay still, the sword moving from side to side as if upon its own volition, until gravity caused the heavy hilt to fall to the floor, its blade ripping open the side of his face as it exited through his cheek bones.

  Crouched next to Hannah, her own dress became crimson with blood.

  There was nothing she could do, other than stifle her tears of grief.

  Turning, she saw her daughter still lay where she left her.

  “Mary!” she cried, rushing to her, realising her daughters own dress, was covered and stained crimson with blood.

  Chapter Seven

  “My husband is a just and fair man. He always showed you kindness, is that not true?” Lady Elizabeth asked, towering over him.

  The trembling man held before her upon his knees looked up.

  “Yes, my lady!” He cried in response, “I swear my lady that I never meant any harm.”

  Tears ran freely down his cheeks.

  “So, you say, so you say,” she said softly, walking around him, “but you were not fighting with the rest of the men, were you?”

  “I was scared my lady.”

  “You were scared? You were scared?” Peter asked incredulously,

  “And what in Gods dear name do you think we were?”

  “I’m sorry!” Hugh cried, “I’m truly sorry.”

  “I am sorry too,” Elizabeth said, “sorry that we have lost so many good people yet you were not. Sorry that Hannah is now dead yet you are not. And sorry!”

  She nearly screamed, spitting the last words into his face, causing him to close his eyes and turn away.

  “Sorry, that you are here whimpering, yet awake and yet my daughter is upstairs in my husband’s arms, bleeding and fell afoul of some sickness and it is not you in her place!”

  She felt as if her body must be full of demons as, against all the values she held true to her heart, she wanted to wrest this pathetic man’s head from his shoulders with her own bare hands.

  “Tell us why Hannah spoke your name aloud in her throes of death?” Peter demanded, yanking his head by the hair.

  “I do not know!” Hugh cried, trying to shake his head, but Peters hard grasp prevented him.

  “Liar!” Peter exclaimed, pushing his head forward and releasing his grip.

  “There is no way this coward will speak, so we may as well cut out his tongue and be done with it.”

  “Wait a moment,” Elizabeth instructed, walking from the room into the corridor leading to the great hall.

  Searching amongst the people still held w
ithin the Great Hall, she caught sight of Eleanor, a young girl who helped Hannah in her duties. The girl sat weeping, as were most of the people gathered there, including several of the men.

  Walking swiftly to her, she knelt beside her.

  Eleanor looked up at her, as she knelt and started to wipe the tears from her face with a piece of cloth.

  “I am sorry your ladyship,” she sobbed.

  “Do not be sorry my dear child. It is good to cry and mourn,” Elizabeth said softly, placing a hand upon her shoulder.

  The young girl smiled at her, but the thought of the loss of Hannah resulted in another tirade of tears cascading down her cheeks.

  Taking a silk handkerchief from within the folds of her own sleeve, Elizabeth passed it to her.

  “If you may help me my dear child?” she asked, “I wish to know who may know the young man who works on the estate called Hugh. He works with Robert.”

  “Hugh? I know of him myself my Lady.” Eleanor replied, looking through tear filled eyes.

  “Is there anything strange about his person, or odd?”

  “Not anything I know of my Lady, I am sorry. He tends to keep to his own company.”

  “Don’t be sorry my child, it was only a simple question out of idle curiosity. I shall leave you in peace but if you need anything please let me know.”

  Standing, Elizabeth made her way around the room, asking several other people if they knew Hugh and if so. what they knew of him. After a while it appeared her endeavours were fruitless as all she could garnish was he generally kept to himself, avoiding any sort of work which may make him break a sweat if he could.

  She began to wonder what else she could do and whether she should let her grief cloud her judgement, when the door leading to the corridor became opened by Peter, who stood in the doorway beckoning her over. She made her way across the hall to where he stood.

  As she approached him he leant down, speaking into her ear quietly, barely above a whisper.

  “My lady, his tongue is loose and he has spoken. He has told us of his dreadful deed.”

  Godfrey sat on the edge of the bed next to his beloved Mary. His daughter appeared in a deep, peaceful sleep, her wound being tended to by Elizabeth and Giles.