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    Zombies! The Fall of London
    Zombies! The Fall of London
    Zombies! The Fall of London
    Ebook74 pages1 hour

    Zombies! The Fall of London

    By Kassandra Alvarado

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    In 1824, a mysterious plague strikes England's fair shores, worse than the American Revolution and the War of 1812, simply put the dead walk! It becomes a race against time as Captains William Parry and John Franklin traverse London, evading brain-seeking unmentionables at every turn.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKassandra Alvarado
    Release dateApr 8, 2013
    ISBN9781301684342
    Zombies! The Fall of London

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      Book preview

      Zombies! The Fall of London - Kassandra Alvarado

      Zombies! The Fall of London

      by

      Kassandra Alvarado

      Zombies! The Fall of London

      Published by Kassandra Alvarado at Smashwords

      Copyright 2013

      Cover Art designed by the author

      Discover other titles by https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/KassandraAlvarado at Smashwords.com

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold

      or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person,

      please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to

      Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Let your gun, therefore, be the constant companion of your walk. --Thomas Jefferson

      1824

      Precisely six years after the failure of Captain John Ross and the mirage of Lancaster Sound, another John, by the last name Barrow, an ambitious moon-faced man holding the position as Second Secretary to the most powerful Naval power on God's blessed earth, the Admiralty; seethed with the possibilities of another attempt at forging the wastes of the North. He spun the sphere of painted paper, his long fingers like spider's legs skimming the surface of the known world - stopped - tapped contemplatively on the broad vista of Mare Incognita.

      But, budgets were tight. The Lords of the Admiralty were a general parsimonious lot whose disappointment over William Parry’s second voyage in 1821 had furnished little by way of filling the arctic chart. This, as Barrow feared, temporally dissuaded them from throwing continuous monies at fruitless ventures.

      He needn't have worried.

      A clipper ship inauspiciously named the Resurrection drew in at the Greenwich wharves carrying with it a pestilence far worse than rampant Cholera, simply put, the dead walked. Once, local Militia failed to contain this threat to King and Country, the Admiralty were eating out of the palm of Barrow's hand. Figuratively, sadly. With this precipitous arrival, though it was most annoying having to replace the odd servant boy or Charwoman with their disappearance then reappearance clawing out from the Gooseberry bushes in the morning, Barrow wasn't about to look this particular gift horse in the eye, rather place a smoking Hunting Gun to the moldering green temple and...well, you get the idea.

      Mrs. Barrow wasn't so sanguine with constantly changing servants. During the warmth and wetness of the summer months, entertaining was rendered nigh impossible by those things, she fretted. Her husband polished his favorite musket in the barricaded Library, glancing at her. My dear, the unmentionables, you mean?

      She fluttered a lace-edged handkerchief drenched in English Lavender, she'd had the foresight to purchase trunkloads as clutching a scented cloth to one's nose as they went about their business was becoming fashionable in certain circles. Oh, you know what I mean!

      Indeed, I do. John Barrow set aside his musket, checking the tautness of a modified leather crop. Nine knots were tied into the flowing ends. He had very good insight as to this particular weapon's usefulness against Satan's hoards, from William Parry, recently made Captain Parry, whom he was meeting later on in the week. He hoped sincerely that dunderhead who ate his boots, John Franklin, didn't expire on the road to London beforehand.

      That would most definitely put a damper on his plans.

      ***

      You seem terribly down, Mister Parry. Remarked the sensitive John Franklin, whatever is the matter?

      Known for his normally stoic command and cool-headed presence, William Edward Parry bore an expression close to pain. It could've been deep emotional suffering, a crisis of faith that began when Hell expelled its moaning, shambling vermin, or the fact that they were passing the Burning Fields and that he'd forgotten to pack extra-scented handkerchiefs.

      So, it is noticeable then, I take it? He breathed in shallowly, exhaling through partially closed lips. I've recently received word from Captain Sabine that his dear niece, Ms. Browne, suffered a calamity of body and spirit.

      She has fallen to the dreadful plague!? John leaned forward, his pasty complexion diminishing to a sour milk color. William winced, preferring to little speak of the misfortune that had befallen their fair England. Yes, when I reflect on our many pleasant hours together I find myself...

      We must pray for our safety - ah, I meant, salvation of Ms. Browne's soul! Franklin backtracked guiltily, interrupting the other's soliloquy. William recovered quickly, clearing his throat. Ahem, I agree. That shall be our first stop upon reaching London.

      Is that wise? Wouldn't it better to pray for all lost souls from the comfort of the Hotel De Armis? They offer barred windows, you know and armed guards day and night. Franklin's wife, Eleanor, had taken especial care in selecting the hotel they would be staying at and had enumerated the various qualifications over a candlelit supper the evening before he began his journey. He had kept a residence on Devonshire Street for occasions of entertaining, but hadn’t heard from the personal valet he’d left in charge of the manse, for well over a week, that boded none too well, hence the insistence of a hotel.

      One can never be too careful, William. John warned, leaning back against the moth-eaten velvet of the Chaise, mopping his wide forehead beneath the cocked Chapeau, free of sweat. Rather than concur and drop the futile quest of seeking out a Church; Parry did just the opposite, promptly calling their driver to take them to the nearest house

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