Sherlock Holmes and the Zombie Problem by Nick S. Thomas, Arthur C. Doyle Page A

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