have.”
Puzzled, Alfred just looked at him. Finally, he said, “I don’t rightly know, but at least a barrel.”
“Good—good. I have an idea of how to deal with those abominations outside, but it’ll be ugly. By morning, their numbers will have swelled even further, so we can’t just shoot them. If I simply start picking them off from above, then a great pile of bodies would mount below. If I could confirm all were dead, then this wouldn’t be an issue.
“The trouble is things are never that simple. What if I don’t end all of them with a shot to the head. What if I merely injure one just enough to fell it. What if I injure not one, but many. We’d have ourselves a pile of bodies, some of which may still be dangerous. We might start clearing the corpses only to find a gnashing ghoul buried beneath a mound of bodies. No, we must thin the herd before the real killing starts, and this is where we come to the crux of my idea.”
Alfred, Callum, and Sally huddled closer. Even Hector seemed to be paying complete attention to every word his master uttered. For more than an hour, Jonathan outlined his idea. Here and there, one or other of them would ask a question. Mostly, they simply listened. When Jonathan finished recounting his plan, his three avid listeners seemed a little dazed.
Alfred took several long pulls on his pipe, and then let out a long slow exhalation of smoke. He squinted one eye against the veil of bluish vapor now floating between them.
“It might work.” The old man said as he tapped the mouthpiece of his pipe against his chin. “If it does, well, I might just slap you on the back and call you our savior.”
Jonathan smiled wryly. “Let’s not be getting carried away. I’m not proposing to turn water into wine; rather I am aiming to turn the undead into the dead.”
“Is that what you think they are … the undead?” Sally asked tremulously.
Jonathan turned his gaze to the girl sat beside his son. She looked pale, and more than a little afraid. He saw Callum looking at her with concern, and his heart lifted as he watched his son take the girl’s hand. Sally’s face flushed at the boy’s touch, but she did not pull away.
“Yes, Sally,” Jonathan said as he looked back towards Alfred. “I think those things are undead, and as such, we must rid them from the earth.”
“But they were once God’s children. Shouldn’t we still treat them with the respect we would show any of God’s gifts?”
Jonathan’s gaze remained fixed on the old man, but he coldly replied, “No, we shouldn’t. They’ve fallen from God’s grace, and it is our duty as God-fearing individuals to remove them from a world created by his hand. They belong in hell with all the other ungodly abominations.”
“But they were once family and friends. Surely, they deserve compassion. What if Emily or Tilly has fallen foul of them?”
Jonathan Wentworth’s head snapped back in the girl’s direction, and there was both anger and dread in his eyes. “Firstly, my kin is safe! I know this deep down in my heart, but if they’ve fallen, then I would mourn them, and then I would do what had to be done.”
Sensing things were about to get out of hand, Alfred struggled to his feet and eyed them all. “We have much to do before daybreak, and if we ever plan to sleep again, then I suggest we start on our preparations.”
Without a word, but with tension hanging in the air, all followed the old man’s lead, and started the task of readying themselves for the morning’s slaughter.
Four hours later, a little after one in the morning, their preparations were complete. All headed for bed, though none of them slept much. Between the noise coming from the undead outside, and the prospects of the foul deeds they would have to commit in the morning, even the sternest of souls would have found sleep difficult. However, as the hours stretched towards dawn, sleep took each of them. Each drifted into a shallow, fitful
Puzzled, Alfred just looked at him. Finally, he said, “I don’t rightly know, but at least a barrel.”
“Good—good. I have an idea of how to deal with those abominations outside, but it’ll be ugly. By morning, their numbers will have swelled even further, so we can’t just shoot them. If I simply start picking them off from above, then a great pile of bodies would mount below. If I could confirm all were dead, then this wouldn’t be an issue.
“The trouble is things are never that simple. What if I don’t end all of them with a shot to the head. What if I merely injure one just enough to fell it. What if I injure not one, but many. We’d have ourselves a pile of bodies, some of which may still be dangerous. We might start clearing the corpses only to find a gnashing ghoul buried beneath a mound of bodies. No, we must thin the herd before the real killing starts, and this is where we come to the crux of my idea.”
Alfred, Callum, and Sally huddled closer. Even Hector seemed to be paying complete attention to every word his master uttered. For more than an hour, Jonathan outlined his idea. Here and there, one or other of them would ask a question. Mostly, they simply listened. When Jonathan finished recounting his plan, his three avid listeners seemed a little dazed.
Alfred took several long pulls on his pipe, and then let out a long slow exhalation of smoke. He squinted one eye against the veil of bluish vapor now floating between them.
“It might work.” The old man said as he tapped the mouthpiece of his pipe against his chin. “If it does, well, I might just slap you on the back and call you our savior.”
Jonathan smiled wryly. “Let’s not be getting carried away. I’m not proposing to turn water into wine; rather I am aiming to turn the undead into the dead.”
“Is that what you think they are … the undead?” Sally asked tremulously.
Jonathan turned his gaze to the girl sat beside his son. She looked pale, and more than a little afraid. He saw Callum looking at her with concern, and his heart lifted as he watched his son take the girl’s hand. Sally’s face flushed at the boy’s touch, but she did not pull away.
“Yes, Sally,” Jonathan said as he looked back towards Alfred. “I think those things are undead, and as such, we must rid them from the earth.”
“But they were once God’s children. Shouldn’t we still treat them with the respect we would show any of God’s gifts?”
Jonathan’s gaze remained fixed on the old man, but he coldly replied, “No, we shouldn’t. They’ve fallen from God’s grace, and it is our duty as God-fearing individuals to remove them from a world created by his hand. They belong in hell with all the other ungodly abominations.”
“But they were once family and friends. Surely, they deserve compassion. What if Emily or Tilly has fallen foul of them?”
Jonathan Wentworth’s head snapped back in the girl’s direction, and there was both anger and dread in his eyes. “Firstly, my kin is safe! I know this deep down in my heart, but if they’ve fallen, then I would mourn them, and then I would do what had to be done.”
Sensing things were about to get out of hand, Alfred struggled to his feet and eyed them all. “We have much to do before daybreak, and if we ever plan to sleep again, then I suggest we start on our preparations.”
Without a word, but with tension hanging in the air, all followed the old man’s lead, and started the task of readying themselves for the morning’s slaughter.
Four hours later, a little after one in the morning, their preparations were complete. All headed for bed, though none of them slept much. Between the noise coming from the undead outside, and the prospects of the foul deeds they would have to commit in the morning, even the sternest of souls would have found sleep difficult. However, as the hours stretched towards dawn, sleep took each of them. Each drifted into a shallow, fitful
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