The mare bumped against my arm, and I reached out to scratch her neck. I leaned into her for a moment, inhaling the unique scent of horse that meant both companionship and freedom.
Alice emerged from the kitchen with my katana in hand. Father had brought the sword back from Japan as a
curiosity,
an object to hang on the wall. Now it was a part of me. I seldom ventured forth without its protection. Foot in the stirrup, I swung myself into the saddle and settled the sword against my back. Alice stood next to Henry and watched.
"Please be careful," she said. She always worried until I returned. Out in the yard, she always checked my arms for bite marks before she would let me into the house.
"I promise." A tap of my heel against her side and the mare trotted off, leading us out over the paddock.
A line of barbed wire marched into the distance and enclosed our fifty acres. Not much land, but enough to maintain the sheep and cattle to keep us fed. The rest of the estate we leased out to other farmers. I wondered how long before step-mother carved it up and sold it off. Expensive dresses from Paris didn't materialise on their own; she needed the ready cash to pay for them.
We passed a copse of beech when the sway on the wire made me sit up straight. More than a line blowing in the wind, it had the pull and tug of something bigger. The mare whinnied and tossed her head. I scratched her wither as I scanned up ahead.
"It's all right girl, I won't let it get you." We dropped to a walk and followed the fence, dodging around stray trees and clumps of spent daffodils.
At first glance it looked like someone had dumped a pile of laundry. The shape clung low to the ground. This one had tried to go under. Thankfully, Henry had suggested bottom wires. A few hastily drawn pictures on a sheet of paper had saved us in our sleep.
The mare halted and stood her ground, so I took the hint and dismounted. "Easy girl." I gave her a scratch and looped the reins over her head to let her graze. We learned together, the horse and I, and over the months we came to an agreement. She was a solid wee thing and wouldn't spook or run away, as long as I let her keep her distance from the creatures that smelt bad.
I pulled the red-spotted handkerchief around my neck up, and covered my mouth and nose. A bite from a vermin would infect you within a matter of days, and we learned that it didn't pay to breath in blood splatter either. It didn't always turn you into whatever they are, but it made you sick enough to wish you could die as your body tried to turn your stomach inside out to purge the tainted blood.
This one has once been male and looked as though it had died in the first pandemic wave over nine months ago. A few drops of lavender oil on the cloth around my face helped hold back the stench. I lost count of how many times I had vomited in those first few days, but I couldn't afford the distraction of those precious minutes spent staring at the ground while my breakfast came back up. Looking away gave them an opportunity to attack while you were weak, and I schooled my stomach to obey. Vermin walked and hunted us, but time ate at them. Without the spark of life to animate their bodies, they rotted on their feet. They needed to bite and tear at our living flesh to transmit the disease.
Maggots burrowed through his dead flesh, tiny writhing white bodies filling a hollow in his leg. The hair had peeled away from the scalp, and the bone was coated in dirt and mud as though he had tried to disguise his baldness by painting on hair. Very little flesh clung to his form, the white showing through where skin and bone had parted company. Tendons moved as he flexed and struggled against the barbwire digging into his back. A loop had caught around exposed vertebra and pulled him to a stop. The more he struggled, the more entangled in the fence he became.
I took a moment to examine his build and clothing, searching for anything that might identify him. What was left of his face triggered no recognition, but I had learned to look past the rotting flaps of skin hanging from exposed bone. My eyes took in face shape, the curve of a jaw and the arch of a brow could reconstruct an image in my mind. This one came up blank, so I would need to record his physical description in my notebook — my heavy record of vermin and the people that had once been.
He stilled as my feet appeared in his vision. How did they even see without a functioning brain? Another question for the scientists to answer. I heard they held vermin captive in laboratories, trying to discern the secrets they might yield. Perhaps they thought the dead would make better soldiers, they would keep moving forward no matter how many bullets they took.
My blade sung on the morning air as I pulled the katana free. The creature panicked, thrashing and struggling to pull away from the wire. A high-pitched moan came from his damaged throat and startled the mare. Fortunately, she just moved farther away. Chunks of flesh flew as he flailed his arms. Blank eyes fixed on my face. I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn't recognise this one, and at least I didn't have to dispatch one of our own. Although, how far the vermin travelled would worry me later.
I held my ground and waited until the head turned, facing away from me. Then I struck. One blow and I severed tendons and bones. The head rolled a short distance and came to a stop. Like chickens, the bodies took some time to realise the head was gone. He continued his efforts to struggle free. Fingers clawed at the ground as though he sought something. Perhaps he searched for his head to reattach it?
I watched the second hand on my watch. This one took two minutes to still while I filled out an entry in my notebook. Then I tucked it back in the saddlebag while I preformed the rest of my vermin disposal ritual. First I cleaned my blade with a lightly oiled cloth, a rule father drilled into me from early on; care for your blade. I took the small bottle of petrol and doused the body, then struck a match and tossed it on. The fuel ignited with a soft whump, and I turned my face from the wave of heat. Once well ablaze, I kicked the head over to re-join the rest. I always waited, just in case they could reattach their heads. Just because we hadn't seen it yet didn't mean it was impossible.
I kept the scented handkerchief over my mouth and nose. I had no desire to inhale the sickly sweet odour of flesh succumbing to flames. The fire would burn out and die down quickly. The surrounding green grass would ensure it didn't spread, and the posts were far enough apart we didn't have to worry about compromising the fence. Still, once it cooled off I would send Henry back out to remove anything that remained and check the integrity of the wires. I hated sending him, sure that it must relive the horrors of the trench for him. If time allowed, I would finish the gruesome task myself, but I never knew what step-mother would decide needed my attention. The fence needed to be checked before night fell, and she might decide I needed to crimp her hair instead. I knew Henry would undertake the job and never complain, but he would cry again tonight.
I walked back to the mare, picked up the reins, and swung up into the saddle. "Come on, girl, nothing more to see here."
Chapter Two
It was a hard ride to check the rest of the fence. Not because of terrain or interruptions, but because slaying a vermin always left me twitchy. I found it hard to sit still in the saddle. It seemed as though the maggots eating their dead flesh had burrowed into me, squirming under my skin. With each step the mare took, my adrenaline levels fizzed higher. Strange really, I held perfectly calm while doing the deed. It was only afterwards that it slammed into my body. I needed to steal a few moments of peace to practice with my sword. The slow rhythm of a tai chi form would settle my mind and allow the adrenaline to dissipate.
We finished our route, checking not just our fences, but also those of our closest neighbours. We also checked the animals. Our flock of sheep grazed peacefully, unaware of the vermin that tested the fences under cover of darkness. Lambs frolicked and grew and would soon be sold to the butcher. The vermin rarely disturbed the livestock. I had no idea why not, but at least I didn't have to deal with shambling undead cattle.
Most of the time I didn't mind my workload. Men still trickled back from Europe, and those who had returned often struggled to adapt to their old roles. Women and the elderly still worked twice as hard to fill the vacuum they left behind, and we all had to pull together. Far better to keep my mind occupied than seek to fill empty hours with flights of fancy. I did this for father and for our extended family that reached to the village. I didn't work for
her
, despite what illusion she lived under. Perhaps one day, father would fully return to us, realise the rot in her soul, and put her aside.
Enough of mawkish thoughts. I kicked the mare and gave her the reins as we galloped over the fields. Speed helped to dissipate some energy, the passing wind picked it from my skin and wicked it away. I rose out of the stirrups and leaned close to her neck, letting her dictate the pace. Her ears flicked back to me, then forward as she ran over the lush grass. We aimed for a fallen log, jumped it, and continued on toward the dense wood. She dropped back to a trot and then a walk as we ventured into the embrace of the old forest. The mare huffed, and we both used the silent walk to catch our breath.
There was a particular spot I liked, a small green clearing surrounded by enormous birch and oak. The trees embraced and protected the clearing. I imagined it was the sort of spot that fairy folk might hide within. I dismounted and the mare, well used to our routine, dropped her head and snoozed in a shaft of sunlight. Standing in the middle of the clearing, I drew the katana, closed my eyes, and remembered the day father left.
I had only recently turned thirteen. He took down the elegant Japanese sword from its place on the library wall and handed it to me. The weapon seemed so exotic and magical. I held my breath as the blue silken tassel caressed my skin and I remembered the great weight of the weapon in my small hands. My first attempt to lift it failed, and I thought I would have to drag it behind me like a barbarian with a club.
Father had a serious expression on his face but a light in his warm brown eyes. "Take this, Ella, and practice while I am away. There is a book on my desk that explains all about the history of the katana and how it is used. It is a noble weapon, and must be treated as such. I want to see what you have learned by the time I return. It will keep you occupied and out of trouble, I hope."
He kissed me and folded me in a bear hug. He stood so tall and proud in his officer's uniform, a laughing Henry at his side in his infantryman's khaki. We thought they would be home by Christmas. While we waited, I practiced every day. At first I was barely able to lift the sword, then over time it grew to be an extension of my arms. Alice would read from the book as I worked. She used the pictures to correct my stance and hold. Would father be proud? He never had a son, and instead had taught me all the practical skills as though I were a more valuable boy. How many other Edwardian fathers would hand a thirteen-year-old girl a katana?
As events unfolded, it transpired that father had gifted me with an ability that would save countless lives. The years spent honing my swordplay made the blade an extension of my arm. We grew together. And now I wielded that skill for my family and in service of the village.
The crunch of twigs under foot pulled me from the depths of childhood memories. The noise wasn't the random crack or creak of the forest, this was a deliberate step. It made me whirl, blade extended. I controlled my breathing — panic could get you killed. Deep breaths in through my nose, out through my mouth, as I opened my eyes. The katana stopped inches from the flesh of the vermin's neck that sought to creep up on me. I glanced at its face, and met grey eyes that peered back at me with intelligence, not the vacant glaze of the returned.
"Who are you?" I had no intention of moving my sword until the intruder identified himself, vermin or not.
"Who are you?" he threw back with a distinct upper class accent. "I saw the saddled horse but no rider, so I came to investigate."
Dark, cropped hair was just growing out from a military cut. He stood at least six foot, with wide shoulders and a faint hint of colour to his skin. All right, definitely no vermin. This one was positively alive, he pulsed with spirit before me. Part of me wanted to sway toward him, to brush against his vitality and take part of it into me. To see if he would enfold me in those strong arms.
Foolish, Ella.
I pulled my mind back on task, and continued my inspection. His bearing alone screamed army, as though his bones had been replaced with metal. A returned soldier, but none I recognised and far better dressed than any local farmer. This man's linen shirt was open at the neck, perhaps because of the summer heat, and he was dressed for riding in creamy jodhpurs and boots much like mine. Except his were impeccably tailored to his form, newly washed and pressed. My clothes were Henry's hand me downs and bore the splatter from the vermin I recently dispatched.
A chestnut grazed at the opposite side of the clearing, its coat gleamed from good health and care. Its conformation announced it as expensive horse flesh. All right, I was curious. Who the hell was he, to be riding around the countryside on his own? People expected it of me, but then I knew what I was doing. Perhaps he was visiting relatives?
This soldier had a strong, square face, and a smile quirked on his full lips as his gaze flicked down. Following his line of sight, I saw the pistol aimed at my heart. Well, there was a surprise. He dressed and sounded like a toff, but carried himself like a military man and had the common sense not to wander the woods unarmed.