Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter (Book 2): The Axe Will Fall by Verstraete C.A

Author:Verstraete, C.A. [Verstraete, C.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Zombies
Publisher: White Wolf Books
Published: 2018-05-13T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Q. Was there any blood on Bridget’s dresses?

A. On Bridget’s?

Q. That is what I asked you.

A. Not that I discovered.

—Testimony of Assistant City Marshal John W. Fleet,

Trial of Lizzie Borden, June 9, 1893

T

he ride home was quiet, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Lizzie sat quiet, but raged inside, disturbed at the recent turn of events. Her anger simmered just below the surface. This shouldn’t be happening again!

The eerie sounds of the creatures stumbling at the edge of the road made her feel worse. She stared in anger at the hideous monsters shambling along, their rotted hands and decayed fingers clawing for the carriage as it rushed past.

How long can this go on? How long?

The horse rounded the corner onto Second Street, its hooves making a rhythmic clip-clop that agitated the creatures into a horrid chorus of protest. She looked up, the sight of the St. Mary’s Church tower reaching high into the clouds giving her hope. The chime of the church bells never failed to elevate her mood. She wished they rang now.

Pierre pulled the reins and brought the carriage to a stop in front of Lizzie’s stately, three-story Victorian. But this time, not even the sight of her beloved home made her feel better. He moved to get out, but she held up a hand to stop him. She stepped down from her seat and turned to explain.

“Pierre, thank you again. I’m glad you were there. Truly. If you don’t mind, I’m exhausted. I need to get some rest.”

He nodded. “I understand. It’s been a trying day. I’m going to do the same. I’ll do some more checking tomorrow. I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”

She went inside and hung her coat in the hall closet, the sight of the still open basement door giving her pause before she closed it. The dog’s snuffle against her leg was a welcome distraction against the vicious memories that beckoned.

“Hello, boy, are you hungry? Let’s get you something to eat.”

After igniting the flame under the tea kettle, she rummaged in the icebox for the bowl of chopped chicken. She couldn’t help but glance at the other bowl of chicken parts. I should cook that, she thought, knowing there was no need. Emma wouldn’t be coming home anytime soon.

Sadness filled her as she braised the liver and other chicken in a small iron skillet. She chopped the pieces, setting some back in the icebox. The rest she mixed with the chopped chicken and dry dog food. Setting the bowl on the floor, she poured a cup of tea for herself and took it into the parlor. She wondered how Emma was faring. Is she being held somewhere? Or has she already been killed by someone else? The thought depressed her. It should be her job; no one else’s.

The loud tick of the wall clock drew her eye. She settled into the floral-print armchair, not quite ready to go to bed. She tapped her finger on the table in time, her thoughts on what she could do to find Emma.

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