The Axe Will Fall Read online

  LIZZIE BORDEN,

  ZOMBIE HUNTER 2:

  The Axe Will Fall

  C.A. Verstraete

  ~ White Wolf Books ~

  LIZZIE BORDEN, ZOMBIE HUNTER 2:

  The Axe Will Fall

  Copyright © 2018 by Christine (C.A.) Verstraete.

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and in the public domain. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead (or in any other form), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Thanks to the Kenosha Critiquers and friends, for feedback and support: Doris, Janet, Jean, Stephen S., Steve R., and Vicki.

  First Edition, White Wolf Books, www.cverstraete.com

  Cover art and design: Juan Villar Padron, www.talenthouse.com/jotapadron

  Printed in the USA

  Praise for

  LIZZIE BORDEN, ZOMBIE HUNTER 2

  “Lizzie Borden is back, and so are the zombies shambling their way through this fun and engaging book. Lizzie has lost none of her bad-assitude as she deals with the latest zombie outbreak in Fall River.”—Angela, Horror Maiden’s Book Reviews

  “A grand zombie tale!”—USA TODAY Bestselling Author Jean Rabe

  Praise for

  LIZZIE BORDEN, ZOMBIE HUNTER

  “A good yarn told in a well written and engaging style.” —The Rotting Zombie, 7 of 10 zombie heads

  “I recommend this book for anyone looking for a cool twist on an old mystery.” –Melanie, FangFreakinTastic Reviews, 4 fangs

  “A wonderfully-written piece and a delight to read. If you are looking for a solid read, horror or otherwise, this is a book worth considering.” —Kaitlin, Uncaged Book Reviews

  Praise for

  THE HAUNTING OF DR. BOWEN

  “The imagery in this book is brilliant… and creepy!”

  —Rebbie Reviews

  For Lizzie Borden and zombie fans

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Message from the Author

  The Real Life Crime

  Sources

  About the Author

  Excerpt from,

  Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter

  Excerpt from,

  The Haunting of Dr. Bowen

  Chapter One

  “We pray thee that innocence may be revealed and guilt exposed…”

  —The Rev. M.C. Julien, opening prayer

  Trial of Lizzie Borden, June 5, 1893

  Fall River, Massachusetts—October, 1893

  L

  izzie Borden sprang awake, startled by a sound she never expected, or wanted to hear again—a low, eerie keen that made her skin crawl and the long, straight hairs on her neck curl up into tight ringlets.

  “No, no!” She jumped out of bed and ran to the window, her heart pounding in fear. “Please, don’t let it be!”

  The chaotic scene on the street below filled her with disbelief and horror. No matter which direction she looked, she saw pure evil—groups of the undead she’d truly thought were gone forever. They’d been vanquished—or so she’d been told. Who had lied?

  Then she had another unexpected, but this time much more pleasant, shock—seeing her former self-defense instructor Pierre Moret. As the monsters shambled closer, he stood a moment as if in contemplation before closing the wrought iron gate. He waved for her to come down and disappeared out of view by the front door.

  Why is he here? Why now?

  The ghastly roars and growls outside quickly made her realize it didn’t matter. Her panic rising, Lizzie threw off her nightwear and slipped on one of the old pair of bloomers she’d worn in previous fights. For some reason, she’d kept the costume in her armoire, though she’d expected to never, ever, be doing this again.

  So much for that, she thought. Or had I really believed it was over?

  She shoved her feet into sturdy black shoes, her worry level rising higher than the smoke spewing from the stacks of the numerous textile plants down by the river. Were these new masses of undead? Or worse—had those who’d been infected and hidden away secretly at home by family members managed to escape?

  The questions dogged her as she ran down the polished oak staircase, a litany of muttered protests on her lips. “No, no, how can this be happening? Dearest Lord, how?”

  A pounding on the front door made her move faster. “Lizzie, hurry, please, let me in,” Pierre called.

  “Coming, I’m coming.”

  She twisted the shiny gold lock and pulled the heavy oak door open. Her nose wrinkled at the sudden stench of rot and death that fouled the air. Pierre rushed in, pushed the door shut, and turned to embrace her. To her surprise, it felt like she’d seen him only yesterday instead of months ago.

  “Pierre! I didn’t expect you.”

  “Obviously, though I’m glad to see you had your fighting dress at the ready.”

  The low moans from outside made further conversation impossible. She moved closer to the door and peered out the window, her heart pounding as she viewed the motley mob of ghouls clamoring at the gate. She counted eight, ten, fifteen of the decayed monsters and saw more approaching.

  The bastion of quiet she’d enjoyed in the past few months since moving to the more prestigious section known as “The Hill” had been replaced by bedlam. She watched a group of men run into the street swinging axes, garden tools, and almost anything they could get, at the approaching foes. She turned away and wrung her hands, not daring to look at Pierre when he gave a snort of disgust.

  “Why did you lead them here?” she asked. “Why? I don’t want to deal with it.”

  “You think I do? A thank you might be more in order since I wanted to make sure you were safe. Sorry to say, they’re up and down not only this street, but the whole area. We have no choice but to help.”

  “No, no, I-I can’t do it. I can’t.” She inhaled sharply when Pierre reached out and spun her around.

  He tucked his finger under her chin and raised her head. “Look at me. You can’t, or you won’t?”

  “No, I can’t.” She bit her lip and shook her head harder. “I can’t do it.”

  Her resistance faded as he pulled her near. She breathed in his masculine scent and the lingering musky, ambergris shaving lotion on his skin, wishing this was any other time, any other place.

  The horrific sounds of the undead made Lizzie’s skin crawl. Her first impulse, to let him and others take care of things, did battle with her innate sense of duty. She peered out the window again, relishing the satisfaction of seeing others out in the streets now, men with guns, women with garden tools. Even the neighbors who had turned their back on her were out doing their part to keep the monsters at bay.

  Let them handle it, she thought.

  Still, her feelings of obligation niggled at
her. Yes, she’d trained for this. She had fought this fight before. She couldn’t let others do all the work for her.

  With a deep sigh, Lizzie pushed herself from Pierre’s embrace and regarded him. “I guess I have no choice about getting involved, do I? I have to do it, for Emma, if nothing else.”

  “Neither do I. I trained you. I’ll be right there with you and will help you any way I can. You know that. Should I ask how is your sister faring?”

  “The same, nothing has changed.”

  She went to the hall closet and took out a large leather satchel. It clanked with the sound of metal on metal. She sorted through the bag, pulling out a hatchet, a bat, and several small knives.

  “Have you been practicing? Keeping in condition?”

  She gave a small laugh. “Somewhat… Well, a little. I stopped going downstairs to practice or use the equipment since the noise bothers Emma too much. So, I do what I can up here. I’ve been doing my basic exercises and I practice my throwing out in the carriage house. It’s not ideal, but it’ll suffice.”

  “If only others had been as careful and prepared, we wouldn’t be in the mess we are again.”

  She snorted. “Possibly. Too many people kept their infected family members at home without sufficient preparations—”

  “Or really knowing what they were dealing with,” Pierre said.

  “Agreed. The awful cycle continues. I truly thought it had ended.”

  “Yes, so did I.”

  Pinning her hair into a tighter bun at the back of her head, Lizzie pulled the multi-pocketed apron she’d refashioned for her own use from the satchel and tied it around her waist. She slipped the knives and other tools into the pockets.

  Pierre gave her an appraising look. “Well done. I see you haven’t forgotten anything.”

  She took a deep breath and steeled herself. “Some things you never forget, ever, no matter how much you might wish it. Are you ready?”

  “When it comes to you, always.”

  A frown on her lips, Lizzie opened the door and rushed out, hatchet in hand. The picturesque street, lined with well-kept homes, now resembled a waking nightmare. Mobs of the monsters stumbled up and back on the road, and the sidewalks. Some strayed closer to the front walks, their rotted limbs gouged by misguided attempts to claw past iron spiked gates, or reach through long, spiky bushes. The frantic yells of people coming to the fight, weapons in hand, mixed with the bone-chilling laments of the creatures.

  Pierre lunged ahead. He stopped, whacked one creature in the head with his short sword, and ended another’s un-life with a fatal blow. The head rolled away, tracing a bloody path through the piles of dead leaves.

  Lizzie followed him through the gate, her grip tightening on the hatchet. UNHHH. ARGGH. The monstrous sounds made her think again of their earlier battle. She prayed this one would be shorter, and far less disastrous. The thought was enough to make her hesitate as the horrors of the past year came rushing back—her father’s gruesome face … her stepmother Abby’s monstrous stare … the terror and loneliness of being arrested … the shame and horror of standing trial for their murders.

  She shook herself out of the memory. The hatchet held high, she charged at the first monster that turned her way. The ghoul shuffled closer, mouth open in a fixed grimace, a hungry shriek on its half-decayed lips. She slammed the hatchet into the creature’s head, crushing the skull with a loud crack and a splatter of black goo. Its undead life gone, the ghoul fell at her feet in a grisly pile. A parade of insects skittered from the remains.

  Lizzie yanked the tool from the creature’s smashed skull and wheeled about, hitting a second monster and then a third in a fluid, almost ballet-like rhythm. She moved gracefully and with purpose from one creature to the next, her hatchet flying, leaving one monster after another truly dead in her wake.

  With each hit, with each ghastly crack of the small axe on bone, the images fluttered in the back of her mind… His yellow clacking teeth … the blind stare … Abby’s unearthly strength … Lizzie gasped and staggered a moment, yet she fought on.

  Anyone watching her would never have guessed that she’d been mostly idle for so many months. She attacked and spun, stabbed and leaped, her face showing not one shred of emotion, though inside, she felt herself dying a little bit more with each strike.

  Chapter Two

  To each count of which indictment, Lizzie Andrew Borden, the prisoner at the bar, has therefore pleaded and said that thereof she is not guilty…

  —Part of indictment read by the court clerk,

  Trial of Lizzie Borden, June 6, 1893

  T

  he horrible shrieks and gut-wrenching screams finally stopped.

  Lizzie stared at the aftermath littering the road—the broken bodies, the blood and guts, the maimed and stunned living who stumbled about in a daze—and gulped back a cry. Rivulets of blood ran down the street. It made her think of a Civil War battlefield.

  As if he understood, Pierre came to her side, draped an arm over her shoulder, and led her back into the house. Taking the gory hatchet from her hand, he set it aside on a cotton towel, and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Go ahead, Liz, let it out.”

  Her gulping sobs filled the room. “I-I don’t want to do this again. I can’t.”

  “Me, neither, but we will. Both of us. We’ll do what we have to do to end this. We’ll do whatever it takes. Again. Won’t we?”

  Saddened, but her will as strong as ever, she finally nodded in agreement and wiped the tears from her face.

  “Yes. You’re right, of course. No one knows the horror Emma and I endured when Father and Mrs. Borden turned into such vicious creatures last year. They’ll only remember my supposed role in it. And now, they’ll never look beyond the crimes and sins of the past. They’ll still blame me. I have to act.”

  Her resolve renewed, she backed up, removed her weapons apron, and tossed it onto the settee in the parlor before inviting him into the kitchen. “We best decide on a plan. I’ll make some tea for us.”

  The smile he flashed revealed deeply dimpled cheeks that Lizzie realized she still found more than attractive.

  “Tea?” he asked.

  “Oh, you know what I mean.” She laughed and gave his arm a playful shove. “Tea with a little extra ingredient. If I can go out there and take care of those monsters, then I’m not going to deprive myself, or you, of a little ‘something’ to calm our nerves. Never mind convention. First, we’d better get rid of some of this gook.”

  She handed him a clean, wet cloth and smiled at the gentleness he showed as he wiped her face and neck of splattered blood and zombie guts. He also did the necessary inspection for any rips, tears, gouges or scratches.

  Rinsing the cloth, she did the same to him, taking care to keep her emotions in check and her attention on the business at hand lest her actions and ministrations be taken as more sensual than clinical.

  Even though they hadn’t seen one another for a while, she knew the attraction they felt for each other hadn’t faded, despite her deep misgivings. She thought herself much too old for a relationship with a man five years younger, but knew her feelings could change. Still, she didn’t understand what a man like him could possibly find attractive in a plain, thirty-three-year-old spinster like her. Besides, with another outbreak at hand, they both needed to keep their heads level and their eyes on one thing—vanquishing the monsters for good.

  “Lizzie…”

  She saw the way he looked at her and almost crumpled into his arms, but thought better of it. “Pierre, we have to keep our attentions on one thing, on this only. Please.”

  He nodded. “All right, very well, for now. We’ll discuss other things later.”

  “Yes, I’m sure we will.”

  That said, she got out the kettle, two tea cups, and pulled out the bottle of whiskey she kept hidden in the back of the cabinet. The tea made, she added the lemon, splashed in a dollop of the liquor, and put the cups on the table. The skitter of nails on
the wood floor made her grab for the tin by the stove. She pulled out a biscuit and gave it to the small Boston Terrier. The dog grabbed it and disappeared somewhere in the parlor with its treat.

  “You got a dog?”

  “He’s good company,” Lizzie said. “Cream or sugar?”

  “This is fine.” He sipped and gave a big smile. “Perfect, actually. Now, what do you propose we do first?”

  Her face serious, she sat, and pulled over a pad of paper and a lead pencil. “I guess we have to find out how this started.”

  “I know you won’t like hearing this.” He set his cup down and cleared his throat. “We should go back and check your father’s building.”

  She set her tea cup down with a clatter. “Again, why? You can’t be serious!”

  “I hate to mention it, but a few of the St. Alphonsus Society members told me they’d seen some of the creatures coming out of the building. They didn’t know how many there were or how they could’ve been in there.”

  Lizzie sighed loudly. “One of the stipulations I had for renting the building was the business must have security. The business owner said he was opening a candle manufacturing company. He assured me there’d be no problems. Mr. Clegg had rented a small storefront on Main Street from Father. He had a haberdashery store and said he was branching out. He seemed to be a nice man.”

  She fumed and drummed her fingers on the table in frustration. “I should’ve sold the building when I had the chance. Let someone else deal with it. I thought keeping it would be a nice memorial to Father. Maybe I was wrong. I dread going there again. I really do.”