Sherlock Holmes and the Zombie Problem (19 page)

Peering into the darkness of what was a well blasted hallway, a chill went down my spine. In all of the action of the last few days, entering a lonely chamber with poor light and perhaps only one entrance was a daunting thought. To add to this fear, I was now only one man, with less ammunition than I had ever carried in my life. I considered for a moment not venturing into the place, as it could well be the end of me. The unfortunate fact was this was the only lead I had, and if I was to find any end and explanation to this adventure, I must enter the darkness, I owed my life to Holmes, and to my country, this had to be done.

I drew my Adams revolvers and entered through the archway, the entrance was dark but I could already see evidence of light. Walking though a clammy small cave, barely taller than my hat, I saw the first light, an oil lamp still burning, perhaps twenty yards into the cavern. I crept forward, not wanting to make a sound, not so much to alert anyone, but be aware of movement myself. As I reached the lamp hanging from the sidewall a shape became visible on the floor. Looking down to the ground a body lay, a blood pool expanding from its head, Holmes had been here recently then. I looked a little closer, the body was face down on the ground. A large hole protruded from the back of the body’s head, clearly having been shot by a high calibre round. With this much blood and dirt it was unclear to me whether the body was that of a zombi or human, but with a head wound like that, the fact was not relevant. It did however tell me that firstly, there were enemies of a sort in this hidden chamber, and that secondly, Holmes had passed through here.

Continuing on around another corner, light was pulsating as well as temperatures rising, until I could see the source. Before me lay a large room, perhaps a hundred feet long by fifty wide, and as tall as most living rooms of the day. At the far end of the room a fire raged, but there was not much smoke in the room, it must be venting above here. This was a most mysterious place, the very sight of which made me uncomfortable. The fire created an ambient light whilst oil lamps made for a more even glow closer to me, but the dark walls of the cave made it a shadowy and eerie place.

A number of bodies were scattered around the room, the nearest to me drew my attention, for a sword lay imbedded in its skull, it was Holmes’ 1853 trooper’s sword that Cyril had given him. About twelve inches of theblade was missing from the tip, and what was left had penetrated down to the nose, likely becoming too hard to retrieve. This was not typical of Holmes’ work, he must have fought in absolute anger or desperation, the latter I suspected, for I had never seen him lose his cool headedness in a fight. I looked out across the room, trying to draw more information from what I saw. It looked more like a library or laboratory than a cave, well organised, with many book shelves and sturdy tables.

Scientific equipment lay scattered, but no evidence of raw materials or books relating to the sort of work going on here. I continued on across the room, slowly and cautiously, until I reached the fire. The mound of flaming equipment was a mix of papers, old books, but much more clearly lay beneath them, the pile was four feet high and sprawling. No villain would burn this information, as they were already exposed, this was Holmes’ doing. It was clear that everything of note from this room lay burning to a cinder.

I stood, pondering the situation, trying to make full sense of the turn of events and the order and outcome which resulted, now oblivious to all that was around me. Holmes must have seen this course of action as the only possible means to achieve victory. I had foolishly let my mind wander and lost my typical caution, without warning, something grabbed at my right leg, pulling me off my feet. Striking the floor back first, I looked up and it became clear, a beast, still half living was at my feet, my guns were behind the beast and out of reach. One of the creature’s legs was removed, likely by Holmes’ sabre, it grabbed at my legs, trying to pull me closer, but I kicked at its face, just enough to free its hold.

Skittering backwards with my hands and feet combined, my hand laid upon a metal object, which I lifted to view, Holmes’ Reichsrevolver, he must have dropped it during his fight in this fateful place. Cocking the hammer back, hoping it retained some ammunition, I aimed at the creature that was crawling towards me, now just two feet away, and squeezed. The huge revolver recoiled heavily as the creature’s skull split and it slumped to the ground for the last time. The bullet had gone clearly through the skull and off into the fire. The lifeless beast now lay just inches from my feet, a close encounter. Exhausted I simply lay down on the cold floor, sprawled out. I stayed there for a minute, not feeling able to get back up to my feet.

Eventually I got up and looked around for more potential threats, but I was now safe. I looked back at the fire; it was not like Holmes to destroy evidence, though I could completely understand his reasoning, and agreed. No man would risk this horrific disaster upon the world again. However, none of this evidence changed the fact that there was still no sign of Holmes. Looking around, there was only one way in and out of this horrible and yet fascinating place, so I headed back down the room. Curiosity continually made me wonder about the whys and wherefores of the information contained in what was now burning, but sensibility made me leave it to burn.

It was strange of Holmes to have left both a sword and handgun behind. It is understandable that the sabre became lodged in a creature’s skull during a hurried fight, and that the pistol lay beneath a table, likely having been knocked from his hands during the fight, but to not attempt to retrieve either weapon struck me as odd. Holmes said he would continue on to Rosenlaui, but I do not believe he would have done so without these vital pieces of equipment. Additionally, his walking stick was still left at the falls, though there was no sign of him in this dreadful cave. This unfortunately led me to the obvious conclusion, that Holmes never left this dreaded place. However, considering everything here still burned, it rather suggested that neither did our foe Moriarty.

Following the cave back out to the doorway which was still open, I could now see the recognisable footprints of Holmes’ shoes heading directly outwards and right to the edge of the cliff. I had to analyse this carefully, as it may be the most evidence I’d ever have in understanding the fate of the two men. At a time like this I wished I had Holmes’ assistance in making sense of the evidence, but spending many years among the fine detective had taught me a lot, and I must now make sense of his final steps.

Holmes would never have gone to the edge of his own accord, which meant he was either forced there, or through a tumble was driven to the point. Looking closely at the fine, wet dirt, another pair of prints led to the same place, but were obscured, from the shoes sliding or twisting. Two men had gone to that edge, and there was no evidence of either returning. The prints led to the very edge of the rock face, skewed by sliding and tumbling.

The fact that I knew both Holmes and Moriarty were in this place from Holmes’ letter left me in no doubt that a fight had ensued between the two men, a situation that must have resulted in Moriarty’s desperation after Holmes’ discovery at the falls and final destruction of his lair. I lay down towards the edge to peer over. I could see nothing except the fierce crashing of water on rocks and into the basin, it was both a marvellous sight and horrifically dangerous location.

I moved back away from the edge and sat in the mud against the rock beside the open entrance to the cave I had come from. Everything of note was now burning in that place, so there was nothing more for me to do, but seal the place. I hit the rock once more that had allowed me in, and watched the large rock crawl back into place. Our task was now finally done, but not without great cost. I simply slumped where I was, now looking out and appreciated the beauty of the falls which remained.

A few words may suffice to tell the little that remains. An examination by experts leaves little doubt that a personal contest between the two men ended, as it could hardly fail to end in such a situation, in their reeling over, locked in each other’s arms. Any attempt at recovering the bodies was absolutely hopeless, and there, deep down in that dreadful caldron of swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time the most dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of their generation.

As to the gang, it will be within the memory of the public how completely the evidence which Holmes had accumulated exposed their organisation, and how heavily the hand of the dead man weighed upon them. Of their terrible chief few details came out during the proceedings, and if I have now been compelled to make a clear statement of his career it is due to those injudicious champions who have endeavoured to clear his memory by attacks upon him whom I shall ever regard as the best and the wisest man whom I have ever known.