Edward watched another train snake into the city gates through the notches on the top of his bolt-action rifle. He was perched lazily on the southern wall of the castle and capital like a gargoyle, watching between the ramparts for ghouls trying to get into the city. The slate grey monsters weren’t smart, which was a blessing, but they also ate iron and could latch onto the train trying to feed in order to reproduce. A pregnant ghoul dropped in the middle of the train depot would cause a panic, infection, and quarantine. There was no real way to shake ‘em off except to employ a sharpshooter. Edward had one job, and it was to put down anything with grey skin clinging to the side of that train, which seemed to crawl painfully out of the southern woods, through the fields, over the moat, and into the castle’s back door. Edward sat up, his spine creaking like wood, and blinked in the warm sunlight of the afternoon. He knew he was lucky to have this job – army work was one of the few ways for him to pull himself and his family out of the gutter. If he did well here he’d be promoted, and a chest full of medals could maybe catch the eye of a young aristocrat with an eye for a war hero. And unlike the brutish men of his profession he’d be charming and kind, with integrity and a romantic eye. And finally when he worked up the courage to ask her for her hand in marriage she would weep with happiness to marry for love, and he’d earn the trust of her father and the favor of her mother and never have to come home to an overcrowded hovel near those smelly docks again.
Edward blinked.
Something moving caught his eye.
Something grey, climbing along chipping red paint of the train.
Some things, actually.
He grunted as he jammed the butt of his rifle into his shoulder, and fired wildly. The shot pinged off the side of the train, and his training took over. He lined up the sights, and fired. The first of the slathering grey monsters fell onto the field, writhed in the pain of the sunlight, and scrambled back to the comfort of the wooded shade. The rifle cracked again, the train shedding ghouls like fleas but growing closer and closer to the tunnel right below. Sweat pooled on Edward’s brow, one of the monsters fell off of the bridge screaming into the water, and was taken by the flow. He pulled the trigger, trained on the last of the monstrosities and heard the unfortunate click of an empty box magazine. It clicked again, and then three times in succession before the monster slipped into the darkness beneath him.
Edward had let one slip through. He had to get down there. He grabbed a handful of bullets and slung his rifle over his shoulder before hurling himself over the wall behind him, shimmying down the emergency rope left just for this occasion. Landing in an open courtyard, he shouldered his way through the crowd brutally despite cries of protest. He spilled into the downstairs tunnel towards the train depot, scattering a gaggle of schoolchildren on some sort of field trip. He leapt over the last batch of stone steps, landed awkwardly, and stumbled down the hallway toward the sound of screeching brakes and the hiss of steam. He screamed at the train guard who tried to stop him, and pulled his rifle back to his shoulder. As soon as he was in the depot he screamed quarantine and everybody fled, dropping boxes along the way. Doors slammed shut, and bolted. Silence filled the long depot, with half unloaded freight trains, and the clatter of bullets being re-inserted into the magazine. Silence. Edward was alone with the monster.
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