Hellspawn (Book 7): Hellspawn Aftermath

by Fleet, Ricky

  “Wait, I can’t see!” cried Perry as he followed.

  Jason paused at the bottom of the stone steps. Probing out with his hands, he brushed up against the table he was searching for. Slowly feeling his way across the top, the flashlight was stood upright. Taking hold of the steel casing, he pressed the button. The corridor was short, the cells themselves tiny to ensure a suitably uncomfortable stay for the unfortunate occupants. A set of keys hung from a hook set in the wall which he knew would be there. If anything, his mute silence had yielded an incredible amount of overheard conversations. Being of little importance, the prisoners seemed unaware he was there. It was these titbits of information that helped him on the current course.

  “Hey, you found them. Shall I go and lock the door?”

  Jason held on to the bunch. If a fire should break out, they would die in darkness. It was the reason the dungeonesque wing had been mothballed until their new warden, Craig, took over in the aftermath of the apocalypse. Looping the largest key from the ring, Jason handed it to Perry. Sprinting back to the door, the dull boom of closing steel sounded loud in the subterranean confines.

  “I’ve left the key in the lock so no one can open it from the other side.”

  “Ok,” replied Jason. He didn’t really care. What would be would be. They were in the hands of the gods now.

  “What should we do? How do we get out of here?”

  Jason had given their predicament some thought. “We can’t get out. The prison is overrun. With the idiots running around up top, it won’t take long before someone panics and tries to escape which will let the dead in.”

  “We’re trapped?” Perry spluttered. “I don’t know if I can stay down here.”

  “Then leave,” said Jason, turning away.

  He hadn’t moved from the abandoned guard’s table since picking up the torch. The beam was directed at one of the cell doors.

  The cell door.

  Sally’s cell door.

  “Is someone there?” called a male voice.

  Jason scowled in the general direction of the paedophile and ignored him.

  “Hello? What’s going on? What was that huge bang?” asked another.

  Jason stepped forward, the legs slow and unresponsive. What if this was just some cruel, psychosis induced dream? A nightmare within a nightmare. Would he open the door to find the cell empty? Or would Sally lunge out at him, already one of the undead in a cruel twist of fate?

  “Who’s there?” asked a female voice, filled with dread. A familiar voice.

  Jason held his breath. Reaching for the door, he placed a palm on the frigid surface. All the other entreaties and complaints faded away to nothing. Nothing existed except for the sturdy door.

  “Hello? Please answer me.”

  Letting the other keys drop as he found the correct number, he heard Sally hiss in fear and move away. Holding her cell key, Jason’s fingers trembled so badly he nearly dropped the set.

  “Go away! Leave me alone!”

  Further voices mumbled from within, attempting to console one another. After three attempts, Jason managed to slot the key into the lock. Fear had developed into uncontrollable sobbing as the latch disengaged. Pulling at the handle, Jason expected to see Connor and the molester dangling from the thick hooks. Their empty abdomens. The buckets of viscera. It was all just a cruel joke to fracture the last traces of his sanity.

  “Jason? Is that you?”

  The cell was just a cell. No hooks. No stainless shelves. No dead bodies. Only the living.

  “Sally?” Jason choked.

  “Jason? Oh my God! Jason!” Her sobs changed from fear of sexual brutalisation to half choking gasps of relief. Rushing forward, Sally’s stench hit Jason before her all-consuming embrace.

  “Sally,” he whispered.

  “What’s going on? How’re you here?” she asked, wracked by her own tremors of emotion.

  “We’re safe,” he replied, drowning in her unwashed musk. “I’m never letting you go again.”

  Chapter 6

  Holbeck surveyed the now surrounded Warthogs. Hundreds of the undead had been drawn around the perimeter wall by the throaty engines. White eyes, prickled with frost, stared up at the soldiers. Killing them would undoubtedly draw more in, which would only weaken their ammunition supplies further. If the numbers at the prison were to be believed, they were going to need every shell.

  “Sarge, shall we start picking them off?” asked Carpenter, sighting the threat from the crenulations. The stench of decay, weakened by the chill, flowed up and into her nose. It was enough, and she turned back to the castle to draw clean air into her lungs. Summer was going to be hell. If they made it that far.

  “Sarge?” added Dougal, looking for confirmation.

  “No, hold fire until Kurt and the others arrive.”

  “Aye, Sarge.”

  As the minutes passed, Holbeck took time to reflect on what the small group had achieved. The blackened ground of the funeral pyre lay to the north, a forest of charred bones. Perhaps Kurt’s insistence that he and some of their group should tag along wasn’t so crazy after all. The one time his team had left the safety of their APCs at the farm was nearly their last. Yet these folk had battled across rough terrain, at the onset of winter, with the dead harassing their every step. Who’re the real warriors? he wondered. As if on cue, one of the heavy oak doors of the Duke’s wing opened.

  “Would you get a look at that,” marvelled Eldridge.

  The soldiers looked on in awe, some open mouthed, others grinning at the ingenuity. Sam’s original armour design had been adopted once again from the findings within the castle. Kurt and the others were protected on all their limbs by thin layers of padded copper. Jonesy and DB were similarly clad, with swords in hand and rifles slung. None of the group were smiling, bearing instead a steely resolve that Holbeck recognised immediately. Kurt’s war pick hung from one side of his belt, while the hammer that had served him so well as both a weapon, and talisman of good fortune, hung from the other. Marching out behind them came the students. Wielding the newly found bows, makeshift quivers held dozens of arrows across their backs.

  “I think we’re surplus to requirement, Sarge,” said Harkiss.

  “I think you might be right.”

  “Is that what I think it is?” Eldridge gasped as the warriors approached.

  Held by the upper shaft, the long bladed claymore rose several feet above Peter’s head.

  “I cannae believe what my eyes are seeing,” chuckled Matt. The Scots knew all about fighting. Tales of their bravery in the face of insurmountable odds at the hands of tyrants were passed down generation to generation. These brave souls, though English, were kindred spirits. At that moment, he knew he had done exactly the right thing in bringing Clarissa to them.

  “I heard you’re a sucker for a sword,” Peter explained, handing it over. “You can use it in place of a crutch if you want.”

  “Thank you,” Matt said, truly touched.

  “Kurt, what do you need from us?” asked Holbeck.

  Kurt barely looked up as he walked towards the upper bailey of the castle ground. “Keep out of our way for a bit while we clear the outside. The kids are going to need the walls. Could you keep a hold of them to stop them falling?”

  Holbeck nodded, uncertainly. What was the man talking about?

  Miss Lunsford emerged from the open doorway with other survivors in tow, all holding sturdy metal crates. The students broke away from the main group, running up the stone steps to join the soldiers. The earlier nerves at their arrival were gone as they made friendly small talk.

  “How did you wind up here?” Eldridge asked Holly.

  “We were on a field trip with our teacher,” she replied, nodding towards Miss Lunsford. “She kept us safe and helped to seal us in the living quarters.”

  “You look pretty handy with those,” said Carpenter, pointing at Pea’s compound bow.

  “We practiced a lot with the castle’s sho
w bows until we got these. It’s how we helped your friends when they arrived.”

  Before Holbeck could probe further, the teacher and her entourage reached the wall. Dropping the boxes at each embrasure, they backed away and let the students climb atop them. Suddenly, Kurt’s request became clear.

  “Troops, get a tight hold of their belts or trousers. They need to lean forward at an awkward angle to fire.”

  Understanding passed through the soldiers and they all hurriedly took position. Unfazed by the smell that had caused Carpenter to retreat, the youngsters stared down at the waiting horde.

  “What now?” asked the sergeant.

  “They’ll be along shortly,” Pea said, as if that explained everything.

  “Kurt, you mean?”

  “Here they come now,” she replied, pointing outside the wall.

  Formed into a line, Kurt led them onward. Catching sight of a pitiful half zombie, his eyes blazed pure hatred and he broke formation. Slamming the spike down into the skull, the first blow stilled the corpse. For some reason, he withdrew the weapon and hammered it again and again until all that was left was a patchy mush. Peter pulled him gently away, but not before giving the body a final kick.

  “Friend of yours?” joked Harkiss.

  The withering stare from Sarah and Gloria who had now joined them shut him down instantly. Holbeck gave him an additional glare of reproach and he felt his cheeks start to glow.

  “Kids, are you ready?” Kurt called. The outer row of undead were already breaking away from the crush around the vehicles.

  “Ready, Mr Taylor!” they all replied.

  “Gloria, if you’d be so kind?”

  Slipping two fingers into her mouth, the teacher let out a piercing whistle. Startled by the noise, the zombies turned around to find the source of the disturbance. Seeing the line of fresh meat on offer, they disregarded the untouchable flesh above and shuffled forwards.

  “There’s too many,” muttered Ewington.

  Holbeck looked to Sarah who shrugged nonchalantly. If she wasn’t worried, he needn’t be, he surmised. It soon became clear why.

  Facing off against the rotting monsters, the group didn’t so much as wrinkle a solitary nose. Spreading out slightly to allow full range of movement, Kurt and the others started to pick their targets. Peter drew first blood with an overhead swing of his broadsword that cleaved the zombie in half down to the pelvis. Wrenching the blade free, the squelch had Harkiss’s throat bobbing.

  “Don’t you dare!” Holbeck warned.

  Swallowing hard, Harkiss nodded. His cheeks had gone from their earlier scarlet to winter white. A head shot was one thing. Seeing the black and green, putrid innards slop to the creature’s feet was quite another.

  Kurt was devastating, darting in and out, raining blows from the sharp and blunt end of the pick in equal measure. Jodi moved further away, circling the pack of zombies. Those foolish enough to grasp for her had their arm batted aside, swiftly followed by a precise strike to the forehead or temple with the aluminium bat. Louise and Peter were having the time of their lives, rending limbs and heads with the freshly honed swords. The rapidly growing stack of bodies became an impediment to the pursuit of the zombies as Kurt knew it would. The eager dead struggled on, tripping over or stepping onto a severed appendage, only to slip on the blood moistened hazard. Before they could spit out their remaining broken teeth or the hard soil, blades and bludgeons scattered the festering brains onto the ground.

  “Now!” called Holly, drawing back her bowstring.

  The creak of stretched carbon fibre precipitated the sharp twang of the arrow’s release. Burying deeply into the back of a skull, the creature toppled forward, adding its weight to the push. Cracks and whistling flights added their song to the swoosh and cleave. Peppered with the coloured arrows, the groaning rear guard fell by the dozen.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” muttered Holbeck.

  The attack was nearing its end, with the remaining cadavers largely immobilised by the piled corpses all around them.

  “Kids, hold up now!” Kurt yelled.

  The melee fighters hacked away for all they were worth, circling the pile and killing any within range. Before long, only the inner core of about eighty zombies remained, pinned in place by their fallen kin.

  “Have at it!” Kurt ordered, drawing his own group well out of range of the snipers on the battlements.

  Five more minutes saw all movement cease from the mound of oozing corruption. The APCs were clear, albeit a bit marred from the grave juice which slimed its way down the armour. A lone arm strained from between the stone and lead vehicle, the owner horrifically mangled but still somehow alive.

  “Still think you don’t need us?” asked Gloria.

  “I’m starting to think it’s you that don’t need us, ma’am,” Holbeck replied.

  “Your guns and vehicles will help a little bit, I promise,” Denise said with a wink.

  “And if not, just keep out of my husband’s way,” added Sarah.

  “I plan to,” Holbeck replied.

  Chapter 7

  The clear up was complete, and the melee fighters were back on the wall washing the gore from their masks and armour, ready for the mission. The smoke in the distance had vanished completely, emphasising the ticking clock.

  “Folks, we don’t have space for you in the cabs. We’ll need to dump the ammo from the transports for you to fit,” explained Holbeck.

  “Then let’s do it,” replied Kurt, hopping the wall. Scurrying down the rope, he hopped down onto the roof of the Warthog and jumped to the ground.

  “We need to move, Sergeant,” said Jodi, following Kurt.

  Her promise to Jason burned fiercely in her heart. The circumstances of the rescue were less than optimal, but what choice did they have? Something had either gone catastrophically wrong, or it really was an attack by the Gypsies. She was inclined to believe the expertise of the soldiers. By days end, they may well have a new enemy to contend with. One with the smarts and ability to tear open the castle itself. It didn’t matter. Innocent people were dead or dying, and she had made a promise. Clarissa peered over the wall, her face a mask of worry. Giving her a smile, Jodi prayed she could bring the child good news.

  “Jodi, just stack it against the wall,” ordered Kurt, throwing open the rear door. “The others can collect it all while we head out.”

  Loitering away from the main group were the remnants of Jasmine’s band. Kurt stared at Zack for a moment before returning to the task at hand. Fully laden boxes jangled from the loose contents within. The weight was comforting. Every ounce was survival incarnate.

  “We’ll get more ropes from the northern wall!” called Zack. “It’ll make it easier to get the goods inside.”

  “At least some good’s coming from this,” said Jodi, noting their efforts to help.

  “They’ve got a lot of making up to do, but it’s a start,” Kurt muttered.

  They were joined by the soldiers and the other fighters. Forming a human chain, the cabs were emptied in less than five minutes. An impressive stack of coloured steel and wooden boxes lined the stone. Kurt was filled with hope. Their days of cowering, waiting for the next disaster, were over.

  “The guns are still inside the Hogs. We’ll use them as seats for now and then winch them up when we get back.”

  Matt was the last to descend. Unable to use his legs, the powerful arms did all the work from knot to knot. Clarissa carefully dropped his crutches over the parapet. Peter and Jodi gave him as much help as possible around the aluminium supports. Joan leaned from the Warthog, grabbing his arms to help pull him aboard. Catching his foot on the low step, Matt clamped his eyes shut while the explosion of pain passed. Christina’s cocktail was working, but a solid blow still sent slivers of white hot agony through each pellet wound.

  “Sorry,” said Joan.

  “Don’t worry, lass. I should’ve lifted my damned leg.”

  Slumping into the low, awkward seat
, he could tell this journey was going to be hell.

  “Kurt?” Holbeck called.

  “Yeah?”

  “What do you know of the route? Anything we should be aware of?”

  “All I can tell you is it’s clear all the way to the prison. You’ll want to head south through the fields at the edge of town, though. The main road takes you straight to the entrance and it was crawling with the dead the last time we were there.”

  “Numbers?”

  “Thousands,” said Jodi. “Too many to count.”

  “Ok. Carpenter, Ewington, you’re driving. Eldridge, Petermann, you’re on the guns. The rest of you, buckle up. Kurt, if you could get the rest of your people stowed and join me at the front?”

  “No problem.”

  Seeing everyone aboard and seated, he couldn’t fathom the slatted steel siding. “Sergeant, what do we do with the rear gate?” Kurt shouted.

  The soldiers laughed at his innocent mistake.

  “It’s RPG armour, Kurt. Shut the door and close it,” replied Holbeck, climbing into the lead vehicle.

  “I love you. Stay safe!” called Sarah.

  Kurt mouthed the words back to her and slammed the door, before climbing in the front cab. Matt was shuffling, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt so much.

  “Sorry, mate. Did you want to swap places?” asked Kurt.

  “I’ll be fine, lad. If we could steer clear of any potholes, that would be swell.”

  “This is Britain, Matt. As well as death and taxes, the other certainty is shit roads and potholes.”

  “And women drivers. Fuck a duck!” Matt groaned.

  “You can always walk if you want,” teased Carpenter, flooring it.

  Holbeck grunted and turned to Kurt. “What do we know about the prison?”

  “It’s got four walls and two main entrances. They’ve reinforced the front entrance with steel welded to the cage of the admissions area. It’s like a holding bay for the prison vans while they load or unload the inmates. The rear gate is the same, but doesn’t have the reinforcement. I think they used it to move in and out as they herded the zombies around the front and sides.”