Hellspawn (Book 7): Hellspawn Aftermath

by Fleet, Ricky

  Matt concurred with the assessment.

  “What about the tunnels Jonesy was talking about?”

  “There are three according to their engineer. We can check the tunnel at the farm shop to see if Jason left us a map. If it’s not swarming with escaping cons that is.”

  “I think we should see the damage first and get an idea of what we’re up against.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Kurt looked through the side window at the receding castle. The faces on the walls were too small to identify, but he was heartened to see a bustle of antlike activity around the new supplies. Sometimes the rumour of a brutal execution could work wonders on the attitude of the feckless. Not that he would ever carry out the slaying again. If justice was required, it would be done swiftly. The feelings surging through Kurt as Vincent was disembowelled scared him more than all the dead at the walls combined. He’d enjoyed it. What did that say about his suitability to lead?

  Carpenter veered right, crushing through the same section of mangled bush the truck had passed through.

  “You ok, mate?” asked Holbeck, seeing the look.

  “Memories, that’s all,” Kurt replied as the huge fortress passed by. The last time they had been coming in the other direction, cruising up the River Arun towards the fateful battle in the upper bailey. Towards the death of John.

  “Who’d have guessed how much could happen in such a short space of time? It’s insane what we went through. And what we’ve got to do in the coming weeks.”

  “Just when we think things are on the up, another disaster hits us. I’d appreciate a break,” Kurt muttered.

  “Things always look darkest before the dawn,” said Holbeck.

  “Do you really believe that applies to the zombie apocalypse?”

  Knowing what was coming their way, Holbeck fell silent. Their ordeal had only just begun.

  Chapter 8

  6 Hours Ago

  Braiden came to a sudden halt, crouching between the bushes at the base of the castle living quarters. The glow of a passing candle flickered through the stained glass, growing dimmer as the holder moved deeper into the winding maze of corridors.

  “That was close,” whispered Sam.

  “Too close,” complained Winston.

  “Stop talking. Someone will hear us,” Braiden cautioned, barely audible in the ascendant darkness.

  The light of the full moon didn’t illuminate their position, merely adding another layer of gloom to anyone on watch. On the gravel drive of the greeting area, the outline of the eastern portion of the castle roof was sharply drawn by the cold, reflected rays. Braiden motioned for them to move forward along the flower bed, using the soil to mask their progress. The watchers were attuned to the crunch of the stones. Any noise and half a dozen torch beams would blaze to life, revealing them like prisoners caught under a spotlight. Instead of bullets, they would be dodging rapid fire questions and a hefty bollocking from Kurt. If truth be told, Winston would’ve preferred to outrun lead than face his stony faced accusations.

  Keeping low, they quickly passed the last scraps of winter shed foliage and reached the archway leading to the upper bailey. The guards on the walls were pacing back and forth, their focus on the surrounding land. Braziers crackled as the logs inside burned, giving much needed heat to fight the December chill, and light to scout by. Kurt had helped Bob erect a series of platforms which raised the fire high enough to provide some light between the embrasures. Circular pools of yellow and orange glowed within the walls, throwing weak, half-moons of illumination on the frozen lawn. Lacking the discipline or knowledge, the sentries routinely turned back to warm themselves. Any night vision was instantly lost to the fire, which made their illicit manoeuvres that much easier.

  “Now!” Braiden whispered, running across the open ground, and around the stagnant swimming pool. Filthy ice glittered from the frozen mire. Hands sprouted from the solid crust, the fingers of the undead trapped below frozen stiff. In time they would be dealt with, but for now they were harmless, imprisoned by both the deep sides and sub-zero temperature.

  Braiden held up a fist as Jonesy had taught him, bringing the boys to a halt at the steps of the North Tower. The staircase was steeped in total darkness, no firelight or moonlight could reach them. Sam had picked this area for that exact reason.

  “Psst.” Sam held his breath, waiting for a challenge that didn’t come.

  “Psst,” Braiden added, a little louder.

  “You’re clear, come on up,” whispered Holly from the top of the stairs.

  Clomping up the time worn stone, the soft soled shoes and secure packs masked their ascent. Blades were sheathed and muffled. Backpacks were strapped at shoulder and waist with nothing hanging loose. Holly had purposely allowed the fire to die down slightly, bringing in the sphere of potential exposure that much further from their means of egress.

  “Are you sure about this? We’re going to be in so much trouble,” Holly whispered.

  “We’re sure,” Sam confirmed with a nod. “Just keep quiet and we’ll be back by tomorrow.”

  “What if your mum or dad finds you missing? The whole place will go nuts.”

  “If they do, just explain where we’ve gone and that we’ll be back as soon as possible. We’re going to steer clear of anywhere that could have loads of zombies, anyway.”

  “Yeah, with luck we won’t even come across any,” Winston added, trying to make the girl feel better. He knew she was afraid on their behalf simply because she hadn’t been outside the walls regularly since the apocalypse began. The one time to retrieve the bows was a fairly sedate affair. It was impossible to explain that after a while the dead were just the dead, slow and dumb. In small numbers they were no threat at all, but you had to live it for yourself.

  “Please be careful,” she begged, hugging them each in turn.

  “Careful is our middle name,” Braiden whispered, approaching the battlement.

  Three piles of knotted rope lay beneath separate merlons. Picking them up, they carefully spooled out the cord instead of tossing the coils. The thump of it hitting the ground could well draw the attention of nearby zombies, or even worse, humans. Winston was first over the edge, climbing down with a speed that belied his shrinking girth. Taking up position to guard the others, Braiden smiled in the shadows. He was really trying to win their friendship, not that it was necessary. Braiden was already fairly certain about him, not that he would show it. By far the biggest factor in the change of heart was discovering the portly youth eavesdropping as they plotted the mission. He’d feigned innocence, claiming that he was too scared to retreat in case the floorboards gave him away, and too worried of Braiden’s retribution if discovered. They found him outside the door, awkwardly perched with one foot forward in a state of paralysis and flushed cheeks. Before Braiden could start shouting, Winston was offering his services and expertise to the cause. It had gone a long way.

  “Right, from here on out we talk only in whispers,” warned Sam.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to keep completely quiet?” asked Winston.

  “Probably, but if we need to talk, it’s in whispers, ok?”

  Winston nodded, realised he couldn’t be seen, and then whispered, “Sure.”

  No one needed to ask if they were prepared. All the gear had been checked in the bedroom twice before they snuck through the hallways. At a brisk pace, they would reach their destination before first light. If successful, they could then be home by lunchtime of the next day, ready to face whatever sanctions Kurt deemed necessary. If an issue arose, they were prepared for emergencies with extra food and water.

  “Thank you,” said Sam, cupping his mouth in an attempt to stop the sound travelling.

  “Good luck!” Holly replied.

  The sound of her scuffing feet as she walked back to her post signalled it was time to move. Spared scrutiny from the near dead brazier, the boys took their time in reaching the nearby treeline. A flash of sparks lit up the night sk
y behind them. Looking at the source, Holly had fed fresh logs into the embers which quickly set them ablaze. The retreating shadows were still a hundred feet away when the fire grew to its strongest.

  “She’s a great girl, Sam. You’re lucky,” said Braiden.

  “I thought we weren’t talking?” said Winston, surveying the gloom.

  “We’re whispering,” Braiden replied.

  “Semantics.”

  “What you and your wrist produce in the toilet is none of my business.”

  “That’s… never mind,” Winston huffed.

  Braiden gave him a playful punch, showing he knew exactly what he meant. The blow filled his heart as surely as any words or kind gesture and Winston smiled to himself. Turning away from the meagre castle beacons, they waited for a minute while their eyes adjusted to the night. To their surprise, the crisp light of the moon was more than adequate to see by.

  “I guess living by candlelight has helped our vision,” Winston remarked.

  “No hundred watt bulbs to mess our eyes up any more,” Braiden agreed.

  “Let’s get going,” said Sam, taking the lead through the undergrowth.

  Now that they were alone, outside the safety of the ancient fortress, Winston’s mind started to conjure all sorts of demons hiding just out of sight. Their razor sharp claws poised, ready to rend the flesh from their bones. Red, glowing eyes shuttered, waiting to snap open and terrify them. It was the one secret he would take to his grave. That every time he caved to the allure of sweet and savoury treats, he was shitting himself the whole time. What was it he’d heard once? There can be no bravery without fear? Tell that to his soiled underwear. Ok, that had only happened once when opening a larder door to find a rotting, bloated toddler on the other side. Being at the wrong height, she’d nearly bitten down on his unmentionables. A shrill yelp, followed by a hasty backstep and knee sent her flying back into her tomb. The sweets within stayed with her, and the house was never entered again.

  “Can we talk?” Winston asked, quietly.

  “I think we’re far enough away from the castle now,” whispered Sam.

  “I’d like that,” Braiden admitted. He too was getting the willies being outside without the adults for protection. Across the land, the mournful lamentation of the undead echoed through the trees. A chorus of dead-lunged doom, gurgling from the decomposing organs. No man alive could be held responsible for feeling a shiver run down their spine at the forlorn wails.

  “It’s funny how you kind of fade it out when you’re inside,” said Sam.

  “You’d go fucking bonkers if you paid attention to it for too long,” Braiden replied.

  “You’re right though. It becomes like white noise when you’re safe, but out here you pick it up again. Survival mode, I guess,” added Winston.

  Chapter 9

  5 hours ago

  “What do you miss most from before?” asked Winston.

  “Football training and youth club,” replied Braiden.

  “Sam?”

  “I don’t know. People, I guess. I mean, I know there’s quite a few of us in the castle, but we’re trapped together. Most of the new people we’ve come across are cool, but loads are just dicks.”

  “I hear that. I’ve had judgemental nuns. Then Mike and Debbie. Then as if that wasn’t bad enough, an invite to be a plaything to Bubba in prison.”

  “You met a guy called Bubba?”

  “Not in person, but I know he was in there waiting for me to come and be his wife. I’m way too pretty for prison,” Winston replied, brushing a hand through lush, imaginary locks of hair.

  Sam became serious at the memory of scouting the facility. The guards brutal execution at the wall. “I hope we can help the people in there. They don’t deserve to be locked up like that.”

  “We’ll find a way. And then we can kill those fuckers.”

  “That’s another downside to the zombie apocalypse. The percentage of douchebags has risen sharply in the past few months.”

  “I know, we’re stuck out here with one,” Braiden teased.

  “Hey! I know Sam can be a pain, but that’s no reason to call him a douchebag.”

  Sam pushed him in the back. “I’m starting to wish there were even fewer people. Especially out here, right now.”

  “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will only leave me sobbing in a toilet eating a whole tub of cookie dough ice-cream to numb the emotional trauma.”

  Braiden snorted. “Drama queen.”

  “Anyway, what do you miss most about before?” asked Sam.

  “Internet porn,” Winston answered candidly.

  “Gay porn, more like,” chuckled Braiden.

  “I never cared much for it, but if that’s your thing, fair play,” Winston retorted, eliciting a snort laugh from Sam.

  Braiden spluttered in faux outrage. “I only watched that four times. And it was only because the mouse stuck that I couldn’t close the windows.”

  “I’ll bet the mouse got stuck because you coated it in gentlemen’s relish, you dirtbag.”

  “What the hell is gentlemen’s relish?”

  “White stuff. Slightly salty. Thick consistency.”

  “Ha! I knew you were gay. How else would you know what it tastes like?”

  Winston lowered his voice further. “It’s not like that. I just… it just sometimes…”

  “It comes out a bit too fast,” finished Sam.

  Winston grimaced. “Yeah. I just got some blowback from the hose, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t have to swallow it,” said Braiden.

  “Protein’s protein, mate. It’s good for the complexion too, apparently. I bet with skin as smooth as yours you slather that shit on. Quick video on GuyTube. Pump, pump, squirt. Moisturise.”

  Sam stifled his laughter into the padded crook of his arm.

  “It’s more like, pump, pump, pump, squirt. I’m no virgin.”

  “I stand corrected. Pump, pump, pump, squirt. Then moisturise.”

  Braiden shrugged. “Pretty much. I couldn’t afford creams.”

  “So you use your own. I like your frugal nature.”

  “What the fuck has wiping cum on my face got to do with ancient England? You’re weird.”

  “Frugal, not feudal,” Winston held his face in his hands.

  Braiden grinned. “I know what it means. I might look like a dumb arse, but I have read a few books.”

  “You what?” Sam balked.

  “Don’t you dare tell anyone!”

  “Openly admitting to smearing man juice on your face; no problem. Admitting to advancing your knowledge; threats of violence. It’s weird how we operate…” Winston mused.

  “I preferred porn with two ladies,” Sam admitted, quietly.

  “You mean lesbian porn,” added Braiden.

  “Yeah, but that sounded rude in my head.”

  “I preferred that too,” said Winston.

  Braiden raised a hand to make it a full three for three.

  “They’re so pretty,” Sam gushed.

  “And fit,” Winston added.

  “And naked,” Braiden said, voicing what the others really meant.

  “No more internet porn…” Winston lamented.

  “It’s going to be old magazines and cheesy, knock off DVDs from now on,” said Braiden.

  “We don’t have electricity to power the DVD player,” said Sam.

  “Ok, just magazines then. Until Winston’s hose lets loose and sticks all the pages together.”

  “I’ll aim, I promise,” replied the teen, holding up three fingers in a Scout salute.

  “Into your mouth?”

  “Like I said, protein is protein. We need to keep our strength up.”

  “I’ll stay weak, thanks.”

  A rustle from up ahead stilled their movement. Silently slipping behind a thick oak, Braiden peered around the trunk. A small group of the undead were heading aimlessly through the same forest. Their trajectory was i
n a completely different direction, so he moved back out of sight and shook his head at the others. Waiting for the creatures to move away, they circled the tree to remain concealed. Winston held up his hands and blew into the thin gloves as quietly as he was able.

  “Cold?” Sam whispered.

  “A bit.”

  The crunch of shuffling feet across fallen twigs died away. Winston turned away and smiled to himself. His forays into the abandoned larders of decaying houses was always a lonely affair. Until that point, he didn’t realise just how much fun he was having. Spending time with a couple of friends. Talking shit to each other. It was something he never would have believed possible. All because the dead decided to rise and eat the living. He was under no illusion that if the rampant cannibalism and fall of mankind hadn’t happened, he would still be the same fat loser who hid packets of biscuits from his shame filled parents.

  “Ok, we’re clear,” said Braiden.

  “We can follow and kill them if you want?” suggested Winston.

  “Nah, let them go. We’ve got enough to worry about.”

  “What food do you miss most from before?” asked Sam, eager to know more about his brothers. In much the same way as Winston, he was enjoying the opportunity to be a teenager again. Leaving aside the lurking corpses, of course.

  “All of it,” Winston replied.

  “Yeah, but I’m talking about where your folks would take you for a birthday treat. You know, your pick of restaurant.”

  Winston and Braiden stared at him.

  “I’m thinking we had massively different birthdays,” Winston finally answered.

  “I had to cook whatever was in the freezer. Chips and chicken nuggets mostly.”

  Sam looked aggrieved at his unintended insult. “I’m sorry, I forget sometimes.”

  Winston put an arm around his shoulder. “I was always partial to McDonalds.”