Hellspawn (Book 7): Hellspawn Aftermath

by Fleet, Ricky

  “What do you mean?” Braiden asked.

  “Bray, if they aren’t here, and they aren’t there, how many safe places are there?”

  “You mean they’re probably…”

  “Yeah.”

  “I understand,” he replied, morosely. In their youthful minds, failure had never entered the equation. They knew Gail and Don were ok. They knew they would find them. And they knew that Christina’s kindness would be, in some small way, repaid. The rodent infested house was the first blow to their theory. Braiden hoped that upon finding the settlement, they wouldn’t be hit with the knockout.

  “Did you want to raid the kitchen for some bottles of water?” DB asked as they stepped carefully around the gore.

  Winston pulled a face, remembering the cloudy yellow bottle above, and DB scowled at him.

  “Nah,” Sam replied, “Our canteens are in our backpacks by the front gate. We couldn’t fight with them.”

  “I had a feeling you were going to say that,” DB said with relief. “I was going to tear you a new one if you came out here unprepared.”

  “We’ve got everything. First aid kit,” began Braiden.

  “Not that it would do much good if we got bitten,” Winston chimed in.

  “I’ve got this just in case,” Braiden replied, pointing his screwdriver. “We’ve also got food for a couple of days. Wet weather gear. Stuff to start a fire. A tarp to make a shelter. Torches just in case. Plus the water.”

  “We could still check the kitchen…” Winston suggested.

  “For snacks?” DB chuckled.

  “Knowing how fit Christina’s parents were I was expecting more chia seeds and kale. But they might have a forgotten pack of chocolate digestives in the back of a cupboard somewhere.”

  DB pondered for a moment. “You’ve already done the leg work in clearing out the dead. We may as well bag up any food to take back with us. It could buy us a day or two.”

  “Even if it does taste like shit,” Winston muttered.

  “You mean healthy?” DB replied.

  “Sounds the same to me,” remarked the unimpressed teenager.

  Chapter 14

  “What took you so long?” asked Jonesy as they left the house.

  Glancing down, he saw the fully laden double layered shopping bags.

  “We struck gold, brother,” DB replied. “Enough rice, pasta, and canned goods to last us all a week. At least.”

  “Canned cabbage. Canned pickles. Canned kale. Canned crap,” Winston complained.

  Jonesy raised an eyebrow.

  “He’s just salty because we didn’t find any food high in saturated fats,” DB explained.

  “Not even a solitary bag of crisps,” Winston sighed.

  “Bollocking delivered?” Jonesy asked.

  “Signed and sealed,” DB confirmed.

  “Can I say my bit now?”

  “No! They know you think they’re bloody heroes. Heroes who need a good arse kicking!” scolded DB.

  Jonesy was cradling his rifle, chest puffed like a proud father. The cheesy grin on his face was infectious and DB found himself smiling along. “I told them they’re going to be the death of us. Don’t encourage them for fuck’s sake.”

  “Risking their lives. Unwilling to leave a good man and woman behind. Braving the cold and zombies to do what’s right. Sounds like a certain two hundred and twenty pound, six foot six soldier I used to know,” mused Jonesy, rubbing his chin in mock contemplation with his free hand.

  “It’s more like two hundred and ten now,” DB laughed. “And that’s not helping!”

  “Ah, cut the kids some slack. How’s this any different to us fucking off from Thorney to help our boys at the hospital in Chichester?”

  “And they haven’t got a target on their back from a lunatic with access to long range snipers,” DB agreed.

  “Long range snipers?” asked Braiden.

  “Drop shorts,” added Jonesy.

  “Huh?” Sam was lost.

  “Artillery, boys. Gunnery teams.”

  “Like your friend who helped us in Chichester?” asked Sam.

  The memory of Bennett’s actions to save their lives still burned brightly. They would find some way to repay his sacrifice, that was a promise.

  Sam saw the sadness and kicked himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up like that.”

  “It’s ok, mate,” Jonesy replied. “He was a damned good man. I’ll tell you about our tours in Afghanistan one day. His close cover saved our arses more than once.”

  “I’d like that,” Sam replied and the two other teenagers nodded eagerly.

  “In the meantime,” Jonesy said, standing straighter and banishing the haunting guilt, “let’s stow the food and get a move on. I’ve gotten soft in my old age and want to get back by the fire.”

  “We can look for a pipe and slippers while we’re out here if you want?” suggested Winston.

  “I’m not that old,” Jonesy started to protest, then reconsidered. “Though a nice pair of slippers to potter around the castle in do sound tempting.”

  “We’ve got a bit of a problem, brother,” said DB.

  “What sort of problem?” Jonesy stared around, searching for a threat. “Do you mean?”

  DB shook his head. He wasn’t talking about the prison assault. “The problem of three obstinate little fuckers and knowing that Don and Gail left here to take shelter in a village a few miles due north.”

  “What’re we waiting for then?” Jonesy replied without any hesitation.

  DB groaned. “I was hoping you might help me talk some sense into them.”

  “We’re already out here freezing our nuts off. What difference does a few miles make?”

  “Exactly,” said the boys in unison.

  “Death of me,” DB muttered, walking towards the broken entrance. “Little fuckers.”

  “Hold on a second,” called Braiden.

  “What’s up, mate?”

  “I found these inside while we were fighting,” he replied, holding up a fob with the Mercedes logo. “We could travel a couple of the miles in style?” Braiden pointed at the rear of the AMG.

  Winston agreed eagerly. “Yeah, the roads are pretty empty out here in the countryside.”

  DB scowled, but his eyes traced the slick contours of the shadow shrouded luxury vehicle. “What about the noise?”

  “We’ll be fucked if we bring a horde down on our heads,” added Jonesy.

  “We just keep the revs low. They’re fairly quiet as long as you don’t gun it.”

  “And how would you know?” DB asked.

  “You mean did I ever steal one?” Braiden bridled.

  DB threw his hands up in frustration. “Fuck me! No, I just asked a question. You need to let this woe is me shit go, mate. I didn’t have the easiest time as a kid being raised in London, either.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Hell no! My old man left when I was ten. He didn’t even say goodbye.”

  Braiden held DBs gaze as his own memories returned again.

  “I was one of the only black kids on my street. And I was a fat little fucker to boot. I used to get beaten on my way to school, get beaten by the teachers at school, and then get beaten on my way home.”

  “Really?” gasped Sam.

  “Nah, the teachers were actually pretty cool. They tried their best to give us a shot in life which was more than most people. But the other kids? Every… single… day. It got so bad I tried to kill myself. Luckily, mum found me and the hospital pumped the pills out of me.”

  “Whoa,” Winston exclaimed. The thought of the fearsome soldier being the victim of any kind of physical assault didn’t compute, let alone the situation becoming so grim he felt the only way out was suicide. Even during the darkest days of his own adolescence at the hands of the school bullies, ending things had never entered his mind.

  DB continued with a sad shake of his head. “I had two choices; let them win, or fight.”

&
nbsp; “So you fought?” asked Braiden.

  “No, I made my second mistake as a kid. I joined a local gang.”

  “I’ll get her started,” interrupted Jonesy, taking the key fob.

  “What happened?” asked Braiden.

  “The usual shit. I did a bit of running for the top boys on the manor, hash and sometimes harder stuff. The police weren’t aware of who we were and how many of us were doing it. Nowadays they’re a little more savvy, with all the county lines drug running. Sorry, were. I made a bit of money which helped my mum out. She knew where it was coming from, I know she did, but she kept out of it because I was finally making friends. She didn’t know how dangerous they were at the time.”

  Jonesy had started the Merc and backed the vehicle out of the garage. Apart from the crunch of tyres on gravel, the engine was purring like a kitten, making very little noise.

  “Load up the gear and we’ll be on our way,” Jonesy said, climbing from the driver’s seat.

  “We’ll get our bags,” offered Winston.

  “And I’ll get the food,” said DB.

  Jonesy popped the boot open as the teenagers ran towards their stashed belongings.

  “They done well, didn’t they?” he asked as DB stowed the bags.

  Looking around at the piles of corpses, he allowed himself a smile. “They’re a three man wrecking crew. I can’t believe they didn’t get themselves in the shit.”

  “What did I tell you?”

  “Yeah, yeah, you were right. I can’t help it if I worry about them.”

  “I know, mate, I do too. It’s the apocalypse, though. We’re all in danger every minute of every day. It’ll fuck with our heads to dwell on it too much.”

  “I know.”

  “In the boot?” asked Braiden as he approached.

  “Please, Bray. We can just grab them back out when we run out of road.”

  “Ok.”

  After loading up, the five climbed back inside the car.

  “Oh. My. God,” groaned Winston as his bottom made contact with the heated seats.

  “Thought you’d like it,” chuckled Jonesy, shifting into drive. “Do you want the heaters on?”

  “Yes!” Winston exclaimed.

  “No,” replied Sam.

  “And can you turn the seat heaters off, please?” asked Braiden.

  “What for? What’s the point of having a ride if we can’t enjoy it?”

  “Grandad was the one who taught us about acclimatisation. We’re going to be out in the freezing cold again shortly, so I’d rather just stay cold.”

  DB looked across at his partner. “They make a good point.”

  “No they don’t!” Winston moaned. “Their point’s rubbish. I want a toasty warm bum. And warm air blowing in my face. And a McDonald’s breakfast.”

  “Best I can do is some steamed kale,” offered Jonesy.

  “I hate you,” Winston huffed.

  “You love me,” Jonesy countered.

  “Ok, I do,” he agreed. “But my stomach and arse hate you. I can’t control their opinions.”

  They turned left out on to the main road, staying below twenty miles an hour which seemed to be an ideal speed in terms of engine and road noise.

  “What happened next?” asked Braiden, still fixated on the soldier’s youth.

  “You want me to go on?”

  “Please.”

  “Ok. Our crew was growing and I was invited to step up, to become more involved. They saw how well I moved their gear. Being fat and nerdy looking meant I was completely invisible to the old bill. They liked that. Part of my initiation was getting beat to shit, which was no different to any other day. That was the easy bit.”

  DB paused, remembering what came next. A feeling of revulsion twisted his stomach into knots.

  “The final part was going into Peckham and finding someone from the Peckham Boys.”

  “Who were they?”

  “One of our rivals. They were run by a heavy mob from Albania, real gangsters.”

  “What did you do?” asked Braiden. He could tell it was bad by the conflict visible through the rear view mirror. DB was wrestling with a long buried guilt.

  “We went there alone. The risk was a part of the initiation,” he replied, skirting the question as he thought how best to admit his crime. “If we were caught, we’d be lucky to make it out in one piece.”

  Nearly a full minute passed in silence as everyone waited for him to continue. Hedgerows gave way to a small village. Figures could be seen moving around in the gardens and car park of the local inn. Jonesy expertly steered around any blockage, including mobile varieties. One gave them a fright as it beat on the glass as they passed.

  “It wasn’t like it is today in London. Life still had meaning, back then. There was still respect.”

  He fell silent once more. The village receded to their rear as fields opened up before them. A solitary scarecrow was mounted on a cross of rotting timber. Deeper in the farmland, undead scarecrows wandered, instilling more fear than the straw stuffed dummy.

  “I killed a kid. He was my age, about thirteen,” DB finally said, the words choking out. “I didn’t mean to. We had to cut them, that was all. Leave them scarred so they would be a warning to all their friends. He… he saw me. Just as I was about to lunge out of the shadows, I hesitated. He pulled his own blade. We fought… I can’t remember what happened next, only being laid on the ground. I thought I’d been stabbed, there was so much blood. He was facing me. His mouth was moving, but he couldn’t speak. Then he was still. I saw my knife sticking out of his chest.”

  “Fuck, I’m sorry, mate,” said Jonesy. This was as new to him as it was to the three dumbstruck teenagers in the back.

  “I was treated like a hero. They idolised me. The fearless fat kid who murders their enemy,” he laughed sickly, shaking his head. Flowing tears glinted on his cheeks in the morning light.

  “Sorry, DB. That’s tough,” said Braiden, reaching forward to pat his shoulder.

  “You know the worst thing? I never got caught. I never paid for my crime. He was buried, and I went on living. I can still see his eyes when I go to sleep. The way they just glazed over. They were brown.”

  “I hate to ask,” began Winston, cautiously, “but why become a soldier? You’d be forced into doing the same thing, wouldn’t you?”

  “You know what, mate, I never really thought about it until you asked me. When mum found out, she moved us away to the Pennines. A ratty little town with no jobs and no prospects. If I’m honest, I think I joined the army to die.”

  “You wanted to commit suicide again?” asked Braiden.

  Things clicked in Jonesy’s mind. “No, not suicide. He wanted to die saving people.”

  DB laughed again. Wiping at his face, he laid his head back against the headrest, as if the weight of memory was suddenly too heavy to bear.

  Jonesy continued to explain. “Whenever we were out on patrol from Camp Bastion, this crazy fucker would always volunteer to take point. Whenever we got into a firefight and one of us took a bullet, he would charge in to drag them out. It’s all starting to make sense.”

  “Didn’t work though, did it? I’m still here.”

  “Seems to me, someone had other plans for you. How else could someone as big as you avoid getting shot in the arse?”

  “Or anywhere else,” DB added with a saddened chuckle.

  “You didn’t mean to do it, that’s what counts. You were scared. It was an accident. You’ve made up for it a hundred times over,” said Jonesy.

  “Doesn’t bring him back, though, does it?” DB replied. Turning away, he looked out of the window, seeing nothing but the vacant brown eyes, and blood. So much blood.

  Chapter 15

  “I guess this is the end of the road,” said Jonesy, coasting to a stop in the middle of the street.

  The junction was full to brimming with burned out cars. Parked up neatly by the wreckage were further vehicles who had arrived after the cra
sh. Whatever was pursuing the missing people had been terrifying enough for them to just bolt, leaving the doors open to the elements. Jonesy remembered the sight of the growing Emsworth horse as it ate its way through the stream of traffic trying to reach their barracks. He prayed at least some of them had made it to safety.

  “I can see the station through the trees,” said Winston, pointing.

  “That means the trainline should take us all the way to Pulborough. Another…” Jonesy studied the unfurled map pressed against the steering wheel, “half mile or so.”

  “Leave the food or take it?” asked DB.

  “We may as well leave it. We’ll have to come back this way regardless, so it saves us humping it,” said Jonesy.

  They climbed from the car and slipped the backpacks on. Jonesy locked the Mercedes and slipped the fob out of sight in the front wheel well.

  “Who’s going to steal it out here?” DB chuckled.

  Sam and Winston slowly looked at Braiden with smirks on their faces.

  “Fuck you both. I want to be an only child again!” he muttered before storming off.

  “Let’s get our asses moving. I think sitting comfortably has messed up my back,” DB groaned.

  They ignored the easy to access crossing by the station, opting to head across one of the fields and fence hop instead. The stations seemed to have taken on a significance to the dead who sought them out to wait on the platform for a train that would never come. It reminded Sam of a Romero film he had seen. The characters discussed the behaviours of the dead and why they congregated in places that were once part of their living lives. This trail of thought naturally brought him to the musings of the castle survivors in that the people were still aware inside their new, rotting frames. Sam quickly changed his thoughts to that of Holly to banish the horror.

  “Oh shit, this can’t be good,” muttered Jonesy at the sight of the rising plumes of black smoke in the distance.

  The sounds of battle, though faint, were well known to the soldiers, a constant companion on the killing fields. The arena and enemy were different, as were the means of waging war. Gone was the chatter of automatic weapons, the crack of detonating grenades. The one remaining constant was the fear in the cries, the shrill screams of the injured and dying.