Hellspawn (Book 7): Hellspawn Aftermath

by Fleet, Ricky

  “Shut the fuck up!” came a seething whisper from below the wall.

  Stephanie fell still, like a statue, rooted to the spot in terror.

  “They’re all on the other section. If we stay quiet, we can be up and over before they have a clue. Dumb cunts,” gloated another.

  “Get the ladders up there, now!” growled a third voice. It had a level of menace unheard in the others, however vulgar they were.

  Fixated on the battlements, unable to draw breath, Stephanie watched. With much grunting, the top stiles clattered against the nearest section only a few feet away, the aluminium fresh as if they’d just stolen the ladders. A second set joined the first on the next embrasure. Then another. Paralyzed by fear, she watched the metal strain as someone climbed on, grinding against the stone with each step.

  “Will someone foot this fucking thing? It’s moving all over the place.”

  Without knowing how, Stephanie found herself by the brazier. Clutching the legs, which thankfully weren’t hot enough to burn her, she tipped it over. The top of the circular frame clanged into the stone, spilling the red hot embers from the fire pit itself over the rim. A sharp intake of breath preceded a hellish scream and the sounds of falling.

  “What the fuck just happened?” roared the toxic voice.

  “Get up there! Now!” yelled a second, with the same poisonous authority.

  Stealthy ascension gave way to frenzied climbing as whoever was on the other side raced up the massive ladders.

  “What’s happening?” called Sarah from the other side of the castle.

  Picking up a flaring log that hadn’t dropped, Stephanie ignored her and moved to the wall. A face came into view, twisted with hate. Jabbing the fire into his eyes, the man screamed and fell backwards, knocking the others from the ladder as he fell.

  “Steph? What is it?” yelled Denise, who was running around the perimeter for all she was worth.

  “Attack! It’s the prisoners I think!” she finally managed to call back.

  “Knock, knock, baby,” chuckled the earlier voice from below. “You’re going to pay for what you did.”

  “Sarah, get everyone inside! Now!” ordered Denise. Seeing the first man to breach the wall, she stopped and took on a shooter’s stance. The convict was too preoccupied with revenge and the fresh meat to notice the gun pointed at him. Two pops saw a twin crimson bloom appear on his chest. The tidy red flowers spread quickly as his life force flowed from the torn arteries. He fell.

  “Steph, move!”

  Picking up another log, she felt her skin burning. The last ladder was full, the obese prisoner in the process of stepping over. Launching the fiery timber, he yelped and ducked away just in time.

  “You’re dead!” he snarled, earning a bullet through the ear for his troubles.

  Slumping in death, his huge girth sealed the gap and those behind cursed their misfortune.

  “I’m getting those!” she called, pointing at the neatly laid out bows. They would need everything at their disposal to fight.

  “I’ll cover the wall. The next bastard to show me a face gets the same treatment,” Denise cried. It was an empty threat, designed only to buy time. Her gun was empty, the last of the ammunition spent. She hadn’t had time to check the calibres in the supply crates, but the ones she had noticed were for the rifles, not her pistol.

  “What do we do?” asked Sarah.

  “Get the kids, and help Steph with those bows. We’re going to need to hold the fort until Kurt and the others get back.”

  “Use the fucking shooter!” growled the leader.

  Denise saw the shotgun barrel lift over the stone and point in their direction. The muzzle flashed, followed by the crack of the cartridge. They were miles off.

  “You should take cover!” called Sarah.

  Denise shook her head and held the gun steady. Obviously the threat was still working, otherwise they would be pouring into the castle.

  “Just another minute. Please,” Sarah begged. It was all they needed to be safely locked inside.

  The top of a bald head peeked over the top and she swung in his direction. Dropping out of sight, they were slowly getting a bead on her. The shotgun appeared again, firing off another round. The pellets tore into the stone ten feet from where she stood.

  “Pea, Holly, everyone, grab what you can as fast as you can and get inside the castle!” said Sarah, desperately.

  Another head appeared and stared at Denise. They were getting braver by the second. A shit eating grin appeared on his face, suddenly disappearing as his eyes bugged. A crack to Denise’s side would have made any normal person leap out of their skin, but she wasn’t any ordinary lady. Gloria’s carefully aimed shot peppered his face with tiny pellets, but didn’t kill him. Made of sterner stuff than the others, he didn’t yell out in pain, just ducked out of sight, clutching at the damage.

  “The other cartridges are indoors. I think we should probably go now, dear,” said Gloria.

  “We’re good!” shouted Sarah as the group ran past, their arms full. “Go!”

  Disregarding the last boxes of ammunition, the group fled back to the living quarters. Sarah glanced back before ducking through the bailey gatehouse. Six men were already over, one of them wearing a mask of blood.

  “Kurt, we need you,” she whimpered.

  All that work. All that sacrifice. Undone by an impossible series of consequences.

  Chapter 32

  Slamming the oak door, Stephanie locked it and slid the bolts home.

  “We need a plan,” Denise declared. “They’re armed. It won’t take long to get through that door.”

  “We’re armed too,” said Sarah.

  Gloria looked at the boxes all around their feet. “Does anyone know how to use this?”

  “There’s nothing to use, love,” said Bert, the old soldier who’d assisted in taking the castle. “The mortars are useless indoors for obvious reasons. The rounds aren’t for the guns you have. About the only useful gear is this,” he said, kneeling slowly at a green wooden box.

  “Let me get that, sir,” said Holly, helping the man lift it.

  “Thanks, love. These grenades are about the only thing worth bothering with. Lethal at five meters, casualties guaranteed up to fifteen. I’d still keep my head down once they’re thrown. I saw a friend take a sliver in his thigh. Lots of blood.”

  “Ok, we take them with us. Can we hold the Baron’s Hall?” asked Sarah.

  “I wouldn’t,” replied Bert.

  “He’s right. There’s only one area that’s defensible until Kurt gets back with the others,” muttered Denise. In terms of the time of year, it was the worst place to be. They had no choice. “The old keep. The watchtower.”

  “There’s no roof. We’ll freeze to death,” complained Zack, one of the holdovers from Jasmine’s group.

  “He has a point,” said Sarah before recriminations could fly.

  “We don’t have a choice,” explained Denise. “It’s got water and only one access up a steep flight of steps. The old dungeon will keep us out of the worst of the weather. If we need to huddle for warmth, so be it.”

  “What about ladders? Can’t they just climb up again.”

  “No, the walls are too tall and the banks way too steep to even walk up easily. It’s our safest bet.”

  Sarah was convinced. They needed to buy time for the big guns to return. “Clarissa, go with Stephanie and the other kids. Holly, take the grenades and as much of the archery equipment as possible. Zack, go to the kitchen with your friends and grab as much of the cleaned food as you can carry. Grab Christina on your way. I’ll go with Denise, Gloria, and the others to the Hall and pick up as many blankets as we can.”

  “What about firewood?” asked Zack.

  Muffled shouts carried through the dense door. Their blood was up. They were hunting.

  “We don’t have time. Whatever’s left up there will have to last.”

  Expecting an argument, he nodded inst
ead and ran off with the others in hot pursuit. Stephanie led the youngsters away, their goods clattering.

  “I can’t help thinking we’re missing something,” said Sarah.

  “I think you’ve covered all the bases, love,” said Bert. “Shall we get a wriggle on? I’m not the fastest on my feet, and the fellas out back don’t sound like the friendliest sort.”

  The portraits of long dead aristocrats scowled down as they passed, as if they disapproved of the hoi polloi sullying their home. Denise had always found the idea of an upper class to be positively ridiculous. At least in America you were judged solely on your merits. Your station wasn’t dictated by some arbitrary network of families and birth rights, only on the effort you put in. Let’s see how you like the new arrivals, she thought. They’d probably burn the paintings to keep warm. Or just for the sheer hell of it.

  “Grab the thickest blankets you can find. I’ll see if I can find a sack to carry a few more,” said Sarah.

  Bert reached beneath his bed and pulled out a holdall. “Use this, love.”

  “Thanks, Bert.”

  “I’m here to help.”

  “Well isn’t this cosy,” chuckled a new voice.

  Spinning round, Denise pulled her empty revolver.

  “I wouldn’t,” he warned, aiming a rifle directly at her chest.

  The filth on his clothes and skin was nothing compared to the brown teeth. His wide face and heavy jowls lent him a friendly, friar tuck look. The jolliness of his dirty smile wasn’t mirrored in the rapidly blinking, desperate eyes.

  “How the hell did you get in here?” demanded Sarah.

  “I fucking flew. How do you think I got in, you silly tart? I climbed the walls.”

  “That’s impossible. You were only just in the courtyard.”

  “I didn’t come in that way. There are two groups. You weren’t expecting that, were you?”

  Gloria groaned in pain. Staggering forward, she clutched at her chest. “Help me. It hurts. My heart.”

  “Stay back,” he growled, keeping the gun on Denise.

  “I need my tablets,” she complained, in obvious discomfort. “My heart. I can’t take it.”

  “Do I look like I give a fuck about your heart, you dozy old bitch?” he snorted. The decrepit bint was too old to rape anyway. Best she just go toes up and leave the fresher meat for him.

  “Please, won’t you help,” she croaked, reaching out a gnarled hand.

  “Just die already,” he sneered, ignoring the frail woman.

  “You first, dear,” she said from her stooped position. Coming up under the barrel, she buried the knife between his ribs.

  Pulling the trigger in spasm, the bullet spanged from the stone walls, passing dangerously close to Bert’s head. The prisoner gaped down in shock at the stainless handle of the kitchen utensil. Survival instinct kicked in and he backhanded Gloria who went sprawling over a nearby chair. Cocking the rifle, the spent shell tinkled as it hit the limestone. Summoning the last ounces of will to kill his killer, he sighted the murderous old bitch. Hit like a truck, Honey hung from his arm, tearing at the flesh beneath. The second round embedded harmlessly into the carved wooden ceiling. Whipping her head back and forth, something ripped. It might have been his clothing, but it had a wet quality more akin to skin. His punctured heart gave up and he fell face forward, nose and brown teeth breaking against the unforgiving floor. Extracting the blade, Gloria forced it up through the soft spot at the base of his skull.

  “They’ll be coming! We need to go.”

  “We’re already here, darlin’,” said a new voice, thick with a scouse accent.

  Before Gloria could snatch up the dropped rifle, a pair of double barrelled shotguns were levelled at her head. The man stepped over the threshold between the gunmen and nodded appreciatively at the setup. Mid-fifties, with black, slicked back hair. So dark was the bottled colour it seemed to absorb the light. Greying brows confirmed the dye job. Brown, emotionless eyes glared from below a protuberant brow. Tattoos encircled his neck like a colourful, patchwork scarf. The top of both meaty hands were similarly decorated through the gore. Menace emanated from every pore.

  Honey growled, ready to attack. Gloria pulled her back before she got hurt.

  “I think I’m gonna like it here,” he said, surveying the exquisite room.

  “Looks like they got Ron,” said one of the gunmen.

  “Gobshite should’ve waited like I told him,” grumbled the Liverpudlian.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” snapped Denise.

  “A Yank? Well isn’t this a small world?” he chuckled mirthlessly. “I’m Fred Fowler. You’ll get to know me really well.”

  “She can yank my pole any time she wants,” sneered one of the subordinates.

  Denise held his gaze, wishing the gun was loaded so she could obliterate the smirking features.

  Gloria backed away slowly towards her friends, one hand raised while the other coaxed the dog to retreat. She could feel the thick blood trickling down her forearm. It didn’t go unnoticed.

  “You did Ron? Well fuck me sideways,” Fred exclaimed. “I think we’re gonna get on real well. I like a bird with balls.”

  The other prisoners filed in, appraising their new home. Tossing the belongings of the castle group around, they searched for any valuables.

  Fred was warming himself by one of the huge fireplaces, rubbing at the green blood with someone’s shirt. Rounding on his men, he barked, “Cut that shit out! Dean, Cob, Jeff, wait here and keep an eye on them. The rest of you, follow me. We’re gonna round up the others and find George.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  Kneeling down by Ron’s corpse, he pulled the knife out with a sickly grating of metal on bone. Laughing to himself, he looked back to Gloria and laid the weapon down reverentially on a small cabinet as if it was a gift. Taking a hand rolled cigarette from behind his ear, he placed it between thick lips, unlit.

  “Move,” he ordered the men.

  Leaving the room, the three remaining guards instantly began ransacking the hall again. Smashing cups and glasses against the stone walls, they then turned their attention to the antique furniture, breaking it apart and tossing it onto the flames.

  Bert could see the anger growing. He knew what was coming next. When the fun of destroying the inanimate could no longer satiate the rage, they would turn their attention to the women.

  “Right you hooligans!” he barked, hobbling forward. “That’s enough of that!”

  “Shut the fuck up old timer,” warned Dean, a red headed con in his late thirties.

  “Bert, keep quiet. We need to think how to get out of here,” whispered Sarah.

  Smiling warmly, he winked at her and turned away, continuing to advance on the prisoners.

  “So you’re billy big bollocks, eh?” mocked Bert.

  “Do you want to get hurt, you old cunt?” he snarled, picking up his metal bar.

  “You’re a big man with a weapon, aren’t you. Ginger prick,” Bert spat.

  “You think I need a tool?” Dean demanded, wielding the thick bar.

  “What’s the matter? You making up for a deficiency somewhere else? Little dick.”

  “I’m getting sick of your shit, old man. Now fuck off before I hurt you.”

  “Did you get bullied at school? Was that it? Poor ginger prick,” Bert mocked, nearing the trio.

  Denise held Sarah back when she tried to pursue the stooped gent. She had seen the same escalation coming. They were whipping each other into a frenzy. Until Bert had poured cold water on the raging inferno. The fire, though quenched, was flourishing again at the shocking antagonism. Denise knew Bert didn’t have a mean bone in his body, the insults were solely to get a rise. But to what end? He couldn’t take a bar and two shotguns with invective.

  “I’ve had enough of you,” Dean exploded, tossing the black iron.

  Charging at the old man, Dean wound up a right hook and swung it at the wrinkled face. Bert ducked the
telegraphed blow easily and snapped out a quick left right which sent Dean staggering backwards.

  “Two time Army middleweight champion, you ginger prick. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Faced with the suddenly sprightly septuagenarian, Dean hesitated. His head was still swimming from the combination. Blood trickled from a split lip.

  Bert was bouncing on his toes as much as the arthritis would allow. He wouldn’t admit it, but the punches had been agony, the needles of pain radiating up to his shoulders.

  “Bert, come back here!” Gloria cried as the two other men surrounded him.

  “Get back, love. Get back!” he replied, adding weight to the last two words.

  Denise picked up the hint and seized the two women by their arms, pulling them away.

  “What’s he doing?” Sarah sobbed. Any moment now they would rush him.

  “No! He’s mine!” Dean warned, shaking away the daze.

  Charging in, he bent at the waist, aiming to rugby tackle the old codger. Bert took a step back and whipped an uppercut straight into the downturned face. The momentum carried Dean forward and they went down heavily. Cob and Jeff jumped in, stamping and kicking at the pinned senior.

  Sarah screamed as she heard brittle bones crack under the onslaught. Dean had recovered from the blow and knelt atop Bert, raining punches down.

  “Leave him alone!” Gloria shrieked.

  Amidst the brutal attack, Denise heard the twang of metal. Laughing through broken, bloodied teeth, Bert raised his shaking hands. Held in the twisted fingers were two innocent looking pins.

  “What the fuck are you laughing at?” growled Dean, raising his fist again.