Hellspawn (Book 7): Hellspawn Aftermath

by Fleet, Ricky

  “Get back!” cried the prisoners who had only been mildly scalded.

  Above, Denise and Gloria tipped the last four buckets towards the portcullis cavity.

  Driven back by the heat and pain, those that could flee did so. Straight into the scorching torrent of the newly formed waterfall from above. All courage and dreams of rape vanished as the men scrambled for safety, their skin bubbling. Those hit by the worst of the boiling deluge lay on the ground amongst the cooling water, making small sobbing noises as their bodies shut down from the unendurable agony. Several were unhurt judging by their quick, but careful descent down the steps.

  “Stephanie, now!”

  In the courtyard, the archers nocked their arrows. The teacher took the lead, raising the bow to forty-five degrees at the same time as drawing the bowstring. Everyone complied silently, without the shouted orders. They wanted to give the brutes no warning. The twang of multiple releases rebounded from the concave tower walls. Denise craned her neck as the colourful arrows soared overhead like a flock of thin, brightly coloured birds.

  “Look out!” shouted the hidden sniper.

  Too late.

  Instead of heeding the warning, human nature ensured that people almost always had to look at the what. To see the danger they were trying to avoid, and why. This time was no different. Only two of the projectiles found their target, which was fortuitous in itself considering Stephanie and her team were firing blind. The living, breathing men weren’t immune to the damage in the same way as the zombies during the first attack with Kurt. One struck a thigh, and the second a shoulder, with the others rattling harmlessly against the stonework. Pierced by the shafts, the wounds were bad, if not life threatening. The real damage came from the momentary paralysis of shock from the impact, and the inevitable loss of balance. Tumbling backwards, two bodies became ten. Bones broke, skulls cracked, men howled in torment.

  Denise held up a hand, then dropped it. A second volley of arrows whistled past. The prisoners at the foot of the steps would have been incapable of avoiding the arrows, but the angle was off anyway. In some small way, she was relieved as the tips plinked harmlessly against the cold stone. The scale of suffering meted out in the past two minutes was on a scale akin to war. Stephanie waited for another signal. Denise waved her off and the archers lowered their weapons. Cradling a grenade, she considered tossing it down the chute or down the steps to finish the job. Realising she didn’t have the heart to do it, she slipped the ball back into a pocket.

  “We did it,” said Gloria.

  “We did,” replied Denise. “We really did.”

  Gloria spoke of victory. Denise of something else. Something intangible. Something dark, and impossible to undo. A stain, forever on her soul.

  Below, men whined for their mothers.

  Chapter 37

  “What is there to talk about? I’ve got nothing else to say.”

  George motioned for her to join him at the newly lit fire. With the air temperature in the room barely above freezing, the comforting zone of warmth was hard to resist. Why stand defiantly in discomfort when her point had already been made. Glowering, she approached the hiss and crackle of the fire. The furniture had been brushed down, which only served to smear the ash and soot into the upholstery. Ignoring the grime, she sat down and faced him.

  He eyed her with amusement.

  “I know you think we’re monsters, and we are. Neither Fred or myself are innocent. We’ve stolen. We’ve raped. We’ve murdered.”

  “What do you want? A chufty badge? A fucking gold star to stick to your special criminal chart?”

  “A little respect for what we could do to you,” George growled, “but haven’t. Yet.”

  “Until your brother gets back, that is.”

  “Fred will do as he’s told. You have my word.”

  “Is this a ‘comply with my demands and we’ll be oh so reasonable and treat you well’ speech? If so, save your breath. There’s nothing you can do to make me give up my friends and those children.”

  “You must know that we’ll get them eventually?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “We know they have no food. We caught your friends trying to sneak it up there.”

  “So what?”

  “So they’ll starve,” George replied, wondering if the crazed woman was the full ticket.

  “They’ll be three or four days ahead of you, that’s all. Have you seen how little we have? And none of you look like the type to accept rationing. But you’ll be dead long before they starve, anyway.”

  “And how do you figure that?”

  “Because you have no water, my scouse friend,” she laughed.

  “What? That’s bollocks. And even if it wasn’t, they’ll be dehydrated too.”

  “Wrong again! They’re trapped in the only part of the whole castle that has water. There’s a pretty little well in the watchtower, filled to the brim with glorious H2O.”

  “There’s bound to be stuff in tanks and pipes.”

  “All gone!”

  “It’ll rain.”

  “Not a drop for days. Are you willing to risk your life on British weather?”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you believe. When they’re suffering from terrible stomach cramps in four days’ time, we’ll all be dead.”

  “I’ll just send a few boys out to bring back some bottles.”

  “Knowing how many zombies are out there, good luck getting volunteers. And that doesn’t include them dodging bullets when Kurt and my friends get back. If they don’t get eaten, they’ll get shot or caught.”

  “A few executions might focus their mind,” replied George. He was fast losing patience and considering letting Fred loose on the woman. Their plan had been formed out of desperation. South would have taken them towards the coastal habitations. Scouting teams had given up on them long ago. They were crawling with the dead. East would have seen them enter the territory of Mrs Hampton and the gypsies. The west was uncharted, but they knew about the castle. They also knew it was lightly defended thanks to Pesci’s reconnaissance. It was a crying shame Craig sacrificed the prisoner on the doomed gate crashing. Pesci was a nutter, with barely any human emotions, but he was dependable.

  “If you try that, you know full well Kurt will storm this place. We know the castle far better than you ever will.”

  “You think a dozen people on foot would stand a chance? Don’t be fucking ridiculous.”

  They don’t know about the soldiers, Sarah realised. Whatever route had brought them to the castle, it hadn’t been the main roads. Before he could pick up on her surprise, she masked it with a laugh. “You don’t know my people. Our dozen would cut through your fifty in a heartbeat.”

  “More like eighty, darlin’.” George looked at the grenade shredded men, then considered those lost at the wall. “Ok, closer to seventy. You fuckers really did a number on us.”

  “And that was without our best fighters.” She let the words hang in the air. The Liverpudlian was obviously a violent and dangerous man with a history checkered with offences. In a world with laws, it would elevate him among the general population and his peers. In a world where only warriors survived, he was average at best. Considering his months of being locked away, Sarah would even go so far as to say he was below average. Weak, even. The prison had insulated them from the hell that was southern England.

  “You can still salvage this situation,” she offered.

  “And how would we do that?”

  “Give up and leave. As long as you behave, I might even see if we can help you secure another home. On the obvious understanding that we never cross paths again.”

  “That’s not going to happen. I think we’ll be nice and comfortable here for quite a while.”

  Sarah sat back and folded her arms. “Then we’re done here. Do what you want, but know that this is going to end badly for you. You have no idea what’s coming.”

  “A
warm meal and comfy bed is all that’s coming, sweetheart.”

  Sarah said no more, fixing him with her steely gaze.

  George looked away first.

  Chapter 38

  “You’ve murdered my friends!” Fred bellowed. He probed gingerly at his face and scalp. The pus inside the growing blisters gave under the pressure, feeling like a roll of human bubble wrap. Except for the pain. It was like a second, pliant skin covered his face and upper body. One that was made of fire.

  “We didn’t start this!” called the gash.

  Cowering within the safety of the passage, he could just about see up to the gatehouse of the watchtower. Steam from the scalding water was gone, the bitterly cold stone leeching the heat. In an hour, it would be an icy death-trap. Bodies lay where they had fallen, burned far worse than he himself. A few of his men, injured but alive, watched the murder holes with dread, awaiting the torrent that would finish them off. Arrows littered the steps, a warning of what awaited them if they should try and scramble for the safety of the castle.

  Those amongst the pile of broken men at the foot of the stairs who could move, had done so. The rest lay dead. Benny’s neck was twisted at a funny angle. The arrow in Archie’s shoulder had pierced an artery and he’d bled out. Fitzy’s skull was laid open, the grey brain slowly leaking from the ruptured cavity.

  “What now?” shouted Fred.

  The watchtower was silent.

  “I said, what now?”

  “Are you going to attack again?” replied the gash.

  “With what?” Fred shouted, defeated. “You’ve done in half my men.”

  “And I repeat, we didn’t start this!”

  “You’ve certainly finished it,” whispered Fred. How could things go to shit so quickly? A matter of hours ago they had controlled the prison and everyone in it. Then the Gypsies decided retribution was more important than diplomacy. Against all odds, the castle had fallen, but Fred had never imagined in a million years the defenders would be so tenacious. Undone by a suicidal pensioner and a few gallons of water. Unbelievable. Fred felt dead on his feet, a combination of the pain and the series of crushing defeats.

  “Is everyone still alive down there?” called the woman. Fred no longer thought of her in the previous derogatory terms. She’d fucked him as hard as anyone he’d ever raped.

  “They’re all ok, yeah,” he replied.

  “Including Christina?”

  “Who’s Christina?”

  “Pretty blonde lady. The doctor.”

  “I think so!”

  “You think? You’d better be damned certain!”

  Fred thought quickly, scanning the faces in his memory. She was one of the few who weren’t in the least afraid of their assault.

  “She’s fine! I’m sure.”

  “Then you have my permission to get your wounded clear, but in the meantime you need to put your friends down before they rise again.”

  “Are you kidding? As soon as I set foot outside this passage, you’ll shoot us full of arrows. Or you’ll wait until we’re up there under cover and you’ll boil us alive again.”

  “You have my word, you’ll be safe.”

  “And your word is worth what?”

  “More than yours, Fred. Far more.”

  “Fuck!” Fred grumbled.

  “Time’s running out! Get them quickly and I know she’ll help you as best she can. We don’t have much medicine, but it wouldn’t be right if we didn’t try. But you’ve got to hurry.”

  “What do we do, boss?” groaned Travis, the one with a colourful insert in his upper thigh and a newly shattered arm from the fall.

  “They’re done for. Fuck ‘em.”

  “You can’t mean that,” he said, grimacing through the wave of pain.

  The others looked on with barely concealed hatred.

  “If you want to risk your arses, go ahead. I’m going to find George and tell him what happened.”

  “Tell him how you fucked up, you mean?” sneered one of the prisoners.

  Twenty four hours ago, it would’ve meant a savage beating or worse. Probably death. Fred met his eyes, and then looked away. They knew he was weak, diminished, losing his grip on power. Hawk-like eyes watched as he slinked past, weighing their options, considering their own rump on the throne.

  It’s over, he thought, miserably.

  **********

  Travis watched as his former wing boss skulked away. His former friend. All respect was now lost, and he could tell by the faces that the other inmates felt the same. Holding out his good arm, Joey C moved to help him stand. Hopping to the archway, the jarring landings sent lances of agony through his arm and pierced leg.

  “Did you mean what you said?” he called.

  “Who’s that? Where’s Fred?”

  “Fred’s gone. I’m Travis, one of the ones you shot,” he replied, no malice in the words.

  “Are you a rapist too, Travis? Were you looking forward to the ripe children?”

  “My mum would cut my dick off if I ever mistreated a lady like that, much less a child,” he groaned. The pain was increasing by the second.

  A long silence followed and he assumed their conversation was over.

  “Travis?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m going to trust you. You’ll need to be even quicker than that putz, Fred. Your friends will be coming back any moment now.”

  Travis looked at the dead bodies at the foot of the huge steps. The stone had done for some of them, caving in skulls as they fell. Groans from above could be heard, but it was hard to tell if they were the wounded or newly risen.

  “I don’t think we have time!” he called.

  “No, you don’t!” Denise cried, frantically. “Tell your gunman to back off and we can save your injured friends!”

  “Whoever’s got the rifle, hold your fire!” Travis yelled.

  No answer was forthcoming. He could hear the curses from the lady above.

  “If he shoots me, I’m going to be mighty pissed. You hear me?”

  “I hear you,” Travis replied. “Don’t shoot! She’s trying to help.”

  He could almost hear the mind of the shooter. After she killed us in the first place, why shouldn’t I fire?.

  The moans below the gatehouse turned to a weak cry of pain. Whoever was being eaten was in so much agony, they barely registered the slight increase to their suffering.

  The gates swung open, and a pair of women moved swiftly towards the newly reanimated zombie, stabbing him in the brain. The wounded prisoner who had been bitten was gently dispatched as well.

  Travis waited for the crack of rifle fire, but nothing came. Either the man had fled, or he was watching their act of mercy and feeling as conflicted as Travis.

  They stepped between the fallen, carrying out triage. Eight more times he heard the faint crunch of knife piercing through skull.

  “Ok, that’s all of them. You have seven men who need medical attention. They’re hurt bad, but they might pull through. I suggest that you keep a close watch on them, and I mean don’t take your eye off them for one second. We had an outbreak of a single zombie and it cost us.”

  He caught a fleeting glimpse of them as they disappeared back into the watchtower before the gates slammed shut.

  “You won’t hurt us anymore?”

  “I told your idiot boss, Fred. We didn’t start this. We didn’t want this. Do you think I’d have risked catching a bullet if I wasn’t on the level?”

  “You can trust us, dear,” said another lady.

  “Ok, we’re coming up.”

  Travis nodded to the others to proceed. For a moment, it appeared they would ignore the order. One quenching with boiling water was enough to fracture the hardiest spirit. Their reflections turned to the wounded at the top of the steps and, with some reluctance, they started to climb. Faces peered skyward, expecting to see the incoming flash of colour that would precede their impalement. The skies remained clear. Reaching the edge of the
gatehouse, the portcullis slot and murder holes still dripped with the now chilled water. It was all too easy to imagine stepping beneath the grey stone and hearing the rush of impending doom. Watching in dread fascination as the clear, innocent looking water poured forth. The memory of that steaming torrent would haunt what short time they had left. Even if time was kind, and memory faded, mirrors would be a constant reminder of their undoing. The scars impossible to erase.

  “Hurry! Don’t forget to watch them. If they go limp, check for a pulse.”

  The echoing warning carried down the chutes and portcullis housing, making the men jump in surprise.

  “Don’t try anything!” one of the men called back, his voice shrill.

  “For the hundredth time, you started this!”

  “Well, ok. But please don’t do anything,” he replied.

  “We won’t need to,” chuckled the hidden lady.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hear that?”

  Over the moans, the rumble of powerful engines steadily grew.

  “What’s that?”

  “Our friends. It might be time to consider surrendering before they get here,” she laughed.

  “Fuck that! This is our place now!” he yelled, manhandling his friends onto their feet.

  He tried to ignore the dead faces. He tried to ignore the slick of crimson that slowly washed away the water. He tried to ignore the pain of the burns up his left arm and shoulder. He tried to ignore the throaty roar of the approaching fighters.

  He failed.

  Chapter 39

  “Are you ready for the last push, mate?” Holbeck asked Kurt.