by Fleet, Ricky
“We were. And now we’re here.”
Kurt opened the door and jumped from the Warthog.
“Kurt, get the hell back inside!” shouted Holbeck.
Kurt ignored the order, marching towards the wall.
“Where are my family?”
“They’re safe. How long they stay that way is up to you.”
“I want to see them or I’ll bring this whole fucking place down on your heads!” Kurt yelled. The fear for his family’s wellbeing filled him with a white hot rage.
“Want me to shoot him, boss?” asked another man.
“No!” George snapped. His own fear was evident in the words.
Something had happened inside to fill the convict with doubt. The explosion?
“Where are my fucking family?” Kurt screamed.
“Kurt, I’m here,” called Sarah. “We’re ok.”
“What happened?”
“They took us by surprise. I’m so sorry.”
“What about the Baron’s Hall? What happened.”
Sarah began to talk but her words were instantly muffled by a hand.
“One of your old timers really did a number on us,” replied George. “Now you’ve seen your wife, you can leave. If not, I start killing your people one by one, starting with her.”
The words lacked conviction. Considering their strong position, Kurt expected unassailable arrogance and contempt. George was… fearful.
“Let my family and friends go, and I promise I won’t kill you,” Kurt replied with his own offer.
“Did you not fucking hear me? Get the fuck out of here before I start slitting throats!”
Sarah appeared between the battlements, a man hiding behind her with a knife to her soft neck. A trickle of blood ran from the blade, incensing Kurt. He ran for the wall, withdrawing his war pick and hammer. Spinning the claw hammer around, he slammed the teeth into the mortar, beginning to ascend like a climber with an ice axe.
“Get down or she dies!” George shouted from above.
Kurt climbed.
A rifle appeared over the wall. The barrel blazed, the bullet missing Kurt by several feet. Petermann fired at the man, using the large calibre bullets as a warning rather than with lethal intent because of Sarah’s proximity. It worked and he ducked back out of sight.
Kurt climbed.
“Fuck! Will you tell him to behave!” George pleaded.
“Kurt, you can’t make it. Please climb down,” said Sarah, calmly.
Hanging from the embedded weapons, toes wedged in any nook he could find, Kurt hesitated ten feet from the ground. The soldiers looked on in awe. The prisoners down in trepidation. The man was a lunatic.
“Babe?” said Kurt.
“Please, love. Don’t do anything silly,” replied Sarah, filled with love.
Pushing away at the same time as he pulled the weapons, Kurt dropped back to the blood soaked mud. He felt his weakened ankle twist painfully, but stayed upright.
“Let them go, and you can leave in peace,” he warned.
“You’re not in position to be making demands, Kurt. Just get the fuck out of here, and no one will get hurt.”
“Is that what you told the people you had locked away in the prison?”
George faltered, unable to reply.
“If you harm one hair on their heads, I’ll torture each and every one of you to death. It’ll last days. If you… touch them, I’ll rape you to death with red hot pokers. You’ll beg for the Hell I’ll send you to.”
“Kurt, we need to go. We’ve got no move here,” whispered Holbeck who had snuck up behind him.
“Please, just go,” called George, his voice tremulous. Kurt’s words had gotten through.
“I’ll see you soon, babe, I promise. Tell everyone to stay strong,” said Kurt as he allowed Holbeck to lead him back to the APC.
“We’ve got one hell of a problem, Kurt. We can’t just sit and wait on the canal boat with the civilians. Our whole plan relies on having the castle as a defensive position while we attack the horde moving on our troops in The Chilterns. That’s all shot to shit now.”
“There’s a way in that they might not know about. An escape passage that takes you into the Duke’s suite.”
“Sir! Look!” cried Petermann.
Holbeck and Kurt’s heads snapped back to the castle. A solitary arrow peaked in the air, the black ribbon fluttering from the shaft as it fell back to earth. A second followed.
“Where did it come from?” Kurt demanded.
“That massive round building in the middle of the grounds,” Petermann replied, pointing.
“The watchtower. Some of them must be hiding inside.”
“If we can get close enough, we might be able to infiltrate the castle from there too. Attack from two angles.”
“Possibly. But before we decide, we can wait until dark, sneak up the hill, and get some intel from the tower. We need to know what’s going on inside.”
“Agreed. Until then, we need to find a safe place for our new friends. Any suggestions?”
Kurt grunted, the rage at losing his home tamped for now. “How about the prison?”
Chapter 42
“Get down!” ordered Jonesy, coming to the fence line of Arundel Castle.
“What’s up?” DB didn’t have the same angle through the vegetation. All he could see was an emerald wall of evergreen shrubs.
“Strangers on the wall. At least five by my count.”
DB squeezed through and looked out at the northern wall. Men paced back and forth, highly agitated by the look of it. The braziers were working overtime, the flames soaring.
“What’s going on?” demanded Sam.
“We’ve got trouble. Wait here while we go check it out.”
“No, we’re coming with you. If our people are in danger, we want to fight.”
He tried to put a brave face on it, but Sam was terrified for his friends and family.
DB held them back, cocking his head. “Wait, can you hear that?”
Jonesy listened over the pounding of his heart. “Talking?”
“More like shouting,” said Winston.
“It’s coming from over by the river,” confirmed DB.
“The canal boat!” Braiden exclaimed.
The five moved unseen through the gloom, utilising cover and shadows where available. They emerged into the open field than ran along the River Arun, and spied the Warthogs immediately. The drivers had angled them to provide some cover to the gangplank of the stranded vessel. Without being able to get the Warthogs too close to the bank in case they collapsed, there were too many openings. Slowly, it was coming under siege from the steady procession of undead leaving the town and castle walls.
“They can’t hold them off forever. Let’s get moving!”
Holbeck’s frustrated answer to an unheard question carried over the brown mud. “We don’t have a choice! Open fire!”
Eldridge and Petermann strafed the incoming tide of grey filth with the HMGs, cutting through them like a knife through butter. Harkiss, Dougal, Carpenter, and MacLeod were on one knee atop the Warthogs, picking their shots to clean up the remaining cadavers. It was a no win situation. For each bullet fired, two more zombies came. Their numbers were too great to go hand to hand, and Kurt hovered impotently below the gunners with the others, war pick ready.
“Kurt, it’s the boys!” Holbeck shouted over the chatter of fire.
Ignoring the dead, Kurt left cover and sprinted over, pulling all three teenagers into a fierce embrace. “I’m going to kill you, you little bastards!”
“It’s good to see you too, Dad,” said Braiden, his voice muffled by Kurt’s fresh coat. The gore splattered clothing of their earlier endeavours was safely buried nearby.
“Don’t cut me. I don’t want to be a monk,” moaned Winston.
“What’s going on?” asked DB.
“Why are you out here?” continued Jonesy.
“Where’s Mum?” asked Sam.
/> Kurt led them quickly back to the temporary safety of the APC position. “The Fowlers have taken over. The fuckers attacked while we were freeing the people at the prison.”
“Holy shit,” gasped Jonesy.
“What’s the plan?” asked DB.
“We don’t have one at the moment. We could retake the castle by force, but that might get our people killed. We could sneak in using the escape tunnels, but we’ve got dozens of weak and dazed people hiding in the boat. We need to get them safe first, or this whole clusterfuck will have been for nothing.”
“Ideas?” Holbeck called down from his vantage point.
“Maybe, but I’m not sure Ian will like it,” said Jonesy.
“Needs must, brother. We can’t stay here,” replied DB.
Kurt frowned at the pair. “Who’s Ian?”
“A friend. Someone who may be able to shelter us for a bit,” said Braiden.
DB agreed enthusiastically. “We can tell you all about it on the way, but you need to get ready to move. It’s about four miles away.”
“What about Mum?” asked Sam, a child once more.
“She’ll be fine. I get the feeling the prisoners are scared of her.”
“Really?” asked Jonesy.
“Call it a hunch,” replied Kurt.
“Sarge?”
Holbeck looked at Jonesy. “Do it. We’re running out of options.”
Jason and Sally led the terrified captives back to the vehicles. They kept looking at the castle, and Kurt’s heart broke for them. To get so close to a reunion with their daughter, only to have it cruelly snatched away was another blow they didn’t deserve. Jason had confided in Kurt that he was relieved in some ways. At least Clarissa was safe inside. Surrounded by villains, yes, but still secure in an impregnable fortress. Their time would come.
Kurt and the others looked one last time at their fallen home. Unfamiliar faces, small and indistinguishable, stared back. Raising a finger, he pointed at each and every one over the approaching dead. It said, your time is coming. He couldn’t read their reaction, but none of the men responded. Perhaps they just hadn’t seen him. He doubted that was the case. They were afraid, and rightly so.
“Roll out!” called Holbeck.
They were on the move again. Forced from their home… again. Kurt clenched his war pick hard enough to hurt.
Chapter 43
Captain Haywood looked over the latest logistics reports. Regular food was running low, but the warehouse contained enough MREs to last several years at current personnel levels. Ammunition was dangerously low and he made a mental note to request additional support from Dauntless on the next run. Functional vehicles were, thankfully, in abundance. Qualified drivers were far harder to come by. The Challenger tanks had only one active crew on the barracks. In normal times, it would be a sensible use of resources to train three more. But these weren’t normal times. In less than two weeks, a sizeable portion of the London horde would be hitting the front line of the Chiltern fortification. It would crumble in hours.
Haywood turned his face up to the ceiling, picturing the clear sky beyond. “If you’re up there and you’re listening, please give us some help. Your creations are hanging on by a thread.” Letting out a weary sigh, he returned his attention to the written sheets covered in numbers.
Prayer used to bring peace to his troubled mind. He was always cautious about spreading the good word unbidden, however. Keeping faith with God was a private, and deeply personal thing. His appeals to The Almighty seemed to carry weight before the apocalypse. Sending patrols out into the Helmand Province was always fraught with danger. As they rolled out through the gates, he would beg for their safe return. A lack of fatalities during the missions brought him perilously close to hubris. Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall, he would remind himself in the base chaplain’s stern voice. Their safety was in His hands, not Haywood’s. Sadly, He seemed to have gone AWOL in the past few weeks. If He was still up there, He wasn’t listening any more.
Three knocks came through the office door.
“Come.”
Private Morrow entered, eyes cast downward.
The aggravating trait irked Haywood and he snapped at the soldier. “What is it, Private?”
“I’ve got the latest video for you to look over, sir,” he replied, quietly.
Haywood chided himself for the sour tone in his voice; Morrow wasn’t responsible for his current malaise. “I’m sorry, Private. I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”
“No need to apologise, sir. Everyone on base is relying on you. Leadership is tough.”
Haywood didn’t want to explain the command was relatively straightforward. His wavering faith on the other hand? “Thank you, Morrow. I’ll check them over once I’m done with these reports.”
“Sir, if I may? You might want to look at the footage right away.”
Laying the papers aside, he looked up at the pale faced man. “I take it from your expression it isn’t good news?”
“Yes and no, sir.”
“Could you be any more ambiguous?”
“Probably, sir,” Morrow replied, uneasily.
The dread emanating from the private was infectious and Haywood caught himself before offering a prayer. What on earth could be worse than the impending assault?
“Lead on, Private. Let’s see what’s got your knickers in a twist.”
Morrow’s face grew a paler shade of white as he turned away. Haywood crossed himself despite his misgivings.
“How’s morale holding up?” asked the captain, wishing to take his mind off the chilly encounter.
“There are good days and bad days, sir,” Morrow replied. “Baxter is mentioned less each day.”
“That’s good to know. I was concerned his brutality might have a lasting effect on the barracks.”
“You’ve given us hope, sir. Everyone’s jacked to head out and kick some arse.”
“You don’t seem quite so eager if I may say so, Private.”
“Oh, I am, believe me, sir.”
Nothing more was mentioned as they made their way down the halls towards the observation suite. Soldiers saluted as they passed and Haywood could see the pent up tension in their faces. Their friends were in danger and they needed a fight. It would provide some catharsis against the repressed guilt they felt. How hard it must have been to watch helplessly from their island as the world died. Forbidden to leave. Forbidden to help. Listening to the screams from the surrounding towns until they faded to utter silence. Morrow’s demeanour hinted that the fight to come may be the least of their worries.
“After you, sir,” said Morrow, holding the door open for his superior.
“Thank you. Now, let’s get to it. What’s got you so worried?”
“If you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to give you the good news first?”
“By all means, Private,” Haywood replied, seating himself before the monitor.
Morrow clicked on the tab bar and pulled up the first drone footage. Once again, Haywood came close to making the sign of the cross as the scene played out. The suburbs to the east of London were awash with the undead. They filled every street, every alley, every garden. Thousands, tens of thousands. No, millions. We’ve got to fight that, thought Haywood. Onwards they shuffled, shoulder to shoulder. Spared the gorier details by the altitude of the Watchkeeper, still the sight of so many zombies chilled him to the bone.
“This is the good news?” asked Haywood incredulously.
“It is, sir,” replied Morrow. Seeing the growing scowl on the face of his superior, he quickly continued. “You can’t see it, but they’ve slowed down. I think the winter is actually working in our favour, sir.”
“Is that so?” Haywood peered closer, but was unable to differentiate the pace from the last time he had been briefed.
“It is. By my calculations, it gives us at least another eight to ten days before they hit the wall, possibly a fortnight. Provided the
temperature stays at freezing or just above.”
“Let’s hope that it does,” Haywood replied, offering a rare smile. “This is really good news, Private. It gives us a chance to reach the stranded forces without being rushed. Who knows what troubles we’ll run into on the roads north.”
“That was my thought, sir,” said Morrow, bringing up four individual, smaller tabs.
“What’s this?”
“Just a small sample of the survivor groups I’ve found. Once I extended my grid pattern, they just kept popping up,” Morrow explained, smiling at the look on the captain’s face.
“That’s far more than we ever expected. A hell of a lot more,” he replied, counting the tiny fires burning or the heat signatures present in the fortified buildings.
“I think once this gets out it’ll fire up the troops like crazy.”
“Slow down, Private. This is still on a need to know basis until the admiral says otherwise, understood?”
“Yes, sir,” said Morrow, the cheer disappearing from his face.
Haywood quickly stood and held him by the shoulder. “Son, I understand your excitement. I share it too. But we need to be careful. The enemy is millions strong and only growing stronger. We’re going to have to make some tough choices in the months to come about who we can reach, and who we would want to reach. Knowing what we know, some of those groups aren’t going to be the friendly type, if you know what I mean. If word gets out that there are hundreds, if not thousands of survivors out there, what’s to stop the soldiers leaving in the hope of finding their loved ones?”
Morrow couldn’t hold the words back as they poured out. “Shouldn’t they have that choice, sir? Shouldn’t I have that choice?”
Haywood could see the turmoil on the young man’s face at the insubordination. Opting to show patience instead of anger, he replied, “In other circumstances, yes. But not as things stand right now. Those people don’t know what’s headed their way.”
“Isn’t that reason enough to try and reach them, though, sir?” Morrow was becoming more aggrieved with each passing second.
“I’ll think on that, but all we can do is give them warning. We can’t stretch our forces that thin. Think about it,” Haywood said, holding him firmly. “If we give them five soldiers each, what good would that do against what’s coming?”