Zombie Castle Box Set [Books 1-3]

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Zombie Castle Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 23

by Harris, Chris


  Jamie Clayton, on the other hand, is the opposite. We call him Gimli after the Dwarf from the Lord of the Rings, because of the full-length beard he’s grown. He’s a stocky, tough-as-nails bloke, who does bear a striking resemblance to Gimli when he wears his helmet. He’s not that short, but standing next to Ian, anybody looks like a dwarf.

  “Geoff May-Byrd is the Viking. His favourite weapons are his battle axe and his mace, and he and Jamie are in competition over who can grow the longest beard. They had a bet years ago about who could grow the bushiest beard and neither of them will concede to the other, so they’re just getting bigger and bigger. Stupid idiots!

  “Simon Delves is a fitness instructor. He keeps trying to get us to exercise more, but he’s a bloody sadist and after a few group sessions where none of us could walk for a few days afterwards, we chose to ignore him. He hasn’t worked out yet that we keep putting extra weight into his rucksack when he goes running. He likes to wear one of those big army rucksacks. His theory is women will think he’s training for the SAS or something, and so they’ll chase him down the road, begging him to take them to bed.

  “He can’t understand why it hasn’t worked yet. We know; it’s because he’s always bright red, looking on his last legs and about to collapse. Hardly the hunk of love he thinks he looks like.

  When he gets back, he thinks we’re being good mates by helping him out of his rucksack and putting it in the cupboard, but we’re just taking the weights out before he notices. We’re running a book on how much we can load him up before he notices.

  “Dave Ford is our resident Casanova; or so he thinks. His grand total of long term girlfriends in the past five years is exactly nil. His problem is he thinks every girl who even breathes in his direction fancies him. He can’t understand that while he’s great at talking to them, and they all chat to him and hug him when they see him, if they know him, still they all deflect his questions when he asks them out.”

  Shawn started laughing.

  “It hasn’t helped that every girl in the local area thinks he’s gay. I’m not saying how they know, but for some reason they all believe he’s just come out of a long-term relationship. And he, even though he’s known he was gay since school, has said he’s going to date women to get back at his old boyfriend, who he can’t get over, and is still deeply in love with.”

  Louise laughed, “Why are men so horrible to each other? You’re meant to be friends, and look out and care for each other, but you just spend time trying to make each other miserable. I just don’t get it.”

  Jim, still chuckling after what Shawn had said, replied, “I kept trying to explain it to an old girlfriend, but she never understood it either. If we like a bloke, we show it by continually taking the piss out of him and trying to trick him all the time. If we don’t like him, we just ignore him. He’s not worth a second of consideration.”

  “And for centuries men thought they were far superior to women,”’ said Becky indignantly. “In my experience, no man has ever grown up beyond the age of twelve. They all think they have, but stick a few of them in a room together without supervision and just see what happens.”

  Shawn had gone quiet, staring into the darkness, the light from the lamp reflecting tears that were welling up in his eyes.

  Wiping a tear away, he gruffly said, “Anyway, they’re my best mates, my brothers. They’re closer to me than any member of my family will ever be. I just hope they’ve made it, that’s all I ask.” Looking embarrassed at his display of emotions, he stood up and walked out of the circle of light cast by the lantern. Louise stood and followed him. Becky, seeing the men raising their eyebrows and the beginnings of smirks forming on their faces, spoke harshly.

  “That’s it! Case proved. If any one of you is thinking what I know you’re thinking, just stop it. I would say grow up, but that’s clearly impossible. He’s worried about his friends and Louise wants to check he’s okay. THAT’S ALL. She is a woman who cares. Anyway, I for one, really hope they have made it, they sound really interesting and I’d like to meet them.”

  Chapter seven

  SEVERAL DAYS EARLIER.

  “Clayton, get a bloody move on! We’re bloody going to be late and miss the best camping spot. You know we like to be at the back of the field. Whose bloody idea was it to have the whisky last night?”

  Jamie, walking out of the house and locking the door, shouted back.

  “Beaver, you wouldn’t let us go to bed until we’d finished the bottle, so my delicate state and general tardiness can only be blamed on your big, ugly, fat face. You’re beyond help, but some of us need to finish our beauty routine before we meet our adoring public. So shut up, and get that bag you’ve forgotten to load that’s sitting on the kerb, in the van and we’ll be off.”

  With more banter and general chat, the five friends settled themselves into the van and set off.

  Simon yawned and looked at his watch. “Five bloody thirty in the morning, why do we keep doing this? I could be in bed enjoying the hangover that’s all Beaver’s fault.”

  Geoff, who was driving and was cheerfully unaffected by last night’s session, replied, “Come on, girls. It’ll take about half an hour to get there, then a few hours to set up and I’ll cook us all a big fry-up before the punters turn up. You’ll be as right as rain by lunch time.”

  Ten minutes later they were out of the city, and on their way to the grounds of an English Heritage property that was holding its annual medieval festival, as part of its summer program to keep pulling in the crowds.

  “Great, the roads are nice and quiet, it won’t take long.”

  Rounding a corner on the A road, they came across a car that had left the road and smashed into a tree. Steam was pouring from the engine and its lights were still on. Geoff screeched to a halt next to it, which jolted those awake who had been trying to grab an extra few minutes’ sleep. Putting his hazard warning lights on, he said to the rest, “Come on, lads, it must have just happened. Dave, call the police and ambulance. Everyone else, out and let’s help. Ian, grab the first aid kit.”

  Rushing to the car, they expected to find the driver still in the seat, injured.

  “Where the bloody hell is the driver?”

  The door had been ripped off in the crash and lay in the ditch. The car was a mess, blood was smeared over the dash and the windscreen was smashed from when the driver had hit it, but there was no sign of him or her.

  Geoff had assumed control. One of the emergency drills they had practised as part of their prepping was that if an emergency situation arose, the first one to issue orders remained in charge until things calmed down and got reassessed. It helped avoid confusion, with everyone trying to take the lead, and subsequently causing potential delays in vital decision making. Geoff had spoken first, so he was in command, and everyone else would follow his instructions.

  “They must have been thrown clear; spread out and search.”

  Five minutes later, everyone met back at the car. No sign of anyone had been found. Dave still had his phone to his ear.

  “I can’t get through to any emergency service. It’s just ringing out until the message comes up saying all operators are busy and to try later.”

  “At six in the morning?” said Ian, “That’s’ ridiculous, keep trying, mate.”

  Another ten minutes of fruitless searching later, Geoff called everyone together.

  “There’s absolutely no sign of the driver, we can’t find any blood trails, so they can’t have walked off. We can only assume that another vehicle stopped and took the driver to hospital. There’s nothing we can do. I say we should take photos to record it all and keep trying the police to report it. There’s nothing more we can do here. It’s bloody strange but what else can we do?”

  Everyone agreed, and after a few minutes of taking photos with their phones, the group got back into the van and continued their journey. All fully awake now, everyone was excitedly going over what they had just witnessed.

 
“Watch out,” screamed Geoff, and yanked the wheel over hard, just managing to avoid a car heading straight towards them on the wrong side of the road. Ending up on the grass verge, they all turned and watched as the car continued to weave and drive erratically along the road.

  Jamie, after shouting obscenities along with everyone else in the van at the disappearing car, said, “What the fuck! That guy must have been pissed. Good driving, mate, you just got out of the way in time.”

  Geoff needed a few minutes to feel calm enough to carry on driving, and he said, “What the hell else is going to happen today? It ain’t started well, and we all know if a day starts shit, it normally goes downhill from there.” With a general muttering of consent from the now very excited and alert passengers, they continued their journey.

  Upon arrival at the field, apart from commenting on their luck at beating most others there, and so having their pick of the best places to pitch their tents, they were busy setting up camp.

  Dave still kept trying to contact the police, but eventually gave up and helped everyone set up. It took them a few hours to pitch the tents and set up the awnings and tables and chairs, getting themselves ready for the next few days. It was only when they were tucking into the bacon and eggs that Geoff had cooked on a skillet over the open fire that they realised hardly any other reenactors had turned up yet. There were only another three separate groups there.

  “Have we got the right day?” Jamie asked, “This place opens to the public in about an hour. It’s not going to be much of a show if it’s just us and those other guys.” Looking around, he continued, “Come to think of it, we haven’t seen any English Heritage staff yet, and don’t they normally have catering vans and other stuff here? I’ll go and get my phone out of the van and try and call the organiser.”

  It was a general rule that when you were at a reenactment event, you left modern devices such as phones and tablets in the van. Everyone tried hard to be as authentic as possible, and a knight in full medieval armour checking his smart phone for messages was considered bad form. Everyone enjoyed immersing themselves in the period, and a forced separation from their smart phone did the soul good, apparently. After five minutes of trying various numbers, Jamie looked up from his phone.

  “This is weird. No one is answering and half the numbers I’ve tried won’t even connect. Come on, let’s go and have a word with the other guys over there, they may know more than us.”

  The other group must have been having the same conversation, because when they saw them walking over, they came over to meet them. They all knew each other vaguely from the odd events they attended together so no introductions were necessary.

  They were having the same worries. No one knew anything. Jamie had lagged behind, still flicking through his phone. He had stopped half-way across the field and was staring intently at the screen. Eventually he walked over to everyone in a daze.

  “Has anyone checked their phones today?” Everyone shook their heads.

  “You’re not going to believe the things people are posting all over the place.”

  “Like what?” we all asked together. He handed his phone over.

  “See for yourselves.” He passed the phone over, everyone crowding around the small screen. It was a Facebook post. It showed a video of two paramedics attending a man who was lying on the floor of what looked to be a hotel lobby. The man suddenly reared up and bit into the neck of one of the paramedics. In the pandemonium that ensued, the video got blurry and shaky as the phone holder was caught in the rush, trying to get away. Jamie grabbed the phone back.

  “And this,” he said, after tapping the screen to get another video up and passing it back. The uploaded video this time showed a crowd of people stumbling towards the phone holder. He was commentating that it must be a student event and how great they looked. Another person walked towards them, clapping and showing his appreciation of the effort they had made. The crystal-clear video showed the nearest ‘student’ fall upon the unfortunate guy and rip his cheek from his face with one bite, the victim’s screams distorting the audio playback.

  “Bollocks! They’re fake,” said one of the men from the other group.

  “I know, I thought so at first, but there are literally hundreds of videos coming up on the feeds. Twitter is full of it too. It can’t all be fake. Look at this one, I know the place. It’s outside my mate Chris’s favourite pub in Moseley in Birmingham.”

  Jamie fiddled with his phone for a while and showed the group a video showing a police car that had crashed through the front of a pub. The policeman, who must have been driving the car, was ripping chunks of flesh from a screaming woman, but there was too much noise from screams and the sound of other crashes to hear any meaningful audio. The video stopped when the policeman pushed his hand into the poor woman’s stomach and pulled what must have been her intestines out and began to chew them.

  “I know that pub. It’s the Prince of Wales! There’s no way that’s faked. It just couldn’t be done. I’m telling you, something weird is going on. Look what’s happened to us already today; the car crash, the idiot driver, not being able to contact any emergency service, or anybody else, for that matter. I’m freaking out here. I want to say zompoc, but that can’t ever happen. Can it?”

  There was general agreement of ‘don’t be stupid’ and ‘of course it can’t’ from most of the other group, but Jamie and his friends just exchanged silent glances.

  “Let’s go and check on the other two groups, they don’t seem to have done much setting up,” Ian suggested.

  As one, they looked across the field to where the other two groups were. They had started to pitch their tents close to each other, but not much effort had gone into setting up so far.

  Only a few tents had been partially erected and both camps were surrounded by equipment they had unloaded, but not used yet. No one could be seen, and the camps looked deserted.

  A man from the other group spoke up.

  “They arrived together. As they drove past, one called out of the window, whining that they were all feeling terrible. Come to think of it, there hasn’t been much activity for hours, so maybe they’re having a sleep after an early start or something.”

  Geoff said quietly, “Let’s see what’s up.”

  Chapter eight

  As they all walked across the field, Dave said, “Why am I getting a very bad feeling about this?” The friends slowed down at his words, and more silent looks were exchanged. The others kept walking with purpose until they neared the tents.

  A moaning could be heard coming from one of the partially erected tents.

  “Hi, is everything ok?” one of them called out. The moaning stopped.

  A low guttural growl emanated from the tent. Its sides bulged as someone pressed against it. The tent had not been fully erected, the pegs that usually held it taught had not yet been hammered into the ground, so the sides had a lot more give than they should have. The person inside kept pushing against them until they began to lift, and the resistance the sides were giving lessened the more they rose. A person fell through and fell flat on their face. It was a man, thrashing on the ground as he tried to stand up, all the while groaning and snarling.

  A woman from the other group instinctively ran forwards to help. Dave went to help, but Simon grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t!” was all he said. The man had risen to his knees as the woman reached him. He lunged at her, knocking her over, and her friends all ran forward to help. A scream cut through the air, followed immediately by shouts of, “Get him off her.” And then…

  “Oh, my God, he’s biting her, do something.”

  The screaming continued above the shouting of all her friends trying desperately to separate them. Another figure, unnoticed by the struggling group trying to help the woman, half staggered, half crawled from the tent.

  Shawn’s friends stood transfixed, unable to comprehend fully what they were witnessing. They watched as the other person, a woman, crawled t
owards the struggling crowd. Just as it reached them it fell onto the back of one of them, flattening him, and bit into his neck. It was only when another one staggered from the tent that Dave shouted, “Run!”

  The shout snapped them out of it and they all turned and ran back to their camp. Ian, despite his size, outpaced them all.

  Back at the camp, they all stood in a nervous group, watching the events across the field. Two more figures had now emerged from another tent and were heading towards the knot of struggling people.

  Two of the group had managed to escape the crush of bodies and began to run towards Shawn’s friends. As they neared, they were both screaming.

  “You’ve got to help, we can’t get them off them. They just keep biting and grabbing everyone close to them.”

  One of the men was holding his arm. Blood was pouring through his fingers. He didn’t look to be in pain, but that was probably due to the adrenaline running through his veins and blocking it out. Geoff stepped forward.

  “Let’s have a look at your arm, mate, it looks bad.”

  The man remembered his arm and removed his hand from the wound and stared at it in shock. A chunk of his forearm was missing. The injury was clearly in the shape of a bite mark. Now he was aware how bad the injury was, the pain hit him like a steam train and he fell to his knees, screaming and shouting incoherently for help. Jamie stepped in front of him.

  “Nobody touch him. We do not know what we’re dealing with. We can’t risk getting any of that blood on us.” It was a harsh and seemingly heartless decision, but it also carried a lot of sense.

  The other unhurt man screamed at them, pleading, “You have to help him. He needs to go to hospital. And what about my friends down there? You must help. What are you, inhuman?” Geoff had walked over to the tent and was holding his chainmail.

  “No, we are not,” he said calmly, “but we do not know what the hell is happening, or what we’re dealing with. I, for one, am not going near any of them without some protection. We’ve seen what they can do, and I am not putting myself or anyone else, for that matter, at risk for the sake of a hasty and rash choice. The main priority here is our safety. We all need to get our kit on and our weapons out, and then we can help.”

 

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