Zombie Castle Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Harris, Chris

  Ian broke the silence. “What now? We can’t stay here. I vote we pack everything up we need to take, leave anything unnecessary here, and head back home. We’ve got loads more stuff there we could use to help get through this shit. We then think of a secure place to go to and work it out from there.”

  They all agreed to the plan and busied themselves gathering all the gear they had only just unpacked a few hours earlier. Geoff went to the van and turned the radio on.

  “Hey, guys, come and listen to this,” he called out. They all joined him, including Marc. The radio station was playing a looped message.

  “National emergency message. Please stay in your house. Avoid all contact with anyone. Monitor 1050mz on medium wave for information updates.”

  Geoff tuned the radio to the medium wave channel and turned the volume up so everyone could hear.

  “This is the Emergency Public Broadcast Service for Her Majesty’s Government. We have very little information about the current situation, but this is what we know so far. A global virus has broken out. Victims initially develop cold-like symptoms but then develop severe psychosis. In other words, they become extremely violent and irrational. Reports are coming in of people being attacked and bitten, and the death toll is rising.

  Please avoid all contact with other members of the public until we can discover more about the situation. Do not travel! Stay where you are. We will continue to provide updates when we can. Monitor this frequency at all times. Until then this message will continue to be repeated.”

  “I think that confirms it then, lads,” muttered Geoff, “We’re in the middle of a friggin’ Zompoc.”

  The group of six, five still wearing the armour they had donned earlier, silently stood together in the middle of the sun-drenched field.

  Chapter nine

  Working efficiently together, the five friends quickly dismantled the tents and gathered their gear together, ready to load the van. Marc had walked away and was sitting next to the bodies of his wife and son.

  Eventually he stood up and walked down the field to where his camp had been located, returning a short time later with a shovel.

  “I have to bury them,” he said sadly, “I can’t leave them here to rot in a field. It’s not how I want to think of them.” Everyone immediately offered to help and went to find a suitable tool to assist.

  Marc wanted them to lie together, so the friends set about digging a grave wide enough to accommodate two bodies. The soft earth of the field was easy to dig and soon the six sweating men had excavated a hole large enough for the two to lie side by side. The bodies were handled carefully, to avoid coming into contact with any blood, lifted and wrapped in blankets.

  Marc, standing in the bottom of the grave, gently laid the two bodies next to each other and climbed out. The sombre group stood beside him.

  “Goodbye, my loves. You will always be in my heart. I will be strong and survive this, so you will live on in my memory. I will fight to protect that memory until I can no more. Then I shall join you.”

  He then silently began filling the grave. Everyone else respectfully waited until the bodies were completely covered and then stepped forward to help.

  The act of laying his family to rest, as heartbreaking as it was, brought Marc back from the deep pain and anguish he was feeling. He helped the friends load the van. It was as if he knew he had to contribute.

  He had lost his wife and son, he was grieving and would still do for a long time to come, but everyone had to pull their weight if they were going to survive.

  The friends insisted that he, for the time being, join their group and accompany them. They explained to him that their rough plan was to drive back to the house they shared in Bristol and collect all the other useful equipment they had there. Then, depending on what they found, they would find and secure a good location.

  Marc agreed. He wasn’t in a proper state of mind to think clearly, but he could see the sense in doing so.

  “Marc, have you got anything you need to get from your camp?” Geoff asked him. He looked thoughtful for a while, staring across the field to where he had set up camp with his friends and family, before turning towards the group. He stood a little straighter and a determined look came onto his eyes.

  “I’m going to need to get my weapons first. I also think the pikes we use will make great zombie killers.” He looked at the group.

  “I think I need to get some better armour, though. All we wear is chest plates, helmets and greaves, and I’m going to want to wear more than that.” Geoff pondered for a moment.

  “Pikes will make the perfect longer distance weapon. How many have you got? If we work out some new tactics, I think they’ll be a great addition. Oh, and don’t worry about the armour. We have enough spares to cobble something together for you.” He waved his hand towards Marc’s camp and the other one close to it.

  “I think we should take what we can from your camp and the camp the others had, though. If the shit has hit the fan like we think it has, we’re going to need as many spare weapons as we can get our hands on.

  Let’s finish getting all this loaded and then we’ll go and get your kit and whatever else we can.”

  Working together with a practised routine, the van was soon packed and after a final check around, Geoff drove the van down the slope to Marc’s camp while the other walked.

  Marc stayed behind for a few minutes to say a final farewell to his family before joining the group, who were waiting for him to arrive, respectfully not wanting to begin rootling through his possessions before he got there. It was soon apparent from the amount of useful kit they could gather from Marc’s camp alone, that it would not fit into their van. The decision to use Marc’s van, which was similar to the one they had, was an easy one to make.

  Everyone apart from Marc was still wearing the armour they had donned earlier. The hot sun beating down and the heavy weight they were carrying made them sweat profusely and slowed down the process, but eventually everything that was deemed useful was piled into the back of Marc’s van.

  Jamie called a rest break and the rest of the group all slumped to the ground, most likely grateful that someone had called out what they were all thinking, but not wanting to be the first to break and ask for it. Marc passed around bottles of water, which they all drank deeply from.

  Jamie started a conversation about tactics they should use in the future, if and most likely when, they faced more zombies. They were all on a subject they had experience and knowledge of, so everyone had an opinion and the conversation took off.

  The main consensus was that from the little experience they’d gained from the one brief battle they’d just fought, was that their tactics had been sound. Shields would be useful to hold the zombies back if the numbers got too many, and they would help protect them.

  The pikes that Marc had would give them the means to kill from a greater distance, which everyone agreed would be a better and safer option.

  From modern times, when small numbers of police using riot shields have held protestors at bay, to battlefields across the millennia, a small number of well trained, well drilled and suitably armed people have been able to stop, fight and defeat far greater numbers than should be possible.

  History books are full of accounts of British red-coats forming squares and turning the tides of battle as the enemy fruitlessly washed against these isolated outposts, like waves against a breakwater, wasting their strength, unable to break through. Further back in time, Roman legions fought and defeated countless numerically superior foes through their formidable training and tactics gained from fighting their enemies over the centuries.

  The one problem the group of friends knew they had, was that there were only six of them, so there was a limit to how many zombies they could face, no matter how good their tactics and discipline were, before they would be overrun.

  Ian had taken a small whetstone out of a pouch on his belt and was running it along the face of his huge battle-ax
e. Lost in the moment, he was humming to himself. This reminded the rest that even though they constantly kept their weapons in good condition through regular cleaning and oiling, for safety the edges were kept deliberately dulled and not razor sharp.

  Noticing the others looking at him, he said simply, “’Bout time we got proper edges on them, boys. We ain’t going to be fighting mock battles from now on. It must have been a lucky strike when I took that bloke’s head off, because this thing wouldn’t even cut butter at the moment.”

  Everyone else reached for their whetstones or went to the van to fetch one. For the next ten minutes the only sound was the smooth ringing rasp of stone against metal.

  An “Oh, shit!” from Simon made them all look up. “I thought you said we were safe here.” He pointed towards the entrance to the field. A horde of shambling beings could be seen coming down the lane that led from the main road.

  “They’re following someone, that’s why,” Geoff replied.

  Looking closer they could see what appeared to be a man leading the group. He was exhausted, stumbling along on legs that were barely holding him upright. He noticed the group, who had risen to their feet and were staring at him approaching, and encouraged at the sight, he began waving his arms and quickened his pace, his faint shouts reaching them across the distance.

  Marc broke the silence, standing there surrounded by his armour.

  “Can someone help me kit up, please? I assume we’re going to help him?”

  That galvanized them all into action. Within a minute Marc had his breastplate, greaves and helmet on. With a short sword attached to a belt around his waist, he hefted his pike over his shoulder. Jamie had collected shields from the van and handed them out.

  “On me, boys,” commanded Ian, “Let’s keep tight and stay focused. There are over twenty of them following that bloke, so that’s more than three each. Watch each other’s back as before, and we’ll be fine.”

  With a ‘Let’s go!’ the six warriors broke into a jog and made their way towards the entrance gate. When they reached the gate, a single command of ‘Stop!’ from Ian bought the group to a halt.

  The man was twenty yards away and had gained ground on the zombies, who had fallen a further thirty yards behind him. At the sight of six men, dressed in full armour and brandishing vicious looking weapons he stopped in his tracks, unsure of and disbelieving what he was seeing. He stood there, not sure what to do next until Dave bellowed,

  “It’s okay, mate, keep coming, they’re almost on you.”

  He looked behind him at the approaching zombies and then stared again at the medieval apparition that stood in front of him. He looked to either side as if to find another escape route, and seeing none. He stood for a few more seconds as if he was undecided whether to trust what he was seeing, before running the final yards towards the knights.

  Simon stepped back to let him through the wall of shields they’d formed between the gate posts. The man collapsed to his knees on the floor, staring at the group.

  “It’s okay, mate,” said Simon, “you’re safe now, we’ll be with you in a minute, we’re just going to deal with your fans first.” Ian took command again.

  “These gates are where we stand. Our flanks are protected. This is our Thermopylae! They shall not pass.” Jamie laughed, “Bloody hell, we have Gerard Butler leading us, pretending to be Gandalf. We’re in deep shit now.”

  “I’m far too good looking to be Gerard, you idiot.” He paused and said in a sotto voice, “And actually, I thought that was one of the most inspirational war speeches ever given. I expect an award later.”

  Everyone else laughed, including Marc, who was caught up in the moment as much as the rest of them.

  “What the hell are you guys like? We’re facing a mass of zombies and you can still prat about. You’re all absolutely bonkers.”

  Dave replied, banging his sword against his shield, “We’re going to have to be bonkers if we’re going to survive this.” And raising his voice, he kept chanting,

  “They shall not pass. They shall not pass…” Soon everyone else joined in, their war cries spurring them on, raising them up so their minds could prepare to fight the mass of zombies shambling towards them.

  The noise they were making made them the sole attraction for the crowd before them. Their pace seemed to pick up as they could see their next meal in front of them. Twenty yards, fifteen yards, ten yards. The chanting petered out and the friends gripped their weapons and shields tighter. Marc had positioned himself in the centre of the group, facing sideways with his pike held straight in front of him in the classic pikeman’s stance. The first one was a man in a business suit who must have turned without being bitten, as he had no visible injuries. When he got within range, Marc thrust his pike forwards. The sharpened point on the end of the heavy hardwood pole impaled the zombie through the forehead, stopping when it reached the axe-like blade that was attached to the end of the spike. The zombie stopped dead. Literally! Its arms dropped to its side and its legs buckled, and the only thing holding it up was the spike impaling its forehead.

  Marc, straining against the added weight, grunted and yanked the pike back. The zombie collapsed to the ground.

  “Again,” screamed Jamie. The pike was thrust again. Marc’s aim was not as good this time and he impaled what had probably only yesterday been a young woman through the shoulder. It gave no sign of being injured and it pushed and clawed against the wooden shaft of the pike that was stopping it from reaching its next meal. Marc, straining against the weight, held it back.

  This caused the ones behind to stack up, unable to even work out that the simplest way to get around the sudden obstruction would be to step around the one in front. Marc yanked the pike back, pulling the spike from the former woman’s shoulder. Suddenly released from what was stopping it going forward, it staggered and fell on its face, which caused the ones behind to trip over her body in their urge to reach the group.

  “Brilliant. Well done, mate,” said Dave, sword held ready, shield held high. “That’s broken their line, we’re not facing a solid block of them now.”

  As the zombies at the edges got within striking range, Ian and Simon struck out with their axe and sword. Ian, needing the room to swing his heavy axe one-handed, held his shield to his side, stepped one pace forward and swung the axe in a downwards motion straight through the top of the head of the one nearest to him, splitting its skull in half. As it fell, he yanked the blade free, and raising his shield, stepped back into the line. It was an impressive feat of strength even for one of Ian’s size.

  Simon was holding his shield across his left side and was swinging at the head and neck of the one nearest to him. The sword was heavy and swung with power, but it took a few blows for the skull to be damaged enough to reach and destroy the brain.

  The horde was now pressed up against the shield wall, the fences either side of the gates funnelling them together. Everyone was swinging their weapons at the faces nearest to them. Marc, protected by the shields either side of him, held his pike with two hands, thrusting it at any head within range. The pile of bodies on the ground grew, the ones behind stepping over them, pushing against the shield wall.

  “On three, push them back,” Jamie screamed. This was a move they practised and performed when doing reenactments, so everyone knew the drill and prepared themselves, lowering their weapons and overlapping their shields in one slick move.

  “One, two, PUSH!” shouted Jamie, and as one, they put their shoulders to their shields and gave a mighty push forward. Marc knew the drill too, but not having a shield, he dropped his pike behind him and spread his arms across the backs of the ones nearest to him to add weight to the shove.

  It worked, the front row of zombies, already unstable, standing on the bodies of the fallen ones, fell back into the ones behind. The force of the push knocked most over like dominoes.

  The group had taken one step forward due to the momentum of the push and found themselves step
ping on the ones they had felled first. Simon noticed some of the bodies still twitching.

  “Step back,” he shouted, “some are still alive.”

  As if standing on hot coals, as one, they all leaped in the air and jumped backwards. Looking down, a few bodies were still moving, trying to free themselves from the others lying over them.

  “Close one, well spotted, mate,” Dave panted, and stabbed his sword through the head of a zombie that was snarling and snapping its teeth a few inches from his right foot. Ian took command.

  “Boys, we’ve got a few seconds till they’re on us again. Kill the ones on the floor and form line. We got about half of them that time. One more go and we’ll finish them off.” Axes, mace and swords swung and stabbed into any exposed head in the pile in front until Ian shouted the command.

  “Form line.” The disciplined and well-drilled friends immediately formed a shield wall and prepared to kill again.

  Marc killed three more before they were back within striking range. The kills were easier this time, the zombies had thinned so there was more separation between them, allowing for better aimed and stronger swings of their weapons. In no time at all, there were no more facing them, just a pile of corpses lying on the floor. Some were still twitching, so with no hesitation this time, weapons were swung until they were satisfied they posed no more threat to them.

  The fight had lasted no more than a few minutes, but everyone was sweating and panting from the exertion. Stepping away from the corpses, they dropped their shields and weapons and quietly bending over, hands on knees, they got their breath back.

  “Who the hell are you guys?” a voice asked, “And could somebody tell me what is going on?” They all looked up. In the heat of the moment they’d forgotten all about the man who the zombies had been chasing.