Hellspawn (Book 1)

by Fleet, Ricky

  “Oh baby, you are ok. Take deep breaths, that’s it,” Sarah advised and rubbed his back as he lay on his side, wheezing.

  Paige had her hands to her cheeks and the tears were running freely, she was shaking with a mixture of emotions. John and Kurt embraced and pulled Sam in with them, three generations of the Taylor men crying like babies. Gloria remained resolute, her eyes were full of tears but she would cry quietly later, until then she had to keep them safe. To this end, she continued the watch from the windows, but the only activity was a few zombies who had come to investigate the glowing night sky.

  “The attic is clear of most of the smoke, we need to get up there and soak the rafters or the fire will spread from next door before we can get out of here,” John told them from the hallway.

  Braiden had been lifted and laid on the bed, still struggling to breathe. The miracle was that he was alive at all; only the open roof prevented the concentration of smoke to build to a degree that would have stopped Kurt and Sarah affecting a rescue. The bedroom floor squelched with each step, the water soaking their feet. Kurt grabbed the buckets and filled them from the bath with difficulty. There were only a couple of inches left at the bottom. It was covered in floating ash and assorted dust from the fire fighting, no longer suitable for drinking. They would need to stock up from the neighbouring house that wasn’t ablaze, or use their provisions that were in the bug out bags and suitcases in the van.

  “How long do you think we have?” Kurt asked as he climbed into the loft.

  “An hour, tops. See the fire trying to get though the blocks you laid out?” John pointed and small flames were curling through the cracks. “The fire is already at the roof, splash the rafters now, get as much as you can on them.”

  They soaked the roof timbers and it was already warm enough that the water quickly evaporated. A lot was wasted as they tried to cover every nook and cranny and John ceased their efforts, seeing it was pointless.

  “We are wasting time now, let’s just get out of here,” John told Kurt and they headed down to the others.

  “Grab everything you can. We are going to head across to Sonya’s house, that one there,” Kurt showed them their destination. If they hadn’t been so lucky with the pendulum, they would be navigating a swarm of the dead, but luck was on their side.

  “Want me to check downstairs, Dad? Make sure the way is clear?” Sam offered.

  “Gloria would you go too? Cover Sam so he can kill them quietly,” Kurt requested and she nodded, locking the shotgun. She aimed down through the gap as Sam climbed down, being careful to keep him out of line of fire. He then took the gun from her as she joined him and was happy to pass it back, it was heavy and loud. He preferred the steel silence of the slingshot.

  They gathered anything of value, including some extra water and stored it in the fire blackened kitchen, ready for a quick run across the unprotected gardens and in through the back door. Their hearts were heavy as they made to leave the safety of their home, where they had lived, laughed and loved both before, and after their world was engulfed by the plague of the undead. Gloria poked her head through the smouldering doorway and could only see three of the walking corpses. They stood only feet from the burning building, transfixed by the fire in much the same way that the family of survivors had taken solace in the warming fireplace in the bedroom. The bodies were steaming, the moisture of the flesh rising in waves as the flesh bubbled and blistered. The first of the three ignited. The clothing and fats were no longer able to resist the proximity of the heat and blazed into a swaying pyre. Gloria thought back to images she had seen of spontaneous combustion, where poor souls had been burned to ash after seemingly inexplicable scorching consumed them. The zombie showed no signs of pain, standing there like a candle wick as the fire rendered down the body in a dripping pile of bodily juices. The other two were so close, the added sparks of their fellow cadaver was enough to cause them to burst into incandescence. The smell was beyond imagining, the scent of burning flesh that was deep into degeneration. Boiling vomit would have been more pleasant.

  “Ok, go,” said Gloria, and she stepped out with Sam close behind.

  The others began racing across the short distance. Kurt swung the sledgehammer into the lock section of the wooden door, which ripped the latch free. As the door hit the wall and the echo reached the others, the zombies turned towards them. The first to catch fire was too far gone, nothing remained in the joints and how the brain was still even functioning was terrifying. It collapsed into a pile and laid still. The remaining two had some movement and their arms raised at the survivors as they approached, eager for a searing embrace. They left a trail of body pieces behind them as they got nearer. Sam wasted no time, loading the slingshot and firing two shots at the hellish creatures, which fell to the parched grass and made their own outlines with fire, like burning crime scene tape. With the most imminent threat gone they carefully searched their new sanctuary. They went room by room to make sure there were no zombies present, then finished loading it with their scavenged belongings. Braiden was supported by Paige and they limped over, Honey keeping them under guard and watching the night carefully.

  “I’m going to move the van. Get inside, I’ll be right there,” Kurt told them. He turned over the engine which started at first try. He was grateful to have such a reliable vehicle and moved it away from their house, which would soon be on fire too. Parking close to the door, he made sure the cut out in the roof was positioned near an upstairs window.

  “Thank god they didn’t notice what we had done to the van, it would have been easy to throw a Molotov at it and destroy our means of escape,” John said, watching Kurt enter the home.

  “I don’t even want to think about what could have happened, let’s get upstairs,” Sarah suggested and they were only too happy to follow.

  The broken door was closed and blocked as much as possible, but they would use the crowbar to take out the stairs once again. It was the only way they could ensure they would have time to react in the event of another attack.

  The home smelled musty, although underlying it was a floral scent. Sonya had loved to put potpourri in glass dishes around the house. It was such a change from the awful smells they had been used to, that they savoured it, inhaling deeply through their noses. The smell of their smoke damaged clothing and skin quickly diluted the sweetness, and the moment was gone.

  “Let’s all sleep in the same room tonight. I want to know we are all together. We will move out in the morning at first light. I know we will be more visible but I don’t want to be out there in the dark with them until we learn more about how they act,” John said.

  Sam collected the mattress from Tori’s room, Sonya’s four year old daughter. The wall paper was Walt Disney, with Bella, Snow White and assorted other cartoon beauties smiling angelically at him. The toys were still strewn over the floor from the last play they would ever likely see; dust would claim them in time. He shuddered at the fates of these wonderful people and prayed that they had been reunited and were safe somewhere right now. The sickly sweet, but dark and brooding room, told him otherwise.

  “Fucking bastards!” he whispered to himself in the darkness, aware that he would be told off if caught by his parents, but feeling it summed the bad guys up. Thinking of the likely deaths of Sonya and Tori made him realise how close they had all come to dying in the most awful ways imaginable, either burned alive or eaten alive. Now they had to escape and find new sanctuary, or fail and join the ranks of the damned.

  They gave Braiden the most comfortable bed and Honey joined him, a yellow furred guardian. It was unclear to them if he would suffer any lasting damage to the lungs, but it was a moot point as none of them possessed any medical skills to help either way. The family watched in awe and sadness as the fire jumped from one house to the next, raging through the floors until the flames leaped from breaks in the roof tiles. The loss of their home hit harder than they had imagined it would, they wept quietly as it was destroyed.
Family pictures and fond memories that had taken years to accumulate were incinerated in less than an hour.

  Sam stood at the back, alternating between checking his brother and watching their last links to their old life disappear. It was a sad time in some ways, also strangely exciting. He felt as if he was being reborn, like a butterfly that was emerging from a chrysalis, ready to explore the wider world. Braiden was injured, but he had shown such guts and bravery over the past few weeks that Sam had grown to love and admire him. The situation had thrust them together and their animosity had blossomed into a strong brotherly bond, each finding something from the other that completed them. Deep down, he knew that Braiden would give his life for their family, and Sam hoped that he would be able to make the same sacrifice if the need ever arose. Braiden coughed violently again and Sam took the glass of fresh, cool water and held the straw by his mouth. Braiden took several long swallows and smiled at Sam, talking was agony and he would avoid it for now.

  “You kick ass, you know that?” Sam whispered to him. Braiden smiled and nodded. “Get some rest.” Braiden closed his eyes and Sam left him in the capable paws of Honey, re-joining the others at the window.

  The heat of the burning houses had radiated to their new abode, which was just as well. Sonya had blocked all of her fireplaces and used them for decorative purposes only. Pretty ornaments adorned the space that once held the fire grate.

  “There are plenty of duvets and sheets to keep us warm. If we had thought about it we could have brought the sleeping bags from the van, but it’s too late now,” Kurt said, returning after finding the linen cupboard and carrying a huge pile.

  “We should all get some rest now. If we can we move out first thing, I don’t want to be here if they find out we survived,” John explained.

  “But what about Braiden? He needs to recover, it won’t be good for him to be out there,” Sam stood up yelling, defensive of his injured sibling.

  “We will see how he is in the morning and decide then, ok?” Sarah tried to be the peacemaker but even she wanted to be gone from here, leaving the evil behind. Sam was placated for now and John offered to take first watch.

  “I will take the second Grandad,” Sam offered, seemingly back to his old self.

  Sam positioned himself by the door and watched as John sat by the window, his body silhouetted by the fire outside. The houses were crumbing into themselves with the heat, the roofs caving in and sending massive clouds of sparks into the night sky. It would have been beautiful to watch, but several more of the dead had arrived and set about burning themselves to death. John watched, fascinated. Sam dozed off, the last image he saw was Honey lifting her head, sniffing suspiciously and then returning to sleep.

  “Sam, wake up,” John whispered, shaking him gently.

  “Ok Grandad, I’m awake.” Sam sat up and rubbed his eyes, which caused some irritation from the smoky sweat he managed to rub in.

  “You ok?” John asked, seeing the redness and the rapid blinking.

  “Yeah, fine, get some sleep now.”

  “Ok, Gloria normally wakes up in a couple of hours anyway, so she will take over and you can get some more rest.” John hugged his grandson and then lay in the space by Gloria.

  Sam went over to the window and saw that the final house was roaring. Their pendulum lay at a strange angle on the pile of corpses after it had fallen free of the attic, the steel clips breaking away as the timber burned. Their home was a smouldering pile of embers, glowing red with small sporadic fires breaking out. The brick walls had collapsed in sections, but the rear master bedroom wall and chimney still stood, smoke issuing from the flue as if they were still safely inside and cooking dinner.

  John was fast asleep and snoring softly, he had placed a protective arm over Gloria, which she had responded to by holding his hand. No one else stirred and Sam was torn between staying here in safety, or executing the plan he had been working on since they were forced out of their home. He was still only fifteen and he tried to convince himself that he was being stupid, to keep his head down and just behave. Braiden had sown the seeds of rebellion, not misbehaviour, because that wasn’t in his nature. The ability to make choices that his parents may not like was a different matter. It would be for the benefit of their group.

  Fingering the lighter in his pocket that he had found on the hallway table downstairs, he carefully climbed over sleeping feet and legs towards the door. A cough caught his attention and he nearly died of fright when he saw Braiden looking straight at him. He pulled a puzzled face at Sam.

  “I’ll be straight back, ok? Keep quiet,” Sam whispered and was met with a look of concern. Braiden would keep the secret and nodded in agreement.

  He went to the stairs and climbed down the treads that had been left, stepping on the sides to minimise the risk of creaking. Taking the crowbar from where it had been left after its use, he jumped down the last five missing stairs with catlike grace and landed silently. Walking to the front door, he stood there for several minutes. His mind raced with thoughts of what he was attempting to do. If anything went wrong, he would die, that was a certainty. The second he set foot outside, he was at the mercy of the walking dead, but Braiden had leapt from the house to help John who he hadn’t even known. His choice was made and he turned the thumb latch, pulling the door inwards a few inches to survey the garden. Nothing moved and it appeared to be empty, he looked out and took in the surroundings; they were clear. Their previous endeavours had paid off, as much for the psychopaths as for themselves unfortunately. The noise of the fire was still assailing the still night and a lot of the remaining corpses had decided to investigate this new phenomenon in their dreary, skulking existence.

  Putting the catch on the door, he pulled it shut and stepped out into the bitter night. The heat of the fire was not radiating to this side of the house and he wished he had put a jumper on to fight the chill. Keeping low, he ran alongside the garden walls, vigilant for any movement that would signal a zombie. The end of the terrace approached and a couple of shuffling figures were making their way up the road, heading for the glow. Sam dropped down, held his breath, sat with his back against the brick wall and listened as the footsteps got closer and closer. He was terrified he had been seen and looked fearfully at the top of the wall, fully expecting a rotting creature to loom over and grab at him. The footsteps receded however, as they continued on their journey, and Sam let out his breath into his sleeve, worried that the exhalation would bring more unwanted attention.

  Slowly, Sam knelt up and glanced over the top of the wall, only the top of his head showing, like a submarine periscope breaking water and turning left and right. He was alone except for a large concentration of the dead gathered down Dymoke Street, a side road that circled the estate. They were surrounding another terrace of houses, exactly the same as Sam’s house had been. There were no visible signs that the people were trying, or even able to fight back. The chimney was without smoke so they must be in the dark, freezing cold and scared. Sam would bring this up when he got home, if he made it home. His mind was wandering again as teenage minds are wont to do, but he didn’t have the time or luxury of daydreaming. The way was still clear and he hugged the end of the next terrace, small bushes lined the property which gave him some good camouflage. Shooting a look down the next alley, there were a few undead milling around, although none that were close enough to be a risk. He crouched and ran, using the small walls as cover, hoping to avoid being seen at all. The fourth and final terrace was passed and he stood on the corner, observing the windows of the house that contained the bastards that had tried to kill them on two occasions.

  “Fuckers!” Sam growled into the night, a white cloud of breath bursting forth. These people deserved far worse than profanity, and he was going to give it to them.

  “Well, hopefully,” he admitted to himself.

  The house was dark and forbidding. Nothing moved and he started to question if they had even returned here, or whether they were out in
the night, coming for him! He spun around in all directions, but there was nothing.

  “Dumb ass, don’t spook yourself,” Sam told himself off, the last thing he needed was to be creating fantasy boogeymen out here, when there were already several thousand real versions in the local area.

  “Get moving,” Sam ordered, psyching himself up for the short run to the house, which worked. He sprinted across and slowed at the front door, still seeing no signs of movement. Thinking quickly, he knelt down at the door and carefully lifted the letterbox flap, wary of rust that would give him away in a squeal of metal. He put his ear to the small hole and a rancid smell washed over him. It was the stink of cigarettes, alcohol, sweat, rotting food and other unknowable scents. He nearly put it down in disgust, but the mission took precedence over his sensibilities.

  “Sam Taylor, covert operative,” Sam whispered with a Hollywood flourish. “Idiot,” he muttered, shaking his head at himself. He was trying to make this into a game and that would be a dangerous mistake to make.

  “Ow it hurts, no, no NO! Leave it in there!” Archie’s muffled shout came echoing down the hallway and through the opening.

  “Shut your fucking mouth you pussy. Do you want to bring them crashing through our door?” Another voice hissed with menace.

  Sam had heard enough, Gloria had hurt them and they were here, licking their wounds and planning who knows what for the next attack. Men like this would not worry about the dead walking, they would feel disrespected and bloody revenge would be without mercy if they could get past the gun.

  “Thank you Lennie,” Sam said, grateful to Braiden’s evil father for the only good act he had ever carried out, irrespective that the reason he had the gun was to threaten people. He would likely be cursing from Hell that it was helping these good people.