The Front (Book 2): Red Devils

by David Moody

  The only sound in the kitchen came from dripping taps and dripping blood, but they could clearly hear noises coming from elsewhere in the castle. Barton led them back out into the corridor, but soon found that he could go no further. There was a blockage up ahead. A heavy piece of antique-looking furniture had been pulled away from the wall and dragged across a doorway. ‘We’ve no option but to keep going, far as I can see,’ he said, and Wilkins agreed. They could hear movement on the other side of the door which increased in frequency and volume when Barton spoke.

  ‘Do it,’ Lieutenant Wilkins ordered.

  The men took up position back along the corridor and Barton began to move the dresser. The fury of the dead was incredible. They hammered against the door to get through, and the sheer force of the weight of dead flesh pushing forward was such that by the time Barton had shifted the dresser just a few inches, the first few grabbing hands were shoved through the gap, reaching out for him and his colleagues. Harris ran forward and began hacking at them with his bayonet, intent on doing as much damage as possible before they were released. Flesh was slashed, bones were broken, and hands and fingers were sliced off, but the dead continued to fight undeterred.

  Another brutal shove forward from the other side.

  The heavy oak dresser was shunted back another six inches, leaving almost enough of a gap for the first cadaver to get through. It was the reanimated body of another SS- Totenkopfverbände guard, replete in its blood-drenched uniform, tunic still done up to the neck, silver buttons shining brightly amidst the gore. The vicious creature appeared to be straining to get through, but it quickly became clear that it was trapped, snagged on the door, and was being pushed forward by the force of other ghouls trying to get through from behind. Harris came at the monster again, this time stabbing it through its clouded right eye and doing enough damage to immediately extinguish all aggression and render the corpse completely useless. It dropped heavily, but even before it had hit the ground it had been shoved out of the way by more of the rabid dead surging forward. With no communication between them, just a terrifying, unspoken desire, they pushed the door open further and another two broke through. Harris gestured for the others to stay back. ‘I’ve got this. No point us all getting our kit grubby.’

  He managed the faintest of laughs, but all thoughts of humour disappeared in a heartbeat. As he leaned forward to dispatch another of the hellish monstrosities, a rogue hand reached through the half-open door and grabbed hold of his over-jacket. He didn’t notice at first, so distracted was he by the vile soldier writhing at his feet which he kicked repeatedly in the face. Harris’ momentary delay in reacting enabled another one of the corpses to snag a loop of his belt with several rotting fingers.

  And then another caught him.

  Then another.

  And another.

  It happened so fast that there was nothing anyone could do. The smell of fresh blood seemed to drive the already wild crowd into an utter frenzy, and in seconds even more of them had reached through the gap and taken hold of Harris’ clothing and kit. He tried to fight back, but it was already too late. The more he fought, the tighter their grip on him became.

  Barton, Wilkins and Jones rushed to help their colleague, but there was little they could do. Wilkins and Jones were caught up with other dead soldiers which had managed to squeeze through the gap. Jones tried to re-kill one of them which towered over him, but its frantic movements were so unpredictable that whenever he thought he had a clear chance of shoving his bayonet into its skull, it either moved or managed to push the barrel of his rifle away.

  By the time he’d dealt with it and the others had managed to wipe up the other stragglers who’d broken through, it was too late.

  Harris screamed as a smaller corpse, that of an imprisoned child, sank its yellowed teeth into the exposed flesh on the back of one of his hands. ‘Bastard!’ he screamed, and he dropped his rifle with the pain, then instinctively reached for the pistol he carried holstered on his belt.

  ‘No, Harris, don’t!’ Wilkins yelled, but it was too late.

  Harris was a seething mass of grabbing hands now. It looked like there were hundreds of them pulling at his body, trying to drag him closer to their snapping mouths and deadly germs, but somehow he managed to make a half-turn to face his attackers and began firing indiscriminately into the writhing, squirming mass. The noise riled the despicable crowd to new heights, causing them to push harder and harder until the door was completely open.

  Harris was swallowed up. At the last possible moment he slipped the pistol into his mouth and pulled the trigger. The back of his skull exploded outwards, showering Jones and the others. The young soldier stood his ground for a moment, too stunned to move, but the sight of the dead crawling over his colleague’s fallen corpse was enough to force him into action. ‘Run!’ he screamed. ‘Just run!’

  The three remaining Brits sprinted back the way they’d just come, pursued by a slow yet unstoppable tsunami of the dead.

  Jones hurtled past the kitchen door. Wilkins shot out an arm and pulled him back. ‘In here, lad. Quick.’

  ‘We need to get out of this place.’

  ‘No, Jones, we need to find the scientist.’

  ‘The lieutenant’s right,’ Barton said as he shut the door behind the other two. ‘After what just happened to Harris, there’s no way I’m going to let those damn things win.’

  ‘But the kitchen’s a dead end,’ Jones protested.

  Barton shoved Jones out of the way. ‘Help me block the door, Lieutenant.’

  Wilkins grunted with effort as he began to push a heavy table across the stone floor towards the door. Barton held it shut for as long as he could, then moved at the last possible moment. The dead army was already outside; he could hear them and feel them as they fought to gain access. Jones’ fear seemed suddenly to imbue him with superhuman strength and, like a man possessed, he snapped out of his malaise and helped shove the table into position then stack more kitchen furniture against it. The dead were hammering to get at them now but, for the moment, the door was holding fast.

  ‘They’ll get through eventually, won’t they?’ Jones said, watching the door as it rattled in its frame.

  Wilkins was quick to reassure him. ‘There’s far less space out there. The last door was at the end of the corridor, not halfway along it. They’ll struggle to get enough numbers and weight behind them to push their way through.’

  ‘You sure about that?’

  ‘As sure as I can be.’

  ‘That means no, he isn’t,’ Barton added unhelpfully.

  The three comrades stepped back from the door and waited nervously, panting hard with the effort of their exertion.

  A pause.

  A brief moment to collect breath and compose thoughts.

  Six men down to three, Wilkins thought, and we’re no closer to finding Doctor Månsson.

  ‘About that wooden thing that was blocking the last door,’ Jones said.

  ‘What about it?’ asked Wilkins.

  ‘How did it get there?’

  ‘What kind of a ridiculous question is that? How am I supposed to know?’

  ‘I think it’s a very sensible question,’ Barton announced, siding with Jones. ‘Think about it, Lieutenant. Someone moved it from this side, they must have. But as far as we know, the only way of getting to it was the route we took to get in here.’

  ‘Then maybe it was that poor wretch,’ Wilkins suggested, gesturing at the cook’s headless corpse in the corner.

  ‘I don’t reckon you’re right. She don’t look like she had the strength, and where’s the weapon she used to kill herself? And why would she kill herself just after she’s got safe?’

  ‘There could be any number of reasons...’

  ‘Granted, but I don’t reckon she did it. I reckon it was someone else.’

  ‘So where are they?’

  ‘My question exactly. Either they’re in here with us, or there’s another way out of this kitc
hen.’

  The three British soldiers immediately began to investigate their surroundings more closely. The vast kitchen was ice-cold and as silent as the grave and, apart from the solitary corpse they’d found previously, the place appeared completely empty. There were windows, but they had been covered with metal bars from outside, presumably to keep the prisoners working in the kitchen safely locked-up inside.

  A heavy curtain hung along one wall. Barton looked under either end and found a discreet doorway which led into a narrow pantry. The shelves had already been largely cleared, but it wasn’t the supplies that interested Barton. Instead, he was intent on tracing a route through the mess he’d found there. It looked like someone had tried to effect an escape, using shelving stacked against one wall, but where had they gone? The light was virtually non-existent in here, and he was having trouble making sense of it all.

  ‘Here, let me,’ Jones said, and he squeezed past Barton to get through. Barton helped himself to an apple as he watched Jones explore, the little man’s movements hard to discern in the gloom.

  ‘He was a proper little tea-leaf, by all accounts,’ he said to Wilkins who was now standing just behind him. ‘Been straightened out by the war, has Jones.’

  ‘Then let’s hope he can find us a way out of here,’ Wilkins said quietly, feeling his way along the shelves to his right. He found this an awfully depressing place. The body of the woman upstairs, combined with Harris’ unnecessary death, had affected him quite badly. The cruelty of Polonezköy appeared to know no bounds, and they were yet to find the cold heart of this place. He dared not imagine what would be waiting for them there. For now he occupied himself with thoughts of the prisoners forced to work in this kitchen; preparing feasts for their captors whilst they themselves starved. This war was inhuman on so many different levels...

  ‘Got it!’ Jones announced from up high. ‘There’s a window up here. It’s not huge, so you might have a problem getting your belly through it, Barton.’

  ‘Watch yourself, Jones,’ he warned.

  ‘Looks like someone covered it from outside once they’d got through.’

  ‘Then let us get through and we’ll see if we can find them,’ Wilkins said. ‘Lead the way.’

  Jones did as he was told, and after much wriggling and holding of breath, he was soon through and standing on the other side. The window, although high on the pantry wall, was only just above ground level. He found himself in an enclosed courtyard about the size of half a football pitch.

  ‘Give us a hand, Jones,’ Barton hissed, and Jones obliged and helped pull his colleague through the narrow window and out into the open. Wilkins passed Barton’s kit through, then his own, then climbed through himself.

  ‘Well done, Jones,’ he said. ‘Where now?’

  They were looking around for doorways and passages, when someone whistled from across the way. Barton looked up and saw a light flashing in a window halfway up a tower directly opposite them. There was a door at the bottom of the tower which he moved quickly towards.

  ‘Careful, Barton, it might be a trap,’ Jones said.

  ‘I’d have expected Jerry to take pot-shots at us rather than invite us up for a chat, wouldn’t you?’

  He led the others up a short staircase, his rifle held ready, just in case.

  ‘It’s about time you chaps turned up,’ an instantly familiar voice said. It was Sergeant Steele. He was sitting on a landing, eating a veritable feast he’d half-hitched from the kitchen on his way through. He offered his food and drink to the others.

  ‘How the devil did you get here?’ Wilkins asked.

  ‘I’m guessing you three found another way into the castle. I’m afraid I inadvertently blocked the passage I found.’

  ‘We had noticed.’

  ‘I managed to get myself followed by more than a few of those damn things but I outsprinted them and was able to stop them getting through. I found myself in the kitchens and looked for another way out. I didn’t much fancy trying to descend any deeper. Not alone, anyway.’

  ‘A wise move,’ Wilkins said.

  ‘I thought I should stay put. This tower’s relatively central, and there doesn’t seem to be as many of them around here. I wondered if you’d find my escape route. Where’s Harris, by the way?’

  Jones shook his head sadly. Steele nodded, but said nothing. Harris wasn’t the first colleague he’d lost, and he knew he’d almost certainly not be the last.

  ‘I take it you’ve done a recce?’ Wilkins asked. ‘Is there a way out, or are we trapped here?’

  ‘Oh, we’re not trapped,’ Steele told him. ‘But we might as well be.’

  24

  THE AIRFIELD AT LEGINÓW

  The bodies were mounting up.

  Less than forty troops had brought down treble that number of advancing undead creatures. They were finally starting to thin out, stumbling onto the airfield in dribs and drabs now. Some were little more than withered husks, the reanimated remains of locals. Others, however, had once been soldiers, and despite having lost every shred of humanity, the urge to maim and to kill remained. They dragged themselves along until they saw one of the Americans when the scent of the living seemed to reinvigorate them, transforming them from mindless shambling shells to brutal killers in seconds.

  Half of Captain Hunter’s men were still fighting back their unnatural attackers, the other half removing the debris of battle from the airfield. Men moved quickly in pairs, picking up corpses by the hands and feet, then carrying them over to near the hangar and leaving them in a pile. Hunter thought he’d like to torch the grotesque mound and keep throwing more and more of the bastards on top of the heap, but the flames would inevitably attract even more of them.

  Sergeant Hennessy was unrecognisable. Dripping with blood. Panting with effort. Steam rose from his sweat-soaked body. ‘I think we’re there, Captain,’ he said, breathless.

  ‘I think you’re right, Hennessy. Clear the decks, hold the perimeter, and keep the damn noise down.’

  25

  IN THE HEART OF THE CASTLE

  TWO HOURS UNTIL RENDEZVOUS

  Steele had explored the tower while he’d been waiting for the others. His logic had been sound: from his relatively central vantage point he would have been able to see them coming from various angles, and having the benefit of the high ground meant he would have been able to defend himself had the need arisen.

  ‘If the scientist is still alive, I think I know where he is,’ he explained as he led the others deeper into the castle.

  ‘Are you sure this is safe?’ Wilkins asked as they climbed more steps.

  ‘As sure as I can be. I’ve not yet come across any of the dead this high. That’s not to say they won’t be up here, so keep your wits about you. This is just about the vilest place on Earth, from what I’ve seen of it, sir.’

  At the top of the staircase, Steele took them out through a door and onto a short walkway which connected this tower to another identical one, either side of the main entrance. The wind up here was bracing, and carried with it sounds of fighting in the distance. ‘Captain Hunter and his men?’ asked Jones.

  ‘I assume so,’ Wilkins replied. ‘Damnation. It sounds like they’re having as torrid a time as we are.’

  ‘Then let’s keep moving, Lieutenant,’ Steele said. ‘Time is most definitely of the essence tonight.’

  Jones hesitated. ‘Wait... Listen...’

  ‘What is it, Jones?’

  ‘More of the dead, I think. Down below us.’

  He was right. The men peered down over the battlements. From here they could see the edge of another vast area of the camp. More dead soldiers and prisoners were gravitating towards it. ‘Where are they all heading?’ Barton asked.

  ‘Come with me and all will be revealed,’ Steele told them. ‘But brace yourselves. The news isn’t good.’

  They entered the next tower, and Barton immediately primed his weapon to fire. He could hear the dead. And they were close.


  ‘Arm yourselves, men,’ Wilkins ordered.

  ‘Please... just wait,’ Steele said. ‘It’s perfectly safe.’

  ‘Nothing in this place is safe at all,’ Wilkins angrily corrected him. Steele beckoned for the others to follow. A spiral staircase led down into the dark depths.

  ‘Shine your torch down there, Jones,’ Steele said, and Jones did as instructed. ‘It’s all right. They’re not getting up this way.’

  Jones nervously edged further and further down, then stopped when he saw it. A semi-solid mass of writhing flesh, like a scab blocking the stairs. An apparently endless number of bodies had become entangled and had formed an impenetrable blockage, no way up or down. Steele had made things certain by dropping furniture on top of them. Chairs. A desk. The staircase was permanently out of action, but there was clearly no way the dead would get through. Disfigured faces stared up at Jones from deep within the horrific mess. Dead eyes filled with desperation to get at him, and fury because they were trapped.

  ‘Where now?’ Wilkins asked.

  ‘This way,’ Steele answered, and the three men followed him into what was, unmistakably, a laboratory. It was like nothing any of them had seen before. A hellish place, the bloody remnants of abandoned experiments lay everywhere. ‘Don’t touch anything,’ Steele warned. ‘The entire place is almost certainly contagious.’

  At one end of the room was a grey, bullet-marked wall which had been drenched with numerous splashes and fountains of blood. Nearby, parts of eviscerated cadavers still lay strapped to metal trollies and tables. Much of the medical equipment appeared to have been smashed to pieces and lay in ruin all around them.