Hellspawn (Book 6): Retribution

by Fleet, Ricky

  “You get some rest, big man. We’ll be back in a bit,” said Mike, pulling Craig from the room.

  As the door closed leaving him alone once more, Matt wondered who his guardian angels were. Why had they saved him? Why had they risked their own lives to go against the Gypsies? Was it the castle group? Knowing the questions had no answers, he closed his eyes and drifted off on the calming waves of morphine induced slumber.

  Chapter 29

  Craig was pacing back and forth in the smashed office. Every step brought his feet in contact with a broken object or shard of glass.

  “You’ve got to get a grip, mate,” Mike warned. It was so unlike his older sibling to lose control like this. In the past, his rages were always focused, they had a purpose. Generally to hurt or intimidate, but it worked. This crazed beast snorting and grunting in front of him was as far from control as it was possible to get.

  “Craig, can you hear me?” Mike continued.

  “I hear you. And I hear all of them.”

  “All of who?”

  “All the people I killed. Laughing at me. Mocking me for being weak. For not seeing Hombre’s betrayal coming.”

  “Craig, they’re in your head. You’re not weak, you’re an Arater, you’re strong.”

  “Why didn’t I see it then? Why?” Craig demanded.

  “Because you’re not a God! Hombre’s dropped us in the shit for sure, but what difference does it make? We’d have run into them at some point anyway.”

  “I trusted him with my life!”

  “And he abandoned you for love! So fucking what? Most people, given the opportunity, would try and get some sort of happiness in the midst of all this shit. She might be out of her mind, but she’s a stunner.”

  “So you’re not angry?”

  “Of course I’m angry, but again, what difference does it make? Anyone we send after them will probably end up dead. We need to decide what to do next, even if it means getting the hell out of here.”

  “I built this place! Me! I’ll be damned if I run away.”

  “Then tell me what we should do. We need a plan.”

  “I’m thinking of one. First of all, we’ll need to get rid of the dead weight around here. We can butcher them and salt the meat, that should buy us more time to get things figured out and make our food last longer.”

  “But it’ll leave us without a workforce.”

  “You heard Matt. We can’t build tunnels anyway, they’ll be waiting on the outside.”

  “There has to be a way.”

  A cautious, gentle knock rapped through the door.

  “What?” Craig roared and the door stayed shut.

  “Come in!” Mike called in a calm, measured tone.

  The nervous face of the guard peeped inside. “Boss, we’ve got a bit of a problem.”

  “No fucking shit we’ve got a problem! Tell me something we don’t know.”

  “I mean, outside. We have some visitors and they want to talk.”

  “Who?”

  “It’s the Gypsies.”

  “Why didn’t you say that before?” Craig ranted.

  “Because you’re going nuts,” Mike replied, heartbeat racing. “Calm down and let’s see what they want.”

  “Fuck that! Get everyone locked and loaded. I want a fucking massacre. The zombies will eat well today,” Craig chuckled manically.

  “Erm, that might not be such a good idea, boss. Come and see.”

  Craig looked at Mike as the guard retreated. Why did he look so terrified when he said that last sentence?

  **********

  Climbing up the execution platform, Craig looked out on the scene. Even he, Craig Arater, murderer, drug dealer, lunatic, had to take a sharp intake of breath at the sight. A team of riders was herding the zombies like wild west wranglers. Controlling the group of over a thousand, they had them packed into a neat little crowd which followed their hoots and shouts like obedient sheep. Now and again, one would peel off and the riders would crush or slash the head wide open. Standing a hundred yards away from the prison wall was the main group of Gypsies. Comprised of another forty on horseback, a further hundred or more men and women were on foot. All were heavily armed.

  “I see what Matt was talking about,” Mike muttered.

  Along the stone wall, perhaps one in five of the prisoners had a gun. In the field, nearly everyone was armed with a rifle or shotgun of some description. He could even spy a couple of bows and crossbows secured across backs in the crowd.

  “Where are the other zombies?” Craig asked, noting the relatively small number compared to the overall strength of the wall beaters.

  “They’ve pulled them away in groups just like they’re doing,” said the guard, pointing at the cowboy show in the distance.

  “What’re they waiting for? They could kill us all right now,” whispered Mike.

  “Is that a zombie on a fucking lead?” Craig spat, trying to get a better view.

  “It sure looks like it,” Mike confirmed of the hooded figure.

  “What do you want?” Craig called. “We’re closed for business!”

  “I don’t think that’s really an option, do you?” asked a towering hulk of a man.

  “And who’re you?”

  “I’m Lennie Hampton.”

  “Ah, Hampton. Where’s your leader? The illustrious Mrs Hampton?”

  “I’m right here,” she said, manoeuvring her horse into view.

  “If this goes south, you shoot that cunt between the eyes, do you hear me?” Craig said, doing his best to keep smiling and not move his lips. “And what can we do for you today?”

  “All I want today is for you to hand over Hombre and Mr. Hay. We need to have a little chat.”

  “They’re a bit busy right now,” Craig replied, but she ignored him totally.

  “Tomorrow, you’ll lay down your guns and surrender. I’ll be taking over things for a while. There will be some executions, quite a few in fact. I’m afraid that can’t be avoided, but once everything’s settled down, I know it’ll work out for the best.”

  “Who’s being executed?”

  “Yourself. The other leaders. Anyone that’re friends with Hombre and Mr. Hay. A handful of others to make a point. I’m sure you understand.”

  “You’re not making me feel very welcoming with your threats. You’ve already seen what happens when you go against us in the tunnel.”

  “That was unfortunate, but a mistake that won’t be repeated.”

  “You honestly think I’m going to hand over my friends, let alone myself, for you to kill?”

  “Whether you hand yourselves over, or we drag you kicking and screaming from the walls, you’ll be coming with us.”

  “Shoot this crazy bitch!” Craig ordered.

  Josh lifted the rifle and fixed her with the scope in less than a second. It wasn’t quick enough by far. A dozen cracks tore across the field, and Josh was hammered back from the slugs. Toppling from the wall, he hit the ground, coughed a torrent of blood, then fell still. His chest was riddled and part of his face was shorn away. A horrified prisoner stabbed him in the head and stared up in shock.

  “That was stupid, wasn’t it?” Claire scolded, nodding to the men.

  Another round of gunfire broke out, killing three more prisoners instantly. They landed on the concrete path below, bones cracking.

  “Everybody get the fuck down!” Craig shouted, but it was a pointless order. Everyone was cowering behind the stonework already, looking to him for guidance.

  “You have ten minutes. We’ll be waiting.”

  “Shove your ten minutes up your arse, you psychotic cunt!”

  Mike could hear the growls of the Gypsies at the free flowing insults and wondered if he should try and follow Hombre out into the wilderness. This was insanity. And not the good kind.

  “Last chance!”

  “It’s your last chance to leave here alive!” Craig shouted bringing a chorus of derisory laughter from outside the walls.r />
  “I’m not the one hiding. It’s a shame you value your own life over that of your people. Now they’ll all die as well for your arrogance. What a waste.”

  A sharp wolf whistle caused the riders to cease their activity. In short order, two more groups of horse riders appeared from around the southern and northern edges of the prison. Joining the main group, they watched as a small number of men stepped forward, striking something. A brilliant burst of red shot from the cap of each flare, before they were tossed casually towards the walls.

  “We’ll be seeing you soon!” she called as her entourage started to run and trot away.

  “Someone shoot her! Now!” Craig bellowed.

  Up and down the wall, people stared in fear, torn between certain death and certain death. Deciding that he wouldn’t dare weaken himself further by peeling a dozen fighting men, they kept their heads down.

  Mocking laughter carried over the brickwork as the gunmen sauntered off, pushing the zombies aside as if they were nothing but a minor annoyance.

  Chapter 30

  Looking over the wall, Craig was gladdened to see the distant figures of the Gypsy army disappear into the woodland. Most of the zombies were compliantly falling back to the wall, drawn by the hissing, incandescent flares. Within the prison, the three men who had been shot were climbing unsteadily to their feet. Robbed of unlife as soon as they reanimated, the living manhandled them to the walls and tossed the bodies over.

  Craig knelt on the freezing stone, seething. Four deaths for nothing. And judging by the way Manny was holding the shotgun in the yard below, a broken weapon too. They didn’t have enough to be losing them like this. What a clusterfuck!

  “I want all the wing bosses in my office in fifteen minutes!” shouted Craig. They would thrash out a plan and get this sorted one way or the other.

  “Craig, maybe it’s time to think about leaving? Just you and me.”

  Grabbing Mike by the scruff of the neck, Craig yanked him close. “Keep your fucking voice down. If the others hear you talk like that they’ll peel us up there!” He pointed at the stained platform.

  “I’m serious! Don’t you think the others are thinking the same thing?”

  Trying to appear nonchalant, Craig looked at the terrified faces. He could imagine the calculations going on behind the twitching eyes. Could they get away? Where would they go? How much food could they steal?

  “We’ll get it sorted, don’t panic. This place is a fortress.”

  “It’ll also be a tomb if we can’t get food. Five hundred zombies, locked away as surely in death as they were in life.”

  “Stop being such a drama queen. We’ve got an army ourselves if I can get the men to summon some fucking bottle.”

  “Brother,” Mike said, slowly, trying not to exacerbate the already throbbing forehead vein of his sibling. “It’d be a slaughter.”

  “Only if they see us coming,” Craig replied. “We can sneak up on them and cut their throats while they sleep. We’ll butcher their kids in front of them. It’ll be glorious!”

  Mike groaned inwardly. The insanity, once a boon, was now a liability. Weeks of cowering in the pub with that bitch, then being stabbed in the back by those bastards at the castle. A twinge of pain exploded in his buttock as if his body was trying to correct his thought. You got stabbed in the arse, it said. Picturing the face of the little bastard gave him an idea. A crazy idea, granted, but an idea all the same.

  “Craig, why don’t we…?”

  “Not now!” he grumbled, marching off. Barking more orders at the convicts, Mike could see the weight carried in the voice had gone from a metric ton, to that of a bird’s feather. Their fear of the maniac was exceeded by that of the heavily armed clan hiding in the wilderness nearby. Some rolled their eyes, a sign of disrespect once deserving of a brutal beating. Others muttered expletives and scowled at the figure marching through their ranks, a capital offence before the full descent into madness.

  Crashing through the side entrance to the administrative wing, Craig babbled and raved to himself. All manner of threats and promises of revenge bounced from the drab walls. Mike followed, shaking his head in dismay. His heart was being broken by the internal arguments taking place. For the first time in his life, Mike doubted the ability of his older brother to protect them. Astonishingly, he actually considered abandoning him to whatever fate had in store. Hell, he’d only been here a few days. Hombre’s betrayal wasn’t his responsibility to bear. A life alone, cold, starving, chased by the monsters in the dark, was that really a better option than fighting?

  “Probably,” he whispered.

  Following through the security gates, it didn’t immediately register why they were unmanned and unguarded. Attributing it to the chaos of the morning, he climbed the steps and joined Craig in the warden’s office.

  “Craig, I need you to hold your shit together.”

  “My shit’s always together. It’s everyone else that’s losing it.”

  Pouring a hefty measure of Scotch, Craig downed it in one gulp.

  “Is that the best idea right now?”

  “Getting rat arsed? It’s always a good idea.”

  “We need clear heads to discuss our options.”

  “I’ve already told you what we’re doing. We’re going to storm their fucking camp and kill everyone. I’ll take care of that bitch myself.”

  “You know that’s bullshit! We won’t stand a chance!” Mike blurted in frustration.

  “Are you trying to take over? Is that what this sudden change of loyalty is all about? Do you want to get peeled like the others?”

  Mike stared at his brother uncomprehendingly. “Don’t ever threaten me again. I know you’re the big man in here, but I’ll still fuck you up.”

  Blinking rapidly, a semblance of normality registered on Craig’s expression. “Sorry, mate. I’m just a little on edge. I need a drink.”

  Pouring another treble, he swallowed the fiery contents in one go.

  “That’s enough, we need you sober. And what was all that shit about me taking over? We’re a team, aren’t we? That means we talk to each other and listen to each other’s advice on things.”

  “And what advice would you give?”

  “We take the castle.”

  Craig burst out laughing. “Take the castle? Who are you, King Michael of Havantland? Marching off to war with your army of knights on horseback.”

  “I’m trying to think of ways out of this and you just laugh?”

  “How, pray tell, my liege, would we take it?”

  “I’ve got no idea, but it’s a solid option.”

  “Why? What benefit would that place have that the prison doesn’t?”

  “This place is designed to keep people in, and people out to some degree. One or two dodgy folks who want to scarper, or someone trying to smuggle stuff in, that kind of thing.”

  Craig was quickly losing patience. “And?”

  “The castle was designed to keep an army out. Not just a couple of people, but a whole fucking army.”

  “You do know they’re armed as well, right?” Craig asked, the mocking tone causing Mike to grind his teeth.

  “Yeah, I know that. By my count, two automatic rifles, maybe two pistols, and a shotgun. Big fucking deal. The Gypsies have dozens of each, and those are only the one’s we’ve seen.”

  Craig sat down, contemplating the points. “I still don’t see what we gain from it. If we storm the walls, there’s no guarantee we’d be better off inside there than inside here. Our strength would be better put to use taking out the travellers.”

  Mike sighed in frustration. “You heard Matt. They’re well-fortified and well-armed. They’re fighters one and all. The castle isn’t even on the same level. There’re old folk, women, kids.”

  “And trained soldiers.”

  “Two of them. Just two.”

  “And what’s to stop the Gypsies just attacking the castle if we can take over?”

  “Nothing, but it
would be a hell of a lot more difficult than attacking the prison. Shit, Craig, the walls of this place are only a foot and a half thick. A car could crash through if it was going fast enough.”

  “You’re worried they’ll try our trick?”

  “Damn right I am. And they won’t have to worry about the bastards reinforcing the gate and fucking us. They could hit us anywhere around the perimeter and the whole thing would crumble.”

  “Rest in peace, Pesci,” said Craig, toasting his fallen friend with another treble. The news of the doomed mission from his distant spotter was like a punch in the gut.

  Mike snatched the bottle and threw it against the wall. Glass shattered, and the brown liquor streamed down the bland wallpaper.

  “That was rude,” Craig growled, the lid on his simmering anger starting to boil over.

  “I need you sober!”

  The empty stomach and rapid succession of large measures of strong alcohol were starting to tell. Craig clutched at the desk to help him stand. Waving a swaying finger at his brother, he prepared to launch into a tirade of abuse until another thought overrode the compulsion. Frowning drunkenly, he slurred, “Where the hell are the wing bosses? They were meant to be here by now!”

  “I’ll go and find them. Wait here.”

  Leaving the room, Mike’s anger rose ten notches when he caught sight of Craig stumble to the drinks cabinet for another bottle. Pausing at the doorway, he considered pushing his older brother out of the way and destroying the whole stash. In his current, volatile mood, it might be best for him to get wasted and pass out. Mike could then discuss saner plans with the others while he slept off the drink.

  “Where is everyone?” Mike asked a passing prisoner.

  The man looked him up and down, then shrugged. “Fuck knows.”

  “What’s your name?” Mike demanded.

  “Fuck off,” laughed the prisoner, walking away.

  “Get back here!” Mike yelled impotently at the retreating figure.

  Christ, that was pathetic. Head bowed, Mike walked away glumly. Prisoners were alone, or in small groups, talking about the attack. Queries as to the whereabouts of the leaders were either ignored, or met with ill-disguised contempt. How has it all fallen apart so quickly? When Mike arrived, Craig had total domination over the men. Now they just looked like a surly rabble of convicts, filled with self-pity.