Hellspawn (Book 6): Retribution

by Fleet, Ricky

  Seeing JR, Mike hurried over and asked, “Have you seen the wing bosses?”

  “They’re in a meeting.”

  “Fuck! I’ve just come from Craig’s and they weren’t there a minute ago.”

  “No, mate. They’re meeting in the main hall. The one with that bloody awful throne your brother had made.”

  “Why are they meeting there?”

  JR would say no more and walked away.

  “Fuck this,” spat Mike, feeling his own anger growing. Jogging around the grounds, he came to the sports hall and it was queued out of the door. Inside it was packed to the rafters, the broad shouldered men squashed into the uncomfortable chairs, the aisles filled with surly bruisers. For a moment, Mike’s confidence waned. Faces turned in his direction, challenging. Stoking the fire in his belly, he held his head high and forced his way inside.

  “Craig told you to meet in the office!” he shouted, pushing through the uncooperative men.

  Finally catching sight of the men on stage through the throng, he attempted to turn around and beat a hasty retreat. Firm hands and thick arms shot out to hold him still.

  “Young Arater,” said Fred Fowler, perched on the blade throne like he was born to it.

  “Nice of you to join us,” sneered his brother, George.

  “You… you were meant to meet in Craig’s office,” Mike stammered.

  “Meant to? Are you giving us orders, boy?”

  “Yes. I mean, Craig did.”

  “I don’t think we’ll be following those orders anymore,” Fred replied, fingering a knife point on the chair.

  “You think Craig and the other wing bosses will let you get away with this?”

  “I think you’ll find the others want a change of management too,” George chuckled as the other chiefs moved into view.

  “He’ll peel you all,” Mike blurted.

  “He can’t even peel an apple anymore. He’s lost it.”

  “You won’t even be here after today, so I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

  Mike’s knees weakened and the only reason he didn’t collapse was the powerful arms holding him in place. “What’re you going to do?”

  “We’re going to do a trade. A couple of my Gypsy friends in here are going to broker the deal. We may lose a few more while Mrs Hampton’s in a bad mood, but things will soon settle down again.”

  “What makes you think she won’t just carry out her threat to kill us all?”

  “Simple. What does she gain by wasting all this manpower?” Fred replied.

  “Get him locked up! Find Hay and Craig and lock them up too. We’ll get this sorted by dinnertime.”

  “You don’t know her like Matt does!” shouted Mike. “Ask him about her! He’ll tell you!”

  “Shut that cunt up for me, will you?” George grumbled.

  “But…” Mike attempted to continue, but the crack of a meaty fist on his chin sent him freefalling into a pit of darkness.

  Chapter 31

  Staring at the ceiling, Matt tried to make better sense of the chaotic jumble of half remembered visions. The trauma of seeing his friends die in agony was clear. The murderous escape was clear. The pain of being shot and staggering on in the cold was crystal clear. The journey from the stream to the hospital bed was not so clear. Instead, it was a projector reel of vague images and fevered dreams. He wasn’t sure if the saviours were real or part of the pain induced fantasy. The greatest likelihood was that he’d somehow dragged himself from the water and found a shelter. The dogs had lost the scent in the surging brook and given up. When the coast was clear he’d stumbled the remaining few miles and collapsed. All this talk of people leaving candles burning and being undressed by miraculous strangers who just happened to be in exactly the right area at the right time was bollocks. Craig and Mike were having a joke at his expense.

  “Wankers.”

  Shifting position, his leg protested with a spasm of hellfire. You really think you walked back on that? In the freezing cold? Whilst drenched? The faces of the men flashed in his mind, or was it two men and a woman? All he could picture was a full, red beard. Was it someone from his old life, appearing like an apparition from his hypothermic stupor? You know it wasn’t, said his logical voice.

  “You’re not helping,” he replied.

  The crash of a heavy door being flung open came through from outside. Listening to the dark mutterings and curses, whoever had barged in was not friendly. Closing his eyes, Matt slowed his breathing to simulate sleep. The ward door was thrown open violently, cracking a hinge by the sound of it.

  “There he is!” shouted one of the voices. Was that Bobby?

  “Careful, he’s a handful!” warned another man.

  “When Mike came round, he said Hay was dosed up to the eyeballs with morphine. He wouldn’t know what’s happening even if he was awake.”

  “Good. I always hated the bastard.”

  Matt processed the information. Mike was obviously in trouble, which meant Craig was likely in danger too. Whoever was making a move against them had only sent two men down on the strength of Mike’s lie. Good lad, he thought as the footsteps came closer.

  “Oy, Hay! Wake up you Scottish prick!”

  Matt breathed slowly, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Inside he was like a caged bear, ready to rend and maul.

  “He looks like a baby, not a ten man job. I was never scared of him in the first place,” said Bobby confidently.

  “You saw what he did to the screws the last time they went for him. Four in hospital, and the others lucky to get away with bruises.”

  Matt remembered the incident. All over a mobile phone he was supposed to be hiding. The prison officers, or screws as they were called, had turned up mob handed. They always did for the strongest and most dangerous convicts, hence the saying ‘a ten man job’ because that was how many it took to subdue them.

  “Who gives a shit? Look at him now,” said Bobby, slapping his serene face.

  Matt didn’t twitch in response to the blow, just crushed the volcanic fury deep down inside. Wait for the right moment.

  “Get a wheelchair. I’m not carrying this fucking lump.” The arrogant prisoner sneered.

  “Where are they?”

  “How the hell should I know? Try looking in the other wards or storerooms.”

  “What if I can’t find one?”

  “Then we wake his arse up and drag him to solitary with the rest of the paedos.”

  “What about the girl?”

  “I’ll get her once we’re done. After I’ve had some fun with her that is.”

  “I’ll take sloppy seconds.”

  “Dirty bastard.” Bobby chuckled.

  Matt listened carefully for the sound of the door opening and then closing.

  Sitting down on the bed, Bobby said, “Well, Matty boy, it seems you’re at the end of the road. I’d like to say I’ll miss you, but I’d be lying. Whatever Mrs Hampton’s got in store is far too good for the likes of you. No more bossing me around, no more telling me the food is shit, no more telling the rest of us which bitches we can fuck. It’s dirt nap time, you big, dumb cunt.”

  “I can’t find one,” came a distant shout.

  “Fucking hell.” Bobby sighed.

  Matt could tell by the direction of the voice he was looking away. Opening his eyes, he saw Bobby rub at his face in frustration. Quick as lightning, he wrapped one of his huge paws around Bobby’s mouth and nose. Pulling him back onto the bed, he could feel the unuttered squeal of terror try and force its way past his cloying palm. Locking his legs together around Bobby’s waist, he used the searing agony of his lower limb like high octane fuel. Kicking and thrashing around, the trapped youth tried to pry the suffocating hand away. Allowing just enough room to breathe through the nostrils, Matt held on tight.

  “Bobby boy, it seems that you’re at the end of the road. I called your cooking shit because it was shit. I bossed you around because you’re too fuc
king stupid to be left to your own devices. And I stopped you fucking children, because we used to carve up nonces like you instead of letting them prepare our food. Just because you got locked up for something different, doesn’t mean you aren’t one of them. I know paedos. I can sniff them out like a pile of steaming dog shit.”

  Bobby started to try and punch over his shoulder, nostrils hissing from the ragged intake of breath. Knuckles glanced weakly from a face used to being hit hard, and Matt ignored the feeble blows.

  “Your problem, Bobby boy, is you were always a talker. Talk, talk, talk. Nothing but shit spewing from your pathetic, nonce mouth. Now you’ve talked yourself to death,” whispered Matt into his ear.

  Using his free hand, Matt dug his thumb and fingers into the soft eyes as if Bobby’s head was a bowling ball. Screams of agony came out in snorts and snot bubbles as thick digits sunk through the pliant orbs. Bobby’s flailing became even more desperate, jumping around like he was being electrocuted. Probing deeper, one eyeball burst completely, coating Matt’s thumb with syrupy ichor. The other popped out, settling against his chest. Finding the thin, ocular bone, Matt pushed through into the brain with a dull crunch. With a final spasm, Bobby fell still.

  “There’s a good boy.” He sneered, dropping the body to the floor.

  Hopping from the bed, Matt stood behind the door as the other man’s aggravated cursing got closer.

  “I couldn’t bloody find one,” he grumbled, pushing into the room. A sharp intake of breath preceded Matt slamming the door shut with all his might. Leaning forward at the wrong moment in shock, the man’s head and upper body crashed through the glass. Matt tore the small privacy blind away and grabbed at the long, greasy hair, wrapping it in his fist.

  “Matt, what the fuck?”

  “No time for that, son. What the hell’s going on?”

  “Noth… nothing. Mike and Craig asked me to come and get you. There’s a meet going on.”

  Yanking down, the man’s neck came perilously close to the jagged shards of glass sitting in the frame like glinting stalagmites.

  “Wait! Fucking hell, Matt, you nearly stabbed me!”

  “Talk! Before I pop your fucking brain like that twat!”

  Matt twisted the lank hair so he could get a better view. Blood ran from the ruptured sockets, and Bobby’s remaining eye lay on the floor, seeming to stare at them.

  “Ok! Ok! Just let me go and I’ll talk!”

  Pulling down, glass pricked through the skin deep enough to elicit a shriek of terror. He was Matt’s now.

  “The Fowlers have taken over. They’ve been wooing the other bosses for weeks now. Once the psycho Gypsy turned up threatening to kill us all, even the most loyal of them switched sides.”

  “And why are you here? To kill me?”

  “No, they’re going to hand you over to try and save the prison.”

  “Bloody fools. They’ll end up getting everyone killed.”

  “They say it’s worth a try,” mumbled the man, trying to keep his neck away from the daggers.

  “They don’t know her,” Matt replied, analysing his options. They were minimal.

  “Let me go, eh? We can go and see George and Fred, they may be willing to make a deal with you.”

  “They won’t,” Matt said, yanking down as hard as he could.

  Partially decapitated, the man whose name Matt still couldn’t remember, gurgled and flopped, cutting deeper into the meat of his neck. Pulling the door open and dragging the twitching body with it, he stepped over the rapidly spreading pool of crimson and made for the exit. His chances of escaping were close to zero. All he had on his side was the element of surprise, and the hope that the others were preoccupied in the meeting. Gently opening the medical wing door, he peeked out and found the corridor empty. Searching inside the stock room, he found a crutch and adjusted it to his own height. It took some of the weight from the damaged leg, but every step was like a fresh gunshot in the tender meat. Covered in the blood of his enemies, he stealthily made his way down the disinfectant stinking hallway. His goal? The administration block, his room, and the young girl who he would die to protect.

  Chapter 32

  Clarissa was tucked into the warm, comfortable chair, reading a delightful tale of a young girl and her horse. Closing her eyes, she imagined she was the heroine, galloping along at full tilt to save the day. She could even feel the wind flowing through her long brown hair, the fine mist of salt water thrown up as hooves hammered the moist sand on the ocean’s edge.

  A tense exchange outside the door ended abruptly with the guard being pushed inside by a hobbling Matt.

  “You’re hurt!” Clarissa cried, seeing the crutch and trickling blood which saturated his sock.

  “It’s nothing, sweetheart. Just a little graze.”

  “What happened?”

  “There’s no time for that now. We need to get your things and leave this place.”

  “Leave? What do you mean?”

  “It’s not safe. I need to get you out of here.”

  “But what about my mummy and daddy?”

  “I’ll try my best, but I can’t make a promise I may not be able to keep.”

  “I don’t want to leave them!” she sobbed, panicking at the chaotic changes taking place.

  “I’ll get you to safety and then come back for them, I promise.” This was one he would be able to keep, even if it meant his death. The debt owed to Jason and his wife couldn’t be repaid. He realised that the journey to Scotland would have to be postponed until their own survival could be decided, one way or the other. His honour would not allow it to be any other way.

  “What the fuck am I meant to do?” asked the guard.

  “Mind your language for one thing,” Matt growled.

  “Sorry, what am I supposed to do? Either Craig peels me if he survives, or the Fowlers do worse.”

  “Come with us,” Matt offered.

  “No chance. This is my home,” sighed the man. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he puffed out his chest and nodded. “You’re going to have to knock me out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, just don’t kill me for fu… goodness sake.”

  “Thank you, Reg. You’re a good lad,” Matt said, aiming for the point of his chin with a gentle right hook.

  The blow was hard enough to elicit a crack of meat on meat, but not hard enough to break the jaw. Reg’s eyes rolled and he fell back onto the bed.

  “Will he be ok?”

  “Aye. In about fifteen minutes.”

  “Matt. I don’t want to leave either.”

  “Sweetheart, we have to go. I’m going to get you to some nice people, people that will protect you. Then I’ll come back. I swear on my life.”

  “Has something bad happened?”

  “Really bad, but it’s only bad for the mean people in here. The good ones aren’t involved.” He tried his best to sound convincing. The innocents would pay just as dearly as the lunatics who caused this whole mess.

  “Ok, I trust you,” she said, her voice barely a squeak.

  “Thank you, lass. Now let’s get your bag and belongings. We have a good walk ahead of us to get to the castle.”

  “We’re going to Arundel?”

  “It’s where the good people are.”

  “What about the monsters?”

  “There’s worse inside these walls, that’s why I’m getting you out.”

  In less than a minute they were fully kitted, their belongings secure in holdalls and bodies wrapped in winter clothing. Hobbling to the door, Matt peered out and found the corridor was still empty. The roars of jubilation coming from the sports hall indicated that they were in no hurry to disperse. They might just make it.

  “Hurry now,” Matt urged, knowing he was the slow one but putting the pain aside.

  The grey halls passed, and a few faces looked on from the side rooms. None challenged them. Coming through the administration offices, Matt remained watchful. The vis
itors area was locked up tight, with the mantraps fully secured and no guards present. Taking out the secret set of keys he had acquired for a favour, he unlocked the gates and moved through. Passing the visitor tables, he looked across to the one in the far corner and a memory came flooding in. Against firm instructions, his wife had brought the boys down to see him. What was meant to cheer him up, had only filled him with more despair and grief. The boys had been terrified of the dangerous looking individuals all around the room. Unable to comprehend that their dad was one of them, they had both started crying until Hazel was forced to leave. Bitterness and a seething rage had taken hold as they bustled through the gathering. One of the prisoners, Xander, had cursed at them when his son had accidentally knocked into his elbow as they passed. The brutal beating Matt had given him for the disrespect resulted in a month’s stay in the hospital wing and the loss of one eye.

  Coming out onto the open ground between the prison facility and the layers of fence and stone wall, Matt expected to see at least a handful of wary sentries. The walls were completely unoccupied as far as the eye could see. It was bad news for Craig and Mike, but a godsend for his escape attempt. Placing as little weight on the damaged limb as possible, he forged on towards the northern tunnel. The outer cage was locked up tight, and his illicit keyring didn’t have the correct item to open it.

  “Hold tight here a moment, sweetheart. I’m going to rip the gate off.”

  “Daddy!” Clarissa shrieked when Jason stepped into view.

  Matt stopped dead, looking around to see if her unexpected yell had drawn any unwanted attention. Running towards each other, Jason swept her off her feet and hugged her tight. Tears flowing, they embraced like it was their last chance to hold each other. Depending how the next few hours turned out, it might well be. Matt felt a lump form in his throat at the sight. Coughing to dislodge it, he swallowed the emotion and called them over.