by Ricky Fleet
Alina leaned past, looked up and whispered, “They’re patterned like toe holds,”
“Exactly, my dear!” Stephen clapped his hands. “Kurt, have a climb and tell me what you see.”
“What?”
“Trust me.”
Snorting his frustration at the outlandish request, Kurt pulled the fire grate out, scattering the grey debris all over the floor. Standing in the fireplace, he was surprised at how large it was. The opening itself would easily accommodate even his broad shoulders all the way to the roof. Finding the first nook, he placed a foot inside the gap and used a higher depression to pull himself upwards. After three metres or so he reached the angle in the chimney and the mystery was revealed. Partway up the stone, but safely out of sight of anyone who may peer upwards, was a large hole. Holding a hand over it, he could feel the supplementary draught of another opening. Carefully scooting himself up the incline, he used the torch to peer inside. The vertical bolthole was about two metres deep instead of the full height of the building and from that point, steps wound downwards in a spiral.
“Well, bugger me,” he muttered.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Stephen called from below, delight evident in his voice. It was obvious he adored everything about the castle and in some ways, it transformed him from the brooding, whining, pain in the arse.
“Very.”
Backing out and climbing down, Kurt was covered in soot and cobwebs. Alina giggled at him as he wiped sweat away and left a massive streak of grime across his face.
“Mind if I take a peek?”
“Be my guest,” Kurt said, handing the torch over.
As the two men waited patiently, thin streamers of black dust fell into the hearth from her movements. An audible gasp could be heard and Kurt smiled, knowing exactly how she was feeling.
“It was designed to be a means of escape for anyone important,” Stephen explained. “If the castle was breached, they would climb and retreat through the bolthole while a servant lit a fire. To any observer it would look like the person had fled and hidden somewhere else within the castle. By the time the fire died and if anyone even found it, they would be far away from danger.”
“And where does this lead?”
“About a quarter mile across the fields to the south east. Because most attacks would be launched from the west due to the even terrain, it was felt to be the easiest place to evade capture.”
“Genius.”
“Indeed, they were,” he replied.
Alina ducked under the mantel and she too was streaked with grime.
“The third one is the most fascinating, and also the most dangerous.”
“Lead on,” Kurt declared, grabbing a small hand towel from the adjoining bathroom to dab at his face.
Their final destination led them up the steeply climbing steps of the central watchtower. The well was located in the circular sentinel which provided the last line of defence in times of attack. Some of the protective bars, which were designed to keep the public from falling in, had been removed to allow the buckets unfettered access to the water below.
“How deep is it?” Kurt asked.
“One hundred and thirty feet to the water table,” Stephen replied.
“So why are we here?” Alina looked around at the solid walls surrounding the well housing. Nothing lay on the other side except long drops to the ground below, that much she knew.
“The last tunnel is down there,” Stephen whispered, pointing down the stone lined shaft.
“You’re shitting me,” Kurt gawped.
“Not at all. Take the torch and move as far to the left as possible, then aim the beam down directly below me, about sixty feet or so.”
Kurt complied and, sure enough, the dark arch was right where he said it would be. “How the hell is anyone supposed to climb down there?”
“You don’t climb, you’re lowered.”
Kurt was rocked by a sense of vertigo and he had to look away from the sheer drop. Alina asked for the torch and took up position where he had been standing.
“You wouldn’t ever get me down there,” she muttered and Kurt could only agree with the sentiment.
“You must understand that this was a last resort. If the defenders were beaten back, they would have water and provisions in this tower. A young scout would be tasked with breaking through the enemy lines and securing reinforcements. This tunnel would give him the best chance.”
“And where does this one come out?”
“Due north, right by Swanbourne Lake which is the source of this water.”
“What’s to stop the enemy from just walking inside and poisoning the well?” Alina wondered.
“That’s where it gets interesting. The poor lad would need nerves of steel as the outlet is submerged in the lake itself. He would need to swim underwater in the pitch darkness for about twenty feet before hitting the surface of the lake. Even in the event of capture, the chances of him being able to pinpoint where he had emerged from in the middle of the night would be next to zero.”
“Ingenious. But I think we’ll ignore this one for now,” Kurt said, stomach still woozy from the view.
“That’s probably for the best,” Stephen agreed.
CHAPTER 14
“Hawkeye, this is Early Bird, are you receiving? Over.”
“Hawkeye receiving. It’s good to hear your voice, Sarge. Over,” Morrow replied.
“Can you perform a sweep of the holiday park? Looking for an infiltration point with minimal resistance. Over.”
“On it. Drone is five minutes out. Over.”
Replacing the radio, Holbeck turned to the sisters. “Are you going to be ok for a while?”
“You do what you need to. We’ll clear up as much of this mess as possible so the folks aren’t treading in zombie guts when you bring them back.”
“You’re both remarkable,” Holbeck said with a grin.
“Don’t you forget it! How long do you think it will take?” Max asked.
“All strategic planning goes out of the window with the undead, you can’t account for their behaviour like you can with human enemies. If we can do a smash and grab, then about four to six hours. It’ll be a squeeze trying to get everyone back in one journey, but we’re not going to be able to do multiple runs with the dead on our asses. We wouldn’t have survived this encounter if it wasn’t for the pair of you and I’m not getting bogged down again.”
“Understood.”
“If we can use the gas it’s going to make a hell of a racket,” Eldridge explained. “Please keep your eyes peeled for any dead the noise may draw your way until we get back with the big guns.”
“We will,” Angela said, hugging the young woman.
Climbing into the APC’s, the soldiers waved at the farmers and their faithful hounds. Trundling away, they pulled up and sat idling at the eastern fringe of the farm. Holbeck watched the tiny dot in the sky as the Watchkeeper performed its reconnaissance run.
“Early Bird, this is Hawkeye. Are you receiving? Over.”
“Go for Hawkeye. Over.”
“You’re in the clear all along the western edge of the park. The largest body of zombies are surrounding the main complex on all sides and there are only small pockets of them interspersed elsewhere. Groups ranging from two to six will be your biggest threat until you engage the main force. Over.”
“Thanks for the sitrep. Over and out.”
“What’s the plan then, Sarge?” Eldridge called out over the grumbling engines.
“I think we’re going to try and lay a trap if we can keep our heads down long enough. The caravans weigh several tonnes each, so if we can drag them into a circular formation it could be a good way of penning them in like cattle.”
“How big are they?” Eldridge asked.
“About twenty-five feet long. With about ten side by side, I think we could herd most of the undead and then use the opportunity to get the survivors clear.”
“And then we could a
lways rig the gas cylinders to explode when they are caught inside,” Harkiss replied.
“You really want to blow shit up, don’t you?” Carpenter shouted from the driver’s seat.
“I want to set the world on fire, baby!” he replied, banging on the cab roof.
“If we can ensure that it won’t impact our own safety, or that of the civvies, then we can jerry rig something,” Holbeck agreed and Harkiss punched the air.
“Let’s roll out. Slow and steady, drivers. I want to come in on the north-western tip of the park.”
Carpenter and Petermann gave a thumb’s up and slowly accelerated towards the partly frozen morass. The tracks crunched through the crust and the vehicles were on their way, churning the boggy ground in their path. In the distance, hundreds of aluminium clad, static holiday homes came into view. The engines eased back to minimise the announcement of their arrival to anything nearby that may be listening.
Holbeck pointed to three small bungalows which were at the furthest northern edge of the grounds. Judging by the uniforms that hung from the washing lines, it was accommodation for some of the staff to use. Red shirts emblazoned with the parks logo swayed gently, while others had broken free of their pegs and were caught in bushes or partly submerged in dank puddles. Coming to a stop, fifty feet away they could see all three front doors were hanging off their hinges. The soldiers exited the Warthogs and gathered round.
“We’re going to clear the buildings, but only use the axes or machetes the ladies gave us. Any gunfire will give away our position and the whole plan is shot, do you understand?”
“Yes, Sarge,” they all replied.
“Langham and Petermann, bungalow one. Eldridge and Dougal, two. Carpenter and I will clear three. Harkiss, you’re our eyes.”
The silence was eerie. A place of vibrancy and youthful exuberance now lay as quiet as the proverbial grave. In place of the shrill laughter of children at play was the flutter of fabric which would never be worn again, and the distant groans of the massed dead.
It could have been assumed that any lingering zombies would have already left for the chance of a feast to the south, but assumptions were long past. They all knew the unpredictability of their foe and acted accordingly. Eldridge placed her back to the bare concrete render to the left of the shattered door and listened. When she gave the all clear signal, Dougal risked a glance through the large bay window. The morning light gave a clear view of the lounge and apart from the furniture and television, nothing lurked inside. Stepping carefully over the twisted door, the carpet squelched underfoot from the rain which had blown in through the opening. They both paused in the narrow hallway, listening more intently now the outside world had been largely shut off. Nothing.
Apart from the musty odour of mould and mildew, the scents of the dead were absent and they cautiously moved deeper. The internal doors had fared no better as whoever had taken shelter tried to keep the dead at bay. The weak, hollow shelled construction had disintegrated under the onslaught and, mixed with the fragments of cardboard and wood, were dried patches of brown and black.
Dougal shook his head in commiseration and the look on his face said; poor fuckers.
The second and third doors led to the sleeping areas and each room had three bunk beds. Mattresses had been shoved against the brittle doors in a futile attempt to keep the ravenous mouths away and these also bore the same dried arterial spray.
“Dear God,” Eldridge whispered, pointing at the awful scene in one of the bunks.
A bloody human outline lay on the bottom mattress of the furthest bed, like a snow angel painted in red. Whether they had been fast asleep, or more likely had just tried to cover themselves like an infant hiding from monsters, the soldiers could only guess. It had been fruitless and whoever they were, they now undoubtedly walked among the damned.
The tiny bathroom was clean, but the kitchen was in a terrible state, though not from the attack. It was typical of any accommodation for youngsters or students across the world. Half eaten food, cigarette ends scattered around indiscriminately and a sink full to the brim of dirty dishes and saucepans. The balancing act of crockery and stainless steel was impressive.
“I’ll wash, you dry?” Dougal whispered, trying to lighten the mood.
Shaking her head, she peeked out through the back door. The rear yard was full of more detritus; beer cans and broken bottles, even a toppled glass bong. Leaning over the fence, the vast fields stretching towards Chichester were empty which at least meant they could focus their vigilance on the immediate surroundings while they prepared.
“All clear,” Dougal said after checking both sides of the small building.
“Let’s get to it then.”
They joined the others who all had the same story to tell. Evidence of a struggle, blood, and death. Putting the sadness to the back of their minds, the living beings a quarter of a mile away were the only priority.
“Those caravans form a small cul-de-sac.” Holbeck pointed to the nearest collection of static homes fanning out like spokes on a wheel from a small, circular road with a patch of grass in the centre. “It makes sense to do our work as far away from the horde as possible.”
“Can we move them by hand?” Harkiss asked.
“Possibly, but I don’t want to risk any injuries. I’m glad the owners were greedy, because the small size of each pitch means we can use the Hogs to twist them ninety degrees and then butt them up against one another. It will be like circling the wagons back in the Wild West, except we will be the Injuns!”
Harkiss put his hand to his mouth and was about to whoop until Holbeck glared at him.
“Petermann, you see that building?”
“Yes, Sarge.”
“It’s one of the communal shower blocks for the tent campers. Get your ass up on the roof on lookout. Keep low and if you see anything coming, wave. One of us will be watching at all times.”
“You got it,” he replied and jogged away.
“That’ll give him a full view of the area, so make sure to keep him in your sightlines. I want the rest of us to pair up and collect as many gas cylinders as possible. Don’t get creative, turn the valve clockwise until it stops and cut the rubber hose with your bayonets, then bring them back here.”
Splitting up, they all moved in different directions. Casting glances under the trailers ensured they wouldn’t be taken by surprise by any lurking creature hiding in the shadows beneath. The propane tanks were held in place by a chain clipped to the caravans. After removing the links, they isolated the gas and severed the tube before running back with the prize.
Petermann was staying low on the roof, scanning the park but showing no signs of alarm. After ten minutes, they had requisitioned thirty of the large red vessels and placed them in the centre of the road for dispersal once the moving had been carried out.
“This is where it gets hairy,” Holbeck explained, “We want to twist them on their central axle so they form an impassable barrier. I need you to keep the revs to a minimum and take it slow. We try it with one and see what reception we get.”
Carpenter nodded, face set.
“I’ll get the chain,” Dougal offered, hurrying off and reaching into the back of the APC.
Carpenter fired up the Warthog and quietly manoeuvred it into position facing away from the caravan’s towing hook. Fixing the chain in place, Dougal tapped on the side of the vehicle and her face stared back in concentration from the side mirror. Holbeck made a flat palm and waved it back and forth, indicating she should pull forward. A slight upsurge in the engine pulled the chain taut and the troops used their own strength as a counterweight on the back of the trailer to help it pivot. A dull grinding issued from the concrete levelling blocks as they were dragged out of position, the stacks falling with dull thuds. Holbeck winced at each sound and studied Petermann for any chance in body language.
“It’s lining up perfectly,” Eldridge said as it settled into position.
The troops quickly p
icked up the fallen bricks and placed them beneath the unsupported end of the trailer to stop it tipping. They all stared at Petermann and he must have felt their boring gaze as he turned to give them the all clear. Eleven more homes were rotated into place with only minimal movement required to shore up any gaps between them. The three-hundred-foot circumference sphere was complete, with a twenty-foot-wide opening left where the road entered the dead end. If they could draw the zombies in and trigger an explosion, the extraction of the survivors would be a much simpler affair.
Petermann was totally relaxed and had even risen to his feet, hands on hips. They all looked at each other with a sense of relief. After the disaster of the previous day, the soldiers had all felt a deep foreboding for the mission and fully expected further setbacks and pain. The fact that they had so far gone about their business unmolested was, hopefully, a sign of a change in fortunes.
“At least two gas cylinders per caravan, valves facing into the centre!” Holbeck ordered.
“How do we detonate, Sarge?” Harkiss grunted, hefting two into position.
“It won’t be like you see in the movies, they’re protected by flashback arresters even if they catch fire. Once we’ve ignited the hoses, we unload the HMGs through the walls and hope to penetrate the outer casing. Then we may see some fireworks. If not, then at least they’ll fry.”
“Sorry to be a dumb arse, Sarge. But how are we going to light the things? I’ll be fucked if I’m going to stand there with a lighter.”
“Stop your bellyaching, I’ll tell you in a minute,” Holbeck growled. Waving to get Petermann’s attention, he waited for the sentry to return before explaining the plan. “We will have one shot at this and I don’t want any fuck ups. Carpenter, you’ll stay with the vehicles and keep watch. I don’t want anything waiting to surprise us as we fall back. The rest of us will move between cover until we reach the entertainment complex. Once we make our move, we unload everything we have at them and try and draw as many back into the trap as possible. The layout of the grounds will funnel them towards us, we just need to hold our nerve and stay as close as possible until we reach safety.”