Hellspawn Dominion

by Ricky Fleet

  “What about the gas, Sarge?” Harkiss piped up.

  “Will you shut up about the fucking gas!” Holbeck shook his head. “I was just about to get to that part.”

  The soldier ignored the rebuke and started to bounce like an excited child in anticipation.

  “When we arrive back here, everyone spreads out and opens each valve fully. Carpenter will lay out a box of flares in preparation. Once we’re sure they’ve taken the bait, we duck under the trailers and start lobbing them over the top. Some will ignite, some won’t, but as soon as the fifty-cals start chewing through the canisters we should see some explosions. As soon as they’ve blown, we circle down the western ridge of the marshland parallel with the park and clear a path for the survivors to bolt. I don’t care if they have to cling onto the roof and side armour to start with, as long as we get clear.”

  “They may not have a choice if there’re too many to fit in the transport cabs,” Carpenter agreed.

  “Ideally, we need to make contact with the survivors in the building first. I’m amazed that we’ve not been attacked yet and that gives us an opportunity to prepare them for what’s coming. They can gather whatever they need and be ready to abandon the building at a second’s notice instead of wondering what the fuck’s been going on with all the gunfire and explosions. I wouldn’t blame them if they’re all cowering inside, terrified.”

  “How do you suggest we get past the rotters, Sarge?” Harkiss asked.

  “I was going to say you should run naked along the beach to distract them while one of us snuck inside, but there’s not enough down there for a meal,” Eldridge teased.

  Ignoring the banter, Holbeck continued. “We’re going in blind from here on out. If we can approach and find a way to get inside the building safely, then good. If not, then we just execute the plan and bundle them out with whatever they have on their backs. If Morrow is correct, there are four thousand of the things, so it may be an impossible task anyway.”

  “What if one of us makes it inside but then can’t get back out to help spring the trap?” Langham asked.

  “Personally, I think keeping the civvies calm and ready is just as valuable to the mission as an extra gun,” Holbeck replied and they all agreed. Humans by nature could be erratic creatures. Factor in hunger, exhaustion and the thought of being eaten alive and it was a recipe for disaster.

  “Ok, magazine check.”

  After one final count of the ammunition levels and equipment, the soldiers were ready.

  “Carpenter, get the flares laid out and get to safety. Use the bayonet or machete if any zombies turn up before we get back. Move out!”

  Following closely behind their commander, they stayed tight to the concealing trailers. Coming upon the brick built shower block, Holbeck ordered Petermann to hop up and perform one last scout of the surrounding area. Lacing fingers together to make a toehold, Harkiss hoisted him up towards the roof with a grunt. After a few seconds, he carefully lowered himself back down.

  “Nothing in the vicinity. I think I saw movement a few roads over, closer to the complex.”

  With a nod, they all moved off again, blades at the ready. Moving past row after row of bland trailers, they all noticed the signs of vacations which had ended in horror. Discarded bicycles, brightly coloured balls and frisbees, buckets and spades which would never excavate the sandy beach to make vast yellow castles. Fresh hatred swelled in their hearts at the abominations which had ravaged humanity to the brink of extinction.

  Holbeck held up a hand and they hugged the wall. Pointing a thumb at the floor, he indicated the enemy was near. Eldridge crouched down and could see the tattered legs of the cadavers milling around between the next caravans. Holding up four fingers, the soldiers nodded. She picked up a small rock, looking to her superior for permission before throwing it. The sergeant nodded and with a careful aim, she tossed it over the roof and it fell to the ground with a soft thud in front of the group. Ducking once more, the undead turned to see what had caused the disturbance.

  Chopping his hand down to signal the attack, the troops moved silently from concealment. Without compunction, they butchered the distracted zombies, spilling the brains on the overgrown grass. Wiping the weapons clean, they waited to see if the brief violence had summoned any more monsters. Nothing moved.

  Spreading his fingers, Holbeck waved his arm to signal the team to move up. The faintly audible din of the dead had grown to a dull roar and it became apparent why their relocation project had been unharmed. Glancing under the last trailer standing in their way, it was obvious there was no way through the siege on foot. At least five deep as far as the eye could see, no one felt the need to skirt the building to check the other side. The survivors were surrounded, just as Morrow had informed them.

  “I think I can get in,” Dougal whispered.

  “Where?” Eldridge asked with disbelief.

  “Up there,” he replied, blanching as he pointed to the overhead pylon and the large cable snaking towards the roof of the building.

  “I didn’t think you liked heights.”

  “I don’t, but it’s no different to the ropes above the training grounds. I managed to get along those just fine.”

  Holbeck gave it some thought and decided it was worth a shot. “Do it!”

  “Shit, Sarge. I was hoping you’d talk me out of it.”

  ***

  Dougal tossed the duvet they had collected over the barbed wire and started to climb the chain link. The thick blanket shielded his hands as he hoisted himself over the top of the secure area.

  “Shit. Shit. Shit,” he muttered.

  Looking up, the true scale of what he had volunteered for became clear.

  “At least if you lose your grip it’ll be the fall that kills you,” he sighed to himself. Holding the access ladder so firmly his fingers ached, he took a deep breath and started to climb. The ocean breeze tugged at his clothes, bringing back memories of days spent sea fishing with his army buddies. The excursions often ended with more beer cans laying in the bottom of the boat than fish, but it was always good fun. It had been good fun, he corrected himself.

  Reaching the maintenance platform, the transformers had ceased to hum with electricity at the same time the power stations went offline. Absurdly, he reached out and gingerly tapped at the insulated cable. Movement caught his eye and Eldridge was holding her arms wide in a what the fuck are you doing gesture. Harkiss had made a tube with his hand and was doing a good impression of shaking a cocktail. Dougal replied eloquently with a middle finger.

  Aided by the angle of descent, it was possible he could have ziplined down the cable. Unlike the movies, however, a cloth strap or piece of clothing would swiftly disintegrate from the friction and send him plummeting to the earth. Given the opportunity, he would prefer to pop his clogs with his future family gathered round. His five sons and daughters, eighteen grandchildren, and sobbing quietly in the corner, his glamour model trophy wife who had vowed never to remarry or look at another man. Maybe women, though.

  Heart jackhammering, he got a tight grip on the PVC conductor and swung both legs up. Hooking his feet over, he interlocked his boots and closed his eyes. Each breath was a ragged gasp and if he was unable to slow it down, he would pass out before navigating half the distance.

  “These people are counting on you,” he whispered, growing angry with his foolish anxiety.

  Craning his neck, he stared at an extractor vent on the roof and forced out all other thought. Pushing away, he slid his legs along and over the void. Without the steel platform beneath, he imagined that gravity was a physical being, tugging on his uniform to dislodge him from the precarious high wire act.

  “Stop it,” he growled through clenched teeth.

  Focusing on the grey vent, he continued shimmying along inch by inch and, with each second he lived, his confidence grew. After eighty feet, the cold had penetrated through the gloves and his legs were starting to cramp from the awkward position. The zombie ar
my had started to converge below, straining to reach the dangling morsel. Laughing with joy, his view changed from rotting oblivion to the flat, gravel covered roof. Dropping from the wire, he hugged the stones to himself, cackling manically.

  The layout of the complex had been explained in the briefing; it formed a large T with the three branches housing a different recreational activity. Dougal was currently on the roof of the auditorium, where shows and bands had been laid on nightly. To the south were the leisure pool, amusement arcades, and the variety of restaurants which serviced the huge camp. Standing at the edge of the roof, he called out, “Hang tight. I’m going to try and make contact.” He expected no response and received none, except for the animated moans of the dead.

  The stone lined roof of the stage had no skylights so he moved across to the swimming pool. The water had taken on a brown hue with algae blooms floating on the surface. From the raised lifeguard tower, to the bright green water flume, nothing moved. Figuring the most likely place would be near the source of sustenance, he jogged down the rain channel to the food court. Still nothing.

  “They must be in the hall,” he mused.

  “Who the fuck are you?” demanded a voice and Dougal spun on his heels.

  Three men and two women were glaring at him, wielding a mixture of bars, broom handles, and kitchen knives. Raising his hands, he stepped forward to explain the situation but one of the men swung a steel rod wildly in warning.

  “Whoa, calm down. We’re here to help!” Dougal snapped.

  “Who’s we?” asked one of the females.

  “He’s here to steal our stuff!”

  “Why’s he wearing an army uniform?”

  The jittery man nodded. “Yeah, why are you wearing a uniform?”

  “Because I’m in the army,” Dougal replied.

  “Bullshit! The army’s gone. You stole it, didn’t you?”

  “No, I…”

  “Is that gun loaded?” demanded the man, stepping forward.

  “Of course,” Dougal replied, raising the rifle and pointing it at his face. “Don’t come any closer.”

  “I bet you stole that too, didn’t you?”

  “For fuck’s sake, I didn’t steal the fucking thing! My team and I have fought our way from Thorney Barracks to rescue you and this is the reception we get? I lost a brother yesterday for you people!” Dougal growled, dropping the gun and walking forward into range of the clubs.

  Uncertainty passed over the man’s face at the furious response.

  “Christopher, leave the man be,” came a new, soft voice.

  Sighing, he slowly lowered the pole and moved out of the way. The source of the order was a lady in her forties, with shoulder length brown hair and glasses. She exuded a quiet confidence, which Dougal instantly warmed to.

  “I’m Joan Macleod,” she introduced herself, shaking his hand, “And who might you be?”

  “Private Dougal, ma’am, but you can call me David.”

  “Come inside out of the cold, David, and we’ll make you a cuppa. Then you can explain what you’re doing dropping onto our roof like Tarzan,” she said.

  “I need to let my team know I’ve made contact first,” he replied.

  “Of course.”

  Moving to the edge again, he called out, “They’re ok. I’m going in to explain the plan. Stand by for my signal!”

  Joan held open the roof access door. “Come and meet the family.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Seconds seemed to last hours until all sense of time and space became convoluted. Debbie watched the patch of light caused by the morning sun as it edged millimetre by millimetre around the wall of the cell. Like a sundial, it counted down towards the inevitable brutality which was coming. She found herself staring at the demarcation between light and shadow, desperately willing it to pause in its movement and delay the horror. It bore her no heed.

  Head slumping back to the lumpy pillow in defeat, a wracking sob escaped through her broken lips. Pain blazed into life across her body from the spasms; a kaleidoscope of memories flashing back from each tortured nerve ending. The sadistic things Wozniak had done would haunt her dreams forever more. The multitude of cigarette burns around her most sensitive area. Gleeful eyes as he forced his huge member down her throat, refusing to let go even as she choked and thrashed, lights dancing at the edge of her vision. She could still taste the rancid phallus and retched, strings of bile pouring from her empty stomach.

  Not even her father, who would creep into her room stinking of whiskey had treated her so appallingly. Slurred mutterings of love accompanied the abuse as her mother lay passed out from prescription medication in the next room. At six years old, Debbie had been unable to understand what was happening. Innocent of the ways of adulthood, she always cleaned herself before dawn and remained silent. Her heart fluttered with her father’s threat of being taken away by the police if anyone ever found out what was occurring. By the age of ten, the midnight visits inexplicably stopped. A feeling of betrayal and jealousy had grown when her younger cousin started to stay over, revealing the reason. The unmistakable creak of the landing floorboards in the darkness as her abuser picked a younger victim filled her with hatred. An unfortunate accident in their swimming pool had ended those trysts. Debbie could still remember the girl’s face as it stared through the water at her, hands pulling at the arms which held her under, the bubbles from her open mouth slowing as the struggles weakened. Her uncle had never forgiven himself for being inside the house drinking as his only daughter perished. A year later he took his own life.

  Banishing the thoughts, Debbie felt a pang of envy. If she hadn’t been such a coward, one fierce bite to her tongue could end her suffering. Nipping with her teeth once had been enough to end that idea. How long did it take to die from the cold? She wondered. A passive suicide would be far more favourable. The urine sodden sheet had taken on the chill of the day and her own body heat was unable to counteract the frigid temperature. If the attempt failed, however, it would mean several hours of even worse discomfort and the same abhorrent outcome when Wozniak returned. Not worth it.

  Looking up at the grey, concrete ceiling, she wondered where Peter was. He was a weakling, boring, and easily manipulated, that much was true. But on the other hand, he had always been loyal and willing to put up with her contrariness and spiteful nature. Was he dead now? If she could get to the walls would she find him gawking up at her, flesh peeling from his bones? To her surprise, she hoped that he was safe even though he had forsaken her for that slut, Paige. Now that she was dead, all could be forgiven if he would see sense and take her back. Mike had been a mistake, he would understand. In her twisted mind, it all seemed so logical; if only she could get out of the cell and reach the castle.

  Pulling at her bonds, most of the sensation had left her extremities. Only by a monumental effort would her fingers and toes flex. The rough ropes had already abraded the skin and the raw wounds leaked a mixture of clear pus and blood down her wrists. It was a niggling injury compared to the others and she ignored it. The steel frame was solidly welded; a way of ensuring the inmates were unable to take it apart and use the individual parts as a makeshift weapon. This left only the ropes themselves as her means of freeing herself. Wozniak had done a great job on the knots and no matter how much she bucked and strained, they held fast. There must be a way!

  CHAPTER 16

  “How many people today?” Craig asked from the ‘throne’.

  “Only two so far; Wozniak and Rechtman,” replied the guard.

  “Show them in then.”

  Craig was in a great mood. Plans were in motion to bring about some much-needed retribution and he could barely contain his excitement. He would have started bouncing like Tigger if the risk of stabbing injury from the knife forged seat wasn’t so high. Instead, he grinned mirthlessly and to most people this looked even more terrifying than his scowls.

  Rechtman ducked away as a prisoner raised a hand to him and the room erupted in l
aughter.

  “Enough!” Craig roared and silence descended, the only sound that of Rechtman’s shoes on the polished wooden floor.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” whispered the engineer.

  “What the fuck do you want? Shouldn’t you be out finishing that tunnel?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll be going straight back to it, I promise.”

  “Well…”

  Rechtman coughed to clear the lump of fear in his throat. “I was hoping to discuss the workforce situation.”

  “What about it?” Craig asked through gritted teeth.

  “I need you to stop killing my men,” Rechtman declared, finally making eye contact.

  “Your men?” Craig replied.

  “While they are working in my tunnels, yes. They are my men.”

  Craig smiled at the sudden bravery of the put-upon individual. He knew it was likely down to the safety of his daughter, yet he felt a fraction more respect for him than before. “Go on.”

  “We are losing too many people to the gauntlet and suicidal supply runs. I know this could get me killed, but if this continues I simply won’t be able to complete the tunnels.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  Rechtman was taken aback. In place of the expected beating, Craig was leaning back and crossing his leg on the throne, waiting for his response. “Umm… I think we need to find entertainment that isn’t as costly to our efforts as the gauntlet.”

  Craig stared at him, which could be a good thing or a bad thing. Finally, he waved a hand in a go on gesture.

  “I was working on a construction project a few miles away. There’s a mobile CAT XQ 425 generator there.”

  “And I’m supposed to know what that means?”

  “Sorry. It’s a diesel generator that you can hook to a vehicle like a trailer. If we could retrieve it, I can connect it to the main power supply and run a good portion of the cells again. We could get the stereos, televisions and other luxuries working.”