Hellspawn Dominion

by Ricky Fleet

  “Good to see you back, boss. How’d it go?” asked the guard.

  “Fucking marvellous! Piece of cake! Easy peasy lemon squeezy!” beamed Hombre.

  Seeing him in the light for the first time, the guard’s face dropped. “You’re covered in blood. Wait here and I’ll get the doc!”

  “No need, mate, it’s not mine. There’s a present for Craig at the end of the tunnel. Get a couple of lads and see it gets to Bobby in the kitchen. Ok?”

  Perplexed, the guard nodded. “Right away.”

  “Good man,” Hombre replied.

  “Is there anything else you need?”

  “Not unless you want to join me in the shower to help scrub this blood off?”

  He looked at him with uncertainty. “Erm…”

  “I was joking, you melon. Get that thing shifted and then get a bottle of Scotch brought up to my room. I’m going to get rat arsed!”

  CHAPTER 35

  Jasmine held a hand to her mouth, stifling a belch. The plate of leftover food had grown cold while she had been reading the novel about illicit romance on a Mediterranean cruise. Only the escaping gas had brought her out of the story. The raunchy scenes had left her hot, and quite incapable of enjoying the flavourless meal so she tossed the remains into an overflowing bin. Her group had enough to last for the next few days, and then it was just a case of waiting until the others retrieved more. The elderly woman, Gloria if she remembered correctly, was all bluster. There was no way they would harm someone simply for taking food to survive. Light was fading as the flames of the fire faltered, so she stood, stretched, and placed a few logs on top of the glowing remains. Heat blackened the wood, crackling and spitting before the first tongues of fire licked at the fresh fuel.

  Draining the last dregs of water from her glass, Jasmine went to refill it. Feeling the weight of the flask, she twirled it and realized it was nearly empty.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

  She lacked the young slaves of the bigger group. The students would always do as they were told, but not any longer for her group. Tomorrow, she would pick one of her members to be the water collector. They may complain, but it was either do as she said or they could beg to be let back into the ‘chosen ones’ as she called them. That would include a lot of hard work and guard duty, so she had no doubt the weak men would acquiesce with a minimum of snivelling.

  For the first time since escaping the sunny, cocktail laden fantasy, her swollen bladder made itself known. The build-up of pressure became almost intolerable and she picked up one of the fat candles on the mantel. Holding the wick to the hungry flames, drops of wax dripped into the fire, flaring and hissing. Holding the beacon aloft, she opened the bedroom door and reluctantly entered the freezing hallway. Some of the others had opted to have a makeshift toilet in their room, but Jasmine would not lower herself to that. Just thinking about the scent of stale urine and faeces permeating her chamber made her mildly nauseous.

  Checking both ways, the flickering candle cast dancing shadows on the grey stone walls. This short trek was always the worst part of her self-imposed exile. In the Baron’s Hall, everyone who needed to relieve themselves was accompanied by a guard out of the chamber. It seemed like such a waste of time that could be better spent relaxing and sleeping. Let them bugger around in their paranoia. The castle was clear of zombies, the gates were firmly sealed and the others were watching the walls. Jasmine certainly intended to make the most of the peace and quiet with reading and writing. On her desk was the first outline of an autobiography. She would embellish the tales of bravery of course, but when the world was back to normal, people would flock to sample her works.

  Pushing into the bathroom, the darkness beat a hasty retreat. The bucket of water by the side of the toilet was dry and she sighed her frustration. Flushing would have to wait until morning.

  “It’s freezing,” she complained, rubbing her hands together briskly.

  The immaculate, luxuriously appointed room had a central fireplace as did most homes of the aristocracy of yesteryear. In future, she would ensure a fire was burning in both her bedroom and the bathroom. Sure, the others would probably have something to say about it, but it was only for a few more months until the temperature rose to bearable levels. Sitting down, Jasmine hissed her discomfort as the chill of the seat seeped into her buttocks. Before she was finished, the cold had started to hurt, further validating her decision. From its position on the basin vanity, the candle flame wavered as if disturbed by a draught from outside.

  The bathroom door was always left open, partly due to an irrational fear of being trapped in the toilet. This anxiety came into being after a handle broke when she was a child, sealing her within the white tiled room for seven hours while her parents had been at work. The other reason was quite simple; the others all understood these rooms were hers, and God help anyone if they dared to trespass in the middle of the night.

  Cleaning herself and pulling up her trousers, she called out, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  Was that a faint scuff of foot on stone she could hear, or merely an overactive imagination? The apocalypse had given birth to nightmares without end, so it was not unexpected when she heard ghosts and ghouls where none existed. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry and she retrieved the candle as well as the small knife hidden under the towels by the tub. Pausing at the doorway, she listened intently for any clue if the noise was in her waking realm, or that of fantasy. The candle was too weak to hold back the deeper gloom of the passageway. Straining her eyes, the effort only caused her vision to swim.

  “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  “I swear if that’s you, George, I’ll kick you in the balls!”

  Apart from the almost imperceptible sizzle of burning wax, silence.

  “You’ve been warned, and I’m wearing my heavy boots.”

  Strutting towards her bedroom, she found her paces getting faster and faster until she was nearly running as she ducked inside. Slamming the door, she turned the key and leaned her forehead against the centuries aged wood. You’re spooking yourself, she thought, bumping her head against the timber to try and knock some sense into herself.

  A hand curled around her mouth, holding back the scream which rattled in her throat. The press of cold steel to her throat stilled any further protests.

  “If you make a noise, I’ll cut your tits off and gut you. Nod if you understand,” whispered her assailant.

  Jasmine nodded. Her mind raced, trying to identify the source of the voice; an intonation, a quirk in the words. No one sprang to mind.

  “Step over to the bed, slowly.”

  The words sounded hollow, emotionless, as if uttered by a robot. If she was about to be raped, she would have expected the speech to be twisted with uncontrollable lust. There was nothing.

  “Lay on the bed, face down, with arms by your sides.”

  Again, it was more comparable to a bored announcer reading out the offers at a local supermarket. Unsure whether to be more, or less, scared because of the detachment, Jasmine did as she was ordered. The duvet pressed against her cheek as she lowered herself, soaking up the tears which had started to flow.

  “Arms.”

  She tucked them against her sides, sobs shaking her body.

  “Please, don’t rape me,” she begged.

  “I don’t want to do… that,” replied the man.

  A note of disgust had entered the voice. It was the first sign of humanity, but it only served to confuse her even more. “What do you want from me then?”

  He climbed on the bed, straddling her back and pinning her arms tightly to her body with his knees. “Only your life.”

  A layer of polythene pulled tight against her face, stretching her head back painfully. Terror gripped her as the room went opaque, her vision clouded by the covering. Trying to draw breath, the thin plastic sucked into her mouth by a fraction of an inch, starving her of the lifegiving oxygen. In desperation, she tried to bite down on the
film, but her teeth could find no purchase. Her tongue probed futilely against the suffocating layer, smearing spittle on the smooth surface. She kicked and bucked beneath his weight, the soft mattress muffling the frantic blows. Unable to free her arms, her hands flexed spastically, clutching at the air which her lungs screamed for.

  “Don’t fight. It’ll be over soon and I don’t want you bruised,” he said, the voice coming from far away.

  The burning in her chest was a white-hot agony. As her brain started to shut down, lights blazed into life on the edges of her vision. She gulped convulsively, mouth gaping, striving for the air which would never again pass her lips. As her struggles weakened, the darkness descended, snuffing out the strobing flashes.

  A whisper reached the last fragments of her dying mind as she finally succumbed to asphyxiation. “Now the fun begins.”

  ***

  George stirred in his bed. Sleep was always fitful these days, even more so since the strangers and their brutal leader Kurt had arrived. His demands to watch the walls and fight the undead were outrageous. Just because their group had made enemies on the road did not justify forcing the others to suffer. Let them deal with their own mess. If the prison attacked, so what? George and his group had done nothing to them to warrant ill treatment.

  Coughing up a wad of phlegm, he spat it into the bedpan by his side. Spots of piss splashed out and soaked into the bedsheet. “Fuck it!” he grumbled. He was too tired to get up and change the sheets and decided to wait until morning, despite the worsening smell.

  From the hallway outside came a noise. It sounded like shoes dragging across the stone floor. The room was only illuminated by the dying fire, providing barely enough light to see the hand in front of his face. Fear clasped his heart, a sign of his innate cowardice. The stealthy footsteps paused outside his door, before a gentle rapping and scraping commenced.

  “Hello?” he asked, voice wavering in terror.

  The knocking became more insistent. If it was one of the group, why did they not reply? A revelation bloomed in his mind. Could it be Jasmine? He had propositioned her during the first days, hoping to secure a companion to share the dark nights. She had shot him down with a derisive laugh, but since that day he had proved his loyalty repeatedly. She may be too proud to call out in case the others hear her. More thuds carried through the door.

  “I’m coming, Jasmine,” he whispered, loudly enough for her ears only.

  Climbing out of his bed, the butterflies in his stomach were going crazy. What would he do if she wanted to spend the night? He would need to find an excuse to dispose of the soiled blankets before anything happened. He had never been with a woman before and, aside from watching copious amounts of porn, had no idea what to actually do. Man up, you cry baby! he berated himself, reaching for the door. Twisting the handle, the meagre light of the glowing embers revealed the beautiful woman waiting for him. His heart skipped a beat at her voluptuous figure and pretty face.

  “What made you change your mind? Couldn’t resist the goods on offer,” he asked, wincing at how pathetic the words sounded.

  Jasmine stepped forward, arms held out for their first embrace. George closed his eyes, puckered his lips and joined her, erection throbbing.

  ***

  DB stared across the room at the sleeping doctor. Her blonde locks had fallen across her face and each breath sucked the loose strands into her mouth. After working flat out for sixteen hours, she was too tired to react to the annoyance. Carefully stepping between the slumbering bodies, he reached down and tucked the hair behind her ear, before gently stroking the warm cheek. Mumbling in her sleep, a hand reached up and caressed his own.

  “We’re lucky to have her,” Kurt whispered from his chair by the fire.

  “I know. I’d be crippled or dead if she hadn’t been with us at the canal boat.”

  Kurt nodded to a chair. DB carefully placed her hand back under the blanket and joined him.

  “You care for her?” Kurt asked.

  “More every day.”

  “Does she know?”

  “I think she does, but I can’t betray my wife.”

  “I can’t begin to imagine your pain, but I’m sure she would’ve wanted you to find happiness in this desolate world.”

  “You’re probably right,” DB sighed. “I just feel I’d be spitting on her memory if anything happened between Christina and myself.”

  “With all the horror, everyone deserves a little joy. I totally respect your principles, though.”

  “Principles don’t hold you close in the night and tell you everything’s going to be ok.”

  “No, they don’t,” Kurt replied.

  “What would you do?” DB asked, his huge frame sinking into the chair. The growing feelings were tearing him up inside and each time he closed his eyes, the smiling face of his late wife waited.

  “I can’t speak for you, buddy. A man’s words on his wedding day are sacred.”

  “That doesn’t really answer the question.”

  “I want to see you happy, and Christina would make you happy. She’s a remarkable woman. When we take this world back, we’ll need children to secure the future for humanity.”

  “I don’t know if I could take the pain of losing a child again. For days, I sat staring at my gun, yearning for the courage to end it all.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” Kurt said, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder.

  A distant scream echoed down the corridors, tearing them from their conversation.

  “Everybody up, now!” yelled Kurt, triggering a frenzy of terrified activity.

  “What’s going on? Is it Sam and Braiden?” Sarah shouted across the room, marshalling the older members.

  “No, it came from the others,” Kurt replied. “Denise, would you take Sarah and Patricia to collect the boys, just in case?”

  “On it!”

  Jonesy opened the door at the other end of the massive room, quickly scanning the hallway with his rifle raised. “Do you want me to go with them?” he called out as the three women filed past.

  “No, I want you and Gloria here to keep the group safe.”

  Jonesy and Gloria nodded in reply, taking up position at each end of the long chamber.

  “Peter, Jodi, DB, follow me!”

  Gloria snapped the shotgun closed before opening the opposing door. The scream came again, louder without the wooden obstacle. Torches guided their way as they raced for the location of the commotion. The source of the agonised wail reached a peak, then fell silent.

  “Why did they have to stay so far from the hall?” Jodi snarled.

  “Stupidity and arrogance make a dangerous combination,” Peter replied, readying his morning star.

  As they rounded the corner, Heidi staggered into Kurt’s arms, covered in blood. Thrusting her away before she could bite, she fell against the wall, the gaping wound in her neck spraying crimson against the ancient portraits of long dead lords.

  “Shit, they’re inside the walls! Jodi, take Peter and go and tell the others to arm up!”

  They rushed back towards the Baron’s Hall, eyes searching for threats.

  “Help me,” gurgled Heidi, reaching out a hand which was missing three fingers.

  “It’s too late. Please forgive me,” Kurt said, crushing her head with the war pick.

  Leaving the body, they forged on down the hall. A door swung open to their left and one of the renegades came stumbling out, stinking of faeces. Apart from the voided bowels, he was unharmed and Kurt threw him down the hallway towards safety, ignoring the manic sobs as he passed the dead woman.

  “Watch my back,” DB whispered, hearing motion in the next room.

  Kurt nodded and took up position as the huge soldier ducked out of sight. Inside the room, two shadowy forms were tearing at a third on the bed. DB aimed the torch beam and Jasmine looked up from her work directly into the light. The dead, white eyes reflecting the beam. Entrails hung from her bloody lips, swinging to and fro
as she chewed. The second zombie sensed him and removed its head from the torn abdomen before turning. What remained of George’s face hung in tatters from the bloody skull. The lips, tongue, nose and one eye had been consumed during the fateful embrace.

  “You fucking idiots,” DB growled, swinging his machete.

  The top of George’s head flew off and he crashed to the ground. Jasmine pushed herself from the bed and let the entrails fall from her mouth with a sickly splash. Taking a step back, DB narrowed his eyes in confusion. The woman bore no signs of any bite wounds. Dodging her clutching hands, he twirled her round in a pirouette, throwing her off balance. She fell to the floor, cracking her face on the stone. The blood saturating her body was all from her victims as far as he could tell. Before she could get up, he stuck the point of the blade straight through her vacant eye, scraping against the socket as it buried itself.

  On the bed, the eviscerated man’s mouth spoke a silent prayer. His steaming innards lay spread across the mattress, staining the sheets red. DB raised the bloodied machete and met the dying man’s gaze. Blue lips mouthed the word sorry, before the glazed eyes closed forever. Hacking at the head, DB made a quick end of it.

  “All clear, Kurt!”

  “Ready to move up?” Kurt called back.

  DB left the carnage and joined him back in the passage. A body lay at Kurt’s feet, brain leaking across the stone.

  “You ok?”

  “All good.”

  They moved to the next open door and apart from the liberal smattering of blood and gore, it was empty.

  “What’s happening?”

  Kurt and DB swung towards the source of the question. The last of Jasmine’s band clung to one another, eyes wide with fear at the horrific noises they had heard coming from outside.