Hellspawn (Book 4): Hellspawn Requiem

by Ricky Fleet

  “This is just a trick, isn’t it?” she asked, eyes widening in fear.

  “No, sweetheart,” Matt replied softly, “Once you’ve had something to eat, you can go to bed and rest.”

  She shrunk away at the mention of going to bed and the awful memories it conjured, “I don’t want to go to bed with you.”

  “You won’t be with me.” Matt smiled, pointing to a small inflatable mattress in the corner of the room, “I’m sleeping on that while you have the comfy bed.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she whispered, terrified at her words of accusation and the inevitable violent response.

  “I don’t blame you, but you will see.” He smiled again warmly and uncovered her dinner of macaroni and cheese, “Your father told me that you liked it.”

  “Daddy? Mummy? I really want to see them.”

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t right now.”

  “Why not?” Clarissa whimpered.

  “Because they’re… busy,” Matt offered weakly.

  “I know,” she said bleakly, “Mummy’s with Mr. Keeping. He likes to tell me what he did to mummy and that he will bite her to death one day like a zombie and that…” She broke down before finishing the sentence.

  “What else did he say?” Matt urged, clenching his fists hard enough to bury his nails into the palm.

  She looked straight at him with unbridled horror, “He would fuck me next to her corpse and then kill me too.” She slowly pulled up her nightgown and showed him the purple, teeth shaped bruises on her thighs.

  Matt couldn’t answer through the rage seething through his body. She saw his anger and for the first time in weeks, her broken heart could feel… trust? In spite of his size, the powerful man didn’t seem threatening towards her and she risked everything by throwing herself into his solid arms.

  “Everything’s going to be alright. I promise,” Matt grumbled, holding her tightly through the grief.

  When she had finally calmed down and the tremors subsided, he suggested she finish her meal, lay down, and read. A mixture of mystery and fantasy novels lay on the bedside cabinet which he had collected from the library especially for her.

  “No one comes inside but me, got it?” he snarled at the guard outside the door.

  “Got it,” mumbled the guard nervously. When Matt stormed off down the hallway, he breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t the source of the barely controlled fury.

  ****

  “I’m going to hurt that bitch so bad tonight,” Keeping sang to his reflection in the washroom mirror, “God bless and keep you, Craig Arater.”

  Drinking from the bottle of cider on the washbasin, he let out a howl of joy. Getting at the mother three days early was an amazing gift and he massaged his bobbing erection beneath the stained boxer shorts.

  “Do I shower now, or later?” he asked himself, sniffing at a noxious armpit.

  The thought of a cold shower wasn’t appealing and he dismissed the idea.

  “I’ll have one later, it’s not as if she’ll complain about my hygiene,” he chuckled and emptied the foamy, stubble flecked water.

  Swigging deeply from the bottle again, he stared at himself. Pock faced and overweight, with sagging jowls and stretch marks on his belly, he was the last person women would look at. His self-loathing had manifest as a bottomless well of hatred towards females in general. His rape victims had never reported the crime as he always made a point of taking their identification after the assault. They were left with no doubt he would find them and butcher their loved ones in the night should they ever seek justice. In the end, it was a drug deal gone bad which had landed him in prison instead of the sex crimes. He knew how lucky he was to be known as a pusher instead of a pervert and grinned at his good fortune. Not only was he part of a wing boss’s crew, but Craig had implemented his favourite hobby.

  “It’s good to be bad,” he giggled and winked at himself.

  Turning to leave the shower room, Matt Hay was leaning against the wall, watching.

  “Jesus Christ, Hay.” Keeping staggered backwards, startled, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Matt just stared, and Keeping saw the hatred contained in the glare. Taking out a knife, he pointed the blade at the Scotsman.

  “You got a problem? I’ll cut your fucking face to ribbons!”

  Matt took a menacing step forward.

  “Do you really want to die in here?” Keeping growled, backing away.

  “I’m not the one dying tonight,” Matt replied.

  “You don’t even have a blade, you cunt!” Keeping burst out laughing, “What the fuck do you think you’ll do when I stick this in your neck?”

  “Let’s find out!” Matt snarled and surged forward.

  Caught by surprise at the assault, Keeping slashed wildly and opened a deep gash on Matt’s upturned forearm. Roaring in pain, he used his good arm to grab for the knife. The rapist slammed back into the wall and his head cracked into the tiles.

  “You’re dead!” Keeping gurgled as Matt’s injured hand fastened on his throat.

  With one arm unencumbered and the hand around his neck too weak to throttle him, Keeping started to punch at his enemy’s exposed face. The fourth punch ripped open Matt’s eyebrow and he pulled his head back. Aware of the man’s reputation, Keeping slipped his head to the left to avoid the butt and Matt’s forehead shattered the tiles where his face had been a split second earlier.

  “I told you what would happen,” Keeping gargled through the compressive grip, trying to tear at the loose flap of skin above his eye.

  Matt shook his head to throw off the prising fingers and slammed Keeping’s knife hand against the wall until bones cracked. Howling in pain, he dropped the blade and tried to knee Matt in the testicles. A hollow thud was his only reward and he knew the man had worn a groin cup for protection.

  “That’s not very fair, is it?” Keeping mocked, pushing him away and massaging the numb hand.

  Blood ran down Matt’s face from the torn eyebrow and the embedded slivers of tile in his forehead. Wiping at the blinding liquid, he tried to listen for any movement which would give away his foe.

  “Look at you,” laughed Keeping, “The fearsome Matt Hay, blind and at my mercy. Fuck knows what people were so afraid of.”

  Matt lunged and Keeping dodged out of the way. All he would need to do was leave the washroom and fetch the rest of his gang. They would murder him and be well within their rights to do so. He had attacked another convict without an order and the punishment was peeling or being fed alive to the zombies. When the seconds stretched on and on, Matt was certain the man had snuck out quietly, using bare feet to make good his escape.

  A clink of metal on the floor gave away Keeping as he tried to retrieve the knife. Overestimating Matt’s weakness, he looked up just in time to see the swing of his steel toed boot. Catching him in the ribs, Keeping’s breath was knocked out and the bones crumbled at the kick. Wheezing in agony, he tried to silence his pained exhalations as Matt searched with his foot. Sliding back as far as possible, he came up against the wall and watched in horrified fascination as his mortal enemy closed the distance, inch by inch.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Matt sang, finally touching something soft with his toe.

  “No, get off me!” Keeping croaked as the Scotsman fell atop him.

  Matt reached out to see in much the same way as all blind people; fingers seeing in place of eyes. Lacking the strength to buck him off, Keeping bit down on the searching digits. Moaning at the blazing pain, Matt forced his other hand inside the mouth.

  “Clarissa said you were a biter,” Matt remarked, prising the jaw open.

  Shrieking in pain, his mouth was pulled further and further apart. Matt’s adrenaline was surging in his veins and the wound on his arm was forgotten as his strength returned. Smiling with satisfaction as the sounds of tearing cheeks and breaking bone reached his ears, he kept going until the jaw lay against his enemy’s throat. Keep
ing was fading in and out of consciousness from the awful injury. Using his blood-soaked hands, Matt positioned the man’s head on the floor.

  “This is for Clarissa,” he growled and slammed his torn forehead down into Keeping’s face. One more headbutt had split the skull open and blood and brain matter mingled on the polished tiled floor.

  Standing up, he spat on the corpse and felt for the washbasin. Sluicing his face with the frigid water, he washed away the blood in his eyes. His vision was still blurry, but he could see well enough to find the hand towels. Balling them up, he pressed the tissue to his torn face and arm to stem the blood flow. Stepping out into the corridor, he found the lookout staring about anxiously.

  “You said it would be quiet,” he hissed, “That was loud enough to bring the whole fucking wing.”

  “But it didn’t,” Matt cautioned, “Now fuck off before he’s found and we both end up peeled. I’ll sort the payment tomorrow.”

  At the entrance to the prison wing, the second bribed guard nodded him through.

  “Glad you made it back,” he said, “Keeping was a fucking parasite.”

  Matt grunted his agreement and headed home.

  ****

  Debbie’s eyes slowly opened and she probed her mouth with her tongue. It felt parched, as if she had been trekking across the desert.

  “Sleeping beauty’s awake,” said an unfamiliar voice and she gagged as water was poured into her open mouth.

  Coughing and spluttering, she sat up and stared around the cell in confusion, “What the fuck is this? Where are Mike and Craig?”

  “It’s just you and me,” Wozniak said, smiling with decayed teeth.

  “I demand you let me out of here, you disgusting creature,” Debbie screeched, “Do you know who I am?”

  “I don’t give a fuck who you are, bitch.” Wozniak sneered, “You’re mine now and we are going to have some fun.”

  “If you come near me, I’ll scream,” Debbie warned, pushing herself as far back on the bed as possible.

  “I do hope so,” he husked, massaging the front of his trousers.

  “You’d better let me go or Craig will carve the flesh from your bones.”

  “Why would he do that when he gave you as a gift?” Wozniak cocked his head to the side in confusion.

  Realisation dawned that Mike had betrayed her and she threw herself towards the door, kicking and slapping at the steel. “Don’t you dare come near me or I’ll kill you too!”

  Clapping his hands with joy, he smiled the rotten smile again, “He said you would be a fighter.”

  “If you touch me, I’ll bite your dick off!” Debbie declared vehemently.

  “Maybe I’d be better off just pulling all your teeth out to be on the safe side.” He laughed and grabbed her by the hair.

  Thrashing wildly, she punched and kicked for all she was worth until he punched her in the gut. Struggling to draw breath, he started to tear her clothes off and he leaned in close.

  “All my Christmases have come at once,” he whispered, and the rancid stench of his breath made her vomit. The rotting dead smelled like perfume in comparison.

  “You can’t do this,” she said, weakly, “I’m going to rule this world.”

  “If you behave, I may let you rule this cell,” Wozniak muttered, licking her tears.

  It was going to be a long winter, Debbie despaired, staring at the grey wall. Her black heart ached with the need for vengeance as Wozniak started to thrust into her.

  CHAPTER 12

  Eldridge stood atop the Viking APC, scanning the horizon. The temperature was only just above freezing and her cheeks were flushing from the wind chill. Cupping her hands, she blew into them to warm her stinging skin.

  “Ma’am, do you want me to get you a cup of coffee?” asked Corporal Paul Ewington who was on guard duty.

  “No, thank you. And don’t call me ma’am. You’re my superior, corporal,” she replied with a nod.

  “Command says you are in charge, ma’am. And even if they didn’t, you are the one who saved us all from that lunatic,” he declared, “We won’t forget it.”

  “I’m only in charge until I am relieved shortly,” Eldridge explained, “And it was a team effort. Without Hague, Derby, Harkiss, and the others I wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

  “I still can’t believe Hague had it in him,” admitted Ewington.

  Eldridge turned and glared at him, “That’s the problem. Everyone was so eager to give him shit that no one could see what he was capable of. Some people aren’t natural born killers, but only rise to the challenge when pushed to their limit.”

  “Sorry, ma’am, I meant no disrespect.”

  “It’s ok. We just need to leave all that fucking around behind us now. We are fighting for the survival of our species from these things and everyone has a part to play,” she said quietly, looking down into the faces of the dead.

  Tens of thousands of zombies had gathered from the surrounding area at the bridge to Thorney Island barracks. Their arms reached imploringly, begging for a taste of the warm, succulent flesh to sate the inhuman cravings. Any at the front had been crushed against the slat armour which was designed to protect against RPGs. The steel grid had acted like cheese wire and chunks of flesh were all that remained of the diced undead.

  “It’s disgusting being up here, but at least the winter is slowing the rot,” Ewington remarked.

  “It doesn’t bother me that much, all I see is the enemy.”

  “Not even the pukers?” Ewington grimaced, “You’ve got nerves of steel.”

  Eldridge grinned and looked further out into the horde. Any that had been trapped on the bridge itself had been slowly compressed until their internal organs had erupted from their mouths. She had been on guard when the first had belched its guts up like a squeezed pimple. She couldn’t deny it had made her slightly nauseous, but after seeing one, the rest didn’t bother her. Now they were trapped with their arms held high, resembling a sea of rotten grass which swayed in the wind.

  “It’s the children that bother me the most,” Eldridge admitted wistfully.

  Ewington looked at the massed rows of the dead and the children that had managed to press forward through the small gaps. It reminded him of taking his younger brother to watch firework displays; how he had clapped and stared in awe at the bursts of colour from the front row. The only colour now was from the dying fires and roiling clouds of smoke from the burning village and he looked away in sorrow.

  “Younger brother or sister?” she asked at seeing his face and he could only nod lest the tears flow. “Younger sister for me,” she continued. “Her name was Kelly. I keep worrying that she will turn up here, though my folks live about twenty miles away. I don’t think I could handle that.”

  “I don’t think any of us could,” Ewington commiserated.

  “Ma’am?” came a call from their rear.

  “Will you all stop calling me that?” Eldridge laughed and turned to see Harkiss climbing up the steps.

  “But you’re the boss now, boss.” He grinned and she flipped him the bird.

  “Report.”

  “No sign of him, Beth. Since first light we’ve searched every square inch of the place. If he was hiding, we would’ve found him.”

  Eldridge nodded and turned back to the fires, “Let’s hope the bastard was in the village when we levelled it then.”

  “Does it matter?” Ewington asked.

  “I suppose not,” Eldridge replied. “If he is still out there he is alone, without much in the way of weapons or food and surrounded by millions of zombies. I just wanted to see his body to be sure.”

  “I know the feeling, but I don’t think we will find anything amongst the rubble,” Harkiss added.

  “I’m going to check on comms and Morrow before the commander arrives.”

  ****

  Corporal Graff was deep in conversation with his replacement when Eldridge arrived. The man had only had a few hours of sleep to make up for
the weeks of ill treatment, but despite the baggy, sunken eyes he was in high spirits. Eldridge watch for a few moments as he instructed the younger soldier in the military frequencies and civilian channels.

  “We’ve lost contact with all non-military personnel I’m afraid,” Graff explained. He could only pray it was because of a lack of power as opposed to the gorier possibility.

  “I thought I told you to get some rest?” Eldridge said, knocking on the open door and entering.

  Graff jumped in fright, “Sorry, ma’am, I’m still a little on edge. I had a shower and a quick snooze, but I wanted to get back to it. I’m trying to link up with any pockets of survivors that can hear me. No reply so far.”

  “What about our second secret channel? Any reply from Jonesy or DB?” she asked hopefully.

  “Just static,” Graff replied, “But it may just be they have them off to conserve power. We will keep trying.”

  “Fuck!” she shouted, slamming a fist onto the desk. “Sorry, I’m not mad at you guys. I just can’t stop thinking of how many we could’ve saved if we had acted sooner.”

  “It’s a miracle you were able to regain control at all,” Graff tried to console her, “At least now we stand a chance of helping people.”

  Eldridge sighed deeply and put it to the back of her mind. “Any word from Dauntless?”

  “The Lynx is on route to collect you and deliver Captain Hayward. ETA…” Graff checked the time, “Twelve minutes.”

  “Ok, good. I hate people calling me ma’am anyway,” Eldridge laughed, “You will have new orders soon, but in the meantime, is there anything you need?”

  Both men answered in the negative and she thanked them both for their efforts before excusing herself. A minute’s walk to the unmanned air control suite took more than five due to the constant praise and questions about the previous evening. Finally reaching the booth, she knocked.

  “Come in,” Morrow called out.

  “How goes the search?” she asked the private and sat down next to him.