by Ricky Fleet
“You’d be surprised what you’ll do for the ones you love,” Kurt replied with a haunted expression. The deaths of the child murderers still played on his mind in the darkness.
“I’ve never had anyone, so it’s a moot point,” he whispered, looking away.
Sarah stepped forward and rubbed Winston’s shoulder, “Kurt didn’t mean it like that.”
“I’ve always wanted what you all have,” Winston said, tears rolling down his cheeks, “A real family and people that care for you.”
“Dad, let him go,” Sam begged, “Let Braiden and I keep an eye on him.”
Kurt looked to Sarah and then Gloria who both nodded, “If you do anything to hurt my family, I will feed you to the dead, do you understand?”
Winston nodded.
“Ok, untie him,” Kurt ordered and they all tugged at the ropes until he was free.
“You honestly have nothing to fear from me, I just want to help you all and survive this horror.”
“We’ll see,” Kurt replied and left the room.
“I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.” Gloria followed with her shotgun.
Once all the adults had left, Sam turned to Winston who had settled into an antique reading chair, “Do you want some food? I can get a can of meat or fruit.”
“I don’t want to be a burden,” he replied, massaging his abraded wrists. “I did have some high nutrition packs in my bag but I forgot to bring it inside from the crane.”
“It’s fine, honestly. I’ll be right back,” Sam said with a grin and knocked on the door to be let out.
After the door was locked again, Braiden turned and glared at Winston, “I don’t trust you.”
“But you don’t know me yet. Give it a week and you’ll see why my middle name is trustworthy.” Winston held out a hand to shake, but Braiden just pulled out a hunting knife.
“Why are you trying to make jokes?”
“It’s a defence mechanism. Are they working?”
“Am I smiling?” Braiden asked without humour.
“I thought I saw your lips twitch a little, but it may just be trapped wind.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Braiden growled, pointing the knife at him.
“Shutting up.”
****
“Miss, do you think Winston is ok?” Sam asked quietly at the door after returning with the can of Spam.
“I would stake my reputation on it,” she whispered back, “But it never hurts to be cautious like your father.”
“I feel really sorry for him, Miss,” Sam admitted, “I wish I could turn it off, but I want to believe there are still good people out there. Does that make me weak?”
“Not at all,” she shook her head, “But you must temper your kindness with prudence. There are those that are expert at hiding their true nature as we sadly found out with Debbie and Mike. We all knew they were troubled, but I admit after all the horror I wanted to believe they could be redeemed. We paid dearly for my misjudgement.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Sam consoled her.
“Thank you, Sam. Now get that food in there and make our new guest feel at home.”
Stepping into the room, Sam found Braiden holding the knife to Winston’s throat.
“What are you doing? Get off of him!” Sam yelled, rushing over.
“Braiden, unhand him at once!” Gloria barked.
“You do anything to put us in danger, and I will cut you to pieces. I’ll make it last for days,” Braiden hissed and stood up.
“Braiden Sullivan! What has gotten into you?” Gloria demanded.
“They killed my friend,” he muttered and barged from the room.
“Sam, you should leave the food and see if he’s ok,” Gloria suggested.
“He’ll cool off in time,” Sam said, as much to Winston as to Gloria, “Plus I have no idea where he’ll go.”
“Well, if you’re sure. Remember, I’ll be just outside.”
“Thanks, Miss.”
“Thanks for stepping in and helping me,” Winston said, dabbing at the shallow cut on his neck.
“Braiden’s a hothead,” Sam explained, handing the tin of meat over.
“I don’t really blame him for not trusting me after they killed your friend.”
“Give him time, he will come around. He used to bully me before this all happened, now he’s my best friend,” Sam said proudly.
“I used to get bullied a lot too.”
Sam nodded slowly, “I kind of assumed that.”
“Because I’m fat?” Winston asked miserably.
“No, because I had the same look in my eyes that you have. If you’re really on the level and want to help, you will fit right in. In time, I may even have an older brother.”
“I’d like that.”
“Someone strong and brave like you will be a real benefit to our group, I just know it.”
“I’ll do anything that’s needed,” Winston proclaimed, “Except sit ups.”
Sam laughed and playfully tossed a pillow from the chair he was sat on, nearly knocking the can out of his grasp.
“Careful!” Winston giggled, shielding the tinned treat, “I’m trying to eat healthy here.”
“It won’t be long until all that’s left to eat are the vegetables we’ll grow,” Sam replied, screwing his face up.
“I think I’ll take my chances as a zombie.” Winston looked horrified, “At least they get to eat meat.”
Sam stood and pulled out a chocolate bar he had been keeping for a special occasion. With one last longing look, he tossed it over.
“Wow, are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Rest up and I’ll talk to my dad about putting you to work. It’s a difficult day as we are burying my grandad soon. He died fighting for this place,” Sam explained with a mixture of sadness and pride.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” Sam said, and left the room.
As the door lock was turned, Winston dug into the ham and thought of what was to come.
CHAPTER 18
“Ready?” Kurt whispered.
“Just say when,” DB replied, clutching the heavy iron ring of the slab sealing the crypt.
“Now!”
With a grunt, DB heaved the stone slab out of the crevice and wrestled it to the side. The zombie who had lost an arm the previous day lifted its stump and the one remaining limb towards them. Jonesy and Denise stood to each side of Kurt with torches and pistols raised. In the confines of the small room it would be deafening, so they remained vigilant in case the situation got out of hand.
“Here they come,” Kurt added needlessly.
That these corpses were from money wasn’t in doubt. Their burial clothing consisted of the finest dresses and suits money could buy, though now in varying states of decay and disintegration from the passage of time.
Raising the war pick, Kurt aimed the pointed end at the top of the zombie’s skull and drove it down. The steel spike crushed through easily and the body fell down the steps, leaving a green slime on the metal tip. Navigating around their fallen companion, the others climbed to their deaths in the same fashion and Kurt regarded the weapon with a smile.
“I think I prefer this to my hammer,” he remarked, then patted the tool on his belt, “Sorry, old girl.”
“Stephen, what can we expect down there?” Jonesy asked, pulling the curator into the room.
He was still in a state of shock from the eviction and only answered after being slapped gently on the cheek, “Huh, what?”
“I said, what can we expect down there?”
“Oh,” Stephen replied, eyes focusing, “It is the final resting place for the families of the Duke and Duchess of Norfolk. They’ve been interred here for a thousand years.”
“Thanks for the history lesson, but I was more concerned with numbers?”
A look of anger flashed over his face for a split second, “Over one hundred, but the majority will be little more than dust by now I sho
uld imagine.”
Kurt had noticed the resurgent disdain, even though he had hidden it quickly and decided to ask Patricia to keep up her subtle surveillance for a while longer.
“I know this must be hard for you, Stephen, but it’s necessary,” Kurt said solemnly, “How are they buried?”
“Some are in stone sarcophagi, some are lain within wall vaults but in the past century their caskets have been laid in niches set into the wall.”
“Thank you. I’ll call when we’re sure it’s safe and I’d be interested in hearing your knowledge of the crypt itself,” Kurt replied, trying to use his knowledge as a way of connecting.
Stephen didn’t respond to the request and, instead, looked down at the slain zombies, “That was the Duchess,” he nodded to the mummified female, “I worked for her for five years. She was intelligent and beautiful, and now you’ve desecrated her body.”
“No,” Kurt warned, “This God forsaken situation desecrated her body. We’re only trying to survive the aftermath of the pulse.”
He wouldn’t be drawn into any more discussion and Kurt nodded to Patricia who led him away from the room.
“We need to watch him,” DB declared.
“I agree,” Denise added, “Shock affects us all differently, but I think it best if Patricia sticks to him like white on rice for a while.”
“You read my mind,” Kurt said, “If it comes to it we’ll just have to lock him away.”
“It may be for the best, sweetie,” Denise replied.
Kurt sighed and put it to the back of his mind; the mission to clear the crypt was their main priority at the moment. Kneeling, he shone the torch as far as the angle would allow and saw no immediate threat.
“Let me go first,” Jonesy offered, “If anything jumps out at us, a bullet is faster than a swing of that thing.” He nodded at the vicious war pick.
“Ok.”
Moving as only someone with training could, he reached the bottom and swept the area with his pistol and tactical flashlight. With a nod, he signalled for the others to follow and they descended quickly, stepping carefully over the pile of bodies. Holding a finger to his lips, Kurt tried to make out any noise or furtive movement, but all was still.
“Three archways,” Denise whispered, “Kurt, on me. Jonesy left and DB take right.”
Denise moved swiftly and used the same tactic as Jonesy; checking the dark corners for lurking enemies while Kurt maintained vision of the deeper reaches of the crypt. The first chamber was clear and the soldiers joined them.
“All clear in the other sections. They have space for coffins, but none are in use right now,” Jonesy explained.
“Sarah, can you set up the halogen lanterns as we go?” Kurt asked quietly, “If we need to retreat I’d prefer those than torch beams.”
With a thumbs up, Sam started to pass them down to her and she placed them in the cleared rooms. As the shadows were banished to their rear, the four continued their investigation. The low, arched ceilings curved down into eight-foot-wide support columns which carried the burden of the main structure above. Faint scratching noises could be heard in the next area and Denise held a finger to her lips. It could have been rats trying to escape back into darker corners, but their actions were normally more frantic. This scratching was slow and dull. After a minute without any movement, DB waved an arm to indicate he was moving forward. Ducking to avoid the low stone lintel, he scanned the room and made another gesture which Denise and Jonesy understood.
“All clear,” she whispered to Kurt and they moved inside.
I’m going to have to learn all this tactical stuff, Kurt thought. He felt like a rank amateur with his medieval hammer and would ask them about it when they had a quiet moment.
Jonesy and Denise kept their beams on the two arches which led from the room and DB pointed to his eyes and then a coffin in the wall. Three other caskets had been knocked from their final resting place by the struggles within and lay open on the ground, the silk lined padding reflecting the light. The source of the noise was an older casket whose varnish coating had faded with the passing years.
“Shoot?” DB whispered but Kurt shook his head.
The lid couldn’t be lifted off in the narrow opening, so Kurt took hold of the end of the coffin in which the head would be laid. Pulling it carefully so it didn’t tip out and bring them face to face with the horror within, he managed to expose enough to risk a swing. Inside, the zombie had felt the movement and fought with more effort to get free. Kurt took the spiked weapon and drove it at the aged timber, trying to pierce the brain while it was still trapped. After four swings and no luck, the casket was in danger of toppling from the opening so DB stepped forward and stuck the barrel inside the holes. Pulling the trigger, the noise of the gunshot was largely swallowed by the interior of the box. The fighting ceased at once and he withdrew the pistol and pushed the coffin back into place.
“Show off,” Kurt whispered and the big man grinned.
As they pushed deeper into the crypt, it became clear the older bodies had lacked the required flesh or tissue to regenerate and all was silent. The cemented square stones on the vault seals showed dates ranging back to the fifteenth century, and beyond that lay the stone sarcophagi. Kurt found the lifelike carvings of the departed incredible. The skilled sculpting of the ancient artisans was exquisite and captured the features of the person buried within perfectly. With no elements present to erode the stone, each face was as peaceful and serene as the day it was chiselled.
“All clear?” Jonesy asked.
“All clear, that’s the last of it,” Denise confirmed.
Their passage had stirred dust motes which drifted lazily in the fluorescent light. Sarah placed the final lantern down and joined them, closely followed by their boys.
“Whoa,” Sam exclaimed, morbidly fascinated at the multitude of graves.
“At least these ones aren’t trying to eat us,” Braiden added.
“That’s true,” Sam replied, moving closer to study one of the tombs.
“Alina wanted you to know that Stephen has mentioned secret tunnels hidden down here as well as other parts of the castle,” Sarah said.
“They would’ve been used for escape in times of siege,” Sam explained quietly while preoccupied with poking at the lid of a stone casket.
“Leave that alone,” Braiden warned, pulling his hand away.
“Scared, are we?” Sam teased.
“It’s just not right,” Braiden replied, defensively. “Besides, the dead are already pissed off and want to eat us. Why antagonise them more?”
The adults couldn’t disguise their snickers at the innocent exchange and Kurt pulled both boys in close for a hug.
“Braiden’s right. We must respect the dead,” Kurt said as they left the chamber. “We’ll be burying grandad down here and you wouldn’t want someone messing with him, would you?”
“No, Dad,” Sam replied sadly, “Sorry.”
“There was no need for that,” Sarah scolded, glaring at Kurt.
“Mum’s right,” Kurt sighed, “My mind is all over the place. Sorry, Sam.”
“That’s ok. I’m sad too,” he replied with a quiet sob, “I’m really going to miss him.”
“We all will.” Sarah joined the embrace, voice wavering.
Denise, Jonesy, and DB looked on respectfully until they had composed themselves.
“I know this isn’t easy,” DB spoke up, “But have you given any thought to how you want to lay your dad to rest?”
“I was thinking shrouds?” Sarah offered.
“I know this may seem a bit gross,” he continued, “But we could always clean up these coffins and use them?”
Denise was horrified and Jonesy shook his head while holding a hand to his face, “Brother, we can’t reuse second-hand coffins. That’s just wrong.”
“What’s the problem?” DB replied, lifting one of the caskets, “Look at that quality. I’d be happy to be buried in it.”
&nbs
p; “We’d need to cut the end off to get you inside it, you lanky bastard,” Jonesy stated.
Kurt stepped forward, tears of grief and mirth mixing on his cheeks. “I appreciate the thought, but Jonesy is right, and not only about the length of the thing. I think we’ll find something more suitable.”
“Well I still think that if they’re good enough for the nobility, they’re good enough for your father and the heroes who fought with us,” DB muttered, “That’s all.”
“I know what you meant, mate,” Kurt said with a smile, “John would be honoured that you thought so highly of him.”
“Come on, you big lug,” Jonesy said, nodding towards the bodies at the stairs, “Let’s get the real occupants of these back on the shelves.”
“Yeah, ok.”
“We’ll meet you in the chapel,” Sarah said, standing on tiptoes to peck DB on the cheek.
CHAPTER 19
During the bitter night, the engineers had used their expertise to erect a wooden platform to each side of the Viking armoured vehicles. Each was eight feet tall, ten feet deep and stretched thirty feet to both the east and west. Idling further to the west was a Challenger 2 main battle tank, turret aimed in readiness at the vile horde across the expanse of water.
“Sergeant, is everyone in position?” asked Captain Hayward, surveying the rotting enemy.
“Aye, sir,” replied Holbeck, “They’re just waiting on your orders.”
“Very good.”
Expectant faces peered from their positions, fingers poised on the triggers. Rows of sandbags had been laid on the platform and machine guns rested on their tripods atop them. Boxes of ammunition in 12.7mm, 7.62mm, and 5.56mm calibres lay at their feet, ready to be reloaded as each one hundred round disintegrating belt ran dry. To the rear of the crouched gunners stood a line of soldiers aiming their assault rifles at the crowd. All four of the Vikings had been fitted with an L1A1 heavy machine on their ring mounted turrets and determined faces glared from the weapons.
“They’re getting restless, sir,” Holbeck said, nodding at the surging mass of zombies.