by Ricky Fleet
Two male zombies were nearly on him and he burst out laughing at the expressions on the groups faces. They had all circled around to ensure Hombre was directly in the path of the creatures and he shook his head in disappointment. “Fucking pussies.”
Punching the first with all his might, the forehead crumpled back into the brain and it fell dead to the ground. Toying with the second, he lay the shotgun down before pulling out the pair of ice axes from his belt. Crossing arms, he then swept them apart and the blades tore open the zombie’s face. Unable to bite or see, Hombre dragged it towards the cowering men.
“They are only a threat to us when they swarm,” he explained, knocking it to the ground and hacking both arms off.
Picking it back up, he looked at the wary faces who were sure he was going to propel the zombie towards them. “One to one we can kill a million of these things for fuck’s sake.”
Raising one of the axes, he slammed the point into the brain and it fell to join the fallen bodies. Face starting to redden, Hombre glared at the group as more started to diverge on them.
“Any man of mine that comes back without at least five kills will be going on the fucking list for the gauntlet,” he snarled, then turned to the paedophiles, “Same goes for you perverts, except your names will all be drawn for the next show. Now move!”
The warning had worked and the five members of Craig’s gang all rushed off, weapons drawn. Still cowering in fear, the ten deviants knew they were dead one way or the other anyway. At least by holding back they would ensure a few more days until the deadly game was played.
“I can see you fairies need some motivation,” Hombre sighed, grabbing one of the prisoners by the hair.
“Get off me, I’ll do what you want,” begged the man as he was pulled towards a group of approaching zombies.
Hair ripped from the scalp as he tried desperately to shy away from the greedy dead.
“Feeding time,” Hombre cried, kicking the legs out from under the victim.
“No…no…no!” squealed the man as he tried to shield himself from the ravenous mouths.
“You’ll watch or I’ll feed another one of you to them,” Hombre growled the warning.
Hesitantly, they all turned back to the spectacle. Gorge rising, they watched in horror as their friend was devoured. Nothing remained of his hands and forearms which had been the first to get eaten. One of the dead was gnawing on one of the limbs like a chicken wing, blood soaking its chest. Paralyzed by agony, the man could only lay there groaning as the others started their meal. Bony fingers tore at his face, peeling back the cheeks and rupturing his eyes. More had knelt at his side and were busily digging into his abdomen, biting into the glistening intestines which spilled over the ground. Nearing death, or undeath, his feet kicked weakly at the ground until another zombie fell astride them and started to bite at the groin.
“Anyone else?” Hombre demanded, striding towards the prisoners.
“We’ll do what you want,” snivelled one, falling at his feet, “But we only have these tiny kitchen knives.”
“So fucking what? I’ve just killed two with my bare hands!”
“We aren’t you,” the man sobbed.
“Get up now or you’re next,” Hombre ordered and the man stood on weak legs. Grabbing the short-bladed knife, he marched over to the feasting monsters and grabbed one by its hair. The scalp wasn’t as strong as the victims had been and it started to peel away from the skull.
Just about managing to get it to sit at the right angle, he said, “You can go for the base of the skull.” He drove the knife upwards and into its brain. Grasping the next, he turned the head and showed them the ghastly, chewing face, “Or you have the eye.” He stabbed through the pus-filled orb and it fell dead onto the ground. Stepping over the body he reached the next zombie and pulled it back by the chin and held it to his chest, “Or you go in through the temple.” Holding the tip against the grey skin, he pressed sharply and the blade penetrated the weaker bone, killing it instantly. “Now get to work,” Hombre spat, tossing the dripping knife at the man who fumbled the catch.
Picking it up, he gingerly wiped the gore on the trouser leg of the female zombie. The men still milled around, uncertain of which zombie to attack.
Hombre shook his head in disgust, “Do you need another lesson?”
“No,” whined the man, “It’s our first time.”
“I bet that’s what you said to the children too, isn’t it?” said one of Hombre’s men.
“You need to pop your cherry or none of you will make it back tonight.” Hombre had run out of patience. “If you’re squeamish, I suggest taking on the ones who are nearly done eating your friend.”
Tears streaming from trembling cheeks, the condemned cautiously approached before hacking at the bobbing heads.
“Are they for real?” Hombre asked his men rhetorically. “Like I fucking showed you!” he shouted at their haphazard efforts.
The yell did the trick and working in pairs they managed to destroy the last four zombies with a great deal less flair than Hombre. Panting and shaking, the molesters stared at their captors.
“Wait for it,” Hombre said mysteriously. They screwed their faces up in puzzlement at his grinning face.
A scream tore through the morning air and one of the paedophiles was clutching at the bite wound on his calf. The shredded body of their compatriot was busily chewing with what remained of its jaw and teeth.
“You forgot one,” pointed Jezz, a brawler much like his boss. Bent double, he was nearly crying with laughter.
“You bastards!”
“Careful now,” Hombre growled, menacingly, “You have business to take care of.”
“But he was our friend.”
“And now he’s eating you. I think your loyalty may be misplaced.”
Swallowing the chunk of flesh, the body tried to roll and take another bite, spilling the last of his guts out. Horrified beyond words, they rained down blows with their knives, stilling the struggle.
“And now him,” Hombre said, pointing at the bitten man who tried to stem the bleeding on his leg.
“But he’s still alive,” they replied with dismay.
“Only for a few minutes and I won’t risk any more of you. We have too much to do today for any more fuck ups,” Hombre explained, “NOW, KILL HIM!”
Apologising for what was to come, two of the terrified men pinned him down.
“No, you can’t do this!” he shrieked, thrashing under their weight.
One of the others started to stab down wildly, aiming for the exposed eye. His shaking hands ensured it took five strikes before the killing blow hit home.
“Good, now get your asses moving.” Hombre kicked out, driving them towards the alleyway by the farm store.
“Boss, should I pop back and get a few more hands?” Jezz asked.
“Nah, we’ll be fine. We have enough people to do what’s needed,” Hombre replied, following the others as they reached the promenade of shops.
“Keep your eyes open,” Jezz warned, glancing around the abandoned vehicles.
“We’re lucky the horde at our door makes such a racket, or we’d be in the shit by now from your girlfriend’s screams,” Hombre said snidely. “Check each car for hidden threats before moving them. Got it?”
One by one, the cars were pushed to the sides, clearing an access for the truck which would be brought back and stowed in the construction compound outside the walls.
“Shall we take the time to search in each car? We may turn up something valuable?” suggested Lewis, one of the sex offenders.
“Like a little girl or boy?” Jezz mocked.
“It was just an idea,” he whined.
“Just do what you’ve been told and leave the thinking to the non-deviant, ok?” Hombre sneered.
“Oh God,” Lewis muttered, backing away from the next car.
“What is it?” Hombre asked, releasing the handbrake of a car and wrestling it to the verge
.
“There are two toddlers in the car,” he whispered with revulsion.
“What’s the problem?” Jezz giggled, forcing him back towards the open door, “I thought you’d be happy.”
“Get off me!” Lewis shouted, struggling to maintain his distance from the tiny monsters.
“Jezz, knock it off!” Hombre ordered. “Lewis, get your knife out and kill them or I’ll lock you in there myself.”
“But…”
“I won’t ask again!” Hombre thundered. “I’ve had enough of you whining cunts and if I hear one more fucking word out of your mouths, I’ll cut your tongues out!”
The vehemence in his snarling face caused everyone to shrink back, even his trusted crew. With no more complaints, Lewis leaned inside and did what was necessary. Backing out of the rear seats, he stared at the bloody knife for a moment and then the corpses within.
“Come on, let’s get it moved,” Jezz urged with no malice. He had caught a glimpse of the writhing children strapped inside and they reminded him of his own, now dead, family.
Lewis nodded and twisted the ignition key to release the steering lock. Grunting with effort, the tyres crunched over the tarmac and came to rest against the kerb.
“Good,” Hombre said, nodding to himself. The road through the sparse town centre was clear enough to drive the rig through and it would be down to the prisoners on the walls to lure enough zombies away to make a run for the fenced compound.
“We got company,” Jezz warned as they reached the open fields on the outskirts of Ford.
A small group had caught sight of them and begun the slow process of attacking. Numbering about thirty, the shambling mass caused fear to break out among the group.
“There’s too many of…” complained one until the glint of Hombre’s hunting knife silenced him.
Sheathing the blade, he removed his axes and hopped over the small rainwater ditch that ran adjacent to the field. Roaring his pent-up rage, he strode towards the mob, beating on his chest with one clenched fist. Using their sluggish advance to his own ends, he carved a swathe through the first four zombies, coating his arms in ichor. The stench of decay washed over him and he sucked it in deeply, drawing strength from the scent of death. There was only one Grim Reaper and he stood in the middle of the field, beckoning the undead to fight.
“I’m counting!” he yelled over his shoulder to the awestruck men.
Slashing down blows with the razor-sharp tips of each weapon, another ten were slain before the prisoners reached him. The barrier of bodies was creating a convenient breaker and the zombies had to skirt around the growing pile of flesh.
“About time,” Hombre said and turned back to the road. “Finish them off.”
Wanting to show their own skills, his gang set about the remaining cadavers with bats and hatchets. Joining the fray after a warning glare from Hombre, the weaker convicts preferred to knock them to the ground before stabbing through the weak spots in the skull.
“Mind your step,” Jezz chuckled, pushing one of the men onto the pile of corpses. The earlier grief was long forgotten and his hatred for the corruptors of childhood innocence was back with a vengeance.
Screaming in a pitch that only dogs could hear, the man thrashed around on the spongy, sticky mess. Pushing himself clear of the bodies, one hand sunk up to the elbow in the distended abdomen. Hombre managed to stifle the grin as the man withdrew his arm with a wet sucking sound.
“Jezz, what did I fucking say?”
“Sorry, boss,” he replied, lowering his head. In truth, he wasn’t sorry at all, he just didn’t want to get beaten.
“They’ll get theirs soon enough in the cells. Until then, we need the muscle.”
“I’ll pack it in,” he vowed, cleaning the bat with a cloth.
Hopping back onto the road, the vehicular blockages disappeared and they set off at a brisk pace for the railway yard.
“I’d kill for a drink,” Jezz sighed as they approached the Ship and Anchor pub.
“You could barely stand up last night and now you want more?” Hombre chuckled.
“Another drink is the best hangover cure my dad used to say. Then again it was only because he was always pissed. You can’t suffer from a hangover when you are drunk twenty-four-seven.”
“I think we’re getting low anyway,” Hombre said, staring at the pub, “Let’s empty the place and collect it on the way back. I don’t want anyone sampling the wares until we are back safe and sound, though. Got it?”
Heads bobbed in agreement and they pushed through the gate. Chairs surrounded tables with rain filled ashtrays and glasses perched on top. Some had split from the freezing temperatures and others had been toppled by the storm.
“Everyone quiet,” Hombre warned, approaching the open door.
Leaning inside, the aroma of stale beer and cigarettes was mixed with rotten meat. Claiming one of the unbroken glasses, he pitched it into the darkness and it shattered behind the bar, destroying a mirror in the process. The silence was unbroken and he stepped inside cautiously, firing up the torch. It was only a small, rural establishment and the bar could be navigated by five large paces. A door at the rear had been torn from its hinges and pools of dried blood littered the drab carpet. Stepping into the tiny kitchen with an arm stretched over his mouth, Hombre could see the smell was coming from an open fridge. Racks of ribs, joints of beef, and legs of lamb swarmed with maggots and using the toe of his boot he kicked it closed.
“All clear upstairs,” said one of his men, re-joining the others.
“Be careful opening the cellar hatch,” Hombre warned, “Remember what happened to Joe.”
Too brash for his own good, Joe had never been one for caution. That was until he was dragged screaming into the darkness of the Queens Head pub just south of Ford. Eighteen staff and members of the public had hidden in the cellar until they all died of thirst. Nothing was left of Joe by the time they had brought light and killed the monsters. It had been a quickly learned lesson.
Jezz found the trap door and rapped the bat against the surface. Nothing replied with a groan, so he knelt and pulled on the recessed handle. Two others played their beams around the small cellar, revealing the tapped kegs and boxes of assorted spirits. Thwarted by the lingering stench of rot from the kitchen, they couldn’t use their sense of smell to detect any hidden zombies.
“Seems clear,” offered Jezz with a shrug.
“Get it done, I’ll be outside.”
Jogging around the building to ensure there were no lumbering surprises lying in wait, Hombre sat at one of the tables outside the entrance. Pulling a cigarette from a crumpled packet with his teeth, he lit the tip and drew deeply on the tobacco. In prison, premade cigarettes were an unaffordable luxury, with most using pouches of the loose brown leaf. During the many raids on the local shops they had acquired thousands of packets and Craig used them as bribes or gifts to the chosen few. Blowing rings of smoke into the air, Hombre smiled to himself. It wasn’t a bad life, all things considered. Sure, the dead had taken over the world and killed everyone he had ever known, but it could have been worse. It was going to be a thrill to get behind the wheel of an articulated lorry again, to feel the power of the engine and lord it over the world from the high cab.
“It’s a good day,” he said to himself, dropping the butt into a wet ashtray with a hiss.
“Good for some,” gasped Jezz, wrestling a full keg towards the road, “Not all of us get to sit around smoking.”
Refusing to let the snide comment trigger his anger, he patted the subordinate on the back, “I tell you what. I’ll get the rest of the booze, and you can kill half of the next horde of zombies we come across. Deal?”
Blanching at the thought, he dropped the barrel and shook his head, “I was only joking, boss.”
“I don’t mind, honestly. It saves me the trouble,” Hombre persisted, pushing the packet and lighter into his hands, before striding towards the pub.
Running after
him, Jezz deftly slipped the objects back into his coat pocket and slipped past. “I’ve got it, don’t worry,” he replied, sheepishly.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Hombre shouted at the retreating figure, “Cheeky prick!”
Five minutes later and every ounce of alcohol was neatly stacked by the roadside. Powdered milk had also been discovered in the kitchen and, though tasting vile compared to the real thing, Hombre knew Craig would be ecstatic at being able to have a half decent cup of tea again. Pulling on their bloody gloves which had been removed to prevent contamination of the luxuries, they continued northward.
“Look at those houses,” one of the men said with envy, “I bet they cost a million quid before all this shit.”
“Probably more,” Hombre replied, “And now their owners work for us. Any that made it to the prison, anyway.”
“I want that old manor house through the trees,” Jezz said, pointing at the eighteenth-century mansion set within a few acres to their left.
“Why would you want an old crumbling pile of shit like that?” Declan teased.
“Lord Jezz of Twatville,” Hombre laughed, punching him in the arm.
“That fucking hurt,” he replied, rubbing the bruised limb and blushing. “I just like the architecture, that’s all.”
“You’re welcome to it, but I think you may have an issue with people breaking and entering. Namely the millions of rotting fucks wandering about now.”
“I didn’t mean right now. I meant when we finally take control of things.”
“The person that owns it may be locked up with us now. I’m sure they will have something to say about you stealing their home,” Hombre muttered, spying nearly fifty zombies lying in wait around the bend in the road.
“Let them try and stop me,” Jezz boasted, then fell silent as he too saw the threat.
“Get back, they haven’t seen us yet,” Hombre hissed, pulling the men out of sight.
“Let’s fuck them up!” growled one of his men, trying to emulate the confidence of their leader.
“Don’t be daft, I don’t want to lose anyone else before we get there,” he whispered, looking around.
“I have an idea,” Lewis said, raising a hand.