Hellspawn (Book 4): Hellspawn Requiem

by Ricky Fleet

  “Who saw him commit the crime? Bring your witnesses in and we can get to the bottom of this.”

  They looked at each other in confusion, “We don’t have any witnesses. We just know.”

  “I’ll say this slowly, because you are obviously moronic, inbred fuckwits. Unless you have somebody who can back up your bullshit story, then you have nothing. I won’t punish Hay just because you think he may have killed your man. Understand?”

  “This won’t end well for you,” Fred sneered, pulling his brother backwards to prevent him rushing Craig and getting killed.

  “Watch your mouth, you scouse cunt,” Craig spat, “Remember what happened the last time you went against me?”

  “Things change.” George grinned evilly, then turned to face a wall of men with weapons at the ready, “Get the fuck out of my way before I kill you all.”

  Craig’s men were unimpressed and looked to their leader, who nodded to let them pass.

  “I’m letting you live because you are obviously beside yourselves with grief over the loss of a close friend. If you ever disrespect me like that again, you will be fed to the dead fucks.”

  With a final glare, they were gone and Craig sat back down.

  “We shouldn’t let them get away with that,” muttered one of his men angrily.

  “They run a tight wing,” Craig replied, understanding the sentiment but knowing their value to the running of the prison, “We need them alive until they outlive their usefulness.”

  “Ok, boss.”

  “I’m done for today. Tell the others to come back tomorrow,” Craig ordered and left the men to lock up.

  CHAPTER 22

  Kurt stood at the side watching as Jonesy removed the outer casing of his radio. Looking closely at the inner circuitry, he placed it on the table and ran a hand over his face.

  “No luck?” Kurt asked.

  “No. They’re both broken,” Jonesy replied with a frustrated sigh.

  The lack of communication with their old friends left them vulnerable to an attack. Their secret frequency was rendered useless with no means of using it.

  “Can they be fixed?” Kurt inquired.

  Jonesy pushed at the cracked components and loose wires. “Possibly. Not without the right tools and knowledge, though.”

  “We can ask the survivors if anyone has any electronics experience. The equipment may be a little harder to come by.”

  “We’ll have to be on our guard twenty-four seven,” DB added, “Baxter could bring the Chinook and land a whole team inside the walls, or bomb us into oblivion with his artillery.”

  “He has the capability to find us with the drones if Morrow is still alive.”

  “So, we have to stay inside the buildings or we can be spotted? That’s going to make keeping an eye out for Mike and his brother a little difficult,” Kurt muttered.

  “It won’t make any difference,” Jonesy replied, “They have some of the most sophisticated thermal imagery in the world.”

  “Bloody marvellous,” Kurt slumped into a chair, “So, no matter what we do we are still in danger?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “At least getting blown sky high will be quick and painless,” DB pointed out with a grin.

  “Always the optimist,” chuckled Kurt.

  “No point worrying about what ifs with the shit we’ve been through.”

  Kurt nodded. The big man was correct in his analysis and unduly stressing about something that they had absolutely no power over was pointless. They had survived the most appalling horrors imaginable and deserved some respite.

  “Can we keep this from the others? I know we said no secrets, but knowing this doesn’t help anyone,” Kurt said.

  “I agree. We unwittingly brought this to their door and it will just give Mr. Vincent more ammunition if he wanted to sow discontent.”

  “Do you think he’ll still cause us issues after you let him live?” DB wondered.

  “I really don’t know,” Kurt answered, “Gloria has warned me to be careful; she doesn’t think it’s the end of it. Patricia is doing a great job watching him, thankfully.”

  “If he doesn’t snap out of the weird trance he’s in we need to lock him away,” DB added. He hated the way the man looked like a living zombie, stumbling around with glazed, emotionless eyes.

  “Agreed. We give it a couple of days and then act. What about his assistant?”

  Jonesy pushed the remains away and spoke up, “To be honest, after being away from Mr. Vincent for a while, he is joining in with everyone else. I get the feeling he’s quite weak willed and felt powerless under such a strong personality.”

  “Good.”

  “Shall we turn on the windup radio? I miss hearing Gabrielle’s voice,” Jonesy said with a wink.

  “Pervert,” DB mocked light heartedly, “I bet she’s not even your type.”

  “Does she have a pulse?” Jonesy asked.

  “I would hope so,” DB speculated.

  “Then she’s my type,” Jonesy finished and they all laughed.

  “I suppose being picky isn’t an option anymore.”

  “Nope, it’s all about repopulating the world and I am happy to play my part,” Jonesy chuckled.

  Kurt had pulled the radio from John’s backpack and the soldiers gave him a supportive hug when they saw his grief. The radio had been John’s pride and joy through the hell and it was another reminder that he was gone forever.

  “Here, let me, mate,” DB offered and started to wind the mechanism.

  “Careful you don’t crush it with those bloody great hands,” Jonesy teased.

  Without breaking rhythm, DB looked over, “I can be gentle, just ask your mother.”

  “That’s gross!” Jonesy made a gagging noise, “She’s probably a zombie now.”

  “Doesn’t bother me,” DB replied with a straight face, “I like my women to be a little dangerous.”

  “You’re twisted,” Kurt laughed, grateful for the distracting banter.

  Placing the radio on the table, a track by Eminem was playing and they all started to rap along. Kurt had been reluctant to allow Sam to listen to the music, but in the end it was just words. He and Sarah were the only influence that really mattered and they could be proud of the man he was growing in to; fearless, but compassionate as well.

  “I didn’t realise how much I missed music,” Jonesy remarked.

  “It’s amazing how much we have lost that we don’t even think about anymore,” Kurt replied and the soldiers nodded.

  Sitting in reflective silence as the song reached its climax, the sound faded and Gabrielle returned to the mic.

  “Good evening. I hope that you are all warm and fed wherever you may be taking shelter.”

  Her voice was forlorn and without animation, like an exhausted traveller recording a goodbye message to their absent loved ones while lost in the wilderness. The men looked at each other, worry etched on their faces. Gabrielle was like an unofficial member of the group who had been with them every step of the way. Her new melancholy was emotionally painful to hear.

  “We are out of food and water and even with the zombies leaving the area it is still too dangerous to try and raid a supermarket. I can see them in the shadows from the window of the building. Given the choice between dying of dehydration or getting eaten, we couldn’t decide. Suicide was an option, but I refuse to go out like that! Tomorrow, myself and Robin the techie will be making a play for the government bunker. We know it must be close to the Houses of Parliament and various rumours that circulated before the dead took over speculated that it could be reached via the London Underground.”

  Some of the vitality had returned in that angry outburst which gave them hope.

  “The streets still have zombies, but in manageable numbers. I know we can outrun them and with our knowledge of the area, we should be able to move from shelter to shelter until we reach Westminster station. I’m trying my best to not imagine what we may find in the darkness of t
he tunnels. In my dreams, I get dragged into the shadows and torn apart by crumbling, decayed teeth. Sorry for the graphic description folks, but as you may guess, I’m shitting myself. We have two torches each and spare batteries up the wazoo, which means at least we won’t get eaten in the dark like my nightmare suggests. We will get to see the whole show as bits of us are chewed off.”

  Looking at each other, DB, Kurt and Jonesy could sense the bleakness in her soul. A muffled voice could be heard in the room but Gabrielle must have covered the microphone with her hand to obscure the exchange.

  “I’m sorry for that outburst. I hate feeling helpless and, as you can imagine, sitting here week after week while everything I know and love dies has been hard. My self-pitying whine is now over, so let’s get onto the news. The Daresford Institute is still in the dark without the Hadron Collider experimental notes, but contact has been made between Dauntless and the remnants of the French military. Steps are being taken to try and coordinate an incursion into Switzerland to reach the headquarters of CERN, the European Organization for Nuclear Research where the Large Hadron Collider is located. They have fared no better with their air forces and any mission would have to be carefully planned and across open ground.”

  “God be with them,” Kurt whispered, confused by his sudden invocation of imaginary beings. Then again, with the importance of the mission to humanity’s future, any help would be welcome.

  “They’re going to need more than prayers to get through Europe. Half a billion people live across the continent and who knows where they will migrate to,” Jonesy explained, grimly.

  “I have no further updates about the fate of our armed forces who are entrenched on the hills and mountains of this great country. They are still being reinforced and provided with as many supplies as the last remaining helicopters can provide. I pray for their safety and can’t wait until they start kicking undead ass again. Admiral Wright has also informed me that efforts are being made to make contact with any survivors who have been located across the country. At this time, I have not been told what that entails or how long it may take to achieve the objective.”

  “Do you think that means Baxter’s gone?” DB asked the pair.

  “No idea, but I certainly hope so,” Kurt replied, “We’d only have one group of psychos to worry about.”

  “I have to say goodbye to you all now. I ask that you keep me in your thoughts and any good vibes you can send my way would be great. I’m going to leave a playlist on loop that has got me through some dark times. Stay hidden, stay fed, stay warm, my incredibly brave listeners. This is Gabrielle, signing off.”

  Bobby McFerrin started to sing ‘Don’t worry, be happy’ and each of them shed a few tears without really knowing why. They had no personal link to the girl, no stake in her fate. It wouldn’t affect them in any way if she perished and they never heard of her again.

  “Why are we crying?” DB asked, laughing and wiping the tears.

  “I’m not crying, I’ve got something in my eye. You’re such a pussy,” Jonesy replied, punching him in the solid shoulder to mask his own emotion.

  “She is us,” whispered Kurt ambiguously, staring at the moisture smeared on the back of his hand.

  “Are you drunk?” DB chuckled, “She is us. What does that even mean, you crazy bastard?”

  “Exactly what I said,” Kurt replied, “She is us… humanity. Faced with adversity, our species always maintains hope; an unerring faith that things will work out for the best, as long as we stay the course. And despite all that’s going on she still clings on to a boundless belief in the possibility of a future beyond this living hell. We sing, we dance, we laugh, we love, even though we know the fleeting moments of joy can be snatched away in the blink of an eye.”

  The amused grins faded and they bowed their heads, seeing their own plight in his words.

  “She’s flawed, too, just like us. Not in a psychological sense, but by fear, uncertainty, everything that makes a normal person tick. Her love and emotions, and by extension our own emotions, are our biggest weakness.”

  “Love makes us weak?” DB frowned, not sure if he was understanding the point.

  “Love, empathy, compassion, call it what you will, but it makes us weak. But still we insist on placing hope in others. She is now going to sleep for what could be the last time, and still she was only concerned with providing some small measure of hope.”

  “I don’t see how love can make us weak,” Jonesy repeated DB’s sentiment.

  “If one of your fellow soldiers was wounded, what would you do?” Kurt asked.

  “I’d get him to safety,” DB said without hesitation.

  “Even if it meant risking your own life?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you’re weak. You’d sacrifice your own life for the possibility, however slim, of saving your friend. Do you think Mike, Debbie, or even Craig would risk themselves like that?”

  “I think I can see what you’re trying to say, but without love, what’s the point of carrying on? We don’t honour the dead by giving up.”

  “Exactly!” Kurt clapped, standing up and jigging to the beat. “The songs she’s playing are a requiem for the fallen, and better than that, they’re a clarion call to the human race to keep battling on against all the odds. She rooted for us, now we root for her.”

  “I don’t think it will help her much, though.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Kurt retorted, “She’s been with us since day one and even though we’ve lost people, look where we are.”

  “You think she’s a lucky charm? Like a black, plastic, windup rabbit’s foot?”

  Kurt gave him the finger, “When you say it like that I sound like a madman.”

  “Philosopher to lunatic in under two minutes. Good job,” Jonesy said with a grin.

  Kurt waved a dismissive hand, “Just ignore me. My mind’s all over the place after the funeral.”

  “Fuck that,” DB proclaimed, striding towards the exit, “You talk all you want, brother. I’ll be back with a bottle of whiskey and we can send off a true warrior properly. They’ll welcome that tough bastard into Valhalla with open arms.”

  Kurt smiled. His mouth opened to respond, but he found a lump in his throat blocking the gratitude. DB nodded knowingly and ducked out of the room.

  CHAPTER 23

  Gloria had volunteered to take the first watch on the southwestern tower. She had thought it would give her the opportunity to mourn the passing of John in peace and solitude. Their mutual attraction had been denied the opportunity to develop beyond the occasional loving glance and brief embrace. Perhaps that was for the best, she thought. Albert had been her first love and the marriage vows they spoke to one another were sacrosanct. Until the apocalypse, she had kept herself closed off from the affections of the male churchgoing widowers. She had been no less lonely, no less longing for companionship to share the empty, silent home. Many confessionals were spent explaining her sinful temptation to find a new partner and how it tore at her soul. Reassurances by the priest that God, nor her dear departed husband, would want her to be alone had been unable to assuage the guilt. Fearing her own sinfulness, her participation in the church services had waned in direct correlation to the inner struggle. The arrival of Peter and Jodi had drawn her back from the melancholy memory.

  “Do you really think we’re safe now?” Peter asked.

  Gloria turned to him and smiled, “As safe as we can be I suppose. Kurt and yourselves have performed a miracle to get us here.”

  “I think you underestimate your own contribution to the fight,” Jodi said, adding another small log to the brazier.

  “I was simply an elderly lady who happened to be in the right place at the right time,” she replied modestly.

  They fell silent for a few moments, gathering closer to the crackling blaze. Winter winds circulated around the walled enclosure, fanning the fire and sending embers high into the night air. The flames resembled orange fingers, reaching
through the gaps in the steelwork, almost sentient in their desire to touch the survivors and share their hot gift. Taking a respectful step backwards to avoid the danger, the wind slowed and the thwarted flames curled toward the sky once more. Gloria stared into the earthly inferno and imagined her own soul descending into the pits of Hell. Giving a derisive laugh, the others looked at her with concern.

  “Are you going to be ok?” Jodi said, taking her cold hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  “Thank you, darling,” Gloria replied, “I was just reminiscing about my lapsed faith. All the years of unflinching obedience to a Lord who inflicts this upon us.”

  “What about Winston’s arrival?” Peter asked.

  “I don’t follow.”

  “I’m not a religious man, but don’t you think it’s a miracle that he made it here alive?”

  “Possibly,” she agreed, “But he is also an extremely brave and resourceful young man. It’s a quality we all share and is largely responsible for our survival.”

  “We had each other, and guns,” Jodi added, “He had himself, and one shoe.”

  Gloria chuckled, “I see your point.”

  “Don’t think we haven’t noticed you staring at the cathedral either,” Peter said.

  “I was simply hoping to catch a glimpse of the survivors,” she protested, without conviction.

  “I saw that,” Jodi remarked, catching the faint smile on the teacher’s lips which she tried to conceal by turning away.

  “Preposterous. I was smiling at the memory of Winston’s unusual arrival.”

  “Of course you were,” Peter replied with his own grin.

  Gloria lifted the binoculars and scanned the area around the ancient place of worship. Zombies were in abundance but paid the building no heed as they staggered aimlessly in the cobbled streets. Each of the windows was a dark stain on the lighter colours of the moonlit stonework. Looking from pane to pane, she was close to giving up when an inconsistency caught her attention. A single pane was a shade lighter than those around it. Moving position to discount a trick of reflected light being the cause, her heart soared when the imperceptible glow remained.