Hellspawn | Book 8 | Hellspawn Vengeance, page 10
part #8 of Hellspawn Series
“What is it?” Holbeck whispered in his ear.
Kurt had come to a halt without even realising he was slowing.
“I don’t see anyone.”
Holbeck checked the embrasures for movement, finding none. “What do you think it means?”
Kurt frowned. “I’m not sure. They have to know we’re coming, so my money would be on them taking cover behind the crenulations.”
“You don’t sound certain.”
“I’m not. It doesn’t make sense. They’d still need the fires blazing. The little bit of heat the walls suck in is enough to keep the chill away, but that only works if the braziers are roaring. They’d be literally freezing their arses off up there. Not to mention they could barely see anything, anyway. Look at the ground outside the walls.”
Holbeck noted the complete darkness. When Kurt had performed his lone assault on the castle, even in the weak afternoon light the frozen mud had reflected the flames. “Think it’s worth a look?”
“I’d rather stick to the original plan. There’s something off here, though. We need to hustle.”
“You heard the man,” Holbeck ordered quietly and they all picked up the pace.
The half mile journey was unimpeded by anything undead, and Kurt’s nerve-o-meter jumped another notch. The festering corpses were a constant companion to the castle, beating on the walls in their slow, methodical rhythm. Hundreds were now reduced to a smattering of partial people, though where the rest of their bodies and limbs were was anyone’s guess.
“Can I borrow those?” Kurt asked Ian, nodding at the binoculars.
“Sure, dude.”
The metal radiated a chill through his thick gloves, and even the silicon eyecups felt bitter as he pressed them to his face. A hundred windows looked back at him, as dark as the surrounding night. A couple of the chimney stacks might have had logs burning in the hearths below, but the winds stole away any clue. The place looked… abandoned. Dead.
“Anything to share?” asked Holbeck.
“This is all wrong. The Baron’s Hall was dark. The rooms on the south are dark. If we hadn’t just spoken to Denise, I’d swear we were looking at a ruin.”
“Do you think they might’ve taken the others and fled?”
The suggestion filled Kurt’s gut with dread. Sarah, chattel for lunatics and murderers.
“If they have, we need to find out ASAP and get after them. Follow me.”
They reached the small, concealing canopy of trees housing the hidden exit. Breaking open the tunnel entrance, a slightly warmer, though markedly less clean, updraught washed over them.
“Clever,” remarked Holbeck as he followed Kurt inside.
The torch beam picked out the outermost sprouts coming from the roots of the mighty oaks nearby. It was a wonder they hadn’t collapsed the thing centuries ago.
“Mind your step,” Kurt warned, navigating the lifted, uneven slabs.
In the narrow confines of the passage, the rattle of spare magazines in Harkiss’ donated duffel bag sounded like the clack of giant roach claws on stone. It was all too easy to imagine the alien, insectoid eyes watching them pass through their unmolested sanctuary. Unmolested at least until Matt and Clarissa had arrived. Kurt felt like a trespasser as the bugs skittered away from the light and heavy vibrations of human feet.
Kurt halted the procession at the archway to the spiral staircase. “Right. Lot of steps going up, folks. You’ll see the iron that held the rope handrail, but nothing else. For the love of god, mind how you go. Ready?”
The glinting eyes caught in the cupped beam of his torch waited patiently.
“Ok, here we go. Let’s just hope no one’s lit a fire or Ian Claus is going to get his arse burned.”
No one replied to his poor attempt at humour, so he grunted and started to climb. It turned out that manhandling a hulking Scotsman up the steps was far harder than the equipment they carried. Five minutes passed until they reached the soot stained lip of the chimney itself. The flue was as dark and cold as the rest of the castle. Peering over, the ashes hadn’t changed since the last fire they had burned. The memory of Sarah lounging in the warm orange of the firelight twisted Kurt’s stomach again. She had looked so vital. So alive. She had to be here somewhere. He wouldn’t countenance them going through what they had together only to lose her to the scum of the earth.
Climbing down, Kurt stood in the massive fireplace and took the offered bags and other goods, quickly placing them aside. One by one, the others joined him in the suite.
“How the other half live, eh?” Ian grumbled at the lavish splendour.
“I doubt they’re doing much living now, mate,” Kurt replied. “A toff tastes just as good as one of us working bums.”
“Better, probably,” offered Holbeck, directing the soldiers to distribute their weaponry.
“All quail and champagne,” said Ian.
“Not to mention the silver spoons they’ve got in their mouths,” Harkiss added.
“They’re not all bad, Private. Remember your oath.”
“Aye, Sarge. Queen and country. These fuckers aren’t Her Majesty, though.”
“Fair point.” Holbeck looked for Kurt and found him listening at a crack in the partly opened door. “Anything?”
He turned slowly, his face ashen.
“What?”
“Zombies. Lots of them.”
Was Sarah already amongst their number? His heart stuttered in pain.
Chapter 20
The tunnel grew more dank as they passed outside the shelter offered by the fortress above. Moans echoed after them as they ran. Slivers of iron remained embedded in the wall, the sconces they represented long rotted away.
“There!” exclaimed Clarissa, slowing down.
Another flight of steps led upwards, but only about a dozen this time. Their earlier descent had dropped them below the town itself from the soaring castle, and this was enough to bring them back up to normal ground level. The wall at either side showed the same wet and dry demarcation where the building above began.
“This is the priory?” asked Clive.
“That’s what Vincent always said. It was designed to allow priests to escape in the late sixteen-hundreds. Or was it seventeen-hundreds? Anyway, it was because of all that persecution the Catholics went through,” said Bob.
“We’ve got a problem,” said Clarissa, having already reached the top.
“What is it?” asked Bob, pushing past.
“It’s blocked. And there’s no handle.”
The small passage was filled with another stone set vertically in the opening. Bob traced his fingers around the edge. “It’s not joined with cement or whatever they had at the time.”
Clarissa made space and the maintenance man gave it a cautious shoulder barge. He reeled away, clutching his arm. “Shee-it! It’s solid.”
“No!” Clive blurted in fear. “It can’t be!”
“Let me try bashing it with my axe.” Flipping the hatchet over, Bob slammed the hammer end into the stone. A small chip broke away, bouncing off of his cheek painfully. “Bastard thing!”
“Anything?” Clive begged.
“It’s solid. I’ll keep trying.”
“We should’ve stayed in the castle!” Clive started to panic, clawing at the walls, hoping for a hidden door or some other escape.
“Just calm the fuck down!” Bob snapped, hammering at the stone.
“Bob?” Holly called.
“What?” he replied, flexing his tingling fingers.
“Listen,” she whispered in terror.
The groans of the dead were increasing in volume. They’d gotten through the barrier of broken kin. They were out of time. Trapped. Zombie food.
“Shit, shit, shit!” he hissed with each strike of the hatchet.
Clive proceeded to run up a few steps, then back down them, as if accruing a high enough number could make him magically disappear. Holly and Clarissa watched him cautiously.
“Clive, you need to get your head in the game! Hold them back!”
“Is it moving?” asked Holly.
Bob’s face as he looked down at her was chilling. It was grey with dust, absent of hope. Turning back, he redoubled his efforts, crying out with each blow.
Clive had given up on running and sat on the lowest step, the side of his head pressed against the cold stone. He was whispering something to himself that the girls couldn’t make out.
“I think he’s scared to death,” warned Clarissa.
“So am I,” replied Holly.
The torch didn’t penetrate the darkness too deeply, leaving the tunnel empty to the naked eye. The shuffling coming towards them was enough to banish that comforting notion. In less than a minute, the first zombie stepped into view. It was a squat, bullish woman, her pose like that of a rugby player. Forward leaning; determined. With four fresh meals on offer, it was no wonder. A couple of rollers were still tied into the clumps of filth matted hair. A younger zombie was trying to move past, but her impressive girth held her back. Holly could tell that the girl had been around the same age as her. Early to mid-teens. Her upper lip and nose had been eaten, leaving a dark, festering cavern where her face had been. The mauve uniform of the local school was unmistakeable, even through the grime and grave juices streaming from her corpse.
“Leave me alone,” came a whisper
Holly looked down at Clive. “Did you say something?”
He wasn’t seeing the girls. He wasn’t seeing anything judging by the glazed look in his eyes. “Leave me alone,” he repeated, with more vigour.
The schoolgirl had been knocked over in her futile attempts to pass the pack leader. Her body and head crumpled as dozens of creatures walked over her.
“Leave me alone!” Clive screamed, a horrible sound in the confines of the narrow passage.
He jumped to his feet and charged the woman, punching her square in the face. Holly gasped and looked down at the steps where his hatchet lay.
“What’s going on?” Bob called, breathing heavily.
“Clive’s gone mad. He’s attacking the zombies with his fists.”
“What?” he ran down to them and saw the frenzied assault that was underway. “Shit.”
Leaving the girls to spectate, terror drove Bob to greater feats of strength. He swung harder, ignoring the agony in his shoulder. The chipped slab was as resolute as ever, but from the edges, streamers of dust started to fall. A spark of hope bloomed in Bob’s heart as the tiniest crack appeared. Hitting it again, the sliver opened a fraction further.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Bob yelled with each strike.
Clive was tiring. That he hadn’t yet been bitten was a miracle in itself. The stout woman had been slain by a frenzy of kicks to the head. Dozens more crammed the tunnel, trying to get to the living.
Bob’s arm couldn’t raise the axe for another blow. Leaning back, he braced himself and crashed into the stone. The entire thing fell through with him atop it, smashing to pieces on the ground in the small room beyond. Coughing through the plume of dust, he rolled over and shouted, “Girls! Clive! We’re through!”
Holly pushed Clarissa up towards the exit. “Go!”
Snatching up Clive’s hatchet, she charged towards him. “Let me help! Bob’s got through.”
Before she could nudge past, Clive whirled around, his face riven with hate. He kicked out, catching her in the belly with enough force to lift her feet from the ground. Curling into a ball, unable to draw breath, she watched as Clive slowly picked up the discarded axe. It occurred to her as she writhed in pain that he no longer saw her as Holly. Whoever he was seeing, he feared and loathed them with equal measure. Baring froth-coated teeth, Clive raised the hatchet until it hit the tunnel roof. Two of the undead crashed into him, sending the weapon flying and his body reeling to land painfully on top of Holly. Unable to cry out, Holly laid there, her eyes only a foot from Clive’s own. She could see the deep lines of his forehead, the ruptured blood vessels in his eyes like red roads on some distant white planet. He bared his teeth again, flooding her struggling nostrils with bad breath. Before he could bite down on her face, the two zombies started their own feast. One appeared over his right shoulder, gnawing at the meat of his neck. Its milky eyes watched her as it feasted on a dripping strip of muscle. Black motes started to bloom in Holly’s vision from the crushing pressure. From a faraway place, someone was calling her name, but it all seemed like so much silliness now. The weight was sending her away to somewhere peaceful, where the dead didn’t stalk the living to eat them.
“Grab her other arm!” Bob yelled, yanking hard.
Clarissa did her best to help, but it was hard to avoid the snapping teeth. Clive’s mouth bobbed wordlessly as the undead flensed the flesh from his back. Bob tried to ignore the smells and sounds of feeding, concentrating on a rear thrusting lunge that would probably pull the girl’s arm from its socket. Inch by inch they tugged in unison, slowly pulling Holly free. Her entire lower body was soaked in blood, but they didn’t have time to inspect for bites. Clive was moaning as his life faded. Bob thought he heard the word sorry, but it was a wet gurgle that may have been nothing more than his death rattle. Carrying Holly in his arms, he climbed as fast as his old legs would carry him. The zombies seemed content to keep devouring Clive, giving them precious seconds to search the room. A thick brass ring hung from a chain in the ceiling. Clarissa gave it a tentative pull, expecting it to break at first touch. It held firm, weighty in her grip. Pulling it harder, something unseen clicked. A wooden panel swung open, revealing a study beyond. The sweet fragrance of pipe tobacco still clung to the stale air.
“The priory?” asked Clarissa.
Bob ducked through, careful to hold Holly’s head away from the wall. “It looks like it.”
Unaware of how the system worked, Bob used the back of his foot to close the cabinet which served as the camouflage to the hiding place. The mechanism clicked back into place, sealing them into the small office. Crucifixes adorned the walls, the broken figure of Christ hanging from the dark timber or silver.
Gently lowering Holly into the leather desk chair, Bob straightened up and felt every joint complain.
“What now?” asked Clarissa.
“We make for the cathedral. I hope our friend here can give us some help,” Bob nodded at the sorrowful deity.
Chapter 21
Holbeck joined Kurt at the cracked door and listened for himself. Though faint, the steady drone was not from a small pack of undead. There was a sizeable force within the castle walls.
“This is all wrong,” said Kurt. “I need to check something out across the roof. I won’t be more than five minutes.”
“Want me to come with you?” asked Holbeck.
“No, stay here and get ready. I’ll be right back.”
Kurt opened the balcony doors and stepped out into the night. He could almost see the afterimage of where he had hugged Sarah, looking out over the fields surrounding the town. Just as quickly, the bitter wind snatched it away, reminding him that he was at the mercy of Mother Nature. Moving the expensive breakfast table and chairs aside, he checked the cast iron drain pipe. Thick brackets had been well maintained, with only the faintest traces of orange rust. Yanking on it just to be sure, the heavy pipe didn’t move a fraction of an inch. Wrapping gloved hands tightly behind the pipe, Kurt started to climb. The roof was only ten feet away, and at any other time he would have used one of the top floor’s access doors which was far safer. At present they were unknown trespassers, and he wanted to keep it that way until he had answered his own question. Where the hell had the undead come from?
A disinterested gargoyle watched as he pulled himself up over the low parapet of the roof valley. A small icicle hung from its mouth like a tongue.
“Thanks for the help.”
Circling around to the inner wall, he peered over. The grounds were empty except for shards of coloured glass that littered the stones of the reception courtyard far and wide. The only way that could’ve happened was an explosion and his heart started to thunder in fear. Was that what Denise had meant when she’d mentioned Bert taking three with him? But how? It was another question for later. From his awkward position, Kurt couldn’t see inside through the great arched windows. It seemed the hall, once thriving, was now empty and dark. Unsheltered from the keening wind, any attempt he made to listen to the room below was pointless. They could’ve been mid party and still all he’d hear was the doleful hiss of the angry skies. Doubling back, he ran through the rain valleys toward the gatehouse. Ice clung to the interlocking sheets of patina coated copper that formed the roof itself. Reaching the final peak before his target, he scuffed at the ice and tried to climb. The slope defeated Kurt, his toes slipping without finding any purchase at all.
“Shit!”
The wind howled around him as if laughing at his futile efforts. The only way that remained was clutching to the edge of the roof itself which was only a twelve inch high rake, rising to tie into the huge chimney above. Waiting on the other side of that stubby protrusion was one hundred feet of nothing but air.
Was the information worth the risk?
“Probably not.”
He started to climb anyway.
Holding tight to the stone, Kurt dug his boot’s toes in against the mortar. It was slow going, and the knowledge of how close he was to a fatal drop made his stomach churn. Nearing the ridge, his foot gave way, slamming him into the frozen copper before sliding back down a few feet. Grasping at the small lip stopped his descent, and he lay there, almost paralysed with cold and fear.
“Fuck this,” he grumbled, twisting over and allowing himself to slide back down to the valley.
