Hellspawn | Book 8 | Hellspawn Vengeance, page 11
part #8 of Hellspawn Series
Either the portcullis was open, in which case there were thousands of the zombies inside, or… well, he didn’t know what the or was. The whole thing just didn’t make sense, unless…
“Unless they’ve already left and opened the place to the dead…”
But where would they go, and with wounded in tow? The season was rife for hunkering down, not seeking out new homes in the middle of the night. Denise and Gloria would’ve seen, or at least heard something, surely? The only way to find out was to get neck deep in zombies and fight through the castle.
Hurrying back to the drain, Kurt shimmied down and stepped back into the room to a sea of expectant faces.
“I couldn’t get to the gatehouse, sorry. I think we have to assume that something’s gone wrong and the castle is open.”
“We may need to rethink our approach then.”
“Shit! The architect decided to put a fucking ridgeline east to west. I couldn’t get over it to see. It might be worth me heading back out and circling to the entrance. At least we’d know.”
“Do we have time for that?” asked Irish.
“With the zombies inside the castle, every second could count,” Kurt replied, not knowing which direction to take.
“How many do you think there are?” asked Ian.
Kurt moved to the door and listened intently. “Hundreds at least.”
“And the only way that could happen is if something was open?”
“Yeah.”
“Then we’re in trouble. We don’t have the ammunition for that many unless we can get to the cache we stored here,” warned Holbeck. “Not to mention reloading the mags while under attack.”
“I don’t want you to shoot unless it’s life or death. If they’re still here and have Sarah and the others, they may just get desperate enough to do something to them if they hear gunfire. A final fuck you.”
Holbeck considered the point. “There’s only six of you against a horde.”
“It’s enough, dude,” said Ian. “Narrow passages. Plenty of places to retreat. We could lead ‘em round and round in circles until they fell to pieces in here.”
“If only we had the time,” Holbeck replied. “What’s the move? You know this place.”
“We pick them off hand to hand,” said Kurt, sliding out into the darkness of the hallway.
Ian hugged the opposing wall, closely followed by Louise and Irish. Jodi and Greasy followed. The soldiers joined at the rear, their rifles held at low ready. One by one they tested the bedroom doors which were still firmly locked. Kurt gave Holbeck a thumbs up, signalling that they would have fewer surprises than if the prisoners had gone ferreting through each one for valuables and left them open for the dead to ransack.
Slowing at the corner, the bobbing beam of torchlight had drawn the attention of the zombies in the next leg of the sleeping quarters. Kurt peered round, finding the corridor filled wall to wall with undead. His gaze quickly flashed between the corpses, looking for fresh kills. Every ghoul was long dead, their grey skin sagging and peeling.
Please let them all be safe. Please.
Kurt turned to Ian. “Ready? It’s thick with them.”
He withdrew the katana from its sheath and readied himself. Kurt was worried about the weapon, but Ian swore it was a proper Japanese blade, not the shop bought knock offs. It just seemed too elegant for the bloody work to come.
“Stay left, I’ll stay right. Everyone else, back us up. When I tire, Lou and Irish, you’re up, then Jodi and Greasy until we rotate back in. Got it?”
Adrenaline spiked. Grunts of agreement came back.
Ian squeezed the katana tight. “Let’s get it done.”
Kurt slipped the clear visor down and stepped fully into view. The zombies went wild, thrashing their heads as they reached for him. One downward swipe buried the spike of his war pick to the hilt in the nearest zombie’s head. Its neck compressed like an accordion before the body followed. Ian was precise with his blows, slashing down vertically in neat, controlled arcs. The blade was even more impressive than had been promised. Scalp and skull parted like water under the strikes, the cleaved heads slopping brains onto the floor.
Holbeck marvelled at the brutal, methodical way the men operated. Two dozen nurses, businessmen, school children, and a plethora of other professions formed the vanguard. As they fell to the men, their bodies formed an awkward barrier to the zombie’s progress.
“Contact rear!” cried Eldridge.
“Greasy, Jodi, move back and take them!” ordered Kurt before the soldiers could raise their weapons.
Irish and Louise moved forward, bouncing, eager to get stuck in to the melee and work some of the fury out of their system. Ian was still in fine fettle, but Kurt’s hand was going numb from the repeated impacts.
Ian could see it. “Pull back, mate. Let the others have some fun.”
The two surrogates dove in, smashing through the undead who were struggling to make any headway through their fallen.
Jodi’s aluminium bat gonged as it cracked against skulls in the rear. Louise was cutting them down with the broadsword stolen from the collection, her war cries enough to scare even the dead. Holbeck looked forward and backward, unsure what to do. “Anyone got a pack of cards? I’m getting bored here.”
Kurt’s sweat soaked face grinned through his gore splashed visor.
Chapter 22
George led the mob, with Fred muttering poison into his ear as they marched. The men at the walls had been recalled. They would all take their turn on the available women, cut everyone’s throats, then leave the bled out zombies to be discovered by Kurt and the soldiers. What a delightful reunion that would make. Having to kill their loved ones. If it wouldn’t put them in mortal danger, George might’ve stayed to watch them mentally break. Fred was still suggesting it, but they needed distance. Imagining the screams and anguish would have to suffice. The watchtower guardians left a sour taste in his mouth, hiding there all safe and sound from the much warranted retribution. Once they had found a new home, they would have plenty of time to come back and burn the whole place down. After the soldiers had fucked off, that was.
Little Fred pointed out the locked bedroom.
George sauntered over and knocked on the door. “Coo-ee. Is anyone home?”
He could hear muffled, fearful whispers from within.
“It’s no good playing it coy. We know you’re in there. We just want to party, that’s all.”
“Leave now and you might survive!” called Sarah.
George was done. All thought of redemption dying amidst the red fury. Nodding at Little Fred, the man unlocked the door and pushed. It opened a smidge before bumping into something. Big Fred yanked the man aside in fury, slamming his shoulder into the door. Blisters burst, and he bellowed in rage.
George pulled him back before he could do himself more damage, “Get outta the way. Let me.”
“You’re not coming in!” Sarah yelled.
Whatever was on the other side was fucking heavy. Even after a half dozen solid barges, the door was still only open a couple of inches, revealing something tall and wooden in the way. George’s arm was numbing fast.
“Open this fucking door or we’ll burn you out!” George roared, reaching around the jamb.
Something cracked down, smashing his fingers. Screaming in pain, he cradled the wounded hand. Skin had split and the fractured bones poked through from their unnatural angles. Amidst the bloody ruin, smudges of soot stood out darkly from the poker she’d used.
“You cunt! I’ll kill you!”
“Stick your head through,” Sarah shouted. “We’ll see who kills who, you pathetic twat!”
“Get the shooters up here!” Fred ordered.
Three men pushed through, cradling a pair of shotguns and a hunting rifle.
“You two, blow the hinges. Ken, can that thing shoot through wood?”
The ex-squaddie gave him a look of incredulity.
“Ok, ok! Then give our friends in there something to think about. Now!”
“Get down!” Sarah cried out.
The shotguns blazed, the cracks deafening in the passage. Fred clasped hands to his ears, shouting in pain as he scraped the open wounds on his face. George did the same, forgetting his mangled hand until the bleeding, wonky digits bent, sending waves of agony shooting up into his shoulder. Ken, ear plugs firmly fitted, shouldered the rifle and shot a succession of three bullets into the room. Splinters of wood rained down from the impacts.
Someone screamed beyond the door, unheard over the painful ringing in the prisoners ears.
Fred, driven mad by the pain, charged at the door again. The damage to the hinges was extensive, but his charge only served to knock it askew to sit against the wardrobe or whatever was in the way.
“I’m going to skin you alive!” he screamed.
Someone yanked on his sleeve insistently. Fred lashed out, knocking the man back. Undeterred, he rushed back in, dragging Fred around to face him. Just as the furious Liverpudlian was about to drive a headbutt into Little Fred’s face, he caught sight of what had the man so frantic. The end of the hallway was filled with shambling corpses. Ken was already running in the opposite direction before the others had even started to back away.
“Where the fuck did they come from?” Fred moaned.
George could just about make out the words. “Fuck knows, but we need to get out of here!”
“I told you!” Sarah cackled. “Enjoy being dinner!”
The unheard insult was wasted on the partially deaf prisoners who reeled away and started to run.
Inside the bedroom, Sarah urged them to be silent. Anja held a firm hand over Richard’s mouth, stilling his cries. The bullet had grazed his leg, cutting a neat furrow across his thigh. The trouser leg had been torn open and a pillowcase pressed to the wound. As the sounds of excited horrors neared, he closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the searing pain. Snatched inhalations through his nostrils sounded horrifically loud to his ears, but the undead ambled past without stopping.
Sarah held a finger up and placed it to her lips. They would need to ride this out until the cavalry arrived.
Chapter 23
“That was gunfire!” shouted Holbeck over the grunts of exertion.
Kurt paused, mid-swing. The zombies thrashed on the pile of bodies to get to him. “That means they’re still here! We need to move faster! Sarah and the others could be in danger!” He finished by swiping the blunt end of the war pick, tearing the top of the creature’s skull clean off.
“We can take point, but it’ll get real loud. They’ll know they have human company.”
“If they’re stupid enough to use the guns on our people instead of the dead, we…” Kurt swallowed hard, the lump refusing to go down. “We never had a chance anyway.”
“If we’re going in guns blazing, should we hit the cache on the way?”
“What for?” asked Kurt.
“A few grenades would thin their number real quick if they block our way.”
“They could thin ours too,” argued Kurt.
“Your call. It wouldn’t kill them all, but it’d sure make it easier if we can lay the fuckers down to conserve ammo. You can clean them up while we push forward.”
“Fine.”
Kurt wasn’t sure how he felt about being confined with the blasts. Jonesy and DB had been surgical with their use in the taking of the castle, but he could still remember the puffs of dust as the lethal slivers embedded themselves in the stone.
Holbeck gave the order after the ear plugs were firmly inserted by the civvies. The soldiers fanned out, slipping around the melee warriors like water. MacLeod was on rearguard with Ewington. Holbeck hugged the right, his rifle hanging over Harkiss’ shoulder. Dougal mirrored the position with Eldridge on the left hand wall. Fingers curled around trigger guards as they neared the corner.
“Mind your footing!” yelled Holbeck, carefully stepping between bodies.
Harkiss slowly swept his barrel left as they approached the T-junction of the hallway. Eldridge swept right, revealing most of the opposing passage. Dougal’s hand came down on her shoulder and she nodded at Harkiss. They slipped around, moving into the two forks of the corridor.
“Contact right!” yelled Harkiss, opening fire.
Holbeck stepped beyond the private, sighting the shambling horrors with his scope. With the ravages of time, it was hard to make out anything of the people the creatures had been before. Harkiss picked his shots carefully, killing the four closest zombies. At least one of the rounds punched through the back of the head, destroying the one behind for free.
Kurt filed out with the others to hug the opposite wall.
“Contact rear!” cried Ewington, shooting back down the way they had come.
“Magazine!” shouted Harkiss as he ran low, ejecting the mag which went into the dump pouch at his hip.
Holbeck took over, rapidly thinning the pack with expert shots.
“Contact left!” Eldridge opened up on the converging horde.
“We’re pinned down! Kurt, what’s the quickest way to the cache?”
“That way!” he yelled over the gunfire, pointing towards Holbeck’s direction. “Through the arch and down the stairs. Then you’ve got the reception lobby. The Baron’s Hall is fifty yards further down.”
“Can you spot for Ewington and MacLeod? We’re gonna need all the firepower we can muster to punch through. When I say we’re moving, Greasy and Irish can fall in behind us and take Eldridge and Dougal’s position. Six shooters up front, four sluggers at the rear with two to provide breaks.”
“You’ve got it!”
Ewington and MacLeod transitioned, lowering their barrels to the ground as the six warriors spilled past, before moving out into the fight.
Kurt joined Irish and Greasy at the rear, hacking away at the undead. Bodies began stacking, the festering green goo spilling towards them in great torrents.
“Kurt! Fall in!”
They caved three more skulls and slipped back into position as the latecomers toppled over the pile. The combination of gunpowder and rotten flesh was enough to make Kurt gag.
“Open door, right!” called Harkiss, nearing the archway that led to the staircase. Eldridge and Dougal swept over the threshold, clearing the corners with expert precision.
“Clear!” he shouted, falling back in behind MacLeod and Ewington, closing the door in their wake.
Holbeck nodded for them to move out onto the spacious landing. A towering portrait of an old duke glared down at them, the gilded golden frame glinting in the torchlight.
“Contact stairs!”
“Ewington and MacLeod, cover the west hall! Eldridge and Dougal, on the banister, lay down some fire on the zombies making their way up!” Holbeck ordered.
Kneeling at the top of the stairs with Harkiss, they went to work. Each tread was nearly ten feet wide, allowing the undead to stagger up in rows. Gravity and bullets were their undoing. Puffs of emerald mist burst in clouds as the heads were punctured. Their bodies toppled, fell, tangling in the feet of those below. Creating a buffer held the throng in the lobby below in place.
It was like shooting fish in a barrel.
Except there were too many fish.
And these fish bit.
Holbeck didn’t even need to do the calculations. His kit felt lighter as each magazine was exchanged, and still the undead pressed and writhed to get past their fallen. “We need to fall back and reload the mags!” He knew the decision to leave the spare ammo had been the right call from a tactical perspective. It was just too heavy to be lugged with them. At that moment, he’d have happily sacrificed his left testicle for the can.
“There is no way back, Sergeant,” Kurt informed him, gasping for breath during a short pause in the fighting.
“Where the hell did they all come from?” Holbeck snapped. They were being surrounded. They would be down to sidearms in less than a minute. Then it would be hand to hand, and they didn’t have the armour or face coverings to fend off the tainted blood like Kurt’s warriors.
“What do you want to do?” asked Kurt.
Holbeck looked at the streams of zombies swarming their position.
Only the flesh barricade held them back.
At that point, he didn’t have an answer.
Chapter 24
Bob watched Holly like a hawk. It pained him to be so far away when she was obviously in distress, but his morals forbade him to paw all over her looking for wounds. Clarissa wriggled in his grip, trying to pull her arm free to go to her.
“Just a little longer, that’s all. She looks fine so far,” said Bob.
“She might be hurt!” Clarissa snapped.
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
“Let! Me! Go!”
Bob pulled her into his arms and she broke down. “You haven’t seen people turn, sweetheart. I have. Just a couple more minutes, that’s all we need.”
“She’s my friend,” Clarissa whimpered into his chest.
“Mine too. But if they did nip her, she won’t be our friend anymore.”
Muffled thuds started to reverberate through the heavily stacked bookcase. Bob prayed the zombies wouldn’t be able to break through, or throw a lucky flailing arm through the hook and open the bloody door.
“Why did Clive do that? Why did he hurt her?”
Bob pictured the creature that had once been his drinking buddy. Their times spent giggling until they passed out in the incredibly well stocked wine cellar. Standing over Holly, his countenance was something out of a horror movie. In that moment, Bob knew he would’ve killed the girl if the zombies hadn’t killed him first.
“I don’t know. I wish I did.”
“People said that Clive was a…”
“A what?”
Holly was trembling. Whether from the cold, shock, or the spreading infection, they would soon find out.
“My dad always said not to say mean things about people.”
“That’s a noble way to be. You can still tell me.”
“Ok… They said he was a coward. That he wouldn’t fight.”
