Hellspawn | Book 8 | Hellspawn Vengeance, page 15
part #8 of Hellspawn Series
“Let’s get it done,” Kurt agreed.
“MacLeod and Ewington will accompany the civvies to the boat, just in case. The rest of us will fight through to your wife and the others.”
Kurt nodded and joined the group at the rope. The two soldiers below were already scanning their sector for threats as the youngsters started to climb down. Honey sniffed at the harness Jodi had created, sneezing as she breathed in a few of the cut fibres. She whined as Kurt pulled her close.
“Sorry, girl, you’ve got no choice,” Kurt cooed as he slipped her front legs in and tied it off behind her back.
Jodi firmly secured the loop to the end of a fourth section cut from the coil.
Kurt lifted the dog who scrabbled madly in fear. “Hey, it’s ok.”
Dirty forepaws looped over his shoulders as if she was hugging him. Her whole body trembled.
“We won’t let you go,” he said, staring into her deep brown eyes.
Moving to the embrasures, she shifted position, put both paws on the wall and sniffed between the huge stones. Harkiss was stood at the next opening, using his knees to wedge him tight while Dougal held onto his uniform to add support.
“Be careful with her,” Kurt warned.
“Gentle’s my middle name,” replied Harkiss, without the usual sarcasm. He felt as if he held royalty in his grip as he lifted the dog up and over.
With nothing to stand on, Honey flailed for a few seconds, turning in the wind. Kurt hissed a warning, but the soldiers were in total control and gave him a look that calmed his heart. When the dog realised she wasn’t falling, she calmed down and dangled like a Labrador piñata. Slowly unspooling the rope from around his waist, Harkiss lowered her into the waiting arms of the children. Honey seemed confused as they untied her harness. She sniffed around the base of the stone, crouched to pee, then looked up at Kurt as if to say how did this happen?
“I’m coming!” he said to her, scooting over the stone and beginning the descent.
Irish pulled him to one side. “Mate, I’m fucked. I can barely feel my arms after all this climbing.”
Kurt could see the misery and embarrassment which tore at the builder. He clasped a hand around the back of his neck, meeting his gaze. “You risked your life for my family. You’ve done more than enough, you hear me?”
“Doesn’t feel like it. I’ve got a long way to go to repay your boys for their bravery.”
“Consider this a solid down payment, mate. Head to the boat and rest. I think there’ll be a lot more fighting to come.”
Irish perked up at the sincerity of Kurt’s words. He removed the half pack of smokes, moved to crumple it, then thought better of it.
“Tomorrow?” grinned Kurt.
“Tomorrow,” Irish agreed, slipping them back into his pocket.
“Greasy and Ian, go with him. The worst of the danger has passed.”
Both men stood their ground and looked at one another. “Nah, we’ll stay until it’s done.”
“Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
Ian pushed him in the shoulder. “Cut the gushy shit. Call it an extra Christmas present.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” added Greasy.
Chapter 30
Minutes seemed to turn into hours as Sarah and the group stared at the barricade. Their efforts to stay hidden had been fruitless, as the weakly grasping fingers curling around the door could attest. Without the bulk and psychotic hatred of the cons, the zombies lacked the means to get past the blockade. All they could do was create an annoying clatter of wood on wood as the unhinged door endlessly rattled in the frame against the wardrobe. Given time, Sarah had no doubts it could drive someone mad.
She watched a hand that had fared well in the apocalypse, considering a bad case of death plagued the owner. The wedding ring shone brightly, totally clean, while the finger and hand was mouldy with decay. Two of the remaining acrylic nails pattered incessantly on the side of the wardrobe, the purple varnish nearly gone. Suddenly the fingers stiffened as something outside crunched wetly. Curling into claws in true death, they slid down the side of the door. The rest of the grasping appendages were torn free as their owners fell to the weapons of the saviours outside.
“Kurt?”
“It’s me, babe,” he said, voice tremulous with emotion.
“Thank god!” she choked out, wrestling with the four poster.
“Are you ok? The door’s shot to shit.”
“The Fowlers tried to get to us and failed. Richard took a bullet, but he’ll be ok,” she replied, tearing at the furniture.
The wardrobe scraped away, leaving the unsupported door to fall into the room with a crash. Kurt jumped over it, grabbing her in a bearhug that squeezed the breath from her lungs. He smothered her with kisses and she let him, wondering why he smelled of dog. All around the reunited couple, people celebrated. But at that moment Kurt heard and felt nothing except the woman in his arms. He breathed in her scent. He studied every curve in her face, every mole, every laughter line, every wrinkle, every smudge of dirt. He felt her back beneath his hands as they caressed her skin though the jumper. She was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.
“I love you.”
“Of course you do,” she replied, giggling.
“Bitch,” he gasped.
“Love you more.”
Resting against each other, they savoured the moment until awareness of the others began to sink in. Kurt checked faces in a split second. “Where are the rest?”
“Christina’s down in the cells tending the wounded. Bob and Clive headed off on some kind of insane plan.”
“What plan?”
“He said to make sure we were secure. That he had something up his sleeve.”
Kurt shuffled around while maintaining their embrace to look at the zombies. It all made sense now! “They let them in! The crazy, reckless, bastard!”
“Crazy, reckless, genius, bastard,” Sarah corrected. “The zombies are the only reason we aren’t dead. They scared the Fowlers away before they could get to us.”
“Are Clarissa and Holly with Christina?”
Sarah pulled away, scowling. “I don’t think so. Are they not with you?”
“No.” Kurt was all business in an instant. “Sergeant, we need to get down to the cells and see if they’re with Christina.”
“Dougal and Eldridge, watch the room. Ewington, on me!”
The trio ran from the room, leaped over the corpses, and charged after Kurt. What followed was a dizzying spiral of stairs and halls, with the occasional rotter scrabbling around on the floor. They ignored the crippled creatures who were no real threat. Reaching the thick door, they found it locked tight.
“Christina?” Kurt yelled, banging on the wood.
“Kurt? Well aren’t you a sight for sore ears,” she said, unlocking the door. It swung open, revealing the two figures. Kurt snarled and leapt towards Travis, war pick raised.
“Kurt, no!” cried Christina, stepping between her friend and the cowering prisoner. “He’s one of the good ones.”
Travis smiled weakly. “Hey.” The pure, unbridled fury barely contained by the man filled him with terror far in excess of anything the Fowlers or Araters had managed.
“We’ll get to you in time,” Kurt growled, before returning his attention to the doctor. “Have you seen Clarissa and Holly?”
“Not for a while, why?”
“Fuck!” Kurt had to hit something, so he smashed the blunt end of the war pick into the wall, gouging stone. “They’re missing. We’ve got everyone except the girls, Bob, and Clive.”
“Could they be together?”
“I hope so, but that doesn’t answer where the hell they could be. Lock the door up and wait for us.” He pointed at Travis. “And don’t you fucking move! I’ll deal with you when I get back,” he snarled through clenched teeth.
She did as instructed, closing them into the dark dungeon once more.
“Where now?” asked Holbeck.
Kurt could hear the faint gurgle of animated corpses. He held a finger to his lips and bade them listen.
Holbeck’s eyes widened. “Could be from the tower. Do you think they’re already back in here?” he whispered.
“Most of them are still probably wondering where we went, and even if some have wandered back, it won’t be in numbers like that. It could be the girls in trouble!”
They left the cells and ran back up the steps into the main visitor hallway. A smattering of zombies lurked inside the restaurant and gift shop, perusing the goods on offer. Kurt and the soldiers ignored their groans as they raced past the display cabinets and exhibits that lined the passage. Velvet ropes that had separated the living quarters from the public gallery were coiled against the wall like crimson snakes.
“The chapel,” whispered Kurt, pointing at a non-descript doorway.
Crouching low, the volume jumped a notch when they stepped into the holy room. Creeping forward, they approached the blood spattered balcony wall. Kurt had to stifle the laugh that threatened to burst forth when he saw the source of the commotion. The sheltering men caught sight of the surreptitious observers and started to shout at the zombies to go after them instead. Unsurprisingly, the hungry creatures only redoubled their efforts.
“This is better than they deserve,” said Kurt.
Dougal risked a peek. The shotgun aimed in their direction boomed like a cannon. The soldier reeled back, clutching his face. Drawing a breath, ready to scream, he checked himself a second before Holbeck’s hand could clamp over his mouth.
“Let me see,” hissed the sergeant.
Pulling away fingers stained with blood, Holbeck surveyed the damage. The injury was bad but not life threatening. Dougal’s face was peppered with a couple dozen tiny holes, giving him the look of a hormonally imbalanced adolescent mid-outbreak. Instead of pus, the tiny wounds bled streamers of crimson.
“Birdshot,” Holbeck whispered to Kurt. “Farmers use it. Devastating up close. We’re lucky they’re at the other end of the chapel.”
“I can’t see,” Dougal moaned, wiping more blood into his eyes than if he’d left it alone.
“Stop it, keep them closed. They missed your eyes,” said Holbeck, helping him to sit up. “You’re just smearing shit into them.”
“How bad is it?”
“Put it this way, you’re now as ugly as Harkiss. We’ll get the doc to patch you up.”
“How am I supposed to meet a glamour model if I’m hideous?” Dougal asked from the streaming red mask.
“Man the fuck up. It’ll leave a couple of dozen little scars. You could probably write them off as weird freckle.”
“Take him to Christina, Sergeant. I want to chat with my friends here.”
“What about the zombies?”
“I’ll talk quietly. Go.”
He watched the soldiers leave, listening to the frenetic zombies scrabble against the pews. The tainting of this hallowed place was the final insult.
“How’s your friend, dickhead?” taunted George.
“He’s fine. Can’t say the same for you, though. Little bit cramped in there, is it?”
“How can he be fine without a head?”
“It was birdshot and you can’t aim for shit, dickhead. A few sticking plasters and he’ll be right as rain. Just think, you could’ve saved that shell for yourself. One quick pull of the trigger and none of the pain you’ve got coming your way.”
George hesitated, wondering if it was a lie. Giving himself a mental shake, he continued anyway. “I’m saving the next one for you. Then I’ll turn my attention to your wife.”
“Sarah’s safe and well, far away from this place. The only attention you’re going to get is from the dead. They looked hungry. How’re those benches holding up?”
“Fuck you! You’re a dead man!”
“Can you not see when it’s over?” Kurt sighed.
“It’s over when I say it’s over!” George raged. “We just need to get out of here.”
The declaration was joined by the sickening crunch of a crushed head. Then another.
“Stop that, George.”
“Or what?” he laughed maniacally.
“Or I toss the grenade I have in my hand over this wall.”
The humour tapered off, as did the zombie slaying. “You’re bluffing.”
“Didn’t you hear the explosions tearing through this place? What did you think they were, party crackers?”
“You wouldn’t dare.” George sneered, though the words lacked conviction.
“I’ve killed men for far less than what you’ve done to us,” Kurt explained, as much to himself as the prisoners.
“I’m real scared! How about you lift your head a second?”
Kurt ignored the threat. “I know you’re scared, George. I can hear it in your voice. You were scared at the wall. You’ve probably been scared your whole life. But that life’s at an end, my friend.”
“The fuck it is!” he snapped, the skull crunching starting up again.
Kurt popped the pin on one of the grenades and tossed it over his head. It fell well short of the altar as he’d intended, but the blast shattered windows and pushed the undead forward nonetheless.
“Fucking hell! Take it easy!” George yelled from the cover of the marble. The ringing in his ears had only recently started to abate, but the devastating crack of high explosives renewed the shrill whine.
“Do you believe me now?”
“Fuck! Yeah, I believe you! What do you want?”
“To talk. Just for a little while.”
“Ok, we’ll talk. Then what?”
“Then you die.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m afraid not. One way or another, this chapel is going to be your tomb.”
The prisoners whispered to each other frantically, discussing options. George quietened them down with an expletive laden tongue lashing. He coughed politely, as if he was going to deliver a sermon to the true believers. “You’re good people, we can see that now. How about you just let us go on our way? We won’t bother you again.”
“I know you won’t, because you won’t be able to.”
“Stop fucking with me!” George yelled. “If you were going to kill us, you’d have already done it.”
“I said I wanted to talk,” Kurt replied.
An inquisitive zombie staggered up from the side staircase. Its cloudy gaze fell on Kurt, sat there with his back against the bloodstained wall.
“Get him!” yelled one prisoner.
“Fuck him up!” George laughed.
The decomposing creature flopped towards its meal. Kurt sighed and raised his copper clad forearm disinterestedly. It fell to its knees, the rounded caps tearing free at either side of the rotten joint. It tried to gnaw at the meat with jagged black teeth until Kurt slammed his hammer into the pitiful zombie’s forehead. It fell away, leaving score marks and fragments of broken teeth on the metal. He pushed the creature away with his foot as brain and foetid mucus started to bubble from the killing wound.
Everyone at the altar held their breath. Unable to contain themselves, they started to whisper again.
“Did he get him?”
“Why isn’t he screaming?”
“Kurt?” asked George, tentatively.
“Hi, George.”
The groans of disappointment were almost comical. Several of the hardened convicts broke down in tears.
“How does it feel to be powerless?” Kurt asked.
“Fuck y…!” George blurted angrily, then reconsidered. “Not good. Not good at all.”
“Ready to talk?”
“Will it save us?”
“No, but it’ll give you a few more minutes of life.”
“It’s not a great deal, is it?”
“It’s your choice. I couldn’t care less either way. You mean nothing to me.”
Kurt could hear the mental gears turning over. They would figure as long as they had breath in their lungs there was hope. They were wrong.
George finally gave in. “Ok, let’s talk. What’s on your mind? The weather? Politics? The FA Cup draw?”
“Why couldn’t you just be human?”
“Huh?”
“The world was overrun by zombies. How many of us can be left? A few hundred thousand? Less? And you had to play the FUCKING ANIMAL!” Kurt kicked himself for losing it as the sounds of scrabbling ceased. He could hear the creak of dry vertebrae as heads turned. Without a visual source, they slowly returned their attention to the prisoners.
Kurt waited.
“It was Craig. He was in charge. We were just locked in with him.”
Kurt wasn’t buying it for a second. “And I suppose you sat in your cells reading the bible while the wholesale torture and rape of those people went on?”
George sighed. “We did what we had to.”
“You took part in all of it and enjoyed it. Don’t play the victim.”
“Yeah, we did. So? What’s left? The world’s already fucked.”
“You could’ve changed your ways. You could’ve done what we did and try to help those who couldn’t help themselves. Anything other than prey on those who wanted to hide with you.”
They had nothing to say to that. Kurt could imagine downcast faces, pondering a wasted life for a few cheap thrills.
“There’s not many of us left,” he repeated. “You could’ve married, had children, helped us to rebuild. Given something, instead of always taking.”
One of the men laughed until George broke his jaw. He sobbed groggily from the ground. George straightened himself up. “We are what we are.”
“You could’ve been so much more. Help me understand what makes men choose death over life. Rape over love. Murder over nurture.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to grow up with nothing. No prospects. No education. No hope.”
“Cut the poverty shit. My family struggled for every penny too. We lived in a council house until my folks saved up the deposit for a house of their own. Then they fought tooth and nail to pay the mortgage on that. Everyone’s got their troubles. It doesn’t excuse the choices you made. Before and after this shit.”
“It’s not that easy when your dad’s the one who pushed you into a life of crime. We were fucked from the second we were born. I was hiding stolen gear under my bed when I was six, delivering drugs by the time I was ten. They won’t lock up a kid, my old man used to say.”
“MacLeod and Ewington will accompany the civvies to the boat, just in case. The rest of us will fight through to your wife and the others.”
Kurt nodded and joined the group at the rope. The two soldiers below were already scanning their sector for threats as the youngsters started to climb down. Honey sniffed at the harness Jodi had created, sneezing as she breathed in a few of the cut fibres. She whined as Kurt pulled her close.
“Sorry, girl, you’ve got no choice,” Kurt cooed as he slipped her front legs in and tied it off behind her back.
Jodi firmly secured the loop to the end of a fourth section cut from the coil.
Kurt lifted the dog who scrabbled madly in fear. “Hey, it’s ok.”
Dirty forepaws looped over his shoulders as if she was hugging him. Her whole body trembled.
“We won’t let you go,” he said, staring into her deep brown eyes.
Moving to the embrasures, she shifted position, put both paws on the wall and sniffed between the huge stones. Harkiss was stood at the next opening, using his knees to wedge him tight while Dougal held onto his uniform to add support.
“Be careful with her,” Kurt warned.
“Gentle’s my middle name,” replied Harkiss, without the usual sarcasm. He felt as if he held royalty in his grip as he lifted the dog up and over.
With nothing to stand on, Honey flailed for a few seconds, turning in the wind. Kurt hissed a warning, but the soldiers were in total control and gave him a look that calmed his heart. When the dog realised she wasn’t falling, she calmed down and dangled like a Labrador piñata. Slowly unspooling the rope from around his waist, Harkiss lowered her into the waiting arms of the children. Honey seemed confused as they untied her harness. She sniffed around the base of the stone, crouched to pee, then looked up at Kurt as if to say how did this happen?
“I’m coming!” he said to her, scooting over the stone and beginning the descent.
Irish pulled him to one side. “Mate, I’m fucked. I can barely feel my arms after all this climbing.”
Kurt could see the misery and embarrassment which tore at the builder. He clasped a hand around the back of his neck, meeting his gaze. “You risked your life for my family. You’ve done more than enough, you hear me?”
“Doesn’t feel like it. I’ve got a long way to go to repay your boys for their bravery.”
“Consider this a solid down payment, mate. Head to the boat and rest. I think there’ll be a lot more fighting to come.”
Irish perked up at the sincerity of Kurt’s words. He removed the half pack of smokes, moved to crumple it, then thought better of it.
“Tomorrow?” grinned Kurt.
“Tomorrow,” Irish agreed, slipping them back into his pocket.
“Greasy and Ian, go with him. The worst of the danger has passed.”
Both men stood their ground and looked at one another. “Nah, we’ll stay until it’s done.”
“Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
Ian pushed him in the shoulder. “Cut the gushy shit. Call it an extra Christmas present.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” added Greasy.
Chapter 30
Minutes seemed to turn into hours as Sarah and the group stared at the barricade. Their efforts to stay hidden had been fruitless, as the weakly grasping fingers curling around the door could attest. Without the bulk and psychotic hatred of the cons, the zombies lacked the means to get past the blockade. All they could do was create an annoying clatter of wood on wood as the unhinged door endlessly rattled in the frame against the wardrobe. Given time, Sarah had no doubts it could drive someone mad.
She watched a hand that had fared well in the apocalypse, considering a bad case of death plagued the owner. The wedding ring shone brightly, totally clean, while the finger and hand was mouldy with decay. Two of the remaining acrylic nails pattered incessantly on the side of the wardrobe, the purple varnish nearly gone. Suddenly the fingers stiffened as something outside crunched wetly. Curling into claws in true death, they slid down the side of the door. The rest of the grasping appendages were torn free as their owners fell to the weapons of the saviours outside.
“Kurt?”
“It’s me, babe,” he said, voice tremulous with emotion.
“Thank god!” she choked out, wrestling with the four poster.
“Are you ok? The door’s shot to shit.”
“The Fowlers tried to get to us and failed. Richard took a bullet, but he’ll be ok,” she replied, tearing at the furniture.
The wardrobe scraped away, leaving the unsupported door to fall into the room with a crash. Kurt jumped over it, grabbing her in a bearhug that squeezed the breath from her lungs. He smothered her with kisses and she let him, wondering why he smelled of dog. All around the reunited couple, people celebrated. But at that moment Kurt heard and felt nothing except the woman in his arms. He breathed in her scent. He studied every curve in her face, every mole, every laughter line, every wrinkle, every smudge of dirt. He felt her back beneath his hands as they caressed her skin though the jumper. She was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.
“I love you.”
“Of course you do,” she replied, giggling.
“Bitch,” he gasped.
“Love you more.”
Resting against each other, they savoured the moment until awareness of the others began to sink in. Kurt checked faces in a split second. “Where are the rest?”
“Christina’s down in the cells tending the wounded. Bob and Clive headed off on some kind of insane plan.”
“What plan?”
“He said to make sure we were secure. That he had something up his sleeve.”
Kurt shuffled around while maintaining their embrace to look at the zombies. It all made sense now! “They let them in! The crazy, reckless, bastard!”
“Crazy, reckless, genius, bastard,” Sarah corrected. “The zombies are the only reason we aren’t dead. They scared the Fowlers away before they could get to us.”
“Are Clarissa and Holly with Christina?”
Sarah pulled away, scowling. “I don’t think so. Are they not with you?”
“No.” Kurt was all business in an instant. “Sergeant, we need to get down to the cells and see if they’re with Christina.”
“Dougal and Eldridge, watch the room. Ewington, on me!”
The trio ran from the room, leaped over the corpses, and charged after Kurt. What followed was a dizzying spiral of stairs and halls, with the occasional rotter scrabbling around on the floor. They ignored the crippled creatures who were no real threat. Reaching the thick door, they found it locked tight.
“Christina?” Kurt yelled, banging on the wood.
“Kurt? Well aren’t you a sight for sore ears,” she said, unlocking the door. It swung open, revealing the two figures. Kurt snarled and leapt towards Travis, war pick raised.
“Kurt, no!” cried Christina, stepping between her friend and the cowering prisoner. “He’s one of the good ones.”
Travis smiled weakly. “Hey.” The pure, unbridled fury barely contained by the man filled him with terror far in excess of anything the Fowlers or Araters had managed.
“We’ll get to you in time,” Kurt growled, before returning his attention to the doctor. “Have you seen Clarissa and Holly?”
“Not for a while, why?”
“Fuck!” Kurt had to hit something, so he smashed the blunt end of the war pick into the wall, gouging stone. “They’re missing. We’ve got everyone except the girls, Bob, and Clive.”
“Could they be together?”
“I hope so, but that doesn’t answer where the hell they could be. Lock the door up and wait for us.” He pointed at Travis. “And don’t you fucking move! I’ll deal with you when I get back,” he snarled through clenched teeth.
She did as instructed, closing them into the dark dungeon once more.
“Where now?” asked Holbeck.
Kurt could hear the faint gurgle of animated corpses. He held a finger to his lips and bade them listen.
Holbeck’s eyes widened. “Could be from the tower. Do you think they’re already back in here?” he whispered.
“Most of them are still probably wondering where we went, and even if some have wandered back, it won’t be in numbers like that. It could be the girls in trouble!”
They left the cells and ran back up the steps into the main visitor hallway. A smattering of zombies lurked inside the restaurant and gift shop, perusing the goods on offer. Kurt and the soldiers ignored their groans as they raced past the display cabinets and exhibits that lined the passage. Velvet ropes that had separated the living quarters from the public gallery were coiled against the wall like crimson snakes.
“The chapel,” whispered Kurt, pointing at a non-descript doorway.
Crouching low, the volume jumped a notch when they stepped into the holy room. Creeping forward, they approached the blood spattered balcony wall. Kurt had to stifle the laugh that threatened to burst forth when he saw the source of the commotion. The sheltering men caught sight of the surreptitious observers and started to shout at the zombies to go after them instead. Unsurprisingly, the hungry creatures only redoubled their efforts.
“This is better than they deserve,” said Kurt.
Dougal risked a peek. The shotgun aimed in their direction boomed like a cannon. The soldier reeled back, clutching his face. Drawing a breath, ready to scream, he checked himself a second before Holbeck’s hand could clamp over his mouth.
“Let me see,” hissed the sergeant.
Pulling away fingers stained with blood, Holbeck surveyed the damage. The injury was bad but not life threatening. Dougal’s face was peppered with a couple dozen tiny holes, giving him the look of a hormonally imbalanced adolescent mid-outbreak. Instead of pus, the tiny wounds bled streamers of crimson.
“Birdshot,” Holbeck whispered to Kurt. “Farmers use it. Devastating up close. We’re lucky they’re at the other end of the chapel.”
“I can’t see,” Dougal moaned, wiping more blood into his eyes than if he’d left it alone.
“Stop it, keep them closed. They missed your eyes,” said Holbeck, helping him to sit up. “You’re just smearing shit into them.”
“How bad is it?”
“Put it this way, you’re now as ugly as Harkiss. We’ll get the doc to patch you up.”
“How am I supposed to meet a glamour model if I’m hideous?” Dougal asked from the streaming red mask.
“Man the fuck up. It’ll leave a couple of dozen little scars. You could probably write them off as weird freckle.”
“Take him to Christina, Sergeant. I want to chat with my friends here.”
“What about the zombies?”
“I’ll talk quietly. Go.”
He watched the soldiers leave, listening to the frenetic zombies scrabble against the pews. The tainting of this hallowed place was the final insult.
“How’s your friend, dickhead?” taunted George.
“He’s fine. Can’t say the same for you, though. Little bit cramped in there, is it?”
“How can he be fine without a head?”
“It was birdshot and you can’t aim for shit, dickhead. A few sticking plasters and he’ll be right as rain. Just think, you could’ve saved that shell for yourself. One quick pull of the trigger and none of the pain you’ve got coming your way.”
George hesitated, wondering if it was a lie. Giving himself a mental shake, he continued anyway. “I’m saving the next one for you. Then I’ll turn my attention to your wife.”
“Sarah’s safe and well, far away from this place. The only attention you’re going to get is from the dead. They looked hungry. How’re those benches holding up?”
“Fuck you! You’re a dead man!”
“Can you not see when it’s over?” Kurt sighed.
“It’s over when I say it’s over!” George raged. “We just need to get out of here.”
The declaration was joined by the sickening crunch of a crushed head. Then another.
“Stop that, George.”
“Or what?” he laughed maniacally.
“Or I toss the grenade I have in my hand over this wall.”
The humour tapered off, as did the zombie slaying. “You’re bluffing.”
“Didn’t you hear the explosions tearing through this place? What did you think they were, party crackers?”
“You wouldn’t dare.” George sneered, though the words lacked conviction.
“I’ve killed men for far less than what you’ve done to us,” Kurt explained, as much to himself as the prisoners.
“I’m real scared! How about you lift your head a second?”
Kurt ignored the threat. “I know you’re scared, George. I can hear it in your voice. You were scared at the wall. You’ve probably been scared your whole life. But that life’s at an end, my friend.”
“The fuck it is!” he snapped, the skull crunching starting up again.
Kurt popped the pin on one of the grenades and tossed it over his head. It fell well short of the altar as he’d intended, but the blast shattered windows and pushed the undead forward nonetheless.
“Fucking hell! Take it easy!” George yelled from the cover of the marble. The ringing in his ears had only recently started to abate, but the devastating crack of high explosives renewed the shrill whine.
“Do you believe me now?”
“Fuck! Yeah, I believe you! What do you want?”
“To talk. Just for a little while.”
“Ok, we’ll talk. Then what?”
“Then you die.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m afraid not. One way or another, this chapel is going to be your tomb.”
The prisoners whispered to each other frantically, discussing options. George quietened them down with an expletive laden tongue lashing. He coughed politely, as if he was going to deliver a sermon to the true believers. “You’re good people, we can see that now. How about you just let us go on our way? We won’t bother you again.”
“I know you won’t, because you won’t be able to.”
“Stop fucking with me!” George yelled. “If you were going to kill us, you’d have already done it.”
“I said I wanted to talk,” Kurt replied.
An inquisitive zombie staggered up from the side staircase. Its cloudy gaze fell on Kurt, sat there with his back against the bloodstained wall.
“Get him!” yelled one prisoner.
“Fuck him up!” George laughed.
The decomposing creature flopped towards its meal. Kurt sighed and raised his copper clad forearm disinterestedly. It fell to its knees, the rounded caps tearing free at either side of the rotten joint. It tried to gnaw at the meat with jagged black teeth until Kurt slammed his hammer into the pitiful zombie’s forehead. It fell away, leaving score marks and fragments of broken teeth on the metal. He pushed the creature away with his foot as brain and foetid mucus started to bubble from the killing wound.
Everyone at the altar held their breath. Unable to contain themselves, they started to whisper again.
“Did he get him?”
“Why isn’t he screaming?”
“Kurt?” asked George, tentatively.
“Hi, George.”
The groans of disappointment were almost comical. Several of the hardened convicts broke down in tears.
“How does it feel to be powerless?” Kurt asked.
“Fuck y…!” George blurted angrily, then reconsidered. “Not good. Not good at all.”
“Ready to talk?”
“Will it save us?”
“No, but it’ll give you a few more minutes of life.”
“It’s not a great deal, is it?”
“It’s your choice. I couldn’t care less either way. You mean nothing to me.”
Kurt could hear the mental gears turning over. They would figure as long as they had breath in their lungs there was hope. They were wrong.
George finally gave in. “Ok, let’s talk. What’s on your mind? The weather? Politics? The FA Cup draw?”
“Why couldn’t you just be human?”
“Huh?”
“The world was overrun by zombies. How many of us can be left? A few hundred thousand? Less? And you had to play the FUCKING ANIMAL!” Kurt kicked himself for losing it as the sounds of scrabbling ceased. He could hear the creak of dry vertebrae as heads turned. Without a visual source, they slowly returned their attention to the prisoners.
Kurt waited.
“It was Craig. He was in charge. We were just locked in with him.”
Kurt wasn’t buying it for a second. “And I suppose you sat in your cells reading the bible while the wholesale torture and rape of those people went on?”
George sighed. “We did what we had to.”
“You took part in all of it and enjoyed it. Don’t play the victim.”
“Yeah, we did. So? What’s left? The world’s already fucked.”
“You could’ve changed your ways. You could’ve done what we did and try to help those who couldn’t help themselves. Anything other than prey on those who wanted to hide with you.”
They had nothing to say to that. Kurt could imagine downcast faces, pondering a wasted life for a few cheap thrills.
“There’s not many of us left,” he repeated. “You could’ve married, had children, helped us to rebuild. Given something, instead of always taking.”
One of the men laughed until George broke his jaw. He sobbed groggily from the ground. George straightened himself up. “We are what we are.”
“You could’ve been so much more. Help me understand what makes men choose death over life. Rape over love. Murder over nurture.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to grow up with nothing. No prospects. No education. No hope.”
“Cut the poverty shit. My family struggled for every penny too. We lived in a council house until my folks saved up the deposit for a house of their own. Then they fought tooth and nail to pay the mortgage on that. Everyone’s got their troubles. It doesn’t excuse the choices you made. Before and after this shit.”
“It’s not that easy when your dad’s the one who pushed you into a life of crime. We were fucked from the second we were born. I was hiding stolen gear under my bed when I was six, delivering drugs by the time I was ten. They won’t lock up a kid, my old man used to say.”
