Hellspawn | Book 8 | Hellspawn Vengeance, page 27
part #8 of Hellspawn Series
The journey had answered at least one question that Hombre had been pondering; were there more than the three groups of survivors in the area? If there were four, there might be more.
“Interesting,” he mused, heading for home.
Chapter 54
Hombre’s gut had felt off ever since abandoning the Range Rover a safe distance from their hidey-hole. The knowledge of other groups was only a small part of it. It was inevitable that if they had made it, others had too; the castle and gypsies notwithstanding. Rounding up a group of likeminded individuals was part of the plan anyway. So why did his inner alarm feel like it was about to start squalling?
He was within spitting distance of the entrance when the answer came. Dark laughter echoed inside the warehouse with more than one source. Debbie’s voice was weak, the unformed words drawing mocking replies. Feely was begging for mercy.
Hombre’s mind turned to murder. “You dirty bastards.”
Dancing over the empty patches between the broken glass, he had the Glock in his hand before he passed the tills. The air smelled faintly of smoke, and heavily of body odour. Whoever these fellas were, they hadn’t seen a bar of soap in a long time for it to carry this far. Passing the electrical section, Hombre stayed low and quiet. It would only have taken Feely to throw out a desperate warning of a returning friend to blow his cover. Pausing in his approach, he scanned the rest of the store to be certain there was no one trying to sneak up on him. Making sure the gun was plain to see, he hoped to trigger a cry of warning from anyone tucked discretely in the shadows. Either they were sure of their own superiority and had no fear of a pistol, or he was conjuring ghosts, as no sound came except for the sexually charged grunts near the fire.
A round was already chambered after the last time he’d cleaned the weapon, negating the need to rack the slide. Crouching down, Hombre scurried forward, taking advantage of the fact the trespassers figured they had stumbled on easy prey. Taking cover by the cement, he snuck a peek down the narrow gap between the pallets and shelves. Though the angle was awkward, he could see almost everything. Five men; three of whom had Feely’s trousers pulled down and were preparing to go in. One was looking up towards the roof, laughing. Only the back of the last man was visible as he swung precariously from the upper shelving, trying to avoid whatever Debbie brandished in defence. Feely’s potential rapist spat on his fingers and smeared the spittle between the doctor’s pale cheeks. Seeing there was no threat, Hombre stood up and strode forward. The gun bucked as he put a round straight through the back of the man’s head. His face blew apart, spattering the wall with gore. His twitching body fell onto Feely who was, to his credit, still fighting. Before the crack of the first gunshot had finished echoing, a second bullet shattered the climber’s spine, blowing out through his guts. He fell to the ground with a thud, twisting the useless legs beneath him. Unable to cry out from the shock, he tried to hold his intestines in.
“Knees, now,” Hombre growled.
The three remaining men, so powerful only a moment ago, fell to the ground obediently.
“We’re sorry! We were just messing around!”
“Lay down, hands behind your backs!”
The cripple was losing the battle as purple coils unwound onto the floor.
“You’re going to kill us!” wailed the man who had been laughing at Debbie.
Aiming for his dick, Hombre pulled the trigger. The shot was off slightly due to his anger. It punched through the guy’s pelvis, causing him to scream and topple sideways as blood started to spray from the ruptured artery. Seeing their friends dead or dying, the remaining two hugged the floor.
“You ok, sweetheart?” Hombre asked, holding out his free hand to Debbie.
She could read the words on his lips well enough and nodded.
“Doc?”
“I’m fine,” he snarled, showing a side that Hombre hadn’t known was there. Buttoning up his jeans, he drove a kick into the ribs of one of the men who’d held him down.
“Hey!” yelled the other, until Hombre stamped down on his head, breaking the skull against the tile covered concrete. Stomping again, he made sure the brain was pulped before handing one of the choppers to Feely.
“Watch that one. If he moves, cut off something important.”
The blade was taken without complaint and held ready. Not that the guy was going anywhere. Between pained gasps, he recited the Lord’s Prayer, minus some of the key words. Not that God would be sweeping down to offer divine protection. They were all sinners here.
Hombre holstered his gun and moved to help Debbie down. She jumped into his arms and pulled him tight. Her fear was gone as soon as they touched and she pulled away, snatching the second machete from Hombre’s hip. Using Craig’s methods as a guide, she knelt at the gut clenching man’s side and started to work on his face. First to go were the lips. Screaming a red froth at the new pain, he tried to push her away with crimson soaked hands, but lacked any real strength. She took his nose next, scraping roughly against the nasal bone which gave her trouble. She fought through his greasy hair to saw through the cartilage of each ear. Finding the eyelids too much trouble, she angled the blade vertically and started to saw down through his cheeks, shattering the teeth in her haste as she gave him a grisly forever smile.
“That’s enough,” said Hombre, pulling her clear. The man had died before the mouth became the focus of her maniacal revenge. He pointed at his own head and that of the still figure on the ground. Debbie knew what he asked and buried the machete deep inside the skull. A hefty thwack from behind caused Hombre to pivot, hand on his gun. It was only Feely, finishing the dead spurter before he could turn.
“Good work, Doc.”
“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…” babbled the man.
“Shut the fuck up and get off the floor.”
”… I will fear no evil…”
“You’ll fear me!” Hombre roared vehemently, making all three of the others flinch.
The guy turned slightly, looking up at him. “You’ll kill me if I get up.”
“I’ll let my lady loose on you if you don’t,” he warned.
Debbie smiled angelically, though kept her lips pursed to hide her embarrassment. Blood dripped from her saturated hands. His eyes flashed to the ruined face of his friend.
“Ok, I’ll do it. Just… please don’t do anything to me.” Clutching at his side, he shuffled up onto his knees and stayed there.
“We’re going to have a little chat, you and me. If I like your answers, I might even let you live. How does that sound?”
Amidst the spreading blood, he looked between his captors and nodded.
“Good boy.”
Chapter 55
Feely fed a fresh handful of offcuts into the waning fire. Steam rose from his wet hair after they had washed most of the blood and brain out. His tainted coat was tossed in the corner, and he now wore a thermally insulated, wet weather jacket. The adrenaline had worn off, and now he looked sickly and pale. He would need to learn to control it.
Debbie was sat on a cheap garden chair, toeing the corpse she had mutilated. While Hombre had helped the doctor, she’d found a small toolbox in the hardware section. In place of spanners and screwdrivers were the eyes, noses, and ears of their victims.
“What’s your name?” asked Hombre.
“Chris. Chris Allen,” said the man, trembling.
“Where are you from, Chris Allen?”
“Portchester. I was in IT support for the borough council. My wife’s name was Sabrina. I played golf on Sundays. I…”
Hombre grabbed him under the chin with one hand, almost crushing the jaw as he squeezed. “I don’t give a fuck about what you were. I don’t give a fuck where you came from before all this shit. I want to know where you come from now?” He pushed the man away, his fingertips leaving white impressions on the man’s cheeks.
Rubbing at his face, Chris replied, “Here and there. We move around.”
“Who’s we? Just you and these dumb fucks?”
Chris hesitated, providing the answer.
“I’ll let my lady carve you while you’re still alive if you don’t answer me.”
He sagged into himself. “They’ll kill me.”
Hombre waved to Debbie who stood up.
“Ok! Ok! Fuck! There’s a couple hundred of us.”
Debbie sat down, a little bit upset that her collection wouldn’t be growing bigger just yet.
“Two hundred?” Hombre replied, thoughtfully.
“There were far more, but we’ve lost a lot of people to illness and cold. And, you know, those things.”
He scowled at the pitiful figure. “How’s that possible? Do you have a base?”
“No base. I wasn’t lying when I said we move around.”
“Explain.”
“It’s all just tents. The pop-up type, quick to put up and put down. When the rotters come knocking, we just run while a few who’re on the roster lead them away. Most of the time they make it back.”
Hombre finished reassembling the Glock as he considered their situation. The makeshift cleaning kit assembled from the goods on offer went back into a second box that Debbie had cheerfully collected for him. Dry firing, the gun operated perfectly and he slipped it back into its holster.
“Were you all together at the start of this thing?”
“God no. Most of us were hiding out, just making it from day to day. They found me about a month after the rotters rose. I was in a bad way, starving, hiding in a loft, unable to get out as a group of the dead had followed me. I was close to hanging myself when I heard a scuffle. When I lifted the hatch, I saw some of the group stood there over the bodies.”
“They pick up the waifs and strays?”
“Yeah. It’s how we keep the numbers fairly steady.”
“How many women and children?”
“Fifty or so women. No kids.”
“No children?” asked Feely.
“No. Jonas doesn’t see the point. They eat food while offering no protection. They’re a liability, or so he says.”
“What happens when he comes across people with kids in the group?”
Chris looked away, burning with shame.
“He kills them?” Feely snapped.
“Worse. He leaves them. Babies. Toddlers. All of them.”
“That’s monstrous!”
Hombre held him back. “It’s survival, Doc. You mentioned a guy called Jonas?”
“Our leader. He’s a nutter. Everyone’s terrified of him.”
“How far away is your camp right now?”
“A couple of hours walk north. Near Goodwood.”
“You haven’t made it far considering it’s been months since the dead fucks took over.”
“We move around in circles a lot. Zigzag here, there, and back again. We’ve never had a destination to head towards, so why would we rack up the miles?”
“Why haven’t you settled? Why keep heading nowhere?”
“Staying put means being trapped. At least by moving around we can scavenge what we need. Unless you’ve got a farm surrounded by miles of impenetrable walls we didn’t know about?”
“I don’t.” Yet, anyway, he thought. “What’s security like in the camp?”
“Tight. Twenty-four hours a day. Lines are hung during the night to alert us to the zombies.”
“What happens when you find new people? After you’ve raped them, that is?”
“I wasn’t going to! I’d never!” Chris blurted desperately.
Hombre glowered and the man looked away. “That’s what I thought. Now answer the fucking question!”
“They’re taken back to Jonas and questioned. Who they are. What they’ve done. Do they know of anything that could help the group and buy their place with us.”
Hombre felt the presence of the drugs without needing to see the box. “You mean food, that kind of thing?”
“Food. Weapons. Anything.”
“What weapons do you have? And don’t fucking lie to me!”
“Knives, bats, axes. Lots of them.”
Hombre leaned forward menacingly. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Jonas and his men are the only ones who have guns.”
“How many?”
“A few. Shotguns mostly. No one’s supposed to know, but I overheard them say they were running out of bullets.”
Hombre let the mistaken term slide. “And?”
“And that was a few weeks ago. I noticed the last time we were attacked, no one was using their guns at all. It was all hand to hand while we packed up and fled.”
Hombre stared at the rising flames speculatively. He could kill Chris and continue with the original plan. Could he really ignore the incredible stroke of serendipity, though? In a world overrun with the walking dead, what were the chances of meeting a sizeable group? On top of that, what were the chances that he would encounter their scouts just in time to stop their violation of his friends? “A billion to one…”
“Excuse me?” asked Chris, cautiously.
“Probably more,” Hombre said to himself, staring at the bedraggled rapist.
“I don’t understand.”
“Do you want to live?”
Chris looked at the bloody corpses piled high in the corner. “I… I don’t know.”
“What?”
His eyes glazed over, reflecting the dancing fire. “I don’t know. An hour ago I’d have said yes. Now I wonder if your bullet wouldn’t have been better. At least I’d be back with my Sabrina, my kids.”
“I doubt they’re waiting for you where you’re going, my friend. Let me put the question another way. If I could make life worth living, would you want to go on living?”
Chris stared at the bulge in Hombre’s coat, then at Feely prodding the charred timber poking from the glowing bin, and finally to Debbie who gently fingered a glistening blue eye, smiling wistfully. “Not really,” he answered.
“Tough shit. You’re going to whether you want to or not. At least until you’ve helped me.”
“Helped you?”
Hombre retrieved the box and its powdered salvation. “Yeah. But before that, let’s give you a livener, eh? Perk up that sad face.”
Debbie looked at him longingly.
“You too.”
She smiled even more broadly, putting her moist plaything away.
Chapter 56
“If you try and fuck me, I’ll cut your balls off, do you understand me?” Hombre warned as they neared the perimeter cord and the fires beyond.
“I won’t,” Chris replied, nudging them forward. The drugs had worn off a while ago, but the chance to have that rush again was all consuming. Anything to have the chemical euphoria peel away the layers of dread and loss.
Hombre supported Debbie as they staggered on. The wheelchair had been hidden in the nearby woods. Feely didn’t have to fake the fear on his face which leant a genuineness to their reluctant approach. Unhooking the loop of alarm rope from the fencing stake, the cans and windchimes sang. As soon as they were through, a group of figures were on them.
“Chris?” asked a woman whose teeth were almost black between sore infected lips.
“It’s me!”
“Where’re the others?” asked a man, his face teeming with hives.
“A mile or so back, just checking a few houses in case we missed anything,” he lied.
“Who’s this?” asked the woman.
“Fresh meat. Taking them to see Jonas.”
“They look well fed,” remarked the hive ridden man. “Where’re they from?”
“Found them holed up in a B&Q outside Bognor. They’d stayed clear of the dead, fortified the place, but we found a way inside.”
“Bet you didn’t expect that, did ya?” cackled the woman.
Feely stared at his shoes and shook his head. Hombre tensed as they neared. Even a cursory pat down or check of their bonds would reveal the lie that they were helpless prisoners. Chris sensed the same thing and tossed Hombre’s package of meat towards them. “Lucky bastards managed to hit a butchers on the day it all went to shit. They had biltong.”
“Real meat?” the man marvelled, unwrapping the dried strips.
“Real pork,” agreed Chris.
“I can’t chew that,” whined the woman, fingering her decayed teeth and bleeding gums.
“You can try,” said the man.
Their interest in the newcomers paled in comparison to the long untasted delicacy. “Hang on! Jonas will decide who gets what,” warned Chris, before smirking. “But you can take a piece each. He’ll never know if you don’t grass me up.”
The man turned an invisible key by his lips and tossed it away before sneaking the largest strip. The others were unsure, but hunger overrode their fear as they dove in. A healthy portion remained which went back into Chris’s pack. “See ya.”
They didn’t reply.
Chris gently poked Hombre with the point of his knife to guide him. “That way. Come on.”
The entire camp reeked. Piss and shit festered everywhere. Each tent they passed had a different taint that caused them to reel away. The sleeping bags and blankets were deeply stained with filth.
Hombre wondered if he would catch anything from the disgusting conditions. Judging by Feely’s horror, there was more than an outside chance. People gathered around small fires, emaciated, defeated. This was a camp of creatures little better than the corpses they hid from. A slit throat would do many of them a huge favour.
“Just through here,” said Chris.
A bigger fire roared, the voices coming from the area stronger, more sure of themselves. Stepping into view, the unmistakeable leader turned to them. He was thin, but wiry and strong. Six-two when he stood up from the comfiest chair. Hombre knew his kind. Handy in a fight, that was for certain. His lieutenants were on their feet in a second, glaring at the trio. Lucas appraised the newcomers. “And what do we have here?”
