Hellspawn (Book 4): Hellspawn Requiem Read online

  HELLSPAWN: REQUIEM – Book Four in the Hellspawn Series

  ©2017 Ricky Fleet

  First Edition

  Edited by Christina Hargis Smith

  Cover art by Jeffrey Kosh Graphics

  Published by Optimus Maximus Publishing, LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  Electronic edition, License notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the work of the author.

  ISBN-10: 1-944732-28-4

  ISBN-13: 978-1-944732-28-8

  DEDICATED TO

  I am dedicating the fourth novel in the series to my dad, Nigel. A shining example of hard work and perseverance who has always been there to help me when I needed picking up.

  I am also dedicating it to the plumbing team at BPC college who have been some of my most vocal supporters. Dan, Stuart, Brett, Mario, Dax (and his mum), Alan, Justin, Steve, Adrian, Ian and George.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I have to give a huge thank you to the Optimus Maximus family. A great collection of talent who I am proud to feature alongside.

  My family who, as always, kept me plied with tea and biscuits for the gruelling writing and editing process.

  My sincere thanks go out to my team of beta readers. Your input is always encouraging and keeps me on the straight and narrow.

  Jeffrey Kosh, your covers continue to amaze me. Your support in the formatting process and all the behind the scenes magic you weave is invaluable. Thank you.

  I also need to thank the amazing guys and gals on social media who have become close friends - TJ and Kris Weeks, my Huckleberry James Wallace, Tom and Tina Watson, MC and Will Allen, you gave a strange British guy your support and he won’t forget it. To those of you who I may have forgotten; my apologies but know that I am forever in your debt too.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY

  CHAPTER 1

  “Now you’ve gone and done it, you bloody fool,” Winston huffed, his breath misting from the cold.

  At his heels were the ravenous dead which had taken up the pursuit at the prison tunnels. Mike, Debbie, Craig, and his henchmen were scurrying through the dark passage to a safe haven, protected by walls and barbed wire. It wasn’t quite a castle, but it was certainly better than being on foot through Ford town, pursued by festering corpses. After jogging for a minute, or as much as it could be called jogging with his bulk, Winston turned. The horde was still coming, their guttural groans breaking the silence and sending chills down his spine. Thoughts passed through his mind about taking a chance on the prison and Mike’s promise of protection. He had shared a bond which, although defying logic, was strong and brotherly. Being an only child, Winston had always yearned for the companionship of a sibling to fend off the cold indifference of his parents. Perhaps he had been too hasty.

  “Make your choice, quickly,” Winston ordered himself.

  Looking at the dead and their wet, milky eyes, he felt more alone than at any point in his life. His parents were dead. His friends were… no, wait, he didn’t actually have any friends except for the people he had met online across the globe playing computer games. They were probably all dead. Mike was alive; strong and brave too. It was hard to reconcile the actions he had taken against the innocent men, women and children, with his warmth towards Winston. With the apocalypse in full swing, maybe that was what it took to survive. Do I have it in me to kill people just to save my own life? He pondered. Realizing he didn’t, the decision was made and he turned once more and set off at a fast walk to conserve energy.

  The exit point of the tunnel had been cut roughly a quarter mile from the prison, next to another commercial property complex. Ignoring the boggy fields for the flat surface of the streets was helping his progress, but also aiding the travel of his eager followers. In truth, if the prison hadn’t drawn the surrounding zombies in, he would have been unlikely to make it too far. As it was, the clear pathways gave him a multitude of options which only served to slow him down while he decided on a route. He set off, opting to zigzag through the complex as much as possible to throw them off his scent. The fencing which surrounded each business had been designed to dissuade potential thieves and the sharpened steel was split into three points at the top. Unlike chain link fencing, this was solid and it would hold the dead off for a long time before their combined weight would break the support posts. As nimble as he was, Winston could imagine slipping on the metal from the thin sheen of winter moisture and impaling himself. Doomed to slowly bleed out while the dead tried to pull him from the railings, flesh and skin tearing under the strain.

  “No, thanks.”

  Passing a yard full of covered pallets, he turned left, ran down the short alleyway, and turned right. If the dead could figure out his zigzag pattern he would be in real trouble, so he prayed they lacked the basic brain functions. It occurred to him that being sealed inside the convent with the other survivors had left him with little knowledge of the reanimated. Only a tiny number had ever followed him back after his night time escapades, and these had been dealt with as penance at the nun’s orders. The sisters had berated him about the sin of gluttony every time he returned, and by the end of his stay even the others were looking at him with disgust. Being sent out with a cleaver, he had been made to destroy the creatures and stack them in an orderly pile. He was then forced to kneel while one of the sisters gave a prayer for the dearly departed and tied a cross to their forehead. It was a bizarre ritual, but the temptation of candy and potato crisps was too hard to ignore. Looking down at his swinging stomach, Winston was filled with shame. Not once had he offered the terrified children any of his valuable haul, and now they had in turn been eaten by the undead.

  “You selfish bastard,” he said, shaking his head.

  It wasn’t all his fault; the compulsion to eat came from his lack of love at home. The sweet and savoury snacks provided comfort through the bitter loneliness of his formative years. As it became more evident that he wasn’t wanted by his own parents, so too had his bulk grown in direct correlation. Things would change now, he promised himself as he passed a cycle shop, the steel shutters firmly in place. He would get fit and healthy if he survived; no more sweets, no more junk food. Well, maybe the odd treat now and again, but a lot less than before. He wasn’t sure he could go cold turkey.

&n
bsp; The rear of the steel-clad building was the same as the others, with a small yard for storage. An extra canopy had been built across the open area and beneath it sat row upon row of brand new cycles. Different makes and models in a variety of colours waited only a few feet away from him. Considering the risk of climbing the protective fence again, the thought of pedalling furiously away from the dead nearly proved too much and he found himself clutching at the cold bars in contemplation. The sounds of shuffling feet pulled him back to reality and he almost laughed at the absurdity of what he had nearly tried to do. Not only would he have had to climb over once, he would have then needed to get the bike over the top and climb the fence again. Idiot, he chastised himself. Now wasn’t the time for stupidity, he was smarter than this.

  Running to make up the wasted seconds, he passed more businesses. A roof tile manufacturer, electrical wholesalers, a soft play area for children that seemed out of place amongst the more practical retailers. A huge, smiling frog watched as he passed the dark, forbidding building. He could just see past reception to the padded cages and slides which were illuminated by the glass skylights. Across the floor were hundreds of multi coloured balls which had been tossed from the ball pit. Movement caught his eye and there was no mistaking the small figures which shuffled amongst the brightly coloured passageways. Unable to escape, the children now wandered aimlessly within the confines of the play house. An adult zombie burst from the shadows of the reception and slammed against the window, tiny chunks missing from all over its body and face. A smaller frog adorned the creature’s blood encrusted polo shirt, signifying it was a member of staff. Winston wanted to thank the man for not abandoning the children, but instead just turned away with a sad shake of his head.

  Crossing the side expanse of the communal carpark which serviced the different buildings, he looked back and saw that the plan was working. The swarm had diminished to just over a hundred committed individuals who raised their arms in greeting. He waved back and hurried on. Cars were another temptation, but after only a small handful of driving lessons he would be just as likely to crash into a tree than make it to safety. An articulated lorry had swerved to avoid something on the approach road, but hadn’t been successful. The black rubber trail was accompanied by a dark green streak which Winston could guess the source all too well. It now lay silent, deeply buried into a medical supplies warehouse. From under the wheels a twisted and broken figure strained uselessly. It was crushed and wrapped within the axles of the truck, its half arm stump trying to beckon to Winston.

  A sign lay broken on the ground with the letters ‘NHS’ emblazoned on it. The truck had crashed through the wall and knocked it down, and on the other side lay a cavernous warehouse with medical equipment, boxes of assorted bandages and plasters. This was just what he could see scattered on the floor and, undoubtedly, more valuable supplies were housed within. It was a handy building to have found if they could ever secure a future and make use of it. Making a mental note, he headed out of the retail estate and found the first milling dead who hadn’t been drawn in by the prison wailing. Taking out the hatchet that Mike had given him, he tried to skirt around them as much as possible. With a fence at each side he was driven towards the entrance onto the main road and the group which waited for him. Using himself as a lure, he hugged the left side and when they started to gurgle and approach he darted right into the clearer space with only two enemies. Swinging his arm, the first zombie had its forehead split open and with a hefty kick it was driven into the arms of its friend. They both fell to the ground and Winston quickly jumped around them.

  “Which way?” he asked himself, looking about.

  One of the directions would lead him back around to the main road which the prison was situated on. There were far too many undead in the area for that to be a sensible solution. Looking side to side like a tennis umpire, his eyes settled on a sign a little further down to the right. It had an Arun Water Complex motif and judging by the circular structures Winston could make out, it appeared to be a water treatment facility. Running away from the nearest group of undead who were being closely followed by the larger crowd, he could see the small nozzles mounted at regular intervals. During the everyday operation of the complex, they would spray out a scent to try and mask the overwhelming smell of faeces as it was extracted and recycled.

  The dual gates were wide open, so Winston pulled either side closed and drove the vertical steel bolts home into the ground just as the first dead reached him. Pressing against the bars, their puffy flesh split and putrid liquids leaked onto the tarmac. He desperately wanted to slide the horizontal bolt across but their hands were straining to reach him and one wrong move could see him grabbed. Some had shredded hands from scratching at the prison walls and he wasn’t sure if a scratch from one of the sharpened bones would prove to be just as fatal as a bite. It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take and made off into the facility. Glancing back, his estimate that it would hold them off long enough to escape was far too generous. Bringing their weight to bear, the steel was already buckling under the strain and the bolts wouldn’t hold for too much longer.

  The smell of the undead was replaced with the stench of untreated sewage. Coming to the first vats, the congealed waste of the surrounding villages had solidified over the past few weeks. The four tanks would hold thousands of gallons of water, ready to feed through the mechanical strainer to remove the larger lumps of matter. Hearing the rending of metal as the gates tore loose, Winston rushed around the vats. Coming to four more huge cylinders, the algae bloom was bright green from the biological process taking place. Seeing dark handprints all around the circumference of the vessel, he noticed the surface was moving.

  “Fish?” he wondered, transfixed by the increasing motion.

  Without warning, a pair of arms reached out through the green scum towards him and he nearly fell on his ass in fright. More joined the first pair and the sloughing flesh splashed into the water as it peeled away from the bones. The water was deep enough to ensure the heads remained below the surface and Winston suddenly had an epiphany of what had happened to these poor men. They must have been forced into the tank during the first hours of the attack, treading water as they were surrounded by the undead. Maybe they had drowned or, judging by the number of arms, a few had fallen in and bitten them. The horror of their plight caused his stomach to knot; swimming in circles in the filth from their pursuers until finally succumbing to exhaustion and slipping beneath the surface and the waiting teeth.

  Zombies poured down the road towards him, skirting the first tanks and closing the distance quickly. Winston bolted towards the administrative buildings and cylinders which reminded him of grain silos. He would never make it away on foot, that much was clear from their remorselessness. It was just a matter of time before his last reserves of energy would fail and he would be devoured. Seeing thick pipework running from various points around the sides of the huge drum, he had another idea. The pipes either dropped into the ground to be fed into the other treatment area, or some went through the wall of the building itself. If he could get to one of the higher points he may be able to get to the roof and escape. Heavy duty valves provided means of turning off the supply and also a convenient foothold for climbing. Placing a foot on the protruding body, he hefted himself up, embracing the twelve-inch diameter steel tube. Clips holding the vertical riser were mounted via threaded bars which was bolted to a welded frame. Testing it with his foot, the rusty metal was firm and bore his weight. A hand grabbed at his ankle but only succeeded in pulling his shoe off.

  “Oh, come on, give that back!” Winston complained to the zombie who was waving the shoe triumphantly.

  Placing the foot down, the thin rod dug painfully into the arch so he shifted position to the heel. What a predicament; to be poised ten feet in the air with dozens of dead wanting to tear him apart and only having one shoe. Trying to hold on to the bar and reach down, the creature was in a frenzy and the sneaker fell from its fingers an
d was swallowed by the rotting mass.

  “You did that on purpose!”

  A groan and snapping of blackened teeth was the only response. Continuing the ascent, the handholds and footholds proved adequate and, unlike the outer wall of the college building, Winston was comfortable. Reaching the top of the section of tube, he needed to step across to reach a branch which ran through the outer wall. From there it would be a small jump to reach the railing of the flat roof. In spite of his size, he was remarkably strong and would have no problem pulling his weight up and over.

  As with all birthdays and Christmases in his later years, his parents had taken to buying him a fitness present. Their spare bedroom had resembled a gym before the apocalypse with a rowing machine, treadmill, an enormous exercise ball, and a small TV with over twenty workout DVD’s, all still in their wrappers. The thickness of the dust was based upon the age of the pointless present, but they kept buying them nonetheless. Only one had ever piqued his interest and it was a combination chin up and press up contraption which utilised the doorframe of his room. It allowed him the chance to exercise in the sanctuary of his bedroom in a way the other pieces didn’t. The first time he had used it was a disaster and his cheeks still flushed all these years later. He had been hanging from the bar, sweating and gasping while trying to raise himself unsuccessfully. His mother had barged in, thinking he was masturbating, only to burst out laughing when she saw his difficulty.

  Shaking his head, Winston focussed on the task at hand and stepped out across the void and onto the horizontal pipe. Holding his hands against the tank for support, it would take only two paces to reach the wall. The distance wasn’t the problem; it was the layer of condensation which coated the steel which had him worried. Reaching out tentatively with his only shoe, the sole slipped easily on the curvature and he looked down to see the open maws which would be waiting should he tumble.