Hellspawn (Book 4): Hellspawn Requiem Read online

  “To hell with it,” he muttered and kicked off the other trainer.

  His socks provided much better traction, but with the freezing temperatures he would lose feeling in his feet before long. Extending his arms for balance, Winston carefully stepped forward like a tightrope walker. The only difference was the pipe didn’t flex and bounce under his weight and with a ragged gasp he took the final step and hugged the wall. Looking up, the safety rail was further away than he had thought. More than two feet separated his finger tips from the bar which on a flat surface would have been nothing. Attempting that little jump perched atop a wet, freezing cold metal pipe was akin to suicide. Winston was stuck; he couldn’t turn around as it would likely pitch him down into the waiting dead. Likewise, he couldn’t shuffle backwards without great risk.

  “Think,” he hissed at the wall surface inches from his face.

  Momentarily paralyzed with fear, he returned to his bedroom and the embarrassment. After slamming the door in his mother’s face, the frame was tossed into his wardrobe to remain as unused as the other equipment. Weeks passed and he found his eyes increasingly wandering from the monsters in his fantasy game, to the door of his cupboard. One afternoon when he had watched his parents leave on an errand, he had reclaimed the piece of equipment and set it up again. More sweating, swearing and humiliation had followed, but after a week he had gone from merely hanging uselessly, to getting halfway to the bar. Another week and his meagre stubble had felt the cold metal and he had punched the air like Rocky in celebration. Press ups had followed and he marvelled in the mirror as his previously soggy arms flexed with the increasing muscle mass. A week before the end of the world he had started doing abdominal crunches which hurt like a bastard the next day, but he was starting to enjoy the pain. He had read an article on the internet that people could get addicted to the buzz of exercise and the lactic acid burn. In the end, he never got to find out if he was one of those people.

  A burning sensation had started to rise up his calf, caused partly by the awkward posture and partly by the intense cold emanating up through his feet. The croaking of the dead was fraying his nerves further and he wondered if they would be bothered by his layers of fat they would have to delve through to reach the meaty goodness beneath. Lamenting his huge girth, he suddenly had an idea. He always bought trousers a couple of sizes too large to prevent them hugging his flesh in an embarrassing manner, and to keep them up he needed a belt. Carefully reaching down, he unclasped the buckle and pulled the thick leather strap free. Almost at once the trousers begun to droop so he clenched his legs together to keep them in place. Cautiously letting the belt fall, he swung his arm and tried for the bar. The metal buckle struck it with a clang and he let it hang straight down before trying again. The second attempt went through but the swing didn’t carry the other end back and it sat uselessly on the roof. On the fourth try it looped over the rail, swung through fully and he grabbed it like a drowning man seizing anything buoyant. Holding on for dear life, he was grateful for the anchor and the little weight it relieved from his feet.

  “Looks like your gut has saved your life,” he remarked. If he had been thin, the belt wouldn’t have been long enough to double over, allowing him to grip it.

  Taking a few deep breaths, he took the tension and was proud to feel his strength hadn’t waned too much. His chilled, wet feet left the pipe and he stared at the belt, willing it to hold. When he had pulled himself up as much as possible, he hooked a leg over the rim and used it to lever himself higher. Grasping onto the railing he shouted out his frustration and heaved himself between the bars to safety. Letting the burst of adrenaline burn itself out, Winston lay on the corrugated metal roof shaking. The sky was mostly clear and only faint wisps of cloud meandered slowly northward. From his vantage point, Winston could just make out the highest tower of Arundel castle. He prayed he would get the chance to make it there.

  CHAPTER 2

  “I can’t believe we actually made it,” sighed Kurt, staring around the grounds of the castle, “I wish you could’ve been here to see it.”

  He sat down on the freezing cold stone, slumping back against the parapet wall. Pulling John’s body sideways, he cradled the lolling head in his arms and with a small pack of wet wipes, Kurt cleaned as much of the blood from the killing wound on his father’s temple as possible. Peeling the adhesive strip from a large plaster, he stuck it down carefully to cover the gory puncture wound. John’s face was serene in spite of the deep bite mark which had ended his life so painfully earlier that day. It looked like he was just sleeping, but Kurt knew his soul was now somewhere else.

  “I hope you and mum have found each other up there,” Kurt croaked, the raw emotions causing wet tears to stream down his filthy cheek in a cleansing stream.

  A sticky, lumpy pool was all that remained of the monster which had bitten his father. Kurt had blacked out for a couple of minutes when he climbed the wall and saw it hanging half out of the pile. Coming around, his leg had been cramping and the bones ached from stamping repeatedly on the corpse. Sweat poured from his brow and the light breeze chilled the moisture until it stung his skin. Shards of skull fragment were still deeply embedded in his boot and glistened with clotted blood in the afternoon light.

  “I could’ve really used your advice right about now,” Kurt said, stroking John’s hair. His father had used the same rhythm to soothe the aches and pains of a fever during his younger years, fingers kneading the scalp to usher Kurt to sleep.

  He looked away from the pile of pulped flesh and took in the surroundings. Signs of the intense battle that had taken place were everywhere, with hundreds of zombie corpses in varying states of dismemberment and scorch marks from the grenades which had been so devastating. To his sides were the stacked bodies, remnants of the hand to hand fighting which had been used to funnel the remaining attackers. Sounds of the battle rang out in his mind and he was reminded of the soaring elation which had been provoked when it became clear they would prevail. Then the shout of agony which had crushed their short lived happiness with its portent of death. Countless gallons of green tinged blood had coated the stonework and ground of the castle. A steady drip fell from a woman’s head which had been crushed in by Jodi’s mean swing, joining the larger pool which slowly ran from the edge of the wall. Looking to the sky, clouds were gathering and Kurt hoped for a rain storm which would begin the process of washing the taint of death from their new home.

  What the hell do we do now? Kurt wondered.

  First and foremost, in the coming days they would need to dispose of the bodies before they became even more corrupted by decay. This would have been a herculean task if the castle had been empty, but at least their fellow survivors would spread the load. It would also give Kurt a chance to appraise each individual on their merits and weaknesses. It hadn’t escaped his attention that most of the inhabitants of the castle had never been face to face with their enemy, much less hacked one to pieces. Carrying the corpses would be a safe way to start the process of desensitisation which they would all need. Mr. Vincent would undoubtedly cause some issues just to be bloody minded, but Kurt was fully prepared to banish him for the good of the group. Clive too had fled the scene, though Kurt didn’t hold that against him. It must have been terrifying to come up against a walking wall of ravenous cadavers for the first time. Denise and the ladies had been fearless, as had the students who helped clear the corridors towards the portcullis housing. It wasn’t surprising as the young were remarkably adaptive and resilient, even to the end of days.

  They need combat, Kurt decided.

  The faint, gurgling moans of the dead carried on the wind from around the perimeter of the grounds. Thousands of tons of solid stone separated them and assured their safety from the zombies. Once everything had settled down he would formulate a plan to toughen any squeamish members. If they could capture and chain a small number of the undead, the untested survivors could learn to fight their adversary in a safe manner. Any complain
ts would be acknowledged, then ignored. He accepted the wisdom John had imparted in riding out the bitter winter before making their play for the prison survivors. But when that time came he wanted seasoned warriors holding down the fort, so to speak. Kurt was loath to admit that in the present circumstances niggling doubts had entered his mind about the mission in its entirety. They had suffered terribly through the ordeal and it was only by some miracle that they had survived at all. When compared to the impossibility of travelling through mile after mile of zombie infested territory, the fact that they had only lost two loved ones was incredible. They were strangers to him and not his responsibility, so why did he still feel duty bound to help them? A sudden pressure built in Kurt’s head as all the horror they had endured came flooding back; the faces of Paige and John as they had succumbed to the creatures. Shielding his father, he turned and vomited, coating an upturned face in bile and partially digested vegetables. Some of the detritus settled in the open head wound and this brought more gagging.

  Kurt wept, finally releasing some of the pent-up grief and fear which had constituted their existence for many weeks. He held John tightly to his chest, their complicated relationship and the animosity it spawned totally forgotten as he said a final farewell.

  “I love you, Dad,” he whispered and kissed the cold forehead.

  A flash of yellow raced across the ground and in seconds he was joined by Honey, their furry Labrador companion. Nuzzling at John’s hand, she couldn’t comprehend why he wouldn’t react. In her world of canine innocence, she was oblivious to death and moved on to licking his face to show her unconditional love. Kurt knew that John’s anger and unkind words towards the pet was more to do with their fallen world than genuine hostility. He had even caught his father sneaking an ear scratch and belly rub when he thought no one had been paying attention. With a low whine, she tried to lift his hand with her snout and it fell lifelessly to the ground.

  “He’s gone, Honey,” Kurt explained and she cocked her head quizzically.

  With a bark, she started to paw at John’s chest and begun whining again when he remained motionless. Kurt gently lay his father down and stood up with a creaking of tired, cold joints. Pulling her away, he rubbed her face and chin but her confusion outweighed her need for affection and she kept returning to John’s side. Finally giving up with a mournful howl, she lay down at his side and placed her head on her paws, guarding him. Kurt’s heart melted at the sight of their grime encrusted hound and her instinct to protect her family.

  “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?”

  Without moving her head, her eyes looked upwards at him and her tail whipped back and forth once before settling to the stone again. In his distracted state, he hadn’t noticed Sarah’s approach and jumped when she spoke. Kneeling, she kissed John and then Honey, but still she didn’t stir.

  “I thought you might be here when I couldn’t find you asleep in any of the rooms,” she said, embracing him tightly.

  “I just wanted a bit of time alone with Dad,” Kurt replied, “Sorry I lied.”

  “I understand, sweetheart. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve asked for someone to come and help bring him back into the castle chapel.”

  “It will be warmer than sitting with him out here,” Kurt agreed with a weary smile.

  A low grumble of an approaching engine caught their attention and they saw the small, ride-on landscaping tractor turn around the watchtower. Someone had attached a trailer to it which ordinarily would have carried chopped vegetation for disposal. Now it would be the makeshift hearse for his father’s body and, with a shudder, Kurt realised he would soon be disposing of John’s earthly remains too. His new family flanked the vehicle and walked in solemn procession, heads bowed in respect. Joining them were many of the castle survivors who maintained a polite distance behind the vehicle. They looked upon the scattered corpses with awe and saw for the first time what these brave people had accomplished that day. Shocked whispers passed between them as the fighters cleared a path, tossing the zombies aside without grimacing once. The festering wounds were bad enough, but when their brains started to slop out of shattered skulls, it was too much for a couple and they ran back to the main building. One even made it inside before losing their breakfast on the gravelled path.

  Sarah could see Kurt welling up at the display of reverence, “He will be remembered as a hero from this day forward. If we take this world back he will never be forgotten, nor will Paige.”

  “He wouldn’t want a fuss being made,” Kurt laughed, imagining John’s protest at the adulation.

  “I know, but it is our way of honouring the fallen. I’m sure he would understand that.”

  DB and Jonesy approached, carefully stepping over the piled bodies. They stood at ease, feet planted and hands held behind their back while Kurt composed himself.

  “How will we get him down? We could tie the rope around his chest?” Kurt suggested.

  The soldiers smiled and shook their heads, “We carry him like a brother in arms, not a sack of potatoes,” Jonesy replied.

  “But how will we get him past that lot?” Kurt indicated their meat barricade.

  “Leave that to us,” said DB and they snapped their heels together and saluted. It was their way of respecting John’s sacrifice.

  Turning around, they heaved the undead from the wall into the grounds. Arms and legs flailing, the wet bodies squelched when they hit the hard earth or other corpses. In two minutes the eastern wall was free of obstacles and Sam and Braiden joined them with a stretcher. Unshed tears filled their eyes as they helped DB and Jonesy to carefully place their grandfather’s body on it. Braiden squeezed his hand before unfurling a blanket and covering John. The four each took a corner and lifted, then walked from the wall with stoicism. Kurt was so proud to see his boys show such dignity even though it must have been tearing them up inside. Taking up position to the rear, he rubbed their shoulders in commiseration. DB was forced to stoop because of his height but he carried out the duty without complaint. It wasn’t the first time he had transported a beloved compatriot from the battlefield.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, Kurt,” Denise said with sorrow and Patricia offered her condolences too.

  “Thank you both,” Kurt replied.

  The trailer was filthy but they had all tried to brighten it up with flowers. Cyclamens, pansies, and other hardy winter varieties Kurt couldn’t name had been laid around the edge in tribute. From what Kurt could see they had gathered every remaining flower that hadn’t been trampled underfoot by the wandering dead. Sarah held a hand to her mouth, crying with gratitude at the beautiful arrangement. Kurt couldn’t speak, only nod his appreciation at the strangers who smiled warmly. Each one had a sense of hope for the first time in many weeks. The arrival of the newcomers meant at least they stood a chance of long term survival. Peter climbed from the driver’s seat and lowered the tailgate of the trailer for the stretcher. He nodded at Kurt, acutely aware of the sense of loss he was feeling.

  “Time to go home, darling,” Gloria whispered to John and held his hand. Honey jumped on board and lay down at his side, continuing her vigil.

  They performed a U turn and returned slowly to the castle living quarters in silence, all lost in their own thoughts. Mr. Vincent was frantic, rushing around the gardens and shouting his anger. Kurt ignored the whining complaints and remained composed for John’s sake.

  “Look what you’ve done! They are ruined!” he yelled, wagging a finger. He was closely followed by his meek assistant who looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him.

  “We couldn’t even set foot out here a few hours ago, you asshole,” Denise replied with disgust.

  “Just get back inside, Stephen,” Patricia scowled, shaking her head, “Pathetic excuse for a man.”

  “It’s Mr. Vincent to you!” he sneered, “You are all alive because of me and don’t you forget it!”

  “Thank you for building the castle,” Denise slow clapped.
r />   “Oh, wait,” Louise laughed mockingly, “You didn’t do anything other than be lucky enough to work here when it all went to hell. Now show some respect and disappear.”

  “I am in charge here,” he announced proudly and was totally ignored.

  Peter expertly backed the trailer as close as possible to the door nearest to the chapel. It would still require a long walk through the maze of hallways, but at least the place of worship was sealed in the safe portion of the massive building.

  “Where are you taking that man?” Mr. Vincent demanded, pushing through the crowd.

  DB pushed him to one side, still refusing to reply, “Sam, Braiden, you ok to take the lead?”

  “Sure,” they answered, glaring at the man who was ruining their ceremony.

  “You can’t possibly expect me to allow one of those creatures inside?” he scoffed at the absurdity. Being sheltered from the danger, he didn’t understand the infection took people within minutes and they were perfectly safe.

  “It’s not up to you,” Christina said. “We are taking our friend to lay in state in the chapel until we can bury him.”

  “Lay in state?” he burst out laughing, “That is for people of importance, not lower class scum.”

  Kurt broke away from Sarah and grabbed him by the collar. Twisting it in his grip, he started to lead the man back up the castle grounds, choking and clutching at the constricting fabric.

  “What is he doing?” shrieked Mr. Vincent’s assistant to the gathering.

  “What needs to be done,” declared Louise, pushing him back into the building.

  Kurt marched, unheeding of the gargled protests and Stephen’s attempts to throw himself to the ground. It only choked him more and after two tries the curator gave up trying the tactic. They stepped over the massed bodies and it gave him the first glimpse of what these obnoxious strangers had done inside his beautiful castle.