Hellspawn (Book 4): Hellspawn Requiem Page 6

  “Shall I just go?” Clive asked grimly.

  “She will calm down,” Denise replied. “Come and sit down.”

  Most of the guests glared at him as he made his way to a free chair and Kurt felt the need to intervene, “Your friends will be honoured in the same way as my father. Remember, Clive tried to come and help us and was overwhelmed when the true threat hit home. Ask yourselves, would every one of you have stood and faced the horde within your walls?”

  Looking around the stern faces, truth dawned at how they had been aghast about simply moving the already slain bodies and some of the tension left the room. Self-reflection was a powerful force and most of the survivors could see they would probably have done exactly the same thing in his position.

  “I’ve stared down the barrel of a loaded gun and I can assure y’all that fighting those things was far worse. We need to get our heads in the game,” Denise added and Kurt winked in appreciation.

  “I’ve been told we have plenty of gloves, so dress up warm and I will meet you in the grounds in twenty minutes. I really do mean it when I say we need all of you if we are to survive this hell.” Kurt looked around the group and, one by one, they all reluctantly agreed and left the warm hearth.

  “Thank you!” Kurt shouted to grumbled replies.

  CHAPTER 6

  With one last longing glance at the distant fortification, Winston stood and flexed his numb toes. The speed with which he was losing sensation was worrying and he still needed to find shelter before the sun settled into the horizon and left him in darkness. Peeking over the railing, the dead were still milling around which at least gave him a chance of escaping their festering clutches. The roof was plastic coated metal with a slight pitch to the gutter valleys for rainwater runoff. A thin, icy sheen adhered to the flat surface and each step was a hazardous affair. Opting to cling to the outer railing, Winston skirted the perimeter of the huge building in under five minutes.

  Oops, he thought when it became clear there was no access to the roof itself. Anyone requiring to reach the top of the building would need their own ladder, and Winston was all out of them.

  Fearing a slow death by exposure, he looked around for a solution. There was no way he could descend the pipework he had climbed without falling, and the roof itself was over thirty feet high, so jumping wasn’t an option. Unless he wanted to tenderise himself for the zombies first, anyway. His only hope was the glass skylights which were installed every ten feet across the length of each side of the roof. Dropping to hands and knees, he carefully crawled up the frigid surface and rubbed the frost away. Beneath were more vats, valves, pumps, and pipework which would have served some unknown purpose during the treatment process. There was nothing close enough to climb down so Winston shimmied along from pane to pane, clearing and searching. With only two left and every one so far providing a sheer drop straight into the building, he was starting to lose hope. Using his sleeve to clear the glass, his heart jumped with hope. A walkway had been erected to reach the pipework he had used to climb onto the roof and it was only a short drop below. Taking the axe, he swung the blunt end and broke the pane which went crashing onto the meshed steel platform. Gurgled moans reverberated within the building indicating he wasn’t alone.

  Bollocks, Winston cursed in his mind as he pried the last shards free from the sealing putty.

  Craning his neck through the hole, a slightly warmer, fetid air washed over him as he searched for the source of the threat. A handful of stick thin zombies in full blue overalls were traversing the serpentine pipework to reach the rising staircase. He was in a fight whether he wanted it or not and carefully lowered himself through the skylight until his feet met the railing. Dropping down, he was extremely careful to avoid the fragments of glass on the walkway. The latticework of the steel floor dug painfully into the balls of his feet.

  I suppose carpet was too much to ask for? he complained in his mind.

  Now that he was in the building the walkway gave him a multitude of ways to reach the ground without facing the dead. Pipework stretched away and dropped into the floor as well as ductwork and the frame of the raised gangway itself. The temptation to flee was strong and he found himself swinging a leg over the railing. Before he could begin climbing down he realised it would be better to clear the building rather than play cat and mouse between the machinery and tubing. Stepping down he took off his backpack and laid it lengthways across the floor to give them another obstacle.

  “Come on!” Winston shouted and it echoed back from the walls.

  Another zombie appeared and he slammed the butt of the axe on the steel railing. Ear piercing clangs echoed around the cavernous chamber but no more undead appeared to join the fray. The cold and pain in his feet was gone now, only the primal hatred remained, burning fiercely in the pit of his stomach. Clenching his teeth, the first zombie reached the top and staggered towards him. So intent was the corpse on Winston that it ignored the bag completely and tripped over it, falling face down with a crunch. Wasting no time, he drove the axe down and the blade smashed through the skull and hit the metal grid beneath. Green blood and rotting mucus started to drip from the platform as the second approached. With no sense of kinship, it stepped on the legs of its fallen brethren and they twisted under the weight. The zombie fell awkwardly against the railing so Winston gave it a helping push and it went flailing to the concrete below. Head exploding, the green gore splashed on the floor and pipes in a wide arc.

  “I will not die a virgin!” Winston roared and threw all caution to the wind.

  His blood was up and he raced down the walkway, shoulder barging the nearest corpse with enough power to send it flying over the protective railing to join its companion below. The remaining dead were in procession on the stairs and Winston greeted them with a savage rending of flesh with steel. The axe sang as it cut through the air, splitting skulls and severing heads. The emaciated corpses were torn apart with a ferocity which scared Winston. He had always tried to be calm and collected, applying logic and reasoning like Spock from Star Trek. Taken by the rage, he hacked at the fallen bodies even after they were truly dead, leaving a pile of oozing meat. What was even more surprising as he stood gasping from exertion, was that the rage felt good. He had been a victim his whole life, and for the first time he could fight back against all the repressed loneliness and self-pity.

  Shaking from the adrenaline surge, Winston took deep, slow breaths and listened for any more movement. Near silence was all that remained, except for the unmistakeable groans of the dead outside. Backtracking along the platform, he retrieved his pack from under the zombie and checked for the size of shoe it wore.

  “Damn,” he muttered when he saw it was three sizes too big.

  On the stairs, he gingerly tossed any severed body part over the side until he was left with the legs and remaining torso. Finding a matching size, he wrestled with the boot and it came off with a wet, sucking noise. The flesh of the foot had torn at the heel and left the bone like a well-cooked joint of meat. With a retch, Winston tossed the boot and its floppy contents from the stairs. None of the others was a match, so he checked the two shattered corpses which had fallen. Luck was on his side and he didn’t repeat the earlier mistake. Undoing the laces, he loosened the shoe as much as possible before attempting to remove it. His skin crawled from contact with the dead man’s calf and he could feel it tear under the pressure of his grip. Unspeakable liquids soaked through the overalls and onto his hands before the second boot was successfully reclaimed and it took every ounce of willpower not to vomit. Sniffing the boot was absolutely the worst thing Winston could have done, but it was an uncontrollable impulse. He always did it before trying shoes on, even brand new ones in the shop. Bile rose and spewed from his mouth all over the compacted corpse.

  “Moron,” he rebuked himself, wiping away the last strings of acidic spittle.

  With his stomach settled, he held the shoe up to the light and the same slimy mucus laced the inside of the fo
otwear. Maybe stealing boots from the dead wasn’t such a good idea after all? He wondered. With the buzz of battle passed, the creeping cold was settling in his feet again. Footwear was going to be essential for trekking across the open field on his journey to Arundel, so he stood up and headed for the offices which had been built along one wall. Before he reached them, a huge cylinder to his left was radiating heat and he placed his hands against the shiny surface. Sighing with contentment, he mulled over what on earth was going on to cause it. A long forgotten memory from his youth came back and he was stood by his grandfather’s side, looking at a pile of rotting vegetables, leaves, and grass. The process of biological degradation had been explained and the accompanying amount of heat generated. He had taken a few cautious steps backward when his mischievous elder had informed him that some got so hot they spontaneously combusted.

  Knowing that human waste lay only millimetres under his palms wasn’t sufficient to mar the luxurious feeling and minutes passed while he absorbed the warmth. The comfort was lulling him into inactivity and he considered the possibility of staying the night inside the building. With a groan, not unlike that of the dead he was running from, he pulled away. It was pointless to sacrifice the opportunity of escape for a cosy night’s sleep. If anything were to happen and the zombies surrounded the walls he would die just as surely as the poor workers who he had slain moments ago. With one final embrace of the tank, he headed for the cheaply built administrative area. Plasterboard walls had been used in place of bricks and mortar to save money. Pushing the door open, he called out and waited but got no response. Inside there was nothing of note, just a typical male office with lewd calendars on the walls and general clutter. In one of the rooms which led from the office were a selection of tools, and Winston removed a large wrench to judge its weight. The tool was far bigger than any standard domestic size due to the nature of the work within the complex, and after swinging it a few times his arms ached. The axe was far more user friendly so he put it down and left the room. The second door led to a small kitchenette and the final door housed what he was looking for. The small bathroom had two shower cubicles, two toilet cubicles, and a hand wash basin with a soap dispenser mounted on the wall.

  “Fingers crossed,” he whispered while reaching for the tap.

  Water ran weakly from the spout so he quickly inserted the plug to capture as much as possible. Once it had filled the sink without stopping he turned it off and scrubbed at his hands, removing the slimy green coating. The cold water started to hurt but it was worth it for the feeling of being clean again. Drying himself on a nearby towel, he squirted copious amounts of soap into each boot and submerged them. After flexing his fingers to get the blood flowing, he gritted his teeth and plunged them back into the icy liquid. He scrubbed furiously with a scouring pad to get a decent lather and worked it around the inside of the shoe. Satisfied the majority of the decayed grime was gone, he rinsed them under the tap and dried as much of the moisture as possible with the towel.

  “Hmm,” Winston murmured as he tried to pull the boot on.

  It was moist and cold, which would only get worse when he set out into the chilly afternoon. In time they would dry out, but it would be the following day before they would be usable. There was no chance he would risk being trapped and was close to discarding them when he spied the waste basket and its plastic liner.

  “Winston, you’re a genius!”

  Changing into the socks from his pack and donning a second pair to ward off frostbite, he slipped his foot in the bag and then the boot. It made a sickly squelching sound, but the waterproof layer held the water away from his skin. A second one was reclaimed from the office and he was finally laced and ready to go. He looked down at the ruffled tops of each bag sticking from his boots and shook his head.

  “You look like a hobo,” he chuckled and tucked the loose edges in to minimize the noise.

  Standing at the threshold of the entrance, he looked back longingly at the warm vessel one more time and pushed out through the door. The afternoon sky was darkening with the approach of twilight and the temptation to step back inside was overwhelming. Trees obscured the view of the distant castle, weakening the lure of its high walls and promise of sanctuary. One night wouldn’t hurt, would it? Images of the starved engineers reminded him that they also had probably made the same decision which had led to their untimely deaths. He had come too far to die in such a senseless way and left the building without risking a look back. Two choices lay before Winston; a direct route towards the castle over open fields, or leapfrog from habitation to habitation. Being stranded out in the open wasn’t an option with the sub-zero temperatures and the local inhabitants wanting to taste living flesh. Choice made, he headed due north towards another complex of houses and industrial units. Hearing a whistle from the rear, Winston turned to see a zombie skirt the building with its throat torn out. More followed, picking up on the excitement of the first.

  “Give me a break,” he grumbled.

  Jumping the slatted fence, he raced across the field. The noise of splintering fence posts only carried to him when he had reached the other side. With lungs burning and sweat pouring from his brow, he hopped the northern boundary and came across a road. A long building with multiple chimneys sat to the east, with a scrap metal merchants and further businesses to the west. ‘Cosy Stoves’ was emblazoned above the door with an image of a blazing hearth. Gurgling moans came from all directions, but only those who had followed from the water works were visible. Opting to duck out of sight before any more saw him, he barged through into the shop with a jangle of an overhead bell. Wood burning stoves and ornate fire surrounds lined the walls, connected to the rising flues. Ashes lay in the bottom of several and Winston surmised that they had been lit on occasion to give the customer a real feel of how their purchase would look. The single door closed and plunged him into darkness so he removed the torch and placed it against the till on the counter. Nothing moved inside the showroom and he would search the other rooms later just to be sure he was alone.

  After all that, you’re trapped now anyway, he thought wearily.

  His energy was all used up, but with a strength borne of fear he wrestled one of the cast iron stoves free of its position. It must have weighed two hundred pounds and the iron feet shrieked as it was dragged across the tiled floor. Keeping an eye on the stock room door behind the counter, he ripped another one loose and the steel flue pipes fell clattering to the floor. Drawing on the rage again, he squatted and lifted the heavy appliance on top of the other with a grunt. Repeating the process with four more, the doorway was totally sealed when the first zombie started knocking. Sacks of coal were piled on some racking and these were also claimed and leaned against the barricade. More thuds carried through the solid door and his handy work didn’t budge.

  Satisfied the entrance was sealed, he took the torch and pushed through into the back of the store. Packaged stoves were stacked neatly alongside bubble wrapped marble hearths and mantels. A hydraulic pallet truck was tucked in one corner and Winston gave it the finger.

  “You could have helped me a minute ago,” he complained with a whisper, massaging his aching fingers.

  Apart from the rear door to the outside world, there were no other rooms. Curious, he thought. Where do they go to the toilet? The proprietors must have owned a nearby house and nipped back when nature called. As disgusting as it was, he would just have to use a bottle or a dark corner for the night. Taking advantage of the mechanical device he blocked the rear entrance as well, sealing himself in. Foraging in the shop, he found matches, fire lighting fluid, and neatly chopped kindling in bags. Winston settled down in his sleeping bag for the night as the fire took hold. The undead commotion was masked slightly by the crackling timber and he lay down on his arm to watch the greedily climbing flames.

  “At least it’s not shit keeping me warm.” He smiled and closed his eyes, drifting into an uneasy slumber.

  CHAPTER 7

  “I
still can’t believe what you’ve achieved here, Craig,” Mike admitted, sipping from the glass of Scotch whisky.

  “Once you understand the nature of prison life, it’s pretty straightforward, brother,” Craig replied. “Fear and violence control ninety five percent of the cons, the other five percent of lunatics either have to be murdered or given luxuries and entertainment. We instigated ‘Rape Night’ a few weeks ago, and the amount of aggravation has died down to practically nothing.”

  “Rape Night?” Debbie asked, scowling.

  “Think of it like ‘Date Night’, but without the meal and movie first. The guys who run the wings put their names down on a rotating booking list for the woman or man they want for the night.”

  “And the victims go along with this?” Debbie wondered.

  “Some do, some don’t. As time goes on they understand the world has changed and their life is in our hands. We had a few cons that liked to hurt their partner which caused a bit of a problem, but after peeling one, the others have managed to calm their sexual proclivities down a bit. Now they usually just give them a black eye and a couple of bruises which is more than manageable.”

  “Genius,” Mike said with awe.

  “Thank you.” Craig bowed forward in his chair.

  “You better not put my name down on that fucking thing!” Debbie said defensively.

  Craig frowned at the challenge. “That all depends on how you behave, sweetheart. If you do as you’re told there’s no reason I can’t find you something more suited to your talents.”

  “You mean like cooking and cleaning?” she sneered.

  “If you keep testing me I can find you far worse than that. I owe you for helping my brother survive, but don’t push your luck!” Craig growled and she fell silent, crossing her arms and huffing.