Hellspawn (Book 6): Retribution Page 14

  A young girl brought a mug of tea in and the matriarch smiled at her warmly. “Thank you, love, now run along.”

  “We haven’t done anything to you!” blurted Terry.

  The cup paused at Mrs Hampton’s lips, then started to tremble. The china rattled against her teeth, and she slowly lowered it and placed it on the floor. Saying nothing, she stared at Terry while moving to the roaring forge. Picking a set of shears from the wall, she placed the blades in the glowing coals and stood back.

  “Oh god, please don’t! I’m sorry.”

  Matt was transitioning between fury and horror at an alarming rate. These men were his responsibility! So is your family! argued his logic. You can’t let this happen! You need to live to save your blood. These people are not your kin!

  Terry was thrashing ineffectually against the ropes holding him to the table. Mrs Hampton was still staring while casually pulling on a set of heat resistant gauntlets.

  Jesus Christ, she hasn’t even blinked, Matt thought. The heat was drying his own eyeballs as fast as he could cleanse them, but the crazed woman didn’t seem to be affected in the slightest. She’s the devil. She’s used to the fire, said his illogical voice.

  “Pull his trousers down, please, Lennie.”

  “No, you can’t!” Terry sobbed, twisting side to side to avoid the prying hands.

  Lennie nodded at two of his men and they helped to pin down the uncooperative figure. Popping the buttons, he tugged at the urine stained denim until they came up against the knee bindings.

  “That’ll do, love. Thank you.”

  Picking the glowing shears from the forge, she opened and closed them a couple of times with a snick snick. The metal was so hot that sparks danced on the glowing surface, falling to the floor as she snapped them shut.

  “Will someone grab his bits for me?” she asked politely.

  Lennie took a tiny pace to the rear and left it to one of his underlings. He could still feel the moisture from Terry’s bodily excretions and tried to slyly wipe them on the sleeve of his cousin.

  “No! Please!” Terry begged as the man pulled painfully on his genitals.

  Without hesitation, she stepped forward and snipped at the taut meat. A vile hissing precipitated the man staggering back a pace as the tension the organs were under was suddenly gone. The scream that tore through the room was cut off as the blacksmith clamped a hand over Terry’s mouth. Pubic hair had ignited at the contact and quickly burned itself out, leaving only a charred, smoking black crater.

  “Anyone else want to talk?” she asked, taking the flaccid meat.

  Apart from saucer eyes and flowing tears, none of the prisoners said a word.

  “Good.” She turned away and tossed the severed organ onto the coals. “Now I’m going to finish my cup of tea, and we’ll see what we’ll see.”

  Sitting down, she took off the gloves and retrieved her drink. While Terry whimpered and floated in and out of consciousness, she sipped and smiled.

  Chapter 20

  Winston surveyed the land around from the tall, southernmost watchtower. He picked this particular posting for the three hundred and forty-two steps it took to reach the circular platform. With each painful flare of protesting thigh muscle, he was getting stronger and fitter. And slimmer. His old belt had been ritualistically burned in a private ceremony with the other students. They followed it with a celebration in the games room, chaperoned by Miss Lundsford and Gloria. A sneaky attempt to bring a bottle of wine had been scuppered by the teacher’s eagle eyes and they had to settle for less appetizing fruit cordial.

  Glancing down at his rapidly shrinking belly, Winston smiled. He’d gone from a forty-eight-inch waist, to thirty-eight and the improvements to his health were legion. He slept soundly, instead of waking with breathlessness from the compressive weight of his girth. His skin, marred by only a few pimples, was now completely clear and glowing. Even the stretch marks were fading slightly where the skin wasn’t under so much strain. All in all, he’d never felt better, or happier.

  Sat in the other chair warming herself by the crackling fire was Pea. Ever since the brief exchange about the best computer game to ever exist in the world, ever, they’d become almost inseparable. Winston could talk to her without becoming a blushing, gibbering, muddled mess. Two years his junior, romance was the last thing on his mind. Respect for the old laws of the land, and general good morals, prevented him from acting as anything other than a complete gentleman.

  “Do you think we’ll ever get to play World of Warcraft again?” She sighed.

  “I hope so, otherwise what’s the point in living?”

  “There isn’t one,” she agreed.

  “Let’s think about it, that way we can plan for bringing civilisation back to the masses. We may need to convert some of the doubters in the castle, or it would be just the pair of us playing.”

  “Firstly, we need electricity.”

  “Ok, wind or solar?”

  “Neither if we want to be able to play consistently,” she replied. “Coal or gas.”

  “Nuclear?”

  “Shit…”

  “What?”

  “We have nuclear power plants in the country. Not to mention the hidden warheads.”

  “So?” she frowned.

  “So, what the hell happens when they go off, or break down, or… I don’t know, whatever happens to nuke stuff when no one’s around to check on it.”

  “We’re still here, so I guess… nothing?”

  “I hope so. I’ll ask DB later.”

  “Why DB? Does he know much about nukes?”

  “Possibly. I was thinking more along the lines of he’s in the army and they probably have training about that kind of thing.”

  “Good point.”

  “So we’ve decided on coal or gas.”

  “It makes the most sense. It’s not as if global warming is a problem anymore.”

  “If it was in the first place.” Winston huffed.

  “You don’t believe either?”

  “Not really. I read a lot on both sides and wasn’t convinced.”

  “That’s another thing we have in common then,” she said with a wink.

  “Erm, yes, well. Next thing is getting enough computers for everyone to play. I think there’s a shop quite close, but I don’t fancy humping all those PCs back with several thousand stinkers trying to bite my ass.”

  “We’ll just take a truck. No problem.”

  “Good idea. The next parts are a bit trickier.”

  “Like what?”

  “First, reinstating the entire global internet service so that we can link together in game.”

  “Yeah, that might be difficult.”

  “Then we need to head to America, break into the servers, and turn them all back on. Plus leave a few people behind to keep them running.”

  “Winston?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t think we’re ever going to play it again.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Fuck, indeed.”

  “There’s only one thing for it then.” He sighed.

  “Suicide pact?” offered Pea.

  “Whoa, that’s dark. I was going to suggest Monopoly, or Twister.”

  “I think I’ll stick with offing myself.”

  “How about cards?”

  “I can’t shuffle.”

  “Snooker?”

  “I can’t hit a ball to save my life.”

  “Croquet?”

  “I’m not a boring, upper class toff.”

  “Well I’m all out of ideas.”

  “Suicide pact?”

  “Suicide pact it is,” Winston replied, sadly. “How should we do it?”

  “Jump from the tower?”

  “I don’t like heights.”

  “You’re not meant to like it. Overdose?”

  “Christina would kill us for stealing all the tablets.”

  “Well that makes it easier then. Instead of suicide by cop, we’d
have suicide by pathologist.”

  “Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”

  “True.”

  Winston pondered the quandary. “We could feed ourselves to the zombies.”

  “It’s a bit dramatic. Not to mention extremely painful.”

  “I think that goes for pretty much every form of suicide.”

  “Damn, I think you’re right.”

  “Rain check on the topping ourselves?”

  “For now, yeah.”

  “We could always make up a table top version of the game. Kind of like the Warhammer stuff I used to see advertised.”

  “That might work,” she agreed, shivering.

  “Do you want my coat?” offered Winston.

  “No, I’m ok. I’ll just put a few more logs in the fire.”

  “I really don’t mind,” he said, taking it off and draping it across her shoulders. “You forget I’ve got my extra layer of insulation.” He patted his belly.

  “Stop that! And not for much longer you won’t. You’ll be as skinny as a rake in a couple more weeks.”

  “Do you think so?” he asked. “I’ve never been thin before. It feels kind of weird. At least the ladies might be interested when I’m not fat.”

  “I was interested regardless of how big you were. You’re a good person, Winston. Everyone sees it.”

  “That’s nice of you to say,” he said, blushing furiously.

  “Even Braiden doesn’t want to stab you quite as much anymore.”

  “Well that’s progress at least.”

  “I think we’ll need to tread carefully about the game, though. It may push him over the edge.”

  “He’ll love it once he’s had a chance to play it.”

  “Or you’ll end up looking like a pin cushion.”

  “I don’t have quite as much padding protecting my organs anymore. I think I’ll leave him out of it for now.”

  “That’s probably for the best.”

  “Are you warmer now?” Winston asked, stoking the brazier with a poker.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “You know you don’t have to be here,” he said, and instantly regretted the look of hurt that passed over her face. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know I don’t have to be, I want to be.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I’d give anything for a slice of ham right now.”

  “When we hit the supermarket later, I’ll pick you up some Spam. It’s the best I can do.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “Pick you up some awful, processed, jellied meat? It’s the least I can do.”

  “Aww, thank you,” she said, launching from the chair to hug him.

  “Erm, you’re welcome,” he spluttered, hugging her back. Time seemed to slow down at the unexpected contact. He could smell fresh orange blossom from her shampoo, her breathing close to his left ear, a faint drone in his right. Pushing her away, he listened intently. One of the benefits of the unceasing groans of the dead was that any other noise was immediately apparent.

  “What is it?” she asked, hurt by his abrupt separation.

  “Can you hear that?”

  “All I can hear is the zombies and the fire.”

  “No, there’s something else,” he whispered, trying to pinpoint the source.

  “I hear it!”

  “It’s coming from over the bridge,” Winston exclaimed, lifting the binoculars.

  Between the tightly packed homes adjacent to the road, he caught brief glimpses of two vehicles. A large truck followed by a white van, just over a mile away.

  “What is it?” Pea asked, nervously.

  “We’ve got company. Blow the whistle.”

  “Ok.”

  The shrill warble carried across the castle grounds and all heads turned in their direction. Jonesy signalled DB and started sprinting towards them. Two minutes passed with only the growing tension and crack of zombies being swatted aside by the approaching machines.

  “What is it?”

  “A lorry and a van, coming from the south.”

  “It’s gotta be them,” Jonesy declared, taking the binoculars. “Shit!”

  “What is it?” Winston asked. He’d never seen Jonesy in a flap before, he was always so calm and collected.

  “They’ve found our Foxhound and stripped it.”

  “What’s a Foxhound?”

  “One of our army vehicles.”

  “They didn’t look like army vehicles.”

  “They aren’t, but the armour on the windows and body are.”

  “Oh,” Winston replied.

  Chapter 21

  “What do we do now?”

  “We see what the bastards have got planned. They know we’re armed, that’s why they’ve armoured the cabs.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Nothing right now. We’ve just got to see what their move is,” Jonesy said, glaring through the lenses.

  Sarah and Denise ran through the doorway. “What’s going on?”

  “I think we’re under attack,” replied Jonesy.

  “How many?”

  “If they’ve completely filled them? Twenty, tops.”

  “And they know we have guns? They’re insane.”

  “They have guns too,” Winston explained.

  “We have the high ground with automatic weapons. This is a suicide mission.”

  Jonesy couldn’t understand the move. It didn’t make any tactical sense. A couple of hundred might have caused an issue, but the castle would likely still prevail without much trouble. A handful were no threat whatsoever. The zombies would eat them before they even made it to the wall. It was bizarre.

  The two car convoy cleared the houses on the approach road and headed for the bridge. Jonesy let out a sardonic grunt when he saw another level of devious preparation on the lead vehicle. “Clever bastards, they’ve reinforced the lorry with a makeshift set of bull bars.”

  “Bull bars?” asked Sarah.

  “They protect the bodywork from impact, and more importantly, the engine. I’ll bet it’s to clear the undead and any cars that may be in the way.”

  “Do you think they might be here to talk?”

  Jonesy gave it some thought. It made a whole lot more sense than getting themselves shot for nothing. “Possibly.”

  “Shall I get Kurt?” offered Winston.

  “No, we’ve got this, love,” replied Sarah.

  Hearing the throaty rumble of the large engine, the zombies on the bridge started to shuffle towards the disturbance. Weak, decaying flesh met thick steel struts with a crunching squelch as vile juices were spilled. Knocked aside like bowling pins, the driver gave more respect to the stationary cars than he did the mobile corpses. Aiming carefully, they shunted the blockage using the rear or front ends of the cars depending on which would move easier. Whoever was driving didn’t have total faith in the welding skills of their incarcerated friends.

  “Shall I open fire? Give them a warning.” asked Jonesy, sighting the cab.

  “Not yet. I want to see what’s going on.”

  “They might be surrendering,” said Pea.

  Denise shook her head. “I doubt it.”

  “But what if they’ve run out of food? It’s been hard enough feeding the fifty in here, imagine how hard five hundred would be.”

  “She makes a good point,” Sarah admitted, and Denise shrugged.

  “Maybe.”

  “Which way are they going?”

  “The safest way would be east. Follow the same trail that our little gate crasher here did in the crane.”

  “The main courtyard and gatehouse was crawling with them. It was the only sensible way to go,” Winston explained.

  “Could they go for the north western gatehouse?”

  “I doubt it. Far too risky of getting stuck in the narrow streets.”

  “We’ll find out in a minute, one way or the other,” said Denise, seeing the road gradually clear.

 
; Dozens of zombies were crushed between the high wall of the bridge and the cars as the lorry forged onwards. Close to a hundred were surrounding the two vehicles, banging dully on the sides. Any making the mistake of blocking the path were dragged under the wheels and churned on the blacktop. Reaching the crossroads, they turned right, and started down the tree lined street running parallel to the castle’s southern wall.

  “This is it! Winston, stay here and keep your eyes peeled. I wouldn’t put it past them to use this noise as a distraction to sneak across unnoticed.”

  “You got it.”

  “I’ll stay with you,” said Pea.

  **********

  “What’ve we got, brother?” asked DB, slapping a magazine into his rifle.

  “Either a parley, or the dumbest mother fuckers ever to be locked up in Her Majesty’s prison.”

  “It could be useful to thin their numbers a little.”

  “There’s one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They found the crashed Foxhound and the one we left by the dock. By the look of it, they’ve stripped them bare. They’ve used the plating around the cabs so we can’t take them out as easily.”

  “Dammit! I knew we should’ve gone back for them.”

  “Forget it, it’s done now. I just want to see what they’re going to do.”

  Jogging along the eastern wall, they watched the small convoy through the solid embrasures. Murmurs of panic were blurted as they passed the less courageous guards.

  “We’re safe, don’t worry. If they start shooting, just keep your heads down until it’s over!” Jonesy shouted over his shoulder.

  “They’re going for the gatehouse,” warned DB.

  “We can end this now? Take out the tyres.”

  “No!” Sarah ordered. “I want to see if they’re willing to talk. They’ve got civilians we need to protect.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ploughing through the thin hedge of the public footpath, the vehicles swung in a lazy circle towards the abandoned canal boat. Turning in a full one eighty, they sat facing the huge structure. Engines idling, the exhausts coughed out fumes and moisture in the wintry air.

  “Let’s talk!” Sarah shouted to the hidden occupants.

  A two inch deep, ten inch wide slit was all that remained of the windscreen. The camouflage bodywork had been scavenged and welded haphazardly onto the lorry’s chassis.