Hellspawn (Book 6): Retribution Page 15

  “We can work this out!” she called.

  “What’re they waiting for?”

  “For us to lay down the guns?” offered Sam, coming from nowhere.

  “Ok, let’s try that,” agreed DB, lowering the deadly rifle.

  Ten seconds passed with nothing.

  “They need to make up their minds quickly. The town’s coming to say hello,” grumbled Braiden.

  “Oh shit,” groaned Jonesy with sudden realization.

  “That’s what they’re waiting for,” DB yelled. “Light them up!”

  The soldiers swung the barrels and switched to fully automatic. Spraying the lorry with short bursts, the bullets pinged from the protective shield. Changing targets, Jonesy peppered the engine compartment with lead until steam exploded from beneath the bonnet. A surge in revs roared from the stricken engine and the driver surged forward, aiming for the wooden gates.

  The soldiers could see the futility of trying to stop the charging monster and switched to the van. Holes appeared in the white panelling as they strafed the vehicle. Instead of retreating, the driver started to follow the battering ram, ready to slip in after the driver once they had crashed through.

  “Here,” Sam called to Braiden, handing him a bottle. The dangling cloth wick blazed and the red heating oil sloshed within the clear glass.

  Launching the Molotov’s, they shattered on the ground, far wide of the target.

  “Another!” Two more were lit and lobbed, this time finding their mark where the vehicle was so close. Liquid fire coated the bonnet and armoured windscreen, streaming hungrily through the tiny eye slit.

  “Hold on!”

  At thirty miles an hour, the five tons of speeding metal hit the weak wooden gates. A cacophonous rending of compressed steel shrieked from below their position at the impact. The Transit came to a screeching halt, as if the driver was unsure what to do.

  “You should’ve talked!” Sarah screamed, flipping them the finger.

  Selecting single fire, the soldiers placed the barrels on the stone merlons to get a better aim. Popping off several shots, the whine of ricochets from the engine compartment indicated they had slipped some protection inside. Focusing on the wheels, the slugs started chewing dirt around the axles. Tyres spinning, the terrified driver gunned it in reverse, but not before both front wheels were hit. The torn rubber started to shred, peeling away from the rims completely. Starved of the grip, the metal alloys spun uselessly in the dirt.

  “You’d better start running!” Denise called out, her derisive laughter filling the air.

  Both the passenger and driver’s door flew open, and were swiftly pulled shut when bullets punched through the metal.

  “Not that way!” Sarah yelled, relishing the torment.

  “That worked pretty well,” Braiden marvelled, staring over the edge of the wall.

  Below, the twisted wreckage of the lorry smouldered. The remaining engine coolant turned to steam and floated away on the afternoon breeze. Once nearly six meters long, the unforgiving impact had concertinaed the rig to less than four. Five tons had met the hidden barrier of reclaimed stone and rebounded, ending up several feet away from the gate.

  A full day’s work had seen the crane pull apart a section of pointless wall, before the survivors had stacked it against the gates within the shadows on the huge arched structure. Kurt’s instinct had been totally on the money. The methodical construction had ensured the timber was untouched except for a few gouges.

  “It’s really not your day, is it?” Sam shouted, preparing to light a firebomb.

  Jonesy stopped him. “Save it, mate. They’ve got a world of hurt coming.”

  A wailing caused them to look over the parapet again. The badly injured driver slumped from the broken door, hitting the gravel drive with a shriek of pain. Half of the face was burned away, and the jumper was still on fire in places. Sam and Braiden looked at each other, unsure how to feel at the damage inflicted by their actions. Trying to stand on the shattered legs, he collapsed in agony.

  “Shall we help him?” asked Sam.

  “No. Besides, it’s already too late,” Braiden replied.

  Staring at them with his one good eye, he held out a hand and flipped them off.

  “What a charmer,” said Denise, returning the gesture.

  A grateful mouth closed over the outstretched finger, biting it off with a wrench of its festering head. The cries of pain grew in volume as the starving cadavers fell upon him, eagerly separating partly cooked meat from the bones.

  “He would’ve killed us all given half a chance,” Braiden said to one of the guards who looked on in horror.

  A tidal wave of grey, leaking flesh washed over the area, beating on the gates and encircling the crippled van. Terrified conversation could be heard from inside the vehicle as the occupants discussed their fate.

  “You should’ve talked!” Sarah repeated.

  “That’s a painful way to go,” DB stated, voice devoid of pity. Braiden was right; they would’ve gladly flooded the grounds with thousands of decomposing cannibals given half a chance.

  “Winston, anything?” Jonesy shouted.

  “All’s quiet on the western front!” he called back from the mighty tower.

  “Looks like it’s over.”

  “Not for them,” said Denise, nodding at the rocking vehicle.

  Chapter 22

  “Now we can get down to brass tacks,” said Mrs Hampton, handing her mug to Lennie. “But first, my boy’s hungry.”

  Unseen by the bound men was the saw that she’d placed alongside the shears. Putting the gloves back on, she picked it up and moved back to Terry’s groaning body.

  “Please,” he begged groggily from the agony of castration.

  “Can you get his arm for me, please?”

  “Please don’t,” he whispered.

  Lennie obliged, withdrawing a hunting knife to cut through the grey tape. Pulling Terry’s elbow roughly, the other arm twisted painfully under his body, gouging his back with the metal cuffs. Sticking out at a ninety degree angle, Mrs Hampton stepped forward and nodded in thanks. Placing the sparkling teeth against his skin, the familiar hiss of burning meat echoed around the sweltering chamber. Commencing to saw through the joint, flesh was cauterized as soon as the sharp teeth cut.

  Matt looked away, fearing his stomach would expel the meagre breakfast of dried cereal found in the hotel kitchen. Sounds of tearing and burning were all consuming, swiftly followed by the tang of scorched meat carrying on stifling air. This is what Hell must be like, thought Matt absently, numbed by the horror.

  “There we go,” said Mrs Hampton gleefully.

  Lennie dutifully pulled the hood from the zombie whose face was a ravaged mess. Seeing the meat on offer across the room, he started to go berserk, straining against his chain noose.

  “Calm down, Patrick. I’ve brought you some food,” she cooed to the creature who was reaching wildly for her. Holding out the steaming limb, he snatched it and started to feast. Teeth tore and blood drooled from the contented, shredded mask. “There’s my good boy.”

  Ignoring the wet splash of partly chewed meat falling from her son’s gaping stomach, she turned her attention back to the prisoners. “I won’t lie to you, you’re all going to be dead soon. It’s punishment for what your friend did to my boys, and what your home did to Jimmy and Ryan.”

  She could see the desperation to speak written on Matt’s face and smiled benignly. “Go ahead, you may speak for now.”

  “Listen Mrs Hampton, we don’t have any idea what’s going on. I mean no disrespect, but you must be mistaken.”

  The Gypsies in the shadows muttered their anger at the insult but Claire wasn’t concerned. “No need to hurt them yet,” she said to the men. “I think he’s telling the truth.”

  A wave of relief passed through Matt and the captives. It wouldn’t save Terry, but the rest might make it home unharmed.

  “They have no idea what their people have
done, but they’ll pay regardless,” she said, quenching the hope like a match dropped in water.

  “What is it you think we’ve done?”

  “One of your friends killed my son,” she replied.

  Matt looked over at the corpse as it gnawed on Tim’s arm.

  “No, not Patrick. Patrick wasn’t killed, thankfully. But he shot my Frankie down like a dog,” she snarled, the calm mask slipping.

  “Who? We haven’t seen your people before.” Matt asked, ignoring the crazy glint in her bugging eyes.

  “A man. A bald man. Towing a generator back to the prison.”

  “Hombre?” Matt muttered, more to himself than the lunatic.

  “Is that his name? Good, thank you.”

  “But he said the trip went off without a problem. He brought back a deer…” Matt couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

  “No, he brought back my deer. The deer that he’d stolen after shooting my boys. They’d been out hunting, you see.”

  “Why wouldn’t he say anything?”

  “You’d have to ask him that,” she replied. “Except you won’t get the chance.”

  “Mrs Hampton, I…”

  “Call me Claire, there’s no need for formality now.”

  “Ok, Claire. I can make this right, I promise.”

  “Can you bring my Frankie back from the dead? Can you unscramble the brain that got shot?”

  “No, but I can make it up in other ways. We can provide you with supplies, booze, even electricity!”

  “But not my son?”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “Then please stop wasting my time with begging. It’s below you. Lennie spoke highly of your bravery, it’d be a shame to see you die without your dignity.”

  “There must be something we can do to make this right?”

  “Your deaths will be a good start. Then the deaths of everyone at the prison will settle the score.”

  “But there’re hundreds of people! Civilians as well as prisoners! We’ve got women and children, for God’s sake!”

  “They’ll all pay, don’t you fret. In the meantime, we need for you to tell us everything you can about the prison. I assume there are tunnels other than the one that your friends used to kill my people?”

  Matt closed his mouth and tried to mentally prepare himself for the coming torture. Staring at her stony faced, he held his head up proudly.

  “You’re brave. It doesn’t matter, though. Everyone breaks… eventually. Until then, I think another lesson is required.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” groaned Max.

  Standing by the forge once more, she turned to Lennie. “Can you open him up for me, please?”

  Terry was unconscious, the injuries too severe to maintain any kind of awareness. Lennie’s knife opening up a four inch slit in his belly was enough to drag him screaming from the comforting darkness. Fearing they were going to disembowel the poor lad, Matt wanted to look away. Catching a glimpse of what the insane Gypsy held, the truth was a million times worse.

  “Open it, please,” she asked, holding the set of long blacksmith tongs. The glowing three inch diameter steel ball distorted the air around it with waves of radiating energy. Dutifully peeling apart the twin flaps of sliced abdomen, even Lennie had to look away.

  “Please don’t,” Matt begged, unable to hide his soul rending horror.

  “Shh now. You’ll miss the show,” she grinned, dropping the incandescent metal ball into the cut.

  It seemed as if a massive current of electricity was suddenly flowing through the doomed prisoner. He thrashed so forcefully that one of the chest bindings snapped under the strain. Slowly, seemingly drawn out by their instinctive revulsion, the scorching metal sank into the abdominal cavity. Boiling blood and organs seething over the charred lips of the stab wound. Dropping out of sight, heat liquefied intestines and noxious smoke filled the air from a mixture of steaming digestive fluids and burning flesh. Unable to take the punishment Terry slumped to the table, dead.

  “You’re a monster,” groaned Max, staring aghast at the bubbling cauldron of his expired friend’s gut.

  “Thank you for volunteering to be next,” Claire replied.

  One of the silent watchers stepped into view and jabbed a fist into Max’s face. The crack of broken nose reverberated around the room. Unable to nurse the wound, he sat there quietly sobbing, tears mixing with the streaming blood.

  “Get me the funnel.”

  “Enough! I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Just please leave my guys alone.”

  “One more lesson. We can talk later, Mr Hay.”

  The blacksmith brought over a rusty iron funnel. If the men weren’t already cracking from the mental strain, what came next would push the strongest into the abyss of insanity. The man who delivered the broken nose switched position and grabbed Max by the hair. Pulling his head back, the blacksmith shoved the piping receptacle into his mouth, smashing the front teeth.

  “Just shoot us!” Matt shouted, the rage boiling over. Trying to break free, the ropes creaked with the furious strength that surged through the Scotsman.

  “Use more ropes!” Lennie ordered, seeing the bonds were close to snapping.

  Three figures darted from the gloom and held him down while others scurried for more cord. Max was choking on the funnel, unable to see what Lennie had collected from the forge. Matt thrashed even harder, desperate to kill anyone he could, even if it hastened his own demise.

  Holding up the ceramic lined smelting pot, the liquid metal inside bubbled. “Someone looks thirsty,” chuckled Claire. Upending the container, the molten lead poured into the angled trough and down the tube.

  Max went rigid and then started to vibrate from the unendurable agony. His eyes, already wide, opened further until it seemed the straining orbs would jump free of the sockets. Steam started to belch from his gaping mouth, substituting the trapped screams which were sealed forever within his lungs from the molten ore. Bubbles of liquid lead burst from Max’s lips as his insides melted, coating the chin and running onto his chest. The jacket burst into flames, but he was past suffering from the fire which encircled his face.

  “Put him out,” Claire said as the hair ignited.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Matt growled.

  “No you’re not,” she replied. “Lennie, would you dump these two in the pit for me, please?”

  “Yes, Mrs Hampton.”

  “Make sure to dig out my scrap metal before you do. We’ll need it tomorrow,” she said, staring at Matt in her intense, unblinking way.

  Closing his eyes to banish the malevolent glare, he couldn’t shut out the sounds of crazed giggling coming from some of his friends. Lucky bastards, at least you’re out of it now, he thought, wishing that his own mind would break before the horrific tortures recommenced in the morning.

  Chapter 23

  “Kurt, are you awake?” Sarah called through the locked door.

  “I’m awake, babe,” he replied.

  “Mind if I come in?”

  “Of course not.”

  Unlocking the door and entering, Sarah quickly closed and locked it in her wake.

  “Are you still angry with me?”

  “No,” Kurt replied. Leaving the fireplace, he strode over and pulled her close.

  “I’m so glad to hear that. I’m sorry I had to do this to you.”

  “I understand. I needed a ‘time out’.”

  Sarah chuckled at the punishment they’d used on Sam back during his pre-adolescent years.

  “It’s not like that. I wanted you to be able to rest and get back to your old self. You’ve been through so much and you wouldn’t step back willingly.”

  “I get that from my dad.”

  “John was a stubborn old mule, and you’re more like him than you care to admit.”

  “I miss him.” Kurt sighed.

  “We all do, love. He was a force of nature.”

  “We wouldn’t have made i
t here without him.”

  “Definitely not. He was amazing.”

  “I hope he found mum up there.”

  “You know he did. They’re looking down right now, as proud as punch for what you’ve achieved for your family.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so.”

  Kurt wasn’t overly religious, and the certainty of his belief was constantly ebbing. Gloria had sat with him over the past few days, explaining her own faith and doubt. What was it she’d said? One’s faith must be tested from time to time. Well the past few weeks had made sure of that.

  “Did you want anything, or was this a social call?”

  “I can check on you if I want!”

  “It’s not bedtime though. You don’t usually come to me during the day since I was locked up.”

  “Don’t say it like that. You’re not ‘locked up’.”

  Kurt looked at the door.

  “Ok, you’re locked up. But it’s for your own good!”

  “I know, babe. I was just teasing.”

  “Arsehole!” Sarah blurted, slapping him on the arm. “You know how hard this was for me.”

  “So what can I do for you?” he asked, pulling her to the warmth of the hearth and sitting her on his lap.

  “Don’t get worked up about it, but the prison attacked us.”

  Kurt’s face darkened in fury. “What? When? What happened?”

  “It was a complete fuck up on their end. They tried to bust through the gates and only ended up busting themselves.”

  “Did they get away?”

  “No. The one driving the truck which hit us got torn apart. The others, two men we think, are stuck in a van surrounded by the locals.”

  “Why haven’t they been shot?”

  “They used the armour from the Foxhound we lost to shield the interior.”

  “Clever bastards.”

  “That’s what Jonesy said.”

  “So just let them rot. The zombies will find a way in if they can, if not, they die slowly from dehydration or the cold.”

  “We need to work out a response. We can’t let this go.”