Hellspawn (Book 7): Hellspawn Aftermath Page 7

  “We’re in business!” he whispered, joining the others back in the garage.

  “Do you think it’ll keep them occupied long enough?” asked Sam.

  “It’s a big pile, so probably.”

  “Let’s get it done, then. I can’t wait to meet them,” said Winston, trying to convince himself.

  Breaking cover, the trio moved back to the steps and butchered the zombies who were unable to make it past the bodies. Pulling them aside, they carefully entered the house again.

  “Deja-vu,” said Sam.

  “You got that right,” replied Braiden, moving back through the lounge. The blonde lady was still rigid, even in death. Peeking into the kitchen, the tail end of the undead was patiently pushing through into the fading night.

  A starburst of sparks soared up from the fire as one of the zombies got a bit too close and toppled on to the pyre.

  “We’ll need to be quick. I didn’t figure the dickheads putting the fire out by committing suicide on it,” muttered Braiden as another shower of embers fluttered up on the waves of heat.

  “How many left?” Winston asked over his shoulder.

  Three. Two. One. None. “That’s the last of them,” whispered Braiden, pushing through and crawling to the open door. Closing it slowly, he dropped the handle and let it go only when the door was closed. Twisting the key, the route was secured.

  “Ok, back the way we came. There may still be zombies, so be on guard.”

  “Yes, boss,” grinned Winston. His amusement at the take charge teenager disappeared at the foot of the staircase. In less than a minute, they would know for certain if their mission was a success… or not. Too much hope rode on the outcome. Too much goodwill needed to be repaid. They were up there! The reunion of parent and daughter would be spoken about in the histories of the zombie apocalypse.

  Why then wouldn’t Winston’s feet move?

  Sam displayed the same hesitation, staring at the first step.

  “It’s only zombie juice,” snorted Braiden, missing, or more likely ignoring, their doubt.

  His trainers squeezed the liquid rot from between the thick pile with each step.

  “Gross,” said Winston.

  “Gross,” agreed Sam.

  “Come on!” Braiden reached the landing and disappeared from sight.

  “I hope they’re up there,” sighed Winston.

  “I hope so too,” agreed Sam.

  Jogging up the stairs in pursuit, they tried to keep to Braiden’s steps.

  “Fucking son of a fuck!” Braiden snarled.

  “Oh dear,” said Winston.

  The curses pouring from the third doorway were low, but filled with disappointment.

  “What is it?” asked Sam, entering the bedroom.

  “Rats. It’s fucking rats,” he said, rage turning to weary acceptance. He dropped the torch into Winston’s open palm, before slumping on the bed.

  “How can you be so sure?” said Winston, climbing up the freshly dropped access ladder.

  “The size of the droppings,” said Braiden. “Plus I saw one scurry back into the nest. You can see it by the chimney.”

  Winston climbed the first few rungs, and scanned the loft. Finding the chimney, he aimed the beam and found the pile of shredded paper and linen. The fearful creatures shuffled around inside, causing it to jiggle as if a living thing.

  “Shit!” Winston hated that his hunch had proved correct.

  “Nothing?” asked Sam.

  “Nothing I can see. I’m going to take a look around. Keep an eye on the party,” Winston said, pointing at the windows and the burgeoning dawn.

  Climbing out onto the boarded loft, he kept his head bowed to prevent a painful connection with the rafters. A rat peeked out from the gnawed strands of its nest, then quickly retreated when Winston looked in its direction.

  “I’m not here for you, buddy. You’re safe.”

  Moving amongst the relics of years past, Winston felt at ease. The loft of his own home was often a refuge from the toxic environment on the floors below. Scanning through the dusty albums, he could almost convince himself that the smiles in the family snaps weren’t forced. That the love on display was real, not some sham for the photographer that flicked off as readily as a switch when their backs were turned. The black and white pictures of his grandparents were by far his favourite. Lacking colour, they still conveyed more warmth than the newer photos with his own parents. Love positively radiated from the dull images. It was in the eyes. The smiles. Even the postures. Maybe they had too much love inside, and by bringing their light to the world, his own blood kin were starved of the nutrients to nurture the same emotions. God, how he missed them.

  “Anything?” called Sam, quietly.

  Swallowing the lump of concrete in his throat, Winston continued the search.

  “Nothing yet,” he replied.

  Moving past the huge chimney stack that served several of the rooms, he found the source of part of the rat’s nest. Duvets, blankets, and pillows were laid out neatly on two camping beds. At least they had been. Evidence of the rodents messing with the neatly made sleeping areas were obvious in the missing corners, torn seams, and spilled feathers. Empty bottles sat alongside bottles filled to the brim with yellow liquid. Winston didn’t need to be a survival expert to understand it wasn’t apple juice fermenting in the containers. A sealed picnic box sat against the aged brickwork of the chimney. At the bottom, a neat hole had been chewed through the blue plastic to get at the contents within.

  “You’ve got it made up here, don’t you?” he said to the twitching ball of textile and paper.

  “What’s that?” said Sam.

  “They were up here,” Winston confirmed. “There’s two beds.”

  “But no sign of Christina’s folks?”

  “Nope, nada.”

  A shredded envelope was strewn across the second bed. Winston picked up the fragments and found the letters CHR and IN written in black ink. The seal had been licked and pressed, but the accompanying letter was nowhere to be seen. Checking beneath the thick canvas of the bed liner, nothing was concealed in the dark recess.

  “You little buggers!” Winston scolded as he looked closer at the nest.

  Thin strips of the secret contents were woven into the fabric of the rat’s home. The ink was the same colour, with the same handwriting style. Reaching for the paper, a thought suddenly popped into Winston’s head. A dozen rats, all hungry after the picnic food ran dry, pouring from the nest. Scurrying up sleeves, trouser legs, down collars, nipping, tasting, then feeding. And Winston, beating against the padding of his many layers, doing no damage at all to the creatures feasting on his tender flesh.

  “Fuck that,” he said, stamping down on the boards.

  Three black creatures flashed out of the nest, disappearing instantly in the loft insulation and shadowed nooks.

  “Sorry!” he said.

  With three chewing away on him, it would’ve been the slowest death imaginable. He shuddered at the thought.

  Kneeling by the empty den, he picked carefully at the bits of letter so he didn’t cause too much damage. Seven pieces were retrievable without tearing the sphere of cloth and paper to pieces. He hoped it would be enough.

  Taking the scraps with him, Winston scurried down the creaking ladder and showed the teenagers his prize.

  “Who’s good at puzzles?”

  They stared at him blankly.

  “Oh, so because I’m a nerd, you think I’m automatically good at puzzles.”

  They slowly turned their faces towards each other, then back to Winston.

  “Yeah.”

  “Ok, I am,” he admitted, passing the torch to Braiden.

  Lining up the slivers, he studied the teeth marks. One was a corner piece with a greeting, so he discarded that immediately. Some edges lined up, while others were obviously separate pieces without the adjoining length.

  Nothing. No clues.

  Winston resigned himself to ente
ring the loft again, and spent close to an hour gently filtering through the nest with as much care as he could muster. When he was sure he had all the available pieces, and that any others were lost to them, he descended the ladder. Braiden was asleep on the bed, and Sam was watching the funeral pyre outside with grainy eyes.

  “I’ve shut all the doors,” Sam explained. “I think we should try and get an hour or two of sleep before we head out. I’m kinda zonked.”

  Winston’s adrenaline was ebbing away following the fighting and discovery of the treasure locked in strips of sacred parchment. Well, technically it was A4 paper, but the excitement was real. He yawned.

  “I’ll just get this all lined up first, then I’ll spot you for an hour. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  Another fifteen minutes passed while they rearranged the strands. Braiden woke up, checked his watch, yawned, and then headed for the window.

  “Nice to see they’ve mostly cooked themselves,” he said.

  Below, the wide circumference of black and red embers contained dozens of bodies. Some were still struggling within the dying flames.

  “Idiots,” he muttered. “What does it say?” he asked, returning to the dresser table.

  Sweet words of love and hope could be read. Pride at Christina’s achievements. Apologies about not always being there for her. Heartfelt and warming. But it was a part of a name that caught their attention.

  “There!” said Sam.

  “What does it say?” asked Braiden, leaning closer.

  “Pulbor,” replied Winston.

  “And that?” Sam pointed.

  “Safe. Try to make.”

  “And I bet the missing words are “it to”,” Braiden added.

  “It’s got to be Pulborough. It’s the only town I can think of near here.”

  From above came the faint squeaks of angered rodents as they investigated their ransacked home. Winston grimaced, “Oops. I think they’re pissed at me.”

  “Who cares? We know where they are. A quick nap, and we hit the road.”

  Hope was not lost, after all.

  Chapter 13

  Now

  “Do you have the map?” asked Braiden.

  Winston ruffled in a side pocket and pulled out the plastic wallet. Unfolding the paper, he creased the surplus pages to show only the local area and placed it on the bedside table.

  “We’re… there,” he said, pointing. “There’s Houghton village. Christina’s folks are…”

  They all scanned the names and contours of the land, finally finding the location.

  “There!” Braiden finished.

  “Fuck my life!” Winston moaned.

  “Fuck our life,” countered Sam.

  Braiden’s dirty fingertip had picked out a point due north. Using the scale marker, he did a quick calculation. “Another four and a half miles by the looks of it. And that’s as the crow flies. I doubt we’ll be able to go in a straight line.”

  “There goes our chance to sneak back in before dad finds out we’re gone,” Sam sighed.

  “As if he wouldn’t know. Your dad knows everything. He sees everything,” Winston groaned. “He’s going to introduce me to the sharp end of his hatchet.”

  “Or war pick.” Braiden piped up.

  “Yeah, or that.”

  “Or his hammer,” Sam finished, helpfully.

  “Now that we’ve cleared it out, I think I’m going to move in here,” Winston declared, looking around his new home.

  “Dad will find you.”

  “Do you really think so? I’ll have to keep heading north to try and outrun him. I can try and survive on a couple of hours sleep a day.”

  Sam shook his head, sadly. “It won’t be enough.”

  “You’re fucked,” said Braiden.

  “I can always plead for mercy. Do you think he’d believe you both forced me into it?”

  Braiden looked at Sam. “Probably, but you’re still getting the axe.”

  Winston pondered the situation, rubbing his chin. “Ok, disguise it is then. I’ll shave my head and pretend to be a Buddhist monk. There’s bound to be some orange sheets or material lying around I can turn into a smock.”

  “That might work,” said Sam.

  “Really?”

  “No, you’ll just die bald and dressed in Aunt Vera’s lounge curtains.”

  “Fuck my life!” Winston wailed.

  Sam and Braiden burst out laughing while trying to shush the overdramatic teen.

  “If I was a horde, you’d all be food right about now,” growled a deep voice from the hallway door.

  Braiden spat out a few choice expletives. Sam swung around defensively with machete raised. And Winston let out a shrill yelp of surprise.

  DB stepped through the doorway. Even in the gloom of the winter morning they could see he wasn’t happy.

  “What the hell are you playing at? Do you want to get yourselves killed?”

  “How… how did you find us,” blurted Sam.

  “And how did you know we were gone?” asked Braiden. His heartrate was slowing from two hundred beats a minute to its normal eighty now the shock had worn off.

  “Is Kurt going to cut me?” Winston gulped.

  “One at a time!” DB grumbled. “We found you because you’re so bloody predictable. Did you think we wouldn’t find out about your questions to Christina earlier?”

  Winston looked at the others. “I told you we came on too strong.”

  “Strong? She had you clocked after the first sentence. You were as transparent as glass. What village? What house? Any obvious features?”

  Braiden shrugged. “Ok, fair point.”

  Sam frowned at his earlier statement. “We?”

  “Jonesy’s at the front door keeping watch.”

  “Is he pissed off?” Braiden asked.

  “No, which is why I’m up here to give you a well-deserved bollocking. He’s more likely to shake your hand or give you a high five.”

  “I’ve always preferred Jonesy,” Winston remarked sarcastically. DB growled and the teenager shrunk away.

  “Two. Christina came to me when she grew too worried. The only safe place to get out of the castle unseen is from the northern end, and who did we find on guard? Your friend, Holly.”

  “She gave us up?” said Sam.

  “Instantly,” DB replied.

  “Snitches get stitches,” muttered Braiden.

  “You can’t trust anyone.” Sam felt betrayed. She’d promised!

  DB could sense the boys’ disappointment. Marching forward, he grabbed them by the arm. “She was scared shitless for you, even though she wouldn’t admit it when you left. When we asked her where you were she was so relieved to get it off her chest. I swore we’d bring you home safe.”

  “We’re fine. We don’t need your help,” Braiden seethed, pulling his arm free.

  Sam knew the attitude all too well from the times when teachers would challenge his behaviour at school. The downcast eyes, the gritted teeth, the clenched fists. DB represented another form of authority, and the teenager was responding in kind.

  “Hey,” DB snapped, rounding on the boy. “I know you can handle yourselves! I’ve seen you handle yourselves! The bodies everywhere in here, plus I don’t know what that mess is in the back garden, and the trick you pulled out on the road show you can handle yourself! I’ll admit, we weren’t as worried as Holly.” DB paused to let the words sink in. “But! That doesn’t mean we can just let you go wandering off without making sure you’re ok! You know the type of people that might be out here now. What if you’d run into more than just zombies?”

  “We’d have hidden like you and Jonesy taught us,” Braiden replied, meeting the soldier’s gaze. Some of the fire had left his eyes, a sign that DB was talking on his wavelength.

  DB smiled despite his anger. “I’ll bet you would’ve too.”

  “And three?” Winston inquired, uncertainly. He could already feel the sharp kiss of steel.

&nbs
p; “No one knows but us, Christina, and Holly,” he lied. “I’ll do my best to keep it that way.”

  “Thank God!”

  “At least you won’t need to shave your head and wear an orange dress,” DB chuckled.

  “How long were you listening?” Winston spluttered.

  “Long enough.”

  “I might still wear the dress,” Winston added.

  “What you get up to in private is none of my business. Now let’s get you home,” DB replied, turning towards the door.

  The boys remained motionless. “We didn’t find her parents,” said Sam.

  “They’re here,” added Braiden, pointing at the map.

  “Christina wants you home. She doesn’t want you in danger, not that she doesn’t love you all for trying.” He came close to explaining their terrible timing and coincidence of the Gypsy attack, but he decided against it for now.

  “We’re not going back without finding them,” Braiden said, resolutely.

  Sam and Winston stood side by side with the hellraiser, defiance written plainly on their faces.

  “You saved us, she saved you, we’re saving her mum and dad,” said Sam.

  “Trying to,” Winston added.

  DB appraised the fearsome youngsters and smiled again. Their foolhardy logic was undisputable. “You little fuckers are gonna be the death of me.”

  “So you’ll come with us?” asked Sam, eagerly.

  “Yes, we’ll come. On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If we don’t find them at the next location we call it off for now. If they aren’t there it’d be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Not to mention the reality…”