Everyone stood staring at him.
“Come on, everyone. They need our help. Get to it!” He threw a first aid kit to the man and told him to bandage his friend’s wound, warning him to use the gloves in the kit to protect his hands. The command was issued, and everyone knew to follow without question. They all ran to their individual weapon and armour. Once everyone had their Gambesons on (padded coat worn under mail to help protect from impact and spread the load), they helped each other with their mail. Hauberks (full length mail shirts) are very heavy and help is required to put them on, but the group was experienced and within a short space of time, they were on and buckled up.
“Coifs and greaves, everyone,” commanded Geoff.
Once the group had buckled up their leg protectors and put the chain hoods on which protected heads and necks, they then reached for their weapons and the transformation was complete.
They were now a group of medieval knights, the only non-authentic items worn was their footwear and trousers, which were visible below their padded undercoats and mail.
The weaponry each of them carried was a matter of personal preference. Ian and Jamie preferred the battle-axe. Simon and Dave used the two-handed classic knight’s sword, while Geoff hefted a vicious looking mace.
The wounded man had gone silent and lay pale and still, while his friend applied pressure to the wound to try and stop the bleeding. Geoff, who was still in command, told him, “You’re doing the right thing. Keep him comfortable. We’re going to help your mates. Come on, lads, let’s see what we can do.”
Everyone was used to carrying the weight of armour. It was not the easiest thing to run in, but long hours of practice gave them the strength needed to start off at a jog across the field.
“If this is a zompoc, what the hell are we going to do?” Simon spoke up as they hurried across the field, “I mean, if we kill someone, where do we stand?”
Beaver laughed, “Idiot! You’re questioning the legal implications of using deadly force against an undead zombie who’s trying to chew your throat out. That’s a new one.”
Dave, who was considered the group’s legal expert because he had once dated a policewoman, said, “Look, we haven’t got a clue what’s going on yet. Yes, we all have an idea, and if that is the case, then I imagine we have nothing to stop us going into full walking dead mode. But let’s find out first, before Simon starts chopping the head off everyone he meets.”
It was hard to figure out what was going on at the other camp. A few people were crawling away from the pile of writhing bodies by the tent.
“Don’t stop, they’re alive. Let’s see what’s going on at the tent first,” Geoff ordered.
The first one they passed crawling away was a woman. She was covered in blood and was in a state of shock. As they passed, she didn’t notice them but kept crawling, digging her blood-covered hands into the soft earth of the field for grip, her wide-eyed catatonic stare focused on the ground ahead.
The next one they came to had the lower half of one leg hanging off, dragging the barely attached limb, and pushing himself away with his one good leg. The bloody mangled mess of the other leg was leaving a trail of blood to mark his path. His face, frozen in pain and fear, did not register the passing friends.
The scene of carnage at the tent was straight out of a horror film. These people had once been a group of, if not friends, then people they had known and spent time with at other reenactment events. Their bodies lay covered in blood, each with another person, who they had also known, crouching over the corpses and eating them. The whole area was awash with blood, which had formed pools, small streams of it running from the bodies down the slope as the pools filled.
Dave swore and then promptly threw up. The noise of him throwing up attracted the attention of the ones feeding. Six gore-covered faces stared at the group. If a caption could have been written above the staring faces, it would have said ‘FRESH MEAT’. The looks on all the faces were that easy to read, the hunger and evil, inhuman venom clearly showing. They all stood up slowly and faced them.
“There is no way those things are human anymore,” said Ian, in a voice a few octaves higher than normal. Geoff summed it up.
“We’ve witnessed those things, whatever they are, kill and eat people we knew. If I’m not mistaken, they are now heading towards us to try and do the same to us. In answer to Simon’s question, I would say that we have a clear case of self defence.” He paused. “I think that gives us the right to go ‘weapons free’. If they attack us, we can use whatever means we have to defend ourselves.”
Ian, who took the lead in the reenactment fights due to his huge bulk, took over command by shouting, “Form line on me, lads. You know the drill. Protect each other’s blind side and keep talking. This is for real, so if need be, don’t hesitate. It could get you killed.”
From years of practice they knew the drill, and instantly formed a fighting line, everyone knowing their position. The stumbling, gore-covered, growling people, who moments before had been feeding on human flesh, grew close. Everyone held their weapons ready.
“Stop, or we will attack,’ Ian shouted at them. No response, they just kept coming. The nearest one closed in on Simon, who also kept shouting for it to stop. He held his sword out straight in front of him. The blood-covered being reached the tip of his sword. It paused as it pressed against its chest. For a few moments it snarled and snapped its teeth. It pushed harder. The tip of the sword broke through the skin, yet still it kept the pressure on, pushing harder. Simon was screaming in fear and anger, telling it to stop.
It gave one final push and the blade pierced its chest fully. It kept on walking with the blade sinking deeper into its chest, the tip now sticking out of its back. Simon took a step backwards as it got closer, its jaws opening and closing as if getting ready to feast on his flesh.
Its chest reached the hilt and it stopped. As it brought its arms up to reach out and grab him, he stumbled and fell over backwards, screaming in terror, the thing on top of him, its jaws inches from his face, its hands grabbing at his armour.
Jamie, who was next to him in the line, swung his axe at its exposed back. The blade bit deeply. The thing gave no sign of pain, but kept trying to reach Simon. Wrenching the blade free, Jamie could see the horrific injury he had caused. Smashed ribs stuck upright from the gaping wound, he had almost cleaved the thing in two and it hadn’t even flinched.
“Geoff, use your fucking mace. If I hit it in the head with my axe, I might hit Simon.”
Geoff immediately turned, and without hesitation raised his mace and smashed it into the back of its skull. Its head caved in and brain matter splattered everywhere. It stopped moving and its head slumped against Simon’s chest, clearly dead.
He said, “That’s it, lads, aim for the heads. If we’re going to put them down, don’t hesitate. DO IT!”
The others were almost upon them. Ian let out a mighty roar and swung his battle axe at the head of the nearest one to him. The powerful stroke took it clean off its shoulders, its body falling as the head rolled away across the field.
Seeing that, the rest took one step forwards and swung their weapons. The heavy weapons swung by strong and experienced hands were deadly, and with expertly aimed hits, the rest of the approaching zombies were quickly stopped.
The four friends stood together, looking in shock at the carnage they had caused. Eventually a muffled voice came from behind them, breaking the silence.
“Can you get this thing off me? I can’t see anything. What’s going on?”
Turning, they realised they had momentarily forgotten about Simon, who was still trapped under the body Geoff had killed, his heavy armour making it difficult to move enough to get the corpse off himself.
Dave stepped forward and with his foot, rolled the body off his friend and held his arm out to help him stand up.
Dave sniffed, “What’s that bloody smell?”
Simon looked sheepish, “What do you think? I’ve
bloody shit myself, that’s what that bloody smell is.” He looked at everyone, his words just sinking in. “Don’t even start, you lot. I was just about to be eaten alive. I couldn’t help it. Any of you would have done the same.”
Ian, with his eyes twinkling, trying to hold back his laughter, replied,
“Oh yes, we could have, but while you were lying on the floor, trying to hug it to death and squealing like the little girl you are, we killed them all for you.” He turned to the rest. “Anybody else feel a shit popping out? Or did you man up and get on with it?”
Knowing there was nothing he could do to stop the continual ribbing he was going to get, he just gave a one-finger salute to his friends and turned to survey the field. The two crawling away had got further up the field. In the distance, by their camp, they could see the man still tending to his friend.
Together they approached the bodies lying by the tent. They were barely recognisable as humans, they were so badly mauled.
“That one is moving,” Jamie said, pointing at one. As they approached, they could see its head jerking slightly. You couldn’t tell if it had been a man or a woman. Its whole stomach cavity was a gaping hole and what was left of its contents were strewn around it.
“No way that’s alive. It must be muscle spasms or something,” Simon said, stepping closer.
When he was a few feet away, its head suddenly turned towards him and it started to snarl and snap its jaws, its remaining eye staring at him. Staggering backwards away from the hellish scene, he bumped into Ian.
He sniffed, “You shit yourself again?” Dave bought them back to reality.
“Well, I think we can safely say that we are now officially in the middle of the zompoc we’ve talked about so many times.”
He held up his hands and raised one finger.
“This is what we know so far. Number one. It must have spread last night while we were at home, because we haven’t got it.” He added another finger.
“Number two. It’s not localised. We saw hardly any cars this morning and where is everyone else who should be here? We know that reenactors come here from all over the country and hardly any made it. And some of those who did were infected by whatever has caused this.” Another finger. “Number three. They’re definitely what we know as zombies. They don’t feel pain. Jamie almost chopped that one in half and it kept going. The only way to kill them, as far as we’ve discovered, is to kill the brain. Classic zombie folklore. And the bites infect. That one over there shouldn’t be alive, but somehow it is.”
He raised his fourth finger and looked at it for a while.
“No that’s it for now. This is it, though, boys. We’ve talked about it, joked about it, told each other it could never happen. But it has, and we need to get our shit together and work on a plan for us to get through this. Damn, I hope Shawn is okay, though. Trust him not to be here when we need him.
“Right. First, let’s check on the others over there. If they’ve been bitten, it looks likely they’re going to turn, so we’re going to have to prepare ourselves for that. It’s quite remote where we are here, so we should be safe in the short term, but we can’t stay here for long. Tents are not going to keep us safe and we need a lot more kit if we’re going to stand a chance.”
Simon was still looking at the one who had turned. It was still thrashing its head, unable to move anywhere. He walked back up to it and stared at it for a moment.
He raised his sword and said quietly, “Tough break, mate. Rest in peace.”
He thrust his sword through its eye socket. It jerked once and fell still forever. He walked back to the others, and everyone was silent, the reality of their situation beginning to sink in. Resting their weapons on their shoulders, they walked somberly back to where the injured reenactors were. They’d only been trying to help, but had signed their death warrant by doing so.
Not knowing how the virus spread, they decided that the safest, though not the kindest, course of action, would be to not treat them directly, but to try to offer what help they could from a short distance away.
Dave went and got surgical gloves and paper face masks for everyone to use. They were a standard part of the prepping kit that was always carried in the van and now seemed a sensible time to use them.
The man who had lost most of his leg was in a poor way. He was almost unconscious from blood loss, and delirious with pain and what appeared to be a fever, which meant that communication with him was impossible.
The woman, however, was more coherent. She was in tremendous pain from the bitemarks on her face and arms, and was complaining about her whole body being wracked with a burning sensation. She naturally didn’t understand them not wanting to touch her, but to be fair, there was not a lot she could do about it. Simon handed her bandages and a bottle of water so she could take the painkillers offered her.
The one who had reached the camp with a bite to his arm was faring not much better, despite the treatment he had received from his friend. The painkillers he had had were not nearly enough for what he needed, and he was also complaining about feeling feverish and burning up.
When the uninjured one asked about his friends, a small shake of the head from everyone made him stand up and walk away, his shoulders betraying the tears he was shedding.
“I’d better go and tell him the bad news about the ones still living,” Ian said, “He needs to know and prepare for that soon, I think.” Ian walked over to him. They could follow the conversation from his actions. He returned five minutes later with the man, a very distraught individual.
“If this is going to happen like you say, and from what we’ve seen so far, I’m going to have to believe you, I’ll do it for my loved ones when the time comes. I owe them that at least.”
“Spoken like a true friend and a good man,” said Geoff, “But we don’t know yet if you’ve caught it. You’ve been treating your friend and we don’t yet know how this thing spreads. That’s why we’re wearing masks and gloves.”
He handed him a new pair of gloves and a mask.
“If you could put those on, it might help protect us.”
His name was Marc and he agreed and put them on immediately, promising to be honest and tell them at the first sign of feeling unwell. Simon, who, after quickly changing his trousers and cleaning himself up, had also been checking on the two other injured people, shouted that he thought the one who had lost most of his leg had died.
Marc stood up from where he was sitting beside the woman, holding her hand and offering her what comfort he could, joined Simon, everyone following. His friend, whose name was Jason, looked dead. He knelt beside him and tried to feel for a pulse. He stood, shaking his head.
“Goodbye, mate. Rest in Valhalla, my friend.”
The body jerked. Marc instinctively stepped forward, but Ian grabbed his arm and said simply.
“No!”
They all watched, as over the next few minutes, Jason became no more. He was replaced by a zombie. It tried to stand, but couldn’t due to having only one good leg, and it lay on the ground, thrashing and trying to claw its way to its former friend.
“Can someone give me a knife, please?” Dave handed him one he had recently clipped to his belt. Marc stepped forward and without hesitation, grabbed his former friend by the hair and drove the knife deep into his skull through the ear. His eyes brimming with tears, he silently handed the knife back to Dave.
“She’s gone now,” Simon called out.
The woman also lay still, her body curled into the foetal position, possibly in her last moments returning into the position she had first lain in the womb of her mother. Marc held his hand out and Dave once again passed him the knife.
He knelt beside her, said simply, “Goodbye, Janet, my love,” and thrust the knife into her brain, ending any chance of her returning. A voice said quietly from behind the group standing around Marc’s friend,
“Dad. Kill me now. Just like you’ve done for Mom. I can feel my body changing. I’m al
ready dead. Please stop the pain I’m in.”
DAD! MOM! Everyone looked shocked. They hadn’t noticed Marc’s son approach. Everyone turned to face him. He stood swaying on his feet, barely able to keep upright. The phrase ‘He looked like death warmed up’ would have described him perfectly. Marc walked up to him, tears running down his face.
“I can’t do that, son, I just can’t. Don’t ask me, please. I promise if you die, I will do it, but don’t ask me to do it now, my beautiful son.”
Marc was loosely holding Dave’s knife in his hand. The boy suddenly stepped forward and grabbing the knife, pushed him away.
Marc was trying to scrabble back to his feet while everyone else stood transfixed. Marc screamed
“Nooooo!”
Without uttering a word, the boy steadied himself and used both hands to hold the knife against his eye. He then just fell forwards flat on his face, and the weight of his body pushed the knife hilt deep through his eye socket and into the brain, killing him instantly. The only sound now was Marc once again sobbing on the ground. Everyone else was too shocked to say or do anything, but stare at each other wide-eyed.
His wife and son! Nobody knew what to say or do. Ian slumped to the ground sobbing, and soon the emotions got to everyone and they all followed suit.
Quite some time later, Dave pulled himself together. He walked slowly over to Marc, who was still sobbing.
“I’m really sorry, mate. I just don’t know what to say.” Marc looked up through red-rimmed eyes.
“It’s okay, mate, thanks. I’ve just got to deal with it. Give me some time. There’s nothing I can do to bring my family or my friends back now, so I’ve gotta get on with it.”
“Take your time, mate, we’ll be over at our camp.” All the others had got to their feet, and one by one, gathered around the smoldering, smoking remains of the fire. Simon threw a few logs on and poked it to get it burning again. The comfort of staring at an open fire kept the group silently pondering for a while longer.
Zombie Castle Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 24
