Zombie Castle Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Harris, Chris

  The assault team consisted of all the Marines and knights. The Marines would lead the way but if they found more zombies than they could deal with, they would fall back behind the shield wall and let the knights deal with the threat.

  The rest of us would be responsible for looking outwards and stopping any other zombies getting too close.

  The door to the bus hissed open and disgorged the fully kitted-up knights. Opening the rear door on the trailer, more knights walked down the ramp and joined them. Now I was getting to know them, even though they were wearing full-face helmets, I could easily distinguish who was who from the size of them, what weapons they carried or the length of the beard draping over their chest plates and chainmail.

  Horace wanted to join them and tried to follow Ian as he walked down the ramp. He was a gentle but powerful dog and it took two people holding his collar to stop him. He was eventually tied to a rope, attached to the trailer’s side, where he continued barking and whining.

  They formed a line surrounding the front door to the house, the Marines holding their rifles ready and standing in front of them.

  Louise had exited the cab of the tractor and stood on the platform, where Shawn placed a protective arm around her shoulder.

  Simon tried the front door, but finding it locked, he turned to Ian, who stepped forward and aimed his size fourteen feet at the lock. The door crashed open against its hinges.

  The Marines cautiously entered the house, followed by the knights, only to return a few tense minutes later.

  Dave called to Louise.

  “It’s empty, there’s no one home. It all looks neat and tidy; the breakfast dishes are in the sink. No drama happened here, they must have gone out without knowing what was going on.”

  Louise turned to Shawn.

  “What day did it all start?”

  “It was a Monday, I think,” he replied, looking around for confirmation. What day of the week it was had lost all meaning now and we were all losing track of the date.

  Becky confirmed it.

  “Yes, definitely a Monday.”

  “They could have gone to the bridge club in the village hall. They never missed it. Most of the retired people in the village go, it’s one of the big social occasions of the week.”

  “How far away is it?” I asked.

  “Not far, it’s on the other side of the village, by the cricket pitch.”

  Dave looked at me and I shrugged.

  “Okay,” he said, “We’ve come this far, a bit further won’t hurt. Let’s all get back on board and head to the village hall. But Louise,” he warned, “if they aren’t there, though, I don’t know how much longer we can spend looking.”

  “No, I understand, and thank you, everyone. If they aren’t there, I don’t know where else they could be.”

  Dave raised his voice.

  “Right, everyone, back on board and stay sharp.”

  By the time everyone had got back into their vehicles, a few zombies had started to appear, coming up the road in the direction we had come from.

  Shawn spoke over the radio.

  “Louise recognises them, they’re all neighbours and villagers.”

  I looked at Dave and said, “This doesn’t look good, mate. If we find a room full of zombie OAPS, what the hell are we going to do? Ask nicely for her parents to come out, or are we going to have to kill them all to get the answer she’s looking for?”

  Dave replied, ending with a quote from the movie Platoon, “I hate to say it, but if they are there and have turned, we may not have any other options. It’s a lovely fucking war!”

  In the few minutes it took everyone to get back on board the vehicles and begin to move off, the zombie villagers reached us. I noticed Louise, as Shawn drove the tractor past me to lead us down the road, crying and pointing at some of them. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I could imagine her telling Shawn the names of her former neighbours and possibly friends just before he mangled them with the plough.

  Driving slowly through the village, the convoy followed Shawn as we headed to the village hall. The car park of the village hall was reasonably full, an indication that Louise was right, and the bridge club had gathered before the apocalypse had hit their peaceful corner of England.

  We all drove onto the cricket pitch and formed the usual square of vehicles. I did smile as I noticed all drivers still observed proper etiquette and avoided driving over the hallowed ground of the cricket square.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In the silence after all the engines had been turned off, Dave stood on his seat and addressed everyone.

  “Same routine as before. The assault team will check out the hall while everyone else keeps watch.”

  Louise had left the cab and was looking at the car park.

  “They must be in there. That’s their car over there.”

  The team assembled quickly and exited the protective square of the vehicles and walked towards the village hall.

  Horace was still determined to follow his master and was getting more frenetic as he watched Ian leave. Ian turned just before he walked through the tight gap left in the square and asked Becky to let him off the lead.

  “The daft mutt can look after himself. Something is making him want to come, so who are we to stop him? He’s been cooped up in the trailer all day and he might just want to stretch his legs and do his business.”

  Horace happily bounced down the ramp the second he was released and after cocking his leg up the tyre of the tractor, followed his master.

  Looking at the village hall, I knew that the news was not going to be good. There were streaks of blood on the windows and you could see shadows of figures moving about inside.

  Simon and Dave led the men cautiously towards the hall, first approaching a window to look inside. Then they walked in a tight group all the way around it before returning to us.

  Dave walked up to Louise, who was standing outside the tractor. Shawn once again stood beside her with a supportive arm around her shoulder.

  “I’m really sorry, but everyone inside has turned. The main door opens inwards, so it looks as if they’re trapped. If your parents are in there, then they’ve gone, I’m afraid.”

  Louise bowed her head and began sobbing. She had known that this mission to find her parents was likely to end in failure and now it had become reality. In the space of a few days she had lost everything dear to her. First she’d had to watch her sister turn and be killed by her own hand thrusting a knife into her diseased brain. She’d been bitten while they were trying to evade zombies. And now her parents were gone too.

  Her grief was understandable, and we all stood silently for a while, respecting it.

  Eventually she recovered enough to speak, her voice cracking with emotion.

  “Thank you, everyone, for trying. At least I know now and can accept and deal with it. What can we do? Do we leave them trapped in there? At least I suppose they’re with their friends.”

  Simon replied.

  “Yes. Unless one of them presses against a panic bar on one of the fire doors, which could happen easily, they’re trapped. We could block the doors to prevent them, but eventually a window might break, or something could happen, and a door could open.”

  He paused and looked at the Village Hall before continuing.

  “It’s not worth the risk for us to deal with them. We could consider setting fire to the building. It may sound horrible, but it would stop them from maybe being a problem in the future to any survivors in the area.”

  Louise looked at the building that housed what had once been her parents and their friends. It was an old building and had probably served as the village hall for generations. It was constructed from both brick and timber and would be old enough for most of the materials used to build it to predate modern construction safety regulations. In other words, it would burn easily.

  “I agree. I hate the thought of them remaining in there, but the idea of them escaping, wanderin
g the earth as one of those horrible beasts is even worse. The village hall was a place where they spent a lot of time and it would be a fitting final resting place for them.”

  The Vicar called over from the trailer.

  “I can sanctify the place as holy and perform a funeral service if that will help, my dear. The Good Lord will look after their souls.”

  “Thank you, Vicar,” I said and looked around at the group. “Does anyone have any objections or other ideas?”

  No one replied, but many nodded their agreement.

  “Right then, that’s a plan. Let’s get on with it. There are some fuel cans full of petrol in the van, can someone get them, please?”

  Jamie, standing with his axe over his shoulder, interrupted to point over to the entrance to the carpark. A couple of wandering zombies, obviously attracted by our noisy journey through the village, were approaching, and more could be seen beyond.

  “Whatever we’re doing, can we get on with it? We’re beginning to attract a crowd.”

  There weren’t many of them yet, but as we knew from experience, that situation could change quickly.

  Dave turned to me.

  “Tom, we can deal with those. You get on with the plan for the village hall.”

  He turned to the ones looking over the side of the trailer.

  “Just make sure a few of you stay on watch and are ready to back us up if we need help, please.”

  The knights took a few moments to get their pikes from the bus before jogging across the grass with the Marines towards the approaching former villagers. Horace, sticking close to Ian’s heels, went too. His hackles raised, he had been growling since before the first ones had appeared.

  Shawn’s friends had told us how great he’d been when they’d had to fight the huge crowd of zombies that had trapped them inside their house in Bristol. Jumping up and biting the face of one that had clamped its teeth into Ian’s chainmail clad arm; getting it off him and keeping him in the fight.

  Since we’d met him, he’d growled and barked when zombies were around, sensing them long before they came into sight. Our very own big soft and friendly early warning system.

  Chet, carrying two petrol cans he had retrieved from the van, walked up to me.

  “How do you want to do this, Tom?” he asked.

  “Sensitively, for a start. We must remember that Louise’s parents are in there,” I replied quietly before turning to look up at the Vicar.

  “What do you need to do for this sanctification thing, Vicar? And how long will it take?”

  He looked at the approaching zombies.

  “Not too long. I’m sure my boss will forgive my brevity, given the circumstances.”

  He looked at Louise, who was still standing next to Shawn.

  “My dear, would you like to join me for the ceremony?”

  She nodded and climbed down from the tractor. Shawn followed her, and they waited for the vicar to appear from the trailer.

  I walked up and gave Louise a quick hug. I caught Shawn’s eye and understood the meaning of the look he was giving me, nodding to him the silent response.

  “Don’t worry mate, I’ll watch your back.”

  The Vicar had taken a few minutes to retrieve some items from amongst his possessions and walked down the ramp wearing his stole, and he was carrying a bible and a few other items.

  While we were waiting for him, I chose half of the remaining ‘fighters’ of the group, asked them to exit their vehicles and led them a small distance away from Louise and Shawn to give them a quick pep talk. Giving them the usual reminders about being vigilant, I made sure that everyone understood what we were trying to achieve, and then we spread out in a protective cordon around the Vicar, Shawn and Louise as they walked over to the Village Hall.

  Hearing the Vicar begin reading from the bible and saying prayers, I silently hoped he wouldn’t take long. I wasn’t following what he was doing very closely, because I was keeping a watch out for approaching threats, but I did notice him make a few signs of the cross and throw what I imagined to be holy water from a small bottle he was carrying in the direction of the building.

  From my position I could see the Knights, who with the Marines watching their flanks, were engaging the approaching zombies. They’d formed a line and holding their pikes out, were impaling the heads of any zombie within range. Horace was running up and down in front of them, barking loudly and snapping at hands as they reached out to him.

  If one got too close to him, he jumped up at it and sent it flying backwards, often knocking over the one behind it too.

  Everyone who had seen Horace fight before was full of praise for his bravery and skill at fighting them and now I could see why. He seemed to intuitively know what was needed and did it unfailingly, really helping the knights as they fought them.

  More zombies were gathering than they were able to kill, though, forcing the fighting line to begin to take a step backwards occasionally when the press of bodies became too great. Every step was bringing them closer.

  The Vicar was still performing a ceremony. I didn’t know if it was the sanctification one or if he’d moved on to the last rites. But whatever he was doing, he needed to get on with it. We still had to set the building alight and make sure it would burn well enough to destroy its inhabitants and render them harmless.

  He’d told us his first name was Charles, but it just didn’t seem right to use it.

  “Vicar,” I called, interrupting him mid-prayer, “I hate to say this, but could you hurry it up a bit?”

  “One more minute and we will be all done,” he replied calmly, without raising his head from the bible, and continued with his service.

  Louise was weeping as she stared at the building. I imagined she was trying to see her parents one last time. Shawn, still offering her comfort, was beginning to look uncomfortable at how close the zombies were getting.

  The Marines were now helping the knights and shooting down any that threatened to outflank their slow and steady retreat.

  Shane, from the trailer, was taking carefully aimed shots at other zombies who were approaching from over the other side of the cricket pitch. I’d noticed them, but in my opinion, the range was too great to take a shot from a standing position with the rifle. If I’d had a rest or a shooting stick to steady my aim, I reckoned I would have been able to make the shot. I’d used shooting sticks a few times before when shooting on a friend’s land, and they were a useful piece of equipment when used to help steady your aim and make more consistent shots. I made a mental note to discuss adding them to our zombie-killing inventory. Maybe, I mused, if we combined a spear and a shooting stick together, that could prove a useful tool.

  Finally, the Vicar concluded his service. Shawn led the weeping Louise back to the tractor and I called Chet to bring the petrol cans over, so we could set fire to the building.

  We didn’t need protecting so I told everyone else to report to Dave and Simon to see if they could offer them and the knights some assistance.

  Chet had proved his fire-starting skills when he’d set the car alight on the moors to create a smoke screen to cover our journey to Willie’s farm.

  “Go on, mate,” I said to him with a grin, “Don’t tell me, you’ve always wanted to set fire to a building, too. No don’t answer that. I might be worried by what you say.”

  He grinned as he recalled the conversation we’d had just before he set that particular car on fire.

  “No, a car was my previous goal, but I reckon I can upgrade to a building, no problem. Do you think you can break one of those windows? If you can, I’ll use my knife to put a few holes in the cans, chuck them in, light them and that should do it. It looks as if there are enough tables and chairs in there to catch alight to keep it going.”

  I walked up to the window and hit the butt stock of the rifle against it. The glass didn’t break. I tried a few more times, really putting some weight behind the blows, but the pane still didn’t break.

 
The glass was toughened or laminated and by the feel of it, would probably resist a blow from a hammer.

  All my banging on the window had done was attract the attention of those within. They pressed their hands and faces against the glass, lifeless eyes watching our every move. The elderly faces of the village bridge club members did not soften their transparent need to reach us and feast on our flesh, enabling the virus to keep spreading.

  Not having a hammer, I used the next best thing. I raised my rifle and fired. The bullet punctured a neat hole in the glass, throwing one of the watching faces backwards as a hole appeared in its forehead.

  “Good news,” I said to myself. The glass was laminated, i.e. two panes of glass sandwiching a plastic layer, rendering it a lot stronger and resistant to breaking than normal glass. If it had been toughened, the whole pane would have disintegrated. Aiming carefully, I shot out the glass from the lower corner of one of the window panes. Every shot I fired knocked one or more of the occupants over because my bullets were tearing through them as they continued crowding towards the noise I was making. Quickly emptying an entire magazine, I inserted a fresh one and admired my handiwork.

  A two-foot by two-foot hole had been blasted into the bottom corner of a window. But now the problem was that the villagers stepping over the bodies of their former friends soon filled the hole in the glass with their clawing, reaching arms, making it impossible to throw the petrol cans in as we had planned.

  Looking through the windows, I could see that the entire population of the hall was making its way towards the hole I’d just made. Chet came up with plan B.

  “Why don’t we do the same at the other end of the hall and chuck in the petrol and light it before they get there?”

  Quickly making our way to the other end of the building, we got ready. Chet removed the caps from the two petrol cans and got his knife out, ready to punch some holes in them just before throwing them inside.

  Knowing what to do now, it took me no time at all to shoot a hole in the window, emptying another magazine in the process.

  The moment I stopped firing, Chet stabbed his knife numerous times into the first can and threw it through the hole in the window. The pungent smell of petrol filled the air as he stabbed the next can and repeated the move. Warning me to stand back, he fetched a box of matches from his pocket and got close to the window.