When There's No More Room in Hell 3

by Luke Duffy

  From the right, red streaks suddenly began to race across the area ahead of him, drilling into the soldiers that stood firing at him, smashing into the walls of the barn behind them. The fire from Stu's guns had opened up again, forcing the enemy to reel back in confusion and panic while many of them fell under the heavy bursts as Stu and Steve decimated them.

  Tobias reached the barn and pressed himself against the wall. His chest hurt as he fought to catch his breath and sweat poured down his head and into his eyes. His legs shook and his hands trembled as he snatched the empty magazine from his rifle, replacing it with a fresh one.

  He glanced back at Marcus.

  He was still lying on the ground but he was no longer struggling to climb back to his feet.

  "Stu," Tobias yelled in gasps through his radio.

  "Close in to me. Robbie, move to the first position but leave one gun on the hill to cover the west side."

  The enemy fire had petered off, leaving just sporadic single shots ringing out as the soldiers withdrew in chaos from the weight of the attack that had crashed down upon them.

  Reaching for his radio, Tobias kept his eyes on the figure laying still on the ground just a few metres away from him.

  "Marcus is down," he said painfully, between gulps of air.

  "Marcus is down."

  34

  Kelly's head lolled and rolled as she slowly became aware of the clatter of gunfire somewhere close by.

  The noise of battle was getting louder by the second; she could distinctly hear shouts and screams in between the long bursts of fire as her mind fought its way through the fog. Her eyes slowly opened just in time to see a soldier come bursting through the door.

  He looked alarmed and frightened and he spoke to the General in an excited and panicked voice as the chaos raged behind him.

  Gibson, still seated at the table, turned to look at Kelly and Claire, his eyes narrowing as he realised that they were under attack and it was not his soldiers shooting at the dead.

  His face changed colour, turning pale as the scale of the situation dawned on him from the report that the soldier had passed on.

  He jumped up from the table and raced to the door, standing for a moment and watching as his men ran about the courtyard in panic. He looked on as he saw the tracer rounds whizzing past the gate at the far side of the complex, smashing into the two sentry positions and thumping through the walls of the barn as his soldiers struggled to return fire.

  He witnessed a number of his men fall, blood gushing from their wounds and spilling into the mud as they fell to the ground, dying in agony, their screams echoing around the enclosed area.

  "Bastards," he growled in rage as he stared out from the farmhouse in anger, watching as his men were annihilated, his command ripped from his grasp.

  "Bastards…"

  As the sound of battle and men dying howled around them, Kelly remained tied to her seat, but her eyes and ears were now fully focussed and her attention was fixed solely on the pistol sitting on the table in front of her.

  She twisted her hands, trying desperately to loosen the plastic zip-ties holding her wrists tightly together behind her back. She could feel them cutting into her flesh as she pulled, ignoring the pain and thinking only of the pistol that sat just beyond her reach.

  She looked at Sarah, who sat staring at the door with fear blazing in her eyes as the deafening cracks and bangs of the clattering machineguns mixed with the blood-curdling screams of the dying men outside. She was frozen to the spot, unable to form a clear thought or run for cover.

  Kelly glanced back at the door.

  Gibson remained standing on the threshold, shouting to his men and watching them die in a hail of gunfire.

  "Sarah," she hissed, "Sarah, listen to me."

  Sarah's head and eyes snapped towards her, focussing on her as she was brought out of her state of shock and awe.

  "Sarah, I need you to untie me. Do you understand? I need you to cut the ties from my hands, quickly."

  Claire joined Kelly in trying to spur her daughter into action as she realised what was going on.

  "Come on, baby. It's okay, come on."

  Sarah remained sat in the chair, her gaze alternating from her mother and Kelly, and towards the man that she considered the Devil.

  She was terrified of moving, of offending him and incurring his wrath. She had witnessed his wrath and she had heard the long agony-filled screams of Carl as Joey reanimated and tore in to him.

  Sarah had been in a semi state of shock ever since.

  "Sarah," Kelly tried again after checking that Gibson was still standing with his back to them.

  "Quickly, Sarah, untie me so I can get the gun."

  Sarah looked at Kelly blankly, then at the pistol on the table. Her eyes were wide, bulging with terror, and her legs were refusing to do what her mind screamed at her to do.

  Gibson, finally recovering from the initial shock of the attack, turned to go back into the house, grab his weapons, and join his men, rallying them and leading the counter-attack.

  He stepped through the door, feeling his blood boiling within his veins as he considered the audacity of someone trying to take away his command and kill his men.

  He crossed over the threshold and stopped dead in his tracks.

  His expression changed from one of anger, to complete surprise. He stood staring down the barrel of his own gun, feeling completely lost for words. His heart skipped a beat and a shiver coursed its way through his body.

  Staring at the muzzle of the pistol, his shoulders slumped as he realised that he had no bargaining chip, nothing he could say to convince his executioner to spare his life.

  Sarah could hear her Uncle Marcus' voice echoing through her mind as he instructed her on how to fire a pistol.

  'Stand with your body square to the front, legs slightly bent at the knee, Sarah. Hold the weapon firmly and aim with both eyes open, looking over the sight. Squeeze the trigger, don’t jerk it…'

  Her hands trembled and her legs felt weak, but her determination was steadfast.

  She glared at the man in front of her.

  Gibson stared back at the little girl and the pistol trembling in her delicate hands. He saw the hatred and fear in her eyes, then the flash of vengeance that glinted for a fleeting moment as she tightened her grip.

  "Fuck," he whispered.

  The shot rang out, deafening in the small kitchen of the farmhouse, rattling the windows in their frames.

  The bullet smashed into his throat, knocking him backwards, a geyser of blood spraying out from the exit wound as the nine-millimetre slug punched through his flesh. He let out a muffled scream as he staggered, reaching up to his torn throat, his eyes widening with shock.

  A second explosion erupted from the barrel as Sarah squeezed off another shot, hitting him square in the chest and causing his body to double over.

  He reached forward for the table, grabbing it to steady himself as he looked up at Sarah, his eyes pleading with her, but only finding a hateful fire in her expression.

  Sarah took careful aim, seeing nothing in her sights other than the monster that the General was; he was worse than the dead that she had run in fear of for so long. She glared back at him, feeling no pity or remorse.

  The gun jerked in her hands one final time as another round blasted from the barrel, ploughing into the monstrous face of General Gibson.

  His shocked features caved inwards as the bullet drilled through his skull and burst through the back in a spray of grey matter and blood. His head dropped to the table, hitting it with a dull thud before his body slid to the floor, his mutilated brains seeping out through the exit wound and a dark red puddle spreading across the tiles of the kitchen floor.

  Kelly and Claire stared at Sarah in silence as she placed the gun back on the table and reached for her bottle of orange juice.

  The attack was over. The few surviving soldiers fled to the farmland to the east, realising that their commander was dea
d and their defence had crumbled and leaving their wounded behind, dying and screaming in the mud as their attackers closed in and began freeing the prisoners.

  Shots continued to echo around the valley as Robbie and his team began ensuring that the fallen soldiers remained dead. Then, they turned their attention to the numerous corpses converging on the farm complex along the road and down the hills from all directions, attracted by the noise of the battle.

  Screams erupted from the east as the walking corpses, moving towards the farm and filling the long grass, brought down the retreating soldiers.

  Robbie’s and Lee's guns continued to clatter as they kept the dead at bay while the freed prisoners began collecting equipment and vehicles, ready to abandon the farm on the orders of Stu who was organizing the round up.

  Steve crouched down beside his brother, staring at the wounds that he had sustained and watching as he coughed and sputtered, clinging to life.

  "Jennifer," Marcus said in a strained and faltering voice, "is Jen okay?"

  Steve looked up at Kelly and Claire who kneeled on the other side of Marcus. Kelly looked back at him with saddened eyes; a slight shake of the head, barely detectable, but Steve saw and understood it.

  He looked back down at his brother, the tears welling in his eyes as he struggled with his words.

  "Yeah, bro," he lied, "Jen is fine, the boys too. You just stay with us, okay?"

  Marcus smiled back at him, his eyes unfocussed as foaming blood began to seep from between his lips and his face drained of colour.

  "Take them north, Steve. You have to take them north."

  Steve fought against the emotion that bubbled up inside him and the invisible hand that gripped his throat, squeezing it shut. The floodgates that held back the tears welling in his eyes threatened to give way at any moment.

  "We will, Marcus," he replied soothingly, holding his brother's bloodied hand in his own.

  "Don’t worry about that, though. We'll fix you up and get you back on your feet first."

  Marcus slowly shook his head, a slight smile creasing his face.

  "I'm going nowhere, mate. You're their leader now and you need to…"

  Steve felt Marcus' grip tighten for a moment and his body tense as his final rasping breath exhaled from his throat, rattling from the torrent of blood that had seeped into his lungs from his wounds.

  Marcus' grip slackened and eyes slowly closed as his body fell still and silent.

  For a moment, Steve stared at his brother's face, his body wracked with grief and his stomach twisting into a knot as the tears began to cascade from his cheeks, splashing down onto the lifeless face of Marcus.

  Stu stood close by, feeling the same sense of loss as he watched his friend and commander die and fade away in front of him.

  "Why?" Stu asked in a hoarse whisper as his throat seized, still gazing down at his friend lying lifeless on the floor.

  "Why did he charge them like that?"

  Everyone remained silent; the shock of losing Marcus was like a hammer blow to all of them and something that they had never expected to face.

  "Because he was already dead," Tobias said solemnly from beside Stu.

  He stepped forward and knelt beside Steve, bowing his head in respect.

  "Rest easy, brother," Tobias whispered.

  He placed his hand on Marcus' forearm and pushed back his sleeve, revealing a gaping bloodied wound in his flesh.

  The tear in Marcus' arm was dark and festering, the skin already blackened around the edges and deep red veins distended from just below the surface.

  Steve stared at the bite wound, his mouth falling slack as he realised that his brother had sacrificed himself, already knowing that he was going to die.

  "It must've happened at the park during the escape," Stu commented with shock as he stared down at the teeth marks in his friend's arm.

  Tobias nodded.

  "The tough bastard carried on, though, even when he knew he had no chance of living."

  Steve, Stu and Hussein carried Marcus' body over to one of the vehicles that had been left behind by the soldiers.

  They gently placed him in the back of one of the trucks, alongside the bodies of Carl and Joey, and Steve climbed in, pulling down the canvas and sealing himself inside while the rest waited in the courtyard.

  A while later, the canvas covering the rear of the truck was thrown back and Steve appeared, wiping the tears from his eyes as he climbed down into the mud.

  Stu stepped forward, his eyes locked on Steve’s, sharing in his grief.

  "It's done," Steve nodded as the bloodied knife slipped from his hand and splashed into the cold mud.

  35

  For a long time, Andy and Molly had remained close, looking after one another and growing together. She had taken care of him during the harsh winters and the blistering summers, doing what she could to keep him from falling apart or seizing up.

  She spoke to him constantly, teaching him, and he learned from her, understanding much of what she said as her wonderful sounding words fell on his ears.

  They had ventured out, scavenging, collecting food and water, repairing their fences and disguising their gates and tracks. They walked in the country; Andy enjoyed the sounds of the birds and the endless chattering of Molly as they picked flowers and kicked a football between them.

  Andy's delight had soared and he found joy in every moment he spent with Molly.

  He had protected her, acting as warning and deterrent against the dead whenever they approached. On numerous occasions, he had saved her from a grisly and painful end, beating the heads of the lurking monsters to a pulp and dragging her to safety.

  Molly and Andy had grown to rely on one another for their continued survival. For a long time, he had felt at peace with himself and with what he was. He understood that he was different from Molly and, to a degree; he knew that he did not have the same life force flowing through him that she did. Nevertheless, she accepted him and loved him as a friend, and in return, he loved her.

  The love and adoration for her was the one thing that he clearly understood and was absolutely sure.

  Now, fear gripped him, squeezing his body in its icy grasp. He had taken care of whole groups of the revolting things in the past as they stumbled upon the house, but now their numbers had grown. There were too many of them, and more were coming, staggering through the smashed gates and fences, stumbling across the fields and along the track, headed for the house.

  He turned in all directions, frantically swinging his tyre iron and crashing it into the heads of the advancing horde. They came from all directions, relentlessly stumbling through the fields and along the tracks, their attention completely focussed on the large house at the top of the hill.

  Andy stood his ground, destroying the skulls of the creatures as they came near, their twisted bodies quickly piling up at his feet and their coagulated and black blood soaking into the gravel of the courtyard.

  He anxiously looked around at the putrid faces of the figures, their vacant eyes staring straight ahead of them, paying no interest to him, despite his noises and movements as he desperately tried to fight them off.

  Their moans and cries of excitement filled the air as they closed in on the house, forcing Andy to step backwards, yielding under their pressure and numbers and retreating towards the door.

  He continued to beat scores of them to the ground but they refused to give up on their relentless advance. No matter how many of them he killed, more arrived to fill the gaps.

  Andy moaned loudly, trying desperately to draw them away from the door and to turn their focus on him. He flailed his arms, wailing excitedly and staggering to the side, hoping to convince the swarm of repugnant figures to follow him, away from the house and into the long grass.

  He had used the same ruse on many occasions, luring them away as they staggered after him in their herd mentality, believing that Andy was leading them to somewhere of interest. Then, once he knew that Molly was free
from danger, he would turn on them, killing them one by one, as they stood staring at him in dumb confusion.

  The mass of lumbering bodies did not notice Andy as he attempted his distraction. They single-mindedly kept their attention fixed on the large, red door in front of them, tripping and stumbling over the bodies of the dead at their feet, trampling them as they moaned and staggered towards the house, their skeletal arms reaching out and their bony fingers clutching at the air.

  They failed to notice as Andy charged back towards them, thrashing at them and raining down blow after blow into the lead creatures, their skulls splitting open and their rotting brains spilling across the gravel of the courtyard as they crashed to the ground. He was incensed as he doggedly defended the house, snarling and growling at the dead as they drew near.

  A scream from inside rang out, causing Andy to turn in panic. He stared up at the bedroom window, his eyes growing wide as he saw the frantic face of Molly staring back down at him. He heard the crash of glass and the cracks of splintering wood as from somewhere inside the house, a breach was created in their defences.

  "They're inside, Andy," Molly called down to him, her voice filled with panic and terror.

  He turned and scaled the few steps leading up to the front door, the crowd close on his heels as he pushed his way through the entrance. Before the dead advancing on the house from across the courtyard could reach the threshold, Andy slammed the door shut, quickly sliding the bolt into place and securing it.

  He turned, and immediately, a decomposing and lifeless face loomed towards him from the semi darkness of the hallway.

  Without hesitation, Andy brought his tyre iron up, thrusting the pointed end through the soft and decaying flesh below the creatures chin and driving it up into the brain, killing it instantly.

  The body slid from the iron bar and dropped to the floor with a loud thud.

  More of them advanced. They poured in through the smashed door at the rear and piled into the kitchen. The rooms of the house were already filled with the dead as they staggered about, knocking over tables and trampling ornaments and personal items into the threadbare carpets, as they ravenously searched for the living.