Hellspawn Odyssey

by Ricky Fleet

  “Why are we not going through?” Braiden asked. John caught his eye and tried to slyly nod at the back seat, praying he wouldn’t push the issue. The youngster cocked his head, saw the baby carriage and was quiet. He positioned himself to block the view of Paige, who was still oblivious to what was going on.

  “There’s too much blood inside. We go over,” Kurt said, climbing the metal bonnet. Stepping down the other side, he trod on something and fell, hitting his head on the wing of the next vehicle whose tenant went wild. Stars danced before Kurt’s eyes, swirling and dizzying him. His leg was grasped and an arm started to pull at him from beneath the car he had crossed. Little by little he was dragged closer to the waiting mouth, only the friction of the tarmac slowing the process. The body had been run over, crushed beneath the car and left to die in the tumult, alone and in agony. Kurt’s resolve was hardened, but he still felt immense pity for the plight of the cadaver that now wanted to eat him, and the poor baby as it starved in the seat.

  “Mind your leg!” John shouted. Kurt shook his head, clearing the fuzziness of the blow. He pulled the limb back, exposing the rotting arm and John hacked clean through, leaving the hand still clasping his ankle. With its other arm splintered, the zombie lacked the means to extricate itself. It would stay embedded into the chassis of the car forever.

  “Are you ok?” John inquired, helping Kurt to his feet.

  “Yeah, just a bit dazed. Let’s keep moving,” Kurt told them all, rubbing his head.

  The zombie in the next car was hammering on the dashboard, a distraction, not a threat. They would have to ignore the noise. Taking it slowly, they soon reached the halfway point. Underneath the vehicles were checked as well, but only the previous victim was trapped beneath, all others were clear. Sam used his skill to destroy any active, roaming corpse with his lethal bearings. The cars were cleared by slowly opening the doors, allowing the zombie to fall out, and using their combined weight to pin it while they rained axes and machetes at their exposed heads. It was an effective method and they were soon within three cars of reaching the far side of the bridge. One zombie was left, pinned between a car and a van, the lower body crushed and compressed, vital fluids and innards expelled through the open mouth.

  “I’ve got this one!” Peter wanted to help and he jumped up onto the car.

  “Pete, no. Let Sam get it with the slingshot!” Kurt warned.

  “It’s fine, trust me.” Peter smiled back, failing to notice the zombie’s shredded waist and the last strings of flesh holding the trunk to the pulped groin and legs. With one more desperate lunge the upper half of the body came away, thumping onto the car and crawling for Peter who shrieked and slipped. He fell backwards awkwardly and hit the bridge railing on his side with a sickening crunch, breaking ribs. The momentum carried him over and down, into the icy water below.

  “Peter, no!” screamed Paige, who leaped forward and cleaved the zombie skull in two with her curved billhook. Heedless of the danger, she jumped over the last vehicles and ran down toward the bank, watching as his unconscious body floated past.

  “Paige, don’t! I will go in!” Kurt called. He was already cold and it would be better if the rest of the group stayed dry. He would struggle on until they reached the safety of the pub.

  Paige looked back at Kurt, but ignored him, plunging headlong out into the water, reaching for her new friend. She stumbled on some sunken obstacle and fell beneath the water, then erupted from the frigid surface with choking coughs. Peter was almost out of reach and if she failed to catch hold of him he would drift away, drowning on the surface. The cold would do its worst regardless, so she lunged forward, grabbing at the leg and going under again. Her hand hooked on his trouser leg and she broke the surface again, before turning him over. Honey dived in at full run, paddling furiously until she reached them. She bit down on his life preserver and added her own kicks to the battle to get him to safety. Kurt waded out and helped them pull him in, all three now frozen and suffering from violent shivering tremors. Only the dog seemed unfazed, shaking herself and splashing the rest of the group as they ran over.

  “Get him on the bank, quickly!” John called.

  “I’ll do CPR,” Sarah said, readying herself to start the resuscitation.

  They dragged him completely free of the water and Sarah wasn’t needed. Peter coughed and vomited a small amount of water onto her legs, then clutched at his ribs as the involuntary spasms sent waves of pain down his damaged side.

  “We have to go. Now,” Gloria declared. The soaked clothing, coupled with the icy gusts of wind, would be their end if they did not reach shelter soon.

  Debbie was stood to the rear, nonplussed at the near death of her ex fiancé. She had switched her feelings off, if indeed she ever had any for him in the first place. Gloria was certain her personality lacked the quality to love, or even feel. She was a dangerous person to be in the group and, despite her earlier misgivings, Gloria would be glad when Debbie was in their past.

  “Braiden, can you help Paige? I’ve got Peter,” Kurt asked, lifting Peter to his feet and placing his drenched arm over his shoulder. John took the other side, ignoring the feel of the wet fabric on his neck.

  They shuffled and stumbled, the cold proving to be a worthy adversary. John’s teeth were chattering from the contact of only one wet arm. He hated to think of the discomfort of the others, who were saturated. Luck was on their side for once, the roads were clear of cars or zombies as they neared the fork in the road that was the site of the Beachwood Pub.

  Chapter 10

  “Shit!” Sam exclaimed when the pub came into view. The front garden area was occupied by a dozen undead. They would need to be cleared before they could gain entry. The zombies were also beating on the front door, fruitlessly it turned out, as the door was thick wood with heavy locks. This meant that people were inside, another complication which could mean a violent showdown if they refused entry.

  “Wait here,” John told them, rushing off after taking the short axe from Kurt. Sam and Sarah followed, entering the seating area in the front garden. As before, the distraction helped their effort and, taking more pleasure than they should, they butchered the dead from behind. They fell without even knowing they were about to be destroyed.

  “Come on, quickly!” John called out, seeing they were no longer alone, many more were appearing from the road and undergrowth surrounding the premises. He tried the door handle, it was locked.

  “Is anyone in there?” he called through the wooden door. Nothing.

  “Please, if you are in there we need your help!” Sarah begged and heard hushed conversation from within.

  “If you don’t let us in then we will have to break in, and that will mean we are all in danger. Please.” John didn’t want to hack through the door, leaving the pub vulnerable for anything that wanted to get in. They heard more raised voices, a male and a female, arguing.

  “Dad, what’s the holdup?” Kurt asked, reaching the door.

  “How do we know you won’t hurt us?” came an angry male voice from the other side of the door.

  “We are a family. We don’t want any trouble, just somewhere to get warm. We have been in an accident,” Sarah pleaded. Gloria stepped forward, preparing to blow holes in the lock to get them to safety, but with a final curse, the door rattled and opened outwards. A man and woman stood in the dusty light of the bar.

  “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” Sarah said to them smiling, as the man closed and locked the door again once the family had all entered. The lady was happy, but the man was scowling at the intrusion. Kurt couldn’t blame him; they had barged in unannounced and brought even more death with them.

  “Get your clothes off, quickly,” John told the wet trio, who needed help to do the task. Their fingers were numb and unresponsive to the signals their brains sent. “Do you have a fire, or any form of heat?” John looked at the man and woman who exchanged glances, bemused at the crazed stripping and activity that had replaced their p
eace.

  “We have a log burner but we don’t use it, it will bring more of those things,” the man explained, crossing his arms defiantly.

  “Listen, we know you are scared, you have every right to be. But trust me, the fire won’t cause any attention, the smoke will be blown away before anything can see it,” John explained. The surly man just stared back, unhappy at the unintended insult.

  “Come on Mike, we can at least get a fire going, look at them all,” the woman told her gruff partner, who just shook his head in disgust. “It’s this way, in the other bar area.” She gestured for them to follow.

  They left Mike to his own devices and gathered in the back room.

  “Thank you so much, I am Sarah, they’re my sons, Braiden and Sam,” Sarah explained and the rest of the introductions were quick.

  “I’m Jodi Ussery, pleased to meet you all,” she replied, concentrating on stacking the kindling to get the fire alight. The iron wood burner had a pivoted door with a glass panel on the front, to close when the fire was burning sufficiently, causing the steel casing to warm the rooms. Sparing their new acquaintances blushes, they had all left their underwear on, wrapping blankets around themselves as the fire took hold.

  “Don’t get too close, you can’t get warm too quickly or you could go into shock,” Sarah explained to the three who looked longingly at the flames, wanting to move closer.

  “She’s right. The widening of the blood vessels would cause a rapid drop in blood pressure that could be fatal,” Jodi confirmed the fact. “Please, sit down over here. The heat will build in time and then you can get as close as you want.”

  “Thank you, Love. We may not have made it without you,” John remarked, indebted to the stranger.

  “You’re welcome. I can’t tell you how good it is to see survivors, we thought we were the only ones.” Jodi beamed, genuinely happy to have company. “My friend there is Mike Arater, we own the Beachwood Pub.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mike,” they all said, seeing that he had appeared at the archway. He didn’t smile or answer, just nodded. It was plain to see that he didn’t share the same feelings of companionship as Jodi.

  “Ignore him, he is just pissed he will have to share the drink now,” Jodi joked, causing another frown from her business partner.

  “We really are sorry for the intrusion,” John tried to placate Mike, approaching him and asking, “How solid is the front door? It seemed to hold well.”

  “It’s solid enough. Things were built stronger back in the day,” Mike answered, staring across the room at Debbie. There was a look of… recognition? John couldn’t be sure and the contact was swiftly broken. Mike was six foot, stocky and tattooed, with a closely cropped shaved head, dark stubble growing through. He exuded an air of hostility that was the polar opposite of Jodi, chalk and cheese sprung to mind. John ignored it, putting it down to the end of the world and their untimely intrusion.

  As the air warmed gradually, the family took in their surroundings. The bar was centuries old, with low ceilings and a hard stone floor. The gnarled joists that supported the upper floor were darkened with smoke and time. The underlying smell was of ingrained alcohol, combined with the usual fragrances of a drinking establishment; wood, leather, cigarettes, and food. Tables were still laden with checkerboards from the older patrons, as well as a dart board and pool table for the younger generation. Over the years, countless punters had watered themselves at the stained bar, from doctors and teachers to the outlaws and cutthroats of yesteryear. The pub was a sanctuary from the outside and a welcoming sight for a weary traveller.

  “Would anyone like some food? The meat has turned, I’m afraid. We still have some fruit and vegetables left, pastas and rice, plus bar snacks,” Jodi asked. She was about five feet three, with long brown hair tied back in a pony, greasy and lank after the past few weeks of not being able to wash. Kurt’s decision at the outbreak to buy these dietary staples had proven sensible, they lasted well.

  “We don’t have enough to share, Jodi, you know that,” warned Mike.

  “Don’t worry, we have our own supplies, we don’t want to burden you further.” Kurt stood, looking at Mike. He opened their bags and took out the food they had packed, passing the tins out to the group.

  The worst of the chills had passed, the room was cosy and they hung the wet clothes on the back of creaking chairs to dry. Peter was struggling to breathe, the fractured ribs moving around painfully in his side. The dark, purple bruising was testament to the force of the impact. They could only pray the splintered bone had not pierced anything vital. He wasn’t coughing up blood, which was encouraging; a punctured lung would mean certain death without medical aid.

  “We can at least offer them a drink,” Jodi admonished her partner, her smile now gone. “Why are you being like this? The first human faces we see in a month and you act like a dick.” She pushed past him, opening the hatch and returning behind the bar.

  “Honestly, we are ok. You don’t have to do that,” Sarah smiled, trying to break the tension. Mike was glaring at Jodi, and she was glaring back.

  “I insist. We have all sorts of ales and soft drinks. I’m afraid the lager is out because we don’t have power for the pumps,” Jodi stated, doing her best sales pitch. The group were excited at the prospect of a drink with flavour. Water sustained life, but it could never titillate the taste buds.

  “Should we really be drinking, what if something happens?” Kurt asked.

  “One drink won’t hurt. We deserve a tipple after what we have been through. It will steady the nerves,” John answered with a grin. Mike snorted and walked away, angry at being embarrassed by Jodi in front of the strangers.

  “Sorry about Mike, he is normally friendlier than this,” Jodi apologised, pulling the pints of ale. Sam and Braiden looked at the frothy brews, then at Kurt who nodded. They hurried over and sipped at the drinks, before wrinkling their noses.

  “It’s an acquired taste, lads,” John chuckled, swallowing the sweet brew.

  “Sorry, could we please have a soft drink?” Sam pushed the barely touched pints back to Jodi, who put them to one side, before passing two bottles of cola to the boys.

  “So, what on earth brings you to our establishment?” Jodi had finished pouring everyone’s drinks and gave herself a double measure of scotch whiskey.

  “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you,” Sarah laughed.

  “Try me. Zombies have taken over the world, I’m sure your story won’t be as crazy as that,” Jodi replied.

  “Sam, would you care to enlighten our new friend?” Sarah asked, seeing the excitement in his eyes.

  “Well, we are looking for the old smuggler tunnels that lay beneath Chichester. This pub was the end of the line, before they loaded the contraband for delivery to the rest of the country,” Sam grinned.

  “I have heard the tales. There is only one problem, Sam, we don’t have any tunnels I’m sorry to say. We have searched high and low too,” Jodi said sadly, sorry to bring the youngster down.

  “But there must be…” Sam was no longer smiling. He had advised his family to make the journey, and now it was proving to be a stupid mistake.

  “She’s right. It’s a load of bollocks, designed to get people to visit the pubs in the area.” Mike had returned, picking up one of the drinks that Sam had abandoned and drinking deeply.

  “So what do we do now?” John asked the group, and then turned to Jodi and Mike, “We were trying to reach St Richard’s Hospital, taking the underground route. The army have set up a base there for survivors,” he explained.

  “The only way will be cross country, and then we have to head south toward it, going through the Orlits housing estate,” Kurt said quietly. The estate was home to several thousand people, not counting the hundreds of thousands that resided in the city limits. It would be swarming with the dead.

  “That sounds like fun,” Debbie chimed in, smiling at the difficulty they now faced. Mike laughed at her snide comment and she
grinned even more at the approval. He turned away and carried his drink into the other bar, isolating himself again. Debbie stood and followed, sensing a bond with the unfriendly character. Kurt was glad to see the back of her, even if it was only briefly. Honey had lain down by the fire, absorbing the heat and falling asleep. She was dreaming, issuing small chuffs, legs twitching as if she ran from something. The river water had washed some of the dirt from her coat, and she was now more yellow than brown.

  “You are more than welcome to stay as long as you want. My home is your home,” Jodi offered.

  “That’s very much appreciated. But we need to find somewhere secure for our family,” Sarah replied. “We are hoping to reach Hunston Nunnery, or Arundel Castle if the hospital doesn’t work out.”

  “Bloody hell. They are miles away, surely there is somewhere closer,” Jodi cautioned, hoping the group would reconsider the suicidal mission.

  “We have to try, anywhere like this could be overrun at a moment’s notice,” John added and Jodi looked around, thoughtfully. She listened to the banging on the main door from the new arrivals. Perhaps John was right, it couldn’t hold forever, nor could their food or water.

  **********

  “What do you want?” Mike said, watching Debbie approach.

  “Just wanted to say hello, and thanks for the drink,” she replied, raising a toast to him.

  “Bah, I wouldn’t have given you anything,” Mike dismissed her gratitude, but she sat down next to him anyway.

  “There’s no need to be like that,” she purred, moving closer, her leg touching his.

  “What are you doing?” Mike asked, knowing the game she was playing.

  “I thought you could do with a friend. Jodi seems like a real bitch, insulting you in front of them,” Debbie whispered.

  “Them?” Mike raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m not really one of them, they are all bastards, look what they did to me!” she pointed to her black eye and facial bruising, fishing for sympathy.