Hellspawn (Book 3): Hellspawn Sentinel

by Ricky Fleet

  “They are on the way, sir, over,” Baxter replied.

  How they all hated the sadistic bastard. He seemed to take pleasure in catching soldiers out, meting out harsh punishments for any infraction to the Army code of conduct.

  “We can’t just leave them out there, sir. They will be sitting ducks!” Harkiss yelled over the sounds of gunfire.

  “We have our orders, soldier!” Crown replied, although he totally agreed.

  If all of those on foot coming down the road were infected with whatever disease caused the psychotic behaviour, the cars wouldn’t stand a chance. Using binoculars, he could see there were at least another seventy snaking down towards them. It was a moot point in the end anyway; a car tried to pass a small school bus and swerved in at the wrong time, catching it on the front wing. The bus hit the kerb and flipped onto its side, skidding down the road in a blaze of sparks. Three of the horrors were pulled underneath the sliding hulk and ended up as long, wet streaks on the road. The desperate driver that had caused the accident had spun out and the car lay steaming in the ditch. The stricken bus came to rest blocking most of the road, with only a small gap for the long trail of cars to squeeze through. Whether it was the British sense of politeness, or the fear of hurting someone, the lead car stopped when a zombie blocked the gap. It was quickly surrounded and the occupants pulled out and devoured. The roadblock was complete and the sergeant watched the dead move back up the street, flensing the flesh from every living being.

  “Major, request permission to engage the enemy. We have innocent civilians on the approach road being killed, over,” Crown begged.

  “Negative, Sergeant, pull your men back to the south side of the bridge. You are to control the situation until Lieutenant Baxter arrives to block the entrance, over,” replied the major.

  “But, sir, there are women and children out there!” shouted the sergeant.

  “Careful, Sergeant. I understand your frustration, but we have been given orders to secure the base and await further instructions. Now pull your men back and hold position, over,” answered the major, ending the discussion.

  “FUCK!” screamed Crown and he threw his radio against the bridge wall, shattering it into fragments.

  “Sarge, let’s just go out there. He can’t court martial all of us,” DB suggested.

  Crown lifted the binoculars to get a fresh view and his heart sank. An aching void opened in his soul as he saw a converging wave of dead coming from Emsworth town. The people were trapped between the group moving northwards and the new horde heading south. By the time they reached them on foot, it would be too late. The soldiers looked to him for guidance, eager to get some payback. He could only shake his head and walk back towards the base, the binoculars falling to the ground. Jonesy looked at DB with confusion, they had never seen their superior like this. Picking up the lenses, DB looked and he lowered them too, his face bearing the same sense of hopelessness.

  “What the fuck is happening?” DB asked quietly, looking up and seeing the Vikings rumble around the side hangar.

  “I don’t know, partner, but we are sure as hell going to find out. Zombies? They only exist in horror movies,” Jonesy tried to convince himself, and failed. He had seen the hearts shredded with splinters of his bullets and they still got up, wanting to feed.

  Screams from inside the base brought them running and the medic was being helped after losing part of his hand to the faceless soldier who was chewing greedily. Two of his team were trying to hold the figure down, mistaking the attack as some sort of accident or madness brought on by pain. They both paid for their efforts with chunks taken from their arms and they too, were led away, blood pouring.

  “Get them to the infirmary, now!” DB yelled.

  The flayed man on the ground stood up, seeking his next victim. Jonesy stepped forward and shot a hole through its bloody skull from only six feet away.

  “What the hell are you doing, soldier?” cried out the sergeant.

  “Sir, they are zombies. You have seen the punishment they can take. Only head shots keep them down,” Jonesy held his superior by the arm.

  He reluctantly nodded and it was then that Lieutenant Baxter arrived, brakes shrieking.

  “What is the situation, Sergeant? Are all your men clear?” Baxter asked, surveying the blood and bodies.

  “Zombies, sir,” responded Crown, meeting the icy blue, cold stare.

  “Very funny. I am not in the mood for games, do you understand me?” Baxter stood only inches from the sergeant, a favoured tactic to intimidate the men.

  “Take a look for yourself, sir,” said DB, offering the binoculars. Baxter snatched them away and raised them to his face, seeing the unfolding events on the access road.

  “Let’s get that bridge sealed. You four, manoeuvre the rear of the vehicles to block the road, keep them tight. Now!” he barked at the drivers and they revved the engines, expertly sealing the entrance with tonnes of solid steel, leaving only an inch between them.

  “Do you believe me now?” Crown chided, pointing at the first cadavers as they stumbled across the bridge. Their wounds and trailing guts were enough to convince any sane mind.

  “I don’t believe in made up stories,” sneered the lieutenant, walking away to talk on the radio in private.

  “Cunt,” muttered Jonesy and spat on the floor.

  “I would punish you, except I agree. I don’t blame him for trying to hold onto his sanity, though. I don’t think I will ever sleep again,” the sergeant replied with a shudder. The binoculars had revealed things he would give anything to forget.

  “Sir, we should go and keep an eye on those that were bitten. You know what is meant to happen…” DB said to Crown and distant shouts of terror and pain confirmed his worst fears.

  “We lost fourteen more soldiers trying to contain the infected. People just didn’t believe what was happening,” Jonesy said quietly, remembering the friends he had lost.

  “Jesus Christ. I am sorry,” consoled John.

  “We knew the risks when we signed up. None of us expected it to come from the zombie apocalypse though,” DB said with regret.

  “How many troops are left at the barracks?” Kurt asked.

  “We were part of two battalions, around twelve hundred men and machines. After it all went to hell, some of us were deployed to Porton Down to protect the facility. You may have seen the choppers moving artillery and armoured vehicles. What a waste,” Jonesy replied.

  DB remembered the radio transmission and continued, “While we had the opportunity, we should have relocated the scientists to the Daresford Institute and their underground facility. Why the fuck did the brass try and hold the centre? Jesus Christ, it’s always the grunts who pay for their mistakes.”

  “They’re idiots,” John agreed, shaking his head.

  “It’s always the best and bravest who suffer while those at the top hide and survive. When this is all over, if we make it, we will ensure it is the other way ‘round,” DB vowed.

  “By the time we left the barracks, there were just over three hundred and twenty left. Baxter has a personal guard of about thirty loyalists who would follow him to hell if he ordered it. I pray we get the chance to send them there!” Jonesy growled.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The soldiers stood to attention on the parade ground, shivering from the cold that penetrated their uniforms. For over an hour they had waited patiently, afraid to break formation and draw the attention of their crazed superior and his compliant henchmen.

  “We have to do something!” whispered Corporal Derby.

  “What do you suggest? We try and take their guns and we end up shot too, is that what you want?” replied Private Heath.

  “Of course not, but Bennett is our friend,” said the Corporal, hoping to get some support from the others.

  “Baxter is still our commanding officer; you are talking about insubordination. Hell, maybe treason if you try and kill him,” whispered another voice from behind.


  “How do we know he is following orders himself? This isn’t the Army I signed up for,” complained Derby.

  “The world has changed. The Army has to change too,” said Heath with resignation.

  “Shut your mouths!” yelled a sergeant from the sidelines.

  Major Albright had allegedly been recalled because of his value to the chain of command. Rumors were rampant that he had simply fled to try and find his family, an option he had denied to his own troops. The dissatisfaction had grown over the following weeks until the base was nearly in open mutiny. Soldiers would abscond in the night to try and reach their own loved ones, weakening the base defenses further. Only the iron fist of Lieutenant Baxter had reigned in the trouble and punishments were swift and severe, without exception.

  “Here they come,” said another voice from the crowd.

  Bennett was handcuffed and being pushed forward by two burly soldiers who had been recently promoted for their unflinching loyalty to Baxter. Bullies before, now they had the rank to act carte blanche. Beatings and forty-eight-hour guard postings were common. Three soldiers had died from exhaustion and exposure from the extended duty on the perimeter. Day by day, the remaining troops had fallen into line and order was restored. It was gradually becoming apparent to the new commander that an undercurrent of hostility and hatred was blossoming in the hearts of his charges. They spoke in hushed tones in the dark of night, plotting another way. The secret radio transmission to DB had been intercepted, but others took their place. They hadn’t abandoned their brothers out in the world; they would still try and help where they could.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, in times of war, the importance of discipline is even more paramount to the survival of your fellow soldier. Without discipline, we have anarchy and chaos!” Baxter shouted. He looked around the blank faces in the crowd, his cold stare adding to the chill. “I have always prided myself on being firm, but fair. I didn’t volunteer for this position; it was entrusted to me by Major Albright. He saw in me the strength and resilience to lead you all beyond this hell. With me, you have a chance at survival, of making something magnificent in this world. All I ask is for your obedience and loyalty!”

  “We’re not dogs, you fucking lunatic!” yelled a soldier who had heard enough of the sanctimonious lecture. The enforcers rushed over and cracked him around the head with their rifles, splitting the man’s scalp. Blood poured from the wound and they ignored it while kicking him mercilessly. When he was still, they dragged him away and through the doors to the cells. He would not be seen again until he was brought in front of them for punishment.

  “Why do you insist on testing me? Are you hungry? No, because you eat my food. Are you thirsty? No, because you drink my water. I can’t understand your need to bite the hand that feeds you,” Baxter said with a face that spoke of genuine disappointment. It was as if he was addressing errant children.

  “Sir, prisoner is in position. Shall we form up the line?” Sergeant Strickland asked, meaning the firing squad.

  “No, I don’t think so. I shall deal with it personally this time,” Baxter answered, pulling his pistol from its holder.

  “Remember what you signed up for; to protect people, to fight our enemies, whoever they are. Not hide behind the fences and watch the whole world die!” Bennett shouted from his position; tied to a post that had been installed at the behest of Baxter for these occasions.

  “You signed up to follow orders!” screamed Baxter an inch from his face, “Sergeant, gag the prisoner!”

  A rag was duly tied around his mouth, silencing the protests that threatened the stability of the base. Baxter could feel the anger radiating from the crowd, they just didn’t have the ability to understand why he was doing this. It was for their own good. The temptation to appeal to their sense of responsibility, their military honor, was nearly overwhelming. Instead, he sighed and lowered his head in resignation, then turned and shot Bennett straight through the heart at point blank range. Yells of denial and anger were swiftly silenced by the barrels of the rifles that covered them. Bennett coughed up a huge gout of blood, then slumped forward. Eyes had narrowed with contempt and rage, but it would not spill over today. He still had enough firepower to ensure control. The armory was fully locked and heavily guarded around the clock by Baxter loyalists to prevent any temptation.

  “Bennett was a traitor to us all. He supported deserters and wasted ammunition that could have saved lives.” Baxter tried to justify himself, ignoring the irony that they had actually used the shells to save lives. Just not those chosen by the madman.

  “You all know the punishment for dissent. Justice has been served here today,” barked one of the sergeants. The heads turned in his direction and their glares caused him to fall quiet and avert his gaze. He knew that if the tables were ever turned, he would be shown no mercy by his fellow troops.

  Bennett started to tremble in his bindings, his body going into spasms as the reanimation was taking hold. Suddenly he fell still, before his head rose and the dead eyes took in the gathered crowds. The all too familiar groan of desire issued forth from his mouth, coupled with a torrent of blood that covered the ground around his feet.

  “And now he pays the price for his betrayal once more,” Baxter fired a single round through Bennett’s forehead, blowing the brains all over the frosty ground to his rear.

  The body would be left as a warning to others who would pass it on the way to guard duty. The barbarity that a supposed ‘gentleman officer’ was capable of was no better than the enemies they had faced in the Middle-East. A supposed civilized country had devolved in a matter of weeks, leaving their humanity behind.

  “Everyone fall out, you are dismissed!” shouted Baxter, walking off.

  He turned after a few paces, and saw that only his chosen few were following. The others were unmoving, looking at their dead comrade. With no prompting, every soldier, male and female, saluted. Lowering their arms, they remained standing in mourning, resolute. Baxter was apoplectic with rage and he took out his pistol, ready to start shooting indiscriminately into the crowd. How dare they ignore his order.

  “Sir, I don’t think that will help,” warned Strickland, gently easing the gun hand down, “Begging your pardon, sir, but we shouldn’t shake the hornet’s nest.” The sergeant was all too aware how far the soldiers had been pushed, and anyone has their breaking point where self-preservation is no longer the ascendant tendency.

  “So be it!” growled Baxter and strode back into the command building.

  The other troops hadn’t flinched at their near shooting. They stared at the bleeding form of the artillery commander with introspection, minds plotting.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I didn’t think I would sleep a wink after yesterday,” said Peter, rubbing his eyes. “I was gone as soon as my head hit the pillow.”

  “It’s a healing sleep, you needed it,” explained Christina, kneeling beside him.

  “Is everyone else awake?” Peter asked. The darkness had started to recede, but it would be a while before the sun rose from the horizon.

  “No, not yet. You were feverish and muttering in your sleep so I’ve been keeping an eye on you. It is not unheard of for an emotional trauma to manifest physically,” replied the doctor.

  Jodi walked up to the door and smiled, though Peter could only make out the faint outlines from the meagre light. He lifted a hand and she replied in kind, before putting the baseball bat back on her shoulder and walking off down the carriage.

  “She has been keeping watch all night. Everything has been quiet though,” Christina explained.

  “I will take over, you get back to bed for an hour,” Peter said to the doctor and she climbed back into her makeshift bunk. Jodi averted her eyes when Peter offered to finish out the night, ducking through the door to her compartment.

  “Thanks,” she said quietly, before starting to close the door.

  “Hey, wait. Come here,” Peter whispered and she hesitated for a few seconds befo
re sighing and walking back out into the narrow corridor.

  “I know what you are going to say. You can’t make me feel any worse than I already do,” she still looked down and Peter could see the first tears running down her cheeks. He took her by the chin and raised her face so they were looking at each other.

  “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to say I don’t hold you responsible. No one knows better than me what can be lurking within someone’s mind, the things they can be capable of. Mike made his choice and I hope to have the chance to even the score one day,” Peter explained to her solemnly.

  “But you were in love and he’s robbed you of that. It was my fault he was at the bar, my poor life choices that led to me keeping him around. If I had kicked him out when I suspected he was dealing drugs, he would never have been able to hurt you,” she replied and Peter took her in his arms to show he felt no animosity towards their new friend.

  “And if you hadn’t gone into business and bought the pub, you would probably be dead now too. There are so many what ifs. Life is just one big cosmic fuckup,” he spat the words with derision.

  “So you really forgive me?” Jodi looked hopeful.

  “No,” Peter replied, “Because there is nothing to forgive. Get some rest and I will wake you at dawn.”

  Jodi broke contact, paused, and then gave him a kiss on the cheek. A gesture of love and gratitude.

  Peter watched her get comfortable and then started to prowl back and forth, staring out of the windows. The dead world was still hard to become accustomed to. The glow of streetlights rising into the night, the passage of cars along the roads used to be like fireflies floating in the distance. It was just the moonlight now, the cold indifference of the rotating barren rock striking the land, giving it an eerie luminosity. His mind returned to the image of Paige, her radiant smile, her innocent ways, and a lump formed in his throat that wouldn’t disappear. His heart physically ached with the pain of the loss and a swift cardiac arrest would be a welcome relief. He would happily sacrifice his plans of revenge if he could stop the pain. He lacked the courage to end his own life though. The thought of taking the gun and swallowing the barrel filled him with irrational fear that the heart attack didn’t. He shook his head in the darkness at his bizarre, grief driven thoughts. When his body refused to heed his yearning for the sweet release of death, he continued on to the next window. The moisture in the air had formed into ice crystals that reflected the light on the cold pane. It never failed to amaze him how the beautiful patterns were created and he leaned in closer to get a better look. The cold emanated from the glass and he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to the frozen surface. It numbed his skin, but the anesthetic quality could not penetrate to his brain and the sorrow contained within.