Hellspawn (Book 3): Hellspawn Sentinel

by Ricky Fleet

Kurt nodded his agreement, “Absolutely. We are forever in your debt, guys. I was just explaining what happened for those of you who weren’t with us.”

  “I know. I just can’t shake the feeling we should have done something about Baxter. None of this shit would have happened if we had ended him when he went crazy.” DB shook his head with sorrow at the loss of Paige and knowledge of Bennett’s likely execution.

  “At some point we will try and communicate with the others on the next frequency. We will see what is going on there,” Jonesy said, patting his comrade on the back. The small, but rapidly growing, insurrection on the barracks had organized more than one emergency channel. It was only the length of broadcast required during the artillery fire that had given away their secret. They couldn’t know that every single radio had been collected under penalty of death.

  “Ok,” DB replied, “As for the boat, I will swim and drag the bastard to the castle if I need to!”

  The group laughed in an attempt to hide their fear at the unknown events in front of them and climbed aboard the vehicles. Jodi and John took the driving to allow the soldiers to man the mounted heavy machine guns. They reached the station and the number of zombies had been reduced to a handful. That didn’t include the churned mess that the train had carved through the waiting horde. Parts of what were once people reached out in their dismembered state, no longer able to move without arms or legs. The appendages were strewn along the line, giving them a wet, green route through the more complete dead. Jodi reached the station gates and even though the train had punched through, the roads on either side leading to the crossing were choked with abandoned cars. Small fires raged in the debris and this had further dispersed the threat, giving them a few seconds to discuss their options.

  “The boats are down there,” Christina called out, indicating a small access track further down the road that couldn’t be reached. The cheerfully colored ‘Welcome to Ford Marina’ sign mocked them with its proximity; a tempting, but dangerous lure.

  “What about that one?” Jodi shouted over the engine, pointing to a dirty, rutted track.

  “I think it’s an old builder’s compound. When we were travelling the river, all I could see were bricks and lumber.” Christina answered.

  “Take it. It’s our only option at the moment!” DB called out from the gun turret and Jodi floored it, wheels spinning on a pile of severed limbs.

  They bounced over the rails and reached the entrance. A sign stating “All Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted” was ignored; laws designed by man were obsolete. The dead world only had one rule; survival of the fittest. A chain link gate stood wide open and they reached the main yard. Storage buildings lined the compound, filled with huge piles of bricks, varying timber lengths and other material. The longest building had sections of rail laid on racks, ready to be lifted onto transport trucks.

  “It’s a railway supply depot,” DB said to the others as it finally clicked.

  He climbed out of the turret to survey the surroundings and the rest of the group joined him. A couple of cadavers walked out from behind the main office and Sam dispatched them with skilled silence. The bearings whistled through the air and shattered bone and brain as they penetrated the skulls. Sam nonchalantly put the slingshot back into his jacket and turned around to find the group grinning. His family were all so proud of how he had grown into a man in the past few weeks. Where he would have once trembled with fear at the sight of an approaching corpse, he now stood stoic and brave.

  “Way to go, killer!” DB chuckled and squeezed his shoulder, reinforcing the earlier sentiment of his deadly skill.

  “Thanks,” said Sam, blushing.

  “Stay sharp, there may be more,” whispered Jonesy, looking around. The only noise they could hear was the burning train and the groans of the dead who were investigating.

  John walked over to the fence that separated the compound from the river bank. The land dropped off at an angle before it reached the muddied riverside and the vehicles would suffer a bumpy ride if they chose to take that route. Jonesy joined the pair and looked at the steep gradient, deep in thought.

  “I don’t like it, but I am not leaving the Foxhounds here while we go on foot,” he confirmed.

  “If we get stuck, we could be in real trouble. What if they topple and roll?” Christina asked.

  “They have a low center of gravity. We have a better than a fifty-fifty chance of making it down in one piece,” Jonesy added.

  Christina showed Jonesy the small dock that waited for them down river. The boats were small and only meant for sightseeing; they were not suitable for the task of transporting the survivors and their equipment to Arundel. A smile formed on John’s lips as he caught sight of a long canal boat bobbing on the flowing water further down the moorings.

  “If we can get that hulk moving, we will have shelter and enough space to stow all of our food and guns,” John declared.

  “I’ve been on one of those before, they are slow but we aren’t in any rush,” Christina explained and a howling gust of frigid wind encircled them, causing synchronous shivers. Their attention had been so rapt on the shambling danger, they had almost forgotten the shifting clouds as they moved overhead, ready to unleash a white hell.

  “It’s time to go!” yelled DB as the first flakes descended.

  Honey leapt around, biting the frozen treats out of the air until Braiden whistled and she came to his side obediently. The group made to climb in the Foxhounds but Jonesy cautioned and they paused.

  “I think we need to be careful. If it rolls, I only want one of us in the vehicle,” he explained. Handing his gun to DB, he slowly accelerated to the fence, finally pushing through with the sound of splintering wood as the posts yielded to the uneven battle.

  They all watched and held their breath without realizing as the front end tipped forward. For a moment it looked as if the weight would carry the rear up and over, crashing the vehicle and Jonesy down in a rending jumble of metal and flesh. The center of gravity stabilized and the back settled down on the suspension without cartwheeling down the bank. Jonesy took it slowly, the bumps and divots in the ground bucked him around in the seat and at the final ten feet he threw caution to the wind and gunned it. The front bumper hit the flat ground and churned up a huge mound of moist earth before skidding to a stop on the river bank.

  They sighed audibly with relief as Jonesy’s grinning face appeared over the top of the vehicle and raise a thumb. DB passed over the two rifles to John and Kurt and they handled them with comical care, barely daring to hold them tight.

  “Don’t worry, they won’t go off unless you want them to. I’ve switched the safeties on,” DB laughed and squeezed his huge bulk into the driver’s seat of the second vehicle.

  He straightened the Foxhound and aimed for the hole in the fence, assuming that by following the same line Jonesy had taken he would be safe. Only at the last minute did he realize everything was wrong. The lead vehicle had compressed the wet ground deeply in its passing, meaning that DB’s Hound tilted further forward. Coupled with his extra weight and fewer supplies in the rear, it toppled forward. In a split second of fear, he touched the brake and the maneuver was doomed. In a wild crashing tumult, the armored people carrier spun end over end before crashing down on its roof only feet from where Jonesy stood.

  “Oh God, no!” cried Gloria as she watched the second soldier rush to the aid of his friend.

  “Quickly, we have to see if he is ok,” Kurt called out and they started their own descent on foot. Honey raced down, loving the speed she could build up before falling in a tangled heap when momentum met the reality of the bottom of the slope. She stood up and shook herself, before running to the mangled wreckage. The humans fared no better and all of them had a muddy bottom from skidding down the bank when they lost their footing. Christina rounded the smoking vehicle and found Jonesy pulling the unconscious figure of DB through the twisted door.

  “No, don’t move him!” she called out and Jo
nesy lowered him carefully to the ground.

  “Sorry,” he replied. His face was granite, but he was tearing himself up inside. He knew not to move someone who was injured, that it could cause irreparable injury to the spine. The sight of his friend covered in blood and slumped half in and half out of the vehicle was enough to throw his instincts off.

  “Hold his head straight!” the doctor ordered him and he knelt on the wet earth, clasping the cold cheeks of DB and holding him perfectly still. They were face to face, although upside down, and Jonesy was surprised how serene his friend looked. Being oblivious to the living hell they endured, even for a few hours, filled Jonesy with a baffling jealousy. After witnessing the horror of the past few weeks, he supposed it wasn’t unusual to desire a surcease from the pain and fear.

  “I can’t feel any broken bones. As for spinal injuries we will have to wait and see,” said Christina, the note of chastisement not lost on the group.

  “There’s a lot of blood up here, Doc,” Jonesy informed Christina, watching the spreading trail between his knees soak into the earth.

  The doctor felt around the skull, searching for injury and behind his ear was a rising lump of split scalp. The blood was trickling through her fingers so she reached into one of the scattered bags and took out a clean t-shirt.

  “Press this to the wound,” she ordered Braiden and he positioned himself by the side of the soldier, reaching through and pressing firmly.

  “How are we going to move him? We need something flat,” Gloria stated and was about to climb back up the slope to collect some timber until Jonesy called out.

  “There is a folding field stretcher in the back,” Jonesy tried nodding, unable to remove his hands and Kurt followed, but went to the wrong section, “No, to the left. That’s it.”

  Kurt and Gloria slotted the pieces together with the soldier’s instruction and laid it to the side of the unconscious body. With much grunting, they managed to heave DB into place, before covering him with several thick blankets. The snow was falling heavily by the time they had secured his head with a neck brace.

  “We need to get him to the boat as quickly as possible, this cold could finish him off,” Christina explained.

  “What about the supplies?” John looked around. While DB was being checked they had gathered all of the food and weaponry that had been thrown clear of the crashing vehicle. The mounted gun on the turret seat was smashed beyond repair, but the smaller machine guns and pistols had survived. Some of the food containers had been ruptured and Honey gratefully fed on the spilled contents.

  “DB goes in the back of the Hound, we go on foot,” John said and looked at Jonesy for confirmation.

  “Agreed. We can carry as much as we are able, and come back for the rest. Load up!”

  The stretcher was carried to the surviving vehicle and they slid DB inside after moving some of the supplies. Christina seated herself to keep the pressure on and she watched as the first trickle of blood ran from his right ear. Her heart sank at the possibility the skull was fractured; it would have meant possible surgery in a sterile environment by highly trained surgeons. On the road, fleeing millions of walking dead, with sparse equipment and no way of maintaining safe conditions? She may as well smother him in his sleep.

  “I’ll drive him!” offered Jodi.

  She climbed aboard and started moving slowly, watching intently for as many ruts and depressions in the ground as she could avoid. The riverbank was not a clear road and despite her best efforts, it lurched around more than she would have liked. The windscreen wipers cleared the screen of settled snowflakes which were immediately replaced by more. Behind, the rest of the group followed, bearing the burden of the food and some of the guns and ammunition.

  “Whoa, look at that!” Sam whispered. To their left, the flowing river was filled with the fallen zombies from the railway bridge. They bobbed past on the current, reaching for the survivors before going under the water, only to surface again with water pouring from their chomping mouths.

  “Thank God they can’t get their footing and come ashore,” said Gloria with a small prayer.

  They reached the dock and it had seen better days. A lack of interest and funding left it in a poor state, with water rotten boards a constant danger to the few remaining river folks.

  “We will need to watch our footing and move slowly,” Jonesy explained as he scanned along the walkway.

  The canal boat itself was a beautifully crafted specimen, eleven-foot-wide and over sixty-foot long. The sides and top had been intricately painted with roses and castle motifs, for reasons the group could never know without the owner’s explanation. The roof was in the process of being covered by snow, hiding the artwork until the temperature rose to melt it. The women stood guard and the men each took a corner of the stretcher, straining as the weight was lifted. Step by slow step, they walked up the gangplank and reached the flat dock. Their combined weight made the wood creak and groan in protest and Kurt was convinced that all five would plunge headlong into the murk of the river to join the passing dead. By placing each foot with care on the sturdier boards, they made it to the barge and climbed aboard unscathed.

  “Get the door!” Jonesy said with a grimace and took the full weight of the second corner to free Kurt for the task.

  Pulling out his hammer, Kurt smashed at the lock until the mechanism split apart. He lifted the door panel and they entered the rear of the vessel which led to a well-furnished bedroom. They gently laid DB’s stretcher inside on the double bed where he was finally out of the falling snow. Christina resumed her duties and tended to the fallen soldier as the men returned to the females at the riverbank who had stood guard. Three corpses lay slain at their feet who had ventured too close, the work of baseball bat and small hatchets. The women were formidable; sprayed with splashes of undead blood and ferocious in their determination to protect their new family.

  “Stay here, we will be able to manage the last bits. Make sure nothing gets up that ramp,” Kurt hugged Sarah close and kissed her.

  “I love you, be quick,” she said as he pulled away. Kurt nodded and brushed away some snow that was gathering on her exposed hair.

  Jonesy led the gathering party back up the river, holding his arm up to shield his streaming eyes from the biting wind. The flakes whirled around his arm and hit his face anyway, the storm was growing in intensity by the minute. Visibility had been reduced to about thirty feet and small tornadoes of air twisted the falling ice particles in hypnotic patterns. The remaining boxes of ammunition and food were picked up and the wail of the banshee wind was broken by another, familiar outcry. Looking up, Kurt saw the gathered dead who must have followed them from the station. They lined the top of the incline, deep into the builder’s yard. As if a dam had been breached, the tide of flesh washed downwards. Unable to maintain their footing in their new condition, they just threw themselves down the slope, bouncing and crunching as unfeeling limbs shattered. The piled corpses started to rise as more joined the heap. Those that had suffered broken legs dragged themselves through the snow, leaving a green trail on the pristine white ground.

  “Run!” Jonesy yelled and they fled from the pursuing monsters. The snow crunched underfoot as it was compacted and Braiden slipped over on the icy ground, the box of ammunition he carried spilling the shiny shells all about. He scrambled onto his knees and started to gather handfuls of mud, snow and casings. Jonesy grabbed him under the arm, pulling him away from the task.

  “Leave it, we have to get on the boat!” Jonesy shouted, trying to be heard over the hammering wind. Braiden reluctantly left the contents and they were gladdened when the women appeared through the snow fog.

  “We have company. Get on the boat!” Kurt called out and they ran up the ramp without hesitation.

  “Kurt, we need to blow the ramp, open that box and take out one of the grenades while I cover you!” Jonesy called out and took the rifle from his shoulder. The uninjured zombies came striding out of the snowstorm
and Jonesy picked them off with precision while Kurt lifted the small, egg shaped death dealer from the foam padding.

  “What do I do with it?” Kurt questioned, thinking they were going to be using it against the dead. Against living beings, the slivers of metal would be deadly. Against the dead who felt no pain and only fell with a destroyed brain, they would be useless.

  “Pull the pin. As soon as you release the handle it is live, for fuck sake don’t keep hold of it. Roll it down the ramp and get yourself laid flat on the dock, ok?” Jonesy instructed Kurt.

  Finally understanding, he nodded his agreement and pulled the pin. Jonesy took one last shot, spraying the snow with a final gout of blood and then ducked away, ready to take cover when Kurt tossed the metal ball of explosives. The grenade was lobbed gently underhand and it bounced on the timber, meeting the first zombie to reach the access ramp. Kurt had already thrown himself down and his weight crashed him through the rotten wood as the grenade exploded. The cadaver was sent flying into the air in pieces and the concussive blast had shattered the fragile dock into splinters. The ramp was no more, and the dead could only moan their angst at the meat that was so close, but still so far. Kurt’s feet dangled in the frozen water, his grip on the icy wood slipping. Jonesy grabbed his arm and started to lift, unable to comprehend how the man weighed so much. Kurt was trying to say something as John joined them and, taking his other arm, they roared and slumped backwards with his weight. The zombie that had clutched onto his legs from the water was pulled up with them and lifted its head. Their awkward position meant Kurt struggled to push himself up, and John and Jonesy were pinned underneath. The zombie opened its mouth in triumph and struck downwards, attempting to bite Kurt’s shoulder. The crack of Gloria’s shotgun pulverized the head before it could take its fatal bite and the decapitated body toppled into the water.

  “Thank you, Gloria, oh thank you,” cried Sarah who had seen the whole thing.

  She embraced the teacher and then ran to her struggling husband. By helping him climb off, the others were able to get their footing and their celebration was brief. The driving snow was a cloying blanket that robbed them of heat and breath. If they had been out in the open, they might have wandered aimlessly, blinded by the total whiteness, before succumbing to the freezing temperatures. The jetty led them straight to the long boat and they climbed aboard, sheltering inside and closing the hatch. The wind took on an unnatural life, shrieking around the boat as if it was a hunter whose prey had eluded it.