by Ricky Fleet
“That won’t be necessary, we won’t be staying,” Mike explained with a smile that chilled Debbie’s blood.
“Then why did you strike our sister?” scolded another nun from the side of her injured companion.
“Because I’m not going out that way,” he answered as if he was answering an imbecile.
“I don’t understand,” complained another.
“You will soon enough,” Mike said, stepping further into the hallway with Debbie, placing the nuns closest to the door.
“I need to close the door, they are nearly here,” begged Sister Belinda.
Mike only shook his head and made a mock sad face, “No, you want to close the door. But I want the door left open, I have some friends who are coming to say hello.”
“Ignore him, close that door now!”
“Don’t you fucking move!” screamed Mike, pointing the gun straight in Sister Belinda’s face.
“But we will all die!” wailed another voice and Mike burst out laughing.
“No, silly, you will all die and we will escape while they feed on your carcasses,” Mike rubbed a knuckle into his eye as if he was wiping away pretend tears, but his evil grin left no doubt he was loving every second of their fear.
“You are damned for all eternity, your soul will burn in the fires of Hell,” cursed the mother superior who had regained consciousness.
“We are already in Hell, you fucking whore!” Mike yelled and Sister Belinda made her move for the door. The gun cracked and Mike was so shocked at the sudden recoil and noise it fell from his hand and bounced on the tiled floor, finally settling by one of the nun’s feet.
“Ack…” coughed Belinda and a gout of blood erupted from her mouth. The bullet had ripped through her neck and the torn artery sprayed the white frost with deep claret through the open doorway.
The momentary shock wore off and the nun tried to reach for the gun. Unused to confrontation, her hands shook and the blood from the cheek wound of her friend made the metal slippery. Mike wasn’t so disadvantaged and stepped forward, kicking as hard as he could and connecting with the jaw of the elderly woman. The bone cracked from the power of the blow and broken teeth spilled from her bloodied mouth.
“The guests of honor have arrived,” Mike announced darkly after retrieving the gun.
The first zombies fell on the dying Sister Belinda, whose blood was barely trickling from the wound. Tearing at her clothes with skeletal fingers and teeth, they ripped the black habit into pieces to reach the tender meat beneath.
“Dear God in Heaven. Save us, your loyal subjects. Hear our plea,” the nuns begged, falling to their knees and praying.
“You are both going to die, and it won’t be quick. You will scream as the Almighty delivers his retribution, you motherless bastards!” shrieked the mother superior and Mike had to admire her moxie.
“Language, Sister. You will be meeting your Lord soon and don’t want any stains on your soul,” he chided and lifted the broken jawed woman by the back of her dress, throwing her towards the advancing monsters like a treat tossed to a family pet. The ravenous creatures wasted no time and began the process of devouring chunks of flesh from her body.
Enough were pouring through the door to ensure the rest of the swarm would follow, trapping them within the confines of the convent walls while he and Debbie made good their escape. The dead reached the nuns and attacked without mercy, their prayers going unanswered. Noses, ears, chunks of scalp and protesting fingers were bitten off and the gargled screams rang out through the building. Crucified Jesus watched them with painted tears running and a mournful sadness at the fate of his loyal disciples.
“Time to go,” Mike urged, pulling Debbie away from the butchery that was occurring.
“In agony,” spat the dying Mother, blood frothing from her mouth as the zombies tore her insides out, entrails spilling on the floor.
“What did she mean? That she was in agony or we will be in agony?” Debbie fretted.
“Who gives a fuck. We can get away free and clear, now come on!” Mike pulled her along and through a door which led to a long dining area.
This room was also austere; a stout wooden table ran the whole length of the shadowy hall, with the stains of centuries ingrained in the wood. Paintings of anointed saints observed them with silent accusation and Debbie was sure their eyes followed her every step. Mike clutched at the handle of a closed door but it was pulled from his grip. A young man gaped at the new faces who had appeared, but this quickly turned to fear when he saw the splashes of blood and their general disheveled appearance.
“What’s going on?” he asked, looking over their shoulder where the sounds of screaming had now stopped.
“Nothing. Just a bit of trouble at the door, but it’s all sorted now. You should go and see if the sisters need any help,” Mike said and patted him on the shoulder as he ran past. They watched his disappear through the dark doorway to the entrance chamber, and new agonized screams began.
“Why did you do that? What is he even doing here?” Debbie asked with confusion.
“Fuck knows, but he doesn’t look like a nun. If he is stupid enough to go rushing towards screams with the dead roaming the earth, he’s too dumb to live anyway,” Mike laughed and pulled her through to the room beyond.
It led down a short hallway and then through another small door which was a side entrance to the main church. They came out on the eastern side of the transept, which adjoined the nave and aisles. Dozens of terrified faces huddled between the pews watching them; men, women, and children. They couldn’t have been more afraid if the actual zombies had burst through into the Holy place of worship.
“So many people, Mike, what are we going to do?” Debbie whispered as the group started to stir, questions about the screams overcoming their initial fear.
“We escape. You can see the light through the main doors over there,” Mike pointed and they hurried through the converging masses, ignoring their inquiries. When one man stepped in front of them and placed a hand on his chest to demand answers, Mike head butted the stranger on the bridge of his nose. It was an injury that would incapacitate him, and also prevent any more delay from the others. Bewilderment at the sudden violence escalated to screams of terror as the first undead burst through into the church.
“I guess they don’t fear holy ground then,” Mike said nonchalantly, pushing through the double doors and out into the chilly day.
“Can’t we help them at all?” Debbie asked naively. The curse and the outraged stares of the painted saints had worried her.
“You can stay and help, I’m jumping that wall and running for my life,” Mike said and strode off, leaving her to decide her fate.
Her newfound compassion lasted all of three seconds and she left the children begging their parents to save them from the monsters. The onset of their high pitched wails showed how hopeless their request was.
“Use my knee to reach the top of the wall and pull yourself up,” Mike said, bending a leg to provide a hop-up. With a lithe grace, she leapt and straddled the wall, reaching down to help Mike who ignored her. Taking a few paces back, he ran full pelt at the wall and jumped, planting his feet on the stone to give extra lift. In one fluid motion he was also sat on top, facing Debbie and with a perfect view of the ensuing carnage.
“Shit!” Mike complained when it was clear all they could see was the outside of the slaughterhouse. The battle was taking place within the main church building, with screams and crashing noises rebounding within the walls.
“I think we should go,” Debbie said, preparing to drop down from the wall.
“No wait, look at this,” Mike was slapping his thighs with mirth.
In the gardens, an obese teenager had followed them through the doors and was trying to run away from two horrors that wanted to taste his soft doughy meat. The size of the youngster left him unable to run properly, only waddle as his flabby thighs got in the way of each other.
“Run, Forres
t, run!” yelled Mike and roared with laughter. Even Debbie giggled into her hand at the sight.
“Life is like a box of chocolates!” the boy called back as he deftly dodged the grasping arms of one of his pursuers.
“Fair play, you fat fucker,” Mike said with respect at the comeback.
The second zombie had managed to get hold of the collar of his coat and was trying to take a bite from his neck. Surprisingly, instead of screaming and wailing like they expected, he twisted and snapped the arm, before throwing the zombie to the ground. Using his weight, he leapt and stamped down with both feet onto the fallen corpses head, crushing it flat and spraying gore in all directions.
“Snowball fight!” screamed the boy and he scooped up a compacted ball, throwing it at the advancing ghoul. The hard packed ice hit the zombie full in the face and it staggered backwards, spitting out the slushy mixture.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Mike said with awe. He had completely misjudged the teenager, thinking him to be a sad, pathetic weakling due to his girth. Jogging over to the pair of onlookers, his flesh wobbled and jiggled like jelly. Debbie made a disgusted sound as he came to a stop below.
“Hey, do you mind if I come with you guys? I don’t think this place is safe anymore. I’m Winston by the way,” he held out a hand and shook the air, mimicking a handshake in place of the real thing as Mike was out of reach.
“Winston, who the fuck calls their kid Winston? How old are you, seventy?” Mike said, mockingly.
“Nope, seventeen years young. My parents named me after Winston Churchill,” he answered, looking behind to see how close the second zombie was.
“I’d get moving if I were you, she looks like she wants to eat blubber tonight,” Debbie giggled at the festering woman who still had snow buried in the back of her mouth from the snowball.
“What can I say,” he shrugged up at her and smiled, “The ladies can’t resist me.”
With that, the woman reached him and with a speed that belied his weight he feinted to the side and grabbed the back of her head, propelling her face forward into the wall. With a wet smack it came away and the nose was pulped, spilling green blood onto the snow. He drove the head again and again into the stone until the zombie fell dead at his feet.
“Good work,” Mike nodded his admiration.
“So can I come with you? I won’t slow you down,” Winston begged.
“I’ll tell you what, Chunk, if you do the truffle shuffle for me, I may just think about it,” Mike offered spitefully.
“A fat joke!” Winston slapped his thigh and laughed, “I’ve never heard that one before.”
“Yeah, right,” mocked Debbie.
“And anyway, it’s glandular,” he explained with a sad face.
“Really?”
“Nah, ‘course not. I just eat too much crap,” he grinned up at them.
The dead congregation were leaving the church and stepping into the daylight. Fresh blood covered the zombies, with red liquid cascading from their open mouths like the communion wine of Hell.
“Sorry, Winston, but we have to go now,” Mike said morosely, “Plus you would probably rip my arm out of its socket if I tried to help you up.”
“Another fat joke! Brilliant. With a comedy genius like that, you should be on the stage,” Winston nodded, “Sweeping it,” he finished.
Mike laughed at the quip, but time was running out, “Good luck with your new friends,” Mike saluted and dropped effortlessly to the ground on the other side, tucking his legs and rolling to minimize the impact.
“Hey, don’t be like that,” Winston called from the other side.
“Ready?” Debbie asked, and dropped into Mike’s waiting arms.
The screams of the dying were fading as the zombies finished off the last of the survivors. Winston had also fallen silent and they assumed he was wobbling away to try and escape.
“That’s a shame, I kind of liked him,” Mike said as they pushed through the hedges and back out onto the road.
“He was a fucking slob, what was there to like?” Debbie asked, unable to see any qualities in the teenager.
“He made me laugh, which is more than can be said for your repartee,” Mike replied and she scowled at the insult.
“I bet he doesn’t suck dick like I do though,” she countered.
“How do you know?” Winston called out as he pushed through the same gap in the branches.
“How the fuck did you get over that wall?” Mike demanded, pointing the gun at him.
“Don’t shoot!” Winston threw his hands up in mock surrender and laughed. “There is an apple tree that overhangs the wall. I just climbed it and hopped over,” he answered putting his hands back down, certain that Mike was only joking with the gun.
“Tricky little cunt, aren’t you?” Mike grunted.
“Not so little,” Winston laughed and patted his jiggling tummy.
“Why would we want you tagging along with us?” Debbie sneered.
“Because, my raven haired beauty, I am a lean, mean, zombie killing machine,” Winston bowed.
“Don’t call me that, you vile blob,” Debbie scowled at the compliment.
“You’d rather I call you ugly?” Winston raised a confused eyebrow.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I meant…” she blustered and Mike chuckled.
“At the very least I make a convenient distraction if you ever get in trouble,” Winston said, doing a less than gymnastic twirl.
“So we get to feed you to the dead fucks if we ever get in trouble, is that the deal?” Mike asked with no humor.
“And what a meal my gorgeous body would make,” Winston joked, pelvic thrusting towards Debbie who stepped forward and slapped him.
“Fucking pervert,” complained Debbie.
“She’s got some fight in her, I like it.” Winston patted Mike on the back, a brotherly gesture that wasn’t reciprocated, “I’ll grow on you, I promise.”
“Like a tumor, I expect,” Debbie finished and they recommenced their journey eastward.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The prison is full of survivors, but the inmates have taken over,” Jodi explained to the rest of the group in the lounge.
“We have to do something to help those people,” declared Kurt.
John shook his head; history was in danger of repeating again. “There is nothing we can do.”
“There has to be!” Kurt shouted back.
“You didn’t let me finish.” John tried to remain calm, “I meant there is nothing we can do yet.”
“But you heard how they are being tortured, how can you sit there and do nothing?” Kurt looked at his father with disbelief.
“Ok.” John decided on a different approach, “Explain to us how we are going to get inside.”
Kurt looked confused for a moment, “Well, the tunnels.”
“You can’t, they are being watched around the clock. As soon as they see someone trying to get in they have rigged it to collapse,” Jodi reminded him.
“Then we go over the walls,” Kurt continued.
“The dead have the place surrounded. By the time you have fought through them, the guards would have seen and would organize a welcome party,” Jonesy added.
Kurt paced back and forth, a familiar trait when he was frustrated, “We can’t just leave them to suffer!”
“Kurt, you are a brave bastard.” Jonesy stood and placed a hand on his shoulder, “But you can’t go into this halfcocked.”
“Winter is almost on us and we are sat on a boat. We need to get to the castle and take it, then we will have a base to work from,” Peter added.
“And in that time, how many of the survivors will be killed or raped?” Kurt asked, trying to be contrary.
“Less than if you get yourself killed and they are trapped inside forever with those brutes,” Gloria said logically, trying to make him see sense.
Kurt slumped into the chair in resignation. His mind was filled with visions of brutality and sc
reaming women and children. He knew he was being unfair on himself, he couldn’t bear the burden of the whole world on his shoulders. His family must be his primary concern, getting them to shelter and sanctuary within the massive walls of Arundel castle.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the group, “I understand that it is hopeless for now.”
“Hopeless? Yes,” Jonesy agreed, “But we don’t need to sit here doing nothing. Tomorrow, we can go and scout the prison, see if there are any weaknesses.”
“And if there are?”
“Then we bide our time and come back in the spring. If Jodi is right, they will have constructed more tunnels by then, which will spread them thinner and thinner. In the meantime, we will train you all in the use of these.” Jonesy held the rifle out and patted his sidearm.
“I’d feel better going against armed criminals with a gun, rather than this.” Kurt raised his trusty hammer.
“We won’t have anything too heavy to worry about. Thanks to the government confiscating everyone’s weapons, they are only likely to have shotguns and the odd bolt action rifle. We may be outnumbered, but they will be outgunned,” Jonesy said.
“Can we save everyone?” Sam asked hopefully.
“In my experience, it depends on how far they are willing to go. If they use the hostages as human shields, I have to be honest and say no. Sorry, Sam,” Jonesy responded sadly.
“I understand. We will make them pay though,” Sam growled with a fire in his eyes.
“You bet we will,” Braiden agreed. They made a fearsome pair, young and brave. In time, they would fill out and become quite the warriors, fighting together for a better tomorrow.
“Did I hear something about payback?” came a familiar voice from the hallway door and DB ducked down to avoid banging his head on the door frame.
“What on earth are you doing out of bed?” gasped Christina, rushing over.
“I heard parts of the conversation. Sounds like a good old search and rescue op,” DB said to Jonesy.
“It will be, but not for a few months. Get your ass back to bed before you fall over and crack your head open again,” Jonesy replied.
