by Ricky Fleet
An excited rasp caught his attention from a nearby corpse who had noticed the clandestine retreat. Pesci moved deeper into the foliage as the zombie ducked through the animal forged tunnel. With one eye on any available break in the branches, he watched Kurt move away to the north out of sight before acting. Teeth gnashed in eager anticipation of the meal until the knife found its way through the eye socket and into the brain. Clutching the creature’s worn leather belt, he pulled the carcass out of sight into the darkness. With a final check of the walls, Pesci broke through the rear of the hedgerow and dodged expertly between cars, staying out of sight. He would be back at the prison, eating a warm meal within six hours. Craig was going to be thrilled that his enemies yet lived. Pesci didn’t feel much one way or another.
CHAPTER 5
A frigid wind had taken hold, whistling between the tower’s battlements. Kurt was unaware of the icy embrace which tousled his greasy, lank hair. Personal hygiene had been the first victim to the paralysing grief which had settled in his heart since the funeral. Staring at the dark patches on his hands, he picked at the filthy fingernails which hadn’t seen soap since the canal boat. Mixed with the dried gore of their enemies was a mottled brown crust. Memories flooded back of John’s death and Kurt paused. The flecks of dirt blowing away in the breeze had once been the life blood of his father. Falling to his knees, he tried to pick up the specks but the wind thwarted his efforts until they merged with the more commonplace detritus of the tower.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked himself, and a mournful wail from the zombies below was the only reply. The rational side of his mind understood it was a facet of the grieving process; a peculiar refusal to let go of the last vestiges of his parent. Pull yourself together, people are relying on you, he thought, shaking his head. Footfalls from the staircase caught his attention and he stood up, leaning against the wall to look down at their foe once more.
“Hey, Kurt. How’re you holding up?” Denise asked, emerging from the shadowy archway.
“Honestly? I think I’m losing my marbles,” he sighed.
“With everything you’ve suffered, I’m not surprised,” she said, taking his cold hand and squeezing. “You’ve been subjected to weeks of terror, never relaxing, never knowing if you would live to see the following day. Most people would’ve cracked long before getting here.”
“It was hell out there,” he admitted with a shudder.
“I can’t even begin to imagine. It was bad enough when Patricia and I fought our way inside the castle, and that was only a mile during the first hour of the outbreak.”
Kurt snorted and Denise looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Do you know what’s even more bizarre? In some small part, I miss being out there. I felt… alive. Now I just feel drained. How crazy is that?””
“It’s not crazy at all. Now that you’re safe, your body isn’t sure what to do with itself. It misses the rush.”
“You make it sound like I’m a danger junkie,” he chuckled wearily.
“An unwilling one, perhaps,” she continued, “Being a beat cop back in the States I can relate to the feeling. On the streets you’re always on edge, waiting for the next call, knowing you are a constant target. When I retired, I found it hard to adjust. Adrenaline is a tough habit to break.”
“I’m not sure I want to break the habit.” Kurt shrugged, “It’s how I’ve kept my family safe.”
“I understand, but you can’t maintain it. You’ll burn out and be good to no one.”
“What’s your advice then?”
“Enjoy the fruits of your labour; You and your family are safe.”
“Until the food runs out, we get attacked by the prison, or the zombies overwhelm us,” he replied scornfully.
“Can you do anything about it right now?” Denise asked, trying to get him to see sense.
“Well… no, not really. It doesn’t stop me worrying, though,” Kurt huffed.
“You need to share the load and let others take some responsibility. We all have a stake in this world.”
“Do you think I don’t know that!” he fired back, anger flaring, “My dad took responsibility and look where that got him! What about Maura and Greg?”
Denise reached up and took his grimy face in her hands. “They all fought and died for their friends and loved ones. None of it is your fault.”
“I should’ve seen the zombie.” Kurt’s voice broke and Denise pulled him into her arms. “If I’d been standing closer I could’ve saved him.”
They stood there for a while; Denise cooing and stroking Kurt’s matted hair as he took the first tentative step on the long road to acceptance. Coming from a highly dangerous occupation, she had lost friends along the way and knew all too well the feeling of responsibility, however unwarranted. When the time was right, Kurt took a deep, composing breath and broke contact. With a nod and a smile, he wiped at his tear streaked cheeks and returned to the vigil on the wall without saying a word. Denise wanted to ask if he would be ok, if he would rather be alone with his thoughts. Although only knowing him for a couple of days, she was certain Kurt was a man who would not hesitate to say if that was the case.
Moving to stand alongside him, she stared out at the dead town. A place of incredible heritage and architecture was now a dark, foreboding maze for the unnatural creatures of hell to wander. They were stood upon the tower of the western barbican; the fortification which housed the huge portcullis which now kept them safe. Below lay the public courtyard where she and Patricia had fought to buy time for the survivors to reach the castle. The undead stood shoulder to shoulder in the confines and stretched out through the archway and over the wooden drawbridge to the grounds beyond.
“I’ve been thinking,” Kurt said, “We need to start hardening the rest of the group.”
Denise nodded in agreement. Their insulation from the true horror of the events was dangerous for everyone and she waited for his plan.
“I know they’ll be up in arms if we send them against a small horde of these creatures. I’ve been looking in the maintenance rooms and there’s enough pipework and equipment for me to rig up a sprinkler system along this wall. With the temperatures constantly below freezing, the zombies will be rendered popsicles and the weaker members can kill them in relative safety.”
“You know they’ll still piss and moan,” Denise cautioned.
“I’ve no doubt. Can I count on your support?”
“Always,” she replied without hesitation, “This godawful situation isn’t going away, and the only way to win will be through blood.”
“I’m glad you see it that way too. My dad used to say there were two kinds of people, sheep and wolves.”
“Which was fine in the old world,” Denise continued, “But now the sheep will get eaten. Literally.”
“I’m going to find the castle’s maintenance engineer and get this system constructed. Would you mind letting everyone know that there’s going to be a meeting later? We can tell them the good news.”
“Of course, sweetie.” Denise smiled and made to leave.
“Thank you.”
Turning, it was clear he was referring to the emotional support and not the errand. With a wink, she left him to take measurements on the stonework.
***
“This takes me back to my apprentice days.” Kurt grinned, glad for the distraction of good, honest, manual labour.
“I can’t believe they hadn’t thrown it away,” replied Bob, the castle repairman, pointing at the object.
In Kurt’s hands was an old, hand driven drill; an archaic tool which had decades ago been replaced by electric powered versions. The length of copper pipework stretched around the twenty feet of battlement, peppered with tiny holes. Clipped tightly to each merlon, the tube would cover the whole expanse of the entrance courtyard if Kurt’s calculations were correct.
“How high do you want the cistern?” Bob asked from the ladder.
Laying the drill down, Kurt flexed
his aching fingers to get rid of some of the cramping pain. Bob chuckled at his discomfort and held the bracket high on the keep wall, waiting for Kurt to give him the nod on where to fix it.
“Give me a break, I haven’t done any real work for weeks,” Kurt laughed, indicating a position close to a higher window in the castle. “There should be just fine, the higher the better to give us more pressure and it means we can fill it safely by pouring water out of the window without climbing the ladder each time.”
“Good plan.”
Kurt cleaned and soldered the pipework into position while Bob used the drill and bolted the brackets into the stone. Giving them a hefty tug, they were sturdy and would do the job. Swapping places, Bob reached up and offered the makeshift tank to Kurt. It was an old water butt which had been taken from the gardens and adapted with a bottom outlet for its new purpose. Balancing it on the iron struts, Kurt took the final length of copper which Bob passed up and pushed it into the connector. Using a pair of wrenches, he tightened the nut and the contraption was complete. It would not win any plumbing beauty contests, that was certain, but it would serve its purpose.
“Do you want to insulate the pipes to stop them freezing?”
Kurt looked along the copper and thought about it. “It’s only the vertical drop of pipe that I haven’t drilled so there’s not much point, mate. The lagging will just get in the way of the sprinkler holes.”
“Fair point.”
“Besides, the water won’t be in there for long. I’ll relocate a brazier just in case, and if we have any issues we can use the burning logs to defrost them.”
“What about using hot water? That’ll keep them flowing well.”
“Hot water can actually freeze faster than cold water in some circumstances, so we’d be in even worse trouble,” Kurt replied.
“Fuck off!” Bob scoffed, articulate in his rebuke.
“I’m deadly serious!” Kurt laughed. “It’s known as the Mpemba effect. The molecules in hot water sit further apart as the hydrogen bonds stretch which has been observed to speed up the freezing process over that of cold water.”
Bob scowled at the younger man, unsure if he was the victim of an elaborate ruse. Seeing no subterfuge in his eyes, the maintenance man coughed and spat on the floor. “Well you learn a new thing every day, don’t you?”
“Indeed, you do, Bob. Shall we give it a try?”
“Why not? I’ve got no date lined up tonight.”
“A fine figure of a man like yourself? That surprises me,” Kurt chuckled and climbed the ladder with the bucket of water.
“Careful you don’t fall. I may have to make a move on your wife if you end up crippled.”
“She’s all yours, mate. The way I smell at the moment, I’m sure she’ll swap us without me needing to fall and break my neck,” Kurt replied with a grin.
Tipping the liquid into the high set vessel, both men watched and waited. With a gurgling rush, the water filled the horizontal tube and a fine spray arced out of a hundred holes. Pouring forth from so many tiny outlets, the bucketful was gone in under ten seconds. Kurt and Bob peered over the walls and watched the misty rain soak the cadavers below.
“I’d say you nailed it,” Bob stated, glancing around.
Kurt stared hard until he was satisfied. “It looks like it,” he said, pointing, “There are only a couple of dry patches from what I can see.”
Amongst the milling dead, the men could see the bare courtyard floor. Where the water had hit, the zombies had a sheen of moisture and the stone itself was a darker shade of grey. Very little was untouched by the ingenious sprinkler system.
“I think you may need more water, though.”
“You think?” Kurt replied, sarcastically.
“I’d offer to help hump it up all the stairs, but my old war wound from ‘Nam means my knee is gimpy,” Bob sighed, tapping at his perfectly good leg.
“I didn’t realise we were ever in Vietnam,” Kurt grinned.
“Did I say that? I meant Dagenham. I fell over a railing after getting pissed on a stag weekend.”
“I’ll get the kids to do it.”
“Now you’re talking! Those young’uns need to earn their crust and keep us old farts in the luxury I plan to become accustomed to.”
“You’re in the right place for luxury, Bob,” Kurt chuckled.
Bob waved disdainfully, “This place is a slum, but it’ll have to do until I can get to Buckingham Palace and take my rightful place on the throne.”
“Sorry, your Majesty,” Kurt curtsied like a maiden and both men burst out laughing.
“Let’s go and tell the kids the good news.”
CHAPTER 6
“What’s the plan now that we’re trapped?” Petermann asked, picking despondently at the vegetable soup.
The past few hours had been spent silently mourning their brothers in arms. Eldridge had been crippled by despair after the loss of Walker and Holbeck, but with each passing moment the old fire returned. “We continue the mission, it’s what they would’ve wanted.”
“Can we take on this bunch of motherless bastards as well as the ones at the entertainment complex?”
“You bet your ass we can,” Dougal boasted.
“We won’t have the ammunition left to take both groups on directly, so we’ll have to get inventive at the holiday park,” Eldridge replied.
“A lot of the trailers will have LPG cylinders for heating and cooking,” offered Max.
“You could do some barbecuing of your own,” Angela added.
“Before any of that we’ll need to clear the farm.” Eldridge turned to the twins, “I assume the holes were left to act as gun slits for you to fire from without being in danger?”
Angela nodded. “We found it easier to just stab the fuckers in the end though. The gunshots were far too loud in the confines of the downstairs rooms and the dogs would go nuts.”
“From the upper floor, you should be fine as long as you have ear plugs. We can jab their eyes out while you shoot them from an elevated position. I’ll pop the pups into the cellar so they don’t get in the way,” Max continued.
Angela offered round a handful of walking sticks with the ends sharpened into vicious points.
“You aren’t old enough for one of these,” Harkiss muttered, touching the tip and wincing as a spot of blood rose from the broken skin.
“Hell no! But I used to make them for the locals when I was bored, and now most of the locals want to eat us. Ungrateful bastards!”
“You just can’t trust anyone these days,” Harkiss sighed.
“Let’s get the weapons and ammo upstairs,” Eldridge ordered, “We can then judge the best way of handling the threat.”
The troops hastily finished their meals and handed back the bowls with grateful nods. Carrying the drab, metallic boxes, they spread out into each bedroom and divided the ammunition evenly. A sea of undead waited below, pressed tightly against the outer walls and APCs. Opening a window, the wet gurgling was unbearable at such a proximity.
“Close it for now,” Eldridge said to Harkiss.
“I thought we were going to wipe them out?”
“It’s getting too dark. We’ll get some rest and fight them at first light when they are sluggish. That way, we can take our time and kill one for each shot. It’ll conserve the last of the ammo.”
Harkiss shrugged and eyed the king size bed in the corner. “Dibs?”
“What are you, five?”
“Mentally? Maybe,” Harkiss replied. Walking to the stairs, he called out, “Ange, Max, can I call dibs on this bed in the back room?”
A chuckle preceded the answer from Max. “That’s my sister’s bed. I’m sure she won’t mind sharing.”
Eyes widening, his mouth opened and closed like a goldfish as he thought of a suitable reply. Time stretched out and before he could say anything, another voice called out from below. “Is that a yes or no? I warn you, I snore like an old man. Even the dogs can’t put up with
it.”
“Erm… I think the sofa will be fine. Thanks anyway.”
Neither sister could hide their amusement as they peered up the staircase. “You’re far too easy to wind up,” Angela teased.
“We’ll take the sofas, you can take the beds. It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow and I think you should be fully rested,” explained Max.
“If you feel me get into bed with you, don’t be afraid.” Angela winked at the young soldier. “I sleepwalk sometimes.”
Aghast, he glanced at Eldridge who was grinning from ear to ear. “Is she serious? Can I climb out and sleep on the roof of the Warthog?”
“Pussy.”
CHAPTER 7
“Ok, settle down, everyone!” Denise shouted.
“Listen to what the man has to say, goddammit!” Patricia emphasized.
The swell of argument in the room slowly diminished but arms were folded and mouths set in tight lines of dissent. It is like dealing with a room of petulant fucking children, Kurt thought wearily. Over the past couple of days, the castle survivors had split into two factions. On one side were the young and the brave who knew the reality of their new existence. On the other were the whiners and malcontents. When guard duty rolled around they invariably treated it with contempt and any request to do extra work was refused. Jasmine was central to this insurrection. She had surrounded herself with a small clique of nodding sycophants who hid their laziness beneath a façade of anti-authoritarianism. Much to Kurt’s eternal relief, the greater number were on his side in the argument which was raging.
“I don’t know how many more times I have to say it,” Kurt sighed, frustration growing with each passing moment. “You won’t be in any danger. The system I have created will ensure they are frozen solid while you destroy them.”
“Then why do you even need us?” Jasmine countered with a smarmy grin. “You’re the fearsome zombie killers.”
“Yeah,” piped up another belligerent voice from a no mark, “You’ve already killed thousands, what’s a few more?”
