Hellspawn Dominion

by Ricky Fleet

  Kurt glared at the man and after a few seconds his cheeks flushed and he looked away. Anyone lacking the bravery to form an independent thought without hiding behind the skirt of their ringleader was unworthy of a response.

  “It’s about preparing you for the future,” DB said.

  “The only way to survive is to fight,” Jonesy added.

  “Really? We seem to have done pretty well so far.”

  “And when the food runs out?” Kurt demanded.

  “It’s not going to though, is it? You know as well as I do that you wouldn’t leave these people to starve.” Jasmine waved a condescending hand at the other group.

  “And you think that after we risk our lives, you will get a share of the food we bring back?”

  “Of course,” she replied arrogantly.

  Though far from being Debbie, some of the same character traits were evident and Kurt felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Taking a step forward, he felt a warm hand reach out and take his own, gently pulling him back.

  Sarah smiled and said, “Sit down, sweetheart.”

  Denise, Jodi, Patricia, Christina, and Gloria joined her and faced the dozen rebels. Sarah continued as the spokeswoman. “We figured this would be your response, so we’ve come up with a plan. This place is plenty big enough for both of our groups and after the meeting we’ll help you move into another area, or into the bedrooms themselves. You will be given a quarter of the weapons, but only swords, axes and bows, not the guns. The food will be split into similar shares and to prevent any misunderstanding, we will lock ours away somewhere cold and safe, and you will do likewise.”

  Jasmine scowled; she had been fully prepared for a shouting match and threats. “And the wood for the fires?”

  “A quarter,” Patricia confirmed.

  “We don’t want to do any more guard duty either. It’s bloody freezing out there!” chimed in another lady.

  “Fine,” Gloria agreed, “But you get a smaller share of the wood to keep the braziers alight for the rest of us.”

  They commenced a small huddle and quickly agreed.

  “And when you bring food back, we get a quarter of that too, right?” Jasmine asked.

  “I’m afraid that’s where our deal ends.” Denise shook her head slowly. “You’ll be responsible for sourcing your own food, as will we. Our groups will be completely independent of one another.”

  Angry mumbles broke out and one of the group whispered about finding the hidden stash and simply helping themselves to the spoils of war as and when they needed it. No padlock could stand up to the battle axes adorning the armoury walls, mentioned the earlier wastrel.

  “My husband is a good man. You may think his kindness makes him weak, but you’d be forgetting we stand behind him. All of us.” At that, the boys, Peter, and the soldiers stood up too.

  “Is that meant to scare us?”

  “Yes, it is. And you’re right, Kurt would never let these people starve. But a bunch of scheming, would be thieves, who want to live off the hard work of others? That’s a different story.”

  “You can’t stop us,” Jasmine replied, emboldened by her lackeys.

  Gloria coughed politely. “If any of you come near our food with the intent to steal, I will shoot you myself. That will be my only warning.” Coming from the articulately spoken lady it was hard to ignore and the dissenters looked at each other with uncertainty.

  “It’s good to see everyone getting along so well,” snorted Mr Vincent sarcastically from his dark corner.

  Sadly, Kurt had to agree with the disdainful outburst.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Winston, please come and take a seat,” Christina said, beckoning him inside.

  Gloria waved at the doctor and gently closed the door as her charge entered.

  The visitor’s first aid room had been converted into a small doctor’s surgery. Christina was scribbling notes about Phillip, an older resident with a heart condition. His treatment was limited by the scarcity of available beta blockers, so she chewed on the pen in contemplation as the young man seated himself.

  “Are you ok, Dr Hargis?”

  Closing the pad, she turned to him and smiled. “Yes, I’m fine. Just trying to figure out how to treat fifty people with barely enough supplies for ten.”

  “I don’t know if it helps, but I passed a medical supply facility on the outskirts of Ford on my way here. A truck had crashed into the side of the building and I could see all manner of bandages and stuff on the shelves.”

  “Interesting. You’ll have to show us exactly where it is.”

  “I’d be happy to. Do you think there would be medicine inside as well?”

  “As far as I know, the supply depots also delivered drugs as needed. Did you happen to see any refrigeration units as you passed?”

  “I’m afraid not. I had a few friends on my tail who wanted to nibble on my fine figure.”

  Christina chuckled. “Yes, they have a habit of being a bit bitey.”

  “What are they, Doctor?” Winston asked.

  “Zombies. The living dead. Walking corpses.”

  “I know that!” Winston said with a grin. “I meant did you have any knowledge of what’s causing it. I’m digging the attention from the female zombies, don’t get me wrong. It’s just they smell a little bit funky for my normal, high standards.”

  “I have been trying to unravel the mystery ever since the first day. There is no physiological explanation for their reanimation, but I noticed a slight aberration in the brain stem when I dissected them at the hospital. It’s as if they’re a car which has been sat rusting for many months. Whatever happened that morning was the spark which jumpstarted their engine.”

  “How does that explain how something which has been rotting can get up and walk?”

  “It doesn’t. Nothing about this whole mess has any basis in scientific fact.”

  “What about science fiction?”

  “You may be closer to the mark than you think. If I was a betting woman, I’d suggest a supernatural cause.”

  “I remember Gloria talking about a pulse of energy from that facility in Europe.”

  “The Large Hadron Collider?”

  “That’s the one! I’m guessing the eggheads really messed up.”

  “A worldwide apocalypse would be better summed up as a complete fuck up.”

  Winston burst out laughing. “I like you, Doc.”

  “And I like you. Now, how can I help you today?”

  Taking off his coat, Winston rolled up the sleeve of his sweater, revealing the dark bruising on his arm. Luckily the skin was unbroken, but the purple and yellow injury covered most of the forearm.

  “Ouch,” Christina remarked, turning the limb over and checking all around.

  “I said a bit more than ouch.”

  “I should imagine you did. How on earth did this happen? If I didn’t know better, the shape seems to be that of a bite.”

  “It turns out the zombies aren’t the only thing that wants to eat me,” Winston replied, lowering his head in shame.

  “What happened? If you feel like telling me, that is.”

  “I was in the scrapyard to the south where I borrowed the crane and I had a feeling I wasn’t alone. I thought it may have been a zombie lurking, but it was a starving guard dog. It attacked me and I couldn’t reason with it.”

  “Oh, honey,” Christina whispered, clutching his hand.

  “I had to get it off me or I’d be dead right now. All I had was my axe…”

  “You did what you had to do. No one can blame you for that.”

  “I can still hear the squeal as I cut it. The poor thing only wanted to survive.”

  “This world is a Godawful place now, but kind people like yourself are a light in the darkness. Never forget that,” she replied earnestly.

  “Do you think it’s broken?” Winston asked, changing the subject.

  “Without an x-ray, I can’t say. From your range of movement, I would say
it’s unlikely. Hairline fractures are a possibility based on the level of deep tissue bruising.”

  “What do you suggest I do with it? You don’t have the equipment to put a cast on it, do you?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “I could always knock up something with an old sock and some papier mâché,” Winston suggested.

  “I’d rather you didn’t. The best thing you can do is rest and let it heal; I’ll give you a bottle of liquid morphine for the pain. You can take ten millilitres every four hours.”

  “Is it good stuff?”

  “The best,” Christina chuckled. “Try not to get addicted or I’ll have to put you in the castle’s rehab facility.”

  “You’ve set up a rehab facility?” Winston marvelled.

  “Yes, it’s called the dungeon!”

  “I can’t believe I fell for that.”

  Standing, Christina moved over to a store cupboard. “Put this on as well. It’ll hurt, but keep the swelling down a little.”

  Stretching the elasticated dressing in her hands, Winston slid his arm into the sleeve.

  “Shit!” Winston hissed as it started to tighten painfully.

  “I told you it would smart a bit. Get some of the morphine inside you and you’ll feel right as rain. Well, high as a kite, anyway.”

  “Thank you, Doc. I’ll let Kurt know of the supplies.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll check on you in a few days, young man.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “Hey, handsome,” Angela said to the moist, peeling face which snapped at her from the break in the brick sealed window. The creature snarled and bounced its head against the solid barricade, leaving scraps of flesh on the coarse surface.

  “Just kill it,” Max admonished, ramming the walking stick spear through another eye socket from her own position.

  “I was just seeing if they could respond to human interaction,” she replied, stabbing it and pulling the weapon out of its brain with a sickly pop.

  “It’s not worked before, why would it now?”

  “I don’t know. It was a fool’s hope I guess.”

  Max paused and regarded her sister with love. “Your hope kept us alive and look at us now. We’ve been rescued by the army when we thought everyone else was gone except for us and the pups.”

  “Technically, they’ve brought most of the undead on the south coast with them. At the moment, we’re the ones doing the rescuing,” she replied, impaling another monster through the forehead.

  “That’s true, but you have to give them credit for trying.”

  “Do you really think we’ll be safe on their island barracks?”

  “God knows. But I’d sooner have a couple of hundred guns on my side than none. It feels good to know that we may be able to fight back after all that’s happened.”

  “Revenge is going to be sweet,” Angela agreed. “They can fuck right off if they think I’m doing all the physical training, though. I’ll go as far as a light jog and riding a few miles on a bike.”

  “You can’t outrun the dead anyway. If what Private Eldridge said is true, the biggest fight will be on the Portsmouth bridge. No running needed when we will be holding a position against the zombies.”

  “And if they overrun us?”

  “I think the water may be a bit nippy for a swim.”

  “I’ll make sure to bring a couple of rubber rings so we can float away in comfort.”

  “You’re the best,” Max replied.

  “I’ve always said so. It’s good you’ve finally admitted it.”

  ***

  “Does everyone have their earplugs in?” Eldridge shouted from the rear bedroom.

  Lacking the specialised combat plugs which were stowed in the Warthogs, they had to make do with the cheap, foam versions. Her words reached their ears, muffled and obscured, but they all called back affirmative. It would be disastrous for them to go into battle at the holiday camp deafened by the confined gunfire. Below, their enemy waited. Slowed by the overnight frost, their normal exuberance was dulled.

  “It’s like shooting fish in a barrel,” Harkiss called out.

  “We’re the ones in the barrel, you pillock,” Carpenter shouted back.

  “Ok, that was a shit analogy. Cut me some slack!”

  “Knock it off and fire at will!” Eldridge yelled.

  From every corner of the old house, death was dealt. The probing tips of the sharpened stakes erupted from the lower apertures, piercing flesh and bone before withdrawing. Muzzle flashes lit up the gloomy bedrooms above like a flickering strobe. At the outer edge of the horde, bullets scalped the undead. Skulls disintegrated and faces imploded under the barrage, coating the farm with a growing skin of green ichor. After an hour, layers of the dead fanned out from the building. Their arms, once raised for a promise of meat, stretched out above their heads, looking akin to a final plea for absolution from a God that had long ago forsaken them.

  “Ceasefire!” she yelled. Hearing the gunfire continue, she was about to reprimand the soldier who was ignoring the order, until Harkiss located the source.

  “It’s coming from outside!”

  Eldridge pulled her ear plugs out and couldn’t hide the elation at the stuttering reports.

  “It has to be the sarge! Quickly, sweep the front yard around the APCs while I get the twins to open the door.”

  Petermann and Langham resumed the assault, picking off the final cadavers who milled amongst the slain. In minutes, the inner door was opened and the remaining soldiers were ready to move out. With the way clear, Angela unlocked the gate and forced her weight against it to clear the rotten bodies. With each push, more vile liquids erupted from the pustules and decaying skin. Unperturbed, the dogs pushed forward, eager to sniff the putrid leavings. Rohan managed to sneak between her legs and the lolling tongue almost made contact with the dripping gore.

  “No! Bad dogs!” Max snapped, pushing them away.

  “Are we clear?” Eldridge called up the stairs.

  “Clear!” came the reply. “Go and get him, we’ll cover you from the windows.”

  Sweeping their rifles over the bodies, they remained wary for any movement. Any that still twitched were shot in the head at point blank range, just to be certain. Controlled gunfire rang out from the south of the farm and they followed the sharp cracks like a beacon. Hopping over bodies like rabbits, they raced for the source. Surrounding a mighty oak tree were a couple of hundred zombies. One by one they fell as Holbeck unloaded his remaining bullets into the crowd.

  “Sarge, hold on!” Harkiss shouted.

  Placing fingers in her mouth, Eldridge let loose a piercing whistle. Most of the shuffling corpses turned and advanced, with only a few determined stragglers fruitlessly reaching for the sergeant on his perch. Forming a line, the soldiers switched their rifles to fully automatic and opened fire. The undead stood little chance against the onslaught and fell in a tangled heap, holed and sundered by the hot lead. Overcome with excitement, they surged forward and destroyed the remaining cadavers at the tree.

  Holbeck stared down, a smile forming on his lips. “Get the kettle on. I need a brew.”

  ***

  “Wait until the guys back on base hear about this!” Dougal declared, topping up the mug of his sergeant.

  “They’ll sing songs of our battles against the undead!” Harkiss added.

  “This isn’t The Lord of the Rings; all we’ll get are report forms to fill in,” Eldridge replied.

  “True. But we’ve got to make sure we have a proper send off for Walker. He died a hero.”

  “You can count on it,” said Holbeck.

  “Sarge, I hate to ask, but how did you make it through the night out there?”

  Eldridge chuckled. “Death fears the sarge, you know that.”

  “He paid me a visit, that’s for sure. We came to an arrangement, though.”

  “What arrangement?” asked Harkiss.

  “I offered to send all the dead back to him. He was
n’t happy about being cheated out of what’s rightfully his.”

  “We’ll help you keep that promise, Sarge.”

  “I know you will,” Holbeck replied. “I’m so proud of you all and how you handled yourselves. It happened like this…”

  ***

  Holbeck slapped aside a pair of grasping arms and kicked another zombie in the chest, sending it reeling. Gunfire continued chattering from his troops and he was filled with pride at their stoicism. From every angle, the undead were converging and his avenues for escape were diminishing by the second. Crushing a face with the butt of his rifle, he considered the brick storage building for a split second. Between the approaching bodies he could see clear evidence of rot in the door and frame which would collapse under any kind of sustained assault. This only left the stranded combine harvester or the open marshland beyond and if he should become trapped in the quagmire he would swiftly be torn apart.

  “Fuck it!”

  The unmistakable trail of shredded green gore would have guided him if he had been unable to see the top of the yellow machine and the belching exhaust pipe. After dropping awkwardly from the embankment, the huge wheels spun uselessly. Hopping between wet patches, the zombies were slipping and stumbling over their blended fallen. It gave Holbeck small windows to dodge the hundreds of corpses which had been slower to arrive. Among the walkers were the shredded forms of those who had absorbed the non-fatal claymore shrapnel. Limping or crawling, peppered with gaping holes like swiss cheese, they posed the bigger danger. Their madly thrashing bodies could easily trip him as he jumped over and there would be no time to regain his feet before being swamped.

  “Damn!”

  The zombies standing in between himself and the stranded vehicle had closed in, forming an impenetrable barrier of decay. Glancing over his shoulder, the access to the outbuilding was also sealed off. Backing up against one of the wide oak trees which circled the properties to provide a wind break, he took a deep breath. The only available route left was the marshland and he instantly dismissed the idea, choosing to make a last stand instead. He needed freedom of movement, so quickly shouldered the rifle, unholstered his pistol and started picking targets.