by Ricky Fleet
“Let go of me!” he gasped, battering at Kurt’s vicelike grip.
“If you hit me again, I will break both of your arms,” Kurt snarled without breaking his stride and pulled out his hammer.
It was enough and Mr. Vincent fell silent as they climbed the steps to the wall. Like a condemned prisoner climbing the gallows, he now knew true fear and started to babble incoherently. Bladder failing, the stream of urine mingled with the remaining blood of the toppled bodies. Kurt forced him to his knees amongst the gore and stared down at him.
“Please don’t hurt me.”
Kurt continued staring, deep in thought. Turning around, he leaned down and wiped his palm against the wet stonework. It came away covered in blood and without compunction he smeared it all over Mr. Vincent’s face. Tears of terror streamed down his cheeks, mingling with the crimson liquid.
“My father died for our safety,” Kurt hissed, “His blood is in the walls now, a hero’s blood. Something a snivelling coward like you could never understand.”
“I didn’t mean what I said back there,” he sobbed.
Kurt hushed him, “Yes you did. But you see, in this new world there is no room for that kind of attitude. We won’t be allowing people to think they are better than anyone else, to treat them differently because of some fabricated hierarchy.”
“I will change, I am sorry,” he wailed.
Kurt ignored him as the others arrived to see what was happening. Taking the rope, they had descended earlier, he pulled it up and tossed it over the wall. With a dull thump the spooled coil hit the ground outside.
“Stand up,” ordered Kurt.
“What are you doing?” Mr. Vincent asked, voice trembling.
“I’m not doing anything,” Kurt replied, “But you are leaving.”
“I’m what?” he frowned.
Kurt took the hatchet and tucked it into Mr. Vincent’s belt, then explained, “To protect yourself. Good luck.”
“What?” he asked again, looking around stupidly as they stared.
Kurt leaned in close, “Take hold of the rope and climb down, you’re finished in this place.”
“I won’t let you do this.” Mr. Vincent shook his head defiantly.
“You either get your ass over that wall and start running, or I throw you from it and you try crawling away with broken legs,” he explained without emotion.
“You can’t let him do this to me!” he shouted at the group. A few looked uneasy at the punishment, but their hatred of the man was strong, as was their fear of the newcomers.
“You have ten seconds to get moving, or we’ll see if you can fly.”
Mr. Vincent looked around for support that didn’t come. Without thinking, his hand went to the small axe and Kurt’s eyes flashed with excitement.
“Please do,” he begged.
Knowing he was defeated, the man took the rope in shaking hands. Looking over the wall the vicinity was clear but he would need to be putting distance between himself and the nearest zombies straight away.
Turning to make one more plea, he whined, “I’ll freeze to death.”
Kurt smiled, took off his filthy jacket and placed it around his shoulders. Clapping him on the back in a mocking gesture of support, Kurt nodded, “There you go, snug as a bug in a rug. Now get out of my sight!”
“I’m scared of heights.”
“Are you scared of death?” Kurt asked, taking out his hammer.
The battle of wills was won and after putting the jacket on properly, he wiped a sleeve across his face to clear the blood, tears, and snot. Holding on for dear life, he hooked a leg over and let the rope take his full weight with a shriek of fear. The knots provided enough grip and a decent foothold as he slowly lowered himself to the ground. Kurt and the others leaned over the wall to watch as he looked this way and that. One of the undead that DB had thrown from the wall during the thick of the fighting started to drag itself towards him and he screamed. It was a beacon to the others and, as one, they turned in his direction.
“Kurt, are you sure you want to do this?” Sarah whispered in his ear.
He didn’t answer, but acknowledged her with a wan smile. The pathetic figure below was watching the approaching dead and the twisted, broken body at his feet. Indecision would kill him in minutes out in the real world and Kurt sighed wearily.
“Stephen?” he called down.
“What?” he wailed, hopping from foot to foot.
“Take out your axe.”
“My what?” he sobbed. Fear had totally crippled the man.
“Stephen, look at me!” Kurt shouted down with authority. His face turned up and focussed, “Take out the weapon I put in your belt, now!”
Almost as if he was aware of it for the first time, Stephen removed the hatchet and looked at it.
“Good,” Kurt called down, “Now drive it into that thing’s head. It’s slow so you will be safe, just keep away from its mouth.”
“I can’t,” he groaned, the weapon swinging uselessly by his side.
“Yes, you can!” Kurt bellowed, “Kill it now or you will die down there!”
For a few moments, Stephen’s eyes went from weapon to foe and back again. The true horror of what he needed to do robbed him of his strength and the first blow was ineffectual. It glanced off the skull, only peeling the side of its face away.
“I told you I couldn’t,” he whimpered.
“Again!” Kurt yelled, “And aim for the middle of its head. Take your time.”
Retching from the smell and sight of the ravaged zombie, he raised the axe overhead and drove it down with a howl of terror. The blade crushed through and splashed gore in all directions. Wrenching it free, the weapon dripped with dark liquids and he tossed it to the ground in revulsion.
“At least he can kill them now,” DB acknowledged. “He may make it out there.”
“Stephen?” Kurt called.
“What?” he asked weakly. His legs felt like jelly and he wanted to just lay down and go to sleep for a while.
“Take hold of the rope and climb back up.”
“Huh?” He looked up with confusion.
“Climb back up, but hurry or they will be on you,” Kurt said, watching the steady progress of the dead.
“You’re just trying to play games,” Stephen whined, certain it was all a ruse.
“Time is running out,” Kurt urged. He wouldn’t beg the man to save his own life.
“Ok,” he replied with hope. Reaching for the rope, he clasped it until Kurt stopped him.
“Aren’t you forgetting something of mine?”
Stephen looked perplexed until his eyes settled on the gory axe. Picking it up gingerly, he tucked it back in the belt and started to climb. It became immediately apparent that his strength was all used up and he just dangled from the first knot, unable to make any progress upwards.
“Shit,” Kurt hissed, seeing the closest zombie would be on him in less than a minute, “DB, help me!”
Scraping their knuckles on the stone, they managed to get a firm hold of the taut rope.
“Hold on!” Kurt shouted down and the look of gratitude was the first sign Stephen had displayed that he may be redeemed.
Pulling with all their might, they gradually lifted him to safety and he fell over the wall in a heap, kissing a bare patch of stone floor in shuddering relief.
Kurt pulled him up and stared into his eyes. “That was one zombie, yes?”
“Yes,” whispered Stephen meekly.
“We have fought through tens of thousands to get here. Do you now understand what we have been through?”
“Yes,” he replied and the fear in his eyes told no lies. The thought of doing battle with hordes of those creatures was utterly terrifying.
“When you have calmed down, come back inside. We need to have a meeting and get to know people,” Kurt explained and the group started to walk away.
“You did the right thing,” Gloria whispered and Sarah nodded in affirmation.
“We will see,” Kurt replied.
“Kurt?” came a cry from behind.
He turned and looked at the pitiful man without answering.
“Thank you.”
Kurt nodded and walked away, thoughts returning to his father.
CHAPTER 3
“Should we keep an eye on the trapdoor in case they get through?” Mike asked Craig as they made their way through the thin tunnel.
“No need,” Craig replied, “The dead fucks wander back to the walls after a while. Once they lose sight of their food they lose interest.”
“Ok.”
“Don’t sweat it, little brother, you’ve come a long way and you’re safe now.” Craig turned and smiled in the dull torchlight.
More time had been devoted to the section of tunnel closest to the prison and two doorways had been constructed which were guarded at all times. Thin sheet steel had been bolted to the wood to give it extra strength in case the tunnel was breached by the zombies. After speaking the code word, the first door was opened and then quickly locked after they had passed. The short walk to the second door was illuminated by mirrors which had been angled to carry light from above into the depths. It beamed through two holes which had been cut in the steel like headlights on a car.
“You have this well organised then?” Debbie was impressed.
Craig looked at her and laughed, “What did you expect? That we would all be rioting and making shivs to stab each other?”
“Actually, yes,” she admitted. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. That was the mistake the guards made, thinking we were too stupid to figure out how to take them after they let us out. As if we were all going to go running out into the waiting jaws of the zombies to reach our families.”
“How many of you are there?” Mike wondered.
“Nearly four hundred inmates, twenty-eight guards, and ninety or so civilians.”
“Didn’t anyone leave?” Debbie asked.
“Nearly a hundred banded up and headed out, but I could see the writing on the wall. There was no way they could get clear and I was right; they walk the walls now, or at least what’s left of them,” Craig replied as the tunnel brightened.
“You sound upset,” Debbie said, noticing the melancholy tone.
“I was,” he admitted. “These were tough men who would have been a real asset to us. We were left with a fairly even mix of real cons and wrong’uns.”
“What do you mean?” Debbie was innocent in the ways of prison life.
“At the bottom you’ve got the nonces.” Craig could see her look of confusion. “That’s paedophiles, kiddie fiddlers. Then you got the rapists and the lower level cons, fraud, theft, and stuff like that. Then at the top you have the armed robbers and murderers, like me. We ran the place before the world went to hell and just carried on as normal afterwards.”
“Why haven’t you just cut them to pieces?” Mike asked, meaning the child abusers.
A dark glint passed over Craig’s face before he answered, “We did lose a few in the beginning, but they have… other uses.”
Debbie felt a chill when he mentioned ‘other uses’, but her curiosity got the better of her, “What do you mean?”
“I mean they’re our labour force,” Craig chuckled and glanced at the man to his right. “What other use could they have?” he asked rhetorically with the same mad glint.
“Oh, I see.” Debbie could see the logic.
“In a lot of ways prison life has carried on as normal. Anyone who was a nobody before the dead took over are still locked up until we need them. Each wing had a top boy who ran it, controlling the drugs and contraband. We had a couple who wouldn’t cooperate with me, but after feeding them to the dead fucks, everyone else quickly fell into line,” Craig explained.
“What are they for?” Mike asked, looking at the chains which were tied to the final support columns and ran towards the mouth of the tunnel.
“A failsafe. The chains are tied to a car, so if the tunnel is breached we drive forward and bury anything inside.”
“Good thinking,” Mike complimented him.
“It runs in the family.” Craig winked, climbing the steps which had been formed from concrete blocks.
Squinting at the daylight the newcomers looked around. The tunnel entrance, or exit depending on your viewpoint, had been made close to the prison wall to save on materials. Inside the outer brick wall was another chain link fence topped with razor wire, providing the first obstacle to anyone who wanted to escape. Another fence had been erected around the tunnel itself which was also guarded night and day. Debbie thought Craig was going a bit over the top with his precautions, but with the millions of dead walking around, perhaps it was for the best.
“This one is cut below the western wall,” Craig pointed out, “The other tunnel is closer to the south-eastern corner and we use it to raid for food. In time we’ll have a whole network which will allow us to reach all parts of the town and their bounty.”
“Sounds good.” Mike was astonished. He always knew his older sibling was intelligent, and the planning and execution which had gone into their survival only confirmed it further.
“These are my most trusted guys.” Craig thanked the men who let them through then made introductions, “This is Hombre Lee, and that is Matt Hay. They are two of the meanest mother fuckers in this place, and in my absence, their word is law.”
Mike appraised the pair; both had shaved heads and were powerfully built, their broad shoulders and thick arms showed they used the gym regularly. In a place of hard men, it was only to be expected that they would need to be able to handle themselves. He shook each hand firmly. He couldn’t help but notice the twin skulls on Hombre’s left wrist.
“Nice tattoo,” complimented Mike.
“Thanks,” he replied.
“So what are you both in for, if you don’t mind me asking?” Mike tried to make conversation as they walked toward the central building.
They both looked at Craig, who nodded, “He’s family. Treat him as you would me.”
“Gun running,” Hombre replied, staring around at the gathering convicts. He had the ‘don’t fuck with me’ stare down to a tee and they all looked away in fear.
“Really? How is that even possible when we don’t have guns in this country?”
“I was a trucker in my old life. With the European borders being non-existent I used to do pickups for the Albanians, Bulgarians, anyone really. I stashed the guns and ammo in a specially made compartment in my rig and they paid me well. You would be amazed the amount of guns the London gangs had access to.”
“Didn’t they get upset that you were working for their rivals?” Mike asked.
“Possibly,” he shrugged, “But they knew I was the best at what I did and I never missed a shipment.”
“So how did you end up in here?” Debbie frowned.
“That’s the money question,” Craig laughed. “It’s a great story.”
Hombre chuckled along too, “Well, sweetheart. On the road I used to get bored, and if you knew the right stops and the right times, a man could make some extra money with his fists.”
“Bare knuckle?” Mike’s respect was growing by the minute.
“Always. None of that gloved shit for people who couldn’t take a punch,” Hombre declared proudly. “Anyway, it was a usual Wednesday morning and I was due to fight a local gypsy. They know how to handle themselves, so the purse was nearly three thousand pounds. We got down to business in the rear of the rest stop carpark where the trucks conceal what is going on from any nosy bastards. A minute had passed and we were just about done sizing each other up when the cops came in, sirens blaring, and raided us. I never did find out if we were grassed up or if they just got lucky, but when I was locked up that night for fighting they searched the truck and found my little stash. I was given twenty years.”
“Wow,” Debbie whispered. Being surrounded by dangerous men was like an aphrodisiac and she would hav
e to get Mike alone soon or excuse herself and take care of the growing need on her own.
“What about you, Matt?”
“Armed robbery,” he replied in a broad Scottish accent.
“No story to go with it?” Mike inquired and he ignored the question.
“He hasn’t ever told me and I trust him with my life.” Craig patted him on the back, “Some cons just won’t go into detail and I respect that.”
Mike nodded in agreement; sometimes the things you don’t say are as powerful as the things you do. Hombre was an open book; dangerous, undoubtedly, but quite forthright. Matt was a secret that wouldn’t be shared, but the fact Craig loved him meant he was trustworthy.
“Where are we going?” he asked as they passed two more doors without entering.
“To the wall to deliver the punishment,” Craig growled, looking at the unconscious man who was dragged behind them.
“Wasn’t the beating enough?”
“No,” Craig shook his head firmly, “These knuckleheads have strict instructions to get me the moment anyone is sighted, not play games and risk lives. Somehow, I knew you were alive and on your way. He nearly signed your death warrant, and in doing so, signed his own.”
“Fair enough.”
Excitement was bubbling in the growing crowd as they took up position behind the group. Passing around the long cell block buildings, they reached a part of the eastern fence which had been cut back to allow the construction of a platform and steps against the brickwork. It didn’t look very sturdy and Craig caught the look and laughed.
“Don’t worry, little brother, it will take the strain. I will rebuild it at some point with our resident structural expert, but for now his main job is the tunnels. Bind him!”
Matt and Hombre retrieved a darkly stained board with holes drilled at strategic points and Debbie could make out the rough outline of a body. It came to her like a lightning bolt; the ropes were threaded through for the neck, wrists, chest and ankles to hold someone tightly in place. The stains could only be blood which explained all she needed to discern the board wasn’t a thing she ever wanted to be bound to. After being stripped naked, the man was held up by the rest of Craig’s henchmen and Hombre lashed him tightly.
