by Ricky Fleet
“Bring me the doctor,” Craig ordered and several men ran off to comply. “And tell him to bring as much epinephrine as we can spare,” he shouted after them.
“What the hell is epinephrine?” Debbie asked.
“It’s adrenaline. We don’t want Mr. Goode passing out before I have had my fun with him, do we?” Craig grinned, pulling out a hunting knife.
“You’re really going to cut him?” she asked huskily. Before the show was over there was no doubt the orgasm that was building would take her, contact or no contact. For a few brief seconds, she saw how repulsive her soul truly was and nearly ran screaming, as impossible as it would be to escape her own skin. The moment of clarity disappeared at the glint of sunlight on the razor-sharp blade and another wave of pleasure bloomed inside her core.
“I’m a man of my word,” Craig confirmed.
“What’s going on?” asked Goode groggily. By trying to massage his aching jaw and not being able to move his arm it all became apparent. He screamed and thrashed uselessly against the thick ropes which quickly rubbed his skin raw.
“You knew my rules and instead tried to play games. My brother, who travelled for mile after mile over this wasteland, could’ve died because you wanted TO BE A FUCKING JOKER!” he screamed the last as the rage took him, “GET HIM UP THERE!”
Without hesitation, the men dragged the board roughly up the steps, bumping against each one and making Goode’s body bounce. At the top, they secured it to a thick post which had been used on more than one occasion, though Mike and Debbie had missed the human piñata show involving the prison guard.
“Craig, please,” begged Goode.
“Shhhh,” he replied, putting a finger to the prisoner’s lips.
“I won’t do it again, I promise,” he sobbed.
“I know you won’t,” Craig replied and the implication was clear. “Say another word and I cut your tongue out too.”
“But I…”
Without warning Craig jammed the knife into his mouth, cutting through the lips and smashing teeth out. Using it as a lever he pried the jaw open, breaking more teeth and cutting the cheek wide open.
“Stick out your tongue.”
Blood poured from the ravaged hole and Goode tried to scream, but it only came out as a choking gargle.
“Tongue, now!” Craig bellowed into his face, before clutching the man’s scrotum and penis in one hand, “Or I cut these off.”
As directed, he stuck it out and chunks of tooth fell to the wooden floor. Pinching the end, Craig pulled it out further, and with a swift upward stroke it was severed in a welter of blood.
“Do you want to cauterize it, boss?” Hombre asked, retrieving a blowtorch from a crate at their feet.
“Nah, he won’t have a chance to bleed out. I want to get this done quickly and have a celebration with my family.” Craig tossed the flapping flesh to the eager crowd below who fought over the treat.
The pain was threatening to rob Goode of consciousness and as more blood gushed from his mouth, his eyes started to roll back into his skull.
“Stay with me, buttercup.” Craig slapped at his cheeks just as the doctor arrived.
Flanked by a group of surly men, the small doctor was pushed roughly up the stairs and fell to his knees.
“I won’t do this again, you can’t make me,” he declared.
“Doc, we go through this every time,” Craig sighed with frustration, “You say you won’t do it, I march a child out here and cut off one of their fingers, then you do it anyway. Why make an innocent suffer unnecessarily?”
“You’re a monster.”
“Spare me the speech and give him the shot or I will show you how much worse I can be,” he growled and the doctor submitted.
Taking out a glass vial, he inserted the syringe and drew a small amount into the tube. Swabbing the man’s inner thigh with an alcohol wipe, he jabbed it in and pressed the plunger.
Craig bent double with laughter, “Doc, you know by now he doesn’t need to worry about infections.”
“Yes, well,” blustered the man, “At least I have done my job properly.”
“And we thank you for it, now get back to the infirmary, I have my own surgery to do.”
The doctor scurried off, muttering under his breath. Craig made a mental note to have a harsh word with him later about his display of disrespect.
Turning to the crowd, he threw his arms wide, “Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to celebrate the homecoming of my own flesh and blood. Brother, step forward.”
Mike joined Craig and the crowd cheered, not from any true sense of joy, simply because it was safer for their health. All eyes were on the trussed figure who was staring around with drug induced alertness. Eyes wide and pupils dilated, his mouth still ran with blood which pooled around his feet.
“This is Mike Arater, and he is to be obeyed at all times. Ignoring him will be treated as if you’d ignored me and punished just as harshly. Which brings me to my second line of business.” He raised the knife to more cheers.
“What about me? I thought I was going to run this place with you?” Debbie said to the pair.
“Now isn’t the time,” Mike hissed.
She pouted and sidled up to Craig, tugging on his arm like an infant. He pushed her away with a glare and she shrunk when he held the knife point towards her. He was in the grip of a bloodlust and it wouldn’t fare well for her to push her luck too much.
“Goode had one task; to keep a watch and tell me immediately upon seeing anyone living. Instead, he chose to play the hard man and put my own family at risk. You all know the punishment for this is peeling.”
Goode’s mouth bubbled with gurgled protests as Craig stepped forward, face twisted into a mask of insanity. Starting with his upper arm, he pressed the knife against the flesh and, with a sawing motion, started to strip the skin away. Once a large enough flap was cut free, Craig put the knife down and literally peeled the agonised victim. With a wet tearing, the skin pulled away down his arm and when it met resistance at the tied wrist, he ripped it off. Exposed muscle twitched from torn nerve endings and Goode screamed, exposing the ragged stump which was once his tongue. Kneeling, Craig cut deeply into the upper thigh and hacked downwards through the thick muscle, finally separating the kneecap. With a roar of rage the shin was exposed and the whole portion of skin and flesh was tossed from the platform. Goode was going into shock and if it wasn’t for the adrenaline he would have already suffered heart failure.
All eyes were on the spectacle and no one noticed Debbie and the way she unashamedly masturbated at the sadistic torture. Mike glanced sideways and regarded her with disgust, but she couldn’t stop herself. She tried to smile but it was the most repulsive rictus he had ever witnessed and moved away to distance himself from the creature.
Craig turned and stood before the crowd, covered in blood. “Goode served me loyally until this unfortunate episode, and because of this I am going to be merciful. He will not be fed alive to the undead, but be buried within the grounds as a reward for that service. Does that make me weak?” he bellowed.
The crowd shouted their denial. It showed a compassion for the prisoners that he never showed for the guards who had felt the cold kiss of his knife, and they loved him for it. Chants of Arater, Arater, Arater, rang out across the yard until he waved them to silence.
“Abide by my rules and you will want for nothing; food, shelter, women, men, we will take it all,” he yelled to more applause, “This is our time! In this world, the strongest survive, and we are the strongest. Society couldn’t handle us so we were locked away out of fear, and now they are all dead. We will forge a new beginning and rule this land like kings!”
The crowd was in a frenzy and Craig smiled at them all. Promises of power helped to keep them in line, although Craig would never relinquish his stranglehold. For the most part, if they had full bellies and a captive to warm their bed regularly, they were easily pliable. Mike observed a small group at the rear, wa
tching, but not paying respect. They thought the huge gathering offered concealment and he would be sure to ask about it later.
“Now is the time for forgiveness,” Craig declared.
Goode was barely conscious but the sigh of relief was audible to everyone on the platform. Placing the point of his knife below the chin, Craig drove it upwards into the man’s brain, ending the suffering.
“Take him away, you know what to do,” he ordered, then turned to the crowd, “Tonight we break out the alcohol and get fucking wasted, it’s party time!”
Cheers and whistles rung out around the prison as Matt and Hombre started to untie the dead man. Shooing the spectators back to work, Craig poured a bottle of water over his head. The bracing chill was able to calm the blazing rage and he bowed his head, watching the crimson water run between the planks and soak the zombies below.
CHAPTER 4
John lay on an antique table at the foot of the chapel’s altar. Candles fluttered to banish the shadows which flickered on the vaulted ceiling overhead. A faint blue hue carried past the crucified form of Christ on his cross from the stained-glass window and shrouded the covered body in an ethereal glow. There was no doubt in Kurt’s mind that his father would be in God’s graces; but he himself? With the acts he had committed, it was highly unlikely he would join his parents in the eternal bliss of Heaven. The safety of his wife and children were paramount, and if keeping them safe from harm meant a reckoning with the Devil, then it was a price worth paying.
Gloria quietly approached and placed a prayer cushion on the floor, then turned to Kurt, “Would you mind? I haven’t tried speaking with Him for quite a while.”
“Of course not.” Kurt smiled, “Maybe you could put a good word in for me?”
Kneeling with a groan and crunch of age worn joints, she reached across and took his hand, “You won’t need it. If He even tried to get pissy about what has occurred and the things we have had to do, between myself, Paige, and your father, we would kick His almighty ass.”
“I don’t think He would like you talking that way,” Kurt chuckled.
“He doesn’t get to make the rules anymore,” Gloria declared angrily, “After what has happened I use my prayers to warn Him that he had better get His act together, and quickly.”
“I hate to say it, but I think we’re on our own.”
“I suspect you’re right,” Gloria sighed, “But it never hurts to cover one’s bases though.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Kurt agreed. “Will you be coming to the meeting?”
“I’ll be along shortly, darling. I’ll keep your father company in the meantime.”
“Thanks, love.” Kurt kissed her on the head and turned around.
The room was filled with nearly every survivor in the castle. Kurt nodded in gratitude at their display of respect and they all nodded back in silent support. Even Stephen sat in the rear pew, still covered in gore and given a wide berth by the others. As he made to climb the steps to leave, a faint moaning caught his attention.
“Zombies!” hissed Kurt and the family moved as one, drawing weapons and scanning the doorways.
Denise and Patricia moved into position to protect the castle group, guns raised. Kurt put his ear to a door below the steps, locating the source of the commotion in the room beyond. The sound was distant though, muffled by more than the thick wood of the door itself.
“Stephen, what’s behind this door?” Kurt whispered but the man didn’t seem to notice. He continued staring at the cross, lost in his own thoughts from the ordeal outside the walls.
“Does anyone know?” Kurt looked around the chapel.
“I think it’s the entrance to the crypts,” offered one of the students.
“Shit!” Kurt pulled Sarah closer, “Unlock it and then move back, ok?”
Sarah nodded as she searched through the bunch, locating the key which bore the number corresponding to the small brass plaque. DB and Jonesy raised their rifles but Kurt gently pressed the barrels to the floor and shook his head. They needed to conserve every round of ammunition, so they slung the guns and pulled out their machetes instead. Hearing the latch disengage, Sarah ignored Kurt’s request and took out her own hatchet. Smiling at his frustration, she mouthed down from three to one and twisted the handle. The door swung inward to reveal an empty room and Kurt frowned in confusion. He had wrongly assumed there may be a further door leading down to the interment site itself but the walls were solid.
“Where are they?” DB whispered.
The groans were louder but still had no source as Kurt scanned around with a torch. Faces peered from the walls, carved in stone. The crying cherubs were all staring at the ground and for the first time it became clear the noise was coming from beneath their feet. Checking the joints in the floor, they could see a series of square stones with rings set within. Taking hold of the steel, Kurt tried to lift one of the sections, but it was too heavy.
“DB, can you try?” Kurt asked and the big man stepped forward.
“Say when,” he whispered and took a firm grip.
“I only want a peek,” Kurt explained, laying himself down close to the edge, “Lift it a few inches.”
“Now?”
Kurt nodded and with a grunt of effort one side of the heavy trapdoor lifted to reveal a staircase and a group of undead below. One of the desiccated corpses was scratching weakly at the stone and scraps of finger fell onto the steps. Sensing the light, they all turned and the closest tried to grab Kurt. Lacking any strength, it couldn’t push the massive stone any higher than DB had raised it and pawed uselessly a foot away from Kurt’s scowling face.
“Drop it,” Kurt said and DB obliged. With a dull thud, it settled back into the recess, severing the stick thin arm at the elbow.
“Don’t worry, they’re ‘armless,” Jonesy remarked and everyone groaned before bursting out with laughter.
“I see the apocalypse hasn’t improved your jokes,” DB mocked.
“Hey! That’s no way to treat a brother in… arms,” Jonesy said, wiping away imaginary tears.
“Oh, fuck off!” DB chuckled and pushed at his friend.
“If I’d known I’d get treated like this I’d have never joined the arm… y,” Jonesy said and ducked away from DB’s clutches, “Ok, ok, I’ll stop.”
“What do you want to do with them?” Sarah asked.
“Leave them for now. They can’t get out so we will get them during the final sweep and clear,” Kurt replied and returned his attention to the mourners. “I want a meeting with everyone, if that’s ok? Meet me in the baron’s hall in thirty minutes.”
Excusing themselves, Kurt and his family made their way to the massive room ahead of time to have a private discussion. Antiques and furniture were scattered across the floor from the battle fought during the outbreak within the walls. Terrified hands had wielded the objects unsuccessfully and the dried pools of blood bore testament to the fallen. Sam and Braiden took the initiative and started to drag chairs towards one of the fireplaces. Six feet high and eight wide with broad flues rising into the roof, they had been designed to provide heat for the banquets of kings and queens.
“Get comfortable, we’ll get the fire going,” Sam urged, returning with an armful of broken wood.
“Are you sure you don’t want some help?” Gloria asked as she joined them from the chapel.
“No, it’s fine.” Braiden said, sliding a padded reading chair over that he had claimed from a high window, “Here, Miss.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
“My pleasure.” Braiden grinned. “Sam, I think I saw some logs upstairs. Want to help me get them?”
“One second,” Sam called out, leaning down and blowing at the smoking embers. The varnish helped the fire bloom to life and the broken arms and legs started to crackle as the chimney started to draw.
“Boys?” called Sarah.
“Yes, Mum?”
“Be careful. I know we’ve cleared the rooms, but I want
everyone to be on guard until we’ve scoured every nook and cranny. The crypts showed us there are hidden places which they could be trapped.”
“Ok, Mum,” they both replied and hurried off.
“You must be so proud of them.” Gloria smiled, relaxing back into the chair.
“We are, but you should be too, all of you,” Sarah beamed, “We owe our lives to you and your bravery. Whatever they are from this day forward is because you fought at our side and saved us.”
“You did the same for us,” Jodi proclaimed.
“And us,” Peter added before his face darkened with guilt.
“I’d still be sleeping alone in an x-ray room if it wasn’t for you,” Christina declared, shooting a glance at DB.
“I think we make a damned good team,” Jonesy stated, “You handle yourself like professionals.”
Kurt laughed, “Hardly, but thanks anyway.”
“We’re serious,” DB confirmed, “You went toe to toe with an army of the walking dead without running away screaming. I have seen plenty of combat and I can assure you that isn’t something that is learned, it’s instinct. You’re born fighters!”
“High praise indeed,” smiled Gloria. Stretching her hands out, the fire was roaring and warmed her chilled bones. Fragrant smoke wafted into the room from the burning lacquer so she opened the damper a little further and the wisps were pulled back into the updraft.
“Anyway,” Kurt stood and added more timber to the greedy fire, “I wanted a chance to speak with you all privately before the rest arrive.”
“What’s on your mind, mate?” Jonesy asked. His eyes were alert and constantly checking the two entrances.
“Firstly, I wanted to apologise for losing it with Mr. Vincent. He caught me at a bad time and I could’ve probably handled it better.”
“No,” DB held up a hand, “It was handled in the only way it could be. A man like that is poison to a group and it can end up destroying everyone. If he comes out of it a better man then ok, but if he reverts to his asshole ways then he goes for good.”
