Hellspawn (Book 1) (13 page)

“Yeah, let’s think about getting some rest, one thing first.” He got up and walked to the glass door that the van had blocked, and felt the paint. “It’s good, let’s get that last coat on. I want to leave some lights on down here in case we have trouble.”

Sarah and Kurt stood, muscles aching. He kissed her and she went upstairs to see the others and make sure they were all ok before bed.

“Dad, what are we going to do?” Kurt queried when they were alone and painting the second coat onto the glass. He felt small for asking, but his father was always level headed and pragmatic, it was as if he was made for this kind of situation.

“I’m not sure Kurt. We will deal with it head on, and we will survive.”

Even though they were platitudes, his words reassured Kurt, for the first time that day he felt… optimism? How could he be so cold hearted? He thought that millions were probably dying, and all he cared about were the people under this roof. He was worried about this change in him, but didn’t articulate it to his father.

They finished the job in silence and then joined the others upstairs. The glow coming up from below gave them just enough light to work by. Sam was prowling from room to room, seeing everything while not being seen by those outside. The zombies that were at the doors were beating and moaning. It looked like the ones who were just milling around took no notice of them. This fact didn’t escape their attention. It could prove useful in the future. The final sleeping arrangements were made. It was decided that Gloria would share with the newcomer who was fast asleep, her eyes closed as soon as her head lay on the pillow. John would bed down in the hallway, with thick sofa cushions laid end to end, making a makeshift mattress. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it was home. Kurt just stripped to his briefs, as the physical effort to put some pyjamas on was a herculean undertaking that he simply couldn’t be bothered to try.

“I will take first watch, get some sleep and I will wake you in two hours,” John said quietly as Kurt climbed into bed. “Love you all,” he said a bit louder, with a chorus of ‘love you too’ answered in response.

John listened from the hallway, laid there in the near total darkness. The cushions were soft and awkwardly placed, which would give his back hell in the morning. Bed sheets rustled, people shifted positions as they sought more comfort and murmurs heralded the descent into sleep. Gloria begun snoring and this made him smile. It was a refreshingly normal, innocent sound. In a way, it gave him a focal point to concentrate on and took his mind off of the wailing and hammering of flesh on wood and metal. The stillness lulled him, his mind returned to several hours ago, on the Lavant road.

John marched down the pavement, his car was turned off and locked up. The air was biting as he walked, and the hedge on the other side of the road whistled in places where the wind blew through. The noises were growing in intensity, the shouts and screams were coming from around the turn in the road. He walked past several people who had climbed out of their cars. They watched as he passed, concerned, but unwilling to follow and help. More faces peered at him through the glass of locked doors, some angry and some nervous. What was wrong with people, did no one help anymore? He felt anger at the way society was heading, the lack of personal responsibility and the pursuit of selfish desires would break this country.

The houses to his left were of a red brick and thatch roof design, lots of the more rural properties out here had the straw roof. It was fantastic at insulating for warmth during the colder seasons. The drawbacks were that any open fire ember that climbed the chimney could cause instant conflagration. Once the straw was ignited, nothing but an act of God could put it out. Still, they were beautiful and had a great deal of character, and were from a time where people would help each other unconditionally.

He turned the corner and passed a young man running the other way in the middle of the road. John was going to yell to get out of the road in case he got run over. The scene that presented itself showed that he needn’t have worried. Both lanes were jammed with cars. The cause was a small prang between a Vauxhall Astra and a BMW 3 series. The bonnets were crumpled and one of the windscreens was shattered with a large, bloody hole directly in front of the driver’s seat. He had seen this before. The lack of seatbelt, coupled with a head on crash, equals the human body being propelled forward at great speed through toughened glass, often proving fatal.

Several car doors were open where some good Samaritans had gone to offer assistance. Amazed that the bloodied driver survived and had gotten to his feet, their charity had cost them dearly and now they numbered among those who were going car to car and dragging people out into the street from smashed windows. It took a few moments for the scene to register on John’s mind, why was there so much blood, what had that lady just ripped free from the child on the ground? It hit him like a hammer blow, he nearly doubled over in the street, he knew it would be the end of him. Another car door was open and he heard the faint crying of a baby over the melee that was taking place. The bloodied man who had reached the door leaned in and John could just make out the top of the baby safety seat in the back. The crying reached a crescendo of agony and was cut short, followed by a spray of blood that coated the rear window, concealing the unfolding horror.

John broke, he roared and surged forward, the body of the man still leaning in and moving in a frenzy with whatever he was doing to the poor child. John swung two brutal uppercuts at the exposed side of the attacker and felt ribs shatter under the clothing. The thing pulled away from the baby and tried to turn and back fully out of the car to get at John. Not giving the monster time to stand upright, he swept the legs out from under it. It fell, face first into the seat cover, the head still within the vehicle. The baby was lost, that much was clear, it was little more than tatters and bones sat in the pale blue car seat. A lump formed in John’s throat and he started crying at the inhumanity, the suffering of that little bundle of joy made him go temporarily insane.

The rage exploded inside him and he pulled at the back of the zombie, positioning its head just inside the door. With inhuman ferocity, he slammed the door against the skull over and over again, causing it to split and spill its contents onto the waiting tarmac. There was nothing left by the time he had finished, just a bloodied, ragged stump where the head once was. Turning, he was just in time to catch the driver of the car before he pounced. John held it at arm’s length. Its weight was nothing in his fury. The face and upper body were shredded from the impact of the accident. Red, wet skin was hanging from the skull in fine strips, it looked as if the man had been through a food blender. He swung the driver around with all his might and into the side of the car, the head connected and the neck snapped like a twig. John mounted the flailing body and pinned the head down, avoiding the snapping, ruined mouth. Almost calmly, he put his thumbs to the eyes and pressed; they dug through the orbs with two sickly pops and sunk into the brain below. With great relish, he ground his thumbs into the skull cavity, mashing the contents within, the body bucked as if electrified underneath him. He withdrew his digits and they came away with a thick mucus substance attached in long, slimy strings. He wiped his hands on the creature’s trousers, the only piece of clothing that wasn’t saturated with blood. 

He stood panting, the insanity abating slightly; enough for him to look up and see that he was now the next target of the remaining dead. In no particular rush he opened the boot of the car with the baby seat; the rear windscreen was still dripping vital fluid. He lifted up the spare wheel shelf and took out the heavy tyre iron, liking its weight and damage potential. He closed the boot and put from his mind the contents of what had just occurred in the car. His only thought being to avenge the violation of innocence that had taken place. He would destroy every last one of them. It was then that he heard the whimpering, another small child was close and scared. His mind cleared and he looked around, desperately trying to find the little girl who he could hear. It was only when he found the source of the noise that he realised it was a grown woman, curled up in a foetal position by the side of her car. He glanced up, seeing the dead approaching no more than fifteen feet away.

“Quickly, you have to come with me,” John instructed as she stood with his aid, the zombies no more than ten feet away. She saw the horde and issued the most rending scream he had ever heard, it was only him pulling her away that stopped her from fainting at their feet. He looked around and saw that the only place they may be able to buy time was through the thick hedge and over the fields, exactly as Kurt had asked him to do. They ran to the foliage, in reality he dragged her most of the way, her strength was fading fast. He put his shoulder to the green thickets, pushed with all his might, reluctantly the hedge had parted when she added her slight frame to the job.

John lay there, safe in his son’s home, the picture of the tiny infant forever etched on his psyche. He found his back twinging, small stabbing pains going down his left leg, so he switched positions on the cushions. The tears came unashamedly and he wept.

The night was long and full of dreadful moans and wails. John woke Kurt and the watch continued. Kurt, there in the dark, wondered how the world was coping, what the morning would bring for his new family. The zombies milled around, even those who knew they were within the house had slowed their attacks. Did they lose interest after a while without sight of their quarry? It was these questions that could save their lives in the coming weeks. They would need to be especially vigilant to any slight patterns or tells in their behaviour.

A chill had settled on the house, they didn’t have the time or forethought to light the fireplaces. The autumn was shaping up to be a cold one, worse than normal temperatures at this time of year. He cursed anything and everything for adding this extra level of struggle to their bleak existence. Taking a thick blanket and wrapping it tightly around his shoulders, looking out the windows he searched the other homes for signs of life. A couple of times he was certain that he saw movement at some curtains from a home down the road, it could have been a trick of his mind, a yearning for the companionship of fellow humans. He stared harder with his breath held, although this just caused his vision to swim. It was even less likely he would notice anything else, so he moved on. They could talk about it in the morning.

Kurt watched his loved ones sleep, going from room to room, tucking people in if they had kicked their sheets free. Braiden was having a nightmare and was thrashing on the mattress, fighting who knows what in the dream world. Kurt could hazard a very good guess, so he sat with him and stroked his hair until he calmed a little, hoping that he would drift into a deeper, dreamless sleep. Gloria entered the room, wearing Sarah’s nightshirt, in the shadows he nearly mistook her for his wife.

“Why don’t you go back to bed, I will keep watch until morning,” she whispered.

Kurt checked the time on the red digital display on Sam’s alarm clock; it was 2:25 am, the dead of night. He groaned inwardly at his own pun.

“You can’t do that, dawn is four hours away and you will be exhausted,” Kurt worried for her.

“Nonsense, I have been surviving on four hours sleep a night ever since my husband passed. I can’t ever seem to get settled properly anymore without him. And besides, a strong man is going to be needed for what’s to come,” she answered cryptically. Or maybe it wasn’t cryptic. She had seen what they faced and knew it was dire. They could be fighting for the very existence of the human species.

“Ok, as long as you are sure. Wake me up if you change your mind and feel you need a little more.” He walked past and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t you worry about me, we old folk just need a quick nap in an armchair and we are good to go.” She patted his hand and he returned to his bed. Climbing in, he moved in behind Sarah and cuddled her; she responded in her sleep and moved to get closer. Closing his eyes, he heard the faint creak of a floorboard as the new guard kept watch, and then slept.

Kurt woke with a start, sat bolt upright in bed and panicked when he looked over for his wife and found only a dented pillow and rumpled sheets. It took a few seconds for the disorientation to wear off, the hushed voices of the survivors carried up to him and he calmed down. Rubbing at his eyes he looked at the clock and saw it was 7:22 AM, so he got out of bed and put fresh clothes on. He was in desperate need of a wash, however it would have to wait, the feel of the clean clothing was the next best thing. He went to each window in turn and wished that he hadn’t bothered. The zombie numbers had grown dramatically. A few dozen was now well over a hundred, a veritable blanket of dead on the gardens, pavements and road. He looked to the house that had piqued his interest last night, nothing looked any different and the curtains were still closed. He stared for too long, which allowed several of the zombies to catch sight of him and they began shambling over, excited at the thought of fresh meat. Admonishing himself for the stupidity and recounting his father’s words, he shut the curtain and took a deep breath. People were counting on him to hold it together.

“Morning all,” he greeted as he got downstairs. The TV was on once more and the news was still rolling. He didn’t feel up to that right now and instead nodded at his father who was glued to it, before walking into the kitchen.

“Morning honey.” Sarah came over and kissed him, passing a fresh cup of coffee. The smell was delectable. Gloria and Sarah were eating toast, the final slices of bread needing to be used before the mould set in. This triggered disturbing images in his mind, ones he could well do without. The boys had poured milk into the Honey Cheerio’s bag due to a lack of food bowls and were tucking in with gusto, the bag crumpling and rustling as the spoons delved in. Kurt laughed and the boys looked round and smiled at him, still chewing for all they were worth. The blonde sat next to Braiden and, between mouthfuls of cereal, he tried to get her to drink some water. Kurt was overjoyed to see that she was taking proper sips now with no prompting, although her eyes remained as distant as ever. Braiden smiled at him, proud of his hand in the change.

The toaster popped and Gloria buttered the slices. “What would you like on them?” she asked. “The orange marmalade is particularly good, sir.” She was attempting to sound like an old butler, which brought another chuckle.

“That would be great Gloria, thanks,” Kurt replied and she set to work.

Deciding he needed to keep up with the current state of play, that ignoring it would be cowardly, he joined his father, sitting down next to him. Gloria came in and handed the toast over, “Another cup John?” Gloria enquired.

“Bless you. That would be great Love.” He handed his cup to her and she duly headed off and put the kettle back on.

“What’s the latest Dad? There are more of them outside now.” Kurt held out hope for some good news, he was to be disappointed.

“It’s still not good. They don’t seem to have a clue how to respond to this. I haven’t even heard them admit they are dead.” John shook his head in disgust. The same distrust of authority ran deeply in him as well.

Sarah joined them, bringing the cup of fresh coffee. She sat down next to Kurt and started to watch the latest bulletin on Sky News. The anchor was mid-sentence, the words ‘breaking news’ still scrolling along the bottom of the screen. It’s already broken beyond repair, Sarah thought to herself.

“… are responding, but they recommend that people stay indoors, make no attempt to go out or try and reach loved ones. Incidents of mass civil unrest are now being reported from as far afield as Devon and Northern Scotland. Initial reports are leaning towards rioting like that seen during the London incidents of 2011. The Government is preparing a statement which will be delivered in the next hour. David Cameron will be addressing Parliament with the response, however early indications are that he will be mobilising the army for further deployment in major population centres.”
The anchor put his hand to his earpiece.
“I am being informed we have some footage, our camera crew is live outside the Houses of Parliament where David Cameron is in the middle of an emergency session of COBRA.”
He looked to someone off screen and the picture faded. Kurt racked his brain, but it came up blank.

“It stands for Cabinet Office Briefing Room A; it’s where they go if bad stuff is happening. I guess it’s pretty bad,” Braiden told him. He had come in and sat on the sofa quietly. He looked at Kurt and then concentrated on the news once more. Kurt was taken aback, he had always assumed Braiden was a little… slow, but there was obviously more to him than meets the eye.

The TV showed a rolling feed from Parliament Square, the crossroads which leads over the River Thames and into Central London, as well as to the Houses of Parliament where politicians sought a solution. The camera panned and picked up the reporter who was looking around, taking in what was happening.

“As you can see, crowds have gathered here to demand the Government take action. The police are out in force. All leave has been cancelled until further notice. It is expected that within the next few minutes, the Prime Minister will declare martial law, fearing an escalation as happened in the last riots of 2011. The slow and some say weak, response of that time being attributed to over one billion pounds in damage. Opposition politicians have used the episode to score points and paint the Prime Minister as a man who cannot make the tough decisions.”

The camera panned away from the reporter at the sound of screams coming from the gathered people. Panic gripped the crowd, the police tried to hold their line, but the sheer weight of numbers bowled through them. A new crowd had appeared, demanding nothing. They were much slower than those that ran past the cameraman, lacking their slogans and chants. A new chorus had emerged, the moans and wails of the damned. The Police tried to reform their barricade, supported by officers on horseback who lined up to the rear. Confronted with the shambling horde, the lines broke. Nobody could be expected to do their duty unarmed and in the face of such ravaged abominations. Those that didn’t flee quickly enough were set upon and ripped apart. The screaming was further fuelling the advancing swarm. Horses, despite being blinkered for crowd control duties, sensed the impending doom and either bolted with their riders clinging on desperately, or bucked them and ran. The zombies were glad for the stunned meat that lay on the concrete. The reporter ran, passing the screen in a blur of expensive suit. The camera operator was backing away now. The feeling of detachment that the lens provided was evaporating. They stumbled on something, the view went spinning and the camera crashed to the pavement, breaking part of the lens. Only a small section of the picture remained now, black pixels replacing the rest. Sideways, the viewer watched as the camerawoman started to crawl away. The kerb that had tripped her was posing no trouble for the new stars of the show. They fell on her at once, gurgling screams pealing forth, when blood started running through their feet and down the kerbstone into the gutter, the picture returned to the studio.

“… Folks, I don’t know what to...”
The newscaster was lost for words, he looked for support from those behind the camera, raised his arms in a ‘what do I do’ gesture. It cut to a break, a commercial for car insurance delivered by a talking robot called Brian.

Kurt had seen perhaps five hundred of the walking dead over the past twenty four hours. He had known it was widespread, but hoped the governments of the world would come together and the word would go out, the Army mopping up and restoring sanity. The camera had shown thousands, the wide roads filled with them, shoulder to shoulder. London was lost. Now they would be entering the chambers of Parliament. No Government address was going to take place as there would be no one to deliver it.

“So it’s just us then. Fine.” Sarah was taking this better than the men in the room, a steely resolve hardening her features. There were people she cared about that needed protection and woe betide any one, or thing, that threatened them. Kurt’s pride soared at his amazing wife, knowing he had strong people to share this burden warmed his heart. They may just have a chance after all.

“You’ve got a real treasure there Son,” John told him, full of admiration.

“You’re damned right he has,” Sarah confirmed with a smile. “What is the plan for today?”

“Let’s go into the kitchen and we can discuss it,” Kurt replied.

All activity ceased and they listened carefully to Kurt and John’s ideas, which they had bandied around the previous evening.

“We will be breaking through into the attics of the homes along our row. It will be much easier while we still have mains electricity. Once that is done, we can use the attics to hop back and forth with supplies or as an escape route in the event we are breached. With the numbers growing so rapidly, we are also going to move upstairs at some point today, which will make us safer.”

John continued where Kurt left off, “While we are drilling through, there will be a lot of noise and we know what that will attract. I want the rest of you to bring everything upstairs that isn’t nailed down, and even stuff that is. I don’t know about you, but the cold is starting to get to me, so we will take all the firewood up from the back storage room. We will also be taking all the doors, door frames and wood that we can use. Kitchen units can be broken down, appliances will also need to go. The fridge could extend the life of our food greatly and when we have the solar power hooked up it will give us a few hours of freezing each day.” John could think of nothing else, so Kurt assigned the jobs.

“Braiden and Sam, you are on firewood. When that’s done, I should be through to the next house and I want you to fill their bath up too. We will do it to all of them, which will give us another thousand litres. Sarah and Gloria, would you mind taking the doors off and then use the jemmy to break the door linings out? Dad, are you ok breaking down the kitchen and getting some of the heavier stuff up?” They all knew what had to be done. The constant rhythmic pounding around the house was a never ending reminder of their predicament.

Kurt made his way up into the attic, trailing the power lead behind him. He had already set up the drill and his sledge hammer at the gable end that separated his property from the next. A layer of concrete blocks were put in during the initial build to prevent the burglary of linked houses on the estate. He was happy to see a hive of activity as he ascended, everyone working together as a team. He plugged the drill in and placed the bit against the cement joint, he wanted to break the large blocks out in one piece if possible so that they could be used later. He put goggles on and was close to using ear defenders, but the thought of not being able to hear if there was an emergency made him reconsider. The drill was mostly clean now, only casing joints and hard to reach places still containing the dried gore of last night. Putting it out of his mind, he started breaking out the blocks, each one came out fairly easily, the old cement losing a lot of its strength over time. Within half an hour he had cleared a hole large enough to climb through comfortably, with a small pile of bricks to the side. He stood and looked through into the other attic, the light from his low wattage light unable to penetrate the pitch black. It was like an open mouth, ready to swallow him, the darkness was absolute and only the first inches of their neighbours’ attic space was visible. He crouched to get a better view, angling the hanging bulb at the opening to try and gain some idea of what lay beyond.

“Dad,” called Sam from the attic hatch. Kurt stood up in surprise and banged his head on the rafters.

“Are you ok? Sorry for startling you.” Sam climbed up, concern on his face, until Kurt turned round laughing, holding his head where a small lump was forming.

“Don’t worry mate, I was thinking morbid thoughts there, I’m glad you pulled me out of it. What’s up?”

“The firewood is all done and we have helped Grandad move some of the heavy stuff. Mum’s nearly done with the doors. Did you want us to get the baths filled now?” Sam asked. Braiden’s head had appeared through the hatch, he waited for an answer too. Kurt was still reluctant to let go and admit that they could not be treated as children anymore, but he forced himself.

“Get the torch, drop the hatch and wait. Listen carefully for any movement. Lower the ladder ONLY when you are sure that the house is safe. Fill the bath the same as you did in here, but wait by the stairs and when you are done, lift the ladder and lock the attic again. I want the roof spaces isolated at all times. Make sure you take a weapon with you, something you can swing with force,” Kurt told them.

They did as instructed while Kurt moved to the other end of the attic space ready to repeat the procedure. When the boys made to go through the freshly formed door, Kurt nearly stopped them, the spooky feeling from earlier still lingering. The torchlight revealed nothing other than storage boxes full of old items, books, videos, suitcases and an old doll house that their neighbour’s daughter used to play with, before growing up and moving out. It was a poignant reminder of innocence lost. The new order would have little or no time for such frivolity. Kurt knew he had to stop these pointless thoughts. They helped no one and just filled him with sorrow.

The dividing wall was breached and blocks were piled on the attic floor. His initial unease at the openings now gone, it would give them more space and safety than if they just stayed put in the middle of the terrace. The youngsters had returned after locking the attic hatch, they ducked through the opening and came to Kurt, excitedly.