Hellspawn (Book 1) (20 page)

They awoke with a measure of despair, but mixed in was a glimmer of hope. Their failure to find life after the travails of the past two days hard work was a blow, however the smoke trail from the chimney of a house so close gave them fresh motivation. It had appeared that the number of zombies was quite low from what they could see outside of the house, meaning that they had kept a low profile. How secure they were inside was anyone guess and it would be these questions that would play out over the coming days. Kurt walked in to find John scouting the area from the front bedroom window.

“There are a lot more of them now, we are back to square one,” John said, carefully looking through the lace curtains.

The amount of dead in the lower floor of their house had been dramatically reduced by the cull. Their quick retreat from the horde meant that the large group that was following them up the estate didn’t have a specific location to congregate. They had spread out and commenced the pointless milling that they were now infamous for. The respite from the constant wailing and scrabbling from below was another factor in their improved attitude.

“We are, but we have proven we can take action and make a break for it if the need arises. We have plenty of stuff in the houses to continue to thin their numbers down. My point is; we don’t need to be idle and let them overwhelm us.” Kurt was hopeful and motivated. His ankle was still causing him a lot of pain after yesterday, and he would need several more days’ bed rest. He knew that he had been stubborn and foolish. This crisis would not be conquered by foolhardy actions. It would need calculation and resolve.

“I agree, that’s good thinking.” John paid him one of the rare compliments. “We should take the opportunity to gather ourselves and plan. I think it’s time that we claimed everything from the surrounding houses and take the stairs out. It will give us free run of the whole terrace.”

“Ok. We can then see exactly where we stand, what we have, and how long it will last. I think we should also prepare bug out bags,” Kurt suggested and John looked perplexed.

“What’s a bug out bag?” he asked.

“It’s an emergency bag that contains all the essentials, food, water, clothing, medicine and general survival gear. We can load the suitcases that I have seen next door with extra food and water. They all have wheels and we can drag them if we need to go on foot,” Kurt explained.

“Excellent. Let’s get some food and we can get started. You will have to rest up though, you were not ready yesterday and it could have caused problems.” There was the criticism once again.

“Well fuck me for wanting to help rescue people Dad! If we had acted sooner they might still be alive!” Kurt exploded, years of frustration coming out. “It all comes so easy to you doesn’t it? Well the rest of us don’t happen to be bloody perfect! How about you give your son some support, rather than rip him apart the whole time. I have had about all I can FUCKING TAKE!” he shouted and walked out of the room. Sarah had come to see what was going on.

“Kurt, what’s the matter?” she asked with concern.

“Fuck all,” he said as he barged past her.

John stood there in shock. The words had really cut deep. He had never intended for his son to feel this way. They could hear the aluminium ladder as Kurt climbed into the loft to get away from them, it must have been agony and John felt even worse.

“What’s going on?” Sarah asked John, hoping for some insight.

“It’s nothing love. I think I have just been a foolish old man. I have put barriers up since his mother passed away. I will talk to him in a bit when he calms down.” John looked small and broken. Sarah had never seen anything other than strength and self-assuredness from him. It worried her. They made their way back into the bedroom where the others were waiting, worry on their faces.

“Are you ok?” asked Gloria, leaving the cooking food and coming to John and Sarah.

“It was just a bit of a quarrel. It will sort itself in time. I think I need to make amends for some mistakes I’ve made,” John said, but didn’t elaborate further.

They ate a breakfast of baked beans and sausages, it wasn’t fine dining, but it warmed them and filled their bellies. Gloria set a portion aside for when Kurt returned, setting it down close enough to the fireplace to maintain the heat. The conversation turned to the plans for the coming day.

“We will start in the shower house, the stairs are already out and we need to get the remainder of the tools and useful items from the ground floor. If that goes smoothly, we will go house to house and do the same, removing the staircases as we go,” John told them, explaining further what he had discussed with Kurt.

“We will need someone to wait with Hope while we do this.” They had chosen to name her the previous night, tiring of calling her ‘the silent lady’. It fit in with their efforts to bring her back and keep her safe.

“I will stay with her,” Braiden offered.

“Thanks buddy. Gloria, are you happy to come and help us move stuff around from house to house?” John asked her, cringed as he spoke the words, felt the hot gaze, and turned to confirm it. She had her arms folded and a stern look in her eyes.

“I may be old but I am not useless!” she told him.

“I’m sorry, I know that. I can’t say anything right today.” His voice wavered and he looked at the floor.

“I was only joking dear. Come, let’s get these houses cleared.” Gloria put her arm around him and led them out into the cold of the hallway. They took tools and weapons with them, but left the shotgun as it needed cleaning and oiling before it would be safe.

Kurt sat on the ledge where the killing table was moving gently in the breeze. His legs dangled over the edge and swung back and forth like a child on a chair, it was a little risky, but he had hold of the roof structure for support. The cold was biting into the exposed skin of his forearms, goose bumps rising in an attempt to fend off the chill. He had not thought of putting a jumper on in his anger and haste to get away from the ugly confrontation.

Sitting there, he looked down on the faces of the dead. The different stages of decomposition were evident, and he had time to think of the first attack, the sagging, liquid corpse he had killed in the stairwell. Was this where they were all destined to end their days? Even the peace of the grave was now corrupt. The family from yesterday had not been bitten or injured, but still they rose to join the ranks of the undead. He thought of his family and whether he would have the constitution to do what needed to be done if the time came. He wasn’t entirely sure he could. Men, women and children were eager to reach him as he sat there. He recognised a few of the faces, which was even more awful. Days ago they had been mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, now they were a family of the damned.

Kurt thought back to his father and their argument. He felt disgusted with himself for speaking the way he had, he knew that his father loved him dearly and only wanted to make him strong for what was to come. But the wounds ran deeper than the last week. For years he had been pushed away and isolated, ever since his mother had left them. It left a void within them both that they could have worked together to fill, but it was not to be. The gulf between them grew with each passing year. Although there was no reason to, John blamed himself for her death. The brain aneurism was unexpected, no history of brain disease existed within the family. It had just been a cruel twist of fate. She had passed peacefully in her sleep one night, John finding her cold and grey in the morning light. The doctor assured him that it was instant. That no amount of treatment or medication could have reversed the damage caused, yet he still felt responsible. Why had he not woken in the night, why had he not sensed her pain? The fact that he had slept soundly beside his dying love ate at him day after day.

Kurt had tried to explain this to his father, but John carried the burden of guilt like a cross, mentally self-flagellating in his pain and need to suffer for the perceived wrong committed. It was this that caused the rifts and distance between them, and no amount of effort on Kurt’s part could build a bridge that spanned it. In the end, they had become like acquaintances, business like in their manner. The horror of the past few days had melted some of the ice. There was still a long way to go, but the first faint signs of the old John were there.

The events had flung them all together and Kurt was unsure if they alone were responsible for his father’s growing feelings toward Gloria. Before this, John had not even looked at another woman and had gently rebuffed any advances from those that tried to get close. It could be he was attracted to her strength and boundless optimism in the face of remarkable hardship. Or it may simply be the fear of being alone in this new dead world, which Kurt could totally understand.

He mentally shook himself and carefully stood up, he needed to rid himself of this childish attitude and grow into the man they all needed him to be. He had family to protect, both by blood and by bonds of survival. Things were bound to get a lot worse in the coming weeks and months, the comfort of a home unlikely to last without a constant food supply. The noise from further down the attic rooms was familiar and welcoming. He had been alone for only an hour, but the company of the dead had been infinitely less appealing than that of the living. He wasn’t really ready to see anyone after his earlier outburst and climbed down into their house with a grimace of pain. He found Braiden talking to Hope, explaining how much he missed his own mum, talking about better times when she had been around and taken him to visit the beach.

“She used to buy me an ice cream on the way back from a little van that was parked on the beach entrance. It was called Mr Whippy and the speaker was broken so the music was all off key. I always had a strawberry cone with chocolate sprinkles.” Braiden was sat with his back to the woman, watching the flames lick at the fresh logs he had placed on the embers.

Kurt held his breath, not wanting to break the spell of what he was seeing. Braiden looked over and acknowledged him with a raised hand. He cocked his head when he saw the look on Kurt’s face, the way he was paused just inside the doorway and the fact that he wasn’t even focused on him. Hope reached forward and stroked Braiden’s hair, he flinched and spun round and Kurt was afraid that the suddenness would startle her back into her own mind. Exhaling the pent up breath he had been holding, he was mistaken and need not have worried. She continued to stroke at Braiden, a motherly gesture of solace. Braiden touched the hand as it moved and tried to engage with her.

“Hi, my name’s Braiden, what’s yours?” he asked quietly, meeting her gaze. She just smiled and carried on petting him. “Can you tell me who you are?” Braiden pressed gently.

“No, don’t push her mate. You have made a great breakthrough. Let her come back slowly, in her own time,” Kurt advised. Braiden nodded and sat still, allowing the continued contact to see if it would break the inner barriers she had erected.

Kurt was overwhelmed with happiness. He would wait to tell the others as they would all want to rush back and see the miracle. He seated himself by the fire and took the bowl of food that Gloria had left him. Nothing had ever tasted as good as those steaming beans in tomato sauce and pork sausages.

They had stripped the shower house of all useful items and any furniture that could be broken down to fuel the fire at home. John caught the longing looks of his family as they walked past the bathroom with the walk in shower cubicle.

“Who would like me to fill the shower at the end of this?” he asked and they all affirmed their appreciation.

They moved onto the next house and descended with care. As long as they remained cautious and quiet, they would be able to clear each house within an hour. John continued with the stair removal, and instead of setting the rest of the group on watch, he used only one at a time. This enabled the search of the home to be done and all useful goods taken and placed by the staircase alongside the demolition. They found more long life food to use, the contents of the fridges and freezers was worthless and already on the turn. The smells that escaped from the magnetically sealed doors ensured they would not try to open the next one. There were a few bottles of wine and Sarah couldn’t resist taking them, placing them by the pile in the hallway. John smiled and nodded, they could all do with a tipple after yesterday.

They cleared each home, finally arriving at the end house they had been using for their attacks. They took all the goods they could salvage. There was an abundance of food in the house, which would buy them at least another three weeks. They gave a silent thank you to the occupants and said a prayer for their safety, wherever they were. All electrical equipment was transported upstairs from the home, stereos and televisions, as well as lamps and cooking implements. The lack of power meant they were largely useless, but better they be useless within easy reach, just on the off chance they might be helpful. John was on the fourth stair tread, and Sam was in the process of passing a multipack of crisps up, when he caught his elbow on a floor lamp they had taken. He felt it tilt and grabbed for it, but missed it by inches. The glass dome shattered on the wooden floor with an almighty crash and they all froze, hoping against hope, but knowing what was coming for them. The light filtering through the glass dimmed as the shadows converged on the doorways. The first blows were struck and the doors vibrated within the frames.

“We have to hold them back while you finish the stairs Grandad,” shouted Sam as he made for the front door.

“NO!” he yelled to Sam. “No risks, we have enough for now. Get up there!”

Sam hesitated, ready to fight, but he knew it would be too dangerous. The shadows had grown and now blocked most of the light. There would be many flooding through the broken door in moments, so he retreated, and with a quick boost from John to reach the nearest tread, climbed the remaining stairs. Sarah followed and John quickly threw some cans and pasta up to them, before grabbing the banister and pulling himself up too. The food was thrown through the waiting loft hatch without ceremony and some of the packets split as they hit the floor. The front door squealed in protest as the weight was brought to bear. Finally the timber frame gave up the ghost, splitting inwards and spilling the Hellspawn corpses onto the floor of the hallway in a heap. They wasted no more time and fled into the loft, leaving any remaining things for the dead. They watched from the attic space as the zombies gathered at the half broken staircase, the four missing steps may have been enough, but it was not worth the risk. If they remained stuck on the ground floor it would be worth an attempt to retake the house, but not today. They were tired and fatigue was setting in, the physical as well as emotional stresses taking a toll. The biggest loss was the water which they had in the bath, covered in plastic, but John was certain Kurt could fabricate something to draw it up and reclaim it.

“I’m so sorry Grandad, I keep doing stupid things.” Sam was crestfallen at the food and water they had lost.

“Don’t think like that Sam, you have been a real soldier since this all started. You have shown courage and compassion, I am so proud of you,” John told him, pulling him close for a hug.

“But all that food…” Sam said into his shoulder. John pushed him away, held him at arm’s length and looked at him.

“We have killed dozens of them, we will kill more, and you will kill more. I couldn’t ask for a better man to stand with in this mess,” John told him with sincerity.

Sam took the words in and felt more positive, the zombies were still trying to navigate the missing steps but were having no success as yet. The falling and stumbling was actually quite entertaining in the circumstances and they watched for a further five minutes. One slipped and fell, cracking its skull open on the corner of a protruding chunk of wood. It lay still, dead from the injury. They all burst out laughing at the macabre scene, the death of a walking corpse the new stand-up comedy. It didn’t bode well for the future of mankind.