Hellspawn Odyssey (2 page)

A cold breakfast of tinned meatballs was eaten in sullen silence. The group had turned in early to maximise their sleep and build their energy. It had been less than successful. Each had lain there in the dark, fearful of the coming day and the abandoning of their new home in search of possible salvation. Their chances were unknown, though they all knew that the winter would be impossible to survive in their current situation. Their food and water was dwindling, and temperatures were moving into the single digits and even lower when the darkness fell. It was not a pleasant choice to make, a slow painful death from thirst or starvation, or the bites of the dead rending their flesh?

“Ok, everyone has their gloves, dust mask, and safety glasses?” Kurt asked the group as they prepared to leave the house and gathered their last belongings. “I don’t know if you need to be bitten or if their blood and gore can infect us. If we have to fight I want to be prepared for every possibility.”

They checked their pockets for the glasses and masks, the gloves already worn for the insulation against the chill.

“Sam, can you pick off the two that are hovering by the van please?” John asked and Sam moved into position, cupping a bearing within the slingshot pouch.

The previous night had been the first time the temperatures had gotten near freezing. The two shuffling zombies had small icicles hanging from their chins from the gradual release of black drool. They were fresher members of the dead. The group was simply calling them either new or old. The newer ones were the bitten, the torn or the shredded, partly or nearly completely eaten before suffering the change. The older ones had been interred and rose as they had been buried, rotting and covered with bursting pustules of ichor.

Their radio had been saved but still gave no explanation about what had occurred on that fateful day in September when a pulse was released that ignited the fire in the engines of the dead. The last transmission they had listened to had hinted that the scientists were close to a breakthrough, though at this stage what did it matter? Everyone was already gone and mankind was nearing extinction.

The first bearing to be shot impacted at the rear of the female cadaver’s skull, between patches of partly eaten scalp. The bone imploded and a huge chunk of face was torn free upon exit, splashing the lawn and resulting in the undamaged nose lying to the side of the body. Sam was morbidly fascinated at the sight until the second zombie saw him at the window and did the ‘old raise and moan’, the guaranteed response of a mindless eater when seeing a meal. Paige had noticed the behaviour and coined the phrase, and at least the subtle groan of the walking meat sacks gave them some warning. The exceptions were those that had their throats ripped out or eaten. They were either silent, or ‘whistlers’, another Paige term for those whose attempts at moaning resulted in strange tones from the torn flesh of the neck.

Sam saw that it was Perry, one of the children from the estate. He had been badly mauled, was missing one arm and could only do a poor attempt at a Nazi salute instead of the usual zombie wave. He felt an inner chill at the sight, the realisation hit him that they would likely see a lot more of the people they once knew before escaping the area. He didn’t draw the slingshot back as far as before and the bearing didn’t rupture clean through his head, instead shattering the bridge of the nose and settling within the brain, still killing the boy. Gloria had witnessed the hesitation, the haunted look in Sam’s eyes, and gave him a reassuring hug, knowing there were no words to convey her sorrow that he didn’t already feel.

“All clear. The rest of them are far enough away that we can ignore them as long as the van starts,” said Sam, pocketing his weapon and picking up the bag of blankets and assorted clothing they may have use for in the future. They gathered by the back door of their friend’s home, said their final farewells to the dwelling, and looked out into the morning light.

“Wait here, I am going to try the engine. I doubt there will be an issue but it’s always better to be safe than sorry,” Kurt told them and ran for the driver’s door, jumping in and turning the key. The van turned over immediately, it was a reliable work horse and may prove their saviour. “Let’s go!”

Honey leaped in and skidded on the metal floor. They all bundled into the rear of the vehicle and shut the doors, using the suitcases as temporary seats for comfort. John climbed through the bulkhead and sat in the passenger seat, looking out on the encroaching danger. They had been spotted and were going to be quickly surrounded if they remained parked by the house. Kurt looked over and put the van into gear. Honey climbed through and put her paws on the main console, surveying the scene and growling quietly.

“Easy girl,” Kurt soothed and scratched behind her ear.

“Let’s go and get those people,” Sarah said to the family and Kurt drove out onto the main road.

“Swing by the Land Rover, I want to see if it starts,” John told him and Kurt swung left, passing the pendulum blade and the scorched piles of corpses it had wrought. The heat had caused the clothing of the dead to ignite and the charred mounds were surrounded by blackened liquid, most likely the boiled blood and fats that had run from the bodies while the buildings had burned to the ground.

The walking Hellspawn were converging on them slowly as the van approached the abandoned Land Rover. Kurt stopped by the old fence and John climbed out closely followed by Sam with the slingshot and Gloria with the shotgun. They had time to spare but Sam wanted to try something and dropped to the ground looking for a suitable stone. They had several hundred bearings left although the larger ones were now in the minority. Finding a rounded pebble with a couple of sharp edges, he cradled it in the leather cup and aimed at the festering head that was closest. The stone struck the creature in the forehead, only managing to tear the skin and fracture the bone underneath.

“I don’t think its heavy enough,” Sam said dejectedly.

“Try this one. It’s a bit sharper around the edges. Does it feel heavier?” Gloria passed a small flint to him and he aimed again. The stone ripped through the skull and came to a stop in the brain, causing the ghoul to tumble backwards, dead.

“
Yes
!” Sam punched the air. “It was about the same weight but maybe the sharp edges helped. Or maybe they just need to be closer for it to work?” he questioned and looked at Gloria.

“I don’t know, you are the slingshot expert.” She smiled at him.

“I’m going to try again, test the range,” Sam explained and moved off with a fresh stone. Sarah looked nervous but Gloria winked and snapped the gun shut before releasing the safety and following him closely.

John had got the Land Rover started and stood by the door. “What do you all think about having a backup car?” John called to them.

“Why not just use our car, it has more space,” Sarah suggested, taking her eyes from Sam when it was clear Gloria had him covered.

“Because if we need to go off road, the Rover will handle the terrain better,” he answered.

“Ok, follow us closely. Dad, I was going to draw the zombies away and try and circle the estate, see if we can get close enough to the house to make a judgement,” Kurt said.

“No, I will draw the dead away on my own. If the people need to jump from a window, the van is the safer bet,” John explained and climbed back in the Land Rover. He drove forward slowly and reached the wooden fence. Revving the engine more, he pushed through and the old posts split and fell, allowing him to pull up to the side of the others.

Sam had destroyed two more of the reanimated and had judged that distance was a factor. He could get a kill shot from about double the range with a bearing over a pebble, but at least he could conserve the important ammunition where possible now. They all mounted up and followed John as he headed down the road. Driving around the zombies in their way, they pulled up at the corner of Dymoke Street and surveyed the home that sat about forty yards from the turning. The amount of agitation in the crowd was testimony to the fact that survivors were inside. They could see in the daylight that the front door was open, which meant they would have to jump to the roof of the vehicle regardless.

Sam looked to the right, and saw the burned pile of rubble that he had caused while seeking justice and retribution. The gas pipes were still burning fiercely. Filtering through the bricks and mortar, the flames fluttered and undulated like a row of Bunsen burners on a school science desk. Piles of incinerated Hellspawn lay here and there, overcome by the need to feed on the trapped murderer, but lacking the cognizance to flee the spreading heat. Guilt hit Sam; the anonymity of the darkness was gone in the morning light. He had caused people to die here. Deserving though they were, it still affected him. He wanted to talk to Braiden about it, the way he had killed HP didn’t seem to be affecting him at all, but so far they hadn’t been alone long enough to broach the subject. The blaring horn of his grandad in the Land Rover caused him to flinch, and he ducked down with the rest of the group in the van. The aim was to have the focus of the shambling dead on John at all times. Heads turned at the sound and the crowd started to advance down the road, passing between cars, and leaving gardens, eager to feed. John started to crawl down the street in the Land Rover, drawing the dead in procession like a crazed version of the Pied Piper. Trails of leaking viscera and scraps of flesh were left in their wake. The distraction was working, the area was clear of all but three corpses who had caught sight of a man, who craned his neck while trying to see what was happening from the upper window of the house. He was young, in his late twenties or early thirties, with brown hair in a short, side parted style. They could see him leaning back and communicating with someone in the room, who then pushed passed and put her head out to look. She was of a similar age, black hair tied back tightly, giving her features a sharp, pinched look.

“Let’s go, we won’t get a better opportunity,” Kurt said with resolve and turned down the road.

“Ram them, Dad, run those buggers over,” Sam shouted and gained a disapproving look from Sarah.

“Can’t do that mate, if I hit one too hard and damage the radiator we will be sitting ducks as the engine will overheat,” Kurt explained.

“Really?” Sam was unconvinced. He had watched plenty of movies where the cars had crashed and still been fine, what was a few zombies against the large metal body of the work van?

“It’s not like the movies,” Kurt said over his shoulder, reading his mind. “I can do this though.” He coasted forward at the zombies by the house, whose attention was rapt on the leaning form from the window. The van struck the dead at less than ten miles an hour and the impact caused them to simply fall over and under the wheels. Bumping and crunching sounds echoed up through the floor as they were crushed. Kurt looked in the side mirror and the broken bodies were flopping around, immune to the pain and only wanting to eat yet unable to make any concerted movement. Their arm and leg bones were visible, the skin broken from the sharp fractures. They were no danger anymore, unless someone would be foolish enough to go near the intact heads which could still bite.

“Are you both ok? I’m Kurt,” he called out to the people in the house, waiting to reposition the vehicle until he had made a judgement on them.

“I’m Peter,” replied the man after he pushed past the glowering female who seemed unable, or unwilling to answer. “That was Debbie.”

“Don’t push me, I can answer for myself,” Debbie reprimanded Peter from the shadows. “Who are these people?”

“It’s nice to meet you, Peter,” Kurt said, trying to ignore her complaints in the background. The man smiled and it was a warm, genuine gesture.

“You too, but why are you out there with those things?” Peter asked, nervously looking up and down the street.

“I suppose you must have heard the explosion and seen the fires. That was our home. We are going to try for Thorney Barracks for safety before winter sets in fully,” Kurt explained. He could see the understanding on Peter’s face, they had watched the glowing sky and felt the vibrations of the blast.

“We wondered if you needed any help, or wanted to come with us?” Sarah asked, leaning out of the passenger window.

“We don’t have much food left, I suppose we-” Peter started to reply, but was cut short.

“Shut up, we don’t know those people, they could be dangerous,” Debbie sneered and Peter lowered his head.

“If you really are short of food it would be suicide to try and make it through the winter,” Kurt tried to reason with her and Debbie leaned out of the window.

“Do you think we are stupid? We know that no food will mean we die,” she called down.

“Don’t speak to them like that.” Peter tried to assert himself.

“Shut up, you will get us killed,” she rebuked him once again and Kurt was trying to maintain his cool.

“He didn’t mean it like that, we know you are not stupid, you couldn’t have survived this long if you were.” Sarah tried to talk woman to woman.

“Don’t patronise me, I am not a child,” Debbie answered, narrowing her eyes.

“Why do you always get like this?” Peter asked from the background. “All they want to do is help.”

“I told you to shut your mouth!” she screeched at him.

Kurt sighed and she turned her ire back to the strangers.

“Don’t you sigh at me!” Debbie shouted down at Kurt.