Hellspawn (Book 1) (11 page)

“I am so sorry! Are you ok? Is your name Braiden?” He ran over to check the lad was unharmed.

“Yeah, that was close. I brought something for you.” Braiden handed the blankets to John, who took them gratefully. He went to the passenger door, opened it and wrapped them around the young lady sat there. Braiden stared at her and John caught the look.

“She has been through a lot today, as I’m sure we all have. She just needs time. Braiden, do you think the track will take the car, are there any blockages or… those things?”

Braiden averted his gaze and said to John, “No, I didn’t see any of them, it was very quiet. The track is clear all the way to Mr Taylor’s house. Here.” He tried handing over the crowbar.

“No, you keep it. I have a tyre iron in the front. Jump in and we will head back to Kurt’s house.”

“We need to be careful as there are some outside the house. I think some of them were following me,” Braiden added.

“Listen Son, we are so grateful for your help, but what possessed you to risk your life to come out here for a stranger?” John was twisted in his seat, looking back.

“Dunno,” he shrugged, “But you’re Kurt’s dad, so you’re not really a stranger.”

He climbed into the back seat without further conversation, cradling the crowbar on his lap. John got back in and turned down the dirt track, taking it slowly, even in the off road vehicle. They bumped and jiggled as the wheels met depressions, throwing them this way and that. As they got deeper, the tree branches formed an ominous arch over the track, leafless limbs looking like skeletal fingers reaching for them, in the darkness the headlights speared through in two beams. It was if they were heading down a tunnel to hell, and who could say that they weren’t?

The tree line became less condensed and gaps showed the first faint light of the housing estate. They reached the wooden fence that Braiden had jumped. The zombies who had been following him were prevented from reaching the track. Instead they flailed against the barrier. John stopped the engine and took the keys out. He was dubious about opening the doors into the unknown. Darkness had filled the void left by the passing light, making it impossible for John to check the mirrors for danger. He could see Kurt at the upstairs window of his house; the front garden was home to several of the dead. A quick count revealed about fifteen stood between them and the safety of the house, with at least thirty more milling around but not a direct threat at present. As soon as they made a move from the car and over the fence, they would be fair game for dinner.

Kurt watched from the open window, curtains fluttering from the cold breeze that sought entry. His knuckles were white where he clenched at the window frame, watching the Land Rover as it sat there, knowing how close his father was to sanctuary. The engine cut out on the vehicle and the lights dimmed from the drop in power. There were so many between them, a chasm would have been safer to navigate. The zombies at his car were still fixated on him, arms raised imploringly, desperate to taste his flesh. He barely paid them any heed. It was the extra numbers who were breaking away and heading to the fence that terrified him. He knew that the fence was thick; however the posts were old and would not last against a concerted weight. The whole lot would topple over, wood and bodies both. Then they would surround the car and he couldn’t get the image of sardines in a can out of his mind. He was getting frantic and Sarah could sense it.

“Let’s just think,” she said, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder, knowing he was close to jumping on the car roof and going after them.

“We don’t have time!” he shouted. Turning, he softened, “Sorry, I can’t just do nothing.”

Kurt ran into the room where they had stored all the tools and equipment, desperately seeking a solution. How could he possibly take on a dozen or more undead? He grabbed his hammer and tucked it into his belt. His eyes scanned the room for something, anything. They came to rest on a section of iron pipe, it was heavy and could do some damage if thrust. The stubby round end would be unlikely to pierce the brain. He knew that swinging it from the car roof could end up overbalancing him, which would ensure he met a swift and grisly end. An idea formed in his mind. Sarah had joined him, leaving Gloria to fret at the window.

“Babe, set up my angle grinder, quickly!” He had taken a two metre section of the tube and a lump hammer, a much weightier version than his clawed one. Swinging the hammer repeatedly, he flattened the end of the pipe.

“Shut the door, I don’t want this noise to attract too many of them,” Kurt instructed. Sarah kicked it shut with the back of her heel before passing him the grinder.

He pressed the trigger and was rewarded by a shrill whine as the disc rotated in a blur, thousands of times a minute. He placed the abrasive wheel on the edge of the pipe, and was rewarded by a shower of sparks arcing back from the metal towards Sarah, who jumped clear. Smoke began to fill the room from the friction of metal on metal, causing their eyes to water. It was working. The flat end was taking shape with a vicious point as each piece fell away. The sudden silence of the room as he turned the tool off was welcome. The ringing in their ears would last for a while longer; ear protectors had been the least of their worries. He hefted the makeshift spear. It was a good weight and gave him the chance to strike from a distance.

They ran back into the front bedroom. Gloria cleared the window and Kurt hitched his leg over the sill, stepping down carefully onto the car roof. There was a lot of moisture still, so he knew it would be slippery. As he turned to take the spear from Sarah, his foot hit a patch of water and he wind milled with his arms trying to maintain his balance. His legs shot out and his back hit the car roof with a crump, denting it, knocking the breath out of him. He laid there dazed for a couple of seconds, the shouts of his loved ones distant. He found himself wondering when the rain clouds had cleared. The stars were out, twinkling in the strange way they do. The billions of miles between them meaning some of these life giving suns were long dead, their planets barren. The first tentative gropes of the rotting arms were enough to bring him out of the temporary shock. He had landed with amazing luck, his body straight in line to the sides of the car roof. If he had been twisted at all, his hungry neighbours would have clutched at his limbs and dragged him onto the ground and devoured him. He sat up quickly, using his stomach muscles to rise, careful to keep his arms in to his chest and not use them for leverage, lest they be grabbed. He looked down, fingertips were brushing his legs and Sarah was screaming at him. She was leaning out with the spear.

“Grab it, use it to stand!” She braced herself against the window frame.

He took the end of the spear and steadied his feet; the moisture was still trying to make him slip over. With his wife’s help, he managed to rise without tumbling into the waiting embrace of the zombies. They were beyond agitated, their food so close they were going mad. He kept a wary eye on his new fans while speaking to Sarah.

“Get me a towel or something made of fabric,” he asked.

Gloria obliged and ran out of the room, returning with a beige towel, which he threw onto the roof and stood on. It gave him much needed traction, and he was able to widen his stance with it, the cloth acting as a slip proof mat on the wet roof. Raising the iron pipe, he looked down into the bloodied face of the first cadaver and rammed it down at the forehead. It punched through, splashing brains. The eyes crossed before it hit the ground. The others were unfazed by the loss of their comrade, showing no fear at their impending deaths. Those remaining were dispatched in the same manner, though perhaps without the same finesse. Kurt was shaking with adrenaline as he thrust, knowing that each moment counted. Several jabs went awry and ripped holes in faces and torsos before the killing blow was struck.

He sat, slid down the bonnet like a child at a play park, and hit the grass. He took in the surroundings and could see the loitering dead had taken an interest in his escapades. Slowly, they made their way towards him. He only had minutes at most. He transferred the iron pipe to his left hand. The weight was beginning to make his muscles ache. He realised that he couldn’t wield it effectively, and left it standing against the car, taking out the hammer instead. A cold fury had settled in him, the constant state of terror diluted to a gnawing fear. He approached the dead at the fence, close enough to look over their shoulders and see the face of his father in the driving seat. Seeing his son so close to danger made John leap out and run around to the fence. Kurt had already started smashing skulls, the targets impossible to miss while their attention was focussed elsewhere. Craniums shattered and corpses fell. Some were newer than others and the difference in smell was incredible, excrement, mixed with open festering sores and putrefaction, a vile amalgam of nose assaulting scents. Meanwhile, John had started to rain blows over the fence after taking the crowbar. Braiden stood by the passenger door defensively; ready to protect the lady inside. Safely separated by the wooden barrier of the fence, John swung with all his might. The weight of the crowbar connecting with a head was having a different effect from the hammer. The ferocity of John’s swings made it look as if they had been swatted flat by the invisible hand of a giant. It was a massacre. In under a minute, fourteen in total were slain. Time was short, they knew, still Kurt and John just stood there, separated by a pile of rotting flesh and an old wooden fence. They smiled and went to each other, embracing so tightly they couldn’t breathe, the fence digging painfully into their midriff. Pulling apart, they held each other by the shoulders, drinking the sight in.

“About time you showed up, old man,” Kurt joked.

“I wanted to take the scenic route,” replied John, chuckling.

Braiden had helped the lady from the car and Kurt noticed her properly for the first time. She was young and pretty, with a look in her eyes that was becoming familiar to him. Leading her to the fence they didn’t waste time trying to get her in between the slats, they simply smashed the wood in a frenzy of blows, opening the way. Braiden was leading her while the adults moved ahead, prepared for battle. They were still safe though, the nearest zombie was more than thirty feet away.

Kurt was stunned by the sound of their car as it started up. Squinting to see through the windscreen, he saw it was Sarah behind the wheel. He could have killed her, although both pride and fear swelled in him.

“What are you bloody doing?” he shouted, but she couldn’t hear over the engine noise and the closed door.

Sarah moved the car forward a few feet, unblocking the home’s entrance. Gloria met them at the front door as they rushed in. Shutting the door, Kurt was sprinting upstairs as he heard the crump of metal meeting brickwork once more. Sarah used the bumper to climb on the bonnet, her lithe limbs making the task easy. Crossing the roof and remembering Kurt’s difficulty, she used the towel to carefully step through the window.

“Don’t you ever do that again. I can’t lose you,” he said as he squeezed her tight.

“It was fine baby. You had cleared the way for me. We are a team, remember?” She kissed him softly and they just stood there for a minute, enjoying the contact, before they made their way downstairs. The kitchen was a bustle of activity and happiness. Introductions had taken place and much relieved laughter met them as they entered.

Bypassing his dad for now, Kurt saw Braiden by the table and their eyes met. He marched over towards the youth, who cowered as he neared, expecting a blow like a whipped dog. Kurt’s heart melted as he grabbed the lad, pulling him in tight, ignoring the reluctance to hug back.

“Don’t you ever do anything so stupid again,” Kurt whispered close to Braiden’s ear as he hugged the poor boy, this message for him only. “You are a part of this family. We can never repay what you have done for us.” Some of the tension went out of him then and Kurt felt his arms as they returned the hug. Braiden was home.

Kurt pulled away and nodded at Braiden to reaffirm the whispered message. Sarah was watching them, although in place of the glower he was expecting, she was smiling warmly. The old grudges now seeming so petty in light of the bravery the youngster had shown to protect them. Leaving John where he tended to their newest member, Sarah walked over and took over where Kurt had left off. Taking Braiden in her arms, she further cemented the new family bond.

Kurt left them and went round to John, kneeling in front of the girl as well. Gloria was stood to her side, rubbing her back through the blanket that draped her shoulders. Her eyes were glazed and unresponsive, but colour was returning to her pallid skin. John was wiping away the encrusted blood with warm, soapy water and a flannel, careful to avoid the unblinking eyes with the suds. The back door was still being pounded on with vigour. Kurt was glad to see the timber he had fixed was holding at the moment. John looked at him and he knew the question.

“It will hold Dad,” Kurt confirmed as John went back to caring for the young lady. “Who is she?”

“I have no idea, when I found her she was hysterical and then shut down completely. She wasn’t even moving before,” John replied as he thought back to the Land Rover incident, still unsure what had transpired.

“Here you go, Grandad.” Sam had brought a steaming mug of tea and a glass of water. John picked up the water and tried to get the girl to drink. The first attempt just dribbled down her chin. With perseverance she parted her lips slightly and took a small swallow. It was something.

“Let me try, you have a drink,” Kurt suggested and took the glass. John stood and picked up the tea, blew it and took a sip. He closed his eyes in appreciation. It was quite possibly the best cup he had ever had, which was also quite possibly because he thought he would never have one again a short time ago.