Hellspawn (Book 1) (18 page)

“Now don’t get your hopes up,” John cautioned. “It may be quite some time before they get control of this, until then we have to stay put and lay low. We will carry on with the attack tomorrow, my arms are aching.” He stretched his arms out and rotated them, trying to work some of the knots loose.

“Come, sit down there,” Gloria instructed him, pointing to the floor in front of her. He obliged and she started to massage his shoulders and arms, he closed his eyes and sighed with contentment. Braiden and Sam looked at each other; their arms were aching too… Nah! They thought better of it. They sat around for a while, watching the fire crackle in the fireplace. Kurt had taken up the role of chef today and was cooking chicken soup mixed with tinned vegetables, followed by peach slices in syrup.

“I was scared and so I hid. I forgot her,” whispered the silent lady, a tear running down her cheek.

“What was that honey?” Sarah asked as she rushed over, wiping the tear away. “Something about hiding?”

“I hid,” she replied, this was the first time she had shown any sort of awareness or recognition. But she was gone again, the eyes drying and glazing over.

“What do you think she meant by ‘I hid’?” Kurt asked.

“I found her hiding by a car in Lavant. I helped her after the attack.” John realised he had said too much, they looked at him, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t want to, but he knew that keeping it inside wouldn’t help in the long run, so he told them of the events of that fateful afternoon. He left several details out of the story, the psychological break and the baby among them. He would carry those to the grave. Unconsciously, he had stood while delivering the tale, pacing to and fro while he flashed back to the terrible scenes. Kurt stood from the cooking and embraced his father. They had all been through so much to get here, it would mark them forever.

Kurt returned to the bubbling pot and served the portions out. The food would last at least six to eight weeks without rationing. The problem was that the weather was deteriorating with the onset of winter and like a squirrel, they would need to stockpile to survive the harsh season. This meant they needed to raid the surrounding houses, sooner rather than later. The past days had seen a growth in the numbers of dead, and this would only get worse as their food source was diminished. They ate and talked about the day. The lack of accuracy in throwing the spears was causing a lot of energy to be wasted for no gain. Kurt had been mulling the problem while they were killing the dead and during dinner. They needed to kill more with less effort.

“I have an idea, tell me what you think,” Kurt began. “We still have that heavy table top don’t we? What’s to stop us hammering nails through it? I have some long ones that would do the trick. The nails would be spaced so that they are likely to pierce the heads of the zombies below, in one drop, if they are bunching together still. It gets a bit complicated now, as we will need to fabricate some sort of boom system, like a crane arm that projects out over the crowd to hold the table top flat and steady. We will ring bolt the table top and tie the rope to them. We will have to add more ringbolts to the arms for the rope to go through. Then, like a pulley system, we will release the table top and it will drop, then we pull it back up and repeat. Hopefully the nails will do some damage to the brain. If not, we go back to the drawing board. Opinions?” Kurt looked around the room. They were trying to think through the idea.

“One major problem I can foresee is that they are all reaching upwards towards us. It reminds me of when I used to go and watch bands play, think crowd surfing. As we would leap from stage, the multitude of arms would catch you, thus spreading the weight out proportionate to the number of people,” Gloria explained. They looked at her incredulously, and then burst out laughing. She knew what they must be thinking and smiled. “I can enjoy music you know. Just because I am old it doesn’t mean I am deaf.”

“You don’t look a day over thirty,” commented John with a grin.

“Well, I may not be deaf but it is clear you are blind sir. I appreciate the attempt at a compliment nonetheless.” She winked at him.

Sam and Braiden were wrinkling their noses again.

“For goodness sake, get a room you two!” Kurt added, laughing even more.

A look passed between Gloria and John, questioning, longing, hopeful? Sarah saw that it was becoming awkward and broke the silence that threatened to drag on.

“As disgusting as it is, wouldn’t their arms break after a few impacts? They can’t raise them if they are shattered.”

“That is a sobering thought,” agreed Gloria. “Yes I think you are right. We could even add weight to it which coupled with the height and gravity, would almost certainly work.”

“Excellent, we shall get to it in the morning. For now, let’s eat dessert.” Kurt handed out small bowls with delicious peach segments floating in the bottom. These simple meals were ambrosia in the current situation; let them keep their fancy French dishes.

“I’ve also painted a message on the window of the back room just in case they look out and see it,” Kurt said, heading out of the room, followed by John.

The message was still wet, but in backwards letters was written,
‘We are coming, hold on’
.

“Why did you write it in white?” John queried. “Surely it won’t be visible in the light.”

“It will be if you think about it. What is it backed by? A dark room, so it acts the same as an old blackboard from school,” Kurt explained.

“Ahhh, yes. I see now. Good thinking,” John said. They stood there for a few moments in silence, watching the windows of the mystery house before he broached the question that needed to be asked.

“Son, how do you feel about Gloria?”

“She’s great. Sam wouldn’t be alive without her. Hell, none of us would be alive without her if he had died,” Kurt said, being honest that he would have given up at the school if they had failed. He knew what his father meant but skirted the question.

“I know. She is a real gem, but that’s not quite what I meant.” John looked at Kurt and knew he was avoiding his gaze. The loss of his mother ten years before was still raw and deep, Kurt still refused to visit the grave because of the feelings it brought forth.

“I know what you mean Dad.” Kurt bowed his head. He understood that not dealing with the passing of his mother had changed him inside. “You have to follow your heart, Mum would be happy for you both.” The last words spoken with a lump in his throat, the tears were close.

“Come here.” John embraced Kurt and they both cried for the loss of an angel. In a way they were grateful that she didn’t have to witness this unfolding horror. She was a gentle soul and it would have been very hard on her.

“Thank you Kurt,” John said with wet red eyes. “You have made an old man very happy. Do you think she...” he let the question trail off.

“She adores you Dad, she has asked Sarah all about you,” Kurt answered, wiping his eyes and trying to get the emotion out of his voice.

“We will have to see what happens. This nightmare is maybe not the best place to start a romance anyway. Let’s head back before they wonder where we have gone,” John suggested.

“Ok.” Kurt followed.

They headed back into the warm bedroom, the scent of the candle that had been lit creating a delightful ambience. John felt as if he was walking on air, the growth of new feelings made him giddy, but guilty in equal measure. In this dark new world, companionship would be hard to come by and easily lost, he would have to enjoy it while it lasted. The memory of his late wife would always burn fiercely and his heart would always be hers first. They settled in for the night as the shadows creeped and darkness descended.

They rose with the chirrup of birdsong; the dawn was just breaking through the night. In the past few days they hadn’t really noticed the sound. It had been gone from the daily routine. Now here they were, four days in and the wildfowl had already adapted and returned to normal habits. The habits of the family had also changed. They slept earlier and woke earlier, daylight now a valued commodity for the work that needed doing. The smell of cooking ham greeted them as they opened their eyes, drifting in from the pan which sat in the embers frying the meat. It wasn’t bacon, but it was close enough. Sarah had taken tinned meat and cut it into thin rashers, the heat had crisped the edges and it was ready. She served the slices to the group and they ate with gusto.

“So our first job is to get the table top across the roof spaces,” John commented, wiping grease away from his lips with a small towel.

“Actually, our first job is to get the top INTO the roof space. The attic hatch is way too small. We may have to break through the ceiling and widen the holes in the walls up there, but I think it will be worth it,” Kurt added as he washed his plate in a small bowl of warm soapy water.

“Ok let’s get to it.” John stood and headed out of the room, looking for the mahogany top. They had to come up with a plan. Kurt followed. He was still limping slightly, but the worst of the swelling had gone down, he knew he had been very lucky and vowed not to be so reckless in the future.

“Honey, don’t you think you should rest your leg still?” Sarah asked.

“I won’t overdo it, I promise. I just need to get it moving a bit, it was stiffening up just laid there.” Sarah wasn’t happy, but she didn’t push it further.

They took the wooden top and measured it against the plasterboard ceiling, Sam and Braiden took a hammer and carefully broke a long, thin sized slit through into the attic. Rushing upstairs the boys called down that they were ready. Kurt and John fed the brown glossy wood through the hole, like a bizarre vertical letterbox.

“Ok, we’ve got it,” echoed down from Sam. The final pull drew the last of the table up through the hole.

The men followed with Sarah joining them in the attic as they measured the wood for the next obstacle; the concrete walls that were not big enough to accommodate the width. Instead of carefully drilling the mortar, they simply broke the blocks out with the sledgehammer. Looking at the sky, it would have been unlikely the solar electricity could have powered the drill anyway. Within thirty minutes, they had reached the end attic where the spears were laid. The rain had caused damage to the ceiling of the home and sections had collapsed with the moisture, exposing the bedroom underneath. The weak plasterboard had soaked the water up like a sponge and broke away from the fixings. The neatly made bed that would never again be slept in was a poignant reminder of what they faced.

“Sam, help me unbolt the chains from the rafters,” John instructed, picking up a wrench. Sam did the same, and they quickly took down the chains and moved the spears away from the hole in the roof, placing them out of the way. They still had jade coloured blood and drying gore covering them, a reminder of the previous day’s work.

“Ok lay it flat and I will get the nails,” Kurt asked before heading back to their home to search.

“Wait! You are already wincing with the ankle, tell me where they are and I will go,” Sarah demanded. Kurt knew she was right. The ankle was nowhere near ready for full weight, he would have to retire to bed soon or risk damaging it even more. He just hated lying there uselessly, while his loved ones worked and sweated.

“They are in the black box next to my large tool chest. They are separated into sections so just bring the largest nails you find. They are about four inches long,” Kurt told her.

“Kurt, there is one thing I have been wondering. What’s to stop the table from just splitting into pieces when it hits the zombies? Surely it would break along the grain of the wood with the impact,” John wondered.

“No, it shouldn’t, I have already checked. The table top is made of three parts laid at a cross section on one another, similar to plywood. It should be strong enough, we will have to wait and see.” Kurt was worried too. The height and force that would be caused when it crashed into the zombie skulls was an unknown quantity.

“Are these the ones?” Sarah had returned and held her hands out; holding big bunches of nails pointing in all directions.

“Thanks sweetheart, they are just the ones. If you look they have ridges on the shank for holding in timber. The smooth ones can come loose over time.” Kurt showed them and they tried to understand what he was explaining, but they just looked like nails to them.

Kurt took the hammer and held the nail to the timber. A couple of gentle hits embedded the point and he was then able to let loose, striking it deeper until the head hit the underside of the table. They lifted it to check and at least three inches of sharpened steel was protruding through. Kurt continued this with nearly two hundred more, spacing them at roughly four inch centres to try and increase the chances of piercing a skull at first try. They lifted the table onto its side and it resembled a bed of nails. None of them felt the urge to try and lay on it to see how comfortable it was. John had been busy meanwhile; he had removed the protective barrier from the roof trusses and had fixed lengths of timber horizontally at head height. They projected at least ten feet out over the gathered horde. The timbers had four ringbolts already screwed through the thick wood and were ready for the ropes. Kurt used the battery drill to fix four more ringbolts to the table top. Sarah threaded rope through the hoops on the table and tied double knots to each one. She stood up and pulled with all her might. They held firm.

“Dad, we need to take the timbers down, we can’t feed the ropes through the rings out there.” Kurt pointed to the far bolts which were at least eight feet out in thin air, above a bloodthirsty flesh eating swarm of rotting flesh.

“Way ahead of you Son,” John said as he held his hand out. They could barely see the thin strands of fishing wire that he had fed through the bolts. “Here, tie this onto the end of that rope.”

Kurt took one of the strands of fishing line and carefully tied it to the frayed end of the rope. John did likewise, and with a slow, careful pull, the ropes started to rise, seemingly on their own. It looked like an old Indian rope trick. All that was missing was the magician and the accompanying music. It worked perfectly, and they soon had all four ends through and the deadly table top was ready to go. They lifted it and rested it on the edge of the roofline, holding the ropes tightly.

“Ok Kurt, we will pull on our ropes and the top will swing out, you need to be ready for the sudden weight,” John explained to him. “Braiden and Sam get ready too. When we have it in place, you both need to pull your ropes tight, so that it sits flat to the underside of the boom. Then we can drop it onto the bastards below! Sorry, language.”

They heaved together, and it was like John had warned, the weight pulled at them. They took a couple of steps towards the waiting air before they felt the pull of Sam and Sarah as they clutched at the trouser waistbands to steady them. When they had taken the strain, the boys took their ropes and levelled the wood out. The points of the nails poised above the corpses like the Sword of Damocles.

“Ok, now we all need to let go at once. Do NOT keep hold of the rope or it will burn your palms off. I will count down from three to one, and when I say the word ONE is when we release. Is everyone clear?”

“Clear.”

“Yup.”

“Ready.”

Their muscles bunched in readiness, sweat was running down their faces as John begun the count. On ONE they let go and the ropes made a rushing noise as they ran through the rings. The result was devastating. The table top had fallen slightly lopsided where a split second separated the release, but it didn’t matter. The fifteen foot drop added to the weight of the heavy top was enough to shatter bones. The arms of the dead snapped like twigs and went flopping uselessly down at their sides. Splintered bone broke the skin in many places. Limbs that had been pierced by the nails were drawn skyward as the top was lifted, as if imploring the Lord for forgiveness. The steel spikes were withdrawn and these limbs fell too, the faces and skulls of the zombies were now exposed.

“It’s working!” exclaimed Sarah. They pulled it to the highest point, and the count begun again.

John shouted “Three, two, ONE!” and they released. The deadly weapon whistled as it fell, the wood breaking the air and causing a melody to accompany the destruction. The nails were indiscriminate. They ruptured eyes, faces and skulls as they impacted onto the zombies. The liquids that burst forth coated the underside of the wood and ran in rivulets from the nails as it was raised again. The bodies slumped into a heap. One had been pierced in several places, the ridged nails had caught in the bone and the body rose with the table. At the top, the corpse swung by its impaled head. The smashed arms dripping green tinged coagulate from torn flesh onto the dead who were now moving over the fallen, exactly the way it had happened yesterday.

“Sarah, get it loose, the weight is too much!” Kurt snarled through clenched teeth. They were being drawn towards the precipice. She ran forward with a length of wood and wedged it between the skull and the timber. Carefully prying it away the nails came loose and the corpse dropped, giving much needed relief to the four. It crashed among its peers and was soon swallowed by the heaving mass of live corpses.

“Be careful!” John cautioned them. “If you feel the extra weight when we pull, we will try and shake it loose on the ground. I don’t want us pulled down there.”

“That killed at least ten of them! I will draw more in,” Sarah told them, before leaning forward and howling like a wolf. They laughed and joined in, the feeling of power rushing through them. They were no longer the hunted, at least for today. Wolf cries echoed though the surrounding houses and forests as they counted again. Even the differing height of the dead couldn’t save them. The speed at which the deadly table fell caused necks to compress into trunks and the shorter zombies were likewise ran through. The pile grew as more were killed. The multitude holes in the flesh and bone were leaking fluids onto the lawn, which due to the tilt in the ground, started to run like a small river towards the road. The process was repeated a dozen more times before the constant weight was too much for their tired limbs. One by one, Sarah took the ropes and tied them to the waiting rafters. The weapon hung in the air, poised and ready for use again later.

“We look fairly clear. Shall we try for the house while we can? Who knows how many will be back by tomorrow,” Sam asked. The exuberance of youth was a marvel.

“I don’t know Sam, my ankle is done for now. I will probably be laid up for a couple of days,” Kurt answered while catching the look of disapproval from his wife, she had been right. Again.

“I think we should go, we might not get another opportunity to help them. You will have to stay. You will only slow us down Kurt,” John said abruptly. Kurt felt the old anger once again, they had done great things today and it still met with a dismissive tone.

“I will wait in the front garden and clear the way in case you have to retreat in a hurry,” Kurt offered, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

“I will be with you too,” Sarah said.

“Ok, boys I will need your help.” John looked at Kurt for approval, he nodded reluctantly. “We three will leave from the shower house, it’s the closest to our target and the stairs are already removed so we can get away more easily if the need arises. Kurt and Sarah you will keep lookout and shout if it looks like there are a lot more coming.”

“We can handle the stragglers and buy you some time,” Sarah told him.

With a final glance down, it was determined that the crushed pile of vileness was not moving. They had been a bit too successful. The pile they had created was preventing the newly arrived zombies from moving into the killing area. The bodies would either require moving, or they would have to wait for the mass to decompose into a more manageable obstacle, who knew how long that could take. The danger of infection was something they were loath to risk and it was decided they would leave them and possibly relocate the table. It marred the mood a little, the fact that they had done so well and it was still causing them issues. They moved down into the warm bedroom which was now being called their ‘Base of Operations’, and explained the plan to Gloria.

“I really don’t like it. The idea of putting yourselves at risk like this when we are safe…” she shook her head. “But I understand it must be done, I am just being a selfish old maid and want my new family to be ok. Ignore me.”

John went to her and hugged her tight, “We will be fine love. There are not many of them left out there for us to worry about, but we don’t know how long that will last.”

“I know, I know,” she replied, hugging him back. “You just be safe, you hear me! I don’t want to be left alone up here, even if it is warm and you have a bigger bed than me.” She looked at Kurt, smiling.

“If we end up getting eaten, I still want my warm, comfy bed,” Kurt told her with a serious look on his face that made them all smile. It provided welcome relief from the tension that was building, and bolstered their spirits for what they may encounter out on the streets.

They gathered weapons. Sam took the slingshot and loaded his pockets with large diameter ammunition. Kurt took the hammer and Sarah took the spear from the Land Rover rescue. John took the sledgehammer as they would need to break the door in. As a normal weapon it would be useless, so he asked Braiden to carry the crowbar for him too. Braiden selected two sharp screwdrivers with long, heavy duty shanks.