Hellspawn (Book 1) (22 page)

He moved in through the door, exaggerated the steps to make sure they were silent. The dead were only a few paces away. If he had taken eight good strides, he could have tapped them on the shoulder and said hello. Instead, he silently made his way forward and reached the door. He grasped the handle and pressed it down slowly. Watching the zombies, he gently eased the door open, but as it neared the last few inches the hinges squealed in protest. The corpses turned to face him, dozens of milky dripping eyes stared intently at their prey. They came for him.

He felt his bowels threaten to loosen into his trousers, but instead of giving in and cowering in a ball as they ate him alive, he reached in and pulled the safety handle stopping the gas flow. They were three paces away when he turned and fled. Had any noticed him and blocked the way, he would have been torn apart, but his luck was holding. The dog was proving a troublesome target and some had given up, heading back towards the house. In the garden, Braiden dodged one as it grabbed at him and stabbed another through the temple that was directly between him and the waiting lift.

They were shouting in fear for him as he scrambled up and onto the wooden top, his feet sinking into gloopy wetness and crunching in places. He tried to avoid looking at the shiny paste that coated his shoes and lower trouser legs as he held the rope for dear life. The zombies were surrounding him, they reached for his warm flesh but the pile was aiding him. He stood in the centre of the table and they were tripping over the outstretched arms, legs, and body parts of their fallen brethren. If they had been more agile, it wouldn’t have stopped them, but their lack of cognitive thought saved Braiden. He was being raised upwards, his heartbeat pounding within his chest, but slowing as he escaped danger. A flash caught his eye and he was amazed to see the dog run up the pile and leap for the table. It landed with body and front paws on the varnished surface, its legs frantically scrabbling for purchase, but it wasn’t to be. The dog slid backwards and its eyes locked onto Braiden’s as it lost its grip, a look of longing and trust as it fell. Braiden dropped to the edge on his belly and grabbed for the dog’s legs, catching them at the paws and causing the dog to yelp in pain. The table top swung wildly and he nearly slid straight off the side and into the hungry arms of the waiting dead. It was only quick thinking and luck that he splayed his legs out and caught the ropes with his toes. The dog was fairly heavy but he managed to get a better grip on the legs, and then finally the body. As he pulled it up, the agile dog climbed over his shoulder, raking Braiden’s skin. It was now safe on the platform at last.

“I’m sorry boy, are you ok?” Braiden stroked the golden head and rubbed behind its ears. He had hurt the front legs, the dog was reluctant to put any weight on them, but it was better than the alternative. It pressed against him, nudged his hand with its head, wanting more attention.

They reached the top, his family becoming visible and the discomfort on their faces caused him to reach for the timber boom, trying to lessen the strain on their bodies. The added weight of the dog was nearly too much for them and he could see they were being dragged forward. The dog seemed to sense the urgency too and jumped from the table, landing with another yelp of pain as its front leg hit the attic floor.

Braiden was hanging onto the timber. “Let it go, I’ve got a good grip.”

Reluctantly they counted down to one and let the table fall. The sound of impact was wet and squelched, the deadly table squashing the gathered zombies who would not feed this day. Braiden swung his legs up and shimmied down the wood, army training style. They reached for him, pulling him to safety and falling in a gasping, sweating, swearing heap. The dog limped over and licked at their faces, kissing them in its own way. Laughing mixed in with their panting; they hugged each other in their relief and joy. They pulled the Labrador close and hugged him too. The tail wagged with pleasure, hitting them in the face and causing more laughter.

The family gathered their thoughts and continued to pet the new addition to the group; however the dog’s exuberance was fading. The gas was dispersing through the roof and moment by moment, the air was becoming easier to breathe. It would be a while before it had all gone. They still had to remain wary of igniting the remaining vapour.

“You were so brave!” Sarah complimented Braiden and hugged him.

Kurt joined them and hugged them both, “I wanted to apologise again mate, you have worked a miracle today. I will cook you whatever you want for dinner.”

Braiden laughed into their shoulders, “Thanks Mr T.”

Braiden left Kurt and Sarah and knelt by the dog who had laid down, the exhaustion and pain finally overcoming the furred saviour. Braiden stroke its belly and the tail wagged feebly, then laid still.

“He’s dying!” Braiden wailed.

“I don’t think so. And it’s a she, look.” John pointed out. “Let’s get her home and feed her, she could probably do with a good meal and a sleep.”

Braiden lifted her as if she would break into a million pieces and moved through the other attics, stepping with care, trying to minimise the dog’s pain. John had gone ahead and returned with a spare duvet.

“Lay her on this Braiden. You can’t climb down the steps with her in your arms. Take the four corners and lower her to me gently,” John instructed.

“No, you pass her down to me,” Braiden said and the look on his face brooked no argument.

He laid the Labrador down with veneration, stroked her head once more and descended the ladder. John picked up the duvet and slowly lowered her into his waiting arms. Gloria helped him take the injured dog into the bedroom, where they laid her close to the fireplace, which would be lit again once the air had cleared. Braiden picked a can of tinned chicken chunks, pulled the ring on the lid and sat down beside the filth covered dog. He placed one piece at a time on his palm and offered them to her. Lacking the energy to raise her head from the duvet, she plucked them from his outstretched hand with her tongue and chewed gratefully. After only a few mouthfuls, she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep, cheeks fluttering with her breath.

“I wonder when she last ate?” asked Gloria.

“If she has been hiding since this all started, it could be close to a week,” Sarah mused.

“I hate to be the one to bring this up,” John began, “But can we afford to keep her? Our supplies won’t last forever and it’s another mouth to feed.” He looked at them all. The looks on the faces gave the answer; he held his hands up in a placating manner.

“She is one of us now. We probably owe our lives to her wake up call,” Kurt added. He understood what his dad was trying to say, but in this new world, any acts of kindness would serve as a barrier to the vileness they would encounter.

The dog chuffed in her sleep, a quiet bark at unseen enemies. She bared her teeth and growled, hackles rising, before falling quiet once more. Her legs started to twitch, paws bending as if she was running in her sleep, escaping terrible danger. The poor creature had been on the street throughout the fall of mankind, pursued by ravenous beasts that would have eaten her without hesitation. Braiden stroked her matted fur, picking pieces of wood and leaves out and throwing them into the fireplace. It was a lovely scene, the other family members either sat, or stood, and watched. Gloria had cleaned a lot of the mess up from the extinguished fire, but without power for a vacuum, there was only so much she could achieve. They all had to reconsider their definition of clean and habitable as the days wore on.

“Good girl, there’s a good brave girl,” Braiden crooned as he pet the Labrador.

“Sam, Sarah, would you come with me and help shut the gas pipes off in the other houses? Kurt, do you think you can get to the valve from the hole you made for breaking the fuse? I think they are in the same cupboard, aren’t they?” John asked.

“Yeah I can turn it off. The valves close downwards anyway, so as long as I can push it with something, I can isolate it. I am wondering if we still have gas because of the gas holder in Emsworth. It supplies the local area, but I was unaware it didn’t need electricity. We can make good use of it,” Kurt explained. A gas supply would help a great deal. If they could take a gas cooker from a neighbouring house they would no longer need to rely on the fireplace to prepare meals.

John, Sarah, and Sam were back within fifteen minutes, each gas pipe now safe and unlikely to blow them sky high. Kurt had taken the section of floor out and turned the gas valve off. The young ghoul he had slain was still there. It was now in a worsening state of decay, the flesh turning a shade of green and brown as the rot set in. His pity was diminishing with the passing of time, their experiences desensitising them to the grotesque acts that they had to endure. Closing the hole, Kurt wondered how far he would be willing to go, how much of his soul he would need to sacrifice to protect those he loved. He went back into the bedroom and saw that the dog was still sleeping soundly.

“I know what I want for dinner,” Braiden told Kurt, smiling.

“And what might that be?” Kurt asked, wondering what he was holding behind his back.

“Hot Dogs!” he answered, revealing a tin of jumbo frankfurter sausages and a small bag of bread rolls that had not yet gone mouldy.

“Very good,” Kurt chuckled, taking the food and putting it down on the hearth. The dog had opened its eyes at the laugh, wagged its tail once and fell back to sleep.

The gas had finally vented through the open windows and Kurt had the fire burning ready for dinner. Boiling water simmered in a pan, the sausages cooking within. Sam had found some tomato ketchup and mustard and Sarah was dicing one of their last onions. Braiden had cut the rolls and placed a hotdog within each one, passing them out for people to select their favourite relish.

“Thank you Braiden,” Gloria said before smothering hers with onions and mustard.

“I don’t think people will be thanking me later,” he replied, looking at the toppings.

“I don’t understand,” she looked confused, and then it clicked. “Oh you little monster. I’ll have you know that we ladies do not suffer with flatulence!” she motioned at Sarah and Hope.

“After these I wouldn’t be so sure,” Sarah replied, eyeing her hotdog with exaggerated fear.

“I think I’ll take my chances outside,” Kurt added and they all laughed.

Braiden had taken a single frankfurter and was blowing on it to cool it down. The dog was awake and regarded them from the duvet, the smell of cooking meat enough to draw her back from the running dreams. Offering it to her, she lifted her head and gently took the end of the sausage with her teeth before laying back down. She nibbled it in pieces, savouring each bite. She then lay down and was just content to watch them. Her inquisitive eyes moved from person to person, studying them.

“I wonder what she’s thinking?” asked Sam.

“Probably, what’s for dessert?” answered John, the dog’s tail wagged a few times as if in agreement.

“All we have is fruit salad I’m afraid, will that be ok?” Sarah answered while looking at the dog that chuffed once quietly. It was obvious the canine had a deep understanding of their predicament. Perhaps she had learned quickly that noise meant drawing the attention of the new predators roaming the streets.

“I think she is a fan, I’ll get two tins.” Gloria moved off to collect the food.

The Labrador had been staring at Hope for nearly a minute, her head was on her paws and she looked as if she was contemplating the silent person in the room. Hope stared back, smiling in the vacant way she did since coming out of her complete catatonia. The dog stood, whined as she put weight on her front legs, and then pulled her duvet over towards Hope by her teeth. She positioned the cover at Hope’s feet and lay back down; placing her head on Hope’s bare toes like a yellow furred pair of slippers.

“We really should give her a name,” John suggested. “I have checked her collar but it only has an address from the other side of Emsworth on it.”

“What about Molly?” asked Sam.

“That’s not bad,” Kurt agreed.

“Honey.”

They all looked at Hope, had she really just said that?

“Honey,” Hope repeated and leaned forward to stroke the dog as she lay at her feet, the dog nuzzled her hand and licked her. “Good girl, Honey.”

They were struck dumb with the sudden change. Hope was talking to the dog as if she had never been locked inside her own mind.

“Who’s a beautiful girl then? You are, yes you are.” Hope was scratching under the dog’s chin. Honey had a look of contentment on her face.

“Hope, can you hear me?” Gloria asked, kneeling by her side.

“You are such a good girl, yes you are,” Hope continued. She didn’t seem aware of Gloria or the others in the room. The Labrador was the only thing she saw, so Gloria stood back up and went to the group.

“I think we should leave her be for now. Honey seems to be having a positive effect on her,” John proposed. Seeing the excitement in Hope’s face, they couldn’t argue the point.

“Sam, where did we put the windup radio? We should see if anyone is transmitting,” Kurt advised. It would give them something to do, there were only so many games of Monopoly that they could stomach. One thing that had shocked them all was that without electricity, many of the things they had used to take for granted were gone forever. No more TV, no more computer games, no Kindle books, only the ever trusty paper versions. It was these small adjustments that would take time. Sarah still found herself unconsciously reaching for her phone to check for Facebook updates.

Sam returned and was furiously twisting the generator lever on the back of the small radio. Turning it on, they were met with a hiss of static. Twisting the dial it was clear the biggest stations had disappeared, probably into the stomachs of the ravening dead. On the AM frequency they tuned and tried all bands and were close to giving up when they picked up a lone female voice. The sound quality was poor but they weren’t hoping to hear any popular music today. They gathered around the small plastic radio, eager for news and some hope in these dark times.

‘There has been no news from the government since the Prime Minister was evacuated following the attack on the Houses of Parliament. We have learned that the senior members of the cabinet safely reached the emergency bunker deep below the streets of London before they went dark. We have tried to reach them via the World War II exchange network that is here with us, but so far have been unsuccessful. The bunker is only a few hundred yards away, but with thousands of the cadavers visible from our windows, we cannot try and reach them on foot. At present we seem to be within the power grid that supplies the bunker, how long this will last we can’t say but we will bring you any updates that we receive.’

“So the Government may still be functioning through this. I wonder how they are directing the military,” John wondered aloud. The broadcast continued and for the first time, they heard the zombies credited for what they really were.

‘The risen dead have spread across the face of the planet. There is nowhere that has been unaffected. Our last communication from Porton Down suggested they still had no physiological explanation for the reanimation of dead flesh. The victims are still suffering tissue degeneration symptomatic of decomposition, albeit at a much slower rate. Tests have shown no sign of electrical impulse in any of the victim’s nervous systems, no heart activity, no breathing. They are immune to pain and only succumb to massive brain trauma. Stories of them eating the flesh of living humans has also proven troublesome, the digestive system simply excretes the eaten flesh with no absorption of nutrients. In essence, they defy all natural laws of existence, and this is causing the experts to rethink their whole strategy for a biological solution.’

“Well at least it only takes the death of the whole world for the authorities to admit the truth. If there is a God, He will punish those bastards safely tucked in their bunker while people suffer and die out here,” Kurt said. His hatred for those in power stronger than for the rotting husks outside, they had no control over their impulses.

‘The Daresford Institute continues to analyse the pulse that has triggered this apocalyptic event. Their instruments have failed to explain where the anomaly came from during what should have been a routine particle experiment. Current hypotheses are in two categories. The first hypothesis is that the pulse has triggered an electrical surge that has awakened the dead.  In simple terms, it is like the reverse of an Electro Magnetic Pulse that results in the destruction of electrical components, it has instead, shocked them back to life. Most of the researchers have moved away from this theory after the recently deceased have been observed returning to life without the external stimulus of the pulse. The second hypothesis is looking at a purely conjectural sphere, the afterlife, or the great beyond if you will. They are attempting to see if the pulse has resulted in a tear between the known universe and some other reality or dimension. No technology has existed that could prove or disprove this unknown, but readings on one of the test machines has led to the discovery of a new avenue of research which is being pursued as we speak. The scientists have debated the option of recreating the experiment to see if it would close any theoretical tear in the fabric of our existence. At present, they are cautious of this approach, in case it exacerbates the problem even further.’

“I don’t believe it, how is this bullshit even plausible? Tears in reality and parallel dimensions, it’s got to be simpler, it just has to be.” Kurt was at a loss, he had been preparing for some sort of virus or other explanation, but this was beyond his comprehension. There would be no vaccine, no quick fix. They could be scraping and struggling for the rest of their lives. They had secretly hoped for better times to come, what they were getting was the epitaph of mankind.

‘We are afraid that we have no new information to give to you in relation to the Armed Forces. The first response was to set up garrisons outside of major population zones to process the refugees who would be displaced by the dead. London, Manchester, Birmingham, Portsmouth was among those selected. It became abundantly clear that those who could escape had already done so, and the decision was taken to perform sweeps into the area, gradually increasing the search grid until they met resistance that prevented further incursions. From what we understand, they had limited success and were forced back within an hour to their bulwark where they suffered massive casualties. The Navy and Air Force provided cover with missiles and artillery fire, but it wasn’t enough. One soldier who we managed to contact was quoted as saying: “They didn’t take cover, shells rained down on them and they just kept coming. How do you run away from something that just doesn’t stop?” Any remaining forces are consolidating their position and attempting to form sanctuaries, which will be announced when we have the information. At present, we have had no news from senior military officials for two days, and attempts to contact them have proven unsuccessful.”

“So that is what we were hearing the other day,” John pointed out. “The artillery was trying to protect our boys.”

They all said a silent prayer for the fallen troops, the heroes had given their lives to try and protect the innocent victims of the horror. The day was giving way to dusk. They were all suffering from sensory overload, the life threatening gas leak, to the newfound puppy and then the joy of someone broadcasting on the radio, followed by the shocking news that the cause was likely something out of a bad science fiction film.

The intrepid family tried to put a brave face on things, but the only one that wasn’t affected by the gradual crumbling of their existence was Hope. She was having a great time fussing over the dog. Her mind was only acknowledging the Labrador; the rest of the group didn’t even exist.

A plan was forming to try and contact the occupants of the other house. It was therapeutic for them, keeping them thinking and preventing the feeling of desolation breaking their will to live. Kurt found himself thinking of the first home that had been searched, only to find the family slaughtered by their patriarch and turned into the horrid travesty of walking decay. A few days ago Kurt had felt revulsion at the fathers’ actions, now the darkness was swirling inside his head. Would they have been better off if the dog had not appeared, the gas suffocating them as they slept peacefully, or an instant of searing pain before oblivion with an explosion?

“So I was thinking we can’t go out safely at the moment. Their numbers are growing again so we could do with destroying some more,” John said. They no longer said killing, it implied there was some life force present, which was clearly not the case.

“So how do we speak to them?” Sam was dumbfounded. There were three terraced rows of houses standing between them.

“It will involve breaking through the gable end of the shower house. That’s the section of wall that the roof sits on. From here we can mount a mirror and try flashing Morse code with a torch to see if they understand it and answer. If that fails we will have to try something else, any ideas?” John continued.

“I have an idea… but you won’t like this one either,” Braiden said and they all looked at him.

“Go on,” Gloria encouraged.

“We have the wall that starts from the end house and runs down to the bottom of the estate. If you are careful, you could walk down it and then break through each homes first floor to continue, leapfrogging through until you get to their block,” he explained.

Kurt thought for a moment, it would work. The wall provided a barrier to the main road that ran parallel to the estate that led to Rowlands Village. It was brick on edge, which meant it was at least twelve inches wide and over seven foot high. The zombies would barely be able to reach them, but they would have to overcome that problem if it ever became necessary. The walls themselves were close enough to reach the upper window of the rear bedroom and front bedrooms with a small ladder. They would just have to smash and clear the glass before climbing up, running through, and out of the other side. If they could move fast enough or a distraction could be set up, they could do it.

“That’s a really good idea, however we will only consider it if we have no other choice. I want you all to think of ways we could minimise the risk when we are out there and vulnerable to being pulled down while running along the walls,” Kurt told Braiden and looked at each of them.

“Thanks, I’ll think of some good ways we can do it,” Braiden said, blushing.

“There is a small bathroom mirror which we can use in the attic. I’m not sure what the chances are they will understand Morse code. They can’t even look it up on Google, so I give us a twenty percent chance. It’s the simplest and safest way,” John added.

The radio played and was recharged each time it died. The contact with another soul, despite the bleak nature of her broadcast, was proof that there were others alive, a chance at continuation of their culture and race. Honey was regaining some strength and ate more of the chicken chunks directly from a bowl instead of out of Braiden’s hand. The water bowl had been refilled several times and when she finished, she stood up and walked around in a circle, then moved off into the other rooms limping.

“Oh bugger, she needs to go to toilet!” Sarah exclaimed, standing up and rushing after Honey.

“Just open the back door and let her into the garden, unless she knows how to flush,” Kurt was laughing, how had they missed something so natural?

“There’s a large tray upstairs, let me get it quickly.” Braiden scurried up the ladder into the dark loft. He cursed when he kicked something metallic in his bare feet.

“I’ll find some paper,” Gloria offered.

“Too late. She’s just been on the bathroom floor; at least we can wipe it up,” Sarah called out. “There’s a good girl, you tried to hold it didn’t you? Yes, you did. We are just too stupid aren’t we?” Honey wagged her tail to agree and made her way out of the bathroom, Sarah followed her back into the bedroom, scratching her belly when she lay down. In seconds she had closed her eyes and was sleeping soundly, the warm fire and full stomach the perfect medicine for a canine. They would have to watch her front legs, but apart from the limp, there didn’t seem to be any major damage. The lack of any veterinarian care would be as dangerous to animals as no hospital care would be for the remaining humans.

The boys didn’t want to leave her alone, so they brought their mattresses into the room for the night. John had moved his pillow bed into Gloria and Hope’s room. He was happy for the company as Hope could not be coaxed from the reading chair with her furry friend so close. Kurt dreamed of his childhood pet Missy again, but this time, there were two demanding mouths eager for the Frisbee.