Hellspawn Odyssey (7 page)

“What route shall we take, the motorway or back roads?” Kurt asked, knowing that neither would be an easy option.

“Head to the overpass, we can see what it looks like before committing to one or the other,” Peter suggested.

“Good idea, buckle up.” Kurt started the engine and drove slowly
;
slaloming between cars and mounting the pavement where he needed to pass a crash scene or multiple vehicles.

The abundance of mindless flesh eaters increased as they got further from the alarm, they daren’t stop or they would be quickly surrounded and the fate of the key chain family played through Kurt’s mind again. He slowed while passing the local One-Stop grocery store, though they had become the sole focus of far too many zombies to do a quick stop. Honey was leaning out and Kurt watched in the side mirror as her tongue lolled and she squinted from the air that blew in her eyes.

“I would love a gin and tonic,” commented Gloria as the shop passed and they all chuckled, even Debbie, but as soon as she saw them looking the expression vanished.

“Here we are,” Kurt told them and slowed to a stop. The bridge was clear and the nearest zombie was minutes away, so they climbed out to witness the true scale of the sight that met them.

The motorway lanes were totally blocked; there were hundreds of vehicles as far as the eye could see in both directions. Many more thousands of monsters were milling among the cars, wandering aimlessly without a source of food to pursue. It was an awful thing to behold. The terror that must have gripped the people as the roads ground to a halt, seeing that neither side would be able to escape the coming death, then watching from the mirrors as a tsunami of rotting flesh washed away all life in its path, adding to the overall power of the torrent. Below there came the mass groans of another group who had gathered in the shelter of the overpass, a strange behavioural anomaly for creatures without fear.

“I guess it’s the back roads then,” John said, climbing into the pickup.

No one spoke any more, there was nothing that could be said that would allow the horror to be unseen. They just put it to the back of their minds to process later, when they were alone and all was dark and quiet. They drove in silence, heading through Ashling Village, a beautiful hamlet of century’s old cottages, farmhouses, stables, and water mills that ran along the river, once grinding wheat for the local bakers. The small pond that Kurt had taken Sam to feed ducks when he was younger was now awash with zombies. They must have fallen in trying to reach the nests that were built in the middle of the water, the ducks hadn’t waited around but flew away to safer places. The small wall that surrounded it was now a barrier to the damned, meaning they walked around, waist deep in quickly festering water. He was so fixated on the sight that he nearly missed the cars in the road. Slamming the brakes on, the truck skidded and came to rest with the front end perilously close to the water’s edge and the eager dead who would welcome them.

“Sorry, that was stupid,” Kurt apologised and he looked back to see Honey pick herself up and shake off, the sudden stop had propelled her into Sam and Braiden. Sam was holding his face, blood running down and dripping from his chin. Kurt’s heart leaped in fear, he had hurt his own son.

“Sam, are you ok? I’m so sorry, mate.” Kurt ran to him and hugged him over the side of the pickup.

“I’b ok, Dad, it’s just by dose,” Sam said, the bruised nose causing him to speak awkwardly. Honey was whining, upset at the distress of the young boy and trying to paw at him.

“I’m really sorry,” Kurt repeated, nearly crying. Sam tried to smile to reassure his dad, yet his bloodied teeth and crimson chest from the broken blood vessels only served to make him feel worse. Honey licked them both, trying the same approach.

The family had climbed out and the dead in the pond were splashing around like excited children in a swimming pool. The small local cemetery had given up its deceased, the varying state of decay was evidence of recent burial as well as those long in slumber. Some had rotted down to barely skeletons, loose tatters of flesh and skin remaining but little else. Others were from the local population, fresher, but missing limbs and flesh from the grisly end they met at the bony hands of the previous generations.

“What is the time?” Paige asked.

“Three twenty,” Peter said, looking at his watch.

“Thanks Pete.” She smiled at him warmly. “Do you think we should find somewhere safe for the night?”

“This is as good a place as any, low population and most of those are having a dip.” Kurt indicated over his shoulder.

“Let’s find a place set back from this road, we can set out fresh in the morning and try to move those cars. I don’t relish being on foot after dark,” John advised and they loaded up the bags, looking down driveways for a suitable abode.

They settled on Whyke Farm, which was a farm in name only. The increase of automation and technology had necessitated far fewer farmsteads in each area. The old building had been made into a family home long ago and sold for a premium price
;
people loved the nostalgia and architecture of the age. Low ceilings held aloft by thick, dark timbers, inglenook fireplaces that were once used for cooking and heating, though most now stood empty, replaced by modern electrical appliances. The cobbled driveway was immaculately tended with tidy hedges at each side and seasonal flowers in bloom in the beds at their base, holding on for the final drop in temperature that would herald their demise until the warmth of the spring returned. Gloria scanned the area, Sam helping with a bearing at the ready. Honey sniffed the air and they watched her intently, satisfied when she wagged her tail that the immediate area was safe.

They circled the thatched farmhouse, checking windows for signs of movement and life, or death. All was still within and the lack of cars outside hinted at the owners being gone. Reaching the rear door which was set back in a small alcove, they tried the latch and it was open. People in this type of area were more neighbourly and trusting than those in the larger cities or population centres. The iron banded door creaked on aged hinges and the smell that escaped was musty but not unpleasant, a mixture of wood, smoke, and flowery fragrances.

“Hold back, I will check it out,” Kurt said while wielding the hammer and stepping through into the shadowed kitchen area. Honey followed swiftly but showed no fear, she just started sniffing in the corners at the new scents, fascinated at one spot but Kurt could see nothing out of the ordinary there and the dog just regarded him with a look that said, ‘well you’re not a dog are you?’ before sniffing again.

He opened the lounge door and the smell of stale smoke and wood grew, the source was an original Aga solid fuel oven that had been installed in the inglenook fireplace. The inset bread oven was still complete with the iron door, and old hooks were bedded into the cement to hang cooking pots from over the old coals. The floors of the room were hand carved stone laid in small mosaic pieces with soft sofas and armchairs facing the widescreen television. The wooden smell was from the large scuttle of logs and kindling that sat to one side of the Aga, combined with the warped and twisted timbers of the ceiling. Kurt paused, listening intently and Honey did the same, her ears pricking up for any sounds. The silence was total.

“It’s safe, come on in,” Kurt shouted and he heard the shuffle of many footsteps on the flagstone floor of the kitchen.

“Sam, can you get those candles lit?” John asked as he stepped into the lounge.

“Ahhh,” Debbie sighed happily, slumping into the sofa and putting her feet up.

“We have stuff to do before we get comfortable,” Gloria informed her.

“I am having a rest if you don’t mind,” she replied dismissively and looked away.

“Fine, when we have secured the house, you sleep outside with the doors locked,” Kurt said with no animosity, he was done with her and would drag her by the hair, kicking and screaming if necessary into the cold night.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Debbie hissed but the look in his eyes told her not to push the point.

“We will see I guess.” Kurt smiled. “Ok, Dad, take Sam and Braiden and check upstairs. Paige, please shut all the curtains and move the candles away from the windows, we don’t want to be a beacon. Gloria, would you mind getting the fire lit? Peter, could you get some pans ready and see if there is anything worthwhile in the pantry to eat? I’d rather save our provisions.”

“What about you and Sarah? I suppose you get to sit around doing nothing, just barking orders,” Debbie asked, looking for support from the rest of the group and getting none.

“I am going to go and check that old barn out the back. I saw a chopping block and a solid looking axe, maybe they have some good equipment we can use,” Kurt explained to them, ignoring Debbie. “Sarah, would you mind checking for water in the taps and tanks?”

“Not at all,” she replied, staring at Debbie then hurrying off to the task.

“Go fuck yourselves! You have always been against me. Peter, come on we are leaving,” Debbie shouted, picking up one of the bug out bags. Peter walked over and she mistakenly thought he was offering to take the bag for her, she passed it over smiling, but he gave it to Kurt and her face reddened with fury.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Peter stated defiantly. It looked like she would explode but she just turned around and walked into the kitchen and out into the afternoon light.

The rest of the family breathed a sigh of relief. It was exhausting trying to accommodate someone like that, always unsure of their mood swings and instability. Kurt looked at John and they each knew what the other was thinking, she had to go.

“Sorry,” Peter said quietly, understanding the mood of the group.

“It’s ok, don’t worry.” Paige smiled and took his hand. “She will calm down and be back soon.”

“We have plenty of water, the tanks are full,” Sarah informed them as she entered the room.

“Kurt, take this with you for protection.” Gloria passed the gun, locked and loaded, safety off. “Just point and shoot. Sarah, I found this by the side of the fire,” Gloria said as she handed over a wickedly sharp short bladed machete.

“Why would they have this?” Sarah asked, turning it over in her hands and feeling the sharpness.

“It’s for splitting kindling wood, but it will split skulls just as well I should think. It’s light too, so your arm won’t get as tired as it does with that spear,” Gloria said.

Sarah put the metal spear down. She would miss the range but it wasn’t a viable long term zombie killer. Swishing the small blade through the air a couple of times it felt good, light and powerful. They all got to work. Sarah and Kurt left the house and saw Debbie sulking on a metal bench in the back garden.

“I will talk to her after, woman to woman,” Sarah suggested.

“No, she is what she is. We will find somewhere safe and she stays there,” Kurt told her and reluctantly she agreed, the new world was dangerous enough without loose cannons to complicate matters. Debbie watched them pass with barely disguised contempt. Kurt was getting sick of it, the gun in his hands was tempting him, one crack and it would be at an end. Reason won out, he wasn’t an executioner, he would kill if forced to but this was not the time.

The chopping block had a large axe for log splitting and a smaller hatchet, these too were sharp and well maintained. The linseed oil was still fresh on the polished blades, covered by the small lean to that protected the huge log pile from the elements.

“Those may come in handy.” Kurt signalled to the weapons and carried on around the side of the barn, gun raised. Quick footsteps caused Kurt to spin, nearly pulling the trigger until he saw it was just Honey joining them. She found a small patch of grass; bending her hind legs she relieved herself before resuming the search.

The barn was still used for storage; massive bales of hay were stacked twenty feet high reaching the underside of the hayloft. The sweet smell got into their nostrils and made them sneeze, the air was thick with swirling eddies of hay dust. To the right was a small workbench and more tools. Some old farming implements were hung from hooks and they had not been used in many years, scythes, hoes, an old wooden rake, they were tools of a bygone era.

“Look at that.” Kurt pointed at a hay fork, thin pointed tines that would be great at piercing brains.

“What about these?” Sarah held up two brand new bill hooks, similar to machetes but with sickled ends and used for lopping vegetation.

“They are deadly, this was a great find, someone must be watching over us,” Kurt said and raised his hand to the sky in mock thanks.

A sudden scream brought them running from the barn and they saw Debbie being attacked by two zombies, more were coming through the wide wooden gate which led to the public bridleway for horses. They hesitated a fraction longer than they would have for any other member of the group but quickly shucked off the inaction and ran to her aid. Kurt raised the gun, aimed at the head of a third zombie who was nearly on top of the woman and pulled the trigger. The loud crack of the shot echoed and the head burst apart, flinging the decapitated creature into the path of its friends. Sarah raised the machete and swung it sideways at one of the pair who were on Debbie, taking the top of the head clean off. It toppled sideways and the remaining pulpy brain spilled out like a tipped cup of vile paste. The second zombie was biting at her chest, only the padding of the life jacket saved her life. It sat up triumphantly, mouth full, and Kurt used the second shot, blasting it in the back and lifting it clear of the miserable harpy. It groaned, surprised at why its food was spongy and unfulfilling, then stood and attacked again. The head snapped sideways and Kurt could see the glimmer of the bearing as it punctured the skull, killing it.

“Here!” Sarah passed out the bill hooks to Peter and Braiden who had run outside to investigate the scream. Braiden looked at his sharpened screwdriver, looked at the new blade, the screwdriver once more and slid it into his belt, happier with the chopper.

Kurt passed the gun to Gloria who reloaded, but cautioned her about using any more shells. The noise was deafening and who knew how many more it would bring down on them. They lined up, facing the rows of the dead as they bore down. Fifteen were now in the garden, spread out and hungry for screaming, bloody meat and sinew. Sam shot one but missed the head, tearing the neck instead, causing the head to flop to the side on the remaining cartilage and tendons. Kurt stepped forward, rammed the fork at the head, punched through the skull and destroyed the brain.

“Stay behind me, if I miss any with this, take them out.” Kurt used the fork like a spear, jabbing at the horrors and withdrawing instantly, like infantry soldiers of the middle ages. Four dropped, small leaking punctures in eyes and foreheads before it got wedged in a skull and threatened to pull Kurt to the ground. He let it drop and the others got ready to cover him as he retrieved the small hatchet he had put in his belt, his hammer sat on the lounge coffee table where he had put it after taking the gun.

“Where’s Debbie?” Peter shouted. Looking around, they couldn’t see her.

“She must have run,” John said with disgust.

The next wave got within grabbing distance and the survivors were ready. They covered each other, raining down blows and severing heads, shattering skulls, and crushing brains. Some of their fear started to dissipate. They could win against small numbers as long as they were careful. The overriding need to feed made the flesh dripping abominations predictable; they would not flinch or try and avoid the killing blows. The dead were falling, only four remained standing, the rest were laid at the feet of the family.

“Let me try something, make some noise for me,” John instructed and the group waved their arms and blew raspberries while he circled, taking advantage of the distraction. None turned to follow him; they were intent on the raucous sight in front of them. One by one he caved their skulls with his crowbar, swatting them like flies. The final cadaver was a small toddler, no more than four years old when she was turned. One of her thin arms had been gnawed clean like a chicken wing; the small amount of meat would have amounted to nothing. John was still, unable to raise his arm to kill the creature as it made small steps towards the group. They had seen zombie children before, though none quite so young. It was heart-breaking and they quietly mourned as the girl fumbled at the piled corpses, unable to get over the obstacle.

“Just do it already,” Debbie mocked, stepping forward and slamming the claw hammer into the small skull. The body dropped, joining the heap of dead flesh and Debbie threw the hammer at Kurt’s feet before smiling and walking back into the house.

“Poor baby,” Paige gasped, kneeling and stroking the filthy, bloodied hair of the child creature.

“Give me the gun.” Kurt held his hands out to Gloria who stepped back a pace.

“Kurt, no! It had to be done, you know that.” John stopped him. He hated the loathsome cow as much as the rest, but she was right to destroy the girl. She didn’t need to enjoy it with such relish though.

“Let’s just get inside. Peter, you keep that whore away from me, if I see her face I will kill her,” Kurt said and it was no idle threat, at this point in time he would live with it.

“Ok, I’ll take care of it.” Peter rushed off into the cottage, seeking his fiancée.

**********

The Aga was roaring when they entered, Debbie and Peter were nowhere in sight. They could be heard moving around on the upper floor, shuffling and stomping. Warmth enveloped them, and they all sat down, sinking into the soft cushions of the sofas and chairs. Honey was content to curl up on the rug at the foot of the expensive cooker, blissfully ignorant of the small burned patches she laid upon. If any of the logs popped in the fire she would be singed too. No one felt like eating but Gloria prepared a meal anyway. The sustenance would fuel them for the next day’s hike towards the Beachwood Pub which would, hopefully, give them access close to the hospital grounds. Peter came down the stairs and joined them in the cosy lounge, still apologising for the actions of his companion.

“She will stay upstairs, she isn’t happy about it though,” Peter explained and Kurt stood up.