Hellspawn Odyssey (17 page)

The sewer was roughly ten feet in diameter, with raised walkways on either side for inspection and maintenance. The sluiceway was in the process of drying out. Where once a fast flowing torrent of water and effluent would race down, the lumps had started to congeal and solidify. All manner of disgusting objects greeted them; used condoms, tissue, nappies, differing sizes of shit. They had broken through a section where the walkway had sunk into the smuggler tunnel, only twelve inches needed scraping away before they encountered the soft brickwork. The acidity in the urine had weakened the blockade, otherwise they would all now be dead and buried, rising again, but forever trapped.

“Christ, that was close,” gasped Kurt, resting on his knees and drawing deep breaths.

“Now we are really in the shit,” joked Sarah, making him stand to hold him tight. She was certain the tunnel would claim him as it closed like an eager mouth in pursuit.

“What’s the plan now then, genius?” Mike challenged, stretching his aching leg out to try and minimise the pain in his buttock.

“Now it’s easy, genius,” Kurt answered with contempt. “We can use the access hatches to plot a course through the drains, looking quickly for our position.”

Mike harrumphed, angry that he had been made to look small. The rest of the group gathered their belongings and made ready to move off. Honey was fascinated with the awful odours. She sniffed here and there, paying special attention to a nappy and the smeared contents.

“Honey, away!” Sam commanded and the dog gave it one last sniff, and then turned away with a guilty face. He did it to keep her safe, who knew what bacteria and diseases were rife in the vile paste of the drain.

“I’ll look through that one, wait here,” Kurt jumped the waterway and walked down toward the ladder. He climbed and paused at the top, listening for movement. Shuffling noises were close, the unmistakeable movement of the dead. Kurt knew the weight of the iron cover would drop back into place if there was any danger. The zombies had shown no sign that they would be able to think independently and raise the lid. He pressed the top of his head to the iron and gently pushed upward, revealing a sliver of dawn light. The scene was carnage. Broken, burned cars, piles of fleshy detritus, and bloodied smears over every surface from the running battles that had taken place here. Kurt recognised their position; they were close to the main fire station in Chichester, the hospital was situated a further half mile away to the north.

“Dear God,” Kurt whispered. The sheer number was enough to take his breath away. Thousands lined the streets as he took in a full three sixty-degree view. The site was close to central Chichester, so it stood to reason that it would be swarming. The involuntary shudder he gave off caused the iron to rattle in the frame and the nearest corpses saw his face peering out. They gurgled and moaned, coming for Kurt, so he dropped the lid back. The cold, dead fingers began clawing at the iron, unable to lift it as he had surmised.

“Kurt, what is the matter?” asked Gloria when she saw the unhealthy pallor of his face.

“There are so many,” Kurt said, without explaining further. They all knew what to expect from a major city, but the sight was beyond all powers of reason. The horde at the army barracks had been separated by water, and the distance lent it a strange disassociation. The knowledge of what shambled around, ten feet above their head brought reality home with powerful force.

“What’s the plan, Kurt?” John asked, shouldering his backpack.

“We go north. We are near the hospital. It will only take us about fifteen minutes through the sewers,” he answered and they followed John as he led the way, taking the direction that led the most northerly.

Reaching an area with railings, a huge, circular sump was absorbing the surface runoff from the rainfall. Water roared within the confines, pouring into the vast basin. Bobbing on the surface, like white marshmallows in a hot chocolate, were dozens of zombies. Their skulls had been rubbed clean of flesh by the circular motion of the water, bouncing them from the sides and smoothing their bones like pebbles. The macabre scene was disturbed by two more victims who came barrelling down the sewer channel. They reached out at the last second upon seeing food, but went over the waterfall and landed in the mass of dead, unfulfilled.

“We need to go round, that opening there should take us close.” John pointed, watching the compass needle. Fortunately, it was a ‘foul’ sewer and dry with no one left alive to flush the toilets.

After eighty feet they came across another ladder and Kurt repeated the process. They were under the road that curved left to the main public carpark of the hospital. The distance from the centre of the city had thinned the herd; only hundreds walked the streets amongst the destruction. Homes had been breached, doors and windows broken to reach the succulent meat within. Kurt dropped the lid and informed the others how close they were to journeys’ end.

“We need to get as close as possible to the main building, that way we can see the soldiers and raise the white flag before we get shot,” Kurt explained.

“You can stick your head above the parapet first,” grinned Mike without humour.

“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to risk yourself. You’re a survivor,” Kurt replied, adding an inflection on
survivor
that really meant
coward
.

“Yes he is,” smarmed Debbie, missing the insult. Mike hadn’t and stepped forward, ready to attack Kurt and no amount of guns would stop him. Kurt ducked the punch and pushed, preferring not to use his axe. Mike was caught off balance and stumbled over the raised concrete siding of the sewer culvert. He fell backwards and landed on the top of the partially hardened faecal matter. The squelch rebounded from the concave walls of the passage and Kurt knew he would have been better using the hatchet to finish him. The look of pure hatred chilled Kurt’s blood. There would be a reckoning for the insults and this humiliation.

“Take my hand,” offered John, reaching out. Mike was sat in the depression his weight had created. The only other way he could extricate himself was by pushing off of the drain floor which would mean his arms sinking into the quagmire. With a scowl, he clasped the outstretched arm and pulled free with an audible pop. Braiden laughed, which increased the animosity and Kurt winced internally. The decision would be his whether to defuse the coming confrontation with a pre-emptive strike, or wait and see. Despite the bullies’ abrasive personality, he was reluctant to commit cold blooded murder. If being an arsehole was punishable by death, Debbie would be six feet under already.

“Get out of those clothes, you could get infected.” Debbie pulled a new pair of trousers and jumper from Kurt’s backpack. He didn’t resist, looking at his father, who could see what was coming too.

After peeling the layers off, careful to keep his fingers away from the brown slime, Mike said, “Let’s get moving.” His tone of voice spoke of violence repressed. But, like a pressure cooker, it would explode at some point. The question was when.

The drain was reached and the excitement had built within the group. Even Mike and Debbie were smiling at the thought of having some well-trained protection. Kurt did his best impression of a human submarine periscope and wished he hadn’t. The scene of chaos sunk in, removing all hope of salvation.

“What do you see?” asked Sarah with excitement. Kurt looked down and the smiles instantly died on their faces, like a switch had been flicked.

Kurt scanned around. The hospital entrance had been chosen as the site of the army outpost. Treble stacked motorway dividers had been placed against the brickwork, reaching nine feet into the air, funnelling anyone - or thing - toward the waiting soldiers. Sand bag placements had been built and spaced out to provide cover for the machine gunners. Each gun lay silently, pointing toward the sky. Their operators were pacing in the carpark, dressed in combat fatigues which had been shredded by ravenous mouths. Thousands of spent bullet casings littered the ground and glittered in the rising sun. Scorch marks and overturned cars indicated grenade detonations, with piles of unidentifiable flesh intermingled. Hundreds of zombies lay dead across the vast carpark, victims of the final stand of the army before they were overrun. Several army vehicles had been parked to the side to provide covering fire, as well as a means of escape. The Foxhounds were armoured land cruisers, suitable for fast travel and strong enough to resist explosions. Some of the troops had fled into the safety of the vehicles. They were beating at the reinforced glass, now turned. The drivers had tried to force through the crowd, corpses on the pavement that had been partly crushed attested to the fact. Tyre tracks marked flattened heads and torsos, sticking the victims to the ground. In their desperation, the driver of one had grounded the Foxhound on a pile of bodies. They must have sat there, wheels spinning uselessly as they had been surrounded, until the fuel or engine died. The zombies had been unable to gain entry, but the troops had been trapped. Finally succumbing to dehydration or blowing their own brains out, painting the windows red.

“They are all dead,” Kurt said, looking at them each in turn.

“Ok, what are our options?” Sarah asked. Crying over what could have been was pointless; they needed to keep moving to find shelter.

“There are guns all over the place up there; assault rifles, pistols and machine guns. We could really use the firepower,” Kurt explained.

“Does anyone know how to use them?” questioned Gloria. Blank faces met her enquiry and Kurt’s Rambo act was at an end. They were untrained and would be just as likely to hurt themselves as the zombies.

“The hospital grounds are quiet. I counted about sixty in the area. I will go and set a car alarm off from the other sewer cover, then when they leave, we can hold up inside for a while. We could use some supplies anyway, things like medicines and bandages,” Kurt told the others and took the slingshot, plus a small number of bearings, from Sam.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back.” He hurried off.

“Why the hell are we risking our lives for some pills?” Mike asked Debbie who smiled.

“I know, it’s crazy. We should find a nice safe place and build our strength,” she said, fawning over him.

“You will be grateful for the medicine if you ever get sick. We are here now, we should at least have something to show for it,” Gloria reasoned.

In the distance a car alarm started to shrill, the sound coming to them though the iron cover. Kurt returned at a slow jog and handed the weapon back to his son.

“I go first and make sure we are clear. Then we all take cover by the sandbags and concrete beams. If we are seen we will have to get back down here, if not, we get inside and clear the place out until we get to the pharmacy. Understood?” Kurt clarified and was about to ascend, ready for battle when Mike piped up.

“Do I get a weapon? Or do I just use my fists?” The challenge was in his eyes. He would love to use fists and a weapon on the group, but necessity demanded cooperation for the dash into the abandoned hospital.

Braiden shook his head, John shrugged, and Gloria looked down at the shotgun, showing she would act if necessary.

“Ok, here.” Kurt handed over one of the hatchets. Mike weighed it and nodded, they were ready to go.

Kurt raised the sewer lid and laid it gently to one side. The noise had been minimal and none of the remaining dead noticed. He climbed through and made a
‘come’
gesture with his finger. One by one they reached the surface and took cover behind the nearest machine gun placement. John followed up last, covering their rear in case any of the sewer zombies managed to get clear of the swirling water. He hoisted Honey carefully over one shoulder and she lay there unprotestingly as he climbed. The trapped zombie soldiers had seen the survivors from inside the vehicles, and their dull thuds as they beat against the walls of their metal coffin drew the attention of a dozen more zombies.

“Quietly now. Get inside; we will take them the main foyer.” Kurt ushered them ahead and they pushed through the first set of double doors that led into the main hospital building.

“Look, there’s some chain that the soldiers must have used to seal the main doors. Let’s get it back on the handles.” Mike crouched and picked up the steel links.

“No, leave it,” Kurt said and pushed their belongings out of the kill zone.

“Why can’t we just shut the door?” Debbie asked.

“Their hollering and banging will bring more. We need to keep a low profile or the whole of the city will be on us,” Kurt explained and Mike dropped the chain.

“Sam, pick as many off as you can, we will deal with the rest,” instructed John. The others positioned themselves in the shadows to the side of the doors, weapons poised to strike those that got through the main entrance.

Sam stood in the light that reflected from the few remaining patches of polished floor that weren’t covered with dust and debris. He took a calming breath and loaded up the slingshot as the dead skirted the first sandbag wall. Their straight advance gave him a perfect target and his growing proficiency filled him with much needed confidence. The bearings glinted in the morning light before ripping through bone and brain matter. The zombies came on, crumpling to the ground as Sam destroyed them one at a time. Out of the twelve, only five made it into the hospital. The blades and hammers swished as they cut the air, erupting from the shadows and rending the dead brains.

“Good work, everyone, let’s try and get the bodies outside.” Kurt crouched low, using the high bagged walls to shelter from the view of any passing cadaver. He took the sleeves of a young female zombie. She had only suffered a single bite wound to the neck before bleeding out. Opting to place the dead out of sight to the right of the entrance, they dragged the carcasses out quickly. Mike was waiting with the chain.  He looped it round the solid handles and pointed at a heavy duty padlock that had fallen under one of the chairs. Debbie scurried over and brought it to him but Paige could see a problem.

“Wait, where is the key?” she asked, looking around with one of the torches.

“Who gives a shit? We need to lock the doors.” Mike fed the bar through the links and as about to snap it shut when John stopped him.

“Wait. The second you do that we are trapped in here. Let’s see how safe we are before we lock it, ok?” he said to Mike. The temptation to lock it as a big ‘fuck you’ was hard for Mike to resist. The overriding emotion proved to be self-preservation, however, and he let it fall loose.

“I will stay here. The second I see one of those fuckers coming for the door, I lock it,” Mike insisted, leaving the padlock in place, unlatched.

Listening intently, they discovered that the large open space of the foyer was as quiet as the proverbial tomb. The reception desk was to the right, abandoned now, when in better times it had bustled with queries, ringing phones and tapping keyboards. Kurt wasn’t the only one to have a mild flashback at the scene; they had all used this hospital at some point in their lives. Four corridors led off to different parts of the main building, with colour coded dots stuck to the floor for people to follow to reach their destination. Two vending machines had been looted, the hinges broken and the glass doors lay open. One had contained canned soda drinks and the other assorted unhealthy treats. It had always amused Gloria that something that promoted obesity would be overlooked for the financial income it generated. Hypocrites. A few cans had split and spilled their contents on the floor. It was now a sticky puddle of differing colours, all mixed together like an artist’s palette. Honey took advantage and licked at the sweet covering, wagging her tail with pleasure.

“Honey, leave.” Paige gently drew the dog away so that she didn’t become ill.

“Where are all the bodies?” Braiden whispered. The walls were riddled with bullet holes and blood of both red and green was pooled around the site of the shooting.

“They must have moved them,” Kurt said.

“Or they moved themselves,” Braiden added which was probably closer to the truth.

“We need to clear the wings to make sure we don’t get attacked without knowing ahead of time. They will have to break through the main doors which we would hear. I don’t want to get caught again like we did at the pub,” Kurt told the group and Mike glared at the mention of his destroyed bar.

“I’m staying here. I want to be able to lock this up if I see any coming,” Mike said and Debbie went to his side.

Kurt wanted to keep them separate, he could see the developing relationship and the conspiring whispers when they thought no one was looking. “Ok, if you two get in trouble, lock up and follow the dots.” Kurt handed one of the fresh bill hook machetes to Debbie for protection.

“We do orthopaedics first, red dots,” John instructed and the rest moved off silently down the hallway, leaving Mike and Debbie alone.