Hellspawn (Book 4): Hellspawn Requiem by Fleet Ricky

Author:Fleet, Ricky [Fleet, Ricky]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Publisher: Optimus Maximus Publishing, LLC
Published: 2017-04-15T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

The ashes in the stove glowed weakly in the darkness and the tumult from the entrance had almost ceased. Low moans were still audible as were scraping sounds from dead fingernails. Checking his watch, Winston was amazed to see the digital display showing it would soon be dawn. He had slept for a full twelve hours which would have led to a long lecture from his parents about how slothful behaviour was morally wrong.

“Thank God for the apocalypse,” he whispered.

The piled display logs were an inviting sight and it would have been so easy to stack them high and relax for the day, safe and warm. A change had been wrought in Winston that immediately discounted the option and he jumped to his feet with a creaking of seized joints. The floor had been unforgiving on his bulk even with the added mat and sleeping bag. Stretching out each limb to get the knots out, he started to think of his options. The front door would be suicide which left only the rear of the building, so he navigated the dark storeroom and lay down at the exit. Looking through a small crack visible underneath the blockade he could see the yard was clear as far as his awkward angle would allow. There were no corpses standing patiently by the door which at least gave him a route of escape. With dozens loitering by the entrance he didn’t relish the thought of them catching sight of him and beginning the pursuit all over again.

“Think, you loser!” he muttered.

Anger always manifested as self-reproach and he knew he was in real danger simply because he had feared some fierce looking prisoners. What a pussy, he thought, shaking his head in disgust. He could have been the comedy sidekick of Mike, protected and sleeping in a warm bed. The jokes were a way of putting up a shield that said, ‘don’t hurt me, I’m a funny guy’. Maybe it would have worked, maybe not, but in the cold light of day he could have kicked himself for being so cowardly. As it was, he was now stuck halfway between both the prison and the castle. Either route was dangerous and he couldn’t count on the luck of finding a warm shelter again.

“You made the right decision, you don’t belong there,” he said and the undead heard his declaration. Their moans rose in fervour and their attack resumed on the door.

Looking around, Winston tried to come up with a plan to trap the zombies in the shop. He had all the weight he needed with the cast iron fires, but it was how to arrange them so he could make it to safety that perplexed him. Using the hydraulic trolley, he cleared the rear doors as quietly as possible and opened the door an inch. Old, rusting heaters and broken fireplaces were stacked against one wall and the other ran to meet a house to the north. The yard obviously acted as both a means of storage and a back garden for the home.

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