Killing The Dead (Book 15): The Gathering Storm Read online

  The Gathering Storm

  Killing the Dead: Season Three Book Three

  By Richard Murray

  Copyright 2018 Richard Murray

  All Rights Reserved

  All Characters are a work of Fiction.

  Any resemblance to real persons

  Living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Some scenes are based on real locations that

  have been altered for the purposes of the story.

  Chapter 1

  It came out of the forest in a rush, faster than it had any right to be. Pallid grey skin and absent of hair, the body too long, like a child’s toy that had been stretched out of shape. Wickedly sharp claws that had once been human fingers, tore through the flesh of a black-garbed minion as though he were made of paper.

  I leapt out of the way, hand rising and pulling down on the trigger of the handgun I held. My shoulder hit the ground at about the same moment I realised I’d used all the bullets fighting my way out of the bunker.

  A short roll and I was back on my feet, ignoring the stinging pain as my weight fell on my left foot in particular. If I hadn’t just murdered everyone back in the bunker, I would have cursed at them for pulling away all the toenails on that foot.

  Another minion screamed as I swung about, raising my knife before me though I had little real hope that I would be able to kill the damned thing considering the shape I was in. My minions were doing the best they could, engaging the Reaper, keeping it away from me, but they were no match for it.

  It’s one working eye seemed to fix on me and I flashed it a grin, not caring if it knew I was mocking it.

  “You gonna help, mate?” Gregg called as he advanced, knife held ready.

  When the third minion fell, arm ripped from its socket and a scream wrenched from his lungs. I sucked in a deep breath and dashed forward, or at least hobbled that way.

  A duck beneath a wild swing, bloody claws passing so close to my head that I felt the air move. My combat knife slammed into its stomach and… stuck there, which was new. It was like stabbing wet cement, the flesh pressing against my blade and holding it in place.

  I paid for my momentary distraction as clawed fingers dug deep into my upper arm as the zombie gripped me and pulled me close. It’s putrid breath washed over me as it opened wide its mouth and I pulled back on my blade with all my strength, little though that was just then.

  The blade of a minion sank deep into its neck, and it swung around, dragging me with it as it lashed out at him. Then around once again as Greggs blade sank into its side. Both of them came away with their blades still stuck in the creature and I would have rolled my eyes if I hadn’t been about to die.

  My blade came free with a disgusting slurp, blackened blood clinging to it like slime. The Reaper roared its displeasure and I jammed my knife as far down its throat as I could. It wasn’t far.

  Something vaguely serpentine, where its tongue should have been, wrapped around the blade and I could only watch in revulsion as more of the blackened blood ran down its chin as it cut itself on the knife blade.

  “Duck!” Gregg called out and I did the best I could, being held up by the zombie as I was.

  Apparently, it was barely enough and the rock he hurled missed my ear by less than an inch. The zombie's jaw shattered and it staggered back, the rock falling away and missing my already bandaged foot by far too short a distance.

  The Reaper reared up to its full height, taking me with it, lifting me as easily as I would have a child. I dangled in its grip as it towered over my remaining minion and Gregg. It lashed out, the back of its free hand catching that minion full in the face and sending him tumbling.

  I reached for the knife embedded in its neck.

  A mangled roar escaped from it, the tongue wriggling grotesquely and I pulled back on the knife. It came free and I had a moment's exultation before that clouded eye, full of malice and hate, fixed once more upon me.

  It’s mouth opened, lower jaw dangling uselessly and I seized my chance, blade flashing and it reared back, both hands going to its mouth as I fell free to land on the leaf covered ground, the inch or so of its ‘tongue’ landing in my lap.

  Gregg threw another rock and it backed away, bloody ichor dripping from between its fingers. It roared once more and turned, running back into the undergrowth from whence it had come and I let my head fall back, breathing heavily.

  I was way too tired to fight a Reaper.

  “Mate,” Gregg said with a strange tone to his voice. I looked his way, one eyebrow raised in query and caught his stare.

  “What?”

  “You might wanna get rid of that.”

  He pointed at my lap and I raised my head enough to see that the ‘tongue’ was twisting about as though seeking to reach the flesh beneath the grubby white coveralls I wore like some parody of a leech. I flicked it away with the blade of the borrowed knife and shook my head slowly.

  “It’s been a really long week.”

  “Tell me about it,” Gregg muttered. “Chasing after you with these boring buggers. Not to speak ill of the dead.”

  “Or the dying,” I muttered as I glanced over at the minion whose cries were weakening as much of his lifeblood leaked from the bloody stump at his shoulder. “Might want to deal with that.”

  “Not my job, mate.”

  I almost chuckled at the grimace he made and slowly rolled over, before pushing myself up. I limped over to the minion who stared up at me with eyes full of fear and pain. I gave him a smile and rammed my borrowed blade up beneath his chin and into his brain, ending his misery and preventing him from rising again.

  Efficient at least.

  “Can you at least make sure the other two don’t rise?” I asked quietly. My already flagging energy levels had descended to barely keeping conscious and I wasn’t entirely sure that I could do it without passing out. “Please?”

  “Sure thing. You take a rest and let me do all the bloody work,” Gregg muttered but he at least did as I asked. Pulling a face and stabbing down with one of the knives that the dead men no longer needed.

  Once the task was done, he checked over the unconscious minion and deciding that he was fine, came across to help me. He pulled a bandage from his pack and crouched beside me as I sat down on the grass, resting against the body of the man I had just killed.

  “You ever think we’ve become a little too familiar with all this shit?” he asked as he cut away the sleeve of my coverall. “I mean, three men just died and I barely blinked.”

  “Can’t say I’ve noticed a change.”

  “Yeah, you wouldn’t. Hold still.”

  He poured something that I hoped to be antisceptic over my wound. I sucked in a breath as the pain bit deep and my brows drew down as I glared at him.

  “You stink, by the way,” he said. “I mean, really badly.”

  “Aye, well you spend a week getting tortured and see how you smell.”

  “Fair enough, mate.” He rolled the bandage around my arm and his eyes flicked towards mine. “What exactly happened in there? We gonna be expecting someone chasing you?”

  I couldn’t have stopped my chuckle if I had wanted to. The memory of the slaughter I had committed still fresh in my mind and bringing a rush of pleasure every time I thought of it.

  “There’s no one left alive in there.”

  He gave me a strange look but nodded slowly, not asking any questions that he wouldn’t like the answer too.

  “A helicopter left, not long before you came out.”

  “Aye, that will have been the old bastard that was in charge.”

  “What is this place?”
>
  “Later,” I said as he finished tying off the bandage. “That Reaper might come back and I’m in no condition to fight it.”

  “Fair enough. You rest a minute while I wake up that guy.”

  I nodded, not bothering to waste my energy with an answer. Gregg pulled a water bottle from his back and crossed over to the unconscious minion. He lifted the black hood the minion wore and poured a generous dose of water over his face.

  The minion awoke, spluttering and reaching for his knife. It took but a moment for him to catch sight of me and he practically sprang to his feet, fist slamming against his breast as he came to attention.

  “My Lord Death.”

  There it was. That idiotic title they had stuck me with when I had formed my little cult of death. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time but had soon become more of a burden than the fun I had envisioned.

  Still, they were still useful.

  I waved a reply, a simple gesture that acknowledged his salute and little else. Gregg snapped his fingers before the man's face and issued some quick instructions. Together, they emptied the other men's packs and stuffed as much of their food and water rations into their own.

  Next, a leather jacket was removed from one of the dead minions and passed over to me. I took it gratefully and pulled it on with more than a little wincing at the pain I felt with every movement I made.

  There was little of my body that didn’t bear a bruise and I had experienced a great deal of torture during my captivity. I’d also learnt a great deal and I fully intended to make sure that I would exact my vengeance on those responsible.

  Until then, I would simply kill each and every person in the bunkers that had been constructed in secret around the world. It might take some time and some work, but I would do it.

  “We ready?” Gregg asked. “There’s a long trek home and we need to get moving.”

  “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you didn’t bring a car?”

  “No cars working, mate, you know that.”

  “If you’d looked you’d have found one.”

  “Forgive us, My Lord Death.”

  The minion dropped to one knee, his head bowed and I shared a look with Gregg before I rolled my eyes and set off walking through the woods that covered the hillside above Loch Rannoch.

  “He’s a barrel of bloody laughs,” Gregg muttered as he followed me.

  I didn’t have the energy to reply and just limped on. I knew that somewhere close would be the other entrance to the base, likely near the dam. If there was to be a vehicle to be found, it would be there.

  Doubtful as that might be, as Isaac would have taken them all and likely loaded them with everything that wasn’t nailed down. From what I knew of that man, I fully expected him to have locked up the base before leaving too.

  He was far too smart to leave any potential cache of supplies open to being looted by any random passerby or the serial killer he had just helped wipe out that bunker. Which meant it would be pointless going looking and we would just waste time we didn’t have.

  I sucked in a breath and hopped back as I stubbed my left foot against a rock. Fresh blood was seeping through the bandage and I bit down on the urge to swear long and loud.

  Gregg slipped his arm around my waist without a word and I threw one arm around his shoulder, leaning on him for support. Despite my bravado to my captors, the torture had taken quite a toll and I needed rest. The last thing I wanted was an infection from wandering around the forest with bloody stumps of toes.

  “We should head back to that bunker place and see if we can find you some proper clothes. You’re not fit for travelling.”

  “I’m not fit for fighting my way through several levels of zombie while searching for supplies either. A good nights rest and I’ll be fine.”

  He didn’t reply but even I could see the doubt writ plain on his face and I managed a weak grin for him. His one remaining eye narrowed at that, the scar tissue that covered the other side of his face pulling tight.

  “Yeah, whatever you say.”

  I looked back over my shoulder, knowing that somewhere out amongst those trees was a wounded Reaper. It had followed me all the way from Oban and despite the damage, I’d done to it, hadn’t stopped.

  With seemingly little effort it had just wiped out the majority of my rescue party and the one remaining minion I had wouldn’t be much use as anything other than a distraction to allow me to escape.

  First order of business was to find somewhere safe for the night, then some clothes and proper boots. Ideally transport too.

  I shook my head slowly. I’d grown far too used to the relative comforts we had found for ourselves in the past year. Especially since Glasgow. We’d had food and weapons aplenty and right then, staggering wounded through a forest with no shoes and only a knife and two companions; well, it left me far more vulnerable than I was used to.

  It was a feeling I didn’t like.

  Chapter 2

  Smoke wreathed the town in a haze, the foul smell of burning undead flesh lingering on everything it touched. The ferries were working long into the night, bringing my people back to the town, and they were my people.

  I was their leader and while I would not have chosen to be so, events had forced my hand. Seizing control of the island and the twenty-five thousand refugees was an act of necessity and one I would never regret for I would live and die to ensure those people had a world worth living in.

  They would hate me for it, I was sure of that, but the old world was gone, washed away in the blood of the billions who had died and risen once more as the undead. It was time for a new world and I was damned sure I was going to make it one worth living in. If not for me, then for my children.

  In the command and control centre, we had established near the docks, Charlie was busy overseeing her staff as they used drones to survey the island. Any bands of zombies were noted and their locations sent along to the squads of soldiers who were out there hunting the remnants down.

  I kind of wished I could be out there with them, doing something tangible, rather than standing around listening to endless reports. They never seemed to stop coming, telling me of just how crappy a situation we were in.

  Four months worth of food rations, if everything went just right. Accounting for possible spoilage and an increase in the number of mouths to feed as more survivors were found and brought in, that number dropped by almost an entire month.

  If we were lucky we would stretch out our rations until the autumn and then run out entirely just in time for a long winter. And that was just the food. We could barely clothe our people as it was and with the winter coming we would need more. More blankets, more coats, more hats, more scarves, more wood and coal for the fireplaces, for those houses that had them anyway.

  Our medicine supplies were low and we had too many pregnant women being monitored, myself included. Pregnancies were tough at the best of times but when everybody carried the parasite that caused the dead to rise; if a child died in the womb… well, it wasn’t pleasant.

  Vitamins, painkillers, formula for the babies to drink should they need it, fresh vegetables, any kind of meat other than fish and everything else besides. As the aide read out the numbers of the dead, I hated myself for that small voice at the back of my mind that noted there were fewer mouths to feed, giving the rest of us that little bit more time.

  “Enough!” Cass snapped and I looked her way as she shooed away the young aide who had been reading those numbers to me. “Come back in half an hour and give her time to process.”

  The aide scurried away and I mustered a smile of thanks as I pressed one hand to the life growing in my stomach, chewing my lip and hoping that there would be no problems.

  “Samuel’s on his way up!” Charlie called and I glanced back at her wearily. “What?”

  “You’re supposed to be hunting zombies not visitors.”

  “Hey, we were attacked. So sue me if you want but I feel we should hav
e a little bit of warning next time.”

  “There better not be a next time,” Cass muttered.

  I had no idea if they would be or not. The people who had been leading the little coup against me had vanished and since we were on an island, I doubted that they had gone far. That didn’t fill me with confidence.

  “My Lady,” Samuel intoned in that deep, rough, voice of his as he walked through the door.

  He barely glanced at the squad of CDF soldiers who parted to let him past. Admiral Stuart had quietly tripled the number of soldiers on guard duty while I was busy with other matters. He knew I wouldn’t undermine him publicly by sending them away and had been suspiciously hard to locate since then.

  “Samuel.”

  My smile of greeting was warm and very much genuine. When I had first met him, back in Glasgow, I had been a little afraid. With his dark hair sticking up from his head and a wild look in his eyes, he looked every part the crazed zealot.

  Second, only to Ryan, he led the Dead, that cult of black-garbed worshippers of death that Ryan had formed around himself. Of all of those he led, Samuel was the most devout, firmly believing that my lover was Death incarnate, sent to walk the world to bring an end to the scourge of the undead and restore a balance.

  Lately, I had begun to think he wasn’t so crazy.

  But, no matter his beliefs, I had soon learnt that he was a man of conviction who cared deeply about his mission to protect the living. He was brave, steadfast and had become a friend who looked at me as a father would a daughter.

  If I were honest, I would admit that I kinda liked that. My own family were long gone and I hadn’t realised how alone that left me.

  He didn’t salute like the soldiers did, and I’d asked him not to bow, but he inclined his head which was his way of still bowing without actually bowing. I let it slide.

  “You look tired.” Stupid comment, of course, he looked tired, he’d been fighting the undead all day on the barricade. “Sorry, that was a ridiculous thing to say.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up in what I took to be a smile and he gave a weary grunt.