The Woodman Book Two (The Fires Of Hell)

By G. H. Bright

The Woodman, Book Two. The Fires of Hell (re-edited)

This second instalment starts six weeks after Book one, the Roads of Hell, finished.
The reluctant hero in the making, Duke Woods, The Woodman, has contracted Ebola, otherwise known simply as “The Death”.
The Black Pope is still alive and kicking, unknown to most and The Woodman has a new friend.
Michelle, a six-year-old girl, remains at his side watching and waiting whilst The Death ravages his body. Hannah, the love of his life is not allowed near them in case she and the child she carries become infected, and the communities, at the news of his contagion, go into lockdown.
Hannah is nearly six months pregnant, Sue is seven months into her pregnancy, and several other women are carrying babies too.
As Duke recovers, he finds the Army is still in place and helping everyone it can, and the Elders are still unable to achieve even the simplest of things. Coast Town looks to be thriving again with the new influx of people but, as always, trouble is just around the corner and new horror surfaces.

Just when things looks good for the survivor’s, just as they begin to grasp skills forgotten, new evils and hard times rush to compound issues and make life a far greater struggle than it already was. The Death wiped out most of Mankind; illness and disease took even more. 90% of humans are dead, the rest think they are in hell. Those lived through it, instead of banding together, seem unable to change their ways and people find they still have to fight Mankind’s greatest enemy, Mankind itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. H. Bright
• Release date: Dec 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311697103

G. H. Bright

I live in UK, the south coast of England to be exact and have been writing for more than ten years. Please visit my site at http://ghbright.wix.com/grolly to view all books, first chapters and what's planned. The Woodman saga follows Duke Woods in his battle to bring normality to a world gone mad. With 90% of mankind wiped out, survival is paramount for those that survive. With danger lurking at every turn those that do survive find feeding themselves to be the least of their problems. The Woodman is a four book serial and two-book stand alone stories creating a six-book saga. My latest story, Cottonwood Road, is out now. Written in both UK and US English - depending on who is talking at the time, it's the holiday from hell and then some! A burnt out car with n o sign of the occupants leads to a chase from Utah to Texas and back again. IF LOCATING ME ON FACEBOOK; Once there, please locate G.h.bright fiction books (a sub page) or type that in to find my books on other sites. Thank you.

Book preview

Prologue

The Woodman’s Nightmare.

Duke stood near the crest of a hill, the woodlands all around him and a field spread out on the downward slope before him. The trees sang with the songs of birds and the sky was a brilliant blue.

He stood alone, strong and unafraid. The heat of the day burnt his skin, his hair blowing gently in the warm breeze.

Then the sky fell dark and ominous; a wind whipped up from the field to hit him face on. The birds stopped abruptly in their joyous song and the field inexplicably filled with creatures.

Wolves, thousands of them, converged slowly on Duke, stalking up the hill in deliberate long strides. Drool ran from their mouths, the teeth long and sharp, the eyes black and evil. All eyes were on Duke and fear ran through him like a freight train at full speed.

He tried to back away, to turn and to run, but his legs remained immobile, his feet stuck fast. Duke was going nowhere. He would face these demons head on, like it or not.

Duke was suddenly aware of Father behind him. He didn’t look back, his eyes could not leave the beasts that came ever closer, but he knew Father was there. He was on the Cross, nailed into position by The Black Pope and the arrow, the one that killed him, the arrow that Duke sent into his Fathers breast, jutted outward from the bloody stripped flesh. Father was shouting to Duke. He was alive, despite the injuries inflicted, despite the fact that Duke had killed him with that very same arrow; Father took his weight on his nailed legs and shouted to Duke to stand and fight.

Father was not in pain, he didn’t seem to care about his injures or his own condition, crucified as he was, he was intent on making Duke focus, his objective, to save his son.

The wolves crept toward Duke, the distance between them ever closer, boldness showing in their eyes now, and their eagerness to kill, to rip flesh from Duke, was painfully evident.

Duke listened to the words of Father and, knowing what he must do launched arrow after arrow into the thong of the thick bristle haired inextricable pack. Cries and screams rose in the suddenly heavy air, the darkness descending to meet them, whipping the cries away on the winds. The creatures, black and evil, as if from Hell itself, howled as one, deafening Duke and blocking Father’s words from his ears.

Duke shot wolf after wolf and still they came. There seemed no end to them, the more he shot the more joined at the bottom of the hill, coming from the trees on a constant basis. The dead vanished, sinking into the ground, returning to Hell as others came forward to take their place. Arrow after arrow, his quiver never running dry, Duke shot repeatedly, unable to move his feet, afraid to look away and unable to look at Father. He knew Father was dead, he knew this could not be real and the wolves were an apparition but, the pain in his chest, in his gut and the burning in his arms from firing so many arrows, told Duke this must be real.

The trees burst into flame, the tendrils of fire reaching upward to the heavens like giants fingers playing and wriggling as they shot ever upward. The whole forest was alight, the heat burning Duke’s flesh from a thousand meters away.

‘Stand and fight, Duke. Stand and fight. It is your only choice.’

Duke tried to turn his head, to see Father, but a wolf ripped away from the mob and launched itself at him. Duke had only just enough time to strike at the thing with the bow, the half-loaded arrow knocking the creature to the side. Duke drew back on the string, siting the arrow fully, and shot the wolf at point-blank range as it scrabbled to its feet and launched itself at Duke again.

The animal cursed him, it actually spoke as it died, and then melted into the dirt of the hill, arrow and all.

1.

Duke studied the face of the doctor in the white suit. The Plexiglas steamed up, obscuring his features and then the mist vanished again as he breathed. The pump at his hip, filtering and pushing the air in and out of the suit on a constant basis either wheezed or he did.

‘I think you’re the luckiest man alive, but I don’t think you need telling that.’

‘Well, a month is a long time when you don’t know if you’ll live or die, and I thought I was dying, but yeah, I think I’m over it now.’ Duke said, obviously somewhat delighted at the verdict.

‘Nearer six weeks, actually.’

The door to the Lab swished open and WO1 Sly Gould walked in. He looked at the crumpled white suit on the floor; the one Duke had worn when he came inside the City under the hill, and motioned to the Doctor.

Sly Gould looked pretty much the same, slightly older perhaps, if anyone can age much in a matter of weeks, and the grey flecks mixed with the straw-blonde of his short hair gave evidence to that. He would soon have white-grey hair, not that it would not suit him. The circles under the eyes told of sleepless nights. Last time Duke and he had met Gould had been a WO2 so Duke, clocking the Rank slide, assumed he must have accepted promotion recently.

‘That white suit can go, and so can yours.’

‘Yes,’ said the doctor, taking off his helmet, ‘The Death has gone from Duke. No contagion, nothing. It’s almost as if he never had it.’

‘Yeah, I heard you say.’

Gould had been in the other room, watching and listening in, desperate to know the full results after hours of uncertainty.

‘Good to have you back, Duke. We missed you.’ Gould said as he slapped Duke on the back.

‘Is Hannah here?’ Duke said, smiling at Sly in return.

‘She’s upstairs nursing a cup of tea, too scared to come down here yet, just in case its bad news.’

For six weeks Duke had lived in a house, off from the City in the hill, in the town of Hindhead. The Six-year-old Michelle had been with him all that time, which was a blessing, but separated from Hannah; Duke had felt desperately lonely all the same.

When Smudge had told them to leave the walkway tunnel to the City Duke had been numb with shock.

His skin blotchy and spotty, his temperature up and having a thirst like never before, Duke’s first logical thoughts were for Hannah and their unborn baby, not for himself. He walked in a daze toward the town of Hindhead above and to the side of the City in the Hill, Smudge shouting after him, telling him it was nothing personal. Michelle held Teddy in one hand and gripped Duke tightly with the other.

What had started as a feeling much like a bad cold, aches and pains, stiff joints and a brain bagging to get out, quickly developed once the blood ran from his eye.

Michelle had still not spoken a single word. Duke knew her name because she had written it in the dirt with a stick, but he only found her last name by looking at her clothes tag when he got her a change of outfit. The name Mackwood, on a tag inside the top she wore just had to be her surname. Michelle Mackwood became his shadow.

Never leaving his side, and copying most everything he did until Duke fell so ill he could simply not move, Michelle had, no doubt, helped save Duke.

The military came and left them food every day, plastic knife and fork, throw away plates. They never came within fifty yards of Duke and Michelle, but they left food and water every day, all the same. Michelle had picked up enough ideas of when the food and water would be ready to collect, and other than taking that short trip, she did not move from the house. Michelle moved from his bedside to do her business in a bucket but other than that she and Teddy gave Duke constant attention.

When Duke found he was too sick to move he also found that he bled from the left eye constantly and the spots quickly turned to boils, and his whole body burnt and ached, feeling as if the bones were pulling inward, crushing themselves to death. No one, having seen him expected Duke to live. It was no surprise that Duke didn’t turn up one day to collect the food and drink and everyone assumed the worst. It was made all the harder because Michelle would not speak and she was afraid of the big men who came to ask questions. They shouted the questions from a distance, really, which made it all the worse for her, and got them nowhere.

Duke had obviously been very ill. Having dragged himself to the house, with Michelle and Teddy bear following close behind, he collapsed in a heap at the door. Duke had no idea how long he had lay there, but he eventually managed to stagger to the bed. Hours, perhaps days later, he really did not know, Gould shouted to him, asking where he lived. He wanted to bring Hannah to say goodbye.

Duke summoned strength, made it to the doorway and managed to relay where Gould should go to find Hannah. Then he collapsed again and lay there until well after dark. That was the last thing he remembered, his world falling into a black void of horror and nothingness, pain and isolation and the knowledge others had in it mind to deliver the last rites and that he would never see Hannah again.

Hannah was brought to the City, she wanted to see Duke for herself, she was frantic with worry, but she was soon in the hospital, the baby she carried becoming stressed and threatening to be a problem child from the off. The cause was, of course, Duke and his contracting The Death giving Hannah such a shock. She couldn’t believe she was not to see Duke; they had to sedate her to keep her in bed.

They didn’t get to see each other; Duke was too far gone by then.

He dreamt of father’s death again, his mercy killing of his own father, but the dreams were lurid and out of context. Ugly monsters, evil men, strange lands and the knowledge that he was dying mixed to drag Duke into the pits of hell. Then the reoccurring dream of the wolves and Duke’s unending fight against the tide of unbeatable evil came at him and with it, a renewed will to live. The wolves, he knew, could not be allowed to win. This evil was something he had to face and he had to put it down, once and for all. And he must see Hannah and his unborn child, he just must! But then his body became wracked with pain again and he simply wanted to give up and die.

Mercifully he did not remember much of the dreams when he finally woke. He had burnt up, frozen, burnt up again, been repeatedly sick and messed himself time and again, but there was nothing he could do, or even wanted to do about it.

Quite a few times, when lucid, Duke had wished he could just die, and more than once Hannah came to him in his fevered dreams and demanded he fight. Father loomed before him in the half-world, too. Told him in no uncertain terms that he had to get up and fight back. The Woodman still has work to do, son, he can’t die, not yet. You must get up and face the world head on again. The people need you...your child needs you, the wolves are coming…so get up!

Michelle had sat beside him, watching over Duke, covering him with blankets and removing them as needed. For a six-year-old, Michelle had picked up quite a few good tricks and had a good brain on her, not that Duke was aware of it. She also ensured he had water, dabbed his lips and poured dribbles into his mouth, round the clock and slept snuggled up to him with no fear of The Death whatsoever. She fed him soup, small amounts at a time, saving Duke’s life without realising the full extent of her actions or where she got that idea.

When the fever finally broke and Duke awoke, he had no idea how long he had been out. A soldier later told him that it was two weeks, but when he came round he had absolutely no idea where he was let alone for how long he had been there.

Michelle was sitting there looking at him, Teddy in arms, and Duke felt ashamed for the mess and smell he lay in. The poor little mite didn’t need to see or smell that or be near it, but she had obviously stuck with him through it all.

Duke wondered what would have happened if he had died. Would she pine away like some love struck dog sitting by her master’s side?

Then he realised Michelle must have been through this too, and he clutched her to him and sobbed. They both cried for a time before pulling themselves together and facing the world again, Duke taking control and realising, despite it all, he was a role model to the young girl. They had a bond of sorts before, in the very brief time they had been together, but now Duke had pulled through too they had a special bond no one else would ever comprehend.

Duke spent another two weeks in bed, mostly, and not going far at all when he did get up. Duke washed himself, cleaned the bed, then simply moved rooms, such was the state of the place, and worked at getting well. His muscles got stronger day by day, short walks, a few push-ups and simply being upright.

The vision in his left eye blurred most of time which upset him but, he consoled himself with the fact that he was right eye dominant and could still shoot a bow. It was humorous to an extent and made Duke thankful because things could so easily have been far worse. It was difficult to get about, and he was seriously worried, but he tried to look on the bright side. He had to think positively, that’s all there was to it.

He drank water when he could, tried to eat, but always brought it back up eventually, and lay in a second fever for days on end. Michelle went out every day, collected the food and water, and brought it back to sit at his bedside all day long.

Duke finally woke again one day and found he felt hungry. Not hot, no sweats, not wanting food because he thought he should eat, just hungry.

From then on it was a case of building his strength again, proper push-ups, squats, crunches, putting on weight and checking himself over on a daily basis, ensuring he really was on the road to recovery.

Shooting a bow and getting his form back on track, building up the muscles slowly and shooting short distances first, became priority number one. Doing the silly tests the Army Doctors asked him to do, helped Duke fill his time, seeing as he tired easily physically and their tests were logical cognitive tests.

Having young Michelle there at all times helped too, she was good company. Duke even took a vial of his own blood, twice, at the Doctors request as he recovered, just so they could check it. They were Doctors, and General Practitioners at that, not scientists, as Duke reminded them, but they rightly said they had to at least try to see if there was anything obvious.

They should be looking for an orange yellow worm-like creature in the blood but Duke didn’t know if they even had the magnification to do that, and if they have it, would they actually locate the thing? These men were not frontline medics, they were GP’s who dealt with colds, twisted ankles and sexual transmissions, and they would never have seen anything like Ebola in their lives as far as Duke knew. By the time they got to his blood the virus was a beaten thing, just as it had been with Michelle, so they may not have seen anything anyway but Duke went along with the request anyway.

They had taken Michelle’s blood while Duke was ill. They were not brave enough to venture close to him but they were happy, suited up, to take her blood when she went for the food.

If they had thought about taking some of Duke’s blood at that time they changed their minds pretty quickly. Michelle threatened them with a knife. They had, after all, scared her when they came at her, grabbed her and pushed the needle in. Men in white suits…not a good image for a little girl to have. Michelle was left alone then, orders from Gould, and Duke was left to his fate.

Duke’s fast recovery was marred by the eye problem, and the fact that he messed himself a few times without warning didn’t help, either. He was sick just the once when inside the hill, luckily in the toilet, so he kept those things to himself. He didn’t bother to give the doctors an excuse to test him further with needles or anything else, and no reason to keep him there in isolation and worried as to their next move.

It was a long road back; Duke had dropped to just over eight stone which, although he figured most women would love that for themselves, he knew it was way too little weight for him to carry. Once his shooting was sufficient, which, seeing as he had been a Bowman for over half his life, came back quickly, he hunted. The food from the City in the hill was okay but he needed fresh meat and lots of it. He picked green food with Michelle, showing her which plants to use and told her which ones not to eat.

The ex-schoolboy champion, Junior Grand Master Bowman, albeit not with Longbow, found his life skills rushing back to him at great speed. The hunting was a given, but he also made fire, gutted animals, hung them, cooked them and made a coat for Michelle from skins, as well as showing her the plant life. His life learning skills came back at speed and he loved teaching Michelle. It had taken nearly six weeks all in but, The Woodman was back!

2.

The planned expansion of Coast Town and the area between the City under the Hill, the Army Lair, had been put on hold, as was the idea of getting phones and other electronic goods working again. Communication with the boat that had been sent out, failed, sending a wave of panic through the people. Add to that the repeated lack of Internet and the rumours started. One assumption was that some satellites had gone out, reminding them all how vulnerable they really were. Satellites need maintenance sometimes, and the battery life of some, although in the region of ten years, starts to fade. When some of them, having been in orbit for years before The Death came, went off, they stayed off. That was one reason for the isolation they all felt being muted, anyway. Others said that it wouldn’t matter, they bounce messages from one to another so there should be no disruption at all to the Internet as there were more than enough satellites still in orbit.

That left one possibility. There was nothing wrong with the Internet. They were simply alone in the world and they had sent a boat full of men to their deaths!

Gould didn’t tell anyone of his own thoughts, thinking it best to keep his own ideas to himself, but he knew there was a site out there, and it was still up and running. He didn’t have the code to gain access, the people who had never made it to the Lair had the code h surmised, and as often as he tried, he could never crack the code needed. The site was a screen with an official looking seal was made up of a flag with vertical red and white stripes, the four centre ones having a thin blue line as well and a set of laurels with a Latin inscription that he did not understand

The rectangle for a code word to be entered sat at the base of the screen. Knowing he could gain no access, Gould decided the best thing as to say nothing about it. If it were as he suspected, the future world force, they would get in touch soon enough.

It had crossed his mind more than once that the original attack could have been a terrorist attack, but he dismissed that notion just as often knowing of no such organisation that would or could produce such a screen. The attack, and he was sure it was an attack, had been carried out by some form of superpower, Gould was sure of it.

The truth of it now was no one knew why all other communications had gone down but it happened so fast that it left many stunned, regardless of Gould’s efforts to assure them otherwise. The boat communications did not work via the Internet anyway but that didn’t seem to matter to many people. It just went to prove they were doomed and alone. The panic set in. Communications with each community down, no chance of locating others in the big wide world and the return of The Death, it was all too much!

There was obviously more than one reason for the communications failures but that didn’t come into it for the average person. It was all bad news. A dark mood settled over everyone like a cloud. They had tried to run before they could walk; it was as simple as that. People thought they could have the old life again without very much input. Now they understood the old ways might never come back in their lifetimes and things seemed worse than ever.

With Duke’s contamination the whole population, all five hundred and thirty of them, went into lockdown. All civilians were asked to leave the City under the Hill, and they returned to Coast Town as the soldiers travelled in the opposite direction. The communities separated in the face of evil, it being deemed best by the Elders, of which Gould was one, that the civilians would just get in the way down there. And, not being fully acclimatised to life underground that they should leave and return to their old lives whilst things were worked out.

Paranoia quickly surfaced again and a few folk became extremely ill just thinking about the future. The military still had their Comm’s operating but that was of no use to everyone else, and of little use to them, too. The communities were split and in isolation from one another, the Base abandoned. The Pathfinders, led by Harvey, returned to life under the hill and the search for other people was abandoned.

This was a real kick in the teeth after what they had all been through. There had been a chance to rig something up, to communicate between their own communities, with other communities perhaps but, with the lockdown happening so fast, it hardly got a look in let alone any real thought.

Gould and his men were in the hill; everyone else was in Coast Town. The island base lay empty, as did the roads and the fields and the worry of it all, the bleakness of the situation was too much for some. Five people committed suicide in the first three days, not that the bodies were discovered for months. They lay in their isolated farmhouses and no one even missed them.

Questions regarding Duke’s health had of course been asked, all of which had no immediate answer.

How had The Death come back? How could a little girl carry it and not die, but pass it on to Duke, whilst showing no signs of it herself?

Would he live and if so, would Duke be affected for life? Would Duke remain a carrier and, therefore, a danger to others? Was the little girl a danger to them? She had been a danger to The Woodman, so why not to others?

As sad as it was, many didn’t want Duke coming back.

The Doctors checks had been belt and braces, having observed Duke getting better day by day for the last three weeks there was no question of his still being ill. Michelle had been clammy when Duke met her, he remembered that much. When he took her hand that first time it was clammy, and he had been the same for a few days after he got out of bed. They took that as a good sign. That meant he was getting better, didn’t it? The spots and boils had vanished, a few light scars remaining here and there, but otherwise untraceable. His blood was deemed clean. The Death had vanished, which made Duke wonder how they hoped to find anything in peoples blood in the first place. He knew they had run routine tests on people but he now knew there had been no real point. No harm in trying, Gould had said but Duke wasn’t so sure. His watering eye and the way his gut felt told him something still lurked within even if he was unable to pass it on to others.

Suited up, Duke and Michelle had come into the city, once he had assumedly recovered, went in the sealed Lab, removed the suits, showered and, after yet more exhaustive tests and blood samples, received a clean bill of health. Duke and Michelle were stripped of the suits once in the Lab, the Doctor keeping his own suit firmly in place.

Duke had obviously contracted The Death from Michelle, they said; not that she had shown signs of it other than the clammy hands. She had obviously recovered; therefore, it was hoped Duke might do the same and without side effects. Now, at long last, he had. Doctor Mitchell came back and declared them both fit.

‘No problems with recall, no big deal with simple maths and general knowledge, no weakness or muscle wastage now, stools are okay and, more importantly, no sign of The Death having left any damage to brain, vital organs or sight. We can’t see anything at all in your blood so, cognitive and physical attributes all A-OK. I’d say you’re clear to go, Duke.’

‘Thanks Doc.’ Duke worked his sleeve back down as he sat on the steel framed bed. He said nothing about the blurred vision that still haunted him and also kept quiet about the odd feeling in his stomach. If the Quacks had missed simple things then more fool them, he knew he was better, as good as he was ever going to be and not contagious. Duke wanted out of there!

‘I’ll get the suits destroyed,’ continued the Doctor, running a hand through his mass of brown hair, and speaking to Gould. ‘Not that there’s an issue with them, just protocol, you know.’ His brows, thick and bushy, worked up and down with a life of their own as he spoke. He was in complete contrast to the other Doctor who was stick thin and with a head of red hair and looked like a lighted match.

‘Any idea why Michelle doesn’t talk, Doc?’

Doctor Mitchell turned his attention to Duke. ‘No, none I’m afraid. It must be the trauma of whatever happened to her, compounded by your little episode. Poor little love.’

‘Whatever happened to her? She got The Death!’

‘I’m not so sure,’ the Doctor began. ‘If she did have it there is no sign at all, never was. We had her blood too, long before yours. If you got it from her I don’t know how.’

‘A mild case? I don’t know, all I do know is Michelle had it, I had it and now we’re both clear.’

Sly cut into the conversation. ‘Is she going to be staying with you and Hannah, Duke?’

‘Well, I think the little lady’s grown on me, and I’m sure Hannah will feel the same.’

Duke looked across at the big blue eyes. Michelle swung her legs back and forth, sitting on the side of the bed.

‘Don’t tell her I said so but, I know Hannah is gonna kinda like you.’ Duke found he spoke differently when speaking to Michelle, but he didn’t feel silly speaking in a slightly childlike voice in front of the men. It seemed natural.

Michelle smiled back and swung her legs harder and faster. She looked funny in her scaled down Army uniform, specially made for her by one of the female soldiers. Duke had to make do with the real thing, his old clothes having been incinerated. He didn’t much like the Multi-terrain kit, much preferring his older style Combat 95 gear, but beggars can’t be choosy, and no one had expected either of them to live long enough to wear them for long.

‘I think the best idea is that you are seen by the people, Duke, you know, let them know you’re well again.’ Gould said.

Duke nodded; he could see the sense in that.

‘We’ll go to Coast Town, see how everyone is down there, let them know I’m alive. Then we’ll go home. Would you like to see the seaside, Michelle?’

WO1 Sly Gould stood back from the small group. His face had been pained, the other side of the glass, but now he had stepped into the sealed Lab the pressure came off him in waves.

‘I’ll be happy to take you to Coast Town, Duke.’

Duke looked up and smiled. Gould, dressed in civilian clothing, smiled warmly back.

‘Cool.’ Duke said. ‘But first, where’s that woman of mine?’

3.

Hannah had been in tears. She ran into Duke’s arms and her whole body seemed to shake with wracking sobs as she smothered his face in kisses.

‘Don’t ever scare me again like that, Duke. Not ever!’

Duke held her face in his hands, kissed Hannah’s nose. ‘The baby? Is the baby okay?’

Hannah nodded her head vigorously. ‘Yeah, everything’s fine. The Doctors here are good.’

‘Yeah, I know but, you’re a quack, too. Are you okay with how things are?’

Hannah laughed. ‘I was a student Doctor, Duke. I wasn’t even halfway through and babies were not my forte but, yes, I’m fine and the baby is doing well.’

There was a tugging at Duke’s right leg. ‘I’d like to introduce someone.’ Duke said, smiling.

Hannah looked down and her face melted. She dropped down, brushed hair from Michelle’s face and screamed out, ‘Oh my God! Oh my