A sharp crack sound, like that of a distant rifle interrupted his progress.
It came from behind him, likely from the church.
He paused, not liking being in such an exposed position.
Before he could move, several more cracks blasted out into the night followed by the familiar, yet terrifying wail of the undead.
Steiner threw himself up to the wall and looked back towards the cemetery.
He could see flashes of light, like tiny pinpricks on the horizon.
It was the telltale sign of the start of a battle.
Whoever was at the church was in an unenviable position.
The sound of the wailing and groaning of the dead changed, as though they were outside the door.
The sound was louder and more distinct, there was a good reason for it as Steiner soon discovered.
Three of the undead stumbled inside, arms reached out and mouths open and dripping with the foul blood he’d seen too many times.
These creatures wore the uniforms of his unit, the Ost Battalion, one even carried a Kar98K rifle on his shoulder, though he appeared to show no signs of trying to use it.
Stepping backwards Steiner tripped over the bottom stair of the staircase.
Dropping to the ground he knocked his lower back and shoulder blades hard into the wooden steps.
A jolt of pain seared through his body and he cried out for a moment.
The view of the undead moving towards him soon snapped him out of his daze though, and in one quick motion he lifted up his submachine gun and emptied a score of rounds into the torsos of the creatures.
Each one of the 7.62mm bullets ripped through the creatures’ soft flesh, tearing out chunks as they exited the bodies.
The burst sent them back through the door and into a crumpled mess on the ground.
He lifted himself up and moved quickly to shut the heavy oak door.
He got it half closed before another small group tried to force their way in.
Pushing with all his might he couldn’t quite make it.
The numbers started to push him back; there was no way he could get the door shut.
A voice behind Steiner called out in French.
He didn’t know what words the man was saying but the intent was clear.
At the top of the stairs was a very old man, perhaps the priest for the area.
The man was leaning against the banister rail, a bloody bandage tied across his shoulder and neck.
In his hands he carried a double barrel hammer lock shotgun.
With a booming sound that deafened Steiner he fired two shots, filling the open area with lead pellets and shredding the undead where they stood.
Steiner immediately ran back to the door and jammed it shut, securing it with the heavy lock from the inside.
He then picked up his PPSH that was still on the ground and ran up the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him.
Steiner reached the same level as the man and before he could speak the strange old man gestured to the arch to the right, leading off behind him.
As Steiner walked past him he noted the bandolier of shotgun shells he was carrying, slung across his body.
Even more unusual was the fact that he was carrying a large axe, it was thrust into a rough brown belt around his waist.
As Steiner continued along the landing he noticed a large number of bodies dotted about, some on the floor, others up against the walls, slouched as though they had been dumped there.
Against the walls were the tell tale signs of a bloody close quarter fight.
Behind Steiner the firing continued as the old man fired more shots down the staircase.
He could hear a pounding sound coming from the front door, it was as if the creatures were trying to knock down the door using just their bodies.
A crashing sound of glass indicated that something was trying to enter through the lower windows.
The pounding now started in one of the lower rooms until just seconds later multiple arms appeared through the entrance to one of the rooms near the entrance.
The barricaded door ripped open as more of the creatures poured inside, they must be a lot stronger than their decaying bodies suggested.
The old man fired another two shots and then proceeded to load more shells.
Four of the creatures started to move up the stairs, another dozen milled around near the entrance.
Steiner lifted his weapon to his shoulder and fired a short burst, finally expending his ammunition.
The bullets slowed down those on the stairs but didn’t stop them.
Throwing down the weapon he pulled at the old man to leave.
Turning to face Steiner he could now see the man’s skin was pale and his wounds were deep and fatal.
Quite frankly Steiner was amazed the old man wasn’t one of the creatures already.
He pulled off his bandolier and thrust it and his shotgun into Steiner’s hands.
He shoved the German soldier into the large room at the end of the landing and then slammed the door shut behind him.
Steiner spun around, trying to open the door.
It was securely locked and he couldn’t open it without tools of some kind.
Lowering himself he peered through the keyhole, looking to see what was happening.
He could just make out the shapes of several of the creatures making their way along the landing to the old man.
Looking hard to his right he spotted the man, wielding the heavy axe and in the middle of taking one of the thing’s head clean off with the weapon.
The last thing Steiner saw was the old man rushing off to the stairs, hacking with his axe as he went.
Steiner simply couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Turning around he looked into the room.
In the centre he saw a body laid out on the table with bullet wounds in the chest and head, presumably one of the people here had turned on them.
There was blood everywhere as well as more bodies.
Two men, one in his early fifties and another who looked like a labourer came in from the other side.
The older man beckoned for him to follow them.
They moved away, Steiner didn’t want to leave the old man though and lifted a chair in the room, ready to strike at the door.
The older of the two men grabbed his hand and spoke quickly.
“You must leave him, we can do nothing for him now.”
Steiner looked confused; looking over his shoulder he could hear the sound of howling and fighting on the staircase.
A single gunshot rang out and the sound of the fight immediately vanished, to be replaced by the scratching and movement of the creatures.
“Crazy bastard!” muttered Steiner to himself.
He lowered the chair, not happy with the fact that the old man appeared to have been killed.
He followed the two men out of the room and into a smaller storage room.
There he found another man who was loading a rifle with bullets.
There was a table to one side with a handgun resting on it along with what looked like an empty magazine.
Steiner looked around, taking in more details.
There were piles of tools and a bizarre mixture of weapons including a pitchfork, several shovels and what looked like decorative swords that must have been pulled from the walls of the house.
The man loading the rifle spoke first in German.
“If you want to live you need to come with us,” he said.
Steiner, a little surprised at both his comments and the fact that he was speaking in German, said nothing.
“Those things have most of the house now, we need to get out of here,” the man continued.
Steiner regained his thoughts and put a hand on the man’s upper arm.
“Who are you and what happened?” he asked.
The man looked frustrated, especially as the two older men were beckoning for them to keep moving into the next room.
He got up from his chair, explaining briefly to Steiner.
“I am a photographer from Der Angriff.
I was heading back from visiting the Atlantic defences when we were attacked,” he answered.
“We?” asked Steiner.
The oldest of the three men left the room, signalling for them to follow.
The photographer did so and Steiner stayed with them, entering a long hallway with paintings down one side.
The photographer continued, “Yes, these men were in the truck with me when we crashed, not far from here.
There were others but they were killed by those things outside.”
The small group entered another room facing the south of the building.
The older man shut the door behind them and proceeded to drag a heavy desk over to it, barricading it from the hallway.
Steiner gestured towards the direction they had just left from, “What about the man on the stairs?”
The photographer sighed, “Yes, he was a good man.
He was one of those bitten after the crash.
They turn into monsters after they’re bitten, you know?”
Steiner nodded; he was familiar with these things.
“He didn’t want us to kill him so he went out through the door to kill as many as he could.”
There was an uncomfortable silence that Steiner quickly broke.
“Isn’t there anything you can do for him?”
“No,” answered the man who looked like a labourer, “once you’re bitten we think you only have an hour or so and then you turn into one of them.
The only thing he wanted us to do was to let him go and kill them.”
Steiner slumped down, exhausted and confused.
The older man looked up and down at him, noticing the insignia on his uniform.
“How about you, your unit is based nearby isn’t it?”
Steiner explained what had happened at the tank and then his minor saga in evading the creatures to get to the house.
The photographer took in all the details, seemingly intrigued about the church and the people Steiner thought were hiding there.
“Do you have any idea how many are in the church?” he asked.
Steiner was confused by the man’s almost obsessive interest in the church.
He looked over to the other man, trying to get a better idea as to what was going on.
He then turned back to answer the question.
“No idea.
Right now I’m more concerned with what we are going to do,” he replied.
The older man moved to the window and looked out towards the church.
He sounded excited as he explained what he saw.
“I can see lots of the creatures now, and it looks like they’re trying to get into the church.”
Almost at the same time came a flurry of gunshots along with the buzzing sound of machinegun fire.
He looked at Steiner without saying anything else.
More shots started as a number of people began some kind of firefight, presumably at the church.
The photographer spoke first, “We can use this as a diversion to escape to the main road and try and get to the Orne Bridge and the army base there.”
Steiner turned his head in disagreement.
“I don’t think so.
Have you seen how many of those things are out there?
We could try to get over there though,” he gestured to the church, “and give them a hand.
What if those creatures are at the bridge, we’ll never make it.
Whoever is at the church seems to have plenty of weapons and ammunition, more than we have.”
Steiner picked up a slightly curved sword; it was a well made 1890 French cavalry trooper’s sword.
He looked at it, somewhat confused that it would be in a vicarage of all places.
The weapon had a well used brass hilt and a triple bars to protect the hand.
The blade was firmly housed inside its steel scabbard.
He pulled at the hilt, drawing the weapon to reveal a pristine blade.
The edge was fine and unmarked, evidently it had seen little to no use.
He gently touched the edge of the blade, it was still sharp.
He’d practiced fencing as a boy, though this was a world way from the weapons he had used.
He had even been considered for the German team in the ‘36 Olympics but had just missed out.
The man stepped away from the window.
He moved up to the German soldier, looking intently at the sword he was examining.
He looked up at Steiner and spoke, “Okay, what do you have in mind, soldier?”
Steiner, the rugged but tired soldier from the Ost Battalion looked a sight.
His uniform was filthy and his tunic was torn.
He had a fresh cut on his cheek and looked every part the rogue.
He pulled the bandolier of shotgun shells over his shoulder, looking like some kind of Mexican bandit.
In his left hand he held the steel scabbard and in his right he held out the sword.
He slid the blade back inside its sheath and pushed it inside his belt.
With his hands free he lifted the shotgun from the table and then looked directly at the old man.
He gave him a sly grin.