The Undead: Day 22

by Haywood, R. R.

  ‘Yes, yes, Corporal…’

  ‘Good lad,’ Blowers says, grinning for the first time. ‘Clear your weapon, fresh magazine, hydrate…’

  Into the Saxon. Drive to another town. Out and make ready.

  ‘YOU ARE CRUEL,’ a lone figure walking towards them, shot by Dave, then the rest come, charging and wild.

  ‘FIRING LINE…MAKE READY…FIRE!’

  ‘Guess who’s back bitches,’ Cookey laughs in the Saxon after the next one. The energy flowing again. Faces animated.

  ‘Drink, Danny,’ Nick tells him. ‘Here, eat that, mate,’ a snack bar chucked over. ‘You’re doing well, you okay?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah good,’ Danny says.

  Next town. Out. Make ready. They come without warning this time. Simply charging. They still die.

  Saxon. Drink. Eat. ‘You okay, Danny?’ Paula asks.

  ‘Yes, Ma’am, fine…thank you.’

  Town to town on a linear path with a balls-out show of aggression. Hundreds killed. Thousands even.

  Afternoon battle in another nameless town. Everyone hot. Everyone working and even Danny feels the difference. There’s far more now. Many times the number they had before and it’s not long before they’re fighting a retreat into a large collapsing circle with Danny once again thinking they’ll be overrun.

  ‘BLOWERS…’ Clarence roars, standing taller than everyone else and seeing a narrower road beyond the lines of attacking infected. ‘CLEAR THAT JUNCTION…WE’LL HOLD THESE…’

  ‘ON IT…CHARLIE…GO…MY TEAM, OBJECTIVE IS THAT JUNCTION. HAND WEAPONS…MAKE READY.’

  That’s when Danny first sees the damage a horse can do, or rather, what Jess and Meredith can do with a vicious, brutal charge into the enemy. The huge horse battering them aside to clear a path into which Blowers and his team run screaming hell for fury. Danny with them. Terrified to the core with his axe gripped and swinging. Axe. No lesson. Hit them with it.

  Blood everywhere, spraying all over them. He swings out wildly, not realising that Nick and Cookey work his flanks to keep him safe or that Mo stays at his back. Then it becomes too much, and he’s gone too deep. Isolated and trapped. Swinging round with his axe and seeing only infected and none of his own team. A mistake made. An error given. He screams out to fight on but senses the end is about to happen and the infected close in for the kill as a man mountain roars past, driving them back with Clarence in full Berserker mode.

  Howie goes past, slamming into the lines with a ferocity that make them wilt back. Danny sees it right at that point. The sheer animalistic nature of Howie and the absolute violence within him that makes him move with a speed that isn’t right.

  Fight little brother. An essence of a voice in his head. Not a voice. A being. A will exerted. Pack fight. The feeling he had before when he got angry and Kieron locked him in the storeroom, only a hundred times more powerful and he feels them. The dog, Howie, all of them. In his mind. Not their voices but their essence, their will, their energy from one to another.

  A thing of unity. A hive mind.

  Then it’s over and he stands heaving for air with blood dripping down his arms amidst a sea of broken human forms. The stench of it. The metallic tang of iron mixed with shit, piss and sweat. Innards everywhere. Bones showing.

  He pukes hard with hot bile burning his throat, bent over and thinking he will drop until strong hands grip to hold then someone presses a bottle of cool water to his lips while someone else pours more water over his head.

  ‘Good work,’ Howie’s voice, close and hard from the bloodlust flowing. ‘Good lad, one of us, Danny.’

  Hands patting his back, ruffling his hair. Good work. Good lad. You did well. One of us.

  ‘He’s a squaddie alright,’ Blowers laughs. ‘Don’t go so bloody deep next time, bellend…’

  ‘Yes, Corporal,’ Danny says, grinning widely.

  Nine

  Day Fourteen.

  The second Gregori wakes he knows someone is up before him. The day is still early, dawn barely here as he steps out from his room and spots the boy’s empty bed.

  He moves silently to stare down the corridor to the back of the boy bent over the table. A box of Frosties open next to him. A bowl full of the crunchy cereal and a carton of juice with a straw poking out the top as the child hums quietly while drawing with his crayons.

  Gregori goes back to his room and spots Cassie’s door ajar and becomes trapped in a second’s worth of thought before moving to peer through the gap at her sleeping form that makes him feel funny inside.

  The night was incredibly hot. Close and sticky. A storm coming with a pressure pushing down that makes the air thick enough to chew. He slept in his boxers without covers and he can see Cassie has done the same, lying in just her bra and knickers on her back, her arms splayed out. Her legs open slightly, one knee bent up, her hair spread out on the pillows. Her chest rising and falling. Her mouth slightly open.

  An urge steals through him. A lust to do what he did with the prostitute girls. His breathing deepens, his heart hammering so loud he thinks she will hear it and wake. Then he spots himself in the mirror above the dresser and repulses at the sight of his pock-marked skin and his awful bulging eyes and the sick, lustful expression that makes him pull back and away, turning swiftly towards the bathroom and the cold waters of the shower. He was called the uglyman for a reason. That’s why they gave him prostitutes because no woman in their right mind would touch him willingly.

  He washes quickly, soaking his hair in gel and feeling the shiver of cold water in the hot air. A tap at the door.

  ‘I wash,’ he says quickly.

  ‘I’m bursting,’ Cassie calls through, her voice heavy with sleep.

  ‘I wash,’ he says again but the door opens a crack and he peers around the edge of the curtain as she peers around the door.

  ‘Need a wee, go back,’ she says, waving him away. ‘I’m going to burst…’

  She comes in without waiting, rushing for the toilet as he pulls back, shocked that he saw the cheeks of her bum as she turned while tugging her knickers down.

  ‘Boy!’ she snaps, grunting with annoyance. ‘He’s pissed on the seat again…it’s all over my bum. Disgusting…’

  Gregori stands still under the flow, listening to her rustling and moving about.

  ‘Unless it was you?’

  ‘I no wee wee on the seat.’

  ‘Good,’ she mutters. Then he hears it. The tinkle of her urinating, and despite all the things he has done in his life, he finds it both mesmerising and appalling at the same time. Gregori can remove the internal organs from the human body with surgical precision. He has done so many times. From women too but right now he cocks his head over and stands with his mouth hanging open at the noise. And that noise goes on too. And keeps going on.

  ‘Drank a lot of water,’ she calls out.

  He listens, it goes on.

  ‘Stop listening…you’re making me self-conscious…’

  ‘I no…’

  ‘Why is it so hot?’

  ‘I not…’

  ‘It’s too hot. I’m all sticky…’

  He stares at the curtain before glancing down at his penis and starting with shock at the physical reaction he is having.

  ‘You okay?’ she asks, hearing him mutter and move quickly.

  ‘Is big…is cold! Shower…cold is good.’

  ‘Right. Well, shout me when you’re done so I can jump in.’

  ‘Jump in.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I no say this.’

  He washes quickly, willing his erection to go down then hops out to towel off while thinking of her weeing in the same room as him and the sight wedged in his mind of her bum when she turned to tug her knickers down. When he goes out he does so quickly, rushing past her room with a suppressed yelp at the sight of her standing in her bra and knickers with her hands on her hips.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she calls out.

  ‘FINE…IS FINE…’
>
  They meet again on the landing. Both dressed. Both cleaned and ready for the day.

  ‘Breakfast?’ she enquires into the suddenly awkward silence.

  Into the kitchen. She aims for the stove, putting water on to boil while he moves to the back door, pulling the locks and bolts back.

  ‘And how are you?’ she asks, kissing the boy’s head.

  ‘Fine, Casseeee,’ he mumbles, lost in his drawings.

  ‘Stop weeing on the toilet seat…hmmm? Are you listening?’ she pulls a sheet out, looking at the circles he drew last night and the precision of them, like something a machine would make. Then she spots the other pages. The ones he has done this morning. ‘Jesus…did you do these?’ she asks. Something in her voice catches Gregori’s attention who turns from the door, moving back to look down at the sheets on the table and in her hands.

  The first one she picks up is filled with stick figures holding what look like crudely drawn axes and a big dog. All of them drawn in dark colours, black and dark blues and dark greens. Red used to show the blood on the axes cutting into other stick figures drawn in lighter colours. Dozens of the same things drawn over and over on the page with battles and fights underway. Poorly drawn with a skill expected of a child his age.

  Then she picks up another sheet, as Gregori shifts the pages on the table.

  From crudely drawn oddly proportioned stick figures without joints or bends in their arms and legs to the ones that show elbows, knees, better-proportioned limbs and facial expressions.

  She notices all of the people holding axes are angry with downturned mouths whereas all of the victims in the lighter colours are happy and smiling with red only used to show blood and their eyes. That the lighter colour figures are infected is obvious.

  The next sheets show a marked transition again with scale and depth used to reflect the fighting. The dark figures now given comparable size. The first one with a blob of curly dark hair. The one behind him much smaller. The one after that is huge with thick limbs. Women too given shape with bulges for boobs and hair on their heads.

  Cassie looks from the pages in her hands to those on the table. Seeing where the boy has used softer, lighter strokes with an increase in skill. A huge explosion in one picture. Bodies flying through the air, all of them smiling and happy while the darker figures look up with angry faces.

  ‘Jesus,’ she murmurs the word when Gregori slides a sheet of paper out that shows a dog tearing a person apart. Deftly drawn and way beyond the level of competence on the others. The face of the victim tragic and happy at the same time. Not a stick figure either but more of an image captured by an angst-ridden teen skilled in art. The dog too, clearly a German Shepherd. The shades used to reflect the variances in fur colour.

  ‘Paco Maguire,’ she whispers, seeing a face peering from a sheet. The Hollywood actor drawn in crayon. ‘Oh Jesus…’ she spots the other sheets. So many of them all containing the face of a man with dark curly hair. His eyes deep, dark and brooding. The viewpoint from the front, from the left and right capturing his profile. Dark angry shades. His nose harsh, his jaw harsher.

  Other faces. A man with blond hair and lighter eyes. A good-looking man. A huge bald man. A small man with close-cropped hair. The skill increasing with each one to that of an accomplished artist.

  Gregori pulls another one out. A breath-taking image of a stunning woman. Thick lustrous hair. Plump lips, sensual and captivating. Cassie hates her on sight and with a surge of jealousy she snatches the page out from under Gregori’s hand. More pictures of the same woman. All of them showing her beauty but a cruel beauty it is. A coldness there. A sadistic venom in her eyes.

  The boy sits back, nonchalantly eating cereal and as he moves so Cassie and Gregori see the image he was drawing. The dark curly-haired man looking furious while surrounded by smiling men and women holding him down while a human heart is pushed into his mouth. The blood spraying out down the man’s chin. The people surrounded him all with red eyes but earnest as though giving aid to a wild angry demon.

  ‘Can we play frisbee today?’ the boy asks.

  Gregori looks back to the first picture drawn. The crude stick figures then to the last one and the deft skill used. It’s not right. It’s wrong. What he is seeing is wrong.

  Cassie feels the same thing. A weird sensation inside. That the world is skewed and off-kilter. Each of the drawings is organic and if placed in a row you could see the development of an artist that would take years, more than a decade. Not a couple of hours.

  ‘Is this Howie?’ she asks, pointing at the image of the man pinned down with a heart shoved in his mouth. That he is the main focus throughout is obvious with the beautiful woman a close second.

  The boy nods.

  ‘Who is that?’ she asks, prodding one of the pictures of the beautiful woman.

  ‘Marceee,’ the boy replies, reaching for a handful of Frosties.

  ‘Marcy, she was bitten by Darren…which one is he?’ Cassie asks.

  ‘Darren is deaded.’

  ‘Dead,’ Cassie corrects him then spots Gregori staring at a picture of Marcy. ‘Look at you drooling.’

  He blinks, looking at her. ‘What this?’

  ‘You,’ she snaps, ‘dribbling all over it…’

  ‘I not know this.’

  ‘Wank bank yeah?’ she asks, ditching the sheets on the table.

  Gregori pauses, thinking she just said a rude word but not quite understanding the context or meaning.

  She crosses to the stove, taking the pan of boiling water to pour into a mug then adds long-life milk and a spoon of sugar before turning to see him staring expectantly.

  ‘What wanky bank?’ he asks.

  ‘Ask Marcy.’

  ‘Can we play frisbee now?’

  They won’t play frisbee for three reasons. The first being that Cassie cannot risk the disc going into the treeline again, the second being that it’s too hot to move, let alone chase things about outside and the third being that Cassie has a plan in mind. Plus the fact she’s feeling a psychotic rage at the thought of Gregori staring at that picture.

  ‘Come on, get washed and changed,’ she tells the boy curtly. They go off together, the boy cooling off in the shower while Cassie sorts his clothes for the day. ‘Finished?’ she asks in the bathroom.

  ‘Yes, Casseeee…we can’t to the fort today.’

  ‘We’re not going to the fort any day,’ she says, drying him off.

  ‘We can tomorrow,’ he says earnestly.

  ‘Okay,’ she says, thinking it’s easier to just go along with it.

  ‘When Howie doesn’t live there.’

  ‘Howie is moving out is he? Right anyway, you remember what we said about? Our secret yes? Daudi in the supermarket? Do you remember?’

  He nods quickly, his wet head bobbing up and down.

  ‘Is it done?’ she asks quietly.

  He carries on nodding.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  The nod keeps going.

  ‘Good boy, let’s get you dressed and hopefully we can have a swim later.’

  Gregori drinks the coffee he made himself while looking at the pictures while also wondering why Cassie got angry at him for looking at the beautiful woman. She is beautiful though. He looks again, pulling one closer.

  ‘Oh my god, you’re like a dog on heat,’ Cassie snaps, striding in as he turns away quickly.

  ‘I just look,’ he says as innocently as a serial killer can.

  She arches an eyebrow, folding her arms and holding position in such a way that makes him squirm and think again about shooting her. ‘Anyway, my handsome, we’re going out today,’ she says lightly, switching into nice Cassie with a big smile. ‘I want solar panels, remember? And the car has air-conditioning…’

  He scowls, thinking he does not want to go out today and maybe they should hang around the house and do normal things that are good for the boy.

  ‘And I thought we could get a pool,’ she adds.

  �
�Pull?’

  ‘Pool, for swimming. You know, one of those big inflatable things. Fill it with water and we can splash about…’

  His mind fills with an image of Cassie splashing about and in that image she is wearing a bikini and strangely, he thinks of her weeing again. ‘Yes,’ he says deeply, seriously, ‘is good for boy…exercise yes…’

  ‘Good man,’ she says, giving him a wink before sashaying off.

  Into the car where all three sit and simply savour the pleasure of the air-conditioning bringing the absurd temperature down. The air so thick that even walking from the house to the car made them sweat. Still, she has a plan and if it works the effort will be worth it.

  ‘Into town,’ she says as he pulls away. ‘Music?’ she asks lightly, choosing a song she knows he likes. ‘This weather? It’s just crazy…’ she pulls her top out from her body, wafting it a few times. ‘Makes you want to sit naked doesn’t it?’

  She keeps the chat going, nice and easy, nice and light. Distraction without being obvious. The boy sits in the back, singing along to the music as the big vehicle goes through the country roads. She stays relaxed as they near the junction and reaches out to turn the volume down. ‘Can you swim?’ she asks.

  ‘Yes,’ he says.

  ‘I’m not a good swimmer,’ she says conversationally, her keen eyes glancing forward as the junction comes into view. ‘It will be good in this heat though…oh look, what’s happened there? Slow down…’

  His eyes snap over to the junction, taking in the big sign.

  Hillside Luxury Boutique Hotel and Spa.

  A body in the road where the tarmac meets the gravel of the driveway. Another one a few feet away and a dead woman slumped against the post beneath the sign saying no more survivors.

  Gregori slows, easing his foot off but ready to power on again. His eyes reading the positions and clues that tell him the people were taken down as they fled.

  ‘Oh now that’s awful,’ Cassis says sadly. ‘Pull over…’

  ‘No stop here,’ he says.

  ‘Just pull over, they might need help.’

  He looks at her, surprised at the show of concern that he wouldn’t expect to see. ‘They dead…’