The Undead Day Twenty

by RR Haywood

  ‘ENOUGH,’ Paula screams out again. Her heart thundering as Marcy fights to get on her feet. ‘ENOUGH…Marcy, Marcy you have to stop him…Marcy…Marcy listen to me!’

  ‘Can’t hold him,’ Clarence roars, staggered at the strength of the man winning against the weight of him, Roy, Blowers, Nick, Cookey, Roy and Blinky. Still Howie fights. Still he rises for nothing will hold him back. Nothing will stop him. He is death. He is power that rises to fight back against the darkness.

  ‘Marcy please,’ Paula begs through the rage still inside her. Tears coursing down her face. ‘Marcy…stop him…please…Marcy…’

  ‘PAULA…’ Clarence bellows. ‘DO SOMETHING…’

  ‘Get her over there,’ Paula grunts the words out to Charlie. The pair of them fighting Marcy to drag her screaming towards Howie. Marcy fights back. Her mind gone. Her senses vanished.

  ‘Help us…’ Paula flails from a hand striking her face. Her eyes find Heather. ‘Help us damn you…’

  Heather goes in. She goes fast with Paco at her side. Dave and Mo move back, pistols still drawn to assess every moving creature within sight.

  ‘Hold her,’ a female voice followed by a sensation of utter strength from two hands that grip Marcy to lift her up off the floor. Paco holds her with ease. His red eyes staring into her soul. His arms stretched in front. Marcy held tight, unable to move.

  ‘Listen to me…’ Paula grabs her face, forcing her to look. ‘Howie will kill him…stop him…you have to stop him…’

  The fight drains. The fury sinks to the realisation of what has been caused. Marcy nods, small and scared at first but firmer and deeper as her sense comes back.

  ‘Let her go,’ Paula says.

  ‘Let go, Paco.’

  Paco lets go. Marcy drops inches to the floor to be held by Charlie, Paula and Heather. She turns to go before balance is gained and trips to stumble across the ground to the pile of bodies holding him down. She goes to his head and drops flat to place her hands on his face. He headbutts up, slamming into her mouth. She shakes it off, spits blood and goes back down as the mound lifts from the strength in him.

  ‘I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU…’

  ‘Stop,’ a simple word spoken simply. Her hands in his hair. Her voice in his ear. ‘Howie…stop…’

  He cannot stop. He will not stop. He will kill and kill until there is nothing left alive.

  ‘Howie…stop now…you have to stop. I love you. I love you. Stop now. I love you…’

  He will not stop. He will never stop. Reginald watches on. His body trembling from the surge of emotions but still his mind takes it in and works furiously to understand what he is seeing.

  ‘Stop. Howie, stop…Reggie didn’t mean it…he needed to make you angry. Stop, Howie…’

  Her voice in his ear.

  Stop now. Howie, you have to stop now.

  Her voice in his head.

  Soothing.

  The darkness recedes. A tide pulling back but one that will remain watchful and ready to come again.

  He feels the others there. He feels the essence of them and in turn they feel that acceptance flow into him. The hive mind as they knew it descends. Meredith urging him to stop. Pack don’t fight pack. Pack don’t fight pack. Clarence’s strength. Blowers’ pure loyalty. Cookey’s love. Nick’s integrity. Charlie’s intelligence and passion. Blinky’s bravey. Roy’s terrified spirit that summons the strength to keep going. Paula’s leadership. Marcy’s love. Lilly’s immense brutality to protect those she loves. Dave and Mo with them but not part of them. Two more. Two more that are new. Heather who watches on, feeling them as they feel her. Paco. They feel him too. His absolute devotion to Heather and hers to him. They are as one but within the whole. They sense Paco as a soul repairing. They feel the frustration of his own limits.

  Howie opens his eyes to feel Marcy’s tears streaming down to land on his cheeks. Her face flushed red. Sweat on her skin.He rises as they draw back to twist and take her into his arms. She falls into him. None of them could know what would happen. Paula places her hand on Marcy. Clarence reaches forward, drawing the two of them in.

  Paula sinks down. Her arms wrapping round them. Her forehead rests on the back of Marcy’s head. Feeling the closeness of Clarence. Feeling the closeness of them all.

  ‘Clear,’ Dave says, holstering his pistols. He looks over to Mo still holding Maddox down. Eye contact held between the student and the teacher. Mo holsters one pistol but keeps the other pressing into Maddox’s forehead. Another dig from his kneecap. Maddox coughs, trying to draw air. Mo holsters the other pistol. His face dispassionate. His eyes cold but there is pain inside. Hurt too. He idolised Maddox. They all did. They worshipped him. The man could do no wrong. Now he looks down and sees only Jagger and being forced away from the others while Lani was left alone.

  He looks back to see Dave still watching him. Mo Mo’s life is at a junction with one foot on either path and now is the time to choose. Be like Dave and be cold, be dispassionate and see the moves of the game, or, be like he was. He looks down at Maddox and chooses Dave. He chooses that path knowing it means more hardship than he can ever imagine. He chooses to be hit and struck by Dave because of the honour and privilege of what he is being taught. The choice is made but one foot still hovers on the old path for a few more seconds. He smiles. The old Mo smiles and looks down.

  ‘You’s fucked up innit bruv,’ he says, revelling in the taste of his old voice and knowing there is no greater insult to be given to someone like Maddox than what he is about to do. He slaps him. He slaps him once with an open hand across the cheek and rises to look down in glorious distaste while he sucks his teeth. ‘For Jagger, you get me?’

  He turns his back and takes the other path. Walking from Maddox to his team that hold one of their own while Dave watches Maddox. Watching for reprisal. Watching his students back.

  Eight

  Lilly smiles. She can’t help it. The man is funny, the way he speaks, the lilt of his voice and the twinkle in his eye. He sees her smile and frowns lightly. She’s what, sixteen? Seventeen? Eighteen at a push but clearly not intimidated at all. He looks round at the others with her. An old woman with short grey hair looking distinctly unamused. A man with his shirtsleeves folded neatly over his elbows in a way that screams squaddie. Two women, one mixed race with dark frizzy hair and the other a redhead. A few more nearby but not many, a couple of old soldiers further down perhaps but not nearly as many as he has. Still, it doesn’t seem to bother the young woman though.

  ‘Ah now,’ he says, smiling again. ‘We’ll be at that impasse again,’ his accent thick but light, something nice about it, a sort of Irish twang that lilts like he’s speaking a poem with everything he says.

  ‘It appears so,’ Lilly says politely, returning his smile with one eyebrow lifting slightly.

  ‘You see now,’ the man says, shifting in his seat, ‘may I get out? Would that be okay now would it? It’s a hot day so it is.’

  ‘Of course,’ Lilly says, stepping back from the front passenger door. ‘But your people will remain in the vehicle.’

  ‘A few moments won’t hurt ‘em so it won’t,’ the man says, opening the door of his extra-long wheel base white van.

  Lilly flicks her gaze to the open sliding door and the dozen or so men inside and smiles that polite smile. They smile back. Eyes twinkling. Heads nodding.

  ‘How are you now?’

  ‘Hello, Miss.’

  ‘She’s a lovely smile.’

  ‘How you do now?’

  ‘Hello, Miss.’

  She chuckles at the responses, shaking her head as the man comes out of the front to stretch his weary limbs with a big satisfying groan.

  ‘Is that a Stengun?’ Joan asks from the roadside behind Lilly.

  ‘So it is now,’ one of the men inside the van says, holding the distinctive weapon up with the long magazine shoved in the side.

  ‘Where on earth did you get?’

  ‘Stole it so I did…well
now I say I stole it, my granddaddy stole it if I be honest with you.’

  ‘I see,’ Joan says.

  Tattoos on every arm and nearly every neck. Sun-tanned leathery skin. Thick limbed, thick necked, strong and fit looking men. Soldiers but of a different kind and ones that hold allegiance only to their mothers. Rifles in hands. Pump action shotguns. Pistols. Lugers. Old things, new things. Well used cleaned things held by men who know how to hold them. Magazines in bags at their feet. Knives on belts. Bats, swords and clubs within reach.

  ‘As I said,’ Lilly says once the man finishes his stretching. ‘Weapons are not permitted to be carried inside the fort and you will allow us to search you and your vehicle so we know exactly what is taken in.’

  The man smiles again, showing that puzzled expression. ‘You know who we are?’

  ‘I do,’ Lilly says.

  ‘Are you sure now?’ He asks, glancing to Joan then back to Lilly.

  ‘I believe the correct term to be used is travellers but please do say if that is wrong.’

  ‘No no, travellers is fine,’ the man says, winking to the men in the back of his van.

  ‘She’s a lovely girl.’

  ‘Lovely smile she has.’

  ‘Aye she does,’ the man says, turning back to Lilly. ‘That’s the fort?’ he asks, pointing a thick arm across the sea.

  ‘It is,’ Lilly says, standing politely with her hands behind her back, leaving the rifle hanging from the chest strap across her front. ‘Forgive me, I never asked your name. I’m Lilly. That is Joan, Pea, Sam and that man is Gary.’

  ‘Soldier?’ The man asks, looking at Gary.

  ‘Was,’ Gary says, his weapon held ready with the safety off while he wonders what the hell Lilly is thinking. They’re Pikeys. Gypsies. They shouldn’t be here. She should not be letting them in. Tension in his arms and his bearing. The man notices it and offers a smile that Gary does not return. They’re outnumbered too. The men inside the van look relaxed but Gary can see the way they hold those weapons. If it goes bent he’ll open up in the van and hope the others do the same.

  ‘Is that an accent I hear there?’ Kyle calls out, walking round the back of the van to look down in surprise. ‘Ah now, what have we got here?’ The craggy faced man smiles as he looks inside the van. ‘Hello, son…what on God’s green Earth is that thing?’

  ‘Stengun, Father.’

  ‘I know what it is. Where you getting that from now?’

  ‘Granddady stole it so he did, Father.’

  ‘You got all manner of hardware in here,’ Kyle says, smiling his genial toothy smile.

  Lilly doesn’t show reaction to the Irish accent Kyle slipped into within a couple of words. She doesn’t show reaction to the men inside the van calling him Father either but stands politely with her hands behind her back.

  ‘You the man in charge are you now, Father?’ The man from the front passenger seat asks.

  ‘No, Lilly is in charge here now so she is,’ Kyle replies, sharing a quick glance to Joan who lifts a warning eyebrow at him.

  Gary watches closely. Unblinking but listening and hoping Kyle will see sense and get Lilly to send them away. Even that is a worry though. They’ve seen the fort now. They could come back and try and take over. That’s the problem with Gypsies, they never fuck off completely.

  ‘Kyle,’ Kyle says, holding a hand out to the man.

  ‘Peter,’ the man says, shaking Kyle’s hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Father.’

  ‘Not a priest,’ Kyle says.

  Peter pulls his head back slightly, ‘are you sure, now?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘Ach, as you say,’ Peter says. ‘We’re at an impasse so we are, Father…Kyle.’

  ‘An impasse you say?’ Kyle asks, stepping back to look at Lilly, his eyes flicking to the lack of grip on her rifle and the way she stands so politely with her hands held behind her back. Those same eyes take in Pea and Sam stood a few feet behind her and Joan and Gary both further down at Lilly’s side.

  ‘The young lady says no weapons in the fort,’ Peter says. ‘But I said, politely I did, I said we got the right to defend ourselves so we do…’

  ‘That is correct,’ Lilly says, fielding the comments. ‘On both accounts. No weapons will be carried in the fort, and you do have the right to defend yourselves which you can do with your weapons outside the fort by going elsewhere.’

  ‘But see now,’ Peter says, still smiling, his tone relaxed and easy. ‘We can help you so we can. We’ve got weapons and can provide the security.’

  ‘We have weapons and security,’ Lilly says.

  ‘So I can see,’ Peter says, smiling wider. ‘But you’ll forgive me for mentioning this now and not be taking it as a threat because a threat is not what it is, but you only have a few here.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Lilly says, smiling back at him.

  Peter shakes his head with a comical overt show of confusion that makes Lilly chuckle. ‘You’ll be forgiving me asking another question now but what happens to our weapons?’

  ‘Your weapons will be stored in the armoury. Which is a small room at the back of the fort that is not locked…’ Peter overplays the double take, glancing to his men in the van all of whom lean forward to listen.

  ‘You are free to come and go as you please. If you leave the fort for any reason you may take your weapons with you but of course you will place them back in the armoury should you go back in.’

  ‘Place them back?’ Peter asks, unsure of what he just heard.

  ‘Indeed. You will place them in the armoury when you enter and take them when you leave. It is an honour based system.’

  ‘Honour based you say,’ Peter says, scratching his chin.

  ‘We have doctors, medicines, food and clothing but we also have a great deal of work to do. We need strong people to work.’

  ‘So now, let me get this right. We walk in with our weapons and place them into this armoury.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And this armoury is not locked.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And we can take them back if we want to leave…and you say we can leave when we want?’

  ‘Apart from during the hours of darkness you are free to come and go as you see fit.’

  Peter goes to reply but stops. His mouth forms words again but again he stops and scratches his chin again. He’s missing something. He looks at the men in the van who stare back, shaking heads and shrugging. He looks at the young mesmerising young woman standing with her hands behind her back. She’s not even holding her rifle but there is something in what she just said. A prickle of something. A weird sensation that settles in his gut.

  ‘You know we’re Gypsies right, love?’ The tattooed man holding the Stengun in the van asks.

  ‘I do,’ Lilly says, looking at him so directly he can’t help but smile and ease back in his seat with a glance to Peter.

  ‘Gypsies,’ Peter says to her. ‘Pikeys…’

  Lilly frowns. ‘I dislike that word.’

  Peter blinks. The world is a strange place so it is. He expected opposition but not like this. He expected men with guns to be standing guard refusing entry. Everyone distrusts his kind. He rallies and smiles, bringing back his masterful charm and warm wit. His brown eyes twinkle once again.

  ‘Now, I have to ask,’ Peter says.

  ‘Of course you do,’ Lilly says, her mind always five steps ahead.

  ‘Ach now,’ Peter grins ruefully. ‘What say, hypothetically of course, that people decide to keep their weapons with them inside your fort?’

  ‘Why would they?’ Lilly asks.

  Peter looks inside the van then back at Lilly. ‘Why wouldn’t they, love?’

  ‘My name is Lilly. Not love.’

  ‘I mean no offence there,’ Peter says, smiling a charm offensive. ‘You’re young…’

  ‘We have lots of children in the fort. We do not need people with guns walking around. If we are attacked then of course, we expect every person that
can handle a firearm to assist…’

  ‘But what if they are inside your fort and do not put their guns in your armoury?’

  ‘Oh,’ Lilly says. ‘In that case I would kill them.’

  ‘You’ll do what now there my love?’

  ‘Kill them. I would kill them. In the same way I killed the last people that did such a thing. It would not be tolerated. It would be resolved. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘You did now,’ Peter says.

  ‘But of course,’ Lilly says. ‘We are only a few and you outnumber us already. You have more weapons than we do…’ she brings her hands round to the front knowing every pair of eyes are glued to her. ‘But if I don’t kill you others will. You have heard of Mr Howie? This is his fort. This the fort he returns to. He has only a dozen or so people that fight with him but those dozen kill without hesitation. As do I,’ she says, opening her hands to show the grenade in each that hangs from the pins looped on her fingers.

  ‘Holy fuck she’s got grenades…’

  ‘What the…’

  ‘Look at her hands…’

  ‘I will kill you now and sleep soundly tonight if it means my brother and the children in that fort are safe.’

  ‘Shit,’ Gary mutters, blinking at the sight of the grenades in her hands and realising that’s why she’s in charge.

  ‘Jesus…’

  ‘Father, the wee girl has grenades in her hands.’

  ‘Gentlemen,’ Lilly says, bringing the attention back to her. Rapt attention too. All of them staring open mouthed but she also knows that surprise will not last. ‘As I have made clear. We have honour here…’ she stops at the feeling inside. The same feeling she had before and the same as last night when Howie got angry. It’s stronger now. Much stronger. She breathes in, her eyes hardening instantly.

  ‘Lilly?’ Kyle asks, turning to look down the road.

  ‘Take over,’ she snaps, striding away to gain privacy. The rage is incredible. A pulsating anger inside and she can feel them too. The others. Howie most of all.

  ‘What’s happening there, Father?’ Peter asks, staring after Lilly.

  ‘Is the girl okay, Father?’ One of the men in the van asks.