by RR Haywood
‘I could do that,’ Clarence’s deep voice rumbles out.
Paco stiffens, his upper lip curling back. Meredith runs, cantering at first then powering on as Paco hefts and sends the body sailing through the air to land in the space directly in front of the dog who launches in with a viciously deep snarl. A bite. A rag. The head is torn from the body.
‘Would have thrown him further,’ Clarence mutters.
‘Gosh I need to get down now…’
They all turn from Paco to Reginald dropping to his backside to stare down the windscreen with a look of abject fear. He goes to slide then stops. Goes again and stops. He whimpers, closes his eyes and turns to lie on his belly then slides down the screen with a yelp. He lands on the bonnet, rolling and flailing about until Marcy and Paula reach up to drag him over to the edge then lift him down to the ground.
‘Is that little man alright there, Peter?’ A thick accent mutters behind Lilly.
‘Thank you,’ Reginald says primly, pulling the wedgy out of his backside and plucking his collar back to where it should be. He sets off towards the sea of corpses, tutting and holding his hands away from his body as he gingerly threads a route through the corpses.
‘Well done one and all,’ Reginald calls out. ‘Most satisfying. Indeed. Several hundred here. Yes. Well. Gosh, they are a mess aren’t they? OH MY GOODNESS LOOK OUT…that one moved…someone get him…’
A blur. A shot. A head explodes.
‘Well done, Dave,’ Reginald exclaims, breathless with fright as though he just faced certain death once again. The bluster and pomp hide the eyes flicking to absorb and process. He takes in the men stood round Lilly. The blood on their bodies, the blood on their arms and hands, the blood smeared across their faces from where they wiped those hands across their heads. The same as Maddox. Blood on his hands. Blood everywhere that would have sprayed and landed in tiny droplets that would have gone unnoticed in the midst of the fight. Notions form. Objective. Subjective. Conjecture.
‘Indeed. Yes so well done to all of you for your splendid achievements and so forth but shall we press on? We have much to do. Ah, young Lilly. I watched you from afar but yes, very well done there and gosh, they are some rogues surrounding you aren’t they? Oh my, tattoos on tattoos. Are you Gypsies by any chance?’
‘Reggie!’ Paula whispers.
‘One of yours is he now?’ Peter asks quietly.
‘That’s Reginald,’ Lilly says. ‘He is an exceptionally intelligent man.’
‘Gypsies?’ Reginald asks again, wincing and tutting as he works to avoid treading on anything bleeding, broken or organic in nature.
‘That we are,’ Peter says warily.
‘Indeed. I gathered as much. Related are you? My understanding of your community is that you all tend to be related. Is that true?’
‘Reggie,’ Paula whispers again, trying to stare daggers.
‘There or thereabouts,’ Peter says.
‘Oh gosh they are a filthy bunch aren’t they,’ Reginald says, looking round with distaste at the bodies as he comes to a stop in a carefully selected central position in which everyone can see and hear him. He blusters with pomp, tutting and pushing his glasses up his nose before looking once more to the men with Lilly.
‘I understand your reluctance to impart any information after witnessing such a thing. Truly I do. But I must say I did wonder on the reaction to sub-cultures such as yourselves. Isolated as it were from mainstream society and of course, your propensity for violence and repellent natures…’
‘Stop it,’ Marcy snaps, glaring at him.
‘Now then,’ Reginald says with a wide grin as he nods at the men, then round at the corpses, at Howie, at Clarence, tuts at Marcy then looks at Maddox for several seconds then back to the men standing with Lilly. ‘Now I must ask. Did you lose any before we arrived?’
‘The soldier boy went down so he did,’ Peter says.
‘Gary?’ Howie asks.
‘No I meant any of your kind?’ Reginald asks.
‘Reggie,’ Marcy snaps again.
‘Gary died?’ Howie asks again.
‘He did, Mr Howie,’ Lilly says, knowing she should feel bad but the coldness is still there preventing any other emotion coming forth.
‘The brave bastard ran into them so he did…had a grenade in his hands,’ the man who formerly held the Stengun says. ‘Blew ‘em sky high…bodies flying everywhere…’
‘Good lad,’ Clarence says quietly. ‘That’s brave that is.’
‘Is,’ Blowers says, nodding firmly.
‘Ah yes very sad,’ Reginald says, trying to show a sad face for a split second before carrying on as he was before. ‘Now, were any of the Gypsy men killed?’
‘Oh my god…’ Marcy groans. ‘I am so sorry…’
‘None lost,’ Peter says, inclining his head at Marcy as his men all start smiling and nodding at her.
‘Truly?’ Reginald asks. ‘Well that is interesting. Most interesting. You see I did wonder. I truly did. As I said, your kind tend to be isolated from society and, despite popular opinion that you are all dirty and diseased and have those wild weddings, the truth is actually the polar opposite. Indeed. I am given to understand that the travelling communities have absurdly high standards of hygiene. Brought about of course by residing within the confines of a small habitat and often denied water and cleaning materials by the local residents so yes, yes indeed. I believe you developed very high standards of hygiene with the least waste generated as possible. And of course you have remained remarkably undiluted, one might say inbred, but I believe that is the key here. Is that true?’
Peter doesn’t answer but stares at Reginald as everyone else looks to Charlie.
‘Er, I think what Reginald is saying is that the travelling community are very clean people,’ Charlie says from atop Jess. ‘…and that, by nature of your enclosed community you live separated from everyone else which means the infection would not have spread to you as fast as it did everyone else.’
‘Ah got that now,’ Peter says as his men mutter and nod.
‘She’s a lovely girl so she is.’
‘Lovely horse there.’
‘The other one is a cracker so she is, Peter.’
‘They’re all crackers so they are.’
‘What a smile she has and a wee cut down her face there.’
‘Still a lovely girl though.’
‘That one there is a feisty one now.’
‘Get fucked,’ Blinky says bluntly.
‘Ah now, did you hear that? What a girl!’
‘Patrick is single…Patrick where are you now?’
‘I’m here, Michael. She’s a lovely girl so she is.’
‘I’m gay fucktards,’ Blinky says, holding her middle finger up at them.
‘Have you seen the dog? That’s a big dog that is.’
‘Indeed yes,’ Reginald says benignly, nodding and smiling at the men. ‘Well that is most interesting. Indeed it is. Yes,’ he adds slowly. ‘Well, we must be off. Nice to meet you hearty chaps.’
Howie blinks and looks at Clarence who shrugs. Paula shakes her head as Marcy groans and the others look on. Reginald smiles at the men, nods his head and turns to walk off before stopping and turning back. ‘Oh just one more thing. When did you find out you were immune?’
Twelve
So it turns out, after Reginald did his Columbo impression of oh just one more thing, that the gypsy men knew quite early on they were immune. Peter was bitten on the calf. He went home, got a shotgun, put the end in his mouth and waited. The other men also got their shotguns, machine guns, pistols, rifles, sub-machine guns and general assorted weaponry, aimed them at Peter, and waited. He didn’t turn. A day or so later another man got bit. Again they took to their arms and waited and again he didn’t turn. A woman was bitten. She didn’t turn. One of their kids was bit and didn’t turn. They waited it out for a while then decided, after hearing rumours, to head for the fort.
Now here is where i
t gets interesting. Maddox is also immune. Maddox Doku is on the list Neal had. The list of people believed to have immunity. We are not on that list. We started to ask questions but Reginald clammed up and said he wouldn’t discuss it right now, then he said a bunch of other stuff with really big words. Charlie translated and said our presence would attract the other side. Which takes us back to the original problem. We have a fort but we can’t sodding well use it. Now we are preparing to leave. Which means Paula is making lists and haranguing everyone and I’m sure I heard the words shopping and we need to go somewhere amongst the shouts while I stand outside the front door and drink my bottle of Lucozade.
‘Mr Howie,’ Dave says from behind me in that way that makes me flinch, wince, jerk jump and spray Lucozade with the fright of having a small man with a flat voice say your name without any hint that he is there in the first place.
‘Stop doing that,’ I say with drink dribbling down my chin.
‘Doing what?’
‘That.’
‘What?’
‘Creeping up…you scared the shit out of me.’
‘Okay, Mr Howie.’
‘You alright then?’
‘Yes, Mr Howie. Nicholas and Lilly are upstairs.’
‘Right,’ I say, resuming my Lucozade drinking.
‘I think they are having sex.’
The drink leaves my mouth for the second time.
‘I asked him if he needed my protection.’
‘What?’
‘For his safe sex.’
‘What?’
‘His safe sex. I read it. You should have protection for safe sex. I am trained at close protection…’
‘Not that bloody close…’
‘He said no.’
‘I bet he did.’
‘I told Mohammed to wait outside the door.’
‘You did what? Is Mo still there?’
‘No.’
‘Eh? Why not?’
‘Nicholas asked Mohammed not to wait outside the door.’
‘Did you tell Mo in front of Nick and Lilly?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shit, Dave.’
‘Their sex is not safe now.’
‘It doesn’t mean that, Dave. It means…hang on. What about when me and Marcy had sex?’
‘You had safe sex.’
‘How did we have safe sex?’
‘I gave you protection.’
‘You…seriously? How close were you? Actually, don’t answer that. It means using a condom, Dave.’
‘What does?’
‘Safe sex means using a condom. The condom gives protection…’
He stares at me, his face as devoid of expression as ever.
‘From diseases…’ I add.
He stares at me, his face as devoid of expression as ever.
‘And babies.’
He stares at me, his face as devoid of expression as ever.
‘Dave? Er…forgive me asking but have you ever er…you know…’
‘What, Mr Howie?’
‘Done it.’
‘Done what?’
‘You know.’
‘What?’
‘It.’
‘It?’
‘Yeah. You know…have you ever done it?’
‘Done what?’
‘Fuck’s sake. The subject we were talking about…’
‘Yes.’
‘Really?’
‘Many times, Mr Howie. I am highly experienced.’
‘Are you?’
‘I am an instructor, Mr Howie. I am teaching Mohammed now.’
‘Eh?’
‘Every morning I give Mohammed a hard time in order to…’
‘What?’
‘He did have red cheeks this morning.’
‘What the…’
‘It does get rough but only ever for the principles of instruction and never to harm.’
‘Oh my fucking god…’
‘I pinned him down when he became angry but he needs to...’
‘You can’t do that!’
‘He needs to learn, Mr Howie.’
‘Fuck! Does he let you?’
‘I think he enjoys it, Mr Howie.’
‘But…but…’ I shake my head and blink.
‘Mohammed is good at it, Mr Howie.’
‘Jesus Dave! You can’t…I mean…you have sex with Mo?’
He looks at me like I just shit in his mouth.
‘What the…but…oh my god you mean close protection?’
‘Yes, Mr Howie.’
‘Oh fuck. I am so sorry…fuck…thank fuck…I mean…’
‘Howie, can you come in here please.’
‘Miss Paula is calling you.’
‘Er yeah I heard…fuck I can’t believe we just…you thought and…fuck…’
I walk into chaos but the word chaos tends to suggest a lack of organisation and a wayward haphazard manner but this isn’t. It’s just big is all. It’s a machine that is gathering pace to roll on and now it’s going it won’t stop, and at the centre, in all her glory of power and might is Paula with pen and notepad looking happier than ever before.
‘Jess needs cleaning, feeding and watering. Meredith too. Weapons need cleaning. The Saxon definitely needs cleaning. We need cleaning…everything needs cleaning. Magazines need to be re-filled which means we need more crates of ammunition bringing over from the fort. Charlie? You need a new saddle.’
‘Yes please.’
‘Roy is desperate for more arrows.’ She scribbles on the pad, frowning with focus.
We’re all skirting round the issue of what Reginald didn’t tell us. He said Maddox is on the list and immune. The traveller men are immune too but only a few are on the list but Peter explained that was because they actively avoided away being on any national databases.
None of us are on the list and most of us either donated blood, have been arrested, had operations or gave DNA samples in some form. Certainly, the lads in the military gave DNA samples and both Blinky and Charlie had to give specimens for anti-doping measures.
It doesn’t need a rocket scientist to work out what we are. Not that we didn’t suspect before. We’ve talked about it loads of times but always concluded that we didn’t know what we were. I guess that lack of certainty meant there was always a chance we could be immune instead of infected. I think we were clinging to that hope despite the overwhelming facts staring us in the face. We heal fast. We don’t feel pain like we should. We need very little sleep to keep going. Our energy levels are stupidly high. We have a hive mind. Marcy was a zombie and I had sex with her. Lani was a zombie, then not a zombie, then a zombie again and I had sex with her while she was a zombie, which is actually really gross when I think about it like that. Anyway, so, it kinda all adds up when you look back at it like that. We don’t give it voice though. At least not here and not yet. We are too dignified.
‘So do zombies sleep then?’ Cookey asks, following Marcy down the hallway.
‘I have no idea,’ Marcy says, waving her hands at him.
‘Did you sleep?’
‘Er…yeah, I must have I guess…’
‘What about weeing?’
‘Cookey, I don’t know…’
‘What about periods?’ He asks, following her into the kitchen.
‘Howie!’
Arse. ‘Yes, Paula?’
She comes out from the front room with her hands on her hips. ‘Are those men staying here with Lilly and what about Maddox? Is he coming with us? Charlie needs a new saddle and Roy is desperate for more arrows…we’re nearly out of underwear and…where are you going?’
‘For a poo.’
‘I don’t wish to know that,’ she shouts up the stairs behind me.
‘You asked,’ I stop and smile down.
‘I’ll follow you up,’ she says, mounting the stairs.
‘I’m going for a poo,’ I tell her again.
‘We’ll talk through the door.’
‘What? That’s f
ucking gross…’
‘Why? We’re sharing aren’t we?’
‘Urgh that’s fucked up…’
‘I am joking,’ she says with a huff, stopping halfway up the stairs to frown. ‘I forgot what I was thinking now.’
‘Have a think while I have a poo.’
‘Men are so gross. Hurry up we’re going shopping when we leave.’
‘Supply run.’
‘What is?’ she asks, stopping as she starts back down the stairs.
‘We’re the living army. We don’t do shopping. We do supply runs.’
‘SHOPPING!’ Marcy shouts from somewhere.
‘SUPPLY RUN,’ Clarence shouts from somewhere.
‘What the fuck…’ I back out of the bathroom wafting the air under my nose. ‘Jesus…’ it smells like a badger died in the pipes. A badger covered in shit that rolled in manure and ate garlic for dinner before smearing itself with peanut butter. ‘Dirty badger,’ I go in. There isn’t much choice. Who builds such a nice house and only puts one toilet in it? Oh no, there is one downstairs but I can’t go for a poo with so many other people so close. What if it smells? I’d be mortified. At least whoever made this smell has anonymity, which is within the accepted boundaries of toilet etiquette. Does smell like Blinky though, or Clarence. One of those two. Christ, how close are we all now? I can match the smell of the bathroom to the user.
It doesn’t take long. It can’t due to the fact I hold my breathe from start to finish and rush to wipe, wash my hands and get out before the badger gets me.
Feet on the stairs. The heavy tread of assault boots. I run away and hide in a bedroom. The leader of the living army too afraid to be connected to the smell of dead badgers coming from the bathroom.
‘What the fuck,’ Blowers backs out, no doubt wafting the air under his nose. I hear him draw breathe and charge in while I make my escape down the landing to the stairs.
‘Toilet free?’ Clarence asks, standing at the bottom.
‘Blowers is in there, mate.’
It was Blinky then.
‘So what about erections?’
‘Cookey, I don’t bloody know,’ Marcy says, walking back through the hallway with Cookey behind her. ‘I think you’ll be fine.’