by RR Haywood
Blowers walks out to the middle turning a full 360 to see the view. No vehicles in the car park. The doors and windows to the buildings look closed and secure. No noises. No signs of infected. He spots rabbits in the fields bordering the car park, which re-assure him that nothing has gone through recently and scared them off. He takes in the big structure of the sand school. The size of an airplane hangar with two huge sliding doors and a curved old stained corrugated iron roof. He spots normal sized doors and signs that welcome visitors to the café, the reception and urging them to shop in the outlets.
His team turn to view but keep a close eye on him. Waiting for instruction. Blowers signals to Blinky first, pointing at his own eyes then to the lane they just came up, watch that lane. Blinky nods and is off, jogging lightly. She drops to one knee and locks on with her rifle up and ready. To Mo and Charlie, you two, watch those buildings and the fields beyond. That is your side. To Cookey and Nick, the sand school and the sides. He drops his head to talk quietly into his radio.
‘Reggie, it’s Blowers. You got cameras on?’
‘Indeed I have.’
‘Roger that. Big area to cover. Watch all four please.’
‘Yes, yes of course, Simon.’
‘Overwatch on.’
Blowers glances up to see Roy in position on top of his van. He looks round to Meredith, double-checking for signs of aggression from the dog.
Two sides have open ground. One side is blocked by the sand school building but the last side where all the smaller buildings are give him concern. Too many places they can come from. Lots of little lanes and walkways. Lots of buildings, sheds and stables.
‘Watch that side,’ he whispers to Maddox, ‘too many rat runs…’ Blowers looks up to Roy and waves a flat hand in the same direction, showing the bowman his concerns. Roy nods once and turns to hold that side in the centre of his view. When Blowers looks again he spots Howie, Clarence and Dave heading towards the smaller structures. Rifles up. Feet placed carefully. Paula and Marcy right behind them. He holds his team in the middle while the elders clear the rat runs.
The tension mounts. The continual life and death pressure to watch, to scan, to stay alert and use every sense at your disposal.
Maddox wipes his forehead then dries his hand on the back of his trousers. He looks over to Blinky then over to the others.
‘Eyes back on your side, Maddox’ Blowers whispers.
‘Stinks of death through here,’ Howie’s whispered voice comes through the radio. Eyes sharpen. Mouths open to hear better. Senses buzz with awareness. Blowers feels his heart rate raise slightly as his body, now experienced in such things, prepares to dump adrenalin in case of a fight. His hard eyes snatch glimpses from Cookey and Nick to Mo and Charlie then round to Blinky. To the van. To Roy. To Maddox. To Paula and Marcy just going out of view following the elders. He strains to hear, to listen for any such sound that will give awareness to something going wrong.
Minutes pass. Long minutes of heightened senses. Sweat drips. They breathe the hot air and wait.
‘Horses,’ Howie’s voice again. Sad and angry at the same time. ‘Left in the stables…’
Blowers closes his eyes for a split second at the concept of the suffering that must have taken place. Pure anger follows a second after. Hatred for his kind that worried only about themselves and gave no care for anything else. That manifests to a pinpoint focus of something more than hatred for the infection. They caused it. They made this happen. A second after that and the professional soldier returns with hard eyes staring out to do the job at hand.
‘You okay?’ Cookey mutters across the car park to Charlie.
Charlie doesn’t say anything but stares ahead to her side. Her own head fills with the too unwelcome images of horses trapped in stables without water or food. She knows it’s unusual to put horses in stables this time of year. Most are out in warmer weather and they would have stood a chance at survival. Horses left in stables were most likely sick, injured or in foal. Which just makes it even worse.
Mo reaches out to her. Just a touch of a hand on her arm with a fleeting act of re-assurance that signifies the communal respect and decency. Charlie likes horses. Mr Howie just said some horses are dead, therefore the manifestation of the pity and grief they feel is directed to Charlie.
‘You okay?’
Blowers turns in surprise at hearing Blinky using the radio. Her tone soft and worried for her best mate.
‘Yes,’ Charlie transmits back.
The elders come back. Grim faced with barely concealed fury showing. Rifles lowered. Only Dave looks the same as ever and in that they all see his coldness of life and that nothing touches him save his love for the boss.
‘How many?’ Charlie asks, her polite tone so eerie in the otherwise silent air.
‘Too many,’ Paula says, dropping her eyes as Marcy strides across the car park towards the Saxon with tears streaming down her cheeks.
‘Couple looked like they bust out,’ Clarence’s deep voice only adds gravitas to the emotion of the moment. ‘That’s something I suppose…’ he adds darkly.
‘Let’s get what we need and get out,’ Howie says, ‘Nick, you got a smoke mate? Mo? You getting anything?’
‘Nothing, Mr Howie.’
‘Meredith seems fine,’ Blowers calls out.
‘Okay, Charlie, any idea which building we need?’
‘That one, Mr Howie,’ Charlie says, her voice still clipped and raw as she points to a central structure. Blowers looks at the building and notices the difference. That one has bars on the windows, the door looks thicker, more solid and there is an alarm box on the wall. He thinks back to Salisbury when Dave told them which one the armoury building was. It seems so long ago now. Like months, years even.
‘Mo, you fancy backing the Saxon up. We’ll rip the door off.’
‘On it, Mr Howie’ Mo says. He goes to turn then stops and again reaches out to touch Charlie’s arm again, ‘you’s okay yeah?’
‘I’m fine, thank you, Mo.’
‘Blowers, Maddox…’ Howie calls out, taking a smoke from Nick. ‘See if you can get into that big building.’
‘What for?’
‘MR HOWIE DOES NOT NEED TO EXPLAIN HIS ORDERS,’ Dave roars, striding across the car park at Maddox. ‘MR HOWIE GIVES ORDERS. YOU FOLLOW THE ORDERS…ARE WE CLEAR?’ The voice is huge. Enormous. A drill sergeants depth and volume roaring as the small man stops nose to nose with Maddox. ‘DO WE HAVE A PROBLEM, MR DOKU?’
Maddox tries staring him down but staring Dave down is like trying to take an arm from Meredith. There is only one outcome and that is pain. Lots of pain. Maddox sees it. He sees the complete lack of emotion and the void in Dave’s eyes where even the hardest men would have a flicker of something. He blinks and looks away, showing submission from a simple instinct telling him this man will kill him.
‘No…’
‘NO, DAVE,’ Dave roars, taking a step forward that makes Maddox take a step back.
‘No, Dave,’ Maddox says, louder this time, humiliation showing in his face.
‘Someone coming out,’ Nick cuts in.
Blowers spins from the enjoyable spectacle of watching Maddox being balled out to see the wooden side door of the hangar now open with a man standing halfway across the threshold. He’s big too. Six four at least with wide shoulders and a fleshy strip of fat gut shows between his t shirt and jeans. Days of growth on his jaw. His hair wild and greasy. He lifts a thick arm as though to offer greeting while squinting at the sunlight hurting his eyes.
‘Thank God,’ the man says, the relief evident as he comes out further from the doorway. He shows his hands are empty as he walks slowly towards them. ‘Been here since it started…’
‘You’ve been here for twenty days?’ Paula asks.
‘Yeah…s’mine…I own it…I’m Frank,’ he says, twitching his head to the hangar behind him. ‘What’s happening then? Government back are they?’ Frank walks towards them. Comfortable in his
environment and relieved at the sight of what he perceives are uniformed armed personnel in army trucks. He shields his eyes from the sun showing a meaty forearm smeared with dirt.
‘How many of you in there?’ Howie asks in such a tone it makes Marcy drop from the Saxon to walk quickly towards him.
Frank spots Marcy with a flicker of appreciation at the sight of her showing in his eyes. A wet tongue pokes out to lick his lips as he clears his throat and makes an effort to suck his gut in. ‘We’ve got…’
‘What the fuck was that?’ Howie asks, staring at the man.
‘Howie,’ Marcy says, speeding up at hearing the dangerous low edge to his voice.
‘What?’ Frank asks, still flicking his eyes to Marcy’s chest.
‘Stop it.’
‘Stop what?’ Frank asks, unable to compute or understand what he’s being asked to stop as he smiles and winks at Marcy.
‘Fuck me. Stop it. Stop fucking looking at her…’ Howie snaps.
‘Eh?’ Frank asks, blinking hard a few times before offering a knowing smile. ‘Sorry, she yours is she?’
‘What the fuck?’ Howie says, stunned at the response.
‘Yeah so you the army right? Who’s in charge? That you is it? We got people inside. Food ran out a few days ago but we got a foal in but that’s almost gone now and…’
‘Do what?’ Howie asks, taking a step close to the man despite Marcy’s hand on his arm.
‘So what’s happening? Where you putting everyone? My lot want to stay here but we’ll need supplies, beds and…of course I don’t mind using my business but there’ll have to be compensation cos…’
‘You did what with a foal?’ Howie asks.
‘Got one in didn’t we. Food ran out so…well they’re tender and…’
‘You ate it?’ Howie asks, stunned again.
‘Yeah,’ Frank scoffs, ‘I just said that. Food ran out…Christ, mate, you in charge are you? Ran out of officers did they? What are you, like a sergeant or something?’
‘You ate a foal?’
‘Yes. We ate a foal,’ Frank says, opening his hands to emphasise his point.
‘A baby horse?’
‘Listen, mate. You got an officer I can talk with?’
‘No. What about…I mean…okay,’ Howie says, exhaling noisily as he struggles to understand what his brain is telling him. ‘Okay, er…have you seen any infected here?’
‘What’s that? The things? Nah they stayed in the town I think. We been alright but…’
‘Stop,’ Howie says, holding a hand out. ‘They haven’t come here? Is that right?’
‘I just…’
‘And you ate a baby horse? Is that right?’
‘Listen mate…’
‘And you let the other horses die in the stables for what reason now?’
‘Eh? What you on about? We couldn’t go outside could we?’
‘What about the baby horse you got? Where did that come from?’
‘That was later. I ain’t arguing with you, son…’
‘Don’t call me son. Where did the baby horse come from?’
‘I want to talk with an officer. Someone in charge. This is out of order this is. We been cooped for twenty days waiting and you turn up being aggressive and…’
‘Did you go outside to get the baby horse?’
‘FOAL. It’s a foal not a baby horse. I want whoever is in charge. This is outrageous. This is my business. I own it…’
‘Okay, fair enough,’ Howie says, ‘but did you go outside to get the baby horse?’
‘This is preposterous…’
‘Ah because like, if you went outside to get the baby horse then you could have gone outside to let the other horses out of their FUCKING STABLES…’
‘Right. You,’ Frank says, ignoring Howie and pointing at Clarence. ‘Get me someone in charge.’
Clarence stares back. Paula stares back. Everyone stares back at him, showing no reaction, unsmiling, unmoving and Frank fails to read the danger signs.
Instead, Frank glowers and seethes with righteous fury. He has spent twenty days not being able to consume his ten thousand calories a day that he needs just to survive. He’s been cooped up seeing his profits being eaten by greedy survivors. He’s spent that time rationing them, controlling what they eat, drink and do and only when he got hungry did he send two go out to grab the foal from the field to bring in for slaughter. Horses are profit to Frank. Horse people have money, they buy horse things, equipment, feed and clothing. They go to horse shows and pay money in his café and bar. His temper flashes. He sees the army in front of him. Men and women in uniform with army vehicles. This is Britain. This is a country with order and discipline. He is a business owner. He pays his taxes, sometimes, and he will demand for a senior official to be brought here. He looks round and spots Charlie. A young woman who even with a cut down her face still looks polite and educated. He steps towards her with his hand out waggling a finger at her face.
‘Get me an officer right now. I will not stand for this. I want someone in charge. We have barely survived here…I will not be treated like this…’
Charlie stares at him. At the way he rages and the spittle flying from his lips. He stinks too. She can smell him. He stinks of stale body odour and filth. She spots that even while he plays his outraged sense of entitlement out his eyes still stare down to her chest. As she notices that movement so she becomes aware of his fat filthy finger waggling at her. Jabbing the air in front as he shouts and makes demands while horses lie dead from thirst and starvation not a stones throw away.
She breaks his finger.
‘Holy fuck,’ Cookey mumbles, stunned at the sight of her hand lashing out to grab and twist as the air fills with the dull crack of bone. The blood drains from Frank’s face as he falls to instant silence.
‘I make no apology to you,’ Charlie says curtly, ‘you let horses die.’ She walks off towards the Saxon as Frank stares at his finger now pointing the wrong way. He gibbers with his mouth opening and closing.
‘Mo, get that Saxon backed up,’ Howie says.
‘You…’ Frank says, gasping the word out.
The Saxon starts up as Mo pulls out wide to reverse back towards the building Charlie pointed out.
‘But…my…’ Frank gibbers.
The Saxon stops. Clarence drags a chain out and with Nick’s help gets a hook wedged into the door. A shout from Nick. The Saxon pulls away slowly. The chain goes taut, a wrench and a dull clang sees the door pulled from the frame.
‘Whoa,’ Nick shouts, ‘that’s it.’
‘My finger…’
‘You had that coming,’ Clarence tells him, putting the chain back in the Saxon.
‘But…’
‘Blowers, Maddox,’ Howie says, ‘go down and see what the state is inside that building. Tell them to head for the fort.’
‘Sir,’ Blowers says, motioning for Maddox to go with him.
‘Roy, you go with them in case they need a medic,’ Howie adds.
‘I’m not a doctor,’ Roy grumbles, climbing down from his van.
‘I need a medic,’ Frank says weakly.
‘You don’t get a medic,’ Howie says.
‘But…’
‘Charlie, get what you need.’
‘Yes, Mr Howie.’
‘But…that’s mine,’ Frank says, staring in horror at his finger then staring in more horror at his expensive tack store now wide open.
‘Requisitioned for the war effort,’ Paula says, following Charlie inside the building.
‘It’ll need re-setting,’ Roy says, walking past Frank with his red medic’s bag over one shoulder.
‘Huh?’ Frank gibbers.
‘The finger,’ Roy says, turning to walk backwards, ‘you’ll need to re-set it. Want me to do it now?’
‘Huh?’
Roy stops going backwards then starts going forwards towards Frank. ‘Your finger,’ he says, nodding at Frank’s hand still held up in the same position it w
as when Charlie grabbed it.
‘Huh?’ Frank says, staring at his hand.
‘Can’t leave it like that,’ Roy tells him.
‘But…’
‘Just put it back in…grab it and push down…’
‘But…’
‘Are you deaf?’
‘Deaf?’
‘Just stupid clearly, right, stand still,’ Roy says, dropping his medic’s bag and reaching out to Frank who jerks his hand away in fright. ‘Up to you, leave it like that and infection will set in, gangrene will spread up your arm…you’ll turn green and die in a week.’
‘Die?’
‘Slowly,’ Roy tells him in a serious manner.
‘Slowly?’
‘It won’t hurt,’ Roy says kindly, motioning for Frank to give him his hand. ‘Come on, best get it done now. I’ll just grab it and pull down okay? You’ll hear a crack but that’s fine…ready?’
‘No,’ Frank mumbles, watching Roy grab his broken finger.
‘One…two…’ A twist. A yank. Another dull crack.
‘OH MY GOD.’
‘All done,’ Roy says, watching Frank stagger back. ‘Get it splinted…and don’t leave horses locked in stables again.’ He grabs his medic bag and strolls on behind Blowers and Maddox.
‘Wow,’ Howie says, walking into the shop to stare round at the packed shelves, clothes rails, saddles on the wall, boots, whips, chains, ropes, leather things and shiny black things. He spots Charlie by the saddles talking quietly to Paula. ‘You okay?’
‘I am so sorry,’ Charlie says quickly, turning to look at him with genuine remorse showing. ‘I will of course apologise to…’
‘Will you fuck,’ Howie says.
‘Fuck who?’ Marcy asks, walking into the shop and stopping dead with a wince. ‘I can’t believe I just said that. I didn’t mean it like…wow, that is so cool,’ she picks up a riding crop to swish through the air. ‘I’m keeping this…’ she says to Howie.
‘Dirty cow,’ Paula laughs.
‘Charlie should have one for when Cookey gets out of line,’ Marcy says, swishing it side to side.
‘I’m never out of line,’ Cookey says, walking in after Clarence. ‘What the…’ he stops to look round, showing the same reaction as Howie and Marcy at the things on display. ‘S’like a bondage club…Nick? You got to see this…’