The Undead Day Seventeen

by RR Haywood

  ‘Agreed?’ I ask the group.

  ‘Agreed,’ Blowers says instantly.

  ‘Agreed,’ Cookey nods as Nick repeats it.

  ‘Paula?’

  ‘Agreed,’ she says softly.

  ‘Roy?’

  He nods but stays quiet.

  ‘Mo Mo?’

  ‘Course,’ he says so softly.

  ‘Dave, these are your instructions. If one turns you will kill all of us.’

  ‘I understand. Then I will kill myself.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say slowly with a sigh, ‘yeah you probably should.’

  ‘Knife or gun?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Do you want to be shot or stabbed?’

  ‘Fucking hell, Dave!’

  ‘You might have a preference.’

  ‘Fucking preference! Shit mate. I don’t think I’ll be that bothered if it comes to it.’

  ‘I would like a knife used on me,’ he says.

  ‘How? I mean…’ I stop and think for a minute, ‘if you’ve just killed all of us how the hell are you going to kill yourself with a knife?’

  ‘Slit my throat.’

  ‘Slit your own throat? Jesus, Dave! Just shoot yourself in the head like a normal person.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Dave,’ Clarence shakes his head in distaste.

  ‘What if I don’t have a gun?’

  ‘Fuck me. Use the knife then if you don’t have a gun.’

  ‘Would you like me to slit your throat or stab you through the heart?’

  ‘Personally I want to be stabbed through the ear mate. Right through the ear. The right ear.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I was joking. I do not want to be stabbed through the ear.’

  ‘Blowers wants to be stabbed in the arse,’ Cookey says weakly, ‘he told me earlier…fact.’

  ‘Dave, do not stab Blowers in the arse,’ I say quickly.

  ‘Can I be shot please,’ Paula says meekly.

  ‘Shot. Okay,’ Dave nods.

  ‘Shot,’ Clarence says.

  ‘Shot. Okay. Paula and Clarence to be shot.’

  ‘This is so fucked up,’ I say loudly.

  ‘Nick?’

  ‘Shot please, Dave. Or stabbed through the heart quickly if you don’t have a gun and if you don’t have a knife either then break my neck.’

  ‘Okay,’ Dave says.

  ‘Actually can I change mine to what Nick just said,’ Paula says.

  ‘Yeah, good thinking, Nick,’ Clarence says, ‘I’ll do what Nick said.’

  ‘Actually,’ Paula says, ‘I think it would be easier if we all went for the same thing? Everyone up for that? Shot through the head or stabbed through the heart or neck broken. Yes? Everyone agreed?’

  ‘Seems fair,’ Mo Mo says with a thoughtful look.

  ‘Blowers still wants to be stabbed in the arse.’

  ‘I’ll go with everyone else,’ Blowers says with a glare at Cookey.

  ‘Okay. Shot or stabbed or broken neck. Got it. Marcy?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. What would you like?’

  ‘Oh….I didn’t think I was included.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Paula says, ‘do you want to do what everyone else is doing or something else?’

  ‘Well I’m not sure if I will turn again…but er…yes, yes I think I will go with the shot to the head or stabbed through the heart or neck broken please, I mean if that’s okay?’

  ‘Course it is,’ Paula says, ‘Dave, Marcy is the same as everyone else.’

  ‘He’s right there,’ I point stupidly at Dave, ‘he heard it.’

  ‘Well I was just saying,’ Paula points out huffily.

  ‘Reginald?’ Dave asks and looks round for him.

  ‘He’s still hiding with the children but put him down for the same as me.’

  ‘Understood. Mr Howie?’

  ‘I don’t fucking care! Jesus I cannot believe we are having this actual discussion.’

  ‘You brought it up,’ Paula says.

  ‘Yeah that if one turns we should all be killed but not an actual discussion on the merits of an individually tailored death. It’s fucking morbid.’

  ‘Plan ahead,’ Paula says, ‘seven P’s and all that.’

  ‘Jesus!’

  ‘What?’ Cookey asks.

  ‘What?’ Paula asks Cookey.

  ‘Seven P’s? What’s that then?’

  ‘Proper Pre Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance,’ she explains.

  ‘Wow,’ Cookey mouths, ‘that is so cool…that should be our motto.’

  ‘Crap motto,’ Nick sneers, ‘sorry Paula, I didn’t mean it was crap just not suitable for a motto.’

  ‘Oh I agree,’ Paula says, ‘too long for a motto.’

  ‘Dave, can you shoot a bow?’ Roy asks suddenly, ‘that’s how I would like to go.’

  ‘Might be a bit time consuming,’ Clarence says politely.

  ‘I probably can,’ Dave says, ‘if you let me try first.’

  ‘I’ll show you,’ Roy says, ‘you’d be very good with a bow. However, in the meantime should I turn then maybe consider stabbing me with an arrow through the eye?’

  ‘Like the battle of Hastings?’ Cookey asks, ‘we did that at school.’

  ‘Urban myth,’ Roy replies, ‘there are no accounts of King Harold being shot through the eye.’

  ‘It’s on that wallpaper isn’t it?’ Blowers says.

  ‘Wallpaper? You mean the tapestry?’ Nick asks.

  ‘Yeah,’ Blowers nods.

  ‘Fucking wallpaper?’ Cookey tuts, ‘thick cunt.’

  ‘It goes on the fucking wall doesn't it?’ Blowers asks.

  ‘Through the eye then? With an arrow, please,’ Roy says to Dave.

  ‘Got it. If I don’t have an arrow will being shot or stabbed or neck broken be okay with you?’

  ‘I guess so, but I would prefer an arrow. You know, a fitting end and all that.’

  ‘Trust you to be awkward,’ Blowers says testily.

  ‘He asked and I am simply pointing out my preferred method,’ Roy says with a lift of his chin.

  ‘Dave did ask,’ Paula points out.

  ‘Maddox?’ Dave asks, ‘do you have a preference?’

  ‘Me?’ Maddox says calmly, ‘yes. My preference is for all of you to fuck off.’

  ‘Eh?’ I ask with a blink, ‘bit harsh mate.’

  ‘You lot are messed up,’ he says looking round at them all one by one, ‘even Mo Mo has become like you now. You should go.’

  ‘We are going,’ I reply.

  ‘Good. Leave and make a point of being seen somewhere else so whoever that person is doesn't want to come here.’

  ‘What person? Have I missed something?’ Cookey asks.

  ‘The message,’ Nick says, ‘he is coming…’

  ‘Oh that, yeah…yeah good point, Maddox,’ Cookey says seriously.

  ‘How have you stayed alive this long?’ Maddox asks, ‘all of you? How?’

  ‘Well, we haven’t all stayed alive,’ I say, ‘seeing as Lani is dead.’

  ‘Go,’ Maddox says bluntly, ‘you should go. All of you.’

  ‘I already said we are,’ I say.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Clarence asks.

  ‘Stop!’ Maddox holds a trembling hand out and I remember with a smidgen of satisfaction that he was tazered eight times by Lani. Fuck him. He deserved it. ‘I don’t want to know. Just go.’

  ‘Maddox has a point there,’ Clarence says, ‘if we attacked them and get seen doing it then they won’t come here.’

  ‘What like guerrilla warfare?’ I ask.

  ‘Eh? Are we going back to the safari park?’ Cookey asks, ‘gorilla? Get it? Fuck off I know what guerrilla means.’

  ‘Thick cunt,’ Blowers says.

  ‘You are,’ Cookey coughs into his hand.

  ‘Dave?’ I ask the small man now happy and quiet with his orders of execution.

  ‘Yes, Mr Howie?’

  ‘Is t
hat a good idea? Guerrilla tactics against them.’

  ‘Hang on, I just suggested it,’ Clarence says.

  ‘Yeah I know, I was asking Dave what he thinks.’

  ‘I was in the army too,’ he says with a growl, ‘in the Parachute regiment…for a long time…’

  ‘Yeah I know,’ I say again, ‘but…I…fine! We’ll do that.’

  ‘Don’t do that, boss,’ Clarence groans, ‘now I feel guilty.’

  ‘No it’s fine. We’ll go with your suggestion.’

  ‘Oh bloody hell, Dave? What do you think of the suggestion?’ Clarence asks.

  ‘Good idea,’ Dave replies, ‘we are outnumbered vastly but we are a small unit that can move fast so we can use hit and run tactics to inflict losses and harass the enemy. Our advantage is also our perceived disadvantage. We can draw them into one place while bugging out to attack another location then come back when they start to disband.’

  Silence. Nick coughs. Cookey looks down. Maddox shakes his head in disdain.

  ‘That,’ Clarence says slowly through gritted teeth, ‘is exactly what I meant when I said guerrilla tactics.’

  ‘Of course,’ Dave says.

  ‘But I didn’t feel the need to explain it like that.’

  ‘Of course,’ Dave says again.

  ‘It’s what guerrilla tactics are,’ Clarence says.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So you don’t need to actually point them out when saying it…you just say guerrilla tactics…You don’t say a combustible engine mounted on a chassis with a steering mechanism…you just say car.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Stop saying I know!’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You little…’

  ‘Enough,’ I snap, ‘we’re all tired. Get ammunition and we’ll go.’

  ‘Go where?’ Cookey asks, ‘aren’t we sleeping here? I’m fucked.’

  ‘No chance,’ I say, ‘we’ll find somewhere else to sleep. The quicker we’re out of here the better. Load as much as you can carry and we’ll head back to the Saxon.’

  ‘We can stay in the house Reggie and I used,’ Marcy suggests.

  ‘Ssshhh,’ I press my finger to my lips, ‘don’t let Maddox know where we’re going.’

  ‘Grow up,’ Maddox snaps and walks off.

  We all stare after him as Marcy shuffles on the spot and clears her throat, ‘he has a point.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You lot are messed up. I mean…Lani just died and…you’re making jokes and…’

  ‘What we supposed to do?’ I ask with the hardness creeping back into my eyes, ‘fall down and cry? Will it bring her back or stop it happening again? Will it bring Sarah back or big Chris? What about Jagger? Will it stop the fact that Lani shot him?’

  ‘Howie?’ Marcy blanches in hurt shock at the barrage.

  ‘We deal with it and move on. It’s done. Don’t for one second think we ain’t dying on our feet because we are.’

  ‘Okay…I’m sorry, it was stupid and…I should have thought it through…my apologies.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Cookey says after an awkward pause, ‘it’s like the time Dave cut April’s head off. I was devastated but valiantly I struggled on…’

  ‘You will clean everyone’s weapons today, Alex.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I told you that I did not cut her head off and I warned you what would happen if you said it again.’

  ‘Weapon cleaning? I always get made to make the brews!’

  ‘You’re already on brew duty. Weapons cleaning is the next punishment.’

  ‘So unfair.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Nothing, sorry, Dave.’

  ‘My rifle is fucking filthy,’ Nick points out, ‘and my pistol…’

  ‘I’m going to shit on my rifle,’ Blowers says.

  ‘What when you pull it out your fat backside?’

  ‘Fuck you I don’t have a fat arse.’

  ‘Fat arsed fucker.’

  ‘Fuck off, Cookey.’

  ‘Lads, enough. Get ammunition and we’re going. As much as you can carry.’

  We move out heading back towards the new armoury.

  ‘Do I have a fat arse?’

  ‘No, Simon.’

  ‘Thanks, Paula. Fuck you, Cookey. Paula says I don’t have a fat arse.’

  ‘She’s being polite.’

  ‘Fuck you, Nick. Marcy? I don’t have a fat arse do I?’

  ‘You have a lovely backside,’ she says with a smile as she recovers from the harsh words I said.

  ‘Who has the best arse?’ Cookey asks immediately, ‘bet it’s mine.’

  ‘Paula,’ Marcy says with a grin as Paula turns to give a quick smile back, ‘Howie? Can I speak with you please?’

  I nod and ease up to let the others go ahead and watch as Dave takes a wider angle to keep me in his peripheral vision.

  ‘I’m sorry about what I said,’ she says in a low voice.

  ‘Forget it. I shouldn’t have snapped at you but you pointed out the bad thing we were all ignoring.’

  ‘I realised as soon as I said it. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  She goes to say something then stops and frankly I am too tired and drained to prompt her.

  ‘Am I coming with you? I mean, Reginald and I?’

  ‘I think it’s best,’ I say.

  ‘Because of Maddox here or…?’

  ‘Both. Yes because Maddox will try and detain you or lock you up or something and yes because I…I don’t know…I just know that you need to be with us until we figure this out.’

  ‘How will we figure it out if we’re not here?’

  ‘We’ll have to figure that out too but being here isn’t an option now. So yeah, you and Reginald should stay with us.’

  ‘Not tied up or anything?’

  ‘See that dog?’ I point ahead to Meredith running amidst the group.

  ‘Meredith?’

  ‘She knew the second she saw Lani that Lani was turned. She’s only a dog but she’s proven many times to be our best detection against them. She’s fine with you and if you turn then so will she. Plus we have Dave.’ I add as a side.

  ‘A dog’s sense of smell is something like ten thousand times more powerful than a human’s,’ Marcy says, ‘she must able to smell the virus within the blood.’

  ‘Maybe…probably.’

  ‘I am so sorry about Lani,’ she blurts as she gets to the point of what she really wanted to say.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘It’s not okay…I feel…’

  ‘Not now, Marcy. I can’t…just not now, please?’

  ‘Sorry,’ she winces.

  ‘You don’t have to keep saying sorry. It is what it is.’

  We walk in silence to the opened doors of the freshly stacked crates of ammunition we brought back just a short time ago. Bags are found and filled with magazines. Belt pouches too. Clarence gets the heavy machine gun and stacks it to the side with boxes of the bigger belt fed rounds. Once our bags are all filled we pick crates up and start heading back down to the gates. A rifle and a pistol each and a few more as spares. It’s hard work and we’re already running on empty. The banter stops and I can tell we all drop into pain filled silences made worse by the gap of Lani not being with us.

  We load the boats up and Maddox sends Reginald out with some older youths to bring the boats back and with the night sky only just breaking for the new dawn we start the chugging engines to sail across the bay.

  On the beach we unload and Nick remembers to tell Maddox’s lads where the crew from the beach are locked up. They go off as we ferry our supplies to the Saxon and load her up but being back with the vehicle only seems to make it worse. Lani was always with us. Working with the lads, chatting to Paula and smiling at me. The hurt threatens to pull me down several times and I curse and grunt and smoke cigarettes to try and avert the feeling.

  Nick drives the Saxon slowly behind while the rest o
f us walk the short distance to the beachside houses. Marcy and Reginald lead the way to the house they used as though somehow that is the chosen home for the night. Familiarity I guess. It’s a big detached house with lots of bedrooms. Space is found and rooms claimed before we all drift back to the kitchen to strip and clean weapons. Nobody mentions that it was Cookey’s punishment today.

  We drink water to hydrate. We scrub our faces, arms and wash the worst of the grime from our bodies before finally, and with the new day just starting, we sink into the soft mattresses. As my heads comes to rest I fear the pain will take over and have me sobbing into the pillow. Instead there is only the darkness of forgiving sleep.

  Five

  Day Six

  The boy laughs and claps his hands, ‘get him, Gregoreee…get the duckie…’ That’s what the boy called them. Duckies. Catch a duck on a pole and win a prize. A game played in school or on a computer, maybe something he had seen on television or at the fair. Gregori didn’t know but he knew he should be irritated at the word.

  The dog pole was taken from the police station in the town. A long thick metal shaft with a loop of wire at one end and a handle to pull the wire taut at the other. It was perfect for catching people, loop the wire over the head, yank it tight and use the pole to shove and guide them into the van. Getting the pole was easy and that was something that did irritate Gregori.

  They were meant to protect people. They had taken an oath and took the money so why did they hide in the police station? He knew they were in there. He could smell them the second he smashed the rear glass on the back door in. That was another thing that irritated him, police stations should have thick safety glass in their external doors, not normal glass that could be broken by the butt of a pistol.

  ‘GO OUT NOW. WE ARE ARMED AND WILL FIRE ON YOU.’

  That was the greeting shouted down from the end of the corridor when he got in and Gregori knew they didn’t have guns. Only a few English police carried guns and the weapons were kept in secure armouries in the main division stations, not these little stations.

  Figures scuttled into view before him. Six foot high riot shields and people wearing NATO helmets and leg guards. He walked slowly down the long tiled corridor as they formed up and listened to the orders being shouted. They were nervous, terrified even. Men that shouted angrily which only served to reveal the fear. Women too. Women in riot gear. Five of them formed up and sealed the end of the corridor and all five of them shouted for him to get out.