by RR Haywood
That also irritated Gregori. There was no need for all five of them to shout at the same time. It was amateurish and confusing. They shuffled feet and knocked into each other. Their hands were shaking. One of them had a Tazer that was pointed down the corridor with a red dot that was meant to rest solidly on Gregori’s chest but instead it wavered all over the place.
‘Stick for the dog,’ Gregori said, his accent thick but the words clear enough to understand, ‘I need stick for the dog.’
‘GET OUT,’ a woman screamed, an older woman at the point of hysteria. Her eyes were wide behind the visor of the helmet and Gregori noticed the three stripes on her body armour. A child cried out. A woman crying. Voices from further in the station. These people had brought their families to hide and stay safe while everyone out there was struggling and dying. It wasn’t done right though. The door should have been barricaded. The access yard should have been blocked and sealed. Signs should have been put up warning people to stay away. Instead they’d gone on the basis of making it look like no one was here which made them fools and cowards.
‘Stick for the dog,’ Gregori said again, ‘I need this.’
‘YOU WILL LEAVE NOW.’
How many warnings were they going to give? How many times did they have to tell him they would fire if he didn’t leave? He was getting closer now, closer to the shield wall.
‘I’m bored,’ the boy walked into the corridor behind him, ‘can we go now?’
‘I say to you wait,’ Gregori said turning round to chastise the boy, ‘I say I get stick for dog and you wait. You no wait.’
‘I’m bored,’ the boy whined.
‘IS THAT YOUR SON?’
Gregori turned back with a scowl on his face. Why shout that question? They had seen the boy and could be using it as a means of negotiation but instead they were injecting the same near hysterical force into their voices.
‘Gregoreeeee,’ the boy whined, ‘can we just go now?’
‘I need stick,’ Gregori said to the shield wall, ‘give me stick.’
‘GET OUT…LEAVE NOW OR WE WILL FIRE ON…’
‘What with?’ Gregori asked with the first sign of irritation in his voice, ‘fire what with?’
‘Tazer him, Ian.’
A crackle, a fizz and the barbs flew past Gregori to sink down onto the floor.
‘With this?’ Gregori asked pointing at the wires, ‘you fire with toy?’
‘I’m bored!’
‘Give me stick.’
‘Reloading,’ Ian shouted fumbling to do the job with his big riot gloves still on his hands.
‘Gregoreeeee, I’m bored…’
Knife out in his right hand, the left hand gripped the top of the nearest shield and yanked it from the grip of the person meant to be holding it properly. An explosion of action as batons were lifted to strike but the knife was already plunging into the tiny gap between the helmet and the shoulders. Blood pumping out. Confusion and everyone screaming but they were all too close together in the corridor and were banging into each other. A backstab, a step and another stab, step right and slice a wrist open, step left and pull the helmet back to expose the throat that gets cut open.
One by one they fell and the tiled floor ran thick with the blood of the fools and cowards.
The dog stick was on a hook right behind them and he took it while the people upstairs screamed in terror and the boy tutted and crossed his arms in a huff of impatience.
‘Get the duckie,’ the boy claps his hands and dances about as Gregori loops the wire over the neck of the man and yanks the handle down. A gargling sound from the throat and the infected man claws ineffectually at the air.
Gregori smiles. He was changing and felt it but couldn’t stop it. He’d never got irritated before. He’d never smiled either. Unless he needed to appear harmless when approaching a guard at a gate. Now he smiles at the boy laughing and clapping his hands at the duckie being caught.
He shoves the male hard forcing the back of his legs to hit the low edge and letting gravity and inertia do the rest. The man being pushed further into the side of the van and held in place.
‘Go,’ Gergori says and watches the boy clamber up into the side of the vehicle and pull down the dog collar fastened to a wire bolted to the roof. This was the last one needed to be taken and the van was full. The boy moves between their legs, pushing them aside so he can get the collar.
‘Okay,’ the boy says and works his fingers under the loop to pull it free from the males neck and over his head. The infected do nothing. None of them doing anything other than staring out the side of the van to Gregori. The boy moves through and around them, pushing against legs and letting the back of his hands brush the males face as he pulls the wire up.
Gregori slides the pole out and watches carefully as the boy leans forward and works to get the collar round the infected man’s neck and in so doing, the boy leans in with his own face inches from the mouth of the infected.
‘Poo,’ the boy says, ‘he smells soooo bad…done it.’
Why aren’t they going for him? Gregori steps closer to the side of the van and watches the reaction from the captured infected straining against the collars as they track his movements.
‘Why they no bite you?’ He asks.
‘Are we going to the park today?’
It was infuriating. The boy had no fear but couldn’t answer a straight question.
‘You want park?’ Gregori was learning though, ‘you want go park?’
‘Yes!’ The boy replies.
‘We go park…but…tell me…why they no bite you?’
‘Can we go on the swings?’
‘No. No swings. No park. You tell me why?’
‘Oh but you said…’
‘I said you tell me and then we go park…you no tell we no go park.’
‘But but…’
‘Why, Boy? Why they not bite you?’
‘They like me,’ the boy shrugs and turns to look up at the drooling faces.
‘Why they like you?’
‘That’s two questions,’ the boy says accusingly, ‘you said one question.’
‘One question…two question…many question…why they like you?’
‘You said one question and we can go to the park.’
‘You want candy?’
The boy’s eyes widen in surprise, ‘sweets?’ He asks as though hardly daring to believe it was even possible.
‘Yes. You want the…sweets?’
‘Yeah,’ the boy says with excitement.
‘Why they like you?’
‘Because I’m nice,’ the boy laughs.
Gregori sighs, this was about as much sense as he was likely to get and he was fast learning that asking a small child to account for something serious was like teaching rocket science to a dog.
Six
A few hours but it’s enough and this time I don’t sit bolt upright sweating from some fleeting nightmare but wake up slowly with eyes blinking against the glare of the sun pouring in through the window.
Sadness weighs heavy on my heart as the caustic memory of Lani charred and burnt and mangled from self-abuse swims through my head. I squeeze my eyes shut and sit up. Everything hurts. My legs are stiff, my shoulders are tight but the pain of moving alleviates the memory so I get up and stretch with audible winces and groans just to do something other than think about Lani.
Another feeling is there too and one that is stronger than my feelings of loss. Something else that pushes to the forefront of my thoughts and makes itself known with every sense I have.
I am bloody hungry. Not just hungry but starving. Ravenous. I need to eat. My mind and body are urging me to eat, to find food and take in nourishment. When did we last have food? I can’t even remember. I get dressed and turn my nose up at the shit clothes we pilfered from these houses. After days of wearing combat gear these feel flimsy and stupid. Jeans, t shirt and trainers. Food and clothes. That’s what we need. And a toothbrush as my mouth feels
like a furry cesspit.
Movement from outside the small top floor room tells me others have woken up too. I step out onto the landing and watch Clarence stretching like a bear.
‘I’m starving, mate,’ I say with a voice still gruff from sleep.
‘Same,’ he stops stretching and scratches his stomach.
‘Everyone else up?’
‘Dunno,’ he yawns and stretches again, ‘what’s the plan?’
‘Food and clothes.’
‘Good plan,’ he says then sniffs the air at the same time as the aroma reaches me.
‘Coffee,’ we both say at the same time and like the infected we turn and shuffle down the landing and navigate the stairs on stiff legs and red bleary eyes. This must be what it’s like to be infected. Drawn by a scent but unable to fully compute the intricacies of fine motor skills.
The kitchen is full of more infected zombies. One stands outside the open rear door smoking. Two yawn and groan while stretching. Another blinks slowly. Marcy sits at the table with her head propped up by one hand while Paula sits down heavily next to her. Mo Mo shuffles in and he too stops to stretch and groan. I snort laughter at the sight which spreads as they all seem to get the visual joke.
Only Reginald seems awake and alert and like Dave, he doesn't look any different than he did yesterday. Dressed in a clean shirt with a tie perfectly knotted he busies himself boiling water from a gas stove as he pours another boiling pan of water into waiting mugs. Sugar sits in a fine china tea cup with a teaspoon sticking out the top.
‘Is that milk?’ I ask staring stupidly at the box of individually sealed milk portions.
‘Not in the true sense of the word I am afraid,’ Reginald replies, ‘it is a milk derivative heated to a super high temperature and no doubt all the taste and goodness has gone but yes, it will serve to give lightness to the bitterness of the coffee.’
‘Milk,’ I say and stare at the box.
‘I could only find sugar,’ he says busily, ‘I was not sure if any of you took sweeteners or not.’
‘Yeah,’ I say slowly, ‘we’re watching our waistlines.’
‘Blowers,’ Cookey goes to say then coughs his throat clear and tries again, ‘Blowers needs to fat his…fuck it!’
‘Cocked that one up,’ Nick points out.
‘Too early,’ Cookey groans.
‘It is past ten o’clock, the morning has almost left us,’ Reginald says.
‘Ten? So we’ve had what…five hours sleep? Better than for a…cheers,’ I cut off when Reginald hangs me a mug. He serves them up and we dive into the box of milk tearing the film lids off to pour the minuscule portions into our coffee. Heavy on the sugar and with an actual mug of real coffee I head outside to join Nick in the garden.
‘Nice,’ I look round the garden so carefully designed. Being so close to the shore and the outside space is minimal but the previous owners did what they could to make their second home as habitable as possible. It grates me which is an unfair reaction to people who had done well in life. A big glass topped table with heavy wooden chairs around it and a big sun shield umbrella in the down position pokes through the carefully made hole in the table. Nick’s cigarettes already wait on the dark frosted glass so I help myself as Cookey and Blowers join me. Paula drifts out and slides one from the packet. We sit down as the others feel the need to stay together and come outside to sit under the hot sun so we can drink coffee and be like normal people.
‘What’s the plan?’ Paula asks.
‘Food and clothes.’
‘Food. I’m fucking starving,’ Nick says.
‘You’re always starving,’ Paula reminds him, ‘what I’d give for a full English,’ she adds.
‘What would you give?’ Clarence asks.
She thinks for a minute, ‘a little toe? Maybe a little finger if it was freshly cooked and worth it. You know, I lived on bloody muesli and yoghurts before this. Bloody yoghurt,’ she shakes her head at the memory.
‘Low carbs, low fat…’ Marcy says with a snort of air from her nose.
‘Are you hungry?’ Mo Mo asks her.
‘Starving,’ she says.
‘So, like…are you not infected anymore or what?’
‘Truthfully I have no idea,’ she says.
‘You don’t look infected…apart from your eyes,’ Mo Mo says.
‘Your hair is gorgeous,’ Paula says, ‘are you tanning? I mean, is your skin taking the sun?’
‘It is,’ Marcy looks down at her bare arms, ‘I don’t know. I lost everything I had before and just became normal again. I eat and…drink…I get tired and all the normal things. Reggie is the same.’
‘Reginald,’ Reginald calls out from the kitchen.
‘But if…I mean, your blood, does it have the bad shit in it?’ Mo Mo asks.
‘Maybe,’ she says with a shrug and I notice she doesn't look uncomfortable at the attention from everyone.
‘So’s like, if you get cut we should not touch you then.’
‘I can,’ Cookey says, ‘me and Blowers will render first aid if you get hurt, Marcy.’
‘Thanks, lads,’ she smiles.
‘I’ll do the kiss of life on you and…yeah,’ he grins while linking his hands behind his head, ‘Blowers can do Reginald.’
‘Twat,’ Blowers doesn't bother putting any effort into the insult but sips at his coffee.
‘Or Mr Howie,’ Nick says, ‘he’s immune so he can do mouth to mouth on…fuck…shit…sorry!’
‘Awkward!’ Cookey laughs with delight.
‘Just slightly embarrassing,’ Marcy blushes and looks down.
‘Are we all immune?’ Mo Mo asks still following his serious train of thought.
‘No idea,’ I reply.
‘Kiss Reginald and find out,’ Cookey says.
‘Nah thanks,’ Mo Mo says.
‘What’s that? Oh she’s done it right there,’ Paula grimaces at the smell of shit wafting over and the grinning face of Meredith as she squats next to the table to crap on the patio.
‘Well it is outside,’ Nick laughs.
‘I can’t sit here next to that,’ she says.
‘Come on, drink up…we’ll move out and find something to eat.’
‘What else we doing today?’ Cookey asks as we all start standing up and draining our mugs of coffee.
‘I said, food and clothes.’
‘Is that all? Like….no massive battle then or…find some neurosurgeons or a fighter jet?’
‘No mate,’ I smile over at him, ‘just food and clothes.’
‘Day off then?’ He asks hopefully.
‘Day off? Yeah, yeah I guess it is.’
‘Fucking awesome! Can we go up the coast?’
‘We can go wherever you want, mate. We need to be seen though, all of us…’
‘So,’ Cookey narrows his eyes, ‘let me get this right? We’re going for food and new clothes and the only thing we have to do today is be seen? Is that right?’
‘It is but the way you say it makes it sound like a bad thing.’
‘No no, just checking,’ he rubs his hand together and grins evilly.
‘Cookey…don’t be a dick today,’ Clarence says quickly.
‘Roger, not being a dick,’ Cookey nods.
‘Right, everyone sod off and get loaded up…Mo Mo, wait here a minute please mate.’ He looks at me startled while everyone heads back through the house.
‘You okay?’ I ask once the rest are gone.
‘Fine,’ he says too quickly.
‘Mate, we’ve all lost people and it hurts like fuck but…’
‘Why is Marcy with us? He asks suddenly.
‘You know what happened with Marcy? Before I mean?’
‘Yeah, the others said…Why we keeping someone like that with us?’
‘Because we need to find out what’s going on.’
‘How we gonna do that?’
‘No idea mate, I need time to think but between us we’ll come up with something.’
‘But…can I ask you this stuff? Like, you’s the bossman and…’
‘I’m not the bossman and you can ask what you want. You’re part of this team now, mate. As much as anyone else.’
‘So how does having Marcy and Reginald with us help find out what…like, what we need to find out?’
I think of the draw I felt that pulled me to find Marcy again and then think how I can verbalise that without sounding like a complete weirdo.
‘Something connects us all,’ I say slowly while still thinking of what to say, ‘like a bond but deeper, does that make sense?’
He nods and stares intently at me.
‘Marcy is part of that, I can’t explain how I know but just that I do.’
‘I get it,’ he says quietly, ‘like me and Jag had a…’
‘Bond?’
‘Yeah, you get me?’
‘Course, he was a good friend to you.’
‘Fucking hurts,’ he blurts, ‘more than like losing anyone else and…fucking Lani just shot him. Sorry, I know she was your girlfriend but she just shot him…like he didn’t matter to anything and she didn’t care and I was too slow I could have shot back and stopped her but…I couldn’t do anything cos Jagger was down and I was crying, you get me? S’fucked up innit? Like he’s just dead and never coming back.’
‘Fucked up, mate,’ I say gravely, ‘and it doesn't get easier either. The lads make jokes and piss about but they do it to mask the feelings otherwise we’d all fall apart. Mo Mo, I know this is harder than anything you’ve ever done before but look at the world around us. There is no help coming or no one else to dig us out the shit now. We’ve only got each other and we need to rely on each other. You’re in a bad place and I get that, but I need to know you’re going to jump in if anything happens.’
He nods firmly and locks eyes on me, ‘I will, I promise.’
‘Take it easy today, mate. Join in with the lads or stay quiet or sleep or whatever. My advice is join in otherwise you start brooding and it’s fucking hard to pull out of that. You get me?’
He looks at me sharply at the words as though gauging if I’m taking the piss.