The Undead Day Seventeen

by RR Haywood

  On my own I look round at the bodies and blood soaked walls then out the door to the sheet rain hammering down. Figures by the Saxon. Clarence up top covering the GPMG saying something to Roy and Paula hugging her own body but standing with her face turned up towards the sky.

  Time ticks on and the day isn’t over yet. With a sigh I pat my pockets down for a smoke then with a tut I head through the doors to find Nick.

  Twenty-Eight

  Crates of ammunition, assault rifles, axes, kit everywhere, a big dog and thirteen soaking wet people crammed into one vehicle. The Saxon can take it, the weight of it all I mean. This thing would pull a herd of stubborn rhino’s.

  Clarence up front to give the others some space and with the wet weather cover over the hole for the GPMG they’re sealed in snug and tight, with steam coming off clothes and hair and everyone squashed into the seats.

  ‘We’re going to need a bigger vehicle at this rate,’ Clarence says twisted round in his seat to look at the sardines in the back.

  ‘Nah,’ I say lightly, ‘be alright.’

  ‘Have you seen them?’ He asks.

  ‘Nah,’ I say just as lightly to a low chuckle from him.

  I pull the vehicle round the driveway and head back up towards the gates, bumping and bouncing over the corpses littering the ground. Blinky wasn’t fazed one bit at leaving the house. Quite the opposite in fact. She couldn’t get changed and ready fast enough to get back to the lads. Charlie was a bit more pensive but I think she knew their time there was over and although they’ve done a brilliant job of staying hidden it couldn’t stay like that forever. There was no time to ask if they wanted to go anywhere as the priority was to get loaded and get gone.

  ‘Marcy,’ I call out in a loud voice.

  ‘Yes,’ she replies in a low voice from right behind me that makes me jump a foot from the seat.

  ‘What the fuck…’

  ‘Made you jump,’ she laughs, ‘no room to sit down so I’m standing up…right behind you…watching you,’ she adds in a sinister voice.

  ‘Lads, someone give Marcy a seat,’ Clarence booms out.

  ‘We offered…’ Cookey starts to say.

  ‘They did offer,’ Marcy says, ‘I’m soaked though and can’t stand sitting down in wet clothes. Besides…I’m watching Howie,’ she adds in that sinister voice.

  ‘Get Dave or Clarence to check your pistol,’ I say with a chuckle.

  ‘Why? What’s up with it?’ Clarence asks.

  ‘It was submerged in water for a few minutes,’ I say, ‘and will these rifles still work in this wet weather?’

  ‘Pistol will be fine,’ Clarence says, ‘just shake the water from it so the moisture doesn't build up inside…here, I’ll check it.’ She hands it over and he goes to work stripping the pistol down with deft movements, ‘as for the SA80,’ he says, ‘the first lot back in the day would have fallen apart by now.’

  ‘Really?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh yes, first gulf war they were falling apart in our hands, bloody awful things. Then we got them upgraded…’ he speaks while working, taking parts of the pistol to dry and shake out, ‘much better now and as long as they’re cleaned, greased and kept maintained they’ll work…no electrical parts or anything like that, just the moving parts that need proper care.’

  ‘So we can stand out in the rain and fire then?’

  ‘Yes, you might get the odd misfire when the round gets jammed in the chamber but that can be cleared in a second and Dave has drilled the lads on how to do that…’

  ‘Yeah he did back in Salisbury,’ I say.

  ‘Quite rare now though,’ Clarence continues, ‘the upgrade made them one of the most reliable weapons in the world, apart from the AK that is, those things can be shoved up an elephants arse and still fire. Here,’ he hands the pistol back, ‘it’s fine.’

  ‘What about the GPMG?’ I ask.

  ‘Covered now,’ he replies, ‘so it’s not getting wet but as long as we clean and maintain it there won’t be a problem.’

  At the top of the drive we take a right and head away from the village but the going is slow. Visibility is down to a few metres at best. Everything outside is grey and the road is already covered in a deepening layer of water coming off the hard packed fields too dry to absorb the rain.

  ‘Roy,’ I call back, ‘we need clothes, kit…bags, outdoors gear…do you know anywhere?’

  ‘Hang on,’ yelps sound out as he mooches about trying to find a map, ‘where are we?’

  ‘Fucktown…’

  ‘Finkton,’ someone else says.

  ‘I’m sure it said fucktown,’ Cookey says.

  ‘Finkton….Finkton…’ Roy says the name while he searches the map, ‘where is it near? It’s not on this map…no I’ve got it, yes here it is…right so we’re heading this direction…there’s a town a few miles along. I don’t know anywhere near here but I guess the town will have shops?’

  ‘I’d prefer some distance from here,’ I reply, ‘everyone okay if we drive on a bit?’

  ‘Not too far,’ Marcy says quietly behind me, ‘everyone’s drenched to the bone.’

  ‘Okay,’ I nod and keep the vehicle driving steadily through the pouring rain. The noise of the water striking the metal body is soothing and slows the frantic state we were in down to a tired silence. Two new people in the vehicle and I’d be expecting the lads to be messing about but they’re soaked, probably exhausted and crammed in.

  It takes time but the distance is made and the miles fall behind. Clarence’s head falls back as he drops into a doze. Marcy’s hand on the back of the seat and I can feel her move her fingers every now and then.

  I bump the back of my head against her hand to gain her attention, ‘you okay?’

  ‘Ssshh,’ she drops down and leans forward with her head next to mine, ‘they’re all sleeping.’

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘Apart from Dave, yes.’

  ‘Dave never sleeps, he’s a machine.’

  ‘So who was the man on the horse?’ She asks.

  ‘No idea, didn’t see where he came from or where he went after.’

  ‘He wasn’t a good rider,’ she whispers, ‘he was only just about hanging on to that horse.’

  ‘Bloody big horse though.’

  ‘Hanoverian,’ she says, ‘they’re used by the police, might be a mix breed.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Where do you think I got my strong legs from?’

  ‘So vain,’ I say half-jokingly.

  ‘Don’t hate me cos I’m beautiful.’

  I burst out with a snort of laughter that earns me a sideways glance from Clarence.

  ‘Ssshh,’ she whispers.

  From the country road to an A road to a slip road to a motorway and the view ahead opens up with the wide flat ground. Speed is gained and the distance increases. I let two junctions go by then gently ease off the next junction and through the connecting service roads. Power lines overhead with pylons in the fields so we must be close to a town.

  ‘Okay, wake them up,’ I nudge Marcy’s arm with my head again, ‘we’re getting close to…’

  ‘Wake up,’ Dave barks the order, ‘Mr Howie said we’re getting close to a town.’

  Groans and stretches from behind, Meredith panting in the wet warmth of being stuck in a tin can with so many bodies.

  ‘Check your weapons and carry extra magazines,’ Dave orders, ‘have hand weapons ready. Eyes up and alert. We got caught out and it will not happen again.’

  ‘Yes, Dave,’ a chorus of voices sound back as magazines are checked and axes tugged free of the boxes.

  Ubiquitous Britain and another plodding dull layout of a town done by council officials that copy what everyone else is doing. Roads bordered by houses. Houses burnt out and damaged. Cars littering the road and pavements. Bodies being washed clean by the rain. We pass petrol stations and entrances to industrial estates. Drains bubble as they visibly struggle to cope with the sheer amount
of water hitting the ground.

  Into the town centre and through to the High Street complete with signs telling us the area is not for vehicular traffic Monday to Friday 8am to 5pm. A glass fronted vestibule sticks out from the building line with wide entrances that lead to an enclosed shopping centre and sign boards indicating the array of stores within.

  ‘Perfect,’ I point to the glass front and look at Clarence.

  ‘Go for it,’ he says.

  ‘Listen in,’ I call out, ‘we’re going for this shopping centre. Blowers on perimeter, Roy work with Blowers and his team. Paula and Marcy stay with the two girls and Reggie in the middle…’

  ‘Reginald.’

  ‘Stay with Reginald in the middle, Dave on point with me and Clarence…Everyone understand?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Got it.’

  Voices call back clear with affirmation.

  ‘Like Dave said, we got caught out. Magazines to be carried and hand weapons at all times and I want everyone carrying magazines…Reginald, Charlie and Blinky too.’

  Order, structure and discipline.

  ‘Do we take our hand weapons?’ Blinky shouts, ‘our hockey sticks?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dave answers, ‘until we find you better weapons and once trained with rifles you’ll be with Simon’s team.’

  ‘Simon?’ Blinky asks, ‘which one is Simon?’

  ‘I’m Simon,’ Blowers replies as Clarence and I share a shrugging glance at Dave already working the teams out.

  ‘What is your real name?’ I hear Dave ask.

  ‘Blinky….Patricia,’ she says after a brief pause that I can assume was filled by a glare from Dave.

  ‘You?’

  ‘Charlotte,’ Charlie says.

  ‘Okay,’ I call out as I bring the Saxon to a slow crawl over the last few metres, ‘everyone out and eyes up.’

  ‘Cookey with me on the right, Nick and Mo on the left, Roy you check dead ahead at the doorways and windows.’

  Doors open and we climb down and out with weapons raised and ready. Every doorway and window is checked and scanned. Blowers and Cookey go out to the right side and stand solidly in the pouring rain. Nick and Mo on the other side. Roy checking the shops opposite. Marcy and Paula with rifles held ready shepherding Reginald and the two girls holding hockey sticks to the front of the Saxon and both dressed in sports gear of tracksuits, trainers and hooded tops.

  ‘Looks clear,’ Clarence calls from the front and steps through the busted doors into the dry interior of the shopping centre. Meredith gets through and nose to the ground she runs ahead while we watch and wait.

  ‘She seems happy,’ I say after watching her run to the side and squat down for a piss, ‘we’re going in…Blowers bring the rear up.’

  ‘He’s good at that,’ Cookey shouts to a low groan of chuckles and Paula rolling her eyes.

  Dave, Clarence and I take the front and walk slowly past the first few shop entrances. Shoe shops and juice bars. A mobile phone store. Some protected by pulled down mesh fronts padlocked to the floor. Some have been opened before us with looting evident. A dead body slumped beside a row of benches in the centre of the main aisle gets a low growl from Meredith who tells us the body was infected.

  Fashion stores with mannequins wearing skinny jeans and tight t shirts. Indie clothing stores and a high end clothing shop that has ball gowns and dummies wearing full suits. Potted plants wilting from the high heat and lack of water. Dark in here, gloomy from the lack of light coming in and it takes a few seconds for our eyes to adjust. The first entrance aisle leads to a wide circular middle section with sets of escalators going down to a food hall and up to more shops on the upper level. An information desk to one side and the circular perimeter has store front after store front ranged round.

  I peer over the safety railing to the seats and open plan bars below. Counters covered with chiller cabinets and shelves with bottles. Notice and display boards give prices and menus. The floor is tiled and still quite clean. Only a few smears of blood here and there and a couple of bodies lie amongst the overturned chairs down in the food section.

  ‘Blowers, work left and we’ll go right,’ I call out softly and get a thumbs up from the corporal of the team.

  He heads to the left and starts moving round the perimeter of the circle while we go right. Every store that is open is checked by taking a few steps into it and scanning for noise or signs of debris. There will be storerooms and back offices everywhere but that will take more time than we have. We meet at the other side.

  ‘Up next, we can see down into the food hall, same again we get to the top.’

  Blowers nods and keeps his team facing out, indicating with hand movements for Mo Mo to look away and not back at the group.

  We head up the broad steps of the escalator with Dave at the front. At the top are more stores in a replica layout of the main floor we came from. We head right and Blowers takes the left side. Paula bringing the girls and Reginald behind us. I glance back and notice Blinky staring longingly at the lads as they work their side but Charlie looks alert and serious. Checking every doorway that we pass and moving to peer down into the food hall below. Not leaving her care to others but accepting the responsibility for her own welfare. She doesn't grip the hockey stick as though ready to strike but holds it down to one side, relaxed but ready.

  After the day we’ve already had the tension is high with expectation of something utterly shit happening again. We meet at the opposite point then head back as one group to the escalators and down to the middle floor, swap stairs and then down into the bottom section.

  The food hall has seen action. Desperate people searching for food and desperate infected searching for people to infect. More bodies at the sides that we didn’t see from above but they look old and already decaying. The smell isn’t pleasant but it’s something we’ve got used to now. Well most of us have, Charlie doesn't look too impressed and Blinky just stares at the lads and blinks a lot.

  ‘Seen that,’ I nudge Clarence and nod back to Blinky.

  ‘Yeah,’ he smiles, ‘she hasn’t taken her eyes off them. I think I know who she wants to work with.’

  ‘You reckon?’ I ask with a smile. We spread out and check the various outlets, behind counters and every nook and cranny we can find.

  ‘Howie,’ Marcy calls out and I turn to see her pointing to the entrance to the toilets, ‘can we use them?’

  ‘Yeah, we’ll check first.’ We lead on into the recess that splits left and right for the male and female toilets. Rifles up we check every cubicle within the toilets and the sight of ourselves in the mirrors above the sinks is a sight to see. Bedraggled. Soaked. Filthy with dirt ground into clothes despite the pelting rain. My face is bearded now from days of growth and I can’t remember the last time I had a shave. Clarence is the same, his head bald but his chin thick with dark stubble.

  ‘Clear,’ outside the main entrance to the toilets we meet back together, ‘who needs to go?’ Nearly every arm raises apart from Dave. ‘Dave, you staying out here?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

  The boys traipse into the gents and the ladies take the other side. Eight of us that head to the urinals and prop hand weapons and assault rifles against the wall before we choose our position and yank flies down to a chorus of relieving groans and eight streams of piss that strike the porcelain bowls.

  We wee in silence until Cookey slowly turns to face Blowers, ‘alright mate,’ he asks casually.

  ‘Get fucked.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just fuck off. You’re going to make some crap joke about me being in a toilet with other men…’

  ‘Who me?’ Cookey asks so innocently that the rest of us can’t help but burst out laughing, ‘an actual girls hockey team,’ he says down the line of men urinating, ‘like…an actual girls hockey team…can’t believe it.’

  ‘Cookey was joking that we needed to find a netball or hockey team that needed moisturising,’ Nick explains, ‘
about half an hour later and we actually bloody find one.’

  ‘No way?’ I lean forward to look down to Cookey, ‘is that real?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he nods eagerly,’ I said it while doing the food…an actual hockey team.’

  ‘Fuck,’ I rock back on my heels, ‘weird.’

  ‘Then most of them got killed,’ Cookey tuts, ‘which is the story of my life seeing as Dave chopped the head off my one true love…’

  ‘Alex!’

  ‘Sorry, Dave,’ Cookey calls back then drops his voice, ‘how can he hear that?’

  ‘I hear everything, Alex.’

  ‘Yes, Dave. Sorry, Dave.’

  We finish off, zip up and move automatically to the long line of sinks. Hands squish the soap out and we push the tops of the taps down to get the five seconds of water flow.

  ‘They seem nice,’ Nick says while rubbing his hands, ‘they staying with us?’

  ‘I don’t know, mate,’ I reply, ‘we’ll have a chat in a minute and find out…but it seems Dave has already selected who they’re working with,’ I look down at Blowers, ‘you alright with that?’

  ‘Me? Yeah sure,’ he nods.

  ‘You’re getting a bigger team,’ Clarence says, ‘but you can handle it. Dave wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t think you could.’

  ‘Okay,’ Blowers says dully, clearly uncomfortable at being the centre of attention again.

  ‘Oh god,’ Cookey tuts, ‘he’s head will get even bigger now…er,’ he leans forward and suddenly looks worried, ‘are they gay?’

  ‘Eh?’ I ask.

  ‘What?’ Clarence says equally as stunned as me.

  ‘Can I still make the jokes?’ He asks, ‘I’d better stop,’ he nods to himself, ‘I’ll stop for a bit.’

  ‘Might be a good idea,’ I say.

  ‘Charlie is really pretty,’ he blurts in a whisper, ‘like proper hot.’

  ‘They’re both very nice,’ Clarence says stiffly, ‘and you’ll be a gentleman at all times.’

  ‘Yeah course.’

  ‘Won’t you,’ Clarence stares down at him.

  ‘Yeah course,’ he says again, ‘promise.’