The Undead Day Seventeen

by RR Haywood

  I do not know what happened to the dark haired man after that, nor any of the other occupants of the village. It started raining and soon the whole of the vista about us was consumed with driving rain that obscured everything from view.

  We became lost, or rather, I became lost and had to once again give Jess the control of our direction. She led us back to our stables from where we had set out. Straight here without error or seeming concern of the route.

  Now she eats oats while I once again come down from the anxiety of the recent events and commit my thoughts to paper.

  We set out this day to seek answers but have only gained yet more questions.

  Why were the host bodies so intent on targeting the dark haired man? He would have been bitten and scratched within that mound of bodies so he must be immune. Which one on my list is he? Or is he an unknown entity? At what rate is the virus evolving to organise such perfection of movement so soon after the event began? Why did Jess charge in that manner? There was an immediate reaction caused on seeing the dark haired man that caused the horse to charge? Was she seeking to protect him, or was there something else happening?

  Who is the dark haired man?

  The rain is coming down hard and I suspect it will remain so for some time now. The going will be harder and I can only hope the water seeks to protect those that have survived so far.

  I will rest tonight and stay here. I am exhausted, terrified to the core but also now very intrigued.

  NB

  Thirty

  Day Six

  He sits in the dark of the house. Quiet. Pensive. The boy sleeps in his room upstairs and the Albanian stares into the darkness of the kitchen.

  Everything is wrong. Nothing is right. All rules have gone. No structure. No orders. No hierarchy. No overseers waiting to find out how the mission went.

  His heart rate increases but without reason to increase. Anxiety forming but so foreign to him and it feels like his body is preparing to fight or run, but there is nothing to fight and no reason to run.

  He shifts position and drums his fingers lightly on the table top on which his arm rests. He blinks and swallows, fidgets and drums his fingers. A deep sigh, an exhalation of air but it does nothing to ease the troubles building within.

  Streams of worry in his mind. Streams that all come from different directions and carrying their own flotsam and together they form a raging river full of debris. His past, the way he lived his life. Killing as a job. Taking life on the orders of another person. His childhood given away to pay a debt. The years of solitude and training, the beatings, the harsh regime, the skills tortured into him. The world ending. Dead people rising up with an infection. Having no structure or knowledge of what to do next.

  The boy.

  The boy is a worry enough despite all the other things hammering through his head like a swirling vortex of images, sensations, feelings and emotions repressed and stunted for so many years.

  The boy was killing the thirty in the garden. An acceptable thing as the boy needs to know how to survive in this world. The infected are dead anyway and they don’t feel pain and each one killed is a good thing. Gregori knows this and is at ease with that knowledge.

  Sit. Open your legs. Bend over. Give me your arm. Stand there. Lean forward. Orders given by the boy and they complied but the boy got annoyed that the others were all moving away in a slow shuffle towards Gregori. So he told them to stop.

  Stop.

  One word and every single remaining infected person stopped moving and stood still and that, that very thing is what drives the deepest sense of unease through Gregori.

  Not the word used but the meaning and the message given. Over twenty were still on their feet and the boy simply said stop, but he did not specify who was to stop. The boy did not look at any given person nor point at them in turn. The boy said stop and they stopped. All of them.

  Gregori has spent a lifetime studying the fine nuances of human behaviour under intense stress and at the point of fearing for their life. He has stood over fully grown hardened men and told them to do something and watched as they did it. They gave up and became submissive. Gregori was the ugly man and they knew they were already dead so they complied with a deep instinct that the only hope left was to somehow please the monster and hope it goes away.

  It was not the word used that made them comply. It was the boy that made them comply. It was what the boy wanted. The connection from the boy to them.

  Again his heart rate ramps with such a sudden surge that his hand clutches his chest with fright at the suggestion of a heart attack. That fear increases the heart rate. Adrenalin is released. His foot starts tapping. His head beads with sweat. His fingers drum on the table and his breathing becomes faster.

  Kill the boy. What he is doing is wrong. Kill him. Go upstairs, open the door and fire the pistol into his head then burn him so there can be no way back. Decimate the body. Kill him.

  Both his feet tapping now. His fingers drumming harder. Gasping as though he’s running and the sweat coursing to drip from his chin. The hand on the table reaches out and grips the pistol. On his feet and he’s halfway up the stairs before the realisation hits him.

  Do it. The urge is overwhelming. Do it. Kill the boy.

  Not a sound he makes as he climbs those stairs and at the top he pauses outside the closed door to the boy’s room as his face screws up in a struggle of mind over reason.

  KILL THE BOY.

  His hand twists the door knob, slowly, gently but gripping so hard his hand aches from the exertion. The door opens, a gap forming that widens inch by inch. His eyes wide with fear and hurt. The sweat pouring now. His heart booming with such ferocity it makes him want to drop down and cry.

  The boy. Standing in his room staring out into the hallway at Gregori. His arms hanging down at his sides. Eyes open and staring. Chin tilted up. Small, defenceless, puny, weak, feeble but that pistol doesn't lift and Gregori doesn't move as the minutes tick slowly by. Determination against fear and something unknown, something Gregori has not the emotional depth to understand makes it impossible to kill the boy.

  ‘Night, Gregoreeee,’ the boy wins and watches unblinking as the Albanian closes the door.

  Thirty-One

  From the beginning to the end everything out in the open and not only does it let Charlie and Blinky know exactly who we are, but it also brings everything back into perspective for the rest of us. Of what we’ve been through, what we’ve done and that includes the things Marcy did.

  Terrible things. Awful things. Things that mean she should be shot through the head and killed outright while we rip Reginald limb from limb in front of her dying eyes. Except all that we are is what we are now, and we’re formed by the paths and journeys we took to get here.

  If Marcy had not been turned by Darren she would never have come to the fort that day and saved us. It would have ended right there outside the fort. We were beaten that day and we knew it.

  If we had fallen that day the fort would have been lost. Maddox would never have come. We’d never have found the doctors or teamed with Paula and Roy. We’d never have got the ammunition or saved the children in that stately home that Nick went to. Lilly and her brother would have been killed by now. Milly would be eating shit and living in filth.

  Every step, every second, every decision made, right or wrong, has made this moment possible and I know, with everything I am I know that Marcy would do anything to take away those few days of her life. Like I said before, it’s not my job to give absolution or forgiveness but show me a saint and I’ll show you the devil in disguise.

  In a nameless town, in an empty shopping centre in an empty food hall with dead bodies at the sides we seek to know who we are now and in doing so, we make an unconscious decision that the past is gone and only the future lies ahead.

  Blinky zoned out in less than three minutes of talking. She started with rapt attention then gave way to fidgeting, then started staring about and finally glazed ov
er and sunk into a dream where no doubt she and the lads ran through hordes of zombies chopping them down with razor sharp hockey sticks.

  Charlie stayed the course though, listening, asking questions to clarify things, Mo Mo asking questions too about things that happened before he joined us. Paula and Roy telling us the things they had seen and done. Marcy taking her turn and forcing herself to relive the memories so etched into her mind. What gets me for a second is that Lani is just a name to Charlie and Blinky. They never knew her and never will. She is someone who, to them, simply never existed as a real person.

  That helps bring some perspective to my own troubled thoughts. The guilt, the raging screaming wailing guilt at flirting with Marcy when just a few hours ago I was looking down at Lani’s charred body – that guilt eases into a dull roar. I am human and I am flawed. What things I do to get through the day and the pain of this life is down to me and never done with malicious intent. If seeking solace in the arms of a woman at the point of believing we were about to die, and sharing a kiss to feel the touch of love, if they are bad things then I am a bad man, but I wouldn’t deny that hope to anyone in the same circumstance.

  ‘So,’ I exhale a long breath from puffed out cheeks and sink into my chair, ‘there you go.’

  Charlie nods thoughtfully while Blinky stares up at the ceiling way above our heads.

  ‘What about you?’ Marcy asks gently, ‘family?’

  ‘Huh?’ Blinky blinks at realising a question was aimed at her, ‘what’s that?’

  ‘Do you have family?’ Marcy asks again.

  ‘Wankers,’ Blinky replies, ‘hate ‘em.’

  ‘Okay, so do you…’ Marcy starts to say.

  ‘Hope they got chomped by the zombies,’ Blinky says, ‘and then…and then…dunno, fuck ‘em…wankers.’

  ‘That’s…’ Marcy trails off.

  ‘Honest,’ Paula says nodding to keep the flow going, ‘it’s honest.’

  ‘Yes, very honest,’ Marcy rallies.

  ‘So,’ Nick leans forward to look down at Blinky, ‘you want to go and find them then?’

  ‘No!’ Blinky scoffs, ‘wankers.’

  ‘So you do want to find them then?’ Cookey asks.

  ‘No I bloody do not.’

  ‘Okay, we’ve got to find Blinky’s family,’ Blowers says.

  ‘Who’s family?’ Nick asks.

  ‘Blinky wants to find her family,’ Cookey says.

  ‘Oh okay.’

  ‘Twats,’ Blinky says with a snort of laughter, ‘no fucking chance…only if we can shoot them,’ she says with sudden hope, ‘can we go and shoot them?’ She looks at me.

  ‘Charlie,’ I turn quickly to the other girl, ‘what about you?’

  ‘No one,’ she says with a shake of her head.

  ‘Sure? No family, friends? Anyone that might be alive and…’

  ‘No one,’ she says with a finality that ends the conversation then seems to realise the force she used in her tone, ‘I mean…we only stayed behind because there was nowhere else to go…otherwise we would have gone…’

  ‘Fair enough,’ I say, ‘what do you want to do now? We’d love to have you with us…I think I speak for everyone when I say that?’ I look round at the others questioningly.

  ‘It’s hard,’ Paula says, ‘harder than anything you’ve ever done.’

  ‘In what way?’ Charlie asks.

  ‘What we did today, in your house…that’s every day for us…and it will probably get worse.’

  ‘Why worse?’ Charlie asks.

  ‘Can I say?’ Paula looks to me.

  ‘We left the fort to go after them…today was not the plan as we got caught out but…the plan is to find them, inflict losses and then move on somewhere else and keep doing it. They want us, well you saw that for yourself, so instead of running we’re going to fight back.’

  ‘I’m in,’ Blinky states, ‘so in…do I get a gun?’

  ‘Weapon not a gun,’ Clarence says.

  ‘Do I get a weapon?’

  ‘Yes you’ll get a weapon and you’ll be trained how to use it,’ I say, ‘and be expected to work with the team and follow orders…’

  She cuts me off with a hand held up, ‘I was trialling for the England team,’ she says, ‘so like…team work is easy and…I can work with a team…and…I can follow orders can’t I Charlie…’

  ‘Yes she does.’

  ‘See,’ she nods at me, ‘so can I join?’

  ‘Charlie, what about you?’

  ‘I’m in,’ she says instantly, ‘same as Blinky.’

  ‘Yay!’ Cookey on his feet as the rest of us clamber up to shake hands with them in turn.

  ‘One thing though,’ I cut through the noise, ‘you can stop any time you want…that goes for everyone,’ I look round at the faces and let my eyes rest first on Roy then on Paula, ‘none of you have to stay if you don’t want to…’

  ‘I know,’ Paula says to me then glances over at Roy, ‘Roy?’ She asks, ‘what do you want to do?’

  We all go quiet and listen respectfully, ‘I wouldn’t stay here,’ Roy says, ‘if it was just me. I don’t like other people and prefer to be on my own.’

  ‘I get that, mate,’ I say back, ‘but we like you being with us.’

  ‘Oh I like you all,’ he says, ‘most of the time, but…I don’t need other people the way other people need other people…does that make sense?’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘Some people need others to validate them, I don’t. I worry and have anxieties and get worked up over stupid, stupid things and I then hate myself for not being able to get over that way of thinking and…well, it’s been with me for years and I can’t see it ever being any better…’ he stops and looks round at everyone, ‘so I didn’t socialise for a long time and got out of the habit of being with other people, which means I say stupid things and offend people…’

  ‘Ah, Roy,’ Cookey says, ‘you don’t offend us.’

  ‘I offend Blowers quite a lot,’ Roy says honestly.

  ‘Fair one,’ Blowers nods, ‘doesn't matter though mate, it’s a big team and we ain’t always going to get on like best mates with each other.’

  ‘Anyway, if it wasn’t for Paula I would leave and yes, Paula and I have talked about leaving the group but…’

  ‘Paula?’ Cookey asks suddenly, ‘you’re leaving?’

  ‘Listen,’ Roy says with a huff.

  ‘Sorry, Roy.’

  ‘We talked about leaving the group but I can see how attached Paula is so…well, not to sound overly dramatic but if Paula wants to stay then I will stay.’

  ‘I do want to stay,’ Paula says earnestly, ‘look at what the lads did today…I can’t leave them…’

  ‘I know you can’t and I’d never ask you to,’ Roy says, ‘so if you want to stay then we’ll stay but we’ll have to re-think it if you’re pregn…’

  ‘Roy!’ Paula snaps.

  ‘Pregnant?’ Clarence booms, ‘are you?’

  ‘No way?’ Cookey’s eyes go like dishpans.

  ‘No I am not!’ Paula snaps, ‘Roy,’ she says with a groan shaking her head.

  ‘Are we having a baby?’ Cookey asks, ‘are we? Can I be uncle Cookey?’

  ‘No I am not but…if I was then yes you can be uncle Cookey but I am not…right, just shush now, I said to Roy earlier that I might get pregnant as we haven’t…well…you know…’

  ‘Used a condom?’ Cookey asks with delight.

  ‘Yes, Cookey,’ Paula laughs, ‘we haven’t used a condom or anything else.’

  ‘Is that wise?’ Marcy asks, ‘taking that risk?’

  ‘Probably not but we never really planned it like that,’ Paula says, ‘I cannot believe I am even having this discussion.’

  ‘I cannot believe we are having this discussion either,’ Reginald says tightly, ‘is nothing sacred within this group?’

  ‘Apparently not,’ Paula says, ‘right look…we’re getting off track. Roy, I want to stay but if you really want
to leave then I will go with you.’

  ‘Stay, Roy,’ Nick says, ‘Roy…stay with us, Roy…Roy…Roy…stay, Roy…’

  ‘Roy,’ Blowers joins in, ‘Roy…don’t go, Roy…Roy…Roy…’

  ‘You’s staying Roy? Roy,’ Mo Mo chuckles, ‘Roy you’s stayin or what, Roy?’

  ‘You can’t take my Paula,’ Cookey goes for a serious expression and deep voice, ‘she looks after us and makes us wear clean pants…’ he looks round at the laughing, ‘we’d be left with Clarence telling us to do that stuff…’

  ‘Yeah don’t go, Paula,’ Clarence says with deep chuckle, ‘or take me with you.’

  ‘You’re not leaving me on my own with them,’ Marcy says, ‘if I’ve got to stay then you should too.’

  ‘Okay okay,’ Paula relents from the barrage, ‘Roy, I want to stay,’ she says with an apologetic look at him.

  ‘We’ll stay,’ he says simply, ‘as long as you want.’

  ‘FUCK YES!’ Cookey yells ‘nice one, Roy.’ He holds his hand out to Roy with a wide grin on his face.

  ‘Cheers, Roy,’ Nick pushes in and clasps Roy on the shoulder. Even Blowers steps forward with a grin and handshake.

  I turn round to see Marcy hugging Paula and murmuring thank you into her ear. It’s funny really. Clarence has his strength, Dave has his ability, the lads have the heart and I lead but Paula dominates us in a way only a woman can. She brings common sense to our world, a voice of reason and thought. The feminine against our masculine. We got by before she joined but it’s far better with her here and I breathe my own sigh of relief while the others shake hands and take it in turns hugging Paula. She smiles warmly to each of them, and I notice she doesn't exclude the two new-comers either. She gives warmth and something else, she gives assent that what we’re doing is right. Blinky would stay with us no matter what, that’s obvious. Charlie however is clearly a lot more complicated and she looked to Paula as though seeking knowledge that we’re safe to be with. Marcy too, she looks to Paula for advice and kinship.