The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  ‘I’ve been a soldier all my life, and I’ve never seen anything like that before, did you not see the way everyone was looking at you when we came back in?’

  ‘They were looking at us, all of us.’

  ‘No Howie, they were looking at you. Even Dave picked up on it. Do you remember him staring at you at the end of the battle? But then I think maybe Dave saw it long before the rest of us did.’

  ‘Fuck off Chris,’ I laugh, trying to joke my way out of it again, ‘what is this?’ He shrugs again.

  ‘Ah, enough said. I’m staying here and that’s final. You go and you bring them back. I’ll have the fort back up and running in no time,’ he turns his back on me, sorting through the shotguns.

  ‘Chris…’

  ‘Time is ticking Howie, Darren might already be after them and you’ve got my wife to bring back.’

  ‘Okay mate…okay.’ There’s not much else I can say. I walk out, back into the sunshine and warmth. His words racing and spinning through my mind. I think back to the battle, but to be honest, it feels distant now. It was only a few hours ago and I can remember every part of it, but not the feeling I had. That feels distant, like something I dreamt or that happened a long time ago. I remember going to my knees and feeling weak but then I remembered Sarah and I guess I just found some hidden reserve of strength.

  I shrug it off, too weird and uncomfortable to deal with. I look up and realise I’ve walked the wrong way, going back towards the hospital instead of our area. Everyone is staring at me and I remember what Chris just said.

  ‘Morning,’ I call out cheerily, stopping mid stride, knowing I’ve got to turn round and go back the way I came but I’ll look even weirder if I do that.

  ‘Ha, I went the wrong way, what a donut!’ I turn and walk back the way I came, my face stinging from the almightily stupid comment I just made. Idiot, bloody idiot.

  Walking back, I see the Saxon being driven slowly down the ramp leading from the wall; it reaches the bottom and moves carefully through the camp, coming to a stop just outside our rooms. Dave opens the back doors and climbs in, quickly sorting through the various storage lockers. Blowers and Cookey help lift bags out of the rear doors and onto the ground. Nick comes round from the driver’s side and starts opening them up.

  ‘It’s a shame to lose the Saxon Mr Howie,’ Dave remarks as he opens the canvas bags.

  ‘Well there’s a vehicle ferry but I doubt very much if it’s running, and besides we haven’t booked and it can get pretty busy this time of year,’ I reply, watching him remove black handguns from the bags and lay them out on the floor.

  ‘Do we need to book?’ Dave asks, ‘have you got the number to call?’

  ‘I was joking,’ I crouch down and pick one of the handguns up.

  ‘So was I,’ Dave remarks flatly, ‘have you ever used a handgun before?’

  ‘Oh yeah, all the time. Every day on the ranges at the back of the store.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a no then, have any of you used one before?’ Dave asks the three lads who are standing watching him. They shake their heads.

  ‘Grab one each, quick run through and we’ll practise later. The safety is here, the magazine goes in here. To engage the first round you slide the top back like this…’ Dave runs through a lightning fast drill, it seems easy enough.

  ‘There’s enough belt holsters there, but only two shoulder holsters.’

  ‘Oh I’ve got to have a shoulder holster,’ Cookey says excitedly, lunging forward to grab one. He stands back up and looks at me.

  ‘Er, did you want it Mr Howie?’ He asks with a hopeful look on his face.

  ‘No mate, you crack on, it’ll suit you better. Dave who’s having the last one?’ I see Nick grinning like mad, glancing between Cookey and the rig in Dave’s hands, not realising that Blowers has already picked up a belt holster and is fastening it on.

  ‘I think Nick might want it mate, he’s almost drooling at the moment. Unless you want it?’

  ‘No, I prefer the belt rig,’ he throws it over to Nick who gives a loud shout of “yes” and starts trying to shrug into it.

  ‘You’ll be there all day, stand still,’ Clarence comes up behind him and starts adjusting the straps, fastening them round his shoulders and showing them both how to fix them on.

  ‘Two magazines each, that’s all we’ve got. Use them as a last resort only. Shotguns and hand weapons first, got it?’ Dave gives the instructions clearly. I fasten a belt to my waist and slide the handgun into it.

  ‘We’ll leave the Saxon here and use some of these vehicles to find a boat. We can always find something on the other side if we need to. Right, you ready?’ They all stare back at me, nodding.

  ‘Get bottles of water from the stores, and get some food to eat on the way. We’ll meet in the armoury, five minutes.’ We break apart, the three lads heading to the stores area while Dave, Clarence and I walk down to the armoury, entering to find Chris pushing the long barrel of a shotgun sideways through a circular saw, bright red sparks showering high and cascading across the workbench. Clarence nudges my arm and indicates a load of shotguns already shortened. I go over and pick one up, the weight feels a lot different to the big cumbersome things Dave and I used before.

  ‘They’re all the same bore that lot, so you can share cartridges. The range is reduced a lot, but the fire power at short range is devastating, which is why gentlemen, they are illegal so don’t let any police catch you with ‘em,’ Chris walks towards us, rubbing the end of the shotgun with some wire gauze, smoothing the end off from the action of the saw.

  ‘Pistols, sawn off shotguns and axes, what more can an elite zombie killing unit need,’ I joke, staring at Chris, thankful that he smiles back. The tension from the conversation we had a short time ago is gone. I shrug my rucksack off and push the shotgun inside, the stock poking out the top. I synch the elastic round the shotgun and put the bag back on. Reaching over I can just reach the top of the shotgun. Chris steps forward and tightens the straps, lifting the bag higher on my back. I try again and find I can reach the stock easily. I step away and try drawing it out, the trigger guard catches on the elastic. Chris again steps forward and loosens the elastic slightly.

  ‘Try again,’ he says, Clarence and Dave are both watching me, seeing if it will work. I reach back and pull the gun smoothly out of the bag.

  ‘Do it again,’ Chris says, helping me guide the shotgun back into the bag. I try several more times, pulling slightly from the left and right, the shotgun slides out easily each time.

  ‘It should be okay, but if you’re in a tight spot and it sticks, just ditch the bag, don’t stand there fucking about dancing on the spot,’ Chris advises me with a smile.

  ‘You know me too well mate that is exactly the sort of thing I would do.’ Clarence and Dave both insert their shotguns into bags, Dave reaches his easily enough. But Clarence’s massive shoulders prevent him from reaching his arm far enough back.

  ‘You fat fucker,’ Chris laughs and I can’t imagine anyone else saying that to Clarence and getting away with it.

  ‘Piss off Chris; you’re not exactly little yourself.’

  ‘Malcolm was always telling you to stop lifting so many weights,’ Chris says, watching Clarence dance about, stretching his arm back but getting nowhere near the stock.

  ‘I should have listened to him,’ Clarence rumbles, ‘it’s not going to work, I’ll leave it there though. I’ve got the sidearm and the axe with me.’

  ‘That’s if you can get your fat sausage fingers through the trigger guard,’ Chris laughs, then ducks as Clarence launches a dirty rag at him. I smile at the sight and think how similar they are to Blowers and Cookey. The easy banter between them built up over years of living and fighting together.

  ‘We should go,’ Dave interrupts, clearly impatient to be off.

  ‘The man’s a machine,’ Clarence jokes and grins at Dave, who remains stony faced as ever.

  Outside we meet up with Nick, Blowers
and Cookey. They hand over bottles of water and food items sourced from the stores. They look downbeat and quiet.

  ‘What’s up?’ I ask.

  ‘The stores,’ Blowers replies quietly.

  ‘Tucker did a great job of getting them in order, it felt weird going through it all, knowing he sorted it,’ Cookey says.

  ‘Yeah, I know. He was an exceptional man. We’ve got to go, you ready?’ They nod back, still quiet and withdrawn.

  We head down through the fort to the first gate, Chris walking with us. There are people milling about, walking around quietly. Most of them still in a daze from everything they’ve been through. There are men crashed out sleeping, some of them still covered in filth and gore from the battle. A few patrol the top wall, or lean on the parapets, relaxing and staring out with expressionless faces. Chris eyes them all, taking it all in and I can tell he’s making mental notes as to what needs doing first.

  Reaching the gates, we head through the single walk through one and into the space between the inner and outer wall. We walk down to where the vehicles are stored.

  ‘There’s an old minibus van here, big enough for six. Unless you want to take two smaller vehicles?’ Chris says. We reach the vehicles and I notice the large plant machinery is gone. The diggers we used to dig the ditches are gone too; they must be outside piling the bodies up ready to be cremated.

  ‘We’ll take the van so we can stay together,’ I reply. Chris sorts through various keys; each set has been thoughtfully attached to a small label with the make and registration number.

  ‘I bet Sergeant Hopewell got that done,’ I remark, ‘at least we know they’re in good hands.’

  ‘Yep, for now. Any idea where they would have headed to?’ Chris asks.

  ‘We’ll try the forts on the way; we’ve pretty much got to go past them. Other than that, no idea. It’s quite a big group so we’ll look for places that are fortified and can hold large numbers.’

  ‘Are there any of these forts over there?’ Chris nods backwards, as though indicating the fort behind him.

  ‘Probably. Must be I guess. The plan was for the whole section of water between Portsmouth and the Island to be covered by defences. We’ve got this one and others over here and the big things in the sea so there must be some over there.’

  ‘I’d try them first,’ Chris says handing over a set of keys. ‘That four wheel drive is in the way, I’ll shift it if you bring the van out.’ I take the keys, leaving the others where they are while Chris moves the other vehicle. The minibus is an old taxi company vehicle, the firm’s logo still etched onto the side. Advertising the cheapest rates, airport runs and twenty-four hour cover. The logo makes me think of the planes that would have been in the air at the time it started. Did they land safely?

  It’s mid-summer and people would be going away for their holidays. I imagine landing in some gorgeous tropical heaven, only to find it infested with zombies and having no way of getting back.

  The minibus starts first time, well maintained despite the high mileage illuminated on the dash. I drive forward and pull up just in front of the double gates, now closed and secured after the battle. Two men stand there holding shotguns, watching us with interest. The others take turns to shake Chris’s hand and then load in from the big sliding door on the side. Dave goes to take the front, then realising Clarence will struggle to get into a seat, he nods at the big man and gets into the back.

  ‘Good luck,’ Chris says, shaking hands.

  ‘You too mate.’

  I get in and hear Chris call over to the two men at the gate. They pull the bolts back and start tugging the doors open. I get a flashback of standing here waiting for those doors to open before the battle. I shake my head and drive forward slowly, easing through the gap. I nod at the two men; they’re both staring at me. One raises a hand, the other nods.

  Then we’re out and the scene is amazing. The diggers and plant machinery have been hard at work for several hours under the close supervision of Kelly. Massive piles of bodies have been stacked up in the middle of the flatlands. Far enough away from the fort to try and prevent the smoke drifting back. It reminds me of the body piles Dave made in the supermarket, his was neat and tidy. These are just mounds of human corpses. The men doing the work must know some of the people in those mounds.

  The sight is sickening and turns my stomach. So much destruction and death. There are men moving round one of the mounds of bodies, splashing liquid from fuel cans onto the heaps. They move away to a safe distance, someone lights something and throws it into the pile. The fuel ignites quickly and within seconds the mound is engulfed in flames. Thick black smoke billows up into the air. The people on the ground stand and watch the flames.

  We drive down the central road, heading towards the estate, or where the estate was before Dave blew it up. The smoke drifts over, the stench hitting us despite the windows being closed. I gag in my throat at the smell of roasting meat and use one hand to cover my mouth and nose. The other’s do the same, apart from Dave who just watches it with idle interest.

  ‘That’s fucking disgusting,’ Nick exclaims his voice muffled by the hand clasped tightly over his mouth.

  We drive on as the men carry the fuel cans over to the next pile and start splashing it out again. I speed up, keen to be away before they light the next one. Within a couple of minutes we enter the estate, all of us staring round in wonder. The whole area is blackened, huge pits in the ground show where explosions detonated with the energy forced equally down. Burnt and crisped bodies are everywhere, there must have been hundreds that were incinerated instantly and these came in after. Hardly anything is recognisable. There are twisted melted lumps that could have been vehicles. The houses are just stumps of brick work, random walls poking up here and there. The tyres crunch over glass and debris as we drive through in silence, weaving carefully round the larger obstacles. Towards the centre there is a massive crater and a large void all around it, everything blown away.

  ‘That must have been the fuel truck,’ I remark quietly, Dave affirms this with a single quiet “yes”. I open the window and poke my head out, the heat is still intense. I guess the stone and brickwork has retained the supercharged heat even from a few hours ago. Again I speed up, worried about the tyres melting, closing the window quickly, the stench of burning stinging my eyes.

  ‘Where are we going to get a boat from?’ I call out.

  ‘Head to Portsmouth Mr Howie, there’s loads of harbours on the way. Just need to keep to the coastline,’ Nick shouts back.

  ‘Righto mate, Portsmouth it is.’

  We exit the estate and wait a few minutes before winding the windows down, Blowers pulls the sliding door back to let air flow through. We all breathe deeply; keen to rid our lungs of the foul and noxious fumes we inhaled.

  ‘Does anyone mind if I smoke?’ Nick calls out.

  ‘Dirty habit,’ Clarence rumbles from the front passenger seat.

  ‘Do you mind then?’ Nick asks again.

  ‘No, you carry on. Anything has got to be better than what we just went through,’ Clarence turns and smiles at them. In the rear view mirror, I see Blowers, Cookey and Nick shuffling round so they get closer to the open door and window. Dave moves over to give them more space.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got rolling tobacco there have you?’ I shout back.

  ‘Yeah, I got some,’ Cookey answers, ‘do you want one?’ He sounds surprised.

  ‘Roll me one please mate,’ I shout back.

  ‘I didn’t know you smoked Mr Howie,’ Blowers says.

  ‘I gave up, then started again, and then gave up. Fuck it; I need something to get rid of that smell.’ I watch Cookey laying tobacco into a thin white cigarette paper then deftly rolling it closed, he licks the seam and passes it forward with a lighter.

  ‘Keep it Mr Howie, I’ve got a few,’ Cookey says, sitting back down and lighting his own. I ignite the lighter and for a second watch the tiny flame dancing about, glancing b
etween it and the road ahead. Thinking of the funeral pyres we just saw. I shrug and lean into the flame, sucking through the cigarette until the end glows bright red. I inhale the smoke into my lungs, holding it there for a second before coughing it out, my eyes streaming with tears and hear Clarence’s deep chuckle.

  I navigate the small roads, keeping to the coast as much as possible. Driving through quiet residential roads that look untouched by the events of the last week. The normality seems to calm our nerves and it’s not long before Blowers and Cookey are exchanging abuse, Nick joining in with them. Being this close to the sea, there are signs of maritime interests everywhere. Small sailing yachts and dinghies in front gardens. Signs for chandlers and sail makers. Pubs and cafes with nautical names; The Lobster Pot, The Fishermen’s Rest. The area looks well-ordered and expensive. Big houses that only the elite could afford. Not now though. If nothing else, the last week has eradicated the class system. Money has been made instantly worthless and we’re back to a base state of being, trade, weapons and who is strong enough to survive.

  If mankind survives this event, the world could be a much better place in a few years. Cleaner, safer. But that’s a big if…and for now I focus on finding a harbour and a boat.

  Four

  That was lucky. Very fucking lucky, fortune favours the brave so they say. Stupid cunts. What do they know about being brave? Fuck all, that’s what. I’m the brave one, being hunted to almost extinction by Howie and his bunch of toy soldiers. Cock suckers, all of them. I’ve been running for ages. I was never this fit before I turned, I feel energised, powerful and strong. That’s the little snack I just had, powering me on. Like I said, I was lucky. The rabbit tasted weird but gave me a bit of energy, but I know I need water too. Just the thought of it makes me want to puke but it’s got to happen if I’m to stay strong and complete my mission. My mission to fuck Howie over properly.

  I found a shop. Just a small convenience store in the middle of fucking No-Where-Ville. I could tell there were people inside; the wooden sheets of ply nailed across the windows gave it away.