The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  ‘Tom, that’s illegal you should nick him…Ha, get it…nick him...Nick?’ Cookey laughs to himself, feeling not the slightest embarrassment at the stony faces refusing to humour him, ‘oh well I thought it was funny. Right let’s get them rods,’ he nods to Blowers. The two lads setting off through the café shouting abuse at Nick and Tom as they pass.

  A silence descends outside as Howie and Lani both realise they’re alone. Nodding slowly they both look at each other. Neither speaks. Nervous stares. Slow smiles start to form and they both burst out laughing, releasing the small tension that built up within those few seconds.

  ‘So we’re alone,’ Howie says, ‘you can call me Howie now.’

  ‘Well in that case you should call me Miss Lani then.’

  ‘Miss Lani? Sounds like an Italian sausage,’ Howie laughs, ‘okay it’s a deal Miss Lani.’

  ‘Thank you Howie,’ Lani replies with perfect politeness.

  ‘So you okay then?’ Howie asks softly.

  ‘Fine, er…thanks for last night with the hand…thing,’ she bites her bottom lip and smiles coyly; suddenly aware that maybe she didn’t need to mention it.

  ‘Ah, yes that’s er…er…fine…yeah really…anytime…’

  ‘Anytime?’ She asks quickly.

  ‘Well you know…maybe not anytime...but…’

  ‘So not anytime?’ She cocks her head to one side watching him seriously and trying not to laugh at his nervous stuttering.

  ‘Well no of course anytime…you know…anytime you want a hand…ha a hand! No I meant that not a hand like helping you with something, though obviously I can help you with things if…if you want…but I meant…as in a hand to…er…well…hold…’

  ‘Howie,’ she laughs, ‘I can’t believe you’re so nervous round me.’

  ‘Oh bloody hell,’ he laughs at himself, ‘I’m always like it round beautiful women.’

  ‘So I’m beautiful then?’ She carries on with the merciless teasing but the jokey question is clearly loaded for an answer.

  ‘Shit I walked into that one didn’t I…’ Howie grins as he runs a hand through his thick hair and drops his eyes down to the floor, ‘Lani you are very beautiful,’ he says softly and looks up with a sudden smile. Amazed at himself and that never in a million years would he dream of telling someone as beautiful as Lani that she was beautiful simply for fear of dropping dead with embarrassment and knowing it would sound cheesy coming from him. But his polite tone and clear nerves convey the gesture with meaning instead of being corny and clichéd. ‘Lani! Are you blushing now?’ Howie chuckles with delight at the tinge of redness in her cheeks.

  ‘No, it’s the sun!’ she grins back at him showing her white even teeth, laughing the blush away she reaches up to take her hair band out and runs her fingers through her long silky hair.

  ‘Oh the sun is it?’

  ‘Okay so it wasn’t the sun. So Howie, what task have you got for me?’

  ‘Eh, for you?’

  ‘Well Nick and Tom are going to rig up the coffee machine, Cookey and Blowers are fishing so what…’ she fixes him with a steady mischievous eye, ‘are you going to do with me?’

  ‘Oh you can’t ask it like that,’ Howie groans.

  ‘Sorry, I feel mean for teasing you. I promise I’ll never do it in front of the others though,’ she says earnestly.

  ‘Okay,’ he replies, ‘thank you. Er…I’ve no idea. We’ve got to sort the kit out, see what ammunition we’ve got left. Get some food sorted, and work out a way of getting back I guess.’

  ‘Right, well I’ll come with you then,’ she gets up quickly as Howie gives thanks for her easy confident manner saving him from a certain death of stuttering like a drunk Hugh Grant.

  Two

  Day Nine

  Saturday.

  ‘Look Geez you gotta pay up innit,’ Maddox shouted up at the house from the street.

  ‘I’m not paying for being in my own house now piss off,’ the man leaning out of the upstairs window of the semi-detached brick built house shouted down to the gang of youths.

  ‘You is on the Bossman’s land now geez,’ Maddox shouted in reply, his deep voice resonating in the still warm air.

  ‘Look I’m not afraid of a bunch of kids so piss off.’ The man shouted down. Red faced with a balding head and a stocky muscular build from spending the last twenty years as a builder alongside hard men, and he wasn’t easily intimidated, especially by a bunch of hoody wearing teenagers.

  ‘Or what?’ Maddox shouted back.

  ‘There’s no feds now bruv,’ Ryker interrupted to a chorus of jeers and cat calls.

  ‘Feds? What? Fuckin’ kids,’ the man slammed his window shut and disappeared out if view. Maddox, after giving an irritated glance at Ryker waited a full five seconds before giving the order;

  ‘Brick it,’ he shouted and watched as the crew started throwing missiles at every window in the house. The downstairs had been boarded up from the inside and the door looked barricaded too. The Bossman had said to look for the houses that were boarded up as it meant they’d have supplies. The strict instruction given to tell the survivors they were being taxed for protection and to give up half their food. Ryker and his crew had found this house and soon reported back to Maddox; the Bossman’s number two and in charge of the street security taxing operation as he called it. Maddox had tried reasoning with the man but he clearly didn’t want to oblige with paying his due, so his house got bricked to start with.

  Shouts and jeers from the teenagers screaming as they threw rocks, house bricks and anything else they could find. Windows of the first floor imploded and shouts of rage brayed out from the man inside.

  ‘Enough,’ Maddox raised his hand and listened with satisfaction as the missiles ceased, all apart from one thrown by Ryker, another act of defiance to be dealt with later.

  ‘Oi Geez?’ Maddox shouted, waiting for the balding man to slowly peer over the window sill, ‘your house is fucked up blood, and we’re gonna fuck it up some more if you don’t give us your stuff.’

  The man peeked over the sill then dropped back down staring in fury at the glass fragments strewn about the floor. ‘Little fucker’s,’ he growled. Seething anger boiled up inside him as he stormed down the stairs holding a baseball bat and started undoing the many new locks fitted to the door.

  ‘He’s comin’ out bruv,’ Ryker shouted.

  ‘Yeah I can see that,’ Maddox shouted back as the front door burst open and the apoplectic middle aged man stormed out holding the bat out to one side. Sniggers and laughs sounded out in derision as the teenagers started their mocking.

  ‘Fuck off…just fuck off now you little cunts,’ the man shouted holding the bat out pointing at Maddox and then sweeping along the row of kids all with their hoods up despite the high heat.

  ‘Look at you old man,’ Maddox said.

  ‘You want some do ya? Ya fackin’ want some?’ The man waved the bat round in wide circles and glared back. A gang of scrawny teenagers with skinny legs and skinny arms, dressed in baggy tracksuit trousers tucked into their socks, hoods up or baseball caps pulled down, not one of them could be over seventeen years old, never done a day’s work and just sit about smoking weed all day probably. He wasn’t about to be scared out of his home by a bunch of kids. The zombies were bad enough and he’d taken pleasure in killing a few of them getting supplies back to his house and then some more that shuffled along when he was boarding up the windows and doors too.

  ‘We is keepin’ the streets safe bruv,’ Maddox shouted, ‘we’re the feds now so you got to pay innit.’

  ‘I ain’t givin’ you shit boy?’ The man said with a sneer.

  ‘Boy?’ Maddox flared, ‘listen old man, you pay up or we will fuck you up…we want your stuff’

  ‘My stuff?’

  ‘Half your supplies or we gonna fuck you up bad.’

  ‘Come and get it then...boy,’ the man sneered goadingly.

  The Bossman had warned him about people like this
, and Maddox had met a few over the last few days. But the Bossman also made it clear that a dead survivor can only pay once, whereas a living survivor would keep paying.

  The teenagers were itching to start and Maddox knew he only had to give the word and this old man would be done for.

  ‘Bunch of fuckin’ nigger kids, paki’s and cunt Muslim’s. This ain’t your estate…so fuck off.’

  Silence descended as the insults embedded into the young ears. Maddox paused for a beat then growled ‘Have him.’

  Within seconds the front garden was littered with bricks and stones launched by the youths. The man dodged a few and made a few quick steps back to his door before a well-aimed shot to the back of his head brought him down quickly. Bleeding and seeing stars he stood back up shaking his head and grasping the bat tightly. The youths moved in, drawing batons taken from the zombie police they had taken down, sticks, chains and knives gripped by the hands of teenagers advancing en masse. The man, realising the missiles had stopped, foolishly stood his ground. Bringing his bat up to shoulder height with a two handed grip and watching to see who would be first to come at him. One good shot to a head would scare these little shits. Crack a skull open and they’ll be running off quicker than anything.

  But they didn’t go at him one at a time. These youths, almost feral from years spent running riot and living on council estates knew their greatest strength was in numbers. Young, quick moving and with no remorse they acted like a pack of hyena’s and converged at once. Chains whipping out and striking the man across his back and legs as he swung the bat out wildly. Hit after hit, strike after strike, chains whipping and limbs being struck as the youths darted in and out quickly. All the time laughing and mocking the old man. He fought desperately and felt the sudden danger of his situation. With a much bigger build and years of strength behind him, he correctly predicted this would be over in seconds, but not who would win.

  He staggered back to his door, confusion adding to the shock produced by his muscles after being repeatedly struck by blunt edged weapons. On shaking legs and with arms barely able to lift the bat he staggered drunkenly.

  The first knife came from a boy barely into his ‘teens. A thin blade shoved deep into his side and quickly pulled out as the boy danced back laughing wildly at the first blood being spilled. The man stumbled from the agonising pain in his side. Another knife plunged in and whipped away. As the man dropped to his knee’s screaming in pain the pack descended, knives lunging, bats striking and chains whipping his skin. Within seconds he was dead. A bloodied mess of cuts, bruises and livid welts, flowering spots of blood spreading across his light coloured t shirt from the knife wounds.

  ‘Yeah we fucked you up blood,’ one youth danced over the corpse, spitting on the dead man’s face.

  ‘I’m gonna t-bag him,’ another one shouted and crouched down to rub his groin over the deceased’s face, ‘this is where it’s at mofo,’ he laughs with high pitched childish delight as his mates bend double at the sight.

  ‘Get the stuff,’ Maddox calls out with a firm tone. The youths burst into the man’s house, smashing the inside up with screams of joy. Bats and sticks creating havoc as they rampage through the rooms, destroying everything in sight.

  ‘Ryker,’ Maddox called to the youth and nodded his head for him to come over. Ryker stared back with defiance and then slowly walked over, dropping one leg down to limp in full gangster style.

  ‘Where you at bruv?’ Maddox asked him.

  ‘I is right here innit,’ Ryker stared back.

  ‘Why you dissin’ me in front of the crew Ryker?’

  ‘It’s all good Maddox,’ Ryker replied, ‘I didn’t mean nuffin.’

  ‘We’s the feds here Ryker, get it? We make the rules now and they’s got to see I’m in charge,’ Maddox points towards the house, clearly indicating the youths inside, ‘I’m in charge out here so don’t fuck wiv me bruv, you get me?’

  ‘Yeah it’s all good,’ Ryker repeated dropping his eyes from Maddox and shuffling from foot to foot, showing submission. Maddox held his hand up which Ryker took in a quick firm grip, leaning in to bump chests before moving off with a swagger back towards the house.

  Maddox watched as the youths start carrying supplies out, using bin liners and supermarket carrier bags loaded with tinned food, cans, bottles and packets.

  ‘Alright Maddox,’ a young girl walked up to him, her hair pulled back in a harsh ponytail, large hooped earrings dangling from her adolescent ears.

  ‘Alyssa what’s up,’ Maddox greeted the girl with a nod.

  ‘Nuffin, you?’

  ‘Nuffin.’

  ‘That old man was buggin’ she smiled with a row of crooked teeth covered in railtrack braces.

  Maddox stared down at the girl wearing an open pink hooded top, her push up bra trying to force a cleavage where nature had yet to develop. Spotty pale skin and chewing gum with loud squelches she stood there shuffling while shaking her head, ‘he got proper fucked,’ she added. Just like you every-night you dirty sket Maddox thought to himself, nodded back he wondered if the Bossman would be pissed off that they had to kill another one for refusing to pay up. Maddox, at eighteen and being just that bit older than the other youths, and having already served sentences in Young offenders Institutes had been the natural choice for the Bossman to use as his number two, and it was a position Maddox intended on keeping.

  ‘It’s well hot,’ Alyssa said with a whine.

  ‘Take your top off then,’ Maddox replied, instantly regretting it as Alyssa took the words as an invitation.

  ‘Why, you wanna see my tits then?’ She asked with a stupid grin.

  ‘No,’ Maddox replied bluntly. Alyssa’s face fell at the re-buff.

  ‘Just coz they ain’t as big as Skyla’s,’ she whined again.

  With a brief smile Maddox walked off leaving the girl staring after him with a hungry look on her face. Maddox waited for the crew to come out and told them to start heading back, knowing the stuff should be taken back before anything else happened.

  Carrying the spoils the youths slinked away from the house. Already the conversation had shifted from the life of the human they had just ended to the party to be held tonight, promised by the Bossman for all their hard work in cleaning the area of the dirty infected as he called them.

  Survival in the urban sprawl at the best of times relies on wits, being quick and able to go through long periods of suffering. Skills the youths gathered around Maddox had long perfected. Each one of them born and raised on the huge council estates built along the south coast, thousands of people from low income backgrounds forced to live in cheaply built low rise blocks of flats and terraced houses. The estates were really several housing projects added to and developed over the last forty years, a sprawling mess of long residential streets, light industrial units servicing the population, twisting alleys, shops with barred windows, supermarkets, pubs and cheap clothing chains. Whole communities struggled to survive and get by. Crime was rife and the police view, along with many other authorities was to leave them to suffer. With the council only paying the bare minimum for repair the estates festered into graffiti covered walls, houses with boarded doors and windows, front gardens full of broken appliances and furniture.

  The youths knew no different, living in social housing with parents and families struggling with their own vices too much to raise their children with any sense of responsibility. Fathers and mothers in prison, brothers and sisters in young offenders or with foster carers, struggling to make ends meet on benefits and turning to petty crime as a way to boost their income. Drugs use and small scale supply, taking stolen goods, bent gear, dodgy rip offs, everything was fair game. Good food was rare and these youths grew accustomed to getting by on what they could find. Frozen snack food bought cheap from the local supermarket value range. Nutritional value low. Sugar and salt content high. Bodies became lean and under developed from the poor diets and regular exercise of running from the home owners they burg
led, the shop keepers they shoplifted from and the police that didn’t stand a chance of catching them.

  Young bodies consuming quick fixes that send them wild with energy. Rejection from family life meant they grew into gangs roaming the streets with their own hierarchy and rules. Self-governing and over time any sense of boundaries broke down as they became wilder and more feral. Alcohol and drug use were common, under-age sex the normal way of life, stealing and petty crime the standard rules of behaviour.

  Education systems failed as hard pressed teachers learnt they could either invest a disproportionate time into these youths and stand very little chance of making a difference, or concentrate on the ones that wanted to learn and develop. Abandoned by society and left to run riot on estates that learned either to tolerate them or move out; they grew hardy and tough. So when the event happened and everyone else froze with the shock, unable to think, act quickly or defend themselves, these youths carried on life as normal. Their pack instinct kept them safe. Fleet of foot and cunning meant they could run and hide faster than the mostly obese population. The foraging skills honed over years of stealing meant they found food and sustenance. The normal morale code of society was already separated from them by many degrees. So to them, life carried on as normal.

  The Bossman, having lived amongst this kind for many a year and profiting from the misery all around him, saw a chance of sustaining a way of life. Deep within the largest council estate the Bossman had been growing an empire by taking over disused industrial units. When the former owners were hounded out by the recession and the sharp rise of petty crime the Bossman moved in and planted his fortunes.

  These units were taken over and adapted into hydroponic factories. Rows and rows of high yield skunk cannabis plants growing under a systematic set up of Very High Output lamps. The VHO lights set on timer to achieve the highest potency by giving the plants the strongest light source for the greatest length of time. The heat meant the plants emitted a strong distinct odour which was sucked away by fans forcing the warm pungent air through long ducts and filters, breaking the scent down before pumping it out harmlessly into the undergrowth outside.