by RR Haywood
Hours go by, fear filled hours until eventually and achingly slowly he finds the room gradually getting lighter. The shadows seem less now, the black blurring to grey until he can make the outline of the bed out. Then the door. He can see the door and more importantly that it’s still closed. He waits longer until the light is strong and slowly stretches his aching legs out.
Rubbing his thighs and kneading his calf muscles he rolls onto all fours and crabs over to the window. Rising up inch by inch and gently pulling the curtain back. He gains the view of outside, it all looks normal, everything is the same. But this is the back of the house. He needs to see the front and be sure she isn’t coming for him.
He edges over to the door and eases it open, it creaks too much so he slows down and moves it millimetre by millimetre. Lucy isn’t there. Leaning out he checks both ends of the short corridor. All clear. He moves out and creeps gently towards the front bedroom. The door is half open and he can squeeze through without having to touch it and make noise. He crouches down once inside the room and starts heading towards the window. No curtain here and he waits until he’s right below the sill before he starts to lift up. The movement has caused him to sweat and he can hear the drops of liquid falling from his chin and hitting the bare floorboards under his feet.
His forehead crests the windowsill; he lifts higher until he can see the tops of the trees. He keeps going until he gets a full view of the yard. He breathes a huge sigh of relief at the sight of the clear open ground. The corpse is still there with the pitchfork still jammed in its head. Everything is the same.
Paco rubs his eyes and feels the fatigue crashing through his system. He survived the night and now it’s daylight, he can sleep for a few hours and rest.
He stands up and leans his sweating forehead against the cool glass, opening his eyes he slowly scans his eyes across the yard to the entrance of the lane and Lucy stood there staring up at him. Her pale skin covered in red glistening blood, her arms hanging limply at her sides. The rest of the horde behind her.
SEVENTEEN
DAY ELEVEN
‘How was it?’ Chris asks striding out from the gates with a number of men and women behind him. They head straight to the vans and start unloading the equipment and supplies.
‘Straightforward, which worries me as nothing bad happened,’ I reply.
‘Yeah I know what you mean, every half hour right?’
‘Fact Chris, we had contact, the hospital was crawling with them but it kind of served a purpose as it kept everyone else away by the looks of it. Not sure if what we got was any good as none of us really know anything about medical equipment but we got the contents of the pharmacy and some surgical stuff from some store rooms near the operating rooms.’
‘That should keep Doc Roberts happy for maybe an hour,’ he says drily, ‘this heat is too much Howie. They’re wilting in there. We’ve had to open the back gate so the kids can go in the sea and cool off.’
‘That’s not a bad thing is it?
‘Not really, it feels like there’s no air…’
‘Clarence said he’d been in cooler deserts than this.’
‘Deserts are different, they got dry heat. This is humid, sticky and making everyone snap,’ he pours water onto a piece of cloth and rubs his neck and face.
‘Howie, are you okay to go back out once we’ve unloaded?’ Sergeant Hopewell walks from the gate, her hat is now gone and her hair is plastered to her red forehead. Terri walks behind her swigging from a bottle of water.
‘Straight to the point Debbie,’ Chris grimaces.
‘Sorry,’ she frowns and visibly slows her walking pace down as if that will also slow her fast moving mind, ‘it’s this heat, unbearable,’ she mutters. ‘Everything alright?’ she offers me a smile.
‘I was just saying to Chris it was an easy run really, lot of contact but they were all slow.’
‘Well that’s good then, so the next trip?’ She prompts.
‘No worries, the van crews didn’t take any water with them, but other than that yeah we’re ready to go.’
‘Good, next on the priority is this little town marked on the map. I’m reliably informed there are two well stocked chemists there plus a supermarket, a cash and carry warehouse and a DIY store.’
‘Christ, do you want all of them done?’ I step back to shake the beads of sweat off my head.
‘Well yes, that’s the general idea,’ she replies, ‘oh and there’s a medical centre used for out-patients. They want that done too.’
‘Right,’ I sigh as Clarence walks over to join me. He takes the map and the looks at the attached bit of paper listing the various stores. ‘Debbie, we struggled at the hospital not knowing what to take exactly. Can you spare anyone to come with us?’
‘These aren’t hospitals Howie,’ she remarks in a rather patronising tone, ‘empty the chemists, get whatever food you can from the supermarket and the cash and carry and then the DIY store.’
‘And the medical centre?’
‘Yes that too, just grab what you can,’ she adds.
‘That hospital was full of equipment, grabbing what we can might not be the right thing. There could be vital things we’re missing.’
‘That was a hospital Howie, this is a medical centre therefore it will be smaller with less stock.’
‘You said it was used by out-patients so it will still have supplies.’
‘And you take them,’ she says too quickly. I take a breath and bite my tongue while Clarence clears his throat.
‘Tell you what,’ Chris interjects, ‘get this run done and if we have another hospital then we’ll make sure we’ve got someone from the medical team with you.’
‘Fine,’ I reply.
‘The medical team are too valuable to be put at risk like that,’ Debbie argues, ‘we shouldn’t be sending them anywhere.’
‘And we aren’t valuable then?’ Clarence bridles.
‘You’re not a bloody doctor are you?’ Debbie snaps back.
‘Okay okay,’ Chris steps forward, ‘it’s hot, everyone is snapping. The lads will get this run done and we’ll see where we go from there. Happy?’ He looks round at everyone.
‘S’fine,’ Clarence mutters.
‘Good, I’m glad we understand each other,’ Debbie adds stiffly and walks off leaving Terri staring at her retreating form and looking back at us with an apologetic expression.
‘Nick!’ I call out, ‘You got a spare cigarette?’ I turn and walk off, quietly seething from her abrupt and patronising tone. Cookey pops out from the back of the Saxon and hands me a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. His plain expression makes it clear they’ve all heard the conversation.
‘Cheers mate,’ I light one up and inhale.
‘You okay?’ Lani appears holding two bottles of water out for me and Clarence.
‘Yeah, it’s this heat,’ I make an excuse for the way she spoke.
‘And we’re expendable,’ Clarence mutters, ‘story of my bloody life that is.’
‘We can’t be The Expendables,’ Cookey says quietly, ‘it’s already been done.’
‘Good movie,’ Clarence nods before swigging from his bottle of water.
‘You could have been in that film,’ Cookey says to him, ‘you look like one of them.’
‘You’re not the first to say that,’ Chris cuts in.
‘She was rude,’ Clarence turns on big Chris.
‘Yes she was,’ he says plainly, ‘what do you expect? Tea and medals? She’s worth her weight in gold and with everything going on a bit of rudeness is the least of our worries.’ His tone brings our egos back down to size and we nod back feeling a little humbled.
‘The vans are ready and I heard what you said, Kelly is getting someone from the engineering lot to go with you for when you do the DIY store….’
‘Are we going to have enough room in the vans Chris? Supermarkets, chemists and the warehouse place…’
‘It’s taken care off; you got two more vans
going with you.’
‘Fucking hell Chris,’ Clarence flares up again, ‘there’s only eight of us. How the hell are we supposed to guard five bloody vans and crews and clear the buildings too?’
‘The vans have armed guards, they can protect their own vehicles and you focus on the buildings.’
‘They’ve got shotguns Chris, double barrelled shotguns that take time to re-load.’
‘What do you want Clarence? We’re keeping the other assault rifles here. You’ve just got to do the best you can. Everyone has to.’
‘If we get a heavy contact those guards will be fucked,’ Clarence seethes, his already flushed face going a deeper shade of red.
‘And you’ve got a fucking great big machine gun on your armoured fucking vehicle and the best fighters this fort have are with you. Cope!’ Chris snarls back.
‘Clarence,’ I say in a low tone and surprisingly he backs down. Glancing at me with a single nod.
‘Sorry boss,’ he growls.
‘We’ll do the best we can Chris,’ I try my hand at diplomacy.
‘I’ve told the vans crews that if it goes bent they’re to just focus on getting back here with whatever they’ve got,’ Chris explains in a calm voice but his face still looks angry.
‘Sounds good mate, have many more turned up here today?’
‘A few, we get a steady trickle all the time. Word must be spreading or something.’
‘Ah that’s us, we’re putting posters up and leaving flyers on car windscreens,’ I say with a smile.
‘Well can you stop it please, zombies can read you know,’ he smiles back easing the tension.
‘Come on then,’ I speak up so everyone can hear me, ‘load up.’ I take the driving position again this time with Dave up front and Clarence squeezing his frame into the hole to man the heavy machine gun.
‘Right, we’re off,’ the engine starts with a roar and we pull out, going past the vans to the front. They pull out behind us and I glance round quickly to see the others sat quietly in the back. Heads dropping as they doze in the hot air. Lani in the corner with her feet stretched out and her head resting on a bundled up jacket.
‘Has anyone got a hat? My head is going to burn.’ Clarence calls down to a few low sniggers.
They rummage about until Dave pulls an old camouflage wide brimmed sun hat from a dusty cupboard. He bangs the material against his leg a few times to get the muck and grime off before handing it up.
‘Christ, I haven’t seen one of these for years,’ Clarence chuckles. Climbing back into the passenger seat Dave settles back and takes a long drink from a bottle of Lucozade. He bends over his bag and drags another one out, unscrewing the cap and handing it to me.’
‘Cheers Dave,’ I gulp at the warm syrupy liquid.
‘Simon, get those back doors open. There will be a catch to hold them in place, get some airflow in here,’ Dave calls out and twists back round to face the front.
‘Why do call them Simon and Alex?’ I ask him quietly.
‘That’s their names Mr Howie,’ he replies.
‘Everyone else calls them Blowers and Cookey.’
‘They do but the lads need to have that different regard for me which is maintained by using a different more formal manner of addressing them.’
‘So if we all called them Simon and Alex you’d be calling them by their surnames?’
‘Yes Mr Howie.’
‘Oh, okay. You do fit into the sergeant’s role very well.’
‘I know Mr Howie,’ he says bluntly.
‘The room clearances went well I thought.’
‘They did, they need more practise though.’
‘We all do! But I think we’ll get that by the looks of the list they’ve given us.’
‘Maybe we could it with just knives next time?’
‘Just knives? That sounds a bit dangerous mate.’
‘More dangerous than charging a horde of the undead with one magazine and a bayonet?’ He replies quickly and I know full well he’s referring to the service station when I exited from the back to reach the Saxon.
‘That was an act of necessity, what you’re proposing isn’t.’
‘Knife skills are a necessity; they won’t always have guns with bullets.’
‘True, so what…just with their bayonets then?’
‘Yes, but held free hand and not fixed on. I’ll be with them to make sure nothing bad happens,’ his tone isn’t bragging, just matter of fact.
‘They’ve had plenty of practise with the axes and Lani is already brilliant with a knife.’
‘Axes have range Mr Howie and they are also easy to drop or slip from wet hands. Nothing beats a knife.’
‘A gun.’
‘Sorry Mr Howie?’
‘A gun beats a knife.’
‘Only if it has bullets.’
‘A sword then that beats a knife.’
‘Swords take years to learn how to use, plus there are many different types of swords.’
‘Same with knives.’
‘To an extent yes, but a knife either slashes or cuts. Swords parry, thrust, block, sweep…’
‘Okay okay, so nothing beats a knife?’
‘No. Quiet, easily hidden, you can open a vein or penetrate the heart. Instant death, slow death, disable the target without killing it.’
‘Jesus Dave, so what is your favourite type of knife?’
‘Oh I don’t have a favourite,’ he suddenly looks animated and turns to face me, something he rarely does when we converse, normally choosing to watch the area around us, ‘I have often thought what would be my favourite one but I don’t think I could choose. There are some great knives out there, perfectly balanced for throwing, or long and thin for thrusting, then you get the big ones which are good for hacking…’
‘If you had to choose one?’
‘I couldn’t Mr Howie. I like the variety of them. So many different styles, weights, handles and grips. Chefs knives are very good, and butchers knives too.’
‘Right…I see. So we know what to get for your birthday then?’
‘What?’
‘Eh?’ I glance at him.
‘What will you get for my birthday?’ he asks seriously.
‘Knives Dave, we’ll get you some knives.’
‘I’ve got loads already.’
‘Yeah I know, it was a…’
‘Can I choose them? I know birthday presents are meant to be a surprise but firstly I don’t like surprises,’ an image of Dave walking into a darkened room that suddenly fills with light and everyone shouting surprise flits through my mind, followed by Dave slaughtering half of them before they’ve got halfway through the word, ‘and also Mr Howie, I might already have the same knives you would get, plus I might not like the ones you get which could lead to you being offended when I tell you I don’t want it.’
‘Would you say that then?’
‘Say what?’
‘If I gave you a present and you didn’t like it would you say you didn’t like it.’
‘Yes.’
‘But…right…yeah I guess that’s the best thing.’
‘So can I choose my own birthday knife please?’
‘Yes mate…I didn’t actually mean…no, no of course we can do that, we’ll go knife shopping.’
‘Okay.’
‘When is your birthday? That might help.’
‘Today,’ he replies.
‘What? Are you bloody joking? Why didn’t you say something?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes what?’
‘Sorry, Yes Mr Howie.’
‘No I wasn’t correcting the way you replied, I meant what are you saying yes to?’
‘Oh, that it was a joke.’
‘What? So it’s not your birthday?’
‘No.’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ I shake my head with a chuckle, ‘so when is your birthday? And how old are you?’
‘I’m…’
‘Mr Howie,’ Blowers calls ou
t quickly, ‘I think you just missed the turn off.’
‘Eh? Did I? Shit, is there another one?’
‘Not for a few miles,’ he replies. I glance round to see him holding the map and wonder why he’s doing it instead of Dave.
‘Right, bollocks. I’ll turn round and head back,’ I slow the Saxon down and start to turn round in the wide motorway. The Saxon has the turning circle of an oil tanker and it takes several attempts to get it facing back the other way. Five big vans all wait with grinning drivers and guards waving at us as we slowly head back past them. I keep the speed low until they’ve all turned and behind us then move down to the junction, bouncing over the rough surface to turn onto the slip road.
‘If any of the guards have infantry training they could man the GPMG while we do room clearance,’ Dave suggests once we’re back on the right road.
‘Good idea,’ I reply.
‘Gives us two teams of four then,’ he adds.
‘Take the next left,’ Blowers shouts from the back. I take the turn; leaning forward and trying to let the intense heat between my back and seat dissipate. This is oppressively hot, I feel lethargic and de-motivated, which is a dangerous state of mind with what we’re now doing.
‘You got any more Lucozade Dave?’ I think I’m going to need it.
EIGHTEEN
DAY SIX
The small town in the south of England is being gradually purged. Bodies litter nearly every street. The decaying corpses left to rot in the sun and eaten by rats before they too turned and headed off deep into the sewers, urged on to Howie and his group in the service station.
Now, after six long days of unbroken hot weather the bodies are diseased and infested with maggots.
She moves down the street, sticking to the shadows. Her bulk slightly diminished from the constant action, food growing scarcer by the day. The streams that ran through the soft ground have dwindled to a trickle but they serve he purpose to provide water and a place to cool down.
Every day she searches the town, seeking the things and destroying them quickly. Her skills now honed to an almost perfect pattern. She sizes the things up, working out the best angle of approach. The bigger ones are taken down by a leap to the chest or back as she uses her body weight to slam them down and rip their throats out. The smaller ones are simply ragged about until the life leaves them.