by RR Haywood
‘Boy am I glad to meet you,’ Paco laughed, ‘I thought you were a monster dog, I did! I thought you were going to eat Paco but you didn’t did you? No, you saved Paco and was a very good girl,’ the sound of his own voice was pleasant and he kept the baby talk up as they fussed and moved with each other.
The dog sensed the fear in him. After hearing him scream she ran through the rain and took the thing down. She knew it was going to kill the man so she killed it first. The man stayed down and she could tell he was cowering in terror. He was a big man, much bigger than most other men but liquid fell from his eyes like the little one did. He seemed like a little one, the nerves and fear in him was just like a little one.
She stayed low, showing him she was not a threat. When he touched her head the connection was made and she felt a flood of chemicals coursing through her system as he stroked and patted her. The noises he made were soft and pleasant. She licked his neck and pushed against him enjoying the feel of another body.
Then he laughed, she remembered the sound of it from the pack. He laughed like the little one used to laugh only deeper and louder, but it was a nice sound and she knew it meant he was happy.
The fear was still there, inside him. She could sense it and it made her protective instinct that much stronger.
TWENTY
While most of the undead pour from the towns and cities to join Darren on his quest south to the fort, some remain. There are other threats than the one posed by Howie and Dave. More killers of the host bodies that have to be dealt with.
The infection knows this and it also knows it has suffered too many losses from the one that hasn’t turned. The infection knows this is an animal and from the collective conscious of the hosts it controls it can understand everything there is to know about the dog. What it cannot comprehend is why it has not turned.
Through the many eyes of the host bodies it knows the dog has taken in the blood and juices from its victims and that blood carries the infection onwards. From that collective conscious and the amassed intelligence it has knowledge of anti-bodies, of genetic mutations, DNA, cell structure so it can accept the dog could be a fluke. A one off that carries a gene that produces a chemical that renders it immune to the infection. What it cannot accept is why the domestic pet is killing so many hosts.
The dog can’t be turned so it is there-fore irrelevant to the infection. It does not have human intelligence and cannot communicate. The dog is a pack animal with a life span far less than the humans and without food and water it will surely die soon. So why is it killing the hosts? The infection could accept if the dog was taking a few host bodies for food, but it doesn’t eat them.
The dog hunts the host bodies, tracks them down and kills them. The numbers are mounting and with the infection drawing on resources to join Darren it knows it cannot withstand such losses.
The dog must be destroyed. Hosts will have to be left back from the exodus to join Darren so they can find the dog and destroy it.
This is fact and it must be done soon.
TWENTY-ONE
DAY ELEVEN
The mother sits in the back of the van, her baby clasped in her arms and her toddler son sat next to her on the wheel arch.
‘Water?’ The Polish man asks with a heavy accent and waves a bottle at her.
‘Thank you,’ she replies wearily, taking the water and first giving some to her son then herself. The occupants of the van talk quietly amongst themselves, men women and children and all of them Polish. Some speak English and they make an effort to include her.
Bangs sound out from the front and a muted exchange of Polish words takes places, a message is passed which seems to revive them all from flagging in the oppressive heat of the vehicle.
The mother already knows what has been said, she can tell from the reactions that they must be close to their destination.
‘We close now yes?’ A woman leans forward and touches her arm, smiling through tired looking eyes and holding her own baby close.
‘Thank you,’ the mother says. Since leaving her house the going has been hard. Far harder than she could ever imagined life could be. The fuel in the car was gone within a day of aimlessly driving about, trying to find something but not knowing what or where.
On foot they moved from village to village. During the day she had to risk entering houses and searching for food and drink, knowing she had to eat to produce milk for her baby and provide for her son. At night she found places and secured them into one of the upstairs back rooms, urging and threatening her son not to make a sound during the hours of darkness.
Several times the baby woke her, gurgling and making ready to wail. She pacified her quickly, giving the breast and feeding whenever she cried in a desperate attempt to keep her quiet. Sod the instruction of the midwife and the lessons she learnt with her son, don’t always give the baby a feed when it cries or you’ll make a rod for yourself. Yeah right, try doing that when your surrounded by undead things.
The mother saw other survivors here and there, families that were polite but didn’t want the added responsibility of more mouths to feed, or a screaming baby to take care off. The Polish were different though. They had stayed all together in one house, the men going out to find whatever meagre supplies they could and eking them out to make sure everyone ate.
They took her in readily enough and she in turn helped with the other children and babies. The men came back yesterday, saying they’d heard from other survivors of a fort on the coast, one that was filled with doctors, soldiers and police officers. It was already late in the day, too late to travel and risk being outside so they stayed put for the night and prepared to leave.
Now, after being in the intense heat of the van for several hours while they drove around the south coast they finally found the road leading to the fort. Passing through the ruined housing estate and looking at the people working to pile the bodies into mounds.
They passed over the flatlands, the driver eyeing the fort in the distance and praying it would be all they hoped for.
A man with a shotgun waved them down and indicated for them to pull up on the side. Other people and cars were in front of them, being asked questions from people holding clipboards and dressed like police officers.
He relayed what he could see through the bulkhead, shouting that there was order here, a queue and people with guns and clipboards.
‘We open the back yes?’ The driver asked the guard.
‘Do what mate?’ The guard came closer to the window and cupped one ear, indicating the man to repeat what he said.
‘The back? We open it yes? It very hot.’
‘Eh? Oh you got people in there ‘ave ya? Yeah mate, open it up they’ll bleedin’ melt in that oven.’
‘I open yes?’ The man asked with a confused look on his face, not understanding much of what was just said.
‘Yes mate, that’s what I said didn’t I?’
The driver, still not fully sure of the answer, climbed down and walked slowly to the rear doors, pointing and gesturing, nodding the whole time. The doors were opened to the relieved sounds of the occupants clambering out looking red faced and very flushed.
‘Is good yes?’ The driver asked the guard.
‘Yeah very good,’ the guard replied slightly shocked at how many people were in the back. ‘Right me old mate, you gotta wait here to be checked, shouldn’t be too long, you want some water?’
‘I not understand,’ the driver replied with a puzzled expression. Words were exchanged between the group and the driver’s faced to one of understanding.
‘Sorry his English is not good, we understand to wait here?’ Another man explains.
‘Yep, wait here and someone will come and get you.’
‘You say there is water?’
‘Yep, I’ll get you some, hang on.’
‘This is the fort yes?’ A woman asks.
‘Yep, nice and safe here, we got plenty of space and some food, we got doctors too,’ the
guard replies before walking off. His words are translated, smiles spread across faces as the relief washes through them.
The mother sits down on the side of the path, little realising the blood shed that took place there just a few days ago. Her son, on finally being free from the van, runs about excitedly with the other children.
‘Ere Terri, got some for ya?’ The guard shouts as he walks to the big umbrella giving shade to the boxes of water bottles left there for the new people arriving.
‘Cheers,’ Terri shouts back and glances down the line. People queuing quietly and drinking from the water bottles. They all look a state, sunburnt, clothes filthy and faces gaunt. Hair greasy and plastered to their heads. Some of them still in pyjamas and god only knows how they’ve survived so many days in nightclothes.
All morning and afternoon she’s been out here, processing the new arrivals, recording details of names, dates of birth, former addresses and any skills they possess. She asks each one if they’ve had contact with the things, if they have been exposed to any blood, saliva or other bodily fluids. Most of them answer no, having simply hid from the undead and only moving during the daytime. Those that do admit to having contact are marked on the sheets, ready for Doctor Roberts and his team to examine them thoroughly.
She explains the same thing over and over, ‘when you go through you will be examined in medical tents, after that you will be taken to an area where you can have a wash and get some food and water. After that you’ll be allocated a space, if you have any food with you, please hand it over so we can stockpile everything we have.’
Questions are thrown at her, desperate survivors asking about relatives and being told there are lists inside of all the refugees and people known to have not survived.
Hard work but each one is rewarding. The look of relief the survivors show her, the outpouring of emotion at finally being in a safe place with proper people holding clipboards.
‘New lot are Polish,’ the guard remarks as he passes by carrying a box of water bottles.
‘Do they speak English?’
‘Some do,’ he shouts back. She keeps on, moving from group to group, taking details and recording all the vital information.
‘Ready for the next ones,’ a teenage boy runs over to pass the message.
‘Okay,’ Terri smiles at the small group at the front of the queue, ‘follow Joe here and he’ll take you through,’ she passes the sheets with the groups details to the smiling boy before he leads them to the outer gates.
‘This heat,’ she takes a drink of water and wipes the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. She wishes she didn’t have to wear her black police top but Sergeant Hopewell was adamant that new arrivals should see someone in uniform so they understand straight away that this is an organised place with rules.
Terri moves to the next group, repeating the process and answering the questions they have with patience and empathy. Steadily she works her way down the line, handing sheets to Joe as he comes out for the next admissions.
She reaches the long white van at the rear and takes a long swig of water before heading to the back and the crowd of people sat about.
‘Hi, I’m Terri, one of the officers here at the fort,’ Terri introduces herself, speaking slow and clear so they can understand her. She explains the process that’s already been repeated so many times. Her trained eyes easily see the ones that understand her and the ones that struggle to keep up and she waits patiently for the translations to be given.
She rests one knee on the hard earth, using it to steady the clipboard while working her way through the group, recording the names which takes longer because of the language barrier.
Reaching the mother she takes her name and those of her children and runs through the question and answer session, listening intently as the woman explains how she came to be with the Polish people.
‘And before that, where were you?’ Terri asks.
‘We were on foot for a few days, just going from house to house for food,’ the mother explains, ‘that was after the car ran out of petrol, before that we were driving about but we didn’t know where to go or anything.’
‘Oh dear, that sounds awful,’ Terri says softly.
‘You’ve no idea,’ the mother replies with fresh tears spilling from her eyes, ‘I was so scared the baby would cry at night, or they’d hear us. I had a knife but I was going to use it on us if they found us,’ she sobs.
‘I understand,’ Terri squeezes the woman’s arm, not in the least bit shocked at the admission made by the woman after hearing so many awful tales of survival. ‘It’s safe here; we’ve got guards with weapons, soldiers, doctors, food…’
‘I…I just didn’t think we’d get through it,’ the woman breaks down, two of the Polish women come over and rub her back, one taking the baby while the woman releases her frustration and fears.
‘Hey it’s okay,’ Terri says.
‘It was so bad, so bad,’ the woman sobs, ‘all that killing and I thought they were going to get inside the house…’
‘But you’re safe now,’ Terri maintains the soft tone.
‘All night they were going, banging and killing….I was so terrified…I held that bloody knife to my baby’s throat….the window smashed and I thought they were coming in, there was so many, so many of them…’
‘But they didn’t get in?’ Terri asks trying to draw the details out, hoping it will soothe the exhausted looking woman.
‘No,’ she sniffs and gives thanks to a tissue handed from one of the Polish women.
‘See, that’s a good thing,’ Terri says, ‘you made it safely.’
‘Poor dog,’ the woman sobs quietly.
‘Oh you left your dog at home?’ Terri asks with sympathy.
‘Not my dog, the dog from outside…’
‘What about the dog?’ Terri probes.
‘The dog that killed them all, we had to leave it…poor thing just sat there as we drove off, I felt bloody terrible…’
‘Hang on love, a dog killed what?’ Terri leant forward confused.
‘Those things, it killed them things outside the house. They were trying to get in and the dog stayed out there all day and all night killing ‘em, I put water down for it,’ she adds quickly as if that will ease the guilt she feels, ‘but the noise, the noise as it killed ‘em.’
‘The dog killed the undead?’ Terri asked, avoiding using the zombie word.
‘Yeah, loads of them. All bloody day and all bloody night too…’
‘What kind of dog was it?’
‘An Alsatian, a bloody big one too. Huge it was.’
‘You said it was there all day and all night? When was this love?’ Terri asked feeling a prickle on the back of her neck.
‘I don’t know, er…maybe the second or third night…I don’t know it’s all a blur.’
‘It was when it just happened then?’
‘Yeah, we we’re still in the house.’
‘Love this is really important, did you see the dog attacking the things in the day?’
‘Loads of them, they kept coming and the dog kept killing ‘em.’
‘And it bit them? Made them bleed?’
‘Course it bloody did, it tore half their throats out…’
‘And then all night too?’
‘Oh the night,’ the woman burst into a fresh bout of tears, ‘so many, when I looked out the next day the ground was just covered in bodies.’
‘The dog didn’t turn?’ Terri finally asks the million dollar question.
‘No miss, it was fine when we left, is…is that normal? I don’t know?’ She asked with a shrug but Terri was already off, running to the outer gates and calling for Joe.
TWENTY-TWO
DAY ELEVEN
‘Supermarket,’ I say needlessly as we pull into the huge empty car park and drive towards the main entrance, ‘just like being back at work eh Dave?’
‘This isn’t a Tesco store Mr Howie.’
‘Well yeah apart from that.’
‘And it’s smaller than our store too.’
‘Right fine, then it’s nothing like being back at work,’ the heat is getting to me. It’s getting to all of us. Even the lads in the back have stopped their constant banter.
‘Looks looted,’ Clarence calls down.
‘No shit,’ I mutter under my breath. All the windows along the front are smashed in and the main doors have been obliterated by a car driven into them at speed. The car is still wedged in the entrance way. A few corpses in the car park but nothing like we’ve seen elsewhere.
‘We’ll have a quick look, might be something left,’ I grab my bag and assault rifle and climb down onto the glaring concrete surface of the car park. The heat seems to be coming back up off the ground as well as from the sky.
‘Nick, you cover the GPMG mate, Clarence you better come with us…Lads…Lads what’s going on?’ Reaching the back I hear a heated exchange of words between Cookey and Blowers, both of them red faced and looking angry.
‘Nothing,’ Blowers looks away.
‘Sorry Mr Howie,’ Cookey murmurs and shoulders his bag before picking up his assault rifle. They both walk off, heading opposite directions.
‘What happened there?’ I ask Lani as she steps down from the back.
‘Nothing, just the heat,’ she answers quietly.
‘You sure?’ I don’t want any ill feeling between the lads.
‘Cookey made some funny comment and Blowers bit, Cookey bit back, that was all,’ Tom explains.
‘Fair enough,’ and it is fair enough. I can’t expect them to be perfectly behaved happy chaps all the time. ‘Dave, you take lead with Lani.’