by RR Haywood
‘Yes of course we do,’ I answer bluntly, ‘and we won’t be the only ones that figure out where the depots are now the shops are all gone.’
‘So we come with you but only if you have our food, is that right?’ Frank asks.
‘Unless you want to leave it here with a big sign up saying help yourself, yeah I think that’s about right. We take the food with us, not us not you but we…because it will be all of us eating it…’
‘Bloody hell Frank that was a stupid thing to say,’ the other voice calls out.
‘Is it true about you saving them people in Portsmouth from being slaves?’ A plump woman at the front asks.
‘Well…we…er…yeah we kind of met the people in the barricade and there was an issue of sorts.’
‘And the people on the motorway?
‘Yeah them too, we met them on the way to London.’
‘London?’ She asks, ‘you been to London?’
‘Yes, had to get my sister,’ I explain quickly.
‘Was it bad?’
‘Very bad, completely overrun. Everywhere is overrun.’
‘Have you heard from the government?’ More people shout questions.
‘No mate, there is no government, well no sign of them anyway.’
‘Are you from the army?’
‘Some of us are yes,’ I don’t give the full explanation.
‘How do we know you won’t do somefin’ nasty to us then? Like make us slaves or sommit?’
‘Why would we make you slaves? What for? And how would we organise a slave trade in the Eleven days since this thing began? We’re the same as you, just doing what we can to survive but we’ve been lucky in that we got a good base with good people inside it…’
‘Norman?’ The plum lady calls out, ‘do we all have to go or what? Like can some of us go and some stay?’
‘Er…well we’ve always said no one is a prisoner here, you can come and go as you wish.’
‘I want to go then,’ she replies quickly, more people nod in agreement, some argue against the idea and voices start rising.
‘Now come on, everyone just come on please,’ Norman shouts taking his place on the beer crate I’ve vacated, ‘I think we should have a vote and we go with the majority, yes? Everyone in agreement with that? We’ll put it to the vote and all agree we’ll abide by the decision…’
‘But you just said people can do what they want?’ Frank shouts.
‘Well yes I know and they can, but we are a group and we should stick together.’
‘Shut up Frank.’
‘So I can stay here if I want to then?’ Frank presses the point.
‘Yes of course you can,’ Norman appeases him.
‘With the food?’ He adds quickly.
‘Well now that depends on how many want to leave, we can’t leave all the food can we, so…well I don’t really know about that…’
‘So there ain't no bloody choice is there, if the majority say to go then the food goes too,’ Frank shouts above the rising clamour of voices.
‘Right come on, let’s have the vote,’ Norman carries on, ignoring Frank. ‘All those in favour of going to the new fort with Mr Howie and Dave, raise your hands…’ The air above the crowd is suddenly filled with hands waving and stretching high. No doubt about it, only a few don’t raise their hands. I look back to Clarence to who smiles and nods.
‘Vote passed,’ Norman grins, ‘right…well er…how do we do this?’ He looks to me suddenly unsure.
‘May I?’ I motion towards the crate.
‘Please do,’ he says gladly and steps off.
‘Go Howie,’ Lani mutters as I walk past her, I glance at her grinning, not realising she was so close.
‘Okay, have you got any vehicles?’ I call out to the sea of excited faces.
‘We put them all in round the back and the other side out of view from the gates,’ Norman replies.
‘We need to move quickly and get loaded up, do you have anything big like vans or…’
‘Use the arctic,’ a man shouts from the middle.
‘You have a lorry?’ I reply to nods and people shouting the types of vehicles they have, vans, cars and other things I don’t hear.
‘Get them all round the front, open those shutters up and get them loaded as quickly as possible. Form a chain and pass the goods out, my lot will help and we can use our vans too.’
Chaos descends as everyone tries to do everything at once. Clarence wades in, using his size and voice to cajole people into order. Pete and the van crews are soon amongst them as we try to organise over a hundred people into doing some fairly basic tasks. As normal, we start off with too many managers trying to take control and shout the others down.
But we get there slowly. The vehicles are driven round including one big lorry that certainly looks like it’s seen many better days but hopefully it will do the job.
I call my group to me, using the radio instead of trying to shout and find them all, we meet by the Saxon, moving out of earshot from the melee going on outside the warehouse.
‘Clarence, I want you to take the Saxon and go back down the road with Nick, Blowers, Cookey, Tom and Lani. We passed a load of used car sale places, find anything that will drive and get them back here, the bigger the better, Dave and I will stay here on guard. We’ve got fifty six people to get back to the fort…’
‘Fifty seven with Mr Thompson,’ Dave corrects me.
‘We’ve got a fifty seven people to shift plus the stuff in the warehouse.’
‘Boss, get Norman to send some people with us, we’ll be able to do it in one go then,’ Clarence adds.
‘Good idea mate.’ We break up as I work my way through the crowd, finding Norman and Geoff stood to one side talking. I relay my idea which he accepts and sends Geoff off to select some drivers. A few minutes later and they’re off, the Saxon driving out of the main gate and heading down the road. I can hear the crunching of bodies being crushed under the wheels from here.
Dave and I stand towards the back, watching the main gate and the work being carried out now in some semblance of order.
‘We got a few hours till dark,’ I remark.
‘We have Mr Howie.’
‘Need a long cold shower when we get back, I might just sit under the hose for an hour or two.’
‘Could go for a swim in the sea,’ he suggests.
‘That sounds like heaven mate, cool sea and a cold beer.’
‘Shouldn’t drink and swim.’
‘Or drive.’
‘I can’t drive.’
‘You should learn, I’ll teach you.’
‘I don’t have a licence.’
‘I don’t think that matters now Dave.’
‘Okay.’
‘Really? You’ll let me teach you to drive?’
‘Yes Mr Howie.’
‘We’ll need one of them instructor cars with the dual pedals and leaner plates, we should find one.’
‘Okay Mr Howie.’
‘Or should we just go straight for the Saxon?’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘Didn’t the army ever teach you to drive?’
‘No.’
‘Why not? They taught you just about everything else.’
‘I don’t know, I never asked them.’
‘Fair enough…’
TWENTY-SEVEN
DAY SIX
Two beasts, one of foul blood and the other pure, running at each other, lips pulled back, teeth bared. They do what must be done. There is no thought other than primal instinct. The predator seeing its prey and charging with violence unknown to human kind.
The thing drop down, neck stretched showing the gristle and veins bulging under the pale decaying skin. The dog starts to lift, using her powerful back legs to drive her up, her front legs extended ready for the impact.
Within a split second she has taken in the change, absorbed the difference and now knows the things are here for her. She does not wilt or flee but charg
es with unrestrained aggression.
The thing doesn’t stand a chance. Days of constant killing have honed her skill finely. She locks her jaws either side of the things mouth and drops her weight, dragging it down at the same time as she gives a violent shake of her neck. Flesh, teeth and jaw bone are shorn away. The next one is lunging in, she whips round and drives forward. Ploughing her body weight and driving it back. Teeth savaging any piece of the things body she can get at.
Two down and more coming. She uses the tricks she’s learnt and bounds on the downed bodies, launching herself at the exposed necks of the oncoming attackers. In the open she is deadly, using her speed and agility to take them down.
In this confined space she is worse. Utter brute force and power driving a mouth full of sharp teeth that can generate enough pressure to break human bone, and she does. Ragging the things up and down the hallway, they drop down, lunging in ready for the bite. She takes this change of behaviour and uses it to her advantage, staying low and whipping in amongst their legs and biting up at the faces as they come down.
She climbs over the bodies and backs away to foot of the stairs, snarling and making noise. Daring them to come at her. Lips pulled up and eyes fixed. Deep growls emanating from her throat. Hair standing on end. They keep coming, launching themselves over the bodies, tripping, falling and dying.
The corpses mount up and she gives ground inch by inch, backing away to the stairs. She starts to rise, using the height of the stairs to lunge at their necks and drive them back down.
The front door yields under the sustained battering, splintering open as more of the things surge through. But the stairs are narrow and only two can fit abreast. She dominates them. Taunts them. Beckons them on.
Driving forward again and again she rips through flesh like butter, tearing throats out, destroying jugulars and opening arteries. Blood soaks the steps, making the slippery and causing the following things to slip and slide. With four legs she bounds up and down destroying anything that comes at her.
Upstairs, in the back bedroom. The strong muscular form of Paco Maguire, action hero of more than twenty blockbuster movies sits in the corner, knees drawn to chest and sobbing with unrestrained terror. Hearing the snarls, the growls, the killing he wills the dog to survive. Prays that she holds her ground and defeats the evil monsters.
Thoughts race through his mind. Images of the pitchfork monster and Lucy defeating the dog and tearing her open, pouncing on the stairs and lunging at the bedroom door. He prays to his mother, father, he prays to the name of every god and angel he’s ever heard. He pleads for his life, making unremitting promises to live a wholesome life, to do good and help others.
But not once does he consider going to her aid.
TWENTY-EIGHT
DAY SEVEN
The sun rises on the seventh day of the new world. While Howie prepares the fort for battle, the dog finally kills the last undead.
The fallen bodies became so dense the things had to fight and crawl their way through and over them. But they just added to the pile. A spark of intelligence remained as they started tugging and pulling the bodies away, opening gaps to find a mouthful of teeth waiting for them.
The suns golden rays slowed the things to a shuffle which she detected instantly. The animal instinct not questioning the change but accepting it and adapting. She finished them off, her movements slow and almost cumbersome now. A few times she’d left the stairs to drink water from the toilet bowl and it was just enough to sustain her.
As the last one falls she feels an overwhelming sense of tiredness come over her. Legs feeling wooden and shaky. Her coat matted with blood and gore.
Slowly she walks back into the den, clambering over the bodies and stopping when she’s sees Paco stood at the top of the stairs. His mouth hanging open at the sight of the corpses and blood spatters high on the walls. His eyes take the view in, moving slowly over the scene until they finally rest on her.
‘Damn,’ he whispers but seeing the daylight and dog still alive gives him a sense of enormous relief. Taking great care he makes his way down the stairs, pausing to make sure the dog has finished her killing spree and isn’t about to launch at him. She looks normal, apart from the blood and filth on her fur. Her head is hanging lower than before and she keeps yawning, showing the back of her mouth and her blood stained tongue.
With no other choice Paco is forced to step on the bodies, using them as stepping stones to gain a view of the street outside, shocked at seeing yet more cadavers strewn about.
‘God damn,’ he turns back to her. She stands with her tail wagging slowly.
‘Good girl!’ He says louder now, her tail beats faster as he makes his way down the hallway into the kitchen. Checking the back garden for monsters before he finds a bowl and fills it with cold water.
She’s there instantly, drinking noisily and gulping it down. The bowl is licked dry and filled again. Pink water dripping from her muzzle, tainting the bowl. She doesn’t stop but keeps lapping with her tongue, in and out, in and out. Rapid movements that drains the water surprisingly fast.
His brow knots and a grimace spreads across his face at the sight of her matted coat. Heading outside he finds a hose and calls the dog to him. She comes readily enough and even stands still while he jets the water on her body, using a dustpan brush to work at the bits stuck in her hair.
Finished he stands back just in time for her to shake her coat and soak everything within a six foot radius.
‘You look beat,’ he says softly, ‘but we can’t stay here, we gotta move.’ He heads back into the kitchen and drinks more water before stomping over the bodies and leaving the house.
In the street he looks up and down, checking for signs of movement. The dog stands by his side, head still hanging low and still panting heavily.
‘Come on,’ he taps his leg and moves off. She follows a few feet behind, her ears still pricked and eyes watchful but just happy to follow the man where he leads.
Paco leads the dog through street after street. Knowing she needs a rest but wanting to create distance from their last house. Finally, just as she looks ready to drop he selects a house with a door slightly ajar and tentatively makes his way up the path. Shoeing the door open he stands still, listening for any noise and watching the dog. She senses his fear once more and walks past him, making her way slowly through the house and up the stairs. Only when she re-appears does he close and lock the door and start his checks, making sure there’s an escape route through the back garden.
He stops in the hallway, staring up at the dog asleep on the top landing. Her paws hanging over the top step by a few inches. Her eyes closed but ears still pricked.
From having spent the night cowering in the bedroom, he too feels drained and exhausted. Finding the sofa in the lounge he stretches out and listens as the dog gently patters down the stairs and walks into the room, lying down on her side facing the door.
‘Good girl,’ he yawns watching her tail flicker at the praise.
Despite the sheer exhaustion it takes time for Paco to drift off, his mind ablaze with thoughts and images of where to go and how to survive.
The town is too dangerous; they tracked him yesterday despite the rain washing the scent from the road. They knew where he was so they’ll find him again. In his mind there is no choice, they’ll have to leave the town and find some desolate house in the country. Lucy only found him because she knew where the house was. If he could find another house like that they could hide away.
He sits up, thinking it would be safer to go now before they rally and find them again, but the dog looks beat. She’s been fighting all night and must be drained. Weighing up the options in his head he considers just going anyway and hoping the dog will follow. But then just look at how many of the monsters she’s killed already, no, she is his best chance of survival and that means she needs to be rested to fight again. A few hours will do it. Dogs recover quickly right. Get some food and water in her and they can
be off.
He rests back with his hands behind his head, flexing his biceps and rubbing the thick beard on his face. Sleep gently dulls his mind, drawing him down into slumber in the warm summer air.
TWENTY-NINE
DAY ELEVEN
‘Terri, slow down! Who are you talking about? What dog?’ Sergeant Hopewell looks at the flustered woman with confusion. Terri breaths out slowly, gathering her thoughts and getting her breathing back under control from sprinting through the compound to the police offices.
‘A woman, she just arrived outside with some Polish families. She’s not Polish though, English,’ Terri nods trying to get her point across.
‘English…right…keep going,’ Sergeant Hopewell prompts as Ted looks on with interest.
‘She said there was a dog outside her house, it was killing the undead…it was there all day and all night, she felt the dog was protecting her and her children…’
‘Okay, keep going.’
‘Well, the dog didn’t turn! She said it was there all day, you see? The dog was killing the undead and taking in their blood and flesh but it didn’t turn. She said it was still the same the next morning, like a normal dog with normal eyes and wagging its tail!’ Terri watches as Sergeant Hopewell’s eyes go wide as she grasps the implication.
‘Where was it?’ Ted asks stepping forward and staring closely at Terry.
‘Er…it’s on the form, hang on,’ Terri replies flicking through the sheets of paper on her clipboard.
‘She’s outside?’ Sergeant Hopewell asks.
‘Yes Sarge, still waiting to be processed.’
‘Ted, find Chris and meet me outside.’
‘Will do,’ Ted calls already heading for the door as he pushes his flat cap on and adjusts his utility belt.
‘Tell me again what she said?’ Sergeant Hopewell asks as they walk through the compound towards the front gates. Terri relays it her account again, slightly breathless from the fast walking.
‘What kind of dog was it?’
‘Er…I don’t know…maybe she said but I can’t remember,’ Terri replies.