The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  ‘Don’t leave me,’ she whimpers in a quiet voice.

  ‘Sure kid, I’ll stay right here,’ he sits back down, smoothing her hair from her forehead. He wrings the cloth out and wipes her face, gently removing the fat man’s sweat from her skin. ‘What’s your name honey?’

  ‘Meredith,’ she whispers.

  ‘Well hey Meredith, I’m Paco…listen honey, you take this cloth and clean yourself, you know what I mean?’ She nods back clearly terrified and shaking like a leaf.

  ‘Get yourself cleaned up, I’ll be right outside.’

  ‘No,’ she whispers urgently her hand gripping his wrist.

  ‘Okay, I’ll stay, I’m gonna turn this way okay? See, I can’t see you kid, you get yourself cleaned up and I’ll stay right here.’ He listens to the rustling as the girl rubs herself with the cloth. Whimpering with pain she rubs harder and harder, whimpering louder as she tries to rid herself of the every trace of the fat man.

  ‘Take it easy honey,’ Paco says still looking away. She ceases at his deep tones and hands the cloth over. He takes it from her, his eyes squeezing closed for a second at the sight of the dark patches on the white cloth.

  ‘Hey, see that’s better,’ he turns back, her face shining from the moonlight. A tear rolls down her cheek, followed by another. Her bottom lip trembling before she bursts in tears, loud sobs that wrack her body. She reaches out for him, he responds by shuffling closer and wrapping his arms round her shoulders. She buries her head onto his chest, her body heaving as she cries violently. Paco rubs her shoulders gently, his heart breaking at the grief and terror she went through. He should have moved quicker. If he’d moved quicker this wouldn’t have happened. The dog, sensing the distress of the girl jumps onto the bed, pushing her nose into the girls face and licking her cheeks. She loops an arm round its neck, holding it tightly.

  They stay there for hours, the girl sobbing and crying herself to sleep until Paco gently lays her down. She grips his arm as he goes to leave and he lies down next to her. The dog settles next to her legs, the two of them offering a protective shield to the young girl.

  He wakes several times during the night to feel her crying next to him. He soothes her with quiet words, stroking her head until they both go quiet and he drifts back off to sleep.

  The next morning, he wakes with a start at the dog nosing his face and whimpering urgently. Sitting bolt upright and staring at the empty space next to him. He scrabbles off the bed, glancing down at the bloodied water in the bucket and the cloth now stained pink.

  He staggers into the hallway, crying out at the sight of the girl’s body hanging from the inside of the front door. He runs over, yelling out and lifting her up, desperately trying to take the pressure from her neck. Fumbling he opens the door and holds her body up, blood stains still marking the white skin between her naked legs. He tugs the rope from the top of the door and lowers her body down. His strong fingers working at the ligature round her throat. The skin tight and misshapen from the downwards pressure of her body.

  Crying with frustration he runs into the kitchen, wrenching drawers open and emptying the contents onto the side. With a sharp knife in hand he rushes back, dropping down and gently cutting into the rope. He gets through it, pulling the length away from her skin. Drool hangs from her mouth dried spittle coats her lips. Her eyes open and lifeless.

  ‘Her kid, come on,’ he yells and drops his ear down to her mouth, listening for breath. He pushes his ear against her chest, no heartbeat. He works quickly, pulling her head back and clamping his mouth over hers and exhaling. Her chest rises as her lungs inflate; he repeats the action before pushing his palms into her breast bone and starting compression. Ribs snap and break under the pressure. He keeps going; tears of his own streaming down his cheeks. The dog sat watching.

  ‘Come on kid,’ he yells in sheer frustration, ‘don’t do this…come on!’ He keeps breathing for her, pushing at her chest. Sweat forms and drips from his head. Seconds go by, minutes tick away. She remains the same.

  He sinks back onto the floor next to her. Crying with grief. Remorse flooding through his system, his hands shake as he rubs his face roughly. Pushing his hair back, rocking back and forth and wailing. Not caring if every monster in the country came for him. He wouldn’t run. He’d offer himself to them. He deserved it. He deserved to die for what he’d done. He should have acted faster, he should have gone straight outside, he should have stayed awake during the night, he should never have left Lucy, he should have gone into the cottage and tried to get her out. Stinking dirty yellow coward. He beats himself in the head with his palms. The dog whimpering and lying down to stare at him forlornly.

  The tears ease, the fear gone. A seed of numbness takes root in his soul, spreading its roots throughout his body. He stares at the ground between his legs, examining the minute details of the flooring.

  He knows he has to do something with her body, that she’s lying there naked and dead after being horrifically abused.

  With a heavy heart he carried the dead girl into the spare bedroom, laying her on the bed to wrap her in the bed sheets. Leaving the corpse he ventures outside into the bright light and heat of the day. The ruined body of Steve inert on the grass, the fat man further away. He walks with purpose across the green, bending down to grasp Steve by an ankle, dragging him easily across the lawn to the fat man. Without pause he leans down and takes a firm grip of the fat man’s ankle, the muscles in his upper body and legs straining as he drags the dead weight towards the van.

  Paco dumps the corpses by the still open back doors and climbs in, looking for tools. He finds cases of booze, whiskey and vodka and cartons of cigarettes. A few items of snack food but no tools other than a tyre iron, which won’t do for the task he has in mind.

  He heads over to the reception building, reaching his hand through the broken pane of glass, opening the door and checking inside. A cabinet at the rear full of gardening tools, he nods in satisfaction grabbing a shovel and heading back outside.

  Staring at the central grass area he thinks of where to dig. Not here, not where she suffered so much. That would be wrong.

  Instead he heads inside the house and hoists the body gently over his shoulder, taking the shovel he heads backs down the lane, taking care to walk gently as though fearful of causing her discomfort.

  Away from the houses he finds a grassed meadow bordered by a row of trees to one side. A peaceful and tranquil setting. Paco opens the gate and walks deep into the field, gently resting the body on the ground before spitting on his hands and driving the edge of the shovel into the earth.

  The hard packed soil yields slowly but years of solid training, eating well and taking care of himself have made him strong. His mind now set and he digs, digs hard, relentless. The sun beats down as he drives that shovel into the soil again and again. Heaving the heavy loads to the side, the dog lying close by watching him silently.

  Paco doesn’t rest or cease, sweat pours from his body. The too tight top is too tight and is discarded quickly. Shoulders bulging, arms straining he digs the grave. Driving deep into the ground. Standing back he looks at his work. The sadness creeping up and threatening to pull him down into the open grave.

  He lifts the body gently, carrying it over and down into the earth. He lays Meredith to rest, smoothing the bed sheets over her body. Finally, he tugs the sheet clear of her face. Staring down at her young face. Tears fall free now, she looks so young. A whole life ahead of her. He kisses his fingertips and gently touches them to her forehead before covering her face. The act of covering in the dirty soil upsets him more than anything. She was too good for this, too good to be left in an unmarked grave in an unknown field. This shouldn’t happen this way. He forces himself to lift that first shovel full of soil, pausing before gently laying it onto her body. The soil crumbs tumbling across the sheet.

  A sob breaks out from his throat, a dry sound that plunges him into despair. He works harder, shovelling the earth quickly. He doesn’
t look down into the grave now, but drives the shovel back and forth, slowly covering the body and filling the grave. He cries non-stop throughout the ordeal, berating himself, cursing himself, self-loathing bursting from every atom of his being.

  Finally it’s done, a mound of bare earth marking the spot of the taken girl. He stands back leaning on the shovel, his torso gleaming in sweat. Eyes red and puffy. One day this mound will seed with grass and flowers and become a feature of the meadow. Maybe in the distant future a young girl will venture to sit with a young boy, hold hands and plan their lives, never knowing of the poor Meredith that lies beneath them.

  ‘Lord, I don’t know if you’re there, I guess not after what you’ve done to us,’ Paco speaks out, standing at the foot of the grave, the shovel held over one shoulder, ‘but this girl didn’t deserve what happened and I will never forgive you for that, but if you’re there…if you can hear me…please take this girl into your arms. Accept her into heaven, if she’s sinned before she died then I’ll take those sins, you hear me? I’ll take the sins she committed, you send me to damnation a thousand times over and I’ll live in the eternal fires for ever more but you take her into heaven and end her pain. He turns quickly, picking his top up and wiping the stinging sweat and tears from his eyes.

  ‘Come on dog.’

  The dog follows him from the field. Sensing his change. The fear in him has completely gone now. No longer a little one but a man. They walk down the lane only stopping as he climbs into the back of the van, coming back out with a bottle of whiskey. Throwing the shovel down he twists the lid off and holds the bottle to his lips.

  ‘For Meredith,’ he drinks deep, glugging the harsh liquid down his throat. They cross the lawn, entering the house. The door slamming shut behind them.

  THIRTY-TWO

  DAY ELEVEN

  ‘There it is,’ I shout out. The drive did speed up for the last few miles. Using the radio we checked the vans were okay, pushing just a bit faster to try and get back before dark. Driving down the lane towards the housing estate and the end is in sight. Spirits lift and the banter becomes louder, everyone chatting about the swim we’re going to have, getting cleaned up and putting fresh clothes on.

  Dave does interject and reminds the younger ones of their responsibility to cleaning their weapons and sorting their kit out first, and then goes on to mention about being back in the fort in front of others. Clarence and I smile like old timers at the mini lecture he gives which, to be fair, they listen to readily enough and promise to get everything sorted.

  ‘Fo…M…Wie….’ Our radios crackle with static and a broken transmission.

  ‘This is Howie, you’re not coming through, say again.’

  ‘Fort to Mr Howie, is that you?’

  ‘Howie to the fort, yeah this is me, who’s that?’

  ‘Howie its Ted, Chris has gone out on an urgent search, we need you straight back here.’

  ‘We’re on our way into the estate now Ted, what’s happened?’

  ‘I’ll explain when you get here but be ready to go straight back out.’

  ‘Yeah okay mate, just a few minutes.’

  ‘What was that about Mr Howie?’ Blowers calls out.

  ‘No idea mate sounds bad though.’

  ‘Speed up boss, the convoy’ll be safe enough now,’ Clarence urges. The light-hearted chat ends with the transmission, everyone leaning forward and staring out the front window. All thoughts of a peaceful evening and a cooling swim gone from our minds as I accelerate through the estate into the flatlands.

  ‘Must be bad if they’ve sent Chris out,’ I say out loud.

  ‘Check your weapons and ammunition and make sure you’ve got plenty of water too,’ Dave calls down.

  ‘Doing it now,’ Blowers replies. We speed down the access road, the night sky coming down faster now. The fort already showing lights to the front.

  As we pull up we see Ted, Sergeant Hopewell and Terri stood with others talking animatedly, they look focussed and intense.

  ‘Howie, where the hell have you been?’ Sergeant Hopewell snaps as we climb stiffly down from the vehicle.

  ‘We got the cash and carry, well all the stock from it anyway…there were survivors there too, they’re behind us coming in, what’s happened?’

  ‘How many?’ Terri cuts in quickly.

  ‘Er…just under sixty or so, plus vehicles and food.’

  ‘I’ll get some more people to sort them out Sarge,’ she says quickly, walking off towards the gate.

  ‘Howie, Chris has gone straight out into a town north of here, a family arrived earlier, the woman said there was a dog outside her house for a period of over twelve hours. The dog was killing the things, but it didn’t turn. It was there from the afternoon through to the following morning…’

  ‘It didn’t turn?’ I ask quickly, the others crowding round behind me, listening intently.

  ‘No, she saw it killing them. A normal dog, normal eyes, wagging its bloody tail and drinking water…Doctor Roberts said…’

  ‘Yeah I know what he would have said, where is it? How long ago? What type of dog is it?’

  ‘An Alsatian, very very big. Mostly black, a female dog she thinks. It was here on this map. We’ve got her to mark where her house was and the last place she saw it.’

  ‘How long ago?’ Clarence repeats my question.

  ‘That’s the bad thing,’ she grimaces, ‘maybe a week or so, all she can remember is that it was only a few days after it started.’

  ‘German Shepherd,’ Dave says as we all turn to look at him, ‘the correct name is German Shepherd, Alsatian was a name they gave the breed during the war…’

  ‘Yeah cheers for that Dave,’ I nod at him before turning back to sergeant Hopewell, ‘so she definitely saw it killing them? Taking their blood into its mouth and it didn’t turn for twelve hours, is that right?’

  ‘That’s it, listen I know it’s been a long day but Chris is already out and we…’

  ‘We’re going straight back out, we need fuel, water and food, we’ll eat on the way.’

  ‘Leave that to me,’ Ted says curtly.

  ‘Debbie, is there a hose near the front? We’re desperate for a quick wash, we’ll be five minutes while Ted gets what we need.’

  ‘There’s one just inside the inner gate.’

  ‘That’ll do, Lani you’re the fastest, run to our rooms and get any clean tops you can find in there, Blowers I want you to speak to Ted and get us some torches and make sure he gets us spare batteries, the rest of you go inside and use the hose. Stay close to the front, we’ll be moving off as soon as we’ve got fuelled up.’ They head off without a word of argument, no moaning about being hot or tired, no mention of the swim we should have had. Dave goes with Lani, the two of them sprinting easily into the fort. Blowers grabs Ted who nods back at him and uses his radio to order torches and batteries to be brought down.

  ‘What did the doc say?’ Clarence asks the sergeant.

  ‘Just that we’ve got to find it and get it back here, he needs fuel for his equipment but the most important thing is the dog.’

  ‘Is it just that dog? That breed? All dogs? What more do we know?’ I ask.

  ‘We don’t know, but I can tell you that the people in the camp recall seeing cats and rats infected like the people but no dogs, not one account of a dog being turned or being infected.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean they’re immune,’ Clarence says.

  ‘We know that, Doc Roberts said the same thing. He said he’d bet no one had seen an infected cow or chicken either but that doesn’t mean they’re immune to…the infection, virus…whatever it is seems to target humans, maybe because of the intelligence and ability to communicate, the dominant species of the planet or the species that seems to live the longest…anyway it seems that other than the rats no other species have been noted as having turned. Now this dog could be many things, it could be a delayed reaction and it could have turned the minute she left it, or it could be th
e breed of dog, or it could be all dogs. We simply don’t know but we can’t take that chance. If there is an animal out there that holds something in its blood that prevents the virus from taking it over…’

  ‘Then we need it here,’ I finish her sentence for her, my mind buzzing with the possibilities this brings. It might be nothing, just a false lead or something a terrified woman recalls wrong, but they’re right, if there is one slim minute chance of it being immune we have to find it.

  ‘Won’t we need a vet?’ Clarence asks.

  ‘We’ve got one, a student vet anyway, but she was in her last year and not far of qualifying. She’s one of the female medics checking the new people over before they go in. But they both said, the vet and Doc Roberts that the blood is the important thing, we need that dogs blood here for testing…and fuel so he can run the equipment.’

  ‘Shut everything non-essential down, people can cook on open fires if they need to, get these lights off…’

  ‘We’re doing it now,’ she replies haughtily, ‘the lights are from batteries and we’re draining all the spare vehicle tanks now.’

  ‘We’ve got more vehicles behind us, you can use them until we get more. Right we’re going in for a wash, shout when the fuel is done.’ We walk off towards the gates. Both of us stunned and silent from the news.

  Breaching protocol we go straight through without being checked, heading inside to find the lads stood with their tops off and Cookey bent over holding the hose over the top of his head. Buckets have been filled which they use to soak and rinse their tops before using the hose to rinse the sweat off their skin.

  We join in, stripping off as Dave and Lani jog back clutching handfuls of fresh tops from our rooms.

  The water is amazing, feeling icy cold and making me yelp in delight as it rushes out down my face and onto my chest. I could stand here for hours, just letting the cold liquid spill over me.

  We each take a turn, rushing through the wash and soaking our filthy clothes. Lani goes last, smiling at me and holding a towel out.