by RR Haywood
‘Can you hold this up please, I’ve only got a bra on underneath,’ the lads all turn away thoughtfully as I spread it out, holding it up high.
She yelps too as the water hits her skin, ‘oh that’s so nice,’ she moans with pleasure. Damn I wish I could peek behind this towel, just the image of her standing there in a bra with the water pouring down her dusky skin gets me going. Shaking my head to re-focus she laughs and splashes noisily.
‘Don’t let it slip now,’ she whispers, ‘I’m just changing my bra.’
‘Stop it,’ I whisper back.
‘Oh it’s so nice to stand here with no top on, the water is lovely.’
‘Oh god,’ I mutter quietly.
‘Are you tempted to look?’ She whispers again.
‘Of course I bloody am,’ I reply.
‘You’re very restrained.’
‘I won’t be if you don’t hurry up.’
‘Get Clarence to hold it and come round here with me,’ she laughs.
‘I wish…but we’ve got to see a man about a dog.’
‘What man?’ she asks.
‘Eh? It’s a saying…you know when…’
‘I know I was joking.’
‘Oh, sorry.’
‘I’m done, you can relax,’ she steps out looking fresh as a daisy with a big grin.
‘Thank god for that,’ I smile back.
We join the others, Lani mentioning she needs to get something from the Saxon and heading back out. We change into dry tops, checking our sizes and laughing when Clarence tries to put a much smaller one on.
‘Mr Howie, can I show you something please?’ Lani asks, stood to the side of the medical tent as the rest of us walk through towards the outside and Ted filling the Saxon from fuel cans.
‘Yeah what’s up?’ I reply, stepping over to the side. She pauses for a second, watching the others file out the gates. Nodding her head she motions me to follow her and steps further back into the shadows.
‘Lani? What’s up?’ I ask concerned, carefully stepping after her. I feel a tight grip on my wrist as she pulls me in and presses her body against mine.
‘You’re so bloody slow,’ she mutters before pushing her lips against mine. The world stops spinning, time and motion is frozen as our lips touch. A stolen kiss behind a medical tent after an exhausting day and it’s the best moment of my life. My hands reach up, cupping and framing her face. Our lips press gently at first, savouring the touch. My heart hammers in my chest, my legs feel shaky. The pressure between us builds as we start to kiss harder, her arms going round my neck and pulling me in tightly.
Stars explode behind my eyes, blood thunders past my ears. She feels so warm and soft, the natural scent of her hair filling my nose. Her lips so soft and inviting. Our tongues probe gently, she murmurs softly. My arms reach round her body holding her close.
Of all the things I’ve done in my life, of all the amazing adventures Dave and I have had, the fights, the battles…this is by far the most beautiful of them all.
‘Wow,’ I breathe out as we separate, our faces holding inches apart and bodies still pressing together.
‘We could be in for a rough night,’ she whispers, ‘in case something happens…I didn’t want to wait any longer…’
‘I’m glad you didn’t, I wish I’d done this ages ago.’
‘Then why didn’t you?’ She asks gently.
‘Too shy I guess.’
‘Shy? You’re Mr Howie, the fearsome killer of the undead, the leader of the living army,’ she chuckles softly.
‘Yeah but…’ I don’t finish my sentence, instead pulling her in for another kiss.
‘Boss, we’re ready to go,’ Clarence yells from somewhere a million miles away in another dimension. His words do bring us back to reality and we slink out into the pale light, our faces flushed and grinning. Clarence stands there, a slow smile spreading across his broad face and gives a knowing wink.
‘Right behind you,’ I reply sheepishly. He nods, leading us back to the Saxon which gives me just enough time to regain my composure. The lads are stood round chatting, Lani heads straight for them as I climb into the driver’s seat and start the engine.
‘Did we get the water?’ I call out as I swing the front round to head back down the lane.
‘Yeah loads,’ Blowers replies passing me a bottle which is surprisingly cold to the touch, ‘they kept them in buckets of water in the shade,’ he explains.
‘Good, I think we’re going to need them.’
THIRTY-THREE
DAY ELEVEN
He emerges into the blinding light, hand held in front of his eyes trying to shield them from the glare. The past few days have passed in a drunken blur. Going through bottle after bottle of booze, only stopping to eat, piss, shit and sleep.
For every swig he took he toasted the memory of Meredith. The sweet angel who suffered so badly because of his cowardice and lack of action. The action of killing the fat man replays in his mind, the movements were so quick and instinctive. The years of training for films had been worth it but now it’s too late. She’s dead and in his mind, the whole episode is his fault.
The dog watched him slip into a blur of drunkenness, staying by his side throughout every drunken action. As he sang sweet ballads, vomited from drinking too much, as he smashed round the house in violent outbursts of temper, as he sank into depression crying and sobbing, wailing pitifully as the image of her hanging from the door refuses to budge from his head.
She was glad of the rest and to stay inside away from the ever increasing heat, but still his sadness infected her. There were times when he held her close, burying his crying eyes into the soft fur of her neck. There were times when he talked to her at length, explaining about how movies were made and imparting salacious gossip about other famous actors. And there were times he sat morose, silent and brooding, staring off into the middle distance, the only movement was his arm lifting the bottle to his lips.
On the eleventh day he ran out of booze. With the food all gone he realised what a sorry state he was in. The depths of his grief had absorbed him completely. Removed him from the present.
Now, standing in the sunlight, his jaw covered in thick dark bristles, hooded eyes almost as red and bloodshot as the monsters he realises they need to leave this place. No food, no booze, nothing but water remains here. If he had booze he would quite happily drink himself to death and wait his turn to die, remembering the promise he made to take the sins of the girl.
But the dog, she had saved him time and time again and she was hungry. He had been a total douchebag already but he’d be damned if she would suffer anymore because of him. They had to move out, find food and then head back here.
The minivan was still there, he headed towards it, grateful that he didn’t have to walk in this blistering head. England was meant to be cold and damp with overcast skies. This was like Hawaii or the Caribbean but without the ocean breeze.
Damn, the bodies were still there. Stinking filthy corpses covered in flies and maggots crawling in the open wounds of the skinny guy. He veered round them, covering his nose and mouth from the foul stench. Standing at the driver’s door his shoulders sagged, the keys weren’t in the ignition.
‘Jesus guys, who’s gonna steal it out here?’ he asked the corpses at his feet. He chose the skinny guy first, remembering he went back for the bottle. Gingerly he plucks the material away from the bloated body, tapping his hand down the pockets and finding a bulge within. Gagging from the stench invading his throat he reaches a hand inside, plucking the keys before darting away to retch on hands and knees.
An empty stomach produces only bitter, stinging bile. He staggers to his feet, spitting the taste away and shaking his head at the misery of it all.
Slamming the rear doors closed he climbs into the driver’s seat and works out how to push the chair back. The engine fires up first time as he familiarises himself with the stick shift in the middle. The dog, already seated on the small double pas
senger seat with her head out the window looks excited to be moving. Panting away and making small whining noises.
Pulling away he heads onto the lane, driving slowly past the field and staring at the stark mound of earth so obvious against the green grass.
The sadness plunges him back down as he faces forward. Not a flicker of emotion shows on his face now, just the spreading numbness and a sick empty feeling from too much liquor and not enough food.
They drive in silence with the dog in a state of ecstasy at holding her head outside and feeling the rush of wind against her face. Her bulk blocks the window entirely, barely keeping herself on the seat and he quickly learns to brake gently to save her slipping off.
Glancing at the fuel gauge he nods at the indicator showing just below half a tank. Should be enough to get into the town, find food, booze and get back again. After that? Who cares? There is no place else to go, nothing else to do but sit and wait for the inevitable.
THIRTY-FOUR
DAY ELEVEN
The infection lost the dog some days ago, after losing yet more valuable host bodies to its sharp teeth and powerful jaws. Since then the world had moved on. The survivors had already become fewer and were more cunning. Hiding during the night and only moving in the day.
The battle of the fort had withered resources too and this area was already vastly thinned out. As small pockets of survivors were found, the infection learnt to mass and attack fast and hard. Many were wiped out, simply unable to cope with the overwhelming numbers and the increasing ferocity of the attacks. Others, Like Maddox on his council estate, had brave people like Howie coming to their rescue. Withering yet more of the hosts down and killing in quantities that were simply unacceptable.
The infection moved its hosts about slowly during the heat of the day. Shuffling them towards targets, gathering numbers, collating intelligence and all the time learning and evolving.
On this, the eleventh day, the infection sends those hosts out. Knowing there are more survivors holed up and just needing to sniff them out. Following the scent of fear, shit and piss.
A horde gathers in a wide affluent street, waiting for greater numbers to arrive before they assault the house with the old lady inside who stubbornly refuses to come out and be taken.
They turn and watch as a red minivan drives by slowly, a bearded man staring at them from behind the wheel. A big black dog growling and barking angrily out the window.
The dog. The same dog that killed so many hosts. It’s back in the town. The collective intelligence buzzes with the update. The dog must be killed before it starts the killing spree again.
Leaving just two hosts to terrorise the old lady, the infection sends the others after the van heading towards the town centre.
The van’s journey is tracked and picked up by many pairs of red, bloodshot eyes as it navigates the streets, driving round the corpses and abandoned vehicles.
The sun is strong and the infection knows if it moves the hosts too quickly they will weaken and die easier. But it has also been learning and evolving and has a deadly surprise just waiting to be tried out.
THIRTY-FIVE
DAY ELEVEN
‘Dirty bastards,’ Paco growls almost as deeply as the dog at seeing the monsters gathered at the side of the road. The dog reacts instantly, standing up and barking like crazy out the window. For a second he feared she would jump out and go for them, and probably get her body trapped in the small window. Instead she seemed content to voice her disapproval, telling them to fuck off.
They see more of the monsters here and there, single ones or couples shuffling along. All of them turning to stare at the passing vehicle. The dog giving voice to each and every one of them.
With the change caused from the death of Meredith, they don’t seem that scary now. Whereas before he would have been flooring the gas pedal and driving off desperate to avoid them, now he slows down. Staring hard at their mutilated bodies, the gross decaying colour of their skin and the insects buzzing round them. They’re not monsters. They’re just dirty infected mother fuckers who ultimately caused the death of Meredith. Sure, he played a part in the final act by failing to act fast enough but it was them that made it happen. If they hadn’t have done this she would have been safe at home with her folks, dating boys, doing homework and dreaming of a bright future.
After several minutes of carefully driving through the residential streets he snaps at seeing a small horde gathered by a junction. Bringing the minivan to a gradual stop he stares out the window as they start shuffling towards them.
He opens the door and climbs out, walking steadily towards them. Daring them to run at him, wanting them to run at him. His hands open and close into tight fists, anger surges through his mind. Adrenalin pumping his heart and making him breathe faster.
Again he fails to act fast enough as the dog pounds past his legs, leaping at the first one and dragging it down to the ground by its throat. Her actions spur him on, driving his legs as he sprints hard at them. His face a picture of pure seething hatred.
She’s already taking the second one down as Paco reaches the horde. His strong hands grabbing the shoulders and pulling the thing into him. It bucks and writhes as Paco slams his foot down onto its knee joint at the same time as squeezing hard with his arms and twisting to the side. The neck breaks and he drops the body, deftly moving back as another one lunges at him with teeth bared. It’s taken down by the dog, her teeth savaging at the neck, bright red blood spraying out.
The last one moves in, but goes for the dog instead of Paco. A fact he doesn’t register due to the bloodlust. He moves in, drawing his arm back and slamming his fist into the side of the creatures head. Follow through, he remembers the constant mantra from his trainer, follow through…he does it now, sending the thing spinning off to land in a crumpled heap. Paco is on it before the thing has a chance to rise. Slamming his foot down on the head, pulverising and smashing the skull to bits.
‘Fuck you,’ he spits down angrily, stepping back and turning to view the bodies they took down.
‘Fuck you, fuck all o’ya, you want me? YOU WANT ME?’ He bellows into the air, ‘YOU WANT ME…THEN COME GET ME…’
He walks off towards the van, not looking back at the death he’s caused. Revelling in the strength of his arms and the new found ability he’s found to fight back and kill.
Paco stretches one heavy arm across the side of the dog, pushing her into the back of the seat as he drives at the bodies. The small wheels bouncing over the squishy remains of the things and bouncing down the other side. Releasing the dog he breathes out noisily, gripping the steering wheel with such force that anymore pressure would see it pulled off in his hands.
In the next street he spots a lone monster shuffling along with a broken arm, the bone sticking out of the elbow joint. The thing looks unimpeded from the injury and soon switches its lolling gaze to Paco. He stops the van , stepping out and holding the door open for the dog to bound over, rip the thing to shreds, growl at the corpse and run back.
‘Good girl,’ Paco rubs her back, once more behind the wheel and continuing their journey. Every undead they see is taken down. The dog doing most of the work but Paco alighting every now and then to help, snapping necks with his powerful arms.
Before long they’ve left a trail of broken bodies behind them and for every death served by his hands he offers a prayer to Meredith.
They reach the town centre and head along the main road, examining the smashed in shop fronts. Bodies everywhere, old and decaying. Rancid from being out in the sun for so long. The stench in the air is thick with death and decay.
Every shop looks empty and completely destroyed, glass scattering the ground or hanging down in sharp deadly looking shards. Doors ripped off hinges, car’s embedded in entrance ways, someone has even taken a digger to a cashpoint, ripping it from the wall but leaving it several metres away on the ground, the digger abandoned further along with dried blood stains on the glass of the driver
s cab.
In the centre of town he parks the minivan next to a pedestrian precinct, seeing more shops further up but prevented from driving in by traffic posts. They jump down, leaving the van in situ but pocketing the keys.
‘We’ll try here, if no good we go for the houses,’ Paco mutters to the dog. She seems nonplussed, just glad to be out of the house and killing the things again. He even joined in this time which just served to strengthen the pack instinct and bond between them.
THIRTY-SIX
More hosts are taken by the dog, this time it works with an adult male. The one they had tracked before who left the scent of fear everywhere he went. He, like many others, has changed. Adapted to the new way of life and become harder, tougher. Killing the host bodies with his bare hands and roaring a challenge to the infection.
It tracks their progress as they move through the quiet streets and into the town centre. The infection doesn’t know if their killing spree is intended to last or if they’re just killing the ones they can see. What it does know is it cannot take the risk of that dog dominating this area again.
Host bodies from every street, every house and every corner are given one simple instruction; move towards the town centre.
Chemicals are released into the systems, giving them just a slight increase in energy. The infection has learnt that the chemical they call Serotonin is produced in the brain and gives the host a feeling of well-being, an ability to rationalise and think straight. The infection has also learnt other chemicals such as Testosterone and Adrenalin. These chemicals are produced in tiny quantities and give the humans the senses and emotions, the desires and reactions they need. Mixed together, along with a perfect recipe of hormones and many other chemicals they produce the perfect being.
The infection has practised with the hosts, released Serotonin in large quantities. Watching and learning as the host body ceased the desire to feast and simply remained still or sank to the floor in a pleasurable heap of drool.