The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  ‘We’ve got a whole horde now Reginald, any one of them would drop their knickers for you,’ she smiles evilly, laughing softly at the soft blush rising in his cheeks.

  ‘I…well in order to respond I would first have to…’

  ‘Oh Reggie I’m only playing dear,’ she pats him affectionately on the arm.

  ‘Reginald,’ he says slowly.

  ‘Sorry, Reginald,’ she corrects herself.

  ‘Do you have a plan?’ He asks.

  She stares back at him for long seconds, taking in his red bloodshot eyes but his otherwise immaculate appearance, ‘I do,’ she nods.

  ‘I see, and are you sharing this stratagem?’

  ‘I am,’ she replies with a smile, ‘how do I look?’ She asks quickly, catching him off guard and waiting patiently for a second while he blusters and composes himself.

  ‘You…er…well that is to say you look…well you look like you normally do?’

  ‘Reginald, I’m not asking you for a compliment, I’m asking if you can see if I’m a zombie? Oh for god’s sake don’t look at me like that, okay…do I look like a living challenged person?’

  ‘Thank you and no, you don’t,’ he nods graciously.

  ‘I look normal then?’

  ‘Yes Marcy, you look entirely normal,’ he replies, a slow look of confusion spreading across his face as she stares back at him for longer than is comfortable.

  ‘That’s why you never lost your cherry, come on oh giver of compliments…’ she strides off, a slightly perplexed Reginald hurrying after her. ‘The plan is to get them to take me inside willingly.’

  ‘And exactly how do you propose to do that, your eyes still retain the reddening of the living challenged.’

  ‘Ah, the wonders of make-up…but first we need to find the access point, keep ‘em peeled Reggie.’

  ‘Reginald.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  The High Street is in two sections; lower and upper, the two halves separated by a crossroads bordered by the town square, complete with large statues of long dead war heroes. Marcy leads the increasingly alarmed Reginald towards the centre, taking refuge by clambering through the hole in the smashed window of a shop. Crouched down amongst the debris of the store they stare down the street towards the town square, looking at the stacked up bodies of their dead brethren, cut down in droves over the last eleven days and left to rot in the sweltering sun.

  Marcy scans the barricade made up of more trucks and vans, some of them piled on top of one another. The barricade wall stands high, almost reaching the first floor windows of the neighbouring stores. The crossroads has been cut off, maintaining the integrity of the High Street as a sealed environment. But the bodies of the undead mean the survivors have been out to not only kill them, but stack them too.

  ‘Could you not find another shop?’ Reginald whispers.

  ‘Why? What’s wrong with this one?’ Marcy replies, keeping her eyes locked on the barricade as she probes for an access point.

  ‘It is somewhat distasteful for a man of my education and bearing to be within such a premises and I would be grateful if we could move on forthwith.’

  ‘What are you going on about?’ She asks, glancing at the very concerned expression on his face.

  ‘Good god, have you seen the size of these…monstrosities?’ He asks in horror holding a long thick pink coloured dildo up. Marcy’s mouth drops open at the sight of the sex toy, she glances round at the dildo and vibrator littered floor, eyes sweeping across the hanging displays of sexy nurses outfits, crotch-less knickers and lacy negligées. She presses her hand against her mouth, stifling the snigger coming from it. Reginald holds the pink dildo as though captivated, staring at the absurd size of the object.

  ‘You’re blushing Reggie.’

  In shock, Reginald misses the incorrect moniker and continues to stare at the thing he held in his hand, wobbling it side to side and watching the rubberized sway, ‘do women actually use these things? I mean the size of it…doesn't it cause horrendous injury? Have you…’ his voice drops off as a look of realisation steals across his face, a sudden awareness of the question he was about to ask.

  ‘Reginald! Were you about to me if I ever used a giant dildo?’

  The blush spreading deeper across his face answers the question, instantly dropping the thing it lands with a thump and rolls across the floor to knock into Marcy’s knee, she stares down at it, then up at him, shaking her head as he flinches and goes to move it, then changes his mind and instead looks at his nails.

  ‘No I didn’t,’ she answers before looking back outside.

  ‘I did not need to know that information,’ he replies meekly.

  ‘You asked.’

  ‘I did not!’ He exclaims.

  ‘You were about to.’

  ‘Yes well, that was shock. Honestly, I do not know where to put my eyes.’

  ‘Try putting them on that bloody barricade and finding us a way in.’

  ‘I’d be glad to, anything would be better than looking at these…things…er…did you just say us?’

  ‘Yes I did.’

  ‘Us? As in you and I?’

  ‘Yes Reginald, me and you need to find a way in.’

  ‘Right, I thought that’s what you said. Now, forgive my question but what exactly do you mean by us, more to the point, what exactly am I supposed to do when we find said way in?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘That is precisely what I am concerned about, are you suggesting we go in there and take on the surviving members of the human race held behind that barricade?’

  ‘Yes Reginald, that is precisely what I am suggesting.’

  ‘Marcy, I do not think the terms of our relationship are entirely clear, I am more than willing to attend your every whim and fancy, I am the right living challenged person to assist you with the organisation of this excursion, but to suggest that I actually take part in attacking is really something I am not altogether happy about.’

  ‘What?’ She turns slowly to stare at him, ‘did you just say you’re scared to go and attack people?’

  ‘Not scared, I never said scared, unsuited to the task is the best way of describing it.’

  ‘Are you a zombie or not?’

  ‘No I am a living challenged person.’

  ‘Right, which means a zombie, which means we eat brains…which means you have the hunger and should be happy to attack at any given second.’

  ‘I have the hunger, of that I can assure you. But I have always found violence to be abhorrent. I do not wish to partake in savagery of any kind.’

  ‘You’re helping me plan a way in so I…or we…can slaughter and turn every living person in there…wouldn’t you say that was partaking in savagery?’

  ‘Well yes, but not the actual savaging bit.’

  ‘You don’t want to bite anyone?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Right, I see. So I’ll go in there and do it shall I?’

  ‘Well yes, I thought that was the plan.’

  ‘And you don’t feel bad about that?’

  ‘About what precisely?’

  ‘Letting me go in alone.’

  ‘God no, why on earth would I feel bad about that? You carry on and have some fun but please I don’t feel obliged that I need to actually bite anyone and share in it, oh the thought of it turns my stomach.’

  Sighing she turns back to face the barricade, noticing an end panel on the far left, the ground in front of it being clear of any debris or litter, whereas everywhere else was covered in stuff.

  ‘There’s a door over there, see that patch of clear ground? That must be one of the access points.’

  ‘I see it, yes, so how are you going to get inside exactly?’

  She frowns with thought, the smooth skin of her forehead creasing with the action. Looking down at herself she stares at her cleavage, placing her hands under her own breasts and pushing them up and together, forming a higher, deeper cleft.

  �
�What are you doing?’ Reginald asks, unable to tear his eyes away from the bulging boobs.

  ‘Thinking,’ she replies quietly, still pushing her boobs together.

  ‘Do you always do that when you think?’

  She looks up at him, smiling at the sight of his eyes locked on her bosom, ‘wait there,’ she whispers before crabbing deeper into the store.

  ‘What? Where are you going?’ Reginald turns to watch her move along the display stands, working her way down to the bra section. She pulls several of the stand, staring at the sizes before selecting a heavily padded black one. Nodding to herself she stands straight and pulls her top over her head, exposing the bra she’s already wearing and causing Reginald to splutter in panic.

  ‘Marcy! What on earth?’

  ‘I’m changing my bra, now you can watch if you want, it really doesn't bother me or you can turn away and keep an eye on the front.’

  ‘Is this really the right time to be making underwear selections?’ He stammers, rotating his head to stare out the window. He listened intently to the strange noises of elastic pinging and stretching and Marcy grunting with effort as she grappled with the straps.

  ‘Ready, what do you think?’ She calls out softly, crabbing back towards him.

  He turns slowly, looking first at her face before dropping his gaze down to the now super enhanced cleavage threatening to topple from the edge of her top. ‘Oh my,’ he says in awe, ‘oh my.’

  Perfect, she thinks to herself, the perfect reaction. All she’s got to do is hope and pray there is a horny man on the other side of that gate and not some big mamma.

  ‘Won’t they fall out like that?’

  ‘No Reginald, they will not fall out.’

  ‘They look like they’re going to fall out.’

  ‘They are attached to my body, they cannot fall anywhere.’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ he forces his gaze away from her chest and back up to her eyes, swallowing hard and hoping to hell he’s not required to stand up straight for next few minutes.

  ‘I’m going in then,’ she whispers.

  ‘Okay,’ he whispers back, relieved at being able to stay in a crouched position, although it was starting to hurt a little.

  ‘On my own…going in…to attack the giant masses of survivors behind the barricade…on my own.’

  ‘Yes, I heard you the first time, good luck.’

  ‘Thanks Reginald,’ she says caustically before easing herself back out the window and into the street, she pauses and clambers back in, Reginald rapidly withdrawing his hand from his groin area in a quick attempt at re-arranging the cramped quarters.

  ‘Almost forgot,’ she whispers, pulling a long mascara stem from her pocket she works quickly, applying the make-up liberally to her eyes, coating her already thick lashes with the black liquid. Reginald watches entranced as she puts more and more on and staring in wonder as she pushes the mascara into her back pocket and pulls out another alien implement, this one she uses to apply dark colours above and below her eyes. When finished she tussles her hair, pulling the long strands down to frame her face.

  The effect was dramatic. With the strands of dark hair, the dark eye shadow, the mascara and the heaving cleavage, the last thing you actually looked at were her eyes. It wouldn’t withstand careful scrutiny but it would get her damn close.

  ‘I’m off again.’

  ‘Okay,’ he yelped causing her to look sharply at him.

  ‘You alright Reginald?’

  ‘Cramp, just cramp…’

  ‘Oh, well you have a nice rest and stretch it out while I go and kill everyone,’ she tuts moving out of the shop again to stand in the street. Reginald stares as she thrusts her chest out and starts tottering towards the barricade, tussling her hair so it falls across her face some more.

  Thank god for that, Reginald thought as he eased the cramping tent peg within his trousers, for one awful second I thought she was going to hint at me going with her.

  Six

  The men sit round the commissary table. Hard men with scowling eyes. Tattoos of the old style, green ink faded and blurred with time, black tribal markings mixed with multi-coloured images of skulls, pin-up girls and hearts etched with “MUM”.

  One of the oldest Victorian prisons in the country; HMP Parkhurst over time had housed the most dangerous offenders known to society.

  The fall of society had little impact on the prison life for the first few hours. The outbreak started late at night during lockdown. The prisoners were contained within their cells and the officers on duty were busy doing patrols and visual checks. It was only during the early hours that the officers became aware of anything happening.

  During tea break they listened to a hasty news report transmitted on the staff room radio, giving details of every town and city in the country exploding in unprecedented violence. The officers listened with growing horror as the news bulletin rushed through hasty reports of the initial stages.

  By Saturday morning the prison was devoid of staff, all of them had left to be with their families. The night staff had waited with growing concern, some of them had simply left their posts and gone home immediately. Others had waited, hoping beyond hope that the situation would change. When it did change it became worse, the televisions stopped working, the radio stations ceased their broadcasts and everyone fled.

  There was no plan for this, no manual that stated what to do in the event of the apocalypse. The last two officers simply detached the outside door keys from the large key-rings and left the keys on the desk, knowing they would be found. They then activated the electronic door opening procedure. As one, over five hundred doors clicked audibly as they unlocked.

  The officers knew the prisoners would be aware of the early opening within seconds, and they didn’t hang around. Minutes later they were gone. The outer doors were locked, the inside of the prison wasn’t. The prisoners could move freely about the wings.

  Within one short hour of the doors opening, there was utter carnage. Stabbings happened quickly, grudges held in check for fear of the consequences were dealt with, debts recovered. Rapes took place, riots broke out, the offices and staff sections were ripped apart. Anarchy reigned supreme as the men held contained for so long were able to explode and do as they wished.

  Many lives were lost. The meek fled to the strong. The strong flourished as they grew in number and formed gangs. Black versus white, religion against religion, creed against colour. The alliances changed hourly as allegiances were made, gang joined gang to fight a common enemy then turned on each other.

  Word spread of the devastation in the outside world. None knew where the information came from but it was common practise for prisoners to hold mobile phones, smuggled in by corrupt officers for a hefty price. Some only thought of escape and quickly set about planning on ways to break out. Others became fixated with the gangs and alliances, consumed with a need for violence and revenge for any perceived slight.

  Contained within the prison with all exterior doors locked, the prisoners were truly captive. The windows were barred and thick. The floor was several feet of solid concrete. The doors were thick metal structures designed to withstand massed violent upheaval. The word prisoner was never truer than now.

  Over the next week, several leaders emerged. Strong men not just with physicality but with strength of mind and traits of leadership. Quick witted enough to let the violence play out and thereby reduce the numbers contained within the walls. The food held in the kitchens saw the most violent battles. Gangs defended the fridges, stores and tuck-shops with their lives. Staff offices became headquarters. Those unwilling to fight were killed, leaving no choice but to pick a side.

  The leaders slowly took control. Establishing themselves as the top of the pecking order. As the days slowly went by each wing became the ground of a gang. Five wings meant ultimately five gangs, each controlled by one man. Five leaders. Three white and two black.

  On the tenth day, after constant careful negotiations,
the leaders all agreed to meet within the central canteen area. The terms were agreed in advance. No other men would be allowed access, no weapons would be taken in.

  Jonas, the leader of A wing and holder of the coveted tuck-shop stares round at the faces sitting at the circular plastic moulded table. Deep suspicion on all their faces. Silence held them in check, none of them wanting to be the first to speak. Jonas knew he would have to take the lead, it was almost expected. He was the leader of A wing, the top wing, the number one wing. Alpha.

  ‘We all got something the others want,’ he began, choosing his words carefully, ‘I got the tuck-shop, B wing holds the staff offices with the phones, radio and guard room, C wing has the library which contains information we all need to survive and the porn magazines,’ Jonas looks to each man as he speaks, inclining his head respectfully and watching as they acknowledge his reference to them, ‘D wing has the showers and ablutions, the fresh running water and I don’t know about you but I don’t like drinking water from a toilet bowl,’ the joke fell flat, all the men remaining poker faced, moving on swiftly he continues, ‘and E wing has the gym.’ Jonas pauses as he looks at the leader of E wing. The most feared man within the prison and one of the largest men Jonas had ever seen. Randall was a huge brute of a man, an American power lifter attending a competition in the UK, his unbroken bench press record was smashed by a young northern English lad. Randall could just about hold his legendary temper in check at losing the record, but when the young lad disrespected him Randall snapped. A Los Angeles gang affiliated man and respect was everything, in the street, in the gym, in the penitentiary. Respect had to be given. For the loss of respect Randall beat the lad to death with a dumbbell. It took twelve police officers with tazer’s to subdue him when he was arrested. That was ten years ago.

  Randall remains expressionless for long seconds, his fierce eyes staring hard at Jonas. He leans forward, resting his overly muscled arms on the table. Veins bulging along his forearms and looking to burst from his biceps. Black skinned, with a bald head and short black beard he was a fearsome sight and he knew it.