by RR Haywood
‘I take it this isn’t normal then?’ Marcy asks.
‘No not at all,’ Reginald replies seriously, ‘that’s two bodies now.’
‘Well, let’s go find out what we’ve got shall we,’ Marcy starts walking, pausing as Reginald holds back.
‘Er…maybe someone should stay with the group?’ He asks nervously.
She smiles, seeing the trepidation on his face, ‘good idea Reggie, you stay here and keep an eye out, April you bring a few with me.’
‘Yes Marcy,’ April nods at a few of the communicators, leading them after Marcy towards the door.
Marcy stops at the body of the old man, looking down at his blood soaked clothing, both bodies stabbed through the stomach and both of them fresh.
Her head snaps at the sound of wailing coming from inside, a long drawn out cry filled with pain and misery. She tussles her hair, pulling the strands over her face to disguise her eyes and steps through the door.
A scene of horror greets her, a man shot to pieces slumped at the foot of a grand staircase. People stood about looking down at the body of a teenage boy being cradled by a woman. As her eyes adjust to the gloom she casts her gaze at the women stood in the hallway, all of them with bruised faces, clothes torn and ripped off. The few men stand looking helpless. The smell of blood is strong, blood, fear and sex all mixed together.
She looks round, spotting another body of a woman lying with a knife buried to the hilt in her chest, a crimson bloom across her naked torso, the still wet blood pooling at her sides.
‘Who are you?’ someone asks weakly, a few faces turn to stare, all of them looking pale and shocked.
‘Just walking past…saw the car in the grounds and came up…didn’t you see us?’
‘No,’ the woman replies. Her skirt is hanging in shreds showing her blood spattered thighs.
‘What happened?’ Marcy asks. The humans are terrified, truly terrified but not scared of her; they haven’t seen the huge horde outside and have no idea of who she is. Something else has done this.
‘Men came,’ another woman sobs, ‘from the prison…’
‘The prison?’ Marcy asks.
‘Said they just broke out,’ the woman starts sobbing, her chest heaving as she smudges the wet blood dripping from her nose.
‘How many were there?’ Marcy asks.
‘I’m surprised you didn’t see them,’ a dignified old woman walks out of a room, red tear stained eyes but the only female without ripped clothing or visible injuries.
‘We didn’t see anyone.’
‘They left not half an hour ago,’ the old woman replies, her voice strained. She looks round at the survivors, stretching a quavering hand out to a young woman stood nearby. The young woman flinches, cowering away with her arms wrapped round herself.
‘They did this?’ Marcy asks, none of them need to confirm what she means by this. The bodies, the raped women, the injuries.
‘Yes,’ the old woman replies, ‘killed Arthur first…poor Arthur…the silly old fool was just trying to protect us.’
‘Have you been here since this began?’ Marcy asks. The question goes unanswered. The grief and immediate after effects too strong for anyone to focus.
‘Jerry,’ the woman cradling the teenage boy wails, ‘oh Jerry…’ She rocks back and forth with the body, clutching it close. A man drops down, pressing his fingers into the boys neck. He closes his eyes as he focuses on what he can feel.
‘Keep him still,’ he says quietly to the woman rocking him. The old woman moves over and rests her hands on the woman holding the boy, steadying her.
‘He’s alive, but the pulse is very weak.’
‘Are you a doctor?’ Marcy asks.
‘No, just first aid,’ the man replies sadly. His hand drops away from the youth. Marcy steps closer, seeing the thin trails of blood coming from the boys ears.
‘What’s wrong with your eyes?’ A woman asks, her voice low and flat as she stares vacantly. The reaction is instant, heads snapping round to stare at Marcy. Gasps of shock as people flinch and move away. One of the women cries out, a low heart rending wail. Faces go pale as the shock hits home. Eyes flick between Marcy and the silent group stood behind her, all of them with red bloodshot eyes.
‘Them,’ the old woman gasps.
Marcy nods, standing still while holding her head high to stare back at the people watching her.
‘But…how did you…what…’ a man stutters, his mind failing to form the words as he struggles to compute what’s happening.
‘I can speak,’ Marcy says flatly, ‘so can they,’ she indicates the group behind her.
‘They don’t speak,’ another man spits, ‘who are you? What do you want? Can’t you see we’ve suffered enough.’
‘Everyone has suffered,’ Marcy says softly, ‘we are those things but not the same, we’re…’ she pauses, unsure of what to say, ‘different.’
‘Different?’ The man shouts, the fear clear in his face.
‘Different,’ she nods, ‘we don’t want to hurt you.’
‘Shit there’s fucking thousands of ‘em outside,’ someone shouts from a room nearby.
The old woman steps forward, putting herself between the survivors and Marcy. She stares into the red bloodshot eyes, seemingly examining Marcy’s skin, ‘you don’t look like them…the eyes do but…’
‘Trust me, we are those things, all of us…’
‘What happened to you my dear?’ The old woman asks softly.
Marcy shrugs, thinking of how to explain, ‘I don’t know…’
‘But those things just attack and attack, they don’t stop…I seen ‘em killing…we all ‘ave,’ the same man says.
‘And it’s daytime, they just shuffle…’ Someone else adds.
‘We are those things,’ Marcy presses, ‘we attack and take people, where do you think all that lot came from?’
The man shouting at them slumps down, his back pressed to the wall as he sobs into his hands. Others just stare dumbly, shell-shocked and rooted to the spot.
‘The men raped his wife then killed her,’ the old woman explains.
‘Her?’ Marcy indicates the woman’s body lying in the hallway.
‘No,’ the old woman shakes her head, ‘another one.’
‘They were laughing…fucking laughing,’ the man shouts, slamming his fists against his head, ‘just fucking laughing…they forced me to watch…’ he screams.
Marcy drops her head, feeling a deep sense of shame. ‘We thought they would just take what they wanted and go…but they didn’t,’ the old woman looks down sadly, ‘they got worse, goading each other and laughing.’
‘Marcy, is everything okay? I heard you talking,’ Reginald pushes his way through the group, his movements slowing down as he takes the scene in, staring at the bodies and the injured women.
‘Inmates from the prison, they must have got out before we got there,’ Marcy says.
‘But we took the inmates, April did it.’
‘Must be others,’ Marcy replies.
‘Are they still here?’ Reginald asks.
‘No, we just missed them.’
‘Oh…oh dear…’
‘You’re not zombies…you can’t be…this is some kind of…’ another man shakes his head, his voice dropping off.
‘We are,’ Marcy repeats, ‘what’s wrong with that boy?’
‘He got knocked out, one of the men hit him,’ the old woman half turns, looking down at the boy still being cradled.
‘He’s dying,’ the woman sobs, holding him tight. She looks terrible with vivid welts across her face, her lips swollen and covered in dried blood. Clothing ripped and torn.
‘You can’t know that, he might just be unconscious,’ the old woman says in a gentle tone.
‘His pulse is getting weaker,’ the man who checked his pulse says.
‘We can save him,’ Reginald says quickly. Faces turn to him, ‘we can,’ he adds.
‘How?’ The old woman a
sks.
‘We can turn him,’ Reginald says bluntly.
‘What?’ A man shouts, a cacophony of voices burst out. Loud angry tones shouting in confusion.
‘But…what do you mean?’ The old woman asks with a puzzled expression.
‘We’re those things, we can turn the boy and save him…he’ll be one of us but he’ll be alive.’
The old woman shakes her head slowly, desperately trying to understand, ‘will he speak? Will he know who he is…or was?’
‘I don’t know if he’ll speak,’ Marcy replies, ‘some do, most don’t…but he won’t feel a thing, no pain…no suffering…’
‘No,’ the same man shouts angrily.
‘Can you do them?’ The old woman asks, nodding at the bodies in the hall.
‘No, they’re dead…doesn't work like that.’
‘I can assure you the boy will feel no pain, it takes just moments and he’ll be one of us, safe and protected,’ Reginald walks forward slowly.
‘We don’t have to bite him…I told you we’re different,’ Marcy adds.
‘Bite him? Oh my god,’ the man shouts, he steps forward then back again, his hands wringing in front of him, ‘oh my god…oh my god.’
‘Calm down,’ the old woman snaps, ‘what if we say no…what then?’ She asks, turning back to Marcy.
‘We’ll leave you in peace, we won’t attack any of you.’
‘Marcy, I think…’ Reginald starts.
‘I said we won’t attack anyone,’ Marcy cuts him off firmly.
‘Okay, as you wish,’ Reginald replies quickly.
‘You’ll leave if we ask?’ The old woman asks.
‘Yes, I promise you…you’ve suffered enough and we’re not going to add to that but you must understand that others won’t be the same as us. They could come tonight and they’ll be the same as before…’
‘Why can’t you stop them?’ The man shouts, ‘you can speak, you got thousands…’
‘If we see any they’ll come with us but I cannot promise that we’ll get all of them, we’re only passing through here…and I also promise that we’ll deal with the men if we find them,’ she adds.
‘The prisoners?’ The old woman asks quickly.
‘Marcy nods firmly before looking down at the boy, ‘we can save him,’ she says.
The man who checked his pulse drops down again, pressing his fingers back into the boy’s neck. He shakes his head sadly, ‘weaker, much weaker.’
The woman holds him tight, rocking back and forth, tears spill down her cheeks, wetting the boy’s face.
‘Is he your son?’ Marcy asks.
‘Nephew,’ the old woman says, ‘the boy’s mother was taken when it first happened.’
‘His father?’ Marcy looks at the gathered men.
‘Didn’t have one, single parent,’ the old woman says.
‘Let him go in peace,’ the shouting man blurts out, ‘it’s unnatural.’
‘How will you do it?’ The woman holding the boy asks suddenly, her face turned up to stare as Marcy.
‘My saliva, I can put my saliva into his wound.’
‘He doesn't have one,’ the aunt replies.
‘In his mouth then, takes slightly longer but the result is the same.’
‘Result is the same…this is sick,’ the man bellows angrily. ‘Get out, all of you just get out and leave us alone.’ He takes a step towards Marcy, his face contorted with rage. The undead all take a step forward, Reginald takes a step back.
‘Wait,’ Marcy turns to hold them, ‘we’ll go if you want, it’s your decision,’ she says to the aunt.
‘No pain?’ The aunt asks.
‘No pain.’
‘He won’t feel anything?’
‘Not a thing, no pain and no suffering…I promise you,’ Marcy implores.
‘Don’t do it,’ the man shouts, ‘I won’t let you.’
Marcy ignores him, watching the aunt instead as she struggles to cope with the decision. The aunt stares up at the old woman, fresh tears pouring down her cheeks, a look of pleading.
‘This is wrong…let the boy die in peace,’ the man shouts again.
‘What would you do?’ The aunt asks the old woman.
‘I…’ the old woman looks away, ‘I don’t know…I…the boy won’t suffer?’ She turns on Marcy. Marcy pauses, staring back at the old woman. She turns slowly, walking over to the woman’s body on the floor. She puts her back to the group and pulls the knife from the chest with a wet sucking sound. She wipes the blade on the woman’s ruined skirt before walking back to the group.
‘Here,’ she offers the handle to the aunt, ‘if he suffers then you can kill me, I won’t stop you and none of them will either,’ she glances back at her horde, April nods in understanding.
‘Marcy,’ Reginald says in a warning tone.
‘Take it,’ Marcy urges. The aunt reaches up with a trembling hand, grasping the knife she takes it gently, looking at the blade then back up at Marcy. She nods once, firmly.
‘Sure?’ Marcy asks. The aunt nods again, still holding the knife out in front of her.
‘Sick…this is fucking sick….’ The man screams.
‘Stand back,’ the aunt shouts gripping the knife and pointing it at the man.
‘This is wrong,’ he says but doesn't come closer, the aunt grips the knife, her eyes ablaze with anger. ‘Take him,’ she says to Marcy.
‘Hold him for me,’ Marcy says softly.
The aunt drops her gaze to the boy in cradled in her arm, she bends slowly, kissing his head and wiping her wet tears from his cheeks, ‘Jerry…if you can hear me I’m so sorry…’
Marcy crouches down, leaning forward until she hovers over the boy’s face. With her head turned down she bites into the inside of her cheek, drawing blood into her mouth. Her fingers move to the boys mouth, gently opening the lips. She leans forward, dropping her mouth down until she connects mouth to mouth. The aunt sobs, Marcy feeling the woman’s movement through the boy. She lets the blood and saliva pool into the boys mouth, holding still for a second before pulling back. She wipes her mouth then presses her hand gently over the boy’s mouth.
‘Is that it?’ The aunt whispers.
Marcy nods, moving back, ‘takes a couple of minutes, he’ll start twitching but that’s normal…he will not be in pain.’
‘How do you know,’ the man demands.
‘Because it was done to me,’ Marcy replies.
‘And me,’ Reginald adds, ‘he won’t feel a thing.’
Silence falls, the quietness only broken by the gentle sobs as the survivors watch with morbid fascination at the boy.
The aunt examines his face closely, smoothing his hair back and stroking his cheek. The knife on the floor at her side, she murmurs softly, kind words of love.
‘Nothing’s happening,’ someone says, the voice cuts off as the boy twitches, his arms jolting at his sides. Gasps sound out, the aunt holds him closer.
‘Oh Jerry,’ she cries. He twitches harder, the electric shock effect passing through his body, ‘what’s happening?’ The aunt asks with worry.
‘It’s okay,’ Marcy re-assures her, ‘just let it happen…not long now.’
They watch fascinated as the boy convulses, his body going rigid then relaxing, spasms shooting through his limbs. He stops suddenly, his body instantly relaxed.
‘His eyes will be like mine,’ Marcy explains. The aunt looks at her, staring into Marcy’s eyes and nodding.
The boy sits up, a sudden smooth motion. The aunt goes with him, almost helping him. He opens his eyes to more gasps and sharp intakes of breath. The red bloodshot eyes stare out, unfocussed and glazed. He blinks and turns to look up at Marcy.
‘Welcome,’ Marcy says with a gentle smile, ‘can you speak?’ She wills him to speak. Sending all her energy into the boy, demanding him to speak, commanding him to speak. Seconds go by, long seconds as he stares unflinching at Marcy, the love and devotion clear in his eyes.
‘Jerry?�
� The aunt asks softly, a begging tone in her voice.
‘Don’t be alarmed,’ Reginald says, ‘most don’t speak…only few have the ability.’
‘Will he…bite?’ The old woman asks.
‘He’ll want to, but he won’t,’ Marcy replies. She stares at the boy, her eyes locked on his.
‘Jerry…oh Jerry,’ the aunt strokes his cheek, smoothing his hair away from his pale young face, ‘I’m so sorry Jerry…I’m so sorry.’
The boy turns his face slowly, looking at his aunt, ‘don’t be,’ he says.
Twenty
The men stagger out from the gates, laughing and pushing each other. Every one of them grinning stupidly, bragging about the women they took. Moaning about having to go second and third as there wasn’t enough women to go round.
The hatred they feel for sexual offenders and the actions they just took don’t correspond in their minds. The two are different, not the same. These are new times where the powerful and strong can take what they want, and anyway…those bitches enjoyed it, you could tell they enjoyed it. Screaming for more they were.
Long years spent cooped up within the prison walls. There was pornography but it was the same stuff that got passed around again and again. Most men used their hands for relief, some used other men. But the sexual release they feel now sends them bouncing along, without a care in the world.
‘We took their food and fucked their women…what a perfect day,’ Colin grins, ‘eh Randy, what a perfect day.’
‘Shut the fuck up you retard,’ Randall snaps but with a massive grin. He glances at Harry, the ex-biker the only one not laughing. Randall saw him stab the woman through the chest, and he did it while inside her. They all did sick things, Randall knows that, but that took the biscuit and he realises Harry is one to watch.
‘Where we going now Randy?’ Colin asks.
‘The fort you dumb motherfucker, how the fuck can you forget that…your brains must have come out the end of your mother-fucking cock.’
‘Night soon,’ Harry says.
‘What the fuck difference does that make?’
‘Can’t go at night Randy,’ Colin cuts in.
‘Why the fuck not?’
‘Dangerous,’ Harry replies.