The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  ‘Marcy…yes I can see it doesn't fit, please stop wobbling them like that I don’t know where to put my eyes.’

  She looks at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes, yanking on the zip again and making her boobs wobble even more, ‘but Reggie,’ she purrs, ‘I’m just trying to do what you said…’

  ‘Stop it…stop it now, oh good lord,’ he turns away blushing furiously and shielding his eyes with his hand. ‘April please go and get Marcy a larger size life jacket.’

  ‘Yes Reggie,’ April replies. Marcy’s mouth drops open as April smiles and walks off.

  ‘Did she…’ Reginald looks up in shock.

  ‘She did,’ Marcy laughs, pulling the life jacket off.

  ‘Did you will her to say that?’ He asks with narrowed eyes, staring at her suspiciously.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever willed April, no need to…’

  ‘Well can you will her not to call me that,’ he pleads.

  ‘Nope, you just said I shouldn’t be willing at will all willy nilly.’

  ‘Yes I did…well I shall be having words with that young lady, I think she fails to realise there is a hierarchy to this organisation and I for one find it immensely disrespectful to be called by an abbreviated form of my correct title.’

  ‘Name not title,’ Mildred corrects him, ‘title is used before name to show position, rank or standing in life.’

  ‘This is ganging up…’ Reginald wails, ‘you’re all ganging up on me.’

  Marcy laughs again, shaking her head she turns back to look out the window. The horizon is distinctly lighter now, pushing deep shades of blue into the receding night.

  ‘Is there another way instead of docking at Portsmouth?’ Marcy asks with a serious tone, ‘I’m not comfortable with moving such a large horde through a city centre, especially not one like Portsmouth.’

  ‘There are harbours all along the coast but they are tidal and will not have the clearance we need.’

  ‘What do you suggest? We really cannot dock in a city, it’s too much risk.’

  ‘I concur,’ Reginald adds in a serious voice, ‘and a good idea if I may say so, I should have thought of that before…my apologies.’

  ‘No need, I only just thought of it myself…so what other options do we have?’ She asks the man driving the ship.

  ‘We can beach the vessel and simply walk off but that would render the ship useless, or we can anchor away from the shore and use the life vessels to shuttle our people inland.’

  Marcy pauses at the phrase he used, our people, a collective ownership and to her, an important step in the right direction. He could have said your people or many other forms of address, but he didn’t, he said our people.

  ‘How long would it take to do the second option? Do all the emergency life vessels have engines?’

  ‘No, two of them do and very powerful engines too. The idea is for the passengers to get aboard the flotation devices and attach them in a line to the two boats with engines, they simply pull them into the shore.’

  ‘And that way we leave this ship safe in the sea without causing any damage to it?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking yes, of course in this mild weather the vessel should suffer no harm but if the weather were to change and the vessel’s anchor was not secured properly it could drift and cause damage.’

  ‘It’s the best option we’ve got, I don’t want to ruin this ship unless we have to, there’s no need for that…Reggie? What do you think?’

  ‘I agree, the second option would be the best. I understand your concerns at not damaging the vessel and it also means we choose our landing ground which of course is the most important thing.’

  ‘Agreed, Captain…change the heading to one zero four six, full steam ahead.’

  ‘I don’t know what that means,’ the captain replies.

  ‘Nor do I, but I always wanted to say it…er…can you take us somewhere safe so we can get off?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The boat gently swerves out from the intended destination of Portsmouth harbour, instead pointing out to sea to cruise past the coast.

  Once safely past the harbour mouth, the naval supply ship clearly in view, they watch the shore, looking for the perfect place to land.

  ‘There,’ Reginald lowers the binoculars, handing them to Marcy and guiding her view, ‘that’s got to be the boat the inmates took last night.’

  Marcy brings the powerboat into view, focussing on the beach area where it lies. Nothing obvious from this distance. She lowers the binoculars, looking up into the deep blue morning sky.

  ‘Why have they come here?’ She muses more to herself than an outright question.

  ‘They had to land somewhere, and it does look a safe spot,’ Reginald replies.

  ‘But they could have gone straight over, they’ve taken a longer route like we are and we’re only doing it so we get closer to the fort.’

  ‘A perplexing conundrum indeed,’ Reginald sighs, ‘and one which we may never know the answer to, but it does look a good clear spot…those dunes will be good to move them into straight away, keep them out of sight until we’ve undertaken a full reconnaissance.’

  ‘I don’t like it, I don’t want to land in the same pace as they did, they could be in those dunes now watching us.’

  ‘It’s a perfect spot, and besides I think they have more to fear from our several thousand than the ten or so of them,’ Reginald says.

  ‘We’ll be too close to the fort if we go much further,’ the captain adds.

  Marcy stops to think for a minute, weighing the options up. The spot is perfect which is why the others must have used it. Discrete and isolated with no buildings in sight, ‘Go for it, how close can we get?’

  ‘The seabed shelves quite quickly here, we cannot go that close,’ the captain responds.

  ‘Close as you can, what do you need from us?’

  The former second officer and now newly promoted captain, a promotion he had been working towards for the previous ten years, and knew it would be at least another five or six years before he reached the top, explains the processes to Marcy, Reginald and the few other communicators on the bridge.

  Once the position was found he anchored the vessel and moved out onto the upper decks, releasing the explosive charge in the life-buoys which sent them popping out of the metal canister down onto the surface of the water already inflated. The large round rubberised flotation devices were held in place by ropes while the host bodies moved from the car decks, jumping the gap to land safely on them.

  Several missed the mark and plopped into the water with a splash. Of those, a few were recovered and dragged onto the rafts.

  While the mass exodus of the undead hosts was underway from the boat to the buoys, the captain moved to the two powered vessels and rapidly winched them down to the water.

  Marcy, following the captain, once again marvelled at how quickly the whole process was done. No one stopping to ask questions, no one screaming in panic or pushing. Just silent work undertaken with a slightest of input from the communicators.

  The powered vessels manoeuvred between the round buoys, scooping up the trailing ropes to fasten them together.

  Within half an hour the process was complete, with every host moved from the vessel to the rafts. An incredible feat considering the sheer numbers of those aboard the ship.

  The rafts were jammed full and heavily over laden, but with a perfectly flat sea and no wind the only danger was some small splashes coming as they were dragged towards the shore.

  Once in the shallows the hosts slip down and wade onto the hot beach to stand patiently and wait instruction from their beloved leader.

  ‘Truly remarkable,’ Reginald remarks, standing in the shallow water with his trouser legs rolled neatly up, holding his shoes and socks up high and still wearing the orange life-jacket he looks to the horde steadily massing on the beach, ‘the whole thing done with no fuss,’ he turns to look back at the ship and the second powered b
oat dragging the rafts in, ‘remarkable,’ he repeats. Walking out of the water he winces as the sand clings to his wet feet and ankles and moves further up the beach.

  Easing himself down he starts dusting the sand from his toes, using his socks to wipe them dry then carefully pulls his socks back on. The shoes follow, which are diligently laced up after which he rolls his trouser legs down and tuts at the new creases formed.

  Finished, he stands up, plucking his shirt sleeves straight and making sure he’s tucked in properly.

  ‘Right, that’s that…what’s next in our grand adventure?’ He beams at Marcy stood watching him with the bottom of her jeans sodden up to the knees. Even Mildred, the genteel old woman simply hoisted her skirt up to wade through the water and enjoyed the cooling water on her feet.

  ‘Captain,’ Marcy calls the former second officer, sticking to the new title given by Reginald, ‘you know this area better than us, which way is the fort?’

  The captain points east, ‘few miles that way.’

  With the inflatable rafts pulled up onto the beach they set off. Three distinct groups form as they walk, Marcy, Reginald and a few at the very front. These being the ones that possess more of their natural faculties. The second group consists of the communicators, those that can talk but lack the general independent intelligence of the first group. Then the main horde, the slobbering drooling red eyed head wobbling massed zombies.

  Reginald looks back, noticing the three groups and the natural way they formed. Glancing round he takes in Marcy, watching her distant look and sensing the turmoil she feels.

  What Marcy feels is conflict. A deep conflict that threatens to pull her every which way possible. The urge to feast is strong, so strong that it constantly nags at her will. Find more hosts, do it now, we must find more hosts and take them. But the same inner argument remains, to keep taking hosts will lead to an end with no more hosts. Then what? This is the way. This has to be the way.

  The interaction between April and Reggie, as innocuous as it appeared, left a strong impact on her. April made a joke, a feeble weak comment that wouldn’t raise an eyebrow in any other circumstances but April was a communicator. One of the hosts that could speak and do as requested without appearing to have any individuality. April was evolving. She understood the social dynamics and adapted her behaviour accordingly.

  Two species that will fight to the death for dominance over the other. The damage already inflicted may well be beyond recovery, so many billions of lives destroyed in just twelve days. If this carries on at the same rate of progress there might not be anything left in another twelve days.

  There is another option, one that forces itself into her mind. Don’t go to the fort but turn as many as possible and lead them in the new way. But that new way would be the same, existing to turn more hosts and the same inevitable conclusion will be there.

  No, this is the only option. This has to be done. If they have doctors and medical equipment that can test and isolate the infection it could be the one thing that saves mankind. Not the mankind of old, but the new mankind. This must be done.

  Determination settles within her. The inner turmoil once again suppressed and held in check. Once again she speaks with the hosts around her, those able to communicate. She tells them again that no matter what happens to her, they must see this through. They must present themselves to the fort and tell the people inside the truth.

  So close now. So close to the fort and seeing it through. She takes a deep breath and walks on, resolute and determined.

  Twenty-Eight

  ‘Listen, I was never a firearms officer but I’ve been a police officer long enough to know that you do not discharge a weapon into a crowded environment. What Howie and his group did last night was unforgivable,’ Sergeant Hopewell pauses, looking at the crowd gathered round her. Deep within the tented city of the inner fort she stands in full uniform, holding a mug of coffee with her hands and holding court to the eager crowd with her voice. ‘It really is that simple, how many people died? Forty…forty people gunned down by untrained people reacting in panic,’ she shakes her head sadly, taking a sip of the coffee, ‘this has to be a stable society with rules and laws, the same rules and laws that governed us before this event must apply here. We have properly trained and experienced people here who can protect and guard us and I know for damn sure they won’t just fire into a crowd of people blindly hoping for the best.’

  ‘They were shooting babies…just shooting them dead and cutting their throats open,’ one woman says tearfully.

  ‘Did you see that?’ Another man asks shocked.

  ‘No, but I got told by someone who did see it, they said they was just shooting babies in the head, babies that…’

  ‘But if they were bitten they had to be shot, we’ve all seen what happens when they come back,’ another voice joins in.

  ‘Babies ain’t got no teeth,’ someone else adds, ‘they can’t bit people and I heard the babies were asleep in their beds.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, they weren’t running into tents and shooting sleeping babies, that’s just ridiculous.’

  ‘They were punching innocent people in the face though, I heard an old woman got her jaw broke just for looking.’

  ‘It wasn’t an old woman, it was…’

  ‘Listen,’ Sergeant Hopewell draws their attention back, ‘whatever they did…however they did it…it wasn’t the right thing to do given the circumstances. The fact that so many witnesses have said they saw them shooting innocent people and cutting throats is enough to tell us we shouldn’t be trusting them anymore…’

  ‘So what we gonna do now?’ A woman asks, her face drawn and pale.

  ‘I’ve spoken very strongly to the guards and told them in no uncertain terms what we expect from them and that under no circumstances are they to discharge a weapon into the main living area…’

  ‘But what if one of ‘em gets in here? It’s only gotta bite a couple and we’re all fucked,’ a voice calls out.

  ‘And how are they going to get in?’ Sergeant Hopewell replies quickly, ‘our gates are locked and bolted, the walls are too high to climb and we’ve got lookouts everywhere….that’s my point. Howie and his lot didn’t know if we had one inside here, they just guessed and decided to deal with it their way.’

  ‘So that lad wasn’t one of them things then?’

  ‘All I can say is that it was never proven that he was one of them, he walked back in with the others right as rain and then a couple of minutes later he’s being stabbed to death.’

  ‘What about his body? Someone could have a look and see his eyes…’

  ‘The bodies were removed,’ Sergeant Hopewell cuts in, ‘they were taken to the estate with the others before anyone had a chance to check…my point is that Howie didn’t know, none of them knew….they just charged in here firing their guns like a bloody video game.’

  ‘What do we do if it happens again?’

  ‘I’ve just said,’ Sergeant Hopewell smiles, ‘it can’t happen again…I personally don’t think it happened like that in the first place…if something happens, shouting and screaming then we get the guards to get in and see what’s going on. We’ve got thousands of people here, all living on top of each other, there could be fights and disagreements just the same as before…that doesn't mean we just assume they’re infected and start shooting everyone.’

  ‘Well said,’ a strong voice calls out. Murmurs of agreement ripple through the crowd. The uniformed police sergeant looks the part, an older woman of sound mind and common sense, and here she is, taking the time to drink coffee with the normal folk. Howie never did that. None of his group ever stood about chatting and drinking coffee like average people.

  Throughout the morning she works her way through the tents, stopping to speak to groups of survivors, talking about the nights events and how she thinks it was all done wrong. Like a politician canvassing for voters she expresses her beliefs in how the fort should be run and plants the seed
of dissent amongst the many.

  Chris, glad of the respite from having to argue with her every five minutes, doesn't notice her actions. Absorbed by the multitude of tents and structures she is lost from view while he goes about trying to get everything done.

  Sergeant Hopewell, on seeing a group of the engineers carrying the GPMG up to the top of the inner wall makes her way towards them. Approaching carefully and with an interested look.

  ‘We’re getting it fixed into position,’ one of the engineers replies after being asked what they’re doing.

  ‘Oh,’ she replies pleasantly, ‘and who instructed you to do this?’

  ‘Er…Kelly did, but I think it was Chris that said it should go here,’ the same man replies, standing up to wipe sweat from his face.

  ‘Did he now? it’s not a problem and of course I can see you chaps are only doing what you’ve been told…it’s just that it wasn’t agreed through the proper channels and I’d hate for you to have to do all that work in getting a frame and tripod or whatever made up and then having to take it down or move it…’

  ‘Oh right,’ the man sighs, ‘we figured it had been agreed…’

  ‘No,’ she shakes her head, smiling again, ‘unfortunately not, we’ve got some highly experienced ex-military personnel within the fort that have yet to be asked their opinion and I can foresee some conflict. Of course I don’t know anything about the placing of a weapon such as this, but then neither does Howie and unfortunately it was his idea to put it here.’

  ‘Howie? But he knows what he’s doing,’ the man says with a puzzled expression.

  ‘Well that’s the problem you see, he worked in a supermarket before all this, so no he doesn't really know what he’s doing…but you carry on, we can always get it moved after.’

  ‘Oh…but it’s gonna take some work to get it fixed in here, we gotta do it all by hand, no power tools you see so er…do you think it might end up being moved?’