by RR Haywood
‘Will she be like you?’ Cookey asks with wide eyes.
‘Like me? You mean her character and intelligence?’ She shakes her head, ‘I don’t know…I can try but…’
‘Try how?’ Blowers asks.
‘It’s…I don’t know…very few of us can talk and think but…’
‘But what?’ I prompt her, the faint glimmer of hope shining through the darkness.
Her eyes fix on mine with a searching look, those red eyes staring deep into my soul. ‘I can try,’ she says finally, breaking the eye contact.
‘Try how?’ My voice comes out with a hard edge.
‘I can will her to be as she…as she was, but she won’t be exactly the same Howie…’
‘But if she speaks and thinks she will be,’ Cookey says.
‘She’ll be devoted to Marcy, not Mr Howie,’ Reginald cuts in, ‘she will feel utterly devoted like we all do, she may retain full intelligence but she will not feel any loyalty to you.’
‘Eh? But you just risked your life to save us?’ Nick asks with a confused look, ‘if you’re only devoted to yourselves then why do that?’
‘I’m not them,’ Marcy replies softly, ‘I am the alpha…that seems to be how it works…you keep what you turn.’
‘Smithy didn’t turn all those cunts,’ Blowers spits, ‘he had fucking thousands of ‘em.’
Marcy shrugs, ‘it changes, evolves…like it’s constantly trying new things…’
‘What would Lani want?’ Cookey asks staring down at her, ‘if she had the choice…what would she do?’
‘She’d say no,’ I sigh, ‘we all wouldn’t we?’ The question hangs in the air. We look at each other, realising that maybe the decision wouldn’t be that clear cut.
‘We’ve still got Meredith…haven’t we?’ I glance round, looking for the dog.
‘The dog is shut in the cab of the tanker; she was killing my people too well.’
‘Boss?’ Clarence looks at me. They all look at me. Waiting for me to decide the fate of yet another life.
‘Dave?’
‘Yes Mr Howie?’
‘What would you do if it was me? If there was a chance I would come back the same as I was.’
‘Marcy said you wouldn’t be the same. Lani wouldn’t be the same.’
‘So what would you do? In this exact situation right now, me lying there…’
‘I’d…’ he hesitates, seemingly lost for words, thinking hard, ‘I’d…’
‘He’d bring you back,’ Clarence cuts in, ‘then kill you if you weren’t the same.’ He’s right. Dave’s devotion to me is the same as they are to Marcy. But if I wasn’t exactly the same he’d kill me.
‘But then we’d all do the same if it was you,’ he adds.
‘Then the decision is made,’ I reply, I look at Marcy, ‘do it.’
She stares back at me like she wants to say something, a searching look that’s made all the harder to read with her red eyes. Instead she comes forward, brushing past me. The scent of her fills my nose. The closeness of her makes me tingle inside. Something electrifying and dangerous. The girl I thought I loved is laying on the blood soaked ground surrounded by bodies, my sister has just been killed but all I can think about is Marcy.
She drops down and leans over the wound on Lani’s stomach. With one hand holding her hair out of the way she gets in close. I don’t see what she does as her head blocks my view, but she lifts up less than a minute later, ‘done,’ she says and gets to her feet.
She walks back past me, her eyes holding on mine as she goes, her fingers brush against mine, a fleeting touch that makes my heart race but I glare hard at her and turn away.
We watch in silence, staring at Lani closely. Seconds go by, then a full minute. Nothing happens. Clarence presses his fingers into Lani’s neck and concentrates, jerking back when the first jolt passes through her. We’ve all seen it before but it’s still mesmerising. Lani convulses and twitches, her body spasms, limbs flick out then she settles. We all stare at her eyes, waiting for it. When they open I feel a sudden sense of regret at what we’ve just done. Like it’s unholy or dirty. The red eyes stare out unfocussed. She blinks and sits up. Turning her head to look straight at Marcy.
‘Lani?’ Cookey speaks first, desperate to know if she’s the same. Lani keeps her gaze fixed on Marcy, ignoring the lad.
‘Lani,’ Clarence’s deep voice this time, her name spoken firmly. Still no response. Lani has the look of the massed undead. Expressionless and empty.
‘I’m sorry,’ Marcy says softly, ‘it doesn't work every time.’ I look round to see Reginald staring at Marcy with a puzzled expression. He sees me watching and quickly looks away. I spin round and see Marcy moving away.
‘Where are you going?’ I call after her.
‘We need to clear this mess up,’ she replies coldly.
‘That’s it? You just walk off and start cleaning up?’
‘What?’ She turns to stare at me with a cold expression. She takes a breath and softens her tone ‘it’s done, you got the fort back, you need to wash and rest, we can take care of this.’
‘But…’ I go after her.
‘You need to rest and those clothes will have infected blood on them,’ she adds turning away.
Lani moves off, not glancing at any one of us. She walks straight past me like I don’t exist. Following behind Marcy. I reach out and grab her arm, pulling her round to face me.
‘Lani…it’s me…’ She stares back at me and just stands there, not a flicker of recognition passes through her eyes. Nothing. I let her arm go and she walks off.
‘Your vehicle is infected,’ Marcy calls out from the back of the Saxon, ‘walk back to the fort, we’ll get it cleaned and bring it to you…’ she speaks softly and goes still, the undead all around us start moving in, they grab at the bodies and start pulling them onto the grass of the flatlands.
Dave walks to the back of the Saxon and climbs in. Blowers goes with him, taking the assault rifles and kit bags before handing them round. We check magazines and make ready before moving out to pick our fallen axes up.
‘We’ll bring everything to you,’ Marcy says watching us, almost a command.
The lads look to me, waiting to see what I do. I take my axe and start walking, the assault rifle and kit bag strapped to my back. They grab theirs and fall in next to me.
Within a few minutes we’re away from the death and walking on clean ground, staring at the empty fort ahead of us. The death and destruction at our backs. None of us speak. Nothing to be said.
A loud bark stops us in our tracks. We turn to see an undead staggering back from the door of the tanker cab as Meredith bursts out. She savages the thing, ripping its throat out before dumping the body and looking round.
Dave whistles. Her head snaps round and she starts running. Ears flat against her head, low and sleek. She bounds up to us, tail wagging as she snakes through and round our legs.
We carry on walking with Meredith running ahead to sniff the ground. After a few minutes Nick speaks up, breaking the silence, ‘Mr Howie, we shouldn’t take anyone else into our team.’
‘Okay,’ I reply quickly. The others nod. The six of us have survived everything that’s been thrown at us and even now we walk away again with hardly a mark on us. The dog, cut and bitten, still bounds on full of energy. She’s survived too.
She’s one of us.
Forty-Two
‘How do you feel?’
‘I feel fine.’
‘Any pain?’
‘No.’
‘Do not do anything until the wound has healed.’
‘I understand.’
‘And remember what I said.’
‘I will.’
‘What did I say?’
‘You said I am not to speak to anyone other than you and only when we are alone.’
‘Good, do you have a problem with that?’ Marcy stares into her eyes.
‘No,’ Lani replies, staring back.
‘Do you feel
any connection to Howie? Any feelings at all?’
‘No Marcy.’
‘You can say if you do, be honest and tell me the truth,’ Marcy wills her to be truthful, directing the conscious thought at Lani.
‘I don’t,’ Lani replies quickly.
‘Good,’ Marcy repeats with a satisfied nod, ‘stay close to Reggie.’
He sighs deeply and rolls his eyes, ‘It’s Reginald,’ he says again, ‘and why can’t she talk to me?’
‘Because I do not want them knowing she can speak.’
‘Why ever not?’ Reginald asks pushing his glasses up his nose, ‘surely it will make no difference to them.’
‘They’ve been through enough, knowing Lani can speak will only upset them further.’
‘You mean Mr Howie.’
She pauses, mouth opening to speak, to deny the innocently asked question, ‘yes,’ she admits, ‘and also the rest of them.’
‘Why did you kiss Mr Howie?’ Reginald asks still with the same innocently probing tone. Marcy glances sharply at Lani, searching for any reaction. None shows so she shrugs and looks back to Reginald.
‘Comfort,’ she offers after another pause.
‘Comfort?’ Reginald nods, ‘and may I ask why you brushed your hand against his when you walked past him?’
‘You don’t miss a trick do you Reggie.’
‘Forgive me Marcy,’ Reginald says in response to the edge in her voice, ‘I did not mean…’
‘No you’re right,’ Marcy cuts him off, ‘I told you to speak freely and you are, I…I don’t know why I did that…he has something, I don’t know…’ She looks about, trying to give words to her thoughts but failing, not a conscious act, not a planned intentional thing. A feeling, a deep feeling that makes her tingle and feel weird.
‘I see,’ Reginald says slowly, ‘giving consideration to your allowance of me to speak freely, then I must vehemently advise against any course of similar conduct. No good can come of such…well of such a liaison…indeed in my capacity as observer and taking into account my extremely limited, well rather non-existent experience of matters of a romantic inclination, I observed the manner in which he looked at you, which gives me great concern for any suggestion that he reciprocates…’
‘What?’ Marcy shakes her head, ‘I got about half of that…did you say he was looking at me?’ She demands.
‘Oh dear me,’ Reginald shakes his head, ‘Marcy you not a thirteen year old girl with a crush, you have great responsibility…’
‘When was he looking at me?’
‘Marcy, I never said he was looking at you in terms of a permanent fixation of his eyes, merely that yes he did look at you and that there appeared to be a somewhat perplexing look about him when he did so, be that as it may I do not know Mr Howie so I am unable to ascertain if that is his normal countenance, and I rather regret mentioning it now.’
‘Reggie…’
‘And as for those testosterone fuelled boys of his gooning over young April,’ Reginald carries on with a stern look at April, ‘I think that is something that should be strongly discouraged.’
‘They are just lads,’ April replies, ‘they mean no harm.’ Marcy and Reginald both stare hard at the young woman.
‘April, it would appear that you are developing an individual character, are you aware of this?’ Reginald asks.
‘I am not aware of it,’ April replies.
‘Did you hear that?’ Reginald turns to Marcy.
‘I did, she gave a longer answer than just saying no,’ Marcy considers the implication and switches her gaze to Lani. If April develops and evolves then what is to stop Lani doing the same, or any of the others?
‘Have I displeased you?’ April asks.
‘No April, I encourage you to think freely, now please….we have much to do.’
Forty-Three
‘Switch on and keep your eyes open,’ Dave instructs as we get to the big outer double gates forced open when the fort occupants stormed out. We pause and move left and right to gain a view down the sides.
Entering through I see one of the medical tents has been trampled down from the mass exodus. The others, set further back, appear fine. We hold in the middle while Dave checks one side and Clarence the other. Both return reporting all appears the same as before.
We already have a view of the interior, just the first few metres beyond the internal gates. We pass through, Meredith running ahead and being watched closely by all of us in case she shows any reaction.
She doesn't but just runs back and forth sniffing the ground. Silence greets us. An absolute silence of an empty and lifeless place. Not a soul inside. No noise, not even the rattle or sway of tents as the air is as listless as we feel. Just hot and stagnant without the slightest of a breeze.
We venture deeper in, staring round with our rifles raised and ready. A small circle of us moving quietly, each of us sweeping our eyes over what was a teeming city full of life just a few hours ago. Now empty and void.
The tent city looks demolished, so many of them trampled and pulled over during the explosion of violence. Blood and gore everywhere.
We pass by the remains of Chris. His form recognisable from the thick black beard and the knife stuck in his throat still gripped by his hand. Clarence stares hard, as though seeking solace from the evident fact that Chris took himself rather than got turned. Another big man with a long grey biker beard lies nearby. His bloodshot dead eyes staring up at the sky.
‘Look at that,’ Clarence smiles and nods towards the slope. We all turn round to see a trail of bodies running from the base of the slope to just inside the gates. Then a great many more surrounding Chris. ‘The tough fucker took a few with him,’ Clarence says softly.
‘He did loads,’ I add, ‘and that big bastard too by the looks of it.’
‘I bet it was him that gave that big yank our names, probably at the same time he told him to fuck off, poor bastard…’ He shakes his huge head sadly and sighs. ‘Good on ya Chris, you went out fighting.’
He kneels down and feels for Chris’s neck, pulling a thick metal chain out with two old style dog tags on the end, ‘he always insisted on wearing these old things, like he was Vietnam Vet or something,’ Clarence yanks the chain and stands back, putting them into his pocket before turning round and nodding at me.
‘You alright?’ I ask him.
‘Not really,’ he shrugs, ‘but what can we do? Fuck all…Best get on with it.’
‘I liked Chris,’ Dave adds with surprise, ‘he was a very good soldier, professional and competent.’ Bloody hell. That’s about the best compliment you’d ever got from Dave. I smile imagining Chris stood watching us with a huge grin, his white teeth showing through his beard and calling us all soppy fuckers.
We move on, sticking to the right side and moving down the fort. Checking rooms and seeing more signs of the violence everywhere. The police offices are a mess, the door kicked in and stuff strewn everywhere. Big pools of blood cover the floor.
The stores look normal and untouched. The armoury the same. We move down to our rooms and find them also untouched. We don’t linger but press on, moving down the wall to check the outer sides and the many rooms and recesses.
Trepidation steals over me as we enter the hospital section. We view the empty beds all in a row and work our way through to the rooms where the hospital equipment was left. All of it still covered in plastic sheets and, as with everything else, untouched.
We file back outside, no talking amongst us. Just a heavy weight pressing down on our shoulders. Feet feeling heavy and tired. Legs moving slowly. Arms like lead.
‘Here,’ Dave holds a case of water bottles in his hand, brought out from the hospital. He drops it down and rips the plastic outer casing back before throwing the bottles up at us.
Nick walks slowly to the side wall and pulls the end of a hose free. He twists the tap and drags it back. Kneeling on the ground he holds the end up, the water trickling out softly to pool on the sun-b
aked earth.
Meredith goes straight to him and starts licking at the water. ‘Hang on,’ Cookey mutters. He walks back into the hospital and comes back out carrying a stainless steel bed pan.
Nick adjusts the flow of water, filling the pan. Cookey puts it down and we stand back watching Meredith drink as quickly as possible. Her tongue darting in and out as she takes the cool liquid in.
The seven of us drink water in silence. Seven parched and dried mouths gulping the life giving liquid into our systems. Seven minds thinking only of the water and the thirst we had. Seven throats that suddenly feel less sore. Meredith drinks and drinks, her feet planted apart. The end of the hose pouring water into the bowl, re-filling it as she goes.
We cast bottles aside and grab more. Nick takes out a pack of smokes and hands them round. We light them up, coughing from the first pull. Still nothing is said. Nothing needs to be said.
None of us want to move into the tents and clear them. The area is big and it’s hot. Hotter than anything I’ve ever known and we’re exhausted. Completely drained both physically and mentally. Just numb. Filled with a dark emptiness of thoughts. How did we survive again? How are we still walking untouched?
Nick pulls the hose out from the bed pan and directs the steady flow onto Meredith’s back. She doesn't flinch but carries on drinking. The water runs pink from her coat, red bloodied water dripping down.
‘Turn it up,’ he asks Cookey. The lad nods and walks over to the tap, gently turning the tap until Nick nods. With a firmer spray he moves the hose up and down her body, sluicing the blood and gore from her.
She licks the bowl dry and looks up at him. A clear request for more water. He fills the bowl to the top and carries on. She simply drops her head and goes back to drinking.
I step in and look at her sides, just a few bite marks that have already stopped bleeding. The other wounds look okay and I realise her dressing has come off, revealing the shaved areas of her coat where the wounds must have been inspected by Amy and Doctor Roberts.
‘Did anyone see Doc Roberts?’ I ask as I think of him.
‘Yes,’ Dave replies. I nod, knowing what he means by the simple answer. Meredith then decides that we all need a wash too and shakes her coat, a sudden violent action that soaks us quicker than we get jump away.