by RR Haywood
Samantha, seemingly unaware of her father’s glance at Lilly’s chest, stares at the new members of their group, flicking her gaze between her father and Andrew, at the similarities between them.
‘Are we ready then?’ Andrew asks the group in general.
‘I took the opportunity to mark out a route on a map,’ Norman produces a folded ordnance survey map to show Andrew the thick black line indicating the proposed route to the south coast.
‘Very good,’ Andrew nods eagerly, ‘very good indeed, well done Norman…I er…well I didn’t have a map so I couldn’t…
‘I don’t think anyone does anymore,’ Norman adds,‘ I foolishly went for my satnav before realising I couldn’t charge it up, luckily I had this old thing in a cupboard. I should imagine a lot has changed in the years but the route should be the same.’
They set off and within a few paces the dynamics of the group are obvious, as Andrew and Norman take the front, chatting politely between themselves in their newly formed mutual appreciation society. Both of them clutch the hands of their young sons who totter along beside them, staring furtively at each other.
Lilly and Samantha bring up the rear, letting a few paces develop between them and their fathers. In awkward silence they move along through the debris strewn streets. Lilly wishing they would see sense and take a car to get out of here quicker, Samantha wondering why she didn’t look like Lilly instead of her very slim, almost boyish physique.
‘Sorry,’ Lilly remarks quickly as she stumbles on a broken kerb stone, rubbing her shoulder against Samantha.
‘S’okay,’ the other girl replies instantly.
‘This bag is so heavy,’ Lilly tugs at the straps again, rotating her shoulders to try and ease the pressure.
‘Yeah mine too, it’s like, well killing my shoulders.’
‘Did you get packed last night?’ Lilly asks, glancing across at Samantha.
She nods and stares forward at her father and brother, ‘Dad was well weird when he got home last night,’ she whispers, ‘he was like, all excited at meeting your dad and kept going on about a tin of…’
‘Plum tomatoes?’ Lilly cuts in with a wry smile.
‘Yeah, like well going on about it,’ Samantha half grins.
‘Mine was too,’ Lilly steps in closer to drop her voice, ‘he must have told me the same story like a hundred times, how they were trying to reach under the shelves and prodding tins at each other.’
‘Yeah that was it,’ Samantha snorts, ‘where’s your mum? Er…if er….like, you know…is it okay to ask that?’
‘Of course,’ Lilly replies, ‘she was at work when it happened,’ she shrugs, ‘just didn’t see her again, no contact or word from her…we left notes at home saying where we are going. I thought Dad was going to keep us there for ever, we haven’t eaten properly for days.’
‘Same,’ Samantha nods, ‘it was our weekend with Dad, Mum lives miles away so like, we don’t know anything that has happened with her. Dad’s kept us in the house all the time, we were like, going crazy…and starving too.’
‘We should have taken a car,’ Lilly whispers, ‘I don’t know why they want to walk, it’s boiling out here and I know Billy won’t last long in this heat. He had most of the beans yesterday but still…’
‘If your dad is like mine then he won’t listen. I don’t like it here…all these houses all like smashed up and like…bodies everywhere…it’s well creepy.’
‘We can suggest it again when the boys start whining,’ Lilly conspires.
‘Okay, you like…you speak well nice…’ Samantha blurts out, then blushes furiously.
‘Dad sent me to a private school, we had elocution lessons…’
‘Oh you from like, you know, a posh house and all that?’
‘God no,’ Lilly shakes her head, ‘not now, Dad had a business but it went under. We lost the house and cars and I had to leave the private school, I was going to the High school here.’
‘Oh right,’ Samantha says, ‘my mum and dad split up cos he was working so much, she’s got a new boyfriend now, he’s really nice. Dad just works and gets like, well depressed and…’
‘Is he on pills? Mine is,’ Lilly interjects.
‘Yeah, takes ‘em every morning, they make him all monged out and weird for like an hour.’
‘They should get on well then,’ Lilly smiles, staring ahead at the two fathers talking away in hushed tones as they both nervously glance round the area.
‘Yeah right,’ Samantha smiles back, ‘he wouldn’t even like, take a knife or anything, he like said violence was never the way.’
‘I got one,’ Lilly whispers, ‘mine wouldn’t take one either so I put one in my bag, it’s at the top.’
‘Mine’s here,’ Samantha pulls her top up an inch or so, revealing the handle of a small knife tucked into the back of her waistband, ‘he might not like violence but we got Todd with us, so Dad’s got to protect him, you know…those things are well nasty.’
‘Have you seen them?’ Lilly asks.
‘Only outside going past the house, they were like well slow in the day and really like fast at night but we haven’t seen any for a day or…’
‘Same,’ Lilly nods, ‘Dad said all the food was gone too, I don’t think he realises how hungry we are.’
‘Todd had the spaghetti,’ Samantha cuts in, ‘I was starving, I still am like, but his little face when he saw them.’
‘We’ll give it an hour and get them to find food, or we can do it,’ Lilly says.
‘Yeah okay,’ Samantha nods eagerly, smiling across at Lilly.
They walk on, quietly talking sense between them while their fathers discuss golf clubs, cars and business projects. The two small boys still taking furtive glances at one another and now playing a game of poking tongues out and blowing raspberries.
Both girls realise within a short time that their fathers are too engrossed talking to keep a decent look out. They add it to their list of duties, constantly scanning ahead and to the sides and taking it in turns to turn round and check behind them.
As with many towns in the south of England, the urban sprawl soon gives way to suburbia, which in turn gently transforms into the picturesque rural spread of fields, lanes and meadows. With the heat blasting down they trudge on. Lilly and Samantha cajoling both the boys to drink and then taking the boys’ hands, leaving their fathers to merrily lead the way, almost painfully ignorant of the dangers they face.
Nine
Why was I being punched repeatedly in the stomach? They weren’t hard blows but they were consistent. Hazy dreams flooded my mind, images of my family and that actor, Paco Maguire.
At some point I drifted back to the present and looked down to see the back of Dave’s heels. I realised I wasn’t being repeatedly punched, it was his bony shoulder digging into my stomach as he carried me along. I think I puked at that point. The jolting, the dehydration and the metallic taste of blood in my mouth all conspired together to bring burning bile up my throat and onto the back of Dave’s legs.
I don’t know where we were going. I wanted to ask but speaking was beyond me. Consciousness was like trying to grasp a greasy bar of soap and kept slipping away. I felt the sensation of being carried for what felt like a long time, then I was on something soft. When I opened my eyes it was pitch black and I couldn’t tell the difference between my eyes being open and closed.
All I could think about was that heart being pushed into my mouth. It was dark when that happened so I didn’t see the heart but there was no doubt what it was, the fucking thing was still pumping as it was stuffed between my teeth. Thick blood shot out of the ventricles to fill my throat. I felt it die, like a wounded animal, slowly pumping the life out of itself.
At that point I wondered if my own heart recognised the beat of this heart in my mouth. I don’t know if am still alive if I’m honest. I really can’t tell. I could be one of the undead now, being carried off by Dave to have my head removed from my body.
<
br /> Why was Paco holding a baby? Oh, right yeah, he’s the father of Sarah’s child, isn’t he. Is he? Was that real? Jesus, I can’t tell. I thought Sarah liked Clarence and I guess a person has the right to change their mind but wow that pregnancy must have flown by. Still, Mum and Dad will be pleased. They always wanted a grandchild and they knew the chances of me finding a suitable partner were pretty slim.
I hope they like Lani. She’s nice. I like Lani. She’s way better than Marcy. Whatever happened to Marcy? Does she know Paco? Maybe they’re friends or something. Oh, that could be awkward in the future if we all get together at a family function. What with me being with Lani and Marcy being good friends with Paco. How will that go down?
I shouldn’t worry about that now, Sarah is switched on and she can smooth it over. Hmmm. Actually it’s probably best I don’t go to the function, yeah…I can say I’ve got work or something. Mum and Dad won’t mind, they’ll understand.
I’m sleepy now. Really tired. It’s quiet in my flat tonight, I’m surprised the drunks aren’t making loads of noise going back from the town. Have I got work tomorrow? Did I set the alarm?
It’ll be okay, Dave will cover for me if I’m late in. My new bed is lovely and comfy.
I’m glad I got it.
‘Shush, sleep now.’
‘Okay Dad,’ I didn’t realise Dad was staying over. That’s nice of him, we can spend the day together tomorrow, maybe go that cake shop he likes in the next town. No, that burnt down didn’t it. Did I burn it down? Shit, maybe the police will arrest me for arson or something.
‘Sorry Dad, I burnt your cake shop down.’
‘Drink this,’ my head is lifted up which is a strange thing to do to someone when they’re sleeping. A cup is pressed to my lips and cold beautiful water pours into my mouth. My god, I’m so thirsty, I didn’t realise I was this thirsty.
‘Slow down,’ my father intones but I want more and drain the cup down greedily. My head rests back a second later it’s being lifted up and more water is being poured into my mouth. I try to say something but end up spitting water over my dad.
‘Drink…Good….Now rest.’
‘Thanks Dad, love you.’
Dave watches Howie closely, that worried look still on his face but slowly easing off. His vital signs were good. His heart and pulse were strong, his breathing normal. His pupils looked right and he wasn’t too hot or cold.
Shock. Shock and dehydration. He needs rest and fluids. Checking his eyes he notices the absence of any redness. Just normal white, with the dark iris barely discernible against the blackness of his pupils.
Sitting back on his haunches, Dave thinks hard. Drawing his knife he taps the blade against his leg, considering the options.
Mr Howie is immune. Infected blood went into his mouth. A whole heart was in his mouth and you can’t get more infected blood than from a still beating heart.
Mr Howie kissed Lani. Lani is immune. Who passed the immunity to whom? Lani turned, so that suggests she had a weaker strain of immunity than Mr Howie. Shaking his head he realises that doesn't mean anything. Genetics, mutant strains of DNA and cell structure simply didn’t work like that.
Mr Howie and Lani could both be uniquely immune, the chances of that are very slim but it is possible.
But the infected fear Mr Howie. There is something different about him. Something unique. They don’t fear Lani and she’s immune now, or is she? Maybe she is carrying the virus but just not showing it.
It makes sense to Dave; that the reason they fear Mr Howie was because he couldn’t be turned. He is the key to ending the infection. He is the natural anti-body.
Dave’s mind was unique. He wasn’t thick and he didn’t have low intelligence. His brain was simply structured differently to most other people, and right now, he knew the limitations of his knowledge and figuring this out was beyond him.
So with nothing else to do, he drank water, washed and kept a very close eye on Mr Howie. Taking regular trips to the front door to listen intently for sounds of approaching undead.
When they did come he showed no reaction. First moving to the back door and double checking it was locked and secure. He pulled the lounge door closed and then opened the front door to stand in the frame. Listening. Waiting.
Two new knives sourced from the kitchen and sharpened to his exact standard were gripped in his hands.
They must have spread out after the Saxon went off. That was the most logical thing to do. They couldn’t chase a moving vehicle so they filtered off to hunt the others down.
Bare feet slapping against the road made a distinctive noise, and lots of bare feet slapping against the road made an even more distinctive noise.
Standing stock still, Dave watches as the undead run past the gate. There was quite a few of them but none had picked up on Dave’s or Mr Howie’s scent. Scratching his head with the handle of a knife Dave considers this.
He and Mr Howie were immersed in the bodies of the fallen zombies. So they were saturated in their stench. That must be why Mr Howie was left alone after the heart was shoved in his mouth. In the darkness, the confusion and the cramped space they couldn’t find him. They couldn’t smell him.
It had been a long night already, and the preceding few days have been non-stop. Dave can feel the ebb of fatigue just starting to gnaw away but an idea steals into his mind. The infection is a conscious entity, it must be. It drives those hosts like they are part of a super organism. It reacts with increasing speed and is constantly developing and evolving, changing tactics and strategies.
Mr Howie is down right now, he needs rest and if the rest of the team are out there, fractured and alone, they will need rest too. The last thing they need is to be running and fighting all night, for as fit and strong as they are, they will soon drop from exhaustion.
With an almost imperceptible shrug Dave reaches the conclusion. He doesn't fear the decision, nor does he question it. The action he must take is logical and besides, it will give him a chance to test a theory.
Turning round he gauges the door behind him and the length of the path, judging distance and special awareness. He takes a step forward and checks again, reaching an arm out to ensure he can reach the door from this distance, making small precise adjustments to gain the perfect position.
Once satisfied he fixes his gaze on the garden gate and the low wall running either side of it. His mind works out the routes they will take and tracks back to his position. The window negates this position. A big bay window designed to allow maximum light into the front room. A body crashing through that will take out most of the large panes leaving a perfect route in.
No good. Instead he locks the front door, making sure it is firmly closed before making his way down the path to the gate, pausing until the last of the undead have staggered past. Only then does he step out into the road, taking purposeful strides to the middle and then moving a short distance along, double checking that he still has a view of the house within which Mr Howie rests.
They can’t smell Mr Howie so they don’t know which house he is in, nor do they know if he is in this area.
‘Here,’ Dave calls out and watches as the horde react as one, stopping to turn and face back down the road towards the small man illuminated in the silvery light of the moon.
Dave turns to check behind him, sensing movement and spotting the next lot coming up the road.
The first horde start moving back but they don’t run. They walk steadily, turning his head he spots the horde coming from the other direction have also slowed to come in at a slower pace.
Interesting. Another change of tactic. Not running full on to charge in but taking a steadier pace to ensure they all come together at the same time.
The knives in hands are flicked up so the reverse side of the blade presses against his forearms. Slowly, his flicks his gaze left and right, watching and tracking each horde as they move in.
Rolling his head, Dave stretches his neck and starts rotating his shou
lders, at the same time he brings first one knee to his chest, then the next.
‘My name is Dave,’ he says out loud, his clear voice carrying with ease into the quiet street, ‘you went after Mr Howie,’ he adds, pausing as he rotates his wrists, circling his hands gripping the knives. ‘So now I will go after you,’ he continues, ‘and I won’t stop…’ He stares to one side, fixing his eyes on the approaching horde, ‘bring more,’ he turns his head to face forward, using peripheral vision to monitor the approach but appearing to stare away unconcerned, ‘bring many more…bring all of you…’ they’re close now, edging in with slow deliberate movements. The sheer hunger pours off them, the raging violence pulses through the hordes. Visible and tangible, the electric atmosphere would make the strongest, hardest men piss themselves in fear. The sight of the drawn creatures with clawed hands, sunken hollow eyes, thin lips pulled back to show blood encrusted teeth, hair thinning, wounds festering and writhing with maggots that eat away at the flesh.
At the last second, Dave pushes his left foot back and brings his right arm across his chest. He takes a slow deep breath and waits. That rare thing crosses his face as he starts to smile, a slight tugging of the lips that blossoms into a big grin the very second they release and surge forward.
He holds until the very last split second of impact then spins round, stretching his arms out to scythe the blades across many throats. The first corpses fall as the first of the blood is spilled onto the hot surface of the road.
He moves as water through a dam of twigs and stones, finding holes and gaps to move through. All the time his knives thrusting and sweeping. He uses his legs to trip them, cutting throats as they fall. Each time they lunge to where he is, he is simply not there anymore. He is where he needs to be, in that space there between the two big males. They twist with rage to lunge but that space is empty and those big males are losing their life blood as it spurts out from the severed arteries in the their necks. By the time this is even realised; several more have gone down.