by RR Haywood
Coffee. Focus on the small things first and let the big things piss off for a bit. Water into the mug, stir and smell the goodness of strong caffeine floating in the air.
Ha. I have coffee. I did it. I actually got to make coffee after waking up. But it’s too hot to drink. Without the cooling effect of milk it will take longer to get down to a temperature that doesn't peel my lips off.
Cold water is added, just a little trickle to bring the heat down a little. Perfect.
Mug in hand I stroll down the hallway, humming away to myself as I ignore the pressing urge to think about serious things. In the lounge I spot my axe and an assault rifle next to the sofa.
After what happened in the fort, I vowed never to be without my axe so it gets taken with me as I walk slowly back to the front door, gently sipping from my mug of coffee. The mug of coffee that I just made. In the kitchen. Like civilised people do.
Looks like another beautiful day. Mind you, it has been too hot lately. Don’t get me wrong, I love the hot weather but this? Too hot, far too hot.
Staring at the door handle I contemplate that I have no free hands left to open it, and the process of trying to decide if I should put the mug or the axe down is relegated to the file labelled “too difficult to think about right now”. So I use my elbow, and try to avoid spilling the contents of the mug everywhere.
My whole body freezes, my elbow half pushing the door handle down. I don’t move but I stare down at the coffee mug. Something just crashed through the lounge window. Something big and heavy and the air is filled with the sound of breaking glass. Now that there is a stonking big hole where the window used to be, I can hear the grunting outside a lot more clearly. Lots of grunting.
Sighing deeply I push the handle down with my elbow and wriggle my foot into the slight gap to pull the door open. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust again from the sunlight, so I just stand there with my axe and my coffee mug.
‘Morning David,’ I call out when my eyes have adjusted.
‘Dave,’ he responds instantly. Not looking round, not hesitating, no welcoming love filled yell of “oh Mr Howie you’re alive and immune …I’m so pleased.”
Stepping out I look left, down at the body that has just fallen from the window frame. Shards and splinters fall down to shatter on the ground. A bit of wooden frame drops down, which makes me think they spent all their money on the downstairs toilet when maybe they should have invested in double glazing.
‘I got coffee,’ I call across.
‘Okay,’ he replies.
‘I just made it.’
‘Okay,’ he replies again.
‘The hobs are gas so I boiled some water.’
‘Okay.’
‘The ignition runs from a battery too, so I didn’t need a flame.’
‘Okay.’
‘It’s Milicano too.’
‘Okay.’
‘Do you want one? The water is still hot.’
‘Not right now Mr Howie, can I have mine in a bit.’
‘Fair enough mate, just say when and I’ll get it done.’
‘Thank you Mr Howie.’
‘You’re welcome Dave.’
I sip my coffee. The coffee I just made whilst I pretend this is a perfectly normal start to a perfectly normal day.
‘Do you need a hand?’ I call out reluctantly and feeling a bit guilty.
‘No thanks Mr Howie, enjoy your coffee.’
‘Cheers Dave, don’t suppose you got any cigarettes have you?’
‘I don’t smoke Mr Howie.’
‘Okay, never mind.’
‘Wait just a second and I’ll have a look round.’
‘Don’t worry too much mate.’
‘It’s not a problem Mr Howie.’
‘Only if you’re sure, I know you don’t like smoking.’
‘Here’s some, er…they say Menthol on the front, are they okay?’
‘Fine mate, thank you.’
‘Catch…’
The packet drops at my feet. Again, I am stuck with the dilemma of not having a free hand to pick them up with. In the end the axe is propped against the wall whilst I pick the packet up and slide one of the slim white sticks out.
Patting my pockets down for a lighter, I start the run up to thinking maybe I will have to go back into the kitchen to use the hob when a red coloured clipper lighter lands at my feet.
‘Cheers Dave.’
‘Okay Mr Howie.’
Coffee and a cigarette. Standing outside the front door on a gorgeous hot summer day. Not a cloud in the sky. The nicotine and caffeine do their evil work quickly, firing my brain up until it’s happily buzzing away.
‘You on your own?’ I shout across.
‘Yes Mr Howie.’
‘Where are the others?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you see them?’
‘Clarence got out with the Saxon…’
‘One behind you Dave…’
‘Thank you I knew he was there. Clarence got away with Nick, I saw Lani somewhere near where you got taken down…Didn’t see Simon or Alex.’
Simon and Alex. I love the way he keeps using their first names. I don’t feel worried, something is telling me they’ll be okay and somewhere nearby. I can’t explain why I feel like that, I just know.
‘They’ll be okay,’ Dave adds, ‘they know to stay nearby.’
Finally, I mention the huge elephant in the room, the one I’ve been stoically avoiding since I stepped out. ‘You killed all these then?’ a mild comment given the utter sea of bodies layering the ground. Bodies piled up in heaps, strewn about, corpses all mangled and very dead. Lots and lots of bodies.
And Dave stood in the middle while they keep stupidly charging at him. They haven’t reacted to my presence but just going for him. Like they have a personal vendetta to take down the small man with two knives.
‘I’m glad you’re up Mr Howie,’ he yells out.
‘Oh thanks Dave, yeah I feel…’
‘These knives are getting blunt, could you throw me two more from the kitchen please.’
‘Oh right, yeah hang on,’ I stroll back inside and open the drawers to select two long straight bladed knives before quickly pouring the still hot water into another mug of Milicano. Back outside I place the mug down as he shouts for me to throw them one at a time, not together, as if I would!
He catches them deftly and takes a split second to step back and stare down at the blades and the handles before shrugging and going back to slicing throats open.
‘Almost there,’ he shouts with just a few more to go.
‘Come and get your coffee, I can finish them off.’
‘No no Mr Howie, I started so I will finish.’
‘You sure Dave?’
‘Quite sure Mr Howie.’
‘Suit yourself,’ I light another cigarette and sip at me coffee. He doesn't look the least bit tired. He looks completely the same as ever. Not sweating, not struggling with heavy legs, just perfect movements that place him exactly where he needs to be.
‘Done,’ he exclaims proudly.
‘What about him?’ I nod down the road to the solitary zombie shuffling in, arriving late to the party.
Dave looks round casually and shrugs before spinning to throw both the knives with incredible ferocity. The sun glints of the spinning blades that embed straight into the things head, driving him off his feet to fall back with two handles poking out his face.
Dave turns back and with a small smile, takes a bow. The shock of it makes me spray my coffee all over the path. Whilst I choke and laugh all at the same time, he strolls down the path, gingerly stepping over bodies until he reaches the front step and lifts his coffee mug, giving me a polite nod as he takes a sip.
‘It’s going to be hot again,’ he remarks as I compose myself from the ridiculous bow.
‘Are you making small talk?’ I ask him.
Shrugging he turns round and stares out at the devastation he has wro
ught.
‘Are you even human?’ I ask him, ‘have you slept?’
‘Of course I have slept.’
‘No Dave, I mean last night, did you sleep last night?’
‘No.’
‘You’ve been up all night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did they attack us then?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. So why did you kill them all? How did they find us?’
‘They didn’t Mr Howie.’
‘They’re dead Dave, all of them…right there…I can see them…’
‘I know. I killed them.’
‘Okay, so how did you end up killing them?’
‘With knives mostly,’ he looks at me and I swear he knows full bloody well what he is doing.
‘How did you end up killing them outside this house?’
‘They were running past.’
‘Right?’
‘What?’ He looks at me again.
‘They were running past and then what?’
‘I killed them.’
‘Why?’
‘They’re zombies.’
‘Fucking hell Dave, you do this on purpose.’
‘I didn’t kill them by accident if that’s what you mean.’
‘No I meant you talk like this on purpose…never mind. So they were running past and you decided to kill them? Is that right?’
‘Yes Mr Howie, I just said that.’
‘Okay, so why did you kill them? Other than them being zombies or undead or the enemy…specifically why did you kill them at that point…when they were running past and didn’t know we were here?’
‘I figured the others had got away so it cuts the numbers down and keeps them occupied on me, plus you were asleep so…’
‘Right, got it,’ I take a sip of coffee and stare out into the street. ‘So, did you just charge at them or…?’
‘Oh no,’ he replies, ‘I called out and got them to come back…then more started coming and more…and it just sort of went on like that really.’
‘Righto, makes sense I guess.’
‘I ran out of knives a couple of times,’ he explains nonchalantly, ‘some of these people don’t use proper knives you know,’ he looks over with a frown, ‘they’re cheap and snap easily or they’re not kept sharp. I had to go into a couple of houses and find better ones.’
‘While they were chasing you?’
‘Well, not chasing me…I sort of took them with me.’
An image of Dave fending off hordes of screaming zombies with one knife wielding hand while he casually sorts through someone’s knife drawer springs to mind, lifting them out one after the other and tutting while shaking his head.
‘Not good,’ he adds after a few seconds.
‘What isn’t?’
‘The standard of knives used in this country,’ he replies quickly, ‘really not good. The government should have done something about it.’
‘Like what? Insist that everyone has high tensile commando blades in case of the zombie pandemic?’
He shrugs but doesn't answer.
‘We’ll have to get some more,’ he finally says.
‘Knives?’
‘Yes Mr Howie.’
‘We’ll get some Dave.’
‘Okay Mr Howie.’
‘Did I puke down your leg last night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry about that.’
‘It’s okay, I washed it off.’
‘Okay, and er…thanks for getting me out.’
‘That’s okay.’
‘And thanks for cleaning me up too.’
‘You’re welcome Mr Howie.’
‘And I guess it was you that removed the zombie heart from my mouth.’
‘It was.’
‘Thanks for that.’
‘Okay.’
‘Well….’ I pause, letting the silence fill the air. He glances round and raises his eyebrows before sipping at his coffee and adjusting his position.
‘Immune then,’ I add casually.
‘Looks that way.’
‘Whole heart in my mouth, it was still beating…did you know that?’
‘Was it?’
‘It was.’
‘They do that.’
‘What do?’
‘Hearts Mr Howie, they keep beating for a little while after being ripped out.’
‘You’ve done that then? Ripped hearts out I mean.’
‘Couple of times.’
‘Oh.’
‘Only when it was needed you understand, not you know…for fun.’
‘Of course Dave.’
‘And the blood? Did it go down your throat?’ He asks.
‘It did, lots of it. And eye juice too.’
‘Eye juice?’
‘I popped an eye but the bugger was right above me so the juice went into my mouth, and I think I might have bitten a finger off too.’
‘A finger, did you swallow it?’
‘No idea mate, I was busy at the time, you know…what with the heart thing going on.’
‘I understand,’ he nods.
‘What do you think it means?’ I ask him.
‘Means Mr Howie?’ He stares with what I have come to know as his puzzled expression.
‘Yeah,’ I shrug, ‘what do you think it means?’
‘I think it means you are immune.’
‘And Lani?’
‘Not sure,’ his reply is quick, telling me he’s been thinking about it, ‘it could be that she passed it to you, or you to her…or you are both resistant or immune separate from each other.’
‘I kissed her,’ I say, more to myself, ‘but things like that don’t get passed by kissing do they? Even some diseases don’t get passed from just a kiss let alone the vaccine for them…’
‘I don’t know,’ he shakes his head, a small movement but done firmly, ‘we will need doctors and…’
‘Yeah I know, scientists and machines and generators and then fuel for the fucking generators and then some bugger will just come along and ruin everything.’
‘It does explain one thing though, why they are scared of you,’ he adds.
‘Maybe,’ I don’t deny it this time, no point. They do fear me, not enough to make them run away quivering like jellies but it’s there. ‘And I didn’t turn, Lani turned…’
‘She did,’ he agrees. Silence stretches between us.
‘Did you know?’
‘What?’ He avoids the stare I direct at him.
‘Dave, did you know?’
‘Know what?’
‘You know full well what, did you know?’
‘I thought about it,’ he says quietly, ‘that it was a possibility,’ he adds slowly.
‘But you never mentioned it to me.’
‘No, what good would come from it? It was just a thought process, a factor that was considered along with many others. If I had mentioned it you might have done things differently.’
‘I see.’
‘No Mr Howie, I don’t think you do. There’s a reason why they fear you, there’s a reason why we all heard you that day outside the fort when you said the prayer, there’s a reason why everyone is following you and doing what you say…’
‘Okay,’ I nod slowly, waiting for him to continue.
‘That’s it,’ he says, ‘I don’t know what the reason is, but there is a reason. This outcome, that you are naturally immune was one of the factors I had considered.’
‘Right. What other factors did you consider?’
‘I considered that you were mentally unstable for a while,’ he says without any trace of humour, ‘or just a natural leader, or…’
‘Mentally unstable?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Caltrops? Using Cannon? Charging into the enemy when they outnumbered us by so many?’
‘But they worked,’ I cut in, not quite sure how to react.
‘Which is why I don’t think you are mentally unstable now.’
‘Cheers then mate.’
‘You’re welcome Mr Howie.’
‘What if I was?’
‘What?’
‘Mentally unstable?’
‘I don’t know, you seemed to get things done so…I don’t know.’
‘Maybe we all are, you know…a bit weird in the head…we must be. We could just sod off and find somewhere quiet and safe.’
‘We could.’
‘But we won’t.’
‘We won’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because,’ he turns to me, ‘the fight isn’t over yet, we’ve got you and Lani and the dog. That’s three living creatures that appear to be immune to the infection. So we have to work out what we do with that, and how we use it to our advantage.’
‘Speaking of which, we better go find them. You reckon they’ll be near the car park?’
‘Yes Mr Howie.’
Fifteen
‘YO!’
‘What the…’ Blowers mutters, all three of them spinning round while grabbing pistols, Meredith jumping round quickly to sound a warning bark.
‘Jagger?’ Cookey calls out at the youth striding down the street.
‘Nah bruv, Mohammed innit, Jagger back there,’ he thumbs behind him, ‘OI Jagger,’ he yells, ‘it’s clear bruv.’
They watch as Jagger sneaks out from a front garden leading several younger children to catch up with Mohammed.
‘Sweet,’ Jagger grins, his wide smile and white teeth visible even from that distance. Moving at a steady jog they soon reach the others, Meredith standing her ground for a few seconds before moving off to the side. She is aloof and watchful, picking up on the non-threatening vibe from the new comers and recognising them from the previous day, but they’re not the pack so she won’t attack but she won’t immediately accept them either.
‘What you doing here?’ Blowers asks looking at the small group.
‘And why haven’t you cleaned up?’ Lani adds taking in the filth and grime covered children still wearing the dirt from the battle.
‘We had to starburst,’ Mohammed explains, ‘getting out from that car park, fuckin’ things were everywhere…’
‘No choice,’ Jagger continues, ‘they’s comin’ in so hard we had to do one.’
‘What about the Saxon?’ Lani asks quickly.