by RR Haywood
Last level then. This is it. Get in an apartment or die. She slams the men aside, powering through the door and into the corridor and that whirling mind dredges a snippet of anti-rape advice from the back of her brain.
‘FIRE…EVERYONE OUT…FIRE…’
She heard the story years ago. A woman being raped and screaming for help in a hotel corridor. No one came. No one answered her pleas until she screamed the word fire and the response in the hotel was swift with doors opening and people running out panicking. An intrinsic human instinct and something every child is taught. Fire kills. Fire kills quickly.
That flash of genius inspires her hand that punches through the glass plate of the red fire alarm fixed to the wall. A split second later alarms sound throughout the whole building and in every apartment warble loud and constant. The main electrical circuits shut down to feed power to the emergency system. Lights flash and strobe over the exit door of the stairwell and the transformation only adds to the sense of complete urgency to find shelter or be killed.
The four men come to a crashing halt with three of them staring round in desperate hope and one staring at Henrietta with desperate love.
Nothing. Still nothing. An empty block of apartments used by the super-rich as part-time homes for when they visit the city.
This can’t be it. Not like this. Not on the top floor of a building in some shitty street in London. Not like this. No. Her hand clamps hard on the knife. Her head turns to face the stairwell and her feet move down to greet the things just about to burst through.
Not like this. No.
‘HENRI!’ A scream behind but she ignores it as the pulsing unfairness of it all lifts the anger in her system that prepares to fight for every second of life.
‘HENRI…’ Another one screaming and a hand grabs her arm, forcing her to turn and see the open door further up the corridor and the young woman staring down in shock.
‘RUN THEN,’ Henrietta shouts as the first one staggers, falling and tripping into the corridor to get trampled down by the rest that follow.
Dolan is already running for the promise of safety and he barges the young woman aside to get through the door that starts to close in Brian’s face as Dolan tries desperately to save himself and lock the door.
Brian pushes in as Bennie adds his weight, forcing the door open with Dolan screaming at them to fuck off.
‘GET INSIDE.’ Henrietta gives the order that Simon has promised to obey. He adds his weight to Brian and Bennie and between them they force Dolan back. Henrietta grabs the young woman, forcing her in front and through the door. The corridor behind her is now full of noise and things charging with mouths spraying bloodied spittle and eyes blazing red and bloodshot.
She drives hard, forcing the bodies in front of her to move further into the apartment to clear the door, which she grabs and slams hard just as the first thing comes into view. An instant impact as the deranged man whacks head first into the wooden door. Her hands work the locks, turning keys and sliding heavy-duty but nicely presented brass bolts home.
As the last bolt is rammed home so she stops to lean her forehead against the door, gulping air with the knife still held tight in her grip and the door impacting as the things on the other slide try to move ever forward.
Chapter Nine
I. Love. Your. Work
Henrietta steps back slowly from the thudding door, almost as though she can see the things battering the other side. The bolts looks thick and the door is solid wood so it will hold for now unless they start working cohesively or using tools.
Her eyes sweep over Bennie, once again slumped on the floor with his back against the wall. Brian leaning and breathing hard. Simon staring with his eyes wild but still fixed on Henrietta as his mind struggles to compute everything that’s happening. Finally Dolan. Dolan standing further down the hallway whimpering and muttering with his hands ever pressed to his head. She glares hard. Unblinking. Unflinching and feeling a rush of rage at how he barged the girl aside and tried to shut them out. A slow count to ten. Control. Dolan is the key to the future. He would have killed everyone to save himself. Keep him alive and secure your dreams. He is a selfish prick. So are you, and you’re only doing this to keep him alive for your own ends. He would have killed everyone. He was panicking. Control. Breathe. Think fast. Think clear. The focus on Dolan is intense, not that he notices. So wrapped up in his own nightmare that he fails to spot the look on her face. A voice breaks the intense minute. Young and refined with the clear pronunciation of the privately educated.
‘Are you Henrietta Swallow?’
Henrietta blinks back to the present and finally takes in the young woman. Blonde-haired and with soft white skin that looks young and rosy-cheeked, which contrasts greatly with the cornrowed hair.
‘Yes,’ Henrietta says, finding a calm voice.
‘Oh my god!’ the girl simpers, holding her hands out away from her body in an expression of overemphasis. ‘I. Love. Your. Work.’ Each word pronounced clear and long with pale blue eyes showing greater shock at Henrietta Swallow being in her apartment than the alarms warbling or the things beating at the door or the four strange men gasping for air or even the bloodstained knife in Henrietta’s hand.
‘My dad said you’re a skank but I was like, “no, Dad. Henrietta Swallow is not a skank but an actual legend,” and he was like, “No, Henrietta Swallow is a skank,” and I even made him see that documentary you did on the…and just oh my god…’
‘Water,’ Henrietta says without realising she was going to interrupt the girl. ‘We need water.’
‘Oh. My. God. Henrietta Swallow is in my actual house asking for actual water.’
‘Can we have some water please?’ Henrietta asks again.
‘I’ll take vodka.’
‘Where’s the phone?’ Dolan asks.
‘Like, the network is down or something,’ the girl says, not turning to look at him. ‘Internet is down, too, which is totally, like, a total nightmare because I can’t even tweet or post to say Henrietta Swallow is in my apartment but, like…can we do a selfie? Is that okay? I’ll post it later…is that okay?’
‘We need some water,’ Henrietta says, widening her eyes at the situation.
‘Hey…’ The girl leans in to Henrietta holding an iPhone straight out, and despite the murders, the carnage, the running, the stabbing, the blood, the gore and the things beating at the door Henrietta switches into autopilot at the camera being held but feet away and smiles broad and wide.
‘No! We need water,’ Henrietta says, stepping away from the girl now staring down at the screen in abject happiness. ‘Dolan, find the landline. Boys, get some water…where’s the kitchen? Who else is here?’
‘Oh, like, I’m totally home alone because my dad is a total selfish bastard and goes out, like, every evening…’
‘Where’s your mother?’ Henrietta asks, striding down the hallway and opening doors in search of the kitchen.
‘I live with my dad because, like, he’s got custody because, like, my mother is a total alcoholic and she cheated on my dad so the judge said I should live with Dad…’
‘Kitchen? Where is it?’ Henrietta asks sharply.
‘Vodka? Where is it?’ Bennie asks, trying to copy the sharp tone.
‘Er…kitchen through that door and vodka in the drinks cabinet in the dining room, which…’
‘Don’t tell him…’
‘Is through that door.’
‘Awesome,’ Bennie says, toddling towards the dining room door.
‘Bennie, you need water not alcohol,’ Henrietta says, grabbing his arm.
‘Henrietta!’
‘What?’ She lets go of Bennie at Dolan’s sharp cry, turning to see the executive walking into the hallway holding a cordless phone.
‘Not working,’ Dolan says, verging on the edge of hysteria. ‘There’s no dial tone…Oh my god…oh my god…what do I do? I need to call the police…they need to know where I am…I can’t call Channel Four
and get their security to collect me or…’
‘Dolan, calm down…Dolan, calm down. Give me the phone. Just relax and hang on a minute.’
She takes the phone and presses it to her ear, listening for the dial tone. Nothing. She presses the red button to end any call in progress then the green button to open a line. Again nothing. Not a hiss. Not a crackle. Nothing. She dials nine nine nine in the hope it will connect but the phone is as lifeless as the other apartment doors she knocked on.
‘I’m Henrietta’s fiancé,’ Simon tells the girl.
‘Huh?’ the girl asks in confusion. ‘I thought Henrietta was celibate.’
‘We’re going to have vagina intercourse when the restraining order is lifted.’
‘I’m sorry, what?’ the girl asks.
‘He’s not my fiancé. Brian, get glasses of water from the kitchen…’
‘Yup.’
‘Simon, go with Brian…what’s your name?’
‘Simon.’
‘Not you,’ Henrietta fires back, looking at the girl with her eyebrows raised questioningly.
‘Rose.’
‘Really? That’s a nice name.’
‘Nice? It’s, like, totally awful like that stupid bitch from the Titanic movie…’
‘I love that film.’
‘Oh me, too,’ Rose says, switching instant allegiance to the movie she had hated until one second ago.
‘Rose, do you know what’s going on?’
‘Er…’ Rose thinks for a second with her blue eyes narrowing and the posh chin inclining as she thinks for a minute. ‘You’re filming, right? So, like…this is a reality show and, like…OH. MY. GOD. Am I going to be on MTV?’
‘What? No!’
‘Which one then? Is it Channel Five?’
‘Channel Five,’ Dolans spits disdainfully, recovering his wits enough at the mention of his arch nemesis.
‘Want some vodka?’ Bennie asks, walking out of the dining room holding a bottle of vodka in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.
‘OH. MY. EFFING. GOD…’ Rose notices Bennie for the first time and starts to melt into a puddle of excited goo. ‘Bennie,’ she whispers.
‘Yeah?’ Bennie asks. ‘What?’
‘You’re Bennie!’
‘I am,’ Bennie says, nodding happily. ‘Nice to meet you. What’s your name?’
‘Rose.’
‘Wow, nice name.’
‘I love it,’ Rose says.
‘How old are you?’
‘Seventeen.’
‘Really?’ Bennie asks. ‘Interesting.’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Henrietta warns, showing him the knife.
‘What?’ Bennie exclaims, stepping back. ‘I just said it was interesting.’
‘Rose,’ Henrietta says, bringing the girl’s attention back to her. ‘Is the television working?’
‘I knew it,’ Rose announces. ‘This is like one of those things, isn’t it…like we turn the telly on and the studio will be all like applauding and I’ll be on telly and…’
‘No. Seriously. Where is the television?’
‘In the living room. Can I put my make-up on first?’
‘No. Just show me the television.’
‘But, like, I’m a total mess in my pyjamas and, like, I can’t go on television looking like this and…’
Henrietta pushes into the living room past the chesterfield sofa and the chesterfield armchairs and the works of art adorning the walls to the fifty-inch curved television floating on a wall without a bracket or lead in sight. She grabs a remote from the side and presses the button to activate the television, which blinks on to show the Freeview home screen and a message warning of network disruption.
She switches to terrestrial television and goes from channel one to channel five getting test screens, error messages and network outage messages. She switches to satellite and starts working the news channels. Sky News shows an empty desk with two empty chairs. BBC News has the test screen. EuroNews, CNN, Al Jazeera through to Indian news channels, Russian news channels, but nothing. Error messages and test screens. Without a tremble in her hands she goes back down to Sky News and stares at the empty news desk and the two empty chairs as though searching for clues, but not even the scrolling news feed at the bottom is running.
An empty desk. That’s not good. Not good at all. Whatever is happening is right across London. As for the other news channels, it could be the satellite feed disruption or any number of technical problems. Maybe if everyone was trying to call the police at the same time it brought the entire satellite system down. Can that happen?
She puts the remote controls down and heads into the kitchen past Brian handing glasses of water to Dolan and Simon while Bennie glugs from the vodka.
‘Stop drinking that,’ Henrietta says, swiping the bottle from his grip as she walks past. ‘And do not open that whiskey. Brian, give him some water.’
She gets to the new old-style deep-set ceramic sink and twists the solid brass Victorian spoked tap to release the cold water that thunders into the basin.
‘Where’s Rose?’ she asks, squirting aloe vera anti-bacterial gel into her hands.
‘Getting changed,’ Brian says, holding a glass of water out to Bennie who looks round towards the door.
‘Bennie, I am serious,’ Henrietta snaps. ‘Drink the water.’
‘Yes, Henrietta,’ he says glumly with a fleeting misery that vanishes as he realises she’s put the vodka down on the side. ‘Simon, what are you doing?’
‘Washing my hands,’ he says, holding his hands under the same running flow that hers are currently under and trying to romantically entwine his fingers in hers at the same time.
‘Sod off, wait for a minute.’
‘But…’
‘I said wait. You’re on a restraining order not to touch me.’
‘How will we have vagina intercourse then?’
‘Er…have you had some water?’
‘HAHA! Have you had any water, Henrietta Swallow?’ he quips back with mirth on his face but a lack of understanding in his eyes.
She scrubs her hands, watching the water run deep red and through shades of crimson and pink as the gore is sluiced down the plughole. More aloe vera soap and she works hard up her forearms to her elbows then further up the tops of her arms.
‘Shit,’ she tuts quietly, catching sight of her own cleavage covered in flecks of blood. A soapy hand starts rubbing the deep cleft as her other hand splashes clean water to moisten and shift the dried blood. ‘Bloody everywhere,’ she mutters with a huff, pushing her hands under the straps of her expensive black designer dress. Slowly, gradually and with a deeper sustained sigh of a huff she becomes aware of the silence in the room and looks up to see four men staring with mouths open at the soapy bubbles running down her cleavage to soak the material of the dress that clings wet to her body.
‘Seriously?’ Henrietta asks pointedly, snapping three of them out of the trance.
‘STOP STARING AT HENRIETTA SWALLOW’S BREASTS,’ Simon thunders to cover his own guilt at being caught.
‘Simon, stop shouting. Bennie…Bennie…BENNIE!’
‘Huh, what?’ He blinks his gaze away from her cleavage to look up dreamy and drunk into her eyes.
‘Like…I didn’t have much time but, like…will this do?’ Rose calls out, swishing into the kitchen in a black dress very similar to Henrietta’s. ‘Cos, like, I’d be just relaxing at home and you’re, like, coming into my apartment and catching me all in surprise but, like, I could say I was going to a cocktail party and had my dress on and…’
‘Rose, we’re not going to be on television,’ Henrietta says, hoping she is wrong and that very soon she will be on television being directed by Dolan to present the night London went fucking crazy. Well, maybe that title won’t actually be the one they use but…she looks over at Dolan, remembering her motive and reason for keeping him alive, then thinking of the news channels. The Sky News desk was empty. I
t’s never empty. It wasn’t empty during the London riots and it shouldn’t be empty now. She’s been to the Sky newsroom and getting in is like passing through Fort Knox. There’s no way it should be empty. As for the others? Satellites must be down. This is localised. This is contained to London. This will be over in a few hours. The army and police will be here by the morning sorting it out. Keep Dolan alive. Keep Bennie and Dolan alive.
‘Rose, what does your dad do?’ Henrietta asks as the train of thought reaches a natural conclusion.
‘Oh he’s, like, head of asset management for a bank or…like…something…but, like, he is so rich. So what about my dress?’
Keep Dolan, Bennie and Rose alive.
‘I like it,’ Bennie says, grinning.
‘Oh thank you,’ Rose simpers, morphing into an expression of being genuinely touched and places a hand over her heart. ‘You are, like, so sweet.’
‘Rose, I need to tell you what’s going on,’ Henrietta says, moving round the free-standing kitchen counter island fitted with a breakfast bar overhang. ‘Something has happened outside. Something bad…’ Henrietta speaks slowly, holding eye contact to convey the seriousness of the situation. ‘People have become infected with something and it’s making them act very aggressively…’
‘Zombies,’ Bennie whispers knowingly.
‘Not zombies,’ Dolan mutters.
‘OH. MY. GOD. Actual zombies?’
‘Yeah,’ Bennie says, nodding his head.
‘Not zombies,’ Dolan mutters louder.
‘We don’t know what it is,’ Henrietta says, trying to glare at Bennie and realising the power of the glare is waning and she might have to revert to twatting him round the back of the head instead. ‘But everyone outside is very dangerous…’ Henrietta watches the words sink in as Rose listens intently with her eyes widening. ‘They are trying to bite other people…like us…so we can’t let them near us…do you understand?’
Rose nods with her hand creeping up to the base of her throat.
‘Your front door is good but it won’t hold them for long…is there another…’