by RR Haywood
‘I’m trying…I…’
‘You are meant to be taking us out of the city. Where the fuck are we?’
‘I don’t know. We’ll see a road sign soon.’
‘I want to know now. Where are we?’
‘Dolan,’ Brian says in a tired voice. ‘Take it easy.’
‘How’s Bennie?’ Henrietta asks.
‘Who gives a shit?’ Dolan says.
‘Asleep,’ Brian says.
‘Not asleep,’ Bennie slurs and blinks his bloodshot eyes open. ‘Are we there yet?’
‘Where?’ Dolan asks sharply. ‘What did I miss?’
‘Dunno,’ Bennie sighs and hiccups. ‘Your bollocks?’
‘That was quick thinking back there, Henri,’ Brian calls out. ‘What you said to those girls…that was good.’
‘How about we stop telling Henrietta how fucking wonderful she is and get me the fuck out of here.’
‘Us,’ Brian says.
‘What?’ Dolan says scathingly.
‘Not just you,’ Brian says, staring deadpan at Dolan, ‘us.’
‘You think I give a shit about you? You drive a van…well, no, you drove a van but not very well. I’m an important person…’
‘So you keep telling us,’ Brian says looking away with a sigh.
‘All I am saying is there are degrees of importance and mine just happens to be substantially higher than yours.’
‘Thanks,’ Brian says with a snort.
‘Suck a dick,’ Bennie says, then frowns and looks at Brian. ‘Shit…did I say suck? I meant such…’
‘You said suck,’ Brian says.
‘Well…’ Bennie shrugs, ‘suck a duck then.’
‘Duck?’ Brian asks.
‘Fuck me! I meant dick. I am so drunk. Where’s that chick?’
‘What chick?’ Brian asks as Henrietta glances sharply into the rear-view mirror.
‘Er…we were at her house…she had a nice arse.’
‘She’s dead, you idiot,’ Dolan snaps.
‘Whoa,’ Bennie says, sitting up straight. ‘Dead? Ah fuck…she was fit. Ah, shit yeah…her hand! I remember now. Was that tonight?’
‘Yes, Bennie,’ Henrietta says, thinking Bennie has got the right idea by staying steaming drunk.
‘Ah, that’s bad,’ Bennie says sadly. ‘Poor chick.’
‘Rose,’ Brian says. ‘Her name was Rose.’
‘Cool name,’ Bennie says. ‘So where are we going?’
‘Good question,’ Dolan says. ‘Let’s ask the driver…’
‘Dolan, please give it a rest,’ Henrietta says.
‘Give it a rest?’ Dolan explodes with temper that is safe to use with nothing immediately dangerous about to happen. ‘How about you get me somewhere safe and…’
‘Stop shouting,’ Brian says, cutting across the tirade. ‘Henrietta, there’s something red flashing on the dashboard.’
‘Pardon?’ Henrietta asks in alarm.
‘What is it?’ Dolan demands, switching to panic.
‘It’s bouncing on the safety screen…’ Brian says.
‘What is?’ Henrietta asks, looking round.
‘A warning light must be flashing on the dashboard…it’s reflecting on the screen behind you…look down at the speedo…’
‘Er…yep, got it…shit.’
‘What?’ Dolan whimpers.
‘What is it?’ Brian asks leaning towards the plastic screen to peer over Henrietta’s shoulder. ‘Is that the fuel light?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Fuel light? Are you fucking serious?’ Dolan shouts.
‘How long will it last?’ Henrietta asks.
‘I’ve no idea in these things,’ Brian admits, trying to think. ‘You normally get a gallon or so left when the light comes on, but…’
‘We don’t know when the light came on,’ Henrietta says, finishing his sentence. ‘How far will a gallon go?’
‘Thirty miles, roughly, but like you said…that light could have been on when we got in.’
‘Didn’t you look?’ Dolan demands.
‘I think we were a bit busy then, mate,’ Brian says.
‘Busy? Busy getting us all fucking killed…’
‘It’s quiet here,’ Brian says, looking out the windows at the dark, empty street. ‘Ditch it now and we’ll go on foot.’
‘Okay.’ Henrietta nods in agreement, lifting her foot off the accelerator and letting the vehicle start the final glide to a stop.
‘Okay? Not okay. Certainly not fucking okay,’ Dolan shouts, scanning the view out the windows. ‘We don’t know where we are or…just keep going.’
‘It’s quiet here,’ Henrietta says. ‘We could drive into something bad and run out…’
‘What was that?’ Dolan starts at the dull click sounding in the cab.
‘Safety doors,’ Brian says. ‘The locking mechanism. Jesus, Dolan. You must have been in enough taxis to know…’
‘Shut the fuck up, you vile little creature,’ Dolan bites the words out, seething at the prospect at being stranded and lost again.
With the taxi stopped, Henrietta sits still for a long second staring out at nothing, feeling dirty and tainted with death. Her hands still stink of shit and the puke down her back has dried to become crusty. Sticky patches of blood coat her arms. Thirsty, tired, drained, exhausted. This should have been her night. This was meant to be her first step on the new ladder. The lull into self-pity jars quickly with a rush of guilt that she’s even thinking of such things when so many have suffered and died. Rose. Poor Rose.
Her door opens and she realises she didn’t hear the others getting out. Brian holds her door open motioning with his head for her to get out while Dolan stands with his back to the closest wall, staring wide-eyed and terrified.
‘Your knife,’ Brian whispers.
‘Pardon?’
‘Knife,’ Brian says, pointing at the foot well on the passenger side.
She looks over and down at the bloodied implement. The sticky handle and the metal glint of the blade showing in parts through the drying stains of blood and gore.
With knife in hand she gets out of the taxi into the hot night air of a deserted backstreet filled with buildings and dark windows. The shadows between the few street lights are gloriously deep and dark.
‘Bennie, you okay?’ Henrietta asks, seeing the look of pain cross the young man’s face.
He shrugs in an act of complete sadness. ‘It’s a shame that girl died.’
The way he says it and the look of loss on his face bring instant tears to her eyes and a lump grows hard in her sore throat. She coughs, blinks and nods firmly.
‘Come on, stay quiet for me.’
‘Yeah, okay, Henri.’
‘We’ll get through this, Bennie.’
‘Promise?’ Bennie asks in the innocent voice of a child lost in the dark. She senses Brian and Dolan watching her, waiting for her confidence to keep carrying them.
‘Yeah, I do,’ she says, forcing it, faking it, making them believe while all the time she feels the hope sliding away.
‘Which way?’ Brian asks, looking back down the road from the direction they came then round to the new road stretching out ahead of them.
‘In times of peril,’ Henrietta says, looking round at them, ‘look forward and never back.’
‘Deep,’ Bennie says.
‘Who said that?’ Brian asks.
‘I did,’ Henrietta says with a sad smile. ‘Just made it up.’
‘Yeah? Did you really?’ Brian asks.
‘Wow,’ Dolan adds his own heavy sarcasm to the conversation. ‘So deep…do you get your tits out as well?’
‘Go fuck yourself.’ Brian turns with sudden ferocity on the bearded man who steps back in alarm. ‘Bennie’s right, you’re a complete cunt.’
‘Yep.’ Bennie nods drunkenly.
‘Leave it,’ Henrietta says, quickly reaching a hand out to Brian’s arm. ‘We’ve got to move.’
‘Yeah,’ Brian
says, still glaring at Dolan for a long second before dropping his eyes. ‘Okay.’
‘So?’ Bennie asks after a few seconds of awkward silence. ‘No boobs then?’
‘Not now,’ Henrietta says, flashing a quick smile at the weak injection of humour.
‘Henrietta…’ Brian catches up to her side, whispering low. ‘Why do you take that from him?’
‘Dolan?’ she whispers back and shrugs in avoidance of the conversation. ‘We’d better stay quiet.’
‘We are being quiet,’ Brian insists. ‘Stand up to him…I’ll back you…’
‘Would you?’ Henrietta asks quickly, too quickly, and blinks to take the force of the words away.
‘Look, I don’t know you people, like…all famous and stuff…but…’
‘But what?’ she asks, chastising herself for needing to hear his opinion.
‘Well,’ Brian says, faltering, ‘like…forgive me saying this and, like…I don’t mean no offence but…you’re strong as an ox…you’d beat the shit out of him…’
She snorts a quiet dry laugh through her nose. ‘Thanks.’
‘Nah, you know what I mean…just tell him to fuck off. Me and Bennie will back you up.’
‘Bennie’s drunk. Thanks, Bri. I mean that, but Dolan is a really important man in the industry and you won’t be here when this is over.’
‘So he keeps telling us.’
‘But he is. He’s the head of factual programming for Channel Four.’
‘So?’
‘So I want to move into doing serious work and Dolan was the only one that would even think about giving me a shot.’
‘Seriously? There’s, like, loads of telly channels now. What about Sky and…the BBC?’
‘Tried,’ she says tightly. ‘They rejected my proposals.’
‘Yeah, but bloody hell…you’re Henrietta Swallow…they should be biting your arm off, yeah?’
‘Doesn’t work like that. We’re all in boxes with labels and I’m in the box marked glamour model, drunk, party girl…sex addict…topless model…’
‘You’re a sex addict?’
‘No! I’m celibate.’
‘Oh yeah, yeah, I forgot that…’
‘Even that was a lie, though. I only did it for publicity. My point is that no one will take me seriously and Dolan was the only one…’
‘Only one what?’ Dolan asks, stepping up close behind them from fear at being isolated at the back.
‘Nothing,’ Henrietta says quickly, too lightly.
‘Dolan was the only one what?’ Dolan asks again.
‘I was just telling Brian about my proposals and how you were the…’ She stops talking with an inward wince at what she was about to say.
‘I was the only one then?’ Dolan asks with malicious delight. ‘Everyone else rejected you, did they?’
‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘Interesting,’ Dolan muses, whispering the words just inches behind her. ‘Being nice to Dolan because everyone else told you to fuck off. I never knew that.’
‘What’s the convo?’ Bennie asks, skipping a step to catch up.
‘Henrietta was just telling everyone how all the other channels rejected her proposals and I was the only one even contemplating it.’
‘I never said that,’ Henrietta says quietly.
‘So it would appear,’ Dolan says slowly. Henrietta shudders from the feel of his eyes boring holes through the back of her head. ‘That she needs to keep me happy…and more importantly…alive…’
‘She has, though,’ Bennie says. ‘Like when you hit her and called her all them names…’
‘Bennie…’ Henrietta says, trying to stop him.
‘…and called her a slut and one step away from being a hooker…and shit like that…bang out of order that was.’
‘I defended myself,’ Dolan states. ‘Isn’t that right, Henrietta?’
‘Yes,’ Henrietta whispers.
‘See,’ Dolan says. ‘And I don’t recall calling her a slut. Do you recall that, Henrietta?’
‘No.’
‘Good. We’re all friends then.’
Henrietta stares ahead, ignoring the glance from Brian who starts to understand the power at play. It’s like when his boss calls him a prick for being late on a delivery. Bosses aren’t allowed to call workers bad names but you take it. You nod, apologise and promise to do better next time. Pride is one thing, but pride doesn’t pay the mortgage. Work pays the mortgage and, as it turns out, famous people are just like everyone else. Either sucking up or taking the piss because they’re in control.
They trudge on with a heavy silence growing between them. Henrietta still barefooted and wearing the black designer dress with her hair in complete disarray. Dolan is right. She’s got to keep him alive, but what did he mean about keeping him happy? The hatred for him builds, but he holds a power over her. He is smart, refined, intellectual and so bloody connected. She hates herself, too, for the sting she feels at his disdain for her. Another rush of guilt floods in as she sinks into self-reflection and how, just for a few seconds, she forgot about Rose. The girl only died a little while ago. How can she be so selfish to forget so quickly? She gives no thought that shock will make the mind do strange things. The guilt is overwhelming, crushing down so heavy she wants to drop to the ground and curl up into a ball. Except she can’t. Bennie is still pissed out of his mind and Dolan is too weak to get them out of this. Brian is a good man but clearly not a leader. They need a leader. Someone who knows what to do. Someone strong and capable. Decisive. Determined. Calm.
‘CONTACT AHEAD…’
A huge booming voice thunders into the air and as one the four come to a stop and scoot back to cling to the wall, hiding in the shadows with hearts hammering.
‘NUMBERS?’ another loud voice shouts.
‘BLOODY LOADS,’ the first voice answers.
‘BE PRECISE, CLARENCE,’ the second voice shouts with a hint of calm humour.
‘USE YOUR SAUSAGE FINGERS,’ a third voice shouts with a chuckle.
‘ABOUT FORTY,’ the first voice bellows, louder and deeper than the other two.
A junction ahead but the high building line blocks any view left or right. Henrietta stretches her arm out protectively across Brian and Bennie, pushing them harder into the wall as she strains to listen. The shouts are coming from down the road on the right but there’s another noise growing louder from the left. A drumming sound that she’s heard many times tonight. Feet slapping naked on the surface of the road.
‘INCOMING,’ the first voice shouts in that awesome voice.
‘HOLD POSITIONS…PREPARE TO FIRE,’ the second voice shouts the order with a calm authority that sends a ripple of hope through Henrietta. ‘MALCOLM…YOU READY?’
‘Course I bloody am.’
‘Clarence?’
‘Do you need to ask, Chris?’
‘Hold…’
The feet drum closer. The voices shout from a position further back down the road. The snarling, hissing hunger comes into earshot, the sounds of the infected charging towards their prey.
Henrietta pushes her arm into the men and starts lowering, pushing them down. They do as bid and drop onto haunches, clinging to a wall behind the safety of Henrietta’s outstretched arm.
‘Hold steady…’ The second voice is so calm, so casual but yet so full of authority.
‘Forty, yeah?’ the third voice asks with that same level of humour. ‘Where did you learn to count?’
‘They were in the bloody shadows,’ the huge first voice shouts back.
‘Now, now, gentlemen, let’s focus…’
Henrietta holds her gaze on the right junction, feeling a surge of hope that someone in authority is taking control.
‘FIRE!’
‘Shit.’ Her voice is lost in the booming retorts of automatic gunfire coming from the right. Huge, thunderous, sustained bangs echo and roll on the buildings. On instinct she turns and pushes the three men into the ground, making them lie
down before doing the same but watching the junction as the rate of fire increases.
‘MAGAZINE,’ one of the voices shouts. Two weapons keep firing for a few seconds until the third joins back in.
Movement on the left she switches her gaze to see the front of the horde breaching the building line but getting blown back and withered by gunfire. The sight is stunning. Human forms being torn apart by high-powered weapons. Wounds blossoming right there in front of her eyes. Heads exploding with a burst of pink mist but still they push on, charging ever towards the hail of bullets coming from the other direction.
‘MAGAZINE,’ another shouts. Two weapons fire. A few seconds then all three. On it goes for seconds that seem minutes and hours and days, always and forever that booming noise of guns and men shouting and people dying. The infected get halfway across the junction as the last few are shot down. Still the guns ring out. Single shots that strike bodies still writing and crawling on the ground.
‘CEASEFIRE,’ the man in charge shouts, and a new world of a deafening silence begins. A silence filled with the stench of death. Of heat, metal, shit, blood, innards and the crunching of boots from three men striding into view with assault rifles held aimed and ready. Feet taking sweeping steps. The man in the middle has a bushy black beard like Dolan, but there the resemblance ends. This man is big with wide shoulders and thick, hairy arms. The man closest to them is smaller, wirier, but still hard-looking. The man furthest away catches her eye. An enormous man mountain with a gleaming bald head and clutching an assault rifle that looks like a child’s toy in his massive arms.
‘Hold,’ the man in the middle calls out in a low voice that carries clear in the silence. His left hand automatically comes up to clench a fist to the side of his head. That clenched fist opens and the arm waves left. ‘Malcolm…’
‘On it.’ Malcolm, the smaller man closest to Henrietta, moves forward aiming at the corpses in the middle.
‘Clarence.’ The bearded man waves to the right.
‘Roger,’ that first voice answers, a deep bass-filled voice. ‘You staying at the back then, Chris?’
‘Funny man,’ the bearded man replies quietly.
‘He likes the back, don’t you, Chris,’ Malcolm says in that hushed tone.
‘Pair of comedians,’ Chris mutters.