The healing water lapped against the superficial wounds on her shoulder and foot, soothing the now- dulled pain. She was practically dozing, such was her calm state. It was a little taste of heaven within the very pit of hell, but she reminded herself just how much she deserved it. Especially after all the shit she had put up with at the hands of those monkeys in the patio. She laughed to herself, thinking back on how she'd fooled them. The revolver hadn't been loaded. She had been bluffing, just as they had suspected. The bullet she showed to them was the one from her pocket, the one she had found in the cubby hole. She had tricked them. Sure, the gun was loaded now, and it had taken her quite a while to work out just how to do that. Thank God for cowboy movies, she whispered to herself, smiling.
Geri stretched her long body out, enjoying the fact that she didn't have to think or plan her next move. She was sick of all of that. From now on, she was going to live in the here and now. This bath, this bathroom, this house. That's as far as it went for her, now, and that's as far as it was going to go for her in the future. It looked pretty hopeless out there, anyway. The dead were everywhere, now, their tediously large numbers seemingly increasing by the day. It was becoming almost impossible to venture outside the house. In fact, she reckoned they would soon try to find a way in themselves. Sure, the house was locked up and secure enough with its heavy door and grilled windows. But there was the patio around the back. The wooden fencing in the back garden kept them out, for now, but it was only a matter of time before they were thick enough, in numbers, to command the brute force needed to break right through. And once through, the patio was just a big greenhouse, really.
But, no - she wouldn't think of those things
(I will survive)
She would only think of nice things, things she remembered from the good ol' days. Things that made her happy. Things that made her feel like a woman, again.
Geri had been a pampered girl, in days gone by. Daughter of a financially shrewd entrepreneur father and school teacher mother, she grew up to be some kind of hybrid of the two, pragmatic and careful like her mother. Sharp-witted and loose-tongued like her father.
At the tender age of twenty-one, sick of the pampering, she'd set off travelling, Daddy's credit card in the back pocket of her jeans. Two years later, she returned, worldly-wise but forty-grand in debt. Her daddy dearest wasn't thrilled that she hadn't called her mother once in all of that time, caring less about the maxed-out credit card. Of course, none of that mattered then any more than it mattered now. Geri was welcomed back into the family home as if she'd never been away.
She set to work off the debt, insisting on such, regardless of how much her father protested. She worked for his company, learning the do's and definitely-do's of business, honing the maverick skills that her father was renowned for. Of course her quasi-supermodel looks made things a little easier for her. She flashed what needed to be flashed in order to get ahead in a world supposedly ruled by chauvinistic men but ultimately overruled by a sharp-witted bitch such as her. It was those days that she harked back to, even now. The days when she felt special. The days when she felt in control. The days when she felt sexy.
A casual wipe of the little hand mirror, now perched at the end of the bath, revealed the kind of woman she was now. A parched, poorly slept pallor glared back at her. Rings around her eyes and an under-fed jaw line made her look like some kind of overgrown EMO. She poked the big toe of her good foot over the water to knock the mirror off the bath. Won't be needing that, thank you very much! she thought.
A sound from outside startled her. It was the sound of an engine - most likely a car engine. It seemed to have stopped right outside the house.
Geri quickly pulled herself out of the bath. She grabbed the towel gown she had found in one of the bedrooms, throwing it over her still wet, soapy skin.
Unable to see clearly through the bathroom window, without drawing further attention to herself, Geri crept, carefully, into the nearby bedroom. She peeked out onto the street taking care to remain under cover of the curtains.
The sight which greeted her made her tummy flutter.
A police Land Rover was parked in the middle of the road, surrounded by the dead.
Her boat had come in.
Geri ran into the bedroom, slowing to a quick hop as her foot screamed at her. She pulled on her clothes as fast as she could. Once dressed, she speed-limped into the bathroom, retrieving the mirror that she had kicked onto the floor. She fumbled about, quickly, with make-up before rolling her hair into a towel and moving downstairs. All of this was done in just under five minutes, spaced between continuous peeks out the window to make sure her would-be saviours hadn't left.
Geri could hear muffled shouting from the patio, but she ignored it. She proceeded into the living room, opening the curtains, wide, and waving out to the Land Rover. There was no sign of life; the dead still completely surrounding the vehicle. She waved, again, hoping to catch the attention of whoever was inside the vehicle.
A single hand appeared out of the vehicle's nearest window, pointing, sternly, to suggest that Geri should move out of sight. Geri did as the hand suggested, ducking behind the curtains while still remaining transfixed on the scene developing before her eyes.
Before long, a formidable looking rifle with a long, black nozzle appeared out of the vehicle. It aimed at the nearest dead body, firing, silently, to tear a sizable strip along the top of the thing's head, sending it to the ground.
Three more bodies, as if drawn to the muzzle like flies around a light bulb, shuffled over to investigate. One of them reminded Geri of a work colleague, similarly dressed and styled as the woman she used to know. It unnerved Geri to think that those weren't just anonymous monsters out there, that they could very well be her friends, her neighbours her family? A second and third blast took out Geri's work colleague with relative ease, the neat jets of blood from the falling body spraying the vehicle's familiar white pallor like pinstriping.
Another rifle could be seen protruding from the rear windows of the vehicle. It looked similar: long, black and shining in the sun. Just like the other, it flashed, quietly, efficiently disposing of several more of the dead, sniffing and shuffling around in an almost confused manner. Soon, the herd was thinned considerably, leaving the vehicle less densely surrounded. The two rifles disappeared back into the vehicle again.
Several long, stalactite moments later, Geri noticed the doors of the Land Rover open, two men appearing, one from the rear and the other from the driver seat of the vehicle. One of the men, heavy set and dressed in full riot gear, pointed to the door as he moved, quickly, through the crowd of dead, using his baton to clear his way. His partner, similarly dressed but of leaner build, followed suit, carrying a large bag on his back. Both men ran for the door.
Geri headed into the hallway, as directed. As she reached the front door, she realised that she hadn't got the key. She had never even considered that the door would be locked tight, thinking that she would be able to open it, easily, from the inside.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!" she chanted, like some perverted mantra.
The police were banging on the door, now, shouting. She could hear their voices. This would usually be an unwelcome thing, but with those two idiots in the patio being the only alternative to solitude, Geri was keen to get the boys in blue into the mix.
Not sure how to achieve that, Geri changed direction, heading for the patio. She fumbled for the patio keys, grabbing the revolver off the kitchen table as she passed it.
She opened the patio doors, nervously and excitedly pointing the revolver at the two men inside.
"Front door key. Where is it?"
"No way," said Lark, shaking his head, "We have no idea who-"
"It's the fucking police!" yelled Geri, her patience completely shot. "So give me the fucking keys, now!"
"How do you know who it is?" argued Lark.
"Because they look like the police, they shoot like the police, they dress like the po
lice and they're in a fucking police Land Rover!"
"This is bullshit " McFall offered, also not convinced.
"I swear to God, I will shoot you right now unless you -"
"Okay!" Lark yelled, seemingly fully convinced she would shoot him. "In the bottom drawer of the kitchen
She was gone before he even finished his sentence, taking care to close the patio back up again. She threw the patio keys on the kitchen table, still keeping the revolver in one hand, searching the bottom drawer of the kitchen unit with the other. Sure enough, she found a set of what looked to be house keys under some drying towels and dishcloths.
The banging continued, more frantically, now. The voices of the two policemen were becoming more panicked. Geri limped towards the door, groping for and trying each of the keys on the Yale-shaped keyhole.
Eventually one turned and she went to pull the door open wide, frustrated whenever it caught on the security chain. Swearing, she shut the door, again, undoing the security chain and pulling it open.
The next few seconds were a blur, Geri being knocked to the ground as a mass of police riot gear, dead grasping hands and panicked voices poured through the front doorway. Geri fell hard against the hallway wall, losing consciousness for the second time within a week
Chapter Seven
Pat sat on the sofa, his 9mm sitting on the coffee table beside him. A damp, blood-stained cloth rested in his hand. He was leaning back, blowing out some air as if suddenly able to relax. His face was clean, and Karen could make out his furrowed brow, again.
"Doesn't look like you've been cut, or anything," she said, smiling.
Pat looked at her with no expression.
"It was trying to bite me," he said. "Did you see that?"
If she were completely honest, she had been terrified that he had been bitten. She had completed a first aid course recently, in preparation for some youth work in her church. She knew from the training that a bite would be one of the worst ways for infection to spread. He would have almost certainly become infected, were that thing to have sunk its teeth into him. A part of her realised, then, just how much she depended on the man on the sofa opposite her. Even though he was stubborn. She reckoned he didn't believe what those things were capable of, that his theories on them had been proved all wrong from this most recent encounter. For a man like Pat, a man who held steadfastly onto all his beliefs and ideas, through rain and shine, to have to admit to being wrong about something would not sit well.
But Karen felt something else, as well.
"Did you see me shooting it?" she exclaimed, excitedly, like a little girl after a fairground ride. Her heart was pumping, but not nervously. She felt strong and powerful, as if able to take on the world. She remembered reading comics that her brother used to like, when she was little. She had always been attracted to the female super-heroes. Crimefighters who wore heeled boots and super-sexy outfits. She used to tie her coat around her neck, like a cape, and pretend to be one of them in the playground. All the other girls would be playing with skipping ropes while she played 'super heroes' with the boys.
"Sure I did," Pat said, the hint of admiration spreading across his face. She knew he would have to give it to her. She had saved his life, after all. "You did really well, today," he continued. "Really, really well."
Karen beamed, lapping up the praise, regardless of how economically it was relayed to her. In fact, it seemed even more ingratiating coming from a man like Pat, who was so economical with words. She thought about the word 'praise' - what it meant. What it really meant. It was bandied around a lot in her church. They should all praise God for all the things He had done for them, all that He had given to them. But, if she were to be truthful, she never meant those words when she sang them. She thought back to the Sunday mornings during 'praise.' How some people around her, young people like her, seemed to so confidently raise their hands, close their eyes and squeeze out the praise. Some would cry, others would smile and laugh. But she could never do any of that. She would have felt too much of a fraud because, if she were honest, she just wasn't feeling it like that.
She lifted the handgun (her handgun), playing with it as she moved around the kitchen, aiming it at her reflection in the candlelit room's window. Pat had told her it was a 9mm. She studied it, noticing the words '9mm' were indeed inscribed on the jet-black barrel, beside the letters 'USP.' She decided she was going to keep it really clean, really polished, as if new.
"Careful with that," Pat warned. "It's not a toy."
"Don't worry, I've got the safety on," she said, waving her hand at him and pointing at the lever as if to say I'm an old pro, now.
"Well, just be careful " he said, grumbling to himself like the old man he was.
When she held the gun, it made her feel confident. As confident as those people in the church. It was as though she were beginning to feel like more of an equal to Pat, no logger needing his protection. She even felt like his ally, since the incident in the flat, as opposed to a liability. Someone he could depend upon, perhaps discuss plans with and gain insight from. She felt like a different person altogether when she was holding the gun. She could imagine herself even wearing different clothes. Out with the cute dresses and flat pumps. In with the combats and DM boots.
"I want to shoot more of them," she said, suddenly.
Pat shook his head.
"Too dangerous," he said. "Plus, we really have no need to go outside again. Not for a long time." He pointed over to the opened cupboards, stocked to excess with tinned goods and bottled water. "We've only cleared a few floors and we have enough to do us for months. We should find enough in the other floors to keep us even longer."
"But I want to hunt them!" she protested, like a child begging to go to the park or swimming pool. "I'm a good shot - you even said so yourself. Come on! Let's go shoot some more. Even if just from one of the windows, lower down."
"No!" said Pat, quite sternly.
It unnerved Karen, a little, knocking her out of her excited tirade.
"It's not a game!" he continued. "Those used to be real people, you know. They aren't just dummies for you to take potshots at! They were people like you and like me. People with feelings and emotions and -" He stopped, suddenly seeming aware of himself. He stood up from the sofa, looking away from her. A heavy mood seemed to have descended upon him. Karen had never seen him as intense as this, and she didn't like it. "I'm going to bed," he said. "Make sure you blow out those candles."
And with that, she felt small again. The child in their 'adult-child' relationship. It was almost as if he were saying, 'You've had your fun, now get back into line.' And she didn't like how that made her feel.
Karen set her gun down, carefully, on the table. She walked, quietly, over to the sofa and picked up the damp cloth he'd left lying there. She tutted at the state it was in. It used to be pure white. She found herself wondering how she'd get the blood stains out of it.
Chapter Eight
"Miss? Are you okay? Miss?"
Geri was lying on the sofa, coming to. She could hear commotion in the living room around her. It panicked her, at first, and she almost jumped to her feet before being stopped by the stranger in the flak jacket and helmet.
"Just relax " he said, easing her gently back onto the sofa. "You took a knock to the head, but you'll be okay."
Geri ran a hand through her still-damp hair. She hadn't had any time to dry it from her bath, earlier, and for some reason felt embarrassed by that. She could feel a plaster on her left temple, where she'd obviously fallen. A tender lump rose up from its centre.
"Thanks for letting us in," the young police officer said. "It's pretty wild out there."
Geri smiled back, shaking his hand gently. She was feeling a little nauseous.
"Least I could do," she said. "Good to see you still out there, doing something about that mess."
The cop looked momentarily uncomfortable, offering only a weak smile in response.
Geri winced, scr
unching her eyes up as she let the wave of sickness pass.
"You okay?" the young cop said.
"Yeah, just feeling a little sick," she said. "I'll be okay. Making a bit of a habit of falling down, to be honest."
She looked to the other man, broader and older than the one talking to her. He stood by the window, looking out onto the street. His attention was on the dead and the dead alone. He had completely ignored her. It was almost as if he hadn't noticed her, and to a girl like Geri that was very bad manners, indeed. "Are they still out there?" Geri asked, slightly interested in the answer, but mostly to introduce herself.
"We got rid of a lot of them," he answered, still peeking through the curtains. "There are still a few lingering about, though." He looked at Geri, his face a lot more serious and less kind than his partner's. "They're dumbfucks," he said. His accent was gruff, thick like porridge. "After a while, they forget what they were doing, why they were doing it and move on. There were about thirty of them outside, five minutes ago, but now there's only about five or six of them left." He stood back, as if proud of himself.
Sure, he may not have been a 'people person', but Geri was still comforted by his presence. Stern, no-nonsense and built like a brick shit house. Wearing the uniform and carrying a gun. In a world like this, those kinds of specs would do a girl alright. The perfect double act, when paired with his calm, handsome mate. Her very own Starsky and Hutch. The complete package seemed to say Just relax. Everything will be fine now that we 're here. And she wanted so badly to feel relaxed.
"The two men in the patio," the younger cop said, suddenly. "Who are they, and why have you locked them up?"
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