‘Daudi,’ the boy says, stretching his hands out as the tall man moves out from between the cages to reach up for the boy.
‘Don’t touch him,’ Cassie hisses, rushing forward but the man grabs the boy round the waist and lifts him carefully down, bending his upper body into the light for Cassie to flinch at the sight of his red eyes and his right ear bitten away. She snatches the boy from his hands, back-stepping while thinking to shout for Gregori as another shuffle comes from further in the room. A woman. Her arms limp at her sides. Her head cocked over. Her long brown hair hanging greasy and matted. Blood on her chin and down the front of her supermarket uniform. Another one behind her. More of them shuffling towards Cassie and the boy while Daudi simply watches on, inert and without threat or malice.
‘BOY!’ Gregori’s voice. ‘CASSIE?’
‘WE’RE FINE,’ she shouts, her heart thundering in her chest.
‘I FIND VEGETABLES IN THE CAN.’
‘GREAT!’ she shouts back, staring as more come quietly into view.
‘CARROTS IN THE CAN.’
‘OKAY,’ she swallows the fear, the shock and holds the boy in her arms who watches on with interest.
‘GREEN THINGS IN THE CAN TOO.’
‘OKAY, GREGORI,’ she shouts. ‘Do you know them?’ she whispers to the boy who nods once. She leans back to look down into his face, seeing that look is back in his eyes, the thing that isn’t him, or that is within him.
‘I NOT KNOW WHAT GREEN THINGS ARE.’
‘What do they want with you?’
The boy doesn’t reply but watches as more shuffle into the muted and gloomy light. Snatches of red eyes seen in the rays of illumination. Awful wounds and terrible injuries.
‘IS SMALL. SMALL GREEN THINGS IN THE CAN.’
Cassie blinks, frowning for a second. ‘PEAS, THEY’RE PEAS.’
‘YES. IT SAY THIS WORD. PEAS YES.’
She looks to Daudi standing so close. Seeing his features. His eyes so weirdly expressive but like a puppy, like a dumb creature that only wants love and she reaches out, not knowing why but only wanting to touch him, like she has never touched a person before but knowing this thing is not a person. Her fingers brush his chest, but he shows no reaction, he doesn’t lunge to bite or hurt.
‘OTHER SMALL GREEN THINGS IN THE CAN…THEY BROKE…’
‘Broke?’ she mutters, thinking for a second. ‘MUSHY PEAS…THEY’RE DISGUSTING.’
‘I TRY THESE MUSHKY PEAS.’
‘SERIOUSLY, THEY’RE DISGUSTING.’
‘I TRY YES. I TRY MUSKA PEAS.’
She prods Daudi in the sternum, lifting an eyebrow when he still doesn’t try and eat her. ‘WE’RE NOT EATING MUSHY PEAS, GREGORI.’
‘I FIND THE OPEN THING. I TRY NOW.’
Daudi looks down at her fingertips prodding his chest as the boy giggles softly.
‘IS OPEN,’ Gregori shouts.
‘He’s eating mushy peas,’ Cassie tells the boy. ‘He’ll turn northern…say bye,’ she says, moving back to the doors.
‘Bye bye,’ the boy says, waving at Daudi then the others standing in the gloom.
‘Bye,’ Cassie says, pausing by the doors.
‘I LIKE THESE MUSKA PEAS.’
‘Don’t let Gregori see you,’ she whispers. ‘Stay here.’
*
‘That one,’ she says again, tapping the window.
‘We have one,’ Gregori says, holding the can of mushy peas in one hand while pushing the white plastic spoon in to load up with a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.
‘Jesus,’ she says, watching him. ‘How can you eat that?’
‘Is nice,’ he says eagerly with the most human gesture she has seen so far.
‘Don’t eat anymore. Seriously, you’ve had three cans, you’ll be sick…right anyway, get that one.’
Gregori mouths the mushy peas, chewing happily while looking through the huge plate glass window. ‘We have the car.’
‘No, we have a car which is a crappy old thing…I want that car…’ she says again. ‘Don’t we?’ she asks, looking down for the boy then over to see him pulling his shorts down by the back of the Volvo. ‘No wee wee in car,’ she says.
‘No wee wee in car,’ Gregori snaps, spinning round to see the boy pissing over the back wheel.
‘It’s a Range Rover,’ Cassie says, tapping the glass. ‘Like the best Range Rover you can get…just shoot the glass out so we can get in…don’t scowl at me…look I was held prisoner and tortured and…and awful things and I am very upset at all the bad things so let me have a Range Rover. I’ll make you a nice dinner of pie and mushy peas.’
‘Pie?’
‘Yes. Chicken and gravy pie…shoot the window and I will cook your dinner.’
‘You cook?’
‘Naked.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Just shoot the window.’
Gregori sighs, checks the boy, pulls his gun and waggles it at Cassie, motioning for her to move away.
‘Don’t shoot the Range Rover,’ she says.
‘I no shoot Ranger Rover,’ he says.
‘Range Rover, not Ranger Rover.’
He stiffens, looking at her. ‘You make pie.’
‘Yes! Shoot the bloody window or I’ll get the other gun and do it myself.’
He shoots the window.
‘It didn’t work,’ Cassie says, staring at the intact window.
‘Is safety glass,’ Gregori says, smiling to himself while taking another mouthful of mushy peas. ‘It no break by the gun.’
‘Boy, cover your ears…you’re a twat sometimes,’ she says, earning the first-ever chuckle from the Albanian.
‘Drive car through, it only way to break,’ he says. ‘I do this. Hold mushky peas. No eat mushky peas…’
‘Trust me I won’t,’ she says, grimacing at the can.
*
‘See,’ she says half an hour later, sitting in the front passenger seat of the gleaming black Range Rover. She holds her hands out, flexing her fingers in a show of pleasure. ‘Oh no…not a chance.’
‘What?’ he says, halfway into the driver’s door.
‘You’re not bringing mushy peas in my new car. No eating anything in the new car.’
‘Can I eat marshmallows?’ the boy asks from the back.
‘What! No! They’re worse than mushy peas. Give me that packet. Are you getting in, Gregori?’
‘I finish mushky peas.’
‘You’ve got a whole crate of them in the boot. Just leave them…are your hands clean? Show me…show me…right yes, that’s fine. Okay, look isn’t it nice?’ she beams when he finally gets in.
‘Is okay,’ he says, turning the ignition on.
‘It’s more than okay…’ she says, pressing the switch to wind her tinted window down. ‘Got air con, satnav…Bluetooth…ooh, Bluetooth! Ah damn, I don’t have my phone. I had good tunes on that too. We need to find a dead body with an unlocked phone…or we need to find a new phone then a computer with iTunes so we can download some music. Actually, go back into town.’
‘What?’
‘Go back into town. That supermarket had an electrical section. We can find something to play music on this.’
Gregori looks at her, feeling the very first bite of frustration that nearly all adult men face at the prospect of going back into the town for more shopping. ‘We do other day? Boy need rest yes. He sleep now.’
‘I’m not tired, Gregoreee.’
Back to town. The Range Rover gliding serenely through the apocalyptic streets with a glum Gregori begrudgingly admitting to himself that the car is very good while also thinking of eating pie and mushy peas and wondering what Cassie meant when she said naked.
They park outside the doors and go back into the supermarket to the back where Cassie spends the next fourteen years perusing the phones and devices with Bluetooth while the boy plays in the toy section while Gregori leans against things and sighs and grumbles and rolls his eyes.
&nbs
p; ‘It’ll take longer the more you grumble,’ she says with a sweet smile. ‘I think I have a plan.’
‘Good. We go now?’
‘Go into the music aisle and grab one of each music CD…then we can download them onto one of those laptops then put them into a file and transfer onto this Android phone then Bluetooth it to the car stereo….’
He stares at her in mild surprise of a well thought out idea that makes complete sense.
‘That caught you out didn’t it,’ she says with a grin. ‘Not just a pretty face, Gregori…’
*
Gregori drives the car, enjoying the feel of it, the way it moves. The response of the engine and the incredibly high standard of engineering and in the silence of the drive, with the gentle thrum of the wheels on the road and the engine rumbling ahead of them, he thinks of mushy peas and everything that has happened and wonders why he couldn’t kill the boy, and also wonders if he would have the same reaction if he tried to kill Cassie.
He glances at her and watches her blink slowly as though drowsy in the hot afternoon air. She yawns, covering her mouth while making a little yelping noise that brings moisture to her eyes.
He tells himself he is tolerating her. That her presence, in his and the boy’s life, gives purpose to aid the boy’s welfare. He tells himself that is the only thing he cares about. That he spent a life taking life. Killing. Hurting. Doing the very worst things and now, while the world is falling, he will repent and make sure the boy can be a child.
That’s what he tells himself, then he wonders why he tolerated being dragged from the supermarket to every single other shop in that town. Opening doors with either skill or force so she could fill bags full of new shiny things. He wonders why he also tolerated her holding clothes against his body checking for size and colour while talking non-stop. She even put a baseball cap on his head then said he looked ridiculous and to take it off, and he didn’t shoot her.
Maybe he should have shot her? Maybe he should shoot her now but then he’d get blood in the new car and she’d nag, and he wouldn’t be able to eat pie and mushky peas tonight, so maybe he will tolerate her a little bit more, because it suits his purpose, which is to give the boy a good life. That purpose. Just that one and nothing to do with the fact that somehow, despite everything single thing she does being irritating, there is something about her.
He looks in the rear-view mirror to the boy sitting in the middle of the back seat reading a brightly coloured book. The boy is not hungry or thirsty, he isn’t overtired either or sweating. Nor is he sticking blades in the bodies of the things or asking Gregori to make the brains come out.
‘Ooh, slow down, slow down,’ Cassie says, extending her arm an inch in front of her nose pointing to the side. ‘Did you see that sign? There’s another one…ooh, look.’
Hillside Luxury Boutique Hotel and Spa.
‘We need a luxury boutique hotel and spa,’ she says earnestly while nodding earnestly.
‘We no need this.’
‘We do! We so need this…come on, let’s just have a look…why live in a house when we can live in a luxury boutique hotel and spa?’
An entrance ahead on the right. He slows the car as the next signboard comes into view and spots the thick chains stretching across the driveway leading to the building in the distance. A handwritten poster nailed to a post.
No more survivors. We’re full.
You will be shot
Leave now
‘Oh,’ she says sadly. ‘What a shame…I really wanted a boutique hotel and spa…’ she looks at Gregori, pulling a sad face.
‘Is no safe,’ he says. ‘Have guns.’
She shrugs gently, pouting a little while dropping her hand to the central console to lightly finger the butt of the pistol resting there. ‘You’ve got guns too…’
‘We no go this place,’ he says firmly, holding her eye contact with that awful, terrible glare that makes her feel funny inside.
‘Okay,’ she says lightly. ‘You’re right, let’s go home.’
He narrows his eyes, tilting his head.
‘What? Don’t scowl at me. It was just an idea…come on let’s go home.’
He drives on, unsure of what just happened. Nothing just happened but something just happened. It’s all very confusing. People are confusing.
He checks the house before they go in. Listening, sniffing the air, checking for signs of movement then walking back and forth from the car to the house. Those in the lounge…not them, they go in the kitchen…put the bags of clothes in the hall. In and out. More bags and the day wears on with afternoon giving way to evening and when he goes to his room he finds his bed covered with new clothes laid out. New tops. Simple t-shirts, button up casual shirts, jeans, socks, underwear and boots.
After washing he goes down to a kitchen filled with music playing from one of the open laptop computers while in the lounge more stand open with screens lit from the power stored in the pre-charged batteries.
A rich smell in the air. Pastry and meat. A pan on the gas stove filled with mushy peas, others filled with tinned vegetables. Freshly made coffee on the side and Cassie pottering about in a new pair of denim shorts and a loose fitting baggy shirt. Her face rosy from working, strands of her hair stuck to her forehead. The boy at the table singing to the music, his legs swinging on the chair while colouring in a book open in front of him.
‘We can find a DIY store and get solar panels to charge batteries,’ Cassie says, rushing to the gas stove to stir the pans. ‘New clothes okay?’
‘Is good,’ he grunts.
‘Great, food won’t be long.’
‘I er…’ he pauses, nodding manfully. ‘Thank you.’
She looks over, frowning with amusement, ‘it’s fine, sit down…shame about that hotel. Would have been nice to stay somewhere with a pool…probably got a gym too.’
He sits down, not noticing the look between the boy and Cassie. The shared smile and the thing in his eyes showing clear for a second before he goes to drawing.
‘Never mind, right…are you ready for pie and mushky peas?’
Five
Day Twenty Three
They sit in the Saxon. The mood heavy, the silence as oppressive as the crushing heat. Someone new is here. Someone different and Danny sits with his bag on his lap looking around at the others.
‘Can we go,’ Marcy says, fanning her glistening face. ‘Can’t breathe in here.’
‘We are,’ Howie says from the front, landing heavily in the driver’s seat. ‘All in?
Danny’s father told him that the military is a strange place. From the outside looking in you’d think it was one big machine all working together, and to an extent that was true, but that machine is made of units and teams, all of which have their own issues and dynamics. Danny’s father explained that moving into a new unit was hard, especially in times of war as it meant you were taking the place of someone that was killed or injured, and you had to step into all those emotions going on, while still doing your job.
You’ve got to get involved, his father told him when he first started cadets years ago. Get stuck in, impress the nco’s and keep your head down. Ask questions when you need to but stay polite. If you’re unsure if someone is an officer then call them sir, they’ll soon tell you if they’re not.
Danny felt like a spare part after the others killed the infected and got to work retrieving the van he’d crashed into the travel agent shop. Danny quickly worked out they were keeping the van then heard them saying they had one before and that all the kit from the Saxon had to be moved.
‘Can I help?’ he asked, watching as Corporal Blowers paused from hefting a crate of ammunition out from the Saxon.
‘Boss? What we doing with him?’ Blowers called over to Howie talking to Reginald.
Howie looked over with a quick frown. ‘With us for a minute…’
Danny knew they didn’t want him here. They said he should be sent to the fort. He didn’t know what that meant
and expected an argument to break out but then he saw the discipline of a fighting unit at work and within a second everyone was back to work.
‘Take them over there,’ Blowers told Danny, pointing at the crates and equipment. ‘Touch a rifle and if Dave doesn’t kill you I will…’
‘Yes, Corporal.’
Blowers paused again, looking like he was about to say something else then carried on. ‘Make sure you drink, it’s hot.’
‘Yes, Corporal.’
So Danny worked and he worked hard, rushing back and forth between the vehicles, carrying heavy crates until his filthy top became sodden and clung to his frame. His torn trainers slapping on the pavement while Clarence ripped the fittings out to dump on the road.
Charlie stayed on Jess, holding position at the end of the road to see down the junction where the infected came from. Her eyes up and watching, her mind repeating over and over the moments where she was pinned down in the army base. The faces of the soldiers so full of hate and lust. The terrified rage in them and the fact that right then, she was just a piece of meat to be fucked and used. She couldn’t do anything. She wasn’t strong enough to fight free and in a way she wished she’d done what Blinky did and gone out fighting, but thinking of Blinky only magnified the pain.
Cookey stayed silent, working hard and glancing now and then at Charlie, fretful and worried at the complete change within her.
To each their own and so everyone delved into thoughts while they worked. Each giving mind to what they went through, to working now, to the worries of the others. To Blinky, Charlie, to Marcy saying she can finish it and what that means. Too many issues. Too many problems.
‘What about them, Corporal?’ Danny asked, pointing at the spare rifles he hadn’t touched or even dared look at. ‘There’s no magazines so…’
Blowers looked at him for a long second. ‘Next to the crates.’
He worked on. Ferrying back and forth and taking care to only hold the rifles by their slings.
‘Drink,’ Blowers said, holding a bottle of water out when Danny went back to the Saxon.
‘I’m fine, thank you, Corporal.’
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