‘S’Charlie…she’s cutting her hair off…’
‘What?’ she moves fast, rushing to her feet as those around wake from the motion to see Paula jumping over the bale to run barefoot in trousers and a vest towards the horsebox.
‘What’s going on?’ Howie asks, sitting up.
‘Charlie’s cutting her hair off…’ Mo says.
‘She’s what?’ Marcy asks, scrabbling free from her bedding, blinking awake to run.
Paula stops at the edge of the horsebox, her eyes widening to wake her mind quicker to take in Charlie on her knees bent forward sobbing her heart out while trying to yank the hair tangled in the blade of the clippers.
‘Oh my love,’ Paula rushes in. ‘Oh Charlie…’
‘It’s stuck…’ Charlie sobs, half her hair shorn away. ‘It’s fucking stuck…’
‘It’s okay,’ Paula drops at her side, pulling her in.
‘What the…’ Marcy balks at the sight, rushing in to look down.
‘They’re stuck,’ Charlie sobs the words out, trying to pull hard on the clippers while being held by Paula.
‘No no no, you’ll pull it out,’ Marcy says, dropping next to her. ‘Let me do it…let go, Charlie…’
‘They were…they were…’ Charlie heaves the words out, her mind fracturing, her heartbreaking while the fucking clippers refuse to work from being tangled in her fucking hair. She yanks again, vicious and hard.
‘Stop, Charlie…let me get it free,’ Marcy says,
‘They were going to rape us…’ she voices the fears inside and the weeping comes harder, her whole body heaving with the pain of losing Blinky, with the pain of everything. ‘I can’t stop thinking about it...Blinky and…feeling her die…holding me down…I couldn’t move…’
Paula’s face hardens as she thinks back to the first night in her office when Clarke pinned her against a desk to push his fingers inside her. She can still smell the stench of pizza grease in the air and his foul breath. She swallows the memory away, ‘we got through it,’ she says darkly. ‘And they’re dead…we’re not. I know Blinky died but she went out fighting. Don’t take that from her, Charlie…’
‘I can’t…I just…’
‘You can and you will. Channel it…use it…that’s what we all do…if you give in then those pricks win.’
Shame comes next. The feeling of being immature and having the reaction of a child and Charlie goes to rise, to pull free.
‘No,’ Paula whispers, kissing her head. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong…none of us have…’ she locks eyes with Marcy, messages given without words needed because Marcy can end this. She can finish it on her own and the seconds pass, becoming minutes as the venting is given to release the pressure inside. It works too. Not instantly but Charlie feels the lessening of the strength of the things she felt inside. A clarity of mind edging back as her breathing normalises and she sinks further into the hug, still crying but less now, softer, gently, the pressure easing.
‘How bad is it?’ she asks eventually, breaking the patient silence.
‘Ah,’ Marcy says, running her fingertips over Charlie’s half shaven head. ‘You know…’
A snort, a sob but the sound of a dry laugh.
‘Um, so…you’ll have to finish it,’ Marcy continues with soft humour in her voice. ‘Unless you want to look like a total spaz that is.’ Another snort from Charlie. ‘I mean, if the twat-look is your thing then just say…no judgement here…’
She finally moves to sit up, her face red from heat and crying, her eyes red and she reaches up to gingerly touch her partially shaved head. ‘I’m so sorry…’
‘Don’t be,’ Paula says. ‘You’ve gone through hell...’
‘So have you…so’s Mr Howie and…’
‘We’re older,’ Paula cuts in, her voice soft yet firm with authority and experience. ‘Everyone is different anyway…you’ll need to finish it off,’ she adds, looking at Charlie’s scalp. ‘Don’t worry, hair grows backs…’
‘Grows quicker now,’ Marcy says. ‘Want me to finish it off?’
Charlie nods, ‘please…’
‘Go on, bend forward a bit…always wanted to do this actually,’ Marcy says. ‘Not on you, I mean in general…’
‘I’ll be back in a mo,’ Paula says, pushing up to her feet. ‘Desperate for a wee…’
She goes out to see everyone else gathered together just inside the barn. Worried faces, hard eyes. The same pervading mood within them all with the promise of another shit-filled day of absurd heat and humidity but Paula know more than anything that this tension between them all has to break. Howie can lead them into battle and rally them on, but this is Paula’s job. This now. Fixing this. She didn’t intend for this role or responsibility, but such is the way of life sometimes.
‘How is she?’ Howie asks, his voice gruff from sleep.
‘She’s okay…ish,’ Paula says. ‘Had a good cry, she needed it…’
‘Mo said she’s…’ Howie trails off.
‘Cut her hair off,’ Paula finishes the sentence.
‘Fuck,’ Nick says quietly.
‘It’s my fault,’ Paula says. ‘Too much going on…I should have talked with her and…’
‘No, that’s not fair,’ Clarence cuts in.
‘It is fair…anyway,’ she says. ‘Marcy’s finishing it off…’
‘Anything we can do?’ Cookey asks, his expression so full of worry, his blue eyes not twinkling now, the smile not there.
‘No…I don’t think there is…’ she says heavily. ‘Just get through it I guess…I need a wee…’ she walks off then stops to think for a second, turning back to look at Cookey. ‘There is something…sounds silly but…just be you today? Please?’
She walks off, leaving them all reflective of the words she just spoke and what they mean and of the great and awful danger she just invited into their lives.
‘Did Paula just tell me to be me?’ Cookey asks.
‘No,’ Blowers says quickly. ‘She meant…er…be someone else.’
‘She didn’t. She effectively just gave me permission to be a complete dick.’
‘You don’t need permission to be a dick,’ Nick says.
‘Your mum does,’ Cookey says.
‘Oh god no,’ Blowers says, groaning.
‘That’s what your mum says,’ Cookey tells him. ‘Oh god no…cos it’s so big.’
‘Paula?’ Blowers calls out. ‘What did you do?’
‘What did you do, Paula?’ Nick shouts. ‘Take it back…’
‘And your mum says that too…’ he trails off as the clippers stop buzzing and the horsebox creaks as Marcy and Charlie walk into view. Charlie with her head down and her hand running over her skull to feel the bristles of her dark stubble. It feels so weird, so light and strange.
‘Let’s have a look then?’ Cookey calls out.
She looks up at him, at all of them. The scar on her face more pronounced from the lack of hair. The chunk missing from her ear so visible. The bruises to her neck from the fights. Her skin tone darker, mixed-race and nearer the tone of Mo Mo and it shows now with her highlighted hair gone. She looks striking and everyone holds still, caught in the second.
‘Charlie?’ Cookey says. ‘Guess what?’
‘What?’ she asks, her voice still tight but at least her head is up and looking at him.
‘You’re a proper egghead now…’
‘Twat,’ Blowers says, ‘can’t believe you just said that…’
‘Right well we’re up now,’ Paula says, walking back. ‘Anyone else want a haircut while we’re here? Howie, I’m looking at you…’
‘Load up we’re moving out,’ Howie says, earning a few chuckles of weak humour. ‘But seriously…no.’
‘Why not?’ Marcy asks, holding the clippers up.
‘I’m er…doing that thing?’
‘What thing?’ she asks pointedly.
‘The er…the thing with um…’ he looks around, spotting Blowers. ‘Blowers and er�
��’
‘Danny,’ Blowers says quickly.
‘Danny,’ Howie parrots, pointing at a slightly alarmed Danny.
‘With Danny,’ Blowers says, also pointing at Danny. ‘Drill.’
‘Drill,’ Howie says.
‘Right,’ Marcy says eyeing them suspiciously. ‘Nick? You’re looking a bit bushy…’
‘Fuck that…I mean…’
‘Drill,’ Blowers says. ‘All of us I think?’
‘I don’t have hair,’ Clarence says.
‘Apart from Clarence,’ Blowers adds. ‘Or Roy cos he’s a bit baldy too…and Cookey actually.’
‘Eh?’ Cookey asks.
‘You need a trim,’ Blowers tells him.
‘You do,’ Nick says.
‘From Marcy? Fuck off…’
‘Er excuse me?’ Marcy says.
‘Can you do it properly?’ Cookey asks.
‘Please? Are you joking? Have you seen how vain I am?’
*
‘I hate you, Marcy…don’t even laugh at me. It’s not funny. Stop it…all of you…laugh at Charlie…’ Cookey huffs in his seat next to Blowers. Back in the super-hot tin-can Saxon leading their small fleet out the yard and back into the world. Sniggers and laughs from his sides and the seats opposite.
‘Safety on?’ Blowers asks, still chuckling.
‘Yes, Corporal,’ Danny says, smiling at Cookey. His rifle between his legs, loaded with a full magazine.
‘The fucking safety should have been on those clippers,’ Cookey scoffs, earning a fresh round of laughs. ‘Would have done a better job with a rifle…’
‘Oh stop whining,’ Marcy says, waving a hand at him. ‘It’s not that bad.’
‘Fucking is,’ Nick snorts, bursting out laughing at the sight of Cookey’s butchered hair. His blond locks cut uneven with tufts poking up here and there and shorter patches where Marcy used the clippers with her tongue poking out and one eye closed in focus.
The mood still hard. The tension still showing in the lines of their eyes. Moments of silence now and then but less so now. Charlie still stays quiet and pensive but she’s here with them, and no longer avoiding eye-contact.
Danny keeps glancing at her shyly, a little mesmerised by how she looks with a shaved head. He has the same response with Marcy too so stays focussed ahead to the lads and thinks of the drill they did before moving out.
Danny knew it was a test. Try hard and always keep trying. Don’t ever give in.
Blowers started off easy enough, making him dry fire the rifle then showing what he’d do with a blockage and how to reload the magazine. Fire. Blockage. Re-load. Again and again. Running up and down. Fire and manoeuvre. Down and fire. Run and fire. Watch the angles. Watch your sides. What is the objective? How do we get there? What is in the way? Blockage. Re-load.
‘No time to clear the weapon, draw your pistol…down…up…run, cover that corner…face out. INCOMING…FIRE…work a retreat…’
The others joined in too. Even Mo who had already trained with Dave at dawn. Then Mr Howie gave permission for live firing.
‘This shit just got serious,’ Cookey told him while the others rolled their eyes and called him a twat.
‘Good aim,’ Blowers told him after watching his rifle skills. ‘Bit shit with the sidearm though…’
Then Charlie mounted on Jess so Danny could feel see what it was like with a horse thundering past at speed while Roy fired arrows past his head while rifles were fired while Blowers shouted at him to clear the blockage and re-load.
After drill, he had to see Dave who sorted his kit out. Fixing his holster just so. Adjusting the sling on his rifle. Making sure his boots were laced properly and nothing on him could snag or come loose.
‘Knife,’ Dave said, giving him a spatula. Danny expected to hear everyone laugh at that point, but no one did. ‘Strike and move…stab don’t slash…’
It was bloody hard work, but it was also one of the best things Danny has ever done, once he got over the self-conscious weirdness of everyone else pretending to be targets, attacking him at varying speeds while Dave told him how to stab, where to stab, how to clear an opponent back and gain space.
‘Axe,’ Dave said, giving him an axe. ‘No lesson, just hit them with it. Strike and move. Hydrate. Questions?’
‘Eat, Danny,’ Paula said after.
‘Drink, Danny,’ Blowers said.
‘Let me check your back, Danny,’ Roy said. ‘It looks okay I think, no sign of infection. We’ll get you some antibiotics to be sure though.’
‘Radio, Danny,’ Nick said, showing him where to put it threading the wires under his top to the earpiece.
‘Load up, we’re moving out…’ Howie said.
Now they stand in the centre of another town. Charlie on Jess. Meredith sniffing about as they wait for reaction, for the infection to see them.
‘So, that’s the plan?’ Paula asks, looking from Howie to Reginald. ‘We’re using ourselves as bait so Reggie can observe them.’
‘Um, pretty much,’ Howie says, looking around the deserted street.
‘Great plan,’ Paula mutters.
‘I’ve got a plan,’ Marcy says brightly. ‘You can all go to the fort and let me finish it.’
‘We were heading north before the…’ Paula says, trailing off into a second’s worth of pained silence. ‘Before the army base…’
‘Indeed, and that may well be the case but right now I rather think we need to know what we could be going into’ Reginald says, hovering near the back of his van with Maddox at his side.
‘That’s obvious mate,’ Howie says. ‘It’ll be a shit-ton of angry fucked up zombies…’
‘Living challenged,’ Reginald says.
‘Zombies,’ Howie says.
‘I prefer living challenged,’ Clarence says.
Dave cocks his head over. Meredith next to him doing the same. Both of them wondering why people talk so much and don’t listen enough. Noises to the left. They both turn to look. Noises to the right. Scrapes and scuffs. They both turn to look. A sense within their instincts telling them to turn and they look back to the other end of the street to see a flash of a body running out of sight. A calculation. To shout or to give orders quietly. The attack will come but it is not happening this second. Calmness must prevail. Positions must be gained. All in a second. All in the blink of an eye and the beat of a heart.
‘Ambush, Mr Howie…’
A simple statement made that has every rifle snapping up to aim with hearts booming in chests.
‘With me,’ Maddox grips Reginald’s shoulder, turning him towards the open door of the van.
Danny does as everyone else, aiming up while not knowing why. Not understanding why Dave said there was an ambush. What ambush? Where? It’s calm and deathly quiet with just that one woman walking down the centre of the road towards them. He glances over to see Roy clambering deftly on top of the van to nock an arrow in his longbow and wonders how the hell a longbow can outfire an assault rifle.
‘YOU ARE CRUEL,’ the woman shouts the words, her voice rolling down the front of the buildings.
Then they come and Danny’s world changes in a heartbeat. From a calm, almost serene street where they were discussing existential existence to an utter carnage of many things happening at once where he absolutely believes they will die because there ain’t no hope in God’s green earth that anything can survive what’s coming at them.
Every window above them on the first floor blows out with a seemingly choreographed explosion of bodies flying out while every door at street level smashes down or pings off hinges and from every junction and alley they pour wild and crazed, then a hand grips his shoulder.
‘RUN DANNY…’
Danny runs. He hears that order and he complies.
‘FIRING LINE HERE…DOWN…MAKE READY…’
He drops to a knee, dumping his bag in front to access the spare magazines.
‘FIRE…’
He fires at the coming m
asses because that’s what they did in the drill earlier.
Courage is one thing, Danny, but when the bullets are flying, and men are dying, it’s training and discipline that see you through. His father’s words in his mind and so he picks his targets and burst fires. His aim wild, his heart jackhammering but he breathes, and he fires, gaining control, gaining order.
‘MAGAZINE.’
He shouts the word without realising he does so, dropping one out to get a new one in, bolt back, make ready, aim and fire but there are still too many. They’ll be overrun. He changes magazine again and snatches a look behind him to gain a split-second view that sears into his mind. Howie cleaving a man in half with his axe. Clarence lifting a heavy woman off her feet to launch at more charging him. Jess on her back legs with Charlie standing up in the saddle swinging her axe down. Dave spinning with a spray of blood arcing in the air. Mo behind Howie, going low to stab up into the groin of another one. Maddox at the back of the van stabbing one through the neck. Bodies everywhere and beyond them another small firing line with someone in the Saxon using the GPMG to fire down the other way.
Something swooshes an inch from his nose that makes him gasp and look to see Roy on top of his van holding his bow and staring at Danny while pointing at his own eyes then away. Watch your front.
Seconds pass. Minutes. Hours and days and it goes on and will never end. An image in his mind of his father sitting on the swing next to him in the park. His face bearing an expression Danny couldn’t understand. A firefight feels forever, Danny. Like it won’t ever end…but it’s over like that…he clicked his fingers, emphasising his point.
‘CEASEFIRE,’ Dave’s voice. Huge and bellowing and it’s done. Over. Finished in minutes and Danny lowers his rifle to look down at the many spent casings on the ground and the many bodies lying dead.
‘Up, on your feet,’ hands to his shoulders, lifting him up. ‘Look at me…look at me…’ Blowers in his vision. The black patch over his eye. ‘You okay?’
Danny nods, his hearing feels weird, his ears ringing. He goes to speak, coughing then clearing his throat.
‘Are you okay?’ Blowers taps the side of his face, not hard but enough to jolt Danny back to the now.
The Undead_Day 22 Page 10