‘Gregori…’ Ylli speaks and a shot rings out, fired by Gregori that slams through the bicep of the arm holding Cassie, instantly severing nerves and ligaments and his grip fails as he staggers back, releasing Cassie who launches up to grab the boy, lifting him to her side to stand next to Gregori. Her chest heaving. Her eyes as hard as the uglyman.
‘You touched my family,’ she says through gritted teeth.
‘No I…’ Ylli staggers back from the next shot going through his right kneecap then another through his left and he drops to the floor, writhing in agony.
‘My family,’ Cassie says. She takes a gun from Gregori and walks over to stare down with the boy held at her side. A beat of a heart. A blink of an eye and she fires down into Ylli. Into his gut and chest, emptying the magazine then steps back, turning to kiss the side of the boy’s head then leaning over to kiss Gregori’s cheek before the three look down at the Krye who sips his scotch whiskey while the blood sprayed across the room slides down his face.
He lowers the glass to look round slowly, creaking the leather chair as he moves and shifts in the seat to take in the blood dripping from the bar and the remains of Ditmer spattered here and there. He sees the infected men and women and the way they all stare at the boy and the transition as they edge down from rabid fury to pure subservience but the Krye knows that rage is right there, ready to be used in a heartbeat. He takes it all in and understands it all with a long life of brutality and control behind him and finally, he looks from Gregori to the boy.
‘They called me the devil,’ the Krye whispers in English with a smile. ‘For years I believe in this…but now?’ he shrugs and sips from his glass of whiskey. ‘Now I know I am not for I have seen the devil…’ he fixes eyes with the boy as he lowers the glass. ‘And what will you do with this power my little Krye? How will you rule the world?’
The shot comes without warning and Konstandin’s skull blows out, sending him back into the chair before slumping down to slide off to pour blood over the rain-soaked filthy floor of the bar.
‘Is boy,’ Gregori tells the corpse. ‘Is boy,’ Gregori tells the room. ‘IS BOY,’ Gregori tells the world. ‘The boy is child…not the Krye…’
Fourteen
Day Twenty-four
‘Make way…coming through…VIP coming through here…’ Marcy says, clambering in the back door of the already full Saxon, making everyone groan and grumble as they twist and lift legs.
‘Why didn’t you get in first?’ Nick asks, getting a face full of Marcy’s backside, the sodden material of her trousers scraping his cheek as she grabs Blowers shoulder, using him to lever forward.
‘Fuck’s sake, Marcy,’ Cookey yelps at the elbow digging in his neck.
‘You’re doing this on purpose,’ Blowers says.
‘Who me?’ she asks, standing over him with a grin as the rainwater pours from her hair into his face. ‘Would I do that?’
‘Piss off,’ he laughs. ‘It’s not even funny.’
‘Hey now,’ she says seriously, giving him a stern look. ‘I’ll get my bodyguard on you…Mo!’
‘What?’
‘Beat Blowers up…when we get room.’
‘Marcy,’ Nick groans at her knee driving into his chest.
‘And Nick,’ Marcy adds, making a meal of her transit from back of the Saxon to the front. She pauses mid-wrangle to smile at Danny, winking at his shyness. ‘I’m a VIP like Madonna now, Danny…’
The lad nods quickly then blinks. ‘Who’s Madonna?’
‘Are you being serious?’
He shrugs, looking away shyly. ‘I don’t know who that is.’
‘Madonna! The singer…Like a Virgin?’
‘What like you?’
‘Cookey!’ Marcy snaps, reaching back to slap his leg. ‘Mr Howie! Cookey said I’m not a virgin…’
‘Ha!’ Howie snorts, shaking the water from his hair in the front seat.
‘Oi,’ Clarence says, getting another drenching from Howie shaking his head. ‘It’s not a bloody shampoo advert…’
‘Kids of today,’ Marcy mutters, still nodding at Danny while leaning on Blowers while digging her elbow into Cookey while pushing her backside at Nick. ‘No bloody respect…or knowledge for that matter. Madonna? Like a really famous singer…married to that film director guy…’
‘Guy,’ Nick says.
‘What is?’ Marcy asks.
‘The guy…he’s called Guy and can you get your arse out of my face please…’
‘They’re not married anymore,’ Tappy says, happily joining in from the other side of the bench seats. ‘Divorced apparently.’
‘Oh that’s a shame,’ Marcy says, lurching forward to drop into her seat opposite Paula. ‘Anyway, so yes, Danny. I’m a VIP now…in case you didn’t hear or were not aware.’
‘Okay,’ Danny says politely.
Marcy smiles at him then frowns on seeing Mo at the back doors with Dave. ‘Oi, what good is a bodyguard down there…blimey, we’re a bit full in here now. Howie, we’re getting full in the back here. It’s all steamy too…’
‘Righto,’ Howie says ‘All in?’ he doesn’t wait for the answer but starts the engine, gunning the pedal to bring the revs up with a sound so different to the finely tuned sports cars now parked back in the showroom.
A flash of light outside. A bolt of lightning scorching the sky followed by the deep boom of thunder.
‘Awesome,’ Paula says. ‘In a tin can during an electrical storm…’
‘I know right,’ Marcy says. ‘It’ll make my hair go frizzy…’
‘Yeah that’s not what I meant,’ Paula says, looking down the bench seats. Blowers, Cookey, Nick and Dave on her side. Marcy, Danny, Charlie, Tappy and Mo on the other. Kit bags and rifles between legs. Axes wherever they can fit. Bottles of water in hands and every face dripping water from the rain. Every top sodden, cheeks flushed and rosy but at least that awful, dreadful black mood is starting to lift a bit more. Driving the cars was a touch of genius and just what they needed, and the few minutes Charlie took with Tappy after seems to have helped.
‘Favourite one then?’ Tappy asks, seemingly happy to start a conversation without worrying about being new.
‘Favourite what?’ Cookey asks. ‘Colour?’
‘Food?’ Nick asks.
‘Pop song?’ Blowers asks.
‘Pop song?’ Cookey asks, looking at Blowers. ‘What the fuck?’
‘No! I meant car,’ Tappy says. ‘Other than the Bugatti,’ she adds as they all go to speak. ‘Hang on, where’s Mads? Doesn’t he come with us?’
‘He’s in the van with Reggie,’ Nick says. ‘And Ferrari.’
‘Yeah you would say Ferrari,’ Tappy says, rolling her eyes. ‘Predictable,’ she sings, looking away, making the others laugh. ‘Why is Mads in with Reggie?’
‘Cos he’s a…’ Cookey starts to say then stops himself after seeing the look from Paula.
‘I’ll explain it all later, Tappy,’ Paula says.
‘Okay cool…’
‘So basically,’ Marcy says, leaning forward to look down at Tappy. ‘We’re all infected with the zombie virus thing…but we don’t know if you lot can give it to other people whereas I can, you know, being a VIP and all that, not that I like to go on about being super special and highly important person because really I am quiet and unassuming person but…’ she stops to frown. ‘Totally forgot what I was saying now…’
‘Mads is immune, not infected,’ Charlie says.
‘Yeah that,’ Marcy says, clicking her fingers.
‘Got it,’ Tappy says. ‘So we’re all infected, that right?’
‘Er, yes, we think so,’ Charlie says.
‘It’s fine, mate,’ Blowers says, seeing Danny shift on his seat.
‘I’m okay, Corporal,’ Danny says quickly.
‘Corporal? Have I got to call you Corporal?’ Tappy asks.
‘No,’ Blowers says.
‘Yes,’ everyone else says together.
; ‘Yes, Sir, Mr Corporal, Sir,’ Tappy says, offering a salute.
‘Cheers,’ Blowers says. ‘Wrong hand but thanks for trying…’
‘Jesus,’ Howie says in the front, leaning forward to peer through the windscreen. ‘Visibility’s reducing…’ he blinks, turning his head at the flash of lightning strobing the sky.
‘Retina burn,’ Clarence mutters, squeezing his eyes closed.
‘Aye, just a bit,’ Howie says, focussing back on the road and following the white lines in the middle to keep in the right direction. The rain coming so hard he can’t see more than a dozen metres.
‘We need higher ground,’ Clarence says, reaching for the radio. ‘Reggie, it’s Clarence. We need higher ground…’
‘Ah yes, understood. I shall look now.’
‘Cheers for that,’ Howie says then lowers his voice. ‘You hear what Tappy said?’
‘Yeah we heard it,’ Clarence says with a grimace. ‘Killed her own family.’
‘Sisters, brothers, mum and dad,’ Howie says, shaking his head sadly. ‘Fucking awful…’
Clarence nods, blasting air through his nose while watching the road outside.
‘You okay?’ Howie asks, a little too casually and earning a look from the big man. ‘What? I’m just asking.’
‘I’m fine,’ Clarence says gruffly.
‘Great.’
‘No issues.’
‘Awesome.’
‘Here to work.’
‘Good…’
A laugh from the back. Genuine and real. Clarence turns to see Cookey in full flow, telling a story of something while Blowers shakes his head.
‘Seriously,’ Cookey says earnestly, looking at his audience. ‘An actual penis…like this big,’ he holds his hands up measuring the length. ‘In her mouth…and we’re all like ah get it out and Blowers is like ah give it back…’
‘That’s not what happened,’ Blowers groans.
‘Nah I’m exaggerating,’ Cookey says before shielding his mouth from Blowers. I’m not he mouths. It’s in his pocket, he adds pointing at Blowers lap. ‘For later when it’s dark and he can suck it a little bit…hey, do you wanna hear about when Nick burnt the Isle of Wight down?’
‘What?’ Nick asks. ‘It was a ferry you bellend…’
‘Who is telling this story, Mr Hewitt?’ Cookey asks.
‘This is getting worse,’ Howie says from the front. ‘I can only just see the white lines…’
‘Reggie, Clarence again. How are you getting on?’
‘Ah yes, I am studying the topography now and unfortunately, we’re in a rather large depression surrounded by lakes and rivers. Roy said this area is really just a flood plain and that it should never have been built on which of course is very interesting given the Government’s attitude to Green-Land development and easing the pressure from the housing market by allowing constructions to take place in land previously marked as…’
Clarence sighs, staring out the window as Howie tuts to himself and leans even closer to the windscreen while Reginald’s voice fills their ears.
‘…so yes, I would rather suspect that our best route is to go through before the storm becomes worse and the run-off has built up so we can find higher ground and shelter for the night…’
‘What did he say? I zoned out,’ Howie says.
‘He said to go through,’ Paula says from behind them. ‘It’ll take longer to go back the other way.’
‘Glad someone was listening,’ Clarence says. ‘Cheers, Paula.’
‘It’s fine, anytime,’ she says with a smile, reaching out to touch his shoulder with an act of familiarity that from her to anyone else would not be an issue but she seems to realise what she’s doing and pulls back too quickly as Clarence blushes and Marcy snorts a laugh, staring at Paula who glares back at her.
‘Steamy in here,’ Marcy says, fanning her face as Paula glares a bit harder. ‘Phwoar, ssshhhteamy windows,’ Marcy adds, laughing at her own joke.
‘You’re an idiot,’ Paula mutters, folding her arms.
They drive on through the pouring rain that comes harder and louder every few minutes. Lightning bolts slicing the sky open and thunder so loud it renders all speech impossible, and it goes on for seconds too, from horizon to horizon, filling every inch of sky above them and as the deluge increases so Howie has to slow down for fear of driving off the road. He manages to follow the white lines for a while, clinging to the centre of the carriageway but it gets so bad even they become lost from view.
‘It’s no good,’ Howie says. ‘I’ll get out…you drive and follow me…’
‘Sure?’ Clarence asks.
‘It’s only rain…and it’s not exactly cold is it…’
‘What’s going on?’ Paula asks as Howie pushes his door open to drop out.
‘It’s fine,’ Clarence says, sliding over. ‘We can’t see the road…boss is finding the white lines so we can follow him…’
‘There goes Dave,’ Marcy says, looking down to see Dave dropping from the back door.
Outside, Howie shakes his head at the instant soaking from the rain lashing down but the feel is not unpleasant. Not after the days of scorching heat.
‘Mr Howie,’ Dave says, stepping into view.
‘Jesus mate, scared the shit out of me. It’s fine, Dave, get back in...’
‘No, Mr Howie.’
‘Up to you mate,’ Howie says, moving off to the front with Dave at his side. The two of them searching the road underfoot, splashing through surface water. ‘Intense or what…’
‘What is?’
‘The rain,’ Howie says. ‘It’s intense. Got it…’ he stops still, waving his arms to the Saxon off to one side and giving thanks that he checked because the vehicle was already aiming away. He pauses while the Saxon moves up then sets off at a brisk walking pace, watching the road underfoot with the heavy engine behind almost unheard and if he thought the rain was heavy before, now it becomes something else entirely.
A sheer torrential pouring of water from the heavens like nothing he has ever seen. Worse than ten days ago when the fort became an island. Worse than the documentaries and movies he saw with tropical storms and monsoons.
‘It’s worse than a monsoon,’ Dave says.
‘Fuck off,’ Howie blurts, snapping his head over to look at him but Dave just blinks and walks on. ‘Dave, seriously…I didn’t say that.’
‘You did, Mr Howie.’
‘I didn’t! They’re all doing it now too.’
Dave doesn’t say anything but walks on. His head up. His eyes scanning. Always scanning. Always watching.
‘Right,’ Howie says, nodding to himself. ‘I’m going to think of a colour…’
They walk on. Seconds pass. A minute comes and goes.
‘Dave?’
‘Yes, Mr Howie.’
‘You’re meant to guess the colour.’
‘What colour?’
‘The colour I am thinking about. Ready? Go…’ Howie walks on, thinking of yellow and yellow things. Canary birds and bananas.
‘I like bananas.’
‘Ha! Gotcha,’ Howie says with victory.
‘Got what?’
‘You. In my head being all psychic and telepathic and…like all Uri Geller and shit.’
Dave walks on. ‘You said canary birds and bananas, Mr Howie,’ he says, facing forward.
‘Er, I did not,’ Howie say emphatically.
Dave walks on.
‘I didn’t.’
Dave walks on.
‘Fuck you, right…I’m going to put my hand over my mouth like this…see?’ Howie clamps his hand over his mouth then murmurs loudly to make Dave look. ‘Shee?’ he shouts from behind his mouth. ‘My mouf ish cofered right? Okay…I’m gunna funk of an aminanal…’
‘What?’
‘Amaanial.’
‘What?’
‘Animal!’ Howie says, pulling his hand away. ‘Like a giraffe…ready? Go?’
‘Giraffe.’
&
nbsp; ‘What? No! You don’t say the last animal, you’ve got to guess the animal I am thinking of to prove you live in my head and I’m not mad.’
Dave walks on.
‘Ready?’ Howie asks, ‘animal…go…’ he clamps his mouth again.
‘Giraffe.’
‘Argh! You do this on purpose. I swear you do…unless I was actually thinking of a giraffe cos I didn’t want you to say giraffe…Ha! So, in fact, I was thinking about giraffes which means I’m right and you live in my head…’
Dave walks on.
‘Are you even real?’ Howie asks, nodding at him. ‘Thought about that have you? Eh? Do you even exist? Maybe this is all a dream and I’ll wake up on the Friday night it happened and think how you shouldn’t eat pizza and fall asleep on the sofa because it gives you messed up dreams…’
Dave walks on.
‘Then I’ll come into work the next day and be like, Hi Dave, I had this really weird dream that you were this ex-special forces soldier man and we killed loads of weird fucked up talking zombies…one of which was my super-hot girlfriend.’
Dave walks on.
‘Do you ever miss it?’
‘What, Mr Howie?’
‘Life before this. Working in Tesco and…you know?’
‘No.’
‘I mean life before this, going to work and going home and watching shit television and er…then going back to work, or whatever you did in between shifts…like sharpen knives or read knife catalogues or Google knives and…stuff.’
‘I like knives.’
‘Yep, gathered that one. So, do you?’
‘Yes. I like knives.’
‘No! I mean miss it? Do you ever think about it?’
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