‘It’s not a fucking discussion,’ she whispers, listening to him undress behind her. ‘It’s a bloody dictatorship…’
A grunt. A sigh. Hands to her shoulders and she turns to face away from the shower as he climbs into the tub and pulls the curtain. ‘I make boy kill things…’
‘What?’ she snaps.
‘When meet. I get things. I teach boy to kill them. Stab. Use knife…use weapon. To live yes?’
‘You did what?’
The curtain yanks back, his head poking out, bubbles and lather on his scalp. ‘We discuss. This discuss.’
‘Okay.’
‘I make kill,’ he says, back to washing in the cold water. ‘I see they no hurt him. They try bite me but I fast. Then they no try bite me. The boy make them sit. Make them stand to kill. Everywhere we go they come. They stare…I make decision. Boy will be boy. Not the killer…I killer. Is bad. Boy is good.’
She pauses, listening and processing, grasping what he means as the shower shuts off and a hand pokes out. She looks around, grabbing a towel from a shelf to hand over.
‘Boy will be boy. No things. No kill…’
‘But he did kill, he killed that big man in the hotel…you taught him where to stab and he saved you…if you hadn’t taught him that you’d be dead, I’d have been gang-raped and god only knows what would have happened to him…don’t you see? What you did saved him…then the things came and they saved us…us, Gregori. Not just the boy…’
The curtain yanks back, the towel around his waist. Determination on his face. ‘No. Boy will be boy.’
‘He is a boy! He can still be a boy but…what?’
‘I need wee wee.’
‘Oh right, er…’ she flaps her hands and turns again. ‘He pissed all over the floor and seat again…what I am saying is that the world has changed, Gregori…we can’t give him a normal childhood because of what’s happened…we wouldn’t even be here if this hadn’t happened. You’d be serial killing people and I’d be either in London or still being kidnapped…’
She rushes after him as he flushes the toilet and walks out of the room, both of them pausing silently by the boy’s open door to stare in for a second before walking on with Cassie following Gregori into one of the double rooms. ‘A normal childhood would be school and lessons, mixing with other children and learning to be a member of society but there is no society now…’
He pulls the sheets back, thumps the pillow and watches as she walks around and sits on the bed, stretching her legs out and leaning back against the headboard. ‘If we truly want him to be adjusted and ready for life then we need to address what he is and why they don’t want to hurt him because this is his life now. This is his normality…we’re the ones that know it’s different because we’re older… what are you staring at?’
‘I sleep now.’
‘We’re talking…so what do you think?’
He sits down heavily, thumping his pillow again and glaring and tutting before shuffling to lie down next to her sitting up. Darkness in the room but a bright moon giving glow.
‘Well?’ she asks when he doesn’t reply.
‘I sleep.’
‘No, we need to talk.’
‘Talk tomorrow.’
‘Talk now, Gregory…’
‘Is Gregori…go to room.’
She shuffles down, rolling on her side to face him, her head propped up on a hand, her elbow digging into the corner of his pillow. ‘We need to accept what he is,’ she says.
‘Go room.’
‘No! I’m not going anywhere until we’ve sorted this…’
His head turns, looking at her. She smiles sweetly, winks and then snorts a laugh. ‘Gregoreee, do you put your penis in Casseeee’s vagina?’ she mimics the boy’s voice, chuckling as she speaks as the Albanian tries to glare in the darkness, but his lips twitch and the smile comes.
Two minutes later and his penis is in Cassie’s vagina. Less whore. More wife. The way she nagged him all day, following him around and refusing to give up. Watching him brush his teeth and following him into the bedroom. Less whore. More wife and he moved fast, smiling at her in the night. Her form silhouetted. Her white teeth showing. The smell of her. The warmth of her body and she honestly did not see it coming. She intended to annoy him into submission over the boy, pester and nag and irritate until he gave in then suddenly his mouth was on hers and his hands were cupping her face as the towels came off.
She moved on top of him, kissing hard, breathing harder, hearts booming. A need. An urgency. A desire surging in both. Hands everywhere. His on her breasts, on her back, through her hair. Hers on his shoulders, down his hard stomach, gripping his shaft as it grew and swelled until she sunk down, guiding him inside. A gasp from both. The sensation so magnificent. So waited for. It’s happening. Finally happening. His cock is inside her. She pauses, almost expecting something to happen to stop it but nothing does and so she starts moving. Fucking Gregori. Making love to Gregori.
He comes fast. It’s been a long time, but he comes powerfully and deep, lifting her from the bed to spasm and grunt as she falls forward to kiss and savour the moment. Both breathing hard.
‘That’s one way to shut me up,’ she whispers, her voice quavering and soft.
Sixteen
Day Twenty-five
‘Yeah but no but…’
‘Oh come now, you will be absolutely fine, my dear,’ Reginald says, holding the door open to usher the woman into the car.
‘No but…that ain’t right. You can’t like ditch us and not do your jobs and like…it’s out of order that is and I’ve got anxiety and…’
‘And depression, yes you told us,’ Reginald says. ‘Many, many times in fact.’
She balks, staring at him suspiciously and still unable to detect the mockery in his absurdly polite tone. A fleet of cars. Not big but enough for the survivors to make for the fort. Everyone loaded and ready, except one of course, who pouts and flusters and swears and stands rooted to the spot.
‘But no but…what if the zombie things come and…’
‘Oh trust me, they’ll die from bleeding ears before they get anywhere near you. Now in you go, there we are…watch your head. Jolly good. Now you be sure to say hello to a nice lady called Joan at the fort who would love to hear all about your concerns…’
A night in the church with the storm outside growing louder by the hour. Thumps and bangs kept them stirring. Roof tiles slamming into the ground. Tree’s toppling. At one point the smell of burning got them all up and checking the building before it was determined to be smoke from somewhere else drifting on the wind. The rain was relentless too and soon started dripping through holes in the roof and those drips soon became rivers that pooled and spread out across the floor.
Fitful to say the least and as the dawn broke so they ventured out to see chimney stacks smashed all over the place and whole roofs ripped from buildings. Thick smoke coming from the houses on the other side of the now much wider river. Fires sparked by the lightning, dampened somewhat by the rain. The sky low and grey. The wind still high and the rain coming in showers but at least that awful crushing temperature was gone.
Reginald smiles sweetly, pushing the door closed as the woman shoots a meaty hand out, preventing it from shutting as another collective groan sounds out. ‘What now, my dear?’ Reginald asks with the patience of a saint.
‘Thanks,’ she says honestly. ‘Most people talk to me like I’m a thick cunt but…so like cheers,’ she mumbles, blushing furiously.
‘Anytime,’ Reginald says with a degree of surprise, closing the door as the fleet finally moves off. ‘Gosh, well now, that certainly was a very grand adventure was it not?’
‘It was something,’ Howie says glumly, exhaling noisily while scratching his head as he walks back into the church with Reginald to the scent of coffee in the air. Water heating in a pan on a fire. Mugs nicked from nearby houses. Instant coffee poured. A bag of sugar with a teaspoon poking out the top and a batt
ered box of teabags completing one of the most beautiful sights Howie has ever seen.
‘They have all gone,’ Reginald announces.
‘Thank god,’ Paula says. ‘The rest were fine but that bloody woman. I’ve never met anyone so rude in my life…anyway, so what’s the plan for…’
‘Shush,’ Howie says, picking a mug up. ‘Nobody say anything or move or do anything because something will happen, and I want a coffee this morning…’
‘You are so dramatic sometimes, Howie,’ Paula tells him.
‘Hey now, I traversed a swinging rope over a raging river to save miss shouty pants…’
‘You hey now, I jumped into that raging river to save Nick’s dog.’
Nick goes to speak but shrugs and drinks his coffee.
‘Charlie?’
‘Yes, Mr Howie.’
‘Is traversed the right word?’
‘It is.’
‘Winner,’ Howie mumbles, blowing the surface of his coffee. ‘Shush…’ he says, glaring around.
‘Nobody said anything,’ Paula says, shaking her head. ‘Right, what’s the plan?’
‘Paula!’
‘Oh piss off, Howie. Drink your coffee. What’s the plan?’
‘Fine,’ he grumbles. ‘We need to find out if the infected are controlled by one super zombie-like Marcy and if so then kill it and if not then kill the other lesser super zombies controlling them…happy now? Ruining coffee time with your plan demands.’
Paula tuts again as Tappy laughs at the back and forth between them. Sharing a look with Nick who rolls his eyes as though to say this is normal.
‘Reginald?’ Paula asks.
‘Yes, my dear?’ Reginald asks lightly.
‘Right you two, pack it in…my face is all cut up and I’m a little bit grumpy today…’
‘Mo.’
‘Yes, boss?’
‘Give Paula a hug before she starts shouting.’
‘On it,’ Mo says, running over to smile at Paula.
‘Twats,’ Paula snaps, breaking off into a laugh as she grabs Mo to hug. ‘Reggie, tell us properly please.’
‘With small words,’ Marcy says quickly as Reginald opens his mouth to speak. ‘Oh, we’ve got Charlie here, carry on and use big words then.’
‘Ah now, yes indeed, well basically it is exactly as Mr Howie said. Actually, I rather think this may be an apt time to explain some things to you all. If that is in order of course?’
‘Oh my god,’ Howie says with mock dramatic effect. ‘Are we finally having the big chat?’
‘Indeed, that is the case,’ Reginald says.
‘Winner,’ Howie sings in a mumbling voice. ‘We’re having the big chat about what happens when a mummy and a daddy love each other...’
‘What the fuck!’ Marcy snorts, coffee dripping from her nose as the others burst out laughing.
‘Alas no,’ Reginald says deeply, his eyes twinkling. ‘Not a chat about sex I am afraid.’
‘Bummer,’ Howie says.
‘You don’t make babies from bum sex,’ Cookey quips.
‘Cookey!’ Marcy snorts, dripping coffee from her nose again.
‘Dear God,’ Paula groans, unable to stop herself chuckling. ‘Danny, Tappy…you can probably catch those people up if you want to get out while you still can…’
‘Okay okay,’ Howie says. ‘Before you say it can I say what I think it is…’
‘Oh god this’ll go on for hours,’ Marcy says. ‘Just let Reggie spit it out…’
‘You don’t make babies from spitting it out…’
‘Cookey!’
‘Sorry, Paula.’
‘No, I’m being serious,’ Howie says, smiling while he says it. ‘No, I am. I’m being serious…right, we haven’t spoken about this have we, Reggie.’
‘We’ve spoken lots about it.’
‘No! I mean about what it is. About what you know…’
‘Ah I see, understood. I can confirm I have not discussed that with you.’
‘Right, I think it was a panacea that was developed that either got fucked up by accident or, someone fucked it up on purpose. That’s my theory.’
‘Are you being serious?’ Marcy asks. ‘We’ve been discussing that for days.’
‘We never said it was a panacea,’ he replies.
‘We bloody did,’ she retorts.
‘You did, boss,’ Clarence says. ‘You said on that foggy day when we saw the clowns.’
‘Clowns?’ Tappy asks.
‘Don’t even mention it,’ Cookey says with a shudder. ‘Dirty clowns…’
‘Ah shit, I thought I was being really clever then,’ a deflated Howie says.
‘Bless,’ Marcy says, reaching over to ruffle his hair. ‘You tried, that’s all that matters…’
‘May I?’ Reginald asks.
‘Was it a panacea?’ Howie asks.
‘Yes, it was,’ Reginald replies.
‘Fuck yes!’ Howie says. ‘Ima winner…okay, carry on.’
Reginald lowers to sit on the end of a pew. A mug of herbal tea clasped between his hands, one still bound in splints to keep his broken fingers straight. His non-corrective glasses glinting the flames of the fire and his mind not only back to full speed but feeling faster than ever before. ‘In brief, Doctor Neal Barrett, the chap we met a few days ago, was a world-renowned statistician who was recruited to undertake a research study in a very secret project within a mountain facility somewhere in central Europe. He was told, along with the other scientists recruited, that the project was a table-top theoretical exercise. Indeed, the chap had no knowledge of what it was until they were all inside the facility and doors were sealed. He was then informed, along with the other scientists, that for the purposes of this theoretical study, a Panacea had been developed…’ Reginald pauses with a smile as Cookey and several others look at Charlie.
‘A Panacea is from Greek mythology,’ Charlie explains. ‘It means a cure-all, a thing that will cure anything. Like a wonder-drug or an elixir.’
Reginald smiles again when they look from Charlie to him. ‘Unfortunately, a lot of Neal’s papers were destroyed before I could study them entirely, but what I can gather is the scientists were tasked with understanding what would happen if this Panacea were released on the world, oh and I should add, they stipulated that a vaccination programme would not be required as the Panacea was a virus that would spread from person to person by the tiniest microscopic sharing of bodily fluid…in effect, a person suffering any amount of incurable disease would merely need a drop of saliva or blood from someone already “infected” with the Panacea and that person would not only be cured of any illnesses they currently have, but they would be inoculated against ever contracting anything else. No cancers, no diabetes, malaria, typhoid, dysentery, fevers, blood disorders, organ failures…’ he pauses to sip his tea, giving time for any questions but none come.
‘Indeed,’ he continues. ‘That was the first part of the study, what happens if everyone is cured of everything. The second part of the study was to understand what would happen if a tweaked version of the same virus were released on the world. A version that turns the host into a carrier that only seeks to infect other hosts…’
‘The zombie virus,’ Howie says.
‘They’re not those things,’ Clarence says.
‘Clarence is correct,’ Reginald says. ‘It isn’t a zombie virus. The hosts are not dead. Yes, they are killed and re-animated but that is merely a process by which the virus works to maximise the efficiency of the infection. I rather suspect that in time it will not need to stop the heart at all but merely learn to take over the cells and replicate where necessary.’
Howie nods then sips his coffee. ‘They look like zombies.’
‘They’re not,’ Reginald says.
‘Smell like them too,’ Howie says.
‘They’re really not,’ Reginald says.
‘Hmmm, interesting. I’m still going to call them zombies.’
‘Understoo
d,’ Reginald says brightly. ‘Shall I continue? Now, this is important…the tweaked version, which is our current nemesis, has an infection rate of 98 to 99 % of the population with 1 to 2 % having natural immunity.’
‘Maddox,’ Paula says, looking at Maddox.
‘Indeed, our very own Mr Doku,’ Reginald says. ‘And the others on the list Heather now has…’
‘Ah shit,’ Howie says, sharing a look with Charlie. ‘I think I’ve just worked out where this is going.’
‘I think so,’ Charlie says.
‘Can the rest of us join your club?’ Marcy asks with a slight edge to her voice.
‘We’re being culled,’ Howie says, his features hardening as he connects the dots in his mind. ‘This is a cull…this is a fucking cull. I’ll kill them. I will find them and I will fucking kill them…’
‘Howie, slow down,’ Paula says, looking from him to Reginald. ‘Culling?’
‘Unfortunately so,’ Reginald says. ‘We now know that the theoretical exercise was not theoretical at all. The Panacea existed, but, it appears to have been determined to release the tweaked version, the one we are facing, to cull the population before the Panacea is released. There is a great deal more to that I hasten to add, Neal was opposed to this happening and barely escaped with his life after being recruited by agents secreted within the facility who tried to stop it happening, but alas, as we can see, they failed. The saving grace is that Neal managed to pass that list and some of his knowledge before he perished…’
Cookey clears his throat, frowning a little. ‘I don’t get it.’
A look from Reginald to Charlie and she pulls a hand over her stubbled head, inhaling deeply. ‘Seven billion people in the world when it happened,’ she says. ‘If they released a Panacea that spread naturally then I would think the population could double or even triple within one generation…we’d go from seven billion to more than twenty billion…’
‘So?’ Marcy asks.
‘We couldn’t feed seven billion let alone twenty,’ Charlie replies. ‘There’s not enough food or water, housing, infrastructure…a Panacea would mean every single person ever born would expect to live from birth to old-age death barring accident or murder. It would push life-expectancy up too…and think of the effect on things like medical services. We wouldn’t need hospitals or medical services, insurance companies, pharmaceutical companies…all of those things would instantly lose their profits and every person working for them would be redundant. We’d live disease free only to starve to death…’
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