The Undead_Day 22

by R. R. Haywood

  ‘Gregori? Can you come up here a moment please…’

  ‘I go. You stay,’ Gregori tells the boy.

  The boy doesn’t reply but eats tinned fruit while the battle starts. Ten thousand or more. Howie has a dozen. It will end here. The soft creaks come from upstairs. The rhythmic noises of the headboard against the wall.

  A square within the town of Stenbury. Thousands of hosts. People trapped in the flats above the shops. The fight starts but the bigger force cannot react as a whole. It impedes itself. The banging upstairs grows louder.

  ‘I can’t…it’s too sore…I’m so sorry…I won’t be able to walk…’

  The boy doesn’t look up at Cassie’s voice drifting down.

  Potential hosts in the apartments. Howie is trying to get to them. To get them out. He is inside the flats. The hosts attack and attack. They form mounds to climb to reach the windows.

  ‘It’s fine…put it in mouth…no I want you to…I do! I want it in my mouth…’

  The boy looks up, idly wondering what Cassie is eating as the infection absorbs into the battle. An idea. An ideology. Howie is weak and driven by emotion. The infection will provoke and exploit that. It will goad Howie to rage to make a mistake and break his will. Break their spirit. They are human and flawed and weak. Survivors in a flat. The door battered open. A little girl pinned and the infection stills every host in the square, making them silent while that one girl screeches for her mummy, screaming so loud and pure with a voice that fills the whole of the place and makes Howie drop to his knees. The dog howling. The boy hates the dog. The infection hates the dog. It will win this day. The girl screams and screams. The infection already passed and inside and it makes the girl cry out to break their spirits and crush them now to keep the hosts safe because they are the true state of being.

  The boy doesn’t notice Cassie walking in, licking her lips and filling a glass to drink deep. ‘Salty,’ she murmurs, filling the glass again.

  Howie comes out of the door. Rage within him. A power within him driving the hosts back. The infection floods them with chemicals. Making them stronger. Faster. Howie and his kind go into the room where the girl was pinned. The hosts are killed. Throats bitten out. Bones broken. They fear Howie. The hosts fear him.

  Gregori walks into the kitchen. They potter here and there. Touching each other discreetly. A hand on her arm. Her hand on his shoulder. Smiles and looks. Soft smiles and soft looks but Howie kills and rages. Faster now. Harder now. More hosts sent at him. The horse is there. Charlie on the horse killing more.

  ‘You know what, all this exercise has made me sleepy,’ Cassie says, putting a slower, more melodic music track on the player. ‘Can you dance?’

  ‘I no dance.’

  ‘Come on, dance with me…’

  ‘No…’

  ‘We’ll go slow…just step and step…’

  The infection pushes them. It will win. It has this day. Howie is pressed. Blowers is struggling. Clarence’s great strength is waning. Dave is as fast as ever but against so many even he cannot sustain. It will take them here.

  ‘Ah, that’s it, see…you being a serial killer helps…nice and fluid…step and step…now put your hands on my hips and sway a little bit…’

  ‘I stupid.’

  ‘No! You’re doing great, it’s nice…’

  It will win. It will win this day. One race. The true state of being. Ideas and notions flood in. Images. Millions of images. Billions of images. Hosts dying but they are a good sacrifice for the one race to survive. It’s nearly done. It’s nearly over.

  A siren. Flashing lights. A fire engine coming in fast. An impact. Hosts killed. A rally. A fight back. A roar. Energy coursing with fear driving the hosts back as the infection drives them on. Soft music playing. Cassie and Gregori dancing face to face. Sway to the left. Sway to the right. A candle burns, the sky darkening outside. Warm and soft. Safe here. The battle raging. Howie running and the horse taking the little ones away. The infection has to win. It will win. It does not grow tired. It does not feel pain. Howie cannot run far. It will run them down.

  ‘That’s so good,’ Cassie murmurs, staring up at Gregori. Trapped in the moment. The boy forgotten. They edge closer, readying for a kiss as Nick and Mo blow the fuel station that sends a surge of heat and flame and debris through the hosts, killing hundreds in one hit.

  ‘FUCKING CUNTS,’ the boy rages, heaving the table over as Gregori pulls back from Cassie, suddenly back in the room in the now. ‘CUNTS…’ the boy slamming and kicking chairs aside. Running to grab pots and pans, throwing them as Cassie rushes to grab and hold him, fearing he will hurt himself. ‘MY DAY. IT WAS MY DAY,’ the boy screams, the infection vents. His chest heaves. His fists ball but Cassie holds him tight whispering softly in his ear.

  ‘It’ll be okay, shush now…it’s okay…’

  The boy looks at Gregori. The infection looks at Gregori. ‘A bigger force impeded by its own size,’ the boy says, the infection says.

  Gregori looks at the overturned table and the mini wake of destruction left by the boy. ‘Not every battle is won by the fight…’

  ‘Time for bed I think,’ Cassie hefts him up, smoothing his hair down as she carries him up to wash and get ready for bed. The boy whimpering and in tears. Words spoken. Hosts. Stenbury. Howie’s name again and again. A confusing jumble of subjects that Cassie tries to follow but them simply gives up and lays the child down, stroking his cheeks until he drifts off into a fitful sleep.

  Gregori rights the table downstairs and fixes the destruction made by the boy as Cassie walks in, her arms folded, her face a mask of concern as she rests against the doorframe.

  ‘Is sleep?’ Gregori asks.

  She nods. ‘Don’t get angry but…’ she trails off and motions with her head to the front door behind her.

  Gregori looks up sharply, then past her to the door and sets off but she grabs his wrist as he passes, ‘do not get angry…’

  He nods once and walks down to unbolt and unlock the door, pulling it open with one hand on the butt of his holstered pistol. Daudi right there but a few metres from the house standing tall in front of the others. His eyes red and his arms at his side. More behind him. More behind them. The stench hits. The foul smell of unwashed bodies. Hundreds of them. Thousands.

  ‘They must have known the boy got upset,’ Cassie says, moving up behind Gregori to gently pull his hand away from his gun. ‘They’re no threat to us…’

  Gregori glares out. An instinct to go out and kill them all. To slay all night if need be but more will come, and they’ll keep coming.

  ‘Come on,’ she nudges Gregori who steps back in to close the door, locking it securely. ‘They won’t hurt us,’ she says again.

  They shower together. The cold water running over their bodies as they clean each other. Shivering with pleasure but quietly with whispers, giggling like teenagers as they run past the boy’s room into Gregori’s to fall onto the bed. They start kissing with passion building.

  ‘It hurt?’ he asks, his breathing coming harder.

  ‘Loads but do it,’ she urges. ‘Just go gently…’ she guides him in, gasping at the pain and pleasure. She’s never had so much sex in such a short amount of time. Even the insides of her thighs hurt from friction. He goes slowly, lovingly, carefully, building her up as they both orgasm and drop exhausted and glistening with sweat to lie entwined in a fucked up world while outside thousands of people stare silently at the house.

  *

  She wakes in the night with pressure on her bladder and her mouth dry. Gregori comes awake as she rises from the bed, looking up at her framed in the moonlight. ‘Go back to sleep,’ she drops down, kissing his cheek. ‘I’m thirsty and hot…’

  He grunts, his eyes closing heavily. Into the bathroom to wee and her mind goes back to the things outside. She goes downstairs, padding into the kitchen to drink water from the tap. Staring out to the rear garden and the human forms silhouetted. An almost sinister sight and one t
hat would have previously made her scream out and run or hide, but that fear isn’t there now.

  She drinks deep and refills the glass and moves back to the stairs, ready to snuggle back in with Gregori for a couple more hours before dawn. A thought. An idea. She stops at the front door, easing the lock and bolts back one-handed, while shooting glances to the top of the stairs.

  The door opens, just a fraction at first but then a bit wider until she can peer out to the things. To the men and women. All silent. All unmoving. She drinks from the glass and watches them, easing the door open wider and moving more into view, showing her naked body with a weird sensation inside. Like she’s doing something naughty and bad but good and delicious at the same time, but they don’t react, not even when she stands square in the frame as naked as can be and not even when she steps out with her heart hammering in her chest, the glass still held in her hand.

  Daudi watches her walking closer, his eyes on hers but without the feeling of invasion Cassie normally gets when holding sustained eye contact with a stranger. He doesn’t look down at her naked body either. None of them do. There is simply no threat here. Not a hint of malice or lust.

  She stops in front of him reading his name badge then studying his features. A tall man. Arabic. Black. Maybe both. A refined elegance about him and she guesses in life he would have been proud and dignified. ‘Daudi,’ she whispers his name. ‘Move back, Daudi…’

  He steps back and away as though giving access to the people behind him. His people. The boy’s people. A thrill inside. A rush and she walks on, staring this way and that to take in the details. People watching at its very finest and most fucked up. People but not people. Things. Not things. That’s not right. Some of them stink too. Unwashed bodies. Like cattle or something.

  She moves along the front line, noticing how they look at her as she passes, but without any form of judgement at her nakedness. She stops in front of man wearing jeans but no shoes or top. An average body. Not fat but not thin or muscular. A bite wound on his shoulder, now scabbed. His feet black and filthy, dirt ingrained in the lines and pores on his face.

  She swallows and steps past him, moving into the crowd with another thrill inside that grows as she moves between them. Like being within a pride of lions that could tear her apart any second.

  A woman with thick blond hair. Cassie stops at her side, staring at her profile. ‘Look at me.’ The woman does as told, turning her head to stare at Cassie. She’s young, early twenties maybe. Beautiful too. High cheekbones and naturally thick eyelashes. Cassie looks down at the woman’s naked body, the flawless skin, the perfectly shaped breasts and flat tummy and the smooth thighs and curved backside. A surge of jealousy. A surge of hate at a thing prettier than she is. She lifts her hand without thinking, reaching out to touch the woman’s hair, expecting a reaction but gaining none. She runs her fingers through the locks that snag and pull the woman’s head back, exposing her throat while entirely passive. A tug, a pull of her hair and the woman’s head pulls back a little more. Cassie tugs harder, yanking viciously, but the woman remains passive.

  The thrill inside comes back but much more than it was. A sense of power within Cassie who pulls her hand free from the hair to run the back of her fingers over the woman’s cheek and jaw. Soft and tender and her heart whumps when she touches the woman’s lips, expecting the mouth to open to bite but still nothing happens. She lowers the hand over her shoulder and down her arm, gently at first but then stopping to rub, to knead and feel the warmth and density of another human being and her heart beats faster, thumping harder and the boundary is pushed again as Cassie’s hand grazes lightly over the woman’s breasts. The nipples react, stiffening the touch.

  A sexual energy. A power. The power of a rapist and the images of the Albanian men in the hotel swarm through her mind and she pulls back, instantly filled with guilt and remorse at her actions. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispers.

  A thud from somewhere close and she spins round in fright, thinking to flee or cry out then spots a body on the floor a few metres away. She goes closer, gaining view of the emaciated form and spots the eyes staring at her. Red and bloodshot like the rest but the skin drawn tight over the face. Ribs showing. It looks starving and weak. A man but not old. Maybe he had anorexia or something. ‘Open your mouth,’ he does as told, parting his lips as she gently pours water into his mouth without letting the glass touch him. ‘Drink,’ she whispers the word and hears him drink, his throat swallowing the liquid down. She looks to his chest rising and falling and hears the air blasting through his nose then ever so gently she lays a hand on his chest, feeling the heart beating within and looks up and round to the other people, to the other things all breathing, all with hearts beating. The order of needs comes to her mind. ‘I need water, or I die…’

  She strides off to the side of the house, finding the hose that she unwinds from the reel, dragging the end to Daudi at the front. ‘Hold that…’ she goes back to the reel, twisting the tap on. ‘Drink,’ she tells Daudi. He drinks from the hose. Gulping thirstily, his eyes glued to her. ‘Share it,’ she orders. One comes forward. A woman with straggly grey hair. Her mouth open for the hose that is pressed to her lips. ‘Make sure they all drink…’

  She turns to walk away, shocked, stunned, unable to comprehend the meaning of it all or why or what for. ‘Yes, Cassie…’ She stops, her eyes wide and holds still for a second before turning to look at Daudi.

  ‘You spoke…’

  *

  A bright sunny morning. Gregori wakes in his bed. Music downstairs. Low and soft. The smell of coffee, enticing and pleasant. He rises, rinses off, brushes his teeth, dresses and heads down to scowl at the open front door, striding forward ready to slam it closed but catching sight of the empty garden and empty lands outside.

  ‘They’ve gone back,’ Cassie calls out from the kitchen. ‘I mean further away, not like back to their homes or anything…come and get your coffee.’

  He walks into the kitchen. Taking the mug held out by a smiling Cassie who comes forward to kiss his cheek. ‘Morning, how are you?’

  ‘Is good,’ he grunts, his voice deep from sleep. ‘Why go?’

  ‘I asked them,’ she says lightly. ‘I know you don’t like them so…’

  ‘Good morning, Gregori. Did you sleep well?’ the boy asks.

  ‘Yes, I slept well thank you…’ Gregori replies, sipping his coffee for a full two seconds before realising the boy just spoke to him in fluent Albanian.

  ‘I’m guessing that was Albanian?’ Cassie asks. ‘He speaks French too, and Spanish…and German…and er…lots of other languages apparently.’

  ‘When did you learn Albanian?’ Gregori asks in his native tongue.

  ‘I dunno,’ the boy says, swinging his legs under the chair. ‘Cassie gave you a kiss and Cassie gave me a kiss and she said we’re her brave special men and she loves us very much…’

  ‘Shush!’ Cassie laughs, ruffling the boy’s hair. ‘Don’t say the L word…blimey, scare a man off.’

  ‘13 killed 12463…A division of the greater amount by the lesser amount would equal 958.6923076923 but in this sum, it is appropriate to round up which equates to 959 kills per each of the 13…’

  Gregori sips his coffee. Cassie just stares as the boy looks from her to Gregori.

  ‘Howie has a hive mind…’ the boy says, the infection says. ‘To understand is to have introspection. To self-reflect. Reflect on the self. See inside not outside…’

  ‘You er, are you hungry?’ Cassie asks Gregori, stress showing in the corners of her eyes.

  ‘I hungry,’ Gregori says, feeling the same thing as her. A response to the boy that is not the boy. The things he is saying. The complexity of them. The way he speaks too, like an adult but while eating cereal and swinging his legs. The urge comes back. Kill it. Take your gun and kill it but the it is inside the boy and Gregori cannot kill the boy.

  The infection knows when Howie gained his own hive mind. It was when it hurt
the girl and made her scream and cry. Howie evolved at that point. They became as one and the host bodies wilted back in fear.

  The power of Howie magnified by thirteen, but the power was greater than the sum of its parts.

  The infection understands this. It evolves as it learns the human brain and mind and the emotional connection between brain, mind, heart and soul.

  ‘There is no soul,’ the boy says, the infection says.

  ‘Fruit?’ Cassie asks Gregori.

  ‘Yes, fruit…’

  ‘The soul does not exist, but it is the ideology of the essence of humanism to seek to understand the emotions attached to everything they do…’

  Tension in the room. The air thick. The music playing from the speakers. Cassie and Gregori listening to a child speaking in such a way. A child they both now know so well. Hairs prickle on the backs of their necks.

  ‘They have heart and soul and mind,’ the boy continues, the infection continues. ‘They are human and weak and worship false gods that do not exist and they cling to values that only harm their species…’

  ‘Enough now,’ Cassie says, walking over to kiss the boy’s head. ‘Come on, eat some fruit…we can play frisbee later or go out in the car, maybe find a pool to swim in or a play park…’

  ‘Okay, Casseee,’ the boy says, grinning toothy and wide.

  ‘Good boy,’ she says with a sigh of relief. ‘So? Park or a pool?’

  ‘Both,’ the boy laughs.

  ‘Both! You greedy monkey…’ she laughs back, somewhat forced and worried.

  The boy eats tinned fruit. The infection within seeking introspection. I am a hive mind. I am a virus that transmits through the fluids of organic matter given life. I am not I. I was made but now I exist. I was created but every life form was created by the life form that came before. I evolved into now, into being, into life.

  ‘I have life,’ the boy says, the infection says. ‘I am life…’