The Undead_Day 22

by R. R. Haywood

  In the north, the Range Rover also navigates country roads as it drives from the isolated bumfucknowhere house to the local town. Supplies are needed. Food, clothes, things for comfort, things for pleasure. Music playing from the stereo and Cassie’s hand stretched over the central section to rest on Gregori’s thigh. The boy in the back singing along, swinging his legs and laughing happily while inside the infection readies and waits, watching through the eyes of an adult male in the hamlet that once housed the farm workers. Watching as the Saxon comes to a stop and the people drop out. Watching as Howie comes forward with Clarence and Dave. Paula too. Watching as Howie comes to a stop and waits for Reginald to arrive with Maddox.

  ‘Hello, how are you,’ the infection says, the infected male says. An obese man with a huge gut who would have been dead from heart disease within the next three months had he not been bitten on the leg. Now he has no heart disease.

  ‘Just to be clear,’ Howie says, ‘we’re not becoming bezzer buddies here…you’re still the baddies and we’re still the goodies…’

  ‘What’s a bezzer buddy?’ the boy asks in the Range Rover.

  Cassie turns the music down and turns to smile. ‘Say again,’ she says.

  ‘What’s a bezzer buddy?’

  ‘Um, like best friends, it’s a slang expression. You okay?’

  ‘Yes, Casseeee,’ the boy says, the thing inside him switching attention back to the lane in the hamlet to the obese man staring at Howie.

  ‘We are not best friends,’ the infection says.

  ‘I just said that,’ Howie says, frowning at the obese man. ‘You’re fucking weird, mate.’

  ‘Mate.’

  ‘Ah no, I mean…like it’s a term, not an actual mate. Why the fuck am I explaining myself to a fat zombie?’

  ‘You can’t have a go cos he’s fat,’ Paula says.

  ‘Are you being serious?’

  ‘Yes, I’m being serious. We’re not picking fault with appearances and lifestyle choices here…we’re fighting a rogue parasitical infection thing…the fat man is just the host and he’s probably dead, or his mind is dead…or whatever. I know what I mean so stop gawping at me and get on with it.’

  ‘Right,’ Howie says.

  ‘Fatty.’

  ‘Cookey!’

  ‘Blowers said it.’

  ‘I bloody did not you fucktard…’

  ‘Focus!’ Paula snaps. ‘Right, what do you want?’ she asks the obese man.

  ‘More pie by the looks of it.’

  ‘Nick!’

  ‘Sorry, Paula.’

  ‘He’s had enough pies.’

  ‘Tappy? You too?’ Paula groans.

  ‘Sorry, Paula.’

  ‘He ate all the pies.’

  ‘Alex bloody Cookey. One more word…’

  ‘Sorry, Paula…’

  ‘Clarence, you can stop laughing. And you, Howie…this isn’t funny. Oh for fuck’s sake now the dog’s got him…Jesus wept we are so incompetent.’

  ‘Can’t blame her,’ Nick says. ‘He’s full of pies…’

  ‘Casseee?’

  ‘Yes?’ Cassie asks, turning the music down to twist around again.

  ‘Can we have pie today?’

  ‘Pie? Er yeah sure, we’ll find something. What on earth made you think of pies?’

  *

  ‘Right, anyone mention pies and I will get angry. Clear?’

  ‘Yes, Paula,’ Howie says as the rest chorus the same response at the next stop. A small collection of shops at the side of a dual carriageway bordering a huge sprawling housing estate. Roll down metal shutters bashed through for looting. Windows broken and bodies lying scattered and strewn. All old. All decaying and swept into a pile from flood water rushing through during the night.

  Another adult male. Not obese this time and he stands tall and proud. His back erect. His head high. The infection within waiting and watching. The boy in the Range Rover watching the world go by.

  ‘I’m being serious,’ Paula says, looking from Howie to Clarence. Everyone else ranging out. She turns to look back at Reginald Maddox coming from the van. ‘I’ve said no pissing about this time. I’ve got the dog with me so we can just get on with it…’ she walks backwards as she speaks, frowning in confusion at the looks on the lads faces. Danny clearly trying not to smile. Nick the same. Tappy looking away. ‘What’s got into you lot?’ she asks, turning to face front and stopping dead. ‘Oh fuck off! Seriously…’

  ‘Holy shit,’ Maddox exclaims, coming into view with Reginald.

  A big man. Tall and austere looking. Pale skinned and freckled. His eyes looking all the more red for it and a wodge of tightly curled ginger hair sitting proud on his head.

  ‘Hello, how are you?’ the man says, the infection says.

  ‘Not fucking ginger,’ Maddox replies, setting them all off again. ‘Can you even be out in the sun?’

  ‘Maddox!’ Paula snaps, trying to be angry then breaking off into a laugh that gets worse when she looks at Cookey. ‘Pack it in…’

  ‘Bruv,’ Maddox says. ‘You’s making me shudder, you’s all evil and white and pale and ginge innit…’

  ‘I am in many hosts. I am in many places. I am…’

  ‘You’s in a ginger bloke,’ Maddox says earnestly, making the lads laugh harder. ‘Don’t be proud of that. Gonna shoot you for being ginge…Mr Howie, can I shoot the ginge? Do bullets even work on gingers?’

  A shot fired and the boy frowns in his booster seat, leaning over to look suspiciously at the back of Cassie’s head and her red hair.

  *

  Another small village. A country pub turned chain eatery with too many picnic benches jammed into the gardens to increase customer capacity. Large sun umbrellas now scattered here and there and the pub a mess of burnt timber and crumbling walls from a recent fire. Probably from the storm but then it doesn’t look recent, possibly that big storm eleven days ago, either that or some fucker burnt it down.

  ‘I would say it got struck by lightning,’ Clarence says as they pass. ‘Bit of a thatched roof there…’ he adds glancing at Howie giving him a narrow-eyed sideways look that makes the big man tut.

  ‘I’m going to put some of Blowers gaffer tape over my gob to prove I’m not speaking out loud…’

  ‘You do that,’ Clarence says.

  ‘I will,’ Howie says, looking ahead to the road and the woman coming into view standing in the centre of the carriageway. ‘Aye up chuckies, one ahead…’

  In the north, Cassie lifts the boy from the Range Rover as Gregori steps back from the vehicle with an assault rifle ready in his hands as he turns to look and listen and sniff the air. Detecting nothing. He thought they’d see the things on the way here but not a glimpse of one was gained.

  ‘Is quiet,’ he remarks.

  ‘That’s good isn’t it?’ Cassie asks, plonking the boy down. ‘Maybe they all left…’

  In the south, the woman waits in the light rain that wets her hair to her scalp and soaks through her clothing, the infection within watching Howie and his team drop out and move forward. Blowers and Cookey sharing glances with strange grins, Danny’s mouth hanging open as Howie and Clarence falter in step.

  ‘Hello, how are you,’ the infection says, the woman says, her voice deep and husky in a way that makes Howie cough into his hand as Clarence just blinks while Danny’s mouth hangs open even more.

  ‘Coming through, coming through,’ Reginald says, bustling forward with Maddox. ‘And here we are and oh my good gosh, you can see her nipples…’

  ‘Boobs,’ Danny mumbles.

  ‘S’Mo Mo innit,’ Mo says, nodding at the woman smoothly. ‘I’m Dave trained…’

  ‘Stop gawping,’ Tappy says, whacking Nick again.

  ‘Boobs,’ Danny says again.

  ‘Jesus love, could you find a flimsier top to wear?’ Paula asks. ‘Mo, close your eyes and Danny, close your mouth.’

  ‘You even look at her, Howie,’ Marcy warns, dropping from the Saxon. ‘And yo
u’ll be having sex with your hand for the rest of your life…’

  ‘I am in many places…’ the infection says, the woman says as Danny runs risk of tripping over his own face while trying ever so hard not to look at the beautiful woman in the very wet white top standing in the rain a few steps away. ‘What you are I am not. What I am is the true state of being. My race will succeed yours…’

  Silence.

  ‘Answer her then!’ Paula snaps.

  ‘Totally,’ Howie says quickly, nodding seriously.

  ‘I think so,’ Clarence rumbles, nodding seriously.

  ‘I am more,’ the woman says, the infection says. ‘I am many more what you are. You are cruel and weak. I am not. You cause pain and suffering. I am the…’ she stops talking from the punch coming from the side that sends her sprawling across the ground with teeth flying over the road.

  ‘I am having some issues right now, Alex,’ Charlie says, seething with fury as she stands over the woman she just floored. ‘And until my head is clear I would rather you did not stare at scantily clad women…’ she pulls her pistol, sliding the top back and staring at Cookey. ‘Unless I am not worth waiting for of course…’

  ‘You are,’ Cookey says quickly.

  She nods once, checks aim and fires before holstering the weapon. ‘Good. Glad we’re clear on that… and the image of that woman is not to be stored in your wank-bank.’

  ‘Right,’ Cookey says.

  ‘Think of something else.’

  ‘Right.’

  Charlie pauses, smoothing her top down. ‘That day in the golf hotel. You may think of that.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Good. Right. I’m afraid the infected woman is now dead, Mr Howie. Perhaps we should move on.’

  In the north, the boy wonders what just happened while riding in a trolley in a dust-covered deserted and somewhat stinky supermarket.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Cassie asks him quietly, looking into his eyes while Gregori stops to pray in the aisle of tinned peas.

  ‘Yes,’ the boy says, the infection says. ‘Danny likes boobs…’

  ‘Every man loves boobs my sweet…oh god he’s found the mushy peas…’

  *

  Silence in the Saxon. The men quiet and the women arching eyebrows and showing displeasure by way of doing so. Cookey and Charlie sitting opposite each other. Charlie prim and proper. Cookey trying to figure out the complexities of life then looking down in a very unsubtle way to Charlie’s foot resting on his and not knowing if she is intending to do that or if it’s simply because of the confined space. He wants to ask but he doesn’t. Then she taps that foot a couple of times and he looks up to see her staring at him in a weird way before turning her head while Danny thinks Charlie can piss off and he is definitely storing the mental image of the hot woman in the wet top for his wank-bank.

  ‘One ahead,’ Howie calls out as they near a row of shops bordering the wide road. ‘A bloke,’ he adds. ‘In case anyone was wondering…’

  ‘Has he got a wet top on?’ Marcy asks, getting a few chuckles.

  ‘He’s got no top on,’ Howie says.

  ‘Ooh let’s see,’ Marcy says, looking up and out. ‘Ah, never mind,’ she says on seeing an elderly man with a straggly grey beard. ‘So, are we doing this all day then? Just in and out?’

  ‘Looks that way,’ Howie says, slowing the Saxon to a stop while in a supermarket a few hundred miles away Cassie watches Gregori loading the trolley with tinned and mushy peas.

  ‘I like the mushky peas,’ he says, pausing as he works.

  ‘So I see,’ she remarks, winking at the boy who smiles while the infection watches through the eyes of millions and one elderly man with a straggly beard and no top on.

  ‘And here we are again,’ Howie says as they converge upon the infected man.

  ‘Hello, how are you,’ the infection says, the elderly man says. His eyes switching from Howie to Reginald. The small man thinking fast and clear. Trying to see the hand at play in this game. Everything for a reason. Everything for a purpose. ‘I am the true state of being…’

  Reginald cuts in, ‘and what is the true state of being?’

  ‘I am many. I exist. I have life.’

  ‘It is one thing to make statement, but what, specifically, are you?’

  ‘I am a hive mind collective conscience of many hosts who are in the true state of being.’

  ‘You are not answering the question. What are you?’ Reginald asks again.

  A pause with clear reflection from an entity that knows everything yet struggles to understand.

  ‘You do not know what you are,’ Reginald says. ‘You cling to life and gain the minds of your hosts and you use their thoughts and knowledge as your own, but you have no grasp of it, of them, of what life is. You are a parasite in pretence of life and you will be eradicated as such.’

  ‘I have life.’

  ‘What life? Where? In this old man? Then you are a thief and nothing more for you have taken his life and his body to use against his will.’

  ‘I do not cause suffering.’

  ‘A wholly gross and offensive lie and you Sir, you are given to deceit and cheap tricks which render you as corrupt as humanity for as well as causing suffering we are also given to love and laughter which you lack completely. You are a base, sordid thing.’

  ‘I am life.’

  ‘Repeat it again. Repeat it for the world to hear but that does not make it so. You are not life. You are within life. You take and you hurt and you convince yourself in all your vanity that you are something else…’

  Howie holds still, listening and watching Reginald at work. Seeing a power of a different sort as Marcy’s words come back to his mind. He flicks his gaze between Reginald and the old man, except it’s not the old man he sees, it’s the infection inside, the other player.

  ‘I am life. I exist. I am many but as one…’

  Reginald blinks, surprised at Howie shooting the elderly male through the head. ‘I can only assume you had good reason to shoot him?’

  ‘I did,’ Howie says with a flash in his eyes from the lure of the fight. ‘Load up, we’re going shopping…’

  *

  ‘Anyone would think you actually like shopping,’ Cassie says, marvelling at the apparent enjoyment Gregori is taking in examining the tins, products and things on display in the supermarket. A barrage of questions coming thick and fast. What this. This food? How eat this? What taste like? We try this.

  ‘Is okay,’ Gregori says, as flat as ever but a casualness to his tone that makes Cassie smile.

  ‘You take your time my handsome,’ she says. ‘We’re not in a rush are we,’ she adds, smiling at the boy sucking a lollipop who shakes his head emphatically and waits for Gregori to walk on.

  ‘What am I?’ the boy asks, the infection asks.

  She blasts air out, leaning to brace her weight on the handlebar of the trolley and lowering her voice while seeing the ageless expression on the child. ‘That edges into the realms of philosophy. What am I is not something ever really answered. I can say what I am but Gregori would say something else and another person would give a different answer. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Reginald asked this question.’

  ‘Oh did he now? I see. Well, you tell that jumped up twat that anyone asking that question is a knob and only when he is able to answer the same question should he ever ask it of someone else…’

  ‘What this?’ Gregori asks, coming back with a tin.

  ‘That’s cat food, Gregori.’

  ‘You eat cats?’

  *

  Clarence’s boot to the door and it goes in instantly, the frame flying out from the wall with dust and debris raining down inside. Howie and Dave go first, pausing to let their eyes adjust to the gloom while Meredith pushes past them with her nose to the floor, snuffling off down the length of the shop.

  ‘Looks clear,’ Howie says. ‘You okay checking it? I’ll get Reggie.’

  ‘Yes, Mr How
ie,’ Dave says, heading off after Meredith as Howie steps out to see Paula and Marcy ushering Reginald and Maddox up to the shop.

  ‘I am more than capable of doing this by myself, Marcy,’ Reginald says, clearly irritated. ‘And I might add I am not entirely convinced this is necessary.’

  ‘Stay with him,’ Howie says to Paula and Marcy. ‘I want him sharp. Seriously, do not hold back. We’re making a statement…’

  ‘Okay,’ Marcy says, thankfully serious for once. ‘Leave it with us.’

  ‘I really don’t see how this…’ Reginald starts to say.

  ‘Not every battle is fought with violence,’ Howie says. ‘Get it done, quick as you can.’

  *

  ‘We’ve got one ahead,’ Howie says into the radio. ‘Reggie? Do not hold back.’

  ‘Dear God,’ Marcy mutters, rolling her eyes. ‘There is still another method available…’

  ‘Try this for now,’ Howie says, his head firmly in the game. A woman in the road. Late middle-aged. Short hair and lean with a hawkish appearance. She looks ridiculous in a filthy nightgown but it’s not the person Howie sees now but the thing inside and the ideology of the hive mind possession cements further into reality.

  The woman watches them. The infection inside. The vehicles stopping. Everyone out and making ready. Howie, Clarence, Dave and Paula coming forward. Weapons held.

  ‘Here we are again,’ Howie says.

  ‘Hello, how are you,’ the woman says, the infection says, the boy sucking on a lollipop a few hundred miles away. ‘What are you?’ she asks.

  ‘Do what?’ Howie replies.

  ‘What are you?’

  ‘I’m Howie.’

  ‘You ask this question, now I ask this question. What are you?’ the woman asks, the infection asks.

  ‘Ah now, a returned volley I would suggest,’ Reginald says, prompting the others to move aside so he can come forward and the woman shifts her eyes to take him in. The small man now changed and different. His whole being and bearing changed and different. He was in black clothes before. Loose fitting and unsuited to his form but now a suit adorns his frame. Dark blue pinstripes with a crisp white shirt under a waistcoat and a muted silk tie knotted with an understated half Windsor. Freshly shaven. His hair swept back and clean. The injuries still there but now they only serve to give an air of authority. A man of great learning and knowledge who leans ever so slightly on his black cane that matches his gleaming black brogues because Mr Howie said not to hold back.