‘In terms of species I am the result of a glob of goo that crawled from a primordial swamp that split into many forms of species that all evolved over many millions of years, and as that span of ages passed so the Hominidae came to be which spawned apes and of course gibbons and orangutans…and it is thought the human and chimpanzee forms parted from the gorillas and in turn the humans and chimps then split and on we go until eventually we are pottering about on two legs thinking of sex and fire and throwing things at each other, much as we do in present times, or did do until of course you came along and destroyed it. That is very roughly our genealogy, but the question can also be posed as a philosophical one, and in answer to that I would suggest I have true sentience so therefore I abide the order of needs. Air, water, food, shelter and so forth until I desire art and understanding to shape my world and find my fit within. I have emotions that may be the result of chemicals or one could argue the chemicals are as a result of the emotions. I feel. I love. I fear and I hate. I hurt and I cause pain but I hurt and I feel pain. In short, I am human and defined as such by all of those things…’ a pause for dramatic effect and Reginald finally looks at the woman. ‘Now, what are you? Other than a parasitic smear in a petri dish incubated in a laboratory…’
A pause too long.
‘One-nil fuckface,’ Howie says, shooting the woman dead.
*
In the north, they peruse the aisles at a leisurely pace. Picking this and that to go into the trolleys. Cassie relaxed and playful, knowing there are thousands of infected in a solid radius about her family. An encapsulation of safety. A few words to the boy when she can. To the thing inside him.
‘It’s fine,’ she says on hearing Reginald’s answer. ‘Fuck him, you’ve got millions of minds…there’ll be something the little twerp doesn’t know…’
In the south, they hit the next town to stop and get out to approach the infected for Reginald to stride in with his cane tapping the road as he walks into round two.
‘Hello, how are you,’ the man says, the infected says.
‘Ah, in French I see,’ Reginald replies in perfect French. ‘Very well, as you wish. Charlie, it wishes to talk to us in French.’
‘So I heard,’ Charlie says in perfect French. ‘Perhaps we can discuss Voltaire and his views on the separation of the church from the state…’
‘Oh, a grand idea! Yes, let’s discuss Francois-Marie Arouet. A very apt subject given his views against tyranny…’
‘Two-nil fuckface…’
*
‘You cannot succeed. You have so few. I have many. Your kind cannot survive…’
‘Oh but yet here we are,’ Reginald retorts a few villages later, his oratory skills growing with each round, like a skilled barrister presenting to the jury. His features animated, the tone and inflection of his voice giving rise and lilt against the flat voice of the infection. The cane in his hand now a prop to gesture and tap, to lean on when he passes scorn, comical and erudite. ‘Twenty-five days into your new empire and we are still here, so tell me, my Emperor, how is that working out for you?’
‘Five nil fuckface.’
Into the vehicles. The energy high from something new afoot. Danny not really having a clue what’s going on but happy to be here and doing it, in the middle of whatever this is and anyway, he saw boobs in a wet top earlier so nothing else really matters.
Charlie’s foot resting on Cookey’s again. He doesn’t remark on it, nor does Blowers or Nick or Tappy or anyone else because they can see it in her eyes. I’m hurting so much inside right now and I don’t want you near me but please don’t abandon me.
Into the next town and out to form up to make safe for Reginald to deploy and walk into the ring to fight his opponent.
‘Go on, Reggie,’ Cookey says as he passes.
‘Get ‘em, Reggie,’ Nick says,
‘On you, Reggie, we’ve got your back,’ Blowers says.
‘You’s smart as fuck bro,’ Mo says.
‘Fuck me this is the most boring day ever,’ Marcy says.
‘Hello, how are you,’ the man says, the infection says. ‘Accept the end now. You cannot win. My kind do not suffer. They do not feel pain.’
‘Oh but they do,’ Reginald says gently. ‘Withdraw from this host body and he will feel great pain. His left arm is shorn off. I can see the bone and a most awful injury that is so please, withdraw and we’ll see if he feels the agony you hide from him.’
‘I have no pain. I am the true state of being.’
‘But therein lies the true degradation of what you are. Cliches are trite, awful things but they are clichés for a reason, so shall we try one now? If there were no fools, there would be no wise men…if there was no rain then how can I have such love for the sunshine? If I never feel sadness how can I ever feel happiness? If I never suffer loss how will I know gain? Without defeat, I cannot have victory and if I do then I won’t know what it is. Do you see? You must see.’
A pause.
‘Six nil fuckface…’ Howie aims and fires, sending the bullet into the head of the man, blowing his skull out in a shower of bone and gore.
‘It feels like we’re being played,’ Reginald says quietly, urgently.
‘I know, we’ll talk in a minute,’ Howie replies just as quietly, holstering his pistol before looking around and spotting a coffee shop across the street. ‘Engineering corps! Do magic things and get power into that super shiny big coffee machine I can spy over there…’
‘That’ll be us then, Roy,’ Nick says, turning to the older man.
‘Whoa, wait. You have an engineering corps?’ Tappy asks.
‘Er, it’s kinda newly formed, as in the last ten seconds,’ Howie says.
‘Awesome. Can I join? I make better knots than Nick and Roy…’
‘Crack on,’ Howie says while in the north a brick flies through a window of a café, shattering the glass that clatters down to break apart on the ground.
Gregori goes in first. Assessing and making it safe before going back out for the generator pilfered from the hardware store that he gets running behind the counter next to the shiny coffee machine.
‘This is er…nice?’ Cassie says, wincing a little at the rundown state of the café interior. ‘Ah well, long as we get decent coffee…need a hand?’
In the south, the window of the café goes through from being hit with an axe by Nick then raked out to make safe. Mo and Dave go in, checking the inside before a long extension cable is run from the new van while Tappy yanks the wires from the back of the coffee machine and starts work to make the new connections.
‘Where did you learn this stuff?’ Nick asks, bringing the extension cable in.
‘Love it,’ Tappy says, a pair of grips between her teeth. ‘My dad was so into DIY…’
‘Yeah? You’d be handy at the fort.’
‘Deffo want to see it one day…are you watching me work?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Ahem, fuck off and splice your own wires.’
‘Ahem, my wires are already spliced, fuckhead.’
‘Such a twat. Is the fort good?’
‘Wasn’t but it is now. You’ll like Lilly.’
‘Who’s Lilly?’
‘Um, she runs the fort…’
‘Why the um?’ she asks.
‘She’s kinda my girlfriend but…’
‘Oh wow, that’s very cool. Your girlfriend runs the fort? Kudos to you, Nicholas.’
‘Yeah, she’s really nice.’
‘Aw bless, you’ve got little hearts in your eyes.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘Joking. Tell me about Lilly…’
‘Don’t be a dick.’
‘I’m not! Seriously, tell me about her…’
‘Power’s ready when you need it,’ Roy calls through.
Gregori doesn’t splice wires. He simply unplugs the coffee machine then plugs it into the generator chugging away happily. He flicks the switch, grunting with satisfaction at seeing
the lights coming on then pausing with a clear indication that he has absolutely no clue what to do next.
‘Bless,’ Cassie says, laughing at his expression. ‘Caveman make power…make fire…’ she mimics a deep voice, gently pushing him out from behind the counter. ‘You go and sit down and let me be the café lady…’ she ushers him off then goes back to stand with her hands on the counter then slouches into one hip and adopts a cock-eyed expression. ‘Ee-by-gum lad, thou want a cuppa does thou?’ a northern accent, a weird face and the boy laughs in delight.
‘Barista coming through,’ Cookey says, marching behind the counter of the café in the south. ‘I maka the cappuccino ina cupa for youa,’ he starts grabbing mugs, sing-songing in an awful Italian accent. ‘I lika makea the coffeea with the chocolate cocka on the topa…’
A separation of hundreds of miles. A café in the north in a town cleared of hosts and people by a thing inside a boy following the instruction of a woman, and that woman pretends to be a northern tea lady, clattering about noisily as the boy laughs and Gregori learns how to smile.
A separation of hundreds of miles. A café in the south in a town filled with armed men and women who have fought back and earned the right to stop and drink coffee while everyone else struggles to live. For the losses they have given and the pain they have suffered while a young man with chopped up blond hair and twinkling blue eyes makes them laugh as he makes drinks in the guise of an Italian barista.
Drinks made. Long life milk frothed up in steel jugs. Coffee granules everywhere. Milk spilled over the sides of the mugs and across the counters. Hot chocolate for the boy. Hot chocolate for a few of the team. A pause in the game. A break for both sides.
‘Okay, so what’s happening?’ Paula asks, sitting down at the table and pausing as they all look to the huge horse stepping into the café to batter chairs and table aside to find Clarence to butt her head into his shoulder in search of food, the dog sitting obediently at his side staring up with her ears flat and her eyes round and sad.
‘Why are they doing that?’ Nick asks.
‘Wish I knew,’ Clarence says a touch too innocently as Paula smiles at the sight.
‘If I may bring the topic back to the subject at hand,’ Reginald says, resplendent in his attire. ‘We are on a dangerous path, Mr Howie.’
‘I know,’ Howie says.
‘If we remain on this linear route they will prepare for us,’ Reginald continues. ‘We’re moving from village to town on a straight line and other than the singular host bodies left to engage us we are not seeing any, which suggests they are being drawn or moved to another place.’
‘Probably,’ Howie says.
‘Indeed,’ Reginald says. ‘And may I also point out that our current direction is taking us towards London and although that is not a significant matter of concern right now it soon may be. The towns will soon become bigger with an increase in population densities…’
‘How far until we see that?’ Clarence asks.
‘We have a few more small villages yet,’ Maddox replies, bringing everyone’s attention to him. ‘I’m plotting the route with Reginald in the van,’ he explains.
‘I thought we were looking for the Marcy one,’ Paula says.
‘We are,’ Howie says. ‘But we need to know where to look. In London? South? North? Blowers suggested north from…you know…but where in the north? I don’t know…I’ve just got a feeling…’
‘I know what you mean,’ Marcy says, leaning forward to lower her coffee cup. ‘Firstly, I still think you should let me sort it from here but…but!’ she says again louder at the grumble of voices. ‘But if we’re staying on this plan then keep doing this. There’s something about it…like…ah I’m not clever like Charlie and I don’t know the words but…it’s like it wants to compete. Does that make sense? No, I’ve got it,’ she says, clicking her fingers. ‘It’s vain…like me, yes that’s it. I don’t think it can handle us winning, or at least not being dead yet…it’s like a really smart bratty little kid that can do maths and knows stuff but can’t tie its own shoelaces or understand why everyone isn’t kissing his arse…’
‘As eloquent as ever, my dear.’
‘Fuck off, Reggie. Help me out and explain it properly.’
‘Oh gosh, you don’t need my help.’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ she huffs, reaching up to pull her hair back.
‘I am at great pains to admit this, but I think Marcy’s instincts are correct,’ Reginald says. ‘We are challenging it…’
‘You’re also teaching it,’ Maddox cuts in.
‘There is that,’ Reginald admits quietly.
‘We keep going,’ Howie says. ‘Straight on…if anyone wants out then say so but my gut is telling me to stick with it for now. Everyone happy? Good. Drink up then we’ll press on.’
In the north, Cassie leans over the table, whispering urgently while Gregori visits the toilet. ‘They’ve stopped for coffee too? Isn’t that nice. We’re all doing the same thing,’ she says with a look of distaste. ‘But it’s good, it means they must be comfortable…keep going and get them all ready where we said…’
Twenty
Day Twenty-five
Coffee drunk. Caffeine and sugar levels spiking to give energy. Cassie, the boy and Gregori moving out from their café to potter about their empty, deserted town at leisure.
Howie and his team moving out from their café to load up and push on and play a game of many layers where the true cost of losing will be the loss of their species. No pressure then. No pressure at all.
‘Fuck ‘em, we’ll win,’ Blowers calls out from the back of the Saxon.
‘Argh,’ Howie says.
‘Idiot,’ Marcy mutters.
Into the next village for Reginald to pits his wits in battle. His cane tapping as he walks and his cane tapping as he scores points.
‘I am sentient. I am life. I have life,’ the infection says.
‘To what end? To what purpose? For what? You cannot be sentient and not adhere to the order of needs. It is not possible because you are shaped by the hosts you possess. You are not what you think you are. You do not know what you are so how can you possibly claim to be superior?’
Into the next place to another infected person in the game of many layers. A woman this time. Thin and young, her skin scarred and sallow from years of Heroin addiction. Old track marks on her arms.
‘This host was addicted to a narcotic. Her blood was diseased. Her life-span less than expected. Now this host is not addicted. She has no disease.’
‘She is also dead,’ Reginald counters. ‘She cannot take pleasure from the thing you have given her because her own sentience has been taken by yours. I wholly congratulate you on your abilities, but this host died two minutes after you passed into her. You are a thief and a murderer.’
Into the next as the pressure of the day starts to build proper. Going willingly into a trap while the infection seeks to undermine them while they seek the same.
‘Humans will destroy the world. I will not. I will repair. I will improve. I am the cure.’
‘You are the cull before the cure. You are not the Panacea my dear chap. Now tell me, will the Panacea eradicate you?’
A pause. The essence of uncertainty.
‘You lose fuckface.’
Into the vehicles. Charlie and Tappy chatting about horses. Charlie’s foot on Cookey’s. The lads laughing. Reginald in his van thinking hard, thinking fast.
‘You had something then,’ Maddox tells him. ‘It didn’t like that question.’
Into the next town and Reginald walks out to stride through his team towards the infected male.
‘Hello, how are you…’ the male says, the infection says.
‘Will the Panacea eradicate you?’ Reginald goes in hard, attacking instantly.
‘I am the cure,’ the infection parries the blow, moving aside.
‘Will the Panacea eradicate you?’ Reginald presses his attack, driving into his opponent
with hard body shots.
‘I cure all,’ a defence given, the blows blocked.
‘No! You do not. Answer the question or do you not know?’ Reginald moves fast, hammering his punches, driving his knee into the beast. ‘Answer the question. Will the Panacea eradicate you?’
The infection blocks and parries, sliding and veering to get back from the onslaught ‘I am the cure. I cure all.’
‘Be altruistic and leave then. Vanish and leave your cure in the hosts you possess.’
‘I am the cure.’
‘You lie! You deceiver you. You’re avoiding the question. Answer me! Will the Panacea eradicate you?’
A pause too long. ‘I cannot be eradicated.’
‘You lose again fuckface…’
Into the vehicles. Charlie’s foot on Cookey’s. Danny loving every minute of being trained and taught by Blowers, of being here with everyone else. Jokes and chat flowing as the energy increases from seeing Reginald repeatedly batter his opponent.
Howie now in the van with Reginald and Maddox. ‘Good work, Reggie. Press it. Go hard…’
‘It’s working,’ Maddox says, looking from Howie to Reginald.
Into the next. Howie and Maddox leading Reginald into the ring, onto the field of battle. The small man’s face ablaze with the lust for the fight. His cane tapping. His face set. Murmured words of encouragement buoying him on.
‘I cannot be eradicated,’ the woman says, the infection says. No greeting this time. The fight underway instantly as Howie and Maddox step aside to let Reginald through.
‘Liar!’ the small man’s voice fills the street, booming with power and passion. ‘Will the Panacea eradicate you?’
‘I cannot be eradicated. I am the one true race…’
‘Liar!’
‘I am the one true race. I cure all. I have no pain. I have no suffering.’
‘Liar! You lie and you cheat…’
‘I am the true state of being…’
The Undead_Day 22 Page 28