‘You squirm and you deflect the question.’
‘I will not be eradicated.’
‘You will and you shall. Answer me! Either the Panacea will eradicate you or you do not know the answer but to admit either exposes your weakness while you cling to vanity and a sheen of pretence that you are omnipresent and God-like in your existence…’
‘I cannot be eradicated.’
‘Liar!’
‘I cannot…’
‘ANSWER ME.’
‘I HAVE LIFE.’
A point scored. A smile from Reginald. ‘You have anger, you can be exploited, and you will be…’
‘You lose fuckface…’
Back into the vehicles. The day now long and the afternoon growing late. Howie in the back of the van with Reginald and Maddox. ‘I wasn’t expecting that flash of anger,’ Howie says.
‘Nor I,’ Reginald says, thinking hard, thinking fast. ‘That child-like way is still there…interesting, very interesting. Was that flash of anger the infection or the host it occupies?’ he trails off, drumming his fingers on the desk.
‘Where are we on the map?’ Howie asks.
‘Here,’ Maddox says, showing Howie their position who balks slightly at not realising how far east they were and spotting the grey splodges of urban zones as he traces a route across the paper from their position now. ‘Another two or three then we pull out and find somewhere for the night…’
‘How the fuck?’ Cookey asks, rummaging in his bag between his feet.
‘What?’ Blowers asks.
‘It’s not possible,’ Cookey says, still rummaging in his bag.
‘What isn’t?’ Blowers asks.
‘That,’ Cookey says, pulling a single sock out.
‘That for your wank-bank time is it?’ Nick asks. ‘You may think of the hotel, Alex…’ he adds primly.
‘Er thank you, Nicholas,’ Charlie says.
‘Why are you holding a sock up?’ Blowers asks.
‘Lost the other one,’ Cookey says, going back to rummaging one-handed in his bag.
‘You’ve lost one already?’ Paula asks. ‘I only just filled those bags.’
‘I know! I can’t find it,’ Cookey says while Blowers remembers what Blinky said in the dream that she stole Clarence’s socks. He thought about sharing what she said, but he felt stupid, so he didn’t. He’s sure it was real though. He told Reginald about the first one when he saw Big Chris and Meredith the woman. He wanted to tell Charlie but at each time he thought about saying it his instincts told him it would only hurt her more.
‘Nope, it’s bloody gone,’ Cookey says with a huff, waving his single sock about. ‘I’ll keep it for you,’ he tells Blowers.
‘For me?’
‘Yeah, it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it…I mean the rate you’re losing body parts. You’ll be a one-eyed, nine-fingered, one-legged, stumpy earless no knees bumless twat within a day or two…have my sock…’
‘I don’t want your stinky fucking sock.’
‘It’s clean,’ Cookey says, sniffing it then thinking. ‘I think it’s clean…is it clean?’ he asks, pushing it at Blowers face.
‘Fuck off!’ Blowers says, leaning back and away.
‘Fine, if you’re going to be like that,’ Cookey says, scrunching it up into a ball. ‘Charlie, is this clean?’
‘That’s gross!’ she yelps as he throws it over and smacks it away to Nick who headbutts it across to Danny who taps it down to Mo who deftly flicks it on to Tappy with a new game instantly underway with clear rules of keeping the sock in the air without grabbing it. Everyone joining in, laughing as they lean away and hit it up and down the Saxon.
‘Dave, get it!’ Cookey shouts, sending the sock down towards Dave who doesn’t look up and for a second it’s clear the game will end, until he flashes a hand out to whack it on without looking.
‘That’s so cool,’ Tappy says, reaching out to knock it back at Dave who does the same again and hits it back without turning to look and the game changes with the sock now aimed at a man who never misses.
‘One ahead,’ Clarence calls out from the front. ‘Boss, it’s Clarence…got one ahead in the town centre…’
‘Game over,’ Blowers says, snatching the sock from the air. ‘Bags on, kit ready…’
‘Yay,’ Marcy says without enthusiasm, ‘we get to watch Reggie boring them to death again…’
‘Oh it’s not that bad,’ Paula says.
‘Um, it is that bad,’ Marcy replies, standing up and getting ready to clamber over the seat as Clarence drops out of the driver’s door.
‘Go go go,’ Cookey says jokingly, shuffling down the Saxon to jump out after Charlie who holds still for a second to purposefully step back into him with a quick grin.
‘Watch where you’re going, Alex.’
‘You watch, Charlotte,’ he replies, walking forward into her as she walks back into him with a quick contest of pushing against each other while the rest jump out and walk past them with easy smiles at their play.
Blowers smiles as he strides out with Danny at his side, glancing to the single female ahead in the centre of a town that looks bigger and more built up than the last ones. He scans his eyes over the doors, windows and access points.
‘Alley up there, Corporal,’ Danny says, aiming to the point of danger.
‘Good spot,’ Blowers says, looking over to Charlie and Cookey still at the back of the Saxon pushing against each other. He draws breath to order them to work then stops the words coming out, seeing Charlie smiling and playful for the first time in ages and figure a few more seconds won’t hurt.
‘Will you stop pushing me please,’ Charlie says.
‘Er, you’re the pushy one,’ Cookey replies, laughing when she turns to look at him, her scar so livid, her shaved head opening her features and her eyes that finally sparkle and shine again.
Howie walks past with Maddox and Reginald, clocking the play between Charlie and Cookey.
‘Quick, Mr Howie’s coming…act normal,’ Cookey quips, both of them stopping to stand with mock innocent faces, earning chuckles and grins from the others.
‘Has he gone?’ Charlie asks.
‘He’s gone,’ Cookey replies. ‘We’d better get to work before Corporal Blowers tries to spank me again…’
‘I heard you like that,’ she says, stepping out to brush past him with a lingering look that make his grin nearly reach his ears. ‘Your hair is such a mess, let me cut it later…’
‘What like yours? No thanks.’
‘Come on,’ Blowers calls out, his tone edging into work-mode. ‘Eyes up…’
‘Sir,’ Charlie says, moving out.
‘Sir, Mr Blowers, Sir,’ Cookey says, stepping behind Charlie as he glances forward to Mr Howie, Maddox and Reginald just stopping in front of the adult female infected. A lurch. A jolt. Cookey blinks and double takes, his head already turning away from looking forward but now snapping back. His vision coming in strobing flashes. A sickening wrench in his gut and he blinks back to the woman at the front and her red bloodshot eyes fixed on him.
He mouths a word that goes unheard as Blowers spots the expression of horror on his best mate’s face as Cookey moves without realising. A step taken, then another and Charlie turns, frowning at hearing him mumble and thinking it to be another joke then seeing his face.
‘That’s my mum…’ Cookey says, then his face hardens as his heart booms to race and he goes fast, striding out with fear and confusion gripping his mind. ‘THAT’S MY MUM…’
‘What the…’ Howie spins, seeing Cookey charging down the side of the Saxon. His face a mask. The words bellowing out. ‘Oh shit…’ he snaps his head back to the woman, seeing the familiarity right there.
‘THAT’S MY MUM…’ Cookey goes to run, to sprint without knowing why, without conscious thought. Voices shouting. He doesn’t hear them but charges forward as the impact comes from his side with Charlie and Blowers driving into him, taking him down in a tangle of l
imbs. ‘MUM! THAT’S MY FUCKING MUM…’
‘Cookey! Look at me,’ Charlie struggles to grip his face as Blowers scrabbles to hold him, stopping him from rising. Everything happening so fast. In the blink of an eye, in the beat of a heart.
‘THAT’S MY FUCKING MUM!’
‘It’s not…Cookey…LOOK AT ME,’ Charlie shouts, twisting his head towards her. Blowers holding him from behind.
‘MUM!’
‘IT’S NOT,’ Charlie shouts, dominating his vision. Her hands on his cheeks. ‘LOOK AT ME…LOOK AT ME…ALEX, IT’S NOT…LOOK AT ME…’
‘It’s my…’
‘It’s not, I promise you,’ Charlie speaks urgently and soft, driving her words into his mind, her hands stopping him from looking away. His blue eyes filling with tears that spill over her hands.
‘It’s…it’s…’ he stammers, shocked and horrified.
‘It’s not, just look at me, Cookey. Look at me…it’s not your mum…I swear to you, I swear to you with all of my heart that is not your mum now look at me…LOOK AT ME,’ she pushes her hands over his ears, and nods once to Blowers before pressing her lips to Cookey’s mouth, holding him still, deadening his senses. A nod from Blowers to Howie who aims and fires once with the dull crack heard so easily it makes Cookey flinch with tears pouring from his eyes squeezed closed and his hands gripping Charlie who holds herself against him in the pouring rain on a wet road. ‘I swear to you…I swear it,’ she whispers.
In the north, the boy smiles in the back of the Range Rover. The sun shining outside. The weather warm and pleasant. Music filling the car and Cassie twisting in her seat to smile at him. ‘Are they there?’
‘Yes, Cassie,’ the boy says, the infection says.
‘Good, let’s see how cocky they are now…’
‘GOT MOVEMENT,’ Danny shouts in the street in the south, his head snapping from looking at Cookey on the ground back to the alley and a figure coming into view.
‘THIS SIDE,’ Nick shouts at the same time from the other side of the Saxon, seeing motion in the depths of a store with a busted in window.
‘REAR,’ Roy shouts at that same second, his hands already drawing the first few inches of tension in the arrow nocked and ready. Figures behind them coming out from the store front on both sides.
‘FRONT,’ Howie gives the warning at the same time as the others, lifting his rifle in readiness. ‘Charlie…get mounted please…’
‘CORPORAL!’ Danny shouts, panic edging into his voice.
‘Take it easy, Danny,’ Clarence shouts down. ‘Everyone stay calm…’
‘CORPORAL!’ Danny screams again.
‘Mate, I’m coming…’ Blowers snaps.
‘THAT’S MY STEPDAD…’ Danny bellows, seeing Keiron emerging from the alley. A big man with a big gut and unmistakable in appearance.
Meredith starts barking. Jess kicking her feet at the back of the trailer, smelling the infected, wanting to be free and moving.
Charlie lurches up, one hand gripping Cookey’s, heaving him to his feet as the blond lad blinks and swallows, grabbing his rifle with shaky hands as Charlie runs for the trailer. The only sounds in the street coming from those in the middle shouting warnings as more infected emerge silently into view. A few seconds and no more. A few seconds of utter insidious horror at Cookey seeing his mother and now Danny shouting on seeing his stepdad and to the last, they all know what’s coming. To the last they brace and ready for the worst nightmare any of them thought possible because England is not a big country, and the south, the areas they are all from, and the area they have been fighting in since this began, is small and the distances easy to cross, especially for those that don’t fatigue or feel pain.
Reginald flinches, inwardly berating himself for being so drawn into the game he didn’t factor for the dirty tactics and cheap tricks the other side could use against them. He should have realised when the infected said all of their names earlier in the day because everything is done for a reason. Everything is done for a purpose and he knows their world is about to become a much darker place.
‘LISTEN CHAPS…LISTEN TO ME…’ Reginald shouts. ‘THEY’RE GOING TO SEND PEOPLE WE KNOW…’
‘TERRY!’ Nick cries out as he wilts back from the figures coming from the stores on his side. ‘My cousin…that’s my cousin…’
‘THEY ARE NOT PEOPLE,’ Reginald shouts as Charlie reaches the back of the trailer, booting the bolts free to drop the ramp and stepping back as Jess thunders out, turning on the spot as Charlie catches glimpse of a woman in the line of infected coming towards them. A woman of mixed race, tall and elegant, once beautiful. Her father’s sister. She tries to mount Jess and in the shock of the second, her foot misses as Jess twitches and skitters to the side.
‘Macka,’ Clarence mutters, a great sadness crossing his face. ‘Oh mate…’
Howie looks to the big man then over to an infected male with a military bearing. Tall, broad-shouldered with a shaved head. The parachute regiment winged tattoo so clear on his bare chest. More of the same kind seen in the lines and ranks.
‘Jack? Ben? I fought with them…I…Macka? We served mate…we fought…Jack! WE FOUGHT TOGETHER…’
Mo grunts, hardening his features on seeing a man of Arabic appearance further down the street. A cousin, maybe an uncle. His big family spread all over the country. Paula staggers back a step, shaking her head then lifting her rifle to aim but unable to shoot her grandfather, the man who used to collect her from school when her mum was working. The man she adored now a bare few metres away.
On all sides, they see faces they know. On all sides, they see relatives and people known in life now with red bloodshot eyes. A foul trick played. An awful thing to do and just mere seconds from Cookey seeing his mother to this now. Just mere seconds from them arriving in this street to this now. Mere seconds of a change from humour and energy to that deep chilling horror stealing through them as they yell and cry out in shock and in the north, the boy grins all toothy and happy, nodding along to the music, to a fast-building beat of a pop song and he lifts his hands to hold in front of his head, his fists clenched and that beat builds to a crashing roll of drums and his hands open like a magician revealing the spectacle of his trick and in the street in the south, in the rain and in the horror, so their world changes in a heartbeat with every window above the team in the street blowing out from bodies leaping through in perfect synchronicity and every infected giving voice to howl and screech and drive that fear deeper. Filling the air with noise and terror, with confusion on all sides and those infected sailing through the windows do not land heavy and bleeding this time because the infection is evolving. The infection is learning, and they land on their feet with knees bending to take them into deep crouches as they absorb the short drop. Beasts now. Not human. Some land on the Saxon roof and bonnet. More on the new van. Others on the trailer. The rest on the road within the team as yet more come howling after them and those that were silent before now rage and charge.
What can they do? There is no time to rally or form a defensive circle. The shock was enough to make them stand rooted to the spot. What can they do? They aim to fire but wilt back and hesitate at shooting into the faces of the people they know and in such bedlam the risk of crossfire and shooting each other is too high. What can they do? They try and draw hand-weapons to fight and summon the rage needed but the press of the attack is too sudden, too hard and too horrifying.
What can they do? There is no choice and so, for the first time in days, they run.
‘ON ME…’ They aim for Dave’s huge voice. The only one amongst them not affected by the horror. The only one amongst them who would cut his mother’s throat and stand easy after, that may well happen but then Dave doesn’t know his mother. ‘ON ME…’ they aim for Dave, rallying on Dave. Charlie running alongside Jess, adjusting her step in readiness to vault to mount but taken down by an infected diving into her legs. Jess rears high, whinnying and snorting them coming down hard to ram her hard
head into the skull of the male attacking Charlie, killing him instantly then bucking round in a circle, kicking her legs out as Tappy wades in, grabbing Charlie to get her up and moving.
Blowers driving forward, one hand on the strap of Danny’s bag, making the younger lad move. Mo with Marcy. Everyone running. Everyone aiming for Dave’s voice.
Nick taken off his feet by his cousin and driven back through a plate glass window that shatters and falls as the two men land heavily in a clothes shop. Rolling over and over with one raking and biting and one doing everything possible to get away. Meredith leaps in, a snarl, a growl and she rips the man from Nick who lurches up and aims to fire at the infected coming into the shop. Too many of them. Too much confusion and chaos. A flash from the side and the infected drop quickly one after the other as Dave goes through them with brutal ease. ‘ON ME…’
Out the shop. Into the street. Nick gaining Tappy and Charlie’s side. Charlie still holding Jess’s reins. Infected running in amongst them. Howie glimpsed. Others too. Clarence flinging one aside like a doll. More leaping onto his back and Roy goes in, grabbing them off while running.
Pure bedlam. Pure heaving, screaming, panic filled chaos and the rain falls, making the surface of the road slick and wet and so they trip and fall, banging knees and hands, grazing skin and feeling hands gripping their collars and arms to drag them up and on.
Hundreds now. Hundred more behind them. A world of noise and still they see the faces of their kin. Paula’s grandfather looming who drops with a gurgle from Dave lashing his hand out to slither the blade across his throat. She screams out, seeing her own grandfather fall and for a second she falters until Roy grabs her wrist, pulling her on.
‘RUN DANNY,’ Blowers fights like a demon, snarling and screaming at Danny to keep going while punching the infected down as they charge in. ‘YOU FUCKING RUN, DANNY…’
On they run, to be away from people they worked with. People they went to school with. Any and all connections of life exploited and used. Faces recognised from years gone by and others they only saw in the final days before the event happened.
‘MOHAMMED WITH ME,’ Dave drops back through the press, finding Mo. ‘Rifles then pistols. Fire till empty then we go…’ the tutor says.
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