‘OKAY,’ Howie shouts. ‘I’LL OPEN THIS DOOR.’
‘OKAY,’ Clarence shouts. ‘I’LL OPEN THIS OTHER DOOR.’
‘I’LL PUT REGINALD ON THIS HORSE,’ Maddox shouts.
‘I’M KILLING THEM WITH BLINKY MR HOWIE.’
‘GREAT NAME,’ Paula shouts, pulling a small pad and pen from her pocket. ‘I’LL MAKE A LIST…’
Two doors. One leading to a yard full of infected children. The other leading to a wide corridor jammed full of infected relatives, friends, associates and old co-workers. More in the warehouse behind them and more coming in through the doors. More on the roof above them.
A silence of a second. A second of nothingness. A second of life that goes by never to be seen again.
Then the world changes and the doors open with a white powder coated Meredith charging into the yard without giving a flying fuck as to what sizes the things are or if they look like kids or not and a white powder coated Jess and a screaming Reginald on her back going into the corridor without giving a fuck as to who is related to who and what connections they may have once had in life.
Everyone else charges out behind them. Thrumming and strumming with wild energy. Hearts racing. Pupils the size of plates. Dave dancing on the Cocaine table killing them as they fall from the skylight. Everyone else going out through whatever door is closest to kill whoever is closest.
Charlie kills her aunt. Cookey helps her. The two screaming as they do it. Nick and Tappy killing their cousins. Mo downing his probation officer. Maddox killing Jagger’s sister then spotting Kieron through the press of bodies and rushes into him, cutting his throat from behind as Danny stabs his huge gut.
From the corridor, through the Cocaine room to the yard on the other side. A brutal, bloody, vicious, sordid battle and when those first few minutes of energy, given freely by the drug ingested into their systems, starts to wane and so once again the horror of what they do comes to the fore but now there is no running and there is no falling back. So they fight and kill. Stabbing those they once knew. Killing and hacking apart. Swinging axes while Jess runs back and forth, kicking and battering them down while Reginald clings to her back.
The press comes too much, forcing them back into the room where the air is filled with white powder that is inhaled, giving fresh wild, painful bursts of energy but what it does to them it does double to Dave who moves with a blur. From one side of the room to the other. Literally running back and forth slicing tendons to make a bed of writhing, snarling infected to run over. Then he does it again for fun before running the length of the corridor, his arms flashing left and right with arcs of blood spraying out like synchronised fountains behind him. Into the warehouse and he runs up and down, Stabbing and slicing. Vaulting this way and that. Dancing and spinning. Music in his mind. Blinky in his hand. Stab left. Stab right. Spin between two. Stop. Smile. Go back and kill those two. Run on and do it again back through the warehouse and back through the corridor to the Cocaine room to make add another layer to his carpet of bodies.
Everyone else starts to wane. Burnt out and finding it harder and harder to keep going. The yard now cleared and Paula falls out first, staggering to drop and heave for air. Marcy right behind her. Mo still at her side pushing her and Paula on and away to a corner. Pressing rifles into their hands before going back in to guide Charlie and Cookey out with Nick, Tappy and Maddox crawling out behind them. The yard becomes the safe zone. The corner their gained ground where they grip rifles and pistols and heave and gasp for air, bleeding freely. Clarence comes out, a near unconscious Danny over one shoulder and he slumps down with Roy and the others. A noise inside. A heavy sound and Jess charges out into the yard to get to Charlie. Reginald still on her back. Only Howie, Blowers, Dave and Meredith remain inside. The sounds of fighting intense and hard.
Clarence rises, swaying on his feet but summoning energy from god knows where to go back in and fight. Cookey and Nick using each other to heave up behind him as Howie and Blowers fall arm in arm from the door, sprawling and staggering, tripping and slipping to crawl hand over foot to the others.
‘Dave’s still in,’ Clarence says, his voice barely a whisper.
‘Fine…he’s…he’s fine…’ Howie gasps.
Clarence stares down, nods once and sags to sit with the others to stare at the door and the seconds go by that become minutes and still the sounds of battle come from inside until Dave pops out, leaping to land deftly with a quick look at everyone gathered in the corner. The first time they’ve ever seen him covered in blood and gore with a huge smile showing that animates his entire being.
‘I’VE GOT BLINKY,’ he yells, showing them his knife. A bark from inside and Dave turns quickly, running back in and the seconds go by that become minutes but in Dave they trust.
‘HAHAHAHAHA…’ a laugh heard, Dave’s voice but the why or what for is not known and still it goes on. A bark. A thud and Meredith runs backwards from the door, an infected woman gripped in her jaws that she rags side to side before releasing and turning to look at her back before running back in and the seconds go by that become minutes but in Dave and Meredith they trust.
Then it grows quieter and the single acts of battle are heard. The bite and snarl from Meredith. The thud of bodies falling. The spray of liquid against a wall. A grunt here. A howl and a hiss then silence, and that silence extends and goes on while they stare at the rolled back sliding door and wait and listen and watch as Dave and Meredith finally walk out. The two side by side and dripping with blood from every inch of their bodies. The dog panting. Dave’s mouth open so he can breathe just a little bit harder. His knife still clutched in his hand. His knife called Blinky that he lifts to motion at the door he just came from.
‘They’re all dead now, Mr Howie,’ he says.
‘Okay, Dave,’ Howie croaks. ‘Thanks for that.’
Dave nods, wiping an arm across his forehead. ‘Can I sit down, Mr Howie?’
‘S’fine, Dave.’
‘I’ll sit down here, Mr Howie.’
‘Okay, Dave.’
‘I feel a bit strange, Mr Howie.’
‘It’s the Cocaine, Dave…Dave?’ he leans a little to look round Clarence, frowning at seeing Dave slumped against a wall fast asleep with Meredith lying flat at his side and above them the rain falls from a sky growing darker as the night comes towards them and in the north the boy bursts into tears, stamping his feet in the hallway of the isolated country house.
‘Whoa, what’s all that about?’ Cassie asks, scooping him up into her arms. ‘Shush, it’s okay…’
‘They deaded and Dave made all their brains come out and and the doggy bited them…’
‘Shush,’ Cassie says soothingly, carrying him back to the kitchen to sit down at the table, holding him close as Gregori pops his head in the back door, his face sweating from exercise. ‘He’s fine,’ Cassie says, ‘just tired, you carry on…I’ll do dinner in a minute,’ she waits for Gregori to go back out and rocks slowly side to side, soothing and quietening the child. ‘Where are they?’
A pause and she doesn’t need to look to know the thing inside the boy has come forward. ‘They are in a yard…’
‘Take me there,’ she says quietly, holding the boy’s head near her mouth, still rocking him slowly.
In the south, in the yard at the back of the warehouse used for Cocaine storage and distribution, Howie breathes hard, grimacing at the dull ache in his head and the awful feeling of fatigue no doubt brought on by the Cocaine and the shock of what they just did. Everyone else either slumped against the wall or each other or lying flat out with chests heaving.
‘Boobs,’ Danny mumbles, images flashing through his drugged mind.
‘We need to go,’ Howie says, looking to the back of the yard and the high gates topped with coils of razor wire that rattle and shake for a few seconds. ‘Fuck it…’ he grabs his rifle, easing his bag off to open the flap and find a fresh magazine as the others stir and start doing the same. Clunks and clicks r
inging out as they get loaded and make ready while the rattle and shake at the gates comes harder. ‘I can’t even stand,’ Howie says weakly, lifting his rifle up. ‘Is Dave still asleep?’
‘Yeah,’ Nick whispers, sliding the bolt back on his rifle.
One by one, those awake and able lift rifles to aim while sitting in the rain surrounded by bodies and from the gates comes a snap and a wrench as the lock is snapped. They swing out slowly, giving a gradually increasing view to an Indian man standing in front of a big horde. All of them silent and staring. All of them sinister in appearance and Cassie holds the boy in her arms, his head nestled into her shoulder, her mouth close to his ear, her eyes fixed and staring ahead. Music playing on the stereo, not too loud but enough to prevent Gregori hearing her whispers. She thinks of her family, of her life before now, and she thinks of Gregori and the things he was trained and brain-washed to do. She thinks of many things while whispering softly. ‘Are they there?’ the boy nods. ‘Good, repeat what I say…humans do not deserve this world anymore…’
‘Humans do not deserve this world anymore,’ the Indian male standing in front of the horde speaks out. A kind face on a gentle man who always had a smile ready to brighten the days of others. Now with red eyes and a soft tone.
‘And you do?’ Reginald asks, lifting his head from Jess’s mane while still clinging to her back.
‘And you do?’ the boy says in Cassie’s arms.
‘Yes,’ Cassie whispers.
‘Yes,’ the Indian male says.
‘Tell me why,’ Reginald says.
‘Tell me why,’ the boy relays.
‘Don’t tell me what to do you jumped up little cunt,’ Cassie whispers, the Indian man says from the edge of the yard. ‘You’ve been dealing with a child up till now but I’m not a kid…’
‘Who am I speaking to?’ Reginald asks.
‘Who am I speaking to?’ the boy whispers.
‘You’re talking to me you patronising twat and I know exactly who you are…all of you. What are you trying to prove? It’s done. It’s over…’
‘Dear God, how do I get off this thing?’ Reginald yelps as he slides off Jess to stagger a few steps before leaning on his cane and trying to show some semblance of dignity. ‘It is far from over…’
‘What is wrong with you? You want to put the world back to what it was? Why?’
‘Because it was not yours to take,’ Reginald says simply.
Cassie closes her eyes, lifting the boy higher to hold closer, her voice low but urgent. ‘I used to walk past homeless people in the street and hope to God they wouldn’t look at me or ask for change. I’d tut when charity adverts came on the television asking for money for whatever shit thing happened in whatever shit part of the world because none of us fucking cared and those that did were too few and labelled as hippy twats or left-wing idiots…’
‘Very trite,’ Reginald cuts in.
‘Is that Reginald?’ the Indian man asks.
‘Yes,’ the boy says, the infection says, the Indian man says.
‘Reginald, shut up and listen,’ the Indian man continues, Cassie continues. ‘Our country was something like the sixth biggest economy in the world, but we had people dying in corridors in hospitals or lying in ambulances because we couldn’t afford to deal with them, while we spent billions on bombs and nuclear weapons and war and fighting and we lied to make it okay to do that. My dad was a government minister, but he fucked rent-boys and used Cocaine and my own mother worried more about her image than anything else and although I can’t see you right now I can picture you exhausted and filthy but feeling righteous and smug and I don’t know why because I bet your lives were as shit and empty as mine. We all felt it. It was broken and wrong. How did Blinky die? Seriously, I’m asking because I don’t know. We didn’t kill her which means something else happened and you’re all covered in cuts and bruises, so someone hurt you…but it wasn’t us and you’re fighting for them? For people that do that to you?’ she pauses to draw air and flutters her eyes open, smiling across to Gregori walking in to fill a cup of water from the sink as everyone in the yard simply stares at the Indian man.
Cassie lifts the boy closer, dropping her voice so Gregori can’t hear. ‘I’m sorry you’ve lost everyone. I really am…we all have but you know what? I’ve never been happier than I am right now. Smell the air, Howie. How clean is it now? Have you seen the animals in the fields? They’re all fine. It’s only us that suffered, and we deserved it so if you think for one second I will let you take this from me, or harm this boy I will send every single host I have against you and I will tear down every single fucking building to find you. Do not push me, Howie…let it go. Go and grow old. I’ve seen pictures of Marcy, she’s so beautiful it made me feel sick…what the fuck is wrong with you? Go and make babies with her. I’ve seen pictures of all of you. You’re good people, decent people. I get that…be proud of what you’ve done and making a stand but let it end now, Howie. Let your people live. Give them life and don’t keep bringing them against me because you will not win. You can’t win. We’re never going back to what it was…’
Another pause. A chance to breathe and kiss the boy’s head. A rush of emotion inside Cassie. A rush of love. ‘I did this today to show you how much power this thing has…sending your families against you was evil but I wanted your attention so listen to me because this is the only time I will ever give you this chance. If you go now I won’t come after you…I won’t go for Lilly in the fort either.’
Silence in the yard. Stunned and heavy. Reginald thinking hard, thinking fast. Words hitting home not just for what was said but the soft tone of the Indian man saying them. The imploring manner of him but a femininity to the words too. A woman speaking through him but not the infection. The infection is inside the boy. The tantrums. The lack of understanding. The crass loops. A thing of vast power inside a child and now the mother is stepping in and there is nothing more dangerous than a mother protecting her young.
‘The people left,’ Howie asks, his voice a hoarse croak, his mouth so dry, his throat so parched. ‘What about them?’
‘Is that Howie?’ Cassie asks, the Indian man asks himself.
‘Yes, Casseee,’ the boy says, the infection says, the Indian man says.
‘If I leave them it will go back to how it was,’ Cassie says. ‘Humans are too vain to do otherwise. We’ll always seek to be the apex predators so no. My offer is for you, those in the fort now and those that can get to the fort in the next day or so.’
Silence again. Everyone listening. Everyone thinking.
‘Take the offer, Howie. I’ll give you that entire area. Grow crops, do what you want. I’m offering you peace and long lives…urgh, get off you’re all sweaty. Go and have a shower, don’t turn the music up, yes I know you like this song. The boy’s a bit sleepy…Howie, are you still there?’
‘Yeah,’ Howie says, frowning at the fucked up weird conversation the Indian man just had with himself.
‘Don’t pick a fight with me, Howie. I can harness and organise what this is, and if you have any doubt…I am about three hundred miles north from you sitting in the kitchen of a bumfucknowhere little isolated house talking to you through a boy before I make dinner…’
They listen with hearts sinking. With energy drained and exhaustion sapping at their limbs making their rifles heavy to hold.
‘You’ve got a day to think about it…’ Cassie says, still cuddling the boy.
A flash of colour against the night sky. The fluttering of an Adonis Blue butterfly flying slowly over the head of the Indian man. The wings so vibrant, so pure and beautiful. So clean against the gore and death and Howie smiles with a slow grin forming as he leans forward and slowly heaves to his feet, raising his right hand as he sways on the spot. ‘That’s quite cool,’ he croaks, ‘but I’ve got a magic invisible fuckstick…’
‘A what?’ Cassie asks.
‘A what?’ the Indian man asks as the roar comes clear and loud. The roar
of a heavy diesel engine that Howie now knows so well and the Saxon powers in from the right, slamming the Indian man down and sending the horde scattering. A screech of tyres. A door opening and a general-purpose machine gun fills the air with sustained firing while Howie waves his magic invisible fuckstick and wonders who the hell is driving his Saxon and shooting his guns. Dave stirs, opening an eye. Meredith lifts her head. Danny mumbles boobs and everyone waits for the shooting to stop as an unshaven figure wearing torn and filthy army clothes taken from the stores in Salisbury walks slowly into the yard with a smile growing and a GPMP braced in his hip.
‘Mr Howie, Dave’ he says politely, dipping his head. ‘Fucksticks,’ he adds with a grin to the lads, flicking a middle finger up.
‘Alan Booker,’ Dave says, peering from one eye. ‘Tuck your shirt in and fall in with Corporal Blowers unit…Mr Howie, Corporal Blowers has a big team now. He should be a sergeant…’
‘Eh?’ Blowers croaks.
‘Hi, Booker,’ Cookey says.
‘Booker,’ Nick says, waving a tired hand.
‘I don’t want to be a sergeant, Dave.’
‘He’s gone back to sleep,’ Howie says, staring at a snoring Dave.
‘We’ll need another bag,’ Paula says, lifting a hand. ‘Hi, I’m Paula…’
Twenty-Two
Day One.
‘I need to stretch my legs dear, would you excuse me for a few minutes.’
Making his way down the aisle George nods genially at the air stewardess, apologising for blocking her route as she pushes the heavy drinks trolley along and pauses to look out of the thick window in the door. An older man of medium build with short hair now more grey than dark. A tidy moustache on his upper lip, neatly trimmed and giving him an air of cultured refinement. A long sleeve cream shirt tucked into his beige casual trousers and he looks every part the tourist.
He moves forward again to the locked door to the cockpit. Checking around for an intercom. Nothing apparent. It must be an older model not yet fitted with a two-way speaker system.
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