The Undead | Day 25 [The Heat]

by Haywood, RR

  The Undead Twenty-Five. The Heat

  RR Haywood

  1899 Inc, ltd

  Copyright © 2021 by RR Haywood

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  *The Undead* and *The Living Army* are trademarks of RR Haywood.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  THE BATTLE FOR GATWICK

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Also by RR Haywood

  Prologue

  The story so far…

  Day Twenty-Eight

  They start clambering into the Saxon.

  Hot bodies in a hot tin can, but it feels like home to most of them.

  The smell of it. The acoustics inside.

  Howie looks around at Hinchley Point. The clifftop town overlooking the English Channel. A place once famous for its Mediterranean architecture and white-washed walls.

  It’s not anymore.

  It’s a place of ruin and death, and those once white houses now lie as broken and busted as the bodies strewn amongst them. Burn marks everywhere from the C4 explosives used by Carmen as she worked with Sergeant Blowers to draw his team back through the town. Desperately defending the survivors gathered in the mosque at the rear.

  They did well too.

  They took thousands down and held the line while Lilly decided to make her play in the fort and force Henry to tell her where the Panacea was.

  A great sadness fell upon Howie when Lilly did that.

  He realised more than ever that he was fighting to protect a species that even at the end of the world still squabbled, lied, and fought one another. His own father being part of it all.

  Howard worked with Henry. He was in charge of dealing with informants for The Office of Fiscal Studies. The codename for a clandestine unit working within Her Majesty’s Treasury Department. Howie never knew that. He thought his father was an ordinary man that worked an ordinary job. That meant his father lied. His mother too.

  They weren’t the only lies.

  There might be a vaccine, and if Howie was given a vaccine, then he might have passed it to his team. Except, it’s not really a vaccine. It’s some kind of mutated version of the infection.

  Howie’s not sure on that either. Howie isn’t sure about a great many things, the least of which is why Lilly is being such a dick. She wants the cure. Why push for it like that? Why try and take something that can’t be taken?

  But then, she’s only sixteen.

  She’s young, and Howie glances back at her at the same second as Mary seems to recover from the shock of seeing her uncle Peter executed by Henry.

  ‘Ye marked, Henry. I swear it! Ye marked! You! And you! And you!’ Mary screams out, pointing at them in turn. Her voice loud and filled with rage, making her accent stronger.

  Howie stares at her, feeling jarred at the raw emotion, as the tears stream down Mary’s face. She screams and fights to break free while a chill runs down his spine from the cold detachment in Lilly’s eyes.

  She doesn’t look sixteen now. She looks ageless.

  ‘And you, Howie,’ Mary says. Her voice dropping low. ‘My Uncle Pete fought for you. He stood at your side!’

  ‘You held us hostage!’ Paula yells, jumping from the back of the Saxon as Clarence rushes out to hold her back.

  ‘Get Mary away,’ Kyle orders, motioning at Willie and Elvis, but they don’t look so happy either. None of them do. The shock of it is wearing off. The rage is coming back. ‘It’s just words, Henry,’ Kyle adds, turning to his old CO.

  Henry remains still. His own eyes fixed on Mary as he calculates the threat and risk with a look that Howie has seen before on Dave. Normally before he starts killing everything. ‘I’ve given my terms,’ Henry says. ‘George will be taking control of the fort.’

  ‘Ye can’t send George back now, Henry,’ Kyle says. ‘Not after this.’

  ‘Aye. It’s fine, Father,’ Mary says with tears rolling down her face. ‘We’ll take the old fella back with us. And we’ll bring his fecking head in a box when we come looking for you. An eye for an eye. And his wife is still there, is she not?’

  ‘Don’t you fucking dare!’ Paula yells as Clarence starts dragging her away while Cookey and the lads bundle out of the Saxon, filling the air with shouts and yells.

  Howie opens his mouth, ready to order his team back, but a sudden nag stops him before he can give the order, and he wonders why Henry, a skilled commander of an elite covert team, would order George to the fort in the first place. Henry’s no fool. He knows that by killing Peter he’ll create a grudge, and the travellers are the type to never let that grudge go. Mary just said it. An eye for an eye.

  Why expose George to that risk for a fort that has no real strategic value?

  He catches Reginald’s eye, with both showing they are thinking hard. Maddox at Reginald’s back. Ready to protect him, and the sight of him makes that nag in the back of Howie’s head scream louder.

  Maddox has natural immunity. A glance to Mary. To Willie and Elvis. They have natural immunity too. They can’t get infected.

  A series of lightbulbs ping one after the other in Howie’s head as Reginald makes the same connection.

  The immunes, Reginald mouths.

  Howie nods. Heather has a list of immune people. She’s out there now. Searching for them with orders to take them back to the fort for protection – because it’s not the fort Henry wants. It’s the immune people, and the realisation forms a split second later that Henry didn’t kill Peter for revenge.

  That wasn’t payback.

  That was a fucking coup.

  Henry took Peter out to create a power vacuum.

  The travellers are patriarchal. And with Peter dead, they won’t accept Mary as a leader. It’ll be Willie or Elvis. Maybe Patrick or Tyson.

  It will be whoever Henry and George choose to be in charge. That’s why George is going back with them. He’ll negotiate and pacify with skilled diplomacy, while all the time holding the threat of annihilation over their heads.

  Henry can come back.

  You don’t want that.

  Henry will kill you all.

  Not only that, but George is Paula’s uncle.

  Marion is her aun
t.

  Killing them is hurting one of Howie’s family and risking his wrath, and every person in that fort knows what Howie is capable of, and they’ll all know about the kiss too.

  Everyone in the mosque saw Marcy kiss the survivors and turn them. That’s why Henry has left some of the travellers alive; so they’ll go back and tell the others what they saw.

  A feeling inside of Howie. A sense of disgust that he’s just been weaponised against his will, and without his knowledge. But then, power corrupts. It always will. Henry wants the fort. Lilly wants the fort. Fuck the fort. Fuck them too.

  ‘That’s enough,’ he calls out, ordering his team back, but they shout on, giving abuse and threats to Mary and her kin. Faces twisted in rage and anger. Grudges galore being thrown about like grenades. ‘I said enough!’ he snaps the words out, harsh and angry, and gaining instant compliance from Blowers who double-takes at the look on Howie’s face as they start falling silent.

  Everyone does, and that surge of anger radiates out from Howie. Touching them all through whatever hive mind they have. Meredith starts to growl. Moving in next to Howie, flicking her lips up to show Henry her teeth. To show Mary and the others. Faces harden. Blowers and Cookey. Nick and Mo Mo. Booker and Danny. Charlie. Tappy. Marcy. Clarence. Roy. Reginald too, and right there, in the middle of them all, stands Dave, with his pistol already drawn and held at his side.

  A shift in power. A shift in focus. Mary swallows. Willie and Elvis glance at each other. Seeing the violence Howie has now aiming at them as the dog growls louder and deeper, and Jess kicks the back of the horsebox, shaking the frame.

  ‘This is not our way,’ Howie says. His words meant for Henry. For Lilly and for his own team too, at being drawn into their shit.

  ‘Get loaded,’ Clarence orders. ‘Tappy, get in the back. The boss will drive.’

  The big man stands his ground, waiting for the others to load up. Nobody speaks, and the people in the mosque slowly ease out from the shadows to view their once perfect town, now lying in ruins, and the thousands of spent casings glinting in the evening sun amongst the thousands of corpses.

  Smoke drifting from fires. Heat, and the stench of chemicals and innards. Shit and death, and blood.

  Only Marcy moves. Stepping over to Howie. Placing a hand on his shoulder, turning him away. She watches him head for the front and steps up into the back of the Saxon. Holding the doors open for Meredith to jump in. A last look out to Lilly. To Mary and everyone else.

  The engine starts. Deep and throaty. The wheels start moving. Crunching stones. Crunching bones.

  Hot bodies in a hot tin can.

  They leave Hinchley Point behind. A place once famous for its Mediterranean architecture and white-washed walls.

  It’s not anymore.

  It’s another place of ruin and death in this brave new world.

  1

  Day Twenty-eight

  ‘Whatever it takes…’ she mimics a voice as she drives the knife in. ‘He bloody said that. He said Heather, you must do whatever it takes.’

  She brings the machete down, slicing deep into the neck. Her top clinging to her body from sweat and blood. Cheeks flushed. Hair stuck to her scalp.

  A crunch from nearby as Paco sweeps in with a long scaffolding pole gripped in his hands, battering them away. Crunching bones and breaking limbs.

  They came in hard. Driving the Toyota four-wheel drive into the horde outside the community centre, killing many, before they rushed into the fray for hand-to-hand fighting.

  They couldn’t risk firing rifles or pistols for fear of a bullet going through a door or window and striking someone inside.

  Reginald said it had to be done. And so, they do it. One at a time. Hunting them down. Seeking and searching for the people on the list given to her by Reginald.

  The list compiled by Dr Neal Barrett. The list of people with natural immunity.

  ‘I think that’s it,’ she says when the last infected is killed. She sucks air in and walks over to the community centre entrance as Paco forces the door open.

  The smells hit.

  Stale body odour. Shit and piss. The unique smells of people living on top of each other for nearly a month.

  A set of double doors ahead, and the sight that greets her is the exact image she had in her mind. Men and women clutching bats and sticks. Shielding the children and the weak behind them. Sobs heard. Everyone clustered at one end. Bedding all over the floor.

  A single glance tells her their food supplies are low, and the people here are already rationing. Heather is seeing that more and more now. People grabbed what they could when it first happened, but now, nearly a month later, those supplies are dwindling, and they are too afraid to go out scavenging.

  ‘I, err…’ she breaks off, her voice cracking with nerves from so many people staring at her. ‘I’m here for Jane. For Jane Tildren?’

  ‘I’m Jane,’ a whisper from the back. A hand lifting.

  It takes minutes, but Jane Tildren and her husband, and child finally edge away from the others.

  ‘I have to take you to the fort,’ Heather says quietly.

  ‘What? But-.’

  ‘No buts. No anything. I need to tell you something, but you cannot, you will not tell anyone else. Do you understand? There’s a list of people with immunity. Jane Tildren is on it. Your husband and kid can come with you, but that’s it. Tell everyone else to go to the fort. You have one minute, and then we are going. I will leave without you.’

  Two minutes later, and Heather leads Jane and her family through the broken door and the scene of carnage.

  ‘Don’t touch anything,’ Heather says as they get into the Toyota.

  ‘What about us?’ a man asks, emerging from the broken door of the community centre.

  ‘Go to the fort. Leave now. Don’t wait.’

  Heather gets in the car. Paco the other side. Engine on, and she pulls away. Experience has taught her that she can get sucked into dramas if she waits too long. People start thinking. They start arguing. They start demanding information. It ended in violence a couple of days ago when Paco almost killed a guy with a single punch after he grabbed Heather’s arm and shouted at her.

  Now, they get in, find who they need, and get out.

  It has to be that way.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Jane’s husband asks from the back, leaning forward to touch the back of Paco’s seat.

  Heather slams the brake on. ‘WHAT DID I SAY?’ she demands. ‘Do it again, and I will shoot you. We’re covered in blood. She’s immune, but you’re not. Switch on and listen.’

  He sits back from the ferocity of the woman yelling at him. At the size of the big man glaring at him. At the awful injuries on his throat. He looks familiar. Like that actor. The famous one, but it can’t be him.

  They drive in silence, moving out of the town and into the countryside. Through a five-bar gate and over a bumpy field. Something ahead, looming in the darkness. A big barn. A coach parked up alongside it.

  They follow Heather to a big door in the barn. Yellow light spills out. People inside. At least thirty. Maybe more. Some asleep. Some awake. Men, women, and children. It looks homely and inviting. Clean and organised. The people inside fall silent, looking out at the newcomers.

  ‘Hi,’ a woman on her feet, coming forward. Plump and friendly-looking. ‘I’m Gemma. You must be Jane, right? Heather doesn’t speak much, and well, Paco does speak a lot, but he takes a bit of getting used to. Anyway. I’ve got it now, Heather. You get yourselves cleaned up.’

  Heather walks off. Not saying a word as she leads Paco to the far side and a hose out of sight. They strip naked and use bottles of spray disinfectant on each other.

  Minutes later, they sit in their own section of the barn. Away from everyone else. Blankets about them, and she snuggles down to sleep for an hour or two. She’s done okay though and found twenty-three immunes. Some of them have kids too. Maybe that immunity was passed on.

  ‘Fort. To
morrow. Yes?’ Paco asks, his voice broken and rasping, but she understands him now.

  She nods and snuggles into his side with a deep contended sigh as Paco strokes her hair. His mind still not his own. It probably never will be. Not like he was before, anyway. He has notions, and he can think, but he struggles to vocalise and form what he’s thinking into words. He’s not stupid. Not stupid at all. He’s just not what he was. Heather guesses that some parts of his brain were damaged when he was fully turned. His speech sections for sure. She yawns again. Her eyes growing heavy as she sinks into blessed, sweet slumber.

  2

  Day Twenty-eight

  Camber Airstrip

  South Coast

  She stands still for a moment. Filtering particles carried on the gentle breeze. The scents of creatures. Foxes and badgers. Rabbits too. Meredith used to love chasing them, but they don’t hold the allure they once had. Not after weeks of chomping on infected.

  Cats can still fuck off. They make strange noises and arch their backs. They don’t respond the same way other creatures do, and they stink something awful.

  Cats can definitely fuck off.

  Not rabbits though. Meredith spots a few now and turns her head to track the fluffy, white tails bouncing out from the hedgerow. An urge inside to run at them, for the sheer hell of it, but today has been a long day. She fought with her pack and grew exhausted. She killed many and kept the pups safe until the pack leader arrived.