'So, you g'nna give 'er up, or wot?'
Robbie shimmered as Toni's eyes widened. The man's sneering face locked in a rictus image of surprise and shock as he felt the cold kiss of the serrated steel as it slid up through his solar plexus and deep into his chest. Robbie twisted the blade hard as he pushed it deeper, his hand curling into the back of Toni's Lacoste sports coat, drawing him deeper onto its cold, biting edge.
Blood splattered the floor, staining Robbie's jeans as he pushed the stunned form from him. Toni hit the floor with a thump, gasping like a goldfish in its bowl, his lips smacking together in a pantomime gasp. Their sound fluttered up amongst the stunned group, hanging on the air like wet rags on a washing line as their wet slapping echoed like steak on a chopping board.
Robbie turned, his eye glinting with an undisguised malice to the next in line and lunged. They scattered, their pride gone with the wind when Toni finally hit the floor. With a feral growl, Robbie turned and knelt, his knees soaking up the morning dew from the dirt below as he stared at the still gasping man beneath him.
'Now they know, Toni. Now they know. Unfortunately for you, it was too little...' He set the blade against Toni's skin and with a vicious sawing yank, severed his throat. 'Too late.'
Robbie didn't let up until he felt the jagged teeth of the knife grate against Toni's spine, the spray of crimson life dancing across his skin as he finally pulled the knife free. With a callous smirk, he wiped it clean on Toni's coat. The rapidly expanding pool of blood made Robbie skip back as he slipped the knife back into the cardboard sleeve duct taped to the inside of his jacket.
****
Robbie slid through the window to a peel of frightened squealing and scurrying limbs. He dropped with a soft thump to the floor, reaching up and pulling the panel of wood and cardboard boxes back into place. He smiled at the improvised camouflage, the spent tubes of stolen glue lying in a heap beside his feet, their heavy scent clinging to the air as he turned and fished in his pocket for the small pencil light and its one remaining battery.
The small shaft of dull-yellow light flickered around the room as Robbie searched for any sign of his baby sister. The ovoid puddle of urine-coloured luminescence skated over the floor as he made his way into the darkness. His voice low and throaty, he called out for the one person who he would die to protect. He knew people said it is easier to die in defence of another than it is to kill, as you can only die once. Either way, he didn't care what happened to him or the Tonis of the world. His only concern was making sure his sister—the one dull, almost faded candle in his dark and dismal existence—remained alive and burning. He would kill or die; all he wanted was to be sure of that one simple thing.
'Liz, it's me. It's Robbie.'
A soft rustling filtered through the dark, sliding over his ears as he stopped and listened, trying in vain to pinpoint just where it had come from.
'Prove it.' The voice was soft, barely a whisper, but full of life that he longed for her to keep for as long as she was able.
'Remember when you were three and we went swimming with Mum at Pembray Beach? You bugged me all day to go look at the rock pools and you fell in, disappearing completely, and that man fished you out by your leg.'
The shuffling echoed past him again as he smiled at the memory.
'Yeah, what about it?'
'Well, remember what you said to the man when he asked if you were okay?'
The shuffling rustle of cloth on concrete grew closer as he strained his ears, trying in earnest to pick out its direction.
'Yeah, and what did I supposedly say then?'
The stern self-assured tone caught him off guard slightly as he heard her stop.
'That you had drunk all the swimmings.'
A set of slim arms ensnared his waist, sending him sprawling to the floor; all five stone of her slammed into his back as she threw herself at him.
'I was scared you wouldn't come back. Toni and his crew were so nasty to me. They... they... did things I didn't want them to... things to my bottom that I didn't like. It hurt a lot.'
Robbie gently eased the arms from his waist and pushed himself into a sitting position against the cool concrete wall. Tentatively, he reached out, pulling her into his lap where she curled against him. She pulled her legs tight against herself as she rested her head against his chest.
'I didn't want to, but they made me. I said no. Said you wouldn't like them doing it, but they laughed at me and put their things in me, in my bottom. Please don't let them do it anymore. The other things I don't mind. It's yucky, but it doesn't hurt. Please don't let them, Robbie, please.'
He pulled her close, her thin, bony, almost skeletal frame pressing into his chest as he settled his chin against the top of her head, tears stinging his eyes.
'No one is going to do that to you again ever; I promise. Try to go to sleep now, Liz. We can see if there is any food left here later on, okay?'
She nodded, her hair catching in the zip of his jacket as she squirmed against him to get comfortable. The tears fell in earnest from him as he stifled a sob, knowing full well that he had just lied to the only family he had left—a lie that would haunt him until the day he died.
Letting his head thump back against the wall, he closed his eyes and tried to think of how they were going to survive the next twenty-four hours.
The rain dripped from them as they plodded past the throngs of shoppers, their jostling busy forms flitting past like bees in search of a flower. Their eyes darting and uncaring as they averted their gazes from the two filth-covered forms that threaded their way through the crowd.
Robbie's hands danced as he bumped to and fro, a purse here and wallet there, always dropping back to his sides and pack on Liz's back. The mould-covered drawstring bag hung from her like a bull's scrotum, its pendulous weight banging against her backside, its rhythmic thump nudging at the corners of her mind and the pain she had endured only a day earlier. A soft tug drew Liz to the right and the pair disappeared into the mouth of an alley, its litter-strewn length a haven nestled between a Kofte kebab house and a Betfair betting shop; the smells of fried meat and the sickly sweet scent of alcohol made their stomachs lurch as they sank deeper into the grime-laden stretch of derelict ground.
Robbie pulled the bag from her back as he sank to the floor beside an over flowing dumpster. The squeal of rats rose up to meet him as he let his weight settle against the pale green metal. With a jerk of his head, he called Liz to sit down, his eyes watching her slightly limping gait as she squatted on her heels beside him.
'How much?'
The quizzical call grated at his nerves as he tugged the neck of the bag open and fished inside. His hand returned, the leather wallet clutched inside, nestled between his digits like a money-choked clam. 'I don't know yet; I haven't even looked inside this one, let alone the others.'
Liz bowed her head, sniffling slightly as he peeled back the layer of leather to expose the plastic and paper innards that held their lives captive. With an ease and well-honed dexterity born of a lifetime of scrimping and surviving on his own wits, Robbie filtered the money and plastic into two separate piles, the towering stack of notes held down by a lump of brick while the cards lay silent and immobile in their glistening piles of wealth-infused plastic.
'Okay, so we have enough cash to get some food and drink for the next... Robbie did a quick mental leap as he tabbed through exactly what they could buy with enough shelf life to survive not being refrigerated. 'Week and a half, if we go easy and slow with it; no pigging out like last time. I know you like canned peaches, but you ate all five tins in two days and what happened?'
Liz blushed slightly as she remembered exactly what had happened for the next three days afterwards. 'I know; I'm sorry.'
Robbie smiled as he checked the rest of the slots in the last wallet they had. 'Don't be; you need the vitamins. Just don't do it again.'
A small slip of paper dropped into his palm, the four hastily scratched-out digits in its ce
ntre made his eyes widen with surprise as he stared at them.
'Thank Christ for idiots. Liz, stuff the money into the bag while I drop the cards down that drain there; we have to find a cash machine quick.'
She scrambled furiously to do as she was asked while Robbie disposed of the evidence of their misdeeds.
They slid to a halt amidst a flurry of clothes and flailing limbs, and with the urgency of a father on a forgotten birthday jammed the card into the reader in front of them. Then, with infinite care, Robbie tapped in the four-digit number.
Robbie's eyes slid closed as he silently prayed to a God he no longer cared for or believed in that the pin code still worked. He was wrenched out of his pious ministrations by an excited girlish squeal; dragging his gaze downwards, he stared at the shimmering blue screen and the carefully laid out numbers.
Quickly skimming through the balance, Robbie checked exactly what he could withdraw, milking the account for as much as he could before his window of opportunity snapped closed forever. With a static whirr, the notes slid into his hands, the crisp, clean ten and twenty-pound notes filling his heart as he stared at the ever-increasing pile.
Standing on her toes, Liz whispered in his ear the one question she had been wanting to ask again ever since he had found the pin code. Closing his fist around the wad of notes Robbie pulled Liz away from the machine, abandoning the card as they made a hasty retreat from public view and the cameras that stalked the streets.
'Okay, we have nearly a thousand pounds here and three hundred in the bag. So all in all, we have a little under twelve hundred pounds.'
He could feel the mounting glee in his younger sibling as he spoke. Cutting off her joy-filled squeals before they could happen, he continued to speak. 'We're not going stupid with food. We are getting some new clothes first; nothing fancy, but tough and comfortable, then we get food and head back to the hole, okay?'
Liz nodded, slightly subdued from the semi-scolding as she kicked at an empty can by her foot.
'Right, turn around; I want to hide this lot before we get caught with it out in the open.'
Tugging the bag closed, he reached forwards, squeezed Liz's shoulder gently, and turned her to face him again. 'We are also getting you a haircut and some soap so we can at least have a cold wash with some bottled water.'
He watched his sister's face light up as his words sank in and couldn't help but laugh as she flung her arms round his waist and hugged him as tight as she could manage.
'Come on let's get going.' Pulling her from him, he took her hand and slowly moved into the flow of people disappearing into the faceless mass as easily as a drop of water into a river.
18
August Eighth
Broadhead Barracks
'Right, okay, yes; I understand the urgency, but I am afraid we can offer little in the way of assistance at the moment. We're stretched thin on the ground as it is dealing with our own problem here. Yes, I do appreciate the impact the Infected are having there. Yes, I do pay attention to the international news, but as I said, without a way to suddenly ease the burden here, we cannot commit men to aiding your own forces. They're just going to have to subsist without our intervention; I am sorry, but that is all there is to it. Good day to you, too, sir.'
The phone clanged with the muffled chime of a bell as he dropped the receiver back into the cradle. Dragging his beret from his head, Colinson ran a hand over his sweat-dampened hair, a deep sigh of anger and agitation rising from him as he listened to the high-pitched chiming of his phone as it began to ring once more.
'Oh, for fuck sakes.' Lifting the receiver to his ear, he spoke, his voice politely neutral as he listened to the pleading female voice that barraged him with plaintive calls for aid.
Colinson leant his head against his folded arms as he slumped over his desk. The phone was finally silent for the first time since six thirty that morning; his eyes drooped as he lay with his head nestled in the crook of his elbow.
The sounds of the morning's waking denizens filled his office. The chirping of birds mingled with the distant drone of long-haul traffic as it passed them by, shielded by the five miles of fields and hedge-lined roads that wound their way to the base's gates.
The door to his office slowly slid open, drawing his attention for a moment. Looking up through strained and bleary eyes, he stared at the willowy figure in the doorway. The petite, trim curves were tantalisingly familiar to his senses, and yet he could not place the form that was slowly swimming into focus.
She slipped across the floor with the slow grace of a lazy jungle cat, covering the distance in a slow walk that begged to be watched with unscrupulous candour. His eyes travelled over the curves of her hips to the supple wave of her stomach and chest, drinking in every line and every subtle imperfection as if it were the last thing he would ever see.
Reaching out with a slender arm, she let the folder drop from her grasp, the inch-thick file falling to the desk with a crack akin to a rifle shot. The echoing report jolted him to his senses, his eyes dragged into focus by a wave of shock and adrenalin so sharp and sudden he felt as if he had been cleaved in two. Staring upwards, his eyes connected with Susan's, her gaze quizzical and almost concerned as she stared down at her boss.
'You okay, sir?'
Colinson ground the balls of his hands against his eyes as he chased away the thought dogging him before trying in vain to reply. 'Yes, fine, thank you Staff Sergeant. I'm going to take a personal hour. Could you see to it I am not disturbed? After the morning I've had, I want to try and stave off the migraine I can feel marching its way up my spine as long as possible.'
Susan nodded as she turned and crisply marched from the room. With a pain-tinged groan, Colinson unfurled the blinds and let them drop into place. The echoing clatter made him wince as the blind finally clattered against the windowsill, coming to a rest in a rippling sheet of slatted steel. David pinched at his temples as he slumped backwards onto the small settee in the corner of the room, the padded faux-leather seat cushioning his fall as he hit, air rushing out from under him in a high-pitched whoosh that left a childlike shimmer of a giggle in his stomach.
With a shrug, he slipped his jumper over his head, letting the merino wool and polyester pullover fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. With a smooth, quick movement, he slipped his fingers through the top three buttons of his shirt, letting it sag open. The cold air in the room tickled his sparsely haired chest as he swung his feet up, his clothes twisting slightly under his weight as he fought to find a more comfortable position. Finally settling on his side, Colinson shifted his shoulder, resting his head on his folded arm and slowly slipped into a fitful sleep.
****
Sweat fell like rain as they moved, their forms twisting, spinning like dervishes as they clashed and danced. Hands and feet a blur of impacted movements; a dull grunt echoed as fist connected with jaw, the sound of a body hitting the hard, compacted dirt filling the air.
'Keep your guard up; do you expect anyone or anything to be as lenient as I am?'
Derek stepped forwards as he spoke, his hand outstretched to help Janet up from the floor. With anger shimmering in her eyes, she slapped the proffered hand away. Pushing herself to her feet, she launched herself forwards, her balled fists scything through the air towards Derek's face.
Ducking past the miniature wrecking ball, he caught the flying fist, levered Janet's arm up, and twisted against her elbow as his body moved, dragging her still moving form across his hip; with a muffled yelp of surprise, she sailed over his head to land in a dust-obscured bundle of arms and legs five feet away.
'Don't rush your opponent blindly; are you fucking stupid? All you do is leave yourself open for exactly what I just did or worse. I could have had a knife, a gun or anything else in my hands and it would have opened you like a fish from muff to jaw.'
Janet stayed mute as she levered herself back onto her feet, her eyes aflame as she dropped low and slowly began to circle Derek. Her eyes flitted
from his hands to his feet, watching for the slightest shift in his posture, a subtle swaying of his weight to another position—anything that would give her some indication of what could be coming.
Derek swept forwards, his feet shifting in an instant as he watched Janet's eyes move back to his hands. Shifting through her rising arms like sand through a sieve, he struck, his elbow rising and connecting with the base of Janet's chin as he hooked his leg between hers. She tumbled backwards, her weight and balance lost in the deluge as she collapsed over his leg.
Derek's hands snapped downwards, his right hand curling into the collar of her shirt as he raised his left and sent it sailing towards her throat. Janet's eyes snapped shut as she saw the hand descend, her mind racing as she waited for the impact that would inevitably end her existence; but there was nothing, just the cold air humming over their heated sweat-drenched bodies. She listened to the sounds of birds and the muted popping carried on the wind from the ranges beyond the borders of the base's interior.
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