The Undead Day Nineteen

by Haywood, RR

  I have a host. I am inside the body. I enter from blood on Jenny’s fingernails cutting into Phillip’s arm. I pass into his bloodstream. I replicate. Phillip feels pain. Paul is screaming.

  Howie is not here. Jenny has no memory of Howie. Phillip falls to the ground. Paul is screaming.

  I see Paul. I will take Paul. Paul is screaming.

  Phillip dies. I live. Phillip Lives. I have the host body.

  ‘OH MY GOD…’

  Paul has the cricket bat. He hits me on Phillips head. Phillip is twenty five. He knows Paul wants to have sexual intercourse with him. Phillip knows Jenny wants to have sexual intercourse with him.

  ‘FUCK FUCK FUCK…’

  Phillip does not want to have sexual intercourse with Paul. He is waiting for Jenny to stop being fat so he can have sexual intercourse with her.

  There is a memory. Howie. The same group that told the father of Summer and John who now has sexual intercourse with his wife after his wife had sexual intercourse with another man and made John told Phillip about Mr Howie and the living army. Phillip did not tell Jenny or Paul as he was waiting for Jenny to stop being fat so he could have sexual intercourse with her before anyone else could have sexual intercourse with her.

  I have a host body. Paul is screaming. Phillip has bitten Paul’s penis off. I enter through the bloodstream. I replicate. He feels pain. I silence him. He falls down. Paul dies. I live. Paul lives. I have the host body. This host body does not have a penis now. The blood coming from the host is too fast. I congeal and clot. I slow the blood flow. I stop the blood flow. The host is Paul Johnson. He is thirty years old. He hates Jenny Evans but pretends to like Jenny Evans as he thinks Phillip wants to have sexual intercourse with Jenny. I have the memory of Jenny’s death and the emotional attachment that Paul felt happy when Phillip smashed her jaw off with the cricket bat. Jenny was stopping being fat. Paul wanted to feed Jenny more food so she would continue to be fat. Paul has no memory of Howie.

  They are not here.

  I have a host body. I enter through the mouth into the stomach. I replicate. It is a male. He feels pain. I silence him. He falls to the floor. He dies. I live. He lives. I have the host body.

  He is a big man with broad shoulders and heavy limbs. He is healthy and strong.

  Where am I?

  I am in a bathroom. The door is closed. The host was drinking water from the tap of the wash basin. He is Anthony Pointer. He is twenty two years old. He has no memories of sexual intercourse. He is a virgin. He has a higher than normal production rate of adult female host body hormones and a lower than normal rate of production of testosterone for an adult male host body.

  Where am I? Are they here?

  Yes. Yes. They are here. I have memories. Recent and direct memories. I have them. I am in a hotel on a golf course. Howie and his group brought the host body here last night. There are others. Many others. I share a room with other adult males. I know the layout of the hotel.

  Where is Neal Barrett?

  Neal Barrett is in the dining room. He stayed with Howie and the others in the room that was the dining room. Anthony does not know the name Neal Barrett but he has the memory of the man.

  I will go there.

  I will hide your eyes. I will hide my eyes. I will hide Anthony’s eyes.

  I should pass into the others in the room. They sleep. I will be four here instead of one. I will take them.

  Gently. Quietly.

  I have a host body. I enter through the mouth from saliva given from Anthony.

  I have a host body. I enter through the mouth from saliva given from Anthony.

  I have a host body. I enter through the mouth from saliva given from Anthony.

  They feel pain. I silence them. I replicate. They die. I live. They live. I have four host bodies.

  I stand in the room. I am four males. One has an irregular heartbeat. I will fix this. I have fixed this. I give the host bodies energy. I give them adrenalin and cease production of serotonin. I give silent rage. I give greater silent rage. I give fury. Silent fury. I flood the host bodies with chemicals. I end the ability to feel pain.

  One will go to the main room that was the dining room. Anthony will go. He is a big man, broad shouldered and with heavy limbs. His frame can take greater punishment. I will send him alone. I will hide his eyes.

  I am in the corridor. I smell people. Anthony is tired. He rubs his eyes. He blinks.

  ‘Hey, you alright mate?’

  It is Simon. He is outside talking to Howie and Nicholas. They are here. I see them. I see Howie smoking. He nods at Anthony. Nicholas lifts a hand. Anthony urges to bite but there is fear inside him. Fear I can suppress but cannot remove.

  Anthony must hide his eyes. He is tired. He rubs his eyes. The host body must give a response. The response to a greeting is a counter greeting. A vocalised counter greeting could invoke a conversation. Do not give a vocalised counter greeting. Make use of non-verbal communication. Anthony lifts a hand.

  ‘Coffee in the kitchen, mate.’

  Nicholas tells Anthony there is coffee in the kitchen. Further away are Dave and Mo. The dog is out on the grass sniffing at the faecal matter left by the horse.

  ‘Yeah so Cookey has a new dance.’

  Simon is telling them Alex Cooke has a new dance.

  ‘New dance?’

  Marcy’s voice. She is close but not seen. She is outside. Marcy was a host body. She wants to know about the new dance.

  ‘New sock dance.’

  Nicholas is laughing when he tells those nearby that the new dance concerns new socks. They laugh. There is humour.

  The doors to the main room that was the dining room are open. Patricia, the one they call Blinky is in the room staring at Neal Barrett.

  ‘What you writing?’

  ‘It’s my diary.’

  ‘Blinky, ask Kyle how many bowls we…too late, she’s gone. Neal? You should be able to use the bathroom in a minute.’

  It is Paula. I can take Paula. Anthony is a big man with broad shoulders and heavy limbs. I have surprise. I can take Paula. I will not take Paula. I stop the host body and make him rub his eyes.

  ‘Kyle? How many bowls have we got?’

  Paula has gone into the kitchen. There is no one else in the room. Neal is alone. He is sitting at a table writing in a book.

  I am three in the room. I will go now. I will distract. Take Neal. I will take Neal.

  I make Anthony run. He is a big man. The weight of his body hits Neal Barrett. Neal goes down under Anthony. I bite. I bite. I bite.

  I have the host body. I enter through the neck from a bite that transmits saliva into the bloodstream.

  Sixteen

  ‘I got new socks…new socks so fuck you,’ the water sprays down with ice cold jets that send shivers through his body, ‘it’s so fucking cold…but I got new socks,’ he sings while he showers. He sings a tune of new socks and cold showers. ‘And all the ladies will see my new socks and be like hey Cookey your new socks are so cool.’ His voice lifts to high notes and drops down through octaves with a melody that lilts and tilts as his mind makes it up on the spot. ‘And I’ll will do my sock dance, yeah my sock dance and the sock dance goes like this…’ he jigs under the flow. Arms bent but in at his sides making circles as he weaves left and right in a disco funk of dance that will make the ladies love his new socks. ‘Oooohhhhh Blowers don’t have new socks and Nick don’t have new socks and Mo Mo Mo Mo don’t have new socks but me! I got new socks! Cos I got new socks on and I’m dancing…’

  Nick and Blowers smoke outside with Howie watching Mo and Dave practise fast draws of their pistols from their holsters. Clarence cleans the GPMG in the back of the Saxon. A way of venting. Releasing the pressure. Each to their own. The day before was a day of magnitude and this time is needed. Paula organises. Reginald and Roy in their room talking quietly about books they have both read. Clarence’s hands work the moving parts, stripping the weapon down to brush through and apply oil. B
linky in the kitchen opening tins passed to her by Kyle and stirring pans of food simmering over the fire. Charlie in the shower of her room washing her hair slowly and enjoying the sensation of the cold water sluicing the grime and sweat from her body. Marcy next to Roy’s van using the wing mirror to pluck errant hairs from her eyebrows as she listens idly to Howie and the lads chatting, and while everyone finds something to do to let the tension ease out, so Cookey dances and sings his song of new socks.

  They killed so many. They walked into something they should never have walked out off. The hive mind that only ever came on when Howie slipped into the most intense of emotions came upon them like a wholly natural thing. How do you process such things? How do you deal with what you witnessed, took part in and survived? You don’t. You pluck eyebrows. You smoke and chat. You clean a machine gun. You draw pistols from holsters and comment on the minutia of detail about grip and stance. You make lists of things people need or talk about books. You wash hair and lose yourself in the motion of a repetitious act you have done a thousand times before. You open cans and stir pans while listening to an older man chat amiably and you sing and dance about new socks.

  In the corridor a man walks tired and sleepy, rubbing his sore eyes from waking to a new day. He is a big man, broad shouldered with heavy limbs.

  ‘Hey, you alright, mate?’ Blowers calls out. Howie and Nick both turn to stare through the doors at the big man they recognise from the night before. He looks awful. Rubbing and blinking the sleep away and still half asleep.

  ‘Coffee in the kitchen, mate,’ Nick says watching as the man waves a hand and walks on towards the main room.

  ‘Yeah so Cookey has a new dance,’ Blowers says, continuing his conversation about Cookey in the bedroom.

  ‘New dance?’ Marcy asks, staring at the tiny hair trapped between the ends of the tweezers.

  ‘New sock dance,’ Nick says as the others chuckle at the thought of Cookey. Clarence grins in the back of the Saxon as Mo and Dave both pause to turn and see what the others are chuckling about.

  Blinky walks out from the kitchen to stare at Neal sitting at the table writing in a book. She watches him for a few seconds, staring intently.

  ‘What you writing?’ She asks without preamble.

  Neal looks up blinking at the sudden intrusion as he puts his thoughts into words, ‘it’s my diary,’ he says politely and sees the sudden lack of interest form on Blinky’s face as she walks off.

  ‘Blinky, ask Kyle how many bowls we…too late, she’s gone. Neal? You should be able to use the bathroom in a minute.’ Paula smiles at the scientist and heads to the kitchen, her mind full of lists of things to do while she worries about having to feed everyone at the same time. ‘Kyle, how many bowls have we got?’ She asks, walking into the kitchen so full of smells of cooking and heat.

  Neal goes back to his diary. Pausing for a second as he reads back over the last few words to regather his train of thought. Movement in his peripheral vision but the feeling of safety stops him looking round. His stomach grumbles in response to the smells drifting from the kitchen. His left hand reaches out for his mug of coffee that he picks up and lifts to his mouth while his eyes remain fixed on the page below.

  The impact is immense. A big man running at full speed and with such force that it drives Neal’s head down into the mug that breaks into pieces that slice into his face as he continues the forced descent to strike the table top with a hard thud. Pressure on him. Forcing him down and it happens so fast his mind pays no heed to the shards of mug shredding through his cheeks and smashing teeth from his mouth and he only thinks of the spilled coffee ruining his diary. A sensation on the back of his neck. Pain. Intense and worsening as the teeth bite deep into his flesh. He tries to scream and only at that point does he become aware of the searing agony coming from his mouth that fills with hot choking blood. He tries to rise, an instinctual movement of a violent reaction to get away from the danger but the weight is so heavy it takes him from the chair onto the floor and it’s only when the chair is sent scattering away to bounce into other wooden chairs that Paula stops talking to Kyle and Blinky and turns her head to the kitchen door.

  ‘What’s that?’ She asks, ‘Blinky, have a look for me…Er, where were we?’ She says, turning back to Kyle.

  ‘I was saying you have enough food for three days after today,’ Kyle says, smiling as Blinky snaffles a biscuit from the side, ‘if you use this place again that is.’

  ‘Hmm, we probably shouldn’t but it is a nice place,’ Paula muses.

  Blinky gets to the door but watches the plate of biscuits on the side. She glances back to see Paula chatting to Kyle and grabs one with a quick grin at Kyle who smiles back. With a mouth full of custard cream she pushes through into the main room to see Neal on the floor with a big man flat on top of him biting into his neck. Blood everywhere. The coffee mug broken on the table with blood covered shards on the floor. Neal thrashes, bucking to get away but the man on top attacks with demented fury. She doesn’t hesitate. She doesn’t flinch but spits the biscuit out and runs into the fray.

  ‘CONTACT,’ she bellows, spraying bits of custard cream from her mouth. That one word is the only thing she has time to shout as she dives into the back of the man with her hands balled into fists that whack punches hard and fast into the sides of the head. Beating harder and harder with enough force that would knock a normal person unconscious. He pays no heed but bites down harder with a terrible sound of gnashing and skin tearing. Blood spurts up from the wound as Blinky drops to force her left forearm under the throat of the attacker. He drives down harder, preventing her arm to get under him. She grabs the back of his head with a fistful of hair and wrenches up enough to get her arm under and through the gap of the crook of the neck. She clamps on, tensing hard and with every ounce of strength in her body she heaves away, pulling the body with her to roll across the floor. She clamps harder, her arm cinching tighter and tighter to strangle the infected from behind.

  Everyone outside reacts instantly. Howie, Blowers and Nick dropping cigarettes and coffee mugs to turn as one and charge inside. Clarence ditching the gun to leap from the back as Mo and Dave sprint behind the three lads. The tweezers drop from Marcy’s hands as she bursts from the mirror of the wing mirror. Meredith explodes from static to full on running in a split second, her body low and streaking across the grass with lips that pull back to show big white teeth. The horse rears, the sudden motion of everyone making her startle. Paula in the kitchen spins from Kyle to charge at the doors with the cook right behind her.

  Into the dining room they pour. Everyone running at the sounds of the fight taking place. Experienced eyes take in the scene in a second. Neal face down with a bite mark to the back of his neck. Blood on the table, the chair on its side a few feet away and Blinky flat on her back trying to grip a big man spraying blood from his mouth that bucks and writhes with wild thrashing side to side. He breaks free, rolling before surging up to his feet with a speed that belies his big size.

  Dave draws, a blur of motion of his hand whipping the pistol from the holster. Howie, Nick and Blowers run in front of him and as he runs he aims, searching for a gap to fire. Mo goes wide, drawing his own pistol and trying to make room to get the angle to fire. Nick gets there first, one step ahead of Blowers and Howie and he slams into the big man at full speed. The big man takes the impact with a snarl coming from his mouth and awful red bloodshot eyes that blaze at the others coming at him. He keeps to his feet, ignoring Nick trying to drive him back. Blowers hits them both. His own form adding to that of Nick. Howie next and he slams in but the man is like a rugby player refusing to be taken down.

  ‘MOVE,’ Clarence bellows with the challenge set and made.

  Howie, Blowers and Nick star burst away, sinking to roll to the sides as a big man hits a big man. Clarence lifting Anthony from his feet to carry him back through tables and chairs that get sent spinning. With a roar, Clarence lifts and dumps Anthony down onto a solid pine tabl
e that splinters instantly with over two hundred and fifty kilos of meat coming down with accelerated gravity. On the floor and Clarence slams fists down one after the other. The nose is broken and the jaw is smashed but Anthony is a big man and able to take punishment. He thrashes wildly, bucking so hard it unbalances Clarence. An arm lashes out, back-handing Clarence away who gets sent to the side. Howie dives in. His own fists hammering but he too gets pushed off as Anthony surges up to his feet. Nick goes for the legs but bounces off. Blinky goes in low then lifts at the last second to slam a headbutt into Anthony who simply swats her to the side and she sails off to scatter chairs and tables aside.

  ‘Fuck that,’ Marcy comes up short, veering off at seeing Blinky getting thrown.

  Two things happen next. Two things that do not lose. One is Dave who, while running hard, re-holsters his pistol and draws a knife which he spins to hold with the blade pressed up against his forearm. The other is Meredith who not only saw her beloved Nick get hit aside but also her beloved Howie, her beloved Blowers, her beloved Clarence and her beloved Blinky. She streaks. A blur of black and tan with a deep snarl that resonates without fear. She goes high, launching from the ground with a mouth opening that clamps onto a neck and she drops, letting her body weight bring the enemy down but the enemy doesn’t go down and she dangles from his neck. Her own body weight supported by the grip of her mouth on the throat. She rags and thrashes to ruin the flesh that splits apart as the blood flows down over her muzzle.

  Dave is next. Dave who vaults high with an arm outstretched that hooks round the top of Anthony’s head to anchor his own form that drops down onto the big man’s back.