The Undead Day Nineteen

by Haywood, RR

  Eighteen

  We head back outside and tell everyone else what we’re worried about, which takes time. A heated discussion starts, which takes time. We prepare to move out, which takes time. We load up the vehicles and catch the horse that needs to be put into the horsebox trailer thing, all of which takes time.

  Time. Time is something we don’t have on our side anymore. If the infection is learning to get into the water supply then even I can see what an alarming step that is and I think back to those first days of actual zombies shuffling about in the daytime being slow and easy to kill. These are not those days. What we are against now is an entirely different thing.

  Finally, and with Paula running at maximum organising level, we’re ready to go and I pull the Saxon round to head back down the long drive.

  ‘Mr Howie,’ Nick’s says through the radio, ‘we didn’t burn the hotel down.’

  ‘Forget it,’ Paula says from Roy’s van, ‘we’ve got more important things to do.’

  Clarence is driving the cramped minibus that sounds like it’s about to fall apart. Meredith and Dave with him too just in case something happens. Roy in his van with Paula and Reginald while everyone else has piled into the Saxon. I feel like a shit for leaving Neal where he lies, in a puddle of blood with his brains blown out from a pistol fired at point blank range just to be sure. I also feel like a shit for the state of the survivors we rescued last night and the fact we tore their town apart only to take them somewhere safe so more of them could die and then run them outside into a minibus without food or…I look down at feeling Marcy’s hand on my leg as she senses the disquiet coming from me, ‘Kyle found a crate of juice cartons,’ she says, ‘he’s taken it in the minibus.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘They’ll have something to drink,’ she adds.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Oh fucking hell,’ she groans and pulls her hand away at the sight of the large white sign board welcoming guests to the Greenside Golf Hotel.

  I stop the Saxon and open my door, ‘Nick, you got a smoke, mate?’

  ‘Yeah sure,’ he passes one forward with his lighter.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Marcy asks me.

  ‘Nothing,’ I get down and light the smoke while making my way round the front of the vehicle. It’s a pleasant day. The air is warm but not overly humid like it has been. The sky is gloriously blue with a few fluffy white clouds sailing high.

  The doors to the minibus opens and Dave is out, striding towards me. I stop at the sign and look at the words written in blood while drawing a lungful from the cigarette which gets exhaled into a plume of white smoke that hangs lazily in the still air. Like I said, it’s a pleasant day.

  ‘Mr Howie,’ he says, stopping at my side.

  ‘Dave,’ I reply and take another draw then finally I look down to the infected female lying slumped at the bottom of the sign. Her awful red bloodshot eyes staring up at me and Dave. Her wrists bitten deep to make the blood flow so she could write the words that dripped thick in lines that only make it look that more sinister. The sound of Meredith’s claws scattering on the tarmac reaches my ears and I step round Dave ready to grab her neck but she stops at my side without any need to touch her. Hackles up, teeth showing, head low but she holds still.

  Silence in the pleasant day. I inhale again and let the plume of smoke go. She stares up at us, at me. Her eyes fixed and unblinking. She doesn’t move or try to lunge but she breathes. A ragged rising and falling of her chest that signifies life is still within her.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Paula walks down, her boots a heavy tread that is strangely comforting. She reads the sign and looks down at the woman and tuts sadly.

  I smoke. Paula folds her arms. Dave stands inert but forever ready and Meredith glares, daring the thing to move but it doesn’t. It just breathes and stares back.

  I stare down into the eyes and through to whatever lies beyond, ‘I see you.’

  The voice coming back is hoarse and rough from a dry throat, ‘See you too.’

  ‘Ssshhhh, easy now,’ Paula says softly, her fingertips brushing the dog’s neck to steady the low growl emanating in response to the infected making noise.

  I take the cigarette out and grind it into the ground, slowly and methodically, ‘who is coming?’

  She doesn’t reply but stares like she is fascinated. Like a child learning. Like an animal or an alien studying the strange creature in front of it.

  ‘He?’ I ask, my voice soft and gentle, ‘who? Where from? When? How many do we need to bring? How many have you got on your side? Where do you want to meet? Are we having a drink first, maybe a bite to eat or just going straight into it? Referees? Do we wear strips so we can see the sides? Did you come in through the water?’

  I wait and can see something like an urge to reply. Like she wants to say something and I can feel the scrutiny coming from her eyes.

  ‘What do you want then?’

  ‘One…’

  ‘Fuck off,’ I tut disdainfully, ‘and Reggie says you’re evolving so you must know by now the whole one race thing is flawed…what happens when you bite the last person? What then? You’ve got nowhere left to go. I’m not as clever as Reggie or Charlie but even I know evolution takes time. You can’t have it straight away. That’s not evolution, that’s genocide and extinction and there’s no going back from that.’

  ‘My advice to you,’ Reginald stops at my side, the brave bugger coming as close as me to the woman who snatches her gaze from me to him, ‘is to stop now. You are learning so fast but without experience to understand the knowledge you have gained you cannot conceptualise a full understanding of what it is you wish to obtain.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, waggling a finger at the woman.

  ‘Perhaps you think our time is over,’ Reginald says, exhaling with the weight of the world on his shoulders, ‘perhaps you believe this is the natural order of events and your species will rid our species but I rather think your endeavours are doomed. Humans are like rats and cockroaches. They survive almost anything and they breed too, which, I may add, is a wholly disgusting thing to be involved in but, I am given to understand, one that is essential to the furthering of our species. That being said, our kind will breed on a rubbish tip. They will breed on the disease ridden sticky carpet of a nightclub surrounded by drunken yobs even film it for the pleasure of others. Do you understand? Breeding is the single most important thing to my kind, not to me you understand, gosh no but to others, sadly yes,’ he stops and sighs again.

  ‘Yes, they take pleasure from it. Pleasure and a power that drives them on. Power that gives them the will to have fortitude in the direst of circumstances and the darkest of times and through this power they have become adept at killing,’ he speaks kindly, politely but with a striking air of calm authority. ‘Surely you have seen this for yourself. Thirteen against ten thousand. If that is how many your side had yesterday. I rather fancy it was slightly higher than ten thousand myself but the sum of ten thousand is a nice round number so for the purposes of this conversation we will stick to that. You see, you have threatened a species that has only ever really known pain and suffering so really, what you give us is no worse than what we gave ourselves, and yet we still bred and made more. Yes indeed, I would think this through. I would consider my options and perhaps be satisfied with what you have achieved thus far because to press us any further will only serve to unite those who have previously fought each other. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Well, it is a pleasant day and we have business elsewhere so you will forgive our rudeness but we really must be on our way. I do hope you consider my words but alas I fear you will not and that, my friend, is ego and pride and nothing more.’

  With that he stands, politely nods and heads back to Roy’s van leaving the rest of us stunned to silence that is broken by a quick snarl and an even quicker crunch of bone as Meredith darts in to eat the zombie.

  ‘Was that worth it?’ Marcy asks as I resume the journey and lead our
little convoy out onto the open road.

  ‘Not really,’ I say after a second of surmising.

  ‘Reggie lectured it half to death then the dog ate it.’

  ‘Well,’ I say thoughtfully, ‘when you put it like that. Reggie is a clever sod though.’

  ‘So are you.’

  ‘Yeah but not like that, did you hear what he said?’

  ‘I did,’ she says, ‘and it was disgusting. Having sex in a nightclub? That’s gross.’

  ‘I think his point was that people would have sex anywhere so we’ll continue to breed.’

  ‘Yeah but in a nightclub?’

  ‘There are worse places than a nightclub,’ I say.

  ‘You haven’t have you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Had sex in a nightclub. Have you?’

  ‘Me? Fuck off…no chance,’ I cast a sideways look to see I’m getting a narrow eyed look of foreboding in return.

  ‘You’d better not,’ she says darkly.

  We thread through the roads to the motorway and aim in the direction Reggie told us to take after he found a black splodge within a green splodge on the map that he said was the water treatment centre. How he actually knew that little black bit within the green bit was a treatment centre is beyond me. Silence for a while until a voice politely calls out from the back.

  ‘Mr Howie?’

  ‘Yes, mate?’ I call back to Cookey.

  ‘Do you have any tattoos?’

  ‘No mate.’

  ‘Oh okay.’

  ‘Strange question,’ Marcy asks, twisting in her seat.

  ‘Marcy? You got any tattoos?’ Cookey asks.

  ‘No,’ Marcy grins, ‘why?’

  ‘Just wondering,’ he says.

  ‘What the fuck’s in your head now?’ Blowers asks.

  ‘You got any tattoos?’ Cookey asks him.

  ‘You know I don’t.’

  ‘Nick?’

  ‘Nope, why you asking fucktard?’

  ‘Mo? You got any, mate?’

  ‘No I don’t.’

  ‘Charlie?’ Marcy asks, ‘are you okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ Charlie says in a strangely low voice, ‘thank you.’

  ‘What’s up with Charlie?’ I ask.

  ‘She’s glaring at Cookey,’ Marcy says, ‘like really glaring…like I glared at you last night.’

  ‘Cookey, what have you done?’ I call out.

  ‘Eh? Nothing. I was just making idle conversation about tattoos. Blinky? You got any?’

  ‘Go fuck yourself.’

  ‘Good answer,’ Cookey says with a deep sigh as he stretches his legs out, ‘so none of us have tattoos then…maybe we should get some, like…’

  ‘Why’s Charlie glaring at you,’ Blowers asks with a laugh.

  ‘Is she?’ Cookey asks, ‘I do not know.’

  ‘You fucking do,’ Blowers laughs, ‘Charlie? What’s he done?’

  ‘He hasn’t done anything….yet,’ Charlie says.

  ‘Yet?’ Nick asks.

  ‘Yeah so…what tattoos should we get?’ Cookey asks, ‘we should get axes…’

  ‘What the fuck…’ Blowers asks, still laughing and staring at Charlie glaring daggers at Cookey.

  ‘Yeah axes,’ Cookey says, reaching up to put his hands behind his head, ‘like…something cool like, I dunno…a pair of axes ow!’

  ‘What happened?’ I ask.

  ‘Charlie kicked Cookey in the leg,’ Marcy says, laughing with a confused look on her face.

  ‘I was only suggesting we had a pair of axes…’ Cookey says. I snatch a glance to see him scooting down the bench seat out of range of Charlie, ‘maybe like crossed or something.’

  ‘Cookey!’ Charlie says.

  ‘What?’ Cookey exclaims in his innocent voice, ‘what’s wrong with that? We could have a pair of axes crossed…it would look awesome…especially if we got it on our arses…’

  ‘Cookey!’ She says again, louder this time

  ‘What the fuck?’ Nick laughs.

  ‘Ow,’ Cookey shouts as Charlie goes over Mo to get next to Cookey to deliver the punch to his arm.

  ‘Charlie’s got a tattoo on her arse,’ Blinky says.

  ‘Has she really?’ Cookey asks, covering his head as he ducks away, ‘what is it?’

  ‘Hockey sticks, I told you…’

  ‘Say what?’ Cookey shouts, his voice muffled, ‘can this be true? Are they crossed? Stop hitting me,’ he bursts out laughing.

  ‘I shall hit you,’ Charlie says.

  ‘You shall shall you?’ Cookey asks and gets another whack on the arm, ‘cor, fuck me, Charlie…you don’t half punch hard.’

  ‘Pack it in or I’ll ask Blinky to punch you.’

  ‘I’ll punch him,’ Blinky offers.

  ‘No no,..’ Cookey says, waving his hands in defeat, ‘I shall stop I shall.’

  ‘Has Cookey seen your arse?’ Blowers asks with a grin at the sight of Cookey getting a very polite beating.

  ‘No he has not,’ Charlie says too quickly. ‘He has not. He did not. He didn’t look…’

  ‘He saw your arse?’ Blowers asks in a stunned voice.

  ‘What? I didn’t do nothing…’

  ‘Anything,’ she says, correcting him, ‘I did not do anything.’

  ‘You’s fucked, Cookey,’ Mo says, ‘she’s correcting you now.’

  ‘Oh you’re so fucked,’ Blinky says, ‘you got Charlie mad at you.’

  ‘I am not mad,’ she says primly, ‘I am merely disappointed that someone who behaved so gallantly and with such courage would now ruin that image by broadcasting…’

  ‘I didn’t say noth…anything.’

  ‘You inferred to the extent that now everyone knows you have seen my bottom.’

  ‘Saw your what?’ Cookey asks.

  ‘My bottom.’

  ‘That’s so sexy when you say bottom ow!’

  ‘Want me to hit him?’ Blinky asks.

  ‘No she doesn’t!’ Cookey shouts.

  ‘Has Charlie got a tattoo on her backside then?’ Nick asks.

  ‘No I do not…’

  ‘Yep she has, ouch.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Mo asks.

  ‘I saw it…fuck’s sake stop hitting me.’

  ‘Then stop talking about my bottom.’

  ‘Say bottom again…argh I’ve got a dead arm now.’

  ‘How…How did…’ Blowers tries asking but stops from the laughs coming out as Charlie holds her hand above Cookey’s dead arm daring him to say something else.

  ‘How did he see it?’ Nick asks.

  ‘We do not need to continue this discussion about my bottom!’

  ‘Stop saying bottom like that,’ Cookey wails.

  ‘What is wrong with how I say bottom?’

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Nick laughs, ‘just hang on…no wait…Charlie…how did Cookey see your arse?’

  ‘It’s bottom,’ Cookey points out primly, ‘not arse you heathen.’

  ‘This conversation shall end now,’ Charlie says, ‘or I shall discuss what I saw this morning.’

  ‘Oh no…no no…’

  ‘What?’ Blowers asks.

  ‘What d’you see?’ Nick’s says.

  ‘Charlie?’ Mo asks, ‘what was it?’

  ‘Cookey?’ Charlie asks, ‘would you care for me to divulge what I saw.’

  ‘No…no no no…I take it back, I didn’t see a pair of crossed hockey sticks tattooed on Charlie’s bum.’

  ‘He said it,’ Blowers calls out, ‘he said he saw your arse.’

  ‘I did not,’ Cookey wails, ‘I said I did not see the pair of crossed hockey stick…ow!’

  ‘You’s fucking nuts, mate,’ Mo laughs, ‘stop now if I was you.’

  ‘Take Mo’s advice,’ Charlie says.

  ‘Charlie, what did you see?’ Blinky asks.

  ‘I shall tell them,’ Charlie tells him, ‘I shall.’

  ‘Shall you?’ Cookey can’t help himself and affects his posh voice again.


  ‘Are you goading me?’

  ‘No,’ he says quickly, ‘okay…done now…finished yeah?’

  ‘Promise?’ She asks.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Say I promise.’

  ‘I promise…I promise not to tell everyone I saw the tattoo of the crossed hockey sticks…’

  ‘I saw Cookey’s…’

  ‘No! I’ll stop. I will. I promise. I’ll stop now.’

  ‘Saw his what?’ Mo asks.

  ‘I believe this conversation is now over,’ Charlie points out as Cookey sits back upright rubbing his arm with a huge grin spread across his face.

  ‘Mr Howie, we need to exit on the next junction. The treatment centre is less than a mile away.’

  ‘Got it, cheers, Reggie. Everyone switch on,’ I call back as Marcy twists back round to face the front with a big smile on her face.

  The junction isn’t really a junction but a purpose built exit road obviously put in place to handle the large vehicles used by the water company and as soon as we’re a few metres into the road we see signs telling drivers to report to reception and Health and Safety Notices everywhere. A set of gates stretch across the road with the logo for Southern Water pinned on both sides.

  ‘Meredith is reacting,’ Clarence’s deep voice in our ears.

  ‘Got it,’ I reply, ‘Blowers, your team protect the minibus.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Roy, can you get on top of your van?’

  ‘I can. Overwatch?’

  ‘Yes please, mate.’

  I slow down and peer forward through the chain link fence on both sides and through the gates to the concrete block squat buildings on the other side. Huge pipes run from the largest central building to a large metallic tank nestled in the ground.

  ‘Going through,’ I give the update and increase the speed for the front of the Saxon to ping the gates open that slam out and aside. The parking area is big, deep and wide and we go right to keep a clear line of sight.

  ‘Someone up top,’ I call out as I bring the Saxon to a stop.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Nick replies and starts working his way through the hole.

  Clarence parks the minibus back from us and Roy’s van goes ahead to stop at the same angle as us. The second it stops so Roy is out and running to the rear. The back doors open and he climbs up to gain his feet as Reginald passes him the bow and arrows then quickly closes the doors.