by P. R. Sharp
I could see Rinko's turn of phrase working around his head like a dizzy hamster on a play wheel, and before Jonny B could respond or make any kind of inappropriate comment, I picked up my spade and passing it to Rinko said, "Yeah... thanks. You can sharpen my spade anytime you want." Jonny B exhibited a fraction of a smile and carefully placed the spare rails on the ground, then returned to the workshop to find some more.
Rinko took the spade from me and smiled. I smiled back. She was very pretty. Lara Croft meets a blue haired Maggie Q. Her left eye squinted against the sun and her mouth pursed into a soft, pink bee sting. For a moment we were in a different place, but we both zoned back as Jonny B dropped more rails on top of the first pile, creating an out of tune jangle of metal bouncing off metal.
"Do you mind," Rinko said, looking at Jonny B with a wry smile. "We were having a moment!" Jonny B mouthed the word sorry and after a beat, we all started laughing.
By the end of that afternoon, Rinko had sharpened anything that needed it, including all the kitchen knives. She had given my spade a keen edge and tightly wrapped gaffer tape
around the shaft for extra grip. It was a good job. Her weapon of choice had been sharpened with the patience of somebody self-learning the art of sword care, and as it leaned against the kitchen steps, its freshly oiled blade reflected back a million, tiny rainbows.
Jonny B and I secured the spare rails to the fixed fence with barded wire and cables ties, so that the triple headed spike of each, wedged rail pointed up into the car park at a sharp angle. We shook hands and admired our work, taking it in turn to sip warm beer from our shared can. If a Septic tried to snag us as we opened or closed the side gate, they would either hit the riot shields or get snagged themselves on the barbed wire. And if they stormed the fence, the rails pointing out at waist height would impale them as they either forced forward or got pushed from behind; leaving their heads at the perfect height to be skewered.
It had been a long, hard day. That evening, we had some supper and a few drinks; even passed around a couple of joints. But the conversation was lacking. I’m not sure what time it was, but after my third very large glass of wine, I stumbled into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed.
I can’t remember the last time I slept in a bed.
After about twenty minutes, just as I was drifting off, I felt Rinko climb onto the mattress and curl up next to me. I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming and must have dozed off. At one point, I’m sure I saw Jonny B silhouetted against the door frame, but, as I say; I’m not sure whether I was dreaming or whether he was actually there, silently staring at us like a ghost as we unconsciously spooned. When I woke the next morning, Rinko was already in the kitchen boiling some water for a cup of tea, and Jonny B was sat alone in the lounge. I said good morning to him, but all I got as a reply was a nod of the head and a grunt. Although nothing was said there and then, I could feel the building tension and jealousy in the air.
After breakfast, I did a quick stock check of our raided supplies, whilst evaluating our situation. It was becoming clear that we couldn’t stay here. No matter how we reinforced our defences, sooner or later, it would all go tits up. One little mistake or error in judgement could cost us dearly. We needed a get out plan and a place to go plan. We had absolutely no idea what was going on in the wider world, and had not seen another survivor for about forty eight hours. I tried to convince my self that this was a good thing. If they were sensible, they would be keeping their heads down as best as they could; like us. Reassuring as it was to know that we were not the only none Septix in the neighbourhood, I was more worried about taking on something that would fight back with a weapon of some description. If we came in to conflict with people armed with guns, even air guns, we would be in deep shit.
We did another wheelbarrow raid before supper. Rinko wasn't so lucky this time around. She overextended her reach and almost got her head pulled off by one of the infected police men that had fallen out of the transit. She managed to roll under his arm as I hacked through the back of his wide neck with my spade, its cutting power now fully restored, thanks to Rinko’s efforts. But it was a near miss she could not afford to repeat. I told her to stay close after that. She didn't need telling twice. We found more bags of shopping and took the first aid kit from every car that had one, plus any flash lights. We found a 110 land rover with its keys in the ignition, but had already stockpiled petrol; if we wanted the Landy, we would need diesel or cooking oil. But then, we found a jet black Jaguar XS complete with keys and drooled over the prospect of driving out of here in style. And we found more booze. A BMW 5 series that screamed 'company rep' had crates of a new, independent single malt stacked in its boot. We drove both cars back to the compound, weaving them in and around the line of forsaken vehicles. Occasionally making contact with an open door, a fender or luckless wing mirror, we parked them on the road next to the blue Corsa and, after a meal of corned beef and beans followed by a tin of peaches each, spent the next few hours sat on the kitchen steps, sampling the single malt and rethinking our barricade across the car park entrance. We could easily park six cars in the safety of the compound, so accommodating both the BMW and the XS would be simple enough. And we couldn't leave them up on the road for a number of reasons. The most important one being; getting to them quickly.
Everything we thought of would mean exposing ourselves to attack from multiple sides. We had various ideas and the one that we all kept coming back to, but would ultimately reject was; to use the number thirty six bus to block the car park entrance. Unfortunately, the number thirty six bus was sandwiched between other vehicles and had suffered fire damage following the police cruiser blevvy incident. The driver’s side wheel was flat and the cab’s windscreen was painted black with soot and encrusted with lumps of burnt plastic and melted metal that had been gobbed out by the explosion. Several side windows had exploded from the heat. We didn't know whether it would even start, or what horrors might be lurking inside. If it did start, it would attract a lot of attention; moving it out of the traffic snarl and having to pull a one hundred and eighty in order to park the bus with the doors facing into the car park. The two cars currently in position would get shunted out of the way and this alone would make one hell of a racket; if that worked at all.
Our alternative meant constructing some kind of gate that we could remove or open quickly, but would be strong enough to hold back a dangerously, violently unpredictable army of highly contagious monsters.
Yeah, right…
Looking back, what we should have done is got in one of the cars and buggered off there and then...
What we should have done...
It's what we should have done...
Shouldawouldacoulda.
More whisky flowed as we discussed the value of each car in the style of Top Gear. I could picture Septic versions of the presenters as they wandered through my mind, speaking to the camera in my head.
The BMW had more speed from a standing start, but the Jag would kick its arse in a drag race, said The Hamster. The Jag was heavier and would take more damage, but the BMW would be quicker in tight corners, said Captain Slow. The BMW had less boot space and more blind spots than the Jag and both would be out of juice pretty damn quickly if we had to floor it for a long time, or be forced to make evasive manoeuvres at high speed; plus the BMW had a better sound system but the Jag had more shagging space on the back seat!
And the Subaru was beast, said Clarkson.
Huh!?!
We were all completely wasted by this stage. A small cluster of infected stared at us from the car park as if we were nuts; and most very likely, we all were a little nuts by then. We resorted to the tried and tested method of reaching a decision between subject (A) and subject (B), when all the Pros and Cons had been decided, and with no clear winner between either subjects; there was only one thing you could do…
Eeny meany mine-ee mo,
catch a Septic by its toe,
if it squeals, let it go.
Eeny meany mine-ee mo...
Ip dip sky blue... who's it? Not you...
The BMW won. And on that bomb shell...
We would create a barrier to block the car park and use the Jag like a battering-ram to bash it out of the way, hopefully taking out a few infected at the same time; Jonny B opted to be the pilot for the mission, leaving my self and Rinko in the BMW, bringing up the rear; loaded with supplies, fuel, food and weapons, we’d stop to pick up Jonny B, torch the Jag confidently expecting it to explode as we get the fuck out of Dodge. We all felt drawn towards the coast. We figured if we could find a boat, we could get off the mainland. Even if it meant making our new home anchored somewhere near a safe haven; if there was such a thing.
All codshite...
All bollocks...
All bullshit…
High on the horizon, we saw a small, light aircraft, possibly a Cessna or something similar. It buzzed along the late pink and blue sky, streaked with liquorice fingers of cloud, heading in a north westerly direction; the same direction we intended to take in order to reach our nearest coastal harbour. The sight of this caused us all to stand. Our unsteady legs held our drunken bodies up long enough for us to salute the plane, and then one by one, we headed back into the flat.
***
I came to on the sofa a few hours later. I'm not sure what the time was, but it was early. I woke quickly anyway; too quickly for someone who had a brain full of whisky and an aching body.
I had been dreaming. I was young, walking through a field of maize towards a scarecrow. He was huge, at least twenty feet high. The scarecrow beckoned me over. As I looked up
into his oily, cloth face, his unblinking eyes made from mismatched buttons looked straight at me and he slowly raised a straw stuffed arm, pointing back in the direction I had just walked. I looked over my shoulder to see the whole field on fire. I could hear faint banging and the voice of a female in distress. I turned back to face the scarecrow, only to realise that I was now the scarecrow, watching the field burn that I was supposed to protect.
That's when I woke up. My shoulder felt tight and my mouth was very parched. I heard muffled voices coming from the bathroom and looked around the semi dark lounge. I was alone. There was a thud against the bathroom wall and a male voice saying something harsh in words of one syllable; followed by a slight, female whimper of compliance.
I rolled off the sofa and stood, cracked my knuckles and stretched. I called for Jonny B and Rinko but got no reply. I stopped myself short of calling for Moya, when there was another, louder bang against the bathroom wall and I went to investigate. I could see flickering candle light coming from within the bathroom and slowly pushed the door open to reveal a half naked Rinko being pinned to the wall by a Septic male. He turned his head to mine and let out a terrifying screech before lunging at my face.
I woke up again. This time for real. I caught my breath and grabbed my chest. “Jesus,” I muttered to myself and rolled off the sofa. I called for Jonny B and Rinko but got no reply. I stopped myself short of calling for Moya, when there was a loud bang against the bathroom wall and I went to investigate. I could see flickering candle light coming from within the bathroom and slowly pushed the door open to reveal a half naked Rinko being pinned to the wall by Jonny B. They both looked at me, and for a confused couple of seconds, part of my whisky soaked mind told me that I was still dreaming and that I should apologise and close the door. Then I saw the tear tracks on Rinko's cheeks, and the scratch marks on her exposed thigh, and the wild, drunken fanatical glint in Jonny B's eyes. This was no dream. This brief pause was all the time that Rinko needed. She brought her knee up into Jonny B's crotch and, as he doubled over and pulled away from her clutching his balls, she crawled her way along the bathroom wall towards me, where she fell into my arms and sobbed. Jonny B held his groin and spat the words "fucking bitch," and I quickly went from being inebriated and hung over at the same time; to being enraged and sickened by the events that must have occurred prior to my opening the door.
What followed is blurred as things happened quickly. I moved Rinko onto the landing and stepped into the bathroom. Jonny B was saying something about how she was begging for it; how she was a slut and a prick tease. I grabbed him by the ear and yanked him out onto the landing. He took a swing at me and I easily stepped out of his range. He fell forward and landed on the banister rail. Rinko slipped down the wall and hugged her knees. Jonny B was saying that Rinko would be sorry and lurched towards her. I grabbed him and forcible pushed him back. He threw another punch and connected with the wall. Rinko quickly crawled towards the bedroom behind me as Jonny B came at me again. This time I threw a punch and landed one square on his nose. I heard the bone crack and he staggered backwards. In a raised voice he accused me of wanting her “cute little fanny” all to myself and I told him to keep his damn voice down. We scuffled towards the top of the stairs and ended up rolling down them in a kind of slow motion free fall, until we arrived in the kitchen. I was first to stand and kicked Jonny B repeatedly until he begged me to stop. He said something about not belonging, that three was a crowd, that he'd be better off on his own; to which I quickly decided he was right and dragged him toward the kitchen door. I opened it and threw him out into the early morning light saying "go then." He stumbled down the steps, then turned and said he was sorry. I said it was too late for apologies; we needed to trust each other and he had over stepped the mark. He wanted some supplies, it was only fair, and he had worked just as hard to get them. I tossed half a dozen cans and a couple of bottles of water into a carrier bag and followed him down the steps; then I opened the side gate. Now he wanted a weapon. We stood and looked at each other for several seconds after I passed him Wallace; I closed and locked the gate behind him. With blood oozing from his nose and a final penitent expression, he turned to go. I was absolutely furious with him and would have quite happily left him for the infected, but as he slouched away rubbing his still sore testicles, I put my hands into my pockets and felt the keys to the Jag. I pulled them out. "Jonny?" I called after him, and he turned with an eager gratitude that he might be let back in to the compound. I tossed the keys over the fence and they landed at his feet. Without a word from either of us, he picked them up, jogged up to the Jag and pulled away, swerving the car through the stationary vehicles and driving on the pavement in a southerly direction until he was out of my sight. I locked the kitchen door and went back upstairs to find a still half naked Rinko curled up on my bed, crying. She had a Spyro the Dragon tattoo on the small of her back and two neat Japanese symbols on her right buttock. She rolled over to look at me and I caught a glimpse of her trimmed, pubic hair. I felt intrusive; I quickly pulled a blanket over her exposed lower half and sat with her until she fell asleep.
I didn't speak.
I didn't know what to say.
***
I stood at the lounge window, smoked a joint and watched the sun come up. It was going to be another glorious day, not a cloud for miles. I could see a large rabble of infected moving across the school playing fields and a thick pillar of smoke rising up from behind one of the school buildings. Within the black smoke I saw the occasional tongue of bright orange flame, and the image of the scarecrows field came gate crashing into my thoughts.
I admit; I felt a pang of guilt concerning Jonny B, but the scarecrow shook his head and wagged his finger. I turned away from the window. Jonny B had made his choice and sealed his fate when he tried to rape Rinko. He was tough; he would find a way to survive.
Not my problem anymore.
Not my problem...
***
On the morning that followed, Rinko told me that she was washing her self down with cold water and wet wipes when Jonny B came into the bathroom with his dick in his hand; metaphorically speaking. He molested her and groped her. He pushed her against the wall and threatened her; this is about where I came in. Her narrative of the events was detached and unemotional. She accepted that Jonny B was drun
k but that did not excuse his actions. She wasn't attracted to him and had not led him on in any way, and the fact that she was naked from the waist down did not give him carte blanche to act as he did. She would not let it upset her anymore. She should have, and very probably would have, easily kicked his arse, but was too frightened of the consequences. She had lost her mother to the infection. She had lost her father to the infected. And the whereabouts or condition of her brother was an unknown factor. She would not let a pigfuckingwanker like Jonny B get the better of her ever again. She was all cried out and that was that...
We didn't speak of it further.
2.9
Ace of Spades
BALANCING THE CURVE
'There is quite definitely something or
other deranged in my brain...'
Vincent Van Gogh.
We didn't feel the need or have the energy to execute another raid, so we spent the next day from mid morning to well into the evening, sipping our way through a crate of whisky and smoked the last of the weed; which was about half an ounce. By the middle of the afternoon, we were both floating in the happy miasma of a clam bake, oblivious to the horrors outside and telling each other our life stories. We made a kind of stew with some of the tinned goods and the pasta shells, and chomped through this as I asked her where she had learned to fight. She told me that one of her uncles on her mother’s side of the family used to run a successful chain of Kendo and Aikido Dojos before the outbreak, and she and her brother attended both classes from an early age until she was about fifteen. Her academic studies were piling up and her father was adamant that she pass all her school exams, so the Aikido and the Kendo had to be put on hold for the foreseeable future. She missed the buzz of throwing a fifteen stone man around the crash mats when she did Aikido and enjoyed the controlled aggression Kendo taught her.