The Undead Day Sixteen Part Two

by RR Haywood

  ‘Truly I don’t know the term.’

  ‘Marcy, that innocent look will not work on me.’

  ‘Reggie, I do not know the term, what does relations mean?’

  ‘You know,’ he flusters, ‘the thing a man and er…’ he blusters, ‘the interaction between members of the opposite er…gender….that er….’ He blushes and checks his tie, ‘that results in offspring.’

  ‘Sex. Sex Reggie. You can say the word sex.’

  ‘Good lord woman, no need to go blurting it out a hundred times. Is there no decorum left?’

  ‘Did you mean sex?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Reggie, men and men can have sex you know.’

  ‘I beg your pardon.’

  ‘You said it is a thing that members of the opposite gender do. Men and men have sex just as much as women and women.’

  ‘No. I meant they do it for the result of offspring. To copulate. To reproduce.’

  ‘Oh. Not for pleasure then.’

  ‘Oh the thought of it,’ he squirms and looks away with distaste, ‘all that sweating and grunting about like animals. Gosh, gosh no.’

  ‘Hmmm, yes Darren and I had sex but no, I am not pregnant.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, Reggie. A woman has ways of knowing.’

  ‘Ah, the menstrual cycle. You have commenced your menstrual cycle.’

  ‘My menstrual cycle as you put it,’ she smiles warmly, ‘has been and gone.’

  ‘Good lord,’ Reginald sits bolt upright even more than his naturally perfect posture, ‘you mean to say you are still having menstruation?’

  ‘Yes, Reggie. I am still a woman.’

  ‘Well,’ he snorts as though having been told something incredible yet somewhat slightly distasteful, ‘indeed. Yes it appears the infection has had very little effect on you.’

  ‘Lucky me,’ she smiles wanly.

  ‘I say,’ the dapper little man rallies with a burst of energy, ‘I have a grand idea. A positively grand idea if I may by so bold as to…’

  ‘Is it the one that involves you and me going north?’

  ‘North?’

  ‘Yes. North. The northern plan that takes us away from the fort and this area. The one that involve finding a nice little cottage in a valley where we can rest and recover from this horrid little event.’

  ‘Well,’ he huffs, ‘yes, that was my grand idea but I can see you still have the same level of scorn as previously.’

  ‘Not scorn, Reggie. I am not scornful of you but we are waiting here.’

  ‘For what my dear Marcy? For what are we waiting for? For Mr Howie? No good shall come of this.’

  She stays quiet in reflection, unable to explain why she waits or indeed what for. A factual certainty within her that compels them to remain close.

  She looks down at her hands and examines the skin she knows so well. The ridges and bumps of the knuckles and the smooth, almost perfectly unblemished skin that remains a healthy olive complexion. Turning her hands over she looks down at the veins visible on the inside of the wrist and how normal they appear. Not a sign on her. Other than the red eyes of course.

  Her hair is as lustrous as ever. Her lips as full. Her skin as soft and radiant as it was before. The bite mark on her backside caused when Darren turned her is almost healed.

  She shudders at the memory of it. Like any woman with a mistake in her past she cannot fathom what the attraction was.

  He turned her so in effect he controlled her. But when he died that connection ceased. Since then she has felt a growing sense of her own mind being in control of her body.

  What she is. What she carries. It is the answer. How she can remain herself with no desire to kill or hurt. No thirst for blood or drive to pass the infection on. She heals faster than she should do. She is healthy and feels physically well. Her heart beats strong.

  The infection is wrong. The minute the last human is turned is the first minute of the beginning of the end. As the host bodies decay and die, so too will the infection within.

  But what she has. What she carries is different and she knows Howie is the key.

  Or is he?

  She shifts position and stares out of the window of the top floor of the three storey house on the edge of the bay. The surface of the sea glitters like diamonds with the reflection of the sun. The little boats in the distance that carry yet more survivors to the fort. The stick figures of people holding weapons that guard what they’ve salvaged in this torn world.

  Lani is torn.

  In the dream she knew Lani was in peril and desperately wanted to warn Howie. The cryptic message was not of her own design but the words the Marcy in the dream uttered while the Marcy that slept murmured quietly while a fretful Reginald watched over her.

  She knew Blowers would be bitten. She knew one would take him on the arm. She knew Dave was watching over Howie. She knew Clarence was faltering and she knew Howie didn’t want to go back. She sensed he felt compelled because he knew an attack was happening but within his heart he had given up.

  The most enduring feeling of the dream was the tidal wave of energy that pulsed through her when she glimpsed him through the inert ranks of the host bodies.

  It tingled and made her heart beat faster. Butterflies in her stomach that flipped over with a pleasant sensation. Her mouth was dry. Her throat felt a little constricted with an almost breathless dizziness that passed the second she stepped out to speak to him.

  She could have taken him right there. He was ready for the taking. He was ready to give up and the right words from her would have meant he would never wake up.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Huh?’ She shakes her head then chuckles at the sight of Reggie rolling his eyes and sighing deeply.

  ‘I was talking to you,’ he says reproachfully.

  ‘I know,’ she lies, ‘I was listening.’

  ‘Were you? Indeed I think not. Moreover I think perhaps your rather beautiful head was full of fanciful ideas of running through fields of flowers hand in hand with Mr Howie.’

  She bursts out laughing and snorts through her nose, ‘what?’

  ‘Yes, well. Mark my words, no good shall come of this.’

  ‘Reggie, your words are endearing and if I did not know you better I would say you were jealous.’

  ‘Jealous? Good gosh I am not jealous. I think you are beautiful yes but in the same manner I find a particular work of art beautiful. Just because I have admiration in the pleasure of a thing does mean I want to…well, do what men do to other er…well, that is to say men and men and women and women and of course the traditional men and women coupling that…my point is, I rather pride myself that my emotions are not solely base emotions.’

  ‘Did you just call me a thing?’

  He stops talking and holds still for a second, ‘the complexity of your gender will forever be beyond my understanding. Of all the words I uttered and you heard only the part that may have caused you offence.’

  ‘So did you?’

  ‘Yes,’ he says with a firm nod, ‘I called you a thing.’

  ‘Reggie. I am not a thing,’ she says with a mock cold edge to her voice.

  ‘We are all but things, my dear.’

  ‘A thing is an inanimate object,’ she fixes him with a look.

  He shifts and narrows his eyes, ‘and surely, if you pursue this current course of action I fear it will render us both as inanimate objects as we are clearly displaying an inability to think coherently.’

  ‘Show off,’ she tuts and turns back to the window, ‘I bet you were a right pain in the arse in the old world.’

  ‘So another day we shall spend gazing longingly out of a window,’ he sighs again, ‘my mind requires stimulation and exercise.’

  ‘Go for a run.’

  ‘My mind not my body.’

  ‘Go for a mind run.’

  ‘What, may I ask, is a mind run?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ she stands up quickly, ‘come on
then.’

  ‘What? Where? Don’t just stand up and walk off without telling me why. Oh you cause me palpitations, palpitations of the stomach!’

  ‘Do you need the toilet?’

  ‘No. I do not need the toilet.’

  ‘Jolly good, I say,’ she says in a voice that belies a decision made and a mind made up.

  ‘Marcy…Marcy…’ Reginald rushes from the room to traipse down the stairs behind her, ‘where are we going? Do I need to pack?’

  ‘Pack?’ She says without turning, ‘we didn’t bring anything.’

  ‘I have been foraging and as luck would have it, some of the menfolk of this region were of a similar size and taste of adornments as I.’

  ‘No…yes…yes if you want to pack then do so.’

  ‘Oh my gosh. Packing means moving. Moving means going to the fort. I do not want to go to the fort.’

  ‘Stay here then.’

  ‘I cannot. You know I cannot. I am tied to you.’

  She stops and examines the space between them with a raised eyebrow, ‘you are not tied to me.’

  ‘That is not what…’

  ‘I release you,’ she states and starts heading down the next flight of stairs, ‘you are free to go and find a Mrs Reggie to make baby Reggies with.’

  ‘If only it were that easy,’ he mutters, ‘really, do I have no say in our decision making?’

  ‘Of course you do,’ she says with a laugh, ‘but whether I choose to listen is something else entirely.’

  ‘To the fort then,’ he says glumly, ‘we are going to the fort where we shall either be executed on sight or held as medical and scientific subjects to be examined and prodded with sharp pointy things.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Probably? Which one?’

  ‘Probably both. Probably executed and then prodded with sharp pointy things.’

  ‘I do not wish to be executed nor prodded with sharp pointy things. I wish to remain here in a calm and peaceful manner. I also do not wish to go in one of those little boats or be near the men and women armed with guns. I do not want to see Clarence or the other men after what happened. Really, I am ashamed at what happened. Really, I cannot…’

  ‘You got drunk, Reginald. Blind stinking drunk and you were singing songs before passing out.’

  ‘My dear, Marcy. Please. Please stop and listen one last time.’

  ‘Okay,’ she stops and turns with one hand resting on the lock of the front door, ‘go ahead.’

  ‘We have tried this,’ he speaks openly with genuine honesty, ‘we went there and tried this. It did not work. It will not work now. We are not their kind anymore. They do not want us. They will kill us. Please. I am appealing to any sense remaining in your delightful head to reconsider this.’

  ‘Reggie,’ she reaches out to gently adjust his tie, ‘you care for me and for that I am eternally grateful. Please, you can go anywhere you want or stay here. I do not want to hurt you or be the cause of you getting hurt. But I have to do this.’

  ‘Fine,’ he sags and softly scoots her hand off his tie, ‘so be it. We shall walk to our deaths and…of course I will go with you,’ he adds with a sudden earnest glance up at her face.

  ‘Oh Reggie.’

  ‘But only because I am more terrified of being here by myself.’

  ‘Fine!’ She opens the door and strides out.

  ‘I mean what if those awful things come back.’

  ‘The zombies?’

  ‘The living challenged,’ he corrects her quickly, ‘or people. Gosh, March. It appears both sides probably hate us equally now.’

  ‘So you’re as popular now as you were in the last life then.’

  ‘Cutting,’ he tuts, ‘wholly cutting. And besides, without Mr Howie there how do you know they won’t kill us on sight?’

  ‘They will. But Howie is coming back now.’

  ‘He is? And you know this how?’

  ‘Because of the dream. They were in a munitions factory. I told you that.’

  ‘We are basing everything…indeed the very basis of our lives on a dream.’

  ‘Yes, Reggie.’

  ‘Reginald. Did you eat cheese before going to bed? I know cheese can cause lucid dreams.’

  ‘There is no cheese, Reggie.’

  ‘Or any dairy products in general?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Perhaps you were dehydrated. Yes, a vision or hallucination caused by…’

  ‘I am not dehydrated. I drank a pint of water before going to sleep and woke up needing the toilet.’

  ‘Well perhaps you once took LSD then. Yes, I have heard accounts of people that have taken LSD later in life suffer severe delusional encounters.’

  ‘I have never taken LSD. I have never taken Cocaine. I have never taken any drugs.’

  ‘We must surely reflect and find the root…’

  ‘Reggie!’

  ‘Reginald.’

  ‘Stop it, Reggie. We are going to the fort. Now, do I look okay?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said, do I look okay?’

  ‘Oh,’ he rolls his eyes, ‘of course, yes of course. We want to look our best for the great Mr Howie.’

  ‘Yes. Now do I look okay?’

  ‘Yes,’ he sighs, ‘you look splendid but may I suggest you do one more button up on your blouse.’

  ‘My boobs are too big,’ she looks down at her own cleavage, ‘it’ll pop off if I breathe in.’

  ‘Find a bigger blouse then.’

  ‘I like this one,’ she pouts playfully, ‘it’s got red checks, red suits me.’

  ‘Hello?’

  The both spin at the voice calling out. An instinct to run and hide. Reginald freezes on the spot. Marcy grabs the sunglasses hanging from one stem on the back pocket of her jeans and makes as though to shield her eyes with her hand.

  ‘Cover your eyes,’ she mutters and watches as a man steps out from the side garden passage of a house. He pauses and goes to move back then stops and holds positon. Nervous. Worried.

  ‘What with?’ Reginald asks quietly.

  ‘Can you hear me? The man calls out.

  ‘Yes,’ Marcy shouts back and quickly looks round to the sides then behind.

  ‘Are you going to the fort?’ The man takes a step forward then stops again, ‘we got here last night and…’

  ‘You’re survivors?’ Marcy asks without thinking.

  ‘Yes…my wife…and some others er…we heard about it. About the fort I mean. Are you? I mean…’

  ‘Same,’ Marcy says quickly, ‘how many of you?’

  ‘A few,’ the man says clearly not wanting to give too much away, ‘can I come over?’

  ‘Of course,’ Marcy takes a confident few paces towards him, ‘wait here,’ she mutters to Reginald.

  ‘They might be dangerous,’ Reginald whimpers.

  ‘I’m a zombie, Reggie,’ Marcy says with a turn of her head towards Reginald.

  ‘Don’t say that word!’

  ‘My friend is waiting there,’ Marcy calls out, ‘er…we’ve had some pretty bad encounters on the way here.’

  ‘Same,’ the man says. He looks bedraggled with several days of grey streaked beard showing on sunken cheeks and hooded eyes.

  ‘You look exhausted,’ Marcy says quietly, ‘are you all like that?’

  ‘Yeah,’ the man nods and stops a few feet away. Nervous and worried, he doesn't know what to do with his hands. Putting them first in his pockets then on his hips before visibly sagging on the spot, ‘is it safe?’

  ‘The fort?’ Marcy asks, ‘I think so.’

  ‘Everyone keeps talking about Mr Howie and his army…you heard about them?’

  ‘I have,’ Marcy says.

  ‘My daughter died,’ the man blurts the words out with a choking sob, ‘on the way…she got bit and…Christ…I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Marcy steps closer again and watches the man crumble before her eyes.

  ‘We’ve been walking so
long…my wife, she hasn’t spoken since our daughter and…and everyone said the fort was safe and Mr Howie can keep them away but…’ he lifts a hand to point to the fort across the bay, ‘and we’re here…fucking here…’

  ‘Do you have more children?’ Marcy asks softly.

  ‘Son,’ the man clenches his jaw to stem the tide of tears falling down his face, ‘and there’s more kids with us.’

  ‘Your son will be safe now,’ Marcy speaks soft and earnest, ‘I know Mr Howie and I know his team. They’ll never let anything happen to your family.’

  ‘You know them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She died,’ the man sobs again, ‘in my arms…I can’t…oh my god I can’t…’

  He sinks to his knees at the realisation that the strength he needed to get this far can be let go. A journey through hell with death and suffering at every turn. Loss and deprivation with the constant threat of dying and walking miles every day on weak legs that have spent a lifetime sitting and resting.

  ‘Come on,’ Marcy grips his arm and starts to help him to his feet, ‘you’re almost there but your family still need you.’

  ‘I’m sorry…’

  ‘Don’t be, get up and take your people down there. Go on…’

  He gets up with a head lowered and takes a few steps on heavy legs, ‘you’re not coming?’

  ‘Not yet, we’re waiting for some others… you go first.’

  He walks back towards the house and Marcy watches a man defeated forcing himself to take the final few steps before he can sink into the abyss of shock. Pain on her face that he doesn't even have the gumption left to ask how she knows Mr Howie and his team, or why she’s here.

  She motions to Reginald to move back. The two of them retreating further away while the man disappears for a few minutes then comes out in front of a ragtag group of men, women and children. They stare round with expressions of utter terror and confusion but with eyes that flick always back to the fort and the promise of the safety it offers.

  ‘We’re not going with them?’ Reginald asks quietly.

  ‘They’ll see your eyes.’

  ‘Ah, at least you have some small amount of common sense left.’

  ‘Common sense?’ Marcy says as an idea pops into her head, ‘wait here,’ she says to Reginald before darting across the road towards the man she just spoke with.