The Undead Day Sixteen

by RR Haywood

  ‘Okay,’ she nods to herself and realises he won’t be able to see the movement, ‘yes,’ she says abruptly with a tired finality to her voice, ‘what now?’

  ‘Wait till morning to load up and head back, we’ll need another vehicle but…’

  ‘We can get some ammunition now though can’t we, for our weapons I mean.’

  ‘I’ll send the lads back down here to bring some cases back.’

  ‘Why don’t we just take a case back with us now?’ She asks pointedly.

  ‘Because we’ve only got little torches and…’

  ‘I can see fine,’ she moves off hovering the beam of light from her torch as she move quickly to the first stack all wrapped up tight in thick layers of cling-film type packaging. Drawing her knife she slices through the outer layer, digging the blade against the taut plastic until it cuts and she can tear it away with her hands.

  ‘What we looking for?’ She tries to ask with the end of the torch clamped between her teeth.

  ‘Maybe ask that before you start taking them apart?’

  ‘Then how do we see what’s on the boxes inside the cling wrap?’

  ‘On the manifesto,’ he replies too quickly.

  ‘What manifesto? Can you see a manifesto? I can see a big printed barcode waiting to be scanned onto a computer system…you could get the power running then work out how to operate the computer systems then find the barcode reader scan the barcode and maybe then we’ll know what’s in each pallet.’

  ‘They always had manifestos when they were delivered to stores,’ Clarence grunts.

  ‘And I’m guessing once the army take possession they issue their own paper manifesto seeing as maybe it’ll be hard to operate a barcode scanner in the middle of Afghanistan.’

  ‘And you’d know that would you?’ He asks bluntly, ‘seeing as you served with distinction in overseas combat zones.’

  ‘No, but I bloody worked with enough delivery companies to know how they establish stream-lined and paperless systems.’

  ‘Oh the stream-lined and paperless systems,’ Clarence says scathingly, ‘yeah we’re all for that in the middle of a big fire fight. Don’t worry about the bullets and bombs flying everywhere but for fuck’s sake don’t cut a tree down.’

  ‘And back to the matter at hand,’ Paula cuts him off, ‘what are we looking for?’

  ‘Looking for? You should know seeing as you…’

  ‘Clarence…why are you being like that?’ She snaps.

  ‘Five point five six for the assault rifles and nine mil for the pistols…look for seven point six two for the big gun. It should be stencilled on the side of the cases…unless they’re a new paperless and streamlined service too,’ he adds with an edge to his voice, ‘you know, so we make life easier for the paper pushers who don’t have to worry about the bullets and bombs flying about…’

  ‘Here,’ she says ignoring his caustic comments, ‘five point five six…Christ this is heavy,’ she grunts trying to lift the solid metal crate.

  ‘Allow me,’ he reaches past one handed to lift the case from the stack and lower it to the floor.

  ‘Wish I had your strength,’ she mutters.

  ‘Bollocks,’ he curses. The top opened up to reveal layers of shiny brass rounds looking innocuous under the torch light, ‘no magazines…’

  ‘Oh…will they be here too?’ She asks standing over his crouching form.

  ‘I don’t know, Paula,’ he bites, ‘I’ve never worked in a fucking munitions factory…I don’t know who makes the magazines or if the fucking munitions factory makes the fucking magazines…I’m a fucking soldier not a…’

  ‘And I was an accountant and Howie was a manager at Tesco and Lani worked in a nightclub,’ she says abruptly, ‘so you and Dave are…’

  ‘Me and Dave?’ He looks up with scorn, ‘Dave would know less than me…’ Paula notices his hand once more starts rubbing the back of his neck in a tell-tale sign of tension, ‘and which is why,’ he stands up to look down at the woman in the shadows, ‘I suggested we send the lads down with torches to look properly.’

  ‘You never said that,’ she prickles at his tone, ‘you said you’d send them down to bring them back…not look for magazines.’

  ‘I never fucking said that,’ his voice rises in volume.

  ‘I know you didn’t,’ hers matches his as it ramps up, ‘and don’t swear at me.’

  ‘I wasn’t swearing at you I was just fucking swearing.’

  ‘You’re confusing me,’ she shakes her head disdainfully, ‘fine, we’ll come back with more lights and…’

  ‘Oh really? Shall we? That’s a good idea,’ acid drips from his tone.

  ‘What the hell has got into you?’ She demands with eyes widening in anger. Both of them hold their torches pointed down and the reflected light casts their faces in terrible shadows that make their eyes appear more sunken, their cheek bones more pronounced and their lips thin and cruel.

  ‘Me?’ he blanches, ‘you’re being difficult and snappy for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘What? I am not, you’re trying to control everything and be the…’

  ‘Be the what? Go on…be the what?’

  ‘Stop rubbing your bloody neck.’

  He freezes on the spot with one hand giving a self-message and if truth be told, he didn’t know he was doing it. Memories surged up of Chris and Malcolm taking the piss when he started rubbing his neck and then Malcolm and Clarence doing the same to Chris when he rubbed his beard. What did Malcolm do? That was it, he cracked his knuckles. All three of them had a tell-tale sign of when the tension got high.

  ‘It eases the tension,’ he grumbles continuing the massage. The fleeting hurt across his face is evident. A huge man full of strength both physical and mental but barely coping with his own anguish. He blinks several times and looks away, lost, forlorn.

  ‘Turn round,’ she finds her own voice is now softer than it was as the anger starts to ebb.

  ‘Eh?’ He glances down with a puzzled expression.

  ‘I said turn round,’ she nods for him to do so, motioning with her head.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Fine, stay there then,’ she tuts and moves round to face his back, pocketing the torch she reaches up to grasp his shoulders and gently slaps his hand away. ‘Relax,’ she orders gently.

  ‘What you doing?’

  ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘I don’t know it’s dark,’ the feeble joke is weak but it helps break the tension. His hand drops down to his side as her own hands start kneading at the trapezius muscles stretching from his neck to his shoulders.

  ‘You’re too tall,’ she says, ‘sit down.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘No, outside.’

  He sits down, easing his bulk to a childlike position with his legs curled round in front and his centre of balance aided by his hands gently resting on the ground either side.

  ‘That’s better,’ she moves in closer to rest the front of her legs against his wide back. Clarence is so tall she doesn’t need to bend over that much to start working on his neck and shoulders. ‘They’re really tight,’ she mutters.

  Clarence sits rock still, uncomfortable to be touched in this way. It’s too much of an intimate gesture, done at a time of great worry and it feels wrong, forced, contrived. But he takes a deep breath and slowly lets the air out as her hands work harder to massage the bunched muscles. Seconds is all it takes and he presses the button on his torch to switch it off and save the battery. Their breathing fills the air, soft inhalations and slow exhalations. She grunts gently as her hands work harder, digging her thumbs into his muscles, ‘they’re rock hard,’ she mutters, ‘can I hit them?’

  ‘Hit them?’

  ‘Beat them,’ she gives a dry chuckle.

  ‘Go for it,’ he shrugs and she senses the great power in his body as her hands rise several inches from the movement. Using the blade of her hand she rubs it side to side down the right trapezius muscle before sta
rted gentle taps along the muscle. Those gentle taps get gradually harder as she starts beating the muscle with hammer fists to loosen the knots and ease the cramping like feeling within them.

  His eyes close at the feeling. Endorphins flood from the muscle and the completely painless beating on his shoulders. She drums again and again, using both hands on the same muscle with hard karate chops that send minute shockwaves through the nerves and sinews.

  ‘God that’s nice,’ he mutters.

  ‘Drop your head a bit,’ she starts kneading at the back of his neck, using the flats of her palms to generate the force necessary.

  Clarence snorts with a low grunt of laughter, ‘this is when Roy walks in and shoots me with his bow.’

  ‘I don’t think he’d mind,’ she replies quietly.

  ‘You er, you getting on okay then?’ He asks carefully, not wanting to pry but feeling a need to fill the silence.

  ‘Me and Roy? Yeah…yeah I think so, he’s nice. Strange but…well, strange times,’ she trails off.

  ‘Say that again,’ he rumbles.

  ‘You worried? About Howie I mean?’ She asks.

  ‘Course,’ he nods, ‘very.’

  ‘He’ll be okay,’ she says softly, ‘he just needs rest and quiet and maybe, maybe this is the right place for him to have it.’

  ‘Hope so.’

  ‘Everything he’s been through.’ She talks quietly while working on his neck and across his shoulders, and like kneading pizza or scrubbing work-surfaces, the repetitive action soothes her as much as Clarence. Doing something simple with her hands lets her mind ease down a few gears and allow natural thought processes to flow. ‘Everything you’ve been through…all of them…’

  ‘And you,’ he adds.

  ‘All of us,’ she agrees, ‘I try not to think about it.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About…you know, those that didn’t make it.’

  ‘Family you mean? Like friends and…’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispers, ‘I saw my mother, she was turned…’

  ‘Christ, Paula,’ his hand lifts across his chest to cover hers that rests on his shoulder.

  ‘We’ve all lost,’ she mutters.

  ‘We have but it doesn't make it easier.’

  ‘It kind of does,’ she counters gently, ‘knowing that we’re all in the same situation and that none of us have lost more than others…probably doesn't make any sense.’

  ‘No, it does,’ he squeezes her hand, ‘Howie saw his sister get killed by Dave. Me and Sarah were…’

  ‘A couple?’

  ‘No, nothing like that…I liked her and…I think she liked me but…there was so much going on and…well, I never really got the chance to talk to her properly.’

  She tuts softly, shaking her head at the sadness of it all. Her hands fall still as they both brood in silence for a few long seconds, remembering those they have lost.

  ‘They’re feeling less tight now,’ she remarks with a final rub along his shoulders, getting ready to make a move again.

  ‘Feel much better,’ he replies.

  ‘We’ve got to take comfort where we can now,’ she says slowly, ‘I’d never go with someone like Roy in…well, in the other life, like before…but now, I know he’s kind and he’s strong, fit and healthy…plus he’s on our side which helps,’ she gives another dry chuckle and abruptly slides down to sit behind Clarence and rest her own back against his. The big man stays still, feeling the warmth of her back against his.

  ‘We had sex,’ she announces softly, craning her head back to rest against his shoulders.

  ‘Thanks for sharing,’ he chuckles.

  ‘Sorry,’ she shrugs, ‘the end of that storm, when we went back to our rooms…we had sex.’

  ‘Again, thanks for sharing.’

  ‘I haven’t had sex in ages,’ she continues, ‘too busy at work, too busy at life…too busy for anything…the world ends and I have sex with the first man that comes along.’

  ‘Like you said, you got to take comfort where you can,’ he replies. She feels the rumble of vibration through his body when he speaks, his voice so deep and low, like a talking bear.

  ‘It was nice,’ she sighs, ‘just having someone else there.’

  ‘So it wasn’t Roy so much as his penis,’ he jokes.

  She bursts out laughing, her back thudding against his as the room fills with the sound of chuckles, ‘Clarence!’

  ‘Sorry, couldn’t resist…squaddie humour and all that. You’re not offended are you? You know, being a paperless, streamlined paper pusher and all that.’

  ‘Cheeky sod,’ she laughs again, ‘and yes, I’m deeply offended that you’d think I just wanted cock.’

  ‘Paula!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t say cock.’

  She laughs again in delight at the obvious discomfort in his voice, ‘you started it.’

  ‘Yeah but…you can’t say cock.’

  ‘Why not? Cock…there, I said it again.’

  ‘Stop! Say penis or…or something else…stop saying cock.’

  ‘Why? She chuckles, ‘I want squaddie humour too.’

  ‘It doesn't sound right when you say it.’

  ‘Why not? That’s sexist. You’re sexist.’

  ‘No I’m not…just…well yes…okay then I am sexist but…’

  ‘Cock.’

  ‘Stop it!’

  ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re blushing…in fact I think I can feel it from here.’

  ‘Rude,’ he mutters, ‘I’m sat in a pitch dark room with a beautiful woman saying cock…so yes, I am blushing.’

  ‘Beautiful?’ She asks quickly, ‘you think I’m beautiful?’

  ‘You are,’ he says firmly, ‘very beautiful and a lovely person…Roy is a lucky man.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she says sincerely.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘…So,’ she says after a pause, ‘when was your last time?’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Sex.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘The last time you had sex?’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he shrugs, ‘almost had it a few days ago in the fort but that was with an infected girl so…’

  ‘Yeah I heard about that.’

  ‘I broke her neck.’

  ‘Good,’ she replies quickly, ‘don’t feel bad about it.’

  ‘Other than that…maybe a month or so…something like that.’

  ‘Not that long ago then, did you have a wife or girlfriend?’

  ‘Nah, just a er…you know.’

  ‘One night stand?’

  ‘Sort of, this girl I used to see every now and then. Nothing special or…dunno really, just…’

  ‘Comfort?’ She asks gently.

  ‘Yeah guess it was.’

  ‘No shame in it,’ she muses, ‘I wish I’d done more…they say that don’t they. People who are dying, they don’t say they wished they had worked more or spent more time at work or making money…but more time with their family and doing things…nice things…’

  ‘I’ve heard that,’ he nods, ‘so you wish you had more sex then?’

  She chuckles. ‘Yep. I had this friend who never hesitated…we’d go for drinks or coffee and she’d regale me with stories of these crazy encounters she had with men, always made me laugh.’

  ‘Good for her,’ Clarence chuckles.

  ‘Do you really think I’m beautiful?’

  ‘Eh?’ he laughs, ‘you fishing for more compliments?’

  ‘I am,’ she announces, ‘make a lady feel nice.’

  ‘I thought you were a feminist.’

  ‘I was, no…the office I worked in was full of dirty, old, pervy sods.’

  ‘Well I ain’t a pervy, old sod.’

  ‘I know,’ she says quickly, ‘I know that…’

  ‘Right,’ he says firmly, ‘let’s see.’

  ‘See what?’

  ‘Your hair is very nice,’ he starts, ‘er…dark and nice…
and I like the way you pull your hair back into a ponytail.’

  ‘Oh I see,’ she nods, ‘keep going.’

  ‘And er…your skin is nice, looks soft…like nice and soft…clear too.’

  ‘Okay, so far so good, keep going.’

  ‘I am I am, er…you’ve got a cracking figure or does that make me sound like a dirty old sod?’

  ‘No, you’re alright, you can keep going.’

  He laughs gently, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, ‘like,’ he pauses and thinks, ‘your boobs are nice.’

  ‘My boobs?’ She laughs, ‘how would you know?’

  ‘No, the outline of them…like…they look nice.’

  ‘I’m joking, so…keep going.’

  ‘Nice shoulders, slim and toned…but your stomach isn’t too flat or…’

  ‘You saying I’m fat?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Joking! Keep going.’

  ‘It’s nice and soft, like womanly soft…and your legs are nice too…’

  ‘Keep going.’

  ‘I’ve run out.’

  ‘Really? What about my nails?’

  ‘Nails? I can’t say I’ve ever noticed your nails.’

  ‘Men never look at nails.’

  ‘True,’ she admits ruefully, ‘and mine are all broken and chipped now.’

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘Lani is very pretty,’ Paula stares into the darkness.

  ‘She is,’ Clarence agrees, ‘fierce too.’

  ‘Beautiful hair.’

  ‘Lani’s? Yeah I guess it is.’

  ‘Oh it is, so silky and black…she’s flawless. Not an ounce of fat on her body.’

  ‘I like a bit of fat,’ Clarence admits, ‘something to hold.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘That woman then? Was she curvy?’

  ‘Actually no she wasn’t, she was skinny…too skinny, but she was a nice girl.’

  ‘You strike me as being an old fashioned kind of guy.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he shrugs, ‘more like a freak or a dinosaur or…’

  ‘Freak? Why?’

  ‘Cos I’m so big.’

  ‘Yeah but bloody hell, Clarence, where would we be now without you?’

  ‘Now is okay,’ he admits, ‘and when I was serving but after the army it was… hard. I know Chris struggled too, and Malcolm.’