The Undead Day Sixteen

by RR Haywood

  ‘James,’ she whispers and swallows again before casting her eyes round the spotless kitchen.

  ‘A warrior,’ his head tilts to one side, ‘a warrior.’

  ‘No, I said worrier…I worry, James…’ she closes her eyes in resignation and knows it’s already too late.

  ‘So…’ he falters and stops as though he is the victim, ‘I’m not a warrior then? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘No,’ she whispers and keeps her eyes closed.

  ‘Yeah,’ he snorts a dry laugh, ‘a mechanic isn’t a warrior, is he.’

  She stays silent now. Nothing she can say will make a difference to the outcome.

  ‘It’s not like I paid the rent is it,’ he says conversationally, ‘or put food on the table.’

  She waits.

  ‘You want to go with them. Don’t you?’ He asks gently, ‘say it, tell me the truth. You want to go with them.’

  She waits. Silently she waits.

  ‘Go on,’ he urges, ‘you know you can be honest with me.’

  She doesn't reply but holds still.

  ‘You want to go with them. Why?’

  She wishes he would just do it. The waiting is harder than the inevitable action. The fear of thing is greater than the thing itself.

  ‘Why?’

  Like walking a tightrope. One wrong step and you plummet. She can’t show reaction or speak for fear her tone will be wrong.

  ‘Tell me, Emma.’

  She suppresses the wince when he uses her name. The build-up has started. This slow gentle questioning as he seeks answers to questions that cannot be answered.

  ‘I asked you a question.’

  Even when his hand softly brushes against her cheek as it reaches round to gently cup the back of her neck she shows no reaction. She can’t allow the shudder to show so she breathes instead. In and out she breathes.

  ‘Emma,’ his voice is that little bit firmer now, ‘I asked you a question.’ The pressure of his hand on her neck increases by the tiniest increment.

  ‘Why,’ he sounds the words out, ‘do you,’ she braces and prayers the injuries won’t be so bad this time, ‘want to go with them?’

  The silence is heavy and loaded. A fizzing, bad energy seems to fill the room and she knows that if she opens her eyes now she’ll see his steel cold eyes boring into hers and he’ll look that much paler than he did before and that much bigger too.

  ‘Him?’

  The word is spoken softly but the impact of her forehead against the table is jarring and for seconds she sees stars behind her closed eyes. His hand holds her down. An act of power and control as he pins her upper body to the kitchen table.

  ‘Him?’ He asks softly again and she dare not breathe.

  ‘I asked you,’ he lifts her head up and strikes it back down. Not hard but a display of utter control that she is a plaything to be toyed with, ‘do you want to go with him?’

  Him? She knows who he means. Brian. But to say that name will invoke a vicious beating.

  ‘Is it?’ He demands still so softly.

  The name is on the tip of her tongue. She wants to say it simply so the beating comes sooner and ends sooner. The hits and kicks she can take for they give physical pain but this, this precursor build-up of control, power and domination is far worse. She bites it down and stays still.

  ‘Brian? Have you seen him?’

  ‘No,’ she blurts.

  ‘Eh?’ He lifts her up by the fistful of hair he grabs, ‘what?’

  ‘No,’ she shakes her head.

  ‘Open your eyes.’

  She screws them tightly closed.

  ‘Open your eyes.’

  She shakes her head, ‘I haven’t seen him. Stop. Please, James. Please stop.’

  ‘Open your eyes,’ the voice growls out now low and close.

  Piss threatens to spill out when she opens her eyes and looks at him. That terrible expression etched on his face. The ginger hair now looks so deeper a shade and his skin so pale it makes the freckles that much darker. His belief that by staring into her eyes he can see the truth.

  ‘Now I’ll ask you again. Have you seen him?’

  ‘No,’ she glares back trying with every ounce of strength to convey a look of honesty.

  ‘LIAR.’

  And so it starts. The explosion of violence erupts in the spotless kitchen of the spotless house in the ruined street of the apocalypse.

  As she sails through the air towards the sink she almost gives thanks that she can at least shut her mind down now. He’ll deliver the beating until he tires and she can curl up and wait until the anger abates.

  Her knees slam against the cupboard doors as she bends double. He’s right there, grabbing the back of her head and forcing it down into the stainless steel sink.

  ‘Lying cunt,’ twisting the tap on he starts soaking her head and again she gives thanks that at least with the power now gone he can’t use scalding hot water anymore.

  ‘Wash you,’ he hisses, ‘wash those fucking lies out of you.’

  She doesn't even like Brian. Yeah Brian is big and handsome but any sense of self was beaten out of her a long time ago and there’s no way Brian would ever look twice at her.

  ‘Wash…fucking wash…’ grabbing the bottle of washing up liquid he squirts it into her hair then her face and forces the nozzle between her teeth.

  She didn’t leave the house either so how would she see Brian? Or any of the other survivors? James went out foraging and locked all the doors.

  She gags on the thick liquid and feels the chemical sting in her eyes but that’s just physical and she can handle the physical and as his fingers pry into her mouth to force her jaw open so he can rinse the lies away, she thinks of what life would be like living with the other survivors in the church hall.

  James used to show restraint in the sense that facial injuries led to people asking questions and the police calling. So he learnt to strike the body where the bruises wouldn’t show.

  Now there are no police so it doesn't matter if he hits her in the face. He hits her in the face.

  On the floor with the blood pouring from her nose, her mind turns to how she’ll have to scrub the stains from the floor now otherwise he’ll get angry again.

  ‘Did you see him?’ He drops down to sit crouched over her, his body weight pinning her down. Reaching up, he grips her wrists and pulls them high so she gets stretched out, ‘did you see him?’ He glares down into her bloodied face.

  ‘Brian?’ Defiance flares and that look of shock on his face as she utters the forbidden name is worth it, ‘Brian?’ She spits blood from her mouth and gags as a thick dollop hits the back of her throat.

  ‘Emma!’ He snaps as though hurt at what she said.

  ‘You’re going to beat me anyway,’ she spits again, ‘big man.’ The defiance grows stronger as it surges up from her gut, ‘go on then, big man’ she urges, ‘beat me.’

  ‘You said his name,’ James whines.

  ‘Brian? I haven’t seen Brian in months. I’ve never spoken to him and I’M LOCKED IN,’ she screams, ‘SO HOW CAN I SEE ANYONE?’

  The backhander stings and snaps her head to one side. She pants from the exertion of shouting and the adrenalin coursing through her system as she slowly turns back to stare up at him.

  ‘What’s got into you?’ He sneers with distaste.

  ‘Not you, that’s for sure,’ she hisses the words out in a scathing tone and watches as the look of hurt morphs into one of rage. As the blows start falling she takes that nugget of pride that at least she got to him.

  ‘Hello? Anyone there?’

  James freezes with his fists held mid-strike as his girlfriend of five years lies unconscious between his legs. Her nose and jaw broken and her left eye socket fractured. Blood lies deep around her head and spattered against the white tiles and beige linoleum floor.

  ‘Hello?’

  He looks down at Emma then at his fists dripping red blood. His heart hammering in his ches
t.

  ‘My name is Neal Barrett, I’m a scientist with the government. I urgently need to speak with Emma Ford. Is she here?’

  The voice comes from the locked, bolted and nailed front door. A man’s voice, clear in inflection and tone. Well-spoken and clearly educated. The type of man that always used to make James feel so inadequate and stupid he’d add fifty pounds to their bill and make sure their cars failed the MOT just for the spite of it.

  Is she dead? He peers down to watch her face but the pulped mess gives nothing away.

  ‘I thought I heard someone in there,’ the voice calls again, ‘is anyone there? It’s vitally important that I speak with Emma Ford.’

  Oh shit. He looks around frantically then remembers he was checking if she was still alive. He drops his head to her chest and presses an ear close. A heartbeat, slow and faint but a heartbeat nonetheless. Emma is alive.

  ‘I say,’ the voice calls out again, ‘I’m from the government. We are working on the spread of the infection and we have urgent need to speak with Emma Ford.’

  Government? Shit. That meant the government was still running which meant the country still had laws which would mean they’d do him for beating her. No. They wouldn’t put him on trial but summary execution and just shoot him or something.

  Easing himself up he peers round the edge of the open kitchen door into the gloomy but spotless hallway and the barred front door. James moves down the hallway, into the lounge and over to the curtained barred windows.

  ‘Hello? I think I can hear movement,’ the polite voice calls out, ‘do not be alarmed, I am here to help.’

  James eases the edge of the curtain back and winces as his fingers leave a crimson stain on the heavy cream material. Emma will have to scrub that out. With the thick planks nailed in, he angles for a gap to look through.

  A horse is in the street. A big one too with a saddle and leather bags hooked on. James moves over, desperately craning to see as a man steps back from the door and looks up at the front of the house.

  James stares with wide eyes at the assault rifle ready. He’s seen them on movies and television but never in real life and it looks so brutal. Black and heavy with a magazine jutting out the bottom. The man looks like he knows what to do with it by the way he holds it too. And a pistol on his belt! This man is armed to the teeth with a fucking horse and calling for Emma by name.

  ‘Emma Ford,’ the man shouts, stares at the house then turns to quickly view the street behind him, ‘my name is Neal Barrett,’ the man calls out again, ‘I’m a scientist…’

  He doesn't look like a scientist, James thinks frantically. He looks like a soldier. He has a thick, brown beard and a high forehead but he looks fit too, fit and strong. Panicking, James eases the curtain back gently and creeps away from the window and into the hallway. He freezes at the solid thumping on the barred door and the voice calling out again.

  Staring hard at the front door, he backs into the kitchen hardly daring to breath. He turns and again freezes at the empty blood stained spot where Emma was lying a few minutes ago. Turning quickly he spots the flash of metal in her hand as the carving knife sinks deep into his gut. A hand lashes out gripping her throat as she grunts from the effort of twisting the handle.

  Pain sears through his mid-section as he feels a growing wetness spreading down his stomach and groin. Emma grips and turns as his hand squeezes to block the airflow to her already weak and dizzy brain. She falters and steps into him pushing the blade an extra two inches deeper. She gasps as her legs give out. James gasps as the blade bites deep and suddenly his legs don’t work anymore either.

  Down they sink. Entwined and killing each other as she uses the final seconds of her life to twist the handle back the other way.

  ‘I…’ she barely gets the word out but his grip on her throat weakens.

  ‘I…’ She looks up into those blue eyes and the palest of skin now draining of colour as his life blood seeps out through the ragged hole in his stomach

  ‘Emma,’ blood oozes thick and fast from his mouth.

  ‘I…’ she grins a macabre smile, ‘fucked Brian.’ Yes! She said it. She got the words out. They aren’t true but it doesn't matter. The victory in death is there as his eyes go wide with fear, loss and hurt.

  ‘Fucked him good…’ the last word chokes off as the final breath of air exhales from her lungs.

  Tears prickle the wife-beaters eyes as everything starts turning dim. The edges of his vision blur and the last thing he hears is the final hammering of Neal Barrett at the barred front door.

  Fifteen

  Day Sixteen

  A quick entry for I do not have time to make detailed notes after each event.

  The address for Emma Ford was found quickly enough but despite repeatedly knocking and calling out at the address I could not elicit a response. However, I swear I had heard noises from within.

  Consideration was given to forcing entry at the time of calling, and knowing what I know now, I wish I had taken that course of action. I must be more decisive in future and trust my instincts.

  I faltered and became hesitant and once that seed of doubt had taken root, I scuttled away while telling myself there could be anyone inside the address including the infected. If Emma was there then surely she would make herself known on hearing her name? I had considered greatly what to say on calling and decided I would announce myself as a scientist, which is truthful, and that I worked for the government, which is not truthful in so much as there is no known functioning government within this country.

  On moving away from the address, Jess and I picked out a natural route through the outskirts of the small town towards the centre. It was during that short and somewhat tense journey that I began to notice signs of habitation and organisation.

  Certain houses had red crosses spray painted on the doors and windows. Clear, large and distinct and obviously some kind of warning. Others had a blue cross. What these signs meant I could not fathom. Red means danger so I could only assume the red cross was a signal not to enter the address but what did the blue cross mean?

  With my senses becoming more alert I then noticed that the main road had been littered with objects in a very careful manner. A vehicle on the right then at a set distance another on the left and arranged in such a manner to obstruct the road.

  This meant that I had to zig zag down the road weaving through the vehicles. I further noted that the tyres had been punctured and in some cases, the wheels removed and the vehicles filled with heavy objects such as house bricks and debris.

  It occurred to me, at that point, that I was heading down a road designed for a dual purpose. First, anyone travelling at speed would have to slow down to navigate the obstacles and second, anyone fleeing down this road would have solid objects of cover from which to fire from.

  There were no corpses rotting in the street either which was a first. It was highly apparent that someone, or some persons had taken time and effort to clear them away and create this bi-functioning roadway.

  Jess alerted me that we were being watched. Her heightened senses of hearing, sight and general threat perception told me there were people to the left and right. Her breathing changed, becoming somewhat faster and her ears swivelled frantically, trying to find a source to noises she could hear but I couldn’t.

  At such a slow walk I simply put into practise what I had trained for by wedging the reins underside my right leg to hold them in place and riding by the strength of my legs only. This allowed me to bring the assault rifle to bear and held ready. The bolt was engaged and the safety clicked off.

  We stayed like this for several moments and the tension within me was palpable. Jess maintained a solid course, weaving gently through the vehicles until I observed ahead that the road ended at a T junction. Straight ahead of me was a high spired church and a man standing in front of it staring down the road at me.

  I could see he was armed with a long barrelled weapon but I could also see that the weapon wa
s lowered and not pointing at me. That told me two things. First, that he did not want to see him as a direct threat and second, that others were training weapons on me. As an overt sign of compliance I simply lowered my assault rifle and held it away and pointed down in my right hand while I took up the reins in my left hand.

  No sooner had my weapon lowered and he raised a hand. I could not tell if this was in signal to me or to the others clearly watching me from covert positions.

  I mean you no harm – I called out to the male and could see as he nodded in return and motioned me to come forward.

  I am Neal Barrett, I am a scientist – this I shouted ahead and again watched him nod. I say I shouted this for this is not a verbatim account but a representation of what was said.

  The man made motion to lower his weapon even further and started coming forward. He told me his name was Brian and asked me the reason for my journey through the town. This was a point of great care as I did not know the intentions of this man and this is something I had fretted about and worried for greatly during my planning phase.

  To say I was from the government could elicit a dangerous response. They could be angered at the government for what had happened. They may kidnap me in the hope of a ransom. Even by saying I was a scientist could be worrying as they may consider me skilled in the ways of this pandemic and demand that I do things beyond my means or capabilities.

  In the end it blurted out of my mouth, that I was a scientist that is, and no sooner had I said it and I was cursing myself inwardly.

  I told him I was a relative of a girl called Emma Ford and that I was trying to find her. He asked me if it had anything to do with me being a scientist. I said no. He asked why did I say I was a scientist then? I said so he did not think I was a threat to then. He then looked at the assault rifle and the pistol on my belt and said I did not look like a scientist, and asked me where the weapons came from.