The Undead Day Sixteen

by RR Haywood

  The old lady pulls back further this time. Taking the saxon onto fresh lawn, she changes gear and gently eases her foot down as the vehicle rumbles forward. Steadily, she pushes her foot down harder and with the extra space, the saxon builds greater speed until it crashes jarringly into the vehicles and the shutter bends in by almost a metre. She pulls back and as the infection draws its attention from her it releases the horde to charge. And charge it does.

  At the hole they slowly push through as the ammunition is being used so very quickly. At the rear door they loosen the hinges and vibrate the doors in the frame so the brick work starts to give. As each inch of movement on the doors is gained, so the greater motion they can use.

  At the shutters they aim for the metre gap on either side, plenty of room to get through. Clarence opens fire on the left gap, a sustained but controlled burst that destroys the first bodies. He starts to rake across the doors, hoping to fire through and kill more but the shutters are thick steel and the rounds ricochet on the inside to ping back into the room. Shouts of warning sound out from Nick and Roy.

  ‘I’LL TAKE THE LEFT SIDE.’ Clarence roars, knowing he can’t afford the time to switch aim at the exposed gaps on both sides, but also he can’t risk striking the shutters for fear of the bullets coming back in to kill his own team.

  Nick, Roy, Jagger and Paula focus their small arms fire on the right side but the fleeting glimpses of bodies are few and far between. A taunting begins. Dead body puppets are propped up and presented to be peppered and pummelled by the persistent pounding given by the weapons.

  The rear door starts to buckle as Lani takes aim and makes ready to fire. The room fills with the deafening thuds of rifles and machines guns. Shouts are given and ignored. The heat of battle builds as sweat starts to flow but the energy is different. The bond between them is weakened by the bitterness of Howie going down. Tiredness from the previous day spent running, fighting and hiding showsnand nerves frayed by the vigilance needed during the journeys through the fog. After a night and day awake, they have to give what they can to stay alive.

  ‘BLOCKAGE,’ Blowers casts the weapon aside and grabs the one taken from Jagger. He aims and fires as Cookey screams ‘MAGAZINE,’ and loads yet another one into his rifle.

  Round after round is fired. Magazine after magazine is emptied and although they are but metres away from thousands of bullets, they cannot stop to get more. Worrying glances get cast down at the rapidly depleting stacks at their feet.

  ‘SINGLE SHOT.’ Blowers turns his weapon over and makes the change before raising, aiming and firing with greater care. Cookey does the same. They disgorge from the hole in a never ending vomit of pulped bodies shot to bits in an effort to waste ammunition and energy.

  The infection forces the team to split. Attacking three points at once, and without the cohesion given by Howie, without Howie shouting at Dave to give orders, and without Dave giving those orders in such a manner that everyone hears – they become fractured, broken and the fear saps at their energy reserves.

  The rear doors give as Lani opens up with a withering volley of automatic fire that shreds the first comers to bits. But the infection watches through those that die and sends more from the shutters round to the rear doors. The hive mind tells those at the hole there is a breach and those in the reception push harder and make more noise to drive the panic and fear higher.

  Still Dave watches enraptured at the sleeping form of Howie. To anyone, his face a mask that is devoid of expression but Howie would see the concern there. He would see the slight narrowing of the eyes and the gentle crease across Dave’s forehead. He clutches that pistol but does not for one second glance anywhere else other than at the man he watches. The heart is strong beneath his hand and Dave feels that heart as it speeds up and slows down. Dave watches the rapid eye movement of Howie’s sleep and the twitches and silent murmurings given. Dave knows Howie deals with something, battles with something, fights something but that he does it alone.

  ‘FUCK…’ Cookey yells in pure frustration as he snatches a glance round in the vain hope others will be coming to support them but the room is empty, ‘DAVE…WE NEED HELP!’

  Dave doesn't flicker but rests that hand on Howie’s chest, as though driving energy into his beloved leader.

  ‘LAST MAGAZINE,’ Cookey screams. ‘FUCK YOU…’ he adds in a voice that breaks with emotion.

  ‘Easy mate,’ Blowers pulls the trigger and hopes to hell the bullets are killing something the other side of that hole.

  ‘Not like this…not like this…’ Cookey repeats over and again, ‘not here…not like this…’

  ‘DAVE!’ Blowers yells, ‘we’re running out…’

  Nick snatches the magazine out and slams a new one home as he dares to step forward and rake the gap with thirty rounds of fully automatic gunfire.

  ‘GET BACK YOU BLOODY TWAT,’ Roy lowers his rifle a second as he curses the stupidity of the action.

  A huge bang sounds out and the shutters give another three feet as the old lady slams the saxon back into them from the other side, the noise of the engine lost in the constant thunderous noise of the fire fight.

  Lani steps back to buy time as she changes magazine and starts firing from the hip as they burst and push to gain a footing within the room. As the gun clicks empty she knows the time it will take to change again is enough time for them to gain the room. The gun is cast aside, the meat cleaver is drawn and a tear rolls down her face as she knows she will die here. The urge to turn and run to be with Howie is so strong, but she has to hold position for his sake. The noise is so great she cannot call for help and the air is so thick with smoke and fumes that any effort to shout will break her down in coughing. She needs to buy time for the others, but more importantly, Howie. Hopefully Dave will finally realise how dire the situation is and get Howie out of here. If they all die, if all of them lay down their lives to buy enough time for Dave to get Howie out of here successfully, it will have been worth it.

  ‘Fuck you,’ she snarls her upper lip up and rotates her wrist as the first one comes in for the kill. A twirl and the innards are spilled as she drives deep into the horde in a desperate fight to hold that rear door.

  Nick backs away from the shutters and glances down to see Lani firing from the hip. With a shock he realises the immensity of the foes she faces and starts towards her.

  ‘HOLD YOUR GROUND.’ Clarence, unaware of Lani’s plight, roars the order at Nick. He pauses and glancing down spots Meredith raging with barks at the shutters. One hand reaches to grab her by the neck as he forces her round to show her the back door. As Lani throws the gun down to draw her hand weapon, so Meredith spots a fight she can join and she’s away, sprinting across the distance of the room as she fixes eyes on a big male aiming for Lani’s back.

  As Lani severs a hand and spins round to open a throat, so the male lunges and is taken neatly away by an airborne Meredith attaching her teeth to his face. She drops and her body weight takes him clean down to the floor. She rags once, twice and removes enough flesh to ensure he bleeds out then she’s off, snaking and leaping to fight back to back with Lani.

  Lani senses the presence of the dog and that act of kindness both increases her fortitude to hold the door until she dies, but at the same time it presses an almost overwhelming sadness through her. They are dying for him. They are giving their lives in the hope Howie will live.

  ‘HOWIE,’ she screams the name and feels the pressure building as she is driven further back into the room. She cannot falter now. She cannot give ground, so she fights and her long, black hair swishes left to right as she dances and swirls in an ever pressing circle of death. Meredith senses the desperation and goes up a gear. She becomes faster, biting harder, ragging quicker and killing with everything she has.

  Not enough. It’s not enough.

  They break through the shutters as the Saxon once again pummels them inwards. Surges of undead pour through the broken sides and the desperate group fight a
backwards retreat as they fire into the thick ranks of incoming infected.

  Clarence knows they have to stop shooting. The further back they go the greater the risk of a stray bullet igniting something, or exploding an exposed round in a case or a magazine. A horrible thought crosses his mind. They’re fucked. They stand no chance of winning this fight. But they could draw as many in as possible before the blowing the place to shreds. It would be a final fuck you to the infection and it means they could choose their own manner of death and die proud, the way Chris did. He glances back towards the huge pile of explosives and the temptation is there. Except for one thing. Dave. Dave will never let harm come to Howie so even if they all die here, they do it one by one to buy time for the man they all follow. More determined than ever, he lets out a roar and tries to fight harder. But the feeling isn’t the same as it was before, the energy wanes and he fights with a wildly increasing desperation.

  The infection gains the shutters and the rear doors as the two lads in the room covering the hole fire their last magazines. They drop the rifles to draw handguns and fire two handed in perfect synchronised movements.

  Three breaches. Three points of entry. The pistols click empty and the time for shooting is over as the time for fighting begins.

  ‘WEAPONS DOWN.’ Clarence roars the order, drops the GPMG and grabs his double headed axe, pausing for the briefest of seconds to make sure the rest have finished firing. As one they drop firearms and take up hand weapons. Nick rams the butt of his rifle into the face of one running faster than the others. As it goes down, he drops the rifle and gets his toes under his axe. Flicking it up in the air, he catches it by the handle and spins round to remove the head of the next one coming.

  The roar of the undead increase tenfold as the infection senses victory and from all the glimpses through all the eyes there is no sight of Howie or Dave.

  Lani is cut and bitten but she fights on. Meredith is kicked and raked but she fights on. They hold their door with a viciousness of epic proportions as pure stubbornness keeps them alive.

  Blowers slams his axe down and takes a pulped head clean off, but the body is pushed through with such force it slams into Cookey and drives him back. A never ending flow pushes and pushes until the strikes given by Blowers and Cookey lose aim and strength. They no longer give longer killing blows but they break shoulders and sever arms. It’s not enough to kill and the undead cram and force each other through that gap.

  Clarence fights but his aim and focus is off. His energy not right. His rage is there but it’s fuelled by fear and not the righteous glory it was before. Roy and Paula fight back to back. Jagger and Mo Mo the same. Nick is the only one that keeps hope alive in his heart. He was alone in that house, and without hope, but despite the most awful of circumstances, Howie came for him. Howie will never leave them to suffer. Howie will come.

  ‘Keep coming you cunts,’ he mutters and glares but somewhere, deep down in his soul, the first prickle of hesitancy creeps in. A blood clot on the brain. A medical thing. What if Howie doesn't come back? What if this truly is it?

  Fuck it. This last sixteen days have been better than all the days of his life before. He belongs somewhere now. He is part of something and no fucker will take that away.

  Cookey goes down under the weight of an undead slamming into him and feels the teeth sink into his shoulder. He grimaces and screams with rage as he drives his thumbs deep into the eye sockets, before twisting round to kick at the next one coming through the hole.

  ‘DAVE…’ The smiling lad screams without humour now, ‘GET THE BOSS AWAY. GET HIM AWAY…’ The thought of dying is real. This is it. They are overrun and losing but it’s not help he calls for but the protection of Howie. ‘DAVE…TAKE HIM…’

  ‘COOKEY…GET UP YOU CUNT.’ Blowers slams his foot down on the neck of the one surging through the hole.

  ‘BLOWERS…I THINK WE’RE FUCKED MATE.’ Cookey heaves the body off, gets to his feet and winces as Blowers grabs the one halfway out and shoves him over to Cookey.

  ‘I’ll grab ‘em…you kill ‘em,’ Blowers shouts and spins as Cookey goes down again from the weight of the body hitting him. Both of them are bleeding, cut everywhere, eyes sore and stinging from the dust and debris. Voices break and give out. Limbs get heavy and weary as they fight a battle that goes against them.

  As Blowers turns to help his best mate, the hole is left unprotected. The undead surge in one after the other. Blowers grabs the neck of the one on Cookey and slams it to the side. He turns back and curses at the sheer numbers getting through the hole.

  Cookey jumps to his feet and the lads spare a glance at each other, it’s a fleeting meeting of eyes but the decision is mutual. With a nod they charge. Without axes. Without knives. They charge with bare hands.

  Blowers reverts to his boxing training and lashes out with hard punches that break noses, jaws and slams his foot down onto knee joints. Cookey fights like a bastard. Biting, gouging and strangling anything that comes at him. Back to back they are pressed and ready to die. The skin on Blowers knuckles open but it goes unheeded as he punches and punches. Pain radiates from the blows he gets back and one gets past his guard to sink teeth into his arm.

  Pure anger erupts and he beats the thing off. ‘I’M BIT,’ he screams, ’GET OUT. GO BACK.I’ M BIT…’

  ‘FUCK OFF,’ Cookey yells back.

  ‘GO…I’LL HOLD ‘EM. GO…’

  Cookey doesn't reply but feels Blowers pressing harder against his back. He pushes back, the only comfort he can give and he fights with blood pouring down his face, with blood seeping from his hands. With his legs growing heavy and his arms hurting, he fights.

  ‘I’m sorry, mate,’ Blowers mutters.

  ‘Don’t be,’ the only words Cookey can get out.

  Meredith bleeds from open wounds. Lani bleeds from bites. Roy fights to defend Paula so unused to hand to hand combat. Jagger and Mo Mo feel the tide of the battle turning so badly against them. Clarence falters and grows weary.

  Nick smiles.

  ‘Now,’ he mutters, ‘now. For fuck’s sake, Howie…NOW!’

  ‘I’m still a woman,’ she whispers, ‘now go…go…’ she pushes me roughly away, ‘but know this, not everyone will survive this journey, Howie…’

  A kiss and the energy pours through me. Into my lips, my limbs, my muscles and my chest burns like an electric rod is pressed against it. Energy flows into me. Pure energy. Energy unlike any that has ever been experienced before. Marcy pushes me away and gives me a stinging open handed slap across my face. My eyes snap open but it’s not her I see.

  Dave. Dave stares down at me with eyes ablaze and his hand ready to hit me again.

  ‘GET UP.’ That voice drives me up and without movement, without motion, without leverage I am on my feet and burning with a fire which heats from my gut. My heart roars and lungs that fill with air.

  ‘We fight,’ I shake from head to toe as I lock eyes on Dave. ‘WE FIGHT. FIGHT DAVE…WE FIGHT…’

  He nods. Words are not needed and it takes minutes, hours, days and weeks to turn from facing him to look through the doorway into the room. I see my lads pinned back to back and surrounded by the filthy beasts that dare touch them and that sight, that view of my team being beaten down, is enough to make me know I will never, never stop fighting.

  ‘MY BOYS.’ I roar with a voice that matches Dave’s and two terrified heads snap round to face me but I’m already running.

  The pure hatred is balanced by the purest of love for my team. Fuck mankind. Fuck everyone. I fight for these boys that were prepared to die as I lay sleeping in that room.

  ‘Back to the others…NOW.’ I roar at the lads.

  ‘MOVE…GO GO GO…’ Dave repeats the order in only the way Dave can and together, me and the small man launch into those beasts.

  ‘THEY GOT THE SAXON,’ Cookey blurts as he and Blowers back away.

  Now that only makes me worse. The thought of it. The intrusion that our machine has been
used against us and defiled in such a way.

  I don’t use weapons. Not my axe or a knife, but I snap necks one after the other with hands that I didn’t know could do that. Each head is gripped and simply twisted to the side as I feel the spinal column snapping. Again and again. Like water I move through them. Fluent and graceful. Dave matches me. Kill for kill we go one for one. Snap and drop. Dead and drop. They do not touch us for they are slow and we are far, far faster than they ever will be. Hands out. Head gripped. Neck snapped with ease. With insulting and offensive ease we kill those that got through until around us lie only the dead and nothing else. I glance round and see the lads standing at the far end with open mouths.

  ‘Still here? I gave you an order,’ I smile gently, ‘go on…we’ll be right down.’

  They turn and run as I bend over to smile at the undead coming through. He turns to look up at me, but it’s not him I see but the thing inside.

  ‘One race, is it?’ The energy blazes dark in my eyes as I snap the neck and stand up.

  ‘Which way?’ Dave asks with a nod at the hole.

  ‘You that way,’ I give my own nod at the hole, ‘I’ll go after the lads.’

  ‘Okay, Mr Howie.’ He grabs the body and pulls it clean through before diving in head first and God help the thing that meets him halfway.

  I glance round and see my axe is back in the side room. After a quick deviation, I’m running after the lads. I go through doors I didn’t know were here, but I remember Marcy’s words that the team are in the room at the far end and Lani is on her own protecting the rear door.

  At the mid-point I catch up with Cookey. He’s bent over Blowers on the ground clutching his left arm.

  ‘What? What’s happened?’

  ‘Bitten,’ Blowers gasps.

  Shit. The realisation that Marcy was right hits me hard, ‘where?’

  ‘Arm,’ he looks up at me, ‘sorry.’

  ‘Let me see,’ I gently lift his hand away to reveal the punctured teeth marks, ‘any pain?’