by RR Haywood
‘Fuck you….probably get told off for swearing now.’
‘Oh dear,’ Paula laughs, ‘I think I have upset him.’
‘No…no it’s fine,’ Cookey goes for another huff, ‘I’ll just sit and be quiet.’
‘But,’ Roy speaks up, ‘there is such a thing as a safe learning environment…’
‘A what?’ Mo Mo asks.
‘Safe learning environment,’ Roy repeats, ‘they do it in schools and education places to…’
‘I know what it is, bruv,’ Mo Mo says, ‘I didn’t hear what you said is all.’
‘Oh sorry,’ Roy replies, ‘didn’t mean to patronise you…but this place could be a safe learning environment, like what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas…’
‘Fair point,’ Paula concedes, ‘is anyone here offended by Cookey’s humour? Not you, Blowers…you don’t count.’
‘But I am offended,’ he exclaims, ‘really very offended by that fuckwit.’
‘Anyone else?’ Paula looks round, ‘lads what about you two?’ She looks to Jagger and Mo Mo.
‘Seriously?’ Mo Mo asks, ‘from where we come from?’
‘Mr Howie,’ Paula calls out, ‘it appears that none of your team are offended by Cookey’s humour so what do you think? Can we classify the Saxon as a safe environment?’
‘I’m offended!’ Blowers says again.
‘You don’t count,’ I shout back, ‘and yes, carry on.’
‘Fucking awesome you big gay cock muncher,’ Cookey lets rip the same second I finish speaking, ‘ha! Blowers…you thought you were safe from the Cookey monster but I return and badder than ever with my constant jokes about your round head and stupidness and complete gayness and being such a fucktard.’
‘Oh what have you done,’ Blowers groans.
‘Oh yes!’ Cookey shouts as everyone starts laughing, ‘outside I will be Alex Cooke, respectful and diligent soldier of Mr Howie’s living army. The conscientious professional dedicated to the cause. But within here I can show my dark side… and I can stroke your face and tell you how ugly you are with your stupid round head…’
‘Get off you twat,’ Blowers tries slapping Cookey’s hand away from stroking his face.
‘Kiss me gayboy,’ Cookey puckers up and leans towards Blowers, ‘kiss me on the lips you big beastie.’ Nick is bent double clutching his stomach and Jagger and Mo Mo are almost wetting themselves as Cookey starts clambering onto Blowers.
‘Oh let me touch your round head…’
‘Fuck off!’ Blowers laughs, edging away until he’s hard up against Nick, which delights Cookey even more as he is unleashed with his humour.
Thirty-One
Day Fifteen
I have killed. I have took taken life from the 1st infected, sorry, from my first infected.
My nerves are shot and I do not feel wholly safe here so forgive the errors I make. I have made my first kill of an infected person and I want to get my notes made now while the events are fresh in my mind.
The first on the list was Jared Kumar, a middle aged male of Indian descent, employed as a structural surveyor. Married with two young children. From my research I knew him to be an average man living an average life. He was of middle class with no substantial financial worries other than a mortgage. His wife worked part time as a teaching assistant and he had no exceptional skills other than those for which he was trained and employed.
His house was a semi-detached, three bedroom property located on the edge of town a short walk from the main train line which connects to the major cities. Finding the address proved easy with Jess carrying me from the serene countryside to the town within which he resided. We scouted, skirted the villages and small settlements on the way there figuring it would be better to stay as discrete as possible. We did not rush but nor did Jess allow us to dawdle either, such is her manner.
Our approach was tentative and I put to good use all the lessons I had learnt and used this first approach as a training exercise.
I am not in a wholly safe place so these notes are rushed, which is perhaps something I could should have said first. I did say it first. Really I am very shaken but find the act of writing this entry is soothing my nerves.
The house was in a normal residential street of no particular note. There were houses on both sides, nearly all of them being large, family sized, semi-detached dwellings with larger than average sized gardens to the rear and small decorative gardens to the front. The area, being sheltered from the worst of the storm by surrounding hills, had not suffered too badly and the signs of devastation were largely limited to power lines and posts being brought down, garden sheds blown away, fences torn asunder and with the flotsam of everyday living strewn about. Pre-storm damage from the event seemed to be signs of looting or violent struggles from broken windows, doors and blood stained vehicles with dried on stains of blood smeared on the white UPVC frames and door claddings. In short it was as expected.
We took a varied route to the address, scouring the locality to get a sense and essence of the environment. Something which I learnt was essential to hone the mind into the right frame. It also meant we were not taking the path of least resistance to the address and therefore, not using the most predictable and “expected” route. Not that I suspected there would be any concerns but as I said before, I was using this as more a training exercise.
Jess and I found the target street and identified the target house. Havig Having done so, we remained quietly in the street a short distance away. Jess was good and seemed to understand the need for discretion as she didn’t snort, bray, whinny or otherwise expose our position at this time. She did however take a big shit but other than the resounding splats of her manure hitting the ground we remained silent and watchful.
The target address had a broken window to the front but on closer inspection it was the outer pane only of the double glazed unit, thereby rendering the house within as effectively intact and secure. As we got closer I noticed there were blood stains on the white door frame and surrounding panels, but again this appeared old so was largely discounted.
After dismounting from Jess and trusting that her training was good enough that she knew to stay put without being tethered, I approached the front door with my assault rifle ready and the safety switch off. I did not aim the weapon with the correct firing technique as I felt rather foolish, believing the property to be vacant and therefore the risk to be low.
As suspected, the front door was unlocked and was pushed open. I resisted the urge to call out and remained watchful at the entrance way for a few minutes, during which I did not hear nor see anything of note. The inside of the house appeared normal with a good coating of dust on the surfaces which indicated to me a lack of movement inside. I felt rather proud of for remembering to notice, and it is with no shame that I admit my heart was strong in my chest at this point and the adrenalin flowing freely.
I do recall that as I crossed the threshold proper, I did lift the stock of the weapon into my shoulder but kept the front of the weapon aimed down and my finger was extended over the trigger guard to prevent a negligent discharge.
The ground floor was searched with no signs of life. Pictures on the walls showed me I had the right address. I then went upstairs and found that unlike the ground floor which was left with doors open, these were all closed. It did not cross my mind at the time but rather was something I noted after and chastised myself for not picking up on.
The first room was the master bedroom. A double bed was in the center of the room, with bedsheets that had not been made and given the time of night the infection took hold this was not surprising. The bathroom was as expected and I had but two rooms left, which I took to be the rooms of the two children.
The closest one, which was the door next along from the bathroom, I entered quickly and somewhat casually. I even used my right hand to open the door which was utterly stupid as it meant I was not ready to fire. Whether they heard me coming or not I do not know, but they were within and very quiet a
nd only sprung to action once the door was wide and I was over the threshold. In a glance I took in the scene and it was only then that the smell hit me, and again this is something I should have noted sooner.
Rotten meat. Faeces, urine and the stench of fouled bodies. Jared Kumar was present, along with his good lady wife and their two children, one boy and one girl and all of them infected. Red eyes, clawed hands and growling they were. By then they had already commenced their charge and it was backwards out of the room I went while frantically trying to find the blasted trigger for the assault rifle.
I tripped, fell on my arse and was thinking this is it, I’m done for at the first hurdle, when finally my index finger found the trigger. In my panic I emptied the whole magazine straight into them. I sprayed without aiming and although at the time the noise, the deafening retort of the weapon seemed to go on forever, it was over within seconds. Cordite hung in the air, my ears were (and still are) ringing. The infected family who waited so long for a bite to eat, and who came so close to ending my crusade, were ripped apart with chunks of flesh and meat taken out of them. Skulls had imploded and exploded with bits of cranium and brain matter splattered here there and everywhere. Only the youngest girl was still alive as it appeared she had taken only body shots. She was shot to ribbons and bleeding heavily but still made an effort to crawl at me. Her ragged, course breathing is a sound I will never forget. I crabbed away in utter fright with my finger still held down on the trigger. I thought she was in her final seconds and would surely die, but alas she did not and in fine spirits she clawed and crawled her way across the landing to nip and gnash at my feet which were cycling away in terror.
It was only when the back of my head struck the wall and I screamed in panic did I remember the pistol. I had to make a conscious effort to remove my hand from the rifle, draw my pistol, flick the safety, take aim and fire. I missed the first two shots from my shaking hand but the rest struck home, with direct shots to the face that removed the back of her head, and she slumped down to rest her now dead remains on my feet. I can still see, in alarming detail, the strands of her black hair fanning out across my tan coloured trousers.
Tears flowed thick and fast as the adrenalin abated and left me shaking with almost uncontrollable tremors. It took precious minutes to get the courage to drag my legs from under her head and ease myself away. I just made it outside into the fresh air before the retching started and those lovely, juicy blackberries popped back out.
With the contents of my stomach heaved up I made it to Jess who, thankfully, had stayed where she was left, climbed aboard and urged her away. She responded with a toss of her mane and led me quickly away from my first killing and it was upon her warm, solid and reassuringly alive neck that I sobbed and cried until slowly my wits returned and I was able to make this brief stop.
I have made my first kills of the infected. Four mown down within seconds and done merely by the motion of one finger. Four lives taken forever, but truly I can place my hand upon my heart and say I had no other choice.
NB
Thirty-Two
‘Someone got here before us then,’ Clarence says with a forced lightness. It was late in the day, maybe an hour or so before nightfall, and we made good progress getting here, thundering through any built up areas and maintaining a solid path ahead.
Clarence knew the area but Roy seems to have a built in GPS system in his head and soon had us on the right approach road. In fact, this has been the easiest day so far in terms of getting things done. Four bloody doctors. Seriously, you couldn’t make that shit up. We’ve struggled to find one but now we’ve got four.
Anyway, we made it. Cookey got a bit over-excited and despite having everyone in stitches Dave did eventually tell him to calm down but that was only because we were getting closer.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but certainly not this. I think maybe in my mind’s eye I was expecting a huge fortress style bastion of high concrete walls, barbed wire fences, attack dogs and machine gun turrets when in fact, the area looks like any other industrial style zone with manicured grounds laid to lawn and a modern built structure that looks more executive than factory. No barbed wire fence, no boundary wall, nothing. Even the sign just gives the name of the company; BAE Systems. That’s it, but then I guess this is the best way. I could drive past this place every day and have no idea what it was or what they made.
A new notice, printed, laminated and fixed smartly to the big sign board tells us someone got here before us.
WARNING.
THIS BUILDING IS OCCUPIED.
YOU WILL BE FIRED UPON.
APPROACH SLOWLY AND WAIT.
DO NOT ATTEMPT TO GAIN ENTRY.
‘Well,’ I say with a sigh, ‘they aren’t saying we can’t approach…just that we’ve got to do it slowly.’
‘Yep,’ Clarence nods slowly, ‘the sign is professional and someone has taken the time and effort to put it on there.’
‘No bodies either,’ I remark looking round at the grounds, ‘the power station had them all stacked up.’
‘Yeah,’ he says quietly while conducting his own scan of the area.
‘Dave, you see anything mate?’
‘Nothing, Mr Howie.’
‘Right, guess we’ll approach then,’ I edge the Saxon forward until we’re level with the sign then pause and wait to see for reaction. The approaching road to the modern looking building is long but mostly straight so the view is clear. There’s no movement so I ease forward again and keep the speed low. Still no movement so we proceed, scanning the front of the building and as we get closer I realise the windows are all two way darkened glass with no view into the interior. There could be hundreds of people watching us now and we’d never know.
‘They have guns here?’ I ask out loud.
‘Fixed firing points for testing,’ Clarence explains, ‘they could have rigged something up or have access to firearms but…looks empty,’ he glances over at me.
‘Nah,’ shaking my head. I can feel we’re being watched through those windows. I stop a good hundred metres from the building and wait for a few seconds with the engine running, ‘anyone got a white flag on a stick we can poke up through the turret hole?’
‘Blowers can use his pants,’ Cookey quips.
‘Anything, just let them know we’re coming in peace.’ Mutters and rustling as they go through kit bags and lockers to find anything suitable.
‘Nothing here, does it have to be white?’ Nick asks, ‘we got loads of black tops and stuff.’
‘I dunno, does it have to be white?’ I ask Clarence who shrugs.
‘It’s always a white flag,’ he replies.
‘We must have something,’ twisting round I watch them going through bags and searching the vehicle until Paula yanks something out of her bag, ‘got this,’ she announces.
‘A bra?’ I ask.
‘It’s white,’ she replies.
‘A bra? You want us to wave a bra at them?’
‘What? It’s bloody white…and it’s a sport bra, you know, not like a lacy thing or…’
‘Oh that’s good then. God forbid we wave a lacy bra at them instead of a sports bra.’
‘Got any knickers?’ Cookey asks.
‘Alex!’ Dave glares at him.
‘No…no I mean they won’t see they are knickers from there…’
‘Fucking pervert,’ Blowers shakes his head slowly while Nick tuts.
‘No white knickers,’ Paula replies, ‘sorry, it’s the bra or nothing.’
‘I’ve got a white sports bra too,’ Lani announces, ‘we could put them together.’
‘Two bra’s? What the fuck we trying to say to them? Hello, we’re an army truck full of horny women with no bra’s on?’
‘Not a bad idea,’ Clarence says, ‘bet they bloody open up then.’
‘Okay, do it,’ I nod down to Paula and Lani now holding the white sports bras.
‘Um,’ Paula looks round, ‘we got a stick then?’
‘Stick?’
‘For the flag,’ she looks at me, ‘we need a stick.’
‘Does it have to be a stick?’ Blowers asks, ‘tie them on the top of a rifle.’
‘We can’t wave bras tied into an assault rifle,’ I reply, ‘they’ll think we’re fucking nuts.’
‘We are nuts,’ Lani says, ‘who else would drive ten people and a dog in an old army thing to a bullet factory waving a sports bra?’
‘Good point, so we don’t have anything else we can use?’
‘Not long enough to poke up there,’ Blowers motions towards the turret hole.
‘Shitting hell,’ I groan and rub my face, ‘here, give me those bras.’
‘What for?’ Lani asks with a look of worry.
‘I’ll go out with them.’
‘Carrying bras? That’s even worse.’
‘What’s that?’ Mo Mo looks down as Jagger rifles through his bag.
‘Nuffin,’ Jagger snaps.
‘What was it?’ Mo Mo presses, ‘Jag, what was it?’
‘Nuffin, leave off.’
‘Was it white?’ I ask and spot the poker face settle on Mo Mo, ‘lads, Jagger…you got something white? Mo Mo, you see something white?’
He shakes his head and looks away, silent and sullen.
‘Yeah but…’ Jagger goes to say something, stops then looks back round at everyone with a defiant glare, ‘my nan gave it me, like…so…’
‘What is it?’
‘Handkerchief but like, she put my name on it and…fuck off taking the piss,’ he glares at Mo Mo.
‘Didn’t say nuffin, bruv,’ Mo Mo recoils quickly.
‘I don’t wanna lose it,’ Jagger says quietly, ‘she gave it me before she died like and…’ his face drops and the young boy shines through so clearly that it brings us to silence.
‘Don’t worry mate,’ I say calmly, ‘I’m happy to take the bras out.’