by RR Haywood
Finkton is a war zone of the like I have never witnessed with corpses everywhere. The death given here is staggering but thankfully the rain washed most of the bodies clean and removed the worst of the awful rancid stench of rotting flesh which in turn enabled me to examine them visually.
The vehicle that was in the village square is now gone. It was a military looking thing with big wheels. It is now gone which suggests the group that were under attack somehow escaped and have left his area.
From that area I followed the bread crumb trail of dead infected hosts into the housing area of the village which finally led me to a large mansion house sign boarded as being Finkton Sports Academy.
Again the bodies are everywhere. Littered from the road down the driveway and clustered dense around the main entrance doorway and several deep within the lobby of the house. The stench within that lobby – so protected by the rain – was gag inducing to the point I was forced to make use of my protective breathing equipment and safety eye glasses, that is after I emptied my stomach on the ground while Jess stared at me with contempt.
The injuries inflicted to the fallen infected hosts are most severe and it is obvious that a mixture of weapons have been used. Some were shot. Many had neat surgically precise cuts given to their necks and within the groin area. Many were butchered by large bladed weapons and some were clearly beaten to death by someone very large and very strong. What I also observed were many of the bodies had what I can only describe as ragged throat wounds that is suggestive of some kind of animal, and some of those who suffered the ragged wounds had deep claw marks down their chests and stomach.
It was macabre. Frightening. Sickening and deeply unsettling.
My conclusion is that there was a very large group of highly professional and trained soldiers armed to the teeth (possibly Special Forces) who fought a retreat into this house and slaughtered hundreds of infected hosts. Within that conclusion there is an assumption that the dark haired man is one of that group.
Finkton is bordered by towns and villages in every direction. From the debris left I think I can work out the exit route they took.
NB
Four
This is it. Everything we have done has led to this point. Every fight, every battle, every death given and every loss taken has been training for now. An armoured personnel carrier loaded with gun toting badasses and an armoured cash van loaded with a hypochondriac, a terrified ex-zombie and an accountant. Even so. This is it. We’re ready. We have a huge arm-loving dog and a Dave and a Clarence. We have a Blinky who is practically frothing at the mouth at the prospect of a fight and has already puked with the anticipation. We have guns. Lots of guns with lots of bullets to throw about. We have axes and knives. We’re dressed in black and we have a Marcy, who I suspect chose a top a size too small to accentuate her curves, but she does look sensationally amazing and it’s actually really quite hard to focus on the road with her sat next to me. Even so. This is it. Dave and Blowers are at the back doors ready to charge out with voices roaring into the air. Nick up top looking like a double hard bastard with a cigarette hanging from his mouth like a nonchalant French Resistance guerrilla fighter, all he needs is a beret. We should get berets. We’d look awesome in berets. Marcy would look sexy in a beret. Just a beret.
Even so. This is it. The moment of truth. The pinnacle of all we are and every path taken has led to this moment. We are taking the fight to them. Today. On this day. On this now gloriously sunny day we are taking the fight to them. A gloriously sunny day that is reflecting the sun’s rays of every pissing puddle and blinding the shit out of me.
Even so. We’re ready.
‘I need a piss,’ Cookey says.
‘How do I use this?’ Marcy asks.
‘Press the button on the side.’
‘Which one?’
‘That one.’
‘Doesn't help when you say that one without actually indicating which one…’
‘The bloody button on the side, press it in and talk.’
‘I am pressing it in…nothing is happening.’
‘What do you expect to happen? You talk and they hear you.’
‘Why aren’t they saying anything back then? Hello? Paula? Paula it’s Marcy…they’re not there…’
‘No you…you have to let go so they can talk back.’
‘What? But you said it works by pressing the button in.’
‘Yes! You press the button and talk and that transmits and then you let go and they push their button and they talk and then you press your button and you talk…’
‘So it’s not a power button then?’
‘Eh? No! No it’s a bloody press-to-talk button.’
‘Alright, no need to get shirty. You should have just said it was a press-to-talk button.’
‘Really need a piss.’
‘Okay, Marcy it’s Paula shit! No, I’m Marcy. Paula, it’s Marcy are you there? So now I let go?’
‘Yes…fucking let go and let them talk.’
’Oh my god I’m in another bloody van and can still hear you two bickering.’
‘Hi Paula, it’s Marcy.’
‘Did you press the button?’
‘Yes, Howie! I pressed the bloody button.’
‘She did press the button, Howie…and then she held the button so I…what? What, Roy? I am talking to Marcy. Yes I am talking to her…what? What’s wrong with saying Marcy? Oh apparently I am not allowed to say names now.’
‘Why can’t you say names?’
‘Roy said…yes Roy I am telling them…Roy said in case the infection is listening.’
‘But the infection knows our names, what difference does that make?’
‘Roy, Marcy said the infection knows our names so…oh you heard her…yes okay, Roy. I know it’s not a phone call and everyone can hear it…’
‘Roy, they already know our names so why bother hiding them?’
‘Marcy, Roy said he thinks it’s more professional.’
‘Okay er…should we have codenames then? What do you want to be?’
‘Oh how funny! I’ll be er…oh I don’t know…you can be Big Tits.’
‘Did you say Big Tits? That’s great!…okay I’ll be Big Tits and you can be Nice Arse.’
‘Nice Arse?! Brilliant. Love it, over Big Tits.’
‘Received, Nice Arse.’
‘I need a piss, Big Tits.’
‘Alex!’
‘What? That’s her codename.’
‘Big Tits to Nice Arse, Cookey needs the toilet.’
‘Nice Arse to Big Tits, all received…and Roy said we’re pissing about.’
‘You are pissing about.’
‘Yeah Howie agrees with him…are we pulling over? We’re pulling over so Cookey can have a piss.’
‘Roger roger over and out.’
‘Did you hear that?!’
‘Er yes? It’s a radio and like, it’s on loudspeaker.’
I pull over on a suitable bit of high ground so Cookey can jump down, run behind a wall and relieve himself just as Roy’s van draws alongside and Paula waving through her window past me to Marcy.
‘Actually,’ Nick drops down, ‘mind if I go too?’
‘Carry on, mate…anyone else?’
A mass exodus as they file out from the back and head over to the toilet wall, I twist round to watch Blinky walking with the lads and disappearing out of sight behind the wall.
‘Is Blinky going with them?’ I ask Charlie.
‘Won’t bother her one bit,’ she says with a roll of her eyes.
‘Might bother them,’ I chuckle.
‘Hey Nice Arse,’ Marcy says leaning forward to wave at Paula.
‘Hello! Why does Howie look grumpy?’
‘I don’t know, Howie, why do you look grumpy?’
‘I’m thinking about berets.’
‘Berets? You mean the hats?’
‘Yeah,’ I nod amiably, ‘you ever had one?’
‘Don’t think so,’ she sa
ys, ‘Paula, have you ever had a beret?’
‘Oh God, years ago I had one. It was red, looked quite nice actually. I had a matching scarf that went with it.’
‘Where did you get it from?’
‘From Next I think.’
‘Next do some nice things.’
‘Charlie says Next do some nice things.’
‘Tell Charlie I thought she was more a Laura Ashley woman.’
‘She’s too young for Laura Ashley.’
‘I am not too young for Laura Ashley.’
‘She said she’s not too young for Laura Ashley.’
‘I heard her, Howie, Roy asked if you’re enjoying our chat as much as he is.’
‘Er…yes?’
‘And he just moaned about using names again.’
‘That was fucking gross,’ Cookey says getting in the back, ‘I just saw Blinky taking a piss.’
‘I saw you pissing too.’
‘Yeah but I was standing against the wall.’
‘So? I was squatting against the wall surrounded by men holding their cocks…’
‘Now you don’t hear that every day,’ I mutter as Marcy bursts out laughing.
‘Gave me bloody stage fright,’ Cookey moans, ‘I’ve never seen such a thing…I’m scarred for life…’
‘You’re scarred? I saw your todger.’
‘I saw your…’
‘Alex!’
‘I was going to say foofoo.’
‘Foofoo? What the hell is a foofoo?’
‘Your lady bits…I saw them.’
‘I saw your man bits.’
‘Urgh you shouldn’t be looking.’
‘You looked at my…’
‘Patricia!’
‘I was going to say foofoo.’
‘Enough.’
‘Yes, Dave.’
‘Sorry, Dave.’
‘That was weird,’ Blowers says laughing as he gets in, ‘Cookey and Blinky staring at each other while pissing…’
‘I was not staring!’ Cookey shouts.
‘I was,’ Blinky snorts.
‘Oh God,’ Clarence groans, ‘right separate toilet breaks from now on.’
‘We all in?’
‘Yes, boss,’ Blowers says slamming the rear door closed.
‘Right, try again…’
So this is it. Thirteen battle hardened…Twelve battle hardened killers and Reginald and a dog. No, I should count the dog. Yeah so thirteen battle hardened killers and Reginald hiding in the back of Roy’s truck.
Even so. We’re ready and we’re coming for you. You saw us taking a new van and yeah, you know our names and who we are and maybe Roy is being a bit too worried about the whole names thing on the radio but even so, we’re bringing the fight to you. Right to you and for making Jimmy Carr shit on my chin I will spank you up and down every bloody town centre, starting with this town centre. This one right here.
‘We’re here, everyone ready...I said EVERYONE READY?’
‘FUCK YES!’ Blinky roars.
‘That’s more like it…everyone out, weapons up and be ready…’
‘Fan out into a circle, Blinky next to me, Charlie stay close to Nick…’ Blowers gives the orders as we jump out. Axes shoved down between our backs and our bags. Knives ready to be drawn. Rifles being cocked with the metallic noises of bolts being drawn back. Roy’s van coming to a halt and he jumps down in the spirit of the adventure with a hardened gleam in his eyes and armed to the teeth with his rifle in his hands, his sword down his back and his bow looped over his shoulders with the arrows poking out the top of his bag. Fuck yes. This is it. Try picking a fight with us now you pricks.
We go out into a wide circle. Everyone facing out and scanning. Always scanning. Watching. Always watching. Every window, every door, every recess and every road, path and alley that feeds into the square is monitored and watched. Meredith senses the energy and paces with her ears pricked, tail high and mouth panting.
I get next to Marcy who stands next to Paula who stands next to Roy. On my other side is Dave. Always Dave. His rifle is lowered but his aim never misses. They know we’re here. They’ll come charging and screaming and my God we’ll fuck ‘em up.
‘Stinks,’ Marcy sniffs the air.
‘Water’s heating up from the sun,’ Paula says, ‘it’ll get worse. Looks like they were having a party here.’
‘Yeah I saw the stage,’ Marcy says turning round to look at the scaffolding and plank stage, ‘must have been a mid-summer thing.’
‘Focus,’ I say in a low voice.
They fall silent and we wait. We watch and we wait. We wait for the undead voices to come screaming down the roads to be cut down by our many bullets fired from our many guns.
We wait. It’s hot and with so much water around the humidity is staggeringly high. We sweat with beads that form on our focussed and intent faces. It does smell. Marcy was right. It smells damp and like everything is going off and the sun is reflecting off the standing water and dazzling us all.
‘Contact,’ Cookey mutters low and dangerous.
‘How many?’ I tense and look to the view ahead.
‘One…he’s wading through the water towards us.’
I turn to look at the single undead forcing his way through waist deep water of a sunken section of the deepest part of a side street.
‘His mates will soon join him,’ Roy says, ‘stay sharp.’
‘Cookey, keep eyes on him,’ Clarence says in a growl, ‘let’s see what he does.’
‘Will do.’
Time passes. We wait.
‘What’s he doing?’ Clarence asks.
‘He fell down twice and now he’s back up and wading again.’
‘Just the one?’ I ask.
‘Er, yes…just the one, Mr Howie.’
‘Where are they?’ Clarence mutters darkly.
‘He fell down again,’ Cookey says.
We all turn this time and watch the undead male floundering pathetically in the deep water. Arms flailing and splashing down and now I’m watching I can match the sounds to his movements.
‘Can zombies swim?’ Cookey asks.
‘No idea,’ Nick shrugs.
‘Don’t ask,’ Marcy says as everyone looks round at her, ‘I have no idea.’
‘He’s not swimming very well,’ Nick says, ‘er…Mr Howie?’
‘Go ahead mate, we might as well.’
‘Cool, want one?’
‘Yeah why not.’
He hands them round and we light up to smoke with our weapons resting across shoulders or held in the crooks of arms while we watch the single undead.
‘He’s back up,’ Paula says exhaling smoke away from Roy who still tuts.
‘Maybe,’ Marcy says after another few minutes of watching the undead slip and slide back into the water, ‘maybe they used them all from this town yesterday?’
‘Ah,’ I look at her with a fresh surge of hope.
‘Good thinking,’ Clarence says with a slow nod, ‘yep, I can see where we’ve gone wrong.’
‘Too close to Finkton,’ Roy says.
‘Makes sense,’ Blowers says drawing on his smoke, ‘they threw a shit ton at us yesterday.’
‘We used them all up then,’ Cookey says, ‘apart from that one,’ he adds motioning towards our flounder now back on his feet, ‘Oi shithead,’ he shouts, ‘did they leave you behind?’
‘Perhaps he’s on watch,’ Charlie says, ‘like the one Dave shot above Santander.’
‘Santander? Where’s that?’ Marcy asks.
‘Next to the bakery,’ Clarence says.
‘Don’t fucking start.’
‘It wasn’t next to the bakery,’ Dave says, ‘it was next to the Spar.’
I huff and sag on the spot then idly flick the cigarette butt into the nearby flood water.
‘Bollocks, next town then,’ I get an idea and stare up and over to the undead, ‘I SAID WE’D BETTER GO TO THE NEXT TOWN THEN…’
‘What are you d
oing?’ Marcy asks.
‘GOOD IDEA MR HOWIE,’ Clarence booms, ‘THERE ARE NO…THINGS HERE FOR US TO KILL.’
‘I LIKE THAT IDEA,’ Cookey joins in, ‘OI…DO YOU WANT SIMON BLOWERS TO COME AND HELP YOU?’
‘Cookey,’ Blowers groans.
‘HE’S A BIT EXCITED RIGHT NOW AS HE SAW SOME WILLIES WHEN WE HAD A WEE WEE.’
‘Such a dick.’
‘I THINK HAS AN ERECTION.’
‘Twat,’ Blowers laughs which cuts off with a round of cheers as the male finally gets free of the deep water and starts making a proper concerted effort to get towards us. He even lets out a growl buts ends up gargling with dirty water spewing from his mouth.
‘Get the dog!’ I shout as she starts towards it with a bark. Clarence lunges forward and grabs her to guide her back. ‘So,’ I say loudly, ‘to the next town…which is,’ I turn round trying to get my bearings, ‘which way did we come in?’
‘That way,’ Clarence points to the now obvious road we used.
‘Then we shall go that way,’ I point the other direction, ‘to the next CLOSEST town.’
‘Should we be really taunting it like this?’ Roy asks seriously.
‘Fuck ‘em…Dave…’
Holding his rifle with his left hand and his right moves at frightening speed as the pistol is out, aimed and firing before I finished saying his name. The shot is a perfect head strike that blows the back of the skull off with a pink mist still hanging in the air as the body slumps into the water.
‘Oh my fucking God,’ Blinky whispers to herself, ‘I love him…I actually love him.’
‘Not appropriate, Patricia,’ Dave says dully.
‘Load up, we’ll try the next one.’
Back into the vehicles we go. The Saxon loads up and Marcy takes the front to let Clarence stretch out in the back. I take the lead and pull away in a wide circle round to face the exit road and drive through the deep puddles with Roy staying close to make use of the wake of displaced water formed by the Saxon. Back down the High Street and past the side road leading to the yard where we found the van. Squinting through the now streaked and smeared windscreen from the dazzling reflections on the water on the ground. Still more of it pours from roofs and drips from broken drains but already it’s lessening and in this heat it will soon evaporate. The heat is stifling, really close and muggy. I glance over to Marcy and the sheen of sweat glistening on her face as she checks her own reflection in a small compact mirror taken from her bag.