by RR Haywood
‘They’re getting better,’ she says staring into her own eyes, ‘look,’ she looms at me with her eyes overly wide.
‘Bloody hell,’ I remark at the now mostly white iris streaked with a faint red colour, ‘they look so much better. How do you feel?’
‘Normal,’ she says with a shrug, ‘don’t feel any different now.’
‘Did you ache this morning?’
‘Ache?’
‘Yeah from all the running and stuff yesterday, did you hurt from that? Like your muscles and…’
‘Yeah I get it,’ she cuts me off, ‘and no, no I didn’t…is that bad?’
‘Dunno, Cookey, Blowers, either of you aching from yesterday?’
‘Not me,’ Blowers says.
‘My eyes ache,’ Cookey says.
‘Your eyes?’ I ask in alarm as Marcy twists round.
‘From seeing Blinky’s ladybits.’
‘Dick,’ I chuckle, ‘seriously though, any pain at all?’
‘The bruises hurt,’ Blowers says, ‘when you touch them…’
‘You like being touched.’
‘And got a few new cuts that are a bit sore but not like they should be.’
‘On the bum. You like being touched on the bum.’
‘My bum isn’t bruised.’
‘You wish it was.’
‘You do.’
‘Your mum does.’
‘Cookey?’ I call out, ‘what about you?’
‘I don’t like my bum being touched, Mr Howie.’
‘Not your arse, your bruises.’
‘Same as Blowers,’ he says, ‘are we infected?’
‘Fuck knows, I’m the same as you. We should be hurting after all that running and fighting…like muscle fatigue at least. Nick?’
‘I don’t like my bum being touched either.’
‘Not your bloody arse!’
‘No, Boss. I’m not aching anywhere really. Got a few knocks that are a bit tender but…not really.’
‘Mo?’
‘Same, don’t want no one touching my arse.’
‘Fuck’s sake!’
‘Nah I don’t ache, same as them. Sore where I got hit.’
‘Clarence?’
‘It depends on who it is.’
‘Eh?’
‘My arse, depends on who is touching it. A nice woman then yes.’
‘Give me strength.’
‘No I don’t ache but we can’t read anything into that. We’ve been running non-stop for days, fighting too. We could just be getting fitter naturally.’
‘Yeah I suppose, Charlie?’
‘I like my backside being touched.’
‘Really?’
‘Seriously?’
‘What like…actually real?’
‘No,’ she laughs at the lads, ‘well, same as Clarence. It depends on who is doing the touching of course but…’
‘Oh my God.’
‘Cookey, calm down,’ I call out.
‘Best day ever,’ he says wistfully.
‘In response to the question, Mr Howie. I do not ache but then both Blinky and I are used to extreme periods of intense exercise.’
‘Fair one,’ I say.
‘You’re so posh,’ Nick laughs, ‘in response to the question…’
‘Thank you,’ Charlie says taking the compliment.
‘You alright?’ I ask Marcy quietly as the back descends into chaos of the lads all trying to speak posh, ‘you look worried.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘What? What’s up?’
‘Nothing,’ she waves her hand at me, ‘just remembered something.’
‘What?’
‘How far off are we?’
‘No idea, what did you remember?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Er yeah?’ I say with a laugh, ‘I hate it when people do that.’
‘Do what?’
‘You know what.’
‘It’s where Darren bit me.’
‘What the next town? I thought he bit you on the Isle of Wight.’
She gives me a withering look, ‘on the arse, Howie. He bit me on the arse.’
‘Oh…oh shit…Sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Yeah no, I mean sorry for mentioning it. Does it hurt?’
‘My arse, not at all.’
‘Oh.’
‘Scarred though.’
‘Oh,’ I say again trying not to think of Marcy’s arse.
‘Right on the cheek.’
‘Cheek yeah?’
‘Yeah, fucking cunt.’
‘Marcy!’
‘What?’
‘You can’t say cunt.’
‘I can say what I like and he was a cunt.’
‘Good point, yeah he was a cunt.’
‘Were you thinking of my arse then?’
‘When? When you said about it…no no, not at all.’
‘You were.’
‘Wasn’t.’
‘Do you want to see it?’
‘Your arse? What now?’
‘The bite mark.’
‘Er, not right now no…I’m er…like driving and there’s floods and things and…’
‘Okay, I’ll show you later.’
‘Er, right…that’s er…like…’
‘Are we going to be on watch again?’
‘Um, I don’t know. It depends where we end up I guess.’
‘Can we do the first watch again? I liked it.’
‘Okay, yes I…’ I swallow and navigate the debris floating in the flooded road.
‘I’ll show you tonight then.’
‘I er, right. Like…weird.’
‘So don’t die today.’
‘Eh?’
‘Don’t die.’
‘I wasn’t planning on dying today.’
‘Good. Don’t die and I’ll show you if you want to see it.’
‘Your arse or the bite mark?’
‘Up to you.’
‘Oh my fucking…Marcy…’
‘What?’
‘You can’t just offer to show me your arse.’
‘Why not? It’s my arse. I can offer to show it to whomever I please.’
‘Of course but…’
‘Stop trying to control me.’
‘What?’
‘Joking,’ she laughs, ‘actually, you might not want to see where Darren bit me, it’s not exactly a nice thing to remember.’
‘I’m…lost for words.’
‘I’m only teasing,’ she chuckles and reaches over to pat my thigh, ‘sorry, focus on the road.’
‘I will…I am.’
‘And seriously,’ she fixes me with a warning look, ‘don’t die today.’
‘Stop saying that. You don’t die today.’
‘I won’t, I’ve got you and Dave and this lot behind me…’ she says thumbing the rear of the Saxon, ‘right now this has got to be safest place in the entire world.’
‘When you say it like that…’
‘I do feel safe with all of you,’ she says softly.
‘Ah no worries, this lot adore you so yeah, you’re pretty safe I reckon.’
‘Really? Do they?’ She asks looking at me with surprise and a hint of hunger in her face.
‘You love compliments don’t you?’
‘Narcissist,’ she chuckles, ‘and vain remember.’
‘So vain.’
‘So vain,’ she echoes and fixes me a dazzling smile.
‘You don’t even deny it now!’
‘I am vain,’ she laughs, ‘so vain.’
‘I knew it and stop using that smile on me.’
‘What smile? This smile?’
‘Yeah that smile.’
‘Paula is very pretty.’
‘Where on earth did that come from?’
‘Just saying,’ she says, ‘and Charlie is gorgeous,’ she adds in a whisper.
‘Yeah she is a pretty girl.’
‘Don’t you go looking at he
r,’ she says with a mock narrowed eyed look. I laugh but don’t reply. ‘I mean it,’ she says holding the narrowed look, ‘I’ll get jealous.’
‘Okay, Marcy.’
‘Don’t you Marcy me, Mr Howie. I’m the one you hold hands with on watch.’
‘Okay, Marcy.’
‘Got a rifle now,’ she says nodding at the weapon by her feet, ‘I’ll shoot anyone trying to hold hands with you.’
‘Okay! I won’t hold hands with anyone else on watch.’
‘Or other times?’
‘Ah you never said other times.’
‘I am now. I am a very protective woman.’
‘Protective or possessive?’
‘Both.’
‘So we held hands once and now you’re saying that only you and I can hold hands from now on?’
‘Yes. That is exactly what I am saying. And you kissed me so…you can’t kiss anyone else either.’
‘Oh right,’ I burst out laughing at her serious delivery but give thanks for the humour in her eyes, ‘not a stalker then.’
‘Such a stalker,’ she says with a nod, ‘and I’m watching you,’ she points her own fingers at her eyes then at me, ‘I’ll boil your bunny.’
‘You are actually scaring me.’
‘Good,’ she gives me the dazzling smile again, ‘remember that fear if you ever feel tempted.’
Five
Fields and pasture land flooded on all sides with water still pouring down the banks into the road that gathers speed into fast moving streams. It looks dirty too. All the filth and dust from the last few weeks of hot weather all picked up. Fluids from vehicles leaving oily streaks. The Saxon makes light work of it and once again I give thanks that we have such a capable vehicle.
The pressure to be going somewhere and doing something is unrelenting and I have to keep reminding myself the day is still early.
We crest a hill road and start sweeping down to a view of houses and buildings stretching into the distance and the shiny surface of standing water throughout the roads and laying across the fields on all sides and the first prickle of adrenalin. A tiny flickering of my heart rate increasing at the sight. A big town, bigger than most we’ve seen so far. Church spires, factories and office blocks. A vista of concrete, glass and old England all giving promise of streets full of undead to be cut down. The only downside is the town looks like it’s nestled into a long sweeping valley creating a flood plain. There must be a river running through it but with the sheer amount of surface water about there’s no way of picking it out.
‘Can you let Roy know we’re about five minutes out, five minutes in the back,’ I add with a shout, ‘be ready.’
‘Hey, you there?’
‘Yeah, we’re here.’
‘Howie said we’re about five minutes out.’
‘Got it, five minutes…’
We head down and hit the town proper with no gradual transference from countryside to urban. The town boundary is a wall and beyond are streets, housing estates and shops. There must have been a reason why the town never grew out past the wall, maybe a landowner refused to sell up or a rare butterfly was once seen taking a shit on a tree. Either way we’re here and navigating the flooded roads at a lower speed with Dave up top and Roy right behind us. It looks the same as ever, broken, looted, damaged, wet and empty. From the outer sections we go along the main road aiming for the centre. A few small industrial estates here and there but nothing obvious to be seen.
What I didn’t realise, and something that only becomes apparent now we’re here, is that the middle area of the town is slightly higher than the immediate surrounding plains. Almost like a plateau within the valley and the standing water, although still present, gets shallower the closer we get to the centre.
Some English towns are thousands of years old. Centres of habitation that have changed hands from prehistoric to Romans to the Saxons and onwards through the years until what’s left are confusing winding roads feeding from perfectly straight old Roman roads. Churches are built where places of worship have always stood and the town built round them and the other old buildings. With the onset of vehicular traffic so the town planners developed a mish mash of fucking one way streets designed to confuse the shit out of anyone visiting and so we have to rely on actual sign posts to find the town centre.
The end of days. The end of the world and we’re still having to rely on bloody and bloodied signs showing which way to go.
We still get lost and end up down a dead end side street facing the entrance to a huge old multi-storey car park but I’ll be fucked if we’re getting trapped in one of those again and due to the size of our vehicles we’re forced to reverse out, swing round and head off again in search of the elusive town centre.
In the end we find it by accident with Marcy pointing to a road on the right while listening to something being relayed by Paula from Roy and Clarence leaning over the seats saying we should turn round and go back down the road he said about five minutes ago and everyone else offering helpful hints and tips at how not to get lost.
What greets us snaps every word off. Marcy stops talking. Clarence falls silent. The radio ceases to squawk. I come to a sudden stop with Roy coming round to pull up next to us.
I take the radio from Marcy’s hand and press the button just as Meredith starts to growl, ‘Roy, you seeing this?’
I glance over to see him doing the same as me and taking the radio from Paula’s hand, ‘Yes.’
The centre is a wide plaza bordered by shops, office buildings and a church on one side. Bars and restaurants that were open when the infection hit and the signs of damage being the strongest at those points. It’s wide and deep with the main road feeding round the edges. A fountain in the middle with a statue in the middle of that. Benches everywhere and in normal life it must have been a lovely spot full of life.
Now it’s covered in a thick carpet of bodies that fills every square inch of the ground, like the scene of a terrible massacre. Men, women and children.
‘Everyone out,’ I mutter the words and instead of roaring out with shouts we ease the doors open and slip out into a wall of steaming air that hits us all hard. Like breathing the air in a sauna, hot, humid and instantly bringing sweat out on our foreheads. Paula and Roy do the same as us and we gather at the front of the vehicles to stare at the amazing sight while Meredith goes low to the ground and growls deep in her throat.
‘They must be close,’ Clarence says quietly scanning the sides of the plaza. I look over at Meredith to see which direction she’s staring but she’s face on towards the plaza and fixed intently.
‘Must be opposite us,’ I say shielding my eyes and staring across to the other side. We’re still on the road and several metres away from the edge of the plaza. I start walking forward, slow and careful. My axe wedged down my back and the assault rifle held ready. The others stretch out into a line with everyone staring round as we cover every direction.
‘What happened?’ Paula asks, ‘this isn’t…it’s not…something is wrong.’
We all feel it but it takes time for the eyes to absorb the detail and then feed that into the brain which dissects the information and passes the conclusions to the mind. What we see are bodies and we’re used to seeing bodies, so our minds expect to see bodies. It’s Charlie that makes the connection first.
‘No blood,’ she says quickly.
‘It’s been raining,’ Blowers replies softly.
‘No,’ she says urgently, ‘no flies either…they’re not dead…’ she blurts and her words bring us all to a sudden stop.
‘What?’ I ask snapping my eyes down from the doors and windows at the sides to the bodies on the ground and it’s like looking at one of those magic pictures that you stare at for ages until it suddenly morphs into what you are meant to be seeing. Bodies but not human bodies. Decaying bodies but not from the natural decay of being dead and in the sun and elements. Grey skinned bodies with mottled scalps and straggly hair and as I spot
the first clawed hand so my mind makes the connection at the same time as everyone else does and suddenly our weapons are pointing down and not up.
Undead. All of them are undead. Clawed hands and the eyes that we can see are red and bloodshot.
‘What the fuck?’ Cookey mutters, ‘they alive?’
None of us answer but remain still and silent with hearts racing from the sudden shock.
‘Dave,’ I whisper down the line, ‘are they dead?’
‘None of them have visible injuries consistent with causing a fatality,’ he says.
‘So like…are they breathing?’ Mo Mo asks squinting from the brightness of the sun.
‘Roy, stick an arrow in one of them mate…everyone else be ready in case they rise up,’ I keep my voice as low as possible and watch as Roy slings his rifle, pulls his bow over and lifts his hand over his shoulder to draw an arrow. Watching him is like watching Dave draw his pistol, every movement is a fluid as water and so well practised he makes it look effortless.
‘Big male, top off…see him?’ Roy asks.
‘Got him,’ we all lock eyes on the big man lying close to the edge of the plaza.
He notches, pulls, lifts and aims all in one motion. A slight noise as the arrow is released and it embeds deep into the stomach of the male who doesn't flicker an inch. Not a groan comes from his lips, not a twitch from his muscles.
The second arrow strikes his chest. The third goes into his neck, the fourth into his meaty right thigh. The fifth hits his left shoulder. The sixth gets his left thigh. The seventh gets him in the right bicep.
‘How many?’ I lean forward to ask Roy.
‘Just being thorough,’ he says loosing the next arrow.
‘Thorough? He looks like a hedgehog.’
‘That’s so fucking cool,’ Blinky says watching Roy work the bow, ‘have you got a crossbow?’
Roy freezes with a look of utter distaste etched on his face, ‘No. I do not have a crossbow. I have never fired a crossbow. Crossbow’s have nothing to do with archery.’
‘Okay,’ she says with a huff, ‘only asking.’
‘And I am only answering that crossbows are not the same as firing a bow…they share a word…bow…that’s it.’