The Undead Day Eighteen

by RR Haywood

  ‘Great, yes that will be great.’

  One more? There won’t be a one more. This could be it. The last one. Howie told the infected in the first town they were going to the next town and that gave direction and intent to the infection. Then they only killed what they could see immediately in front of them so one left alive somewhere would also give direction and intent. They skipped one and hit the last place giving not only the direction and intent but the pattern of application too. If Reginald were the infection he would be working out the pattern and making ready.

  What would I do if I was the infection? I would wait and see which town they hit next and let the kills happen naturally. I’d cement the confidence within the group and let them think that they are achieving what they set out to achieve. I would perhaps show some elements of desperation to make it look normal but behind that façade I would be planning to meet the next attack by using my collective knowledge of the vicinity, geographical knowledge and awareness of physical features given to me by that same collective knowledge. What exactly I would do is wholly dependent on the landscape of the vicinity to be used. Alas though, I am not the infection but instead a frightened small man wearing ridiculously ill-fitting clothing designed for people that have broad shoulders and muscles. My body is soft and not designed for such things. It is my brain that has always been my most powerful muscle.

  A housing estate appears on the monitor complete with an enormous sign board displaying an image of executive style two, three and four bedroom detached houses built to the highest standard to suit your growing family needs. Ubiquitous red brick with stylised windows and slate roofs and an invitation to view the show home now before it’s too late. It is too late. It is too late for everything.

  With the housing estate counting as the next centre of habitation they barrel on in the mini convoy of armoured personnel carrier and armoured cash in transit van through the rapidly receding and evaporating floods on the roads. Past fields resplendent with sheets of glistening water lying tranquil and serene. Past forests of trees looking gorgeously green from the deluge of life giving water and now standing tall to reach the golden rays of the sun. Birds swoop through the air catching flying insects, calling out with birdsong. Seagulls cry and land in the deeper floods so happy in this new landscape. Life outside the vehicles goes on and already the air is clearer as the pollution levels reduce.

  Life inside the Saxon is confident with Howie laughing and sharing jokes with Marcy and the others. Weapons being checked. Conversations going on with faces glowing from the heat of the day. In the front of the second van Paula and Roy talk quietly, sharing observations and enjoying the company of the other.

  Life in the back of the second vehicle in the mini convoy is fraught and tense with Reginald furiously thinking if getting to this next town would give the infection enough time to arrange a nasty surprise. Surely not. Surely it has only been a few minutes since the thatched village.

  ‘Ladies and gentleman this is your tour guide speaking, up ahead we have the town of Foxwood…Foxwood…the town of Foxwood lies just ahead…this was the scene of a famous battle fought by the glorious leader Howie and his intrepid group of survivors…’ Marcy’s voice strong and proud and amplified through the speakers, ‘…an interesting fact of the history of Howie and his intrepid group, and one that is not recorded in the history books, is that although Mr Howie was known to be the leader it was in fact the women of the group that were in charge as the men were completely incompetent and…’ Howie’s voice in the background protesting. The deep voice of Clarence also calling out while Charlie, Blinky and Paula all cheer noisily. ‘Anyway, Foxwood is ahead…Roy and Paula would you care to follow us in so we can get this done and stop somewhere for a nice coffee?’

  ‘Sounds lovely,’ Paula replies through the radio, ‘oh hello,’ she says in surprise at Reginald hovering by the open door to stare out the front windscreen, ‘you okay?’

  ‘Hmm? Yes, yes fine. Just getting a better view of…of the er…of the landscape…’ Reginald says staring ahead at the back of the Saxon and wishing they were in front so he could gain a better view of the town as it appears. High hedgerows on both sides and they pass a narrow junction to a road running between fields of pasture and grazing land. Through the gaps in the hedges and using the rise of the road as it lifts up he spots the roofs of the town ahead and to the right. The road they are on is a main A road and if the town is off to one side then this road will run straight across the left hand edge of the town and straight out the other side. Yes, there’s the road now running straight on. Must be a Roman road built thousands of years ago by gifted engineers wishing to have a straight route from garrison to garrison. They will have to deviate from the main road into the town to seek whatever infected might be there.

  Too many variables to factor into the thought processes. Would the infection count the housing estate as a place of habitation? Would it therefore count this township as the next one to be hit? And if the town lies off the Roman road then it will be very old and full of twisting lanes and streets built round the existing dwellings and buildings. Another crest and he catches sight of a woods on the far side. Densely packed trees in the distance and no doubt the landscape feature that gave the name to the town. With the woods in view he gains an idea of the size of the town and unless there are any smaller tracks or country roads leading through the woods then it means this A road is the only way in and therefore the only way out.

  ‘Reginald!’

  ‘Pardon?’ Reginald blinks at his name being called so sharply.

  ‘I said are you sure you’re okay?’ Paula stares hard at him with her assault rifle lifted onto her lap and her bag already on her back. When did she put that on? Was it already on?

  ‘You were miles away,’ Roy observes with a glance up back to Reginald.

  ‘Yes, yes indeed,’ Reginald blinks and swallows with nerves.

  ‘Paula? The main road runs past the town…junction ahead which we’ll take and Howie thinks we’ll be straight in the town. It doesn't look very big.’

  ‘Yep got it,’ Paula says into the handset.

  ‘There it is,’ Roy says leaning to the right to see the junction ahead of the Saxon, ‘Is my rifle there?’

  ‘Got it and it’s all ready too with a fresh magazine and I’ve put new ones in your bag and wiped the blood from your arrows…’

  ‘I wiped them,’ Roy says with a look down at his bag being made ready.

  ‘Not very well,’ Paula says as they turn into the junction after the Saxon.

  Reginald moves back to his desk and the monitor with frustration at not been able to see the road ahead or the layout of the town. He needs a map or access to the internet. Maybe a camera fitted on a high pole on the roof that he can turn and gain a birds eye view. A drone. An aircraft. A helicopter but more than anything a bloody map. What’s ahead? Where is the centre of the town? What roads leads from it and where do those roads go? This is impossible. These blasted fools could be rushing into a fatal mistake. Say something. Tell them to stop and get out now while they still have a chance.

  Yet the layers of fear that run so deep to his core prevent him from speaking out. Fear at looking stupid. Concern that he will be wrong. Worry that they’ll ignore him and the ever present worry that he does not belong, contributes nothing and does not have the right to intervene. The same thoughts swim in the emotional responses as his brain yearns for more information and seeks to counter what moves will be made by the other player.

  The other player? He sits bolt upright aghast at the thought. This is life and death not a gentle game of chess being played at the local club, although he was always really very good at chess. A good mathematician and able to not only predict the moves made by the opponent in accordance with that character and mannerisms of that person but also a thorough understanding of strategy. It was the same when he played Dungeons and Dragons years ago. Read the opponent, read their predictability and know what they will d
o.

  The vans stop. Doors open and no speaking now as the tension of the situation mounts and Reginald stares hard at the monitor cursing Roy for the poor parking position. Too close to the Saxon and at an angle so only the driver side rear camera shows any view and that’s just a glimpse of a building line. How can he possibly be expected to counter the moves of the other player if he can’t see the board?

  Turning slowly he stares at the hatch leading to the front cabin. There’s no firing yet so they haven’t seen anything awful. If he stays close he can pop out, have a look then run back into the safety of the vehicle. Yes. A quick look to get an idea of the layout and then back inside. Damn it! If only he had some paper to sketch a quick street map, but no, that wouldn’t help as he’d only be able to sketch what he could see in the immediate vicinity and he knows his memory is absurdly good at recalling things like that.

  He scuttles across to the cabin, climbs through and out the driver’s door into a wall of heat that makes him sway on the spot with eyes squinting at the harsh glare of the sun. My god this is like jungle heat, so humid. Thank goodness he isn’t carrying a heavy rifle and a bag full of heavy magazines and equipment.

  With his hands shielding his eyes he lets his vision adjust to the glare with the closer features coming into focus first. In the middle of an old High Street with an array of shops and stores stretching off on the right into the near distance. Junctions everywhere. Alleys and paths leading between the buildings. Down and to the left a grassy area complete with a gravel circle surrounding a large pond bulging from the excess water of the last day or so. The ground has mostly dried out. Some puddles here and there but rapidly shrinking. Some signs of looting and a rotting corpse lying on the pavement outside the broken window of a mini-supermarket.

  ‘Have you seen them?’ He asks walking towards the group ranged round in a rough circle with rifles raised and ready. So intent on scouring the view around him and he doesn't spot the heart bumping jolt the group display at the sudden voice so unexpectedly calling out.

  ‘Fuck me,’ Cookey mutters turning back to his assigned section.

  ‘Reginald?’ Marcy asks in surprise, ‘what the…’

  ‘Have you seen them?’ Reginald asks again.

  ‘No but why are you out of the…’

  ‘What about that dog,’ Reginald asks peering through the group to spot Meredith sniffing the ground, ‘has she shown a reaction?’

  ‘No, mate,’ Howie says, ‘not yet anyway…what’s up?’

  ‘Up?’ Reginald asks with a plummeting sensation at every head turning to look at him, ‘I er…I wanted to er…’ he looks round more gingerly now. The pond has two paths leading into it from the other side and what looks like a playing fields further away. Further down the road are more shops, buildings and houses. Some cars parked up. On the right side are two narrower side streets leading into this road but the buildings are high which reduce the view down them from this angle. ‘Has anyone checked down there?’ He asks motioning towards the closest side street opening, ‘what about that one?’ He points further up the road, ‘and over there…where do those paths go? The ones behind the pond?’

  ‘Er, we just got here, Reggie,’ Howie says.

  ‘Reginald,’ Reginald says automatically.

  ‘Reggie, what are you doing?’ Marcy demands.

  ‘Do you need the toilet?’ Paula asks, ‘do you want someone to go with you?’

  ‘No I bloody do not want anyone to go with me for the toilet. I am an adult not a child!’

  ‘Reginald!’

  ‘What, Marcy? I am more than capable of expressing a desire to urinate should the need arise.’

  ‘Sorry, Reginald. I was only asking…’

  Reginald turns slowly in a circle staring back up the road they came down and up at the windows of the buildings. Nothing here. There’s nothing here. What does that mean? Maybe it did not count the housing estate as a town so therefore this is not the natural next target as this would be the one that should be missed out. Yes, that’s possible.

  ‘Reginald?’ Marcy snaps, ‘what the hell are you doing?’

  ‘Shush,’ Reginald waves a hand at her while still slowly turning. Or time? Perhaps there wasn’t enough time for the infection to draw host bodies into this place. They are off the main road and maybe the infection has already taken everyone from this town to be used somewhere else…That’s it.

  He spins back to the group and Marcy glaring at him.

  ‘Reggie,’ Clarence says in his low rumbling voice, ‘you okay, mate?’

  Which way? If they were here and the infection discounted this town then it could have already drawn them to the next town but which way would they go? The road they came in on is here and that leads up to the main road that runs left to right. They came from the left and when they leave they will be heading towards the right which is in that direction…

  ‘You’re worrying me now? Are you sick?’ Marcy walks towards him with genuine care in her voice.

  He waves a hand with irritation on his face, ‘please!’ He barks, ‘just be quiet.’ Yes. Yes that’s right. The woods are behind the town and open farmland on the side they came in on. So they would head to the side where the duck pond is.

  ‘I need that dog,’ he turns abruptly and strides past a dumbfounded Marcy and into the centre of the gun wielding circle, ‘come with me,’ he says to Meredith and steps away towards the duck pond then stops and looks back, ‘come with me,’ he says again, ‘dog…come with me…’

  ‘Reginald?’ Marcy asks again as everyone else just stares at him.

  ‘Can someone make that dog please come with me.’

  ‘For what?’ Howie asks.

  ‘To sniff,’ Reginald says as though the answer is obvious, ‘she can smell them…I think they went that way,’ he adds pointing to the duck pond.

  ‘You what?’ Howie asks lowering his rifle and taking a step closer.

  ‘They went that way…I think they went that way…I’m not sure if they went that way and I need the dog to tell me or show me or…or do whatever it is she does to see if they went that way…’

  ‘You had enough water today, Reggie?’

  ‘Yes! I have had water,’ Reginald snaps not looking at Cookey, ‘and I do not need a toilet break and…how do I make the dog work?’

  ‘Reggie,’ Howie says patiently, ‘what makes you think they went that way?’

  ‘Please!’ Reginald groans with exasperation, ‘I want to see if they went that way but…how can I tell if they went that way?’

  ‘Dave, Clarence and Nick with me…everyone else stay here and keep your eyes up…go on then, mate,’ Howie says with a nod towards the pond, ‘Nick, get Meredith to come with you.’

  ‘Come on,’ Nick says clicking his tongue as Meredith rushes instantly ahead of the small group breaking away.

  Reginald strides ahead swamped in the ill-fitting black clothes with his glasses sliding down his sweaty nose. He turns back and steps quickly aside as Meredith bounds past him and turns to follow her, ‘how do you make her sniff the ground?’

  Howie glances at Clarence who shrugs and shakes his head. Nick shows the same confused expression.

  ‘She is sniffing,’ Nick calls out.

  ‘Her nose isn’t down on the ground,’ Reginald shouts back.

  ‘Yeah mate, she er…what…it doesn't work like that.’

  ‘Work like what? She doesn't work? Can you make her work?’

  ‘No, I mean,’ Nick looks to Howie for help.

  ‘He means,’ Howie says, ‘that Meredith will smell everything on the ground as she passes…if she gets a scent she’s interested in she’ll drop her nose and start…like that! See…she’s got her nose down now.’

  Metres from the path leading into the duck pond area and Meredith stops dead with her nose planted to a spot on the ground. She turns a half circle and works back into the street away from the duck pond.

  ‘Wrong way…you’re going the wrong way,’ R
eginald calls out, ‘make her go that way,’ he adds motioning towards the duck pond.

  ‘Calm down,’ Clarence says, ‘what are you doing? Reginald? Tell us and we can help. STOP.’

  The rough order brings Reginald to an abrupt halt and he turns with a scowl back to the three walking behind him.

  ‘Tell us what you’re thinking,’ Clarence says again.

  Out of the group, Reginald likes Clarence the most. Something about the size of the man, his relaxed and easy manner and the way he always takes time to talk to him.

  ‘I think they went that way,’ Reginald forces himself to speak slowly, ‘and I want to know if they did go that way…and I thought the dog will track them or…or smell them or…I don’t know…’

  ‘Okay,’ Howie says calmly, ‘so you want to know if they went through this section? Is that right?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Okay, Dave can you see anything?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Dave says dully with a hard glare at Reginald, ‘wait here.’

  ‘She’s coming back,’ Reginald says excitedly as Meredith sweeps past him with her nose to the ground as she follows a scent trail across the road and onto the gravel surrounding the pond, ‘what can she smell?’

  ‘No idea,’ Howie says with a low laugh and another shake of his head, ‘oh hang on…her hackles are up…’

  ‘She’s growling,’ Nick says in a rush of words that has the three men lifting their weapons to face into the open area beyond the pond.

  ‘You got something?’ Blowers shouts from his position back in the road.

  ‘Standby,’ Howie shouts back.

  Dave follows the dog into the gravel section and straight across to the grassy perimeter and down a gently sloping bank onto the playing fields. His rifle held steady while his eyes scan the ground ahead and to the sides. A few metres into the field and he stops to stare round then turns back to face the others, ‘through here,’ he says, ‘maybe three or four abreast…grass is trampled down…’

  ‘Recently?’ Howie asks.