The Undead Day Eighteen

by RR Haywood

  ‘They are self-locking,’ Charlie says.

  ‘And the front? Is that locked?’

  ‘Same,’ she says politely, ‘we are safe in here.’

  ‘Safe,’ Reginald snorts again, ‘no such thing anymore.’

  ‘I’ve got the rifle if anything does happen,’ she says as reassuringly as possible while taking care not to sound patronising.

  ‘Yes. Yes indeed you have,’ he says almost absent mindedly from watching the monitor as his hands once again move to adjust the tie knot that isn’t there. He picks up a bottle of water from the desk and takes a sip with a look of distaste, ‘I need tea not water,’ he mutters.

  ‘Tea? What kind do you like?’

  ‘Camomile or Darjeeling,’ he whispers, ‘I always have tea when I am thinking. I cannot think without tea.’

  ‘You’ve done very well so far.’

  ‘Under pressure and under duress but to maintain cognitive functionality I require tea to drink and…there! See?’

  ‘Where?’ Charlie moves quickly to sit down and pull her chair in as Reginald leans closer to the monitor, ‘right where I said. The first one cometh,’ he says with an air of satisfaction.

  A single undead staggering from an open doorway to a betting shop. Elderly with straggly grey hair and wearing a pair of filthy stained pyjama bottoms.

  ‘Oh now,’ Reginald groans shaking his head, ‘ham acting, awful ham acting…look at him pretending not to know they are there…oh look now he’s seen them. Did you see that double take?’

  ‘I did,’ Charlie chuckles at the old man staring left and right then showing a start as he locks eyes on the group a short distance up the road.

  ‘Now he’ll have to alert the others in the area,’ Reginald says making quote marks.

  The howl reaches them, albeit dulled and dampened by the thick walls of the sealed van and then he’s off. A loping jerky run into the road and towards the weapons being held ready.

  ‘Gunshot,’ Reginald says pre-empting the events, ‘they will shoot him and a minute later we will see more coming as though drawn by the noise and the gunshot.’

  ‘We shall see,’ Charlie says watching the monitor as the elderly man runs up the road.

  *

  ‘You okay?’ I ask Marcy as we wait for something to happen.

  ‘Hot,’ she says bluntly, ‘and pissed wet through with sweat,’ she adds, ‘and it’s making my hair greasy,’ she adds again, ‘and my knickers are sticking to my backside,’ she adds again with an uncomfortable shift on the spot, ‘wish I was naked,’ she finished with a huff.

  ‘You’d distract everyone if you were naked.’

  ‘Pervert,’ she says but smiles as she speaks, ‘are they coming or what?’

  ‘Hope so. Reginald might be wrong though.’

  ‘No he won’t be,’ she says with a groan either at the heat or at Reggie, ‘he’s too clever for that. Oh god I just want to lie down in a cold bath of water.’

  ‘Sounds nice.’

  ‘Can we find somewhere so I can have a bath tonight?’

  ‘We can try.’

  ‘I’ll bet Paula would love one too. Why did she ask me that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘On the radio, when Nick was talking to her, she said to ask Marcy what the infection would do.’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘Just because I was one once doesn't mean I know everything about them.’

  ‘Yeah but…’

  ‘I mean is that what everything thinks if they have a question about the infection? Just ask Marcy?’

  ‘Er, yeah?’

  ‘It’s not on.’

  ‘Is it not?’

  ‘I’m being serious!’

  ‘Okay,’ I say quickly at the look of anger on her flushed face, ‘I’m only playing.’

  ‘It’s too hot for playing,’ she huffs again, ‘scratch my back for me,’ she says turning round to face away.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Under my bra strap.’

  I reach up to feel for the bra strap and start rubbing above it.

  ‘No under it, no actually under it…put your hand up and get underneath the strap.’

  ‘Oh, see what you mean,’ I reach down and get my hand under her top and push up towards the strap, ‘fuck me you’re sweating.’

  ‘Sorry, is it gross?’

  It isn’t gross. It isn’t gross at all. In fact it is the opposite of gross.

  ‘Howie? Is it gross?’

  ‘Huh? Er…no, no it’s fine,’ I find the strap and get my fingertips underneath and start running them side to side across her skin making her curl her shoulders forward to round her back out.

  ‘Oh that’s good,’ she groans, ‘so nice.’

  ‘Contact,’ Clarence says and turning to look before facing away with a shake of his head, ‘when you’re ready.’

  ‘My back was itching,’ Marcy says.

  I draw my hand out and look round, ‘where?’

  ‘Down there, old bloke pretending not to see us…oh he has now bless him, here he goes…see him?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I take a step forward and shield the sun from my eyes to watch an old man in filthy pyjama bottoms running into the street giving a strangled howl, ‘just him?’

  ‘Looks that way,’ Paula says, ‘for now,’ she adds in a low mutter.

  ‘Movement,’ Dave says as quiet as Paula, ‘in the Spar.’

  ‘Spar? Where’s that?’ Marcy asks quickly.

  ‘Next to the bakery,’ Paula says turning round to grin.

  ‘Don’t fucking start, do you think every town has a Spar?’ I ask with a sudden thought.

  ‘Seems that way,’ Marcy says staring at the red strip over the front window of the shop.

  ‘Got them on army bases too,’ Clarence says.

  ‘No way, really?’

  ‘All over the place,’ he says casually, ‘unlike Tesco which just rip people off.’

  ‘Oi,’ I say warningly, ‘every little helps.’

  ‘Is someone shooting him?’ Paula asks, ‘you know…just wondering seeing as he’s getting quite close.’

  ‘Poor old bugger is wheezing like a train,’ Clarence says with a wince, ‘can hear him from here.’

  ‘Trains don’t wheeze,’ I say.

  ‘It’s a saying,’ he says.

  ‘Is it fuck. Dave would you…righto that’s him dead then…you know, I might have been about to ask something else,’ I say as he re-holsters the pistol.

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘No, But I might.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’

  ‘Well,’ I announce loudly, ‘that was a fucking thrilling battle.’

  ‘Don’t goad them,’ Paula says with a soft chuckle.

  ‘One old codger? Is that it for this town?’ I ask the group, ‘Blowers? You see anyone?’

  ‘Nothing, Mr Howie,’ he shouts back, ‘you think that was it?’

  ‘Must be.’

  ‘We moving out then?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I turn round in another slow circle wondering when they’re going to make a move, ‘guess so…’

  ‘CONTACT,’ Dave’s voice recoils round the street as the sounds of people moving fast come from the building line.

  ‘CONTACT,’ Nick shouts facing towards the building on the corner of the junction.

  ‘CONTACT,’ Mo shouts from the other corner.

  ‘Bout fucking time,’ I mumble into my hand.

  ‘That side,’ Paula shouts aiming down the street to the shops adorning the side past the junction as Clarence steps back to fall in beside me.

  ‘More than I was expecting,’ he says.

  I nod back as my heart starts racing at the sight of the hordes charging towards us from nearly every side. Only the junction itself is clear but they come from the shops either side and opposite. From doors they pour out howling into the air.

  ‘FIRE,’ I yell and the air fills with the sound of assault rifles spewing bullets in every direction.

  *
/>
  ‘Reginald,’ Charlie says with alarm, ‘there’s too many and they’re coming too fast…’

  ‘No no,’ the small man says shaking his head, ‘this is what was expected.’

  ‘I think you’re wrong,’ she says lifting her assault rifle and checking the magazine, ‘why are they pouring out like that then? It’s so obvious they were waiting now.’

  ‘It is only obvious because we were aware of it…’

  ‘I thought they would come out slowly, like they did in the thatched village.’

  ‘That was too staged. The opponent has realised it was too staged so now it is countering that by sending them out too fast. It is still learning. Remember that.’

  ‘Are you saying this is a mistake then? A miscalculation?’

  ‘I am saying precisely that. Which in itself gives some alarm as the ability to assess and adapt to the perception of mistakes is perhaps more evolved than even I anticipated but, but having said that I would maintain that this is still what was expected.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ She asks moving back to the desk clutching the assault rifle, ‘if you’re not sure then say so and I’ll go out to help them.’

  ‘Mr Howie and his cohorts have faced adversaries many size this number and walked away unscathed. In fact I would wager Mr Howie and Dave could see off this attack on their own armed only with a pair of spoons.’

  She sits down, her heart racing at the sight of the battle and the guns booming into the air. She fought yesterday in the house and again today but they were different. It was hand to hand in the house and the villages this morning were easy so the sight of the hordes charging across the ground fill her with a pulsing sense of fear and an urge to be doing something, to be fighting instead of watching from a comfy chair in the back of an armoured van. Four feet tap on the ground now and while Reginald’s hands tremble at the inner voice telling him he may have been wrong so hers turn white at the knuckles from the pressure applied from her grip on the weapon.

  Bodies slump and are blown back. Heads bursting apart from the perfect hits given by Dave. Shouts of magazine sound out amidst the firefight and the howls of the infected coursing across the street and still pouring from the building line.

  ‘Reginald,’ she says with a heavy breath, ‘if they are putting this many here how many will they have for Stenbury?’

  ‘I was considering that very same thing,’ he says with another attempt to fiddle with the tie knot that isn’t there.

  ‘There has to be hundreds here,’ she whispers, ‘hundreds to be sacrificed…if that is, you are right.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he says weakly.

  ‘Hundreds sent to be killed to buy time?’

  ‘They have millions,’ he says turning to stare at her, ‘I was with Marcy when she was…well, when she was terrible. Most terrible,’ his voice trails off at the memory, ‘the numbers she…we…took were staggering but still nothing compared to the potential reach of the infection.’

  ‘Hundreds here could mean thousands at Stenbury,’ she looks away from the hurt in his face and watches the battle on the monitor.

  The noise is incredible and every sound can be matched to an image but there are too many sounds and too many images. She recognises burst fire, single shots and the voices shouting and somewhere in amongst that wall of noise is Meredith barking. She leans closer to watch Blinky standing with her feet planted apart and the way she aims, fires, aims, fires. Small movements but done perfectly. She screams magazine into the air and slams a fresh one home, takes a step forward and continues to fire. Cookey dropping down to kneel. Nick taking two steps out to gain a better aim. Mo rock solid and the weapon hardly seems to move when he fires. Clarence and the size of him makes the rifle look tiny. Dave, as small as Reginald and firing single shots but every shot is a kill. Marcy and Paula firing bursts into the mass heading towards them. Everyone working together, covering each other and now she thinks it she looks closer at the way they’re spread out. Seemingly random but no flank has been left uncovered as they form a rough wide circle with the beast of the dog in the middle waiting for any that may break through.

  It changes her perspective. These people are experienced, functioning, hardened and deft. Paula shouts magazine and instantly Roy and Howie both adjust their aim to make sure the gap left by Paula is covered. As she rises so they re-adjust and on it goes. Hundreds is now not enough, not against these people and now she can see how they’ve survived. The silly jokes, the banter, the mocking, piss-taking and flirting all mask a raging desire to kill and hurt those that took everything from them. Without thinking and without asking she presses a button on the monitor to make one image full screen and almost gasps at the look of intense focus mingled with abject fury on the face of Mo Mo. He is raging inside. Teeth barred. Eyes wide. Feet planted. Nick just to one side and she can see what looks like a wry smile on his face, that he knows something they don’t know, that they can’t be beaten. The biggest shock is Cookey. The smiling laughing joker now a man with broad shoulders and a snarl that transforms him completely. His blond hair as wet and as clinging to his scalp as the black top does to his body. She leans just that smidgen closer with her eyes travelling over his shoulders and arms, down his long legs and back to his face that is puckering up with a mock kiss as he stares cross eyed. She bursts out laughing, a sudden noise that makes Reginald jump and instantly press a button on the monitor.

  ‘We need to watch behind us,’ Reginald says with a sigh.

  ‘Of course, sorry,’ she says quickly but her eyes linger for longer than she would have realised.

  *

  ‘MAGAZINE,’ Cookey shouts dropping down to one knee.

  ‘Why are you kneeling to change?’ Blowers shouts at him.

  ‘Just am, fuck off.’

  ‘You’re such a dick,’ Blowers shakes his head and fires into the horde, ‘you think she’s watching you?’

  ‘Get fucked,’ Cookey shouts as he stands up, plants his feet wide and fires in what he hopes is a manly looking pose.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Nick says glancing back.

  ‘Fuck off,’ Cookey says again.

  ‘Are you snarling?’ Nick asks, ‘Blowers, what’s he doing?’

  ‘The fucking idiot thinks Charlie might be watching him.’

  ‘Twat,’ Nick chuckles and fires a burst into the human bodies running towards them.

  I glance back to see Cookey is giving it a good snarl but with his hair soaking wet and his top tight against his frame he does actually look quite good and I can’t help but laugh when he puckers up and pulls a quick silly cross-eyed face. I could tell him off but we’re not in danger. They’re falling in droves and we’ve almost won already.

  ‘Single shots,’ Dave orders, ‘preserve ammunition.’

  For a second there is a weird silence as every gun falls quiet and the air fills with a series of dull clicks as we change the fire selection. A second or so later and we’re back to plucking shots with careful aiming.

  ‘I guess we’ll see if Reggie was right,’ Clarence says to me.

  ‘Guess so,’ I say looking down the main road past our two parked vehicles.

  *

  ‘You were right,’ she says with an explosive sigh. Sitting back in the chair she eases the rifle stock down to the floor to prop against her legs and smiles over the desk, ‘that was intense.’

  ‘Intense?’ Reginald asks with a slow blink of his eyes and suddenly he looks old, drawn, tired and the horror is there to see, ‘that was not intense. Intense is still to come and the things we shall see will stay in your eyes when you try and sleep.’

  She holds his gaze for a second before dropping her eyes, ‘the others seem to sleep well enough.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he whispers, ‘indeed they do and I wonder how they have built those walls within their minds.’

  ‘Exhaustion probably,’ she says, ‘what was it like?’

  ‘To what do you refer?’ He asks knowing fully well what she is
asking.

  ‘Being one of them.’

  He inhales and thinks, ‘it was, it is…imagine if you will, or think of something that has happened in your life that you placed great emotional attachment to but as time passes so that emotional attachment eases. Perhaps it is like that. My mind was not truly my own and although I possessed the essence of my character it was not the individual that was in control of it.’

  ‘And the things you did?’

  ‘I was as much a coward then as I am now,’ he says with a tight smile, ‘I think that part of my character can never be suppressed.’

  ‘But you were there when they happened?’

  ‘Yes, yes I was and for that I was as complicit and as guilty as a witness as Marcy was for the level of destruction and death she wrought and make no mistake about it, the things she did were abhorrent and beyond anything you could imagine. Our sins for that are unforgivable but the mitigation we present is that we were controlled and not functioning under our own mindful state. I can see on your face you are wondering how such acts can be perpetrated without any ability to prevent it…’

  ‘No no…’

  ‘And my answer is that it was entirely and completely organic. It was not an audible voice giving orders but an intrinsic part of our minds like it had always been there. Do you know we did not feel pain? We did not need to sleep or rest and the host bodies that Marcy infected were able to cure their forms of disease and illness…’ The story of how they all came together was told yesterday in the shopping centre but these minute details were not shared and she listens now with rapt attention as his mind meanders into the recent past, ‘diabetes for instance. There were host bodies that by rights should have died within hours of being infected but whatever abilities the virus has, it appears one of them is to fix such afflictions. There was a boy,’ he says quietly, ‘in a house, a grand house that was once the residence of Queen Victoria…’

  ‘Osborne House?’

  ‘The same,’ he says, ‘you know your history. Yes a boy that had suffered a serious assault, he was dying,’ he speaks quietly his voice lilting with emotion, ‘Marcy convinced his family to let her turn him and thereby save him, and she did it too. She took what was inside of her and placed it in him, the tiniest drop mind and he died but came back and he felt no pain from the injury he had sustained. That, that was turning point for her I think, that she realised this virus was meant to heal not to harm.’