by RR Haywood
‘We don’t have any masks or goggles.’
‘No then,’ he says.
‘Wimp,’ Cookey mutters.
‘You lick it then,’ Mo says.
‘I don’t have to,’ Cookey says, ‘I am immune.’
‘Lick the body, Mo,’ Nick says, ‘go on…lick it…lick the dead body.’
‘You’s nuts,’ he says, ‘but yeah okay,’ he walks towards it with such a determined expression we all jump after him, ‘was joking,’ he laughs, ‘I ain’t licking a dead body. I ain’t Blowers.’
‘Cheeky fucker!’
‘Blinky? Charlie? Roy? Anyone else?’
‘What?’ Blinky asks, ‘Mr Howie,’ she adds.
‘Do you want to lick the dead body,’ I ask her.
‘What for?’ She asks with a confused look.
‘We’re you listening?’ Charlie asks.
‘Was I fuck you were all like blah blah blah and saying boring stuff…I need a piss. Do you want me to lick it?’
‘No, no don’t do that,’ I say quickly with a sudden fear she’ll actually do it.
‘Marcy?’ I ask.
‘What? I was already infected,’ she says staring at me like I’m an idiot.
‘Fair enough, didn’t want to leave you out.’
‘Gee thanks.’
‘Anytime, doesn't change anything then. We might be immune or we might not and cutting our hands open may or may not help and we still don’t know fuck all apart from Nick is immune and you all heard me thinking. Awesome. I’m glad we make progress like this.’
‘Sarcasm suits you,’ Marcy says.
‘Yeah? I like it.’
‘But,’ I say to the group, ‘we have learnt an important lesson. If anyone gets back in charge and questions us then we say what Clarence said so we don’t get in the shit for anything.’
‘Why would we get in the shit?’ Paula asks.
‘I dunno,’ I say, ‘stuff like blowing up that refinery and burning down the ferry and that town on the Isle of Wight…’
‘And the housing estate Dave blew up,’ Blowers says.
‘Yeah and that.’
‘And the munitions factory we broke into,’ Nick says.
‘Good one,’ I say to him.
‘Actually,’ Paula says wistfully, ‘I rather destroyed a town before I met up with you so yes, I’ll keep that one in mind.’
‘It’s very handy,’ Clarence says, ‘got Chris out of the shit all the time.’
‘What was it again?’ Nick asks.
‘It was an organic transition of events that allowed the present situation to develop to its current system,’ Clarence says.
‘Everyone got it? That’s what we say if anyone asks us.’
‘Can I use it?’ Marcy asks.
‘What for mass murder and genocide?’
‘And we’re back to that,’ she says beaming at me.
‘Sorry, couldn’t help it. Yeah use Clarence’s thing.’
‘Chris’s thing,’ Clarence says.
‘Chris’s thing,’ I add, ‘Maplins then.’
‘Maplin,’ Marcy says, ‘no s.’
‘Eh? Oh,’ I look up at the sign and the distinct lack of an s at the end, ‘I always thought it was Maplins.’
‘No, just Maplin,’ she says.
‘Oh god,’ Clarence groans sizing the door up, ‘it’s too hot for this shit…’
‘Use the Saxon, mate. Mo, can you drive?’
He looks at as though he didn’t hear what I said, ‘yeah, fuck yeah I can drive…you want me to get it?’
‘Go for it, bring it down here and push this car out the way then back it up so we can use the rope.’
He sprints off like he’s worried I’ll change my mind, ‘and tell Reggie we’ll be here for a few minutes if he wants to come out.’
‘WILL DO,’ he shouts and runs to the back of Roy’s van before darting over and climbing into the Saxon. A few seconds later and the engine sputters to life, a few more seconds and it pulls away to move round in a wide circle as he gains the approach to the car. We stand back and watch the grin on his face as he gets the aim right, drops the speed and pushes the front into the passenger side of the car. The engine bites as he powers on and I can see him laughing with real pleasure at the car being pushed aside like it weighs nothing. With the space cleared he manoeuvres round and backs up with Clarence guiding him in.
‘Stay in there,’ Clarence shouts waiting for Nick and Roy to attach the hook on the rope to the rear bar of the Saxon. They give a thumbs up to Clarence who gives his own to Mo, ‘gently now,’ he shouts, ‘forward…get the tension…now go!’
We clear off as the rope pings to tension and the shutters resist with a loud groan before realising that resistance is futility and cooperation will be gained with or without their assistance. A wrench with the remains of the plate glass window cascading out. The shutters smash down onto the ground and get dragged clear leaving a nice big hole ready for a very excited Nick and an equally excited Roy already clambering through.
‘YES! Roy look at this.’ I hear Nick shouting for joy as I get to the window and peer through to see him and Roy striding towards a display plinth with some toy helicopter on the top of it.
I get through and turn to offer a hand to Marcy who sticks a middle finger up and jumps through to land deftly inside, ‘that’s for the genocide comment,’ she says.
‘Sorry,’ I say.
‘And any further such comments will mean you don’t get to see my bum tonight.’
‘Marcy!’
‘What?’
‘Bit loud,’ I groan but Nick and Roy are too focussed on the toy helicopter.
The rest come through with Dave waiting outside to keep watch and showing as much interest in things like this as ever before.
‘Where are they?’ Clarence asks and getting no response he clears his throat, ‘Nick, Roy…radios? Where are they?’
Neither of them turn round but stare in wonder with Roy pointing at something and Nick nodding reverentially and whispering something back.
‘NICK!’
‘Eh? What?’ He turns round guiltily, ‘what’s up?’
‘Radios?’ Clarence says stiffly, ‘where are they?’
‘Er,’ the lad turns slowly staring at the aisles and display cabinets fixed to the wall, ‘probably er…’
‘What’s that?’ Blinky asks walking towards the plinth with a look in her eye which suggests she’ll be picking the toy helicopter up within the next five seconds. Nick and Roy move to intercept, she goes to flank but they opt for a subtly defensive position as Blinky finds the path suddenly blocked, ‘what is it?’ She asks again trying to peer round them.
‘Is that a drone?’ Cookey asks from behind them having sneaked round the back and now reaching his hand out.
‘Don’t touch it!’ Roy shouts as Nick darts in to slap his hand away.
‘What the fuck?’ Cookey asks glaring at them both.
‘It’s worth two and a half grand,’ Nick blurts, ‘it’s like the best you can get…’
‘What is?’ Blinky asks trying to step round Nick.
‘Just leave it,’ Nick says waving his arms in front of her.
‘What this?’ Cookey asks resting his finger on the top.
‘What is it?’ Blowers asks.
‘A drone,’ Cookey says.
‘What’s a drone?’ Marcy asks.
‘This is,’ Cookey says.
‘Helpful,’ Marcy says, ‘what does it do?’
‘Ah you know, drones on a bit,’ Cookey says and looks round waiting for the laughs and tutting when they don’t come, ‘drone…drones on a bit…fuck’s sake.’
‘This,’ Roy says loudly to get their attention, ‘is a carbon fibre DJI Inspire one drone with over a mile radio range and four k video live streaming and a three axis Gimbal stabilizing camera.’
We all nod and make appreciative noises, apart from Dave and Clarence who have switched on and are both staring intently, �
�over a mile?’ Clarence asks walking towards it.
‘Yep,’ Nick says, ‘probably more now.’
‘Why now?’ Clarence asks seriously.
‘Nothing to interfere with the signal,’ Nick says, ‘everything else is gone, no mobiles…satnavs…airplanes…taxis…clear skies.’
‘Yes of course,’ Clarence says, ‘and a live feed?’
‘High definition,’ Roy nods.
We all converge to stare at the plinth. The drone is futuristic looking but strangely insect-like but like what you’d think an alien insect would look like. The main body is narrow and high but streamlined and looks like the outer-shell the storm-troopers wore on Star Wars in a high shine white plastic. Two thin black carbon fibre arms jut out from the main body and each arm has another carbon fibre pole with rubberised landing feet bolted on. Four sets of helicopter style blades rest above each of the rubberised feet. It’s sleek, modern and also a bit evil looking, like it could come alive at any minute.
‘So what does it do?’ Marcy asks as we all stare.
‘Drone,’ Nick says as though that single word explains everything.
‘Yeah I heard that, what does a drone do?’
‘Oh…oh right,’ Nick says, ‘you fly it, on a remote control and that camera,’ he points to the lens poking out the bottom, ‘captures a live feed and sends it back to the monitor.’
‘Or you can USB from the handset to an iPad,’ Roy says, ‘and use the iPad as the monitor.’
‘Or other tablet device,’ Nick says to Roy, ‘doesn't have to be an iPad.’
‘Well no, but I do know for certain that you can use the iPad.’
‘Yeah but iPad’s aren’t that great.’
‘They are.’
‘They ain’t.’
‘They really are,’ Roy says, ‘are you android then?’
‘Me?’ Nick shrugs, ‘not android but not Apple either…I like to mix it up when I can.’
‘Yes,’ Roy says as though not wanting to be outdone, ‘me too.’
‘Techie fucking geeky stuff boring,’ Blinky says walking off.
‘I loved my iPad,’ Paula says.
‘Couldn’t afford one,’ Marcy says, ‘no, that’s not strictly true. I could have afforded it if I hadn’t spent so much on clothes and bags.’
‘That just perpetuates the stereotypical view of women,’ Roy says.
‘Couldn’t give a toss,’ Marcy says, ‘I liked clothes and bags…and shoes…and perfume…’
‘We can use this,’ Clarence says quietly nodding at the drone, ‘we used them in the field but the early ones were shit and when I say we used them I didn’t mean we as in me or Chris or Malcolm because we would have crashed it within five seconds and then legged it but they sent out some kids like Nick to do it.’
‘Over a mile range is good,’ Nick says, ‘we could get a view on Stenbury before we get there, or that next place.’
‘Brookley,’ Charlie says.
‘That would be helpful,’ I say, ‘does it make much noise?’
‘Not really and if we get it high enough they won’t hear it…the motor is electric so it just hums instead of chugging.’
‘Humming instead of chugging,’ Cookey says clearly trying to find a joke but failing dismally.
‘I saw a review on these,’ Roy says, ‘only downside is the battery is only twenty minutes at the most.’
‘But if we’re within a mile it shouldn’t take long to get a view should it?’ I ask.
‘Couple of minutes at the most, Mr Howie,’ Nick says, ‘and,’ he says turning to Roy, ‘I bet that monitor in the back of your van has a HDMI connection.’
‘Bloody good idea,’ Roy says quickly with a grin.
‘So we’ll get the feed on that monitor?’ Charlie asks, ‘can one person operate it?’
‘Two handsets,’ Nick says, ‘one person can do it or one can fly and the other operates the camera.’
‘So we can park up a mile out from the next town, get that drone up and see what the ground looks like before we get there, bloody brilliant,’ I say, ‘really bloody brilliant. You two sort that out, Mo, can you bring Roy’s van down here next to the Saxon and we’ll get some radios sorted…how are we going to make the new radios talk to the one in the Saxon and in Roy’s van?’
‘We don’t have to,’ Nick says, ‘we just put one in Roy’s van with Reggie and Charlie.’
‘Fucking switched on you are, mate,’ I say with a grin, ‘that’s why we all bloody offered ourselves. We’d be stuffed without you. And Roy,’ I add quickly as Marcy winces and looks away, ‘I mean both of you,’ I add again, ‘like both of you are switched on…and…that’s what I meant…’
‘Stop digging,’ Marcy mutters.
‘Yeah radios,’ I say with a look to Clarence then round at everyone else also wincing, ‘yeah piss off, it wasn’t that bad.’
Naturally, and seeing as this is the end of the world and all that we go straight for the most expensive radio systems on display, which is a Motorola with each one priced at over one hundred and fifty quid. Three on display so Clarence talks kindly to the rear door to the stock room and persuades it to move out of the way with his foot and we start rummaging around to find boxes, ear pieces and all manner of accessories. A few minutes later and we’re all gathered at the back of Roy’s van with Reginald still inside watching as we open the boxes and assemble the radios and equipment while Nick and Roy mess about with the drone handsets and the CCTV monitor on Reginald’s desk.
Each radio has a long wire connecting to an earpiece and a small clip on tube used as the press-to-talk button and we flaff about making a pig’s ear of everything until Dave steps in.
‘Radio on the belt,’ he says bluntly, ‘wire under your top so it doesn't snag. The chord to the earpiece loops over the ear so it can be pulled out without risk of falling away,’ he shows us his own ear and the way he has pulled the wire over the top, ‘ptt tube clips on here on the inside of your shirt,’ he says cinching his own top to show the small plastic tube underneath the thin wicking material.
Even with him showing us exactly what to do we still end up poking wires down sleeves and shoving earpieces up our noses.
‘Channel one,’ Dave says turning his radio on and showing everyone the numerically marked turn dial, ‘eight channels but we use one as the main and if anyone wants a private conversation they go to channel five.’
‘Why five?’ Marcy asks.
‘Because I said so,’ Dave says without hesitation, ‘channel five will be used for private conversation…’
‘Private conversation?’ Marcy asks.
‘Yes. Private conversation.’
‘What private conversation?’
‘Any such conversation as deemed private.’
‘I think he means if everyone is talking on channel one and say you and the boss want to talk then you two can go to channel five for a private chat while everyone else stays on channel one,’ Clarence says.
‘Yes,’ Dave says.
‘Got it,’ Marcy says, ‘why five?’
‘Er,’ Clarence says again, ‘I think so we have one to four to use for the main channel, in case one is being monitored…’
‘Oh. Why…I mean how would we know one is being monitored?’ She asks.
‘I don’t know,’ Clarence says.
‘I see,’ she says, ‘whatever.’
‘Test transmissions,’ Dave says and strides off a few metres, ‘Mr Howie, are we using names?’
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘Is that wise?’ Reginald asks from inside the van.
‘Probably not but it beats having to come up with any codenames that we’ll argue over for the next hour and then forget as soon as we start doing anything exciting.’
‘Dave to Mr Howie.’
‘Clear,’ I say into my chest while pressing the button under my shirt.
‘You need to turn your radio on, Mr Howie.’
‘Roger. Turning on. Is that it?’
>
‘Loud and clear. Dave to Clarence.’
‘Loud and clear.’
‘Dave to Paula.’
‘Loud and clear, Dave.’
‘Dave to Simon.’
‘Loud and clear, Dave.’
‘Dave to Marcy.’
‘Loud and clear, Dave.’
‘Dave to Alex.’
‘Roger roger rubber duckey receiving loud and clear over.’
‘That is not appropriate radio speak, Alex.’
‘Sorry, Dave.’
‘Do it again. Dave to Alex.’
‘Yep, go ahead.’
‘Alex…’
‘Sorry, Dave.’
‘Dave to Alex.’
‘Hello?’
‘Keep doing it and see what happens, Alex.’
‘Loud and clear, Dave!’
‘Ha, you got told off.’
‘Nicholas…’
‘Sorry, Dave. Loud and clear though.’
‘It was not your turn. Dave to Charlotte.’
‘Loud and clear, Dave.’
‘So posh.’
‘Alex!’
‘Sorry, Dave.’
‘Dave to Patricia.’
‘Can you call me, Blinky please, Dave?’
‘No. Dave to Patricia.’
‘Um…but I hate being called Patricia.’
‘No. Dave to Patricia.’
‘But why…’
‘Blinky, just answer him. He calls me Charlotte.’
‘Fine. This is Blinky. Loud and clear.’
‘Dave to Mohammed.’
‘You’s loud and clear, you get me?’
‘That is not appropriate. Do it again. Dave to Mohammed.’
‘Loud and clear.’
‘Dave to Reginald.’
‘He doesn't have a radio.’
‘Who said that?’
‘I said it,’ Charlie says, ‘I’m right here…you can see me.’
‘Use the correct radio discipline.’
‘Charlie to Dave.’
‘Go ahead, Charlotte.’
‘Reginald does not have a radio.’
‘Why not?’
‘We don’t have enough. He can share mine.’
‘You are wearing an earpiece. How will he hear the transmissions?’
‘Er, I can put it on loudspeaker?’
‘Understood. Dave to Roy.’
‘Loud and clear.’
‘Dave to Nicholas.’
‘Loud and clear.’