The Undead Day Eighteen

by RR Haywood

  Then we found Brookley. A small village dominated by a large green that is now forever tainted with the death given here.

  This place is something from a nightmare and so horrific that it almost looks false. Like a giant movie set designed to invoke a reaction no matter which direction you turn to look.

  I have gone from abject admiration at the professionalism of these people driving through the countryside ridding the land of the infected to harbouring a sensation of wariness and fear towards them. The killing, the sheer amount of killing is beyond anything that a human should ever do. This is not cleansing or taking back the land from the infected hosts but bordering on genocidal actions of people driven by an undeniable thirst for violence.

  The green has tracks of vehicles carving paths through the thick mud. Those vehicles must have become stuck and it appears the ingenuity of the soldiers has prompted them to use wooden doors from the houses in an effort to build a road of sorts.

  It is obvious the doors have failed and so they have used bodies. Hundreds of dead bodies that lie slaughtered in the heat and already the stench is abominable.

  The mud is no longer true brown but red from the blood spilled. Gunshots within those corpses but many of them were hacked apart by bladed weapons and again the attack dogs were sent in. That I observed the surgical precision wounds only served to increase my fear.

  The road of bodies was the very worst thing. I cannot describe it. Mangled, broken, filthy and saddened beings used as filler to enable vehicles to get from the mud and then left to lie forever where they fell.

  The road was marked with the position the vehicles broke free from the green due to the excess mud. Next to that position was a house which I entered and at the rear I found the soldiers had used a garden hose to cleanse themselves. I find this troubling. That they could kill so many and then stop to wash so close to the scene of their slaughter.

  I know they are doing the right thing. Every single infected person that now lies dead gives a greater hope for our species to survive and I must steel myself against these horrors as I use the judgment and knowledge of my formerly peaceful life. This is not that life and nor will it ever be.

  But still. It concerns me.

  I will continue but cautiously and with fear cementing in my stomach. Jess however is fine and still seems to be enjoying our grand adventure.

  It is now very hot.

  NB

  Seventeen

  I watch the screen as the drone lifts off and a second later we see ourselves from above as the aircraft gives near silent flight into the air and starts the journey to Flitcombe.

  Marcy close to my side watching over my shoulder with everyone else gathered in tight as Charlie operates drone and Reginald works the camera.

  The drone sails over the trees showing us a bird’s eye view of fields and scrub land before we glimpse the boundary of the village in the distance.

  ‘Go higher,’ Nick says standing behind Charlie, ‘bit more…yeah perfect.’

  ‘Main road,’ Reginald says pointing a finger to the screen and the distinct line of the black tarmac running towards the village, ‘we’ll focus on the immediate village first I think and yes, this area is the central meeting place I was referring to…’

  ‘Fuck me,’ Cookey mutters, ‘well done, Reggie,’ he adds at the sight of the undead gathered in that same section just to the right of the main road.

  That whole section is thick with them. Hundreds all waiting in the heat and spilling out over the road.

  ‘Reginald,’ I say leaning closer, ‘how long is that straight section when you first go into the village? I mean how far away will they see us when we go in?’

  ‘Ah yes, I see…I would say no more than three hundred metres.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Backs of the buildings are clear,’ Roy says.

  ‘They’ll have more inside the buildings,’ Clarence says.

  ‘Still a few hundred by the looks of it,’ Paula says quietly, ‘Dave?’

  ‘Over three hundred on view,’ he says dully and I notice his right hand dropping to the hilt of a knife in his belt and he looks over at me as my own heart rate starts to increase. I drum my fingers on my leg feeling the tension in the back of my neck so I twist my head to the side grimacing as something clicks.

  ‘The man said we’ve got to show confidence,’ Clarence says stretching his back out.

  ‘Aye, he did,’ I say as that tension grows.

  ‘Plan?’ Blowers asks.

  I shrug, ‘straight in?’

  He nods, ‘works for me.’

  ‘Hand weapons?’ Nick asks.

  ‘Yeah why not.’

  ‘There’s three hundred in sight and more in the buildings,’ Paula says quickly, ‘we can’t fight that many with hand weapons.’

  ‘…’

  ‘I said we can’t fight that many with hand weapons. Are you listening to me?’

  ‘The man said we’ve got to show confidence,’ Clarence says again.

  ‘We’ve got guns,’ she shouts, ‘guns that fire bullets…’

  ‘We’ll need those for Stenbury,’ Blowers says.

  ‘Are you being serious?’ She turns to face us all, ‘don’t be so fucking stupid.’

  I look to Blowers seeing his hard eyes and Nick standing tall and Mo staring with hatred at the screen. The left hand is logic. The right hand is violence.

  ‘Howie, I cannot fight hand weapons against so many,’ Paula says.

  ‘You’re not going to,’ I say with a voice that comes out low and hoarse, ‘Marcy, Charlie, Blinky, Paula and Roy stay with Reginald. We’ll call when we need you to start firing…’

  An eruption follows but one I was expecting and I hold my hand up as something in my eyes brings them to silence.

  ‘I’m coming,’ Blinky says urgently, ‘like fuck I’m staying…I’m coming.’

  ‘Me too,’ Roy says staring levelly at me.

  ‘Roy,’ Paula says but cuts off when he simply ignores her.

  ‘Blinky, we’ve done this before many times,’ I say but she cuts me off shaking her head.

  ‘I was born for this,’ she says urgently, ‘I was fucking…’

  ‘Blinky we know how to move with each other…’ Clarence says.

  ‘I’ll learn,’ she shouts, ‘I’m coming. I’m fucking coming. I can fight…’

  ‘Blinky…’ I say.

  ‘No,’ she shouts again looking furious, ‘I kept getting sent off for being violent…I’m violent…I’m fucking violent…’

  ‘You don’t have a hand weapon,’ Clarence says.

  ‘She will use Mohammed’s Axe,’ Dave says staring at her.

  ‘What will Mo use?’ I ask.

  ‘Knife. With me,’ Dave says not even looking at Mo who clenches his jaw but shows no other reaction.

  I nod at Blinky, ‘with us then, Mo, give her your axe.’

  ‘Yes,’ Blinky hisses showing the rage in her face.

  ‘Roy?’ I ask.

  ‘Sword.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘I’ve earned my right to defend my team.’

  The right hand is violence.

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘You’d be better on overwatch, Roy,’ Clarence says.

  ‘Overwatch?’ I ask.

  ‘Sniper, with his bow,’ Clarence says, ‘like he did in Brookley.’

  ‘Roy?’ I ask.

  ‘I’ll do overwatch,’ he says with a nod.

  ‘Nick,’ Clarence says, ‘fancy using my axe?’

  ‘Fuck yes,’ Nick blurts, ‘what you using?’

  ‘Got something else in mind,’ he says darkly, ‘my axe is heavy mind.’

  ‘Fucking best day ever,’ Nick says.

  ‘What?’ Clarence says when I look at him, ‘you’ll see.’

  ‘Any point in trying to talk you out of this?’ Marcy asks, ‘no I didn’t think so. Okay, we’ll be waiting…’

  ‘I can fight,’ Charlie says firmly.

/>   ‘You’re staying with us,’ Marcy says equally as firmly, ‘they know how to move with each other…’

  ‘Blinky is going and I can learn just as well…’

  ‘You’ve not seen it,’ Marcy says looking from face to face, ‘you’ll see what I mean when you see it.’

  ‘I saw it yesterday.’

  ‘Yesterday wasn’t the same,’ she says, ‘yesterday was…’

  ‘Small,’ Paula says, ‘this isn’t small. And this isn’t sexism either…Lani was right there with them before she died…she was one of the finest up there with Dave.’

  ‘Load up, my team with me in the Saxon, Marcy you drive Roy’s van. Everyone get their rifles into Roy’s van with bags and ammunition. That’s our fall back point.’

  Eighteen

  The battle for Flitcombe

  The right hand is violence with which we shall show confidence to the point of extreme.

  ‘Everyone ready?’ I ask slowing down before the last corner while my hands grip the wheel so tight my knuckles turn white. There they are. Spilling out across the road in all their perfect undead glory.

  ‘Marcy, reverse in so the back doors face them.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘We’ll see you in a bit.’

  ‘Blinky, stay with Nick. The dog always stays close to Nick so she’ll give you some protection. Dave, you taking Mo?’

  ‘Yes. Mohammed stay within sight of me at all times.’

  ‘Yes, Dave.’

  ‘Do not try and copy what I do but do as I told you and focus on the cuts I taught you.’

  ‘Yes, Dave.’

  ‘I will protect your flanks and rear, focus only on what is in front of you.’

  ‘Yes, Dave.’

  ‘We stay close to Mr Howie at all times. We protect him. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Dave.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I call back, ‘you worry about yourselves.’

  ‘Do what Dave tells you,’ Clarence says, ‘and everyone stay away from me.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘Roy, I’m guessing you need height. Top of the Saxon the right place for you?’

  ‘Yes and please it is important that everyone listens to this. Do not try and compensate or do anything you think aids my firing. I will work round you as you move naturally.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘I really cannot emphasis that enough.’

  ‘Yep, got it, Roy.’

  ‘And we need to be closer than three hundred metres.’

  ‘Okay, how close?’

  ‘One hundred and fifty metres will be good.’

  ‘Tell you what, I’ll drive in and you tell me when you want me to stop.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’

  ‘Roy,’ Clarence says, ‘be ready to use that GPMG if we start running back.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’

  ‘Fucking hang on,’ Blowers says quickly, ‘Roy is going to be firing at us running back towards him? Fuck that…’

  ‘Run to the sides then,’ Roy says.

  ‘The sides? How the fuck do we get to the sides?’ Blowers asks.

  ‘Ah we’ll be alright,’ I say nonchalant, ‘Roy, don’t shoot anyone.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Try!’ Blowers sputters, ‘do more than fucking try, Roy.’

  ‘Nick,’ I shout back cutting Blowers off, ‘I know you’re immune but don’t get cocky with it…they can still rip you apart.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Yeah, Nick. Don’t get cocky.’

  ‘Fuck you, Cookey.’

  ‘Are we there yet? I’m gonna spew in a minute.’

  ‘This is fine, Mr Howie,’ Roy says with a hint of horror at being trapped in a metal box with Blinky about to puke.

  We come to a stop facing the horde now all turned and staring down the road towards us. Roy’s van pulls up alongside with Marcy at the wheel waving at me. I grin back then laugh as the reversing warning beep starts sounding in the street as she pulls back to start the turn.

  ‘What’s that?’ Cookey asks from behind me.

  ‘Roy’s van. Right, everyone out and get ready.’

  I open the door and drop down into the incessant heat. A bottle of water opened and I force the whole of it down as the others do the same.

  Axe in hand and I walk round to the front while the others jump down and stretch with curses at the foul humidity.

  ‘Meredith had water, Nick?’

  ‘Loads.’

  ‘Everyone alright?’ I ask as they file towards me with Nick resting Clarence’s double headed axe over his right shoulder.

  ‘Perfect,’ Roy says getting to his feet on the roof of the Saxon. He nods with one hand on his hip staring at the horde and moving a step left then a step right as he gauges the distance and angles. ‘Can’t see the far corner of that square area…see the monument?’

  I look round seeing the stone cross six feet above the heads of the infected, ‘yeah I see it.’

  ‘Don’t go more than seven or eight metres to the right of that. The building line cuts my view.’

  ‘Blinky, did you hear that?’

  ‘Yep,’ she says tightly.

  ‘You ready then, mate?’ I ask staring up at Roy arranging his arrows at his feet.

  ‘I’m ready…and remember,’ he says again as Blowers tuts and rolls his eyes, ‘do not compensate for…’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Roy. We heard you,’ Blowers says.

  ‘I’m just saying.’

  ‘Yeah like a hundred times.’

  ‘Three actually.’

  ‘More than fucking three…’

  ‘Alright,’ I call out, ‘Clarence, where are you?’

  ‘Coming,’ he says hidden from view at the back of the Saxon.

  ‘What was that noise?’ Nick asks following a chink of metal clear and audible. Another rattle and something being pulled with a long drawing sound.

  ‘You waiting for me?’ Clarence asks.

  ‘Yes, mate.’

  ‘Be right with you, just choosing the best ones.’

  ‘Best ones what?’

  ‘Ah yeah, these two…perfect…’

  Heavy metal hitting concrete then the sound of dragging as Clarence comes into view dragging two long heavy link chains behind him.

  ‘Seriously?’ I ask looking at the chains looped over his huge hands.

  ‘Yep,’ he says, ‘saw it on a movie.’

  ‘What fucking movie was that?’

  ‘Can’t remember,’ he says with a shrug, ‘we going then or what?’

  ‘Fuck,’ I mutter looking past him to the chains stretched out on the ground, ‘they’re really long, Clarence.’

  ‘I said everyone to stay away from me,’ he says stiffly.

  ‘Yeah like where?’ I ask.

  ‘Ah fuck,’ Blinky shouts before bending forward to vomit on the ground with chunks of digested food splattering the road.

  ‘Oh we look fucking awesome,’ Cookey groans, ‘Roy’s van sounds like a rubbish lorry, Blinky spewing up and Clarence looking like a serial killer…’

  ‘I don’t look like a serial killer.’

  ‘You do,’ I say, ‘you just need some denim dungarees.’

  ‘And a straw hat,’ Blowers adds.

  ‘Look are we chatting or fighting?’ He asks with a huff.

  ‘Finished?’ Nick asks as Blinky stands up.

  ‘Yep,’ she announces, ‘let’s fuck these cunts up.’

  ‘Okay then,’ I say slowly, ‘ready, Dave?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

  We start walking. One foot after the other while keeping our eyes fixed on the horde ahead and two big chains scraping noisily behind us.

  ‘Are those chains?’ Marcy asks over the radio.

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply thumbing the switch under my shirt.

  ‘Does he know he looks like a serial killer?’

  ‘I do not look like a serial killer,’ he says bluntly
.

  ‘He said yes and he wants some denim dungarees…and a straw hat.’

  ‘You’ll be laughing in a minute when I’m lopping heads off with these bad boys…oh shit…’

  ‘Did you just call them bad boys?’ I ask as we all start laughing, ‘you did…you called them bad boys.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ he groans.

  ‘He just called his chains bad boys.’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘So did. We all heard it.’

  ‘Can we just focus on the bloody fight please,’ he snaps.

  ‘Better go, we’re getting close.’

  ‘Howie, remember what I said…about tonight…don’t die today.’

  Oh fuck. ‘Yes. Thank you Marcy for broadcasting that.’

  ‘Tonight?’ Clarence asks grinning at me, ‘what’s happening tonight then?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Mr Howie?’ Cookey says laughing, ‘you and Marcy got a date night?’

  ‘Are you blushing, Boss?’ Clarence booms.

  ‘No. I am hot.’

  ‘Tonight then,’ he says, ‘don’t die today, Boss.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Mr Howie.’

  ‘Yes, Cookey.’

  ‘Don’t die today, Mr Howie.’

  ‘Thank you, Cookey.’

  ‘Mr Howie,’ Nick says, ‘don’t die today, Mr Howie.’

  ‘Very funny, fuck off the lot of you.’

  ‘One running,’ Blowers shouts snapping our attention back to the horde. A hiss of air and the arrow goes into the eye socket of the eager zombie with such force it rips him from his feet and the first blood of the battle of Flitcombe weeps red on the ground.

  They watch us. Standing still. We watch them equally as still and the banter is gone now. The jokes and the comments all vanished. We are here and so are they.

  ‘Mr Howie.’ The voice crackles in our ears so polite, clipped but distinct and surprising for Reginald’s use of the radio, ‘you must show confidence. It is of the upmost importance you make them think you know you will win. You are a humble man. You all are humble men but this is not the time for humbleness.’