by RR Haywood
A wailing screech that becomes a bass filled deafening roar. I get over onto my arse and start scrabbling back and see bodies flying aflame and sailing across the car park. The place where the fuel station was is now the centre of a fierce raging fire that spreads out further and further with every second. That we’re not out of danger becomes painfully obvious and those underground tanks must have been full from the size of these detonations and explosions. The flames grow like something alive with such brightness it hurts my eyes. Yellows and oranges mixed with chemical blues. I glance over to see Dave giving a rare smile as he looks up to the magnificent height of the flames eating the sky. It’s coming towards us. Almost like something gentle and tentative and I watch transfixed only just about feeling the heat on my face. It’s beautiful and in a few seconds it has done what we’ve been trying to do all day. It’s killed them. Hundreds and hundreds now dead. What we suffered in agony to achieve this has done in the blink of an eye.
‘You fool, get up,’ Marcy grabbing my arm pulling to get me up and I snap back to the now and feel the heat coming ahead of the wall of flame and this beast does not care who it kills. It will take us as easy as the infected and in that last second before I turn and start running I see one of the adults screaming on the floor unable to get up and run. His flesh melts way before the flames get to him. His hair and clothes burst into flame then he’s gone. Devoured and taken.
We go back to running but it’s worse now than ever. Every drop of moisture is gone from the air in this place and I realise we don’t know how many infected are left. There could still be scores or hundreds.
With flames licking our arses we run like crazy bastards towards the supermarket. With a wall of heat pushing us on we run and drive our exhausted legs towards the front of that building as though it will give sanctuary or the blessed promise of water and rest.
Except we cannot have those things. Not yet. There is still work to do and our pain does not matter. Just the future. Just the little ones.
‘FORM UP,’ I don’t know where I draw the spit from to make the words sound but I know it hurts to shout.
Charlie canters over high and proud on horseback and past us she goes as though ready to protect our backs. Meredith runs out to join the line that forms out wide as we come to a stop only metres from the front of the store and we turn back. We drop down with weapons held and blink the mist from our eyes. We make ready for however many are left. Sucking lungful after lungful of air as we try and ease our hammering hearts. The weapons tremble in our hands and we sway on the spot but we stand and wait as Charlie comes to the end of the line and stares ahead.
Adults behind us collapse crying and crawling or limping over to the children still hidden in the shadows at the side of the building. Stars twinkle overhead. The moon silvery and glowing. Orange flames dance and grow higher and we can hear the roaring so loud and the air is full with the stench of chemicals and cooked meat.
What we see is a fire engine, or what’s left of one. The panels are buckled and twisted. Dented and hanging off. The front is buckled in. The passenger door is ripped off. The sides are coated in blood and blackened from smoke and flame. It drives slowly across the car park towards us with one single remaining red light flashing weakly.
We don’t move. We don’t flinch but wait with our own faces blackened so the whites of our eyes show clear. Lips thinly pursed and wishing it to be done. Let them get here and be done with it.
The engine stops with a grinding noise that speaks of things broken. Reginald climbs down from the passenger side with his assault rifle gripped like he should be gripping it in the way Dave taught him.
The driver’s door creaks open. The other man gets down and now I recognise him from the bloke on the horse yesterday so I glance down to look at Charlie and in my mind I think it’s her horse now and he can fuck off if he wants it back. She’s one of us now.
‘It’s done,’ Reginald stops a few feet from us, legs planted apart and he pushes his glasses up his nose.
We don’t reply but we wait. Crouched. Ready. With snarls in our throats ready to come out.
He takes another step towards us looking from face to face and that chin of his lifts in pride at what he sees. ‘It’s done,’ he says turning to look over his shoulder at the flaming petrol station, ‘they’re all dead,’ he turns back to face me, ‘ten thousand, Mr Howie.’
I shake my head, ‘no,’ I croak.
‘We’ve been back to the square. There are crawlers but…you have done it. You have won.’
It takes a while to sink in and we all remain where we are as though it’s a foul trick and instead there will be another few hundred popping up from behind the flower beds.
‘Yeah?’ I croak again.
‘Yes,’ he says politely with a reassuring nod. ‘My rifle is empty but if I may have another magazine I will keep watch here while you…’ he falters and hesitates, ‘I don’t know, but I will watch for you…for us…’
Twenty-Four
The store has been looted. Shelves ransacked and mostly emptied but in the corner of the store the stacks of water bottles remain untouched. Figure that one out. The world ends and people take face creams, deodorants, make-up, snack food, spices, fish paste but they leave the bottled water.
Their loss is our gain and into that corner we trudge while two strangely polite men stand watch. My team and the adults and children walk with heavy feet and heads bowed. A dog and horse go with us. Panting and hooves clip clopping across the tiled floor.
‘Children first,’ Marcy whispers rough and low but we abide her wishes and hand the bottles over to watch as those children small and large drink and drink with water sploshing down their chins. They drink to ease the pain in their throats and replace the moisture lost from the tears they have wept. They drink and we watch. Weapons held. Meredith ever watchful and now we have two that can see over our heads for the horse is even taller than Clarence. Not one of us questions why a horse is taken into a supermarket. None of the adults or children do either. We all ran together so why wouldn’t we drink together.
The symbolism of letting the children drink first passes but only when Marcy nods do we go for the big five litre bottles and screw the big caps off to turn the bottles up and over our heads. The water is warm but nowhere like the heat we’ve been used to and we shiver and gasp as the liquid cascades down over our faces. We gulp and gulp. Belching and filling stomachs that gurgle in delight. We stop and take a breath then drink more. We sluice the shit from our skin and tip water until the floor floods.
We take knives and split the big five litre bottles to make bowls for Meredith and the horse and my god they drink. Meredith drops with her front paws either side of her makeshift bowl and sucks thirstily with her swollen tongue lapping non-stop.
We pour water over her back to bring her body temperature down and the children drink.
‘Help me,’ Charlie says in a voice more normal now and nods to the lads to help her pour water over the back and legs of the horse. They use their hands to rub the sweat away and ease the heat coming off her flanks and body.
I look over at Paula leaning against the end of an aisle with her hair soaked and clinging to her scalp. She draws a deep breath and drinks more as she glances over towards me. We watch each other for several seconds. The leaders. The pack leaders watching their brood. From Meredith we all saw her role within our group and however Meredith viewed us is how we are and once again I give a prayer of thanks that we have Paula with us.
Clarence sits on the floor with his legs stretched out and a cluster of children leaning against him so drawn by the obvious size of the protective bear. His head drips from the water poured down and his eyes cast slowly round. Charlie soothing the horse with firm hands and soft words while the lads and Blinky gently pour water over the long body and neck. Meredith lying close and still drinking. She got us through this day. This day is hers. These children owe their lives to that dog and her refusal to back down. Wh
at we did in that room. What we all did with bare hands and teeth. I can’t remember it but just see flashes of Marcy tearing an artery open with her teeth and Blowers and Cookey stamping down with feet to break a skull and Mo gouging eyes out. Clarence ripping a throat out with his fingers. Dave breaking necks. Charlie with handfuls of hair as she breaks the face on the floor beneath her. Blinky tearing a gut open then reaching in with her hands to rip the entrails out. Meredith killing and the blood that sprayed on the walls and ceiling. I close my eyes and I can still see Paula ramming a male against the wall and sinking in with her teeth to bite through the neck. I snap my eyes open and stare across at Paula staring at me and the energy ripples through all of us.
‘Howie,’ I turn round to see Marcy staring at me with warning in her eyes, ‘not now. Later.’
‘But…’
‘Later,’ she says softly, cutting me off, ‘now is not the time.’ She motions with her head towards the survivors.
I walk over to Marcy and drop my forehead to rest on her shoulder then feel her hand reach round onto the back of my neck.
‘We got through it,’ she whispers into my ear, ‘you kept us alive again.’
I try and nod which isn’t that easy with my forehead pressing into her shoulder bone so I give up and shrug. I lift my head a notch to whisper into her ear, ‘Paula’s immune.’
‘I know, put your head back down,’ she says applying the gentlest of pressure to my neck, ‘and stop thinking so much.’
‘Don’t think…’
‘Do,’ she whispers back with a soft gentle snort, ‘listen, these people don’t need to know what we are. We’ll keep that between us, yes?’
‘Okay.’
‘They’ve been through enough and we can’t give them what we have. Understood?’
‘Okay. But maybe we can.’
‘That’s not for now. We’ll talk about it later.’
‘Okay.’
‘Same goes for everyone,’ she says louder, ‘we’ll talk later. Not now. Paula? Are you okay?’
‘Dandy,’ she says arching an eyebrow, ‘right,’ she gets to her feet and looks round the group with the eyes of a mother hen, ‘where are we going, Howie?’
‘You decide.’
‘And decide I will. Staying here is not an option but we do need to go back and collect our weapons.’
‘And the Saxon,’ Roy says.
‘And the Saxon,’ Paula repeats.
‘Farmhouse for my van.’
‘Thank you, Roy. After that? I suggest the place we stayed last night.’
‘The golf hotel?’ Clarence asks.
‘Yep, plenty of beds, plenty of food. Running water, showers and open ground in every direction. Everyone happy? Good. Get up we’ve got work to do. Come on stop your dilly dallying,’ she claps her hands striding into the middle, ‘are we keeping that horse?’
‘Yes,’ Blowers says firmly as both Cookey and Nick make it clear they agree.
‘And how do we transport a horse?’
‘Horsebox,’ Nick says.
‘Great. And where do we get one of those?’
‘The farm where Roy’s van is. There’s one in the barn.’
‘What if the man asks for his horse back?’ Charlie asks.
‘He can ask me,’ Clarence rumbles, ‘and I’ll tell him to ask Dave.’
‘We can’t steal a horse,’ Marcy says.
‘Not stealing,’ Clarence says, ‘more long term borrowing.’
‘Right,’ Marcy says, ‘and what if he really wants his horse back?’
‘Then he can really ask me and I’ll really tell him to really ask Dave.’
‘I will say no,’ Dave says flatly in such a way it brings the conversation to an immediate end.
‘Right enough horsing around,’ Paula quips looking round expectantly and deflating at the distinct lack of response. ‘Come on then. Let’s get moving. Nick, Mo and Roy. We will need a vehicle to transport these people. Everyone grab water, fill your bags. Ready?’
It takes effort to get moving again but we trudge back outside to Reginald and Neal standing together.
‘Here,’ I walk over and hand them both bottles of water, ‘anything?’
‘All clear, Mr Howie,’ Reginald says, ‘may I give my rifle to Dave?’
‘Dave?’
‘None of you have weapons. Dave is the best shot so therefore it makes the most sense for Dave to…’
‘Yep fine, Dave take the rifle.’
‘M4 with a folding stock.’
‘Eh?’
‘That man has an M4 with a folding stock.’
‘Do what?’ I look round to see Dave pointing at the assault rifle held by Neal, ‘ah right, you heard it yesterday.’
‘Yes, Mr Howie.’
‘So that was you on the horse yesterday was it?’ I ask Neal.
‘It was,’ Neal replies, ‘how many of you are immune to the virus?’
‘We’ll talk later,’ Marcy says.
‘This is of vital importance. You really must listen to…’
‘She said we’ll talk later,’ Blowers says giving his hard glare that silences the poor man on the spot.
‘Come with us,’ I say, ‘we’re going to the square…’
‘Again? Good God have you not had enough?’
‘For our weapons,’ I continue, ‘and our vehicle…and the crawlers will have to be dealt with. After that we’ll take these people to a safe place we found yesterday.’
‘Where is that?’
‘I don’t know you,’ I say blunt and to the point, ‘no offence but we’ve had a fuck awful day. I appreciate your help but right now we’ve got work to do. We’ll talk later when we’re safe.’
‘I understand, Mr Howie but…’
‘They have a hive mind…we will not talk now at the risk of being overheard by one of them pretending to be dead. Oh and can Charlie keep your horse for a bit?’
‘Jess?’
‘No, Charlie.’
‘What?’
‘Christ, are you related to Dave too? Can Charlie keep your horse for a bit?’
‘The horse is called Jess.’
‘Oh right, got it. Yeah can Charlie keep Jess then?’
‘My horse?’
‘Oh my god! Marcy…’
‘Go over there,’ she says ushering me away before I get angry, ‘Neal, I’m Marcy.’
‘Hi,’ he says somewhat taken aback at that smile she flashes.
‘Charlie is one of us. She used your horse during the fight.’
‘Yes I saw.’
‘Great. Can she keep using it…her…the horse…Jess…’
‘Oh well…I er…’
‘Fuck’s sake, mate, we’re keeping your horse, got it?’ Blowers snaps.
‘Of course.’
‘Sorted,’ Blowers nods striding off shaking his head and muttering darkly.
‘That is if you do not mind?’ Charlie says politely with the horse.
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘She is your horse, of course you have a choice,’ Charlie says.
‘No,’ Blowers shouts.
‘We are not stealing this man’s horse,’ Charlie says.
‘Long term borrowing,’ Clarence calls out.
‘That is not right,’ Charlie says firmly, ‘appropriation of property must be done with consent. Sir, I am sure you are aware but your horse is gifted. She did not shy away from the fight but rather went towards it…’
‘The police trained her…for riots…’
‘Ah yes that explains it,’ Charlie says looking up at the long face of the horse staring at her with what looks like abject love in its eyes.
‘Watch out, Mo. That horse is a copper.’
‘Funny, Nick,’ Mo chuckles, ‘where did you learn to do that?’
‘It comes naturally,’ Nick says.
‘Not you,’ Mo says, ‘Charlie.’
‘Oh me? Polo.’
‘What’s that?’ Mo asks.
�
��So posh,’ Blinky mutters.
‘I am not posh.’
‘Posh people play polo,’ Blinky retorts.
‘Try saying that when you’re pissed,’ Cookey laughs, ‘posh people play polo...’
‘I like Polo’s,’ Nick says, ‘I’m bloody starving. Anyone got any food?’
‘You’re always starving,’ Blowers says.
‘We’ll get some food when we get back,’ Paula cuts in.
‘What’s polo?’ Mo asks.
‘Mint with a hole,’ Blowers says.
‘You like holes,’ Cookey says.
‘Seriously, what’s polo?’
‘Hockey on horses,’ Blinky says, ‘for posh twats.’
‘I am not a twat.’
‘Oh so cool,’ Cookey says, ‘say that again.’
‘What twat?’
‘So cool.’
‘What is?’
‘The way you say twat,’ Nick says.
‘Twat?’
‘So cool.’
‘I do not say it differently to you?’
‘You fuck…you do,’ Nick says correcting himself as swearing at Charlie doesn’t quite feel right.
‘They are like this all the time,’ Reginald points out looking across to a dumbfounded Neal, ‘you do adjust.’
‘Neal,’ Marcy says cutting through the conversation, ‘Charlie was good on your horse. Can she continue using her?’
He nods quickly too afraid to say anything else.
‘Charlie, you ride,’ I say, ‘keep watch. Reginald? Neal? You walking with us…I don’t think that fire engine will last much longer. Get the children in the middle. Blowers, your team at the back. Clarence and Dave flanking. Roy…shit where’s your bow?’
‘In the square.’
‘Okay, Marcy up front with me, Roy and Paula behind me and Marcy. We keep those children inside our circle at all times. You got any more ammunition for your rifle?’
‘M4 with a folding stock.’
‘Thanks, Dave.’
‘I have one here…the rest are in my bags,’ Neal says.
‘Load it up and give it to Charlie.’