by RR Haywood
‘I am sorry but this is very serious,’ Neal says firmly.
‘Serious?’ Blowers pulls his head back slipping into that hard glare.
‘Simon,’ Dave says, ‘eat.’
‘Thank you,’ Neal says mistaking Dave’s intentions.
‘Do not interrupt my team again,’ Dave says fixing him with a look devoid of all emotion, ‘they have worked. Now they will eat. Do you understand?’
‘I’d say yes Dave if I were you,’ Nick mutters which draws a panicked look from Neal who then nods quickly.
‘Yes, Dave.’
‘Right, I think this little one needs some sleep,’ Clarence says rising to his feet and heading off to the adults taking care of the children.
Slowly the room empties as they head off into the corridor with the children and into the bedrooms. With the main doors into the dining room wedged open we keep a clear view of the reception and the entrance doors. The GPMG ready on the reception desk with a belt fed in. Rifles within arm’s reach. Bags close by.
‘First watch?’ Paula asks yawning and looking over at me.
‘Me and Howie,’ Marcy says before I can say anything.
‘Oh yeah,’ Cookey says grinning in delight, ‘don’t die today, Mr Howie.’
‘Yeah don’t die today,’ Clarence says grinning broadly.
‘Cheers,’ I say shaking my head, ‘yeah thanks for that.’
‘You didn’t die today, Mr Howie,’ Cookey says, ‘so what does that mean again?’
‘Oh pack it in.’
‘No I forgot, what did it mean if Mr Howie didn’t die today?’ Cookey asks looking round.
‘I dunno,’ Nick says rubbing his chin, ‘Marcy? What did it mean again?’
‘That is private between Mr Howie and I,’ she says primly which just sets them off laughing and jeering.
‘Worst reply ever,’ I say to her.
‘Better than your plans,’ she quips back.
‘My plans are awesome.’
‘Your plans are shit.’
‘So vain.’
‘Leg humper.’
‘You two are made for each other,’ Paula says laughing softly, ‘and I am sorry to broach the subject but are we going to listen to Neal now or later? I am tired and I wish to sleep.’
‘Tired?’ Roy asks quickly, ‘are you okay?’
‘Maybe she’s pregnant.’
‘I am not pregnant, Cookey. I am just bloody knackered.’
‘Know what,’ I say to everyone and especially to Neal, ‘unless it makes the difference between living and dying right now I don’t think I want to know. We’ve had a day from hell. We’re exhausted…everyone needs sleep. Can it wait?’
Neal looks round at the drained faces, at the bags under our eyes and the yawns being stifled and eventually he rests his eyes on Reginald who nods gently, ‘they need rest, Neal. Unless of course, as Mr Howie said, it is a matter of immediate risk.’
‘No,’ Neal says quietly as though to himself, ‘it can wait.’
‘First thing tomorrow,’ I promise him, ‘we’ll sit down with fresh minds. Sorry, Neal. Look at us…we’re falling asleep where we are.’
‘No I can see that,’ he says, ‘we will talk tomorrow?’
‘First thing. I promise.’
‘We will,’ Paula says reassuring him, ‘grab a bed and get some rest. Everyone turn in and do the same.’
‘I don’t need telling twice,’ Blowers says getting to his feet.
I stand up and start collecting the empty bowls together as Blinky rushes to her feet, ‘I can do that, Mr Howie, Sir.’
‘You grab that lot,’ I say motioning her end, ‘Marcy? Do you want coffee?’
‘Yeah go on then seeing as we’re on watch for a bit.’
‘Enough,’ I say smiling at the low calls coming from the rest again, ‘get some rest.’
I wait for Blinky to get the rest of the bowls and walk with her to the kitchen.
‘How are you?’
‘Fine, Mr Howie, Sir.’
‘You don’t have to call me Sir.’
‘Okay, yes, Mr Howie.’
‘You did well today, Blinky. I’m really glad you’re with us.’
‘Really?’ She says blinking harder with a look of surprise.
‘Definitely, you were made to do this. It might sound lame, but like…well I’m proud of what you did today. You okay?’ I ask seeing her face morph into one of abject shock.
‘Fine,’ she says softly avoiding eye contact, ‘that means a lot.’
We head through to find the man washing bowls at the sink and a decent fire burning on the ground in the middle of the kitchen. Everything looks ordered and clean too with no signs of the normal devastation that comes when we make food.
‘That was nice, thanks, mate.’
‘Welcome,’ he says turning round.
‘We got much left?’
‘Loads, same stuff I’m afraid though. Might be able to knock something together.’
‘Great. What’s your name?’
‘Kyle.’
‘Howie, nice to meet you,’ I put the bowls down and shake hands.
‘Thanks for what you did. Back there I mean,’ he says.
‘Yeah, bad day I guess.’
‘You do that stuff a lot?’
‘We do,’ I say politely, ‘every bloody day unfortunately. Anyway, you got any coffee?’
‘In the flasks on the side,’ he says pointing, ‘help yourself, milk portions and sugar should be there.’
‘Cheers,’ I get two mugs and fill both with coffee and use the little milk portions to lighten them, ‘thanks, Kyle,’ I say carrying them to the door and realising Blinky has already left, ‘shout if you need any help.’
‘I’ll be fine, thanks, Mr Howie.’
In the main room I look over to see Clarence already lying flat on his back on his bedding with his rifle and axe in reach. Reginald and Neal talking quietly and the huddled figures of Paula and Roy under their cover. A suitable and decent distance away lie the beds of the others all pushed closer now from that sense of unity and togetherness. Charlie in her bed listening to Cookey then cracking up when he gets to the punchline. Mo already asleep, Nick drifting off. Blinky and Blowers chatting quietly. Meredith lollops into the room from the direction of the bedrooms. She’s checked her little ones and makes her way into the den to be with the pack. Whether from instinct or otherwise she heads straight over to Charlie and stops for a fuss. Then to Cookey and on, working her way from each to the other. A sniff. A stare. A fuss and a wag of her tail. She goes round all of them but the striking thing is when she stops at Reginald and now pays him the same respect as she stops, sniffs and wags her tail. He even reaches out to stroke her nose while listening to Neal and off she trots. She shows deference when she gets to Dave. Just a slight drop in the ears and a soft whine. He too reaches out to stroke her and she only moves off when he stops. Back to Charlie and she flops on the end of Charlie’s covers with a heavy sigh.
All is well in my world for this night and I look over to see Marcy standing in the reception staring out through the main entrance. I go through and close the doors behind me sealing us in.
Down the corridor I hear low voices murmuring as the survivors start to settle. Someone crying but they do so softly.
‘Hey,’ I hand her mug over, ‘you okay?’
‘Thanks, I’m fine.’
‘Cool…’
‘You can’t smoke in here,’ she says as I tap one out from the packet, ‘it’ll stink. Go outside.’
‘Okay,’ I push through the doors holding it open as she walks out behind me.
‘Beautiful night,’ she says after a pause.
‘Yep, it is,’ I exhale the smoke that plumes up into the air and look over to Jess grazing contentedly on the first section of green. The back of the Saxon is close so I stroll over, open the back doors and sit on the back ledge staring out while smoking a cigarette and drinking a coffee.
‘Budge up
,’ she sits down next to me shoulder to shoulder and sips her coffee. Silence. Two people sitting and staring into the night after a day of devastation and utter depravity. The images swim through my mind over and again and I can still hear that little girl crying out so I take another hard drag on the smoke.
‘Paula’s immune then.’
‘Eh?’ I ask and that scream keeps on repeating in my head.
‘She didn’t say a word.’
‘Yeah,’ I take another draw and inhale the hot smoke into my lungs as if it will somehow stop the sound of that girl.
‘Takes it all in her stride Paula does.’
‘Yeah,’ I flick the cigarette away and take a mouthful of coffee. Mummy. Daddy. Stop them…
‘Stop it, Howie.’
‘I can’t.’ I really can’t either. It replays over and over. The scream. The words. The sight of her pinned down so frail and helpless. I squeeze my eyes closed and twist my head to the side trying to blot the noise out but the images grow stronger. The whole of the battles and fights from today swimming through my mind like a movie on fast forward but overlaid with that scream and those words. That we were too slow. That it took vital seconds for the dog to get us up. Fuck. We waited for a dog to get us moving. We hesitated and wept like idiots too caught up in our own failure to realise we could have acted. We should have moved faster. That girl could be with us now. Tears sting the back of my eyes and my nails dig into my palms from the fists I make.
Pressure against me. Marcy straddling my lap wrapping her legs round my body. I sink my head into the crook of her neck inhaling her scent. My arms loop round and hold on for dear life and when my hands open they feel warm naked skin. She pushes my head up and searches for my mouth with hers until her lips press against mine. Soft and warm. Reassuring and giving tenderness when I am breaking. My hands run down her naked back feeling the ridges of her spine and her own hands drop down to grip my t shirt and pull it up and over my head. Our lips part for the briefest of seconds but go straight back together as I feel her breasts pushing into my chest.
Her breath exhales into me pushing the images and sounds from my mind. Her lips open as do mine and still those images and sounds are driven further back. She takes my hands pushing them down onto her bare arse. Her skin so soft and warm. She lifts up tugging at my belt and rushing to get my trousers down as we kiss harder and longer. Fever builds. Desire and need so deep it aches and slowly I am consumed by her. She makes everything else go away. She chases them into the night kissing and touching me. Naked we become and we lie together touching and feeling. Doing what men and women do. Not killers. Not leaders. Not saviours. Not immune. Not failures. We are but man and woman.
‘I love you,’ she whispers the words softly as though fearful but those words, those few words that are said so often with such little meaning finally free the last bit of my mind clinging to the day we’ve had and the things we’ve done.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring but right now we take the comfort where we can.
With each other.
Dear reader,
Thank you for reading The Undead Day Eighteen. I really hope you enjoyed it. As ever please let me know what you thought. I love the interaction and comments I get from readers. I can’t always reply but I do read everything that comes in. Find me on Facebook (Richard Raymond Haywood) or drop me a line through my website rrhaywood.com.
The Undead continues to be an incredible journey, becoming the UK’s best-selling British zombie horror series and still entirely self-published. Everything is done from my dining room table on a battered old Samsung laptop. My pre-readers look out for errors and mistakes but any left are entirely down to me, and on that note – to my pre-readers, I am indebted more than you will ever know. Thank you.
We recently tried to submit the series to the publishers in an effort to gain a mainstream audience but unfortunately they (coughs into hand) declined the opportunity (coughs again) and explained they did not feel the zombie genre would have a strong future (really coughs into hand while shouting bollocks).
So we remain self-published. I recently considered if I would continue the series given the sheer amount of time it takes to produce and I have now reached the decision that as long as you want to keep reading the books I will keep writing them.
If you get five minutes please leave a review. They are the life-blood for self-published indie authors. The more reviews we get the greater chance we have of taking the series forward. I can write it but it’s you that carry it forward by reading, reviewing and letting me know there's still a demand.
Take care
RR Haywood