Blood on the Floor: An Undead Adventure

by RR Haywood

  Still he stays. Still he watches. Impervious to pain or fatigue. Impervious to everything but that she be safe. So he holds and covers her until the bricks don’t fall anymore and the wind loses strength enough to make things fly that could harm her. The rain still comes and the thunder roars but it goes to another place to show them its power instead of here. An equilibrium inside that swung and shifted and by degrees so it goes further away again. He can see her sleeping. Her face looks okay now. Not angry. Serene. Calm. No fear. Within the depths of mind a message is formed that lodges and conveys signals to his arms that reach underneath to lift her up as he rises to stand. He pauses. Unsure. He moves. Walking down a road now littered with debris and bathed orange from fires raging in buildings set on fire.

  He carries her past anything that could hurt her. He carries her sleeping and silent to an alley to a yard to a staff room to a set of stairs to a bed of winter coats that she is laid down upon.

  Sitting. See? Like this…sitting…this is sitting…got it? He sits, waits and watches with an understanding that begins very slowly to form.

  Twenty One

  She wakes slowly, pleasantly. Warm, dry and snug with softness beneath her. She rises through the layers of sleep until she feels the warmth coming from the thing she holds. She murmurs softly, nestling in closer. Her arms going over whatever it is to draw it closer. She drifts down back to sleep then a few minutes later she begins the rise again. Pressure on her back but it’s nice, heavy and nice, warm and comforting. She feels safe. She sighs and mumbles and slowly blinks to bring her eyes to a new day and a new dawn and a face full of Paco’s right leg.

  For a second she considers the fact she is trying to spoon his leg and even thinks that perhaps she should not be doing such a thing. It’s warm though, like with the warmth that can only come from another living being. So she stays and thinks bollocks to the world in all its judgement because this feels nice. Later, when her mind comes yet more to the fore of rational thought so her ace detective skills deduce that the weight on her back must be his arm. Those clues are extrapolated until she reaches the conclusion that she is lying on her side cuddling his leg while he is sitting up with his arm on her back. Which is fine by her. Totally fine. Like so fine because it’s warm and nice and she feels safe. So she dozes and thinks to worry about it later.

  Later she wakes properly and groans the groan that comes from a deep sleep after a venting of pure emotion. It comes back at that point. The storm. She ran outside and down the street. What happened? The thunder was so loud and the lightning was so bright. There was fire and the road was flooding. Did Paco go with her? He did. He pushed her down into the ground. She blinks and focusses. He didn’t pin her down but like covered her. She was angry and upset. No, more than upset. She cried and hit him. Crumbs, she was beating him like mad but he stayed right there. She doesn’t remember coming back here though. The last memory is of crying and falling asleep on the road with Paco covering her while thinking she’ll get up in a minute.

  She’s here though. In the store room above the shop. She sits up slowly to blink sleepily at Paco who watches her the same as always. His arms slides off her back and she feels the loss of warmth that came from his leg.

  Sunlight streams through the windows. Particles of dust hang in the air glinting golden and drifting slowly down. She looks round, blinking and trying to remember coming back here. A memory of a sensation of a dream of being carried. Christ. She looks at him harder. He carried her back? No way. He must have done. She felt it. She felt being carried up the stairs and lowered onto the woollen coats.

  ‘Oh,’ she says simply, nodding slowly while still blinking heavily. ‘Gosh,’ she adds when no other thoughts form in her mind. ‘Well,’ she tells Paco. She does what she does best and ignores the main issues in her mind to instead focus on something else. ‘Sorry for hitting you,’ she says with a pained smile. ‘Did I hurt you? Let me have a look.’ He carried her back. That’s nuts. And he didn’t moan or try and say anything stupid when she was crying and shouting and hitting him. She moves over him to lower down into a squat. ‘Let me see,’ she takes his face in her hands to gently move his head side to side then up and down while examining his skin closely. He looks better again. The bruises are fading quickly and he’s got colour back in his cheeks. ‘New cut there,’ she says, noticing the cut where the brick hit him. ‘Your face looks okay though,’ she says after tilting his head back up. ‘Anywhere else? Let me see your arms,’ she checks them in turn, noticing with grimaces at the new bruises and grazes. ‘Okay, let me see your back.’ She unfastens the shoulder straps on his dungarees that get pulled down so she can tug his t shirt up. ‘Arms up,’ she says, still sat over his legs. His arms go up instantly, she pauses, smiling to herself in acknowledgment of his apparent ability to learn. ‘Well, your chest looks okay, no marks or anything,’ she heaves off to the side. ‘Stand up, come on…up you come.’ He rises to his feet and gets turned so she can see his back. ‘Oh Paco, this looks nasty,’ she tuts at the welts on his back but it looks mostly bruised instead of cut. She pulls his top down then eases him back round to face her as the realisation strikes that she just did all of that without wearing her marigolds. She checks her hands instantly, searching for open cuts or spots of blood. Where are her gloves? She can’t remember if she had them on when she went out last night. Bloody hell, she slept against him. Her face was pressed into his leg. He could have dribbled on her or anything. A spot of blood could…it didn’t though. She blinks at her hands then up at him. Luck? Something else? An image pushes into her mind of him leaning over her last night with blood coming from that cut on his head. She was underneath him, it could have dripped down. Switch on, Heather. He’s still an infected.

  She finds the tube of anti-bacterial gel from the bags to soak her hands. Where are her gloves? She looks round spotting them in the mass of winter coats that formed their bed. Their bed? Not their bed. They didn’t sleep together. Not like together together, not like that.

  A smell gets into her nose. Distinct and instantly recognisable. She sniffs, frowning harder with alarm bells ringing in her head. Smoke. Fire. The lightning. She darts to the window and recoils from the bank of white smoke rolling so thick she can’t see the ground.

  ‘Fire,’ she mumbles. ‘Fire…we’ve got to go…’ she bursts away to grab the big rucksack and starts filling it with the goods taken yesterday. Paco moves closer to her, detecting the worry in her face and movements. ‘Got to get out,’ she tells him and sniffs again. Definitely fire. It’s dirty smoke too and not the pleasant musky scent of wood burning but chemicals, paint and metals. She’s bursting for a wee and thirsty. She feels grimy from sleeping in her clothes with hair sticking up in all directions but at least that awful crushing heat has gone.

  ‘Bugger,’ she mutters at seeing his dungarees sagging round his knees. ‘Come here,’ she grabs to pull them up, working fast to fasten the shoulder straps. ‘All done. You okay?’ She asks as though expecting an answer and turns then freezes and looks back with a hard glare. ‘Did you just nod?’ she demands then realises the harshness of her panicked tone. ‘Paco, did you just nod at me?’ she forces softness into her voice but his head stays fixed with his eyes locked on hers. Good lord, this is too much again. ‘We’ve got to go,’ she hefts the bag, grunting at the unexpected weight as it sinks down on her back. ‘Go…come on…’ she ushers to the door, pausing to grab her marigolds and cursing for touching him again without them.

  Down the stairs and into the staff room. The smell of smoke hanging clear and distinct but not choking. She pushes him ahead with her hands on his hips guiding him through the demolished back door into the yard thick with white smoke. ‘Stop,’ she grabs his clothes to pull him back. They’ll have to go out the front. She can barely see the gate from here, or where the gate was considering it’s now smashed to smithereens. The fire must be next door. She looks round to try and see flames to gain a sense of direction and distance but the smoke is too
thick. Seemingly hanging in the air. She can’t see further than a few metres. Guiding him back she grabs his wrist and leads him into the staff room, yet again chastising herself for still not having the gloves on. ‘Whoa,’ she stops suddenly with Paco bumping gently into her back. ‘That’s not smoke,’ she peers round him to the door and the yard outside. ‘That’s fog…’

  She goes back, squeezing round him to reach the door and watches the thick cloud of white smoke that isn’t smoke. Smoke isn’t white. Not like this is white. It’s fog. ‘It’s fog,’ she tells Paco who doesn’t reply because he doesn’t know what fog is and still has no idea what she just said.

  ‘It is,’ she says as though trying to convince herself. ‘It’s fog….like….foggy.’ She goes out, staring up and round and now the connection is made she instantly recognises it for what it is. Thick fog. Really thick wet fog. She goes further out, staring in wonder. She’s never seen fog like it. Not like this.

  Reaching the gate she watches the cloud rolling by. Shapes and hints of silhouettes glimpsed then gone again. She turns to smile at Paco, feeling silly for making them rush out but then remembering she smelled it before she saw it. She sniffs again, detecting the unmistakable tang of burning chemicals in the air. Fire and fog. Brilliant. Where’s the fire? There’s no way of telling. It could be in any direction. It could be from all the directions. Either way they need to leave and find somewhere else.

  ‘Come on,’ she grabs his wrist again for fear of losing him in the dense mist and leads out into the street. Just a few paces robs the view of the yard. She knows she must be in the middle of the junction but she can’t see anything now. No walls or houses, no kerbs or cars. Nothing. Which way do they go? She looks down at her feet and the ground. The road will have white lines in the middle. Find the lines. Follow the lines.

  Holding Paco firmly in her hand she starts side stepping left but sees nothing. It’s so confusing and disorientating. She goes back to the right, staring at the ground and trying to remember how many paces left she went. She finds a kerb, stops and works out where the pavement is. They go back into the road, Paco staring at Heather who studies the ground at her feet.

  ‘Got it,’ she breathes a sigh of relief and gives Paco a big smile who instantly softens in expression. ‘We’re okay,’ she blows air out through her cheeks, rubbing his forearm gently. ‘We’ll follow the lines. Right, stay close and don’t wander off. Actually, I’ll keep hold of you. Where’s my gloves? Got them. I’ll put these on and…okay so give me your hand and I’ll go on this side but we can’t lose sight of the white lines. Ready?’

  They walk hand in gloved hand. Fingers interlocked while she stares down to follow the broken white lines. It’s weird watching the ground instead of ahead. Anything could be there. There could be like loads of infected just standing there waiting. She shudders and moves closer into his side. Her left hand in his, her right hand crossing her body to hold his arm that she rubs without any knowledge of doing so.

  ‘I need a wee,’ she whispers up at him after a few minutes. It feels right to whisper. Paco doesn’t reply. She squeezes his hand while biting her bottom lip. ‘Paco, I really need a wee.’ She looks round while knowing there is perhaps is a four metre circumference of view but it’s the thought of weeing in the road. Mind you, she did wash her bits from an office water drinking machine a couple of days ago after throwing her bloodied knickers behind a desk. Fair one. She stops to ease the bag down which is propped against Paco’s legs before pulling her trousers and knickers down to squat in the road while being careful not to piss on her new shoes. ‘Ah that’s so nice,’ she sighs as the urine tinkles down. Her bare backside poking out behind. ‘Good job I don’t need a poo,’ she looks up to see his eyes, for once, are not staring at her face. ‘Paco,’ she says sharply, bringing his gaze back to her. ‘Were you looking at my bum?’ she asks with an eyebrow lifting. Paco doesn’t reply. ‘Hmmm, don’t be getting any funny ideas buster,’ she tells him while weeing on the road. ‘Need to change my tampon,’ she waddles to the bag and roots through to find the box. The old one comes out and is discarded after being checked. The blood flow is reducing. She uses a wipe to clean and puts a new one in while glancing up at Paco as though to catch him looking. He doesn’t. His eyes stay fixed and watchful.

  ‘Done,’ she stands to pull her knickers and trousers up and sniffs the air. The smoke is still there but no stronger or no weaker than before. She drinks water, staring round at the constantly shifting cloud that equally looks ready to retreat or close in more. ‘Here,’ she takes his bottle from the plastic bag and feeds the water into his mouth. He drinks thirstily, his head going back as he gulps and swallows with an action that draws her eyes to his bandaged neck. He’ll need to be washed and re-bandaged again at some point. ‘Done?’ She asks him when his head pulls back from the bottle. Did he do that yesterday? She thinks back but can’t remember. He’s definitely learning, or maybe not learning but changing. No, it is learning. He was almost feeding himself yesterday with the rice pudding and he did carry her back last night. She looks at him again, searching his eyes for signs of intelligence but just seeing the puppy staring back.

  ‘Hungry?’ she asks. They eat on the go. She chomps a muesli bar then leans over to feed him the same. Smiling and laughing softly at the way he tries to eat the bar without biting a bit off first. She breaks it into pieces to feed him chunks that get mouthed in and he’s so gentle when her hand touches his mouth. She can hardly believe this is the same man who threw her down on the desk or the same man that killed a dozen people in TK Maxx. But he is. He is that man. Don’t forget that. She has to remind herself constantly and force herself to rub anti-bac into her gloved hands for fear of forgetting and touching her own mouth.

  Muesli bars are eaten as they slowly follow the white lines without any clue as to direction. They could be veering left, right or round in circles for all she knows. Distance becomes impossible to calculate. The smell of smoke grows thicker, drawing her focus up from the road to look round but still unable to see anything through the white cloud rolling on all sides. They walk on, the smell becoming stronger with fumes hanging distinct. Sounds soon come. A dull crackling noise that is surreal and distant yet could be within metres. Flames without doubt. Fire eating away into something and that noise grows louder as the smoke gets harsher. She coughs and covers her mouth with the back of her arm then worries about Paco breathing in harmful fumes so rushes on to follow the white lines at a greater speed.

  An orange glow begins to show on the right. A reflection that glows distorted and weird on the particles of water that form the bank of fog. It’s eerie as anything she’s observed so far. Something so dangerous and so close yet unseen with only hints of orange showing. Heat comes next which tells her they are close and she tries to work out why the heat hasn’t burnt the fog away. Does that happen? Isn’t fog formed from frozen water particles or something but then this fog isn’t cold at all. It’s still warm like summer. A confusing new world and one she doesn’t know the rules for.

  That fire passes but there are more. The storm was vast and violent with bolts scorching many a building. Some are close, as close as the one they passed first. Others are further away but all remain unseen. A landscape of noise and smells with sometimes faint orange glows but she holds his hand with her fingers interlocked through his and walks on.

  They become trapped in a bubble but despite the weirdness of it, despite the weirdness of everything these last few days, she still feels strangely content and safe. Holding onto Paco and stopping every now and then to get food from the bag. She likes feeding him too. The act of it and the fact that he eats it. Whether he enjoys it or not is beyond her. The morning passes and they walk on, following lines in the road until Paco comes to a sudden stop.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she whispers, alert now and glaring ahead. He grunts but his arms remain untensed and there’s no sign of his hands holding hers trying to form a fist. She stares round, straining to liste
n but hearing nothing other than him grunting a couple of times. She looks up, seeing his face slightly flushed. ‘You okay? What’s wrong, Paco?’ She moves in front to examine him for injury or illness, and instantly worries at the unfocussed look in his eyes. ‘Paco,’ she cups his face, tilting him down to get eye contact. ‘What’s wrong?’ He grunts, flushes then refocuses on her eyes with what can only be described as an expression of relief. ‘What on earth was that?’ she asks, puzzled at his behaviour. He seems fine. Back to normal. She shrugs and sighs. He stares down, his eyes holding with his expression the same as ever before.

  In the end she walks on but she does keep glancing at him, leaning forward to look up at his face. She settles after a few minutes and sighs heavy and long with an exhalation of air that means a big breath is taken back in.

  ‘Oh you,’ she stops to stare aghast at him. At the smell hitting her nose. ‘Did you poo yourself?’ she reels back, gagging from the stench of faeces coming from the general area of his backside. ‘You bloody did! You had a poo. Oh Paco, that’s disgusting. No don’t come closer…stay back there you dirty sod…oh no…stop that…’ she cries out at the dark patch spreading across his groin.

  Paco may be in the true state of being but the super-charged cells in his body have taken the nutrients to aid the healing process and have made greater use of the food and fluids than a normal body would but it still produces waste. Waste that has to be expunged. He’s had a shit and now takes a piss while staring at Heather glaring daggers at him while pinching her nose.