by RR Haywood
Now he stares and she stares back with a battle of wills underway. A pitting of minds, of determination and fortitude. She narrows her eyes to show she means business. The puppy dog expression comes on more that threatens to melt her heart but she refuses to be weakened.
‘We’re not going anywhere until you’ve done it.’
Paco doesn’t know what it is he needs to do. The battle continues. He tries to reach out but she pushes his hand down. ‘No holding hands until you’ve done it.’
He looks forlorn, dejected and lost. She weakens and tries to rally her resolve. They’ve been here for ten minutes and he still hasn’t had a poo. It took ages to get him squatting. He understands sitting and standing, he can turn around, bend over, lift his arms, drink, hold a spoon, hold hands, come closer, stay still but squatting was a difficult one. It was neither sitting nor standing but somewhere in between. She finally got him there and then waited with his bare backside hovering above the ground and his trousers pushed down round his ankles.
‘Fine,’ she gives in with a big sigh. ‘Stand up then.’ He rises quickly, his eyes searching her face for the nuances that tell him she is not angry. ‘Try and have a wee instead…right so, you need to hold it in your hand….no I’m not doing it for you. Bring your hand down and hold your willy. Okay…got it? Good, now have a wee.’
She stands back folding her arms while staring at Paco Maguire holding his dick in a field while staring at with an altogether new expression of what the fuck? She’s starting to read those expressions and can see the confusion. ‘Ooh I know,’ she darts off to grab the hose from the side of the barn. The tap is twisted then checked to make sure the flow is just a trickle then she goes back to stand at his side while getting the end of the hose between her legs to hold like a penis. ‘Ah that’s better,’ she wees like a man with a wide stance, one hand on her hip while the other holds her willy that sprays water on the grass. ‘Yep…just having a wee,’ she tells the world. ‘Me and my willy…having a wee…’ she swings side to side a bit and groans in pleasure. She looks round slowly and acts surprised to see Paco. ‘Morning,’ she says with a manful nod. ‘You here for a wee too? I am. I’m just weeing away in this field…’
Paco holds his penis and stares at Heather holding a hose that is now being sprayed in an ever increasing arc from side to side.
‘Weeing,’ she tells him, ‘having a pee, a piddle, urinating er…pissing, slashing, having a slash and draining the main vein to er…hold the one eyed snake? Is that what men say? Just have a pee, Paco. Paco, have a wee. Paco, have a wee. Wee. Wee. Wee. Look…I’m weeing you wee. I wee you wee. We wee. We wee with the pee pee.’
He pees. A physiological response to the noise of the water trickling from the hose and the requirement of his bladder to release waste fluids that would otherwise cause toxic harm to his body. It has nothing to do with Heather holding the hose while listing all the words she can think of urinating. Nothing at all. Maybe.
‘Oh my god,’ she grins in delight watching a fully grown man weeing in a field. ‘That’s so good, well done…why is it spraying like that?’ She drops the hose to peer closer at the end of his penis at the urine spraying instead of jetting. ‘Is it the foreskin? I think it is. Maybe you should pull it back a bit…it’s definitely the foreskin over the little hole in the end. Here, just…let me…just back a bit and there, see? It’s not spraying everywhere now. No you need to hold it…oh right, I’ll do it then shall I?’
‘Gosh that’s a big wee, Paco.’
Don’t say big.
‘I never said big.’
‘Still going?’
‘Finished? Oh no we’re going again.’
‘It’s slowing…it’s definitely slowing…you’re going to get that last bit out then? No no, it’s fine. I’ll just hold your penis while you get that last trickle out. There we go, all done. Now er…shake it about a bit. Do men wipe their willies? No? Right pants up, trousers up…what was that? You’ve gone red…do you need a…SQUAT! Get down now and…SQUAT, PACO…no don’t sit down, get up a bit…just a bit oh it’s coming out. No that’s fine. Christ that stinks. What did you eat? Urgh men are so gross. Finished? Shuffle forward a bit and I’ll grab the wipes. Right, hold this and…no don’t scrunch it up like that. Give it back, Paco give me that wipe back. Hold it like this and reach round to…no we’re not holding hands. Paco that wipe is not for eating. Look just let me do it. All gone? Yep, okay…stand up and we’ll get your boxers up and no let go of your willy. We’ve finished weeing, Paco. Let go. Just leave it alone…I think you’ve played with that thing enough in your life so just let it go. Really, I’m surprised you’ve still got a big one attached to your body.’
‘I never said big.’
‘We’re going.’
They leave the field and commence the walk. The healing process of one foot in front of the other with a morning so gorgeous she wants to take bites out of it. She carries the bag and hooks her thumbs through the straps to stare about like she has never seen the world before. Everything is so vibrant and fresh. The storm has given life, the winds have shaken the plants and trees and the rain has soaked down with the golden sun prompting new growth. The hedges seem so thick, so tall and so full of life. Insects everywhere, bees, butterflies, rabbits in the fields and birds soaring overhead.
She wants to walk forever. Just her and Paco in their bubble of existence. Walk all day and find places to sleep at night. Avoid the towns unless they need supplies but otherwise stay in the countryside. Go north or east or west. Go anywhere. She feels free. Free of her own mind that kept her trapped in a pattern of behaviour that dogged her life. That’s what they’ll do today. Find a town or a village, get supplies and walk until they find a place for the night. Somewhere rural and isolated again. The fire was lovely last night, the whole ambience was just perfect. She’d never spent the night with another man before. The thought of cuddling up made her insides feel weird with the threat of a panic attack. In her mind they would try and grope her or ask questions and pry. Now, in the space of a mere few days she longs for the evening and the chance to have that fire and lie down next to him. He cuddled her too. She felt his arm on her whenever she woke up hot and needing to move. She remembers kissing his chest as she fell asleep and smiles wryly to herself. The thought of her lips touching another person was abhorrent but with him it’s okay. Everything is okay. Even wiping his arse is okay.
The infection in him is mutated and continues to mutate. What’s inside of him becomes different to the thing inside of the other host bodies. The infection knows this is very rare but not unique. Most it can take. Most can be controlled but not all. Paco is one of those. His body has changed, it heals faster and his speed and strength are greater. His muscles become denser, thicker and without a conscious mind casting doubt and reason he can make use of that strength. He is unencumbered by the voice in the heads of people telling them they can’t do something and what he is now is not what he was when he woke in the garden of the town surrounded by corpses. There are new days in a new world but he knows nothing of this and so walks because that is what they do. They walk. They walk past cottages and lanes to farms and show no reaction but only to keep walking.
‘Hand,’ she says holding their interlocking hands up. ‘fingers…this is a hand, these are fingers. Okay, so if I let go and we walk on…now hand, give me your hand.’ She lifts his hand up to show then lets it drop back down. ‘Paco, give me your hand,’ she holds hers out ready to take. His comes up instantly to gain her touch. She grins widely. ‘Try again, let go and put it down and…hand, yay! Try again…hand. Okay try this,’ she speeds up to get in front of him and turns to walk backwards. ‘Both hands,’ she holds her hands out ready to take. His right comes up towards hers that she takes while she wiggles the fingers of other hand. ‘This one…hand…’ she reaches in while walking in reverse to lift his other hand. ‘Okay, put them down and…ready….hands,’ she pronounces the plural. His right comes up as before. She chuckl
es and grins at him. ‘Other hand…that one,’ she points at it. ‘Hand…give me that hand…’ she flicks between his hand and his eyes, reading the subtle changes of expression. ‘Hand…come on…hand…’ she reaches forward to lift it again and goes through the practise again. ‘Hand,’ his right lifts, she points at the left, ‘hand…yay!’ it comes up to be taken as she beams at him, her face alive with delight and joy. She keeps hold of him, marvelling at the size difference and wishing she didn’t have to wear the gloves all the time. She trips from the lack of attention, her foot snagging on the undulation of the poorly maintained surface of the road. Her heart misses a beat to telegraph the urgent message to her body that she is falling. She staggers back with a look of alarm so instantly in her face that he stops to draw his arms in to prevent her backwards motion. Her eyes go wide at the sensation of falling then being lifted to come forward again. ‘Oh wow,’ she looks at him in awe of such a simple thing done but one that he did so quickly and from instinct. A moment captured in time that will stay with her forever. That moment right there. Standing in front so close to him with his hands holding hers, looking up at red eyes that she no longer sees as red eyes. His mouth stays closed. His head held right. His whole being that of a man not of a beast. The humour fades from her face, the smile dropping away as something else takes over. An urge, a need, a yearning. Her own instinct takes over to make things happen that she has never been aware of before. She blinks slow and heavy, showing her lashes. Her head inclines to reveal how slender her neck is. Her lips part and the tip of her tongue adds the slightest touch of moisture in invite. A flush starts to bring colour into her cheeks. She isn’t aware of any of these things taking place. They are physical reactions of her species preparing to draw attention from the opposite sex.
‘Oh my god,’ she pulls away quickly, gulping and blasting air out as she turns to face another direction. ‘What the…no no no…silly, Heather. Silly silly. Oh gosh,’ she waves air at her face, her eyes widening from the heat of the flush in her cheeks. ‘Having a moment, just a weird moment. Too hot…it’s just the heat…er…we should…I think…water! We should have some water. Would you like some water?’
Her hands tremble as she opens the flap on the bag to pull a bottle out. ‘Er…so…you first…’ she blinks, swallows and shakes her head while holding the mouth of the bottle to his lips that form the seal that kisses the edge of the plastic that she watches so closely before blinking and shaking her head again. ‘Jesus, Heather. Get a grip,’ she waits as he drinks, refusing to look at his face until she feels his head pull away. ‘Finished?’ She asks, her mind whirling with so many thoughts while the flush in her cheeks grows deeper and hotter. Christ, why is it so hot? Why is she trembling? What on earth was that about? She drinks the water, gulping it down her suddenly dry throat. What the hell? He’s infected. He’s not a man, Heather. He is a man. He isn’t a man. He is. He isn’t. No. Just no. No way. She drinks again, taking another long glug to buy time to cool down and compose herself.
‘Shit,’ she launches the bottle away, reeling from shock. He drank from that. She gave him her bottle. He touched it. She touched it. They drank from the same bottle. Fear grips her mind. She glares round, frantic and terrified. Oh no, no no. She wipes her mouth quickly, rubbing at her lips then shouting more when she realises she still has the gloves on. They get ripped off in a fit of panic as Paco comes closer, his eyes fixed and worried as she thrashes to pull the yellow gloves off. ‘Shit…shit…’ they drank from the same bottle. His mouth then her mouth. His saliva went in her mouth. Oh god. Okay…okay…get a grip. If it…oh no…if it happens then it happens. Endorphins flood her brain to ease the panic and bring rationale thought. If it happens then it happens. The lack of control terrifies her. The thought of being one of them. Will Paco turn on her? Will she try and hurt him or god forbid hurt someone else. No, that can’t happen. It just can’t. She wishes she had the shotgun to be ready in case she starts to turn. She hasn’t got anything. Not a knife, not anything.
She grabs his hands and brings them to her throat, pushing them hard into her flesh. ‘Wring,’ she says quickly. ‘T shirt remember…then the clothes? Wring…’
His hands pull away quickly, refusing to comply with the command he learnt last night when she taught him how to squeeze the water from the clothes.
‘No, give me your hands,’ she grabs to force them back to her neck. ‘If I turn then wring…you have to….’
He tries to pull back but she clamps on. He tries harder but still gently for his strength that could throw her away with ease. She grips and pulls to keep his hands on her throat. Her eyes glaring at his. ‘Wring,’ she shouts. He goes backwards to get free but she goes with him, her hands clamped on his wrists. ‘Wring…Paco wring…’ she can’t turn. She can’t be one of them. ‘Wring my neck…WRING…’
He tries to twist and yanks but she grips too hard. He can’t hurt her. He’ll never hurt her. She yells out, going with him as he turns and pulls. ‘WRING MY NECK…WRING MY BLOODY NECK…’
He goes to pull, she senses it and throws herself forward to go with him but he stops at the last second and tries turning away instead. Her legs hit his, her feet tripping as she loses balance while trying to make him strangle her. ‘Just wring my bloody neck,’ she grunts, falling to be lifted as he rises. She fights him round and round with the poor man desperate to get his hands off her neck but not wishing to use any force to do so. ‘Oh my god just wring it…wring it…WRING IT…’
‘Ere, what’s all that?’
‘What?’ Heather freezes, half lowered to the ground while fighting with Paco to make him wring her out.
‘Just sod off up the road a bit…’
‘Eh?’ Heather blinks, trying to see between Paco’s legs to the voice coming from further down.
‘All that bloody racket…go on…sod off…’
‘What?’ Heather says again, twitching to get a view of an old man waving a walking stick over his head.
‘Them things’ll come if you carry on like that…bugger off the pair of ya…go on…’
‘Er…’
‘He obviously don’t wanna wring it does he…leave the poor bugger alone and sod off…bloody women screeching the place down bringin’ all them things ‘ere.’
‘Er…’ Heather falters, still half lowered with her hands gripping Paco’s wrists, too caught up in the refusal of Paco to wring her neck to realise she hasn’t turned. ‘Er…sorry,’ she winces, pulling a face at Paco. ‘Up Paco, stand up,’ she whispers. He lifts to stand, bringing her up onto her feet.
‘Never heard such a noise I ain’t. Never in my years have I. Bloody screeching and yellin’ like a lunatic and that poor bloke not sayin’ a word and you goin’ on…’
‘Yeah sorry,’ she says again, lifting a hand in apology to wave falteringly as she spots the stone cottage further down the lane behind him.
‘Just sod off,’ the old man shouts, poking his stick towards them.
‘Going,’ she calls out. Backing up the lane then lunging to grab Paco to stop him turning round. ‘Come on er….dear…we were just playing…’
‘Sod off.’
‘Weren’t we my er…my dear…it’s a game we…’
‘Don’t care. Sod off you weirdo.’
‘Yep, going now. Sorry.’
‘Stop YELLIN AND SOD OFF.’
‘You’re yelling now.’
‘Oh fack off,’ the old man turns to waddle back towards his cottage, chuntering and muttering in his thick country accent.
‘I’m not a weirdo,’ she tells Paco once a suitable distance has been gained. ‘Why did he say that? Did you hear him? He called me a weirdo. I’m not. I’m really not. I thought I was going to be infected so was trying to make you kill me. How is that weird? That’s not weird. Do you think that’s weird?’
‘Er, thanks for not wringing my neck though. That could have been embarrassing seeing as I didn’t actually get infected. Hey maybe I am. Are my eyes red?’ Sh
e looks at him, turning her eyes left to right to show him the white bits. ‘Are they red? I don’t feel like a zombie. Is that what they are? I can’t believe we drank from the same bottle but your saliva definitely would have been on it and it went in my mouth…what does that mean? Must be luck…no I was rubbing my mouth with my gloves and I’ve been touching you all morning with those gloves. I did anti-bac them a lot, urgh, thank God I anti-bacced them after you had a wee. Imagine that? Maybe you’re not infected anymore or…or maybe just your blood is bad now or something. Maybe it needs more than a bit of saliva or even the spit might need to go into my blood. I’m not a weirdo. Am I? Are you hungry? We’ll find some food in a bit. I can’t believe he said I was a weirdo.’
Twenty Five
‘Crumbs,’ she hesitates, holding Paco’s hand staring ahead down the street at the bodies. Lots of bodies. More than she has seen for a while. They look old and decomposing which is a good sign. Whatever happened was a while ago.
‘Come on,’ she whispers to press on. They need supplies. Clothes for both of them and food. It’s taken most of the day to reach this place. She was hoping for a village or small town but this looks more like a county market town, bigger and more urbanised. They’ll be quick. Get what they need and get out to find a place for the night.
She walks down the middle of the residential road that looks like it feeds into the town centre. Houses on both sides behind tiny front gardens and nearly every door lies open and every window is smashed. It’s silent too with the quietness that she now recognises is brought by lots of death.
Heather looks round, seeing the action seems to have been centred near a house up on the left. She can see the upstairs windows wide open and something hanging down. What is that? She stares harder until the connection is made. Knotted sheets hanging from a window. Someone trying to escape. She takes in the outside area that’s littered with just about every household object a person could possess. Television, cups and saucepans, plates, cutlery and bottles of spirits made into flaming Molotov cocktails that shattered and left scorch marks on the grass and bodies. They go past silent and watchful. Her hand held tight in his as she peers round him to keep watch on the house. The bodies get fewer as they move further along the street but it stays silent and foreboding.