Blood on the Floor: An Undead Adventure

by RR Haywood

  ‘God no,’ Heather says, shaking her head. ‘No no no…I…we found them in a supermarket in…er…Subi, what was that town?’

  ‘Boroughfare,’ Subi says, polite and formal again now in front of strangers. Rajesh retreats a step behind Paco. His eyes wide and staring. Amna just stares from her lofty perch in Paco’s arms.

  ‘Ah yeah,’ the woman says with a nod while keeping her eyes fixed on Heather. ‘That the big Sainsbury’s is it?’

  ‘Sainsbury? No…no it was Tesco but…’

  The woman nods again, her manner relaxing. ‘Got hit bad didn’t it? Boroughfare I mean. We met a fella who said he went through it on the first night. Had one of them armoured money vans…said he ran out of fuel in the town centre. Hundreds he said. How did you get through?’

  ‘We saw the van,’ Heather says. ‘And the bodies…’

  ‘All dead?’ The woman asks with a frown.

  ‘Looked that way,’ Heather says, remembering the crushed bodies against the barrier and the DIY tools. ‘We were looking for food…got into that Tesco and Jesus…just bodies everywhere…all piled up and…we found these three in a tent.’

  ‘Oh,’ the woman says, her eyes showing that there is nothing in this world that can shock her. Confidence oozes from the way she stares openly but without confrontation and the way she half smiles while visually scanning the children. ‘When you find ‘em then?’

  ‘Yesterday,’ Heather says, realising it’s only been a day. It feels like a week. ‘Er they er…their mother was killed and…’

  ‘Daddy killed mummy,’ Amna says, repeating words she doesn’t really understand.

  The woman tuts in the way only a mother can, she reaches up to pull her hood back showing a head of frizzy ginger hair. She looks tired but her eyes show deep intelligence with laughter lines in the corners that hint at an underlying humour. ‘Poor sods…you got no rain coats for ‘em? What do you need? I’m Becky. We’ve got food and,’ she turns away to face her group. ‘John, get some raincoats out, we’ve got those plastic poncho’s somewhere. Sarah, find a towel to dry ‘em off a bit. You heading for the fort?’ She asks, turning back to Heather with another quick glance at Paco still holding Amna.

  ‘Rajesh said about a fort…what fort?’ Heather asks.

  ‘Eh? You not heard about it?’ Becky asks in mild surprise. ‘Sarah, you go on and dry their hair off…John, you found ‘em?’

  ‘I’s got ‘em here me love,’ the older friendly rasping voice comes forward holding three small clear bags holding disposable poncho’s. ‘We’s get you all dry in a mo we will,’ he says to the children with a big toothy smile.

  ‘You not heard of the fort then?’ Becky asks again.

  ‘No. Nothing…Rajesh, you said someone came in the shop or…was that right?’

  Rajesh nods, silent and watchful as the old man squats down with a groan to start opening the bags as the woman with the towel starts drying Amna off.

  ‘On the south coast, old Victorian thing.’ Becky says. ‘You er…you not heard of Mr Howie then?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mr Howie? Dave? The Living Army? Nothing?’

  Heather shakes her head, ‘no idea…sorry,’ she shrugs, lifting her hands to show she’s genuine.

  ‘Bloody hell, where you been hiding?’ Becky asks.

  ‘Er…well, in a church actually and…I...so this fort? The army are there or…’

  ‘S’man called Mr ‘owie,’ the old man says, tugging a see through poncho over Rajesh. ‘Him and a fella called Dave are fighting back…got this fort they have. Got it all safe and secure…loads of people heading south to get there.’

  ‘South,’ Heather repeats the word with no idea which way south is. Her mind reeling at the information.

  ‘We heard they’re from the army,’ Becky adds, moving closer to Heather now the apparent acceptance has been gained. ‘Got an army truck they go round in. We’ve only heard snatched rumours…wild stories probably but…we heard names and things. Got a few lads with ‘em and a big bloke with a bald…’

  ‘Bald head,’ Heather says quickly, earning sharp glance from the woman and everyone else.

  ‘What you heard?’ The old man asks, pausing as he opens the next poncho.

  ‘Nothing…I saw an army truck in er…I don’t even know where it was…some town. Had a big man with it…like really big, bigger than him,’ she thumbs at Paco, ‘and he was bald. I think the truck had broken down. He took loads of guns from it into a van but…’

  ‘See?’ The old man calls out with a grin as he turns kneeling back to his group.

  ‘Shush, John, let her finish,’ Becky says.

  ‘Er, well that’s it. He went off but came back with some others and fixed the army truck then left.’

  The group swarm in. Desperate to hear the information. Faces peering under hoods staring eagerly. Heather blinks and steps back subtly, her hand reaching out to Paco with the sudden discomfort of having so many people showing attention to her.

  ‘Did you speak to them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you hear what they said?’

  ‘Er…not really…’

  ‘Did you see the dog?’

  ‘What dog?’

  ‘They got a dog, big dog…like an Alsatian or…yeah an Alsatian.’

  ‘No I…’

  ‘Was Mr Howie with them?’

  ‘I don’t know. You said they had a dog?’

  ‘What names did you hear?’

  ‘Names?’

  ‘Yeah, did they call each other by name? Did you hear them?’

  ‘No…I can’t…I don’t know. About this dog…’

  ‘German Shepherd ain’t it? Did you see it, was it big?’

  ‘No I didn’t see any dog but I saw the bite marks and…’

  ‘Where? What bite marks? She saw the dog biting someone…’

  ‘No! I saw dead bodies with bite marks and…’

  ‘Yeah yeah, that’s the dog. She saw the bodies the dog got…did you see the ones with cut throats?’

  ‘Well yes but…’

  ‘What names did you hear?’

  ‘I didn’t…I mean I can’t remember but…no hang on, in the back of the army truck there was…’

  ‘You was in it?’

  ‘She was in the army truck with them.’

  ‘No! Listen. When the big man went off I looked in…there was a name on some clothes but…’

  ‘What name?’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘What did it say?’

  ‘Er…Cook or Cookey or…’

  ‘Cookey! He’s one of ‘em he is. She saw Cookey’s name.’

  ‘Blowers and Mo? Did you see them names?’

  ‘Mo! Yes one of them outside was called Mo, or…I mean…’

  ‘Oh my god!’

  ‘Shush,’ Becky asserts her voice of the clamouring group gathering closer round Heather. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I just heard one of them being called Mo or…Mo Mo? Yeah it was…I really can’t remember.’

  ‘What about Paula?’

  ‘Paula? I…’

  ‘Was the dog there?’

  ‘I’m sorry that’s all I know…’

  ‘What did the big man say?’

  ‘The dog’s immune and…’

  ‘What did you say?’ Heather asks but the questions keep coming.

  ‘What about Mo? Did he say anything?’

  ‘Where were they going?’

  ‘What town was it?’

  ‘I’m sorry, please…can you…’

  ‘How big was the truck?’

  ‘Please can you move back a…’ Heather tries backing up but they keep edging closer, pressing for answers with the same questions repeated over and over by terrified people desperate for any ray of hope. Snatched conversations and whispered rumours of a group fighting back against the infected. A small army led by a man called Mr Howie. Other names heard and they have a dog who is immune. A panic attack starts to make itsel
f known. Too many people are looking at her. Too many people asking questions. She can’t cope with it. She backs up again, stepping into Paco and reaching back to feel his hands. ‘Stop…please just…I can’t speak to all…I don’t know…please…STOP ASKING ME,’ she snaps with fear and anger as Paco moves forward in one fluid motion that makes everyone else step back. He stands tall. His head held high, his arms hanging but his fists starting to clench as he telegraphs his intent. ‘No…it’s okay,’ she grabs his wrist to guide him back. ‘Just stop crowding me,’ Heather says to the alarmed faces wilting back.

  ‘Alright love,’ Becky says almost casually while eyeing Paco with fresh suspicion. ‘He’s a big lad…what’s your name, mate?’

  ‘He doesn’t…’

  ‘It’s Paco Maguire,’ Rajesh announces proudly.

  ‘It’s not…it’s not,’ Heather calls out but again the fresh news spreads fast to the people blinking with mouths dropping open. ‘He just looks like…’

  ‘And he killed three of the things and his eyes are red but Heather said Paco has conjun…conjinx…with his eyes…’

  ‘What?’ Becky snaps, gripping the meat cleaver tighter. ‘Get them kids away from him.’

  ‘He’s fine,’ Subi says, her voice rising in the panic. ‘He’s got conjunctivitis…my Nanna had it and…’

  ‘Let me see,’ Becky says, pointing the meat cleaver towards Paco who doesn’t move. ‘Mate, let me see your eyes.’

  ‘He’s…he doesn’t speak,’ Heather blurts, taking her turn to shield him. ‘He’s fine…I promise you. He’s not infected or contagious or…’

  ‘Contagious? Was he infected?’ Becky rears up, her eyes hardening instantly.

  ‘No! I said he’s not infected…’

  ‘Heather kissed him and she’s not,’ Subi adds.

  ‘If he’s infected he’s fucking getting it…’ Becky says.

  ‘He isn’t. I promise. If he was infected then I would be and…he can’t speak because his throat was injured and his eyes are bad but he’s not…’

  ‘Is he Paco Maguire?’ Someone calls out.

  ‘No. He looks like him…he isn’t…he used to get that all the time and…I call him Paco because it was a joke but it stuck and now I always call him Paco…all his mates called him Paco but if you’d heard him speak you’d know he wasn’t….’

  ‘Show me his fucking eyes,’ Becky shouts.

  ‘He is not contagious.’

  ‘Then show me his bloody eyes.’

  ‘If he was infected he would have attacked you wouldn’t he? He carried Amna all day…and he carried me when I was hurt. He isn’t infected. I kissed him and I’m not infected.’

  Panic builds. Every adult has seen too much, been too close to death and suffered too hard to get here. They form a mob with a pack mentality, closing in to keep the children shielded at the back. Knives are brandished, wicked things with long blades. Heavy sticks are gripped double handed by people teetering on the edge of sanity and reason. She can’t take his glasses off. If they see his eyes he’s done for. Even Subi knew it wasn’t conjunctivitis and she’s a child. Paco can’t speak, he can’t communicate, he can’t reason or explain but he tenses as her fear grows which feeds the panic in the people who see his reaction.

  ‘You show me his eyes right now,’ Becky demands, a normal rational person, the mother of three who will do anything to protect her children. She spots the big man standing straighter and his arm muscles bulging as he tenses. His fists clench, his whole bearing stiffens with aggression.

  ‘I promise you. I swear he is not contagious,’ Heather pleads in a situation rapidly spinning out of control.

  ‘Charlie, you got that crossbow loaded?’

  ‘Crossbow? You don’t need a crossbow,’ Heather shouts.

  ‘Here,’ A man steps out from the group holding a metal framed crossbow with a vicious bolt ready and loaded aimed at Paco.

  ‘God no…’ Heather goes in front, her arms splaying to protect him. ‘He is not…he hasn’t attacked you…he is not one of them…’

  ‘Move out the way,’ Becky says.

  ‘Subi…tell them…’

  ‘Leave the kid alone…show me his eyes or move…Charlie, you fire that thing if that fucker so much as twitches.’

  Heather feels the growl rumbling in Paco’s chest as he readies to fight, she senses the power bunching with a pre-cursor to exploding out. She stares round wildly, begging with words that are unheeded. Children were easy to fool but these are adults. They can see it instantly. He isn’t a man. He’s one of them. A dangerous monster. They know. They’ll try and kill him but he will see it as a threat to her and fight back. They’ll cut him, stab him, shoot him with bolts and hit him with sticks but he doesn’t feel pain. He’ll tear them apart. He is a dangerous monster that is not to be trusted. No. Just no. He saved her. He carried her. He protected her in the storm and killed for her.

  ‘CHARLIE…SHOOT HIM…’

  ‘NO!’ Heather screams, shielding Paco as she runs backwards. ‘Please…we’ll go…’

  ‘Heather,’ Subi’s voice adds to those already shouting as the man with the crossbow moves out wider from the group.

  ‘We’ll go…don’t shoot,’ Heather cries out, forcing Paco back. He resists against her, detecting the fear in her voice and body.

  Chaos erupts with Subi screaming at Heather not to go and Rajesh shouting for Paco to come back. Becky’s voice adding to the noise as she shouts to the other adults to pull the kids back. Heather backs away, going faster as she propels Paco down the road.

  ‘Don’t go with him you daft cow,’ Becky says, striding from her group with the meat cleaver looking wicked in her hand.

  ‘The woman’s in the way,’ Charlie calls out, his eyes fixed on Heather and Paco.

  ‘HEATHER…DON’T GO…’

  ‘Love don’t be stupid…come back…’

  ‘PACO!’

  ‘We’ll go,’ Heather calls out over and over, forcing him down the street until the rain blurs the image of the group brandishing weapons and holding the children back from running after her. ‘Go,’ she grabs his wrist, physically forcing him to turn then pushing him to run. ‘Go…just go…’

  ‘COME BACK,’ Becky calls out, sprinting from her group through the rain. ‘Heather…just…hey hang on a…’

  ‘Don’t hurt him.’

  ‘Just bloody wait.’

  ‘Becky? Get back here.’

  ‘I said we’ll go,’ Heather shouts, pushing Paco to keep him moving.

  ‘Heather just…please bloody stop running.’

  ‘Leave us alone. We’re going…’

  Becky slows in the rain, watching as Heather and Paco get faster to disappear into the gloom. ‘They’ve got doctors…’ she calls out as loudly as she dares, nervously glancing round for fear of her voice drawing attention. ‘At the fort…’ she falls silent to stare at the grey wall of water hoping the woman heard.

  Twenty Nine

  She wakes with a surge up through the layers of conscious thought that bring her eyes blinking to stare out a view of rain. The sound comes a second after. The pattering of water striking hard surfaces that forms rivers and streams that gush and pour from overflowing drains. She snuggles closer into his side relishing the quietness. Subi, Rajesh and Amna are with people who know how to look after them. Her responsibility is now back to herself and Paco. She sighs and closes her eyes, intending to doze off but the hundreds of sounds of water flowing make her need a wee.

  She sits up with a groan, rubbing her eyes and stretching while looking at his face that is becoming remarkably more expressive by the day. He smiles at her again. She grins back and lays a hand on his chest.

  ‘Feel alright?’ she mumbles, her voice deep and husky from sleep.

  He doesn’t reply but smiles again. She catches the intelligence in his eyes that seem to be trying to grasp and hold onto something. It’ll come. She knows it will. He is healing.

  ‘Need a wee,’ she s
ays, heaving herself up. ‘Come on…’ she takes his hand under the guise of helping him up while knowing he can rise easily on the power of his legs alone.

  The warehouse sits on the far end of an industrial estate on the edge of the town. It’s not a wooden barn with a creaky door but it was warm, dry and tucked away. Besides, using a proper toilet was nice and the place smells of new carpet from the shelving units rammed full of rolled material ready for shipping. Why it was open she doesn’t know and doesn’t care. This is the apocalypse but she’s starting to feel like she did before in the normal world. A fort. People fighting back. Some weirdo called Mr Howie and his band of merry men running about. An immune dog. The same dog that probably bit Paco. He’s not contagious and she’s already considered if it was the immune dog biting him that changed the infection. It might not even be that dog but any old stray mongrel that bit him. She doesn’t know anything. She feels like she should know but tries to shrug it off like she did in the old life. Why is there an expectation that she should be involved or doing something? It’s nothing to do with her. None of this is her business.

  She sits on the toilet in a carpet warehouse to tinkle into the bowel while Paco stands watching her. She looks up at him, rolling her eyes at the annoying thoughts that have come back into her head so soon after waking up. It feels different now, the way he watches her all the time. He’s more man and less…less thing or beast or whatever he was when she first met him. She stands to wipe, watching his eyes to see them flicker down at the movement of her hand. She hopes it’s that anyway and not him trying to grab a sneaky view. Mind you, does she care if he does? She rinses her hands and moves past him. ‘Have a wee,’ she says. He doesn’t respond. ‘Paco, have a wee.’

  He had one last night when she said to have a wee. She did take his penis out for him and made him hold it then turned the tap on to send the right signals. It worked too. He had a wee.

  ‘Have a wee,’ she repeats but he stands inert with a hint of humour in his eyes that makes her put her hands on her hips and glare. ‘Paco? Are you being rude?’