‘Is he trying to get them away from us?’ Carmen asks. ‘He is…look, they’re turning away…’
‘Something’s changed,’ Frank says, seeing the infected slow from the frenzied beasts to slower and shuffling. Bumping into each other and going off course. He watches Howie lift his hands as in what the fuck? Frank lifts his, replying with fuck knows.
‘Stop waving at each other and tell him to go,’ Carmen shouts up. ‘Is he pressing the horn?’
‘He is,’ Frank calls down as Howie emits the weak warble from the moped horn. ‘Don’t twist the grip you twat…’ Frank says as Howie twists the grip and shoots off with the moped charging away, twisting the grip harder to go faster, slamming the kick-stand into the road then falling off as the moped slams into a parked car. ‘Jesus…’ Frank says, covering his eyes.
‘What the actual fuck?’ Carmen asks from inside the van. ‘He’s a worse driver than you. What’s he doing now?’
‘He’s going back to the moped,’ Frank says. ‘Oh, nope…now he’s just staring at them. Did Howard ever mention his son having issues to you?’
‘Not to me,’ Carmen says. ‘You think he’s a bit simple?’
‘He’s just stood there looking gormless,’ Frank replies. ‘What the…shit! Are you seeing this?’
‘I am,’ Carmen says, lower in height than Frank but just high enough to see Howie slamming a hammer into the face of an infected male. She moves to the hatch, gripping the sides to pull up and out onto the roof, watching with Frank as Howie starts whacking people in the head with a claw hammer. ‘Jesus…just run you bloody idiot,’ she mutters. ‘Frank, seen that…’
‘What?’ he asks, following her line of sight to the other side of the van and the ground now clear of infected as they shuffle around the front and back towards Howie. ‘We should help him,’ he adds quickly.
‘Mission first,’ she says firmly.
‘He’s Howard’s kid…’
‘I know, and I wish we could…but mission first. Besides…he’s not doing too badly…come on, we’ve got to find Howard…’
Twenty Four
Day Twenty-five
He stares through the window of the small bathroom on the top floor of the house. Focussing on the rain spattering the glass then looking out beyond the garden to the shore and the fort standing on its own island a few miles away.
A great sadness inside at a great many things. First that they failed to prevent it happening, but more personally that not all of his team made it and he sighs heavily before turning back to the mirror fixed on the wall with a flick of his wrist to open the cut-throat razor that he uses to shave. Scraping the steel over his skin then rinsing off and dressing while staring once again at the fort and the lights showing against the darkening sky, and that very thing, that very act of using lights at night gives him hope.
He tucks his shirt in, adjusting and smoothing where necessary to achieve the desired level of comfort and appearance, but then he always did know how to dress well.
From the bathroom, he steps out and descends the stairs to the ground floor and into the large open plan living room to low conversations and candles burning, to the smell of food and living and life and he extends a hand as he walks, sweeping Frank’s feet off the table.
‘We eat off that,’ he says primly.
‘We eat off plates,’ Frank says, lifting his feet back up to where they were. ‘And my knees hurt…and my back… have you just had a shave?’
‘Yes, Frank. I’ve had a shave.’
‘And that’s a clean shirt.’
‘Good observation skills, Frank.’
‘It’s evening. Why are you shaving and dressing now?’
‘We’ve been through this, Frank,’ Henry says in a tone that suggests they have, in fact, had this same conversation many, many times. ‘One should prepare for dinner.’
‘Should one?’ Frank asks.
‘Get your feet off that table, Frank,’ Marion says, striding in to plonk a big pan in the centre of the table. ‘Frank! Feet off the table…and Georgie dear, do put the newspaper away, it’s time for food. Honestly, why can’t you two be more like Henry?’
‘I have often asked that very question,’ Henry says.
‘Ah, young Carmen,’ George says, folding his newspaper away as Carmen walks in with a pile of plates.
‘This is how life should be,’ Frank says. ‘The men being served by the women-folk…’ he dodges away, laughing at the swipe from Marion and the plate thrown in his lap by Carmen.
‘Your turn tomorrow, old man,’ Carmen says, sitting down next to him. ‘If your old knees will take it.’
‘They won’t, you can take my turn,’ he says, reaching out to lift the lid on the pan and getting his hand whacked away by Marion.
‘Now you can just wait, Frank. We’ve got pudding tonight too. Spotted dick and custard. Not home-made of course but it should be a nice treat.’
‘Frank likes spotted dick…’
‘We’ll have none of that talk at the table, Georgie.’
‘Yes, dear. Sorry, dear,’ George says, rolling his eyes at Carmen.
‘And don’t roll your eyes at Carmen.’
‘No, dear. Sorry, dear.’
‘Carmen, you first, there we go, a nice big serving for you…’ Marion says, spooning a generous serving of rabbit stew onto Carmen’s plate. ‘Henry my dear, there’s yours…Georgie, slide your plate over then dear, I can’t reach all that way can I now…and Frank, you can help yourself.’
‘Typical,’ he quips, smiling at Marion who spoons an extra big serving of rabbit stew onto his plate.
‘Eat up, come on…that rabbit was fresh today.’
‘This is delightful, Marion,’ Henry says.
‘Very nice, dear,’ George says.
‘It’s lovely, Marion,’ Carmen adds.
‘Yeah, it’s alright I guess,’ Frank says, taking his turn as Marion swipes his arm again. ‘It’s lovely…anyway, what’s the plan?’
‘Marion?’ Henry says. ‘Do you mind if we talk at the table?’
‘You carry right on, Henry and bless you for asking.’
‘I was thinking we’d go over to the fort tomorrow,’ Henry says, looking around at the others as they tuck into the food. ‘Been almost a month now and er…well, no show for Howard so…damned awful mess but I think we have to assume he’s not coming.’
Nods and murmurs. A dip in the mood and energy.
‘I think it’s time,’ George says.
‘Happy with that,’ Frank says. ‘Be good to catch up with him.’
‘You don’t know if he’s there,’ George says.
‘Of course he’s there,’ Frank retorts, using his fork to point at George. ‘Howard said he was south, you trust me on this…the god-botherer will be right in the middle somewhere…’
‘Well,’ Henry says deeply. ‘Tomorrow we shall find out.’
‘We bloody will,’ Frank says.
‘Elbows off the table, Frankie dear.’
‘Yes, Marion.’
‘And don’t swear at the table.’
‘Sorry, Marion.’
‘Good man, eat your stew up so you can have some pudding. I’ve heard you like dick…’
Twenty Five
A concrete room with bare walls and a single bed. A candle flickering on a small table and he stands at the cheap plastic mirror hanging from a nail and drags the blade of the cut-throat razor over his cheeks.
An older man. Late fifties, maybe more. Lean and weathered with lines on his face that speak of many things seen and many things done.
A black shirt open at the neck and his sleeves rolled up that show old tattoos on his forearms. A faded cross. A dagger. Both now nearly lost in the thick hairs of his arms.
A pistol on each hip. The butts facing in so he can cross draw and he blasts air from his nose as a knock comes on the door.
‘Kyle?’
‘In here so I am,’ he says, turning to smile at Joan leaning in
. ‘Ah, a rare maiden coming to visit me so she is.’
‘And you can stop that,’ she snaps, tutting at the twinkle in his eyes. ‘Food is almost ready.’
‘And ready for food is what I am,’ he says, grabbing a towel to rub the left over shaving foam from his face then rolling his sleeves down when she clocks the tattoos on his arms with a raised eyebrow.
‘You’ve lived a life haven’t you,’ she remarks.
‘That I have, Joan. More than you’ll ever know.’
‘I’d know if you told me.’
‘Aye, that you would,’ he says, smiling toothily.
‘Military,’ she says decisively. ‘Definitely military.’
He doesn’t reply but grins and walks towards her, winking as he nears. ‘And now I am but a simple god-botherer,’ he says.
‘You’re a something alright,’ she says crisply, walking on as he follows out into the fort proper with a glance at the gates. It’s been twenty-five days now. They’ll be here soon, and that will be an interesting conversation. A very interesting conversation indeed.
Also by RR Haywood
EXTRACTED SERIES
EXTRACTED
EXECUTED
EXTINCT
International best-selling time-travel
#1 Amazon US
#1 Amazon UK
#1 Audible US & UK
Top 3 Amazon Australia
Washington Post Best-seller
In 2061, a young scientist invents a time machine to fix a tragedy in his past. But his good intentions turn catastrophic when an early test reveals something unexpected: the end of the world.
A desperate plan is formed. Recruit three heroes, ordinary humans capable of extraordinary things, and change the future.
Safa Patel is an elite police officer, on duty when Downing Street comes under terrorist attack. As armed men storm through the breach, she dispatches them all.
'Mad' Harry Madden is a legend of the Second World War. Not only did he complete an impossible mission—to plant charges on a heavily defended submarine base—but he also escaped with his life.
Ben Ryder is just an insurance investigator. But as a young man he witnessed a gang assaulting a woman and her child. He went to their rescue, and killed all five.
Can these three heroes, extracted from their timelines at the point of death, save the world?
The Undead: Day 22 Page 36
