by RR Haywood
‘It is.’
‘Another one there, Dave,’ Mo says, shoeing a body over onto it’s back. ‘Right in the throat…’
‘What else?’
‘Else? Fuck me…er…’
‘Big man,’ Clarence coughs into his hand.
‘Big man? What big man? Oh…oh…’ Mo grins sudden and delighted. ‘Yeah that one…he got thrown from the road…you can see how he landed…strong fucker threw him…like Clarence does.’
‘Good. Go through and report.’
‘You sending Mo through first?’ Paula asks.
‘Yes, Miss Paula. Mohammed, go through and report.’
‘Yes, Dave.’
Mo goes through, ducking to gain the other side. He drops down onto soft bodies and out to gain the road. His eyebrows lift. His face showing surprise at the sheer numbers of infected lying dead.
‘Report,’ Dave says.
‘Give him a chance,’ Paula says.
Mo holds his rifle across his chest, his eyes scanning the ground and up to both directions of the narrow lane. ‘Came from both sides…’ he calls back. He spots something poking out under a body. The butt of a gun. He kicks the body over to look down. ‘Shotgun here, broken…used like a club…no gunshot wounds. Broken necks, bite marks…bladed weapon used but it was blunt.’ Mo stares round, seeing more as he looks. His eyes alive and twinkling. ‘Two sides, Dave. They fought on two sides and fell back to that gap in the hedge…bladed weapon used on this side.’ He back steps away to the epi-centre of the battle. ‘The strong fucker was on this side…broken necks everywhere and that big bloke was thrown from here…’
‘Good,’ Dave says, coming through the gap to drop lightly into the road. ‘Anything else?’
‘Er…’ Mo frowns, pursing his lips while examining the sides, both directions, the bodies, the gap in the hedge. ‘Nah, got fuck all, Dave.’
‘No, Dave.’
‘S’what I said.’
Everyone bar Maddox on the other side of the hedge pulls a face at the backchat from Mo to Dave, expecting a harsh response.
‘Which direction did they come from?’ Dave asks instead.
What the fuck? Howie mouths. Clarence shrugs. Blowers shakes his head.
‘I don’t know,’ Mo says from the other side.
‘Look.’
‘At what?’
‘Both ends.’
‘Both ends? What’s that mean?’
Howie’s eyes widen. Clarence winces. Blowers looks down at the ground waiting for Dave to bellow.
‘Be clear, Dave.’
‘Holy fuck,’ Cookey mutters, taking a step back from the hedge.
‘My apologies, Mohammed. Look at both ends. One direction will have less bodies.’
A stunned silence.
‘Ah got it, yeah…yeah none this way…so’s they came the other way right?’
‘Yes.’
‘HA! Got it. Fuck yeah…’
‘Yes not yeah.’
‘Fuck yes. Can I say fuck yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ha! Fuck yes. Did I miss anything?’
‘Not of importance.’
‘Eh? What’d I miss?’
‘Footprints in the blood. The defenders were male and female. Both adults. The male was large build, the female was smaller build.’
‘How the fuck?’
‘This footprint is the same size as Marcy. More here on this side working back towards the access point to the hedge. The male’s feet are almost as large as Clarence’s feet.’
‘Yeah…I mean yes, yes I see that, Dave.’
‘Report back to Mr Howie.’
‘Got it.’
‘I heard it all, Dave.’
‘Mohammed needs to learn reporting back, Mr Howie.’
‘Righto.’
‘Mr Howie,’ Mo says, grinning widely as he climbs back through the hedge.
‘Mo,’ Howie smiles.
‘I er…I’s ready to report, Mr Howie.’
‘Okay, mate. Report.’
‘Dave?’ Mo asks, looking back at the hedge.
‘Yes. Mohammed?’
‘Can I do it in my words?’
‘The report must be understood, Mohammed.’
‘Do it in your words,’ Howie says.
‘Sir…’ Mo says, forcibly trying not to stop smiling. ‘So…big fucker and a woman same size as Marcy came from that way…’
‘Children’s feet here too, Mohammed. Six.’
‘With six kids,’ Mo says. ‘And they had a big fight…the woman had a blade but it was blunt as fuck, like a big blade…not an axe or a knife though…’
‘Machete.’
‘We think it was a machete innit…so they got trapped here. The big fucker threw another big fucker through that hedge and they got the kids through and held the infected back until the kids got away across that field. Someone was biting them too…hang on…’ He says suddenly, moving forward to peer at Marcy’s mouth then dropping to look at the body with the throat bitten out. ‘The woman did the biting, Mr Howie…same size mouth as Marcy…cos like Clarence’s mouth is massive you get me? Dave, I think it was the woman that did the biting…’
‘It was, Mohammed.’
‘It was,’ Mo says, nodding at Howie. ‘Er…that’s my report.’
‘Fucking brilliant,’ Howie says as Mo is sent sailing five feet to the side from a pat on the arm from Clarence.
‘I bloody adore you,’ Paula says, grabbing Mo’s face to kiss his forehead.
‘Mo Mo Dave Two,’ Cookey says.
‘Fact,’ Nick adds.
‘Fall back in with your team, Mohammed.’
‘Yes, Dave,’ Mo says, still grinning as he heads back.
‘Well done, mate,’ Blowers says, patting him on the shoulder.
‘Cheers, Blowers,’ Mo says, the grin on his face dropping the second he looks at Maddox. Coldness in his eyes. The eyes of a killer. In that second Maddox sees the total change in Mo. The old Mo would never have sought validation from others like that. The old Mo would have sucked his teeth and skulked with his head down. Mo falls back in, laughing again as Blinky punches him on the arm.
‘So what now?’ Howie asks. ‘They came from that way,’ he says, pointing in the direction Mo indicated. ‘But came through here…they must have gone up to that stable…’
‘Really?’ Marcy asks, staring at Howie. ‘We said that. We said Subi said that. We said they came through the hedge across the field to the stable and out through the gate. We’ve got a bloody map that says that.’
‘Then why are we down here?’ Howie asks. ‘We should be up there…everyone back to the stables.’
They head back across the furrowed field, tripping and cursing over the valleys and troughs made by a tractor that will forever now lie silent until it rusts away to become nothing more than a heap of slag.
‘This is another morning without coffee isn’t it,’ Howie asks, making a statement more than asking a question.
‘Flasks,’ Paula says, clicking her fingers. ‘We’ll get flasks.’
‘Flasks?’ Howie asks, looking down the line to Paula.
‘Flasks. For the storage of hot beverages.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Clarence says.
‘I had a good flask,’ Roy says. ‘Stayed hot for hours.’
‘Yeah?’ Howie asks.
‘Come a long way flasks have,’ Roy replies knowingly.
‘We should get flasks,’ Howie says. ‘Nick? Can we rig a hot water thing in the Saxon?’
‘Er…Roy’s van will be easier.’
‘Hey now,’ Paula says, nodding in admiration. ‘Good idea that, Mr Howie.’
‘Thanks, Miss Paula.’
‘Nick, Roy…you are tasked to get hot water in Roy’s van,’ she says, turning to look at them both.
‘Maybe I don’t want hot water in my van.’
‘We’ll add it to Reggie’s duties…other than being the brains of the team he can brew up.’
/>
‘Good Lord I will do no such thing…’
Mindless. It’s mindless words spewing from mouths talking shit. Maddox listens, turning to each as they add increasingly stupid comments while walking across a bloody field after staring at dead bodies for ten minutes. Is this it? Is this what they do? He watched them when they found the bodies and the lack of any shred of reaction to the torn up human forms laying at their feet. Maddox has seen and given death but even so, even he felt repulsed by the sight. They didn’t. They didn’t show anything. Now they’re talking about flasks and a hot water urn in that cash in transit van.
Blowers smiles at the thought. A hot water urn in Roy’s van is the best idea they’ve had for days. They can brew up wherever they go. You can’t put a price on the morale boost brewing up gives. The making of it, the communal drinking and the idle chat. Nothing beats a brew up.
‘Is it hard to rig up?’ he asks.
‘Easy enough,’ Roy replies. ‘It drains power though.’
‘Not from the main battery,’ Nick says. ‘The split charges the back up and that lasts for fucking ages.’
‘What about that Tassimo Lilly had?’ Howie asks. ‘Would that work?’
‘He’s on fire this morning,’ Marcy says.
‘Someone will be if I go all day without coffee again.’
Maddox hides his scowl. Blowers chuckles. They walk across the field.
Four
‘Shit…Charlie…stay with her… everyone else back to the vehicles.’
Charlie canters on down the road, following Meredith as she runs from the gate into the country lane following the scent trail hovering in the middle of the road. She knows it’s him. He smells different now. Like Marcy and Reginald. Different like that but it’s him. She has to find him. She runs on sucking air up her nose into the filters in her brain that breaks those smells down to a molecular level.
Blowers breathes out, feeling the small pulse of adrenalin at having to something to go after. He goes to make a comment but stops at the sight of Maddox opposite him in the back of the Saxon. The smile fades. The humour drains from his eyes. Lani didn’t deserve that. Not like that. Lani might have turned back regardless of what happened but she should have been with her team. Not isolated and left on her own. Soldiers don’t ditch their mates. Maddox is a street brawler and a hard man but he isn’t a soldier. Soldiering isn’t just about fighting. Soldiering is professional. It’s structure and knowing your place in the machine. Why the fuck did the boss bring him? He knows why. He knows exactly what the boss was thinking. Paula too otherwise she’d have said something. They all know it. They were thinking that this will be good for Maddox and show him how it’s meant to be done. Teach him some respect or something. He needs it but he still shouldn’t be here. Not with them. Not after what he did.
‘What will you do when you find him?’ Maddox asks once everyone settles.
Silence comes back. An unwillingness to reply. Paula tuts, casting a look at the lads. ‘We’ll figure it out when it happens.’
Maddox nods, his face remaining impassive which conveys an air of disapproval at the lack of a plan.
‘Marcy and Reggie were turned,’ Paula explains. ‘If Paco was turned but now turning back then he could be like them…same with that woman Heather. That girl said Heather was bit but carried on fighting…’
‘Ssshhh,’ Blowers says, ‘Maddox might lock him in the hospital.’
‘Away from his mates,’ Nick adds, looking down to the back doors.
‘And tazer him like a fucking coward.’
‘Cookey, that’s enough.’
‘Roger,’ Cookey mutters.
Silence.
‘So,’ Maddox says, shuffling further back into his seat while looking at Marcy. ‘You and Reginald were both infected…but you’re not now?’
‘Don’t even look at Marcy…’
‘Cookey, enough. It was a question,’ Paula snaps.
‘We don’t know,’ Marcy says flatly, looking away.
‘But your eyes aren’t red…have you got any symptoms?’
‘What the fuck has it got to do with you?’
‘Nick! All of you pack it in. Maddox, we don’t know any answers. Reginald is trying to work it out.’
‘We shouldn’t tell him anything,’ Blowers says.
‘Lani turned. I was right…’ Maddox states, fixing his gaze on Blowers.
‘You fucking…’
‘She should have been with us,’ Cookey shouts.
‘Jesus Christ, enough!’ Paula snaps again.
‘If she’d been with us that fucking mess wouldn’t have happened…’
‘Cookey…’
‘You locked us in a room with dog shit…you took our fucking weapons away and made us crawl through a fucking tunnel…’
‘You chose that…I kept Lani isolated in case she turned which she did.’
‘If she’d been with us we would have contained it you stupid fucking prick…’
‘I did what I thought was right at the time…’
‘What happened after that?’ Nick asks quietly, driving the atmosphere down through the floor. ‘Go on? What happened after? What happened to Lilly?’
‘That wasn’t…’
‘Your crews, Maddox,’ Blowers says.
‘Darius was…’
‘Yeah cos Lani killed him like she killed Jagger…’ Nick says.
‘She turned…’
‘You best be shutting your fucking mouth…’ Nick says, his face hardening.
‘Nick, stop it…’
‘Lani turned. She was infected…’
‘You fucking…’ Blowers spits the words out.
‘She turned. She was infected. How would I know what she’d do?’
Voices shouting. The lads edging closer on their seats. Blinky grabs Nick and Cookey to push them back as Paula leans towards Blowers. Mo’s eyes flash at the mention of Jagger with the cold look of Dave on his face. Spittle flies from mouths. Accusations back and forth. Maddox fires back at them, leaning forward as Marcy pushes in front of him.
‘STAND DOWN.’
Dave’s voice. The three lads fall silent, breathing hard with pure hatred showing on their faces. Paula glares round with a rare look of disgust shown to the three young men she admires so much.
‘Not another word,’ she whispers, pointing at each in turn. ‘There will be a time for this but not now and not here. We’re working. We are at work. Do you understand?’
‘Ma’am,’ Blowers says, sinking back in his seat.
‘Cookey?’
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ he says, copying Blowers without realising he is doing so.
‘Nick?’
‘Sorry, Ma’am.’
‘Stop with the ma’am…Maddox? Not another word about Lani.’
‘Yeah…’
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Dave says.
‘I said yeah…I ain’t one of you…’ Maddox sneers.
‘You fucking arrogant piece of…’
‘Oh for the love of God…Howie!’
‘Ah pack it in,’ Howie says calmly without turning from watching Charlie and Meredith ahead. ‘Haven’t had enough coffee yet…seriously, any more shouting and I’ll get cross.’
A switch flicked. An instant change in atmosphere. The tension eases, dropping away from a few quietly spoken words. Maddox stares at the back of Howie’s head, sensing someone watching him. He looks over to see Marcy staring at him. The woman is breath-taking in her beauty but that same coldness Mo had is right there staring through him. She finally blinks, breaking the eye contact to look over at Paula.
‘Entrance ahead…Meredith is veering towards it…hang on…yes, yes she’s going in…’
‘Yep, got it. Hold at that entrance. We’ll go in together…Everyone hear that? Driveway ahead. We’ll pull up just back from it. Roy? We’ll stop before the driveway and go on foot.’
‘Understood.’
‘Contact contact…one ahead…Meredith’s on him…she
’s running on…HORDE…CONTACT CONTACT…’
‘OUT GO…’ Howie brings the Saxon to a slewing halt bursting from the driver’s door to drag swing his axe up and down behind his bag. His rifle already gripped as he runs to join Clarence.
‘With Blowers,’ Dave drops from the back doors to sprint on down the side. Mo backs up to give space for the rest piling out.
‘LOTS MR HOWIE…’ Charlie’s voice in their ears. Hearts thunder with beats per minute. Adrenalin courses making vision sharper and voices louder.
‘Rear guard, secure the lane…’ Blowers orders his team. ‘Roy, straight in. Marcy, Paula with me…REGGIE?’
‘Gosh I am coming…I am running I am…’
‘Stay with Mo at all times…’
‘I most certainly….’
‘SURVIVORS IN THE HOUSE…’
‘GO GO GO,’ Blowers shouts. As one they run. As one they sprint hard down the side of the Saxon veering sharply into the driveway. Weapons held ready. Blowers drives power into his legs to gain the front of his team. Maddox at his side. A gravel driveway underfoot. The sound of stones crunching under boots. He spots Howie, Clarence and Dave ahead slinging rifles to draw hand weapons.
‘HAND WEAPONS,’ Blowers slings his rifle and reaches back to pull his axe. The action is copied down the line. Rifles pushed back. Axes pulled free from bags. Mo draws his knife, flicking the hilt to rest the reverse side of the blade against the inside of his right forearm. His left hand on Reginald’s shoulder keeping the terrified man close.
Blowers reaches the corner of the driveway to gain the view of the big house. A split second for his expert eyes take in what the elders saw first. A thick horde between them and the big country house. The ground floor windows all boarded with thick planks. People at the upstairs windows staring down in terror. To fire into that horde risks the bullets going through into the building. A stray shot from an assault rifle will go through a wooden door and boarded window with ease. They cannot fire unless they can move to the side but both sides are blocked by the infected laying siege.
‘CHARLIE…CLEAR THE FRONT DOOR…’ Howie shouts, glancing back to make sure Blowers is close.
‘COME ON…INTO THEM,’ Charlie roars with a pulse of energy sent into the horse that rears high, kicking her front legs out before landing with a snort, bunching up and charging on with pure aggression in her eyes. The impact is beautiful. A path carved through the undead battered aside as the scarred face of Charlie screams to swing the axe side to side, chopping down to an explosion of blood and brains.
