The Undead Day Twenty

by RR Haywood

  ‘Oh Christ,’ Paula groans, ‘it’s too hot for this.’

  *

  ‘That was wrong.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘We’re armed.’ Maddox tuts and shakes his head, ‘a soldier would be court martialled for that.’

  Blowers purses his lips and walks on towards the door into the hangar building. It was wrong but then it was right. The bloke had it coming but soldiers don’t break fingers. Soldiers show discipline in the face of provocation by unarmed non-combatants.

  ‘Focus on this,’ Blowers says instead.

  ‘Do the right thing yeah?’ Maddox asks.

  ‘We need to focus. Switch on…’ he gets to the door first and goes through to an inner hallway stinking of burnt meat, stale body odour, cigarette smoke and alcohol. Signs on the wall welcome visitors and urge them to take a look at our great menu. Posters of upcoming events, dressage and jumping shows, winners of past events and all manner of stained peeling old sheets of paper pinned up to be left for years.

  ‘Are we breaking fingers, Corporal?’ Maddox asks politely, following Blowers down to the set of double doors.

  Blowers pushes through to a long room filled with chairs and tables. An old style counter on one side with an empty hot-food cabinet and equally empty baskets that once held snack food. Food wrappers and drink cans litter the tables. Ashtrays filled and more butts on the floor. Stains on the table tops, the air stinks. The curtains drawn too giving the room a gloomy ambience.

  ‘Will I be court martialled if I don’t break fingers?’

  ‘Fuck off, Maddox.’

  The wall on the left is set to windows overlooking the large open sand school that has the appearance of a very old football pitch bordered by faded boards advertising local goods, produce and garage services. They see the people in the middle, gathered together as they wait for Frank to come back. Chairs and sofas in the middle of the sand ranged round an open fire pit and the air stinks of burnt meat.

  Blowers goes through the door at the end to see one side has been set apart for people to watch the sand school. Wooden bench seats bolted to the ground now covered with more litter, food wrappers, clothes, empty cans and bottles of beer. It looks filthy, unclean and uncared for.

  The people turn to look over, instantly falling silent at the sight of the two armed men walking towards them through an opening in the side panel. Blowers counts heads, getting to eighteen with a mixture of men, women and children. They all look as filthy as Frank too which he struggles to understand. There must be running water here.

  ‘Hi,’ Blowers calls out, coming to a stop a few metres away. ‘We’re with Mr Howie…’ he pauses to wait for reaction. None shows.

  ‘Not as famous as he thinks,’ Maddox mutters. ‘Hi, my name is Maddox. This is Simon. We’re not the army or the government but we’re not here to hurt you,’ the charm comes instant and easy. The big smile Maddox reserves for special use only. His tone carefully delivered that immediately starts putting people at rest. Blowers hides the irritation and goes to speak but Maddox carries on quickly.

  ‘We’re from Fort Spitbank? Have you heard of it?’ Maddox asks, smiling at a few of the adults nodding. ‘On the coast. Not that far from here, it’s a safe place. You should head there…we just stopped for equipment and so one of our people could break Frank’s…’

  ‘Maddox,’ Blowers cuts in, glaring at him. ‘Is anyone hurt? We’ve got a medic if…’

  ‘Broken fingers?’ Maddox asks.

  ‘Blowers?’ Roy calls out, spotting them through the windows from the café area. He heads for the door and comes through into the sand school. ‘Anyone hurt?’

  ‘They seem okay,’ Maddox says, ‘can’t see any broken fingers anyway.’

  ‘I’ve re-set it,’ Roy says, either ignoring or ignorant to the meaning of the comment. ‘Right, what have we got here? Anyone hurt? Any illnesses? You all look terrible…have you been outside? You need vitamins and sunshine. Good God the stench! Why aren’t you washing?’

  ‘Where’s Frank?’ someone asks.

  ‘Outside with his broken finger,’ Maddox calls back.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘What broken finger?’

  ‘Is he alright?’

  Blowers takes in the worry coming from only a few while the majority seem to hang back and stay silent. The more he watches the more he notices the quiet ones look worse too. Hungrier, more drawn and sunken eyed with greasy matted hair. He clocks the hierarchy showing from the formation of the seats, and the way sofas and comfortable chairs are grouped together while rugs on the ground show where others have been sitting. He moves forward with his rifle held across the crook of his elbows as the vocal ones throw questions at Maddox and Roy.

  ‘Hey,’ Blowers says to a young woman standing stock still with her hands over the shoulders of two small children clinging to her legs. ‘You okay?’

  She nods but looks past Blowers to the small group of men and women trying to get answers from the other two. Fear on her face and in her eyes.

  ‘Miss?’ Blowers asks softly. She blinks and looks at him then down to the rifle in his arms. It’s hot. Too hot. Sweat beads down Blowers’ face and trickles down his jaw but the woman wears a long sleeve top covering her arms. He takes her in with a quick scan that she doesn’t notice. A bruise on her neck covered by the strands of her hair hanging down.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Blowers asks, moving a step closer.

  ‘She’s fine,’ a man says quickly, too quickly. Blowers looks round, seeing other young women looking cowed and terrified. He spots grip marks on the sallow skin of a young woman’s upper arms. A child, a boy no more than ten with a fading black eye.

  ‘Who hurt you?’ Blowers asks the boy. Silence falls. Suddenly heavy and weighted with tension ramping through the ceiling.

  Maddox sees the separation a second later. The people closest to him were the ones asking about Frank. They’re more confident, more vocal. The others are sullen with the air of a beaten look.

  ‘Now look here,’ the man who tried speaking to Blowers says. ‘Are you from the army? Where’s Frank? What is going on? Are those things…’

  ‘Shush,’ Maddox says, whispering the word out with such a sinister look the man falls instantly quiet.

  ‘He fell,’ a woman says, finally answering Blowers question.

  ‘What about you, Miss?’ Blowers asks, looking back to the woman. He points at his own neck to the same place she has the mark. She swallows. Terrified and worried sick as she draws the children in closer to her legs. ‘You’re safe now,’ Blowers says.

  ‘They raped her…’ the woman with the grip marks on her arms blurts.

  ‘Shut up,’ a man hisses, low and urgent.

  ‘And me…and Sarah…they made us work for food…’ the woman with the grip marks states.

  ‘LIAR,’ the man booms as the others with him exclaim shock and horror at the accusations.

  ‘You,’ Blowers says, pointing at the girl who spoke out. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘SHE’S A LIAR…We didn’t do anything…’

  ‘Carol,’ the girl says.

  ‘Carol, point out the ones who did it…’ Blowers says, turning as he thumbs the switch on his radio. ‘…Mr Howie, got a situation, assistance please…’

  ‘On way…’

  ‘Everyone stay still,’ Roy says, backing away from the group as he draws his pistol.

  ‘SHE’S A LIAR,’ the man screams, glaring at Carol.

  ‘Don’t look at her,’ Maddox tells him calmly.

  ‘Him,’ Carol says, pointing a trembling hand at the man protesting loudly.

  ‘You fucking whore…’

  ‘We had to fuck for food,’ Carol says, breathing harder as the rage suppressed for so many days comes out. ‘All of them…’ she says, still holding that arm towards the small group. ‘Frank…his kid, Frankie..’

  ‘Did I fuck!’ A young replica of Frank shouts, his face ruddy and flushed. Wide shoulders like his
dad and the same big gut hanging over his jeans.

  ‘Simon…Colin…’

  ‘YOU LIAR,’ Simon screeches, the same man trying to dominate the group.

  ‘Yeah?’ Carol asks, bending over to grab the bottom hem of her filthy summer skirt she wore for the first time on the Friday evening it happened. She hoists it up, showing dirt encrusted legs covered in bruises and livid welts on the inside of her upper thighs. Blowers glimpses but looks away from instinct. ‘WHERE DID THESE COME FROM?’ Carol screams, holding her skirt up. ‘GO ON SIMON…TELL THEM…’

  ‘She’s a lying whore,’ Simon says, changing tact to wave a disdainful hand.

  Carol snaps and rushes at him. Rage exploding as she scratches at his face. Simon goes back into his group. Frankie grabs at Carol trying to pull her back but finds a rifle butt slamming into his back as Maddox wades in.

  The woman with the bruise on her neck flies past Blowers. Silent with tears streaming down her cheeks but she goes for Frankie as he drops from being hit by Maddox. Hard hits delivered by bunched fists that slam into Frankie’s head who roars and pushes out, sending her flying. Blowers goes in, booting him down to the ground. Chaos breaks out. Women rushing in to swing hits and punches at the men and women who abused them. Children scream in fear. Women screech. Men bellow.

  Dave and Mo arrive first. Both of them sprinting past the windows in the café to turn hard through the doorway and through the terrace to the soft sand.

  ‘ENOUGH,’ Blowers shouts, grabbing people to pull them away.

  ‘Cunt,’ Carol seethes. She and Sarah vent their rage on Simon and Frankie. Kicking, hitting, spitting and raking faces with sharp nails. A woman tries hitting at Carol but gets pulled back by Maddox.

  Dave and Mo come to a stop. Both unsure of what to do and seeing Maddox, Blowers and Roy trying to stop a big fight already clearly underway.

  ‘BLOWERS?’ Howie’s voice as he runs ahead of the others through the café. He double takes through the windows and comes out after Dave and Mo to plough in with the instinct to stop anyone throwing punches.

  The rest come through. The whole team pouring into the sand school as they work to split the group and separate people attacking each other.

  ‘I’LL KILL YOU,’ Carol’s rage increases, pushing past Marcy to kick at Simon.

  ‘Enough,’ Marcy shouts, trying to push her away. ‘Blinky…give me a hand…’

  ‘HE RAPED ME…HE RAPED ME…’ Carol screams the words over and again, becoming wilder in her fury but within that rage she spots the pistol on Marcy’s hip. A gun. A gun right there. Without thinking and without thought she snatches to pull it out. Marcy screams out to grab her hands.

  ‘DOWN DOWN DOWN,’ Dave spots the gun in the woman’s hands.

  A desperate struggle. The pistol held by Carol as Marcy tries to stay away from the front but wrestle it back. Fingers and thumbs yanking at the pistol that knock the safety from on to off. Carol gets to the trigger and yanks hard with a gunshot that booms to roll round under the corrugated iron roof.

  Simon screams out from the bullet slamming into his stomach. Blinky grabs Carol’s hair to yank her back as Marcy plucks the gun from her hands. Everyone else falls silent. Clarence moves in. Dave and Mo with both pistols drawn at seeing the woman holding the gun and hearing the shot.

  Control is gained in that instant. Chests heaving for air. Sweat pouring down faces. Frank shakes from head to toe. Foolishly having followed the others as they ran in response to Blowers asking for help.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Howie asks, staring round and trying to take it in.

  ‘That woman,’ Blowers says, pointing at Carol still pinned down by Blinky, ‘and…the other one…’

  ‘This one,’ Maddox says, standing a few metres away with Sarah, the girl with the bruise on her neck. ‘They said they were raped for food,’ Maddox says.

  ‘THEY DID,’ Carol screams from under Blinky. ‘THEYDIDTHEYDIDTHEYDID…’ she thrashes wildly, bucking and fighting to get free.

  Simon shouts out, writhing in agony from the gunshot in his stomach. Frankie sits up nursing a broken nose. Others clutch heads or stay down with wild eyes now full of fear and terror.

  ‘Jesus,’ Howie mutters, ‘right…so who did what to who?’

  ‘Shush,’ Marcy tries calming the woman pinned down by Blinky. ‘Please…stop shouting…we’ll help you but you’ve got to calm down…’

  ‘Don’t listen to ‘em,’ Frankie says, his voice nasal and muffled through his hands dripping blood.

  ‘They broke my finger,’ Frank exclaims, trying to hold his hand out.

  ‘Shut up, Frank…they shot Simon,’ a woman shouts.

  ‘We didn’t shoot him,’ Marcy says.

  ‘And they broke my nose,’ Frankie wails.

  ‘What happened?’ Maddox asks Sarah quietly, drawing her away to the side.

  She gasps for air, breathless from attacking the others and worn out from lack of food, sunlight and living in abject fear for so many days.

  ‘Hey,’ Paula says, moving to Maddox’s side. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’ve got this,’ Maddox tells Paula.

  ‘They…’ Sarah says, hesitant and quavering. ‘They…we were all here when it happened…saw it on telly and…Frank…I mean this is his…I work here, like in the bar. Carol too…place was busy but…like people saw the news and went home but Frank said we had to stay and work then Simon got here and said it was everywhere and…and Frank made everyone stay…’

  ‘Okay,’ Paula and Maddox say at the same time.

  ‘Fucking liars,’ Frankie mutters, ‘FUCKING LIARS…’

  ‘Shut up,’ Howie tells him.

  ‘Like…like we stayed and…’ Sarah swallows and draws breath, her voice settling as she speaks. ‘Like Frank’s mates, that lot and their wives were eating and drinking…the rest of just hung round cos we couldn’t go nowhere. Simon said they were in the town…Frank wouldn’t let anyone go out and…it went on for days and…we said about the horses but Frank wouldn’t let anyone open a door or…or even like move a curtain. We heard the horses. It was…so bad…and…’

  ‘Don’t listen to her,’ Frank says weakly. ‘Lying bitch…’

  ‘Keep going,’ Paula says.

  ‘What happened?’ Maddox asks.

  Sarah straightens, emboldened by talking and having people with guns listen and speak calmly. Like the police are here, the army, the authorities.

  ‘They got drunk,’ she says, louder and firmer now. ‘Every night. Got pissed up…played games and…’ she swallows. ‘Got worse. We was hungry. Kids needed food but Frank said we had to work for it. Frankie said it was his food and we had to clean and make meals…me and Carol had to stand behind the bar…got the kids doing it too. Made the kids pull pints when they should be sleepin’. Woke the kids up when they got pissed…started groping us…laughing like a joke. Carol got angry and slapped Frankie for touchin’ her up. Frankie walloped her didn’t he. He smacked her in the mouth…then he fucked her…’

  ‘LIAR…’

  ‘Raped her,’ Sarah says, glaring at Frankie. ‘In the bar in front of everyone…made me watch…then Simon had a go…’ the words carry dull and clear through the open space of the sand school. Every pair of ears listening. Even Carol goes silent to hang off the words.

  ‘Kept doing it,’ Sarah continues. ‘Had to do it for food. Had to do it for a drink. Wouldn’t let us wash. Wouldn’t let us go out…food ran out but they were too scared to go outside…made me and Carol go out for the foal and told us they’d kill the kids if we didn’t come back…’

  Silence. An absence of noise save for sound of breathing. Sarah shuffles to smooth her hair back with an act that shows the bruise on her neck.

  ‘Love bites,’ she says to Paula and Maddox. ‘Frankie likes biting…’ she tugs her arms free from the long sleeves to show her inner arms covered in the same marks then turns round as she pulls her top up to show red gauge marks up her back. ‘Frank’s wife
with a crop…’

  ‘You ungrateful little bitch,’ a woman with once bleached blond hair screeches.

  Sarah pulls her top down and faces the group. Silent and watchful, hurt and afraid yet with courage starting to show. ‘Can I have a gun please?’

  Paula swallows and looks away. Howie blinks and looks round.

  ‘I’d like a gun please,’ Sarah says politely, forcing her tone to stay calm but the tremble shows in her body. ‘You can have it back...I won’t nick it or anything…’

  ‘Point them out,’ Howie says so darkly it makes everyone else stiffen.

  ‘Frank, Frankie…Simon…’ Sarah names then in turn. Each shouting protests that she’s a liar, that she’s a bitch, that she stole money, food, made it up and was jealous.

  Nineteen in the group including Frank. Six are pointed out, leaving thirteen sullen, filthy starving others.

  ‘You got vehicles here?’ Howie asks.

  ‘Out the back,’ Sarah says.

  ‘Blinky, let her up now,’ Paula calls over.

  Carol rises to her feet. The rage vented enough for sense of mind to return. She stands shaken, pale and drawn. Blinky stays close, unobtrusive but watchful.

  ‘Take the vehicles, head south to Fort Spitbank…do you know it?’ Howie asks.

  ‘I do,’ another woman says, an older woman within the thirteen.

  ‘Can you find it from here?’ Paula asks.

  ‘I can.’

  ‘Is that true? What that woman said?’ Howie asks her.

  ‘All of it,’ the older woman says. ‘Sarah and Carol got it worse but…we all…’ she breaks off with a choking sob.

  ‘Paula, take these people outside. Find the vehicles and get them away. Everyone else outside apart from Dave…’

  ‘Howie,’ Marcy says.

  ‘Now, Marcy…’ Howie says quietly.

  ‘Come on,’ Paula says, ‘get them out.’

  Clarence pauses at the door with a pained look as he goes to say something then thinks better of it and walks out. The team glance back through the windows. Seeing Howie standing over the six with Marcy a few feet away and Dave behind them both.