The Undead Day Twenty

by RR Haywood

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yes. Try it.’

  ‘Um…yeah, yeah fuck it…’ Cookey says, twisting the top off.

  ‘What the fuck you doing?’ Blowers asks, pulling his top off.

  ‘Trying it,’ Cookey says, staring at the curved plastic plunger at the top of the bottle. He squints at the label then gingerly pushes the plunger down to squeeze a dollop of clear looking gel into his hand. ‘Argh it’s slimey…’

  ‘It’s lube you idiot,’ Nick says, laughing at him.

  ‘Smells nice,’ Cookey says, sniffing the gel in his hand.

  ‘Oh you are fucking gross,’ Blowers says, pulling a face at Cookey moving closer to the pile of goo in his hand. ‘Don’t…Cookey don’t…’

  ‘What? It’s flavoured…’

  ‘Yeah but, oh mate don’t…’

  ‘You can eat it,’ Cookey says, looking up at Blowers as he pokes his tongue out towards the goo.

  ‘Don’t look at me and lick it you fucking dick…’ Blowers protests.

  ‘Look at me,’ Cookey says in a mock deep sensual voice. ‘I am licking the lube Simon Blowers…’

  ‘Argh stop…you dirty fucker…Cookey…fucking stop it…’

  ‘Mmmmm,’ Cookey says, licking the lube while staring at Blowers. ‘It’s slimey…’

  ‘Oh you…something wrong with you…’ Blowers grimaces and turns away but can’t help looking back while Nick and Mo laugh in delight.

  ‘You want the lube Simon Blowers,’ Cookey purrs.

  ‘Stop that voice…just…oh mate that’s gross…’

  Cookey licks the lube. A long languorous lick that brings a big dollop into his mouth with the sensation of oily goo. He gags, yacks and spits with his face screwing up in distaste.

  ‘You twat,’ Blowers says, bursting out laughing.

  ‘S’fucking gross,’ Cookey bleats. ‘Argh so gross…Charlie! It’s gross…’

  ‘Can’t believe you did that,’ Nick says, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

  ‘Well,’ Cookey says dully, standing up to look down at the dropped tube of lube. ‘I ain’t licking that off your willy, Blowers…’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Cookey,’ Blowers groans.

  The three women laugh at the sound of Cookey, smiling and shaking heads as they reach an open chiller cabinet filled with bottles, cans, snack food and sealed packets of now mouldy sandwiches.

  ‘Water?’ Marcy asks at the sound of Cookey gagging.

  ‘Yeah cheers,’ Paula says.

  ‘Charles?’ Marcy asks, using the name Blinky called her with a smile.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Natural daylight fills the café and spills down the long aisle into the front of the store. The strength of light wanes over that distance but gives enough illumination for the lads to see what they are doing as they start stripping down and going through their kit. That light finds it harder to reach the back of the store. The display units, shelves and columns all work to block and prevent the spillage of that light which in turn, plunges the rear of the store into a darker area of shadows. Paula, Marcy and Charlie hardly notice it. It’s entirely natural for them to move from light to shadow and they think nothing of it. Instead, they unscrew the lids from the bottles of water and take sips while wearing new dry clothes and with skin freshly cleansed and moisturised. Marcy lowers the bottle as a flash of a strobe effect of light crosses her eyes. She blinks and looks to see the end of the glass fronted perfume counter across the way. That reminds her of her desire to have perfume and so, while sipping, she looks down the row of perfumes on display with her eyes travelling the distance of the cabinet.

  Movement catches her eye. She tenses, unsure of what she is seeing then instantly relaxing as she realises it’s the reflection of the lads changing. Almost a mirror quality reflection too.

  Paula sees Marcy staring and looks in the same direction to see what she is looking at. She too spots the perfumes and in an absent-minded manner of passing the time, she looks down the cabinet until the same movement catches her eye. A blink and her eyes process what the image she is seeing of the lads near the front changing.

  Charlie sees both Marcy and Paula engrossed in staring at something so she shuffles a pace to follow the direction of their eyes to the perfume counter. She focusses to see what’s on display and sips her water. The movement catches her eye. She frowns and looks further down to see the reflected image.

  A moment in time is captured in seeing something through reflection rather than directly with the naked eye. And naked they are too. Well almost anyway.

  Five young men with lean hard bodies who strip tops off to show flat defined stomachs and shoulders of muscularity and arms shaped just so. Of long legs defined with muscles and strong jaws.

  It becomes like something from a soft drinks advert. Soldiers marked with grime and dirt stripped down to underwear as they laugh and joke and use wet wipes to rub those smudges away.

  It’s not the lads they watch. It’s not Blowers, Cookey, Nick, Maddox and Mo. The identity of them is removed. The association of knowing them drops away. That none of them linger their eyes on Mo is left unspoken because they don’t speak. They are each removed from the desperation of this time and taken to a place, for a few seconds, where the admiration can be taken without offence or perversion.

  What they see is Blowers’ strong arms packed with muscle from the years of boxing that have honed and shaped his biceps and triceps up to his shoulders and formed striations across his chest.

  What they see is the bulge of the muscles in Maddox’s defined stomach and the way those muscles bunch and stretch as he stretches and twists to clean himself with the wipes.

  They see Cookey’s frame, lean and hard without an ounce of fat showing and the contrast between his light skin tone to that of Maddox. Both defined, both hardened and so different but so similar in shape. That contrast of skin colour mesmerises them for a second, captivating and forgetting where they are and what they are doing.

  As one, the three women glance to Nick. Taller than the others and that extra height brings a symmetry to his shape and frame. His wide shoulders just starting to bulk with muscle and so broad too. They take in his arms, chest and stomach and his easy quick smile that flashes as someone makes a joke. Nick is the Diet-Coke advert. Paula blinks, Marcy swallows and Charlie sighs all without knowing they do so.

  ‘She’s a lucky girl,’ Marcy whispers with a voice giving sound to the thoughts in her head of Lilly.

  ‘She is,’ Paula whispers back, caught in the same thought process.

  ‘Very,’ Charlie whispers.

  The bubble pops. The realisation of voyeurism as Marcy suddenly blushes and turns away. Paula blasts air and looks down to read the label on the bottle of water as Charlie shakes her head and turns on the spot to stare at the range of baby feed bowls.

  They start chuckling. Low and embarrassed with glances to each other that set them off more as the laughing becomes louder at the way they caught themselves doing something naughty. Marcy makes a point of leaning to look down at the glass again and adds a sigh that sets the other two off.

  ‘What they laughing at?’ Cookey asks, pulling on his new trousers.

  ‘Probably you eating that lube,’ Nick says, fastening his belt then working to get the pistol holster in the right place.

  Blowers turns to bend over. His frame clad only in boxers as he unknowingly presents his arse towards the perfume counter. A split second later the sound of three women laughing floats down.

  ‘You alright?’ Nick calls out.

  ‘Fine! Yep fine,’ someone shouts down, the voice somewhat strangled and choked from laughing.

  Now is the time for Maddox to bridge that gap. He could make a comment, an observation or a simple passing remark on how nice it is to be clean and wearing new clothes. He could at least try and deep down he knows that first step will be rejected but in time he will be accepted. However, what he also notices is that he is now losing his identity eve
n more than before. The clothes he wore were his own and he maintained a difference of appearance to the others. Now he is wearing the same as them. Black trousers and a black wicking top. He has uniformity which to him is a step into being what they are.

  So he doesn’t offer to bridge that gap. Instead, he scowls and feels the isolation growing more profound until finally, they are all dressed and his last shred of pride feels lost and gone.

  The lads head back down the aisle, leaving Mo to resume his serious work of sentry and guard to the three inside the store. Blowers, Cookey and Nick each offered to take over for a bit but he stated he was happy enough to stay.

  ‘We up?’ Clarence calls out, seeing the lads stroll back down.

  ‘Yep,’ Blowers says, giving a thumbs up.

  ‘Got lube,’ Cookey says, showing them the tube in his hands.

  ‘Got a longbow,’ Roy says, still eager to show them what it can do.

  Clarence looks at Howie and the worry shows in the big man’s eyes. The energy is pouring off Howie. The disquiet of mind. The unsettled nerves that long to be running and fighting and doing anything instead of sitting still. Clarence knows Howie is doing this because everyone else needs the downtime to decompress and the day is already long. The afternoon has given way to evening and soon the twilight will come. They’ll get their kit and move off to find somewhere for the night. He rises from his chair, thinking to find a time later to broach the subject of what happened, or ask Paula or Marcy to do it tonight. Probably Marcy. She’ll be the best one when they take first watch. One thought leads to another and he smiles at his bag now full of horse treats ready for the Second Watch Biscuit Club.

  ‘We’re going up,’ Clarence calls out to the lads at the front. The five men walk up the aisle. One huge. One holding a longbow. One dark and brooding. One small and pushing his glasses up his nose and one other small man that shows no outward expression as he spots Mo standing sentry.

  Mo spots Dave and almost comes to attention. Visibly straightening to stand taller at the sight of the five elders heading towards him. These men hold power. An aura of capability surrounds them. The lads are tough, Marcy and Paula are exceptional but these men are the core. Roy suits being with them. Reginald too. The five have a presence that seems to silence any noise save for the tread of their feet and the rustle of bags and kit. Nobody can kill Dave. Nobody can outthink Reginald. Nobody can match Clarence for strength. Nobody can fire a bow like Roy and nobody will ever come close to Mr Howie.

  They nod and smile at Mo. A few gentle words spoken that lift him inches until Clarence pats him on the shoulder and drives him back down.

  That aura goes with them into the store and the mood, that only a minute ago was jovial and child-like in humour, grows serious and meaningful.

  ‘You okay?’ Marcy asks, looking directly at Howie.

  ‘Fine,’ he says, ‘you?’

  ‘Yeah fine.’

  ‘Roy,’ Paula says, smiling at him then at Clarence then back at Roy and moving quickly to hide the slight fluster she suddenly feels inside.

  ‘I fired my longbow,’ Roy says, smiling happily.

  ‘Oh,’ Paula says. ‘Er, any good?’

  ‘Very good,’ Clarence booms. ‘Took a sign off at the fittings.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Paula says.

  ‘Perhaps I will go and check on Jess,’ Charlie says, as polite as ever in the astute sensing of a feeling of imposition at the dynamics changing so quickly.

  ‘You okay, Charlie?’ Howie asks as the girl goes past.

  ‘Yes, fine, thank you, Mr Howie.’

  ‘Charlie?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

  ‘Maddox was wrong in what he said…’

  ‘I should not have broken that man’s finger,’ Charlie replies quickly, firmly and dipping her eyes in apology as she speaks.

  ‘Not now,’ Paula cuts in. ‘We’ll discuss it later but Charlie? Do not worry. You’re fine, okay?’

  ‘Thank you,’ she says, nodding respectfully and seemingly hesitating as though waiting to see if Mr Howie is happy for her to go.

  ‘Catch you in a minute,’ Howie says. ‘Right, we got new kit then? Is that lube?’

  ‘Yeah it was er…just a joke for the lads,’ Marcy says.

  ‘Howie, this is yours,’ Paula explains, ‘Clarence…yours is the huge pile…Roy, this is yours, Dave…yours is right there next to Reggie’s. We’ll leave you to get changed…Marce, can you grab that empty bag please love, we’ll empty that drinks cabinet while we’re here.’

  The two walk off back to the gloom at the rear as the five start dropping kit to undress and clean. Reginald, being a sensitive soul, takes his to the other side of a shelving unit for a degree of privacy while the others disrobe where they are without shame or worry.

  ‘Tense,’ Marcy whispers, holding the bag open for Paula to load with bottled drinks.

  ‘Just a bit,’ Paula whispers back. She glances up over Marcy’s shoulder to the perfume section and the reflection of Clarence and Roy cleaning themselves with wipes. She pauses, growing still as Marcy clocks the way her eyes flick left and right. Marcy turns to look and spots the two men as Paula resumes loading the bag.

  ‘You okay?’ Marcy asks, glancing back at Paula.

  ‘Fine,’ Paula says.

  Marcy stares at the reflection and finds Howie in the view but even with the intimacy of her relationship with him it somehow still feels wrong to be looking. ‘Strange days,’ she mumbles, turning back to look at Paula.

  ‘You sound like Howie,’ Paula remarks.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Marcy says. ‘So you fancy Clarence then?’

  Paula freezes again. Her left hand in the cabinet. Her right in the bag held by Marcy. A look of panic steals across her face. An imploring look up at Marcy who flinches and edges closer.

  ‘Wow,’ Marcy whispers, lowering down to make extra sure no one can hear them. ‘I was only joking…’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, haha, funny,’ Paula tries to laugh it off but the words stumble out awkward and weird.

  ‘Oh my god, Paula…you fancy Clarence?’

  ‘I’m not thirteen, Marcy,’ Paula says stiffly.

  ‘Still a woman though,’ Marcy retorts. ‘Does he know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘Paula,’ Marcy says in such a way it tells Paula she thinks she is talking shit.

  ‘No,’ Paula groans, receiving the stop talking shit message loud and clear.

  ‘Christ, Dave. You done already?’ Howie’s voice floats back to them.

  ‘Yes, Mr Howie,’ Dave’s dull tone comes a second later.

  Paula huffs and turns to plonk her arse down on the front ledge of the drinks cabinet. A can of Coke Cola in her hand. The full sugar one too. She pops the cap, lets the bubbles rise and takes a long drink before offering the can to Marcy.

  ‘Share?’

  ‘Ta,’ Marcy says, taking the can as she plonks down next to Paula.

  They share the can of coke, listening to the deep voice of Clarence and the others all making conversation as they change. Marcy goes to say something but Paula waves her hand.

  ‘We’re done,’ Howie calls up.

  ‘Okay,’ Paula calls down. ‘We’ll be down in a minute…got a few more bits to get.’

  ‘Need a hand?’ Clarence asks making Marcy smile mischievously as Paula slaps her leg.

  ‘No, we’re fine, thanks, Clarence.’

  ‘Mo’s still on the door,’ Howie transmits as he walks out with the others.

  ‘Yep, thanks,’ Paula radios back.

  ‘So?’ Marcy asks into the silence that follows. ‘Wanna talk?’

  Twenty-One

  ‘Charlie, you come inside, love,’

  ‘On way…are we here for a while? I’ll leave Jess out if we are…it’s too hot in the horsebox if we’re not moving.’

  She never imagined they would be like this and to hear them talk is weird. Nice but weird. She glances at the radio in the central console then acro
ss to Paco who, in the last few minutes, has suddenly discovered his fingertips are the perfect size for shoving up his nose.

  ‘Stop it,’ she says, reaching over to pull his right hand down as his left hand comes up to continue the exploration. ‘Paco, stop it. You’ll make it bleed.’

  Paco leaves his nose alone and smiles at Heather. ‘Ether.’

  ‘What?’ she asks, glancing ahead to the road then back at him.

  ‘Ether.’

  ‘Yes, what?’

  ‘Ether.’

  ‘Yep.’

  She decided to drive round the town rather than going through it. She did consider driving through and accidentally bumping into them again, then maybe stopping for a bit and you know, just hang around and chat with Paula and stuff. Then she worried it would be obvious and weird so she navigated the Toyota off the slip road and into the country lanes that fed round the town towards the big hill on the far side. Now she drives steady with her left hand resting on the top of the steering wheel and her right hanging out the window to feel the air rushing by. She should close the windows to make the air-con work better but it’s nice to feel the hot air blasting over her arm.

  ‘Zade.’

  ‘You’ve had loads.’

  ‘Ether…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Zade.’

  ‘No. You’ve had too many.’

  ‘Ether…zade…’

  ‘Paco I said no…actually, know what? You’re a grown adult so if you want Lucozade you can have Lucozade…’ she reaches back to rummage through the bag as he grins widely with an expression that makes her chuckle.

  She hands the bottle to him. He takes it but finds her holding on. He looks at the bottle then at her as she lifts an eyebrow.

  ‘Zade…’

  ‘Yep.’

  He tries to pull it gently from her hand but she holds on. He frowns, puzzled and trying so hard to understand what he is required to do. That expression brings forth a rush of guilt that she’s treating him like a child and he’s not a child. His behaviour is sometimes child-like but he is a man. A grown adult and a very dangerous one at that. As she sends the signal from her brain to her hand to release the bottle so he suddenly grins.