The Undead Day Seventeen

by RR Haywood

  ‘Bro? You get me? Innit?’ I say and hold my fist out towards him.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Don’t we fist bump or something?’

  ‘We can if you want,’ he stares at the fist then grins and laughs with an expression that changes his features completely. ‘S’fucked up,’ he pushes his fist against mine.

  ‘Innit blood, but seriously…don’t people do fist bumps?’

  ‘In America they do, Mr Howie. Not where I came from.’

  ‘Oh okay, so we can’t do fist bumps then?’

  ‘Er, not really.’

  ‘High fives? How about that high five thing that goes on for like ten minutes and ends with a hug or something?’

  He stares at me deadpan, ‘hug? You want to hug?’

  ‘Awkward,’ I laugh, ‘come on, that shit stinks.’

  We head through the house and out the front to the waiting Saxon.

  ‘Hey she’s back,’ I call out at the sight of Clarence jammed in the hole while fitting the GPMG.

  ‘She is,’ he calls out then looks at Mo Mo, ‘you alright?’

  ‘Yeah fine, cheers,’ Mo Mo nods as he heads towards the lads smoking at the back.

  A minute later and we’re back where we have always been. Me in the driving seat with Clarence up front and the rear filled with the chatting team. Eleven of us plus the dog which is why Clarence is up the front as he wouldn’t fit in the back.

  ‘We need a bigger Saxon,’ Nick calls out, ‘and it’s fucking hot in here.’

  ‘Leave the back doors open,’ I call back.

  ‘Is that safe?’ Reginald asks, ‘and where are the seatbelts?’

  The chat is lost to me as the big engines sputter to life and the heavy vehicle vibrates as though awakening from a deep sleep. It feels strange having no direction and no vital objective to undertake. A free day within which we can do whatever we want, and not just today but from now on. The fort was our promised land and it still stands. Maddox can fix the outer wall and get it back running as it should be but that’s not our concern now. We got the doctors, and as valued as they are with giving medical aid, they can’t help with the infection or tell us why some of us are immune and why Marcy and Reginald are no longer what they were.

  So many questions. So much to find out and understand and no bloody clue with where to start but the pressing urgency is to find food and eat.

  I navigate the roads full of the debris from the storm and soon we’re out and on the open coast road with rolling fields bordering one side and the glorious sweeping bays on the other. It’s stunning. Truly beyond words and the contrast to the carnage we have seen staggers me to the core. It’s hot, it must be the end of July and August will soon be here and if the world hadn’t of ended the news stations would be full of the amazing summer that no doubt would be the hottest since records began. Or is it because of the end of the world that this weather is so good?

  Today will be a down day. Food and clothes. After that we’ll start trying to work out where to look for answers and where to go.

  We pass signs for towns indicated as being a few miles from the coast but I head further along the coast road and away from the area we’ve come to know so well and somehow, putting distance between us and the fort feels right.

  An hour of quiet driving, lost in my own thoughts and as I glance to Clarence I can see him dozing with his head resting against the back of the seat and his long legs stretched out as far as the gap allows. We crest a long hill and there, stretched out beneath us is a glorious seaside town complete with a pier stretching into the sea. It looks white and beautiful with a sandy beach adorning the long sweeping bay. The pier isn’t particularly long but it’s distinctive and even from here the thick black stilts are visible.

  A place like that must have cafes, restaurants and places to find food and with hope the residents would have been the ones sent against us in the days before and the place will be empty.

  I head down the hill that snakes through the winding countryside bordering the town. Rock walls start to show and detached cottage farm houses that once serviced the land. We hit the bigger houses on the outskirts a few minutes later and even I can hear the chat has dwindled in the back as everyone stares either out the front or the open back doors.

  ‘Hang on,’ Nick shouts, ‘can you go back?’

  ‘What for?’ I slow down as we pass a petrol station on the edge of a small industrial section filled with the standard shitty looking units.

  ‘Sign back there said there was an outdoors unit.’

  ‘Well spotted, Nicholas,’ Clarence goes from dozing to wide awake. He rubs his face and yawns noisily while I come to a stop and consider trying to turn this huge beast in a normal street or simply reverse back. I go for the turn and knock out a garden fence and a low wall in the process, much to the delight of those in the back.

  ‘Down there,’ Clarence points to a side road. I turn in and we stare at the passing units still boarded and locked up. Within the town now and the storm damage is obvious with fallen trees and even a chimney stack lying across the road but for once we don’t see any bodies.

  ‘Goodmans,’ Clarence reads the sign above the shuttered front. Goodmans outdoor store.

  ‘Shutters,’ I point through the windscreen, ‘drag ‘em off?’

  ‘Might as well,’ he says and opens the door to drop down. Everyone gets out to stretch legs while I turn round to bring the back up against the metal shutters.

  ‘It’s open,’ Nick shouts, ‘no padlock.’

  ‘Eh?’ I lean out of the open driver’s door.

  ‘I said it’s already open,’ Nick says as he drops down and heaves the shutter up. It rolls easily on well-oiled hinges with a loud clacking noise like a train going past.

  I look at the sign above the door and the graffiti spray painted on there, it looks weird, like a road sign. A red circle with a vertical white line across the middle.

  'SHIT...no!'

  'What?' Nick spins at my warning, the shutter clatters to the top and they come spilling out. Meredith, squatting on the floor taking a piss whips round with lightning speed to charge at the thick horde coming from the doorway. Totally unprepared and only pistols on our belts with the assault rifles and axes in the Saxon.

  'Blowers...Cookey....' I charge forward and barrel into the horde, aiming for one and I punch him back into the doorway while he bends forward at the waist trying to bite me. The team scatter back from the ones already free from the door. Dave with knives in his hands rips through them with ease. Meredith takes two down within seconds while Clarence sends a huge fist into the head of another.

  Blowers and Cookey join me pushing at the one in the doorway to prevent the others getting out. A thin built adult male with teeth gnashing and snarling with drool flying about. Blowers punches his head while Cookey draws his knife and stabs repeatedly into his stomach and chest.

  'Throat....duck...'

  Blowers and I turn away as Cookey whispers the blade across the throat. Blood spurts thick down his chest and he gets ripped downwards and out of our grip by Meredith seizing his ankle between her teeth and pulling him back.

  'No,' I gasp and try to pull him back but she digs her paws in and yanks her head side to side with a vicious ragging motion that throws him clear from us.

  'Move!' Mo Mo bellows and we dive down to the sides as he lets rip with the rifle on automatic. Bullets fly over our heads and into the dense bodies of the undead still trying to get back out.

  ‘CEASEFIRE,' Dave roars. Mo Mo complies and quickly drops to one knee to change magazine, 'let them out,' Dave adds with a knife in each hand.

  The three of us by the door scrabble away to avoid the mass charge spewing out. The first one is taken out by Meredith launching from the side and probably having the time of her life. I run to the Saxon, vault the back steps and get to the front to draw my axe. By the time I free the double head from being jammed under the seat, turn round and jump down they're pretty muc
h all dead save for one crawler that gets her throat cut by Dave.

  'Oh,' I stand impotently and stare round at the dead bodies, 'did Dave get them all?'

  'Him, Mo Mo and the dog,' Clarence says, ' I think I punched one and Cookey did that one in the doorway.'

  'Fuck,' I say with a big sigh, 'that was a shower of shit. Not one of us had a weapon ready.'

  'I did.'

  'Apart from Dave none of us had a weapon ready and who the fuck puts zombies in an outdoor supply shop?...and who the fucks paints a sodding no entry sign above the door but doesn't write the words or put a sign up saying there are zombies in here....who does that?'

  'We had our pistols,' Nick says defensively.

  'Complacency is a killer,' I say reproachfully, 'we need to switch on.'

  'Seven P's,' Cookey says.

  'Seriously though, why are there zombies in that shop? Marcy?'

  'How would I know?'

  'You were a zombie once.'

  'Not funny,' she says with a scowl at me.

  'Explains the lack of bodies,' Paula says.

  'Eh?' Blowers asks.

  'No bodies,' she motions round at the ground nearby, 'none on the way in either. Didn't you notice that?'

  'Like I said,' I say after a few seconds of awkward silence, 'complacency is a killer. Anything left in there?' Stepping over the bloody bodies and I have to stop as Meredith trots past with an arm dangling from her mouth and runs back to where she was pissing before to once again squat down and finish the job.

  'She does that,' Mo Mo says to Reginald staring aghast at the sight.

  'You were quick mate, well done,' I say over my shoulder to the youngest member of our team.

  'Nicely done, Mo,' Clarence says.

  'Urgh it fucking stinks,' into the doorway I pause and take a breath from outside before stepping fully in to see the shelves and racks are empty, 'cleared out,' I add as I get outside wafting my hand under my nose to rid the smell.

  'All of it?' Marcy asks and pokes her head in only to pull it back within a second, 'I'll take your word for it,' she grimaces and walks further away.

  'Mr Howie, that's got the same sign on it,' Nick points across the service road to a bigger unit sealed up with the same shuttered front. A sign above the shutters proudly states that they are the cheapest sign makers in the town and blazoned across the front is another hand painted no entry sign.

  'Sign on a sign on a sign makers,' Roy chuckles, 'are we doing it?'

  'Doing what?' I ask him.

  'Opening it?'

  'Er...dunno, do you want it opened?' I ask him.

  'Well,' he says thoughtfully, 'we're a nice distance away, Dave could try the bow out...for if he has to kill me...later...if one of us turns.'

  'Fair point, yeah alright then...Clarence, do you want to show Marcy and Reginald how to shoot? I'll go let them out.'

  'I beg your pardon?' Reginald asks with a look of absolute fright on his face.

  'Shoot mate, fire the rifles...'

  'Good god no! I cannot think of anything worse than...shooting a firearm. Oh my word, is this the plan? To bolster your ranks with foot soldiers? Using us as cannon fodder to cull the living challenged...oh I cannot fire a weapon surely I cannot.'

  'Okay okay,' I wave my hand at him to stop the rising panic.

  'Marcy?' Clarence asks.

  'Are you being serious?' She looks at Clarence then over at me, 'I was infected...both Reggie and I were infected.'

  'Yeah, we know.'

  'So why the hell are you giving us guns? Maddox was right, how the hell have you stayed alive?'

  'We got a Dave and a Clarence,' Cookey says, 'and a Meredith.'

  'What if I turn the gun on all of you? How can you trust me?'

  We all look at each other blankly.

  'You just said complacency kills,' she says with a voice rising in volume, 'I was one of them,' she points to the bodies on the floor, 'I am with you to find out what this...this...this...' She waves her hand to motion between us all, 'all means...'

  We all carry on looking at each other blankly.

  'So you want to shoot or not?' Clarence asks as Marcy's mouth hangs open.

  'You do get used to it,' Paula says, 'the way they act I mean. You do adjust.'

  'I was infected,' Marcy says again, 'Darren turned me and...'

  'They'd kill you instantly if they didn't trust you,' Paula says quietly, 'and even with a machine gun in your hands you won't be faster than Dave.'

  'What if I shoot him first?'

  'Here,' Clarence ejects the magazine from his assault rifle and racks the bolt to eject the round in the chamber before holding it out for Marcy, 'take it, it's not loaded.'

  'What for?'

  'Take it and point it at Dave. Do it as fast as you can.'

  She looks to the side at Dave standing with his arms hanging casually at his sides and not a flicker of expression on his face, 'Dave,' Clarence says, 'just to prove a point okay?'

  Dave doesn't reply but just stands mute and watchful. Marcy hesitates then slowly reaches out to take the rifle, as her hand touches the stock she turns to look at Dave and not seeing any movement she frowns and gently lifts the weapon away from Clarence's grip. Still he doesn't move. She lowers the barrel to aim the weapon at the ground then slowly turns to face the small man.

  'And?' She asks with a glance round at Paula and Clarence.

  'You haven't pointed it at him yet,' Clarence says quietly.

  'Its inches,' Marcy breathes, 'I can lift it inches before...' She lifts the rifle and whereas Dave was not holding a pistol he simply is holding a pistol now and aimed perfectly and unwaveringly at Marcy. With her barrel still pointing down she pauses, freezing mid swing then blinks several times. 'Okay,' she nods a shallow nod, 'I understand.'

  'Now turn round,' Clarence says.

  'Why? Oh...' She stares at the weapons all aimed perfectly and unwaveringly at her head. Not a sound made or a motion given away but every pair of hands holds a weapon. The joking is gone. The humour vanished and the eyes of killers stare her into the ground. Every single one of them stares with dark brooding eyes. Mo Mo is not a child right now and the lads show the eyes of men much older than their true years. She smiles nervously but not a mouth twitches in response.

  She looks over at me. I'm the only one not holding an assault rifle, just my axe resting over my shoulder and I see the understanding in her eyes. She's seen us fight before and knows perfectly well what we can do. She was with Darren when we slaughtered their hordes and this serves to remind her exactly who we are.

  'Relax,' I call out in a low voice and as one the weapons are lowered and the tension evaporates instantly. 'I'll go let them out...Nick hold the dog back if Marcy is going to practise shooting.'

  'Will do,' he says cheerily and makes a lunge for the dog who growls at the thought of the arm being taken from her.

  We do come across like a bunch of idiots, I muse as I cross the road. It feels weird having Marcy so close. Like she has to be close. That it's ordained or pre-ordained or whatever the saying is, and I know I'm not the only one that feels like that. The team treat her normally despite everything that's happened. We all feel it. This connection. This bond. What the hell does it mean? Even Meredith treats her like normal and the weariness she showed Reginald before is gone and now she just plain ignores him. I think she could sense his fear of her and in turn that made her nervous of him.

  Now here we are, in a seaside town about to kill more undead while Clarence hands her a fully loaded military assault rifle to aim in my direction. Yeah, suddenly this doesn't feel such a good idea. I glance back as though to smile and offer a prayer of thanks at the subtle nod Dave gives me while he positions himself behind Marcy being shown how to handle the weapon by Clarence.

  The shutter is the same as before and pushed down with a clasp but not locked. I look up at the sign and take in the precision of the lines of the circle and the neatness of it. Good paint has been used too.
The red is bright and obvious and the white line stark and crisp. Someone has taken time and effort to do this and manhandling bunches of zombies into enclosed spaces isn't easy either. Come to think of it, how would you do that? Unless you lured them and had an exit out the back with someone else ready to pull the shutters down.

  I turn back to the team and see them spread out in a long line and Nick firmly holding Meredith back. Marcy holds the weapon somewhat awkwardly and Dave now holds Roy's bow with an arrow notched ready to be drawn back. Roy stands at his side seemingly talking about archery stuff. I bloody hope Dave can ditch that bow and get a pistol up if Marcy does decide to kill me. Mind you, she's had plenty of chances by now.

  Oh well, in for a penny in for a pound, 'ready?' I call out and get the affirmations both verbal and nodding in return. Then, just for the hell of it I bang a few times on the shutter to get them pumped up. In response I hear an audible groaning rising from within. I lower the axe ready and flick the clasp free with my toes then after one quick glance back I bend over and yank the shutter up before legging it off to the side.

  A few clear steps and the lack of firing has me stopping to turn and see the shutter has rolled back down. Sheepishly I go back, grasp the bottom and heave it properly this time before legging it away. It clatters up and the entrance is thick with undead, starved, emaciated and looking ready to fall down. They must have been in there for bloody ages but they come flying out as fast as ever with wild red bloodshot eyes, clawed hands and mouths drooling with saliva. A rancid stench precedes their arrival. An intense smell of decay and rotting flesh, of putrid breath and shit all mingled with stale body odour. Meredith gives voice and strains to be let go.

  Keeping my axe held ready I move steadily back to be well away from any missed shots. One out front. A big woman that would have once had a mane of red hair. Now it hangs limp and greasy with great bald patches showing on her mottled scalp. These undead have been in that place for days, maybe weeks. Paler and thin but they’re still alive and it makes me wonder how long they’ll stay alive. A normal living person couldn’t survive that long without food or water. Their skin is sucked tight over their bones showing that every last drop of moisture has been drawn to keep them functioning but still they produce saliva that hangs like that from an old dog.