by RR Haywood
‘No!’
‘But be honest…were you vain?’
‘No…not vain…vain isn’t the right word.’
‘Yes it is. You were vain.’
‘I was not vain.’
‘Conceited then.’
‘No,’ she whines but looks away when she says it, ‘I wasn’t conceited and like…full of myself but…’
‘Ha! Knew it. You were so vain.’
‘Yes alright I was vain. Happy now?’
‘Blissfully.’
‘Thanks,’ she says scornfully, ‘but I wasn’t a bitch.’
‘How can you be vain and not be a bitch?’
‘Like I wasn’t a bitch to girls that weren’t as pre…’
‘Not as pretty?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘Not as pretty?’
‘Stop saying it like that…’
‘You said it. You said other girls that weren’t as pretty. Give me your pistol,’ I grunt.
‘Here, I didn’t mean it like to say girls weren’t as pretty as me but…just that I wasn’t a bitch if a girl wasn’t as pretty as me.’
‘So vain,’ I eject the magazine from her pistol and pull a fresh one from my pocket.
‘You are horrible. You know that?’
‘Vain.’
‘Horrible.’
‘Here, safety is off.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Try aiming better next time.’
‘Oh sorry I haven’t had as much practise as you.’
‘No worries, you preferred your teeth when you were murdering.’
‘Howie!’
‘What? You did.’
‘Pack it in.’
‘Vain.’
‘What is your problem with me?’
‘My problem? Seriously, Marcy? You killed like…’
‘Yes I know full well what I did but that isn’t it.’
‘Isn’t it? Yes it bloody is. It so is,’ she stares at me so knowingly I have to get angrier to enforce the point, ‘it is,’ I exclaim, ‘really is.’
‘Okay,’ she looks away with a roll of her eyes.
‘It is,’ I say again.
‘You were eating spam off my bloody finger five minutes ago,’ she snaps, ‘now you’re back to being a dick.’
‘What?’ I say incredulously.
‘I said,’ she says through gritted teeth, ‘that you were eating spam from my finger five minutes ago…remember that? Sucking my finger?’
‘Was hungry.’
‘Yeah right.’
‘I don’t fancy you.’
‘Who said you fancied me?’
‘You did.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘You did.’
‘You mentioned it. I never said it.’
‘I don’t fancy you…I don’t!’
‘Okay, you haven’t got to keep saying it.’
‘Good. As long as we are clear.’
‘Clear as day.’
‘Good.’
‘You don’t fancy me.’
‘No.’
‘So why do you keep glancing down then?’
‘Oh fuck off, Marcy. They’re bouncing about and…’
‘And what?’
‘Stop laughing at me.’
‘I’m not laughing at you. I’m just laughing.’
‘They’re bloody massive and bouncing about and soaking wet…I can’t not look.’
‘But you don’t fancy me.’
‘No!’
‘Just my boobs.’
‘Yes! No…fuck off.’
‘It’s okay, Howie. You can look if you want.’
‘Piss off. I won’t look again.’
‘You would have kissed me if they hadn’t come.’
‘WHAT?’
‘You so would,’ she shoots me an accusing look, ‘you were going to kiss me.’
‘I was not. You were going to kiss me.’
‘Oh no, no no no…’
‘You were puckering up.’
‘Puckering up?’
‘Puckering up. Like…like you did before.’
‘When you dry humped my leg?’
‘Oh for the love of…please…please…I did not dry hump your fucking leg.’
‘Stop swearing at me!’
‘I am not fucking swearing at you. I am fucking swearing generally and because some massive fucking bloke just beat the shit out of me and now I’m trapped in a fucking bathroom with a vain cow and her massive boobs who is accusing me of dry humping her leg and saying I was about to kiss her after she jammed her finger in my mouth…’
‘Howie…’
‘So swearing is being done to alleviate the pressure of the situation and not being done to offend you but fuck me if it isn’t the end of the world and I think you should be able to cope with someone fucking swearing and..’
‘Howie, stop ranting.’
‘But fucking...’ I was going to keep ranting but the look she gives me reminds me of Dave when he says I was ranting. ‘Sorry,’ I apologise with a huff.
‘Don’t be.’
‘Dave says I rant sometimes.’
‘Does he?’
‘Yeah and sometimes, like…and this is going to sound really stupid but…’
‘But what?’
‘Nothing.’
‘No what?’
‘It’ll sound stupid.’
‘We’ll be dead in a minute.’
‘Fair one. Sometimes I think Dave can hear my thoughts.’
She stares at me for long seconds then blinks just once, ‘yeah,’ she says, ‘that does sound stupid.’
‘Thanks for the support.’
‘Hear your thoughts?’
‘Marcy, you had a fucking hive mind with a shit ton of zombies.’
‘I did but Dave? Really, Howie?’
‘Sometimes,’ I try and shrug but being wedged against the toilet prevents the full effect of the motion. We’re getting drenched from the burst pipe and my legs are burning with pain.
‘I know I’m thinking shit and he hears it. Like, he comments on what I was thinking when I didn’t say it loud but…’
‘Maybe you did say it loud.’
‘No…the first…maybe the first few times but then I know I was thinking other times and he…’
‘You must have been talking out loud,’ she decides.
‘I hadn’t finished saying what I was going to say,’ I say pointedly.
‘Go on then,’ she says after a pause when I don’t continue.
‘I did finish but you still cut me off.’
‘My god you are so touchy.’
‘I am not touchy.’
‘I never thought you were like this, really I didn’t.’
‘Like what?’
‘Touchy and abusive.’
‘Abusive? I am not abusive.’
‘You’ve been abusing me all day.’
‘Yeah but don’t say it like that. I am not an abuser.’
‘I never said you were an abuser…’
‘Saying I am abusive is saying I am an abuser.’
‘Okay, wrong word. You’re not an abuser. Sorry, I didn’t mean that way.’
‘Honestly, I’m not an abuser…I’d never be like that…’ My voice trails off as a fresh burst of pain shoots through my legs, up my spine and into my neck.
She looks at me with worry then suddenly grits her teeth as though in pain too.
‘What? You okay?’ I ask quickly.
‘Yeah just…bit of cramp.’
‘Where?’
‘Left leg.’
‘Thigh or calf?’
‘Thigh.’
‘Can I do anything?’ I reach down and get my hands onto the solid muscle of her upper left leg and start rubbing it, ‘any good?’
‘Yeah…’ she winces again, ‘harder…’
‘Here?’ I drive the points of my thumbs into the muscles and rub back and forth as the clamouring from outside only gets louder and the
pressure increases by the minute.
‘That’s good,’ she groans in pleasure, ‘you’ve got strong hands.’
‘Does it still hurt?’
‘If I say no will you stop rubbing?’
‘Er…’
‘No then…really hurts so keep rubbing.’
My legs tremble and shake and the pain brings tears to my eyes.
‘Hey,’ she says imploring me to look, ‘don’t bloody stop…it’s cramping again.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Ah that’s better…bit higher.’
‘Here?’
‘Yeah, bit higher…that’s it…keep going up.’
‘Where?’ I wince and grit my teeth but focus on rubbing the front of her thigh that feels so warm beneath my hands.
‘In a bit…’
‘In?’ I ask and try to work my hands towards her inner thigh.
‘And up…go up,’ she urges, ‘up a bit more.’
I work the muscle round to the inside leg and then start up. I can’t move to look down so can only feel where I’m going.
‘Bit more, really hurts,’ she winces.
My knuckles graze the crutch of her jeans.
‘Yep, just a bit more up,’ she says.
‘Marcy!’
‘What? It’s so nice…’ She says with a sudden evil grin and mocking eyes, ‘go on,’ she whispers, ‘just go up a bit more.’
‘I am not rubbing your…’
‘My what?’ She asks innocently.
‘Your…lady parts.’
‘My darling,’ she mock purrs, ‘you already are…hey, Howie…Hey, look at me…come on, look at me, Howie.’
‘What?’ I growl through the pain and forcibly work to lock my shaking legs in place. The pain is incredible. My head spins and I glare to rid the dizziness sweeping through me. My hands lock on her thigh, squeezing hard as though to force the energy back into my weakening body.
‘I can’t hold them,’ I say through a desperate exhalation of air, ‘I can’t hold…’
‘They will come,’ she says, ‘Howie, look at me…they will come.’
‘Marcy,’ I swallow and look back into her eyes.
‘I am sorry,’ she cuts me off, ‘I am so sorry…’
‘What…’
‘No, listen,’ she says urgently, ‘I deserve everything you said and…I shouldn’t have said anything back at you.’
‘Marcy, stop…’
‘Howie, listen! I did all the things you said I did and…’ tears break from her eyes to roll fat down her cheeks, ‘I can’t take it back,’ she sobs, ‘I can’t ever make it not have happened…’
‘Marcy…’
‘Please, just listen. I want you to go.’
‘What?’
‘The window, go out the window…I can hold them for a few seconds and buy you time to get away.’
‘No way.’
‘Howie, you have to finish this,’ she says emphatically.
‘No fucking way,’ my teeth show from the exertion of keeping my legs locked against the almighty pressure coming against the door.
‘You know what I did. Everything you said…I did it…I shouldn’t have argued back but…’
‘Stop…please stop…’
Her mouth copies mine with a humourless grin and the veins in her neck start to bulge as she takes a greater strain to hold the door closed as my own body weakens by the second. Her face just inches from mine and she weeps silently.
‘I wanted to fix it….with you,’ she pants and draws breath, ‘I am so sorry…’
‘Please, stop, Marcy,’ tears prickle at my eyes at the pain in my legs and the sadness of it all. That her heart is breaking in front of me is beyond doubt and remorse isn’t the word to describe the hurt in her eyes.
‘But please know…it wasn’t me…’ she grimaces and for a second I think she’ll give up there and then but she rallies and forces her legs to remain locked, ‘not me…not me…I would never do that…’
‘Marcy…’
‘Tell me you believe me,’ she demands with fresh tears falling down her cheeks, ‘I need to hear it, please…I don’t deserve it but…please…’
‘I believe you.’
‘Oh don’t cry, Howie…you can live…go…get out and…’
‘No,’ the pain is too much, the sheer burning of lactic acid and only pure stubbornness holds me in place, ‘won’t do it…we’re team…we stay together.’
‘Team?’
‘Team…’ I cry out from the agony and glare unflinching into her eyes, ‘we stay together…oh god it hurts.’
‘Go,’ she begs, ‘please go…get out and finish this.’
‘NO,’ I roar into the air, ‘we are team…the team stay together…’ I choke off with a sob.
‘Don’t cry,’ a gentle hand reaches out to stroke my cheek so tenderly. My own rises to cover hers, ‘go,’ she begs again, ‘Howie…get out…I can hold them…don’t cry my Howie…’
‘You don’t cry then,’ I reach out to wipe the tears from her face as we get shoved another centimetre into the base of the toilet.
‘I am so sorry,’ her sob breaks my heart, ‘I can’t…I can’t take it back…’
‘I shouldn’t have said those things to you,’ I say softly.
‘You should…I did…I can’t ever make it not happen and I remember it…I remember what I did, Howie…’
‘Marcy, stop…we’ll…’ I cup her face and tilt it to look at me and my thumb traces a swirl as it brushes across her cheek.
‘Argh,’ she grunts and we both hold tight, clinging to each other as the door gives another tiny distance and crimson dots form behind my eyes at the pain radiating from every inch of my form. Her hand reaches round my neck to grip hard. Mine remains gentle upon her face, ‘go,’ she whispers with her eyes squeezed closed from the pain, ‘they need you…not me…go…finish this and…’
‘No…fucking…way…’
‘Just go.’
‘No…I won’t…’ I grimace and draw breath and pain of the like I have never felt seems to pulse through every bone in my body, ‘won’t leave you,’ the words rush out and the finality is clear in my tone.
Her eyes snap open, fixed on mine. I nod to show the intent of my words and her hand grips my neck harder still as though using me to cling on to.
‘I didn’t…’ I hiss and stare at her, ‘I didn’t…dry hump…you…’
She smiles and the pain in her eyes only grows deeper, the sadness of existence and living only to die and be taken and turned to come back as something she had no control over and now to die again.
My hand moves from her cheek to the back of her neck and I apply pressure to drive us closer. The risk of an inch of movement and it makes us both cry out with the pain but our foreheads touch and that pain was worth it. I can feel the heat from her body as the water pours into the room. Her hand moves us between us, the hand holding the pistol. She looks up to make me know it’s there.
‘I’m not coming back again,’ she whispers the words and I nod as she pushes the point under her own chin and again we give a tiny increment and the howls from the other side tell us they know they are slowly gaining. ‘Kill me when they come…’
‘I will,’ I promise the whisper gently.
I close my eyes. She closes hers. I pull her closer and she comes. Cheek to cheek and the water pours over us as the undead pummel the door that gives a fraction at a time and each jolt sends searing pain through our bodies and fresh tears that mingle as one.
Eighteen
Hundreds of them and still they stream into the square from all four corners and the swirling motion they performed atop the car park a few days ago is being repeated only faster and harder than before. From the right the dense ranks come flowing with near perfect precision into dense ranks coming from the left and the contraflow is only doubled by the ranks from the other corners. Two, three, four and five abreast and the circles within circles rotate and spin like a plethora of spinning to
ps that swirl dizzyingly across the open ground.
Sounds of attack and defence coming from the other sides and the violence offered is far beyond anything they have seen before. A wild energy unleashed with feral abandon yet orchestrated and fluid to the point of perfection. Units within units. Teams within teams. No single infected working alone but everything done together.
A split second on gaining the front door and yelling the warning and Dave takes it in as the closest rank break free to charge full on towards him with an incredible speed.
Clarence right behind him. A look of awe on his face at the changes seen and the ferocity being shown.
‘Too many…DAVE TOO MANY,’ he shouts the warning and reaches out to yank Dave back in the house. He slams the door and braces it with his shoulder as the almighty impact from the other side sends him reeling back down the corridor. They pour through, snarling with utter hatred as Dave draws knives and whirls into the space in front of Clarence. He cuts and spins to slice throats and stab into groins. Arteries opened that gush blood high up the walls or out onto the wooden floor of the hallway.
They compress from behind with a solid mass of human form that pushes on with ever increasing force to get inside.
Clarence gets to his feet and runs back into the kitchen and past a terrified Reginald to wrench the back door open. Infected dropping from the fences onto the lawn. He spins round, grabs the assault rifle, aims and fires into the charging bodies. Burst spray aimed at each with the intent to drop them down and buy time. They weave and buck but each gets struck with the bullets that rip them from their feet to spin them round. The soldier counts the rounds in his head knowing when the magazine will be hitting empty. He spins again, dropping the first rifle to snatch Dave’s up, turns, kneels and continues the firing. Aiming for head shots this time at the ones cut down from the first hail of bullets. Most are killed outright with skulls blown away.
‘CLEAR,’ he shouts and plucks the magazine from the rifle to slam a new one home, ‘DAVE,’ he roars without turning, ‘BACK IS CLEAR…’
‘TOO MANY,’ Dave’s words make him turn with a speed that defies his great size and the sight makes his heart lurch in his chest. Dave fighting at speed with arms that blur and bodies that stack on the floor but still they charge and push even Dave back with a sheer crazed lunacy. Dave cannot retreat without them charging instantly. A few more seconds like this and they’ll be pouring into the back garden again.
Eyes wide, mouth open and he thinks of a way to slow them down enough to get Dave away and safely out the rear.
