by RR Haywood
‘STAND TO…INCOMING…’
‘GROUND LITTERED,’ Blowers roars back without a second of hesitation, ‘fall back in a line here,’ Blowers snaps the order as he paces back from the line of mangled corpses, ‘Mo Mo, get those hockey sticks ready to hand out…Nick, hold the dog,’ he turns to the hockey players, ‘get behind our line, helmets back on.’
The change is instant and seamless. From warriors to joking lads and back to switched on keen eyed soldiers within a few minutes.
‘Mine’s covered in vomit,’ Blinky calls out.
‘Discard it and get back here,’ Cookey replies, ‘do it now, please.’
‘Charlie,’ Blowers gets her attention, ‘where in the house can we use as a defensive point? A long corridor that will force them to bottleneck or…’
‘Who? What?’ Charlie snaps back through the driving rain now stinging their exposed skin.
‘Our team is coming and they’ve got the fuckers right behind.’
‘How can you…’
‘No time. Answer the question. Where in the house can we use for defence? Nick,’ Blowers turns away from the woman, ‘get inside and find somewhere we can use.’
‘On it.’
‘Wait,’ Blinky shouts, ‘upstairs corridor is long and narrower than the stairs, will that do?’
‘Perfect, we lead them in the house and up the stairs….WE’RE READY,’ Blowers shouts through the rain, ‘HOW MANY?’
‘TOO BLOODY MANY,’ Clarence’s voice booms through the grey blur of rain, the shout of a Viking giant that fills the air, ‘ARE YOU EMPTY?’
‘YES, HAND WEAPONS READY TO USE AND A DEFENSIVE POINT.’
Two figures loom first through the pouring monsoon. A man and a woman, both slightly older and looking strained from the effort of running. Behind them a small man wearing a shirt and tie with a giant holding a steadying hand on his shoulder. Huge, broad and bald headed. He sweeps his eyes over the ground then back to the lads and finally the hockey players, ‘good work,’ he nods once, ‘defensive point?’
‘Through the house and up the stairs,’ Blowers replies, ‘upstairs corridor is narrow.’
‘It’ll do,’ Clarence says pushing Reginald through the line, ‘get to the back and rest, Paula stay with him. Roy at the front with us.’
Authority handed over. The dark haired youth passes an invisible torch to the giant who assumes control with instant ease, ‘weapons?’
‘Here,’ Mo Mo hands out the bladed hockey sticks, ‘not great but…’
‘They’ll do,’ Clarence passes one to Roy, ‘you four,’ he points at the hockey players, ‘can you fight?’
‘They can,’ Blowers replies, ‘wild, untrained but protected.’
‘Oi,’ Blinky snaps.
‘You four will form a guard on those two,’ Clarence points to Reginald and Paula kneeling on the ground, ‘we’ll lead them back to the front door first,’ he adds pointing to the entrance to the house, ‘where are the stairs?’
‘Inside to the right,’ Blowers says.
‘On the right inside,’ Blinky says at the same time.
‘I AM DAVE…’
‘What the…’ Blinky blinks and stares through the blur to see a small man walking slowly backwards. A knife in each hand, stepping slow and careful but with the grace of a ballet dancer. In front of him a frightening looming rank of people staying close side by side and moving in perfect timing. Not running now but stalking. Forcing the small man back.
‘I AM DAVE,’ the small man booms an incredible voice, ‘FIGHT ME.’
Meredith growls, teeth showing as Dave walks back to the line and takes his place beside Clarence, ‘don’t eat so much and you won’t vomit next time.’
‘Sorry, Dave,’ Cookey says instantly.
‘Sorry,’ Blowers says.
Charlie watches with stunned fascination at the fluid movements and exchanges between them.
‘I need a weapon,’ Paula says pushing into the line.
‘Paula you should,’ Clarence starts to say.
‘Weapon!’
‘Paula,’ Mo Mo hands the last hockey stick down the line.
She takes it, examines the blades strapped firmly in place and nods, ‘jolly hockey sticks,’ she says and grips the shaft, ‘come on then you bastards,’ she growls, ‘making me run…I hate running…’
‘Are these carbon composite?’ Roy asks politely leaning from the line to look down at the hockey players.
‘Yes,’ Blinky says firmly.
‘Nice to meet you,’ he nods amiably, ‘I’m Roy.’
‘Not now, Roy,’ Paula says staring at the coming horde.
‘I’m trying to be friendly and polite!’
‘Not now, Roy,’ Paula says loudly.
‘Roy, where’s your shoes?’ Cookey looks down at the bare feet.
‘Didn’t have time to put them back on,’ Roy says.
‘Back on? Why did you take them off?’
‘When we had sex,’ Roy says.
‘Roy!’ Paula snaps.
‘Oh,’ Cookey nods, ‘makes sense.’
‘Unbelievable,’ Paula shakes her head.
‘I mean who has sex with their shoes on?’ Cookey shrugs.
‘Switch on…’ Clarence calls out in a low voice, ‘any sign of the boss?’
‘None, you?’ Blowers asks.
‘Nothing,’ Clarence says, ‘we heard an M4 firing in the square but couldn’t get back.’
‘With a folding stock,’ Dave says.
‘M4?’ Blowers asks, ‘American?’
‘Must be,’ Clarence replies, ‘we’ll sort these and head back.’
Sort these and head back? Who are these people? Charlie takes in the confidence and absolute certainty of not getting killed. Outnumbered, vastly outnumbered and armed only with knives and hockey sticks.
‘Are you from the army?’ She asks quickly before the slowly encroaching horde get too close.
‘No,’ Clarence replies, ‘not really…we’re with Mr Howie from the fort.’
‘Oh,’ Charlie says as though it makes perfect sense.
‘What are you doing here?’ Paula asks without taking her eyes from the front rank of the infected.
‘Selections,’ Blinky states, ‘for the England under twenty-ones hockey team.’
‘A fucking hockey team,’ Cookey sighs, ‘best day ever.’
‘Oh really?’ Roy asks.
Charlie nods, ‘first day here when it happened. Er, why aren’t they charging at us?’
‘We’re being held,’ Clarence rumbles, ‘so they have time to get Mr Howie and Marcy…but if they’re still trying to keep us here then it means they haven’t actually got the boss yet…HAVE YOU?’ He roars at the undead, ‘ALL OF YOU CANNOT TAKE ONE MAN…’
‘That’s done it,’ Nick remarks and his hand lifts from the neck of Meredith as she strides out at the now charging horde. An incredible noise of howling infected and the roars from the team as they step forward, brace and start the fight.
‘Sod this,’ Blinky starts to move towards the fight but gets a hand clutching the protective pad on her arm.
‘They said to stay with him,’ Charlie says with a nod at Reginald.
‘Stay with him then,’ Blinky tugs free, ‘I’m not missing this, we should have done this days ago’ she turns and runs to the end of the line to fight next to Nick. Bodies dropping one after the other. Clarence smashing away with pent up fury at being forced to run away. Dave slaughtering with incredible ease.
Charlie looks at the last two girls, Kazzer and Shell. The others now dead in amongst those bodies, bitten to be turned only to have their throats ripped out by the dog pacing through them.
Everyone else fled. Running away back to their homes or families throughout the country. None of the girls knew each other and had no allegiances or loyalties and it was only the first day of the selection trials so no bonds had been created. Only those with nothing to run back to stayed.
‘FLANKED,’ a vo
ice shouting the alarm. Charlie whips round to see the main battle being held at the line of the newly arrived people but lines of the infected have peeled off from the back and taken advantage of the reduced visibility to go wide and come in hard from the sides in an effort to loop round the back of the fight. She hadn’t put her helmet back on, didn’t even think about it and doesn't have time now as the fight is upon her. Through the driving rain they come with faces twisted in pure wild violent intent. Only time to lift the hockey stick, feint left but dodge right and back to sweep the hook into the neck of the first one. With a grunt she fells it down and swings back up into the face of the next.
‘FALL BACK,’ the voice of the big man shouts the order.
‘Go,’ Charlie has no idea why the little tie wearing man has to be protected but she does it while he whimpers and scurries towards the front door. The living collapse into a tight ball with Reginald held securely behind them. Fighting out against an enemy so determined to keep driving them back and away from the square.
‘Kazz…’ the warning is too late and the girl is taken down from the side as she fights against one to the front. The girl screams as her flesh is torn apart by teeth gnashing to shred through her cheek. Her mouth fills with blood and is sprayed out. She flails and bucks but the damage is done. Shell drives her stick down onto the head of the male biting down on Kazzer. The blade cuts but is too blunt from lack of care and the superficial wound only warns the infected male of the second attack. He surges up with incredible speed and lunges for the helmeted head. Another jumps onto Shell’s back. Charlie rushes forward but is beaten straight back by another three working to cut her off. The hockey stick, so familiar in her grasp, swings out with strength that has built up over years of constant play and training. Game after game. Working every week to get faster, harder and nimble to trap the ball, run to dodge and weave and strike for the goal. A body hardened to withstand the impact of players smashing into her from the sides. She whips out to break the jaw of the first, steps and backswings into the neck of the next. The third she trips with a hook to the ankle and a hard jerk to the left. It goes down and she stamps her foot on the face while beating furiously at the other two.
Shell screams as the fingers clamp firmly into her arms, legs and neck. Strong and fast but caught out and she cannot withstand the violence being applied. A fraction of a difference from her mind-set to that of Charlie and Blinky. This is still a game, there are rules of movements and what the other player can do and an over reliance on the protective clothing the goal defenders wear. A fatal mistake as the rancid hands shred the clothes apart and find the seams, joins and gaps to get through and at her soft skin underneath.
A filth encrusted fingernail slashes at her exposed neck, a sliver of a wound that, under normal circumstances, could be washed and would heal within a few days. The infection on the nail passes into her bloodstream which is taken through to her heart. Within two minutes the work is done. Her stomach grips with intense pain. Heart slowing. Vision blurring, sounds gone. She dies. Shell dies on the sodden ground from a single nick caused by a nail.
What comes back is instant and charged. Chemicals that surge from glands into her bloodstream. Her eyes red bloodshot and her own mind-set now completely absorbed by the hive mind of the infected driving her on. These must be killed. Images of tearing them apart flood through her mind. Pulsing sensations ramped well beyond that of a psychotic killer or a mentally deranged patient intent on causing harm. The end goal is not to cause pain but to end them and please the infection. Do what is ordered. Join the group. Be part of the base state of being in this new world. Belonging, loyalty, intense hatred, rage and the tiniest glimmer of individuality so she can move independently to take advantage of gaps and openings.
Back through the door they go, Reginald first then Paula. Blinky fights with battle lust coursing through her veins. A hard player with a penchant for violence. She wasn’t as pretty as some girls and lacked the social grace of so many others. She was direct, forthright, doesn't suffer fools and loved the hard tackling of the game. She also knew she was being monitored closely by the selections squad. They needed players who would show no fear but not players that would get sent off or disqualified for excessive violence, so she held it back on the pitch when so many times she just wanted to smash the fucking stick into the face of the other player. Now she can. So she does. She smashes and kills while a tiny voice at the back of her head still suggests meekly that this is wrong and she’ll get sent off.
‘Go,’ Nick motions her quickly to fall back, ‘GO…’
She wants to stay and fight. She doesn't want to turn but Blinky also knows team sports and when to do something for the benefit of the team so she drops back and gets through the door and curses as she realises Charlie and the others are still out there, which means she was the first through, which is a show of weakness.
Charlie comes next as Nick checks his side and yanks her back to get through the door as the team fights into a tighter ball.
Blinky didn’t puke earlier from the sight of the dog tearing the arm from the body. She puked because she always puked after a game. She played with such ferocity and aggression that vomiting post-game was normal.
‘Shell?’ She pants at Charlie heaving with a face full of shock, ‘Kazzer?’
Charlie shakes her head once, ‘dead.’
Blinky shrugs and spits to the side, life is cheap, ‘you okay?’
‘Fine,’ Charlie turns the head shake into a head nod, ‘you?’
‘Loving it,’ Blinky grins evilly, something else she did after every game and normally after being reprimanded by the referee.
‘Move back,’ Nick gets through followed by a rapid influx of Cookey, Blowers, Roy and Clarence until Dave remains in the doorway holding the entirety of the horde back.
‘Love him,’ Blinky says with a nod at Dave, ‘I want his babies.’
‘I thought you were gay,’ Charlie says.
‘Not anymore,’ Blinky says with the evil grin and blinks heavily. She always blinked like that when she wasn’t on the pitch playing. The aggression didn’t go away so it manifested in her eye lids, forcing them to blink more than normal.
‘Stairs,’ Clarence pushes through the group, stopping only to bend over and scoop Reginald up onto his feet, ‘up you get…you okay?’
‘Really I am not okay,’ Reginald bursts in a rapid voice, ‘I am assuredly not okay.’
‘Good stuff,’ Clarence cajoles him up the stairs, ‘everyone up, who’s got some fight left in ‘em?’ He asks the assembled gasping group.
The four lads step forward instantly, Roy a split second later. Blinky widens her eyes and takes the step, desperate to be picked for the team.
‘Who are you?’ Clarence glares at the woman.
‘Blinky,’ Blinky glares back.
‘I like you,’ Clarence growls in compliment at her spirit.
‘I like him,’ Blinky points at Dave in the doorway.
‘I’m central,’ Clarence plants his feet on the first step, ‘ I need one either side…we let Dave get through and up and we work a fighting retreat up the stairs…which side is the narrow corridor?’
‘That side,’ Blinky points to the right side at the top of the stairs.
‘You lead us,’ Clarence points at her.
‘She leads I fight,’ Blinky points at Charlie.
‘I’ll lead you,’ Charlie says.
‘I’ll help Charlie lead,’ Cookey says.
‘Nick and Blowers then, either side of me…Roy and Cookey be ready to take over behind them.’
‘And me,’ Blinky says.
‘Everyone get up….Paula, you okay?’
‘Fine, stop asking me. I’m not feeble.’
‘Sorry, just asking. Dave…we’re ready when you are,’ he calls out and braces with the hockey stick looking tiny in his hands. Nick and Blowers either side of his, ready to fight and hold the stairs.
Dave drops without warning. Simply turni
ng and running across the hallway and up the stairs through the gap left. The horde waste no time but pour through the doors, tripping over the bodies cut down by Dave.
‘Who has knives?’ Dave asks at getting up the stairs.
‘I got two,’ Mo Mo says.
‘Mine are blunt,’ Dave says and takes the ones from Mo Mo.
‘I got no weapons now,’ Mo Mo says.
‘You got me,’ Dave nods and turns back to face down the stairs.
‘You can get to the kitchen from the backstairs,’ Charlie says quickly.
‘Clarence, can you hold them?’ Dave asks.
‘Not forever,’ Clarence grunts mid swing as they each step up the stairs to give ground.
‘Mo Mo and Cookey on me…’ Dave points them out, ‘you,’ Dave points at Charlie, ‘does the kitchen lead to the other side of that door?’ He points without looking down into the hallway and the door to the lounge area.
‘Yes!’ Blinky steps in front of Charlie, ‘are you going to attack them from that side?’
‘I am.’
‘I’ll show you,’ she nods eagerly.
‘Go,’ Dave snaps a final look at the three holding the stairs and runs after the bulky clothing wearing woman as she runs up the stairs and through a myriad of corridors and doors until they reach a back service staircase.
Down into more corridors and finally into a store room connected to the back of the kitchen.
‘Who are you?’ Blinky asks while running.
‘Dave,’ Dave says.
‘Blinky.’
‘What is?’
‘I am.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’
The four get to the knives on the magnetic strip and give way while Dave pulls them down one after the other. ‘Yours,’ Dave hands one to Mo Mo, ‘Alex,’ he hands another one to Cookey.
‘Got the stick, Dave,’ Cookey says politely and still managing to make the word Dave sound like Sarge.
