by RR Haywood
‘Stab,’ Dave thrusts forward with the knife, ‘slash,’ he slices the knife cleanly at throat height, ‘backstab,’ he drives the knife to an imaginary foe behind him. ‘Now you…stab, slash, backstab…Roy stand there please, Clarence go behind Mohammed…use them to aim for…stab into the stomach and twist then draw back. When you cut the throat you apply force to open the skin down to the artery…the backstab is done to buy time so you can turn and use a killing blow but when you get good the backstab can be used to open an artery in the groin…now practise.’
We watch Mo Mo getting drilled as Dave uses all of us to position round Mo so he can move from person to person and be guided on the best angle of attack for each. Nick has his throat cut from behind while Blowers is backstabbed in the stomach, shouldered back and stabbed through the neck. Clarence’s height makes him a hard target for a cut throat so Dave guides on where to aim for the groin, the wrists and the legs.
‘Plan ahead…the one you kill now was planned three kills ago…you know where they will fall, which way they will move, where they will lunge and you use that space against them…do it again.’
Mo Mo is put through his paces and I wonder if he knows how much Dave must like him to be getting such attention and training.
‘Well now,’ a voice call out from behind us, ‘there’s some very handsome men in here,’ Marcy calls out. We all turn and a mutual admiration society is formed as four black clad women take in the sight of nine black clad men.
They look fantastic and in them I see us reflected back. The clothing is good, not black like paramilitary but professional looking and strong. Paula in the lead and you can tell she’s been doing this for a while by the way she carries herself now. Head high and a natural air of confidence about everything she does. Charlie looks great, tall and strong and the clothing fits perfectly. Blinky too, she looks tough like a soldier. Her squatter frame is strong but lithe and very athletic. Wet hair pulled back from foreheads into ponytails held securely by the bands.
‘You look better,’ Paula smiles at the lads then drifts to Roy, ‘all clean shaven,’ she kisses him on the cheek, ‘much better.’
‘Everything okay?’ I ask Charlie and Blinky.
‘Fine, thank you,’ Charlie says.
‘Are we staying with you?’ Blinky asks.
‘Good question,’ I reply, ‘everyone grab a chair and come in close, we need to talk.’
‘Drinks behind that counter, Mr Howie,’ Nick says, ‘bottles of Coke.’
‘Bring them over mate.’
Chairs are pulled up round the tables until we’re all together with a table full of coke bottles. I look round and smile again at the sight of everyone looking the same. Some faces I have become so used to seeing, others new and unfamiliar.
‘We’re going to have a conversation,’ I say as a way of starting, ‘about who we are and what we’ve done,’ I look over at Charlie and Blinky, ‘we’ll be completely open and honest…nothing will be hidden from you,’ I look to Marcy who nods seriously.
‘We’ll be honest,’ she says with look at Reginald.
‘Then, if you decide you want to stay with us we’ll be honoured to have you. If you want to go anywhere else we’ll make sure you get there safely. If you want to simply walk off and leave we’ll give you what we can to protect you…is that fair?’
‘Completely,’ Charlie replies.
‘Once we’ve done that, we’ll decide what we’re doing next, everyone okay with that?’ I look round the table.
‘Question,’ Nick tilts his head up.
‘Yes you can smoke, there’s plenty of space in here…right…where the fuck do I start?’
Twenty-Nine
Day Seventeen
That blasted horse has the devil in her. That damned blasted violently deranged psychotic lunatic bloody horse. Look at her now! Eating oats like nothing happened. Softly munching and snorting in her bucket while just a short time ago she was attacking them! Attacking them I tell you.
I ventured out from the stable block late in the morning and, feeling decidedly brave, which is not something I am feeling now, I made the stupid decision to go back to that town in an effort to try and find out why they were massing in one place.
My thought process was that I am a scientist and uncovering facts with a view to determining outcomes is what scientists are meant to do. I had Jess, who at that time, I believed would carry me swiftly away from any dangers.
We went at a steady pace and I kept a high awareness of my immediate surroundings and the view further out. We stuck to open fields and I chose a route that afforded me an ability to turn about and flee should the need arise. I was terrified but the act of taking a pro-active decision did adorn me with a feeling of being brave and I figured that doing something brave might actually lead to courage. After all, isn’t it said that the courage comes after the act of fear?
Be that as it may, we cantered the distance and started to skirt the town where we had previously seen the massed infected host bodies. I couldn’t see them and Jess was showing no immediate signs of them being close so we headed closer to the town. Still nothing to be seen and a silence so profound it was foreboding. Not a bird was singing. Not a flitter of a breeze. A void of emptiness that, in view of the sheer numbers of host bodies that were here before, was decidedly worrying.
The route we had taken to the town had provided opportunities of height, meaning that we had crested hills and inclines that gave me a view to the sides. I deduced that the hosts had not gone towards the direction I had come from, nor had they taken immediate routes to the sides as otherwise I felt sure I would see signs of their transit.
Indeed, the only viable route was away from the direction I had come from. I came from the north so they were heading south. What was in the south?
My map of the area showed me this town was bordered by open fields, pasture land, farms, farmland, grazing land, open land and, well, land in general. The next centre of habitation was a small village called Finkton, which is a place I have never heard of and by God I hope to never hear of it again.
It was quite possible they were not heading to Finkton in the sense of Finkton being the end objective but rather it was most likely, or so I thought at that time, that Finkton was merely on the way to wherever the end objective was. However, with no other information to hand, it was towards Finkton we went. BIG MISTAKE. Damn that horse.
The twenty five miles was covered easily by Jess, and in retrospect I can see she wholeheartedly enjoyed the ride. It was good firm ground, gently undulating with valleys and hills and wide plains that enabled her to gain speed. We even stopped at a small brook from which Jess took on water before we proceeded. We were following the main road from the town to Finkton but at a safe distance to the side of it and it was on the crest of one aforementioned hillocks that I first spied the host bodies and the sight held me fixed with stunned disbelief at what I was seeing.
Hundreds of them. Human bodies running in perfect order down the main road. Perfectly ranked and perfectly spaced and even from the distance we were at I could hear the solid crunch as a hundred and more right feet struck the ground followed by the left. It was incredible, truly mesmerising. It was both frightening and eerily wonderful. It was an army of soldiers speed marching to a destination, but not human. Human’s, despite the best training in the world, cannot maintain such perfect spacing and pace of movement. This was exact and precise and I would suggest it was precise down to a millimetre. What struck me was that, having such things on movies and in documentaries of the armed forces of communist countries goose-stepping past their leader, that my eyes demanded to see fit young men all of a size and body type. What I was seeing in reality were people of all ages and body types, from fit young men and women to children and elderly, obese and large down to emaciated frames.
We were too close for comfort and Jess was reacting to their presence with snorts and by throwing her head up and pawing one front foot at the ground. Forgive me if the terminolog
y of a horse stomping on the ground is not “pawing” but I am not versed in equine procedures. Could it be hooving the ground? Hoofing? Raking the ground? Hmmm, this is irritating not knowing the correct term.
We moved away but stayed the course and gained the forward direction towards Finkton. There was a delay caused by coming against a high hedge that was thick with spiky brambles and seemed to go on miles. Jess, I am sure, would have liked to jump the hedge. I did not want to jump the hedge and was quite content to find a gate through which we could traverse.
We found a gate then had to move back to the intended course and seek the road on which we had viewed the host bodies. By this time we were very close to Finkton and I could see the buildings in the distance. Slate roofs nestled into a picturesque spot surrounded by open countryside.
At that time, I was still of the mind that Finkton was not the objective but a way-point, so I was content to keep a safe distance from which to monitor the passage in an effort to understand the final destination. My intention was to see which direction they took after Finkton, and then establish the most likely destination and race ahead to warn whoever may be at that location.
Now. Explaining what I then saw will be hard and I will try to lay it out in a logical manner.
The army of host bodies reached the village edge. Ahead of them lay the village square and it was only at this point that I viewed an army vehicle in the centre of the square. A big squat thing with large wheels and what looked like a machine gun fitted on the roof.
Approximately two hundred metres from the square, the host bodies did something remarkable. They split into four lines. Two of the lines moved ahead to skirt the centre. The third line moved off at a tangent and the last line slowed down. Each line appeared to be assigned a corner to aim for. There were four rows of buildings within the square with space between each building. Each line moved to the assigned corner and, with perfect execution, they poured into the square from all corners at the same second.
That was impressive on its own. That so many people could be split so fluidly to move independently but with synchronisation to the other lines.
As the four lines ran into the square so they all howled into the air. At the same as doing this, each line then split into several more lines so that as each line entered the square from their corner, they split until four or five lines that were running. From each corner, those four to five lines then ran either clockwise or counter-clockwise around the square. This meant that up to twenty or so lines of people were running with and against each other at full speed.
I had a position of height, and although I was at a distance, not one mistake did I see. Further, those twenty lines seemed to increase until there were countless lines flowing in a sickening circle within the square. Again it was not human. It was not something humans can do without weeks of intense training. Stage shows, such as Irish dancing, achieve such things but those dancers and actors are drilled like soldiers for months to get it right. These hosts did this instantaneous, without hesitation and without mistake.
I struggled to watch everything but what I did see was lines of hosts then break from the main swirling mass to attack a specific point of each building row. I could hear the howling voices, although somewhat muted due to my distance. I then heard the distinct pops of gunfire, but again I could not place which side they were coming from.
It appeared that as each point of attack was pressed, so more host bodies were sent to re-enforce certain points. Lines peeled off to join the attack. It was then that I viewed more hosts running to the rear gardens of the buildings and climbing fences to get within those gardens.
The gunfire continued. People ran from the backs of houses. On the row with the back direct to me I saw the hosts attacking one end of the row, and a time later, a man and woman ran from the other end. Another side I could see three people running from the back. One was a very large man while the other two were very much smaller.
The row of buildings with the back towards the village I could not see, although I gathered there were people also escaping from the rear due to the numbers of hosts pouring through a single door at the ground level.
By far the greatest numbers were attacking the last side but I did not see anyone escaping into the rear. Instead it appeared that the hosts ran into the building until no more could fit and then formed a solid group at the front door all trying to get inside.
Those that escaped from the rears were then chased by thick groups out into the open fields. I saw those escapers stop and fire back with weapons and to me, it looked desperate and doomed. They were outnumbered by many to one. I willed them to run faster but it was clear they were tiring and slowing down.
Between watching them, I watched the house of the largest attack taking place and couldn’t help but wonder what was in that house that prompted so much attention.
The man and woman, and the three men (the big man and the two smaller ones) then joined together and I watched as one of the small figures attacked the host bodies. He charged into them and I fully expected it to be over. They would be killed outright. Instead though, the small man killed them. The distance was too great to see anything of detail but I did see body after body simply falling down as though the small man was pushing them over. Those people then ran off with a combined force of many numbers of hosts giving chase. From the village I could hear sustained gunfire and even, amongst that noise and spectacle, what I took to be the sound of a dog barking.
I then saw, and I confess I was so rocked with coursing emotions that my exact flow of events may not be correct, but I saw a man run from the house that had previously been besieged. One man. On his own. Running into many. He had dark hair and was sprinting towards the army vehicle in the middle.
It was at that point that everything went terribly, terribly wrong because without warning, and at the second the dark haired man appeared, Jess went from standing still to galloping. Not galloping. Galloping is the wrong word as it suggests a controlled manner of movement and this was not controlled. Jess ran towards the square with a pace that increased with every stride of her legs. She was charging and somewhere amidst the screams I was emitting I became aware that we were running towards lots of infected hosts that appeared to be very angry indeed.
The dark haired man was targeted by every host body within that area. They swarmed him with such numbers that he disappeared under a growing mound of bodies that flung themselves bodily onto the growing heap. One of them was naked and looked remarkably like a comedian I had seen on television but whose name now escapes me.
It was that mound that Jess was aiming for and such was the fright that took over me I somehow, God knows how, managed to get my assault rifle free and was firing into them as we charged. I do not know how I held the weapon, aimed, fired and held onto the horse and it is highly likely that I did not aim at all.
The mound of bodies was already high by the time Jess reached it. I say Jess reached it as I was not part of this but an unwilling and screaming passenger. Jess vaulted the mound and in so doing she viciously stamped down and used the mound of human forms to propel her forward. The effect was incredible. Bodies were crushed and scattered from the top of the mound to be flung aside. There were host bodies now flinging themselves into our path and Jess swatted them aside with her bulk. She stopped, turned and despite my protests, decided to have another run at the mound. Again she skimmed the top and used the crest of the heap to propel us harder from the other side. She reared up and used her front feet to batter them down. She trampled them underfoot and swung round to use her substantial rump to knock them down. She was fighting them. There is no doubt. It has been some time since it happened and the memory is a blur of events, of seeing hosts decaying and snarling being killed outright by a herd animal that should be gentle in nature. Indeed, everything Jess did goes against my knowledge of what her species of animal should do. They give flight from danger and run away. They do not run into danger and take on people intent on d
oing her harm.
Several times we went for that mound and each time saw it wither in size until the dark haired man appeared from the tangle of limbs and torsos. All I remember is going up as Jess reared then going down as she dropped and going round in circles as we skittered back and forth. She killed many.
There was one view that remains in my mind. A distinct view seared into my memory and it was gained as we reared up high into the air and the dark haired man pushed himself free. We locked eyes and never before have I seen a man with such an intensity within his expression. There was not an ounce of fear within him and the second he was free of the press of bodies he was stabbing a knife into the neck of a host female. He was consumed with intensity and drive. Then we were off and Jess galloped to the side, spun round, shook her head and again either pawed or hooved the ground before once again charging at the mound.
I screamed a warning to the dark haired man who scrabbled to break free and dive to the side as Jess used her weight to pummel the remaining mound to a pulp. The dark haired man went back into the house at which point Jess decided that fighting people was old news and ran off in a different direction and galloped about the area for a bit. Nothing I could do would stop that horse. I shouted and yanked once or twice on the reins but it was made clear to me that yanking on the reins would be an action that resulted in being thrown from her back. In the end I clung on and prayed that it would end soon.
At some point in the ensuing time period we abruptly changed course and ran back towards the rear of the houses and passed the dark haired man and a very attractive woman who were by now, standing on the outside of the rear garden fence clutching their ankles in what appeared to be the middle of an argument. What possessed Jess to do this I have no idea. Truly I have no idea why the horse reacted in such a way. Jess took us to a thicket of trees and whinnied noisily to draw the attention of host bodies within that thicket. She then enticed them to come after us and ran away when they gave chase.
