The Undead | Day 25 [The Heat]

by Haywood, RR

  Going to meet friends for coffee.

  7

  Day Twenty-nine

  Okay. So, fair enough. The satellite didn’t fall on our heads, but that doesn’t mean another one wouldn’t.

  Seriously.

  We’re shit magnets.

  I’m telling you.

  Whatever. Anyway, after Henry the Handsome was proved right about the satellite, I went and had the poo I was planning to take before I ran back inside. It was a nice poo too. Frank had left an old newspaper in the stall, and it’s always nice to have something to read when you’re having a number two. It used to be the back of shampoo bottles pre-mobile phones. Now, we’ve kinda drifted back to that. I mean. I’ve still got my phone, but it’s worthless now. It’s not even charged up. I only keep it as it’s got pictures of my family on it and some songs I like. I think we’re all the same, and we’ve only kept them for that reason.

  The point is that I actually read a newspaper for the first time since it all happened. It was so weird, but the thing that stood out more than anything was the sheer banality of our lives and the mind-numbingly dull things we got excited about. Politicians. Football players. Models. Reality stars.

  Granted, it was a crappy tabloid paper, but there wasn’t one single mention of anything related to science. Nothing about space exploration. Arctic research. Disease control or climate change. Oh, no. I’m wrong. There was a nasty, trolling opinion piece about that young, autistic Scandinavian woman trying to educate people about the dangers of climate change, but nothing about the actual dangers of climate change.

  The other thing that stood out after everything that has happened was how it was so warped. Like the news stories didn’t present facts in a neutral way. It was all geared towards shaping mindsets and telling people how to think. You could see the same themes running through every page. This paper seemed very right wing. Anti-immigration. Anti-EU. Anti-bloody everything while the reporters all jacked off to pictures of the royal family.

  But anyway. I had a nice poo and duly shook my head at the state of the world before remembering the actual state of the world now, and then, got dressed. Seeing as everyone else was dressed, and I was still in my boxers. And it was also noticeable that everyone was trying to look a bit smarter too. Mind you, the lads always start the day off nice and smart. But then, they don’t have a choice with Dave.

  Down and twenty, Alan. Then, tuck your shirt in.

  Down and twenty then go back and shave properly, Daniel.

  Is that gum? We do not chew gum, Natasha. Everyone down and twenty.

  What the fuck, Tappy! Cheers then.

  Make it thirty for swearing during inspection.

  Cookey, you fucking bellend!

  Forty, thank you, Nicholas.

  Dave, I can’t even do fourteen push ups, let alone forty.

  Do them on your knees, Natasha.

  Lucky bitch!

  Fifty, Alex!

  That’s so unfair!

  NOTANOTHERWORDBECAUSEYOUWILLBESCRUBBINGTOILETSANDMAKINGBREWSFORTHERESTOFYOURNATURALLIFEWHICHWILLENDINTHIRTYSECONDSIFYOUUTTERONEMORESOUNDOTHERTHANAGRUNTOFPAIN.

  Okay, So Dave doesn’t actually shout at them like. He doesn’t need to. He just gives them a look, or, when he really means it, he calls them Mr Cookey, or Mr Hewitt, or Miss Drinkwater.

  That’s when everyone else pretends to look away and find something else to do.

  Anyway. Eventually, we got into our vehicles and started off to find Camber Town, stopping after literally ten yards so Marcy could run back for a wee. Then the dog decided she needed to take a crap, during which time Nick said he’d also forgotten something and ran off into the kitchen where he was found ten minutes later trying to shove a whole giant Snickers bar in his mouth in one go. Which is after eating another cold tin of baked beans. Some left-over breakfast pasta. Cheese. More cheese. Another Snickers. Some more cheese and another Snickers. Oh, and some raisins cos, you know, fibre is important in the apocalypse.

  And then eventually, we got back into our vehicles and once more headed off to find Camber Town. And this time we only stopped once. Which was so Paula could pee behind a tree because she’d been so busy nagging everyone else about going for a pee that she hadn’t gone for a pee herself. And during which time the dog took another crap and Nick ate more food and everyone else bickered a lot about the fifty push-ups and the fact Tappy was allowed to do them on her knees.

  ‘I’m a girl!’ she said.

  ‘So? Charlie’s a girl and she did them,’ Nick said.

  ‘Charlie’s ripped!’ Tappy said. ‘She does more push-ups than all of you. You can’t use her as an example. Use Marcy. Marcy? Could you do fifty push-ups?’

  ‘Er. What’s a push up again?’ Marcy asked. ‘Is that the one with the bar thing that you dangle from? I can’t do those.’

  It was like that.

  Cos, you know, it’s literally always like that.

  And while everyone else was bickering in the back, Clarence was telling me about how he was in the army too. Like for ages and he did loads of army stuff, and literally knows loads of army things.

  And during all of that I’m moaning about Henry and how it’s easy to look awesome and smell nice when you’ve been hiding under a table for a month.

  Then Clarence told me I should totally say that to Henry, and I told Clarence he should totally tell Dave about the army stuff. And we both agreed we totally would, which is when Paula got back in and told everyone to stop moaning and Nick to stop eating and actually it turned out she needed another poo, which of course set everyone off, which in turn set Paula off because apparently, it’s okay for men to talk about having a poo but not a woman.

  Then we arrived at Camber Town, which is when I turned around to tell them my views on poo discussions and ran over a bench and into the front window of Superdrug. Which made Marcy happy as she said she needed some more nail files.

  I backed up, ran over another bench and eventually parked the Saxon outside the café in the High Street. Albeit with two wooden benches jammed underneath the front. Which Henry looked at for a long second before nodding at me politely.

  ‘I thought we might need them,’ I said. Which I meant as a joke, but it came out like a serious comment.

  Then in desperation to recover my awesome status as a truly dashing awesome guy, I rushed into the café to show off my coffee making skills, and after Nick and Tappy got the power running I set about pressing buttons and flicking switches and twisting dials in the hope something would work.

  Which is when Heather turned up. We saw them outside getting out of their SUV and walking over to the lads outside the door chewing the fat and shooting the shit. They looked cool too. Paco’s huge and just shredded with massive arms and like the veins all pushing out, and he was walking up behind Cookey who was pretending he hadn’t seen them arrive.

  ‘Yeah,’ Cookey said. ‘And then Blowers was like, Paco Maguire is such a wanker, and if I ever see him again, I’ll totally call him a fuckwitted cockmunching thundercunt. Fact.’

  Cookey’s got brilliant timing because by the time he finished talking Paco Maguire was standing an inch behind him while Danny, Tappy and Booker were just staring up in awe.

  ‘What? Is there something behind me?’ Cookey asked, stepping back into Paco. ‘What’s behind me? What is it? Oh hey! Didn’t see you there. Look everyone it’s Dwayne Johnson.’

  ‘Oooh,’ Blowers and Nick winced with a laugh at Paco got an arm around Cookey’s shoulders and started rubbing knuckles on his skull. I then focussed back on the coffee making and the distinct lack of frothing in the milk jug.

  ‘Why isn’t it frothing? The milk’s not frothing.’

  ‘It needs more froth,’ Clarence said.

  ‘Where’s the froth?’ Frank asked as they all joined in with turning dials and prodding buttons.

  ‘It probably needs to heat up,’ Paula said while pushing into the gaggle to prod and poke the coffee machine.

 
‘Heather? Hi, I’m Carmen,’ Carmen said, walking over with a friendly smile. ‘Let me point the others out. That’s Frank. He’s old and stinks of piss. Joan said you’ve met at the fort, and that’s Bash. He doesn’t speak English.’

  Bashir turned on hearing his name to nod and smile before his eyes lit up. ‘The Rock!’ he called out in a heavy accent, pointing at Paco.

  ‘Not the Rock,’ Heather said.

  ‘Why isn’t this bloody thing frothing!’ I snapped.

  ‘Excuse me, chaps,’ Henry the Handsome said while leaning past me to flick a switch that instantly made the steamer come to life with a loud blast. ‘That’s the fellow,’ he added with a wink before sodding off to charm someone else. The worst thing was that I could smell his aftershave. Which was literally amazing.

  ‘She’s frothing now look,’ Clarence said, nodding eagerly at the metal jug. ‘That’s done it, Henry!’

  Mugs clattered. Coffee poured. Milk frothed. Too many chefs spoil the broth, but eventually we made coffee, of sorts, while Paula bossed the shit out of everyone to get tables dragged together. It was chaos in a sea of chaos.

  Then it was done, and we all sat down to enjoy the super nice coffee I made. Cos if there’s one thing I can do it’s make nice coffee.

  ‘Jesus, Howie. That tastes like shit,’ Marcy said after taking a sip while everyone else gagged.

  ‘God, that’s awful, Howie,’ Paula said.

  ‘I didn’t make it!’ I said. ‘We all made it.’

  ‘Commander, please tell Mr Howie this coffee is the worst I have ever tried,’ Bashir said as Henry took a sip while suppressing the impulse to gag. I don’t speak his language so I’ve actually no idea what the hell Bash said, but he’d just taken a sip and had the same look on his face as everyone else so I kinda worked it out.

  ‘That’s not too bad at all, Mr Howie. Really,’ Henry said.

  Honestly. I don’t know what was worse. Henry hating the coffee, or Henry pretending to like the coffee.

  ‘Whatever. It’s got caffeine in it,’ I said, trying to be all heroic and unflappable while taking a glug. ‘Fuck me’ I said, spitting it out. ‘That’s seriously shit. Jesus. Henry, don’t drink it.’

  ‘It’s fine. Honestly. But perhaps you could refrain from ever making it again.’

  Hahaha. What a splendid joke that made everyone chuckle.

  Wanker.

  ‘Donkey piss does not taste this bad,’ Bashir said. ‘I have drunk donkey piss. It was better than this.’

  I don’t know what Bashir said again. But I heard the word donkey and figured the rest out.

  ‘What did he say?’ Clarence asked.

  ‘He said a good soldier will take refreshment when he can,’ Henry said as everyone smiled at Bashir who just stared at Paco.

  ‘The Rock,’ he said in heavy English.

  ‘Not the Rock,’ Heather said

  ‘I can’t drink it,’ Marcy announced. ‘Worst coffee ever. Nick’s a good coffee guy. Nick, go and make nice coffee.’

  ‘I can do it,’ Henry said, waving at Nick to sit down. ‘Heather, perhaps you give me a hand.’

  ‘Sorry, what?’ Heather asked.

  ‘Tell you what, Heather,’ Henry said. ‘You heat the milk and I’ll get the coffee going. There’s a few spouts too, so we can steam a few at once. There’s plenty of long life milk. Which is handy. Okay, let’s pour it in and get you started. Just watch that little gauge for the temperature. Got it?’

  ‘Er, yeah, I think so,’ Heather said, staring down at the little gauges poking out of the milk jugs as they come to life, sputtering away and forcing noisy steam through a spout.

  ‘Beautiful day out there,’ Henry continued. ‘I’d say we’re in for another hot one. Oh, and did you see the satellites?’

  ‘We did,’ Heather said, pouring milk into another jug to get it going. ‘Your friend, er, George?’

  ‘George. Yes.’

  ‘He said there will be more.’

  ‘Thousands most likely,’ Henry said. ‘Poured it in? Flick that switch, turn that dial and it should get going. That’s it. I’ll get the coffee pouring. So yes, I understand you’ve had some success tracking down the immunes.’

  ‘We got twenty-three,’ Heather said. Her hands full. Her mind occupied. Her back to the room.

  ‘That’s incredible. Twenty-three you say.’

  ‘I really enjoyed it actually. I mean. I didn’t work much before.’

  And the rest of us mere mortals just sat and watched and got schooled by Henry the Handsome who just got the most socially awkward person we ever met to chat openly.

  ‘Now that is nice coffee,’ Marcy said, taking the first sip a moment later. ‘Oh bless, Howie’s face. He’s all cross cos his coffee tasted like piss.’

  ‘I didn’t make it,’ I mumbled into my mug of perfect coffee.

  ‘Anyway. Yes. Here we are again,’ Henry said while lifting his mug. ‘I think the terms of our deal, for us working together, Mr Howie, are that I tell you what I know, and in return you will aid my team getting into London.’

  I shared a quick look with Reginald. ‘Let’s hear it first,’ I said.

  Henry paused and started buying time by taking a sip of coffee, which made me think the guy was full of shit and was about to start using the same delay tactics again. Except this time, Henry started speaking openly and clearly.

  ‘Howard was our intelligence gatherer. If my team located an asset and secured them into the UK. A defector for instance. Then one of Howard’s roles was to remain in contact with them. Defectors don’t always tell us everything they know straight away. They often drip feed intelligence in exchange for ongoing security, or better rewards. Bigger houses and so forth. The point is that Howard had good contacts within the international intelligence community, and it was Howard that first started hearing rumours. And really, that’s all it was. Just rumours of something happening. Some kind of project, but again we had no knowledge of where it was, or even what it was about. Only that it had some serious funding and was being kept very hidden. We monitored it, as we do with everything. However, it’s also important to note that my department was not the only department of our kind in the UK. MI5. MI6. GCHQ and Army intelligence to name just a few. What I mean is that we didn’t always have ownership of cases, or informants for that matter. We specialised you see. I dislike the phrase deniable ops, but by and large that’s what we did. But Howard. Well. He’d got the bit between his teeth about this rumour and he wouldn’t let it go.’

  ‘Now we know where you get it from,’ Marcy said, giving me a look.

  ‘And then, all of a sudden, Howard seemed to crack the case,’ Henry continued. ‘We knew there was a big research project being planned and a list of leading scientists were being invited to take part. Specialists in everything from virology to meteorology, which is where Dr Neal Barrett comes in…’

  Another pause as he took an A5 hardback writing pad from his bag at his feet and placed it on the table before sliding it over to Reginald.

  ‘That’s the diary from Dr Neal Barrett,’ Henry said into the silent air. ‘I’ve marked the date you should start from.’

  Reginald stared at it for a second. ‘Are you asking me to read it out, Henry?’

  ‘I am, Reginald.’

  Reggie looked at me. I gave him a nod and he cleared his throat as he opened the diary and found the page Henry had marked. ‘Diary entry. September 15th. Today has been most interesting…’

  8

  Diary Entry

  September 15th

  Today has been most interesting. Truly I am at a loss of even where to begin.

  I was at work in my offices in central London when my secretary informed me that two men from the United Nations wished to see me.

  That in itself was not alarming. I’m one of Europe’s leading statisticians. I hold a doctorate, and will soon be a professor, not only that but I am the chief researcher for the UK’s leading independent statistical office, so to b
e visited by governmental, or even official international organisations is not unusual.

  They did, however, normally give notice and book an appointment, so I could prepare, and have some idea of the subject.

  No matter though. I went down to the small conference room and met with two older gentlemen in dark business suits.

  ‘Dr Neal Barrett?’ one of them asked the second I walked in.

  We shook hands and exchanged brief pleasantries. They gave me their names and spoke with European accents, but, as embarrassed as I am to admit it, and because of what came next and the speed of events thereafter, I cannot recall what they were called, nor can I remember if they even told me where they were from.

  ‘Do you mind if we get straight to business, Dr Barrett?’ one of them asked and duly pulled a sheet of paper from a case.

  The sheet held a list of names, and upon closer inspection, I noticed they were the names of leading scientists from all over the world.

  ‘Do you know any of these people, Dr Barrett?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said and explained that I had heard of many, and had even met a few personally,

  I then noticed my name was also on the list. About two thirds of the way down.

  They then said that some of the others had only agreed to sign up on seeing my name. I asked what they meant.

  ‘We cannot tell you,’ the second man said, and he too produced a sheet of paper with a small printed paragraph above a dotted line and asked me to sign it in acceptance of the terms and conditions. Of course, I was rather flummoxed and asked them again what was going on. They said they could not tell me, which was in the terms and conditions.

  ‘Terms and conditions?’ I asked. ‘What terms and conditions?’

  ‘We cannot tell you until you sign, Dr Barrett,’ the first man said.