The Undead Day Nineteen

by Haywood, RR

  ‘Fuck off, Marcy. I think I can…’

  ‘Why did you touch Mr Howie?’

  ‘Dave, enough. Both of you pack it in…’

  Kyle smiles, winding the handle round as he looks from Dave to Marcy and back to me, ‘Goodness, they are protective over you aren’t they.’

  ‘Yes we are,’ Marcy says as flat and as dangerous as Dave, ‘There are knives in here. Weapons…’

  ‘Whoa,’ I reach for her arm but she yanks away from me, ‘It wasn’t like that…’ I stop mid-sentence as Mo pushes into the kitchen with his face as set as Dave’s and his hand resting on the butt of his pistol.

  ‘Mo, I said not to go in there,’ Paula rushes in behind him, stopping dead at the sight of Marcy and Dave at glaring Kyle. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing. Everyone out,’ I say firmly, ‘Leave the man alone.’

  ‘Leave who alone?’ Paula asks.

  ‘Why was he touching you,’ Marcy repeats as Mo slides further into the room.

  ‘I said enough,’ I snap.

  ‘You were touching Howie?’ Paula asks, looking at Kyle who shows no reaction to the threat facing him but starts opening a second can of tuna.

  ‘Fuck me, he wasn’t threatening me. He was helping…’

  ‘Helping you rinse?’

  ‘Stop speaking over me.’

  ‘There are knives in here,’ Paula says, spying a long bladed knife on the worktop near Kyle.

  ‘Jesus fucking Christ…’ I snap ready to explode but stop at the tut coming from Kyle, ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he says lightly.

  ‘Do not tut at Mr Howie,’ Dave says.

  ‘I am an old man,’ Kyle says with that humour holding in his voice and his blue eyes twinkling as he looks round the room, ‘How could I possibly threaten Howie?’

  ‘Mr Howie,’ Dave says.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ Marcy demands.

  ‘I SAID ENOUGH,’ this time I do bellow, which perhaps wasn’t the best thing to do seeing as it brings just about everyone else piling into the kitchen, including Meredith who pushes through the legs to fix her eyes on the poor sod opening the can of tuna. ‘Right, enough. Leave the man alone, everyone out…’

  ‘I want to know…’ Marcy says, staring at Kyle as Blowers and the lads start ranging round and Nick darts forward to slide the knife from the worktop.

  Kyle smiles round at the faces then over at me, ‘they protect you do they not.’

  ‘He was touching Howie,’ Marcy explains to the rest.

  ‘Oh my fucking God!’ I groan and stop as Kyle tuts at me and finally my brain engages a gear, ‘You a priest?’

  He snorts a laugh and looks down at the third can of tuna then up at Clarence, ‘my hands hurt, would you open this for me.’

  ‘Vicar?’

  An eyebrow lifted questioningly at Clarence who shrugs and grabs the opener to start attacking the third can.

  ‘Why. Did. You. Touch. Mr. Howie?’

  ‘He helped me. DO NOT SPEAK OVER ME,’ the darkness flashes snapping every pair of eyes to me as I stand firm with my arms folded across my chest. ‘I woke badly. I rinsed my head. Kyle could see I was upset and came over…’

  ‘Ach, it was nothing,’ Kyle says, sliding a tin of mixed fruit towards Clarence, ‘That one is next. Is that water hot yet, Blinky?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘Stick your finger in,’ Kyle says.

  Blinky sticks her finger in and pauses for a second with a thoughtful look, ‘No.’

  ‘Add some more wood for me,’ he says nodding at the pile of kindling at her feet, ‘not too much now, mind.’

  ‘Mr Howie,’ Mo Mo says with a nod, stepping in front of me.

  ‘What are you doing, Mo?’

  ‘Nothing, Boss.’

  ‘Why are you standing in front of me?’

  ‘Gots to watch the water innit,’ he says from a lifetime of practise at finding excuses quickly.

  ‘Dave, have you told Mo to protect me?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

  ‘I do not need protecting, Dave.’

  ‘Okay, Mr Howie.’

  ‘Mo, you can move away now, mate.’

  ‘Okay, Boss,’ Mo replies taking the smallest step to the side.

  ‘Right,’ I say, starting to seethe.

  ‘You can’t blame them, Mr Howie,’ Kyle says easily, as though it’s just he and I in the room, ‘it shows the esteem in which they hold you.’

  ‘I can look after myself. Don’t any of you do that again do you hear me? I don’t need…’

  ‘Do you not?’ He asks, cutting me off with a flash of intensity in his eyes, ‘Can you do it alone then can you?’

  ‘No but…’

  ‘Then be humbled not angry. That is your pride speaking for you. Say thank you for their protection and love.’

  A sense of shame burns sudden and hot in my cheeks from the chastisement hidden in his words.

  ‘Each one of them placed themselves in harm’s way for you yesterday, Howie…’

  ‘Mr Howie…’

  ‘Dave,’ Marcy says softly.

  ‘I do not like the way this man speaks to Mr Howie.’

  ‘Dave’s autistic,’ Marcy says.

  ‘Do you apologise for him?’ Kyle asks, switching that intensity to her.

  ‘No, no I meant…’

  ‘The living army,’ Kyle says, sweeping his gaze over the faces mesmerised by the change in his manner. He holds court in the centre but without fear or worry. A power resonates from him that holds all our tongues still. ‘So few,’ he stares hard at Blowers which would normally make Blowers stiffen and glower but the lad sinks back slightly as though ashamed. ‘Hold your head up, son’ Kyle says kindly to him, ‘you don’t know the strength you possess. You are the glue that binds, do you hear me?’

  ‘Nick, Cookey…Paula, Roy,’ Kyle looks to each in turn, ‘Clarence the giant, Mo…We heard your names before you came. Mr Howie and Dave…the living army. Yet there are more, Marcy, Reginald, Charlie and Blinky, more wood, Blinky.’

  ‘Sir,’ Blinky nods putting more kindling into the flames.

  ‘They will know your names too,’ Kyle says to them and them alone, ‘And everything you do will be known and shared as they hide in the shadows and wait for the hope of light to come for you few are that light.’ He stops and turns to fix that intense look on Mo, ‘so young Mohammed, can you carry this weight, son?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Yes not yeah,’ Dave says.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How about you, Blinky?’ Kyle asks the girl crouched on the floor feeding the fire, ‘Can you hold true?’

  ‘Easy,’ she says softly, her eyes unblinking for once as they hold trapped on every word he speaks.

  ‘Yes,’ he grins at her, wide, toothy and full of delight, ‘yes you can. And you will,’ he laughs, filling the room with sound that dies as the laugh eases and he whispers, ‘all of you will because it will get darker, harder, worse than now and you must hold true,’ his voice becomes a growl full of conviction and belief, ‘All of you must hold true. You must. Do you hear me? He barks, making us all flinch, ‘are you listening to me? Are you?’

  Each person he looks at nods. It’s impossible not to.

  ‘The sins are not yours to carry. Do not burden yourselves with the belief that you have fouled in this life for you will be absolved…you are absolved.’

  A tear falls from Paula’s eye to roll down a cheek, solitary and slow. Clarence swallows, his hands frozen on the can of tuna in front of him. Marcy’s head lowers, her eyes glistening. A rush of emotion strikes us all and only Dave and Blinky show no outward reaction. I see Charlie dipping her head and Nick tilting his up defiant and proud and Blowers glaring but not with anger. Roy moving closer to Paula and Marcy lifting her head to meet my gaze.

  ‘They are not children you kill,’ he says, turning to see us all, ‘they are not men or women. They are not people. They do not have souls. Do not
drop your eyes in shame. Be righteous and hold your heads up,’ he says with a look at Blowers. ‘Be thankful for each other and the love you share,’ he turns to each, enforcing his point until suddenly he sighs and lifts the tea towel from his shoulder. ‘Now sod off, I’ve got a lot of people to feed. The coffee won’t be long. Go on, be away with you now. Blinky, that fire is big enough now.’

  The spell breaks as Kyle the cook waves, badgers and ushers us from his kitchen. We traipse quietly into the main room to stand in a stunned group of silent and pensive reflection at words spoken that held enough power to invoke emotions strong enough to bring most of us to tears.

  ‘I think,’ Cookey announces thoughtfully, his face showing the same level of thought we all feel ‘that we just got dissolved.’

  Blowers groans, ‘you twat.’

  ‘What? He said it, he said you are dissolved. He said that. But I always thought water was involved when you got dissolved, like blessed holy baby Jesus water or something.’

  ‘Blessed holy baby Jesus water?’ Blowers asks, ‘did you really just say that?’

  ‘I did glue boy.’

  ‘Blinky shoved her finger in some water,’ Nick points out.

  ‘Ha! You got a dissolved finger,’ Cookey laughs.

  ‘Fuck it,’ Blinky snaps, glaring at her finger, ‘is that bad then? Will anything happen to it?’

  ‘Where the fuck do you start with that?’ Blowers says quietly. He looks at Cookey then at Blinky and goes to say something else then just stops and shakes his head sadly.

  ‘Cookey,’ Paula says slowly.

  ‘Don’t,’ Blowers says, ‘There’s no point. Really. Just don’t even try.’

  ‘Who is that guy?’ Marcy asks.

  ‘No idea,’ I say, ‘I had my head under the tap and he said the same thing to me.’

  ‘What? That you’re dissolved?’ Cookey asks so sincerely that I lack the heart to correct him, that and Nick and Blowers both frantically shaking their heads.

  ‘Er yeah, mate, I got dissolved.’

  ‘So like…he abs…’ Marcy starts to say as Nick coughs loudly, ‘He dissolved you under running water?’ She says, fighting the smile from forming.

  ‘Guess so, I don’t know. It felt alright though.’

  ‘What? Being dissolved?’ Paula asks innocently.

  ‘So’ Marcy asks, looking back at the kitchen doors, ‘You think he’s a priest or something?’

  ‘Fuck knows.’

  ‘Reginald?’

  ‘Yes, Marcy and no, Marcy. We are not going into the kitchen to be…’

  ‘We are. Come on.’

  ‘Marcy, I really do not feel the need to hold my head under a cold water tap while a cook tells me…’

  ‘It can’t hurt after the shit we did.’

  ‘You did. Not we did.’

  ‘You were there. Come on.’

  ‘Marcy. I must protest.’

  ‘Do it quietly,’ she says, grabbing his wrist as she pulls him back into the kitchen but I do notice he doesn’t protect that much. Either he wants to be absolved or dissolved by a bloke that may or may not be a priest or he likes being dragged about by Marcy. Can’t say as I blame him. I mean, there’s worse people to get dragged around and dissolved by, especially when she’s naked in the back of the Saxon with the moon shining down on her boo…

  ‘Howie?’

  ‘Huh?’ I say, realising that Paula just said something.

  ‘Go and get washed, you’re sharing with Clarence and Dave.’

  ‘Sharing what?’

  ‘A bathroom.’

  ‘Eh? Why?’

  ‘Because we’ve only got four rooms left that’s why. Reginald, Neal and Roy are sharing. The lads can have one. I’ll share with the other girls so that leaves…oh just go and get washed. Nick? Blowers? You both need to shave. Make sure you shave. The living army should be smart. They do look nice when they’re shaved,’ she informs me, folding her arms then darting a quick look at Mo trying to sneak past, ‘Mo, do you need a shave?’

  ‘No!’ He calls out as he speeds up out of the room.

  ‘Have a shave, honey.’

  Mo runs out then reappears leaning round the doorframe, ‘Did you call me honey?’

  ‘Yes? Problem?’ Paula asks him.

  He grins wide young and full of mischief, ‘Nah, it’s all good yeah? You get me?’

  ‘I will bloody get you,’ she laughs as he runs off, ‘Clarence, does Mo know how to shave?’

  ‘Showed him yesterday.’

  ‘He might have forgotten. You or Roy go and remind him how to do it.’

  ‘The lads’ll do it,’ Clarence says, ‘Don’t embarrass him.’

  ‘You need a haircut,’ Paula says, fixing me with an appraising look.

  ‘Fuck me, you’re on one this morning,’ I say before moving quickly away.

  ‘I bet someone in that load of survivors is a hairdresser.’

  ‘Sorry, what?’ I ask rushing off towards the reception.

  ‘I’ll find one,’ she calls out.

  ‘Find one what?’ I shout back as Marcy comes out of the kitchen with wet hair and muttering at Reginald walking behind her.

  ‘It’s only bloody water,’ she says.

  ‘It was cold!’

  ‘Oh man up. Where is everyone?’

  Fifteen

  ‘Fuck me, he’s in there already,’ Cookey says, walking into the hotel bedroom with Nick and Mo to find Blowers already in the shower, ‘don’t piss in it, glue boy.’

  ‘Too late,’ Blowers shouts.

  ‘And don’t ask me to pick the soap up.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Blowers shouts, ‘Nick?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can you pick the soap up?’

  ‘Twat,’ Nick laughs, dumping his bag on the double bed, ‘Mo, you going next?’

  ‘Yeah don’t mind,’ Mo says, dumping his bag between Cookey’s and Nick’s.

  ‘What the fuck was all that about?’ Cookey asks.

  ‘What?’ Nick asks.

  ‘Er the massive foam party we had last night…the bloke in the kitchen you fucking moron.’

  ‘No idea,’ Nick says, undoing the buckles and zips on his bag, ‘you think we’re taking those people back to the fort?’

  ‘Probably,’ Cookey replies.

  ‘What was that?’ Blowers asks, opening the bathroom door with a towel round his waist.

  ‘Nick asked if we’re taking those people back to the fort,’ Cookey says.

  ‘Ah, yeah probably,’ Blowers says, ‘who’s going next?’

  ‘Mo,’ Nick says, ‘Mo, you shaving?’

  ‘Paula said I got to,’ Mo replies, ‘but er…’

  ‘What’s up, mate?’ Blowers asks, seeing a fleeting look of worry cross Mo’s face.

  ‘Nuffin, S’free yeah?’ Mo asks, hiding his nerves as he slips back into slang.

  ‘Mo,’ Blowers says, heading to his own bag, ‘I don’t know how to hotwire a car and I’m sure as fuck I couldn’t fight Dave like you just did…I’d be flat on my arse in seconds.’

  ‘You like arse,’ Cookey mutters.

  ‘Point is,’ Blowers says, ignoring Cookey, ‘is that we all have different skills…apart from Cookey who doesn’t have any skills.’

  ‘Fact,’ Nick adds.

  ‘Your mums,’ Cookey mutters, pulling a pair of socks from his bag and subjecting them to the sniff test, ‘are they clean? They smell clean.’

  ‘If you forgot how to shave just say,’ Nick says.

  ‘Yeah,’ Mo nods, grinning at Cookey pushing his socks into Blowers face.

  ‘Are they clean?’

  ‘Fuck off you…’ Blowers shouts then sniffs, ‘yes they’re clean.’

  ‘Cheers twat. Ha motherfuckers, I got clean socks. Yep, clean socks for my footsies today. See my sock dance,’ Cookey says, bobbing on the spot while holding his clean socks, ‘this is my clean sock dance bitches.’

  ‘Dissolve yeah?’ Nick asks as Blowers and Mo burst out la
ughing.

  ‘What?’ Cookey asks, pausing in his clean sock dance, ‘what’s funny about that?’

  ‘Mo?’ Nick asks, ‘bother you if I shave at the same time?’

  ‘Nah it’s good,’ Mo says.

  ‘What’s funny about dissolving?’ Cookey asks.

  ‘Such a dick,’ Blowers mutters.

  ‘Glue boy,’ Cookey nods at Blowers, ‘do you want to see my clean sock dance again?’

  ‘No. Not really.’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Is the sink big?’

  ‘What?’ Blowers asks, sinking on the edge of the bed and looking up at Cookey still holding his socks.

  ‘Is the sink big?’

  ‘What the fuck you on about?’

  ‘Nick?’ Cookey shouts, ‘you got room for another one in there?’

  ‘No. Fuck off.’

  ‘Roger that,’ Cookey says, grabbing his wash bag and heading for the bathroom.

  ‘I said no,’ Nick groans as Cookey pushes between him and Mo.

  ‘Blah blah blah, right…Mo… let’s get taught how to shave by Nick. But not our bollocks. Nick, we’re not shaving our bollocks again,’ he looks at Mo with a serious face, ‘don’t shave your bollocks, Mo. They get really itchy.’

  ‘Dave showering?’

  ‘Yup,’ Clarence says, unpacking his bag on the bed, ‘and probably shaving and sharpening his knife while doing press ups at the same time.’

  I chuckle and dump my bag on the bed, ‘Mo got Dave trained then.’

  ‘The boy’s got skills,’ Clarence says dropping to sit on the edge of the bed that creaks and groans under his massive weight. He looks round at the noises and frowns, ‘cheap beds.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say slowly, ‘blame the bed.’ He grunts a laugh as I start undoing the buckles and zips on my bag to pull out clean clothes and my wash bag.

  ‘How was last night?’ Clarence asks, bending double to tug his boots off.

  ‘Good,’ I reply, sitting on the other side to bend double and tug my boots off.

  ‘Good?’ He asks, freeing one foot and starting on the other, ‘or very good?’

  ‘Very good,’ I reply as I start on my second boot.

  ‘Yeah?’ He asks, pulling his socks off.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, pulling my socks off.