by Haywood, RR
‘Good,’ he says, sitting back up straight and frowning again at the creaking noises coming from the bed.
‘Aye,’ I say standing up for fear of the bed collapsing, ‘until the last bit when she had a go at me for having sex with Lani in the old armoury.’
‘Ah,’ he says knowingly, ignoring the splintering sound of wooden slats breaking, ‘Marcy does strike me as the jealous type.’
‘Just a bit,’ I say, staring at the bed and waiting for it to break, ‘she is nice though,’ I add.
‘Yeah?’ Clarence stops trying to break the bed to glance at me.
‘Yeah,’ I say, nodding.
‘Good,’ he says manfully with a manful nod of manliness.
I nod back. Manfully and full of manliness.
‘Shower is free,’ Dave says, striding from the bathroom fully dressed, cleanly shaven, boots tied and top tucked in.
‘Good,’ I say.
‘Good,’ Clarence says.
‘Blinky showering?’ Paula asks, closing the door behind her and dumping her bag on the bed next to the others.
‘Yep,’ Marcy says from the chair in the corner of the room, bending double to tug her boots off.
‘I almost said she should go with the lads,’ Paula says, dropping to sit on the edge of the bed.
‘She would have preferred it,’ Charlie says, sitting on the other side of the bed and bending double to tug her boots off.
‘Really?’ Paula asks with a laugh.
‘Urgh it’s going to be so cold,’ Marcy says with a groan, ‘I hate cold showers…’
‘I bet Howie needs one this morning,’ Paula says, twisting round to smile at Charlie, ‘or maybe he doesn’t?’ She adds with relish.
‘Done,’ the bathroom door slams open as Blinky walks out dressed with boots on with wet hair pulled back into a ponytail.
‘That was quick,’ Charlie says.
‘I don’t fuck about like you shaving everything and powdering my fanny…’ she fires back and stops dead at the sight of Paula in the room, ‘sorry, Miss Paula, Miss.’
‘It’s fine,’ Paula says quickly, ‘and it’s just Paula, not Miss Paula…’
‘Yes, Miss,’ Blinky says, nodding smartly, ‘may I be excused, Miss?’
‘Blinky, it’s Paula. Not Miss and you don’t have to ask…’
‘Yes, Miss.’
‘Paula.’
‘Yes, Miss Paula.’
‘Just Paula.’
‘Er…so can I be excused er…Mi…er…’
‘You don’t have to rush off,’ Paula says, trying to put the girl at ease but only striking terror deep into Blinky’s heart at the prospect of having to make small talk with other women.
Blinky blinks and looks at Charlie. Charlie was the captain. Charlie knows what to do in these situations. Charlie always knows what to do. ‘Can I go?’ She mouths as though neither Paula nor Marcy can hear or see her.
‘Maybe help Kyle?’ Charlie whispers.
‘Kyle needs help, Miss,’ Blinky announces to Paula, ‘with the fire and…some other shit probably.’
‘Okay then,’ Paula says, blowing air out through her cheeks.
‘Bye then, Miss…er….shit,’ Blinky winces as she strides from the room, wrenching the thing open then closing it gently with a last smart nod at Paula.
‘Well,’ Paula says, looking to Marcy then Charlie, ‘guess she would prefer being with the lads then.’
‘Has she left it in a mess?’ Charlie asks, moving to the doorway with a sense of reasonability for the actions of Blinky.
‘Has she?’ Marcy asks, rising from the chair to peer through, ‘it’s fine…who’s next for the cold shower?’
‘Ooh,’ Paula rushes to her feet as she remembers the conversation they were having before Blinky came out of the bathroom, ‘cold showers…Howie…go on then?’ She pulls an excited face at Charlie who frowns gently at the feeling of imposing.
‘Do you want me to go?’ She asks politely.
‘God no,’ Marcy says, reaching out to gently pull Charlie in before lowering her voice to a whisper, ‘So,’ she says emphatically, ‘Howie and I had first watch…’ she trails off with a growing smile.
‘You didn’t,’ Paula says, staring wide eyed.
‘We did,’ Marcy says with a proud nod and pushes her tongue into her cheek. ‘Oh yes…’
‘You had sex?’ Paula asks, with a grin becoming shamelessly salacious.
‘Really?’ Charlie asks, blinking and shuffling in with an involuntary action of wishing to be closer to share the news and sense of excitement coming from Marcy.
‘Yep,’ Marcy says, equally as happy at what she and Howie did and now the chance to share it with two other women. ‘It was so nice.’
‘Details,’ Paula says, biting her bottom lip, ‘Come on…we want details.’
‘Well,’ Marcy says, still grinning and looking up to the ceiling as though in thought, ‘…it was strange…’
‘Strange? Strange how? Good God…what did you both do?’
‘No,’ Marcy laughs, ‘I mean, Howie was really suffering, you know…thinking about that girl and he was all dark…you know how he gets. Charlie, you’ve seen Howie go all dark haven’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Charlie nods thinking of the difference in the man when he switches and the intensity that pours from his brooding eyes.
‘Well anyway, so he was suffering. Like really bad. So I stripped off and…’
‘You did what?’ Paula asks, leaning in.
‘I stripped off,’ Marcy says, turning round as though to check no one else has crept in to listen, ‘His eyes were closed so when I got on him he just felt my naked body…’
‘Oh my god! That is pure brilliance,’ Paula announces, ‘I bet that got his attention.’
‘Did it!’ Marcy scoffs then recovers with a mock serious air, ‘Er…yes, yes it did.’
‘So?’ Paula asks as Charlie feels herself eager for the next instalment.
‘We had sex,’ Marcy says.
‘We had sex,’ Paula tuts, rolling her eyes and making Charlie chuckle, ‘listen to her…obviously you had sex…what was it like? Was it romantic? Was he a brute?’
‘A brute?’ Charlie laughs but looks at Marcy just in case she says Howie was a brute.
‘No no, he was so…’ Marcy pauses, thinking and remembering, ‘I don’t know…he was er…’
‘What?’ Paula asks.
Marcy shrugs and her eyes show the memory so recent in her mind, ‘He was intense but…gentle…yeah, I think that’s the best way to say it.’
‘Oh,’ Paula says, pulling her head back with a knowing nod, ‘I knew he would be. Didn’t you?’ She asks Charlie, ‘I can just imagine Howie being intense and gentle.’
‘Definitely,’ Charlie says.
‘He was holding me so tightly…his arms were clamped on like he couldn’t get close enough but…’
‘Like a limpet?’ Paula laughs.
‘No! Not a limpet, like…just…I’m shit at explaining things.’
‘Vulnerable?’ Charlie suggests softly.
‘Yeah,’ Marcy says slowly, staring intently at Charlie, ‘that’s it. He was vulnerable but not like weak.’
They lapse into thoughtful silence of deep sighs and shared thoughts until Paula looks up sharply, ‘did you use anything?’
‘Like a condom?’
‘No I mean whips and chains…yes, did you use a condom?’
‘Oh shit,’ Marcy winces, biting her bottom lip, ‘I didn’t even think about it.’
‘Mind you, me and Roy don’t use anything either. Well, I’m sure your babies will be beautiful.’
‘Babies? Who said anything about babies?’
‘That’s what happens when men and women have sex without a condom.’
‘Oh shit, I didn’t…it wouldn’t… would it? From one time? I mean I was on the pill until all this started so maybe that’s still in my system.’
‘It can take a while to wear off,’ Charlie says.
‘May I ask a question?’ Charlie asks politely.
‘Sure,’ Marcy says.
‘What was it like after? Was it weird or anything?’
‘Oh good question,’ Paula says with approval.
‘Not weird at all, we just lay in the back cuddling with the moon shining down.’
‘In the back of what? The Saxon?’ Paula asks, ‘I hope you cleaned it.’
‘Of course I did,’ Marcy says, trying to remember if she did clean it, ‘we just talked quietly then got into an argument.’
‘Argument?’ Paula asks, darting to grab her wash bag, ‘what about?’ She slides into the bathroom and runs the cold tap to rinse her toothbrush off before adding a dollop of paste, ‘don’t mind me, what was the argument about?’
‘Lani,’ Marcy says, pulling a face, ‘I shouldn’t have said anything but…’
‘Marcy,’ Paula tuts with a mouthful of toothbrush.
‘I know, I feel bad now but…well I asked him if he had sex with her in that room?’
‘Oh,’ Paula says, rolling her eyes, ‘I bet that went well.’
‘Not really. Charlie, you know who Lani is?’
‘You explained before,’ Charlie says, ‘did he say if he had sex with her? I mean, if I may ask that.’
‘Bless, you’re so polite,’ Marcy says with a warm look at Charlie, ‘but he did…I mean yes, they did,’ she adds darkly.
‘Well he did come running out with his pants down so we all kind of figured that bit,’ Paula says, spitting in the bowl and rinsing her brush under the running water, ‘oh don’t look like that, Marcy. These are strange days. Don’t get hung up on the little things. Remember what I said,’ she adds, pointing her toothbrush at Marcy.
‘What did you say?’ Charlie asks.
‘Take comfort when you can,’ Marcy says then looks at Paula, ‘was that what you meant?’
‘It was,’ Paula says, rooting through her wash bag and pulling out bottles of shampoo, hair bands, brushes and a safety razor.
‘What would you do if Roy did that?’ Marcy asks.
‘If he did it now I’d chop his penis off…but if he did it before we were together? Well, that’s not my business,’ she says bluntly, ‘Marcy, Howie is crazy about you, anyone can see that. Seriously, take my advice and don’t get hung up on the small things. Right,’ she says, pulling her top off, ‘I’m going next before that lot start fighting over clean socks.’
She eases herself from the sleeping form of her children and pads quietly across the room. Paintings of golfers adorn the walls. Water colours and prints of flags fluttering in the breeze as men and women swing sticks to strike balls. In the bathroom she lowers the seat and squats to empty her bladder. Her eyes glazed and unfocused. Her clothing stained with the filth of the night. She sits for long minutes staring at nothing and seeing too many things until she blinks and reaches automatically for the toilet paper. She wipes, closes the seat cover and moves to the basin. Her own reflection scares her. The person she was to the person she is now. Bags under her eyes. Dark and puffy. Grime ingrained in the lines of her face. She feels drained. Exhausted. Emotionally and physically weak. She feels guilty for her own two children having survived when so many didn’t.
She twists the tap and stares down at the pure clean water pouring into the white ceramic bowl. Cool water that she uses to rinse her hands that rub at her tired face. Refreshing water that has been carbon filtered to remove scent, taste and colour and she bends over to hold her mouth close to the flow. She sucks the water into her mouth and drinks deeply. She drinks long and quenches the dryness of her throat. She swallows and feels her body respond to the intake of fluids and finally stands upright to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand as her mind thinks of what will happen now. Will they stay here? Go somewhere else? Maybe the fort everyone has heard about, maybe they will be taken there. She doesn’t know but she does know her own children are safe and alive when so many others perished. She goes back into the bedroom and eases down into the space between her children. Her arms reaching out to envelope them both as she lies still and listens to the sounds of other people waking in the rooms around her.
The man sits in the corner of the room. His eyes bloodshot and sore from hours spent sobbing at seeing his wife slain and being dragged screaming from her corpse. He wanted to die with her. He wanted to end it right there but the big man wouldn’t let him. The big man clamped a hand on his arm and pulled him away like he was nothing, like he was weightless, like he was a ragdoll. Guilt inside at being denied the chance to stay with his wife and guilt at the deeply hidden feeling inside that gives a perverse sense of pleasure at having survived.
Other men in the room cried too. Grown men put together in one small room in the golf hotel to cry and weep or to stare at the walls. Eventually those other men fell into broken and fitful sleep but he stayed in the corner. Biting into his own knuckles to silence the crying.
Pain like he has never felt grips his heart. His mind twisting as the memories play over and over. He kept her safe for so long. So many days and they survived. They stayed quiet. Hidden. They were clever and didn’t take risks. They had each other and in those darkest of days they heard of the living army and Mr Howie. People came through the town and stopped to take refuge to hide in the long hours of night. People who whispered of a small group that were not only fighting back but were winning. They couldn’t be stopped. The names were repeated again and again. Mr Howie. Dave. Clarence the giant. Blowers. Cookey. Nick. Mo Mo. Paula. He heard they lived in a fort on the coast and they had killed hundreds of thousands, maybe millions.
Then the things massed. They came all day to gather in the square. The people stayed silent, not fearing to move or speak and yet still more came. They came in from all sides and all roads and they gathered to wait for the living army that came to sweep them away. The rumours said the living army can’t be killed but normal people can. His wife died. His wife was cut down and Clarence the giant dragged him away.
‘Drink,’ he blinks up at the man holding the glass of water, ‘drink it…you’ve been awake all night.’
He turns his head. He doesn’t deserve water. He doesn’t want water.
‘Fucking drink it,’ the man holding the glass is tired. He saw his wife and children taken when this first started. He killed them himself after they turned and that made him cold inside. Then slowly over the days that followed he started to see the spark of humanity in others that were trying to survive. Everyone had lost someone. Everyone was the same but within that shared angst there was a cathartic healing. You had bad days when others counselled you and in turn, on the days he had strength, he gave counsel and words of comfort himself.
He saw them massing yesterday and like the others, he hid and stayed quiet, fearing this was it. There was no way out. Then Mr Howie and his group came and for all the death that was suffered those weird, joking, cold yet inseparable bastards armed to the teeth slaughtered the lot of them. The rumours were true. They were unstoppable. They were ethereal. Something from a story of olden days. He grunts as the man in the corner finally takes the glass and drinks it down in one long thirsty gulp before holding the empty glass out that is taken back into the bathroom to be filled from the running tap. He drinks himself. He drinks to survive. He drinks because his body needs hydration to live. Inside he is cold again. Cold and numb from the shock but he also knows they can recover. They will recover. He drinks so he can do what it takes to see Mr Howie and the living army kill the things again. He drinks to live so he can do whatever small task he can to help the cause and feed his desire for revenge.
The girl stands in the shower. Five years old and she stands under the cold water as her mother scrubs her hair with soap. She shivers and her teeth chatter. Goosebumps on her skin.
‘Not long,’ her mother says, scrubbing every inch of her daughter to be sure the filth and gore from last night are washe
d away.
‘Cold,’ the girl says, shivering again.
‘One minute.’
‘You said that one minute ago.’
‘Shush, I’m almost finished.’
‘Can I drink it?’
‘Drink what, baby?’
‘The water, can I drink it?’
The mother looks up at the shower head and shrugs, it’s cold water from the same main pipe that feeds the taps, what harm can it do?
‘Yes.’ She adds more soap and lifts her daughter’s hands to work at the nails. Germs are tiny. Microscopic. They can hide under the nails and she knows her daughter likes to bite her nails so she takes great care to scrub and wash.
She’d killed. She’d killed in the days after it all started and she killed last night. With a kitchen knife kept tucked in the waistband of her jeans. She stabbed and slashed at anything that came near her daughter. She killed a man who came into her house because he had the wrong look in his eye and asked if there were other men about. She left the house that day while he bled out on the living room floor. She found the square in the centre of town and joined the people living there but she kept that knife sharp and close. When they massed she held it ready and the fear grew by the hour as more and more poured into the world outside.
Then they came. Mr Howie and Dave. Clarence. Nick. Paula and the others. A thrill at knowing the rumours were true but also greater fear as the fighting intensified. She stayed with them. Doing as she was told. She stayed closest to the big man, Clarence the giant. Inching always close to be near his reassuring size and the calm that he exuded. When they had to go she ran with the others and got herded into the middle as those few gave everything to keep them alive. She killed again. When the fire engine broke the lines and it was chaos. Two got close and she stabbed one through the eye and the other through the heart.
Through all of that night, the greatest fear came when the woman Charlie started running the children away on the great horse. Just the mere thought of being separated made her legs go weak and her heart thud and her hands tremble but the big man eased her daughter from her arms, she’ll be safe, I promise you, and his voice was so deep and so calm. In that second she felt it. She felt the bond between them. She glimpsed the pulsing energy. The power of Howie. The snarling cold utter capability of Dave. The passion of Paula and Marcy. The fierceness of them all and through it all she felt the dog driving them on and like a static charge it touched her soul. She knew at that point that the safest place for her daughter was with any one of those few and she let her daughter go. Trust us the young woman Charlie mouthed as she wrapped her arms around her daughter then they were gone. Galloping away to safety and a future and the woman gripped that knife as tears of hope and pain streamed down her cheeks.
