by Haywood, RR
They got through it. Charlie said trust us and they got through it. Not all did but she did and now, the morning after the night before, she scrubs her daughter’s skin with a knife lying close and sharp as the others in the bedroom behind start to wake.
He’s a big man. Broad, heavy boned and possessed of a nature so gentle it defies the bulk he carries on his frame. He couldn’t kill but sometimes the greatest strength lies in the gentle touch of a warm heart and in those dark days when there was no light he gave strength with gentle words and a gentle smile. Warm eyes that softened and listened to the pain of others. He held them when they wept and sobbed for those they had lost. He brought them water and covered them with blankets at night. He foraged for food. Went out for supplies and played with the children when the parents were too exhausted and broken to function. He was there when the visitors spoke of the living army and a man called Mr Howie. He regaled in the idea of it. Of the sheer heart-warming hope it gave. He listened with rapt attention about a man called Dave who couldn’t be killed or even touched by the infected. He heard about a woman called Paula and a man who could fire a longbow over a mile and hit the infected through the eye. He heard of Blowers and Nick and Cookey and Mo Mo. Names that resonated and conjured images in his mind of heroes sweeping the lands to rid the beasts. They had a giant! A giant called Clarence who could lift a car with his bare hands and who could throw big men like they were made of nothing. He seized on it and when the hope dwindled he spoke of them. Re-telling the stories and keeping that flame alive.
When they massed outside he helped keep the children quiet and waited knowing they would come, and they did come. The living army came and swept the demons away and every rumour was true. They were unstoppable. They laughed and joked at the points of absolute desperation. They carried children and still fought one handed with lips snarling and eyes blazing. He saw Howie the softly spoken man who became a thing that shouldn’t exist. The sheer power of the man seemingly holding the infected back. He cried when the screams of the little girl came into the room and he feared the worst and that it was done. Right there it was done and the strength drained from every man and woman listening to those awful wails. Only it wasn’t done. He was close. He saw it. He saw Howie grab Marcy’s throat. He saw Marcy trying to cover Howie’s ears as though to protect him from the noise. He saw Howie go down onto his knees. He saw the dog inching closer. Licking Howie’s face and whining with an urgency that grew. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and a shiver ran down his spine in the thick air that was charged with static when he saw Howie and those few surge to their feet and run from the room but not as people, as something else, something animalistic.
What came after was terrifying beyond comprehension. It was a never ending nightmare of carnage and death and faces lurching in with teeth barred only to be cut down inches before they could bite.
Now they are here. In a golf hotel somewhere in the countryside.
He’s a big man, broad and heavy-boned but he threads through the bodies sleeping to reach the bathroom. In a room with three other men. Two sleep on the bed. One in the chair in the corner. He slept on the floor. He could see the others were in worse shape than he was.
In the bathroom he gently closes the door and stands to relieve himself at the toilet. The relief in his bladder is pleasant and he blinks sleepily. He should help prepare the food or look after the children. He could help clean things or carry things. Whatever it takes. He finishes pissing and moves to the sink to twist the tap. Soap from the dispenser on the wall and he washes his hands. Scrubbing thoroughly to rid the germs and bacteria. Maybe he could learn to refill the magazines for the guns and sharpen the axes and knives. With more soap from the dispenser he finger scrubs the tap, rubbing the gel into the stainless steel to remove any other germs or bacteria and only when satisfied does he drop to drink.
He’s a big man, broad and heavy-boned and pushing his bulk to get close to a bathroom tap is no mean feat but with his chest pressed into the rim of the sink and his shoulders dwarfing the width of the basin he gets close enough to suck at the flow and draw the refreshing water into his mouth. He drinks long and drinks deep because he is a big man with a heavy body that needs fluids to function. He breathes out through his nose, a noisy blast of air that mists the shiny steel tap and he drinks more. Sucking the water that was carbon filtered and clarified to make it scentless, tasteless and clear. Sucking the water that was kept in the tank that held the bodies that flayed themselves alive to bleed and pass fragments of skin and flesh that pumped through the pipes as the survivors in the houses, dwellings, farms, hotels, stables and shops wake up to drink and shower and flush toilets. A combined effort of drawing water from tanks across the short distance from the treatment centre to the golf hotel. The infection dies in the water. It cannot live without organic life to sustain it. The blood becomes inert and diluted but within those pipes pass the fragments of flesh and skin and the demand for water from the rooms speeds the time it takes for the water to go from the tank to the hotel. Chunks of flesh, skin and tiny bits of body all pass into the mouths of those that drink and down into their stomachs to be drawn out to hydrate their bodies.
The man yacks and gags to the side poking his tongue out at the feeling of something hitting it. He looks up and on seeing the soap dispenser he tuts and rolls his eyes with the assumption of a drop of anti-bac gel falling to land in his mouth and carries on drinking as the men in the room behind him start to wake.
Day Nineteen
Today is the nineteenth day since the virus was unleashed. Today is the nineteenth day since it started for everyone else. For me it is a new day of promise and I woke just a short time ago with a rare feeling of hope in my heart.
A night has passed since I witnessed the events of yesterday and, truth be told, I still cannot believe the things I saw.
I’m in the main room of a golfing hotel somewhere in the southern England countryside. I gather we are not that far from the coast but then nowhere in England is ever really that far from the coast.
The others all awoke and immediately ran into the kitchen on hearing Mr Howie yell out. I do not know what happened in there, only that they came out and started talking about being dissolved. I did gather that what they were actually talking about was not in fact anything to do with being dissolved but rather a joke aimed at Cookey, and it speaks of their bond that such a joke can be perceived by a stranger such as myself and that even I can see it was with warmth and wholly lacking in spite.
Everyone else has now gone to use the bathrooms. I have been instructed by Paula that I am sharing with Reginald and Roy, which I am pleased about. Reginald is very clean, that is really quite clear. Roy also appears to be a man of good hygiene so I have had some good fortune with being placed in their team so to speak.
I have yet to take my turn in washing and it is with a feeling of not wishing to impose that I wait for them to finish. I have already been provided with a coffee by a man who said his name was Kyle and that he was “just a cook”. I do not know why he said he was “just a cook” but I did not feel the wherewithal to argue or question his comment.
Jess. My horse. My trusty steed has been “commissioned for the war effort”. That was what Clarence said. Blowers just said “we’re keeping her”.
I must be honest and admit that I do feel somewhat jealous at the way Jess has responded to Charlie.
Jess and I have been together for months now. Since I sought refuge and hid from the world to wait for the end game to start. I always had a feeling that Jess tolerated me rather than actually liked me but I put this down to her nature. However, on seeing her manner towards Charlie I now know she was only tolerating me. That hurts. It actually hurts inside to think of Jess showing such affection for another.
That being said, Charlie is an incredible young woman and even I, with my very limited understanding of horses and horsemanship can see how gifted she is on Jess.
I could always feel that
Jess wanted more from me as a rider but I was too fearful to let her run too fast or move too quickly. I was worried about being thrown or being hurt. I was worried Jess would harm herself or do something that would cause injury but seeing her with Charlie has made me realise just how frustrated she must have been with me.
Charlie galloped her at full speed. Without fear, without a saddle or reins, without a harness and holding an axe. She spun on the spot, round and round while slaying them either side. She let Jess rear and use her weight against the infected host bodies trying to attack them. She took the children from the group and let Jess have her head and ride hard along a tarmacked road.
Truly it was incredible.
Everything I saw was incredible. I saw too many incredible things to even begin to start questioning them all. Roy with a bow and arrow. Dave’s speed and dexterity. Clarence’s strength. All of them had something they brought that was special and unique.
This morning they are just people. Last night they were not just people.
I must focus on my task and turn my mind to the reason I am here: my list.
I do not know their full names. I have only first names other than Cookey and Blowers. I have heard Dave refer to them as Alex and Simon. Mo Mo is Mohammed. Blinky is Patricia.
I have my list of the names of those known to have immunity but I cannot find Alex Cook or Alex Cooke or Alex Cookey. I cannot find Simon Blowers either. There are plenty of Mohammeds but without a surname I am unable to know if he is on the list. Likewise, there are plenty of Davids and even a few Howards. Without their surnames I cannot check for sure and it may be I was wrong with Simon Blowers and Alex Cookey. Perhaps those are not their full or actual names.
Mr Howie did assure me last night that we would have a full conversation this morning. I need to know their journey and everything they have done so far. In turn, they will undoubtedly need to know who I am and the information I possess.
Blinky has come back in. She stood nearby for a minute before asking me what I was writing. I told her it was my diary and she walked off into the kitchen with a look of disgust on her face.
Paula has just told me I will be able to use the bathroom soon. I am in no rush. This is the first day I have felt safe for a very long time. Indeed, even having Blinky close is a great comfort. She may be lacking in conversational ability but she is certainly brutal and efficient at killing.
Priorities for today: this morning:
1, Check their full names against the list.
2, If they are not on the list then they have either never given blood, had a blood test or medical procedure or never been arrested or had reason to provide any form of blood, urine or other bodily matter sample for medical testing and never had a surgical operation, or…they were not immune but rather they have been infected with a mutated version of the virus. (My belief is the latter. I am quite sure Mo has been arrested and I am given to understand a few were in the army so would have provided a DNA sample as routine)
3, If they are not on the list then I we, we need to establish the next course of action. Those on the list need to be found and protected. They are the future for our species. If Mr Howie and his group all hold a mutated version of the virus then that urgently needs addressing and understanding. URGENTLY. They have no concept of what they have, or what it could mean to them.
There is also the possibility that they do not hold a mutated version but the original strain but that is a concept that even I
Where are they?
I do not know.
I die in the water. It cannot sustain me.
The water moves faster now. It is being drawn through the pipes but still I die.
I get further now. I pass through the pipes that travel under the ground but still I die.
It flows faster. The demand is greater. I travel further. I die.
Faster. Greater. Further. I die.
Am I an I?I am not an I. I am not a single living entity that has a form.
What is I?
I is a pronoun.
What is a pronoun?
Pronoun is the name of a word used when a noun is not used. She, It, He, Who are pronouns.
What is noun?
A word that is used to refer to a place, a person, a thing, an event, a substance.
What is It?
It is a pronoun used as subject or object of a verb or a preposition to a thing.
What is Thing?
Thing is a noun. They use this word to refer to an object in placement of the name of the object.
I am a thing. I am noun.
I am It. I am pronoun.
I am I. I am pronoun.
Yes I am I. I am not It. I am a thing in the way of an object but one that has life. A host body was a thing. A host body is a thing.
Where am I?
I am further through the pipes. I die but I get further. I feel the pressure of the water being concentrated as it is sucked through. I die. I cannot sustain. I cling to the fragments of flesh and skin that get rinsed and cleansed and I die before I reach my goal.
I have a host. I am inside a host body. I have entered through the mouth to the stomach from the water drawn through the pipes. I reproduce, take over, replicate and trick the other cells into letting me in. Pain in the stomach of the host. She holds her mid-section and falls to the ground. She makes noise. I silence her. She dies. I live. She lives. I have the host body.
Where am I?
I am in a room. There is a window. There are fields outside.
Are they here?
I do not know. I will look.
I am in a dwelling. I am alone. The host is an old woman. She has lived in this dwelling for fifty seven years. Her husband died three years ago. She has stayed inside for nineteen days. She thinks of the war. She calls it the Second World War. She remembers being evacuated from London to the countryside when she was a young girl. She remembers food was scarce and surviving on small rations.
Are they near her?
She has not heard of Howie or Dave or Clarence. She has no memory of any of them. She is not near them.
I have a host. I am inside a body. I have entered through the mouth to the stomach. I replicate. It is a male. He feels pain. I silence him. He fights the pain and tries to rise. He dies. I live. He lives. I have the host body.
Where am I?
I am in a room. There is a toilet. There is a bath.
Are they here?
I will look.
I am in a corridor. There are other rooms. I can smell people. I can smell body odour and gases released from anuses. I do not smell fear. There is a room. There is a woman sleeping in the bed. This is the host body’s bedroom. The woman is his wife. They have been married for eleven years. They have two children. The children are asleep in other rooms. The children are called Summer and John. The host body believes John is not his child. He has memories of his wife having sexual intercourse with another man. He believes his wife enjoyed the sexual intercourse with the other man more than she enjoys sexual intercourse with him. His belief has caused him to undertake self-gratification while watching other host bodies having sexual intercourse on the internet. He was having self-gratification every day until the internet stopped working. He now has sexual intercourse with his wife.
Are they near? Does he have memories of Howie?
Yes. No. There are memories but not direct memories. He has knowledge. He was told by a group of people that he met two days ago. He was told about Howie. He was told Howie leads the living army.
The living army.
This is what the host was told. He has the memory of this conversation. He does not know Howie. He has not met Howie. Howie is not here.
I will take his wife and children for host bodies.
I have a host. I am inside a body.
Where am I?
I die.
The body did not take me. It rejected me. It was one of them. It was Paula. She was brushing her teeth. She was in a bathroom. I died.
/>
They are in this area. The water they take is the water from the treatment centre.
I have a host. I am inside a body. I have entered through the mouth to a stomach. I replicate. It is a female. She feels pain. She screams. I silence her. She falls. Others come.
‘Jenny? Jenny? Oh my god…JENNY? Phil…PHIL!’
‘What? What’s happ…oh fuck…Jenny? Jenny what’s wrong?’
She dies. I live. She lives. I have the host body.
‘Oh fuck…fuck…no…NOOOO….get back now she’s turning…’
Where am I? Are they here?
I am in a room. I see others. I will take them.
‘FUCK! Hit her, Phil…fucking hit her….KILL THAT BITCH.’
They are hitting me with a cricket bat. I rise. They scream. I smell fear.
‘Oh god I’ve smashed her bloody jaw off…’
‘Phil, that ain’t Jenny…hit her again…fuck’s sake, hit her, Phil!’
I move fast. I cannot bite now. The mouth of the host is not responding to the signals I send from the brain. They hit me again. Phillip Mahoney hits me with the cricket bat. She met Phillip Mahoney the day after I gained freedom. Phillip lives with Paul. Paul is shouting at Phillip. They are young men. The host body is Jenny Evans. She is twenty eight. She is overweight but has lost a great portion of fat from her body due to an increase in metabolic rate and a reduction in both fats and carbohydrates. Jenny likes Phillip. She was wants to have sexual intercourse with him. Paul wants to have sexual intercourse with Phillip too. Jenny and Paul talk about having sexual intercourse with Phillip.
