The Undead Day Nineteen

by Haywood, RR

  ‘Overwatch on.’

  ‘GPMG ready.’

  ‘Everyone out,’ I open my door and drop down, drawing my axe which gets shoved down my back. My rifle comes next, the strap looped over my arm. The back doors have already opened as Blowers drops down to lead his team out in a run towards the minibus. Meredith is already out, standing metres from the side with her eyes fixed towards the buildings, her hackles up and teeth showing. Dave comes next, his rifle ready and Clarence has to turn sideways to get his bulk through the small doors before popping out like a bar of soap.

  ‘One in the distance, can I engage?’

  ‘Go for it, Roy.’

  ‘Remember what I said before, do not try and compensate for my firing. I will work…’

  ‘WE KNOW,’ Clarence shouts, cutting him off.

  ‘Well that’s our covert approach blown then,’ I say.

  ‘Covert? With a rattling minibus and three diesel engines?’ He replies.

  A soft ping, a whoosh and an arrow flies through the air to a target unseen amongst the buildings.

  ‘Did you get him?’ I ask.

  ‘Her and yes, of course I did.’

  ‘Roy is a fucking legend,’ Blinky mutters, kneeling to the side of the minibus door.

  ‘Dave? How do you want to do it?’

  ‘Ahem.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Clarence? Dave? How do you want to do it?’

  ‘Dunno, ask Dave,’ Clarence says with a grin at me.

  ‘Holy shit,’ Marcy says, making us all turn to see Reginald jogging from Roy’s van and trying to fumble with the rifle which he drops. He stops to pick it up and lets his bag slide down his right arm before trying to pick both up and somehow getting the rifle pushed through the straps, ‘he really shouldn’t have a gun,’ Marcy says.

  ‘Indeed,’ Reginald says, trying to tug his rifle from the straps, ‘do I really need to carry this thing? It is most cumbersome and frightfully heavy.’

  ‘DOWN!’

  We duck on Dave’s command as Reginald grabs the trigger guard to tug the weapon free while sweeping the aim across our group.

  ‘PUT THAT WEAPON DOWN,’ Dave bellows, making Reginald balk in fright and drop the rifle and bag with a yelp as Dave strides towards him.

  ‘I am most dreadfully sorry.’

  ‘Turn around,’ Dave says, picking the bag up and sliding the rifle from the straps, ‘Mohammed, come here.’

  ‘Yep,’ Mo sprints over as Dave gets the straps free and manhandles the bag onto Reginald’s back. ‘Face me.’ Reginald turns back to Dave looking like a child being dressed by his mother as Dave’s fast hands grab straps which he tightens and tucks away. ‘Mohammed, you will guard Reginald. Reginald, you are relinquished of your weapon until you have satisfactorily proven to be competent and safe in the usage of the weapon. Do you understand?’

  ‘I do and I am most thankful to be relinquished of the blasted thing and my apologies to Mohammed to be burdened with my care but it is most comforting to have a bodyguard and…’

  ‘Mohammed, you will apply the principles I have instructed with regard to Mr Howie to Reginald.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Yes Dave not yep.’

  ‘Yes, Dave. Rifle, pistol or knife?’

  ‘We are entering buildings with the potential for close quarter combat. Consider the tactical options of each weapon.’

  ‘Pistol,’ Clarence coughs into his hand.

  ‘Er, pistol?’ Mo asks.

  ‘The pistol is the right weapon for this engagement.’

  ‘Should we all use pistols?’ Marcy asks.

  ‘Fuck knows,’ I say with a shrug, ‘Dave?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

  ‘Do we all use pistols or rifles?’

  ‘I prefer the pistol,’ Paula says.

  ‘I’m so glad you said that,’ Marcy says, ‘shall we use pistols?’

  ‘Yeah?’ Paula asks, ‘shall we?’

  ‘Go on then,’ Marcy says, slinging her rifle to draw her pistol.

  ‘Much better,’ Paula says, drawing her own sidearm and rolling her shoulders.

  ‘Finished?’ I ask them both.

  ‘And you can sod off,’ Marcy says, giving me a flash of a smile.

  ‘No no, it’s fine,’ I say, ‘we’ll give the zombies time to get ready.’

  ‘Not zombies,’ Clarence grumbles.

  ‘ZOMBIES.’

  ‘Alex.’

  ‘Sorry, Clarence.’

  A soft ping, a whoosh and another arrow flies off to hit something that gargles and falls over.

  ‘Got another one,’ Roy calls out.

  ‘Well, we don’t need to go anywhere then,’ Marcy says, ‘Roy can kill them all’

  ‘Someone in the minibus wants to know what’s going on,’ Blinky calls out, ‘shall I tell them to fuck off?’

  ‘No do not tell them to fuck off,’ Paula says, ‘tell them we’re having a tactical discussion on strategy.’

  ‘THEY ARE HAVING A TACTICAL DISCUSSION ON STRATEGY,’ Blinky shouts, ‘I told them, Miss Paula.’

  ‘And everyone else,’ Paula mutters, ‘thank you, Blinky.’

  ‘Miss Paula?’ I ask.

  ‘I’ve told her it’s just Paula.’

  ‘I like Miss Paula,’ I say.

  ‘Do you? I don’t so don’t even think…’

  ‘Paula is Miss Paula from now on,’ I call out.

  ‘You shit, Howie.’

  ‘Got it, Miss Paula,’ Nick calls back.

  ‘Miss Paula,’ Blowers says.

  ‘Hi, Miss Paula,’ Cookey adds.

  ‘I hate you all.’

  ‘Even me?’ Clarence asks, seemingly hurt of the guilt by association.

  ‘Not you.’

  ‘Thanks, Miss Paula.’

  ‘Can we just get on?’ Paula huffs as another arrow pings across over our heads.

  ‘Three now,’ Roy says, ‘Miss Paula,’ he adds in a murmur.

  ‘Dave,’ Paula snaps, ‘lead the way please.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Paula.’

  We head on past the locked and secure reception building and down the access road to the larger and longer treatment centre. In silence we go. Everyone turning to watch the sides, rear and front in equal measure. I glance across to see Mo holding his pistol low in a double handed grip while staying inches in front of Reginald who seems to be enjoying having his own personal bodyguard.

  ‘Doors open,’ Clarence says quietly, his greater height giving him the advantage of seeing the busted door to the treatment centre before the rest of us. A low hiss from inside and an infected female appears in the doorway only to be taken a second later with an arrow slamming through her neck.

  ‘Good shot, Roy,’ I murmur into my radio.

  ‘Meredith’s going in,’ Clarence says as the dog streaks ahead. We pick the speed up knowing she can handle herself but not wishing to leave her on her own against unknown numbers.

  Inside the door is a gantry of metal walkways crossing over huge water tanks. Motorised arms fixed to machinery that should be making those arms rotate and spray things I guess. It looks like the water comes in one end and goes through the tanks before disappearing into the next section of the building and other than the one Roy shot down the inside is empty.

  We head down the gantries, Dave and Meredith in the lead with me right behind him.

  ‘Down there,’ Paula says, turning her torch on to shine down into the next dark tank of water and the bodies floating in it.

  ‘That’s it then,’ I say quietly, ‘it got in through the water.’

  ‘Not yet, Mr Howie,’ Reginald whispers, ‘those corpses appear intact from what I can see and the water is clear. The infection must work at a cellular level.’

  I stop and stare down, bringing my torch out to shine into the seemingly clear water, ‘those bodies couldn’t infect us then if we drank that water.’

  ‘A virus cannot be sustained without living organic matter, they are corpses, Mr Howie and water is
not living organic matter.’

  We press on through a doorway into the next section of larger tanks but with machinery overhead. Some kind of conveyer system that brings long metal trays out from the tank to swing round to hang down before they pass through a narrow gap in the wall to an outside area. We shine torches but the water here is free from bodies.

  ‘Reggie?’ I ask.

  ‘The other player has certainly attempted to make use of the water supply but I maintain those bodies in that former tank would not be sufficient. There will be an external tanking system that we must check.’

  ‘Fair enough, Dave, lead on.’

  Our motley crew of intrepid detective explorers continue to venture to the last section of tanks and machines until we reach a door set in the wall.

  ‘Hmmm,’ I say quietly, ‘I wish we had a way of magically opening doors.’ I step aside to let Clarence squeeze through to magically open the door that pings off after being kicked.

  ‘Hey presto,’ Clarence says, turning to grin back as Dave lifts and fires past his head to the infected looming behind him. To his credit, Clarence doesn’t flinch but stands stock still for a second before blinking heavily and stretching his jaw, ‘I felt that, Dave.’

  ‘You were not in danger.’

  ‘I felt the air.’

  ‘You were not in danger.’

  ‘I was still turning.’

  ‘I calculated your motion.’

  ‘Course you did,’ Clarence mutters and steps outside to stick a finger in his ear that he waggles about.

  ‘All this water makes me need a wee,’ Marcy says from behind me.

  ‘That shot was fucking awesome, Dave,’ Mo says once Clarence is outside.

  ‘Did you lift?’ Dave asks him.

  ‘I did but not fast enough.’

  ‘Good gosh, young man, you were very fast indeed,’ Reginald says.

  We get out into the sunshine and follow the pipes and tanks down to the large cylindrical tank that seems to be embedded into the ground. It looked big from the car park but up close I can see just how enormous it is and I guess more of the mass must be underground.

  Another metal gantry circumvents the exterior to form a rising walkway with a door fitted near the top and even from here I can see the door is open. The security here is shit. I mean really shit. Weak chain link gates and crappy wooden doors and it must have been built before anyone ever considered terrorism and the ability to fuck about with the local water supply.

  We head up the walkway, looping round the tank until we reach the wide platform and the open door. Meredith, as ever, goes first, closely followed by Dave and the rest of us who can smell them before we take a step inside.

  The metallic tang of blood and shit hits us hard. The smell of rotten flesh and body odour. With hands over mouths we get inside to stand on the gantry that overviews the mass of water that should be held inside. The tank is nearly empty now and I guess without the treatment centre operating the tank can’t be refilled. We shine torches down to the water and the bodies and bits of bodies floating on the top. The water isn’t clear here either but turned red and the sides are stained pink showing the water level has dropped since the infected got in here.

  They’ve flayed themselves to bits. Literally ripping limbs off and pulling organs and innards out. Small chunks of meat and flesh float on the water and I hear the buzzing of flies having a merry old time below us.

  ‘Yes indeed,’ Reginald says with a tone of victory at being proven right, ‘yes, this will do it. Indeed it would. This tank feeds the pipes and we can see the water level has reduced from the demand of this area.’

  I shake my head and sigh deeply, ‘I’m amazed more weren’t infected.’

  ‘It looks terrible from here,’ Reginald says, ‘but truly, what we are viewing is dead meat and not living organic tissue. Plus we must consider that it has been some time since we first encountered them in the hotel. The passage of water coming through the piping network must have been sufficiently swift enough to allow the infection to survive within the tissue of material as it flowed from here. We are not that far from the hotel as the crow flies. Indeed, a straight line from here to the hotel is but a short distance.’

  ‘Is there a town near here?’ I ask.

  ‘There is,’ he replies quietly, ‘a mile or so past the hotel.’

  ‘And this water also feeds that town?’

  ‘Without doubt.’

  ‘We need to get in and warn them,’ I say, ‘Paula?’

  ‘Agreed,’ she says instantly.

  ‘Clarence?’

  ‘Yep, agreed.’

  ‘Marcy?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she says sadly, ‘personally I don’t hold much hope but…’

  ‘Reggie said the water kills the infection,’ Paula says.

  ‘I did not say that,’ Reginald says, ‘I said the…’

  ‘Whatever he said,’ Paula cuts across him, ‘not everyone will have got infected from drinking it.’

  Marcy drops her head for a second, ‘one turns and the infection knows everything that person knew. So it will know where the other survivors are if the host knew…’

  Paula blinks and looks down at the water, ‘Nothing is ever simple is it?’

  Nineteen

  ‘Kyle,’ I lean into the bus and spot him standing in the middle of the aisle keeping everyone calm, ‘word please?’

  ‘Of course,’ he threads down and out into the car park.

  ‘The water supply has been infected,’ I say quickly, ‘there’s a big tank back there that holds the water supply to this area…’

  ‘It’s full of bodies,’ Paula adds.

  ‘I see,’ he says, his blue eyes showing a depth of understanding in his craggy weathered features.

  ‘There’s a town the other side of the hotel fed by the same pipes,’ I say.

  He nods with instant understanding, ‘they will need warning...’

  ‘Exactly,’ I say, ‘but we’ve also got a bus full of people here…we can’t separate our team to transport them and leaving them on their own isn’t really an option either…’

  ‘Unless they want to be left on their own of course,’ he cuts across me with a level gaze.

  ‘Shit yeah, yeah of course, they ain’t prisoners or anything like that.’

  ‘I see, then perhaps a few seconds to inform them would not go amiss.’

  ‘That’s what I was hoping you would do,’ I say quickly.

  ‘I shall assist wherever you think I may be of use.’

  ‘Great, you know, what with you being a priest and everything.’

  ‘Just a cook, Howie.’

  ‘Right yes, sorry. Just a cook. So, is that okay? You can put your vicar skills to the test and…’

  ‘Not a vicar. Just a cook.’

  ‘Right you are, Rabbi…’

  ‘Are any of your team medically trained?’

  ‘What us lot? No chance…unless you count Roy who’s a hypochondriac.’

  ‘Does he have medical training? I think one of the men broke his arm during the melee this morning.’

  ‘Broke his arm? Fuck me…’

  He tuts and rolls his eyes when I swear. Just a cook my arse.

  ‘Roy, can you come here please, mate.’

  ‘Oh god he won’t like this,’ Paula says quickly as Roy climbs down from his van.

  ‘No?’ I ask.

  ‘Not a chance,’ she mutters.

  ‘You ask him then,’ I whisper as he walks over.

  ‘Sod off,’ she says and walks off.

  ‘Roy,’ I greet him warmly, which just makes him look at me suspiciously, ‘bloke might have a broken arm.’

  ‘Okay,’ he says, looking round as if to ask what someone with a broken arm might have to do with him.

  ‘So like, you alright having a quick look? Cheers, appreciate that. Everyone can…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What?’ I ask him.

  ‘You want me to touch a sick person?
Are you fucking mad?’

  ‘Not sick, injured.’

  ‘There’s a sick child too,’ Kyle says, nodding at Roy.

  ‘No,’ Roy says firmly, ‘I don’t do sick people.’

  ‘Roy, none of us have a clue…

  ‘Ask Clarence or Dave, they’ll have basic combat triage and…’

  ‘Roy, you’ve seen more doctors than everyone here put together,’ Marcy says, ‘some of it must have rubbed off.’

  He blinks once and stares at Marcy, ‘rubbed off? You think I have a clue about medical emergencies?’

  She shrugs and pulls a face, ‘more than I will.’

  ‘No,’ Roy says to her then looks at me, ‘no. I don’t do sick people. I hate sick people.’

  ‘Ach,’ Kyle not just the cook says, ‘hate is a strong word is it not.’

  ‘No. I hate them.’

  ‘The man is in agony,’ Kyle says, going from the genial fellow to the man who dissolved us in the kitchen earlier, ‘you’ll not stand by and see another person in pain now would you? And a child? A wee child?’

  ‘I’m not a doctor. I am a hypochondriac.’

  ‘You’ll be a medic and put their minds at rest if nothing else,’ Kyle says, his eyes fixed on Roy, ‘and you’ll be doing this now.’

  I don’t think anyone would deny being told what to do by Kyle, other than Dave of course but it’s still surprising when Roy just huffs and shakes his head, ‘fine, right…where are they? Someone get me a first aid kit. I’d best look at the child first.’

  ‘You’re a good man, Roy,’ Kyle says, clapping him on the shoulder, ‘I’ll take you to the boy.’

  Paula and I follow them onto the bus and see Kyle leading Roy down the aisle towards the back, ‘this little boy says his tummy hurts,’ Kyle says, his hand resting on the shoulder of a young lad sitting on the lap of a woman.

  ‘Probably needs a poo,’ Roy says so deadpan it makes me blink until I notice the boy grinning, ‘Do you need a poo, young man?’ Roy asks, staring down before he drops to a crouch in front of the child, ‘Hmmm, perhaps we should have a look,’ Roy says, ‘Let me see.’ He lifts the child’s top up and looks at the clear skin. He presses a hand gently on his tummy then up to the boy’s forehead, ‘When did you last eat? Can you remember? Have you drank any water today? No?’