The Undead Day Sixteen Part Two

by RR Haywood

  ‘May? Just a tad.’

  She leans in with a furious look, ‘you and I both know it would have happened with or without the bloody pheromones.’

  ‘Get off.’

  ‘Really? Where were your pheromones then? Was the infection making you pump stuff out too?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I was attracted to you just as much as you were to me.’

  ‘Yes because of the bloody pheromones or the bloody chemicals making you turned on.’

  ‘Oh like when we first met? And then in the fort after and then in the bloody street a little while ago…and of course it was the pheromones making you dream of me and it was the pheromones that had me waiting at the bloody window hoping you’d come for days on end…’

  ‘…Really? You did that?’

  ‘Yes,’ she snaps and glares but the harshness fades as quickly as it came, ‘yes,’ she says softer, ‘yes I did.’

  ‘I was coming,’ I say quickly, ‘I was coming to you, nothing would have kept me away from you…’

  ‘Why?’ She shifts position easing the pressure from her right hand holding the radio that was wedged between her and the vehicle.

  ‘I don’t know. I figured you’d have some answers.’

  ‘No,’ she shakes her head sadly, ‘just more questions.’

  ‘There’s something between us, between all of us…between me and you and all of us…this…Lani, me…all of us…something we’re all in together.’

  ‘Fix it then.’

  ‘Oh fuck off, you sound like Dave saying that.’

  ‘You,’ she prods me in the chest, ‘are the key around which everything else is built. You know that. You’re team knows that.’

  ‘I worked in Tesco,’ I say wildly, ‘and I do not have a fucking clue what I am doing.’

  ‘And you think anyone else does?’

  ‘No but…’

  ‘Whatever it is driving you, you have to go with it. If your instinct tells you to do something then do it. Lead, Howie. You lead and we all follow.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes, we. I’m part of this now as much as you. The…infection, disease…virus…whatever it is has drawn back…I don’t feel it…I get hungry and thirsty for normal food and water…I sleep and wake up, I sweat and make body odour…I had my period for God’s sake.’

  ‘Drawn back?’

  ‘Gone, receded, faded…’

  ‘But your eyes.’

  She shrugs and gestures as though knowing as much as I do.

  ‘Did you feel it draw back?’

  ‘No, no I didn’t,’ she says, ‘after the fort I got away with Reggie and…I don’t remember that much, I was so tired…exhausted to the bone and I think I slept forever…when I woke up I wasn’t like I was before.’

  ‘S’fucked up,’ I incline my head.

  ‘Telling me,’ she says with a sad smile, ‘Lani…we’ve got get Lani.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah we have.’

  We hold position, static, non-moving. Neither willing to pull away from the cocoon of being nestled comfortingly by the thrumming engine of the Saxon and the sudden privacy gifted to us. A moment in time. A shared bond and a desire that we felt before. Both of us longing to do it, to lean in, to let our lips touch for just one fleeting brushing sensation of intimacy. My heart beats hard and a small piece of it breaks off at the sadness within the smile she gives me.

  ‘We can’t,’ she says so quietly the words are gone before they form, ‘Lani…we have to get Lani.’

  I nod and with every will in my body I pull back and break the magic of the second we seized for ourselves.

  ‘It worked then?’ Cookey calls down.

  ‘What did?’ I turn to look out and see the boats drifting across the sea towards us.’

  ‘Oh,’ I look down at the radio tucked in Marcy’s hand held in place while we talked and edged ever closer, ‘at least something is going right for once.’

  Nineteen

  Silence. Utter and complete. Nobody speaks. Nobody dares speak. The atmosphere thick and charged. Mo Mo and Jagger cast worried glances at each other then back at the frozen figure of Lani.

  ‘Lilly,’ Mo Mo calls to the girl without taking his eyes off the woman, ‘can you take the boats over?’

  ‘I er,’ Lilly hesitates, wanting to say she doesn't know how but senses the need to move quickly, ‘of course,’ she rushes off towards the front, walking, then jogging then all out sprinting as the urgency lifts the rising panic.

  Through the gate, across the middle section and out onto the beach she goes. The lead boat is nose in towards the beach with a long rope attached to a metal shaft hammered into the soil. A simple action of untying the rope and wading out into the shallows before clambering over the side.

  At the back she stares down at the small outboard engine. She’s seen this done many times, on television, movies and in real life too. You pull the rope and the engine starts. No wait. Isn’t there always a switch or button to press before you pull the rope? Using just the moonlight she feels the top of the engine and down the sides until she fingers a broad dial with two preset positions. On and Off. She can’t see the words but it makes sense to have an on and an off. She moves the dial, grasps the spoke fitted to the end of the pull cord and yanks it back.

  The engine starts first time, a cough, splutter and it thrums down into a steady beat and the immediate air fills with the stench of fuel. How do you drive it? Where’s the accelerator? The person always stands at the back with their hand on the handle. She copies the action, standing with her back to the engine and one hand gripping the end that turns, and when it turns the engine changes beat and the water behind the boat churns. Motion is generated and the boat goes forward. She pulls the handle towards her and shakes her head. Shouldn’t the boat turn?

  It does turn but the slow speed makes the directional change just as slow. Okay, she nods and while keeping the rudder hard over she gently twists the grip and waits as the propeller increases in pitch and tone as it bites into the water. The turn comes faster and she watches as the front end turns slowly round to face away from the beach in front of the fort.

  She turns, checking the rear view and noticing the rope pulling taut as it flexes to take the strain of pulling the boat behind her, then the next and the next after that. If she changes the direction now those boats might impact on the beach. She keeps the rudder pulled over and moves gently out to sea until the last boat is clear of the shore before manoeuvring to aim towards the curvature of the bay and the solid form of the Saxon.

  Intelligence and a clear head sees Lilly undertake an action previously unknown to her. Rational thought and a process of understanding and being able to recall the memories and stored knowledge that will assist with the situation at hand.

  Gut punching emotion fogs a clear head and Lani reels from that gut punch. A sinking sensation of the ground opening up. Of her heart shattering into a thousand tiny pieces and her world crashing to an end. A desperation to reach out and take it back. A burning desire to take back the words she heard. Not an escalation of events that starts with a suspicion and unfolds with tentative caution but sudden. Jarring. Cheated. Sordid. Filth and disgust.

  Her hands grip the assault rifle. Still nobody dares speak. No movement. Not a cough or a shift of position. Not a head moves but the eyes remain fixed for the words that blurted out from the radio held in Mo Mo hands were clear to all.

  Like my life hasn’t been turned upside down since meeting you.

  Her eyes narrow then widen. Nostrils flare wide and the vein in her head throbs with pressure.

  No, oh no…I was upset and you were the one pawing at me.

  Words that sang clear in the night air of the fort. The street accent given by Marcy matched by an intentionally broken transmission returned by Mo Mo as neither side wished the other to know what was going on.

  The sex, the bloody sex. You weren’t exactly trying to stop it.

  Howie said they never had sex.
He said it. He promised it. He swore and looked her right in the eyes when he made that promise. Here, in this fort. In this place that she fought and died for. She died and was turned and came back only to die again now as her heart breaks and the blood in her veins turns cold as ice.

  …you and I both know it would have happened with or without the bloody pheromones.

  Tears form in the back of her eyes but they don’t fall. They stay glistening in the whites that reflect the orange glow of the lanterns. A connection is made and those glistening eyes flick to the lanterns with the knowledge they are the same lights that Howie and Marcy made love under. Here, in this fort. In this place that she fought and died for.

  I was attracted to you just as much as you were to me.

  The crackle of the radio and the steady beat of the Saxon only made it worse. Like an old record, scratchy and worn out but the music remains the same. She could feel the heat between them as the words were spoken. She could see in her mind how close they were standing, inches apart, lingering with eye contact and energy that sparked and fizzed.

  She turns slowly, not realising she moves. Her eyes scan the crowd from a habit ingrained after spending days of her life defending her team by always watching, always scanning. A team that cheated her. A team that knew Howie was in love with Marcy. A team that knew Howie and Marcy had made love.

  The thought of it only multiplies the level of deceit and with it the hurt inside ramps up until her throat constricts with physical pain. She wants to weep. Break down here and weep but there’s still a job to do and you do the right thing for the right reasons. You stand by your mates because…because they stand by you…But they didn’t stand by her. They left her to die.

  In the toilets taped, bound and gagged while Howie fucked Marcy. They left her then. But no. It was pheromones. The infection manipulating the chemicals within the body.

  …you and I both know it would have happened with or without the bloody pheromones.

  The gut punch comes again. Rational thought is attempted and tried yet thwarted at every turn by words uttered and broadcast for all to hear.

  They left her to die in the munitions factory. They held the side door as a team while she took the rear alone. They left her. Abandoned. They knew. They all knew Howie fucked Marcy and Howie was in love with Marcy. Lani had become a problem and the solution was for her to be killed, taken, turned and destroyed.

  ‘Do not look at me,’ she explodes with an eruption of violence at the young face staring up. The tone and temper of her voice snaps the head down as sudden tears of fear fall to roll down the young cheeks.

  A reject. Worthless and cheated. She should have stayed on the Isle of Wight. Stayed in the shadows of the place she was hiding.

  ‘LOOK DOWN,’ she roars at the heads below her.

  Howie fucked Marcy. Howie is in love with Marcy.

  …and of course it was the pheromones making you dream of me and it was the pheromones that had me waiting at the bloody window hoping you’d come for days on end…

  Marcy is stunning beyond compare. A rare and radiant beauty with a figure to bring men to their knees. Pledging her love for Howie. Telling him she was waiting. Telling him she dreamt of him. No man could deny that. What am I? Who am I? The words burn and sear into her mind.

  ‘DO NOT LOOK AT ME,’ she stabs the end of the rifle into the back of a young head, driving it into the ground.

  ‘Lani,’ Mo Mo steps forward.

  ‘STAND DOWN,’ her rifle is up and aimed, locked on Mo Mo.

  This filthy place full of death and deceit. Tazered and injected with drugs. Taken from her home. Following a man around the country who she loves. Loved. But he never loved her back. They never had sex. Howie was tired, exhausted from battles but he fucked Marcy on the night she died.

  I was coming to you, nothing would have kept me away from you…

  Her breath quavers, slow and unsteady as her mind that fractures as quickly as her heart. Vision closing in yet everything is suddenly so much clearer now. Everything is perfectly clear.

  Howie loves Marcy. This was always about Howie and Marcy. Not Howie and Lani. Marcy. The rancid infected whore that killed and took lives as quickly as she took the love of the man she adores. A thieving, stealing, cheating filthy bitch who looks like a million dollars. A woman who sways with sexuality. Her lips are full and plump, her eyes heavy with naturally thick lashes, her skin a golden hue of perfection. Lani is lithe and fast. Athletic and flexible but she can never hope to match the raw sexuality of Marcy. Marcy wants and Marcy gets. Marcy takes and Howie gives.

  I was coming to you, nothing would have kept me away from you…

  She followed Howie through thick and thin. When he was taken in the car park she fought through them and would have given her life for him to live. In the munitions factory she held the line while all was lost. She knew she would never walk away and as her gun clicked empty and her blade was taken up she did it for the man that lay unconscious in the far end dreaming of Marcy.

  The whole of them. All of them. The team turned against her. The team don’t want her. They love Marcy. They want Marcy.

  ‘Lani,’ she fires without thinking and sends the round slamming through Jagger’s heart, killing him instantly. Blown back off his feet to slump down in a crumpled bleeding heap. Mo Mo turns to see his friend shot down. His own reactions too slow, like wading through mud and it’s that reaction that saves his life. The complete stunning of his senses that prevents him from bringing his assault rifle up to bear.

  ‘Jagger,’ he mumbles the word, frozen, rooted to the spot, ‘mate,’ he steps drunkenly towards the body, ‘mate,’ his voice catches with raw emotion, ‘Jagger…mate…’ the assault rifle falls from his grasp as he drops down to lift the head of his best friend, ‘Jag, mate…fuck’s sake…wake up, bro…’

  Lani’s head drops and she stares up and out at the sight of the pain given. A sickening sense of righteous deliverance that someone else should suffer now.

  I was coming to you, nothing would have kept me away from you…

  She turns back to the crowd that stare in horror at the sight of Mo Mo down and cradling Jagger’s dead body as he weeps tears onto the face of the person he loved most of all.

  ‘He was going to her,’ Lani mumbles, ‘going to her…going to her….GOING TO HER,’ she screams the words into the air and drops with lightning speed to stare deep into the eyes of a child that whimpers with a jet of piss released by the fear gripping his stomach.

  ‘He was going to her,’ Lani whispers to the child, ‘he was going to her,’ she smiles warmly with kindness that shines from the depths of her soul, ‘are you okay?’ She asks so gently, like a mother. ‘I’m not okay,’ she says, ‘He was going to her,’ she nods urgently at the little boy, ‘funny, isn’t it?’

  On her feet and she sways as the shock reduces the flow of oxygen to her brain. Blood pressure plummeting, blood sugar dropping just as fast. Rational thought gone. The ability to think clearly disappeared.

  Nothing matters. Nothing matters now. It’s all a pile of shit. Infected filthy shit that is tainted by the blackness of Marcy’s soul and the love Howie has for her.

  ‘…Jag…bro…’ Mo Mo grips his friend’s body as the tears fall freely from his eyes. The prodding in the back of his head gets progressively harder until he freezes with the sobs ending suddenly in his throat.

  ‘Get up,’ Lani says in a dangerously soft tone. Mo Mo sucks air in through his nose as the cold fury starts to rise, ‘get up,’ Lani kicks his weapon away and prods him harder in the back of his head, ‘did you know?’

  ‘Know what?’ Mo Mo rasps the words out.

  ‘About Howie and Marcy? You knew. You all knew.’

  ‘I will….’ His words are cut off as the butt of the rifle slams into the side of his head. Stars behind his eyes and a wave of nausea passes over him as he lies stunned on the ground.

  Mo Mo forgotten and Lani strolls off. She kicks Jagger’s assa
ult rifle deep into the shadows at the base of the wall then looks down to Mo Mo’s a few feet away. Idly she strolls towards it and starts shunting it towards the first of the children still on their knees.

  ‘Want it?’ She asks the closest, ‘go on? Pick it up.’

  The child looks away in the only response possible that might avoid being shot dead. She kicks it again, scuttling it across the hard compacted earth deeper into the ranks of children.

  ‘Anyone?’ She asks lightly.

  I was coming to you, nothing would have kept me away from you…

  ‘SOMEONE PICK IT UP!’ Spittle flies from her mouth.

  I was coming to you, nothing would have kept me away from you…

  They left her to die at the rear door. All of them at the side while she took the rear.

  I was coming to you, nothing would have kept me away from you…

  It hurts. It hurts more than any physical pain she has endured so far. That she doesn't put the rifle into her mouth and pull the trigger is simply because she doesn't think to do it because the pain swells and grows with every passing second.

  Howie and Marcy fucked while she was bound and gagged in the toilets. They fucked then lied about it. They fucked and blamed it on the pheromones.

  The assault rifle slams into small bodies, kicked harder and harder but not one hand is even tempted to reach for it.

  Lenski stares with wide eyes, desperate to do something but like everyone else she knows the consequences that any action will take.

  Anne Carlton fled when Jagger was shot. Running back to the perceived safety of the hospital bay. Children remain on their knees while Mo Mo lies vomiting on the ground.

  Lani boots the gun, screaming for someone to pick it up as the last tendrils of sense in her mind tell her there must be an action for her to have a reaction. She wants death now and the pain to be felt by everyone but no one will lift the gun up.

  She freezes, head cocked to one side as the steady chugging of the boats comes into earshot. They’re coming back. She nods and smiles slowly with a grin that spreads across her face without any trace of humour.