by RR Haywood
‘What?’ Gregori glares over at the looted shoe shop.
‘Mummy got her sole in the shoe shop.’
Gregori stares in fascination at the shoe shop then round at this weird and strange land, ‘come…we go.’
‘But…there’s one,’ the boy spots the feet poking out from behind a car and runs ahead giggling. He darts out of sight then runs back laughing and waving at Gregori to hurry up.
‘What?’ Gregori looks to the boy and follows him round to see the undead turning slowly round on the spot. Both legs broken at the knee joints and splayed out from the mangled pelvis but the thing groans at the anticipation of being so close to a fresh host.
‘Can I shoot its head?’ The boy jumps up and down with excitement.
Gregori watches the creature closely and waits until it has snaked round on its stomach. He takes in the red eyes, the drooling mouth and the long hair that was once so pretty and blond.
‘Woman,’ Gregori states dully.
‘Where is it?’ The boy moves to Gregori’s side and starts patting for the pistol.
‘Here,’ Gregori slides one out and holds it firmly in his hand, ‘you listen?’
‘Okay,’ the boy nods eagerly.
‘Do what I tell?’
‘Okay,’ he nods again.
‘It heavy.’ Gregori steps behind the boy and shifts it into the child’s small hands, ‘use two… like this…’ The Albanian manoeuvres the boys hands to grip the pistol, ‘I hold too.’
‘No, let me.’
‘Boy! It hurt you when it shoot… it hit you in nose.’
‘Okay,’ the boy goes silent and still as he lets Gregori move his hands into position.
‘This,’ Gregori tilts the gun to one side showing the safety switch, ‘this here…gun not work… this now here… gun work… not work… work… not work… work… yes?’
‘Okay.’
‘Trigger,’ Gregori gently shifts the boys finger over the trigger, ‘touch not heavy…like this,’ Gregori taps his finger lightly to show how little pressure he applies. The boy copies him.
‘We go back,’ Gregori walks the boy back and away from the oncoming undead now holding her mouth open as she prepares for the bite. ‘Do not close eye,’ Gregori whispers, ‘not movie, not one eye…two eyes…aim…’ he points the gun down at the head, ‘but if you shoot…the bullet it go through and it come back up and shoot you…no shoot down…’ Gregori moves the boy to the side and lowers the stance so they are aiming at the side of the head, ‘now the bullet go through and away…yes?’
‘Okay,’ the boys whispers.
‘I say three you shoot…one….two….three.’
The gun fires a solid shot that strikes the undead female in the side of her temple. A small hole forms as the bullet goes through the skull but the back of the skull explodes in a pink mist of flying blood and brains that showers the road beyond.
‘Brains!’ The boy exclaims, ‘did you see the brains?’
‘I see,’ Gregori thumbs the safety and slides the pistol from the boy’s hands noticing the boy didn’t flinch at the huge retort and nor did he brace so hard his arms were rigid. The child absorbed the retort as though he had done it a hundred times.
‘Make her sausages come out now,’ the boy looks up and smiles at Gregori.
‘No,’ Gregori shakes his head, ‘she dead. Dead is dead.’
‘Aw but I want to see her sausages.’
‘Chisburger.’
‘Fishyfingers!’ The boy forgets the brains in an instant and rushes after Gregori. Eyes up and watchful as he reverts to the base state of being. With no traffic or ambient sounds the single retort of the pistol will have echoed for miles in this near silent landscape. It was a risk, but one calculated and stupidly taken. Things are changing. Gregori is changing. He would never risk a shot like that under any other circumstances so why do it now?
The boy chatters non-stop. He talks breathing out and gets so excited he talks while breathing in. He swings Gregori’s hand as he walks and skips. Nonsensical mutterings that Gregori only half understands from the language and age barriers between them.
Gregori has never had a cheeseburger. He has never eaten food in a MacDonald’s. He eats food that provides nutrition and nothing else. Food is fuel and not for the delight of tasting or the enjoyment of gorging. Water hydrates. Food nourishes. Clothing protects. Exercise prepares the body. Constant vigilance keeps the mind sharp.
‘THERE,’ the boy skips ahead and dances on the spot at the sight of the golden arches fixed to the wall above the restaurant. ‘Gregoreeee, there it is,’ he points needlessly up the street.
‘Boy,’ Gregori stares at the child, ‘quiet now, I listen…you listen.’
‘But…but…’
‘Boy. You shoot head and see brains. Quiet.’
‘Okay,’ the boy swallows the excitement while shuffling impatiently from foot to foot.
‘We go in,’ Gregori points to the front of the restaurant, ‘but we make sure no one here…no one follow,’ he turns slowly to view all sides, ‘we listen…sounds…we use nose,’ Gregori makes a show of sniffing the air, ‘we listen…use ear…use nose…use eyes…’
The boy turns slowly in a mimic of the big man. He stares at every house, entrance, car and shop before tilting his head to sniff at the air.
‘What hear?’ Gregori cups his own ear.
The boy cups both his own ears, ‘nothing.’
‘Hear nothing?’
‘Birds!’ The boy exclaims.
‘Good. More?’
‘Er…’ the boy slowly turns in a circle while pressing his hands behind his ears, ‘nothing?’ He looks up.
‘Good. Nose? What your nose tell you?’
‘Tell me?’ The boy giggles softly.
‘I smell,’ Gregori sniffs the air, ‘what? What I smell?’
The boy sniffs again, then again before his face changes with a sharp focus, ‘smoke?’
‘Good,’ Gregori whispers, ‘smoke. I smell smoke. You smell smoke. What smoke?’
‘I dunno,’ the boy shrugs.
‘What smoke come from?’
‘Fire?’
‘Good. If smoke then fire. Where is fire?’
‘I dunno,’ the boy looks everywhere.
‘Can you see fire?’
‘No.’
‘Is fire close?’
‘No,’ the boy completes the turn and looks up at Gregori.
‘Fire somewhere,’ Gregori motions the surrounding area, ‘but not close…we know this…we careful of this…if smoke get more in our nose then fire get closer…fire makes you die.’
‘Okay.’
‘How many dead bodies?’ Gregori asks the boy while holding eye contact, ‘here, this place…how many dead?’
‘Um,’ the boy again turns slowly, ‘one…’ he points to the one they shot, ‘two,’ he points to the headless one further back, ‘three…four…five…five, Gregoreee.’
‘Good,’ Gregori nods, ‘we know this. Five,’ he holds the fingers of one hand splayed out, ‘we watch this…we smell smoke and we watch dead bodies…’
‘Why?’
‘If body moves,’ Gregori shrugs, ‘it not dead. We eat chisburger and come out and now there is six bodies…where number six come from? We come out and four bodies? Where did body go? We know this and we not be dead. We remember,’ Gregori taps the side of his head, ‘in here…we watch,’ he holds two fingers towards his eyes, ‘we listen,’ he cups his ear, ‘we use nose,’ he sniffs, ‘we remember,’ he taps the side of his head again, ‘we live and not be dead.’
‘Okay.’
‘You do this,’ Gregori prompts the child and points to his own eyes, ears, nose and taps the side of his head.
‘We watch,’ the boy presses his fingertips against his closed eyes, ‘we hear,’ the boy cups the backs of his ears, ‘we smell,’ the boy shoves a finger up each nostril, ‘we remember,’ he finishes with a tap to the back of his skull.
; ‘Good,’ Gregori almost grins which involves a twitch at the side of his mouth, ‘now,’ he holds the boys gaze, ‘now we not be dead.’
‘Fishy fingers now?’ The boy asks softly but hopefully.
‘No,’ Gregori scowls, ‘not fishyfingers…chisburger.’
‘No!’ The boy laughs and pushes Gregori playfully, ‘not cheese burger….fishy fingers!’
Gregori leads the boy to the front of the restaurant and takes in the smashed plate glass window giving way to the chairs and tables lying scattered across the floor.
‘Behind,’ He pushes the boy behind him and steps over the window frame as he draws a knife from his waistband, ‘we watch…we hear…use nose…remember,’ Gregori threads a path through the strewn floor as they head to the counter, ‘you play game? Game where hide and other child find?’
‘Hide and seek?’
‘Yes. This game. If play now. Where you hide?’
‘Um…’ the boy looks round then points to the door leading to the toilets, ‘there.’
‘If place you hide. Is place they hide,’ Gregori first peers over the counter before heading towards the wooden swing door, ‘look place where you hide. Check place. Not be dead.’ He leads the child into the corridor and checks the disabled, men’s and women’s toilets, ‘is empty?’
‘Yes,’ the boy nods, ‘but…’
‘What? Speak.’
‘I could hide in the kitchen,’ the boy says.
‘Good,’ Gregori says softly, ‘this good. Very good. We check kitchen, yes?’
‘Okay,’ the boy heads towards the door.
‘I go first,’ grabbing a small shoulder he eases the boy back then heads out into the restaurant and through the gap at the end of the counter. ‘Where we see?’
‘There,’ the boy points to a side office. Once cleared Gregori lets the boy find anywhere a person could hide. Cupboards, fryers, shelves and cubby holes.
‘Is clear,’ Gregori announces, ‘no…’ he turns, ‘food here…food kept cold…where this place?’
‘What place, Gregoreeee.’
‘Place food stay cold. Milk in this place.’
‘The fridge?’ The boy starts looking and finally points to a metallic door fitted into the far wall.
Gregori pulls the door open and sniffs the first release of air. Meat is held in here. Cheese. Vegetables but the air is still cold and above his head a green LED light flashes.
‘Power,’ Gregori points to the light, ‘they have way to make power.’ He heads over to the griddle and searches for an on switch. This being MacDonald’s and the high turnover of staff employed meant everything was designed to be easy and fast and the big switches marled ON/OFF makes it easy.
He goes round the room activating everything he thinks they might need, ‘boy, you watch door.’
‘Okay,’ the boy turns to stare at the way they came in, ‘I can’t see.’
‘You small,’ Gregori hoists the boy up and carries him over to the counter top, ‘you look out now.’
‘Come…we go,’ the boy mimics the deep voice.
‘You want go?’ Gregori asks, ‘okay,’ he says with a shrug, ‘we go.’
‘No!’ The boy giggles, ‘make Happy Meals, Gregoreee.’
‘Okay, I make appymills,’ Gregori turns back to the kitchen.
‘Come…’ the boy affects the deep tone, ‘we go…’
‘Okay,’ Gregori turns back to the counter, ‘we go.’
‘No no no! Make Happy Meals.’
‘I make appymills,’ Gregori turns back.
‘Come…’ the joke is repeated as the boy descends into fits of giggles as the knife carrying ugly man turns first one way then the other.
‘Enough,’ Gregori snaps, ‘I Gregori. I hungry. You watch. I make.’
Gregori has never cooked before. Everything was done and provided for him and now, in this most foreign of places he causes chaos and disarray as works out what should be cooked and how it’s cooked. Burgers are put in the deep fryer. Fish fingers are placed on the griddle where they get charred and burn. Fries are heaped on top of the burgers but they cook too fast and everything has to be turfed out onto the draining side. Smells feel the room as the heat rises from the machines.
He finds knives and spends minutes weighing each one and scowling at the blunt blades then more minutes are wasted as he finds a knife sharpener and brings each blade to the exact specification required by a killer.
He stares at lettuces and tomatoes, gherkins and seeded buns. Machines start bleeping. Food litters the floor and several times he winces at being splashed with hot oil or touching the griddle plate.
With the concentration of a man determined to succeed, he finds the flat packed boxes for the Happy Meals and spends another ten minutes working out to push them in from the corners so they pop into boxes. A magical thing that has his eyes going wide in surprise so he makes more. Squeezing the corners and lifting his eyebrows as each new box is made. The boy said there was a toy. He hunts the kitchen and the side office until he finds a huge box full of the plastic wrapped toys ready to be dished out. He takes the box and pours the contents on the counter as the boy stares in delight.
‘Find toy,’ he mutters then walks back to his glorious creations burning and sizzling.
The boy, left to his own devices, jumps down from the counter and drags a chair over to make a step to get back up. Then he heads into the kitchen and remembers watching the people take the cups from the tube and press them against the plastic lever to make the drinks come out.
He finds the cups and selects the biggest one, then realising he can’t reach the drinks dispenser he goes out and drags another chair into the kitchen. Standing taller he pulls a face as he tries to decide what to drink. He pushes the cup and makes Coke Cola come out. Then he gets another cup and make Diet Cola. Then Fanta and 7up. He sips from each and smiles at the sugar laden fizzy sensation in his mouth. He tries combinations of several then all until his mind is racing from the influx of so much glucose.
With the sugar driving him on, he prods and presses the milkshake machine but nothing happens. The lights are off so he goes back to the counter and starts unwrapping the toys. Gregori makes a mess. The boy makes a mess and if the health authority should visit now, the place would be condemned instantly.
Crunching glass underfoot and the boy looks up to spot the lumbering undead trying to navigate the step up and over the windowsill. With a toy in hand the boy frowns, ‘Gregoreee.’
‘What?’
‘A dead man is here.’
‘What man? Oh,’ Gregori leans round to spot the undead, scowls and grabs one of the newly sharpened knives, ‘don’t move, boy,’ he launches the knife through the air and nods in satisfaction as the body is slammed back from the blade driving deep through the right eye socket.
The boy stares dispassionately and goes back to unwrapping the next toy which he sorts into colours and places with the rest he’s unwrapped.
‘Another dead man,’ the boy announces a few minutes later and stays still as the knife sails by to strike clean and true into the head.
‘What toy do you want, Gregoreee?’
‘No toy.’
‘You can have a green one, or a red one…or a…another dead man, Gregoreee,’ he pauses as the knife hits the head, ‘or a yellow one…do you want a car?’
‘Yes. Yes I have car.’
‘What colour car? Do you want a green one or a red one…Gregoreee…’
‘Dead man?’
‘Yes, Gregoreee.’
‘I cook now,’ Gregori huffs his third ever huff, ‘I no time to kill,’ he flicks the knife out and doesn't watch to see if it strikes home as he has just figured the burgers are cooked on the griddle and the fish fingers can be deep fried, ‘they come up.’
‘Pardon?’ The boy looks up politely.
‘Fishy fingers, they come up…they done they come up…good,’ Gregori watches the floating fish fingers sizzling in the oil and gives a scow
l at the mound of wasted, burnt and under-cooked food stacked high on the drainer.
‘Boy.’
‘Yes, Gregoreee.’
‘I thirsty. You have drink?’
‘Hang on,’ the boy ditches the latest toy and hops down to run over and clamber back up to the drinks dispenser where he stares until deciding that Gregori is an adult and should have Coca Cola.
He fills a large cup then spills most of it down himself and on the tiled floor as he heads deeper into the steaming kitchen.
Gregori takes the cup and a big swig. His eyes widen as he pulls the cup away to stare in horror, ‘what this?’
‘Coca Cola.’
‘You drink this?’
The boy nods, ‘fizzy pop.’
‘No drink this,’ Gregori shakes his head at the vile taste of so much sugar, ‘no. No drink this. Water. Where water?’
It takes time but the food is made and piled into the cardboard Happy Meal boxes. No wrappings or grease proof paper but just lobbed in and piled up until the fries and fish fingers spill out over the rim and the pair of them are sat on the counter amidst a sea of Happy Meals toys arranged by colour.
They eat in near silence. Munching fries, fish fingers and slightly burnt burgers covered in too much cheese and slurping drinks. Water for Gregori and a mixture of Coca Cola, Fanta and 7up for the boy.
Several bodies lie outside the window and each with the hilt of a knife poking out of its head.
The boy nudges Gregori in the side as another one shuffles into view. An old man wearing a striped pyjama top but no bottoms and a deep festering wound on his right thigh.
‘How many?’ The boy leans round to count the knives stacked to Gregori’s side.
‘Two,’ Gregori grabs one, flicks it out and watches as the body spins round and slumps down, ‘one.’
‘Okay,’ the boy shoves another handful of fries in his mouth, ‘moffterfor,’ he sprays fries out as he nudges Gregori at the next one.
They watch with interest as the undead woman trips and staggers over the already downed bodies before finally getting to the windowsill. She tries to step up but doesn't lift her leg high enough.
They eat fries and watch.
She tries again and again, each time staggering back a step as she fails to navigate the sill.
