The Undead Day Sixteen

by RR Haywood

  ‘MEREDITH…’ He forces the dog into the room, past the Saxon and into the hole of the wall. ‘COVER ME,’ he shouts ahead as he throws his assault rifle through first and starts the mad scrabble.

  The vehicle gains momentum and, timed to perfection, slams into the ruined wall. The rag ignites with a flickering blue chemical flame that flares up the material to the fumes seeping from the fuel inlet. The gases ignite and plume down the tube into the tank. The chemical reaction finds resistance in the membrane of the tank which is pushed beyond the limits of it construction. As the fuel ignites it heats the air which expands with such force it blows the tank and the vehicle surrounding it in a filthy black cloud of flaming smoke.

  Blowers grits his teeth and feels first the impact of the vehicle then a second later the heat, noise and shockwave of the explosion. Wide eyed, he scrabbles to get his legs and feet from the room before the twisted super-heated fragments of vehicle strike the wall.

  Two hands reach in to grab his wrists as Jagger tugs the older lad free. Dropping down the safe side, they rush to pick up their assault rifles and aim on the hole.

  ‘Back,’ Blowers waves Jagger to fall away, ‘give me your weapon and go tell the rest,’ Blowers snaps.

  ‘But…’

  ‘NOW!’ Blowers unleashes a furious roar as he snatched the weapon from Jagger, lays it down on the ground and slides the box of magazines brought up from the back of the factory. One by one he takes them out to place them bullet end up and ready for a rapid change.

  ‘DAVE,’ Blowers shouts, ‘We’ve got incoming, Dave…’ he works fast, checking each weapon and getting ready for the flow he knows will be coming any second. Glancing round, he spots Dave staring intently down at the still unconscious form of Mr Howie and with a scowl, Blowers snaps back to the problem in hand.

  Thick smoke starts pouring through the hole as the burning rubber of the tyres melts along with the chemical fluids, seats and other materials of the flaming car. Brick work falls from the weakened wall.

  The smoke hits his eyes, which immediately fill with tears to rid sensitive organs of the particles carried in the air. He coughs, blinks, wipes his face and grimaces while taking aim down the hole.

  ‘Come on you fuckers….’ He mutters and blinks again, ‘Dave…Dave! We’ve got incoming, Dave…’ he spits and waits feeling the greatest sense of fear so far.

  ‘What the fuck got into Mo Mo?’ Nick asks Cookey as they carry another box of ammunition to the thick metal shutter earmarked by Clarence as the place for stacking.

  ‘Fuck knows,’ Nick says quietly.

  ‘We should just get what we can carry and go now,’ Cookey looks round at the others working, ‘this is fucked up…what if the boss has a blood clot?’

  ‘He doesn't,’ Nick repeats again, ‘Mr Howie is fucking indestructible.’

  ‘You heard what Roy said though.’

  ‘Fuck Roy, the bloke is just rude.’

  ‘Yeah I know, Nick. But he’s got a point…he’s just blunt.’

  ‘Blunt? Fuck blunt…Dave is blunt…Roy is fucking rude. Lani is blunt…Roy,’ Nick shakes his head, ‘that’s not our way.’

  ‘What ain’t?’ Cookey asks.

  ‘What?’ Nick puts his case down and lights a cigarette, knowing it’ll earn him a bollocking from Clarence for smoking in here.

  ‘Our way,’ Cookey says, ‘what’s that mean?’

  ‘S’wot Mr Howie says,’ Nick blows the smoke out, ‘we got our way of doing things…and that ain’t it. We’ve got to be polite and nice. Fuck, Cookey, we’re the authorities now, mate.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘Cookey, for fuck’s sake, Mr Howie has told us a hundred times. We do things the right way, we stay polite. How many times did he tell us to smile and look nice?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Cookey’s face brightens at the memory, ‘ha, you remember when we formed a chain to get that shit to the top of the wall and you were on the Saxon loud speaker?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Nick chuckles, ‘see, that’s our way.’

  ‘Yeah I get it,’ Cookey sags with a crestfallen look. ‘I’m shitting it,’ he whispers.

  ‘Shitting what?’ Lani walks over.

  ‘Nothing,’ Cookey mutters knowing to give voice will only worry the woman even more.

  ‘Howie? He’ll be fine,’ Lani says too brightly, ‘he’s resting.’

  ‘You’re fucking losing it, Lani,’ Nick stands up straight and waits for the backlash but she doesn't reply. She just smiles softly. ‘Lani, fucking get a grip,’ Nick whispers urgently.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she shrugs, ‘so is Howie.’

  ‘This is fucked up,’ Cookey groans. ‘Don’t be like that, Lani,’ he pleads, ‘you’re scaring me.’

  ‘Why?’ She asks, ‘scared of what?’

  ‘You, being all weird and shit.’

  The mask slips and the girl shows her emotions but for the briefest of seconds.

  ‘What if he’s not?’ She asks softly.

  ‘The boss?’ Nick asks and she nods. None of them reply but instead watch the burning embers of the end of Nick’s cigarette.

  ‘Thought you were going for transport?’ Cookey finally asks.

  ‘Guess,’ she shrugs.

  ‘Where’s Roy?’ Nick asks.

  ‘Here,’ Roy says from behind him.

  ‘Thought you two were getting the transport?’ Nick asks again.

  ‘We were,’ Roy casts a loaded look at Lani, ‘but er…’

  ‘What?’ Nick presses, ‘we need to get the fuck out of here.’

  ‘I figured we’d wait a minute,’ he says quietly.

  ‘What for, Roy?’ Nick demands, ‘Mr Howie needs help and we ain’t got time for a fucking rest.’

  ‘Lani seems a bit odd,’ he says with a quick lift of his eyebrows as he struggles with the insurmountable task of using tact and diplomacy.

  ‘Eh?’ Nick glances from Roy to Lani, ‘oh…fuck…yeah right…’

  ‘We’ll get this done then come with you,’ Cookey cuts in quickly.

  ‘Sounds good,’ Roy offers a fake smile that does nothing to hide the worry etched on his face.

  ‘We’ll be alright,’ Nick says to all of them, ‘we got through worse than this before.’

  ‘Sure,’ Cookey walks off to get another case.

  ‘I’ll give you a hand…’ BOOM. ‘What the hell was that?’

  ‘That’s gunfire,’ Nick snaps back, ‘CLARENCE…’

  ‘I can hear it,’ the big man strides from the back of the room.

  ‘Fucking automatic,’ Nick tilts his head at the sound of Blowers firing on automatic from outside. A muffled sound comes through, muted through the thick walls, all too familiar to them.

  ‘Make ready,’ Nick blurts the order without waiting for Clarence. Grabbing his own assault rifle he checks the magazine then quickly pats his pockets to make sure he’s got spares.

  ‘Blowers,’ Cookey is already off and running.

  ‘COOKEY WAIT,’ Clarence booms, ‘we go together.’

  ‘Fucking hurry up then,’ The normally smiling lad snarls with impatience at the thought of Blowers on his own.

  ‘FUCK,’ he drops low at the explosion of the vehicle against the reception as it sends a vibrating shockwave through the building.

  ‘GO,’ Clarence orders at Cookey’s already retreating back.

  Blowers stares into the smoke waiting for the next explosion to come but it doesn't. The infected, on seeing the lack of damage sustained at the reception building, change course to send the next vehicle into the metal shutters at the far end. Blowers feels the impact and twitches with concern.

  ‘Dave…what the fuck is going on?’ He calls out and stares into the hole through the tendrils of smoke billowing through, ‘where are they attacking?’

  Cookey races through the rear section, through the factory floor, as he charges hell for leather towards the far end. As he reaches the next set of doors the second impact slams behind him into the thick me
tal shutters. It’s closer now and the noise against the steel bounces, echoes and rolls round the huge chamber like rooms. He stops with a hand on the door and pauses to turn back, ‘CLARENCE?’

  ‘GO…’ Clarence roars, ‘GET TO BLOWERS…WE’LL COVER HERE…’

  ‘Fuck,’ Cookey jumps back as Jagger pushes through the door breathing hard.

  ‘Incoming,’ Jagger gasps, ‘they got cars…on fire…cars on fire…fucking hundreds of them…’

  ‘We need height,’ Nicks snaps, ‘to fire down on them.’

  ‘The shutters are the weakest point,’ Roy interjects, ‘if they get through we’re…’

  ‘COOKEY,’ Clarence booms, ‘GET TO BLOWERS...JAGGER GO WITH HIM…EVERYONE ELSE BACK IN THE SHUTTERS ROOM.’

  There’s another explosion as the third vehicle slams into the shutters, then the fourth and fifth are sent rolling and ablaze to join the awful cacophony of noise.

  The group split, running in different directions. Cookey goes towards the front to be with Blowers. Lani runs back into the ammunition storage room towards the exit door at the far end. The rest go for the shutters, now buckled and groaning under the weight and heat of the blazing vehicles on the other side.

  A dull roar reaches them as the massed undead outside scream into the air. They surge towards the munitions factory. Breaking into pre-set groups, a large section veer off towards the reception building and the hole they know is there. Another break off towards the rear emergency exit doors the survivors used in their panicked flight just a short time ago. The main bulk go for the shutters.

  Through the many pairs of eyes of the hosts, the infection quickly established that the reception building has not sustained any further damage and it also knows there will be people inside aiming weapons at the hole made by Howie. What it does notice is the Saxon standing silent and brooding on the once pristine tiled floor of the reception area.

  The power of the vehicle is well known to the infection from the countless battles, fights and skirmishes done since this began and as Cookey races through the building, he hears that dull roar from the undead suddenly cease.

  Blowers holds his aim with his finger ready on the trigger. The succession of explosions told him the attack was being focussed on the shutters and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled at the sound of the foot charge.

  He listened with increasing concern as they breached the reception. The snarls, groans and hisses sound clear as he increases his grip and makes ready to cut them down. The sudden cessation of noise stopped his breath in his chest. Silence from the other side. Complete silence.

  ‘Come on,’ he mutters under his breath, ‘come on…get it started…’ The waiting was the hardest bit. Waiting meant they were planning. Planning meant the infection was getting smarter.

  ‘Dave,’ he whispers over his shoulder, ‘they’re planning something.’

  Dave doesn't respond but stares fixed at the prone form of Howie.

  Clarence heaves the General Purpose Machine Gun over to the shutters and moves quickly to get the thing loaded and positioned. The others open cases to grab magazines which they rest on the ground ready for rapid changes. Roy lays his bow on the ground next to him and takes up the assault rifle.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Nick is the first to voice his concern at the sudden drop in noise from outside. There’s just the crackling and spitting of the vehicles on fire as thick choking black smoke seeps through the gaps of the damaged shutter.

  ‘Oh no…no…no no no,’ Blowers feels the panic rise harder on hearing the unmistakable sound of the Saxon firing up, ‘Dave…they’ve got the Saxon…’

  Still no response as Dave refuses to budge from his position. One hand clutches the pistol, the other rests on Howie’s chest and his eyes fix unblinking on Howie’s face.

  ‘Blowers,’ Cookey bursts into the room running flat out with his assault rifle already up and aimed.

  ‘Saxon,’ Blowers calls back, ‘they’ve got the Saxon started.’

  ‘Fuck no…’ Cookey drops with heaving chest next to his mate and starts laying out his own magazines, ‘they’ll get in,’ he adds quickly.

  ‘Was it the shutter they rammed?’ Blowers asks without moving his aim from the hole.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is it holding?’

  ‘Dunno…I was running here.’

  ‘The saxon’ll get through it.’

  ‘Yep,’ Cookey lifts his rifle to aim through the hole, ‘we’re fucked.’

  ‘Where’s everyone else?’

  ‘Dunno…at the back,’ Cookey whispers.

  ‘Dave for fuck’s sake,’ Blowers snaps as Cookey looks round to catch glimpse of them in the side room, ‘he won’t move…doesn't even reply,’ he adds to Cookey.

  ‘Like I said,’ Cookey replies, ‘we’re fucked.’

  Both lads fire as one at the fleeting glimpse of a body on the other side of the hole. A shadow passes but enough and the booming shots echo round the room.

  The undead hold still as the infection works the controls of the heavy armoured vehicle. It’s a tiny, old woman at the steering wheel which would be comical if it wasn’t for the dire threat of the situation. The size and age doesn't matter, just the ability to be controlled. She shunts the vehicle back, turns the wheel and shunts forward, and in turn slams the rear and front into the walls as she slowly gets it facing out.

  A shadow passes in front of the hole and the infection hears the weapons opening up. There’s two of them which means maybe only two are covering that hole.

  They have enough for a few sacrifices to be made and it sends one into the hole, moving as fast as possible before being cut down by a hail of bullets. But the view was enough. Blowers and Cookey are on the other side but no more. The rest must be at the rear.

  The saxon bursts out of the reception into the open air where it gathers speed and powers into the grounds, churning divots of once perfect lawn up. It turns slowly, almost lazily, back to face the building and starts the journey towards the shutters and the fiery wrecks slowly melting to fuse against it.

  The old woman bounces on the cushioned seat. Her wrinkled, gnarled hands clutch the steering wheel as her red eyes stare fixed at the weakest point of the building. The gathered hordes part as the vehicle lumbers towards the building, gathering speed as it goes.

  Inside, Clarence racks the bolt back on the GPMG,.

  ‘There’s grenades over there,’ he shouts to Roy, ‘bring ‘em over.’

  ‘Is that wise? What if they throw them back in?’ Roy shouts back.

  ‘Fuck it,’ Clarence grimaces at the realisation that the ammunition and explosives are a very dangerous thing to be near during a fire fight.

  ‘What’s that?’ Nick steps closer to the shutters, ‘an engine…shit…’

  ‘WHAT?’ Clarence barks.

  ‘The saxon…that’s the fucking saxon.’

  ‘Blowers must have got out,’ Paula says.

  ‘No,’ Nick shakes his head, ‘he wouldn’t leave that hole unprotected…’

  ‘Dave and Howie?’ She glances round to Clarence.

  ‘No,’ he mutters, ‘we’d know…’

  ‘Who then?’ She asks with a puzzled frown which quickly morphs into shock, ‘oh…oh no…’

  The engine they have heard so many times, which was normally a comforting roar, now turns into a defiant scream as it thunders towards them.

  ‘Will it get through?’ Paula shouts.

  ‘It’ll get through anything,’ Nick yells back, ‘we need to…’

  ‘FALL BACK,’ Clarence is on his feet lifting the GPMG and the case of ammunition. He strides away from the shutters as the rest follow suit.

  The old lady shows no reaction until at the last second she bares her teeth. The saxon impacts on the shutters as the old lady slams her foot down to drive increasing power to the wheels.

  There’s huge bang from the initial impact. Metal grinds and compacts as the front of the saxon drives the flaming vehicles ha
rder against the already yielding shutters. She backs up, pulling way back onto the churned up lawn, before changing gear and slamming her foot back down. The saxon wheel spins on the soft mud but finds traction and roars as it goes forward to once again smash into the vehicles.

  The shutters buckle inwards. Bricks fall from the walls as the solid steel bolts pop from the solid steel frame. She backs up again and takes another run up while the massed hordes remain silent and still.

  Blowers and Cookey fire and fire into the hole. The first one through was cut to ribbons but even now, after already exhausting several magazines they can see the pulped body being slowly pushed forward. They shoot at it, through it, through the gaps, and keep killing but the infected on the other side keep pushing the bodies through, using them as shields.

  Clarence lifts the GPMG to hold at waist height one handed, while clutching the magazine with his free hand. A shiny ammunition belt links the two together and he waits with his heart racing and the awful growing feeling that everything just went very horribly wrong. This fight isn’t like the others. The infection is using tools and weapons and the spirit amongst the team is already broken. Every person in that room clutches their weapon and stares in horror as they listen to the saxon reversing then screaming forward to drive the shutters in a few more inches at a time.

  The infection gains the knowledge of the motions needed to pull the Saxon back and forward. It takes the horde at the back door and eases back to give them a greater degree of free thought while still pumping them full of hormones to build them into a wild rage of unleashed thirst and blood lust. As one, they race to the door and start beating themselves against it. Slamming fists, feet, legs, arms and heads smash against the wooden doors until those limbs become battered and bloodied.

  The munitions factory was never designed to withhold sustained attacks. In the event of a strike, they simply had to wait until the authorities arrived.

  The shutters yield with every impact, groaning as they buckle ever inwards. The rear doors rattle in their frames as the hinges are loosened. Blowers and Cookey fire and fire as the completely ruined and pulped body is forced through the hole to drop down in a mangled heap.