The Undead Day Fifteen

by RR Haywood

  ‘Er…’ he starts to say, ‘forget it,’ he shrugs, ‘do you know how to use the machine?’ He asks Nick.

  ‘Lani does,’ Nick replies.

  ‘Coming,’ she appears at the end of an aisle dressed in dark blue sailing dungarees and with a look on her face that could cut through stone, glaring at each of us in turn as though daring somebody to make a comment.

  ‘You look fine,’ I announce with a grin.

  Paula walks out after her, ‘I’m not sure,’ I think they make my arse look really big, ‘do they?’ She asks the crowd. We all look at each, unsure of what to say or how to respond.

  ‘Er, no…er…’ I start.

  ‘Looks fine,’ Clarence nods politely.

  ‘Roy?’ Paula asks.

  ‘Looks the same,’ he says bluntly.

  ‘The same?’ She asks.

  ‘Yes. The same.’

  ‘The same big or the same small?’

  He shrugs, ‘the same. The same as it did before.’

  ‘It doesn't look big,’ Lani reassures her, ‘you’ve got a great figure.’

  ‘Aw thanks, Lani,’ Paula smiles, ‘you haven’t got an ounce of fat on your frame though, I bet everything looks good on you.’

  ‘Oh god,’ Cookey groans, ‘someone do something…they’re doing chick speaking.’

  ‘No we’re bloody not,’ Lani gives Cookey a sharp look, ‘and it’s nice to have another women here instead of you lot farting and talking about tits.’

  ‘Tits…’ Cookey says dreamily, ‘April had big…’

  ‘Yes alright, who wants coffee then,’ Lani heads towards the machine and quickly checks about to find coffee beans and a grinder, ‘you want them to go?’

  ‘Ha, you sound like someone from Starbucks,’ Nick laughs, ‘I’ll have a latte please.’

  ‘Macchiato for me,’ Blowers asks.

  ‘Skinny decaff er frapuccino…’ Cookey jumps in.

  ‘No such thing dickhead,’ Blowers replies.

  ‘Well I got as much chance getting a frapuccino as you have getting a mackasplacka or whatever you said.’

  ‘Black coffee,’ Lani mutters, ‘and you’ll enjoy it too.’

  Cookey shuffles round behind the counter searching the shelves and cupboards, ‘they don’t have any takeaway cups,’ he sighs, ‘we’ll have to drink it here.’

  Silence follows but he seems completely oblivious to what he just said. Even Dave stares at him for a few seconds before he goes back to the threading the sheaths through the leg straps.

  It takes several minutes for the machine to heat up but the wait is worth it. The first aroma of fresh coffee fills the musty shop as Lani operates the machine with much banging and clanging of metal things on metal things, while Paula shoos Cookey out from behind the counter and gets the white porcelain mugs all ready.

  ‘Strong coffee,’ Lani comments, ‘we’re gonna be wired.’

  Without looking up from his work, Dave pipes up, ‘Alex, get dressed properly, and you two. Find fitting tops and get spares then return here for the issue of your knives.’

  The three walk off quietly, knowing not to make any stupid comments when Dave speaks in that tone of voice.

  ‘For you,’ Dave says gruffly and hands the big commando style knife to Clarence.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  A brief exchange of manly nods but I can see Clarence is genuinely touched.

  ‘Any food?’ Nick asks, leaning over the counter, ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘You’re always starving,’ Lani comments.

  ‘I’m a growing lad,’ he grins, ‘just snack shit then,’ he grimaces at the wicker display baskets of junk food Paula finds in a cupboard, ‘could murder for an apple or a banana.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Paula groans, ‘the thought of never having fresh fruit again is awful.’

  ‘Can find tinned fruit easy enough,’ Roy comments, ‘I had loads in my van.’

  ‘Not the same,’ Nick replies.

  The coffee is served. Hot black coffee fresh from the grinder. Thick and strong enough to melt your boots. I drag a chair closer to the door, kick it ajar and start patting down for a cigarette before Nick appears with his pack and a lighter. He grabs a chair and we’re soon joined by the other smokers. We sit back in the easy bamboo chairs, stretching our legs out in our clean dry clothes while we drink fresh coffee and smoke cigarettes and stare out at the fog which obscures anything more than a few feet away from view. Right now, at this point we could be anywhere and none of this has happened. We can’t see any destruction or death, no bodies and no blood anywhere. We know it’s there alright but I get the sense we’re joined in a collective fantasy of just being a group of friends relaxing in a café. The non-smokers soon join us, the chairs get pushed about until everyone is seated. Staring about, I watch Jagger and Mo Mo and notice that without their street gear on, and now dressed the same as everyone else, they look like normal teenage boys. To their credit they haven’t done or said anything to offend anyone yet which only serves to show just how much regard they have for Maddox.

  ‘Can’t we just stay here,’ Cookey settles back in his chair, ‘this is well comfy.’

  ‘I know right,’ Lani replies, ‘a few moments of bliss.

  Paula sighs and stares out of the open doors, ‘we’re not going to get very far in this weather,’ she says quietly.

  ‘We can’t stay,’ I reply.

  ‘I know,’ she says softly, ‘wishful thinking.’

  ‘And besides,’ I continue, ‘someone is coming apparently.’

  ‘Who?’ Cookey sits up quickly.

  ‘The message you fuckwit,’ Blowers says, ‘on the sign and on the Saxon?’

  ‘Ha!’ Cookey gives a brief snort of laughter at himself, ‘yeah…I forgot.’

  ‘Another Darren,’ Nick says in a low voice.

  ‘Nah,’ Cookey settles back into his chair, ‘it’ll be another April.’

  ‘He…’ Blowers says, ‘not she.’

  ‘Maybe they missed the S off.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Blowers gives up to focus on his coffee.

  ‘You know who it is then?’ Jagger asks.

  ‘No mate,’ shaking my head I draw on the cigarette and blow the fumes towards the door, ‘not a clue.’

  ‘They’re just trying to get us rattled,’ Clarence says, ‘and it can’t be anyone worse than we’ve already dealt with.’

  Ten

  Information and communication. These are the priorities. Gregori doesn’t carry a mobile phone. Cellular technology can be hacked and turned against the user. Every word uttered can be listened to and recorded and the phone can be pinged for a triangulation of the signal between the three closest masts which will give positioning to the authorities.

  Without information and communication Gregori cannot make an informed decision as to his best course of action. A private residential landline is needed, one within a house that has a satellite dish to receive the multitude of news channels.

  Racing through the dark streets of the ugly city Gregori seeks a way to the residential section, but this city is sprawling and vast. Industrial units and commercial sectors are everywhere with no sign of private residences or normal houses. He could go back to the safe house but that is too close to the city centre, and from what he just witnesses, he needs to be away from that location right now.

  If this is a localised event, the media and authorities will be swarming the place. Nobody will be able to go in or out until they are checked and identified. Not only for risk of spreading whatever disease or virus it is, but also in an effort to trace who brought the chemical into the city in the first place.

  He runs from a side alley into another dark narrow gap between two high buildings. The darkness and shadows suit him. He feels comfortable within these confined space. Twisting alleys and back streets he follows while all the time gripping the two knives in his hands.

&n
bsp; Screams from nearly every direction tell him the incident is spreading out. As fast as he can move, so too does the deadly virus. The wailing sirens of emergency vehicles add to the noise. Harsh angry shouts, sounds of violence with glass smashing. The noise gets louder, closer but all he can do is keep going forward. This city is rough and ready with an obvious high crime rate. All of these doors and windows he passes are fastened securely, gated and barred, locked with gleaming padlocks and thick chains.

  Given time he could pick the locks and gain entry, but that wouldn’t serve a purpose as he needs a private residential landline and a television connected to a satellite dish. One call going from a private household will be lost amongst the thousands being made right now. Sure, given time and the authorities could trace each and every one of them, but by then he’ll be long gone.

  Bright lights ahead of him. The noise has built to such a level he knows the exit to the alley is going to feed him back into a popular zone. Slowing down and it takes him barely a few seconds to bring his breathing under control. He edges to the mouth of the alley, preparing to lean out and check both sides before deciding his route. His decision is made for him as a raving red eyed beast lurches past and spins quickly on the spot. Even during that split second Gregori observes that he could not have been seen, there must have been another sense at work, hearing? Smell or maybe even something else. The thing charges in with teeth bared and bloodied lips pulled back. One quick thrust and the point of a knife is driven up through its throat into the mouth, driving deep through the roof and until the hilt snaps the beasts jaw shut. Gregori holds it in place, staring into the eyes as though searching for an answer or understanding. The man still breathes but with ragged, course breaths and still he tries to move forward, forever intent on biting down.

  No pain. No reaction to being stabbed. Pure hunger in those eyes. Gregori twists the knife with a sickening crunch, grinding through gristle and sinew. Blood pours down the front of the once dead man’s shirt but still he powers forward, driving those legs as though able to take steps. It groans and hisses, gurgling noisily as the blood spills down its own throat. He twists again, still no reaction from the pain and still not dead.

  With a yank down he removes the knife and steps away. The thing staggers forward from suddenly being freed and strikes the wall with its forehead. It goes down in a heap but rolls quickly and immediately makes effort to get back up. Gregori darts in and kicks it back down, pinning it to the ground with one foot on the chest while he cuts through the Achilles heel on both legs, severing any connections from the feet to the brain.

  Still it tries to move. Not realising the feet won’t work and it tries to get back up, falling over again and again. It gives up and starts crawling, the arms suddenly being used as tools whereas before they were useless limbs hanging free.

  He stamps down, snapping the finger bones first in one hand then the other and again the thing keeps going. He breaks the wrist, then the elbow joint then the shoulder. He works methodically through the body snapping bones, legs, femurs, shin bones. He works the pelvis, knowing his blows would be shattering it. Still the thing keeps moving.

  Gregori knows the body will be flooding with chemicals by now, going into shock as the brain shuts down to preserve life to the internal organs. There is no way this thing can still be conscious and moving, but it is.

  With a grunt he drops down and stabs into the eyes, bursting the pressurised balls with a gooey pop. Now blind but that doesn't impede the beast. It crawls and bleeds, it crawls on many broken bones but it crawls and that hunger drives it on.

  Gregori stands back and scratches his head. What is driving it? Whatever it is must be the greatest anaesthetic ever known. All pain signals must have been shut down. The blood loss is lower than it should be too. The wounds are congealing faster.

  Thinking hard he rounds the crawling thing and drops down, using one knee to pin the beast in place. He pulls up the blood soaked shirt to reveal the man’s lower back. Glancing between the head and the back he shrugs and drives the knife deep into the man’s side. He saws to open the flesh, grunting from the exertion. Once large enough he pushes his hand into the cavity and feels about, it takes him less than a second before he finds what he seeks and yanks it out. Holding the kidney in hand he watches feeling the man still trying to move and still no showing no reaction. He cuts the other side and repeats the action, ripping the kidney clean from the body. This time there is a reaction. The man dies, or dies again. Whatever. He ceases to be.

  Gregori looks about at the huge spreading pool of blood. Blood loss? Toxic shock from the injuries and having his kidneys removed?

  Some information gained. Normal injuries don’t seem to work. Overwhelming injuries do. Blood loss, if great enough and quick enough will work. The brain must be the controlling organ.

  Stepping from the alley he looks with a perfect poker face at the devastation within the street. Several nightclubs with their doors open, some still playing loud thumping music. People still running in panic but far less now. The beasts, the things, the undead are everywhere.

  He gives a low whistle and gets the attention of five or six of them nearby. As one they twist and start towards him. The sight of fresh meat drives them into a frenzy, they charge that stiff legged run.

  Although he has already cut many throats tonight, this time he watches closely for the reaction after slicing the blade through the first one’s jugular and side stepping. The spray of arterial blood arcs high. The woman staggers on for a few seconds as though blithely unaware of the injury but the spray of blood is too great and she goes down quickly.

  Gregori nods, seemingly satisfied with the results of the experiment. Next one gets a solid stab into the skull, driving the point of the blade into the brain. Instant death. No question, no pause. Dead. He does the same again, stabbing down with a straight motion driving the point of the blade deep into the brain. Instant death.

  Moving back to create space he judges the next one carefully and positions himself to spin round behind the slim woman charging at him. Into a safe headlock so she can’t bite and he jabs the point of the knife down into the top of the skull, but only enough the break the skin. No reaction. He stabs harder feeling the point of the knife hit the cranium. Nothing. Harder again but taking care to drive the point only the tiniest amount into the brain. A tricky procedure he has tried before and one that produces varying results. Sometimes the body dies instantly, other times there is no discernable reaction but mostly there is brain damage caused. On this occasion there is no discernable reaction but that means nothing. Not one of these things has so far uttered a coherent sound other than guttural animalistic hisses and growls, certainly no words. Brain damage could be caused but it could be to the speech control, the motor control, memories, cognitive function.

  Realising the folly of his experiment he stabs hard, kills the zombie and pushes is aside. The next few are killed quickly as he ducks, spins and thrusts to slay anything that gets close.

  There is no real threat to him here. Armed with two knives and always with the two pistols ready to be pulled, it will take a lot greater numbers than this to fell Gregori. While he kills he runs through the possible scenarios of how it happened, why it happened, why here. Is it localised or national? Is it international or possibly global?

  Information and communication, and if this event is global then the sooner he gains both then the sooner he can work out his next steps. Time to go so he does just that and walks away straight up the centre of the main road with long easy strides and the knives held low and ready. He doesn't deviate unless absolutely necessary. He walks straight through the carnage and destruction exploding every few metres. People scream and die as they are ripped from their feet to be shredded by teeth and Gregori passes them by with barely a glance.

  Crowds run and charge, fleeing and attacking. A speeding car races towards him, the driver clearly struggling to fend off a small child biting into the side of his neck. He jerk
s on the steering wheel, the car swerves to the right, the driver pushes the child away then tries to correct but over compensates too much to the left. The vehicle clips several parked cars as the child lunges for a fresh attack. The driver panics, stamping his foot down on the accelerator. The car powers up the front of a low sports car and spins over and over is it rolls across the road killing two staggering undead as they chase a survivor.

  Such is the momentum of the rolling vehicle it clips the high sided kerb, sending it higher into the air where it crashes through the plate glass windows of a clothing store. Glass obliterated, flying everywhere. Noise, burning rubber and chemicals leaking from the ruptured tanks of the upturned car.

  With the engine still running and producing sparks, the flammable liquids soon catches alight and trace a flickering line back to the vehicle. Gregori walks past as though in perfect timing, clearing the front of the store as the fuel tank goes up. A sudden whoosh, the air is charged and super-heated as the car bursts apart spraying the immediate area with scorching metal fragments that slice through skin like a knife through butter.

  The ugly man doesn't look back as the huge fireball engulfs the front of the shop and broils up skyward. He knows there is no immediate danger behind him so he watches ahead and to the sides with the discipline of a man taken as a child to be trained to do exactly what the situation dictates and nothing else.

  A screech of horror and pain, ‘HELP ME,’ a female voice coming from an alleyway just ahead and to the right and when Gregori gains the view he shows no reaction to the party girl in a pretty blue dress being held down and raped by two filthy looking homeless men taking advantage of the chaos. Her dress is pushed up and over her hips and pulled down to reveal her breasts, a tiny pair of panties lie discarded nearby while one vagrant thrusts himself back and forth with violent intent between her legs and his mate pins her arms down one handed while groping at her chest.