The Undead Day Fifteen

by RR Haywood

  ‘That’s it,’ I say to him, ‘that’s what we have to do.’

  ‘Okay,’ he blinks and waits as patient as the mountains.

  I turn to the rest and cast my eyes from face to face, finally settling on Lani.

  ‘We have to find Marcy.’

  Twenty-Two

  Fear. He can smell fear, shit and piss but predominantly, he can smell fear. He moves forward following the scent. Head fixed, red eyes bloodshot and seemingly hollow from the skin drawn tight across the cheek bones. His hair is mostly gone, just a few strands remain on his filth encrusted skull. His teeth stained with blood, crusted round the lips and across his cheek where an open wound festers in the heat with maggots writhing to eat down into the rotten flesh.

  One claw-like hand streams with fresh blood from the glass shards that cut deep as the undead smashed the pane of glass. The wound congeals quickly but the blood still drips to splatter down onto the carpeted floor. A potential host is in here. The undead can smell it. He can sense it.

  In the back door, it stalks through the ground floor rooms, ever seeking that flesh to bite and chew. Driven with lust to feast and pass the virus within, the lone undead moves forward through the detached house away from the towns and cities. The house is innocuous, bland and non-descript but the undead has walked for days seeking flesh and finally it has some here.

  It stumbles upstairs, which creak and groan under the weight of the undead. A groan rumbles from the throat, deep and hungry. The sound travels to the man hiding in the upstairs back room. His fear ramps up, his heart hammers sending pulses of energy into his limbs. Fight or flight. Prepare for battle or prepare to run. Except there is nowhere to run and the man cannot fight, he is too gripped by fear for he knows what comes.

  With wide eyes fixed on the door he whimpers in terror, listening as the steps get higher, get closer, crossing the landing and each door is opened in order as the beast without seeks the meal within. A jet of piss spurts unnoticed, a wet patch that grows and spreads across the front of his filthy jeans. He knew this was coming but he did not prepare. He knew more than nearly anyone but still he didn’t prepare. It was too real, too big to deal with.

  The footsteps stop outside his door. Two darker shadows indicate the feet of the thing outside. The handle squeaks as it turns, the door swings inwards and the man within stands upright on trembling legs to face the demon that is far worse than he ever imagined. The fear seeps back as professional interest takes over. The beast is beyond anything he could ever imagine but more than that, it walks with an almost fluid motion, not jerky or spasmodic like the rats in the test labs were.

  The infected man is painfully thin but then the original frame of the man would have been thin anyway, the infection has just sucked all the fluid from the muscles. Nothing wasted, no excess weight or fat. Sinewy and rangy.

  ‘I know you,’ the man shouts needlessly loud, ‘I know you.’ The beast shows no reaction. It doesn't care if the potential host knows him or not. He is not what he was. He is not the man the body appears to be.

  ‘You,’ the man shouts again, ‘inside…I know you inside…I was there…one of them that made you…’

  The infection stops the body and holds it still. It watches through the host’s eyes to the short, fat man whimpering and shouting in fear. The outcome is inevitable, the fat man will be taken and turned. There is no escape, no way out for him.

  ‘I was there,’ the man shouts again, ‘I know you…you don’t have to take me…don’t take me…I can…I can help, I can…I can help you…’

  The infection watches and listens. The fear is strong, the stench of piss is acrid. The infected host is tuned to take pleasure from those scents, pleasure that wets its appetite and drives the hunger.

  ‘We tested you…but I, I didn’t agree…I er…oh god, I didn’t agree so I left and…my part was small but I know you,’ the man waggles a finger pointing at the beast and the thing inside. ‘I know what you are…they said I couldn’t leave but I did, I got away…others did too…I’m not the only one but,’ the man gabbles with increasing speed, spittle flying from his cracked lips, ‘Neal…Neal got out and…have you taken him? Have you got Neal? I know where he went…no! I know the area but not where exactly but…but I can show you…’

  Neal. Others. Got away. The name means something. Neal Barrett. That name is within the collective conscious. Neal got away. Neal did not agree. Neal was part of the group but Neal got away.

  ‘Don’t bite me, please…I can help you…I can…I can do things and…’ the man is frantic, his eyes dart left to right and he shuffles with tiny panicked steps back and forth as his whole body trembles. There are memories of this man from the collective conscious. Flickers of images implanted within the cerebral memory dumps.

  ‘Aaaaandrewwwww Jackssssson,’ the infected man lisps the words out from a throat parched and now unused to speaking.

  The man flinches at hearing how own name. ‘Yes! That’s me…I’m Andrew Jackson…me! That’s me! You know me and….and I know you…please…’

  Andrew Jackson. He was there. He was in the team but his part was small. A laboratory assistant with responsibility to ensure equipment was sterilised. Nothing more than a cleaner. But he knows the others. He is part of the puzzle and is information. Andrew Jackson is information.

  ‘Please…yes? Yes?’ Andrew Jackson flickers with hope at the lack of attack from the infected male, ‘I can help you yes? We can work together…I’ll do what you want but…no…no! NO!’

  Andrew Jackson can help but what he offers can be taken. His body will be a host but his brain will yield.

  ‘NO! PLEASE NO!’ Andrew Jackson backs up against the wall as the infected man launches in to cross the last few feet with incredible speed. Andrew puts a hand up, defensive and protective of his own face. The infected man doesn't care what he bites and the hand is as good as anything else so a chunk is ripped from the soft meat on the palm. Andrew screams, buckles and falls to the ground as the virus moves from one host into the new one. The transition, done so many millions of times already, is completed as swiftly and as methodical as ever. The cells are taken. The heart stopped. The body dies. The heart is re-started and the host take over is complete. The virus swarms through the veins and blood vessels into the brain where it gets to work. Each brain is unique and different and each one must be examined to understand the contents.

  Two infected men stand within the room. Both silent. Both with red, bloodshot eyes. Both drool and utter low groans while inside one, the infection starts filling in the gaps of its knowledge.

  Twenty-Three

  ‘She is a rancid fucking WHORE,’ Lani rages at me, her eyes blazing with fury.

  ‘We are going to find her,’ I repeat through gritted teeth.

  ‘No,’ she shakes her head firmly, ‘not happening, not a chance in hell. We’re finding a doctor, we’re finding supplies and we’re finding weapons… that’s it. No Marcy, not today, not any fucking day.’

  ‘Lani,’ I catch her eyes and hold my voice steady despite the frustration growing inside me again, ‘she is part of this, same as we are,’ I motion between us, ‘same as Cookey and whoever else in our group is immune. She said…’

  ‘I don’t care what she said. She infected me. She bit me so she could get to you and what did you do with her? Go on, remind me, remind me what you almost did.’

  ‘Drop it,’ Lani is letting her anger cloud her vision, she can’t see beyond her own emotions to what is needed to be done, ‘this isn’t about me and you, this is about all of us. The whole group, the whole fort, the whole of humanity.’

  ‘Oh is it?’ She says lightly, ‘oh dear, the whole of humanity rests on us finding Marcy does it? Never mind,’ she adds spitefully.

  ‘This is happening…’

  ‘What about the doctor?’ Roy asks, ‘we still need a doctor.’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ turning to face him I take a small step back to view the whole group gathered roun
d, ‘a doctor can’t help with this, not with the immunity thing anyway. Yeah we need medical staff for the fort but,’ I shrug and sigh audibly, ‘but not with this.’

  ‘Eh?’ Roy sneers, ‘how do you know? Done four years of medical training have you?’

  ‘No, Roy. But I know a medical doctor, unless they are specifically trained in this virus, is not going to be able to help…or at least I don’t think so…shit, you’re going to have to trust me on this. The infection has changed, is changing…it’s getting a perception of itself as a….as a sort of living thing I suppose…and it knows we are immune. It’s not coming after us because we kill them, because we only really kill them when they attack… its coming after us because it doesn't want us here, it cannot allow us to remain…’

  ‘Why?’ Roy demands.

  ‘Because…truthfully, I don’t know. But I do know that Marcy was infected but she retained intelligence and her own thoughts…’

  ‘So it was Marcy that tried to shag you then, not the infection? Is that what you are saying?’ Lani asks with a nasty edge to her voice.

  ‘No. Marcy was impelled to act by the infection. Honestly, I think she acted…hang on! I think she acted with good intentions in the beginning but the infection, the virus…the thing inside her wanted her to take us…the pheromones were released without her realising it…’

  ‘Oh poor Marcy,’ Lani affects a hurt face.

  ‘She saved us,’ Cookey coughs and repeats it, ‘she did save us, and er…Mr Howie at the last bit…’

  ‘Yes, she did. I’ve told you this. She was on the wall holding the others back while I ran for the Saxon…the infection wanted them to take us but it was her that stopped it, she defied the infection.’

  ‘So?’ Lani goads me by elongating the vowels in her words and showing just how pissed she is.

  ‘Cookey and I cannot be taken. Got it? You,’ I point at Lani, ‘was taken but you fought back somehow and recovered or….or got better…Marcy was infected, wholly infected with the fucking red eyes and everything but she resisted it, she maintained her own er…her own…’

  ‘Individuality?’ Paula offers.

  ‘Yeah, something like that,’ I nod, ‘it has a purpose, the infection I mean. It had an end game but it was always flawed as…’

  ‘Yes we know,’ Lani snaps, ‘we’ve talked about it a hundred times…it kills itself when it turns the last human.’

  ‘Yes, so what’s the point? To kill humanity? No, I don’t think it was.’

  ‘Er, right…’ Roy says slowly, ‘you’ve er…kind of lost me.’

  ‘Marcy said…oh grow up,’ I snap at seeing Lani mimic me by mouthing Marcy said silently, ‘she said the infection was the cure. She said it cured diseases, took away pain and suffering…that we needed to find medical or scientific experts who could work out why she was different and use it to help everyone.’

  ‘Right?’ Roy nods, ‘so…so Marcy thinks this virus is actually a cure for diseases? Oh. That’s er, that’s a pretty radical cure that is. You know, got diabetes but don’t worry, be a zombie and all of that can go away.’

  ‘Funny,’ I shoot him a glare, ‘and no, that’s not what she meant, or at least I don’t think so…’

  ‘There’s something you’re not saying,’ Paula says carefully.

  ‘It’s hard to explain.’

  ‘Try,’ she urges, ‘none of us are stupid and we’ve all followed you up till now, so…’

  ‘Yeah I get it,’ Mo Mo glances up at me, ‘like, you get infected and then you get something else so you’s not infected but you’s got no diseases or shit, you get me? Like er…like what they do at school when they do them fuckin’ nasty injections…the nurse said they givin’ you the bad shit to make sure you don’t catch the bad shit…’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I replay his words a few times while trying to translate them, ‘no…er…I think the virus was meant to do one thing but somehow it became another thing…I just don’t know what they were…or are…so, we have to find Marcy and…’

  ‘Boss,’ Clarence clears his throat, looking thoughtful and having listened in silence he now makes ready to give his opinion. ‘We’re with you,’ he says simply, ‘if you say we have to find Marcy, then we’ll do it…all of us,’ he glances at Lani, ‘I’ve served for a long time and like Dave, I’ve had countless fights, battles, firefights…you name it…but I’ve never seen anything like this, not just what’s happening to the zom…’ he grits his teeth.

  ‘Say it,’ Cookey laughs, ‘go on big man! Say the zed word…’

  ‘Not just what’s happening to the things,’ he winces, ‘but you, and us…and what’s happening with us…there is no way on earth we should have walked away from those fights…so, whatever it is…we’re in. End of.’

  ‘Are we?’ Lani says, not quite ready to back down.

  ‘Yes, Lani,’ Clarence replies heavily, ‘Chris was my best mate, but when we were serving he was the man in charge. He was the squad leader and there were times he gave orders that none of us understood…but we did them because we trusted him, that’s what leadership and teamwork are about.’

  Silence. Heavy and thoughtful. All of us know the deep pain Clarence feels at losing Chris. He came with us when he could have been back in the fort protecting Chris and Sarah.

  ‘Okay,’ Lani says quietly with a nod, ‘we’ll do it.’

  ‘Okay…’

  ‘But,’ she fixes me with a glare, ‘you don’t get to be alone with her, not ever…not for a second…’

  ‘Agreed,’ I nod, ‘I don’t want to be alone with her.’

  ‘And if she starts spraying bloody pheromones about like cat piss then she loses her head…and anything else of hers that sticks out…’

  ‘Roger that,’ I nod trying not to create a mental image of what she just suggested.

  ‘Doctor?’ Roy asks, ‘are we getting one or not?’

  ‘Not now.’

  ‘But, if I may offer my opinion…we might be going off to fight the glorious battle and chase clues like some amateur sleuths but…’

  ‘Roy, spit it out mate,’ I rub my face to ease my impatience.

  ‘The kids in the fort, the people in the fort…they need a doctor…we should find one first and then go find this Marcy woman.’

  ‘We still need weapons…or at least ammunition,’ Clarence says.

  They are right. The doctor is essential, same as the ammunition and weapons and despite my increasing anxiety at not being able to do exactly what I want, I know I have to swallow it and do the right thing.

  ‘No. We go now,’ or not, as my brain seems to be override my common sense.

  ‘Boss,’ Clarence steps forward with one huge hand held out in a plaintive gesture, his face both earnest and pleading, urging me to see sense and do the right thing.

  ‘No. Now,’ I don’t have to look at their faces to see the dismay and hurt. I can feel it pouring off them in buckets.

  ‘Sorry chaps,’ Roy tilts his head back, ‘but I’m going for the doctor…and I suggest we take a vote and see what the majority thinks.’

  ‘A vote?’ Nick spits with a look of anger flashing across his face, ‘we don’t vote, we do what Mr Howie says we do.’

  ‘Young man…’

  ‘Fucking young man me,’ Nick turns to face the older man, ‘I got separated yesterday, left on my own dealing with all kinds of shit but not once…not fucking once did I lose belief that Mr Howie was coming for me…not once…and if Mr Howie told me to stand here naked rubbing butter on my bollocks I would do it without…’

  ‘Do what?’ Cookey blanches, ‘butter on your bollocks?’

  ‘Fuck off, Cookey,’ Nick growls.

  ‘But…butter? On your bollocks? What the fuck? And you were doing so well then mate but…’

  ‘Get ready, we’re moving out,’ I give the order and start heading back to my van.

  ‘How? Where to?’ Roy sputters, ‘we need a doctor…Mr Howie, this is wrong and I insist you lis
ten…’

  ‘Roy, if you…’

  ‘Mr Howie, please,’ both hands are held up palms facing me, ‘listen, just listen…I don’t doubt your credentials and ability to lead for one second. I’ve seen you fight and lead and I’ll gladly stand by you in any battle but…listen, I have health anxiety right? You know, good old fashioned hypochondria. I think I’m dying every five minutes and I get symptoms of things I hear about or read…I’ve had it for years, literally my entire adult life. Medication, treatment, unable to hold down a job or keep a relationship going…but, well what I’m trying to say is this…I know what doctors can do and we need them. Those people in the fort need a doctor. Okay, not for the immunity thing but you tell me what we’d do if one of those children got something stuck in their throat? Are you able to operate to remove it? Do you know how to treat infected wounds? What about heart attacks? Attach a drip and recognise cases of dehydration and malnutrition. Some of those children are too young to have had vaccinations and without proper sanitation disease and dysentery will spread. Who can treat that? I can’t. That A and E nurse we’ve got can’t treat it. What if someone gets pregnant and has a difficult childbirth? Have we got midwives? Food poisoning? I’ve spent more days in doctors surgery’s than any of you have had hot dinners and despite everyone saying doctors are this and that…they are bloody experts in what they do. We…need…a…doctor…’ he pauses, blinks and adds, ‘and a pharmacist for good measure.’

  ‘Okay, doctor first.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he says sincerely, ‘really, I mean it…’

  ‘Next one then, lead the way.’

  ‘Right, come on,’ he nods his head for everyone to get moving, ‘and we’ll go faster this time,’ he says to me with an earnest expression.

  ‘You want me to drive?’ Blowers asks.

  ‘Yes…yeah you drive mate…I need time to think.’

  ‘It’s five minutes away, Mr Howie,’ Roy calls back, ‘really just five minutes and I’ve got a good feeling about this one.’