The Undead Day Fifteen

by RR Haywood

  ‘No. Dead.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He talk too much.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Quiet.’

  ‘Why?’ The boy whispers.

  ‘No speak.’

  ‘I’m whispering.’

  ‘No noise.’

  ‘…What’s on fire?’

  ‘Everything. Be quiet.’

  ‘Are there houses on fire?’

  ‘Yes. No speak.’

  ‘Will the firemen come and use their hoses?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They dead.’

  ‘Who will use the hoses?’

  ‘Nobody.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They all dead.’

  ‘We’re not dead. We can use the hoses.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘No speak. Quiet.’

  ‘…Why can’t we speak?’

  ‘Listen. We listen. We no speak.’

  The boy looks round, ‘there’s nothing to listen too,’ he says confidently.

  ‘You speak and I kill you.’

  ‘Why.’

  ‘No speak or I shoot you.’

  ‘Are the cars on fire?’

  ‘Yes. I shoot you. With gun.’

  ‘Are there people in the houses and the cars that are on fire?’

  ‘Yes. I have gun. I shoot you.’

  ‘Will they get burned?’

  ‘Yes. And I shoot you. In the face.’

  ‘Gregoreee…do people melt when they get the fire?’

  ‘Yes. I make you on fire. No speak.’

  ‘Have you ever been on fire?’

  ‘No. I make you on fire. I shoot you. I kill you. You die. Shut up.’

  ‘Are there children on the fire in the houses and the cars?’

  ‘Yes. Children that speak.’

  ‘Will the children melt?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about dogs and cats? Will they melt or…’

  ‘Everything die.’

  ‘What about goldfish? Goldfish live in water. Water doesn't get on fire because they have water in the hoses.’

  ‘They die. I shoot them. I shoot you.’

  ‘When will there not be a fire?’

  ‘No speak.’

  ‘Can we go see the fire?’

  ‘No speak.’

  ‘Are my new family on the fire?’

  ‘No. Yes if you speak.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘No speak.’

  ‘Are you a daddy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you have a daddy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where is your daddy?’

  ‘He die. I shoot him. He speak.’

  ‘Do you have a big brother or a little sister?’

  ‘No. I shoot them. They speak.’

  ‘Who made the fire?’

  ‘No speak.’

  ‘Did the monsters make the fire?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did mummy make the fire?’

  ‘…I not know this.’

  ‘Mummy said fire was danger.’

  ‘Be quiet. You are boy. You be quiet and no speak. You speak and I give you to monsters.’

  ‘Is my new family with the monsters?’

  ‘No. Yes if you speak.’

  ‘Why are we going this way? The monsters are this way? Is my family this way?’

  ‘No monsters here. No speak. I kill the new family if you speak.’

  ‘Gregoreee, will I have a sister?’

  ‘I not know. I kill sister. You speak more and I kill sister and brother and dog. I shoot them.’

  ‘What dog is it?’

  ‘No dog.’

  ‘You said sister and brother and dog. Is it a black dog?’

  ‘No dog.’

  ‘Brown dog?’

  ‘No dog.’

  ‘Is it a big dog that goes woof woof?’

  ‘No. I shoot dog.’

  ‘What is my brother’s name?’

  ‘I not…be quiet.’

  ‘Is he a big brother or a little brother?’

  ‘No brother. No sister. No dog. No speak.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘No speak.’

  ‘Gregoreee….’

  ‘No speak.’

  ‘Gregoreee!’ The boy giggles with delight.

  ‘No speak. No funny. I shoot you. See gun…I shoot you,’ Gregori pulls the one of the pistols to show the boy.

  ‘Is that a gun?’

  Gregori stops, stares at the pistol then at the boy and keeps on walking with a shake of the head, ‘yes, is gun. I shoot you.’

  ‘Does it go bang bang or bang bang bang?’

  ‘It go…one of the bang. It go one bang and the bullet it come out and go in your head and you die. You. You boy. You die when I shoot you when you speak.’

  ‘Make it go bang.’

  ‘No. I make bang when I kill you.’

  ‘Make it go bang, Gregoree…’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Gregoreee…make it go bang…please…please Gregoreeee.’

  ‘Gregori. Not Gregoreeeeeeeeee. Gregori.’

  ‘Make it go bang.’

  ‘Be quiet.’

  ‘Make it go bang.’

  ‘Boy. Shut mouth. Shut mouth now.’

  ‘Make it go bang. Gregoreee….please Gregoreee, please…make it go bang….’

  A twitch of his finger and the huge retort booms out from the pistol to echo and roll about the street. The second it’s done Gregori curses himself, feeling a rush of emotions of stupidity and anger. A gun shot in such a quiet place will be heard for miles.

  Scanning the sides, the rear and in front he holds still with mouth open to stretch the ear canal and thereby increase his the power of his hearing. The boy kept on. He kept on and it was an involuntary reflex. A stupid thing done to shut the boy up and scare him with the big noise. But the boy looks delighted and stared open mouthed in awe at the pistol held by Gregori.

  ‘Can I try?’

  ‘Shut up,’ Gregori hisses, grabbing the boy round the back of the neck he marches him roughly forward, ‘no speak…’

  ‘Gregoreee…’

  ‘Shut up. Shut up now,’ the venom in his voice is full of violence and threat, leaving no doubt that he means what he says.

  ‘Gregoreee…’

  He drops to a crouch and pulls the boy in close with a big hand wrapped round the back of the boys neck, hard eyes glare deep and menacingly, ‘you speak and I leave you…’

  ‘They’re coming,’ the boy whispers. Gregori’s eyes widen, his nostrils flare. There’s movement in his peripheral vision. He’s upright, pistol raised and ready as he takes aim on the solitary figure at the end of the street. It moves slowly, very slowly. Stiff legged, head lolling left and right, forward and back. No cohesion, spasmodic and jerky. Gregori’s eyes narrow now and another shuffles into view behind the first, another then another. More of them and they shuffle and stagger until they fill the end of the road but moving so slowly.

  Gregori holds position, waiting for them to charge. Something has changed. Something is different. Why are they going slow? The energy is different too.

  ‘They’re slow now,’ the boy announces to Gregori who glances down then back up, ‘until night-time.’

  ‘How you know this?’ Gregori whispers, ‘how? How you know this? How you know they coming here?’

  ‘Can I have a go on the gun now?’

  ‘You tell me,’ Gregori drops into the crouch again, staring hard into the boys blue eyes, ‘how?’

  ‘I dunno,’ the boy giggles, ‘I just know, silly!’

  What is going on? Why does the boy speak in riddles? For a second he contemplates striking the boy across the face and making him speak, but something holds his hand back from lashing out. He turns to watch the things stagger and stalk ever closer but so slowly and with such a lack of coordination they stumble and fall into each other.

  ‘Oh
no,’ the boy says with shock, ‘I didn’t take my shoes…mummy said I have to have shoes on when I play outside.’

  ‘We go,’ Gregori starts back the way they came, moving quickly then stopping to run back and pull the boy along who stares down at his filthy feet, ‘we go.’

  ‘Gregoreee, can we go back for my shoes?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But mummy said…’

  ‘We get other shoe. We go. We go now. Move…’

  Heading in the direction the boy said they should go, the Albanian hitman glances back at the horde behind as though expecting them to be charging. He watches the road ahead, he takes in the sides, continuously scanning and assessing. He checks behind more often than he needs to, taking fleeting glances down at the strange boy.

  Twenty-Seven

  ‘There she is!’ Blowers calls out from behind me when the Saxon comes into view standing proud and solitary in the position she was left on the motorway. The miles driven since collecting the doctors were light-hearted at first with a feeling that we had finally accomplished something. Blowers and Cookey bantered and made jokes about how Dave had threatened them all if they spoke without being spoken to and even they were to say please, thank you and nothing else. But it came back. That feeling of being out of control, of lagging behind in the race for survival. That we’re still not doing enough and not doing it fast enough. We’ve got doctors but the day is running out and we’ve still got no ammunition for our assault rifles and no supplies for the fort and the people within.

  My hands go from holding the steering wheel in a relaxed manner to gripping it with ever whitening knuckles as the pressure grows inside me. The headache comes back, dull at first but soon it’s pounding across the back of my skull and my heart starts beating faster, like I’m about to fight. Adrenalin coursing into my system but it goes unused and starts making my legs tremble, my mouth goes dry, so dry I have to cough before I can ask for one of the lads to pass me some water.

  Four doctors. Not one but four. We did a simple thing and went from house to house until we found them. No big battle. No big fight. No treachery or trickery. Professional health care workers with vast experience in the field of medicine. Having them with us is a major step in the right direction, so why do I feel like this? What’s going on?

  It was too easy. Too simple. There must be something wrong, something bad about to happen. The drive is uneventful and with the fog lifted we find the route with ease, letting Roy work us back to the motorway and the Saxon waiting for us.

  ‘You two take the van,’ I give the instruction to the lads behind me. The doctors are traveling in Clarence’s van which we figured would be safer from any gay jokes made by Cookey.

  My mood has plummeted again too. Darker and deeper than before. An anger bubbles away just below the surface. I want to find Marcy and get answers, I want to do it now. Truth be told, I want to run from this lot and be alone. Just me, and Dave of course but that disturbs me too as I’m starting to think of Dave as an extension of myself, that he is a part of me and several times I catch myself thinking he is imaginary, like something my mind has made up to get me through all this.

  Sarah said I was becoming something else. She said I was enjoying it, that I wanted to kill them, that I was becoming addicted to it. I’m not. I’m not. Am I? What if I am?

  It isn’t discussed now, that Dave would come with me to take the Saxon back. It’s assumed and as natural as drawing breath. He’s always there, beside me, watching, watchful, ever watchful and ever ready.

  Wordlessly we get into the vehicle and check her over before closing the doors and getting into our seats and again I’m puzzled. Why did they leave her here untouched? I would have ruined her, stripped her to bits and made it impossible to fix but they’ve left her alone. She is a vehicle, an inert and inanimate object that does not have feeling or sense. But she’s also a tool that has proved to be truly remarkable in our quest to stay alive.

  I wave the others to go past me and start the slow turn, tucking in behind the last van to bring up the rear. Could we go it alone?

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

  ‘What would they do?’

  ‘Survive.’

  ‘Without us? Without you?’

  ‘It’s not me they need, Mr Howie. It’s you.’

  ‘We would have all been killed a long time ago if not for you, Dave. And by saying that you’re saying that they do need us.’

  He goes silent, thoughtful for a second, ‘you are right,’ he says slowly which is strange as his manner of speaking never changes, ‘we stay as a team.’

  ‘You say that like it’s a decision made.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘It’s your decision, Mr Howie. You lead.’

  ‘What is your advice?’

  ‘To lead as you see fit, but stay as a team.’

  ‘Maybe it’s me that keeps putting them in risk? If the infection wants me, and will stop at nothing to get me…then maybe me being somewhere else gives them a chance to survive in a…’

  ‘There was a mission,’ he interrupts me which again is exceptionally rare for him but then pauses again and looks out the window to the passing scenery, ‘there were other missions too,’ he continues, ‘that we took out more than the primary target to ensure a successful outcome.’

  ‘I don’t understand, Dave.’

  ‘The infection wouldn’t stop…it won’t stop targeting the others if you leave but it will kill them easier without your leadership.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ muttering darkly I breathe a long exhalation out through my nose, ‘really not fair.’

  ‘Fairness is not an issue here,’ he replies, ‘fairness doesn't count.’

  ‘So the infection will keep coming, whether I’m there or not.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘It’s what I would do,’ he says bluntly, ‘if I couldn’t get you, I would go for everything you loved or were attached to. I would destroy you from the inside out.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Hang on, from the inside out? Like…so if we were to reverse that and target the infection. How would we do it?’

  ‘We need more information before we can do that.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Its primary objective, what it wants to achieve and how it plans on doing it.’

  ‘It wants to rule the world by infecting every living person, or at least it did but…but…I don’t know now, I really don’t. We have to find Marcy and find out what she knows.’

  ‘What if Marcy is dead?’

  ‘There is another option, we could try and communicate with it.’

  ‘We can do that now,’ he replies, ‘stop in the next town and I’ll find one.’

  ‘Marcy first,’ I nod firmly, ‘we get these doctors back then we go find Marcy.’

  ‘Okay,’ he turns back to staring out the window.

  ‘I don’t want to waste time looking for ammunition or supplies for the fort. I want to do this now.’

  ‘Okay,’ he doesn't say anything for a long time but I know Dave and I know when he wants to add something.

  ‘Go on,’ I prompt him.

  ‘I don’t need a gun,’ he says matter of fact, ‘but the others do…and shotguns are not good enough.’

  ‘So we get ammunition then,’ I sigh deeply feeling the days stretching out ahead of us as we scavenge about trying to get what we need. ‘Okay…let’s work this out,’ gripping the steering wheel even harder I focus the mind contained within my banging head, ‘ammunition…we need ammunition but this is England so firearms are banned. We can go for police stations and get a few but I’m guessing they won’t hold anywhere near the amount we use…’

  ‘No, they won’t.’

  ‘Right, so we can go for military establishments then. But…the risk is either someone has go
t there before us and either emptied them or are defending them…or…fuck knows what the other one was…er…bollocks, my bloody head is killing me…bullets…where do they come from?’

  ‘Magazines.’

  ‘I know that,’ I sigh again, ‘where do the magazines come from?’

  ‘The stores.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Dave. Where do the army get them from?’

  ‘Filling factories.’

  ‘Filling?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Filling factories? Is that what they’re called?’

  ‘Yes. I just said that.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Filling factories?’

  ‘No, Dave…the fucking…yes, I mean yes…where are the filling factories? Can we go there and get the ammunition we need?’

  ‘There were many in the war. They closed down.’

  ‘That helps, what about now?’

  ‘Private companies.’

  ‘What private companies? Where?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mr Howie.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Clarence might know.’

  ‘Okay, yeah…we’re almost there anyway, but that’s an option right? We go straight to source and get what we need.’

  ‘They will be very secure premises.’

  ‘Could you get in?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Howie.’ No hesitation. No doubt. A straight answer to a straight question and Dave is back to normal. Pity I’m not.

  The going gets slower the closer we get. The coast line being so littered with debris from the storm that threading a way through with three vans and the Saxon proves painfully slow and time consuming, especially with Roy leading the way. I fight to stay calm and resist the urge to ram the Saxon into the back of the van in front of me or press on the horn to hurry them up. I don’t pay any attention to the scenery either. It’s all the same. Broken, damaged, beyond repair and it means nothing to this new world or what I need to do.

  Through the streets of the lanes that once bordered the bay and I realise this is the closest area to the fort that has houses, buildings and structures. Marcy must have come here. The estate was already gone and there was nothing else save a few marine commercial units beyond that. That gets my attention and now I am looking out the windows trying in vain to spot her leaning out of a window and waving at me as we go past. The thought makes my heart beat harder which in turn fills me with dread but also a desire, like my mind is remembering the erotic state I was in the last time.