The Undead Day Fifteen

by RR Haywood

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Clarence offers.

  ‘Yeah cos that will look even better with a giant carrying two bras,’ I chuckle.

  ‘Nah, here like…you’s can use it,’ Jagger starts opening his bag again as I motion for the bras to be handed over.

  ‘It’s alright mate, got these…wait here…’ door open and I’m dropping down onto the concrete ground then stepping away from the Saxon with a white bra held in each hand away from my body and feeling like a complete and utter tool. I stand there for some minutes with nothing happening. Clarence stretches across the seats to lean his head near the driver’s door, ‘anything?’ He asks.

  ‘Nope, I’ll go a bit closer.’

  Holding the underwear out from my body I slowly approach the building then curse as I remember the pistol on my belt and the knife too. I stop, glance down and start heading back the way I came with a look of apology towards the building and feeling even more of a complete dick.

  ‘What’s up?’ Clarence calls out.

  ‘Still got my pistol on me,’ I get back and slip the gun and knife out before once more walking back towards the building with my bras held out.

  I stop about twenty metres shy of the front, standing directly in front of the big double glass doors which are also two way and darkened. Scanning the front, I see nothing, no movement, no noise.

  Minutes tick by, nothing happens. My arms ache so the bras get lowered down to my sides and I start shuffling about in boredom wishing I had a cigarette. Then I start thinking about how much I want a coffee and a cigarette which makes me think about wanting things and then I’m thinking that we still need to find Marcy and how my mood has been up and down like a yo yo today.

  ‘Hello.’

  The voice snaps me out of self-induced daze to stare about with wide eyes, as I start thinking I imagined the voice as there is no one here. I shake my head as though to clear my mind and the voice calls out again, ‘Hello?’

  It’s a normal, adult male voice but no one is here. I’m going crazy, hearing things. Maybe it’s Dave but then Dave wouldn’t say hello if he got in my head, he would just stand there waiting.

  ‘ARE YOU ENGLISH?’

  The voice comes out again and I stare at the doors in front of me, then up at the windows and along both sides of the brick built building.

  ‘ER…WHAT…DO…YOU…WANT?’ The voice speaks slow and clear in the typical way that English people speak to foreigners.

  ‘Er…where are you?’ I ask out loud.

  ‘At the intercom,’ the voice says with a sigh, ‘here…next to the front door…see it? Big shiny metal thing with buttons on it…yes! There you go, well done!’

  ‘Huh, sorry,’ I say sheepishly, ‘didn’t see it.’

  ‘Which is not the least bit worrying considering you were staring right at it.’

  ‘I wasn’t staring at it, I was just staring but without looking…’

  ‘How can you stare without looking?’

  ‘You know, like when your mind drifts off and you just stare…er…vacant stare I think they call it.’

  ‘Oh yes, yes I’ve heard of that. Bit of a weird time to drift off isn’t it?’

  ‘I didn’t think anyone was here,’ I reply defensively.

  ‘Why stand there then?’

  ‘Waiting.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For someone to come out.’

  ‘But you just said you didn’t think anyone was here.’

  ‘Er…dunno really, just sort got thinking about coffee and cigarettes and then…anyway, er…so who are you?’

  ‘Me? I’m the person inside this massive building that you can’t get into.’

  ‘Doesn't look that strong really.’

  ‘Appearances can be deceptive. Do you know where you are?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Do you know where here is?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s here.’ Shit, I sound like Dave.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Er, ammunition please…is this the ammunition factory?’

  ‘I don’t know…is it?’

  ‘Um, you’re kind of inside? So like…you should know that…’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Howie and er…’

  ‘Howie?’

  Oh not again, ‘yeah Howie, and my mates are back in that vehicle…we ran out of bullets yesterday and we need some more.’

  ‘Bullets for what?’

  ‘Eh? For our guns.’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ the sarcastic tone comes clearly through the speaker, ‘what type of bullets?’

  ‘Oh right, yeah we’ve got 9mm pistols and er…army assault rifles the er…SA80 and a GPMG and a shit load of police machine guns and other bits and bobs….er….’ silence from the intercom, ‘are you still there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, okay…er…did you hear what I said?’

  ‘I did, sorry I thought you were still talking.’

  ‘Oh no, my mistake, no I had finished…should have made the clearer.’

  ‘No problem, I wasn’t paying attention properly er…yeah we can do that.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘We could give you ammunition for all of those.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Er, yeah,’ the intercom says in that tone lifting manner I cannot fucking stand, ‘we are a munitions factory you know.’

  ‘Right, so…er…how do we get them?’

  ‘Ah, now I said we could, I never said we would.’

  Taking a deep breath I close my eyes and force my tone to remain neutral, ‘okay…so…can we get the ammunition from you?’

  ‘You could…but…’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘What’s in it for us?’

  ‘Er…I dunno,’ I shrug, ‘we don’t really have anything.’

  ‘You must have something to trade.’

  ‘Er…not really.’

  ‘What about that Army vehicle?’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘We can’t just give you ammunition for free.’

  ‘You can’t have the Saxon, we need it.’

  ‘We can give you a van.’

  ‘Sorry, mate. Can’t trade the Saxon. What you like for weapons in there?’

  ‘Er…’ that annoying teenage er comes back, infuriating as hell, ‘we are a munitions factory…we have weapons.’

  ‘You have bullets but where did the weapons come from?’

  ‘How do you think we tested the bullets?’

  ‘You’ve got fixed firing points.’

  ‘Correction. We had fixed firing points, they are no longer fixed anywhere, plus we’ve got assault rifles and all sorts of things.’

  ‘Hmmm, okay…I was thinking we could trade some guns but…’

  ‘What guns?’

  ‘You said you had guns.’ I’m confused, he’s spent ages telling me that they have weapons, but now want to know what weapons we have to trade with them?

  ‘We do, but what guns did you have in mind?’

  ‘What guns do you need?’

  ‘What have you got spare?’

  ‘Er…none really but…what are you missing then?’

  ‘Missing?’

  ‘Yeah, like what haven’t you got?’

  ‘Oh, right…er…we need some…er…hang on,’ the dull thump comes out which I figure is his hand clamping over the microphone or mouthpiece, ‘you still there?’

  ‘No, I’ve gone.’

  ‘We don’t actually need anything but er…more guns are always good.’

  ‘Hmmm, I think you are lying.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You don’t have any guns do you.’

  ‘We have, we’ve got lots of guns.’

  ‘So why do you need more?’

  ‘So we can trade.’

  ‘You’ve probably got a couple of machines that can fire the bullets in simulation of assault rifles or whatever else you make but I bet you don’t have any actual guns.’


  ‘We do have guns. This facility was armed…I mean it had armed police posted here.’

  ‘Yeah and they would have gone when the shit started and took their guns with them.’

  ‘No they stayed here, and their guns…we have their guns.’

  ‘Why did you have armed police?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Why have armed police here? Is your building not secure?’

  ‘It is, it’s very secure…a tank wouldn’t get in here.’

  ‘So why have armed police?’

  ‘Deterrent.’

  ‘Against what?’

  ‘Attack.’

  ‘From who?’

  ‘The terrorists.’

  ‘Oh the terrorists….not any terrorists but the terrorists…look mate, you are tucked up cosy in your building which is great, but we’re out here killing zombies and we’ve run out of bullets…you can stay in your fortress but give us the bullets and we’ll kill the zombies…’ I’m running out of patience.

  ‘No need to be like that about it.’

  ‘What? Like what?’

  ‘Like you’re the ones doing all the work.’

  ‘Have you been out killing zombies?’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘Have you been in there since it began?’

  ‘Yeah, but…we could be attacked by zombies at any time so…’

  ‘How they gonna get in?’

  ‘Well, they won’t but…’

  ‘So you can stay inside all safe and we’re out here doing all the hard work.’

  ‘No, hang on a minute…it’s not easy staying here you know.’

  ‘Have you got food and water?’

  ‘Yes but that’s not the point…’

  ‘Power?’

  ‘Generators but listen…’

  ‘So you’ve got a fortress, with bullets, food, water and no need to go outside while we have shotguns and bloody axes…’

  ‘Yes, but…right…this really isn’t fair you know.’

  ‘Okay then, you take the Saxon and the weapons and we’ll have the nice big fortress with the food and water and power…’

  ‘What? No way.’

  ‘Go on, you do a week out here then we’ll swap over.’

  ‘We’re not doing that!’

  ‘Then give us some bloody bullets so we can do it.’

  ‘…’

  ‘You still there?’ I ask when he doesn't reply.

  ‘I’m thinking.’

  ‘Thinking? In your nice, dry, safe fortress with your food and….’

  ‘Alright! You’ve made your point…you killed many then?’

  ‘Many? We’ve killed thousands… like shit, maybe two hundred thousand in total.’

  ‘How many? How?’

  ‘We got guns from an army base and took all their ammo, then we got more from a navy supply ship in the Solent and…’

  ‘Two hundred thousand? Are there any left?’

  ‘Are there any left he asks! Population of over fifty million and he asks if there are any left while inside his big, safe fortress…’

  ‘Alright alright, don’t start that again…you must have used a lot of bullets.’

  ‘We did, and we used our hands too…while running around in the heat and the rain and the storm and…’

  ‘Enough about the safe, dry fortress!’

  ‘Then give us some sodding bullets then!’

  ‘We can’t just give them away. We need something in return.’

  ‘In return?’ I stare at the intercom with my eyes wide from the anger starting to bubble inside me. ‘In return? We’re out here running about like fucking idiots and you’re in there with ALL THE FUCKING BULLETS…’

  ‘Don’t shout please, it’s really not necessary.’

  ‘I WILL FUCKING SHOUT…’

  ‘Please don’t, you’re amplified on this system and your voice distorts.’

  My breath hisses out between clenched teeth, nostrils flaring, ‘mate, I don’t have fucking time for this…I’ll ask nicely…please can we please have some bullets…please…’

  ‘And I said yes, yes you can have some bullets but only when we’ve worked out the terms of our agreement.’

  ‘Listen fuckhead,’ I snap, ‘you can’t sit inside the fucking bullet factory while the world goes to shit…that isn’t fair…it’s…it’s…’

  ‘It’s what?’ Condescending and goading.

  ‘It’s not British is what it’s not…not bloody British…you’ve got the bullets, we’ve got the guns and there are millions of zombies that need killing…’

  ‘Britain was built on trade so…’

  ‘Britain was built on a sense of fair play and doing the right thing…’

  ‘Apart from the slavery yeah?’

  ‘Slavery? What a million fucking years ago! We abolished slavery before most of the world did.’

  ‘We still colonised everywhere which effectively rendered their countries as slave states against our imperial ruling.’

  ‘We did colonise but we gave them back…and that was in the Victorian times and…’

  ‘Nineteen forty seven….that’s when we gave India back.’

  ‘That was post war but we still gave it back.’

  ‘Even the yanks had to fight for their independence from us so don’t come here giving me all this British sense of fair play nonsense…look what happened to Lady Di…’

  ‘What!’

  ‘That was a conspiracy you know, where was the fair play then?’

  ‘It wasn’t a conspiracy, it was a fucking car accident.’

  ‘Yes it was a car accident but who caused it? Eh? Who caused the accident?’

  ‘The driver…who was pissed…the pissed driver…’

  ‘And Iraq.’

  ‘Oh my god…look can we please have some…’

  ‘Weapons of mass destruction? Yeah what weapons…they had oil is what they had.’

  ‘Yes, okay fair point…but the country reacted when we all realised we had been duped and lied too….so that was the sense of fair play…’

  ‘Yes, yes I’ll agree to that one, yes we did react…but nonetheless the British sense of fair play was brought about as a way of suppressing the masses.’

  ‘Mate, are you a communist or something? How did a communist get a job in a munitions factory?’

  ‘I’m not a communist, I am not an anything ist…I’m a realist…but yeah I was the secretary of the union and…’

  ‘That’s an ist…Realist is an ist…look, I’m sorry but we are really busy and we’re desperate for some bullets…’

  ‘Busy doing what?’ The more he speaks the more I realise this bloke must be permanently like this with some notion in his head that it’s his role in life to play devil’s advocate to any perceived authority.

  ‘Killing FUCKING ZOMBIES YOU TWAT…’

  ‘Don’t shout into the intercom…stand back a bit if you…’

  ‘Mate,’ I press my mouth to the grill, ‘if you don’t give me some fucking bullets I will come in there and fucking take them…’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Trust me…’

  ‘You won’t get in here…’

  ‘We will…WE FUCKING WILL…WE HAVE A DAVE…’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A FUCKING DAVE …WE HAVE A DAVE AND A CLARENCE…RIGHT…I GAVE YOU A CHANCE…’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’M GOING TO GET OUR DAVE AND CLARENCE AND THEN….AND THEN…’ I turn to point at the intercom…’where’s the camera?’

  ‘What camera?’

  ‘Am I on camera?’

  The voice sighs, ‘yes you are on camera…it’s in the intercom…’

  ‘Ha! Right,’ I switch my pointing finger to the intercom, ‘I’m getting Dave and Clarence and then you’ll be bloody sorry…’

  ‘Come back! We were talking about conspiracy theories…’

  ‘I’M GETTING DAVE AND CLARENCE AND THEN WE’RE COMING INSIDE AND…AND…AND WHEN
WE DO…’ I waggle my finger at the intercom while walking away, ‘AND WHEN WE DO…YOU’LL BE SORRY…YES…SORRY…BECAUSE…BECAUSE I’LL PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE.’

  ‘I can’t hear you, you’re too far away now.’

  I race back to the intercom, ‘I SAID YOU’LL BE SORRY…WHEN I GET DAVE AND CLARENCE AND AND… AND PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE!’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ the sneering voice laughs, ‘you can’t get in and if by some remote magical chance you do get inside…we’ll bloody cream the floor with you.’

  ‘Wipe the floor you bloody idiot.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s wipe the floor, not cream the floor.’

  ‘Oh is it? Hang on,’ the dull thump comes back as he seeks clarification from those around him, ‘split decision.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Creaming the floor, we’ve got a split decision on the correct terminology.’

  ‘Think it through,’ I reply, ‘cream the floor? What image does that conjure up? Wiping the floor denotes that firstly you will beat us down to the extent we are on the floor and then use as rags to wipe the floor…’

  ‘He’s got a valid point there,’ he says to whoever is with him, ‘I’m not disagreeing with you, Bob…I’m just saying the lad has a valid point…no no, it’s not about taking sides, Bob…I’m just playing devil’s advocate here so…’

  ‘Right…we’re coming in and we’re gonna punch you all in the face, including Bob and…and then we’ll just take the bullets!’ The words are out of my mouth before I realise what I’m saying.

  ‘You can’t punch Bob,’ the voice says indignantly, ‘he’s a lovely old fella, been here donkey years…’

  ‘Oh has he,’ a flood of guilt rushes through me, ‘okay not Bob then, tell him I’m sorry and I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Bob, he said sorry and he didn’t mean it…’

  ‘Hullo?’ A different voice, older and clearly not used to speaking into the strange magical metal thing, ‘hullo? Can you hear me? Can he hear me, can he?’

  ‘I can hear you, is that Bob?’

  ‘Yes, over…this is Bob….over…’

  ‘You don’t have to say over, Bob,’ the first voice says in the background.

  ‘Yeah I can hear you. Sorry about that, Bob…I didn’t mean you would get punched in the face.’

  ‘Nah it’s alright nipper, you probably running about out there getting all worked up, ain’t ya.’

  ‘Yes, yes something like that…listen, we just need some bullets.’