by Hatchett
Jenny closed her eyes, not sure if she wanted to cry or be sick. She knew she needed the toilet but wasn’t prepared to leave the relative security of the quilt.
“It’s time we got up and got goin’,” Mamba advised. “Busy day ahead.”
“A few more minutes,” Jenny pleaded. “You go and sort everything out and I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Sounds good,” Mamba replied, jumping up from the bed. He turned to her and said, “are ya sure ya don’t want one for the road?”
“I think I’ve had more than enough. In fact, I might be sick in a minute.”
That was enough for Mamba. He hastily dressed then left the room.
Jenny heard Mamba knocking on another door. There was a muffled discussion then there was the sound of thumping as someone, presumably Mamba, went down the stairs.
Jenny leapt from the bed, grabbed her clothes and jumped into the en-suite and quickly locked the door. She leant back against it and closed her eyes, feeling a bit dizzy and nauseated. ‘So much for drinking myself into oblivion’, she thought to herself.
She mustered the energy to move to the toilet to relieve the pressure in her bladder and tentatively checked herself out. Yes, she was sore. Very sore. It didn’t take a genius to work out why. She suddenly felt very sick and quickly got off the toilet and stuck her head down before retching into the bowl. Her head was spinning and she felt like she might just keel over and die. She wondered what had happened to Daryl and was concerned that he was OK. So much for him protecting her, not that she could really blame him. He simply wasn’t in the same league as Mamba and Ahmed. She realised that if Daryl knew what had happened, he’d never forgive himself and probably do something really stupid. So, she needed to front it out and pretend nothing had happened.
She retched into the toilet again then her determination and stubbornness took over. She rose shakily to her feet and moved across to the sink where she found a toothbrush and some toothpaste. She gave her mouth and teeth a good going over. She was surprised that there was running water, cold obviously, but that was probably because there was a full tank up in the loft somewhere. It was likely to be a short-term benefit, but she’d make the most of it while she could.
She moved across to the bath and was pleased to see a showerhead on the wall. She turned the taps on and a spray of cold water came out. She quickly stepped under the spray and shivered at the sudden shock. Then she quickly washed her hair before soaping the rest of her body, being as careful and delicate as possible in the obvious areas. Once she was done, she stood under the water for a few more minutes until she heard Mamba shouting to her from downstairs.
“Coming!” she shouted back, not sure if he heard her and not really caring.
She dried herself off with the same care she had taken when she was washing and then put her clothes back on.
She looked at herself in the mirror over the sink. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, with bags underneath. Her tan seemed to have disappeared overnight and her hair was wet and straggly. In her opinion, she didn’t look too different to the dead roaming the streets outside.
She gathered her resolve and unlocked the bathroom door. She crossed the bedroom, opened the door and entered the hallway. She spotted the stairs and headed for them before descending to the ground floor. She paused again at the door to the bar, steeled herself, then walked in.
The place looked like it had been ransacked, which in a way it had been; there was rubbish and bottles all over the place. Daryl was sitting with Mamba and Ahmed, staring towards her, obviously waiting for her to arrive.
“Betta late than never,” Mamba muttered as he got to his feet. “Ya betta grab some snacks if ya want somethin’ to eat. We ain’t got time for a fry up.”
The thought of food made her feel sick. Yet, wasn’t a greasy Full English Breakfast supposed to do wonders for a blinding hangover? Well, she wasn’t going to find out today, or any day soon for that matter.
Mamba walked over to the bar and picked up a wooden box which obviously had bottles in it because she could hear the glass clinking together.
She looked back and saw Ahmed and Daryl staring at her. She couldn’t really tell what Ahmed was thinking, but he seemed to be checking if she was OK. Daryl on the other hand was like an open book; he was desperate to know if she was alright so she smiled and nodded to him. His relief was palpable.
Ahmed headed towards the door, ready to open it for Mamba. He checked outside before exiting and held the door open for Mamba to squeeze through. Daryl intercepted Jenny on the way to the door and asked if she was OK under his breath. “Fine,” she replied and carried on walking so he couldn’t read the lie written all across her face.
Ahmed was still holding the door open as Mamba placed the box in the back of the Land Rover, before getting his knife out and stabbing a couple of zombies in the head. He then opened the rear door and with a quick glance around, ushered Daryl and Jenny forwards.
They darted the few paces into the Defender and closed the door. Ahmed released his grip on the pub’s door and made his way to the passenger side while Mamba climbed into the driver’s seat.
22
Day 10 – 09:30
Royal Oak Pub, Mile End Road, East London
“Where are we going?” Daryl asked, as Mamba turned on the ignition.
“Goin’ for a kebab,” Mamba replied.
It was a dull, overcast day and looked like it might rain at any minute.
Mamba took the vehicle forwards a few metres to join the A107 Cambridge Heath Road, running over a couple of bicycles sitting discarded on the pavement.
“This road’ll take us straight through Bethnal Green all the way up into Hackney, ‘bout two and a half kilometres.” Mamba mused. “Mind, it could take anywhere between ten minutes and ten hours dependin’ on what’s up ahead.”
He was about to put a CD in the player on the console until Ahmed said, “Nah man, can’t handle no music this mornin’.”
Mamba shrugged and dropped the CD onto the centre console as he changed up into second gear.
“Why are we going to Hackney?” Jenny asked. “It’s not for a kebab.”
Mamba looked at her in the rear view mirror before turning his eyes back to the road. “We’re meetin’ some mates in Dalston.”
“What sort of mates?”
“Turks”
“Turks?” Jenny asked, puzzled, but got no response.
They passed a row of shops before entering a stretch of road with housing blocks on either side. The going wasn’t easy; there were vehicles and other obstructions all over the place and a couple of times Mamba had to edge up to a vehicle and shunt it out of the way. Wherever they went there were zombies, a massive tide of dead humanity wandering around aimlessly. Mamba did his best to reduce their numbers wherever he could, and the Defender, which had started out a dark green, was fast becoming bright red.
Jenny looked out of the side windows at all the apartments; there were thousands upon thousands of them and for the first time she really appreciated the scale of the city and the number of people living in it. Some of the buildings were relatively low level and others were high level tower blocks, some had balconies, some with clothes still drying on makeshift lines, some didn’t have balconies, some looked new and modern, yet others appeared old and dishevelled. Many had scaffolding on the outside. She guessed that the older ones would be redeveloped at some stage, when it was financially viable, and they would become the new, modern residences and the others would start looking out of date. It was a never-ending cycle of development and decay, although now there was nothing left except to allow these buildings to fall into disrepair and decay. It was a concrete jungle and it was full of predators.
There were bicycles chained to railings, many with one or more of their wheels missing. Was nothing safe? Still, if human life was so cheap, then what hope was there for material goods?
Eventually they came to Bethnal Green, with shops and a larg
e park on their right. The park had railings all around and had trapped thousands of zombies. An ideal place to herd them and destroy them, if only there was the ability to do so.
On a few occasions Jenny noticed people hanging out of their apartment windows or leaning over their balcony waving tea towels or something similar to try and get attention. She wouldn’t wish Mamba on any of these people so she kept her mouth shut.
They passed the odd fire, or remnants of previous fires; a burnt out shell of a car, a mound of burnt bodies, a burnt out shop or restaurant. To say it was bleak was like saying Michael Jordan was OK at basketball or Michael Jackson wasn’t a bad singer.
They came to the crossroads at Bethnal Green tube station and continued straight over. Another park to the right, Routemaster buses long abandoned and sitting in the middle of the road. Mamba briefly considered if it was worth switching to a Routemaster but decided there was better flexibility in the Defender. The road they were now on was even trickier to navigate because it had railings on the edge of the pavement, meaning that Mamba couldn’t go off road without potentially damaging the vehicle. But, it meant the road was clogged up with more traffic and less options for shunting things out of the way. A building site on their left didn’t help matters because a large dumper truck was trying to turn out when the zombies arrived, so it was left in the middle of the road. On this occasion, Mamba ordered Ahmed to shift the truck, so he had to leave the Defender while the rest of them waited for him to finish the task. Ahmed fired up the truck, but instead of moving it out of the way, he drove it up the road, using it like a battering ram, smashing vehicles out of the way and creating a nice gap for the Defender to follow.
In the back seats, Daryl looked at Jenny and nodded his head towards Mamba. Jenny understood that he was thinking about trying to take Mamba out of the picture but Jenny shook her head slowly.
Mamba saw her in the rear-view mirror and said, “What are you two doin’?”
“Nothing,” Jenny replied, perhaps a little too quickly. “Daryl was pointing something out to me,” she felt she needed to add.
“So, why were ya shakin’ yer head?”
“Just in sadness,” she replied.
“It looked like ya were sayin’ ‘no’ to him. I wonder what that was ‘bout. Any ideas Luca?”
Daryl nearly choked. He was listening to the conversation but didn’t expect it to be directed toward him. “Uh, nothing Mamba.”
“That’s twice I’ve heard ‘nothin’ and when I hear it once I think somethin’s goin’ on, so twice, I know somethin’s goin’ on.”
Jenny decided to go on the offensive, “He was asking if you touched me last night and I told him no.”
“Well, why didn’t ya say,” Mamba replied, quickly letting his suspicions and questioning stop. “Why don’t ya hop into the front seat where I can keep an eye on ya,” he suggested.
“We’re OK, and Ahmed will be back soon,” Jenny hastily responded. She looked towards Daryl and saw him sliding a boxcutter back into his pocket. ‘Now, where did he get that from’, she thought to herself. ‘Perhaps I should let him slice Mamba’s neck right now while Ahmed is out of the picture’. But, they’d still have to deal with Ahmed and still keep themselves alive. At least with these two, they took all the risks, and if truth be told, she didn’t fancy covering herself with all that gore. She was brought out her reverie by a zombie’s head connecting with her side window. She nearly screamed her head off, but just managed to keep herself under control.
They passed a filling station on their left and continued up the road past more shops, more scaffolding, more vehicles and of course, more zombies and dead bodies. They disturbed a few birds feeding on some of the corpses and at one point had to laugh as a couple of zombies tried to get hold of a bird, but it just flapped out of the way then came back once the zombies stood back up. The zombies lunged again, and the bird moved, waited, then returned to its meal. Mamba had stopped the Defender and was watching in fascination and when he next looked up, Ahmed was about forty metres up the road. It was like the Laurel and Hardy show; a pair of stupid zombies grabbing for a bird, missing and standing up, only to repeat it again and again. It didn’t take long before Mamba got bored and just drove over them. But, the bird survived, and Mamba was pleased. For some reason, he thought of his old mate Bird, and thought ‘this one’s for you, bro’.
They came across a row of newsagents and off licences all together. Mamba decided that it was time for a break, especially as he wanted a cigarette and had lost his lighter somewhere. He pulled the Defender across to the pavement, turned off the engine and climbed out, making sure to take his key with him.
Five minutes and eight dead zombies later, Mamba came out of the shop carrying handfuls of snacks, cigarettes and lighters. He knocked on the rear window and Daryl quickly opened it, allowing Mamba to dump his prizes and disappear back into the shop for more. After half a dozen trips Mamba had had enough and got back into the Defender, opened a drink and a packet of crisps and lit a cigarette. He saw that Ahmed had stopped the truck about a hundred metres further up the road and had got out to stand and wait for them.
Mamba fired up the Defender and hammered it all the way to Ahmed where he screeched to a halt and turned off the engine. Ahmed sauntered around to the passenger door and climbed in.
“Help yerself,” Mamba offered around a mouthful of crisps.
Ahmed selected a drink and after unscrewing the top, downed it in one.
“Have ya seen what I’ve seen?” Ahmed asked.
Mamba looked around as spots of rain started hitting the windscreen. “Rain?”
“Nah, far more excitin’.”
Mamba continued looking around. “Gotta be Jenny then.”
“Nah man,” Ahmed replied as Jenny’s tan started turning a shade of red. “Do ya wanna play ‘I spy’?”
Daryl and Jenny looked at each other in the back seat with a frown on their faces. Were these two for real?
“Yeah man,” Mamba replied, obviously getting excited.
“I spy with my little eye, something beginnin’ with ‘M’,” Ahmed said.
“Mongrel,” Mamba shouted, pointing to a stray dog he could see a few hundred metres away, scavenging for food and trying to avoid the zombies.
“Nah.”
“Meat?”
“Nah.”
“Mud flap?”
“Nah.”
Mamba was silent for a few seconds, searching for an ‘M’. ‘What a fuckin’ stupid letter’, he thought to himself, ‘fuck all started with ‘M’’. “I’ve got it,” he shouted, slapping his thigh. “Mamba!”
“Nah.”
“Fuck!” Mamba was beginning to lose patience.
“Give up?” Ahmed asked tauntingly.
“No fuckin’ chance!” Mamba nearly exploded. He didn’t like losing and giving up was not in his dictionary.
“Mother, motherfucker, marbles, munchies, mast, manhole, music.”
“Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah,” Ahmed taunted. “And anyway, where’s the marbles?”
Mamba ignored him. “Minge.”
“Nah. Where’s the minge?” Ahmed asked.
“In the backseat,” Mamba replied as if it was obvious.
“Yeah, but ya can’t see it,” Ahmed pointed out.
“We can get it out,” Mamba offered.
“No, you fucking can’t,” Jenny bridled.
“Anyway, it’s wrong,” Ahmed pointed out.
“You’re a fuckin’ cheat anyway,” Mamba accused.
“No I’m fuckin’ not,” Ahmed said heatedly.
“Are.”
“Not.”
“Motorbike.” This came from Daryl in the back seat.
Everyone paused for a second.
“You’re not playin’,” Mamba pointed out. “Motorbike?”
“Correct.”
“Yeah! Get in there!” It was like Mamba had won the lottery or scored the winning goal in the FA Cup Final. When h
e finally calmed down, he asked, “Where’s the fuckin’ motorbike then?” He couldn’t see one.
Ahmed pointed to his left. “In that motorbike shop.”
Mamba looked past Ahmed to where he was pointing. “See, ya fuckin cheated. Told ya.”
“Why have I cheated?”
“Everyone knows ya have ta be able to see the fuckin’ thing.”
“Well, we can all fuckin’ see ‘bout twenty of the fuckers in the window.”
“That’s the point!” Mamba barked. “Ya have ta see it with yer naked eyes, not through some fuckin’ windows.”
“Who says?”
“It’s in the fuckin’ rules.”
“What rules?”
“Fuck off Ahmed, ya know the rules!”
“I think it’s fine,” Daryl pointed out from the back seat.”
“One more word from ya Luca and you’ll be playin’ ‘ring a ring a roses’ with them fuckers out there and ya won’t have time to fuckin’ sneeze before you’re down boy! Get me?” Mamba said staring hard at him.
Daryl sat back with his two hands up, palms facing Mamba, hoping to calm him down.
“I also think it’s fine,” Jenny jumped in, quickly ducking behind Mamba’s seat at the same time.
Mamba swivelled but couldn’t see her. “If ya didn’t have a pretty face, I’d do ya right now.” He sat back in his seat and looked straight ahead. “Yer all fuckin’ cheats,” he muttered under his breath, “BUT I STILL FUCKIN’ WON!” he shouted and punched the roof of the vehicle.
Daryl was about to say, ‘no you didn’t’, but Jenny put a restraining hand on his arm. She felt there was only so far you could push Mamba before he reached breaking point, and that point was very, very close.
“Know what I’m thinkin’?” Ahmed asked.
“How could I know what a plank like ya was thinkin’,” Mamba replied, “and if I guessed, you’d only fuckin’ cheat anyway.”
“Fancy a ride?” Ahmed asked, ignoring Mamba’s pettiness.
Mamba saw him looking towards the motorbike shop. “Fuck yeah!”
23
Day 10 – 10:15
