The Undead Day Twenty (2 page)

‘You are angry,’ Dave says in that awful cold monotonous voice. He slaps Mo again. Mo snarls and turns back, faster and harder now. He storms in with lightning speed to feint left then right while ducking to grab Dave’s ankle that is slipped an inch out of reach. As he lifts he tries to punch into the side of Dave’s kneecap but strikes the hard top of the patella instead. A grunt from the pain in his knuckles.

‘You are weak.’

Mo feels the rage spilling up. The cold hard lust for battle. He spins and launches into attacks.

‘You are a child.’

The rage turns incandescent. The dent of his pride. The frustration at being denied the chance to score a point. Still he goes faster. Drawing energy and power from his core to deliver devastating blows that hit empty air and the place Dave was at a split second before.

Dave goads him. Dave taunts him. He mocks and cajoles in that terrible cold dispassionate voice. He slaps again and again. He flicks Mo’s ears and tweaks the end of his nose. He kicks him in the backside and boxes his ears but lets Mo keep coming until suddenly he grips and locks Mo up in a blur of motion until the lad is pinned down with Dave leaning his weight into the back of Mo’s elbow, easing towards the break point.

‘Did that anger aid you?’

‘Fuck you…’

‘Did that anger aid you?’

‘I’ll fuck you up…’

Dave lets go. ‘Try then.’

‘Cunt,’ Mo’s up and in. Lashing forward. Dave hits harder now. Slapping with greater force that knocks Mo’s head to the side. Mo becomes unrestrained, wild with rage that sends him into a fury of uncontrolled movements. Dave grabs an arm that is pushed up behind Mo’s back, gripping him hard while turning him in a tight circle.

‘Did that anger aid you?’

Mo can’t speak. He cannot form words. He tries to move out of the lock but his mind is too fogged. A foot strikes the back of legs. He sinks down. His hair is gripped. His head pulled back.

‘Did that anger aid you?’

‘Fucking…’

Face down now on the ground in the dirt at the side of the road. Dave on top grinding his head into the mud.

‘Do not ever allow your emotions to overcome your capabilities. Break. Hydrate.’

Dave walks away barely breathing harder than normal as Meredith watches lazily from the back of the Saxon. Her ears pricked as her eyes blink heavily on the cusp of sleep. The pup is annoyed. The pup wants to run and jump before he can walk. No matter. She dozes back off to sleep as Mo walks slowly towards Dave.

‘Sorry,’ Mo says after a few minutes of silence with shame creeping into his cheeks.

Dave shrugs.

‘I’s don’t like people takin’ the piss like that…’

Dave looks at him, staring without expression. ‘You are not what you were.’

‘What?’

Dave doesn’t reply but simply looks at him. ‘This is training.’

Mo nods and swallows the rush of emotions. The shame at being taken to anger so easily and the sting of being toyed with and beaten so easily. He’ll never match Dave. Nobody can ever match Dave. Mo feels too heavy, too slow and cumbersome. Like an elephant chasing a fly.

Dave looks up at the sky then out to the horizon of the sea and the fort in the distance. ‘You are less than half my speed.’

Mo nods again. Chastised and repentant of his failures.

‘You are twice faster than yesterday.’

Meredith senses the change in dynamics. The way the pup suddenly looks up with wide eyes.

‘Ready?’

‘Yeah.’

Meredith’s tail swishes as the pup smiles youthful and full of play once again. She watches them fight and run back and forth as the wooden spatula is drawn and used. She dozes then comes awake when Mo starts dry firing his pistol at given opportunities and she flicks her ears at the sound of skin on skin when Dave delivers a strike. If the other pack members saw the pup being hit they would become angry. They don’t like their own pack being hurt but the teacher is doing the right thing. The pup has to learn the pressure of the bite and besides, she’s watching and as fearsome as the small man with the strange energy is, she’d still rag him down the street.

Mo is taught left hand firing. To draw and dry fire with his weaker left instead of his dominant right hand. He takes to it quickly, learning the adjustments needed. He is passed Dave’s empty pistol and taught to hold both but never to fire at the same time. Always one after the other. Aim, fire, aim, fire. Every bullet should hit a target. Every aim is calculated. They are always several moves ahead of the enemy. They are different. They think faster. They move faster. Draw both. Aim, fire, aim, fire.

‘What about loading? I got’s both hands full?’

‘Put one away.’

‘Can’t you re-load both at the same time?’

‘It is possible but you will not learn this now.’

‘Show me.’

‘You will not learn this now.’

‘Can you do it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I see?’

‘You will not learn this now.’

‘Just once? Show me just once…’

‘I will show once…give me your pistols. My magazines are here on my belt. I know where they are. I lift the pistols to give height and space. I eject the magazines. They fall away. I release the pistols, grab the magazines, lift them up as I let go and catch the pistols to push them down into the magazines…’

‘That ain’t possible.’

‘It is possible.’

‘Ain’t.’

‘It is.’

‘Show me then.’

‘Watch.’

Dave does it. A speed of motion that Mo tracks. His hands lift the pistols to head height then let go. The magazines are launched into the air with a movement that keeps them straight. His hands grab the pistols and slams the butts down onto the magazines. The downward motions continues as he rams the butts into his thighs. A flick, the pistols twirl so he can grab the top. Another flick forces the slides back, chambering the first rounds, another flick and the pistols are held ready.

‘It is possible.’

‘Fuck.’

One

In the communal barracks of the lounge, Blowers comes awake at hearing Mo Mo rustling about. He sits up, yawning sleepily to see the lad drying himself with a towel.

‘You alright?’ he whispers, looking over at Mo.

The lad gives a wide grin, ‘yeah…you?’

‘Fucking hot. Training okay?’

‘S’good,’ Mo whispers as Blowers leans closer.

‘Dave got you a few times then.’

‘What?’

‘Your cheeks.’

‘S’hot.’

‘That ain’t heat…come here a bit,’ Blowers says, sitting up to stare harder with an expert eye. ‘Dave’s bruised your cheeks.’

‘Has he?’ Mo asks, feeling his face again. ‘They’s feel alright.’

‘You’ll be fine but keep your head down round Paula. She’ll go nuts if she sees your face.’

‘Okay, cheers, Blowers.’

‘Get something cold on them, wet flannel or something. Bring the swelling down.’

‘I will, thanks.’

Blowers looks round at Blinky still fast asleep, Charlie murmuring softly and Cookey face down with his sheet bunched up over his legs. Biting his bottom lip, Blowers eases from his bed and motions for Mo to stay quiet with a finger pressed to his mouth. Mo frowns, smiling and watching Blowers grab a bottle of water from the floor then point at Cookey with a big grin. Mo nods. Instantly onside. Blowers points to Blinky, nodding for Mo to wake her up. Mo drops to her side and rests a hand on her shoulder while pressing a finger to his own lips. Blinky snaps wide awake in an instant. She frowns and follows Blowers pointing at Cookey while waving a bottle of water in the air. She nods. Instantly onside.

Mo points to Charlie, a questioning look on his face. Blowers nods. Giving the order. Mo gets to Charlie, drops and rests a hand on her shoulder while his finger remains at his mouth. Charlie wakes and smiles at Mo trying not to giggle. The lad points at Cookey, Charlie looks up, seeing Blinky crawling towards Blowers who is waving a bottle of water while pointing at Cookey. She grins and nods, instantly onside.

The plan forms. The attack commences. Blowers leads his team and indicates for Charlie to get the sheet free from Cookey’s legs. She goes gently, easing the bunched material out that gets lifted and held by Mo and Blinky. Blowers stretches his hands out, motioning for them to bring it down over Cookey. Giggles are suppressed, bottom lips are bit, heads turn away to stop the risk of laughing coming out. The sheet is laid over Cookey. Blowers motions with his hand to lift it higher. Charlie nods, suddenly understanding and eases the sheet up to cover Cookey’s arms. Blowers gives a thumbs up and guides Blinky to stand on one end of the sheet then Charlie and Mo the other side. They go stealthy and silent. Creeping over the sheet to gently draw the tension over Cookey who sighs in his sleep. Blowers makes a fist. They hold still.

Sensation of movement. They look round to see Dave standing in the doorway watching them. Guilty looks creep across faces. Dave stares, taking it in. He looks down at Cookey slowly being pinned under the sheet and the bottle of water in Blowers hand. He comes forward, silent in his steps before stopping and pointing at Cookey’s legs poking out the bottom of the sheet. He makes flat hands and presses down, indicating the legs should be held. Blowers’ mouth drops open. Mo manoeuvres to Cookey’s legs, lowering to hold his hands an inch from Cookey’s ankles then looks up to Dave who nods once and walks off as silently as he entered.

The sheet is ready. Charlie on the left side. Blinky on the right. Mo on the legs. Meredith sits on Blowers bedding watching intently. Blowers wishes Nick was here to add his weight but they must prevail and work with what forces they have. He goes forward, ready to execute the plan then stops to hold his breath to stop the giggle coming out. His face sets Charlie off who has to turn away. Mo’s face scrunches up as he looks down, his hands trembling from the laughter locked inside. Blowers steels himself and draws resolve to keep going. He mouths
on three.
Charlie snorts softly then winces an instant apology as Cookey stirs. Blowers pauses, waiting for Cookey to go silent. He lifts a finger,
one.
He lifts a second finger and makes ready,
two.
He creeps to get his feet either side of Cookey and lowers to a squat as his third finger comes up.
Three.

Perfection of execution. Charlie comes in closer, applying pressure on her side of the sheet. Blinky the same. Mo’s hands drop to grip ankles. Blowers lowers and aims the bottle as he drops his weight to open fire. Cookey gains the sensation of pressure first as the sheet is pressed over him. He feels the hands on his ankles and starts the journey up through the layers of sleep. Something comes down hard as water is sprayed in his face. He gasps and turns his head as water spurts up his nose, in his mouth and in his eyes. He tries to fight free but the room comes alive with the sound of giggling. In that split second he knows this is play and reacts accordingly. His ankles are held. His body covered. His face drenched. He sputters and yacks as the others burst out laughing. Cookey is strong though, he bucks to shift Blowers with a hand snatching out to grab the bottle of water. Charlie dives in, pinning the arm into Cookey’s chest while giggling like mad. Cookey snorts and turns his head while bucking to get his legs free as Mo lunges in to apply his body weight. Cookey’s other hand gets free and makes a desperate grab for the bottle as Blowers tries to hold his balance. Cookey gains the bottle and squeezes the plastic sides, sending a jet of water out into Blinky’s face. Charlie spots another lying in arms reach and wriggles to get more ammunition. Blowers and Cookey battle over the bottle, laughing and giggling like schoolchildren. Cookey gets the aim and squeezes but Blowers is fast and dodges the incoming strike that swooshes past into Mo who tries to duck and cover. Charlie gets the other bottle and turns to spray into the side of Cookey’s head. He sputters and turns to see Charlie laughing so hard the bottle wavers in aim.

Dave stands in the doorway watching. His face impassive. His whole bearing revealing nothing as he watches Cookey fighting valiantly but unable to defend all sides without taking hits. Dave watches Blinky grab Cookey’s free arm and Mo shifting up to add weight with Blowers on Cookey’s mid-section. He watches Charlie take aim and fire and Cookey sputtering to spray water from his mouth while laughing hard.

Dave doesn’t understand finer social skills but this is not fine social skills. This is overtly play. He understands and his deft touch, he bends down to grab a bottle, aims and fires into the battle.

Dave firing anything is perfection of movement with head strikes gained. Water hits Blowers first who gasps and turns in shock to get another spurt. Blinky is next, a twitch of aim and Mo is given a blast, another twitch and Charlie is soaked. They all sputter in shock, buying a second for Cookey to get a hand free and fight back.

‘Thanks, Dave,’ Cookey gasps between laughing.

*

She comes awake to the sound of laughter and like a mother the reaction within her is two-fold. The sound is lovely and represents play in a world where everything else has gone to shit. The other side of her wonders what they are up. There is a lure too. A weird feeling that makes her want to go down and join in with whatever they are doing, or just to watch with a coffee.

Instead, she stares at the ceiling then over to the window. The dawn is just pushing the night away. A battle of perpetual motion that will always play out. The night chases the day that chases the night. A world that turns. A planet that spins in orbit within a scale of such size it renders anything done on the surface as utterly meaningless.

Ah but it is a new day in the new world and as nihilistic as it all may seem she still blows air out through her cheeks and wishes it wasn’t so bloody hot. A sheen of sweat covers her skin. Strands of hair lie plastered to her scalp and forehead. She glances at Roy lying on his side and pulls a thoughtful face that holds for a few long seconds before she decides the pressing on her bladder is taking priority over anything else.

She rises in bra and knickers to tread softly to the door and feels the trickle of sweat rolling down her cheeks and chest. She stops in the darker hallway, listening to the low giggles from downstairs. A smile forms from a sudden thump, a gargled yelp, the sound of water being sprayed then a fresh fit of giggles instantly followed by a chorus of voices all shushing each other.

Waking up happy in this new life is messed up. Everything is messed up but truth be told she wouldn’t change it for anything. She holds still with her hand on the bathroom door handle, listening with that smile etched on her face. Clarence opens the door. His natural strength swinging so hard it drags Paula inwards who falls in with a yelp. Clarence reacts with lightning speed to bring her back up to her feet in one smooth motion of immense strength. She comes back to her feet, stunned for a second at the world shifting around her so fast.

‘You okay?’ Clarence rumbles, standing over a head taller and many inches wider. His enormous hands holding her elbows gently as he peers down with concern.

She blinks and looks up. Her eyes travelling over his bare chest to his thick neck and up to his soft eyes. The time to reply and say she’s fine comes and goes. The silence extends. The way he stands so high over her. The strength in his hands holding her so gently.

‘Paula?’

‘Huh? Fine,’ she grins wide and stupid, hoping to hell the shadows are hiding her blushing cheeks. ‘Do you need more socks?’

‘Socks?’

‘Yeah er…’ she blinks again and slowly thinks to stand properly to support her own weight. Clarence smiles softly, his hands slowly leaving her arms but tentative as though ready to catch her again.

‘Sure you’re okay?’

‘Fine,’ she nods quickly, too quickly and swallows as he goes to move past. She steps back into the doorframe. The pair of them acutely aware of being in underwear. ‘Sorry,’ she whispers.

‘My fault,’ he says politely, pointedly looking away.

‘Er…after you,’ she slides into the room to give him space to get through.

‘Thanks,’ he rumbles deep and shy, lifting a huge hand. As he passes through the hallway so the weak light of the new dawn bathes his face showing her the blush in his cheeks. She closes the door quickly, staring wide-eyed and frozen still.

No. Shaking her head she yanks her knickers down and sits on the loo to tinkle in the bowl. What the hell was that?

Paula razed a town to the ground on her own. She slaughtered hundreds of infected by careful planning and has earned her place to lead. She sees them all as family. Closer than family. They’ve killed together, wept and laughed, they’ve held each other at the worst of times and slept in the same room for fear of separation. They cling to each other while all the time doing something of such magnitude it has made them living legends within a bare couple of weeks. They ground each other against the horror and terror and the rumours that follow them.

She adores Howie with something akin to worship and would follow him into the fires of hell. They all would, but she also knows they would all go in dirty pants, worn socks, dirty hair and stubbly chins. Howie is relentless in his nature. He is unforgiving and sometimes forgets others don’t have his abilities. She offsets Howie’s brutality and in so doing, she is perhaps closest to him than all of them. Howie listens to her, he respects her immensely and she knows the deep respect is returned, but she has never looked at Howie in that light. Not in the way a woman looks at a man. She sees the appeal of him. She sees the dark brooding nature and the sheer ferocity within him, but not like that. Howie is like a brother, closer than a brother. It is the essence that Meredith gave them during the big battle. They are pack and that feeling goes way beyond the human concept of family. What they saw through Meredith, what they felt and what came into them was a plane of existence completely different to anything they could ever comprehend and so the titles formerly attached become meaningless.

The lads are like children but not like children. They are exceptional killers bound with an unbreakable bond and a loyalty that comes from the heart but the organic view of them touches on the concept of
being
child-like because they are younger in years.

Paula isn’t old enough to actually be their mother but that is the closest way she can describe it. She feels a special warmth for all of them. Especially Mo. That lad needs mothering too. She doesn’t know anything about Mo’s life before this, only that it was harsh and violent. There is a unique perception of each of them. There is a unique bond from her to them, from them to her and between each and all. That is pack. That is what Meredith showed them. Achieve that and live a different life. Think a different way.
From the heart.
She nods as she remembers.

Clarence though? She stares into space at the special warmth she feels for him and in the quietness of the dark bathroom, she lets the thought run longer than it should before chastising herself harshly and standing to rinse her hands.

*

Clarence eases into his room. As much as a giant can ease into a room that is. His mere presence seems to make the door squeak in fear as his fist grips the door handle for a second too long and holds a tad too tight as the poor thing starts to buckle. He shakes his head, dismissing the notion instantly. He has honour. Deep honour and will never allow such a thing to remain in his mind.