The Undead Day Twenty (33 page)

‘Fine,’ he says, smiling back at her and Marcy.

‘Know what,’ Paula says, going to his right side and looping her arm through his as Marcy takes his left and does the same. ‘We’ve got our Mo Mo and that’s all we need,’ she leans in to kiss the side of his head. A crimson blush starts in his cheeks that grows deeper as Marcy kisses him from the other side.

‘Our Mo Mo,’ Marcy says.

*

‘What the fuck is that?’ Howie asks.

‘This…this is a
longbow
,’ Roy says, standing proudly with the new bow held out so they can see it.

‘We invading France or something?’ Clarence asks.

‘Ah very good,’ Roy says, smiling over at him.

‘France?’ Howie asks.

‘Agincourt,’ Clarence says.

‘Oh right,’ Howie says then looks at Dave. ‘What’s Agincourt?’

‘Famous battle, Mr Howie,’ Dave says in that dull tone but somehow implying that anyone that doesn’t know what Agincourt is must be an idiot. ‘
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here
and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
that fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day…’ he tails off in that way that suggests there might be more coming, but there isn’t, just silence as he looks round and up and resumes being Dave.

‘Was that Shakespeare?’ Howie asks the stunned silence.

‘Yes,’ Dave says.

‘You just quoted Shakespeare?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘Course you did. Why wouldn’t you…’

‘Why wouldn’t I what, Mr Howie?’

‘Quote Shakespeare.’

‘I did.’

‘From the movie right? With that bloke…the actor man…what’s his name?’ Howie asks, clicking his fingers as tries to remember.

‘Kenneth Brannagh,’ Roy says, staring at his longbow while Howie and Clarence stare at Dave.

‘Him,’ Howie says.

‘Who, Mr Howie?’

‘Kenneth Bummer…’

‘Brannagh,’ Roy says.

‘Brannagh,’ Howie says.

‘Who is that?’ Dave asks.

‘The bloke from the movie.’

‘What movie?’

‘The bloody Shakespeare movie…it had that thing you just said. That bloke said it.’

‘What bloke?’

‘Oh my fucking God, Dave…you do this on purpose.’

‘Do what, Mr Howie?’

‘I’ve got a longbow.’

‘We can see,’ Clarence says. ‘Is that good?’ he ventures to ask.

‘Is that good?’ Roy asks, blinking at Clarence.

‘Yes, is it good?’ Clarence asks.

‘Is it good,’ Roy mutters, shaking his head in disbelief that such a question need be asked. ‘I shall show you…where’s Reggie?’

‘In the van,’ Howie says. ‘Said it was too hot out here and he wanted to sharpen his pencils.’

‘I am reading important information, Mr Howie,’ Reginald calls through the open door. ‘And trying to discern why we are not currently being attacked…and it was Henry the fifth.’

‘What was?’ Howie asks.

‘The surprising quotation from Dave. It was from Henry the fifth.’

‘It was Ken Bummer,’ Howie says.

‘Kenneth Brannagh,’ Roy says.

‘Kenneth Brannagh was in the motion picture version of Henry the fifth,’ Reginald calls back.

‘Reggie, I’ve got a longbow,’ Roy says.

‘Yes, yes indeed I heard.’

‘I’m going to test it.’

‘Er, that’s marvellous, Roy. I shall await the result with baited breath.’

‘Right,’ Roy says, staring at his van and not understanding why none of them are as excited as he is. ‘So…I’ll fire the compound first and then the longbow…if you wanted to see that taking place?’

Howie coughs. Clarence clears his throat. Reginald tuts softly, places his maps down on the desk and rises from his chair. ‘Indeed, I shall come forthwith and witness the testing processes of your new bow.’

‘Longbow,’ Roy says.

‘Yes, longbow,’ Reginald says, appearing from the van with a wince at the heat.

‘Get comfy,’ Howie says, sliding along the front of the Saxon he and Clarence are resting against.

‘Boss?’ Nick calls down, jogging from the precinct. ‘Alright if I take the van up?’

‘Yeah sure,’ Howie says, ‘what for?’ he adds.

‘Er…’ Nick falters, unwilling to lie for anyone but not wanting to ruin the surprise of making a hot fresh coffee for the boss. ‘We need a power supply plus we’ll need to start putting kit inside.’

‘Yeah no worries,’ Howie says. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Yep fine, keys in it?’

‘In the ignition,’ Roy says.

‘Is that a longbow?’ Nick asks, coming to a stop as he turns to run round the front of the van.

‘HA!’ Roy exclaims, ‘there is a man with taste and knowledge…’

‘We invading France or something? It looks old as fuck.’

‘France?’ Howie asks, looking back at Nick in surprise.

‘Yeah, Agincourt…Henry the fifth…hold your manhoods cheap?’ Nick says.

‘What the fuck?’ Howie mutters.

‘I’ll take the van then,’ Nick says.

‘Yeah…yeah you take the van while I find a book on Kenny Banana…and don’t accidentally run Maddox over or anything.’

‘That would be bad,’ Clarence says seriously. ‘Go over him with both sets of wheels if you do.’

‘Twice,’ Roy adds. ‘Anyway, so…this is my compound bow,’ he presents his compound bow to Dave, Howie, Clarence and Reginald. ‘It’s a modern design that has much stiffer limbs. So much in fact that you can see the resistance if I try and move them manually,’ he grunts and tugs at the limbs of his compound bow as Clarence, Howie and Reginald make observant noise and Dave stares on. ‘So the use of the pulleys, cams and cables makes for an energy efficient movement when the user draws while still maintaining a relatively high power output. Let me show you…’

They have all seen Roy fire a bow many, many times but to say that now would be rude, so they don’t. Instead, they watch as he selects an arrow, nocks it within the string and prepares to draw.

‘Okay, see the sign at the bottom of the road? Not the speed sign but the directional sign fixed at a right angle to the metal post which is coloured brown and has the words
town centre
on it. See that sign?’

‘Er yep, yep I can see the sign,’ Howie says.

‘Got it,’ Clarence says.

‘Reginald? Can you see that sign?’ Roy asks.

‘Indeed I can,’ Reginald says, easing down to rest between Howie and Clarence.

‘The compound allows the use of slow or fast drawing techniques to achieve peak draw-weight. In this case, I shall use a slow draw with a full extension which maximises the power output…when I loose you will see the arrow move and strike the target…ready?’

‘Yep,’ Howie says.

‘Yes,’ Clarence says.

‘Indeed,’ Reginald says as the van behind them starts the mammoth task of reversing up the road with a horsebox attached to the rear.

Roy looses. The arrow flies off and slams into the target sign with a loud metallic clang. Which is what they all expected to happen.

‘That’s good,’ Howie says.

‘Very good,’ Clarence rumbles.

‘Indeed,’ Reginald says.

‘The sign is so rigidly fixed it has absorbed the impact of the arrow but you heard the noise?’

‘I heard it,’ Howie says.

‘Heard it,’ Clarence says.

‘Indeed,’ Reginald says.

‘Ah now, so here we have the longbow,’ Roy says, placing his compound down and picking the newly strung longbow up with that same reverential manner. ‘The compound manipulates mechanics to gain the power output whereas the longbow…and in particular, this longbow is crafted from one piece of wood. Yew, to be exact. It is six feet in length and as you can see it does not have any pulleys, cams or…well anything at all. It is just one piece of wood…’ he shows them the bow again and again they nod and make the serious noises of menfolk who are socially required to make such noises.

‘Now, the arrows are wooden shafted so…one is nocked and the draw can begin but the strength required is immense. They say the archers of medieval times were deformed due to the constant stresses placed on their bodies oh, this is an interesting fact…’

He places the longbow back down and picks the compound back up.

‘With a compound you pull the string to fire, see? The bow is held and the string is pulled…’ he pulls the string a few times to which they nod and make noises.

‘But with the longbow, and especially when drawing fully, the technique is to lean into the bow as it were, so in effect the bow becomes part of the motion. It is not merely a static item but an extension of the movement. I couldn’t simply pull the string back due to the strength required and to repeat that again and again would seriously hamper your strength and ability.’

He shows them what he means by nocking the arrow and pulling the string back as he did with the compound. The string moves and the bow flexes but the degree is far less. Roy does it again, pulling further back each time but still using just the string to pull on. Slowly, he increases the way he pushes into the bow which in turn allows a greater draw.

‘I’m stronger,’ he says dully in the way of observation. He goes quiet as the others watch him drawing, relaxing and seemingly building up to a full draw. ‘I am much stronger,’ he remarks again.

It happens quickly. Roy draws properly, lifting to hold the bow that he leans into as he pulls the string fully back. The yew bends, flexing with him. The whole of the bow becomes a part of Roy and the arrow is merely within that encapsulation. A slight pause and he looses.

All four stare on. Stunned at the speed arrow flew at and the power of the strike which removed the rigidly fixed sign from the metal pole and sent it spinning away into the road beyond. The noise was hard too. Whereas the compound arrow struck solid, the longbow arrow smashed the shit out of it with a noise that tells the world what just happened.

‘Fuck,’ Howie says quietly, standing up to look down the road towards the sign.

‘See?’ Roy asks calmly, quietly.

‘Very good,’ Clarence says, genuinely meaning it as Reginald stares solely at Roy with that deeply interested expression adorning his face. Reginald knows what longbows are. Any history buff knows what longbows are and how they were used. He also knows the finding of a hundred or so longbows on the wreck
The Mary Rose
changed the view of what historians thought they knew of the longbow. He is aware of the power required to draw it and if asked, he would have asserted that someone with Roy’s build would not be able to draw fully and repeat that action more than a few times. It would take someone with the strength of Clarence or Paco to use such a thing fully. But Roy just did it. Roy is fit and strong but his muscularity is lean rather than beefy. Interesting. Very interesting.

*

Nick backs the van up the road, his tongue poking out as he focusses to navigate the horsebox. He reaches the corner, feeding the wheel gently to go back into the bend before stopping and driving into the precinct.

He spots Maddox by the front doors and wishes he could do as the boss joked and run him over. Just an accidental slip of the accelerator then an accidental change of gear into reverse to go back over him, then maybe another accidental slip forward.

He slows the van, waiting for Maddox to move but the lad just looks round and stares dully at Nick. Nick motions him to move. Maddox stares. Nick holds both his hands up showing his frustration. Maddox shrugs and strolls away painfully slowly.

‘Cunt,’ Nick mutters drawing alongside the front doors. ‘What was that for?’ he asks, jumping down to move quickly round the front.

‘What?’ Maddox asks.

‘Fuck me you are such a prick,’ Nick strides past him, mindful of Mr Howie telling them all to go easy but now finding it very hard. ‘Blowers, you got it open?’ he calls down the corridor.

‘I asked Maddox to do it.’

‘Maddox?’ Nick asks.

‘What?’ Maddox replies, having heard perfectly well what Blowers just said.

‘Have you opened it?’

‘I don’t have a key.’

‘Fuckstick,’ Cookey mutters.

Nick holds the comments in and crosses to the glass door just inside the main corridor. He pushes the door first, doing what Clarence taught them to check where the locks are. This one is locked at the top middle and bottom which means it will be easier to smash through the glass rather than try and open the door. ‘Mind out,’ he steps back, swings his axe and slams through the glass that shatters to fall in tiny cubes.

‘What was that?’
Mo’s voice in the radio.

‘You okay?’
Howie asks next.

‘Nick’s breaking a window for entry,’
Cookey responds.

Maddox knows he could have got through in seconds without breaking the glass and feels a surge of self-loathing for refusing to help or join in. A part of him wants to be involved and to stop the act he is portraying. He has never behaved like this. It’s childish, immature and beneath him, but he can’t stop it. His pride has been dented massively. His ego is deflating by the second and he isn’t
alph
a here. He isn’t special. Everyone here is alpha. Everyone here is fit, strong and fast and some of them are more intelligent than him. Reginald and Charlie without doubt are both way ahead of him. He measures himself by comparison and in so doing, he starts to realise maybe it was easy to stand out on the estate. There was no expectation of achievement so therefore anything he actually did stood out. He also had the Bossman guiding him, the same way this lot have guidance. Except the similarity there ends. The support within this group is respectful, endearing and warm. That they really do care for each other is obvious, and not in a trite fake way either, but with real emotions that he isn’t used to.