The Undead Day Twenty (35 page)

‘So cool,’ Cookey says, holding his cut out willy and testicles up.

‘What’s that?’ Nick asks.

‘The cock and balls for the chocolate,’ Cookey says.

‘You need the other bit,’ Nick says.

‘What other bit?’ Cookey asks.

‘The fucking other bit…the bit you cut it out from…the chocolate goes through the hole you made not on the bit you cut out.’

‘Oh,’ Cookey says, nodding as he catches up. ‘Oh yeah….so this bit then?’ he asks, holding up the cardboard now with the hole in the shape of the willy and testicles showing.

‘Yep, put it over the mug and shake the chocolate over.’

‘Sorted,’ Cookey says, doing as Nick said. He holds the cardboard over the top of the rapidly flattening once frothy milk and shakes the chocolate shaker with a fast frenzied action that sees chocolate power flying everywhere. ‘Oh my god…look at that,’ Cookey says, bursting out laughing at the perfect shape of the genitals on the cappuccino.

‘Brilliant,’ Nick says.

‘Fucked up,’ Blowers laughs. ‘Do the next one.’

‘I am,’ Cookey says.

‘Pouring,’ Nick says, pouring the last lot of milk as the sound of the Saxon reaches them.

‘They’re coming,’ Blinky calls through.

‘Yep,’ Blowers calls back.

‘Ha!’ Cookey says in triumph at the next perfectly formed chocolate powder genitals on the next mug.

‘Quick,’ Nick says.

‘I am,’ Cookey says, laughing as he shakes the shaker.

‘They’re here,’ Blowers says, looking outside to see the Saxon pulling up behind Roy’s van.

‘Ah fuck,’ Cookey says, shaking harder.

‘They’re out the Saxon,’ Blowers says, watching Howie, Dave, Clarence, Roy and Reginald jump down. ‘They’re looking round…they’re coming in!’

‘Done it,’ Cookey exclaims, stepping back to admire his handiwork as Nick bursts out laughing at the sight of the four cock adorned cappuccinos and one peppermint tea.

‘What’s this?’ Howie asks, walking through the main doors then into the café as his eyes follow the power cable across the floor and up to the counter and the three lads standing guiltily behind it trying not to laugh. ‘What the…is that coffee?’ he asks, sniffing the air.

‘You got power in here?’ Clarence asks, stepping through behind Howie and Dave.

‘Got a longbow,’ Roy says, coming through to show them his longbow.

‘Your coffees are served,’ Nick says, grinning from ear to ear as Cookey turns away from laughing so hard and Blowers bites his bottom lip.

Reginald walks through, his keen eyes taking everything in. Seeing Maddox scowling and the lads behind the counter trying not to laugh.
Unity. At all costs there must be unity.

The elders go forward, slowly advancing the line towards the counter with suspicious eyes and wary notions.

It’s too much for Cookey. He laughs so hard he turns red and drops down as Blowers turns away and Nick starts to go.

‘Twats,’ Howie bursts out laughing as Clarence brays and Roy grins at being included in another joke. ‘Fucking idiots,’ Howie says, still laughing.

‘Brilliant,’ Clarence says, picking one of the mugs up to stare at the top.

‘First time a penis has been in my mouth,’ Roy says.

‘Blowers said that once,’ Cookey says from somewhere behind the counter.

Maddox turns away. It was stupid, childish and just immature. A waste of time. A waste of effort. All that stuff about pushing on and working hard and they spend more time fucking about than doing anything else but now more than ever he feels isolated and rejected from the main. The way they laugh and joke. The sight of Clarence chuckling as he takes a sip and Reginald smiling as he sniffs his tea and Dave staring as devoid as ever. Maddox doesn’t know Dave well enough to see that within that expressionless stare there is a hint of amusement.

‘Nicely done,’ Howie says, lifting his mug. He takes a sip and groans audibly and long. ‘Proper coffee…who made it?’

‘Nick did,’ Blowers says, still chuckling.

‘Spot on, mate,’ Howie says.

‘Look at you lot,’ Paula says, striding into the café. ‘Smells nice though.’

‘Tastes nice too,’ Howie says.

‘Right, well grab a chair and relax for a bit. We’ll be here for while,’ Paula says. ‘Lads, got enough to make some more?’

‘Loads,’ Nick says.

‘We’ll be up the corridor getting kit sorted…’

‘We’ll come and help,’ Howie says, turning from the counter with his mug of coffee.

‘Nope, we’re fine,’ Paula says. ‘Let us have a few minutes…is it okay if we get Charlie in?’

‘We can sit at the front and keep watch,’ Clarence says, walking to the big plate glass windows to look up and down. ‘Yeah it’s fine. Got a good view.’

‘Charlie, you come inside, love,’
Paula transmits.

‘On way…are we here for a while? I’ll leave Jess out if we are…it’s too hot in the horsebox if we’re not moving.’

‘That’s fine. Grab a coffee and come up to me and Marcy…
Seriously,’ she says, looking at Howie, ‘drink your coffee, relax for a few minutes.’

‘You sure?’ he asks.

‘I’m sure, lads, grab a coffee, Blinky? You come down and grab a drink. It’s already late so we won’t get anything done today. We’ll call you up for clean kit when we’re ready.’

Twenty

All the paths of your life lead to this point now.

This is where you are in time and space. This is the present so look back with reflection and see the route you took and feel the pain of each step be it right or wrong.

Days of fighting. Days of running. Days of heat and sufferance to do what must be done and achieve what must be achieved. Days of peril, anguish and strife that culminated in a return to the fort where they, for one brief evening, found peace.

Then they woke and fought and killed and ran and sweated and did all the things they did before. They did it without complaint too. They did what must be done. They achieved what must be achieved and so they will after this too. They will keep going until the bitter end.

Today though. Today has seen Howie execute six people based on the reactions to the emotions of a group of survivors. He took life that was
not
infected. He took life from people that posed no threat to him or his group and in so doing he took a step into a world none of them have ventured, and that brings a disquiet of mind, an unsettling of a mood that is only made worse by the presence of Maddox.

A strange thing happens. A strange feeling of melancholy, of distraction and complacency that are all born from the paths of their lives that lead to this point now. So now, they seek the company of men. The company of women. The company of their kin of soul, spirit and mind. They bring forth a break in the chase and a pause in the frenzied nature of their existence.

They are infected, not immune. This is not discussed.

What Howie did is not discussed.

Where they are or where they are going is not discussed.

Nothing of virtue or significance or importance is discussed because sometimes there is just the company of men, of women and of those that match your soul, spirit and mind.

Howie sits in the front of café with Clarence, Roy, Reginald and Dave. So positioned to see all the angles of the street outside. They drink coffee and talk quietly in the company of men. The quietness of elders who make decisions that affect the lives of every single person around them. What they do counts. What they say means something. Now they chat quietly of things that hold no importance, of bows, of famous battles, of history and places and peoples and they idly watch Jess drinking water from a bucket and eating oats from a bowl.

Paula, Marcy and Charlie move about the outdoors shop in the company of women. It gives them time and space to talk and move at a pace they are comfortable with. They have killed. They have taken life so many times. They are bloodied and hardened and do not know each other as women but as members of the group. Now is a time for the bond to grow and be strengthened on a level not born from the primeval instinct for survival. They do not talk men or clothes or fashion but they talk as people with lives and experiences that are shared and understood. They cross to the huge Boots pharmacy and make pleasant comments at Mo who blushes as he deftly breaks in. They pluck cobwebs from faces as they move inside and then wait patiently with warm wry smiles as Mo
advances
to
secure
the area.

Mo, for his part, needs this company of women. It is soothing in a way nothing else can be. He is sixteen. He is a boy transitioning to becoming a man. His life was hard before this. It was bitter and nasty. It was neglect and abandonment and a lack of nurture from either maternal or paternal care. Within this time now, he finds something that fills that gap within his soul. He adores Paula. He worships her in the way a son worships his mother so to gain a smile from her, a look, a hand on his arm, a kiss on his head or cheek is like when Dave praises him. They are entirely different but entirely the same in the product of the response within him.

The endearment he feels for Marcy and Charlie are less than Paula but still there and so, to be within them now means he can be a man to guard them. He is trusted. He is
Dave Trained
. He stays close, watches the angles and looks serious with his back straight. He smiles and blushes too when they say
our Mo Mo.
He likes that. He likes the meaning of it, the sense of belonging.

Outside the main doors, down a little into the precinct in the lee side of the Saxon so the rest stand. Each with feet planted apart. Each with a rifle over the crooks of their arms. Each with a giant
grande
coffee mug held in one hand that actually makes it hard to drink when holding the rifle like that but they look good so they won’t change. They are squaddies. Soldiers. They are the matching of souls, spirits and minds. Blowers, Cookey, Nick and Blinky. A fearsome foursome whose bond strengthens in the ever-increasing vulgarity of the comments they say to one another. A spunk trumpet full of cunt means I will stand with you. I will hold the line with you. I will not leave you when the enemy grow so large in number it makes your insides go like jelly and the voice inside screams to run away and never look back.

They joke and talk. They turn to look too. Constantly watching, always watching, always scanning. The elders are inside. This is downtime. Blowers can relax his role for a few minutes and be with his mates. They swap stories and tell-tales of the things they saw and did in the fights they’ve had. They talk about Paco holding that big man above his head earlier. They talk about Mo’s speed which turns into an awe-filled muted discussion about Dave. They talk about girls, cars, movies, songs, places, people and things. They talk as people talk and they call each other fucktard, fuckface, fuckstick, wankstain, cockbreath and a hundred other things that prove offence will not be taken nor given for they are brethren of spirit and soul and mind.

Meredith lies in the shade inside the back of the Saxon. She listens to the conversations of the pack and watches Maddox standing off alone and isolated. He is not pack. He is a visitor to the pack. His rights are different to the others. The way she sees him is different but she knows the distance is self-imposed. It is his choosing to maintain that separation. He does not want to be pack.

He bloody does. He is desperate to be pack but that is a truth too uncomfortable to give voice so he twists it to suit his own perception and labels it as something else. If he was in charge he would do everything differently. He would get what they need and get out. He wouldn’t hang about chatting and drinking coffee. If he was in charge he wouldn’t travel in the same vehicle as everyone else either. He’d be at the front with his lieutenants and let the grunts come behind. He would have a chain of command. He would have proper discipline and order. He would do everything differently, properly too. Not like this. This is a mess. Everything about these people is a mess. He doesn’t understood how they’re so relaxed either. Howie killed people and Maddox rammed the wedge into their peace of mind with a large dollop of spite to hurt them the way he is hurt. It hasn’t worked though. Howie is drinking coffee and everyone else is pissing about being idiots.

That isolation from the group means there is no break to the internal voice that grows louder as the day wears on. His self-loathing increases. His projected loathing increases. The insecurity and awareness that he is suddenly not special, not the leader, not the best-person-here increases too.

Jess eats oats. Meredith stretches and groans softly then lifts her head to pant in the heat of the day. Nick appears, smiling and making noises while filling her bowl with more water. He rubs her head. She twitches her ears and tail to show she likes it.

*

‘You just wait there, baby,’ Marcy tells the jewellery shop as she walks past carrying armfuls of clothing from the outdoor shop into Boots. Mo chuckles at the wink she gives him. ‘And you wait there too,’ she tells the long glass fronted perfume cabinet in the shop.

‘Eh?’ Paula asks, looking up from the mounds on the floor near the checkouts.

‘Talking to the perfume,’ Marcy says, dropping the clothes with a heavy huff as she wipes the sweat from her face.

‘Right,’ Paula says, stepping back to draw the back of her right arm across her forehead that comes away slick and wet.

Trousers, tops, socks and undergarments arranged in piles and each with a packet of cleansing wet wipes, toothbrush and toothpaste. Marcy added the moisturiser and deodorant. Then Paula found the foot powder section and remembered about fungal problems in hot weather so added a bottle of that to each. Charlie found the razors, shaving cream and flannels. Marcy added shampoo and shower gel. Charlie found gel nails. Marcy found teeth whitening paste. Charlie found dental floss. Marcy found condoms. Charlie found lube and so it went on as the mounds grew in size with just about every product available.

‘Done?’ Marcy asks.

Paula nods, ‘yep, done.’

‘Thank God,’ Marcy says. ‘Please say we can go first…actually, I’m not even waiting for an answer…Mo, honey?’

‘Yep?’ Mo asks, turning smartly from his position at the main door being a serious committed sentinel, and still with his pistol held double-gripped and down in front of his waist, heroic and brave with grit in his eye.

‘We’re stripping off so no peeking.’

He blushes instantly, blinking a few times while nodding quickly and trying to stop the mental image of a naked Marcy and Charlie popping into his head. All of this happens at the same time as he realises he is still staring in instead of staring out. ‘Shnure,’ he blurts, wincing at the strange sound that just came from his mouth as he snaps out the fastest about-turn ever known in the history of humanity. He even strides forward a few steps to position outside the door as though to show he really really won’t peek while wondering what shnure means.

The three women share smiles, all of them having seen his cheeks blooming with colour.

‘Poor lad,’ Paula says quietly, ‘he could have had something for his wankbank…’

‘Paula!’ Marcy exclaims with mock wide eyes and shock at the comment. ‘That was a proper Cookey comment.’

‘It was,’ Charlie laughs, moving away a few steps to her pile of clothes and goodies.

‘Mo Mo doesn’t have a wankbank,’ Marcy says, keeping her voice muted and quiet. ‘He’s too sweet for that…oh that’s so nice,’ she adds with a groan at pulling her sodden top up over her head. ‘Either of you bothered if I strip off here?’

‘Not fussed,’ Paula says.

‘Hockey player,’ Charlie says.

‘Fair enough,’ Marcy says, reaching back to unclasp her bra fastening with another groan. ‘Oh my god that’s so nice…I’ve got underboob sweat.’

They strip off with groans as appreciative as Marcy’s. Wet tops pulled and thrown into a pile. Bras taken off and packets of wipes opened to rub faces, arms, hands, necks, chests and stomachs. The used wipes are thrown into the pile of old tops as Mo stares ahead listening to the groans and moans coming from behind him.
Shnure?
He said shnure. What does that even mean?

Boots and socks off. Feet cleaned. Trousers off. Legs cleaned. They cool down and wipe the sweat from their skin then use new towels to dry off.

‘If Cookey walked in now eh?’ Marcy jokes, standing in just her knickers holding a brand new fluffy towel. ‘Wankbank,’ she says with a tut at Paula. ‘Do you think they have?’

‘What?’ Paula asks.

‘You know…had a wank,’ Marcy says quietly, giggling as she says it.

‘I don’t know!’ Paula says, wincing at the thought. ‘I doubt it…where for a start? We’re always together.’

‘Hmmm,’ Marcy says, thinking for a second, ‘good point.’

New trousers. New socks. New tops. Deodorant sprayed in armpits. Faces cleansed with cream applied and slowly the feeling of being human is restored. A boost to moral. An ownership of an environment they have taken control of and now dominate with their mere presence. They drink coffee made in the café and chat until finally they are done and once more resplendent in the now assumed black uniform of their group.

‘
Blinky, you come up and get changed,’
Paula says into the radio.

‘Yes, Miss Paula, Sir. On way now, Sir.’

Paula blinks, shaking her head at the burst of speech firing through the radio. A few seconds later Blinky appears from sprinting down the length of the main shopping centre aisle and comes to a sudden stop with her hand hovering as though ready to salute.

‘Here, Miss Paula, Sir.’

‘Er, s’just Paula,’ Paula says to no avail as Blinky blinks.

‘Your pile,’ Paula says brightly, dropping to a crouch to sort through Blinky’s kit. ‘Your top and spares, your trousers and spares…underwear, socks…foot powder, wet wipes…ignore the condoms and lube Marcy and Charlie added…and the evening primrose oil capsules and the eye wash, tanning lotion and lipsticks…what the…’ Paula stops at the grunt coming from Blinky standing topless with her trousers round her ankles trying to pull her right boot off. ‘Er…so…we’ll give you a minute?’

‘Sir, Miss Paula, Sir…’

‘Blinky isn’t shy,’ Charlie says.

‘Get fucked posh bird,’ Blinky grins, tugging her boot off then hopping to start work on the left. ‘You all done?’

‘I am,’ Charlie says.

‘Did you see Marcy naked?’

‘Er,’ Charlie says.

‘Right here,’ Marcy says, lifting her hand.