The Undead Day Twenty (48 page)

Thirty-Four

‘How’s the pain?’ Roy asks, binding the dressing over his hand. ‘Blowers?’

‘Huh?’

‘I said how’s the pain?’

‘S’fine,’ Blowers says.

‘Sure?’

‘Er yeah, yeah sure.’

‘Hmmm,’ Roy says, securing the end of the bandage. ‘Look at me.’

‘I’m fine,’ Blowers says.

‘Yep, so it won’t hurt to look at me will it,’ Roy says, shining the light from his head torch into Blowers eyes. He checks his ears again and once more starts feeling for bumps on Blowers skull. ‘You sure you didn’t bang your head?’

‘Of course I banged my head. It was a bloody scrap, Roy.’

‘Stop being facetious. Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?’

‘I’m not concussed.’

‘You keep drifting off,’ Roy says quietly.

‘Thinking,’ Blowers says.

‘About what?’ Roy asks, lifting Blowers head to check the dressing over his eye.

‘Stuff,’ Blowers says, thinking about one woman and only about one woman. It felt so real and when he woke up, he was convinced it was real, but now, with the passage of time, he thinks more and more that it was just a dream.

The barn was Heather’s idea. The place she found earlier that she knew was large enough to hold them all and had running water. The three vehicles and the horsebox parked on the grass outside. Jess grazing contentedly having been scrubbed down and given oats and water. Meredith washed and fed and now dozing in the doorway so she can see inside and out.

The small fire on the concrete floor crackles with a soothing sound as it bathes the room in an orange glow. Roy works with a head torch strapped to his head. Everyone else sorts kit and cleans up in a muted, almost pensive atmosphere. A day from hell that has sapped energy. Straw and hay bales split to make beds for the night and soft places to sit. Paula and Marcy work cream into their bites, wincing at the sore spots.

‘It’ll probably take your good eye a while to get stronger,’ Roy says, nodding seriously at him.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Blowers says, not realising this is the longest conversation he has ever had with Roy.

Outside, Heather and Paco walk across the field under a fine rain to join Howie and Dave staring down into the town now ablaze from the fires that spread fast to engulf whole streets.

‘Good spot,’ Howie says, glancing at her.

She looks at him as he turns back to stare down into the town. The brooding aura pours off him so thick she can almost see it. ‘What went wrong?’ she asks bluntly.

‘I did,’ he answers instantly. ‘Complacent. Won’t happen again.’

She has more questions. Hundreds of them. Who is he? Where does he come from? How old is he? Does he have family? How does he know how to do these things? Who taught him to lead? Why isn’t he going after Maddox? What about her list?

‘Okay,’ she says instead because none of it actually matters and besides, she hates it when people ask her questions.

‘I’m going up, Dave, you stay on watch for a bit with Heather.’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘With me?’

‘Yes, Heather, with you,’ Howie says, walking back through the wet grass. A day of days. He thinks back to the equestrian centre and the people he and Dave executed. The very thought of it makes him detest himself with a surge of utter self-loathing. A voice inside demands to know who he thinks he is to be judge, jury and executioner.

However, he would do the same thing again but the next time he wouldn’t let it bog his mind down like it did this time. This, today, this
mistake
was his fault and his alone. Yeah maybe one could argue it was a culmination of events but the reality is that he is the leader and he failed. He should have gripped Maddox sooner. He should have kept them together. He should have done many things differently.

Who is he kidding? He is a supermarket manager. Not a General. Not a leader of men and women. Is this too much? Is he taking on more than he can deal with?

It’s too late for that now. Learn from it. Learn the lessons and push on. That’s all they can do. He stops walking as the idea of handing over to Clarence pops in his mind. Maybe Clarence should take over? Clarence is the professional soldier.

But then this isn’t about being soldiers in an army. This isn’t about rules of warfare or engagements. It’s about sending a message. That’s all it was ever about. Send a message that we won’t be cowed. That we’ll fight back no matter what comes. Soldiers are for war. This isn’t a war. It’s a survival mechanism reacting to the risk of a species being wiped out. They call it a game to give it a label and make it tidy in a box. They call it a war, a fight, a battle and all those things so they can process and understand the things they do.

If Blowers had died today, Howie would have gone on with Dave. That decision was made as he felt the connection to Blowers ending so abruptly and that in itself raises more questions. They felt Blowers die. They knew he was dead. His heart stopped. His energy within the hive mind ceased to be there. What came back was Blowers but somehow concentrated and stronger, harder, determined and his energy was different. The same man but suddenly it was like Blowers had purpose and faith in something. That’s what it felt like.

It was a point in time where everything was balanced on a knife-edge and now, in reflection of the moment he realises how much he takes them all for granted. The assumption they will go with him is gross and offensive. To assume such a thing makes him an arrogant cunt.

‘Listen in,’ he stops in the doorway to the barn knowing Heather and Dave can hear him in the field. Reginald’s chair creaks in the back of Roy’s van that tells Howie Reggie just turned round to listen too. Everyone looks up and over at him. The lads and Charlie now clustering round Blowers, mugs of coffee in hands made from water heated on the fire. Paula and Marcy being checked by Roy while Clarence stands with them watching on. Howie sees them for what they are. For people. For individuals who have chosen to do this.

‘What happened today was my fault…’

‘Wasn’t just your fault,’ Paula cuts in. ‘I told the lads to make you coffee and it was my idea to take our time…’

‘I could have said something,’ Clarence says. ‘You can’t take the blame, Boss.’

‘It was my fault. I had my head up my arse after what Dave and me did…which is what I wanted to ask about. Is anyone here uncomfortable about that? You can say if you are…now’s the time to…’

‘Mr Howie?’

‘Go on, Charlie.’

‘I should not have broken his finger…no,’ she says as several start protesting. ‘It was unnecessary. He posed no threat and as Maddox pointed out, we were armed and he was not. I could have simply stepped away, moved back, turned aside or even requested Mr Howie, Paula, Clarence or Blowers speak with him. Instead I used force because I
could
and that is wrong.’

‘He was a rapist cunt,’ Nick says.

‘We established that after the fact,’ Charlie says. ‘At the time he was an angry scared man who thought the army were there to save him…’

‘Still a rapist cunt.’

‘Within my reflection of the incident,’ Charlie says thoughtfully, ‘I considered the reaction from Dave…or rather, the lack of reaction from Dave. Neither Dave nor Meredith reacted in detection of a threat. So why did I?’

‘He was staring at your boobs,’ Cookey says.

‘He was also staring at Marcy’s boobs while drooling but neither Dave nor Meredith showed any threat detection. It was a loss of control. I used force because I knew I could use force. There was no temperance or restraint. He stared, his tone was offensive so I broke his finger. How can that ever be the right thing to do?’

A blast of air from Clarence who folds his arms and nods thoughtfully, ‘Charlie, if you were my daughter I’d be the proudest man on Earth…but I do agree with you.’

‘Thank you,’ she says with real meaning.

‘I don’t agree,’ Marcy says. ‘I’ve been round men like that all my life. Dirty perverted bastards that can’t control where they put their eyes and if they can’t control their eyes then sure as shit they can’t control their hands or their dicks. Fuck him. He stared. Howie told him to stop. He carried on being a pervert so Charlie reacted. His actions made it happen so yeah…fuck him.’

‘Agreed,’ Nick says.

‘And,’ Marcy adds, wincing as she touches one of the spider bites on her face, ‘and he came out being a dick too…if that was me after twenty days of hiding and seeing what I thought was the army I’d be like…like…well I wouldn’t be like he was. I’d be thankful and a decent human being instead of a complete dick. Sorry, I don’t have the nice words like Charlie does…’

‘Marcy,’ Paula says at what came out as a harsh tone that made Charlie flinch and everyone else looks sharply at Marcy.

‘Fuck,’ Marcy groans, ‘I didn’t mean it like that, Charlie. I’m sore, my head hurts, I’m hot and tired…’

‘Of course,’ Charlie says.

‘Indeed you have a delightful way with words,’ Reginald says, walking into the barn with his hands clasped behind his back.

‘And you can fuck off,’ Marcy mutters darkly.

‘Reggie?’ Howie asks, ‘what do you think?’

‘Well,’ Reginald says, coming to a stop near the fire which he knows is the central position and the light from the flames will bathe him in the right way. He appears to think for a moment. Studious in his reflections as he gives weight to the issue. ‘I must say that I rather agree with both Charlie and Marcy. Charlie is correct in her observations that she used force
because
she could but that in itself tells us what a bully that chap was. Of all those present, he turned to Charlie to vent his actions. He did not point and shout at Clarence and you had already told him to stop staring at Marcy. He chose what he perceived to be a very attractive young lady instead of any one of the others who, and forgive me being so blunt, but who all look extremely tough and capable. So yes, Charlie was correct that the use of force was perhaps unnecessary but then Marcy was also correct in that he did indeed, and to use a common phrase,
have it coming.’

‘Right,’ Howie says, scratching his head.

‘Sometimes there is no right or wrong answer,’ Reginald muses. ‘Sometimes a course of action is chosen and one must retain the strength of character to hold that course.’

‘Okay,’ Howie says thoughtfully, ‘what about after that?’

‘The six people you killed?’ Reginald asks lightly.

‘Yeah.’

‘I gave you my opinion.’

‘Oh right, I thought that was to shut Maddox up.’

‘It was, but it was also my opinion.’

‘Fair enough then.’

‘And on that subject, may I ask what our plans are regarding Mr Doku? Are we going after him?’

‘Blowers? You had the most time with him. What do you think?’

Blowers goes back to the church to the orders given and the light and warmth and the kiss he can still feel. ‘Er,’ he clears his throat, blushing lightly at the memory that is thankfully hidden in the shadows of the barn. ‘I don’t think he’s worth our time…he’s a complete dickhead but I don’t think he’s a threat to Lilly. Besides,’ Blowers shifts, thinking back. ‘He found that woman and stood by her…he could have legged it, ditched her…done anything but he didn’t…even when I was in the hallway trying to hold them back he carried on. He’s a tosser but he’s fucking brave as anything.’

‘He is that,’ Clarence says.

‘And he took the baby with him,’ Blowers adds.

‘What was it?’ Paula asks.

‘Little boy,’ Blowers says with a faint smile. ‘Maddox did everything to get him out. So er…so I think he’ll be alright. Maddox just isn’t a team player.’

‘That’ll do for me,’ Howie says. ‘We’ll leave him to it then.’

‘Um maybe we could go north?’ the words come out before Blowers can apply the brake on his mouth.

‘Do what?’ Howie asks.

‘North?’ Cookey asks.

‘Fucking north?’ Nick asks.

‘Why north?’ Paula asks.

‘What’s in the north?’ Roy asks.

‘Northern people,’ Cookey says.

‘Coal mines,’ Nick adds.

‘Racing pigeons,’ Mo says.

‘Everyone has ferrets in the north,’ Cookey says.

‘How far north?’ Roy asks. ‘Scotland north or the midlands north?’

‘The midlands aren’t the north,’ Paula says.

‘They are from here,’ Roy says.

‘Everywhere is the north from here,’ Clarence says. ‘Unless you go south obviously.’

‘My auntie lived in Scotland,’ Cookey says. ‘Auntie Angela. Ran a taxi firm in Glasgow.’

‘We went to the north for a match once,’ Blinky says. ‘It rained.’

‘Might get zombie ferrets,’ Cookey says, clearly thinking on the subject.

‘We’ve had zombie rats,’ Nick says, ‘at that motorway service place with the bloke on the roof…we nicked his trousers.’

‘Yes!’ Blowers says, bursting out laughing. ‘You remember that?’

‘Er yeah, I just said it,’ Nick laughs.