The Undead Day Twenty (47 page)

‘Okay,’ he says, wanting to kiss her but figuring they only just met so that’s probably not a cool thing to do right now, even if he is dead somewhere.

She kisses him. A peck on the lips but slow enough for him to feel the lasting impression of her lips on his. ‘I’ll wait…’

‘AHEM,’ Chris says aloud. The room comes back. Blowers blushes furious and deep at Malcolm shaking his head in disbelief and Chris rolling his eyes.

‘Sergeant,’ Blowers says, stiffening to attention.

‘Sergeant indeed,’ Chris says, tutting with a grin at Meredith. ‘Ready for orders, Corporal?’

‘Yes, Sergeant.’

‘Let Maddox go with the child. He poses no threat to Lilly and isn’t worth your time. So far?’

‘So far, Sergeant.’

‘Go north. They’re massing. You need intelligence on numbers. Reginald knows this but he needs a boot up the arse. So far?’

‘Boot Reggie in the arse, so far, Sergeant.’

‘Very good, Corporal. Stick with Howie. He needs you. Lead your team and train them when you can. Tell Reginald he is right, the species will merge and Paco is what they will become, oh and tell Howie not to be so complacent next time. That’s it.’

‘Roger. Understood.’

‘By the way, you’re blind in one eye and your little finger on your left hand has been bitten off.’

‘What?’

‘Flesh wound now get up and get back in the fight…’

‘Tell Clarence I called him a fat Herbert,’ Malcolm adds.

‘But…’

Blowers spins round at hearing the dog barking wildly behind him, bouncing on the spot in the church with her tail swinging.

‘What’s going…’

‘I SAID GET UP AND GET BACK IN THE FIGHT…’

Thirty-Two

‘
Get up and get back in the fight,’
Dave says, dancing back from the infected with his hand pressing the radio switch under his shirt. Howie fights with tears streaming. Clarence feels crushed, broken. His heart in pieces. Nick falters, lashing out with his axe but his blows are weak. Roy slashes but his face shows the emotions he feels. Paula’s heart breaks as Clarence’s does. Her face contorting with the instant grief of such a loss and the void within them of where Blowers was. Blinky fights but she too feels the draining of energy. Charlie and Heather cover Cookey but the press coming is too great. Paco rages. Untouched by anything other than his care for Heather. In the hallway, Meredith barks non-stop with her feet planted either side of Blowers dead body.

Dave pauses in the space he gained from the kills he just scored. His impassive face shows a mild irritation at his orders not being complied with.
‘Get up and get back in the fight…’

The rest hear his voice but if anything, it makes the pain worse. A perception that Dave’s autism prevents him from understanding Blowers is dead, but in the press of the battle, they can neither do nor say anything to him to make him understand because only Dave is good enough to find space to transmit.

Dave blinks. His right hand flashes out to cut a throat. He pauses, listening. His left hand stabs forward to drive the blade through the eye of one coming. His head tilts, his mouth purses. He kills two more and steps into the space created while drawing breath.

‘I SAID GET UP AND GET BACK IN THE FIGHT…’

The voice roars. The voice bellows with a pulse of energy that sweeps through the horde and sends a jolt through everyone else. Cookey’s eyes snap open. Faces grow hard from a feeling coming. A feeling growing. Something inside surging up.

Later, people will say Dave made it happen. They will say Meredith made it happen and people will talk about this day. Some will lie for the glory of the association and say they were there and they saw it. Others will think it an urban legend. A myth. A story made up.

In truth, only one man can say he saw it. Only one man in the kitchen of a house where he protected a newborn child in his arms from the infected coming from the hallway.

Maybe it was Dave that made it happen. Dave’s belief that his orders that are always complied with. Maybe it was the dog who refused to let him die in peace and dragged his soul back to keep fighting. Maybe it was both of those things or, maybe, it was the kiss from a woman who gave love when love was needed most of all. A woman who gave the gift of a laugh and the touch of a hand on the hard arms of the warrior who was weary to the bone. A woman who simply
asked
him to keep fighting. A woman with warmth, grace, goodness, and the virtues that a soldier longs to fight for.

His heart booms. It doesn’t beat but it booms to fire with a power that sends energy surging through his veins. It flows into him like fire that heats the core and drives him up on his feet. He stands bleeding. He stands battered, cut, raked, bruised, swollen, one eye gone, a finger bitten away and his face caked in blood and for one glorious second they cannot touch him. The love of the woman holds them off and buys him the time to find his feet and bunch the energy needed. Her touch comes through to form a glow that cannot be breached by the filth of what they have. He is Howie. He has that power to keep them back with will alone. Fear ripples. Hope grows. Aggression manifests. Tears cease to flow and snarls come from both sides.

In that frozen second, Maddox sees Blowers turn his head to face the backs of the infected charging at the child and in that second Maddox knows his judgement of Blowers was very, very wrong.

The dog at his side. The dog given the name Meredith by mistake. The dog who lowers her head and pulls her lips back with hackles that rise.

Pack fight.

Meredith goes for the doorway and those outside. Blowers goes to the kitchen with a rage that burns bright and glorious. He grabs one from behind and snaps the neck to cast it aside. He scoops, grabs a knife and rises to stab up into the groin to open the artery. He sidesteps and drives the point of the blade into a neck. He steps forward, grabs a handful of hair to yank the head back and cuts a throat from behind. As that body drops, he steps through, dips down and explodes up with an uppercut that smashes a jaw and kills the beast outright. At the apex of that swing he pivots round to stab into a stomach. A twist of his hand and he opens the flesh enough to reach in and pull the innards out. He twists, drawing the blade across another throat. He pivots and slams his broken hand into the face of another then stabs down into the body as it falls. He annihilates those in the kitchen. He moves through them like a hot knife through butter. He is water flowing over rocks and his arm still tingles from where she laid her hand upon him. This life is not the only life. This world is not the only world. Be it a dream. Be it a delusion. Be it a fantasy born from the chemicals pumped from his dying brain to ease his passing. Be it those things and more. Be it the transition of the same dream Howie had that passed through the hive mind to replicate in Blowers mind. It matters not. It was real. She was real. She was there and he’s got a date so fuck you, fuck all of you, bring death and bring it fast because he does not fear it now. To go back is a blessing not a curse. To go there is a victory not a loss so bring it. Bring all of them. Bring them here.

The last one in the kitchen falls dead. Blowers draws air, inflating his chest in the vision of a monster. The whole of him drips with blood. The knife gripped in his good hand. Maddox holds the child in his arms. A baby boy still covered in the fluids of birth. Blowers looks upon them and smiles at the child and a beautiful thing in a place of filth.

‘Go,’ Blowers growls the word, turns and stalks down the hallway that builds to a run as he explodes out into the battle outside.

Maddox releases the air from his lungs in the sudden quietness of the house. He blinks several times for that’s how long it takes for his mind to process what he saw happen. He turns to leave, stops and looks back to Julie lying dead on the floor. She looks at peace now. Her features relaxed in death to bring serenity. He crosses to her, lowering the child so her lips can touch his head.

‘A boy,’ he whispers to her. ‘It’s a boy.’

Time to go. He wraps the baby in a towel, takes his rifle and bag and slips quietly into the garden and away into the darkness of the night.

Thirty-Three

Carried forth on a wave of pure energy that sees him sprint from the house into the fight outside. Blowers brings with him the urge to keep going, the hope to win, the need to strive and refuse them the victory. That he is weakened and in agony does not show. That he is carried only by the memory of what could be a delusion does not matter. It does the job. He joins Cookey to fight side by side. He orders Charlie to re-mount and fight on horseback. He rallies and pushes the infected back and once their numbers are dwindled, he orders everyone to Blinky then to the precinct.

Cookey, Charlie and Heather see his awful injuries but there is no time to give voice or raise concern. There is separation when there should be unity and her words still whirling through his head force that endeavour to be completed.
You are the glue that binds. You are what holds them together.

In the precinct, they felt his loss and the battle turned against them. They felt the surge as he regained his feet and that strength that flowed as he rallied them back to the town to turn the battle into what it should have been, a sordid scrap. A nasty fight of no real consequence.

Blowers led his few down the building line to Mo, Marcy and Paula. He told Charlie to clear space and batter the infected out and away from the billowing smoke and crackling flames in the shopping centre. He then took them through the ranks to the middle to form the circle that turns to fight out with each protecting those on their sides and Howie the pivot on which they move.

Blowers takes the point opposite Howie. He is the counter weight that gives balance. A completion of a circle the centre of which becomes sacred ground that cannot be touched or reached by the infected.

They win as they do. They win by taking life and holding form as one. They win by attrition. By a few that are greater than the sum of their parts. Heather fights with them. Too frantic, too caught up and too swept along to question her place, and besides, Paco is busy playing his new game of skittles-with-zombies with Clarence.

The last few fall. Reginald watches from his lofty perch with his battle-swatter still gripped. He too fought bravely but in the end, it was the infection that killed the spiders off. Their tiny systems simply unable to cope with what the virus gave them and made them do. Now he looks down with one foot perched in a manly fashion upon the windowsill as he grips his weapon and views the battlefield.

Dave cuts his last one down. Howie swings the axe through the neck of the crawler. Mo stabs into a throat. Clarence breaks one over his knee. Paco snaps a spine. Chests heave. Hands, weapons and bodies drip blood as they all turn to see the last infected male standing alone down the street.

He stares back at them through red bloodshot eyes that flick from face to face until they come to rest on Simon Blowers who stands firm and glares back through one eye.

The infection takes them in. It watches to learn that its closest grasp of victory was by forcing separation. It almost took one today and although Blowers lives, it knows it hurt them. Its awful red eyes glance up to Reginald who stares back closely with a mutual analysis underway.

Dave’s wrist flicks. The knife spins through the air.

‘COME WE GO…’

The voice booms from the infected man but an eye for an eye and Dave’s blade sinks into the infected man’s left eye, killing him outright. It slumps instant and dead leaving the words hanging in the air as far away a small boy purses his lips and frowns.

Then it’s done. Over. Another town laid to waste. Another town on fire. Every window in the street is smashed. Bodies everywhere. Pools of blood. Dismembered limbs. Corpses stuck with arrows. Heads chopped off that scatter the ground like footballs. They breathe hard with wild eyes still crazed and ready to fight. Jess takes a step. A skull pops. Meredith scours looking for hearts that beat and throats to bite.

‘What did he say?’ Nick asks, breaking the silence.

‘Come we go,’ Roy says.

‘Oh,’ Nick says.

The silence stretches.

‘What’s that mean then?’ Nick asks.

‘Don’t know,’ Roy replies.

All of them save Paco turn to stare up at Reginald who shrugs and waves his battle-swatter in the air. ‘I have no idea what it means.’

The silence stretches.

Howie leans forward to look at Blowers. Paula turns. Clarence shifts. Nick steps out. Roy frowns. They all move to stare down the line at the sunken gory hole where his eye was, at his broken nose now at an angle, at his face swollen, bruised, cut and bit. His arms the same. His top torn and hanging in shreds that show the marks on his body, the long welts, the deep cuts, the bruised flesh. Every part of him caked in blood and wounds. They look down at his left hand and the bloodied stump where his finger was. His team look in awe of a legend born on this day in this place, to a man that cannot be killed.

‘How are you still standing?’ Paula asks quietly.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Yeah,’ Paula says, biting her lip, ‘that’s not fine, Blowers.’

‘There’s tough,’ Clarence says, ‘then there’s Simon Blowers…’

‘Get off,’ Blowers says, uncomfortable at the attention. ‘It’s fine…it’ll grow back.’

‘What will?’ Cookey asks. ‘Your eye or your finger?’

Blowers shrugs.

‘Now I’m not a doctor but I don’t think eyes and fingers grow back,’ Cookey says. ‘Roy? Do eyes and fingers grow back?’

‘Nope.’

‘Fucked then,’ Cookey tells him. ‘Unless you got the finger…we could stitch it back on or something…can you do that with eyes, Roy?’

‘Nope.’

‘Fucked then. Did you get the finger?’

‘I think she ate it.’

Cookey thinks for a minute. ‘She still in that house? We could go and get it…’

‘Dunno, I didn’t see who did it…’

‘Should have looked properly.’

‘Fair one.’

‘With both eyes on the job.’

‘Twat.’

‘So you fingered a zombie then?’

‘Oh fuck off,’ he groans.

‘Plenty of fingers here…you want one?’

‘Do one, Cookey.’

‘Willy for later?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t give it large now cos you’re all butch with your one eyed nine fingered japery…do you want a willy to play with later?’

‘Er…nah, I’ll be okay.’

‘I’ll sneak one in your pocket without anyone looking.’

‘Cheers.’

‘Keep an eye out for me though.’

‘Dick.’

‘Can you only count to nine now?’

‘Mate…’ Blowers snaps then chuckles.

‘You can borrow mine if you need to get to ten,’ Cookey says giving him the middle finger.

‘I fucking hate you.’

‘You smell of hairspray,’ Blinky says leaning in to sniff Mo, ‘why do you smell of hairspray?’

‘I think we need to get out of here,’ Howie says. ‘We need somewhere for the night and holy fuck what’s happened to your face?’ he blinks at Marcy, stunned at the sight that only now he is seeing. She glares back as he looks at Paula and blanches again. ‘Shit…ooh…ooh fuck…’

‘What?’ Clarence asks as Paula and Marcy turn round to show him. ‘Oh…’ he winces and pulls his head back before looking away in distaste.

‘That’s so bad,’ Cookey says, looking from Marcy to Paula.

‘Is it?’ Marcy asks icily.

‘Fuck yes,’ Cookey says, nodding at her. ‘Awful…seriously…like…like really awful…’

‘I ate a spider,’ Paula says through gritted teeth.

‘Argh,’ Howie says, turning away to yack.

‘S’fucking gross,’ Nick says.

‘It went in my mouth,’ Paula says.

‘Oh stop, don’t…’ Howie says, still looking away.

Hair everywhere. Clumps standing up made stiff by hairspray and spider goo. Legs of spiders poke out from the strands. Squashed spiders mangled in their scalps. Red raw lumps all over them, swellings in their cheeks, on their foreheads and jaws. Spots with white heads and puncture wounds oozing puss. The same up their arms, on their necks and hands. Even Blowers stares through his one eye, stunned at the sight that somehow looks far worse than he does.

‘What?’ Paula asks, looking round at the gawping faces. ‘We not pretty now?’

‘Eh?’ Howie says, ‘er nooo, not at all…like so pretty…’

‘Very pretty,’ Clarence rumbles.

‘Pretty,’ Nick says.

‘I would,’ Blinky says, ‘I meant Marcy, Miss Paula, Sir…’

‘I…’ Paula goes to say something in reply but can’t find words to respond.

‘That wasn’t awkward at all, Blinky’ Cookey says.

‘Fist me, pencil dick.’

‘Right so,’ Howie says, trying to be serious again but glancing at Paula and Marcy, ‘so…er…you ate a spider?’

‘Yep,’ she states pointedly, ‘chewed it up…’

‘Oh no, no no,’ Howie says. ‘Where’s Mo? Is he the same as you? Mo?’

‘Behind Clarence, Boss,’ Mo says as the mountain slowly rotates and slides three people away with his bulk.

Mo looks fine. Not a mark on him. He even looks tidy, his shirt tucked in. His clothes not covered in blood. One tiny smear on his cheek is the only tell of the battle he fought.

‘Mo Mo Dave Two,’ Blowers mutters, squinting through his one eye.

‘Is it that bad?’ Marcy asks, fingering the lumps on her face.

‘Yes,’ Howie says.

‘No but really, is it really that bad?’

‘Yes.’

‘Seriously, are they awful?’

‘Yes.’

‘Howie!’

‘What?’

‘Are they really that bad?’

‘Er…no?’

‘Better. Right, can we go please. I hate Boots now.’

‘Good job seeing as you burnt it down,’ Nick says.

‘I ate a spider.’

‘What you smiling at?’ Cookey asks, seeing the weird grin on Blowers face.

‘Nothing. Fuck off.’

‘You’re a pirate now.’

‘Cookey, fuck off.’

‘Like a bandit.’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake…’

‘An arse bandit.’

‘Piss off.’

‘With a stumpy hand.’

‘Okay, get it out your system…’

‘A one eyed pirate arse bandit with a stumpy hand that can’t wank properly.’

‘I’m right handed.’

‘I ate a spider.’

‘I meant other men when you do reach arounds with your one eyed pirate arse bandit stumpy hand thing.’

‘Fair one. Finished?’

‘Um…’

‘Enough, we’re going,’ Howie cuts in, looking round at his bunch of one eyed spider bitten or weirdly neat and tidy misfits.