Blood at the Premiere: A Day One Undead Adventure (21 page)

‘You’s coming back, though, yeah?’ Tricia asks and the desperation showing in her eyes plucks the heartstrings in Henrietta.

‘Listen,’ Henrietta says, lowering her voice, ‘get off the streets…go home…all of you.’

‘BENNIE!’

‘SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU DUMB CUNTS,’ Tricia screams, twisting to face the back of the taxi and the youths banging on the frame. ‘Soz, Henrietta…what d’you say?’

‘I said go home,’ Henrietta urges, locking eyes on the young girl. ‘It’s not safe here…go home…’

‘Ain’t no feds here,’ the girl snorts.

‘Police?’ Henrietta asks. ‘One just got killed…like, a minute ago…’

‘Yeah, I saw it,’ Tricia says, showing no reaction. ‘Fucking pigs…’

‘Right.’ Henrietta nods and glances ahead with a rapid reassessment. ‘Yeah, stay here, Tricia. We’ll be back in a few minutes.’

‘Yeah?’ Tricia asks, showing delight in her face.

‘Sure, you want to be on telly?’

‘Fuck yes, I do. I so do…can Alanna be wiv me?’

‘Course,’ Henrietta says. ‘But we got to get our producer to the hospital first. Can you help us get out?’

‘Yeah,’ Tricia says, grinning with a mouthful of even white teeth framed by olive skin of a flawless complexion and topped with raven-black hair spilling down past the hooped earrings. The observation of physical beauty against the hard, rasping voice and the utter disregard for life causes a moment’s confusion as Henrietta blinks and feels the sadness of it all crushing down. Rose’s scream rolls round her head again. The bleeding hand and the way the girl was stumbling on legs growing weaker by the loss of blood. ‘You’s coming back?’ Tricia asks again.

‘Yeah,’ Henrietta says softly, sadly.

‘Yous lot…move out the way…they’s got a sick producing man…Henrietta’s comin’ back to interviewed us…’

‘BENNIE!’

‘Henrietta, you’s bringing Bennie back?’ Tricia asks, stepping up to the role of spokesperson and fielding the questions flying in.

‘Yes,’ Henrietta says. ‘We’ll get some coffee down him.’

The Red Sea of hooded city youths parts from the screaming tones of Tricia, Alanna and Chelsea barging them back. The three girls are joined by the rest of their gang pumped up on self-importance as word spreads that they’ll be on telly with Henrietta Swallow and Bennie. Gradually they ease away from the densest crowds as Henrietta pushes the button to seal the window. Movement ahead catches her eye. A stiff-legged run. A woman. Old and frail. Grey hair hanging limp to her shoulders. A hunch on her back and the billowing nightdress covered in blood. The noise in the street is immense. Alarms pierce the air. Flashing lights strobe against the buildings and the flickering flames grow larger to bathe the street in an almost carnival atmosphere.

A twelve-year-old boy is the first taken down and his mates roar with laughter at seeing him bested by an old lady, but while they cackle, she bites. They start laying the boot in and she keeps biting. They shout angrily and kick harder but she bites more. They punch and stab but she bites hard with saliva going into blood that becomes foul and tainted. Tricia, Alanna and Chelsea run into the new game that draws the crowd and suddenly the road is clear for Henrietta to accelerate away in a black London taxi cab chugging along.

Roads and streets merge into a never-ending vista of carnage and death viewed through windows that give the occupants of the taxi a sense of detachment. Images seared into Henrietta’s mind play over and over. Rose screaming. Rose limping and being dragged along. The exquisitely beautiful face of Tricia expressing delight at speaking to a celebrity while denouncing the life of a human being she watched being stabbed to death just seconds before. Conflicting, contrasting, emotive and confusing. The priest who pushed the nun into the infected to save himself. The mother reaching for her baby. The two she killed in the elevator. Images and memories that each hold an emotion.

‘Where are we?’

‘What?’ She blinks in response, pulling out of her reverie of dark thoughts.

‘Where are we?’ Dolan asks again, finally lifting his head up after a few minutes of relative quiet during which time nothing has threatened to kill him.

‘Er…’ Henrietta looks round at the street with another flood of guilt at the realisation she zoned out and hasn’t been checking road signs.

‘You’re driving,’ Dolan says. ‘Where are we?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You’re meant to be taking us out of the city,’ he says with a voice rising back to panicked aggression.

‘I’m trying…I…’

‘You are meant to be taking us out of the city. Where the fuck are we?’

‘I don’t know. We’ll see a road sign soon.’

‘I want to know now. Where are we?’

‘Dolan,’ Brian says in a tired voice. ‘Take it easy.’

‘How’s Bennie?’ Henrietta asks.

‘Who gives a shit?’ Dolan says.

‘Asleep,’ Brian says.

‘Not asleep,’ Bennie slurs and blinks his bloodshot eyes open. ‘Are we there yet?’

‘Where?’ Dolan asks sharply. ‘What did I miss?’

‘Dunno,’ Bennie sighs and hiccups. ‘Your bollocks?’

‘That was quick thinking back there, Henri,’ Brian calls out. ‘What you said to those girls…that was good.’

‘How about we stop telling Henrietta how fucking wonderful she is and get me the fuck out of here.’

‘Us,’ Brian says.

‘What?’ Dolan says scathingly.

‘Not just you,’ Brian says, staring deadpan at Dolan, ‘us.’

‘You think I give a shit about you? You drive a van…well, no, you drove a van but not very well. I’m an important person…’

‘So you keep telling us,’ Brian says looking away with a sigh.

‘All I am saying is there are degrees of importance and mine just happens to be substantially higher than yours.’

‘Thanks,’ Brian says with a snort.

‘Suck a dick,’ Bennie says, then frowns and looks at Brian. ‘Shit…did I say suck? I meant such…’

‘You said suck,’ Brian says.

‘Well…’ Bennie shrugs, ‘suck a duck then.’

‘Duck?’ Brian asks.

‘Fuck me! I meant dick. I am so drunk. Where’s that chick?’

‘What chick?’ Brian asks as Henrietta glances sharply into the rear-view mirror.

‘Er…we were at her house…she had a nice arse.’

‘She’s dead, you idiot,’ Dolan snaps.

‘Whoa,’ Bennie says, sitting up straight. ‘Dead? Ah fuck…she was fit. Ah, shit yeah…her hand! I remember now. Was that tonight?’

‘Yes, Bennie,’ Henrietta says, thinking Bennie has got the right idea by staying steaming drunk.

‘Ah, that’s bad,’ Bennie says sadly. ‘Poor chick.’

‘Rose,’ Brian says. ‘Her name was Rose.’

‘Cool name,’ Bennie says. ‘So where are we going?’

‘Good question,’ Dolan says. ‘Let’s ask the driver…’

‘Dolan, please give it a rest,’ Henrietta says.

‘Give it a rest?’ Dolan explodes with temper that is safe to use with nothing immediately dangerous about to happen. ‘How about you get me somewhere safe and…’

‘Stop shouting,’ Brian says, cutting across the tirade. ‘Henrietta, there’s something red flashing on the dashboard.’

‘Pardon?’ Henrietta asks in alarm.

‘What is it?’ Dolan demands, switching to panic.

‘It’s bouncing on the safety screen…’ Brian says.

‘What is?’ Henrietta asks, looking round.

‘A warning light must be flashing on the dashboard…it’s reflecting on the screen behind you…look down at the speedo…’

‘Er…yep, got it…shit.’

‘What?’ Dolan whimpers.

‘What is it?’ Brian asks leaning towards the plastic screen to peer over Henrietta’s shoulder. ‘Is that the fuel light?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Fuel light? Are you fucking serious?’ Dolan shouts.

‘How long will it last?’ Henrietta asks.

‘I’ve no idea in these things,’ Brian admits, trying to think. ‘You normally get a gallon or so left when the light comes on, but…’

‘We don’t know when the light came on,’ Henrietta says, finishing his sentence. ‘How far will a gallon go?’

‘Thirty miles, roughly, but like you said…that light could have been on when we got in.’

‘Didn’t you look?’ Dolan demands.

‘I think we were a bit busy then, mate,’ Brian says.

‘Busy? Busy getting us all fucking killed…’

‘It’s quiet here,’ Brian says, looking out the windows at the dark, empty street. ‘Ditch it now and we’ll go on foot.’

‘Okay.’ Henrietta nods in agreement, lifting her foot off the accelerator and letting the vehicle start the final glide to a stop.

‘Okay? Not okay. Certainly not fucking okay,’ Dolan shouts, scanning the view out the windows. ‘We don’t know where we are or…just keep going.’

‘It’s quiet
here
,’ Henrietta says. ‘We could drive into something bad and run out…’

‘What was that?’ Dolan starts at the dull click sounding in the cab.

‘Safety doors,’ Brian says. ‘The locking mechanism. Jesus, Dolan. You must have been in enough taxis to know…’

‘Shut the fuck up, you vile little creature,’ Dolan bites the words out, seething at the prospect at being stranded and lost again.

With the taxi stopped, Henrietta sits still for a long second staring out at nothing, feeling dirty and tainted with death. Her hands still stink of shit and the puke down her back has dried to become crusty. Sticky patches of blood coat her arms. Thirsty, tired, drained, exhausted. This should have been her night. This was meant to be her first step on the new ladder. The lull into self-pity jars quickly with a rush of guilt that she’s even thinking of such things when so many have suffered and died. Rose. Poor Rose.

Her door opens and she realises she didn’t hear the others getting out. Brian holds her door open motioning with his head for her to get out while Dolan stands with his back to the closest wall, staring wide-eyed and terrified.

‘Your knife,’ Brian whispers.

‘Pardon?’

‘Knife,’ Brian says, pointing at the foot well on the passenger side.

She looks over and down at the bloodied implement. The sticky handle and the metal glint of the blade showing in parts through the drying stains of blood and gore.

With knife in hand she gets out of the taxi into the hot night air of a deserted backstreet filled with buildings and dark windows. The shadows between the few street lights are gloriously deep and dark.

‘Bennie, you okay?’ Henrietta asks, seeing the look of pain cross the young man’s face.

He shrugs in an act of complete sadness. ‘It’s a shame that girl died.’

The way he says it and the look of loss on his face bring instant tears to her eyes and a lump grows hard in her sore throat. She coughs, blinks and nods firmly.

‘Come on, stay quiet for me.’

‘Yeah, okay, Henri.’

‘We’ll get through this, Bennie.’

‘Promise?’ Bennie asks in the innocent voice of a child lost in the dark. She senses Brian and Dolan watching her, waiting for her confidence to keep carrying them.

‘Yeah, I do,’ she says, forcing it, faking it, making them believe while all the time she feels the hope sliding away.

‘Which way?’ Brian asks, looking back down the road from the direction they came then round to the new road stretching out ahead of them.

‘In times of peril,’ Henrietta says, looking round at them, ‘look forward and never back.’

‘Deep,’ Bennie says.

‘Who said that?’ Brian asks.

‘I did,’ Henrietta says with a sad smile. ‘Just made it up.’

‘Yeah? Did you really?’ Brian asks.

‘Wow,’ Dolan adds his own heavy sarcasm to the conversation. ‘So deep…do you get your tits out as well?’

‘Go fuck yourself.’ Brian turns with sudden ferocity on the bearded man who steps back in alarm. ‘Bennie’s right, you’re a complete cunt.’

‘Yep.’ Bennie nods drunkenly.

‘Leave it,’ Henrietta says, quickly reaching a hand out to Brian’s arm. ‘We’ve got to move.’

‘Yeah,’ Brian says, still glaring at Dolan for a long second before dropping his eyes. ‘Okay.’

‘So?’ Bennie asks after a few seconds of awkward silence. ‘No boobs then?’

‘Not now,’ Henrietta says, flashing a quick smile at the weak injection of humour.

‘Henrietta…’ Brian catches up to her side, whispering low. ‘Why do you take that from him?’

‘Dolan?’ she whispers back and shrugs in avoidance of the conversation. ‘We’d better stay quiet.’

‘We are being quiet,’ Brian insists. ‘Stand up to him…I’ll back you…’

‘Would you?’ Henrietta asks quickly, too quickly, and blinks to take the force of the words away.

‘Look, I don’t know you people, like…all famous and stuff…but…’

‘But what?’ she asks, chastising herself for needing to hear his opinion.

‘Well,’ Brian says, faltering, ‘like…forgive me saying this and, like…I don’t mean no offence but…you’re strong as an ox…you’d beat the shit out of him…’

She snorts a quiet dry laugh through her nose. ‘Thanks.’

‘Nah, you know what I mean…just tell him to fuck off. Me and Bennie will back you up.’

‘Bennie’s drunk. Thanks, Bri. I mean that, but Dolan is a really important man in the industry and you won’t be here when this is over.’

‘So he keeps telling us.’

‘But he is. He’s the head of factual programming for Channel Four.’

‘So?’

‘So I want to move into doing serious work and Dolan was the only one that would even think about giving me a shot.’

‘Seriously? There’s, like, loads of telly channels now. What about Sky and…the BBC?’

‘Tried,’ she says tightly. ‘They rejected my proposals.’

‘Yeah, but bloody hell…you’re Henrietta Swallow…they should be biting your arm off, yeah?’

‘Doesn’t work like that. We’re all in boxes with labels and I’m in the box marked glamour model, drunk, party girl…sex addict…topless model…’

‘You’re a sex addict?’

‘No! I’m celibate.’

‘Oh yeah, yeah, I forgot that…’

‘Even that was a lie, though. I only did it for publicity. My point is that no one will take me seriously and Dolan was the only one…’

‘Only one what?’ Dolan asks, stepping up close behind them from fear at being isolated at the back.

‘Nothing,’ Henrietta says quickly, too lightly.

‘Dolan was the only one what?’ Dolan asks again.

‘I was just telling Brian about my proposals and how you were the…’ She stops talking with an inward wince at what she was about to say.

‘I was the only one then?’ Dolan asks with malicious delight. ‘Everyone else rejected you, did they?’

‘I didn’t mean that.’

‘Interesting,’ Dolan muses, whispering the words just inches behind her. ‘Being nice to Dolan because everyone else told you to fuck off. I never knew that.’

‘What’s the convo?’ Bennie asks, skipping a step to catch up.

‘Henrietta was just telling everyone how all the other channels rejected her proposals and I was the only one even contemplating it.’

‘I never said that,’ Henrietta says quietly.

‘So it would appear,’ Dolan says slowly. Henrietta shudders from the feel of his eyes boring holes through the back of her head. ‘That she needs to keep me happy…and more importantly…alive…’

‘She has, though,’ Bennie says. ‘Like when you hit her and called her all them names…’

‘Bennie…’ Henrietta says, trying to stop him.

‘…and called her a slut and one step away from being a hooker…and shit like that…bang out of order that was.’

‘I defended myself,’ Dolan states. ‘Isn’t that right, Henrietta?’

‘Yes,’ Henrietta whispers.

‘See,’ Dolan says. ‘And I don’t recall calling her a slut. Do you recall that, Henrietta?’

‘No.’

‘Good. We’re all friends then.’

Henrietta stares ahead, ignoring the glance from Brian who starts to understand the power at play. It’s like when his boss calls him a prick for being late on a delivery. Bosses aren’t allowed to call workers bad names but you take it. You nod, apologise and promise to do better next time. Pride is one thing, but pride doesn’t pay the mortgage. Work pays the mortgage and, as it turns out, famous people are just like everyone else. Either sucking up or taking the piss because they’re in control.

They trudge on with a heavy silence growing between them. Henrietta still barefooted and wearing the black designer dress with her hair in complete disarray. Dolan is right. She’s got to keep him alive, but what did he mean about keeping him happy? The hatred for him builds, but he holds a power over her. He is smart, refined, intellectual and so bloody connected. She hates herself, too, for the sting she feels at his disdain for her. Another rush of guilt floods in as she sinks into self-reflection and how, just for a few seconds, she forgot about Rose. The girl only died a little while ago. How can she be so selfish to forget so quickly? She gives no thought that shock will make the mind do strange things. The guilt is overwhelming, crushing down so heavy she wants to drop to the ground and curl up into a ball. Except she can’t. Bennie is still pissed out of his mind and Dolan is too weak to get them out of this. Brian is a good man but clearly not a leader. They need a leader. Someone who knows what to do. Someone strong and capable. Decisive. Determined. Calm.

‘CONTACT AHEAD…’

A huge booming voice thunders into the air and as one the four come to a stop and scoot back to cling to the wall, hiding in the shadows with hearts hammering.

‘NUMBERS?’ another loud voice shouts.