Blood on the Floor: An Undead Adventure (15 page)

‘Know what I could do with?’ She asks a non-responsive Paco. ‘Nice cup of tea. That would be bloody perfect. Fancy making me a cuppa? Yeah? Oh go on then, one sugar please and make it nice and milky for me.’

Paco doesn’t make the tea.

‘No? Fair enough. Can’t blame a lady for trying. Right, I’m dressed and ready for bed. Which is not something I ever thought I would hear myself saying but there you go. Now, Mr Maguire, what are we to do with you?’ She poses the question and waits with her hands on her hips.

Paco doesn’t know what they are to do with him.

‘Well you can’t stay in here,’ she informs him primly. ‘You smell.’ She no longer considers his willy poking a risk seeing as she just got naked, showered, pulled kitchen roll from her vagina and had a pee in front of him. She’d already decided on sleeping in the lounge for the simple reason that it’s the ground floor and easier to escape from.

‘Come on then, out you go,’ she waves her hands at him while walking towards the door. ‘You can sleep out there in the hallway. Do you sleep? Well, whatever you do at night, other than eat people that is, you can do it out there. Paco, come on….no, stop dithering and go out. Really? Have I got to push you everywhere? Fine.’ She huffs and grabs a clean spoon from the cutlery she brought in earlier that she uses to poke gently into his shoulder to turn him round. ‘Go on, that’s it,’ she prods him along through the door into the flagstone hallway. ‘Call me if anything happens,’ she smiles, nods and closes the door as he turns to come back in.

Instant guilt kicks in. The guilt you’d get from making your puppy sleep outside but he’s not a puppy. He’s an infected man.

She goes for the sofa as the door thuds, making her freeze mid-step. She waits, listening then when all is quiet she moves again. The door thuds.

‘Paco, you are not coming in,’ she tells him firmly but gently. He’s not a puppy. He’s an infected man.

She gets to the sofa and eases down as the door thuds once again. A solid thud too. The sort of thud you’d get from a big man walking forward into a closed wooden door. She scowls and ignores it. He’ll give up in a minute.

Paco doesn’t give up. Paco tries to walk forward with increasing levels of force used to make the door not be there anymore until it’s shaking the frame with small chunks of plaster coming away.

‘Fine!’ She wrenches the door open to glare at him. He looks back and shuffles in to stand content and close. She tuts, scowls and slinks back to the sofa that she flops down on with another big huff. He shuffles closer to keep whatever distance is set in his head between them. Which is close. Like really close. She rolls onto her back then rolls her eyes while shaking her head.

‘This is weird,’ she tells him outright as he stands looming over the sofa staring down at her. ‘I can’t sleep with you right there.’

If he wasn’t so filthy he could sit at one end. The sofa is big enough and she’d put her legs over him. No! What on earth. He’s an infected monster. She huffs again at herself this time and sits up. She spots the armchair, looks at Paco and tries to assess how difficult it will be to make him sit in it.

It is difficult. Very difficult. She prods, cajoles and pushes him until he finally sinks down with a whump. She nods, claiming the victory then goes back to her sofa as he gets up and follows.

‘Oh my god what now?’ She snaps at him. The armchair is too far away. Of course it is. I mean it’s like at least ten feet. God forbid he’s more than ten feet from me. She pushes the armchair closer, then a bit closer, then a bit more and gives up and pushes it to the side of sofa so the arms are touching. After that is the rigmarole of making him sit again.

‘There,’ she stands back to fold her arms and stare down at him. ‘Happy now? Yes? Right well just stay there.’

She flumps back on the sofa and quickly peers up to check he’s happy where he is. He seems to be. He doesn’t try and get up anyway. She sighs, yawns and rolls on her side to watch the flames dancing yellow and orange. What a day. What a truly awful terrible horrendous day. She snuggles a deeper groove into the sofa then lifts her head again to check Paco who seems content where he is. It should feel weird being stared at all the time and she cannot believe she showered naked in front of him like that, but at the time it felt normal, like it was okay. If he was going to hurt her he would have done it. He could do it at any time. The strength in him is just absurd, freakishly absurd yet he’s so gentle the way he looks at her. She breathes out long and heavy and chooses to carry on ignoring what it all means. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. He is what he is and the situation is what it is. Why question it? Not everything has reason, not reason like a purpose. Sometimes things just happen. Right now she is going to sleep in the living room of a farmhouse with two dead bodies in the kitchen while an infected former Hollywood star watches her every move. Nothing weird about that. As she thinks that so she faces up to the question of trust. To become naked in front of him and to now lie down to sleep would suggest she does trust him. She shouldn’t trust him. He’s killed so many people. Ripped them apart with bare hands. He’s lethal, deranged, a maniac, something from a nightmare and whatever is keeping him in check could end in a heartbeat. He is a dangerous monster.

She frowns and blinks heavily. Her mind growing slower as she starts the descent into sleep. He is a dangerous monster.

That is without doubt, but the last thought before she drops into sleep is that Paco is her dangerous monster.

Sixteen

‘Ha! Look…’ she shows him the find. ‘See these? Yeah?’

Paco watches but doesn’t reply that he does, in fact, see them.

She pulls her head out of the under sink cupboard and stands up to nod firmly with the air of someone who has purpose and now the tools to fulfil that purpose. She switches her gaze from him to the yellow rubber gloves. He’s a big man and they aren’t very big at all. Not for the job she has in mind.

This is a farm. They must have some bigger ones somewhere. Mind you, they’ll do for now. She pulls them on to waggle yellow fingers at Paco. ‘All safe,’ she tells him. ‘Come on.’

She woke up gagging on the stench that had built up in the enclosed room. The fire, the air temperature, the doors and windows closed and two of them breathing in and out only served to make the fetid rotten smell so bad she woke up almost puking. She’d dreamt of being trapped in a sewer with people covered in shit, piss, vomit and stale sweat. It was when they started throwing rotten eggs at her face that her mind decided she needed to wake up and get fresh air.

After peeing, rinsing her hands and face and changing her tampon all under the watchful eyes of Paco, she formed the purpose that this morning he was going to get a bloody good wash.

Now armed with yellow marigolds she marches round the bodies and feels safe enough to man handle him out of the way so she can search the utility room. She finds a bucket which is filled with rags, brushes and a big bottle of anti-bacterial hand wash then spots the big green first aid box on the wall. That too is commandeered. So is the bottle of antiseptic from the kitchen and the pan cleaning brush, more soap, cloths, scouring pads and anything that even hints of having a cleaning ability.

‘Come on,’ she says brightly with that air of a person with purpose. As she marches across the yard she spots the body lying slumped on one side against the base of the nearest outbuilding. She slows down, peering for signs of life then spotting the back of his head is splattered across several boards of the wall. Spent casings on the ground catch her eye. Brass bullets and red shotgun cartridges. Someone stood here and shot that man, probably the same people that got in and killed the two in the kitchen.

It brings home the reality of this new world and makes her realise she’s already becoming desensitised to the sight of corpses. Whatever happened here was quite a few days ago judging by the state of decomposition. Whatever, she’s safe with Paco, who still needs a bloody good wash.

She finds the tap connected to the hose and starts pulling it back in. The end comes into view with water still pouring out after she forgot to switch it off last night. She turns the tap off, gets the hose back and assesses the job that needs to be done. Hands on hips, frowning slightly, eyes narrowing and taking in his broad shoulders, thick limbs and solid mid-centre. All of which is encrusted with filth and grime. Will he even let her wash him? Dogs don’t like it. He’s not a dog. He’s an infected man. Yes but he’s a very smelly infected man and if she’s keeping him then he needs to be cleaned.

She does find a small set of step ladders though and a long handled brush that she uses to whack the ladders about the yard until all the spiders have dropped off.

Right. Here it is. She sizes him up again while biting her bottom lip and wondering where to start. Top. Got to be that t shirt, or what’s left of it.

‘Arms up,’ she says with a big smile and clocks the softness coming into his eyes. After taking a breath she goes in to grab his wrists that get lifted up and pushed at the elbows until he’s arms are both up above his head. ‘Stay there,’ she grunts, not wishing to breathe in. She grabs the hem of his t shirt and starts tugging it up. Still holding her breath she gets the top to his chest then confronts the next dilemma of not being tall enough to push any further up.

‘Bend down,’ she whispers.

He doesn’t bend down.

‘Paco…bend over…’

Paco stays where he is with his arms up in surrender. It’s no good. She needs to breathe in. She turns, snatches air and comes back into the fray. Sod it, she darts off to grab the step-ladder, opens them out, locks the safety bar in place and gets them positioned in front of him. Paco remains as placed. His arms straight up above his head while his eyes track her every movement. She climbs up to tug and prise the filthy garment over his head.

‘One down,’ she drops from the ladders, kicks them back and goes for his jeans which are even more encrusted and stiff than the top. The button is undone, the zipper pulled down then the material is once more prised from his skin to be pushed and pulled down his thighs. ‘Good lord,’ she recoils at the sight of the muscles in his legs and glances up to see his arms are still in the air. ‘You can put your arms down now,’ she tells him. ‘Paco…arms down…arms down…oh never mind…my god you stink so bad,’ she turns to gulp air and comes back to get his jeans down to his ankles. ‘Boots,’ she tells him and starts unlacing. ‘Leg up old chap,’ she grabs a leg to lift that remains fixed where it is. ‘Paco…lift it up…lift your bloody leg…’ he gets the gist of the movement and leans over to lift one foot an inch off the ground. ‘No…bend it, bend your knee a bit. Here, like this, see…that’s it!’ She starts working on the boot, tugging it free from his foot as a fresh whiff of oh so cheesy feet hits her nose. She recoils sharply, yacking and gagging on the spot.

Paco stands with both arms up, leaning over with one leg bent and his jeans wrapped round his ankle while Heather pushes his leg to get it back down. He watches her closely. His red bloodshot eyes never leaving her form. Docile and content to do as told and bid.

‘Other one,’ she tugs at his ankle which rises instantly to bend at the knee. ‘Well done,’ she beams up while bent over, her face red from the exertion and the smile genuine. He doesn’t react but his eyes show something. She works the laces, grunting to get the boot off then the sock until she finally staggers back with a light sweat already forming on her face.

‘Yay,’ she shows him the last sock which gets lobbed away then looks admiringly at her handiwork as two things start to dawn. The first being that he is still standing on one leg with his arms in the air. The second being that despite the fact he is infected, filthy and covered in wounds, he does have a tremendous body. Really tremendous. There’s no other word for it. Look at his stomach. All ribbed and bulging and the way it tapers down from his chest. She cocks her head over without knowing she is cocking her head over. His waist is really quite small too but then sweeps out at his thighs and my god, those thighs. I mean, just…and back up to his stomach that’s so defined. What does it feel like? She goes forward without invite and without thought. A hand reaches, gloved and protected but she feels the ridges nonetheless. They’re so dense, like so hard. She pokes one, marvelling at how pliable yet firm it is. Good lord look at his chest. That’s a big chest. You can see all the striations and everything and those shoulders. Yeah, that’s why he was a famous actor. Just that. That’s enough right there. Indeed. Yep. Tremendous.

‘Right,’ she blinks and grins awkwardly at him staring at her staring at him. ‘You can put your leg down now, and your arms…’ he doesn’t put his leg or arms down. She does it for him. Pushing first his leg then going back for the step-ladder to climb up to reach his arms.

‘Ah,’ she pulls a face on noticing he still has his boxers on. Tight white ones too. Or at least they were white once. They aren’t white now that’s for sure. ‘Gotta come off I’m afraid,’ she tells him apologetically. ‘Now let’s not be shy. We’re all boys together. Well, you’re a boy and I’m a girl but that doesn’t matter holy shit, Paco….’

She walks quickly away to stand facing the other direction blinking furiously and blowing air out through her cheeks. It’s just a penis. Just a willy. Every man has one. She turns to go back then stops and spins back round. Just a penis. It’s Paco Maguire’s penis and it’s…I mean it’s…she peers over her shoulder with a flinch. Jesus. Don’t even look at it.

She doesn’t look at it. Instead she gets the bucket of soapy water and stares at the ground, at her gloved hands, at the brushes and anything but his penis. He’s infected anyway. Yeah but it’s Paco Maguire’s dongle and it’s so...stop it, he’s like a puppy. That ain’t a puppy. Puppies don’t look like that. Yes but
he
is a puppy. He’s dumb as anything and standing naked because you undressed him. The thought is instantly sobering. She imagines the situation being reversed. The indignity of it. What if she was stripped naked to stand docile while some strange bloke groped her tits? Shame creeps up her face, burning hard with deep blushes spreading through her cheeks. Any thoughts of his physical form vanish in a second. He watched her showering last night and had zero reaction. Be a decent human being, Heather.

‘Right come on, let’s get you washed eh?’ She smiles sadly at him with the sting of her own chastisement still smarting. Her own eyes now soft with creases in the corners that speak more of sadness than laughter.

She imagined she would scrub him with a thick brush but within the first few seconds of the water running black she realises a stiff brush will only pull the scabs off and open his wounds again. Instead she opts for soft cloths and sponges. Soaping softly over the wounds and bruises. Not that he flinches. He doesn’t move a muscle or show any reaction other than constantly tracking her movements. It becomes absorbing too. A task that she finds herself relishing for the simple fact of having purpose and objective. The long days in the self-imposed exile of the church kept her alive but the lack of stimulation became something worse than injury. It sapped her mind, her motivation and brought a depressive fug down that made her stare for hours at the distant treeline. Now she has something to do and a reason for doing it. Paco will keep her alive and in turn, she will keep him alive. She soaps his arms, legs and back. She washes his stomach and chest, across his shoulders and uses the ladder to ever so gently clean his neck, picking bits of grit out from the wounds with her gloved fingers. She gets close as she works, her face sometimes an inch from different parts of his body. The heat is incredible and grows as the morning goes on with a blazing sun baking the yard and humidity that draws the sweat from her body.

After changing the water she climbs up the ladder and lifts an eyebrow while staring at his face. She works delicately round his jaw, scrubbing at the strands of his beard to make sure the filth is washed away. She works his cheeks, his nose and laughs when he sprays soap bubbles from his mouth and goes even more gently when she cleans the area around his eyes.

Every inch of him is cleaned. Well, apart from several inches that are ignored until she finishes and has to accept the inevitable. She replaces the soapy water and goes behind him to do his backside first. Not looking but going quickly to wipe and clean. It has to be done. Dirt causes infection and the human body in this heat will be a breeding ground for bacteria. She rinses the cloth and heads round the front with a big sigh. Again she doesn’t look but gets the soapy cloth and lifts his penis to clean underneath. She smiles at him, showing this is being done through necessity and not for any other reason.

‘Got to be clean,’ she murmurs. Testicles done. Now the big one. No, not the big one, don’t say big one.

‘I didn’t say big one,’ she tells him quickly. She grips and starts cleaning, not too hard but hard enough to rid the filth and grime. She could see he isn’t circumcised and knows that means she has to pull the skin back to clean the head of the penis. Right. Hold the shaft and slide the skin back then clean the head. Okay, she grips the shaft in one hand and uses the other to ease the skin back to expose the head. She doesn’t look but goes by touch alone and feels the ridge of the head in her gloved fingers then guides the cloth to start rubbing gently.

It becomes a moment of meaning. Not of sexual intent or any hint of desire. Not of physical admiration or yearning of any description but a hint of tenderness to do something you don’t wish to do to keep the other safe. He kept her safe yesterday. He killed for her. Nearly every one of these bites and marks were made by him killing to keep her alive. So for that she will do this.

She steps back and smiles warmly from the eyes, ‘all clean,’ she says. ‘You look so much better, really you do. Right, hold on there. Got a few more bits to do.’

The antiseptic comes next. She knows he doesn’t feel pain but she goes gently anyway. It feels right to go gently. She holds the previous feeling in her mind, of what he did for her. She wouldn’t be alive now if not for him. Every cut is cleaned with antiseptic and even though she has no idea if it does any good she guesses it can’t do any harm.

At his neck she moves with something close to tenderness. Dabbing softly to get the liquid into every laceration. As she works she notices those wounds are meshing together and the puncture marks are already closing up.

She dabs his face, his ears and cheeks. His right eye where it was swollen yesterday and any part that looks bruised, cut or bit. After that she opens the first aid box and unwraps a sterile white bandage that she uses to wrap round his neck. Securing the end with a tie off. The deep bite on his arm is dressed, one on leg and the nasty scratches round his stomach too. He gets plastered and bandaged with medical tape and gauze.

‘Oh my gosh,’ she says proudly, stepping back once more to admire her work. With his neck covered he looks like Paco Maguire.
The
Paco Maguire. ‘Wow, look at you,’ she adds with an approving nod. A warm feeling spreads inside and she frowns while smiling then laughs gently at the utter surrealness of it all. She just washed and bandaged a big time movie actor. Bloody hell.