Blood on the Floor: An Undead Adventure (20 page)

That fire passes but there are more. The storm was vast and violent with bolts scorching many a building. Some are close, as close as the one they passed first. Others are further away but all remain unseen. A landscape of noise and smells with sometimes faint orange glows but she holds his hand with her fingers interlocked through his and walks on.

They become trapped in a bubble but despite the weirdness of it, despite the weirdness of everything these last few days, she still feels strangely content and safe. Holding onto Paco and stopping every now and then to get food from the bag. She likes feeding him too. The act of it and the fact that he eats it. Whether he enjoys it or not is beyond her. The morning passes and they walk on, following lines in the road until Paco comes to a sudden stop.

‘What’s wrong?’ she whispers, alert now and glaring ahead. He grunts but his arms remain untensed and there’s no sign of his hands holding hers trying to form a fist. She stares round, straining to listen but hearing nothing other than him grunting a couple of times. She looks up, seeing his face slightly flushed. ‘You okay? What’s wrong, Paco?’ She moves in front to examine him for injury or illness, and instantly worries at the unfocussed look in his eyes. ‘Paco,’ she cups his face, tilting him down to get eye contact. ‘What’s wrong?’ He grunts, flushes then refocuses on her eyes with what can only be described as an expression of relief. ‘What on earth was that?’ she asks, puzzled at his behaviour. He seems fine. Back to normal. She shrugs and sighs. He stares down, his eyes holding with his expression the same as ever before.

In the end she walks on but she does keep glancing at him, leaning forward to look up at his face. She settles after a few minutes and sighs heavy and long with an exhalation of air that means a big breath is taken back in.

‘Oh you,’ she stops to stare aghast at him. At the smell hitting her nose. ‘Did you poo yourself?’ she reels back, gagging from the stench of faeces coming from the general area of his backside. ‘You bloody did! You had a poo. Oh Paco, that’s disgusting. No don’t come closer…stay back there you dirty sod…oh no…stop that…’ she cries out at the dark patch spreading across his groin.

Paco may be in the true state of being but the super-charged cells in his body have taken the nutrients to aid the healing process and have made greater use of the food and fluids than a normal body would but it still produces waste. Waste that has to be expunged. He’s had a shit and now takes a piss while staring at Heather glaring daggers at him while pinching her nose.

She sags on the spot knowing what must be done. The bag is slipped off and opened, wipes laid out ready, new boxers, new trousers and a new t shirt just in case he’s got shit on that too.

‘Right, come on then,’ she starts undressing him, squinting in disgust at the smell. Boots off, socks off, dungarees unfastened and dropped to his ankles. Legs out one at a time until he’s standing in his shit stained soaking wet underpants. They too come down and get thrown quickly away while she yacks and groans. ‘Turn round, go on…Paco turn round.’

He does. He turns round but the sight of his toned backside covered in poo robs the thought of him learning verbal commands. ‘Bugger,’ she sags again, arms herself with wipes and goes on. It comes away easy enough. She wipes and cleans, pushing the wipes between his buttocks to make sure it’s all gone. More wipes are used to clean his front, between his legs and his groin. Paco doesn’t mind. Heather’s touching him anywhere is fine by him. The wipes get flung away to lie forever in the road and once clean she stands back to let him dry out while choosing which pair of new boxers he should wear. Definitely the black ones. She gets him dressed, pulling his pants up then getting him in new trousers, clean socks and his boots finish his lower body.

‘Top off,’ she says, absorbed in her work again. Might as well get him done now. ‘Arms up.’

He lifts his arms and even bends over when told as she pulls his t shirt over his head and cleans his body down with more wipes. In the middle of a road in a place she has no clue of being in she takes his bandages off, checks and cleans his wounds and decides which ones can be left uncovered. He is healing fast. Like super-fast. Way faster than a normal person should heal.

The biggest surprise comes from his throat when she unwinds the long bandage that gets cast aside. It’s still a mess of ragged skin but so much better than it was. She fingers the wounds, inspecting closely at the way the flesh is knotting back together. It’s remarkable. Truly astounding. She cleans and applies antiseptic with a sneaking suspicion that he would heal regardless of her doing so. She does it anyway and applies a new bandage before getting a new top over his head.

His face is wiped. His ears cleaned. A toothbrush is loaded with paste and made wet from bottled water. His teeth are brushed. The brush is then anti-bacced and put safely away in a plastic bag. Her gloves are anti-bacced. Everything is anti-bacced and there, standing before her, is the brand new clean and dressed former Hollywood movie star Paco Maguire looking distinctly content with life. Not that he knows what life is.

The morning passes in a bubble of dense impenetrable fog but they walk on in degrees of silence and one-sided conversation of Heather imparting her views on any and all subjects that flit into her head.

The ground begins to rise, slowly at first but steeper as time passes. She gets the feeling of leaving the town but cannot say how or why. The lines end at a junction and ahead lies plain empty tarmac that must be another country lane. She presses on simply because the alternative is to either go back or wait where they are.

It’s still hot, very hot and she gains an understanding of just how dense this fog is if the heat of the sun can’t burn it away.

She senses rather than sees the change when it comes. A greater spatial awareness begins to develop and it takes several minutes to realise the fog is shifting. She tugs on his hand, bringing him to a stop to watch the bank receding and becoming thinner, wispier, less dense. It’s fast too. Like suddenly being dissolved. She sees the hedge at the side of the lane then the field the other side that rolls down the hill they’re climbing. All around the view opens up and above their heads too giving her a remarkable sense of freedom, like stepping out from a locked room. It’s an incredible thing to see. Fog shifting so fast and rolling back to evaporate and simply cease to be in form and life.

‘Wow,’ she mutters as the edge of the town comes into view. The fog dissipates, showing more and more that her eyes struggle to take in. A whole town laid out beneath her. A whole town destroyed with so many fires raging away. Whole streets ablaze with thick black smoke drifting up into the sky. Roofs torn off leaving gaping holes. The top of a church tower has snapped off and lies embedded in the church roof below. Carnage and destruction everywhere but on a far greater scale than anything done by humankind since the world fell. The landscape is changed too. Whole rows of hedges gone. Trees uprooted with more trees lying smashed into houses. It looks truly apocalyptic but as she studies the view so she begins to see the normalcy between the spots of destruction. Streets that look undamaged. Houses intact and solid. It’s not that bad actually. It just looks bad because of the fires and smoke.

After a few minutes she puts her back to the town and presses on to walk up the hill with her hand still holding his.

Twenty Two

The bubble the fog created seems to stay. A bubble of a quasi-reality within the actual reality. There’s something about walking that is healing in a way nothing else is. It soothes the mind and creates a natural portal for the worries and thoughts held inside to come out.

So they walk and Heather talks. She tells him everything which comes out in a topic leaping confusing flow of information. Not that Paco minds or indeed understands but her tone stays soft, if somewhat unceasing and relentless. It’s as though the years of self-imposed exile that began before the days of self-imposed exile within the church can now be processed and discussed. A one sided discussion it may be but Paco proves that what he misses in conversant ability he more than makes up for with his ability to listen. He is a good listener.

Heather tells him of the many jobs she had and how each ended the same as the others until her CV looked more like the menu from a pizzeria than a document of work history. She worked in a pizza place too but not for long. She left there to work in the cinema next door but that got boring. She was only young back then but that flitting way of life was something that stayed with her. When she finished university so she was offered better positions but it was the same as the pizza place and the cinema. Fine at first but then stifling until it became panic inducing.

‘It was always like,
Hey Heather, what you doing at the weekend? Come out with us. Hey Heather, you coming to the staff party. Hey Heather, you haven’t put your name down for secret Santa. Have you got family? Where do your family live? Where did you grow up? What school did you go to? Where’s your mum and your dad and…
and I just couldn’t deal with it. I’d get all worked up on a day off at the thought of going back in and people asking what I did on my day off.’

The day moves on. They stop for water and snack food and wipes are used to refresh hot faces. It’s nice just walking with no direction or place to reach. Just following the country lanes that meander through the fields and meadows. Through forests and heath land and all the while under a gorgeous blue sky. The heat remains but nothing like the absurd temperature of yesterday.

‘So then I changed to this accountancy training course that I thought would be cool but my god that was the most boring job ever and being stuck in an office with the same people five days a week was just torture. I met Colin though. He was nice. He was really gentle and patient and said he fancied me and asked me on a date but I said no and the look on his face made me feel so bad I ended up saying yes. So…you know…we kind of dated a bit but…I’d already sex and…I’m not a virgin or anything like that but…well it was like I knew they wanted sex so I thought I had to do it or they would get it from someone else. I hated it though. Not the sex but someone touching me like that. Always made me think of my mum. Colin was a bit different because he was like so patient and understanding. I thought he was patient and understanding anyway. Turns out he wasn’t that patient and understanding. Well no, I mean he was nice but he was a man and all men want to do is poke their willies in you and I could tell he was like frustrated so I gave in and we did it but it wasn’t nice. I’ve only had sex with three people and that was one time each with the first two and then I think twice with Colin so that’s like four times. I bet you’ve had hundreds, probably a thousand. I read somewhere that you were like a sex addict or something and you’d cheated on every girl you’d ever been with…which is disgusting. Like totally disgusting. How could you do that? Didn’t you care for them? What if they fell in love with you? That’s so bad. I can’t believe you were like that. No, I’m not holding hands now you’ve just wound me up. I said no. No don’t try and hold hands. I’m not holding hands with a man who slept with like two thousand women. I’m surprised your willy didn’t fall off. I bet you never used condoms with them either. Oh that’s disgusting, Paco. Like three thousand women and all without a condom. No! I’m not holding hands with a misogynist. This is a misogynist free zone. See this space round me, like round here…this is my safe place where womanisers can’t go and, get off…get your hand away…Just don’t talk to me. No. Not talking to you. I’m so disappointed in you, Paco. Like four thousand women? Seriously? Urgh I cleaned that willy, Paco. I’m not actually even surprised you caught zombie,’

She walks on with her arms folded while casting accusing glances at Paco who doesn’t understand anything but somehow implies the expression that he has done something wrong without knowing what. His hand goes out towards her and gets slapped away. He liked it when her hand with in his. He tries again and gets slapped. He tries again and gets slapped. He waits, tries again and gets slapped. He pauses, waits, tries again and this time she laughs when she slaps his hand.

‘Such an idiot,’ she tells him, half with an evil eye and half with a big grin. ‘My feet are hot. Hang on,’ she stops to slide the bag off, groaning with relief. ‘You carry this for a bit,’ she closes his hand round the handle at the top and smiles evilly while poking the tip of her tongue out between her teeth. ‘Turn round,’ she laughs at her own idea. He turns away and waits. ‘Piggy back,’ she gets her hands on his shoulders, braces, bunches power and jumps up to wrap her gloved hands round his head while wiggling to get her legs round his waist. ‘You can carry me for sleeping with like five thousand women,’ she tells him. ‘Go on…gee up…’

Childish, stupid and ill-considered but she laughs all the more in delight for the actuality of being carried like this. He walks on as though heedless to the weight, without complaint and without a flicker of annoyance. His eyes can’t see her but it’s okay. He can feel her. He knows where she is. She is safe.

She thought she would only stay up for a minute on a spur of the moment idea but as the laugh eases so she stays. Her legs squeezing in to keep in place while her arms go round his shoulders. She sinks down a bit without a single care that he is infected. She hears his breathing and feels his heart through his back. She feels the heat coming from his body and the motion as he walks. She feels his beard on her arms and the muscles of his shoulders under his shirt and in that second she has never felt so safe and secure. She turns to rest a cheek on the top of his head and watches the hedges glide by and the rabbits running free in the grass on the other side.

Childish but hers was taken away. Stupid but then life is stupid and meaningless and she spent her whole existence shying away and now she doesn’t want to. He might be infected but he’ll never hurt her and as for being ill-considered? Who gives a fig at ill-considered. She had years of everything being
too
considered, she deserves a bit of the other side now.

People hurt and people take. People cannot be trusted. Paco isn’t people but then he isn’t one of them either. She doesn’t know what he is but she wishes she could kiss the top of his head in a gesture of affection but even she knows that’s a step too far. Like hand feeing a lion. You can get close but you can never be sure.

Paco would walk forever with her on his back. The heat doesn’t bother him. You need a conscious mind to be bothered by such things and his primed body works to adjust any changes in core temperature.

All things have an end and eventually she slides off, especially when her thighs start hurting from squeezing to stay on. She smiles and takes the bag from him that gets put on her own back to share the burden. That’s what friends do. They share the burden.

In the late afternoon they stop at the edge of a village to rest under the shade of an oak tree with an enormous canopy bursting with green leaves. She drops the bag and stretches her back thinking how to teach Paco to massage her lower lumber region.

‘We’ll rest for a few minutes…come on, sit down with me…’ she blinks as he lowers down with her, not expecting him to do it so quickly. Water is poured over faces and fed into mouths to slake their thirst.

The village isn’t big. One main road through the middle with parking bays on one side outside the local mini-market. She spots the ubiquitous hair salon next to the equally ubiquitous mock Tudor pub complete with thatched roof. All of which lie opposite a small green which of course has the ubiquitous benches, duck pond, memorial and tea gardens. A picture postcard snapshot of village life in southern England but all so contrived and false. The hairdressers in the salon would have been complete gossiping bitches. The mini-market was probably owned by some conglomerate corporation that had offshore tax avoidance schemes in place. The pub is no doubt owned by a brewery who wished they had a normal slate roof for combined costs of heating and insurance. The grass area will have a sign telling children to fuck off and play somewhere else and the tea gardens would have sold overpriced commercially produced clotted cream served on defrosted scones served with tea that came from cheap as shit catering sized boxes the size of a coffin. All of which faces a memorial that honours young men sent off to kill and get killed by other young men who were equally sent off to die in the name of good and evil. She snorts in humour at her own thoughts then instantly feels guilty for the last internal comment. Those young men served their country and died defending freedom. All the memorials in these places are from the world wars and those were wars that faced down oppression and tyranny. It was brave people doing the right thing.

The rest of it stands though. Especially the hair salon with the gossiping bitches. She twists round to stretch her legs out and gently lowers until the back of her head rests on his leg. This is bliss. Perfect bliss. Hot but shaded and her legs feel all tingly again from walking so far.

She shifts position and reaches back to hook his wrist to bring it over. ‘Ooh hello,’ she chuckles when his arm comes down across her shoulder with his hand resting on the swell of her right breast. ‘Going for five thousand and one yeah?’ she looks up grinning and gently moves his hand a few inches to rest in the middle. Is this right? A sudden unsettling thought springs to mind. What if he wouldn’t want to put his arm over her. He’s not a toy to be played with or a blow up doll to give mock affection. No, but he does have a clean arse after shitting himself so for that he can just leave his arm where it is thank you very much. She nods in affirmation at telling herself off and sighs heavy and languorous. Her eyes close, not for sleep but because it’s nice. If this is her life now then it’s fine. She’ll take it. No refunds, no exchanges.

Her head slams down as he wrenches up with a speed that belies his size. ‘Ow,’ she yelps in pain at her skull hitting a stone poking through the earth but Paco is already gone. She sits up, eyes wide and heart hammering at the three charging towards him. She didn’t see where they came off but they’re moving fast. Two men and a woman and she’s back in the town where she first met Paco. Back there with the threat of death and the realisation that this new world is very dangerous. There’s an exception now though and that’s the big man charging to meet them with his fists clenched and his arms tensed. His head held steady and he runs faster than they do. He runs harder on a body given fuel and rest and with a mind that has something to protect.

On her feet and she goes for the bag, hefting it up as Paco slams the first man down into the road and brings a foot down to crunch the bones of his ribcage back into his body to puncture lungs and pierce his heart. The second man runs in to be swatted aside with a snarling growl and is sent spinning into the plate glass window of the ubiquitous hair salon that smashes to rain down in a cascade of glittering glass. The woman is next. Lithe and young with long dark hair streaming out and hands clawed in talons and with a mouth drooling saliva down her filthy blood encrusted chin. She slams into Paco, her mouth going for the bite as he wraps his arms round her, lifts and snaps her spine with a brutal ease that makes Heather flinch. He drops the woman and looks round, his arms wide and ready. His whole body bigger and pumped. The man smashed into the window crawls on bleeding hands through the broken shards towards Paco who strides, picks him and slams him down headfirst into the pavement. His skull implodes from the force, spraying blood, brains and goo all over the ground.

He checks his kills. His red bloodshot eyes glaring and hard. His head snaps to see Heather running towards him while hefting the rucksack up onto her back.

‘Are you okay?’ she rushes in, ignoring the bodies and feeling only the adrenalin spiking and coursing through her veins. Her gloved shaking hands reach for his face to check he’s okay but he pulls away sharply with an arm that comes up to sweep her round behind him.

‘Shit,’ she didn’t see them. Five, six…no seven. Seven coming from the other side of the duck pond. They’ll hurt him again. They should run. ‘Run…’ she grabs his wrist to start pulling him but he refuses to budge. He won’t go. She knows it. He won’t run and even if they do run those things will chase and never grow tired. This is why she has him isn’t it? For this? Remember what he did in TK Maxx. Remember what he is. She bites her lip, scared witless and wanting only to flee and hide but his snarl sounds deep and clear. His head lifts, his stance wide. His arms tensed. Staring down seven that come for them.

‘Okay,’ she pants, nodding, ‘get ‘em then…’ she nods again, forcing confidence in her voice. ‘Get ‘em, Paco…’

He goes. He goes suddenly without warning to meet them before they get to the road. He barrels into seven without fear or worry or doubt that he will win. This time she doesn’t turn away or hide or cry but stares with abject worry that something will happen to him. Her own hands balling at her sides. Her legs trembling and urging to run away.