The Undead Day Nineteen (27 page)

‘Reggie?’ I ask.

‘The other player has certainly attempted to make use of the water supply but I maintain those bodies in that former tank would not be sufficient. There will be an external tanking system that we must check.’

‘Fair enough, Dave, lead on.’

Our motley crew of intrepid detective explorers continue to venture to the last section of tanks and machines until we reach a door set in the wall.

‘Hmmm,’ I say quietly, ‘I wish we had a way of magically opening doors.’ I step aside to let Clarence squeeze through to magically open the door that pings off after being kicked.

‘Hey presto,’ Clarence says, turning to grin back as Dave lifts and fires past his head to the infected looming behind him. To his credit, Clarence doesn’t flinch but stands stock still for a second before blinking heavily and stretching his jaw, ‘I felt that, Dave.’

‘You were not in danger.’

‘I felt the air.’

‘You were not in danger.’

‘I was still turning.’

‘I calculated your motion.’

‘Course you did,’ Clarence mutters and steps outside to stick a finger in his ear that he waggles about.

‘All this water makes me need a wee,’ Marcy says from behind me.

‘That shot was fucking awesome, Dave,’ Mo says once Clarence is outside.

‘Did you lift?’ Dave asks him.

‘I did but not fast enough.’

‘Good gosh, young man, you were very fast indeed,’ Reginald says.

We get out into the sunshine and follow the pipes and tanks down to the large cylindrical tank that seems to be embedded into the ground. It looked big from the car park but up close I can see just how enormous it is and I guess more of the mass must be underground.

Another metal gantry circumvents the exterior to form a rising walkway with a door fitted near the top and even from here I can see the door is open. The security here is shit. I mean really shit. Weak chain link gates and crappy wooden doors and it must have been built before anyone ever considered terrorism and the ability to fuck about with the local water supply.

We head up the walkway, looping round the tank until we reach the wide platform and the open door. Meredith, as ever, goes first, closely followed by Dave and the rest of us who can smell them before we take a step inside.

The metallic tang of blood and shit hits us hard. The smell of rotten flesh and body odour. With hands over mouths we get inside to stand on the gantry that overviews the mass of water that should be held inside. The tank is nearly empty now and I guess without the treatment centre operating the tank can’t be refilled. We shine torches down to the water and the bodies and bits of bodies floating on the top. The water isn’t clear here either but turned red and the sides are stained pink showing the water level has dropped since the infected got in here.

They’ve flayed themselves to bits. Literally ripping limbs off and pulling organs and innards out. Small chunks of meat and flesh float on the water and I hear the buzzing of flies having a merry old time below us.

‘Yes indeed,’ Reginald says with a tone of victory at being proven right, ‘yes, this will do it. Indeed it would. This tank feeds the pipes and we can see the water level has reduced from the demand of this area.’

I shake my head and sigh deeply, ‘I’m amazed more weren’t infected.’

‘It looks terrible from here,’ Reginald says, ‘but truly, what we are viewing is dead meat and not living organic tissue. Plus we must consider that it has been some time since we first encountered them in the hotel. The passage of water coming through the piping network must have been sufficiently swift enough to allow the infection to survive within the tissue of material as it flowed from here. We are not that far from the hotel as the crow flies. Indeed, a straight line from here to the hotel is but a short distance.’

‘Is there a town near here?’ I ask.

‘There is,’ he replies quietly, ‘a mile or so past the hotel.’

‘And this water also feeds that town?’

‘Without doubt.’

‘We need to get in and warn them,’ I say, ‘Paula?’

‘Agreed,’ she says instantly.

‘Clarence?’

‘Yep, agreed.’

‘Marcy?’

‘Yeah,’ she says sadly, ‘personally I don’t hold much hope but…’

‘Reggie said the water kills the infection,’ Paula says.

‘I did not say that,’ Reginald says, ‘I said the…’

‘Whatever he said,’ Paula cuts across him, ‘not everyone will have got infected from drinking it.’

Marcy drops her head for a second, ‘one turns and the infection knows everything that person knew. So it will know where the other survivors are if the host knew…’

Paula blinks and looks down at the water, ‘Nothing is ever simple is it?’

Nineteen

‘Kyle,’ I lean into the bus and spot him standing in the middle of the aisle keeping everyone calm, ‘word please?’

‘Of course,’ he threads down and out into the car park.

‘The water supply has been infected,’ I say quickly, ‘there’s a big tank back there that holds the water supply to this area…’

‘It’s full of bodies,’ Paula adds.

‘I see,’ he says, his blue eyes showing a depth of understanding in his craggy weathered features.

‘There’s a town the other side of the hotel fed by the same pipes,’ I say.

He nods with instant understanding, ‘they will need warning...’

‘Exactly,’ I say, ‘but we’ve also got a bus full of people here…we can’t separate our team to transport them and leaving them on their own isn’t really an option either…’

‘Unless they want to be left on their own of course,’ he cuts across me with a level gaze.

‘Shit yeah, yeah of course, they ain’t prisoners or anything like that.’

‘I see, then perhaps a few seconds to inform them would not go amiss.’

‘That’s what I was hoping you would do,’ I say quickly.

‘I shall assist wherever you think I may be of use.’

‘Great, you know, what with you being a priest and everything.’

‘Just a cook, Howie.’

‘Right yes, sorry. Just a cook. So, is that okay? You can put your vicar skills to the test and…’

‘Not a vicar. Just a cook.’

‘Right you are, Rabbi…’

‘Are any of your team medically trained?’

‘What us lot? No chance…unless you count Roy who’s a hypochondriac.’

‘Does he have medical training? I think one of the men broke his arm during the melee this morning.’

‘Broke his arm? Fuck me…’

He tuts and rolls his eyes when I swear. Just a cook my arse.

‘Roy, can you come here please, mate.’

‘Oh god he won’t like this,’ Paula says quickly as Roy climbs down from his van.

‘No?’ I ask.

‘Not a chance,’ she mutters.

‘You ask him then,’ I whisper as he walks over.

‘Sod off,’ she says and walks off.

‘Roy,’ I greet him warmly, which just makes him look at me suspiciously, ‘bloke might have a broken arm.’

‘Okay,’ he says, looking round as if to ask what someone with a broken arm might have to do with him.

‘So like, you alright having a quick look? Cheers, appreciate that. Everyone can…’

‘What?’

‘What?’ I ask him.

‘You want me to touch a sick person? Are you fucking mad?’

‘Not sick, injured.’

‘There’s a sick child too,’ Kyle says, nodding at Roy.

‘No,’ Roy says firmly, ‘I don’t do sick people.’

‘Roy, none of us have a clue…

‘Ask Clarence or Dave, they’ll have basic combat triage and…’

‘Roy, you’ve seen more doctors than everyone here put together,’ Marcy says, ‘some of it must have rubbed off.’

He blinks once and stares at Marcy, ‘rubbed off? You think I have a clue about medical emergencies?’

She shrugs and pulls a face, ‘more than I will.’

‘No,’ Roy says to her then looks at me, ‘no. I don’t do sick people. I hate sick people.’

‘Ach,’ Kyle not just the cook says, ‘hate is a strong word is it not.’

‘No. I hate them.’

‘The man is in agony,’ Kyle says, going from the genial fellow to the man who dissolved us in the kitchen earlier, ‘you’ll not stand by and see another person in pain now would you? And a child? A wee child?’

‘I’m not a doctor. I am a hypochondriac.’

‘You’ll be a medic and put their minds at rest if nothing else,’ Kyle says, his eyes fixed on Roy, ‘and you’ll be doing this now.’

I don’t think anyone would deny being told what to do by Kyle, other than Dave of course but it’s still surprising when Roy just huffs and shakes his head, ‘fine, right…where are they? Someone get me a first aid kit. I’d best look at the child first.’

‘You’re a good man, Roy,’ Kyle says, clapping him on the shoulder, ‘I’ll take you to the boy.’

Paula and I follow them onto the bus and see Kyle leading Roy down the aisle towards the back, ‘this little boy says his tummy hurts,’ Kyle says, his hand resting on the shoulder of a young lad sitting on the lap of a woman.

‘Probably needs a poo,’ Roy says so deadpan it makes me blink until I notice the boy grinning, ‘Do you need a poo, young man?’ Roy asks, staring down before he drops to a crouch in front of the child, ‘Hmmm, perhaps we should have a look,’ Roy says, ‘Let me see.’ He lifts the child’s top up and looks at the clear skin. He presses a hand gently on his tummy then up to the boy’s forehead, ‘When did you last eat? Can you remember? Have you drank any water today? No?’

‘We heard the water was infected,’ the woman holding the child says.

‘Paula,’ Roy says, ‘can we get some food and water into this young man and tell me if his stomach still hurts after.’

‘Yeah course,’ Paula says leaning out of the door to tell someone else to get a case of water from Roy’s van.

‘You wait there,’ Roy tells the boy and stands up to look round, ‘who broke their arm?’

‘Me,’ a man gasps from the other side of aisle.

‘That was stupid,’ Roy says bluntly.

‘Yeah it was, sorry,’ the man winces.

‘Let’s have a look then,’ Roy says with a sigh, ‘well shift towards me, I can’t see it from here can I?’

‘Sorry,’ the man shuffles over as the woman sitting next to him gets up to move out of the way.

With a profound look of distaste on his face, Roy gently feels down the man’s left forearm as he winces and grunts from the pain.

‘Do you think it’s broken?’ I ask.

‘Got to be,’ Roy says, ‘must be a fracture in the forearm. I’ll get him into a sling for now and get some meds into him.’

‘You a medic?’ The man grunts, his face bathed in sweat as he looks up at Roy.

‘I’m…’

‘Yes he is,’ I say before Roy can answer, ‘you’ll be fine,’ I add, hoping I sound confident.

‘First aid kit,’ Paula says, handing it forward, ‘water is just coming.’

Roy opens the lid on the medical box and pulls out a large bandage in a plastic cover that he rips open, ‘not a sling but we’ll do the best we can,’ he mutters as he flicks it out and starts fashioning it. ‘Okay, now this will hurt but once we get it stable you’ll feel much better,’ Roy says as though dreading the prospect of actually having to touch him. ‘Mr Howie, would you hold his arm please.’

‘Course,’ I sling my rifle and edge in to Roy’s side. ‘Er, this one is it?’ I ask, nodding at his left arm held across his chest. The man nods a small frantic motion of his head, ‘right, so…Doc,’ I say glancing at Roy, ‘Er…what do I do?’

‘Doc?’ Roy asks me with a plain look, ‘just hold his arm away from his body and I’ll do the rest.’

Every millimetre the chap moves causes him untold pain. He clamps his jaw shut, breathing fast as I ease his arm out and let Roy get the sling under his elbow.

‘There,’ Roy says tying the knot at the back of the man’s neck, ‘relax…you’ve got to relax into the sling, go on…’

‘Trying,’ the man grunts.

‘Well bloody try harder,’ Roy snaps which makes me wince again but the man responds by visibly sinking his arm into the sling, ‘Well done, wasn’t so hard was it.’

‘Thanks,’ the man says, exhaling slowly.

‘Are you allergic to anything?’

‘Er,’ the man looks at Roy and blinks, ‘Peanuts.’

‘I’m so glad you told me that,’ Roy says staring blankly at the man, ‘I won’t give you the peanut pain killer then…’

‘Oh, oh right…er…sorry. You mean medications?’

‘No I mean peanuts.’

‘I’m not allergic to any medicines.’

‘Good, wait there. You’ll need to eat something before you can have any pain relief.’

‘Okay, Doc. Thanks.’

Fuck me. The world is a strange place populated by very strange people.

‘Roy,’ Paula says from behind us, ‘this lady says she feels sick.’

‘Get her a bucket then,’ Roy replies.

‘Doc, this bloke has cut his arm.’

‘He’s an idiot then.’

‘Is he a medic?’ Someone asks.

‘No. I hate sick people,’ Roy says but it works. By fuck it actually works. The deadpan honesty makes everyone think he is a medic and even Paula stops mid-stride with a case of water bottles to stare open mouthed at him. ‘I also fire a bow,’ Roy tells the sick feeling woman, ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘I feel sick.’

‘That helps. Bit more information?’

‘Sorry, Doc. I er…I feel faint, like light headed and…’

‘Okay,’ Roy says slowly, ‘Did you eat last night when we had food in the hotel?’

‘I…I was too scared,’ the woman says, shaking her head.

‘Too scared to eat? Well, that’s a new diet. Drink water, eat food and tell me if you still feel sick after. In fact, everyone listen. If you feel sick and light headed then eat some food and drink water. Do not moan about feeling sick and light headed if you have not eaten food or drank water. If you still feel sick after eating food and drinking water then you can moan. Understood? Now, which bloody idiot cut his arm?’

‘That was me, Doc.’

‘Let me see it. You haven’t got any infectious diseases have you?’

‘Er no…don’t think so.’

‘What that?’ Roy says staring down at the cut on his arm, ‘that’s a scratch.’

‘It hurts’ the man says defensively.

‘Of course it bloody hurts, you’ve scratched it. Man up.’

‘In the darkest days right?’ Paula whispers behind me.

‘I’m stunned,’ I whisper back.

‘Any other life threatening conditions?’ Roy calls out.

‘Yeah er, sorry,’ a woman lift her arm from the front seats, ‘I’m diabetic.’

‘Insulin dependent? Type one or two?’ Roy fires the question at her.

‘Type one daily,’ she nods, ‘but I’ve only got one left.’

‘I’ve got some, you’ll be fine. Monitor what you eat. Kyle, keep an eye on this woman in case she slips into glycaemic shock. Anyone else? No? Thank god for that,’ he says and walks down and off the bus.

I follow behind him as he retrieves his bow from Marcy, ‘that was fucking amazing, mate.’

‘I hate sick people,’ he says with a shudder.

‘Roy?’ Paula asks, ‘why have you got insulin?’

‘In case I become diabetic of course,’ he says as though the answer is clearly very obvious.

‘Right,’ she says quickly, ‘makes complete sense. They’ve got two cases of water in there and all of our snack food. Even Nick gave his up.’

‘Cheers Nick,’ I call out to him.

‘I’m starving,’ he calls back.

‘We’ll get something when we can, everyone gather in quickly,’ I wait for them to come forward into a group. ‘We’re going into the local town to try and warn any survivors that the water supply is infected. We’ll take anyone that wants to go with us…’

‘We’ll need another bus,’ Nick says.

‘Okay, eyes open for another bus.’

‘And that one is about to conk out,’ Clarence adds.

‘Okay, eyes open for two buses. How we going to do it? I’m thinking we just use the loudspeaker and go slowly through the town. Unless anyone else can think of a better plan. Reggie?’ I ask.

‘You will invite the attention of every infected host body in that area.’

‘Probably. But there can’t be that many otherwise they’d have come for the hotel.’

‘A good point,’ he concedes, ‘I cannot, at this time, think of an alternative plan. It is simple and crude but perhaps the best because of the simplicity.’

‘Less to go wrong,’ Clarence says with a nod.

‘Dave?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘Can you think of a better way to get people from their homes or warn them of a danger to the water supply?’

‘We could do a leaflet drop.’

‘…what the fuck?’

‘A leaflet drop, Mr Howie.’

‘Yes, yes we could do that but er…I don’t think we have any leaflets.’

‘Either house to house or from a low flying aircraft.’

‘Right yes, yes again a great idea but er, we don’t have leaflets or a low flying aircraft.’

‘You just need a normal aircraft, Mr Howie. The pilot flies it low.’

‘Ah right, yeah of course, but we don’t have an aircraft, a pilot or any leaflets.’

‘Radio broadcast,’ he says.

‘A what?’ I ask.

‘A radio broadcast is a good way to alert the population to a localised threat.’

‘We can’t do that either.’

‘Then no, Mr Howie. I cannot think of a better way to warn people of an issue with their water supply.’