The Undead. The First Seven Days (65 page)

The cool air blows into the interior and gives them a blessed few minutes of relief from the intense heat. Slowly, they see movement between the gaps on both sides. Shadowy figures move fast between the vehicles, then more movements up high, as people on the other sides climb up the vehicles. Within minutes, they see barrels poking out of the gaps and aiming directly towards them. The barrels waver for a few minutes as the people on the other sides position themselves, then all goes quiet.
  ‘Has this thing got a public address system?’ Howie asks and Dave starts rummaging round the front again, opening small doors.

He pulls out a truck-style microphone, with a large button on the side. Howie takes the handset and stretches the cord over, he presses the switch on the side and taps the front of the microphone.
  ‘Nothing - must be a switch somewhere,’ Howie says to Dave.
  ‘That one there, Dave,’ Nick Hewitt leans forward and points to one of the switches.

Dave presses it and Howie again taps on the handset, a loud thumping noise sounds from the hidden speakers set round the vehicle.
  ‘Here goes,’ Howie says quietly and presses the switch.
  ‘HELLO? ANYONE THERE?’ Howie’s voice booms out into the quiet air. ‘WE ARE NOT LOOKING FOR TROUBLE; WE JUST NEED TO GET THROUGH.

Nothing happens, so Howie again presses the button: ‘WE JUST WANT TO GET THROUGH, WE DO NOT WANT ANY TROUBLE.’
  ‘How many can you see, Dave?’ Howie asks, quietly.
  ‘At least twenty on both sides and more moving round behind them,’ Dave murmurs.
  ‘Looks like we got a reaction,’ Howie says, as a figure is seen crawling under the truck parked ahead of them.

The person crawls out and slowly gets to his feet.
  ‘There’s more behind him, weapons trained on us,’ Dave murmurs again.
  ‘Bloody hell, mate, you’ve got good eyes,’ Howie says, squinting into the gloom and just making out some movement under the truck.
  A very strange looking man stands up and slowly starts walking towards them. He is tall and very thin with long, straggly blond hair hanging limp down at his sides. Black sunglasses on his pale face and dressed in black, with a flash of white socks as he bounces towards them. The man has sets of keys and other objects hanging from his belt.
  ‘Looks like a fucking day release patient,’ Cookey mutters behind them, as the man slowly walks forward towards the Saxon.
  The man stops a few feet back from the front of the vehicle and slowly lifts his hand up to wave at them and smile.
  ‘What the fuck?’ Blowers states.
  Howie waves back and indicates for the man to come closer.

The man steps forward again and Howie waves him round to the driver’s door and cracks the window open a few inches.
  ‘Hello mate,’ Howie says, through the window - trying to keep his voice friendly.
  ‘Hello,’ the man says in a high-pitched voice and stands staring up at Howie.
  ‘Erm, is everything okay?’ Howie asks, unsure of how to proceed.
  ‘Yes, fine thanks,’ the man says.
  ‘So… is something wrong with the road?’ Howie asks and the man shakes his head.
  ‘Erm, it’s just that there’s a big truck parked across it and we can’t get through,’ Howie says.
  ‘Big Chris put the truck there, I helped him though,’ the man says to Howie.
  ‘That’s great, it’s a… err.. good truck, it’s just blocking the road at the moment.’ The man nods back at Howie. Howie, in turn, looks over at Dave who shrugs.
  ‘He’s a fucking nutter,’ Blowers says quietly.

Howie turns back to the man: ‘I’m Howie, it’s nice to meet you.’
  ‘I’m Damien,’ the man says, simply.
  ‘Hi, Damien, I would get out to shake your hand, but I don’t want to get shot by your friends,’ Howie smiles and nods up at the trucks parked to the sides.
  ‘Oh, they won’t shoot you,’ Damien laughs with glee and claps his hands.
  ‘That’s great… did this Big Chris send you out to speak to us,’ Howie asks.
  ‘Yep, he said I was the messenger,’ Damien nods, seriously.
  ‘Well - that’s great Damien, did he give you a message then?’
  ‘Yep.’
  ‘And… er… what is the message, mate?’
  ‘Oh yeah, ha… I forgot to tell you, didn’t I,’ Damien slaps his own forehead and laughs again. ‘Big Chris said to ask you what you want.’
  ‘Oh, can you tell him we just want to get through,’ Howie says.
  ‘Okay.’ Damien stands still, smiling up at Howie, not moving.
  ‘Er… and also that we don’t want any trouble and it would be very nice of him to let us go through,’ Howie adds.
  ‘Okay,’ Damien says and remains rooted to the spot.
  ‘I was just thinking, Damien, that I forget messages too, if I don’t hurry and relay them - maybe you should hurry - so you don’t forget?’ Howie says, kindly.
  ‘Oh yeah, sorry.’ Damien turns and runs back to the truck; like a child with his arms up in the air. He gets to the truck and bends over dramatically and looks to be shouting through.
  ‘Jesus, he’s a bit special,’ Cookey says.
  ‘Relation of yours, is he?’ Blowers asks, to a few sniggers.
  ‘Fuck you,’ Cookey retorts. ‘He’s coming back,’ Cookey adds as Damien runs back to them to stand by the side and stare up at Howie again.
  ‘Hi, Damien,’ Howie says.
  ‘Hi,’ Damien replies.
  ‘Did you tell them our message?’
  ‘Yep.’
  ‘Okay, that’s great, thanks mate, what did they say?’
  ‘Big Chris said to ask you where are you going?’
  ‘We are going into the City, can you tell him that mate? We just want to get through and be on our way.’
  ‘Okay.’ Damien replies and again stands still.
  ‘You’d best rush mate, before we forget our messages,’ Howie prompts and Damien runs off back to the truck.

They watch him bending over and then start back towards them, before being called back and bending over again and then running back to stand beside the driver’s door.
  ‘Hi,’ Damien waves up at Howie.
  ‘Hi, Damien, what did he say?’ Howie asks.
  ‘Big Chris said the City is gone, but I don’t know where it’s gone, he didn’t say that,’ Damien says, looking confused.
  ‘This is going to take all day,’ Howie says quietly to Dave. ‘Maybe I’ll just go and talk to them.’
  ‘I’ll come too,’ Dave says, not a question - but a statement.
  ‘Dave, it might be best if you stay here and watch my back?’ Howie says, concerned that if they both get shot it wouldn’t leave anyone to get to Sarah, and would also leave the recruits on their own.
  ‘Okay, take Blowers,’ Dave says.
  ‘Blowers, you happy with that?’ Howie calls back.
  ‘Yes, Sir. Out the back or over the seat and out with you?’ Blowers asks.
  ‘Hang on, just a second,’ Howie says and turns back to Damien. ‘Damien, can you tell Big Chris that we will come and speak with him - make sure you tell him we are not armed, can you do that?’
  ‘Okay,’ Damien says excitedly and runs back towards the truck and bends over to shout the message through, pointing back at the Saxon.

Howie presses the button on the handset microphone still in his hand and speaks into it.
  ‘TWO OF US ARE COMING OUT. WE ARE NOT ARMED.’ Howie’s voice booms in the enclosed area.
  ‘I fucking hope he’s not like that fucking bloke in Portsmouth,’ Howie says to Dave.
  ‘Me too.’
  ‘What bloke?’ Blowers asks as he puts his rifle down and prepares to climb over the driver’s seat.
  ‘Tell you later, mate - you ready?’ Howie asks.
  ‘Yep.’
  Howie slowly opens the door and climbs down to stand beside the Saxon, his hands clearly up.

Blowers slowly climbs out and stands next to him, he sees Howie’s arms up and raises his too.
  ‘Nice and slow mate,’ Howie whispers and they walk towards the parked truck. They both hear as the driver’s door of the Saxon is closed behind them. Howie looks up at the barrels moving along with them.
  ‘They got a lot of guns,’ Howie says quietly to Blowers.
  ‘Yeah, they bloody do, and they’re all pointing at us,’ Blowers replies, under his breath.
They stop a few metres back from the truck and wait in silence. Then, Damien stands back up and walks over to them.
  ‘Big Chris said you can go through and talk to him.’
  ‘Thanks mate, do we go under that?’ Howie asks, pointing to the truck.
  ‘Yep, follow me,’ Damien turns and walks to the truck and drops to all fours, before crawling underneath it.
  ‘Oh well, we’re here now,’ Howie shrugs and starts after him.

Blowers follows and they drop onto hands and knees to crawl under the vehicle; the smell of oil and rubber filling their noses as they proceed into the shade.

They emerge into bright sunlight and look up to see many men staring down at them, all of them armed with various weapons: shotguns, handguns, rifles and even a few machine guns.
  One man stands in the centre; he is about average height but is very wide with massive powerful shoulders and thick arms.

Howie looks up at him and notices that he isn’t pumped up like a body builder, just a naturally big man, clean shaved with short, dark, tidy hair.
  The big man gives an easy smile as they get to their feet. ‘Just stand still for a moment please, we need to be sure you’re not armed,’ he says, in a firm, but polite voice.
  Two men move forward and pat Howie and Blowers down; they are thorough and take the time to check side pockets and waistbands. They move away and nod to the big man who takes a step.
  ‘So, which one of you is the boss?’ He asks in the same polite tones.

Blowers speaks first, indicating Howie: ‘Mr Howie, is.’
  ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Howie. I’m Chris,’ they shake hands and his giant mitt dwarfs Howie’s hand, but his grip is surprisingly light.
  ‘Hi, it’s just Howie, good to meet you - you must be Big Chris,’ Howie says smiling and trying to avoid the name Mr Howie from catching on again. ‘This is Blowers.’ Chris shakes hands with Blowers and turns straight back to Howie.
  ‘So… you must be the Army, then?’ Chris says, politely.
  ‘No mate… we just kind of borrowed one of their vehicles.’
  ‘In Army clothes? With this one calling you Mr Howie?’ Chris enquires with another rueful smile.
  ‘Like I said mate, it really is a long story - we’re just trying to get through, but the truck is in the way.’
  ‘I tell you what, Mr Howie, it’s a hot day and we’re all melting out here, step back in the shade with me and have a drink - then you can tell me that long story,’ Chris turns and walks away from them, making it clear they are in his backyard now.

Howie glances round to see the truck has enough room to roll forward but not backwards and the rows of vehicles are stacked up here too, forming another narrow roadway.

They fall in step, next to each other, and follow Chris further down the narrow lane, the armed men wait for them to go past, then fall in behind them - a few staying behind to man the gateway.

The narrow lane ends suddenly and the wide road and pavement are ahead of them.
  Chris leads them to a London pub; hanging baskets filled with flowers droop from iron railings. Wooden benches with sun parasols stretched taught over them, offer a shady relief from the sun’s strong rays.
  Howie and Blowers exchange a glance at the people already sitting at the benches and other seats nearby: families with children playing in the road and people walking about, some with purpose and others chatting amiably. The people stop and stare at the uniforms worn by Howie and Blowers. Although they are not in Army greens, they both have tan coloured combat trousers and black tops on, with utility belts hanging from their waists. Howie nods back and smiles at them as he passes, Blowers picks up on this and soon he is offering nods and smiles to the people too.
  They seem comforted to see Big Chris with them and, within minutes, they return to what they were doing and the scene switches back to normal. Which is strange, as this road looks normal, with normal people dressed in normal clothes and nobody walking round with horrific injuries. The people look clean and the road and pavements are free from litter. None of the buildings here have been looted and the windows are still intact. Armed men and women patrol through the crowds and Howie watches people stop and talk to them, chatting… normally. No signs of oppression or forced captivity.
  The street stretches away and they see more people walking about or sitting in the shade.
  ‘This looks like a movie set,’ Howie whispers to Blowers.
  Chris leads them to a wooden bench and nods at the people sat round nearby, they nod back, and when they see Chris take a seat and motion for Howie and Blowers to sit down, they start moving away.
  ‘It’s all right, you don’t have to leave,’ Chris calls out and Howie watches them closely for signs of forced behaviour, but they smile back naturally and politely make room.
  ‘Sit down lads, get out of that sun for a minute,’ Chris says and they both sit down opposite him.

An adult woman strolls out with three bottles of water and hands one to each of them, before smiling and stroking the back of Chris’s neck - he smiles back sweetly and she strolls off back inside the pub. Chris takes a long drink and looks at Howie.
  ‘So, about this long story?’ He asks.
  ‘Mate, I’m sorry, but this is staggering,’ Howie says looking about. ‘Not what I was expecting at all.’
  ‘What were you expecting?’ Chris says, with a slight smile.
  ‘I don’t know, some kind of enforced camp or something,’ Howie says, still looking about at the idyllic scene.
  ‘it looks nice doesn’t it, took some doing though, I can tell you, but we’ve got more people arriving every day, and we try to squeeze them in, of course we got to be careful we don’t get too big but we can always expand out a little if we need to.’
  ‘It’s amazing, Chris, how many people have you got here?’ Howie asks, genuinely impressed.
  ‘Hmmm, I think the last count yesterday was just over two thousand,’ Chris answers, as Howie’s mouth drops.
  ‘Bloody hell, two thousand?’ He exclaims.
  ‘Well, that was yesterday - but more have arrived during the night and more today - so it has gone up a little,’ Chris explains.
  ‘I don’t know what to say - I went through Portsmouth and some bloke had formed a barricade but he was keeping the people against their will and stockpiling all the supplies for himself and his mates, right nasty bugger he was.’ Howie says.
  ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, lads, we have strict rules here, I won’t pretend otherwise, but no one is held against their will - they can and come and go as they please. People are going out all the time, going to their houses to get things they want - or trying to find family and friends. We have a procedure though and no one gets back in without going through it.’
  ‘What procedure is that? If you don’t mind me asking mate.’ Howie says, quickly adding the polite bit on the end, in case he sounded too demanding.
  ‘It sounds harsh, but we have sterile viewing areas where they have to strip off, but only so we can check them for bites and scratches, and we only use same sex vetting.’ Chris says.
  ‘We had to do a similar thing when we took refuge in a police station, it seemed horrible but it makes sense.’
  ‘So, let’s talk about you for a minute,’ Chris says politely. ‘You’re saying you are not from the Army?’
Howie explains how he and Dave started out and how they met the recruits along the way, Chris listens patiently, asking pertinent questions at key points and going over certain bits again - until he is sure he understands it.