The Undead. The First Seven Days (70 page)

Chris and his men turn and walk back to their vehicles, each of them nodding respectfully towards us as they pass.
 

Before long, we are driving again, the lads in the back cleaning themselves off with wipes.
  ‘Fucking hell, Jamie, you took a few down then,’ McKinney says to the quiet lad and I imagine him blushing furiously.
  ‘He bloody did, well done mate,’ Blowers adds and I know Jamie will now be extremely uncomfortable, but grinning back at them.
  ‘Better than Cookey, anyway, I saw him trying to grope their arses instead of killing them,’ Blowers says.
  ‘Fuck off, Blowers, I stabbed loads,’ Cookey retorts.
  ‘Yeah, but not with your knife though,’ Tucker cuts in, to guffaws of laughter.
  ‘Oh, don’t you start too, Tucker,’ Cookey groans.
  ‘Feel better?’ Dave asks me.
  ‘Yes mate, much. You?’
  ‘Much better, Mr Howie, much better.’

_______________________________________________

Extract from Howie’s Journal:

Through Darren’s eyes, the infection sees the slow march of the undead shuffling towards the City in preparation for the resistors. The infection had made Darren feel sick as it penetrated into the body and it knew that the others were becoming concerned, so it pulled back on the rate of infection and released hormone chemicals to make Darren feel well again.
  The infection watched through thousands of eyes, as the vehicles went thundering past and then they opened with their tools to start cutting the host bodies down. Through Darren’s ears it heard the thundering rattle of the machine gun on top of the vehicle and, at the same time, it felt the bullets rip through the host bodies. The humans in the back then pushed the doors open and fired more bullets into the hosts. The infection watched and heard and felt this punishment cutting it down and it had an almost overwhelming desire to unleash Darren now, but it knows he would be cut down instantly and serve no purpose - so it must wait and do as the others do.
  Darren takes his turn at the rear doors and the infection feels the pressure of a hand gripping Darren from behind, it feels as Darren holds the weapon and looks down the sights to the passing undead and it feels Darren apply pressure to the trigger and then the weapon kicking in his hands.

The infection feels the gun firing at the same time as it watches the vehicle thunder past and then it feels the bullets striking the hosts. The infection can see, hear and feel all of these things at the same time, from the thousands of hosts in that area.
  The infection watches with interest as the hosts are cut down and it knows that the road ahead is already blocked by the hosts it has sent into the City.
  As the Saxon comes to a halt and the firing stops, the infection watches the one they call Howie through the eyes of Darren. It allows Darren to be himself and he feels adrenalin coursing through his system and Darren knows that Howie wants to fight them in person. The infection observes Howie turn and stare back at the resistors and it feels the nervous energy, fear and thirst for vengeance flood through Darren; a marvellous mixture of chemicals that cause a massive reaction.
  The small one’s voice booms out and the infection hears it from hundreds of points and turns the host horde to face them. The resistors line up and roar defiantly at them and the infection is absorbed to feel Darren roar and his system flood with rage, fury, fear and adrenalin. Then they charge. Through the eyes of the hosts and through the eyes of Darren it watches the two come together and can feel Darren fight with fury and power, using his body as a tool to cut the hosts down.
  The infection is both appalled at the losses it suffers but is also thrilled to be watching this happen and can see now how slow the hosts are and how easy they are to cut down. The infection watches Howie, Dave and all of them work and it feels the pain of each blow but it watches and it learns.
  These resistors call to each other, just as the infection makes the hosts do as night falls. But this noise they send to each other causes more of the chemicals to be released in Darren’s body and drives him to work harder and faster and generate more power with each swipe, thrust and cut.
  The hosts are cut down, until just a few are left and the infection watches with cold detachment as the small one slaughters those few precious remaining hosts. It feels the exhaustion flood through Darren’s body and it knows that it could release different chemicals to make this feeling go away, but by doing so, it would draw attention from these humans, so it stays almost dormant and it watches as they get further into the City.

_______________________________________

Sarah slowly gets dressed, feeling dizzy and light headed, as the after effects of so much alcohol purge through her system.

Last night saw an explosion of emotions: anger, hurt, loss, isolation, fear and desperation. But today she feels flat and numb, void of emotion, with a dull headache and an upset stomach. In a way she feels a bit better, drained, but somewhat relieved that those emotions came out and, despite the heavy drinking and crying, she coped with them and is still here. She could have plunged to her death from the balcony, or cut her wrists or ran crying through the corridors, screaming for someone to help her, but she didn’t, she remained in her apartment and kept to herself.
  After dressing, she walks through the lounge to the kitchen and, instead of her normal method of putting her hand into the cupboard with the tins and taking the first one she touches, she opens the doors and looks through the selection, choosing fruit salad, canned meat and small potatoes.

Today she needs sustenance and fuel to help her think a way out of this.

The time for depression and self-pity is over, now is a time for action.

_______________________________________

The convoy drives further into London, going past well-known places and delving further into the grotty inner city areas. These places were rough already before the event. The red brick of Victorian England mixed with greys and browns of post war Britain; urban decay and millions of people living hard lives, in one of the world’s fastest moving cities. New buildings of glass and steel, sporadically placed, only serve to make the rest look like the grimy places that have come to be.
  There was constant civil disorder here before, caused by huge numbers of disaffected young people left with a weak education system, a poor social structure and zero employment opportunities -  who were left to grow in an area that didn’t want or need them, and didn’t know what to do with them.
  Undead zombies slowly shuffle through the streets and roads, all of them still heading in the same direction as the convoy, but, instead of the open, main roads, they use side streets, drawn from the memories of host locals.
  Howie drives the Saxon, with Dave next to him and both of them peer out of the toughened glass at the passing streets. The battle left all of them tired and even the boastful laughing of the recruits soon drifted into silence as they each cleaned their weapons and clothing, from the gore and splattered blood.
  The convoy passes over the distinctive red and yellow curves of Vauxhall Bridge and the famous River Thames, sliding slowly underneath. A tourist boat has broken free of its moorings and drifted down to rest against the high walls; the sides scraping along the concrete embankment.
  ‘We are over the River Thames,’ Howie calls out, as the lads move forward to see out of the windscreen at the grey-blue water.
  ‘Oh… I would like to swim in there, it looks inviting,’ Tucker says with a sigh, sweating heavily from the heat.
  ‘A swim would be fucking lovely,’ McKinney answers.
  ‘I wouldn’t swim in that filth,’ Cookey calls out. ‘Probably get bitten by a mutant turd,’ he adds, to sniggers from the others.
  They cross the Bridge and head into the main road on the other side, travelling through Lambeth, towards Tower Bridge.
  ‘There’s shit loads of them again,’ Howie says to Dave, looking at the long queues of zombies walking along the same route. ‘Get Jamie on the GPMG to start cutting them down,’ Howie calls out.
  ‘
Alpha to all units, large numbers in front. Opening fire on them now.’
Dave speaks into the radio.
 
Charlie to Alpha, Roger that - are you sure you don’t want another knife fight instead?’
Big Chris asks and Howie smiles broadly.

Jamie opens up on the GPMG, firing into the long drawn out queues of zombies.
  ‘It’s like culling really,’ Howie remarks.
  ‘What is?’ Dave asks.
  ‘Shooting them like this.’
  ‘Why is it like culling?’
  ‘We’re reducing their numbers; culling the density of them.’
  ‘Oh.’
  ‘More we get now, the less we have to deal with later.’
  ‘Or the angrier they will get!’ Dave replies.
  ‘Talking of angry, did I see you a bit angry back then?’
  ‘A little.’ Dave admits.
  ‘A little! Looked like a lot to me… Jamie is doing well.’
  ‘He is.’
  ‘He takes after you.’
  ‘Do you think so?’ Dave asks.
  ‘Oh, no doubt, did you see him with the two knives?’
  ‘Yes.’
  ‘Who do you think he learnt that from?’
  ‘Well, I guess from me…’
  ‘No, guessing needed, mate – he is now Mini Dave! But he’s got some skills though.’
  ‘He moves well, just needs to plan ahead a bit more and hone his use of force.’
  ‘Show him then.’ Howie says.
  ‘Okay, Mr Howie - you still like the axe then?’
  ‘No. I
love
the axe - knives are too fiddly for me, I like the power and strength of the axe.’
  ‘Like a Viking.’
  ‘Yeah, I’m gonna grow a big beard and put plaits in it and have a horned helmet.’
  ‘Talking of axes…’ Dave points out of the window to a row of shops, one of them clearly a large DIY and garden store.
  ‘Does anyone want an axe?’ Howie shouts out, jokingly, but hears a chorus of approval.
  ‘Seriously?’ Howie asks.
  ‘I want an axe, I’m no good with the knife and the rifle feels, I don’t know… it feels too cumbersome,’ Nick shouts out.
  ‘Dave, let them know we’re having a quick pit stop and someone shout up to Jamie about the plan.’
  Dave speaks into the radio, as Howie slows the Saxon down. Jamie concentrates his fire on the undead that are anywhere near the DIY store, cutting them to pieces and clearing some space.
  ‘Right, let’s be quick,’ Howie shouts, as he jumps out of the vehicle.
  ‘Those not going for a new weapon, make a cordon round the vehicles,’ Dave calls out as he gets down and holds his assault rifle at the ready.

The truck pulls up behind them and, after a few minutes, Big Chris and his men are stepping over the bloody bodies and walking towards the Saxon.
  ‘What’s going on?’ Chris calls out.
  ‘Mr Howie and a few of the lads are getting some hand-held weapons.’ Dave replies and nods to the DIY store.
  ‘Lads, if you need anything, you’ve got five minutes,’ Chris says to a few of his men, who oblige with smiles.

The DIY store door’s get kicked in by joint, choreographed kicks from Howie and Blowers and soon burst open in a shower of glass. The lads pile in and all start heading towards the hand-tool section.
  ‘What about a sledge hammer?’ Cookey calls out.
  ‘Tried it, not bad, but it’s very heavy and gets tiring after a few minutes,’ Howie replies. ‘I tried two lump hammers as well, but their range is too short. The chainsaw was good, but it was petrol driven and ran out of juice too soon,’ Howie explains and realises that everyone has stopped to stare at him.
  ‘What?’ He asks defensively, as they turn back to the shelves. He finds the axe section first and starts looking through the racks.
  ‘Oh my… look at this beauty,’ Howie whispers to himself, as he pulls off a long-handled axe with a double-bladed end - each blade covered with a leather sheath.
  ‘It suits you,’ Howie looks up to see the massive, bald-headed man standing next to him, staring at the axe.
  ‘Do you think so?’ Howie asks.
  ‘Oh yes, very you.’ The man mountain nods firmly.
  ‘There’s another one left, if you want it.’ Howie asks, pulling the last of the double-bladed axes from the section and handing it over to the big man.
  ‘Oh, that feels nice.’ He says appreciatively, weighing it his giant hand.
  ‘The single-bladed axe was good with the sharp end and the blunt end, but this is much better.’ Howie says, admiring the metal blades.
  ‘I’ve always been a knife man myself,’ the big man says. ‘But I saw you with the axe back there and I thought that I’ve got to try one.’
  ‘They are good, I tried the knives, but I lack the precision and finesse they need. I like the power of slamming them down with these things.’ Howie says.
  ‘Yes, I can see what you mean… tell me, do you use a constant, swiping action or more of a chop?’ He asks.
  ‘Well, it depends on the situation - a good swipe will clear space and take a few down, but a solid chop down into the head is lovely. Even better, if you chop or slice down, is the uppercut into the groin, but the head can bite into the bone and get caught.’ Howie explains, going through the motions of the swipe, chop and uppercut, as he describes.
  ‘Ah, yeah, I can see that - I suppose a foot into the stomach pushes them off then?’ He asks.
  ‘Yeah, that does it, a big guy like yourself could do some awesome damage with one,’ Howie says.
  ‘To be honest, I’ve always wanted to try it, but the Army would get a bit funny if we all started carrying them around with us, I reckon.’
  ‘Yeah, I can see that,’ Howie says.
  ‘Bloody hell, are there any more of them left?’ Blowers asks.
  ‘No, sorry mate, we got the last two. Plenty of the single-bladed ones though, don’t dismiss them - I was just saying that the blunt end can do a good amount of damage too,’ Howie explains, as Blowers pulls them out and hands them round to the others.
  ‘Do you keep the end covered, all the time?’ The big man asks.
  ‘Not really, I clean it after each fight and I know Dave keeps a knife sharpener and he sharpens it for me.’ Howie answers.
  ‘Right, good point.’
  The men all stand in the aisle, taking practise swings and commenting on each other’s pose and grip, until Big Chris enters to stand in the doorway.
  ‘When you lot have finished fucking about…’ He shouts out.
  ‘Sorry mate, my fault, just getting a new axe,’ Howie says, as they all start to leave, carrying long-handled axes back out into the sunshine.