The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

  The Undead

  The Second Week

  Compilation Edition

  Days Eight to Fourteen

  RR Haywood

  Copyright © R. R. Haywood 2013

  R. R. Haywood asserts his moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All Rights reserved.

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters and events, unless those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead (or undead), is purely coincidental.

  The Undead: Eight to Fourteen, have previously been published as a series.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Design, Cover and Illustration by Eddyart.

  Day Fourteen edited by Rachael Brimstone.

  * * * * *

  DAY EIGHT

  One

  Day Eight

  Friday

  All around me is death. We stand on the battle field, our small group now greatly diminished and try to absorb the shock of our terrible losses. Tears stream down the faces of Cookey and Nick, making small clean trails down their blackened faces. Blowers looking stony faced and hardened, stares down at the ground. I look over and see Clarence resting his hands on the end of his double bladed axe, mine hangs limply down at my side. I look down the shaft and see the still wet blood, gore and filthy pieces of once human body stuck to the blade. Chris stands resolute as ever, feet planted apart and hands resting on his hips. Only his face betrays the feelings of loss and exhaustion.

  I look past them to the mounds of bodies and the now shambling undead still being hacked down. The sight offends me; too much death has taken place here today. Too much suffering. But I know it must be done, and for the first time since this began I let someone else do it. Let them take out their anger and hurt on those rotting walking corpses. As I scan round my gaze comes to rest on Dave who is staring at me intently. The two knives are now tucked back into his waistband and he stands easy, relaxed. His breathing is already back under control, and other than the filth that encrusts him, as it does all of us, he looks the same as ever, apart from the puzzled expression on his face.

  ‘You alright Dave?’ I ask him. He nods and turns his head away, but within seconds he glances back and stares again with that puzzled expression.

  ‘What?’ I exclaim, shrugging my shoulders.

  ‘Nothing,’ He looks quickly away again.

  ‘Dave?’ I ask him, something is on his mind, ‘what is it?’ He looks at me for long seconds, then repeats my actions and shrugs his shoulders.

  ‘Nothing, just tired Mr Howie,’ he says finally. That’s a lie. Dave doesn’t get tired, but I am, I am bone weary and I let it pass. Whatever it is can wait until he’s comfortable enough to tell me.

  ‘What now?’ Clarence rumbles quietly. I wait for Chris to respond, but he just stares out towards the area where Malcolm fell with Tucker and Curtis.

  ‘Clear the bodies, use those diggers maybe to scoop them up and burn them. Other than that, we need to go after Darren, find where the boats went and bring them back.’ I say quietly.

  ‘I don’t know what your thoughts are Chris, but after what you did in the commune, I think you’re the best one to stay and run this,’ I add, looking over at him. He nods back at me, making brief eye contact.

  ‘Okay,’ his voice is hoarse and deep.

  ‘Howie, if you want to go after Darren, I’ll go after the boats,’ Clarence offers, knowing I’ll be torn between the two.

  ‘You okay with that?’ I ask Dave.

  ‘Yes Mr Howie,’ he nods back at me.

  ‘Lads?’ I look to Blower’s, Cookey and Nick.

  ‘I’m with you,’ Blowers says flatly without shifting his gaze from the ground.

  ‘Me too,’ Cookey adds.

  ‘Nick?’

  ‘You don’t have to ask Mr Howie,’ he replies, his tear filled eyes locking onto mine with an intense look in them.

  ‘Okay,’ I address them all. Nothing more needs to be said. I turn and stare back towards the still smoking remains of the housing estate, blackened stumps of buildings poking up in irregular shapes.

  ‘We’ll find him,’ Dave says, giving voice to my thoughts.

  ‘We need to go then,’ I say.

  ‘Not now, he’s already dead and so will we be if we go anywhere near that estate for a few hours. We’ll find him, he’ll leave a trail wherever he goes.’

  I stare on, in silence.

  ‘Mr Howie, we need to clean ourselves up, take fluids and food and rest, we will find him,’ Dave steps forward, clearly intent on making me listen to him.

  ‘Okay,’ I say again, it’s about all I can manage right now. I look round to see a woman striding towards us. One by one we all turn to stare at her as she crosses the field, stepping over and on the bodies.

  ‘Who is that?’ I ask.

  ‘The engineer woman,’ Dave replies.

  ‘Kelly?’

  ‘I don’t know Mr Howie,’ Dave says.

  ‘Yes,’ Chris adds.

  We stand and watch her walk towards us; her gait is strong and confident. She holds a long bladed machete in her right hand. She watches us watching her and she only stops when she’s a few metres away.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ she nods towards us. Her voice is strong too. We nod back, nobody speaks.

  ‘Are any of you injured?’ She asks, ‘Doctor Roberts sent me out to check.’ We shake our heads, mumble that we are unhurt.

  ‘Are there many injured?’ I ask.

  ‘Many,’ she nods, ‘ they’re stacked up.’

  ‘We’ll come and help,’ I step forward, she doesn’t move.

  ‘No you won’t, you’ve done enough. All of you. Go inside and rest, I’ll get things underway here. I take it you want them all burned?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t know how we’ll do it, dig pits I guess. Or use the deep ditches and whatever fuel we’ve got left.’

  ‘Thank you Mr Howie, I’ll take it from here. Now go inside.’ A command, not a request. I look at Chris; he shrugs and starts walking towards the fort. I shrug at Clarence and start to follow him. We walk in silence, stepping over and on the bodies. Taking a detour to avoid the last of the slow moving zombies still being cut down.

  We enter the fort and the emptiness and silence greets us like a smack in the face. The fort looks much bigger without all the people inside. Some of the tents and structures are blackened from fire. We walk through the compound, keeping to one side and heading for the planning office.

  As we walk further in, I see people sitting, lying and standing in long queues outside the field hospital. The more able bodied go up and down the lines, giving water and words of comfort to the injured. A quick glance tells me most of them have been hurt by their own weapons, or have suffered broken legs and twisted ankles. We pass through them quickly. The whole area goes quiet as we walk through, they stare hard at us. I can’t tell what the looks mean, and at this time, I don’t care. Someone exits the planning office just as we reach it, glancing at our filthy state before quickly moving away. We pay no heed but walk straight in and see the cold bottles of water left on the table, and the filled buckets on the floor with towels and brushes.

  We go for the drinks first, each of us twisting the
caps off and taking long noisy gulps, the water spilling down our chins and soaking the front of our clothes. I drain one bottle and go for another; Clarence is already on his third. Dave drinks two bottles then carries one of the buckets outside into the warm sun. He strips down to his undergarments and starts scrubbing at his body with the brushes. We join in, taking a bucket each, pausing only when we realise there are several more buckets left over. The sadness grips quickly and threatens to pull me down into the earth.

  We wash in silence, scrubbing the filth from our skin, brushing our hands and arms the most. I realise how much weight I’ve lost in just one week. My stomach feels flatter, I feel leaner. The result of constant movement and no food. Someone drags a hose out and we take turns to sluice the soap from our bodies in the freezing spray. I drink more water while I wait for my turn; still none of us has spoken since we came back in.

  Dave drags the unused buckets out and starts scrubbing his clothes in them, using the brush to attack the dark blood stains. We follow his lead and take the time to scrub our own clothes, wringing and spinning them out. I spin my trousers round and round, watching the glistening water spray off like a Catherine wheel. The clothes are spread out in the sun and eventually we head into the back rooms, slumping into easy chairs, sofas and the few camp beds left in there. I go to the far corner and fall onto one of the camp beds, my mind races for a few seconds, but then there’s just blackness, sweet empty blackness.

  Two

  That cunt Howie. He thinks he wins again but I won’t be beaten. The others have become weak and frail, dropping like flies as the sun grows strong and hot. But I’m not like them, I’m not weak. I know that biting that little prick Jamie will slow them down. They’ll stop to cry like babies while I run away. That’s the difference between them and me; I won’t let feelings get in the way.

  We were so close but I should have been better prepared. I won’t make that mistake again. I sensed the other hosts becoming weaker; it was like a change within them all. Howie was almost beaten, I saw him go down and I knew I was close to winning, I even held them back from him so I could have the joy of killing him slowly. He was weak and slow and then something happened, he got strong and started fighting back.

  The stupid fucking cunt found some hidden reserve of strength; fuck knows where he got it from. Then he rallied them with that prayer. I sent them in stronger, I willed them to fight harder and they did. But the sun was strong and pushing them all day yesterday and all through the night made them weak and their strength just seeped away. Now I know they’re being cut down as they stumble about, fuck ‘em. A massed attack didn’t work so it’s time to try something else, and having a fucking zombie army with me will slow me down.

  The urge to eat flesh is so fucking powerful. Biting Jamie was the biggest buzz I’ve ever had, like a thousand orgasms at the same time and knowing Howie and his cunt runt Dave saw it just made it better, even my zombie cock got hard. The taste was unbelievable, and the feeling of his hot fresh blood pumping into my mouth, fuck me. I want more, I want so much more. Flesh won’t sustain me though, I need fuel to stay alive otherwise I’ll get weak like my poor brothers and sisters out there getting slaughtered. Fuck ‘em, stupid cunts.

  I run through the estate thinking about the battle. I know exactly where I went wrong, a frontal attack was too much and I left it too long. Cunt runt Dave blew up that fucking estate and then some cunt dug ditches and put sharp spikes down. Then they had guns firing at us but I knew they would run out soon and we still had thousands left. But that prick Howie, he whipped them up and got them ready to fight, I bet he made a stupid speech with stirring words while standing heroically on top of the Saxon, Dave watching him with his little cock standing to attention.

  I didn’t see many women though, that bitch Sarah wasn’t there. I wanted her so badly, so fucking badly. I wanted to bite her fucking tits off while Howie begged me to stop. Fuck it, she must have been in the fort with all the other women and children. No, Howie wouldn’t risk it. He expected to lose, I could sense they all did and he wouldn’t leave the women and children on their own, undefended, ready and waiting for us to take them. Biting into their succulent flesh and tearing their skin apart. Howie would have sent them away, hidden them somewhere. But there was nowhere left to go.

  The urge for flesh is so strong, but I must wait. I’m out of the estate now and running back along the lane. There’s houses up here, I’ll get in one of them and find food. The thought of eating anything other than human flesh makes my stomach churn but I have to eat.

  Where did Howie send them? He must have sent them somewhere. Think Smithy…what would Howie do?

  I reach the end of the lane, there’s a cottage here. The front door is open and I go inside. No-one home, I would smell them if anyone was here. That would be too much to ask wouldn’t it, just a little old lady left on her own ready for Smithy to have his lunch. Ha, fuck ‘em. In the fridge is cheese and sour milk, butter and vegetables. I need flesh. I open cupboard doors and the pantry, just fucking tins of peaches. Fuck it, I need flesh not fucking peaches. I throw the tin and it smashes through the window into the back garden. Another noise, scampering coming from outside. I open the back door and look down at the fluffy white bunny with giant ears nibbling at the grass.

  ‘Hello my pretty,’ I move forward and stroke the fur. Soft and warm, velvety ears and almost blue eyes staring up at me. Fuck it, flesh is flesh and I bite down into the soft back. The rabbit squirms but I bite through the spine and feel the hot blood spurt into my mouth. I lift the warm corpse up and savage at the meat, tearing the flesh off and swallowing it down. It’s not the same but it’ll do for now and I need fuel to survive.

  I drop the corpse and stand up, the warm blood is dribbling from my mouth and I lick my fingers clean. I can still taste Jamie on my hands and I lick them harder, desperate to get the last lingering flavour.

  ‘Where did Howie send the women little white bunny?’ The corpse doesn’t answer, just lays there bleeding. Something triggers. White bunny. The fort’s at the water’s edge with nowhere left to go. White bunny. White. I smile. I know where he’s sent them. Howie wouldn’t keep them anywhere close, oh no, he knows I’d find them. There’s only one place left after here. My smile becomes a grin as I walk out of the back garden.

  ‘I need a boat.’

  Three

  Waking up quickly, I sit bolt upright with sweat pouring off me. The room smells of farts, and even though we washed before we came in here, it also smells of stale body odour. Blowers and Cookey are still passed out sleeping deeply. Chris is lying on one of the camp beds, flat on his back snoring loudly. I stagger outside to find it’s still daylight, I check my watch. It’s just gone 1pm; we slept for a few hours. Dave is sorting the clothes out, folding them into piles.

  ‘Morning Dave,’ first words since I woke up and my voice sounds gruff.

  ‘It’s afternoon Mr Howie,’ he replies.

  ‘I know it’s a figure of speech mate.’

  ‘Oh, I always wondered why people said that.’ Is he being sarcastic? No way of telling with his flat way of speaking.

  ‘We need to get going,’ I say to Dave.

  ‘You, Mr Howie, are relentless,’ Clarence says, approaching from the direction of the hospital and carrying several bottles of water in his massive hands. He hands me a bottle, I twist the cap off and drink it down. My mouth feels furry with a metallic taste.

  ‘Where do you think he’ll go?’ He asks as I tilt the bottle up to my mouth and lean back. I watch the bubbles shooting through the water in the bottle as I gulp it down.

  ‘He’ll be somewhere close, he wants to destroy us so he’ll be waiting for a chance,’ I reply.

  ‘You think so?’ Clarence says.

  ‘You saw what he did to Jamie, the look on his face. He was getting off on it.’

  ‘He really doesn’t like you does he?’ Chris says from the doorway, yawning and stretching his arms out.

  ‘Do y
ou think so? Damn and there’s me thinking we were best mates,’ I say.

  ‘Anyone been outside yet?’ Chris asks.

  ‘Not me,’ I reply, Dave shakes his head.

  ‘I didn’t go out but I checked in at the hospital. The bodies are being scooped up into piles ready to be burnt,’ Clarence says, looking down at the ground.

  ‘What about the bitten ones turning?’ Chris asks, scratching his bushy beard.

  ‘They’ve got a few people out with weapons, taking them out as they come back.’ My stomach knots as I think of Tucker and Curtis coming back as one of those, I can see Chris thinking the same about Malcolm.

  ‘What’s done is done,’ Clarence says with finality, ‘we move on.’

  ‘Best get after him then,’ I take another swig of the water.

  ‘Why not rest for a bit, if you think he’s close then let him come to us. We’re safe in here while Clarence goes after the boats,’ Chris offers in his normal diplomatic way. The idea is tempting, very tempting. I’m sure Darren won’t go far, his hatred for us, well me, is intense and I believe he will do anything he can to get at us. The risk of going out there, with no ammunition left for the guns and only hand weapons left, well it’s a big risk.

  ‘We’ve got no ammunition left,’ I give voice to my thoughts.

  ‘Shotguns, we’ve got loads of them. We didn’t use them on the wall, the range was too great,’ Clarence replies.

  ‘Sidearms too,’ Dave says.

  ‘Sidearms?’

  ‘Handguns, they were no use from the wall either. We’ve got a few in the Saxon,’ Dave explains. ‘I gave Ted a couple yesterday too.’

  ‘So we’re still armed and dangerous then.’