Blood on the Floor: An Undead Adventure (30 page)

‘CHARLIE…SHOOT HIM…’

‘NO!’ Heather screams, shielding Paco as she runs backwards. ‘Please…we’ll go…’

‘Heather,’ Subi’s voice adds to those already shouting as the man with the crossbow moves out wider from the group.

‘We’ll go…don’t shoot,’ Heather cries out, forcing Paco back. He resists against her, detecting the fear in her voice and body.

Chaos erupts with Subi screaming at Heather not to go and Rajesh shouting for Paco to come back. Becky’s voice adding to the noise as she shouts to the other adults to pull the kids back. Heather backs away, going faster as she propels Paco down the road.

‘Don’t go with him you daft cow,’ Becky says, striding from her group with the meat cleaver looking wicked in her hand.

‘The woman’s in the way,’ Charlie calls out, his eyes fixed on Heather and Paco.

‘HEATHER…DON’T GO…’

‘Love don’t be stupid…come back…’

‘PACO!’

‘We’ll go,’ Heather calls out over and over, forcing him down the street until the rain blurs the image of the group brandishing weapons and holding the children back from running after her. ‘Go,’ she grabs his wrist, physically forcing him to turn then pushing him to run. ‘Go…just go…’

‘COME BACK,’ Becky calls out, sprinting from her group through the rain. ‘Heather…just…hey hang on a…’

‘Don’t hurt him.’

‘Just bloody wait.’

‘Becky? Get back here.’

‘I said we’ll go,’ Heather shouts, pushing Paco to keep him moving.

‘Heather just…please bloody stop running.’

‘Leave us alone. We’re going…’

Becky slows in the rain, watching as Heather and Paco get faster to disappear into the gloom. ‘They’ve got doctors…’ she calls out as loudly as she dares, nervously glancing round for fear of her voice drawing attention. ‘At the fort…’ she falls silent to stare at the grey wall of water hoping the woman heard.

Twenty Nine

She wakes with a surge up through the layers of conscious thought that bring her eyes blinking to stare out a view of rain. The sound comes a second after. The pattering of water striking hard surfaces that forms rivers and streams that gush and pour from overflowing drains. She snuggles closer into his side relishing the quietness. Subi, Rajesh and Amna are with people who know how to look after them. Her responsibility is now back to herself and Paco. She sighs and closes her eyes, intending to doze off but the hundreds of sounds of water flowing make her need a wee.

She sits up with a groan, rubbing her eyes and stretching while looking at his face that is becoming remarkably more expressive by the day. He smiles at her again. She grins back and lays a hand on his chest.

‘Feel alright?’ she mumbles, her voice deep and husky from sleep.

He doesn’t reply but smiles again. She catches the intelligence in his eyes that seem to be trying to grasp and hold onto something. It’ll come. She knows it will. He is healing.

‘Need a wee,’ she says, heaving herself up. ‘Come on…’ she takes his hand under the guise of helping him up while knowing he can rise easily on the power of his legs alone.

The warehouse sits on the far end of an industrial estate on the edge of the town. It’s not a wooden barn with a creaky door but it was warm, dry and tucked away. Besides, using a proper toilet was nice and the place smells of new carpet from the shelving units rammed full of rolled material ready for shipping. Why it was open she doesn’t know and doesn’t care. This is the apocalypse but she’s starting to feel like she did before in the normal world. A fort. People fighting back. Some weirdo called Mr Howie and his band of merry men running about. An immune dog. The same dog that probably bit Paco. He’s not contagious and she’s already considered if it was the immune dog biting him that changed the infection. It might not even be that dog but any old stray mongrel that bit him. She doesn’t know anything. She feels like she should know but tries to shrug it off like she did in the old life. Why is there an expectation that she should be involved or doing something? It’s nothing to do with her. None of this is her business.

She sits on the toilet in a carpet warehouse to tinkle into the bowel while Paco stands watching her. She looks up at him, rolling her eyes at the annoying thoughts that have come back into her head so soon after waking up. It feels different now, the way he watches her all the time. He’s more man and less…less thing or beast or whatever he was when she first met him. She stands to wipe, watching his eyes to see them flicker down at the movement of her hand. She hopes it’s that anyway and not him trying to grab a sneaky view. Mind you, does she care if he does? She rinses her hands and moves past him. ‘Have a wee,’ she says. He doesn’t respond. ‘Paco, have a wee.’

He had one last night when she said to
have a wee.
She did take his penis out for him and made him hold it then turned the tap on to send the right signals. It worked too. He had a wee.

‘Have a wee,’ she repeats but he stands inert with a hint of humour in his eyes that makes her put her hands on her hips and glare. ‘Paco? Are you being rude?’

He doesn’t tell her if he is being rude or if he simply doesn’t understand what is being asked.

‘Hmmm,’ she eyes him suspiciously, ‘turn around then…oh you can do that alright can’t you,’ she chuckles looping her arms round his body to unbuckle his trousers that get tugged down. ‘Right go on then…’ she stands back but he waits. ‘Paco, I know what you’re doing,’ she tries to sound grumpy but chuckles again halfway through. ‘Fine, you dirty sod…I’ll take your penis out for you shall I? There…got it? No you hold it…Paco I am not holding your willy while you…It’s going everywhere! Aim down…into the bowl…right now you take over. Paco, hold your willy…what the hell?’ She bursts out laughing when his hands rise up from his body as though purposefully not holding his own appendage. ‘You mucky bugger…’ he half turns to grin with humour in his eyes at the way she laughs while he wees and she aims. ‘Good job it’s big enough to aim…I never said big…I didn’t…right, I’m going. No, you hold it…don’t look at me like that you…oh for the love of God. Fine, shake it and put it away. Paco, put it away. Wash your hands now. Under here, that’s it. That’s the soap, push that and rub the gel in. Like me? See? Okay, now use the towel to dry your hands.’

She heads back into the warehouse glancing over her shoulder with a grin as he rushes to catch up. She stops dead on purpose, bracing as he walks into her. His arms going round her stomach as he tries to keep walking. She bursts out laughing again while pushing back to try and stop him. That he can do these things is not lost on her. He has a sense of play and a range of emotional reactions that seem to be improving all the time. She turns in his arms, staring up.

‘Hang on,’ she says as he tries walking forward again. ‘Try again…Heather…go on…Heather…’ she sounds her own name out slowly, pronouncing the two sections clearly. His eyes watch her mouth and she knows in her gut he wants to try. She did this last night while sat on his lap watching him eat. She changes tack, ‘Paco…Paco…your name…Paco…’

She can see he wants to try. His lips twitch and his eyes flicker to narrow and widen with concentration. ‘Ah, you’ll get there,’ she stops after a few minutes, smiling warmly with his arms still wrapped round her waist.

The morning passes in varying stages of abject bliss mixed with a large dollop of perfection. A small fire on the concrete ground by the door, a wooden chair smashed to kindling to burn steadily. The rain falling outside. The carpets rolled and stacked around them giving a nice soft enclosed feeling. Every now and then she gets a stab of guilt for ditching Subi, Raj and Amna so brutally but then remembers the weapons and threats. She thinks of the things Becky said, about the fort and there being people doing something to try and make it all better.
They’re fighting back.
That’s what Becky said. Or that old bloke John. Fighting back? Good. Let them. Got a fort? Great. Good for them. Got guns and an army truck. Brilliant. Hope you are all very happy.

That nagging voice doesn’t go away, no matter how hard she tries to ignore it. The nagging sensation that she should be involved. That anyone alive and functioning now should be doing something decent to help others. She did help. She took those kids from that awful shop and got them somewhere safe. People are bad anyway, and people now have weapons and behave like idiot villagers waving pitchforks at the sight of the monster. The problem is that she heard Becky’s last comment. The fort has doctors. Paco is something different. He is special in the sense of the infection within him. That he might have been savaged by an immune dog might have something to do with it. Should she present him there? Turn up and say
oh hi,
I found this movie star and thought I’d bring him down.
No way. They’ll shoot him or lock him up and then shoot him. Or do tests on him. Or something horrible anyway.

She’s never had this before. This feeling of comfortability at being with someone else. At wanting to share and spend time with another human being. He doesn’t judge her. He doesn’t paw at her breasts or poke his erection in her hip. He doesn’t ask stupid questions either. He’s strong, dependable and cuddly as hell. Christ, she can’t stop hugging him. It’s like she’s catching up on all the years of isolation by being in constant physical contact with him. Not that he minds. He doesn’t mind one bit. She shifts the equilibrium further and further. He feels loved. He feels peace. He heals from her touch and that soft voice that laughs and plays. He learns too. He feeds himself. Drinks water. He opens the tins. He snaps the wood for the fire. His mind is opening and strengthening as fast as his wounds on the outside are healing.

Mid-morning and the rain stops with a sudden cessation of noise that makes her instantly stop trying to make him say her name and run to the door. He goes after her to stand and stare out at a world changing in front of them. Colours come flooding back with the sun’s rays beaming down. The view opens showing a concrete hardstanding that feeds into a road bordered by fields submerged under newly formed lakes that glint and glitter in reflection of the light. It’s breath-taking, stunning and sends a thrill through her body with a need to be outside and walking again.

‘Come on,’ she rushes back in to get ready. Packing the bag and using a bottle of water to douse the fire. It takes mere seconds before she’s back at the door grinning from ear to ear at the wide open deep blue sky now without a cloud in sight.

They walk through deep puddles already steaming in the heat. Through streets washed clean with surfaces of standing water that reflect the light so strong she has to squint. It becomes tropical with a stifling muggy air that makes her want to strip off and find a cool river to bathe in.

Whole roads are submerged under water. Gleaming lakes everywhere. Birds swoop, crying out. Seagulls land and bob in the new rivers or stand on the flotsam and jetsam floating on the surface. She has no idea where they are or what direction they take. Only that they can walk again. Walk all day. Find somewhere tonight. Walk tomorrow. Walk and heal. Sleep somewhere different and wake up to a new view every morning then walk again. She holds his hand without gloves and walks along in the steaming world of water rapidly evaporating. It’s a rebirth. A new start. A fresh beginning of a new era and one that she can see as she walks through it. Storms, floods, hot sun and mundane places made exotic. Eighteen days since this began and already the landscape has changed to become a new land.

Shouting from somewhere. Raised voices. She pauses, slows and listens with a glance at Paco who shows no aggression. The words distort but she catches
next town
in the air.

‘GOOD IDEA MR HOWIE…THERE ARE NO…THINGS HERE FOR US TO KILL…’ a huge booming voice.

The gunshot shatters the peace. A sharp retort that makes her flinch as it echoes to roll through the streets bouncing from buildings and seemingly amplified by the sheer volume of water. She comes to a stop. Sudden and frightened with that fragile perception of safety shattered in an instant. It came from ahead. From the same direction of the shouting. Her hand tightens the grip on his fingers with a flood of anger pulsing through that the things of the old world still push into the new one.

Engines. Big and diesel. Two of them starting up one after the other. With a burst of power she pushes him hard across the road through the gate to a walled garden to squat and hide as the engines sing out. She hears the plumes of water spraying as the vehicles come closer with that echo once again distorting the direction and source. She risks a peek, craning her neck to snatch a view of the army truck she saw a few days ago powering through the street sending waves of water out to the sides. A glimpse of a man with dark curly hair and a woman sitting in the front next to him. It goes past, building speed with a throaty roar that makes her bones vibrate. Another vehicle right behind the army truck. A cash in transit van driven by another man peering out the windscreen and another woman smiling at him as they swoosh past.

An urge to stand up and shout out. To run into the street waving to be seen and shouting to be heard. She doesn’t. She stays hidden and quiet until it’s too late and the sounds of the engines are fading in the distance. Only then does she run out and stare after them, biting her bottom lip and cursing her own cowardice. It was the army truck. She’s sure of it. The same one. The one the big bald man had in that town. That was his voice too booming out too. The words he said were mocking as though taunting something. Like over-stated or even silly. She turns back to Paco with a start at the expression on his face and the closest yet to a completely human look in his eyes as he stares after the trucks. His head high, his arms out from his sides but not in aggression. His chest rises quickly and she can almost hear his heart beating from the distance between them. The equilibrium within him shifts, the pendulum swings. Images of the dog swarm his mind. Images and feelings, emotions and an urge that he can’t voice or understand.

Things happening. People are organising and taking action, doing things. This world is not the old one. In the old world every road would be full of cars full of faceless people that meant nothing to her. Every street and every house would be full of humans she had no connection with. Now it’s different. Other people have become rare and to see the same vehicle twice sends that weird sensation that she should be involved and doing something. Helping them. Banding together to fight back or…she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what but only that this time it was wrong to hide.

It’s done though and the streets become once again silent save for the water lapping from being displaced by the vehicles going through. She walks on, heading in the direction the vehicles came from.

They reach a street full of shops that is jarring for the recognition of the brand names that now mean nothing. Spar. Santander. Boots the Chemist. Pet shops. Travel agents. Betting shops. Bakeries and book shops. It’s so familiar but now irrelevant. She spots a set of gates beaten down and a row of parked cash in transit vans in a once secure compound of a bank. She recognises the same make and model as the one that drove behind the army truck. They go on further into a High Street flooded with oily waters filled with litter floating to gather at points of drainage. She pushes on as though searching for something. As though needing to see why they were here. An urge to be a part of her own species fighting back. Like the people yesterday braving the journey to find the fort. They could hide anywhere. Find places to make defensible and strong. Find shotguns and weapons, hide, stay quiet, forage and survive but they don’t. They walk and journey to be with their own for the snatched rumour of some idiots fighting back but she felt it. She felt the thrill of the army vehicle driving past. The sight of it and hearing the name
Mr Howie.
It meant something. It stands for something.