The Undead Day Nineteen (26 page)

‘Oh you’re so fucked,’ Blinky says, ‘you got Charlie mad at you.’

‘I am not mad,’ she says primly, ‘I am merely disappointed that someone who behaved so gallantly and with such courage would now ruin that image by broadcasting…’

‘I didn’t say noth…anything.’

‘You inferred to the extent that now everyone knows you have seen my bottom.’

‘Saw your what?’ Cookey asks.

‘My bottom.’

‘That’s so sexy when you say bottom ow!’

‘Want me to hit him?’ Blinky asks.

‘No she doesn’t!’ Cookey shouts.

‘Has Charlie got a tattoo on her backside then?’ Nick asks.

‘No I do not…’

‘Yep she has, ouch.’

‘How do you know?’ Mo asks.

‘I saw it…fuck’s sake stop hitting me.’

‘Then stop talking about my bottom.’

‘Say bottom again…argh I’ve got a dead arm now.’

‘How…How did…’ Blowers tries asking but stops from the laughs coming out as Charlie holds her hand above Cookey’s dead arm daring him to say something else.

‘How did he see it?’ Nick asks.

‘We do not need to continue this discussion about my bottom!’

‘Stop saying bottom like that,’ Cookey wails.

‘What is wrong with how I say bottom?’

‘Fucking hell,’ Nick laughs, ‘just hang on…no wait…Charlie…how did Cookey see your arse?’

‘It’s bottom,’ Cookey points out primly, ‘not arse you heathen.’

‘This conversation shall end now,’ Charlie says, ‘or I shall discuss what I saw this morning.’

‘Oh no…no no…’

‘What?’ Blowers asks.

‘What d’you see?’ Nick’s says.

‘Charlie?’ Mo asks, ‘what was it?’

‘Cookey?’ Charlie asks, ‘would you care for me to divulge what I saw.’

‘No…no no no…I take it back, I didn’t see a pair of crossed hockey sticks tattooed on Charlie’s bum.’

‘He said it,’ Blowers calls out, ‘he said he saw your arse.’

‘I did not,’ Cookey wails, ‘I said I did not see the pair of crossed hockey stick…ow!’

‘You’s fucking nuts, mate,’ Mo laughs, ‘stop now if I was you.’

‘Take Mo’s advice,’ Charlie says.

‘Charlie, what did you see?’ Blinky asks.

‘I shall tell them,’ Charlie tells him, ‘I shall.’

‘Shall you?’ Cookey can’t help himself and affects his posh voice again.

‘Are you goading me?’

‘No,’ he says quickly, ‘okay…done now…finished yeah?’

‘Promise?’ She asks.

‘Yep.’

‘Say I promise.’

‘I promise…I promise not to tell everyone I saw the tattoo of the crossed hockey sticks…’

‘I saw Cookey’s…’

‘No! I’ll stop. I will. I promise. I’ll stop now.’

‘Saw his what?’ Mo asks.

‘I believe this conversation is now over,’ Charlie points out as Cookey sits back upright rubbing his arm with a huge grin spread across his face.

‘
Mr Howie, we need to exit on the next junction. The treatment centre is less than a mile away.’

‘Got it, cheers, Reggie.
Everyone switch on,’ I call back as Marcy twists back round to face the front with a big smile on her face.

The junction isn’t really a junction but a purpose built exit road obviously put in place to handle the large vehicles used by the water company and as soon as we’re a few metres into the road we see signs telling drivers to report to reception and Health and Safety Notices everywhere. A set of gates stretch across the road with the logo for Southern Water pinned on both sides.

‘
Meredith is reacting,’
Clarence’s deep voice in our ears.

‘Got it,
’ I reply, ‘Blowers, your team protect the minibus.’

‘Understood.’

‘Roy, can you get on top of your van?’

‘I can. Overwatch?’

‘Yes please, mate.’

I slow down and peer forward through the chain link fence on both sides and through the gates to the concrete block squat buildings on the other side. Huge pipes run from the largest central building to a large metallic tank nestled in the ground.

‘Going through,’
I give the update and increase the speed for the front of the Saxon to ping the gates open that slam out and aside. The parking area is big, deep and wide and we go right to keep a clear line of sight.

‘Someone up top,’ I call out as I bring the Saxon to a stop.

‘I’ll do it,’ Nick replies and starts working his way through the hole.

Clarence parks the minibus back from us and Roy’s van goes ahead to stop at the same angle as us. The second it stops so Roy is out and running to the rear. The back doors open and he climbs up to gain his feet as Reginald passes him the bow and arrows then quickly closes the doors.

‘Overwatch on.’

‘GPMG ready.’

‘Everyone out,’ I open my door and drop down, drawing my axe which gets shoved down my back. My rifle comes next, the strap looped over my arm. The back doors have already opened as Blowers drops down to lead his team out in a run towards the minibus. Meredith is already out, standing metres from the side with her eyes fixed towards the buildings, her hackles up and teeth showing. Dave comes next, his rifle ready and Clarence has to turn sideways to get his bulk through the small doors before popping out like a bar of soap.

‘One in the distance, can I engage?’

‘Go for it, Roy.’

‘Remember what I said before, do not try and compensate for my firing. I will work…’

‘WE KNOW,’ Clarence shouts, cutting him off.

‘Well that’s our covert approach blown then,’ I say.

‘Covert? With a rattling minibus and three diesel engines?’ He replies.

A soft ping, a whoosh and an arrow flies through the air to a target unseen amongst the buildings.

‘Did you get him?’
I ask.

‘Her and yes, of course I did.’

‘Roy is a fucking legend,’ Blinky mutters, kneeling to the side of the minibus door.

‘Dave? How do you want to do it?’

‘Ahem.’

‘Fuck’s sake, Clarence? Dave? How do you want to do it?’

‘Dunno, ask Dave,’ Clarence says with a grin at me.

‘Holy shit,’ Marcy says, making us all turn to see Reginald jogging from Roy’s van and trying to fumble with the rifle which he drops. He stops to pick it up and lets his bag slide down his right arm before trying to pick both up and somehow getting the rifle pushed through the straps, ‘he really shouldn’t have a gun,’ Marcy says.

‘Indeed,’ Reginald says, trying to tug his rifle from the straps, ‘do I really need to carry this thing? It is most cumbersome and frightfully heavy.’

‘DOWN!’

We duck on Dave’s command as Reginald grabs the trigger guard to tug the weapon free while sweeping the aim across our group.

‘PUT THAT WEAPON DOWN,’ Dave bellows, making Reginald balk in fright and drop the rifle and bag with a yelp as Dave strides towards him.

‘I am most dreadfully sorry.’

‘Turn around,’ Dave says, picking the bag up and sliding the rifle from the straps, ‘Mohammed, come here.’

‘Yep,’ Mo sprints over as Dave gets the straps free and manhandles the bag onto Reginald’s back. ‘Face me.’ Reginald turns back to Dave looking like a child being dressed by his mother as Dave’s fast hands grab straps which he tightens and tucks away. ‘Mohammed, you will guard Reginald. Reginald, you are relinquished of your weapon until you have satisfactorily proven to be competent and safe in the usage of the weapon. Do you understand?’

‘I do and I am most thankful to be relinquished of the blasted thing and my apologies to Mohammed to be burdened with my care but it is most comforting to have a bodyguard and…’

‘Mohammed, you will apply the principles I have instructed with regard to Mr Howie to Reginald.’

‘Yep.’

‘Yes Dave not yep.’

‘Yes, Dave. Rifle, pistol or knife?’

‘We are entering buildings with the potential for close quarter combat. Consider the tactical options of each weapon.’

‘Pistol,’ Clarence coughs into his hand.

‘Er, pistol?’ Mo asks.

‘The pistol is the right weapon for this engagement.’

‘Should we all use pistols?’ Marcy asks.

‘Fuck knows,’ I say with a shrug, ‘Dave?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘Do we all use pistols or rifles?’

‘I prefer the pistol,’ Paula says.

‘I’m so glad you said that,’ Marcy says, ‘shall we use pistols?’

‘Yeah?’ Paula asks, ‘shall we?’

‘Go on then,’ Marcy says, slinging her rifle to draw her pistol.

‘Much better,’ Paula says, drawing her own sidearm and rolling her shoulders.

‘Finished?’ I ask them both.

‘And you can sod off,’ Marcy says, giving me a flash of a smile.

‘No no, it’s fine,’ I say, ‘we’ll give the zombies time to get ready.’

‘Not zombies,’ Clarence grumbles.

‘ZOMBIES.’

‘Alex.’

‘Sorry, Clarence.’

A soft ping, a whoosh and another arrow flies off to hit something that gargles and falls over.

‘Got another one,’ Roy calls out.

‘Well, we don’t need to go anywhere then,’ Marcy says, ‘Roy can kill them all’

‘Someone in the minibus wants to know what’s going on,’ Blinky calls out, ‘shall I tell them to fuck off?’

‘No do not tell them to fuck off,’ Paula says, ‘tell them we’re having a tactical discussion on strategy.’

‘THEY ARE HAVING A TACTICAL DISCUSSION ON STRATEGY,’ Blinky shouts, ‘I told them, Miss Paula.’

‘And everyone else,’ Paula mutters, ‘thank you, Blinky.’

‘Miss Paula?’ I ask.

‘I’ve told her it’s just Paula.’

‘I like Miss Paula,’ I say.

‘Do you? I don’t so don’t even think…’

‘Paula is Miss Paula from now on,’ I call out.

‘You shit, Howie.’

‘Got it, Miss Paula,’ Nick calls back.

‘Miss Paula,’ Blowers says.

‘Hi, Miss Paula,’ Cookey adds.

‘I hate you all.’

‘Even me?’ Clarence asks, seemingly hurt of the guilt by association.

‘Not you.’

‘Thanks, Miss Paula.’

‘Can we just get on?’ Paula huffs as another arrow pings across over our heads.

‘Three now,’ Roy says, ‘Miss Paula,’ he adds in a murmur.

‘Dave,’ Paula snaps, ‘lead the way please.’

‘Yes, Miss Paula.’

We head on past the locked and secure reception building and down the access road to the larger and longer treatment centre. In silence we go. Everyone turning to watch the sides, rear and front in equal measure. I glance across to see Mo holding his pistol low in a double handed grip while staying inches in front of Reginald who seems to be enjoying having his own personal bodyguard.

‘Doors open,’ Clarence says quietly, his greater height giving him the advantage of seeing the busted door to the treatment centre before the rest of us. A low hiss from inside and an infected female appears in the doorway only to be taken a second later with an arrow slamming through her neck.

‘Good shot, Roy,’
I murmur into my radio.

‘Meredith’s going in,’ Clarence says as the dog streaks ahead. We pick the speed up knowing she can handle herself but not wishing to leave her on her own against unknown numbers.

Inside the door is a gantry of metal walkways crossing over huge water tanks. Motorised arms fixed to machinery that should be making those arms rotate and spray things I guess. It looks like the water comes in one end and goes through the tanks before disappearing into the next section of the building and other than the one Roy shot down the inside is empty.

We head down the gantries, Dave and Meredith in the lead with me right behind him.

‘Down there,’ Paula says, turning her torch on to shine down into the next dark tank of water and the bodies floating in it.

‘That’s it then,’ I say quietly, ‘it got in through the water.’

‘Not yet, Mr Howie,’ Reginald whispers, ‘those corpses appear intact from what I can see and the water is clear. The infection must work at a cellular level.’

I stop and stare down, bringing my torch out to shine into the seemingly clear water, ‘those bodies couldn’t infect us then if we drank that water.’

‘A virus cannot be sustained without living organic matter, they are corpses, Mr Howie and water is not living organic matter.’

We press on through a doorway into the next section of larger tanks but with machinery overhead. Some kind of conveyer system that brings long metal trays out from the tank to swing round to hang down before they pass through a narrow gap in the wall to an outside area. We shine torches but the water here is free from bodies.