The Undead Day Fifteen (Season Three)

by R.R. Haywood

A band of misfits made up of such a weird bunch that you couldn’t make this shit up.

But the infection doesn't give a fuck about these middle-class snobs. It doesn't care that they have two weeks in Corfu every year at a five-star all-inclusive resort. It doesn't give a shit what salary they’re on or how much equity they have.

‘Hard and fast,’ I shout to the back. ‘Ha! That’s what she said!’ Cookey laughs

Human nature sucks arse sometimes.

They are ruthless and driven. So am I.

The human mind is flawed.

‘You,’ Blowers starts slowly, but starts grinning then laughing mid-way, which prompts Cookey to laugh along, ‘are the dumbest fucking idiot I have ever met…’

‘Fuck off, I’ve had loads.’ ‘Yeah, loads of wanks,’ Nick laughs. ‘He almost had it,’ Blowers sets him up. ‘Ah,’ Cookey groans, ‘April, the love of my life.’ ‘Oh, god no,’ Clarence mumbles. ‘But Dave cut her head off.’

The vanity of man comes from our belief that we are above everything else.

‘I was just showing my bite mark,’ Cookey grumbles, ‘and I’ve got underpants on.’

‘Aye up chuckies,’ Cookey announces, ‘the door doth open.’ ‘Doth? You’re a freak,’ Blowers sighs.

I nod, but feel my stomach getting ready to drop out my arse.

‘outside I will be Alex Cooke, respectful and diligent soldier of Mr Howie’s living army. The conscientious professional dedicated to the cause…but…within here I can show my dark side, my lovely…and I can stroke your face and tell you how ugly you are with your stupid round head…’

‘What? It’s bloody white…and it’s a sports bra, you know, not like a lacy thing or…’ ‘Oh, that’s good then, god forbid we wave a lacy bra at them instead of a sports bra.’

‘We can’t wave bras tied into an assault rifle,’ I reply, ‘they’ll think we’re fucking nuts.’ ‘We are nuts,’ Lani says, ‘who else would drive ten people and a dog in an old army thing to a bullet factory waving a sports bra?’

I’m dropping down onto the concrete ground then stepping away from the Saxon with a white bra held in each hand away from my body, and feeling like a complete and utter tool. I stand there for some minutes with nothing happening,

‘Mr Howie does not have to explain why he wants someone punched in the face, Simon.’ ‘Sorry, Dave…okay Mr Howie, er…will you point him out? Or er…do I just punch anyone?’ ‘Punch anyone…but not women…or kids…punch any men…unless they’re old or disabled or like…wearing glasses…any able-bodied men, punch any able-bodied men.’

I am Howie, son of Howard and I bring vengeance upon you.

Blowers, on seeing the seniors swept up, takes command. Sliding effortlessly into his role as corporal, he orders the rest into position. They all feel it. Roy, so new to the group, and so amazed at the carnage erupting around him suddenly feels that tremendous pulse of electricity as Howie goes down. The leader has fallen, the leader needs protecting. He moves into position, taking a flank to cover with his bow ready, and his deadly eyes fixed on the jostling and panicking crowd. Paula moves through them with Nick, pistols up and aimed they pluck sticks and knives from trembling hands to throw them safely aside, both of them giving clear yet confident commands with a sense of purpose and authority that soon settles the wild energy of those attacked. As Howie falls, so the team take the strain, and gather close together to stare into the darkness of the night.