The Undead Day Nineteen (16 page)

‘Dave trained?’

‘Yep.’

‘What’s Dave trained?’

‘Trained by Dave,’ Clarence says. He stands up to unbuckle his belt, ‘Just do as he says and don’t be afraid to tell him if it hurts.’

‘Hurts?’ Mo asks, still blinking the sleep away.

‘You’d better get ready,’ Clarence says, pulling his legs from his trousers and glancing down to Howie and Marcy spooning.

Mo Mo gets up and starts dressing. His mind trying to catch up with being woken from such a deep sleep. Dave Trained? Hurts? He buckles his belt and checks the pistol is secure in the holster. Boots pulled on. Laces tied. What’s Dave trained? Why would it hurt?

He knows Dave has taken a special interest in his training. The instruction on the use of knives and making Mo fight with only one knife at a time. How to stab, thrust, slice and move. Isn’t that being trained by Dave? If that’s being trained by Dave then what the fuck is Dave trained?

He gets his knife into the sheath on his belt, picks his rifle and bag up and waits for five seconds until Dave exits the kitchen carrying a tray with two mugs and two bowls. Dave walks past him, nodding once with an expectation to be followed.

‘Dave,’ Howie murmurs.

‘Yes, Mr Howie?’

‘Take it easy with him.’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

Dave heads off, leaving Mo standing staring and blinking.

‘You’ll be fine, Mo,’ Howie murmurs and shuffles closer into Marcy.

‘Yeah, thanks,’ Mo says, feeling the trepidation rising. He heads after Dave, through the doors and into reception to see Dave standing next to the tray.

‘Drink. Eat,’ Dave says.

A mug of water, clear, scentless and without taste. Drawn from taps that are fed by a tank near the treatment centre. A bowl of fruit salad from a tin completes the meal. Mo recoils slightly, not sure of what he was expecting but definitely not expecting fruit salad. He sips the water and waits. Growing up on an estate meant you got good at waiting and not speaking. Especially when the police took you in for something or stopped you on the street.
Be passive.
That’s what Maddox always said.
Don’t argue. Be passive.
Passive meant not being aggressive. He eats the salad using the spoon handed to him by Dave. Dave eats his own fruit salad. They drink water in near silence. Rifles at their feet on top of their bags. Both with pistols and knives on their belts.

‘You have finished,’ Dave says, looking at Mo’s empty bowl and empty cup.

‘Yeah.’

‘Yes not yeah.’

‘Yes, I’ve finished,’ Mo says. Someone telling him how to speak would normally piss him off but this is Dave. You don’t get pissed off at Dave.

‘We will go outside,’ Dave says. He picks his bag and rifle up and waits for Mo to do the same.

‘What we doing?’ Mo asks, deciding that being passive means you are allowed to ask questions.

‘Training,’ Dave says, as blunt as ever.

‘Training?’

‘I said that.’

‘I…yeah okay,’

‘Yes.’

‘Sorry, yes.’

‘We say yes, not yeah.’

‘Okay, Dave.’

‘We will warm up,’ Dave says, placing his bag and rifle on the ground near the back of the Saxon. He steps away, entwining his hands together as though in prayer and starts rolling his wrists.

Mo follows suit. Stunned and silent. He puts his bag down, rests his rifle on the top and, feeling very stupid, he copies Dave, rotating his wrists.

‘Ankles,’ Dave says. Lifting one leg he starts twirling his foot round in circles. Mo copies.

‘Knees,’ Dave extends his leg out straight then bends it back, hinging it from the knee joint. Mo copies.

‘Other side.’

Mo copies.

‘Hips,’ Dave puts his hands on his hips and without a flicker of humour he starts thrusting round in circles as though dancing drunk.

Mo copies. Biting the laugh down and suddenly finding the ground very interesting to look at.

Each body part is stretched, warmed and made ready until Dave stops and stares blankly at Mo, ‘we are warmed up now.’

‘S’good innit,’ Mo says as Dave shows no discernible reaction but somehow manages to convey a sense of disapproval. A smart about turn and he marches to his bag, drops down and pulls out a large flat wooden spatula.

‘This is your knife.’

Mo stares at the spatula then down at the knife on his belt, ‘I got a knife.’

‘This is your knife,’ Dave says again, holding it out for Mo to take.

Mo takes his new knife and holds the wooden spatula in his hand.

‘We protect Mr Howie,’ Dave says so suddenly and so unexpectedly it makes Mo blink once and hard as he shifts his gaze from the spatula to the man in front of him. ‘At all times. We protect Mr Howie. Do you understand?’

‘Yeah,’ Mo says.

‘Yes not yeah.’

‘Yes, Dave.’

‘This means we protect him from all threats. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Dave.’

‘A threat is anything that poses harm to Mr Howie. We negate that threat. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Dave,’ Mo says, still holding the wooden spatula but now mesmerised by the things being said to him.

‘If Marcy poses threat we will kill Marcy. Is that clear?’

‘Yes,’ Mo whispers.

‘If Charlie or Paula pose a threat to Mr Howie we will kill them.’

‘Yes.’

‘We will kill anything and anyone that poses threat to Mr Howie. We will watch him at all times. We will know his position on the field of battle. We are his ears and eyes. We see the things that harm him and we kill those things. Do you understand?’

Mo nods, hanging off every word spoken and the flat tone of Dave seems to make it all the more intense.

‘We are different to the others. We fight with them but our role is to protect Mr Howie. I am Dave. I am fast. I can kill. After me, you are the fastest, Mohammed.’

The hairs on the back of Mo’s neck prickle and a chill runs down his spine.

‘You are not trained but I will train you. You will get to my standard. You will work to do this. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ Mo whispers, gripping the spatula, ‘Why me?’ he asks and instantly regrets the words as they come out.

‘Because after me you are the fastest. You are young. Your body is agile and supple to be trained in this way. You will work harder than all the others. You will do as I say. Is this clear to you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Has anything I have said confused you?’

‘Er…’

‘I have autism. I have…I have conditions that prevent me from understanding the feelings of other people. I cannot read facial gestures. You will speak to make yourself understood.’

‘Okay.’

‘Attack me.’

‘Fuckin’ what?’

‘Attack me.’

‘With the spatula?’

‘With your knife.’

‘My real knife?’

‘The knife in your hand.’

‘The spatula?’

‘I said this is your knife when I handed the object to you.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Yes not yeah, Mohammed.’

‘Mo.’

‘Your name is Mohammed.’

‘But…’

‘Attack me.’

‘Dave, but…what the fuck?’ He dances back from the hard push to his chest and stares shocked, not at being pushed but at the power generated by such a small movement of Dave’s hand whipping out.

‘Have I confused you?’

‘No. How’d you do that?’

‘Attack me.’

‘Show me how you did that.’

‘I train. You learn. Attack me or I will hit you.’

‘Hit me…Ow!’

‘You said hit me.’

‘I was repeating what you said, you get me? Fuck…’

‘I have autism. I told you this.’

‘Yeah yeah, I got…’

‘Yes not yeah.’

‘Yes!’

‘Attack me.’

Mo blinks the sting away. The blow wasn’t hard but it was fast, so fast he only just saw it coming and managed to inch his head away enough to lose some of the power. Which was a movement seen by Dave who did not hit at full speed or anywhere near full power, but even so, Mohammed moved fast.

Mo grunts, his eyes harden and his hand flips the spatula over so the end rests up against his forearm. He lowers his mass, gaining a greater sense of balance without realising or knowing what he is doing or why he is doing it. He attacks at a speed that would have most kids on the estate flat on their arse but Dave isn’t a kid from the estate and he simply glides to the side as Mo goes past him.

Dave can tell Mo isn’t really trying. It’s difficult to attack someone properly in training but he needs Mo switched on. So he flicks the back of his head. Not hard but irritating.

Mo stops as he goes past Dave and his eyes widen at the flick given to the back of his head. So still facing the wrong way he back swipes with a twist to follow through, only to find his wrist held by an impossible strong hand that guides him past and on.

Dave sees the back swing coming and even though the pace is faster, it’s not fast enough. He has seen Mo fight for real. He has fought with Mo and seen what he can do. He needs that Mo to be here now. So he slaps the back of Mo’s head. Not hard but irritating.

The slap switches him on. His heart warming up and his muscles starting to thrum. He knows he is being goaded and provoked but fuck this, fuck this if he will get slapped in the back of the head. His weapon hand still gripped hard so he lashes out with a blow delivered by his free hand, gaining space and time while he twists down and away to free the weapon.

‘Change hand,’ Dave says, ducking from the punch sent his way, ‘I have the weapon hand. Take the weapon with your other hand. Do not attack me with what I expect. Attack with what is not expected,’ he adds, pressing hard on Mo’s foot to emphasise his point.

Mo changes hand, simply swapping the spatula knife from his right to his left and stabs low, intending to drive the point into Dave’s thigh.

‘Good,’ Dave says, stepping away from the stab, ‘What now?’

He slices round, pushing against Dave’s grip on his right wrist then quickly pulls back slicing and swishing the spatula.

‘Better,’ Dave says, watching every move Mo makes, ‘Stop. Hold position. You have the knife pointing in the down position. Gravity is always on your side. Achilles heel is here,’ Dave lifts a leg, pointing at the back of his ankle, ‘Slice this and I cannot use this leg.’

‘Okay,’ Mo grunts.

‘As you come up, aim for the artery here,’ Dave taps his inner thigh, ‘then slice across my stomach with pressure applied to open the skin.’ He guides Mo’s weapon into his thigh then up and across his own stomach, ‘Up my chest, slice as you move, into the neck and across then move away.’

‘Okay.’

‘Good,’ Dave releases Mo and moves back, ‘Again.’

Mo attacks. Dave defends. Mo gets faster. Dave stops him every few seconds. Pointing out the benefit of slicing here. Stabbing there. Adding body weight to unbalance the opponent. Toe traps. Leg hooks. Trips, locks, holds and in so doing he gains an understanding of Mo’s unique sense of poise and balance and starts refining what Mo can do with his own body.

‘Hold,’ Dave says, holding Mo’s elbow to force the power of the stab away, ‘In this position you can draw and fire into me with the pistol. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Break away,’ Dave releases Mo, stepping back to clear the distance, ‘Unload your pistol and make safe.’

Mo does as told. Removing the magazine and ejecting the round from the chamber.

‘Use your pistol when you can,’ Dave says.

Mo attacks again. Lunging in with a clumsy stab but Dave can see the clumsiness is hiding a coming swipe and he parries, blocks and lets Mo keep coming. Letting the lad gain confidence and speed.

Mo grunts and sweats, intently drawn into the training and not realising that Dave is teaching him at the same time as watching the whole of the ground and being aware of everything around him.

The close quarters training becomes a blur. Mo’s speed defies what he should know at this stage and age but these are strange days. Dave does not question it. Dave accepts what is.

Mo first uses the pistol as opportunities present themselves. A sudden opening and he whips it out dry firing with dull clicks. Then he starts thinking of creating those opportunities and Dave tracks the progress. Then Mo actually tries to create those opportunities. Stabbing while twisting to draw and fire into Dave’s midsection. He gets batted away, swatted, hit, slapped, flicked and driven on.

The pace is relentless. Mo’s top clings to his frame but still he learns and fights. In the back of his mind is Jagger and every dirty trick he learnt on the estate. In the middle of his mind is Jagger and everything he has learnt with Howie and the others. In the front of his mind is Dave. Just Dave. This is special. This is unique. To be trained by Dave, even for one lesson, is something incredible and what respect Mo had for Dave at the start magnifies beyond comprehension.