“Everyone took seats behind tables and sat awaiting their public but it wasn’t the public that arrived. It was zombies, hundreds of them! They weren’t like real zombies either John, these were fast fuckers! In they came in there droves running towards us and they were hungry.”
“The first to be eaten was Mike Score. He couldn’t see a thing with his hair flopping over his eyes and ended up tripping over the bike from the TV show Streethawk, falling flat on his face. He was easy pickings for the undead. “
“Celebrities were dropping like flies and I was getting angry John, real fucking angry! Zombies were destroying everything that was awesome about the 80s and I had to make a stand and fight back.”
“Catch!” Came a voice to my right. I turned to see Robert Englund dressed as Freddy Krueger and he threw me my battle paddle. “You’re all my children now!” he shouted, slicing off the heads of approaching zombies with his metal claw glove.”
“Nice one Krueger lad!” I yelled with appreciation. Then I began thwarting all oncomers. Twatting them with my awesome battle paddle. But it was hard going and no matter how many zombies I killed they kept on coming, making it impossible for me to save anyone.”
“Then out of nowhere Michael Dudikoff, star of the American Ninja films, jumped over my head and launched hundreds of ninja stars, one by one towards the zombies. Every star thrown hit its target, piercing through the skull and into the brain of every deader. With Freddy Krueger and Dudikoff on my side we were turning the fight around and the approaching zombies became less and less.”
“Finally the onslaught of the undead waned and the three of us stood victorious. I offered Michael Dudikoff my hand to say thanks and like a true Ninja he disappeared in a puff of smoke. I couldn’t see Freddy Krueger at first but then I found him murdering Brother Beyond and The Kids from Fame even though they weren’t even zombies! ‘Fair enough’ I thought, and so I left him to his rampage.”
“Now the zombies were taken care of I was hoping things would get back to normal and I could continue talking bollocks with my new celebrity mates but all was not well. Most of those that had survived the attack were now looking rather ill and began collapsing. First to go down was Molly Ringwald, followed by the Orang-utan from Any Which Way But Loose and then Steve Guttenberg who had been doing a terrible job of chatting up Blanche from the Golden Girls. I thought Limahl was going to be next to turn green but he was just upset because he had come runner up in a Limahl lookalike competition to a toilet brush, and won one of his singles as a prize!”
“I had my suspicions as to what was making everyone sick so I got Leonard “Bones” McCoy from Star Trek to use his Medical Tricorder and he confirmed my fears. They had all been infected. One by one famous faces from the 1980s were turning into the undead. Unlike the rotters me and my mates Freddy and Dudikoff had taken care of, these were not your fast Hollywood zombies but you’re everyday shufflers. This meant killing them should not have been as difficult kidda but I was finding it a struggle. You know me Ace, I love killing zombies but when you’re face to face with an undead Roger Moore it’s not so easy.
“After reluctantly twatting Roger’s head in with the battle paddle I looked around to see if apart from me, there was anyone else still alive. Freddy Krueger was OK but he’d gone completely wacko and was riding around on the pantomime horse from Rentaghost like he was king of the rodeo. The only other person I could see that wasn’t infected was Boy George but I decided to kill him anyway because he’s a massive twat.
“So I lit up one of Tina Turner’s arse fags and with my battle paddle I started bashing heads.
“WHALLOP! Down went John Cusack like a sack of shit. “That’s for making 2012!” I yelled.
“THWACK! To the floor crashed Joe Dolce. Now if you don’t remember who Joe Dolce is Ace, he’s the annoying prick that pretended to be Italian and sang ‘Shaddap You Face’, which stopped Vienna by Ultralox getting to the No 1 spot back in 1981. I went into overkill on little Joe Dolce if I’m honest. By the time I had finished his face looked like a rhubarb crumble.
“BAM! On the ground went Andrew McCarthy. “That’s for Weekend at Bernie’s 2 and for every movie from 1989 onwards,” I screamed.
“On and on the zombie bashing continued until every famous face from the 1980s was dead accept for one. Stood beneath the legs of Tina Turner was zombie Gary Numan. Man I just couldn’t do it. There was no way I could take him down, I loved the guy too much. Then I heard Tina’s belly growl and what followed was the biggest fart I have ever heard and her arse dispatched dozens of cigarettes, hurtling them downwards towards Numan at a record breaking speed. He looked like a porcupine when it was all over.
“So there I stood, surrounded by my heroes and every last one of them was dead when the 20ft statue of Tina Turner came to life, handing me a pint of lager and started singing Simply the Best. It was beautiful Ace and she even let me munch a few of her dry roasted peanut pubes. That’s when you woke me up!”
After describing his elaborate and nonsensical dream he lit a cigarette and lent back on his chair with his arms behind his head, waiting on my response. I couldn’t think of anything to say! His description had sent my brain to mush and it was difficult to find words. I mean, really? A 20ft Tina Turner with a nutty trouser garden and a cigarette dispenser for an arse? Who thinks of things like that? Dave that’s who!
“Wow! I have no idea what I just heard but if I was your psychiatrist I’m pretty sure I’d be calling the men in white coats to come and take you away right about now!” I said, finally summoning a response.
Dave let out an enormous belly laugh at my suggestion then sucked down hard on his cigarette, rocking back and forth on the dining table chair.
“You only got a little snippet there Kid. You want to try living with my brain 24/7. It’s not all cheese and biscuits being as cool as me you know!” he replied, pouring himself a large whisky.
“I do have to live with your brain 24/7, you never bloody shut up! If you’re not talking about the 1980’s then it’s some other random nonsense. What was it you were saying the other day? Why in Star Wars does everyone only have one set of clothes and who brushes Chewbacca’s fur? Is it Han Solo? And when he brushes his tummy does Chewy kick his leg out like a dog getting a belly rub?” I recalled.
“I’ve been thinking about those Star Wars questions and I think I’ve found the answers. There’s a washer dryer on the Millennium Falcon and Chewy brushes his own hair using a comb fashioned from the shell of a Felucian ground beetle and the toe nails from a Kowakian Monkey Lizard.” Dave smiled, downing his whisky in one.
“Where do you come up with this stuff?” I asked, exasperated.
“What can I say, I’m a fucking genius!” came the expected reply.
Butty walked into the kitchen, grabbed an empty glass and helped himself to a whisky, taking a seat next to Dave at the table.
“He’s right about the Millennium Falcon. I’ve discussed this at length with my comrades from Aliens of Runcorn Spotters Elite. Not only would there be a washer dryer on board, they would also have an iron because none of their clothes were ever creased.” Butty said.
“It’s the end of the world and I’m surrounded by Star Wars nerds! I see you’re both having a healthy breakfast. You should go easy on the whisky, I’m sure our host wouldn’t appreciate you drinking it all. Where is Brittain anyway?” I replied.
“Dunno John. The last thing I remember is trying to help him get over his agoraphobia then I passed out bladdered.” he said, pouring another drink.
“He’s stood outside the front door muttering to himself. He’s been there for hours,” Butty casually informed.
“He’s outside? Butty you’ve been keeping watch all night and you didn’t think this was something you needed to tell us about?” I yelled, running to the front door.
I opened the door to see Brittain stood on his driveway with a zombie closing in, only moments away from grabbing him. Hearing the door open he
turned his head to look at me. Track lines from dried out tears ran down his cheeks.
“I’m outside,” he shivered and a small smile of accomplishment spread across his face, “I think I’m cured!”
In that moment he looked vibrant. Fresh air hitting his skin for the very first time made him appear more alive than anyone I had ever seen before and what’s more, he looked content and happy; far removed from the twitching nervous wreck we had encountered the night before. Then all that was taken away as the oncoming zombie pulled him to the ground and began gnawing at his neck.
I ran towards the kid and grabbing the zombie by its hair, wrenched it away from him, throwing the zombie to the ground. Whilst I returned to Brittain, Butty ran to the zombie and jumping into the air, stomped his boot down hard into its face, cracking the deader’s skull. Unfortunately it was too late for Brittain. Not only was he infected but the amount of blood he was losing indicated his passing would be sooner rather than later.
I ripped some material from the ragged shirt of the zombie and pushed it against the kid’s neck in an attempt to ease the blood pumping out. Not that it did any good. Nothing was going to save him, we all knew it but I felt like I needed to do something. Holding the material against his neck I spoke softly, reassuring him that everything was going to be OK.
In his final moments Brittain appeared happy, despite the pain he must have felt. I guess that even though he knew his life was about to end, he’d done something he had never before thought possible. He’d stepped out of his home and ventured into the world for the very first time. It was just a shame he hadn’t experienced this sooner. Who would have thought that advice from a pissed up 80s Dave could cure agoraphobia? Not Dave that’s for sure or I can guarantee he would have kept his massive gob shut!
It didn’t take long for him to die. The injury to his neck was substantial and took him much sooner than the infection would have. The last thing Brittain did before breathing his final breath was look at me with the most fulfilled expression I have ever seen. Then a crowbar flew downwards past my face, smashing into the kid’s head.
“Time to move,” Butty instructed.
This was the second time in a few days that we had met someone and they had died as a consequence. Firstly there was Rod in the medical centre and now this poor kid. Add what had happened to Jonathon and I was starting to think we were jinxed!
“The less people we talk to the better, everyone we meet ends up dead,” I groaned.
We heard a loud yawn and behind us in the doorway of the house was Steven, stretching his arms out in an attempt to wake himself up.
“What did I miss?” he asked.
Butty and Dave looked at each other with a similar expression. I knew what they were thinking because I was thinking it too. They do say these things come in threes!
“Two tins of spam says he won’t make it through the day,” Butty wagered to which Dave keenly accepted.
There was an ear piercing screech, like metal scraping against the ground slowly. We looked down the road to where the cul-de-sac opened into a larger street and saw Dave’s Thunderbird bang and clang its way along the road followed by a small horde of zombies.
“Fuck me lar, someone’s half inched me Thunderbird and they are driving it with flat tyres! It will destroy the body work! That car is a thing of beauty, what the hell are they thinking?” Dave exclaimed running to the Volvo.
“Do you think its Emily, should we follow?” I asked Butty,
“It could be our Emily, it’s definitely worth a shot. We’ll keep a good distance between our vehicles and the zombies following the Thunderbird. They are obviously attracted to the noise. There’s no point in distracting them, not yet anyway. Not unless we’re clear its Emily driving. Did you hear that Dave? Keep your distance!” Butty yelled.
We climbed into our vehicles leaving Brittain’s body in his driveway. I liked him, he was a good kid that did not deserve to go out the way he did. But in this post-apocalyptic world people don’t always get what they deserve. They get what they take. Only the ruthless survive now and Brittain, with all of his fears and hang ups was not cut out to survive. Or maybe it’s our fault he’s dead and if we’d picked another house last night he would have found a way to live through this. Happy in his own little world, never really knowing the dangers that lived outside his doorway.
Or maybe I’m over thinking it and it’s his own fault for listening to 80s Dave!
Emily 2
Emily was cold and tired. She had been on the move for several hours now but with darkness drawing closer she remembered her uncle’s apocalypse training and knew she needed to find somewhere safe to stay for the night.
“Now then Emily love, in the event of a zombie apocalypse there will come a time when you find yourself on the streets looking for a safe place to stay. There are a few rules you will need to follow.
1: Always find somewhere before it goes dark. It will be dangerous enough in the daylight but being outside at night will be suicide. The last thing you want is a zombie creeping up on you when you’re struggling to see your own hands in front of your face. Now you may think you would be able to smell them coming and in some cases this could be true but you have to remember that the streets are infested with the dead. Everywhere will smell like death so sniffing out a single rotter could be difficult. It will be like sniffing out a singular fart at a baked bean eating contest.
2: Do not look for refuge in a boarded up house. They are boarded up for a reason and will no doubt contain other survivors that may not be so pleased to see you. Remember, the apocalypse favours crazy bastard arseholes that are willing to do anything to survive. When the end of the world arrives, nice guys will be zombie fodder. Luckily for you, you’ve got Uncle Butty here to show the way and I’m nuttier than squirrel shit!
3: Once you have found somewhere to stay you need to secure it the best you can. Furniture such as wardrobes and beds are great to push up against doors and windows. Another tip would be to scatter empty tins, cans or pots and pans around entrances and exits. If a zombie or a survivor gets in whilst you are sleeping, the clatter and banging as they walk into them will wake you up.”
What would she do without her Uncle?
To Emily’s left, a little further along the road, was an apartment with its door open. She smiled and said a silent thank you to her uncle then slowly approached the doorway with caution. The lock had been forced and the hallway leading to a short staircase was empty.
Slowly she entered and holding her hammer tightly she quietly climbed the staircase. At the top she was met with another open door leading to another hallway with two closed doors on either side and another one directly in front which was open. The open door revealed a cosy living room filled with 1970s furniture and a shag pile carpet.
The closer she moved towards the doorway the stronger the smell of death became and entering the living room, she was confronted with the cause of the putrid stench. An old lady sat dead in a chair with a small circular wound to her forehead.
Emily looked over the bloated lady. The women’s eyes were bulging out of their sockets and her skin appeared almost purple as the bacteria within began breaking down her body, releasing gases that caused the disgusting smell.
The apartment was perfect for Emily but the old lady would have to be removed. There was not a chance she could rest with the smell of a decomposing body attacking her nostrils.
Emily entered her deceased host’s bedroom and retrieved a bed sheet then lay it on the floor in the living room. She then tipped the chair forward and the old lady slid out of her seat and onto the sheet. Wrapping her up and taking the body in her arms, Emily carried her out into the hallway and down the staircase, placing her on the ground outside. She then re-entered the bedroom and rocked a large wardrobe into the hallway and down the stairway, using it to secure the front door. It was difficult but with her uncle’s advice in her thoughts she was determined.
Entering the kitchen she emp
tied the contents of the rubbish bin on the floor. Not one empty tin was found. The old lady’s cupboards however were full with cans of rice pudding. Emily hated rice pudding. The slimy texture, the creamy sweet taste; she hated everything about it. Her hatred for rice pudding was on par with her father’s dislike of mayonnaise and for a moment he entered her thoughts, she felt sad. Sad that she wasn’t with him and for the distress her disappearance will have caused.
“I’ll see you soon dad, I got something I need to do first but we’ll be together, I promise,” she said to herself.
Despite her hatred of the stuff, she knew this food from hell was a good source of protein and the tins could be used as an alarm against intruders. She emptied several of the creamy rice puddings into a bowl and scattered the empty tins on the floor at the bottom of the staircase. The contents of the cutlery draw and pots and pans completed the make shift alarm system.
Wrapping herself in a blanket she stood at the apartment window and began to eat the cold rice pudding, struggling to swallow her most unappetising of meals. The sky outside was clear and the moon illuminated her view. In the near distance she could see the fields of the Pavilions and the many slayed zombies that carpeted the frosty grass. Her first thought was how, with the butchered dead surrounding the grounds, the Pavilions would make the perfect hide out. The smell from the dead would keep zombies away and nobody in their right minds would think about entering. It was truly horrifying.
“Nobody in their right minds…” She said, a thought igniting.
The Death in a Northern Town Trilogy (Books 1-3): Welcome To Dead Town Page 37
