by Al K. Line
"Cool, be right there. Just gonna bask in my driving glory for a second," said Kyle, feeling very pleased with himself. He was looking forward to being able to take his share of the driving in the future. He merely had to practice as he didn't want to put the life of Tomas, or any of them, at risk.
Let's Party
Since armageddon hit Jack and Steve had been having the time of their lives. Before it happened they both worked in offices — middle-management types that hated their jobs but did it anyway. To earn their money, pay their mortgages, and buy their new cars every three years.
Then one glorious day they awoke to find their wives dead, their kids eaten, and their freedom returned. These two close friends weren't going to hide in any damn corner just because there were some fucking zombies trying to eat them — they were going to join the party. Oh yeah.
So party they did.
Once it became clear exactly what had happened, at least insomuch as it was possible to learn the truth, they realized that law and order was gone, no-one could tell them what to do, there was no more shit office job, and they could do whatever the fuck they wanted to without any negative consequences.
First port of call was Jack's fairly high-end coke dealer. He was dead and gone but his stash of drugs wasn't. Neither was his arsenal of weapons. They grabbed as much of it as they could, taking a plethora of handguns and more ammo than they thought they could possibly need. They grabbed coke, dope and tablets by the handful.
It was a small town but it's surprising quite how many locals bought a wrap of coke on a weekend, and his influence spread as his reputation for quality and good prices became known. So the dealer had some serious protection to make sure that he carried on being the go-to guy for drugs for the whole of mid-Wales.
After some careful consideration and discussion the pair set up base in their old primary school on the outskirts of town.
Jack and Steve partied hard, they drank, they got stoned, they got coked up to the eye-balls and they got fucking depressed. There was something seriously missing — women. Their daft bitch wives were gone, so they could do better now and try to score some serious young action instead. But first they needed to learn how to defend themselves properly. So, over the course of a few days they practiced with the guns until they were at least proficient enough to hold the damn things steady and hit something when they fired. They may not hit exactly where they wanted to but they could at least find a large mark, such as a person.
Then they went on what they called 'the pull'. What us less psychotic types would call kidnapping, raping — finally murdering.
Their first victim was young, too young to have done to her what they did, not that it is excusable whatever the age. What began as forced sex became dangerous and extremely violent, there was simply nothing and nobody holding them back. There were no consequences to their actions any longer and chaos reigned. The poor girl ended up very dead, very abused, and very much thrown into the street like trash without a second thought.
That was their first encounter with anyone living, and their only one, until they met Al at their local newsagents — where they used to buy fattening pies on their numerous forays away from the office, back when they had to do that mindless shit day in and day out.
Jack and Steve were crazed — definitely loving every minute of the zombie apocalypse. Both were seriously hoping that Al (Alex to them) could tell them where they could get their hands on some more soft, sweet, living, breathing, and fighting back flesh. That was definitely how they liked it now, the only disagreement they had was about who got to go first.
To put it bluntly they were horny as hell, without any moral compass, and the only two people they had met since the zombie botnet had began was the unfortunate girl and Al. This was not good news for Al, who was lying unconscious at their feet after being smashed over the head with a gun.
###
After disabling the big guy Jack and Steve got to work.
They huffed and puffed and finally managed to get the man mountain into the back seat of the Jeep. It was no easy task, Al was a large guy. He was both muscular and carrying a little bit of extra weight due to the piles of sandwiches he ate whenever possible, preferably whenever he was conscious.
Still, they got him in and they got him out at the other end: at the school they had set up base in. They each grabbed an arm and after stripping off his coat and patting down his trouser pockets quickly they dragged him inside. After a lot of swearing and arguing they eventually managed to get him tied up and into a chair.
Unfortunately for Al he had a pretty thick skull, so by the time he was tied up in the chair he had had a total of three more smacks to the head with the butt of the gun. Suffice to say, he was not a happy chappy. The office drones were none too pleased either, they were starting to regret not simply killing Al where they found him, the guy was obviously a retard anyway — and that was their mistake. They would pay for underestimating the big guy.
Al may be different but he had a lot more intelligence then this pair of clowns put together.
Jack and Steve rummaged though Al's backpack while he was still unconscious. They found mostly junk in the form of empty chocolate bar wrappers, but the book of stately homes struck them as odd, especially seeing the worn page about Tŷ y Diafol. Maybe that was where the big guy had come from?
They would find out.
When Al came to his senses he took a serious beating right there and then. They didn't even bother to ask him any questions before they got to work on him. When they finally stopped to ask him about the manor house it was more to do with the fact their hands were bruised and swollen from the beating, than because they were in any hurry for him to talk.
"Is this where you came from, you fucking idiot?" shouted Jack, holding up the page for the house — swinging for Al yet again, his hand screaming after so many punches.
"I am not knowing of this place, I am just liking the picture of a nice house."
"What is wrong with you? Are you fucking Dutch or something? You speak like a bloody foreign retard, you know that?" said Steve.
"I am not being foreign, I am just a special man, my mum said that I was a special man."
"Yeah, fucking special alright," said Jack.
"Special needs," said Jack and Steve simultaneously, high-fiving each other and grinning at their obvious wit.
"So, are there women there? Is that it? You keeping the women to yourself you big fucking stupid lump?" asked Jack, getting right up in close to Al, spittle sprinkling his swollen face.
Al said nothing but his face must have given him away, the look of fear an obvious sign to the psycho office duo that there was fresh woman meat for them to play with — party time!
"I knew it, I fucking knew it," said Steve, licking his lips excitedly with his overly moist tongue. "You been holding out on us Alex, you keeping all that fresh pussy to yourself eh, you big fucking boner you."
Al's face went puce, he was livid. How dare they talk about women in such a bad way, these were men that were very bad and he would not be telling them anything at all.
One thing Al was now being very sure of was that he was going to make them very dead men, very dead.
"Answer me, goddammit!" said Steve as he smacked Al in the side of the head, using the gun as his hand was swelling up really badly.
"No, I am not talking to bad men, I am killing bad men, not telling things to them," said Al, the words calm and collected, even if he was bleeding profusely from a split lip and a broken nose that wouldn't stop flowing.
And on it went, and Al never gave away anything.
Al obsessively counted. He counted the buttons on the bad men's shirts, he counted the number of times they hit him (it was being eighty seven times), he counted how many tiny squares there were on the mesh re-enforced glass in the door to the room he was in. Al counted his own fingers obsessively, he flexed his chest muscles seven hundred and ninety six times, and he counted the number of times he
wished these two bad men were dead, but finally forgot after a particularly hard punch to his nose that gave a sickening crunch and made him blank out for a minute or two.
They kept on asking about the manor house, and Al kept on saying nothing.
But body language is hard to control, and the pair of sick white collar psychos surmised that there were at least two women and maybe a number of males at the manor house, that was so nicely presented in the color book they found in Al's backpack.
The beatings finally stopped, they were worn out and they began to realize that Al, even if he was a simple fuckwit, was going to give them nothing but bruised knuckles. They retired to their living area, downing some good whiskey while they talked over the events of the day and the chance of some fine female flesh to play with very soon. And this is when they formed a plan that was fucking brilliant in its idea, if not in execution.
They decided that the best way to flush out the women and the men at the house was to give them a little bit of a helping hand, and what could be better than a horde of zombies manic for food, after days without fresh live meat to feast on?
Steve left the school building and returned some hours later driving a shiny new Toyota Tundra pickup with a double cab and some seriously kick-ass rims. They had both noticed that when driving in vehicles the zombies they saw paid little more than lip service to their presence. When out in the open with their scent in the air it was a different matter altogether. They would come from miles around, following the smell and hungry for their brains. So they decided to put this to their advantage in the morning and use Al as brain bait for the famished hordes that roamed the surrounding countryside. Most of the zombies had vacated the town, congregating in the countryside, hunting for food.
So they planned to take Al and use him as bait, to leave him tied up in the open pick-up and slowly drive the zombies to the manor house — making a nice day of it, taking their time and enjoying the ride as they gradually made their way to the hide-away. In the morning they went to get him...
Al smashed into the pair the second they were through the door. Both were still slightly inebriated, their reflexes blunted. Neither had a gun ready to aim, rather they merely held them causally at their sides, assuming wrongly that Al would be exactly where they had left him.
All three of them crashed to the ground, arms flailing, legs scrabbling for purchase, with what felt like a ten ton weight pounding into the two assailant's chests. Al grabbed the head of Steve, pulling it sharply forward, ready to crush the back of his skull against the old wooden parquet floor.
Jack shot him.
Honey... I'm Home
Al had never been shot before and he was not liking how it felt. It was doing a lot of hurting and it was not making him feel like a happy Al.
This made him angry.
You shouldn't make Al angry, you wouldn't like him when he's angry.
What was even more galling was the fact that our big bear of a man was now well and truly trussed up and in the back of a large Toyota pick-up. Open to the elements and the first, second, and third course of choice for the undiscerning zombie hordes.
The crazy white collar primates were having the best fucking time of their lives. Whooping and hollering with the windows rolled down, inviting any passing zombie to come join the party. And join they did.
As they made their single vehicle convoy out of town, winding around the country lanes that led to the manor house, they gathered quite a following.
Zombies came from behind hedges, sprinted across fields, appeared from behind trees, smashed out of cars and through the windows of the odd house, a few even appeared out of drains by the side of the road. How they got down there in the first place was anyone's guess.
But come they did, and in droves.
What had seemed like a great idea to begin with quickly turned into a nightmare for the idiots in the front of the cab. They had assumed there would be a few dozen zombies at most, the town had been almost deserted as the undead wandered off in search of food. But none of the large percentage of the population that had been infected, let alone those from surrounding small villages and isolated homes, had actually roamed as far away from the places they once called home as the white collar loons had first anticipated.
Now they had hundreds of the starving zombies trailing along behind them — trying to keep up with the pickup that had began at a gentle crawl but was now picking up speed by the second, as they attracted more and more attention from the berserker hordes of the brain eating majority.
Al wasn't worried, he was just pissed (ten pence Al) that he couldn't kill the bad men now rather than later. He was confident that he would be able to get free somehow, and exact his revenge. Al was, if nothing else, an optimist in the face of extreme adversity. His arm was hurting an awful lot though from the gun shot.
Luckily the bullet had gone right through but Al was finding it hard to cope well with the pain. He simply tried to think of other things, they mostly involved his fists and the heads of his two kidnappers — that made him feel like a much better Al.
Tŷ y Diafol was only about twelve miles or so away from Pentref y Melltithio where they had left earlier that morning, but by the time they arrived at the crest of the hill, to take their first peek at the building, the sun was right overhead and surprisingly warm; or was it just that they were sweating from fear?
What had started out as a fun drive — teasing the flesh-eaters and letting them follow on along, had turned into a bit of a nightmare as the morning progressed. No longer were the windows open and the pair hollering out into the day like a couple of over-excited teenagers, the mood was now subdued and tense — at total odds with the beautiful sunny and calm day.
Beginning at a slow crawl the pace picked up steadily for the drive as the number of zombies increased. Both were amazed at quite how many they had attracted. They were thinking it would be a good way to flush out the women and be able to also deal with any men on the premises, but it was now more than apparent that the chances were very high that the flesh eaters were going to have all the fun. All they were going to get out of it were some good front-row seats for the brain eating that was sure to ensue.
The pair were still relatively confident that their own abilities would keep them safe. They had been dealing with the infected for some time now, having both learned that if you stayed sharp you would be alright. Shoot 'em and move was the best approach, but this was when dealing with a single menace, two or three at a time at most. This was entirely different, and they were not looking forward to having to face down the horde if anything went wrong.
"Fuck, I didn't realize there were quite so many of them still about. I thought the stupid fuckers had all wandered off looking for more food. Check 'em out, it's like a fucking zombie reunion," said Jack, staring out the back of the car via the rear-view mirror. Following close behind were hundreds of zombies, and they were closing in fast now.
"Don't bloody stop the truck you dickwad, you want us to get eaten as well? Let them eat the fucking men and the women, it's better than them getting to us. I do want me some serious pussy though, I have to admit it. I'm bursting here man, ready to pop," complained Steve.
"Bollocks to you and your bursting balls, why don't you go give Alex a bit of a going over if you are so damn desperate?" Jack replied, smiling wickedly at his compadre, winking and nudging him in the ribs.
"Hey, I ain't that way inclined Sir, thank you very much. I like my holes full frontal if truth be known," said Steve, smiling back at his friend for taking the piss, but secretly he was wondering about switching options in the future if women were hard to find. He didn't really care now that he thought about it.
It was the struggle of the victim that got him off. He realized that the one and only time they had managed to find a girl alive, and give her what for.
[Please allow me to interrupt here dear reader. In case you hadn't noticed these two are not nice men. They have no regard for life and they us
e very inappropriate turns of phrase, for which I apologize, but I do feel is important. There really are people like this so there is no point trying to sugar-coat it. Just rest assured that they won't be emerging from this well, and we can all gloat together at their come-uppance, once we see what happens.]
Jack moved the Toyota forward again. Stopping for only a few seconds, to scope out the place, had meant some of the faster zombies were almost upon them. They didn't care about Al now, but if the infected got close enough to get the big dufus then they were close enough to put themselves at risk as well.
They carried on climbing the rise to the manor house, taking note of the beautiful surroundings and what a good idea it had been to hole up somewhere like this. Lots of farm livestock to butcher and eat, plenty of space to grow vegetables if they could find women to do it for them, and it was definitely a great idea to find somewhere with a walled garden to be able to get some outdoor space without risk of attack.
"Damn, this is a sweet spot man, we should have thought about this," said Steve.
"Hmm. It's a great idea but it's a bit away from the action isn't it?" replied Jack, not sure about being so remote. "I would rather be in the middle of the madness in London or even bloody Cardiff, that's where the most people are and that's where the women are dude. They would probably want us to bang them if it stopped them having to be scared of the fucking zombies."
"Yeah man, you're right. They would be giving it up for us all the time if we promised to save their asses — for sure," said Steve, thinking how great it would be to have a harem of women to rape, even if they thought they could merely offer it up for salvation.
The two men had descended into uninhibited craziness a long time ago, they were out of control and they were not the smartest cookies in the jar to begin with. Their mindless jobs and silent screams against their mundane lives had been given such a release with the zombie botnet infection that they felt like they were invincible — that the world would come crawling to them at the thought of their manly salvation. They were out of their minds and they didn't even know it. Or didn't care either way.
