by Andy Morris
him so he hurried onwards.
In his pocket his phone bleeped.
It was a text from Tara “Him. bomb and greet meet. Hillary up”. She must have reactivated her predictive text somehow. Tom translated that she was asking him to hurry up. Ever since he had first met her; playing in the Salvation Army Brass Band, she hadn’t had a clue about how to use her phone. She was only just able to make a phone call. Not like Liz Scott who was a whizz with technology.
For some reason Liz popped into his mind. He had liked her at school and had even asked her out once but she had turned him down. She had been good with computers and was working in the IT department for the same insurance company he worked for. He saw her occasionally at work and always said hello to her. He often tried to have lunch with her in the canteen but unfortunately his timing was always off. Whenever he spotted her in the restaurant she was always either just finishing her lunch as he arrived or else she had a meeting that she was late for and had to dash straight off. Tom was often left sat at a table on his own with no one to share his crisp-filled sandwiches with. Typical! She was probably infected now though he reflected sadly. Perhaps he could try rescuing her as well after he got Liz?
Tom walked a little farther and at last he came up to the Tesco’s Express without any more encounters. The first thing he noticed was that the crowds Tara had mentioned were absent. His initial thought was that they had got bored and moved on. But then he saw the smashed windows and the crisp packets, crushed biscuits and numerous other pieces of rubbish lying strewn all over the pavement.
The sound of laughter drew his attention to the corner of the store where there was a group of five or six young men dressed in business suits urinating by a tree. It was one of the thin palm trees that dotted the pedestrianized area of the high street and the young lads were casually stood in a circle around one such tree. In their inexplicable compulsion to urinate against some kind of vegetation, they didn’t seem to mind that they were splashing each other’s shoes and lower trousers as they relieved themselves in this communal manner. It was just another baffling example of the so-called joys of alcohol. He wrinkled his nose and was about to hurry past into the store when his phone rang again. It was Tara.
“Hello Baby. Where are you?” she said so uncharacteristically loudly that he had to hold the phone away from his ear. “Listen, Baby, don’t worry about me” she yelled again. “I’m fine. I’m with my new best mate”.
“Whoa, hello Tom” another female voice that Tom didn’t recognise cheered down the line.
“Can you still hear me Baby? Ignore my text from earlier” Tara slurred her words, disconcertingly. “Listen, don’t wait up. Me and…” she paused. “I’ve forgotten your name” she said and this was followed by another bout of hilarity that turned Tom’s stomach into led. He was too late Tara was already one of them.
“Martha!” the other shouted.
“Martha! Of course. Baby, Martha and I are going into town to go to a pizza and then afterwards we’ll probably get a club or something…” Both women cackled hysterically as they realised Tara had mixed her words up. Tom didn’t share in their amusement but let his arm drop to his side and falteringly turned his back on the store. The cold realisation that Tara was now one of the disinhibited swept around him in the chilly night air.
He was alone now, the only survivor left in Bournemouth. No one seemed to care. No one had phoned him to see if he was OK, not even his manager after he’d failed to show up for work. Either they hadn’t noticed his absence or else no one had gone in at all. Despite the loneliness seeping in around him Tom found himself smiling. For some inexplicable reason this whole affair was actually quite funny, albeit in a darkly depressing kind of way. The phone dropped from his hand but he hardly noticed it. It didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered anymore he thought wistfully as he plodded away back down the high street towards their flat. The knowledge that Tara was now one of the walking drunk brought a dizzying swirl to his head. He stumbled slightly over a raised paving stone and chuckled to himself for some reason.
As he neared the Kareem’s Kebab House again he saw the hordes had now entered the building and were crammed inside greedily feasting on kebabs, chips and burgers. Dazed, expressionless faces peered out at him from the windows. Stringy pieces of lettuce hung from the mouths of some while other’s had their faces smeared in red chili sauce as they indulged their cravings in a carnivorous orgy of delight.
A kebab would be good about now Tom pondered and was about to head that way when he spotted a familiar face on the other side of the street. She was stumbling along the road with a couple of other inebriated young women. Usually so elegant and sophisticated, Liz Scott had lost all of her grace as she swayed between her friends. Tom watched her for a moment, recalling how she had been in school and at work. Then in that moment he realised what needed to be done.
An urgency filled him because for some reason there wasn’t a second to loose. This may be a little out of character for him but he was certain it would ultimately pay off. Normally he wouldn’t dream of doing anything like this but in times like these drastic measures had to be taken and the importance of this task was too great to simply ignore. A ripple of laughter rose through him in anticipation. Besides Liz would probably be so impressed by his actions she would want to spend the rest of the evening with him.
Fumbling to undo his belt as fast as he could, Tom had never felt more certain of anything in his entire life. He shouted out to Liz and she looked over in his direction. Before she had chance to respond Tom spun around. Tugging down his trousers he bent over to show her his glorious naked behind. As he swayed there looking at the pavement Tom knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this indeed was the right thing to do. A huge sense of satisfaction swirled through his head and from within the kebab house, the spectators joined him in his celebration. They had paused in their feasting to witness his display of affection towards Liz and were now cheering him on enthusiastically. Tom had never been treated like a hero before and he rejoiced in their admiration by waggling his pasty white bottom from side to side towards his would-be girlfriend. The on-lookers applauded and banged on the window of Kareem’s Kebab House even louder and Tom, having never felt so alive in all his life, wondered why he hadn’t done this years ago.
By the end of the night there was not a sober person left in Bournemouth as the alcohol virus continued to sweep across the country. Three days later and the nearly the whole of the UK had succumb to the infection. The walking drunk scoured the deserted streets and surrounding countryside in search of burgers and chips to satisfy their rapacious appetites.
The survivors, those few still unaffected by the plague stocked up on rice, pasta and coffee to ward off the symptoms of disinhibition. They hid in their homes and community centres hoping to avoid the attentions of the un-sober who, if they found a survivor, would mercilessly regal them with their drunken anecdotes for hours on end.
Tom sat on a bench with an unfortunate elderly couple who were still sober but had been forced to venture outside for food. He had managed to corner them at the bus station and so far they had been too polite to leave. Paraphrasing T.S. Eliot Tom explained “This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but on a bender” he laughed loudly at his own feeble joke before continuing “… and if you think that was funny, wait till I tell you what I did to this girl from work…!”
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About Andy Morris
Andy has been writing short stories on and off for most of his life. He has had many stories published on various websites and in both print and electronic magazines.
Andy currently lives near the south coast of England with his beautiful wife and two amazing kids.
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br /> Discover Other Titles by Andy Morris
Black Cat Tales: Black Anne and Other Short Stories
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