by Unknown
Tiredness Kills
By Julie Taylor
Copyright © 2015 by Julie Taylor
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form including photo copying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Contents
Dedication
Preface
Prologue
Tiredness can kill -Take a break!
The Taking of TKMAX
GTA: Zombie Apocalypse
Wanted- Dead or Alive
Sex Panther?
He who dares wins
Hi Ho Silver
Bear necessities!
Zee Cupboard of Death!
Reunited (and it feels so good)
Dedication
I lovingly dedicate this book to anyone who has spent any of their working life in a customer based environment. Whether it be a fast food outlet, a retail shop a supermarket or a coffee bar.
If you have spent a large part of your day pointing out where the easily visible milk, toilets, sun cream, dog food, 1 inch wood screws etc. are, then yes, this is for you. I feel your pain brothers and sisters!
This book is a mark of respect to anyone who has felt the icy fear of an imminent visit from the dreaded Mystery Shopper or who have taken part in morning group huddles where 'Upselling Challenges' have been bestowed and noncompliance dealt with.
If you have taken part in twee conversations of which you care not a kipper about how little Jonny doesn't like crispy bacon or have been likened to Dick Turpin who at least had the decency to wear a mask, whilst absorbing many angry cries of 'How much?' and still managed a smile then you fit the description for which this dedication has been offered. I salute you!
But of course my husband gets a mention too as had he not constantly text me with the loving words “You had better be writing today!” I may still be stuck on the first chapter wondering how the heck I was going to introduce the Zombies, which is where my son Jon and his great imagination came into play.
You all rock!
Preface
It was a chance meeting in a club called Paradiso in Amsterdam, where the two students did literally bump into each other. A drink was spilled and a fight may well have broken out had it not been for the euphoric feeling that was still evident in both young men after having eaten cake in separate cafes along the strip only hours before. Instead hugs and apologies were offered and the remainder of the holiday was spent together, mainly between the Paradiso club, the Mellow yellow cafe and a discreet massage parlour.
The two men had much in common as they were both attending universities and studying for the same ultimate goal which would satisfy each of their lusts for chemistry.
Many years later they would find themselves in the city of Birmingham working for the highly acclaimed Dr White and being in the enviable position of having much trust, and access to many different man made ingredients at their disposal.
One of these men had become dangerously ambitious, the other one not so much, but between them they had been working to concoct a serum that would, once administered, have the ability to render an individual completely under anothers influence with no obvious tell-tale signs. Zombiefied if you like, and could be extremely handy for use on certain people who were very high in power perhaps.
Once perfected this stuff could be worth its weight in gold but so far, all that had been achieved was the capability of turning cute little white bunnies into rabid creatures of rage who appeared to have an overwhelming need to bite.
Quite what would happen if this serum were to ever end up being ingested by humans at this early stage in the experiment, either of the men had not a clue!
Prologue
It's close to midnight,
and something evil's lurking in the dark........
Over 30 years ago, this was how many people were introduced to the Zombie.
It was December 1983 and 12 o’clock Midnight and Michael Jackson was walking his girlfriend home from a horror movie when suddenly from out of the graves in a nearby graveyard, and accompanied by the funk of forty thousand years, out crawled a plague of Zombies who then proceeded to express their despair through the medium of dance.
Times have changed and Zombies are no longer the entertaining funsters to be copied at weddings. They are real, they are dangerous and they must be destroyed.
I was approached by Scott Morris and Anthony Langston to write this book Tiredness kills. Both men had been aware for quite a while now, of the distinct possibility of a viral outbreak with the ability to bring Mankind to its knees, changing our world forever. If your town hasn't yet been polluted then we are pleased for you for now but you must prepare for it. Trust me it is on its way and it will not be merciful. Scott and Ant want to share with you some important rules for survival;
Assess the extent of the situation.
Grab anything close that can be used as weaponry
Ignore all cries for help from other humans. Don't even look at them. If they are wearing blood then it is already too late.
Oh, and Good Luck!
Tiredness can kill -Take a break!
Scott Morris was in heaven!
As he gazed around the huge 'hangar' type building he felt his excitement bubbling up like an underground spring!
This wasn't just any old Show at Birmingham's NEC: this was the Show! The Gadget Show. And the only thing that was almost bursting his bubble right now was a flaming wedding!
'Ant should be here!' he mumbled to himself. 'Not flouncing around some Medieval Castle in a Tux and Cummerbund- even if he is the Best man!' he thought, feeling a little cheated and also a little bit solitary, given that Ant was his soul mate when it came to things such as this.
In his pocket he had a list; a list that he and Ant had compiled weeks before. They both had a fairly generous budget which unfortunately had needed to be harnessed a little after Scott had pointed out that he would be the sole shopper/carrier here thanks to that bloody wedding!
As he wandered around Planet Gadget, he noticed a crowd had gathered around one of the stalls. As he got closer, he could see why. It was in fact the first item on the list. Wolverine claws!
The geezer on the stall was holding a pair in the air. Scott needed to get closer to hear what was going on, so he politely pushed his way through the crowd. No one complained. This may have been Brum; but this was a Geek-fest!
As he arrived in the front row, he was greeted by the 'geezer' with the words “Looks like we have an eager volunteer! Follow me!”
Before anyone could say Holy Bazinga, Scott found himself in the middle of the growing ensemble and being fitted with a fairly heavy pair of Wolverine claws.
“Now quickly make a fist with both hands, being sure to touch the strap that's running across your palm firmly with your fingertips!” said the geezer to Scott whilst mimicking the instruction.
Scott did exactly as he was told and almost passed out with delight as both of his hands turned into weapons of mass destruction. Okay, so the tips were never likely to slice through metal; but you still wouldn't want to accidentally scratch your head whilst wearing them!
Scott's delight didn't end there, as the geezer produced two items. One was a large watermelon which was placed on a tall stand; the other was a crudely dressed rubber doll which appeared to be grinning rather widely in his direction.
“Go get 'em!” said the geezer, and Scott was off like a shot. Firstly he attacked the watermelon, and was amazed a
t just how easily the claws sliced through the soft pink flesh that lay beneath the fairly robust green protective casing. The pink contents splattered across the floor, making a few people in the audience turn away whilst covering their mouths and retching. Next came the rubber dolly. This wasn't quite so easy to attack because it had a face. (Albeit a very odd looking one).
“Pretend it's an ex-wife who took your house!” shouted a disgruntled member of the crowd.
“Or a flesh eatin' mother- fuckin' Zombie!” shouted another.
That was all Scott needed to hear to put him into attack mode.
“Arrrggghhh!!” he growled as he quickly pounced towards the doll.
With lightning speed he raised both claws into the air and bought them down onto the rubber zombie's head, puncturing her immediately and altering her wide mouthed expression forever. A few twists of his fingers left her in a shredded tattered mess. God he hated Zombies!
A few crowd members shuffled away rather urgently.
“I'll take two pairs, thank you!” said Scott to the geezer, his eyes gleaming with maniacal excitement. “Keep the change!”
The other items that were purchased that day were:
· A rather handy Grip strip that promised to grip almost anything to anything, and would mean having a hands free- phone attachment for just about anywhere (especially handy for the smallest room in the house).
· A Fitbit flex wrist band that would be simply life- changing (Scott could not wait to synch it to his other devices).
· A 3D pen for Ant that quite honestly is a form of magic that needs to be seen to be believed, a Bluetooth coffee machine which they planned to share at work, an amazing invention which would allow them to make coffee just by tapping their phones.
· A cardboard smart phone projector that would make lunch times at work more interesting- whether it be watching kittens falling into bins or any other crazy stuff they would find on the Interweb and project onto the wall, a Rollie egg on a stick just for the novelty value.
· A wallet ninja.
List completed, Scott headed for the exit. On the way out he passed a tiny food hall where an array of pasty- looking sandwiches were parading themselves to the tune of three quid per bite. Thank goodness he would be meeting up with Ant in an hour's time at their local motorway service station. It may also be pricey; but at least they offered a decent breakfast for your money, and of course that included hash browns.
'I hope he's changed out of his Tux by now, 'thought Scott, still slightly annoyed at Ant’s desertion as he applied his Alien on board bumper sticker and headed off in the direction of Hopwood Park services. A cursory glance at an instrument told him that he had more electrical charge left in his new Nissan Leaf than what was needed to reach the car charger that also happened to be at the services. He awarded himself a smug smile.
The Taking of TKMAX
On the top floor of a tall, circular building which had frequently been referred to by its nick name - the Rotunda- and whose corner-less walls had been a sickened witness to a plethora of some of the cruellest and loudest (hence the top floor) invasive experiments on white rats and rabbits that would chill the blood of a normal being (but had zero effect on the hearts of the white coated army that carried out these anomalies, believing their line of work to be 'For the greater good') stood a man by the name of Chris Richards.
Chris had the classic, stereotypical look of a crazy cartoon professor. Thick horn- rimmed spectacles, a large shock of grey untamed hair, protruding teeth in a shade that did not match the bright, white, sterile surroundings of the inside of this building. And if it wasn't for the presence of a mop in his hand and the dragging of a Janitor trolley one would be excused for assuming him to be crazy cartoon professor.
Chris is a sheep. He is a loner. He is a non- doer. But he is a dreamer and he dreams big! He dreams that one day he will ditch the mop, kick over the Janitor trolley, break the chains made out of J- cloth and live the life of a double roll- over lottery winner. Maybe retire to Benidorm and become a huge hit with all the lovely señoritas. After of course, shedding the remnants of his present life and loyal wife Maude, who has never been a lucky woman!
Today was Tuesday, which also doubled as 'deep clean day' and which meant particular attention to 'nooks and crannie's day'. It was simply because of this special day that Chris Richards made an impact on the world. For it was as he was crouching beneath a large stainless steel counter top, wiping away stray traces of blood and toxins, that he witnessed a conversation between two professors who had no knowledge of his presence and who were arguing quite candidly.
Proff A, (as we shall call him for legal reasons) was referring to a brand new serum that had been cruelly produced by the two men. He was emphatically appealing to Proff B for them to destroy the evil compound as it could cause nothing but harm to humanity and, if delivered to the wrong hands, would no doubt bring about such a catastrophe of epic proportions as would change the face of this world forever. Proff B however had a very greedy and evil glint in his eye and was having none of it.
“Now listen to me Hitzenspinkle (alas, he wasn't aware of the legalities). We could become very rich and important men with this serum. If we can reproduce its components and successfully control it, then we could eventually control the world and make millions!”
(He failed to roar 'Muhahahah' but you could see it etched on his face).
Proff H (as he shall now be known) was wearing a look of sheer horror and disgust as he turned to his colleague and spat out the words “You monster! We shall see what Doctor White has to say about this very thing!” and turned on his heels toward the myriad of circular corridors which would eventually lead to the High Office of the Main Man that ruled this building. Hot on his heels was a pleading and possessed Proff B who was throwing in the words “Only joking” as if his life depended on it.....!
Although Chris had no knowledge of experiments and serums, he understood the words 'make' and 'millions' all too well, and so by slithering out from beneath the work top he was soon standing next to his winning lottery ticket.
Wasting no time- and without allowing his better judgement to stop him- he grabbed some basic protective equipment and a discarded plastic water bottle from the bin inside his Janitor trolley and, with shaking hands, poured the clear mixture into the bottle. He then quickly topped up the space- age looking receptacle with plain tap water, badly replacing its lid in his hurry, carefully placed the water bottle into his mop bucket and headed directly for the trade lift.
Although he knew that Doctor White's High office was a fair way from the laboratory in which the drama had just taken place he also knew that time wasn't a luxury. So after a good five minute lift ride to the bottom of the tall building he ran to his car like a bat out of Hell, firmly grasping the innocent looking bottle of water.
A janitor's wage doesn't cover the cost of a souped-up getaway car. However, his normally trusty (albeit rusty) Volvo took more than two key turns in the ignition to purr into life, mainly due to the heightened sense of panic and euphoria that Chris was feeling. However, eventually he made it out of the car park and onto the busy ring roads of town and headed straight towards a shady little pub called the Masshouse Inn. He already knew through repetitive behavioural patterns who would be drinking in this pub and exactly where they would be seated, as he himself was a regular and had already quite often unburdened himself of the spoils of petty pilfering in this very place.
Although what he was hoping to sell today went far beyond his usual supply of illegally obtained cleaning chemicals and safety equipment that had boosted his drinking and gambling kitty when Maude had refused to comply, he was pinning his hopes on a 'someone knows someone knows someone' scenario.
As he pulled into the car park of the shady establishment, he could barely see, mainly on account of the huge pound signs that obstructed his vision and his sense of morality.
Proffs B and H had reached the grand High Office of Doctor White,
but as yet hadn't pressed the intercom button. Proff H had calmed a little but was still eyeing Proff B as a homicidal maniac.
“Please, Hitzenspinkle, I am begging you. If you press that button I am a finished man. I have other mouths to feed beside my own, and I still have so very much to give to the world. I also still have a photograph of you and that Dutch prostitute, off your tits on Space cakes whilst that bloke shoves......”
“SSSHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”
And so it was because of this latest conversation that the Proff's were now silently returning to their laboratory. One seething, one beaming.
As they stood at the very station where they had earlier been discussing the horrific and lethal effects of TKMAX (Tissue Killing Molecules of Aggressive Xenon) they both immediately noticed the tiny wet spillage on the counter top. Slowly their eyes found each other’s, and for a few moments neither man dared to breathe. As if in a dream, Proff H picked up the Space age looking receptacle, noticing straight away that the lid had not been replaced properly. Both men were void of words and shallow of breath as Proff H, now with heavily- gloved fingers, picked up the receptacle and removed the lid. It was with a kind of 'angels singing and fanfare playing' sense of relief that the two men felt able to breathe again as they saw that the container was still filled to the brim. This sense of relief was not to last though, as that tiny spillage had become a huge elephant in the room.
