by Unknown
“Watch out!” shouted Scott, pointing to the small crawling baby that was trying to clamp on to Ant's leg.
Ant shook his leg free of the snarling ankle biter and lifted his other foot in line with the baby's head. He pulled back his right foot as if to take a penalty and then.....
“I can't do it, Scott......I'm not an animal!” he spluttered.
Both men looked at the tiny creature, who inspite of its frothing, growling and crazed look had still managed to retain some of its cuteness.
“Nah nor me!” admitted Scott. “Anyway it's got no teeth! It can't do much harm!”
Carefully stepping around the foaming baby, Scott and Ant hurried on into the retail store to gather any kind of ammunition that they could use in this crazy war.
Inside the shop there were a few different types of zombie. From their crouched position in the book department, amongst the littered remnants of what looked like the aftermath of a full blown riot, they observed their enemy. It was easy enough to spot a zombie due to its movement, its overall look, and the deep guttural groans that it emitted; but there was also an obvious range becoming apparent. A zombie's physical ability depends solely on the person's previous strengths and weaknesses. As the two men peered around shelves and over display stands in the limited light that they were afforded, it became fairly apparent that the large majority of the shop's clientele at the point of outbreak had been a coach- load of pensioners either going to, or returning from their jollies on the coast. Obviously this type of zombie wasn't their immediate concern, unlike the small group of teenage boys not far from them who still had pubescent energy coursing through their veins (and which was obvious from their louder, more aggressive behaviour and, judging by the glossy magazines scattered around them, it wasn't hard to work out which shelf they had been perusing).
“We need to get them first,” said Ant, pointing to the rather loud group of about four youths. “What can we use?”
Scott looked around for inspiration. “Well, we've got books..... Oh, and newspapers!” he replied carefully reaching out to the stand and dragging a couple of copies of the Financial Times towards him.
“Are you serious, mate? What are we meant to do with them? Fan them till they fall over? or bore them to death?”
“Trust me!” said Scott retrieving another defrosted Tip Top from his pocket. After rolling a newspaper into a tube, he proceeded to sprinkle the sugary contents over the paper. As Ant watched in total astonishment- and some degree of disbelief- Scott folded the long tube in half and passed it to Ant as he proceeded to make another.
“What the fuck is this?” asked Ant, taking the gift rather ungratefully.
“That, my friend, is a 'Millwall Brick' Scott answered, using up his last Tip Top. “Tap the end on your head!”
“Ouch!” came the reply. “Nice work Scotty boy! Let's crush some whippersnappers' skulls!”
The two men quietly approached the snarling gang from behind and launched their attack. The first victim went down like a sack of spuds after Scott, using his hand-made device, whacked the kid's cranium with such force that it split on contact. Ant bagged the second kill with a sideways swipe which sent the second kid reeling, smashing his head on the concrete floor as blood gushed out of its ears. The third kid, upon smelling the fresh meat, had turned and was approaching Scott, mouth open and positively slavering in anticipation. Unable to swing his brick in time, he shouted Ant's name. In a second Ant had unleashed his trusty brolly and embedded through the kid's eyeball- a move that was fast becoming his favourite.
The fourth teenaged freak was slightly bigger and stronger than it'scohorts, and although the Millwall bricks had been a God send, they had begun to fray and come apart. Luckily for our heroes, a hungry zombie doesn't look at what's lying on the floor and the body of one of his unfortunate mates became the catalyst in his downfall.
Wriggling on the ground, pathetically trying to get upright, a tin fell out of its jeans pocket. It was a small black tin with a bright, unmistakable green cannabis leaf on the front. In no immediate danger, Scott and Ant shared a grin and a brainwave.
Grabbing the tin, Ant opened it, breaking out in a smile on seeing its half full contents.
“I've thought about doing this before, Scott,” he said to his friend.
“Me too! Me too!” answered Scott, pinning the writhing zombie's head in position between two large hardback books.
Ant wasted no time upturning a small display table and dumped it hard onto the creature's body, trapping its flailing arms under the weight as Ant knelt on top, out of mouth's reach.
As the desperately hungry growling monster opened his mouth wide, hoping for a bit of Ant's flesh, Ant tipped the whole contents of the tin into its gurgling mouth.
They waited.......they watched. A few minutes went by and the stricken zombie was still putting up a fight to get a bite when suddenly Ant felt the struggling force beneath him relax. The twisted and contorted facial features of the crazed zombie seemed to soften. Its eyes took on a more serene appearance and it seemed to both Scott and Ant that it was even smiling a gentle 'way out there' kind of smile.
“We got a zombie stoned!” said Scott like a kid at Christmas. “This is one cool story to tell once we get out of here!”
But the zombie 'high' didn't last long and suddenly the frantic wriggling returned stronger than before, knocking Ant flying from his kneeling position.
“The fucker's got the munchies!” shouted Scott, bringing his boot down hard on its head and hearing the reassuring crack. “Now let's deal with the candyfloss bonnets!”
“Oi! Have a bit of respect mate. My nan's a candyfloss bonnet!” chided Ant with a frown.
They looked around the messy, darkened shop. There were around fifty candyfloss bon.......... sorry, pensioners shuffling about the aisles, some still holding walking sticks and some still quite nippy considering all the circumstances. They watched them carefully, trying to work out a plan that would incorporate mass murder of a coachload of holiday makers in their golden years. This would not be easy!
Suddenly, every member of the Shearing's jollies brigade stopped in their tracks and began to sniff the air.
“They're on to us,” whispered Scott “Let's split up, I'm sure we can take half of them each!”
Ant went left and Scott went right. They were like sheepdogs, prowling around keeping low, with their shackles slightly raised. But for some reason the sniffing seniors with their noses poised all headed right. Their sniffing became more pronounced and more excitable as they shuffled a path toward Scott, who was beginning to feel a little victimised.
Suddenly Ant sensed a mental penny drop and he shouted loudly to Scott “It's the Sex Panther!”
“Whaaaa?” managed Scott, scrambling backwards to escape the OAP onslaught that was homing in on him.
“Mate get your coat off! Chuck it...... chuck it now, Scott!”
Without a second to spare, Scott struggled out of his coat -which did indeed reek of the spilt cologne- and threw it over the newspaper stand and into the middle of the shop.
Around fifty aged zombies snapped their heads towards the direction of the discarded item of clothing and altered their course accordingly.
Scott watched in repulsed horror as his favourite coat became the rope in a tug of war between the males and females alike as they purred sensually whilst pawing and pulling and rubbing themselves against the material in a kind of lust fest.
“Eeeew!” squealed Scott “I'm not having that back. Randy buggers!”
Ant looked at the scene in front of him. “We can't kill 'em, Scott” he observed regretfully.
“What do you mean?” asked Scott, knowing exactly what he meant.
“We both have grandparents; or at least know some oldies, I'd never be able to sleep with myself again!” said Ant shaking his head sadly.
“I think you mean you wouldn't be able to sleep again.......oh never mind. What's the new plan then, 'cos we can't just le
t them wander around forever can we?”
Both men looked around for divine intervention; or at least a kinder Plan B,. Suddenly there it was. At each end of the opening to the shop stood the concertinaed metal ends of the shop's shutter doors.
Each man ran toward each shutter end and noticed with great relief that both ends moved freely. No instructions were needed, and they ran towards each other at great speed, each pulling and unravelling a door each. They were just about to meet in the middle when Ant suddenly halted.
“What ya' doin'?” shouted Scott as Ant seemed to nip off somewhere. “We've almost trapped them in!”
“Just this little one, mate” said Ant returning seconds later dangling the crawling, snarling baby carefully by its ankle and putting it down gently inside the shop. “He's too young to fend for himself. The oldies will look after him!”
“This isn't the Jungle Book, soft lad; but yeah I know where you're coming from!” said Scott, smiling as the two metal doors clicked together.
“I'm starving Fancy a KFC?”
Zee Cupboard of Death!
Kelly's face lit up like a bonfire when Jon and Josh finally made it through the doors of the Stores area. However, it did drop a little when she saw the pretty faces of the two rescued girls behind them.
“Oh, great! Dolly birds!” she groaned.
She had already thrown herself into the role of Alice Abernathy and had twice so far quoted the line 'My name is Alice and this is my world!'- even though Jordan didn't have a clue as to why she kept saying it as he sat strapping her swollen knee with a roll of duct tape he'd found.
“Actually we are not..... dolly birds you presumptuous cow. And we are more than capable of doing anything that you can do!” announced Charlie indignantly.
'I doubt that!' grumbled Kelly to herself, trying hard not to grimace with the pain.
After briefly recounting their stories of how they had managed to get downstairs, and sadly reflecting that Scott and Ant had probably not made it through, they set about looting the stores for food and other handy items.
There was a large tatty rucksack hanging up on a peg, which was very soon crammed full with biscuits, crisps, bottles of pop and fags- all of life's essentials. Kelly turned to hand the rucksack to Jordan, but he was nowhere to be seen. A rustling among the shelves sent a surge of twitchiness through their bodies until the large frame of Jordan loomed out from the dimly- lit room. But he looked very strange and he sounded even stranger.
“What's happened to your face, Jord?” asked Kelly nervously, taking in the distorted appearance of her friend's face.
“It'sh jus' shumthin' to shtop me bitin' anyone if I get bit and become a shombie myshelf!” Jordan struggled to say through the roll of cling film that he had found and wrapped around the bottom half of his head and face. Completely unfazed by the caring nature of this gentle giant, Kelly held up her bunch of safe keys and forcefully jabbed the longest key through the layers of plastic and into his mouth, making a gash big enough for him to speak through.
“And why are you holding a large bottle of cooking oil, pray tell?” she addressed him rather sarcastically.
Forming his lips around the newly- formed gap in his mask, he told them of his plan to cover them all in the oil to prevent any zombies managing to get a firm grip on their slippery selves.
“You can keep that plan all for yourself,” piped up Jon, who was already beckoning the five to follow him to the maintenance office that was just round the corner.
They moved quietly and stealthily down the corridor, constantly aware not to take safety for granted. They soon reached the door to the maintenance equipment room.
Jon, being first to arrive, peered through the glass panel and quickly honed in on the tall figure of Attila, the Hungarian maintenance worker seated at his work desk.
Although he had his back to them Jon could see that he was busy taking something apart with a screwdriver by torch light. Power cuts were common in the building, and Attila was never the kind to take advantage of that and stop working, unlike some.
Obviously his skilled movements were not of the undead kind, and so Jon banged urgently on the door- which was promptly, opened permitting the six members of staff to flood in.
“Vhaat ze fuck!” exclaimed a startled Attila not used to being disturbed in such a way.
He listened intently as his visitors jabbered on excitedly about monsters and military and blood and death and the coming back to life of the dead and not being able to escape without being shot.
Then he demanded sternly “Iz dis one of your stupid jokes?”
“No, no Attila” said Jon reaching for his phone. “Look, here's a photo of one of them!”
Attila looked at the phone for several minutes completely devoid of emotion. Then he suddenly stood up, tall and strong, and spoke the words they did not expect to hear from him, “I 'ave been waiting for dis day to 'appen for da' longest time. Come!”
Completely stunned at his cool, calm acceptance of the situation, they followed him to a large heavily- locked metal cupboard on the other side of the room. They waited while he unlocked the two heavy bolts that adorned the door, then positively gasped as he pulled it open to reveal an arsenal of weaponry perfectly designed for such an occasion.
Heavy metal objects with both blunt and sharp edges had been skilfully shaped and attached to long sticks. Spray bottles of many types of chemicals had been collected and stored with obvious care. A rack of viscous looking knives stood sinisterly on a shelf.
“Take your pick!” Attila instructed menacingly.
Jordan immediately grabbed a 'body bend' chest expander from the back of the cupboard.
“Not zat!” he barked, “I work out wid zat!” He glared at Jordan, “And vot have you got on your face?”
Kelly butted in “He doesn't want to bite any of us if he becomes a zombie!” she offered matter- of -factly.
“You Eenglish are very veird. Now come on move it!”
The newly- formed army of seven grabbed whatever they could carry from the cupboard of death and edged out of the room. They hadn't travelled far down the corridor when they heard banging coming from the lift that was not far away. Charlie, determined to alter Kelly's perception of her, decided to be helpful and check it out. Being sensible, she looked through the glass panel in the lift door.
Upon seeing the large cage filled with cardboard inside- together with the unmistakable orange hi-vis coat of the outside grounds cleaner- she announced “Aaah, it's only Clive!”
Before any of the others could stop her, she pressed the 'door open' button on the side plate of the lift entrance, which still worked although the lifts wouldn't move with such little power.
“NOOOOO!” was the combined response from the others, but it was too late. An obviously ravenous Clive was on the poor girl in seconds, slobbering over her cheeks and gnawing at her neck.
“It's okay” said Sian “He normally does th....!”
“Not quite like that, he don't!” said one of the others.
Charlie had managed to pull away, but within seconds her eyes began to take on an odd appearance.
Not relishing the task of killing former colleagues especially- a pretty one that he'd just rescued, Josh leapt towards the office door that was mere inches away and punched in the code to unlock it. Reading his mind, Jordan ran at the unfortunate couple, knocking them headlong into the large office and slamming the door shut.
Through the glass in the door, Sian witnessed her best mate struggling to get from under the bright orange coat of the monster and saw for herself the horrific changes that were taking place in the poor girl's face and movements. Through eyes bleary with tears and mascara, she also noticed the frantic movements of a man banging on the window of one of the smaller management offices that were situated within the large room.
“It's Niall!” she informed the others. “He's shouting for our help!”
“Ha, he's obviously been watching his precious
security cameras all day again, spying on us and then being too scared to leave his office!” laughed Josh, as all six remaining employees waved back at the terrified man, mouthing the words 'Good luck, Niall' and 'Bye, mate'.
“Surely we can't just leave him?” the distraught girl implored, still weeping for her friend.
“Would he help anyone of us? …really?” suggested Jon. “No! Not in a million years. So come on, let's get out of here!”
Just knowing that a whole counter full of Kentucky fried chicken (albeit not so warm now) was there for the taking was the force that was now spurring Scott and Ant on. From behind one of the wide wooden pillars of the Starbucks lounge, they did a quick scan of the path that they would take. Roughly about twenty shufflers of mixed heights and widths were currently inhabiting the route, far less than they would have expected. Either the zombies were accumulating in other areas or the battle was slowly being won.
