Zombie Revolution

by K. Bartholomew

  The heat rose from within. “Well perhaps if people would have some consideration for others…" Arthur replied, feeling agitated even now.

  "Please just try relax and enjoy the day. You’ve put on a good show here, Arthur, you ought to be proud of yourself."

  “Don't you patronise me. And what is that awful music you’re playing? Just turn it off!"

  "Ok I will…Shush, the news…Something’s going down in London." Jordan increased the volume and the news blared even louder.

  "The disturbances in the capital have now transpired into full scale rioting and looting. Riot police have been drafted in from neighbouring counties to deal with the upsurge. Reports are coming in of children covered in blood attacking pedestrians at will. We’ll keep you posted as new developments emerge. In other news several members of parliament are due to appear at Paddington Green police station to answer questions with regards to cheating on their expense claims."

  Arthur jabbed his finger at the vehicle. “Ok turn it off now. Whoever heard of an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay? Why do those slimy politicians always have to cheat, it makes me so angry."

  "Yes, you’re not the only one, Arthur.”

  "Just move your damn car will you! I won’t tell you again. And I specifically wrote on the flyer it was buns, cupcakes and cakes." Arthur pointed at Jordan’s merchandise, “unless my eyes deceive, those are brownies.”

  Jordan gave Arthur a look as if to suggest he was speaking to a madman, or else someone who simply wanted to organise the most tightly controlled bake sale in history. "Ok, I’ll remember for next year."

  The brass quartet struck up with another rendition from Les Miserables, On My Own. Arthur felt his blood pressure lowering and his heart beat returning to something a little more comfortable. How hard could it be to follow the instructions on a flyer? Arthur had taken advanced precautions against any possible alterations from the script, getting Reverend Miller to emphasise buns, cupcakes and cakes at last Sunday’s church service. Only certain individuals had decided to ignore the rules.

  Why was it that the Reverend always took his summer vacation during the bake sale? Five years consecutively make a rule, surely. Arthur shrugged to himself and hoped his friend was enjoying the Bahamas.

  Arthur surveyed the church lawn and saw how everyone was having fun, which was at least a silver lining to the miserable time he was having. He resented being consumed by other people causing problems, taking his time away when he should be mingling with the villagers and trying to raise money for the church.

  Ah, a cup of tea, the perfect thing for relaxing one’s nerves. It was Mrs Glover who ran the refreshments along with the raffle. Arthur smiled at her, “I'll have a tea, white and two sugars please, my dear."

  Mrs Glover placed a tea bag inside a polystyrene cup and pulled the lever on the hot water dispenser. The transparent fluid filled the cup and Arthur could see the polystyrene turn darker as the tea fermented in the water. Mrs Glover poured in the milk and scooped in two large spoonfuls of the sweet stuff. "This is on the house, Arthur. I just wanted to say how much of a fine job you’ve done today."

  "Oh don’t be silly, my dear. The money’s for the church, here you go.” Arthur handed over a one pound coin which she took and dropped in a tin which rattled with coin on yet more coin. “How's the raffle going? You had many takers?"

  "The raffle’s been very popular. There’s a lot of interest in the Volkswagen Beetle, as you’d expect. Whoever donated that must truly be a wonderful person." Mrs Glover paused and looked into space as she spoke, true admiration for Burley-in-Wharfedale’s mystery philanthropist.

  “I'm sure whoever donated it just wanted the best for the church and the local community." In truth it had been Arthur’s wife’s car which she’d bought only a few weeks before her death. Arthur could not bear to drive it himself and he’d wanted something positive to come from it, so he’d donated it to the raffle. Now one lucky person had the chance to own a brand new car with only a few hundred miles on the clock and all for the price of a one pound raffle ticket.

  "Say, that wonderful young lady who opened the bake sale, do you think she’d agree to draw the raffle prizes?" Mrs Glover enquired.

  "Oh, I don’t see why not. We’ve paid for her time after all haven’t we. I’m sure drawing a raffle isn’t beyond her capabilities."

  Arthur walked around the church lawn, but couldn’t see Nichola anywhere. What he did see though was that bloody Alex Cooke pocketing a pound coin from the coconut shy. Arthur did not like that bloody Alex Cooke. He watched him from a distance whilst sipping his tea. There was a five man long queue for the coconut shy and if it would be a busy day for it, then that’d be a lot of the church’s money stolen. A tall, thin and gangly looking chap reached the front of the queue and handed over a pound to that bloody Alex Cooke. Cooke handed over three softballs to the man, who then stepped in front ready to throw them. Unfortunately, it was this action which had obscured Arthur’s view and so he couldn’t tell where Cooke had placed the money. The tall, thin and gangly looking chap threw each ball in succession, each one hitting the canopy behind the coconuts. The man shrugged and walked away, then the next guy took his place. Arthur repositioned himself for a better view of the transaction. The next man handed over a pound coin, then…

  “I fetched my music sheets for the brass band.” Nichola jabbed Arthur on the shoulder, startling him.

  A stabbing pain shot straight through to his heart and he gritted his teeth until the pain subsided before addressing Nichola. “I've already told you, you’re not here to sing! That brass band is here to play nice songs from Les Miserables and other non-Disney musicals. So forget it! Shouldn’t you be posing for photographs?"

  “Oh, I’ve done some…” she dismissed, “…nobody will mind you know. They’ll be fine with it. And I think you’ll love it, Alfred.” She touched him on the arm. “It’s a song about my time in the Big Brother house but it could also be about love. You see, it’s one of those songs you’ve got to think about to get the meaning of. I know you’ve been watching me, you know I’ve been watching you. It’s only a game!" She sang.

  “I'm sorry, but it’s not a good idea." Arthur continued gritting his teeth, pressing a hand to his heart, which seemed to relieve the intense shooting pain somewhat.

  "Who do you think you are? You don’t own this bake sale!" Nichola shouted with a sudden forceful change of tone.

  Arthur straightened and sank the remainder of his tea, taking a deep breath whilst glaring into the young woman’s face and spoke only after calming. "Nichola, I don’t suppose you’d mind drawing the raffle prizes would you? We’re announcing the prizes in about forty five minutes. There’s free entry for various museums to be won, courtesy of our church."

  She tapped her foot on the paving stones. “It’s the first I’ve heard of this. You didn’t mention drawing no raffle in our emails.”

  "No, but I think the villagers would really appreciate it and it’s for the church." Arthur said, as though this would win her around.

  “I'll do it for an extra twenty quid.” She said dryly.

  "Oh, well that sounds fairly reasonable, here you are.” Arthur handed her a twenty pound note and turned his back on her. In truth, this was far from reasonable but he’d just wanted to get away from her so he could have a sit down somewhere.

  Arthur’s left arm felt like a heavy object was crushing it, so he proceeded to rub it behind the privacy of one of the church’s support beams until the pain subsided. After a few minutes he plodded toward the bench that faced the large oak entrance doors to the church. Unfortunately however the bench was occupied by three portly looking fellows, each scoffing down various cakes and buns.

  Instead, Arthur decided to check on the boy scouts. After all, how much trouble could they cause?

  "Now then lads, I hope you’re enjoying the day?" Arthur asked the young lads who responded with a round of nods. Arthur glanced inside the buckets, which
were each heavy in coin. A couple of the smaller lads were resting their buckets on the wall. “They're getting heavy I see.” Arthur winked at them and turned to Thomas, "I couldn’t ask you to keep an eye on the man running the coconut shy could I Thomas? I suspect that last year he absconded without handing over the money. We can’t be having stealing this year, not with the church roof in its present state.”

  Thomas hesitated but after a few seconds nodded. "Okay sir.”

  "Good lad! I mean, I can’t be everywhere at once, I’m very busy today." Arthur leant against the wall and squinted toward the fish and chip shop. The squat fellow was sat down on a bench, tucking into a wrap of what Arthur assumed to be fish and chips. A nearby dog, tethered to a lamppost was almost choking itself in an attempt to get close to him. Finally, the squat fellow threw it a chip which the dog swallowed without chewing. Well at least there was one villager not causing any more trouble.

  Arthur had had just about enough from everyone and was beginning to look forward to clearing up and going home. He thought about the nice long, hot bath he’d have and tomorrow he would go for a walk in the country to bring tranquillity back to his person.

  Well it was time to go back inside the madhouse. Arthur turned round and saw teens jumping up and down on the bouncy castle. He hurried over to Harry Turner, “it's supposed to be a maximum age of ten years old. That’s all we’re insured for young man. You’ll have to call these yobs off.”

  "Awe, do I have to? They’re my mates. I’m not gonna look too great if I make them come off." Harry said.

  “That's of no consequence. What if one of them injures himself or worse, what if one of those big lads injures a small child?" Arthur’s jaw gaped as one burly teen suplexed another, who then responded by power slamming him into the castle wall. "Are they wrestling in there? Right that’s it, get them off right this second.”

  "Do I have to?"

  Arthur’s face flared up. ”Yes, or you can forget about me giving you any help to get into college.”

  “Dillon? Dillon?” Harry called out in a mock shout that was barely audible even to Arthur stood beside him.

  "Oh please…Who do you think you’re fooling?" Arthur growled at the four youths play fighting in front of the toddlers, knowing there was no option other than to throw them off himself.

  He stepped onto the castle and took one step as his knee almost buckled beneath him. He steadied himself and stumbled to the safety of the wall, holding on as he approached the young tearaways. One of the yobs ran against the wall and rebounded to clothesline his mate who fell to the canvas. Arthur reached the smallest of the four youths and grabbed him by the collar. "I want you off here now or I’m calling your parents.”

  "Get off me old man or I’ll call the police.” The small lad yelled in Arthur’s face.

  Two of the hoodlums approached Arthur before proceeding to jump up and down. He fell to the canvas and the ruffians laughed. Under intense anguish, Arthur managed to slide across the castle toward the exit. Then, scrambling to his feet, he clung to the wall’s outside, gathering himself before grabbing the plug and yanking it from the socket. The bouncy castle deflated as air shot out from the various exit points. The roof closed in on everyone inside who then, not wanting to be smothered, ran out.

  "You bloody bastards!" Arthur shouted to the youths as they scattered past him.

  “You're a psycho old man!" The bigger of the four declared.

  Arthur straightened, took a few badly needed deep breaths and approached Harry Turner. “Don't let that happen again. Wait a few minutes and then you can reinsert the plug.”

  Over the top of the deflated bouncy castle, Arthur accidentally made eye contact with that bloody Alex Cooke, beside who stood Thomas, casually speaking with him. Strange - How did they know each other? Cooke bared teeth, then began taking long strides in Arthur’s direction.

  Shit!

  "Hey you, what have you been saying to my lad? Are you accusing me of stealing?" Cooke demanded.

  "What? He’s your lad is he?” Arthur asked, wiping his forehead.

  "Shut up! How dare you speak about me to my lad behind my back.” Cooke stood almost in Arthur’s face..

  "What? Oh, I didn’t know he was your lad." A mixture of onion and cigarettes lingered heavy on Cooke’s breath, almost making Arthur blanch.

  "You think I stole money do you?" Cooke stepped even closer.

  "Well I thought maybe, you never handed your money in." Arthur stepped back but still had to hold his breath. Villagers were now staring as Arthur’s heart pounded hard in his chest. The sensation was strange, actually feeling a pulse in his throat.

  "I gave my money to Reverend Miller, like I did the year before. Why don’t you ask him?” Cooke gave one final hard scowl before stamping back to the coconut shy and shouting over his shoulder. "Stay away from my boy.” So much for having him chased out of town.

  To soothe his nerves, Arthur thought again about his impending bath. Perhaps he was getting senile in his old age? Perhaps he was just a little too highly strung and should learn to take it easy? Perhaps he should go on that holiday to the lakes he’d been procrastinating over for months? A recharge of batteries would do him good. But first he needed to get through this bake sale in one piece.

  It was time to check in on Mr and Mrs Beaumont and maybe apologise for being harsh on them. Only, when Arthur arrived at stall 14, they weren’t there. "The bloody bastards! They’ve absconded!” He shouted, shaking his fists.

  "Yeah they’ve gone home, run out of buns." The chap at stall 13 confirmed.

  "Say, have you ever noticed them at Sunday service?" Arthur enquired.

  "Nope."

  The bastards! Thieves! The anger boiled inside. Sweat pricked at his forehead and his knees shook. He again clenched his hands into fists without even knowing it. How dare they steal from the church? God will strike them down!

  Now he really needed to sit, but those three portly fellows were still occupying the only bench in the yard as they stuffed their faces with cakes.

  Well at least there was still the raffle. What could go wrong with that? Such was his desire to finish the day, Arthur decided to bring the prize drawing forward by a few minutes. Fortunately, Nichola was nearby, chatting to a young fellow.

  "Nichola my dear, I think we’ll draw the raffle now."

  "Oh Arthur, I’d like you to meet my agent, Julian."

  Julian held out a limp hand which Arthur took out of politeness rather than a genuine burning desire to meet the man. "I just wanted to say what a fabulous job you’ve done with the bake sale. Whoever thought of arranging the stalls in the shape of a cupcake, but perhaps next year you could have some kind of topping around by stall 7 and 8.” He spoke with one hand propped on hip whilst waving the other about flamboyantly. His lisp brought added difficulty to understanding him.

  "What are you talking about?" It had never occurred to Arthur that the stalls were arranged in such a manner, he had absolutely no say in the shape of the church lawn which rather dictated where the stalls were positioned.

  "Anyway as I was saying," Julian turned back to Nichola, "I think if perhaps you grew your hair, had a makeover and perhaps if we got you hooked up with a footballer then we could easily get you in the paper and perhaps even a few magazines. Then we could re-launch your single. You need more exposure, girlfriend. Start performing during your public engagements, you never know who could be watching. Now, I’ll get on the phone to…"

  Arthur interrupted his flow by jabbing him on the shoulder, “…I don’t care about any of that, Nichola you need to draw the raffle now please."

  "Ok, no problem. In fact Julian and I were just saying, what kind of idiot would donate a car that has to be worth at least twenty grand to a village raffle that’ll raise two hundred quid at the most? How stupid can some people get?" Nichola positioned herself to the side of the raffle and took a deep breath. "Ladies and gentleman, the time you’ve been waiting for has finally arrived. Some luck
y winners are going to a nice museum courtesy of our friends at the church." She watched as more and more villagers gathered around. "And one lucky person will win a car."

  A whoosh of anticipation fanned out from the crowd and Arthur felt the electricity and excitement in the air.

  Nichola turned the lever and the tombola span round. "This ticket is for a trip to Stump Cross Caverns." She delved her hand inside the barrel and pulled out a small piece of paper. "Number 76.”

  An excited lady screamed, running forward with her winning ticket raised in the air. She handed it over to the grinning celebrity.

  Nichola turned the lever again, "This ticket is for a trip to Skipton castle." She winked at the crowd and delved her hand into the barrel. She rummaged around for a few seconds and then pulled a ticket out which she unfolded, "Number 19.”

  No answer.

  "Number 19?” She repeated. "Oh well, it looks like the winner of the trip to Skipton castle has gone home."

  Pantomime boos resonated from the crowd.

  "And for our third and final prize, we have a Volkswagen Beetle." Nichola held the keys and dangled them in front of the crowd.

  This time Arthur could really feel the buzz around the churchyard. After such an anti-climactic day, this would more than make up for it and he couldn’t wait to see the look on the face of the winner, knowing his wife was looking down on him, proud he’d donated the car for the good of the church. Arthur closed his eyes and pictured a fresh faced young girl who’d just passed her test, weeping with joy as she was handed the keys by Nichola Bolton.

  Nichola turned the lever as Arthur brimmed.

  She plunged her hand into the barrel, swishing it around. "Are you ready?" She pulled out a ticket and unfolded it. "Number 165.”

  Silence.

  "Number 165, anybody?" Nichola paused, scratched her head then delved into her pink handbag, pulling out a ticket. "Wow, who’d have known it? Looks like I’m 165.”

  Arthur’s jaw hit the floor.

  This nasty woman had somehow fixed the raffle and pulled out her own ticket.