Zombie Revolution

by K. Bartholomew

  While there were no major protestations from the crowd, Arthur did hear the odd murmur of discontent, dissatisfaction, annoyance and vexation. Then a number of people balled up their tickets and threw them at Nichola, who did not seem to notice the small projectiles coming in her direction.

  "And for those who didn’t win a prize this time, better luck next year." She dropped the keys into her handbag and zipped it up with a satisfied smirk, "I should get a few quid for that on eBay."

  Arthur shook uncontrollably. The crowd dispersed to return to shopping for buns, cupcakes and cakes while Arthur’s heart pounded with increasing pain against his ribs. And then his left arm hurt again but thankfully, the bench was now free. He’d better take that seat now, or forever hold his peace.

  Arthur moved as fast as any seventy year old man could hobble, then that annoying gangster rap projected again from the direction of Jordan McPhee.

  "I thought I told you to turn that shit off!" Spit flew from Arthur’s mouth as he shouted.

  Jordan span round, wide eyed at the sudden shouts. "But Arthur, I only turned it on because the headlines are played on the hour." Jordan bit his finger nail. “Listen…”

  "We have reports that the rioting has spread from London to Manchester, Birmingham and Barnstaple, Devon. While we are also hearing Stephen Fry was spotted attacking a waiter in the Dorchester Hotel on Mayfair. We will bring you more information as and when we receive it. In other news, Graham Norton turns heads on the catwalk…”

  Arthur ignored Jordan and continued on his way toward the bench. One of the portly fellows had in the meantime taken a seat, while another was just parking himself on it. Arthur could make out the other portly fellow slowly ambling in its direction. He had to be quick or else lose it. He picked up the pace, sidestepping several small children who blocked his path. It was no use. The third portly fellow sat down in the remaining position, the bench audibly creaking under their collective weight.

  Arthur considered unleashing a tyrant of abuse upon the man, but knew it would’t solve anything and besides, he was still representing St. Mary’s church which was the most important thing to consider.

  Now his heart really was beating hard. The sudden and forlorn exertion involved in rushing for the seat now caused him pain and discomfort. Instead, Arthur leant up against the wall and gathered himself whilst cursing the ungrateful villagers.

  While his heartbeat returned to something a little more comfortable, he considered going home and leaving the bake sale to the elements and the inevitable scavengers. He just wanted to go home. He decided there and then that he would take that holiday. He would rent a nice cottage in the lakes and sip wine whilst reading a few good books. The very thought brought a smile to Arthur’s face and lifted his mood, even as he surveyed the carnage that was the bake sale. It was beginning to get dark and it had the air of an event in its closing stages. However, there were still at least a hundred people about and they were all buying buns, cupcakes and cakes. Despite everything, Arthur had still done a fine job and the most important thing, the repair of the church roof was sure to come to fruition.

  In that moment Arthur vowed never again to allow forces beyond his control to pollute his goodwill or ruin his day. Then he heard a loud screeching coming from the road. When Arthur reached the gates he could see somebody doing wheel spins in the Volkswagen Beetle. The tyres screeched against the road surface, kicking up dust, forcing a cloud of smoke from the exhaust pipe. The stench of petrol and putrid burning rubber lingered in the air as he clutched a handkerchief to his face.

  Then the driver leaned over toward the opened passenger window - It was Julian. "Hey Nicki baby, I’ll see you on the pub crawl tonight.” He released the hand break and the car careened forward leaving only a dense, choking cloud of noxious fuel that enveloped the boy scouts. The screeching of tyres and over throttling of the car in low gear resounded for almost a minute before eventually fading away.

  To save from choking, Arthur headed back to the bake sale, speechless at that point. What was there to say?

  The squat fellow stood inside in an opening, all on his own, staring at Arthur.

  "What the bloody hell are you doing back in here?" Arthur demanded.

  "I wanted to tell you earlier, but you never gave me the chance to explain…”

  "Explain what? We don’t need your type around here, you’re trouble!"

  "No I’m not honestly. I work as a geography teacher down at the local comp. That woman you hired to open the bake sale…”

  “…What about her?" Arthur asked, now intrigued and giving the man his full attention.

  “You've never actually Googled her name have you?"

  "Well, no.” Arthur stepped back.

  “She's a porn star mate.” The squat fellow said flatly.

  “She's a what?" Arthur asked, horrified.

  "Yeah, she’s a porn star. I was watching her on my phone whilst eating my dinner. Good call on your part there mate. I’m not sure I’d want her posing for photos with the kids though."

  "Oh my lord.” Arthur hissed as his heart jumped several beats. What had he done? This day had been a disaster from the very beginning. Absolutely everything and anything that could go wrong did go wrong. There was nothing, literally nothing else that could possibly make this day any worse for Arthur.

  "Hello everybody, I’d like to thank you all for coming to my bake sale, it means so much to me." It was Nichola who stood with the brass quartet and held a microphone hooked up to the amplifiers. Since stealing the car in the raffle she’d somehow managed to change into a skimpy outfit that revealed a little too much flesh for Arthur’s sensitivities. "And to show my appreciation, I will now perform my hit single, which reached number 72 in the charts. Here is The Game!"

  Arthur looked on aghast as the brass quartet struck up with an awkward sounding ensemble from hell, in his church.

  The villagers had all gathered close to Nichola and the band, leaving Arthur forlorn on the grass.

  Arthur’s heart pounded and pounded. It thumped against his rib cage. His left arm felt like a truck had driven over it. His throat was on fire. And then his legs gave way.

  Arthur collapsed and landed on the floor in a heap. He writhed around, his face contorting, foam running from his mouth.

  Nobody noticed.

  Nichola was in her element, she had the crowd in the palm of her hand. She sang her song and watched the faces of the kids at the front. After today, she was sure to be in the papers and her music career would be back on track. She sang for her very life, “Monday's on our mind, Tuesday out of time, Wednesday on the phone, Thursday I’m at war. I know you’ve been watching me; I’ve been watching you. It’s only a game. It’s only a game. Show me the way, to carry on. It’s only a game, it’s only a game, show me the way, to carry on. Friday’s here again, could this be the end, will I go or stay, to party Saturday. I know you’ve been watching me; I’ve been watching you. It’s only a game, it’s only a game, show me the way to carry on."

  Arthur stood.

  There was stiffness in the joints but the pain had mostly gone. His vision was a little blurrier than he could recollect but his sense of hearing and smell had increased to levels more intense than he ever knew. The smell was overpowering in fact, he could indeed smell minute details from the many people present, even if he couldn’t see them very well. However, the greatest sensation Arthur experienced was that of hunger. He was hungrier than he’d ever been in his life. The strange thing was that his hunger screamed out for human flesh. Arthur couldn’t explain it to himself, but human flesh he just had to have. He wouldn’t fight it. In fact Arthur also noticed his prior human compassion had completely vanished, so much so that he no longer even cared about the church. There was only one thing Arthur wanted and he would have it.

  He staggered across the lawn and approached the backs of the people listening to that awful, deafening music. As he drew nearer, the smell was truly overpowering. However, there w
as one person in particular he could hear, smell and sense above all others in the crowd and Arthur had to satisfy this primal instinct.

  He pushed his way through the villagers, barging past men, barging past women, barging past portly fellows and boy scouts until finally, he barged past children at the front.

  A shaven headed trollop, caked heavily in makeup, appeared to be the source of this abominable cacophony.

  She made brief eye contact with Arthur as he lunged forward, grabbed her by the head and sank his teeth into her neck, tearing out her vocal chords. The music stopped abruptly which came as a great relief to Arthur, it was though replaced by a gurgling sound which was actually a large improvement. He didn’t notice the crowd who scattered screaming and tripping up over one another. Nothing else mattered to Arthur other than ripping apart this strange woman. Bubbles formed at the gaping wound in her neck as she breathed in and out. Her eyes looked quite toothsome. He enveloped his jaw over the right eye and bit as hard as he could. The eye came out, not cleanly but he didn’t really care for table etiquette at that moment in time. He chewed on the eye ball, feeling the woman shaking beneath him. He took a bite from her face which pulled off flesh all the way up to her forehead, revealing a large area of bone. Her feet jerked around although the severing of the vocal chords prevented the woman from screaming out in agony. He enjoyed the taste of flesh as it wasn’t like anything he’d eaten previously unless he took his trip to Turkey into consideration. After ten minutes her pulse stopped. He smashed her head on the corner of the speaker, over and over, like a circus chimp trying to crack a coconut to get to the good stuff inside. Finally the skull broke apart and Arthur gorged himself on his bounty.

  One

  “Table 12, ready!" Suleman shouted, banging his fist on the stove. Why was Mandeep always so slow?

  "What?" Mandeep poked his head in the kitchen and looked at Suleman as he took off his goggles.

  "Fucking table 12!" If Mandeep wasn’t his nephew he'd sack him and hire an illegal worker at a quarter the wage.

  Mandeep picked up the two plates and made his way back to the dining area. "Here you are, Mrs Rothwell, chicken korma and for you Dr Rothwell, one Widower."

  The Widower was a new dish the Bindi restaurant was serving. It measured six million units on the Scoville Scale, was the hottest dish ever created and made it necessary for Suleman to wear goggles in order to make it. Nobody had yet to finish it; Dr Rothwell had come closest, having ingested a mere three mouthfuls. That occasion required an ambulance. This time, the restaurant had insisted on a signed disclaimer.

  Dr Rothwell pulled his large glass of milk closer and smiled at his wife. "This time, I'll do it.”

  She flicked her eyes toward the ceiling and brought her phone out from her bag in anticipation, placing it next to her mild chicken korma. Mandeep knew she wasn’t aware the lead roof prevented signal getting in or out and that the only working phone was the landline in the kitchen. If anyone was calling an ambulance today, it was Mandeep or Suleman.

  Dr Rothwell was a large man who needed the surrounding tables moved so he could squeeze into table 12. He’d built up to tonight, telling his friends of his determination to vanquish his culinary foe.

  "Deep!" The shout came from the kitchen, startling the few diners in the restaurant.

  Mandeep ran to the call. "Yes?"

  "Don't fucking stand around and watch them eat! How many times must I tell you? We’re trying to be a proper restaurant here.”

  "Do you think he'll do it?"

  "I don't give a shit! I've got much bigger problem." Suleman pointed to the fridge. "Get me the chicken."

  Mandeep opened the fridge and peered inside. "I don't think this fridge is working Sully."

  "No shit!"

  "How long has it not been working?"

  "I don't pay you to ask silly question, just get the fucking chicken!"

  Suleman couldn't afford a new fridge. The Bindi restaurant was haemorrhaging money. Grantham was a small town and the Tandoori Palace had just opened another restaurant across the street. Not that he'd had many customers to begin with. Creating The Widower should have gotten them some publicity, but it hadn't.

  Suleman laughed at a creaking sound from the restaurant. "That fat bastard gone to the toilet already?"

  He watched as Mandeep peeked through the serving hatch. "Looks like it. He's eaten at least half."

  "Deep, stop staring!" Suleman ran his hands down the length of his ponytail.

  Mandeep took a glass water jug and turned on the tap at the sink, then remembered the plumbing was broken. "Sully, when’re you getting the plumbing fixed?"

  "Fuck you! Just fill the damn jug upstairs."

  "You know, you should get some help with the business Sully, there's no shame in getting help when you're down on your luck." Mandeep regretted the words even as they left his mouth. He knew Suleman was too proud to look for help and right now he feared his boss would explode on him.

  But then a loud groan from the upstairs toilet interrupted them.

  "Looks like The Widower’s catching up with him," Mandeep laughed.

  Then there was another, louder groan followed by the sound of knocking.

  "Deep, that will annoy the customer. Tell that fat fuck to keep it down."

  Mandeep took the jug with him up the stairs, stopping halfway to look down at all three diners and wondering how much longer the Bindi could survive.

  He opened the door to the men’s toilets as the blast washed against his face, prompting him to clutch a handkerchief to his nose and mouth against the stink. "By the many arms of Vishnu. Dr Rothwell, sir, Sully asks you keep the noise down in here."

  No response.

  "Dr Rothwell?" Mandeep stepped by the urinals and placed his head up to the lone stall door. "Dr Rothwell? Are you alright in there?"

  Mandeep leapt backward as the stall door shuddered, the metal lock rattling in its device.

  "Dr Rothwell? I told you to keep it down in there! Stop hitting the door!"

  Dr Rothwell let out an extended groan and the door rattled again.

  Mandeep pulled the phone from his pocket. Then remembered he couldn't get reception in the building. "Fucking lead roof." He braced himself then shouted. "Sully, Sully!" Oh, he’d not be happy when he arrived.

  Suleman stomped up the stairs, his imminent arrival bringing with it the fear of God.

  The door flung open. "Why you shouting? Huh? Why you shouting?" He gave Mandeep a push on the shoulder then rapped him on the skull with his knuckles. "People are eating!"

  "It's Dr Rothwell, Sully, he won"t answer.”

  Suleman pressed his head to the stall door. "I hear him shuffling about in there."

  The door shuddered again, Suleman leapt back. "What in God’s name is that stink? Go get my screwdriver."

  Suleman watched Mandeep run from the room then turned his attention back to the stall door. "Dr Rothwell, if you think you can get out of paying your bill by hiding in here then you have another thing coming."

  Another groan from inside the stall, too close and too high up for Dr Rothwell to be sat on the pot.

  Suleman got down on his hands and knees and looked through the small crack at the bottom of the door. Dr Rothwell was indeed standing up, with his toes pointing toward the door. "Oh what are you doing in there?"

  Mandeep returned and handed the screwdriver to Suleman, who then unscrewed the door from the hinges.

  "If he tries to run without paying, get ready to catch him." Suleman said with a screw between his teeth. "I will not have customers thinking they can run and not pay.” He unscrewed the final screw from the top hinge. "When I pull this screw out, the door will fall, so be ready.”

  "I'm ready for him.”

  Suleman lifted the screw from its hole.

  Nothing.

  Then the door was thrown into Mandeep.

  Dr Rothwell emerged and tried to squeeze himself out through the stall threshold. However, he only succeede
d in wedging himself in the door frame and commencing an expression of want on his face, like a fat homeless man spotting his first meal in a week.

  "Dr Rothwell, what’s the matter with you?" Suleman demanded as Mandeep inched back with the door. "Just prop it against the wall Deep."

  Dr Rothwell finally managed to squeeze out through the stall and plodded toward Suleman. His arms were outstretched as if trying to grab him, though they lacked sufficient length to reach beyond his ample belly. All he could do was push and prod Suleman with his gut.

  "Don't you push me, you've not pay!" Suleman shoved him back but he didn’t budge. "That's quite a stink you've made in there Doctor."

  Dr Rothwell became more aggressive, bumping Suleman again with his ample paunch, pressing him back against the urinals. He made the same obscene grunt, drool running from his open mouth and landing on his tummy, the look in his eyes saying nobody home.

  "It looks like The Widower really fucked him up!" Mandeep said.

  "I don't give a shit, he don't leave unless he pay!" Suleman’s back rubbed hard against the urinals - Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. "My fucking work clothes. These are my only set.”

  "Shouldn't we call an ambulance? I don't think this is normal behaviour." Mandeep watched as Suleman squirmed against the latrine which was supposed to have been cleaned earlier in the week.

  Mandeep punched Dr Rothwell’s arm. It had no effect, instead he just carried on trying to reach Suleman.

  It didn’t take much for Suleman’s fuse to ignite and he surprised himself with how much of this abuse he'd taken, all from one customer who hadn't paid his bill. "I've had enough of this!“ Suleman declared as he brandished the screwdriver and pushed it slowly through Dr Rothwell’s heart, omitting a satisfying squelching sound.

  "My God, Sully, what are you doing?"

  The Doctor remained upright as Suleman and Mandeep staggered back. The Doctor increased his aggression, thrashing his arms about with greater speed and pressing his belly harder into Suleman.