Zombie Revolution

by K. Bartholomew

"Get him off me, Deep, get him off me!"

  Mandeep picked up the glass water jug and smashed it against the head of the assailant.

  The Doctor landed face down on the floor, though his face was actually some distance from the piss soaked tiles due to his ample girth. His body rocked like a seesaw, his belly acting as pivot, which subdued him compared to before, but otherwise he was still alive and he still moaned.

  Mandeep gestured to the Doctor, who still had the screwdriver fully embedded in the heart. "I think we need to call an ambulance."

  "No fuck ambulance, they shut me down."

  "I don't know, Sully, we can't handle this one on our own.”

  "You call ambulance and you're sacked!"

  "Oh, my dad wouldn't be happy about that." Mandeep said in a suggestive tone.

  "Fuck you, you threatening me?"

  It had been Mandeep's father and Suleman's brother who put up part of the money for the Bindi restaurant. One of the conditions had been that Suleman employs his simpleton son.

  Suleman watched the Doctor trying and failing to stand. "I think we need to close the restaurant. Get everybody out.” He shouted after Mandeep as he ran out the door. “But take their fucking money first.”

  Mandeep ran to the landing and announced to the three diners. "Sully wants you all gone. Leave your payment on the table.”

  The couple nearest the stairs left the restaurant, leaving Mrs Rothwell forlorn.

  "Is there some kind of a problem Mrs Rothwell?" Mandeep approached the woman.

  "I should say so. Where’s my husband?"

  "Dr Rothwell already left. Were you not watching?" He guided the woman by the arm in the direction of the exit before pushing her through it and closing the door in her face. He applied the locks and dashed back to the toilet.

  "Deep, will you give me a hand with this?" Suleman had been trying to drag the Doctor by his leg but had no luck.

  Mandeep grabbed the other leg and together they pulled the Doctor across the tiles. "Where exactly are we taking him?"

  "I'll think of something, Deep. This will pop my back out again."

  Fifteen minutes transpired until they reached the top of the stairs then, thanks to gravity, it became easier, the Doctor’s face slamming continuously on the way down. With every step the Doctor would gnash his mouth and leave a small pool of drool as the restauranteurs paused for breath.

  Thirty minutes later they finally reached the kitchen, where they dragged the load across the filth stained lino.

  "Hey, I've just thought Sully, if you stabbed him in the heart, why is there barely any blood?" Mandeep asked, scratching his head.

  "How would I know? The only Doctor in the building’s right there." He jabbed a finger at the attempted absconder who lay supine on the floor. "For all I know he's probably so fat, the blubber acted as a shield."

  After a further forty five minutes, they arrived at the store shed. Suleman kicked the door open and grimaced from the pain. "I think my back’s popped out."

  "We're not leaving him here are we, Sully?"

  "Have you got a better idea?"

  "No, but what will we do when we need supplies? He'll attack us again."

  “It's just temporary, Deep, until we figure out the best thing to do."

  The store shed was where the restaurant supplies were kept. Giant tubs were filled with rice, oil, various vegetables and sauces. It was an old shed with a beam running along the roof at the centre.

  Suleman prodded the Doctor with his foot. "Don't you go eating anything in here, you still not pay for Widower. I not forget!”

  He slammed the door and locked it.

  Two

  “I think I’ll try number 78." Said the man in his twenties, wearing a snappy suit.

  "Number 78?" Mandeep asked. "Are you sure you’d like number 78?"

  The man rubbed his hands together. ”Yes, The Widower! I'm up for a challenge.”

  "I'm sorry, no number 78 today.”

  "Why not?"

  "No number 78 today!"

  "Then why is it on the menu?"

  "No number 78 today!"

  He leaned back in his seat and studied the simpleton before him. “Well I’m sorry, but that’s false advertising. If you're going to advertise The Widower on your little leaflets you place in reception at the hotel, then I expect to eat The Widower." The young man jabbed his finger in Mandeep's direction.

  "I'm sorry sir, no number 78 today! Can I get you something else?"

  "Well if you're going to be like this, then give me the next hottest thing on the menu – And I want a discount."

  "That would be the vindaloo sir, and I'll have to clear that with the owner, sir." Mandeep wrote ‘vindaloo’ on his pad.

  "I assume you've heard of a little site called TripAdvisor? I'm sure you wouldn't want me writing a negative review of this place, would you?"

  "No sir.” Mandeep returned to the kitchen. “One vindaloo." He told to Suleman.

  "Where the fuck is everybody tonight? It's Saturday night and we have one customer."

  The whirring sound emanating from the ceiling cut out.

  "Oh, the fucking extractor fan!" Suleman banged his fist against the stove before running his hands down the length of his ponytail. "Whatever next? When will things get better round here huh?"

  Mandeep took the dish to the customer. "One vindaloo, sir."

  The man wafted a hand about his face. “What’s that smell? It smells like a slaughterhouse in here." The suited man glanced once at his plate and baulked.

  "I can assure you, sir, we simply have a mechanical problem. There is absolutely nothing wrong with your chicken, sir."

  His neck craned back in shock. “Chicken? I never asked if there’s anything wrong with my chicken. Now I'm wondering, what's wrong with my chicken?"

  "Enjoy your meal, sir." Mandeep said, already turning back to the kitchen.

  "Can you hear that banging, Deep? It's coming from the store shed. I can hear it worse now the bloody fan’s broken."

  "You don't think he managed to stand up do you?"

  "I don't know, but we have to do something about him. We can't have him banging away like that." Suleman headed to the large box shaped object by the kitchen wall, which was covered by a blanket. "Go get the rope.” He watched Mandeep run from the room, then pulled the blanket from the box.

  The cage contained three cats, which sprang to life with the sudden emergence of light.

  Mandeep returned with a long length of rope. "What are you doing with the cats?"

  “Nothing. It's the blanket I need."

  They went outside to the storage shed, Suleman cautiously unlocking the padlock as the door thudded intermittently from the inside.

  "I'm not sure this is a good idea, Sully."

  "I need you to open the door and I'll spring him with the blanket, are you ready?"

  "Ok." Mandeep watched as Suleman held the blanket high by the two corners.

  Mandeep pushed the door open, catching a glimpse of the drool stained Dr Rothwell.

  Suleman charged in, wrapping the blanket over him, his momentum sending them both crashing to the floor.

  "Now tie his feet, quick now.” Suleman shouted and watched as Mandeep performed a quick knot around the vagrant’s feet and tightening the noose. "Now throw the end over the beam." He pointed to the beam running across the roof. "Now, I'm going to get up and run to the rope and we're both going to pull it, ok?"

  "You're the boss."

  Dr Rothwell moaned, somewhat muffled beneath the blanket as a wet patch formed where it covered the mouth.

  Suleman sprang from Dr Rothwell, grabbed the rope and pulled, the only thing lifting from the ground being Dr Rothwell’s legs.

  "You fat bastard, why don't you lose some weight huh?" Suleman continued with the rope, veins popping from his neck, ponytail slipping out from its knot.

  Dr Rothwell didn't take too kindly to having his legs elevated in the air and he showed his displeasure b
y thrashing his arms about.

  "Oh, you can shut up Doctor. And just look at the mess you've made in here!" For the first time, Suleman noticed the tipped over sack of brown rice that had spread itself through a pool of drool and formed a cake on the concrete. "I'm the one who’ll have to clean that up and you sir, can consider yourself barred from The Bindi.”

  Mandeep jumped up and added his full body weight to the rope. The Doctor’s ample buttocks rose from the floor. "Look, Sully, look!"

  "Well done, Deep.” Suleman added his own weight to Mandeep's, jumped up and clung to the rope. The shoulders lifted from the ground, which didn't make the Doctor any happier. "Jerk it…Jerk it.”

  They jerked their bodies on the rope and gradually, the Doctor lifted from the floor, dangling, groaning, drooling, his arms swaying and flailing.

  "I hope the rope doesn’t break, Deep, throw me the other end."

  Mandeep passed the opposing end of the rope to Suleman who then threaded it over the beam. The rope was repeatedly wound around until there was no more slack remaining, leaving Dr Rothwell suspended by his feet in the middle of the store shed.

  "Try causing me trouble now, you thieving bastard!"

  Mandeep chewed on a nail. ”Sully, shouldn't we give him some food? He doesn’t look too well, a little green in the skin."

  "Fuck, no! He still not pay!" Suleman spat on the floor. “Let's go!"

  They locked the door after them and returned to the kitchen, where they were greeted by three meowing cats locked in a cage.

  "Sully, I really think we should call an ambulance for Dr Rothwell. I think this is way over our heads now."

  "I've told you no! We let him go when he pay."

  "But the business is struggling, Sully, and you have our best customer strung up by his feet in the fucking shed!"

  "You want me to call Vikram, huh? You want me to get illegal worker? Go check on your customer or I call Vikram." Suleman flashed his phone at Mandeep in a manner most threatening, his finger poised over the call button.

  Suleman crashed into his chair and exhaled. Oh but when would his ship come in? The Bindi was a shit hole, was falling apart and now without a functioning extractor fan would likely stink out this side of Grantham. It was only a matter of time before the complaints came rolling in. To top everything off, there was now a deranged lunatic strung up in his store shed. He adjusted his ponytail and wondered what could possibly go wrong next?

  The shout came from the restaurant. "Sully, I think you need to come take a look at this.”

  "What now?" Suleman ran to Mandeep, only to find him glaring at the only customer in the whole place, who was slumped over the table. "What happened?"

  Mandeep shook his head. ”I think he's dead, Sully.”

  "What?"

  "I checked his pulse. He's dead.”

  "Did he pay?"

  "What?"

  "Did he pay?"

  "No!"

  "Shit!" Now on top of everything else, he had a dead body on his hands. "Wait." Suleman thought for a few seconds. "We didn't give him The Widower."

  “Um, perhaps he died of natural causes?"

  “A young man like that? How did he seem when you took his order?"

  "A bit awkward, disrespectful. He threatened to give us a bad review on TripAdvisor."

  "Bastard! You bastard!" Suleman hit the man on the arm. "Check his pockets, Deep."

  Mandeep thrust a hand into the man’s suit pockets. "Nothing in there, I'll check his trousers." He reached into his right trouser pocket. "I think I've found his wallet but his pockets are deep, must be a Scotsman." Mandeep laughed at his joke and plunged further down.

  The man grabbed him.

  Mandeep was in an inconvenient place, his arm stuffed in the pocket and half way down the leg. "Get him off me, get him off me!"

  The man in the suit stood, flinging his seat backwards, forcing Mandeep to move with him. Mandeep was behind the man, his right arm fully embedded in the pocket, unable to defend himself. However, the man in the suit could not easily attack Mandeep in this position.

  Suleman grabbed a fork from the table and pressed it against the customer’s neck. "You haven’t pay, either you pay or I stab."

  The man growled in retort and tried to grab Suleman, his jaw opened wide enough to cram an orange in.

  "Deep, pull your fucking hand out.”

  "I can't, he keeps moving." Mandeep ducked as the man’s elbow flailed overhead.

  A red haze fell over Suleman’s vision. “I've had enough of this. You come here and trash my restaurant, huh? This is what I do to people who don't pay." Suleman thrust the fork into the man’s neck. "See, I teach you for causing trouble."

  But having a perforated jugular only made the man angry and he now aimed this anger toward Suleman by trying again to grab him. The man groaned, but seemed immune to having his trachea punctured.

  "Keep him busy, Deep, I'll get the blanket."

  "Don't mind me." Mandeep said as he watched Suleman run from the room. "You've had a problem with me since the moment you walked in haven’t you?" Mandeep kept low, evading the man who whipped around, attempting to catch Mandeep, like a dog chasing its tail in slow motion. "Hurry up, Sully!"

  Suleman ran back with raised arms, holding the blanket by the top corners. He dived on the pair and the three of them fell to the floor in a heap.

  Mandeep pulled his arm out from the pocket and assisted Suleman in restraining the madman who thrashed about beneath.

  "Get the fucking rope, Deep.”

  "What exactly are you putting in the curry, Sully?"

  Three

  “Hello, Suleman speaking."

  "Hello Suleman, it's Rajesh. How are you today, sir?"

  "Hello Rajesh, I'm good thank you, how are you today, sir?"

  "Business up and down, you know how it is."

  "You can say that again, sir."

  “How's the family, Suleman?"

  "They're a blessing, sir."

  "That's great news, I'm glad everything is looking up, Suleman. How’s business?"

  "Business is wonderful, Rajesh, never been better."

  "Oh that is great news. Though, I'm a little puzzled, Suleman…”

  "Yes? Why is that, Rajesh?"

  "Your last cheque bounced."

  "My last cheque bounced? What do you mean, my last cheque bounced?"

  "I mean your last cheque bounced. I had to pay an £8 bank charge, Suleman and I will want to claim that back from you, sir.

  "No, sir, there must be some kind of a problem with your bank, sir."

  "I think not, sir."

  "I think so, sir."

  "Sir, I think that if you're in business, sir, you should pay your bills, sir."

  "Fuck you, sir. I pay all my bills sir."

  "Might I remind you, sir, that I already extended your credit, sir, and you are in debt to me by £5324.75, sir.

  "I already paid you, sir."

  "Your cheque bounced, sir."

  "Fuck you, sir!"

  "Will you pay your debt today, sir? If I come over there now, sir?"

  "Fuck you, sir!"

  "Well then, sir, I shall have to instruct my solicitors, sir."

  "Fuck you, sir!"

  "And consider your account terminated, sir!"

  "Fuck you, sir!"

  "Good day to you, sir!"

  Suleman slammed the phone down and banged his fist against the stove.

  "What's the matter, Sully?" Mandeep was feeding the cats some nibbles through the cage wire.

  "It's the fucking meat supplier, Deep, they've fucking cut me off." Suleman ran his hands down his ponytail several times, pulling the skin on his forehead tight, for a second the lines disappeared, making him look considerably younger, as if his problems no longer existed. Then he released his hands from the ponytail and the lines returned, bringing the gravity of his situation back into contrast. "What the fuck is an Indian restaurant supposed to do without a fucking meat supplier?" He
should know better than to expect any solutions to his ever expanding list of problems from his simpleton nephew.

  "Perhaps you could go to the Citizens Advice Bureau and get some financial advice, Sully?”

  "And I've told you to shut the fuck up." Suleman was a proud man. He'd sooner swim the Ganges naked in winter than ask for help from some desk bound clerk. "Have you fixed the toilet door?"

  "Yes. I cleaned the toilet too. Dr Rothwell left quite a mess in there."

  Suleman pictured the mess Dr Rothwell must have left after eating The Widower, right before dying on the pot.

  How had it come to this?

  Things were never supposed to be this bad. He’d once dreamed of opening up a chain of Bindi restaurants, appearing in magazines and winning all kinds of awards for Indian cuisine. He'd always tried his hardest, worked exceptionally long hours but his ship had never come in. Even The Widower had failed to turn his fortunes around.

  A knock at the restaurant door startled Suleman. "Who can that be? We're not open for another six hours." The knocking persisted so Suleman went to see who it was. "Yes?"

  It was Mrs Rothwell. "Hello, I was wondering if you've seen my husband? He never came home."

  "No I've not seen your husband, but if you see him, tell him he's still not pay for his meal."

  "But I last saw him here in this restaurant." Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot as though she'd spent the last few days crying.

  "Mrs Rothwell, I'm sorry you haven’t seen your husband, but he went to the toilets and I can only presume he absconded through the window without paying."

  "That's just not like my Ian. He never goes off anywhere without telling me what he's doing and I've not heard a thing from him."

  Suleman exhaled, softening his expression. “Mrs Rothwell, have you considered the possibility that your husband is cheating?"

  She looked down to the floor and sobbed.

  "Mrs Rothwell, I'm very sorry, but is there any chance you could see your way to settling your bill?"

  She fiddled with her fingers. “Oh well, it's usually Ian who deals with all of that."

  "I see, but there’s still an outstanding bill for one chicken korma and one Widower."

  "Oh, ok, well how about I come back when I've found some money at home?"