Tiredness Kills - A Zombie Tale (2 page)

           
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.

Knowing exactly what they had
to do, Proff B headed straight to an adjoining room, returning moments later with
a cage containing a cute white fluffy bunny with floppy ears. Proff H reached
up to a cupboard and took out a small space age- looking bowl. Tentatively he
poured a tiny amount of the contents into the bowl, and with equal measures of
trepidation and guilt, he placed the bowl of innocent- looking liquid into the
cage.

Both men took a step back
from the cage as if a tiny bomb were about to go off- as indeed it should.
Earlier experiments with tiny amounts of this serum being fed to the bunnies
had resulted in what could only be described as a sickening display similar
that of Dr
Jeckyll's
after his first taste of
that
hideous potion. The previous bunnies, on dipping their tongues had almost
immediately began to contort, and with eyes possessed with a madness that could
only come from the deepest and darkest of all hells and mouths that spewed a
torrent of a rabid kind of froth. Their once floppy ears grew tall and rigid as
all their fur just fell off. What was more terrifying though was the total
change in behaviour. These once placid and docile mammals had become seething
structures of rage that appeared to be aimed entirely toward the white-coated
men that were viewing them. Most terrifying of all though was the sudden
accelerated strength that showed up in the fourth minute, rendering cage bars
completely useless as a barrier between animal and professor.

Needless to say that after
the very first (and almost catastrophic) introduction of bunny to TKMAX, during
which Bunny No. 708 had needed to be hacked to pieces to end its life, a small
pistol had been obtained to destroy future creations during minute three. What
was also observed was that the small bullet had needed to enter through the
brain in order to end the wretched creature's life, as the bullets that had
entered its body had had no effect whatsoever.

The Lab incinerator had been
fired up ready, the small pistol was loaded, cocked and aimed, and the
atmosphere in the room was electric as the poor bunny moved naively towards the
bowl.

 
Both men had noted and recorded that the
strength of the serum had increased slightly each day during storage, which
filled them both with a heightened sense of anxiety as they watched the 'lamb'
about to be offered up to its 'slaughter'.

The animal sniffed at the
bowl and undeterred dipped in its delicate little pink tongue. Proff B
tightened his grip on the pistol and Proff H moistened his lip. Bunny drank
greedily, the loud laboratory clock ticking noisily. One minute passed, then
two. Bunny stopped drinking and then looked up at the two men curiously and
twitched its nose before jumping on to its exercise wheel (you have to keep
them healthy) and gave itself a pleasurable workout. The two men looked at each
other in wide- eyed panic as they both involuntarily let out the same scream.

 
“
Sshhhhiiiiiiitttttt
!!!!!!!”

 
One of the
Proffs
(I'm
not sure which) slammed his hand down on the big red alarm bell that was only
ever to be sounded in the direst of emergencies!

 
So focused on his mission was he that Chris
Richards failed to notice the three pairs of eyes that looked up as he pulled
sharply into the car park. They watched intently as he exited the car (failing
to close the driver side window that had been opened only moments earlier when
he'd struggled against puking up the contents of his stomach) studied him
closely as he made his way across the badly pot- holed car park, and which swivelled
to look at each other excitedly after he had entered through the well- worn
door of the small, dingy public house.

An opportunist never misses
an opportunity. And so within a three minute window of that pub door closing,
the trusty (albeit rusty) Volvo had three new inhabitants inside her, one of
whom was fiddling around with her wiring.

 
Being accomplished in this very art of
 
'hot wiring', Reece Bailley soon had the
Volvo purring like a kitty as he gingerly eased her off the car park and out of
sight of the pub and it's dodgy clientele.

“Where we gonna go?” asked
the Kyle that always wore a red hoodie!

“Let's go and do doughnuts”
said the Kyle that always wore a blue hoodie, and all three males broke into a
loud chant of “Doughnuts! Doughnuts! Doughnuts!”

 
Reece swung the Volvo's nose round to head
into the direction of the Old Rec, a disused field that lay just far enough
away from the road as to hide any shady behaviour from anyone likely to poke a
nose in.

Reece and the two Kyles
squealed and cheered like happy kids on a fun fair ride as the car raced around
the edges of the field at breakneck speed, then suddenly and without warning
Reece would jerk the wheel whilst applying the handbrake, spinning the car out
of control.

 
Technically these moves weren't doughnuts they
were just skids, but this didn't matter to three young teenagers from a
deprived area. As far as they were concerned
,,
they
were tearing up turf, being rebellious, and feeling like they were having free
rides on the
Waltzers
with extra spins thrown in.

Eventually though, even
skiddy
doughnuts lose their appeal and Reece and the two
Kyles had had enough.

Kyle with the red hoodie had
been the quicker off the mark when jumping into the car at the point of theft
and so had bagged the passenger seat. He had done so without even calling
'Shotgun' but, given the circumstances, this small crime had been over looked.

 
He looked at his two accomplices and announced
“I'm dying for a fag!”

Kyle with the blue hoodie-
not normally known for moments of genius- piped up “Look in the glove
compartment. There might be fags in there!”

“Look in the..........
what?
 
Don't you mean cubby 'ole you posh
git?”

 
What followed could only be described as a few
seconds of raucous laughter which came to a very sudden halt as red Kyle, after
a moment spent mooching around in
said
 
'
Glovie
'
,
turned to look at both of them, with a huge grin on his face.... and a twenty
pound note in his hand.

“And what shall we do now?”
he asked with a knowing look on his face, as he was very aware that none of the
trio had eaten any food so far this day- and sometimes even food came before
weed.

“Burgers! Burgers! Burgers!”
was the new war cry as Reece eased a limping, and muddier (albeit still trusty,
rusty) Volvo out of the Old Rec and onto the A- road that would lead them to
the motorway service station in nearby Hopwood.

“Now listen,” said Reece in
his whispery serious voice “We'll go in and get some grub then on the way out
we'll pull into the petrol bit and Kyle can fill the tank up. And then, as
you're pretending to go and pay (he was looking at red Kyle), jump back in and
we'll fly off down the motorway,
innit
?”

“
Innit
!”
chorused the two Kyles in reply.

Taking care to park far
enough away from other cars for an easy exit but not too far as to stand out,
the old Volvo came to a much needed standstill and the two front passengers got
out. Blue Kyle in the back was a few seconds behind them as he had just noticed
a bottle of water on the floor.

“You '
ent
gonna
drink that, are
ya
,
ya
tramp?” enquired Reece. “It's
that old man's!”

“Ye I know. But think about
it: we only got a Score between us. So if we share this water we can buy more
food. And I'm
starvin
'”

“You're on your own with the
manky water, mate. We might be spending the old man's money, but I '
ent
sharing his spit.” red Kyle chipped in as they headed
toward the main entrance.

“Suit yourselves,” said blue
Kyle, taking a huge glug of the seemingly innocent water. The very problem with
taking huge glugs of a liquid is that you've already swallowed a large amount
before your taste buds have decided whether or not they approve of the stuff.
And this was exactly what happened here.

 
A couple of seconds after he had swallowed,
Kyle stopped dead still in his tracks and looked at the bottle with disdain and
disgust. He then hawked up a considerable amount of phlegm and aimed it behind
him as he threw the innocent looking bottle and its remnants towards the bin
that was just to his left. In his rush through the doors to catch up with the
others, he didn't notice that he had missed the bin completely and the bottle
was lying on the footpath, leaking its contents for anyone to tread in. But
then, he probably wouldn't have cared.