Tiredness Kills - A Zombie Tale (3 page)

 
The noise of the alarm was deafening!
Fitting, I guess, as it was the direst situation for which it had been
designed.
Proffs
H and B, who had been rolling around
on the floor moments earlier, holding their hands over their ears, were now
being glared at incredulously by their superior, Dr White.

They had already garbled out
their account of events. Both men chose to omit the argument about controlling
the world, which would expose extremely greedy un-professionalism and the
Danish prostitute incident
 
choosing
instead to explain the reason for their absence from the Lab and their
incredible failure to secure highly dangerous, life threatening liquids
 
simply on an urgent and uncontrollable
'bathroom' problem from which they both suffered. One bladder, one bowel.

The appropriate wheels had
immediately spun into action. And whilst CCTV footage was being trawled through
in such a precise manner, it wasn't long before a shout of “Got '
im
” had rang out, followed by a round of applause in the
security offices of the huge rotund building.

Police officers with guns
(yes guns!) and security staff raced to the multi- story staff car park, but
were not surprised to find that there was no sign of the rusty Volvo, and so
raced back to the security offices to hopefully continue the hunt via CCTV
camera images from around the City.

The amount of traffic that
was winding its way around the dusty streets was ridiculous, and the second
“Got '
im
” seemed to take forever.
 
However, finally it came, and although the
security experts were working on film that had been rewound by at least twenty
minutes, it was a huge comfort to all to know that the net was definitely
closing in.

The very CCTV camera that
first picked up 'our man' was positioned in Cotteridge - a small suburb that
contains three pubs, a smattering of shops, a previously burned- down listed
building, train station, fire station and more rarely, a launderette! It was
when the Volvo had come to a standstill on a red at the traffic lights just
outside Greggs that the CCTV camera (positioned there as it was the dead centre
point of the three pubs) conveyed to its increasingly impatient audience an
image of a rather excited (but otherwise unremarkable) Volvo driver heading
towards Kings Norton.

All units were now headed in
this direction, and although there was a short delay in the footage, the net
was closing in very nicely. A running commentary was being fed to the drivers
of the police cars, which included the information that a heavy duty
specialised vehicle had been dispatched to collect a certain substance, and
that the fugitive Chris Richards was to be apprehended at
all
costs!!!
 
Even the words 'dead or alive'
got a mention.

 
Suddenly the excitement was audible, as a
high- pitched voice announced that fugitive Richards had been picked up on the
CCTV system that was operating outside the Masshouse pub.
 
It had been fitted there mainly due to the
large number of complaints received from nearby residents on account of it's
extremely rowdy reputation and three murders- and, in this case rather handy,
as it lead to a rather astonished janitor being accosted from behind whilst
still being in the process of raising a glass of Black and Tan to his lips.
Outside, the other officers were searching the car park for a Volvo that was
most definitely not there, and looking quite perplexed about it.

Officer Rumbulled was very
glad to have his arms around Chris Richards. He had been anticipating a chase
through council estate back alleys and had not been relishing the thought during
the high- speed drive in which he'd had time to remember the extra couple of
stone that he hadn't lost yet. 'Damn criminals!' he thought.

As Chris sat in the police
car, shaking his sorry head and being in a lot less shock than he should have
been considering the enormity of this crime, he looked up at Rumbulled, who
appeared to be on a loop screaming “WHERE IS IT? WHERE IS IT? WHERE IS IT?”

Chris, who now had a face
covered in officer spittle, was just contemplating feigning wide- eyed
innocence, when a loud voice boomed over the radio waves “All units to Hopwood
Park service station. M42. We've found the Volvo!”

“What shall we do with him?”
asked Jones, Rumbulled's partner, cocking his head towards Chris.

“No time to search him now.
Let's get car and criminal together and take it from there. Where the feck is
Hopwood?”

 
“
Nooooo
worries,
Pardner
,” said Jones in his best American side kick accent.
“I was involved in a documentary called 'Motorway Cops' filmed there last year!
Hold on to your coffee and bagels. We're
hittin
' the
blues and two's!”

 
Ant was
 
just finishing the remnants of his breakfast, 'The Ultimate' (being
careful not to drop any of it down the rented tuxedo suit that he was still
wearing), and draining the last drops of his Espresso Macchiato when he decided
he couldn't last another minute without poring over the spoils from Scott's
trip to the Gadget Show. After all, Scott was taking far too long in the
breakfast queue ordering a second portion of his beloved hash browns. I mean...
come on, do hash browns really merit a place on a breakfast plate?

Out of the corner of his eye,
Ant witnessed a small altercation involving Scott and a scruffy youth wearing a
blue hoodie who had appeared to have violently shoved Scott out of the way as
he ran through the restaurant. Scott returned to the table slightly shaken and
tightly gripping the plate that contained the extra delicacies.

 
“Did you see that?” spluttered Scott
incredulously. “Stupid stoned little chav nearly made me drop my hash browns!”

“
Woah
!”
said Ant ignoring Scott's indignation and instead throwing his energy into
removing things from bags. “You beauty! You've only managed to bag the almost
un-
baggable
Wolverine claws!” said Ant, his eyes
shining.

The previous little 'tussle'
was wiped from his mind, as Scott was suddenly taken back to some hours before
when he had stood wearing the claws, as a small crowd had gathered round to
watch.

 
“Not only that.......... I also demonstrated,”
said Scott proudly. “And I can definitely confirm that a sluttily dressed blow-up
doll is no match for these claws! And
..wait
for it...
they SPARK!”

If Scott and Ant had been
Bill and Ted then this would have been the point at which the air guitars would
have been fiddled with, but as it was, and considering where they were, a fist
bump more than sufficed.

The subsequent bags contained
two pairs of Blue tooth gloves which, when worn would eliminate the need for
removing phones from pockets by actually transforming hands into phones (ideal
for the winter); plus an Ice-cream ball which was a present for Scott's
girlfriend Fliss, and which by simply adding the ingredients, followed by
 
ice and rock salt and then throwing the ball
around like crazy, made apparently delicious ice-cream without
electricity;
 
plus two Life straws which
would be invaluable in a crisis (say, for instance the pair should ever end up
living in a cave with very little resources;
 
a
Scrubba
portable washing machine that could
fold down and fit inside a pocket;
 
and a
Biolite
mini camping stove that can be charged from
any USB gadget no matter where you are, and be fuelled by biomass like twigs
and pine cones! Both of these items would also enhance any enforced cave
dwelling if the worst should ever happen.

A long slim bag contained two
Samurai umbrellas in sheaths that would be worn over the back of the shoulder
to be drawn like a sword.

“Bloody brilliant Scott,”
said Ant approvingly “What's in this little bag?”

“
Erm
....
nothing... that's just some other stuff for Fliss” sputtered Scott trying to
grab the bag off Ant and cursing himself for not having left that particular
bag in the car.

“
Oooh
!
a
bottle of Sex Panther and a pair of men's flatulence
pants! What would Fliss want with those, eh?” asked Ant, waving the items
around for just about anyone to see.

If ever a man needed a
distraction then it was right now, and it came in the form of two staff members
running Hell- for- leather right past their table towards the escalator that
lead up to the toilets.

“That Chav's probably been
caught shooting up in the lavvy!” said Scott, quickly shoving a couple of items
back in the bag.

You see, as Scott and Ant had
been so absorbed in gadget goodies and hash browns they hadn't noticed that the
youth in the blue hoodie had been bleeding profusely from his nose. They also
hadn't noticed his two mates abruptly leaving the queue for Burger King whilst
frantically calling his name and racing towards the escalator. They hadn't
noticed the growing kerfuffle and the frightening stampede of people desperate
to get on the descending escalator. Wrongly assuming the raised volume to be a
coach load of school kids arriving (as regularly happens in these places).

 
However, what they were now definitely
noticing through the large glass wall- to- floor windows of the building was
the unbelievable sight of what appeared to be the entire country's police force
accompanied by dozens upon dozens of army trucks all screeching to a halt in
the car park. And what the hell was
that
noise? The entire clientele of
the packed restaurant was treated to the incredible sight of a huge helicopter
sweeping inches above the parked cars and then suddenly a huge dark curtain
fell over the building completely severing the outside view and taking with it
fifty percent of the light.

“What the fuck!” said Ant and
Scott in unison!

Jon and Jordan, the two staff
members had finally made it to the top of the escalator after having received
an emergency call on their walkie- talkies which had simply stated the two code
words 'Eagle' and 'Wet', originally devised by a former security guard and
wannabe code cracker who had now retired.

 
Although the codes had yet to be updated to
something more practical, 'Eagle' meant emergency and 'Wet' meant upstairs
toilets. The code words were being barked over the air waves rather rudely by a
much- disliked manager called Niall (who finished the message with some nasty
remark about sacking them both if he was ever given half the chance), and in a
strenuous attempt to get there after battling the panicking general public, who
were not only swamping the descending stairs but also clawing their way down
the ascending ones too,
 
Jon and Jordan
were grabbed by a terrified looking Reece Bailley, who began to drag them to a
cubicle whilst blabbering incoherently about his mates being in there.

 
As they approached, it was evident that the
cubicle door was only ajar but there was a fast growing pool of blood seeping
its way towards them. This sight, together with the most inhuman-like growling
coming from inside the small space, caused all three to look at each other and
mouth the words “What the fuck?”

Jordan, who was the biggest
of the trio and probably the most inquisitive, edged slowly towards the cubicle
door. Jon and Reece watched in wide- eyed anticipation as Jordan, whilst being
careful not to step in the dark puddle of blood- red goo, reached out his hand
and gave the door a gentle push. The sight that greeted the three lads changed
the previous wide- eyed anticipation into outright disgust and horror that
would stay etched on the inside of their eyelids forever.

Inside the small toilet were
two figures, both wearing hoodies; one red and the other...... well... red, as
it was almost completely smothered in the blood that was seeping from the torn-
open abdomen of one of the
Kyles.

Time stood still as the three
pairs of sickened eyes tried hard to process what was happening before them.

 
One of the inhabitants of the toilet was
clearly feasting on the other. Blood that had spattered up the walls of the
cubicle was now trickling down like raindrops on a window pane.
 
The odour of fresh blood pervaded the air.

 
The low-pitched growling that had attended
this scene suddenly stopped and the monster that had previously been a Kyle
slowly turned his head to face his audience. Jon and Jordan instinctively
stumbled backwards, taking in the crazed look of the pair of bright red blood
shot eyes that glared at them. However, Reece Bailley was rooted to the spot,
in complete shock and trying desperately to make any sense of what his mate
appeared to be doing to his other mate. This lapse in alertness was to be his
downfall.
 
Without any warning, the monster
leapt forwards, landing on the poor hapless youth and ripping a huge chunk of
flesh out of his face with just its bare teeth.

 
With the dreadful growling and ripping sounds
bouncing off the tiled toilet walls, Jon and Jordan ran with all their might
toward the escalator, both of them bewildered about what they had just
witnessed.

Riding the packed descending
escalator, the two horrified members of staff had an overall view of the chaos
that was being played out on the ground level into which they were headed.

 
All around the large restaurant people were
running like headless chickens. Some were running towards the large exit doors,
but then it seemed that just as many were running back from them.

Instinctively, both Jon and
Jordan together with the rest of the descending escalator- headed straight
towards the exit doors as freedom seemed to be the most sensible option, at
least until some sense could be made of this crazy situation.

As they surged forwards, with
the exit in their sights, they recognised the familiar uniform headgear of a
fellow staff member from the pizza department about to flee through the heavily
encumbered and only slightly open automatic doors. It appeared that the sensor
responsible for the opening and closing of the large doors was no longer
working, and that the doors were having to be forced apart by a few pairs of
desperate hands. It was the pizza assistant, visible only by his bright red
company baseball cap- and purely due to the nature of being very slimly built
-who was the first to break through the narrow gap.

“Ryan's made it out!” shouted
Jon above the loud din growing around them. It was less than a second after the
words had left his mouth that a loud gun blast rang out from just outside the
building.

“He's been shot!” exclaimed
one of the men who had been frantically trying to pull the doors apart. “He's
been shot!” he repeated wearing a look of complete disbelief as he fell to his
knees in shock.

 
“Why has he been shot?” he then asked the
crowd of people around him as one by one they took their hands away from the
slim gap in the doors.

 
With no other plan, and an assumption that the
'enemy' was outside, the crowd surged back into the restaurant, desperate to
find another means of escaping the panicking mob- Some of whom were
inexplicably splattered in blood and attacking others randomly.

“Game-Zone office!” shouted
both Jon and Jordan at almost exactly the same time.

Game-Zone office was a small
office tucked away just inside the amusement arcade section of the services. It
was a fairly dark area, lit up only by the enticing brightly coloured lights of
the gaming machines themselves. It was designed this way to give hardened
gamblers a fairly anonymous experience in which they were almost unseen and could
fritter away their hard- earned cash for as long as they could be tempted to
stay. A dark door in the corner led into the small office which housed a desk
and a safe. Having previously worked this section, Jordan had knowledge of the
security code needed to open the dark door. Hence they headed toward the bright
lights of the miniature Las- Vegas, thus making the whole situation they were
in seem ever more surreal.

As Scott and Ant dragged
their eyes away from the now concealed outside world, they finally took in the
sights that surrounded them. It appeared that people were no longer bothering
with the food in this large food hall and instead were choosing to devour the
flesh of other diners.

Being huge fans of The
Walking Dead and other such TV serializations that had bought about a
nationwide zombie fascination, these two men were left in no doubt whatsoever
about what was occurring here. This was a zombie outbreak! How this had come
about was a question for later; right now survival was of prime importance.
Neither Scott nor Ant had to think much; it was as if their own animal
instincts took over. This very situation had been discussed at length during
lunch breaks at work......and social gatherings....and phone calls!

1)
   
Assess the extent
of the situation.

2)
   
Grab anything
close that can be used as weaponry.