Zombies! Outbreak Huddersfield – Part 1

WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS SWEARING, VIOLENCE AND GORE

Paul stretched out his arm to silence an alarm clock that wasn’t there, and knocked over a glass of water. It was caught neatly by a bucket of sick by Paul’s bed, the culmination of three days of suffering from Norovirus. The gastroenteritis had hit him very hard, leaving him off work and not even able to drink lager.

Opening crusty eyes he groaned at the bright light streaming through the curtains, needling his brain like a monkey knife fight. He felt much better than he had, still tired, but he didn’t feel the need to instantly vomit up his pancreas like yesterday. Still, they could bollocks if they thought he would be going into work today.

After a quick shower in the ludicrously small bathroom of his one bedroom flat, he padded into its equally tiny lounge. It had cost one hundred and forty thousand ponds, but at least he was on the property ladder he told himself, albeit the bottom rung that happened to be on the top floor. Picking up a piece of three day old pizza he flicked on the TV, no pictures just a piercing white noise. He tried a few channels but nothing presented itself.

Swearing he dressed quickly in a pair of old jeans and T shirt, he would knock on Craig’s door across the hall, his only neighbour. The man was an insufferable bore who collected football programmes but didn’t actually like football; he always knew what was going on with the building.

Out in the hall Paul knocked twice on the heavy fireproof door of 60b, there was no answer. Maybe he was out scouring the second hand stalls for programmes down at the Tuesday market. Either that or doing the hideously fat thing that past for his girlfriend, Gloria. Paul shuddered; just the sight of her blubbery form gave him more nausea than Norovirus ever could, poor Craig.

He knocked again and the door nudged open, not quite held on the cheap Yale lock. Bloody builders though Paul, everything was cheap in the building. He had pulled a tap off his sink the day after he had moved in, the construction company had said it was natural wear and tear. He walked into the musty paper Aladdin’s cave that was Craig’s living room.

“Craig? You in?” he called nearly tripping over a pile of HTFC programmes from the 1970’s. “Is your TV alright, cos mines got no picture.”

There was a low moan from the bedroom.

“You alright mate, you haven’t got that Norovirus as well have you? It’s a right bugger, three days I’ve been in bed.”

He opened the door on Craig’s small bedroom; there were more programmes on the floor in here, though they seemed to have been kicked over. A large sleigh style bed dominated the room, its sheets and duvet had been pulled over the far side.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if the damn aerial hasn’t fallen off the roof, probably only stuck on with Pritt Stick.” Carried on Paul, noting the messiness of the room and feeling better about his own scruffy apartment. Another moan came from the other side of the bed, it sounded wet, like someone talking through a flannel. Paul moved round to the other side “Oof you do sound in a bad way, I ….”

He stopped dead at the sight of Craig, quite literally eating out his girlfriend. Craig’s arms were in up to the elbows of her open stomach. The floor was covered in flesh and huge lumps of bloody fat; the bottom of the curtains by the bed had turned scarlet as though dipped in dye. Craig seemed oblivious to his visitor burying his face into the gelatinous depths of his large girlfriend, occasionally making the low moan.

Ice formed around Paul’s stomach leeching into his bones as the fear took hold. Yet for all his fear all he could think was, so that’s why he wanted a fat bird, to eat her!

He began to back away slowly, his foot brushed against something cold and wet and he had to force himself not to look at it, lest he make a noise.

As he reached the end of the bed something hard caught under his foot and he stumbled with a thud, this time he did look down. It was the biggest bright orange dildo he had ever seen in his life, including the internet. Without realising it he said aloud “Ewwwwww!”

Gloria’s eyes flicked open and she let out a rattling wail, her bingo winged arms rising to point at Paul. Craig’s head suddenly snapped round, further than should have been possible, revealing a face stripped of flesh. Letting out an inhuman snarl from his lipless mouth he began to raise himself from his feast.

Paul grabbed the only available weapon, the monster orange cock.

As Craig began to rise Paul brought the ginormous phallus down on his skull, there was a sickening crack as the bone broke, but Craig continued to rise. Gloria was now moving too, trying to sit up despite the fact her stomach muscles had been devoured.

Paul ran from the room in full panic barely remembering to close the doors he passed through, hoping to buy time.

Slamming his own front door he quickly locked it, then grabbed his heavy arm chair and put is against the door. He stood looking at the barricade for a moment, and then reaching over the chair put the security chain on.

Putting the jumbo sex aid on his coffee he started to move away then stopped. He picked up the dildo again and slid a coaster underneath it.

With heart beating in his chest he made his way to the curtains, he had watched enough crap horror films to know what he was likely to see. However nothing can really prepare you for the sight of a group of Zombie Cub Scouts walking down your road. He silently hoped it was not Bob-a-Job week.

There was a bang on the door followed by a dribbled moan.

What he needed now was a plan.