Zombies! Outbreak Huddersfield – Part 4

WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS SWEARING, VIOLENCE AND GORE

Paul was well on his way to being drunk by the time someone knocked on the door again. Dave, who could no longer move thanks to the potency of his latest purchase, simply pointed in the vague direction of the noise and said, “Door”.

Paul struggled up from the sofa, knocking over a few empty bottles; he opened the front door, forgetting the possible zombie inundation this might create.

Martin stood on the doorstep, covered in blood and carrying a six-pack of beer.

Paul looked drunkenly confused for a moment, the sight of Martin covered in enough blood for a transfusion battled against the sight of newly arrived beer. The beer won and he threw his hands in the air and shouted, “Hurray!”

He dragged Martin in and presented him to Dave, slurring, “Look its Martin!”

Dave waved at Martin ignoring his appearance and simply said, “It’s your turn to skin up”.

Martin grabbed a cold beer from the fridge in the kitchen, swapping it for his own contribution and then came back to sit in the armchair, ignoring the weed for the moment.

Apparently he had driven here in his brothers brand new 4×4, right after he had decapitated him with a carving knife. He and his brother, Pete, had been holed up in Martins tiny terraced house in Quarmby. They had been in the middle of a Battlestar Galactica marathon, when Martins neighbours had popped round for a bite to eat, via the living room window. Martin’s brother had been bitten as they barricaded themselves upstairs, using Martins memory foam mattress and large pornography collection. They had held out for a couple of days, whilst the Zombies put face prints in the mattress, but eventually Pete had turned.

Dave, who was starting to come round again after bursting into fits of laughter when Martin told the part about cutting off his own brother head, said sagely, “That’s messed up,” and started making another joint.

Martin looked around the room for a while, and then in a businesslike voice asked “So what’s the plan?”

Paul and Dave stared at each other for a moment.

“Well, Dave’s plan is to get caned and play battlefield” Paul replied.

“It’s a good plan, but two bags wont last us long” said Martin speaking in an authoritative voice, having spent many years sharing bags of weed with Dave. “Has anyone heard from Jason?”

Paul and Dave exchanged glances again.

“Not as such no,” Paul said tentatively.

“You haven’t rung him have you?” Martin said, a wry smile coming to his face.

“Well my phone doesn’t work, and well, we haven’t had” Paul looked at the bottles and the darkening sky outside, “haven’t had the time…”

“I haven’t rung him either” Martin explained in a matter of fact way.

“He’ll be fine” piped up Dave, “He’s probably renting his spare room to zombies.”

Martin and Paul nodded.

Martin opened another beer. “You know what we should do,” Dave started to look uncomfortable, so Martin quickly added, “but tomorrow.”

“What?” Dave asked hesitantly, the thought of actual physical action more disturbing than zombies breaking in.

“We should go shopping; you know, get to the supermarket and load up. Only without the paying bit obviously. We can pick up Jason on the way.”

“Yeah, well the git will want a lift wont he. He wouldn’t drive.” Paul replied sarcastically. He then suddenly slapped his forehead hard. “Shit!”

“What?” Martin asked.

“Of course” Paul explained, “We already know what we are going to do.”

“We do?” said Dave incredulously.

“We have had this conversation a million times before, every time we watch a zombie film.” He looked at their blank faces and continued. “Well? Where is the place we said we would head straight for, in any end of the world situation?”

All three smiled and then repeated together, “Kirklees Guns!”

Zombies! Outbreak Huddersfield – Part 3

WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS SWEARING, VIOLENCE AND GORE

Paul drove slowly down Penistone Road out of Fenay Bridge and into Waterloo. He had already smashed the front of the new reg BMW, trying to drive through the barrier out of his flats car park. It had taken three goes to actually break through, unlike the envisioned tyre screaming escape smashing through balsa wood barrier movies had taught him it should be like. Not that it mattered as its owner was currently trying to eat his neighbours.

Waterloo was silent save for a few Zombies shambling about; he gave them a wide berth. The road was littered with cars, some of which he was forced to nudge out of the way to get passed. So far the zombies, when they were close enough, had simply pawed at the glass unable and unintelligent enough not to smash it. He thought he saw a few live people at one point but they were running down a side street and soon disappeared out of view. Passing Dalton Green lane he noticed it had been barricaded off with some parked cars. Several bodies lay on this side, probably zombies that had tried to get through, it seemed quiet now however. Paul was about to get out when he saw through a gap in the make shift fortification a zombie eating an arm on the other side. Obviously the barricade had not held, or else the dead had found a way round. He drove on slowly, looking into the houses for signs of life.

The Tolson museum was on fire to his left, the blaze burning unchecked as a few mesmerised zombies stood watching the inferno. Paul chastised himself for never going in before; it was always somewhere you forget to visit, even though it was on his doorstep.

The zombies became more numerous the closer he got to town as did the crashed and abandoned cars, more fires burned in the background. Ignoring traffic conventions he drove across the lanes and up a one way street into Moldgreen. Outside the day and night mini market a group of hooded zombies mulled about around the corpse of a shop assistant. The door to the store stood wide open, this was probably the only situation in which the youths would not have been stuffing as much white lightning cider and Lambert and Butlers into their coats as possible.

Paul turned the corner on to Dave’s street; it looked strange, there were places to park.

He turned the engine off and looked up at the dilapidated terrace, its blinds were closed and it looked like no one was home. This was a good sign as Dave rarely left the house, a committed agoraphobic and hater of sunshine.

Grabbing the crowbar Paul cautiously got out of the car onto the quiet street. With a brief glance around he struggled through the overgrown hedgerow and up the broken stone steps. He knocked twice.

Nothing.

Well it had been a long shot anyway; who in there right minds would have stopped in a town overrun with zombies. He tried the handle, it was fast, locked.

Chastising himself for being so stupid as to risk driving over here he booted the door in frustration. There was a noise from inside then a growling voice shouted out. “Alright! Fer fucks sake.”

Keys jangled on the other side and the door opened to reveal Dave in a grubby dressing gown that could possibly have been blue in its former life.

“WHAT!…Oh alright Paul, thought you were those bloody kids mucking about again.”

He padded back through the piled up mail refuse behind the door into the gloom of his living room. Paul quickly locked the front door and joined him.

Dave slumped into a settee that looked like it had been in a fight with a truck, a game controller appearing in his hands.

“You err, not been outside then?” Paul asked amazed at Dave’s obliviousness to the danger.

“Mmph?” Dave replied his eyes starring fixedly at the screen. “MOTHERFUCKER!” he screamed so loudly that Paul jumped off the arm of the settee his crowbar held high ready to strike.

“Son of a bitch has been camping by that spawn point all morning. Soon as you spawn, BAM!”

“Dave have you been in here all week playing battlefield?” enquired Paul angrily.

Dave gave him a look that confirmed he though Paul was insane. “Of course. I’m on holiday aren’t I, what else am I going to do?”

“And no one mentioned what has happened online?” said Paul incredulously

“I turned off the voice bit; they’re all whiney yank kids, bitching like babies when they get shot. Who wants to listen to that? You got to remember the demographic that is playing during office hour’s mate. People on a different time zone, kids skiving school and the unemployed. It’s like watching jobfinder or hanging around the park, you only do it when you have to”

“Plus you hate everyone anyway.”

“Well there is that, I’ll grant you. Why are you not at work anyway?”

After several refusals, two cups of tea and a pizza sandwich Paul took Dave outside. Within ten meters they came across a few bodies that were serving as lunch to a zombie with no legs wearing a T-shirt that said “Do you think I’m sexy on it?”

For possibly only the second time in his life Dave ran back home, locking Paul out in the process. When he finally did let Paul back in he was using his mobile phone.

“How have you got a signal mines dead?” asked Paul

Dave ignored him, putting his finger to his lips. “Yo Flynn, I don’t suppose you can sort me out can you? Yeah two bags please. Ok, about half an hour, great.”

Paul eyed him suspiciously, “What are you up to, do you have a way out for us?” he asked hopefully.

Dave jumped back onto the settee picking up the controller again. “Eh? Oh no that was Flynn, he’s bringing us some weed round. I can’t face all that,” he pointed to the window, “without some green gold.”

“So your big plan for the apocalypse is to get caned and play Battlefield?”

“Yep, already got beer in the fridge. Besides someone will be sorting it out wont they”

“I don’t believe this! Its zombie town out there anyway, you’ll never see this Flynn….top left on the balcony, good shot. There’s no way you’ll get your weed.” Said Paul slumping off the arm into the settee.

They played battlefield for a while, three lives each before a pass. Paul drank a beer and wondered about just heading out by himself.

Someone thumped on the door and Paul sprang to his feet again, grabbing the crowbar off the debris strewn coffee table.

Dave got off the settee, “Whoa what do you think your doing?”

“I’m just, you know getting ready for trouble” replied Paul.

“Well chill Winston, Flynn don’t like strangers, so sit down.” Said Dave oblivious to Paul’s look of amazement.

Within seconds Dave returned from the door carrying two small and exceptionally fragrant bags of green.

“What did he say?” asked Paul.

“About what?” said Dave breathing in the vapours from a bag and smiling.

“About the cost of milk. About the frigging zombies outside you tit!” yelled Paul.

“You don’t talk to Flynn, he just delivers and gets out. Its what makes him reliable, pass me the rizzlas will you.”

“I don’t believe this, I don’t believe you. We need to get out of here dude, we need…” Paul was cut off by Dave answering his phone.

“Alright mate, Nah. Just playing Battlefield, gonna have a smoke if you fancy. Yeah come on down.” He ended the call and returned straight to playing the game.

“Well!” asked Paul.

“Eh? Oh its Martin, he’s on his way over.”

“Where is he?

“Dunno, said summat about killing his brother then he’d be down.”

Zombies! Outbreak Huddersfield – Part 2

WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS SWEARING, VIOLENCE AND GORE

After resting from the mornings exertions and partaking of a particularly average microwave curry, Paul considered his options. The power was still on, that was undoubtedly a good sign. Somewhere people were doing normal things like making electricity, so men like Paul could eat badly made curries.

On the other hand Craig, Paul’s neighbour was now a slavering zombie with the consumption of large quantities of flesh his number one priority. Craig was outside the door now, fumbling at the handle and moaning morosely.

In every life or death situation, in every carefully planned scenario, thought up by people who spend every waking moment thinking about strange scenarios, the advice is always the same. Stay where you are and wait for rescue.

Unfortunately Paul had never attended a Zombie regulations meeting, and quite frankly would probably still have fallen asleep, just like he did in the fire regulations meetings at work. What Paul had seen, was every action and horror film available from the Waterloo Blockbuster, and in every single one of those films the people that got the hell out of whatever place they were in, lived. Sure for a while the people who staid put were ok, but slowly the monsters work out the weaknesses. There was no way Paul would end up the guy that stayed put in the film.

So he decided to leave.

First things first, protection.

Paul ransacked his wardrobes looking for his sturdiest clothes, luckily he had gone through a hiking faze about six months ago so had some pretty heavy stuff. Dressed in hiking boots, two pairs of jeans covered in waterproof trousers, thick coat with magazines pushed down the arms and a pink cycling helmet that belonged to his ex, he felt reasonably bite proof. Just to be extra cautious he put on a dust mask and some leather gloves that were too big for him and had subsequently never been worn. Now he turned his attentions to his next need, weapons.

Paul looked at the mega cock on the table. Zombie holocaust or not, there was no way he would be seen fighting for freedom waving a massive dildo in his hands. He didn’t have a cricket bat or any golf clubs, he just wasn’t that sporty. There were a few knives in a block by the oven but he didn’t really fancy getting in close to use them. He cast his eyes about the room. All this crap he had collected and now he couldn’t even defend himself unless it was with a stolen sex toy.

He was about to start taking furniture apart, when he remembered something under the sink. When he first got the flat, the carpet fitters had left behind a crow bar, he had meant to drop it off for them for months now. Scattering Mr Sheen and Absinthe, Paul located the hefty bar at the back of the cupboard. Standing he gave it an experimental swing, nice.

Stuffing some breakfast bars and chocolate into his pocket Paul worked out his route. He would get downstairs to the car, with all the security doors in the building it shouldn’t be too bad. Next he would drive over to Dave’s in Moldgreen as that was closest, see if he was still alive and knew anything. After that, well after that he would have another think.

Paul moved the furniture away from his front door, unhooked the security chain, unlocked the door and stood back, crow bar raised.

The Zombie Craig hearing the noise made renewed moaning cries and buffeted the door from the other side.

Retard can’t even open a door!

Paul opened the door wide in a swinging ark to reveal Craig with an expression of wonder on his face that the door had just opened.

“Sorry Craig!” said Paul meaning it and brought the crow bar down on Craig’s head. The already cracked skull sank and then split as the steel demolished its contents. Craig dropped instantly to the floor, dead for good.

Paul stepped over his former neighbour’s corpse and looked down the corridor. It seemed Craig’s fat girlfriend was as lazy dead as she was alive.

Paul decided against the lift, he had seen Dawn of the Dead not too long ago and got claustrophobic anyway. The stairs although knackering proved risk free, with just one moment when he saw a grey faced Zombie peering at him through a glass fire door. Luckily the stairs went all the way down to the underground car park, all he had to do was punch in the code to open the door. Paul peered through the glass, darkness beyond, no movement. Quickly he opened the door and ran to the far side of the car park where his battered Mondeo was parked.

Two figures detached themselves from the shadows and began to walk towards him as he checked his pockets for his keys, his keys!

“Oh you twat Paul!” he yelled berating himself.

The two figures shuffled nearer, one was a woman Paul didn’t recognise, and the other was Patrick the security guard. Both began to moan loudly and raised their arms as they drew closer to Paul’s car. This was not the movies, he was not a Customer Service Clerk who just happened to have been a Navy Seal, he could not hot-wire cars.

The security guard Patrick lunged forward forcing Paul to swipe him away with the crow bar; he landed in a heap but continued to move. The woman made a noise somewhere between a scream and a moan, grabbing on to Paul’s arm and trying to bite through the material of his coat. He pulled his arm free causing a flicker of disappointment to cross the Zombie woman’s features. She hadn’t been able to get a good hold as in her other arm she clutched a handbag that had obviously been important in her previous life. Paul hit her full in the face with the trusty crow bar flicking her head back with a crack. As she fell he yanked the bag from her hand. Inside was the usual debris of lipstick, mirror, nail varnish and … car keys.

“Jackpot!” cried Paul kicking off Patrick’s attempt to crawl over and eat his foot. He pressed the lock open symbol on the keys and some lights flashed two cars down the row of vehicles. A brand new BMW.

Paul’s face split into a grin “Nice, very nice”.

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.