friend. Cunt.
Neither of us said anything. I panted from my sudden burst of energy - it certainly wasn’t a normal action after so much alcohol consumption. Phil looked shocked, adopting a ‘what the fuck is happening’ expression across his face. There was no time to sit and chat about what was going on, just an unspoken sure-fire determination to get up and get gone. As I pulled Phil to his feet, we in unison took to getting Jon and Derek to safety. Phil grabbed an umbrella from the grasp of an old man’s fist, which unfortunately for him was no longer attached to the rest of his body. Learning from my weapon of choice previously being a success, I grabbed the second chair leg again, and we both hurtled toward the bar, knocking down anything in our way like polystyrene skittles. I don’t know why or how, but for some reason as we got to the bar, Phil managed to get the zombies at bay by opening and closing the umbrella really quickly, like he was trying to scare birds at the seaside. It may have been bafflement, but I didn’t care; whatever the reason, it kept those snapping- tooth fuckers away long enough for me to grab the other two and pull them onto the consumer side of the bar to join us. Jon and Derek both picked up glasses and bottles as we slowly and cautiously edged toward the door, launching them at any zombie who tried to get to us. They were slow, but plentiful, and we had to keep our wits about us. I grabbed Lance’s arm; his fun had to stop some time but he was full of adrenaline and still fighting hard. Admitting it was time to go, he backed away, keeping a firm eye on any potential assailants, and eventually joined us four as we gingerly retreated. With the exit now in sight, we stopped, counted down from three, and fucking ran.
Running out of the front door instantly showed that the streets of Fleet was experiencing the same reckless carnage as inside the pub, so there was no time to stop and smell the zombies. We all stood in the road, looking around us as undead were chasing people down and tucking into them, ignoring their prey’s pleas for mercy or screams of pain. People were sprinting in random directions, meeting trouble, then turning and sprinting another way to meet equal problems. It was quickly turning into a fenceless prison, zombies rounding up helpless citizens like herds of sheep before pouncing and sinking their teeth in. Everyone was panicking; terrified by the sudden introduction of these flesh eaters who seemed hell-bent on devouring everyone they could without thought, mercy or reasoning.
We stood in the road, all five of us, staring in awe at the terror unfolding around us.
“Where shall we go?”
Shouted Derek
My mind raced to a late night conversation in my old gaff on the high street, above a series of shops, only a couple of buildings down from where we were. I remember clearly depicting the benefits of the flat should there be a zombie apocalypse, but in that playful hypothetical conversation many people have had, not actually expecting it to ever come into fruition. Irrespectively, the conversation’s consensus was that it was the perfect place should there ever be an outbreak, and it was fortuitously a couple of minutes away from where we were standing.
“My old place”
I replied, and coursed my feet in that direction.
2.
I hadn’t lived in my old flat for well over two years, almost three in fact, but I still remembered the security code for the door to the stairs leading up to the flats from the high street. Punching in the numbers, I held the door for the others who ran straight up the concrete stairwell, following them before slamming the door back into its previously locked state.
The flat was on a concrete rise about 12ft in the air, overlooking the high street on one side and a private car park on the other. The side we ran up was concrete, which
Neither of us said anything. I panted from my sudden burst of energy - it certainly wasn’t a normal action after so much alcohol consumption. Phil looked shocked, adopting a ‘what the fuck is happening’ expression across his face. There was no time to sit and chat about what was going on, just an unspoken sure-fire determination to get up and get gone. As I pulled Phil to his feet, we in unison took to getting Jon and Derek to safety. Phil grabbed an umbrella from the grasp of an old man’s fist, which unfortunately for him was no longer attached to the rest of his body. Learning from my weapon of choice previously being a success, I grabbed the second chair leg again, and we both hurtled toward the bar, knocking down anything in our way like polystyrene skittles. I don’t know why or how, but for some reason as we got to the bar, Phil managed to get the zombies at bay by opening and closing the umbrella really quickly, like he was trying to scare birds at the seaside. It may have been bafflement, but I didn’t care; whatever the reason, it kept those snapping- tooth fuckers away long enough for me to grab the other two and pull them onto the consumer side of the bar to join us. Jon and Derek both picked up glasses and bottles as we slowly and cautiously edged toward the door, launching them at any zombie who tried to get to us. They were slow, but plentiful, and we had to keep our wits about us. I grabbed Lance’s arm; his fun had to stop some time but he was full of adrenaline and still fighting hard. Admitting it was time to go, he backed away, keeping a firm eye on any potential assailants, and eventually joined us four as we gingerly retreated. With the exit now in sight, we stopped, counted down from three, and fucking ran.
Running out of the front door instantly showed that the streets of Fleet was experiencing the same reckless carnage as inside the pub, so there was no time to stop and smell the zombies. We all stood in the road, looking around us as undead were chasing people down and tucking into them, ignoring their prey’s pleas for mercy or screams of pain. People were sprinting in random directions, meeting trouble, then turning and sprinting another way to meet equal problems. It was quickly turning into a fenceless prison, zombies rounding up helpless citizens like herds of sheep before pouncing and sinking their teeth in. Everyone was panicking; terrified by the sudden introduction of these flesh eaters who seemed hell-bent on devouring everyone they could without thought, mercy or reasoning.
We stood in the road, all five of us, staring in awe at the terror unfolding around us.
“Where shall we go?”
Shouted Derek
My mind raced to a late night conversation in my old gaff on the high street, above a series of shops, only a couple of buildings down from where we were. I remember clearly depicting the benefits of the flat should there be a zombie apocalypse, but in that playful hypothetical conversation many people have had, not actually expecting it to ever come into fruition. Irrespectively, the conversation’s consensus was that it was the perfect place should there ever be an outbreak, and it was fortuitously a couple of minutes away from where we were standing.
“My old place”
I replied, and coursed my feet in that direction.
2.
I hadn’t lived in my old flat for well over two years, almost three in fact, but I still remembered the security code for the door to the stairs leading up to the flats from the high street. Punching in the numbers, I held the door for the others who ran straight up the concrete stairwell, following them before slamming the door back into its previously locked state.
The flat was on a concrete rise about 12ft in the air, overlooking the high street on one side and a private car park on the other. The side we ran up was concrete, which
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