Zom-B City Read Free Page A

machines aren’t practical, so in the end, reluctantly, I leave them behind.
    A file, on the other hand, is vital, and I spend even longer testing out the goods in that section. My teeth are constantly growing and need to be filed back every day or two. Otherwise they’ll fill my mouth and I won’t be able to speak. When I find a file that does the job, I give all of my teeth a thorough going-over, then stick it in my bag, along with replacements, and mosey on.
    Next up, a large department store. Zombies are patrolling the aisles, checking behind clothes racks, looking for any juicy humans they might have missed. They keep mistaking mannequins for living people. They jump on them, growling and howling, then realise their mistake and trudge away sullenly. I get a good laugh out of that, but lose interest after the seventh or eighth time and crack on.
    I browse the racks, looking for clean jeans, a new T-shirt and a long-sleeved, heavy jumper. I tear a hole through the jumper and T-shirt to show the cavity in my chest, then pick up gloves and a nice leather jacket, one of the most expensive in the store. I dress in the middle of the shop, not bothering with the changing rooms. The zombies don’t take any notice of me as I strip off. They’re not interested in nudity, only brains.
    I try on shoes once I’m comfortable in the clothes, but can’t easily slip them on because of the bones poking out of my toes. Finally I grab a few pairs of socks and jam them over my feet, letting the bones stick out through the ends.
    A good hat is the next item on my shopping list. I don’t find anything that I like in the women’s section, so I head to the men’s department and spot an Australian cork hat. Once I’ve pulled off the corks and string, it’s perfect — with its wide brim, it will shade my face and neck.
    ‘G’day, mate,’ I drawl in a terrible Australian accent, studying myself in a mirror. ‘Looking good, sport.’ I try to wink at my reflection, forgetting again that my eyelids don’t work. I scowl, then laugh at my foolishness. ‘No worries!’
    I make my final stop by one of the sales desks, where sunglasses lie scattered across the floor. I root through and find a few which fit me and which I don’t mind the look of. When I’m happy with my choices, I put three pairs in my bag and clip the other pair on to the neck of my jumper.
    All sorted, I grab some magazines, return to the windows at the front of the store and lie down. I spend the rest of the night reading about showbiz stars who will never glitter again now that the world has gone to hell, glancing up every so often to watch the occasional zombie prowl past outside.
    When dawn breaks and the streets clear, I get up, toss the magazines aside, slip on my glasses and hat, pull on my gloves and step out into the brightening day. My eyes tighten behind the shades but gradually adjust. They’re not as sharp as they were in the darkness, but protected by the dark glasses, I can see OK.

    I move into the middle of the road and stand bathed by the rays of the sun, to test whether or not they irritate me through the covering of my clothes. They do to an extent, and the itching starts again, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was. I can live with it, so to speak.
    ‘Right,’ I snap. ‘The day is mine.’
    And off I set through the empty streets, claiming them as my own. B Smith — queen of the city!

FIVE
    In all honesty, it’s not much of a city to be queen of. I used to think that London was one of the most exciting places in the world, always buzzing, always something going on. Now it’s like walking through the world’s biggest graveyard, and an ugly, messy one at that.
    The battle between the living and the dead must have been apocalyptic. There are signs of chaos everywhere, broken windows, crashed cars, corpses left to rot outdoors. Many houses and shops are burnt out and fires still smoulder in some of them. In other places pipes have burst and