Zombieeeees!

TZZZZSCHHHHHCK– "We interrupt this program to bring you the following urgent announcement. Please pay close attention, this is not a drill."

Allan sat up straight and peered at the TV screen,

"Attention, residents of New Romero. It is my duty to report to you that there has been a very tragic development. Within the campus of our very own University of New Romero, a pandemic of sorts has been reported. Many students have been affected, but what is more pressing even, is that the outbreak has not been– reportedly cannot be– controlled. Symptoms include salivation, slurred speech, deteriorated motor functions, glassed eyes, dilated pupils, hair loss, nausea, necrosis, and an insatiable bloodlust. This unclear pandemic is though to be spread through blood or other bodily fluids. Although only direct contact will guarantee infection, please observe the utmost of caution in dealing with infectees: If you or anybody you know has experienced these symptoms, been bitten by or has experienced sexual intercourse with anybody who has, please say your goodbyes and promptly isolate or decapitate said persons. Once again, this is not a drill." –ZZCHHHKT

He stood slowly, and pressed rewind on the remote. He played back the message two more times and then rewound it to the beginning. Allan made his way slowly up the stairs of the flat, and knocked on his flatmate's door. "Uhh… there's… I think you… You might want to see this. It's kind of… pressing, actually. Seriously, you should come down stairs."

Vera frowned at her reflection in the full length mirror. The purple dress had looked a lot better in the store. Holding it up to herself in the bedroom had her regretting the purchase. She tossed the garment on the growing pile of clothes on her bed. "This shouldn't be this difficult," she muttered. "One date. One outfit." She took a quick glance at her bed before disappearing into her closet again. She'd just pulled out a cream colored cardigan when she heard the knock on her door. Jesus, what does Allan want?

She rolled her eyes, figuring she would let him knock a few times before answering. His persistent knocking told her that wouldn't be happening. She yanked open the door, staring at her roommate's face. He was pale and stuttering. "What?" she asked. "What's going on?" She squinted at him through her soft brown eyes. "Is this some kind of joke? Because I'm kind of busy right now, Allan."

"Well, you can pretty much forget about your date, Vera," chuckled Allan, "Since we are as of five minutes ago on pandemic watch." He leaned against the wall across from her door. "You're not going to believe this, not a word of it, but it's paused on the TV downstairs. You may need a drink." he said, and walked solemnly to his room. He kicked open his door and reached up above his closet, retrieved some fine sixteen-year-old Scotch and a couple of shot glasses, and made his way back to the stairs. He passively walked down the stairs and towards the kitchen, his mind fuzzy and scattered, and poured two shots of scotch. He figured she'd need one fairly soon. Downing his shot, he brought the bottle back upstairs then began sifting through his things for the most dangerous goods he owned.

Machette, largish dowel, five hundred matches, kerosine lamp, couple of tennis balls, length of rope (heh), dammit, this is when I wish I was one of those crazy knife-collecting people. thought Allan, empty bottle, empty bottle, empty bottle, pocket-knife, scissors, aha! Paintball gun– ball bearings? Ball bearings, fucking score.

Vera's eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?" she asked crossing her arms over her chest. "Pandemic watch?" she repeated. "Come off it, Allan. I mean it." She scoffed at his statements as she watched him walk to his room. She stood in the doorway of her room a second longer before jogging down the stairs. "I swear if you're wasting my time..." she trailed off as her voice carried up the stairs.

She picked up the remote off the coffee table and pressed play. She began to listen to the broadcast, turning her head when she heard the shot glasses in the kitchen behind her. "Bullshit," she said aloud, turning off the television before the report had even concluded.

"It's a fucking joke," she said, exasperated as she made her way back up the stairs. She pushed open the door of Allan's room to see him pulling out random items - most of which were empty bottles. "You really believe that?" she asked. "Hey, dumbass, ever heard of the War of the World or whatever broadcast? It is fake. 'Insatiable bloodlust' cannot be a symptom!" She was ready to continue her rant when her phone chimed once, then twice, then four more times in succession.

The hell?

"It is a joke," she repeated again before pulling out her phone. The text messages had all come at once. They fell for it too she thought immediately not even wanting to reply to them. She was about to slip the phone back into her pocket when it rang. Her mother. Her answer was met by a shriek on the other line. Vera managed to hear "pandemic" and "unsafe" in between her mother's sobs. If the report had made it all the way to her parents then maybe it wasn't just a hoax...

"They broadcast it on multiple channels, Vera. I checked. If it's a joke, it's very, very extensive. One way or the other, I'd like to be prepared for a worst-case scenario. Which is kind of what we're dealing with since we live on the goddamn campus." As he said this, he continued digging through his closet, finally retrieving some CO2 canisters for the paintball gun. He put it down on the floor and began disassembling the paintball gun. "Vera, do we have any nails? Hammers? Wood? I'm beginning to think we might need to board up the house to buy some time. Moreover, we need to think of a way to get away from the campus as quickly as possible by means other than by road."

He looked up at her momentarily, "Erh, that is… Well the way I see it is like this, and please correct me if I seem out to lunch: We're sitting at the epicentre of a pandemic. It is spread through bodily fluids, which means biting primarily, and the mechanism that makes this plague most dangerous is that persons affected are very inclined to biting things. If a multitude of people have already been infected, that suggests animals are susceptible or humans have begun cannibalizing. You know what that sounds like to me? Fucking zombies, Vera. We're dealing with fucking zombies.

"First and foremost, if I am not the only person aware of the situation right now, then the streets will, especially near the campus, absolutely packed with cars. Traffic is going to be atrocious, and if these zombies have even the remotest vestiges of predatory ability, I don't think it would be especially hard for them to spread the seed given a buffet of panicking refugees. The best thing we can do for the time being, is board up the house and put together some protective utilities, preferably those that would keep us out of arm's reach. Guns would be great, but we don't have guns so we'll have to make do with what we have around the house. Since they have reduced dexterity, and I'm drawing from common sense and a few zombie video games, it might be in our best interests to board up all of the downstairs windows and doors."

There was a knock at the door and Allan stood. "Your date's here," he commented and picked up the machete– and plucked a condom from a dresser drawer– handing them both to her, "Better safe than sorry." Allan chuckled and grinned at her, expecting a not-uncalled-for slap.

Panic was starting to creep through Vera's veins. Her mother was some 250 miles away from New Romero and not the kind of woman to watch the news without cause. If Allan was trying to scare her then he was doing a damn good job of it. "I know where the hell we live!" she snapped, starting to pace the hallway. "Do we have what?" she asked, sticking her head back into his room. She took a deep breath. If it was a joke she had to keep cool or look like an idiot. If it wasn't a joke then she would make things worse by freaking out.

She took a deep breath to help herself think. "I think there is a hammer in a drawer in the kitchen. I don't know about wood. Jesus. Maybe some nails in the basement or something," she said. She stared at him as he spoke, legitimately wondering if she was in the middle of some wacky dream. "Zombies?" she nearly screeched. "Allan, you have got to be kidding me. Zombies are like...not real, man." She shook her head. "This is officially not funny. At all."

She groaned as he continued talking unable to keep the dread from building up inside of her. "I cannot believe this is happening," she muttered, wringing her hands. She turned her head at the knock on the front door. "You're a wanker," she commented yet still took the condom and machete from him. She glared at him, considering slapping him.

Instead she bounded back down the steps. She tossed the items on the couch. "One second," she called out to DJ. She flipped back on the tv. The report was still on. She changed from the local station to a national one. It was the same report. "No, no," she murmured, slowly sinking down onto the sofa. Each channel she flipped to had the same message. Even the channels not in English. She turned off the tv, staring in disbelief. She got up slowly and walked to the kitchen, downing the shot of Scotch still sitting on the counter.

There was another knock and she cautiously made her way to the door. She peered through the hole to see her date, DJ standing on the porch. She frowned, only able to see his profile. "I'm...gonna have to get a rain check," she said through the door. "Something is going on. Now isn't a good time." DJ turned to face the door and Vera saw his face. She screamed and jumped back from the door. "Allan!"

Allan heard her scream and picked up the wooden dowel. He raced to the stairs, slid down the rail and quickly joined her. He peered through the peephole just as formerly-known-as-DJ began hammering on the door. Allan laughed and backed away from the door. DJ hadn't been particularly nice to Allan when he'd come to pick up Vera; he wore a lot of expensive, pseudo-mobster clothing, including a four-hundred-something dollar fedora. Zomie-DJ, fully succumbing to necrosis, no longer had a nose, or eyebrows, yet still seemed 'fashionable enough' to have bothered to put on the fedora. Zombie-DJ seemed to be just in the midst of succumbing to the illness, and so still had some of his mental faculties– though, evidently not many.

Wham! Wham! "Deeja wan fuck. Deeja wan fuck!" roared Zombie-DJ, "Ver wan fuck? Ver wan fuck Deeja!" The deadbolt was more than enough to prevent 'Deeja' from getting in, but moreover, Allan tripped over the couch, laughing continually. "Hah-hah, h-hey V-Vera, at least the sucker's being honest f-for once, hahaha…"

Eventually, Allan got up, muffled a laugh, and put the wooden dowel over his shoulder. "So– snrk– Do you want me to hold him down while you whack his brains out, or shall I do the honours?" His grin was infallible, his demeanour oddly bright. "Popping your zombie-killing cherry: your former boyfriend? It's more than he deserves, Vera."

"Allan! Allan! Allan" she screamed, shaking all over. She closed her eyes but the image of DJ's face wouldn't go away. She doubled over, clutching her stomach as her roommate came down the stairs. "I'm gonna be sick," she groaned. The pounds on the door continued and Vera turned to see what Allan was doing to get DJ away from them.

"This isn't funny," she said, slapping him on the back of the head. "Do something!" she urged, all the color completely drained for her face. She raised her hand to hit him again when Allan finally moved. She shook her head, in disbelief at his demeanor. "Grow the fuck up, Allan. His.." she could barely repeat what she'd seen. "His damn nose is gone." She shuddered and pointed to the door, backing up towards the kitchen. "Just take care of it. Now. It isn't my fault nobody wants to fuck you. Complain about that later."

Vera moved herself completely into the kitchen, trying to calm herself down and move out of harm's way. How had he been infected so quickly? She winced, hearing the dull whack of the dowel against DJ's skull.

Allan opened the door and kicked Zombie-DJ in the chest. Zombie-DJ reeled backwards, arms flailing for lack of motor skills and balance, finally falling to the ground. As he struggled to get up, Allan calmly walked over and put his foot on Zombie-DJ's chest. The zombie paused momentarily and looked up at Allan. It took him a moment before he recognized his prospective executioner. "Aanaag!" screamed the zombie, reaching up towards Allan, a look of hatred on its face. "Hey DJ, you're not looking so fine today. Run out of makeup? Haha. Oh hey, listen, I know your secret you sick fuck, and you have no idea how satisfying it is to know that I'll be the one to knock down your date-rape campaign. What's funny is that I'd say it's your 'enthusiasm for women' that got you here, whad'ya say? Think I'm right? Maybe one of those chicks you've been fucking happened to have caught the plague first?"

Zombie-DJ paused. If his face could get any paler, it did.

"Thought so." said Allan, bringing the tip of the dowel next to Zombie-DJ's head. He shook out his legs and stood over DJ, and for a moment prepared for the first– and best– golf swing of his life. Ready, feet shoulder-width apart and–

SPLACK

He turned and put his hand above his eyes to observe as the misshapen head spun off into an adjacent neighborhood. Allan dragged the corpse to the trash bins and stuffed it into the 'soft garbage' bin– making sure to reapply the lid of course– and promptly hosed down both the lawn and dowel.

He sauntered back to the house, a smug look of self-satisfaction on his face. He locked the door, of course. The truth of what-had-been-DJ's situation was a bit too unpleasant to be worth mentioning to Vera. He was sure if he did, he'd only make her feel worse about the whole scenario. As much grief as she gave him, he wasn't actually keen on making her miserable, and he understood that regret was often particularly poignant.

"It's over, Vera. You can calm down. Did you drink your shot? I promise you that you won't see a trace of what happened, I made sure of that. Anyways– and I realize this is very sudden and rather alarming– we need to get to business as soon as possible. I don't mean to put any more pressure on you than there is now, but I'm sure you can see the gravity of the situation. I need you to get it together and help me board up all the windows. We need to be quick about this. Like you said, I think there's a hammer in one of these drawers, if you don't mind looking; I'll go to the tool shed and see if I can find any wood and nails, and whatever other dangerous goods I can find. Lock the door when I leave. I have my key, so if someone starts knocking, don't answer it. Do you follow?"

Vera paced the kitchen, wringing out her hands and muttering to herself. "This is happening. This is really happening." She poured herself a glass of water and drank it quickly, trying to quell her nausea. She took a deep breath. "Get it together, Vera," she said firmly to herself. Just to be safe she finished another glass of water, determined not to let what she'd just seen much less the entire situation give her too much stress. The real drama had only just begun. But calming down was easier said than done.

She realized Allan was taking longer than suited her when finally walked back in. The look on his face told Vera all she needed to know. Not only had DJ been taken care of, but Allan had taken sick pleasure in it. "I don't even want to know," she muttered, but was spared the blow-by-blow. Literally.

She nodded. "Yeah, I took the shot. I could use the whole damn bottle though." She sighed, knowing she had to get it together. And fast. "I'm fine," she said to reassure him. "Hammer. I got it." She walked with him back to the door. "Just...be safe," she said awkwardly as he disappeared outside. If anything happened to Allan she'd be up shit creek without a paddle. Not that she wasn't already a bit SOL.

Vera locked the door as she was instructed and went back to the kitchen to find the hammer. She found it in the third drawer she looked in along with leftover nails from putting up the curtains. Satisfied with what she found, she put the items on the coffee table. She turned the tv on again, hoping there would be more information besides "sit on your ass and wait." They had to offer some better advice than that. After five minutes, the news was no more positive and Vera was on the verge of tears. She headed back upstairs for Allan's bottle of Scotch. She was going to need it. A lot of it.

Allan looked around the back yard, dowel at the ready. The coast seemed to be clear, so he set down the dowel, walked over to the tool shed and pried the rusty door open. It made the typical ear-splitting creak, and Allan scrunched his nose. The shed smelled absolutely foul. When he finally got the door open, he reached up and pulled on the light chain. It dimly lit up the shed, exposing the sparse ingredients stored therein. Surprisingly, there was quite a bit of wood, although about a quarter of it was rotten through. He picked up a couple of short planks of 2x4 and some sections of particle board, stacking them on the ground outside, then looked around the shed.

Plenty of old paint cans, smallish canister of gasoline, about a dozen bent screwdrivers, a broken car exhaust pipe, well-rusted of course, a flat spare tire, unicycle with missing seat, lawn chairs, chain… saw… Allan raised an eyebrow. "Hello." he said, picking up the chainsaw and gasoline. He walked to the back door and put both down, then returned to the shed and gave it a final once-over.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something, and crouched down. There was an old metal grinder underneath the lowest shelf. He pulled it out and blew on it. It was in surprisingly good shape. He tugged on the light switch and kicked the shed doors closed. Setting down the grinder on the stack of wood, he picked up the bundle and walked back to the door, setting the stack down and began to retrieve his keys. Suddenly, he heard a crack– gunfire. It echoed for a bit, and then there was another shot. He turned his head and looked around, trying to find where it had come from. It was relatively nearby, maybe only a couple of blocks away. There were so many things that gun shots could mean. Allan fumbled with his keys, managed to get the door open, and quickly stuffed everything inside, shutting the back door– and locking it– as quickly as he could. "Vera." he said, but she wasn't within earshot. "Vera!" he called, and walked to the foot of the stairs. He paused, and trudged up the stairs. "Did you just– wwuh… w-what are you doing?" he asked, staring into his bedroom.

Vera was two steps from the landing when she heard it. She'd watched enough movies and played enough video games to immediately recognize the sound. Gunshot. She paused - frozen on the stair - when the sound rang out again. Her first thought was Allan and she turned, ready to go back downstairs. Then she realized that the shots weren't coming from her own yard. Besides, what could she have done? Come charging out of the house with her blow dryer in one hand and hair straightener in the other? Definitely not.

She hovered between two stairs while she wondered what to do. The prevailing thought was to run and hide in her closet. Regardless of what she did, alcohol would precede it so she redirected herself back to Allan's room. She crossed the threshold and looked around with her hands on her hips. His normally untidy room was even more disheveled from him digging things out. It looked like something had thrown up everywhere. She was so focused on finding the bottle that she didn't hear him call the first time. "Upstairs," she yelled back once she heard her name.

She took a cautious step inside, whirling around at his statement. Despite knowing that he was approaching, she still felt startled. "Jeebus. I was looking for that bottle of stuff. Like you can find anything in here though." She looked him over quickly. "Find anything good? Oh, and did you hear those gunshots? Sounded close by. Are we really going to have to shoot these things? None of the reports have been much help on how we're supposed to get rid of them. It should be like 'Signs' when all we need are glasses of water and a baseball bat."

Allan raised his eyebrow and walked into his bedroom. He reached up into his closet, retrieved the bottle and chuckled slightly. "And what exactly, makes you think you can just go into my room and drink my liquor, Vera? Not only is that, y'know, a little disrespectful, but this is all the alcohol we'll get for a long-ass time. Liquor stores around here are probably going to close down for a while. Meaning, we're not going to open this bottle again until it's well-deserved." Allan took a moment and regained his sensibilities. He breathed in and out deeply for a second and then looked at her again. "Yes, I heard the shots. I was coming up here to see if you wouldn't mind helping me board up the house. I found a bunch of planks of wood and stuff and– get this– a goddamn chainsaw. I think we have a bit of a leg up for the time being, but dammit, we need to get to work on boarding up like, pronto."

He bounded down the stairs and put the bottle of liquor above the fridge, grabbing some planks, the dowel and the hammer, but paused. They would be short on nails. He shook his head and walked to the front door. Checking to make sure the coast was clear, the door opened slowly and he stepped out. There was the distant noise of frantic sirens and car horns, the occasional scream, but they all seemed relatively far away. There was a lot of garbage on their street, and some blood on the sidewalks here and there, but they loved at the butt-end of a narrow cul-de-sac, so evidently there wasn't much through-traffic. He grabbed the dowel and perched it against the side of the house just in case, then grabbed a plank of 2x4 and began nailing it to the bottom frame of the window…

… Some time later, he had put together an adequate cover for the window: the particle board had been pressed directly onto the glass, and the 2x4s had been nailed down around and over the particle board, creating a fairly sturdy blockade. There were a few gaps in the particle board, but it was the largest window in the house and so it was to be expected. Allan stepped back to admire his work, and felt a cold hand tightly grasp his shoulder. He hurled himself forward, the hand still clinging to him, and grabbed the dowel. As he turned, the zombie thing attempted to bite him– just as the dowel plunged into its eye socket. The thing reeled backwards, stumbling onto its back, but immediately clumsily lurched back to its feet. To Allan's surprise, however, the zombie ran forward. Out of the corners of his eyes, Allan noticed that there were other zombies slowly filtering down the street. This was not good.

He kicked away the first zombie as it came forward, then as it attempted to regain its footing, he struck it right in the temple. The zombie fell to the ground and its head disconnected from its body. Others, however, were present, and looked towards Allan with a stupid insincerity. But to his chagrin, something clicked and two of the zombies struggled towards him. He ran back to the door and quickly stuffed the remaining materials back inside, closing the door– and locking it as soon as he'd entered. It was the biggest window, and probably would have proven most problematic since it might have been the easiest to break and climb through. All that remained were the two side windows, which were actually somewhat large, although fairly high up, and the back windows, plus the windows on the second story– though he doubted the zombies would be able to climb up there.