by Al K. Line
Joe was a master of this.
Now who was he teamed up with?
Some snotty nosed kid just out of diapers who liked Destiny's Child and had way too much energy to be a companion when the apocalypse hit.
Sadly he couldn't just ditch the young lad, and it wasn't his fault. He was merely infuriatingly young: full of energy, raging testosterone and a preoccupation with his spots that was the lot of all teenagers, Joe seemed to dimly remember.
It didn't mean he wouldn't like to pull his stinking teeth out slowly by one and feed them to him at times though, he really did get on his nerves something terrible.
###
When the zombie botnet went live Nopad was in the aisles with his buddy Glenn, working hard and trying to talk girls at the same time. If they got caught it would be a point on the book — hit five points then you were out on your ear.
Glenn was spinning through images on his phone, looking for one of a girl he had been sent a picture by on HotChat, hacked so he could save it, when he got a notification that his dog had sent him a Tweet. He had bought a cool gadget on eBay that allowed you to get regular updates from your pet throughout the day — to keep you informed about what they were up to.
Glenn hit up Twitter and was kind of amazed to see a link from his pet for some free porn. As he furrowed his brow, telling Nopad to hang five, he clicked the last link he ever would. He dropped his phone, collapsed, had a seizure and as his frontal lobes shut down Neuropeptide Y levels began to rise. His veins pulsed fatly as his face distended. Dirty froth purged from his mouth. Eyes turned inward, bloodshot and uncomprehending. He let out a sickening howl of demented rage and tried to chaw Nopad's ankle.
The young pair had been totally oblivious to the salvo of clamoring and crashing raging in adjacent aisles. If they had been aware of the commotion then Glenn might have endured, rather than being just another zombie botnet casualty like millions of others in the UK alone.
Seconds later Nopad was sprinting down the aisle with a maniacal Glenn trailing after him. As the dementia rose and the hunger became uncontrollable Nopad was saved. Glenn was smacked over the head by Joe with a piece of pallet. The two had been together ever since.
The warehouse was overrun quickly. Supervisors were some of the first to go. Ensconced at monitors over half of them were not working but otherwise pre-occupied Online when it went live. They killed and devoured a large proportion of the un-infected before anyone had the foresight or nerve to do anything about it.
Joe had been with his boss when the world was ripped to ribbons, waiting by the elevators while he was talking to his assigned helper when it came to placing orders. Checking his phone his boss collapsed and was up and after brains very soon after. The aide was dead in an instant, his throat ripped out. Joe was very quickly caught up in a battle for his life and after dispatching his ex-boss via a pulverized windpipe he made his way to where he knew the weapons were kept. He had a feeling his single firearm was not going to be sufficient for the insanity raging around him on all sides. He picked up Nopad on the way and they had been a mismatched team from then on.
The weapons room was a mess. Joe hated mess.
A client was being shown around when the infection began. As his order was being checked, bank details confirmed before vehicles were loaded, the seller was tearing chunks out of the client seconds later, before his brains were splattered on the wall and all hell broke loose. By the time Joe and Nopad arrived nobody was left alive. Thankfully the doors were open to the cache of show weapons, as well as one of the storage doors for bulk items. Neither had a clue what the codes were for the locked doors so they stocked up with everything available to them, which was enough to see them through more than their own lifetimes with the amount of ammunition and guns they had.
Being an intelligent man Joe stopped Nopad going Online to check what was happening, they eventually caught up with the news via a TV in the guest accommodation, where they had high-tailed it to for safety. As they watched the world burn before the signal was lost Joe shook his head sadly. He had expected something like this for decades and was just amazed it had taken so long for the Internet to fuck up the world.
They had been in the building ever since, cleaning, dealing with attacks from those infected and not dealt with immediately. Sometimes having to contend with incursions. Now it was becoming harder and harder to ignore what was locked foolishly behind a nondescript door.
It was testing their sanity.
It's FREE!
"It's all free, this is my kind of shopping trip," said Ven happily, picking up a particularly delightful pair of knee protectors she thought would look cool with her newly found black tactical trousers.
"What's this?" asked Kyle from the next aisle over. "Ven, you should take a look at these, they are gonna be perfect."
Ven made her way over to Kyle, who was holding up a simple clear bag with black material inside.
"What is it?"
"Well, they have these, and these, and these too," he said, patting at stacks of similar looking packages. "It's all armored shit you can put in anything. Look, Centurion Shield backpack inserts. Trauma Plate Level III, RynoHide panels, Gold Flex ballistic fiber vests, all kids of gubbins you can use. This stuff is mental. Who knew it even existed?"
"Wow! That is so cool. Let's have a look," said Ven, eyes devouring the innocent looking packages greedily.
There were racks and racks of the stuff, with no end of similar items. Various brands were available, a multitude of sizes, colors, densities and materials, not only of personal armor shields of all shapes and sizes but body armor clothing in even greater options. Reading the labels it was amazing what choice there was. These lightweight portable shields were to be used to put in backpacks, cover laptops, put under your car seat or anything else you wanted to stop being penetrated by advanced weaponry or stabbings. They weighed from just a pound or two each, could be slipped under clothing — more uses than you could think of. Thin and flexible options for protection against simple weapons, thick yet still pliable pieces to help guard against bombs.
Ven grabbed a backpack insert, apparently the same as RynoHide armor for vests, and stuffed it into the baby carrier, making a protective layer between Tomas and the flimsy material that faced outward. She could actually feel herself relaxing as she did so, muscles un-knotting she hadn't even realized were bunched up.
"I can't believe all this stuff even exists. People must be really serious about their protection I guess," said Ven wide-eyed.
"I guess a lot of it is for the army and for security companies," mused Kyle.
"And for the people that live in the holes," said Al. "There are lots of people now that have the bunkers and are putting in the water and foods and guns and clothes for the ending of the world, are they not?"
"I guess, never really thought about it," pondered Kyle. But obviously a lot of other people had.
"I think we are going to need a few more trolleys, don't you?" said Ven, rubbing her hands together with glee.
Kyle sighed.
Damn, what have we done? Let Ven loose on a shopping spree with an unlimited budget. This could get messy.
Obviously — it did.
Ven was fussy in the extreme when it came to anything she bought. She always wanted the best of everything. Armageddon or not she was going to make sure she picked only the very finest quality items, even if the cost was nil. She found it impossible to select items; if they weren't careful they could spend days in the warehouse going methodically through each and every rail. It could severely interfere with their evening meal.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, look at this." Ven thought she might actually wet herself with excitement.
Al and Kyle really didn't like the sounds of this one bit.
"Look, look," she said excitedly, pulling hangers full of clothes off the rail she had found at the beginning of the next aisle. "It's all custom gear. It's like proper clothes but with zombie proofing!"
<
br /> It really was.
Not only can you buy all manner of off-the-peg protective gear but more and more of those that can afford it are ordering custom clothes made from lightweight protective material. Those wealthy enough even getting their own wardrobes retro-fitted for protection from stabbings and shootings.
There was a whole rack of bespoke clothing waiting to be shipped out.
"Fucking hell, oops, sorry Al. What is this stuff. For celebrities and gangstas and ting?" said Kyle, looking at the labels on some of the clothes hanging up, trying to sound street. He recognized pop stars, rappers (same thing now), footballers, even some better known company men and politicians. There were suits, leather jackets, trousers and more. All made from lightweight materials guaranteed to stop stabbings and even bullets from certain weapons.
"Look at this," exclaimed Ven, holding up a leather jacket with RynoHide that had a zip off of center, a cut waist, plenty of pockets, a '70s style wide collar that could be buttoned around the throat and, major bonus for your discerning zombie killer, looking like it would be pretty damn sexy too. "Can I try it on? Will you hold Tomas for me Kyle?" Ven's eyes were gleaming.
Who knew you could get this stuff?
Kyle took Tomas off Ven while she slipped on the jacket and zipped it up. Combined with her tight protective trousers and bright eye make-up she looked stunningly hot, Kyle had to admit.
"Wow!" exclaimed Al. "You are looking like Lara Croft from the Tomb Raiders. I am thinking you are being very slinky and sexy Ven." Al was feeling somewhat hot under the collar himself if truth be told.
"Slinky? Really, you think so? Thanks Al." Ven twirled in her new outfit, she felt invincible. "I am definitely keeping this, zombies can't bite through, knives can't get through, and it feels damn cool too."
She was getting way too hyped up for Kyle's liking. "Ven, great, you look hot but please calm down. And lower your voice. Zombies, remember?"
Ven had the grace to look bashful before she gave one more wicked grin, winked at Tomas, and carried on looking through the racks. In a few minutes she had picked out a suit for Kyle and some kind of long trench coat for Al.
Both stared at her like she was out of her mind. She put them back. Nobody said a word. Ven did like to inflict her own tastes on others.
Ten minutes of unsupervised shopping later and the guys had picked their own protective gear. Kyle looked like he always did: all in black, trousers and tee. But this time he had apparel made from materials that would stop weapons and zombie bites. Additionally obtaining a new backpack that did the same. One of the best finds were very light but very strong forearm protectors, they would be invaluable. For good measure he found more packs of RynoHide used for neck protection and each one of them duly made a knotted scarf of the material to keep the all too exposed throat guarded.
"Man, I can't tell you how good this feels — to be protected from zombies chomping on all my bits," said Kyle. He really did feel a lot more relaxed now he knew he had a fighting chance if overrun.
"I am liking my new clothes too, they are feeling very nice," said Al. He had been severely limited in what he could find to fit, but a number of the more common pieces of apparel were surprisingly accommodating. The racks seemed to hold an incredible array of sizes of basic model protective gear.
All had slipped into the new clothing right away, backs were turned for Ven while she changed into a cream stabproof vest in place of her blouse. It made her look even more like someone out of the movies. Kind of like she was auditioning for the role of a hacker in a well funded post-apocalyptic movie, but forgot that she also needed to carry around a little baby and take care of a portly Lab. She almost had it — just not quite.
Once they dragged Ven away from the designer gear there was a slight swagger to everyone's step. Even Al, immune to fear and seemingly inured to injury, had a lilt back to his gait, it had been missing for some time now. If you were bitten, got attacked by idiot survivors, or just managed to do something stupid by accident, it gave you a lot of confidence knowing that your clothing would protect you for the most part.
They carried on shopping.
ToughTents, Truckprotect footwear, even toughened socks, the place had them all. They piled up more and more gear into the picking trolleys and by the time they were done they had amassed quite a hoard.
Don't Open the Door
"I am thinking not opening the door is what we should do," said Al matter-of-fact. He wasn't scared, but he wasn't daft either.
"What if it's where all the weapons are though," said Kyle.
"Young man Kyle, are you thinking that all of the zombies would just happen to be in the rooms with the guns? We would be seeing them somewhere else as well, would we not?"
"I don't know Al, that's what I'm saying. What if?"
"Guys, let's absolutely not open the door. If we really can't find the weapons rooms then maybe, just maybe, we should think about checking this room out. But we haven't even looked that far yet, and we have no idea precisely how many of them there are on the other side. We could be eaten in seconds, designer protective gear or not." Ven was being practical and sensible, not wanting to take unnecessary risks.
After finishing their clothes shopping and stocking up on all manner of other kick-ass survivalist gear it was time to find the more hardcore items on the shopping list. If they could find the weapons rooms then they could get out of their strange surroundings and back to the relative safety of Basil bus.
They had accessed the left hand side of the huge basement level and found themselves confronted by numerous corridors, lots of doors, and a number of odd scenes within. Some doors were open, some shut. In the first corridor, when they got near to the end, they heard noises behind one of the innocuous looking doors.
"Look at the lock, it looks important to me," said Kyle.
"Just because it has a keypad doesn't mean it has gold in the bloody room. It might be filing cabinets for all we know. One thing it does have is infected though, you can hear the bugge—" Ven was interrupted by a loud crash against the door.
"Shit, they can hear us. Smell us probably too. Let's move on, no point winding them up. And sorry about the swearing Al, I owe you some money I think." Ven tried to look apologetic, but to be honest the whole swear box thing was wearing a little bit thin now.
"It's okay Ven, I am thinking that the swearing box is now not so good. You and Kyle are naughty swear people and I think that from now on I will not be collecting any more ten pences."
"Oh, wow, cool," beamed Kyle.
"Thank you Al, that is very kind of you," said Ven.
About fucking time, stupid bloody idea.
"Let's go then, yes?" asked Al, starting to feel a little jittery. He needed food and could feel the walls closing in on him. He had no problem with risking life and limb, but he needed his food. He could begin to feel brain chemistry changing. Making him edgy. Whether this was truly the case, that he actually needed to eat or not, the result was that his autism was becoming more pronounced and he was beginning to become obsessive. As they walked he began to count out the number of floor tiles, having to make sure he didn't step on any cracks.
"Thirteen. Fourteen tiles on the floor. Fifteen tiles on the flo—"
"Al, what ya doin' buddy?" asked Kyle.
"I am counting the numbers of the tiles on the floor. You should also be making sure that you are not standing on the cracks Kyle, they are bad."
Ven and Kyle exchanged glances, nodding to each other.
"How about we go to the cafeteria and eat some sarnies big guy? Maybe have a bottle of coke too?"
"That would be very good indeed I am thinking," agreed Al swiftly.
Bos Bos' ears pricked up at the mention of sandwiches. He sidled up to Al, staying close and watchful. Truth be told he was getting a little bored, shopping wasn't really his thing. All he needed was a collar. Little did he know that Ven had picked him up a stapbroof doggie coat, she just hadn't found the right moment t
o get it on him yet.
"Sounds good to me too actually. Tomas is getting cranky and he could do with a feed."
They retraced their steps at a brisk pace, back out into the main expanse of the warehouse. Then they went through a large set of double doors into what was the main canteen area for the staff. The room was open to the main space by way of large windows, allowing those on their break to be kept under a watchful eye, and for those taking the break to never forget that there was work to be done and they should get back to it as soon as possible.
Inside the room was like everything else they had seen so far: pristine with not a single thing out of place.
"What the fuck has happened here, it's really starting to creep me out. All the chairs are tidy and under the table, the bloody water cooler is even topped up, and look at the sink — it's shining." Kyle carried on looking around the room. "I mean, damn, are sinks at work ever that clean? And the place smells of bleach. Someone has had a serious scrub of everything in here, and they really don't like mess. You sure they aren't a relative Ven?"
Ven stuck out her tongue, but Kyle was right — it was eerily spotless. The cup stack was topped up at the cooler, the taps in the sink were as bright as newly polished silver, and every table was spotless. The floor had obviously been mopped to within an inch of its life very recently. Whatever had happened here someone had gone to great lengths to get rid of the evidence.
"I am thinking that there may be zombie cleaners," said Al mischievously. "Maybe they got infected and instead of brains they wanted the spiffy shining floors and to be having the fresh water that is being nice and cool." Al spat out his words between bites of his sandwich, spraying the pristine table and making Bos Bos a happy dog as he inhaled the detritus of Al's much needed meal. "Check the fridge. There might be leaving of food inside."
Kyle wandered over. Opening the door he found milk and various microwave meals, plus what seemed to be plastic containers with names written on them. The light from the fridge interior spilled out onto the gleaming tiles.