Year of the Zombie [Anthology]

by David Moody

  ‘Duty calls,’ Charlie said, that wry smile on his face again. ‘I’ll see you later, mate.’ And back they went, Howard wondering if he’d be seeing them next in that bloody printer room, and shuddering at the very thought of it.

  Debbie.

  His eyes moved back to the security monitors. He tapped a key and the printer room appeared again, Debbie stood there on her own now, buttoning up her blouse and then reaching for her handbag. Howard watched as she reapplied her lipstick, fixed herself up and then left the room, not a care in the world. He followed her on another screen as she moved down the corridor, back to the main open-plan office where all the action was, and wondered what that little dalliance with Brian Boyd had meant to her, if anything. Boyd wasn’t much of a mover-and-shaker in Kaplan, that was for damn sure, so it couldn’t be about getting a leg-up career-wise.

  So was it just the sex? Was she really that shallow?

  His Debbie?

  TWO

  It was close to midnight by the time the party at Kaplan began to wind down and some of the staff came stumbling into the foyer with talk about leaving for the night. They gathered around the plush seating area at the base of the enormous Christmas tree near the doors of the building, everyone more than a little worse for wear. Howard was at the front security plinth now, ready to check them all out. Charlie Ellwood staggered over, still surrounded by his gaggle of dolly birds from Finance, and tried to organise everyone. Some people wanted to go home and needed taxis ordering. Another crowd were planning on heading further into town to find a club and the debate amongst that lot seemed to be whether to walk or get a taxi – all played out for Howard’s amusement with the kind of theatrics and incompetence that only drunken people seemed capable of. ‘Nights like this always remind me why I don’t drink,’ Jessica Russell from Product Development whispered to him.

  ‘You’re not wrong there, Jess,’ he said, trying to see around her, checking where Debbie was. He soon spotted her. She was among the clubbing crowd, one arm linked casually with Brian Boyd as she chatted to another girl Howard didn’t know – probably one of the new temps that started last week. Less than a week in the job and she’d already bagged an invite to the Christmas do. He’d been here over a year and all he’d got was some sausage rolls and mince pies he couldn’t even eat.

  ‘Howard, mate,’ Charlie said to him, pulling him out of his thoughts. ‘Do us a favour and order three taxis to the front door, will you? One going into town and the other two taking folks home. I’ve tried on my mobile but they’re not picking up.’

  ‘No problem,’ Howard said, reaching for his desk phone. ‘It’s probably a Christmas thing,’ he mouthed, covering the receiver with his hand. ‘I’ve heard that a lot of the taxis stop answering calls from mobiles when they get busy. Should be okay on the landline.’

  But after trying three different firms, Howard was starting to think that wasn’t it at all. He shrugged at Charlie, receiver at his ear.

  ‘No joy?’ Charlie said.

  Howard shook his head and put the phone down. ‘It’s just ringing out, mate. Sorry about that.’

  Outside, it still looked pretty lively, even for Christmas Friday. In fact it was busier than Howard had ever known it to be out there and everyone looked as drunk – maybe drunker – than this lot in here. There were a few protests from the staff, the clubbers deciding to walk to whatever place they’d chosen, those going home saying they’d hail a taxi down on the street, all of them baying for Howard to open up the doors and let them out. Howard took out his master fob, held it against the reader, then flicked a switch and watched them file out the door and down the steps of Kaplan onto the street.

  Debbie was with the clubbing crowd. Howard’s heart sank a little as he watched her go.

  ‘By the way, you seen Barry Jenkins?’ Charlie asked and Howard was just about to answer when something on the security monitor caught his eye.

  Debbie and the other revellers were heading down James Street, no doubt on their way over to Market Square where all the new clubs and bars were, only someone had got in their way and a scuffle was breaking out. As Howard zoomed in on his security monitor, he saw some bloke grab Debbie. Brian Boyd stepped in and pushed them back. Another man grabbed Brian and then another. Soon there was a pack of them around him and it was getting pretty serious.

  ‘Jesus,’ Charlie said, leaning over the desk. ‘Should we call the cops?’

  But Howard just looked at him. ‘Debbie,’ he said, as much to himself as to Charlie. ‘Someone’s trying to hurt Debbie.’

  And then he was up, running across the foyer towards the doors, pushing past the few staff remaining.

  ‘Wait!’ Charlie called after him but Howard wasn’t waiting for anyone. Debbie was in trouble and he had to help her – that was all there was to it. He crashed through the double doors, thundered down the steps and along James Street. He spotted Debbie immediately – she had curled herself up in a ball, hands over her ears, screaming as all around her were literally tearing shreds off of each other.

  ‘Debbie!’ Howard called again, rushing to her aid. He tried to pull her to her feet but she resisted, thinking he was one of the attackers, no doubt. ‘Debbie, it’s me, Howard,’ he told her.

  ‘Howard?’ she said, like she didn’t recognise him. Fact was, she didn’t.

  ‘From Security,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, right, Howard,’ she said again and he decided then that he very much liked how she said his name – that inflected accent of hers drawing out the vowels. ‘Howard,’ she said, ‘they came from nowhere. Just started attacking us and...’

  Someone grabbed her, a skinny little chav, probably on something, but Howard pulled her to one side. The chav came at them again, but Kyle Burroughs from Audit stepped forward and hit the bastard so hard he was sent sprawling right into the path of an incoming taxi. The taxi broke hard, turning to avoid the chav and then skidding along the icy road before stalling. And then there was a mob around it, people slapping on the windows, pulling at the doors to get inside.

  Christ, thought Howard, seems everyone’s desperate for a taxi tonight.

  Suddenly a window caved in and the mob reached for the driver, dragging him out across the broken glass of the door, throwing him to the ground and then brutally attacking him. Howard watched on, powerless, as the terrible scene played out before him.

  Seemed like the whole world was all out of Christmas spirit tonight.

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’ Debbie said. ‘Why are they doing this?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Howard said. ‘And we shouldn’t hang around to find out.’

  He looked to see if any of the other Kaplan staff were still there but it seemed most of them had already bolted. Only Brian Boyd remained, lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood, his face pale, his eyes frozen in a look of terror. Howard had seen enough cop shows to know what that all meant.

  ‘Brian,’ Debbie gasped. ‘Oh God, is he...?’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do for him,’ Howard said, surprising himself with how manly he sounded all of a sudden. ‘He’s dead. Come on, back to Kaplan.’

  She was pulling back. ‘If he’s dead, why’s he still moving?’

  Howard turned around. Jesus, she was right. Brian was slowly picking himself up again. But he had to keep Debbie moving. ‘Come on... please. It’s just one of those reactions. You know, like, when you cut a chicken’s head off and it keeps on running round the yard?’

  ‘What are you talking about? And why do you cut chickens’ heads off? Is there something wrong with you?’

  ‘No, I don’t, it’s just... look, never mind.’

  He pulled at her hand again as Brian staggered nearer.

  ‘No, wait,’ Debbie said. ‘He needs help.’

  ‘He needs more than bloody help,’ Howard muttered under his breath. There was a hole in Brian’s torso, through which all of his innards that should have been safely tucked away in his stomach cavity were slipping and
slopping out. It made Howard retch, and all he could taste were the onions in that greasy pasty he shouldn’t have had from Greggs before the start of his shift. Brian kept coming at them – guts hanging out like slimy Christmas decorations – until he managed to slip an unsteady foot through a loop of his own large intestine, and hit the deck again. His face hit the pavement like an overripe peach, and this time he stayed down.

  They reached the building, Howard spotting Charlie at the front doors peering out. He let them in immediately and Howard was sure to close up behind them once he and Debbie were through the door. He made for the security station in the foyer, and pressed the grey plastic fob against the master control panel. The door reassuringly clicked and bolted shut and he held the fob up for all to see. ‘I-I’ve switched the system so I can control everything from this little thing,’ he said, talking very quickly. ‘Every door and every window, the entire building, it’s all closed up and…’ Howard realised nobody was listening to him. ‘You’re safe now,’ he trailed off, looking to Debbie when he said that last bit, but she wasn’t listening to him either.

  Everyone was gathered by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out. Howard followed their gaze. There was a fire somewhere, smoke bellowing out from behind a line of shops, and someone pointed at it, someone else wondering where it could be. And then there were sirens, seeming to come from everywhere all at once, and more smoke.

  ‘Fire at the cunt factory,’ Howard said to no one in particular.

  It was then that Barry Jenkins reappeared.

  THREE

  ‘Mr Jenkins?’ Susie Smith from HR said. ‘Mr Jenkins, are you okay?’

  It was blatantly obvious to all of the six people left in the Kaplan Industries building that Barry Jenkins was most definitely not okay. In fact, he was just about as far from being okay as it was possible to be.

  ‘Fuck me,’ Kyle said, helping himself to what was left of someone’s conveniently abandoned pint, ‘there’s always one. Always some old prick who thinks it’ll be a good idea to experiment at the office Christmas party. Anyone know what he’s taken? Silly old fucker.’

  Barry Jenkins was in an extremely bad way. A normally well-coiffured gent, his clothing appeared uncharacteristically unkempt. His waistcoat looked like it had been ripped open, all the buttons popped off, and the knot of his silk tie was halfway down his chest. His shirt was stained with vomit and blood, and the crotch of his trousers seemed to be hanging lower than it should have been.

  ‘He’s walking like he’s shit himself,’ Debbie whispered to Charlie as Barry staggered closer.

  ‘He has shit himself,’ Charlie replied, pointing with a mix of disgust and glee at the snail trail of faecal matter the old man was leaving behind him. ‘Did John Cooper give you something he shouldn’t have, Mr J?’ he asked, talking to the senior manager like he was a child. He turned to Debbie again. ‘I bet it was John. He’s got history. He’s the one who spiked Sandra Reid’s drink that time, remember? Nearly got himself sacked.’

  Barry Jenkins had stopped walking.

  He was standing directly in front of Charlie now. Not so much looking at him, but through him. His eyes were glazed and his mouth hung open. Dirty brown drool dribbled down his chin. Charlie noticed he had a mark on his neck. He reached out and fiddled with the senior manager’s collar to get a better look.

  ‘Is that a love bite?’ asked Susie, moving closer. ‘Have you been doing something you shouldn’t with someone you shouldn’t have, Mr J?’ She turned to Debbie and lowered her voice. ‘You ever talked to Ruth Humphries about this one? He’s been trying to get in her knickers for as long as she’s been working here.’

  Charlie quickly let go of Mr Jenkins’ clothing and took a step back. ‘That’s not a love bite. It’s... it’s just a bite. Teeth marks and everything. Looks like someone’s tried to take a chunk out of him.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Mr J,’ Susie said, laughing. ‘I didn’t have you down as a kinky type. What would Mrs J say if she knew what you’d—’

  Susie never finished her sentence. Before she could get her last words out, Barry Jenkins grabbed her by the throat with savage force and drove her across the room, smashing her up against the plate glass doors. Her head cracked hard enough to knock her out, which was probably for the best. She felt nothing when Mr Jenkins moved in for the kill and bit a chunk out of her face.

  Panic. Sheer, bloody panic.

  The remaining Kaplan staff scattered to the corners of the foyer, leaving Kyle Burroughs (who, fortunately, was built like the proverbial brick shithouse) and Howard to deal with Mr Jenkins (who was now bent down over Susie’s lifeless form, helping himself to another mouthful of flesh, this time from just above her hip where her silky top had ridden up and left a gap above the waistband of her skirt).

  Howard held a fire extinguisher in his hands. He didn’t know why, couldn’t even remember picking it up, but he held it above Barry Jenkin’s head, ready to strike.

  And yet he couldn’t do it.

  ‘Step away from Miss Smith, please Mr Jenkins,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to have to use this.’

  Jenkins looked up, then looked down again. He was like a cow, chewing the cud. Hungry. Busy. Unflustered. Jaw moving steadily and repetitively. Susie’s blood mixed with copious amounts of his drool.

  ‘I won’t tell you again, Mr Jenkins,’ Howard warned.

  Still nothing.

  ‘Last warning...’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Kyle sighed, snatching the extinguisher from Howard’s hands and thumping it down on Barry Jenkins’ head, splitting it open like an egg.

  Charlie re-emerged. In the chaos he’d taken the opportunity to help Veronica Quinn get out of sight. He liked Veronica. Any excuse to help her...

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, piecing the last half hour’s events together, I think there’s some kind of infection loose in the building that’s turning the staff into mindless, cannibalistic zombies,’ Howard said. ‘That’s what I reckon, anyway.’

  ‘Sounds about right,’ Kyle agreed.

  ‘Sounds like a crock of shit,’ Charlie argued.

  ‘Look, I know how it sounds, thank you very much,’ Howard said, ‘but consider the evidence.’ He gestured at the blood-soaked body on the floor. ‘Mr Jenkins here develops a sudden insatiable taste for human flesh. Brian Boyd was still moving out there despite having sustained some very serious injuries. And, Christ’s sake, the entire city is in chaos. It’s the zombie apocalypse, The Walking Soddin’ Dead.’

  ‘And what are you going to do about it?’ Miss Quinn asked.

  ‘What? What am I going to do about it?’

  ‘Yes, you. You are the acting head of security this evening, I presume.’

  ‘Well yes, but... but my powers are limited.’

  ‘She’s asking you to keep us safe, not to turn into Superman,’ Debbie said, suitably unimpressed.

  ‘Okay, right... I think we should...’ Try as he might, Howard couldn’t work out how to get to the end of his sentence. He didn’t have a clue what they were going to do. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do about anything. He shoved his hands into his pockets and felt for the reassuring outline of the master key fob. Knowing he was in possession of such power made him feel a little less terrified. He reached up and unbuttoned his polo shirt, wondering whether now would be an appropriate time to switch to full-on Die Hard mode.

  ‘Well?’ Debbie said, growing impatient.

  ‘I think the first thing we should do is—’

  Another unfinished sentence. This one was interrupted by dead Susie, who unexpectedly got up, promptly tripped over dead Mr Jenkins’ outstretched legs, and landed in an unruly heap at the feet of (still alive, for the moment) Kyle Burroughs. She picked herself up onto all fours, quick as a flash, pulled herself up by pulling his trousers and trunks down, then sunk her teeth into the nearest part of Kyle’s anatomy. She clamped her jaws down on his manhood, and he screamed fo
r all he was worth; a desperate, awful sound. When Susie jerked her head back and blood began to pour down from his eviscerated penis, Kyle began to sob with pain and loss. he had wondered once or twice before if he’d had an accident, would he be able to cope without a leg or an arm, maybe even an eye? He thought he would, but this was in a different league altogether.

  Unfortunately for Susie, Kyle still had the fire extinguisher in his hands, and he managed to smash her head to a bloody pulp before he passed out.

  ‘Jesus, what do we do now?’ asked Charlie, looking at the three bodies on the floor.

  ‘Who have we got left?’ asked Veronica, creeping back out into the open.

  ‘You, me, Debbie, Kyle… kind of… and Howard,’ he replied.

  ‘Howard?’

  ‘Me,’ Howard said.

  ‘Oh, right. Do you work for Kaplan?’

  ‘Security.’

  ‘It’s just that I’ve never seen you before.’

  ‘I’ve been here over a year.’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’

  ‘We need to get away from the front of the building,’ Charlie suggested. ‘Don’t want anyone outside seeing us and trying to get in.’

  ‘No one’s getting in, not while I’m on watch,’ Howard said.

  ‘Whatever, mate. Now help me get Kyle into the back. We’ll go where the food was laid out. I could do with a bloody drink.’

  Kyle was still out cold. Charlie picked up his arms while Howard took his legs and between them they carried him deeper into the Kaplan building.

  FOUR

  They carried him between the long rows of buffet tables to the drinks at the far end, then lay Kyle down in the corner of the room. Howard emptied an ice-bucket onto what was left of his manhood.

  ‘What did you do that for?’ Debbie asked.