The Warehouse

A Zombie Apocalypse that bites back

THE WAREHOUSE

 

 

DELIVERY DAY

 

Ian Glumm peered out through the bay door window at the dull grey painted truck that was reversing onto it and shivered uneasily. There was something…not quite right about it, he thought as another thread of electricity ran up his spine and sent alarm bells ringing inside his head. Something…evil, yeah that was it. There was definitely something evil in that truck.

‘We’re not supposed ta be ‘avin deliveries on Monday’s,’ he grumbled to himself as he pressed the ‘GREEN’ button and waited for the door to rise up. ‘Next thin theur norrz they’ll be askin wee ta fettle on bleedin christmas day.’

Glumm bent down and reached out to open the steel door that filled the gap perfectly and then paused. His hand, now only inches away from the locked latch felt an unnatural chill coming off it. Outside it was a bright, sunny summer’s morning but the latch and door seemed to be covered in a thin crust of dewy-like ice. Green ice?

‘What the fu-’, said Glumm, shaking his head in confusion. It was then he flicked the latch open.

All at once the shuttered door sprang open, engulfing Glumm in a thick greenish/grey mist. The first bite, which came almost immediately, caught Glumm flush on the nose, severing the end of it.

‘Bleedin’ ell!’ he spluttered in painful surprise. ‘Me bleedin’ no-!’ the second bite, which caught Glumm on the hand he’d put up in automatic defence, sent him reeling backwards into the warehouse.

‘Meee-fuuu-inn-jeeuu-!’ he cried out again.

The pain, which had flooded Glumm’s brain and body like a burning jackhammer suddenly stopped and a wave of numb serenity now washed over him.

 ‘Oi- daft knackers, ah 'ope thas not goan be sick orl o'a 'a' pallet...?' Those words were the last thing Glumm ever heard or could make sense of…

 

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

 

THE LAND OF OPPORTUNITY AND HAGGIS.

 

The kid’s long gangly frame which was concertinaed into a kind of squat at the side of the road, finally looked up.

‘Huh?’ he grunted, focusing his bloodshot eyes on the stationary car.

‘Jesus Christ, kid! Cried Dick, sticking his head out the window. ‘You wanna god damn lift or not?’

To a hitchhiker these words were like nectar.

 ‘Gees…yeah…thanks, mister,’ the kid said, leaping to his feet in a flash and then into the car.

The fat guy who had been standing in front of the car for the past five minutes with the wraparound grin and stop sign never knew what hit him.

‘Saaay- I think you broke his lollypop, mister?’ the kid said, looking through the side mirror to see if he was ok.

‘F**k him,’ snarled Dick. Ramming through the gears like a man possessed.

‘My names Paul, but everyone calls me dinghy lips on account of my enormous lips,’ the kid said, pouting grotesquely.

‘And a fine pair they are too. But don’t over- do it, kid. If those things go off they’ll make an awful mess of the upholstery.’

‘I’m going home to visit my folks in Edinburgh - it’s their wedding anniversary and I thought I’d pay em a surprise visit,’ the kid continued, making himself comfortable for the long ride.

 ‘Well in that case Paul I think we should make a toast to your folks,’ suggested dick, pointing the car towards the A74(M).

‘Gees mister that’d be great but I didn’t quite catch your name?’

‘Don’t worry about my f****n’ name, kid- just pull out whatever’s in that bag between your legs?’

The kid spread his knees and dipped his hand inside a black silk bag.

 ‘Holy s**t mister!’ he blurted, fishing out a handful of poker chips. ‘There must be at least two thousand pounds in there!’

‘Not that one,’ said Dick, sharply. ‘The other one.’

The kid dropped the chips back into the bag and dipped his hand into the other black silk bag, this time fishing out a rather old looking bottle of brandy.

‘Gees mister, you some kind of gangster or something- what with all those poker chips an’ you wearin’ that snarl an’ all?’

 ‘You know what you have there, son?’ said Dick, glancing over at the 1858 bottle of Croizet Cuvee Leonie. ‘History. God damn history, that’s what.’

‘You ain’t got a Pepsi have y�" hey didn’t we just miss our turning?’

‘Don’t worry about it, kid, you’ll be there in plenty of time to see your folks blow out their candles.’

The next three hours were pretty uneventful. The kid had dozed off and it wasn’t until he woke up and saw the sign for Inverness that he started to twitch in his seat.

‘You sure I’ll get to see my folks in the morning?’ he asked, the tension rising in his voice.

‘Positive,’ Dick assured him. ‘All roads lead to Edinburgh, right?’

The kid yawned and then smiled uneasily. ‘You’re not going to… hurt me, are you?’

Dick hit the brakes hard, a little too hard for the kid who at that point began to whimper.

‘Look, kid,’ said Dick, turning towards him. ‘Do exactly as I say and you’ll be fine.’

The kid nodded, his eyes wide with fear.

‘Just take this thing back to wherever it is you’re going and when you get there apologise to Kate for me. Ok?’

‘Kate?’ the kid spluttered, leaning as far away from Dick as he could.

‘She’s my drunken secretary in the back.’ And with that Dick reached over, grabbed the expensive bottle of brandy and hopped out of the car.

There were still a few lights burning brightly in windows as Dick made his way down the long driveway, and he could also see, standing in the doorway to the magnificent building, something that was almost as old as the Guest House itself. The butler, for butler it was must have heard the kid screech off at a fair rate of knots and had waited patiently for his arrival ever since.

‘No baggage, sir?’ he drawled from his saggy mouth.

‘She’s most likely half way to Edinburgh by now, ‘said Dick, glancing at his watch mischievously. ‘The best place for her really.’

‘Very good, sir,’ drawled the butler again, holding out his hand anyway.

‘Ah �" this?’ said Dick, remembering the expensive bottle of brandy he was holding. ‘I’ll keep hold this my good man. I wouldn’t want you sniffing the top, eh,’ he added, clutching it to his chest.

The butler spun around on his heels, steadied himself for a second and began the arduous walk inside.

‘I’ll show you to your room, sir,’ he said, moving off slowly.

Dick waited a second or two until he could get into a steady pace and then I followed behind.

 

 

ONE MORE HIGHLAND FLING

When Dick Floppycock came downstairs the next morning, he was greeted in the lobby by a rather glum looking Kate.

‘You rotten sod!’ she moaned, turning her head away from him in disgust. ‘How could you. You know I hate waking up in front of complete strangers.’

Dick shrugged his shoulders and shook his head innocently. ‘I thought you’d be used to it by now, dear,’ he said, proffering the expensive bottle of brandy towards the exit before adding. ‘Do you think that’s for us?’

Instinctively Dick knew that the sounding of the horn was meant for him, and so, as they made their way outside and towards the already running rickshaw, the passenger door suddenly swung wide open.

‘Gie in, yoo’re late.’ Said a voice from somewhere inside. ‘Yer original lift was taken sae yoo’ll hae tae make dae wi’ me.’

‘And a fine alternative it is too, my dear,’ said Dick, helping Kate inside and smiling at the rather ancient woman, who, Dick had hoped had once been a lot taller than what she was now.

‘Nae weel hae nane ay yer shilly shallyin’, nae in mah motor.’

‘My good lady I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now. Shall we proceed?’

The ancient woman grunted inaudiably and slammed her ancient heel down hard onto the gas pedal.

‘Hauld techt me bonny laddie, it’s gonnae be a bupy ride.’ And with a high pitched cackle they were off.

With each twist and turn in the road the urbaness which was Inverness was slowly taken over by wild highland heather until finally they were completely surrounded by the stuff.

‘How long have you known our host?’ Dick asked, trying to make polite conversation with the old woman.

‘Aw gang in, nane come it.’ Growled the ancient woman, giving the steering wheel a little shake of annoyance.

‘I bet she’s just great at charades, eh,’ sniggered Dick, giving Kate a nudge with his elbow and sensing there was another inspirational quote imminent.

‘Aw gang in, nane come it,’ repeated the crazy ancient woman, stopping the vehicle and pointing in front of her with her gnarled old knuckles.

 

‘Dunlinkin,’ said Dick, peering out at the large foreboding farmhouse in the distance. ‘We’re here!’

‘Aw gang in, nane come it,’ said the ancient woman again, leaping out of the rickshaw. She opened the door and then repeated the words yet again. ‘Aw gang in, nane come it.’

‘My dear crazy woman,’ said Dick, giving her a warm smile. ‘I too think it’s best if we walk in from here. I wouldn’t want you frightening anyone so early in the morning, now would we? And besides, the smell of manure will do Kate’s hangover a world of good.’

 

THE MEAT MAN FROM MCDOODLE

‘Sae ye want tae dae business-do ye? weel its gonna cost ye. An' aam nae jist talkin' poonds, shillings an' bob. It'll cost ye a whole lot mair than 'at if ye want tae dae business wi' me.’

The bald, heavyset man splayed his hands, palm downwards onto the kitchen table and began to drum the top of it with his fat sausage shaped fingers, staring unblinking at Kate’s tanned cleavage.

 ‘Awe rite,’ he continued after a long pause, his eyes shifting to meet Dick’s unflinching glare. ‘If ye want tae start stuffin' yer links wi' mah meat 'en ye gonna hae tae pay me a body hunder thoosain poonds tae dae it. Is 'at clear? Fur 'at ye gie a body delivery a week- nae questions speart. Also, a body nights buck wi' yer missus haur.’

Dick lowered his eyes towards the fat man’s chest in the hope he’d find subtitles. Unfortunately there weren’t any, only hairs, and so, not wanting to sound dumb, Dick opened up his mouth to speak.

‘Absolutely no old c**k,’ he said, closing his mouth again.

Danny Mcdoodle, for that was the bald, heavyset man’s name, stopped drumming his fat sausage shaped fingers, flicked his stare back towards Kate’s tanned cleavage and thought for another moment.

‘Awe rite,’ he said finally, his stare shifting back to meet Dick’s still un-approving glare. ‘Th' price is still a body hunder thoosain poonds. 'At is non-negotiable. Fur 'at ye gie tois deliveries a week- nae questions speart. Also tois nights buck wi' yer missus haur.’

Dick leant forward in his chair and drummed his own sausage shaped fingers onto the table top. ‘Three deliveries,’ he insisted. ‘I want three deliveries a week!’

Danny McDoodle blew out his cheeks and raised his eyebrows questioningly. ‘Can ye draw nae sense tae th' situation ye fin' yerself in mr floppycock? He said, firmly. ‘If Ah waur ye eh'd hink lang an' stoaner abit mah proposal, which, takin' intae accoont yer companies precarioos position is a fair a body.’

Kate, unlike Dick, had a natural flare for business and so decided to do a bit of negotiating herself.

‘Oh for heaven’s sake will you two please stop arguing,’ she cut in, throwing her arms up in despair. ‘I’ll give you a bleedin’ blowjob and a feel o’ mi tits- but that’s it,’ she added, meaning every word.

Back outside Dick waved at the crazy old woman in the rickshaw until he heard the engine phut-phut back to life, then, lowering his arms, he turned towards Kate.

‘You want something to eat?’ he asked her, feeling in the mood to celebrate after making, in his mind, the deal of the decade.

Kate, who was also feeling rather pleased with herself, though for an altogether different reason, finished wiping her chin clean and nodded her head in agreement.

‘Let’s go somewhere nice though, eh?’ she said. ‘I fancy something really substantial- like a burger or somefink.’

Dick rolled his eyes and laughed mockingly. ‘Jesus Kate! You seen any dogs about while we been here? I reckon we ought to try out one of those steak houses- you know what they say, Kate…when in Rome.’

Kate frowned and pouted miserably. ‘Yeah, an’ I ain’t seen no f****n’ ‘orses around here either.’

 

DELIVERY DAY (PART TWO)

 

INFECTION SPREADS LIKE WAREHOUSE GOSSIP

 

Danny Mongrel, Senior Head of IT, or ‘S**T’ for short, was on his daily walk-round with other members of senior management when they came across the first casualty.

‘Oi- yaouw. I hope yoo boy guin ter be sick all over that pallet?’ he said, puffing his man b***s out like a page three model. ‘An' while we'm at it- where's yaw uniform?’

Len Klinker, Health and Safety Executive shook his head grimly and stepped forward.

‘Under sub section 3B of the anti- vomiting act it is aga-’

The ferocity and accuracy in which Ian Glumm’s teeth made contact with Len Klinker’s neck was enough to make everyone gasp.

‘You’re in the bad books for that now my lad!’ scolded Ian Poster, the only one in the senior team not to have taken a quick step backwards ‘Five years I should say!’

Len, who had died almost instantly, unexpectedly turned towards Poster.

‘Uuuurrrrggghhh!’ he growled, gums bared and gnashing menacingly.

‘Len, I want you to make a full statement,’ continued Poster, taking out a notepad and scribbling down his own instructions to remind himself. ‘We can’t allow this sort of thing to hap-’

Ian Poster’s demise was almost as quick as Len Klinker’s. Almost, but not quite. Unfortunately for Len he had lost all his teeth in a serious breach of Personal Protective Equipment At Work Regulations 1992 Act several years earlier, and so it took him quite a bit of time to suck Poster to death. Duncan Disorderly, Continuous impairments Guru, was the first to comment.

‘What we need is a meeting to analyse this,’ he said, trying to think up a spreadsheet.

‘Sod the meeting,’ said Assistant General General, Den Denton. ‘We’ll have a breakfast first!’

 

 

 

 

SPECIAL ZOMBIE SQUAD

 

Outside, in the hastily erected control room, first officer Bev Crook of the SZS waited nervously for news of any developments.

‘Our worst fears have been confirmed, Ma’am,’ said second officer, Steve Blobinson grimly. He placed the receiver back into its cradle and blew out his cheeks thoughtfully.

First officer Crook stiffened in her chair and regarded Blobinson with a look of foreboding. ‘How long have we got?’ she asked, taking a sharp intake of breath.

‘If my calculations are right, Ma’am, then containment will become critical in approximately one hour.’

‘Good god, man!’ gasped First officer Crook, looking visibly shaken. ‘Is that all?’

Second officer Blobinson shook his head and lowered his eyes towards the floor. ‘I’m afraid so, Ma’am, I’m afraid so,’ he said darkly.

‘Then there’s only one thing for it,’ said First officer Crook, suddenly sounding cold. ‘Send word to our man inside. He must get as many out as possible within the hour- after that we send in the planes.’

 

 

A LONE WARRIOR TAKES A STAND.

 

Throughout the warehouse, Zombie-like workers huddled in small isolated pockets waiting to be bitten, battered, or worse still, disciplined for not reaching their targets. One such group still untainted by the infection was led by head sausage filler, Kevin Corner.

‘Listen up- everyone,’ he said, addressing the group which comprised of Stan the packer; Fran the un-packer; Eric the sorter; Derrick the goods-in porter and Lee, the time waster. ‘I’ve got a plan that will not only revolutionize the sausage industry but will save all our lives too.’

Unfortunately, at that precise moment the small isolated pocket of survivors were over-run by a gang of teeth gnashing Zombies, tearing them all to pieces.

 

GREAT MINDS EAT ALIKE AND FLOPPYCOCK TAKES IT HARD.

 

The sight of the feeding frenzy made Dick Floppycock falter slightly at the entrance to the canteen.

‘Good God they’re like animals!’ he gasped, feeling a chill shoot up his spine.

‘Anyone’d fink they’d liked the grub in ere,’ added Kate Strapon, gazing on the scene with a look of utter contempt. ‘I ‘ope there’s some left for us- I’m Hank Williams.’

‘Marvin,’ corrected Dick, rolling his eyes at the very idea. ‘You’re Hank Marvin.’

‘F**k off!’ blustered Kate, giving Dick a murderous glare. ‘I-am-no-such-fing!’

Across the room Duncan Disorderly opened up his slavering jaws and sunk his teeth deep into a Floppycock special choice sausage, ripping mercilessly at the meat until it gave.

‘If I can work out the bite to burp ratio then I think I can streamline these sausages even further- give or take a spreadsheet,’ he said, swallowing the piece whole.

Assistant General General Den Denton rubbed at his stomach soothingly and scanned the table for any leftovers.

‘I say we postpone the meeting until we’ve had another breckie,’ he said, dipping his finger into a blob of bean juice.

This suggestion, which was greeted with an approval of grunts and burps was suddenly put in jeopardy by Dave Rixon, savoury sausage packer, all round good guy and off duty disco dancer.

‘Excuse me, Mr Assistant General General, sir,’ he said, stepping forward. ‘But there seems to be a plethora of Zombies outside on the shop-floor trying to get in. Don’t you think we ought to save oursaeves and leave by the nearest exit?’

Dave knew that using big words and common sense in front of senior management could land him in serious trouble, but he did it all the same.

‘If anyone troys ter bite me then they'd be'ah be wearen their uniform or else,’ growled Danny Mongrel, meaning every word.

‘Yeah, and if they bite me more than once I’ll put their rates up.’ Warned Assistant General General Den Denton, licking his finger clean.

At the far end of the table Kevin Shady, heavily bronzed from his recent trip to Winkleton-on-sea stood up. ‘It’s imperative we understand the seriousness of the situation. That’s all I’m saying- it’s imperative!’ and then sat down.

Dick Floppycock had been listening to all this with reddening ears and so decided now was the time to make a stand.

‘Alright- gentlemen!’ he stormed, approaching the panic stricken team with a purpose. ‘What I want to know is this: How did this whole thing start! Who’s responsible! But more importantly- who can we f**k for it?’

Duncan Disorderly, a man who prided himself on having an answer for every eventuality leapt to his feet.

‘We haven’t had a meeting to determine this yet, sir,’ he said, feeling very pleased with himself.

‘But it’s a Zombie fer sure,’ cut in Danny Mongrel, not wanting to be left out.

Dick scratched at Kate’s hairy chin and thought for a moment. ‘Right,’ he said, finally. ‘I want patient zero apprehended, investigated and disciplined before anyone leaves this warehouse. Do I make myself clear?’

Rusty Crater fingered the clipboard he was holding and frowned deeply. ‘I don’t think we have a patient zero on the register, sir,’ he said, shaking his head.

Duncan, without realising it had chased a pretty butterfly across the room towards the long row of windows.

‘There you go little fella,’ he said, opening one and ushering the pretty butterfly outside to freedom. It was then he saw them. Two Typhoon jets suddenly broke through the clouds half a mile away, weapons firmly fixed on their target. ‘Saaayy,’ he chirruped, turning around and beckoning everyone over. ‘Can we watch the pretty planes go by first?’

 

Reviews

[Jacob Clifford]

This was an interesting story. It has quite a bit of progression in the plot, which is something most stories can't pull off very well. I enjoyed many of the descriptions, and the characters' personalities were very good. One thing that really threw me off was the character's accent's/slurred words. I like that you acknowledged them, but some of them were way to hard to understand, to the point of it taking away from the story. That might have been what you were going for, but I found it very distracting.