One
“Keep it the fuck down, will you? Jesus fucking Christ. Those things are attracted to noise. Didn’t you see what the fuck they did to that yappy miniature labradoodle?”
“Easier said than done, man. Difficult to ‘keep it the fuck down’ when this bloody caravan shifts on its blocks at the slightest breath.”
“Might have something to do with the fact there’s fucking nine of us squeezed into a van designed for four.”
“What the fuck are they, anyways? OK so I know what the fuck they are, but…Are they really?”
“Unless you’ve got a better fucking explanation for people eating people, and then those people dying and turning into people that eat fucking people then yes, they really fucking are.”
“Zombies. Man, that’s fucked up. I mean there’s an element of awesomeness to it ’cos y’know, zombies, but that’s some seriously fucked up shit and Jesus fucking Christ will you get your tits out of my face. Not the time or the place.”
“Sorry, not much I can do about it though. These girls have a fucking mind of their own.”
“They’re right outside. Fuck, I can hear them scratching and pawing at the fucking caravan. These things aren’t built strong. Much more of that and the entire thing’s gonna’ collapse around us.”
“We’ve just gotta’ sit tight and wait it out. The police will be here soon, or the army or some shit.”
“Have you seen any fucking zombie movies? No one’s coming, because everybody’s already dead, or fighting for their own fucking lives, or just like us hiding somewhere suitably inappropriate waiting for help that ain’t gonna’ come.”
“No need to piss on everyone’s chips quite like that. He’s right though. Eternal optimist I might be but fuck, we’re on our own here, and we can either sit here and wait until this caravan does collapse around us and get eaten by…zombies, or we can try and fight our way out and make a break for it.”
“Make a break for it? Where? Assuming we don’t get the fuck eaten out of us straight away, where the fuck are we going to go?”
“The car park. I know I can’t be the only one whose car keys are digging into my leg. We run like fuck for the car park, pile into a couple of cars, and get the fuck out of here. We already know the other option ain’t a feasible one, and there aren’t any others.”
“There’s no way we’re all going to make it.”
“No offence but I don’t know any of you. We’re all in here by total chance, that we happened to be running for our fucking lives and saw someone else heading in here. Don’t get me wrong I’m sure you’re all fucking lovely but I don’t owe any of you a damn thing, nor do any of you owe me anything. Those of us who make it will end up being bestest buds I’m sure, but until then…”
***
Sweating, panting, and covered in more blood and other bodily fluids than he had previously thought possible, Richard stood tall over the now-motionless bodies of three zombies, gripping the tyre iron in his right hand. The worst part about that, was that he was sure he had seen at least two of the three corpses the day prior, though of course they had not been corpses at that point.
Hearing a noise he glanced to his right towards the edge of the car park that was lined with a smattering of trees - birch, if that made any difference. Though it was dark, the only spotlight in the area being way over the other side of the car park as it was, he easily made out the two people running hell-for-leather towards him. The fact that they were running, told him they were still human at the very least.
“This is it!” one of the two, a female, yelled, as they drew closer. “There’s no one else, they didn’t make it.”
“Then we go,” he replied. He was just about to clamber into the drivers’ seat of the Ford Fiesta, when a thought struck him. “Have either of you been bit or scratched?”
“The fuck difference does that make?” the second of the two runners asked. “We can worry about injuries and shit later. Right now we gotta’ bolt!”
“The fuck difference it makes, is that we’ve seen first hand that a bite or scratch equals zombie,” said the female, making a show of displaying that she had not been bitten or scratched, as Richard did the same.
“The two of us are clear,” he said, pointing towards the young man with the tyre iron. “Now it’s your turn.”
“I’m not showing you shit. Give me the fucking keys.”
“My car my rules, man,” Richard replied, calmly. “And you’re not getting in ’til I can see you’re in the clear.”
“Fuck that…” The man lunged clumsily towards the car but Richard stood firm and pushed him back. He stumbled upon the gravel, and landed heavily on his behind.
“Guess you’re staying here then,” said Richard, gesturing to the girl that she should get into the car. “Last chance to show us you’ve not been bit or scratched, before we leave you to whatever fate the fuck befalls you.”
“You’re not fucking leaving me here.” The young man scrambled quickly to his feet and tackled Richard to the ground, the latter covering up as best he could as fists rained down upon him. It was while doing so, that he caught sight of what looked very much like a nasty and septic bite, upon his forearm.
Struggling, Richard managed to shift his weight and shrug his attacker off him. As the young man scrambled upon the ground Richard was upon him, his knees upon his chest as he caved in his skull with the tyre iron.
He delivered many more blows than were probably necessary, until he really was beating what was nothing more than a bloody, pulpy mess.
“Now we really have to go,” the girl said, leaning her head out of the car window as she spoke.
Richard brought the tyre iron down once more upon what used to be a human head. Then in silence he got to his feet and quickly took the drivers’ seat as his own. Within moments, the car took off at speed, it and its occupants leaving the caravan park and the shit show into which it had turned, in the rearview mirror.
