stands in the limited light
that they were afforded, it became fairly apparent that the large majority of
the shop's clientele at the point of outbreak had been a coach- load of
pensioners either going to, or returning from their jollies on the coast.
Obviously this type of zombie wasn't their immediate concern, unlike the small
group of teenage boys not far from them who still had pubescent energy coursing
through their veins (and which was obvious from their louder, more aggressive behaviour and, judging by the glossy
magazines scattered around them, it
wasn't hard to work out which shelf they had been perusing).
“We need to get them first,”
said Ant, pointing to the rather loud group of about four youths. “What can we
use?”
Scott looked around for
inspiration. “Well, we've got books..... Oh, and newspapers!” he replied
carefully reaching out to the stand and dragging a couple of copies of the Financial Times
towards him.
“Are you serious, mate? What
are we meant to do with them? Fan them till they fall over? or bore them to death?”
“Trust me!” said Scott
retrieving another defrosted Tip Top from his pocket. After rolling a newspaper into a tube, he
proceeded to sprinkle the sugary contents over the paper. As Ant watched in
total astonishment- and some degree of disbelief- Scott folded the long tube in
half and passed it to Ant as he proceeded to make another.
“What the fuck is this?” asked
Ant, taking the gift rather ungratefully.
“That, my friend, is a ' Millwall Brick' Scott answered, using up his last Tip Top.
“Tap the end on your head!”
“Ouch!” came the reply. “Nice
work Scotty boy! Let's crush some
whippersnappers' skulls!”
The two men quietly
approached the snarling gang from behind and launched their attack. The first
victim went down like a sack of spuds after Scott, using his hand-made device,
whacked the kid's cranium with such force that it split on contact. Ant bagged the
second kill with a sideways swipe which sent the second kid reeling, smashing
his head on the concrete floor as blood gushed out of its ears. The third kid,
upon smelling the fresh meat, had turned and was approaching Scott, mouth open
and positively slavering in anticipation. Unable to swing his brick in time, he
shouted Ant's name. In a second Ant had unleashed his trusty brolly and
embedded through the kid's eyeball- a move that was fast becoming his
favourite.
The fourth teenaged freak was
slightly bigger and stronger than it'scohorts , and
although the Millwall bricks had been a God send,
they had begun to fray and come apart. Luckily for our heroes, a hungry zombie
doesn't look at what's lying on the floor and the body of one of his
unfortunate mates became the catalyst in his downfall.
Wriggling on the ground,
pathetically trying to get upright, a tin fell out of
its jeans pocket. It was a small black tin with a bright, unmistakable green
cannabis leaf on the front. In no
immediate danger, Scott and Ant shared a grin and a brainwave.
Grabbing the tin, Ant opened
it, breaking out in a smile on seeing its half full contents.
“I've thought about doing this before, Scott,”
he said to his friend.
“Me too! Me too!” answered Scott, pinning the writhing
zombie's head in position between two large hardback books.
Ant wasted no time upturning a small display
table and dumped it hard onto the creature's body, trapping its flailing arms
under the weight as Ant knelt on top, out of mouth's reach.
As the desperately hungry
growling monster opened his mouth wide, hoping for a bit of Ant's flesh, Ant
tipped the whole contents of the tin into its gurgling mouth.
They waited.......they
watched. A few minutes went by and the stricken zombie was still putting up a
fight to get a bite when suddenly Ant felt the struggling force beneath him
relax. The twisted and contorted facial features of the crazed zombie
that they were afforded, it became fairly apparent that the large majority of
the shop's clientele at the point of outbreak had been a coach- load of
pensioners either going to, or returning from their jollies on the coast.
Obviously this type of zombie wasn't their immediate concern, unlike the small
group of teenage boys not far from them who still had pubescent energy coursing
through their veins (and which was obvious from their louder, more aggressive behaviour and, judging by the glossy
magazines scattered around them, it
wasn't hard to work out which shelf they had been perusing).
“We need to get them first,”
said Ant, pointing to the rather loud group of about four youths. “What can we
use?”
Scott looked around for
inspiration. “Well, we've got books..... Oh, and newspapers!” he replied
carefully reaching out to the stand and dragging a couple of copies of the Financial Times
towards him.
“Are you serious, mate? What
are we meant to do with them? Fan them till they fall over? or bore them to death?”
“Trust me!” said Scott
retrieving another defrosted Tip Top from his pocket. After rolling a newspaper into a tube, he
proceeded to sprinkle the sugary contents over the paper. As Ant watched in
total astonishment- and some degree of disbelief- Scott folded the long tube in
half and passed it to Ant as he proceeded to make another.
“What the fuck is this?” asked
Ant, taking the gift rather ungratefully.
“That, my friend, is a ' Millwall Brick' Scott answered, using up his last Tip Top.
“Tap the end on your head!”
“Ouch!” came the reply. “Nice
work Scotty boy! Let's crush some
whippersnappers' skulls!”
The two men quietly
approached the snarling gang from behind and launched their attack. The first
victim went down like a sack of spuds after Scott, using his hand-made device,
whacked the kid's cranium with such force that it split on contact. Ant bagged the
second kill with a sideways swipe which sent the second kid reeling, smashing
his head on the concrete floor as blood gushed out of its ears. The third kid,
upon smelling the fresh meat, had turned and was approaching Scott, mouth open
and positively slavering in anticipation. Unable to swing his brick in time, he
shouted Ant's name. In a second Ant had unleashed his trusty brolly and
embedded through the kid's eyeball- a move that was fast becoming his
favourite.
The fourth teenaged freak was
slightly bigger and stronger than it'scohorts , and
although the Millwall bricks had been a God send,
they had begun to fray and come apart. Luckily for our heroes, a hungry zombie
doesn't look at what's lying on the floor and the body of one of his
unfortunate mates became the catalyst in his downfall.
Wriggling on the ground,
pathetically trying to get upright, a tin fell out of
its jeans pocket. It was a small black tin with a bright, unmistakable green
cannabis leaf on the front. In no
immediate danger, Scott and Ant shared a grin and a brainwave.
Grabbing the tin, Ant opened
it, breaking out in a smile on seeing its half full contents.
“I've thought about doing this before, Scott,”
he said to his friend.
“Me too! Me too!” answered Scott, pinning the writhing
zombie's head in position between two large hardback books.
Ant wasted no time upturning a small display
table and dumped it hard onto the creature's body, trapping its flailing arms
under the weight as Ant knelt on top, out of mouth's reach.
As the desperately hungry
growling monster opened his mouth wide, hoping for a bit of Ant's flesh, Ant
tipped the whole contents of the tin into its gurgling mouth.
They waited.......they
watched. A few minutes went by and the stricken zombie was still putting up a
fight to get a bite when suddenly Ant felt the struggling force beneath him
relax. The twisted and contorted facial features of the crazed zombie
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