The skies above were a dull, washed out grey, and barely a breeze dared breathe. Of course, there was the obligatory newspaper tumbleweed blowing about, minding its own business, but where would a small town be without one?
In a word, boring. That was the kind of day it was. A nothing day.
A black SUV rounded the street corner and trundled down the road, its passengers surveying the local businesses. Given where it juddered to a halt, you'd be forgiven for thinking they'd stop at the local burger joint. But nope. One, two, three excitable kids pointing manically at the bigger Italian place across the street made for a good persuasion.
So the SUV's engine was silenced, and five pairs of feet hustled out of it, crossing the road and away from the burger joint. Its moustached owner flailed at them all in clear frustration as one of them kicked the newspaper tumbleweed, prompting the outrage of what looked to be his son.
The two parents muttered noncommitally to each other as the father ushered the Italian place's door open, and a friendly bell jingled their welcome.
"Wow, what an atmosphere!" The father exclaimed. "Much better than that place across the street!"
"Isn't it just?" The cleft-chinned owner gave both parents a warm handshake, and then shot a secret sneer at his rival across the street. "Jimmy Pesto, owner of the establishment. What can I get you?"
He guided the family of five towards a table near the back of his restaurant, encouraging his young son to finish his meal.
"But dad, it tassstes funny!" The lad lisped in protest.
"Ohh, it's just a new recipe, son. You'll get used to it." Jimmy Pesto waved away his son's complaint. "How 'bout you, Hugo? Enjoyin' my food?"
He gestured to the squat little blonde man at a different table. With a fork and a frown, he picked moodily at Pesto's offerings.
"Well, I can't say it's the best lasagne I've ever eaten," he chewed his words carefully. "What meat did you say it was?"
Pesto balked at the health inspector's challenge. "...I didn't."
The blonde man's mouth tightened, and he subjected Pesto to a wider stare than before.
"Eheh, well uhh..." Pesto fiddled with the neck cuff of his shirt. "Venison?"
"Lamb!"
"Duck!"
"Unicorn!"
"Human!" Came the suggestions from other patrons in the restaurant. The health inspector's grimace widened.
"Well, I'd suggest that you solve that riddle, Jimmy Pesto," he contemplated the plate's contents. "But the taste is... fine, I guess. Your restaurant is clean, and your food is at least edible. So I suppose you pass, Jimmy. Here, take this."
"Well would you look at that? A pass! Can't get much better than that!" Jimmy received his certification with glee, and wasted no time flashing it about to his patrons. "Much better than that place across the street, eh Hugo?"
"Oh, you mean Bob's Burgers?" Hugo's voice took a sudden, sharp edge. "Well I'll just see about that."
Jimmy gave his certificate an overdramatic kiss, and waved the health inspector and his assistant Ron away. Hugo took a lengthy stare at the humble little greasy spoon across the street, "...let's get going, Ron."
"Right," Ron nodded, and scooted around to the passenger side of their plain white van. The tall man scribbled notes down while the short one fired up the engine, and pootled off down the street.
And then immediately returned on the other side. Black smoke belched out of the van's exhaust as the pair of them got back out again.
"Why didn't you just walk across the street, Hugo?" Ron frowned at him.
"Shut it Ron! It's all about intimidation!" Hugo whipped off the sunglasses he'd only just put on. "Fluster the enemy, that way they're more likely to slip up! Now let's get in there and bust their asses!"
"...okay," Ron mumbled, and followed after his shorter cohort.
With an authoritative lunge, Hugo practically threw himself into the dive. "Time for a health inspection!"
The man behind the counter gave an audible sigh. "...good morning Hugo."
"You don't seem at all surprised by my visit, Bob," Hugo slapped a clipboard down on the counter, "why is that, I wonder?"
Bob blinked at the shorter man opposite him. "...Ron's been signalling us for about half an hour now."
"Dammit Ron!" Hugo raged at his coworker. "What is the point of a surprise inspection if you're just going to warn everyone first?! We might as well just give the van a siren and luminescent paint!"
"Well it probably could use a-" Ron began.
"Shut it Ron! Go and wait in the van!" Hugo ordered. "That way you can't screw anything up."
Ron scratched at his cloud of hair, "alright then," and walked back out with a grunt.
"Right, now that that's out of the way," Hugo's smugness was back in full swing. "Bring me your finest produce, Bob. I'll see if I can't yet shut down this little dive of-"
But Hugo was stopped mid-sentence. His accusing finger was hastily withdrawn, and instead he clutched at his stomach with both hands. With an ominous gurgle, the blonde man slipped to one knee.
"Ughhhhh..." He groaned, as clammy sweat exploded across his body. "Regrettably Bob, I... I must ask if I could please use your restroom."
"Are you sure?" Bob's son Gene popped up out of nowhere. "Because I've been evacuating some troops of my own!"
Hugo staggered back to his feet, swaying from left to right as the bathroom crept closer. "I'll... I'll take my chances, Belcher boy. Now would you remind me to give Jimmy Pesto another visit after I shut you down... Bob?"
"Sure thing Hugo," Bob deadpanned, and wiped down the counter for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. "Hey, do you... need a hand?"
"I'll be... FINE, Bob!" Hugo insisted. He dragged himself from the booth he had been leaning against, and into the restroom. With a bang, the door was slammed shut and locked.
"...well, least I won't have to clean that up, eh Gene?" Bob chuckled dryly.
"That would depend on many circumstances, father!" Gene was the font of knowledge on that particular subject. "For example, he could-"
But Gene's sentence was also brought to a sudden stop. His father was preoccupied with a stain on the counter that he'd found. He walked out through the front door, and felt the wind blow his hair back. "Hmm..."
The skies outside had darkened, an oncoming storm maybe. But there was a touchable, sort of electrical feel in the air, and it wasn't from the clouds above. There were dozens of people outside earlier, and now most of them had disappeared. The few remaining were moving funny, almost like they were sleepwalking.
Gene recognised Jimmy Pesto Jr. among the ranks, stomping about with his arms outstretched and eyes all empty. He and a few of Pesto's other customers were struggling about outside, while people were panicking and screaming inside the restaurant.
Gene brought a hand to his chin. This was all slightly suspicious!
"Daaaad?" He paraded back into his father's diner. "It's like a Michael Jackson song outside!"
"Which one?" Bob was still focused on the stain on the counter.
"Uhh... most of them?"
"You mean like a flash mob?"
"Sorta."
And Bob's concentration was finally broken by the thundering of feet downstairs.
"Oh Bobby, it's awful!" His wife Linda cried, and dashed over to the store window with Gene.
"The world's gone nuts!" His youngest Louise screamed in delight as she joined them.
"What's going on?" His eldest Tina slipped out from the kitchen.
Bob frowned at the four of them. How could a flash mob be this interesting? It was just people dancing. Nothing they hadn't seen before. And yet Lin called it awful?
"Alright alright, I'll take a look," Bob conceded, and came out from behind the counter. Curiosity had gotten the better of him it seemed, what with his entire family watching it.
But Bob's inquisition quickly turned to shock, and then horror was much less flash dance, much more Thriller than he'd originally expected,
"Oh, God."
Author's note:
Hey everyone. I'm importing this back from ao3, simply because I think some readers might enjoy it. Far as I'm concerned, every good fandom needs a zombie apocalypse AU, so here's my take. Please enjoy, and feel free to offer feedback if you have any. Over and out :3