Life, if you didn't already know, is one hell of a bitch. We're talking a super bitch in stilettos, who spears her way through your carefully made plans, cackling hysterically, and leaving the door open upon her departure. She's quite a character…but the odd thing about life is, just as you think things can't get any worse, when you think you've reached the lowest possible point - ground zero, basement floor, the bottom step – life hurls something your way that makes you smile, albeit for a second.
It was at this moment in time that Life decided that Arnold Rimmer needed something to smile about; God knows he hadn't had much chance to do so over the course of his miserable life and even more wretched death.
Admittedly, being hunted down slowly but surely by a group of ravenous zombies wasn't exactly his idea of a giggle, not unless it's a slightly vacant giggle brought on by the brain deciding enough was enough and this insanity thing looks rather nice, so why not give it go!
Having just hauled himself through an open window about the size of a large cardboard box (not too large mind, just big enough to hold a TV in) Rimmer collapsed against a wall and panted for breath. A rather unnecessary action, I'm sure you'll agree as holograms don't need to breathe, but this behaviour seemed rather relevant to the situation.
Charlie lay slumped beside him, a hand placed on her aching chest, as if to stop her heart bursting out of it. She pushed her hair back and took several deep breaths before glancing up at Rimmer.
"Close eh?" she said, half laughing, half gasping.
Rimmer smirked slightly and nodded in agreement. "Where are we?" he asked, looking around the gloomy room where they sat.
"Good question – lets find out" and without another word, Charlie had got up, opened the door and strode out into the corridor. Rimmer quickly followed.
Windows lined the walls, the dirty orange sunlight streaming in and flooding the floor with pools of yellow. The walls were adorned with pictures, essays, displays, diagrams – school work by the looks of it.
The irony was too great. Rimmer loathed school. He detested it with a passion, to him it signalled misery, depression and danger. And now, here he was hiding in a school surrounded by zombies. Nice!
He heard Charlie make a similar noise of distaste, "I hated school" she said, her eyes narrowed and her mouth tight.
The pair walked on a little further down the corridor, before slipping into one of the many classrooms. Charlie perched herself on the edge of a desk whilst Rimmer wandered round the room, reading some of the work.
"Any ideas what the smeg we can do?" asked Charlie, propping her head up with her hands "We've lost the others, we haven't a clue where we are and it's only a matter of time before our decomposing friends out there find a way in…"
Rimmer stopped, he allowed his arms to drop down by his side "I'm the worst person to ask" he admitted "It's always the others who come up with the escape plans; I just say the same one over and over – 'run'!"
Charlie sighed and took to staring at the floor. She frowned in deep concentration, and tried to think logically. Logic was just the ticket to get them out of this sticky situation. Her thoughts drifted through numerous escape plans, her brain submerged in its own intellect and cunning as it desperately pondered a way to get out of here!
It was like a very productive daydream, as Charlie was so busy concentrating she didn't hear the soft shuffling at the door or the hoarse raspy breath that rattled through the air. In fact it was only when Rimmer turned around did he himself realising what was making those noises. Yet another member of the undead army, its withered yet not so weak arms reaching out for Charlie's shoulder's, its face twisted into a triumphant grin.
"Charlie!" screamed Rimmer, grabbing the nearest thing to him (a chair) "duck!"
"Where?" asked Charlie, snapping from her reverie with a jerk,
By this time Rimmer had flung the chair through the air. Of course, Rimmer, bless his cotton socks, threw like cross-eyed asthmatic with Parkinson's disease. It struck Charlie on the side of her head, knocking her off the desk and out cold.
"Smeg" he muttered, grabbing another chair and flinging it towards the ever advancing zombie. This one landed nearly 3 metres short of the target.
Wishing he'd tried harder in PE, Rimmer grabbed a third chair, closed his eyes and threw it with all the strength his could muster. There was a stomach churning 'squelch' sound and dull thud, like a sack of potatoes (the King Edward kind, not the little Jersey Royal ones) falling from a great height. He eased open and eye and immediately shut it again.
The zombie was lay crumpled on the floor, a chair leg sticking out of its eye, various icky bodily fluids oozing onto the polished floor. Hastily brushing aside his squeamishness, Rimmer ran over to Charlie, who was similarly crumpled on the floor, but thankfully not dead.
He gave her a little shake, but she refused to regain consciousness. He took hold of her chin and angled her face upwards. A slight smile donned her lips but other than that, she was dead to the world. A rather inappropriate metaphor but what the hell!
Rimmer's mind was as blank as a freshly cleaned whiteboard when it came to first aid. He didn't even know CQR for smegs sake! Or was it CPR? CVR? VCR? In the end he decided to just go along with his instincts (always a bad idea), he gently opened Charlie's mouth and placed his lips on hers. Halfway through this action, Charlie's eyes flickered open, to see Rimmer's face a couple of million atoms widths away from hers and he was kissing her! Her hands crept around his torso and she pulled him closer. Alarmed at this sudden motion Rimmer tried to draw back but his lips just wouldn't let go, and his arms seemed to have a mind of their own as they wriggled their way around Charlie's figure.
For the briefest of brief seconds the pair pulled apart, looked at each other, grinned and dived right back to playing tonsil tennis and that was when things got X rated.