Disclaimer: I still don't own Shaun of the Dead. That belongs to some really hot, funny guys in England. (Simon oh Simon...) So here we are with the 2nd chapter. This one does in fact have zombies and blood, and the dumbass actually mentioned in the synopsis. No Shaun or Emily in this part though. Thank you to the first reviewer. They liked it! Yay.
Just a note here...I'm going to play this like this like not everyone knows the bite can infect you. Yeah yeah...it's been a year and not everyone watches the news or pays attention. Also, people are just stupid. You want zombie action, you got it!
Conner Thompson hated his job. It actually went beyond hate into the realm of complete and utter disgust and loathing. If it wasn't for the simple fact that he wouldn't be able to get on anywhere else thanks to his lengthy criminal record, he'd have told the boss to fuck off long ago.
As it was, he was part of the security detail for the converted prison that was now home to the just over 200 remaining "animates", the PC term now being used for the zombies that were left in town.
They were brought back here by truck after whatever jobs they were used for every night. It was a risky business, being on the detail, but it paid well. Yet sometimes all the money in the world wasn't enough for what he saw and smelled every bloody night.
But money was on his mind this night. A lot of money, enough that he wouldn't have to deal with this lot of shite ever again. The Nightly Reader was one of the top tabloids in the UK, and he'd been contacted by one of his old mates from the days of being known as Conman Conner who worked as an informer for the rag with a proposition.
A reporter by the name of Lon Barry wanted to sneak into The Dead Zone, the pet name for the joint, and take some photos of the conditions the animates were kept in. Rumor was it was like a hellish, dirty nightmare, and that was always good for a story. It would also stir up controversy and a shit storm of trouble for the high ups. That was always good for circulation too, since animate rights were the big thing at the moment.
Conner spat on the ground at the thought, and took a swig of burning whiskey from his flask. Animate rights his ass. These things deserved to be torched. There was nothing left human in em, and he would know. But he had no say in that, he just carted them around and kept them in their cages.
It was a cold miserable night, and the damp seeped in through his cheap coat. Conner checked his watch for the fifth time in a half hour. It was close to 3, that's when shift change happened and when it would be easiest to get the wanker in and out quick. He'd told Barry to be here at five minutes til. "Hurry up you bastard." He murmured aloud.
He heard the sound of footsteps crunching along the ground and turned to see the boyish reporter hurrying up to him. "Sorry it took so long...fog was bloody awful."
Conner gave him a glare, his nearly black brown eyes hard in the weak light from the security lamps. "Come on...if you want this we have to hurry."
They turned to go, but the larger man stopped and turned. With a sneer he held out his hand. "First things first though..."
Lon nodded, his blonde hair bobbing across his forehead. "Of course." He handed the man a thick envelope. "It's all there."
Thompson opened it quickly and peered inside. He knew where to find the guy if it wasn't. "Follow me then." He shoved the cash in his back pocket and they made there way through the foot thick steel door.
Barry had never seen the like. It wasn't the filth he had expected, but the smell was beyond anything he'd ever experienced. It came from the meat they had to feed these things, that and the fact that some of them had been damaged when they were made into an animate or afterward. Things were...exposed.
He took photo after photo of the 3 sometimes 4 of the creatures that were packed into the small cells. They wandered around merely stumbling into each other and moaning, that awful sound. Some though seemed smarter than others, and they sat and looked around as if trying to remember something. Those were even creepier and he took pictures of them. There was one in particular; a large heavy set one with messy brown hair who was watching television. He actually appeared to be scratching himself.
"I want to get closer, is there anyway to do that?" He asked Conner after a few minutes.
"What? You want me to throw you in the cage with one of em?" The thought had crossed his mind. Like they would notice another body, and he had already been paid.
"No, no of course not. But maybe up to the door?" Barry didn't trust the security guard, but he wanted to get that one shot that would really sell the story.
Conner looked around nervously. He had about five minutes before they would start rounds again. "Fine....but we have to hurry." He grabbed the younger mans arm and pulled him down a flight of stairs to third floor of cells. They had just finished feeding time before they came in so the damn things were busy eating.
"Perfect." The reporter smiled and started popping away at his camera. Conner kept his eyes peeled, just knowing they were going to get caught.
After the first flash, one of the females in the cage Barry was in front of looked up. Her cracked blue lips were spattered with blood from the carcass she'd been eating. She could smell him...he was alive...alive meant fresh meat. Fresh was better than dead.
Her brain had changed to one of the more primitive animate mentalities. Eat. That was her function. As she turned her pale dead eyes to look at the man and the bright light, she could tell he was still to far away. The metal kept him out of reach. She'd learned this from past attempts. She looked down at the bucket in front of her, remembering something...a flicker of a picture in her head. Wet, slippery...yes...
She pushed the bucket over, the red gory contents spilling out across the concrete floor and towards the man with the light. The dead woman readied herself...almost smiling.
Lon didn't realize the stuff had hit his shoes until it splashed up over them and the spatter hit his leg. "Oh gawd." He said aloud lifting one shoe and then the other. "Disgusting!" He put his left foot down and the blood squelched loudly underneath, and then the inevitable happened...like a train wreck.
He slipped, his hands shooting out to grasp the bars of the cage on impulse. The minute his fingers gripped the bars she was there, sinking her teeth into his hand. He screamed, and the sound echoed along the thick walls, the scent of fresh blood making every deader in the place stand up. All except for the large one who was entranced by a cricket game on his television.
Conner saw it and moved to pry the idiot away from the cage. He grasped the mans wrist and tried yanking. While this was happening a bald, half his brain showing thug moved from the corner and managed to bite into his arm through the bars, his cheek bones crunching into his face at the effort to push his head through the narrow space.
Conner let out a yell of agony and elbowed him in the forehead through the bars as hard as he could. The zombie let him go, taking a hunk of shirt and flesh with him. With a final pull and yell he yanked the reporter away from the female. His hand was a bloody mess and he was crying like a baby as blood shot in an arc from his shredded palm. "Oh my god...oh my god..."
Thompson pulled a filthy handkerchief from his pocket and quickly wrapped it around his arm. The wanker could fend for himself. He pulled the wailing man to his feet, grabbing the camera from the floor and shoving it into his arms. "Come on, we have to get the fuck out of here!" He yelled into the other mans ear, shoving him towards the door. He knew the night shift would be coming to check on the ruckus, and he didn't want to be around when they did.
They ran back out to the place they had met. The reporter shaking violently, his shirt and pants covered in blood from the floor and from his own hand as it ran down his arm. Taking pity on the sorry twat, Conner shoved a rag from his pocket into his face. "Here wrap this round it and get the hell out of here. You never talked to me, got it?"
His face pale and green eyes wide, Barry nodded. He took the rag and wrapped it round his hand tightly, wincing. He had his pictures, that was what mattered.
Conner took off towards the thick bank of trees that separated the jail from the road. He knew it well enough that he could find his way through the dark. As he ran he took a swig of his whiskey, and then poured some over the wound on his arm. It burned like bloody acid, but it would kill any kind of infection he may have got from that thing in the cell.
Barry went the opposite direction. He'd left his car on a dirt road a mile away from the jail. He flicked on the small flashlight he had in his pocket to find his way, the light careening wildly as he juggled it and the camera with his good hand. He smiled against the pain. It would be worth it in the end. Hello corner office, hello six figure salary. He'd be famous for this.