A/N Sorry for the delay, peeps, I was away Halloween weekend and couldn't post! Anyway, here's the next little instalment. I promise there will be another chapter to follow shortly after this one as it's nearly done! Apologies and thanks for your patience! :)
Chapter 3
The Collectors
Tim held a zombified Mike in his arms, frantically trying to come up with a plan while he whispered reassurances into his friend's ear. He had barely had time for the adrenaline to subside when the door to the flat was hurled open, smashing back against the wall. Tim looked round just in time to see six black suited heavies swarm inside. They were inhumanly fast, ripping Mike away from Tim's protective embrace and snapping metal restraints onto his wrists.
"What are you doing, leave him alone!" Tim grabbed the nearest guy, spinning him round to confront him. "Who the fuck are you?" Tim yelled, then cowered back as the guy advanced menacingly.
"We're the collectors." Then Tim was flying backwards from the force of a punch in the face so quick he never even saw the fist. He crashed down onto the coffee table, which collapsed beneath him, sending splintering wood in all directions. The stun of the blow hissed in his ears and his vision suffered white-out, coloured dots spinning crazily across the pale background. By the time he had recovered enough to sit up, Mike was gone. Tim scrabbled about for a sure footing amid the wreckage of the coffee table and staggered over to the window. He was just in time to see Mike being dragged out of the garden gate on the end of a chain attached to a metal collar around his neck. He was struggling ineffectually against six massive pairs of arms that lifted and pulled him along. Tim sprinted towards the door of the flat, colliding with the kitchen table in his semi-dazed state. It barely slowed him down. He grabbed his skateboard from its position beside the door and charged out, practically falling down the stairs. All he cared about was getting to Mike. As he burst out of the front door, Mike was being bundled into the back of a van and the door slammed shut. Tim hurtled down the path, throwing his board over the garden gate and vaulting over to land smoothly on it and power away after the collectors. Mike was roaring like Chewbacca in the back, pounding his fists against the window. Then he was pulled backwards out of sight. Wishing, not for the first time, that he had a hover board rather than a skateboard, Tim gave chase as fast as he could. He struggled to keep up with them, only just managing to keep them in sight, thanks to the narrow London streets, and the distinctive sign writing on the vehicle, which advertised a company apparently called 'Z Solutions'. The van headed out into distinctly wealthier London suburbs, and slowed as it approached a pair of huge wrought iron gates. They opened automatically, swallowed up Mike and the van and swept shut again before Tim could reach them. He stopped on the other side of the street, watching helplessly as the van disappeared up a long drive behind thick tree cover. As he focused on the gates, the letters D and S jumped out at him, woven in amid the intricate iron patterns. Tim's lungs were heaving from the effort of skateboarding at top speed, but he gasped in disbelief as he recognised those letters as the initials of his arch nemesis, Duane, and vindictive ex, Sarah. As he panted hard, he took a moment to spool back through the ridiculous events he had just experienced. First off, Mike had spontaneously transformed into a zombie. Zombies were real. But it now seemed that Duane and Sarah were in some sort of control of the situation. Those 'collectors' clearly worked for them. So, hang on, was Mike turning really spontaneous? Had they somehow caused it? Were they targeting people and transforming them into zombies? And why? And why Mike? If Duane and Sarah were behind this, it had to be personal. He just wished they had attacked himself directly. But hurting Mike to get to him was exactly the sort of maliciousness he expected from those two. He suddenly felt the full horror of the situation. Mike had effectively been abducted. He mentally assessed his options. Go to the police? And say what, exactly, that his friend had turned into a zombie? He would be the next one being locked up.
No, this was something he had to do himself. Working out how it had happened was the key. He set off for home on his skateboard, and was half way back when he remembered Mike trying to point at the kitchen table. He could suddenly see the opened basket of biscuits that his brain had not consciously noticed at the time. It had to be the biscuits! They must be laced with some kind of mind altering drug, or even cursed! Innocent Mike had come along and, having a sweet tooth, hadn't been able to resist them. He pictured the basket in his mind, there were definitely some left in there when it all kicked off... DAISY! Adrenaline spiked through his body again, producing a rapid acceleration as he realised that if he did not get home before her, she would be next.