Tom Beckerman sighed as he sat at the bar in the Chatterbox Jazz Club. He sipped from the glass of whiskey and ate the last couple of peanuts from the bag. After two nights in the courthouse, surviving on what remained in the vending machine and sleeping in the Judge’s office, sitting at the bar and drinking was absolute heaven.
Things could be worse Tom, a whole lot worse.
Even in his tired and slightly inebriated state the night before, he had managed to barricade the front entrance to the club, and check that all of the rear exits were secure. They had seemed ok, so he’d helped himself to some of the spirits behind the bar, lit some candles and had a reasonably good night. The leather sofa in the manager’s office had provided a decent place to sleep, and he had woken only an hour or so ago with no real desire to go outside. After changing into some clothes that he had found in a cupboard in the staff area, Tom had decided that it was time for a drink.
It’s always time for a drink.
He finished his whiskey and placed the glass on the bar and got up from the bar stool. He surmised that peanuts just weren’t cutting it and had to have something more substantial. Wandering through to the kitchen, he remembered what the Chatterbox was like before people started eating each other. He had spent many a night here, including some memorable evenings as a VIP after he got his job as anchor. That was all over now though and it really, really sucked. The kitchen was surprisingly clean; he had expected to find rotten food and rotten cooks, but was pleasantly surprised. It had the look of a room that had been tidied before the occupants had left; probably somebody that was very house proud. He skirted around the central cooking island and peered in the window into the freezer. The power had been off for some time and he was well aware of the fact that all food within the freezer would have spoiled by now. He was more hopeful of the store cupboard though, which was situated in the corner of the room. Grabbing the door handle and rattling it, he found that the cupboard was locked. Dejected, he turned away but caught site of a key hanging from a hook at the end of one of the counters. He picked it up and smiled to himself as it clicked in the lock. As the door swung open, the smell of rotting flesh and dry blood shocked all of his senses. He looked down in the gloom and, even with the lack of light, knew exactly what he was looking at. The sound of grunting and tearing flesh stopped and Beckerman froze, knowing that from within the dark he was being stared at by dead, black eyes. He moved to close the door but a figure appeared from the gloom, preventing him from doing so. A bloody hand swung for Beckerman’s neck and he stumbled into the counter behind him, sending pots and pans clattering to the floor with his outstretched arm. The figure, wearing the bloody remains of what was once probably an expensive red shirt, lunged on top of the stricken Beckerman, snarling and clawing at him. Beckerman grabbed a saucepan and hit the guy over the head as hard as he could, providing a brief moment for Beckerman to get to his feet; just long enough to see the other two figures lurching out of the store cupboard towards him. Letting out a girly yelp, he turned and ran from the kitchen, bursting through the double doors into the club. As he ran through, he could see bloodstained fingers prying at the hastily constructed barricade at the front door.
Oh Jesus, what do I do now?
He ducked into the manager’s office and locked the door, just time to stop his pursuers. He slid the desk in front of the door, noticing as he did so that some car keys fell to the floor. He picked them up, almost dropping them as the door was hit particularly hard from the outside. The parking lot was just outside the window to the office, so he pulled the blind aside and looked out. A silver BMW was parked about 30 feet away.
Sweet.
He looked down the keys to see the BMW logo emblazoned across the top, and pressed the remote central locking button. The lights of the BMW flashed, so he looked around the parking lot one last time before picking up the office chair and smashing the glass in front of him. He looked frantically about him as he climbed out of the window, and could see some other figures clawing at the front of the building. Swearing as he hit his knee by falling through the window, he noticed the door to the office finally give way and the three monsters from the kitchen break through. He sprinted across the parking lot and climbed into the driver’s seat of the BMW. He turned the key in the ignition and to his great relief, the car started and he pulled away, swerving around the horde at the entrance to the lot. He turned to the right and put his foot down, driving by abandoned vehicles and stores with broken windows.
God damn it, I hate this new fuckin’ world.
Swinging the BMW around to the right, taking out a trash can as he did so, Tom found himself slamming his foot on to the brake pedal to avoid crashing into the side of an overturned bus. The car screeched to a halt and Beckerman let out a sigh of relief, even affording himself a little laugh. He manoeuvred around the stricken public transport vehicle and back on to Massachusetts Avenue. The road was heavily cluttered with burned out cars, a majority of them facing towards him.
This used to be one way.
Beckerman drifted into a daze as he drove slowly through the wreckage. There were charred bodies inside burned out cars, and he imagined what it was like when this street caught alight. The confusion and panic, the fear and desperation. Several cars had done precisely what he had; turned the wrong way and found themselves speeding head on into oncoming traffic. Cars were crumpled and twisted out of shape where they had been driven into each other. A couple of military vehicles were amongst the carnage, and empty shell casing littered the floor.
Jesus, this must have been awful.
He slowed the progress of the BMW down to the slowest of crawls so that he could squeeze it between the scorched remains of two vehicles, and was woken from his daze by thumping on the rear window. He looked into the rear view mirror and could see a bloody, snarling, screaming women scratching at the glass, trying to break through into the cabin. She was joined by another woman, her body scarred and burned, her clothes mostly ripped away. He panicked and put his foot down, scraping both sides of the car as it pushed through the gap. The BMW, now only partially under his control, crashed into another person; a man in a T-Shirt and jeans. The windscreen smashed, and Tom looked out of the window to make sure that it was a monster that he’d hit, and for once he was happy that it was. His joy was short lived though, as the rear window of the BMW was smashed by bloody fists. Beckerman looked around and once again put his foot to the floor, the tyres of the car screaming as they struggled for grip on the asphalt. He swerved the car around a few more wrecks and found a stretch of clear road, smiling to himself as he struggled to see through the smashed windscreen, until a black shape appeared from the left and, despite putting his foot on the brake pedal as hard as he could, Tom Beckerman drove at high speed into the side of the black sedan. The airbag deployed immediately, and Tom’s face was buried in it as all around him he could hear smashing glass and wailing tyres. The BMW came to a standstill and there was a moment of silence.
I have got to stop crashing cars.
Beckerman kicked the door open and pulled himself up. A black Cadillac sat in front of him, partially obscured by the steam hissing from the bonnet of the wrecked BMW. Inside of the car were 3 men. He couldn’t tell if they were dead but they didn’t look good. A black guy was sat behind the wheel, bleeding from a head wound. Beside him sat a man in a smart suit, wearing a mask over his face. He wasn’t moving either. In the back seat was a scruffy looking white guy. He was lying, wide eyed across the back seat.
He’s definitely dead.
‘Are you guys okay?’
He knew it was stupid asking, but he felt that he had to. He spat a mouthful of blood on the floor and, noticing that the trunk of the car had popped open during the crash, headed around to look in. He peered over and saw a girl with long brown hair tied up and squinting in the morning light.
‘What the hell?’
He got a muffled response due to the gag on the girl’s mouth, so he pulled it down.
‘Hi. Are the guys in the car…’
‘Dead? One is for sure, I don’t know about the other two. I’m guessing that it would be a bad idea to wait around for them to come to?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Well this day just keeps getting better doesn’t it?’
Tom helped the girl out of the trunk, untying her bonds.
‘My name is Nikki.’
‘My name is Tom. Tom Beckerman.’
‘Well Tom, I think we should move. I might need a little help though, I hurt my leg in the crash.’
Tom looked down at Nikki’s leg. His first thought was that Nikki had nice legs, but her left was badly cut and she had trouble putting weight on it. She put his arm over his shoulders and he helped her hobble away. He looked at her, surprised to find a thing of such beauty in a place of such despair.
‘So what’s your story?’
She smiled.
‘Well, things went to shit and I ended up in the trunk of a gangsters automobile. What about you?’
‘Well, I was on TV one minute, and now I’ve crashed two nice cars in 4 days and people keep trying to eat me.’
Tom helped Nikki over the street and to an old office unit. The door was open, so he helped Nikki inside. Leaving her by the door, he checked that there was nothing sinister around before bringing her in to sit on an old office chair. She looked around the dusty room; a few cardboard boxes and disused computers were on the desks, and various bits of paper were on the floor and in piles around the room. Tom stood and looked out of the window.
‘So, what now?’
Nikki shrugged her shoulders.
‘I don’t know – where were you heading?’
‘I didn’t really have a plan. We could head north – that is if you’re looking for a travel partner?’
Nikki shook her head.
‘Not north. I came from Chicago; it’s really bad there.’
‘Maybe to the coast? Have you heard of anywhere safe?’
‘I haven’t heard anything from anybody for a long time.’
Tom sat on the desk.
‘Well I don’t know then. I was the least prepared for this. I wish we could just go back in time and I could be on TV again.’
‘You were on TV?’
‘Yeah I was a…’
Tom was interrupted by a shadow in the doorway. It was the driver of the black sedan he hit.
‘Oh, you are in trouble bitch.’
He pulled a gun from his trousers and pointed it at Tom.
‘And you? Where do you think you’re going with my boss’ property?’
Nikki put her hands up to the man.
‘Jarvis, you don’t have to do this – please.’
‘Shut up bitch!’
Tom just stood there, waiting for the shot. Instead, there a loud bang and Jarivs fell to the floor. Standing behind him was Jake Hanford, holding a plank of wood.
‘Kid?’
Nikki looked at Tom.
‘Someone you know?’
Jake stepped forward.
‘Not just someone he knows; someone he left behind so he could drink and drive.’
Tom shook his head.
‘How did you find me?’
‘Like you care. Now, are we going to get out of here? There’s a pickup outside with the keys in, but some zombies are just over there.’
He pointed out of the window to the car wreck, and the man in the suit with the mask was climbing out of the window as a crowd closed in. Nikki pulled herself to her feet.
‘I vote we go. Now.’
Tom didn’t argue as they headed to the pickup.
Dorling's End of The World! 