Written by Nick Hobbs

Sunday, 6 March 2011

image for War Of The Tombies: Chapter 1: First Strike.
Tombies abound inside Parliament.

Shards of sunlight pierced the make shift wooden shutters like long fingers, slowly moving, searching, sensing.

Ed sat on the floor, his cheek pressed against the cold wall. Chunks of plaster missing in huge divets, a sign of the previous nights battle.

As the beads of sweat formed on his brow he realised how hot it was in the city today. What day was it, he thought. What time? Date? Who knows?

The silence was eerie and unsettling. He longed for something to break the monotony. He smiled to himself, a faint hint of it on his lips. His partner Justine had always told him to stop moaning about the traffic noise, and here he was praying for it to return.

He inched his way up, pushing from his knees and sliding his back up the wall. He needed fluid. Anything would do.

Making his way towards the kitchen he checked on the windows as he went. The wooden planks were still held in place, nailed either side of the opening.

As he entered the kitchen George was sitting at the table filling cartridges with powder.

"You look like death, Ed" said George in his rough Scottish accent, last nights whiskey hanging heavy on his breath.

"I feel it," said Ed, through a parched throat, the words crackling into life like dry leaves underfoot.

"There's water in the bottle, don't drink from the tap, it's contaminated," said George, not looking up from his work.

Ed made his way to the counter top and picked up the bottle. Unscrewing the lid, he raised the bottle to his lips and drank. The water was tepid and far from pleasant, but it felt like a lifetime since he had drunk any liquid so he lapped it up.

"Steady there, we've gotta make that last laddie!" said George, "it's not exactly easy to make a trip to the shops nowadays!"

Ed replaced the cap and put the bottle back on the counter.

"So what's the plan?" he asked, turning to face George.

George finished filling the cartridge he was working on and turned in his chair, staring intently at Ed.

"We have two options. We either find out what the hell is going on in London or we give up and let it swallow us like a vintage whiskey at an AA meeting!" he snapped, punching his fist down hard on the table in defiance.

Which, Ed thought, was not the best move, seeing as there were several pounds of highly explosive gun-powder surrounded by loaded cartridges spread out like a terrorists picnic all over the place.

"Tell me again what you know," said George.

"O.K," sighed Ed, he had already told the story several times since arriving last night, "I was in Parliament, we were arguing with the Tories on how to get more money out of the poor, when one of the leaderships backbenchers, Bernard Jenkin I think, started making noises."

"He was sort of barking, like a dog. We started booing and jeering, as we do, and the Speaker was asked to quiet him down. But it seemed to have no effect. Jenkin was just getting louder, and he'd started to foam at the mouth. Well this started panicking a few people. Those sat closest to him began trying to get away. Moving along the benches and causing a bit of a stampede."

"What was Cameron doing while this was going on?" interjected George.

"He was smiling at me. Just smiling. But it was a cold, dead smile. His eyes showed no emotion." replied Ed, shivering as he remembered the scene.

"Carry on laddie," said George, reassuringly.

"Anyway, Jenkin had dropped to the floor, and out of sight. The barking had stopped and people had stopped rushing to get out. They just turned and looked. A few started making their way back towards him, I guess to see if they could help."

"Or rob his pockets, the bastards," spat George.

"As the first MP got there he knelt down, I think it was Peter Bone," continued Ed "he was behind the benches, so I couldn't see what was going on. A few others had arrived to help, and the speaker was asking for an update, but no one was saying anything. Then Cameron said 'we warned you, but you chose not to listen', I asked what he meant, and he just smiled again. That's when it happened."

"Go on laddie, go on," said George.

"There was a scream from Bone, and I saw him....I saw....it was horrible," mumbled Ed, struggling to picture the scenes in his mind, not believing they could be real.

"Jenkin had bitten him, literally tore in to his face with his teeth. His cheek was gone and Bone was just screaming, blood pouring down his shirt. Panic set in again, but they were packed in too tightly. Jenkin was up on his feet now and just biting everyone he got close to."

"And what was Cameron doing now?" asked George.

"He was making his way to the exit, with Clegg, and a few other high rankers in tow. When he got there he turned and said something, but in the chaos that was going on all around, I couldn't hear what he said. He left, and locked the doors behind him. He actually locked us in there to die!"

"What then?" said George.

"Bone, the first one who was bitten, well he'd stopped screaming by this point, but then he got up and bit someone. It was unbelievable. Like something you'd see in a film. Several MP's had started trying to ram the door, see if they could force it open, but the biters were becoming stronger. Everyone who got bitten turned on someone else and bit them!
I decided to get out of there, I knew of an escape hatch in one of the chambers rear panels. Charles Kennedy used to use it during PM's questions, to get to his private bar without being seen."

"I remember it," said George, fondly.

"I didn't want to tell everyone, as there would be a mass stampede for it, so I snuck off quietly and made my escape. As I left I looked back. It was carnage. Blood and mess everywhere. The Tory horde had begun attacking my chaps. Pulling the benches apart and beating them with the bits. They didn't stand a chance!"

"I just hit the tunnel and started crawling. I waited in there for hours, not knowing what to do. I reached Kennedy's bar and stayed there for a while, having a whiskey or eight. I must have passed out for a bit on the couch, because when I awoke it was night. I made my way out in to the hall, and it was deserted. There wasn't a sound. Totally empty. There were a few bodies strewn about, they were all dead."

"I just started running, making my way to the exit. I found my way out on to the street and started running again. I must have run a mile or more before I stopped. The whole of London seemed deserted. The only noise was from distant car alarms going off. As I caught my breath, I heard a noise behind me. I turned and saw a group of people stumbling up the road towards me."

"They were walking, arms outstretched, and there was a long droning sound. Almost a moaning. I didn't wait around to find out what they wanted, I just ran on. Coming around a corner I came upon Tory MP Claire Perry seemingly eating a tramp. She looked up at me and hissed. I tried to run past, but she grabbed my ankle, tripping me. I hit my head on the kerb and that's all I remember."

Ed slumped in to a chair at the table beside George.

"Aye, and that's when I found you," said George, sternly, "and lucky for you I did. I dispatched Perry before she could do anything to you, and brought you here."

Ed sat, head in his hands, trying to reason with the seemingly unreasonable.

"Well, laddie," said George, "get some more rest. We have a busy night ahead of us."

"What's the plan?" asked Ed.

"We find out what's going on, and we take back London!" said George, as he slowly slotted cartridges in to his pistol.

"Cameron must be stopped, before his army of Tombies get's too big!"

"Tombies?" asked Ed, quizzically.

"Tory zombies," replied George, "the worst kind of Tory there is!"

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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