CHAPTER 41
Meanwhile, up in Huddersfield near Stonker Moor, a British Army Colonel was stubbing a cigarette out on the side of a tank.
“All right lads. Let’s get up to Stonker Moor and show those zomcats who’s the guv’nor round here.”
He climbed into the tank. It moved forward with a column of armoured vehicles following close behind.
CHAPTER 42
Dave Sykes and Dawn Parker were two young people who had been at the centre of events when the zombies had launched their audacious bid to take over the United Kingdom a few months earlier. They’d been lucky to escape from the zombies with their lives.
Dave looked around the cramped little flat they now rented in the London Borough of Bexley. It amounted to two tiny rooms plus a cramped bathroom, but he was happy with it.
“You know something?” He said. “In some ways the zombies did us a favour. They brought us closer together.”
Dawn, who was sitting next to him on their sofa, grinned.
“You’re right,” she said. “But I’m glad we’ve seen the back of them. Oh, by the way, I’ve got something to tell you.”
Dave’s heart missed a beat. Was his girlfriend pregnant? If so, how could they afford to bring up a child?
“What-what-what is it?” He asked.
“I’m thinking of getting a cat,” she said. She squeezed his hand. “I’ve always liked cats.”
CHAPTER 43
An elderly caretaker was sitting in his office in the basement of an impressive glass and steel apartment building in Notting Hill. Opposite him, on the other side of his desk there was a tall middle-aged man.
“I haven’t heard from him for months and it’s just not like him,” said the man. “That’s why I’m convinced something’s wrong.”
“And he’s your brother, you say?” The caretaker asked.
“That’s right. I haven’t been able to ring him or skype him or get in touch with him in any way for ages. His Facebook account has gone dead. It’s just not like him. We’re not in each other’s pockets or anything, but we usually exchange a text once a week at the very least. That’s why I need to get access to his apartment. I’m convinced that something is very wrong.”
“I have keys to all the apartments for emergencies,” said the caretaker. “I suppose I could take you up there and let you in, under the circumstances. I’ll have to accompany you, mind. I can’t let you in on your own.”
“I understand.”
The caretaker swivelled around in his revolving chair. Behind him, on the wall, there was a steel cupboard with a lock on it. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked it and opened the door, revealing a series of numbered hooks, each of which had a set of keys draping from it. He selected one of the sets of keys and closed and locked the steel cupboard.
“Let’s go,” he said.
They took the lift to the top floor and walked along a wide hallway and stopped at a door. The caretaker inserted one of the keys into the keyhole and opened the door. He entered, followed by the middle-aged man.
“Oh my God, what’s that terrible smell?”
They both tried not to breathe too deeply.
They went through the hallway into the lounge. The floor of the lounge was covered with a priceless Dartmoor Plain Royal Borough Wilton Collection carpet, which had a number of blobs of something dirty-looking dotted here and there on it. A good number of the blobs had greenish-white mould erupting from them.
“What the hell is that?” The man asked.
The caretaker bent down close to one of the blobs, but not too close.
“I think it’s cat shit,” he said. “It looks as if your brother was breaking the rules of our apartment building. You’re not allowed to keep pets in here, not apart from fish, anyway.”
The man raised his eyebrows.
“Now I know that something is very wrong,” he said. “My brother would never have kept a cat in here. He hated them, and he was allergic to them. With the best will in the world, he couldn’t have shared an apartment with a cat.”
CHAPTER 44
When Pratt next plucked up the courage to visit his creation, he found her bent over the freezer containing Kaz’s body. He couldn’t see what she was up to, because she’d opened it and the upright lid masked her actions from view.
He walked around to her side of the freezer and found, to his horror, that she was taking bites out of Kaz’s body and chewing them with gusto.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her away.
“No!” He shouted. “You mustn’t do that! It’s cannibalism!”
She turned and glared at him with a look that made his blood run cold, then she gave him a backhand that sent him flying across the cellar.
Pratt knew better than to try to stop her again. He crawled back upstairs wondering where he was going to get a regular supply of the kind of food that she so clearly needed. At that moment there was a knock on the front door. Fearful that it might be the police, he opened it a fraction and peered around it to see who his visitor was.
There, on the doorstep, he saw his two neighbours — the odd bald one and the younger, handsome, racially inferior one. They were both smiling.
The bald one had three mugs of coffee on a tray; the handsome one had three scones on a tray.
“Surprise,” said Darren. “We’ve brought you a housewarming present.”
Pratt pondered for a moment.
Then he realised that one of his problems, at least for a brief period, might be over.
He smiled.
“Please do come in,” he said.
CHAPTER 45
Pratt led them down the dank hallway to the kitchen.
“Please excuse the terrible state this place is in,” he said.
“It’s just like ours,” said Darren. “It’s a mirror image of our house, and it looks like it hasn’t been done up for years, just like ours. I expect you bought it as a doer-upper like us.”
“I did,” said Pratt. “Wait till you see the kitchen.”
He led them through and invited them to sit at the table. Richard looked around in wonder.
“It looks like some’at out of t’fifties,” he said. “No, t’thirties. Look at that Belfast sink. I bet it’s an original.”
Richard took one of the mugs of coffee from the tray and put it in front of Pratt.
“I ’ope that’s all right for yer,” he said. “We ’aven’t put any sugar in. We thought it best to leave that to you.”
“It’s perfect as it is,” said Pratt. He took a sip. “Just how I like it,” he added.
Darren pushed the plate of scones to the middle of the table.
“Help yourself to one,” he said.
Pratt picked one up and took a bite. He realised that he’d been so busy and fretful that he hadn’t eaten properly for days.
“That’s delicious,” he said, polishing it off in one rapid mouthful, and speaking while he chewed.
Darren and Richard looked at each other.
“Have another,” said Darren.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Pratt stuffed a second one in his mouth and devoured it as quickly as he had done the first.
He reached out for the third.
“May I?” He asked.
“Of course,” said Darren.
The third and final scone didn’t survive his assault for long.
“Mmmm,” he said, licking his fingers. “How are you finding life round here?”
“Its early days, but it seems all right,” said Darren.
“I reckon I like it. It’s not as good as up north of course, but it’s probably as good as it gets down south.” Said Richard.