Robert peered into the box. Henderson looked as stiff and lifeless as a fossil.
“He’s dead,” Robert bleated. “Henderson’s still dead.”
“Give it time,” said his uncle. “It may take a few minutes.”
CHAPTER NINE
Robert paced up and down the cellar anxiously, being careful not to trip up over any of the cables and tubes that covered the floor like a nest of vipers. Every time he passed the box containing Henderson he peered inside it, hoping to see signs of life, but there were none. After five minutes he wailed, “What’s going on, Uncle Ted? Why isn’t it working?”
His Uncle smiled enigmatically.
“It is working, Robert,” he replied. “I can feel in my bones. It doesn’t happen all at once, it’s a process. Even as we speak, the cells in Henderson’s little body are regenerating. As more and more of them regenerate, they’ll give life to his tissues, and as the tissues come to life, they’ll regenerate his organs. Once Henderson’s organs, including his tiny brain, are all tickety-boo, he’ll be a living creature once again.”
Robert didn’t believe his uncle. He felt he should have trusted his instincts and dismissed the Lazarus Engine as the insane project of a senile old man. He should never have come here thinking that it might work, and that it might deliver him from his wretched existence. But he’d made the mistake of pinning his hopes on it, and now he felt bitterly disappointed.
“I’m going outside for a minute,” he said, turning his face away so that his uncle Ted wouldn’t be able to see the tears that were forming at the corners of his eyes.
He went back up the cellar stairs and hurried outside and took a pack of Marlborough and a box of Swan Vesta matches from his pocket. He was trying to give up smoking, but this was a situation which definitely called for a cigarette.
He lit a Marlborough and then took a fevered pull on it which seemed to convert almost the entire length of the cigarette into ash. He blew the smoke nervously into the air, and he thought about the prospect of being sacked, and of being unable to pay the absurdly high rent that was demanded for the hovel he lived in, a hovel which was in a poor area on the outskirts of Croydon, where property prices had been driven sky-high by the boom in London.
That’s it, I’m fucked, he thought to himself. I’m going to get sacked and I’ll lose my only source of income. I won’t be able to pay my rent and I’ll have to live with smelly students for the rest of my days. My Landlord’s a twat and he won’t cut me any slack.
He took another pull on the cigarette which finished it off completely, and then he threw it onto the drive and ground it forcibly under his heel, imagining that the cigarette butt was Geoff’s face being smashed into the pavement, and he returned to the cellar.
Even though he knew that the Lazarus Engine was a miserable failure, Robert couldn’t resist looking in the box again.
That was when the miracle happened.
Henderson was lying on his side. Robert noticed that his flattened midsection was pumping in and out slightly, like a pair of bellows being used to breathe life into a dying fire. Henderson was breathing. Henderson was actually breathing!
Henderson stretched as if awakening from a long slumber. He stuck out his forelegs and his hind legs, so that they were as straight as metal rods, his legs shivered and then his entire body quivered. After that, Henderson relaxed and yawned, and, while still lying on his side, he raised his head and licked a foreleg and began washing his face. When he’d done that, he stood up. His front end and back end looked just the same as they always had done, but the area from his shoulders to his hips resembled the blade of a circular saw.
Uncle Ted stroked Henderson on the top of his head. He didn’t dare stroke Henderson on his back for fear of cutting his hand on one of Henderson’s vertebrae, which looked as sharp as the teeth of a cutting device designed to slice through titanium steel.
Henderson soon began rubbing his nose against Ted’s hand and purring loudly. When he turned to his side the cat appeared to have a monster erection. Robert thought that this was a bit odd, but he dismissed it as an insignificant side-effect of the resurrection process.
“There you are, Robert,” said Uncle Ted. “Good as new.”
“That’s fantastic, Uncle Ted,” said Robert enthusiastically. “No-one will be any the wiser about Henderson’s little accident.”
CHAPTER TEN
“EEEEEEAAAAAEEEEEAAAARRRRGGGHH!”
That was Mrs. Thompson, the elderly widow who owned Henderson, later that evening when Henderson came indoors for his late evening nap in front of the gas fire.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jack Strange has had a very varied career.
He’s worked in a morgue, dug holes for a living, shifted heavy things on and off trucks, sold advertising space, and was, for a while, a Lawyer.
He’s always read voraciously and has wanted to be a novelist since the age of ten. He wrote his first novel aged fourteen (it wasn’t very good but he’s come on a bit since then).
Jack’s favourite modern authors include Russell H. Greenan, Jerzy Kosinski, Jim Thompson, and Simon Kernick (and a great many more — far too many to mention).
He enjoys parties and keeps himself fit.
He is married with two adult daughters.
If you want to get in touch with Jack, you can email him at:
Or contact him on Twitter: @jackstrange11
Visit his website: www.jack-strange.co.uk
Or his author page with his publisher:
http://www.kensingtongorepublishing.com/jack-strange/4592051202
INTERVIEW WITH THE AUTHOR JACK STRANGE
1. How much is a pint of blood; I mean milk?
Let’s stick with blood. I agree with Tony Hancock: it’s almost an armful. At least, that’s how much there seemed to be in the last arm I severed.
2. What inspired Zomcats?
I saw this crazy cat in a video attacking an alligator. I thought, if this is what a normal cat is capable of, just imagine what a zombie cat could do. And I did.
3. What’s the best part of Zomcats?
All of it. There’s never a dull moment.
4. Who is your favourite Zomcat & why?
That’s hard to say. I suppose it has to be Henderson, as I created him first. But Oscar has a lot going for him too. (I don’t want to say what exactly — that’d be too much of a plot spoiler!)
5. Are you a cat lover & if so what do you like most about cats?
I am a cat lover, big time. Their best quality is that they’re so mysterious. I think they’re far more intelligent than most people give them credit for. I’m sure that Ripley (my former pet cat, now sadly deceased) was a match for any philosopher that has lived. She seemed to spend a lot of her time deep in thought, anyway.
6. Zomcats is very scary and funny at the same time, what scares you Jack Strange, and makes you laugh?