Fic: Spinners of the Dead
So, I wrote Thick of It zombie!crack fic...
Spinners of the Dead
Author: meddow
Rating: PG-13 for violence and language
Warnings: It's Thick of It fic - let that be your warning. I should possibly also warn for crack.
Word Count: ~4,600 words
Characters: Nicola, Malcolm, Ollie, Terri, Glenn and Julius.
Summary: Britain suffers from a slight case of the dead rising and of course DoSAC is the only government department left standing. Never fear, Malcolm has a plan.
Author's Notes: Thank you so much to Oddrid for the beta. Apologies if I got any Briticisms wrong.
---
“He's going to make it! He's going to bloody well make it!” Ollie was cheering on the loan person running across the road below as if he were watching the Olympics. Nicola instead looked on in horror.
Out of nowhere, twenty or so lumbering figures emerged from the surrounding buildings, encircling and descending upon the desperate person below.
“Ohhhh. No,” Ollie groaned.
The lumbering figures swiftly grabbed the limbs of the lone person and in a few seconds he was covered in them.
“I can't watch this,” Nicola said and walked out of her office. “I don't know how you can.”
“We've been stuck here for two days with no sign of rescue, it's quite possible we'll die at any minute and I'm so hungry I'm considering eating my tie. We haven't even got a fucking radio any more. I'm going to get my entertainment where I can,” Ollie replied. “I'll be damned if I'm going to be fucking bored on top of all that.” The isolation was making Ollie even more unbearable.
“Any news?” Nicola asked Glenn and Terri as she walked out of her office.
“The usual,” Glenn replied. “Static, static and just to enliven the broadcast, a bit more static.”
“Ollie's right, this is fucking boring,” Nicola muttered.
At first they had thought they would be rescued. Nicola at least was a Cabinet Minister which meant surely she would have a place in the bunker if one indeed existed. Meanwhile Ollie, Glenn and Terri each assumed they would each be the indispensable aid she would take with her, or at least be able to take up the spots her husband and kids would have taken up if they had not been visiting Nicola's sister-in-law in New Zealand. Shove Ollie in a wig and he just may pass for a teenage girl.
It had now been two days and nothing. It seemed DoSAC was being treated with the same contempt by the rest of the government as if it were a normal day.
“You know what's worst about this?” Terri said.
“No, I don't know Terri, and I don't particularly care,” Nicola whispered under her breath.
“That it's so very typical,” Terri muttered, either not hearing Nicola or ignoring her, “that the one day I stay after six, there's a zombie apocalypse.”
“Have you considered that the zombie apocalypse might be because you stayed after six,” Glenn replied.
“Yeah, if I had to pick one great truth to pin the regular operation of the universe on, it'd be that Terri doesn't stay after six. I mean, there's about as much chance of that happening as there is of Glenn getting laid,” Ollie said.
“Or Ollie for once in his life not being a complete twat,” Glenn added.
“Well, no offence, but if I'm going to be stuck with three people at the end of the world, I can think of better ones,” Terri continued.
“I think that offence was intended, Terri and, I think you're not the only one who thinks that,” Nicola replied with a sigh.
“Oh, not this argument again,” Ollie moaned. It was true that nearly every conversation that had lasted more than five sentences since the crisis had begun degenerated into how they each though the others were the worst people in the world to be stuck with for an extended period of time. Ollie had considered naming it Reader's Law, a special DoSAC offshoot of Godwin's.
“Can't it just be fucking over already,” Ollie continued, sounding like a petulant child complaining about a car journey.
At that moment there was a bang on the door from the fire escape stairwell. All four of them jumped.
“Ollie!” Nicola hissed.
“I didn't do that,” Ollie protested.
“You've jinxed us,” Terri said.
“I'm going to be torn apart and eaten,” Glenn moaned.
“Yeah, that'd be awful because that'll ruin your suit,” Ollie replied.
Terri meanwhile had grabbed an arch file and seemed intent on using it as a weapon. Nicola, Ollie and Glenn followed suit with a keyboard, a pencil tube and coffee mug respectively.
There was another bang. They all stood back with their futile weapons, ready to strike.
“You know, this may well be our last moments,” Glenn said.
“Okay, well, as Secretary of State, I should say something...” Nicola paused, trying to find words of comfort in such a dire situation.
“This is a fucking shit way to go,” Ollie said.
“That. That's what I want to say,” Nicola agreed.
With a final bang the door gave.
Malcolm Tucker strode into the room, Blackberry pressed against his ear and a bloodied up fire-escape axe in his free hand. He was looking a bit worse for wear, with his suit covered in blood-splatter and a bit torn up.
“Zombies?” Malcolm asked down the phone. “Have you been fucking smoking something? There's no fucking zombies. We are merely having a natural, normal national fucking bad day.”
“How did he just?” Nicola asked.
“Because Malcolm already is undead?” Glenn suggested.
“There just isn't enough meat on him to tempt them,” Terri offered up as an alternative thesis.
“The UK Government is fine. Peachy even,” Malcolm continued. “We're just suffering from a mass power outage, coupled with a national Thriller dance off, and of course this all happened on a day when the military is doing a demonstration of urban warfare across London.”
“He's actually just a figment of our imagination. Mass hallucination brought on by fucking starvation,” Ollie said.
Malcolm ignored them all still. “I don't know what fuck gets the kids dancing in the streets these fucking days. Probably some fucking Twitter thing...Yeah, yeah, yeah, broadcast what you want, but remember I'm not the one trying to say the dead have fucking risen...Yeah, well, fuck off!”
Malcolm put the phone down and turned to his audience. “DoSAC!” he cried, arms outreached.
“The BBC?” Terri asked.
“Fucking CNN. The only thing the fucking BBC's broadcasting these days is a call for brains.”
“How did you know we were here?” Nicola asked.
“Because of all the government departments we have, it'd of course be the one that's more fucking useless than Susan Boyle at speed dating that's the only fucking one still up and running.”
“We've done...things,” Ollie said, his voice drifting off as he realised they really had not.
“We've stared out a window,” Nicola said.
“And listened to the radio,” Terri added, being considerably more positive about their contribution to the national crisis. “It was very informative until the BBC and then the emergency broadcast went down.”
“Yes, well, you can rest easy children, Daddy is here to make the nightmare go away and slay the monsters under your bed,” Malcolm announced.
“I'd prefer it if you were a platoon of soldiers with guns or flame-throwers or something that can get us out of here, not some lone fucking skinny yelly Scott in a suit with an axe. I mean, you may be the Dark Lord of spin but I hardly think that translates well to zombie killing,” Nicola replied.
Malcolm actually looked a bit hurt. “Hey. Hey. Beggars can't be fucking choosers. Alright? Oh, yeah, Nicola, you might want to know, you're now the fucking Prime Minister.”
Nicola went very pale. “What? I'm not...What...Oh my god...I'm not, I can't be...Oh my fucking god.”
Malcolm grinned maliciously. “Had you going there. Apocalypse humour. Bet you wouldn't get jokes from fucking SAS.”
“Ha ha,” Nicola muttered sarcastically.
“What's happened to the government anyway?” Terri asked.
“Tom's on a fucking battleship out in the fucking Atlantic. Which is where I should fucking be, by the way. Persuading him not to put on a fucking flight suit.”
“You? I'm a Secretary of State,” Nicola protested. Somewhere she had to be more important that Malcolm, she thought to herself - she was elected after all.
“Why aren't you there?” Glenn asked.
“Got bumped for the fucking Queen. By the way, once this is over, this country is going to have a good long look at its constitutional arrangements if I'm still fucking around,” Malcolm replied.
“So this isn't really a rescue mission at all, is it? You're just here to give us all a last bollocking before we all get eaten,” Nicola said, still unimpressed with Malcolm's presence.
“Au contraire, my fucking faithless DoSAC fuck-ups. I have a plan.”
“You have a plan?” Nicola asked. “Really?”
“You,” he said calmly to Nicola, “are going to come with me and we are going to go stand outside Parliament with fucking Big Ben in the background and do something of a live broadcast telling the world there's no problem here. Britain is fine. There are no zombies and we don't need any outside assistance.”
“What?” she asked.
“You're actually saying we should go outside?” Glenn asked.
“I think he's gone nuts,” Ollie whispered to Terri.
“Look, the fucking dead are fucking rising, yeah, but worse we've got the fucking American's poised to invade, determined to clear up this fucking mess and I guarantee you, it'll turn out just as bad as every other fucking time they've fucking invaded anywhere, and the only person I can find to put in front of a camera is your boss.”
“That's insane,” Nicola said.
“How are you even going to get to Parliament?” Ollie asked.
“It'll only work if she's not covered in blood,” Glenn said. “So you can't even fight your way through, you'll have to run for it.”
“Can't we just get a big picture of Big Ben and put it in the background of her office?” Terri asked.
“Yeah, cos they'd never fall for that fucking trick,” Malcolm replied.
“No,” Nicola finally said. “No. I'm not getting myself fucking killed or worse so you can attempt to spin a national disaster.”
“I'm going out there with you,” Malcolm said, as if it was the bravest thing imaginable and not complete and utter lunacy. “And fuck, I'll even let the three wanketeers stay here, safe and sound.”
“Actually, I don't think it's such a bad idea,” Terri said.
“And we do need to stop them. You saw what happened with the last war,” Ollie added.
With that Glenn moved away from the other two and stood up straight. “You two are disgusting! Anything to save your own skins, Nicola be damned,” he announced.
“You coming too then, Glenn?” Malcolm asked, enthusiastically but with a tone suggesting he knew exactly what the answer would be.
Glenn went pale. “No, no...I'd just slow you down. I'm just not a fit as I used to be.”
“Oh yeah, gammy knee conveniently playing up?” Ollie asked.
“I still haven't said 'yes',” Nicola protested.
“Come on, Nicola,” Malcolm said in a dangerously seductive tone. “I'm talking about the future of Britain as a fucking independent nation resting on your singular shoulders, yeah. The biggest responsibility you or any politician in history has had. Just come with me for a leisurely stroll. I promise nothing will happen to you that won't happen to me.”
“I can't believe I'm actually...”
Nicola supposed that Malcolm actually did have a point, if he needed a government representative, she was apparently the only person available and the sly bastard Malcolm had managed to get to DoSAC somehow without becoming a zombie snack.
Besides, if she spent another five minutes with Ollie, Terri and Glenn, she suspected she may go on a killing rampage herself.
“Okay. Yes.”
Very awkward goodbyes were said, which included a rather disastrous attempt by Glenn to give Nicola a hug. Malcolm paced impatiently by the door the whole time.
“We do have a camera, right?” Nicola asked shortly after they'd walked into the stairwell.
“No, because I hadn't thought of that being a necessary component of the fucking plan,” he said waiving around his blackberry, which indeed had a camera on it.
“How come you've apparently got an outside line? Nicola asked. “My cell hasn't been working since this whole thing began.”
“Because it fucking knows what I'll do to it if it stops working,” Malcolm replied.
Even electronic equipment was apparently afraid of Malcolm. Nicola was not surprised in the least.
Suddenly she saw a shadow move out of the corner of her eye.
“Malcolm,” she hissed. Nicola wished at that moment she had thought to bring along a weapon of her own.
Malcolm raised the axe. “I'm getting fucking good at this, you know.”
“Wait!” a voice cried out. Both Malcolm and Nicola recognised it instantly. Nicola relaxed but Malcolm kept his axe up.
“I'd appreciated it if you didn't attack me, Malcolm,” Julius Nicholson said, emerging from round a corner.
“I'd appreciate it if I fucking did,” Malcolm replied. “I thought I told you to get out of my sight before I fucking ran you through.”
It was at that point that Nicola noticed the bandage around Julius' arm, with blood having seeped through in the pattern of a bite mark.
“I can't say I've personally ever watched a zombie movie Malcolm, but my nephew once discussed with me one that I believe was popular a few years back, in which the transformation was almost instantaneous. Two hours later, I'm still more of a biscuit man than a brain man, leading me to believe that I must have some kind of immunity.”
“No. That's fucking 28 Day Later. This is fucking Night of the Living fucking Dead. This is fucking old school Romero. It'll take fucking hours, but at least you wont fucking run and it's not a fucking Day of the Triffids rip-off. And they're not even proper fucking zombies anyway, they're not even fucking dead...”
“Malcolm,” Nicola interrupted.
“There's only one fucking thing for it now. I'm going to have to fucking kill you myself.”
“Really?” Julius asked.
“Tell you what. I'll do you a favour, as you're being such a good fucking sport as you would say. I'll pretend I haven't been fantasising about doing this since we first met.”
Malcolm lifted the axe.
“Malcolm! Don't you fucking dare!” Nicola screamed.
“Give it five minutes and he's going to fucking try and fucking eat us. If you can think of a better way, then fucking go ahead,” Malcolm replied.
“I hate to mention it given that it will hasten my demise, but presuming he's right about zombifiction, he has a valid point there,” Julius said.,
“No. No. No.” Nicola said, physically grabbing the axe out of Malcolm's hands with surprising ease. Malcolm had apparently not been expecting the axe to be grabbed from behind.
“Go lock yourself in an office or something,” she said to Julius before turning to Malcolm. “And from now on I have control of the axe. You're fucking terrifying enough without going all Jack Nicholson in The fucking Shining on top of it.”
“That fat fucking sunglasses wearing cunt?”
“Do you happen to know if becoming a zombie is painful?” Julius asked, interrupting the diatribe Malcolm was about to start about Jack Nicholson.
“You know, I could rip you apart with my bare hands,” Malcolm said in a low voice. “That would be painful.”
“Come to think of it, this office over here looks pleasant,” Julius said, wandering off.
“Axe,” Malcolm said, clicking his fingers.
“No,” Nicola replied. “I'm being fucking serious Malcolm. I am now axe monitor. You clearly cannot be trusted not to start decapitating innocent people.”
Malcolm rolled his eyes and they kept on, taking the fire exit and heading down the stairs.
“So this is how you got in?” Nicola asked as they wandered down the stairs.
“Yes.”
“And none of them followed you?”
“No.”
“Are you absolutely positive none of them followed you or know where you are?” Nicola asked as they reached the door leading outside.
“Of course I fucking...” Malcolm stopped mid-sentence when upon opening the fire exit door, he was greeted by fifty undead. He shut it quickly and turned to Nicola, and issued a very quiet, “Run!”
Zombies were now lumbering down the stairs they had just walked down a moment earlier.
“Where the fuck did they come from!?” Nicola asked.
“I don't fucking know!” Malcolm replied, opening the other door which lead out into the grand central entranceway to the building.
They were greeted by more zombies emerging from the two downstairs floors.
“We're tapped!” Nicola screamed.
Malcolm was looking around and apparently saw an exit. He tore off, Nicola on his heels. She stopped dead when she saw he was headed for the main elevator for the building.
“No, Malcolm you know about me and....”
“Elevator or fucking death by fucking zombie!” Malcolm yelled at her.
Putting it that way, she supposed it wasn't too tough a choice. Nicola bolted for the elevator.
As she reached the door, she felt a hand on her shoulder and another on her arm. Malcolm was already inside, pushing the close button. Having already shut one of the doors, he managed to close the other door on the arm. Nicola whirled around with the axe, and acting on instinct alone managed with one downward motion to sever the arm, allowing Malcolm to shut the other door.
“You're stronger than you look,” Malcolm said, seeming almost impressed.
“Remember that,” Nicola said, panting. “How did you get those doors shut?” she then asked.
“Hungry undead, hack journalist. Not much fucking difference. And you said being the Dark Lord of spin wouldn't translate,” Malcolm replied. He had pulled his phone out and was waiving it about, trying to get a signal. He sneered at it and put it back in his pocket.
Nicola meanwhile stared up at the ceiling and tried not to think of the elevator as a metal coffin. That way, she knew, madness lay.
Suddenly she felt something brush against her ankle. It was the severed arm, writing around.
“It's still moving! It's still moving!” Nicola screamed.
“You have the fucking axe!” Malcolm screamed right back.
“Right!” Nicola yelled, regaining her wits. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” she screamed over and over again as she chopped into the arm as it writhed around, splattering blood all over the elevator. Malcolm watched on in surprised awe.
“I think it's dead,” Nicola said when the arm was in pieces no bigger than mince meat.
“Who's Jack fucking Nicholson now?” Malcolm asked snidely.
Nicola took a step towards him, axe still in hand and blade pointed at Malcolm's throat. “Don't you fucking start.”
Malcolm put his hands in the air in a sign of surrender, and Nicola took a step back.
“Why aren't we moving?” she asked. “It doesn't feel like we're moving.”
“It's not working. Power's gone.”
“We're trapped?” Nicola said, feeling the early signs of hyperventilation coming on and really wishing she had not gone through her whole stash of rescue remedy in the initial hours of the outbreak. “Oh god. Oh god.”
“Put it this way: yes we are trapped in an elevator.” Malcolm was talking slowly and calmly, which was a wise move given the axe still in Nicola's hands. “But we are also safe from the hordes of undead behind those doors.”
“Malcolm, since the minute we first met,” Nicola said “I fucking knew you'd be the fucking end of me. And now I'm going to fucking die in a fucking elevator being torn apart by fucking zombies and it's all your fucking fault!”
“My fucking fault?” He said indignantly. “You have fucking free will, darling. I am trying to hold this whole fucking country together using my bare hands, a fucking blackberry and a fucking hysterical fucking axe wielding PM.”
“What?” Nicola asked.
“Okay, you fucking are the PM, alright?! At least you're the only fucking technically elected person I can find.”
The deep feeling of nausea that swept over her at Malcolm's announcement seemed to counter-act the blind rage. “And you didn't think it was important to tell me?”
“There are fucking zombies roaming the fucking countryside. What the fuck difference does it make? And you were fucking calmer when you thought you were just another doomed fucking cabinet minster. Besides, far as the press knows, Tom's still alive and not currently munching on the fucking Speaker.”
“You've made out the PM to be still alive? You know, you're pathetic Malcolm. You're just spinning and manipulating because it's the only thing you know to do in a crisis.”
“Thanks for the fucking fifty pence psychoanalysis. If we're going for pathetic, you're the one who fucking followed me.”
“Because you said it would work.”
“Oh, as if you didn't think exactly this would happen.”
Nicola crossed her arms and sat down. “Great. Well then. I'm just going to sit here until we either die of dehydration, lack of oxygen or get mauled to death by fucking zombies.”
“That fucking fine with me.”
They sat in silence for a good five minutes, seething at each other.
“Did you see Ben Swain among that mob?” Nicola finally asked, having gotten bored.
Malcolm smiled deviously. “Finally had his eyelids torn off. It's such a shame I couldn't do it myself.”
Suddenly, there was a bang on the door followed by a screeching noise. It seemed somebody was trying to prise the door open.
“Looks like it's going to be zombies,” Nicola said.
“Asphyxiation is overrated,” Malcolm said. “As for dehydration, that's for fucking cunts.” Nicola did not quite understand the reasoning behind the statement, which was that by this point, with nearly all of Whitehall and the majority of Britain either dead or undead, Malcolm was running out people to insult. Attacking dehydration victims was him making do.
“Axe,” Malcolm said, once again reaching for it.
“No.”
He looked at her incredulously.
“No,” Nicola repeated. “I did a perfectly fine job on that disembodied arm. Besides, I'm the Prime Minister. I get the axe.”
“Oh for fuck's sake,” he said, reaching into his pocket, grabbing his Blackberry and holding it over his head ready to smash it against a zombie.
Finally the doors moved. Nicola swung out with the axe, determined not to go out without a fight.
“Hey!” Ollie cried out as the axe came within an inch of hitting him. “Hey! Not a fucking zombie!”
“Sorry Ollie,” Nicola said before breathing a sigh of relief. Ollie, Terri and Glenn were all standing outside the door.
“We fucking save you and that's the thanks we get,” Ollie continued. “Hey, bet for the first time ever, you're glad to see us,” Ollie said to Malcolm.
“For the first fucking time in your life, I think you're actually fucking right,” Malcolm replied.
“There you go, another sign the world's gone haywire,” Terri said behind Ollie. “Malcolm actually said something nice. That was nice, wasn't it?”
“Credit where credit's fucking due. Hey, where's all the bodies?” Malcolm asked, sticking his head around the door.
“Yeah, where did all the zombies go?” Nicola asked.
“Well, to be honest, we didn't do much,” Terri said.
“Oh, come on, we could have taken credit,” Ollie protested. “Might have gotten us a get-out-of-a-bollocking free card.”
“So where is the fucking mass horde that was hounding us five minutes ago,” Malcolm's tone had become a bit more dangerous.
“Well, it's the strangest thing,” Terri said.
“They just entered and went about working,” Glenn added. “Come see for yourselves.”
Malcolm and Nicola looked around at the zombies bustling about the building just like they would do on a normal day if they were still alive, although they were doing it in a slower and less graceful manner than they had been before. Many of them were missing limbs but dragging themselves around, doing the best they could. There was also an overpowering stench of rotting flesh filling the building. The zombies had returned to work.
“This is fucking...” Malcolm was lost for words. Nicola similarly could not think of a thing to say.
“I think I can offer up an explanation.” Julius Nicholson emerged. Now pale and unblinking, he was most certainly dead.
“Well, you see, Malcolm, zombies have something of a hive mind. All this time they've been screaming out for brains and we've been interpreting their cries as acts of aggression, when really, they've just been looking for the right mind to bring order to chaos. Mine, to be precise.”
“Biscuits!” the zombies all groaned on cue.
Nicola, Malcolm, Ollie, Glenn and Terri all stared around the room in horror.
“Julius Nicholson, king of the fucking zombies,” Ollie finally said, breaking the silence.
“Yes, that does just about describe the situation somewhat perfectly,” Julius replied, still capable giving a smug little smile despite being dead. “And I understand you're the new PM, Nicola. Congratulations. All hail the new order.”
“There's fucking...millions of them,” Malcolm finally said, having gone paler and more wide-eyed than Nicola had ever seen him before. “Fucking millions of fucking Julius fucking Nicholsons.”
Nicola, Ollie, Terri and Glenn all stared at Malcolm awaiting for the explosion. Terri and Ollie even inched away. It didn't happen. Malcolm instead quietly turned and stormed off.
The four of them stared at each other, wondering what to do.
“I think I'd better go stop Malcolm from killing himself,” Nicola said rushing after him.
“Just tell him I'd be happy to have him in the ranks,” Julius yelled after her. “That should do the trick. Well, back to the business of government,” he said with a smile.
Ollie, Terri and Glenn were left standing in the lobby, three air-breathers watching as the undead were carrying out the business of government.
“I should have fucking killed him when I had the chance!” Malcolm could be overheard yelling at Nicola some way away, indicating that Malcolm was making a swift recovery. “Where's the fucking axe gone! I'm going to fucking murder him! And then I'm going to murder fucking you!”
“Nicola's the Prime Minister,” Terri said, ending the silence between her, Glenn and Ollie.
“And Britain's overrun with decomposing upper-class gits,” Ollie added, matter-of factly.
“What do we do now?” Glenn asked.
“I don't know about you, but I've got a few week's holiday that I've been saving up for such an occasion,” Terri said.
“What, in case you somehow miraculously survive a zombie apocalypse and Punch and Judy there are left running the country?” Ollie asked.
“Yes, actually,” Terri said, nodding.
Somewhere in the distance, Nicola and Malcolm were still arguing, their voices drifting through the building. “Okay, umm, how about think of it this way Malcolm: Julius would vote with us. We've just won the election.”
“Fucking zombies can't fucking vote!” Malcolm yelled right back.
Ollie looked around and shrugged. He had heard Thailand was good at this time of year.
Spinners of the Dead
Author: meddow
Rating: PG-13 for violence and language
Warnings: It's Thick of It fic - let that be your warning. I should possibly also warn for crack.
Word Count: ~4,600 words
Characters: Nicola, Malcolm, Ollie, Terri, Glenn and Julius.
Summary: Britain suffers from a slight case of the dead rising and of course DoSAC is the only government department left standing. Never fear, Malcolm has a plan.
Author's Notes: Thank you so much to Oddrid for the beta. Apologies if I got any Briticisms wrong.
---
“He's going to make it! He's going to bloody well make it!” Ollie was cheering on the loan person running across the road below as if he were watching the Olympics. Nicola instead looked on in horror.
Out of nowhere, twenty or so lumbering figures emerged from the surrounding buildings, encircling and descending upon the desperate person below.
“Ohhhh. No,” Ollie groaned.
The lumbering figures swiftly grabbed the limbs of the lone person and in a few seconds he was covered in them.
“I can't watch this,” Nicola said and walked out of her office. “I don't know how you can.”
“We've been stuck here for two days with no sign of rescue, it's quite possible we'll die at any minute and I'm so hungry I'm considering eating my tie. We haven't even got a fucking radio any more. I'm going to get my entertainment where I can,” Ollie replied. “I'll be damned if I'm going to be fucking bored on top of all that.” The isolation was making Ollie even more unbearable.
“Any news?” Nicola asked Glenn and Terri as she walked out of her office.
“The usual,” Glenn replied. “Static, static and just to enliven the broadcast, a bit more static.”
“Ollie's right, this is fucking boring,” Nicola muttered.
At first they had thought they would be rescued. Nicola at least was a Cabinet Minister which meant surely she would have a place in the bunker if one indeed existed. Meanwhile Ollie, Glenn and Terri each assumed they would each be the indispensable aid she would take with her, or at least be able to take up the spots her husband and kids would have taken up if they had not been visiting Nicola's sister-in-law in New Zealand. Shove Ollie in a wig and he just may pass for a teenage girl.
It had now been two days and nothing. It seemed DoSAC was being treated with the same contempt by the rest of the government as if it were a normal day.
“You know what's worst about this?” Terri said.
“No, I don't know Terri, and I don't particularly care,” Nicola whispered under her breath.
“That it's so very typical,” Terri muttered, either not hearing Nicola or ignoring her, “that the one day I stay after six, there's a zombie apocalypse.”
“Have you considered that the zombie apocalypse might be because you stayed after six,” Glenn replied.
“Yeah, if I had to pick one great truth to pin the regular operation of the universe on, it'd be that Terri doesn't stay after six. I mean, there's about as much chance of that happening as there is of Glenn getting laid,” Ollie said.
“Or Ollie for once in his life not being a complete twat,” Glenn added.
“Well, no offence, but if I'm going to be stuck with three people at the end of the world, I can think of better ones,” Terri continued.
“I think that offence was intended, Terri and, I think you're not the only one who thinks that,” Nicola replied with a sigh.
“Oh, not this argument again,” Ollie moaned. It was true that nearly every conversation that had lasted more than five sentences since the crisis had begun degenerated into how they each though the others were the worst people in the world to be stuck with for an extended period of time. Ollie had considered naming it Reader's Law, a special DoSAC offshoot of Godwin's.
“Can't it just be fucking over already,” Ollie continued, sounding like a petulant child complaining about a car journey.
At that moment there was a bang on the door from the fire escape stairwell. All four of them jumped.
“Ollie!” Nicola hissed.
“I didn't do that,” Ollie protested.
“You've jinxed us,” Terri said.
“I'm going to be torn apart and eaten,” Glenn moaned.
“Yeah, that'd be awful because that'll ruin your suit,” Ollie replied.
Terri meanwhile had grabbed an arch file and seemed intent on using it as a weapon. Nicola, Ollie and Glenn followed suit with a keyboard, a pencil tube and coffee mug respectively.
There was another bang. They all stood back with their futile weapons, ready to strike.
“You know, this may well be our last moments,” Glenn said.
“Okay, well, as Secretary of State, I should say something...” Nicola paused, trying to find words of comfort in such a dire situation.
“This is a fucking shit way to go,” Ollie said.
“That. That's what I want to say,” Nicola agreed.
With a final bang the door gave.
Malcolm Tucker strode into the room, Blackberry pressed against his ear and a bloodied up fire-escape axe in his free hand. He was looking a bit worse for wear, with his suit covered in blood-splatter and a bit torn up.
“Zombies?” Malcolm asked down the phone. “Have you been fucking smoking something? There's no fucking zombies. We are merely having a natural, normal national fucking bad day.”
“How did he just?” Nicola asked.
“Because Malcolm already is undead?” Glenn suggested.
“There just isn't enough meat on him to tempt them,” Terri offered up as an alternative thesis.
“The UK Government is fine. Peachy even,” Malcolm continued. “We're just suffering from a mass power outage, coupled with a national Thriller dance off, and of course this all happened on a day when the military is doing a demonstration of urban warfare across London.”
“He's actually just a figment of our imagination. Mass hallucination brought on by fucking starvation,” Ollie said.
Malcolm ignored them all still. “I don't know what fuck gets the kids dancing in the streets these fucking days. Probably some fucking Twitter thing...Yeah, yeah, yeah, broadcast what you want, but remember I'm not the one trying to say the dead have fucking risen...Yeah, well, fuck off!”
Malcolm put the phone down and turned to his audience. “DoSAC!” he cried, arms outreached.
“The BBC?” Terri asked.
“Fucking CNN. The only thing the fucking BBC's broadcasting these days is a call for brains.”
“How did you know we were here?” Nicola asked.
“Because of all the government departments we have, it'd of course be the one that's more fucking useless than Susan Boyle at speed dating that's the only fucking one still up and running.”
“We've done...things,” Ollie said, his voice drifting off as he realised they really had not.
“We've stared out a window,” Nicola said.
“And listened to the radio,” Terri added, being considerably more positive about their contribution to the national crisis. “It was very informative until the BBC and then the emergency broadcast went down.”
“Yes, well, you can rest easy children, Daddy is here to make the nightmare go away and slay the monsters under your bed,” Malcolm announced.
“I'd prefer it if you were a platoon of soldiers with guns or flame-throwers or something that can get us out of here, not some lone fucking skinny yelly Scott in a suit with an axe. I mean, you may be the Dark Lord of spin but I hardly think that translates well to zombie killing,” Nicola replied.
Malcolm actually looked a bit hurt. “Hey. Hey. Beggars can't be fucking choosers. Alright? Oh, yeah, Nicola, you might want to know, you're now the fucking Prime Minister.”
Nicola went very pale. “What? I'm not...What...Oh my god...I'm not, I can't be...Oh my fucking god.”
Malcolm grinned maliciously. “Had you going there. Apocalypse humour. Bet you wouldn't get jokes from fucking SAS.”
“Ha ha,” Nicola muttered sarcastically.
“What's happened to the government anyway?” Terri asked.
“Tom's on a fucking battleship out in the fucking Atlantic. Which is where I should fucking be, by the way. Persuading him not to put on a fucking flight suit.”
“You? I'm a Secretary of State,” Nicola protested. Somewhere she had to be more important that Malcolm, she thought to herself - she was elected after all.
“Why aren't you there?” Glenn asked.
“Got bumped for the fucking Queen. By the way, once this is over, this country is going to have a good long look at its constitutional arrangements if I'm still fucking around,” Malcolm replied.
“So this isn't really a rescue mission at all, is it? You're just here to give us all a last bollocking before we all get eaten,” Nicola said, still unimpressed with Malcolm's presence.
“Au contraire, my fucking faithless DoSAC fuck-ups. I have a plan.”
“You have a plan?” Nicola asked. “Really?”
“You,” he said calmly to Nicola, “are going to come with me and we are going to go stand outside Parliament with fucking Big Ben in the background and do something of a live broadcast telling the world there's no problem here. Britain is fine. There are no zombies and we don't need any outside assistance.”
“What?” she asked.
“You're actually saying we should go outside?” Glenn asked.
“I think he's gone nuts,” Ollie whispered to Terri.
“Look, the fucking dead are fucking rising, yeah, but worse we've got the fucking American's poised to invade, determined to clear up this fucking mess and I guarantee you, it'll turn out just as bad as every other fucking time they've fucking invaded anywhere, and the only person I can find to put in front of a camera is your boss.”
“That's insane,” Nicola said.
“How are you even going to get to Parliament?” Ollie asked.
“It'll only work if she's not covered in blood,” Glenn said. “So you can't even fight your way through, you'll have to run for it.”
“Can't we just get a big picture of Big Ben and put it in the background of her office?” Terri asked.
“Yeah, cos they'd never fall for that fucking trick,” Malcolm replied.
“No,” Nicola finally said. “No. I'm not getting myself fucking killed or worse so you can attempt to spin a national disaster.”
“I'm going out there with you,” Malcolm said, as if it was the bravest thing imaginable and not complete and utter lunacy. “And fuck, I'll even let the three wanketeers stay here, safe and sound.”
“Actually, I don't think it's such a bad idea,” Terri said.
“And we do need to stop them. You saw what happened with the last war,” Ollie added.
With that Glenn moved away from the other two and stood up straight. “You two are disgusting! Anything to save your own skins, Nicola be damned,” he announced.
“You coming too then, Glenn?” Malcolm asked, enthusiastically but with a tone suggesting he knew exactly what the answer would be.
Glenn went pale. “No, no...I'd just slow you down. I'm just not a fit as I used to be.”
“Oh yeah, gammy knee conveniently playing up?” Ollie asked.
“I still haven't said 'yes',” Nicola protested.
“Come on, Nicola,” Malcolm said in a dangerously seductive tone. “I'm talking about the future of Britain as a fucking independent nation resting on your singular shoulders, yeah. The biggest responsibility you or any politician in history has had. Just come with me for a leisurely stroll. I promise nothing will happen to you that won't happen to me.”
“I can't believe I'm actually...”
Nicola supposed that Malcolm actually did have a point, if he needed a government representative, she was apparently the only person available and the sly bastard Malcolm had managed to get to DoSAC somehow without becoming a zombie snack.
Besides, if she spent another five minutes with Ollie, Terri and Glenn, she suspected she may go on a killing rampage herself.
“Okay. Yes.”
Very awkward goodbyes were said, which included a rather disastrous attempt by Glenn to give Nicola a hug. Malcolm paced impatiently by the door the whole time.
“We do have a camera, right?” Nicola asked shortly after they'd walked into the stairwell.
“No, because I hadn't thought of that being a necessary component of the fucking plan,” he said waiving around his blackberry, which indeed had a camera on it.
“How come you've apparently got an outside line? Nicola asked. “My cell hasn't been working since this whole thing began.”
“Because it fucking knows what I'll do to it if it stops working,” Malcolm replied.
Even electronic equipment was apparently afraid of Malcolm. Nicola was not surprised in the least.
Suddenly she saw a shadow move out of the corner of her eye.
“Malcolm,” she hissed. Nicola wished at that moment she had thought to bring along a weapon of her own.
Malcolm raised the axe. “I'm getting fucking good at this, you know.”
“Wait!” a voice cried out. Both Malcolm and Nicola recognised it instantly. Nicola relaxed but Malcolm kept his axe up.
“I'd appreciated it if you didn't attack me, Malcolm,” Julius Nicholson said, emerging from round a corner.
“I'd appreciate it if I fucking did,” Malcolm replied. “I thought I told you to get out of my sight before I fucking ran you through.”
It was at that point that Nicola noticed the bandage around Julius' arm, with blood having seeped through in the pattern of a bite mark.
“I can't say I've personally ever watched a zombie movie Malcolm, but my nephew once discussed with me one that I believe was popular a few years back, in which the transformation was almost instantaneous. Two hours later, I'm still more of a biscuit man than a brain man, leading me to believe that I must have some kind of immunity.”
“No. That's fucking 28 Day Later. This is fucking Night of the Living fucking Dead. This is fucking old school Romero. It'll take fucking hours, but at least you wont fucking run and it's not a fucking Day of the Triffids rip-off. And they're not even proper fucking zombies anyway, they're not even fucking dead...”
“Malcolm,” Nicola interrupted.
“There's only one fucking thing for it now. I'm going to have to fucking kill you myself.”
“Really?” Julius asked.
“Tell you what. I'll do you a favour, as you're being such a good fucking sport as you would say. I'll pretend I haven't been fantasising about doing this since we first met.”
Malcolm lifted the axe.
“Malcolm! Don't you fucking dare!” Nicola screamed.
“Give it five minutes and he's going to fucking try and fucking eat us. If you can think of a better way, then fucking go ahead,” Malcolm replied.
“I hate to mention it given that it will hasten my demise, but presuming he's right about zombifiction, he has a valid point there,” Julius said.,
“No. No. No.” Nicola said, physically grabbing the axe out of Malcolm's hands with surprising ease. Malcolm had apparently not been expecting the axe to be grabbed from behind.
“Go lock yourself in an office or something,” she said to Julius before turning to Malcolm. “And from now on I have control of the axe. You're fucking terrifying enough without going all Jack Nicholson in The fucking Shining on top of it.”
“That fat fucking sunglasses wearing cunt?”
“Do you happen to know if becoming a zombie is painful?” Julius asked, interrupting the diatribe Malcolm was about to start about Jack Nicholson.
“You know, I could rip you apart with my bare hands,” Malcolm said in a low voice. “That would be painful.”
“Come to think of it, this office over here looks pleasant,” Julius said, wandering off.
“Axe,” Malcolm said, clicking his fingers.
“No,” Nicola replied. “I'm being fucking serious Malcolm. I am now axe monitor. You clearly cannot be trusted not to start decapitating innocent people.”
Malcolm rolled his eyes and they kept on, taking the fire exit and heading down the stairs.
“So this is how you got in?” Nicola asked as they wandered down the stairs.
“Yes.”
“And none of them followed you?”
“No.”
“Are you absolutely positive none of them followed you or know where you are?” Nicola asked as they reached the door leading outside.
“Of course I fucking...” Malcolm stopped mid-sentence when upon opening the fire exit door, he was greeted by fifty undead. He shut it quickly and turned to Nicola, and issued a very quiet, “Run!”
Zombies were now lumbering down the stairs they had just walked down a moment earlier.
“Where the fuck did they come from!?” Nicola asked.
“I don't fucking know!” Malcolm replied, opening the other door which lead out into the grand central entranceway to the building.
They were greeted by more zombies emerging from the two downstairs floors.
“We're tapped!” Nicola screamed.
Malcolm was looking around and apparently saw an exit. He tore off, Nicola on his heels. She stopped dead when she saw he was headed for the main elevator for the building.
“No, Malcolm you know about me and....”
“Elevator or fucking death by fucking zombie!” Malcolm yelled at her.
Putting it that way, she supposed it wasn't too tough a choice. Nicola bolted for the elevator.
As she reached the door, she felt a hand on her shoulder and another on her arm. Malcolm was already inside, pushing the close button. Having already shut one of the doors, he managed to close the other door on the arm. Nicola whirled around with the axe, and acting on instinct alone managed with one downward motion to sever the arm, allowing Malcolm to shut the other door.
“You're stronger than you look,” Malcolm said, seeming almost impressed.
“Remember that,” Nicola said, panting. “How did you get those doors shut?” she then asked.
“Hungry undead, hack journalist. Not much fucking difference. And you said being the Dark Lord of spin wouldn't translate,” Malcolm replied. He had pulled his phone out and was waiving it about, trying to get a signal. He sneered at it and put it back in his pocket.
Nicola meanwhile stared up at the ceiling and tried not to think of the elevator as a metal coffin. That way, she knew, madness lay.
Suddenly she felt something brush against her ankle. It was the severed arm, writing around.
“It's still moving! It's still moving!” Nicola screamed.
“You have the fucking axe!” Malcolm screamed right back.
“Right!” Nicola yelled, regaining her wits. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” she screamed over and over again as she chopped into the arm as it writhed around, splattering blood all over the elevator. Malcolm watched on in surprised awe.
“I think it's dead,” Nicola said when the arm was in pieces no bigger than mince meat.
“Who's Jack fucking Nicholson now?” Malcolm asked snidely.
Nicola took a step towards him, axe still in hand and blade pointed at Malcolm's throat. “Don't you fucking start.”
Malcolm put his hands in the air in a sign of surrender, and Nicola took a step back.
“Why aren't we moving?” she asked. “It doesn't feel like we're moving.”
“It's not working. Power's gone.”
“We're trapped?” Nicola said, feeling the early signs of hyperventilation coming on and really wishing she had not gone through her whole stash of rescue remedy in the initial hours of the outbreak. “Oh god. Oh god.”
“Put it this way: yes we are trapped in an elevator.” Malcolm was talking slowly and calmly, which was a wise move given the axe still in Nicola's hands. “But we are also safe from the hordes of undead behind those doors.”
“Malcolm, since the minute we first met,” Nicola said “I fucking knew you'd be the fucking end of me. And now I'm going to fucking die in a fucking elevator being torn apart by fucking zombies and it's all your fucking fault!”
“My fucking fault?” He said indignantly. “You have fucking free will, darling. I am trying to hold this whole fucking country together using my bare hands, a fucking blackberry and a fucking hysterical fucking axe wielding PM.”
“What?” Nicola asked.
“Okay, you fucking are the PM, alright?! At least you're the only fucking technically elected person I can find.”
The deep feeling of nausea that swept over her at Malcolm's announcement seemed to counter-act the blind rage. “And you didn't think it was important to tell me?”
“There are fucking zombies roaming the fucking countryside. What the fuck difference does it make? And you were fucking calmer when you thought you were just another doomed fucking cabinet minster. Besides, far as the press knows, Tom's still alive and not currently munching on the fucking Speaker.”
“You've made out the PM to be still alive? You know, you're pathetic Malcolm. You're just spinning and manipulating because it's the only thing you know to do in a crisis.”
“Thanks for the fucking fifty pence psychoanalysis. If we're going for pathetic, you're the one who fucking followed me.”
“Because you said it would work.”
“Oh, as if you didn't think exactly this would happen.”
Nicola crossed her arms and sat down. “Great. Well then. I'm just going to sit here until we either die of dehydration, lack of oxygen or get mauled to death by fucking zombies.”
“That fucking fine with me.”
They sat in silence for a good five minutes, seething at each other.
“Did you see Ben Swain among that mob?” Nicola finally asked, having gotten bored.
Malcolm smiled deviously. “Finally had his eyelids torn off. It's such a shame I couldn't do it myself.”
Suddenly, there was a bang on the door followed by a screeching noise. It seemed somebody was trying to prise the door open.
“Looks like it's going to be zombies,” Nicola said.
“Asphyxiation is overrated,” Malcolm said. “As for dehydration, that's for fucking cunts.” Nicola did not quite understand the reasoning behind the statement, which was that by this point, with nearly all of Whitehall and the majority of Britain either dead or undead, Malcolm was running out people to insult. Attacking dehydration victims was him making do.
“Axe,” Malcolm said, once again reaching for it.
“No.”
He looked at her incredulously.
“No,” Nicola repeated. “I did a perfectly fine job on that disembodied arm. Besides, I'm the Prime Minister. I get the axe.”
“Oh for fuck's sake,” he said, reaching into his pocket, grabbing his Blackberry and holding it over his head ready to smash it against a zombie.
Finally the doors moved. Nicola swung out with the axe, determined not to go out without a fight.
“Hey!” Ollie cried out as the axe came within an inch of hitting him. “Hey! Not a fucking zombie!”
“Sorry Ollie,” Nicola said before breathing a sigh of relief. Ollie, Terri and Glenn were all standing outside the door.
“We fucking save you and that's the thanks we get,” Ollie continued. “Hey, bet for the first time ever, you're glad to see us,” Ollie said to Malcolm.
“For the first fucking time in your life, I think you're actually fucking right,” Malcolm replied.
“There you go, another sign the world's gone haywire,” Terri said behind Ollie. “Malcolm actually said something nice. That was nice, wasn't it?”
“Credit where credit's fucking due. Hey, where's all the bodies?” Malcolm asked, sticking his head around the door.
“Yeah, where did all the zombies go?” Nicola asked.
“Well, to be honest, we didn't do much,” Terri said.
“Oh, come on, we could have taken credit,” Ollie protested. “Might have gotten us a get-out-of-a-bollocking free card.”
“So where is the fucking mass horde that was hounding us five minutes ago,” Malcolm's tone had become a bit more dangerous.
“Well, it's the strangest thing,” Terri said.
“They just entered and went about working,” Glenn added. “Come see for yourselves.”
Malcolm and Nicola looked around at the zombies bustling about the building just like they would do on a normal day if they were still alive, although they were doing it in a slower and less graceful manner than they had been before. Many of them were missing limbs but dragging themselves around, doing the best they could. There was also an overpowering stench of rotting flesh filling the building. The zombies had returned to work.
“This is fucking...” Malcolm was lost for words. Nicola similarly could not think of a thing to say.
“I think I can offer up an explanation.” Julius Nicholson emerged. Now pale and unblinking, he was most certainly dead.
“Well, you see, Malcolm, zombies have something of a hive mind. All this time they've been screaming out for brains and we've been interpreting their cries as acts of aggression, when really, they've just been looking for the right mind to bring order to chaos. Mine, to be precise.”
“Biscuits!” the zombies all groaned on cue.
Nicola, Malcolm, Ollie, Glenn and Terri all stared around the room in horror.
“Julius Nicholson, king of the fucking zombies,” Ollie finally said, breaking the silence.
“Yes, that does just about describe the situation somewhat perfectly,” Julius replied, still capable giving a smug little smile despite being dead. “And I understand you're the new PM, Nicola. Congratulations. All hail the new order.”
“There's fucking...millions of them,” Malcolm finally said, having gone paler and more wide-eyed than Nicola had ever seen him before. “Fucking millions of fucking Julius fucking Nicholsons.”
Nicola, Ollie, Terri and Glenn all stared at Malcolm awaiting for the explosion. Terri and Ollie even inched away. It didn't happen. Malcolm instead quietly turned and stormed off.
The four of them stared at each other, wondering what to do.
“I think I'd better go stop Malcolm from killing himself,” Nicola said rushing after him.
“Just tell him I'd be happy to have him in the ranks,” Julius yelled after her. “That should do the trick. Well, back to the business of government,” he said with a smile.
Ollie, Terri and Glenn were left standing in the lobby, three air-breathers watching as the undead were carrying out the business of government.
“I should have fucking killed him when I had the chance!” Malcolm could be overheard yelling at Nicola some way away, indicating that Malcolm was making a swift recovery. “Where's the fucking axe gone! I'm going to fucking murder him! And then I'm going to murder fucking you!”
“Nicola's the Prime Minister,” Terri said, ending the silence between her, Glenn and Ollie.
“And Britain's overrun with decomposing upper-class gits,” Ollie added, matter-of factly.
“What do we do now?” Glenn asked.
“I don't know about you, but I've got a few week's holiday that I've been saving up for such an occasion,” Terri said.
“What, in case you somehow miraculously survive a zombie apocalypse and Punch and Judy there are left running the country?” Ollie asked.
“Yes, actually,” Terri said, nodding.
Somewhere in the distance, Nicola and Malcolm were still arguing, their voices drifting through the building. “Okay, umm, how about think of it this way Malcolm: Julius would vote with us. We've just won the election.”
“Fucking zombies can't fucking vote!” Malcolm yelled right back.
Ollie looked around and shrugged. He had heard Thailand was good at this time of year.