of it.
‘But I definitely saw something,’ says Billie, but nothing is moving outside.
‘Why did you think it was a zombie?’ I ask her.
‘Cos it was pale and thin and angry-looking.’
‘I can’t see nothing.’ The Ape is peering into the gloom.
Johnson sticks his head through the passenger window, the one the Ape smashed. When I see him do this it’s all I can do not to drag him back inside. If there is a zombie then that is not
the best thing to do.
‘Maybe you shouldn’t do that,’ says Billie and it’s another indication that she definitely likes Johnson.
‘There’s nothing out there.’ He withdraws his head, which makes Billie sigh quietly with relief.
‘Yeah. False alarm,’ I say, regaining my composure, when a face suddenly looms up at my window. It’s pale, the eyes are grey and mascara runs down its white colour-drained
cheeks. ‘ZOMBIE!!’ I scream.
‘Drive!’ Billie yells at the Ape, who slams his foot on the accelerator. But the little Fiat doesn’t move.
The zombie is banging on the window and I cower, unable to bring myself to look at it.
‘Hurry!’ I scream.
‘Put it in drive!’ Johnson screams at the Ape.
The zombie is banging so hard I’m sure the window is about to cave in. The Ape slams the car into drive and it lurches forward, the wheels spinning and taking an age to find traction.
‘OhmyGod. OhmyGod!’ Billie is hunched over, head in her hands, not wanting to see anything. ‘Is it gone?’
The car careers forward, but almost immediately hits a patch of oil and we start going into a skid. The car lurches towards the deep muddy ditch that runs between the road and the wood.
The Ape pumps the brake over and over but to no effect. ‘Hold tight!’ he booms.
The car is starting to tip over. We’re going to roll straight down into the ditch.
‘OhmyGod. OhmyGod!’ Billie is still crying out.
The Ape yanks the steering wheel and himself towards Johnson and the tiny car bows to the weight of his massive bulk and slams back down on all four wheels. Johnson is half crushed under the
sweaty behemoth and he’s probably become even skinnier as the car comes to a spinning twisting halt. Billie’s forehead bashes hard against her window and I can see that a lump is
already forming above her brow. The Ape turns the engine over, but it groans, ticks and then dies. Its dry whine echoes into the darkness.
‘Go, go, go!’ Billie screams as I check around, knowing the zombie will come at us again.
‘The head! Take the head off and we’ll be fine,’ the Ape says with the authority of someone who has watched one too many horror films.
‘I’m not doing that,’ yells Billie.
‘Well someone’s going to have to cos it’s coming.’ The Ape angles the rear-view mirror so we can see the zombie sprinting towards us. ‘I’ve got this,’
he says, opening his door, ready for battle. But because Johnson moved the seat forward to make space for me, he can open his door but he can’t seem to climb out of the tiny car.
‘I’m stuck!’ he says.
‘What!?’ Billie cries.
‘I can’t get out!’
The zombie is almost upon us.
‘Take the weapon!’ The Ape shoves the broom/knife towards Johnson and almost takes his eye out with it.
‘Careful!’ I call out.
‘Where is it?’ Johnson is trying to see past me and Billie, straining his neck in the tiny space.
‘Too late!’ Billie’s eyes have gone wide as saucers as a haze of white rushes towards the car, an angry vicious malnourished heap of hatred, bearing down on us.
‘I’ve got this,’ the Ape says again, clearly having decided that it’s now his brilliant catchphrase.
‘Stop saying that, you’ve
got
nothing! So far you’ve got absolutely zilch!’ Billie screams.
The Ape may not have much of a brain, but what little he does possess is used for violence and destruction. The feeling of sheer relief that I had in the supermarket comes back to me, making me
warm towards him all over again.
‘But I definitely saw something,’ says Billie, but nothing is moving outside.
‘Why did you think it was a zombie?’ I ask her.
‘Cos it was pale and thin and angry-looking.’
‘I can’t see nothing.’ The Ape is peering into the gloom.
Johnson sticks his head through the passenger window, the one the Ape smashed. When I see him do this it’s all I can do not to drag him back inside. If there is a zombie then that is not
the best thing to do.
‘Maybe you shouldn’t do that,’ says Billie and it’s another indication that she definitely likes Johnson.
‘There’s nothing out there.’ He withdraws his head, which makes Billie sigh quietly with relief.
‘Yeah. False alarm,’ I say, regaining my composure, when a face suddenly looms up at my window. It’s pale, the eyes are grey and mascara runs down its white colour-drained
cheeks. ‘ZOMBIE!!’ I scream.
‘Drive!’ Billie yells at the Ape, who slams his foot on the accelerator. But the little Fiat doesn’t move.
The zombie is banging on the window and I cower, unable to bring myself to look at it.
‘Hurry!’ I scream.
‘Put it in drive!’ Johnson screams at the Ape.
The zombie is banging so hard I’m sure the window is about to cave in. The Ape slams the car into drive and it lurches forward, the wheels spinning and taking an age to find traction.
‘OhmyGod. OhmyGod!’ Billie is hunched over, head in her hands, not wanting to see anything. ‘Is it gone?’
The car careers forward, but almost immediately hits a patch of oil and we start going into a skid. The car lurches towards the deep muddy ditch that runs between the road and the wood.
The Ape pumps the brake over and over but to no effect. ‘Hold tight!’ he booms.
The car is starting to tip over. We’re going to roll straight down into the ditch.
‘OhmyGod. OhmyGod!’ Billie is still crying out.
The Ape yanks the steering wheel and himself towards Johnson and the tiny car bows to the weight of his massive bulk and slams back down on all four wheels. Johnson is half crushed under the
sweaty behemoth and he’s probably become even skinnier as the car comes to a spinning twisting halt. Billie’s forehead bashes hard against her window and I can see that a lump is
already forming above her brow. The Ape turns the engine over, but it groans, ticks and then dies. Its dry whine echoes into the darkness.
‘Go, go, go!’ Billie screams as I check around, knowing the zombie will come at us again.
‘The head! Take the head off and we’ll be fine,’ the Ape says with the authority of someone who has watched one too many horror films.
‘I’m not doing that,’ yells Billie.
‘Well someone’s going to have to cos it’s coming.’ The Ape angles the rear-view mirror so we can see the zombie sprinting towards us. ‘I’ve got this,’
he says, opening his door, ready for battle. But because Johnson moved the seat forward to make space for me, he can open his door but he can’t seem to climb out of the tiny car.
‘I’m stuck!’ he says.
‘What!?’ Billie cries.
‘I can’t get out!’
The zombie is almost upon us.
‘Take the weapon!’ The Ape shoves the broom/knife towards Johnson and almost takes his eye out with it.
‘Careful!’ I call out.
‘Where is it?’ Johnson is trying to see past me and Billie, straining his neck in the tiny space.
‘Too late!’ Billie’s eyes have gone wide as saucers as a haze of white rushes towards the car, an angry vicious malnourished heap of hatred, bearing down on us.
‘I’ve got this,’ the Ape says again, clearly having decided that it’s now his brilliant catchphrase.
‘Stop saying that, you’ve
got
nothing! So far you’ve got absolutely zilch!’ Billie screams.
The Ape may not have much of a brain, but what little he does possess is used for violence and destruction. The feeling of sheer relief that I had in the supermarket comes back to me, making me
warm towards him all over again.
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