Crunch Time - A Zombie Comedy Without Too Much Horror

DISCLAIMER

All characters, events and places in this publication are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

CRUNCH TIME

In later years no one doubted that the zombie plague had been caused by fracking. To start with governments were loud in their denial. As for the earth, it had no voice in the matter. Had it been able to speak the land might have said, don’t frack with me, as pipes were rammed deep into it and fluid squirted out at high velocity. With age-old wisdom it might have added, actions have consequences, you bunch of silly frackers.

In this case the consequence was the zombie plague-gas that broke from confinement and bubbled upwards. The gas crawled towards the surface of the planet through fissures in the rock. It was first observed by those in unpopulated areas far from big cities.

What be that there evil looking gas? remarked one to another, an older man to a younger.

Dunno. A trick of the light.

I doubt that. I’ve not seen the like before. Let us take a closer look.

His young companion did a mental comparison of the rewards between trekking half a mile to look at some funny coloured light, or going home and opening a beer, and doing nothing in between waiting to open a second beer, and then a third beer, and so on. The decision was not a difficult one.

I can’t be arsed.

His friend sighed.

You cannot be arsed to do anything, Andy. How are you going to get anywhere in life, if you cannot be arsed all the time?

Dunno, said Andy. Then, screwing up his face in a frown of concentration, he added, I just can’t be arsed to be arsed.

The man who made that insightful analysis as to his own mental state, known to his friends as Can’t be Arsed Andy, saved his life on this occasion through not being arsed. Unlikely hero that he was Andy also saved the life of his companion. In place of a zombie plague the older man merely fell victim for a short time to Andy’s habitual lack of enthusiasm.

Others were not so fortunate in their companions. Beneath the great cities of the world the plague-gas could be arsed and it pushed through cracks in the rock. It worked its way up, entering subway tunnels and basements and emerging onto streets through gaps in the pavement. Many times the gas dissipated without infecting anyone. In a few cases, commuters were not so lucky. The gas burrowed deep into their lungs and spread zombie plague.

*

Thoughts of zombies were far from the minds of the employees of the law firm Saunders, Billings and Bramley late one Thursday afternoon, on a summer’s day in 2016, several months after implementation of the Zombie Act of that same year.

It was that awkward time of day when many considered leaving the office but knew it was too early to begin the evening exodus. Their thoughts preceded them, however. Some thought of home and having a pint or two on the way back to wash away their cares. Others looked further to the beckoning weekend.

No one can leave the office, got that? shouted Phil Phillipson, managing partner, sticking his head round the doorway of the corporate and commercial department. A smell of hair gel preceded him and would linger after he had left. Big deal to prepare for.

Only minutes before, the management team, comprising the three most powerful individuals in the firm, TJ, Zed and Harris, had informed Phil Phillipson that a major deal must be signed before close of play Friday, and that he should mobilize the troops. Some very important clients, very rich people, would be arriving at the firm’s rooftop helicopter pad to sign the deal on Friday. Contracts and other documents must be readied for signing all through Thursday night.

Instructions from the Team, as they called themselves, would no more be ignored by Phil than a kick up the backside from God himself. No one can leave. Got that? repeated Phil. But then he remembered the team-building course he had been sent on a while ago. An effortless natural rudeness had previously characterized Phil’s management style. The team-building course had taught him that by being positive and upbeat, he would likely achieve far more for far less in terms of motivating the staff and getting them to work, which equated to more money for the firm. He clapped his hands, rubbing them together briskly. Right people, we’re going to pull an all-nighter. Good phrase that; it made working late and earning money for other people seem impressive somehow. Let’s do this. Get the job done. Let’s pull that all-nighter. Let’s do it. Let’s pull it. Woo hoo! He gave his teambuilding grin and pumped the air with both fists.

Go pull yourself off, said Dave Rodwell, commercial lawyer, office philanderer and maker of love. He said it in a low voice but it was loud enough to cause a female colleague to giggle. Phil’s head swivelled in their direction. Dave grinned. He was planning to stay in the office overnight anyway. Long ago he had developed his own strategies for coping with the feast and famine routine of a busy corporate law department. For days or even weeks there would be little work and then suddenly everyone would be running around every hour of every day and night. Dave had adapted to this early in his career and now these enforced office sleepovers just made his life easier, dovetailing neatly into his plans for what he referred to in his mind as a Daverous Liaison. Dave’s thoughts were interrupted by an angry shout.

Oh no you don’t. We need you guys too. Phil had raised his voice and for a second lost the teambuilding tone he had adopted. He had spotted Ergo, Head of IT, and some other computer nerds putting on their coats and preparing to leave. You stay too. It’ll be fun, he added. Phil didn’t really think it would be fun but he had learned that as the most senior person present he could say things he didn’t believe and get away with it.

Ergo’s expression didn’t change. He took off his coat, right arm first, and hung it back behind the door. Like Dave, Ergo had no problem remaining in the office after hours. Dave had his liaisons while Ergo had his computers, 3D printer and other paraphernalia. They both slept in the office regularly, pursuing different activities. Sometimes they met in the small hours of the morning, unlikely companions over a coffee, Dave exhausted after a night of love-making, Ergo’s mind as clean and ordered as crystal atoms on a lattice. Ergo had that calm, distant look on his face that particularly irritated Phil.

Hey, get with it, guys! Phil attempted to high five Ergo. The latter failed to respond so he went with a low five, almost slapping him in the testicles, apparently by accident. Ergo regarded the hand dispassionately.

Come on! High five. Let’s do this. Oh, yeah! Get with me people. Lead the charge.

Ergo continued to ignore the proffered hand so Phil clapped the smaller man on the back, harder than necessary, causing him to stumble forward. Ergo’s expression changed for an instant, sharpening and becoming very bright. It was as if the owner of a house had suddenly stepped up and looked out of the window, satisfied himself in a brief glance that everything was in order, then retreated again, closing the blinds behind him. Phil did not see the sudden change in Ergo’s expression and whacked him on the back once more. This was team-building, show them he cared, bond or something. It was an effort for Phil as he did not enjoy the sensation of touching another person. Ergo didn’t like contact either but he submitted to the hand on his shoulder, waiting for it to go away. It would do so shortly, for, unless by some extraordinary low probability the hand should become detached from Phil’s arm (Ergo had already calculated the exact figure), it would in the normal course of events follow its owner out of the room. Based on Ergo’s prior observations he estimated the probability of Phil and his hand leaving within the next 30 seconds to be 99.568 to one.

Phil looked round at his colleagues. Ergo was in his own world while Dave was poker-faced; always difficult to read that one, though so disgustingly open about his sexual adventures. The younger lawyers had adopted expressions of polite interest that didn’t fool Phil. They must have been sick to death at the prospect of another missed weekend. Only that shrivelled old Audrey James looked mutinous, showing her angry face. Phil was annoyed at this insubordination. To remind her who was boss he would call her Aubrey, not Audrey, swapping the ‘d’ with a ‘b’. Though of course he would act as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He would look as blank as that nutter Ergo. Phil knew Audrey was too down-trodden to protest. She was the sole breadwinner for that loser family of hers, with a son who had gone off the rails bigtime, and grandchildren to feed.

Free pizza for everyone. Aubrey will get it. Aubrey, make sure the client is billed for it. Put it in ‘miscellaneous’. Well done, Aubrey.

He saw her thin shoulders stiffen and her mouth droop further, but as predicted she didn’t say anything. Now that was power. At the word ‘Aubrey’ Ergo had raised his head.

Good old Aubrey, added Phil.

Old Audrey, not old Aubrey, corrected Ergo but he was the only person not to wince at Phil’s use of the word old.

Phil looked at Ergo. He’s not all there, the lunatic, he thought to himself. As it happened, Phil was more correct in his diagnosis than he could have imagined. Ergo was not all there. This was a deliberate choice on his part. Technically it was Little Ergo who ran the social interaction side of Ergo’s personality. Ergo himself had more interesting matters to ponder. As a child (during monotonous school assemblies) Ergo had realized that he could disappear into his own head and wall himself in, to pursue whatever idea interested him at that moment. Many have this skill but Ergo could take it one step further. Due to certain unusual characteristics of his brain he could leave a small part of his mind to function as an independent personality and handle mundanities such as replying to figures in authority, taking toilet breaks and pretty much all other interactions with the outside world. Thus not even the wiliest of Ergo’s schoolteachers had been able to catch him out after accusing him of daydreaming or having his head in the clouds, though Little Ergo’s responses were often unsatisfactory in a way the teachers found difficult to put their finger on. At other times his tendency of replying to them literally was annoying.

When are you going to come out of your shell, Ergo? they would say.

I don’t have a shell, he would reply.

As he worked in the IT department of the law firm, where a lack of social graces was almost a qualification for the job, Little Ergo fitted in well. The actual work could be carried out in five minutes each day so he found himself otherwise unoccupied. For entertainment he had bought a 3D printer, describing it simply as a printer on his departmental expense forms. Somewhere in his mind he knew that a laser jet or inkjet would have been the more usual choice for an office. But the chances of discovery were slim. Few colleagues ventured into the uncharted territory of human social interaction that was the IT department of Saunders, Billings and Bramley. In any case the device looked nothing like a printer. Those that saw it assumed it to be a microwave oven. As for the spools of filament in a range of colours under Ergo’s desk, they looked like wire.

Little Ergo enjoyed making intricate puzzles using 3D graphics software and printing them out, watching them arrive, layer by layer, until they stood on the build plate, complete and perfect. A puzzle could take several hours to print and Little Ergo would sit motionless throughout that period, mesmerized by the nozzle moving to and fro, conjuring an object from thin air. Later he experimented with bigger objects. When news reports described zombie outbreaks across the country, Little Ergo opened up his 3D software and began designing something more practical.

Audrey looked sad. Good old Audrey, she thought to herself, when did I become ‘good old Audrey’? Phil could make a person feel so useless. Sometimes she almost thought he did it on purpose, but surely no one could be that mean. Phil was smiling at her now but it made her uncomfortable. She couldn’t say why. If it wasn’t for her grandchildren she would have left this job a long time ago. Part of the furniture, people said of her. In her younger days she had been something quite different but no one knew anything about that now.

Phil was looking closely at Audrey. Really it was about time she retired, he thought. She had a sullen look most of the time, like a brooding goblin. With her lined face and old-fashioned dress sense she didn’t fit the firm’s image. And she still looked cross. How annoying. It wasn’t good for junior lawyers to see her looking at him with that insubordinate expression.

Attaboy, Aubrey, said Phil. Good man. I’ll have a pepperoni and a portion of chips. Have mine sent up in an hour. And a latte too.

Audrey, not Aubrey, corrected Little Ergo.

Audrey looks unhappy, thought Dave. She looks as if she wants to tell Phil to take his pizza, roll it up into a tube, and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. Does anyone else have an order? she asked instead, glaring at the assembled company.

I would like five portions of chips but no pizza, said Little Ergo.

Perhaps you would like ketchup with your chips? asked Audrey.

No, good old Audrey, said Little Ergo. Attaboy!

Christ, thought Dave, if Ergo is going to attempt chit-chat he needs a better role model than pit viper Phil Phillipson. I’ll have a word with him later. I might even finally get him laid.

"Get your orders in, guys. I have urgent business. I’ll be back soon, said Phil, turning to leave the room. He heard someone say can’t wait" in a low voice. The comment was followed by laughter. Sounded like that philanderer David Rodwell. Phil considered how he might make the man’s life uncomfortable. At that moment he could not know that before 24 hours were up he would have the chance to subject Dave to severe physical abuse. It would have cheered him up no end. Leaving the corporate and commercial department Phil went downstairs to reception.

Phil’s urgent business was to mount guard at the door to the office and ensure that no one attempted to leave early. Any employee doing so would be shown up on the long walk of shame from the glass doors of reception across the cobbled courtyard to the firm’s inner gate. If they managed to slip through this gate without him seeing (it happened rarely) they would be home free, for the inner gate opened into a short tunnel that in turn ended at an outer gate and the high-street beyond. Looking out from reception, Phil’s view was partially obscured by the scaffolding and hoardings for the new building nearby, but he would still be able to name and shame any employee daring to leave at, or around, 5.00 p.m. The cobbled courtyard comprising the long walk of shame was the only thing Phil liked about the main building of Saunders, Billings and Bramley.

As he stood there he asked himself for the hundredth time if this would be the year the Team finally admitted him to their ranks. The Team had little contact with other members of the firm, a state of affairs encouraged by Phil. He had successfully eliminated the competition. This suited the Team as they preferred to run things from afar from their separate suite of offices adjacent to the helipad on the roof. The larger portion of their time was devoted to client entertainment and marketing. Phil was their man on the ground and below ground, in the trenches, driving employees, lawyers and tea ladies to sweat more, work harder and bring in more money for the firm. In the case of the tea lady this was difficult as, much as they would have liked to, they could not bill her time to clients. They had attempted to do so, calling the fee an uplift for due care and attention but clients could be unreasonable sometimes. So the tea lady must go. She was pronounced a non-fee earner and fired.

Phil lost little sleep over that last dismissal but it annoyed him that he was no longer brought coffee in the morning. His new secretary Kirsty had the cheek to remark that she wasn’t paid to make him drinks. Unbelievable what young people thought they could get away with these days. He was still looking for a way to fire her. He had a suspicion, as yet unproven, that she was indulging in some inappropriate sexual conduct with Dave. If he could prove it he would toss her out onto the street. Dave would probably get away with it, as usual, but as soon as Phil was a member of the Team he would rid the firm of the man once and for all. Phil smiled. For a long time it had been enough to be the conduit between the gods and the mortals but he was itching for more power. Soon he would be up there with TJ and the others, commanding a happy excess of money and influence; why he could even have his own personalized number plate. He had already climbed a long way with his two-pronged philosophy of ingratiating himself with those above and treading on the fingers of rivals below. Those sufficiently far below, the Audreys of this world, he bullied to let off steam; it was cheaper than therapy and a better hobby than birdwatching. There was a lot of dross in the firm, not only the useless non-fee earners but also among the endless layers of lawyers, associates, junior lawyers, senior lawyers, junior partners, senior partners, salaried partners and equity partners. Sometimes when considering who he could rationalize next, Phil prayed for some form of natural disaster to wipe them all out in one go. It would simplify things no end. Never in his most creative moments had he considered the possibilities of a zombie plague. But now his mind wandered and as it did so, the idea came to him that once he was part of the Team he would take it over. He would be more than just managing partner. He would be chairman, director, dictator, whatever, just let him get up there where he belonged. The Team were so very close to letting him into their nest that Phil could practically taste the power with his tongue. But someone was in his way. The management team were overlords of everyone except that drunken slob, Brian liquid lunch Billings.

Brian was the big fat fly in the ointment, standing in the way of progress, Phil’s progress. It had been