The Panchira Protocol

Chapter One: Induction

On the eve of the zombie apocalypse, Charlotte Robinson woke with a hangover and a nervous disposition. The hangover was courtesy of two bottles of chardonnay – enjoyed alone. The nerves, were because today was the first day of her new job. Her first 'proper' job. One that used her accounting degree in a financial role; not her tray-balancing skills in a café. Being hungover and nervous about your first day was bad enough, but as she sat on the edge of the bed and dug numb knuckles into red eyes, Charlotte remembered that last night she'd also broken up with Daniel. The two-timing bastard. So, the one bottle of celebratory wine was joined by a second, to truly drown her sorrows.

In the shower, she practised one of her calming visualisation exercises. She imagined Daniel to be a coating of thick grime slathered over her body from head-to-toe. He was even in her hair. Dirty grey clumps of muck that matted the blonde strands and took repeated applications of shampoo to dislodge. From her scalp to her feet, she cleansed herself of Daniel. Purged him from every inch of her skin and watched him swirl down the drain.

The tiny extractor fan lost its battle against the clouds of steam billowing from the shower cubicle. The vapour enveloped Charlotte in a warm, wet hug. She wrote to herself in the condensation on the glass door. Another tradition since her teens – her affirmations. In cursive script, small enough to fit what she wanted to say, each line bleeding water into the one below…

I don't need Daniel.

I don't want Daniel.

I don't love Daniel.

She smiled, remembering the old Meatloaf song; except for her the lyrics became 'None out of three ain't bad'

Under those three lines, she wrote…

I'm going to be great at my new job.

and…

Today is a new start.

Closing her eyes and lifting her face into the full force of the shower, she repeated those five affirmations and sighed with relief.

She left the bathroom, purified in body and soul, and continued her positive reflections while dressing and making coffee. She had a new full-time job that used her qualifications. That wasn't bad. She'd only had to suffer those two years of waitressing. She was free of that prick, Daniel. A lucky escape. And she rented her own apartment. Albeit small, and a little too far from the city, it was still hers. Her life was on track.

But within a matter of hours, Charlotte's life would derail in spectacular fashion.

—-

Traffic was heavy. Especially given that it was noon, and everyone should either have been at work or in school. Charlotte had allowed herself an hour to drive the thirty minutes to the other side of town. Partly because of her nerves and keenness to arrive early. Partly because she hated using the motorway bypass. The turbulence from passing trucks meant she had to fight the steering wheel to keep her little Corolla on course.

The Institute, as locals called it, sat an acceptable distance from the residential outskirts of the city. Acceptable being around ten miles. The reason for that distance lay in its full name 'The Johann Reil Institute for Research and Treatment of Behavioural Disorders.' Most locals would have preferred those ten miles to be a hundred.

When preparing for her interview last month, Charlotte had researched the place. Dr Johann Reill, long since dead, had been the original academic to coin the phrase 'psychiatry' Although the word in old Greek meant 'medical treatment of the soul.' So, she wasn't sure why this Reill person got the credit. Perhaps he was the first English-speaking doctor to put it into practice. As diligent as she was, she skipped reading the entire history of psychiatry. This facility no longer offered treatment, not since the scandals around electro-therapy. Nowadays, its purpose seemed limited to accommodating the afflicted.

The Institute received annual government funding of nine million dollars. A budget that she, as finance officer, would be responsible for. It sure beat helping Fred at the café balance his till receipts.

A siren drowned out the wailing of Oasis on the car's radio. An ambulance weaved through the stalled traffic, heading in the opposite direction to Charlotte. Another soon followed, and a police car.

Must be a big accident back in town, she thought.

The institute loomed large over her as she parked the car, checked her clothes and makeup, and then stalked up the sweeping stone stairs. With nobody at reception, she ventured further inside and knocked on a door labelled, 'Warden'. She heard a raspy, "Come in".

Entering the office with an air of well-rehearsed confidence, Charlotte noticed the mahogany desk first. It gleamed with the same autumnal copper and deep carmine of the trees beyond the window. So shiny was the polished wood, that she fancied it would serve as a mirror. Had the desk been unoccupied, she'd have leaned closer to adjust her blouse in its reflection. Instead, she stood by the door, achieving that elusive balance between self-assuredness and humility, and waited for the desk's occupant to notice her.

The scratching of his pencil did little to relieve the awkward silence. He seemed to scribble the same sentence meticulously, again and again, into a little dog-eared notebook. He swept each full page over with a flourish and began once more from the top. The repeated rhythm of the writing threatened to dull Charlotte into a mid-afternoon trance. She admonished herself for losing concentration and cleared her throat in the most subtle, least aggressive tone she could muster.

The scribbler finally raised his head from the notebook. His greasy black hair slicked back from a gaunt face, reminded Charlotte of the Count from Sesame Street. He reclined and stretched with a crack of vertebrae, lacing the fingers of both hands behind his head. The executive leather chair creaked and threatened to adopt a new centre of gravity. Charlotte imagined it tipping him upside down, headfirst, backwards through the windowpane. His thin lips curved into a somewhat maniacal grin as if he'd shared her mischievous thought and relished it.

He rocked the chair forward and spoke with a weasel's voice that matched the face, the hair, the ratty notebook, and the old business suit – two sizes too big.

"Charlotte Robinson, right?" the weasel wheezed.

"Yes, I'm here for my induction." She cringed. It was obvious why she was here. The man knew her name already. A simple, "Yes, nice to meet you," would have sufficed.

"Excellent. I'm the warden," he said this with a strange hint of glee and tapped his nameplate. It announced "Gerald Collins – Warden", in shiny brass letters on wood. Charlotte felt some relief that she wasn't the only one stating the obvious. She noticed he'd chewed his fingernails down to the quick and supposed that managing a psychiatric facility would be a stressful job.

The search for a chair proved fruitless. Apart from Gerald's desk, the office held only a tall grey filing cabinet and a large inbuilt cupboard. Perhaps this was some kind of test, to see how she'd behave in an awkward situation. What was the right thing to do? Sit cross-legged on the floor? There was no way this skirt would allow that. Should she put a bum cheek on the corner of the desk like some secretary from the sixties?

Mr Collins seemed just as unsure of protocols. He turned to look outside.

"Beautiful view, isn't it, dear?"

The question, despite the creepy inclusion of 'dear', gave Charlotte an excuse to move and stand at the window. He wasn't wrong. Autumn loved this part of the country. September sunlight ignited golden fires amongst the trees beyond an expansive emerald lawn.

"Yes, it is."

He swivelled his chair to look at her again. Rather than make eye contact, Charlotte kept her gaze fixed on the vista outside. If she made eye contact with this strange man at such close quarters, it might verify the lechery hinted by his voice. And that would shatter her confident demeanour. She'd give a fumbling excuse and flee. She pictured herself like the virginal prey in a schlock horror film, dashing across that wide lawn and scrabbling with the keys in her car's ignition; while the creepy warden stared out at her from his office.

"What colour is that blouse of yours, Charlotte?" he enquired matter-of-factly as if asking the time.

She couldn't help but look down. "I don't know, cream?"

He grunted. "Really? Cream is so… bland. I'd wager that if we took a peek at the label, it would reveal a more elegant description. Champagne, perhaps?" He paused and smiled with self-satisfaction. "Yes. Champagne is perfect."

If I have to run across that grass, I'd better ditch these heels.

"And that skirt is midnight blue? Is it not?" he blathered on. "The darkest of midnights. A midnight at sea perhaps, with the moon hidden behind gathering storm clouds."

"Shouldn't we start my induction?" She ventured, taking a step back.

"Yes, of course." He sighed. "Are you aware that this facility houses the most deranged psychopaths, sexual predators, serial killers, and all manner of other freaks?"

Charlotte thought that was a rather unprofessional way to describe the patients. When she'd researched her new employer, the company described them as 'clients'. With every sentence he uttered, she liked this warden less.

"Well, yes, but I imagine you have them locked up. And my role as finance officer doesn't involve any contact with the patients?"

This elicited no acknowledgement. The man was now looking at her feet.

"I see your shoes match your skirt. Very nice." He stood and looked her right in the eyes. "Tell me, what else are you wearing that matches?"

Charlotte's face flushed with indignation. But before she could voice a protest, three things happened.

An ear-piercing alarm sounded throughout the building.

A security guard burst through the office door.

The warden threw Charlotte across the desk.

Caught by surprise, she struggled underneath his weight, an arm pinning her chest. His other hand scrabbled at her legs in a frenzy, clawing at the hem of her skirt. She screamed and writhed, trying desperately to knee him in the groin as he shoved her skirt up to her hips.

The guard fired at Charlotte's assailant. Two electrified prongs fizzed through the air and stabbed into his left buttock. He shrieked in pain as electric spasms jolted through his frame. He looked up at her as he shuddered to the floor and despite foaming at the mouth, uttered, "Yes, they're champagne too, good girl!"

Charlotte backed up against the office wall.

The guard tapped a radio mic on his chest and shouted above the wailing siren. "Jimmy! I've got Tom. Zapped the little prick." He looked at Charlotte. "Got a civvy lady here, too. Ruffled, but otherwise… you okay, Miss?"

Charlotte nodded, regaining some composure. She realised her skirt was still bunched around her waist and pushed it back below her knees.

The guard smiled, as he twisted taser prongs from a quivering backside. "Excuse me while I deal with Tom here. I'll come check on you soon, don't worry." He lifted Tom by his loose collar and shoved him out of the office and down the corridor. "That's a week of isolation for you, Tommy boy," he said as they left. "I hope she was worth it." Tom apparently thought she was, as he began singing…

"Where were you while we were getting high? In a champagne supernova in the skyyyy…"

Charlotte, flustered but wanting to assert some pride, shouted after him, "They're not champagne, they're cream!"

The alarm stopped wailing. A merciful but eerie silence descended on the scene. The sun had settled lower, now hidden by trees, but for the occasional shaft of sparkling orange slicing across the grass.

Straightening her clothes and attempting to flatten any creases, part of her wanted to leave – most of her wanted to leave. To get in her car and drive home without looking back. Instead, she took stock, as she had that morning in the shower.

Yes, she'd been assaulted. There was no other word for it. Something like that had never happened to her. Up until now, she'd suffered only mild harassment, crude comments, and leering looks. The type of crap that most young women tolerated. But what happened here was physical and shocking. Her pulse and respiration were still too fast. Adrenaline had pumped through her body in its flight or fight moment, and she was yet to come down from the high.

But she was alive and unhurt and had accounted for herself admirably. Would she have been able to fight Tom off if the guard hadn't arrived? It was a question that might bug her for a while. But right now, she reckoned she'd have found his crotch with her knee, or scratched his eyes out. Something. Also, she wasn't a blubbering mess; she wasn't curled up in a corner sobbing.

She'd stay and wait for the guard.

A search of the desk turned up the usual accessories piled into the top drawer. A calendar, phone, pens, and other miscellany. The top was swept clean. To prepare for the assault, no doubt. Except for the name plaque, now on the floor, and next to it, the crumpled notebook.

She picked it up, curious to see what the creep had been scribbling when she arrived. In neat longhand, he'd filled the pages with 'Red and yellow and pink and green, purple and orange and blue.' She thought they might be the lyrics to an old song, but couldn't quite remember.

Of her employer, the real warden, there was no sign.

The security guard returned. "That's him locked up for another week." He sighed. "I'm surprised you didn't realise he wasn't the warden."

"Well, I noticed he was odd." She allowed herself to sound offended. "But what was I supposed to think? That he was obviously a psychopath, not the warden? Aren't you victim blaming?"

His expression softened. "Forgive me. That must have been frightening. We get used to it; you see. If it's not Peeping Tom stripping people, it's Alice biting them. Anyway, my name's Steve."

He held out a hand and smiled wider. Charlotte had felt enough awkwardness for one day, so she didn't leave him hanging. She shook it and tried to smile back.

"Thanks for coming to my aid. Any idea where the real warden is? I'm supposed to start work today as your finance officer."

Steve frowned. "Ah, I see. Well, he didn't come in this morning. And I can't reach him." His frown deepened. "Also, there's something strange going on in town."

"Strange? Like what?"

"Some kinda gas leak or biohazard. Come on down to the dayroom while you wait. We'll check if it's still on the TV."

Charlotte liked this Steve guy. He had a soothing vibe about him. Or maybe he was simply normal, and it was the contrast with Peeping Tom she enjoyed.

"I hope it's still empty, but stay behind me if there's anyone in there, ok?"

"You don't need to tell me that twice!" She laughed nervously as they left the office.

She followed him further into the facility. A corridor clad in flaky institutional green paint led to the dayroom, and Steve peered through murky glass panels in the double doors.

"Ok, there's only Alice in there. You'll be fine. Don't get too close and don't encourage any flirting."

"Wait, what is Alice's…hmm… disorder?"

"Oh, she's a vampire." Steve smiled and pushed the doors open before Charlotte could object.

Worn sofas and chairs of various types were scattered haphazardly, but most of them were facing an old television in the far corner.

A red-headed girl in grey track pants and tee-shirt with one leg draped over a chair's arm turned to face them. Alice.

"Steven," she spoke in soft, dulcet tones. "How many times do I have to tell you? The clinical term for vampirism is Renfield's Syndrome!" A freckled smile lifted her upper lip to reveal small, but gleaming, white fangs.

Alice stood and padded, barefoot, towards them. Her movements were precise. Smooth. Charlotte wondered if the young lady always moved like she was prowling a catwalk.

Steve stepped between them. His hand hovered over the taser's holster.

"Aw Steven, don't get all excited," Alice purred. "I only wanted a closer look at your latest girlfriend. She dresses well, doesn't she?"

"That's because she's a new member of staff, so watch yourself or she'll have to carry a taser like mine. Now, what's on the news? Any updates on that emergency?"

"Yep." Alice kept her eyes locked on Charlotte. "They're calling it a biohazard now. Infectious," she said calmly. "We're all going to die."

Steve walked over to the TV and turned up its volume. Charlotte stuck close to him, wary of the only vampire she'd ever met. Alice lowered herself back into her chair.

On-screen, a harried news reporter polished his glasses as if he couldn't believe what he was reading from his sheet of paper. He returned the glasses to his face and looked back into the camera, sweat glowing on his bald head.

"We're receiving reports of mass hysteria in the central city. And, this is unverified, but people report that victims of fatal, violent attacks are recovering and attacking others."

Alice had taken her gaze off Charlotte and was examining her own polished nails. She smiled; her lip exposed those white fangs again.

"See. It's the Zombie Apocalypse. We ARE all going to die, but we're going to rise again. Fun, eh!"

"Shuushhh!" Steve scolded her. "Let me listen!"

The newsman continued, "As reported, the State Governor has declared a civil emergency and requested help from the federal government. Our national guard will enforce a strict quarantine zone under the direction of FEMA. They advise anyone within city limits to stay home and shelter in place."

The screen switched to a graphic. A map of the city, sitting within a red circle. Steve leaned in closer and frowned at the screen.

"Shit, we're inside the quarantine zone."

"Oh my," Alice said. "Have the prison guards become prisoners?" She chuckled.

"I'm not a prison guard," Steve corrected her. "This isn't a prison!"

"Could've fooled me."

He ignored her, instead turning to Charlotte.

"Right. There'll be a protocol we need to follow, I'd imagine. But I have to go see if Maggie showed up for work today. She's our cook. Hmm, I don't suppose you want to look for any emergency instructions in Gerald's office?"

Charlotte wasn't keen on staying in the day room with Alice, but nor did she want to tag along behind Steve all day like a stray puppy.

"Sure. How long will you be gone?"

"Not long. And if I get tied up, I'll send Jimmy to look in on you. He's the maintenance guy and my second in charge of security." He tapped his radio.

"Jimmy, you there?"

"Yeah, boss, you hearing the news?"

"Yep. Can you close everything up?" He glanced back at the TV. It was now showing news of power blackouts across town. "And also check the generator. We might need it. Then we'll do a head count."

Alice piped up, "Please don't tell me I have to go to my cell for roll call?"

Steve sighed. "They're not cells, they're rooms. And no, you don't. But stay put, ok? I don't want to be looking for people all the time. God knows what kind of night we're in for."

Outside, dusk was settling over the gardens, with the sun dipping well below the tree line.

—-

Chapter Two: Aberrations

Back in the Warden's office, Charlotte explored the filing cabinet. Any notion of improper conduct had long gone. And anyway, she was following the security guard's orders. The top drawer contained patient records – a manilla folder for each individual, with a photo stapled to the corner. She forgot about looking for emergency instructions and instead searched these files. It didn't take her long to find Alice's folder.

Nine years earlier…

When Alice hit puberty, she underwent more than the usual physical changes, awkwardness, and sexual awakening. The hormonal rebalancing also delivered a revelation. She discovered the taste of blood to be delightful. Heavenly, in fact. When that red essence of life swirled over her tongue, it awakened clusters of dormant nerves in her brain. These nuclei sent shockwaves through the synapses of her amygdala and limbic frameworks. Wave upon wave of natural energy crashed through cellular beachheads. They forged new connections between those primal systems that drove emotion and survival instincts. Connections that shouldn't exist, not in 'normal' humans.

It happened in a millisecond on a grey Saturday morning – a week after her twelfth birthday. Her little brother came off his bike and skinned his knee on the pavement. Alice kissed it better. When the traces of haemoglobin seeped through her pursed lips to her tastebuds, her body shook. But even while the fireworks exploded in her mind, instinct warned her to hide the behaviour. She pushed her lips harder against the boy's knee and clenched her fists to control the shivers. When they subsided, she looked up to see her brother's bewildered expression.

"You're a weirdo Alice," he said, getting to his feet.

"Takes one to know one," was the best retort she could think of, turning away from him to lick more of his delicious blood from her lips.

That night in bed, Alice stared at the bedroom ceiling and thought not of boys, music, TV shows, or homework. Those things had paled into insignificance.

Alice thought of one thing, and one thing only.

Her thirst for blood.

—-

She discovered her own blood didn't cut it. Her experiment with a craft knife on the end of her thumb yielded a few drops of the magic red fluid, but it tasted bland. It provided none of the stimulation her brother's had. That made sense to Alice. Even at twelve, she could rationalise. Her own blood coursed through her veins all the time. It was not special. Not to her, anyway. It was like tickling herself. It didn't work.

What followed was a very awkward time at school. Alice would appear on the scene of any accident or fight. She administered first-aid with growing skill and hid her tremors when she stole a sneaky taste from someone's wound. But the accidents were not frequent enough to sate her thirst.

She needed more accidents to happen.

As skilful as she was at masking her urges, it wasn't long before teachers realised bad things happened around Alice. Things that resulted in injury. Shoving a boy through a plate-glass window 'accidentally' was the final straw that sent her for psychiatric evaluation.

—-

Charlotte closed the folder. She never imagined she'd meet a real-life vampire. She wondered if the other patient files were as intriguing. There didn't seem to be many as thick as Alice's. Most of the folders contained few pages and lacked a photo. She left those for another time and checked the next drawer. It contained much less interesting administration paperwork but yielded an emergency procedure.

The fluorescent lights flickered, died for a heart-stopping moment and came to life again. Charlotte made haste to the dayroom to find Alice pacing.

"We better get back, it's dark now," the teen vampire took on a younger voice and muttered, without turning. "They mostly come at night. Mostly."

"Aliens," Charlotte answered. "Great flick."

Alice turned to show her smile. "I love that movie. Jimmy lets me watch it in his workshop."

"That's nice of him."

"Yeah, he's a nice kid." Alice shrugged. Charlotte smiled back and doubted that Jimmy was any younger than Alice.

Steve returned with the maintenance guy himself. A lanky young man wearing dirty denim, in his late twenties.

After the introductions, Steve fished a security card from his pocket. "Bit of a strange first day on the job," he said, handing it to Charlotte. "Originally, this card would only get you into the admin areas, but I've reset it to be a master. It will let you through any door now, in case things go nuts."

"Hey, can I have one of those?" Alice asked to no avail.

Charlotte took the card. "How crazy do you think it's going to get?"

Jimmy answered before Steve.

"Oh man, the city has gone to hell. It's a full-on zombie apocalypse. You know Day of the Dead? Like that, but much worse. Thank God we're not stuck in a shopping mall like they were. Waaay too many entrances into a mall. Would take all night to board them up."

He stopped to take a breath and looked around, perhaps waiting for someone to tell him to shut up. When no one did, he continued, "I reckon this mental hospital, sorry Alice, is the best place to make a stand. Well, the police station would have been good too. But last I heard, it was over-run. And anyway, we'd never make it there. No, this is the place to be. Few ways in or out, and the old building is pretty solid. Plus, we got a good view of most approaches. I'm gonna make a lookout post upstairs. Although it won't be much use till morning. I haven't got night vision goggles, damn..."

Steve stopped him. "Have you quite finished, Jimmy?"

"Yeah sorry. Just sayin'. We gotta make preparations. The good guys never plan well enough. There's always something that someone forgets." His eyes widened as something occurred to him. "Shit! The sewer, I forgot the maintenance tunnel to the sewer. I need to secure it. Zombies would find that easy. 'Scuse me!"

And with that, he ran off.

Alice laughed. "Kid thinks he's in the movies."

"Well, he might not be too far wrong," said Steve. "This is sounding more like a horror movie all the time. If the army's been called in, they're not messing around. Things are bad." He turned towards the TV set in the corner, as static replaced the news anchor. "And there goes the TV, so that means the repeater station up at Oakridge has lost power."

"Did you find Maggie?" Alice asked. "My… condition… gets worse if I'm hungry. Please tell me the cook made it into work."

"She did, yes. She's doing an inventory of her food stores."

"So, can I ask, how many mouths will Maggie be feeding?" asked Charlotte.

"Good question." Steve started counting on his fingers. "There's you, me, Jimmy, Mags. That's the staff. And we've got Alice here, Peeping Tom, and…oh yeah, Felix."

"But when I was looking for this procedure…" Charlotte passed him the laminated page of emergency instructions. "There were a lot more patient files in the Warden's office."

Steve glanced at Alice, who folded her arms and smirked. "Yeah, Mister Security Man, where are all those patients?"

He sighed. "They don't exist. As Alice well knows. The Warden was running a very slick scam, claiming expenses and setting budgets based on thirty patients when we only have the three."

"You knew this, and didn't report it?" Charlotte asked, shocked.

"Yes, and nope. We'd all lose our jobs. There's no way the health department would keep this place open to look after so few patients."

"And they'd transfer us to a much bigger place full of psychos," said Alice.

Charlotte decided against reminding Alice that she fit under that category.

"It's been a good gig. I suppose we knew it wouldn't last forever," Steve said with resignation.

"That must have taken some real imaginative bookkeeping." Charlotte shook her head. "I wonder why he hired me?"

"I think we were going to be audited. From the phone calls I overheard, anyway," Steve said. "My guess is he was going to get your help with the financial reports."

"And drag me into major fraud—"

"Hey Princess," Alice interrupted. "Fraud's the least of your problems now. We're in the middle of a shit storm here."

Steve tossed the emergency plan onto a nearby sofa. "Well, that's not much help. It covers fire, earthquake, flood, and a bomb threat. I wish we had to deal with any of those right now. Or even all of them."

"Whatever's happening in the city might not reach us," Charlotte said. "We might just have to wait this out until it's under control."

"Well, that's the best-case scenario. But I intend doing my job as security and making sure we're as safe as possible in the meantime."

"We got any guns, hotshot?" Alice asked.

"I don't know if I should tell you that!"

"Aw come on. I like to bite – and sometimes lick." Alice winked at Charlotte. "But guns aren't my thing. I hear Zombies don't enjoy a bullet to the head, though."

"Well, we have a 12guage shotgun under lock and key, and twenty rounds for it. So, not a long-term solution. Apart from that, we've got the tasers and infinite ammo for those, given that we can recharge them. But you'd need to be within ten feet of a zombie to use one, so…"

As the pair chatted, Charlotte reflected that mere hours ago, her morning had been normal – in the shower with a hangover, cursing that scumbag Daniel, and stressing over her first day at a new job. Now she was stuck in a psychiatric prison, listening to a vampire give advice on how to defeat zombies. Thinking of Daniel made her wonder if he'd survived the chaos in the city. She shocked herself by hoping they had eaten him alive.

Wow, this place is rubbing off on me already.

Chatter from outside the room interrupted her thoughts. Jimmy had returned with a short, chubby lady in tow. She guessed this would be Maggie.

Jimmy looked somewhat bedraggled but also pleased with himself.

"There's a big ole' iron grate in the sewer, a few feet into this end. Ain't no way they're getting through that in a hurry." As he walked closer, they all smelt the stench hanging off him.

"Far out, Jimmy!" Steve choked on his words. "Hit the showers. You stink!"

Maggie jumped to his defence. Her voice matched her appearance – that of a mother-hen. "Hey, don't be mean to the lad. He came to check on me. Made sure I was ok and gave me a personal escort." She lifted a corner of her kitchen apron and attempted to wipe the grime from Jimmy's face.

"Yeah well," Jimmy said, blushing and backing away from the cook like she was an embarrassing aunt kissing him. "I figured we should always travel in pairs, you know? In the movies, it's always the first person to go somewhere alone that gets killed off."

"He's right," Alice said, "and you shouldn't shower alone, Jimmy. Bad things happen in the showers to handsome young men like you. Shall I come and keep watch? And scrub your back for you?"

"Do you ever quit, Alice?" Steve held his hand out in a mock gesture to fend her off.

"Only when my thirst is sated," she grumbled.

Charlotte spoke up, "I need the bathroom. Can you show me where it is, Jimmy? Don't take offense if I stay a few steps behind you, though." Alice made her uneasy. She could use a break from those thirsty eyes. Something about them kept drawing her in.

"Deal," said Jimmy. "Let's go. I'll show you the laundry too, gotta grab some new clothes."

Steve, their apparent leader, shrugged his agreement.

Charlotte followed the smelly janitor down a corridor new to her. Green paint still flaked from the edges of every doorway.

"You seen any of the Halloween movies?" Jimmy asked over his shoulder.

"Only the original one. I'm not much into horror."

"Aw man, they're great! The Nightmare on Elm Street movies are better, but I was thinking of Halloween because Michael Myers, you know, the bad guy? He escaped from a mental asylum like this place at the beginning."

Charlotte waited in case he hadn't finished before she replied. You never knew with Jimmy – he might be taking a breath.

"I suspect there isn't another place like this," she quipped. "Not even in the movies."

"Yeah. This place is way worse." He laughed.

A few turns later they arrived at the laundry room. Two large industrial washing machines sat idle to one side; the other half of the room held a drying cage to hang the wet clothes. A ceiling fan turned with a clicking noise that suggested a worn bearing. Jimmy retrieved a clean pink nurse's smock and pants from a cupboard.

"Looks like I get to play nurse for a while. You know Freddy was an evil nurse in Elm Street Four," he mused as they walked on.

The bathroom and showers were as Charlotte imagined – a row of stalls, with sinks opposite, and behind them a grated floor with six shower heads protruding from chipped yellow wall tiles. A chain hung below each one.

"Lemme use the bathroom and then I'll wait outside," Charlotte said, as Jimmy started removing his filthy clothes.

Jimmy's shower took less than five minutes. Far too quick, in Charlotte's opinion, even if he didn't have affirmations to write on the wall. He reappeared wearing the nurse's outfit, and she tried her best not to laugh. It wouldn't have mattered, though. He didn't look at all perturbed by his appearance.

"Pretty swish, eh!" he said, adjusting the collar, now damp from his dripping hair. "I think I'll do the drugs round, hah!"

"Boots! You'll need to wash them too," she said, as he was about to put his clean foot inside one.

"Oh, yeah…" He about-faced to put them under a shower. Charlotte reflected on how natural it felt, to give him orders. She did not know if she was his superior, but regardless, he seemed to require direction.

He came back squelching in sodden boots. "Sure hope these dry out before the zombies get close. They'll hear me from a mile off!"

The lights flickered once, twice, and died.

"Yep, the boss was right, gotta fire up the genny," Jimmy said in the darkness.

Charlotte couldn't resist the urge to reach for his hand and was glad when he didn't complain or make a silly comment.

The radio crackled to life with Steve's voice, "You on that Jimmy?"

Charlotte grabbed the radio and answered for him, in case he let go of her hand.

"Yes, we're on it," she said after pressing and holding the mic button.

Steve replied, "Er okay… be careful out there."

"Hill Street Blues," Charlotte muttered as they wandered on through the darkness.

"Sorry?"

"An old cop show my dad let me watch with him. Never mind."

The generator lived in a shed a few hundred yards behind the West Wing. Fortunately, they had a near full moon to light the way; its pale glow casting grey shadows. A slight breeze whispered from nearby trees and here in the crook of the building's two wings, it swirled leaves around their feet. With the heat of the day long gone, Charlotte shivered in the chill night air.

Jimmy yanked the ageing door of the shed open and Charlotte followed him in before he could even think of telling her to wait outside.

Inside the musty, cramped space, their bodies brushed against each other. Jimmy muttered apologies while he primed and started the generator. It coughed to life, filling the shed with exhaust. They made a hasty retreat out of the noxious fumes.

A few lights flickered to life inside the main facility.

"Emergency lighting," Jimmy explained, as they hurried back inside. "Hey, I wonder if light attracts the zombies. That would be different to the movies."

Charlotte decided the question was rhetorical, so didn't offer an opinion. She was grateful to be back inside when Jimmy closed the door behind them.

Steve came on the radio again, "Good shit Jimmy, that should give us power until morning, right?"

"Yep, and perhaps longer. But we're going to need more diesel before tomorrow night."

"Damn. ok. Hey, can you swing by the ward on the way back, check on Tom and Felix?"

"Sure, boss!"

Jimmy hung a left at the next corner. "Keep well back from the cell doors," he warned Charlotte. "Tom isn't so bad, but Felix is dangerous."

"I've met Tom." Charlotte shivered. "I'm not sure how you define 'not so bad'. You'd think differently if you'd had Tom up your skirt, Jimmy."

"Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot his fetish. If it's any consolation, he would only have taken them off you. Nothing else."

"Well, that isn't any consolation!"

Jimmy either didn't detect any anger or brushed it away. Nor did he have the sense to discontinue the subject, waffling on about Tom as they made their way through yet more bleak, dimly lit corridors to the ward.

Tom McMaster was raised by nuns – and therein lay the problem, according to most experts.

Dumped at the convent door in a cardboard box with his name scrawled on the side, Tom was at the mercy of The Sisters of Mercy. Aptly named, most of them, except for Mother Superior. A haggard old witch who wanted none of this sinful delivery. Were it not for the brave protests of the younger sisters, Tom would have fetched up at the local orphanage; a dreadful place with dreadful outcomes. Instead, the omen of God reminded Mother Superior of her forgotten Christian values. And so it was that Tom could stay; provided he did not interfere with the godly mission of the convent. Whatever –that was.

Home-schooled by young women who had little schooling themselves, Tom grew up with a narrow view of the world; to match his narrow, stunted frame. When he developed sexually, he also developed his fetish.

It was all on account of hide and seek.

Should Mother Superior be on the warpath for his latest act of mischief, Tom would hide beneath the habit of the nearest friendly sister. Safe within the dark hessian folds, he made exciting discoveries. First, nuns' underwear was made of softer stuff than their outerwear – cotton, smooth to the touch. Second, unlike the outerwear, the underwear could be a variety of colours.

One day, Sister Francine sang a tune while she hid him between her legs. It was summer in the convent garden, with no need for stockings. Tom stroked her calf, but she didn't stop him while she sang in her beautiful, angelic voice…

"Red and yellow and pink and green

Purple and orange and blue

I can sing a rainbow

Sing a rainbow

Sing a rainbow too.

… Listen with your eyes

Listen with your ears

And sing everything you see

I can sing a rainbow

Sing a rainbow

Sing along with me.

… Red and yellow and pink and green

Purple and orange and blue

I can sing a rainbow

Sing a rainbow

Sing a rainbow too."

Sister Francine wore pink underneath that day. Tom would remember that forever.

To guess the colour became a game within the game; the desire to play this game and none other, drove Tom towards madness. It became necessary to cause mischief to – have an excuse to hide. That was until his obsession led to him being consumed with the desire to conduct a daily audit of the convent's colours.

Nature, that cruel bitch, cursed Tom with raging hormones and a growth spurt at the same time. He could no longer squeeze between the sister's legs without it being obvious they had something large and obnoxious hidden under their habits. Even Francine, who'd seemed to enjoy the game on most occasions, swatted him away with: "You can't play that game anymore, Tom, you're too big."

Tom slid down a slippery slope with sudden acceleration. They caught him hiding in a young nun's wardrobe, masturbating while he watched her undress.

And so began his tour of juvenile institutions. Each worse than the one before. But he still managed occasional escapes to feed his fetish. The game had to be played. The colours had to be seen. Tom's mental encyclopedia of hues, shades, and styles grew with every skirt-lift and pantsing. He kept score, and his score was high; a cricket score, not a soccer one. Tom felt if the guessing game ever made it to the Olympics, he was a shoo-in for the gold medal. A success rate of over 50% was down to spotting and remembering trends. Some were easy, some less so. Among the easy – schoolgirls often wore white cotton panties. He learned certain private schools made them compulsory. The boarding schools anyway. They became less of a challenge. Lower socio-economic day schools were more fun. Some of the nicer, good girls might wear blue. Sky blue, not navy. Tom acquired a paint colour chart from the local hardware store so that he could learn the shades. Some naughtier looking girls wore black, skimpier things on their hips. Even black had different names, like Onyx, Obsidian, and Raven. Tom didn't have the time to distinguish these different blacks, not when the girl in question screamed as he lifted her skirt and inspected her backside. He had less than a second to confirm his guess before making his escape.

Businesswomen wore smoother, silkier garments. Often beige. Sometimes also black. Sometimes fawn or tan. Less confident women, and Tom learned to tell by their demeanour as much as their looks, wore 'granny pants' Some sporty types wore ass-hugging trunks, often in bright neon colours.

When he couldn't play the game 'live', he'd steal underwear instead. Anywhere Tom lived for any length of time, undergarments would go missing. He'd hide his treasures and revisit them later, squinting his eyes shut to guess colours from the touch of the fabric.

The last attempt at studying his psyche resulted in the psychiatrist's receptionist being relieved of her undies and Tom being led away screaming, "Beige! I knew it!" After that, he ended up at the Johann Reill Institute, waiting for an opportunity to pull Alice's pants down. He was pretty sure she'd wear scarlet red. But that was yet to be confirmed.

—-

Jimmy pushed open the double doors with "RESIDENTIAL WARD ONE" etched above them. "You can wait for me here if you like?" he offered.

"It's fine. I can cope with Tom if he's locked up."

Tom yelled from within a room on the left, "Is that our beautiful new finance officer I can hear? Like a champagne supernova in the skyyyy…"

Jimmy peered through the small viewing port set into the door. The patient sat on a bed that folded out from the wall, opposite a toilet. "Hey Tom, you good in there? We're on emergency power. There's been some real shit gone down in the city."

Tom's sharp features appeared in the glass, fogging it up. "What kinda shit? The kind that will get me outta here?"

"Well, we might let you out of isolation if we need your help. But you've got to leave the ladies alone. Anyway, that will be up to Steve, not me."

"Ah, Steve… the guy that gets off by tasering the patients, because they want to sneak a peek at something nice once in a while." Tom winked at Charlotte, hovering behind Jimmy.

Charlotte decided she would not be a constant target for Tom. She pushed Jimmy to the side and took his place. Her face was inches from Tom's.

"They're cream, not champagne, you pretentious little perv. Their label said so. And if you hadn't attacked me, I might have shown you."

"No, you wouldn't," Tom replied in a sulky voice, with a new expression to match.

Charlotte reminded herself that these patients had mental issues, otherwise they wouldn't be here. Tom's mental age was well below his physical one. Attempts at a rational conversation were futile. She stood back.

"Anyway," said Jimmy, "we're off to see Felix. You chill out there, Tom. We'll update you later."

"Sure Jimmy, thanks for the heads up. I'll cancel that round of golf I was planning for the morning."

Charlotte couldn't help smiling. Tom wasn't so stupid after all if he had such a command of sarcasm.

They passed some empty rooms, larger than the isolation cell. They each had a more substantial bed, with drawers underneath. A desk and chair. On the far wall, was a decent-sized window with blinds. They looked as good as a cheap hotel. "That's Alice's." Tom gestured at a room on the right, pushing the door open for a better view. Charlotte strolled over to see how a modern-day vampire lived. It appeared they'd given Alice free-rein over her decorations, but she hadn't settled on a single style or theme. A deep crimson rug covered the floor and dark gothic images adorned the walls; generic posters of goth women sprawled across lavish furniture. A willowy figure clad in a ghostly white negligee slunk among twisted trees; gnarled fingers reaching for her from the earth below. In the corner was a skull-shaped lamp, the bulb within shining red through its empty eye-sockets and teeth. The bed, however, seemed to belong to a younger child. A rose pink and lavender blanket matched the pillows, next to which sat a congregation of soft toys. Charlotte smelled contrasting aromas too; sandalwood and a sweeter smell, like bubble-gum. The air was thick with the mixture, and she coughed.

"She's been burning incense and oils again," Tom explained. "It's not allowed, and we tell her off from time to time, but you know, teenage girls and all that."

Charlotte laughed. "Yes, Dad."

"Well, I'm more like the big brother," Jimmy said in his serious voice. "The warden would be Dad, although he was hopeless. Never came down here. More interested in the money. Hmmm… I guess that makes Steve Dad." He gave a single nod, almost to himself, settling on his idea.

They strolled further through the dim light.

"We have to be super quiet." Jimmy turned the volume knob on his radio all the way to zero. "Felix hates noise. It's why he's in here. You've heard of him, right?"

"Nope. Sorry, I researched the place, but not the patients."

"Well, I suppose it was a while ago. Anyway, he's the famous serial killer, and… oh crap," Jimmy's voice lowered to a whisper. "Houston, we have a problem." He put his arm out to stop Charlotte from walking any further and raised a finger to his lips. "Felix is out," he whispered, indicating an open door ahead of them.

They backtracked, with Charlotte resisting the temptation to tiptoe all the way. Re-entering the dayroom, Jimmy ignored Alice, announcing, "Hey look, it's Molly Ringwald from Pretty in Pink!"

"Felix has done a runner, boss." Jimmy flopped down on a couch next to Maggie, who appeared to be dozing off. Alice stopped giggling at his outfit. "Oh great. I wonder which will get us first, the psycho on the inside or the zombies on the outside?"

"You're such a cheerful little lass, aren't you, Alice?" Maggie yawned, mid-nap. "Felix is ok. As long as you're not too loud."

"But how did he get out?" Charlotte asked.

Steve quit fiddling with the TV's tuning dial and sighed. "We have this kind of agreement. Felix isn't locked in, provided he stays put and doesn't terrorise the place. And before you tell me that's a stupid agreement, remember this facility isn't a prison, and he's an old man now. He was here to be studied, like the lovely Alice, and your friend, Tom." He cringed when he saw Charlotte protest. "Sorry! I shouldn't make light of it. Look, the thing with Felix is that he hates noise. He even selected his victims on this basis, to shut them up. He hasn't hurt anyone in years, not while he's been here. But he freaks out at anything over a whisper, so yeah, avoid loud noises!"

Alice whispered, "Hey Jimmy, that means you'll have to stop talking. Think you can manage that?"

"You're too funny, Alice." Jimmy gave her the finger.

"I wouldn't go waving your body parts around, young man. They might get bitten off."

Steve interjected, "Let's take stock, shall we?" Anything to change the topic before the 'kids' started bickering. "Maggie, how are the food supplies?"

Maggie forced herself from her nap. "They're excellent if you like beans and rice," she said, sitting up. "We seem to have heaps of those. The beans won't need cooking, but I'll need electricity to cook the rice.

"I'm not eating cold beans," Alice grumbled.

"Jimmy, is the kitchen connected to the backup power grid?" Steve asked.

"Nope – it would draw way too much wattage. The generator only powers the emergency lighting, the siren, and a couple of wall outlets. One in admin and one in the ward, I think."

"We could move the microwave to one of those outlets," said Maggie. "I'd be able to heat stuff up and cook small amounts of beans and rice, too."

"Until we run out of diesel, yep," Jimmy said. "After that, it's good old campfire cooking."

Charlotte wondered why they all seemed resigned to being stuck in this old mental hospital. "I don't think this thing will last long. The military or whoever's in charge will come and give us the all clear."

Jimmy tutted. "If the military gets involved, it never ends well. I haven't seen a movie where they come in and save the day."

"This isn't a movie, Jimmy." Maggie leaned over and patted him on the head, as she would a puppy.

"He might have a point," Steve said. "We're in that red zone they showed on TV. I wouldn't want any trigger-happy soldiers deciding we look like zombies."

"Speak for yourself." Alice stood and stretched then wandered over to peer outside. "I look nothing like a zombie. I'm sure a squad of handsome young soldiers would be keen to rescue me."

"Yeah, and lose a pint of blood each," Steve mumbled. "Don't open those drapes any wider. We're not sure if light attracts them."

"You honestly think there are zombies out there?" Maggie asked. "I hope my cat's ok."

"Your cat has a better chance than humans at the moment," said Jimmy. "It can move faster and climb up high, out of the way. Plus, there'll be plenty of food to eat. Zombies only like brains!"

It was Charlotte who admonished him this time, "Jimmy, that's not helpful. Seems like we're all calling them zombies now, ok, but the brain eating is a little farfetched. It will be a transmissible disease that gives people zombie-like tendencies, but I doubt that includes eating brains."

Alice strolled back from the window. "Yeah, well, I've got vampire-like tendencies. So, they better not come anywhere near me."

"If you bite them, you'll get infected and become a zombie vampire." Jimmy laughed.

"And I'll be coming for you first, little Jimmy boy. How fast can you run?" Alice lunged for him.

"That's close enough, Alice." Steve stepped forward.

The teasing vampire slunk to her seat. "You realise, Steven, that your boy here lets me watch movies with him, all nice and snuggly down in that workshop of his?"

"Yes, well, I'll deal with that later, if things ever return to normal."

"I'm not sure you guys know what normal is," Charlotte whispered.

Maggie smiled. "We are quite the weird bunch, aren't we, love? And you? Do you have pets at home you're worried about? Or people, for that matter?"

"No pets. And no people," Charlotte answered. "I'm what real estate agents call a 'slinky', a single female in an apartment." She paused before deciding she may as well share with these people that she'd be stuck with for God knows how long. "I had a boyfriend. But he turned out to be an asshole. We didn't live together, anyway. We might have…if he hadn't…" Charlotte raised her head and stared at the ceiling. "…well, you know what asshole boyfriends do."

Maggie gave her a tight hug. One of those you can't escape from, even if you wanted to.

Alice muttered, "They're all assholes. Good for one thing only, and no, not the thing you're thinking of."

And she licked her lips.

"I've got a kid I should check on!" Steve blurted out.

All heads turned his way. His was down, examining his hands. "Scotty," he mumbled. "He's six. I hardly see him though. He lives with his mother."

"Why didn't you say something?" Maggie asked.

"Well, that settles it," said Jimmy. "We have to go into town sooner rather than later. Check your boy, get diesel for the generator, and some firepower. Can't survive a zombie attack without lots of guns. Not unless you want to get up close and personal with 'em."

Charlotte felt they were sinking deeper into fantasy. "Jesus Jimmy, it's not a war."

"You won't say that when the first wave arrives."

"Well, you can't go until morning. You're not leaving us all here all night. With Felix on the loose!"

"She has a point," said Alice. "If someone snores too loud, they might not wake up. Do you snore Mags?"

"We'll go in the morning," Steve silenced them. "Charlotte, can you come with me tomorrow? We'll leave Jimmy to look after these guys."

Charlotte tried to think which was worse. A trip into a zombie-infested city with the security guard, or staying behind with the scrawny handyman, vampire girl, and cook. Not to mention a serial killer on the loose and a locked-up pervert. She opted for the latter. "Ok, I'll come and help," she said.

Jimmy didn't seem too perturbed, perhaps enjoying the idea of being in charge. "I'll need to explain what guns and ammo you should grab," he said. "I could do some drawings." He patted down his pink nurse's smock to see if it contained a pen and paper. It did not.

Charlotte checked her watch. It was close to midnight, and she was dead tired. As if reading her mind, Maggie yawned again. "What's the plan for sleeping, Steven?" the kindly cook asked.

"I hadn't considered it, to be honest. I suppose Jimmy and I will take turns keeping watch while everyone tries to get some sleep. Let's pull the bigger couches together, try to make things more comfortable."

They created something of a sleeping den from the mismatched furniture. Cushions served as pillows, rather than anyone risking another trip to the ward. Steve pulled a chair over to the door for the watch station he'd share with Jimmy.

Alice checked the window one more time before bedding down. Drifting clouds had blocked most of the moon's light. If zombies were lurking in the tree line, she couldn't see them.

—-

Felix had found the source of the annoying noise. It was coming from the shed outside. The idiots that ran this place must have had a generator in there and were using it to power the lights. In Felix's opinion, the din was not worth the light. There was no excuse for such a racket. The clattering engine noises ricocheted between the peeling walls of the institution and the warped walls of Felix's mind. Were it not for the risk of more noises assaulting him outside, he'd have marched out to the shed and shut the thing off. The lights be damned. He found those annoying too, with the incandescent bulbs emitting the high-frequency buzz of a hovering mosquito. No, darkness was Felix's friend. And darkness came with another of his friends, his best friend, in fact – peace. The man wanted nothing more than to silence every source of sound that violated his peace.

The science people had raked over his psyche after his killing spree to identify a triggering event that set him off. Had someone subjected him to an awful, torturous noise as a child? Perhaps as punishment? Or sick abuse? There was no such event. Unlike Tom, whose affliction they blamed on naughty nuns hiding him in their skirts, Felix had snapped one day, with no clue or warning.

Thirty-five years earlier.

As he found most sounds irritating, and human sounds more irritating than most, Felix grew into something of a hermit after his teen years. He took jobs that kept him away from crowds, such as night security patrol, or cleaning office buildings, again at night. His daily routine centred around the avoidance of noise, and thus the avoidance of its usual source: people.

This included buying his groceries either when the supermarket first opened in the morning, or just before it closed at night. Felix survived a long time with this lifestyle; well into his thirties. Until everything came crashing down during one of these shopping trips. Unable to find an empty cashier, he'd had to wait behind a lady buying wine. Drunk already, she'd launched into a tirade against the poor serving girl. Felix wasn't sure of the detail. The cashier was either asking for ID or refusing to serve her; he didn't care. All he cared about was the assault on his ears and his mind when the mad customer started screeching her indignation.

Felix clamped both hands to his ears and squatted beside the counter on his knees, desperate to block the invasion of sound – and something deep inside him broke. All the sounds he'd blocked during all his years of meticulous avoidance came crashing through his brain in one gigantic cacophonous tsunami. In anguish, he rose to his feet, grabbed a bottle of wine from the still screeching banshee – and smashed it over her head.

The awful din ceased as the woman slumped to the floor like the proverbial sack of potatoes. Felix had a fleeting second to enjoy the peace he'd created before shouts erupted around him. He clapped his hands back to his ears and stumbled from the shop, out into the night.

Before the sun rose the following morning, more noisy people would die at Felix's hands.

Sirens wailed in the distance, responding to the supermarket incident. Felix's mind screamed at the new sound as he ran on, mouth agape and contorted by the phonic torture. The world would not shut up and leave him in peace, even for a second.

Up ahead, a car horn blared. He was upon it in seconds, yanking open the door and pulling the hapless driver out by his collar. Felix spun him around and threw him under an oncoming inter-city bus. Somewhere a woman shrieked, punctuating the sharp hiss of the bus's air brakes and sending Felix off in another direction.

Two blocks further towards the centre of town, brought him to the entertainment district. A hapless busker was making a meal of Hotel California with a cheap microphone and battery powered amp. Stunned onlookers were too slow to react as Felix leapt on the man and wrapped the microphone cord around his neck. By the time some brave people were hauling him off – the busker was dead.

Five minutes later Felix sat cuffed in the back of a police car, mumbling, "I'll give you fucking pink champagne on ice."

When criminal psychiatrists unravelled his motives, the papers dubbed him: The Silencer. He liked that. And he liked the last place he'd wound up. This place, the Johann Reill Institute. It offered the quietest environment he'd ever had to endure. But now, something was amiss. All this commotion threatened his peace and tranquillity, and The Silencer was most displeased.

Moving as far as he could from the generator, he heard the chatter coming from the dayroom, but it wasn't grating yet. Rather than challenge the noisy idiots, he was determined to keep moving, to find the quietest place possible in the building. He slunk past the dayroom door, unseen.

—-

Chapter Three: Sugar and Spice

The San Sisto Catholic College for Girls excursion to a hobby farm had been a wonderful day out. Miss Fenchurch breathed a sigh of relief from the front of the bus as it chugged to life for the return journey. She had a complete head count of her students. None had misbehaved, suffered an injury, or witnessed farm creatures copulating. The chatter onboard was subdued after a long day in the sun. Even Becky and Jasmine refrained from their usual nonsense. Yes, they'd ignored her instruction not to sit together, but she decided to leave them be if they were going to behave. And if her two troublemakers were quiet, the other students were even more so. It should have been a pleasant drive back to school.

That was the case for the first-half of the journey. So much so that the teacher and most of her charges were dozing when the driver swerved the bus and hit the brakes to avoid someone running across the road. Despite his valiant efforts, the heavy vehicle needed much more distance to stop. A thump was heard from the front fender. The girls shrieked, the driver cursed and Mrs Fenchurch tumbled into the dashboard.

With the bus pulled onto the shoulder, the driver leapt out to help the pedestrian, mumbling, "Jesus, that's gonna leave a bruise."

The girls scrambled up the aisle and to the windows to see any carnage. "He's gotta be dead," opined Jasmine.

"Who walks in front of a bus?" Her friend Becky joined her at the front. "Betcha it's suicide."

"That will be enough of that!" Mrs Fenchurch scolded, rubbing her bruised temple. "Everyone, back to your seats at once!"

After a few minutes, the teacher thought she'd best go to see what was taking the driver so long; the doddering old fool. It could be that the accident was his fault, and he'd run off, abandoning them. She descended the two stairs and pushed the button beside the door. It hissed aside and she stepped out onto the road, to discover her driver slumped against the nearest front wheel. The pedestrian had gone and old Frank appeared to have a nasty cut on his head; she wondered if he'd been attacked. He muttered something and tried to stand. Miss Fenchurch helped him to his feet. "I'll get the first aid kit, Frank, don't worry. What happened? Did he hit you?" Frank said something unintelligible. Upon closer examination, the wound on his bald scalp looked more like a bite than a cut. "Do you think you'll be okay to drive?" she asked, realising how selfish that sounded, but she was responsible for these girls, after all. They needed to get back to school before nightfall or there'd be hell to pay from the principal.

Old man Frank's answer was to bite her hand. Hard. She screamed in pain and pulled back. "Ow! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Frank seemed nonplussed as if he didn't understand the question. She was going to repeat it when the nausea struck. Her knees gave way, collapsing her to the road. A veil of darkness fell over her vision and she thought she might vomit. Her last conscious thought before madness took over was, thegirls…

The madness flooded through Miss Fenchurch's psyche. A dark, desperate desire to consume. To bite, and chew, and grind flesh. Her jaw moved, teeth clashing together. And her first thought as a new being was, the girls…

Frank was one step ahead of her, banging on the emergency door release button and forcing himself into the bus before the door had opened. She followed, clawing at his trousers to push past him on the stairs.

The girls screamed at the sight of them. Deranged, their teacher and bus driver growling, drooling and biting at the air. Some scrambled over the seats towards the rear to escape.

Miss Fenchurch fell upon little Hazel Wilkinson, yanking her backwards by the ponytail and biting the girl's shoulder through her white school blouse. While Hazel writhed the teacher bit deeper, and soon one sleeve of the blouse grew bright red.

Frank caught Jenny O'Brien by her ankle as she ran up the aisle. The girl came down with a thump and a squeal, her feet kicking at Frank's face. They found their mark, crunching his nose – but he was oblivious. He pulled a shoe off one of her feet and bit into her heel.

The two adults continued their rampage up the length of the bus. Halfway along, both Hazel and Jenny had joined them and began attacking their classmates. A feeding frenzy ensued, with arms and legs flailing under an increasing number of biting teeth.

Seven minutes later, a bus full of Catholic school girls had transformed into psychopathic zombies, intent on feeding. A bloody scent filled the air inside the bus. It was a tainted, unsatisfying scent. The prey had all become predators, their blood no longer pure. They scrambled from the vehicle to search for new prey.

Some remnants of memory kept them together. Plus, a vague herd instinct, perhaps. Becky and Jasmine walked only an arm's length apart, sometimes holding hands, although they did not know why. Each gazed into the middle distance and thought only of biting, chewing, consuming. As night fell, the pack shuffled up the road towards the city.

Between the pack of teenage zombies and the city, lay the Institute.

—-

Steve took the first shift by the door but dozed off, waking half an hour later. He cursed himself for the lapse and was relieved to see those in his charge were safe and sound; asleep on the couches. Alice, the little minx, had snuggled herself next to Jimmy.

Screw it, Steve thought. I can't keep them apart twenty-four hours a day, not without putting her back in her room.

Charlotte did not expect to sleep either, but the day had taken its toll. She kicked off her shoes and curled up on a couch. Her mix of emotions still included some residual shock from the attack, and a great deal of fear of what might happen next. But she also felt a strange jealousy towards those who had pets or family members to fret over. It seemed counterintuitive. Surely being single with no ties was an advantage when calamity struck. She wasn't torn between saving herself or that bastard Daniel, or anyone else. She didn't have responsibilities. But now she wished there was someone else out there, worried they hadn't heard from her. True, Daniel might be that person, but it was more likely he was looking after her replacement.

Here, sleeping among these new companions, Charlotte wondered if they'd be the last people she ever saw. Apart from the zombies that would rip her limb from limb. Her final thought before sleep was inevitable. "I hope when I wake up, this was all a bad dream."

Locked up, Tom was having his own dream, but it was a good one. In his fevered, sweaty sleep, he replayed the scene in the warden's office – again and again. With each mental reenactment, Charlotte wore different coloured underwear, until he'd ticked off multiple shades of the rainbow.

Felix spent his night in peaceful solitude in the disused medical wing. He clambered onto an ancient gurney, wincing at the creaks and groans from its rusty springs. But the noise settled, and so did he. It was pleasant here, a safe distance from the noisy generator outside the hospital and the even noisier people within it. The old medical equipment that lined the walls remained sensibly silent and not a single whisper could be heard. Even the outside animal chatter faded behind the old brick walls, making Felix wonder if this oldest part of the hospital was constructed to a higher standard. He thanked the designer for their soundproofing skills. It did not occur to him that perhaps the walls were designed this way, not to keep external noise from penetrating, but to prevent the screams of patients reaching the outside world. Had he imagined those shrill cries reverberating around these old walls, he may not have enjoyed such a peaceful slumber.

During the night, Alice had extricated herself from Jimmy and joined Charlotte on her couch, spooning into her as if they were long-time friends. When a beam of morning sunshine crawled across Charlotte's face, she woke and endured two bouts of confusion. The first, remembering where she was and why. The second, wondering whose warm body it was, snuggled against hers. When she'd solved both mysteries, she couldn't help but check her neck for bite marks. There were none. The sunlight beam moved on, and Charlotte opted to stay where she was and enjoy what might be the last moments of peace before the world turned even crazier. Also, the girl tucked into her was warm and comforting.

Becky and Jasmine emerged from the trees and onto the front lawn. Their school shoes had not survived the night's traverse through the woods and the white of their socks was now black and slimy grey. Trickles of dried blood from bramble scratches ran down their shins and formed a crust at the top of their socks.

The two friends were oblivious to any discomfort. Still holding hands, they swung their arms and would giggle from time to time at some untold joke. Morning dew crunched under their filthy feet as they led their schoolmates onwards.

Jenny followed not far behind the two leaders, limping on the ankle that the bus driver had bitten, but keeping up the pace. She did not giggle. Her freckled face contorted in a mad grimace of determination. She needed to finish something. But she didn't know what it was. A homework assignment? A household chore? No, something more serious than that. Anyway, she felt the two troublemakers in front had the same task, so she'd follow them to find out. Even if their incessant giggling was pissing her off.

Blood had stained most of Hazel's blouse before it had dried into a thin coating, like the icing on a cake. It cracked when she raised her arms to push branches aside, and small flakes of it would float down around her as she shuffled along, like a tree shedding its leaves in the autumn. Ruined spider webs dangled from her pigtails, their owners long since skittering away from the destruction wrought by the clumsy invader.

The classmates crashed through the undergrowth with the same reckless abandon, but with an unwavering focus. A desire to keep going, to finish something undone. And to eat. Most of all, to eat. Their prim and proper blue skirts and white blouses were stained from the carnage on the bus and torn by branches, brambles and thorns. They paid no mind to the leaves and twigs stuck in their hair.

The girls at the front of the pack stopped after a few steps on the unfamiliar terrain, sensing the change. They looked up at the looming main wing of the institute and cocked their heads like cute German Shepards. Those behind them didn't stop in time and bumped into their leaders, eliciting a variety of indignant hisses and cries. To a casual observer, the entire scene might have been comical. But any casual observer would have been wise to run in the opposite direction. And fast.

Peeping Tom was anything BUT a casual observer. Hours earlier, he'd used his trusty homemade wire tool to escape his isolation cell – as he'd done many times before. His tormentors always underestimated him, and he liked it that way. He sat perched in his favourite spot on the roof, from where he used to spy on any visitors arriving in the carpark, and attempted to guess the colour of the women's underwear.

After yesterday's successful up-skirting of Charlotte, he'd planned a lazy morning up on the roof. But the vision of all those regulation length navy school skirts milling around in the distance put paid to that. The wearers of the skirts exhibited somewhat erratic behaviour. Tom noted this but shrugged it off. It wasn't their behaviour he was interested in them exhibiting – it was what lay beneath those skirts.

Birdsong and sunlight roused the occupants of the dayroom. Jimmy stood from his position in the watch chair and walked to the window to cast open the blinds. Alice wriggled around to face Charlotte and pecked her on the cheek without a hint of embarrassment. "Thanks for the cuddle, Miss finance officer", she said before jumping off the couch to join Jimmy at the window. Stephen and Maggie were slowest to wake, sharing a yawn.

"You still keen on coming into town with me, Charlotte?" asked Steven, stretching.

Before Charlotte could answer, a scrabbling noise from above startled them all.

"Someone's on the roof," whispered Steven. "Shush!"

He walked over to the window and opened the drapes. "What the hell?"

Everyone rushed to join him, blinking in the bright morning sun, but also in bemusement at the scene. A group of schoolgirls were shambling towards the institute. They appeared drunk, or dazed, unable to walk in straight lines but making slow progress.

"Well, that's odd," said Maggie, adding somewhat maternally, "I can't see a teacher, who's looking after those poor lasses?"

"Not us! That's for sure." Stephen glanced back at Jimmy. "All the doors are locked, right Jimmy?"

"Yeah boss. Should be."

"Good, because that's a zombie horde, if ever I've seen one!"

"Have you ever seen one, though?" Jimmy pushed his way forwards to get a better look. He cast a discerning eye at the group, now a mere fifty metres away. "Ah, yep. they're zombies alright. Classic. Less than a day since infection, I reckon. No sign of rotting skin yet. Shit, we're in for some trouble."

"Well, thank you, Mister Zombie expert," Alice piped up, not wanting to be left out. "But I'm sure we can handle a little bunch of teenage undead bitches."

Charlotte, having been with Jimmy for a single day and a night, still knew he was going to launch into a lecture on the dangers of innocent looking zombies. His eyes had lit up and he'd raised an instructing finger. But to her relief – and everyone else's – he was halted mid-launch by a section of drainpipe falling past the window. Someone clung to it as it fell, landing with a thud in the flower bed below.

"That's Tom, the mad bugger!" Jimmy exclaimed.

Tom, eager to provide a one-man welcoming party to the school excursion, had over-estimated the strength of the drainpipe. Or more likely not estimated it at all. His mind was focused on lifting those skirts and nothing else.

The impact knocked the wind out of him, but not the determination. He picked himself up and set off to meet his quarry. Still dressed in the warden's suit, he looked like a harried businessman running for a departing train.

Charlotte looked at Steven. "Shouldn't we try to protect those girls from him?"

Jimmy answered for his boss, "It's not them that needs protecting, it's the crazy pedo, or perv, or whatever he is. He doesn't stand a chance. You watch." Charlotte thought Jimmy was enjoying the show a little too much. He'd have munched on a jumbo box of popcorn had she given him one.

Tom's line of attack intersected with the group from the side rather than head-on. Thus, it was not Becky or Jasmine he clashed with first, but an exchange student from Japan called Himari. Her black side-swept bangs flew around her head as she spun to meet the oncoming threat.

That aggressive response might have caused anyone else to reconsider their approach – but not Tom. He closed the gap and grabbed for Himari's skirt, while she clawed at him with flaying arms. He lifted the hem, despite sharp fingernails raking his scalp and shoulders, and dropped to his knees as Himari lunged downward to bite.

Tom enjoyed a moment of bliss, his face inches from a pair of yellow panties that clung so tightly to the Japanese girl's sweaty skin that they formed a delightful camel toe. Their yellow was a hue he'd describe as Citrine if he'd had the time. But he did not have the time, neither to describe any hues nor yank the panties off her and make his escape. The girl kicked a leg upwards and caught him under his chin with her knee, sending him backwards in a sprawling heap.

The audience in the dayroom was transfixed.

"Told you," said Jimmy. "She can give as good as she gets, and now Tom's in a world of trouble."

The pervert performed a commendable evasive roll as Himari descended on him and escaped her clashing teeth and clawing nails. He stumbled to a wobbly stance and cast around for another opportunity to satisfy his fetish. There were plenty. Himari's classmates were now heading his way and eyeing him with hunger. But Tom was in his element. Perhaps he'd lived for this moment, surrounded by a veritable buffet of skirts to lift; a mysterious palette of colours to uncover. He hopped from foot to foot like a demented dancer, bobbing and weaving among the zombie schoolgirls.

A snatch at Jenny's skirt ripped it clean off – to reveal panties of predictable white. Predictable but not boring, not to Tom. Every revelation counted, and his mind kept score. White – one, Yellow – one. If he survived the encounter, he'd re-catalogue the colours with their proper distinctive names, like Himari's Citrine, and this white of Jenny's was likely to become Pearl.

Three more whites were added to the tally, courtesy of pig-tailed Hazel, a blonde-haired Rachel, and Becky, who had been too slow to release Jasmine's hand to get a grip on Tom before he'd hoisted her skirt and dodged away.

The white streak was broken, when Tom, in a rare moment of poise, tripped an oncoming pale-skinned girl by the name of Amanda. She fell, screaming, treating him to a view of powder blue at the top of her smooth pale legs.

He blinked and gaped with sheer delight at the sight, but the pause was his undoing. It was a diminutive dark-haired lass called Olivia who took the opportunity to bring the pervert down. Although small in stature, she packed a punch and felled Tom in a classic rugby tackle around the knees. Little Oliva straddled him, bent forward, and bit straight through his earlobe, wrenching her head from left to right, trying to rip his ear off. Tom shrieked in pain and attempted to lift his head. Not so much to escape, but to look down to where he'd pulled Olivia's skirt over her hips. Pink! Gorgeous pink panties!

Tom scored a couple more points as he died. Jasmine had arrived on the scene. She came to him from behind his head and stood over it, before diving face first into his crotch, as he looked up her skirt at her backside covered by pristine white. The other girls descended on him like a pack of piranhas on a stricken river buffalo. Some went for his legs, some for his arms. Tearing at the clothes to get at the skin below. Olivia finally ripped his ear off and began gnawing on his shoulder. Jasmine sank her teeth through the thin suit trousers and into his scrotum. He caught another flash of powder blue. Not Amanda's, this blue was lighter, hugging the bottom of a girl intent on ripping into his abdomen. And perhaps one more pair of white panties on Patricia, a redhead who had his shoe off and was amputating his big toe with her incisors.

A dark veil fell over Tom's vision, with a final score of White – eight, Blue – two, Yellow – one, Pink – one. The highest total score of any day in Tom's weird life. He died proud, happy, and incredibly aroused.

"Poor Tom," Maggie whispered from behind the window, covering her eyes.

Charlotte was also wincing in horror, although tried to lighten the mood somewhat, "I suspect he went out with a smile on his face though?" she offered.

"He aint out forever. Watch!" said Jimmy with glee.

Sure enough, a blood-red haze replaced the darkness of death in Tom's psyche. He rose from the dead as another being. An altered Tom. The girls stopped chewing on him. Some of them spat his flesh from their mouths in disgust. He no longer tasted pure. His blood was fouled, and they'd lost their lust for it. Tom stood and growled at the sky. A low guttural growl that spoke of hunger and malice. His new pack set its sights back on the building and regained their shambling progress. Tom brought up the rear, because thanks to little Miss Patricia, he was missing half of one foot, and balancing was tricky.

Jimmy crowed, "See, he's a zombie now, like them!"

"Shit, Shit, Shit!" was all Steven could muster. Alice reached for Charlotte's hand and gripped it, without taking her eyes from the window. Charlotte wasn't sure what to make of it. The whole grisly scene, the impending threat, or Alice holding her hand.

Outside, Amanda, her face smeared with Tom's blood, started giggling. Jenny was beside her, with half her uniform gone. Wandering around this strange place in her undies. Amanda found this amusing and tried to point, but the laughter overcame her, the giggles escalating into belly laughs. Jasmine joined her, and soon all of them were laughing.

A loud crash came from the old wing to the east, as a fire escape door flew open, its shatter-proof glass shattering. Felix emerged in a fit of total rage.

"WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he bellowed at the schoolgirls as he ran across the carpark, vaulting a flower bed and picking up speed on the short grass. The girls barely had time to turn and show him ferocious expressions before he was on them. He grabbed little Olivia by the waist and hoisted her above his head, before throwing her over the pack like he was taking a 3-point shot at basketball. Then he had Hazel by an arm and swung her around like an Olympic hammer thrower, before letting her fly into the others.

He yelled, "FUCKING NOISY BITCHES, I CAN'T HEAR MYSELF THINK!" as he sought out the next source of his torment – Jasmine. A haymaking punch in the face from Tom stopped him dead in his tracks and laid him out flat. The girls had regained their composure and viewed poor Felix no longer as a threat but as the next meal; the screams he heard next were his own.

He did not go quietly.

Alice gripped Charlotte's hand tighter. "Ok, so now a mostly harmless pervert and a somewhat dangerous psychopath have joined the zombie army that is descending on us. I don't suppose you've seen this particular movie, Jimmy? Any idea what we're supposed to do?"

"Well, we can't attack them when they're in a pack, that's for sure. They're fast to surround their prey. And we can't pick them off from a distance, not without a rifle. The shotgun is no good at a distance. No, we need to separate them somehow."

"NO!" Maggie shouted from behind the group. "There will be no killing of anyone. Zombie or not. Especially not school children!" Charlotte had never seen the cheerful cook so angry. She was fuming.

"They're not school children anymore, they're—" Jimmy started, but Maggie cut him off.

"No Jimmy! I don't care what you think they've become, they're sick, that's all. Now, you think you know all this stuff, right? Instead of figuring out ways to kill them, figure out ways to cure them!"

It was quite the speech for Maggie; it left everyone, including Jimmy, in silence – until they remembered they were still under attack. The horde had made it to the carpark.

"Hey Jimmy," said Charlotte, "do any of your movies have a plot that includes someone figuring out how to cure the zombies?"

After some consideration, Jimmy replied, "Yes, there was a Korean one that had a scientist who concocted a cure in his lab."

"Well, there you go!" Maggie seemed to think that solved it.

"Folks, we're outta time. I'm going for the shotgun." Steve made for the door. "For self-defence, ok Mags."

The chubby cook bustled past him and stood in the doorway, blocking his exit. "If it's only for self-defence, you can use tasers!"

"Did everyone forget?" Alice asked. "We have dozens of cells with locks, right?" She smiled at everyone, her top lip curling over her fangs in a way that Charlotte now decided was cute. "Why don't we still try to separate them, like Jimmy said, but lock them up until we figure out what to do or help arrives?"

"You know if any of them bite or even scratch you, it's game over," cautioned Jimmy.

Alice smirked. "What if I bite them first?"

"You'll be infected just the same, silly!"

This made Alice pout her lips in a sulk. "Yeah, well, call me silly again and I'll make sure you're the next person infected after me."

A distant crash cut off the conversation. Jimmy peered out the window. "Oh crap, they're coming through the door that Felix broke!"

They didn't just come through the door. Little Olivia ripped it clean off its hinges and threw it behind her as if it were made of cardboard. Still angry at being lobbed like a basketball, she was going to make someone pay. It would have been Felix, but he was one of them now and his tainted blood seemed to deflect her anger. And her hunger.

The class followed her into the old east wing, stumbling on the broken glass in their socks and paying no heed to their bleeding feet.

"Can we shut that wing off from this one?" asked Charlotte.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, thinking hard. "We can. There's a heavy fire-door between us and them. But did you see what that girl did? They seem to have crazy strength. I think they'd get through it soon enough."

"So, no choice," said Alice, rubbing her hands together. "We take them on, and we lock them up. Lure them into the cells. Sorry, the rooms." She gave Steve a wink. "How many tasers do we have?"

"There's a couple more in my workshop," answered Jimmy. "I'll go grab them." And he disappeared into a run.

Charlotte cringed. "What happened to everyone travelling in pairs?"

"I guess he forgot his own movie rules. Hey, Mister Security, I wanna taser too!" said Alice.

The frazzled security guard sighed. "Ok, we have to split them up. Some are moving a lot slower than others. Those are less of a threat. We cut the faster ones off and try to lure them into the lockable rooms, tasering them if and when we have to." He glanced at Mags who nodded her approval.

Jimmy came back, panting. "I can hear them over there, making a hell of a mess. Like bloody bulls in a china shop." He handed the two tasers to Steve, who immediately passed one to Charlotte.

"No thanks. Give it to Alice, I'm not sure I could use it. I'll run interference or something. Is that what it's called?" She couldn't believe what she was saying. The more sensible move would be to flee and lock herself in the furthest possible cupboard and wait for help. But a sense of camaraderie overcame her. She couldn't desert her new friends.

Steve tapped an open palm with the yellow taser and contemplated Alice. She had her innocent face on; lips closed, hiding her fangs. In the tracksuit pants and tee-shirt, she looked for all the world like a normal young woman off to the gym – not a certified sociopath.

"If you taser me with this, Alice, I'm gonna be REALLY pissed!" he said, handing the device to her.

Alice snatched it before he changed his mind. "Relax, big boy. I'm not that dumb. Where would I go after I zapped your ass, anyway?"

The plan seemed simple enough. Steve and Jimmy would hold the fire door, trying to let only one zombie girl through it. Alice would stand a little way down the corridor as bait. The attackers would see her first, through the transparent top half of the door, and go straight for her as soon as they were allowed through. She'd lead them down to the patient rooms, where Maggie and Charlotte waited, with sturdy wide brooms to push their quarry into the trap. Then rinse and repeat.

Charlotte held a broom in one hand and a radio in the other. It crackled to life with Jimmy's voice a whisper, "We can hear them coming now, make sure you guys are ready."

"As ready as we'll ever be, I suppose." Maggie tried to smile at Charlotte. "I bet you never thought you'd be holding a broom on the second day of your job, eh love?"

Charlotte smiled back, keen to show a brave face to the very brave older lady. "Much less sweeping zombies with it!"

Maggie laughed. "I thought I'd seen everything in this place. But I guess not."

Jimmy and Steve crouched below the fire door with a determined grimace on both faces. The first girl hit the other side at a run. Or so it seemed. The bolted door rattled on its hinges. Steve reached up and slid the bolt open. "Get ready!" he whispered.

Olivia had backed up, determined this time to bust through. She knew something was on the other side. She could smell it. Something to eat. When she hit the door a second time, it gave way. Or rather, the two men let it open. She flew through, ending up in an ungainly sprawl in the corridor. The first thing she saw was Alice, standing a few meters away but already turning to run. Ignoring the men behind her as the bolt shot home, Olivia gave chase.

Jimmy was back on the radio in an instant. "We got one! She's chasing Alice now. It's the strong little one. Shit, be careful!"

He stood and looked back at a seething mass of San Sisto students crowded into the small corridor, fighting for a chance to break through. Towards the back, Felix lurched with his hands clapped over his ears, wailing a strange, tortured tune. Tom had fallen in the stampede and curled into a foetal position as feet stomped all over him.

Alice shouted, "Look Steve, I'm running in the corridors, naughty me!" She raced away from Olivia, back past the day room, into the administration block and tore around a corner towards the West Wing's residential ward. Olivia was hot on her heels, but slid at the corner in her damp socks and hit the wall with a thump. The sub-par cornering bought Alice precious seconds, and she reached the ward ahead of her attacker.

Olivia careened into the ward and slowed in confusion when she saw Alice had stopped running. She turned to survey her surroundings when Charlotte appeared from the side; the head of her broom shoving Olivia's midriff and corralling her into the first room on the left. Maggie joined the push as the feisty little girl fought back. The element of surprise worked in the captor's favour though – Olivia could not regain the upper hand before she was inside her prison with the door slammed and locked.

"One down, a couple of dozen to go?" Alice panted, bending with her hands on her knees. "I need to work out more."

"You got her?" Jimmy shouted over the radio. There was no use whispering now.

Charlotte replied, "Sure did. And Alice didn't even need to use the taser."

"Nice work. We'll try to let another one through as soon as Alice gets back. I'm worried how long this bolt will hold."

Another bolt working hard was the one holding Olivia in place. She rampaged inside her confines, rattling every fixture in the ward. Maggie checked her through the tiny peephole.

"The poor dear is going to hurt herself. Can't we do something, Alice? Maybe tranquillisers?"

"Sure, Mags. You make the choo-choo train noises while I get her to swallow the pills!" Alice laughed, heading back where she'd come from. "I'll ask Steven but let's capture us some more zombies first."

The next round was a bonus 'two for one'. Becky was allowed to squeeze through, snarling. Before the men could stop her, she pulled Jasmine through. "Fuck!" shouted Alice, running. "No fair! It's two on one!"

But the two friends' bond had grown stronger with the infection, not weaker – they now refused to let go of each other's hands. It held them back, so Alice arrived at the ward in a slow jog, enabling both broom wielders to scoot the girls into their trap, as if sliding hockey pucks over the ice.

Hazel was faster – but not as fast as the sleek vampire. Though again, the socks didn't help.

The first girl to outrun Alice was the sporty type, perhaps even the school's fastest runner– at least that's what Alice would claim later. Stacey had longer legs than the rest and even in her disease-ridden haze, she controlled her strides to catch Alice at the first corner, so there was no option but to taser her. Alice spun and fired the weapon as if she'd done it many times before. She hadn't, but the target was so close, it was hard to miss. The two prongs fizzed into Stacey's abdomen. Her legs folded beneath her as the voltage arrived a millisecond later. After several convulsions, the shock seemed to knock her out, or at least render her semi-conscious. Alice retreated a safe distance. A few seconds later Stacey bounced to her feet again, as fresh as a daisy (but far less wholesome). Alice sprinted off ahead.

The next girl through was Amanda. Robbed earlier of her skirt by Tom, she paid no heed to modesty – charging after the bait in undies and torn blouse. Jimmy couldn't help blushing, whereas Steve couldn't care less. He shrugged. "This would make a good teen movie of yours, Jim Boy."

"Yeah…except the girl in just her underwear is always one of the first to die. This time she's one of the freaks!"

"Speaking of freaks…" Stephen peered through the glass again.

"Do we try to trap Tom and Felix as well, or leave them?"

Jimmy joined him for a look. "Oh, Jesus!"

Tom had survived the stampede, and although he remained on the floor very much downtrodden, with his brain zombified, he hadn't given up on his purpose in life. In the crowded space, he'd found it easy to reach a hand up and pull someone's panties down their legs and off their feet. They were yellow. Not Himari's Citrine pair though, Tom decided, while his head was being stood on. These were a more lemony yellow. Yes, the colour of a ripe lemon, hanging from its tree in an orchard with the morning sun playing across its dappled skin. Under the legs knees and feet that pummelled him, Tom lifted the panties to his face and inhaled deeply of the wearer's scent. A girl by the name of Yvette. His eyes rolled back in their sockets and he lost what was left of his mind.

At the sight of Tom with a pair of girl's panties on his face, Jimmy followed his, "Oh Jesus!" with, "Nah, fuck 'em. Why should we risk our skin trying to save those lunatics? The girls are innocent. Or were anyway. Tom and Felix… not so much."

Steve laughed. "Agreed. I don't think they'll be able to get through this door. Not if it's just the two of them, and if we barricade it well."