Jubilee Beach. Part 1

We got a call over the scanner.."seafront clear... all zed's culled" (fucking "culled"!? They're not fucking squirrels!) "...safe for civilian re-habitation..".

Well that's bollocks for a start.

We knew that the "Squads" had spent less than three hours down there and they reckon they've "culled" every zed that's there?

Like I said, bollocks.

For a start- the seafront is a mile long. It has hotels, arcades, restaurants, more fucking hotels, beach huts, toilets, Mac-fucking-Donald's, you name it.
Every nook and cranny that's perfect for a rotting dumb-fuck to get stuck in or hide or whatever the Hell they do in their spare time when they're not chewing the face off your neighbour.
Second- the "Squads" just go in there, silencers on their weapons and spend a couple of hours clearing out whatever zombies they can see.

Whatever zombies they can see... wankers..

They make little to no attempt to lure any out. Shit, I don't think they know how to, and they sure as shit don't want to add to their problems.

So...anyway... "safe for re-habitation" really meant that the Outskirt Jungles are packed to the rafters with men, women and children, supplies are running dry and the people in them have had enough of co-habiting with strangers and want to get back to their long-dead "normal" lives with their Ikea sofas and oversized coffee mugs and see if they can get some reception on their plasma t.v.'s

The military don't need the hassle of a mutiny, they've got enough on their hands with the odd zed showing up and throwing all these civilian skid-marks into screaming fits cos they're so fucking far removed from the warrior tribes of past that they'd rather cower behind the authority of a man in uniform than pick up a tool themselves and try and carve themselves a future like their ancestors had to do.

It's sickening really, and part of me (a big part..) wonders why I bother doing what I do, especially when it means consistently endangering both my life and the lives of the 37 former civilians that have offered themselves to be under my "command".

One of these former civvies was Wanker.

He was sat next to me when we heard the transmission.

He's a good mate of mine and I've known him years and whilst my favourite method of combat is to get my hands dirty with my very special machete, Wanker is a crazy shot with his .17HMR.
Not long after the outbreak and our "army" had begun to pick up a few survivors a couple of good ole boys with their full-bore, deer stalking rifles took the piss out of Wanker for his "wee little bullets".

"No good for big stuff, me old mate!" one said.
"We ain't shooting big stuff, dickhead" said Wanker.
"A man's pretty fucking big" he said.
"Righto" said Wanker. "Let's see, shall we?".

So Wanker and this tweed wearing bell-end go to the crow's nest to have a look about and around 200 yards away there was a group of half a dozen zeds just mooching and minding their business.

Wanker turned to this fella and (very politely) says- "Six zeds-six shots... please.."

The bloke looks at him, then out to the zeds, then back at him. Of course, he can't decline so he takes a deep breath, rests his rifle on the edge of the crows nest and after what seems like hours, takes his first shot.

It would have been a good shot too if it was a deer he was after, but chest shots don't count on the walking dead. It stumbled a bit but just kept on coming.

"That's one" said Wanker. He didn't need to say it, he was just trying to rattle the guy.

By this time, the zeds had heard the first shot, this got their attention and they started shambling towards the barn, and us. Obviously, this fella had never had a zed advance on him and even though they were still a good 180 yards away you could see he was shaken and the colour had drained from his face.

Give him his credit, he took another (rather more shaky) breath, sighted up, and squeezed off the second shot. This one missed completely and we could just about hear the "ziiiiinngg" as the bullet hit the dirt behind the zed and whined off over the horizon.

The bloke looked at Wanker. I expected him to say "that's two", but he knew he didn't have to. The zeds were still 100 yards away but Mister Full-Bore's hands were so sweaty he couldn't have held his gun straight if his life depended on it. Which he clearly believed that it did right now.

Anyway, as polite as ever, Wanker says to this fella "may I?". The bloke looks like he's going to cry, but has enough about himself to nod sharply and step to the side to give Wanker a clear view.
He leans his gun on the bar, loads his first round and squeezes off the trigger.
"CRACK"...thwack..
cock, reload,
"CRACK"...thwack..
cock, reload,
"CRACK"...thwack..
cock, reload,
"CRACK"..thwack..
cock, reload,
"CRACK"..thwack..
cock, reload,
"CRACK"..thwack..

All the shots were either smack in the middle of the forehead or through the left or the right eye. Six zeds- six shots.

Wankers not the gloating type but I could see that he could hardly contain a smile as he turned to the fella and shook his hand!

"Cocky little wanker, ain't ya?" said Mr Full-Bore
"Yes." Wanker said, "Yes, I am."

After that everybody was calling him Cocky Little Wanker, and later, just Wanker.
He loves it though.
"It's better than Mark" he says.

I still call him Mark sometimes, but only when I'm serious.

Anyway, Wanker was sat next to me when the call came through.
"safe for civilian re-habitation", again, bollocks.

"How we gonna play this, Bolo?"

I was about to answer him when there was a clamour outside and a frantic banging the door.

"Come in." I called.

Red faced and puffing like a porn star Tongs stumbled in,
"Sorry to bother you komrade but the peasants are revolting!"

I had to smile. Tongs is the worlds biggest worrier and a pain-in-the-arse perfectionist but, if he could, he'd always sneak a bit of humour into even the most dire situation.

I asked him what the problem was.

"This seasons cabbages are infested with caterpillars and they're all worried there won't be enough stores for the winter!"

Great. First the dead rise up to devour the flesh of the living and now we got caterpillars in the cabbages. The fun never stops.

"Tell them not to worry" I said. And out of the corner of my eye I caught Wanker's expression as I said "We're all going to Mac-fucking-Donald's."