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“It’s like Nightmare on Elm Street out there.”
“Nah, you mean Night of the Living Dead, or that other thing – what was it again?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Brian, Gerry,” said Sandra, acid in her tone as she paused with the pen poised against the incident board. “Excuse me if I’m boring you with the end of the world.”
Jack glanced up. “Anyway, you’re both wrong. I’m pretty sure it was The Sound of Music.”
“Look, can we get back to the small matter of an international crisis here?”
“Not exactly within our remit, is it?” said Gerry, sitting down and leaning back in the chair. “We’re retired. Technically.”
“In the event of a zombie invasion, it’s bloody well all hands on deck!”
Jack paused. “Some of them probably even qualify for UCOS.”
“Hey,” added Gerry, “a case where we can talk to the victim, how about that?”
“Can you three at least try to take this seriously?”
“Sandra,” said Jack, gently, “how does anyone take the living dead seriously?”
Sandra looked at the board again. The photographs on it seemed to flash in her mind and then finally adjusted into some sort of impossible sense. She’d been carrying on in auto-pilot because it was the only thing to do. “Oh, God,” she said, and sat without looking, but Brian had pushed a chair into place behind her. “It’s the end of the world. This is it. This is really it.”
Brian took the spare seat beside her, and bit into his biscuit. “No. It never is. Just looks bloody like it again.”
“We’ll do okay,” said Gerry. “Don’t worry.”
Sandra looked at Jack. “I suppose… at least it won’t last long.”
“Look on the bright side,” Jack said. “Being undead’ll hardly be a change for some of us.”
“Not funny, Jack,” said Sandra.
“No, it isn’t.”
All four of them stopped, looking up as the door to the main office opened and Strickland walked in. He hesitated, and then moved forward, towards them.
“It’s getting worse outside,” he said, as if he felt an apology or explanation was needed for his presence. “I thought I’d -.” He paused. “I wondered if UCOS had any – ah – contribution to make to the – the, er, situation – state of emergency -.”
“Yes,” said Sandra, getting up and pulling another chair over. “We’ve done that. Sir.”
“We’re doomed,” Brian added by way of summary. “There’s biscuits, though.”
Gerry frowned. “Hang about, when did we agree we were giving up? I’m not, I can tell you.”
“Good idea, Gerry,” said Jack, with a smile. “You fight off the hordes of the impending apocalypse; we’ll deal with the chocolate Hob-Nobs.”