Blood at the Premiere: A Day One Undead Adventure (5 page)

The bouncers hit the edge of the crowd inside the foyer sending a shock wave of force that hammers into the throngs. Those on the outside edge are taken down with brutal violence as teeth sink into sweaty, flushed skin. The cluster of make-up artists are ragged senseless and don’t stand a chance against the hefty bouncers. Screams and howls sound out with primeval fear. Men are sent flying off their feet and work like bowling balls to knock more partygoers off their feet. Bedlam everywhere. People running in circles slamming into one another and more bloodied people from outside come streaming into the room. Paparazzi now infected and raging with as much hunger as the bouncers. Mortals who were clinging to the barrier now frenzied and desperate. Some run off into the night chasing survivors who flee into the sodium-and-neon-lit streets as yet more pour into the foyer.

Sven goes down from a paparazzi biting his ear off and spitting the gristly lump of flesh away before lurching to bite into Lewis who goes down hard. John, already on the floor, sobbing as he beats at a woman biting deep into his stomach. Innards are pulled out that slop down on the floor, wet and glistening. John hits harder, sending the woman away, but the damage is done and she crawls off to bite into the fat ankles of someone else. John weeps as he tries to scoop his guts back into the hole. Fat tears rolling down his face as his whimpers grow increasingly weaker.

Henrietta grips Dolan’s arm and pulls herself to her feet, turning away just as a screaming woman staggers past with blood pouring from a ragged wound on her cheek. She spins looking for a way out, but the discord is in every direction. Adrenaline floods her primed system, widening her peripheral vision and giving her a split second of warning as a bouncer comes surging at them. A light back step, dragging Dolan with her, and the bouncer sails past, snarling with bloodied saliva pouring down his chin.

‘So…in final agreement then,’ Bennie says, staring into the deep blue eyes of Candice before flicking his gaze over to the deep blue eyes of Capriana, ‘we’ll have sex but like…you promise you won’t tell the press…yeah?’

‘Yeah, honestly,’ Candice says, nodding eagerly. ‘You can do both of us.’

‘At the same time,’ Capriana adds, already thinking of the payout.

Bennie grins his slow, easy smile and knows they will sell him out but he’s single, he’s young and he’s a rock star and he doesn’t care one bit if they do.

‘Awesome,’ he says, blissfully ignorant of the utter explosion of violence taking place just behind him.

Henrietta spots the young singer as Dolan yelps from the sight of a dead man sitting bolt-upright and staring out through bloodshot eyes. Henrietta pulls him through the gaps and lanes forming and closing with a whirlwind speed. Dodging lunging bodies and with more luck than judgement she drags the head of factual programming towards the bar.

Five days a week she grips the iron bars in the gym and her grasp now cements on Dolan’s wrist as she heaves him behind her while her right hand pushes and shoves at anything in her path. It was Jordan’s fault, really. She started writing books, which meant the other two had to come up with something else. Jodie was already training and Henrietta soon realised there was money to be made by getting ripped and making workout DVDs, so as Jodie got lean and Jordan got rich so Henrietta got strong.
TMT, bitches. Tanned, Muscular and Toned with Henrietta Swallow.

‘BENNIE!’ she screams ahead, trying to warn him of the impending disaster as Tommy the bouncer snarls his way towards the bar, closing the gap with his lips pulled back to show bloodstained teeth, but Bennie stays deep in conversation, bewitched by the blue-eyed angels. Dragging Dolan in her wake, she rams her shoulder into soft untrained bodies, forcing them aside. She should go, run. Get out and keep running, but Bennie is young. Just a lad in the prime of life, and besides, another rapid thought enters her cunning mind.

‘BENNIE…’ No good, he’s too focused on the two idiots in front of him. Henrietta thinks fast, knowing she has but a few seconds before Tommy gets to him. ‘BENNIE, MY TITS ARE OUT…’

‘Do what?’ Bennie turns away from the bar in one fluid motion, stepping towards the sound of Henrietta Swallow proclaiming her boobs are on show. That single step saves his life as Tommy brushes his back as he sweeps past to take down Capriana and Candice.

‘Aw, did I miss it?’ Bennie asks, staring at the black dress covering Henrietta’s chest.

‘Bloody idiot,’ she hisses, grabbing his arm and yanking him back away from the flailing bodies on the floor.

‘Hey,’ Bennie says, looking down at Capriana and Candice rolling about with a man on the floor. ‘I was gone for like a second, man. Not cool.’

‘Through the bar…’ Henrietta spots the open gap at the end and charges forward, dragging the two men behind her.

‘My drink!’ Bennie wails, trying to turn back.

‘Dolan, get through.’ Henrietta pushes the bigger man through the gap in the bar. ‘Bennie, get back here.’ She flashes a hand out grabbing the back of his shirt to pull him back with a strong single arm row, accompanied by a twist of the upper body.

‘But my drink.’

‘Sod the drink…get in there.’ She thrusts him ahead through the gap and curses when she spots Dolan frozen in fear staring out across the foyer. ‘MOVE,’ she says as she barrels into both of them, forcing them down past the bottles of spirits, wines and liquors to the storeroom behind the bar. A glance over her shoulder and her heart sinks at the sight. Bodies everywhere. Blood thick and pooling across the tiled floor and the air scented heavily with the metallic tang of iron and faeces from bowels voiding in fear. Blood drips from walls as people die screaming or curled up in foetal positions from the agonising pain in their guts. Howls and hisses accompany the snarls that come from those with bloodshot eyes that stalk the room searching for prey. A scene of utter devastation and all done within a few minutes.

She forces the two men to the storeroom door and gives a prayer of thanks when the handle yields. Bennie is shoved, Dolan is dragged, but she gets them inside and closes the door with that new thought in her cunning mind growing stronger by the second.

‘Oh my god…oh my god.’ Dolan sinks down onto his haunches, pushing his hands through his dark hair.

‘So, like, threesome is it?’ Bennie asks, looking down at Dolan then back up at Henrietta before screwing his face up in puzzlement. ‘I thought you were celery.’

‘I’ll phone the police.’ Dolan gets to his feet dragging his iPhone from his pocket.

‘Don’t bother,’ Henrietta says, rushing the words out and feeling a sinking sensation as she looks round at the shelves and smooth walls of the storeroom.

‘Why?’ Dolan asks, pressing the phone to his ear and waiting. ‘Shit, must have done it wrong…’ He looks down at the numbers on the phone. Three nines. It was right. He puts it back to his ear and listens again. ‘Engaged?’

‘We can’t get out,’ Henrietta says, more to herself.

‘Out?’ Dolan says in horror at the thought. ‘We can’t go out there.’

‘We have to get out,’ Henrietta says, trying to think.

‘So, like…Henri?’

‘Huh? What?’ she asks.

‘Did you actually get your boobs out then?’

‘What?’

‘You said your boobs were out…’

‘That was to get your attention!’

‘Oh, okay then.’

‘Bloody hell, right…we can’t stay here,’ Henrietta says again.

‘What for?’ Bennie asks.

‘What?’ Henrietta asks, standing with her hands planted on her hips.

‘What did you want my attention for?’

‘Are you being serious?’ Henrietta asks.

‘Er…yes?’

‘It’s engaged,’ Dolan says with panic rising in his voice. ‘I can’t get through. What are we going to do?’

She looks over at the serious bearded man and the frantic expression of fear etched into his features and his trembling hands trying to work the phone. Saving him was instinct. Dolan was close enough to grab, and if truth be told, she did consider having a broad man at her back might prevent her getting bitten as she ran through the crowds. There was something else, though. Her whole existence lately has been one of securing a future in serious journalism and Dolan is the key to that future. Keep Dolan alive and he’ll owe her big time. That’s how Jack got ahead in life, by building up debts and calling them in.

Why Bennie, though? Why veer off to grab Bennie? Because he’s a simple-minded twat who can’t think for himself, that’s why, and also because Bennie is famous as anything right now so being the person that saved Bennie can only ever be a good thing.

There is still scope in this. There is still a method to be exploited and used. Keep these two alive and the future is rosy.

Think, Henri. Think fast. What do we do?

Years of hard living and getting in scrapes have refined her skills well and there was many a time she found herself in a situation she needed to extract from quickly. This is just another situation. Yeah, maybe the cheeky smile and big tits won’t work this time but still, think it through.

‘Storeroom,’ she says to herself, forcing her mind to bring a visual image of the theatre in working mode. Bottles are stored here. Mixers, too. Glasses. Cloths, fruit for slicing, the ice machine. ‘Was there draught beer at the bar?’ She snaps her gaze at Dolan.

‘What?’ he says, blinking rapidly.

‘Draught beer?’

‘Er…I…’ Dolan shrugs and stares back down at the phone as though believing it will start working any minute.

‘Yeah, they had Stella,’ Bennie says, picking up a slice of lemon from the chopping board on the side. ‘And that Italian stuff…Birra Moretti. John Smith’s and Guinness.’ He looks at the lemon for a second before putting it in his mouth and sucking hard. ‘Urgh…that’s so nasty.’

‘Cellar, there has to be a cellar for the barrels,’ Henrietta says. ‘Look for the doors in the floor.’

‘Why won’t it work? Henrietta, give me your phone,’ Dolan says, holding his hand out.

‘It’s in my bag.’

‘Where is your bag?’

‘Out there,’ she replies, waving at the door while turning in a circle scanning the floor. ‘Where’s the cellar?’

‘Bennie, is it?’ Dolan says, turning to the young man still grimacing from sucking a lemon. ‘I need your phone.’

‘Okay,’ Bennie says, pulling it from his pocket and handing it over.

‘What’s the pin code?’ Dolan asks.

‘Ain’t locked.’

‘You don’t lock your phone?’ Henrietta asks, stopping her slow turn to look at the young man.

‘Nah, here, they got vodka up there. You fancy some, Henri?’

‘No, and leave it alone. Look for the doors.’

‘Behind you.’

‘Not that door, Bennie. The doors to the cellar.’

‘Not working,’ Dolan spits out. ‘They aren’t working…the phones are not working. We’ll have to sit it out. Can you lock that door, Henrietta?’

‘Lock’s on the other side. Shit, no cellar. Where do they store the barrels then?’

‘Oh the barrels are under the bar,’ Bennie says. ‘Saw ’em on the way in here.’

‘Right,’ Henrietta says, biting down the rebuke.

‘Oh god.’ Dolan sinks against the wall holding a phone in each hand. ‘What’s going on? Is it terrorists? Why are they going for us? Doesn’t make any sense. Here? A few old film stars and a ropey glamour model? Publicity, must be for the publicity. Take down the British film and television industry and score big points. Damn it! That’s why the phones are down. The police have jammed the networks so the attackers can’t communicate. They did that in the London riots. Don’t they know who is here? Why aren’t they here yet? The police should be here now protecting us.’

‘Zombies, mate,’ Bennie says, trying to unscrew the lid from a bottle of vodka without Henrietta seeing.

‘Put that down, Bennie,’ Henrietta says, needing him to stay sober to stay alive.

‘What?’ Dolan asks with a sneer. ‘How much cocaine have you done?’

‘Oh loads,’ Bennie admits honestly.

‘Idiot,’ Dolan tuts. ‘We have to just stay quiet until the police get here.’

‘If it’s zombies then the police ain’t coming,’ Bennie says, now trying to unscrew the lid with the bottle hidden behind his back.

‘Young man, if you cannot be sensible then I suggest you shut up. This is a serious, life-threatening situation.’

‘Yeah.’ Bennie nods. ‘S’what I said. Zombies.’

‘It’s not bloody zombies, you idiot.’

‘Well they were eating each other and that’s what zombies do…so it’s zombies…’

‘They were not eating each other.’

‘Actually,’ Henrietta says, looking at Dolan.

‘Biting yes, but not eating…and I don’t know if they were biting
or
eating…’

‘They were,’ Henrietta and Bennie say at the same time.

‘No. People always do this in the point of crisis. They become delusional with shock. We did a documentary on it. We do not know what we saw. All we know is that we are under attack from terrorists.’

Henrietta thinks to reply and explain what she saw outside, but that would mean contradicting Dolan, which is not the way to forge a new career.

‘Dolan’s right,’ she says. ‘Until we are in full receipt of all the facts we cannot say for certain what this actually is.’

‘Yes. Which is why we have to stay here until the police arrive,’ Dolan adds.

Henrietta nods and turns away to face the door while thinking of what happened outside. The man was already bleeding when he was run over and no normal person could get back on their feet after being run over like that. But he did, and not only that but he was attacking the bouncers. He bit Tommy first then Rob and both of them went down clutching their stomachs and the other bouncers said they were dead. Then
they
got back up, too, then Knobby and Kev did the same and that man that was run over was still crawling across the pavement. The replay in her mind focuses on the injuries given with each one. Tommy bit on the finger. Rob bit on the head. Knobby and Kev bit on the legs. She turns round slowly to look at Bennie whose eyes go wide at being caught drinking from the bottle of vodka. Terrorists. She looks at Dolan. Zombies. She looks back at Bennie. Terrorists or zombies. Serious intellectual journalism against a coke-addled young rock singer. She goes to the door and gently pushes the handle down and cracks it open an inch to peer through.

‘Henrietta,’ Dolan whispers urgently. ‘What are you doing? Close that bloody door.’

‘Checking for the police,’ Henrietta whispers while craning her head to gain a decent angle. Bodies everywhere. Some still lying curled over clutching stomachs, but many more already sitting back up and opening bloodshot eyes. The injuries are horrific. Gaping and ragged wounds. Loose flaps of skin hanging down from torn scalps and cheeks bitten through so hard the teeth can be seen inside the mouth. Ears missing. Shoulders bitten down to the bone. Legs scratched and chewed and more than one has been bitten deep in the stomach, causing their innards to fall out. Several are obviously dead from overwhelming blood loss that lies like a lake across the floor of the vestibule.

Bitten. Dead. Getting back up then biting others. Zombies or terrorists?

‘No police,’ she says, closing the door quietly.

‘We just have to wait,’ Dolan asserts, standing up straight and smoothing the front of his shirt down with an effort to take control.

We can’t stay here. We have to go.
A pressing urge to not be trapped and the walls of the storeroom suddenly feel like they’re pressing in. Staying here is waiting to die and dying doesn’t get commissioned by Dolan the head of factual programming. Dying doesn’t save Bennie, which will endear her to the public and help that boost into serious journalism.

The night I survived the zombie attack. No! The night I survived the terrorist attack. Terrorists. Dolan, not Bennie.

‘Okay,’ she says, taking a deep breath, which causes her chest to rise, which in turn causes Bennie to stare in fascination. ‘We have to go.’

‘Okay,’ Bennie says dreamily.

‘What? No!’

‘Dolan, we can’t stay here. They’re right outside and starting to get back up.’

‘Back up? Back up from what?’

‘Er…they, er…they get injured and then get back up,’ Henrietta says carefully.

‘Bit then they turn,’ Bennie says helpfully. ‘Zombies.’

‘Not zombies,’ Dolan hisses again. ‘It must be a chemical attack, something like a nerve agent. A dirty bomb, perhaps.’

‘Yes,’ Henrietta says quickly, nodding at Dolan. ‘It’s a chemical attack but, er…I saw them outside and they go down for a couple of minutes then get back up and…well, that lot,’ she says with a nervous smile and a nod at the door, ‘are getting back up.’

‘So?’ Dolan asks bluntly. ‘They don’t know we’re in here.’

‘Here,’ Bennie says, holding his hand up in deep thought. ‘Isn’t that Paco Maguire making a zombie movie in London? Maybe it’s come from his film…’

‘There are so many things wrong with what you just said,’ Henrietta says after a second of stunned silence. ‘Dolan, we have to get out. If they find us we’ll be trapped. We have to run for it.’

‘Run where?’ Dolan asks, the terror clear in his voice but manifesting into a passive-aggressive growl.

‘Out of here, somewhere else…this is not safe,’ Henrietta says. ‘Did you go to the toilets?’

‘Toilets?’ Dolan asks, struggling to keep up.

‘Across the foyer and down the corridor,’ Bennie says. ‘Oh but the ladies is the other side…I think…no…they’re both down the corridor but the ladies is one side and the gents is on the other side. So like…if you were walking down the corridor,’ he starts, walking on the spot, ‘and like, the gents was on this side,’ he waves with his right hand, ‘the chicks…I mean birds, I mean ladies, is on the other side…this side,’ he finishes with a wave of his left hand.

‘Exit?’ Henrietta asks.

‘Exit what?’ Bennie asks.

‘She means is there an exit door, you fucking idiot,’ Dolan snaps.

‘Oh right, er, yeah…straight ahead down the corridor.’

‘You’re sure, Bennie?’ Henrietta asks, not trusting his drugged mind.

‘Like totally,’ Bennie says. ‘I saw it. It said exit. It was a door that had exit written on it. Door…exit.’ He makes a square shape with his hands and nods.

‘We’ll go for that,’ Henrietta says, looking from Bennie to Dolan.

‘We should wait here,’ Dolan says, taking a step away from the door.

Henrietta pauses to think and again feels that urge to not be here but not wanting to go against Dolan or risk making him look foolish.

‘If the police get here they might shoot into the foyer,’ she says quickly. ‘Or we could get held hostage and used…’

‘Christ, yes,’ Dolan says with a fresh look of horror and imagining himself as the main hostage and his colleagues on the news desk running bulletins on his chances of survival. The thought of being chopped up on live television makes his stomach cramp and a fresh film of sweat bead on his forehead. ‘Right, we should go.’

‘Good idea,’ Henrietta says. ‘Bennie, put the vodka bottles down.’

‘We’ll need refreshments,’ Bennie says seriously. ‘And, like, it’s hot so…’

‘Vodka is a diuretic,’ she says, cutting him off as Dolan casts an interested look at her.

‘Ah my nan is a diuretic,’ Bennie says. ‘I might get it, too…she takes insolence.’

‘Insulin, and we’re not taking the vodka. Drink some water,’ Henrietta says.

‘Water? Where from?’ Bennie asks, looking at the shelves. ‘Can’t see any.’

‘From the tap,’ she says, leaning over to twist the cold tap on and swilling out a glass. She fills it up and holds it out to Bennie who stares at it with distaste.

‘Tap water? My neurologist said we shouldn’t have tap water.’

‘Neurologist?’ Henrietta asks, feeling a fug descend in her mind.

‘Yeah, he tells us what to eat.’

‘Nutritionist,’ she says with a sigh. ‘Drink the water.’

‘But…’

‘It’s from a spring. It’s Evian.’

‘Is it?’ Bennie asks, taking the glass. ‘Awesome.’

‘Dolan…’

‘I’m fine. We should go,’ Dolan says, now eager to avoid being chopped up on television.

‘It’s hot. Drink some water. You’ll run faster if you do.’

‘Will I?’ he asks, staring at the glass being held out. ‘Okay. Got it. Water. We should go.’