This morning your best friend turned into a zombie and you were left holding the broom. What happens next?
It didn’t come as any great surprise when it all happened as Jack as a weird sort of guy on any good day. I’d received a call from his wife asking me to come over because Jack wasn’t being himself.
When I arrived, she handed me the broom and said Jack was out in the shed. The broom, she said I might need.
I poked my head around the shed door and saw Jack standing against the far wall. He was facing the wall with the cat in his hands. My quick glance was enough to ascertain the cat was dead in his hands.
He heard the door and turned to face me. It was his eyes that gave the whole situation away.
They had that look of far away and yet present at the same time. His mouth was dripping blood, the cat’s blood as it turned out.
Seeing me, he dropped the cat and began a slow strained walk towards me. His limbs were seizing up, his eyes bloodshot and crazed, his arms extended and he was oozing something from his stomach region.
Suddenly I knew why I had the broom, not to ward off Jack but to sweep up the blood and guts dripping from his midriff.
He staggered to within six feet of me and then dropped to the floor. I knew the only course of action was to cut off his head. His axe was where he’d last left it, and I grabbed it and swung as I’d never swung before with tears flowing down my face as I really loved Jack, my best mate and now deceased zombie.