One of those days part two.

At lunchtime Sherman retreated to the office and locked the door. An old radio in the corner played an elegant jazz score while a dusty fan heater swept the chill from the room.

Dinner was always the same: one and a half cheese and pickle sandwiches, tea low fat yoghurt and a single banana. The tea came from the drink dispenser down the hall, with alternative sips he could also taste coffee and hot chocolate, over time the machine managed to blend all three drinks and Sherman never bothered to fix the problem. After thirty long years of drinking the mix he became used to it and now actually enjoyed the taste.

Today, for reasons Sherman could not understand he also brought with him a single red tomato.

He studied it intently wondering how the tomato ended up in his lunch box. He had no clear recollection of putting it there this morning, yet he couldn’t deny the evidence of his own eyes.

Perhaps he was having a senior moment?

Perhaps this was a cry for help? The tomato signified change, something that deep down buried under the heavy weight of a boring useless life there was still the burning urge to escape, to fly for freedom, to break the oppressive chains of the consumer market and make his bid for a life without worries.

Perhaps he just fancied a tomato.

The jazz music stopped abruptly and a voice of a man crackled ghost like out of the radio.

“Please stay tuned to this special news bulletin we will return to our regularly scheduled program immediately following this report.”

Sherman leant back in his chair, it groaned in protest but held his weight. He studied the tomato intently as if the secrets of his life were contained within.

“Reports of an unexplained virus sweeping the country continue to pour in. Victims of the virus are becoming aggressive and attacking those nearby. They are to be considered highly dangerous and should not be approached…”

The radio report fell on deaf ears. Sherman was consumed with the symbolism of the red tomato; he held it before him as if it were a relic of the past, the Holy Grail that with but one sip eternal youth could at last be his.

“…Thousands of people are attempting to flee the cities of Nottingham, Derby and Leicester with additional incidents reported in the rural areas of the Midlands. The Home Office has issued a statement urging people to stay in their homes and await further instructions. Ensure that all residences are secure with all doors and windows firmly barricaded...”

Sherman bit the tomato in half; its red juices dribbled down his chin. Choices he decided had led him here down this dark path to this stinking office and a life experience of Wonder Things. They were bad choices, every last one of them. Well, today all that was going to change. No more bad choices no more wrong decisions, Sherman Mitchell was taking back his life.

He stood up and switched off the radio; things were going to change around here and soon.



***


Back on the shop floor Sherman immediately noticed the almost complete lack of customers. Before he had taken his break less than an hour ago the shop was heaving with the eager soulless snatching of last minute buyers, now the isles were eerily empty, abandoned almost.

Sherman refused to allow this potential drop in profit to rain on his parade. He focused instead on young Rolf Twobucket, who only worked Saturdays despite the fact that Sherman had originally employed him to work the entire weekend; he claimed religious responsibilities, that it was against his faith to work on a Sunday. He would start there.

Rolf looked ill, his skin sagged and had drained of all colour so that he appeared almost transparent. He knelt near to the entrance and was attempting to stack the out of season Halloween stock into the reduced price pile. A task that Sherman had given him first thing this morning and he still had not completed.

Sherman strode over and bellowed in his ear, “Twobucket, just what do you think you’re doing?”

Twobucket did not respond. He didn’t even flinch at the sudden sound. He continued to take the stock from a cardboard box and shove it into the mounting pile before him.

This stumped Sherman, usually Twobucket treated working at Wonder Things in much the same way as if he stepped in something deeply unpleasant. He never came across as a particularly brave sort of boy, and Sherman had been certain that confrontation would work on him.

He changed tack.

Grabbing the first thing in the reduced pile he waved it under Twobucket’s nose. It happened to be the facemask of a ghoul.

“Stop acting like a zombie, and give me some respect.” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “ Or you’ll be out that door quicker than you can say unfair dismissal.”

The effect on Twobucket was amazing. The boy leapt up and away from Sherman with a look of abject fear. He fell back into the neighbouring isle’s display of glassware that threatened to topple with the sudden force of impact.

As Twobucket scrambled back up, Sherman felt mightily pleased with himself. Fear had not been the emotion that he originally wanted, but it would do for now. Payback for every time he had been the butt of staff jokes, for every time he overheard a malicious conversation, every time they had gone out on the town without him.

Sherman’s eyes narrowed. Twobucket wasn’t looking at him; his eyes were fixed on the mask. Sherman’s new-found confidence deflated as surely as if Twobucket stabbed at it with a knife. He wasn’t the source of fear, but a bloody out of season horror mask was.

He threw the mask to the floor in disgust.

Sherman noticed then that Twobucket had taken something out of his ears. In his shaking hands he held onto a mini radio.

Sherman’s rage quickly returned, no wonder he couldn’t hear him if he was tuned into some music channel. In one quick move, Sherman snatched the radio from Twobucket’s hands.

“What could possibly be so interesting to tear you away from our own special musical numbers?” He jabbed a thumb up towards the tannoy that was currently letting loose a tinny version of Rocking Around the Christmas Tree by Brenda Lee. Feeling smug at his own little joke Sherman lifted up the earpiece, expecting some of that repetitive dance music or the screaming nonsensical lyrics of a metal band but was surprised instead to hear.

“They kill for one reason. They kill for food. They eat their victims, that’s what keeps them going…”

He didn’t understand what he was listening to, and after a moments consideration decided that it was probably a porn channel or something.

“Right to begin with that’s confiscated,” He said and shoved it into his pocket.

He watched Twobucket intently, hoping feverishly that he would come back with some smart arse response, some little snide comment that he could jump upon. Anything would do, come on Twobucket don’t disappoint now.

“When there is no more room in hell, the dead will walk the earth.” Twobucket said with utter conviction.

What did that mean?

“Don’t you threaten me.” Sherman said in case it had been some kind of insult.

Twobucket suddenly focused on something behind Sherman, his eyes went wide and his pupils constricted so that they became tiny pinpricks of black in a sea of milky white.

“They are already here, they’re coming for us.” He screamed.

Before Sherman could stop him, Twobucket bolted out of the door and fled into the streets beyond. Sherman watched him go trying to fathom out what he had meant.

Drugs, that was usually the case. Coming down after a good night out, paranoid and ill. Sherman had seen it all before. He would write Twobucket off his staff list later but perhaps for now he could make something out of this situation, use it to maximise potential from his other remaining staff members.

He felt a presence behind him and turning around noticed the perfume boy from earlier. The boy let out a long mournful cry and reached out his arms to Sherman.

Perfume boy’s jacket bulged and his zip was slowly coming undone, but Sherman’s attention was drawn to the boy’s face. Pale almost grey, his eyes were sunk into the skull. He looked like death.

Drugs, beyond a shadow of doubt they were all at it, sniffing glue and popping pills, a chemical generation. They weren’t going to get away with it in his shop, not now they faced the new Sherman Mitchell.

Feeling his confidence return Sherman easily side stepped the boy, and as he passed said, “I’m onto you and your gang, get out now and I wont phone the police.”
He strode on past, confidant that the boy would bottle it and run with his tail between his legs.

Sherman carried on over to where the rest of his staff team were. None stood by any of the tills, but were instead gathered in a small group talking in hushed whispers.

“Damn it.” He shouted to get their attention. The group slowly turned to face him, some looked nervous, others scared; they all regarded him warily.

“Enough is enough. You might be surprised to hear that Twobucket has just been sacked, the reason? For coming into work on drugs.” Sherman paused to let the words sink in, allow the full effect of this damming knowledge work its way through to what passed for their brains.

A single groan echoed back down the shop towards him.

Perfume boy, why hadn’t he left yet? Was he so far gone that he couldn’t understand what Sherman had said to him? He considered their earlier conversation and decided that was most likely the case.

The sound of something wet splattered onto the floor and Sherman sighed. He would have to deal with this boy himself, make an example out of him, that way the staff would get the message loud and clear that no one was going to mess with the Manager of Wonder Things again.

He spun around and began, “ You don’t scare me with your school yard bulling tactics…”

His voice trailed off.

Perfume boy’s stomach had been completely torn open as if by some savage animal. His insides were exposed and slipped with every new step he took onto the floor. His entrails hung around his knees like great reams of sausages from a butcher’s belt.

As one the entire staff team fled out through the doors.

“Shit.” Sherman murmured.





***


How could he still be alive? His insides were slopping out of his jacket and nothing could live through that, nothing.

Then that must mean…

Sherman couldn’t quite grasp what that might mean.

He felt as if something tremendously obvious was staring him in the face, as if a number of clues had been present all day for him to notice, dangling like ethereal carrots before his nose. But what could it be?

Might be a Vampire? But vampires couldn’t come out in daylight and it was only just gone one in the afternoon.

How about a Werewolf?

No that was stupid, where was the fur?

Frankenstein’s Monster?

No.

The Mummy?

No.

The Creature from the Black Lagoon?

No.

Think Sherman think.


Perfume boy slipped on the ghoul’s mask and almost fell, at the last moment he managed to steady himself and staggered on.

The penny dropped.

The thing before him must be a zombie, neither living nor dead but somewhere in-between. At least that’s what they said on the Science Fiction channel and Sherman was an avid fan.

As Perfume boy neared his expression changed, his glazed over eyes focused with a sudden clarity onto Sherman and his step quickened. He looked hungry.

Sherman had seen that look before, in the eyes of the shopper when they think they’ve found a true bargain. It was a look to be feared.

He needed a weapon, something to fight with, to beat Perfume boy out of the shop. There were electronic screwdrivers and general tools on isle twelve but unless he plugged them in they weren’t terribly formidable, besides they were to far away and he might not make it.

Sherman glanced about, noting that he stood at the edge of the kitchen appliance isle. Quickly he scanned the contents of the shelves searching for something to use.

Egg whisk, spatula, kettle, and wooden spoon, nothing that was any good.

Perfume boy lunged at him, but Sherman leapt back, he crashed into the shelves and sent an assortment of goods raining down upon his head. Frantically he continued to search.

Ice box, blender, soup-spoon, an amusing cuddly toy shaped like Santa, frying pan, steamer, washing up rack.

Come on anything would do.

In came Perfume boy again and in sheer panic Sherman grabbed the first thing that came to hand and threw it at the zombie.

Unfortunately it was the cuddly toy.

It bounced nicely off the boy’s head and landed on the floor with a squeak. This in turn set its musical tune off and it launched into ‘Jingle bells rock’ whilst clapping with its tiny furry hands.

Perfume boy grasped hold of Sherman’s arm and attempted to take a deep bite from the flesh. Sherman could no longer go back as he was pressed up against the isle, with his free arm he pushed at the zombie and twisted to get away. He lost his footing and together they fell, Perfume boy landing first and Sherman coming down heavy on top.

With a squirming crazed zombie beneath him Sherman knew he was in deep trouble. He rolled onto his back but Perfume Boy who still had not let go of his arm came with him, falling against the side of Sherman with a squelch.

Sherman was spent, over the years he had gained a little extra weight. One to many doughnuts late at night whilst watching television. Exercise was something that other people did and Sherman had often laughed at.

He wasn’t laughing now.

Perfume boy crawled up the side of Sherman, pinning Sherman’s arms by his side, his insides continued to drop out from his chest cavity, soaking through Sherman’s work shirt, something heavy landed on his belly and slid down next to him. Sherman couldn’t be sure but he thought it might have been Perfume boy’s liver. He reached Sherman’s face and leant back opening his mouth wide. Sherman closed his eyes and expected to die.

A dull metallic ringing sound followed and Perfume boy’s weight was lifted, his icy grip suddenly released.

Sherman risked a quick peep.

The zombie was flat out on the floor attempting to rise but someone now stood over it, clutching hold of the frying pan.

It was Carole Miley.

“Sherman are you okay, can you walk?”

He was to stunned to answer.

“Sherman?” She repeated, “ Is everything all right?”

It was now.

Perfume Boy clambered to his knees but Carole kicked him back down, clutching the frying pan in both hands, she beat at his head in fast succession until a spray of blood flickered out across her dress.

She stopped, breathing hard but Perfume Boy continued to rise.

In Carole went again, this time swinging from left to right, knocking his head first one way and then the next.

Sherman watched fascinated as the zombie’s head started to crack. On the fifth swing, she hit him hard enough so that he struck the sharpened plastic edge of the kitchen isle, his body jerked spasmodically and then completely stopped.

“Tough little buggers.” She said trying to grasp her breath. “They just don’t know when they’re dead yet.”

Sherman got back onto his feet, “ I’m not sure how to thank you, you saved my life.”

Carole smiled, “ Couldn’t let the Manager of Wonder Things be eaten by one of those…things now could I?”

She really was gorgeous.

“There’s more outside.” She continued, “The streets are filling up with them, I was lucky to get into the shop.” She pointed towards the doorway and Sherman looked back in the same direction.

Outside twenty more of the creatures were shuffling aimlessly about. With mounting horror he noticed that many were missing quite essential parts of their bodies, like fingers or hands, even whole arms. Some crawled across the ground, either their legs had been completely torn off or their bodies were twisted in some horrible manner. Yet it didn’t stop them, they continued their wanderings, pathetic shambling figures of the people they used to be.

“We need someplace to hide.” Sherman said. He thought hard but only one option came easily to mind. Grabbing hold of Carole’s hand he said, ”Come on we can lock ourselves into the office.”


***




“Why did you come back?” Sherman asked as he led her down the isles and towards the back of the shop.

“To see you.”

“Why though, you saw me earlier and that didn’t go exactly well?”

“Yes I know.” She seemed uncomfortable. “That’s why I came back. I couldn’t stand the idea that I had been rude to you. I hadn’t intended to, it was just my way of trying to make conversation.”

She stopped at the edge of the isle, “I’m sorry Sherman, it really was inconsiderate of me. If I could turn the clock back I wouldn’t have come into the shop in the first place.”

“It doesn’t matter now. None of it does. Put it this way if you hadn’t come into Wonder Things in the first place then you wouldn’t have saved my life the second time.”

She smiled and Sherman smiled with her, “See it’s all okay now lets just concentrate on…”

Something heavy crashed into Sherman’s side and once again he fell to the floor, he felt a burning pain in his shoulder and realised that whatever it was had bitten him.

He screamed in agony and struggled to pull the thing off, as he lifted it up he looked into the face of Grandpa Death.

“Oh not again.” He muttered.

Grandpa Death chewed on a bloody piece of Sherman’s flesh and then swallowed it whole. The pain in Sherman’s shoulder was agonising and he felt his arm start to give.

“Help me.” He cried.

“He’s got a gun.” Carole shouted pointing to Grandpa Death’s pocket.

“Don’t you start.”

“What?”

“I’m not going through this again.” Sherman roared and with an unexpected surge of strength threw the old man from him. He hit the floor hard and slid down towards the far wall.

“Come on.” Sherman shouted and half-staggered towards the office door.

“Sherman you’ve been bitten.” Carole said racing to catch up.

“It doesn’t matter let’s just get inside.”

He thrust open the door, pushed Carole through and slammed the door shut, forcing the deadbolt across with a satisfying clunk.

Sherman slid down the door and became aware for the first time, the amount of blood that had drenched his shirt, how much of it was his own though he couldn’t tell. The pain was incredible and it threatened to overwhelm and send him into unconsciousness. He struggled to stay awake and became aware of a bitter cold creeping through his shoulder and down towards his chest, a chilling touch that numbed his body.

Was this death?

Carole knelt next to him and pressed down hard onto the wound, a small fountain of blood splashed up into her face, she flinched then tried to wipe it from her eye.

“You should have never come back.” Sherman whispered.

With tears in her now bloodshot eyes she said, “I had to. You see it’s more than about what happened today, I’ve been watching you for weeks.”

“What! Carole I don’t understand?”

“It seems silly but a couple of months ago I moved back into this town after my marriage broke up. I thought I would see how much had changed, maybe by finding my roots I could start again. That’s when I saw you, working away at Wonder Things. You might not remember me Sherman but I remember you. I always had a crush on you at school but never had the guts to ask you out on a date. So that’s why I’ve been watching you, just trying to pluck up the courage to do something that I should have done years ago.”

“I would have said yes.” Sherman said. “All you had to do was ask.”

Carole leant down and lightly kissed his lips, “Thank you.” She whispered.

The pain flared up and he gasped in shock. “There’s a first aid box by the radio.” He said through clenched teeth.

Carole crossed the room and located the box; she turned on the radio and then hurried back.

The radio spluttered into life.

“I am Alpha and Omega, the one who is and was and is coming. I am God All-Powerful!
Don't be afraid! I am the first, the last, and the living one. I died, but now I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys to death and the world of the dead…”

“I’m scared,” Carole said. “Scared of what might happen, what’s going on?”

Sherman reached up and touched the side of her face; she was so beautiful…almost good enough to eat…

He shook that strange thought from his mind. The cold of his body spread now out across to his other arm so that it fell useless by his side. He knew his wound was bad and if not given proper medical treatment even life threatening, but what was happening now was different. He could feel something coursing through his body; he could almost imagine it changing him, altering the way he thought, how he acted. Slowly taking away his mind and his desires, to replace them with something all together new.

Sherman began to laugh; it bordered on hysteria and ended in a coughing fit that left him gasping for breath.

“I think it’s the end of the world.” He said once able to speak again. “ I didn’t understand at first but a lone red tomato changed all that, and now I can see everything.” And he really could. Perhaps it was the lack of blood pumping through his heart or the rising nausea but things were beginning to slot into place for Sherman. He felt strangely calm.

“Sherman you’re not making any sense.” Carole looked worried and fumbled with the latch on the first aid box.

“Really? How strange, for the first time I’m beginning to see clearly.” Sherman was dimly aware that his breathing had become dangerously shallow. “The tomato really did signify change: for me, for you, for the entire world. I thought it was going to be one of those days and it was at first, but now that day is over, we’ve had our time, move over mankind here’s what nature has cooked up next.”

“And out came another horse, bright red; its rider was permitted to take peace from the earth, so that people would slaughter one another; and he was given a great sword.”

Carole found the bandages and tore at the wrapping frantically, she was sweating and beginning to feel sick, her eye burned terribly and she could feel a numbing sensation sweeping down across her right side all the way to her fingers and toes. She kept on looking up at the wound on Sherman’s neck and losing focus on the bandage.

“I don’t want to die.” She said in frustration, “I’ve only just found you again.”

He held onto her hand and squeezed tightly.

“Don’t worry.” He said. “We will still be together in the New World Order.”

Sherman’s eyes shut and his last breath rattled from his lips.

Carole couldn’t believe he had died, she tried shaking him as if he were in a deep sleep but Sherman’s head just rolled grotesquely upon his neck.

“Wake up Sherman, please. Don’t leave me here alone.” She said but Sherman remained still. A strange half smile caught upon his lips as if in death he was privy to some final joke.

Carole continued to cry for a short period until the numbing sensation had swept entirely through her body then she laid her head upon Sherman’s chest and prayed to a God she hardly believed in, that Sherman might have been right.

Not long after her eyes glazed over and Carole died.

“I looked and there was a pale green horse! Its rider's name was Death, and Hades followed with him.” The radio crackled.



***




At eight thirty the following morning the shoppers returned to Wonder Things. The fact that none of them were alive didn’t seem to make the slightest bit of difference. They continued to wander the isles, grabbing at anything that took their fancy, bumping and falling over each other to see what delights awaited them around the next corner.

It took Sherman and Carole the better part of twenty minutes to discover how to undo the lock to the office and then they came out to join the throng of undead. But unlike the other zombies Sherman strode purposely towards the door, holding onto Carole’s hand.

A few of the other zombies noticed this strange behaviour, but as Sherman and Carole were definitely as dead as they were, they returned to their bargain hunting.

Sherman reached the shop doorway and stepped outside, Carole following behind. The sun was rising and it was the beginning of a new day. Deep down in his rotting brain Sherman felt relieved, although he couldn’t understand why. He was glad to be free of that shop, as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted.

Now he could go anywhere, do anything. Have an existence without worries, without decisions, apart from where the next meal might be coming from. Sherman even managed a smile and Carole moaned in agreement.

Together they wandered out into the new dawn.