When the Apocalypse came to town

Where Shop Assistant Andy Weathers was

“Look out slick, you gotta customer.” My boss said, he nudged me and motioned with his head in the direction of a grumpy fat middle aged woman waddling her way towards the customer service desk.

            “Aww shit.” I said under my breath. This was just great, another overweight dumbass come back to complain the clothes she bought yesterday have all suddenly ripped. Oh well, it’s only the sixth one today I thought to myself. My boss, being an absolute asshole, had vanished from the scene. “Looks like you’re on your own for this big momma Andy.” I said to myself. As she got closer to the desk I could see what an ugly specimen she was. Seriously, I’ve seen cows grazing in fields that could best this woman in a beauty pageant. I couldn’t help but smile as I imagined a great big talking cow walking on its hind legs approaching the desk with two shopping bags clutched in its front hooves. She must’ve seen that smile because she gave me an unholy stare. Damn, that was some stare. Woulda made Clint Eastwood misfire in a spaghetti western showdown that’s how forceful it was. I had to give the old battleaxe some credit; she had the part of ‘grumpy old bag’ nailed to a tee.

            “I dunno what you’re smiling at buster but these clothes I bought yesterday had ‘XXXL’ written on the label, and when I tried them on they tore. I want a full refund.” Yeah, she sounded like the kind of woman who’d beat you with her brick laden handbag if you didn’t do what she asked so I was gonna process the whole thing but first I had to ask

            “Certainly ma’am, do you have your receipt?” In my defence, I did ask politely, but that did nothing to stop the shit hitting the fan.

            “What the hell does it matter if I have a receipt or not? I want a damned refund! I know my consumer rights!” Great, I get all the loud ones. To make matters worse I saw the most thuggish looking shaven haired street tough looking guy take up a position beside her. Grand, thanks a lot. It was her husband. What a pair! This guy looked at me as if I’d just asked his wife to undress and give me a saucy dance.

            “Wot’s going on ‘ere luv?” he said in the most menacing way ever, completely compounded by the fact he kept his eyes on me the whole time he spoke.

            “This jerk won’t give me a refund!” She pointed a sausage finger at me accusingly. God, I wish I had an ejector seat or an escape capsule sometimes. I cleared my throat and kept a watchful eye on both of these ticking time bombs as I explained to them the situation

            “It’s company policy that I cannot refund you for these items without proof of purchase. I’m sorry but without a receipt my hands are tied.”

The woman went a brilliant shade of purple, I thought she was gonna explode, like, literally explode. To my great relief thee husband didn’t punch my teeth in, I got off with this:

            “Fucking asshole, c’mon luv, let’s get outta here.” Charming stuff. I noticed as they turned away to leave, my cretin of a boss was suddenly at my side all sunshine and happiness. Well, only five minutes to go and I’m outta this dive I thought to myself. There came a shriek from the store entrance to my left and a thumping sound and then the sound of shattered glass. Other shoppers turned around to gasp and gawk at the scene playing out.

 I had hoped that the fat old bag had fallen through the automatic doors or something but what I saw beggared belief. She was on the floor all right and she was bleeding heavily, the streets outside were pretty messed up to. A fire hydrant had exploded so there was water gushing everywhere and some dumbass had driven into a nearby shop’s entrance doors. The woman’s husband was cursing loudly and swinging punches as he was being attacked by a gang off scruffy looking hobo types.

My boss went over shouting at them to release him; it was only when the scruffy looking hobos tore out the guy’s throat that he stopped. I then saw that they weren’t hobos at all. They were abysmal decaying things, strips of flesh hung loosely from their arms and faces; others were in various stages of decomposition and others looked as if they had been alive mere moments ago but great welting gashes in their chests and throats told otherwise.

Jesus fucking Christ, they were zombies!