Friday 12:50 - Barry

As he rode his bicycle along the street, his middle age man bun bobbing at the back of his head, Barry Jenkins thought about ways of committing suicide. Maybe he could deliberately swerve and drive right in font of one of the lorries that occasionally thundered past? No, he decided, not that. That could cause an accident and he wouldn't want to get anyone else hurt.

If this was America, he could shoot himself. Or get himself shot. But this was England and he'd never even seen a gun, let alone held one. Slash his wrists? No way, just the idea made him wince, he knew he'd never be able to go through with it. Overdose of painkillers? Reliable but slow, painful and stupid. Hang himself? Hah! The rope would probably snap under his weight.

No, he realised with a sigh, he would have to keep on living for a while longer.

It wasn't that Barry actually wanted to die; he just didn't particularly want to live. What was the point? He was useless and unwanted, someone else - anyone else - could make better use of the oxygen he was breathing.

He wondered again what had brought him to this. Was it bad luck, bad choices or just a faulty personality? He wasn't sure, but some combination of the three had led to him becoming a sad, overweight, middle-aged man with nothing to live for.

Barry had never found it easy to make friends. His few relationships had ended badly, leaving him feeling even more isolated and unwanted than before. So he'd thrown himself into his work as a substitute. He was damn good at what he did. His job became his life, or at least the closest to a life that he had. Instead of going out for a drink with friends, he had been happy working late and eating pizza in the office with colleagues.

But he no longer had any colleagues. The company that had practically been his home for the last ten years had gone bust a few months ago, leaving him jobless and adrift. With his routine broken and no office to go to every day, boredom and futility had swept over him.

He'd tried to fight back, had kept sending out job applications. There had been numerous interviews but, like the one from which he was now returning, all had been unsuccessful. Nobody actually said the words, but it was obvious from their faces what was wrong: he was too old. They all wanted younger people with more ambition, more energy and slimmer waists.

What a messed up world it was where having years of relevant experience actually counted against you.

And now there was all this nonsense about zombies. He'd heard people talking about them when he'd stopped to buy a box of doughnuts to console himself after the interview. OK, so apparently there had been a few violent attacks in town today – but zombies? Crazy talk. If there were zombies roaming Marrenforth, where were they? The town was going about its life as normal, no panic or chaos. The whole thing all turn out to be another stupid internet rumour, spread by the young and the gullible. This sort of thing just proved how right he was to refuse to get involved with this childish 'social media' stuff.

Zombies didn't exist... so what was that he could see?

A little way ahead of him he could see a male figure, possibly in its early twenties, shambling along the pavement. The blood on its face and its erratic walk certainly fit the classic depiction of a zombie.

So that was it. Hoaxers, dressing up as zombies and scaring people. This guy probably had a friend hiding somewhere, filming everything to put onto that Tubey thing all the kids used.

Well, this nonsense had gone far enough. It was about time someone with a bit of maturity stepped in and sorted things out.

Barry pulled in to the kerb and dismounted from his bicycle. He began walking towards the figure. The 'zombie' seemed to embody the frustrations of the day, of his entire recent past.

While most people on the pavement moved quickly out of the way of the snarling figure, a few held their ground. A teenage boy and girl simply stood between it and Barry, pointing and laughing. As the shambler got closer to them, it opened its mouth wider and flailed its arms out in front of it. The watching girl applauded the performance.

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Even Barry had to give some grudging respect to the hoaxer. Now that he was just a few yards away, he could see how realistic the make-up was. The pale skin, the grey, dead eyes (contact lenses, perhaps?), the stage blood running down its chin. Even the small pieces of fake flesh sticking to its teeth were impressive in a gruesome way.

The teenage boy walked right up to the shambler and raised his hand to give him a high five. As he did so, the man's arm whipped up and he grabbed at the boy's wrist. The man pulled on the boy's wrist and his head was dragged forwards and thrust into the waiting jaws. The teeth bore down on his flesh.

Barry heard the boy's surprised scream, echoed by the girl he had been with. Saw the blood gushing from his throat. Saw him struggle helplessly then go limp as the shambler continued to gorge on his body.

It had only taken a few seconds. Barry stood still and blinked, trying to process what he had seen. Was this part of the act? It had seemed so real. In fact... he tried to resist the conclusion but knew it was true. It had been real.

He had just watched an undead zombie kill a teenage boy. Now he was watching it devour the lad's corpse.

It was impossible, but it was real.

Barry's instinct was to run, but his brain didn't seem to be functioning normally. Rather than getting as far away as possible, he stood where he was and began to giggle. A few minutes ago he'd been thinking of killing himself because his life was so boring and pointless... Now there was a zombie eating someone in front of his eyes.

Why run away? The worst that could happen was that he'd die. No, this was his chance to have some real fun and if it got him killed, so what? If he turned into a zombie? Well, that would be the most interesting thing that had ever happened to him.

As Barry was thinking this, the second teenager called out "Karl!" and tried to pull her dead friend away from the zombie's clutches. But it simply lashed out and grabbed her with its other arm. The girl struggled, trying unsuccessfully to break its grip. She kicked it with her heels and scratched its face, but it took no notice.

A switch in Barry's brain clicked – or maybe a circuit overloaded – and his eyes shone with excitement. He charged towards the zombie.

It took him a few seconds to cover the distance. Just long enough for him to realise that he didn't have a weapon. And also to realise that he didn't care. Closing with the zombie, he simply punched it in the head.

Ouch! He shook his hand in pain. He hadn't had a physical fight with anyone since he was a kid. It would probably have hurt even more if the zombie's flesh hadn't already begun to soften. He'd not expected the punch to stop the zombie, he knew from the movies that such creatures didn't feel pain. But it did distract the thing and it released its hold on the two young people. The unlucky boy who had been bitten slumped to the ground, the remainder of his blood pumping out through the gaping wound in his neck. The girl fled, screaming.

The zombie turned to face Barry, its eyes dead and a lump of flesh dangling from its mouth. It opened its mouth and the stink of its breath wafted into Barry's nostrils. Then it lunged at him.

Barry was hardly the fastest of men, but the zombie was even slower and he easily stepped to one side to avoid it. Then, he swept his leg round and kicked it in the back of the knee, causing it to topple to the ground. Before it could stand, he brought his foot up and stamped hard on its head. Then he stamped on it again.

And again.

He only stopped when he felt something give beneath his heel. The zombie twitched, and he thought it was finished. But then it began to rise again.

Before it had a chance to get to its feet, Barry jumped. He only rose a few inches into the air, but it was enough. He brought his whole, considerable weight down on the zombie's skull. This time there was a definite and very satisfying crunching sound.

He stepped back and watched the body carefully, but there was no sign of movement. It was dead, or whatever the equivalent of dead was for a zombie.

Dead. No longer alive. The zombie had once been a man, a living human being - and Barry had just crushed his skull underfoot. He knew he should feel at least a little guilty about that, but he didn't. What he felt was exhilaration. He'd taken a risk and done something worthwhile, possibly for the first time in his life. He knew that the incident was a turning point in his life, he would never be the same again.

There was nothing he could do to help the creature's victim. The poor boy would probably become a zombie too, but until he did Barry had no quarrel with him. So he just turned to go.

As he did so, he heard the sound of applause. Looking around, he realised that a small group of people had gathered – at a safe distance – to watch what was happening. Several were pointing phones in his direction.

One of the onlookers gave him a thumbs up and called out: "Well done, mate. You're a real hero."

A hero! Him!

Yes, that was it. It all made sense now. Everything had been leading up to this moment.

He was a hero, he just hadn't realised it. His sad, dull life had been a secret identity he'd been living in as if it was a cocoon. Now his metamorphosis was complete and he was emerging as the hero that fate had always intended him to become. Barry Jenkins had just died, reborn to protect the people of Marrenforth from zombies, supervillains or other threats.

Barry saluted the small crowd. "Thank you, citizens. Now hurry home to your loved ones and stay safe. Captain Marrenforth will defeat the zombie threat and make the streets safe once again."

He turned and walked back to his bicycle. He hopped on to it and began cycling home.

As he rode his bicycle along the street, his middle age man bun bobbing at the back of his head, Captain Marrenforth thought about what he could use for weapons.

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