Friday 16:15 - George

"Not drinking?" George asked as he picked up the untouched saucer of milk from between the two cats. "You used to love this. Especially when I added a little cream. But I suppose you don't drink milk now that you're both... dead."

He hadn't found it difficult coming to terms with the fact that people were being turned into zombies. He'd spent enough time watching the world from his windows to realise it wasn't much of a stretch. But cats... Not just any cats but his beloved cats... that was more difficult for him to accept.

But however much he tried to deny it, there was no doubt that Mrs Smith and Mrs Jones were now members of the undead. Both had the same dead, grey eyes and moved with a shambling lack of muscle control. Mrs Jones also had one of George's handkerchiefs tied around her neck, an impromptu bandage to stem the bleeding from the wound Mrs Smith had inflicted. For a second he had thought she was leaping at him, but it had been the cat under his chair that had been Mrs Smith's target.

George had instinctively grabbed Mrs Smith and dragged her off Mrs Jones before she could cause too much harm, but the bits had been enough to cause Mrs Jones to turn. It was only later that George had realised the risk he'd taken. What if Mrs Smith had bitten him? But she hadn't. Neither of the undead cats had paid any attention to him.

Both creatures ignored him as he carried the saucer back to the kitchen and poured the contents down the sink. He took a tin of cat food from the cupboard and opened it, emptying its contents into a plastic bowl.

He returned to the other room. The cats immediately began twitching, their senses clearly picking up the meaty smell of the cat food. As he leant down to put the bowl down on floor between them, Mrs Smith snarled and made a badly coordinated leap into the air.

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She swiped at the bowl with one paw and knocked it out of George's grasp. It fell to the floor, scattering the food around. Both cats immediately pounced on it and began devouring the food with none of the finesse they'd shown when alive.

George stood up. "Now that was very naughty, Mrs Smith, very naughty indeed. You've been a naughty girl all day, especially attacking Mrs Jones and turning her into a zombie. But then you always were a mischievous one, even before you died."

He left the cats to finish off the food and walked over to the chair beside the window. He eased himself in, then looked out at the show taking place in the street below.

Any semblance of normality in Marrenforth was long gone. Zombies staggered along the road whilst the few remaining uninfected hid or ran. There was almost no traffic, though a few minutes ago he'd seen a double-decker bus speed through, knocking zombies aside like bowling pins.

Outrunning the zombies wasn't a problem, they moved do slowly, but there were so many that it was easy for the survivors to become trapped. However, George occasionally saw one who walked right through the melee without apparently even being noticed by the flesh eaters.

"Why do you think that is?" he asked the unresponsive cats. "I thought you two had left me alone because we're friends. But it looks like some people are simply unappealing to zombies. I must be one of them. I wonder why? And what would you have done if I wasn't immune, Mrs Smith? Would you have attacked me or Mrs Jones first?"

Mrs Smith remained silent and George turned his attention back to the scene in the street.

As he watched, a woman just below was grabbed by a zombie that had managed to walk up behind her without her noticing. George could clearly see the blood shooting from her neck as the zombie bit into her. Even this far from the street, he could also clearly hear her shrill screams.

"I've got enough cat food to keep you both going for a week," he said, without turning from the window. "After that... well, things will be getting pretty nasty. The corpses will be smelling and a health hazard. If the authorities haven't sorted things out by then, I'm going to test my immunity theory and see if I can just walk out of town. Which means you'll have to hunt for your own food."

He looked at the two zombie cats, their dead eyes dull but menacing.

"I have a feeling you'll be good at it."

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