Jack Strange - Zomcats!

Adrian took his arm and steered the young man towards the end of the shed.

“Look at that in the far pen,” he said.

Paul gasped in amazement. What he saw was a thing of beauty.

It was a perfectly white rat twice the size of any rat he’d ever seen before. In the pen with it were several more rats, but they were light grey in colour, and only half again as big as a normal rat.

“I have to keep mine in a little cage in my bedroom,” Paul said. “The conditionth are tho cramped. Thometimeth I worry that they don’t get to run around enough.”

“These pens of mine are very generous, so I don’t have that problem,” said Adrian. “But I still let them out so that I can play with them.”

He looked the younger man in the eye.

“Not a word of this to anyone, you understand. If my wife ever got wind of it, she’d be horrified. Firstly, because she hates rats, and secondly, because if she got to know how much I spend on them every month, she’d go fucking ape-shit.”

“It’th all right, your thecret’th thafe with me, Adrian. I won’t tell a thoul. Can I pick him up, pleathe?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll open the door for you.”

Adrian opened the door of the pen, and the huge white rat came scuttling out, whiskers twitching, his head turning from one man to the other and back again. Paul hesitated and looked at Adrian.

“Go on,” said Adrian.

Paul picked up the white rat and held him in his arms.

“He’s beautiful,” he said.

“And intelligent,” said Adrian. “I’ve been selectively breeding them for generations to make them more intelligent. I swear to God, sometimes I think that the latest lot are as clever as you and I. If only they could speak, they’d be capable of taking over the world.”

“He’s so friendly.”

“Yes, but I’m sure that if someone tried to do anything they shouldn’t with him, he’d be more than capable of defending himself, so make sure you handle him gently.”

“I will. He theems to underthtand that I’m a friend.”

“Yes, I he probably does. He has good instincts, and he’s very, very bright. He’s called Putin, because he’s an absolute dictator who rules the rest of them with an iron rod. Let me introduce you to my other friends. Putin, tell them they can come out of the pen.”

Putin made a chattering sound with his teeth, and the rest of the rats came charging out of the pen, crowding around Paul’s legs in a friendly grey mass of fur and eyes and tails.

“Amathing,” said Paul. “I’ve never theen anything like it before. He’th actually communicating with the otherth.”

“Yes, and that’s not all he can do. I’ll show you his other tricks later.”

The two men got on so well, and were so fascinated by their pastime, that they didn’t notice how much time was passing until daylight turned to dusk.

Adrian looked out of the window.

“I better get you home, Paul,” he said. “And I better get home myself. My wife’s going to be wondering where I am.”

The rats were still all over the floor of the shed, happily sniffing around.

“Putin, tell them it’s time for bed now,” said Adrian.

Putin made a chattering noise with his teeth.

Instead of going to bed, the rats on the floor launched themselves at Paul and Adrian like a multitude of Excocet missiles, fastening their limpet teeth on the two men. There were hundreds more of the giant rats, they’d been breeding at a faster rate than Adrian had realised, and most of them had been hiding in the hutches that he’d provided for them at the back of the pens. Now they all came streaming out in a grey-black tide, sweeping quickly across the floor, and enveloping both men.

As he collapsed under the ferocity of their attack, Adrian croaked:

“I told you they were capable of taking over the world. Now it’s only a matter of time. Aaargh!”

Paul’s answer was monosyllabic.

“Aaaargh!”

The rats feasted well that night. Soon all that was left of the two friends were a few tattered shreds of their clothing, and a polka-dot pattern of bloodstains on the floor of the shed.

Putin led his men back into the pen, and to the back of the one of the hutches, to a hole the rats had secretly gnawed in the wall.

The hole led out into the wide world beyond.

It was time to explore, and time to conquer.

Their time had come.

Putin and his army were intent on claiming their rightful place at the very top of the food-chain.

Humans would be relegated to the second division, if not the third.

Before Putin got to the hole, something appeared in it which filled it: a cat’s head.

But Putin was no ordinary rat, so he wasn’t going to be intimidated by a mere cat.

He was as big as a cat for a start, if not bigger. He was strong, and powerfully built, with a set of incisors so big that they were out of all proportion to his immense head. He leapt at the cat and fastened his teeth into its nose. He was sure that the cat would howl with pain, and instantly retreat. He had visions of pursuing it, killing it, and feasting on its blood.

But this cat didn’t appear to feel pain. Instead, it became angry. It opened its mouth and hissed. Then it pushed forward. It was too big to squeeze through the hole, but it kept pushing.

Putin held tight onto the cat’s nose. He was vaguely aware that something was happening to the wood panelling above the hole. Something seemed to be cutting through it. He couldn’t understand what was happening, but still he held on tight.

There was a rending of wood, and a shower of splinters, and something that looked like a very sharp ginger circular sawblade cut through the wooden wall of the shed.

It was then that Putin realised that while he was no ordinary rat, this was no ordinary cat.

With a dismissive swat of his paw, Henderson removed Putin from his snout and pinned him to the floor. Putin squealed and his army of rats rushed forward to defend him.

Henderson bit him in two.

As the rats covered Henderson, fastening their teeth into him, Stump, Oscar, Tiddles, Sally, Becky and Florence entered the shed. Even Goliath was somehow able to squeeze through, although it was a struggle for him to do so.

The zomcats were accompanied by others who’d joined their band: Bernard, Clarence, Fluffy, Puss-Puss, Felix, Tigger, Scoundrel, Macavity, Old Possum, Smokey, Choo-Choo, Olive and a great many more.

Within seconds, the shed was awash with rat-blood.

The global takeover planned by Putin and his band of hyper-intelligent rats had proved to be short-lived. As for the zomcats, they were still hungry after feasting on rat-meat. They went on the prowl around Birkby in search of further sustenance.

Floyd Rampant made his way through the darkness, followed by Kat De Vine and Gary Fletcher.

Rampant was a celebrity chef who’d been raised from the dead by the same resurrection machine that had been used to raise Henderson the zomcat from the dead. It had turned him into the world’s first zombie. He’d created an undead army of celebrity chefs and tried to take over the U.K. He’d also created countless other chef zombies at Chef-Con, the international convention for celebrity chefs. They’d all returned home with plans to take over their own countries.

Rampant’s plans to conquer the U.K. had been derailed by the Prime Minister, who had ordered the R.A.F. to drop bombs on Huddersfield while Rampant and his army had been stationed there.

Rampant, De Vine and Fletcher were the only zombies in the U.K. to have survived the bombing.

They’d done so by escaping into the warren of subterranean tunnels that lay hidden beneath the town.

Fletcher caught a rat and gripped it in his hands. It wriggled and kicked, but it couldn’t escape. He brought it up to his mouth, bit off its head, and chewed it into a pulp.