Jack Strange - Zomcats!

Now, I know what you’re thinking: what’s clog-dancing and what’s it got to do with zombies?”

He paused to take another sip of his tea.

“The people of Huddersfield have this special form of dancing they do, called clog-dancing. I’ll spare you the details. Suffice it to say that it’s quite barbaric, but it seems to keep them happy. Anyway, I wanted to tie in zombies with something local to Huddersfield, as the town had played an instrumental role in getting rid of the zombies, so I came up with a festival featuring people in fancy dress as clog-dancing zombies. Do you see?”

“I’m beginning to. Tyler, are you taking notes?”

Tyler, who had been busy drinking his coffee, quickly put it down and took a pen and notepad from his pocket.

“Yes, Mr President.”

“Get this down. I want you to find me a hick town that votes Democrat and won’t be missed if we blow it up.”

“How about somewhere in the Appalachians?”

“Perfect, as long as it has roads on it that can take a greyhound bus full of prisoners. Plus, we need to think of a theme for a festival we can hold afterwards to make the survivors feel good about what we’ve done to them. A theme that’ll make them feel involved, and celebrated. After all, they’re the ones who’ll have made all the sacrifices.”

“How about getting some banjo players Mr President?”

“What?”

“You know, like in the movie ‘Deliverance’. That’s what they all do in these hick settlements in the Appalachians. They all play the banjo. So we could have a festival with Zombie banjo players. We could call it ‘Duelling Zombie Banjos’.”

“I’ve seen that movie, it’s terrific. Yeah, you know something? We might even get a hit single out of this, or an album. ‘Duelling Zombie Banjos’, I like it. Get that down, Tyler.”

“I’m going to show you how it all works in practice,” said the PM. “We’re going to visit the town of Huddersfield tomorrow and show you the celebrations taking place. But you’ll know that already, from your itinerary of course.”

“Of course,” said Doughnut. “Excuse me, where are your facilities?”

“Down the corridor.”

Doughnut stood up and motioned with his head for Tyler to go with him. Tyler followed Doughnut into the corridor. They went together into a pokey little room with only three cubicles in it, one of which had the words ‘Prime Minister’ on the door. Doughnut went in.

Oh no, please God, no, thought Tyler.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Doughnut unzipped his pants without dropping them.

“What’s this about an itinerary, Tyler?” Doughnut asked.

“I gave it to you, Mr President, don’t you remember? It was that morning you were going out to play golf with the Speaker of the House of Representatives.”

Doughnut cast his mind back to that day. He remembered Tyler giving him a piece of paper. As he’d been in a rush, he’d thrust it in his pocket without reading it.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “ That itinerary.”

He turned around to face Tyler.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was important?” He growled.

“I thought you knew. I—”

Doughnut pushed past him and washed his hands in a basin on the wall.

“Next time make sure you tell me,” he snarled. “Now give me another one, so that I know what’s going on around here.”

Tyler gave the President another copy and they returned to the lounge.

“We’ve got a bit of a bash arranged for you in London tonight,” said the PM as they entered. “But what you’ll really want to see is Huddersfield. We’ll be heading up there first thing tomorrow, but first things first. You fellows have just had a long journey and you haven’t had the chance to freshen up. Would you like me to get one of my chaps to bring in your bags, and you can both take a shower and relax before we go to the first event on the itinerary?”

“That sounds good to me,” said Doughnut, who was still sweaty from his wrestling match with the PM in the doorway of number 10.

“Very good. Johnson, do the honours for the President, will you? There’s a good chap.”

Johnson went outside and got Tyler’s bag and one of Doughnut’s bags from the limo and brought them inside, and put them on the upstairs landing. When the PM heard him, he nodded approvingly.

“Just go to the top of the stairs. You’ll find your bags waiting for you, and you’ll easily work out where the bathrooms are.”

Doughnut and Tyler looked at each other and left the room, passing Johnson as he came back in.

The PM put his hand to his ear and listened to their movements carefully. When he heard the bathroom doors close, and he was sure the President and his Aide couldn’t hear what he was saying, he turned to Johnson.

“They’ve brought over that bloody big motorcade to make us look like the poor relations Johnson,” he said. “We’ve got to do something that’ll make us look better than them. What can we do? Give me some ideas.”

“How about something ceremonial Prime Minister? We’re good at that.”

“What do you mean?”

“We could have the horse guards out on parade, the ones with the shiny boots and helmets.”

“Capital idea, Johnson. The Yanks don’t have anything like that, do they? We could get that other lot out too, the ones with the big furry hats.”

“Bearskins, Prime Minister.”

“There’s no need to show off Johnson.”

The following morning the President’s motorcade had to drive very slowly through the streets of London, flanked as it was by soldiers and officers of the Royal Horse Guards in full ceremonial dress. The President himself was called upon to inspect lines of soldiers in their ceremonial clothes at the front of Buckingham Palace while the world’s press looked on. He didn’t have a clue what to do, but he did his best not to look foolish. The PM observed the proceedings with a satisfied smile.

“Adolf thought he’d got one over on us Johnson,” he said. “He was mistaken. We’re the ones who’ve got one over on him.”

Due to the many road-works on the M1, one lane of the motorway had to be cleared of all traffic to enable the President’s motorcade to make the journey to Huddersfield in reasonable time. The PM also had a motorcade, although the two Rover cars it consisted of looked battered and ancient next to the presidential Cadillacs. All along the roads leading to the motorway there were miles and miles of log-jammed motorists who were unable to reach their destinations, or even move at all, because they were side-lined by the two motorcades. These motorists were all fuming. The PM smiled at them when he saw them lined up on the slip-roads.

As they passed Newport Pagnell services, Johnson held out his tablet.

“I think you should take a look at this Prime Minister,” he said.

There was a news bulletin on the screen.

‘Revealed: the real reason for the President’s visit to England. Anonymous sources have confirmed that Prime Minister Camembert is so worried by his flagging popularity that he has invited over President Doughnut in the hope of improving his ratings. If this doesn’t work, he could be gone before the next election, ousted from office by his own party, many of whom are expressing rumblings of discontent….’

“What a load of tosh,” said Camemblert. “Where did that come from?”

“Don’t you know, Prime Minister?”

“No I bloody well don’t, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked you, would I?”

“I’m pretty sure it came from someone briefed by the White House, Prime Minister.”

For an instant the PM looked puzzled; then he reddened.