Jack Strange - Zomcats!

He led them through and invited them to sit at the table. Richard looked around in wonder.

“It looks like some’at out of t’fifties,” he said. “No, t’thirties. Look at that Belfast sink. I bet it’s an original.”

Richard took one of the mugs of coffee from the tray and put it in front of Pratt.

“I ’ope that’s all right for yer,” he said. “We ’aven’t put any sugar in. We thought it best to leave that to you.”

“It’s perfect as it is,” said Pratt. He took a sip. “Just how I like it,” he added.

Darren pushed the plate of scones to the middle of the table.

“Help yourself to one,” he said.

Pratt picked one up and took a bite. He realised that he’d been so busy and fretful that he hadn’t eaten properly for days.

“That’s delicious,” he said, polishing it off in one rapid mouthful, and speaking while he chewed.

Darren and Richard looked at each other.

“Have another,” said Darren.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Pratt stuffed a second one in his mouth and devoured it as quickly as he had done the first.

He reached out for the third.

“May I?” He asked.

“Of course,” said Darren.

The third and final scone didn’t survive his assault for long.

“Mmmm,” he said, licking his fingers. “How are you finding life round here?”

“Its early days, but it seems all right,” said Darren.

“I reckon I like it. It’s not as good as up north of course, but it’s probably as good as it gets down south.” Said Richard.

Just then there was a noise. It was a loud crack, almost like a gunshot. All three men started.

“What t’fuck wore that? It sounded as if it wore some’at down there.”

He pointed to the floor. “’Have yer got a cellar in this ’ouse?”

“I have,” said Pratt.

“Then we ought ter go down there to investigate. It could be some’at important like a burst pipe.”

Pratt smiled. “Come downstairs,” he said. “It’s not a burst pipe. I’ve got something to show you.”

Back in number 10 Downing Street, Johnson made himself and the P.M. a cup of tea.

“That was a bit of a sticky situation for a while Prime Minister,” he said. “We were lucky to get out of it.”

“Too true,” said the P.M. “Anyway, at least we’ve only got the one problem to deal with. The zomcats. It’s a good job we got rid of the zombies themselves, as soon as they posed a threat. I wouldn’t want to be dealing with both problems at the same time, Johnson.”

“We have a well-stocked larder for a change,” said Rampant, switching on the television.

Kat and Fletcher sat up in their chairs, eager to see the show. It was called MasterChef , and was a competition for amateur cooks, which gave them the opportunity, if they won, to achieve fame, and perhaps even fortune.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Fletcher, as the show drew to an end. “What are we going to do? You know, in the long-term? We can’t just stay here forever.”

Rampant looked intently at the television. The camera was on the three competitors, who were standing in line. The woman in the middle was told she’d just won that week’s competition. She whooped for joy and clapped her hands in delight. The camera moved in for a close-up of her face, and once she’d calmed down, she assumed an expression of the utmost hauteur.

“We’re going to take over, of course,” said Rampant. “We’re going to use an army of chefs, just like we did before. Only they won’t be celebrity chefs this time. There are other chefs we can recruit. What’s more, we’re going to learn from our mistakes. We’re going to use better tactics. This time we’ll make sure that no-one knows what we’re doing until it’s too late to stop us.”

“I’ll tell you something else Johnson. At least these confounded zomcat things all seem to be in the north. Imagine what a kerfuffle there’d be if we had them in the south.”

At that precise moment there was a faint, almost indistinguishable sound from somewhere in an apartment in an exclusive development in Notting Hill.

“What was that?”

“I couldn’t swear to it, but it sounded like a cat.”

The noise came again, feeble but a little louder this time.

“Meeow.”

“It’s definitely a cat. Probably the cat that shat all over your brother’s carpet.”

They followed the noise. Around the back of one of the armchairs, they found a cat lying on the floor. It looked as if it had been starved to the point of death, but had not quite expired. It raised its ginger head and looked pleadingly at the two men and meowed again, then lowered its head back to the floor.

One of the men picked it up and cradled it in his arms. It lay there limply, too feeble to struggle or even to move.

“I’m not like my brother,” he said. “I don’t mind cats. I’m going to take this one home and look after it and get it back on its feet. It looks like it’s been stuck in this room and nearly starved to death. As for my brother, I’m going to report him as a missing person. The fact that there’s a cat here confirms that there’s something horribly wrong. I intend to find out what.”

“Right you are. What did you say your name was again?”

“Myers Bartholomew. Call me Myers.”

Bartholomew carried the fur-covered bag of skin and bone he held in his arms to the door.

“Don’t worry, boy,” he said, tickling it under the chin. “I’ll see that you’re all right. I don’t know what your name is, but your face reminds me of my brother Sydney, so that’s what I’m going to call you — Sydney. What do you think of that?”

Myers Bartholomew couldn’t be certain, but he thought he heard a faint purring noise when he said that.

“Anyway, looking back on the events of the last few months, we have to be grateful that it was only chefs that were turned into zombies. Can you imagine what would have happened if we’d had zombie politicians or some similar hellish creation? That would’ve caused utter chaos, don’t you think, Johnson?”

“It would, Prime Minister.”

Pratt stood up.

His two guests looked at each other then they both stood up as well.

Pratt walked out of the kitchen into the dark hall with Richard and Darren following close behind. He stopped at a door.

“It’s down here,” he said.

He unfastened the four hefty bolts on the door.

“Why have you got so many bolts on that door?” Darren asked.

“Security,” Pratt replied. “You know, to stop people getting into the house if they break into the cellar.”

“That might be what the noise was. Someone might have broken into your cellar.”

“No, it wasn’t caused by anything like that,” Pratt said confidently, taking a couple of keys from his pocket.

He unlocked the two locks on his cellar door. Darren frowned.

“Isn’t that a bit over the top?” He said. “I mean, you have more locks and bolts on your cellar door than you have on your front door.”

“You can’t be too careful,” said Pratt.

Behind his back, Richard pointed his index finger at his own temple and made a circling motion with it, and Darren nodded.

Pratt opened the cellar door to reveal a flight of stairs leading into a pool of gloom. Something could be heard moving in the gloom.

“What the bloody hell is that?” Said Richard.

“You’ll see,” Pratt replied, flicking on the light switch.

He descended the steep flight of stairs. Richard and Darren hung back, unsure as to whether they should follow him. He looked over his shoulder at them.