Prime Cuts

I’ve had enough of pacing up and down this enclosed space so I sit myself down on the hard and cold wooden floor and take a few moments to study my outstretched arms and onto my shaking hands. I start to wonder if any of that damn undead horde that’s been banging on my door nonstop for the last two long days will have any preference to which part of me they would like to eat first.

In my tired and churning mind I can picture one of those illustrations, you know the ones, they are on display behind the counter of every butchers shop in the world. A colorful image showing all of the prime cuts which are available to the hungry customer; but this particular one which I can see with my minds eye doesn’t show the cartoon like outline of some cow, pig or sheep. This one depicts the shape of a human body, and it’s my body.

Brisket, sirloin, rump, shanks and tenderloin; I rack my brain and try to match those few names which I can remember to the relevant parts of my body. Feverishly I rise and rip of all my clothes and get to work. Soon enough my naked form is covered in ink as the black marker pen which I had grabbed from my desk makes dotted lines all over my pinkish white flesh. Whilst prodding, squeezing and pinching myself I carefully search out those tender places and mark them off one by one until I find myself smiling as it dawns on me that I may not be that tasty a prize. My years of scoffing on those scrumptious cream cakes that I get from the bakers down the road every morning on the way to work and then when at home practically living on whatever crappy take away food and microwave dinners I can get my hands on have taken their toll. All that fat, sugar and salt has made me a fair bit overweight and to be honest in a pretty poor condition. The smile I am wearing soon disappears when I realize that the zombies probably won’t mind about the excess fat and gristle anyway. I doubt it very much that they will be in any way fussy. It’s not like they will be leisurely sitting down around a fine oak dining table with a nice glass of Cabernet Sauvignon in their hands as they discuss, and resolve, the whole world’s political problems whilst they delicately pick away at a carefully and lovingly prepared meal.

As soon as I have completed the map of my meat I get a huge urge to inspect myself, to inspect my work, so I go over to the only window as it gives me back a vague and blurry reflection. I look like some heavily tattooed fat biker, lines squiggles and writing adorning my skin like a story of my life. However I am soon distracted away from that sight; from up here on the first floor I may be able to see far off into the distance but it’s the narrow streets below is where my eyes have been drawn straight down to. They are completely full of the undead; there is an unending array of various ages and sizes of zombies which are staggering around, bumping into each other, clawing away at every door and window in their unending and relentless search for food. Dozens of them are converging towards my restaurant, somehow it seems that they can sense I am hiding away inside or maybe it’s just that they can smell me. Again I crack a little smile as I tell myself that it wouldn’t be at all surprising as I must be reeking like a tramp as I haven’t been able to wash since all this began.

My forever depressing, grey walled, twelve foot by twelve foot office has from the day that the first zombies rose and attacked our town been turned into my prison. I admit that for far too many years to remember it had also felt like that; what seemed like endless hours stuck in here and shuffling around bits of paper; going from one tray to another for what seemed like no good reason at all. By now it’s turned into me sitting here all alone in my bleak cell; a cell on Death Row. The big problem was that the Last Meal of this condemned man was not going to be something of my choosing, not a nice tasty and still bleeding rib-eye steak in a creamy peppercorn sauce with chunky chips and fried green tomatoes, no, the Last Meal would be me, served raw.

Crack! The noise from below tells me that the main doors pillars are starting to give way. They are fairly strong security doors but were designed to protect the daily takings, not to protect me, I have always know that money was always far more important to the company than a going nowhere junior manager like me. It has always just been a matter of time, they were never going to last forever, not with the weight of numbers that’s been bearing down on it and that sound signals that its complete failure won’t be far off now. Sometime pretty soon they will get through the only true barrier protecting me and will be in their own clumsy way climbing the single flight of stairs to my flimsy office door. The only other exit I have is the window but that’s not an option I savor; there is only a rolling sea of rotten flesh below it, if I jumped out I would soon be devoured by the waves of bloody teeth.

Smash! The doors have now had enough pressure and they give out; an almighty groan fills the air, it’s as if they have all cheered out in unison at their long awaited triumph. My cheeks are now wet and the salty tears roll down onto my lips as I hear them crashing and banging about below me as they work their way through the restaurant; the plastic table and chairs are being knocked out of the way as they all instinctively head for the stairwell. The half eaten burgers and french fries left by the panicking customers when the news first broke will no doubt be ignored as they have something a little fresher in mind.

As my head drops with defeat to my chest I look again at my marked out body. Will they take a moment to thank me for showing them where my prime cuts are; will they fight and argue with each over who will get the best bits? How much of me will have to be eaten before I die or will I pass out before then? When they are finished will there be enough left of me to turn into one of them?

The groaning and howling increases by the second and I hear their clumsy footsteps on the stairs as they reach the last stage in their pursuit of me. Slam! The door flies open and they come funneling in through the small opening. Suddenly they stop dead in their tracks and the lead one stares right at me.

With his grey sullen eyes he eyes me up and down and then his blue lips move. He is smiling and I notice they all are. They start towards me again with that look stuck on their faces. They are sure looking forward to this Happy Meal.