Al (& Bos Bos) vs Zombie Santa: Zombie Botnet

By Al K. Line

A Festive Fable

 

Al's in trouble. It's Christmas Eve and he hasn't got a single gift yet. Never one to let the zombie Apocalypse stand in the way of a bit of last minute shopping, Al bribes (with sandwiches) Bos Bos the rather reluctant Labrador to help with his quest.

 

Only problem is the snow starts to fall, Al's autism threatens to send him out of control, and Dingelberrys - the only place to do your Christmas shopping according to Al - is no longer the most peaceful of department stores.

 

Something is stirring. It senses fresh meat, and Al's six feet seven frame promises to be the best of meals (aperitif of Labrador).

 

Zombie Santa is hungry, the festive feaster is on the move.

 

A standalone novella.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Al K. Line
• Release date: Oct 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781507058428

Al K. Line

Al K. Line is a British author who lives in rural England with his wife, son and dogs. When asked to describe himself for this bio all we got was the following: "Who am I? Degrees, jobs, living in other countries, fighting squirrels, cuddling monkeys, amused by penguins, all the usual stuff." Best newsletter in digital make-believe land: http://www.alkline.co.uk (discounts and cool stuff) Facebook thing: https://www.facebook.com/authoralkline

Book preview

Crunchy

Al crunched through the shin deep snow as large fractal flakes landed on his face, tickling his nose, matting his beard and blurring his eyesight. All around was white. Pure and clean. It was easy to imagine that the mangled, half eaten corpses beneath the snow had been eradicated rather than merely temporarily hidden and frozen.

His huge hands were stuffed deep in the pockets of his heavy commando green parka — the simplest way to keep them warm, as he was yet to find a pair of gloves large enough to fit his oversized paws that doubled as weapons when the need arose. The fur lined hood was drawn tight around his head yet the snow still found a way in. He was beginning to feel the cold.

The fluffy faux-fur trimmed hood gave him a mass of white hair; his nose was red from the strong wind that was turning to a blizzard.

He continued his counting, making sure never to lose his place.

One hundred and eighteen crunchy steps in the snow. One hundred and nineteen steps that crunch in the snow is what I am counting. One hundred and twen—

Woof woof. Woof. It was Boscoe. Interrupting — again.

Al stopped his tedious tallying and stood stock still. He and Bos Bos had been battling through the fluffy downfall that had begun only that morning for some time now. The going was tough even for Al's huge six foot seven frame, and for poor little Boscoe it was becoming a real issue.

Looking over his shoulder, Al saw that Bos Bos had been cheating and leaping from one huge Al footprint in the snow to the next. He only noted an odd doggie paw print, the rest lost in the deep trench that was the result of Al's obsessive counting and walking system thus far.

The snow was massing in huge drifts — wind funneled angrily down the street before dissipating as suddenly as it gathered — making it hard to walk at all. Even the normal snowfall height was getting dangerous, but the drifts brought it up to Al's thighs in places and Bos Bos was at risk of disappearing under the burden. Every leap Bos Bos made saw his belly dragging across the horrible, sparkly white powder, his only salvation the huge footprints of Al.

Bos Bos wanted to pee, wanted to go home, and with so much exertion Bos Bos was hungry too. Not that he was ever not a little bit on the peckish side — he wouldn't refuse a cheese sandwich whatever the time of day, or night.

Al was hungry too; if you knew Al then you knew that a hungry Al was never a happy Al. As his belly rumbled deeper and more insistently so his autism ramped up a gear. His brain ceased to function as effectively as it did when he had plenty of food inside of him, and he became increasingly obsessive about minutiae as the hunger pangs grew. He needed regular feeding to keep his blood sugar levels a steady constant, and the lack of a snack made his unique brain chemistry go a little haywire. He could easily lose control of his usually calm and friendly nature if things continued as they had done for too much longer.

Al's condition covered a broad spectrum of behavior that was difficult to classify, so, of course, it had been classified. He was, or had been, labeled as having Pervasive Developmental Disorder, Not Otherwise Specified, meaning he had all the signs of autism but never came under one specific set of criteria. He found it hard to really relate to people — his emotions were never very deep for others, and his obsessive nature often got in the way of life, especially now that the zombie botnet had taken away all that was familiar for him. Routine, he needed routine, so he counted his steps, focusing in on the details to stop his mind unraveling into chaos.

Where was he? How many steps had he taken? Bos Bos had interrupted him once more so now he would have to start over — again.

One crunchy step in the deep snow. Two crunchy steps in the snow—

Woof, woof.

Why are you doing the barking Boscoe? You know that you are interrupting the counting of the steps don't you? And this is very important. Are you not wanting to be eating the food?

Woof. Bos Bos definitely wanted the food.

Well then, we must keep walking in the squishy snow, which I am not now liking any more. I am thinking that in the big department store there is going to be piles of food. I am thinking there will be food for sandwiches too.

Bos Bos wagged his tail excitedly. He loved sandwiches just as much as Al did, especially cheese ones. But he was feeling very tired, so sandwich or not he wished he had stayed at home in the warm, rather than going out into the cold wet stuff that fell from the sky and made walking so tough.

He was a black Labrador that had the misfortune to be caught up in the Apocalypse and had managed to lean out his once tubby frame because the undead kept trying to eat him or his friends. It was a tiring business as he much preferred it when he had less to do and more to eat. His short legs simply weren't cut out for wading through high snow and the constant jumping from hole to hole made by Al was exhausting.

Look, we are nearly being there Bos Bos, said Al, pointing to a building just across the street, the heavy fresh snowfall obliterating the boundary between road and pavement. If we hurry then hopefully we will be getting the things before long and we can be doing the going home to Mandy and Kyle and Ven and baby Tomas. You are wanting this?

Thump, thump, thump. Bos Bos' tail wagged against the compacting snow, icicles hanging from its stubby length; his belly was the same. Bos Bos didn't like it at all.

They carried on walking, skirting any bumps in the snow that could be a drift or could be the remains of lunch for a zombie, or a zombie itself — waiting like a spider for food to pass it by.

All was silent, all was still; nothing stirred, not even a zombie.

The only sound was of snow gently falling from the heavy gray sky, blanketing the world in a purity it no longer had.

The zombie botnet had stolen everything,