“I still don’t know why we have to see this film. I’ve heard it’s a pile of …”
Gary Newman’s whinging was interrupted by his girlfriend who had heard this same chant a number of times earlier in the day.
“Enough, already. I want to see it,” she said, hugging him. “You never know, we might get some ideas for later,” she encouraged, a wicked little smile crossing her white-trash beautiful face.
Erica Jong was definitely not white trash – her father was something big in a bank; in spite of that she also knew what floated Gary’s boat – he liked a little rough, so to speak. Her heart raced and her breasts pressed hard against the flimsy cotton dress she had chosen for this evening’s performance – and she wasn’t thinking of the film – as she contemplated the new games she would learn in just a little while; with any luck she might get a little practice later on, after all she had a brown paper covered package delivered earlier in the day that held all sorts of interesting equipment – specially selected and ordered to enhance today’s cinematic experience.
They queued behind a rowdy group of exotic and strangely dressed women.
“Oh, great. That’s all we need,” Gary protested once more. “A goddam hen party! Jeeze!”
“They might add to the ambience, you never know,” Erica whispered in his ear. She needn’t have worried about being overheard, the cinema’s sound system was going to be hard pressed to out-do the fog horn that sounded every time one particularly large and lumpen woman in the group burst into laughter.
“I’d hate to see the size of the manacles that would be needed to secure her to a bedstead,” Gary observed.
“I’d like to see the brave man that might try,” Erica retorted, giggling at her own humour as they slowly inched forward in the queue.
The young couple kept themselves amused while waiting to buy tickets by making up stories about the people ahead of them.
“Look at that couple of old farts,” Gary smirked and pointed at a couple possibly as ancient as their early fifties. “Do you really think they still eat face? Damn, I’m trying not to think about it.” He made heaving motions, pretending to be sickened by the idea.
“Yuk!” Erica exclaimed, punching him on the arm. “Now I won’t be able to eat my popcorn, thanks very much.”
It came to their turn at the kiosk and Gary requested seats in the middle of the seating area, his understanding of the ideal viewing position. He was pleased to see from the computer screen that a significant group of seats had already been secured at the back of the theatre and correctly assumed it was the party of fourteen women he had counted ahead of them in the queue. He heaved a sigh of relief. Still, he thought, they might prove entertaining, they were clearly liquored up and ready for fun, so much so he was surprised the management had allowed them inside.
The couple had to sit one seat further along from their allocated places because someone had spilled something disgusting and sticky onto the velour surface – Erica’s pretty white dress was now smeared with red; she vowed to create a shitstorm for the management later. The party was in full swing down the back, shrieks and excited squeals could be heard clearly. The ‘old’ couple sat near the back and Gary felt sorry for them for having chosen their seats so ill-advisedly. The man began to cough, at first quietly, then in a violent coughing fit that made everyone turn to see what was going on. He held a white handkerchief clutched to his mouth but Gary was certain it had what looked like a nasty blood stain on it when the old guy lowered it. The hens resumed their party.
“I hope we can hear the good bits,” Erica remarked, a little frown on her face.
“You don’t have to hear the dialogue in a film like this, it’s probably shit anyhow. It’s the real steamy action that counts.” He pecked her on the cheek and gave her leg a squeeze high up on her thigh. Realising she was wearing no panties his heart raced and he began breathing deeply, hotly anticipating the latter part of their evening.
The audience went quiet in anticipation of the film but nothing happened. The film didn’t start and no-one came out to explain the delay. Gary was starting to fidget as were some other members of the audience, while in the background irritated mutterings were getting louder by the minute. Finally, after an unexplained fifteen minute delay which had the effect of making the hens even more rowdy, the lights dimmed, the curtains parted and the image flicked at last. A big red letter ‘R’ was projected onto the silver screen, causing cat calls and wolf-whistles from the festivities in the back. Cheers broke out from the younger members of the audience. Music began to play and everyone anticipated their entry to the world of sado-masochistic eroticism and bondage.
Gary yawned. So far the sex parts had been sort of okay, rather disappointing on the whole and frankly the dialog was pretty god-awful; on top of that his arse was beginning to ache as the hard seat reminded him of how long he had sat there watching this crap. His mood was dampening and his only hope for a successful end to the evening was that the unopened box of goodies he had spied through Erica’s doorway when he’d picked her up had something in it that would compensate for his physical and psychological agony.
Squeals sounded from behind them and Gary became suddenly irritable; the film was shit, and the noise was becoming aggravating, not so much because he wanted silence to concentrate – he’d been right about the dialogue, but because someone else was having way more fun than he.
“God damn it,” he exclaimed, turning around abruptly to see what was so great about the party in the back rows. Shocked, he watched as the ‘old’ guy had one of the women locked in a deeply intimate embrace. The rest of the gathering of hens, what was that called – a flock? No, it was more esoteric than that. Ah, yes, a brood – didn’t look particularly broody, that was for sure. Some of them were grabbing at the man, frantically trying to pull him off the woman under him. What the fuck was their problem, he wondered.
The old girl was nowhere to be found. Oh, no, there she was. Damn! He never had a camera when he needed one. The older man’s partner – or wife – appeared still to be capable of sucking face – this time of a woman. What was it about this shitty film?
“Hey, Erica!” he exclaimed. “Get a loada this!” He pulled on her shoulder to turn her head around quickly. They both stared at the bizarre orgy that had begun so unexpectedly in the dark.
Finally the woman who had been eagerly snogging the older man came up for a breather, her mouth open wide, her lipstick smudged across her cheeks in wet, dark smudges.
“Is that lipstick?” Gary asked. “It doesn’t look right.”
“What else can it be?” Erica replied, a look of mild incomprehension on her face.
“Let’s do something better than watching this shit,” Gary suggested. Erica knew exactly what he meant and they clung to each other, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths in the heat of shared passion.
The noise escalated from the rear of the cinema and in spite of their jangling hormones,Gary and Erica looked up, disturbed from their passion.
Looking towards the back it appeared that the whole back rows of the cinema had begun a snog-fest, each kissing the other.
“Must have been one of those lesbian wedding things or something,” Gary concluded, trying to regain some of their lost passion.
Erica pushed him off, instead peering more closely at the scene unfolding before them.
“They ain’t kissing one another, you moron. They’re fucking zombies. Shit, we gotta get out of here!” she pleaded to her man.
Gary’s jaw dropped as he realised what he was seeing.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, babe.” His face had paled visibly even in the half light of the theatre. “Move!”
They leapt to their feet and plunged towards the only opening they could find towards the rear of the premises but were suddenly confronted by the middle aged man whose arms were open wide, his mouth a bloody maw inviting them in. His partner – or wife – stood behind him, gesturing similarly, welcoming them into the party.
Fifty shades of grey matter dripped from a huge rent in the man’s temple where a victim appeared to have fought back with a stiletto shoe, the bright red heel broken off and still hanging from the gaping wound. Erica vomited in the aisle at the terrible site. What a fucking awful waste of a Christian Louboutin, she thought before passing out in terror.
The Common Cold: A Zombie Chronicle (first in Trilogy)
The Common Cold: A Zombie Chronicle – Cabin Fever (second in Trilogy)
The Common Cold: A Zombie Chronicle – Dez Rez (third in Trilogy)
The Common Cold: A Zombie Chronicle Trilogy – three books in one
Return Of A King: A Zombie Chronicle (first in trilogy)
Return Of A King: A Zombie Chronicle – Z Factor (second in trilogy)
The Animus Portal