Runner 5

“Five! We’ve got a mission for you. It’s in the nearby town so take the bike, you’ll be quicker that way,” Janine calls to you. “Sam will give you the brief as soon as you’re on your way. Take the backpack.”

You shake your head at her—you’re never without the backpack, especially when you might get the chance to have a scavenge through the store full of sports bras on the old high street—but grab the pack and jump on your bike anyway.

Sam crackles in over your radio. “It’s a fun one, you’ll love this right. Morale’s been down because of Christmas being around the corner. Our first Christmas after Z-Day and all. Anyway, they’ve approved getting some Christmas gifts and food, if you can find any. I’ve got a big old list right here. Janine, why are tinned Brussels sprouts on here? Those are disgusting! Are you telling me you’re making Five risk her life for a horrible vegetable nobody likes?”

“They’re not horrible. Some people like them,” Janine argues.

“Of course you’re the kind of person that would like brussels sprouts,” Sam retorts.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You know I’m thinking of putting you on Christmas dinner washing up duties,” she warns.

“Nothing, nothing! I only meant that you’ve got more… sophisticated tastes than the rest of us. Which is to be applauded! Five, watch out, zombies heading your way out of the alley just ahead. Oh you’re well outpacing them, good girl. Respectfully. So much respect going round. For everyone. R-E-S-P-E-C-T…”

“Why don’t you tell Runner Five which way she’s going today?” Janine interrupts.

“Oh, right! Yes. Mission. Five, you’re headed to the old Costco. It’s a bit out of town so I don’t think it’s been fully looted out yet, or so the reports say. Mountains of supplies still there. Get what you can as always, but today Christmas food and fun stuff is top of the list. Toys for the kids, books, games, things like that.”

“Morale is just as important for survival as food and shelter,” Janine cuts in. “Well, nearly. Once you have the basics.”

Privately you agree with her. No one is going to make it through the winter with their sanity intact at Abel without a bit of fun and games.

“I’m going to switch you over to Radio Abel, as long as you’re not sick of the five Christmas songs they’ve got on repeat this week.”

You huff a laugh. Jack and Eugene have only been able to find a couple of Christmas song files and they’ve been inflicting them non-stop on all their listeners, but this is a special Christmas mission and the music will hopefully get you into the spirit.

You might even find some new CDs for them. The thought spurs you onwards.

“Not too many zoms about today,” Sam chimes back in after a while. “The ice is hopefully freezing up all those cold dead limbs. Lends a new meaning to ‘cold as the grave’ doesn’t it?”

You roll your eyes. The nonsensical joke was barely funny the first ten times he said it this week, after the cold snap started and everyone had to start breaking ice from the top of the water butts in the morning. But Sam’s just talking to keep you company: these long missions alone deep in zombie territory can get to you, after a while. “I remember going home for Christmas… all the questions about how I was doing at uni, what my future plans were, all that. Funny. I used to dread them. I guess in the end it didn’t matter though did it? But Mum would always make up my room, and there’d always be a new pair of pyjamas and a box of gingerbread for me, that was her tradition. Zoms heading towards you from the east. Your left.”

Eventually you arrive at the old Costco, with only a couple of minor detours to dodge zombies. It’s once you’re there that you hit the snag: the huge building is crawling with zoms, staying inside to keep warm. And there are no cameras in there for Sam to watch your back.

You are not to be deterred however. It’s up to you to save Christmas for Abel Township, after all. You hide the bike outside, plot a route through the store, and run as quietly as you can for the food section, ignoring Sam in your ear having a minor panic attack because it’s “too dangerous”.

The store is pretty empty, but… there. The back isles are almost untouched. Flour, herbs, spices, jars of pickles and tins of fruit, and hidden under some knocked over shelves, a precious box of chocolates.

You have to kneel and half crawl under the tipped shelving to retrieve it and shove it inside your pack, and when you finally pop up, you find yourself nose to nose with a hoard of zombies.

With a horrible wet roar, they lunge for you. You scramble backwards to your feet, shoulder your now laden pack, take out your bat and start swinging.

The zombies don’t have the intelligence to back off. They’re not scared, even as you smash them down one by one. They just smell the warm red blood pumping through your veins. You’re making short work of them as they come at you, months of hard training kicking in, but the commotion is drawing more and more zombies into the fray and you’re slowly being backed against a stack of shelving. There’s no way out now, and hundreds of zombies surround you.

You wrench a couple of boxes off the shelf behind you—toasters (shame, it’s been such a long time since you’ve had a proper slice of toast and marmite)—and lob them at the nearest zoms. They stumble back, buying you precious seconds to turn and climb your way up the shelves out of reach.

There’s a roar from the zombies below as they see their dinner wriggling away up and along the isle. You breathe, pushing away the panic, trying to formulate a plan. There’s a sea of zombies below, and this shelving unit doesn’t extend very far. And to make things worse, the zombies, with quite surprising initiative, have started throwing themselves against the shelves, making them sway almost to tipping point. You hang on for all you’re worth—but you’re officially fucked.

A loud whistle pierces the air. The zombies turn as one towards the sound.

“Hey! You! Wet disgusting motherfuckers!” Jodie yells from the entrance of the store. The shelf stops swaying. You quiet the relief that washes over you, waiting to see if they take the bait.

They do. With a gurgling howl, they start shambling towards Jodie.

“Oh shit! That worked!” she cries in excitement. Then, significantly less excited, “Oh shit, that worked...” She takes off, leading the hoard on a dance through the store.

You slither down the shelves. Jodie deserves the biggest Christmas present ever.

And speaking of presents, right in front of your eyes, there’s a perfect present for Sam. You grab it and stuff it in your pack, and then take off, using the time Jodie’s brought you to see what else you can find.

You can hardly close your pack when, minutes later, you skid around a corner and almost bump into Jodie, who’s being closely followed by a zombie with a Costco name tag declaring him to be Nathan and that he’s ‘happy to help’.

“This charming guy won’t leave me alone,” she pants. “Run!”

You both make it out of the store with a sizeable lead, and hide quietly behind an outbuilding. A few zombies shamble out after you, but after looking around confusedly, they retreat back into the building. Maybe they really don’t like the cold.

“I was on a mission fixing up some of the cameras nearby and Sam told me you could probably use some backup,” Jodie explains as you divide up the goodies you retrieved to her mostly empty backpack for easier transport back to Abel. You hug her in thanks, and both of you start for home.

Sam, Janine and your other friends are at the gates to meet you. As per protocol, you hand over the contents of your pack to her to divvy out to the kitchen and the people who need them most. There’s a general cheer as she pulls out a board game and the enormous box of chocolates.

You keep one thing back though, under your coat. Runner’s privilege.

Later, on Christmas Eve, you push open the door of Sam’s shack. There aren’t any runners out today, but you know he’d be in there anyway, obsessively checking the cameras and updating the maps like always. The radio is on, softly playing the same Christmas music from Jack and Eugene next door.

You touch Sam on the shoulder, rubbing your thumb over his beloved orange hoodie. He looks up with the grin he keeps just for you. “Hey Five.”

You place your gift on his desk in front of him. You haven’t had the luxury of gift wrapping it, and he laughs with delight as he grabs it and holds it up.

It’s the ugliest pair of pyjamas either of you have ever seen. They’re a putrid shade of brown with a gigantic gingerbread man design on them.

“I love them,” he says honestly. He stands up and pulls you into a long hug, and kisses the top of your head.

A Michael Buble song, It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, starts playing softly on the radio.

Sam pulls back. “This is a new one! Don’t tell me you managed to get Jack and Eugene a new working CD of Christmas songs.”

Your answering grin tells him everything he needs to know.

“You have single handedly saved Christmas and everyone’s sanity, Five. You’re a real hero, you know that?”