chapter 28 ( The Battle of Hastings ) In the Pharmacy Aisle !
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THE ZOM ZOM CHRONICLES • CHAPTER 28
The Battle of Hastings
In the Pharmacy Aisle
There is nothing quite like the sound of a twelve-gauge shotgun racking outside a thin particle-board door to make you re-evaluate your life choices.
"Vance!" Sergeant Miller’s voice boomed through the vents, amplified by the tiled hallway. "I know they’re in there with you! Step away from the door lock or I’m turning this entire ward into Swiss cheese! I have the ledger, and your names are on the ledger!"
"Dave!" I yelled over the blaring siren. "Are we unlocked yet?!"
"I don't know!" Dave screamed back, his hands buried in a nest of sparked wires behind the wall panel. "I’ve bypassed the thermite, but I think I also just accidentally programmed the door to display the time in Tokyo! It’s currently 11:15 AM in Japan, guys!"
The 1066 Heist
Brenda completely ignored the door, the alarm, and Dave’s geographical updates. She sprinted to the locked pharmaceutical cabinet.
"The code, Narrator! Input the data!"
"1-0-6-6!" I shouted, dodging a rogue puddle of formaldehyde that Mister Whiskers had successfully pushed off the counter.
"You mis-keyed!" I panicked.
"My finger slipped on the lemon-bleach residue," Brenda said, her voice dropping into a terrifyingly cold pocket of zen. She wiped the keypad with her sleeve and re-entered the sequence.
The glass doors slid open. Inside were neat rows of glowing fluorescent green vials labeled NEURO-INHIBITOR: PHASE 3. Brenda grabbed one, slapped an automated injector onto the top, and turned to Dr. Vance.
The scientist was fully seizing now. His purple veins were throbbing beneath his skin, and his jaw was snapping shut with the force of a bear trap.
Zom. Zom. Zom.
Brenda didn't hesitate. She marched over, raised the injector, and slammed it directly into his shoulder, Pulp Fiction style.
Dr. Vance stiffened. His eyes rolled forward, the violet hue in his veins faded back to a dull gray, and he let out a massive gasp of clean oxygen. "Thank... thank you," he wheezed. "Now... get to the chute. The wall cabinet... behind you."
QUICK LOOT • LOADOUT OPTIMIZATION
The Medical Locker Upgrade Inventory
Kicked open the tactical first-aid locker beneath the sink. We minimized mass and optimized encumbrance.
| Item | Qty | Survival Utility | Notes / Dialogue Context |
|---|---|---|---|
| Surgical Bone Saw | 1 | HIGH (Melee) | Joe's pipe wrench has competition. This thing is jagged, stainless steel, and terrifies Dave. |
| Defibrillator Paddles | 1 Pair | Medium (Shock) | Dave wanted them. "If a Juggernaut grabs me, I'll give him 300 joules to the chest!" |
| Adrenaline Syringes | 4 | Legendary (Buff) | Brenda confiscated these immediately. "To be distributed only during mandatory overtime." |
| Military Scalpel (Titanium) | 2 | High (Shiv) | Tied one to the end of my broken stick. The Ex-Calibur 2.0 is born. |
The Grand Departure
The bottom half of the medical door blew inward in a shower of wood splinters and sparks. Sergeant Miller’s boot kicked through the wreckage, his shotgun barrel poking into the smoky room.
"Audit this!" Miller roared.
"Laundry chute! Now!" Brenda commanded.
I lunged for the wall cabinet, tore the steel door open, and revealed a dark, vertical drop that descended into the industrial bowels of the stadium.
Dave went first. He didn't even jump; Brenda literally hoisted him by his bicycle helmet and dropped him into the hole. We heard him slide down the metal pipe like a human bobsled, screaming a continuous, high-pitched "Aaaaaaaaah!" until a distant THUMP signaled his arrival.
"Doctor, you're up," I said, unstrapping Dr. Vance. He was weak, but mobile. He slid into the chute with a grim nod.
Mister Whiskers didn't need an invitation. He leaped into the darkness voluntarily, probably eager to find a darker room to plot our demise.
"Go, Narrator," Brenda said, standing by the door with her mechanical keyboard raised. Miller was forcing his way through the shattered entryway, his face red with rage.
"Not without the boss," I said. I grabbed Brenda’s arm, and together, we threw ourselves backward into the laundry chute just as a blast of buckshot pulverized the medicine cabinet we had been standing next to a second prior.
We landed in a massive, chaotic pile of tattered military blankets, sheets, and dirty uniforms.
Dave was already there, sitting up and wearing a laundry basket on his head like a crown. Mister Whiskers was perched atop a washing machine, licking his paws.
From the other side of the heavy metal doors, we heard the sound of hundreds of hands scratching against the steel. Not clanking armored boots. Regular, desperate, rhythmic scratching.
And then, a tiny voice through the keyhole:
"Is someone alive in there? Please... the locker rooms are full of them. They're coming down the vents."