Pit of Lions by Life Is A Highway66


Dead Set © Channel 4
Takes place during episode five. After Patrick 'kidnaps' Kelly.
I have ideas to continue this into a chaptered story. If any would want that, don't hesitate to say! :)


We should have killed him.

If he was lying on the ground with a bullet cleanly through his skull, this never would be happening. His disgusting pig-like forearm around my neck, and a gun to my head. The gun I should have shot him with would be used to kill me. That's what makes this worse. Why the fuck can't he see how stupid this is? I can see it. Everyone else can see it. We're submerged in darkness; walking backwards through the corridors that I once walked, watching Big Brother contestants battle. A sick programme, one which could be traced back centuries; throw someone into a pack of lions and watch as they are eaten alive. I know now more than ever, the House has become more like this. And as the smell of the bait bowl stings the back of my throat, I know soon, I will be thrown to the lions. Unarmed.

Fuck, we should have killed him!

Through the circles in my eyes, I see them. I see them all following. I know what Patrick's thinking. The more that follow, the more time he and Joplin will have to escape; to find the myth of 'survivors'. I think of that word. Ironic, soon he'll find the only survivors want to rip in half and taste his delicious insides.

We're outside. It's dark. I'm screaming for help, but my cries are undistinguishable from the yelling. We're no longer talking to each other, but talking at one another. No more escape plan, this was not the way to escape. This was a plan to prolong our suffering; an escape plan would be to stay in the House. That dick Joplin is apologising as he puts the bait bowl down and fumbles around with the key to the van. The van I found. The keys I pulled out of a lifeless body's hands. I look to Riq. Was it only a week ago I was thinking about and dreading to tell him I had had a one night stand? I guess time flies in an undead apocalypse. Those stupid problems, minuscule problems that we had back then; maybe this would be the perfect time to tell him. In the horror of this all, he probably would not care, and these lions could take me and my clear conscience.

There's a strange sound, like something wet moving. It makes my stomach churn. There's only one thing around which would make that sound. The bait bowl. The contents of my stomach threaten to join Grayson over the floor. Riq runs toward Joplin, while he's preoccupied by the mess, but the sound rings out. The sound that should have rung out in the Big Brother house. The sound that should have fucking killed Patrick! "Riq!" I scream, as he falls to the ground. Blood on his stomach mixes with the crimson liquid of our predators. I scream. And scream. And scream. He had made it this far, why should he die now? I barely even notice the tires of the van squealing in reply as Joplin drove away. Patrick is picking up body parts. It brings me a sick kind of pleasure. He runs away. Just in time for Riq to shudder, stare at the sky and cease breathing.

We should have fucking killed him!

This is it. This is the beginning. This is the end. I finally pick my gun up, and start shooting at the fat bastard running for the gate, the bowl of bait at hand. The first bullet hits a car, but he looks back. For that moment in time, he turns, and sees me. Other shots are fired, but miss; then I notice the gate. The gate where the living dead push their hands through the mesh. Joplin. Trying to dodge their frantic and decomposing hands. I want to stop him, but my throat burns. My eyes sting. My body is growing tired. I have nothing more to fight for. The gun clicks as I try to shoot Patrick; just as the gates open. And unarmed we are released to the pack of lions.

He turns, stumbles, and is pushed against the bonnet of the van. They are like children at Christmas with a new puppy, playing with it too hard. He screams. His own actions led to his own death. The sick pleasure rises again. Just what he fucking deserves. Patrick is running toward us, with Grayson in the bowl. I want to stay with Riq, and make sure that his body is not tainted by the curse of reanimation, but Veronica pulls me away, and we are running. Running from the cannibal beings. Running for our lives. We go to the house, closing the door, so we are in, but they are out. They have Patrick. The lions roar, Patrick yells. He's finally dead. But all too late. There is just me, Marky and Veronica now. I'm sure they have gotten Space. We are stuck in an exhibition. They can see us. We can see them. They try to claw through the glass and the blood on their hands smeared. They faces pressed against the glass, trying to get our scent. We may be able to win for our intelligence, but there is one downfall for the living. They do not have it. Fear. It immobilises us. It stops our rational thinking.

"It's Space. I'm in the gallery. Where's Pip?"

We look around, but the voice is of the eye in the sky. We finally have someone to protect us. We scream at him, telling him to close the shutters so we don't have to see them. So we can pretend that they are not there. So we can live without fear, even if just for a moment. They disappear. They still bang from behind the glass, but at last, we can pretend Great Britain is normal. Pretend we had killed Patrick. Pretend we continued our escape plan. I pick the axe from the floor, and know for Riq's sake, we have to keep fighting.

"They're comin' through the runs!"

The banging. It's all around. All we can hear. Ominous. Foreshadow. Whatever you want to call it. All I know is that the banging and what is causing it… That's the future. That is what's to come. The diary room. That's the only safe place now, they will eventually get in, but never would they penetrate the diary room. I yell for Space; telling him to open it. I wait. Wait for the red light to turn. The mirrors. They cave into the house. We are released to the lions again. Armed with just an axe we are no competition for what they have. The three of us against the undead Great Britain.

Micky is the first to be taken, to be preyed upon. Veronica and I scream. As the room becomes red, the button to the diary room continues to stay the crimson colour. I swing my axe, trying to buy time, but Veronica's screams stop. Am I the only one left? I don't have time to ask, though. My muscles are weakening. I have to focus. I have to survive. Screams and roars intertwine, just above it; I hear the London accent, proclaiming the door being open. The light is green. But again, it is too late; there is only me and Space now. Only the two of us. I get to the diary room. I am safe. I am safe.

"How you doin'?" I ask. I have to pretend all is well. For my sanity's sake, all is well. I have to pretend there are no screams. There is nothing. Nothing but Space and I. I have to stop imagining what is becoming of Patrick; being pulled in two, having his head torn from his torso. There is a slight rise of the sick pleasure again, however, the image is suppresses it.

"Good," He says, "Pretty much surrounded here." He sounds exasperated. As if he too was giving up. He was once fighting for Pippa, I was fighting for Riq. The two of us. We had nothing left. Just the false consciousness that someone, sometime soon, would save us. "What about Veronica and Marky?"

My head sinks. I will not cry. I will not allow them to realise my mortal weakness; the fact I am prone to human emotions. I cannot help myself. Tears flow despite my best efforts. I cannot help myself. Tears flow despite my best efforts. "This makes you the winner of this year's Big Brother." I try to laugh. The blood on my skin makes me weak. I am out of allies, out of options. I need this moment of normalness. I know it cannot last. I know what I need to do. "I need you to open the door."

"Nah, it's a full house out there!"

I imagine Veronica and Micky. The two, who had always seemed to uphold their appearance, feasting in their cannibal and undead state on the body of their ex-housemate, the blood pooling down their face. Their teeth sinking into the flesh of Gaynor. I feel the vomit threatening to come to my mouth, but manage to keep it down. "I know." I try to think of a plan, and one comes to mind. The radio from France. They're alive. Riq managed to get here by the river. It's my only hope. I have to try. I have to survive. "I'm gonna fight my way through and I'm gonna–"

"There's hundreds of them!"

"What did you say to me back at the gates? Seize the day and shit." He is silent. I have my escape plan. It is impossible, but I know what to do. At the mention of the gate, I imagine an undead Joplin stalking the gates which he had opened. The gates which had caused this mess. Waiting for someone to have an idea that the Big Brother house was fan–proof, and must therefore be undead proof. "I can do this." I wish I could say there is silence, but there is not. The screams. The roars. The banging. It filled the Big Brother house.

"Alright." He is apprehensive. "Alright. Just say when, yeah?"

"Wish me luck." I know. For some reason, I know that he has been bitten. I know that at some point soon, he will die. He will reanimate. He will become one of them. A mindless machine that only worried were its next meal was coming from. I would be a survivor. The only survivor. This thought made it somehow better to face the fate I was going to put myself through.

"Yup."

"Okay." A moment passes. Doubt subsides. I have nothing to live for. I am a lone survivor of the infection that gripped Great Britain. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I say, "Let me out."

The door opens. My throat burns from my screams as I am unleashed into the pit of lions; armed with just my axe. This is my best shot. I have to try. For Riq.