What To Wear When Shooting Zombies
"Richard, please," Hyacinth says, closing her eyes as if in great pain. "Don't use the z-word in our home."
[Elizabeth, Hyacinth, Richard - gen - zombies]
"Richard, please," Hyacinth says, closing her eyes as if in great pain. "Don't use the z-word in our home. It's hardly civilized and fit within these highly sophisticated walls. We call them vitally challenged."
Ah, Elizabeth thinks and laces her trembling fingers together, I better remember that. Wouldn't want to upset Hyacinth, especially considering the way she just shot the postman. She just shot the postman!
"You shot the postman," Elizabeth feels obligated to point out. She's very decidedly not looking outside lest she sees the, the remains and the grass painted red. "I don't think I said thank you for doing that. Thank you very much!"
"You're welcome, Elizabeth. What wouldn't we do for our neighbours! Isn't that right, Richard?" Hyacinth says with a saccharine sweet smile. She doesn't wait for an answer but then again, she never does, and Elizabeth is quite certain that Richard hadn't even intended to answer. "We can't all be expert marksmen trained for a high number of apocalyptic situations, and those of us who are do have the duty to protect the civilians. I wish you'd shouted sooner though, the postman fell on my prized gerberas."
"Yes, I should've thought of that," Elizabeth murmurs and wonders when the shock will wear off. Hopefully not for a while; she doesn't want to have a panic attack in the middle of Hyacinth's pristine clean kitchen. Hyacinth would be so disappointed and insist on calling it on some ridiculously complicated name. Plain old hysterics is fine with Elizabeth, and Emmet, she feels, would agree with her. "Oh, Emmet! I have to call him, the church choir is having a rehearsal and I have to know if he's all right!"
It'd be awful if the choir girls had really eaten him. There have been nightmares, Elizabeth knows, almost as many as there've been about Hyacinth.
Richard's hand is heavy but gentle on her shoulder, and he slips a teacup on the table without spilling a drop. He's very well trained. "The phones don't work right now. We have a radiophone but the church probably doesn't. But don't worry, we can tell Violet to pick him up. I'm sure you remember Hyacinth's sister Violet?"
"The one with the Mercedes, sauna and room for a pony?"
"You remembered!" Hyacinth is positively delighted, like a proud owner whose puppy has finally learned to pee outside, and Elizabeth doesn't have the energy to be insulted. "She also has a custom-made armoured omnibus, a well-stocked underground bunker and room for an impressive collection of firearms. They'd be here already if it weren't for her husband Bruce. When the vitally challenged are at the door, one should always know exactly where the well-balanced shotgun and the high-quality, steel-toe walking shoes are, I always say. I'm sure he wishes now that he would've listened to me."
"I'm sure he does, dear," Richard says and squeezes Elizabeth's shoulder. It's comforting to know that in a world full of zombies and a Hyacinth, there's someone who can face them both and not flinch all that much. Elizabeth stares at the teacup in front of her and wonders if she should brave drinking it. On one hand, it would be rude not to. On the other hand, Hyacinth is still in the kitchen.
"Oh, look at the time!" Elizabeth is ever so glad that she isn't holding the teacup when Hyacinth suddenly gets up and cocks her shotgun. It's clearly dangerous enough without shards on the floor. "The Major should be returning from his walk soon. He always walks past our house, you know, to admire my prized gerberas. I do think that I should go and wait for him. Richard, do call Violet about Emmet. It'd be a horrible loss to the entertainment industry if the vitally challenged were to get him before he's heard my interpretation of Habanera."