| Dundee Rawk vs Zombie Apocolypse (part II)
No sooner had that terrible word left Martin's mouth the iron gate behind Fritz collapsed and a disgusting, drooling, moaning ZOMBIE staggered in.
"Brrrrraaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiinnnnnnsss," it said and opened its mouth with the intention of repeating itself, a fruitless exercise as by this time Fritz had clocked it in his peripheral vision and, with extraordinarily quick reflexes, he roundhouse kicked its head off.
Wasting no time we upturned our table and made for the buckled gate, planning to barricade off the entrance but by this time more zombies had begun to pile down the stairwell, moaning and spitting and gargling blood and tumbling over one another in the manner that zombies are wont to do. Zombies, you must understand, care little for social airs and graces and the safety and convenience of other zombies is not something that concerns them, hence the tumultous fashion in which they, as a collective, navigated the stairwell.
This rambunctious non-organisation on the part of our foes gave Andy time to get to Martin's drum kit and collect the cymbal stands, one of which he threw each of us. As soon as I caught the hi-hat stand one of the zombies had freed itself from the scrum of undead and reached over the barricade for my throat. In one smooth move I caught the stand, sidestepped the grasp of the enemy and thrust the long, thin part of the stand through it's skull, which crumbled like plasterboard. The undead bastard crumpled to the floor.
Within seconds the onslaught had begun. Andy, Fritz, Martin and I, protected by the overturned table, were employing all of our energies in smashing zombie skull with the cymbal stands. It was not a pretty sight. Blood and putrid flesh were redecorating the bar but there was no other option - everyone knows a zombie can only be despatched by destroying the brain and destroying a brain by bludgeoning is messy under the best of conditions.
Zombie demolishing went on for a good half an hour, the moronic creatures were too slow to put up a decent fight and we were afforded a great deal of protection by our barricade, without this we would soon be overwhelmed by the sheer numbers. Our winning streak was bolstering our confidence and I offered to leave by the exit to the street to great refreshments, feeling sure I could outrun the undead hordes which had not yet found their way into the building. We agreed on this and I armed myself with two sturdy metal cymbal stands and left my friends.
On the street things were entirely different. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of them. Without the protection of our barricade I was quickly beginning to feel out of my depth. I got as far as the top of Roseangle and had meted out bloody justice to at least 10 of the brutes when disaster struck.
I glanced over my shoulder to aim a swing at one which was approaching me from the rear, however I was still running forwards and without looking where I was going I crashed straight into the telephone box and fell on my back, losing grip of one of my weapons and badly hurting the hand that held the other. Within seconds a zombie was upon me. It had clambered onto me in such a manner that it had become impossible for me to take my only remaining weapon from my injured hand and put it to use with my good hand. The bastard had me pinned and was going straight for my right carotid artery with its festering, jaggedly broken teeth..............
{stay tuned} | 
