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She was breathing heavily, and Rick was notable in his absence. Sensible man, keeping out the way when siblings look like they’re going to go toe-to-toe. From crazy to matter of fact, she settled her hands on her hips and glared down at me.
    “You’re fucking nasty Warren, you know that? You know what’s worse? I can’t even blame the whisky. So we do it your way and board ourselves in, t hen what? Look outside at the street. Can you see droves of people leaving their homes, cannibals…”
    “Zombies.”
    “… Zombies, you fucking smartarse, chasing people down the street? No. Are there police cars patrolling and keeping the peace? No. Do we need to worry yet? No. It’s still early. It’s still only being reported around London. If things start to head south then I agree we can board up the house, but not before. I don’t want to be the house that triggered a riot in Bennington because everybody thought the apocalypse had arrived.”
    “If you’d have been in Croydon, you’d have been pretty certain the apocalypse had arrived.”
    “I’m pretty sure Croydon looks like that in the early hours most weekends.”
    “Now who’s the smartarse?”
    “Have you two finished bickering?”
    Rick stalked back in to the room. It looked like he’d been to the car, as he was doing the proud work of International Man by carrying an uncountable amount of carrier bags at once at the expense of the blood flow to all of his fingers.
    “These are the last of the bags of food. I’ll get it all put away. Christ knows what we’re doing with all the stuff from Homebase, sounds like you two are sorting that out though.”
    If I hadn’t been so pissed off that Carla was getting the upper-hand, I would have laughed at his blatant attempt to lighten the mood. At least our comic relief was earmarked; I decided straight away we needed to keep him out of red shirts, otherwise he’d be dead in a week.
    “Fine, we do it your way. But we’re not going to sit around doing fuck all. We’re going to get as much stuff off the internet as we can. We ’re going to see what the area is like, what escape routes we’ve got… hey, did you buy that boat in the end?”
    “Bought it months ago, you were meant to come out in it for the weekend, remember? But you blew me out for some journalist network that you couldn’t miss, blah blah blah.”
    “It was a lie and you know it , I hate those social things. I blew you out as I get sick as a dog on boats. But any port in a storm sister. That may prove to be a very canny investment in the next couple of days.”
    I resigned myself to the fact that Carla was in her own house and was accordingly ruling the roost. It did make sense to wait at least until the later afternoon – the streets weren’t exactly melting down, and we could do a bit more planning than my adrenalin and whisky-fuelled psyche would have possibly allowed for. I helped Rick bring in the stuff from Homebase and made a checklist. [1] The one concession Carla made was amendments to the inside of the house. I boarded across her patio doors, day-mares of obese zombies crashing through those already parading through my brain. We also agreed that we would keep some of the wood back for tonight so that we could brace the door. Every movie I’ve seen, zombies crash through flimsy-framed glazing and head-butt their way Shining-style through every manner of doors, and I didn’t want to be one of the ones that fell victim to a commercial stereotype as far as dying was concerned.
    With our store-fresh planks propped up by the doors and the streets still suburban-England quiet, I sat back down in front of the laptop, electing to find some more of the news we had been so studiously ignoring on the TV via the beautifully congested tubes of the internet. Twitter was buzzing with so much data that I ignored it at first. The BBC was focusing on the country’s response as a whole, and I saw huge links to statements from the Queen and from