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passenger.”
    Kenny pushes his glasses back up his nose, the corners of his mouth curling at the edges before he releases a full on smile. “Wow, Emma, you’re a bad ass zombie killing machine.”
    I’m about to dampen his enthusiasm by telling him he’ll end up getting eaten alive if he doesn’t learn to fight like me. Instead, my eyes are trained on Mustafa, waiting for him to thank me for saving his sorry backside. No gesture of appreciation is forthcoming.
    “You’re welcome,” I snort.
    No response, he’s too busy rubbing his ankle.
    I vow there and then that the next thing that tries to take a chunk out of that guy, can damn well have him. I won’t be intervening and putting my life on the line for him again. Instead, my pity will be with the poor dead bastard that ends up with indigestion.
     
     
     
     

6 ALWAYS PLAN A QUICK GETAWAY
     
    “What do we do now?”
    In the absence of a proper plan, (doing battle with the undead scrambled our brains) and with darkness descending, we agreed to go with Kenny to his place. It doesn’t seem wise to split up, besides, right now, it felt good to be with other people and Kenny has a car.
    When I mentioned Kenny's car, Mustafa sneered. “When he says car, he really means decrepit rust bucket. Anytime it rains I swear the car will disintegrate cos the only thing holding it together is rust.” He addresses Kenny. “I take it your heap of junk is still capable of moving?”
    Kenny nods. “Aye, but don’t let me put you out, pal. You can always take your own car.” He put his hand on his head. “Doh, I forgot you don’t have one.”
    “Ha, ha,” says Mustafa, his face brightening.
    “And,” continues Kenny, “I’ve got a CB radio. I'll crank it up. See if we can't get onto the police channel.”
    At last, someone who knows what they're doing.
    Kenny leads the way down a series of small back streets. All the time we’re walking, we’re poised for action, full of trepidation, but ready to brain anyone who gets in our way.
    When we stop dead at an abandoned store next to a boarded up cafe, my first thought is that this can’t be the place. There's a rusted TO LET sign on a window with an out-of-date phone number. I can tell because it has an old area code. The store’s boarded up at the front and looks like no one has set foot in it for years. Part of the name on the old store sign is visible: VIDEO .
    Kenny’s car is parked out front and is exactly how Mustafa described it. It reminds me of a car my dad had ten years ago before he retired to Spain. Every morning the car needed a shove to get it moving.
    “You live here?” Scott's comment echoes my own thoughts.
    "Aye," said Kenny.
    “How can you live here?” I say as he lifts up one of the boards to reveal a door.
    Kenny wrinkles his nose. “The video store I own was once part of a chain. This is the first store they had, and there’s a living area out back. So, I stay there. Its rent free.”
    As he leads us all through the dusty store with shelves full of video cassettes, I can’t help but think that time has stood still in here just like in Kenny’s video store. The proof was in the cobwebs and dust. I half-expected Lady Havisham to appear. A rat the size of a cat scuttles across the floor.
    When Kenny opens the door behind the counter that leads into the back of the store, the transformation makes me feel as if we’ve stepped through a wardrobe into Narnia. The walls have been painted white, and light streams in through the skylight. There’s a modern sofa and two gaming chairs in front of an enormous plasma TV. The only things predictable about Kenny’s pad are the movie posters on the wall and the PlayStation consol next to the TV along with a video player. Nobody uses video players these days – we’ve all gone digital, DVD or Blu-ray.
    I can’t resist smiling. “Wow, this is amazing.”
    Kenny blushes and peers at me through his thick glasses. “Aye, it’s no bad. No rent to pay