The Bear and Barnacle

"No," Jack says firmly as he pursues Val to drag him back from the dining room window.

"Wanna see!" Val protests with a hint of whine.

"You can see from back here."

"Phbbt," says Val.

They sit at the table -- well, Jacks sits at it, Val sits on it -- and watch over the hedge as the bodies shamble past, stiff-kneed, arms out straight and wrists limp.

"Zoooooombies."

"Put it in a sentence," Jack tells him automatically, as one of the stiff figures trips over a bottle in the street, goes down like a sack of rocks with no attempt to catch itself, and rolls out of view.

Val sighs dramatically. "They are zoooooombies."

"You think so?" Now that he thinks of it, he supposes they are a bit like that terrible Bela Lugosi picture Danny loved so much when they were in their twenties ... the blank stares, the directionless gait.

"Yup. Like berserkers only more rotten."

"They sure look rotten." Val scrambles off the table; Jack catches him and puts him back on it. "And just where do you think you're going?"

"To the roof to throw things at them."

"Fat chance," Jack says firmly, and redoubles his grip, avoiding a bash from Val's wing. They sit and stare through the window as the odd, morbid parade continues past.

Val says he will answer the door for alive people if anyone wishes to brave the zombie pub crawl.