Season 4 Radio Mode

Demons and Darkness, science in secret, and nomadic retirees: Phil and Zoe present highlights from the rest of the airwaves.

Cast

• Zoe Crick
• Phil Cheeseman
• Jody Marsh
• Domhnall Barra
• Basil Hibler
• Solomon Leatherby
• Eloise Caulfield
• Hugh Caulfield
• Ethan
• Damien Winters
• Lexy
• Clara

Crew

• Writer: Rebecca Levene
• Director: Matt Wieteska
• Sound Designer: Mark Pittam
• Series Created By: Naomi Alderman

Transcript

Happy Now?

[static]

ZOE CRICK: Go on, say it.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] No, not this again.

ZOE CRICK: Come on, you know you want to.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No!

ZOE CRICK: You do!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No one’s going to be listening anymore.

ZOE CRICK: Then where’s the harm?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Right, fine. Hello, citizens. Happy now?

ZOE CRICK: No. You didn’t do it properly.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, for goodness’ sake. Uh, I’m going to bed, so just uh – [audio cuts off]

Still Got It

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello, citizens. [whispers] Oh, come on, Phil. That was pathetic. [out loud] Hello, citizens. Hello, ci-ti-zens. Good morning, ci-ti-zens! [laughs, whispers] Yep. You’ve still got it.

Above Your Criticism

ZOE CRICK: I feel like, you know, you have to keep your hand in, just in case.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Just in case what? There’s some kind of emergency that requires specialist DJ assistance? A cat stuck in a tree that can only be talked down by radio hosts, or a fire that we can put out with one of our wry yet insightful intros?

ZOE CRICK: Oh, now you’re making it sound silly.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It is silly. [sighs] I told Jack about it, you know. Guess what he said?

ZOE CRICK: [imitates JACK HOLDEN] “Uh, the first step is acknowledging that you’re powerless over your desire to do silly intros for pop songs, that your life has become unmanageable.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: … yeah, that’s exactly what he said.

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] He said the same to me. It’s not like Jack to let a good joke go to waste. I don’t care. I’m above your criticism. It just washes over me, like – like –

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Like this next song. I don’t know about you, but this one always sends me to sleep.

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] Yes! Exactly! Like this next song!

Zoe's Special Day

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello, ci-ti-zens.

ZOE CRICK: You know, if anyone’s listening – and let’s be honest, no one’s listening – they’re not really citizens anymore. I mean, they’re probably British citizens, but they’re not New Canton citizens.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, you were the one who wanted me to say it. I’m only saying it because it’s your birthday.

ZOE CRICK: I know, and I appreciate it. I just think maybe you should start working on a new intro.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I don’t need a new intro. This is a one-off.

ZOE CRICK: Of course. [laughs] Yeah, of course it’s a one-off. It’s a birthday present because you were too lazy to knit me the Minecraft jumper I asked for.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I can’t knit.

ZOE CRICK: And you didn’t make me that pottery water bowl with a tiny little kitten on it for Pushkin.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I can’t do pottery either! What have I ever said that suggested I might know how to throw a pot?

ZOE CRICK: Mm, you told me you liked Ghost.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Watching it, not re-enacting it.

ZOE CRICK: Well, I know that now. So I very generously let you do this for me instead. So, Phil, what song are you going to play for us today?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Song, right. Uh, yeah, okay. This one’s for you, Zoe, on your special day.

For All The Folks Back Home

ZOE CRICK: I’m not entirely sure what it says about me that you think of that song on my birthday.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It was a compliment.

ZOE CRICK: Hm, if you say so.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Mmhmm.

ZOE CRICK: … We’ve forgotten how to do this, haven’t we?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] I think the problem is nothing’s happening. Well, uh, not nothing’s happening, but they’re ordinary things, not New Canton things.

ZOE CRICK: Weird things are still happening in New Canton, and it’s – well, it’s strange, right? Not being there for all that.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Mm. I don’t know about you, but I’m glad I didn’t have my mind controlled by an evil hippie.

ZOE CRICK: Well, yeah, obviously. But it’s an experience. It’s something they all went through together, and now they’re going through getting over it together. And here we are, [laughs] helping Eugene try to break the record for the world’s longest daisy chain, even though he doesn’t know what the record is for the longest daisy chain. So presumably, we’re just going to keep on adding more and more daisies to it until there literally aren’t any more daisies in the world. [laughs] Do you see what I mean?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: About the daisies?

ZOE CRICK: No, about New Canton.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. I mean, yeah, I do. [sighs] But it’s better here, isn’t it?

ZOE CRICK: It’s great here. It’s just… sometimes, I miss things not being great. Like, knowing that things might not be great, and I could still cope. Well, anyway, here’s a song for all the folks back home.

Shameless Liars

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Okay, you win.

ZOE CRICK: What?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You win. You’re right.

ZOE CRICK: I mean, yes, I usually am, but about what, specifically?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We can do this again, okay?

ZOE CRICK: I didn’t say anything about doing it again. We were just chatting about New Canton. Two friends reminiscing about old times.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I know you, Zoe. You never just talk about anything. If you really want to do this, we can do this. Not every day, mind, but yeah. Now and again.

ZOE CRICK: Really?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. If it makes you happy. [sighs] Actually, I’ve been thinking. You know how they’ve got a woman here scanning the airwaves, listening out for distress signals?

ZOE CRICK: Yeah. They rescued that fishing trawler last week. It’s amazing how sick you can get of tuna. Even Pushkin’s started turning her nose up at it.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Right. But their equipment’s really high-end, and they’ve been picking up all sorts of stuff. There are transmissions from all over the country. People are just sending out messages, not even sure if anyone’s listening. And I was thinking… we used to do call in shows, didn’t we? So why can’t we do that again? We can rebroadcast some of that stuff, make sure it gets heard.

ZOE CRICK: Philip Cheeseman, you sod.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What?

ZOE CRICK: [imitates PHIL CHEESEMAN] “If it makes you happy, Zoe.” [PHIL CHEESEMAN snorts] “I’m only doing this for your birthday, Zoe.” This isn’t for me at all, it’s for you!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I’m doing it for you.

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] Of course you are. And on the subject of shameless liars, here’s a little tune for you.

Weirdly Appropriate

ZOE CRICK: So if you could, would you?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: But it’s not possible.

ZOE CRICK: So what?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So it’s a stupid question.

ZOE CRICK: If you could spend a night of passion with Gillian Anderson, would you?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, obviously.

ZOE CRICK: Well, I hate to break it to you, Phil, but that’s not possible either. Even if she hadn’t gone gray in the first week after day zero.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, she might have. I can be very charming.

ZOE CRICK: Yeah, of course she might. Just answer the question.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You first.

ZOE CRICK: Fine. Yes, of course I would. I mean, why wouldn’t you?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Because it’s weird.

ZOE CRICK: Weird is good. If something’s weird, it means it’s interesting. I’m still waiting…

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I need to think about it.

ZOE CRICK: Bloody hell, it’s only a hypothetical question. I think we’ve already established I can’t actually make you go through with it.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Okay. Okay, I’ll tell you after – oh! Oh, this is kind of weirdly appropriate. Have a listen to this, citizens, and we’ll be right back.

Minds In The Gutter

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Right. I’ve had a think, and I would.

ZOE CRICK: Really?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. Well, like you say, if you had the chance, why wouldn’t you?

ZOE CRICK: So, if you could change your sex, just temporarily, you’d do it?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That’s what I said.

ZOE CRICK: You know you’d have breasts, right? And before you say it, I promise you, no woman in history has ever been turned on by the sight of her own boobs.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Breasts are fine. That’s part of the whole experience.

ZOE CRICK: And you’d have, well, you know, lady bathroom parts. A front bottom.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “A front bottom”? Bloody hell, Zoe, how old are you? Seven? Anyway, you said you wanted to try out having a willy.

ZOE CRICK: Yeah. I want to know what it feels like to wee standing up.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That’s what you’d use your brand new willy for?

ZOE CRICK: Well, I’d use it for writing my name in the snow. Not that I can’t already, but it would be nice to do it without all that awkward shuffling about.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That’s a charming mental image I’ve got right now, Zoe. Thanks, really.

ZOE CRICK: No, but seriously. I want to know all of it. Everything that’s different about being in a male body.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. Basically, it’s all about sex, though, isn’t it?

ZOE CRICK: Not all of our minds are in the gutter, Cheeseman.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No, no, of course not. Oh, look. Here’s a song that’s also definitely not all about sex.

Who Won?

ZOE CRICK: Obviously, I’m curious about sex, too.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Obviously.

ZOE CRICK: Oh, like I’m the only one. You must have wondered what it feels like from the other end. All that stuff you can never really know, however much you talk to guys about it. Those intensely physical feelings. They’re not the sort of things you can put into words, not really. Louise was saying -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Louise? Louise Bailey? Abel runner Louise?

ZOE CRICK: Yeah.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: When were you talking to her?

ZOE CRICK: Yesterday.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Something happened?

ZOE CRICK: Oh, no, we were just chatting. What? Don’t give me that look, like I don’t know how often you call Nadia so the pair of you can geek out over your amazing new circuit breaker.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I just never knew you and Louise were that close. [gasps] Hang on, is that what the whole “ooh I wonder what it would be like to be a man for a day” stuff is about?

ZOE CRICK: Oh, don’t be ridiculous. No! It’s just, me and her were talking about the whole body swap thing, and then we were wondering what you’d say, so we took a bet on it.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You had a bet on whether I’d want to try out being a woman?

ZOE CRICK: Yeah.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Who won?

ZOE CRICK: Me, of course! I know you, Cheeseman. You can’t hide anything from me. [laughs] That’s how I know you have to secretly wipe away a tear every time this next song comes on.

You're A Natural

ZOE CRICK: I’m not saying cats are better than people, honestly.

JODY MARSH: You’re just saying you like cats more than you like people.

ZOE CRICK: Well, you have to bear in mind the people I spend most of my time with.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hey! I heard that!

ZOE CRICK: I know you heard it. And the reason I know, Phil, is that you’re sitting right next to me.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You think I’m better than a cat, right, Jody?

JODY MARSH: Well, you’re better than some cats. Owen found this ginger tom on a supply run, and now it sleeps on his head every night and sticks its tongue up his nose to wake him up. It’s disgusting. But I think he secretly loves it. Bit like you and Zoe, now I think about it.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: There, for those of you who’ve just tuned in, insulting me right now is Jody Marsh, better known as Abel Township Runner Four. She’s on the line with us to uh, talk about cats, apparently. I mean, I thought she was going to share the latest news from Abel, but so far, it’s mostly just been cats.

JODY MARSH: And there’ll be more cats right after this! … That was right, wasn’t it? That’s how you’re supposed to do it?

ZOE CRICK: You’re a natural.

Come Again

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So leaving the cats aside just for a second, how are things back in Abel?

JODY MARSH: Oh, you know. It wouldn’t be Abel if the world wasn’t ending every other week.

ZOE CRICK: Is the world ending?

JODY MARSH: There is that whole “zombie apocalypse” thing still going on.

ZOE CRICK: Yeah, but is it ending more than that?

JODY MARSH: Ah, we’ll cope. We always do. Anyway, Abel’s boring. I live here. Tell me your news. How are the boys? I really miss hearing them every day.

ZOE CRICK: We don’t.

JODY MARSH: That’s a bit harsh, isn’t – ah. I understand. Isn’t the honeymoon supposed to be over by now?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We keep hoping. It’s not even a small house and I still have to wear ear plugs half the time.

ZOE CRICK: Although I think it’s sort of sweet.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You said they sounded like two cats going at it.

JODY MARSH: That’s why you thought it was sweet, isn’t it?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I like you, Marsh. You can come again.

Runner 37

ZOE CRICK: Ryan Gosling?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh yeah, obviously.

ZOE CRICK: Idris Elba?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah.

ZOE CRICK: So, turns out that there are enough men you’d go gay for that we may have to recategorize you as heteroflexible.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, you can talk, Miss Angelina Jolie, Lana Parilla, Amy Acker, Oprah Winfrey, Nigella Lawson, Archie Panjabi, and Jessica Rabbit.

ZOE CRICK: See? Everyone’s got someone they’d switch sides for.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [laughs] Like I say, not anyone I know.

ZOE CRICK: You sure about that?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, I’m pretty sure.

ZOE CRICK: New Canton Runner Thirty-Seven?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You’re right. Totally would.

ZOE CRICK: Who wouldn’t? The man’s basically a sex god.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Mm. I’ve seen nuns giving him the eye.

ZOE CRICK: … Uh, Phil? Did you mean for us to still be broadcasting?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What? No!

ZOE CRICK: Only we are. [laughs] We’re definitely still broadcasting.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] All right, then, Runner Thirty-Seven. If you’re listening, this one’s for you.

Zombie Apocalypse Shore

ZOE CRICK: So what you’re basically saying is that I’m boring.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No.

ZOE CRICK: You’re saying people are sick of the sound of me.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No.

ZOE CRICK: They’d rather listen to literally anything other than my voice.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That’s not what I’m saying.

ZOE CRICK: Well, that’s definitely what I’m getting from what you’re saying.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You’re impossible, Zoe. You know that?

ZOE CRICK: I try my best. [laughs] So we’ve really been picking up lots of cool stuff on long-range radio?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You wouldn’t believe some of the things we’ve been hearing.

ZOE CRICK: And we’re just going to rebroadcast it? Isn’t that, I don’t know… unethical?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, they wouldn’t be broadcasting if they didn’t want to be heard. Probably. Actually, it’s possible some of them don’t know they’re broadcasting. But anyway, I’m going to edit it all first.

ZOE CRICK: Oh, I see.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What? What do you see?

ZOE CRICK: You’re going to “edit” it. Like all those producers of reality shows “edited” them to make everyone involved seem as stupid slash evil slash sex-crazed as possible.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I would never do that.

ZOE CRICK: So we’ll basically be doing The Real Housewives of the Zombie Apocalypse. The Only Way Is Zombie Apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I’m going to play some music now -

ZOE CRICK: No, wait! Made in the Zombie Apocalypse. Zombie Apocalypse Shore. [audio cuts off]

Lovable Eccentrics

ZOE CRICK: Well, listeners, today’s a big day. Phil’s finished fannying around in the edit suite -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I do not fanny!

ZOE CRICK: Phil’s finished farting around in the edit suite, and we’re ready to bring you our very first slice of life broadcast from complete strangers scattered all over the UK. We’re calling it – actually, what are we calling it?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, I thought we could call it Zombiefile. You know, like Countryfile.

ZOE CRICK: Yeah, no. We’re not doing that. Anyway, first up are a couple of guys from – where are they from, Phil?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, we don’t really know. The signal’s been bouncing all around the network. Could originate anywhere.

ZOE CRICK: But wherever it’s located, it’s a top secret, high-security government lab, and these are the lovable eccentrics who live and work there, and their messed up, madcap lives!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Really?

ZOE CRICK: Come on, we’ve got to sell this. They’ll be with you after this really quite appropriate song.

Clown Anemone Fish

DOMHNALL: Homo sapiens sapiens zombiticus: a ghoulish caricature of modern man, ambling and perambulating, seemingly thoughtless, through the streets in search of raw flesh. Or, as my colleague calls it, “free-range Soylent Green”.

It is only natural for humanity to focus our attentions on sapiens zombiticus. It is both that which hunts us, and that what we become. But recall: we continue to share this ravaged world with other species, and while in the past, animals have played agents to human contagion, this time, it is humanity who shares her plague.

Today’s program is dedicated to examining what may be the world’s first example of felis silvestris catus zombiticus: the domesticated cat with zombie mutation. Welcome to afterlife. Or Afterlife On Earth. I’m your host, Domhnall Barra. Felis silvestris -

[door opens]

BASIL: Good news! Henrietta’s finally died. Right, it’s ghastly, but she hasn’t laid eggs in weeks. It wasn’t me what killed her, so don’t give me them eyes. She was an old bird, Don. I’ve plucked her and given the gizzards to the carnivores. We’ll have a fine roast tonight! What are you doing? And why is that old machine blinking?

DOMHNALL: My friends, we are joined by my colleague, veterinary surgeon Doctor Basil Hibler, who may want to remove his butcher’s gloves before he sits.

BASIL: Oh. [laughs] Right.

DOMHNALL: Doctor Hibler, what can you tell our listeners about felis silvestris catus zombiticus?

BASIL: Felis silvestris catus - ? Do you mean Pussy Galore?

DOMHNALL: No.

BASIL: So you mean Sergeant Scabies?

DOMHNALL: [laughs] No!

BASIL: Then surely, you must mean -

DOMHNALL: The zombie cat, Baz. The zombie cat. And would you cease with the lurid names?

BASIL: Why? You think they’ll develop a complex? Wouldn’t that be oxymoronic? Oh, hold up. I’ve yet to confirm it is a zombified feline rather than your average, everyday, mangy, arthritic tom cat.

DOMHNALL: Gentle listener, while there is no proof that the zombie contagion has become anthroponotic -

BASIL: Uh, hold on. “Gentle listeners”? Are you actually broadcasting? Do you really think there’s someone out there listening to you drone on about a manky stray? Hey, you haven’t told them where we are, have you? We have animals here, Don. Live animals and a roasting chicken.

DOMHNALL: Afterlife On Earth is broadcast from an unnamed research facility in an undisclosed location. Tune in next time, when we interview a monkey who communicates by tap dancing. This is Domhnall Barra, signing off. [audio clicks]

BASIL: So, I actually wanted to talk to you about -

DOMHNALL: Um, Baz, have you seen my field kit? I’m missing my swabs.

BASIL: I needed them for my ears. Listen, I saw that you only have one hormone injection left.

DOMHNALL: Maybe tomorrow we’ll find those hazmat suits and do a proper check-up on zombie cat -

BASIL: It’s not a – [sighs] What happens when you run out completely?

DOMHNALL: Well, I suppose I go the way of the clown anemonefish.

BASIL: Any luck in synthesizing more?

DOMHNALL: Baz, I… we’re – we’re still broadcasting.

Monkeys

DOMHNALL: Welcome to our second broadcast of Afterlife On Earth. While my cohost is off walking the donkey, I thought I’d introduce myself and expound on the purpose of this program.

Firstly, I am Doctor Domhnall Barra, a researcher working under legendary virologist, Doctor Solomon Leatherby, a pioneer in the field. Surely many of you would have heard of him. His book, Our Unseen World, debuted at #17 in the category of Popular Microbiology on Amazon.

At the moment, he is… unaccounted for, but we soldier on. Doctor Hibler and I do, that is. Due to uh, circumstances, uh, Basil and I are the only humans left in this facility. But we are not alone, for we have animal companions in abundance. Mice, birds, lizards, rabbits, goats, dogs, apes, snakes, sheep, foxes, turtles, wallabies, dogs - oh, pardon, I already said that - cats, ponies, a donkey, which, as I mentioned, Baz has taken for a walk. Not outside, of course. On a treadmill. We actually have three treadmills and a recumbent bike in Experiment Room 3. We had a Bowflex, but the monkeys broke it.

Because the majority of our denizens are non-humans, I thought it might be a nice diversion to introduce them to the world via this broadcast. Especially since, had the zombies not come, most would not have survived. They are a silver lining.

You must think, dear listeners, that in case of a zombie apocalypse, the welfare of our animals would deteriorate. I assure you, this is not the case. In addition to our state of the art animal environs, Doctor Hibler and I have also converted all the experiment facilities - save the labs and surgical areas - into social and recreational areas for the animals.

Every day, Baz and I tend to their needs – feeding, and watering, and cleaning pens or cages. In fact, they have much more space than we do, as we confine our activities to the office, the kitchen, and what we call the barracks – the communal area where we used to sleep when Doctor Leatherby whimsically locked down the facility and trapped us here against our wills! Always great fun…

You must be curious as to how we managed to survive, considering the underground nature of this facility. Well, our director was – is – notoriously distrustful of the government. And the military. And his peers. Civilization in general.

Thus, this facility was constructed as entirely self-reliant, off the grid. We have a private well, ventilation system, and generators fed by not only a solar panel farm, but also wind turbines, all positioned in the farmland above our undisclosed location.

At first, it was disconcerting, but now we’re grateful Doctor Leatherby was so paranoid. The farmland, the car park, the dummy clinic, the Tesco’s across the road -

BASIL: Well, they’re all swarming with zoms. The armies of the undead live in our penthouse.

DOMHNALL: I just went overboard, didn’t I?

BASIL: Probably shouldn’t advertise that our rats live better than most people. Including us.

DOMHNALL: Oh, yes. Forgot about the rats. And fish, voles, and we have a sloth -

BASIL: Right. You need a distraction. I’m going to go fetch a monkey.

DOMHNALL: And monkeys. Oh, I already said that.

Great Aunt Vivian

DOMHNALL: Welcome to Afterlife On Earth. I’m your host, Domhnall Barra, and with me is Doctor Basil Hibler.

BASIL: Hello, hello.

DOMHNALL: Doctor Hibler, what have you brought us today?

BASIL: Well, we were meant to be interviewing Melvin the tap dancing monkey today, but he’s feeling a bit under the weather, so this is Roger! He’s a vole. Say hello, Roger. … Yeah, he’s not much of a talker. Or a dancer. Now, his brother -

DOMHNALL: Doctor Hibler -

BASIL: Nah, call me Baz. Everyone does! Everyone being you, Don.

DOMHNALL: Um, but -

BASIL: Doesn’t it all sound a bit stilted, you calling me Doctor Hibler all the time? Plus, it’s inconsistent, isn’t it? I mean, you’re not Doctor Domhnall Vivian Barra.

DOMHNALL: [?] [both laugh] I am so sorry, I don’t know what possessed me.

BASIL: Apparently, your great aunt Vivian.

A Touch Green

DOMHNALL: Just tell our listeners about the vole, Baz.

BASIL: Well, as I said, his name is Roger. His mother’s called Helen, and his father is either Samuel or Nigel Farage. Roger is a month old, and has 45 siblings.

DOMHNALL: 45? Incredible. How large is your average litter of voles?

BASIL: Usually about seven or eight.

DOMHNALL: How many were in – oh, he’s a darling – little Roger’s litter?

BASIL: 45.

DOMHNALL: Wait, what?

BASIL: Yeah. It was the first litter for this breeding pair, or threesome. I really don’t know how Nigel Farage got in.

DOMHNALL: So this is a miracle of science!

BASIL: More like an affront against it. Like most, if not all, of the experiments that take place in this facility.

DOMHNALL: Oh, yes.

BASIL: It’s been good, though, since some of them animals have been turning their noses up at rat meat, spoiled blighters. Especially the weasels, and the foxes, and that damn pug. But I think it’s actually a cannibal. Not a man-eater, heavens no, but uh, it only eats other pugs.

DOMHNALL: Wait, so the voles -

BASIL: Are bred for food, yes. Actually, you ate Nigel Farage last week! … I shouldn’t have told you that, should I?

DOMHNALL: Baz, please don’t make me eat Roger.

BASIL: Sorry, mate! It’s all right. When the time comes, I’ll eat Roger! You can eat his brother, Daryl. Or Hamish! Yeah, you can eat Hamish. Hamish is a right git, always nipping at me, and playing with his own droppings. He’s just vile. You can’t feel bad eating Hamish.

DOMHNALL: Please don’t make me eat Hamish.

BASIL: See your point there. Right. So I’ll stop telling you who you’ve ate. You look a touch green. Maybe a musical interlude?

Tinfoil Hat

BASIL: Here’s something listeners might find interesting about voles: the majority of vole species are monogamous, and the pair raise the pups together. So someday, little Roger will meet a nice girl vole, and -

DOMHNALL: We’ll eat her.

BASIL: Oh, stop it. May not be us. A third of the animals live on vole. It’s called survival, Don. You smell that? That’s, well – [sniffs] pan-mammalian wee. And what’s the wee masking? Roasting Henrietta. I don’t hear you kicking up a fuss about that. Oh, please don’t kick up a fuss. I can’t go back to being a veggie. I’d rather be a zombie.

DOMHNALL: Don’t even, Baz. I’m sorry. I’ll stop being so sensitive. Let’s get back to the voles. You know, I recently discovered something fascinating about voles. Before the apocalypse, a geneticist studying the animals discovered how to switch on the monogamy gene in promiscuous species using a virus. A virus that alters appetite and personality at a genetic level! Doesn’t that sound familiar, Baz?

BASIL: You think the Tories are trying to Stepford us all into domestic passivity with a virus, and instead turned us into ravenous zombies?

DOMHNALL: I was actually thinking bovine spongiform encephalopathy. You know – the cows changed personality, and we changed our appetite? Although prions aren’t viral. But now that you mention it, your theory may have merit.

BASIL: Off with it, now.

DOMHNALL: Off with what?

BASIL: The tinfoil hat.

Suicidal Vole

DOMHNALL: I may have to rethink the formatting of this program.

BASIL: How so?

DOMHNALL: Well, perhaps we should consider you more of a special segment rather than a cohost?

BASIL: Are you demoting me? Are you sacking me? You don’t even pay me!

DOMHNALL: No, of course I’m not sacking you. It’s just, well, we tangent a lot, don’t you think?

BASIL: To be fair, I don’t really know what the program’s about, so I couldn’t say.

DOMHNALL: Exactly my point, Baz. You’re so busy being clever, you distract from the science.

BASIL: What science? Mate, you’re interviewing a vole. It will hardly prove an adequate foil for your melodramatic monologues.

DOMHNALL: Come on, Baz. Don’t get stroppy. I’m not saying it right. What I mean is that you distract me! It’s all me! Actually, no. It’s you. You do it on purpose.

BASIL: [laughs] Slander! I do no such thing. Now, before I storm off in a huff, I need to interrupt for a - [Roger squeaks] No, Roger, where are you going?

DOMHNALL: Roger, come back!

BASIL: Roger, don’t go in there, it’s suicide!

[predator roars, DOMHNALL and BASIL shudder]

BASIL: Well, I guess neither of us will be eating Roger.

Listener

BASIL: Poor old Roger.

DOMHNALL: I’m going to vomit.

BASIL: Yeah. While I don’t think that’s a zombie cat, I’m not dismissing the idea that there is something fundamentally wrong with it.

DOMHNALL: I’ll get the hazmat suits.

BASIL: Tomorrow, Don. It’s time for Sunday roast.

DOMHNALL: But… but Roger! And it’s Wednesday.

BASIL: The cat had to eat, too, didn’t he? It’s almost feeding time anyway. If you’re going to vomit, do it now. I don’t want you chucking up my roast. I’ve slaved over that. Now do your bit, and say goodnight to your listener.

DOMHNALL: Fine. [clears throat] Predator and prey, cat and mouse – uh, vole. Once, they lived in our homes side by side, an uneasy truce built on the presupposition that, through human brokerage, neither would ever go hungry.

But in this world fraught with disease and hardship, where humans no longer serve pellets and tinned meals on a regular schedule, the charter between unlikely animal compatriots is rendered void. Join us tomorrow when we - hang on. Did you say “listener” as in the singular?

BASIL: Bye, folk!

Unto The Breach

DOMHNALL: Even for seasoned naturalists, there is always at least an iota of trepidation when doing fieldwork, even when the field is an inhumane cage of steel and concrete, and the subject may prove be an ordinary housecat. But of course, it may not.

Today on our program, Doctor Basil Hibler and I will conduct a comprehensive assessment of our alleged catus zombiticus, risking life and soul to collect the samples necessary to test for zombification. Gentle listeners, this is Afterlife On Earth, and I am your host, Domhnall Barra.

BASIL: Is all this really necessary? I mean, yeah, we’ll use the pole. The cat’s basically feral and absolutely barking, sometimes literally. But hazmat suits? Bit excessive, isn’t it?

DOMHNALL: Doctor Hibler, as we all know, the contagion is transmitted via saliva.

BASIL: I know you want the cat to be a mutant, Don, but I don’t think it’s a zom cat. But cheer up! It’s probably still a mutant, considering this place. Oh, speaking of. You know Gordon, the albino calf? He’s growing a third horn out of his forehead like a bloody unicorn. You should do a show on him.

DOMHNALL: In due time. But, for now, we must conduct our inquiry in the spirit of science!

BASIL: Oh, bless. Look at you, positively swimming in that suit.

DOMHNALL: Baz, open the enclosure. Unto the breach!

BASIL: Like a greyhound in the slips. Here we go!

[both yell, audio cuts off]

Protocol

BASIL: Got you! You’re a right git, cat. In you go. You all right, Don?

DOMHNALL: Baz, he got me! The zombie moggie got me!

BASIL: Don’t be so dramatic. Let’s have a look. Take off the damn suit. Blimey.

DOMHNALL: I knew it! I’m infected, aren’t I? I can feel my cold, sluggish, zombifying blood oozing down my back!

BASIL: That’s uh, my hand. So just a scratch. Didn’t even break the skin. Did a number on that suit, though. Your moggie needs his nails cut. Hers, rather. Look at that - your inquiry’s already yielded results. Turns out the cat’s female. With a temper like that, we should call her Maggie.

DOMHNALL: Maggie the cat? Like, on a hot tin roof?

BASIL: Like Margaret Thatcher. Margaret Cat-cher? Because she’s a cat, and I catched her? Yes? No? No, you’re right, this is just terrible. Don?

DOMHNALL: Yes?

BASIL: Where’d your clothes get to, mate?

DOMHNALL: It’s protocol to wear these suits sans civilian clothing, which may contain, um, contaminates, uh, and uh…

BASIL: Doctor Leatherby told you that, did he?

DOMHNALL: Yes.

BASIL: Yeah. He was having a laugh. And of course, we remember he’s a perv, don’t we?

DOMHNALL: Indeed. Am I bleeding now?

BASIL: Sorry. That’s still my hand. Where’s the syringe got to? Aha! I’ll just take this and the litter box to the lab, but I’m fairly certain Maggie’s not a zom.

DOMHNALL: The science will tell us if she’s a zombie. But I’ll tell you, she’s not a Maggie!

Streptomycin

BASIL: Hello? This is uh, Life On… no, wait. What’s the program called again? Oi, Don, what’s the uh -

DOMHNALL: Afterlife On Earth!

BASIL: Right. This is Afterlife On Earth, and I am your guest host, Basil Hibler. You could call me Baz if this were a call-in show, which I don’t believe it is, because we haven’t any telephone service since we live in a dystopian mockery of our previous lives.

So, Domhnall Barra is conducting his tests in the lab, trying to conclude whether or not Macavity the mangy cat is, in fact, a catus zombiticus. In the meantime, I have with me today Caprice. She is a Nigerian dwarf goat. A dwarf goat with two heads!

Just having a laugh, listener. She actually has six legs. The front two are more like arms. Think T. rex arms with hooves, as though she’s some sort of goat centaur. But not a faun or a satyr, because they actually stand upright.

Anyway, Caprice is a lovely gal. She, uh… well, she just weed on my trainer, but she didn’t mean nothing by it! And now she’s eating my jumper. Bad Caprice! We don’t eat jumpers. Very naughty!

Anyway, Nigerian dwarf goats are fabulous creatures. Their milk has high fat content, thus more nutritious. Very useful in a zombie apocalypse. Oh, and uh -

[metal clatters]

DOMHNALL: I’m all right! It was just – ow! Damn it! Something bit me. I spoke too soon. There’s a slight chance I have bubonic plague. Baz, where’s the streptomycin?

BASIL: Pardon me, listener. Won’t be a moment.

DOMHNALL: Also, you may need to catch a plague flea.

Ghostshrimp5

BASIL: And we’re back with Afterbirth On Life. Wait, that’s not right.

DOMHNALL: Afterlife On Earth!

BASIL: Afterlife On Earth. Yes. Cheers! So the centrifuge is fixed, and the zom cat samples are whirling as we speak. My cohost, Domhnall Barra, has been treated with broad spectrum antibiotics and put to bed. A bed we will probably burn when he recovers. Afraid one of the weasels caught and ate the plague flea, so we had to euthanize the poor thing.

And while I was gone, a certain six-legged goat ate part of our Rofflenet connection, so I’m supposed to tell all you Rofflers that Ghostshrimp5 – wait, why 5? Was Ghostshrimp and Ghostshrimp1-4 taken? - anyway, asked to say that Ghostshrimp5 is not dead, he’s just resting.

Bloody hell, Caprice! That is not grass, that is my arm hair! Yes, I know, it’s bushy and luxurious. I eat a diet high in omega-3s. Omega-3 and Vitamin E. And my great grandmother was a [?]. Ow! I can’t believe you did it again. The cheek! Back in your pen, then, you old goat. I always wanted to say that. Never thought I would say it to an actual goat. Tune in next time to see if we survive the bubonic plague.

A Real Catch

DOMHNALL: On this special edition of Afterlife On Earth, [clears throat] we journey back in time, back to a simpler age when real zombies were circumscribed to voodoo rituals, and the zombie horde was merely a symbol of mindless compliance, or consumerism, or postmodern, uh…

BASIL: Take it easy, Don. You’re too weak for grave, sweeping speeches. Remember, you have the plague. Speaking of, when was the last time that centrifuge was properly serviced? Also, why the hell do we have a farm of plague insects?

DOMHNALL: I believe Doctor Leatherby maintained the equipment himself. Doctor Leatherby is also the answer to your second question.

BASIL: Ah, yes, Doctor Leatherby. Mad scientist, sadist, and the man who gave us employment at this nightmarish facility. Now that, Don, is what you call a segue!

DOMHNALL: Didn’t he used to ride on of those? A green and yellow one?

BASIL: Yes, he did. [DOMHNALL laughs] Damn, I’m clever.

DOMHNALL: I believe you mean humble.

BASIL: I see you’re still a touch boggled from unleashing and incubating a deadly plague.

DOMHNALL: I feel great. Give us a kiss, Baz.

BASIL: Well, I have been rather lonely.

DOMHNALL: Really? I didn’t realize you felt that way. You know you can talk to me about anything.

BASIL: It’s called banter, Typhoid Barry.

DOMHNALL: Thanks, Baz.

BASIL: What? I just turned you down. You should be devastated. I’m a real catch, you know.

DOMHNALL: I know.

BASIL: Plague, Don. For goodness’ sake.

Relationship History

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think that’s really sweet.

ZOE CRICK: It’s sad.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What? Actual human emotion?

ZOE CRICK: No, their inability to get their crap together and do something about the fact that they fancy each other rotten!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [laughs] Well, what do you want them to do? And remember, we’re a family show.

ZOE CRICK: This is a radical suggestion, but maybe Baz could tell Domnhall how he so painfully, clearly feels?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No, that’s a terrible idea. What if Domhnall rejects him?

ZOE CRICK: Hmm. Suddenly, your entire relationship history makes so much more sense.

Myxomatosis

DOMHNALL: Before we begin with our backstory, who have you got with you today, Baz?

BASIL: This is Myxie! She’s a New Zealand White, a common laboratory rabbit. Despite the name, New Zealand Whites are actually an American breed. She’s such a sweetheart. Out of all the Kiwi bunnies – and we’ve got 50 or so – she’s my favorite! She’ll just sit on your lap, docile. Likes a scratch just behind her ear.

Don’t put her on her back, though. Rabbits will go into tonic immobility and it’s a stressful state for them. So please don’t rub a rabbit’s belly! How do you like that – my seamlessly sneaking in a public service announcement? Well, I suppose it’s not that seamless when I draw attention to the seam like that.

DOMHNALL: Um, well done, Baz.

BASIL: Didn’t seem like your heart was in that. Want to try again?

DOMHNALL: I’m afraid to ask, but why did you call her Myxie?

BASIL: Uh, you know.

DOMHNALL: It’s short for myxomatosis, isn’t it?

BASIL: Wrong! Mixolydian. It’s a musical mode.

DOMHNALL: Really?

BASIL: No, it’s myxomatosis. But she’s named for the Radiohead song, not the -

DOMHNALL: You’re sick.

Destroy All The Servers

DOMHNALL: Do you remember your first day at the lab, Baz?

BASIL: Wish I could forget it. Second year uni student, absolutely gormless. First day, I was sat in Doctor Leatherby’s office for hours, waiting. When the door finally opened, instead of the old codger walking in, it was a lion! Let me repeat that: a lion. With a mane and everything!

DOMHNALL: How very Life of Pi.

BASIL: No ruddy tigers in this tale, Don. I was up against the king of the jungle.

DOMHNALL: Dear listeners, Doctor Basil Hibler is well aware that lions primarily live in the savanna, and less so the jungle, unlike tigers.

BASIL: And that lion settled on the chesterfield like he owned the place! Me, I was quivering in the corner of the room, cobbling together a spear from a letter opener and a meter stick. I made a heroic attempt at the door, but it was locked. A chute opened in the ceiling, and a stream of bloodied [?] fell on my head. That’s when the lion pounced.

DOMHNALL: How did you escape?

BASIL: Well, I didn’t! I laid there, slowly crushed under the lion’s weight, spear broken. I tried to roll him off, but he wouldn’t budge. Then the lion opened its hot, gaping maw, and -

DOMHNALL: And?

BASIL: And he licked me up and down, didn’t he? It was Toothless Tim. He didn’t even have his dentures yet. But that didn’t stop me from wetting myself. Tim had delicate sensibilities. Left me alone after that. That’s when Doctor Leatherby unlocked the door. Of course, he’d watched the entire time via the security cameras.

DOMHNALL: Filmed it as well. I think there may still be a recording on one of the computers.

BASIL: Note to self: destroy all the computers.

DOMHNALL: Well, it may be on the server.

BASIL: Note to self: figure out what a server is, and then destroy it.

Scientifically Manipulated

BASIL: You started work here before I did. I’ll wager you didn’t have to fight a lion for your job.

DOMHNALL: No. Doctor Leatherby was my professor. He asked if I wanted to be his lab assistant, and I said I did. The next day, he gave me a key card, and a lab coat, and the directions to this facility.

BASIL: Which is impossible to find, listener. And impenetrable. Titanium doors a meter thick!

DOMHNALL: And booby-trapped.

BASIL: Yeah, good one. And booby-trapped, a la Temple of Doom. No rolling boulders, but a modern analogue.

DOMHNALL: And of course, many zombies.

BASIL: Swarms. Hordes. Legions. They’re drawn to the smell from our incinerator, which will not help anyone find our facility. … I can’t believe you didn’t have to fight any predators for your job.

DOMHNALL: I don’t know. Doctor Leatherby was generally kind to me.

BASIL: He always liked you. As much of a crackpot as he was, he at least got that right.

DOMHNALL: I think it was because I was like his animals. I was scientifically manipulated, a freak. He probably thought I belonged in this place.

BASIL: Leatherby was a prat.

Startling Conclusion

DOMHNALL: The centrifuge is done.

BASIL: Yeah! It didn’t even fly off its axis and turn into a wheel of plague doom this time.

DOMHNALL: This is it, Baz. We discover whether the zombie virus has become zoonotic - or anthroponotic, in this case.

BASIL: You sound wistful, Don.

DOMHNALL: Now that the data’s at our fingertips, it’s my responsibility to analyze it, but I enjoyed the mystery of not knowing! The mystery, and the potential.

BASIL: Sorry, mate, but it’s one or the other. It’s Schrödinger’s cat: undead edition. We should really let the cat out of the box and see if the Geiger counter went off. You have more important things to focus on, like synthesizing those hormones.

DOMHNALL: I don’t want to talk about that.

BASIL: I know, but you either have the tools to do it, or you don’t. Hope makes you you, Don, but it’s not going to keep you that way.

DOMHNALL: Indeed. Oh, look at that, you got us off topic again! Don’t go anywhere, listener…s. The startling conclusion to the catus zombiticus tests, Afterlife On Earth will return in a moment.

Ark

DOMHNALL: Welcome back, gentle listeners. The results are in, and -

BASIL: Yeah, it’s not a zombie cat.

DOMHNALL: No, she’s not.

BASIL: But she is very sick.

DOMHNALL: Hopefully was. I’ve never seen this particular strain before, but I can say that the virus was synthesized in this lab. Thankfully, its characteristics were documented, as was the existence of a cure, helpfully labeled, “antibodies: cat.” After a quick diagnostic scan, it looked legitimate, so Baz gave her the treatment.

BASIL: That was an hour ago, and she’s already looking much better, but we’ll keep you apprised of her progress, listener.

DOMHNALL: Poor moggie.

BASIL: This was appalling, even for Leatherby, whose default setting is appalling. Reminds me why I quit this place.

DOMHNALL: What, the first time, or the second time?

BASIL: Both! But in a bad economy, a good man sells out his principles, don’t he? Leatherby was always so smug when I came back, tail between my legs. [imitates DOCTOR LEATHERBY] “Told you you would be back, zookeeper. Now grab a shovel. The shit always piles up when you’re on holiday.”

I know he was your mentor and all, but I’m glad he lost the plot and ran off to live among the zoms. Couldn’t imagine waiting out the end of days looking at his ugly [?].

DOMHNALL: To be fair, I like our ark the way it is.

BASIL: Me, too.

Your Listener

BASIL: You know, Don, I’m not sure I would have survived this without, you know, your being here with me.

DOMHNALL: I’m sure you would have, Baz. You’re very resourceful. You have many practical, real-world skills, like surgery, and cooking, and animal husbandry. You’re particularly adept with a machete spear.

BASIL: [laughs] Yeah. I’ve got a decent character card, I suppose.

DOMHNALL: I wouldn’t have survived.

BASIL: Well, you have many academic world skills, like writing beautiful lab reports, and inadvertently humiliating speakers at conferences. Also, you tap a mean vein. But mostly you’re just an utterly decent person. Good person, even. Kind. Maybe too kind for these times.

DOMHNALL: Baz, your hand.

BASIL: Yeah?

DOMHNALL: It-it is very cold. Perhaps we should test your circulation. We’ve been so sedentary since civilization ended. I know! We could start doing uh, calisthenics every morning. Wouldn’t do to survive the zombie horde only to be done in by DVT or bedsores.

BASIL: [laughs] Yeah. Maybe.

DOMHNALL: But look at us. We’ve strayed off topic yet again. Why don’t you find us an animal?

BASIL: I know just who to bring out. Give us a sec. [opens office door] I’ll give you three guesses as to -

[knock on outer door]

DOMHNALL: What the - ? Baz, was that you?

[knock on outer door]

BASIL: Oi, quit messing about, Don. The animals are already getting agitated enough.

DOMHNALL: Baz, this isn’t funny.

[knock on outer door

BASIL: Don, knock it off. [opens office door] Look who I’ve got!

[knock on outer door]

DOMHNALL: Zoms!

BASIL: Zoms don’t knock. That’s your listener.

DOMHNALL: For the last time, we have more than one listener, probably.

[knock on outer door]

BASIL: Ouch! Damn it, Melvin, don’t pull my arm hair!

Piddle

[knock on outer door, Melvin tap dances]

DOMHNALL: Baz, keep Melvin quiet.

BASIL: Right. Melvin, stop it. Melvin, stop it! Melvin, stop it!

[knock on outer door]

DOMHNALL: Baz!

BASIL: What? I don’t know how to speak tap dance. I mean, I’m fluent in soft-shoe, but there are subtle but vital differences in syntax!

DOMHNALL: For goodness’ sake! The zoms will sense the vibrations from its routine!

BASIL: So zoms are snakes now? Next you’ll be wailing about their echolocation or heat sensors or -

DOMHNALL: Baz, pick up the damn monkey

BASIL: Oh no! Every time I bring an animal on your show, it wees on me. I haven’t any clean clothes. I am not going to die stinking of monkey musk!

DOMHNALL: Stinking of – ? Baz, you have a much greater chance than most of defecating upon death, so I don’t think monkey piddle will matter!

BASIL: Hey, you just said I was full of shit, didn’t you? You also said piddle!

Needed Reassurance

BASIL: Oi, where are you going?

DOMHNALL: Won’t be a moment.

BASIL: Someone’s entirely too cavalier considering we’re under siege. Wait, what is - ? My yo-yo! [laughs] I knew I didn’t lose it! Melvin, reach your arm under – no, like this. Damn. What’s “reach under the desk for my yo-yo” in tap dancing? Don, this is no time for a wardrobe change.

DOMHNALL: Right, so… [tap dances] and a-para-diddle time step. Poor thing. And - [continues tap dancing]

BASIL: When did you learn how to speak monkey?

DOMHNALL: Eight years tap, seven years ballet.

BASIL: And you just happened to keep your tap shoes at the lab?

DOMHNALL: Melvin and I were meant to dance a duet at this year’s holiday party. Anyway, he should be quiet now. He was just frightened and needed reassurance.

BASIL: I’m frightened and need reassurance! Will you dance about with a brolly for me? Or, if you prefer, I could fetch you a sailor suit and a mouse.

Absolutely Impregnable

BASIL: Can’t believe you tap dance and never told me.

DOMHNALL: It’s not that impressive. A monkey can do it.

BASIL: But I suddenly feel as though I don’t know you at all! What else are you keeping from me? Are you a spy? A Morlock? Are you even Scottish?

DOMHNALL: You know all my big secrets, Baz. Hang on! I’m not Scottish!

BASIL: But you always say Scottish things. You even say “Scottish” like a Scotsman.

DOMHNALL: My parents are Scottish. I grew up less than ten miles from here.

BASIL: Right. I knew that.

DOMHNALL: Actually, sometimes I feel as though you know everything about me, but I know very few details about you.

BASIL: That’s because I talk constantly but never say anything of substance.

DOMHNALL: Baz, I’m serious.

BASIL: Almost always, yeah. That knocking stopped. Seems your listener’s given up. That’s because this lab is a fortress! Absolutely impregnable, I tell you! It would take an army to break – [audio cuts off]

Excelsior!

DOMHNALL: We’ve been breached! A warning to all: it appears homo sapiens sapiens zombiticus has evolved, its faculties now allowing for such strategic thinking as shutting off primary generators, finding emergency hatches, and manually overriding the lock system during the 30 seconds it takes for the secondary generator to kick on.

Listeners, if this behavior is reflective of all zombiekind, then it is advised that all communities reevaluate their security measures immediately, and – Baz. What are you doing with that machete spear? You don’t plan to engage them, do you?

BASIL: Engage the zoms? No. But were I a betting man -

DOMHNALL: Which you are. I’d even say you have a gambling problem.

BASIL: Were I a betting man, I’d wager a thousand quid it’s not zoms. Or your listener, mostly because I don’t believe your listener exists. I know, I know, you’re upset. But this is a good thing for us, considering you’ve just told any hypothetical audience how to circumvent our security.

DOMHNALL: … oh. Wait for me, I’ll find a weapon.

BASIL: If I’m right, there will be no need. If I’m wrong, it wouldn’t make any difference, and we’d both end up dead. Besides, if I die, you’ll need to take care of the animals.

DOMHNALL: But -

BASIL: I’m off. Give us a good battle cry.

DOMHNALL: Uh…

BASIL: Come on, don’t have all day.

DOMHNALL: G-geronimo?

BASIL: No.

DOMHNALL: Baz smash?

BASIL: No.

DOMHNALL: Excelsior?

BASIL: Frack yes!

DOMHNALL: I think you’re mixing fandoms, there, Baz. Baz!

BASIL: Excelsior!

Doctor Leatherby!

BASIL: Excelsior! Excelsior!

[metal clatters, BASIL shouts]

DOMHNALL: Baz? [BASIL laughs] Oh my… [door creaks open] Doctor Leatherby?

Trying To Tell Us Something

DOMHNALL: Baz, is that really -

BASIL: Doctor Solomon Leatherby, in the stinking, rotten flesh. Emphasis on “stinking.” I figured it would be. There’s no one else left on the planet who knows our security system. Except for your listener, whom we’ve established doesn’t exist.

DOMHNALL: I can’t believe he’s alive!

BASIL: I just said he doesn’t exist.

DOMHNALL: I was talking about Doctor Leatherby.

BASIL: Well, mind your pronouns. And anyway, “alive” is a relative term these days, isn’t it?

DOMHNALL: Can you make out what he’s saying?

BASIL: My best guess is, “Ugh, augh. Brains, yum.” Hence I trapped him in the cage. See?

DOMHNALL: He doesn’t quite look like a zom.

BASIL: Likely he’s not finished transitioning.

DOMHNALL: Like mentor, like pupil. Well, I thought it was funny.

BASIL: Aw, bless. But you shouldn’t compare yourself to him. He’s a soulless monster. And now he’s also a zombie!

DOMHNALL: Baz, we need to prep the surgery for plasmapheresis!

BASIL: We don’t have enough plasma on hand for that, remember? He used it all up before he left, experimenting on that intern.

DOMHNALL: Of course. And it’ll take more time than he has to synthesize it. I believe he’s genuinely trying to tell us something!

BASIL: Get away from that cage!

[cage rattles, DOMHNALL gasps]

Ironic

ZOE CRICK: Twist! Their supervisor’s a zombie.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Zoe, you do know these are actual people, right? Actual people having actual lives, and him being a zombie is not great news for them.

ZOE CRICK: I’m ironically distancing myself from their pain to make it more bearable.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: See, you’re saying that ironically, but actually it’s completely true.

ZOE CRICK: You think I’m being ironic about being ironic?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think you’re not being ironic about being ironic.

ZOE CRICK: So you’re accusing me of ironically being ironic about being ironic? [sighs] My head hurts.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Maybe this next song will help. I’ve always found it very soothing.

Machete-Spear

DOMHNALL: Doctor Leatherby, please! I’m just trying to help you.

BASIL: He’s a zom, Don. You can’t reason with him. Damn it, don’t lean towards his mouth!

DOMHNALL: He’s trying to tell me something.

BASIL: You mug, he’s trying to bite your ear! Where’s my - ? Ugh. Why is there never a machete spear around when you need one. Oi, Don, did you know this thing was still broadcasting? Should we break for a musical interlude while I fetch my machete spear?

Efficient Language

DOMHNALL: What’s that? Speak up. Something about a toad? Do you mean one of the psychoactive ones? If you think that’ll help alleviate your suffering, we still have a couple of Bufo alvarius. Shall I fetch one? Or I could mix up your Friday cocktail. Double shot of LSD? Hmm, Doctor Leatherby? I’m going to ask you respect Human Resources Policy 20.2.5 and not talk so close I can feel your breath on my ear. Gosh, that’s ripe.

BASIL: What is wrong with you, Don? You steadfastly believed the cat was a zombie, knowing full well the virus had never displayed zoonotic tendencies, but despite Leatherby’s obvious zombification – why the hell is he pointing at me? You just put that necrotic finger away, mister!

DOMHNALL: What’s that, Doctor Leatherby? The cat? What about it? He just keeps saying, “the cat, the cat!”

BASIL: Oh, sod off about the cat, old man. You tortured that poor thing. If Don hadn’t found the antidote -

DOMHNALL: The cat… oh, the cat! I understand now. Please, Doctor Leatherby, let me go! I know what to do.

BASIL: He’s not going to – oh, would you look at that. He’s let go.

DOMHNALL: BRB, Baz!

BASIL: I don’t know why he does that. He never texted, even when we had a working mobile phone network. Plus, that particular acronym is not actually faster when verbalized.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Idiot zookeeper…

BASIL: As I don’t know how to translate Zombie, I’m going to assume you said, “I’ve always admired your intellect, Doctor Hibler. I demeaned you with words like ‘idiot’ and 'zookeeper’ and 'shit-shoveler’ because I was intimidated by your genius, and jealous of your relationship with Doctor Barra.” Blimey, Zombie is an efficient language.

Good Night

BASIL: Where’s the fire, Don? Also, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to run with syringes? Needle pointing down, please.

DOMHNALL: [laughs] The cat, Don, the cat!

BASIL: You mean Pusstopher Jones?

DOMHNALL: [laughs] No.

BASIL: You mean Blister Mistoffelees?

DOMHNALL: [laughs] No.

BASIL: You mean -

DOMHNALL: I mean the cat what looked like a zombie but wasn’t! The cat that we cured with the vial marked “cat antibodies”, beside which I found a vial marked “me antibodies”. Apologies, Doctor Leatherby. This might pinch. Don’t you see, Baz? Doctor Leatherby has the same affliction as the cat, or a human variation of it, and like her, he should be as good as new in no time.

BASIL: Great.

DOMHNALL: Isn’t it?

BASIL: But we keep him in the cage until we’re certain he’s not a zombie.

DOMHNALL: Agreed. We can’t be too safe.

BASIL: And you can only keep him if you promise to feed and water him, take him for walks, and clean up when he makes a mess. We really should put newsprint down.

DOMHNALL: Baz, I know the two of you don’t get on well, but he’s still a human being, and he’s obviously been through an ordeal. Have some compassion.

BASIL: That’s the difference between us. You think everyone deserves kindness. I think people deserve what they put out.

DOMHNALL: But if that’s true, then what consideration are you to be afforded by dispensing vengeance on behalf of others?

BASIL: Now who’s derailing the conversation? Since when did this become a morality debate?

DOMHNALL: Don’t be cross. I didn’t mean -

BASIL: You’re responsible for Leatherby. I have my hands full keeping the zoo. And I was only half joking about the newsprint. By the way, you are still broadcasting. If you care at all about this enterprise, you might want to consider wrapping up this segment.

DOMHNALL: Capuchin monkeys - like Melvin, our tap dancing monkey – are considered the most intelligent of all the new world monkeys. They’re omnivores, and well-known for their usage of tools. They are favored by Hollywood studios and organ grinders alike.

As it is for most primates, Capuchin society is complex. Theirs is a male transfer system in which females stay in natal groups and are presided over by an alpha male. Mutual grooming creates bonds between members, but no amount of nitpicking will earn share of the kingdom. There is only room for one at the top, and Capuchins are notoriously territorial.

This is not an analogy. There are no females. I’m Domhnall Barra, and this is Melvin the tap dancing monkey, bidding you goodnight.

Ordinary Housecat

DOMHNALL: As far as science knows, felis silvestris catus zombiticus does not, in fact, exist. The zombie contagion is not anthroponotic, and is thus contained in the human species. As fascinating as it would have been to study the zombie state up close, there are many reasons why our findings have proved fortuitous, the main reason being that the cat formerly known as Zombie Cat is very very very very very sweet. And when one is sequestered in a hellish bunker in the middle of a dystopian, plague-ridden world, one cannot discount the value of a loving, purring cat in one’s lap.

This is Afterlife On Earth, and I am your host, Domhnall Barra. And here with me today is the wee moggie previously known as zombie cat. We should probably rectify this state of namelessness. If anyone out there - either on the waves or on Rofflenet - has any suggestions, I’d be much obliged. Baz is usually in charge of naming, but I’m loathe to hand her over to him, considering the names he’s proposed to date. Also, there’s a chance he’s not talking to me. I mean, he hasn’t pointedly ignored me or anything, but I haven’t seen him all day. So we’ll carry on without him.

Today on the program, a quiet afternoon with felis silvestris catus, the ordinary housecat. More with our friend after this musical interlude.

Breeding Crickets

DOMHNALL: Our sweet friend is a shorthair, an English Blue, with the defining characteristics of the breed. These include a steel blue coat and copper eyes, with a broad-jowled face and sturdy, compact frame, although she is malnourished at the moment. Also, her fur is patchy and growing in tufts, but Baz bathed and groomed her last night, and she’s eaten, so she already looks, smells, and generally seems much better.

As an aside, Doctor Leatherby seems to be similarly progressing. Just to clarify, Baz did not bathe him, thus he does not smell nearly as sweet as the cat.

Can you hear that, listener? She’s purring. Ah, now here’s something fascinating. As ordinary, albeit welcome, the sound of purring is to cat owners, the mechanism itself is extraordinary. Purring has always been a defining characteristic of felinae. In fact, we have traditionally organized cats by their vocalizations. Felinae consisted of cats who purred, while pantherinae included roaring cats. We now know that the cats of pantherinae, the great cats – not that you’re not great, sweet moggie – also purr, but only when they exhale.

Felinae, which include housecats, wild cats, as well as cheetahs and cougars, cannot roar. A cat’s reasons for purring is ambiguous, as is the exact mechanism by which they create this sound.

[cage rattles]

Doctor Leatherby? [office door opens] Doctor Leatherby, are you awake? What’s that? Speak up! What? What? Oh. Well, that’s a tad hyperbolic. Certainly I’m not quite as boring as watching mold grow. Oh, so you think that simile is, in fact, accurate? That listening to me broadcast is comparable to observing mold? Oh. [cricket chirps] Tell us again why we’re breeding crickets?

Vampire Badger

DOMHNALL: Welcome back, listener…s. This is Afterlife On Earth. I am here with the feline previously known as Zombie Cat, as well as my mentor, Doctor Solomon Leatherby, who will speak to us from the safety of his cage, as there is still a slight chance he may be transitioning towards zombiedom. Doctor Leatherby, please say hello to our audience.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Release me! Was… not… zombie!

DOMHNALL: I want to believe you, Doctor Leatherby, but surely you realize that is exactly what a zombie would say, and how he would say it, complete with sentence fragments and haggard ellipses.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Me… cat… cage! [?]… fool! Domhnall…

DOMHNALL: You don’t have to be cruel. You would agree with this protocol if you were me, and had caught a possible zombie.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Zookeeper! Zookeeper!

DOMHNALL: Doctor Leatherby, please desist! That’s not going to help your case. Now, in your own words, if you can please share with our audience – our vast audience – your experiences in the wild, living among the zombies.

BASIL: What the bloody hell is going on in here? Why is zombie Leatherby miked up?

DOMHNALL: I couldn’t find you! My show was boring without a cohost.

BASIL: So you offered my position to a zom?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Not… undead! … I… pre… cat… me!

BASIL: Ah, that trademark zombie wit.

DOMHNALL: He’s likely not a zombie. He’s just like the cat, and look at her! She’s doing much better.

BASIL: Why’s the cat out of her cage?

DOMHNALL: Um…

BASIL: Give me the cat. She has two more days on her quarantine. And for God’s sake, don’t let him out, either.

DOMHNALL: Obviously, I won’t. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to me as though I were a child.

BASIL: You’re still broadcasting.

DOMHNALL: What does it matter to you? You’re convinced no one’s listening.

BASIL: Well, I’m not sure, anymore. I mean, no one gives a toss about you droning on about [?] vocalizations or goose migration patterns, but I’d tune in to listen to this drama.

DOMHNALL: What drama?

BASIL: Us, fighting

DOMHNALL: … we’re fighting?

BASIL: You should hook the old bastard up to an IV, just in case he isn’t a zom. And I’ve left more blankets in the hall.

DOMHNALL: Thanks.

BASIL: The cat, Don. And don’t take the animals without asking. Some of them are very sick. I’m fairly certain one of them badgers is a vampire. And while you’re spending all your time in here nattering on, what are you doing about your injections? … yeah, that’s what I thought.

Menagerie

BASIL: This is not Afterlife On Earth. It’s just me, Basil Hibler. Ol’ Baz. [laughs] Can’t sleep. Brain’s racing. Usually, I wake up Don, or chat with Pedro the macaw, but I don’t want to chance rousing the facility, not with Doctor Leatherby back.

There’s probably no one listening. No, not because no one tunes in to Don’s program, because I’m sure someone somewhere does. Obviously I’m just, you know, taking the piss out of him. [laughs] But it’s late. Only ones up are the dead.

There’s something soothing about the microphone, about the illusion that it’s attaching me to someone somewhere who’s flesh and blood and alive. Like, confession or something. Maybe that’s why Don likes it so much, recovering Catholic and all.

Doctor Leatherby’s got better. He’s not 100%, not even 60%, but it’s clear he’s not a zom, which means he’s back to stay. If it were me, I’d kick him out on his ass without a second thought! He survived all that time in the wild, I’m sure he can do it again.

But Don’d never go for it. We’d have another row. We never fight, except when it comes to – [sighs] Leatherby’s always been good at that – dividing and conquering. For a loon, he’s remarkable Machiavellian.

I mean, It may be perverse, but this facility’s become our home. Now that Leatherby’s back – albeit in a cage for everyone’s safety – it feels like Don and I… like we’ve played house while the grownups were away. We’ve built a life! An odd one, sure, but… you know, good. And of course, the only person with enough sway to dismantle it is a cockroach capable of surviving nuclear winter.

Anyway, I’m off to check on the menagerie. Night, listener. Sleep tight. Don’t let the zoms bite.

Miraculous Story

DOMHNALL: Zombie: it is a word laden with fear, pregnant with connotation. Mere mention sends our imaginations reeling with images of the shambling horde, a phalanx of ravening carnivores, sloughing off their necrotic skin, their mouths bloodied, sinew caught between their rotten teeth like wilted spinach and popcorn kernels. Memory reminds us of their stench, the bushy death musk that lingers in their wake, and our dreams entangle imagination and memory into plaguing mares of terror.

Few would venture into their path, none into their midst. None save one, and that man is with us today. This is Afterlife On Earth, and I am your host, Domhnall Barra.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Barra, you don’t always open with such purple tripe, do you?

DOMHNALL: Well, I try to infuse some drama into – [nervous laugh] I can stop.

BASIL: But you won’t, because your listeners like your monologues the way they are.

DOMHNALL: Thanks, Baz.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: My mistake. In my haze, I thought I overheard the zookeeper state that “no one would willingly listen to such a rambling, prosaic, insipid rubbish.” His words, not mine.

BASIL: Nope. Not my words at all. Don’t even know what prosaic means.

DOMHNALL: [clears throat] As you can hear, listeners, after his brief sojourne, my cohost, Doctor Basil Hibler -

BASIL: For the last time, call me Baz.

DOMHNALL: - Baz has returned to the show.

BASIL: Hello, hello, gentle listener…s.

DOMHNALL: We are both just chuffed [BASIL snorts] to introduced today’s guest, a giant in the field of virology, my mentor, Doctor Solomon Leatherby.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Good afternoon.

BASIL: It’s morning.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: It’s four minutes after twelve, according to my watch.

DOMHNALL: Against all odds, Doctor Leatherby has returned to civilization relatively unscathed after spending an extended time living among the zombies, studying their migration patterns, the nuances of zombie society. After the break, his miraculous story, only on Afterlife On Earth.

A Fine Butcher

DOMHNALL: Welcome back to Afterlife On Earth. We’re here with scientific pioneer, Doctor Solomon Leatherby, newly returned to civilization after living among the zombies. Living among them, but not as one. Doctor Leatherby is alive, listeners, not undead.

BASIL: Well, he’s not a zom, anyway. Jury’s out on vampirism.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Ah, I see your formula, Barra. You share zoological facts with the populous in the style of those general interest nature programs, and the zookeeper infuses lowest common denominator humor in order to make you more approachable to the unwashed masses.

BASIL: Speaking of unwashed…

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: In order to fit in with this dynamic, I shall don the role of learned elder statesman who queries your thesis and leads you towards the path of scientific enlightenment in which you disprove yourself and dismantle your entire belief system.

BASIL: Yay, old times!

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Glad you’re taking interest, Hibler. Your articles make even Barra’s somnambulistic ramblings seem academically rigorous.

DOMHNALL: Doctor Leatherby, Baz isn’t an academic, remember? He’s a veterinarian.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Is he, now? I didn’t realize that. I hired him because he’s a fine butcher.

BASIL: Yeah, yeah, I’m a surgeon. I’m a bloody hack. All I do is cut things.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: But never the right things, Hibler. Far too many adjectives.

Grey Ape

DOMHNALL: Doctor Leatherby, if you please, we’re all on tenterhooks. How is it you survived all this time living among the ravenous horde? How did you infiltrate them? Camouflage yourself? How did you meet your own basic needs in the wasteland? Have you gleaned any new insight into the nature and potential cure of the undead mutation-virus-pathogen-bacteria-prion?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Patience, Barra. Excitable as ever, I see. I suppose you haven’t had much stimulation, living down here with the rodents, apes, and the badgers.

BASIL: Well, he has me.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Yes. I said ape. As a veterinarian, you should know that humans belong to the taxonomic family Hominidae, a classification also known by the term great ape. Although in your case, the emphasis is definitely on ape.

BASIL: Yeah, well, obviously you’re a great ape, too. Emphasis on the “gray”. Without the T.

DOMHNALL: Baz, don’t be ageist. Let’s focus on the task in hand. Please, Doctor Leatherby, your story. When we return.

Intellectual Digestion

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Fine. It all began when an intern called Johnny decided he would brave the horde to find his sweetheart, a young lady with the unfortunate name Clotilda Drudge, a name now permanently subscribed on the annals of time.

BASIL: Yeah, because the great Doctor Solomon Leatherby has deigned to speak it on record, ho ho ho.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Young Johnny’s efforts always proved in vain. First, he mimicked the zombies, adopting their shuffling gait, their posture, their dead-eyed gaze. Johnny proved affective at adopting the affectation primarily because it differed only slightly from his natural mannerisms.

BASIL: Because he’s young, and all young people people have poor posture and headphone-induced thousand yard stares? Now who’s bloody ageist?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: He only made it partway down the lawn before the zombies noticed. I hypothesized as much. If it were as easy as mimicking zombie physicality, the teenagers would remain untouched, and the world’s survivors would primarily consist of actors!

BASIL: And of course, that would spell trouble for the human race, as none of these groups know anything about the world or have any skills transferrable to survival.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Oh. Excellent. If you manage to make that conclusion, then surely the listeners would be able to as well. Let us take a break to allow for proper intellectual digestion.

Camouflage

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: When mimicry failed the young intern, he turned to olfactory camouflage. This was a two-part test. The first time, he rolled in animal hair, urine, and excrement, as canines do. This, with a slow shuffle, allowed him a little further towards the Tesco’s car park. We don’t allow the interns access to the underground car park or tunnels.

On his sprint back, he collect body parts that had fallen off various zombies, as I’d earlier instructed. The second part of this test involved using the smell of dead human flesh. This netted the most success. He very nearly made it to his car. But I propose that his natural living odor permeated the shield of decay. The stress and physical activity would have encouraged sweat production, especially in a young man prone to lethargy.

The zombies caught Johnny before he could jump over the fence into the car park. In hindsight, he should have brought along wire cutters, as he wouldn’t have successfully scaled the fence, even if the horde hadn’t swarmed him.

Marianne

DOMHNALL: And this led you back to the lab?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Yes. I realized that in order to fool the zombies, our camouflage had to begin at the cellular level. As we had several interns, we conducted multiple experiments. First, having the interns consume foods known to change human scent. Onions, garlic, asparagus, plastic analogous cheese products. While none proved successful, some showed the theory promising.

If you recall, Barra, two years ago, we worked on bacterial strain V-A12LEP095, which targeted the skin and glands. One of the early symptoms of this strain was the smell of what could only be classified as death. Most early stage symptoms were mild, primarily skin issues that could be treated topically. In later stages, the strain proved painful, and occasionally fatal. But as zombification always proved fatal, I felt it worth the risk.

I still had two interns, and thus injected them both with modified strains of V-A12LEP095. To my delight, both made it to their cars in the car park. Of course, I couldn’t allow them to leave without doing follow-up on the experiment, so I had my research assistant Lola take the underground tunnel to the other side of the car park to drive nails in all the tires.

BASIL: Bloody hell.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Oh, don’t fret, zookeeper. Lola wasn’t an intern. She was allowed to use the tunnels.

DOMHNALL: What happened to the interns, Doctor Leatherby? We know they’re no longer at the facility with us.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Well, one of them didn’t take well to V-A12LEP095. He tried to escape and was gunned down by a random woman on a horse! The other one left with Lola and Marianne.

BASIL: Who the hell is Marianne?

DOMHNALL: Marianne was Doctor Leatherby’s car.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: In hindsight, we probably shouldn’t have let research assistants in the underground car park, either.

Six Interns

DOMHNALL: You left the facility not long after that.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: I injected myself with the stable strain of V-A12LEP095. Leading up to my experiment, I practiced my zombie mimicry and collected fouled clothing. With trepidation, I infiltrated the horde. They accepted me without curiosity.

When I grew bolder, I joined a shamble of nomadic zombies – a shamble being a collective noun for a cohort of zombies. I packed charcoal water purifiers and desalinators, food, vitamins and medication to help stem the progression of V-A12LEP095, and left, following the shamble through the city.

DOMHNALL: And what did you discover, Doctor Leatherby?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Well, as expected, zombie movement patterns are dictated by a small number of variables. One: sound. They are not discriminating. Any sound indicates life, thus, food. Two: smell, for the same reason. Three: movement, see above. Four: resistance. If not in pursuit of sustenance, zombie movements are seemingly random. However, environmental resistance limits locomotion. Even a small pothole can disrupt zombie movement.

Feeding patterns are similar to pack dynamics such as a pride of lions, with no special consideration given to child zom. I have observed zoms grooming each other in ways similar to that of living primates, but with less motor skill and social gain. Most likely a vestigial habit.

DOMHNALL: How fascinating! Isn’t it, Baz?

BASIL: So why’d you come back, then?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: As I said earlier, V-A12LEP095 can be dangerous in later stages. I need the cure.

BASIL: And why’d you dose the poor cat?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: I needed to leave a clue about my procedure in case I required medical assistance upon return. I wasn’t about to inject Barra, and I couldn’t find you.

BASIL: Did you ever think about, oh, I don’t know, leaving a note?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Not that I have to explain myself to you, but I didn’t want to chance someone else conducting my experiment before I had my chance.

BASIL: You mean someone like Don or me.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: And of course, if Barra knew what I was doing, he would have attempted to stop me, or come with.

BASIL: And you didn’t want to share the glory.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: I didn’t want him harmed in case the experiment didn’t work.

DOMHNALL: You’re right. I would have tried to stop you, and then wouldn’t have collected all this fascinating data!

BASIL: You… you killed six interns.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: False. I only killed five. The last one stole my automobile. But I should very much like to kill that one, I think.

BASIL: Ugh. And on that note, this is Baz Hibler, and on behalf of Domhnall Barra and I, thank you for tuning in to Afterlife On Earth.

DOMHNALL: Hang on, that’s my job - ! [audio cuts off]

Synthesising Testosterone

DOMHNALL: Welcome back to Afterlife On Earth. I am your host, Domhnall Barra, here with my copilot, Baz Hibler.

BASIL: Hello, hello!

DOMHNALL: And the cat formerly known as Zombie Cat.

BASIL: She’s purring! I’ll hold her up to the mic so folks can hear.

[cat formerly known as Zombie Cat purrs]

DOMHNALL: Today’s show will not focus on the cat formerly known as Zombie Cat, but we wanted to open the segment with sharing a few of the name suggestions we’ve received via Rofflenet. The fact that we’ve received suggestions from multiple users indicates what, Baz?

BASIL: I’ll concede. There are at least five people listening to this program. Or your listener has at least four friends. Good on you, listener.

DOMHNALL: Baz, would you kindly read out the names?

BASIL: So, here are your suggestions: Beauregard, Catchy, Figaro, Selena Kyle, and Pretty Polly Leapshadow! All excellent names for a cat.

DOMHNALL: Thank you all. And do keep the names coming. We’ll consider every suggestion, and announce our decision at a later date. Now, Baz will take the cat away and bring out our next guest.

BASIL: We can’t have them out at the same time. They’ll fight like cats and dogs. Because they are. Cats and dogs. Won’t be a moment.

DOMHNALL: As we wait, let me give a brief introuction to our next – [office door opens] Oh, hello, Doctor Leatherby. Would you like to, uh - ?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Barra, I have no further interest in this enterprise. I just wanted to know what it is you’re cooking up in Lab C.

DOMHNALL: Lab C? Oh, uh, it’s nothing.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Nothing? Good to know. Because it looked as though you were synthesizing testosterone from DHEA and propionyl and hydride.

Little Radio Programme

DOMHNALL: I may have been trying to synthesize some hormones.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: I gather you haven’t had the courage to inject yourself yet? When did the subcutaneous pellet expire?

DOMHNALL: It’s been a while. After that, I was injecting the samples you fabricated earlier, but…

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Fine. Leave it to me.

DOMHNALL: Really?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: You’re a good assistant, Barra. You’re obedient, with fine motor skills and neat handwriting. And occasionally, you show some insight. But you are no pioneer, and no toolshed drug cooker. I’ll synthesize your hormone. Unless you want to revert to being a shy, mannish girl. You might consider it, given that the nearly eradicated human race will requires breeders.

DOMHNALL: Thank you, Doctor Leatherby. I appreciate your help in the lab.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: I should have made you a batch before I left. It appears I was naive, expecting you’d devote yourself to your research while I was away. What a shock to return to find you hosting a silly radio program and playing house with the zookeeper. Like children.

DOMHNALL: I’m sorry.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: And here I was thinking you’d accompany me on my next expedition.

DOMHNALL: To study the zombies?

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Of course. The last trip was just for curiosity’s sake. The real research lies in studying the changes in their unbiology. This is the term we will use when describing undead physiology – unphysiology! We will add “un” to everything.

DOMHNALL: Very sensible.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: We need to get on this before that fame monger, Van Ark, does. This unplague is exactly the kind of crackpottery that knee-jerk experimentalist is hankering for. We have to crack this before he does. He always had those government connections, but I won’t let him steal one more tax payer penny from me.

BASIL: Just a moment.

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: So, that settles it. I will synthesize your hormones, and following that, an improved strain of V-A12NEL095. When my body can handle another dose, we’ll leave.

DOMHNALL: I… wow!

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: Excellent. I’ll leave you to your little radio program.

Rottenpoo

BASIL: Here we are. Say hello to the keeper of the underworld!

DOMHNALL: Cerberus.

BASIL: Who’s a good boy? And who else is a good boy? Yes, you are! And you are! You both are! We all are! [laughs] Oi, Don. Pet him, will you? He’s got two heads, after all.

DOMHNALL: Right. Good boys, Cerberus.

[Cerberus barks]

BASIL: What’s wrong with you?

DOMHNALL: Nothing.

BASIL: Was that old coot in here? Did he say something to you?

DOMHNALL: Why don’t you tell our listeners about our dog?

BASIL: Well, his name’s Cerberus. Yes, he has two heads. Not in a creepy, transplanty, Demikhov kind of way. In a natural, conjoined sort of way. He’s actually perfectly healthy otherwise. He has two hearts, four lungs, three kidneys, and a penchant for liver sticks. This particular two-headed dog is a Rottweiler poodle mix. A Rottenpoo, if you will.

DOMHNALL: Cerberus is not a Rottenpoo! Stop trying to coin that.

Botulinum Toxin

DOMHNALL: What else can you tell our listeners about this particular two-headed dog, Baz?

BASIL: Uh, it’s not enough that he’s got two heads?

DOMHNALL: This is supposed to be educational, remember? So, the domestic dog, uh, canus lupus familiaris, man’s best friend… I guess most people know about dogs.

BASIL: Well, we could talk about how dog breeds emerged, both naturally and due to human manipulation. Or we could -

DOMHNALL: Doctor Leatherby wants me to go back out in the field with him.

BASIL: What?

DOMHNALL: Doctor Leatherby -

BASIL: You mean with the zoms?

DOMHNALL: Yes, but – [BASIL laughs] You know how successful his – his experiment proved - !

BASIL: He plans to inject you with a leprosy cocktail and drag you out into the ruined waste to live with the flesh eating undead, and you’re going to let him?

DOMHNALL: Baz, this will allow us to study zombification, to monitor the progression of the actual unaffliction, to take unliving samples that we can bring back to the lab to study. We could even possibly create a cure, or innoculation. Baz, it’s my responsibility as a scientist!

BASIL: This is mental! Don’t you think if zombification could have been cured, it would have been by now?

DOMHNALL: I have to try.

BASIL: No, you don’t. Leatherby is mad. He killed all those interns unnecessarily. He tortures these animals. For God’s sake, he tortures us! He doesn’t give a damn about you. If you’re lucky, you’ll be eaten alive. If you’re not, you’ll be shambling around with the rest of them “un-fools”. [opens office door]

DOMHNALL: Sit down, please!

BASIL: I’m taking Cerberus for a walk. Bloody braindead dead brain trust. Come on, dog.

DOMHNALL: Baz! Damn it. We’re still broadcast – oh, damn it again! This is Domhnall Barra for Afterlife On Earth, and just – just piss off! Baz! Baz, you came - Doctor Leatherby. [BASIL shouts] What are you doing? What’s – what’s in that syringe?

BASIL: Let go of me, old man!

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: 10 years, and you still haven’t learned respect, zookeeper. Barra, you will accompany me on my next excursion. I am director of this facility, and you are my employee. I am not asking, I am assigning you to this task. It will make your career, and could save the lives of many people. I will not have you jeopardize this experiment so you can run amok with the menagerie and play [?] with this imbecile.

DOMHNALL: Of course! I mean, I don’t understand what you just said, but never mind that! I’ll go with you! I plan to!

BASIL: Don, don’t!

DOCTOR LEATHERBY: If you don’t stop wriggling, zookeeper, I’ll stick you with this, and we’ll get to test the effects of botulinum toxin on veterinarian, and I assure you, at this dose, all we’ll be measuring is how long it takes you to meet Cerberus at the gates of hell! [Cerberus howls] Damn dog! And damn those interns!

What’s that blinking light? Blast you, Barra. Are you still broadcasting? Turn it off, now! [audio cuts off]

Get In Touch

ZOE CRICK: That just doesn’t seem fair.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No, it doesn’t.

ZOE CRICK: Where does he get off dragging poor Domhnall into God knows what dangers?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, he’s his boss, I suppose. It’s still crappy, though.

ZOE CRICK: It really is. What if something happens to him? What will Baz do? Also, calling Baz an imbecile is not okay.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Baz is emotionally intelligent.

ZOE CRICK: Exactly. And that’s the last recording we’ve got of theirs?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So far. But you know, they might send out more.

ZOE CRICK: They’d better. Baz, Domhnall, if you’re listening to this – actually, if you are listening to this, we’re really sorry about broadcasting your private-ish conversations to lots of people without your permission. But also, please get in touch. We’re worried about you.

Eloise and Hugh

ZOE CRICK: And we’ve still heard nothing from Baz and Domhnall?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Not a peep.

ZOE CRICK: Damn it!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Mmhmm. Uh, but don’t worry, citizens. We have been picking up some other broadcasts, and there’s one me and Zoe think you might enjoy.

ZOE CRICK: Seems disloyal, though, doesn’t it? To Baz and Domhnall?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, it’s not like they knew we were listening. And you like Eloise. You said she sounded like a kindred spirit.

ZOE CRICK: Eloise is pretty cool.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And Hugh’s great, too. Now, you’re going to love them, listeners, we promise. They’re travelling around the country -

ZOE CRICK: No spoilers.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, okay. Well, stay tuned, and you’ll find out all about Eloise and Hugh, right after this.

Turn It Off!

[static]

ELOISE: Is that better?

HUGH: There’s still some interference, Eloise!

ELOISE: Well, then, stop and let me down, Hugh.

HUGH: I can’t quite at the moment, my love.

ELOISE: Stop the van, you [?]. I’ll drag the aerial right off the roof.

HUGH: You know I can deny you nothing, but that zom we saw, it phoned a friend! Now there’s two fast ones got our scent, and they’re gaining! I can’t slow down!

ELOISE: If you go any faster, I’ll fall off!

HUGH: I’ve opened the window. Can you do a Dukes of Hazzard?

ELOISE: Are you having a laugh? I’m 53!

HUGH: Now would be a good time! [ELOISE climbs in through window] Handled like a ballerina.

ELOISE: Next time, we check the bloody bushes before I climb up there. I found the problem. It was a zombie foot wedged into the aerial mount. Look! How’d a foot get onto our roof?

HUGH: Uh… maybe you should throw it out the window. With the contamination and the blood and all.

ELOISE: Oh Hugh, you’re a big wuss, aren’t you? Wait! That light’s on. Are we transmitting? Did you hit transmit?

HUGH: Uh, I was trying to change the air conditioning.

ELOISE: Turn it off. Turn it off!

That Went Well

ELOISE: Hello!

HUGH: Hello.

ELOISE: I’m Eloise, and this is Hugh.

HUGH: Hello.

ELOISE: Yes, Hugh. Thank you. And thank you, the listener, for tuning in to our first show. We are travellers voyaging through the wild isles of zombie Britain in our faithful Volkswagen camper van.

HUGH: It’s a Type 2.

ELOISE: Thank you, Hugh.

HUGH: With everyone dead, I thought we’d get a [?], but they’re no good in the winter. And quite frankly, they’re a bit slow for eluding the undead.

ELOISE: Yes, Hugh. But we were going to introduce the show.

HUGH: Oh yeah. Now, I used to be a postman, see, and I’ve still got my keys. So I can get into every postbox in Britain.

ELOISE: And I’m a telecomms engineer. So we’ve lashed a transmitter on the roof, and I’ve rigged up some relay stations along the road. We thought we’d do a show, to pass the time, and as a public service, you see, and we thought, “What did we used to like?”

HUGH: It was that show on Radio Stafford with that lady who answered your personal problems, Lucy Lockjaw.

ELOISE: Lucy Lockhart. Our idea is, we’ll be your travelling agony aunt and uncle, bringing you wisdom from the road, and advice from the heart. So if you’ve got a problem, write a letter to Hugh and Eloise, and just pop it in the postbox. Everywhere we visit, we’ll check all the boxes, and if your letter’s there, we’ll try to help! We’re waiting to hear from you. And in the meantime, here’s some music to keep you going. [audio clicks]

That went well, didn’t it? I thought that went well.

HUGH: You didn’t press it right. It’s still going.

ELOISE: Oh, shit!

Porpoise

ELOISE: Well, a lot has happened since we last did a show. We’ve been coming up from the lake district, a lovely place to settle! Apart from all the zoms.

HUGH: All that moisture’s hell on the axles.

ELOISE: If we were going to settle, we wouldn’t do it in a camper van, now, would we? That would kind of defeat the porpoise.

HUGH: You mean purpose.

ELOISE: That’s what I said.

HUGH: No. You said porpoise, like a dolphin.

ELOISE: Why would I want to defeat a dolphin?

HUGH: I don’t know. You were the one who said it.

ELOISE: You always do this! You know fine well what I mean, but you pick up on a slip of the tongue and try to make me sound stupid. Any reasonable person would just take it as I meant!

HUGH: It’s my Royal Mail training. When you read an address, see, you can’t just guess what you think the customer meant. You have to deliver it exactly what it says on the letter!

ELOISE: Exactly where it says on the letter.

HUGH: It says it on the front.

ELOISE: There you go again. You are a pedant, Hugh Caulfield.

HUGH: Well, they never gave me a bike.

ELOISE: You’re just making fun of me now.

HUGH: I might be, my love. But just remember, you’re the one I voyage with every day through this cruel world.

ELOISE: Yeah, and I know where you sleep. Where did I put that zombie foot?

Confidential

ELOISE: Good afternoon. I’m driving today because Hugh is busy opening your mail.

HUGH: Where’d we put them scissors?

ELOISE: They’re in one of those boxes back there. Now, as you remember, we’re here to answer your questions, like the agony aunt and uncle you’ve been deprived of since the zombie apocalypse. The idea is, if you’ve got a problem, whether it be about relationships, or careers, or health, or just everyday zombie matters, you write it down in your best handwriting and pop it in the postbox, addressed to Hugh and Eloise. And when we come to your town, we’ll pick it up and offer you some confidential advice. Just listen in on this frequency.

HUGH: It won’t be confidential, will it? If it’s on the radio.

ELOISE: Well, it’ll be anonymous, then.

HUGH: Yeah, but if we read a letter by Jane from Carlisle, it’s going to be obvious who it is, right? I mean, there aren’t many people left in Carlisle. Even less called Jane.

ELOISE: We’ll use a fake name, won’t we?

HUGH: Then how will they know it’s their question?

ELOISE: Strike me down! They’ll know because they’ll hear it, won’t they? They’ll recognize the words, Hugh.

HUGH: Oh yeah.

ELOISE: So, have we got any first questions today?

HUGH: I’m sorry, Eloise. It’s just the usual bills and charity stuff. There’s this one package someone is returning to a website called Happy Tools.

ELOISE: Might be something you can use for the van.

[packaging tears]

HUGH: Oh. Oh, um….

ELOISE: What is it? Oh! My goodness!

HUGH: It might keep you happy, dear.

ELOISE: I… well, uh, well, maybe we could keep it.

HUGH: Oh, hang on. It’s been used.

ELOISE: Ugh! Oh, throw it out the window. Throw it out the window!

Book Town

ELOISE: People like you are why kids don’t read!

[gunshots, glass shatters]

HUGH: Bugger. There goes another one. It’s not the repair I hate, it’s picking the little bits of glass out of my vegetables.

ELOISE: Well, she was a cranky lady.

HUGH: Nobody likes being called a fascist, dear. Not even a fascist bookseller.

ELOISE: Oh, really! What did she think we were, zombies driving about in a purple camper van? The hungry dead come to get their decaying hands on the latest Inspector Wexford?

HUGH: Well, possibly she’s had previous experience with bloodthirsty raiders.

ELOISE: Bloodthirsty raiders come to pillage the largest secondhand book selection in Dumfries and Galloway? Oh, talk sense, Hugh.

HUGH: Bloodthirsty readers, then.

ELOISE: I’ll bloodthirst you in a minute.

HUGH: Maybe save the pillow talk until we’re off the air, my love.

ELOISE: Oh, I forgot about you and your vampire thing. [clears throat] This is an announcement for anybody requiring our services in the vicinity of Wigtown. I’m sorry to say we are unable to access the postbox because some nutter is on the roof of a bookshop, blazing away with a dangerous firearm. Yeah, that means you, lady! Get over yourself!

HUGH: We’ll be around again, one day.

ELOISE: That’s right, folks. You hang in there with your romantic dilemma or your baby turning gray. We’ll be around again and we promise to respond to your letter in what, two years or so?

HUGH: Providing the van doesn’t break down.

ELOISE: So um, just hang in there.

HUGH: Once again, I’m denied a chance to pick up the final Dick Francis.

ELOISE: Dick Francis? You only read him because you thought it gave you an edge at the bookies.

Prestwick

HUGH: You know what’s coming up? Alloway, birthplace of Robert Burns, the Ploughman Poet, known the world over. I picked up a leaflet at the last place. It says, “His national pride, fierce egalitarianism, and quick wit have become synonymous with the Scottish national character.” You can see the cottage where he was born and everything! Do you want to go?

ELOISE: Nah. You?

HUGH: Nah. Place’ll be heaving with tourists.

ELOISE: [laughs] That’s one good thing about the collapse of civilization.

HUGH: No tourists?

ELOISE: No poets.

HUGH: There’s bound to be some bastard in one of them fortress towns knocking out free verse.

ELOISE: Doing readings to people who know it’s either that, or be torn to bits by the undead outside.

HUGH: Hang on, here’s a postbox. [parks van, opens door]

ELOISE: Any luck?

HUGH: No. Must have been empty when the plague hit. [starts van]

ELOISE: I really thought we’d get letters.

HUGH: We will, love. Give it time. It’s only been a few weeks.

ELOISE: Deep down, I kind of knew we wouldn’t.

HUGH: I know something to cheer you up! We’re approaching Prestwick.

ELOISE: No!

HUGH: 100%! Prestwick Airport, the only piece of British soil upon which Elvis ever walked. And I am to know that there are no flights scheduled this afternoon, so if you’re very good, I’ll knock down the gate and take you on a tour of the runway.

ELOISE: Hugh Caulfield, you are the greatest man who ever walked this earth! Except Elvis, maybe.

HUGH: I’ll take that.

Laundry

ELOISE: If you’ve been listening to us for a while now, perhaps you’ve thought, “Yeah! I should get on the road like Hugh and Eloise and live the life of a free spirit!” But if you’re thinking of leaving your nice, safe, gated community, hold your horses. It’s not all picnics at sunrise and the fresh smell of pine after the rain. There’s certain practical considerations.

HUGH: Any sign of them?

ELOISE: No, you’re fine! Get on with it! In a camper van, your water supply is precious, and you need to preserve it. Okay, there’s reservoirs and little streams, and of course, it pisses down every second day, but you try washing your smalls in an icy river come February, and frankly, a girl gets fed up of doing her big gypsy skirts in a basin the size of a grapefruit.

So every now and then, we make a special trip, and that’s how we come to be parked outside the Chery Launderette. It’s supposed to be the Cheery Launderette, but one of the E’s has dropped off. Also, there’s a lot of bloodstains in there.

Now, your average launderette don’t work too well these days, what with there being no electricity. But we’ve got a little generator, and Hugh does some magic that only he can, so we get a couple of loads in. Well, to be honest, I could rig the same thing up easy, but who wants to spend their golden years doing electrics in launderettes? I swear - wait. Hugh! Get your ass in here!

HUGH: We’re nearly at the spin cycle!

ELOISE: Sixteen shamblers incoming! Get in here!

HUGH: Oops.

ELOISE: Where’s all my leggings?

HUGH: In the dryer.

ELOISE: Oh! And so, for a good half hour now, we’ll be leading zoms into the suburbs until we can go back for our clothes and the genny. This is the harsh reality of life on the road.

HUGH: But it makes you smell so fresh.

ELOISE: Ah, zip it.

Careers

HUGH: Eloise, it’s a very special day.

ELOISE: No, we didn’t!

HUGH: I’ve got the letter right here.

ELOISE: No! Read it out. No, give it to me! No. Read it out. I’ll drive. [starts van]

HUGH: “Dear Eloise –” Looks like this one’s just for you. “Dear Eloise, it’s Jasmina here. I heard you say that you are a telecomms engineer. I would like to learn that stuff so that I can help with the reconstruction of society, but how can I learn it now all the colleges have closed? Yours sincerely, Jasmina.”

ELOISE: Good for you, Jasmina! We all need to find our place, and the more engineers we have, the quicker we’ll get back on our feet. Before the zoms, you’d have been working on fiber and switches, setting up redundant networks and so on. But we’re in a back to basics situation here. The old cables are still around, but there ain’t the power to drive them, so radio makes more sense.

You don’t say what age you are, but don’t begin by trying to set up your own Rofflenet node. If you get stuck into the books to early, you’ll maybe get bored. So go break into a toy shop or a craft shop and look for their electronics kits. Or the museum gift shop! Often, they’ve got a build your own radio. Follow the instructions, and try and understand how the circuit works. You can listen to our program on something you built yourself!

HUGH: Nice.

ELOISE: After that, you’ll want your local library and a shop like Maplin or Radio Shack. Get a soldering iron and a suitcase worth of components. Build up the difficulty until you’ve done a transmitter, and then give us a call, all right?

HUGH: There’s more on the back. “P.S. I am thinking of getting into Elvis, too. Can you recommend any records?”

ELOISE: Wait a minute. Let me see that. Do you think I’m daft, Hugh Caulfield? This is your handwriting.

HUGH: Uh…

ELOISE: Did you write this letter yourself?

HUGH: You wanted one so badly. I was just helping the process along.

ELOISE: You’re a bloody twit. But I do love you.

Marina

ELOISE: Where are we?

HUGH: Inverkip.

ELOISE: Where’s that?

HUGH: Under the ocean, it looks like.

ELOISE: I did suggest we take the other road instead up to the loch.

HUGH: Yeah, because up the hills, it didn’t rain.

ELOISE: No need to take that tone.

HUGH: I wish we could find a good pub completely protected from zombie attack, so on a day like this, we could sit near the fire and get trollied.

ELOISE: A man of your ingenuity should be able to set up a pub inside a castle.

HUGH: All the good castles are taken.

ELOISE: You know that’s the marina over there.

HUGH: What gave it away? All the boats?

ELOISE: You, Mister Crabby Esq., are missing the point. The owners of all these boats are most likely dead. We could have our pick. There’s no reason we have to stay on land. You could load the bugger up with canned soup and lager and do what generations of weekend fisherman have done before you – sail out into the unknown waters and get wrecked. Of course, you would take that literally.

HUGH: Even in my cups, I’d be a responsible pilot.

ELOISE: Come on, let’s check them.

HUGH: I think I saw a zombie on that one.

ELOISE: Really? You sure?

HUGH: Definitely. We’d better go before it smells us.

ELOISE: You just don’t want to go out in the rain.

HUGH: Nothing to do with that, Eloise, nothing at all.

Flu

ELOISE: Hello. We’re in some godawful bed and breakfast on the outskirts of Glasgow. I’ve moved the whole broadcast rig inside so we can bring you our program today, which is #2 in our occasional series: Why life on the road after the zombie apocalypse is not like the great music festivals of your youth.

HUGH: I got a bit of flu.

ELOISE: As you can perhaps hear, my handsome co-presenter is a little under the weather, as I came to realize when he nearly drove us into a hedge yesterday.

HUGH: It wasn’t a hedge! It was barely a bush!

ELOISE: Camper vans are not optimized for illness. I could have made a bed for him in the back, if I’d been willing to ditch three weeks of food or 800 miles worth of petrol. [HUGH sneezes] Thank you, Hugh. Under these circumstances, a small hotel or a B&B is a good choice. They often had vacant rooms when all went to hell, so you can find somewhere clean to sleep without scraping up infected remains. And crucially, they often have private parking with a gate that locks.

HUGH: The pay-per-view’s rubbish these days.

ELOISE: The what?

HUGH: The breakfast. It’s the breakfast.

ELOISE: Of course, it’s always on our mind that one of us might get seriously ill. All the big settlements have doctors, but they don’t all welcome new faces, particularly new faces who have any symptoms that might look even a little like the gray plague. You’re as likely to get shot as to get an appointment, and good luck persuading them to send the doctor out.

HUGH: [?]

ELOISE: I have no idea what he is saying. My point is, you have to be your own GP and pharmacist now. My old doc always prescribed antibiotics and never anything else. So early on, we started raiding pharmacies for antibiotics. We took a small supply and left the rest.

As we travel around, we still look, but lately they’ve always been looted. So we save the antibiotics for the times it’s really bad. We’re not there yet, but these drugs have a shelf life. And as far as I know, nobody’s making any more of them. [HUGH sneezes]

So the message is, eat as well as you can, give your body all the rest it needs, and if you approach a settlement, do not look like a zombie on the turn.

HUGH: [?]

ELOISE: Move over, you. We might as well treat this like a holiday.

Letter

HUGH: Eloise. Eloise!

ELOISE: What?

HUGH: We got one!

ELOISE: No!

HUGH: Look!

ELOISE: This better not be another one of your fake letters to make me feel better.

HUGH: I swear! Look! “Hugh and Eloise.” It was on the top, totally fresh. No stamp or nothing.

ELOISE: And really nice handwriting, look at that! Fountain pen or something. Female hand.

HUGH: Well, open it.

ELOISE: I don’t know.

HUGH: What?

ELOISE: I kind of want to savor it for a minute.

HUGH: It might be urgent.

ELOISE: Hugh, we’ve been broadcasting for three months about our agony aunt program without getting a single inquiry. How urgent could it be?

HUGH: So are you ready yet?

ELOISE: Where did we put the letter opener?

HUGH: Use your fingers, for God’s sake.

ELOISE: We might want to save this one. Frame it or something.

HUGH: Open the damn envelope.

[paper tears and rustles]

ELOISE: Do you want to read it?

HUGH: No, no, you read it.

ELOISE: [clears throat] “Dear Hugh and Eloise…”

HUGH: Well, come on!

ELOISE: “Thank you for your show. Since I found it, I listen all the time. Sometimes life can be very grim, and I get a vicarious thrill from listening to your adventures up and down the country. Please keep going and broadcasting. Yours, Louise.”

HUGH: Wow, that’s nice. Lovely.

ELOISE: Yeah, but… but…

HUGH: What?

ELOISE: She didn’t have a problem.

Better Human Being

ZOE CRICK: “Dear Eloise and Hugh: I’m a tightly-wound control freak who’d prefer it if all human interaction was carefully scripted, not just my radio segments. I think jokes get funnier every time you tell them, and washing up my tea mugs is for other people.

Sometimes I nod off while Jack and Eugene are acting out scenes from Thelma and Louise for us, using all the voices. And then I like to pretend I haven’t, even though I’ve been snorning incredibly loudly. Can you help me to be a better partner to my lovely cohost?”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “Dear Eloise and Hugh: I think I’m so funny, I laugh at my own jokes, even when no one else is laughing. Sometimes I start laughing four hours later because I’ve just remembered my joke again. Sometimes I do this when my best friend is trying to tell me a very serious story about his mother.

I’m so anal that I rewash anything anything else has already washed up. Also, I’ve alphabetized all the novelty mugs. I’ve recently been pretending I’m extremely well-read, but actually I just found a stash of CliffsNotes at the back of the pantry, and I don’t think anyone else has realized. Can you tell me how to be a better human being?”

Viaduct

HUGH: Well, this is all very picture-skew.

ELOISE: You know what that is? It’s the Harry Potter viaduct!

HUGH: Eh?

ELOISE: The viaduct from the films.

HUGH: What, that bridge?

ELOISE: When it’s got all those arches, you call it a viaduct.

HUGH: Why did he have a bridge?

ELOISE: Who?

HUGH: Harry Potter.

ELOISE: He didn’t have a bridge.

HUGH: So they named it after him?

ELOISE: It’s Victorian, you wazzock! How could they name it after Harry Potter?

HUGH: I thought maybe they changed it when the film came out. For the tourists, you know.

ELOISE: They call it the Harry Potter viaduct because his train goes along it in the films!

HUGH: Oh, I got you now. When they go to his castle?

ELOISE: Who’s castle? Voldemort’s?

HUGH: Harry Potter’s castle.

ELOISE: He doesn’t have a castle.

HUGH: He does! Where all the kids go and have the big dinner.

ELOISE: That’s a school! Hogwarts Academy of Magic and Witchcraft.

HUGH: That explains why they’re all wearing ties.

ELOISE: We watched all the films on the telly.

HUGH: That might be one of the times when you watched them and I caught up on my snoozing.

ELOISE: Unlike those gripping times when we watched the Three Stooges.

HUGH: All right, then. Let’s go to his castle while we’re in the area. You got the map. Where is it? What?

Compass

HUGH: This is from Alan. “Dear Hugh and Eloise, thank you for your program. We have built a little community up here on the banks of the Ness. On the whole, we get on fine, but we do have personal disputes from time to time over issues which might seem trivial to an outsider, that take on great importance with living in such close quarters. I am sure you know all about this.” No, Alan. I can honestly say that despite living full-time in a camper van, Eloise and myself never disagree.

ELOISE: You bloody liar.

HUGH: Yes, dear. Alan says, “Lately, it has become something of a big deal to decide whether Inverness is in the northeast or the northwest.” Well, Alan, we’ve got the map here, and we will tell you exactly where you live.

ELOISE: I’m looking at it right now. I can state quite definitely that you live in the northeast. I hope that helped.

HUGH: There you are, Alan. One of our easier – wait. Northeast? You must be looking at it sideways.

ELOISE: It’s on the east coast! It can hardly be on the east coast and in the northwest, now, could it?

HUGH: That’s not how you work it out. You find the center point of the country and draw a line due north. Then if it’s on the left, it’s northwest, and if it’s on the right, it’s northeast. Where would you say the center of the country is?

ELOISE: I don’t know! Huddersfield.

HUGH: It’s about 200 miles west of Huddersfield, so it’s in the northwest.

ELOISE: By that same argument, the whole of Scotland’s in the northwest.

HUGH: Well, it is.

ELOISE: When you’re up here, you use the center of Scotland!

HUGH: Okay. Where’s that?

ELOISE: Fort William. Inverness is clearly northeast of that.

HUGH: Fort William’s on the west coast, so how can that be the center of Scotland?

ELOISE: You’re not allowing for the Western Isles.

HUGH: Yeah, and if you include Shetland, Inverness is at the center. Don’t listen to her, Alan. You’re in the northwest.

ELOISE: Northeast!

HUGH: Northwest.

ELOISE: Northeast!

Runners

HUGH: Read one out.

ELOISE: Just drive.

HUGH: This lot’s been after us for half an hour. I’m bored. Read one out.

ELOISE: Hugh, will you concentrate on saving our lives?

HUGH: Not unless you read a letter.

ELOISE: No! Now shut up.

HUGH: The pressure. It’s getting on my nerves, it’s making me slow down. If only there was something to distract me.

ELOISE: Hugh, I swear I’ll do that thing to you that you don’t like.

HUGH: Just read a letter, Eloise.

ELOISE: Right. Right! “Dear Hugh and Eloise.” Speed up! “Dear Hugh and Eloise, I like someone and I think we could become a couple. Frankly, neither of us has many options these days, but when we get together, there’s no spark. Can you suggest a way I can spice things up and see if she’s at all interested? Thank you, Mandy.”

HUGH: You’re the relationship expert, my love.

ELOISE: Oh, no. You wanted to hear the letter. Let’s hear your romantic solution.

HUGH: Well, Mandy, it’s actually very simple. [ELOISE scoffs] Some of the big settlements have runners – people that go out on missions and gather supplies. Ask your prospective mate to come out with you on a zombie run. You may find that the sheer peril of roaming undead and the looming prospect of a hideous death will bring your hearts together in a way that simple words cannot.

ELOISE: And Mandy, if that load of crap don’t happen, make sure that you can run faster than this other girl. After all, it’s great to be single!

Golden

ELOISE: You know what you’re going to find.

HUGH: I prefer to think positive.

ELOISE: It’s going to be the same as the last twelve.

HUGH: My dear, you are a beautiful woman, a charming companion, and a considerate lover, as well as no mean driver when you put your mind to it. But right now, you are throwing off my karma something awful.

ELOISE: You just have to accept that it’s a good idea and somebody had it before you. Somebody who lives closer with a bigger van.

HUGH: All that means is there’s a stockpile somewhere.

ELOISE: Yeah, with armed guards.

HUGH: Armed, they may be. Sober, they may not be.

ELOISE: You think a raid by a middle-aged agony aunt and her painfully obsessive husband might succeed where others have failed?

HUGH: I was thinking stealth.

ELOISE: That’s it ahead. Which one’s this?

HUGH: Glen Spey. Not so well-known, see, but slap-bang in the middle of the heartland.

ELOISE: The gates are off the hinges.

HUGH: Think positive.

ELOISE: That’s the warehouse. The doors are open. It’s empty. Cleaned out, just like the others.

HUGH: Buggeration. I’m going to check the office. There might be a special bottle or two in a drawer.

ELOISE: No, you ain’t. There’s something moving up there, and it’s gray!

HUGH: [sighs] Where’s the next one?

ELOISE: Aberlour. You get three more tries. Got that? Then we’re off. Choose wisely.

HUGH: I suppose.

ELOISE: You don’t even like whiskey!

HUGH: I just fancied a bottle or two. For visitors, like.

ELOISE: Visitors? Well, make sure I know when they’re coming so I can freshen up the parlor!

Vegetables

HUGH: We’ve got a letter here from Angus, and he says, “Dear Hugh and Eloise, I used to eat too many convenience foods. Then I cleaned up my act and started cooking, with a consequent improvement in my health. Then civilization collapsed, and I was right back to eating from tins again. How do you make sure you get the right nutrition, especially as you are travellers of no fixed abode?”

ELOISE: What a good question. Well, there’s two ways to look at that. One way is that we travel to make sure we get a varied selection of natural produce from up and down the country, and to minimize our impact on the environment.

HUGH: Yeah, that’s a good way of looking at it, but it isn’t true.

ELOISE: Well, it’s sort of true. If we just stayed in one place, we’d probably exhaust local stocks and leave none for the next people.

HUGH: She likes them Ritz crackers. We got four boxes in the back. Not the little boxes, either. The ones they bring on the forklift.

ELOISE: Thank you, Hugh. We do cook every day on a camping stove. A lot of soups and stew and stuff, from vegetables in the fields and peoples’ gardens. There was a slight plan to grow our own on the roof, but we had to give up on that before I installed the aerial.

HUGH: I took a corner too tight and we lost every last radish.

ELOISE: Hugh has been trying to grow things inside the van.

HUGH: I’m giving up on that until we can get proper hydroponics.

ELOISE: I suppose our best advice, Angus, is to become a gardener. Try a few different crops to test the soil, and build a wall around your beds to keep the zombies off.

HUGH: Zombies don’t eat vegetables.

ELOISE: No, but they do eat gardeners.

HUGH: Uh, thanks for your question, Angus. Stay safe out there.

Paparazzi

ELOISE: Hugh, don’t look now, but I think we’re being followed!

HUGH: What?

ELOISE: I said don’t look!

HUGH: Is it zombies? We haven’t got much in the tank.

ELOISE: No.

HUGH: Who is it?

ELOISE: It’s the paparazzi.

HUGH: Oh. [laughs] Not again, eh?

ELOISE: I think it’s the show that’s the problem. Now our listenership is in the hundreds of thousands, people are thirsty for the intimate details of our glamorous life.

HUGH: Well, it’s true. Every move around these rugged isles is a glittering cavalcade of drama and high fashion.

ELOISE: I’m glad I’m wearing a little Chanel number today with my matching handbag and all.

HUGH: I’m wearing Cinzano.

ELOISE: [laughs] That’s a drink, you pillock.

HUGH: No, no. During my brief spell as a visiting scholar in Florence, I had something of a personal tailor who later became globally renowned. Humberto Cinzano made me many original designs.

ELOISE: I never heard of him.

HUGH: Yeah, he died.

ELOISE: Was that before or after you addressed the United Nations?

HUGH: Around the same time. What were you doing then?

ELOISE: Well, I think it’s safe reveal to you now that I am a sleeper agent for the KGB.

HUGH: Your English accent’s quite good.

ELOISE: [imitates Russian accent] Der Mister Caulfield, at last I have you in my grasp! My submarine is parked in the Scottish [?], or whatever it is called, and I must insist you accompany me to motherland, where I will both interrogate you and make mad passionate love to screw with your head!

HUGH: You think we could uh, [laughs] pull over for a bit? Maybe turn off the mic?

ELOISE: What about the paparazzi?

HUGH: They can take all the pictures they like.

Old Married Couple

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Jack and Eugene need to listen to that.

ZOE CRICK: Yeah, they really do.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That’ll show them.

ZOE CRICK: Exactly. Indulging in a bit of harmless, non-sexual roleplay is totally normal.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Completely! There’s nothing odd about spending two hours pretending to be Dastardly and Muttley.

ZOE CRICK: Especially when you’re as good at the laugh as I am. [imitates Muttley’s laugh]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And I bet lots of people pretend to be Q and M for extended periods of time. Days, even.

ZOE CRICK: Yeah. We should definitely make Jack and Eugene listen to it.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [gasps] Hugh and Eloise are an old married couple, though. Wouldn’t that kind of be proving Jack and Eugene’s point about us?

ZOE CRICK: Only if we tell them Hugh and Eloise are married.

Traitors

ELOISE: Time for some letters.

HUGH: Only one this time, I’m afraid. It’s there beside you.

ELOISE: Right. [tears open envelope, opens letter] “Dear Hugh and Eloise, I had the misfortune to hear your program while I was scanning the frequencies for a lost runner. I have risked my life to send you this letter…”

HUGH: This is not promising.

ELOISE: “I have risked my life to send you this letter because I hoped to persuade you to desist from your selfish practices.”

HUGH: Sounds like my gran.

ELOISE: “How dare you drive around for pleasure while the rest of us are holed up under constant attack, attempting to rebuild society? How dare you squander precious petrol and stockpile food while we are stranded?”

HUGH: I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned them Ritz crackers.

ELOISE: “How dare you - ” Well, it goes on like that for three pages! Signed, Henry J. Stevenson.

HUGH: I should just shut up on this one, shouldn’t I?

ELOISE: Yes, you should. Well, Henry - if that is your real name - let me inform you and your clumsy handwriting of a few facts of life. Number one, I am constructing a communications network as we travel, and Hugh is – is clearing up the postboxes in preparation for the new mail delivery system when it arrives.

HUGH: I’ve still got my keys!

ELOISE: Thank you, Hugh. Number two, we are providing a valuable social service for our listeners, most of whom are not stumbling donkeys like yourself! Number three, just because you don’t hear us outside this van don’t mean we ain’t providing outreach and community support to the fascinating people we meet in our travels.

HUGH: You certainly provided outreach to that gobby teenager in [?].

ELOISE: I barely clipped her. Number… what number am I on, Hugh?

HUGH: Six or seven, I think.

ELOISE: The bottom line is that we’ve worked all our life, both of us, and we’re older now, and if this is the end of the world, we’re entitled to take a look at it before we go. So, Henry J. Stevenson, let’s see you do your bit or shut the hell up! Go back to art school. And if I did clean your favorite supermarket out of Heinz beans, let me tell you, they tasted great! Anything to add, Hugh?

HUGH: Thank you for your letter. Do write in again.

Flat

ELOISE: Wait, the cable’s tangled!

HUGH: I want to get started.

ELOISE: Well, get started. It’s not like they can hear you taking off the nuts.

HUGH: Ow!

ELOISE: Hello, and welcome to our first outside broadcast. It’s just like the BBC here. We’ve only run a two meter cable out of the van, but still.

HUGH: Read the letter.

ELOISE: What letter? Oh, yes. Uh, right. We’ve had a letter from… Steven, and he says, “Dear Hugh and Eloise, we… we have a car now and none of us have changed a flat tire before, so… um, how do you do it?”

HUGH: Thank you for your question, Steven. It is timely as our van has just suffered a puncture. There’s three main stages: you loosen the nuts, jack up the car, then change the wheel.

ELOISE: Steven says, um, why do you loosen the nuts before you jack up the van?

HUGH: Well, Steven, that’s an excellent question. You see, the nuts have to be on tight, so it’ll require a lot of friction to turn them, and if you jack up the van first, you’ll either turn the wheel instead of the nuts, or you’ll drag the whole van off the jack.

ELOISE: Steven says, uh, so how do you choose the right kind of tire? Oh, Hugh! Crawlers, nine o'clock!

HUGH: What? Where? Grab the noisemaker, shut the door! What direction are we?

ELOISE: No, wait. Oh, it’s just an old bin bag. False alarm.

HUGH: Eloise, I swear, if you do that again, you’ll be changing the next tire by yourself.

ELOISE: What, to test out your instructions?

HUGH: No, because my heart will have exploded.

ELOISE: Mine does that every time I look into your eyes.

HUGH: Smooth.

Golf

ELOISE: I can’t see any postbox yet. What does the book say?

HUGH: St. Andrews. They build a monastery here in the eighth century to house parts of St. Andrew.

ELOISE: Which parts?

HUGH: Uh, his arm, three fingers, and a tooth.

ELOISE: I guess they’d given away two fingers already.

HUGH: Those are digits that the Scots seem to use frequently.

ELOISE: Should we?

HUGH: Wait. They got his kneecap as well.

ELOISE: They could have rebuilt him. Robo-saint!

HUGH: It was also home to the third oldest university in the English-speaking world, a popular destination for students from England.

ELOISE: Isn’t golf a big thing here?

HUGH: I was trying to skip that bit.

ELOISE: There’s a golf course there, right between the town and the sea. The Old Course, isn’t it? It’s a big deal for some reason.

HUGH: I don’t want to talk about it. I hate golfers.

ELOISE: Eh?

HUGH: Talking about their clubs, and their handicaps and caddies, and “playing through,” and how the wind was, and the nineteenth hole, and that bloody scene in Goldfinger.

The worst is the clothes! Polo shirts, pastel, tartan, trousers! Little white visors, tank tops, and cardigans with diamond patterns. Look at these shops behind us. Half a dozen of them, all selling this shit!

ELOISE: Stop ranting and look over there. Are those people, just standing?

HUGH: They’re bloody zoms! People so boring in life that even after they turned, they can’t think of anything better to do than hang around some fairway with a sand wedge.

ELOISE: They actually are wearing the kind of clothes you described!

HUGH: Told you!

Me Time

ELOISE: Here’s a letter from Kirsty, and she says, “Dear Hugh and Eloise, like yourselves, I live with my partner. We have a defensible home, access to food and water, and we have repelled three zombie swarms to date.”

HUGH: Well done, Kirsty!

ELOISE: Indeed! “The only fly in the ointment is that I crave a bit of time for myself. I used to go for long walks, but that’s not really practical when at any point, you may be chased, bitten, infected, and killed. We only leave the house together for safety, and it is making me quite irritable. How do you handle this, and what do you recommend?”

HUGH: I can’t say it’s ever been a problem for us, Kirsty.

ELOISE: Hugh, we have a responsibility to our listeners to tell the truth! Kirsty, he gets the hump all the time. My biggest problem is working out whether he wants me to go away for a bit, or slide over and deal with you know what.

HUGH: I don’t think Kirsty wants to hear about that.

ELOISE: Truth is, no matter how much you love someone, you need time for yourself. If walking is out, can you find a working vehicle? Even a little moped would give you the taste of fresh air and solitude you’re craving.

HUGH: They’re not hard to maintain, either.

ELOISE: Personally, I like charity shops. You know what you’re getting in department stores or supermarkets, but in charity shops, you can find anything – clothes, books, CDs, things you don’t even know what they are. Every small town has two or three, and sometimes a whole street of them! When I get cranky, I get Hugh to watch the street, and I break into a few charity shops and have a good rake through.

HUGH: It’s true. She does do that.

ELOISE: And the best is now, you can get into the back shop, can’t you? All those little stories of people’s lives in the bags they packed up and threw away… So that’s my recommendation: a moped and a charity shop.

HUGH: Sounds like retirement.

ELOISE: Just don’t take all the good stuff, dear, all right?

HUGH: And check your tire pressure!

ELOISE: Thank you, Hugh.

Borders

ELOISE: Scotland’s a lovely place and all, but I’ll be pleased to get back across the border.

HUGH: You missed it, love. It was about a mile back, when we swerved to avoid them shamblers.

ELOISE: When I had to grab for the pots and pans?

HUGH: Yeah. Did anything get damaged?

ELOISE: The big frying pan landed on the Ritz crackers.

HUGH: Oh, I’m sorry, Eloise. You can still pour the crumbs into your mouth.

ELOISE: It’s not the same. Wait, is this Berwick? That’s in Scotland.

HUGH: No, it isn’t. Check the book.

ELOISE: Hmm. I’ll give you the full history. 11th century, it’s Scottish, called South Berwick. But in 1174, William I of Scotland invades northern England, and has to give up Berwick when he’s defeated. Then Richard I of England sells it back to him.

HUGH: Right.

ELOISE: Then in 1296, England goes to war with France. Scotland invades England again. Edward I of England captures Berwick.

HUGH: Right…

ELOISE: In 1318, the Scots besiege it and capture it. 15 years after that, the English capture it back.

HUGH: This is making my head hurt.

ELOISE: Margeret of Anjou gives it back during the War of the Roses. Then in 1482, Richard III captures it back for England.

HUGH: Anjou. Anjou.

ELOISE: So it’s English.

HUGH: Right.

ELOISE: But the football team plays in the Scottish leagues.

HUGH: Not anymore.

ELOISE: There’s interesting stuff here. We ought to have a look around.

HUGH: Too late. After all that history, we’re already on the road out.

ELOISE: Damn it! Now I want a cracker.

Free Love

ELOISE: “Dear Hugh and Eloise, I live in a small community of about 20 people. Of course, people have paired off. My question is, shouldn’t we practice free love in order to repopulate the earth? Yours sincerely, Derek.”

HUGH: I get the feeling that Derek might be single.

ELOISE: Shut up, you. Well, Derek, it’s not an easy question, and you’re not asking the right people. Me and Hugh decided not to have kids.

HUGH: And that’s how she retained the fresh bloom of youth.

ELOISE: Hugh, sometimes you say things that are lovely and creepy at the same time. Derek, of course we need a new generation, but it still has to be a woman’s choice whether to get pregnant. Your question kind of implies that you believe it shouldn’t be a choice.

HUGH: Don’t imply that, Derek. She’ll come around and see you, and not in a sexy way.

ELOISE: Expectant mothers are like doctors – you shouldn’t risk them. So while you’ve got pregnant women in the community, your fighting strength is reduced. You’re not helping the human race if you produce new kids but your security isn’t up to it.

HUGH: It’s like football.

ELOISE: Well, this ought to be good.

HUGH: It’s a question of numbers. The whole struggle for the human race is to maintain their numbers and stamp out the zombies.

ELOISE: I’m not immediately seeing how that’s like football.

HUGH: You’ve never watched Bradford City play at home. What I mean is, there’s a scoreboard. Every time a human [?] a zombie, the zombie score goes down one. But every time a zombie lands a bite, the zombie score goes up one, and the human score goes down one. So the zombies have a mathematical advantage.

ELOISE: That is nothing like football!

HUGH: Well, it’s not like you answered his question, either. You just went off on a big thing about mothers and how great they are.

ELOISE: He just wanted me to agree with him so the next time he harasses some girl, he can say, “The lady off the radio agrees with me!”

HUGH: I should have said it was like tennis.

ELOISE: What?

HUGH: Free love. Get it?

ELOISE: No.

HUGH: Free love. Like, when one guy has three points and the other has none -

ELOISE: That’s forty love.

[HUGH sighs]

Olympic

HUGH: At least I’ll get another Dick Francis.

ELOISE: We’ve got to look at something else this time. Every time we come to Alnwick, it’s straight into the book shop, get spooked, there’s a zombie at the back, run to the van and split, and we never look at the castle or nothing!

HUGH: There was a zombie in the loo that time.

ELOISE: That wasn’t a zombie. That was just some unfortunate lady who had died on the toilet in the bookshop.

HUGH: You remember it because Elvis died that way.

ELOISE: We never moved her, either, so she’ll still be there.

HUGH: Waiting for us, reading on the loo.

ELOISE: Maybe I don’t need new books after all.

HUGH: We should have flushed, at least. What’s the guide say about Alnwick?

ELOISE: Alnwick is the best place to live in Britain, according to Country Life magazine in 2002.

HUGH: Well, they need to update that. I just saw a leg sticking out of a bin.

ELOISE: But it’s in the bin. It shows you that their civic pride survived the zombie apocalypse.

HUGH: What about the castle?

ELOISE: Last time they shot at us.

HUGH: What about the history?

ELOISE: The Scots attacked it in the 11th -

HUGH: Forget it. Find us one thing in this town we’ve never seen before.

ELOISE: There’s a pub has the original lounge and staircase from the Titanic’s sister ship. Mirrors, carvings, ceiling, all in the Louis XV style.

HUGH: Does it have beer?

ELOISE: Probably.

HUGH: I’m sold.

Overnight

ELOISE: If you want to do it, you better start now.

HUGH: Are you up for it?

ELOISE: Yeah. Yeah, of course.

HUGH: Okay. We’ve had a letter that says, “Dear Hugh and Eloise, we never send out runners after dark, but you must spend most nights out there unprotected. How do you survive? Yours faithfully, Linda.”

ELOISE: Why are you whispering?

HUGH: Because it’s… I don’t know. I just am. Good question, Linda. Now, we screwed up this quite a bit in the early days, and never got any sleep. We were driving about looking like zoms ourselves until we figured it out.

The thing is, zoms aren’t interested in parked vans, are they? What they like is the smell of people, or movement, or light, or sound. So all you have to do is not give them any of that.

First step, pick a spot. You want somewhere with as much visibility as possible. No hiding places, and plenty of exit routes. Forget corn fields and wooded clearings and big hedges and that. Supermarket car parks are great. You stop and kill the engine. It takes a while to cool down and you have to keep an eye out. No lights, neither.

Next, the smell. Obviously, you keep your windows shut, but the best disguise is to have something that smells stronger than you do. We’ve had a few over the last year. Manure was good while we were growing on the roof. [?] all right, but you need a ton of them. At the moment, we’ve got a box of Stilton, well past its date. Zoms can’t stand it. It stinks out the van a bit, so I tie it to the roof. Seems to work. Your mileage may vary, as they say.

Finally, Linda, last thing: try not to talk after dark. Chances are you’ve chatted all day, so you’ll be happy to keep it quiet. If you’ve followed all the other steps, a small army of zoms can walk past and ignore you. Just make sure you maintain total… silence. [ELOISE snores] … Um, Eloise. Love?

Cow

HUGH: Want me to drive?

ELOISE: No. Just entertain me for a bit.

HUGH: Uh… what’s made of brass, and sounds like Tom Jones?

ELOISE: Trombones.

HUGH: Did I tell you that one before? Okay. What’s colorful and smart?

ELOISE: A brainbow. Hugh, jokes ain’t going to work, because neither of us has heard any new ones in a year! Read me something out of the book. Are we going to Durham?

HUGH: Durham. Hold on. [turns pages] This sounds good. Apparently, Durham was founded by divine intervention.

ELOISE: I’m up for that.

HUGH: They were carrying St. Cuthbert around 300 years after his death.

ELOISE: Why were they? Oh, never mind. Carry on.

HUGH: His body came to a miraculous halt at the bottom of some hill.

ELOISE: This van’s done that on a couple of times.

HUGH: So they fasted for three days, and St. Cuthbert appeared to them and he said, “Move my body to Dunholme” and they said, “Uh, we don’t know where that is,” but he were gone. So they asked the first person they met.

ELOISE: Who was - ?

HUGH: A milk maid.

ELOISE: Of course.

HUGH: And she said, “I’ll show you where that is. I’m looking for my cow.” So they recognized this as a sign from the saint, and they followed her to a [?], then they build Durham Cathedral.

ELOISE: Just like that.

HUGH: Just like that.

ELOISE: And did they find the cow?

HUGH: Doesn’t say.

ELOISE: All right. Try one more joke.

HUGH: What does a vegetarian zombie eat?

ELOISE: Hey, I don’t know!

HUGH: Grains!

Duel

HUGH: This is from Aiden. He says, “Dear Hugh and Eloise, these are scary times. What are your greatest fears?” You want to go first?

ELOISE: Not sure I want to answer it at all.

HUGH: I’ll take it. Well, Aiden, you’re quite right that these are scary times, and sometimes the worst thing is your own imagination. For instance, I sometimes imagine that there is a guy out there who wants to kill me with a truck.

ELOISE: You what?

HUGH: I’ve never seen him, but one day when we were sleeping, he snuck up on us and placed a small transmitter on the van so wherever we go, he can track us down.

ELOISE: I can tell you, as an engineer, that is a lot more complicated than they make it in the movies.

HUGH: He’s a psychopath or sociopath or whatever, so the fall of civilization has actually been a good thing for him, because it enables him to express his natural murderous urges without interference from the apparatus of society.

ELOISE: You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?

HUGH: He took against me for some small reason. Maybe it was because I wear my hats, or because of the color I painted the van. But he decided then that he was going to put everything else on hold until he killed me with a giant truck.

ELOISE: Uh…

HUGH: So he found an 18-wheeler in some motorway service station and he taught himself to drive it. But that wasn’t enough for him. He started welding things onto it.

ELOISE: Hugh…

HUGH: Two or three extra horns so that when he honks it, it sounds like a chord of death! A bank of red lights along the top of the cab so he can make it look like hell when he comes for me. All these extra pipes and bits just to make the truck look evil.

And along the front, he sticks row upon row of old railings with the spiky bits forward. It’s like a grill of slaughter. And when he hits roadkill, animals or zoms, he leaves the corpses hanging there, decaying.

And on the day he comes, he’ll aim for the van with his juggernaut of death, and if I don’t get killed in the crash, or my vital organs impaled, he’s assembled this toolkit he always keeps in the cab, and he’ll bring it out, and come around to the van door, and -

ELOISE: Hugh! Quit it, you’re scaring me!

HUGH: Sorry, love. What was, uh, what was your fear?

ELOISE: Zombies, you wazzock!

First Sight

ELOISE: Bobby’s written in, and he says, “Dear Hugh and Eloise, I can’t seem to meet the right person. How did you meet and fall for each other?”

HUGH: Ah. Heady days.

ELOISE: Bobby, thanks for your letter. In fact, it was letters that brought us together. You know that Hugh was a postman? Well, in the old days, he had a reputation for being the fastest postie in town. He’d get the bag and hare off down the street.

HUGH: Professionalism, see?

ELOISE: Professionalism, my ass. He wanted to get to the bookies for the first race at Haydock Park, didn’t he?

There was one day he had a rip in his bag, and a letter fell out. I was walking behind him, and I picked it up. Then another fell out. He started leaving a trail behind him like a snail. So I shouted at him, but he had his music on, and he couldn’t hear. I chased him, but he was really fast, and I had to keep stopping to pick up these letters.

You could see him thinking, “Wow, I must be shit-hot today, there’s hardly any letters in my bag.” And here I’m stumbling after him, and the Royal Mail dropping out of my grip left and right. And when I finally caught up to him, I was out of breath, and I yelled at him at the top of my voice.

HUGH: She was like Helen of Troy.

ELOISE: And he didn’t go to the bookies that day. He brought me lunch.

HUGH: Lovely story. Of course, that wasn’t what happened at all.

ELOISE: You tell it, then.

HUGH: You know Eloise was a telecomms engineer? Well, she was up on this roof in the wind, see, fighting with an aerial, and I see her, and I think, “She’s brave, balancing up there.”

And it starts raining, so all the slates are getting wet, and she’s still wrestling with this aerial. But she’s got this set to her chin that says she’s not coming down until she’s nailed it. And the wind keeps picking up and she’s shaking the cable, and it’s raining cats and dogs now, and she’s shouting at the thing.

ELOISE: Professionalism, see?

HUGH: And I see it coming, and I rush across the road, and there’s one big gust of wind, and woof! She slides straight off the roof, and I’m right under there to catch her. She looks at me, like, “Who’s this guy?” I wanted to take her to the hospital, but she insisted on going right back up there, so the only way I could stop her was to ask her out.

ELOISE: [laughs] He was always a charmer. Well, Aiden, I hope that answers your question. Two for the price of one. Hugh, come over here for a minute.

HUGH: Yes, my love.

Glory

ELOISE: This is a nice spot. We’re in Whitby, overlooking the river mouth and the sands. The abbey’s up on the hill, and it’s all very scenic. We checked all the postboxes and there’s no letters, so it’s good old-fashioned seaside holiday for me and Hugh today!

HUGH: Everybody must be dead.

ELOISE: Or perhaps they don’t listen to our program. Or perhaps they don’t have any problems because they’re all perfectly happy.

HUGH: Nah, they’re all dead. You can tell! No defenses or nothing. That big posh hotel up on the hill’s probably full of decomposing bodies.

ELOISE: I was going to suggest we spend the night in that hotel as a special treat.

HUGH: Uh, that’d be great.

ELOISE: Forget it. Couldn’t you focus on the sunshine, the bandstand, the harbor, or something?

HUGH: Well, look on the bright side. No survivors means no zombies. Probably.

ELOISE: Well, my next suggestion was that we go for a refreshing paddle, but now I’m going to be watching my back, aren’t I? Any other seaside pleasures you’d like to stamp all over in your dirty great army boots?

HUGH: How about I go and get you an ice cream?

ELOISE: Well, that’d be lovely, apart from the fact that, as a milk-based product, any ice cream’s been sitting without refrigeration for at least two summers.

HUGH: I always wanted to go to the Whitby Museum.

ELOISE: Hugh, you wanted to go to a museum?

HUGH: They’ve got a Hand of Glory.

ELOISE: Is that another ice cream?

HUGH: It’s the pickled right hand of a murderer.

ELOISE: Hugh, what?

HUGH: They cut it off while he’s still hanging from the gallows. Burglars burn the fingers like candles to send their victims to sleep.

ELOISE: We come to the seaside on a glorious day after the fall of civilization, and what you want to see is a dead hand?

HUGH: A pickled hand. Of a murderer. What?

Fuel

ELOISE: Any luck?

HUGH: Nah.

ELOISE: That’s twenty streets and two petrol stations, for how much?

HUGH: Maybe half a gallon.

ELOISE: Another dry town. This is going to keep happening.

HUGH: We’ve still got our stash -

ELOISE: I don’t know what you mean, Hugh! And neither do our listeners.

HUGH: Oh. Oh! You’re right.

ELOISE: We need a plan for when the fuel runs out.

HUGH: We can get from Land’s End to John o’ Groats twice on what’s in the back.

ELOISE: And then what?

HUGH: Um…

ELOISE: Our system’s based on movement! Food from fields and gardens, extras from little forgotten shops. When we stop moving, it all breaks down, and the zoms get closer!

HUGH: Did I wake up this morning with Eloise, the herald of doom?

ELOISE: The herald of thinking ahead! Why are you not bothered about this?

HUGH: Every day with you is -

ELOISE: Oh, stick it! What are we going to do when there’s no fuel left?

HUGH: Long before that, you’re going to find us a little retirement palace. If you don’t, well, we’ll go out in style. Together.

ELOISE: Go out in style?

HUGH: We’ll load the van up with explosives and use the last of the petrol to drive it into the base of a zombie mastermind.

ELOISE: Like Bonnie and Clyde.

HUGH: Just like Bonnie and Clyde.

ELOISE: I don’t think the zombies have a mastermind.

HUGH: Does it matter?

ELOISE: Guess not.

Cow Again

HUGH: It’s an early start today with a letter from Lorraine. She says, “Dear Hugh and Eloise, I used to enjoy a hot croissant in the morning. What are the special breakfasts that you miss in these challenging times?”

ELOISE: Ooh, I could go a croissant. They’re about two thirds butter already, and I like to smear every piece with butter.

HUGH: And that’s how she’s kept her heart healthy all these years.

ELOISE: You never cared much about breakfast, did you?

HUGH: I wouldn’t say that. I sometimes miss cereal. Them nice mueslis with the weird things in them.

ELOISE: Like that bug you found in the -

HUGH: Not bugs! Weird things like papaya and loganberry.

ELOISE: You know what we’re missing for both of these?

HUGH: What?

ELOISE: Fresh milk. We sometimes get the UHT stuff, but it’s not the same.

HUGH: The fresh stuff all spoiled long ago.

ELOISE: Yeah. But the cows are still there. Think you could milk one?

HUGH: Yeah, no problem.

ELOISE: There’s a field right back there.

HUGH: Oh.

ELOISE: Get the bucket out the back, then!

HUGH: All right. [parks van, opens door]

ELOISE: Squeeze it, Hugh! [cow moos, HUGH shouts] Oh my God! [laughs]

HUGH: Drive! Drive, drive! Drive!

ELOISE: Did you get any, then? [laughs]

Placenames

HUGH: Burton Agnes. Burton Agnes. Burton Agnes.

ELOISE: Oh God, not this again.

HUGH: What?

ELOISE: You want to go somewhere because you think the name sounds funny.

HUGH: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

ELOISE: You were like this about Leonard Stanley on the way up, and remember what we found there? Nothing. A pack of zoms that chased us all the way up to the M5.

HUGH: Well, you must admit, Leonard Stanley sounds like some kind of New York character actor.

ELOISE: So you said.

HUGH: Young fashionable bearded detective who everyone ignores at the back of the precinct house. But occasionally he provides a seemingly irrelevant observation that is the key to cracking this week’s case.

ELOISE: So you said, and we were no sooner out of there than you got obsessed with [?].

HUGH: Well, I wanted to find out what a [?] was.

ELOISE: And did you?

HUGH: No.

ELOISE: Because you got freaked out by the hedges.

HUGH: It’s not natural, is it? Humanity gets wiped out, vicious pillagers roaming the land, and what do they do? They trim their hedges nice and square. It isn’t normal. It’s suspicious.

ELOISE: And before that, there was Westley Waterless.

HUGH: All them ponds. What was that about?

ELOISE: They were flooded fields! It had, after all, rained for two days straight, and you seemed to be expecting the Sahara Desert.

HUGH: It was a big disappointment.

ELOISE: As was Quaking Houses.

HUGH: I watched those bastards for 45 minutes. There was a moment I thought they were leaning. It was just clouds moving behind them.

ELOISE: So never mind Burton Agnes.

HUGH: Okay, you’re right. We’ll turn here. We’re going to Cherry Burton instead!

ELOISE: Oh no!

HUGH: They might have pie.

Romance

ELOISE: Ah, a classic question this time. Vijay writes in from just outside Hull, and he says, “Dear Hugh and Eloise, what with living in a 45 dormitory with 8 other people, and all our food being canned vegetables, and only being able to take a hot shower once a fortnight, and all the unexpected leaps out of bed to repel zombie attacks and shoveling up steaming human organs at three in the morning, the romance has gone out of my relationship. Can you suggest something I could do to freshen things up?”

HUGH: Vijay, I hear you, my man. This whole zombie situation has forced the romantics among us to redefine our toolsets.

ELOISE: Stay tuned, this is going to be a classic.

HUGH: The first thing to do is work within the practicalities. For advice on that, I’m handing over to Eloise.

ELOISE: Cop out.

HUGH: Get on with it.

ELOISE: Truly, you are one of the romantics among us.

HUGH: Get on with it!

ELOISE: Well, Vijay, everybody defines romance a little differently, but I think the essence of it is being thoughtful and doing something special for your partner.

HUGH: It’s not all flowers and balconies anymore, but I’ve got to tell you, Vijay, both these things are easy to come by now, and they’re free.

ELOISE: Thank you, Hugh. The point is, you have to make time for the two of you away from the daily grind. What you do is almost secondary to making the effort.

HUGH: She says that, but I want to assure you that if you do the wrong thing, you’ll hear all about it.

ELOISE: Hugh, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to hand back to you to answer this question!

HUGH: I’m shutting up.

ELOISE: Perhaps things have become too safe in your 45 dormitory, and you need to take a run together to find a place which is special to you, and take some time away from the others. Perhaps pack a special picnic, even if it’s just your favorite canned vegetable. Hell, you could take a bath in a freezing river together and shriek like hyenas! Yes, all that is a risk, but life is a risk, and there’s a reason the great romantic stories are not about people playing by the rules.

HUGH: On the other hand, don’t get yourself chomped by zombies.

ELOISE: I think that covers it. Thank you for your question!

HUGH: Do write in again.

Tunnel

ELOISE: Remind me why we’re doing this?

HUGH: The bridge is blocked with abandoned cars, but the van’ll fit through this old train tunnel.

ELOISE: That’s not the whole story. You’ve got one of your weird psychological plans going on.

HUGH: I don’t know what you mean!

ELOISE: I told you about that time when I was a kid, and I got lost in the tunnel.

HUGH: I don’t remember.

ELOISE: Yes, you do. We were on some tunnel walk and I lost hold of my mom’s hand, and I freaked out in the total darkness.

HUGH: Oh! I do remember that story.

ELOISE: And this is your way of getting me over it with some weird situationist therapy or something.

HUGH: This is my way of getting us across the river.

ELOISE: So why don’t we have the lights on?

HUGH: Call it a whim.

ELOISE: Call it Mister Amateur Psychotherapist.

HUGH: Honestly, love, it’s nothing like that. I’m just driving the van down a tunnel for a change.

ELOISE: With no lights?

HUGH: With no lights.

ELOISE: That’s stupid.

HUGH: Think about this: we live outside. I know we have a van, but essentially, we’re campers living beneath the stars. It’s nice, right? But deep in the human psyche is a primitive need for enclosed space, for darkness. It’s why our ancestors settled in caves, why people hide under the bed during a storm. See it as a temporary return to the womb.

ELOISE: Turn on the lights for a minute.

HUGH: All right, but you can’t just -

[zombies roar, ELOISE and HUGH scream, tires squeal]

ELOISE: You moppet.

HUGH: Fair point, fair point!

Relocation

HUGH: We got a good crop at the last place.

ELOISE: Potatoes?

HUGH: No, letters. Here’s one from Ida. She says, “Dear Hugh and Eloise, I am 73 - ”

ELOISE: That’s not a problem, Ida. Remember that -

HUGH: There’s more to come.

ELOISE: Oh, sorry.

HUGH: “I’m 73, and I bloody hate my neighbors. There’s this smartass with a Gatling gun who fires it off every night. I’m a bit deaf anyway, but his tracer ammo lights up my bedroom when I’m trying to sleep.

ELOISE: Uh, right.

HUGH: Also, this other little bastard that breeds attack dogs for zombie defense and lets them roam free. I’ve had to fend them off with my umbrella more than once, and now it’s all torn, so I get soaked when I go on my supply runs.

ELOISE: Supply runs?

HUGH: She says something further on about having a bicycle. I don’t think it’s an actually run.

ELOISE: So what’s her question?

HUGH: She wants to know if we’ll help her relocate. Like, pick her up.

ELOISE: Ah. Um…

HUGH: She’s got a lot of stuff, apparently.

ELOISE: Well…

HUGH: A lot of stuff. Valuable old newspapers, Victorian decanters, a nearly complete collection of royal -

ELOISE: Ida, one of the harsh truths about the new society we are building is that we have to be able to let our material possessions go. You’re free to leave any time with only what can fit in your bike basket. Take a long look at this other stuff that’s holding you back, and decide if you really need it. You do that, and drop us a line next time we’re around.

HUGH: We could -

ELOISE: Thanks for your question, Ida. That concludes our program for today. [audio clicks] I don’t want to drive around with some foul-mouthed, deaf old biddy we don’t know.

HUGH: You didn’t press the button right. We’re still transmitting.

ELOISE: Shit. [audio cuts off]

Quickfire

ELOISE: Now, as we’ve been driving around the country, we’ve picked up a lot of simply queries, so we’ve saved them up, and we’re going to have a quickfire episode! Right, Hugh?

HUGH: Your pile’s bigger than mine.

ELOISE: That’s because you read slowly.

HUGH: It’s true.

ELOISE: Ready? First question: "What’s the best place to live now?”

HUGH: Well, the islands are a good choice because you’ll get less wandering zoms. Although we have heard that they can survive underwater. Well, not survive, exactly, but you know what I mean. The disadvantage of being on the islands is that you have a restricted pool of stores that you can forage from. There’s fishing, of course, but then we’re back to these zoms that -

ELOISE: Hugh! It’s a quickfire episode. You have to answer quickly.

HUGH: Oh, right. Uh, Milton Keynes.

ELOISE: What? Why Milton Keynes?

HUGH: I was under pressure.

ELOISE: Brighton’s still nice. Next question.

HUGH: Right. Uh, “Are the swimming pools still filled?”

ELOISE: Yes, some of them. But some have zombies in them.

HUGH: And trust me, you don’t need to see a zombie in Speedos. Next question.

ELOISE: “Is it worth finding a generator to power up my TV?”

HUGH: No. Read a book. Next question: “What is the most fun you’ve had on your travels?”

ELOISE: We made bottle rockets and fired them off the Cliffs of Dover! Next question: “Are you guys cannibals?”

HUGH: No. Next question: “Don’t you get cold at night?”

ELOISE: Yes. Next question: “What are your little treats these days?”

HUGH: Every day with Eloise is a treat.

ELOISE: Now and then, Hugh takes a nap. Next question.

HUGH: “What are essential camper van supplies?”

ELOISE: Duvet, food, water, fuel.

HUGH: Music, sunglasses, beer, cool hat.

ELOISE: [imitates buzzer sound] That concludes our quickfire episode!

HUGH: I need to lie down.

Home

HUGH: Garden needs a bit of work.

ELOISE: That just means it’s been abandoned for a long time.

HUGH: Zoms could be living there.

ELOISE: Zoms are dead.

HUGH: Hmm, fair point.

ELOISE: What do you really think of it?

HUGH: Well, roof looks sound. It’s on a hill, which means you can see movement from miles around. Singular approach up a narrow track. Pretty defensible. And there’s space for a vegetable patch and a chicken coop. And you can see the sea. You always wanted that.

ELOISE: So you like it?

HUGH: It’s as good as we’ve seen.

ELOISE: But do you like it?

HUGH: It’s okay.

ELOISE: Oh, you never commit to these things!

HUGH: Take a look! I’ll keep the engine running. [starts van]

ELOISE: Right. [opens door]

HUGH: Eloise does this every three months. It’s like a chime goes off in her head and says, “Find a place to live and stop driving around.” It’s always something like this – little cottage with moss on the walls, somewhere you can light a fire for the evening and put your welly boots on the porch.

She’ll be all domestic and lovey-dovey for a fortnight, and then she’ll start complaining that she feels cooped up. In a month, we’ll be back on the road, mark my words.

As it happens, there’s always something not right. Once, the taps where the wrong way around. Once, it was the feng shui. And this one time – hold on, here she comes. [van door opens, ELOISE sighs] No good?

ELOISE: Family slaughtered inside. Blood all the way up the walls. Zombie head in the sink for some reason, looking up at me.

HUGH: Move on, then?

ELOISE: Move on.

Vocal

HUGH: Brian writes in, and he says, “Dear Hugh and Eloise, my partner and I have had a baby, Jennifer. She was eight pounds at birth and she has her grandmother’s eyes.

ELOISE: Oh, that’s nice!

HUGH: Yes, it is. But Brian says, "She cries a lot, especially at night. I know it is a normal part of my child’s development, and we have to learn to leave her be, but I am worried that the constant wailing will attract zombies in the night. I keep having nightmares about them breaking in and chewing her up like a footlong sandwich. Can you suggest anything we can do?”

ELOISE: Uh…

HUGH: That’s quite a visual image, that sandwich thing.

ELOISE: Yeah… I, um… I feel a bit uncomfortable answering questions about kids.

HUGH: Don’t say that, love. You’re very good at handling them.

ELOISE: I don’t think clipping them around the ear when they’re rude counts.

HUGH: I certainly feel grateful there is no obvious police presence in most of the places we visit.

ELOISE: The baby’s too young to reason with, so I guess you need to… wrap her up in something at night to muffle the noise, like a big hamper or a duvet.

HUGH: Remember air holes. Breathing is very important.

ELOISE: Yes. Thanks for your letter, Jennifer.

HUGH: The baby’s Jennifer. It was Brian who wrote in.

ELOISE: Well, you answer the question if you’re so damn smart!

HUGH: Brian, you have to channel your inner muso. Set up the baby’s room like a recording studio: heavy curtains everywhere, soft furnishings, bass traps in the corners. Easiest thing to do is visit some farm where everyone’s dead, and take all the big egg boxes, then nail them to every wall. Most of the sound’ll get absorbed, and with a bit of luck, Jennifer grows up to be something of a vocalist. All right? Thanks for your question.

ELOISE: That was quite a good answer.

HUGH: Now you give us a song, love.

Recipes

ELOISE: Ah, this looks like another one about food.

HUGH: I could do with a pie.

ELOISE: Philip writes in and he says -

HUGH: Chicken, I think. With that nice sauce you used to make.

ELOISE: What sauce?

HUGH: In the chicken pies.

ELOISE: Ah. That sauce.

HUGH: What do you mean, “that sauce”?

ELOISE: Nothing. Philip writes -

HUGH: You’re doing that suspicious thing again with your nose.

ELOISE: Eh?

HUGH: You flared your nostrils. It means you’re putting one over on me.

ELOISE: No, no! Back to Philip’s question -

HUGH: What is it? What was in that sauce? Why are you being weird about it?

ELOISE: That sauce was… well, kind of spontaneous, and since you liked it so much, I just kept using it.

HUGH: What do you mean, “spontaneous”?

ELOISE: Well, it was just, well…

HUGH: Spit it out!

ELOISE: It was just cream of chicken soup.

HUGH: Hey?

ELOISE: One time, I didn’t have time to make a sauce, so I just poured in a can of chicken soup. And you went on about how great it was.

HUGH: Oh. I didn’t know I was so cheap.

ELOISE: Sorry, love.

HUGH: What’s the question?

ELOISE: Philip says, “Dear Hugh and Eloise, we have exhausted our stocks of canned vegetables, so we’re going back to meat. We figure that since the apocalypse is here, there’s no point in being weird about cannibalism, so we plan to eat the fresher meat from the zombies we kill. Can you recommend any recipes?”

HUGH: Uh…

ELOISE: Don’t eat zombie meat. Are you insane? One bite and you’ll turn.

HUGH: You could always pour a can of chicken soup on it.

Bingo

ELOISE: Well, we’ve got a very different show for you today. Marianne’s written in from Stibbington, and her problem is she doesn’t have playtesters for a game she’s devised, so we’re going to be the first players. Right, Hugh?

HUGH: Can’t talk. Zombies. Concentrating.

ELOISE: Oh, come on. You can handle this kind of mob in your sleep.

HUGH: Lean this way!

ELOISE: The trouble with this game is that you’ve got to be rather close to a great deal of zombies to make it work.

HUGH: We better be getting a percentage for this.

ELOISE: As I understand it, she’s going to distribute it free through Rofflenet.

HUGH: There goes another chunk of my pension. Why don’t you explain the rules, and then we can – [zombie growls, tires squeal] Whoa!

ELOISE: Right. It’s zombie bingo! I think to be safe, you need a vehicle to play it from.

HUGH: Bloody tank would be ideal.

ELOISE: Hugh’s not dissing the concept, Marianne, he’s just looking at practical details.

HUGH: Explain the rules.

ELOISE: You get a bingo card listing zombies to spot. For instance: one eye, or dog chewing zombie leg, or - here’s a tough one - bone protruding from left shoulder.

HUGH: I think I see that one.

ELOISE: Really, where?

HUGH: Right ahead – [tires squeal] right behind us.

ELOISE: There are a lot of bones protruding there.

HUGH: Not initially.

ELOISE: So that covers it, really. Cross off all your zombie sightings, and you get to shout, “House!”

HUGH: Can we quit now?

ELOISE: As long as we’re here, we might as well finish the card.

HUGH: What do we need?

ELOISE: Just one more. Zombie cheerleader. [HUGH sighs]

Future

HUGH: Here’s a letter from Nigel. Nigel, may I compliment you on your fine penmanship? As a time served postal worker, I can tell you that, while legibility is important, the occasional piece of elegant script is a cultural moment in an otherwise mechanical day.

ELOISE: You want me to turn back so you two can get a room?

HUGH: You know you’ve spoiled me for other men, my love.

ELOISE: That was so nearly a compliment, and then it was suddenly a mile away.

HUGH: Would you like to hear Nigel’s question?

ELOISE: Certainly.

HUGH: Nigel says, in an immaculately presented letter, “Dear Hugh and Eloise, I hear about people trying to rebuild society. However, it seems like my neighbors and I spend all our time keeping zombies at bay and making do with the few supplies we can obtain. We rarely make progress.

Of course, I hope the zombie scourge can be overcome in our lifetime, but what if it can’t? What should we – selfishly, perhaps – be doing to prepare for our old age? In other words, what’s my pension in this new world?”

ELOISE: A very thoughtful question.

HUGH: I knew it was going to be good when I saw the handwriting.

ELOISE: There’s a number of answers to that, Nigel. One isn’t very nice, so I’ll give you it first: the truth is, all our life expectations dropped by 20 years when the zoms appeared. Even if you don’t get bitten, you’ll probably get something you need treated in hospital, and there aren’t many open now, so preparing for old age is not the priority it used to be.

HUGH: I thought I was the pessimistic one.

ELOISE: A nicer way to look at it is that you’ve already invested in your future by building community. The fact you mentioned cooperating with your neighbors is a sign that you’re with a group who’ll look after you when the chips are down.

HUGH: Or your hips are [?].

ELOISE: Pardon?

HUGH: I don’t know. I was just thinking about hip operations and it rhymed.

ELOISE: Nigel, get the right people around you, and look after your neighbors. And that’s your pension. All right, love? I think you’ll be fine.

HUGH: What about these stashes we hide around the country?

ELOISE: Remember we agreed not to mention that on-air?

HUGH: Oh yeah, right!

Cancer

ELOISE: We’re nearly done for today, and Hugh is driving us through a misty morning to doom and disaster.

HUGH: Is that where we’re going? I missed the sign post.

ELOISE: Our final letter is from Sandra, and she says – hmm.

HUGH: What?

ELOISE: Oh dear. Sandra writes, “Dear Hugh and Eloise, I am going to kill myself. I am quite serious about this. I have worked it all out. I have seen too many of my friends bitten by zombies and turned. I saw one in particular go. Billy. Everything that made him Billy was twisted and ruined when he changed. I still see the image of his face after they shot him. I see it all the time.

I can’t face being bitten and turning gray. Becoming that thing that Billy did and being shot by my friends. I’ve been feeling a little happier lately, and I think this is the time to end it. I can’t tell anybody here, or they will stop me doing it.

I really like your program and I just wanted you to know before I did it. I wanted somebody to know. I’ll listen in this one last time.”

Now, Sandra, listen to me. You don’t do anything hasty! There are people working on a cure! You don’t know -

HUGH: Eloise, leave this to me, love.

ELOISE: Okay.

HUGH: Hello, Sandra. It’s Hugh here. Let me tell you something that happened to me a few years ago. I was having trouble in the loo. A big effort to produce a tiny little stream, so I went to the doc, and he sent me to a special doc. This one checked out my gentleman’s area and said my prostate was enlarged. I had to look up what that was. They cut a bit out, and checked, and it was the big C. Cancer. And it was quite bad. Well, my dad died from cancer.

The urologist woman said they could just watch it. They could do the radioactive thing, or I could have surgery. I tell you, Sandra, I’m stone cold terrified of surgery. I looked over at Eloise and saw how pale she was, how she had her brave face on, and I knew I had to get it out. So I just closed my eyes and said, “Surgery.”

ELOISE: Hugh…

HUGH: They cut the bad stuff out, and three weeks later, the zombie thing happened. If I’d have waited or gone for the slow treatment, I’d be dead! Okay, I’ve got my issues with the loo now and sex and stuff, but none of that really matters. Because I’ll tell you, Sandra, when I looked death right in the face, I found that more than anything, I wanted to live, and spend as much time as I could with this woman and her crazy schemes.

Maybe you feel alone right now, Sandra, but you don’t know what the future holds. And if you don’t have the courage to stick at it, you might miss the best days of your life! [sighs] All right. Get the map, Eloise.

ELOISE: Where are we going?

HUGH: Anywhere you like, my love. We’ve got all day.

Good News

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello, citizens. We’ve got some good news and some bad news for you today.

ZOE CRICK: The bad news is, Hugh and Eloise seem to have moved out of range. We’re hoping to have more from them soon, but in the meantime -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We’ve picked up something else we think you’ll enjoy.

ZOE CRICK: Well, “enjoy” might be too strong a word. We’re talking about Demons and Darkness, here.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Aw, what’s wrong with Demons and Darkness?

ZOE CRICK: It’s nerdy?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Like you didn’t spend half your life playing Dragon Age. And Skyrim, and Diablo, and Final Fantasy. And Fallout.

ZOE CRICK: Computer games are cool. Tabletop games aren’t.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that, Zoe. Anyway, what we’ve got here are a bunch of people who seem to have decided that the best way to while away their post-apocalyptic life is with a spot of roleplaying! But before that, here’s a song that I’ve always thought is just a tiny bit demonic.

Introduction

ETHAN: Is it on?

DAMIEN: It’s on.

ETHAN: All right. Read your thing.

DAMIEN: Okay. [clears throat] Hello, adventurers, and welcome to the Demons and Darkness broadcast. I, Damien Winters, will be your Gamemaster, and I will take you on a journey through your wildest dreams -

ETHAN: Through your wildest dreams.

DAMIEN: Through my wildest dreams.

ETHAN: I’m Ethan, by the way. Hello, listeners!

DAMIEN: Call them adventurers.

ETHAN: We’re running out of the pub, The Green Man, here in scenic [?] in the North Norfolk coast. Pop in if you’re ever in the area. We don’t get many zombies around these parts, and we could do with the company, frankly.

DAMIEN: We sheltered here, too, not long after the outbreak, and not all of us managed to get home.

ETHAN: So now we all live together! One big happy family. Me and Lexy, and the roleplayers.

[door opens]

LEXY: Did you call me? Have you started already?

ETHAN: No, just preamble, Lex. No worries.

LEXY: Hello, adventurers! I was just tidying downstairs. Damien, should I get Clara up?

DAMIEN: Uh, yeah, if that’s okay. We’re about to start character generation.

LEXY: Sure thing.

ETHAN: So, we figured it’d be good to, you know, break out Lexy’s old radio equipment and start broadcasting this, after our last campaign finished in ruins. So we’re going to do this live whenever we can. Probably too much.

DAMIEN: Mm. Hopefully, this one won’t end in ruins. We’re using the popular Shadows Over Festall campaign book, so you know it’s going to be good. Maybe this time Ethan will read the rules for explosions before he starts chucking fireballs around?

ETHAN: Maybe! Anyway, so we don’t bore you with every technical detail, we’re going to mix up our campaign with some musical interludes. Here’s the first one: a perfect song for starting off a grand adventure! I think.

Character Generation

DAMIEN: Welcome back to the Demons and Darkness broadcast, adventurers! I am your Gamemaster, Damien, and with us today, we have Lexy.

LEXY: Hi! I’m playing Luna, the Wyld-Dottir. She can turn into a giant boar woman when she gets angry.

ETHAN: Or hungry.

LEXY: Basically, she’s always about two minutes off freaking out and becoming a giant boar woman.

DAMIEN: And joining us on-air for the first time, we have Clara.

CLARA: Hello! I’m playing Ethyris the God Hammer. I hit things with a hammer on behalf of my god Sarazelle, and I can heal the sick and the wounded, and I can talk to people pretty well, and I have an 18 in Climbing, and a suit of +1 Audacious Plate Mail from Damien’s last campaign, and also I’m really -

DAMIEN: Well, we’ll hear more about Ethyris in a bit.

CLARA: Sorry.

DAMIEN: And lastly, we have Ethan, who’s playing a valiant swordsman devoted to -

ETHAN: I changed my character.

DAMIEN: Oh. Okay.

ETHAN: I’m playing a soul-stealer.

DAMIEN: Those are third party.

ETHAN: Do you want me to make another character?

LEXY: Uh, I don’t want to wait anymore. Can we just play?

DAMIEN: Yeah. Okay, sure. What race?

ETHAN: Goblin. Name of Noglob.

DAMIEN: A third party race as well?

ETHAN: Hey, they get class benefits and kind of [?].

DAMIEN: All right. Fine. We’ll sort it out in play. Let’s stick on some music while we sort out equipment. Ethan? Something suitable for buying swords to.

ETHAN: I’ve got just the thing.

Set The Scene

DAMIEN: Okay, turn it on.

ETHAN: It is on. We’re recording. Do you have to wear that hat?

DAMIEN: The hat helps.

ETHAN: It’s putting me off. Where did – where did you find a wizard hat? The world’s ended!

DAMIEN: I got it off a zombie who came out of a roleplaying convention. Anyway, welcome, adventurers! Welcome to the world of Demons and Darkness, a world slick with sin, a world plagued by evil and riddled with grim monstrosities, a world where the forces of evil are forever knocking at your door. But in this world stand three heroes, brave and true, ready to defend what is right, to stand a shield and sword for those without hope.

We join our heroes in the border town of Festall. Ethyris, the noble God Hammer of Sarazelle gives sermons to the townsfolk, sermons on survival, on unity, on togetherness, and she heals the sick and injured with but a touch of her hand.

Luna, the feral Wyld-Dottir, stands between the wilderness and civilization, torn between both, her human blood pulling against the beast spirits that dwell within her heart. She patrols the city walls. She is the guardian of the city and the wild. She walks in both worlds.

And Noglob, the goblin soul-snatcher, plays with the urchins of the city. He is friend to all, a smile and a wink, a shared word, food for all who need it. He watches out for the poorest people, because here, the night are long and cold, and every scrap of aid he can offer is graciously accepted.

And through the old, worn town gates strides a figure, black-clad, mustachioed, sharp-toothed and cold-hearted. It is the wicked Baron von Kurz, and he’s brought a collection of his personal guardsmen with him. He sends his men into the shops all along the main street, and tells them to take whatever they want, because Festall is his town.

The people of the city cry out for help. Heroes, what do you do?

ETHAN: Am I near an urchin?

DAMIEN: You are.

ETHAN: I steal its soul!

DAMIEN: Oh, Christ.

ETHAN: What?

DAMIAN: We need to disucss the meaning of lawful good, Ethan.

Morals

ETHAN: But I’m not lawful good. Goblins can’t be lawful good. I’m chaotic.

DAMIEN: Chaotic what?

ETHAN: Oh. Well, I haven’t filled out the second part yet.

DAMIEN: What if the God Hammer found out? What if Clara’s character found out you were siphoning off souls from orphans? Clara, what would Ethyris think?

CLARA: Ethyris would not be happy about that.

DAMIEN: See? And what about Luna?

LEXY: I don’t know. Got to get souls from somewhere.

DAMIEN: You’re not helping!

LEXY: What do you do with them, anyway?

ETHAN: You’ll see.

LEXY: Does the orphan survive?

ETHAN: Oh yeah, they survive. It says here that having your soul sucked out is how you get access to the Soulless Killer prestige class, which is a pretty good class, actually. They get Murder Magic, so I mean, it’s not all bad news for orphans.

DAMIEN: Look, guys, this is supposed to be a good campaign, all right? Capital G Good. Not like last time, with the fireballs. Clara’s got the gist of it.

CLARA: Well, I read your campaign brief last week, so I knew what to expect.

LEXY: There was a campaign brief?

ETHAN: I mean, there’s nothing in the book that says it’s an evil act, per se.

DAMIEN: Oh, look! No orphan soul-stealing, okay? That’s not the story I want to tell. I don’t want to be part of that.

ETHAN: Uh, how about cats?

DAMIEN: Fine! I guess. Cats are fine.

ETHAN: Cool. I found a cat.

DAMIEN: Roll awareness. While you rip the soul out of the cat, let’s have some appropriate music.

Combat

DAMIEN: And we’re back on air!

ETHAN: I discard the cat.

DAMIEN: Great, okay. You feel a cat soul wriggling around in your supernatural other belly. You… wait. Do you hear that?

LEXY: Oh, don’t worry. It’s just a zom rattling the fence outside. Sometimes they work out that there’s meat in here. We’re secure.

DAMIEN: Right. Sorry. The Baron’s men continue to harass the townsfolk, drawing their clubs and striking anyone who approaches.

CLARA: Can I do something, Damien?

DAMIEN: Yes! Finally! Ethyris steps onto the main street ahead of the Baron and his men.

CLARA: I shout, “Baron von Kurz! Order your men to stop! This is not the way of civilized folk.”

DAMIEN: The Baron laughs out loud. “Ha ha ha! What’s this? A God Hammer, all the way out here in the middle of nowhere? You’re a long way from home, girly!”

CLARA: Oh. “Out here is where we’re needed most, Baron! Where evil men like you abuse the trust of others!”

DAMIEN: “There is no trust out here, girl. Only the strong and the weak. Choose your side carefully.” He grabs an apple off a fruit cart and takes a big bite out of it and then throws the rest away.

CLARA: “I chose my side, Baron. I chose the side of the people.” I kick off my Chosen Of The Gods power.

DAMIEN: Okay. Spend a point of holy energy. You begin to glow brightly.

CLARA: “I have the gods on my side, Baron! What do you have?”

DAMIEN: “Let’s see… I have 20 armed men here, and 200 more in my castle in the mountains. I have a decree signed by King Marrots that says I have the right to take anything I want from Festall, because it’s mine. And I have a masterwork heirloom fully automatic crossbow, and it’s aimed at your head. How is your god looking now?

LEXY: To hell with this. I turn into a giant boar woman and leap off the town wall into the middle of his guards.

DAMIEN: Guess the time for talking was over. Okay. Let us roll for initiative.

LEXY: Where’s that in my sheet, again?

ETHAN: I’ll work it out for you.

Modifiers

DAMIEN: Okay, Lexy. With a crash, you land on the Baron’s men.

LEXY: I roll to hit - ! So, I’m adding what to my roll?

DAMIEN: +2 for Charging, -2 for failing your falling check, +2 for your Bestial Maw Attack.

CLARA: +1 for my Chosen Of The Gods aura!

DAMIEN: Right, right! Anything else? Ethan, anything we should know about?

ETHAN: No. Still looking for a cat.

DAMIEN: So, you’re +3. Plus your Strength, plus your Attack Bonus. You’ve increased those in line with your boar woman form, right?

LEXY: I just wanted to hit the guy. This is a whole lot of math. Hang on…

DAMIEN: Look, the were-form chart is on page 362. You need to cross-reference it with the bestiary book.

LEXY: [sighs] This is going to take forever!

ETHAN: Well, I’ll stick the tunes back on, shall I? Adventurers, here’s some of my favorite cat-stealing music.

Death

DAMIEN: The fight spills back into the entranceway to the town. The Baron is holding you at bay with his rapier, ordering his men to charge at you. Some of them are looking a bit apprehensive, given what you did to their comrades, Lexy.

LEXY: I laugh and rub more of their blood into my bristling fur.

CLARA: Reminds me of that time you killed that zombie last month. I swear that one backed off when you started shouting and waving around that head!

LEXY: It’s a talent!

DAMIEN: The Baron sneers and steps towards Ethyris the God Hammer and thrusts with his sword.

CLARA: Oh. I’m injured from before… this could be pretty bad…

ETHAN: Wait! How close am I?

DAMIEN: You’re about 20 feet away, I guess. In the cattery.

ETHAN: I want to use my Goblin Teleport to put myself in the way of the blow.

LEXY: What’s a Goblin Teleport?

ETHAN: Well, you lie about where you were, and change it to somewhere else, and run away before reality notices. It’s a goblin thing.

DAMIEN: I’ll allow it. He rolls to hit and gets – [dice rattle] a critical! The rapier hits you in the gut for 42 points of damage.

ETHAN: Which kills me.

CLARA: Ethan!

DAMIEN: He plunges the rapier into your stomach, picks you up off your feet and hurls you into the path of an oncoming carriage, where you’re trampled by all four of its horses. The cats of the town hiss a satisfied vengeance. You are thoroughly dead.

ETHAN: I spend the cat soul.

DAMIEN: Oh. You come back to life unharmed aside from another notch to your shoulder blade.

ETHAN: "You owe me one, Ethyris!” I say, and start climbing the side of the building to get away from the fight, maybe find a pigeon or something. Pigeons have souls, right?

CLARA: That’s a useful ability.

Pigeons

DAMIEN: Hmm. Turns out pigeons do not have souls.

ETHAN: Yeah, yeah, but it says here on page 47 of the setting book, that according to the holy law of Xyrthan - the country which we are definitely in - all noble animals that do swim, or fly, or walk, shall be blessed with souls and live on forever in the eternal forest after their death if they lead good lives. So, pigeons have souls.

LEXY: How would a pigeon lead a good life, anyway?

DAMIEN: Ah, yes. But pigeons aren’t even noble animals, are they? They’re vermin.

ETHAN: Hey, that’s a bit harsh! I know plenty of noble pigeons.

LEXY: Do you reckon zombies have souls?

CLARA: Definitely not, no. They’re dead. And their souls are in heaven.

DAMIEN: Name one.

ETHAN: One what?

DAMIEN: A noble pigeon.

ETHAN: Name a pigeon?

DAMIEN: I’m waiting.

ETHAN: Polly! P-Polly Pigeon.

DAMIEN: That’s clearly a parrot’s name. And why would the pigeon take Pigeon as its surname?

ETHAN: Oh, God’s sake. Right. Can I suck the soul out of a parrot? Hmm? Does that sound okay?

DAMIEN: Um… yeah.

ETHAN: Fine. I’m rolling to find a parrot, listeners. This might take a while, so let’s put on something calming.

Apocrabeast

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And I thought Jamie was the most irritating person in the world to play Demons and Darkness with.

ZOE CRICK: Jamie? Jamie Skeet?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. Abel Runner Ten.

ZOE CRICK: You played Demons and Darkness with our current monarch?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yes. Let me tell you, our current monarch sucks.

ZOE CRICK: I think that may actually be treason.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, you wouldn’t believe what a rules lawyer he is.

ZOE CRICK: Isn’t that a good thing for a king?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Maybe, but it’s not a good thing when you’re trying to slay a level 15 Apocrabeast, and he’s insisting on double-checking the rules for attacks of opportunity between the hours of 11:00 and 12:00 on days beginning with M.

ZOE CRICK: Oh, I see. He beat you, didn’t he?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, there’s no winners or losers in Demons and Darkness. It’s collaborative storytelling.

ZOE CRICK: Of course.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: But it was completely his fault I got eaten by the Apocrabeast. I’d been playing that character for months.

The Baron Escapes

DAMIEN: You’ve got the Baron on the defensive. His men form a perimeter around him. “Hold the gate!” he says, and runs out to the outside of the walls. He’s beaten and bloody and shamed.

LEXY: I try to shove past his men. [dice rattle] I get a 15 on a strength check.

DAMIEN: Good! But not good enough. They force you back. The Baron leaps on his horse and it rears up. “You’ve not heard the last of me, you meddling heroes! I’ll be back, and I’ll bring an army!”

ETHAN: I draw my crossbow and I shoot it at him. [dice rattle] [sighs] But I miss. Unless a one hits him, I mean.

DAMIEN: Your bolt goes wide and embeds itself in the ground. I guess you’re still shaky from that pecking you sustained in the pet shop. The Baron rides off into the wilderness, back towards his castle.

LEXY: “Blargh!” says Luna, and grunts at the guards in the gate.

DAMIEN: “Look,” says the lead guard, “We don’t want any more trouble. We just work for the guy! Let us go, okay?”

LEXY: I don’t know, they hit us with clubs a lot. I’m still pretty upset about that.

CLARA: Ethyris steps forward. “Very well, you may leave. But turn your back on this life of evil, men!”

DAMIEN: They look relieved. “We’ll be sure to do that. We’ve learned our lesson!”

ETHAN: I roll an insight check to see if they’ve really learned their lesson. [dice rattle] 17.

DAMIEN: They have not learned their lesson.

CLARA: Oh well. “Come, fellow heroes!” I say. “Let us return to the tavern and lick our wounds! We have much to discuss.”

LEXY: I carry on shouting at the guards until they leave.

DAMIEN: All right. We’ll finish there, I think. Good game, everyone.

Pruno

ETHAN: Now, listeners, while our heroes are in the bar, we’re going to introduce the second part of the broadcast. As previously mentioned, this is a pub, and pubs serve booze. For a while now, we’ve been out of booze.

LEXY: It was good while it lasted.

ETHAN: We had to trade it away for food, see. Because try as you might, man can’t survive on dry roasted peanuts alone.

LEXY: Plus, those guys stole a bunch of it.

ETHAN: Oh yeah! Some Exmoor Militia came in here while we were all out and made off with a few crates.

LEXY: You’ll be pleased to hear that they didn’t survive long, listeners. Turns out it’s really hard to run when you’re pissed. Big knot of zoms got them on the way back to Cromer.

ETHAN: [laughs] But we wanted more. Seeing as it’s the end of the world and everything, we had to improvise, so we made - [LEXY imitates a trumpet fanfare] Pruno!

DAMIEN: What’s that?

ETHAN: It’s, uh, wine. Well, it’s prison wine. It’s wine they used to make in prison from stuff they found.

LEXY: Ta-da!

ETHAN: It’s alcoholic, anyway, I can tell you that, and I wanted to share some of it with you. And with you, listeners. I wanted to tell you how to make it.

CLARA: Ethan, I don’t know whether it’s safe to spread that information about.

ETHAN: [laughs] It’ll be fine! So we’re going to crack into this and report back, and then we’ll tell you how it’s made. Meanwhile, we’ll put on some of my favorite drinking songs.

LEXY: You are so excited about this.

ETHAN: I am very excited about this!

Undrinkable

LEXY: Hello, adventurers. We would like to publicly apologize for the pruno.

ETHAN: I’m not sorry.

LEXY: It tastes awful.

ETHAN: It’s prison wine. It’s supposed to taste awful.

DAMIEN: I’m worried it’s going to cause blindness. It’s definitely the worst thing I’ve seen you drink since we got here.

ETHAN: Clara, what do you think?

CLARA: Oh, I’m okay. I won’t have any.

ETHAN: But this is – i-it’s booze! There used to be stories about how getting drunk would protect you from evil spirits. You know – witches, goblins, zombies.

DAMIEN: Really? Were there?

ETHAN: Sure, why not. Come on, Clara. How long’s it been since you’ve had a drink?

CLARA: I’ve not had any since my birthday last year. And I’m okay, still. Thanks.

LEXY: I can’t blame her.

ETHAN: I’d like to report that it’s… sweet?

LEXY: It is indeed almost undrinkably sweet.

ETHAN: You’re drinking it.

LEXY: Shhh.

ETHAN: We’re going to compare notes for a while and see if we can’t come to a conclusion! Until then, some more music.

LEXY: Put on that one I like.

ETHAN: Which one?

LEXY: You know the one. It’s got that intro that goes - [hums]

ETHAN: Oh yeah. Is this it?

Old Socks

ZOE CRICK: Did you ever try Lou’s home brew?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah! It was, um… alcoholic.

ZOE CRICK: It was disgusting.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yep.

ZOE CRICK: But so alcoholic that after a while, you didn’t care how disgusting it tasted.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: After a while, my taste buds weren’t working.

ZOE CRICK: My whole body went numb. After three pints, I was actually starting to question the physical reality of the universe.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Mm. She learned how to make that stuff in prison, didn’t she?

ZOE CRICK: Yup. She learned all her best tricks in prison.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Her best tricks? What do you – you know what? I don’t want to know. So how’d she make that hooch?

ZOE CRICK: You definitely don’t want to know. Let’s just say it involved old socks, and leave it at that?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Ew!

Pubcrawl

DAMIEN: The pruno tastes like, uh… you remember alcopops? Like a compost-flavored alcopop.

LEXY: That’s actually what it kind of is. Ethan, do you want to tell them how you made it?

ETHAN: That was the plan. Listeners, see, I used to love pub crawls. Lexy and I used to go on them all the time, back before, well, you know. Back when we still had pubs to crawl to. What we want to do, right, is establish enough pubs for a crawl.

LEXY: The pub crawl at the end of the world! Bring your fire axe, come for the pruno, stay for the melee combat.

ETHAN: Precisely! But to have pubs, you need booze, and that is in precious short supply these days, so we’re branching out into making our own. Now, we’ve been trading for parts to put together a still, but for the time being, we’ve had to make do with, you know, improvised solutions, which we’re going to share with you, so you can make your own booze and sell it. And maybe one day, when the world stops ending quite so hard, we can… we can, you know, go and see them. Yep. Like in the old days.

LEXY: Tell them how to make pruno.

ETHAN: In a bit, in a bit. They’re not going anywhere, are you, listeners? Do let us know if you try it out, by the way. Tell your runners. We get them coming through here all the time. It brightens the place up.

LEXY: I’d say this tastes more like… sick. Like sick and sugar. Like I’ve sicked up sugar into this cup, and now I’m drinking it again. Ethan?

ETHAN: [laughs] Oh, yeah, this is awful. This is really bad. Anyway, I have to find my notes. So, while we enjoy this pruno -

LEXY: Huh?

ETHAN: Well, while we drink this pruno, enjoy the music. Hey! [sighs] God, Donna used to like this one. She was an old mate of ours, listeners. She used to always put this one on before we left the house to go out for a party. Aw, Donna. If you’re out there, this one’s for you. To Donna.

LEXY, CLARA, and DAMIEN: To Donna.

Pruno Recipe

ETHAN: So you want to make booze.

LEXY: Everyone wants to make booze.

DAMIEN: You’re drunk.

ETHAN: Not quite, Dungeonmaster. Nearly. Anyway, as I was saying, you want to make booze, why not try prison wine?

LEXY: Because it’s awful!

ETHAN: Shh! Here is how you make your own prison wine. Listen carefully. In fact, get a pen and some paper. Write this down. Very important. Now, you can make prison wine by leaving fizzy orange pop to ferment for a while, but that’s just – that always ends up pretty weak, and you might as well just drink the pop. What you really need is some fruit.

LEXY: Which there’s not a lot of these days.

ETHAN: Precisely! Did you know that ketchup is a fruit?

DAMIEN: Ketchup’s not a fruit.

ETHAN: Did you know that ketchup often contains fruit? Now, you can use ketchup if you can’t find fruit, but you really should try to find fruit, though. We’ve made this batch with a tin of mashed-up pineapple chunks we found. Packets of sugar are good, too.

Take everything you can find, mash it up, then pour some water over it. Now, that’s the fuel part. After that, you need a kicker, or a motor. Something to make the fuel turn into sweet, sweet booze.

LEXY: This is so sweet, I think I’m going to be sick.

ETHAN: It is far too sweet. So, your kicker needs to be something that’s alive, or at least kind of alive. Yeast is the best. That’s what I’m using here. We found a stash a few months back. Bread will do, because there’s yeast in that, and milk is good because there’s… honestly, I don’t know. Cow bits? Bits of cow?

LEXY: Living cow bits?

ETHAN: You know what? Don’t use milk. That sounds awful. Use bread, or you know, actual yeast if you can find it. So the living bits feed off the sugar and the fruit, or the sugar and the sugar, and the waste product that they produce is alcohol.

LEXY: Disgusting alcohol.

ETHAN: Alcoholic alcohol.

LEXY: True. I’ll drink to that. Cheers!

[glasses clink]

ETHAN: Cheers!

[everyone groans]

ETHAN: I hope we don’t get an attack now. I’m useless! My feet are wobbly.

LEXY: My face feels nice.

ETHAN: More recipe in a bit. Now music. Listeners – oh, hey, this used to be my favorite song when I was trying to, well, you know, seduce a special lady.

LEXY: Ladies, in the unlikely event that you’re seduced, please write in to the usual address.

ETHAN: You’re so rude! This is dynamite!

Don't Seal It Completely

DAMIEN: As thrilling as all this is, I’m going to bed. Clara?

CLARA: It’s late, you’re right. Good night, guys. Oh! Good night, adventurers!

ETHAN: Night, folks!

[chairs scrape across floor]

LEXY: Night! We won’t stay up late.

ETHAN: Anyway, making pruno. You want to stick your sugar and your kicker in a plastic bag, and stick that in a bowl, and pour some warm water over the outside.

LEXY: Don’t seal the bag complete!

ETHAN: Yes. Do not seal the bag completely.

LEXY: Otherwise it can explode.

ETHAN: Yes.

LEXY: All over someone’s radio equipment.

ETHAN: [laughs] All over! Moving on. Stick it in a bowl, then pour warm water over it. Change the water daily. Twice daily if you’ve got the fuel to spare. For about… two weeks… fourteen days. Anyway, let a little of the air out each day. At the end, you’ll have something that’s as weak as weak beer, or as strong as fortified wine. There’s really no way to tell.

LEXY: This is kind of strong. I like this. I mean, you know. Not the taste. I like the effect.

ETHAN: It’s good, isn’t it? I mean, well, you know.

LEXY: Pretty loose definition of “good.”

ETHAN: [sighs] Did you ever think we’d end up here?

LEXY: What? In the pub? Yeah, obviously.

ETHAN: No, I mean… here. At the end of the world and that.

LEXY: I didn’t predict the zombies, if that’s what you mean.

ETHAN: Or the roleplayers who just kept coming back for their weekly game, even after all of that. And stayed.

LEXY: What, you don’t like them just because they had a good zombie outbreak plan?

ETHAN: No no no, hey, I love them. Clara especially. It’s just… it’s not what I had planned, you know? I was going to have kids.

LEXY: [laughs] You’d make a terrible father.

ETHAN: [laughs] You’re right! This apocalypse is probably for the best, huh? Oh God, we’re getting personal, aren’t we? Hey, put on that one. You know, remember the one we used to dance to? This one. Back in the day.

LEXY: Technically, we could dance now.

ETHAN: Mm, we’ll see.

Botulism

LEXY: Hello. Hi. Uh…

ETHAN: We forgot something.

LEXY: Yeah. We just saw a post on Rofflenet, on the board that Ethan started. You mustn’t make this out of potatoes.

ETHAN: Not at all.

LEXY: Not even slightly. Botulism.

ETHAN: Loads of botulism. Fistfuls.

LEXY: Yep. Killed a bunch of prisoners, apparently.

ETHAN: Not a fun way to die. I’d rather get bitten. Although I know how I want to die.

LEXY: That thing with the rockets? Still?

ETHAN: Damn straight.

LEXY: It’s a good dream. Okay. No potatoes. Got it? Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.

ETHAN: I think I should be in charge of the music.

LEXY: I think you should be quiet and drink your wine.

Is France Still A Thing?

ETHAN: I… I don’t think they should call this wine.

LEXY: Who are “they”?

ETHAN: You know, the wine people. The people who named it.

LEXY: Why not?

ETHAN: [laugh] Imagine what the French would say if they found out. [imitates French accent, laughs] This is not wine! This is [?]! You will be executed at dawn [?], etc…

LEXY: I didn’t know you spoke French.

ETHAN: Aw, shut up.

LEXY: Is France still a thing?

ETHAN: Hmm. I don’t know. I mean, it must be, right? England’s a thing. America’s a thing.

LEXY: I went to America once. I had a bacon double butter burger and a vanilla chocolate malt shake, and I don’t think I’ve been happier.

ETHAN: Butter burger?

LEXY: They butter the burger.

ETHAN: Those geniuses.

LEXY: I didn’t eat all of it. I just left it there in the diner. Can you imagine that? Discarding bacon.

ETHAN: I miss bacon. And cheese.

LEXY: I tell you what I really miss: cigarettes.

ETHAN: Oh God, yeah. I’d punch a nun holding a kitten for a f*g right now.

LEXY: Two nuns.

ETHAN: Yup. Shit, the mic’s on. We’re broadcasting. [laughs]

LEXY: Not like anyone’s listening, mate.

ETHAN: They are! They are, definitely. Oh man. I’m drunk. Yep. I should go to bed.

LEXY: I’m not long off myself. Check the barricade, will you?

ETHAN: Yeah, yeah, of course. I heard a few shamblers earlier today. You know… see you. See you in the morning.

LEXY: Yeah.

ETHAN: Well, good night.

A Great Idea

DAMIEN: Hello, adventurers. We’re just discussing the Demons and Darkness broadcast, live on-air, with Ethan. Say hello, Ethan. [ETHAN groans] How’s your first hangover in months going?

ETHAN: I think it must have been gathering power. I think my skull is cracked. I think something died in my mouth. [whispers] I think I’m going to die.

DAMIEN: I wanted to talk about the future of the broadcast. I’m not sure the crossover is such a great idea.

ETHAN: What do you mean, crossover?

DAMIEN: It’s not an established combination, is it? Recordings of tabletop roleplaying games and recipes for homemade booze.

ETHAN: Hey, we’re breaking new ground! It works. It’s not like you’re using the equipment all the time anyway. And the only reason anyone tunes in is for the music.

DAMIEN: It’s… it’s just, it’s my game. And I don’t want the audience to get confused. We have a rich narrative to impart, here.

ETHAN: Listen, it’s my pub. And it’s Lexy’s radio kit. And the audience is a bunch of zoms, and maybe – maybe! - one or two lonely bastards like us who can pick up the broadcast! … sorry. Sorry, listeners. Sorry. [audio clicks] Sorry. I hope you’re having a good day.

DAMIEN: Fine. Are you ready for the next session?

ETHAN: I’m ready to curl up into a ball and die, mate. Once my watch is over, I’m going to bed. I’ll see you later. Saw a couple of zoms out there scrubbing around the bins near the river. Better go and keep an eye on them.

DAMIEN: The dangers of alcohol abuse, ladies and gentlemen. Not that I don’t enjoy a drink, of course, just that… [?] they served up last night… Anway, while I’m in charge of the radio, I figure I’ll put on one of my favorite tunes! Donna… [laughs] Donna always hated this one. If you can come in and turn it off, we’d love to see you.

Levelling Up

DAMIEN: Hello, adventurers. We’re getting ready for our next session, and we’re levelling up our characters. I’m joined in the games room by Lexy, who’s improving Luna, the Wyld-Dottir’s abilities.

LEXY: Hello, adventurers.

DAMIEN: You don’t as uh, indisposed as Ethan is.

LEXY: He’s a wimp. I hope he’s all right in his watch. He could never handle his drink. Used to make me wonder why he owned a pub, really.

DAMIEN: Wasn’t it his wife’s? She used shoot us mean looks from behind the bar whenever we played in here, I seem to recall. [laughs]

LEXY: Yeah uh, he uh, he got the pub in the divorce. He never had a head for numbers. I had to help him out with the difficult stuff. Anway, Luna.

DAMIEN: Right, yes. The Wyld-Dottir. So, your options at this XP juncture are threefold. You can carry on with your Nature’s Fury path and focus on your boar shifting. You can sidestep into Wilderness Protector and see if you can’t soak up some more damage. Or your race options let you take Tree Wizard if you want.

LEXY: Tree Wizard?

DAMIEN: Yeah, you know, standard tree magic. Increased growth, control branches, summon bushes, enchanted acorns. Some light squirrel possession.

LEXY: [sighs] Why do they in the game? Who wants tree magic when you can turn into a boar?

DAMIEN: Oh, quite a few classes find taking a dip into Tree Wizard to be useful. The Bark Master, for example, is almost useless without at least three ranks in Arboreal Control -

LEXY: I’ll stick with Nature’s Fury I think, all the same. More boar! So, I get how many more changes per day?

DAMIEN: Uh, none. It’s complicated. Let me show you.

LEXY: I never really could get my head around the rules part of roleplaying. They always seem to get in the way. Which is why, adventurers, back in the day, I just used to watch from the sidelines and wonder what they were all talking about.

DAMIEN: It’s pretty simple.

LEXY: To you, maybe.

Soulsucking

LEXY: It’s on. You’re up, Damien.

DAMIEN: Welcome, adventurers, to the world of Demons and Darkness. You join us again in the border town Festall, last bastion of hope in a world beset by evil. Our heroes, noble God Hammer Ethyris, fierce Wyld-Dottir Luna, and cunning soul-snatcher Noglob, are waiting in the town when a messenger arrives bearing news from your enemy, Baron von Kurz. Noglob, you’re closest. What do you do?

ETHAN: Oh, pick somebody else. My head feels like someone smashed it with a hammer.

CLARA: Does it? Because I literally saw Lexy do that last week, and you seem better off than that zombie was.

LEXY: Come on, Ethan. Play along.

DAMIEN: The Baron’s messenger says to you, Noglob, “What’s this horrid little thing doing in the town square? You, goblin, run to your master and tell him that Baron von Kurz has a message for him.”

ETHAN: I suck his soul out of his face.

LEXY: Come on, Ethan.

ETHAN: I just latch right on there like I’m kissing him, but I’m ripping his soul clean through his face.

CLARA: Ethan, I don’t think that’s -

ETHAN: Okay, okay, sorry. “Cor blimey!” I say. “What sort of message do a fancy gentleman like you have for a load of inbred bumpkins like us?”

DAMIEN: “Not one suitable for your greasy little pointed ears. Now, find me someone worth talking to before I run you through.”

ETHAN: Okay, okay, do you know what? No. I suck his soul. Right through his face. Right out. [dice rattle] Oh, look at that! I got a 20! That’s 27 on my soul-sucking check. That enough, Damien?

How’s his soul doing? Still, huh? Still in his body there, not coming through his face or anything? Not in my supernatural other belly, filling me up, being all tasty?

DAMIEN: I have to look something up. Stick the music on.

ETHAN: Sure thing. Music to suck souls to, coming right up.

A Message

DAMIEN: And we’re back! Okay, Luna, Ethyris, you see Noglob walking into the tavern.

CLARA: “Hail, Noglob!”

ETHAN: Noglob looks uncomfortably full and burps as he opens the door. “Here, this fancy messenger come down from the Baron’s castle with a message for the mayor, but I accepted it.” I hand over the message. “Ethyris, what does it say? You know I don’t read so good.”

DAMIEN: Clara, you can see that the note says, “Citizens of Festall, in three days, my armies will descend upon you and take what is rightfully mine. If you wish to flee, you may do so. Regards, Baron Herzog von Kurz.”

CLARA: “His armies? That’s not good news at all. Where is this messenger now?”

ETHAN: “He, uh, he disappeared. I mean, he left. He left the town, real quick like! Probably wouldn’t see him even if you tried.”

LEXY: “We have to warn the people. If we gather them together, we’ll be able to hold them off… right?”

CLARA: “Definitely! The Baron’s tyranny has gone on long enough! It’s time to mount a defense!” I stand up and march up to the mayor’s office.

LEXY: “I’m with you. Noglob, you coming?”

ETHAN: I guess if they drove away all the urchins and the cats, there’d be no one to suck the souls out of. “All right, you’re on!” This calls for dramatic exit music, I think.

The Mayor

DAMIEN: Welcome back, adventurers. The Mayor looks you over, heroes, as you stand in his office. He’s a big man, covered in muscle turned to fat, and his walrus-like mustache is almost entirely gray. “Normally the messenger sticks around,” he says, scratching his neck and looking worried.

ETHAN: “Yeah well, well this one didn’t.”

DAMIEN: “I mean, you might have questions about the content of the message. You might have a response, even! That’s normally how these things work.” [ETHAN laughs nervously] “So he just left? Ran off without saying anything?”

ETHAN: “Can we move past the messenger’s lack of professionalism, sir? We’ve got bigger problems, I think.”

CLARA: “Yes, like the matter of our town defenses. How many men can we muster?”

DAMIEN: “Well, you’re not suggesting that we fight them, do you?”

LEXY: “We bloody well are, sir. This is an injustice! You’re just going to roll over and let them take what they want?”

DAMIEN: “Yes. That’s how it always worked in the past. The messenger comes, we have dinner, the armies arrive and rough up the place a bit, you know. It’s all okay the week after. Oh, this is weird. Just to go back to the messenger briefly – did he look ill at all?”

ETHAN: “Well yeah, yeah, really ill. Pale. Pallid, you might say.”

DAMIEN: “I do hope he’s okay. If anything happened to him, we could get in trouble! The Baron might think that we’re responsible!”

ETHAN: “W-what would happen if that were the case? Just hypothetically, sir.”

DAMIEN: “He’d destroy us, no doubt. Fire, chaos, murder! The whole shebang. But luckily he’s okay, so we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

CLARA: “I’ll rally the troops, just in case. I’ll whip this town into a top-notch fighting force, the likes of which the country’s never seen!”

LEXY: “I’ll patrol the wilderness to see if the Baron sent any scouts to spy on us.”

DAMIEN: The Major wipes his forehead with his handkerchief. “And you, goblin? What are you to do?”

ETHAN: “Well, I’ve got to go – I’ve got to hide some things, got to move some - bye!”

The Townsfolk

DAMIEN: Welcome back, adventurers. We’ve split the party.

ETHAN: You should never split the party.

DAMIEN: And yet, here we are. First up, Ethyris is going to take a stab at rousing up a town defense. Is that right, Clara?

CLARA: That’s right. So long as everyone works together, I’m sure we’ll be okay. I’m, mm… I’m going to go into the town square to try and gather a crowd.

DAMIEN: You heal people there quite often, so a few people gather around. About 20, I’d say.

CLARA: We’re going to need more than that. “Citizens of Festall, I call on you now! The able-bodied, the strong, the fit! The keen of eye and stout of heart!”

DAMIEN: Roll and add your charm.

CLARA: Okay. [dice rattle] That’s… oh, that’s a nine. Is that enough?

DAMIEN: Not really. You’ve got a few sickly types listening to you, and a couple of kids, but nothing approaching a proper defense force. The big strong types are all hanging out at the tavern. They’re mercenaries, ex-soldiers and the like. Looks like they work for coin, not community.

CLARA: I’ll go up and ask them, I think. “Hail, merry swordsmen!”

DAMIEN: A couple of them glance up at you. One guy, a wiry sort with dark tan skin, speaks to you. “What do you want, priest?”

CLARA: “I… um… I was wondering if you’d help us defend the town. The Baron’s armies are coming in three days, see, and we need all the help we can get.”

DAMIEN: “The Baron, eh? What are you paying?”

CLARA: “Alas, I am but a simple God Hammer of Sarazelle. I have almost nothing to my name.”

DAMIEN: “Well, us too. Once you find something, maybe we’ll talk. Until then, piss off.”

CLARA: “But sirs! The defense of the town is at stake! I - ”

DAMIEN: “Do they not tell people to piss off where you’re from, girl?”

CLARA: I can see I’m not wanted here. I’ll leave.

DAMIEN: Sorry, Clara. It looks like it wasn’t meant to be. Lexy’s up next, sneaking around in the forest.

The Woods

DAMIEN: Welcome back, adventurers. Lexy’s having her character Luna patrol the woods looking for scouts.

LEXY: All right. So, I get down low to the ground and start snuffling about for clues! [dice rattle] I got a 23. That’s good, right?

DAMIEN: That’s really good! You smell the telltale scent of tobacco on the breeze. Someone’s smoking nearby. These are some pretty poor scouts.

LEXY: Okay. I’ll track them down. Quietly, mind. [dice rattle] That’s a 17 on a move quietly check.

DAMIEN: Good enough! There are three scouts. They don’t spot you. You’ve managed to hide in a patch of undergrowth. But they’re in a clearing, so you can’t approach any further without them seeing you.

LEXY: So there’s no cover?

DAMIEN: I mean, if you’d taken a level in Tree Wizard, this wouldn’t be a problem.

LEXY: I’m not doing that. What are they doing?

DAMIEN: They’re talking quietly, but they’re too far away for you to clearly make out the words. It looks like one of them is telling the other about something happening up in the north in the mountains, from where he’s pointing.

LEXY: Mm, okay. In that case, I turn into a giant boar woman and charge them!

DAMIEN: Are you sure?

LEXY: 100%! Let’s get our murder on!

ETHAN: Are we going to have to sit through the whole fight?

LEXY: Shush, you! I’ve not had a decent fight yet. Let me do this.

ETHAN: I’ll, uh… I’ll stick some fight music on for a while.

The Aftermath

ETHAN: That was quick.

LEXY: Thank you.

DAMIEN: That was, yeah. That was really quick.

LEXY: Are any of them still alive?

DAMIEN: The third one is, yeah. He’s still got a couple of his limbs attached.

LEXY: [laughs] Like that zom we fought back in August. Remember that guy?

DAMIEN: What, the [?]?

LEXY: Yeah, that guy! The one with the one arm and one leg.

ETHAN: And then no arms and no legs! [laughs]

LEXY: [laughs] He put up a fight, didn’t he?

CLARA: He was a big one, for sure. I’m just glad you had your axe with you, Lexy.

DAMIEN: Anyway, the undergrowth is covered in arterial spray and bits of torn clothing and… torn scout, really. You start to revert to human form. You feel the weight of what you’ve just done weigh heavy on you.

LEXY: Nah, I’m cool with it.

DAMIEN: Oh, okay. Well, in that case, the weight of what you’ve done doesn’t hang heavy on you. It hangs just fine. You feel pretty good about all that murder.

LEXY: Great! I demand that the last one alive tells me what he knows before he dies.

DAMIEN: He mutters something about spies in the city. “They’re… already… within the walls…”

LEXY: “Where? Tell me!” I kick him in the stomach.

DAMIEN: Aren’t you wearing hobnail boots?

LEXY: I am…

DAMIEN: And what’s the minimum damage with those?

LEXY: Uh… three points?

DAMIEN: That’s more than enough to kill him. He dies.

LEXY: Oh. What a shame. At least we know that there are spies.

ETHAN: Can I have my go now?

DAMIEN: Sure. I think we’re done in the woods. I just need to check my notes…

Body-Hiding 101

ETHAN: I need to get rid of this corpse.

LEXY: You could burn it. I mean, that’s what we do now.

ETHAN: Mm, too obvious in such a built-up area.

DAMIEN: Welcome back, adventurers. Ethan here is playing Noglob, and he’s learning about the harsh realities of killing.

ETHAN: Lexy kills people all the time, and never gets in trouble.

LEXY: I only kill bad people! Plus, I don’t make over-optimized characters, so I don’t upset the GM.

DAMIEN: That’s also true. Anyway, you’ve got to get rid of the body. Where was it you stuck it, again?

ETHAN: In a storm drain.

DAMIEN: That’s right. In a storm drain, just off the main road. Luckily, that’s the sort of place the guards never, ever check. Wait, no. Sorry. [laughs] I’ve got that backwards. It’s the sort of place that the guards walk past all the time!

ETHAN: Uh, I find some urchins. I’m friend to the urchins, right?

DAMIEN: Acquintance to the urchins, certainly.

ETHAN: You said in the opening bit that I was friend to the poor. I’m going to call that in. “Hey, kids!” I say, and I caper about to make it look like I’m a nice guy.

DAMIEN: You’ve got the capering skill, right?

ETHAN: As a specialty, yeah. [dice rattles] That’s a 34 on my caper check.

DAMIEN: Continue.

ETHAN: “Hiya, kids! It’s your old mate, Uncle Noglob!” “Hi, Uncle Noglob!” “Say, do any of you have legal guardians? Parents, minders, you know, that sort of thing?” “No, Uncle Noglob. We’re impoverished street urchins.” “Great! We’re going to play a game! You like games, right?” “We love games, Uncle Noglob! What’s it called?” “This game? Ooh, this game’s called, ‘Help Uncle Noglob Shove a Corpse Down Into the Sewers Before the Guard Finds It, or So Help Him God, He’ll Slice You Up!’”

DAMIEN: [whispers] Christ…

ETHAN: No? Too much?

DAMIEN: That’s… [sighs] Let’s put the music on for a bit while you and a gang of malnourished children push a desiccated corpse into the sewers. Something suitable for that. Let’s try… this.

Tower Defence

DAMIEN: Welcome back, adventurers. Our heroes are currently working out how to defend the city.

LEXY: There are so many rules for this.

CLARA: Are we using the rules for sieges in the core book, or are we trying out the third party material from Crossbows and Crenellations, again?

ETHAN: Ugh, I hate that book.

DAMIEN: The stuff in Crossbows and Crenellations is much more detailed and slightly more balanced, so we’ll go with that.

LEXY: It’s 300 pages long, Damien! I mean, give it here a second, Clara. Look! There’s eight pages on different kinds of wood! Who needs stats for eight different kinds of wood? It’s got rules for the armored assault tower and mobile interdiction fortress, but - and correct me if I’m wrong here – both of them use exactly the same rules!

DAMIEN: Ah, but they’re from different parts of the kingdom.

LEXY: They’re the same thing! There’s a two page chart here that lets you work out the precise effect of elevation on crossbow range, right down to the foot. Does that sound like fun, working that out?

DAMIEN: I mean, some people might find it fun.

LEXY: I don’t think this is even accurate. Look at the hit points that a section of improvised palisade gets. That’s just a load of old planks. Do you remember our first barricade? The one made out of the old tables we nicked from the furniture showroom?

DAMIEN: I think that one was before my time here. I turned up after you rigged up the thing with the road signs and the tripwires.

ETHAN: Sorry about that.

DAMIEN: It’s okay. My leg healed up eventually.

LEXY: But those barricades didn’t last, what? Two days against sustained attack from the zoms? These things are far too effective. We should reduce the hit points.

DAMIEN: Hit points are more of a balance issue.

LEXY: It’s just so dull, Damien! It’s got a section on animal husbandry in it, in a game about killing things and taking their stuff. I can turn into a giant boar woman. Why should anyone care about the precise breed of cow you need to gain optimum meat levels?

DAMIEN: It’s… it’s overwritten, you’re right. We’ll use the other one.

LEXY: Why are they all so bloody long?

ETHAN: Well, because they’re all written by one nutter, aren’t they?

CLARA: What do you mean?

ETHAN: [sighs] They were all written back in the 80s, early 90s maybe. One guy wrote them. What was his name? Something McCrackpot.

DAMIEN: Crow S. C. McCrackton, is his name. He knew a rule when he wrote one, that man! [laughs]

ETHAN: Yeah, which is all he bloody did, apparently. He was in dire need of an editor. I mean, look at this thing! Demons and Darkness 3.75 Expanded Edition. Ugh, it’s so heavy.

DAMIEN: It’s a complete system. You need a lot of rules for that. Plus, it contains the seminal adventure, The Uberwolf and the Quest of the Ruby Sapphire. I mean, that’s 100 pages alone.

ETHAN: How is it adventurous to know precisely what’s going to happen at every turn?

LEXY: Honestly, I think should just house rule it. Just make something up.

DAMIEN: Make… something… up?

LEXY: Yeah. You know, like, use our imaginations to come up with a new take on… Damien? You okay?

DAMIEN: I’m-I’m… fine?

CLARA: We’ll use the core book, Damien. We don’t have to make anything up.

DAMIEN: It’s just… you know… the rules are there for a reason - !

ETHAN: Hey, okay, let’s just stick on some music and work this all out together. Sorry, adventurers. Hey, Damien, you always liked this one, right? You said it always calmed you down.

The Spies Are Here

DAMIEN: After that stressful interlude, we join our heroes as they sit in the tavern at the end of a long day. Luna’s got some information for the others, doesn’t she?

LEXY: Has she?

ETHAN: With the spies.

LEXY: Right. “So, I killed a bunch of scouts out in the forest, and before the last one died, he told me that there were spies hanging around the city.”

CLARA: “How troubling. Did he say where?”

LEXY: “Not so much, no. Just that there were spies. Then he died.”

ETHAN: “Now, what sort of spies?”

LEXY: “Don’t know.”

ETHAN: “So, what we’ve got to go on is that there are, somewhere in this town, some people who might or might not be spies.”

LEXY: “It’s better than nothing. What did you do? Coerced a bunch of orphans into stuffing a corpse into the sewers?”

ETHAN: Hey, that’s out of character knowledge! Luna doesn’t know about that!

LEXY: Luna has her suspicions.

ETHAN: [sighs] Right. I’m going to go take a look around town and see if I can’t find out where the spies are.

DAMIEN: Okay, that seems like a good place to end this session, folks. We’ll do the spies next time. Now, stay tuned for the second half of this show, where Ethan inexplicably talks about home brew alcohol and gets drunk.

ETHAN: Uh, about that.

DAMIEN: What about that?

ETHAN: Let’s talk off-air.

Science Is Boring

DAMIEN: So all you had was the recipe for pruno?

ETHAN: No. I mean, we’ve got more, but they’re all basically the same: yeast, and fruit, and gas, and in a few days, booze.

LEXY: It’s not great radio.

ETHAN: And there’s spirits. I mean, I’ve still got the still out back. I’ve been working on that for a while, and we’ve nearly got all the bits we need to start distilling stuff, but it’s unfathomably boring. It makes watching us level up look like, I don’t know, The X Factor or something. What was it we used to watch all the time?

DAMIEN: I get you. So, what’s the second half of the show going to be about?

ETHAN: I’m not sure. Listeners, if you want, I’ve got access to still plans and brew books and stuff. So, if you can ever make it all the way out to The Green Man – we’re in the north end of the high street in [?] up here in Norfolk – I’m happy to share them with you.

LEXY: It’s the only way you’ll get that pub crawl.

ETHAN: Precisely. Plus, once we get that still up and running, we’ll have actual booze to sell, rather than just, you know, stuff we scavenged from the surrounding area. And there’s mushrooms from the basement, so that’s even more of a reason to come and visit!

CLARA: When did we have our last visitor?

ETHAN: Had a runner up here about four days ago. Told us about a big horde scrubbing around Aylsham.

CLARA: A horde?

ETHAN: A hundred or so. I wouldn’t worry. They’re going to head south to Norwich, scrub around there. That’s what they do.

CLARA: I heard the Ministry are trying to reclaim Norwich.

ETHAN: They’ll have their work cut out for them. Anyway, she didn’t stick around. Most of them don’t.

LEXY: This place was a dive before the world ended. I don’t blame her.

ETHAN: I guess we could just tell drinking stories. Ah, like that time we decided to climb the clock tower in town, after the pub had to get rid of a job lot of Irish stout that was just about to hit its expiry date.

LEXY: You were so sick.

ETHAN: It cascaded out of me.

LEXY: It was almost majestic.

DAMIEN: Really? You’re talking about the time you were sick off a tower? I think I’m going to go to bed.

ETHAN: Maybe. Stay tuned, listeners. Maybe you’ll get a hot, steaming serving of nostalgia. In the meantime, here’s something to get you fired up.

Zombie Nostalgia

CLARA: Why don’t you tell them about the time you fought off those zombies when you were drinking?

LEXY: Oh yeah! Okay, so -

ETHAN: I don’t know. That’s not such a great story.

LEXY: Oh, jog on, Ethan. It’s a great story! So, listeners, we were all drinking. This is pretty close to the outbreak. Actually, Clara and Damien weren’t permanent residents. They were just swinging by for the evening. So, we were on… white wine, I think? We were down to the white wine.

ETHAN: It was rosé.

LEXY: Right, rosé. Thank you. And suddenly the door opens and a zombie walks in. None of us remembered to lock the door. And we’re all deathly quiet all of a sudden. And it doesn’t notice us! It just drags itself in here and leans on the bar and groans. You know how they do. [imitates zombie groan]

[everyone laughs]

ETHAN: Of course, of course. And at this point, I’m behind the bar, and I’m - obviously - drunk.

LEXY: Right, Ethan’s drunk. And he’s – what were you doing?

ETHAN: Uh, washing up glasses, I think?

LEXY: Yeah. So, we’re all deadly silent, sat downstairs by the pool table, and I reach for my crowbar, and I’m thinking, can I close on this thing before it notices? Am I too drunk? What if we get blood everywhere? And Damien was freaking out, and Clara – what?

CLARA: I didn’t know what to do?

LEXY: So, I’m about to stand up when Ethan stands up from behind the bar, drunk as you like, and says, “All right, mate, give me a second. I’m just putting these glasses away.” [CLARA laughs] And the zombie’s all, [imitates zombie groan] and I’m on my feet quick – because it’s got a different target now! - and Ethan. Ethan realizes what’s going on, and just chucks the pint glass at it!

ETHAN: [laughs] Missed!

LEXY: Missed, yeah, and nearly hit me, but I managed to club the zombie in the back of the neck while it was picking out its order. I mean, I reckon that’s what it was doing. Incredible bar tending, Ethan. And it goes down. No blood, no mess. Then we kick the corpse out the door and open another bottle, and – well, we needed it for the shakes. It’s one thing when they’re outside, but when they get indoors – ugh. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

ETHAN: I tell you, we never forgot to lock the door after that, huh?

LEXY: No, sir.

ETHAN: Well, enough of our escapades and weaponized bar tending. Clara, do you want to pick out a song?

CLARA: Oh. Okay. [clears throat] Hello, listeners! This one coming up next is one of my favorites. We used to listen to it in the car on the way back from church.

Pub Crawl

CLARA: So how long have you two owned this place?

ETHAN: It’s just mine. I mean, I used to own it with my wife, but I picked it up after the divorce. Lexy helps out. She used to run security here, didn’t you?

LEXY: I did. I still do, really.

ETHAN: I’d be screwed without you. It’s been mine since uh, just before the outbreak, really. I’ve had to do my best to keep things taking over. I was always more interested in drinking than bar tending, I think.

LEXY: You and me both. Ethan and I met after we finished uni back in Norwich.

ETHAN: [laughs] After I finished uni. You dropped out.

LEXY: He was a jerk back then, too, you’ll be pleased to hear.

ETHAN: Oh man, remember the crawls? [sighs] There used to be a group of us, about 20 or so, and we’d do a crawl a month. Back before I owned this place, anyway. The last Friday of every month.

LEXY: The Last Friday Club.

ETHAN: [laughs] Oh man. I wonder if they’re still out there.

LEXY: Those boys? End of the world wouldn’t stop them from drinking, mate. Remember that one Christmas, when all the buses were cancelled because of the snow?

ETHAN: Yeah. You recreated all the pubs in my house.

LEXY: I did indeed. We had The King’s Arms in the bathroom, if I remember correctly.

ETHAN: Oh, it was beautiful! We got so drunk! Oh, on that subject, I’ve got a shipment coming in soon that I think you’ll all be very interested in.

CLARA: Yeah?

ETHAN: Oh yeah, definitely. Something very special. And with that dramatic revelation, dear listeners, I’m going to bed. You two okay to turn off the lights before you go?

LEXY: Yeah. Check the barricade, will you?

ETHAN: Always.

A Tour Of The Pub

LEXY: Hello, listeners. Ethan’s tucked up in bed now, so it’s just Clara and I awake. Say hello, Clara.

CLARA: Hello!

LEXY: I’ve been thinking. You, the listener, don’t know what the pub looks like, do you? So we’re going on a tour now. A virtual tour, because we don’t have wireless mics.

CLARA: I could make walking noises, if you like. To pretend.

LEXY: Good. Do that. So, here we are in the recording studio, which is the old upstairs room at the back of the pub. There’s a lot of books in here, which helps to mask outside noise. Not that there’s a lot of outside noise these days.

We’re all set up around a table in the middle of the room, and every session, Damien and Ethan fight for the decent leather chair. Looks like Damien won this time, because his campaign notes are still on the table in front of it. Shall we take a look?

CLARA: Lexy! Those are private! We’ll get in trouble.

LEXY: It’s fine, I’m sure. I’ll tell him it was your idea. [paper rustles] I can’t see mention of our characters anywhere. Hmm… no. Oh! Oh man, Clara, look at this.

CLARA: Uh, at what?

LEXY: He’s categorized the zombies. Like, the ones outside? Legit, look! He’s got shamblers, grunts, drones, rotted behemoth – what’s a behemoth?

CLARA: It’s a big monster, I think. You should put those away.

LEXY: [paper rustles] Jesus. He statted the encounter we had with the zombie that came in here. Do-do you reckon he’s got stats for us? Like, us us?

CLARA: Probably, I mean… come on! Let’s go look at something else. Virtually.

LEXY: I hope he gave me a decent strength score. Anyway, moving on. Up the stairs, we have… upstairs, Clara?

CLARA: Sorry! Sorry. [taps footstep noises on table]

LEXY: Good! Up the stairs, we have our bedrooms. Ethan’s got the double bed. I’m in the spare room. Clara’s in a box room in a single bed, and Damien’s set up on a mattress in the old living room.

CLARA: There are a lot of very expensive jackets up there, by the way. I’ve been meaning to ask about them.

LEXY: Look, I stole a lot of jackets. The world was ending! I figured I’d prepare. And, you know, if you’re going to steal something, you might as well steal a nice version of it.

CLARA: I should mention, listeners, that Lexy’s wearing a lovely jacket at the moment. And indeed, at all times.

LEXY: Thank you. Moving downstairs. [CLARA taps footstep noises on table] Thank you! We reach the bar proper, which is a tremendous hardwood thing. We’ve got a pool table down there, and you know, a nearly complete set of balls. Some tables, some chairs. A stage with a karaoke machine set up on it. You know, if it weren’t for the fact that we’ve run out of booze, this isn’t a bad place, really. I’m a bit harsh on it.

CLARA: I’m correct in saying that you didn’t have the pool table and karaoke machine before the outbreak, is that right?

LEXY: You are right. Pool tables, as it turns out, are bloody heavy. Donna insisted, though.

CLARA: We should talk about Donna.

LEXY: Yeah. Donna’s an old mate of ours. All of ours. And she brought the roleplayers back here after the zombies took over. She had a good head on her shoulders.

CLARA: Yeah. We lost her, though.

LEXY: Out on a scouting mission down in Felbrigg Hall. We went left and she went right and we’ve not seen her since. Which means, according to the rules of cinema, she’s not dead. She’s just off-screen. Right. Listeners, if you’ve lost someone important to you, why not write in? “If.”

CLARA: Yeah.

Outside

LEXY: And here we are outside the pub, listeners. I mean, not really. We’re still inside. We’re pretending. Clara’s doing sound effects.

CLARA: Um, I don’t know what sort of effects you need for outside at night.

LEXY: Owls? [CLARA imitates an owl] Wonderful! Outside, we’ve got the still, which we’ve been scavenging for a while to get bits for. We’re nearly done. I’m looking forward to some vodka. It’s been a while. And past that, the decrepit remains of the pub play area.

CLARA: That place creeps me out.

LEXY: Listeners, pub play areas are grim at the best of times, but I have personally – personally! - killed a zombie by breaking its neck in between the bars of that merry-go-round. So this one is particularly bad.

CLARA: Then it’s the fence, right?

LEXY: Right. After that, we’ve got the fence. Luckily for us, The Green Man was semi-detached, which basically makes it a fort. We’ve had, what? Mm, four fences, now? It’s hard to keep track. We update it all the time. At the moment we’ve got a bunch of metal siding that we lifted from a boat repair shop up by the pier. It’s pretty swish, if you ignore the shoddy welding.

CLARA: And past that, [?].

LEXY: Yeah. Scenic [?], population: sod off! We’re one of three pubs here, although the other two have shut, presumably because the owners are cowards.

CLARA: And… that’s the tour. That’s everything.

LEXY: Yeah. Right. I think it’s time for bed now. Can you stick something on to see them through the night?

CLARA: I’ve got just the thing. This always helps me sleep. See you for the next game, listeners!

Investigation

DAMIEN: Welcome, adventurers, to the world of Demons and Darkness. You find our heroes in a bind. Two days from now, the evil Baron’s armies will be amassing at the gates, and they’ve just found out that spies are already inside the city, plotting to take them down.

ETHAN: I’m going to take a look for the spies.

DAMIEN: Noglob, you are a master of the secret parts of the city, so this should be easier for you than the other players. Make a roll and add your Notice and Discretion skill.

ETHAN: [dice rattle] Hmm, that’s a 19.

DAMIEN: Good enough! You spend the day asking your network of contacts, and some of them mention that they’ve seen some weird folk in town, hanging around near the burned-out church.

ETHAN: The one that I burned down last campaign when I was playing a Scarlock?

DAMIEN: The very same! In fact, it seems like Scarlocks again – wizened folk with creepy eyes and strange sigils tattooed onto their skin.

CLARA: Let’s go sort them out, then. Let’s bring Sarazelle’s glorious judgment upon them.

DAMIEN: Sure! Well, you all go down to the church, and you can see that some of the stones have been recently moved. They’re hiding a hidden passage down beneath the floor.

ETHAN: Okay. I move the stones out of the way and lead everyone down, staying quiet.

DAMIEN: You all walk down a cramped tunnel for a while, before you come out into a wide open area with columns along either side. You can see a group of five Scarlocks, all gathered around a purple flame, whispering and chanting to each other.

LEXY: I turn into a giant boar woman and charge!

DAMIEN: And they run the hell away! [LEXY sighs] Roll for initiative.

Chase

DAMIEN: The Scarlocks split into two groups. One group goes left into a set of winding tunnels, and the other goes right into a maze of tombs and statuary.

LEXY: I’ll go for the tombs.

CLARA: I’ll come, too. I have to make sure they’re not desecrating the dead.

ETHAN: I use my Goblin Teleport to appear in front of the ones on the right, and just sort of hold my short sword out against my chest, so the first one to run into me gets shanked in the gut!

DAMIEN: Ethan, that’s a fine plan. We’ll resolve it in a bit. Lexy, Clara, I’ll need you to take part in a chase using the chase rules. Uh, what are your relative ground speeds?

CLARA: 30 foot around.

LEXY: Ugh, really? I just want to kill things. I don’t even know, I… wait here. It says it’s 40 feet. Does that sound right?

DAMIEN: It does. Okay, now we’ve done that, I need to factor in the ground speed of the Scarlocks and look it up on the chase matrix. Can you roll for me, Lexy?

LEXY: [dice rattle] Hmm, I got a seven. What for?

DAMIEN: Okay, so that puts us in column F, which means you catch them! Oh, wait, this is the daylight chase matrix, and you’re in darkness. I need to use the other one. Hang on.

LEXY: Ugh. Kill. Things.

ETHAN: Music, I think, while we delve into the matrices.

Revelations

DAMIEN: Okay, Ethan. Just to recap: you’ve died once, but you’ve replaced the soul you spent?

ETHAN: Yeah. One of them poked me in the eye with their wand so hard, it killed me. It’s pretty humiliating. But I got the other one too, so I’ve got two souls splashing about me now.

DAMIEN: You know that Scarlocks only have half a soul each, right? They trade half off their patron in exchange for -

ETHAN: - in exchange for their magical powers! Yes. Damn it! Well, that rounds up to one soul anyway, so I’m still good to go.

DAMIEN: Luna and Ethyris, although you lost the Scarlocks during the chase -

LEXY: Thanks, darkness table.

DAMIEN: - you can hear them ahead of you, out of breath, wheezing. It seems like they’re talking about summoning something. “Have you deconsecrated the sepulchers, brother?” “Aye, sister, I have indeed. With dagger quick, I have broken the ancient seals. Soon the armies of undeath will march at our beck and call!” “Oho!” says the third. “Those meddling heroes will soon know our true power!”

LEXY: Armies of undeath?

CLARA: Not the sepulcher. I stride forward and kick off my Radiant’s Divine Power and start shining bright in the darkness. “Your plans are undone, vile Scarlocks!”

DAMIEN: They notice you. “Argh, curses!” They turn to flee, but this is a dead end, and there’s nowhere to go.

CLARA: “Undo your spell, necromancers!” I shout, and ready my hammer.

DAMIEN: “It’s too late now, priest! The seals are broken. The plans are in motion. Soon, the Baron will have full control of the long-dead army that lies buried beneath this city.”

ETHAN: Hang on! Hang on. Armies of undeath? D-do you… do you mean zombies?

DAMIEN: Uh, yeah. Zombies.

A Bit Close To Home

ETHAN: Yeah, but zombies, though?

DAMIEN: What about them?

ETHAN: What do you mean, what about them? They exist! They’re outside the bloody door! I heard them moaning off in the distance last night.

DAMIEN: Demons and Darkness is a horror game, Ethan.

ETHAN: Yeah, sure! But it’s just a little – [sighs] I don’t know. It’s close to home.

LEXY: It’s all right, Ethan. We kill zombies all the time. Nothing to get upset about.

ETHAN: Sure, we do it all the time. It’s our daily bloody existance. This? This is supposed to be – what’s the word? - escapism, right?

CLARA: Damien, maybe you could just change the type of monster, to like, ghosts, or ghouls, or something?

DAMIEN: It’s part of the adventure. This is a mature game for mature people.

ETHAN: Sure, real mature.

LEXY: Ethan, calm down. It’s fine. Yes, it’s a bit of a cliche, but I think zombies have been on all our minds a lot recently, haven’t they? Maybe this’ll be cathartic. You know, kill a few zoms with no consequences? Hell, maybe you’ll even hit one of them with your pint glass this time, eh?

ETHAN: Yeah, maybe.

LEXY: Okay, good. Let’s press on.

Sepulchre Fight

DAMIEN: Welcome back, adventurers. Our heroes are facing off against some terrifying Scarlocks, masters of black magic and necromancy, in the tunnels under their town.

CLARA: I stomp forward and smash at one with my hammer. I’m doing Divine Damage, so does that affect the roll?

DAMIEN: It does indeed. You do an extra five damage. Roll for it.

CLARA: I bring my hammer up in a mighty swing, and roll a – [dice rattle] 22. Which is enough, right?

DAMIEN: Great.

CLARA: And that’s 16 points of damage in total. Cool. So I crack her underneath the chin and she arcs back into the air.

DAMIEN: She slumps to the ground. And then something boils out of her robes, like a solid black smoke, glittering with teeth and eyes.

CLARA: Oh dear…

ETHAN: I’m going blend into the shadows alongside the wall and get myself set up for a back stab next round!

LEXY: I’ve already used up my transformation, but I’m still kind of angry, so I’m going to cut these wizards up good with my great axe, and howl while I do it. “Blargh!” I roll a – [dice rattle] three. That’s bad, right?

DAMIEN: It’s not good. The two that you’re engaged with slash at you with their big long knives, doing – [dice rattle] 17 damage. They open up cuts in your arms, and the cuts itch like there’s a poison in them or something. Your vision swims.

LEXY: Not good at all. Another couple of those, and I’m down.

DAMIEN: Clara, the mess of shadows forms up into a single tall pillar, crackles with arcane energy, and whips out a tendril to grasp your hammer. In the center of the pillar, you can see a pair of red eyes glaring out at you.

CLARA: I blast at it with holy energy from my sacred symbol.

DAMIEN: Your symbol hums like angels singing, and the thing recoils in horror. I need to look this up in the divine retribution table. Ethan, can you stick something on to be attacked by a vengeful god to?

ETHAN: Sure. Ha, yes! This is perfect.

Luna Falls

DAMIEN: Lexy, uh, Luna’s bleeding from a bunch of wounds. You’re only just clinging on to life.

LEXY: Are the Scarlocks dead yet?

DAMIEN: All but one.

LEXY: Okay. With an almighty roar, I lunge forward and grab the last one. [dice rattle] I assume a 24 will be okay – and drive his head down into the edge of a tomb for – [dice rattle] 12 damage.

DAMIEN: You crack his skull like an egg!

LEXY: Excellent! I collapse.

CLARA: What are your hit points at?

LEXY: Uh… -18. No, wait. -21.

CLARA: What?

LEXY: It’s a Wyld-Dottir thing. I can keep going until the end of the fight.

DAMIEN: Which is now.

CLARA: No way! I rush over there and heal you. I call on the goddess Sarazelle for her healing energy and channel it through my body into yours.

DAMIEN: Okay. This is a Raise Dead, though, right? At this point? That’s a big expenditure.

CLARA: I’m not just going to leave her down here to die.

LEXY: Thanks, Clara. You’re a sweetheart.

DAMIEN: You feel Sarazelle’s energy coursing through you, Ethyris. This isn’t easy magic, and this isn’t the sort of spell you call upon casually. You can feel your joints ache and your skin sting under the stress of it.

CLARA: I help Luna up. “Come on! We have to go warn the Mayor. Again.”

DAMIEN: Seeing as the next scene is a fairly big one, I think we’ll call it there for tonight. Also because Ethan’s been looking at that package on the sideboard for the past two hours with a look of excitement in his eyes so intense, I can’t bear for him to sustain it any longer.

LEXY: What’s in the box, Ethan?

ETHAN: Something very special.

Banana Schnapps

DAMIEN: I didn’t even know they made banana schnapps. I didn’t know that was a thing.

ETHAN: [imitates fanfare] Banana schnapps! Ladies and gentlemen, pre-collapse, authentically-sealed, individual plastic shot glasses filled with banana schnapps! Can you believe the runners were trading this?

LEXY: Yes.

ETHAN: But it’s a drink! We used to do shots, remember?

LEXY: I mean, I’m thankful. I’m not going to turn it down, mate. A drink’s a drink.

DAMIEN: And so soon after our experiment with the pruno, as well! An embarrassment of riches.

ETHAN: Quiet, you. You don’t get any.

DAMIEN: I don’t want any. It looks disgusting.

CLARA: May I… may I have some?

ETHAN: Of course you can! You didn’t strike me as a schnapps fan.

CLARA: I figured I might as well give it a try. I was never much one for drinking, but – [laughs] it’s not going to be what kills me, is it?

ETHAN: Hey, that’s the spirit!

CLARA: I’ll just try one to start with, I think. Can I put some music on?

LEXY: Sure. Let me get you the MP3 player.

CLARA: Okay… this, I think, suits the mood.

Clara

CLARA: I really like you guys.

ETHAN: Aw, that’s very kind.

CLARA: No, I mean it! I mean… I mean, it’s the end of the world. You could have just turned us away. We’re just more mouths to feed. But we turned up, and we needed a place to hide out, and this was the pub where we played Demons and Darkness! And you were there, and Lexy was there, and… and we’ve survived, you know? Together.

LEXY: How much of that schnapps have you had, love?

CLARA: I miss it sometimes. You know. The world. Back before all this, back when it was all… forever. Because it’s not forever, now, is it? Everything’s just for now. Maybe not even that. But you look after us, and we have fun! Well, I have fun. I love being Ethyris. I love… I love helping people. I love it when we have fun! And I miss Donna.

DAMIEN: Me, too.

ETHAN: I miss a lot of people.

CLARA: Do you miss your wife?

ETHAN: [sighs] Yeah. I messed that up. I did everything wrong.

LEXY: I miss… chips.

ETHAN: Oh, chips! [everyone laughs] Just having chips whenever you wanted them. I remember that. And cheese. I haven’t had actual cheese since the outbreak, I don’t think.

LEXY: Cheesy chips.

CLARA: Oh, cheesy chips! I love them! How to get some… how do we… oh.

DAMIEN: I would like sushi.

ETHAN: Sorry?

DAMIEN: I would like sushi, I think. I’d like a plate with more nigiri on it than I can count – and I can count pretty high. I’d like a cold glass of decent white wine, and more nigiri than I can count, and one of those awful shots of banana schnapps, please, right now.

ETHAN: [laughs] Here you go, mate.

DAMIEN: Ladies and gentlemen, get out your character sheets. I have an idea.

Feast

DAMIEN: Welcome, adventurers. The Mayor’s gone. Left town, leaving his house full of valuables entirely open for access, which is convenient.

ETHAN: Righto. I fill my boots. Gold, silks, antiques, the lot.

LEXY: Me, too.

CLARA: I don’t know, guys. This seems like it’s not quite -

LEXY: Sweetheart, we’re going shopping, and if we’re going shopping, we need money. Now, the Mayor isn’t going to need it, is he?

CLARA: I guess not. Okay. I take a few things. Nothing irreplacable!

ETHAN: I only take irreplacable things. [laughs]

LEXY: Right. Shopping.

ETHAN: No, food first!

LEXY: Yeah, food. That’s much better. So we go to the inn, and I’m like, “Innkeep? Bring me of two of everything!”

DAMIEN: “Two of everything?”

LEXY: “You heard me! Give me two big, fat roast chickens, dripping with fat and overloaded with stuffing. Give me two great loaves of bread, and two hunks of hard cheese, and two jugs of ale - only one glass, mind. I don’t know what the others are having - and two platters of roast veg, and two – yeah, two! - jellies with custard and ice cream!”

DAMIEN: “Ice cream, fair Wyld-Dottir? I’ve not heard of such a thing before - ”

LEXY: Give me some ice cream, damn it, Damien!

DAMIEN: “Ice cream. Right you are.”

LEXY: “And a drink for everyone in the pub. Let’s do this. Let’s get loaded!”

DAMIEN: The food arrives, and the table is groaning under the weight of it all.

CLARA: Chips! I want chips!

DAMIEN: There are chips.

CLARA: I pay for them.

DAMIEN: And the food is glorious, and hot, and fresh, and tasty, and crisp, and greasy, and wonderful! And the ale is good, and the company is perfect, and you sing and dance long into the night.

ETHAN: Aw, excellent! A drinking song next, I think. [sighs] Good night, adventurers.

The Dead Walk

DAMIEN: Welcome back, adventurers. You join us as our heroes prepare to see off the armies of the wicked Baron, their nemesis, and the armies of undeath that he now commands. As dawn breaks over the city, you can see the massed ranks of his men outside, and reports are starting to filter up that the dead are rising and shambling through the streets. Clara, what’s the God Hammer Ethyris doing?

CLARA: I’m marching up and down the wall, preaching to the guards, telling them how they’re all going to be safe, so long as they stick with me. “You hear me, boys? Sarazelle has got your back!”

DAMIEN: Last night’s charity has turned many of the mercenary elements in town to your side. They cheer along with you. Lexy, what of Luna the Wyld-Dottir?

LEXY: I’m in the streets, looking for zombies, leading a squad of troops to smash any outbreaks we find back down into the tunnels beneath the city!

DAMIEN: You find nothing yet, but you can feel the tension in the air. And Ethan, what of Noglob?

ETHAN: I’m on the roof of the inn, which is one of the tallest buildings in town, and I’m surveying everything, trying to get a handle on it.

DAMIEN: You have a good vantage point. As the sun crests the horizon and light shines down into the valley, the dead rise and the troops begin their march, and you can see the Baron at the head of the army, grinning cruelly.

CLARA: I order our missile troops to fire.

LEXY: I find the biggest group of zombies I can see and smash into them in my boar woman form, leading from the front. “Come on, boys!” I, uh, snort.

ETHAN: I stay where I am. I don’t want to commit myself yet.

DAMIEN: Okay. I’ll freely admit that this next section is going to use a lot of rules, so you might want to put on some music while I do the maths on this.

Chaos

DAMIEN: Things are not looking good for our heroes, adventurers. Outnumbered, outgunned, and attacked on two fronts. They’re beaten and bloody.

CLARA: I kick off another healing burst on the wall to reinforce the troops. Does it work?

DAMIEN: A little, but you’re running low on divinity points. You’re going to start burning up on your Stamina score soon.

CLARA: That’s okay.

LEXY: How many zombies are there?

DAMIEN: Around you? 20 that you can see. You can’t tell how many there are in total. Too many.

LEXY: Ethan, you want to do something other than take potshots with your crossbow? You want to commit?

ETHAN: I’m going to, okay? I’m helping you both.

LEXY: You’re helping neither. I’m falling back to the inn. I call a retreat. We can outrun them, yeah? I’ve outrun a few zoms in my time.

DAMIEN: Well, for now, yes, but they’re fast, faster than you like, and hungry!

ETHAN: Don’t bring them to the inn!

LEXY: It’s defensible. Clara, if you want in, you fall back too.

ETHAN: Guys, I’m going to… [sighs] I’m going to take a break, okay? You can keep playing. Damien, control Noglob if you need to.

[chair scrapes across floor, door opens]

CLARA: What’s going on?

LEXY: Jesus, I should… look, give me a sec. Put the music on.

CLARA: What sort of thing?

LEXY: Anything! Whatever’s next on the playlist.

"Divorce"

LEXY: When Ethan says he got divorced, that’s… mm, that’s not true. Anna. That was his wife’s name. She died.

CLARA: Oh.

LEXY: In the outbreak. First few hours. They got in. He and I were… he and I were looking out for each other, by which I mean I was looking out for him because I love him, but he couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag. But he left her alone and came to me, and… yeah.

DAMIEN: Why doesn’t he say she died?

LEXY: I don’t know, mate. Guilt? I’d feel bad. I mean, if he’d not been with me, and stayed with her, he’d be dead. So there’s that to think about. But there’s a lot of stuff going on there. Christ! I’ve not even really talked to him about it. He just started calling it the divorce around you lot one day, and now here we are.

CLARA: So, you two are…

LEXY: We’re what?

CLARA: [sighs] You know what I’m asking.

LEXY: I don’t know what we are. Yes. No. I don’t know! Neither does he. I wish he did. I wish I did.

DAMIEN: I thought you two were… you know…

LEXY: So did I, for a while. I mean, we were, for a while. I don’t know what happened there. Maybe it just wasn’t supposed to be. I should go get him. It’s not safe out there. I could hear the zoms moaning last night.

CLARA: We’re safe, Lexy. We’ve got the fence.

LEXY: Yeah, well, maybe it’s time I talked to him. Anyway, sort out the combat on the wall. We’ll be back to finish the rest, I promise.

DAMIEN: Sure, if you think that’s for the best. Let me get out the mass combat tables again.

Light A Candle

DAMIEN: Welcome back, adventurers. After a series of pretty abysmal rolls, we find our heroes all taking refuge in the tavern. While you managed to keep the armies outside at bay for now, Clara, the undead inside the city are a bigger threat.

CLARA: This is too much to take. We need some breathing room. I’m going to cast a Barrier of Sanctuary over the inn to keep the undead back for a while.

DAMIEN: That’s… what’s your Stamina score right now?

CLARA: Doesn’t matter. I can cast it, right?

DAMIEN: Sure, okay. You intone the sacred words and mark symbols in sacred oils on the four compass points, and the inn seems to glow as light from the heavens shines down upon it. No undead can pass the threshold now.

CLARA: Hwo long have I bought us?

DAMIEN: You’re level three, so um, between 35 and 50 minutes.

CLARA: That’s better than nothing. Did you hear that? Lexy? Are you there? Are you okay?

[door bursts open]

ETHAN: She’s hurt. She’s really hurt. [LEXY moans]

CLARA: Jesus, Ethan, what happened?

ETHAN: Zombies! They came out of nowhere. Uh, quite, uh… a big one had torn down the gate at the front, I-I think. I was out back near the still and they rushed me! I’d have been a goner if Lexy hadn’t shown up when she did.

DAMIEN: Has she been bitten?

ETHAN: I don’t know, I don’t think so. She [?] near the back door and landed on something sharp. Oh, this is bad, this is bad! They’re massing outside!

CLARA: She’s bleeding a lot. Ethan, I need you to get the first aid kit from my room, and some towels, and some hot water if you’ve got any.

ETHAN: I’ll get the candles.

CLARA: Hey, Lexy? Hey! Don’t sleep, okay?

Rockets

ETHAN: How’s our patient?

CLARA: She’s… okay. I mean, she’s leaking a bit, but she’s fully conscious now.

LEXY: I’m okay.

ETHAN: You’re not going to die, are you? I don’t know what I’d do, Lex. Not if you died, not you as well.

LEXY: I’m not going to die. We know how we’re going to die, remember? That thing with the rockets? You’re not getting away that easily.

ETHAN: Have you been bitten?

LEXY: I don’t think so. Just scratches, scrapes. Oh man, I got hurt from where I landed.

ETHAN: Well, you had to jump off a roof at one point.

LEXY: It must have looked awful.

ETHAN: Aside from the landing.

LEXY: Fine. Admittedly, from the landing, yeah. Oh boy, that’s sore. That’s really sore!

ETHAN: Here. I’ve got a present for you. I’ve been saving this for a special occasion.

LEXY: A [?] 15 year old.

ETHAN: Yeah.

LEXY: Ethan, you kept this hidden for… months. Years! You bastard! I don’t see how this qualifies as a special occasion, though.

ETHAN: They’re at the doors, Lex. Must be a hundred easy! It’s the horde, up from Aylsham. Must be.

LEXY: I see. Pass it here, then, eh? [drinks, sighs] That’s good. Get on that.

CLARA: I’m not sure that drinking is such a good idea.

LEXY: Come on. What was it you said? “It’s not going to be this that kills me.”

CLARA: Ah, right. Yeah.

DAMIEN: Are we in danger?

LEXY: Oh yeah, mate. Loads. But we’re always in danger, aren’t we? Hey, you never put on any music that you like. How about you do that now? Just to see if we can lighten the mood a little, eh?

DAMIEN: I’ll… I’ll pick something out.

Please Help

CLARA: Hello. Is this broadcasting? Hi. [clears throat] So, we’re in The Green Man, a pub in [?], north of Aylsham, east of Cromer, and we’re surrounded by zombies, and we can’t get out. And I know the others are too proud to call for help, but this is a really bad situation, and I don’t know what we’re going to do. So if you’re military, I guess, or you’re from the Ministry of Recovery, please send help. I don’t know how long it’ll be before they get in. I’ll repeat this message when I can. Please. Help.

Hiding

CLARA: How is it down there?

ETHAN: Not great. They’re not inside yet, but I don’t know how long we’ve got. We’ve dragged the tables in the way, but I don’t know. There’re so many of them! Maybe more than a hundred, even. I’ve not seen this many since the outbreak.

DAMIEN: We grabbed what we could from downstairs, and we shut every interior door, and… I don’t know. Maybe one of the sweeps will come through here? What – when’s your runner supposed to come past?

ETHAN: Not until next week.

DAMIEN: Oh, great.

LEXY: It’s not so bad. We’ve got the scotch, we’ve got all the food in the pub, we’ve got my – did you get my jumper, like I asked?

ETHAN: I don’t want you to get blood all over it. It’s your favorite jumper.

LEXY: A little bit of blood never harmed anyone. I’ll wash it out when this is all over. I just want to put it on now. I’m cold.

ETHAN: Here, then. Let me help you.

DAMIEN: So what do we do?

ETHAN: We wait.

DAMIEN: Until?

ETHAN: Until something happens, Damien. You know zombies. They get bored easily. They’ll-they’ll see that there’s no hope of getting in, and then they’ll wander off, you know? Probably down to Cromer, probably. It’ll be fine.

Help

CLARA: How are they?

DAMIEN: They’re curled up together back there. I think they’re sleeping.

CLARA: Good. I’m worried about her. She’s not getting better.

DAMIEN: She should heal, right? I mean, logically. She’s got a place to rest, you’re looking after her -

CLARA: I don’t know. It’s not like, I don’t know. It’s not like Demons and Darkness. She’s not just regaining hit points, you know? I can’t tell what she fell on when she hurt herself. She might need surgery.

DAMIEN: What if she turns?

CLARA: She’s not going to turn.

DAMIEN: Oh, and you know, do you?

CLARA: She’s okay. I don’t think she’s going to turn. I’m trained in first aid. I’ve seen enough bites to know when I see one.

DAMIEN: But what if she does turn?

CLARA: Then it’s one zombie! One, we can handle. A hundred, we can’t. I’ve been asking for help on the radio.

DAMIEN: Oh, from whom? The military? The Ministry? We can’t rely on them to come and help us. We need to get out of here! Donna would have got us out of here. She understood how everything worked.

CLARA: Yeah, well, Donna’s dead, and we’re not.

DAMIEN: You don’t know she’s dead.

CLARA: For heaven’s sake, Damien! She got trapped in the visitor’s center, swarming with zombies. She’s not magic, don’t you get that? She didn’t ask for help and just ran off, and now she’s dead. Doesn’t her sacrifice mean anything to - ?

DAMIEN: Shh!

CLARA: What?

DAMIEN: They’re inside! I swear I can hear them down there! The behemoth that Ethan mentioned is inside!

CLARA: They’re not inside. The doors here are thick. Everything is going to be okay. Someone will notice, and they’ll send help, okay? We’re safe. I’ll stay up. Get some sleep. Is it okay if I listen to music?

DAMIEN: Yeah. Yeah, sure. Thanks. Sorry.

CLARA: It’s okay. Listeners, if you’re out there, please do send help. Lexy’s not doing so well.

Inside

CLARA: Listeners, the zombies are inside. I can hear them scraping around. We need help. We need help at The Green Man pub in [?]. Please send help.

LEXY: If anyone’s listening, they know by now.

CLARA: We have injured people on site. We need immediate assistance -

ETHAN: All right, Clara. That’s enough.

CLARA: What do you mean, enough? It’ll be enough when someone comes to help us! Why can’t you just ask for help, any of you?

DAMIEN: Help doesn’t come. You know that, Clara. How many safehouses have we gone through, you and I, before Donna brought us here?

ETHAN: How many have you gone through.

CLARA: Too many.

DAMIEN: We should get out of here. We should leave.

ETHAN: How? Over the roof? Lexy can barely stand, let alone climb. We can’t fight our way out. Our options are limited to this. We’ve got food and heat and strong doors and at least a quarter bottle of good scotch, and -

LEXY: No.

ETHAN: All right, no scotch. But everything else still stands.

DAMIEN: So we’re just going to sit here and wait? Is that all?

ETHAN: That’s all we’ve got! We’re not fighters, Damien. We’re just sad, scared little people, and the one of us who could protect us is bleeding out into her favorite jumper because I couldn’t stand to pretend to talk about zombies. All the people I love are dead or dying, do you follow? I’m done! I’m done running, fighting, hiding. I’m tired! This is it. We can just stare at the walls. The ceiling, maybe, if you feel like a change.

DAMIEN: Jesus…

LEXY: That was very moving. I’m welling up, sweetheart.

ETHAN: You need to hurry up and die if you’re going to be like that.

LEXY: Getting there. Seriously, though. What are we going to do?

CLARA: I’ve had a thought on that front, actually.

LEXY: Oh yeah?

CLARA: I need to have a word with Damien in private.

Exodus

DAMIEN: Okay! Welcome back, adventurers. You find our heroes in an inn in the center of town, surrounded by zombies. Ethyris’ wards are starting to falter.

LEXY: I’m not hopeful about this, boys and girls.

CLARA: “Nonsense. We can survive this. We’ve got the goddess on our side, after all.”

ETHAN: “I get the feeling that we might – we might need more than one goddess.”

CLARA: “One’s always been just enough for me.”

DAMIEN: You notice that Ethyris is looking weak and pale.

ETHAN: Has she been bitten?

CLARA: “That’s just what channeling the goddess does to you. I’ll be okay. She’ll look out for me the way I look out for you. Now, Luna, you can still fight, can’t you?”

LEXY: “Yeah.”

CLARA: And Noglob, you’ve got a soul in your back pocket, right? A second chance.

ETHAN: “Um, yeah. Yeah, I do.”

CLARA: Well, then. We can stay here and wait for my wards to give out, or we can take the fight to them. I never wanted to die in an inn, comrades. I’m a God Hammer! I’m a warrior at heart! If I’m going to die, it’s going to be on my terms.

ETHAN: Yeah, I’m in! I ready my crossbow, and I check to make sure all my swords are still there!

LEXY: I’m hurt, but I can still do some damage. I heft my great axe and stalk towards the door.

CLARA: And I hold up my hammer high, and it shimmers with the last of my strength. Luna, will you do the honors?

LEXY: I kick the door off its hinges and charge out into the chaos, screaming!

ETHAN: I loose a crossbow bolt, draw my knives, and run in as fast as I can!

CLARA: I follow, shining so bright, the heavens turn their eyes!

DAMIEN: Let’s do this. Roll for initiative.

Codex

Supplies

The following supplies can be found in Season 4 Radio Mode.

9mm Ammo
Anti-depressants
Axe
Bandages
Baseball Bat
Batteries
Board game
Book
Bottled Water
Box of Lightbulbs
Car Battery
Cutlery
Flashlight
Fuel Can
Hammer
Lock pick
Mobile Phone
Notebook
Pain Meds
Pencil
Power Cable
Radio
Shirt
Shorts
Sports Bra
Tent
Tinned Food
Tool Box
Trousers
Underwear
USB Key
Wild food