SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

“Well, shit. Thank you for pointing that out to me, professor. I thought I was on the third level at Bluewater fucking Shopping Centre! Door, fella, where’s the damn door?”

“I… yes, sorry about that. It’s supposed to be here.” The academic stabbed a finger at the map.

“Supposed to be?”

“Well, I’m assuming that’s what this symbol means, yes.”

“And you know what they say about ‘assume’ being the mother of all fuck ups, right?”

“Um, boss? We got snuffling over here…” Micky Cox shifted his grip on the P90. Outside the door came that stomach-churning snaffling and scratching. The Black Prince was back and worrying at the timbers.

Flynn walked to his friend’s side. “What d’ya reckon he’s up to, Mick?”

“Weakest point of any door is the hinges. My guess? If he’s smart he’ll go for them. But another few shoulder barges and it’s going to be a bit of a moot point, boss, because that door is on its last legs. Look.” He pointed at the central plank. Bright, fresh wood that had been buried under ages of grime and blackened layers could clearly be seen. The plank was splitting.

“Oh, he’s smart, Mick. Believe me.” He jabbed a finger at the archaeologist. “Professor, find that trap door or whatever it is. Find it right now.” Flynn turned. “Gary? We ready, mate?”

“Two minutes.”

“We may not have two minutes, big guy.” Flynn took up position with Micky. He stared at the door and frowned. “Mick? I’ve got an idea. You’re not gonna like it.”

“O-kay?”

“We open the door.”

“Fuck off!”

“No, hear me out. If he starts battering that door again, it’s gonna give and we’ll be wide open with no way of stopping him from coming through full tilt. Trust me, this bugger moves fast. So we open the door, fill the bastard with two clips worth of twenty-eights, shut the door again and by then Gary should be ready with his Play Doh and the professor will hopefully have found us a way out of here by the back door.”

Cox’s eyes widened. “You’re insane!”

“You got a better idea?”

“Oh, I dunno, how ‘bout I try clicking my heels together three times and say ‘there’s no place like home’?”

“So that’s a no, then?”

“I’ve found it! The door! I’ve found it! The professor grunted as he pushed against a massive stack of shelves laden with old boxes. “It’s… behind here!” He grunted again.

“Take the damn boxes off, you idiot! Then you’ll be able to move the shelves.” Flynn looked back at the door. “Okay, fuck that, plan B.

“Good. ‘Cause you’re bang on, boss, I didn’t like plan A.”

“We’ll do exactly as I said and put the welcome mat out.

“Oh, c’mon, seriously?”

Flynn ignored Micky’s protestations. “We fill Chompy with ordnance, shut the door bloody damn quick, and then you, me, Gary and the professor get the hell out of here through the trap door. Gary? Don’t worry about being all delicate with the Play Doh, mate, put the whole lot up. Everything we’ve got, just slap and go, okay? We let him think we’re still in here, he comes barrelling through the door, trips the detonator and brings the entire bloody castle down on his head. Meanwhile, we’re exiting stage left sharpish. Any questions?”

“What about the cat?”

“Rupert comes with me.” Flynn looked at the cat and winked. Its green eyes lit up and it started purring loudly again. “All clear?”

“Copy.”

“Professor?”

The academic grunted a response and tossed another dust-covered box into the corner. “Um, copy?”

Flynn grinned at the man. “Adda boy! Okay then. On three, Mick.”

“Not liking plan B at all…”

“One.” Flynn heaved the cross beam out of its cradle.

“Two…” He slid the bolts back one by one.

“THREE!” He flicked the key, grabbed the handle and turned, pulling the door wide open. Flynn dropped to the floor so that Micky could fire over the top of him. He angled the P90 up so that anything running towards them would get a belly full of bullets at 45 degrees. He didn’t care how ‘undead’ you were, that would do a lot of damage.

Micky aimed into the darkness. “Incoming!”

The Black Prince came howling towards them, venom-laden saliva spraying from his open maw. There was none of the cackling laughter this time. Just a crazed scream that resonated like savage bells from the granite walls, ringing and echoing through the entire citadel.

“Fire!” Flynn depressed the trigger and the P90 spat bullet after bullet at the monster. The P90 could fire nine hundred rounds per minute, so Flynn knew they only had a few seconds before the fifty-round magazine was empty.

Above him a swarm of bullets from Micky’s P90 buzzed. The noise was deafening as one hundred rounds focused a colossal amount of kill-power into one soft body.