Death and Taxes

I’m sat, almost-dozing, at my bland, functional desk in my clean, straight-lined office, when the zombie outbreak starts. God knows how it started at a tax consultancy in Slough, but there you go. There must be something in the water.

Anyway, excitement – my colleagues are being eaten! Admittedly, this brand of excitement comes with a healthy dose of fear and gore, but still, it has been a slow day, so I’m not in a position to turn down excitement.

I did quite like Jo though. It was a shame she chose to wear such a nice dress because the blood splatters really ruin it. She chose to wear heels as well. That was pretty funny. Zombies cannot run in heels. Her ankle made a horrible snapping sound.

I don’t know where the original one went, the madman that burst through the office door, tore that manager guy (Richard?) to shreds and bit Jo. He may’ve jumped through the window trying to eat Sasha. I don’t blame him – Sasha’s gorgeous. I’d run around after her if it was socially acceptable.

Now Kevin’s doing a little dance around his desk with Jo, scurrying one way and the other as she tries to get to him and his precious brains. I consider telling her not to bother. I’m not sure Kevin’s particularly blessed in that department. Funny little man, Kevin. I’ll admit to a thin smile when Jo grabs him and pulls his arm off.


The arm lands on my desk. I stare at it, oozing thick, red blood. What a satisfying thud it made.


I start and look up. Kate, my manager, stands above me. I’m glad she’s still alive.

“End of play today, yeah?” she asks. I look at the arm. It is not an arm. It is a tax mitigation report for a client down the road. I look up at Kate, and back towards Kevin. Jo isn’t eating him. I can’t see either of them.

“Jo?” I stammer.

“She’s been let go,” Kate replies, as she pulls a pistol from her jacket and fires three shots behind me. I turn to see a blood-drenched Jo thud to the floor. “Death and taxes, John. Life’s two certainties – let’s keep it that way.”


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