Zombie-nazis part 3 partial loss how to deal with it and a probable cure.

I many ways, I know I am one lucky bastard.  After all, how many people can say that they are surviving a zombie-nazi apocalypse.   How am  I immune  to the virus?  It could be that it is because I grew up during the 1980’s and had endless shite songs  by the likes of Rick Astley “never gonna  give you up” or Kylie  Minouge “I should  be  so lucky”  running  through  my head.  I think  that’s  partly it. More  of that  later. I also think it is because my grandfather, a  sea  green eyed, partially balding, heavy jawed lapse catholic , and  passionate  communist from Dublin;  taught me  the best lesson I have ever learned;  that when people start blaming the less fortunate, or the outsider for their  own sad fucked up life,  then the real  issue is with them, and not the other fellah. “…remember: we are all feckin’ immigrants, son. Now be a good boy and pas me me pint.” he used to say… ahh better days.  Oh  I’m rambling again.
        I’m  rambling because  I don’t want to write this part.  It’s difficult  to talk about  near loss, especially  loss of a loved one, in times like these, especially when the weather is like winter all year and the zombie-nazi’s  are controlling all forms of media. Well… ok…that’s sorta not true as  they had control of it before; the Daily Mail was owned by a brain eating zombie-nazi for Christ sake. But they have even more now that’s my point.
         In today’s world, the Radio, and the big  screen  are means of communication for the zombie-nazi nation.  A good example is the six  am radio weather report:  “ Thames dogger,  fisher,  grughghsrgaarrghh”    and don’t get me on the fecking today programme on radio four.  Sigh,  yeah off topic again. I do ramble don’t I…
        My eldest  son… Glan … he went down with the infection  six months ago.  As I said I am immune to the infection but my kids and wife are not.  So they have to take precautions, like  cotton wool for the ears and stuff like that.
        One day,  Glan  and I were out on a  scavenge  in the  Essex region;   zombie- nazi’s  don’t need homes  as they have a  hive mind  and  tend to gather  in large  stadiums for approval, and self aggrandizement, That being the case, there is no  shortage  of houses  to drop into, which  is easy for us,  as we  tend to be on the move a lot.
        However, the zombie-nazi’s  had taken  to constructing big  screens and huge speakers, in large  open spaces. You know the  type of thing;  those  screens  once  used in open air cinema, only  now they are being used  to get  Bob Garage on, talking his vile shit. 
         I tend to try to remember to carry some cotton wool, so I can plug up Glan’s  ears, if we are in a heavily controlled  zombie-nazi region. That    or carry a copy of Rick Astley’s greatest hits on a battery operated mp3 player.  However, that particular day,  I had a row with Rhianna  about the last food run, so I left home without either.  We both saw the screen in Ash park,  just off Hollway road,  but as there were no zombie-nazi’s about, we thought the coast was clear.   I didn’t know it was a trap.
         The moment we passed one hundred foot from the screen, it burst into life.  There stood Bob Garage . His eyes flame red, his mouth all flabby and wet.   Then he started  to boom out his shite again.  “grdughghs, graughughs, guruagurrughhs”.   My face paled as I stared towards  Glan.   I could see he was transfixed.   Then he started to say  “You know, that Bob Garage is starting to-“ In desperation and pain, I punched him in the face knocking  him out.  I  then had to drag him  to a house in Holloway road.   I kicked down the door dragged him through the hall and put him on the floor in the front room,  just as he started to come round.
          “I wanna eat my Brain!  Da!  I wanna  eat me Brain!” he started screaming, and pulling at his hair. I ran about the front room looking for some form of audio equipment,  but it was owned by one of those Ikea  fanatics and everything was small and  flat and over tidy.   I panicked and  I punched Glan in the face again knocking  him out once more; then ran upstairs to the bedrooms. One room had a life-size portrait of Bob fucking Garage in it.  The other was full of crap,  the third was beautiful.  Nirvana poster’s,  hippy poster’s,  spray painted  words like FUCK BOB GARAGE!  and there, on the floor amid a pile  of  notes  on sociology  was  an mp three player.  I put it on.  It was motorhead.   Panicking I looked through the audio  collection and found  whoever it was,  guilty secret: Kylie  Minouge’s  greatest hits. I ran downstairs,  put the earphone buds in Glan’s  ears , turned the volume up full and blasted  “I should be so lucky” into my son’s  head over and over again.
         Now, I know many out there will think that I am a bastard, punching my son and subjecting him to the sort of music that I despise.  However, it is the only way I have found of counteracting the virus in its early stages.  Long blasts of repetitive bloody awful 80’s  music into a subject that is knocked out tends to halt the spread of the virus, and the louder the music, the greater the chance  the victim has  of being free from it.
         As this was going on, I went around the house and found enough supplies of canned goods, to keep us going for a week or two. That and some precious bottled water. I sat down and waited.
        Those two hours were the longest I have ever known. I looked  down at Glan, not knowing if the little boy I held in my arms  16 years ago, was ever going to be the same boy again, or some vile zombie-nazi intent on taking over the worlds with his petty ignorance and brain eating bullshit.  As  I sat there, I  recalled  his first steps; his first word  “Feck Da”; the way his pale blue eyes shone from his pale face and his ginger hair blowing in the breeze,  as Riannon and I played catch in the park.  I recalled his first day at school, and then passing of his  GCSE exams, the year  before the nazi-zombifation took hold.  I cried as I heard my grandpa  once more say “ Pass me me pint son.”
         Then Glan awoke. He rubbed his chin and looked at me.  I heard a tap at the window opposite. I looked  up  and  saw a magpie.  At the time I didn’t know the significance it, now   I know differently. 
          “Da, whaa happened.”   He asked, so I told him while he sat there humming I should be  so lucky, lucky, lucky, I should be so lucky in love.