This is not an entry to @Snook’s #ZombieWritingContest because the deadline has passed. Unfortunately, I missed the notifcation and found out about it too late. But the idea’s @Snook presented in her contest appealed to me so I thought I would write a story just for fun.

The words in the first paragraph (in bold, italics) belong to @snook. The others are mine.
Check out her orignal post:
https://peakd.com/zombiewritingcontest/@snook/hive-writing-contest-win-10-hive

_{The original photograph is by Anne Nygård and can be found here: https://unsplash.com/photos/ypKNxgY5ZVw. I added the words "snook made me do it"}

Who would have ever guessed the Zombie Apocalypse would start the night I wore a rubber bodycon dress along with eight-inch high heels. The dress and high heel shoes saved my life and many others in the years to come.

...

“You lost the bet, mate,” Jeff said, pausing to suck the foam off the top of his pint of bitter with a loud slurp. Some of it stuck to his top lip like an overly affectionate soggy white slug.

He tapped the chair in between us, empty but for a large neon pink bag. Too large to be a handbag, it was one of those bags women had that I didn’t quite understand. Jeff had told me when he arrived - all smug smiles, back-slaps and winks - that the bag had belonged to an ex-girlfriend (“She had to leave the flat in a hurry,” he’d explained, obviously enjoying seeing me squirm. “Couldn’t climb down the drainpipe and carry the bag”).

“You lost the bet so you got to pay the debt.” He pushed the bag towards me. “Go on,” he said. “Off you pop.” He nodded towards the Gents. “You can get changed there.”

“Look Jeff,” I said, straightening my back and straightening my tie at the same time. It was a trick I used at work to enforce my authority on my subordinates - of which Jeff was one. Correction: I had been Jeff’s manager. Things had changed. I could feel myself blushing. I took a sip of the beer in front of me. It went down the wrong way and I coughed. “I hardly think this is the time or the place to-”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Jeff said pushing the chair towards me. The bag moved, tottering like a drunk before falling off the chair. Instinctively I reached out and caught it before it spilt its contents onto the floor.

“No, I don’t, what?” I said, putting it back onto the chair.

“You aren’t weedling your way out of it. You lost the bet fair and square. This is exactly the right time and the right place and you know it.”

I took another swig of the beer, using the time to try to think my way out of the hole I found myself in.

Jeff was right. I lost the bet fair and square. This was both the agreed place and the agreed time for my humiliation. I swallowed the beer and looked around the room hoping against hope that something would save me. Sweat beaded on my forehead. Like a demented drummer on amphetamines, my heart was thumping, loud, fast and irregular.

Perhaps I was having a heart attack.

That would work. If not… could I fake one?

No. I reluctantly dismissed the idea. After my dreadful interview performance, I was already seen as weak by management.

...

When Old Man Travers announced his retirement and my boss Melanie Pearson was named as his successor, it was widely assumed - certainly by me - that I would fill Melanie’s shoes. Jeff thought it was funny because Melanie always wore high heels.

“I’d pay money to see you totter about in heels!” he’d laughed. I had laughed with him. Little did I know, at that point, that Melanie had asked Jeff to apply for the post.

I only found out just before my interview. Sitting outside the Board Room, a half-drunk cup of coffee in one hand, interview notes in the other, I looked up as the door opened. Out stepped Jeff with Melanie behind him.

“We’ll be in touch, Jeff,” she’d said, shaking his hand.

“May the best man win,” Jeff said out of the corner of his mouth as he walked by.

“Mr Chance,” Melanie said, her voice crisp and unfriendly. “Ah, there you are, Arthur.”

I closed my open mouth and twisted it into a smile. I stood up quickly and dropped the half-full cup of coffee I had been holding. The dark liquid splashed the crotch of my trousers.

Melanie suppressed a smile and told me not to worry.

“Clean yourself up,” she’d said, pointing to the bathroom. She looked at her watch. “Just don’t take too long.”

Paper towels didn’t really solve the problem and I went into the interview looking like I’d pissed myself. My confidence blown, I made a right tit of myself. I stumbled and mumbled my response to questions I should have been able to answer in my sleep.

Even before I left the room, I knew I’d blown it.

“How did it go?” Jeff said his stupid smug smile hanging from his very punchable face.

“Great,” I said, forcing the word through gritted teeth.

“Confident?” Jeff asked.

“Very,” I lied.

“Want to wager on the outcome?”

I hesitated. I knew I wasn’t going to get Melanie’s job. But I was damned sure I wasn’t going to give Jeff the satisfaction of seeing me admit defeat.

“Why not?”

“If you get the job,” Jeff said. “I’ll give you my car.”

I hesitated. Jeff’s car, a gorgeous deep red 1967 E-Type Jag, was a work of art. There was nothing I could give - that I could afford to give - that would match it.

“And if you get the job?”

“They always said you were going to fill Melanie’s shoes,” Jeff said, laughing. “And one way, or another, I think you should do so. So, if I get the job I think you should wear a lovely pair of high heels - and a dress of my choosing - to Old Man Travers’ retirement party.”

I hesitated again.

It would be humiliating.

Of course, it would be. But if Jeff got the job and became my boss, I would be embarrassed anyway. What was one more humiliation amongst work colleagues? After my dreadful interview performance, I didn’t think I had much of a future with the company anyway. Besides, I had thought, if the worst came to the worst I’m sure I can think of a way to wriggle out of it.

…

“Come on,” Jeff said. “Chop, chop!” He nodded again at the bathroom. “Time to get changed. I want you wearing those heels during Old Man Travers’ speech.”

I swallowed and looked around me again for inspiration. Melanie walked in with Alice from accounts.

Alice! Of course!

Alice had made quite a stir, a few years ago, being the first transgender employee in the company. No one thought anything of it, now, of course. But back then. Well, things were different.

“I don’t think I should,” I began. Jeff frowned and crossed his arms. I held out my hand. “I don’t want to go back on a bet, you know me.” Jeff raised his eyebrows. “But-”

“I knew there was a but coming,” Jeff interjected.

“I don’t want to offend anyone,” I continued.

“Offend anyone?”

As subtly as I could I nodded towards Alice.

Jeff laughed. “Melanie won’t be offended because you are wearing shoes like hers,” he said. He nodded, again, at the toilets. “Off you trotski”

“No,” I said, using my eyes to direct Jeff’s gaze at Alice. My voice was barely a whisper, now, and Jeff had to lean in to hear me. “Not Melanie. I’m thinking about Alice.”

“Alice? Why are you thinking about Alice?”

“Surely dressing up in women’s clothes might offend her.” Jeff looked genuinely confused. “I mean,” I said. “Isn’t it a bit like blacking up?”

Jeff’s confusion melted into amusement and a laugh erupted from him. It seemed to echo around the room like a loud explosion.

“Blacking up?” Jeff exclaimed. Now everyone in the room had stopped talking. I could feel their eyes and judgement on me. “It’s nothing like blacking up, idiot!”

I felt myself redden.

“I think it is,” I said through my teeth. “I don’t think it would go down very well. It could be seen that I was being disrespectful. Human Resources might get involved. It could be a disciplinary matter.”

Jeff’s smile fell from his face.

“I’ll give you a disciplinary matter in a minute, Arthur Chance,” he said. “You are trying to get out of the bet.” He held up his hand as I began to protest. “You lost. Fair and square. And,” he made a show of looking at his watch - a new Rolex, he had told me his girlfriend had bought him in way of congratulating him on his promotion. “In around forty-eight hours,” he said. “I will no longer be your employee.” He laughed. “You will be mine. And the Benson account is just waiting to be allocated. If you want it, you had better not piss me off any more than you are now.”

The Benson account. I had worked hard to land that deal. I kicked myself for not allocating it before the end of business today. It was worth a packet in commission. But, of course, money wasn’t everything.

“And Hellerin’s is looking for a new account manager.”

I shivered. Everyone hated dealing with the Hellerin account. Lots of work, they were never satisfied. And the commission was crap.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I whispered. People had stopped staring at us, at least.

“Try me,” Jeff said.

I weighed up my options. Embarrassment in front of everyone, possibly offending Alice, facing disciplinary action.

Or losing the account I had worked so hard on. And get lumbered with Hellerin.

I grabbed the bag and headed off towards the toilets.

“Don’t take too long,” I heard Jeff shout at my back.

The bathroom was empty. I went into the first stall and opened the bag. A pair of red eight-inch heeled slip-on shoes sat on top of something that looked suspiciously like rubber. Dropping the heels to the floor I pulled the dress out.

It was rubber.

Jeff really was an absolute fucker.

I considered doing a runner. Leave the shoes and the dress, and Old Man Travers’ retirement party and go home. Drown my sorrows in a bottle of Single Malt.

But if I left I would be walking out on my job. Jeff would see to it. I was sure if that.

And I really needed my job.

I pulled off my clothes and pulled the rubber dress on.

It was a tight fit.

All my lumps, bumps and bulges were on show. Not for the first time, I resolved to go back to the gym.

There were some strange noises coming from the other side of the bathroom door. Shouts, even some screams. Someone banged on the bathroom door. From the safety of my cubicle, I heard the door open.

“Arthur!”

It took me a moment to recognise Jeff’s voice. He sounded strange.

“I’m coming,” I shouted at the door. “Give me a fucking moment, will you?”

“Stay where you are, old chap,” Jeff said. “It’s all kicking off out here.” He made a strange noise. Almost like he was choking.

“Whatever,” I said, wondering what the hell he was playing at.

I heard the door open again and some strange sound. A loud moan. It sounded like a wounded bull.

“Jeff?” I shouted.

The door closed. And then opened again.

What was going on?

“Arthur?”

Jeff, again. He was like a fucking boomerang. Every time you thought you’d got rid of him, he was back. But this time Jeff’s voice sounded even odder. It was more animal than human. A bit like that talking dog I’d seen on YouTube.

“Look,” I shouted at the door. “I’ll be out in a second. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it’s getting rather annoying.”

There was no answer. Although I could hear Jeff shuffling about outside the cubicle. Now, whatever else you could say about Jeff, he was not normally a shuffler. Something was definitely odd about this whole situation.

The cubicle door shook suddenly as something crashed against it.

“Fuck me!” I shouted, my heart thumping in my chest. “No need to break the door down, Jeff. I’m coming.”

Jeff moaned something unrecognisable.

I opened the door and came face to face with Jeff.

Or, at least, whatever it was that stood in front of me looked a bit like Jeff.

Jeff was a strange colour. Kind of grey-green. At first, I thought perhaps Jeff had decided to dress up too. But it was August. Halloween was months away. And the smell. He smelled like the inside of a trashcan.

He lurched towards me and I panicked. I slammed the door in his face and then opened it again and quickly pushed past him.

The bathroom was a mess. Red was everywhere. Was that blood? Whatever it was, some of it was on the mirror. It looked like a sentence.

I didn’t have time to read it because Jeff stumbled towards me, his arms out. I managed to get out of the cubicle and got within a metre of the bathroom door before I felt Jeff - or whatever it was - grab my shoulder. I turned my head and in horror, I realised that he wasn’t using his hand to restrain me. He had my shoulder in his mouth.

Jeff was trying to bite me!

The rubber dress prevented his teeth from breaking the skin. I pushed him off and slipped on the blood-covered floor. One of my heeled shoes flew off my foot and skittered towards the bathroom door.

Jeff lunged towards me and suddenly fell to the floor, and scuttled across the floor. He was on top of me. I grabbed hold of his hair, trying to keep the thing-that-used-to-be-Jeff from biting me. His hair came off in my hands. I grabbed his ears. One of his ears came off in my hands. I screamed and - to my surprise - Jeff screamed back.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bathroom door swing open. A pair of heeled shoes walked in. A hand reached down and picked up the shoe, I had been wearing. I heard a strange sound - kind of a loud sickening shloorpp - and suddenly the thing-that-used-to-be-Jeff stopped struggling. The limp body fell on top of me, pinning me to the floor. I tried to push it off, wishing again that I had spent more time at the gym, working on my upper body strength.

Suddenly, the thing-that-used-to-be-Jeff was pulled off me. Melanie stood above me, her hands on her hips.

‘Nice outfit,” she said.

I stood up.

“Thanks,” I said, unsure what else to say. I looked at the thing-that-used-to-be-Jeff. My eight-inch heeled shoe was sticking out of the side of its head. There was bloody brain matter everywhere.

I retched and the smell of my vomit joined the odour of rotting flesh and blood.

Melanie reached down and pulled the shoe from the creature's skull.

“Here,” she said. “Put them on. Heels have turned out to be part of the Official Zombie-Fighting Gear. Who’d have thought heels would end up saving my life, snd yours too. Let’s get out of here.”

“Zombie- what-now?” I stuttered.

Melanie was staring at the mirror. Now, I wasn’t fighting Jeff - or whatever that was - I could see that written in blood on the mirror was the words “Snook Made Me Do It”. I recognised Jeff’s writing.

“What’s a Snook?” Melanie asked.

“I- I don’t know,” I said. “What was that thing about Zombies?”

“It turns out that the thing that everyone said was just another Hoax illness made up by Big Pharma and the Liberal Left wasn’t a hoax.”

“Oh.”

“We need to find out what - or who - this Snook is,” Melanie said.

“Do we?”

“Yes,” Melanie looked down at the bloody, gooey mess that had been Jeff. She sighed. “What a shame. He interviewed very well. Never mind.” She looked at me. “I guess we will have to make do. Come on.”

I looked back at the cubicle wondering if I had time to change back into my normal clothes.

“Arthur,” Melanie said, from the doorway. “Come on, we need to get out of here. There are a few more of them out here. It would be best if we worked together.”

Unsure of what else to do, and dressed in a rubber bodycon dress, wearing eight-inch slip-on heels, I followed Melanie out of the bathroom.