Jesnails spread her arms out wide, allowing herself to travel messianically through the sky. She wore a suit of dazzling brightness with a high collar, platform boots the same, and aviator sunglasses. Upon her head rested a glorious afro of astronomical proportions, which from certain angles eclipsed the hot, yellow-white ball of the evening sun, burning a silhouette of terrifying magnificence into the eye of the beholder.
Or at least, it would have done if anybody had been watching.
Chugging away, the contraption that was strapped to her back and keeping her in the air burped flamey exhaust and started to issue a trail of black smoke. Jesnails' ride suddenly became considerably less comfortable, her course no longer smooth and straight. She tried to reach behind her to thump the thing into working order again as it started making wet, flatulent sounds.
Then she hit cloud. She flapped her arms about, spitting and spluttering as it tried to invade her nose and mouth.
She began to fall, the rippling exhaust stopping and starting as the engine choked its last few sounds of misery. 'Oooh shizzle,' she said, and dropped like a stone into the sea.
She resurfaced moments later as she ditched the defunct contraption and a special rubber undersuit caused her entire body to expand to sumo-like proportions, unfortunately ruining her suit, although her platforms boots remained intact. She spied land, positioned herself accordingly, gathered her synthetic flab and released the stopper, drifting in the desired direction with ease.
* * *
'Seen any zombies yet?' whispered Plaid, peering over the crate. She had put on her plaid cape, ready for any necessary heroic action.
'No,' said Rinsamien. 'Just pirates.'
'Yarr, welcome aboard!'
A huge ship was docked close by, with masts reaching out towards the heavens and enormous white sails that rippled in the breeze. The ship rose and fell with the current like the calm breathing of a giant beast.
'Yarr, welcome aboard!'
Figures with eyepatches, peg legs and tricorn hats, golden earrings, bandannas and cutlasses, scruffy beards, stuffed parrots and an assortment of mismatched clothes walked up a gangway onto the ship's deck, greeted by a young pirate who stood proudly with his hands on his hips. 'Yarr, welcome aboard!'
'How many pirates are there in this city?' asked Plaid. 'Is it, like, an occupation or a hobby or what?'
'I don't know,' replied Rinsamien. 'But they do this every year or so.'
'Yarr, welcome aboard!'
'I want to go on the ship,' said Kennilesque. 'I want to know what they do on there. Why can't we go on the ship?'
'Containment, Kennilesque, containment,' the Plaid One reminded him. 'If we go on that ship and the zombies turn up, we're trapped.' After a moment, she added, 'We also don't look very much like pirates.'
With the last of the crew on board, Pirate Jordan rubbed his hands together and made his way down into the ship's cellar below the cabin to open up the first barrel of rum.
It was going to be a good night. There would be music, gambling and colourful language, and in a couple of hours' time everyone would be in varying states of lesser consciousness. Then, to finish it off, there would be a massive fireworks display that would impress even the most jaded of seadogs, and give the sleeping landlubbers the fright of their lives.
Plaid yawned.
'I see something!' hissed Kennilesque.
'What? Where?'
'Over there!' he said, pointing. Plaid and Rinsamien followed his finger. Strange figures were lurching from shadow to shadow across the dock, rapidly making their way towards the pirate ship.
'Well, they certainly didn't waste any time,' muttered Plaid. She poised herself ready to attack when they got close, but as she watched them approach she found herself suddenly uncertain.
'There's so many!' said Rinsamien. 'Are we really going to be able to take them all on?'
There were at least a hundred of them, Plaid realised, and a cold feeling of horror churned her stomach. 'We're going to have to,' she replied. 'Now get ready. They're almost here.'
The zombies arrived.
'
Now!' shouted Plaid. She jumped forwards, momentarily teasing her way out of the laws of gravity and landing on top of a zombie several feet away, knocking it to the ground. Kennilesque and Rinsamien were right behind her, charging into them with full force, a blur of red satin. They didn't so much fight as demolish, bouncing back and forth between the zombies like demonic pinballs.
But while a dozen or so did linger to fight back, many of the zombies continued to proceed up the gangway, in a surprisingly organised fashion. The pirates, stirred by the commotion on the docks, had already drawn their cutlasses. After one glimpse, they were fully aware of the danger that now faced them, and fought viciously. They stabbed and slashed and hacked away at limbs. Occasionally one of them scored a decapitation, but the zombies were stronger, tougher and, above all, hungrier, and when they started to get hold of the pirates' weapons, the pirates didn't stand a chance.
The zombies began to move into the cabin.
Plaid hopped onto the gangway to dodge a zombie's lunge. She kicked it sharply in the head and it stumbled backwards, stunned.
Kennilesque was spinning around wildly trying to fend them off, his heavy skirts flying outwards as he moved. The zombies started to overwhelm him, however, and one sank its teeth into his tall, intricate wig. He screamed.
Plaid leaped at it and knocked it to the ground, bouncing off the wig in a somersault and landing deftly on her feet. Kennilesque launched himself backwards and sat on it before it could get back up.
Rinsamien had started ramming them off the edge of the docks and into the dark water, removing whole clumps of them at a time as they attempted to cling onto his dress.
* * *
Down in the ship's cellar, Pirate Jordan, a bottle of rum in one hand and a long, ornate pistol in the other, was firing madly at the zombies as they approached. The pistol gave off a smart bang and a wisp of smoke with each shot. He aimed for their heads, accurately eliminating several of them as they advanced, but there were too many of them. They pounced on him and dragged him down.
The pistol fell out of his grip, the bottle smashed, and the candle he had brought down with him was knocked over, falling onto the spilt liquid. A trail of flame snaked across the floor, and a hundred barrels of rum and gunpowder ignited.
A series of spectacular explosions ripped the ship apart, cremating all within. The gigantic masts collapsed and plummeted down to earth, sails ablaze, crashing through the wooden platform of the docks.
And slowly, as the water made its way into the damaged hull, the ship began to sink.
* * *