Rise Of The Face Eaters Part II

The garage was in lockdown, with it's heavy steel shutters all locked.
There was a Bentley with it's roof down, and it's radio playing rock.

She was sitting in the drivers seat, the car up on the ramps.
The guy she had locked in the boot was complaining that he had cramps.

"Hey Honey can you hear me? Hey Honey, I'm sorry! Ok?.....
..... Look I know I shouldn't have touched you girl, let me out if here, what do you say?"

She'd made her way to him for comfort, for safety and support.
He was her fathers very best friend, a kind of 'Uncle' of sorts.

Honey often went to the garage, she thought that the cars where cool.
She'd always noticed the way he'd looked at her, Honey was nobodies fool.

Those fucking things where everywhere, she couldn't deal with this shit as well.
So Honey turned the music up, so she couldn't hear him yell.

She sat spinning a revolver, gunfighter style, in the seat.
She had found it in the office drawer, as finds go, this was sweet!

On the back seat where her groceries, she'd got from some dumb guy.
Outside the face eaters smashed at the shutters,
Honey hoped that they'd give up, or die.

She thought about that late shift, how suddenly everything went wrong.
Then a voice came from the radio, interrupting her favourite song.

"This is a F.E.M.A broadcast..... Please remain in your homes...... There is no need to Panic..... The Army is in control....".

As she listened to the message, Honey knew it was a lie.
In just a three block journey, she had witnessed a thousand die.

The faceless and the mindless.
The living and the dead.
Hard to tell killer and victim apart, as one on the others face fed.

"..... Avoid all social gatherings...... Wait for help to arrive... Do N.."

The announcement abruptly ended, she thought it probably wasn't live.

Besides she didn't need that bullshit putting in her head.
So she plugged her iPhone into the car, and listened to Manson instead.

The man in the trunk was screaming, but Manson was drowning his shouts.
Honey thought: "Ah fuck it, leave him, he's better in than out!"

She listened to three albums, there was a charger in the car.
She managed to start the engine, but without wheels she couldn't go far.

She just charged up her battery, revving occasionally with her feet.
Banging out Antichrist Superstar, and eating a packet of sweets.

The guy in the trunk was quiet now, he had probably died of the fumes.
Honey had not even noticed him, she was too engrossed in her tunes.

Then, as all the lights went out, she broke from her daydream.
Outside the face eaters pounded the shutters, Honey turned on the Bentleys full beam.

It had been almost three days later, when she remembered and opened the trunk.
Honey had simply lost track of time, besides 'Uncle Bob' was a c**t.

Wow! She had to get him out of the garage, he was making the whole place smell.
She thought he must have died some time ago, though how long she couldn't tell.

Honey remembered the vanilla air fresheners, given out with every job.
Then she lined the car and garage, and again forgot 'Uncle Bob'.

It was some time the next morning, when the Bentleys engine just gave out.
The garage was plunged into darkness, the steel shutters where banged from without.

Honey considered her actions, ok, maybe she was wrong.
Although 'Uncle Bob' was a dirty old bastard, she almost missed him now he was gone.

At least she had the gun now, and a few days left of supplies.
A fully charged iPhone battery, and survival in her eyes.

On her headphones she listen to Manson, Mechanical Animals on replay.
As night fell she slipped off out of a back door,
again Honey was on her way.