Zombie Squirrel Apocalypse

Through a window, a desolate landscape came into focus.  The shot panned over wrecked cars, crumpled bodies, a grey and hopeless sky. 

The shot tightened sharply to the left, showing a horde of rust-colored rodents swarming over a writhing body.  A single hand was raised from the mass of furry tails, in a desperate appeal for help that it’s owner had to know could not come in time.

The view suddenly swung to the right, blurring nauseously.  After some loud fumbling and curses muttered in a high-pitched voice that was clearly near its breaking point, a man’s face came into focus.

It was dirty, smudged with black smudges and streaks of what might have been blood.  His dark, greasy hair was covered with white plaster dust.  Tears cut wide, pale tracks through the mess on his face.

“That’s Chris out there,” sobbed the man.  The shot bobbed unevenly.  “He made a break for it.  I tried to stop him!  Everyone else is dead.  We should never have come here.”  Suddenly his face fell away—with a loud clang, the camera bounced a few times settling on the concrete floor, showing a wall.  The sounds of helpless sobs came from somewhere behind the camera.

“Thank you Ian,” a crisp voice answered.  A well dressed, well-coifed blond woman in a teal skirt and jacket standing in a studio came into view.  “We turn now to a live interview with Dr. Salk, the only survivor of the initial attack from within the laboratory where what some have termed the “zombie squirrel apocalypse” began.”

“Wait!” screamed Ian desperately—the audio was still linked.  There were the sounds of desperate fumbling with equipment. “Get me out…!”

Now similar but slightly different well-dressed, well-coifed blond woman sat across from a nervous looking brown-haired, slender man in a white lab coat.  They were seated in comfortable looking periwinkle blue chairs, and the studio was decorated in solid, nonthreatening pastels.

“Dr. Salk,” the woman began, in a warm, approachable voice.  “Thank you for being with us today.  Many of our viewers in America have friends or family in Britain that are directly affected by this horrible tragedy, and they are asking—how did it all start?”

“Yes…well…” began Dr. Salk.  “I should say…first of all, thank you to the network, and thank you, Brooke, for having me on.”

“Of course.”

“Well...I was working with my colleague, Dr. Moreau, and his people, on genetic trials with the Red Squirrel—that’s sciurus vulgaris.”

“Excuse me for interrupting; I would just like to offer condolences on behalf of myself and everyone at the network for the loss of your colleague.”  Brooke’s wide brown eyes were soft and concerned.

“Thank you.”  Dr. Salk said.  He seemed grateful for the interruption, and it took a moment of awkward shifting in his seat before he continued.  “In my country, Britian, their—that is, the red squirrels—populations have declined significantly with the introduction of the grey squirrel.  I can’t get into the specifics, but basically what we were attempting to do was to make the red squirrel better able to compete with their invasive cousins for resources.”

“That sounds like an admirable goal.”

“Yes, yes.”  Dr. Salk nodded vigorously.  “Certainly, no one can doubt that we had the best of intentions.”

“How did it all go so wrong?”

“There were some differences of…opinion…on how to proceed.  My colleague, Dr. Moreau…differed significantly from myself and others involved as to the…methods that were acceptable…ethically speaking.”

“That must have been difficult.”

“It was,” agreed Dr. Salk.  “Still I had no idea, you must understand, of the lengths that he was willing to go…”

There was an awkward pause.  Brooke broke it by graciously changing the subject.  “Many in America and elsewhere in the world are referring to this unfortunate tragedy as the “Zombie Squirrel Apocalypse.”  What are your thoughts on that?”

Dr. Salk looked more uncomfortable than ever.  “Well, that hardly sounds right; I mean, that’s very unlikely; England is an island, after all…”

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