Sunday 13 December 2009

Bar of the Dead

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This is the second assignment for my genre class. We had to describe a location and how we might use it as a setting within a genre of our choice.
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A bar in a small, midwest American town. It isn't much to look at; faded wooden sign hanging above the door. The car park barely registers as that – just a patch of dirt and dust. The outer walls are a white-wash affair, mismatched with a border of faded pastel red that serves to emulate the hicksville feel of the single-room affair inside. Nothing that would be missed should a few stray shotgun shells blow off the plaster, or if a head should explode bloodily too close to it.
Going through the main door, you come to a shabby set of faux saloon doors that serve no other purpose than letting you know that the owner once had big ideas for this place, but gave them up pretty quickly when they came to the realisation that no-one would be impressed by a Wild West-themed bar in the actual Wild West. They would certainly be no defence against the living dead; a minor hinderance at best. Good thing the outer door, one of only two entrances, is heavy and set with steel hinges and thick double bolts.
The windows, too, are fairly well fortified. After several break-ins, the owner had wire mesh bars installed over the glass: great for preventing brick damage, but fantastic for the mindless undead to claw themselves to shreds on.
As it goes, your average bar is probably the best place to head for in the event of a zombie apocalypse, short of your local gun shop, and this one is no exception. The owner wisely keeps a sawn-off shotgun under the bar for sticky situations such as scaring drunks. Ammunition might be a factor for anyone caught out here, but the array of weaponry doesn't end there. The array of spirits lining the back counter can be combined with old barcloths to make for an effective incendiary, provided you have a source of flame – but what self-respecting group of human refugees doesn't contain a seasoned smoker or two?
For your more sociopathic survivor, a broken bar stool can easily go the distance, mulching brain matter if applied with enough force, with backups to spare should the weapon break across the skull of the local school teacher or the county sheriff.
Should all defences fail, and retreat is the only option, the designated emergency exit is the cellar. Buried underground and by rule of thumb inaccessible to zombies, it should be easy to throw off pursuit, provided the owner themselves aren't waiting in the shadows, drooling over the kegs and staring out the mortar in the walls. Still, any quick-witted group that still retains some kind of weapon should be able to deal with this minor hinderance with minimal collateral damage. From here, it is a mere case of unlocking the cellar's tightly locked wooden delivery hatch (or blowing it open) and escaping to whatever end.