Morning of the Waking Dead (Little Whippendon Book 1) by Adam Jones

Author:Adam Jones [Jones, Adam]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2013-12-20T05:00:00+00:00

17

Reverend Elliott had found himself in a number of compromising situations over the years. Perhaps even a few more than one would expect for a man of the cloth, including one or two that surprised everyone, including the participants. But all of those were rapidly paling into insignificance against his current predicament. He was sat on a toilet. This wasn’t just any toilet, however, this was a small white plastic chemical toilet of the bizarre blue liquid type. The toilet didn’t have a lid, so it was in fact a glorified hole in the ground. There was, however, a short plank rested unevenly across the top of it. Roy had placed it there in an attempt to make the setting feel more like the prison cell it was supposed to represent, and less like a thoroughly depressing summer holiday. The toilet cubicle in the Portakabin doubled as a holding cell, an interview room, sleeping facilities, a storage cupboard, and at times, even a toilet. As such, it had never actually been converted to any of these purposes.

In its interview room guise, the Portakabin toilet looked much like a Portakabin toilet, with the exception of the plank and the plastic baby gate that spanned the doorway. Roy had found it in a skip a number of months ago. He let the fact that it was less secure slide in relation to the fact that it was pink and blue, and as such, offered a wonderfully unisex piece of security furniture. This was the only modification, which magically transformed the Portakabin toilet into an interview room. Roy reflected that it was quite weak magic.

The Reverend stared through the pink and blue plastic bars at the police station beyond. Sergeant Roy Jarvis was wandering up and down, faffing and fumbling with paper-strewn desks and in cupboards and filing cabinets. He stooped double, and the Reverend couldn’t quite make out what he was up to. Roy’s shoulders shuffled and his arse wiggled as he busied himself with some unknown task. His bum sloshed from one side to another like a fresh bowl of jelly. It made the Reverend reflect on one of the more interesting compromising situations from his past. A smile flickered across his eyes. The bottom turned, and its owner wandered towards the Reverend, face beaming.

“Custard Cream?” He asked, winking as he did so. The Reverend looked down at the small plate that Roy Jarvis was holding out in front of himself. It contained a small assortment of biscuits, each different to the last, and each looking like it had a very different sell-by-date. The custard cream, for example, looked like it was currently on the turn of staleness, while the bourbon that had a fetching piece of red lint on it for effect, looked like it went off at some point during the Reverend’s youth, a time period forgotten by all but the most diligent of archaeologists. He shook his head politely. Roy looked crestfallen and scuttled off to the other side of the room.

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