She'd met May at college. She was motherly, bubbly and a little...strict. She didn't drink or swear. She didn't rat her hair.
She'd probably have got ill from one cigarette.
But aside from that, there were always flashes of something more to her- Celia had always known she must've had some warped, bad-ass streak for all of her stringent decorum...but she'd never expected this.
Either way, she was grateful now.
Here is what happened next.
In a flurry of movement, she'd got onto the bike. May had nodded solemnly at her, before whipping out an army-issue Glock 17. and assaulting the horde with a multitude of bullets.
Celia had jumped at the noise. Skulls of the undead exploded with shards of cranium mixed with decaying flesh.
This had to be a bad dream.
May reloaded a magazine into the Glock, before slotting it back into her holster with ease. She put on her helmet, revved the engine, and suddenly they were in motion.
"Sorry, I don't have a spare helmet!," she shouted over the noise of the wind and the fading groans of the mass of zombies.
"Guessing the highway code is out of the window anyway," Celia muttered. This was all insane. She still heard a whimper from the driver as they sped past a 30mph sign, though.
She held on to May's waist as the motorbike veered around a corner onto Brows Lane, trying desperatley to not think of how May's ass must look in leather.
They stopped in the eerily empty street, under the faint green glow of the Morrisons sign.
"Where are we going from here?," Celia whispered to her, taking in her surroundings.
"Yeah. Shout at the door, they'll let you in".
"They...? You're leaving me?!".
"Dear dead wizard god...I'll be back. I've got to find Ivy!"
And with that, she was gone, off on the bike again.