CHAPTER 19 WHY THE CAPTAIN WANTED A ZOMBIE Good news: neither David nor I received an immediate bullet to the brain. Bad news: both of us were blindfolded, bundled into the back of a military paddy-wagon and found ourselves bumping along a rural highway for a very, very long time. (Or did it just seem that way?) The paddy-wagon was roughly sprung to the point where I felt every pothole, every bump and undulation on that roadway – and there were many. My hands and feet were bound securely and so it was difficult to remain sitting upright. I couldn’t be sure what David was doing – other than roaring and moaning at irregular intervals. “Shut up, Dave!” I screamed – to no obvious effect. And the back of the paddy-wagon smelt distinctly of urine and vomit – both sharp and sour. My guess was that its usual occupants were soldiers who had had a big night on the town and needed some ‘assistance’ getting back to their base. When you close your eyes, travel time becomes distorted. I know of this from empirical research. What sort of research, you ask? Good question: try closing your eyes on the way home from work – whether travelling by train, tram or bus – and only open them when you think you have arrived at your train/tram/bus stop. Go on, try it. I guarantee you’ll always re-open your eyes long before you get near your accustomed stop (unless, of course, you fall asleep). On this particular occasion, of course, I was blindfolded and had no idea of how long the trip actually took. So, I believed the trip was actually many hours longer than it really was. Does that make sense? No matter, it’s just another digression. In any event, the paddy-wagon eventually came to a juddering halt – but not before I was physically spent from the effort of remaining upright whilst bound hand and foot.
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