“Broke Down? Again?” by David Baillie


Broke down? Again?


Ok – where’d you leave it?

Yeah I know ‘on the hill’, you fucking idiot. But where on the –

You’re shitting me, right? Right on TOP of the fucking hill? Oh Jesus… I’m looking out the window and I can fuckin’ see it. I can actually fuckin’ see it! Jesus Christ!

You know what, Ron? You fuck up, you don’t get to complain! I’ll take any goddamned fucking name in vain I like. Get off the line. I’m gonna have to speak to Frank about this. An’ Mary ain’t gonna be happy either.


Is that Frank? It’s me.

Yeah. ‘Nother fucking crisis. Harvester broke down and the ass-backwards fucking inbreed driving it left it right on top of the hill. Can you run up there, quick – we got about half an hour ‘fore the shade hits it. I can see it from here and there’s lovely fresh piles of earth all around it. Reckon ten or more bodies…



Let me know.

Ron? You’d better be off that hill.


Now, how far through the harvest were you?

What?!? What you been doing all fucking day then?

Driving it up the… ?! If it was acting up so much, why the hell did you take it up the hill in the first place? An’ you were gonna try and do a harvest in half an hour? You really are as dumb as you look! This is coming out yer wages – one lost harvester or the cost of reclaiming it. Either way you’re gonna be paying it off for the rest of the year!

You think? Ron – your kids can eat EACH OTHER for all I care. Now go home. Explain to your wife that she’s married to a retard. And tell her she needs to sell that fuckin’ dog of hers to the butcher. Or you won’t be able to make this month’s rent… Never mind feed your ugly fucking kids!

Frank. ‘S me again. You there yet?


I thought sundown was at –

Awww shit – a what? Hold on…

Mary you’re not going to fucking believe this… You know the hill Ron was s’possed to be working? Top of the hill, there’s a tree. Casts a shadow – dozen or so graves opened up a half hour ‘fore sundown proper. Yeah. I think we lost it.

Okay Frank – yeah, I just told Mary.

Well she ain’t happy. Third goddamned harvester we lost this year. We only got a dozen working machines left.

Yeah, ain’t your fault.


You fucking kidding me? Ah shit. Hold on…

Mary. You’re not gonna believe this. Some of them dead ‘uns musta been fucking farmers. They just gone and climbed in that fucking harvester. Tryin’ to start it up. ‘Pparently they look mighty confused. How fuckin’ funny is that?

Frank – you still there? Well if it din’t work for Ron ain’t no reason it’ll work for some fuckin’…



That’s the fuckin’ funniest thing I heard all day!

Mary? The ones that woke up in that shadow – one of ‘em just popped the hood of the harvester and he’s tryin’ to get it working. Yeah. You couldn’t make this shit up. I reckon they’ll eventually do the same as that other bunch and pull it to fuckin’ pieces.

Frank – you might as well get out of there. You ain’t gonna do no good. If you want, maybe head on over, pay Ron a visit. Dumb fuckin’ boy needs to learn a lesson. That’s goddamned good money he just fuckin’ abandoned at the top of that hill.

Yeah, you go scare the shit outta him.

Well Mary, I dunno ‘bout you, but I don’t think this month can get much worse. Talk about a bad harvest – since we got to this town we barely been digging up a hunnerd corpses a night. We got boys out all over, watchin’ where the dead go to sleep at dawn, but we’re lucky if we get six or seven in each location. The yields just ain’t worth it. Must be a bigger town on the way to London we can take the machines through.

St Albans? It don’t sound too fuckin’ big. How many dead you reckon they got there?

Well that’s a fucking city, Mary! Why din’t you say? With numbers like that we’ll have enough meat to keep us in gas for the rest of the year. What we doing wasting our time is this fucking hick village?

Damn shame there’s so little pork on the English. I reckon they got too many queer genes in ‘em. Surprised they got the strength to dig their own graves at night! Now, back home in Texas… You wouldn’t believe me if I told you! Biggest, hardest fuckin’ zombies you ever seen. You could have ‘em working the fields for a couple of weeks, pullin’ ploughs and shit, ‘fore you even think of meltin’ ‘em down for fuel. If there were any of those big bucks left back home I wouldn’t be in this fag fucking country with its six hours of fucking sunlight…


A harvester?

But the only harvester we got near here is that one, top of that hill. Reckon you’re hearing things, Mary.

Ha, that’s the funniest damn thing I heard. You think some queer dead Englishmen’d be able to fix up a…


I’ll go take a look.

Mary? Mary! Get your shit together, quick. You’re right – they got the fuckin’ harvester started. It’s rolling down the hill. Right fucking towards us!

Quicker, you stupid bitch! Come on.

Just fucking leave the bag! Come on…

LOCKS?!! They’re going to come right through the WALL if their rotten fucking limbs can keep that harvester headin’ straight – will you….






Shit. Mary – do something! The spray! Get your pepper sp…


Don’t – FUCKIN’ –

You bastards.

Fuck YOU.

Fuck you ALL!

You homo fuckin’ English zombie basta –

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Nicolas Papaconstantinou
Nicolas Papaconstantinou is an enthusiastic amateur creative type, and the chap behind Elephant Words. Be nice to him. He growed up kinda wrong.

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