Zombies at Pooh Corner

Zombies at Pooh Corner

‘I’m worried about Christopher Robin,’ said Rabbit. He leaned back against the edge of the sandpit, and looked sternly at Pooh and Piglet. ‘He hasn’t been the same since they burned his parents.’

Pooh felt the back of his head thoughtfully. It was true that the downward bumps as Christopher Robin took him upstairs at night had been harder recently. On the other hand, Rabbit hadn’t been quite himself for some time either – not since Owl had eaten several of his friends and relations.

‘Parents,’ said Eeyore. ‘Fun and frivolity. Bedtime stories. I never had any.’

‘Trauma,’ Rabbit said. ‘He’s at an impressionable age. Of course the current zeitgeist, as Kirkegaard might have said ...’

Eeyore dropped his nose to the nearest thistle, and began munching. Piglet sat upright, to show he was paying attention. Pooh let his mind drift to watching two sailing dinghies zig-zagging up the river. One had a red sail, and a pirate flag flying at the mast-head; the other’s white sail had been inexpertly painted black. The beak of its swallow pennant, and the teeth of the skull on the other boat’s flag, had been daubed with red. There was a single person in each. With a lot of sail flapping, the two boats turned into the little shingle beach below Poohsticks Bridge, and were run ashore. The two girls hauled them up and turned to look around them. The taller one wore a print blouse, crisply ironed, and a skirt; the other was dressed in jersey and shorts, with a red cap.

‘... regressive therapy,’ said Rabbit. Pooh nudged him. ‘Rabbit, we have visitors.’

‘Hereabouts,’ the taller one said decidedly. She brought out a book,and opened it, looking around her as if she was trying to match the scenery to a picture. Then she jerked her chin towards the path that led through the trees to Christopher Robin’s house. ‘I’ll go up to the house. You check on the animals.’

‘I’m an independent captain now,’ the one in shorts replied.

The taller one shrugged. ‘Fair enough. I’m still going up to the house. You choose what you want to do.’ She passed her the book. ‘Pooh’s house is that way.’

‘Wouldn’t Rabbit be more use?’

Pooh was vaguely hurt at this. Of course Rabbit did know lots of long words, but Pooh had had many exciting adventures with Christopher Robin, and the books had his name in the title.

‘Whatever,’ the taller girl replied, and disappeared into the trees. The smaller one came slowly towards them, calling their names. ‘Owl? Rabbit? Pooh?’

‘Not my name, you notice,’ grumbled Eeyore, finding a second thistle.

The girl came suddenly around the bend in the path and stopped dead at finding them in a row in the sandpit. There was an awkward pause, then she sat down beside them, looking at Rabbit in a way that made Pooh grateful he was only fabric and stuffing.  ‘Hi there. I’m Peggy, captain of the Amazon.’

‘Nancy was the captain,’ said Rabbit, edging backwards slightly.

Peggy pulled back her lips in a snarl, like an angry cat. Her teeth were pointed, Pooh noticed. Christopher Robin’s had grown like that too. ‘We had the Troubles up in the Lakes, the same way that you’ve had them down here. Nancy had to be disposed of.’ She rose, abruptly. ‘Can I make a fire here?’

‘Why?’ Eeyore asked, through a mouthful of prickles.

‘I was going to cook us some tea.’

Pooh’s stomach jumped to attention. ‘With toast and honey?’ he said hopefully.

‘Something sweet,’ Peggy promised.

Pooh and Piglet helped Peggy pick up pinecones and branches, and soon there was a good fire going. Peggy went back to the boat for a large cooking pot, which she balanced carefully on stones, and quarter-filled with water. The flickering red flames and the promise of food raised Pooh’s spirits. It seemed a long time since Christopher Robin had bothered to give a tea party.

They had just settled down around the flames when there was a crashing in the undergrowth, and the taller girl came in, dragging a sack behind her.

‘Susan?’ Rabbit guessed.

Pooh’s spirits rose even further, for there was a smeary look around her mouth, as if she’d been eating strawberry jam. The sack was smeary too, and it had left a red trail on the path.

‘Yes,’ she replied shortly. ‘Captain of the Swallow.’  She tipped the contents of the sack into the cooking pot so quickly that Pooh didn’t see what it was.  He leaned forward, and Susan turned to catch his stare. ‘Pemmican,’ she said, and clapped the lid on the pot. ‘Peggy, why don’t you get the last of the old stuff out of the boat, to keep us going until this is cooked?’

‘Why don’t you?’ Peggy said, with a flash of those pointed teeth. ‘I’m just settled nicely here beside Rabbit.’

Susan scowled. ‘I won’t be a moment.’  She stalked off towards the beach, swinging the red sack at the bushes as she passed. They heard sploshing, and a chinking sound. When she returned, five minutes later, the sack had been washed through, and filled with empty jam jars. She had one jar in her hand. It contained a reddish paste, marbled through with white fat. ‘Pemmican,’ Susan repeated. ‘And ship’s biscuits. Anyone?’

She crouched down by the fire and spread the paste on the biscuits with a stout-looking clasp knife. It, too, had just been washed. Rabbit shook his head, and Eeyore plucked another thistle, but Pooh and Piglet both tried one. It was sweet, as Peggy had promised, something like the smell of the pork roasts Christopher Robin used to have with his parents on Sundays. He felt a strange warmth spreading through him, a hunger for more.

‘John or Roger?’ Peggy asked Susan. Rabbit turned, wild-eyed. He backed away from Peggy’s suddenly clutching hand and leapt for his burrow. ‘Bother,’ said Peggy.

‘John,’ said Susan, spreading another biscuit for Pooh. ‘I saved him for last. He was always so full of his importance as commodore of the fleet that I thought he’d want it that way.’

‘Well, we’ve shown them now,’ said Peggy. ‘A thousand miles of coastline, without them giving orders as if we were stupid, and leaving us to do the cooking.’

Pooh rather liked the sound of that. Nobody giving orders, or calling him a silly old bear. No being bumped upstairs backwards. He sniffed the savoury smell from the cooking pot thoughtfully. ‘I don’t suppose,’ he suggested, ‘that you’d have room for a ship’s mascot?’