Death and Taxes

by Galen Surlak-Ramsey

  Clarice went back to the phone and relayed what it said. Her mind refused to think about the growing stupidity of the situation. For now, it was content on playing the middle-girl between Dr. Forbes and the generator’s controls.

  “Just a second,” he said after she explained it again. A minute passed before he got back on the phone. “Okay, flip all the breakers in the box to the up position. Then press the little red buttons underneath each switch. At the bottom, there will be a lever. Pump that lever up and down five or six times, and that will hopefully turn the LED display next to it on. Come back here when you do all that.”

  “Okay,” she replied.

  Time passed, and Clarice went to work.

  “Done,” she said, hopping back on the phone. “The little light came on, but I don’t think the generator is working. It’s not making any noise.”

  “Go to the generator and look for the big yellow button marked ‘start’ and give it a push. That should do it.”

  “Okay.” Clarice dropped the receiver once more and spent a few tense moments searching for the button. Holding her breath, she gave it a push once she found it. The generator whirred to life, and a few noisy seconds later, the lights brightened to their full strength.

  Clarice eagerly picked the phone back up. “It’s working!” she cried out, bouncing lightly on her toes. A glimmer of hope sprang from her soul and the taste of freedom was on the tip of her tongue.

  “Wonderful,” Dr. Forbes replied. “The door to the egress system is opening now.” There was a slight pause before he continued on. “That’s odd,” he said. “Two of them are examining the self-destruct device.”

  “Come again?” Clarice said, wondering what that meant in the long run.

  “Two of the zombies walked by, or rather they dragged themselves into the next room. I think...I think one of them just tasted it.”

  “Is that going to be a problem?” she asked. “Or can we move along with getting the hell out of here?”

  “No, I don’t think there’s a problem,” Dr. Forbes replied. “At least, not with them giving the system a little taste here or there. I’m a little curious as to why those two in particular decided to leave us alone while the rest are still pounding on the door.”

  “Well, you guys can figure that out after we’re gone,” she said. “I think I can get back in the vents, so I’ll be there soon.”

  “One moment,” Dr. Forbes interjected quickly as she was getting ready to hang up the phone. “There’s something we need to discuss first.”

  Clarice sighed. “There’s always something that needs discussing.”

  “Well, that is our nature,” Dr. Forbes replied. “Propositions, discussions, interjections, speculations—they’re all a part of the game.”

  “What is it now?”

  “Hang on, and I’ll tell you,” he replied.

  Clarice heard the distinctive clink of the receiver as he put it down on the desk. A second later, it was silent, and then a piano concerto began to play in the background.

  After about five minutes, the music stopped, and a happy voice got on the line. “Your call is important to us,” it said. “Please remember that calls are answered in the order that they are received. We thank you for your patience and understanding that developing the next generation of technology often produces a high call volume. Please stay on the line and the next available operator will take your call.”

  Clarice banged the phone against the wall a few times in frustration as the music started again. Just as she was about to hang up, Dr. Forbes picked up once more.

  “Clarice?” he said. “We’ve all come to a decision, and it looks like it’ll work out wonderfully well for our escape.”

  “Oh, good,” she replied.

  “Yes, we’ve all agreed that you can’t come with us,” he said plainly.

  Clarice’s mind short-circuited, and she stood deathly still for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  “Precisely as it sounds,” he answered. “You won’t be coming with us as we leave. It’s just not possible and would be hazardous to the rest of us.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” she shouted. She kept her anger in check just enough to keep from wrenching the phone off of the wall.

  Dr. Forbes’ voice remained calm. “Now I understand how this makes you feel,” he said. “But we can’t risk you being infected and turning into one of them. Not without any sort of proper laboratory to keep you in. So, we’re going to have to leave you behind I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t give me that, you backstabbing mother fu—”

  “But you still can do something for us to make your life have a little more purpose to it,” he continued on, not paying any heed to her interruption. “We need you to make your way over here, but come down the halls, not the vents. When they see you, they’ll all undoubtedly give chase, at which point we can slip out and get away. It’s a fantastic and simple idea, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Get out of here!” Clarice yelled. “They haven’t touched me one bit, and you want to leave me behind!”

  “Well, you are bleeding from the shoulder,” Dr. Forbes said.

  “I told you I cut it breaking through the vents—the vents you sent me in, remember?”

  “Yes, I’m oriented to both time and place,” he replied. “But we would have to go on your word that that’s what happened, and not that you came in contact with a zombie. And even if what you say is true, you still might have contracted some sort of infection along the way. It’s too much to risk. I’m sorry. And like I said, this is a unanimous decision.”

  “No, it’s not,” she said. “It’s yours and fatty’s decision. Nick would never agree with that.”

  “Yes, he has.”

  “Put him on the phone,” Clarice demanded.

  Dr. Forbes hesitated. “I’d rather us not get into a long drawn-out argument, especially when emotions are running high,” he said.

  “Put him on the damn phone, now!”

  The phone was passed.

  “Clarice?” Nick said. His voice quivered. “I’m sorry we sent you out. God, I wish—”

  Clarice cut him off. “Shut the hell up and listen to me,” she barked, still unable to believe what was happening. “I’m fine. Nothing is wrong except for a stupid banged up shoulder coming out of the vents.”

  “They said you’re infected,” he said.

  “I know what they said,” Clarice replied shortly. Her head was starting to spin under all of the sudden stress. “I’m telling you, I’m fine, and you guys sure as hell aren’t leaving me.” She jerked away from the phone reflexively as a loud thud came across the phone line.

  “Oh, my god,” Nick said.

  “What?”

  “The glass is cracked,” Nick replied. “One of them is beating in the window.”

  “That’s not possible,” she said as another thud came through. “That window has to be like six inches thick!”

  “I’m standing right here watching it!” Nick yelled back. “I think it’s your boss. Or what’s left of him.”

  “That can’t be. They said he’s dead.”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ, he’s going to break in.”

  “Is it only him? Maybe you can fight him off.”

  Another thud sounded, this time accompanied by the sounds of cracking glass.

  “No. There’s three of them.” Nick sounded eerily calm.

  “I’m coming,” she said and slammed the phone down. She stopped in mid-step and realized she needed a plan. Her mouth whispered the answer. “What would Anne Bonny do?”

  * * *

  All the zombies agreed that the trip down the stairs was fun and to have a door at the bottom was an added bonus. It wasn’t as much the opening of doors that they enjoyed, but rather what lay on the other side. It was like opening presents. Sometimes there would be something spectacular on the other side, like a new remote-control car or a pony. But other
times the prize might as well have been new underwear.

  Danita had once tried to make a game of locked doors. She would hide something fun behind one and put something not so fun behind two others. Ultimately it failed as either the prize got away, or no one picked the third door.

  At the moment, however, there were only two doors in front of Jack. The one in front, whose view was currently obstructed by a half dozen other zombies, was a little bit see-through. Beyond the Plexiglas pane, Jack could see people. Although this was one of those fun doors to open, it was more like window shopping than an actual holiday celebration as no one could get the door open. The other door, a heavy, metallic one that tasted like a rusty anchor, was on his right. It was very much closed, even more so than the first, and it was very much not see-through. Not even a little bit. It was depressingly uninteresting, that is until it started to make noise.

  A low hum came from the door, and only a few seconds passed before it started to rise into the ceiling. None of the living dead that were pressed into the hallway had ever seen a door rise before. It was an exciting thing to behold. Jack, however, was less concerned with the door, especially after it stopped and became boring again, and more interested in what lay beyond.

  The room on the other side was wide, red, and tall. Jack only managed the first two adjectives on his own, but Danita was kind enough to offer up the third. In the middle was a cylindrical object that reminded Jack of a femur, only it was a lot larger and didn’t have as much bone to it. He also didn’t remember femurs having lots of tubes or flashing lights, but this one did. That said, Jack wasn’t one to complain about new and unexpected developments, so he called it a femur anyway.

  Jack staggered over to the femur, reached out, and touched it. The femur didn’t react, so he pushed on it even harder. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to happen, but he felt deep down that something should. So Jack continued with his pushing and pulling, trying to elicit some sort of reaction. Occasionally he would look up and note all of the other zombies milling about a door and wondered what they were up to.

  He saw that Danita had taken to standing in a corner, and he guessed that she was contemplating her next move. She gave a friendly jerk of her arm, but that was all she did before returning to her still state of being.

  A moment later, a corpse—a dead and unmoving one—came tumbling to Jack’s feet. Intrigued as to where this organic missile had been launched from, Jack looked up to find Ryan Conner, Tax Collector, hurling another body—dead and unmoving like the first—toward him. A number of zombies snarled at the former tax collector and attacked. Despite their combined strength, they didn’t accomplish anything other than lose their reanimated lives and provide Ryan with more ammunition.

  Though Jack did not understand the rules to this game, he thought it looked fun and lurched his way over to Ryan, eager to have them explained.

  Ryan watched with interest as Jack approached. He could remember the zombie’s name but that was all. Something deep inside told him that Jack, therefore, must have some sort of importance. Ryan looked back at the window and at the humans on the other side. He considered that perhaps Jack was another accomplice of these tax evaders, as he could see no other reason why Jack would be here. If this were true, he would need to deal with Jack just as he had dealt with the rest.

  Jack, to Ryan’s surprise, didn’t attack. He stopped some feet away from the tax collector, turned, and pressed himself against the Plexiglas. Jack then made mention of a game of Eats and started pounding on the window.

  This unexpected set of events intrigued Ryan. For several minutes, the tax collector sat back and observed. When he was convinced that Jack was more interested in a meal than obstructing justice, he went back to dealing with the tax evaders. He could address Jack’s intentions afterward.

  Ryan’s first blow to the window reverberated in the hall but did little else. The second did the same. His third and fourth, however, cracked the Plexiglas.

  The people scampered inside, and Ryan paused to reevaluate the situation. He looked at the window, then at Jack. He noted that the zombie carried a pen, unlike the ones that attacked him. It was a pen covered in blood and grime, but still had an illustrious shine in various, gore-free places. It was, in fact, a 1941, catalog product number 31A, green metallic shell, ballpoint pen. Its rugged design, exceptional styling, and ergonomic grip made it a dead giveaway.

  And if Jack had a 1941, catalog product number 31A, green metallic shell, ballpoint pen to work with (and not some cheap, piece of crap), Ryan could come up with no other conclusion other than Jack must be a fellow agent. For no random passerby or Good Samaritan would be privy to such a fine writing device. Ryan gave a friendly grmmmmgh and returned to bashing in the Plexiglas window. He could ask the newcomer which human he was auditing later.

  Danita staggered to the pair and introduced herself to Ryan, but did not join the attack. Instead, she tried to convince them both that the attack was flawed and that when they broke through the window and tried to get in, the people would run out the door.

  Jack pointed out that the door was closed.

  Ryan agreed and added that no tax code ever made mention of people fleeing through doors. People tried to fit through loopholes, but never doors. He then resumed beating what stubbornness remained out of the Plexiglas window.

  Danita howled once more, calling them both stubborn and stupid, and then positioned herself off to the side. The Plexiglas broke a moment later.

  Ryan sneered at Danita’s skepticism and pushed his way through the hole he’d made. Of the three people he saw, the closest person to him also happened to be the largest. And since that person was the largest, he obviously cheated the most on his taxes to pay for his voracious appetite. The rotund man tried to fight back, and then to escape, but Ryan’s hefty grip did not fail, and he dragged the man to the ground.

  Jack didn’t fare as well. He got stuck halfway into the room right as one of the humans hammered the door release.

  * * *

  “What would Anne Bonny do?” Clarice repeated one more time. This time, however, it felt much more like a question rather than the Holy Grail to zombie problems.

  “Think, Clarice. Think!” she said to herself as her fingers rapped on her forehead. “W-W-A-B-D?”

  Clarice looked up, her eyes drifting past the generator room exit and the answer rolled naturally off her tongue. “Shoot them. Shoot each and every one dead.”

  It was a straight forward, simple plan that she liked. The Nick side of her, however, shared its concern. “With only three bullets?”

  “Get close and personal so that I can’t miss.” The dread pirate Clarice grinned. “Three bullets, three zombies. One shot, one kill.”

  “And if there’s more?”

  “Pistol whip each and every one of them.”

  With that, she took off down the hall, gun in hand.

  * * *

  The security door opened, and Nick yelled. Danita stood directly on the other side and grabbed Dr. Forbes the moment the door slid open. Nick snatched Clarice’s bag and pushed past the two who were now entangled. He ran down the hall toward the generator room, trying to ignore the sounds behind him. Hopefully, he could still find Clarice. He looked back to see if he was being followed and smacked right into his fiancée as she rounded the next corner.

  Clarice screamed and fell over backward, the gun discharging as she did. “You scared me to death!” she yelled, hands trembling.

  “Christ! Where did you get that hand cannon?” Nick yelled back.

  “Oh, thanks for the I’m glad it’s you, honey,” Clarice said, picking herself up. “Or are you okay, dear? Either of those would have been fine.”

  “Sorry. I was trying to stay alive,” Nick replied. He glanced and patted over his body. It seemed that he hadn’t gained any new holes. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. Where are the other guys?” she asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “Dead by now,” Nick r
eplied. “Your boss got fatty. Some dead girl got the other.”

  “So it’s just us then?”

  Nick gave a nod. “Looks like it.”

  Much to his surprise, she grabbed him by the back of his head and kissed him. Hard. When they finally parted, she asked, “Do you still have your laptop?”

  “No,” he replied, bewildered at how fast she had changed gears. “It’s on the table back at the station. I just grabbed our bag. So I have our clothes—oh, and the UCK, too.”

  Clarice started to laugh. “So you saved our shirts and left the laptop instead?”

  “Hey, it’s not like I had a lot of time to work with,” Nick explained with his hands up in the air. “The bag was right next to me, and the laptop was on the far end of the room. You should have seen Ryan go to town. He killed off most of the other zombies and then smashed through the Plexiglas with just a few hits. He’s not natural.”

  “And the rest are?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant,” he replied, shaking his head. “He’s buffed now or something. Like on super zombie steroids.”

  Clarice looked down at the gun and checked the chamber. “Well,” she said. “I’ve got two shots left. That kind of ruins the plan I cooked up.”

  “Two shots for three zombies.”

  “Better than none. With a bit of luck, maybe we won’t need any.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Clarice peeked around the last corner. Her eyes never blinked as she stared far past the security station. A part of her believed that if she stared long enough and her eyes burned hard enough, she and Nick would be whisked away to safety.

  “Well?” Nick whispered. His hands fidgeted with the bag. “Are they still there?”

  “Yep,” she answered, ducking back. “All three are standing in the hallway.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Standing.” Clarice dared another quick peek. “Do you think we can make it past them?”

  “I don’t know.”