Salvador came speeding around the corner and ran the man down a second time. Again, he honked his horn and then took off. Hell’s version of déjà vu.
The businessman was mincemeat. He’d been dragged underneath the truck for a few yards, so large areas of his flesh were scraped off down to the bone. His right femur splintered through the side of his slacks. Both his arms were cockeyed, with hands twisted backwards as if giving awkward high-fives.
Like earlier, he lay on the ground twitching. Then, he got to his feet. He was moving much slower now, his skeleton distorted beneath his flesh. An alien-human. I imagined that had I been close enough to hear, his bones would have been making brittle clacking noises like those driftwood wind chimes down by the beach.
Happy hands! That’s what I kept thinking because of the way his fingers were splayed open like he was sporting jazz hands. I thought of that show Karen likes so much—Dweeble’s Happy Hands! It has that annoying theme song that gives you serious earworm: Dweeble likes sun, Dweeble likes fun, so everyone: Wave those happy hands!
I started laughing.
Seriously, Adam. I mean, I actually laughed out loud.
Suddenly I found myself laughing so goddamned hard that I was gasping for air. I bent over and held my stomach as I started to cry, thinking about those waving happy hands. A taco truck had just pulverized that poor man, but there I was. Yucking it up like I’d never seen anything quite so hilarious.
The worst thing was that nobody noticed.
On what was easily his twentieth lap, Salvador came tearing around the corner and clipped a fire hydrant. He lost control near the center of the building, fishtailed, and then flipped over. Every window on the taco truck shattered, sending glass raining down on the asphalt. The truck skated across the parking lot for a good thirty feet and then came to a stop near Lauren’s demolished car.
A few moments later, Alicia and Salvador came slithering out from the busted windows, slicing the hell out of their skin. They ran towards the businessman, who was shuffling around on the sidewalk in a wide circle. Salvador grabbed him by the neck and lobbed him onto the ground. Alicia jumped on his chest and—there’s just no delicate way to state this—gnawed at his face, tearing away chunks of his cheek with what was left of her teeth.
I turned away when Salvador went to work on eating the businessman’s calf.
“You guys need to see this,” a voice called from a cubicle in the corner.
I left the window and joined the group crowded around the front of a computer monitor. There was a news bulletin up on the screen.
“It’s been the same thing repeated on loop,” said Paresh. He was from IT, like Jeremy. It was Paresh’s desk we were crowded around. I’d maybe spoken all of ten words to the guy since he’s started working in the office. He was soft-spoken but helpful. “I think we’re in serious trouble.”
The bulletin described exactly what we’d been witnessing: violent attacks, biting, erratic behavior. Things were far worse on the outside than I’d imagined. There were reports of car accidents, fires, and even looting. A small window popped up in the corner of the screen, reminding people to stay inside and to lock all doors and windows.
“Have you been able to reach any emergency services? It doesn’t matter which one: fire department, ambulance, police. Just somebody to help to Mike,” I said. “He’s in a bad way.”
“No, I haven’t. Sorry.” Paresh shook his head slowly. “I don’t understand it. It’s like the outside world can get to us but we can’t get to it. It’s just the same damn bulletin, again and again. I’ve tried everything. I think emergency services are preoccupied with—” he tipped his chin toward the widows “—all that’s happening out there.”
“Son of a bitch,” Jeremy breathed. The breast pocket on his shirt was blotched with Lauren’s tears. “I knew it. I always said a zombie outbreak was inevitable.”
A few people rolled their eyes at Jeremy. But the funny thing was that nobody argued.
“This whole thing has got to be a misunderstanding,” Lauren said. “I mean, it has to be, right?”
“A misunderstanding?” Jeremy sneered. “Um, have you already forgotten what happened outside? Yah, the whole town is in on it, including Mike. Oh, and Salvador, his kid, and the briefcase guy they’re chowing down on. They decided to play a big practical joke on us all.”
Lauren started to cry again. Paresh frowned, “Real nice, Jeremy.”
Jeremy put his arm around Lauren’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sorry.”
Lauren shrugged him off. “I’m fine.”
“What do we do, then?” Marty said to Jeremy. “If they really are zombies, aren’t we supposed to hit them over the head or something?”
“Seriously?” Jeremy said. He was now taking his agitation out on Marty. Apparently. “How the hell should I know?”
“You’re the one always going on about this stuff,” Paresh said blandly.
“Yah, in theory,” Jeremy said, defensive. “I never actually thought anything like this would happen. Besides, in all of my scenarios I was locked inside a bomb shelter with a machine gun, about two thousand grenades, and a Swedish supermodel. So, yah, this,” he said, waving his hands around spastically, “is a slightly different situation. The best advice I can offer is to bash in their brains, not let them bite you, and run like hell.”
I said, “I honestly cannot believe we’re having this conversation.”
“Guys, quiet!” Lauren shushed.
At the end of the bulletin, a bold red warning: ISOLATE THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN BITTEN.
“That’s new,” said Paresh.
Mike.
Our eyes slowly and collectively shifted towards the conference room. The door was closed and the shades were pulled down. There was no movement inside.
“Somebody has to get Keisha out of there right away,” I whispered.
“What if Mike . . . attacks us?” Lauren asked.
“Maybe one of us could, uh, restrain Mike while somebody else pulls Keisha from the room,” Jeremy suggested. I didn’t like the way he’d said restrain, like we were conspiring. I hoped he wasn’t considering bashing in Mike’s brains.
“Now wait a minute,” I said, the growing enthusiasm of the Marty and Jeremy concerning me. “There’s no need to run in there like a bunch of maniacs. We’ll just calmly open the door and tell Keisha that we need her for a minute. Once she’s out, we’ll lock Mike in the room. Then we’ll tell him about the bulletin warning. Mike’s a reasonable guy. He’ll understand.”
“How are we going to lock him in there?” Jeremy asked. “None of the doors have any locks on them. We’ve—I’ve—checked.” He shot a quick look at Lauren, who looked away and blushed. I always suspected the two of them had an office romance brewing, and suddenly their synchronized fifteen-minute disappearances made sense.
“We could wedge a chair under the handle,” Lauren suggested.
“Good idea,” I said. It was a great idea, actually, when the only alternate plan was to bash Mike over the head.
Paresh grabbed a chair from the break room. It was the one chair in the place that didn’t have wheels. We crept towards the conference room as a group.
Paresh cupped his ear and put it to the door. Jeremy warned, “Hey, man, not sure that’s such a good idea. You might want to keep your distance.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Paresh said, snapping his head back. He observed the drawn blinds. “Are we even sure they’re still in there? I can’t hear a thing.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “I saw them both go in. They would have walked right past us if they’d gone out.”
Paresh’s hand hovered over the doorknob. “Shall I open it?”
We nodded communally. I’m sure others were holding their breath, like I was, as Paresh’s hand closed over the knob.
“Wait!” Marty ran to a nearby desk and snatched up a long metal hole punch. He raised it up by his shoulders like a Louisvill
e Slugger. “Weapon,” he said.
We nodded at Paresh. Gingerly, he began turning the knob.
But then a ping by the elevators stopped him.
Somebody had come up.
I heard the mob before I saw it. It was Them. At least ten, maybe fifteen.
They rushed us, moaning and screeching, flailing their arms around like they were trying to put out a fire. Alicia was at the head of the group, but her father was nowhere to be seen. I briefly wondered if she’d eaten him.
Only one of Alicia’s pigtails was still intact. Chunks of her hair were missing on the side of her head where her other pigtail should have been, and her skull was visible beneath bloody patches of tissue. One of her eyes was gone, too. A murky grey liquid oozed from the cavity and dripped down her cheek. Grinning, she licked at the stream with the tip of her tongue.
I was inexplicably laughing again. Hysterically. “This can’t be happening,” I said to nobody in particular. “This isn’t happening.”
Keisha must have heard all the commotion because she came stumbling out from the conference room. She was holding her jaw, stunned. She dropped her hand and blood spouted out of her neck like a sprinkler head powered on turbo.
Mike came rushing up behind Keisha and bit down where she was already bleeding. He tore off a massive hunk of sinew and gobbled it down.
I screamed. Mike looked right at me and said, “I haven’t listened to an eight-track in years, Sandra.”
Mike pushed Keisha aside and charged me. He opened and closed his fingers, like a clown beeping an invisible horn. “Tits McGee!” he roared. “Tits McGee! Give me a taste of that mother’s milk. Tits McGee! McGeeeee!”
I’d never fully comprehended the phrase “like a deer caught in headlights” until that moment. Because I froze. I mean, I don’t think my heart was even still pumping blood anymore. My body and mind just turned to stone. And thank goodness Marty was there to step in and save my life. If it wasn’t for him, there’s no doubt in my mind that I’d be dead.
Marty batted the hole punch down on Mike’s face. Hard. The sound of metal making contact with Mike’s mouth—thwack—was right up there with the taco truck’s nightmarish “La Cucaracha” horn.
It didn’t faze Mike whatsoever.
Marty swung again and Mike’s front teeth came flying out like confetti. Marty swept an arm across my chest and heaved me back. Mike toppled to his knees, head bobbling. “I’ll bring chili to the picnic on Saturday,” he said to us, and then he collapsed facedown on the carpet.
The mob was closing in. One of Them materialized from behind a potted fern. It was a woman I recognized from the second floor. Her name was Patty and she drove a white Buick. Most mornings when I passed by her in the parking lot she was bringing in homemade cakes and cookies for people in her office. She seemed like a sweet lady.
Now she was sinking her teeth into Marty’s bicep.
Marty dropped the hole punch and started howling. He drove a palm up into Patty’s nose, breaking it. Blood spewed from Patty’s nostrils, staining her white blouse like burgundy rain. She was making hideous gurrrl-gurrrl noises, but she kept her hold. Her face did not register any emotion: not hate, not rage, not pain, not sorrow . . . Nothing.
Maybe hunger.
“Help me, Sally!” Marty shrieked. “Stop standing there and help me, goddamn it! GET THIS BITCH OFF ME!”
Marty’s obscenities snapped me out of it, spiking my adrenaline into overdrive. I ripped the computer monitor from Paresh’s desk and brought it down on top of Patty’s head, cord and all. Patty didn’t let go and so I hit her with the monitor again, straining my shoulder something fierce—those things aren’t light, you know.
Marty continued screaming bloody murder because Patty remained clamped on. I hit her a third time and she finally let go, which was convenient since my shoulder couldn’t have withstood another flinging.
Patty turned to me and blinked a couple of times as I dropped the monitor down on her feet. There was a short-lived flicker of recognition in her eyes, and for an awful moment I thought she was going to say, “Hey, I know you. Why did you just do that to me? Why?”
But she didn’t. Thank God, she didn’t.
Marty shoved me and shouted in my face, “Run, Sally!” He bolted towards the elevators. “Run! Go!”
I muttered a quick apology to Patty, and then I ran, too.
Blindly and instinctively I sprinted towards my desk, a worker bee retuning to the hive. I had a mini meltdown once I reached my cubicle. I scuttled under my desk, pulled in the chair for cover, and clapped my hands down over my ears to shut out the shrieking. I closed my eyes for a bit . . . But I didn’t check out completely. I still had it together enough to grasp that I’d be discovered (eaten) if I didn’t get the hell out of there.
I bit down on my tongue until it bled. It had the sobering effect I was hoping for. I opened my eyes and peeked my head out from underneath the desk. The coast was clear, though I could still hear Them.
I was on my hands and knees when a hand shot down from above and grabbed a fistful of my hair. It was Keisha.
She dragged me out from under the desk, jerking me to my feet. She clawed out at my face, and one of her acrylic nails popped off as it dug into my cheek. Her eyes were clouded over with the same milky white cataracts Mike’s had had, but hers were denser. It seemed she’d gone completely blind. She was snuffling my skin, hissing. I’m pretty sure that’s how Keisha had found me, by sniffing me out.
I elbowed Keisha in the nose and she stumbled. It took just an instant for her to regain her balance and then she was after me again. I tripped over my own foot and fell backwards, my skull cracking hard against the desk. Luckily, I hadn’t been knocked out, or else Keisha would have had herself a nice little meal.
Keisha was blind but she was fast. And strong. She seized me by the ankle, and I scrambled under the desk for something to hang on to. I felt my laptop case and grasped its handle for dear life. My laptop was inside, so it had a bit of heft to it—I know I’ve been bitching forever about how heavy it is, but now I’m so glad I never upgraded to something lighter. When Keisha hauled me out from under the desk, I swung the case as hard as I could, smashing her right across the face. She faltered for only a millisecond, but a millisecond was all that I needed.
I escaped towards the elevators.
Keisha lost interest in me once she could no longer smell me. But now I had a new issue to contend with. The elevator was surrounded by Them.
I looked towards the emergency exit stairwell. It was surrounded, too. There was no way I was leaving the building, not unless I was willing to jump out a third-story window. I wasn’t.
I managed to miraculously reach the supply closet without being molested. I was still in possession of my laptop, which I didn’t even realize until after I’d shut the door.
And so that is how I came to be typing up a big email in a tiny space. This email, which will probably never reach the light of day. But I can’t just sit here, doing nothing. I’d lose my mind.
Jeremy was right about the no locks thing. And the closet was stocked with only minor supplies: pens, printer ink, paper. There was absolutely nothing I could use as a lock or a barricade. So, I improvised. I pulled off my pantyhose, knotting one end around the doorknob and the other end around the bracket of a high metal shelf. Though the pantyhose had some give, the bond was surprisingly sound. And it was better than nothing.
I can’t tell you what has happened to everyone in the office. I haven’t seen anyone since I’ve been in here. Except Jeremy.
Jeremy came to the closet right after I’d secured the pantyhose. He told me to let him in. I was so relieved to hear another human’s voice that on instinct I began to untie the knot. I wasn’t thinking. Then, something panicked Jeremy outside. He started pounding on the door, pulling at the handle, screaming for me to hurry. I told him to calm down because I was worried he was going to rip the pantyhose. This only made him panic more. He pulled the
door open about five inches. It wasn’t a wide enough gap for him to slither through, but it was still wide enough for me to get a glimpse of his face.
Jeremy’s ear had been bitten off.
I told him, “I can’t let you in. I’m sorry.”
He promised he wouldn’t hurt me.
“You don’t know that,” I said. “Oh, Christ! I’m so sorry, Jeremy! I just can’t!”
“They’re coming!” He was wailing now. “Let me in. They’re coming!”
I begged him to be quiet, terrified that we’d be swarmed. I swear on my life that I wanted to help, Adam. Please believe me. But Jeremy had been bitten and I just couldn’t risk being locked in with him.
The Lone Zombie of New Jersey Page 3
