by Jay Zano
“Susie? How could you do this to me?”
“Did you really think I was going to go in there and screw your brains out?” she laughs. “Not while I’m alive and breathing!”
“But I love you,” Sid responds, completely dumbfounded by her betrayal.
“Ew, you’re so gross! Please, someone shut the door before I vomit.”
“See you, lover boy!” laughs Justin Beaver, slamming the storage room door in Sid’s face. As the belly laughs fade away, he drops the mop and slowly starts to cry.
There are several men kneeling around the doctor.
“Is she okay?” one bystander asks. “It looks like she hit her head.”
“Gentlemen!” Zoe shouts, running into the lab. “This is a highly restricted area. You need to get out of here, now!”
“The doctor is hurt!”
Suddenly, the doctor’s breathing gets shallower and more frantic.
“Is she hyperventilating?”
“Doctor, are you okay?”
Her eyes flicker open, almost opaque.
“Jesus!” says one of the men. Without warning, Dr. Flemming lunges, her wide-open mouth closing on the neck of a concerned helper.
“Oh God! Someone, help me!”
Before anyone can move, Dr. Flemming is onto her next victim, digging her teeth into the side of his face. As the rest of the men back up, her first victim climbs to his feet with the same opaque eyes.
“Oh shit!” Zoe screams, turning to run out of the room. She reaches behind her jacket and pulls out a radio. “Attention, we have a code one! I repeat, a code one! Prepare a lockdown of seventy-five, this is not a drill!”
She makes her way down the hall, looking back to see three men, seemingly ravenous, chasing after her. Knowing she’s not going to outrun them, she drops her radio, reaches back and pulls out a semi-automatic handgun. She starts firing, hitting the first two in their chests, but it does little to dissuade them. Refocusing her aim, she shoots one of them in the head, stopping him dead in his tracks. Two more shots and all three are lying motionless in the hallway. She reaches for her radio, but five infected men charge out of the lab, tailed by Dr. Flemming. Zoe turns and runs, heading for the lockdown doors.
“I said code one!” she shouts into the radio, seeing that they aren’t closing. “Jimmy, close the doors!”
There’s no answer. She hesitates for a second; she only has a limited opportunity to get outside the containment doors, but it won’t matter if the floor isn’t sealed. Instead of running for safety, she heads for the control room, quickly swiping herself in and shutting the door behind her. The room is empty, but she can hear the infected scratching to get in. She darts to the control terminal, where she can see all the video feeds on the seventy-fifth floor. On every feed, people are being attacked and devoured. She sees Jimmy, lifeless on the ground, only recognizable by his security guard outfit, while two of the infected feed on his remains.
The elevator door opens on Zook’s suite, where he sits at his desk. Jacobs steps out, past the MPs guarding the elevator.
“You guys need to get down there and help!” he barks. “Something awful has happened, and they need all the firepower they can get.”
“We have our orders” says one of the MPs.
“Just call down there and see,” Jacobs orders. The other MP walks to Zook, who is already dialing the phone.
“Is everything okay down there?” asks the MP, taking the headset. Distant screams are his only answer.
“Come on, let’s go!” he says.
“What about Zook?”
“He’s not going anywhere, are you, Zook?”
“Where am I going to go?” Zook replies. The MPs run to the elevator and head down while Zook looks over to Jacobs.
“We good?”
“Yes, sir, we are good.”
“Excellent! What we are doing today will go down in history as the day I saved America and made it like it used to be. Come on. Our chariot awaits,” says Zook, leading the way to the helicopter pad just outside the penthouse suite.
Zoe frantically initiates the lockdown of the seventy-fifth floor. As the steel bay doors close, she keeps her eyes on the escape routes. She sees the two MPs step off Zook’s elevator only to be instantly swarmed by the infected. The doors aren’t quick enough, and she watches as a crowd of infected make their way through before they seal.
“No!” she shrieks. She takes a deep breath, picks up the phone and dials a number. “We have a breach from the seventy-fifth.”
“How bad?” asks security control.
“Bad! Please commence immediate lockdown of both towers.”
“Roger that.”
“We’re on a code red lockdown, gentlemen,” shouts the controller, down on the first floor. “Seal the doors!”
The terminal operators glance at each other for a moment, then start typing. Alarms sound in the building, and emergency lights flash as onlookers look around in amazement. Then, solid steel doors drop from the walls, covering each and every possible exit. Once the doors are down, the alarm stops.
“The building is completely contained, sir.”
“It’s in God’s hands now. If you’re a god fearing person you better start praying.”
CHAPTER 5
LOCKDOWN
IN THE SERVER room, we’re now in our typical mid-morning state of relaxation. I’m half-asleep with a bag of Doritos in my lap, Vegas is playing Texas hold ’em on one of the desk computers and Fick is balled up in a chair, slowly rocking and chewing his fingernails. Suddenly, the regular lights go out, the emergency lights come on and an alarm starts to sound.
“That’s new,” Vegas says, looking up.
“What the hell?” I yell, as we all jump up, trying to figure out what’s going on. The alarm is so blaring that I can barely focus on why it’s going off.
“Maybe it’s a test?” Fickle yells, but I can barely hear him through the deafening sound. It doesn’t sound like a test; it sounds like the type of alarm you hear when a nuclear power plant starts to melt down. All I’m waiting for is a computerized voice to come over the PA, letting me know the building will self-destruct in three minutes.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Vegas blurts out, panicking. “Let’s get out of here.”
We walk to the server room doors and push down on the handle, but the door doesn’t open.
“What the hell, man! We’re locked in!” Vegas shouts, now in full panic mode.
“I think it’s the power!” says Fick. “I’m guessing the power outage won’t let the door open.”
“What kind of door locks when there’s no power!” cries Vegas, pushing desperately at the door. “It’s a damn door! How sophisticated does it have to be?”
“Hey, man, we’re in the data-center,” I reply. “This is one of the areas they need to be secure. It’s probably just a security feature. It’s all fine; the doors will open soon, let’s not lose our shit!”
“Where the hell is Sid?” Vegas replies, practically hyperventilating. “He could get these doors open!”
Sid, now dressed, is sitting on the floor of the maintenance closet. He hears the alarms going off, but he doesn’t seem to care about the warning.
“I hope a plane flies into the side of this building and kills us all! Stupid Susie and her stupid face with her stupid friends. I’m not leaving! I’m staying in this closet forever!”
*
About Sid
Sid is a great guy, and one of the most loyal friends I’ve ever had. He also happens to be quite brilliant. I met him when I started here a few years ago, and once I got past the tics, weirdness and social mishaps, I got to see the real Sid. He has social limitations, which makes it difficult for him to fit in, and especially to understand when he’s not fitting in. That’s why Susie pisses me off so much. Bottom line, she knows he isn’t like everyone else, and she exploits that and continues to mess with him. She’s pure evil and deserving of every single STD
she ever gets.
*
As people on all floors try to make sense of the alarms, some slowly make their way to the stairwells, some try for the elevator and some simply refuse to move, thinking it’s just another false alarm. As the staircases start to get jammed, packed with one hundred floors of people making their way downstairs, the commotion from the higher floors begins to grow louder.
“Listen, everyone!” screams an authoritative voice from the fiftieth floor, his voice echoing up and down the stairwell. He removes his jacket slowly and loosens his tie. “We need to slowly make our way downstairs in an orderly fashion. Please, head down to the lobby. Thank you.”
“What’s going on up there?” asks an older business man, squinting up at the faint sounds of screaming.
“I’m not sure,” says an associate. “It’s probably just people panicking.”
As the screaming and commotion get closer, an African American woman peeks up through the center of the staircase in an attempt to see what’s going on.
“What the…” she murmurs, trying to focus on a strange shape that’s falling towards her. She steps back just in time, avoiding the body that spins past.
“What the hell was that?” the older gentleman screams. The crowd in the stairwell stare at each, unable to believe what they’ve seen, but not for long, as it’s only moments until another body slams into the railing. The impact splits the head, and it explodes in blood and brain, the railing ringing like a gong. There’s another brief moment of silence, the group coated in human tissue and membrane, brains dripping from their business suits and noses.
As an office worker wearing a plaid business suit slowly wipes the sludge from his brow and shows his hand to the others in the stairwell, he exclaims, “Let’s get the hell out of here!”
Panic ensues, and the assembled staff start trampling their way down the overcrowded stairs. People are pushing and stepping over each other, a frantic herd making its way to the lobby, unable to outrun the screams from the floors above.
“Go, go, go!” yells a middle-aged woman in a power suit, trying to push her way through the packed crowd. “They’re coming!”
“Who’s coming?” cries another woman, pulling up her pant leg to reach down and unstrap her high heels for better mobility.
“Help!” Vegas screams as he bangs on the server room door, taking a moment to look through the peephole to see if anyone can hear him.
“Vegas, calm down! There’s no use in screaming and acting like a lunatic. Everyone left. Let’s look for something to pry the door open.”
There’s a knock on the door.
“Hello?” Vegas screams.
“Johnny, is that you? It’s Betty. What are you doing in there? Don’t you know everyone is evacuating?”
“Oh my God, thank you, God! Betty, God bless you! Yes, it’s me. I’m in here with Fickle and Tyson; we’re locked in the room.”
“Well, you boys just hang in there. I’m going to get some help!”
“Thank you so much, Betty! You’re the best!”
“Okay, boys. I’ll be back in a jiffy!”
Vegas looks through the peephole and sees Betty turn to walk away. As she does so, a man staggers towards her.
“Who is that?” Vegas murmurs, refocusing for a better look. As things swim into focus, the man lunges at Betty, sinking his teeth into the side of her face. He hits a vein, and blood spurts three feet into the air.
“No!” Vegas shouts, banging on the door. “What the…”
“What the hell is going on out there?” I scream as Fickle and I run over.
“Some guy is biting Betty on her face! Hey! Get the hell off of her!” Vegas screams, slapping the door, his eye fixed on the peephole.
“Let me see!” I shout, pushing Vegas aside.
“What’s going on?” Fickle exclaims. I put my eye to the peephole hesitantly, not really wanting to see what’s going on, but needing to validate Johnny’s behavior. As my eye focuses, I see Betty’s lifeless body on the ground. A strange figure is stooped over her, gnawing on her face.
“What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know, man,” Vegas replies, his voice shaking. “Is Betty okay? Is that guy still there? Is she dead?”
As he speaks, the ‘guy’ stops and whips his head in the direction of the door.
“Holy shit!” I cry. “That’s Justin!”
“Who’s Justin? Justin is the guy eating Betty’s face? Is he on bath salts or something?”
“Shh! He’s looking this way.”
As Justin gets to his feet, Betty’s body starts to move.
“Betty’s alive! She’s getting up! Betty, run! Run!”
Hearing us, Justin hurls himself at the server room door.
“Jesus! Justin is trying to get in here, now! He has to be on drugs or something.”
Betty is up now and, like Justin, she turns towards the door.
“What’s happening now?” Fickle asks nervously.
“Damn, Betty is missing half her face! Why isn’t she running?”
In fact, she is, and she hits the server room door with incredible impact. I jump back, startled.
“Whoa! Betty’s trying to get in here, now. She’s acting just as whack as Justin!”
“What the hell is going on?” Vegas says as we all step back from the door.
“Shit, man, I hate to say it…” I reply.
“Say what?” Fickle asks.
“Everyone needs to find a weapon,” I answer. “Find what you can, fast!”
“Tyson!” Vegas screams. “What is going on out there?”
I take a slow, deep breath, knowing Fickle and Vegas are now completely focused on every word coming out of my mouth. I know that if I say what I’m thinking, it’ll put them both in hysterics, but I can’t stop myself.
“Zombies!”
In the stairwell, a secretary is focusing on the commotion from the floors above. She can hear the frantic footsteps coming ever closer and turns, hoping to dodge around what she thinks will be a herd of panicked office workers. As the crowd’s shadow makes its way around the corner, her eyes fill with fear.
“What the fu—”
A woman in a power suit leaps down an entire flight of stairs, her incisors closing on the secretary’s neck. As she sinks her teeth in, blood fountains out, coating the walls of the stairwell. Now laying over the fallen secretary like a stray dog grinding its teeth on a carcass, she looks up to see the panicked crowd of people stuck in the stairwell. She lets out a tremendous growl and, before anyone can react, a huge pack of infected round the corner and launch themselves into their stranded prey.
Down in the lobby, people are walking around calmly, completely unaware of the madness bearing down on them. All of a sudden, the doors to the stairwell fling wide open, violently banging into the wall as people push and scream their way out, sprinting over to the exit doors of tower one.
“No, no, no!” screams a balding businessman, realizing they’re sealed. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
There’s a sudden hush in the immense lobby as hundreds of people focus on the stairwell, and a rush of sprinting, infected zombies flood out, tearing a swathe through the lobby. Complete lunacy takes hold and, in the distance, the elevator doors open, spilling even more zombies into the lobby. The huge space pulses with the infected, scurrying quickly and efficiently between victims, devouring everything in their path. In mere minutes, the workers are completely overwhelmed by the flesh-hungry pack in a bloodbath of human carnage.
The lobby security personnel look on in complete horror. From the safety of their locked-down suite, they witness sheer terror from the multitude of security cameras. Their heads swivel from one screen to another as they try to make sense of it all.
“We have to help them!” one of the guards hollers desperately.
“Are you insane?” barks Derek, the lead security officer. “Take a good look at those cameras! We go out there and we’re lunch at b
est. At worst, we turn into one of them! The only thing we can do is call it in and pray.” He points to the other security guard. “Dylan, call it in!”
The remaining guard, Frank, focuses on the hundred different views he has of the building, each marred by a brutal attack. He focuses back on the lobby camera, which is a wide-angle view of the entire area.
“Dylan’s calling it in,” he murmurs, watching as thousands of people flee for their lives. “I guess I’ll just pray.”
Up in the security office on the seventy-fifth floor, Zoe is covering her mouth in shock as she takes in what she’s seeing on her own screen.
“How did this happen?” she blurts out, already trying to piece together some kind of timeline for the events that have brought her here. “Jacobs… Did he do this on purpose? Maybe the meeting didn’t go as planned, and this was their way to hush things up.”
Her mind is racing a million miles a minute, but the video feeds quickly win back her attention. Understanding that this is her new reality, she bursts into tears and covers her face completely.
CHAPTER 6
THE STORM BEFORE THE CALM
THE OUTSIDE OF Zook Towers is buzzing with activity. Fire trucks, police cars, SWAT tanks and crime scene tape keep onlookers and reporters outside the building’s perimeter, while news helicopters circle above. A black sedan pulls up, and out steps a tall man. His hair is graying, and he’s dressed in full police regalia, with all the medals and stripes of a high-ranking official.
“Can someone tell me what’s going on, here?” he says impatiently.
“Good afternoon, Chief!” replies Captain Jeffords of the NYPD. “At approximately ten forty-five this morning, dispatch started receiving hundreds of calls reporting a terrorist attack on Zook Towers. The first batch of calls was due to an alarm going off in the building—”
“Captain, you’re telling me this circus is all because of an alarm?”
“No, sir! Those were the first calls. Shortly after that, dispatch started receiving calls about terrorists physically attacking and killing people in the building.”
“How many terrorists, and what kind of weaponry are we talking about?”
