by Jay Zano
Jacobs kills the video feed and types in the starting bid. Bidding is instantaneous, jumping in increments of billions until it evens out at the highest bid: forty-five billion dollars. Zook raises the cigar to his mouth, lights it up and blows a huge plume of smoke as a sinister smile spreads across his face.
“Congratulations, sir,” Jacobs responds. “You just doubled your net worth in less than five minutes.”
“Make the arrangements and let me know when the wire transfer clears.”
“Do you want to know who won the bid?”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re all on the same side, after all.”
CHAPTER 12
BABY STEPS
BEING LOCKED UP in this room was agony even before I knew Zoe was alive, but now it’s pure torture. I have Sid working overtime trying to find a contact number for the room she’s in. Even though the firewalls are down, giving us access to the video feed, the phones aren’t listed anywhere. Poor Sid has called at least five hundred numbers so far, to no avail. I’m trying to keep my cool; letting myself explode would only pressure Sid too much and freak out the others. It’s going to be hard to talk these guys into coming with me to save Zoe, and I’m starting to think we need a few small wins to build their confidence. Time to get to work.
“Hey guys, I think it’s time to gather some supplies, food and weapons.”
“If that means leaving the security of this room, I’m out,” Fick snaps.
“Hear me out! We have the video feed, now.”
“So?”
“So, let’s use it to our advantage. We can recon the areas with known supplies. Sid, bring up all the cameras on this floor.”
Sid does as I ask, and while zombies are swarming over the majority of the floor, I can undoubtedly see some areas that are clear.
“Okay, look. From where we are, there’s a clear path to the break room, the office supply closet and the maintenance room. Here’s the plan. Sid, you go to the break room to gather food and water.”
“Got it!” Sid replies.
“Vegas, you hit the office supply closet. You’re looking for anything that can be used as a weapon. You’re looking for sharp objects or anything heavy and blunt.”
“Like what, a staple gun?”
“I don’t know, man. Channel your inner MacGyver and figure it out.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll go to the maintenance room. I’m sure I can find some supplies there.”
“What about me?” Fickle responds, almost disappointed not to be part of the plan.
“You stay here and keep an eye on the video. Let us back in after we’re done.”
“Well, that sucks!”
“Listen, I’m being real here. You’re acting like a huge wuss, and the last thing I need is to have to save you because you don’t have the balls to do what’s necessary. Stay here and let us back in. Got it?”
“Fine!” Fick yells. He had to throw up a protest to prove that he has at least one nut in his sack, but it wasn’t a fight he wanted to win. I can tell he prefers to sit around and wait for someone to save him, rather than try to help himself in any way. No wonder he’s locked into middle management; he’s incapable of making the hard calls.
“Alright, everyone understand what they’re doing?” I ask, getting a series of head bobs as everyone quietly picks up their weapons. Fick makes his way to the server room door, gazes out the peephole and slowly opens the door. We all take a couple of deep breaths and make our way out of the room, but Betty and Justin’s corpses still knock us back on our heels. Being locked in the server room watching from a distance gave it a sense of make believe. Seeing their limp, lifeless bodies is a reminder of just how serious our situation is.
“Okay, guys, remember your mission. See you back here in ten minutes.”
Vegas and I clearly grasp the magnitude of the situation, but Sid seems almost giddy. We set off in our respective directions while Fickle slowly closes the door behind us.
“Good luck,” he whispers.
CHAPTER 13
SUPPLIES
VEGAS AND SID are off on their way. Johnny is by no means a killer, but I have faith that, when push comes to shove, he can do what needs to be done. I’m less worried about Sid. Not that Sid’s a maniac, but he won’t hesitate to bash someone’s head in. Both the office supply closet and the break room are close to the server room, so I’m guessing they’ll be back before me. The maintenance room is on the other side of the suite, and definitely the riskier run, but if I want to instill confidence, I need to show I’m willing to take risks. It’s also a blind spot for the cameras, so we couldn’t scope it out first. Sid’s run to get food and water is just to keep him busy, since it’s only been five or six hours, and I don’t expect Vegas to find much in the supply closet. I mean, what office supplies could he possibly collect that could be used to kill zombies? Still, giving them a mission means giving them a purpose. All I need is for them to come back safe, and then we can start working on something of a bit more consequence.
It’s not long before I’m completely on my own, nearly overwhelmed by fear but amped-up with exhilaration. I have no idea what to expect in the maintenance room, but I know I can run back to safety. In the meantime, I’m considering the ‘how’ of actually reaching Zoe. The others aren’t up to that kind of mission yet, but eventually they’ll start asking questions. I need to work up some answers before they can even ask their questions. I feel like I have Sid on my side, but Vegas and Fick are clearly not onboard. Well, Fick is a huge liability anyway, but I need Vegas, and I feel like they’re a package deal at this point. Hopefully, Fick can get past this nervous breakdown and nut up.
As I slowly make my way to the maintenance door, I realize that I don’t have a key. I quietly jiggle the handle and, sure enough, it’s locked. Maybe I can jimmy it. I pull off my ID badge and attempt to wiggle it between the door frame and the latch, but there’s no hope. I kick the door in complete frustration. It rattles, and there’s an answering grunt from down the hall. A figure shuffles around the corner; a terrifying silhouette, but one I know. It’s Glen, the guy who liked to eat chips in my ear while I tried to fix his computer.
“Glen?” I whisper, hoping he’s just injured. He lumbers a few more steps and we both come to a realization. For me, it’s that he’s a damn zombie. For him, it’s that he just found something to eat. He starts to run at me, and I take a fighting stance, not even considering running away. I’m not sure if it’s because I have the ‘fight over flight’ gene, or because I’ve had the fantasy of bashing in Glen’s fat, chip-eating face for years. Whichever it is, the closer he gets, the more amped-up I get to stab him in the skull. For a fat dude, he’s moving fast, though. Too fast! He lunges at me at almost superhuman speed, and I barely have a chance to catch him with the paper cutter. He lumbers away as I reposition myself for the next blow, but when he looks up at me, I realize the magnitude of what’s happening. Not just with Glen, but with this whole zombie attack. His eyes are completely devoid of human life. Sadness for humanity starts to creep into my thoughts as I gaze deeper into Glen’s lifeless, gray eyes. Obnoxiously eating a bag of chips in my ear doesn’t seem to merit having his head bashed in, anymore. Before this, yes, I dreamed about choking the life out of the guy, but now I feel sorry for him. Perhaps this is what Fickle feels like all the time. Poor bastard. Maybe I’ve been too hard on him. As I continue to look at Glen, he rounds on me, and I realize I need to snap out of it. His eyes show sadness, but his mouth says the Tyson buffet is open for business. I raise my weapon over my head and bring it down, right between his eyes. He freezes, motionless, but his eyes pierce my own. That was nowhere near satisfying, but it was completely necessary. That’s the real difference between me and Fick; I’m capable of doing what’s necessary, but he’d prefer everyone else do the heavy lifting. That’s why he’s stuck in a dead-end position and will never be considered for promotion: no balls.
As I try to remove my cutter from Gl
en’s skull, I realize it’s completely stuck. Man, I really jacked it in there. I put my foot on his face and give a couple good pulls. Damn! As I struggle, I hear a noise from down the hall. Three more zombies have made their way to my location. I look the other way and see two more. I guess my racket attracted their attention.
“Let go, Glen, you fat-ass!” I shout, realizing I don’t really have that ‘fight over flight’ gene, because I want to run so bad right now. Unfortunately, Glen has my weapon, and my only way out is to get past these zombies. After a couple of sways back and forth, I can feel the machete loosening, and finally it gives. It’s not before time, because they’re in a full-fledged sprint, now. I’m pretty sure this is it for me. I can’t fight all of them, and I don’t have anywhere to run. I turn my attention back to the maintenance door. It’s my only chance, so I kick out frantically, but the door won’t give a damn inch, no matter how hard I throw my weight at it. It’ll be over soon. I turn back to the zombies to make my final stand. Just as I start to raise my cutter, the maintenance door slams open and someone grabs me by the shoulders and drags me into the room. The door is hurled closed and the room falls dark; I can only see a silhouette of a man standing over me. My heart is pounding through my chest in fear as he leans in, but I’ve started to make out his face. It’s a guy I recognize from the building; a facilities worker, I think, who never talks to anyone and mostly keeps his head down.
He puts out his hand to help me up and says, “Welcome to the apocalypse!”
CHAPTER 14
SID’S HOOK-UP
SID PEEKS INTO the break room, whispering ‘hello’ to see if anyone’s around. He’s armed with a table leg; a nice, blunt weapon for bashing in heads. After taking some small steps into the room, he realizes he’s definitely all alone. Growing in confidence, he puts down his weapon on the break room table and meanders to the fridge. He looks in to find several leftover options, but nothing that looks too reliable. He opens a container of Chinese food, gives it a big sniff and nearly vomits from the smell.
“Gross!”
The rest of the containers are clearly marked ‘Do not eat’, so he closes the fridge in frustration.
“Nothing!”
He begins rifling through the cabinets, only to find dishes, glasses and various spices. Looking disappointed, he steps back, glancing around until he notices the vending machine.
“Pay dirt!” he chuckles, walking up to the vending machine. Pulling out his wallet, he suddenly realizes he has no small bills.
“Dang! I need some ones.”
Meanwhile, back in the server room, Fickle is watching Sid on the security monitor.
“That dumbass is trying to pay!” he says aloud. “Just break it, you stupid idiot! Wait… What are you doing?”
Sid looks around and sees his table leg sitting on the table. He picks it up and makes his way back to the vending machine, grinning like a lunatic. He takes a step back, gets into a Jedi fighting stance and goes into a choreographed light saber ritual that would make any Star Wars nerd proud, swinging wildly around the room while making noises with his mouth. Suitably pumped-up, he refocuses his attention on the vending machine, does a three hundred and sixty degree spin and SMASH!, shatters the glass front. Reveling in success, he bows low and then holsters his weapon. Honor satisfied, he puts his table leg down on the counter and starts searching for a bag in which he can gather up his loot. He finds some grocery bags in a cabinet and makes his way back to the vending machine. As he starts to fill his bag, a presence makes its way into the door frame of the break area. Sensing he’s not alone, he slowly turns his head to see who’s there.
“Susie?” he says to the woman in the doorway. “Oh, thank God!”
“Sid, what are you doing?” Fickle cries, covering his mouth in horror. “Run! Fight! Don’t just stand there!” He watches, helpless, as Susie lunges at Sid. “Holy shit, Sid! Get out of there before she kills you!”
Sid puts his hands up as Susie tackles him. His head ricochets off the ground and the world goes fuzzy. He’s having trouble thinking clearly.
“What are you doing?” he says. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you!”
Susie looks down at him with her beautiful doe eyes, and he realizes dimly that they have a slight gray tint that he’s never noticed before. It’s as if she’s trying to say she’s sorry.
“I’m so mad at you, Susie. You really hurt me today!”
Susie pulls away, clearly ashamed, but then thinks better of it. In a flurry of passion, she leans in to kiss his neck.
“Now you want me?” he says furiously, pushing her away. “Now that I’m probably the last man alive?”
Fickle watches in agony as what used to be his coworker Susie attempts to chew Sid’s face off. Every time she darts forwards, he thinks she’s going to connect, but Sid is managing to keep her at bay. The trouble is, he’s making no real attempt to get away.
“Come on, Sid! Get out of there!”
Susie is being so insistent, and Sid has to admit to himself that he’s getting aroused. More than anything, though, he feels confused, dizzy even, and that isn’t how he wants this; he wants to be present, to be active in their love.
“Wait!” he shouts, needing some space, and pushes Susie back. She stumbles, uncharacteristically inelegant, and lands hard on the shredding machine in the corner of the room. As she tries to get up, her hand brushes across the top, and it whirs into life. Her scarf, carefully chosen, is sucked into the shredder, and the machine screams, chewing up the material before stalling with her face pressed right up against it.
“Yes!” Fickle exclaims, as the trapped Susie scrabbles against the shredding machine. Giving up on freedom, Susie begins to chomp in Sid’s direction, still futilely trying to chew his face off.
“Now get the hell out of there!” Fickle shouts.
Lights are going off in Sid’s vision, but even as his dizziness increases, he’s beginning to find some clarity. Slowly, he reaches out and rubs her ass. She moans with pleasure.
“Let me take charge,” he slurs, his tongue feeling oversized in his mouth. “God, your ass feels just as I imagined.”
She begins to speak, but Sid remembers that morning’s humiliation. He doesn’t want anything to ruin the moment.
“No!” he says. “Don’t speak. Just let me take charge.”
He bends down, working his hands to the bottom of Susie’s skirt, and then slowly makes his way up her leg, exposing everything on the way.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening,” he says.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening!” says Fickle. It’s like a car accident, and he just can’t peel his eyes away. On the screen, Sid suddenly and very excitedly pulls down the zombie’s panties. In a few, swift moves, he unbuckles his belt, unbuttons, unzips and drops his pants and underwear to the floor. He attempts to lunge in, but quickly realizes he isn’t tall enough for easy insertion. Fickle shakes his head as his friend runs over to the cabinets and grabs a handful of porcelain plates. He makes two even stacks behind Susie, and then steps forward, climbing on top with precarious balance. A quick lunge sends the plates slipping out from under him, and he falls hard on his back, shattering them under his weight. He lays unconscious for about twenty seconds.
“Jesus,” breathes Fickle.
Sid gets back to his feet, showing no sign that he knows any time has passed. He stumbles a little, vision dimming, and then runs, flailing, to the cabinets and starts ransacking them. He pulls out two family-sized coffee cans. One is Folgers and one Maxwell House. He contemplates which will better serve his task.
“‘The best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup’ or ‘good to the last drop’?” he sings. “This seems like a ‘good to the last drop’ moment. Screw you, Folgers, I’m going with Maxwell House!”
He puts the can behind Susie and hops on top. He now has the perfect height and balance to make it happen. He takes a deep breath and thrusts inside Susie.
She shrieks in pleasure.
“Stop talking!” Sid blurts out, grinning as he looks up in pure, thrusting elation.
Fickle raises his head out of the garbage can next to him, looks at the monitor and then turns squeamish again. He slams his head back into the garbage can and resumes vomiting.
Twenty minutes later, Vegas enters the break room. He sees Sid sitting at the table with a huge pile of snacks from the vending machine. Sid is positively glowing, chowing down on junk food, but the room is wrecked. Vegas looks around, taking in the broken plates, the glass, the ransacked vending machine, the crumpled coffee can and, of course, the stranded, panty-less zombie frantically chomping at him. He thinks for a minute, trying to put together a sensible timeline to explain the scene, but nothing occurs to him.
“What the hell, Sid!” he says eventually. “Did you eat all the damn Zingers?”
CHAPTER 15
MEETING MATT
“THANKS MAN,” I say, “I was about to be chopped meat out there.”
“Yep,” says my new best friend. “You’re lucky I let you in.”
With his help, I stand and look around the place. It’s a huge room full of workbenches, tools and equipment; plenty of great materials for a new weapon. Hell, a big-ass monkey wrench is all I need. After my near-death experience, I’m realizing that a makeshift machete/paper cutter isn’t my best option. As I get my bearings, my attention turns back to the door. I can hear the zombies clawing and moaning just outside.
