“God, I could have helped that guy. Something, something could have been done! Why did I have to wake up to this? I should have awaken to Sarah looking over me running her fingers through my hair and smiling; God, her beautiful smile; saying, “Welcome back, baby.” But, I wake up to this shit! A damn horror movie. Some, Nightmare on Stink Street crap.”
Chris began sobbing heavily and rolled into the fetal position onto the cold cement landing of the 3rd floor. His sobbing got louder as he yearned for Sarah to be there by his side. He started crying to the point that his sarcastic side thought, “Did you get the wind knocked out of you? No? Well, you’re crying sounds like the Stooge, Curly, with your ‘N’yuk, n’yuk, n’yuk’ noises. Suck it up and kick ass!”
He argued with himself, “Suck it up and kick ass?’ Hey, lil’ devil-on-my-shoulder dude, umm, if you haven’t noticed, I’m like a one-legged man in an ass-kickin’ contest. So, there ain’t gonna be any ass-kickin’ in my near future.”
An eruption in the ambient noise from the 3rd was noticed. “Errrrrrroooo…gaaaarrrrrrrrr” “Oh shit! They heard me! O-oh damn, what do I-where do I? Dammit!” Chris started wobbling down the stairwell so the 3rd floor ghouls couldn’t find him. He stopped at the sign that read, “Ground Floor” with a small bit of graffiti written at the bottom of the sign saying, “Dr. Ed Toler douches.” As mature as Chris’ Xbox, RC cars and SyFy Channel would let him be he even said, “You can take the boy outta the high school, but ya can’t take the high school outta the boy.”
Chris heard the 3rd floor stairwell door slam open and was immediately followed by several guttural moans above him. He inched the 1st floor door open as he did upstairs and didn’t hear or see anything. He quietly shut the door behind him hoping that the dead dudes wouldn’t figure out where he was.
“As I recall zombies-well, if these are zombies; are stupid and can’t climb ladders, drive cars or use a calculator so, I’m praying they stay on the 3rd floor landing until they rot and fall apart. Now, where the hell is Security?”
The lobby looked like it made a big half-circle and was lit by an amber hue from what few streetlamps that were working outside. There were large plate-glass windows enveloping the lobby and was covered with uniformly-installed sheets of plywood about eight feet high. Desks, chairs, file cabinets and couches were piled against the plywood. As Chris started rounding the large half-circled lobby, he saw one person standing motionless, then six people, then 13 people. All of them not moving, just standing there like department store mannequins. He stood frozen reminded of the fear of his first encounter:
“Ma’am? Can you help me?”
Her head jerked straight up at the sound of his voice. She turned around and fixed her milked-over bloodshot eyes at him. Her skin was pale, her arms rose up with clawing fingers and she shrieked a guttural scream at him. Chris froze. “What the fu-” She flew over the counter and tackled him.
He screamed in his head, “Oh, HELL no, that ain’t happening again!” He spotted the receptionist’s desk and saw a body lying on the floor. It was a Security Officer. He was lying on his back but his head was twisted around where it looked like his face was against the floor. Chris slowly stepped toward the body and made out what looked like a pistol. Chris got on his knees and scooted foot-for-foot toward the firearm. Tunnel-vision set in and all he could desire was in the magazine of that gun on the rent-a-cop’s hip. “Bullets…Protection.” With all this crazy stuff going on, that was what he wanted; what he needed. His right hand was grabbing at dead air wanting that gun.
He got closer to the desk and bumped an open drawer with his right shoulder making a clanking sound. Immediately, grunting and shuffling was heard. Chris was shaken out of his hypnotic desire for the pistol and he looked up to see the motionless people looking around. He shot for the desk and rolled under the tabletop. The echoes of moaning, grunting and shuffling were relentless. Chris sat just mere feet from the gun he so desired but he was too terrified to go for it in his challenged condition.
He sat under the desk listening.
*BUMP*
The receptionist desk shifted toward the back wall and slapped Chris on his spine. He started quivering and sweat poured down his face. He shakily said to himself, “O-oh God, oh G-god, oh God!” Even though he was begging not to make a sound in his head, he covered his mouth out of fear that his whimpering may get too loud.
Chris looked at the Security Officer’s body and the gun right in front of him.
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