We were all trapped on the 18th floor, 19 auditors with no way out past the zombies that ruled the city.
We were working round the clock on a big job when the virus started spreading six days prior. By the time we heard what was happening, the 17 floors below us were infected. Thanks to Mike checking his Twitter page, we were able to barricade the elevator doors before any zombies got in.
Nearly a week living on vending machine leftovers wasn’t my idea of healthy living, but at least it was keeping us all going. Vending machines only hold so much, however, and we were running out.
In my office I sat, meditating about our predicament when Janet came in.
“Mitch, I want you to know I always loved you.”
She was clearly cracking under the pressure of imminent death, so I locked my gaze onto her big brown eyes, soaking in the image of her shapely figure and raven-black hair in the process.
“Janet,” I began, pausing for effect. “Shut up.”
Part of me wanted to grab my Ping driver from my set of golf clubs in the corner and hit her over the head. Part of me wanted to take her in my arms one last time. My dilemma was interrupted by Jake, who was apparently also cracking.
“Hey guys,” said the skinny little bespectacled fellow who always reminded me of Rick Moranis in Ghostbusters. “I was thinking we should all write out a will and box up any valuables we have here in the office. At the very least, write a letter to tell our loved ones goodbye.”
“Nice thought,” I said. “But I haven’t heard from my wife at all. I am pretty sure they already got her. I don’t have any other loved ones.”
Jake just shrugged, looked at Janet in a strange way that made me think she had slept with him, and then left my office.
Janet was about to start talking when somebody screamed from another office. Janet and I both stepped out of my office to see a zombie had broken through the barricade and got a grip on Chuck.
Chuck’s scream sounded like a woman’s. It was odd to hear such a sound coming from such a portly man. The zombie sunk his teeth into Chuck’s ankle, so I didn’t hesitate. I went back to the golf bag in my office, retrieved a 7-iron and went right up to the barricade.
I was an avid golfer and loved the game more than life itself. All my hours spent working were just to fund my habit. I maintained a three handicap and finished second in the club championship the year before. People told me I had a pro swing and I thought about that as I buried the blade of the 7-iron into Chuck’s head.
His screaming stopped immediately as blood spattered all over my white, button-down shirt. I repeated the action on the zombie that broke the barricade and several other auditors came in behind me to start reinforcing the barrier to the outside world of death.
I went over to a vending machine and found one last Snickers. I thought of those video games in which you kill zombies and pick up random food items like apples and pizzas off the street as I bit into the chocolate candy bar. Killing zombies did work up an appetite.
Janet came over again, her hips gently swaying back and forth in her little gray business skirt that was too sexy for any office while somehow still managing to make her look professional.
“That must have been tough,” she said.
“Not really,” I said. “I never miss with a 7-iron.”
She rolled her eyes at me and let the sarcasm slide. Janet was a golfer too, though she didn’t take the game seriously. She could pound a big drive, but her short game stunk and she rarely broke 90.
She walked over to my office and came back with my driver in hand.
“You don’t mind, do you?” She asked.
“Not at all.”
Truth is, I was getting worried. I could usually solve any problem with a little meditation, but no solution presented itself to this current situation. I watched zombie movies and played the video games, but somehow felt horribly ill-prepared for the real thing.
Janet just stood there next to me, clutching her driver. I guess she must have felt safer than if she stood alone. I guess I felt a little better with her standing there, so I didn’t say anything.
I finished my Snickers and deliberately started back to my office to see if Janet would follow me. She did. I sat behind my desk again and she stood by the door in silence.
I pulled out a pen and paper, thinking maybe it was a good idea to leave a will. I pondered what to write, but was interrupted by horrible noises.
The first sound was like water running in a stream and the second sound was unmistakably a dry-heaving human. It turned out to be Jake transforming into a zombie. Who knew how he got infected, but we knew the Rick Moranis look-alike must be killed. Before I could do anything, Janet raced over and smashed Jake’s skull with a driver. Yep, she had slept with the bastard.
Just as she finished Jake, that same gruesome duo of sound came from a nearby cubicle. It was Sandy this time and it was my turn. Sandy had two kids and an insanely nice husband, but that didn’t keep me from delivering a perfect strike with my trusty seven.
Racking up three zombie kills to Janet’s one, I considered myself the leader in the clubhouse. There were 14 other auditors remaining and from the horrible audible indicators coming from around the office, more of them were becoming infected.
Mark burst out of his office, his newly formed zombie countenance making a slight improvement to his usual sleepy look. Mark chased down Cindy, who chased down Skip. Pretty soon, a small army of undead were marching toward Janet and me.
To my surprise, Janet took an aggressive approach. She became a veritable Babe Zeharious, winding up and unleashing my driver into zombies one after another. I joined in with my 7-iron and noted to myself how interesting it was that zombies weren’t faster moving. They were also extremely slow-witted and wouldn’t even laugh at my jokes before I smashed in their skulls.
I was still the leader by my count with six kills to Janet’s five when we both retreated back to my office. My 7-iron was bent, so I went to a pitching wedge, expecting the extra loft to be more effective at slicing through bone. Janet must have been thinking the same thing, because she traded the driver for a sand wedge.
“There are six left,” I said.
“They may not all be zombies,” Janet said.
“Odds are good they are and will come this way; and there is something I need to say.”
Before I could spill my guts, the gurgling noises ensued and came closer and closer. When Sam came staggering through the door of my office with a ravenous look in his eye, Janet took out his right leg with my sand wedge and finished him with a tomahawk chop to the head when he fell to the ground.
The zombies kept coming and we kept swinging until six dead colleagues were piled up at the doorway to my office.
“That should be everyone, a total of 17,” I said between gasps of air.
“I killed nine, one more than you.”
“No, I killed nine.”
“Let’s not quibble over details,” she said. “What was it you had to tell me?”
I caught my breath and we both sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. I was about to tell her I loved her too, in my own suave, romantic way, but then I heard that gurgling noise coming from her stomach and she started dry heaving.
I readied my pitching wedge to take down number 18.