That is, with one exception. A single person was still typing away on a computer in the front of the office. Each keystroke echoed off the absurdly quiet office walls.
Running up to the receptionist, I barked, “What are you doing? You’ve got to get out of here!”
“Finishing this memo. I don’t leave until I finish the memos.” Her last words drifted off as she continued to stare at the screen. She didn’t even look at me as I walked backwards toward the elevator door.
Dedication? Most likely shock.
It was amazing how so many people just went into shock in the beginning. Not reacting. Not acknowledging what was going on. It was as if a fuse burst in their feeble minds, rendering them even more useless. Mundane tasks for a mundane world.
A group of people was pressed against the lobby glass, looking out at the street when I stepped off the elevator. I could see Josh and my fat boss standing near the door. It looked like they were preparing to head outside. Even now, Josh was his lapdog, preparing to escort my obese boss out to his Hummer that was parked in the garage next door. Anything to climb that corporate ladder.
Remaining back, I was still able to get a vantage point to see outside. Right away, I could tell that all hell had broken loose. The car that was flipped over was now on fire. There were police horses, once noble and calm, running around without riders; the frothy sweat gathering along their necks, their gentle eyes now wild with fright.
I saw a firefighter who had tapped into a nearby fire hydrant. He was twisting the nozzle when two of the so-called dead, a girl with a blue summer dress, and a homeless guy with a shredded NY Mets tee shirt, jumped him. The bum was biting at his face, but the shield of his helmet was down. The girl got a chunk out of his upper arm where his open coat had slid down during the fight.
So much for doing the right thing.
At that moment, my overweight boss and his loyal lap dog decided to make a break for it while the dead were distracted.
The first person I watched being taken down was Josh. Just as they stepped outside, they ran into a giant of a man coming around the corner. At six foot seven, he towered over Josh, and the look in his eyes screamed infected! I could feel my body involuntarily shudder.
Josh hesitated; that was his mistake. My fat boss didn’t even look back. He just kept running down the sidewalk, almost falling over a tipped over garbage can.
The giant didn’t just bite Josh and move on as I’d seen with the others. He advanced toward him. Josh stumbled backwards and tripped, as one of his shoes fell off. I watched his cellphone flip across the pavement. The giant dead guy picked him up over his head. Josh’s scream went shrill until he was bounced off the pavement a couple of times.
That thing then spun Josh in the air, and with the effort of throwing out the trash, tossed him towards the building we were in. He smashed against the glass, not breaking through it. We all watched in stupefied horror as his mangled face slid down the “no shoes, no shirt, no entry,” sign on the outside of the building.
Shouldn’t have lost your shoe, Josh.
The goliath stomped over and stood above Josh. He brought his giant arms down on top of him, over and over again, beating him to a pulp. He started pulling pieces and parts off him to stuff into that grotesque mouth.
A sob from a woman in the crowd broke the silence in the room.
Those corporate bigwigs got something right when they built this place. The glass on the building was one-way; we could see him, but he couldn’t see us…
It’s probably the only reason I’m able to tell this story today.
Chapter 2
It’s been said that a plan is a list of things that don’t happen. We couldn’t have planned to screw up so badly if we tried.
With the realization that those things out there couldn’t see us, a few hesitant whispers started up. Within a matter of moments, the volume was back to normal. You name it; they threw it out there; fifteen or so of them, all of them trying to come up with what to do next.
I’m all for brainstorming, but when you have Patty, the HR clerk, sorting out how the chips fall, I can’t say that we’re really thinking through all the cards in the deck.
Making a run for it, heading to the subway, everybody had ideas. All designed to put us outside with the Dead. Were there really any good options?
Let’s just call our neighborhood Yellow cab, I thought, as I took another look at my phone. Still no signal.
One guy emerged from the crowd with a slightly raised voice. He was bald with the cul-de-sac cut. The kind where he kept the hair on the side of his head, instead of just shaving the whole thing, creating a perfect half circle of baldness on top. I’d seen him around the building. He was either a CEO or acting branch manager. Either way, he was in charge of his own little world before this. Real alpha-male type and he was sure he had all the right answers.
Mr. Cul-de-sac kept rattling on about heading for the waterfront. It was just four blocks away, according to him. We could get a boat and get past the crowds in the city. No problem.
Our attention was pulled toward the glass front as a few gunshots followed by screams echoed outside. We couldn’t see what had happened, but it was close enough for the building security guard to walk over and lock the front door of the building.
There was some debate about how to get to the water when another guy in the crowd suggested just waiting it out. It was the typical scene. We were in an office building. Help would come. We could hole up.
In the movies, the group always does this. They board up the doors, hide in the cellar and hope that help will be there soon. Those assholes are always eaten. The reality is that everybody had someone they needed to get to. Whether it was kids, wives, friends or other family, nobody was willing to just sit still.
900 miles away. Still no signal.
Mr. Cul-de-sac was starting to build momentum, getting some followers. There were a few guys standing next to him now. Two of them were wearing janitorial outfits. One was waving a mop handle around.
“This guy’s going to get these people killed. You know that, don’t you?”
I looked over to see the guy in the security guard uniform standing next to me.
I nodded saying, “Yeah, don’t bother to learn anybody’s name in here.”
He extended his hand and said, “I’m Kyle.”
I paused, smiled at the irony and grabbed his hand. “John.”
That is how I met one of the best men I have ever, or will ever know.
Kyle was working the front desk security in our office building. His job was basically to check badges and look intimidating. I’d later learn that he couldn’t find meaningful work when he returned from Iraq six months earlier.
He was a big guy, larger built than me, and a former helicopter pilot in the army. I don’t know jack shit about ranks or military status, but I got the sense that Kyle had seen his fair share of ground, as well as air combat. He was trained to handle himself–and right now, that counted.
“You have any weapons behind that desk of yours?” I asked.
“Just my mitts,” he replied holding up his two brick-sized fists.
“That’s good, but I was hoping for a few guns or a Billy club.”
“We’re keeping suits like you from entering the elevator, not hunting down America’s Most Wanted.”
“Good point.” I shrugged.
Mr. Cul-de-sac had another half dozen followers standing around him. They were flirting with the idea of jumping from building to building by way of the rooftops. I have to hand it to them; they were really exploring all options, no matter how suicidal.