by RR Haywood
‘Ha, gotta be better than my job,’ he grins, ‘that thing’s a bloody death-trap, indicators packed up last week and he still ain’t got ‘em fixed.’
‘Ooh, well you be careful,’ she says as he sorts her change out, ‘just give me a fiver back,’ she adds quickly as he fumbles with the coins.
‘You sure? Thanks Paula,’ he face splits apart from the enormous grin. She might not earn much but it was a lot better than he made, so a few quid tip was deserved, and besides, he always made sure the food was delivered quick while it was still hot.
‘See you next week,’ she smiles.
‘You should get out more,’ he replies pulling his crash helmet on.
‘I will…one day,’ she closes the door, shaking her head that life has got so bad she’s taking social advice from a pizza delivery kid.
She stares at the lift, then at the pizza box and sighs. Trudging up the dark steps she wishes she had more time for the gym, these stairs were about the only exercise she got these days, and this pizza isn’t going to help. Still, it is Friday and she would never dream of eating food like this in front of the other staff. Their greedy dirty nose-picking fingers would be straight in the box.
Back in the office she leaves the box on her desk, takes a thick slice of the pizza and once more resumes her pacing, taking care to hold the coveted contract away from the slice for fear of getting greasy melted cheese on it.
The shame of it was that Paula knew that by the time she’d walked to the end of the room, paused and walked back the first slice would be gone, enabling her to scoop the second slice on the way past.
She examines the contract, trying to read the sections with mouthfuls of pizza. Step, step, turn, pause, step and step, grab slice and keep going. Work, exercise and dinner all rolled into one.
On the third slice she pauses, standing slumped and wondering what Karen was doing right now. Probably outside a lovely wine-bar, cold drink in hand and laughing. Oh laughing. She missed laughing. She could do without the men, that sacrifice had been made over a year ago, she could do without the social life but the laughing. She missed that more than anything.
She stares at the greasy pizza in her hand, the slice hanging limp and looking distinctly unappetising. Then round at the office, at all the other desks covered with pictures of wives, girlfriends, children, football mementoes. She compares her sterile desk, functional and bland. Her eyes track across the room to the account managers offices. Getting there will take a long time, and even when she gains it that’s still only the first rung in the very long corporate ladder.
It didn’t seem worth it. A sudden realisation that she was missing out on life. Even the pizza guy knew her first name, that’s how bad things had become. There had to be more to it than this. All those hours, all that time staying on and working extra, none of the guys did it; they concentrated more on getting on with each other than getting work done.
That was it. Sod this. It couldn’t be a test because she’d stayed on every Friday for as long as she could remember and there were people in the office newer than her that weren’t being asked to stay on.
No. This wasn’t on. She being taken advantage of and she knew it. At the desk she dumps the pizza slice back into the box and picks her mobile phone up.
This was discrimination. It wasn’t just about having your arse slapped or the blokes staring at your chest. Singling her out to constantly do the extra hours; that was discrimination. First thing Monday she will make an appointment to speak with Dominic and ask to be moved to another office, and sod the contract, let the manager explain to Dominic why it wasn’t done, right after she’s had her appointment with him.
She thumbs the screen of her phone to life, selects Karen from the contacts and pushes the green call button. Smiling she pushes the phone to her ear as she commences tidying her desk.
Tutting she pulls the phone away at the sound of the constant beeping sound, ends the call and tries again. Modern phones, too full of software and she knew this happened sometimes. She waits for the call to connect, frowning at the beeping noise when it comes again.
This time she looks at the screen, signal bar is full. She tries again and carries on pushing the sheets of the contract back together.
‘Come on Karen,’ she tuts again at the beeping noise. Why wasn’t it going to answer-phone? Must be a mast down.
Sod it, she knows where Karen is and will grab a taxi from the minicab office down the road. She smiles for the first time in days as a feeling of naughtiness comes over her. Bunking off and ditching the work to go and do something fun.
Shoes on and she grabs her bag, pulling the strap over her shoulder as she picks the pizza box up and heads towards the door. She fumbles for the light switch and starts heading down the stairwell with a definite bounce in her step.
On the last flight down she pauses, hearing the beeping sound of the numbered key pad at the main door. Who would be coming here? It was unheard of for any of the other floors to have people working late. Unless it was the manager coming to check on her. A sudden feeling of guilt floods through her body, cursing that she’ll be caught skipping out before the work is done. Then she remembers her earlier thought process and stiffens her resolve. If it is the manager she’ll tell him straight and honest.
The door comes into view as she reaches the ground floor. The distinctive longer beep of the reset button being pressed, which is only done when someone gets the combination wrong. The sound of the reset button makes her pause again.
Who is that? Maybe she needs to wait before she goes out there. Could be a drunk or someone trying to break in.
Keeping to the shadows she tiptoes towards the door, watching the silhouetted figure through the glass, she holds her breath and stares with wide eyes at the longer beep emitted from the correct entry code being entered.
The front door bursts open, a violent jarring action followed by a gasping figure stumbling through. The figure grabs at the door and slams it shut, using both hands in an almost over exaggerated motion to force it closed. As the locks clicks home the figure sags against the door. Deep ragged breaths coming fast and shallow with low murmurs.
Paula stays quiet, not recognising the person and feeling a sense of fear at revealing her position stood a few feet back in the deep shadows.
Another sound reaches, something else above the noise of the course breathing of the figure. Something getting closer, running. That was it, the distinct sound of footsteps, of flat soled shoes slapping against the concrete surface of the car park outside.
‘No,’ the figure whispers and jumps back from the door as something impacts from the outside. A deep thud that vibrates against the frame making Paula jolt with fright and drop the pizza box. A shadowy form presses against the glass. Arms outstretched as it clings to the door, a low groaning sound that builds to a throaty growl as the figure inside starts back-stepping.
The person inside is male, big and tall with short hair. That much is obvious as he fumbles through his pockets with shaky hands. He pulls his mobile out and activates the screen, frantically pressing buttons.
‘Clarke?’ The name comes out of her mouth before she can stop it, the light from the screen illuminating the man’s face. He yelps and spins round, dropping the phone and backing away towards the door.
‘Who is that?’ He asks in a terrified voice.
‘Clarke…it’s Paula,’ she answers quickly at hearing his tone, ‘what’s happened?’
‘Paula? Oh fuck…I…shit, oh my god,’ his hands clutch at his head, pushing his hair back as he stammers in panic.
‘Clarke what is it? What’s happened? Who is that outside?’
‘Call the police…do it…quickly,’ he hisses. Still holding her phone she slides her thumb and looks at the numbered keypad.
‘Okay…what’s happened?’
‘Just call the fucking police,’ he whispers hoarsely.
‘Clarke, they’ll need to know why I’m calling…shit, hang on some
thing wrong with my phone…where’s yours?’
‘Oh fuck…what…what’s wrong with it?’
‘Won’t connect, it did it a minute ago…must be a mast down or something, what network are you on?’
‘Oh god…’ he rushes down the hall, pushing past her and into the main conference room. Paula follows, watching his shadowy form as he crosses to the big round table and grabs the receiver from the landline. ‘Come on…come on,’ he whispers with impatience as he pushes the buttons on the set, ‘oh fuck…no…please no.’ He pushes the lever down to end the call, then tries again, cursing with increased fear.
‘Clarke? What the hell is going on?’ Paula asks from the doorway. She tries her phone again, dialling three nines and listening to the beep coming back from the speaker.
‘The fucking phones are all down,’ he slams the handset down and moves to the end of the room, grabbing the second set and trying again, ‘oh shit…this isn’t happening…’
‘Clarke! What isn’t happening?’ Paula asks again.
He slams the receiver down and again pushes past her, heading further down the hall to the staff lounge at the end. He pushes the door open and fumbles round for the television remote control, pressing it firmly while he points it at the flat screen mounted to the wall.
‘Clarke…what is going on?’ Paula demands.
‘Outside,’ Clarke barely looks at her, ‘outside…everyone is going fucking nuts…like attacking each other…’
‘What? Like a fight?’
‘No!...Yes…not a fight but…’ his voice trails off as the screen comes to life. The room fills with the sound of a news reporter speaking directly to the camera. Paula moves closer, drawn by the sound of the anchors voice.
‘…Once again we have lost all contact with our reporters, the satellite feeds are down and it appears both landlines and mobile phones are now in-active. We do not even know for sure if we are still broadcasting….’
‘What’s he going on about?’ Paula stares at the screen, looking the news anchor, at his tie pulled down from his neck, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled up and a coffee mug on the desk. Even his hair was sticking up a bit.
‘…There has been no update from the government, we are not aware of the military mobilising…the only advice we can offer is that you stay in your homes and away from public places, don’t answer your door to anyone and do not go outside under any circumstances…’
‘Clarke…what is this?’ Paula demands, ‘why is he saying that? Clarke!’
‘Ssshh,’ he responds abruptly, eyes fixed on the screen.
‘…we know the event started in Europe with outbreaks of violence that have spread across every town and city within a matter of hours. London is exploding in violence that we have never seen before. Bodies litter the streets, the police ceased functioning hours ago, murder after murder is being reported…stay in your homes.’
‘Murder? What like riots? Are there riots going on?’ Paula shakes her head, confused and feeling that she’s missing something.
‘No,’ Clarke whispers.
‘...I cannot believe I am saying this,’ the news anchor shakes his patriarchal head, ‘but all we know are the facts as reported to us…people are biting each other, those persons who are bit then appear to die or become unresponsive within a very short space of time, those victims then re-animate and commence trying to bite more people…’
‘What the fuck did he just say?’ Paula spits, she stares at Clarke, refusing to believe what she just heard.
‘…do not let anyone with blood on them near you, friends, associates, even family members…if they do not respond in a normal way then get away from them as fast as possible and take all measures to stay away…’
‘Oh,’ Paula shakes her head as a slow smile forms, ‘you bastard,’ she chuckles, ‘you knew I was working late…nicely done Clarke…’
‘What?’ He looks at her with a puzzled expression
‘Running in here like this, oh no the zombies have risen,’ she waves her free hand about jokingly, ‘no offence but I’ve had a long day and I’m going…’
‘This isn’t a fucking joke,’ Clarke shouts, ‘what…how the hell….you think this is a joke?’
She shakes her head again, rubbing her forehead with the edge of her phone and sighing, ‘look Clarke, this isn’t funny okay…I’m tired and I’m going home.’
‘He’s a fucking news reporter,’ Clarke shouts, ‘how the hell would I make this up? Look…’ He switches channel to show the standard technical error message displayed across the screen when broadcasting is interrupted. ‘See…’ He flicks again, showing more technical error messages, then more with just blank screens, then another news channel with the camera facing an empty chair behind an equally empty desk. That channel cuts out as they watch, the screen simply going black.
Clarke operates the remote control, navigating back to the original news channel. The screen activates just in time to see the anchor removing his microphone and throwing it on the floor before walking off.
‘It’s everywhere…I saw it…I saw what he just said, they’re eating each other,’ the words spill from Clarke, rambling and fast.
‘What? Hang on,’ Paula waves her phone at him.
‘Fucking eating each other…oh my god,’ Clarke pushes his hands through his hair again, ‘the whole town just went fucking crazy…people dying and…and…then…oh fuck they chased me here…’
‘Clarke just slow down, something chased you here?’
He nods, his head illuminated by the screen of the television.
‘Who chased you?’ Paula asks, still trying to comprehend what was going on.
‘Ssshh, they’ll hear us,’ Clarke whispers.
‘Who will?’ Paula whispers back, ‘who will hear us? Who is outside?’
‘Not here,’ Clarke pushes past her again, walking into the dark hallway where he stops and stares at the front door, he waves his hand back at Paula, motioning for her to be quiet before he starts easing himself onto the stairs and climbing up gently.
Paula follows, walking into the hall and looking down at the front door. Several distinct shapes move around outside. Figures blurred by the opaque glass but clearly distinct human form. Fear builds inside her, coupled with confusion and a feeling that she’s missed something vital, like trying to watch a movie after missing the first half hour.
At the top of the stairs, Clarke heads into their offices and heads straight for the water cooler, grabbing a paper cup and filling before downing the liquid quickly.
‘Don’t turn the lights on,’ he whispers as Paula walks in.
She stops with her hand stretched towards the row of switches, staring at his shadowy bulk as he takes another drink.
‘Who are those people outside?’ Paula asks after giving him a chance to drink. He’s still breathing hard but that could also be from the exertion of the stairs and having to carry his fat gut up four flights. In his early forties, Clarke was one of the longest serving main office accountants with the firm, and also one of the sleaziest. Paula knew it was him that arranged for the photocopier to be moved and his desk was one of the closest to the front. He was also the one that reduced her spray of perfume as he was always leaning in to get a whiff as he called it. Yeah right, get a whiff while trying to stick your tongue in my ear and look down my top.
‘They’re not people,’ Clarke replies dramatically, he glances back at her and breathes out. A long unhealthy sound that wheezes from his chest.
‘Okay,’ Paula says slowly, ‘then what are they?’
‘Ha, what are they she asks,’ Clarke shakes his head, giving a humourless chuckle, ‘you been in here all night?’
‘Yes Clarke…you know I have, I was given the new contract to do…’
‘Lucky you,’ he cuts her words off, ‘safe and secure in here.’
‘Clarke please…please tell me what’s going on, what did he mean about people biting and dying or…’
‘Exactly what he said…’
‘Clarke!’ She snaps and takes a breath, ‘please…just tell me what you saw happening outside and who was chasing you?’
‘You wanna know?’ He asks in the same dramatic way, ‘okay…we were sat in the pub having a few drinks, this bloke runs in covered in blood and collapses on the floor. Everyone screams and we all rush over to help him…someone starts doing CPR as he stops breathing then he jumps up and bites the woman doing mouth to mouth…’
‘Oh my god.’
‘You wanted to hear it,’ he says in a surly tone, ‘so yeah this bird gets bitten and she runs off, her husband or boyfriend or whatever, well he punches the bloke in the face but the bloke just jumps on him and starts biting him too,’ Clarke reels it off quickly, like it’s a chore to explain, ‘and it just went off, birds screaming and this bloke biting everyone…we all tried getting away and got outside but it was worse out there…’
‘Worse? How?’
‘Let me explain then,’ he snaps, rolling his eyes, ‘everyone was going nuts, like blokes biting birds and birds doing it to other birds…whole street was going…Jason got bit.’
‘Jason? You mean our Jason?’ Paula looks over at Jason’s desk, thinking of the quietly spoken man.
‘Yeah,’ Clarke nods, ‘on his cheek, tore a bloody great chunk away…We tried running but Jason went down after a couple of minutes, he was like rolling about holding his stomach and screaming…I told him to shut up cos he was making so much noise and people were running towards us, then he went quiet like he was unconscious.’
‘What did you do?’ Paula asks in horror, staring wide eyed.
‘Fucking legged it, what’d’ya think I did? I tried hiding but then Jason got up and he was coming after me with some others…he had blood all over his face…some fella came out of his house and shouted for them to shut up and Jason just went for him…like attacked him and was biting him, they were all biting him…’
‘Jesus Clarke,’ Paula gasps.
He shrugs, shaking his head again, ‘so I ran…but then they came after me again and I got to here, figured I could get in before they saw where I went but I couldn’t get the fucking code in quick enough.’