by RR Haywood
‘Oh my god,’ Paula slumps against the edge of a desk, still holding her pizza box and phone.
‘Kept trying to phone triple nine but it didn’t work, just wouldn’t connect…but that bloke on telly said all the phones were down.’
‘Try these,’ Paula shifts round to dump her pizza box and grab the phone receiver, she lifts it to her ear expecting to hear the normal solid tone. Instead a constant interrupted bleep come back. She dials nine for an outside line then keys nine three times. Nothing, just the same incessant bleep.
Activating her phone she opens her contact list and starts to dial the number for her friend, nothing happens, just the bleeping noise. She tries her mobile, pressing the call symbol next to names from her contact list. She watches each one as it tries to connect then cuts off.
Opening a text box she keys in call me and sends it out to everyone on her contact list. She navigates back to the messages and watches as each one is headed by the word sending.
‘Anything?’ Clarke asks after finishing his third cup of water.
‘No, signal bar is gone now…landline isn’t working either.’
‘Told ya,’ his tone snaps her head up, almost like he’s glad to be proved right. In the hot confines of the office she can smell the beer and tobacco coming from his breath and clothes. The same office clothes he wore at work today. He must have gone straight to the pub and sat there drinking for hours.
‘I need to think,’ Paula replaces the handset and stares down at the desk.
‘About what? We’re fucked love,’ Clarke replies with a belch.
‘We can go out the back, the fire exit…’
He shakes his head again, wobbling his double chin, ‘no chance…those things are everywhere and they’re fast as fuck too.’
Fast for you with your fat gut, Paula thinks quickly. She crosses to the window at the end of the room and tries looking down. Tutting in frustration at the sealed frame and being unable to open one of them. Grabbing an office chair she wheels it over and clambers up, gaining height to look down.
The car park below is dark, with just a few street lights casting soft orange glows and making the shadows deeper and darker. Her eyes fix on a huddled mass by the edge, just on the cusp of the shadows. It looks like a pile of rubbish has been dumped there. A solid back mass of something.
Paula’s heart rate ramps up as the mass starts moving. Human figures standing up and moving away, shuffling and staggering on stiff legs. Several get up and break off leaving the distinct shape of a person lying with their arms and legs splayed out.
Her breathing comes hard as she watches the figures start heading across towards the building. More come into view, crossing into the pools of lights as they too head shuffle towards the building.
Movement catches her eye. The body that was lying down sits up. A clear movement even from this distance. It slowly gets to its feet and stands swaying for a second before staggering out of sight as it follows the others.
She drops down and slumps in the chair, trying to make sense of what she just saw. Looking up she spots Clarke stood at the front next to the open pizza box. A half-eaten slice in his hand being stuffed into his mouth.
‘How can you eat now?’ She asks as she pulls her seat out from her desk.
‘Cos I’m pissed, that’s why,’ he answers with a mouthful, ‘what you doing?’
‘Checking online.’
‘Yeah great…email the police and tell ‘em where we are, they won’t do anything anyway the lazy fuckers.’
Ignoring the caustic comment, Paula presses the screen to life and adjusts her keyboard. An unconscious act done every time she sits down. Pull it back, then push it forward. Using the mouse she double clicks to access the internet, going straight to the accountancy firm homepage. Paula keys in Google and waits for the search screen to come up, tutting when she gets a message saying the network is not currently connected. She checks the internet access signal bar at the bottom right and finds it empty.
‘Internet’s down,’ she informs Clarke.
‘No it’s not,’ he swallows the mouthful of food, ‘internet can’t go down, it’s like a worldwide thing…the phones are down so the internet isn’t working.’
‘Either way it’s not working,’ she adds, ‘what do we do?’
‘Do?’ He laughs, spraying food over the desk in front of him, ‘we can’t do anything, we’re fucking trapped and stuck here.’
‘Is there another way out?’
‘Nope, front door and the rear fire exit,’ he replies, pushing the last of the slice into his mouth.
Paula watches him lick his greasy fingers while he sways gently on the spot. With the initial fear and adrenalin easing off he’s left in a normal drunk state, slurring his words and swearing coarsely.
Panic threatens to grip her stomach. A deep feeling that bubbles and churns inside. A sense of sudden helplessness but also that she should be doing something, calling someone, telling someone. How did this happen without her noticing it? Why didn’t anyone call and tell her? But then with her career dominating her life so much she had very few friends left and her mother would be out playing bingo.
Oh god. The thought of her mother sends her stomach plummeting to the ground. The bingo hall was in the centre of town. Clarke said it was everywhere, her mother would be out tonight, she was out nearly every night enjoying her life, which is something she kept telling Paula she should be doing.
‘Oh god,’ Paula feels vomit rising in her throat, her eyes sting with tears.
‘What?’ Clarke asks.
‘My mother was out tonight…playing bingo…’
‘In town?’
‘Yeah at the Commodore.’
He doesn't reply but just stands there chewing on the next slice of pizza, noisily working his jaws, squelches and chomps sounding into the quiet of the dark office. He swallows the mouthful, another noisy action that sends a feeling of repulsion through Paula.
‘You gonna say something?’ Clarke asks at hearing Paula starting to speak then stopping.
‘No, well yeah I was going to ask about your wife but I forgot…sorry.’
‘That bitch, ha! Fuck her…stupid slag.’
‘Clarke!’
‘What?! I’m only pointing a fact out, I hope she got bitten on her saggy fucking tits.’
‘Don’t say that,’ Paula replies in a soft tone, feeling a growing sense of unease at his drunken shouting.
‘Can say what I like,’ he slurs, ‘bitch left me didn’t she…fucked off with that…that…cunt,’ he sounds the final word, emphasising every letter with a voice getting louder by the second.
‘Okay I’m sorry Clarke, I shouldn’t have mentioned it,’ Paula says softly, trying to placate the angry man.
Paula winces as he lurches to his desk and grabs at the photograph of his children, holding it close to look through blurred eyes.
‘And the fucking CSA take a fortune off me every month too, don’t even get to see ‘em,’ he casts the frame down with a heavy clunk as it hits the desk.
‘Maybe we should have a look at the rear door, it might be clear,’ she offers gently.
‘Yeah, yeah whatever…’ he turns round to follow her. Paula moves into the darkness of the hallway, away from the big windows of the main office. Clarke shuffles behind her, belching and exhaling stale beer breath into her face.
They move down the stairs, pausing before the final flight and listening for any noises. Just the odd soft thump from the front door. Paula winces from the noise of his heavy feet and wheezing chest as they descend the final few stairs.
‘Ssshh,’ she whispers softly. He ignores her and pushes past, turning at the bottom and heading straight down the hall to the staff room they were in just minutes before.
She follows him in, holding her head aside from having to be in the wake of dirty fumes he trails behind him.
They stop close to the windowless rear fire exit door. With no other windows giving a view onto
the back they have to make do with listening and the sounds coming through indicate the route is blocked. Groans, thumps and feet shuffling. Different voices making distinct noises, all of them low but varying in pitch.
‘S’blocked,’ Clarke tries to whisper but ends up speaking in a normal voice. The response is instant with an increased noise from outside. More determined thumps against the door, the growls throatier and closer.
Paula backs away, moving silently across the room. Clarke shrugs and walks behind her. Using the moonlight to stare at her backside as they ascend the stairs and head back towards their office.
Back in the office, Paula heads to the small cubicle used to make hot drinks, taking the kettle into the toilet to fill from the tap. Get him some coffee, that’s the first thing. He needs to sober up and think straight.
She turns from switching the kettle on to see the main office is empty. A loud thump followed by a curse coming from the manager’s office.
‘What are you doing?’ She asks, looking through the door at Clarke bent over as he rummages through the desk drawers.
‘Ha! Fucking yes!’ He stands up grinning, clutching a three quarters full bottle of whiskey, ‘knew he kept it here.’
‘How about some coffee instead? I’ve just put the kettle on.’
‘Coffee? Fuck off love, this is the end of the world…I’m going out pissed.’
‘It’s not the end of the world,’ she replies, still keeping to the gentle tone for fear of provoking him, ‘we just need to wait a few hours until they can get a grip on it.’
‘Listen to it,’ he barks with laughter, ‘get a grip on it she says…you heard the news, government ain’t doing nothing, the fucking pigs have lost control…’
‘Don’t call them pigs,’ she tries to soothe him.
‘They’re fucking pigs,’ he bellows, his face flushing with anger, ‘all of ‘em…dirty fucking pigs…she can keep her new pig boyfriend and they can both have my money every month…’
‘Okay…okay that’s fine,’ Paula backs down, moving away from the door.
‘Did you know he was a pig?’ He shouts as he stumbles from the office, ‘a fucking pig driving a pig car…she left me for a pig…’
‘Er…yeah I think you mentioned it once or twice.’
‘Yeah well, they’re all bent anyway…I got a fucking speeding ticket cos of him.’
No, you went through a fixed camera and then blamed him, I’ve heard this so many times now. She stays quiet, slowly making coffee. Going through deliberate actions of spooning the granules into the mug, then adding milk before pouring the hot water in.
She turns holding the mug. He takes a big pull from the bottle, gulping the fiery contents neat into his stomach before wiping his mouth with the back of his meaty hand.
Lowering the bottle he sighs, a long drawn out wet sound that pushes the air from his lungs, making him wheeze. A rattling coughing fit follows. ‘End of the world,’ he slurs after recovering from the chesty phlegm coated hacking, he lifts the bottle and takes another swig.
Paula looks away, disgusted at the sight. Her hands tremble as they clutch the hot mug, her heart racing inside her chest. Her mother, all her friends, everyone. The news man said it was everywhere, that it spread across Europe within hours. Every town and city was affected. Now she’s stuck here with a fat aggressive slob drinking neat whiskey.
When he doesn't speak for a few minutes she glances up, seeing his face swathed in moonlight. Watching his greedy eyes fixed on her, he takes another swig from the bottle, keeping his gaze fixed on her body. His eyes visibly moving up and down to take her in.
Her shirt is undone. The top few buttons and her hair loose around her shoulders. Without taking her eyes off him she suddenly becomes aware of her own appearance. The air becomes charged as she imagines the view through his eyes. The reveal of cleavage, the shirt hanging out from her pencil skirt, the long flowing hair. Like something from a cheap porn movie. That’s how he would see her.
‘Where you going?’ He sneers as she turns to walk off.
‘Toilet, I need the toilet.’
‘Shout if you need a hand,’ he laughs.
‘Yeah thanks,’ she crosses in front of him, knowing he’ll be staring straight at her backside. Out the door and into the hallway. She pushes the toilet door open and closes it firmly behind her, putting the lock over before feeling for the light switch.
The sudden glare burns her eyes, causing her to squint and squeeze them shut. They slowly adjust until she can view herself in the mirror. Nodding with disappointment that she was right. She does look like someone from a cheap porn movie.
Paula knew she was attractive and worked hard to avoid using her looks to gain approval. Relying on hard work and sheer determination, but now, with the top buttons undone and her hair cascading down her shoulders she looks the very opposite of the professional accountant.
Working quickly, she deftly pushes her hair into a bun and fixes it in place before tucking her shirt in and doing the button back up. Adjusting her skirt and smoothing herself down she nods and takes a deep breath, staring into her own hazel eyes.
Too many thoughts whirling in her mind. Everything that Clarke said about outside, about the fights and attacks, people biting each other, Jason attacking another man. Then the news reporter with his tie pulled down and walking off the set. Her mother being at risk, her friends she couldn’t get hold off.
Clarke now getting drunk and becoming nastier by the second, and more than anything she was worried about the way he was looking at her, the leer on his face.
Keep him calm and keep your distance. Don’t do anything to wind him up or set him off. She nods at her own thoughts, wishing she’d just left an hour ago. But then she’d have been outside and in danger, maybe that was better than being stuck in here with him.
Outside she crosses the hallway, forcing herself to adopt her normal work manner. Head upright, face passive and look professional.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ She stops dead at the sight of him stood at the back of the room. A pile of files emptied and dumped on the floor at his feet, his hands clutching at his groin as he pisses a jet of urine over them.
‘Having a piss,’ he hiccups, ‘I’ve always hated these fucking files…that alright with you is it?’ His voice becomes barbed with a hidden edge. ‘Paula,’ he adds slowly, swaying side to side as he directs the piss over the pile, ‘Paula the accountant,’ he sniggers, finding something funny with the words.
She moves to the cubicle and takes her mug, sipping at the still warm contents as she listens in disgust at the stream of liquid hitting the thin cardboard covers with a dull sound. He finishes up, grunting with effort as he spurts the last few drops out, making them spatter onto the covers.
‘That’s fucking better,’ he heads back towards Paula, fumbling with his flies that are thankfully hidden in the shadows of the office. ‘Have a nice piss did ya? You were gone long enough.’
‘Yes thank you,’ she replies dully, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground. He stops a few feet away, breathing heavily. Making her only too aware of his presence. The stench of booze, smoke and now piss mix in with the scent of the greasy pizza and the hot air of the office.
‘You got changed,’ he says in a suspicious voice, ‘why d’you get changed?’
‘I didn’t, I just tucked myself in…’ she speaks softly, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible.
‘Why?’ He demands.
How do I answer that? ‘Er…just felt like it,’ she shrugs.
‘Felt like it? Why…the fucking world is ending and you rush off to make yourself look tidy…what’s all that about?’
‘I don’t know, I just…’
‘I know why,’ he states, ‘you think you’re better than me don’t you…’
‘No Clarke, really nothing like that, I just…’
‘Yes you do,’ he waves a dismissive hand at her, ‘you’ve always thought it, we all see what you’re
like…all prim and proper…oooh don’t look at my arse…oooh don’t look at my tits,’ he mocks her voice, speaking high pitched as he waves his arms in the air.
‘Clarke I don’t think like that,’ she says quietly. Just the words tits and arse being mentioned by him set alarm bells ringing in her mind. A threshold passed. A step taken.
‘I’m Paula and I’m better than all you fat old men…you can look at my arse…at my perfect arse but you’ll never have it…’
‘Clarke please stop…’
‘Only Dominic can tap this arse.’
‘What?’
‘You and Dominic, everyone seen you together, fucking in the toilet and sucking him off in the office…’
‘Clarke that’s enough,’ she snaps, making her voice hard and hoping he’ll stop.
‘Ha! You don’t deny it though do you…you wait till I tell everyone…oh,’ his voice falls flat, ‘there ain’t no one now is there…’
‘There will be Clarke,’ she replies quickly, ‘everyone will be okay, the police and army will get control and this will all be sorted within a couple of days…we’ll be back here on Monday laughing about and wondering who pissed on the files,’ she jokes feebly.
‘No,’ he growls, ‘there ain’t gonna be no Monday morning here no more, s’all gone ain't it…fucked…everyone’s fucked…’
‘Oh I don’t think so,’ she smiles keeping her voice light.
‘I don’t fucking care what you think,’ he barks in a sudden angry tone, ‘you can stick what you think up your perfect little arse.’
‘Okay, I’m sorry…I just meant I’m sure everything will be okay.’
‘Perfect little arse,’ he repeats in a lower voice, ‘does Dominic like your perfect little arse does he?’
‘Nothing has ever happened with Dominic,’ she replies stiffly.
‘I bet he fucks you in the arse doesn't he…you look like the kind of girl that takes in the shitter…all prim and posh in here, bet you’re a right dirty slut in the bedroom.’
She grips the mug tighter, feeling trapped and very alone. Her senses screaming to run.