by mike Evans
"Well, sir," Laurel cleared her throat. It was now or never if she planned to get the position she was promised, "I just wanted you to know that I applied for a sales executive position and that was what I was promised before I moved here. I deserve--"
Laurel and Abie stopped.
In the lobby of the building, fifteen local panhandlers milled around clawing and snapping at tenants. Many of them were pale and sweating. Laurel made the mistake of making eye contact with a scraggly bearded man wearing three sweaters, cargo pants, and rain boots. The clomping of his boots echoed in her ears as he charged forward. Her heart raced. Without thinking, Laurel grabbed Abie's cane and cracked him over the top of the head. He went down with a thud. She dropped the cane to the ground, shocked that she'd been able to take him down. One of the tower security guards ran towards them.
"Are you okay, Mr. Black?" The out-of-shape guard panted as he came over.
"We're fine," Abie said as he bent to pick up his cane. "My escort kindly protected me."
"Good thing, these jerks are biting people."
A loud shrill scream rang out behind them.
Laurel turned to see one of the vagrants attacking Fayth Michelle.
Alessia
A cold wet hand grasped Alessia's arm. She swung around with fists clenched. She relaxed her hand and pulled out her ear bud.
"Excuse me, sir." She mumbled and looked at the floor. All she needed was to get fired for stealing and punching the boss.
"I said we need some towels. Now!" Derek growled.
The words shocked Alessia a little. The man was a total arrogant asshole, but he'd never yelled at her. She looked up at him. He was panting, his face was pale, and beads of sweat dripped down his temple.
"Okay, let me--"
A long scream silenced her. She turned to see the owner's daughter writhing in pain as her brothers carried her down the hallway. Blood gushed from the girl's neck. The bitchy secretary struggled to keep up with the boys and hold pressure on the wound.
Alessia ran for the supply closet. She rummaged the shelves for towels. There were none. She grabbed a handful of dark blue cleaning rags and ran to Derek's office. Inside the room, blood pooled on the floor. Michelle Fayth's perfectly tan skin was now a bright yellow, and her fingernails were turning grey.
"Hey, hand those towels over here," the secretary said.
Alessia tossed them to her. The secretary pressed them against the girl's neck as the rest of the Black family stood in shock with Alessia. In wilderness survival camp, Alessia had been taught first aid, but that was eight years ago. Back when she was still in the juvie system. Most of the time, she'd spent bargaining for weed with the counselors and trying to figure out a way to escape or make weapons. Nothing else about it seemed to stick.
"Abie, we can't put a tourniquet on this. Do you have any ideas on how to stop the bleeding?" The secretary looked up at the oldest member of the Black family.
"We need to call 911," he said calmly. The old man was leaned up against the desk, hands propped up on his cane. Alessia didn't think anything could excite the old fart.
"Right. What about from your last survival book? I could try to find something to clamp off the artery, but she needs real help." The secretary looked to the old guy like he was some all-knowing guru. As far as Alessia was concerned he was some old guy who walked around confused most of the time. She didn't know much about these people, nor did she care.
"The phone isn't working," Sean pressed the button for speaker phone. I'm sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed.
"Uh, how does your phone not work?" Alex asked. He genuinely appeared confused and helpless. He was oblivious to the blood splattered across his polo and face.
"Good question, son." Derek said. "You did dial 911, right?"
"Yeah, Dad. I dialed 911." Sean sighed.
"What happens when 911 doesn't work?" Alex asked.
"We're screwed. That's what happens," the secretary said. She removed her hand from Fayth Michelle's neck, then stood up and walked across the room to the curtains. She yanked hard, pulling down the long thick weave polyester drapes. She dragged them over to Fayth Michelle and covered her.
"She's dead. We need to get out of here. Something is wrong."
"She can't be dead!" Alex ran over to her body and scooped her in his arms.
Alessia had stood here with the rest of them watching the woman die.
The telephone on Derek's desk rang. Everyone continued to hover over Fayth Michelle's body.
Alessia tiptoed around them and picked up the phone. An automated voice on the other end advised, Do not attempt to leave. The building is on lockdown.
Laurel
The housekeeper held the phone to her ear as long worry lines crossed her forehead. Laurel pushed herself up from the floor and walked over to the desk.
"What is it?" she asked. The housekeeper handed her the phone. A looped recording announced the building was on lockdown. It could be a good thing, depending on the situation outside. It could also mean they would be stuck inside this building indefinitely. Without mobility, they were a sitting target for terrorists if that was the problem.
When it became apparent that no further information would be provided, she placed the phone on the receiver. She looked over to the cluster of yellow polos hovered around the body. Laurel noticed that Abie remained perched on the edge of the desk. Every year of his life showed on his face, his jaw line was sharp and it looked like he was clenching his teeth.
Laurel walked over to him and placed her hand on his arm.
"Abie, did you know this place had a lockdown system?"
The old man stood silent. He studied the scene in front of him.
"Did you know there was a lockdown system? They shut the building down?"
Abie turned to Laurel. "Of course, dear. The shutters should be coming down soon. The exits secured. We aren't going anywhere."
"Well, what is the plan to eliminate a threat?" Visions of catastrophic scenarios flooded Laurel's mind's eye. What if terrorists were on the different floors, a biological threat released, who would come to save them? The lockdown wouldn't just keep things out, it would keep them in. It wasn't just a harbor but a cage.
"I don't know, sweetheart. I think they have a security team."
"You think?" Laurel felt a twinge of worry in her gut. Her faith in Abie Black wavered slightly.
"We pay a hefty security fee monthly. Right, Derek?" Abie asked, oblivious to the fact that his son was wailing and blubbering over his only daughter's corpse.
Laurel headed to the window. She surveyed the scene below. A searing feeling of fear and disappointment flooded her. There was one fire truck and a police car parked out front. Their red lights spun while employees from the tower wandered around, confused. She didn't see the emergency workers; she assumed they were the ones she met in the lobby.
The phone rang again. Laurel didn't move. There was no need to hear the recording again. She got it. They were trapped.
The ringing seemed to go on forever. She finally turned around, ready to yell at the housekeeper. The girl looked like she was an overgrown juvenile degenerate. Before she could open her mouth, the housekeeper picked up the phone with such force the base lifted from the desk.
"Hello?!" A high, desperate voice came out of the receiver. The housekeeper was taken aback. So was Laurel.
"Who is this?" The housekeeper held the phone out from her ear.
Laurel walked over and pushed the intercom button. She didn't trust that the housekeeper could keep her shit together and make a good decision.
"This is Meghan from accounting. We just got back from lunch. The elevators won’t open. Charlene says we’re on lockdown and can’t come up unless somebody pushes the button under Derek's desk. There is some creepy stuff going on down here. These cops are weird and there are several injured firemen. We can't stay in this lobby."
Laurel looked to Abie for counsel but he was mentally checked
out. She looked at the rest of the Black family on the floor. No one was fit to make a decision. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the housekeeper shaking her head. Laurel knew she had the most training.
"Sure. You said the button is under the desk?" Laurel felt around under the middle drawer. She felt smooth cool wood under her fingers then a cold tacky sensation hit her fingers. Gum. Her automatic reaction was to retch, but instead she continued groping under the drawer.
"Where else could the button be?"
A labored voice came over the intercom, "It’s way under there. Right under the middle drawer."
Laurel leaned down and patted the cool mahogany wood. She felt a raised round button.
"Got it!" She pushed the button hard.
The room filled shrieks from the intercom. Whether those were of delight or terror, she couldn’t be sure.
Then silence.
Alessia
"You're a fucking idiot, you know that, right?" Alessia was so angry that spit flew from her mouth, landing on the uptight secretary’s face.
The look of pleasure at finding the authorization button for the elevator faded from the other girl's face as she wiped off the spit with her bright yellow shirt. The secretary stood up and walked over to Alessia. They were almost the same height.
Alessia wouldn't back down, and this girl had another thing coming if she thought she would. She clenched her fists, ready for a fight.
Instead, the girl put out her hand as if to shake.
"I'm Laurel Regan. Daughter to a fine family of folks that own a training facility in Minorsville, Montana for people preparing for the apocalypse, I have over 600 hours in multiple defense tactics, and I've been training my whole life for shit to get real."
Alessia stood there. She really wanted to punch Laurel Regan right in the nose. She didn't give a shit what this girl had done or knew. It didn't take a whole lot of training to know the elevator doors didn't need to open. Punching people in the face shut people up in the past, why stop now? Being locked up was why. Fighting on the street was one thing, but when you were locked up, you chose your battles wisely.
She grasped Laurel's hand tightly, smiled, and said, "I'm Alessia Rivera, daughter to two El Salvadorian immigrants who walked all the way from a dangerous shitty barrio to this miserable country. I have spent my whole life dealing with MS-13 and a whole bunch of other shit that being a prepper could never make you smart enough to handle. I've been to survival camp as well, but it was court mandated. So big whippity fuck. I know you shouldn't have authorized opening that god damn elevator door in the lobby."
Alessia let go of Laurel's hand. She walked towards the hall, past the mourners who were still on the floor hoping their dearly beloved Fayth Michelle would suddenly resurrect. She knew they needed weapons. There was no telling what was coming up in that elevator. If there was one thing she always remembered from her mother's stories, it was that people get crazy when shit gets real. There was little time left, but she'd been under more difficult time constraints. Her first instinct was to head to the janitor's closet.
"Where are you going?" Laurel yelled after her.
"Your dumb ass just invited a party of crazy people up here. We don't know how many of them are going to bite us, take our shit, act crazy. We need some weapons!" Alessia yelled over her shoulder. She opened the door to the janitor's closest, then pushed up her sleeves. She pulled her hair up off of her ears and placed it in a bun on top of her head. The cool air on her ears and neck felt good, it helped her think. If she was going out, it would be with her tattoos blazing and all her piercings showing. Dress code be damned. She sure wasn't going to get fired from Merry Maids any time soon.
"I wanted to help them. They sounded desperate. They're part of the Bee-Prepared team. We couldn't leave them locked up in that lobby to be attacked," Laurel said. To Alessia it sounded like the half-rate secretary was trying to convince herself.
"Yeah, yeah. You haven't ever really been around desperate people, have you?" Alessia asked. She grabbed a broom and stomped on the head of it. After two more stomps, a loud crack filled the closet. She turned around and handed the jagged tipped broom handle to Laurel.
Laurel grabbed it, "Well, one time we played war games and I felt pretty desperate to win."
"I think what you are about to feel is going to be a lot different."
The elevator bell tinged.
Laurel
Laurel stared at her newest acquaintance’s tattoo covered the arms. Most of them had a blue-black tint. Prison tats, she thought. Laurel had met a couple ex-cons in her life, and yes, she'd seen prison tattoos before. Most of the time though they were crosses doing a piss poor job of covering up swastikas. These tattoos were at least of beautiful Latina women, ornate crosses, elaborate names, and intricate embellishments.
"Pay attention to the door. I'm the least of your problems," Alessia said dryly.
This Alessia girl was probably right to a degree. How could she know what happened in the lobby after they left? Plus, she'd overrode the elevator authorization to not only allow Bee-Prepared employees up, but anyone else that could shove in. She grasped the broom handle tighter.
In Laurel’s mind, a million seconds passed between the ting of the elevator bell and the opening door. Laurel took a deep breath. Several Bee-Prepared customer service agents came squalling through the door, their faces scrunched in terror. Tears streaked their bloody faces.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," one of the women said as she walked, arms stretched out towards them. She was a short, round, older lady that looked like she belonged in a 1950s library instead of a customer service center. Laurel assessed her as she came closer. She didn't appear to be morbidly wounded. Behind her, several other terrified men and women covered in blood came at them. As far as Laurel could tell, they all just looked frightened. She lowered her broken broom handle.
"Everybody, head to the bathrooms and wash yourselves off. We'll go get some first aid kits from the inventory room," Laurel instructed. She pointed her hands in the direction of the bathroom performing her best flight attendant imitation.
She turned to Alessia."Let's go check out this inventory room. You know more about what’s in there than I do."
Laurel headed down the hallway. She could hear Alessia's footsteps behind her. A small smile of satisfaction crossed her face. Laurel felt redeemed for taking quick, thinking action. Plus, she might have enjoyed being snide.
"Uh, can you guys help me?" A male voice asked from behind her. Laurel rolled her eyes. It didn't seem like anything was ever going to go as planned. She spun around. A balding, middle aged man braced himself in the elevator door, attempting to keep it open.
Laurel moved toward him. Alessia grabbed her arm as she passed.
"What do you need help with?" Alessia asked.
The pause gave Laurel a moment to look at the scene with more clarity. Behind the guy, who she guessed worked in accounting from his nerdy appearance, was someone crumpled on the floor.
"There's a guy in here. I'm sure you can see him. I can't tell if he is dead or what. I need someone to pull him out so I can take a look. I know CPR." The man continued to lean on the door. Alessia let go of Laurel's arm. They both started toward the elevator. As the girls drew closer, Laurel understood why he looked tired. The mechanics in the door were trying to shut it even with him in the way.
"We'll pull him out. Do not let that door close," Laurel warned as she pointed her finger at him.
The two looked at the crumpled body in the corner. Alessia walked over to the back side of the elevator behind the fallen man. She rolled him over, then squatted down. Laurel squatted on the opposite side.
Alessia snorted and asked, "Was that you being a badass?"
"No, I just want him to know how important it is for him to keep doing what he's doing." She was trying to be a bad ass, but apparently she'd embarrassed herself.
Laurel's embarrassment was cut short. Her attention now focused
on a half-eaten face. Jagged pieces of flesh curled at where the skin of the nose, bottom lip, and right jaw line used to be. The eyes were swollen shut and half the front of his neck was missing showing a white cartilage like plate.
"Oh my gawd." Laurel turned and vomited.
Alessia
"How the fuck did this guy even walk into the elevator?" Alessia looked up at the guy holding the door open.
The guy rolled his eyes, "Can you please hurry up? My back is killing me."
"Look, you balding Rick Moranis looking motherfucker--" Alessia clenched her fist.
Laurel cut her off, "We'll pull him out. We don’t want that door closing on us.”
Alessia inspected the body. She'd seen something similar when she was in juvie, except she'd know what caused that mess: two melted plastic sporks and a lot of ingenuity.
"Let's just drag him out by the shoulders. No use being gentle. I'm sure he won't mind," Laurel said.
"We could just leave him here," Alessia suggested. She didn't see the point in messing with a dead body.
"This one is cold-hearted," the guy in the door said. Alessia glared at him. She really thought he looked like Rick Moranis in Ghostbusters, except bald and miserable, but still an annoying pain in the ass. She let the thought go as she could see the guy was really struggling to keep the door open. If you were going to have a rotting corpse on the floor, might as well make it two, Alessia supposed.
"You ready?" Laurel asked. Alessia stepped over the body and joined Laurel on the left side. Each woman pulled on the arm nearest to her, as his torso turned towards the door, Alessia grabbed his other arm. She braced her heels in the floor as she pulled backwards. She was shocked. It wasn't as difficult as she thought. He was at least six feet tall and two hundred and fifty pounds. Alessia and Laurel grunted as the body stopped abruptly. Its midsection was caught in the grooves beneath.
Alessia leaned in to see his wide black leather belt stuck in the groove. She grabbed his belt buckle and unlatched it. A couple quick tugs and the belt was off. Alessia grinned triumphantly and threw the belt into the hallway.