Event IV

That shower was pure heaven. The warmth of the water, even the feel of the spray worked like a medicine. If I hadn’t had a nagging low-level anxiety, a sense of urgency telling me to hurry, I would have stayed until I had exhausted all the hot water, no matter how much there might have been. As it was, I spent a good deal of time there scrubbing until my skin was red and wrinkled.

When I come out, I move to the lockers and in one of them I find some jeans. In another a shirt that fits me. The sleeves are too short for my arms, but I roll them up. There are no socks or shoes and I reluctantly put the sneakers back on after I wash as much of the blood off of them as I can. They are dark gray and the blood has dried to an unidentifiable dark color that I hope nobody will notice.

Dressed and refreshed, I move to leave. Some instinct makes me turn off the light first and give my eyes time to adjust before opening the door. When I can see the faint moonlight coming through the window in the shower room, I open the door, move out and close it behind me.

I realize that something is different right away. I can’t hear anything but the sound of my own soft steps. In the marginally lesser darkness of the warehouse, I look around. I can see the white faces of the mindless workers; they are all turned towards me. While I have been in the locker room, they have stopped working and I am surrounded on three sides. Several of them have their heads slightly raised and are making snuffing sounds like dogs catching a scent. The closest to me is a woman. The moonlight reflected off the concrete floor illuminates her eyes. She is looking directly at me. Her mouth is working, she is saying something. I strain to hear.

“Jídlo.”

The single word, almost whispered, still rings loud as a gunshot in the echoing space. I have no fucking idea what it means. As if by command, they begin to move towards me en masse. Adrenaline surges through me and heightens my senses—not as much as before, but enough that I can see there is no way to reach the outside doors before these things reach me. They have already blocked off any chance of retreat to the locker room. The stairs are my only hope. I know there is no escape from the second floor and I have destroyed the door that would have shut me off from my attackers. I discover that even a few seconds of survival are infinitely preferable to immediate death and leap towards the stairs.

I take the stairs two and three at a time only stopping when I reach the landing. None of the things
(zombies)

below are following me anymore. They are just milling about at the bottom of the stairs. Slowly, they move away and resume their tasks as if nothing had happened. I realize that they have forgotten me completely. I flash back on the memory of the dead girl talking me up the stairs and I understand that these things

(zombies)

(like me)

do not have the mental capacity to even look up, much less walk up stairs. I am safe, for now.

Nagging thoughts are pulling at my attention, but I don’t have time for them now. I step into the office, carefully avoiding as much of the blood as I can. When I reach the desk, I pocket the money and after a moment’s hesitation, I close and unplug the laptop and tuck it under one arm. I mean, I’m a murderer already, what’s a theft charge on top of that? Hell, for all I know, it’s my laptop anyway.

I move back to the landing and survey the scene below. In the dim warehouse I can only see vague shapes

(zombies)

moving about below. They move slowly and more stumble along than anything. I know that there are more of them

(ZOMbies)

than there appear to be. I gauge the distance from the foot of the stairs to the open bay doors. There are a lot less of those things

(things like ME)

near the doors than anywhere else. I wonder if I can make it. If I can sprint I think I can outrun them.
(ZOM-BIES)

I am shaking. I have to hold onto the rail just to keep from falling. Everything catches up with me, all at once. My head feels lighter than my body, and I can’t focus. All the events since I woke up in the office spin in disjointed order through my mind. I can only think one clear thought:

Those things are fucking zombies.

And straight on the heels of that thought:

I think I am a fucking zombie.

My knees sag and I think I’m going to pass out. And with that thought, I panic. If I pass out now, I’m dead. Someone will find me. Me and the dead body in the office. Somehow, I don’t think whoever finds me is going to be very happy. I also don’t think that they are going to do the civilized thing and call the police. Call me naïve, but I’m thinking they are not going to want the police to know about the zombies.

Fear is sometimes a very good thing and I use it now like a tool to help me get up and get going. OK, maybe I’m a fucking zombie. Maybe all the stupid movies I watched as a kid have somehow come to life. OK. But I can’t think of that right now.

I. Can’t. Think. Of. That. Right. Now.

Denial is wonderful. Peaceful. The decision made, I am able to move. I tuck in the shirt and slide the laptop and cord inside. It’s cumbersome and the shirt’s not going to stay tucked in with that weight pulling on it for too long, but hopefully it will hold until I get outside. Other than carrying the filled wooden pallets in and out of the semi trailer, it doesn’t look like the zombies are able to leave the building. I’m no zombie scholar, but I seem to remember that they have to obey orders. I don’t think they can follow me out the door.