Dia of the Dead (21 page)

“The door down there is reinforced, right?” I asked Reagan.

“Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“Just making sure. Turns out, Kaci’s a runner despite hating exercis
e.
We almost didn’t make it back up here.”

“We almost didn’t make it because you were staring into space instead of closing the door,” Brendan snapped.

“But we made it. And that’s what’s important, don’t you think?”

He rolled his eyes at me. I returned the favor.

I looked back at the security footage and noticed a pattern in the behavior of the zombies wandering in the lot. It seemed like older people were slower while the younger ones zipped around like madmen and women. Why hadn’t I noticed before? There were a few exceptions to the rule of course, like BB. I pointed out my observations to the rest of the group. We all agreed the information was useful.

“I think we should get some rest,” I said, turning away from the TV.

“I guess that’s a good idea.” Reagan shrugged.

We all exchanged nervous looks.

“Maybe we should see if we have any bites or scratches. Just in case,” I said.

Brendan and Reagan both agreed.  The three of us retreated to different parts of the room. I took a spot behind a fern and checked any part of me left exposed. I lifted my good arm to check it out, there were minor scratches from being bumped around but nothing like what Kaci had on her arm.  Other than being in the sling, my other arm appeared to be fine as well. I checked out the rest of me.  No bites and no rash.

“No bites here,” I called out.

“I think I’m fine too,” Reagan called back from behind the small tree on the other side of the room.

“I’m okay.” Brendan pulled down the hem of his shirt, covering his stomach though his abs still peeked through rips and tears in the shirt’s fabric. He was the only one of us not hiding behind a plant.

“Maybe we should check each other to make sure no one’s lyin
g,
” he said.

I left my plant behind and joined Reagan and Brendan at the center of the room in front of Mr. Bixby’s desk. 

“I’ll turn my back and you guys can check each other.” Brendan pointed at me and Reagan then turned around back toward the television.

Reagan stretched out her arms in front of her and I gave them
an once-over. She lifted her hair off her shoulders and did a slow spin. She didn’t have any bites, bruises, or scratches. Her makeup had smudged and her forehead was a bit shiny but other than a little blood and splatters of black on her denim romper and sandals, she didn’t look like she’d gone toe-to-toe with a couple of zombies. Of the three of us, she was probably in the best shape.

It was my turn to be examined under Reagan’s eye. I extended my arm to her showing off a couple of bruises then turned so she could see the other.

“You’re going to have to take your arm out of the sling to be sure you weren’t bitten.” 

Though it hurt, I slipped my arm out of the sling and used my other arm to gently lower it to my side.  Reagan stepped closer to look at it. It passed her inspection. I did a slow turn like she did, stopping when I faced her again. She helped me get my arm back into the sling.

“We’re both fine,” I said. “You can turn around now, Brendan.”

Brendan turned around with a big grin on his face. Something told me I didn’t want to know what he was thinking.

“My turn.” He lifted his arms, showing them to us. He lifted his legs—the right then the left—showing off his ripped jeans. He did a spin, appearing to be fine despite his busted lip.

“Now that we’re all sure we’re not turning into zombies,” Brendan yawned, “let’s get some sleep. We need to be up early to try to find a way out of here.”

“We have to meet my mom at the security building at eight,” I reminded them.

“What? Says who?” Reagan asked.

“My mom’s down there. We have to go meet her.”

“I didn’t agree to that.” She frowned.

“How about we decide what to do in the morning.” Brendan yawned again. He went back to the rug and laid down. Reagan stretched her arms toward the ceiling and rubbed her eyes.

“I’m too tired to be pissed about your rescue mission,” she said and went to the rug, curling up on the opposite end of Brendan.

I was too tired to be pissed about Reagan being pissed. Yawning, I looked around the room. It seemed like the rug was the most comfortable place to sleep. 

My stomach growled loud enough to rival BB’s moans from the hall. I’d be no use in the morning if I didn’t eat. I collected the tin of caviar and the bottle of juice and asked Brendan to open them for me before he fell asleep. I took my meal with me to the window and sat on the floor. I ate as much of the caviar as I could without gagging (I wished billionaires enjoyed corn chips) and covered the rest with the lid. I downed the juice to get the taste out of my mouth. It wasn’t any better. It tasted like grass but I drank the entire thing. I sat the empty bottle close to the window and looked over at Brendan and Reagan. Both of them were asleep and I thought maybe I should do the same.

Though I was exhausted, I didn’t get much rest. Between dreams about every worst case scenario my brain could conjure up involving my mom, the weight that settled in my chest after losing my best friend, and Reagan’s not-so-light snoring waking me up every five minutes, I gave up on sleep halfway through the night. Being cold from my damp clothes and achy from essentially everything we’d been through in the last day didn’t help much either. I got up from the floor and quietly slipped into Mr. Bixby’s desk chair. The remote to the television was still on the desk. I pressed a few buttons and found the local news channel from earlier. There wasn’t any helicopter cam footage or news scrolling by on the ticker. Instead, the camera focused on two empty anchor chairs at the news desk in a silent newsroom.

The sight gave me chills. I wondered what happened to Roger Harris and Diane Larsen, the two anchors from 11 Action News. My internal Worst Case Scenario Generator pictured them being attacked by a pack of zombies in the studio on camera for the station’s entire viewership. I turned back to the security footage after scaring myself with another imagined scenario featuring zombie cameramen.

I tried finding something to pass the time. I called my mom again with my dying battery and left her another voicemail with whispered directions to stay put and that I’d meet her at eight in case she forgot. I swiveled the chair toward the window and looked out at the night. Wanting to see the stars, I scooted the chair closer to the window until my knees and the toes of my shoes were nearly touching the glass. I stared at the full moon. It was larger than I’d ever seen it. It looked like it could fall right out of the sky at any moment. Not that I’d had much time to admire the night sky recently anyway. I was always busy with work. I was thankful for all of the blessings I’d received in the last year. Really. But I missed moments like this. I hated that it took zombies responsible for the death of most of my friends, coworkers, and possibly my mother and dachshund for one to happen. 

I shook those thoughts aside. They weren’t going to do anything but cause the Worst Case Scenario Generator to kick back into high gear and begin churning out new worries. Instead I focused on coming up with a plan. I needed one that would not only get me to the security building to meet my mother but get us through Burbank to…to wherever was safe. I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes, waiting for the idea to come to me.

The sun was just beginning to rise when my eyes blinked open again. Yawning, I tried to remember the plan that came to me before I dozed off. I only remembered one detail and it involved a car. We needed one. A car could get us out of the studio in one piece then from there…I guess we’d have to cross that bridge when we came to it.

I turned Mr. Bixby’s desk chair around.  Brendan and Reagan were still sleeping. According to the timestamp on the security footage, it was only a quarter past six. I needed to wake them up soon but thought I’d seize the moment of quiet to try and recall my plan. Before I could do that, I had to use the bathroom something wicked. 

With an empty bladder, a freshly washed face, and minty fresh breath thanks to a bottle of mouth wash I found, I crept back out into the office and over to the mini fridge. I couldn’t think on an empty stomach. I opened it slowly and grabbed another tin of caviar, a jar of somethin
g,
and a bottle of water and tiptoed back over to my seat. I sat everything on top of Mr. Bixby’s desk and struggled to open the bottle and jar which to my surprise was more olives. I ate much more than I had last night despite the fact that the food was gross. I was close to being finished with my Frankensteined meal when I thought of something.

Not only did we need a car, we also needed supplies. We needed food, a first aid kit, and a change of clothes. We needed things we weren’t going to find in this room. Not unless there was another secret gateway or portal or something that only an heir of Bixby knew about. I figured most of the room had revealed itself to us and doubted there were any more secrets.

I crept over to where Brendan slept. Whatever he dreamed about caused a peaceful half-smile to spread across his lips. I hated to wake him but eight o’clock was approaching and our need for supplies was more important than sleep. I nudged him. He awoke with a start. I leaned away, barely avoiding the swing of his arm.

“What the hell?” He sat up, clutching his chest.

His eyes wildly scanned the room before landing on me. “Dia? You nearly gave me a heart attack. What time is it?” He rubbed his eyes.

“Seven ten.”

“In the morning? Why is it so early? Wait. Why are you here? Where am I?”

“We’re in Mr. Bixby’s office.”

“We are?” His eyebrows knit together in confusion as he glanced around the room again. “The zombies weren’t a dream?”

I shook my head and pointed to the television. He looked at it and said, “Oh.” 

Even with eye crud, bed head, and morning breath, he was still pretty hot. Until he yawned. I leaned back, wrinkling my nose. He lost points with the rank breath. He covered his mouth with his hand.

“That bad?”

“Yeah.” I nodded.

He jumped up and ran to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. I laughed a little to myself but my smile faded as I thought of Kaci. She would’ve wanted to know everything about that exchange in detail. I blinked away the tears that threatened to pour. I couldn’t think about Kaci or Mason or the rest right now. If I did, I would fall apart. My energy would be best spent moving forward and finding safety.

While Brendan was taking care of his dragon breath, I crept over to where Reagan slept. I lightly tapped her shoulder and called her name until her eyes fluttered upon. For a brief moment she looked as sweet as a cherub.

“Get out of my face,” she said with one eye open and a frown.

I gave her a bit of distance as she sat up and looked around the room, the frown turning into a scowl.

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine.”

“It’s too early for this.” She blinked and rubbed some makeup gunk from her eyes.

“I need an espress
o,
” she grunted as she pulled herself up from the floor, smoothed some of the slept-in wrinkles from her romper, and ventured over to the mini fridge.

Brendan reappeared in the room. His face turned beet red when our eyes met. He closed the bathroom door and averted his gaze, taking a sudden interest in a set of the little science balls on Mr. Bixby’s desk. He lifted one and let it go. It clanged into the next causing the others to move until the one on the end swung back causing the cycle to start all over again, forever. He acted like it was the most interesting thing on the planet.

“We need a plan—another one—to get some supplies before we try to get to the security booth. I have some ideas,” I announced.

They both groaned.

“I don’t think I have another plan in me. It might be easier to become a zombie at this point.” Brendan sighed and walked over to the rug to join us. “Can I have one of those, Reagan?” He pointed to the bottle of the coffee drink Reagan had. She opened the fridge and handed one to him. They were hidden behind the wall of grass juice and water on the second shelf.

“Don’t talk like that,” I said.

“I’d rather just stay her
e,
” he said, opening the bottle.  “I don’t know how much longer I can run. Maybe we can wait it out. Maybe the government has a special zombie task force or something and can take care of all of this.”

He took a sip and wiped away the bit of mocha frap that settled above his lip.

“I agree with Brendan. Someone has to be able to help us. We should just wait and see what happens.” Reagan reclined, propping herself up with her hands.

“We can’t stop. We can’t stay here forever. Our families are out there somewhere. We have to keep going.”

“Your family,” Reagan said. “I don’t have a family anymore. My sister’s out in the hallway.” She pointed toward the door.

“I saw my mom crawling around in one of the floors of this building on the surveillance camera footage— and my dad…who knows where my dad is. Not like he’s around much anyway. He always has some kind of business to take care of. This place was much more important to him than we were. He’s always working to make the network number one like he’s trying to take over the world or something. I understand why mom wanted a divorce. I completely understand. If he’s a zombie right now, he deserves it. Ass.” She spat.