He sat in front of his computer and waited for the clock on his company phone to say it was seven PM and that it was time for him to leave. It was the day before Thanksgiving and everyone else in the building had left to enjoy the four day weekend. During his employment with the company he had worked all three shift and was familiar with the noises that can be heard in the building between the hours of way too late and far too early which is why the noise had startled him out of a slack jawed stare at the screen in front of him.
This was not a normal noise.
He thought maybe his imagination, which had been Bruce Bannered into a raging behemoth by a steady diet of horror movies and heavy metal, was getting some unnecessary exercise when he heard the noise again. He sat ramrod straight, head tilted with a face full of eyes. He knew that sound. He also knew what that sound meant. Had not “His Majesty King Romero” been educating him on this subject for decades? Despair welled up in him as he realized how woefully unprepared his cubicle was to withstand the assault of what was surely dragging its way toward him.
Zombies
Quickly he pulled himself together and called upon his years of training. Anyone who’s spent time learning the craft of horror movie survival knows in order to kill a zombie you have to “Remove the head or destroy the brain” (Thank you “Shawn of the Dead”). He cast around for weapons but he knew the search was futile. Had he been closer to the shop door he would have access to a veritable buffet of bludgeoning devices. But the situation was this; he was trapped in his office cubicle and surrounded by, what has to be, a vast horde of brain-thirsty zombies and if he was ever going to survive, he needed to stop thinking about what he didn’t have and use what he did.
He looked around. He could throw his monitor. No, it was too heavy and only allowed one shot. There were three ring binders, manuals, office supplies, and coffee cups; none of which would be any good against a swarm of ravenous reanimated corpses. He could hear the seconds’ crash to the floor as they fell from the clock. The grunting, dragging sound of impending disembowelment and consumption grew louder by the moment,
It was then he remembered the wrench! He had loaned the wrench to one of the service mechanics and had gotten it back earlier in the week. It was in the bottom drawer of his desk. He scrabbled for it and pulled it out. Two and a half feet of carbon steel with salvation written all over it felt like a kiss from an angel. It didn’t have all the bells and whistle of ditch blade or even a standard shove or cricket bat but it would do the trick it getting him out of this office and buying him some time so come up with a plan.
He put on his coat, tied his handkerchief around his face, to protect him from flying, infected gore, and slung his bag over his shoulder. He crept toward the entrance of his cubicle and paused to focus his strength. With a mighty bellow that would sound at home in the Halls of Valhalla he leapt out of his cubicle and severely traumatized the innocent cleaning lady who had been trying take out a trash bag someone had carelessly over filled.
He has recently had his hours changed and now leaves with the rest of the employees in his department.
((APPLAUSE))
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