Read Online Medora: A Zombie Novel by Wick Welker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Wick Welker
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him and spoke up. “What happened?”
Dave took the tie from his face. “I'm sorry, but Janice is gone. That's it; we all need to go home, right now.”
“Gone? Is she... dead... in there?” Her frightened eyes started to bob in the direction of the conference room.
“No, she's not dead, but there is nothing we can do for her now. She is sick beyond anything you've ever seen. Janice isn't Janice anymore. We don't need to wait for an ambulance, because they couldn't do anything anyway.”
Keith silently walked up to the room with disheveled hair and a red face. “Okay everybody, there's nothing else to do for Janice . We should all go home now.” The fact that Keith and Dave said almost identical words to them after leaving the conference room with Janice made them queasy with dread. They immediately became suspicious knowing that something had occurred which made Dave and Keith mutually vote on going home with no further discussion. They also realized that they were not going to discuss whatever it was that happened.
“ Well, I don't know if the buses are still going or the subway, but they probably are. Does everyone have a ride home? Dave and I are driving together and we can take someone with us.” As he talked, he made his way to the windows of the building and looked down into the streets. He saw swarms of people walking on the sidewalks. Traffic was at a complete halt and he dreaded the thought of waiting in traffic for hours to get home. “Looks like we're going to have a lot of traffic to deal with down there.” He flipped open his phone and called Ellen. The only answer was a loud obtrusive beeping on the line, which then hung up.
The five remaining employees collected their briefcases and purses, and walked past the empty receptionist desk. Keith looked up at the TV and saw an emergency broadcast streaming over the screen. He chose to ignore the thoughts that started to climb into his consciousness and began to think about seeing his wife and daughter. He remembered his busted up front door that he had to fix this weekend and the gasoline stains on his driveway that he promised Ellen he was going to scrub.
His mind was harrowed up in the menial tasks of his daily life when he opened the door to the stairway and now gazed at the m enacing face of his nightmares. He didn't see the real life nightmares of terminal cancer, death of a child, divorce or lawsuits. He saw the actual nightmares of his sleeping dreams at night that twisted with the sickening horror of sweaty panic and demented surrealism that made a man leap from his pillow. He saw faces of disease and death climbing the staircase towards him and smelled their stench of sweet rotting meat. For the first time, he knew what panic in a man's heart felt like and the awful sense of being trapped with no defense, no strategy and no hope. He felt the entire height of nine floors below him and imagined every physical way that he could descend them without using the stairs.
He stared down the flight of stairs before him and saw the unmistakable sickness, which had claimed Janice. The stairs were crowded with men and woman, walking limply, and weakly grasping the rails to climb up. They were just starting to approach the staircase that led up to the ninth floor. Some of their faces had been imploded with a crater of pus while others had maintained a better semblance of their faces but suffered in other aspects of their bodies. Some of their arms were bloated with blisters and dripping blood. One woman was crawling up the stairs with one arm clutching the rail while her other arm, missing a hand, was being used to support her weight as she climbed. Her scalp and hair had slid downward off her skull and were hanging precariously from the side of her head. As a collective group, they gushed bodily discharge and blood onto the concrete stairs as they slowly moved like slugs, constantly secreting mucous as they inch along the sidewalk. With their slow
Dave took the tie from his face. “I'm sorry, but Janice is gone. That's it; we all need to go home, right now.”
“Gone? Is she... dead... in there?” Her frightened eyes started to bob in the direction of the conference room.
“No, she's not dead, but there is nothing we can do for her now. She is sick beyond anything you've ever seen. Janice isn't Janice anymore. We don't need to wait for an ambulance, because they couldn't do anything anyway.”
Keith silently walked up to the room with disheveled hair and a red face. “Okay everybody, there's nothing else to do for Janice . We should all go home now.” The fact that Keith and Dave said almost identical words to them after leaving the conference room with Janice made them queasy with dread. They immediately became suspicious knowing that something had occurred which made Dave and Keith mutually vote on going home with no further discussion. They also realized that they were not going to discuss whatever it was that happened.
“ Well, I don't know if the buses are still going or the subway, but they probably are. Does everyone have a ride home? Dave and I are driving together and we can take someone with us.” As he talked, he made his way to the windows of the building and looked down into the streets. He saw swarms of people walking on the sidewalks. Traffic was at a complete halt and he dreaded the thought of waiting in traffic for hours to get home. “Looks like we're going to have a lot of traffic to deal with down there.” He flipped open his phone and called Ellen. The only answer was a loud obtrusive beeping on the line, which then hung up.
The five remaining employees collected their briefcases and purses, and walked past the empty receptionist desk. Keith looked up at the TV and saw an emergency broadcast streaming over the screen. He chose to ignore the thoughts that started to climb into his consciousness and began to think about seeing his wife and daughter. He remembered his busted up front door that he had to fix this weekend and the gasoline stains on his driveway that he promised Ellen he was going to scrub.
His mind was harrowed up in the menial tasks of his daily life when he opened the door to the stairway and now gazed at the m enacing face of his nightmares. He didn't see the real life nightmares of terminal cancer, death of a child, divorce or lawsuits. He saw the actual nightmares of his sleeping dreams at night that twisted with the sickening horror of sweaty panic and demented surrealism that made a man leap from his pillow. He saw faces of disease and death climbing the staircase towards him and smelled their stench of sweet rotting meat. For the first time, he knew what panic in a man's heart felt like and the awful sense of being trapped with no defense, no strategy and no hope. He felt the entire height of nine floors below him and imagined every physical way that he could descend them without using the stairs.
He stared down the flight of stairs before him and saw the unmistakable sickness, which had claimed Janice. The stairs were crowded with men and woman, walking limply, and weakly grasping the rails to climb up. They were just starting to approach the staircase that led up to the ninth floor. Some of their faces had been imploded with a crater of pus while others had maintained a better semblance of their faces but suffered in other aspects of their bodies. Some of their arms were bloated with blisters and dripping blood. One woman was crawling up the stairs with one arm clutching the rail while her other arm, missing a hand, was being used to support her weight as she climbed. Her scalp and hair had slid downward off her skull and were hanging precariously from the side of her head. As a collective group, they gushed bodily discharge and blood onto the concrete stairs as they slowly moved like slugs, constantly secreting mucous as they inch along the sidewalk. With their slow
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