Undeath by Chocolate

Charlie and the Zombie Factory - Chapter 7

Jacqueline stumbled from her chair. She moaned and tore at her jumpsuit.

Another one?

"Help! Please help." I pounded harder. "Something's wrong." I cried.

Harold appeared to be dead. He no longer moved. His arms lay at his sides. My insides grew ice cold. "Open the door!."

Devon and Agnes also got up from their chairs. Devon opened his mouth as if he were going to speak, but instead he just gaped like a fish on the sand. Agnes's glasses were askew. She didn't bother fixing them.

What was happening? I glanced at my partially-eaten Magnum Bar. And when would it be my turn?

I banged on the door until my fists hurt. No one came to my aid.

What kind of test was this? Where was Mr. Zago? Where were the workers in this goddamned place? Someone must be nearby. The clock in the room showed me that thirty minutes remained before our presentation needed to be complete. Would the doors automatically open? If I had to wait until the end to get some help, we might all be in trouble.

Jacqueline writhed on the floor. Her face, too, turned purple.

Harold lay unmoving. I knelt next to him and felt for a pulse.

Nothing.

I leaned in to listen for breathing--any sign of life.

He was dead.

At this rate everyone would be in the same state in a matter of minutes.

I circled the space to see if there was another way out. The room held six student-size desks, each with a chair, a stack of Zig-Zag Magnum Energy Bars, the information sheets, the yellow legal pad and pencil. In the front of the room a podium stood with a glass of water, a long pointer stick, and a remote control. Behind the podium hung a screen.

I tried to block out the chaos behind me. Focus on what I could do. I quickly walked the full perimeter of the room, as my fellow salespeople sputtered and choked on the floor, and looked for a crack or edge that might indicate a door or another way to exit the room besides the locked red door.

Harold sat straight up. Blood dripping from his eyes. His face gray. Veins popped in his neck.

I backed up against the wall. Harold had died. He'd been unmoving on the floor for ten minutes while I'd tried to summon help. How could he possibly be moving? Alive?

I needed to get out of the room. I became focused on one goal: escape. No longer did I care about these people. These strangers whom I'd only met this morning. I cared about myself. I didn't want to be choking on the floor in agony. I didn't want to have blood dripping from my eyes. I didn't want to be like Harold.

He lunged at Devon like a rabid dog. Harold chomped on his shoulder, tearing a jagged piece of flesh and clothing. Devon screeched. Harold swallowed the chunk and turned back for more.

My stomach heaved.

Devon's eyes rolled up. His face contorted. His pallor grayed. Black drool oozing from his mouth. He moved toward me in an awkward gait, as if he were just learning to use his legs.

I grabbed a chair and thrust it at him, knocking him to the ground. I surprised myself with the amount of energy that zinged through my muscles.

I kept the chair between Devon and me and sidled along the wall.

I'd barely kept track of the women. Jacqueline, her jumpsuit in tatters, her lipstick smeared across her gray face, stepped on Agnes who lay on the floor. I heard the cracking of ribs. Both of them had changed as well.

I did not want to turn my back on these...these...creatures. I didn't know what else to call them. I had no idea what had happened to these people, but they were no longer human.

I reached the front of the room. Four ghouls crept toward me. The clock read 10 more minutes before our time was up.

I grabbed the pointer. The only weapon available. I held it firm in a two-handed grip and thought of it as a medieval lance.

All four of them were lined up in the aisle, one behind the other, and headed toward me. I took a deep breath, tucked the pointer under one arm and ran at them. My legs pumped with ease.