Dia of the Dead (22 page)

“I’m sorry for your loss, Reagan. I truly am. But I’m not going to pretend that my family isn’t important to me. I can’t. My mom is all I have and if I know her, she will be waiting for me. And
I
wil
l
be there to rescue her at eight. Whether you all come with me or not.” I paused and looked at the both of them. Brendan looked as though he was considering the seriousness of my threat to leave the group. A slight smile crossed Reagan’s lips. She looked like she was imagining life without me.

“We can’t afford to wait on a zombie task force to come save us. What if it doesn’t exist? What then? We’ll die. Then come back to life but still, we won’t be ourselves. We’ll be mindless monsters with a killer appetite--literall
y.
” I looked from Brendan to Reagan.

“We have thirty minutes to get there and if you’re going to come with me, you’re going to have to let me know now.” I gave them a minute to decide what they wanted to do.

Brendan huffed.

“You can’t go out there alone,” he said reluctantly. “You’d never make it with your arm. You couldn’t even hold the golf club last night. We need to stick together. I’ll come with you. What about you, Reagan?” 

He looked at her. “You in?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Fine. What’s the plan?”

We sat in a circle on the rug and strategized while Reagan and Brendan drank and ate. Things came together quickly thanks to Reagan. The cafeteria was in the next building over, then we could head back here to Mr. Bixby’s private underground parking lot. Reagan was sure that he had a car (if not a dozen) waiting down there with the keys somewhere close by. We would be able to pick one and stop by security on the way out. Once we did that, we could rely on Trisha Summers to help us sort out where to go from here.

According to the timestamp on the security footage, it was time to leave. I stood up. My eyes landed on the television as it cycled through more footage from the security cams. The cafeteria appeared on screen. A few zombies lingered in the building but it looked like the three of us could take ‘em. There wasn’t much in Mr. Bixby’s office that would be of use to us except the golf clubs. Each of us grabbed one and followed Reagan through the secret exit.

She led us outside and we all assumed the faux-zombie shuffle we used to make it to Mr. Bixby’s office. We moved through the crowd, undisturbed on our way to the cafeteria. It was located in building Three, the shortest building on the lot, standing only one story with windows like the office building. The layout inside was fairly simple. There was the kitchen and a hallway with the bathrooms that wrapped around in a circle, leading back into the dining hall. The dining hall was a large open space with circular tables and chairs scattered throughout. A long buffet lined the wall that separated the dining hall and the hallway, stocked with almost any food you could imagine. It was the place where every employee on The Bixby Network’s payroll could eat free meals at any time of the day.

Reagan stopped in front of a metal cellar door in the rear of Building Three. She quickly tapped in numbers on its keypad, opened i
t,
and started down a set of stairs into a dimly lit corridor. We walked along for a while until we reached another door. She opened it and another set of stairs appeared that ended at the ceiling. Light filtered through the cracks in the floor above through a trap door. Reagan climbed the stairs with slow, measured steps. I followed her, my sweaty hand holding onto the golf club tightly. Brendan was close behind. The stairs narrowed the closer we were to reaching the door above us.  Reagan stopped when there was nowhere left for her to go but up. She handed her golf club to me and pushed against the ceiling until it lifted, casting more light on us. She peeked through the crack she created, scanning from one side to the other.

“It’s safe. Come on,” she whispered to us and pushed the door as she walked up another step. More light flooded into the passage. She climbed up the rest of the stairs and stood on the side of the opening, extending a hand to help me up. I handed the two clubs to Brendan and took Reagan’s hand.  She stepped aside to make room for me as she guided me up and I did the same to make room for Brendan. He handed us our golf clubs before we shimmied aside for him to close the door. It blended seamlessly into the tiled floor again.

We were in a cramped supply closet, standing with mops in buckets, brooms, paper towels, toilet paper, and enough bottles of cleaning stuff to keep the building spotless for at least another millennium. We shuffled around again to make room for the three of us to fit with the wel
l-
stocked shelves.

“Do you know where we are in the building?” I whispered to Reagan.  The closet door was closed but I didn’t want to take any chances with our safety.

“Do I look like an architect?” she whispered back. “No, I don’t know where we are. Let me look.” She tiptoed toward the door, opening it a crack and peeked into the hallway. She closed it quickly and turned back to us.

“I think we’re in the back hallway.”

“How far away from the kitchen are we?” I asked.

“Not far. We should be fine getting there from here.”

“Okay.” I waved for them to come closer to me. “We’re here to get food. Enough to last for a couple of days. Nothing too heavy and nothing that will go bad quickly. Get just enough so that we don’t starve. We have to keep our strength up. We can get more when we’re somewhere safe.”

Both of them knitted their eyebrows. They had questions. 

“We can’t bring too much stuff with us. It’ll weigh us down and make us easy targets,” I explained.

“Makes sense,” Reagan said nodding. “But when will we be able to find food again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then shouldn’t we get enough now, just in case we don’t find food later on?” Brendan asked.

“We don’t have anything to carry it all in. I shouldn’t have left my bag behind in Props,” I sighed.

“Here, I think I’ve found something.” Brendan reached over my head and pulled down a box from one of the shelves. He took a few clear trash bags from it, handing a bag to Reagan and one to me before putting the box back on the shel
f
.

“I think we should open the trap door again. In case we don’t have time to open it later. We need to be on our toes from here on out. Danger is everywhere.” I shivered at my own words. There were zombies in the cafeteria. I’d seen them on the security footage. Once the storage closet door opened, we had to be prepared to figh
t
.

We shifted in the tight space to give Reagan room to get the door open again, shuffling to either side of the opening to avoid falling in the hole in the floor. The three of us looked at each other. Brendan cocked a nervous grin and Reagan bit her lip. We all knew we couldn’t stall much longer but none of us wanted to leave.

I took a step forward and set my golf club down beside the doorframe.

“What’re you doing?” Brendan asked.

“I can’t carry the club and the bag at the same time. I have to leave something behind. You two have my back, right?”

“Of course.” Brendan nodded. He looked to Reagan who bit down on her lip again, her eyes darting from me to the floor. Brendan bumped her arm with his elbow causing her to nod.

“I have your backs too.” I flashed a half-smile and went over to the door. I took a deep breath. I had no idea what was waiting on the other side of the door but I opened it wide enough to slide into the hallway. I should’ve opened it a little wider since I bumped my shoulder on the way out. I bit my lip to muffle a quiet whimper.

I stayed close to the wall and surveyed my surroundings. We were in the back hallway where the restrooms were located. Not too far from the kitchen as Reagan had said. The kitchen was a few yards away. I pressed my back against the wall and looked in front of me. Zombies wandered past the large windows. Not all of their faces were familiar. I had to move slowly not to attract their attention through the glass.

My heart raced but I couldn’t let fear get the best of me. I had to focus. I drew in another deep breath, filling my lungs to capacity and let the air out slowly, shaking my head to collect my nerves.

Get the food. Get the car. Get mom.

I put on my game face and turned toward the kitchen, immediately spotting another challenge. I’d forgotten about the break in the wall that led to the kitchen from the dining hall. 

Reagan and Brendan slithered out of the door and joined me.

“What’s the hold u—“ Reagan’s question was cut short by a gasp. She froze at my side. 

“We have to be as quiet as possible,” I whispered. Brendan nodded silently but Reagan didn’t respond. Her eyes never left the zombies outside the window.

“Reagan, do you hear me? Reagan?”

Her eyes flickered to me and she nodded. “Quiet.”

I took a breath and crept forward, pausing at the end of the wall. I peeked into the other room. Five zombies were in there: two by the entrance, one on the far side of the room, and two at the buffet, staring at the food on display that was on the verge of spoiling. I held my breath as I swiftly moved past the opening.

I made it to the kitchen without a peep and waved Reagan forward.  She moved quickly, joining me without a sound. Brendan followed, crossing the space in three steps of his long stride. All of us must’ve been holding our breath as we moved toward the kitchen because once we were there safely, there was a collective exhale before we began quietly raiding the steel cabinets.

The kitchen was stocked with more than the three of us could eat in a dozen lifetimes.  I had to resist the urge to throw as much stuff as I could fit into my bag. Reagan and Brendan didn’t show as much restraint. Going against my orders, they loaded their bags with so much food, the thin plastic threatened to burst. They must’ve emptied two or three cabinets apiece. My bag was filled with processed junk but most of it had an expiration date of
.
  Though I would’ve liked one of the shiny red apples sitting in a crate on one of the counters, it wouldn’t last. Junk food was better than starving. 

I checked the clock above the industrial stove.

“Guys, we need to get moving,” I whispered as I tossed a bag of pretzels into my bag and hoisted it over my good shoulder.

Brendan stuffed a few more things into his bag and tied it off. He picked up his golf club with his other hand. “I’m set. Reagan?”

She threw her bag over her shoulder. “Ready.”

“Great. Let’s go.” I turned to head back out of the kitchen and stopped dead in my tracks.

Reagan gasped from behind me. Brendan muttered swears. The pair of zombies from the buffet had wandered toward the kitchen. Their heads tilted at unnatural angles; rot running from their mouths. They were slow in their approach and far enough away that we could get out but where would we go? They blocked the door to the supply closet. I turned to see if there was another way to escape. There was a door at the far end of the room, near the sinks and dishwasher, but it led outside and right into the legion of zombies hanging out there. That was a no-go.

In one quick move, Brendan handed off his bag to Reagan and had his golf club at the ready. He dashed past me, bumping me into one of the tables. A stack of dishes crashed on the floor arousing moans and growls from the other room. They knew we were here.

“I’ve got this!” Brendan said as he charged the zombies. He swung the club, striking the old guy zombie with a beer belly dressed in a fugly Hawaiian shirt in the head. He went down in a fit of twitches and jerks. Brendan removed the putter from the man’s skull and swung it at the other zombie, a woman with graying hair wearing the same ugly shirt. She put up more of a fight than her companion. She growled at Brendan, chomping her teeth as he went to hit her again and missed. He swung the club again, this time hitting her. He did it again and again until she was down and there was no possibility of her getting back up.

“Come on.” Brendan waved us toward him as he lifted the club over his shoulder, bits of brain dripping from it onto the floor.

Reagan hustled, dropping her club and carrying the two heavy bags with her as she passed me. I didn’t have time to pick it up on my way out of the kitchen. The moans from the other room were getting louder. Growls came from the other end of the hallway where I spotted another zombie waiting—a little girl with pigtails in one of th
e
Dia of the Dea
d
shirts that were sold in the studio’s gift shop.