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    All The Dead Are Here - Pete Bevan's zombie tales collection


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    WARNING: Stories on this site may contain mature language and situations, and may be inappropriate for readers under the age of 18.

    EVEN IN DEATH by Max Salnikov
    April 8, 2009  Short stories   

    Haven’t had cigarette in twelve hours now.

    Offices all look the same. Sure, one company sets up cubicles and the other has rows of desks with those Cicso Voice Over IP telephones on them, but ultimately, they all radiate the same feeling. The office feeling, the one that tells you that you’re uncomfortably middle-class and in the long run going absolutely nowhere and you better shut up and be happy about it if you want to keep your job.

    My workplace is the one where they decided against the cubicle approach. To generate teambuilding and rapport, I bet. And so here I sit looking at my monitor, too bored to play MineSweeper and too busy to be writing the lines of code that my employer pays me to write. Then my colleague leans over and whispers something about how he thinks our new project lead is ought to do a good job.

    Like the Terminator, I mentally consider the responses list. Frankly, it’s much shorter than what the tin-can assassin could’ve came up with.

    -Whatever you say, Richard.

    -You can’t put a person who knows Jack and Shit about programming in charge the day when Jack left town.

    and

    -Fuck off, asshole.

    I decide to say nothing and understandingly nod instead. My colleague is an asshole. Only assholes wear company logo T-shirts every day to work. It’s like as if it didn’t say “Cordex Soft” on his chest he’d forget who he works for. And his name is Richard, too. If your parents call you “Dick” and you grow up to be one, then no-one has to act surprised.

    Haven’t had a cigarette in twelve hours and thirteen minutes now. Bloody hell.

    Giving up on both him and my cold and soulless LCD, I make my way to the kitchen. Lara from the sales department is standing in the corner with a blank stare on her face. I try to avoid her gaze as to not bring down the how-I-broke-up-with-my-bf-and-men-are-pigs shitstorm story upon myself again, but as I exit with my freshly brewn cup of coffee, accidentally look her in the eyes anyway.

    She doesn’t look so hot with her eyes all glassy. Probably took to drugs, poor thing. Maybe just a sales department thing, though. You can’t sell a pink elephant until you yourself start believing it’s there.

    Back at my desk, Dick’s gone, thank the Maker, so I sip on my coffee and stare at my monitor some more. Tap the keyboard. Be a good boy now.

    A scream echoes through the room. I jump, and rush to the sound.

    First I think it’s a freak accident. Computer blew up. Something. Richard’s standing over our new team lead’s desk, dark liquid dripping from his fingertips. Something that looks a little bit too much like blood. I can only see him from behind, but the team lead’s face-down on the table, motionless. I then think it’s a shooting. Except there was no shot. Or was there?

    And then Dick rips the team lead’s head off.

    Oh. Fuck.

    Blood fountains from his neck, high enough to reach the ceiling. It splatters on the desk, on the carpet, on Richard, and on me. I blink. The crazy asshole turns around. His face is blank, same glassy look I saw on Lara. He drops the head. And then the bastard jumps at me.

    Evasion. Like a Navy fucking Seal I jump out the way and grab the first thing I see. A Dell desktop computer. Wires fly as I hurl it at the crazie and make a run for it. In my peripheral vision, Lara is eating someone’s brains.

    Twelve hours and twenty minutes. It’s the Zombie Apocalypse and I’m all out of smokes.

    Rushing past my desk I notice Richard’s gaining up on me. It’s not just him and Lara, there are more of them now. There are screams of pain and horror, and the berserker cleaning lady sticks the back end of her mop in our security detail’s eye. I duck as something flies past my head, then hit some dude with my shoulder and run past him as he tumbles to the ground.

    Dick’s still behind.

    The window. It’s only three stories, I won’t die. Twisted ankle maybe. Broken leg. But then Dick’ll nail me. And as the thought hits, he finally catches up. I side-step and his wild swing misses. Grabbing a flatscreen monitor I hit Richard across the face with it as hard as I can. The monitor cracks. Dick doesn’t. I shove the monitor in his face and run forward.

    Run. Just run. Don’t think.

    We break through the window.

    The flight’s fast and painfully over. I’m lying on Richard who is now missing half his head on the account of the monitor stuck through it. “Cordex Soft” barely visible through the blood on his shirt, he looks like a Teletubby from Elm Street, except the screen is through his head and not his stomach. Like a Teleheddie then. I frisk his pockets and find a crampled pack of Marlboros, two cigarettes left. I put one in my mouth.

    There are gunshots in the distance. Screams. Police sirens fading away, more gunshots. Today is the day the shit hit the ventilator. I frisk the horror Teleheddie some more. No lighter. No matches. Even in death, Dick’s a real dick.

    Twelve hours and thirty two minutes now.

    22 Comments

    1. being in the office when the Z’s hit.

      *shudders*

      Comment by Pete Bevan on April 8, 2009 @ 1:24 pm

    2. Thats a quick and cool story. Do you think he makes 13 hours?

      Comment by Andy Doty on April 8, 2009 @ 3:05 pm

    3. Nice!

      Comment by Coby Holland on April 8, 2009 @ 10:29 pm

    4. Hey, thanks for reading! I’m glad you guys liked it!

      Comment by Max on April 9, 2009 @ 9:07 am

    5. That’s a good one! I really like the continuity.

      Comment by Barrett on April 9, 2009 @ 9:12 pm

    6. Short and sweet. Cool. there’s days I’m glad I work in a warehouse full of long, sharp garden tools.

      Comment by David Youngquist on April 11, 2009 @ 12:25 pm

    7. Good story, keep writing, I appreciate all of the stories on this site. Thanks to all of you.

      Comment by Zoe on April 13, 2009 @ 9:17 am

    8. Nice little short story. Makes me want to read more just to see if the poor slob actually gets to have a cigarette. Keep up the good work.

      Comment by Mjr Malpractice on April 14, 2009 @ 1:28 am

    9. I was at Sterling opical doing my commision sheets when the zombies rose. It killed my first z more by luck than anythign else my story of that day will be posted in the next few weeks……
      Thomas

      Comment by thomas on April 14, 2009 @ 4:59 pm

    10. LOL offices and zombies dont mix just like cowboys and japan

      Comment by Steel on April 17, 2009 @ 10:43 pm

    11. Wow, appreciate the feedback! And Japanese cowboys would quadruple the AWESOME in ANYTHING. Thanks for putting the image in my head. πŸ™‚

      Comment by Max on April 18, 2009 @ 3:09 pm

    12. Great little short. You manage to do a little character development in just a few sentences…real talent my friend.

      Comment by Hugh on April 22, 2009 @ 5:05 am

    13. Great story. I hate the stories on this site that have nothing to do with zombies, like that one that won best story this story, but this was cool. I also like stories about the beginning of the infection.

      Comment by Adam on June 12, 2009 @ 1:43 pm

    14. *i mrant “of this month” in my last post*

      Comment by Adam on June 12, 2009 @ 1:44 pm

    15. I loved the guys state of mind in this story. It’s almost like the zombie apocalypse is the best thing that has happened to him in a long time. I vote he finally gets his cigarette and kicks some zombie butt white smoking it! πŸ˜‰

      Comment by Chester Cadwalader on June 13, 2009 @ 6:42 am

    16. Did they fall on a street or a grass lot? Streets would be dangerous with all the speeding panic driving around. Lets say a speeding vehicle is just about to run him over as he’s still on top of this dead zombie…well, deader anyway. The car won’t slow down and our dude only has seconds to react. He quickly gets to his feet and leaps for his life to dodge his death. The car just zooms past as if the driver didn’t even see him. Our dudes shocked, exhausted, and like wtf all at once. struggling to his feet he checks his pockets and realizes he never put the cigarrettes in them. “…fuck,” Richard’s body is now roadkill and the cigarrettes could of had a better time in a blender. So our hero didn’t get his cigarrette, but he knows a dude who has something better. A good-old-boy from junior high, part-time friend, and part-time dealer. If all hell was about to break loose, well, he might as well enjoy it.

      Comment by Emmanuel on June 23, 2009 @ 2:10 am

    17. Idk. I just added my thoughts to the story. Though it might fit the character and still bring out his humor while all this shit is going on around him. If you guys liked it I’d love to hear from everyone right here on this page. As for Max, keep on writing those storys bro, I’m loving them and I wont take no for an answer…except for yesterday, my visa was declined. -War and Hate-fuck peace and love.

      Comment by Emmanuel Uribe on June 23, 2009 @ 2:23 am

    18. Thanks mate! πŸ™‚

      Comment by Max on June 27, 2009 @ 10:40 pm

    19. Wait a minute: how did Dick, who showed absolutely NO signs of infection, turn into a zombie so quickly? Doesn’t add up.

      Comment by Liam on July 6, 2009 @ 12:37 am

    20. Great. i loved the ending.

      Comment by Dave gorack. on July 7, 2009 @ 6:56 pm

    21. Real nice, intense story! Finally made it to check it out, after all those nice coversations πŸ˜€ I’m gonna read as much as possible of your writings, and hope to see you soon again! Well, unfortunately not at the company anymore, probably you heard about it πŸ™‚ Dont worry people, I am not the one ripping off people’s heads πŸ˜€

      Comment by Andras on July 12, 2009 @ 4:13 pm

    22. Hey Max, hope you are back from the holidays. Very cool story as always, keep it up.
      Let’s grab a beer soon.

      Comment by Kaiyu on August 23, 2009 @ 12:41 pm

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