Episode 57 - ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE - DAY 5

Work is dead.

Three quarters of the office either decided to not show up or... something worse happened.  I keep track of the stats.  The data curve of Level 2 infections is nearly vertical, indicating the rate of contagion is exponential and the indications are staggering.  The first infection in the country was two months ago.  Three days ago there were 7000 Level 2 infections.  Today, the total has risen to over 11,000.  7000 in two months, 4000 in two days. The curve is vertical!  At this rate the essential services of water, gas, and power are threatened as it's not possible to insulate those employees from infection.  It only takes one or two Level 2s to bring down an entire organization.  Trash collectors are especially susceptible as they take every dusty item discarded by the entire population, open it, shake it, and dump it.  The possibility of trash collection coming to a halt and communities in unsanitary conditions is real, making things even worse.  It's early, though.  And there's still hope.

I hope.

It's the end of the day.  The hallway is empty.  I realize I haven't had a single interaction with another person since I left my woman this morning.  I've caught only glimpses, once or twice, of the others in the office who showed up:  a foot escaped into a room;  a door clicked shut as I washed my hands; a vidwall played the news to an empty room, suggesting someone was in there a moment before.  You'd think the disease was carried on words the way people avoid conversation.  Everyone utterly avoids everyone else.  What is the point of society when isolation becomes the goal?

As I approach the exit, my thoughts turn briefly to the camping gear stored in the attic.  The words 'just in case' solicit my thinking but I wave them off before the thought fully forms.

Through the glass front door, I double and triple check the area outside.  I push the door open and check again.  Multiple sirens from other neighborhoods overlap each other in a macabre off-harmony.  I step out.  A chill hits me.  There is movement to my side.  I reach for the door but it closes.  Shit.  My keys catch on my pocket and fall to the floor.  Fuck.  Eyes wide.  Fight or flight.  Keys.  Door.  Run.   A cat emerges.  Keys.  Door.   Cat.  Keys.  Cat.  Cat.  It's a cat...

It's the landlord's cat...!

Ho geezuss.  Unsure, I check the area behind the cat.  Empty.  I check all around.  Everything is still.  I check again. And then again.  My sweat breaks.  My heart hammers.

Breathe...  Breath...  Breathe...

The cat knows me and approaches.  Deep breath.
"How you doing, Chiba?"  He pushes against my leg and I scratch his head.
"You scared the shit outta me ya little fucker."  My breathing catches up as the sound of a car and headlights wash over us and drive away.  The cat moves on.  His vertical tail gives me the finger as he walks away.  I envy the little fucker; what does he have to care about?  The world, to animals, is the same as always.

Or is it?

A thought hits me.  I check the fingers that scratched the cat's head.  Shit.  What we don't know.  I'm suspicious of my own hand.  Two days ago, my woman placed a bottle of sanitizer in the cup holder of the Rav4.  "Every time you get in the car," she said.  I need to get that bottle and until I do I need to touch nothing with this hand.

I check the parking lot.  The sky is almost dark.  A cold drop lands on my unclean hand.  I leave it and then a drop lands on my shoulder.  With my good hand, I pick up my keys and chirp open the Rav4.  My walk is really a trot.  The macabre sirens play on.  Safe in the car, the sanitizer comes out and I rub it in.  In, over, around, under, between, rub, rub, rub until dry.  Ok.  Satisfied. 

I push Start, the Rav4 comes to life.  and the radio comes on.  Someone is speaking with glowing and phony optimism, the language of politicians. 
"... are extraordinary times.  It will not be easy.  It will be difficult."  I recognize the voice of the Governor. 
"But I'm confident that, working together, there's nothing that we, the incredible people of this great state, cannot..."  I stop listening.
"Thank you, Governor Hairdo."

Drops hit the windshield as I put the Rav4 into Reverse.

Be safe out there.  The cats and the zombies are gonna get you.