APOCALYPSE AND THE BILLIONAIRE HEIR

                                                        Adam Smith

Three months ago, viral videos of five slain werewolves found in an Upper East Side townhouse—New York City—sparked several conspiracies and caused worldwide panic, until Universal Pictures stepped in and cleared the air, stating that the werewolves were mere prop corpses for their blockbuster shifter movie.

Today, the internet is flooded with videos of zombies staggering through the streets of New York City, their skin gray and peeling, hanging in strips from their bones.

I didn’t give it much thought. Last time it was Universal Pictures; this time it might be Warner Bros promoting some scary zombie apocalypse movie.

But James had taken it seriously. He’d been scrolling through his phone and yelling in his voice that those were real zombies, plundering the streets and infecting others.

“Look at this!” he showed me his phone.

A zombie in tattered clothes drenched in blood was staggering through a lonely street with its jaw lolling open, rotten blood drooling from its decaying lips.

I laughed. “CGI.”

Bob picked up the signal from his cubicle, laughing out loud. “Crazy James, is this your first time seeing zombies?”

Neither of us had seen zombies, except in movies. James withdrew his phone and turned away from me. How could such a silly thing unsettle a man his age?

Anyway, I had a heavy workload on my desk. Lots of papers were piled beside me, waiting to be attended to. I dealt with a couple of them, filling the records in my computer while gently sipping Starbucks.

Marcus, on the other end of the hall, was quiet, probably being a snobbish introvert today. And Manuel was out getting McDonald’s for lunch.

We were practically on break. Everywhere was noisy, except in our department. We had a lot to do, the majority being piled papers I was asked to sort and record.

The door popped open, and Manuel wobbled in, breathing heavily as he munched French fries and chicken dipped in creamy ranch sauce. Manuel was obese, for crying out loud. And he was so obsessed with junk food.

But no one had business teasing him today, except Marcus, who had called him a fat-ass in the morning. He sat on his big chair, designed specifically for fat asses like him.

I stopped sorting papers and typing endlessly on my keyboard and focused on Manuel. He dropped the McDonald’s chicken box on his desk, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and, as though he knew I was looking at him, picked a chicken nugget from the box and took a bite.

“Did you hear there are sick-headed people in the streets?” he asked, taking a second bite of the nugget. “People in the canteen said zombies are all over the city, causing chaos, and the federal agents and the cops are doing nothing.”

I laughed. “Silly.”

“And you think it’s real?” Bob came out of his cubicle and headed straight for Manuel’s desk. Manuel placed a hand on the box, knowing what Bob was up to, but Bob grabbed a remote instead and turned on the TV at the other end of the wall.

The news popped up. CNN was reporting that there was an outbreak of a strange virus in New York City, turning people into violent zombies.

I paused, my eyes narrowing. Could CNN be promoting a fallacy? Zombies only exist in movies and apocalyptic novels. It’s total fiction.

“This is nonsense,” Bob muttered and tuned to another channel. Fox News was broadcasting the same thing. This time, the cops were in the streets restraining and even outright shooting the zombies. Bob tuned to another channel. MSNBC. The same thing.

James stood with his phone, now with an earpiece plugged into his ears. Still scrolling through his phone, he left the room while we argued over the news. Just me, Manuel, and Bob. Marcus was quiet. He had always been that snobbish colleague we all despised but carried along if need be.

“What’s all this shit?” Bob asked, but as he turned from the TV, his eyes bulged and his lips parted in shock. Then he pointed his remote at something by the door.

I turned slowly and saw a zombie drenched in blood. It was the sales rep—I could tell from her clothes. I stood quietly. Manuel grabbed his McDonald’s chicken box. James backed off gently.

The zombie swayed her head twice, then lunged at me. My reflex kicked in. I jumped over my desk, grabbed the keyboard, and smashed it on her head.

She didn’t budge. She was no longer herself. She was now a walking corpse.

“Shit!” Manuel cried out.

The zombie rose eerily and stormed again, roaring like an injured beast. Bob tossed me a chair; I grabbed it and smashed her head with a single swing. She dropped violently, her head cracked at the right temple, blood gushing all over the floor.

More growls echoed through the air. The entire building had been infiltrated by zombies. Marcus stood up while we panicked. I looked towards him and saw black veins popping up on his now ashen skin.

“Good lord.” I bolted for the door. Bob followed, but Manuel got pounced on. Lord receive his soul.

We ran through the narrow passage, only to bump into James, earpiece still plugged in, phone dangling mid-thigh, with a gash on his neck. He was sitting by the door at the end of the passage, drooling blood from the wound and staring into space.

“Shit,” I spat. “We must find a way out of here.”

We scurried out. The hall was deserted. Only bodies remained—bodies that would soon morph into bloodthirsty zombies. We ran through the hall, but as I spotted the security guard’s body, I stopped to grab his gun, while Bob sprinted past me, only to bump into a hefty zombie.

His scream caught my attention, but it was too late. The zombie bit into his neck and tore off a large chunk. Then it tossed Bob aside and wobbled toward me.

I backed off, running eastward with the security guard’s gun. But it followed, maybe relying on scent. I got to the back door, checked the gun for ammo. It was fully loaded. Not a shot had been fired. I surged out, confident, ready to send the zombie back to its maker.

It closed in, growling so loud it sounded like it had wanted to be a zombie all its life. I fired without a second thought, and the shots fucked its head up. It dropped dead, blood spewing from the wound.

I exhaled, and just then, something popped into my mind.

Rosa.