In the company's main office, the young secretary was standing with a change of clothes neatly folded between his arms. He was in his early twenties, with neatly combed brown hair and brown eyes that seemed ever watchful. His skin was fair, his face attractive, and he had a small mole just below his left eye, a detail that many did not fail to notice. Tall, elegant and of sober bearing, he wore a well-fitted suit that highlighted his slender figure.
A few steps away from him, two female employees whispered with laughter as they watched him slyly from their desks.
—He's too handsome to be real —one of them whispered, holding back a smile.
He heard the comment clearly. Although he tried to pretend he didn't, a slight blush rose to his face and he averted his gaze to the clock on the wall. The principal was taking longer than usual.
Just then, she felt her cell phone vibrate in the inside pocket of her coat. He pulled it out quickly and, seeing the name on the screen, answered immediately.
— Director, what's wrong? Why isn't it coming yet? — he asked as soon as he answered.
The voice on the other end of the line sounded agitated, almost desperate.
— Listen to me carefully — said the director, with bated breath—. No matter where you are now, find shelter immediately. If you can't find one, come to my location as quickly as possible.
The secretary frowned.
—What are you talking about?
—Don't ask questions. Just do as I say. Something terrible is happening in the city.
The secretary let out a nervous laugh.
—Director... you're joking, right?
But the silence on the other end of the line made his skin crawl.
Before he could insist, a rumble shook the building.
The screaming began.
And chaos erupted all around him.
People started running in all directions. In the commotion, someone pushed him and his cell phone fell to the ground. He cursed under his breath and hurried to pick it up. However, when he looked up, his body froze.
A terrifying scene unfolded before his eyes.
His colleague, a young woman with whom he exchanged greetings every morning and with whom he occasionally shared a break, was being devoured by another employee. Blood stained the floor and the girl's moans of pain soon turned into a deadly silence.
A primal instinct took over. He ran out without looking back. He knew he could do nothing for her.
He tried to climb up the stairs to the top floor, but stopped short when he saw more of those creatures coming down, staggering with erratic movements. Panic made him change direction and he ran toward the parking lot.
When he arrived, he found more of those beings lurking among the cars. His eyes desperately searched for a hiding place until he saw the small cabin where the watchman worked. He rushed inside and closed the door behind him, breathing heavily.
His mind was racing. He didn't understand the situation.
What the hell was going on?
Trembling, he peered out the window. Those creatures... there was no doubt about it. They looked like zombies, just like in the movies. But this was real.
He saw them slowly approaching. He immediately ducked down and hid under the table, holding his breath. He pulled out his cell phone. It was turned off. He tried to turn it on several times, but it wouldn't answer.
Just as he was about to give up, the screen finally lit up.
A message from the director appeared on the screen:
"If you manage to survive and find no shelter, come to my location."
Below the message, a map showed his current location.
Then he remembered. Before leaving the office, the director had had a particularly tense meeting. It was like a real battlefield. He was in a bad mood. Whenever he felt that way, he had a habit: he went to a small coffee shop near the office. It was his personal refuge, the only place where he could relax. He said that the coffee they served there reminded him of the coffee his mother used to make.
But surely that coffee shop was closed. That's why he had ended up going to another one, the one that was now marked on the map.
Maybe he hadn't liked the coffee or the food. He had probably started complaining, as he was wont to do. The secretary was not surprised: it had happened before, like that time when they almost had a restaurant closed down just because the tea was lukewarm.
Maybe that's why they threw the coffee on him.
—I wonder who had such courage... with how intimidating the director can be—he thought, and a brief incredulous laugh burst from his lips. But the laughter died instantly, swallowed up by the choking silence of his surroundings.
He shook his head, pushing those useless thoughts aside, and looked out the window. Outside, the world was no longer the same. The creatures walked aimlessly, staggering as if the initial rage had drained out of them, but with that latent threat still present in every clumsy movement. There were no more screams, no more horns, no more human footsteps. Only the sound of shuffling feet and the occasional creaking glass in the distance.
He ducked back into hiding and turned on his cell phone. He hesitated a second, but started typing:
"Got your message. I'm trying to reach you. Are you okay?"
He hit "send."
The signal bar blinked once.
Then it disappeared completely.
"Message not sent."
—It can't be… —he whispered.
He looked at the map again. The director's location was still there, steady. It was his only north. He put the cell phone away carefully, knowing he would have to move.
He leaned out again and waited patiently for the slightest opportunity to get out, measuring every second as if he were hanging on an invisible thread. And when he finally thought it was time, he opened the door with extreme caution and began to move towards his car, sticking to the wall, taking care of every step.
He was only a few meters away when, without realizing it, he stepped on a piece of broken glass. The crack was slight, insignificant in another context, but in the midst of that dense silence it sounded like an explosion.
The creatures stopped dead in their tracks, turned their heads in that inhuman, blood-chilling motion, and looked at him.
Their bodies tensed in unison, as if they shared a hungry consciousness that had just smelled live prey.
He felt a shiver run down his spine and he ran. He ran with all the adrenaline his body would allow, thinking of nothing but getting to the car. She opened the door, threw herself inside and turned the key in desperation. The engine roared, but the vehicle wouldn't move.
He looked in the rearview mirror, his heart in his throat: a tire was flat.
— Damn it... — he muttered, frowning.
Her gaze lifted immediately, scanning the parking lot in desperation, until she saw it. At the far end, like a beacon in the midst of the chaos, was the director's car. For an instant, a spark of hope ignited inside him. Maybe he still had a chance.
But then, doubt struck him.
—What about the keys? —he thought with a knot in his stomach.
He lowered his head with resignation, ready to dismiss the idea... and that's when he saw them. There they were, resting on the passenger seat, gleaming in the dim light, as if they had been waiting for him.
Sure... it made sense. That morning, the director had asked him to park his car for the meeting, and he had forgotten to return the keys.
He didn't hesitate. He pressed the alarm button on his own vehicle. The metallic clang of the security system broke the silence of the place, echoing through the walls like a scream. The creatures reacted instantly, turning their bodies in the direction of the noise and advancing clumsily but with clear intent.
Without wasting a second, he ran towards the other car. He arrived just as the zombies were beginning to turn again. He opened the driver's door, jumped inside, started the engine and stepped on the accelerator. The vehicle responded instantly, and as soon as it did, he felt the bodies crash against the hood and windshield with thudding thuds. He didn't stop. He couldn't.
He drove at full speed, white knuckles on the steering wheel, not daring to look in the rearview mirror. The coffee shop marked on the map wasn't far, barely a few blocks away. But when he turned the last corner, he had to slam on the brakes.
The road was blocked. Overturned cars, debris, debris from a landslide blocked the way.
—Perfect… —he muttered as he saw the blocked road, and let out a bitter laugh—. What else could go wrong?
That's when he heard it: a dry, guttural growl, too close. He looked up and saw them. A group of infected was approaching from the next street, staggering with that awkward urgency that chilled his blood.
—Great… —he whispered, and hung his head in resignation—. Next time I should keep quiet.
He looked at the car one last time and, as he turned to run, muttered between his teeth:
—Excuse me, director... when this is over, I'll buy you another one just like it, or even a better one.
Without looking back, he broke into a run. Heart pounding, he spun around, looking for something, anything he could use as shelter, until he saw it. A tool store with the door ajar and bars on the windows. He didn't think about it. He ran straight for it, pushed open the door and entered, slamming it shut behind him. He secured the latches with trembling hands, feeling every second like an eternity.
Only then did he allow himself to breathe.
But he didn't let his guard down. He took his cell phone out of his pocket, turned on the flashlight and, with silent steps, began to check every nook and cranny. He advanced between dusty shelves and narrow aisles, attentive to any sound. The store seemed empty. Everything indicated that the owners had fled in a hurry. There were open boxes, tools scattered on the floor, an overturned chair... It was not looting disorder, but hasty flight, full of panic.
Only when he confirmed that there was no immediate danger did he drop behind the counter. He felt the weight of the day, fear and exhaustion crush him all at once. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathing hard, clinging to the faint warmth of his own existence. For now, he was safe.
everal minutes passed. The silence was almost absolute, interrupted only by some distant rustling or his own breathing. It was then that his stomach growled. He had barely eaten breakfast. He had spent the whole morning at the director's side, and just when he could finally go to lunch, he had to stay waiting for him... and then everything had fallen apart.
He began desperately searching the shelves, behind the counter, in the drawers. Finally, he found a bottle of warm drink, two broken cookies and a half-melted chocolate. It wasn't much, but it was all she had.
He plopped down again, sitting with his back against the wall, the flashlight pointed at the ceiling and thoughts whirling restlessly. He didn't know how long he would have to stay in that place, or if he would make it out alive. The only clear thing was that, if those things didn't kill him first... hunger would.