Flesh-Eaters Anonymous - pt 5

"But humans—the living—won't accept that. A family of four isn't going to be okay with you killing one of them. We—they'll fight."

Jack waved his hand and slid it back in his pocket.

"You're dead anyway you cut it. You get hit by a truck, get munched by a prol, jump out this window or keel over when you're a hundred, you're dead. And then you'll get up. At least this way you get to go out on your own terms."

He walked back to his desk and sat down, looking at that top desk drawer. He had that blank stare in his eye again, but it was different. I'd seen that nickel-plated .22 when he'd reached into the drawer to retrieve the case.

"You know what the big guys are thinking? They're thinking that if the right guy can get this done he gets to come upstairs. Hell, you'd be my boss."

"But nobody knows me. I don't know how to do anything, how am I even going to sneak out of the quar—" I clapped my hand over my mouth. I hadn't done that since… well, I don't think I'd ever done that. But the Q-word was a big no-no. I'd seen one of the bougies disemboweled by several of his peers for saying it.

Jack didn't seem to notice. "Don't you see that's the beauty of it? It will work because you're a nobody. They'll think you just escaped, they'll check you for bites and find a needle prick. They think we're all mindless over here, zombies don't infect by injection. They'll welcome you like you're one of their own."

"How would you know you could trust me? I mean, I could fake taking the shot, sneak over and then blab everything." As soon as it was out of my mouth I regretted saying it.

Jack only laughed.

"Thirty-eight years you've been one of them and what have they shown you? I remember you in high school—you got beat up practically every day and from the looks of your personnel file it doesn't look like it's gotten much better. I'm giving you an opportunity to belong. You can try fitting in with them, but why would it work now? We need you. You could be one of us—all we ask is one thing. If you can move past a little needle prick you're all set. When was the last time you got a raise anyway?"

Four years, two cents. He was more right than he knew. I covered my wedding band with my right hand, thinking of my Bonnie. Even she hadn't waited for me. She pretty much had sped off in the station wagon with Connor and Kramer poking their heads out the back windows, wagging their tongues at me.

"What would I have to do?"

"Well, take that back to your desk, think about. Better yet, take the rest of the day off." He put his hand over mine. It was still sticky from the meat he'd just eaten. "Get back to me."

I looked from the case and back up to him, really wondering if this was something I could do. I didn't have a life and they knew it. Bonnie and the dogs had made it out before the quarantine, maybe I could go see them if I could get through.

Jack looked at me. Really looked at me like I was a friend. They needed me—finally I was important to someone.

"Oh, and take this," he said, pulling a crumpled business card out of his breast pocket. Something gelatinous oozed out of the open wound in the back of his head and rolled down his back. "I hear it helps with the craving, but I haven't had time to go.