by K.A. Schloegel
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I began tweeting
SARAH: Spirits above, spirits below #séance62
ERIK: We call you forth #séance62
KRISTI: We offer our life force #séance62
BRANDON: We offer reminiscence #séance62
SARAH: Spirits above, spirits below #séance62
ERIK: We call you forth #séance62
KRISTI: We offer our life force #séance62
BRANDON: We offer reminiscence #séance62
This is never going to work.
Alright, it might work. What the hell do I know? Just because I saved the world once. Once. One time. That doesn’t make me a hero. It doesn’t make me a zombietologist. It just makes me lucky. It makes me the girl who was in the right place, at the right time. Janey-on-the-spot.
Now I am the girl sticking myself in the wrong place at the wrong time. This is stupid. I’m out of here.
But I type in the next tweet anyway.
SARAH: Spirit of Mark Flynch, we seek you #séance62
Marky, where are you? Are you really dead and gone? Or you just dead and still around?
ERIK: Spirit of Mark Flynch, we seek you #séance62
KRISTI: Spirit of Mark Flynch, we seek you #séance62
BRANDON: Spirit of Mark Flynch, we seek you #séance62
Okay admit it, Sarah -- the only reason I’m staying is because of Mr Typo. Mr Lameo. Mr. Unfaithfulo. I can lie to everyone else. But I can’t lie to myself.
And I do. Lie that is. All the time. If you think about it, doing anything in life is a lie. Brushing your hair in the morning is a lie. Putting on a cute skirt. That’s a lie. Even just getting out of bed in the morning is a lie. You lie to everyone every day. And nobody ever says a word about it. Like they are just content to watch the fictional drama that is your make-believe life. But the crappy thing is you can never ever lie to yourself – and make yourself believe it, that is. Not really.
SARAH: Come forth, spirit of Mark Flynch #séance62
ERIK: Come forth, spirit of Mark Flynch #séance62
KRISTI: Come forth, spirit of Mark Flynch #séance62
BRANDON: Come forth, spirit of Mark Flynch #séance62
Alright this has officially failed. Not that I really expected it to work.
SARAH: Come forth, spirit of Mark Flynch #séance62
ERIK: Come forth, spirit of Mark Flynch #séance62
KRISTI: Come forth, spirit of Mark Flynch #séance62
BRANDON: Come forth, spirit of Mark Flynch #séance62
Another lie. I did expect it to work for a little while. The idea seemed kinda cool and powerful and crazy when we were discussing it. And crap, there are zombies running around killing kids. A stupid twitter séance couldn’t be crazier than that.
But sitting here in this kooky office with its glass walls and a view down 62 stories to a darkened Minneapolis. It seems pretty much like nonsense.
N3ZeR8: Coming #séance62
Okay, I didn’t see that coming.
SARAH: Is this Marky?!? Marky, are u coming? #séance62
Ut5tu4: Coming #séance62
ZeEb0xR: Coming #séance62
OoeWr: Coming #séance62
SARAH: I don’t know who u guys are #séance62
SARAH: We just want Marky. Nobody else should could here #séance62
BRANDON: Lol #séance62
OoeWr: Coming #séance62
KRISTI: Is it just one guy coming? Or a lot of guys? #séance62
BRANDON: WTF do u think? A lot of guys. A lot of dead zombie guys probably
QiuR54eZ: Coming #séance62
Pol1c3: Coming #séance62
BRANDON: 2 kill us and eat our brains
BRANDON: I never trusted Marky. I was the one who killed him, u know.
BRANDON: And so naturally he wants vengeance
SARAH: Shut up, Brandon. U don’t know that
L1F35ua49: Coming #séance62
While you are making grand statements, why don’t you fess up to making out with Colleen Green after the track meet? You’re such a jackass.
But I didn’t say that out loud. I didn’t dare.
BRANDON: Well maybe anyway
Well maybe anyway you really are a jackass.
ERIK: Ahh, guys? #séance62
That’s Erik, Brandon’s little brother. He’s locked nice and snuggly in the car outside. Zombies have trouble with car doors. Or it’s safer there. In theory anyway. And we needed a lookout anyway.
ERIK: Guys? It’s time 2 leave.
ERIK: Now!
ERIK: There are hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. More than even the last time.
ERIK: Get out of there. They’re swarming 2 the building
ERIK: Not even noticing me
BRANDON: I think we pissed someone off. Or something. Wha Whaaaa!
Suddenly it seemed like not just a stupid idea to have snuck into the 62nd floor of the Wells- Fargo building, but a real class-A fuckup. I mean, it was totally necessary. This is the only skyscraper in Minneapolis that even has a 62nd floors. And the number 62 is key to all this somehow. We know that for sure. Or at least we are kinda convinced. So yes, it was necessary. But also stupid.
Plus I’ve been totally pissed at Brandon. But totally not showing it either. That can lead to stress and poor decision making.
SARAH: ERIK, do u c Marky? Is he with them
ERIK: I haven’t seen him. But theres 2 many 2 c
SARAH: R u ok
ERIK: Yeah, they are ignoring me. But more and more and more keep coming
Brandon spoke, shattering the silence. “What’s the plan, Sarah?”
Ahhh .... “Sarah?” he looked a bit apprehensive.
“Ahhh, I guess the plan was kinda for Marky to come here alone. Not with hundreds of dead friends. Then we were going to like, give him hugs and shake his hand. Or not, if he was really, you know, decayed. But we were going to ask him how to stop all this.
“Do you think Mark is with them?” Kristi asked.
“I have a feeling he is,” I said. “I think we should stay here until he gets here.”
“And what about the other thousand zombies who aren’t Marky?”
“Well yeah, we definitely need to avoid those guys,” I said. “Let’s move this desk in front of the door. We can watch through the glass walls for Marky, and grab him when he shows.”
“That grabbing one particular zombie in the middle of a zombie attack never works for us,” Brandon noted.
Neither does making out with Colleen Green, jackass. “Yeah, well that’s the plan,” I said.
“Agreed,” said Kristi and smiled at me.
I smiled back. Kristi is so my BFF. Now that Marky is dead and gone anyway. Or at least dead and still around.
We pushed a big desk in front of the door and waited.
It didn’t take long. Did they actually use the elevators. Zombies are smart. Usually just at the time you don’t want them to be.
Erik wasn’t kidding. There were a buttload of them. Eventually the force of the ones in back pressed the ones in front hard against the glass. And the particularly yucky parts were rubbing on the glass and making gross art. I wanted to puke.
But we never saw Marky.
Back to square one.
I freaking hope we can get back to square one.
Right now, square one looks pretty sweet.
“So how are we going to get out of here?” Brandon asked.
“We let them in and fight our way out,” I said.
“Really? It’s like a dead mosh pit out there.”
“The only other option is to smash the window and jump down 62 stories.” Kristi was looking like she was about to puke. My poor scared BFF!
SARAH: ERIK, are there any near u?
ERIK: No. All in
SARAH: U think u can get to an elevator?
ERIK: Think so
SARAH: Go up to 61 and hold it open 4 us
ERIK: Ok
ERIK: C u in 5
“Okay, we have one shot at this,” I said. “Brandon, you pull the desk away from the doorway and I’ll throw it open. Hopefully they’ll tumble in. Then we scramble over them. Sound good?”
I looked around. From the looks on their faces, it didn’t sound good. From the looks on their faces, it sounded pretty bad.
“I’ll go first,” I said enthusiastically. They weren’t buying it. But I continued trying to sell it.
“Okay,” said Brandon weakly.
Kristi looked very pale.
“The stairs are just down the hall. Two doors away. We go down one floor and out the door to Erik waiting in the elevator.”
“On three. Ready?” Not really.
“One. Two. Three. Now!”
Brandon flipped the table out of the way easily. He’s so strong. For a cheating womanizer anyway.
I flung open the door.
The zombies tumbled in.
So far so good.
The next part was sort of like climbing through a cold, congealed casserole that has been in the fridge for a very long time. Like because your step-mom made a huge batch thinking everyone would chow it. But everyone didn’t chow it. Not even Dad, and he’ll eat anything. But then nobody wanted to add insult to injury and just throw the rest out. So it because a permanent fixture in the back of the fridge. Other foods would temporarily take up residence next to it. Or on top of it. And then they’d get snatched up and eaten.
But the casserole just stayed.
Then imagine it got spilled onto the floor in a massive landslide.
That moaned.
And then we climbed over it.
And it was grabbing at us.
And biting.
Luckily, knocked-over zombies are pretty easy to avoid.
But one did manage to bit my leg. Didn’t break the skin, thank goodness.
Whoa, close one.
Kristi ran like a sprinter and beat me to the elevator. She actually is a sprinter in track. So is Colleen Green, for that matter.
Erik was there, holding the elevator. Amazingly enough, the elevator didn’t get stuck or open to a bunch of zombies or anything. We got back to the car and drove home. Zombie attack number fourteen survived.
~end
Guest post created for September Zombies event by K.A. Schloegel, author of The Peculiar Superpowers of Eleanor Armstrong
© 2011. All rights reserved.
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A Zombie Love Story
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