Of Zombies and Doctors
Gilbert was in some sort of hell. Waiting rooms could be called that. They were lit with that fake light, the sort that flickered sometimes and were usually worked into horror movies. He wished it was a horror movie - at least he knew he could survive. The lights would buzz, kind of like what they were already doing, but much more noticeable. Then a car would smash in through the front, spraying all the falling, filler characters with glass. Maybe that was too much like an action flick. A horror movie would be more intense, more full of mystery and emotions. Or zombies. Zombies could work too.
A woman shuffled in - okay, so she didn't really shuffle in. She wasn't a zombie. Yet.
Oh, she didn't work there. She tucked her phone in her purse, glanced his way, and took a seat two chairs down. That's right. Don't sit down over here. The less people near him the better. When the zombies came, he could outrun everyone else. Yes. This was always the plan.
Except when Roddy came back from the bathroom.
"Good, you're still here," the other man said as he sat down.
"Good, you found your way back from the big-boy room," Gilbert shot back.
Roderich stared at him with a very flat expression for all but three seconds.
Yeah, if Roddy weren't there, he could outrun everybody. There was no way some zombie was going to chomp into his leg. Gilbert wasn't very keen on the idea of being eaten alive. Dull teeth digging their way into your flesh, pulling at it, tearing it off nice and slow, so you could just feel every tendon stretching, ripping. Ugh.
"Are you okay?" Roderich asked. "You know it's just an exam."
Gilbert stared at him for a moment. "I wouldn't let them get you, no worries," he said.
"What."
And he wouldn't. He'd pick him up and haul ass. That was always part of the plan.
"Gilbert Beilschmidt?"
Goddamn. He hadn't even noticed her enter. Great job he'd do. How could he get a head start when he wasn't even paying attention to his surroundings?
"When you get back, we can look at some together," Roderich said.
Gilbert frowned. "That's if I need them," he replied.
Roderich picked up a magazine and scanned the cover. "Oh, you'll need them."
Rolling his eyes, Gilbert followed the optometrist out of the waiting room, away from the giant posters of smiling people in stylish frames, towards the back where he knew he'd have squint at a screen with tiny numbers and letters and guess at which they were.