They didn't go out the next day, or the day after that. In addition to the projects that were being heaped on him, Louis' boss also gave him the work that the interns – both of whom were home sick at this point – could not do. The rain didn't let up all week; neither did the Green updates. The symptoms being reported now included schizophrenia, and a complete nervous breakdown. Louis watched news footage of a Green-afflicted man who had a panic attack while driving a bus, and then crashed it into oncoming traffic. The scene replayed on the news time and again. Some people were getting dangerous, as well, and there were reports of attacks on the streets in broad daylight. A couple was killed in the park on Thursday evening.
The next time Louis saw Zoey was Thursday night, and it was completely by accident. He had been entering his apartment at the same time that Zoey had been leaving hers. Louis saw that the girl looked worried, so he approached her. "What's up?" He asked, trying to sound cheerful. "I'm sorry I couldn't see you this week, but do you want to go out and do something now?"
Zoey shook her head. "I can't. Rachel's sick. I think it's Green." She whispered this last sentence, as if it could be caught simply by mentioning it. Louis' eyebrows furrowed as he thought about this; the Green virus, in his own building? The virus had definitely been spreading to all corners of the city; while the more extreme cases seemed to still be few and far between, half of Louis' coworkers were out with flu symptoms.
Seeing the worry in Zoey's eyes, however, made Louis forget about his own fears for the time being. "I want you to be extra careful, Zoey." He said. "You heard the stories on the news."
"It's not that bad," Zoey replied, although now tears threatened to flow from her eyes. "I don't think she has it as bad as the others did. Not yet, at least."
The Green Flu; for the past week, it had meant nothing more to Louis than news-saturation and a larger-than-average workload. The fact that it could be in his own building, among his friends, drove the point home to him suddenly and ruthlessly; This is real. "Did you call the hospital?"
"Mercy Hospital is full, and all of the clinics have long waiting lists. We're on our own." The tears finally came. Louis immediately moved to comfort her, wrapping his arms around her and leading her into his apartment where he sat her down on the leather couch.
"I'm sorry, Louis, I'm just really worried about this." Zoey sobbed. "What if she dies? There have been deaths!"
Louis wanted to give Zoey reassurance, but he knew that his promises would sound as transparent to her as he knew them to be. "I have some flu medicine in my cabinet," Louis said finally, after a brief pause. "I want you to take it over to her, and make her take it. I'll make some soup for her, and bring it over. Sound good?" He gave Zoey a smile. She nodded, and smiled back. "Yeah."
Louis led her back to the door, handing her some bottles of pills and liquid medications from the bathroom.
"Thanks, for everything." Zoey said as she left the room.
When she closed the door, and Louis was alone once again, he immediately hurried to his laptop and looked up the Green Flu. After a few minutes he got up and prepared the soup broth, and while it was boiling he soaked up every bit of information about the virus. It was airborne like the flu – that much he knew already. Although the symptoms matched those of typical strains of influenza and rabies, the resulting mood swings and mental disorders caused by the Green Flu were far more dangerous. Louis clicked into articles describing attacks where the afflicted person bit out the jugular of his unsuspecting mother, somewhere out in Boston. Louis shuddered, thinking about the attack that had occurred just down the road over the last few days – the couple in the park. He then thought of the zombie movie he had watched with Zoey and Rachel, and it brought a chill to his heart. Were they on the verge of a zombie apocalypse?
Louis forced a barking laugh, telling himself he was crazy as he got up to check the soup. He noticed for the first time how dark it was in his apartment, however, and he turned on every light he passed from the dining room table to the stove. He got the soup, and put it in a large Tupperware contained to bring over to Zoey.
Louis walked out into the hallway, and over to Zoey's door. He raised his fist to knock when the elevator doors opened down the hall, and a familiar woman stepped out.
"Hello, Mrs. Wilson." Louis called to the elderly woman who stepped out of the elevator.
"Shut up!" Mrs. Wilson snapped back, covering her ears with her hands and letting out a small whimper as she took small strides to her door, which was the first one on her right. Louis, stunned by the ferocity of the normally docile old woman, watched as she fidgeted her key, unsuccessfully jamming it at the lock. Finally, she dropped the key onto the carpeted floor.
Louis strode down the hall toward her. "Here, Mrs. Wilson, let me-"
She turned and snarled at him, and the look that she cast his way was rent with such pain and anger that, despite her size and frailty, Louis slowed in his tracks.
"Take my bags..." Mrs. Wilson muttered to herself, bending down and picking up the key. "I'll show them... Only one at a time... I'll show them..."
Louis gave a light knock on Zoey's door, and then entered unbidden. "I-I've got the soup," He called. He was still shaken from the encounter with Mrs. Wilson, who had finally shut herself away into her own room.
Zoey was sitting on the couch, watching TV. Her eyes were dry, but he could tell that she had been crying. She looked weary. She was still wearing her pink sweater, although it was quite warm in the room.
"How is she?" Louis asked, closing the door behind him and going to sit next to Zoey. She shook her head. "Rachel's been crying since I came back, but when I went into her room to check on her, she started screaming and flailing. I've never seen her like this, Louis."
Louis glanced over at Rachel's bedroom door. Sure enough, light sobs could be heard from within. "Did she take the medicine?"
"I left it with her, but... I don't know."
"I think I'll check up on her." Louis said, getting up. Zoey also got to her feet. "No, let me do it!"
"You've done enough for one day," he replied. "Let me handle it." He smiled reassuringly.
Zoey sat back down, with concern evident on her face. On the television screen, they were replaying the footage of the kamikaze driver crashing into a shop window.
Louis approached the door, trying not to let his apprehension show on his face. The whole room was dark; the only light came from the television screen and the stove light across the room. Shadows played across the white bedroom door as Louis reached for the knob. Behind the door, the cries seemed to be getting louder.
Louis knocked lightly on the door. "Rachel? It's me, Louis. Can I come in?"
The crying continued. Louis turned the doorknob, and pushed open the door.
The bedroom was pink, lit up by a lamp at Rachel's bedside. Rachel was lying on top of the covers in the fetal position with her hands over her head, crying loudly. She wore only her underwear. Louis averted his eyes as he approached her.
Louis put the soup down on the bedside table, next to the unopened bottles of pills and the untouched glass of water. Rachel didn't even acknowledge his presence.
"R-Raich?" Louis whispered, wincing at the tremor in his voice.
Rachel stopped crying, and her eyes opened. She looked up at Louis, giving him a look of sheer pain. She sniffled loudly, and brought her hands down from her face. "Louis..." She said the name slowly, as if hearing it for the first time. "Lew...iss..."
"I need you to take your medicine, Rachel." Louis said. "Here," He popped the cap on the bottle of Tylenol, and took a couple of pills out, putting them on the table next to the glass of water and the soup. "You need to eat up, as well, if you want to get better."
With shaking hands, Rachel pulled herself up to a seated position.
"Zoey's really worried about you," Louis said to Rachel. He saw a door nearby, which led into an adjoining bathroom, and went to get Rachel a cold cloth. "Can you do it for Zoey? Please?"
"Zow...ee." Rachel screamed suddenly. Louis whirled around, to see her lying on her back on the bed, her hands clasped over her ears, kicking in the air with her long, model's legs. Her eyes were squeezed shut.
Zoey appeared in the bedroom door. "What's wrong with her?" She cried.
Louis ran to Rachel's side, grabbing the young woman's shoulders to steady her.
"No more! No more!" Rachel cried. She flailed out with her arms, striking the lamp and the glass of water. The water spilled all over the carpet, while the lamp struck the wall. Darkness filled the room, with the only light coming from the two open doors.
"Zoey! Turn on the light!" Louis shouted. Zoey flicked on the bedroom light, and Rachel's eyes suddenly opened wide. Her eyes appeared to be rolled up, so only the whites were visible, and she started snapping at Louis' arms with her teeth. He was still holding her shoulders, however, rendering her attack futile.
Rachel brought her hands up, and started slapping at Louis' face and body. Louis released her, and quickly backed off across the room. Rachel continued to flail on the bed for a minute, and then she went limp. Her screams died down into pathetic sobs.
Zoey was still standing in the doorway. Her tears had started up again. "Oh, God, Rachel... What's happening? Something's seriously wrong with her..."
Louis wrapped his arm around Zoey's shoulders, and led her to the couch, making sure to close Rachel's door behind him.
"You shouldn't be here alone," he said to her when he got her seated. "I'm going to stay here with you tonight." He kept some distance from Zoey, as if she would be able to hear how fast his heart was pounding. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, almost like some kind of buried serpent was slowly uncoiling within him; that serpent was Instinct, and it was hissing in his ears, "It's all gone South, man, and you're going along for the ride!"
Louis mentally vanquished this voice, and urged the serpent to lie once more. Zoey was barely out of her teens and had her nose in horror movies, and yet he was the one who was getting spooked! I'm an adult, damn it! Nevertheless, he felt he couldn't ignore instinct completely. There was something he needed at his apartment. "Just... uh... let me go grab something quickly," he stammered to Zoey.
She nodded distractedly, not taking her eyes off the TV. It was showing new footage now, from a helicopter, of a mob of patients on the roof of Mercy Hospital. Louis didn't want to know what the footage implied, but he couldn't ignore the TV anchor as he headed for the door.
"Hell has broken loose at Mercy Hospital, where the patients appeared to have revolted in an angry, out of control mob, massacring the doctors and military personnel present before spilling out onto the streets and rooftops. Police are hunting down the runaway patients, with orders to use force if necessary..."
Louis stepped out of Rachel's apartment and walked down to his own room. He was hesitant to leave Zoey even for an instant, but there was something he needed to grab from his room. He walked into his bathroom, collecting his shaving kit and toothbrush, and then headed into his bedroom. He opened his closet, digging through a pile of junk and assorted shoes for a small, wooden box. He retrieved the box, and opened it on his bed. Within the box lay a holstered Colt 1911 pistol, a gift from his overbearing mother when he left home to live in the big city. There were also two full magazines in the box.
Louis clipped the holster to his belt. He felt foolish standing there in his dress pants and work shirt, with the gun hanging off his hip like some kind of post-modern, white collar cowboy. "What am I doing?" He asked aloud. He put his hand on the butt of the pistol, preparing to discard it, but found himself unable to. Just a precaution. Just a precaution. Instead, he grabbed the suit jacket he had tossed on his chair just a few hours earlier, and put it on to conceal the gun.
Louis looked at himself in the mirror again. Just a few days ago he had felt like a million bucks; handsome, young, and fit. Now he looked pale, wan, and frightened. There were bags under his eyes from the stress of the last few days, his boss overworking him, and the events of the last few hours.
Louis saw some slight movement in the mirror, somewhere behind him. He realized it was the brass of his doorknob, flickering in the light. The front door to his apartment, which he had left ajar, was swinging open.
"Zoey?" Louis called, turning to face his bedroom door. "Zoey, is that you?"
He reached under his jacket and undid the clip that held his holster shut, wrapping his hand around the handle of the gun. He fired pistols and Uzis occasionally in the firing range in his spare time, but he was not ready to use the weapon on another person. His heart thudded loudly in his chest.
"Zoey?" He repeated, his voice coming out strained and high pitched. He took a step closer to the door.
There was movement outside; the definite sound of feet scuffling on hardwood. Whoever it was definitely wasn't wearing shoes. Louis stepped into the doorway of the bedroom. He saw a man standing in his dining room, illuminated by the numerous lights that Louis had turned on earlier. The man was balding and overweight, and wore only a pair of white briefs. Even from the back, Louis recognized his landlord, Lawrence Keitel.
"Mr. Keitel?"
The man spun around, as if startled, to face Louis. Louis looked into the man's face, and his grip immediately tightened on the pistol.
Lawrence Keitel's right eye was bruised and swollen, and dried blood covered his mouth. Only the whites of his eyes were visible.
Keitel let out a cat-like hiss when he saw Louis, and he immediately sprinted at the young man. Louis didn't need to think twice; Keitel hadn't even taken two steps when Louis pulled the Colt out of its holster and pulled the trigger.
The bullet caught Keitel in the left cheek, causing him to stumble backwards. Keitel reached for something to steady himself; he toppled over Louis' table, sending a laptop, salt and pepper shakers and a napkin holder scattering across the room. Keitel fell to the ground, his right leg gave a twitch, and then he was still. A pool of blood started spreading across the hardwood floor.
"Shit," Louis muttered to himself. The hand that held the pistol shook violently, and he lowered the weapon. "Oh, shit!"
A car alarm went off somewhere outside, causing Louis to jump. A sudden wave of nausea swept over him, and he turned around and ran into the bathroom, vomiting into the toilet.
When he finished vomiting, he flushed and then looked at himself in the mirror. His forehead glistened with sweat, and his eyes were wide with horror. I just killed a man. The thought looped in his mind, over and over again. I'm a murderer.
"I did what I had to do. It was self defence."
Against a fat, middle-aged man?
"No." The eyes. The slavering jaws. The shambling, uneven gait... "Against a-"
Don't. Don't say it. Don't fucking say it, Lou.
"Louis?" Zoey called from the other room. "Louis, are you okay?" Her voice sounded shrill, and frightened. She had obviously heard the gunshot; it would have been impossible not to.
"I-I'm fine!" Louis called back, his voice cracking. "I'll be right there!"
He hurried out of the bathroom, and stumbled across the room to the exit. He only hesitated when he reached his doorway. Louis turned and took one, final look at his apartment. He saw the clean, leather furniture, the hardwood floors, the stained cherry kitchen cupboards. . . it was a beautiful, spacious place, and he felt a pang in his chest as he surveyed it. Then he saw Keitel lying on the floor, his balding head twisted away from Louis, with blood and brain matter flowing from that gaping wound. The grotesquery seemed to offset the whole scene. Gorge threatening to rise yet again, Louis slammed the door.
"People are evacuating the city in massive numbers, clogging and congesting all major roadways. The military recommends anybody remaining in the city avoid these major routes, which have become impossibly congested, and travel to one of the evacuation stations posted at the bottom of the screen..."
Rachel's apartment was still dark. Zoey stood outside Rachel's bedroom door, listening to her friend. Even from where he stood, Louis heard Rachel's throaty, rasping sobs. The poor girl was undoubtedly straining her throat, and the sounds were becoming guttural and inhuman. Thinking of Keitel, and those milky white eyes, Louis shuddered.
"Get away from the door, Zoey." Louis said, moving to the nearest lamp and turning it on. Zoey turned to him, and relief spilled over her face at the sight of him. Then she saw the pistol still in his hand. "What is that for?" She demanded. "What was that gunshot? Did you shoot somebody?"
Five minutes ago, Louis had felt silly just having the gun on his person. In a short chronological span, the weapon's utility had made the leap from fantasy to hard reality in the worst way. Louis felt the shakes come over him once again, and sat on the couch. He put the gun on the coffee table and buried his head in his hands.
"L-Louis? Did you shoot someone?" Zoey sounded scared again.
"I did what I had to," Louis replied through his hands. "He was infected. He was one of Them." Louis nodded at the television screen, which was replaying the footage of the infected mob on the Mercy Hospital rooftop. Closer inspection revealed large, bloody stains all over their hospital shirts and mouths.
"What are they?" Zoey asked.
Louis met her eyes, and held her stare. "I think they're zombies, Zoey."
From the bedroom, Rachel emitted a throaty growl, which broke down into more sobs.
"No, it can't be!"
"I think we need to get away from here, Zoey. The other uninfected people are leaving the city, and I think we should, too."
"What about Rachel?"
Louis broke her gaze, and looked at the floor. "Her, too. She isn't as far gone – I think, but she's not as far gone."
"She's my best friend, Louis! I can't just leave her here by herself! Not in the condition she's in!"
"She's turning, Zoey. I'm sorry, but we can't take her with us. Just keeping her around here is dangerous enough! We're lucky we haven't caught it!"
Zoey walked over to the fridge and pulled a photo off of it. Even from where he sat, Louis could see that it was a picture of Rachel and Zoey at some kind of ceremony, probably high school graduation. Zoey put the picture down on the kitchen counter, and then buried her face into her hands and sobbed. Louis rose to comfort her, hesitated, and then sat back down, deciding she would probably rather be alone. He was still practically a stranger to her, and he was telling her to leave with him and abandon her dying friend.
She looked up at him. "I need to see her, though."
"Don't..." Louis warned, but Zoey cut him off. "No! You have a hunch, Louis, that's all! I'm not writing my best friend off on that! Maybe... maybe she has a weaker form of it." There was no hope in Zoey's voice as she stared at Rachel's bedroom door.
"Let me," Louis said to her, although his heart clenched fearfully in his chest as he said it. "Let me see her."
"No," Zoey replied, "it has to be me." She took a step toward Rachel's door, hesitated, and then opened a nearby drawer and pulled out a knife. She didn't look at Louis as she did so, and he wondered if she felt as ridiculous with the knife as he'd felt with the gun.
She crossed the distance to the bedroom slowly, and then leaned against the door, resting a hand on the knob. "Rachel? Raich? It's me. It's Zoey."
The whimper that came from the other side of the door was heartbreaking. "Zo..." Rachel cried out, her voice strained and anguished. "Why is this happening?"
The tears streamed down Zoey's face now, and she wiped her nose with her knife hand. "You're going to be okay, Raich. I'm right here."
"Help me, Zoey!" Rachel cried. Zoey relaxed a bit, and then turned the doorknob and started to push the door open. Rachel screamed, and slammed the door shut in her face. "The voices!" Rachel screamed. "The fucking voices!" She pounded on the other side of the door with her fists. "I see him, Zoey!" She shouted. "I can see his teeth, and they're sharp! Run, Zoey, I can't hold him!" She screamed again, a shrill, ear-piercing sound, and Zoey stumbled away from the door and into Louis' arms, dropping the knife as she did so.
The two watched the door rattle for a minute, saying nothing, and then the screams died back down to sobs and the apartment was still once more.
"You're right," Zoey whispered. "Rachel's becoming one of them. The friend I knew is gone, and if we stay here with her any longer, we'll only be putting ourselves in more danger."
"We should head for the subway, the news says they're still evacuating through the tunnels. It's only a couple blocks down the street!"
"What do we do about..." Zoey's voice cracked, and she nodded toward the bedroom, where Rachel had finally quieted down. Louis looked over at the pistol, which still lay on the coffee table.
"No!" Zoey exclaimed. "No, you can't! You can't just put her down like a dog!"
Louis paused, and thought it over. Zoey was right; he had shot Larry Keitel in self defence – what criminologists (and prosecutors, his brain added) called a hot-blooded murder. He couldn't possibly shoot somebody who wasn't a serious and immediate threat to him, no matter what their condition. On the other hand, it would be on his conscience if she managed to break out of the apartment, and killed somebody else...
Louis wondered who else in the building was infected, and who wasn't. Whose families had just locked their infected family members in their rooms, and tried to pretend that they were doing the right thing?
"Louis, we aren't killing her." Zoey said, and now her voice sounded firm and indignant. "We will leave her behind, and we will lock her in her room, but we aren't going to shoot her. If you shoot her, I'm leaving you."
Louis didn't want to be alone at a time like this. Zoey was familiar, Zoey was real. "Yeah, you're right. I don't want to kill anybody, Zoey."
Zoey put on her pink hoodie. "Let's just get out of here." She choked.
They left the apartment quietly; Louis holding the gun, Zoey close behind. Louis looked one way down the hall, then the other, pistol raised. Fifteen minutes, he thought to himself, fifteen minutes ago I crossed this hallway with soup. The coast was clear, and they walked toward the elevator.
Louis noticed three open doors between them and the elevator, including Mrs. Wilson's door. Remembering the state that she had been in when he had last seen her, Louis felt a sudden chill.
"Watch our backs," Louis whispered to Zoey. He approached the first open door, and quietly reached for the knob. Grabbing it, he shut the door. The last thing they needed was to be jumped from a dark apartment.
They advanced toward the elevator slowly, and Louis closed all the doors without incident. They could hear growls and the sound of objects being thrown about behind one of the closed doors. They stayed quiet, however, and passed the door without confrontation.
Louis called the elevator as soon as they reached it, and then they waited, listening as it rose from the lobby to receive them.
The chrome elevator doors opened, and Louis and Zoey both cried out at the sight inside. A headless corpse lay inside, leaning against the far wall. Skull and brain matter were splattered on the wall behind her, and there was blood spatters everywhere in the elevator. Louis couldn't be sure, but judging by the dress she was wearing he guessed that it was Mrs. Wilson.
"On s-second thought, I think... let's just take the stairs." Zoey whispered. Louis nodded.
They found the stairs nearby, and hurried down to the lobby level. When they reached the door into the lobby, Louis held up a finger for silence. Then he glanced through the small window that was inset into the door. He could see the front lobby doors, with chairs propped up against them, barricading them shut. The couch was pushed up against the window, although that didn't do anything to brace it. The room seemed to be empty.
Louis pushed open the door, and stepped out, quickly sweeping all uncovered areas with the pistol. The room was completely empty. Louis lowered the gun, and then motioned to Zoey.
A man's head suddenly appeared from behind the counter. Before Louis could raise his weapon, however, he heard the sound of a shotgun being pumped.
"Are you infected?" Mr. Gutierrez, the night receptionist, demanded. He was pointing a shotgun right at Louis' head. Stunned, Louis could only shake his head.
"Not good enough!" Mr. Gutierrez shouted, shaking the shotgun. "Say something!"
"We aren't infected!" Zoey cried, stepping out into the lobby with her hands raised. "Please, we just want to get out of the city. Can you put the gun away?"
Mr. Gutierrez lowered the shotgun, but he didn't put it down. "I can hear them up there," he said. "Is it bad up there, Louis?"
"Yeah, it's bad." Louis replied.
"Things are pretty fucked up." Mr. Gutierrez ran a hand through his thinning hair. "You won't believe who came down here in the elevator."
"Mrs. Wilson?"
Mr. Gutierrez nodded. "Yep, kindly old Mrs. Wilson. Those doors opened, and she gave the most horrible howl." The tall, thin man shuddered. "I've worked here a long time, Louis. I've spoken to a lot of people from behind this desk, but she was definitely the sweetest." He swallowed back a sob.
Zoey walked across the room to the glass doors, and looked out. "Oh my God," She muttered. "Louis, come look at this!"
Louis went to Zoey's side. The scene outside was chaos. There were bodies strewn about, and an overturned cab rested in the middle of the street. With the road blocked, many other people had simply abandoned their vehicles, leaving doors open and everything. Louis saw a rabid woman inside the back seat of the police car, beating her hands furiously on the windows. A female police officer was in the front seat, her head against the bloodied windshield, either unconscious or dead.
There was a dinging sound behind them, and the three survivors all turned. The elevator had just come down to the lobby, and now the doors were opening. Rachel stood inside. Her hair was a complete mess, and the top half of her face was covered by bedraggled bangs. Her cheeks glistened from the tears. She still wore only her underwear. Her bare feet were red, from standing in a pool of Mrs. Wilson's blood.
"Rachel..." Zoey muttered, taking a hesitant step forward.
Rachel let out a long, loud cry, and then bolted straight at Zoey. Mr. Gutierrez fired his shotgun. The shot missed Rachel's head, but a picture frame hanging on the opposite wall burst into pieces.
Louis shoved Zoey out of the way, raising the Colt, but it was too late. Rachel struck him at full speed. They both fell back, knocking over the barricades and pushing the hotel door open. Louis landed on his back on the sidewalk, with Rachel on top of him. She started snapping at his throat. He grabbed her shoulders, trying to hold her back, but she was surprisingly strong.
Hands grabbed Rachel by the shoulders, and Louis felt her weight leave his body. Zoey had grabbed the infected girl, and pulled her off of Louis. Off balance, Rachel stumbled onto her back.
Louis clambered to his feet, grabbing the pistol and pointing it at her. Rachel was already getting back to her feet. Her hair had been shoved out of her face, and Louis could see into her eyes now. He saw no sign of the old Rachel inside them; no recognition, no familiarity. Her face, the smooth, fine-boned face of a model, now seemed distorted and grotesque. Rachel was definitely dead; in her final throes of sickness, she had clung to her humanity like a dying man clinging to a piece of driftwood; the Green Flu had finally pulled her beneath the surface, and she was drowned.
"For God's sake, shoot her!" Zoey screamed. Louis pulled the trigger, the gunshot cracked in the air, and then Rachel was still. She lay sprawled on her back, a bullet in her heart.
Mr. Gutierrez hurried to the doorway, looking down at Rachel. "Poor girl," he said, crossing himself with his free hand.
Zoey burst into fresh tears. Louis hugged her, pressing her head into his jacket to shield her from the sight.
"We should get back inside," Mr. Gutierrez said, "and put the barricades back up."
"We're going to the subway," Louis told him, "while we still can. I think it's going to get a lot worse in the next few days."
"Good luck to you, then." Mr. Gutierrez said, with a friendly smile and a nod.
"You should come with us!"
"No, my place is here. I have food, water, and my tenants." Mr. Gutierrez touched his hand to his nametag, pinned on his chest.
"Do me a favour," Zoey said, taking her face out of Louis' jacket to face the receptionist. "Put a blanket over her, or something," she motioned to Rachel's body, sprawled nearly naked on the street. "She didn't deserve to go like this."
"I will. I promise." Mr. Gutierrez said with a nod. There were gunshots in the distance, down the road. Mr. Gutierrez backed into the building. "Godspeed, and good luck." He said.
"You, too." Louis nodded, and then the apartment doors closed, and Mr. Gutierrez put the chairs back in place. They were weak barricades, and wouldn't hold up to any kind of attack. The old man, in his uniform, gave off the appearance of a captain going down with his sinking ship. A good metaphor, thought Louis as they continued forth, and Gutierrez disappeared from view. He's the captain of the ship, and we're the rats trying to jump off it. He tried not to think of which one had the better chance of survival.
