Joe's First Flashback
The Black Void - Episode 2497
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Joe looked down twenty stories - or was that twenty feet? Units didn't
count anymore. Just guns, bullets, and hours. The zombie crowd was
slowly dispersing now that their food source had eluded them. Joe
shrugged, placed the assault rifle back in the community pile, and
rejoined the group of survivors.
"Do you ever get the feeling, when you're about to take a gigantic bite out of a baloney sandwich, that someone is watching you?" the new girl was asking. "Well, I did. And I looked behind me. And I screamed and ran. Now I'm up here." All the talk of baloney sandwiches reminded Joe it was nearly time for another run to 7-11. Mrs. Johnson tried to comfort her. Quentin tried to counsel her. Avery tried to convince her to join the card game. Joe didn't try anything. To him it was just one more person he had to go grab food for on the next 7-11 run, even if she was cute in that wet blanket supporting character kind of way. Heck, the psycho had a better chance with her than he did. Joe looked over the desolate landscape again. It was either that or try to figure out the rules governing the exchange of cards and chips. Inhuman growls resonated throughout the deserted market along with the cries of the tortured few who had managed to last this long only to meet a grisly death while the full moon towered overhead. 12 hours ago Joe stared glassy-eyed at the vending machine, trying to decide between the likely day-old burrito or the cup of noodles. He finally put in his $2.75, pressed the corresponding buttons, opened the lid slightly, used the water fountain down the hall to fill the container to the line, and microwaved the package. $2.75. For $2.75, you didn't even get a little plastic spork you could use to grab the noodles. Joe started slurping the broth for the umpteenth time in as many days. He could never bring himself to buy yesterday's burrito; as much as he wanted something different, there was something comforting about knowing there wasn't something growing on your cup of noodles. Leave it to Dave Prosser to disrupt a perfectly dismal lunch break. Dave was a legend. He could sort mail in sixteen different languages, push the mail cart through the winding seventh floor corridors in thirty seconds flat while blindfolded, and with his magical wrist flip send four pieces of mail flying into four different offices at once. Perhaps more importantly, Dave was Joe's boss. Yes, being a mail clerk sucked, but there weren't many better jobs for a nineteen-year-old high school dropout with a criminal record. "Lunch's over, Joe. Mail truck overturned on Seventeenth and Rose. We drew the short straw for you. You're picking that mail up today." Joe grumbled under his breath as he tossed the lukewarm remnants of the cup down his throat and made his way to the parking lot under Dave's watchful eye. It was amazing the beat-up Nissan still worked. The trouble started at Seventeenth and Peony, when a horde of zombies suddenly appeared from an alleyway while Joe waited at a red light. He floored the acceleration pedal, and less than a second later collided with a green Mustang. Joe looked through the now-useless getaway vehicle and grabbed the jack, the only suitable weapon in the car. He checked the Mustang. Nothing. The zombies were coming ever closer. He ran. Joe looked back at the four people with whom he shared this slice of paradise while waiting for the National Guard to arrive. Mrs. Johnson suddenly had a lot more chips. Cards spun wildly yet perfectly accurately out of Quentin's hand. It was nearly time for another 7-11 run.
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unknown adventurer
11/2/2006 12:08:30 AM
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