Dead End: Escape Read online

  Jennifer stumbled into her office, arms flailing, no doubt chasing the helpless employees of the Restoration Lab. He jumped over a fallen vending machine near him, dodged a scuffle between two men and reached Jennifer’s office in quick fashion. He closed the door behind him turned and saw Jennifer hunched over a motionless body.

  “Jennifer, it’s Bruce! Say something to me!” he exclaimed. Bruce knew the chances of her replying were slim to none. His optimism far outweighed reason at this point. Though they were just friends with benefits, he still loved her. Science drove Ellen away but science was what united Jennifer and himself. He waited to hear her response, but only heard chewing.

  What remained of Jennifer Alyson slowly stood up and turned toward the man who disrupted her. Her hair was matted down with blood, face covered and she possessed vacant eyes that were dead to the world. She cocked her head to the side, causing the chunk of flesh hanging from her lips to fall; it sounded like someone dropped a wet washcloth to the floor. She growled and lunged at him.

  Bruce sidestepped Jennifer’s assault, causing her to slam her head into the door; the crunch of her broken nose against the mahogany door made him cringe. “Please stop Jen!” Bruce exclaimed with tears rolling down his face. He backed up into some metal cabinets, trapped between them and her desk. Jennifer whipped her head towards the sound and snarled, blood covered saliva spraying the air. She again climbed to her feet. Bruce knew there was only one way out of this; killing her. He turned quickly to look for a weapon, something that was in short supply in an office. On the desk was a Washington Monument paperweight. He swiftly grabbed it, it was much heavier than it looked. Before he could plan his attack she rushed him again, and they toppled to the ground.

  He dropped the paperweight as they hit the ground. Jennifer had him pinned to the ground, no escape. Much like his encounter with Winston, he had his hand on her neck, preventing her teeth from sinking into him. As he reached for the paper weight, Bruce felt a wave of pain crash against his face. Jennifer slashed his face with her nails, causing blood to roll down his cheek to the back of his head. Bruce abandoned the paperweight and punched Jennifer square in the jaw, knocking her onto her back. He spun over onto his knees and picked up the paperweight. The tears were streaming now, he was about to kill the woman he loved. He stood up quickly and felt a strong force push him into the metal cabinets.

  The pain of his face hitting the cabinets quickly subsided when Jennifer plunged her teeth into his shoulder. Bruce cried out in pain and pushed off the cabinet with all his might, throwing Jennifer to floor once more. In an instant, Bruce turned and lunged at his fallen assaillent. He was kneeling over her readying the paperweight. She launched herself upward to attack, only to be pushed back. Once her head hit the floor, the paperweight followed causing Jennifer Alyson to go still.

  “Why? Jennifer! WHYYY” Bruce screamed as he looked upon the face of his lover. He collapsed onto the floor and sat up against the cabinets waiting for his end. His veins were on fire and he could feel a fever set in. He glanced once more upon Jennifer and shed one last tear. The Washington monument stood inverted in the eye socket of her corpse.

  Chapter 2: Mondays

  Alex Terry always made a point to aim at house doors to test his accuracy. The paperboy made a game of it, giving his route some excitement. He was the starting pitcher for his middle school baseball team and this job was the perfect workout for his arm. Lucky for him, newspapers survived the internet obsession that swept the globe.

  Alex rounded the corner of Grayson Road and was throwing papers; landing them perfectly on people’s stoops. The last house on this road was always his favorite to throw to; he noticed that #87 was at least ten feet further from the curb than the rest of the houses. He knew, from experience, that he had to give his last throw all he had. Alex came up to #87, abandoned his bike, and took his pitcher’s stance. He glanced at the imaginary base runner at second base and then back to his target. He shook of a few signs from his imaginary catcher and started to wind up his pitch. He released his fastball hitting the paper dead center of the door as he always did.

  The alarm clock did not awake Cindy Drawstring, it never did; the thud of a paper hitting her front door woke her. Every morning of the summer started off with a loud thud of a paper against the door. She did not mind though, she had a feeling that her alarm clock would not wake her up; the snooze button can be very inviting.

  It was Monday, the first day of a long week of work. She loathed waking up on Mondays; it was the start of a new mundane week. The only thing worse than Mondays were individuals who humorously remark that it is Monday. An unfunny joke that she would hear 20 times today. She sighed and reluctantly rose from her bed and made her way to her tiny bathroom.

  She walked past the hamper with her clothes already laid out for the day. She reached for the shower knob and started the water. While she waited for the shower to heat up she peered into her mirror. She met gazes with the woman in the mirror; this woman, only 27, looked haggard. She had bags under her eyes and her usual smooth, long brown hair was frizzy because of the humidity. She had to hunch over the sink to see herself due to her height; she was six feet tall. She was a beautiful woman, but her dating life was nonexistent because her height was intimidating to many men. Every man she met was an imbecile, according to her, and she was not about to settle for anything or anyone. She ended the staring contest with her doppleganger and stepped into the shower, nice and hot just as she liked.

  It was eight o’clock when she stepped out of the shower. She had an hour until work started and the commute was about 20 minutes. She habitually left at eight thirty to be early, but not too early. An annoying, compulsive behavior that she could only sum up as minor anxiety. She passed through her living room, barely listening to the television set that was stationed on the weather channel and advanced to the kitchen. She toasted an onion bagel in her ancient white toaster and poured coffee from the pot. She had a timed coffee maker that would start making coffee at seven fifty five; she received it as a gift from her brother for her birthday. Her brother Darren was good like that, considerate and remembered everything you told him. Maybe she would ask for a properly functioning toaster this year.

  After successfully making her breakfast she grabbed the paper off her front stoop and sat down in her living room. She sat in her armchair and placed the paper onto the coffee table adjacent to the novel she was reading. The novel was Army of the Living Dead by David Menard. She owned all seven novels he published and read each one multiple times. Cindy thought zombie literature was a dead art and that he was the savior of the undead genre.

  She finished her breakfast and read the Headline of the newspaper, ‘Local Researcher Bruce Williams to Unveil Mysterious Discovery!’ She tossed the paper aside. Same old boring news! She glanced at her watch and saw it was eight twenty seven, time to leave. She picked up the remote, shut the television off and headed towards the door. She picked up her Quincy's smock off the stool that sat in her kitchen and walked out the door.

  She traversed to the side of the road to her placid green sedan and climbed inside; not an easy task for someone six feet. She put the keys into the ignition and prayed it would start. It never failed before but it was a ‘96 model that she purchased from an used car lot. The car was surely near the end of its days and soon she might conform and get something more efficient, but in the meantime the ancient vehicle would suffice. The answer to her prayer was the humming sound that little car made as the engine turned over. She turned the radio onto a mix channel and was immediately greeted by the thrashing melodies of 80’s rock music. Today might not be so bad, after all.

  She encountered almost no traffic making the drive almost fifteen minutes; fifteen minutes of amateur karaoke to the hair metal bands from her youth. For a shy woman she had no problem head bobbing or even air drumming while in the car. She pulled into the plaza and her upbeat attitude waned as she faced her impending doom; Quincy's.

 
Quincy's was a general department store that sold various merchandise such as clothes, groceries, electronics and home goods. The retailer was located on the far end of the plaza. The plaza contained Quincy’s, Reader’s Book Emporium, and Stenson’s Sporting and Hunting. The parking lot was crowded, an odd occurrence as Monday was the “dead” day of the week as people were typically at work. She peered through the sea of vehicles in hopes to locate a parking spot. Must be vacation week.

  Cindy drove around the parking lot a few times but could not find a spot near Quincy's. She had to resort to parking on the other side of the lot in front of Stenson’s Sporting and Hunting. This annoyed her as she had to walk what seemed like ten miles to work. The walk wasn’t long and it was actually peaceful but by the end of the day the walk would be an inconvenience. She arrived at Quincy's and saw her neighbor Sharon with her young son Drew exiting the store.

  Sharon Finley was a hair designer and owned her own salon. Business was booming because of the atmosphere of her salon and her skill set. She attended a vocational school for Cosmetology and started her own business. She worked for a chain salon for years, but it was too commercial and impersonal. She wanted to own a business that was the talk of the town and she achieved her dream. Her salon doubled the income that her previous employer took in. The customers loved her zest for life and her hair personified that. She had spiked up blue hair with blonde highlights. She was 36, but held a youthful exuberance.

  Her son, Drew, was four and he attended Shirley Lanes Preschool where he was doted upon by his teachers. He was incredibly bright and imaginative, his teacher Marcy Lewis, already talked about moving him up to grade school. His outfit was mismatched in every conceivable way. He wore a bright yellow shirt with red shorts, blue socks and black sneakers. Typical look for Drew, as he was allowed to pick out his own clothes.

  “Cindy! How are you today?” Sharon asked gleefully. She was the polar opposite of Cindy, she was a morning person. This was in part due to having a young child who awoke at 5 am every morning. By the time Cindy began her day Sharon was well into hers.

  “I’m fine, how are you?” Cindy asked back trying to sound perky. It was just one of those days where she didn’t want to be at work; which was every day. She just wanted to go home and go back to sleep; nothing beat the sweet embrace of her lavender comforter.

  “I am fine, Drew and I here are just doing a little shopping before we drop Drew off to daycare,” Sharon replied as she reeled in the wandering toddler. She did not start work until eleven o’clock and thought a morning shopping trip with her son would be fun. Her salon was in good hands with her away, she had a great staff working for her.

  “Hi Drew. Hey who’s that?” Cindy asked indicating the toy toddler was holding. The little boy looked in his hand at the little action figure and took a moment and studied it. The figure wore a yellow suit with a red cape and had spiky black hair.

  “This is Captain Fahrenheit , he is the greatest superhero ever,” Drew replied in a soft, tired voice as he rubbed his eyes with his small fists. Most kids are wide awake in the morning but Drew was tired. He stayed up all of the prior night (Which was really until about nine o’clock) playing with his toys under the secret veil of his comforter. He looked like he was ready for a nap.

  “Wow, that’s cool, well I have to go to work, I will see you tomorrow” Cindy replied, ending the conversation abruptly as she proceeded closer towards the store. She wanted to start work as soon as possible so that it would be over faster. That logic made sense in her head somehow.

  “Actually we will be here later, we have to shop for Jason’s Birthday” Sharon said matter of factly. Jason was her husband; married for fifteen years. Jason was a firefighter and a town hero. He once saved 5 people from the flames that engulfed a multi family home on Decker street. Rumor around town was that there was a tv movie in production featuring his exploits. Such rumors were typically found false; fabrications of town folk who found rural life to be boring and mundane.

  “Well then, I will see you later. Bye!” Cindy replied as she entered through the door. The cool air hit her face, giving her instant relief as the automatic doors whizzed open,. That was the best part about working in retail, the comfortable temperature.

  The store was bustling, customers crowding up every register and every department. Most were negotiating prices with employees, claiming that signs said alternate prices. The returns desk, located to the immediate right of the door, had a line ten miles long. There was a hold up because a customer was trying to return a gas grill, saying it did not work. The receipt told a different story; the purchase was made a year ago and was clearly used, a scammer trying to get his money back.

  Tonight Cindy was supposed to work register twelve, which was an express lane, ten items or less. She took solace in this small miracle; she would have had a breakdown if she had to work a regular register. She was plenty tough enough to deal with bad customers, but tonight she did not want to deal with their dramatics. Although, in the ten items or less lines, there were always those customers who thought ten items meant ten different items; that clearly meant there could be unlimited amounts of each item. She rolled her eyes just thinking about it. Those were the customers she hated the most, prototypical profiles being old ladies or “soccer moms”.

  Well, no time to just stand around looking pretty; It will be over before you know it. Cindy was only working at Quincy's to pay off her college debts; she attended a local community college where she majored in English. Nothing had come from it yet; she was hoping to land a job as a reporter or even a journalist. She had a knack for writing but the demand for writers was slim at the moment. Her current project was a book of short stories; her favorite being about a reporter discovering a conspiracy against the president. Writing fiction kept her writing and honing her skills. She would become an author if she could develop a great and original idea.

  She walked past register seven and was greeted by Wallace Green, a middle aged man with a dull life that rivaled Cindy’s. He worked eight to five, Monday through Friday; every night he came home to his wife’s cooking, watched some television and read mystery novels. His life was scheduled from the moment he woke up to the time his head hit the sack, nothing changed in his life. Cindy supposed Wallace had her beat, considering he actually had a spouse. All she had was books, television and a job she loathed.

  Wallace was average height, about 5’8 and had a comb over hairstyle. He started working at Quincy's when he was seventeen years old and now twenty years later he still enjoyed working at the retail juggernaut. He was a workaholic but did not seem to have any big life goals in terms of a career; he seemed rather comfortable with his status in life. He went to school for graphic design, a trade that has all but died out since the rise of the internet. Wallace always went through the motions in school and nothing changed once he left.

  “Hi Cindy, how are ya doin’?” Wallace asked very chipper this morning. He, like most of Cindy’s acquaintances, was a morning person. He was ringing out an old woman who was buying cat food, a lot of it. She looked like one of those crazy cat ladies that every town has. Cindy could not help but think of Mrs. Harris from her hometown of Greenhill; Mrs. Harris not only killed her husband and kept it secret from the town, but also fed his remains to her six cats. After the trial ended she was sent to Greenhill asylum, the “Loopy Hut” as the kids called it.

  “I’m good, how are you?” she asked back trying to make the conversation quick. These interruptions were likely to make her late at this point. She usually enjoyed talking to Wallace but today was one of those days. She felt like one of those people that could not engage in conversation until they “had their coffee”; problem was she already had her coffee.

  “I’m terrific, me and Martha are going to take the rest of this week off and go to Niagara Falls.” Wallace replied. Martha was Wallace’s wife of whom he met nine years ago. Cindy had met her a few times and found her very delightful. “As soon as that clock
says five, I am free. Hey do you know where I can find a barrel. Hahahaha” he added excitedly. He always had a weird sense of humor.

  “Hahaha, no I don’t Wallace, but I will keep my eyes open” she replied, now a little perky herself. For some reason Cindy found his quirkiness to be uplifting. Wallace reminded her of a stereotypical Chess Club member, because of his nerd like appearance; all that was missing was a pocket protector in his sweater vest pocket.

  “Hahahaha, oh Cindy you’re too much fun, well guess I should let you go to your register” Wallace said while scanning the woman’s bag of cat food. She walked away a little more excited about the day. She didn’t have much planned for tonight except to finish reading her book and watching some television, same old same old.

  She did not immediately head to her register, but instead made her way to the break room. She had to punch her time card and put her purse in her locker. The break room was located next to the built in pharmacy. On her first day she could not find it and ended up being late for her shift. The break room was quite large, and surprisingly a comfortable environment; from what she had heard, most employee break rooms were filthy and unappealing to the eye. She walked past two vending machines located next to the time clock. One machine contained sodas and the other contained an assortment of chips and candies, she preferred the candy that made residence in B9, Crispy Bar. Cindy punched her card., 9:02. What the fuck?! she thought to herself. The day had started off decent, however a few random tangents made her late.