zombie had been trying to use some sort of makeshift tool to do so. Apparently, the zombie had had enough knowledge to go for the screws on either side.
Apparently , the zombie hadn't been a zombie at all.
The man Peter had seen had just been some looter trying to break into his landlord's house. Anything else had been a product of his own nightmares.
A car went by out front.
Peter ran out and looked up and down the street. Many of the houses were dark, the cars gone. A lot of people had left. But there was traffic out on the main road. The streetlights were working. At the end of the road, a lady was leaving her house and getting into her car. She looked down at him, gave him a tentative wave, and then was gone.
Peter was confused.
Running back to his apartment, he rushed inside and closed the door. He went to his bag, the same bag he'd carried to and from his last day of work. Rummaging inside, he found the rotted remains of a sandwich he'd never had a chance to eat. There was the spare shirt he always carried, a Robert Silverberg novel, and his cell phone. The phone was dead so he pulled out the charger and plugged it into the wall. Peter didn't have a regular phone. There was no reason for him to have one. Everyone he knew called him on his cell so he chose not to incur the expense.
After waiting a very long two minutes, he was able to turn on the phone and get his messages. There were eighteen of them. Most of them were from his parents in Cleveland. One was from Mariel, whom he'd met at a bar a week before his world had gone to hell. She wasn't very pretty, but he'd have been able to overlook that if she didn't sound like Ben Stein on downers. Two more calls were from Dr. Mancina over at the hospital.
He called Dr. Mancina first.
"Peter!" Mancina exclaimed when he picked up the phone. "We thought we'd lost you. You haven't been sick, have you?"
"No," Peter answered. "At least not in the way that you think."
"Well," Mancina answered, not quite sure what to make of that. "Well, that's good. Are you coming back to work?"
Peter didn't quite know how to answer that. He thought about what it would be like to return to the hospital. After his episode during the previous week, he wasn't sure if he had the strength to return to the hospital. Still, his rational side took over. "Of course, sir."
"Oh, good. Good. We've been open a few days now, you know."
Peter was looking out the window, noticing the newspaper. "I thought, well. I thought all of the people were gone."
Mancina was quiet on the other end of the line.
"Sir?"
"Still here. The world's still in business, Peter. A lot of people left but they'll come back. Anyway, we're really shorthanded here, though."
"Did you want me to come in today?" He regretted asking it almost immediately.
"That would be great. Anytime you can. Also, Peter, you know that losing Veronica left us a huge void. She's irreplaceable but I think you'd make a good interim acting chief."
"Me? But I just…"
"Quick thinking, locking down the ER like that," Mancina breathed. "You probably saved a lot of lives."
Peter brightened. "Do you think so?"
"Definitely. Will you do it?"
"What about the seniority issue. Most of the docs are ahead of me…"
"Most of the docs are gone, Peter."
This time it was his turn to be silent for a bit. It surprised him that so many of them would just abandon the sick people to their fates. That's not why someone became a doctor. Of course, where had he been the past week? Huddled in his apartment scribbling nonsense plans for the end of the world.
"Okay, Dr. Mancina."
Mancina was overjoyed. Peter hung up the phone feeling much better about himself and the world. It meant a lot that his actions on that terrible day had been noticed and, more than that, appreciated. He wasn't one to go hunting for accolades but he wasn't one to reject them
Apparently , the zombie hadn't been a zombie at all.
The man Peter had seen had just been some looter trying to break into his landlord's house. Anything else had been a product of his own nightmares.
A car went by out front.
Peter ran out and looked up and down the street. Many of the houses were dark, the cars gone. A lot of people had left. But there was traffic out on the main road. The streetlights were working. At the end of the road, a lady was leaving her house and getting into her car. She looked down at him, gave him a tentative wave, and then was gone.
Peter was confused.
Running back to his apartment, he rushed inside and closed the door. He went to his bag, the same bag he'd carried to and from his last day of work. Rummaging inside, he found the rotted remains of a sandwich he'd never had a chance to eat. There was the spare shirt he always carried, a Robert Silverberg novel, and his cell phone. The phone was dead so he pulled out the charger and plugged it into the wall. Peter didn't have a regular phone. There was no reason for him to have one. Everyone he knew called him on his cell so he chose not to incur the expense.
After waiting a very long two minutes, he was able to turn on the phone and get his messages. There were eighteen of them. Most of them were from his parents in Cleveland. One was from Mariel, whom he'd met at a bar a week before his world had gone to hell. She wasn't very pretty, but he'd have been able to overlook that if she didn't sound like Ben Stein on downers. Two more calls were from Dr. Mancina over at the hospital.
He called Dr. Mancina first.
"Peter!" Mancina exclaimed when he picked up the phone. "We thought we'd lost you. You haven't been sick, have you?"
"No," Peter answered. "At least not in the way that you think."
"Well," Mancina answered, not quite sure what to make of that. "Well, that's good. Are you coming back to work?"
Peter didn't quite know how to answer that. He thought about what it would be like to return to the hospital. After his episode during the previous week, he wasn't sure if he had the strength to return to the hospital. Still, his rational side took over. "Of course, sir."
"Oh, good. Good. We've been open a few days now, you know."
Peter was looking out the window, noticing the newspaper. "I thought, well. I thought all of the people were gone."
Mancina was quiet on the other end of the line.
"Sir?"
"Still here. The world's still in business, Peter. A lot of people left but they'll come back. Anyway, we're really shorthanded here, though."
"Did you want me to come in today?" He regretted asking it almost immediately.
"That would be great. Anytime you can. Also, Peter, you know that losing Veronica left us a huge void. She's irreplaceable but I think you'd make a good interim acting chief."
"Me? But I just…"
"Quick thinking, locking down the ER like that," Mancina breathed. "You probably saved a lot of lives."
Peter brightened. "Do you think so?"
"Definitely. Will you do it?"
"What about the seniority issue. Most of the docs are ahead of me…"
"Most of the docs are gone, Peter."
This time it was his turn to be silent for a bit. It surprised him that so many of them would just abandon the sick people to their fates. That's not why someone became a doctor. Of course, where had he been the past week? Huddled in his apartment scribbling nonsense plans for the end of the world.
"Okay, Dr. Mancina."
Mancina was overjoyed. Peter hung up the phone feeling much better about himself and the world. It meant a lot that his actions on that terrible day had been noticed and, more than that, appreciated. He wasn't one to go hunting for accolades but he wasn't one to reject them
Similar Books
A Rather Lovely Inheritance
C. A. Belmond
The Look of Love
Mary Jane Clark
The Best Australian Science Writing 2012
Elizabeth Finkel
Shadow of Temptation (Asylums for Magical Threats #2.5)
Jessie Donovan
The Prey
Tom Isbell
Secrets of Valhalla
Jasmine Richards
Life After a Balla
Jackie D.
In the Italian's Sights
Helen Brooks
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea
Jules Verne