The Boss Is Dead

Chp:11 Old hurt hurts

The rain continued to pound down as Greg guided their minivan through the dark, deserted streets of Manhattan. It was raining heavy and the storm continued to slow their speed. Their was no car or survivors in sight- just occasional zombies and some bodies. Sarah peered out the rain-spattered windows into the gloom.

"Pretty crap weather for an evacuation," Sarah remarked plainly. No one replied. The somber mood in the van was thicker than the ready-to-be-made soup Diana had been complaining about making for dinner. That they didn't get a chance to have.

You'd think they'd just come from a funeral rather than a narrow escape. But who could blame them, after what they'd witnessed back at the library? Poor Jason, one of their own turned against them by that godawful bite. He was bitten when he saved Tom from the clutches of zombies, back at the station. Maybe that was the reason he only lunged at Tom. But no, zombies do not feel anything right? Who knows? Amanda shuddered recalling those glassy zombie eyes lunging for Tom's throat.

At least the gunshot had put Jason out of his misery, although it certainly didn't do wonders for the mood. They were all still rattled, processing the grim reality that any of them could meet the same grisly end at any moment. As for where to go next, no one seemed to have a clue.

Sarah sighed and gazed out the window again, watching the city dissolve into a blur of gray beyond the rain-spattered glass. What she wouldn't give to be curled up beside a cozy fireplace right now with a nice cup of cocoa, rather than hurtling through a post-apocalyptic wasteland in this old minivan.

In the absence of ideas, the silence dragged on heavier than Greg's lead foot on the gas. Diana searched desperately for a topic, anything to lift the pall that had fallen over them - just like the dreary weather outside. Recalling Ben's earlier comment, Diana piped up:

"You know.... as exhausting as Mark could be, I'd take bossing us around over being eaten any day. At least with him... we got paid vacation days."

A surprised chuckle rippled through the van at the unexpected comment. Even Sarah cracked a half-smile in the rearview mirror. Encouraged, Jake plowed onward:

"Can you imagine Mark in the zombie apocalypse? He'd try to write us all up for being late or... mumble about 'productivity' while... we're... scavenging for supplies. And God help us if the checkout lines at the supermarket got too long!"

Laughter swelled this time at the mental image. They could all picture Mark's sour expression surveying the post-apocalyptic ruins of the New York subway with his signature disapproving frown. For the first time since leaving the library, some of the tension began to lift from the van.

Ben caught Sarah shooting him a grateful smile from the passenger seat, her eyes still red-rimmed from earlier tears. Who knew reminiscing about their irksome old boss could do such wonders - it really made everyone smile a little. Desperate times called for desperate humor, it seemed, to keep their sanity in place.

The dog, sensing the change in mood, began wagging his tail energetically between Diana and Sarah. Diana laughed and scratched behind his ears, cooing, "At least someone's still in good spirits around here."

Even surly Tom cracked a grin, piping up, "I'll bet Mark finds a way to write us up for 'subpar surviving skills' ...if we cross paths in the zombie wasteland."

They all cracked up again at the mental image, the chuckles taking on a slightly hysterical edge in their tired, gloomy states. Laughter really was the best medicine, it seemed, no matter the circumstance.

Their lighthearted reminiscing carried them out of Manhattan and into the blurry twilight of the surrounding boroughs. Eventually, the skyline dwindled behind them, the city fading into suburbia as night closed in. Rain still fell in steady sheets, the wipers doing little to improve visibility in the dark, empty street.