Chapter 17

  I glanced into the power room to ensure nothing had snuck back in while the door was locked. Seeing it was clear, I prepared to open the other door across the hallway. I gripped the handle unlock it with a key and readied the pipe wrench, poised to strike if anything jumped out. Slowly turning the handle, I felt the latch fully disengage before violently pushing the door open. I pedaled backward, making a cautious retreat down the hallway. Approaching the other door, I stepped over the ladder and made some noise, hoping to lure any lurking threats.

  After what felt like an eternity, though probably only a minute, I realized nothing was coming out at me. It was time to check the room myself. Slowly, I walked down the hallway with the PokeMaster out like a sword and the pipe wrench as my medieval mate. I imagined a shield and armor would be ideal. Then, I thought my gun collection would be even better. Next, I fantasized about a team of trained ninjas with katana swords. Realizing I was just nervous, I finally peeked around the door frame.

  I almost fell to my knees in shock at what I saw. It was the most amazing sight of my life. If I were Indiana Jones seeing the Ark of the Covenant, my excitement would have been the same. There was a break room, and on the table was a jar of instant coffee powder. I was ecstatic.

  The room had everything: a small refrigerator, tables and chairs, extra pairs of overalls and hardhats, a microwave, cabinets, and a sink. Basic fare for a break room, but to me, it was a sanctuary. The space was small enough to keep warm easily and cozy. However, the dead body in the hallway and the zombie smell had to be dealt with first. Exploring the cabinet and fridge for something even better than coffee, maybe cold beer, would be my reward after disposing of the zombie.

  I planned to strip the body for the coveralls, but seeing several pairs hanging on hooks, I decided against it. I wouldn’t have to touch its skin directly when dragging it out. I fetched a length of chain from a 5-gallon pail near the workbench and replaced the ladder under the hole in the roof. I used the pipe wrench to bash and pull the sheeting back to get my backpack in, but I needed a bigger hole to dispose of the body properly.

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  Armed with a hammer, chisel, and large pipe wrench, I climbed the ladder. The pry bar helped easily dislodge the bolts from the rafters by jamming it under the sheet and using my weight to pull up. For bolts screwed into adjoining sheets, one hammer blow usually snapped and tore the sheet. On the roof, I used the largest pipe wrench to wedge the thin sheet and pry it off. What took two days was now replicated in minutes.

  The 5-gallon pail also contained a chain puller, a mechanical advantage tool. It helped position large breaker boxes and cabinets. I set it up at the rafters near the ladder, then went to retrieve the zombie. The slick concrete floor and its soft cotton coveralls made the task manageable, though my low calorie intake made my head swim. Now that the zombie was in position, I could proceed.

  I decided to investigate his body for bite wounds or anything that might explain his zombification. I got the chain under his coveralls and around his chest, then hooked it to the chain puller. Cranking him higher, I removed the coveralls completely. He wore heavy-duty boots, which I removed along with his socks. The smell was peculiar, like a mix of all the spices in a cabinet—hints of cinnamon, nutmeg, and mustard.

  He wore boxer shorts with little hearts and his coveralls had the name "Carl" on them. Examining his legs and arms, I saw no bites or trauma other than what I caused—his arm was broken, and his skull was crushed. Positioning the A-frame ladder under the zombie near the electrical blocks, I started lifting him. Every step got harder as more weight transferred onto my shoulders. I wedged his upper body into the rafters, securing him with paracord around his hands.

  I planned to flip him off the roof by pulling his legs through the rafters. Removing his undershirt, I saw no wounds or trauma explaining his zombification. His pale, grayish-white skin had no bruising or blood marks. I wrapped the chain around his arms, untied the paracord, and pulled him out through the rafters. When his weight teetered on the roof edge, I disconnected the chain and flipped his legs out. His body slid headfirst off the roof, diving into the zombie crowd below.

  Instead of crushing one or two zombies, the crowd caught him like a crowd surfer at a concert. Packed tightly, they struggled to start their feast, allowing me to see Carl, a naked man with boxer shorts hanging off one foot, crowd surfing away from the building. Eventually, he reached the back of the crowd and disappeared. Goodbye, Carl.