Crackers

First, Leah closed the door on his hand. She wasn’t entirely sure that he was dead, so she felt somewhat badly about this. It took a few seconds, in which she had to lean down and ladder her tights before his hand was out of the way and the door shut firmly. That was one of five offices in the larger ‘Office’ that had a window. There were four others. And the windows could not be open.

Secondly, Leah went to the water cooler. One of those sad communal places where people in the Office gathered to complain about the Office, and how they only had cubicles whereas others had proper offices. This was not the life they dreamed about for themselves in their late twenties, they often said, as though saying it would prompt the universe to create something more techni-colour for them, something with spangles and tulle. Then the water cooler was one of the only furnishings that had not been turned over in a mad dash for the Office door. Leah’s throat was swelling with dryness, furring as if mold were growing in it. Water, she thought. That means I need a drink.

Thirdly, water was probably not the priority then, Leah thought, after a moment. Her breaths sounded as if they were being churned out of her by a machine, as if each one produced carbon dioxide and cotton balls. But she needed to close the other office doors, seal herself off from the windows. It wouldn’t stop them. Locks hardly could, and those doors didn’t have locks. But she would feel better, knowing that they couldn’t smell her fear. But maybe it was seeping out of the windows anyway, the way it seeped out of her. She tried not to look at the face of her coworker as she stepped over her. She and Jill had gone out for drinks the night before, and Jill had done karaoke on a stage, though Leah hadn’t been brave enough.

Fourthly, Leah found quickly that one of the offices- the one belonging to Dean Ackleman, whom she had never much liked, though she felt badly about it now, looking at the stains on his carpet and the pieces of him that were visible around the edge of his desk- did not lock. She swore, several times, because it made her feel better and the alternatives were to cry, which wouldn’t do any good, and scream, which would do the opposite of good. She tried not to remember the time Ackleman gave her a box of her favourite loose-leaf tea at an Office Christmas party, as she grabbed an overturned chair, sat it upright, and jammed it against his office to lock him in. He was probably dead, she reasoned, though she didn’t check.

Fifthly, Leah decided that closing the windows first, in all of the offices, was probably a good idea. She didn’t like the idea of being stuck in here with all her coworkers- it was never an appealing idea, really, but being stuck with her coworkers’ corpses was even less so- but she liked the idea of letting something else in less so. She stepped over another coworker, or his legs, because he was propped up against the cubicle’s wall. He was pale, like china, like a piece of crockery that had been filled with blood and broken. There were black marks all up his arms that reminded Leah of the lines of a mosaic. Thank God he was dead.

Sixthly, why did Leah thank God? She’d never believed in God. Possibly lots of people had stopped believing in God when they looked outside and saw what was waiting for them. Possibly, there was no one else outside. Possibly birds had stopped chirping and the sun had stopped shining and Leah was the last person alive. Leah found that the fourth of the offices was blocked by Richard, who was sprawled there, but didn’t look particularly dead. If he wasn’t, she couldn’t help him yet. She grabbed him under the arms and dragged him away from the office door. If she didn’t want to close the windows, he was actually heavy enough to have been a deterrent, to stop something getting through the door.

Seventhly, Leah went back to the water cooler and grabbed one of the paper cups. The water cooler was three quarters full. She felt she could probably drink all of it. She might have to, if she was going to be stuck in there for ages. She tried to remember if they had more bottles of water. She gulped down the water. Richard had weighed so much. She tried to listen for a sound at the windows, in the offices, at the front door of the Office. There was nothing. Not even the hum of cars outside. Only the hum of the printer.

Eighthly, Leah wondered what the next step would be. She tried to think practically, and couldn’t help but be reminded of her high school graduation, of entering university and feeling betrayed that the previous twelve years of education did not prepare her for taxes or mortgages or apartment hunting or CV-writing or anything pertaining to survival and the real world. And university had not prepared her for surviving this sort of disaster. She might have to raid grocery stores, and warehouses, and outlets, and convenience stores that were full of bodies like Jill and Richard. She tried to imagine never speaking to another human being, if she was the last one left alive. Things might get better, or they might get worse. She accidently stepped on someone’s hand as she backed up, then stepped off quickly, and apologized, as if he were alive.

Ninthly, Leah looked around for something she could use as a weapon. There were several pieces of broken glass. Every glass dish, and some of the finer porcelain ones, was cracked. Like an infection of hairline fractures had spread through the cabinets that served as the staff room. The glass mirror inside Morgan’s cubicle was cracked. Every time Leah looks at the splinters across the small windows in the office doors, she thinks she hears the humming begin again, but it’s still just the printer. Leah takes another sip of water, but she only tastes the plastic cup.

Tenthly, Leah took off her blazer and pulled as much furniture as she could in front of the office doors. She realized that her throat was still dry and that no amount of water would help, probably. She wished she had drunk more the night before, enough to be sick and to not come into the office. One of the exit signs flickered. She hadn’t realized how many of them there were, but they all seemed pointless, suddenly. She didn’t think she would be making an exit any time soon.

Eleventh, Leah went back for Richard. She knew how to check a pulse, in his wrist, but he was wearing a suit jacket, and had cuff links in his cuffs. Getting them off, checking for life, was looking less like a priority. Especially when she felt the buzzing under her feet, as if there was construction near by. She thought about her boyfriend, who was a construction worker and, if he was alive, might be thinking of her, or might have packed and was climbing into his car, speeding onto the highway that led out of the city, south, to his family. She’d kissed him four hours ago. He’d tasted like toothpaste. Right then her mouth still tasted like plastic cup. Then like terror, when the splintering began.

Twelfth, Leah dropped Richard’s wrist. The splintering was like the sound that came before an explosion, but an explosion was a quick release of fear, not the quiet hum that built up when they were near, that never reached a zenith, or that no one thought reached a zenith until they were already dead. Shattered like the windows and the glasses and the crockery. It was like the hum of cicadas, if it could rattle bones. Leah didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to scavenge for food or give up running water or electricity and live in a world that was worse than archaic, because it had once been civilized, but she didn’t want to die, either. Richard was probably dead, she decided, and dove toward the bathroom. It was a single bathroom, which usually meant long lines. No line then. Leah didn’t look at the mirror. She grabbed her blouse and pulled it off, jamming it under the door, glad there was only one piece of glass in this room, over the sink. Though, maybe the toilet would shatter too. She pressed her back against it anyway, felt the cold porcelain through her camisole. She clapped her hands over her ears, pressing in until it ached.

Thirteenth, Leah shut her eyes. The water in her stomach was sloshing. Plastic and copper were in her throat. She could hear the mirror cracking, even through her hands. Her insides, the pieces of her, were shaking. She couldn’t hear it, but it wasn’t something you heard. She blinked and saw a glimpse of her feet.

She told herself she would be all right. Even though she saw the cracks. 

Art by Anonymous

Text by Lucie MacAulay