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Title: You Don't Have to be Crazy Dead to Work Here (But It Helps).
Part: 10/22
Author: Jashyr
Genre: Horror/Black Comedy
Word Count: 50,000
Disclaimer: These characters are mine. They live in my head and make me do crazy things like entering NaNoWriMo...
Rating: PG-13? Probably.
Warnings: Some gore. Written for NaNoWriMo last year and while it has been re-edited the punctuation police are still looking at it suspiciously.

Chapter Ten

No Peace For the Wicked

After watching the Indian tech guy leave the room Don Grady and Alan Kerr, two of the most supernaturally experienced members of Reapmore’s security arm paid him little attention. They were well aware that the Holt company plebs had no idea of what was going on under their noses and it gave both Don and Alan a perverse sense of satisfaction to pull the wool over their eyes.

Suiting up, they waited until their spotter out in the corridors signalled that the way was clear before waddling around into the lift and rising to the top floor of the office. They were both glad of the independent oxygen supply that the suit provided – they’d both been up here to do security surveys before the second cage was put in and even with their breadth of experience they’d had a hard time dealing with the stench of just one of the living-impaired. Now there were eleven of the things they didn’t even want to think about how bad it smelt out there. Even the cage builders, who didn’t come into direct contact with the creatures, had come to work with Vicks vapour rub stuffed inside their nostrils to block out as much of the rotting meat smell as possible.

A sickly green light started to strobe along the corridors as Don and Alan shuffled towards the doors to the main pen. Taking this as their cue to leave, the rest of the Reapmore research and development team exited quickly down the stairwell. Once they were all gone Don bolted the stairwell doors while Alan punched in the code that disabled the lift access. They checked each other’s work then headed into the pen.

Inside the electrified fence eleven of Holt’s former finance staff were shackled to desks with half inch linked chains. The blue, grey, brown and green discolouration of the skin was the first indication their undead status, the vacant stares and low moans a close second. All of them were still wearing their finest clothes, the ones they had been wearing when they were stolen from their coffins. It always made Alan chuckle that one of the zombies, the primary test subject, was wearing a Brooks Brothers’ suit that cost more than most of the other zombies’ families received in life insurance payouts.

Over the past few days the two security operatives had leaned to distinguish the moods of their otherwise dead guests. Most of them were content to sit at their desks and tap at their keyboards all day, just like they had when they were alive. One female appeared to be drawn to any of the workers who smoked, just having a slight smell of nicotine on an R&D researcher’s clothing was enough to guarantee it’s undivided attention. Another appeared to be far more damaged than the others – she constantly tried to walk through the electrified mesh of the cage only for the electrical current to shock her back several feet with her muscles twitching and unresponsive for a few hours before she tried again. There was also a male one that stared at both Don and Alan with what occasionally seemed like an intelligently malevolent gaze, only for it to look just a stupid as the rest a fraction of a second later. Both men put this down to their imaginations and had never got round to discussing it.

Pulling aside a partition got all of the zombies’ attention as two cow carcasses were revealed, hanging on hooks from the ceiling. While Don started chopping large slices of raw meat from the hanging remains Alan used the long handled litter grab to open a mesh window that opened up six foot up near the ceiling. Using the tongs he’d detached from his belt he gripped some of the meat and threw it through the hole.

The change in the zombies was instantaneous. They crowded around the window grabbing at the chunks of flesh as they rained down on them. Careful not to touch the mesh, proof that even the dead can learn if a lesson is debilitating enough, they squabbled for the choices bits – the heart, the liver, the kidneys and especially the brain.

This was job satisfaction, thought Alan. His professionalism had a definite sadistic side and in his daydreams he’d already mapped out the best way of sneaking any nosy parkers up to the top floor then disremembering the bodies cleanly without leaving any mess. He’d get rid of a problem and also get to watch the zombies destroying the evidence. It’d top off the best job in the world.



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September 2010

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