Bob, pt. 3

Bob, pt. 1

Bob, pt. 2

Shirley looked shocked, as if she had just realized the truth in her words. She gasped, then dropped her head into her hands. Her shoulders began to shake.

Bob stood perplexed.

First, this woman had bludgeoned him with a fire hydrant, then told him humanity was dead, and now she was crying.

Bob could cope with the first two ridiculous realities, but had no idea what to do with a crying female.

Awkwardly, Bob patted Shirley’s shoulder, but she shook him off.

Sniffing, she stood and tied her hair back from her face.

“We’re humanity’s last chance for survival,” she said, squaring her shoulders, “It’s our responsibility to stay alive.” She began dragging the desk toward the front door again.

“Wait,” Bob finally squeaked, “I’m still stuck on the whole ‘everyone is dead’ concept.”

“I’ll explain later,” Shirley snapped, “Just help me barricade the doors already. We probably don’t have much time. They aren’t too clever, but I think they can smell.”

They pushed one desk in front of the doors, and Shirley marched briskly back toward the first office.

Bob followed, tripping on a shoelace. “What’s They?”

Shirley laughed ruefully, “I only wish I knew. As far as I can tell, they kill people without really killing them.” She hefted a second file cabinet on top of the desk, effectively blocking the doors.

“Like zombies?” Bob said skeptically, “Really, Shirley? Are you sure you’re not hungover or I’m dreaming or it’s a holiday and everyone forgot?”

Annoyed, Shirley started to answer, but a sound outside cut her off.

A small voice called in an accent Bob didn’t recognize.

“Hello? Can I come in? I’m so hungry…”



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