Day 23 - Dead on My Feet

Hey guys! Grace Nask here with Day 23 of the April Challenge. Today we have Dead on My Feet, and short story for middle grade and above. It's about a man who's feeling a little...sick and isn't sure how to tell his coworker about it. So let's get to it!

Dead on My Feet

Man, do I feel awful! After a night like that, it’s a wonder I showed up for work. But I’m not the type to inconvenience my partner, Robin. Too much work to do to miss the morning.

I shouldered my handbag as I stared at my workplace, filled with all the cases from the night before. (And a new one, added by yours truly.) My office building wasn’t much to look at. Gray building, giant windows, that big skyscraper that blocks out the sky--you know the one.

Feeling uneasy, I hurried through the shiny door faster than someone of my status should, but I didn’t want to see my reflection. Not yet. I wanted to run right past our secretary, Nancy, to the elevator, but some shred of dignity left inside my brain made me call out, “Mornin’ Nance,” as I walked past.

Nancy took a swig of her coffee. “Mornin’ Jerr--” The words died on her lips as Nancy stared. I’ll tell you, the common courtesies of society have really declined! My face heated up, like the inside of an active volcano mistaken to be a mountain. But I was determined not to erupt; I maintained my smile. Nancy, in turn, swallowed her coffee hard. “My, you look...green,” she stammered.

“I feel it,” I replied, keeping my tone perky. I gave an airy stretch, as though the bag on my shoulder contained my only worries. “But after last night, I should look worse. Some idiot broke in.”

Nancy put her hand to her mouth, the coffee forgotten. “Oh my gosh. So the look, those feelings...it’s not just a bad virus?” --oh, it was a virus all right, just not a curable one-- “Oh my gosh! Is everyone else...ok? Are Maria and the kids alright?”

“They’re fine.” Traumatized and scared out of their wits, but fine by Nancy’s standards.

She took another sip from her coffee mug and stared some more. I wondered if I would ever be able to taste the rich brew again, or if it was all mud now. “And you?” Nancy asked, her tone more gentle than before. “Did they say you might yet be cured?”

I shook my head no but didn’t look her in the eye. How could I? How could I tell her I was fine when my entire life crumbled to pieces? I stabbed the button for the elevator, like I’d done a thousand times before. A thousand times in another life. “Nice talkin’ to you, Nance,” I mumbled.

“Does Robin know about this?” Nancy demanded. At that moment, the door hummed open, as it would do for anyone. Anyone at all no matter who they were or what condition they were in. Horrible security here, I’ll tell you! But today I was grateful for it. I stepped in, pressing the up button without answering the question. Nancy exclaimed, “Jerry, wait! You can’t just walk in and expect Robin to deal with this, not after what happened to his wife! Jerry!”

The elevator door closed on her pleas, killing our link. After all, I had to perform my civic duty of working. Wouldn’t want to inconvenience my partner like that.

The elevator hissed to a stop on the sixth floor. My feet deadweights, I dragged myself over to Robin’s office door, fingering my work bag into the thousands of threads it had been made of. But after a night like last night, he deserved to know what he was up against.

Wiping my sweaty hands onto my freshly pressed pants, I knocked on Robin’s door. We used to share an office, him and I, before his wife died. She turned into a zombie and almost gored him to death. Robin’s wife, one of the sweetest women I’d ever met, tried to kill her husband. Then everything changed, and we got our own space

Robin opened the door. Well of course Robin opened the door! Who else would open Robin’s door except Robin? Unless Robin had a friend over, then maybe they might open the door, but it’s perfectly reasonable to expect Robin to open his own door. After all, it was Robin’s door that I knocked upon. If I didn’t want to see Robin, then why on Earth would I knock on his door?

Good question. I did want to see Robin. But upon seeing him...I froze.

Robin didn’t share my disposition and punched me in the face. My partner for six years punched me, unprovoked, in the face. A ball of flame engulfed my right eye and temple area, and I staggered back, grateful our manager refused to let Robin carry the baseball bat he’d demanded for self-defense. With weapons, I’d probably be dead. Again.

“Get the heck outta here, zombie filth!” Robin screeched, but his voice rose an octave higher than usual.

Instinct--mine or the zombie’s, I couldn’t tell--told me to wrestle him to the ground to avoid further attack, but I knew it would only add to Robin’s fears. Standing there, arms raised at his chest in a boxer stance, Robin reminded me of a cornered dog about to snap.

No, I wouldn’t hit him. Not Robin, who’d lost his wife to the zombie epidemic.

Taking a deep breath, I raised my arms in a stance of surrender. “Believe me, if I left you’d drown in debt the minute I walked out. I won’t hurt you. Not now, not ever. Besides, Maria would kill me if I lost this job. You know how hard it is to find work when you’re a zombie?”

Robin stared at me, his boxer’s stance shaking at the seams. At that moment, I felt my very life suspended in balance. I meant what I said; I wouldn’t hurt Robin. If he started hurling punches, I’d be hospitalized.

Luckily for my right eye, he cracked a smile. A shadow of its former self, but a start nonetheless. “Guess we all gotta face the reaper sometime ora ‘nother,” he admitted, putting down his fists.

I released my breath and clapped him on the back. “Just don’t do nothin’ stupid,” Robin murmured in my ear.

“I promise, man,” I breathed. I felt his tears bathe my cheek and knew they matched my own.

Robin unclasped himself, and I unclasped my bag, disregarding the sting in my swelling eye. Somewhere stuffed in the briefcase amidst all the papers from before rested a new file: FIND JERRY’S KILLER. (I know, I know, but I was too busy dying to worry about a catchier title.) “Come on,” I told Robin, guiding him back into his office and closing the door. “We got a lot of work to do.”