I glance back down at my computer. The developers are showing some screen mockups. I had hoped to avoid the conversation, but now they are discussing fonts and colors. I put my head down in my hands. It's official. This call will never end. I look back up and Mrs. Lindquist has pulled her old Buick up into her driveway and is rummaging in the back of her trunk. She's nearly 80 years old. She doesn't need to carry all those groceries. I also don't think she saw the dead guys in her side yard.
"BRB," I type into the chat window.
I knock on my window. She doesn't hear me. Crap. I pull up my blinds and open my window. It won't budge. It's locked. I find and flip the latch and throw it open.
"Mrs. Lindquist! Mrs. Lindquist!," I yell at the top of my voice.
She just turns around and waves. Unbelievable.
"Hey! Somebody needs to go on mute," I hear in my headphones. I tear them off and fling them onto my desk.
"Zombies!" I yell. "Watch out!"
She still doesn't hear. I get up and knock over my iced coffee. I dive across the bed to the gun safe. The keys are in the door. It doesn't matter. I have no kids. I grab my cowboy rifle. It's a stainless Rossi lever-action in .45 Long Colt. I crank a round into the chamber. Damn it! I'm too late. The dead are already upon her. I punch out my screen with the barrel. Today, I have to use three rounds instead of two.
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