Matthew watches her as she takes a sip, closes her eyes, and relishes a few seconds’ escape. “So, how’s tricks? Things at Bancroft still good?”

Delia nods. “Not bad. Could be worse. I shouldn’t complain.”

“The zombies make it down to your neck of the woods yet?”

“Funny you should ask. But it’s kind of a story.”

Matthew shakes his empty Mai Tai glass. “I’m going to have about seven more of these anyway, so go ahead.” He flags down a waitress, who wordlessly scoops up his glass. Matthew’s been here before, and he knows she’ll be back with another.

“Okay. So, this engineer started following me today, as I was walking from my cubicle to the break room. It was cute at first, but then he wouldn’t stop staring at me while I was popping some popcorn in the microwave. I said shoo a few times, but he just stood there, panting. Finally I had to say “git,” and I guess I had the right edge in my voice because he finally slinked away, with a pathetic little whine.”

Matthew shakes his head. “Engineers.”

“I know, right? I feel sorry for them, but what can I do? I don’t have room in my cubicle, let alone a budget, for an engineer. And I know better than to feed them when they come around—that just makes them hungry for more. I feel a little bit guilty, but, really, it would just make it worse, getting their hopes up.”

The door opens, revealing a dirt-covered, blood splattered zombie, clothes ripped to pieces, an eyeball hanging on a thread of gristle, dangling below the eyesocket. The waitress runs towards the door “Out!” The zombie moans, turns, shuffles away. The waitress slams the door.

Delia ignores all of it. “You know what happens, right? It’s the holiday, or end of the quarter, and some boss brings in a few engineers for his team, and at first they’re so adorable, and they work so hard, and everyone’s feeling the cheer. But then the quarter ends, or the new fiscal begins, and the engineer is just an extra body, and so they take him to another floor in the building and just let him go. It’s cruel, really.”

The waitress appears with Matthew’s Mai Tai. He takes it, looking at her, “uh…”

The waitress glares at him “Yeah?”

“You didn’t touch that guy at the door before you got my drink did you?”

She rolls her eyes. “Jesus, Mattie, how long you been coming here?”

“I’m sorry, what can I say, I got issues with germs.”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t touch him, Mattie. And the glass is clean. Jesus, all I need.” She walks off.

“I think she kinda likes you, Mattie.” Delia smiles at him.

“Agh, don’t call me that. My mom used to call me that.”

Delia smirks. “Okay, there’s a therapy session in the making.”

“You were saying?” Matthew downs half the Mai Tai in one straw-sip.

“Yeah. So I’m working on a report and trying to get PowerPoint to quit acting like a little bitch, and the whole time McClaren keeps calling me, asking me when I’ll be done with it, and yes, if you were wondering, he is still an asshole, thankyou.” She slurps her jack and ginger.

“I still don’t know why you ever dated him. Sounds like a dick.”

“What can I say, I was young and stupid. Anyways, I keep thinking about that poor little engineer. I mean, I know they don’t do things like tech support for PowerPoint, but I’m thinking, it’s better than nothing, right?”

“Don’t tell me you went looking for him.”

“No, no, nothing like that. But I did end up calling HR, and as usual, they were no help. I asked them what they do about loose engineers, and they were asking where I saw him, did he have a badge, did I check the badge to see who he belonged to, that kind of thing. It’s like, hello, how about you put down the implements of torture for a half-minute and do your actual job?”

The door opens again, slower this time, and a zombie tries to edge in sideways, nonchalant. He’s halfway in when the waitress sees him. She throws down her tray, runs to the door, and pushes him out.

“Typical.” Matthew finishes his drink and chews on some ice cubes.

“I know. So McClaren’s bugging the shit out of me, PowerPoint is pissing me off, and that popcorn I was eating was stale and gross, and I’m just getting more and more frustrated, so I’m like, fuck it, I’m going to go have a cigarette.”

“You smoke?” He wrinkles his nose, but imagines her smoking a cigarette, naked in bed after sex, and unwrinkles his nose.

“Only when I’m pissed off. So here’s the thing. I go downstairs, right? And I go back to the service entrance, where there’s a door leading to an alley. I mean, I’m supposed to have this report in to McClaren yesterday, all I need is for him to see me smoking. So I go outside, and there’s like about five different zombies back there, wandering around.”

“Oh my god.”

The waitress walks by, picking up their glasses.

“I know, right! I mean, the alley smells bad enough as it is. But I figure, fuck it, I need this cigarette more than I need to worry about a few idiots shuffling around looking for brains. So I light up. And some of them are looking at me, one of ‘em, this gross looking woman with, I don’t know, half her face gone, chewing on somebody’s arm, she starts walking towards me, but she’s so slow, I just walk away. But here’s the thing. I finish my cig, push the zombie woman into a dumpster, and, the door’s locked.”

“What?”

The waitress returns with another Mai Tai and another jack and ginger, sets them down. There’s a loud thump from the door, and she whirls to stare at, but it doesn’t open, so she goes back to the bar.

“Yeah, locked. Like, I guess they had to make it lock automatically, I don’t know, maybe zombies were getting in at night, chewing on computer cables.”

“I don’t think that’s what they-“

“Whatever.” Delia gulps her drink, licks her lips. Matthew has a brief moment, but manages to focus on what she’s saying. “So I figure I need to walk around the building, fine, maybe I can use the exercise, maybe I need exercise more than a cigarette anyway. I walk out of the alley, I come out on Finley, I walk up to 123rd, and, fuck me running, there are zombies everywhere.”

“Holy shit.”

“You’re telling me. It was so disgusting. I don’t know, there were, like, hundreds of them. Wandering around, shuffling like they do, moaning, gnawing on each other, it was awful. This old man is trying to walk around them, and he’s making a good go of it, you know, head held high, ignoring them when they reach out for him, but then he’s not looking, there’s one on the ground, body ripped in half, naked, pulling itself along by its arms, and he trips over it, and he’s having trouble getting up, and then one of them is on his back, biting him on the neck, and then there’s another one, and another, and pretty soon they’re ripping him to shreds. Blood everywhere.”

“Fuck me.” Matthew has his glass to his lips but isn’t drinking, caught up in the story.

“That’s what I said. And I’m thinking, I don’t need this, I have to get back inside, I have to finish that stupid report, but maybe, you know, they’ll be distracted, digging into that little old man. Who put that much blood into one little old man, that’s what I want to know. But no, only about 10 or so of them even seem to notice. The others are still clogging up the place, I mean, for fuck’s sake, where the hell are the cops? Why do I pay taxes?” Delia drinks her drink, eyes fluttering against the alcohol sting.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. But I can’t just stand there all day, bitching, and I figure, I have to do it, the front door’s, what, 50 feet from the corner. Meanwhile, that woman, the one I pushed into the dumpster, somehow she got out, and she’s walking towards me, so it’s now or never, and I just go for it.”

“You didn’t.”

Delia nods her head with drunken emphasis. “I did. And you know what? I almost made it. I got to the door and was going to pull it open and guess who comes out and knocks me flat on my ass. McClaren. Just bursts out and knocks me down right into a group of ‘em. Oh Jesus Christ I was pissed. One of ‘ems got his hands in my hair, another one’s grabbing my ankle, and all I can think is, I don’t need this shit!”

“McClaren?” Matthew has one eyes closed against his buzz, trying to concentrate. Why did jerks like McClaren get so see girls like Delia naked when all he got to do was buy her crappy drinks?

Delia leans forward. “And you know what? The fucker didn’t even see me! Just starts stomping down the street, pushing zombies outta the way, gets into his tiny-penis BMW Z4-series, and drives off, knocking ‘em down left and right. And me the whole time fighting off these zombies, and I’m like, hello? Asshole? How am I supposed to finish your fucking report if my head gets ripped off and bunch of zombies are eating my brains?”

The door opens again, this time with three zombies, arms outstretched, bile drooling from their mouths, heads cocked to the side, going for the full terror effect, moaning loud enough to drown out the Sox on the TV. The waitress pulls a shotgun from behind the bar, gives them both barrels, kicks their bodies out of the doorway, mutters jesus fucking christ to herself, goes back to the bar and grabs a couple of beers for table seven.

“Oh my god.” Matthew knows he’s drunk; he can’t feel his cheeks.

“Thankfully, right then, that engineer, the one who was following me around, he comes out the door, swinging a keyboard like it was some kind of Japanese samurai sword. He’s knocking back zombies all over the place, and they’re all walking away because, you know, brains or no brains, you do NOT want to be on the business end of a pissed off engineer’s keyboard, let me tell you.”

Sobriety starts to drain into Matthews face. “The engineer?”

“Yes! I mean, can you believe it! He knocks them back, then bows in front of me with one arm outstretch like we’re in medieval times or something.

“Nerd.”

“No, it was sweet. He helped me up, and we went inside. In the elevator he told me his name is Mark, and he’s an SE, was working for the development team before they all got eaten during that offsite last month. You remember, I told you about that.”

Matthew slumps in his chair, deflated. “Yeah.” He holds up his empty Mai Tai glass and rattles it aggressively. The waitress swoops by and plucks it out of his hand.

Delia doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah! So we’re meeting later for coffee—he’s going to show me some moves, and I’m going to give his some names, see if he can’t find another group to work with.”

The waitress returns with Matthew’s Mai Tai. He drains it in two gulps. “Well that sounds wonderful.”

“I know. Speaking of,” Delia checks her watch. “Shit, I’m late.” She stands up. “Next time it’s on me.”

“I should be the on one you.” Matthew doesn’t say.

“Bye Mattie.” Delia glides to the door, opens it, pushes back a few zombies, and disappears into the night.

Mattie rolls his eyes. The waitress saunters over. “Where’d your lady friend go?” she says.

Matthew shrugs. “Out into the dark night, leaving me all alone.”

“Another Mai Tai?”

“Yeah, one more I guess.” Matthew sighs the sigh of the lonely.

“Is she going to be alright out there? The zombies are pretty bad tonight.”

Matthew reaches for his wallet, his credit card. “Yeah, well, there’s worse things than zombies.”