Chapter 1- The Cannibal

I'm an internet savvy guy I guess.  I'm not on the web all day like some, idling my time away on meaningless YouTube videos or sharing dozens of memes, but I know what's going on.  I don't watch the news, mainly because of the garbage they choose to report on.  It seems like every time I turn it on its the same thing.  Some overly made up newscaster is talking about how some person is accused of child abuse during a tsunami, but first, she wants to tell us about some cute human interest story, like a woman who knits sweaters for cats or a house made completely of sporks.  Its garbage like that makes me avoid the news altogether.  To be honest, I don't really need it.  These days, twitter and facebook will tell you anything truly important.  If its happening chances are someone will post their opinion about it.  From the dozens of high school classmates I'm "friends" with to past work associates, ex-girlfriends and former roommates, I've got a whole slew of acquaintances who keep me in the loop on current events.  Besides, its not like anything big ever does anyway, not since the towers fell.  There have been events, natural disasters, the war with Iraq, and of course the economic decline, but nothing that kept anyone glued to the TV for more than a few minutes.

That's where the internet comes in for me.  If I see some co-worker posting their frustration about the "situation in Dallas" I can just do a search on twitter for "Dallas" and read all about it, from expert opinions to news articles, the like.  I can sift through all the garbage and decide for myself what I believe about a given topic.  Its almost like a slew of lawyers presenting evidence before me, and I get to judge.  Its the way of the world, really, and the mobile device that never leaves my side feeds it to me in easy to digest portions.

I made my usual breakfast of a grapefruit, peeled like an orange and two slices of toast with apricot preserves.  As I sat down in my cozy little apartment I propped my phone above my plate, so I could read my feeds without worrying about dripping on my device.  One mom was proud of her 1st grader, another Dad posted pictures of his recent daddy daughter date.  Nothing unusual.  I glanced in the mirror and held my last piece of toast in my teeth, freeing my hands to hold my keys, phone, and turn the handle of the door.

The walk to the metro was brisk.  The evening cold hadn't quite left the morning air, even though the sun was high enough in the sky to feel like full daytime.  As I hustled down the steps I pulled the magnetic card from my wallet and slid it through the reader, using my thighs to rotate the bar and let me into the station.

I stepped out onto the platform and smiled.  The damp smell of a subway station always made me smile.  I liked cities.  There was something comforting about being surrounded by all that concrete and metal.  My hair started to move as I felt the wind from the oncoming train.  I leaned into it, turning my face toward the dark tunnel.  As the lights came into view I thought I saw the silhouette of a person standing on the tracks, about 50 feet away.  I heard a few ladies gasp as the train approached the figure rapidly and just as suddenly as it appeared it was gone.  I rubbed my eyes in disbelief.  Was it some worker?  A bum?  The train didn't even attempt to slow down, and as it arrived in the station there was nothing on the front of it to indicate that someone had been hit.  It rushed past me and the ladies stepped aside to allow the other passengers to debark.  One woman looked at me and smiled.  "It was nothing I guess." She said almost apologetically, as though her gasp had offended or frightened me.  "I guess not." I replied with a smile, and followed her onto the train, holding onto the railing above.

The train rushed on its way, full of people paying absolutely no attention to each other.  Some looked at phones, texting or catching up on whatever social media stream they preferred, others simply sat in silence, staring into space as though mentally steeling themselves for another day of drudgery.  I glanced down at the man sitting below me, reading the NewYork Times on his iPad.  He was scanning an article that caught my eye.  "Zombie attacks man in Florida."  I turned my head slightly to read the text but my movement must have caught his eye, because he immediately turned the device off and slipped it into his bag, giving me a sideways glance full of disdain.

I instinctively moved toward the door as we approached my stop, and found myself shoulder to shoulder with the same woman from earlier.  She gave me a polite smile and I nodded, turning my shoulder so she could move ahead of me.  As the door opened the crowd moved out in one mass of bodies, rubbing shoulders and squeezing past the slower or older people.  I held my hand on my back pocket, protecting my wallet from would be pick pocketers.  As I ascended the stairs I squinted at the bright sun streaming into the opening.  The air was warmer already, and the sun felt good on my skin.  I walked down the street toward the office, looking around at the people and shops just beginning to bustle with activity.

I purposefully give myself a little extra time in the mornings.  I hear my co-workers always complaining about how rushed they feel as they prepare for the day or how they were running so late they had to drive to work rather than take the train.  I didn't want that kind of frustration in my life, so I got up early each day and made sure I had a little extra time.  Some days I would step into Mario's Cafe and get a chocolate chip croissant.  Other days I might walk around the block to the park and check e-mail while sitting under the trees.  It was my way of making sure I had the time I needed to start a stress free day.

I saw our HR lady sitting in a sidewalk cafe just a block away from the office.  I smiled and and nodded at her.  I knew her face but not her name, and I'm sure she was the same with me.  She smiled politely and looked back at her phone where she was probably checking e-mail or posting a picture of her bagel on Instagram.

I took the steps up rather than the elevator, two at a time.  I arrived at our floor and pulled on the metal handle of the large double door.  Walking past the secretary I pushed my wallet against the black box to the left of a door marked "employees only" and heard the familiar click of the magnetic lock releasing the door from its position.  I pulled on the handle and felt the heavy door open easily, its weight supported by the gas powered piston above.

Most everyone was in already, checking e-mail or fumbling through the papers on their desk.  The low hum of morning chit chat stayed in the back of my ears like the sound of a beehive.  I walked past Jeff's desk and saw him reading something on a web page.  "Florida man killed by police while trying to eat another man's face."  I wondered if it was the same article I'd seen on the train.  My curiosity was peaked, and I pulled out my phone as I sat down at my desk.  Opening up my twitter app I did a quick search for "bath salts" and saw a long list of posts linking to various news sources.  Selecting one that seemed credible I glanced through the article.  Apparently some man had been found eating the face of some other guy, and wouldn't stop even when police threatened to shoot him.

"Yep, it's zombies!" Jeff says over the din of regular business.  A rumbling groan emanates from the cubes around us, and heard Jeff's annoyed reply "What?  Its all over the web, I'm not making it up!"  An e-mail from Jeff pops up in the bottom corner of my screen, and I open it to see he's sent it to everyone in the office.  There are links to three different news stories about the attack, and I hear him say "read it for yourself."

Jeff is our resident geek and conspiracy theorist.  He's short, thin, and pale, and wears thick black glasses.  He's always wearing tee shirts with some comic book character or computer themed humor, and has this mistaken belief that any day now the women in the office will see how amazing he is and swoon in collective adoration.  He's annoying, speaks his mind, and has almost no sense of tact, but he's rarely wrong,  a fact he rather enjoys flaunting to his co-workers, especially Dwayne, a large African American man who sits directly across from him.

Whatever the complaint before, after Jeff's e-mail the whole office is now buzzing about this attack in florida.  Its stuff like this that makes me not want to even read news these days.  The fact that some dude would eat bath salts is gross in the first place- I hate the way those things smell and someone actually had the stupidity to EAT them? What an idiot. Jeff won't stop talking about it. Now that everyone believes him he keeps coming over to my office with "new updates" like he's personally breaking the story. He keeps saying "What if its really zombies!" as though he's excited about the prospect of our local graveyards emptying out and their residents dining on our brains.  What a load of garbage.  Today's credibility has given him the excuse to talk to all the girls in the office again too.  I heard him telling Tracy in accounting how the government is just covering up the story with an excuse about bath salts so they don't induce widespread panic. He probably wishes Zombies were real so she would think her options might become limited enough to consider going out with him. What a loser.

I tried to concentrate on my work but found my mind continually returning to the article I'd read.  Why the heck would that guy actually EAT someone's face off? Jeff said the police shot him and he didn't even stop eating that dude's face until they shot him in the head. He says its proof the guys was a zombie, not just some druggie.  I do my best to concentrate on my work but find it almost impossible.  Bath salts.  So weird.