*Uncollected Souls

Intro:This is my attempt at a zombie story. My idea is that zombies are what happens when the grim reapers get backed up with work. If the souls isn't collected at death, then it stays with the decaying body.

Lindsey nodded hello to the new security guard as she headed to her office.

"Doctor," he said getting to his feet and holding out his hand. "Take this."

He dropped a folding knife into her up turned palm.

"What is this for?"

"Sometimes it takes awhile to collect souls."

Collect souls?

"Um—thanks." She glanced down at his name tag Richard Grimm. "Mr. Grimm." She stuffed the knife into her pocket and pushed her way through the swinging doors towards her office.

"Let me get that," Bryce, her assistant said. He moved past her and pushed open the door to the office. The cold brought goose bumps through her coat. Bryce flipped the switch and the silence was broken by the sound of florescent bulbs humming into life. The metal surfaces seemed even more sterile than usual as she looked at the bag on the table. Small hatches lined one wall where dozens of other bodies were kept until the police could find time to pick them up.

"Head or feet?" Bryce asked picking up the clipboard and flipping through the papers. "Heart attack, poor fellow. Only fifty-five."

"Why are we doing an autopsy?"

"Guy was rich and had a large life insurance payout. The cops just want to make sure there was no funny business." He tossed the clipboard side and grabbed the zipper.

"Hold on, just a second." She walked over to the sink and pumped some soap into her hands.

That security guard's got me all jumpy.

"Lins?" Bryce said and she heard him fiddling with the body bag.

"I'll be there in a moment to help. Don't try and do it on your own."

The warm water did little to ease the cold still clinging to her. She grabbed a clean towel and dried off. The faucet dripped and she made a mental note to tell maintenance so they could repair it. She turned and tossed it into the basket with the other ones. Her gaze fixated on the table. Bryce lay on top of the body bag, his hands folded on his chest. Blood flowed from his throat to drip on the ground. A gentleman stood next to the table, his grey skin sagging and blood coating his hands.

What happened to Bryce?

"Wha?" the man patted Bryce's hands and pressed at his neck as if trying to push the blood back in. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He looked up at her, his eyes wide. "It was an accident. I thought he was trying to kill me, you have to believe me."

She pulled the knife out of her pocket, flicking the blade open. Against the man in front of her it seemed very little. The man raised his hands and sobbed.

"Put your hands down. Keep them away from your face, sir," She said. Her voice cracked.

He rubbed his face and the sobbing petered off. He looked up at her. Pink irises examined her.

"And if I don't want to keep my hands away from my face, what then?" A gray purple tongue snaked out of his mouth and licked the blood from his fingers. With each taste, his irises darkened until she stared at blood red eyes. He touched Bryce's throat again, his fingers coming away with more blood.

"Don't touch him."

"But I'm hungry."The man turned his attention back on Bryce. She edged around the room trying not to listen or see what the man was doing. He looked up as she pushed open the door. She slipped through the door before slamming it shut.

No lock. There's no lock on the door. There's no lock!

"Help!"

The door hit her back and she stumbled forward a step before throwing her weight against it. The pounding continued. She braced her feet against the ground as best she could as the door slammed into her back.

"Let me out." His voice wasn't loud or even threatening. It was even and reminded her of her father's voice. "Lindsey, that's your name, right? Let me out of here."

The metal door by her head buckled and she jerked to the side. Another pound pushed her across the tile floor almost a foot. She scrambled back leaning against the door. A gray hand clawed at her side between the doors. She pushed her weight against it but the hand remained squeezed between the doors.

"Help! Please! Someone, help me!"

A sob tore at her as she continually threw her weight against the door. With the knife gripped in both hands, she slashed at it. The blade cut into the flesh and came away bloody. No blood dripped from the wound but oozed, congealed and thick.

What is going on?

"Help!"

"Enough of this," the man said. The door smashed into her and she skidded across the floor to collide with the wall across the way. She kept the knife in her hand and pushed herself up. The man scuttled towards her, his knees bent and blood crusted fingers resting on the ground. She swiped out with the knife trying to crawl backwards down the hall.

A gunshot echoed down the hall, then a second, and a third. The man fell back. Lindsey risked a glance over her shoulder. The security guard walked down the hall, his boots clicking on floor.

"Are you alright?" He reached down and pulled her to her feet. "I'll take care of it from here."

She stumbled away from him, knife still in her hand.

"I'll just collect his soul and Bryce's and be on my way."

Collect their souls?

The security guard paused by the man a yellow light illuminating his face for a moment. Then he turned on his heel and walked through the door.

Through. He didn't even open it. Who is he?

When she ran back into the office the man crouched by Bryce next to a freezer. One of the doors lay open a body half falling out. The security guard stood up and ushered her out of the office and down the hall.

"Who are you?"

He just smiled and walked back to his desk.