Burning Bridges (Shattered Highways Book 2) by Tara N. Hathcock

Author:Tara N. Hathcock [Hathcock, Tara N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Quiet+Kin Publishing
Published: 2021-07-01T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

Dr. Cans

Dr. Cans made her way towards the file room, a pizza in one hand and a six-pack of soda in the other. She nodded at one of the lab techs as he passed her in the hall and he grinned. She wasn’t the first person to use food to bribe her way past the records nerds.

The hall became darker the further she walked. She glanced up, noticing several lights had gone out, probably years ago and never replaced. Whether through disinterest, a lagging maintenance budget, or the records nerds setting their own ambiance, she didn’t know. But it definitely set a mood. The floor had started slanting slightly downhill and, as she walked on, it was becoming colder and colder. She felt like she was descending into the bowels of hell. No, that wasn’t quite right, she decided. Hell would be hotter.

The door to the file room had once been a solid, industrial-looking thing but had transformed over the years into an extension of the department’s personality, much like the hall leading to it. It was scuffed and stained, pockmarked from years of moving heavy carts and shelves in and out. The placard bearing the official title of Records and Receivables had been vandalized and a makeshift sign had been hung over it - Beware, All Ye Who Enter Here.

Dr. Cans wasn’t sure of the pirate motif when it felt more like a tomb than a renegade ship, but who was she to judge? She straightened her skirt, again painfully short and tight, and pushed inside.

“Hello, boys,” she said brightly. Two very pale, very stunned records clerks looked up, abruptly breaking off a rather heated debate about the probability of a very real zombie apocalypse in the near future. She smiled. “The zombie apocalypse is coming,” she said, picking up their topic. “Just look at some of our own experiments.”

The smaller of the two clerks grinned triumphantly. “See,” he told his companion. “I’m not the only one who thinks we’ll be the cause of it.”

The red-headed clerk to his left, the one who had obviously been arguing against the rise of the zombies, rolled his eyes. “One doctor’s opinion proves nothing.” He turned back to her, eyeing the pizza and drinks she carried. “And just what brings you down to the dungeon at this extremely late time of night, Dr. Cans?”

“Working late,” Dr. Cans said, setting her supplies on the counter in front of them, “and I hate to eat alone.”

“You hate to eat alone,” stoolie number two said, “or you want something from us and think pizza is a good enough bribe to get it?”

Clearly, he was suffering from some resentment over her assessment of the zombie situation. “Both,” she answered lightly. She might as well be honest about it.

She sighed dramatically, kicked her shoes off, and pulled herself up to sit on the counter in front of them, her skirt rising just another inch. They looked at each other and then back at her. There was a reason she had waited until the overnight shift to come down here.

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