It smells like a hospital in here.
-
I walked into work normally that morning; the movie theater that I work at was still running off of the lights of the hotel, which had it’s lobby directly across from ours in a clean glass enclosing. I never really understood why our buildings were connected, but that’s just city life, things stacked on top of each other with little regard for placement. The lobby never really shut down, so I could find my way through the box-office to the work elevator relatively easy.
It was supposed to be a lazy Monday. No one comes to see the movies on a Monday, not even in New York City. We’re lucky to get seventy customers in the span of an eight hour shift. It was a good down time to catch some sleep in a theater or sit in a movie that you would never, under any circumstances admit to watching. But today, I went through the hotel lobby first, saying a polite “Hello,” to Chris, the hotel bus-hop that was usually stationed there at 9 in the morning.
He couldn’t return the sentiment. He was on the phone with someone, yelling about something. From what I could hear, “They get a discount, there are no radios in their rooms.” I had heard Chris mumbling earlier that week that the Embassy Suites had been ill-equipped for the church group, but it just seemed like people were ignoring him.
I walked past the elevator to the escalator, which took me up to a U-shaped hallway. Double glass doors connected the outside hallway to a series of restaurants that sat above the box office. You could also get to the hotel through these doors on the second floor, or the escalators on the other side of the box office. There was a large landing where the entrances to the restaurants were, on the other side, a down escalator that led to an “A” subway stop.
I was going the long way in, up another escalator. I was greeted by the eerie glow of the shoe-store that used to house five of our screens before the virtual hysterectomy of the theater three years ago. The punch in machine was still located on this small third floor. To the left of the escalator was an elevator stop, and at the end of the hallway, there were two sets of doors set at a forty-five degree angle. The doors directly ahead were to the shoe-store, and the doors to the left went to yet another escalator, which led up to the first theater floor. The punch-in machine was to the left of these doors.
I slid my card in, greeted by a long beep which only meant my card hadn’t been read. I wasn’t going to get paid for today unless there was a manager present. I grabbed my sweater, made sure my pants were tucked, fiddled with my name-tag, and stepped onto the escalator, which led to the T-2 level. Because the shoe store used to be theaters, and this used stadium seating, the escalator was unusually long compared to most others. It seemed to take a full minute to ride all the way up.
I greeted the door-man/ticket-taker. He was a short old Hispanic man named Vicente, a stereotypical name if there ever was one. His grey hair was cropped short and outside of work, he usually dressed like a pimp. It was so hard to understand what he was saying half the time, but he would talk your ear off and grab your arm if you gave him the chance, just so you wouldn’t walk away.
To the right were movie posters as I walked down the hall towards the concession stand. This floor housed five screens, which were an offshoot of the concession area. Immediately to the left was another escalator that led to the T-3 area, which housed the final six screens.
“Hey, Amy, I need you to clock me in. The card wasn’t reading right or something.”
“Sorry about that, Michael.”
I shrugged and headed to the escalator, climbing to the final floor. I chose my theater, my bed, which was playing “The Benchwarmers,” and headed inside. I checked my watch. It was 9:07 when I walked inside. 9:07, and I was supposed to be there until 6.
It was 10 when I noticed the building shaking. It was normal; across the street was a construction site and the heavy equipment they use usually moved the building a little, especially during the early hours when they knew people were less likely to complain. I was trying to get past David Spade’s haircut, when the building began to shake a little more violently. I grabbed my flashlight and led myself to the door, stepping out.
At the end of the hall was a large, window made of reinforced glass. I could see the construction site across the roadway, but the pieces of equipment were stationary. I scanned the horizon. The cars on the street were empty. The lights in the road were blinking yellow. And on the horizon, I saw the unmistakable plume of smoke that could only mean a large fire in the area.
I ran down to the escalator, but someone had taken all of the benches, movie displays, and ladders from around the floor and barricaded the area. I tried climbing part of the barricade, but it rose to the ceiling. I moved slowly to the glass railing, which over-looked the escalator. The automatic stairs were moving twice as fast, both going downwards, and both having small fires set at the bottom.
I turned around, letting out a small scream. Jordan was standing in front of me, another one of the usual morning crew. He was breathing heavily.
“Michael, Jesus, what’s going on here?”
“I don’t know. I was in ‘Benchwarmers’ and I came out here to find the escalator barricaded… It’s also on fire. The building was shaking, man. Do you have any idea why?”
“The construction site –“
“Was empty, Jordan.”
He sighed, and looked around.
“I have no idea, man. I’m going to try and get the elevator to work.”
I had a desperate need to find someone who knew what they were doing, so I shook his hand. “I’m going to check the theaters and see if I can find anyone else who can help take down this barricade.”
Jordan frantically hit the elevator button, and I cursed him under my breath. If that was the only way he was going to try and get it to work, I would be better off on my own.
As I rounded the corner to the alcoves which housed the entrances to the theaters, the lights cut. I could hear Jordan cursing behind me, moving, trying to catch up. I ran to the end of the hall, ducking into the last theater on the right, quietly closing the door behind me.
The carpeted ground gently sloped, moving to the seating area. It was completely dark, my light cutting a thin beam across the ground. The company I worked for didn’t really think it was a good idea to provide sturdy uniforms or flashlights, so I was sailing at half-mast.
I grabbed the hand-railing, painted a lazy grey, and began to follow it around the corner and up the stairs. I could see someone standing near the top row, looking at the screen.
“Sir, I’m sorry, but,” as I came closer, I noticed something wasn’t quite right, “We’re going to have to leave the building. The power seems to have been shut off and…” The man hadn’t turned since I began speaking. A cold sweat broke out over my back. I turned the beam of light back down the stairs, to the screen. There was another person (shape?) on the ground floor, grabbing the railing and shuffling up the stairs.
“Sir, can you understand me? We need to leave. Now.”
The shape coming up the stairs didn’t falter, didn’t break step. I turned back to address the other man, but he was on me. My light came up his leg, the tattered ruins of his pants. His shirt was untucked, torn in a pattern that closely resembled scratches. His face was pale, and he was grinning. It could have been me, or the light, but I couldn’t see any pupils in his eyes. He reached out.
I swung my light at his face, the piece solidly connecting against his jaw. He stumbled backwards, and I turned back to the stairs. The other person was almost on me when my light cut out. I heard a disembodied groan; whatever it was, it couldn’t see me. I shook the light, before it dropped from my hand.
As it hit the ground, it came back on. The creature had managed to fall on the stairs and was trying to climb back to its feet. I turned, thinking maybe the fire exit upstairs that led to the projection area would give me shelter, but there was another thing by the door. The one that I had hit with my light was climbing to its feet.
Steeling my nerve, I gripped the slanting wall, put a foot on the slanted railing, and vaulted over the wall, a twenty foot drop to the slope and door I had come through. I hit the ground, dropping my light again, knocking the wind out of me and blowing the bulb. I rolled down the slope to the door, opening it as fast as I could and slamming it as fast as the auto-slower would allow. The creatures were at the door. I grabbed a trashcan and threw it against the door, bracing it under the handle. They tried pushing the door; it didn’t budge.
I walked back into the hallways, sliding against the wall, leaving a small trail of sweat along the green paint.
I had always thought my worst nightmare might be something like a dinosaur in an amusement park, but this was topping it.
“Jordan?”
There was no answer. Either he had gotten the elevator to work, or he had wandered off on his own. In any case, he wouldn’t be around to help much.
Three cabinets lined the hall, each housing a broom and a dust-pan for our theater clean-ups. I grabbed one of the brooms and walked back to the elevator; Jordan had tried prying the doors open, it seemed like, but hadn’t been able to get inside. His pry-bar, which looked like part of the railing, was on the ground, small and bent.
I cautiously made my way back up the hallway, stopping at the employee locker room. I punched in the three digit code, opening the door slowly. There was an emergency flash-light kept on top of the lockers at all time; I grabbed it, flicked it on, and was met by a new hire. She was small, mousy, but not ugly. She had glasses, and a terrified grin. It looked like she was ready to accept death but found me instead.
“Michael, God, I never thought I’d be happy to see you.”
“I’m going to ignore that for now. Have you seen Jordan anywhere?”
“No, I was… Hiding in here. You’re lucky I didn’t clock you in the head with these bolt cutters I found.” She was holding the broken pair; they were comically large in her small hands. Broken, but heavy. Probably enough to kill me if she had hit me hard enough.
“Here, take the broom. I’ll take the cutters. Let’s try and find a way out of here, alright?”
I checked my watch. 10:30.
“Do you know where we’re going?” She asked me after following me to the end of the hall.
“Yeah. This is where we normally dump our garbage, right? There’s a freight elevator inside that hooks up with the hotel, and stairs, too. We should be able to get downstairs. I want to see if there’s anyone left on T-2 before we head out…”
I moved to open the door to the trash hall, when I heard a frantic pounding coming from inside the theater I had barricaded. Sarah and I ran back, skidding around the corner. It figures, when I brought the light up, that it would be Jordan inside. He was pounding against the glass, a look of sheer terror covering his pockmarked face. Sarah and I grabbed the trashcan, and he ran out, one of the ghouls arms behind him. Sarah shoved the broom inside, pushing the thing back, while Jordan and I moved the can again.
“Jordan, what the hell were you doing in there!”
“I was looking for you! You took off, man.”
“How did you get in there with the door barricaded?”
“Theaters 10 and 11 hook up above the ceiling. I went into 10 and came out into 11. I couldn’t tell where I was, and the next thing I know, these things are on me. They’re horrible.”
“No ****.”
“But I did find a radio in the projection booth. Duane was nowhere, though. I have no idea where –“
There was another pounding at the door behind Jordan. Duane was pressed against the glass, frantically pressing the door-handle down. Jordan and I moved the can while Sarah readied her broom. Duane dropped out of the theater, onto the ground, gasping.
“You stole my radio, you son of a bitch!”
Sarah laughed.
“Duane, man. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Yeah, well. Just give me my radio back, man.”
Jordan leaned down, dropping the radio so it slipped through Duane’s hands. It hit the ground and turned on in the middle of some news broadcast.
“…the outbreak surfacing from an underground facility in Harlem. The Government is urging people to flee the city, on foot if possible. Reports of a large explosion in Harlem are now confirmed, although the source of the explosion cannot be confirmed, it is rumored to be an atomic device. Once again, the government is urging all people to orderly leave the city –“
The radio cut out. We all stood, staring at it as the creatures thudded against the door.
“What does that even mean,” Jordan gasped.
“It means that these things are because some people ****ed up in Harlem and tried to nuke them to death, but it didn’t work. So now we have to deal with these things.”
“It also means, not to frighten anyone,” I said, frowning, “That we’re going to have to deal with fallout very, very soon. Within three hours, I would think… If it’s not windy out.”
Jordan slumped against the wall. “I guess that rules out staying in here.”
“Yeah, we have to get out of here.”
“What about the escalators?” Duane piped up.
“No go. Someone barricaded them.”
“I know, but someone could go over the railing and land on the set downstairs.”
“Duane, that’s,” I would have said ‘suicide,’ but Duane was already running. He was over the railing before anyone could move. I heard the crunch of the thin metal barrier that sat between the escalator and the wall give way, dropping Duane 50 feet through cables and supports into the shoe store.
“We have to get out of here,” I said, turning back to Jordan and Sarah.
-
I walked into work normally that morning; the movie theater that I work at was still running off of the lights of the hotel, which had it’s lobby directly across from ours in a clean glass enclosing. I never really understood why our buildings were connected, but that’s just city life, things stacked on top of each other with little regard for placement. The lobby never really shut down, so I could find my way through the box-office to the work elevator relatively easy.
It was supposed to be a lazy Monday. No one comes to see the movies on a Monday, not even in New York City. We’re lucky to get seventy customers in the span of an eight hour shift. It was a good down time to catch some sleep in a theater or sit in a movie that you would never, under any circumstances admit to watching. But today, I went through the hotel lobby first, saying a polite “Hello,” to Chris, the hotel bus-hop that was usually stationed there at 9 in the morning.
He couldn’t return the sentiment. He was on the phone with someone, yelling about something. From what I could hear, “They get a discount, there are no radios in their rooms.” I had heard Chris mumbling earlier that week that the Embassy Suites had been ill-equipped for the church group, but it just seemed like people were ignoring him.
I walked past the elevator to the escalator, which took me up to a U-shaped hallway. Double glass doors connected the outside hallway to a series of restaurants that sat above the box office. You could also get to the hotel through these doors on the second floor, or the escalators on the other side of the box office. There was a large landing where the entrances to the restaurants were, on the other side, a down escalator that led to an “A” subway stop.
I was going the long way in, up another escalator. I was greeted by the eerie glow of the shoe-store that used to house five of our screens before the virtual hysterectomy of the theater three years ago. The punch in machine was still located on this small third floor. To the left of the escalator was an elevator stop, and at the end of the hallway, there were two sets of doors set at a forty-five degree angle. The doors directly ahead were to the shoe-store, and the doors to the left went to yet another escalator, which led up to the first theater floor. The punch-in machine was to the left of these doors.
I slid my card in, greeted by a long beep which only meant my card hadn’t been read. I wasn’t going to get paid for today unless there was a manager present. I grabbed my sweater, made sure my pants were tucked, fiddled with my name-tag, and stepped onto the escalator, which led to the T-2 level. Because the shoe store used to be theaters, and this used stadium seating, the escalator was unusually long compared to most others. It seemed to take a full minute to ride all the way up.
I greeted the door-man/ticket-taker. He was a short old Hispanic man named Vicente, a stereotypical name if there ever was one. His grey hair was cropped short and outside of work, he usually dressed like a pimp. It was so hard to understand what he was saying half the time, but he would talk your ear off and grab your arm if you gave him the chance, just so you wouldn’t walk away.
To the right were movie posters as I walked down the hall towards the concession stand. This floor housed five screens, which were an offshoot of the concession area. Immediately to the left was another escalator that led to the T-3 area, which housed the final six screens.
“Hey, Amy, I need you to clock me in. The card wasn’t reading right or something.”
“Sorry about that, Michael.”
I shrugged and headed to the escalator, climbing to the final floor. I chose my theater, my bed, which was playing “The Benchwarmers,” and headed inside. I checked my watch. It was 9:07 when I walked inside. 9:07, and I was supposed to be there until 6.
It was 10 when I noticed the building shaking. It was normal; across the street was a construction site and the heavy equipment they use usually moved the building a little, especially during the early hours when they knew people were less likely to complain. I was trying to get past David Spade’s haircut, when the building began to shake a little more violently. I grabbed my flashlight and led myself to the door, stepping out.
At the end of the hall was a large, window made of reinforced glass. I could see the construction site across the roadway, but the pieces of equipment were stationary. I scanned the horizon. The cars on the street were empty. The lights in the road were blinking yellow. And on the horizon, I saw the unmistakable plume of smoke that could only mean a large fire in the area.
I ran down to the escalator, but someone had taken all of the benches, movie displays, and ladders from around the floor and barricaded the area. I tried climbing part of the barricade, but it rose to the ceiling. I moved slowly to the glass railing, which over-looked the escalator. The automatic stairs were moving twice as fast, both going downwards, and both having small fires set at the bottom.
I turned around, letting out a small scream. Jordan was standing in front of me, another one of the usual morning crew. He was breathing heavily.
“Michael, Jesus, what’s going on here?”
“I don’t know. I was in ‘Benchwarmers’ and I came out here to find the escalator barricaded… It’s also on fire. The building was shaking, man. Do you have any idea why?”
“The construction site –“
“Was empty, Jordan.”
He sighed, and looked around.
“I have no idea, man. I’m going to try and get the elevator to work.”
I had a desperate need to find someone who knew what they were doing, so I shook his hand. “I’m going to check the theaters and see if I can find anyone else who can help take down this barricade.”
Jordan frantically hit the elevator button, and I cursed him under my breath. If that was the only way he was going to try and get it to work, I would be better off on my own.
As I rounded the corner to the alcoves which housed the entrances to the theaters, the lights cut. I could hear Jordan cursing behind me, moving, trying to catch up. I ran to the end of the hall, ducking into the last theater on the right, quietly closing the door behind me.
The carpeted ground gently sloped, moving to the seating area. It was completely dark, my light cutting a thin beam across the ground. The company I worked for didn’t really think it was a good idea to provide sturdy uniforms or flashlights, so I was sailing at half-mast.
I grabbed the hand-railing, painted a lazy grey, and began to follow it around the corner and up the stairs. I could see someone standing near the top row, looking at the screen.
“Sir, I’m sorry, but,” as I came closer, I noticed something wasn’t quite right, “We’re going to have to leave the building. The power seems to have been shut off and…” The man hadn’t turned since I began speaking. A cold sweat broke out over my back. I turned the beam of light back down the stairs, to the screen. There was another person (shape?) on the ground floor, grabbing the railing and shuffling up the stairs.
“Sir, can you understand me? We need to leave. Now.”
The shape coming up the stairs didn’t falter, didn’t break step. I turned back to address the other man, but he was on me. My light came up his leg, the tattered ruins of his pants. His shirt was untucked, torn in a pattern that closely resembled scratches. His face was pale, and he was grinning. It could have been me, or the light, but I couldn’t see any pupils in his eyes. He reached out.
I swung my light at his face, the piece solidly connecting against his jaw. He stumbled backwards, and I turned back to the stairs. The other person was almost on me when my light cut out. I heard a disembodied groan; whatever it was, it couldn’t see me. I shook the light, before it dropped from my hand.
As it hit the ground, it came back on. The creature had managed to fall on the stairs and was trying to climb back to its feet. I turned, thinking maybe the fire exit upstairs that led to the projection area would give me shelter, but there was another thing by the door. The one that I had hit with my light was climbing to its feet.
Steeling my nerve, I gripped the slanting wall, put a foot on the slanted railing, and vaulted over the wall, a twenty foot drop to the slope and door I had come through. I hit the ground, dropping my light again, knocking the wind out of me and blowing the bulb. I rolled down the slope to the door, opening it as fast as I could and slamming it as fast as the auto-slower would allow. The creatures were at the door. I grabbed a trashcan and threw it against the door, bracing it under the handle. They tried pushing the door; it didn’t budge.
I walked back into the hallways, sliding against the wall, leaving a small trail of sweat along the green paint.
I had always thought my worst nightmare might be something like a dinosaur in an amusement park, but this was topping it.
“Jordan?”
There was no answer. Either he had gotten the elevator to work, or he had wandered off on his own. In any case, he wouldn’t be around to help much.
Three cabinets lined the hall, each housing a broom and a dust-pan for our theater clean-ups. I grabbed one of the brooms and walked back to the elevator; Jordan had tried prying the doors open, it seemed like, but hadn’t been able to get inside. His pry-bar, which looked like part of the railing, was on the ground, small and bent.
I cautiously made my way back up the hallway, stopping at the employee locker room. I punched in the three digit code, opening the door slowly. There was an emergency flash-light kept on top of the lockers at all time; I grabbed it, flicked it on, and was met by a new hire. She was small, mousy, but not ugly. She had glasses, and a terrified grin. It looked like she was ready to accept death but found me instead.
“Michael, God, I never thought I’d be happy to see you.”
“I’m going to ignore that for now. Have you seen Jordan anywhere?”
“No, I was… Hiding in here. You’re lucky I didn’t clock you in the head with these bolt cutters I found.” She was holding the broken pair; they were comically large in her small hands. Broken, but heavy. Probably enough to kill me if she had hit me hard enough.
“Here, take the broom. I’ll take the cutters. Let’s try and find a way out of here, alright?”
I checked my watch. 10:30.
“Do you know where we’re going?” She asked me after following me to the end of the hall.
“Yeah. This is where we normally dump our garbage, right? There’s a freight elevator inside that hooks up with the hotel, and stairs, too. We should be able to get downstairs. I want to see if there’s anyone left on T-2 before we head out…”
I moved to open the door to the trash hall, when I heard a frantic pounding coming from inside the theater I had barricaded. Sarah and I ran back, skidding around the corner. It figures, when I brought the light up, that it would be Jordan inside. He was pounding against the glass, a look of sheer terror covering his pockmarked face. Sarah and I grabbed the trashcan, and he ran out, one of the ghouls arms behind him. Sarah shoved the broom inside, pushing the thing back, while Jordan and I moved the can again.
“Jordan, what the hell were you doing in there!”
“I was looking for you! You took off, man.”
“How did you get in there with the door barricaded?”
“Theaters 10 and 11 hook up above the ceiling. I went into 10 and came out into 11. I couldn’t tell where I was, and the next thing I know, these things are on me. They’re horrible.”
“No ****.”
“But I did find a radio in the projection booth. Duane was nowhere, though. I have no idea where –“
There was another pounding at the door behind Jordan. Duane was pressed against the glass, frantically pressing the door-handle down. Jordan and I moved the can while Sarah readied her broom. Duane dropped out of the theater, onto the ground, gasping.
“You stole my radio, you son of a bitch!”
Sarah laughed.
“Duane, man. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Yeah, well. Just give me my radio back, man.”
Jordan leaned down, dropping the radio so it slipped through Duane’s hands. It hit the ground and turned on in the middle of some news broadcast.
“…the outbreak surfacing from an underground facility in Harlem. The Government is urging people to flee the city, on foot if possible. Reports of a large explosion in Harlem are now confirmed, although the source of the explosion cannot be confirmed, it is rumored to be an atomic device. Once again, the government is urging all people to orderly leave the city –“
The radio cut out. We all stood, staring at it as the creatures thudded against the door.
“What does that even mean,” Jordan gasped.
“It means that these things are because some people ****ed up in Harlem and tried to nuke them to death, but it didn’t work. So now we have to deal with these things.”
“It also means, not to frighten anyone,” I said, frowning, “That we’re going to have to deal with fallout very, very soon. Within three hours, I would think… If it’s not windy out.”
Jordan slumped against the wall. “I guess that rules out staying in here.”
“Yeah, we have to get out of here.”
“What about the escalators?” Duane piped up.
“No go. Someone barricaded them.”
“I know, but someone could go over the railing and land on the set downstairs.”
“Duane, that’s,” I would have said ‘suicide,’ but Duane was already running. He was over the railing before anyone could move. I heard the crunch of the thin metal barrier that sat between the escalator and the wall give way, dropping Duane 50 feet through cables and supports into the shoe store.
“We have to get out of here,” I said, turning back to Jordan and Sarah.
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