Just Another Day at the Office: A Walking Dead Short Read Online Free PDF

ammunition, weapons, and canned goods. Mothers are tending to children, blankets, coats, and medicine.
    Upon closer scrutiny a keen observer would see a thinly veiled layer of anxiety in every activity. But what is uncertain is which danger poses the greatest threat: the undead or the encroaching winter.
    “I haven’t figured out what to say yet,” Lilly mutters finally, sipping her lukewarm coffee. Her hands haven’t stopped shaking. Eighteen hours have passed since the attack, but Lilly still stews with shame, avoiding contact with Josh, keeping to herself, convinced that he hates her for running and leaving him to die. Josh has tried to talk to her a few times but she couldn’t handle it, telling him she was sick.
    “What is there to say?” Megan fishes in her denim jacket for her little one-hit pipe. She tamps a tiny bud of weed into the end and sparks it with a Bic, taking a healthy toke. An olive-skinned young woman in her late twenties with loose henna-colored curls falling around her narrow, cunning face, she blows the green smoke out with a cough. “I mean look at this dude, he’s huge.”
    “What the hell does that mean?”
    Megan grins. “Dude looks like he can take care of himself, is all I’m saying.”
    “That has nothing to do with it.”
    “Are you sleeping with him?”
    “What?” Lilly looks at her friend. “Are you serious?”
    “It’s a simple question.”
    Lilly shakes her head, lets out a sigh. “I’m not even going to dignify that with—”
    “You’re not…are you? Good-Little-Doobie-Lilly. Good to the last drop.”
    “Would you stop?”
    “Why, though?” Megan’s grin turns to a smirk. “Why have you not climbed on top of that? What are you waiting for? That body…those guns he’s got—”
    “Stop it!” Lilly’s anger flares, a sharp splitting pain behind the bridge of her nose. Her emotions close to the surface, her trembling returning, she surprises even her self with the volume of her voice. “I’m not like you…okay. I’m not a social butterfly. Jesus, Meg. I’ve lost track. Which one of these guys are you with now?”
    Megan stares at her for a second, coughs, then loads up another one-hit. “You know what?” Megan offers the pipe. “Why don’t you take it down a little bit? Chill?”
    “No, thanks.”
    “It’s good for what ails ya. It’ll kill that bug you got up your ass.”
    Lilly rubs her eyes, shakes her head. “You are a piece of work, Meg.”
    Megan gulps another hit, blows it out. “I’d rather be a piece of work than a piece of shit.”
    Lilly says nothing, just keeps shaking her head. The sad truth is, Lilly sometimes wonders if Megan Lafferty is not exactly that—a piece of shit. The two girls have known each other since senior year at Sprayberry High School back in Marietta. They were inseparable back then, sharing everything from homework to drugs to boyfriends. But then Lilly got designs on a career, and spent two years of purgatory at Massey College of Business in Atlanta, and then on to Georgia Tech for an MBA she would never get. She wanted to be a fashionista, maybe run a clothing design business, but she got as far as the reception area of her first interview—a highly coveted internship with Mychael Knight Fashions—before chickening out. Her old companion, fear, put the kibosh on all her plans.
    Fear made her flee that lavish lobby and give up and go home to Marietta and resume her slacker lifestyle with Megan, getting high, sitting on couches, and watching reruns of Project Runway.
    Something had changed between the two women in recent years, however, something fundamentally chemical—Lilly felt it as strong as a language barrier. Megan had no ambition, no direction, no focus, and was okay with that. But Lilly still harbored dreams—stillborn dreams, perhaps, but dreams nonetheless. She secretly longed to go to New York or start a Web site or go back to that receptionist at Mychael Knight and say, “Oops, sorry, just