tried to get a hold of his family. Fortunately, his cell phone could still send and receive. An unfamiliar female voice picked up the phone.
"Margarite! Margarite? Who is this?"
"Uh...hold on. I think its for you."
"Harold? Harold?! You're alive?! Where the fuck are you?"
"I'm still at work, barricaded in a room. Where are you?"
"Driving down highway 42. I can swing around and pick you up! Good God it's good to know you're alive!"
"I know the feeling hon. Whose with you? Did Janine make it out?"
"Oh, Cadillac answered the phone. Long story. Janine..."
Harold's breathing stopped for a moment. His wife did not need to finish her sentence.
"Understood. I wouldn't advise you coming into the city hon. Pick a destination in the suburbs and I'll make my way to you. I...I don't want to lose you too.."
Margarite's voice wavered, "It's not safe in the suburbs Harry. We were going to drive to the nearest police station."
"Honey! Don't do that! Stay away from hospitals too! Take a moment and think about it. It's Saturday and most people would have fled to those areas too. I guess we're lucky I'm such a yutz and work extra hours sometimes...Anyway. Think about where no one may be, try to gather some supplies, but don't risk your lives. Call me back in an hour or so and I'll meet you there."
"That sounds good Harold, but...wait...do you think anyone will be at the lighthouse?"
"That's a good 3 hour drive from here....I'll meet you there."
Simultaneously they exchanged "I love you's" and hung up. Harold wiped, pulled up his pants, and examined himself in front of the mirror in the mens' room. He and his wife would make it through this. He just had to climb down 15 more stories of office building, run to his car, and drive 3 hours. Nervously, he nodded, removed the make shift barricade of trashcans and unbolted the door. A quick look verified no zombies were around and he ran low and quiet to the stairs.
"Margarite! Margarite? Who is this?"
"Uh...hold on. I think its for you."
"Harold? Harold?! You're alive?! Where the fuck are you?"
"I'm still at work, barricaded in a room. Where are you?"
"Driving down highway 42. I can swing around and pick you up! Good God it's good to know you're alive!"
"I know the feeling hon. Whose with you? Did Janine make it out?"
"Oh, Cadillac answered the phone. Long story. Janine..."
Harold's breathing stopped for a moment. His wife did not need to finish her sentence.
"Understood. I wouldn't advise you coming into the city hon. Pick a destination in the suburbs and I'll make my way to you. I...I don't want to lose you too.."
Margarite's voice wavered, "It's not safe in the suburbs Harry. We were going to drive to the nearest police station."
"Honey! Don't do that! Stay away from hospitals too! Take a moment and think about it. It's Saturday and most people would have fled to those areas too. I guess we're lucky I'm such a yutz and work extra hours sometimes...Anyway. Think about where no one may be, try to gather some supplies, but don't risk your lives. Call me back in an hour or so and I'll meet you there."
"That sounds good Harold, but...wait...do you think anyone will be at the lighthouse?"
"That's a good 3 hour drive from here....I'll meet you there."
Simultaneously they exchanged "I love you's" and hung up. Harold wiped, pulled up his pants, and examined himself in front of the mirror in the mens' room. He and his wife would make it through this. He just had to climb down 15 more stories of office building, run to his car, and drive 3 hours. Nervously, he nodded, removed the make shift barricade of trashcans and unbolted the door. A quick look verified no zombies were around and he ran low and quiet to the stairs.
