Z Towers: An Apocalyptic Plague (Made in the U.S.A.) Read online

  She’s so gorgeous; slightly taller than me with dark hair and bright green eyes. I get so mesmerized by her sheer beauty that I can barely conjugate a sentence. Still, I’m hoping that maybe today will be the day that we move on from casual flirting to me actually asking her out on a date.

  *

  Running into Zoe

  “Hello, stranger,” I say awkwardly, “fancy meeting you here.”

  “Yes, fancy meeting you here, in this line where I happen to run into you every day,” she says, smiling slightly. “Is this our fourth morning in a row?”

  “Well, five if you count Friday of last week,” I say blushingly.

  “It seems like I have my very own stalker.”

  “Me, a stalker?” I say, blowing on my latte to seem casual. “Uh, I think we’re just on the same schedule.”

  “A likely story!”

  “So, how’s work?” I ask, as we get in the elevator.

  “You know, same old, same old.”

  “What is it you do, up on the seventy-fifth?”

  “Just stuff,” she says, not seeming too comfortable.

  “Oh, that’s right. Top-secret stuff that you’re not allowed to discuss with us common folk.”

  “Well, I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you,” she whispers, smiling.

  “I get it. Well, listen, no matter where this goes, your secrets are my secrets and you can trust me.”

  “‘Where this goes’? What, are we dating now?” she asks, confused but playful.

  “No, I mean this blossoming friendship,” I stammer. “Or, well, if you’re interested in taking the next step, I’m not seeing anyone.”

  The elevator doors open; we’ve reached the fiftieth floor.

  “Isn’t this your floor?” she asks.

  “Looks like it. To be continued?” I blurt as the door starts to close.

  “Sure,” she replies, blushing.

  “Lunch?” I scream. The door shuts in my face.

  *

  That’s the closest I’ve come to an actual prospective date with Zoe, so it leaves me on cloud nine. I skip past all my coworkers, exchanging pleasantries as I pass.

  “Good morning, Betty. Don’t you look beautiful today?”

  “Well, oh my, looks like someone has a little pep in their step this morning!”

  “Hello, everyone! Isn’t today just a glorious day?”

  “Well, looks like someone got laid last night,” says Susie. Susie is a fiftieth-floor floozy who’ll have sex with anyone, so long as they make a six-figure salary. She’s also spread the clap around so liberally that she should get a standing ovation when she enters the building.

  “Who’s the lucky girl?” she asks, all flirty.

  “Not you, sweets,” I reply, brushing her cheek. Susie is always dressed to impress with short skirts and low-cut blouses. Strategic scarves cover her cleavage, depending on her mood, and she gets the attention of most. Not me, though. I tend to ignore those who scream for attention.

  “I could make you feel that way too, you know,” she insists.

  “Well, my heart belongs to another, but how about you throw my boy Sid a bone?”

  “Ew, gross!” she squeals. She isn’t wrong; Sid isn’t the most attractive guy. He’s short, only standing about 5’6”, overweight and never dresses to impress, wearing jeans and the same lime green polo shirt to work every day.

  “Yeah, gross,” exclaims Justin Beaver, her very metrosexual cubicle buddy. No prizes for guessing his nickname, although he does bear an amazing resemblance to the actual Justin Bieber.

  “That guy is so gross and sweaty,” he says, “and isn’t he like a grade-B salary level?”

  “Who the hell asked you, Beaver?” I reply, annoyed by his interjection.

  “My name is pronounced ‘Beäver’!” he growls.

  “If my name sounded like a bratty teenage singer who needs to be bitch-slapped, I’d be pretty eager to clarify that, too.”

  “Screw you, Tyson!”

  “Easy, Beaver, don’t get your panties in a wad.”

  “Go screw yourself!” Justin replies, red-faced.

  “I’ll take a rain check,” I shoot back. “As for you, Susie, stop dick-teasing Sid. He really likes you, and you know it. I see you messing with his mind.”

  She just laughs, as if to say she can do whatever she wants. What a bitch! I would never sleep with Susie, but poor Sid is madly in love with her, and she knows it. She ridicules him and makes him do crazy things for her, and he obeys her every command. We keep telling him she’s crazy, but he doesn’t want to hear about it. He just says one day he’s going to prove us all wrong and sleep with her. There’s a big office pool on it, but the smart money says it’ll never happen.

  I make my way into the server room, where I’ll spend the rest of my day with my boys: Vegas, Fickle and Sid. The server room is the second most secure place in the building, just behind the seventy-fifth floor, and it’s the IT safe haven. No one has access except us IT folk, which means no one can find us when we’re in here. As you walk in, there’s a comforting hum coming from the racks and racks of server fans. It helps to drown out the mundane chatter of the offices beyond. This is where we talk shit about everyone, tell Sid he’s an idiot for trying to get in Susie’s panties, watch Vegas update his office pools and where the guys have to listen to me talk about how I’m ever so close to my first date with the beautiful yet elusive woman from the seventy-fifth floor.

  Swiping myself into the secure room, I only see Sid. He’s quietly plugging away at a terminal located in one of the server racks.

  “Where is everyone?” I yell.

  “Vegas is out collecting money from his fat-asy draft,” Sid replies, “and Fickle has been summoned to Grand’s office.”

  “Man, poor Fickle, having to deal with Grand this early in the morning. One of these days he’s gonna… Wait, did you say ‘fat-asy’ draft?”

  “Yeah,” Sid laughs. “It’s Johnny’s latest office pool. He started a wellness program where people can join to lose weight. He has weekly weigh-ins to track their progress and offer encouragement.”

  “That doesn’t sound like something Vegas would get into, but hey, a noble cause.”

  “Well, not exactly,” replies Sid. “Once he got the contestants all locked in, he started a secret fat-asy league where people can draft the participating chunk-butts for their team. Each week, players go head-to-head to see which team can lose the most weight. Remember last week when Paul slapped that donut out of Kathy’s mouth and told her to get back on track? Well, she’s on his fat-asy team.”

  “Holy shit, I do remember! I thought Paul was just being a dick, or suddenly cared for Kathy’s health. Wow, Vegas is terrible, but also pretty damn brilliant!”

  Sid nods and goes back to pounding at his keyboard.

  “So, what are you doing over there?” I ask.

  “Funny you should ask,” he says as he matter-of-factly pounds the last few keys. “Come take a look.”

  As I look at the screen, I immediately see what Sid has achieved.

  “You finally hacked into the security cameras!”

  “Yep!” he responds proudly. Sid has spent a great deal of time trying to get full access to the building’s security system.

  “Did you get into—” I begin, but before I can finish, he cuts me off.

  “No, still can’t crack the seventy-fifth floor. They’re using encryption that I’ve never seen before. It’s like some NSA bullshit.”

  “It probably is the NSA,” I reply. “You better stop trying to break into their system, or one day you may just disappear. You know, Jimmy-Hoffa style.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me; I’m spoofing Gerry Grand’s IP address. All traffic ends up pointing right to him,” he says, laughing.

  Meanwhile, in Gerry Grand’s office, Fickle is taking his daily sexual harassment.

  “Hey, Fickle, get over here and tell me why my email isn’t working.”

 
; Fickle walks over to take a look, only to see a video of a three-hundred-and-fifty-pound woman having hardcore sex with a three-foot midget.

  “Jesus!” Fickle proclaims loudly. “I don’t want to see this stuff, sir!”

  Grand laughs and smacks Fickle on his ass.

  “C’mon, now, don’t tell me you’re not into chubbies doing midgets! That’s downright un-American!”

  “Sir, what can I help you with, today?” Fickle asks with an almost sickened look on his face.

  “Right, let’s get to business. The first thing I need you to do is get my putter out of your ass!” Grand says as he picks up his putter and gooses the hell out of Fickle.

  “C’mon, Mr. Grand! You’re making me feel really uncomfortable.”

  “Hey, what’s up your ass, besides my this?” Grand says laughing as he ram the end of his putter up Fick’s ass. “You know, Jamison is leaving at the end of this month, and I’ve been eyeballing you for that promotion, but not if you’re going to be a tight-ass prude!”

  “Jamison is leaving?” Fickle says, suddenly intrigued.

  “That’s right. I’m naming his replacement this morning at the executive meeting, and you’re on my shortlist. This is a tight network though, and I need someone I can trust; someone who can take the heat and has thick skin. Is that you, Fickle, or am I wasting my time with you?”

  “Sir, I’m your man. I’ve been waiting my whole life for this opportunity. I won’t let you down, sir.”

  Fickle has worked his whole life to move up the corporate ladder. He always dresses in expensive suits, looking presentable with his dark hair perfectly styled, his face clean-shaven and his smile sparkling with whitener. He’s reached this moment through pure brown-nosing.

  “We’ll see! Now, come here and watch this midget drill the shit out of this behemoth. Man, how does he even get it in there?”

  “Yes, sir,” Fickle responds, as he reluctantly walks behind the desk to watch the video over Grand’s shoulder.

  “You don’t have a chub, do you, Fickle?” Grand asks as he pokes the front of Fickle’s pants with his putter.

  “No sir, no chub here,” Fickle says with a sigh.

  Back in the server room, Johnny Vegas strolls in to find me and Sid voyeuristically checking out the security cameras. Vegas is a perfect Italian stereotype. He has slicked-back, jet black hair, with the most awesome mustache a man can grow. He looks like he’s right out of the mob.

  “Hi, Vegas, what’s happening?” I say.

  “Hey guys, how’s it going?” he replies sulkily.

  “What’s wrong?” Sid asks.

  “Just had a long meeting with the HR director. Turns out some of my office pools have garnered the attention of the employee ethics committee, so I was formally put on notice to shut them all down.”

  “Oh man, that sucks!” I reply. “Well, don’t be too down. Look, Sid hacked into the security system, so we have a new pastime.”

  “Guys!” Sid exclaims excitedly. “Speaking of that, you’re gonna want to take a look at this!”

  We all peer into the monitor and notice military personnel walking into the building.

  “My money says they’re heading to the seventy-fifth,” I say.

  “That’s a sucker’s bet,” says Vegas.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE GENESIS PROJECT

  ZOOK STEPS OUT of his limo, a small entourage of ass-kissers and tourists surrounding him. Adjusting his cufflinks and tie, he rises, proceeding to the building’s front entrance. Flanking him is Jeremy Jacobs, Zook’s right-hand man. If Zook gives an order, it’s usually Jacobs who does the dirty work. As they walk towards the building, you can see all the eyes falling on him. While onlookers idolize him and clamor for his autograph, employees fear him and work to get out of his line of sight. As he struts into the building, Jacobs clears the way to Zook’s private elevator, pulling out a swipe card and opening the elevator doors just as Zook walks up to enter.

  Jacobs steps in next to him and barks, “This is a private elevator. Take the public elevator.”

  The door closes and the elevator rises to top floor, the penthouse suite, which belongs solely to Zook.

  “Today’s an important day for Zook Enterprise,” Zook says as he grooms himself in the reflection of the mirrored elevator.

  “Yes, sir. Everything is in place, as you requested.”

  “Everything?” Zook asks.

  “Yes, sir. Everything is precisely as you requested.”

  “Good! We need to make sure these idiots understand what needs to be done to eradicate radical Islamic terrorists. Extremism can only be met with extremism. When our weak-ass government realizes that, they’ll be looking to me to fix it, and I’ll give them Genesis! That’s what the people want. To wipe these animals of the face of the earth. Our president can’t even say radical Islamic extremism. Can you believe that? She’s so weak! Well, I’m not weak! I’ll not only say radical Islamic extremism, I will show my power and send them all straight to the gates of hell. If our government can’t act, if they can’t show strength, I won’t hesitate to work with our overseas allies to sell Genesis to those in power who have the balls to protect this world from violent aggressors. We need these guys to start thinking like our founding fathers did and do what it takes to protect this great nation.”

  “The clients will be here at nine-thirty,” says Jacobs. “They’ve been in contact to say how much they’re looking forward to seeing how you solved the problem of containment.”

  “Containment! Since when do these folks care about the ripple effects of combat?” Zook says, agitated. “What I’m giving them is the perfect weapon, and they’re worried about containment? That’s what oceans are for!”

  “Yes, sir,” Jacobs agrees.

  “I’ll show them some containment strategies, but they better hope and pray they’re satisfied with what I already have. I’ve invested way too much money for this deal to fall through on a formality.”

  “You make sure all goes well today, Jacobs!” cries Zook, as the elevator opens on a beautiful office suite with all the luxurious fittings of a billionaire. “If it looks like things are going south, I won’t hesitate to initiate my plan B!”

  “Yes, sir,” Jacobs replies loyally. “I’ll make sure today is a great day for Zook Enterprise, no matter which way the deal goes.”

  “Good. Leave me, for now. Come get me in thirty minutes.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jacobs replies, slowly closing the double doors behind him.

  Down in the lobby, men in dark suits, and a few in high-ranking military uniforms, are loitering with purpose. Along with the black SUVs outside, they aren’t an unprecedented sight at Zook Towers. Military personnel are regular customers for Zook, and they’re familiar with the building. Gathering together, they make their way to the elevator, and one of them pulls out a swipe card, entering the elevator and selecting the seventy-fifth floor.

  No one says a word on the ride up, but once the door opens, they’re greeted by Zoe.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. Welcome to Zook Labs. May I ask that you all enter the presentation room down the hall on your right. Please leave your personal items here, including any weapons or communication devices. Mr. Zook and Dr. Flemming will be with you shortly.”

  The men all place their handguns and phones in bins and proceed down the hall. Zoe trails as they enter the presentation room.

  “Make yourself comfortable, gentlemen. The presentation will begin shortly,” she says, closing the door as she exits the room.

  Sure enough, it’s only minutes before Zook and Jacobs step off the personal elevator and onto the seventy-fifth floor.

  Waiting their arrival is an older woman, with long gray hair wearing a lab coat. “Good morning, Mr. Zook,” Dr. Flemming says, extending her hand. Dr. Flemming is the best; a world-renowned scientist and the lead for Zook’s pet project. She took some heat in the industry for ‘selling out’ and leaving the public field for the private sector, but
only the best for Mr. Zook. Still, her knowledge of biogenetics is second to none, and whatever her colleagues think of her personally, they respect her work.

  “Showtime,” Zook responds, his face grim, and Jacobs says nothing.

  “Certainly,” replies Dr. Flemming, “let’s get right to it! The presentation is all set in the experimentation room.”

  Zook, Jacobs and Dr. Flemming head down the hall to their waiting guests.

  “All needs to go perfectly, today,” Zook tells Dr. Flemming.

  “We’ll do our best,” she agrees, “but I’m simply not comfortable in regards to containment.”

  “Don’t you worry about that; that’s my job,” Zook snaps. “You just make sure the biological agent works as intended.”

  “Yes, Mr. Zook,” says Dr. Flemming, seemingly defeated. Zook throws open the presentation room door.

  “Gentlemen, thank you for coming down! I won’t waste your time here, so let’s get right to business. Dr. Flemming, please show us the experimentation room.”

  Dr. Flemming nods and walks over to the bunker station, typing on the terminal keyboard. After a few clicks, a dividing wall separates, revealing an oversized and completely padded room. A thick layer of glass stands between the two rooms; Zook’s staff and the military personnel on one side, and fifteen chimpanzees on the other.

  “What you’re about to see is the most effective combat neutralizer ever known. We call it Genesis. Behind the two-pane glass, you’ll see the chimps are interacting normally. What they don’t know is that one of their furry little friends has been injected with a biological serum. The serum will be released into its bloodstream according to a timing agent. Before that happens, can anyone identify our subject? Anyone?” The crowd all step forward to inspect the chimpanzees.

  “Dr. Flemming,” Zook says assertively. Flemming looks down at the timer, which is coming up on zero.

  “Three,” she says, sweat beading her brow, “two, one…”

  As she reaches the end of her countdown, the crowd waiting eagerly, one of the chimpanzees drops straight to the ground. A couple of the chimps make their way over, while some start to frantically run around the room, as if somehow anticipating what’s coming next.