dead andy - Chapter 1

Tuesday. Ugh.

         So much more than Monday, Andy could not deal with Tuesday. It stood to reason that with Mondays Andy knew that the day wasn't going to be relaxing, enjoyable or engaging in the slightest. Monday is always Monday. Mostly overtly diabolical, sometimes a little less so, Monday was always expected and easily anticipated. So, Andy would suffer through that first day of the week with a cynical malaise, and at least Mondays can end with football. That was something.
         Tuesday, however, would be a surprise. A mugger down every alley, a Kodiak behind every tree, a parasite in every lunch room vending machine sandwich. What was Tuesday up to? How would it find a way to ensnare Andy? The pure thought of waking up late in the morning had already kept Andy awake for the past two hours. The clock-radio on his nightstand read 12:20am. Tuesday had begun. Andy finally drifted off in anxious sleep.
         “... on the I-5 and is absolute chaos. Forget about the 15, traffic is backed up for miles from the stadium in both directions. All freeways are at a stand still and officials are urging people to just stay... “ Words were blaring from the corner of some where. Startled and confused Andy shot up out of bed and into attack position which, for Andy, somewhat resembled Gumby strung out on cough syrup.
         “HIIEYA!” Andy shouted at his nightstand clock-radio while giving it a weak hand swipe. The radio didn't move but kind of jumped and attacked with bright numbers. 7:46am. Andy was positive he had set the alarm for 6:45am. Positive.

         Damn Tuesday.

         Andy clicked on the TV for his dose of morning news but could hardly pay any attention to it as he ran in frantic desperation around his room searching for the clothes he had laid out neatly the previous night. His apartment was motherly clean yet still somehow his khakis had slipped off of the end of the bed, underwear drooped off the side of the dresser and disappeared underneath. His socks mysteriously found their way under Andy's pillow, a least one sock did, the other was nowhere to be found. Piecing everything together, Andy was able to assemble himself in a somewhat neat appearance, despite mismatched socks. Andy poured coffee into his travel mug and, quickly slathering some cream cheese on a toasted bagel, Andy was able to glance at the TV. The ticker at the bottom of the screen read 8:20am. Next to the ticker was a banner that read 'Breaking News' in large yellow letters. On the screen was the image from a news helicopter of thick black smoke pouring out of a building. Interested but unable focus Andy thought he heard something about the National Guard but the time was what drew Andy's attention. Andy grabbed his shoulder bag headed out the door and jumped into his '03 Mirage. He  was making good time.
         While it wasn't a perfect wake up, it was better than could be expected for a Tuesday. Luck was Andy's feeling when he settled in the seat, turned the key and revved the engine. Luck was never a thought Andy felt comfortable with. He never said 'Gee, am I lucky!' even on the rare occasion, like now, that he felt he was lucky. If he spoke the words or even considered them, he was sure that any solace achieved in the moment of good fortune would all come crashing down.  Luck was just a feeling he kept buried deep inside that made his toes tingle when it was working in his favor.
         Andy pulled out of his drive way, cleanly, and headed for work. Luck tingled. Andy allowed himself to ponder 'Maybe today the Universe won't notice me, maybe this Tuesday won't be so godawful'. He thought this and quickly dismissed it fearing that the Universe would be alerted to it's laps in attention. Andy, despite the 'lol's' of his chat room buddies, had the most sure notion that he had been targeted. That the whole of the Universe was out to get him and, as it so happens, he wasn't far off. Every so often the being of the Universe gets an itch and scratches it incessantly. Poor Andy was that itch. But that is a whole different story.
         Something poked Andy's memory about the freeways being jammed so he absently decided to take side streets to get to work. He would have liked to turn on his radio but it had been stolen, a week earlier, on Tuesday. Andy watched the road intently trying to figure the quickest rout to work via the San Diego side streets which where inanely twisted and never end where one would expect them to end. A man caught Andy's eye as he drove through his neighborhood. Dressed smartly in a business suit only slightly disheveled, the man was stumbling awkwardly across a lawn apparently drunk. A few houses down Andy spied a woman with a broom swatting at a vagrant on her doorstep.
         “What the heck is this neighborhood coming to?” Andy muttered.
         Driving through twisting neighborhoods Andy felt he needed to make up some time. 'If you aren't early, you are already late.' Was something that Andy's father had repeated as mantra over the years. Stepping lightly on the gas Andy sped up, rounded a corner and nearly ran down a woman standing idle in the middle of the street. Andy swerved sharply, attempted to break but, of course, accelerated toward a parked car. In his panicked state Andy could not figure out which peddle did which, he pulled hard on the wheel and came to a sudden involuntary stop as he crammed his car into a small tree. Hot coffee splashed Andy's thigh.
         “DAMN IT!” Andy shouted from his slumped station behind the wheel. He hadn't been going that fast so the impact was jarring but not devastating. Righting himself he looked out to the front passenger side of the car where he could see splintered fiberglass. Andy erupted.
         “DAMNITDAMNITDAMNITDAMNIT! SONAOFABAT! CONESHUCKINGCRABWALKINGOLDHAGOFATURDHERDER!” A deep breath, then... “DAMN IT!” Andy did not, as a rule, curse thus he was really not good at it. So, when he did find the occasion to break down into obscenity it was usually such an odd string of mishmash that if there had been any accomplished vulgarians within earshot they would give an embarrassed giggle, look away, then launch into deep cures laden discussions about the validity of said mishmash as actual swearing.
         Andy pushed open his door, stumbled out, looked up to the bright sky. “DAMN YOU TUESDAY!” He shouted while shaking a clenched fist at a defenseless wispy cloud that had unfortunately stayed into Andy's field of vision. He refocused to the smashed quarter panel on the passenger side of his car. This was going to cost some cash that he did not have. Angry, he turned back to the woman he had swerved to miss. Just as he looked up, the woman hurriedly shuffled for the corner house where a young boy sat on the steps whaling, apparently having fallen down, maybe skinning his knee or something. Andy thought for a second about confronting the old lady but then let it go. “Probably senile.” He mumbled, kicked at the crumpled front fender, climbed back into the drivers seat. Restarting the car seemed fine, the engine revved as normal. No time to wait for police to make a report, Andy backed up and started off for work again. There was a twinge of guilt at leaving the scene but Andy was angry, more so than he could recall in recent memory and he rationalized that nobody was hurt so no foul. So much for that tingle in his toes.
         A few blocks further on Andy came upon a car smashed into a tree. The definition of irony swam around in his mind. Was this irony or just a coincidence? Odd, to say the least. Slowing slightly Andy did not see the driver and looking up to the house that the car was in front of he saw that the door to the house hung open wide. He figured that the driver probably was receiving aid from the home owner. No time, gotta go. Andy sped through the next few blocks and to a stop sign. There was no other traffic on the streets so a four way stop was a ridiculous frustration but Andy had already left the scene of an accident and one infraction of the law was already more than Andy felt comfortable with. Slowing, Andy rolled to a stop when suddenly, out of nowhere a man threw himself against the windshield. Andy jumped, startled.
         “What the heck is this guy all about.” Andy asked his steering wheel. The mans clothes were torn but looked newish and he was swiping at the windshield. Typically Andy would not hesitate to give his last two quarters to the homeless but with a mood so soured and an all important timetable to keep Andy was not about to give a handout to this guy, maybe if he could wipe away the front end damage to Andy's car.
         'Don't make eye contact Andy, just look down like you're looking for something and this guy will get the hint.' The man continued accosting the windshield. Andy pretended to fumble with the radio which, of course, was not there. The man remained. No time for this. Andy started to inch forward to let the man know that it was no use, Andy did not need his windshield cleaned and he had no intention of paying for said service. The man became aggressive and began to groan, now hitting the driver side window. This frightened Andy and he hit the gas.
         “Everyone is going nuts today. Ah, Tuesday you tricky dog, this is definitely new.” Andy shook his head.
         Finally pulling into the parking lot to the office Andy noted that there were too few cars in the lot. Where is everyone? Is there a flu going around that Andy wasn't aware of? Probably a conference that didn't require the low level skills that Andy brought to the table, he would stay back to 'hold down the fort'. Oh, how many times had he heard that from the boss, Mr. Holder?
         “Andy, there is a seminar at the Marriott that a bunch of us really should attend, I'm going to need you to hold down the fort while we're out.”
         “Andy, be a sport and hold down the fort so we can check out this conference down town.”
         “Hey Andy, I'm taking the guys for some grub at Chotchkie's. We'll be back in a bit. Hold down the fort.”
         Andy was pretty sure that 'The Fort' was not going anywhere and was, in fact, not in any immanent danger of being overrun by marauding business men. But, rest assured, Andy had it all under control. The Fort was well manned and fortified with copy machines and staplers.
         The watch on Andy's arm read 915am. Fifteen minutes late. Even if no one important was around it was impossible to slip past the all knowing time clock. Andy's gut knotted and nervousness washed over him. He felt guilt, hung his head and headed for the door. Somewhere in the distance Andy thought he heard a woman scream, but he paid it no mind and entered the lobby hurriedly but solemn.

         The interior of the office building was dark, lit oddly by random florescent lights. Andy looked up to great Jana at the reception desk but found only an empty chair. He looked over the desk as if she might be hiding from him for some reason. She wasn't. Andy shrugged it off and ran up the stairs the two flights to his floor. Same odd lighting. 'Lights must be on the blink' He thought to himself and smiled at what he thought of as a witty pun. No one stirred on the floor as far as Andy could see, only random lights and a maze of cubicles. The shades hadn't even been drawn. Why were people so disrespectful? Why was does it seem like people just think about themselves? Andy always pulled the shades, Andy always refilled the copier, Andy always made the coffee. It wasn't too hard to do these things yet for some reason they never got done until Andy came along. So, Andy dropped his bag on his desk and headed for the windows. Looking into each cube as he walked by, nothing had been disturbed as far as he could tell. A quick twist to the shades and morning sun blasted the room. Andy looked down on the parking lot and saw a man stumbling around, a dog alternately nipping and running. Andy scowled, coffee he thought and headed to the break room. The shrill howl of a dog grazed Andy's ear as he focused on coffee, maybe he would make it extra bitter. No, he wouldn't do that, couldn't do that. Andy is the nice guy, in his core. He made the coffee with his usual perfection.
         Andy waited, watching the coffee maker steam and make gurgling sounds as it drizzled brown liquid into the pot. He heard a shuffling and looked around the naked office. No one. Andy fumed. Why always him? Why did he get left out? Heck, Todd was a bigger loser than Andy, Todd still lived with his mom. Then there was Stephanie. She wasn't exactly pretty and, in Andy's opinion, a bit of a porker. Why didn't she get left back to 'hold down the fort'? But Andy knew, even as he thought about the failings of others, Andy knew. He was easy, a push over. Andy would do just about anything he was asked to do and  never even protest.  Most of the time Andy was happy to do what was asked of him, he was a pleaser and really it was just easier to do the task himself than have someone else do it begrudgingly. At least, this was his logic and there was a time when he sincerely did not mind doing anything for anybody. Now though, he was a door mat and he knew it and he hated it and he really couldn't do anything about it.
         There was a shuffling sound again, louder. Andy turned his fixed gaze from the coffee pot which had been done brewing for several minutes. He scanned the top of empty cubicles, half the office lights off, the others in a perpetual flicker, hum, flicker. There would not be anyone there, he was alone and annoyed. Andy poured coffee into his cup, added some creamer, stirred and sipped. At least he had good coffee. Andy turned, looked up and saw Peter down a darkened hall.
         “Oh, hey Peter. I thought I was alone here. Again.” Andy said and took a long sip from his cup.
         Peter continued down the hall toward Andy but it seemed like he was limping a bit. Andy watched him curiously as Peter reached out an arm stiffly. Peter had a kind of stumbling in his gait and seemed fixated on Andy. Andy looked down trying to follow what he could make out of Peters gaze. Coffee. 'I get it'. Andy thought smirking a little.
         “Yes, I made fresh coffee and I see you've been waiting.” Andy joked.
         Peter said nothing but continued to shuffle forward. As he moved into the light Andy could see that Peter's skin was very pale and his eyes were sunken and bloody red. He was very close to Andy now but still said nothing.
         “Dear Lord, Peter you're a mess! I know you like you're all-nighters but you need to clean yourself up a bit. You're lucky Mr. Holder isn't here.” Andy wondered how Peter could show up to work like this and get away with it, but he did and this wasn't the first time. Peter said nothing still and Andy became frustrated.
         Stumbling a bit, Peter moved closer to Andy and then when he was an arms length away Peter lunged. Andy was startled and dropped his cup. 'Oh God!' Andy thought. It was the office Christmas party all over again. He put his arms up to fend off the letcher.
         “Peter stop! I told you, I wasn't comfortable with what we did at the party. I had two fuzzy navels, I was drunk... I didn't mean to... I'm not...” Andy protested but Peter kept forcing himself closer. Andy didn't know what was going on, this was a work environment. This was a safe zone.
         “Peter! Please, this is harassment! I made coffee. You need coffee. Peter?” Andy desperately looked around the office for help. He didn't want to cause a scene but Peter's advances were very uncomfortable for Andy and he wanted a way out.
         “Peter stop! I... Ahhgh!” Andy felt a sharp, pinching burn in his shoulder. With strength born of pain and anger Andy shoved Peter, hard. Peter stumbled backwards, tripped over a swivel chair and fell face first into a copy machine. Andy watched in slow motion horror as Peter's jaw connected with the machine, snapping his neck back at a right angle. A wet crunch from his neck and Peter crumpled to the ground. Andy stared, mouth agape, his right hand absently gripping his shoulder.
         “Peter?” Andy questioned, but something about the way Peter's head had twisted loose from his body told Andy he would not be getting a response. He had no clue as to what had just happened and he couldn't move. Andy just stared at the broken body laying on the floor. Still gripping at the wound on his shoulder Andy winced and tried to view the damage.
         Unable to see the wound clearly Andy made his way to the bathroom to take a look in the mirror. Andy was sweating and felt feverish, his stomach churned. His thinking was marred with a thick buzzing sound in his head and he felt like he was moving through a tangible fog. The echoing in the bathroom only made the buzzing in his head louder and looking in the mirror Andy did not quite like what he saw. He saw the blood leaking through his white shirt at his shoulder. He took a moment to lament his ruined shirt then remembered the wound and painfully removed the garment.
         The shoulder wound was a bite, Andy saw with disgust. 'Who bites people?' He pondered, quite angry. The outer edges of the bite were a sickly greenish yellow and seemed to be pulsing. Andy poked at it a bit and puss oozed out. That was all it took to set off Andy's unsettled stomach. Andy wretched into the sink and repeated until he thought he might pass out. Finally there was nothing left in him to come out and after a few dry heaves he splashed water on his face. He  saw that his hands were shaking, his whole body trembling. Andy looked up to gaze his own visage and was shocked. He had expected to be pale but what he saw was grotesque.
         Andy's eyes were sunken, bloodshot and rimmed in dark black circles. His skin, almost translucent, had a yellow tinge and felt very dry. Andy started to hyperventilate, his legs were rubbery, he stumbled to a toilet stall to sit down. Andy could not get a grip, the buzzing in his head was so loud now that he could not hear any outside sounds. The stall was swirling around him and Andy felt sharp stabbing pains in his guts and in his chest. Grasping at the sudden shooting pain in his left arm. Andy thought, from what he had seen on TV, that he was having a heart attack. This wasn't right, Andy was too young for a heart attack. There was no history of heart disease in his family. He was bitten. Was he poisoned? Maybe something he ate. The coffee, it was the coffee. Andy's ideas became disconnected and obscure.
         Flashes of random thought skimmed across Andy's fleeting consciousness, for no particular reason he wondered if he had turned off the TV before he left the house this morning. He vaguely remembered watching the morning news, images of chaos on the screen, NEWS ALERT! written in garish red and yellow font and the little ticker in the corner that read 8:22 Tuesday, Sept 15th. 'Of course.' He gurgled in a last realization, Tuesday had bested Andy once again. Body stiffening, Andy spasmed in a violent jolt of pain and then slumped off the toilet onto the floor. Andy was dead.