Under the Hill Part 2: black phone
The black phone rang.
“Hello, health department.”
She used to have a life outside of the cramped cubicle. Typical space for a government job, it was intended for the eight-hour day. Putty fabric stretched over a metal frame, meant to be functional, nothing personal, just a cube for serving others. The desk: enough for a monitor, a phone, a photo of home.
The handset made a decided click as it settled back into its recliner.
The monitor showed an update regarding potential health risks, graphs, and a body count. The phone hadn’t stopped ringing in days. The photo from home, face down on the desk.
“Hello, health department,” she answered any question before it was asked. Click.
Seriously, that phone had not stopped ringing. She knew it. One call after another after another. Upon the governor’s orders, they’d taken to some kind of military shift strategy to cover the desired twenty-four hours. The clock showed 3:13 am. Under three to go.
“Hello, health department. Yes, emergency regulation…no, no you can’t.” Click.
At the end of her shift, she’d drift down the hall to an improvised sleeping quarter (a couch in an unused office). She’d cry, if she could. Tears were two days ago. After four hours of slumber, back to duty. There’d be no shower. Just as her grandma used to call it, a whore’s bath. Face. Armpits. Personals. And no coffee. Ring ring.
“Hello, health department.”
Panic, pain, terror, despair, horror, fear poured through the phone, a Niagara Falls of ache. The monstrous waters churned. Charybdis of the cubicle. Click.
The endless supply of coffee ran out yesterday. And now, as they said would happen, the bodies were piling up faster than her “no coffee” complaints. With time to consider it, in her other (normal) life, she’d think the moment was a double shot of depresso.
“Hello, health department… Yes, the governor said that’s best. Yes, into black bags. No, there’s nothing we can, thank you for, I’m so sorry sir.” Click.
She wouldn’t allow herself to imagine what it was like out there, in the city. All those bodies. All so fast. First us, then them. She hadn’t dare think too hard. The agony of sleeplessness was enough to erase any rational thoughts as the rhythmic answering continued.
“Hello, health department.” Click.
“Hello, health department.” Click.
“Hello, health department.” Click.
“Will someone make a coffee run?” she yelled. She didn’t have time. Nobody was open. Maybe the Dunk? Glancing at the downturned photo frame, she panicked before the ringing dragged her back into the merciless current, not feeling a thing other than the vague headache of withdrawal and sleeplessness.
“Hello, health department.”
Click. She prayed to make it all stop.
The black phone had other ideas.
Works by that guy named Bill 