Days were days. Minutes were files and words were expense reports. Waking up was a task almost impossible now, and Jim was surprised when it only took the alarm going off once to get him up. Gray light filtered through plastic blinds and he became his morning routine. He didn’t eat breakfast but made his ham and cheese. Took a shower. Brushed his teeth. Avoided the mirror at all costs. Recently, his apathy had reached a new high.

He opened the door to his car and sat in the drivers’ seat for a few minutes. Finally, a heavy sigh issued the rev of the engine, and he began to drive to work.

-

Pam waited at reception. She wasn’t really working. She never really did anything. Except answer phones. And highlight. So she waited. Mostly for Jim, but she’d never admit that to anyone anyway.

She knew she hadn’t arrived early…but the absence of most of her coworkers, even Dwight, was making her curious. As she reached for the phone, it began to ring, startling her.

“Dunder-Mifflin, this is –"

“Pam. Listen. Something is going on out here.”

“Jim?”

“Pam. Stay inside. Just. Stay, okay? Don’t move. Close the blinds, lock the doors. Keep everyone inside. I’ll knock when I get there. Three times.”

“Jim, wait –"

She heard screaming and a crash. Static. She looked up, at Angela and Michael and Ryan, who were each slowly moving among the office, still waking up, still getting their coffee, walking slowly and reanimating. She slowly got up and began to close the blinds.

“What are you doing?”

Pam heard Angela complain from the far corner.

“Oh nothing. It’s just really bright outside and … I had an eye appointment earlier and got them dilated…so, you know, it would just really help.”

“Wear sunglasses then.”

“Thanks, Angela.”

-

Jim’s car had crashed. He could only remember talking to Pam. Then running into something. And now he was on the side of the road, 2 miles away from work.

He opened his eyes, stuck momentarily in the few seconds of innocence, of innocence, of innocence. Blood on the windows. Blood. His eyes widened and he looked around.

It was destroyed. Everything around him. Apparently an oil tanker had almost hit him. He didn’t notice that though. Someone opened his passenger door.

Jim screamed.

Something covered his mouth.

“Jim. Quiet. Listen, I know what’s going on. And I have everything we need…waterproof matches, iodine tablets, beet seeds, protein bars. Just drive. I think we can make it to work.”

He started the car and drove. When he finally looked over, he saw Dwight and, for the first time in three days, smiled.

Dwight looked back. He didn’t smile. But the gleam in his eyes revealed that this was what he has been waiting for his entire life.

They pulled into the parking lot in a smoking car, barely, and climbed the stairs into their office.

-

They still didn’t know. No one knew what was going on. Pam didn’t want to arouse suspicion. She didn’t want to scare people. She wore a white button-up sweater and didn’t want to scare anyone. It was simple.

The knob on the door jiggled.

“Knock three times.” Pam muttered to herself while she waited. She just wanted to keep this peaceful picture in her mind. Angela cross-eyed by gazing at her cats calendar and her babies playing music poster simultaneously. Michael talking to the cameras. Ryan…not caring.

There wasn’t a knock. But the disfigured shadow glistened in the double panes beside the door. And that was when she remembered.

She hadn’t locked the door.

The door burst open, an explosion. Stanley stood there.

“Stanley...?”

There was no reply, only a glare. An empty stare at Pam. He wore the same suit he did before, only speckled with blood.

Something was wrong. Pam slowly rose and began walking to the break room.

Stanley rounded the corner, now in everyone’s view.

Michael opened his door.

“Announcement. Everyone. Announcement. Our branch will –"

It was then that Stanley reached for him, clasping his hands around his throat. He pulled Michael closer, opening his jaw, wider than a normal person is capable of.

Angela went back to working. A joke. Why did everything have to be a joke here? Ryan began to empty his desk. This was enough for him. He was leaving.

A door opened as Pam came from the break room and began throwing ice cubes from the freezer at Stanley.

A knock came at the door. Three times.

“Just open it! It’s unlocked!”

The sound of a door opening came swiftly, along with Dwight’s voice.

“Announcement!”

He rounded the corner to see Stanley, or rather, Stanley’s back. His rotting, decaying spine. And immediately, he pulled out a squirt gun.

Jim smirked. Great.

Dwight made an efficient shot to Stanley’s head and instantaneously, it began to melt.

“Eat my dust.” Dwight said.

“What?” Jim was pleasantly surprised.

“I’ve always wanted to say that. After I killed someone. Preferably a zombie.”

Michael stared at Stanley’s body, collapsed on the floor.

“...You two. This was good. This was really good. You’re going to have to let me in on this –"

“It wasn’t a joke, Michael. This is serious. I’m sure Dwight knows what’s going on.” Jim stared down at Stanley’s body, moving his feet to avoid the running liquid.

“…Dwight?” Michael said.

“Zombies have taken over Scranton.”

“If you’re trying to give a motivational speech, this isn’t the best way. Believe me, Dwight. I know.”

“Michael. Look down. See Stanley? He’s dead. Well, actually, he died twice. You know, reanimation.” At that moment, Dwight pulled out a book from his pocket, a handwritten pocket dictionary, with the cover simply saying “ZOMBIES” in all capitals.

“I’ve been studying them for awhile, all the conspiracy theories and hidden incidents internationally.”

“What was in that gun?” Jim asked. He wanted to smile. He secretly wanted to laugh, and when he looked over at Pam, he could see she did too. Angela was still working, and Kevin had gone to the bathroom.

“It’s a secret mixture. I call it my Sauce of Extermination. It melts already decomposing flesh. If you’re not undead, it doesn’t affect you, unless of course, you drink the mixture. Not good.”

Michael laughed. “You realize that you could abbreviate your Sauce of Extermination to S.E.X. Get it? Like the S stands for Sauce and the EX stands - ”

Dwight began to snicker. “Good one, Michael.”

Jim walked over to Pam looked at the tray she held in her hand.

“Ice cubes. Clever, Beesly.”

“At least I’m not dead.”

“I’m really glad.”

It had been the first time they said more than three words to each other since the casino night fundraiser. And the first time that she smiled at him. The look lingered. Pam broke it.

“Tell us what you know about zombies, Dwight.” She said.

Jim looked at his feet.

“Well, Pam. I'm glad you asked. To kill them, you have to decapacitate them. Or have one of my guns. Luckily, I brought all of my super soakers. I have a wide range…and looking among the room, I have extra.”

“I want two.” Michael said.

“I’ll give you all the guns and two bottles of my secret sauce -"

“Sex. Sex sauce.” Michael interrupted. “You’re supposed to call it sex.”

“Okay, two bottles of my S.E.X. and –“

Michael laughed again. Dwight turned to look as Angela got up from her desk and began to listen. Intently.

“- make sure you don’t get infected. The best plan right now is to find some sort of radio or communication device, get an update on what’s going on, then look for some sort of safe place. Or plane. I learned how to fly one when I was four, so no problem. Lock the doors. Shut off the lights. Close the blinds. Let’s do this.”

Angela loved a man who took action.

-

Each station on the radio played the same identical 5 minute loop over and over. Jim had memorized it. So had Pam. They were to remain inside. Scranton was the only place where the outbreak had taken place, so the borders had been secured. They were to remain inside. Arm yourselves. Stay inside. Turn off the lights, lock the doors. Remain inside.

Jim got the feeling that they kind of wanted everyone to die.

Pam waited in the women’s restroom, staring at her reflection. She had made it a point to look better that day. After the casino night…she didn’t know. Things had changed. Her hair was loose and down in flowing, gleaming curls. She wiped her eyes and turned. Jim was there.

“Women's bathroom...?"

Awkward silence.

She was so beautiful.

“I’m sorry, Pam.”

He was so amazing.

Awkward silence, round two.

Then he turned and pushed open the door slowly.

“Wait.”

It was soft and almost inaudible, but he knew it would come.

“Don’t leave.”

And that was enough. Enough for him. Enough for –

-

“Okay everyone. Annoucement. We need to get out of here.”

“But the radio said to stay…”

“Michael, haven’t you ever seen a zombie movie?”

“Of course I’ve seen a zombie movie. 9 Weeks Later is my favorite.”

“And what happens to the people who stay in one place?”

“…That never happens.”

“RIGHT. My point. We need to get out of Scranton.”

Dwight hated dealing with incompetent people, even if it was occasionally Michael. He had spent his whole life preparing for either a plane crash or deadly outbreak. It was his time to be awesome.

“Head count. Okay, Michael’s one. I’m two. Where’s Ryan?”

Angela lifted her head. “I think he left after Stanley…after Stanley arrived. His desk is empty.”

“What about Jim and Pam?”

And at that moment, Jim and Pam reemerged from the hallway of the break room.

“…Okay. Let’s get to the roof.”

-

Jim and Pam had been here before in a better time and a better place.

Dwight and Angela had as well, in secret, in private.

Michael and Kevin - not so much.

But old memories were quickly replaced. And Jim was unnaturally excited.

“Let’s do this.” Jim said. It shocked even himself. “We need a helicopter. Dwight, do you still have your hot wheels?”

“No, I didn’t bring them – are you mocking me, Jim?”

“No. Not at all.”

They surveyed the landscape. Explosions. Blood. They looked over the edge of the building to the warehouse.

Roy.

“ROY!” Pam yelled. He looked up and smiled.

“ROY! Come up to the roof!”

“Are you crazy?” He yelled back. He laughed and walked into the warehouse.

Pam shook her head and looked at her feet.

Jim did the same. “Should we save him?”

Pam looked up and into his eyes. She shook her head.

“When people are reanimated, they do the same things. They do their normal routine. They do what they’re used to.”

Dwight’s last syllable resounded and could be heard in everyone’s head a few moments later.

This was life now.

The sun set, and they had to find a plane.

-

They slept in the office that night, it would’ve been too unsafe to look for some sort of air transport that late and in that kind of darkness. Angela slept near her desk, Dwight on the couch next to the door (with a gun safely clutched in his hands), Michael locked in his office, Jim near his desk, and Pam in the conference room.

It was late. Jim looked at his watch. 2 AM. Nothing had happened since the Stanley incident, and he was seriously beginning to worry about the lack of action.

He got up and walked to the conference room window and stared at Pam. She was laying there. So perfect, her closed eyes facing him. Her lips were slightly parted and he remembered they way they felt on that night. He remembered the way she smelled and the fabric of her dress and the glare coming from the window of casino lights. He closed his eyes and suddenly felt a wisp of hair lay on his shoulder.

“Pam.”

“Shh.” She whispered.

They walked to the conference room, locked the door, and closed the blinds.

-

They hadn’t done anything. She needed someone to sleep next to her, so he did it. It hurt. It hurt him. More than the kiss. More than the tension. But she needed him.

He hadn’t slept and when she turned and opened her eyes, he smiled.

“Morning.” She said.

“Wow. You really need to brush your teeth.”

She smiled, revealing her teeth, then quickly closed the smirk, laughing.

They got up and walked to the door.

“Thanks.” She said.

And he walked behind her.

Outside, Angela had fallen asleep on Dwight. Michael was already up, complaining about his ham, egg and cheese.

“If I would’ve known about these zombies, I would’ve brought my George Foreman grill.”

There was a knock at the door. Dwight shot up, instantly arming his gun. Angela, resting on him, collapsed on the floor.

Everyone stared at each other.

The knocks ensued.

“What do we do?” Angela whispered.

“Shh.” Dwight quickly quieted her. He stealthily and slowly walked to the door.

“Who is it?” He asked.

“It’s Ryan.”

“Prove it.”

Ryan pulled out his phone and put it on speaker.

“Nine new messages. First message. ‘Ryan, it’s your mom! You wet the bed again!”

Michael began laughing. “Wow, that message turned out better than I thought it would.”

“Okay, can I come in now? I brought the ham, egg and cheese.”

“Let him in Dwight!” Michael rushed to the door and opened it to let him in.

Opening the door, Ryan was there. But behind him, Roy. His face, half decomposed.

“Oh. My. God.” Michael said. He grabbed the sandwich and ran.

“Roy!” Pam yelled. “No! Don’t!”

He grabbed Ryan and twisted his head completely around. Dwight, stunned, had his gun knocked out of his hands. Skidding on the carpet. Hitting Jim’s feet.

Pam stared at Jim.

Jim, in an infinite moment, stared at her.

“It’s okay.”

He shot him.

Ryan was dead.

Roy was dead.

Michael got his sandwich.

Everything was better. For now. For now.

“If you came back, where would you go?”

“…I don’t really know.”

He remembered distinctly Dwight mentioning that once you died and resurrected, you would go where you’re most familiar. Where you really wanted to be.

Jim knew his answer. He would wind up beside his desk, by the light of the copiers and security lights, waiting to kiss her. But he wouldn’t tell her that. Of course he wouldn’t.

“But I know where you would go.”

Pam smiled. “Where?”

“My house, hands down.”

She smirked. “You’ve got me all figured out.”

“Or Dwight’s dojo.”

“Well, he does have a purple belt. That’s pretty high.”

“Obviously.”

“Actually…I think I would go somewhere where there weren’t zombies.”

“…Obviously.”

Between eating yogurt, they glanced at each other quickly. After they were done, their hands slid against each other when he reached for her container to throw it away.

“Sorry.”

They got up and went into the main room. Dwight sat at his desk, reading some sort of Harry Potter book out loud to Michael, who sat Indian-style on the ground. Every once in awhile, they would laugh hysterically and say either, “Harry! Oh man, we’re exactly the same! I would so kill that basilisk!” or “Oh Ron, you always mess everything up. You’re so stupid.” Or an intense debate would ensue over whether the flying power of the Nimbus 2000 was better than the Firebolt's.

“Okay, Michael.” Dwight paused at the end of the chapter. “Question. Who would you hook up with if you were Hermione?”

Angela glared at Dwight.

“Wow. Um…” Michael thought.

“You can’t say Jan. Because she’s not in the book.”

Michael shifted uncomfortably as Jim and Pam walked over quietly.

“Probably Draco.”

“WHAT?” Dwight was outraged. “But he has bleached hair! That’s gross.”

Jim spoke. “Lest we not forget the time you went blonde. And as you proved, it IS, in fact, quite gross.”

“Jim, shut up. Draco’s a jerk anyway.”

Michael looked up. “No, I like him. He’s tough. He’s hard. Like me. He knows how to stick it to the man. Like me. Plus he has a posse. So we’re exactly the same.”

“Am I in your posse?” Dwight said, nervously.

“No. It’s a top-secret classified underground railroad thing. It’s really intense. Besides, no whites allowed.”

Jim rolled his eyes.

“Have you found a way to get out yet, Dwight?”

“Well…I mean…” It was obvious Dwight wanted to stay. Right here. In the office. For the first time in his life, he was where he wanted to be. With Michael, with the people he secretly called his friends, the people he thought about all the time.

Angela swiftly turned on the radio, startling everyone in the office.

Initial static. Then, a metallic, computer voice: “Attention everyone in Scranton, Pennsylvania. Anyone who is alive. Go to 117 St. Bergen Street and wait inside the bakery on the corner. The authorities will arrive to take you to safety…Attention everyone in Scranton…” Angela turned it off.

“Initial reactions?” Michael said as he stood up.

“We should go to the Bakery.” Angela said sternly.

“It’s a trap.” Pam muttered. Even though it was almost inaudible, she managed to captivate the room.

“What? How could it be a trap?” Michael asked.

“Didn’t you hear the voice? It’s that voice program on most computers. You know, the one where you can type anything and it will say it?”

Jim was pleasantly surprised.

"I love that program. I use it for prank calls all the time. That or my Yak-Bak.” Michael said.

Dwight ignored him. “Good thinking, Pam. You’re probably right. Someone issued this outbreak. Someone is trying to lure us in. They want us to go to the bakery, eat their food, and then take us to their base, where they will eat us and all the pastry delights in our intestines.”

“…Exactly what I meant.” Pam said.

“We need to stop them.” Angela said. “We need to stop this. Otherwise, this disease will spread. Besides, if we stay here, it’s a deathtrap. We need to get out. Now.”

“The nearest hospital is a few miles away. They probably have a helicopter of some sort. Then we can get out of here. Any ideas on where we should go?” Dwight asked.

“Why don’t we go to your dojo?” Jim asked.

“Yeah, let’s go to my dojo and get EATEN. Good idea, Jim. Amateur.” Dwight mocked.

“We should just get out of Scranton now. That should be our focus. Then we can figure out where to go from there.” Angela said.

"Then that would be 'foci'." Dwight mentioned.

"What?"

"You said focus, but you mentioned two things. Therefore, you should've said 'foci' as opposed to 'focus'."

Angela, disgruntled, turned away, but secretly smiled.

“Let’s go.”

They gathered all of their supplies.

Dwight brought the guns.

Jim brought the food.

Michael brought Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

“This reminds me of that time back in ‘nam.”

“You weren’t in ‘nam.”

“Shut up, Dwight. Of course I was.”

“No you weren’t, Michael.”

“You weren’t there either, so how would you know if I was actually there?”

“You just said you weren’t there. So: conclusion. You weren’t there.”

Michael and Dwight. As much as she liked listening to them argue, she couldn’t really think about anything else. His eyes.

His eyes right before Jim shot him. It had to be done, but there was something in his eyes, something still human.

Roy.

Jim stood beside her on the roof top. He hated this time of day. Noon. When the sun was directly above them, hovering. It was hard to see without squinting now, but he tried to attempt to look at the horizon, the downtown metropolis of Scranton still almost invisible among dust and fire.

“Okay, way to be Clint Eastwood.” Pam muttered. She stared at the ground, avoiding the sun. And his eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

“That look on your face.”

“Well there ain’t enough room in this town for the both of us.” He smiled. “Partner.”

Pam smirked, thinking about Roy. There wasn’t enough room for the both of them. Dwight and Michael still argued in the distance.

“I was so a call-on-al.”

“If you were a real call-on-al, you would’ve had troops. You would have badges and medallions and a helmet. And you would have scars. And a purple heart. But your heart is red, Michael, I can tell. You're a liar.”

“It’s colonel.” Angela said. She had been ignored since the zombies attacked. She sat on the ledge of the building, looking down at the legions of zombies walking slowly around the surrounding streets.

Suddenly, she kicked off her shoe. A gray tennis shoe, slowly flying to the ground. The laces whipped around the leather. She watched it tumble to the ground.

It wouldn’t be too bad, would it?

She could just fall right now…and everything would be just fine…

“Angela!” Dwight yelled.

But it had been too late.

“Angela?” Pam muttered. Pam and Jim rushed to the edge.

She was gone.

-

After tense moments, they decided maybe it would be best to get out of the office.

Before leaving, Jim looked on his desk. Pictures of family and friends glistened with that fake Kodak sheen. He grabbed the one of Pam.

“Okay, I’m not sure if everyone will be able to fit in my Sebring convertible –“

“What are you talking about Michael; we are going to go down to the warehouse to get a van.” Dwight defended.

“Um, okay, next time you want to sacrifice reputation for –“

“Our lives?” Jim asked.

“Yeah.” Dwight said. “We’re going to go to the warehouse.”

They climbed the stairs to the ground floor. The warehouse. Jim slid his hand down the guiding poles of the staircase, and Pam did the same.

Dwight opened the door. It was completely dark.

Fluorescent lights soon blinded them, making the metal shine oddly and the sharp, gray angles of the room seem unhealthy.

“You guys need to go to the tanning salon. I go twice a week. Changed my life.” Michael commented.

They slowly walked down the stairs, Dwight first, followed by Jim and Pam, then Michael.

“I wonder if Darryl’s here. I have this amazing joke-” Michael murmured.

Instantly, hands grasped Michael’s neck, pulling him in close. Everyone turned, and Dwight quickly shot Darryl’s head.

“You know, that’s the second time that’s happened. Oppression in the work place. First Stanley, now Darryl. Is there some sort of new civil rights thing I didn’t hear about?”

No one answered.

After a thorough inspection of the entire warehouse, Dwight spoke:

“Okay. Announcement. See that truck over there? We’re going to take this to…the Bakery.”

“But that’s a trap.” Pam said.

“Yes, I know it’s a TRAP, Pamela…But we need to stop this outbreak before it gets any worse. And if the people who started this want us to go there, then we will.”

“Plus, Angela might be there, right, Dwight?” Michael nudged him with his shoulder. "On 'til the break of dawnnn."

Dwight stared at him for a moment, then turned to Jim and Pam.

“Here’s the plan. I think we should drive that equipment truck to the bakery and just wait outside. They’ll find us. I’ll drive.”

“Shotgun!” Michael yelled.

Jim shook his head.

Michael ran over to the truck and started pulling on the handle. “Unlock ittttt…”

Dwight rushed while Pam and Jim walked over to the truck.

“Oh no.” Dwight looked down and sighed. “These aren’t the right keys.”

“You’re such an idiot!” Michael exclaimed. “Do you even know what keys look like?”

“Then what are they the keys for?” Jim asked.

A single piece of tape on the end of the keychain said “R.V.”.

“It looks like we’ll be taking the R.V.”

“Who owns an R.V.?” Michael asked.

It was silent for a moment. Pam raised her hand.

“It’s mine.”

“What?” Jim said, startled.

“Roy and I lived in it. We didn’t want a house just yet…because…”

“Okay then, let’s go.” Michael said.

Jim stared at Pam, even after she had begun to walk away. He didn’t understand how she could of tolerated that, could have tolerated Roy.

They rushed to the parking lot and quickly opened the door.

“Shotgun! Doubly shotgun! Shotgun upgrade!” Michael yelled again.

They each got in their seats, Pam and Jim in a couch near the back while Dwight drove and Michael looked at road maps in the passenger seat.

“We’re just 5 minutes away.” Pam observed.

“Nah-nah we’re just 5 minutes away. My name is Pam and I...have curly hair.” Michael mocked.

They drove a few blocks down until they arrived at the bakery. There weren’t any zombies around anymore. The sun was near horizon now, leaving empty streets and gray fog. The zombies seemed to have disappeared.

“What do we do now?” Michael asked.

“We wait. Stakeout.” Dwight said. "I'm so good at this."

They stared out the windows at the small corner pastry shop. A family owned business with a faded sign and dirty windows.

“...I think I’m going to take a nap.” Pam said.

Jim watched her turn and walk toward the back room and casually shut the folding door.

Jim turned to Dwight and Michael, still silent.

“What happens next?”

“Ideally, this: I go in, find Angela, save the day, and we have a hot steamy…” He paused. “Board game party."

“...You miss her, don’t you?” Michael turned.

“…Yes.”

It was silent.

Jim spoke. “I’ll be in the bathroom.”

He opened the folding door to the bathroom and instead, continued to the bedroom.

She was lying there, looking out the back windows.

The folding door closed.

“Jim?” She whispered.

He slid onto the bed, softly, surely. She turned to him. Tears ran down her face. Rivers and waterfalls. Her face glistened and in that moment, he wanted everything to be okay.

"I..I..."

He took his thumb to her face and gently wiped away the one cascading tear.

“You’re beautiful.”

A shudder, she shook underneath him. With his thumb still radiating on her cheek, his lips parted and they collided. Her hands wrapped around his head. They tumbled and she felt everything. Everything he had wanted to show her. Everything he had tried to show others when she had gotten in his way. Everything he loved. Everything he always wanted.

Slow-motion hands memorized her body, undressed her, coursed through her hair.

He took her with him that time. No one would leave her behind again.

“They’re coming!” Dwight yelled as he kicked open the folding door to the bedroom.

“Um…Okay, not what I meant."

“They’re coming! They’re coming!”

What?

What just happened?

He shook, a sudden chill overcoming him. He awoke and looked around.

A mirror. He was in the bathroom, staring into the mirror of the R.V.

There was no Pam. There was no moment.

There was no gray light shining through gold strands. There weren’t kisses that tasted like summer and lingered like July. There wasn’t the loose clothing or the undone buttons. There wasn’t that smile, the one he had never seen before and wanted to see forever.

There wasn’t anything at all.

The bathroom door slammed in. A pale arm reached for him and pulled him out of the small compartment.

“Jim! Follow me!”

A distant moaning could be heard, and he was only momentarily reminded of Pam.

“Do you have your gun?” Dwight's voice gave him power. It made Jim tremble. But he would never say that to Dwight.

...never say that.
Pam...

“…What?”

“JIM. LISTEN TO ME. DO YOU HAVE YOUR GUN?”

“…I can’t remember. Where’s Pam?”

“I thought she was with you.”

There was an immediate silence. The groans stopped.

“Michael, still there?” Dwight asked.

“Yeah. Stealth mode. Rambo.” Michael hid silently underneath the table, covering himself with potted ferns scattered on the ground. He put a line of dirt under both eyes and turned to them. "Bitches."

Dwight turned to Jim and proceeded to equip him with ammunition and a gun.

“Where was she last?” Dwight asked. His intense yellow button-up shirt had faded behind the omniscient fog and the clouded skies.

“The back room.” Jim was still distant, still glass-eyed.

Dwight, in front, tip-toed slowly to the back. His gun in front of him, he inched closer and closer to the flooded, paper-thin door. His breathing, along with Jim’s, continued to get heavier and heavier.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Michael jumped from underneath the table and kicked open the door, landing on the bed where Pam lay. The dust settled.

“Were you guys just going to stand there in front of a curtain for a million years? C’mon! Like Martin Luther King, Jr., restinpeace, once said, you have to do what’s right in HERE.” He pointed to his heart.

Dwight turned and shook his head. "When did he say that?"

"...After he was born. You know what, Dwight-"

Pam still didn’t move.

Jim jumped on the bed, cautiously rolled her over.

“Pam?" He whispered into her ear. "Pam! PAM!” He began to frantically yell. Tears welled up whatwouldhedowithouther howcouldhego-

She slowly opened her eyes.

“Woah. What’s going on?”

Jim smiled.

“We were just…you know, I don’t really know exactly.” Jim said.

“Emergency drill.” Dwight said. Then turned to the front of the R.V. and took his position in the drivers’ seat. Michael soon followed.

Jim, still awkwardly stradled over Pam, quickly moved. She smiled and sat up.

“That was a nice cover up by Dwight.”

“What are you talking about, Pam?”

“Well, it’s obvious that you just wanted to get me in bed, and in the process, devised a mischievious little number acted out in full-force by Michael Scott.”

“I can’t hide it anymore. I really wanted to be the kick-open-the-door-person, but you know Michael. I had to let him. And I had to tend to the Pam duties. Which included a bed.”

She smiled and he couldn’t help but be reminded of his earlier fantasy. He stared at her, just thinking and dreaming while her face slowly melted into an expression of concern.

“We should go to the front, you know, make sure everything is alright.”

“Yeah.”

-

“How 'effing long do we have to wait for this guy, Dwight?”

“Well, Michael, according to my calculations, he will come in an automobile of some kind." He paused while looking through binoculars. "Or possibly on foot. Maybe even – “

“A train? Could he come on a train?” Pam continued.

"Or a plane?" Jim peered over at her and silently chuckled.

“Not funny guys. He wouldn’t come on a train anyway. There aren’t any tracks. Unless, of course, he’s created a super-magnetic train. And he is Magneto. But I don’t think his technology is that advance- Wait.” Dwight paused and glared out the front windshield. “…Is that…Angela?”

In the distance, rounding the corner, stood Angela. She began to walk normally, in her high-class uptight stride…

“I thought she jumped off of the building…?” Pam asked.

Angela knocked on the door to the R.V.

Michael ran back underneath the table, taking all available ferns with him for camoflauge.

“What do we do now?”

“Same thing we did with Ryan. Test time. And she better not fail. Because in this test, if you fail, you die. Transitive property.”

Angela knocked harder on the door. “Let me in, Dwight. I saw you from the corner.”

“Okay, Angela. But first, a little test. A human test, if you will. To prove your…humanninities. First, prove that you are Angela.”

“…Do you really want me to do that?”

“Yes.” He winked at her, and in their own form of code she answered.

“Two weeks ago I made you 'cookies'. And you said they were your favorite. Because this time I used a little bit of...brown sugar.”

“Just what I wanted to hear. Come in.”

Angela arrived inside, wearing two gray shoes.

“What happened?” Dwight asked after attempting to give her some sort of embrace.

“My shoe fell off while we were atop the Dunder-Mifflin roof and I … don’t know. I just starting thinking…and decided to jump. I can’t remember anything after that. All I know is that I was injected with something…and I’m not sure what.”

“Let me see.” Dwight immediately pulled her close to him in a frantic way. Inspecting the injected area, Dwight frantically said:

“That’s why you’re alive! You died, but you were injected with the cure!”

“…Shouldn’t she be a zombie then?” Pam asked as she began to pull out her gun and back away.

“No! Because, see, she was never bitten after she got injected...” And as he lifted her hand, he saw the bites surrounding her arms. The light senguine blood had hidden itself and revealed the truth.

“Oh…I thought I was…okay…” Angela’s coherency became less and less decipherable as she tried to explain. Breathing heavily, Dwight kissed her, the last time he ever would.

“I love you.”

“I … love… you … more.” At that, Angela took his gun, pointed it to her head, and shot herself.

Dwight collapsed on the floor, entangled in her hair that had melted from her head. In an oil and water combination, her essence mixed with that of the dead to create a rainbow of red. Her face was young, but transparent and white. Veins were bare and her nails were yellow. He held her head and rocked back and forth.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small box.

“Angela…”

He slipped a diamond encrusted ring onto her stale, gray finger.

What else could they do?