She Needed Killing.

I doubt that would ever stand up in a court of law, but my former boss did indeed need killing. We had hoped that after she had given her notice, packed her desk, and moved on that that would be the end of the constant torture but she kept coming back…and I got suspicious. What kind of creature keeps coming back after their demise? That’s right….a zombie.

I’m not going to lie to you and say that I regretted it. Never had there been a more self-absorbed, socially-retarded human being on the face of the planet and when it came time…I didn’t mind taking one for the team. In fact, I was going to enjoy this immensely.

Not being trained zombie fighters, I advised the staff that they should engage the Disaster Action Plan of getting the hell out through the side door. I impressed upon them one of the many Zombie Engagement rules – It’s never just a scratch. They didn’t need to be told twice.

I took some precautions, checking the locks on the windows and doors, taking stock of available weapons in each room, and I waited for the tell-tale scrape…scrape…of Ferragamos on tile. She had arrived.

Coming around the corner of my cube, I stood waiting. She could see me through the locked glass door the only barrier that stood between me and certain death and reanimation if I screwed this up. I secretly smirked at the sight of her once artificially tanned skin, now falling away from her skeleton. Her perfectly capped teeth garish against the receding gums and her expensive rhinoplasty job, now in tatters.

After several wails of frustration at trying to pull the locked door open, she removed one of her spike heeled shoes and broke the glass. It fell in shards on the carpet and I winced involuntarily as she stepped over the threshold onto it.

My eyes never left her as we squared off. Zombies were known to be fast…and if it was one thing my boss was in life …it was fast. I inched toward the cube that our color printer sat in, thankful that I had taken the precaution of loosening the blade of the paper cutter.

She charged. In what seemed like one motion I grasped the handle and wielded it like a gladiators sword, relieving her body of her head. In the slow-motion that these moments seem to take on I watched it sail through the air, spewing a fetid black liquid as it spun like a Hail Mary football before ricocheting off of a file cabinet and coming to rest next to the potted plant outside the kitchen.

No longer concerned about her body, I walked over and nudged her head with the tip of the blade. Zombie Fighters will tell you that what followed was overkill (heh) but I took particular pride in bringing the blade down one more time so that her cranium lay in two pieces.

“There. Now you really are two-faced.” I said to the pieces.

Sighing, I looked around at the carnage and the resulting mess. Jane was going to be pissed.