I didn't hear any of the broadcasts in time this morning - if I had, I'd have stayed home and holed myself up in our apartment - third-floor, with three fire doors between us and the ground; it would have been a hell of a lot easier.
As it was, I was probably sitting at my workstation with music blaring from my headphones when they came lurching down the hill. The college isn't exactly secure, not to mention it's six stories and bright red brick and sticks out like a sore damned thumb from miles away. It's a public building: built to draw people *in*, not keep them out, and it's not really designed to withstand siege. And it didn't. By the time the security guards on the outside stairs figured out what was going on, half the main body of the zombies were already into the concourse. From there it's an easy enough shamble to just about anywhere on campus.
The only thing that really seems to slow them down at all is the more or less endless quantity of stairs Dougie boasts, and that not much. The first we in the Reg Office knew of the attack was when the security guards finally got 'round to drawing their guns and shooting at them. I think the gunshots scared my co-workers more, at first, than the zombies. Can't blame 'em, really. Nor can I blame the security personnel. It's probably the first time any of them has had to draw on anything not made of cardboard and pinned to a wall. It's certainly the first time most of my co-workers have heard gunshots. Most of them assumed something else, I think, especially with what happened in Virginia a while back. We're a small college with its share of disgruntleds. I get the line of thought, I do.
The noise drove most of them under their desks and it was a few minutes, I admit, before I got up the guts to venture out of my cubicle and make my way up to the front counter. Almost three minutes. I got there just about the time the screaming started, which is about the same time I snuck a peek through over the counter and pulled the fire alarm. By that time the horde was well into the concourse and trying to open the waiting room doors. Our counter girls had the presence of mind (thank all the gods) to pull the steel shutters on the counters, but there were half a dozen people in the waiting room, some of them kids.
Bless Allison, she vaulted over the counter like Indiana Jones, under the last shutter coming down, keys in hand, and dragged the doors shut. One of the Zeds was halfway through - I pulled open the waiting room door and went out after her. Pretty much unarmed - all that we've got in the office that looks like a weapon is office supplies. I managed to grab one of the foldable aluminum easels we use for projection rolls.
Turned out she didn't need me - she slammed that door shut right on the thing's arm. The crunch was weirdly satisfying. I had to hack off the bits stuck in the door, but we got it locked up. Of course, the outer doors are only glass. We had to herd everybody in the waiting room through the door into the office. That door's made of wood, but not much more secure. We heard glass breaking just as we got it locked.
Quite a few of my co-workers are gone. Some of them fled out the other doors as the shooting started... I don't know where they are now. The supervisors with their offices facing the concourse are dead, I think. More glass breaking, and doors slamming shut. They were good supervisors. They looked after us. Let's hope zombies can't remember door codes. But we can't stay here for long. There's no food and only a few big cooler-bottles of water, and eventually they'll find a way in through the ceiling ducts.
It's been about a two hours since the shots were fired. We're in the back office, now, and they haven't managed to get in past the outer doors. There are about twenty of us left of forty-five. The doors are code-locked and the Zeds don't have tools. At least one corridor back here, the one facing the Nursing hallway, has locked doors on both sides. The fire doors onto the concourse will have locked down when I pulled the fire alarm, so it should still be clear. If it's not, I don't know what we'll do.
They haven't found the phone lines, yet, and a quick call down told us that the alarms locked down the security doors in the top level of the parkade, so it should be clear down there to the emergency exits. They come out practically underground, three floors below the main level of the concourse and well out of view of the street. If we can get to the river - and if the radio's right and they came from uphill instead of down... they might be held up enough by the tempting target of the college to give us a clear shot - there'll be boats. I know there are plenty, just down from the restaurants on the wharf. After that, I'm not sure. It all depends on whether I can prove to be not shit at piloting anything bigger than a speedboat. But at least one person says he can sail. We might make it, yet.
Haven't been able to get through to Mum, who's in a similar situation, but I'm strangely unworried about my family, really. Give 'em something sharp and someplace to defend, they'll be fine. They'll all make for the house and lock up tight. Thanks to my mother's paranoia over the flood, they've got enough food and water to last weeks, at least, and the river itself should slow things down. Littlestsis should be fine, back East. I hear they haven't hit there, yet, so they'll have plenty of warning.
There's also the problem of more than half of us being pretty much shell-shocked. Most of the ones who aren't are still talking about it like it's a shooting. They either didn't see before we locked the doors or are pretending they didn't, and telling them the truth doesn't seem to have done much good. I don't like how that might play out once we're outside and running, but if it comes to leaving them behind to save ourselves, I guess we'll just have to. We can't carry all of them. There's three toddlers here already, and they come before adults who are capable of running but won't.
It's getting quiet out there. Sounds like they're moving upstairs. Time for another phone call and then a break for it, if it's clear.
Downside of being Canadian during an attack of the undead: no guns, and nowhere to get them. The radio's saying the regiment up on the hill was called out, but it didn't say how they were faring. Points to them having come down from the train tracks, anyway. Good news for us. Not so much for all the houses and schools in between.
No food, no weapons. Even if we do get to safe ground we can't stay there long. I'm taking one of the department laptops but there's no way of knowing when we'll hit a WiFi signal again. Wish us luck. And speed. Wish us speed, too.