Floor Zero

When the air heats up and gets heavy with humidity, my brain turns to mush. I slowly put away the biographies and histories and heavyweight fiction that I normally relish. And then out comes the thrillers and the horrors and other pulpy stuff that makes it onto the NYT Best Selling Paperback list. I used to be ashamed of this phenomenon, but have come to embrace it as I have grown older. Even my late Father enjoyed a literary "amuse bouche" from time to time. Nothing wrong with a little brain candy!

And with that, I offer you the opening paragraph of Floor Zero...

"I was telling my boyfriend the same thing! God, what is it with men?" Sue barked into the phone. She looked around guiltily because she knew g.d. well that the office phone is not meant for personal business. But there was nobody around to bother her, so she continued yakking with Patty for another 15 minutes. And then an odd sound filled the air. Not quite as annoying as a fire alarm, but loud enough to prevent any further conversation. "I'll call you back," Sue said as she hung up. "What the hell is that..." She looked around and noticed that something was blinking in the lower right corner of her monitor. She leaned in closer and saw a small pop up window with the words ALERT ALERT ALERT in red blinking text. She clicked the window with her mouse and everything on her screen vanished. Another window appeared seconds later, displaying what looked like a video feed from a surveillance camera. The picture was slowly sweeping back and forth across a large room filled with lab equipment. Sue blinked and then began to scream. She was still screaming when she bolted from her chair and ran out the front door of the Portland Health Sciences building. The only thing that stopped her screaming was the baton that tapped her on the back of the head as she rounded the corner toward the parking garage.