Ravage: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel(2)

No point even one of us being here at this rate.

If it was up to him they all would have left already; he would’ve closed up shop and called it a day. But Head Office didn’t allow him to make such judgement calls. They paid him to be there ten hours a day and that’s exactly how long they expected him to stay, whether there was any need for it or not. There was no requirement for Paul and Chelsea to suffer, though.

I think they might slip into a coma if things get any more boring.

Oh, to hell with it. I can manage things here on my own for a couple of hours.

Nick was just about to tell both Paul and Chelsea to go home when, finally, a customer entered the store.

“Hallelujah,” Nick said under his breath, before prodding a member of his staff gently on the arm. “Go get him, Chels. We need to get a contract out of this guy or I’m screwed on the conference call tonight.”

“No sweat,” said Chelsea, flicking her long blonde hair behind her back. “Watch a sales-ninja at work.”

She swaggered over to the customer, her trademark fake smile switched on full beam. The customer didn’t seem to notice her approach, though. He slumped up against the central display where the live demo-phones were lined up on painted-steel pedestals. The man hunched over a Nokia smartphone so closely that he was probably smelling the lithium in the battery.

Great, Nick thought to himself. Our first customer in hours is a pisshead.

Nick decided to shadow Chelsea, just in case she got into problems. The girl had a short fuse with difficult customers, and a drunk would certainly qualify as a potential trigger for her teenaged temper.

“Are you okay there, sir?” Chelsea asked the man.

He remained hunched over, almost like he didn’t even hear her.

“I said, are you okay there, mate?” Chelsea was already beginning to look irritable, and her tone had changed. She turned to Nick and shook her head.

Nick eased her aside with his hand and stepped up beside the customer. It was best for a manager to deal with anyone who was going to be a problem.

Sales people should be free to sell. Managers should be free to deal with all the headaches.

“Sir, are you okay?” he asked politely. “I’m afraid you can’t sleep it off here.”

Still no response from the hunched-over man.

Nick reached out a hand. He was quickly getting impatient. “Sir, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to go someplace else.”

The man shot upright like an uncoiling spring. He turned to Nick with swollen, bloodshot eyes. A thin strand of saliva hung pendulously from his lower lip, ready to make a break for the floor at any moment. The man’s entire expression was vacant and faraway.

Yikes!

Nick took a step backwards, his stomach flipping over like a wet pancake. “What the heck is wrong with you, man?”

The customer swayed on his feet and groaned unintelligibly. If he had been drinking, then he must have drunk a shitload.

“I…I’m not feeling well,” said the man. His voice was thick, as though he had spoken with a swollen tongue.

“No shit,” said Paul from over by the laptops. “You look rough, mate.”

The groaning man wobbled for a moment, then managed to speak again. “I…I don’t think I can make it home. W-will you call my wife for me, please?”

Nick found himself staring for a moment, speechless. The stink coming off the other man was foul, even worse than the sickly sight of him.

Maybe he’s diabetic or something. Don’t they have a funny smell right before a coma?

Nick managed to find his voice. “Yes, yes, of course,” he said. “Chelsea, will you grab my mobile, please?”

Chelsea hurried over to the sales desk and procured Nick’s phone for him. She handed it over gingerly, almost as if he was contagious of something merely for talking with the smelly man in the store.

“What’s the number for your wife?” Nick asked.

The man’s eyes rolled in his skull and it seemed like he might pass out for a moment. Eventually, he managed to give a reply. “It’s…it’s – one moment. It’s 07…0798…07985…”

It took about a minute in total before the man gave out his full phone number. When Nick dialled it a woman picked up on the other end and asked who was calling.

“Oh, hi. This is Nick Adams. I’m calling from Touch Pad, one of the phone shops in town. I have your husband here with me. I’m…I’m afraid he’s not feeling very well. He needs someone to come and collect him. Would you be able to make it into town?”

Nick clutched the phone tightly to his ear and listened while the woman informed him that she could be at the store in twenty minutes. The thought of having to babysit the sick man during that time wasn’t something he was relishing, but what worried him even more was that the man’s wife also sounded pretty sick. The voice on the other end of the phone was disorientated and thick with mucus.

“Okay,” Nick uttered into his mobile as the conversation neared its end. He swallowed a spongy lump halfway down his throat. “S-see you soon.” He slid the phone into his pocket and smiled at his sickly guest, who was standing unsteadily beside him. “Your wife is on her way. She won’t be long. Perhaps you should take a seat while you wait.”

“I’ll make the poor sod a cuppa,” said Paul, already wandering off towards the back. “Looks like he could use one.”