Before Midnight

“May I help you?”

“You got books on zombies, apocalypse, end a the world?”

“Fiction? Nonfiction?”

“It’s all true.”

“OK. Nonfiction then. D’you have a library card?”

“There’s no time. No time. This is urgent. World’s gonna end. Tonight.”

“D’you have any ID?”

“No.”

“A piece of mail? Anything with your name on it?”

“Uh. Well. Gotta food stamp card. No name on it though. Just a number. You know, Miss, we’re all just numbers. They give us all numbers.”

“That’s good enough. I can make you a temporary card. And find you some good books.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. What happened to that lady used to work here? One that lives in Lee Harvey Oswald’s old house? Squints at the computer and types with two fingers? Collects plastic bugs and lizards?"

“Aww, poor Eunice. She had a nervous breakdown. She’s at home, resting.”

“I hope she gets better. But there’s no more time. With the world ending and all. I hope you made some plans. The zombies, they’re coming. Soon.”

“So, I guess that means you only want to check out books we have at this branch. It’ll take a few days to have them sent over from other branches.”

“No time, Miss.”

“Sure, I get it. We have a few on the shelves over here. How about this one? “Surviving a Zombie Apocalypse: for Dummies. No offense.”

“Sounds like a good one. I’ll take it.”

“Then there’s Off-Grid Living. Might come in handy. Campfire Cooking. Campfire Sing-a-longs. Oh, and Zombies 101."

“I’ll take em all. You’ve been a big help. But. . . I’ve gotta go.”

“Anything else I can do for you?”

“I just hope you’re also, you know, getting prepared.”

“Hmmm. Let’s see. I could watch a few of those survival shows. I’m up-to-date on my tetanus shot. Could swipe the library’s first-aid kit.”

“That’s a start. But you really oughtta prepare more. These zombies nowadays, they’s clever. Not like them old black and white movies. No siree. They will Select you. Inject you. Infect you. You got family, Miss?”

“What’s your name?”

“Victor.”

“Victor, d’you think I should pay my MasterCard bill? It’s due midnight tonight.”

“No way, Miss. They’ll be here before midnight. If I’m lyin I’m dyin. And what’s your name?”

“Bertha. I know—it’s awful. Big Bertha. Boxcar Bertha. Was named after my great grandma from County Cork Ireland.”

“Ah, it’s not so bad. So, you gotta family?”

“Just my old Manx cat, Frederick, and my long-haired wienie dog, Bernard. Coupla characters, those two. Spent $27.99 on those darn dog-talking buttons, but Bernard ignores them. The cat sleeps on them.”

“Talker Dog buttons?”

“You’re supposeta teach them how to talk. One button means Outside and one means Treat and one means Nap. So the dog steps on a button with his paw to communicate with you. IF you can get the canine to cooperate. Mine’s not interested. And the cat sleeps on top of the buttons. I should’ve taken myself out to dinner at Felix's instead of buying those stupid things.”

“Maybe those talkie buttons could come in handy, if the Undead made us mute. Just sayin’. ”

“You never know, Victor. Funny thing is, I read an article that the CDC actually has plans in place for a zombie apocalypse. Imagine that! So like the old saying goes, truth really is stranger than fiction.”

“But what about your family? No hubby? Kids? Grand-kids?”

“They're all gone. Harvey Senior died years ago. Heart attack. Runs in his family. Plus he loved those glazed donuts. Bought a dozen every Sunday. And the kids. They moved to Florida. They don't speak to me. Ever since. Well, it's a long story. I'd love to see my grandbabies, but there's no. . .”

“No time.”

“You have anyone, Victor? Family, friends?”

“No one. My real family got taken by the aliens. And my foster family, the O'Haras, They was nice enough, but. The checks run out in foster care, when you turn 18. They wasn't gonna keep me for free. No one keeps you for free. Ain't it a shame?”

“It's a crying shame.”

“I been on the streets, in shelters, you name it, since I turned 18. Every time I try to get a job, people thinks I’m too weird.”

 “Oh you should come work at the library then. There’s no such thing as too weird to work at the public library.”

“Really? I could work here?”

“Sure you could. We’d just need to get you some identification.”

“Well, if things were different. If it wasn’t for the Undead coming tonight, and all.”

“Who knows? Maybe they’ll postpone the silly thing. Maybe those zombie folks’ GPS sent them the wrong way, and they’re wandering around downtown Toronto right now, looking for New Orleans.”

“Oh, I don’t think they’re lost, and I don’t think they’ll postpone something as big as this.”

“Maybe it’ll fizzle out. Like Y2K back in 2000. They got everyone all worked up and nothing happened.”

“Y2K? Never heard of it!”

“See what I mean, Victor? It was supposeta be the end of the world? And whoosh----nothing. Nada.”

“But I don’t think so, Bertha. This here, this here’s the Big One. It’s the end a the world, doomsday, whatever you wanta call it. The Undead, they’re coming for us.”

“By the way, we have a lot of DVDs you can check out for free. You might like The Walking Dead or Stranger Things. Or maybe something a little lighter? Seinfeld. Those are so funny. I love that George fella. Can’t stand ya, Can’t stand ya!”

“No time to watch movies and TV shows. I got so much to do. To get ready.”

“You know, I never did make out a will. Seems too morbid. And I don’t have much. My library pension, that’s about it. But who’s going to take care of Frederick and Bernard? Maybe I should draw up a will, get it notarized.”

 “You take care of yourself, Bert.”

“Maybe I should do one of those living wills. I don’t want to live hooked up on a ventilator with tubes up my nose.”

“I’m sorry. Thanks for the books. I gotta go.”

“Enjoy your weekend, Victor.”

“Well. . .”

“Oh, enjoy your evening then.”

“You too.”

“You bet. I’m leaving work early. Gonna Netflix and chill. And run up that credit card bill on Uber eats.”