The Most Uncommon Cold I - Life in the Time of Zombies by Jeffrey Littorno

yellow, orange. I looked at them now, and it seemed like the first time I had seen them.  I passed them every day but never truly looked at them. 
         I found myself wondering about the people who lived behind those doors.   Ther e was an older husky, black man I passed and said hello to most days.  I wondered which of these doors was his.  I thought about the pretty Asian woman who always seemed to be in a hurry as she headed for the elevator.  Which of these doors was hers?  There was also a young couple who were holding hands whenever I saw them in the hallway.  I had seen these people and a variety of others nearly every day for several years.  Yet I wasn’t sure where they lived, and this made me a little sad.  I wondered how many of them were sick and were hiding behind those doors, and this made me a lot sad.
         I finally shook myself from the mentally-induced paralysis and strained my ears to catch any sounds of life.  There was humming from the fluorescent lights and the whirr ing of air conditioner, but that was all.  I suddenly recalled my purpose and headed for the garage.  I walked quickly down the hall.  Admittedly, the unusual silence of the building had me rattled.  I pushed the button on the wall next to the elevator and stared at the glowing circle with the downward arrow.  The hum and squeak of the elevator as it rose to the fifth floor was the only sound and gave me an unexplainable sense of foreboding which raised the hair on the back of my neck.
         The elevator arrived, and the doors slid back with a ding.  The light overhead made the small, carpeted and wood-paneled   compartment almost glow.  It appeared no different than any other time that I had ridden it.  However on this day, the thought of being trapped within that small space sent chills through my body.  I glanced at the door in the corner of the hall marked “Stairs” and debated the choice for a few seconds. As much as I wanted to do the rational thing and just step inside that elevator and ride it to the ground floor, my mind would not allow it.  I spun away from the elevator and headed toward the stairs.
         The door slammed behind me and sent a deafening echo around the stairwell.  That was the only sound I heard until the slap of my footsteps began down the stairs.  The five-floor descent took longer than it should have.  This was due in large part to my childish need to stop every few step and listen for any sound.   I never heard as much as a scratch, but that didn’t deter me from trying. Whether I was so intent on listening in order to discover anyone in the building or  if I just did not want to be surprised by anyone or anything does not matter.
         In any case, I did not need to worry about it because I reached the ground floor without surprise.  There were two light wood doors at the bottom of the stairs.  One was labeled “Lobby” and led to the rows of mailboxes.  The other was labeled “Garage”.  Both had a square foot of glass in the middle to allow a peek of what lay on the other side. I looked through the “Lobby” door to see the mailboxes.  The place always reminded me of a locker room with several large cabinets forming parallel rows of lockers.  Of course in this case, the cabinets housed the numerous mailboxes.  This was the only time I had seen the mailbox area empty.  It seemed that no matter day or night there had always been someone here checking his or her mailbox.  Just as I was about to turn away, some movement caught my eye.  From the glass, I could not see the last row on the right, but I could see the shadows on the white brick wall behind it.  I kept watching for more movement but saw none.  I was beginning to think that the light had played tricks on my eyes when the shadow moved again.
         The question of whether or not to enter the room never consciously entered my mind. I opened the door as slowly as possible while