Corporate Dead Zone

The pool at the Cancun resort was a perfect turquoise rectangle, surrounded by lounge chairs occupied by the walking dead of our marketing department. I sat at the pool bar, nursing my third margarita, watching my colleagues attempt swimming laps through water that sparkled like something from a brochure nobody had actually read.

"So," said Marcus, sliding onto the stool beside me, hair still wet from his recent dip. "How's my favorite zombie holding up?"

"Your what?"

"Your zombie. We're all zombies, Sarah. Haven't you noticed? The corporate undead." He waved at our coworkers bobbing in the water like bloated apples. "Look at them. Q3 projections killed their souls months ago, but their bodies keep showing up at strategy meetings."

I wanted to dismiss him, but Marcus had a point. Six months of chasing impossible targets had left me hollowed out, functioning on autopilot. The water looked tempting—cool, silent, empty of expectations.

"Sarah Chen," Marcus continued, lowering his voice. "About the merger rumor. The one that's going to eliminate half our department."

"I don't want to talk about work."

"It's not work if it's about survival." He touched my arm, his fingers cold from the pool water. "I have information. Off-the-record, backchannels. But I need something from you."

The margarita soured in my stomach. "What?"

His hand lingered. "Company. Tonight. Neither of us should sleep alone with the axe falling next week."

The pool lights flickered on automatically, casting long shadows across the water. Somewhere behind us, someone laughed—a sharp, desperate sound that echoed off the tilework.

"Is that a proposition or blackmail?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Both." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "The zombie who knows things survives. The one who doesn't, gets terminated."

I looked at the swimming figures still moving through the illuminated water, unaware of the calculations happening at poolside. Then I signaled the bartender for another drink, already feeling the numbness of acquiescence spreading through me like the water I'd soon be entering.

"Tequila," I said. "And leave the bottle."