Eaters Read Free Page A

fumbled through her folder. Where was that report?
    “Well, while you’re trying to get it together, maybe Paul can tell us—”
    Paul turned toward Schrumer and looked above his head as if seeing something strange hovering above it then he slumped over onto the table with a thud.
    “Paul?” they all said in unison.
    When he didn’t respond, Bob went over and leaned down near him. “Hey man, you alright?”
    He didn’t move.
    Bob grabbed his shoulder and gave it a shake. “Paul?”
    Schrumer didn’t look concerned. He looked pissed. Sitting back, he folded his arms over his chest. “So much for my important meeting.”
    When Bob couldn’t rouse Paul, Cheryl said, “We’d better call 911.”
    No one moved for a couple of seconds as if they were wondering if Paul was just playing some sort of practical joke. There was plenty of history for that. He’d once put a frog in Schrumer’s desk and tied all the toilet seats in the ladies restroom in the upright position. His pranks had all the aplomb of a pimple-faced Boy Scout who’d never matured any further past puberty. But this was obviously not any sort of joke.
    Cheryl expected someone closer to the door to rush to a phone, but everyone was still frozen. “Bob? Call…now…please.”
    He sprinted out the door.
    Lanny cocked his head sideways and studied Paul’s still form. “What…what if he needs CPR?”
    Schrumer huffed. “I’m not touching him.”
    “Me neither,” Lanny said. Then, he turned and looked at Cheryl. “You took a class once, didn’t you?”
    Shit.
    Yeah. She did. It was a prerequisite for a part-time job she had helping out at a nearby preschool before she landed the insurance gig.
    With lead-filled feet, she got up and inched around the table towards Paul. What was wrong with him? What if he was contagious? She stopped a foot away, not wanting to get any closer without donning a biohazard suit.
    “What are you going to do?” Schrumer demanded.
    “I don’t know. Just check him, I guess.”
    She went closer and peered at him, able to see just the tip of his nose and purplish lips underneath a lock of black hair. She touched his hand, expecting it to be raging hot from a fever. But, it was cold…as cold as an ice cube. She put two fingers on the underside of his wrist and found no pulse. Did that mean…?
    Bob rushed back. “I can’t get through.”
    Cheryl tensed. “What do you mean? The line is busy?”
    “No. It just rings and rings. No one answers.”
    Schrumer shook his head. “Government budget cuts. They oughta—”
    Cheryl was about to tell him to keep trying, when she heard Paul moan.
    Oh, thank God.
    She reached for his hand again. “Paul…”
    Still cold . He moaned again, but his body remained still.
    Mary, Schrumer’s secretary, popped in. “What’s going on in here?”
    “It’s Paul. Call 911. Stay on the line until someone answers. He needs an ambulance.”
    She rushed off, and Cheryl tried to rouse Paul again. “Hey…how are you—”
    Paul slowly raised his head and made a sound like a grunt. From behind, she couldn’t see his face, but Schrumer and Lanny could. They stared at him with gaping mouths.
    “Paul…” she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder, “are you okay?”
    His head panned around towards her.
    She gasped and took a step backwards.
    His eyes had rolled up into his head, leaving behind nothing but an eerie solid milky white. He was frozen like that for a second, then the eyes slid back down. The blue irises and pupils were cloudy. They looked at her but seemed to see nothing. It was the gaze of a sleepwalker, viewing some dreamlike inner world instead of his surroundings.
    Paul’s eyes were so disturbing. Cheryl took another step back, tripped, and twisted her ankle before regaining her balance.
    His skin was extraordinarily pale, not the normal tanned hue of the weekend tennis player. Red blotches began to bloom on his face and hands. They quickly rose into welts that looked