Dead World (Book 1): The Impetus by Jacob Mollohan Page A

sluices through the streets of Downtown Denver. Parts of the city are still on fire. The dozens of emergency calls coming through his radio are overlapping into a constant background hum. Officer John Komine pulls his coat tighter around his considerable gut.
    He was supposed to be off duty but with the world going to hell he was called into emergency reserve. He heard reports of cannibalism. Fucking impossible. Of all the things he never thought he would have to deal with that was right up there next to aliens.
    Already upset because he should have been in bed relaxing, instead he is out here in the downpour trying to respond to a call that a homeless man was caught attacking a couple in their house. It was supposed to be a pretty low key call considering some of the other deployments, but that didn’t make him feel any better about it.
    The lights on the top of his car spin, strobing everything in blue and red flashes. He’s parked in the cul-de-sac of an underprivileged neighborhood. It’s the type of place that would normally have problems and he doesn’t want to deal with any of them right now.
    He sees his suspect wandering through the neighborhood. It doesn’t look like a homeless man, more like a young kid. He is wearing a red sweater, smeared and dirty. He hasn’t received any useful information for hours. Just that he is supposed to detain any individual that was acting infected. Whatever the hell that meant.
    To John this was just one more job and he wants to be done as quickly as he can. He should have a partner with him on a call like this, but the force is stretched thin right now.
    As soon as he steps out of the car the young man turns in his direction and starts stumbling towards him.
    John is grateful because at least the guy isn’t trying to run. He is in no mood for a chase. Maybe he will just be able to cuff him and bring him in.
    “Is everything ok here?” he asks as the young man continues to stumble forward. He waits for a few moments. The guy isn’t saying anything just walking right towards him. He must be drunk. And by the look of his sweater he has already thrown up everywhere. There is a thick dark fluid covering most of his sweater.
    “Hey are you ok?” he calls out again. The young kid moves, hidden mostly in the shadows. Just a few steps and he will reach the pool of light cast by the street lamp.
    Slowly John backs up and asks if the kid is alright again. He doesn’t understand why he isn’t answering. Must be drunk out of his mind, he thinks. He’s been on the force for a long time. Just a few years from retirement and he’s seen everything there is to see with people.
    If John were not so tired from his 15 hour shift, if he took the time to think things through, then he might have taken more note of the strange behavior. He might have connected this with the chatter on the radio about violence, and keeping distance between himself and victims.
    It is a simple lapse in judgement.
    Years ago he grew accustomed to the stupidity that seems to follow people. They do dumb stuff and pay for it with a night in jail. Usually by then they have sobered up and the situation resolves itself
    He doesn’t want to risk hurting the kid so he doesn’t reach for his baton or anything that would require too much force. The last thing he needs is the kid to wake up in jail and try to sue him for maltreatment or something like that. Then poof there goes his well laid plans for retirement. He hasn’t had many problems this far in his career and doesn’t want to start now.
    “Look sir we’ve gotten reports that you were banging on doors in the neighborhood. I think maybe you should go on home.” 
    Finally the kid steps into the light of the streetlamp and John takes an involuntary step back. Oh my god, he mouths the words. The kids face is mangled and bloody. The liquid he thought was vomit is thick black blood.
    Part of his chest is destroyed. Gone. Just missing, like a rabid animal made a