newly turned zombie moves relatively slowly; if you get bit by an older zombie, the infection moves lightning fast,” Terri explains.
“And if you just die, it happens fast, too,” McLean says. Her voice is hoarse.
How she knows this, I’m not about to ask. My personal belief is that it depends. There are probably a million factors that impact how you get infected and how fast you turn.
Are we all infected, I wonder? If I die from a heart attack, will I turn into a zombie? I don’t really understand how it all works, but I’m not the guy to be looking for a cure anyway. My job is survival.
I can’t quit or give up. There is a little something deep inside of me telling me to survive. It’s not just for me, either; it’s for everyone in this vehicle.
“So let’s recap,” Terri says, rudely. “Blow your brains out if you’re surrounded, bitten, or just too tired to keep going. McLean’s going to step in front of the car and demonstrate. Go ahead, sweetie.” She’s gone back to arrogance.
I need to keep going for everyone in the vehicle… except Terri, who is a colossal bitch.
A large splat of blood falls from the turret. By the time I realize what it is, a second drop falls. It takes me another few moments to realize that it’s coming from Todd, who has not come down from his perch since we stopped.
The fear of having one of us turn inside the rig is unspoken but clear. We Chinese-fire-drill out of the Humvee. When we’re all standing on the sidewalk, my heart starts beating again.
“Todd? You okay up there?” I finally ask.
Crickets.
“Todd?” I ask again.
“Someone has to get up there and check him out,” Cupcake ultimately decides.
None of us wants to move. We probably shouldn’t be standing still on the sidewalk, but there aren’t many other choices.
Eventually all eyes fall on me. I’m holding one of our two guns and the bullet reserved for Todd.
“I guess I’ll go,” I finally say.
I feel brilliant for climbing the outside of the Humvee instead of trying to tug on his shirt from inside. Standing on the hood, I can see that Todd is slumped backward in the turret. There is no movement or sound coming from him, so I will have to get close to assess his status.
The metal beneath me dents loudly as I walk towards the windshield. No noticeable zombie-type reaction from Todd has me feeling pretty good. Hopefully he just hit his head and is out cold.
“Todd?” I call cautiously as I place my knee on the roof.
My hand instinctively goes to the barrel of the machine gun for balance but I can feel the heat before I grab it. Instead I reach up to the top of the turret and grasp it firmly.
Now that I can see down into the turret, I truly believe that Todd will be okay. His face, neck and head are all clean, with no signs of injury. It could be that our diet of booze and junk food caught up with him and he just passed out.
Before his cloudy eyes register with me, his face is flying forward. The wide-open mouth comes directly at my hand. At the last second, I release my grip and pull away. Todd’s’ teeth smash into metal and bite ferociously.
“Son of a bitch,” I declare.
“Is he okay?” Cupcake asks.
“No. He turned. Tried to bite me, too,” I answer, a little too loud.
From my elevated perch I can see a good distance. The area looks too quiet for such a wide avenue. If the military was able to clean the undead out, why did they leave the ones by the Capitol building and the bank-turned-female-penitentiary? More importantly, why aren’t they here picking us up and whisking us to safety?
Dealing with Todd is a new challenge. So far none of us have had to kill anyone we know. Shoving my hockey stick in the eye of some random zombie was hard, but was getting easier.
Suddenly I worry that there will be some weird transference up the aluminum shaft. If my stick penetrates Todd’s eye socket, I’m going to feel something. Not a vibration or a temperature change, but an
“And if you just die, it happens fast, too,” McLean says. Her voice is hoarse.
How she knows this, I’m not about to ask. My personal belief is that it depends. There are probably a million factors that impact how you get infected and how fast you turn.
Are we all infected, I wonder? If I die from a heart attack, will I turn into a zombie? I don’t really understand how it all works, but I’m not the guy to be looking for a cure anyway. My job is survival.
I can’t quit or give up. There is a little something deep inside of me telling me to survive. It’s not just for me, either; it’s for everyone in this vehicle.
“So let’s recap,” Terri says, rudely. “Blow your brains out if you’re surrounded, bitten, or just too tired to keep going. McLean’s going to step in front of the car and demonstrate. Go ahead, sweetie.” She’s gone back to arrogance.
I need to keep going for everyone in the vehicle… except Terri, who is a colossal bitch.
A large splat of blood falls from the turret. By the time I realize what it is, a second drop falls. It takes me another few moments to realize that it’s coming from Todd, who has not come down from his perch since we stopped.
The fear of having one of us turn inside the rig is unspoken but clear. We Chinese-fire-drill out of the Humvee. When we’re all standing on the sidewalk, my heart starts beating again.
“Todd? You okay up there?” I finally ask.
Crickets.
“Todd?” I ask again.
“Someone has to get up there and check him out,” Cupcake ultimately decides.
None of us wants to move. We probably shouldn’t be standing still on the sidewalk, but there aren’t many other choices.
Eventually all eyes fall on me. I’m holding one of our two guns and the bullet reserved for Todd.
“I guess I’ll go,” I finally say.
I feel brilliant for climbing the outside of the Humvee instead of trying to tug on his shirt from inside. Standing on the hood, I can see that Todd is slumped backward in the turret. There is no movement or sound coming from him, so I will have to get close to assess his status.
The metal beneath me dents loudly as I walk towards the windshield. No noticeable zombie-type reaction from Todd has me feeling pretty good. Hopefully he just hit his head and is out cold.
“Todd?” I call cautiously as I place my knee on the roof.
My hand instinctively goes to the barrel of the machine gun for balance but I can feel the heat before I grab it. Instead I reach up to the top of the turret and grasp it firmly.
Now that I can see down into the turret, I truly believe that Todd will be okay. His face, neck and head are all clean, with no signs of injury. It could be that our diet of booze and junk food caught up with him and he just passed out.
Before his cloudy eyes register with me, his face is flying forward. The wide-open mouth comes directly at my hand. At the last second, I release my grip and pull away. Todd’s’ teeth smash into metal and bite ferociously.
“Son of a bitch,” I declare.
“Is he okay?” Cupcake asks.
“No. He turned. Tried to bite me, too,” I answer, a little too loud.
From my elevated perch I can see a good distance. The area looks too quiet for such a wide avenue. If the military was able to clean the undead out, why did they leave the ones by the Capitol building and the bank-turned-female-penitentiary? More importantly, why aren’t they here picking us up and whisking us to safety?
Dealing with Todd is a new challenge. So far none of us have had to kill anyone we know. Shoving my hockey stick in the eye of some random zombie was hard, but was getting easier.
Suddenly I worry that there will be some weird transference up the aluminum shaft. If my stick penetrates Todd’s eye socket, I’m going to feel something. Not a vibration or a temperature change, but an
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