Whimper by Erin McFadden Page A

to decide if I should say anything. “Scrambled eggs okay?” I finally asked, my voice cracking a little.
    “Sure, of course. What do you want me to do?”
    I let him warm up the frying pan and make slices of toast while I whisked up the eggs and milk. “I don’t cook much, so hopefully these are edible.”
    “Oh, I’m sure they’ll be fine. We’ve got it under control.”
    We worked side by side making eggs and toast. I even found some bacon in the freezer that we thawed and fried up. The kitchen was big enough for two of us, but somehow we managed to always be touching. A hand brushing over an arm, shoulders rubbing, occasional friction that made making breakfast seem like a far different experience than it ever had been before. Hell, I felt like I needed an inhaler now, I was feeling so flustered and breathless.
    Finally, I heard Zack and Brianna on the stairs and couldn’t stop myself from sighing with relief. It would be easier to control myself with an audience. As the sigh left my lips, Elliott pressed a quick kiss to my temple.
    “Thanks,” he whispered. Thanks for what? I didn’t have time to find out before the other two were in the room. My brother flashed me another smirk when he noticed how close Elliott and I were standing, and my middle finger itched to be used as a communication device. I’m proud to say I resisted the temptation and instead started pulling out plates from the cupboard.
    The four of us sat down to eat in relative silence, broken only by the clinking of dishes and silverware. We were all finishing when Elliott pushed his plate away and cleared his throat. “I’m just going to start before I lose the nerve. The problem is I’m not entirely certain where to start.”
    Zack forked his last bite of eggs into his mouth and talked around it. “How about you explain what was wrong with the dude last night first, and then go from there.”
    Elliott nodded, looking relieved to have a little direction. “The news and the police will probably say that he was in a state called agitated or excited delirium. It’s a term they apply to a syndrome in which patients exhibit extreme mental agitation, elevated body temperature, aggression, incredible strength and endurance, and resistance to pain. In most instances, the patient ends up in cardiac arrest, unless they get shot first.”
    Zack nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. But what is it really?”
    “This time, it was a synthetic virus that closely mimics the same symptoms. It’s spread through ingestion of infected blood or blood to blood contamination. When a person is first infected, they experience fatigue and body aches similar to the flu. Then their pulse rate drops and bodily organs start to slowly shut down. When the body is sufficiently weakened, the virus begins to replicate exponentially. Initially, the infected person feels better. They start to think that whatever made them feel sick has passed. But, the virus attaches itself to the neurological tissues. The body temperature starts to climb, and as it climbs, the brain weakens. The virus takes over and you start to see all the symptoms of excited delirium, the extreme aggression, elevated temperatures, all of it. The virus systematically shuts down all of the higher brain functions until all that works is the cerebral cortex, the brain stem. The patient isn’t capable of rational thought. They don’t feel emotions. They revert to fight or flight, subconscious instinct.”
    “Do they die?” I asked softly.
    “No.” Brianna answered firmly. “The virus doesn’t kill them. It turns them into mobile, violent, vegetables.”
    “Well, they die if they receive a traumatic injury or when the virus burns through their bodies. They aren’t immortal or anything,” Elliott corrected.
    “No shit! Are we talking zombies here, people?” Zack exclaimed, slapping the table hard enough that he caused all the silverware to clatter.
    Elliott and Brianna shot each other a look, and Brianna