The Collapse: A Zombie Outbreak Story

He kept calling me.

I put my hands on my ears and told myself, It isn't him! It isn't! It isn't! You can't open the door! You promised you wouldn't!

I just closed my eyes and waited for the scary noises to stop.

Friday, May 20,2016

Houston, Texas

At 7 P.M. CST, Dr. Frank Eastman walked through the parking lot of Houston Pathology Laboratories (HuPath). His satchel hung from his right shoulder, and tucked under his left arm was a small Styrofoam cooler. He moved with the haste of someone in fear of being caught.

Had Eastman been allowed to take these resources, he would've packed them properly with secondary, or even tertiary, packaging to ensure the contents' safety, but his actions weren't known by his colleagues. In his anxious attempt to pack the resources, the bare minimum was all he could muster: the cooler and a few ice packs.

When Eastman reached his sedan, a black rat with a gray spot on its back darted into the nearby greenery.

The clinical pathologist yelped and dropped his belongings. The cooler's contents—six vials containing clear liquid, six 3-millimeter syringes, and several ice packs—spilled onto the blacktop. Unbeknownst to Eastman, a single vial rolled near the rear driver's side tire.

"Stupid rat!" Eastman growled as he frantically gathered the scattered materials. When finished, he got in his car and left, reversing over and shattering the lone vial. Its contents lay exposed.

When the car was out of view, the rat emerged from the bushes to inspect the vial's remains.

* * *

Wake Forest, North Carolina

As pinks and purples blended into the dimming North Carolina sky, my husband and I sat on the back porch swing, watching our giggling daughter run around the yard with our yapping puppy. The birdsong had long since quieted, and only the occasional rumble of a car engine disturbed the otherwise peaceful evening.

A breeze brushed the trees, and Gerald, with his arm around me, pulled me closer. A sigh accompanied his small smile.

"What is it?" I asked, glancing up at him. His brown hair appeared darker in the fading light; shadows crawled over his skin, hiding his features. He wasn't that much taller than me, but the few inches he had let me rest my head on his shoulder comfortably.

Without taking his eyes off Sadie, he said, "Just a nice night. It's supposed to rain tomorrow, though."

"There will be more nights like this," I said, listening to my daughter shriek with excitement when our puppy caught her. "Sadie, be careful, sweetie."

"I will!" she called back as she twirled, then fell to the ground, sprawling out in the grass.

Trooper sat, tongue lolling, clearly exhausted from her playtime. She had been a present for Sadie's seventh birthday last month. A teeny-tiny, brown and black Yorkshire terrier who loved to bark at everything and hated loud noises. The three-month-old puppy adored Sadie. She followed her everywhere.

As the night crept in, moths soon replaced butterflies, and bats flew from tree to tree, catching their meals. The swirl of colors adorning the sky became a dark blue hue falling over the landscape. I could hardly distinguish my daughter until the neighbors' back porch light came on, illuminating part of our lawn over the short wooden fence separating the yards.