Virus

Chapter 5

Excessive mature language.

               "Oh, fuck."

     I begin to tug on Bill's arm, willing him to move. He stumbles, as if he were a figurine, but it doesn't matter anymore, because a dislocated shoulder seems like a much better option than being eaten alive at the moment. The monster called terror had consumed me completely the moment I saw the swarm of corpses, and my muscles were working completely on adrenaline.

     "Just fucking run, Bill!" Somewhere in my head, I know that he's only a kid, but I've still decided to paint him the color of the fucking rainbow with my colorful language. "Move your legs, dammit!" I tug on him harder, forcing him to run faster. The moment we stop moving, the adrenaline will drain from our pores and shock will cement us to the ground.

     "Bill keep fucking moving!" I don't know if I'm really yelling at him or if I'm yelling at myself. I'll have to apologize for swearing at him later. If either of you are still around later.

     The silhouettes of David and Suzanne merge with the silhouette of a car, and I find myself pushing harder. Bill stumbles, pulling me back, letting out a cry of defeat. Brutality in this very moment is survival is what we both find as the young boy is brutally dragged up off the ground. "The car is close. If we get there, we survive. We have to run a little bit longer." My words are worth shit because we all know that if he gets dragged down by a rogue rotter, I won't hesitate to bolt to the car.

     "Bill start moving!" I drag him along with me, rapidly picking up the pace. We have to get to the car we have to get to the car we have to get to the fucking car. The kid is practically dead weight, dragging me back into the herd of dead bodies as he gives in to exhaustion. Our game of yanking and pulling back will tire soon, and I'll end up getting to the vehicle without Bill and without any strength left in me.

     The glare of the sun bouncing off the windows and into my eyes is what gives me enough strength to pull Bill farther along. With my free hand, I reach out and grab the handle, wrenching the door open. Bill wastes absolutely no time to crawl in. Little fucker, I remark silently to myself.

     The door closes, most likely out of reflexive memory. My own annoyed face stares back at me. A rotted one appears over my shoulder, hands reaching out. It snarls hungrily, and I watch my face become one of surprised terror. Fuck.

     My fingers close around the door handle, pulling at it, twisting it, doing anything to get it to fucking open. "The fucking door!" I cry out, my voice cracking and going hoarse. "Open the fucking door!" It doesn't give the slightest hint of moving at all.

     The rotter clamps a bloodless hand on my forearm, eliciting a horrified intake of breath from my lungs. It's jaws open to make room for the living flesh it holds, and I can see all of the rotting insides of it's mouth. The gleaming material darts forward, and a crunch follows the movements. Dead flesh has fallen away and stumbled backward, a noticeable cut etched in his peeling forehead. But I have seen that the car door has finally opened, and I have wasted no time in hurriedly scrambling over Bill to get inside.

     My hands find the steering wheel, prompting my foot to find the gas and kick down as hard as I can. The vehicle lurches forward, and in the rearview mirror I can see the horde of walking dead begin to get smaller and smaller. A pounding in my rib cage keeps reminding me that no matter how far away we are from those mother fuckers, the fear will be very real no matter what.

     "What the fuck happened with the door?" I snap, eyeing the two adults in the back who hadn't done a fucking thing. "And what the fuck happened with all of it? Why in the fucking fuck is any of this happening?" All is dead silent. Like I had just threatened to turn the car around. "And where the fuck is Mark?"

     David's face pales, and he doesn't need to say anything for me to understand. We'd fucking left Mark in the house to fend for himself.