January 24 at 11:00 AM
Photo courtesy of Zaldy Icaonapo (publicdomainpictures.net)
I knew I was screwed the moment Billy overbite took a chunk out of me. Now no one wants to claim me as their own. The living gawk at the crater in my arm and get a little twitchy with the trigger finger. I could turn at any moment. They know this, as do I. And it’s a hard point to argue. Better off putting a bullet in my head.
But not yet.
I still have something to offer.
And I haven't become a feeder yet.
This heart still beats, though questions abound. I scrape myself off the floor, wiping blood from my mouth. The blackouts are becoming more and more frequent. Must have thrown out my shoulder again. I slam it against the wall, forcing it back into place. There’s little pain, a point not entirely lost on me. It’s hard not to worry. And wonder.
Footsteps approach. Loud and clumsy. Must have knocked over the whole apartment. Nice to know someone still wants me, if only for my flesh. Seems like zombies are the only ones showing me any love these days, but there’s still one who’s sweet on me.
Scratch that. Gotta stop lying to myself. Living in a fantasy world.
I spend most of my time tracking through a murky haze, and I tend to run hot. My temperature’s rarely under 100, even at night. If the zombies don't consume me, the fever will. To survive, I must become the fever.
But not the plague.
Never the plague.
Not sure how much longer I can keep this up.
My tortured guest paws open the bedroom door. Bullets would be nice, but I make do with a dull meat cleaver. It always surprises me how thick the general public's craniums are, but I manage to crack it open it with one wicked strike. Still it doesn’t kill him outright. This one’s dumber than the rest, or just more determined. No wonder I stayed alive so long.
Night sets in. The cries of 100,000 hungry mouths echo through the streets.
The evening promises to be long. And messy.