Winner!
Third Place Sci-Fi Winner on The Dream Awards July 2020.
What would happen if one day you were infected with a virus that ate at your brain, your skin, and all your internal organ all while you were self-aware?
Would you still feel? Want to...
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Earlier
"Hey, Marc." Art gave Marc a short, courteous nod and a pat on the shoulder. Marc reciprocated absentmindedly.
"What's up?"
Marc knew it must be important. Art was a man of action and a leader. He wouldn't discuss business with him on his day off unless it was absolutely necessary. In this case, Marc was glad the interruption had stopped him from being more of an idiot than he'd already let Teal know he was.
"One of the Zs woke up. She's giving a lot of information on what happened to her at the lab between moans and gibberish talk." His unusual honey-colored irises, full of hope.
Marc nodded pensively. "What about Eric?"
"He wasn't the one taken in the van but he was shot. We were able to drag him away from the border but he's bleeding badly. He needs a transfusion and my blood's not a match. Waiting for Gisela to arrive at the rendezvous point, since she's his twin.
"Got it. Who got taken?" Marc's eyes narrowed in question.
Art slumped his shoulders and dragged a breath out his mouth. "Not one of ours. We think maybe one of the zombies we were trying to break out, or one of their guys."
Marc looked over at Kaya. She pretended not to listen and busily stored cases of vodka into the cabinet underneath the bar.
"Kaya, I'll be back in about an hour. Can you handle things?"
"Yep." Looking through him, she smiled sweetly.
"Rocco will be in early to take all the human-corps, transporting boxes, back to the gates."
Kaya nodded.
"Oh! And can you let Teal know I have to leave but she can stay as long as she needs to?"
"Mhm."
"Thanks."
When he was out of sight, the smile faded, and intense, glazed pupils watched his figure disappear from sight. Lean legs rapidly carried her upstairs, to find Teal.
💀💀💀💀💀💀
Nothing but chaos inside the old crumbling hospital walls. Screams and wallows bounced in the distance, weaving through the dirty, dark hallways. Echoing footsteps clicked between murmurs and low whispers, the density in the air was nauseating. It smelled like death and defecation.
"Can you check on the talking Z, Art?"
Art nodded and headed down the narrow, unlit wing, to where the barely living, female zombie laid in a solitary room.
