INFECTioUS

One

(Song goes with car ride)

 
It was a rainy morning, a grand start to my day. I close my bedroom curtain and I roll my eyes, tucking my hair behind my ear. I fix my shirt, grab my keys and dart towards my car, trying to avoid the torriential downpour that Washington has year round.

I'm sick of rain. 

I buckle my seat belt and start my car, turning Pandora on and and getting into my morning playlist. It relaxes me before I go into that money hoarding, corporate brown nosing store, where my coworker is the problem.

The customers too, but hey, that's retail I guess. 

Driving down the highway, I pass an SUV,  crashed into the guard rail and the caution lights blinking faster than I've ever seen. Worrying gets the best of me, I can feel the wrinkles in my forehead ache as I continue driving.

"Shit." I sigh, hitting my palms against the steering wheel. I can't really afford to turn around and be late but my good Samaritan vibes are tingling and I would feel better if I checked on the person. 

I turn around and drive back to the crashed vehicle and I park next to it, making my way over slowly. 

Blood on the windshield and a handprint on the back window tells me that something is very wrong. I grab my cellphone and dial 9-1-1.

"No signal? I have full bars."

I glare angrily at my phone and sigh again. 

"Trash ass phone carrier."

I walk closer to the vehicle and slowly circle around it, inspecting the inside only to find more blood and chunks of... Something. 

"What the fuck happened here?"

I acknowledge my own question, noticing that before I left my neighborhood, it was eerily quiet, and now, there are no vehicles on the highway at all.

I continue searching around, hoping to find the injured person, but no dice. The weird feeling in my stomach won't go away. 

I slowly make my way back to my car,  glancing over both shoulders for good measure. 

Something in the corner of my eye moves. 

I panic.

I run. 

Locking my doors a bloody man smacks my windshield and I scream, his handprint temporarily tattooed in blood and smeared down the driver side window. He's not speaking. He's not yelling. He's bloody and gargling,  gnashing at me through the window, his teeth clinking against the glass like a moth to a porch light. 

Over and over. 

Clink. 
Clink.
Clink.
Gargle.
Clink.
Scratch. 

He was trying everything in his willpower to come for me.

Wiping my eyes from the initial shock I start my car and back out as quickly as possible,  I speed down the highway, heading to the safest place I know. 

I don't know who or what that was, but I do not feel safe.