The Virus Within: The Unranked (Book 4)

Ch. 32: Hard Truth Or Soft Truth?

The Runner tensed up at the red eyes staring back at him. His fists clenched and flexed, unconsciously preparing for a First Strike match. I waited for him to come to terms with the discovery, although it had probably already occurred to him and he simply refuted the handful of clues he'd noticed. He had no chance of denying the truth this time.

"What's the last thing you clearly remember?" I quietly asked, wondering how long he'd been a zombie.

After a moment of silence, he said, "I was herding some goats across a river near... Nibia Stronghold? And I got swept up in a mudslide." He paused. "I think I recall climbing out and running from zombies while trying to flag down a truck that refused to stop." He backed away from the mirror and shook his head. "Things are blurry after that."

"How many years had it been since the cure was created?"

He turned around to stare at me. "There's a cure?"

Apparently he had been a zombie for quite some time... It was a small miracle he was still sane since Runners normally found dead animals or caught live ones on a regular basis.

"Hard truth or soft truth?" I asked.

He hesitated. "Soft truth?"

"Yes, there is a cure, and we can help you get it if you want to be human again."

His shoulders relaxed. "That's a huge relief." He tilted his head in thought, looked at me quizzically, and asked, "What's the hard truth?"

"It was invented about three years ago, so you've lost a fair chunk of time. We gave you a different drug to help you regain control, but it's going to take at least three days for the symptoms to settle. It has to clear out of your system before we can offer you the cure."

He stared at me, opened his mouth, then closed it. A shadow dropped down by the door, and Daniel fiddled with the door before figuring out how to open it. The Runner uneasily backed away from the stranger climbing the stairs.

Daniel passed him a hard plastic cup. "This is the last of it, but we can find more later."

"Uh, thank you," he said, taking the cup and glancing at the red contents with confusion written all over his face.

"It's the same stuff I gave you earlier," I told him. "I suggest drinking it. It'll help your thought processes."

He sniffed it. "It's blood, isn't it?"

"Hard truth or soft truth?" I asked idly, knowing that he would have heard that ranked zombies needed animal blood to remain sane.

"Let's go with the soft truth right now," he replied, still not looking away from the cup.

"In that case, the answer is yes."

He finally looked at me. "And what's the hard truth?"

I smirked slightly at him. "This is your new version of a chicken dinner."

He blinked at me blankly, and I sighed as my attempt at humor went right over his head. I might have had years to come to terms with being a zombie, but this guy had been only grappling with it for a few minutes. It would take some time for him to see anything humorous about the situation.

"We came to town to grab some parts," I said. "It'll probably take us a few hours to find them and bring them back to the truck. Do you feel like waiting here while we run our errands?"

"Okay..."

"Relax as best you can," I suggested. "Feel free to mingle with the crowd if you feel like it, although you'll want to empty the cup before leaving the bus. When we're done, you're welcome to travel with us after or take off on your own."