Taylor is a college student home alone when the outbreak hits her small town. One minute she is working on a project, the next she is hiding away from the monsters outside. Taylor will have to find it in her to survive until her parents can -hopeful...
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My fish get cleaned and processed, some get stuck in the freezer, some are set on the smoker. I normally would have just frozen them all and used them for meals for however long they lasted. Now, I was stocking up supplies, eating the oldest and most perishable of my stock first. In the morning I decided to drive up to the local corner store because I had driven past our local Walmart and it was crammed full of people, with carts full of shit. The corner store seemed to have gone under everyone's attention. Greg, the owner of the store is standing behind the counter, eyes focused on the small TV in the corner. I can barely hear the mumbling of Derek, the newscaster on the TV.
I grab a shopping basket, then load it up. Lighters, matches, batteries, hand soaps, bags of jerky, and some big bottles of sports drinks. Water is great but sports drinks have vitamins, minerals, and electrolytes. I fill up my basket, drop it off at the counter, and then fill another one. When I get back Greg only looks up to furrow his brow, that's when I notice the beads of sweat.
"You stockpiling?" He asks taking things out of the first basket to start scanning.
"We all should be," I said simply, shifting from foot to foot.
Greg scans a few things, and I watch as he rolls his shoulders. I frown, I really should keep to myself but I can't help but ask. "Have you gone to the hospital?"
Greg throws a scowl over to me. "I feel fine, just a bit sore from unloading the truck. Fucking lazy teens didn't show up to work this morning."
The last bit is said more as a mutter to himself. As I watch him scan all the items, bag them, and hand him my card, he looks worse and worse. It's almost like the dark circles under his eyes form right before my eyes, the sweat along his forehead becomes thicker, a drop becoming big enough to start rolling down the side of his face. When I'm handed my card and the bags, I get the fuck out of the store. The bags are shoved into the passenger seat of my truck and I hop in, locking the door. I pat my hip, feeling the bludge of my revolver, it soothes my panic just a little.
Starting up the truck I flip on the radio, then turn to the news station. It's Derek still talking, now he sounded more strained. 'We have lost contact with Cameron in Florida, the last we heard was that riots were breaking out. The infected people have been attacking people in the streets, and cops have tried peaceful ways to stop them, even less than lethal. The infected aren't fazed. The CDC says the virus is similar to the rabies virus, these people have become mad with the infection. The CDC warns us to stay away from any suspected infected person, avoid any bodily fluids, and DO NOT get bitten by them.'
I switch the radio to a music station, I couldn't listen to it anymore. At least right now. That radio broadcast sounded too much like a movie. They weren't talkin' 'bout a virus, rabies, or anything else. It was fucking zombies. Warning people to not get bit, no contact with their bodily fluids, that once infected you get sick then become violent. I might not have watched many movies or shows in my life, but I have seen the classics, including Night of the living dead, and Day of the living dead. I think that was all - I blocked out a lot of my teen years.
Before I start pulling the truck out of the parking lot, I notice a hand on the window. Another joins it and starts banging on it, I can barely make out a figure in the dark glass, a figure that looks a lot like Greg. A moral dilemma comes to mind, well maybe not moral. If it's truly zombies, I have no problem putting someone down, then I could grab more out of the store without having to worry about my bank account getting drier. But looking out to the street, there are a few people down the road, walking around like a normal day. I could remove the threat for them, or I'd kill Greg and be put in prison.
Was I sure this was zombies? Was I sure enough to risk a prison sentence for murder? A good maybe for the first, no for the second.
Putting my truck in reverse I get the fuck out of the parking lot. Hopefully, this virus isn't what I'm starting to believe it is. Maybe I'm just losing my fucking mind.
