The Seven Habits

infected bitch behind me, see? I can hear her footsteps clattering through the mall and, from what I can tell, she’s not so much as even… Well, I was gonna say breakin’ a sweat. But we know that’s not true, right? Let’s just say this chick was fast, man. I mean, she’s still growling and it seems like its getting closer by the second. So that fuckin’ tortoise can suck it, man. Slow and steady wins the race, my ass… if that sack of virons wants a piece of me, then she’s gonna have to damn well work for it.

In my mind I got this picture of her leaping from trash cans to the wire benches, scampering up the sides of walls, dropping to all fours with her arms and legs being nothing more than a blur. ‘Course I know that type of shit isn’t really goin’ down, she’s running just the same as I am. But those kind of images have an emotional impact, ya know? They cloud the mind, make ya do stupid shit… stuff like lookin’ over your shoulder when you should be watching where the fuck you’re going.

See, when I was checking to see how close she was, I had just enough time to notice how it seemed her entire face had been devoured by a sneer. Then my shin banged against something that felt like metal teeth and my body’s tumbling forward. My chin bangs against one of the escalator steps hard enough that it cuts right through the fuckin’ skin, man. But I ain’t got time for that shit, I’m scrambling up the escalator, trying to keep moving and get back onto my feet all at the same time… the irony that I was the one on all fours wasn’t lost on me, either.

She musta careened into one of the trash cans at the bottom or something because all of a sudden I hear this loud bang that echoes like a gunshot. I don’t take time to look, though. I’m back to my feet now, right, and I know that every second I’m still alive gets my ass one step closer to my car.

That bitch recovered from her wipeout pretty damn quickly because I can hear her racin’ up the escalators just about the same time that I make it to the top and start hauling ass toward the book store.

Just then this dude seems to pop up outta nowhere. One minute I’m focused on the exit and the next this big dude in a referee shirt is blockin’ the way.

“Hey!” he hollers out to me. “Hey, you! Stop!”

Now this guy looks like he might actually have played some football at some point in his life and I don’t wanna tangle with him. All I wanna do is get to my car, get the fuck away from the mall, and then maybe go home and have a heart attack.

But Mister Referee isn’t budging. In fact, he’s got his knees bent, his hands up like he’s playing forward line or whatever the hell they call it, and he’s bobbing his head back and forth like he’s tryin’ to plot my trajectory.

You know that scene in The Wizard of Oz where the good witch tells the rugrats they can come outta hiding and all these munchkins start poppin’ up all over the damn place? Well, that’s what that mall was like, man. All of a sudden, you’ve got people pokin’ their heads outta every store, craning their necks in an attempt to see what all the commotion is about. So besides having this crazy broad practically breathing down my neck and a shoe store referee blocking my only means of escape, I now had an audience as well.

I knew I couldn’t turn back, ya know? The second I did that, Clarice fuckin’ Hudson would be all over my ass. And, to tell the truth, I would much rather take my chances with the ref, at least that dude didn’t seem to be infected yet. So I did the only thing I could… I just kept right on running.

Right as the referee was looming before my field of vision, he kinda dropped down lower, into this crouching stance. And, somehow, I knew exactly what he was planning. Maybe I picked it up from all the football my dad used to watch, or maybe it was that survival instinct I mentioned earlier. Shit, I don’t know how I knew, but I was absolutely certain that within two or three more steps, he was gonna try to clip me at the knees and take me down. And, as you can imagine, that was something I wanted to avoid at all costs.

You know what they used to call me when I was a kid, man? Toad. Know why they called me that? Well, I was in better shape back then and even though I was always the last one picked for teams, I was also the last one standing when it came to dodge ball.

Fuckin’ dodge ball man, what kind of sadist designed that particular piece of equipment? I mean, it’s bad enough that you’ve got these over-inflated projectiles whizzing at you. But to texture them like that? That shits stings worse than a patch of nettle, man, and I’ve always had this aversion to pain. I developed this knack, see, for just jumping right over that cruel, red ball. I’d hop into the air, spread my legs wide, and it would zip right under me. This same particular skill set also came in handy when playing Leap Frog. Which is where I actually got the nickname from.

So, even though it had been a couple of decades since I last had to call upon this gift, that’s exactly what I did. He made a dive for my legs, just as I knew he would, and at just the right moment, I launched myself into the air, pushed off his back with the palms of my hands, and leap-frogged right over that mother-fucker.

Now, Newton tells us that an object in motion tends to stay in motion, unless acted on by an outside force. Well, Mr. Referee was the object in motion, and Clarice fuckin’ Hudson? She was the outside force, man.

I looked back just long enough to see the two of them crash into one another like the Keystone Cops or something. They were all tangled up on the ground, arms and legs flyin’ everywhere, and that’s when I knew I was gonna make it. By the time she detangled herself, I’d be halfway to the car. No way she could cover that much ground in such a short amount of time.

So I’m running down the little connector hallway that leads from the mall to the parking garage and they’ve already closed the doors that kind of divide the corridor into separate little pieces. I remember thinking that if they’d locked them as well, I was fucked, but when I threw myself against that metal push bar thingy, the door flew wide open and then banged shut behind me.

By the time I’d run through the second one, I’ve got this stitch in my side. Feels like someone keeps jabbing me with a knife and I was running with my hand pressed against my ribs, favoring the other side when I throw myself against the doors and what have you. But then it occurs to me… that bitch isn’t chasing me anymore.

If she was, I’d hear her busting through those doors as well. But everything back there is silent, so I think that maybe I can slow down for a second and get my wind back, ya know? I mean, I’m close enough now that I could bolt to the car and be locked inside before she even made it through the second set of doors. Hell, for all I knew she was beatin’ the hell outta Referee for getting in her way, and since I have a kind of early warning system, her chances of a sneak attack are nil.

Now, part of me felt like laughing because I’d done it. I’d really done it. I’d stared the infection in the face and emerged unscathed. I was alive, disease free, and knew that the next time I saw Ms. Clarice fuckin’ Hudson I’d be better prepared. So yeah, those endorphins were going crazy and I just wanted to cackle with relief, but all I could really do was stand there with my hands on my knees and pant as I struggled to catch my breath.

After about a minute or so, I decided not to push my luck. Best to get while the gettin’ is good. So I start walkin’ down the hall and I pass this little inset door that has a sign on it that reads The Brass Candle, which reminded me that I needed to pick up more candles and incense at some point during the next couple days. Funny what will go through your mind in the wake of a super intense experience, isn’t it? I mean, here I was, just moments after being chased through an empty mall by a plague-ridden sack of infection, and I was thinkin’ about meditation and shit.

Anyway, I was debating the merits of Nag Champa versus sandalwood as I pushed open the glass door and stepped into the parking garage. Now I don’t know if you’ve ever paid attention, but the garage at the mall is like a rapist’s wet dream. You got these little pools of light, some of which are flickerin’ like they’re about to wink right outta existence, and a little ambient glow from the rest of the city… but for the most part shadows just cluster everywhere in these tight little packs, man. It’s so dark that someone could be lurkin’ just behind the silhouette of that van. Or behind one of those concrete support columns. Or even the big green box that emits a hum so low it almost seems like it’s comin’ from somewhere inside your own head.

On top of all this darkness, the security cameras are mostly for show. I’m sure a few of ‘em might still work, but—with the economy bein’ what it is and all—management has cut a few corners to keep the overhead down, ya know? No, man… it’s true. I know this cat who made a killing last Christmas. Dude learned the security schedule and between the times when they were makin’ their rounds, he was sliding a slim jim into windows, poppin’ the locks, grabbin’ the bags of goodies from the back seat, and a week later returned all that loot for cash. If those cameras were on the up and up, they woulda nabbed his ass within the first fifteen minutes. He did this shit all weekend long, see?

But I’m gettin’ away from the point, again. Said point being that I’d just stepped into this gloomy, under- secured area when I heard this bang behind me. Now, it wasn’t like the double doors I’d crashed through, those had a distinctive boom-like quality when they flew open. No, this was similar but sounded more solid, ya know? Like the