The Seven Habits

The end of the hall led into a larger room clustered with tables and chairs. Soft music was playing through the overhead speakers and the babble of conversation seemed to surround the two on all sides.

“See that dude, there?” Alfonso pointed out an old man with thinning hair, piecing together a jigsaw at one of the tables.

“I call him Torch. You don’t ever want to leave your lighter layin’ out anywhere around him. Best to keep it in your locker, actually. He’s got this thing with fire… burned up this family because the flames talk to him. Or so he says.”

“No shit?”

“No shit, man. And that dude over there, that’s Prophet. God tells him to do things to little kids. Bad things, man. See, I’m not fuckin’ around. You gotta watch your ass around here. They look normal enough, don’t they, but you never can tell when someone’s been tonguing their meds. They can snap just like that.”

Alfonso snapped his fingers, causing his friend to jump slightly.

“Torch done tried to burn this place to the ground half a dozen times already. You’re not careful and one of these days he’ll actually do it.”

Donny’s eyes scanned the room and picked out a bearded man in the far corner. The man was leaning forward, gesturing wildly with one hand as he appeared to lecture the pair who sat across from him. His other hand clutched a red book to his chest, and Donny squinted his eyes as he tried to make it out. The man’s arm was covering the title, but it was obviously a children’s book of some kind. He could just make out what looked to be a teddy bear in ribbed overalls on the cover.

“What about him? What’s his story?”

“Shit, nigga… you don’t know who that is?”

Donny studied the man and shook his head with a shrug.

“Okay, he’s been cleaned up. Picture that dude with longer hair, scraggly beard, and—”

“Oh, fuck! Damn man, that’s that Bosley guy ain’t it? The one hacked up that chick ‘cause he thought she was a zombie? You got the Zombie Killer in here?”

Alfonso laughed.

“Sits in that same spot each day like he’s in some interrogation room, going over the same story again and again. C’mon. I’ll introduce you to our star patient.”

Donny let Alfonso lead the way and, even though he wasn’t aware he was doing so, he allowed the larger man to partially shield him.

“What’s the deal with the book?” he whispered. “Never pictured the Zombie Killer readin’ kiddy books.”

“Says it’s for Ocean. Now shut your pie hole, man.”

They were only a few feet from the man now, and Donny felt the hairs on his arms tingle. Alfonso’s words haunted him with every step: they can snap just like that.

“Yo, Corduroy,” Alfonso said softly. “Would you do it again, brother?”

The Zombie Killer turned to look at them, recognizing his own nickname and the orderly’s voice.

“Fuck, don’t you ever listen? I’d do anything to keep her fuckin’ safe. And I’ll find her, man. I’ll find her and I’ll make sure she’s taken care of and shit. She’s my Ocean, dig?”

The man’s eyes rolled back into his head and his entire body began to shake and tremble. Spittle frothed from his mouth and his heels kicked at the floor as his fists clenched in a fury of spasms.

“Ah, shit… he’s in the Eye of Aeons, now. C’mon. Nurses take care of this stuff. Break time for us, my man.”

Alfonso lead Donny through a labyrinth of hallways and doors that required the swiping of his badge to enter. Finally, they found themselves in a room with black and white tiled floors. One wall was lined with vending machines and a television perched near the ceiling in one corner.

Donny plopped down into one of the orange plastic chairs and leaned his elbows on the table.

“Why do you call him Corduroy?”

“Name of the book he’s always carrying.”

Alfonso fished a wad of bills from his pocket and fed one into a machine. With the beep of a few buttons, a bag of chips fell from the top row and thumped behind the little door at the bottom. Rather than bending over to get them, he slid another dollar into the machine and selected a candy bar, and then a bag of cheesy popcorn followed by a double salami snack stick.

Donny looked away from the television and the bright yellow letters beneath the anchorman which boldly stated NOT EBOLA, CDC SAYS.

“Hungry much?”

Alfonso seemed to ignore the question as he slid yet another dollar into the machine. He punched the buttons and a packet of animal crackers started their descent. Just before gravity was about to take over, they got stuck on the metal coil and dangled precariously on the edge. “Ah, shit, man… come on!”

Alfonso took the machine in both hands and shook it so hard that Donny could hear the candy bars rustle against one another. Still, it refused to give up its prize.

Muscles bulged beneath the orderly’s short sleeves as he assaulted the hunk of metal and glass. It’s feet screeched against the tile floor with a series of sudden jolts, and then Alfonso was hammering the plexiglas with his fists, his lips curled back into a snarl.

“Fucking money stealin’ piece of shit. Cock knockin’ son of a whore, I’ll fuckin’ cap your ass, you lousy fuckin’ bitch.”

“Hey, man… chill. It’s a fucking bag of cookies, for Christ’s sake.”

Alfonso spun around and Donny felt himself wither beneath his friend’s gaze. At that moment, the larger man’s eyes lacked any recognition. They raged with a cold fire of hatred towards the albino.

As suddenly as the outburst had come on, it faded. Alfonso shook his head and wiped sweat from the back of his neck.

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right. Shit… been hanging around these crazy mother-fuckers too much.”

Someone on the television was speaking into a cluster of microphones that encircled him. The man’s tie was loosened and the top buttons of his wrinkled shirt were undone. His silver hair was mussed, as if he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly. Dark circles fell like shadows beneath his bloodshot eyes.

“We’re not sure.”

An uproar of voices, so many questions that they canceled one another out until a female voice shouted over the din.

“Mr. Anderson? Mr. Anderson, is it believed to be a biological weapon? Is this a case of terrorism, Mr. Anderson?”

The man sighed deeply and exchanged glances with someone off camera.

“We don’t know.”

A woman in a powder blue dress suit stepped in front of the tired looking man. She was pretty in a conservative, professional kind of way and her tone was short and curt.

“All we know for sure is that if you think you may be getting sick, you need to get to a FEMA station as quickly as possible. Teams from the CDC and WHO are working around the clock to ensure—”

“Are we talking about Ebola?”

“It’s not Ebola. We’re positive of that now. However, while we don’t know exactly what it is, we do know how to identify onset. There are seven symptoms to watch for…”

AUDIBLE ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

All of my books to date have had an accompanying soundtrack. These are the songs which play in the background as I am writing, and lend themselves, in some way, to the story I am telling. When I’m away from the keyboard, they help keep my head in the world I’ve been creating. They provide inspiration and often motivation. For The 7 Habits of Highly Infective People, the soundtrack to writing was especially important. The songs helped create the tone I was going for with their dark and moody ambiance and they became very much like a real soundtrack to the little movie that was playing out in my mind. As such, I wanted to take a