made it three more steps before falling on his ass.

Fred was rising up.

He isn’t dead. He’s just sick... Really, really sick.

He was on the sergeant seconds later. Fartel was too stunned and horrified to fight back. Fred’s skin was grey and moving. Veins were bulging across his stomach, chest, throat, and face. He raked his finger nails down Jeffrey’s ribcage and the sergeant cried out. Fred went in and bit his tongue out.

Fartel stopped struggling moments later. A dozen puddles of grey swarmed over his body and began entering the inside of him. Fred took a hold of Fartel’s lower jaw and ripped it away from the rest of his face. He stuck his lips against the opening it left and sucked the gushing blood as it rushed out.

Fartel came back to life thirty seconds later. He pushed Fred away and stood back up. They were standing side by side once again, but the dying mushroom clouds at their backs no longer held their interest. They lurched westward.

Somewhere in the back of brains they no longer possessed were memories. The ticks clustered there and fed on the stored information. There was food that way. Fresh hosts.

Thousands of them.

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