His gut clenches up as the zombies spread out into all directions. If he’d still had a frail hope that the catastrophe could be somehow stopped, it dies in this moment.
He jerks the wheel and pulls out into the lane, causing the car coming up behind him to slam on its brakes and honk its horn. William barely notices. His eye catches Janus, who’s walking right out onto the road. A yellow van swerves to avoid him, but it’s too late. There’s a loud bang, and Janus is thrown several yards, tumbling round and round like a rag doll.
“Fucking hell,” William whimpers as he guns it and heads down the road. He doesn’t want to look in the rear mirror, but he can’t help it.
He sees the traffic jamming up around the accident.
He sees the zombies all headed for the concerned drivers getting out of their cars to stare at the poor young man who just got run over.
And he sees Janus, who laboriously gets up without any signs of pain or discomfort and attacks the driver of the van, who has come rushing to help him.
TEN
William keeps darting glances at the girl on the backseat, even though she makes no sounds and doesn’t move. As far as he can tell, she wasn’t hurt before she passed out—but she was in a car with a zombie, so William can’t be sure she’s not infected.
Perhaps I ought to check her for any scratches … or simply kick her out …
He looks again at her in the mirror, but the mere thought of undressing her while she’s unconscious makes him feel dirty. And to put her out on the sidewalk and just leave her to whoever finds her, dead or alive … well, he’s not willing to go that far just yet. So, he has no choice but to wait until she wakes up.
He arrives at a new intersection, stopping at the red light. Next to him, in the other lane, a city bus is also waiting. William glances up and sees an elderly lady staring blankly out the window.
She has no idea what’s going down. As far as she knows, it’s just a regular fucking Monday.
The thought makes him shiver. A woman in runner’s clothes comes jogging by, a yellow Lab running next to her on a leash. The sight of the dog produces a jolt in William’s stomach.
“Oh, fuck! How could I forget him?”
The thought of Ozzy alone in the apartment makes his heart race. He looks up at the light, still red, as his thoughts start churning faster and faster. If he makes a right here, he could reach the apartment in a couple of minutes. But that will bring him back towards the hospital.
He squeezes the wheel, breathing heavy through his nose. He can’t leave his buddy, but he can’t risk his own life, either.
In the movies, zombies usually aren’t interested in dogs—and besides, the front door is locked, which means Ozzy probably isn’t in any immediate danger. He’s got food and water enough for tomorrow evening. But maybe William won’t get a chance to go get him before then. Maybe the town will be shut down completely within hours. This could be his last chance.
You can’t do it, a rational thought urges him. You can’t risk your life for a dog.
He would do it for you without blinking, says another—and a lot less rational—thought.
William bites down hard. The light switches to yellow just as another song begins on the radio. It’s Iron Man.
William glares at it, muttering: “If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is …”
And when the light turns green in the next second, William waits for the bus to go forward, clearing the way for him to turn right. But the bus only moves a few feet before the driver stops and hits the horn.
William stretches his neck to see what’s going on in front of the bus. He gets a glimpse of a middle-aged man trudging out into the road. His skin has the unmistakable greenish hue, and from a crater in his belly dangles what looks like threads of oversized spaghetti. The man’s shorts, which once were probably beige, are now soaked with blood and have traveled down to his knees, revealing his undies and causing him to walk in an almost comical, duck-like fashion, small steps, bopping from side to side. He stops in front of the bus and reaches up his hands, leaving bloody stains on the front shield. He morbidly reminds William of a giant baby who wants his parent to lift him up.
The bus driver gets out.
“No, no, no!” William slams the horn and fumbles for the button to roll down the window. “No, stay away from him! He’s—”
But it’s too late. The zombie has already lunged at the driver and wrestled him to the ground.
A car suddenly honks impatiently behind William, the driver probably annoyed at the unexplained hold in traffic, completely unaware of what’s going on in front of the bus. Another driver from the opposite side has stopped his car and comes rushing to help. He grabs the zombie to drag him away from the driver, but only manages to get himself bitten at the wrist.
As William stares at the scene, his head is suddenly drained of all thought. He can only sit there and glare in dumb amazement and horror. He realizes just how fast this thing will spread. How soon everything will turn to chaos. He had somehow naively figured that zombies had by now become a known phenomenon; that regular people would recognize the danger, that they had watched at least a few fucking episodes of Walking Dead.
