[seliz made a comment that zombie apocalypse and chain e-mails
don't always go hand in hand ... this is my response]
The car is surrounded, but they seem to be ignoring me. So far. I crouch down on the floor, trying to be as small as I can and hoping none of them look in. I wish I’d forwarded that damned e-mail. I don’t believe in luck, good or bad, but right now I’ll take anything I can get.
It’s Romero-Snyder Syndrome. There’s been an outbreak here in town; people appear to die, then they get up and start moving again. And the fever makes them little more than mindless husks, ravenous for any food they can get, even other humans. Especially other humans.
The radio said there were three confirmed cases at City General. Well, there are at least 20 more in the street outside my office now, and probably more coming. Right now they’re just shambling around moaning, but any sign of life and they’ll get nasty. I try to crouch lower, but that’s probably impossible.
At least that noisy cat has stopped its yowling.
My hand slips and my elbow knocks the gas pedal. With a low rumble the engine finally comes to life. The moaning stops as they all turn toward my vehicle …