And This Too: A Modern Fable Read Free

you some nausea medication.  Other than that, take some flu and cold capsules; you'll be fine. The fever will subside, and you’ll feel better."
                  Daniel was furious; it was the same diagnosis he'd just listened to.
                  "Fuck off," he said, leaving the exam room.
                  Dr. Craft sighed, took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. The more patients who came in sick with this elusive "flu", the more he began to hate his job. Dr. Craft didn't know how to handle the situation; he just knew what would happen when they left the office. The fever would get suddenly higher, and then they'd collapse into a brief coma after which the victim would vomit up their guts and begin to devour their friends.
                  Dr. Craft closed his eyes and dejectedly sighed, "I wonder what would happen if I didn't show up for work tomorrow."
    *****
     
    Somewhere west of Ivana’s Port.
     
    “Fuck!” Harley roared, infuriated at her deteriorating car, turning the keys in a futile attempt to restart it.
    She was stranded in a world with no means to help her and somehow failed to admit that her ’83 station wagon was on its last leg. Harley grabbed her semi-automatic rifle from the passenger’s seat before tucking the handgun that had been lying on the dash board in her waistband. Pixel had crawled into the perpetually open glove box to take a nap.
                  Harley left with an ever worsening feeling of dread. She needed a large car with the keys still in it and a full tank of gas. That wouldn’t be hard considering that the road leading to the highway was littered with abandoned cars. Harley swallowed her fright and peeked into the first hatchback she found. Full tank, keys in the ignition , she surveyed the interior, no zombies . Harley opened the door and hopped in, turning the keys before revving the engine.
                  Not a smart move. The reanimated walkers in the area were immediately alerted of her succulent presence. Harley sped back to her Volvo, which, despite its obvious flaws was indeed made of steel and would have been the perfect car for the eventual battle against the undead. She loaded the newer sport-utility style Cadillac with her gear and her cat.
                  Just as she locked herself in the car, the first couple of zombies shuffled from out of the distance and into reality. Harley rolled the window down and turned the car off. Using the semi-automatic rifle she blew holes in the first couple of walkers’ heads. More of them slouched into view, lethargically and steadily limping towards the car. A few better placed rounds and the zombies, one by one dropped to the ground.
                  Harley grinned as she realized that all of her planning was not in vain, because every head shot missed was a bullet wasted. Twelve more ghouls lurched toward the car, and the adrenaline rush guided more bullets to more plague infected brains.
                  Her heart played a high BPM victory song against her aching ribcage. She took a deep breath to steady her shaking frame, and paused to see if more of them were coming. However, the world was silent again. She started the car before rolling up the window.
    *****
                  As Harley sidled towards the highway on-ramp, trying to avoid drawing any more attention to herself, silent tears began to stream down the girl's round cheeks. The full weight of the situation had finally begun to overwhelm her.
                  This is it, she thought. I need to go find my loved ones, flee the city and never come back. Fifteen walkers?! Oh Lord! What the hell is going on? What have I done? God, what have I done.
                  The sound of bullets leaving her rifle and the thought of all the deteriorated brain matter that had spattered to the ground ricocheted through her brain. The