Chaos Theory: A Zombie Novel Read Free Page A

sicker and sicker and finally, when I thought enough was enough I picked up the gun. I just couldn’t be one of them. I couldn’t.
    Could I? How bad would it be? Would I just go away and be replaced with something else? What would happen to my soul? The part of me that was nobody else, where would it go? Then it hit me. What if it didn’t go anywhere? What if every dead bastard out there held a normal person screaming to be let loose of a rotting fleshy prison,  totally aware, but unable to stop this…this thing from committing the most heinous acts in history while it wears their skin.
    Fuck that.
    I put the gun my temple with a shaky, fever-ridden hand. The trigger was cold against my hot finger as I slowly squeezed. Then I released. I couldn’t do it. Those stones I mentioned earlier were nowhere to be found. Packed their bags and took off for parts unknown with no forwarding address or cellphone number.
    I couldn’t kill myself because I didn’t have the balls I almost shot off earlier. Ironic.
    I checked my leg and shoulder and they were horrible looking. Black lines radiated from both of them, my veins had grabbed the infection and were spreading it around inside me quite effectively. I stunk like the fat ladies who had tried to ingest me too. It was awful, so I did the only thing I could think of. I went to sleep.
    Have you ever totally ruined yourself with booze and drugs on a two day binge? By 3:15 AM on the second night, you’re thinking you should quit, but your buddies are still raging so you keep going right alongside them. Eventually your body can’t take anymore, and that little guy we spoke about before pulls the master switch and you shut down completely. Oh how you hate yourself when you finally wake up. You feel like somebody did something revolting in your mouth and everything hurts. Head, stomach, eyes, ass, everything.
    I had none of that. I was fine.
    It was very cold when I woke, and my shoulder and leg ached, but I wasn’t sick. Immediately, I remembered the whole being trapped in the dead guy thing, and I felt for a pulse. I was alive. F those scientists and military douches. NOT everybody dies from being bitten. I was living proof, and I was bitten by two different infected, and their combined weight was that of five!
    I didn’t die. I didn’t die. I must have said that out loud a hundred times while sitting up looking at my leg. The wound looked like when Billy Rickles (that little shit, I hope he got infected and did die) had bitten me in the first grade. It was a full on upper and lower teeth mark, but that was all. No black lines, no pus, no festering stink. Same for my shoulder, although there was a patch of skin missing there. I needed to fix that up or I could get an infection.
    I broke out laughing when I thought that. Actual hysterics. That’s when I realized I needed to pee. The trailer had a bathroom, and I opened the little sliding partition, finding the toilet. My stream could have cut steel. It was like I had been hoarding urine for three days. This is when I noticed something out of place in the old trailer. Brand new toilet paper. I furrowed the old brow at that one, but whatever. I was so happy at not being dead, or sort of dead, that I howled at the roof of the trailer while I shook off the big guy.
    And something howled back.
    It was a caterwauling scream, the hybrid shriek of a mountain lion and Death himself. The boys (my nuts) had returned briefly from their hiatus, because I felt them shrink up into my stomach. That scream sounded again, and if I could have pissed myself I would have.
    Whatever it was started smashing against the trailer, hammering for all it was worth on the side. The whole damn vehicle shook. I zipped up quickly, thankfully missing the good stuff, and grabbed the wheel gun. I checked the cylinder, all six rounds were there.
    Pointing the gun at the flimsy door to my aluminum deathtrap, I waited patiently. Actually, I was so scared my nuts had