Rise of the Plague (Book 0): The Sickness (Monte's Story) Read Free Page B

while my nose and throat burn in agony.
    My bitten wrist—and the whole arm, actually—feels like it’s on fire. I killed a sweet, old lady. My family, friends and neighbors have turned into cannibals. I don’t know if I should lie down and give up or try to go somewhere.  But where? Of all the ones with the sickness I’ve seen so far—none of them have said a word. There must be something wrong with their brains. That would explain why Mom and Sammy couldn’t get into the house from the back door, and why Dad was so easily trapped in my room. Easily , I look down at my wrist, not that easily .
    It doesn’t matter where I go. I have to survive. To survive, I have to leave. I can figure out where to go later. Anywhere but this house. I’ve spent too much time being unhappy at this house and I’d rather saw off my own arm with a butter knife, than to spend my last moments on earth here.
    Picking up the dirt bike again, I thrust my foot on the petal, using it as an outlet for my frustration and panic. It doesn’t start. Grumbles and roars echo through the side yard from the sickened ones nearby. I know it’s because of the sound, the sound of the gunfire. That shot was probably heard for blocks.
    While I know that it won’t be long before I become one of them, I’m not ready to give up. This sickness is going to take me kicking and screaming. I won’t make it easy.
    I thrust my foot once more on the dirt bike with rebellious force. It whines to life at last. Opening the throttle, I whiz past Ms. Andrew’s lifeless corpse and around the side of the house. I spot a group, of nearly fifteen on my front lawn, as quickly as they see me. I swerve out, around the gathering crowd. The eerie sound of fingernails scraping the bike’s rear fender sends a rush up my spine, as I narrowly escape the group's clutches. It’s a few seconds, before I look back. Now, the group is a fair distance behind me. But that doesn’t stop them from sprinting and shuffling after my exhaust fumes.

SAFE HOME
    As I make my way through the next few blocks, I realize that the sickness is not exclusive to my street. On the next block, the Taco Shell Taqueria and three nearby houses are flaming infernos. Abandoned and wrecked cars and trucks are all around me for the next two blocks. Bodies pepper the pavement, some staying still, while others are stirring back to consciousness. There is so much blood on nearly everything. It looks as if blood has rained from the sky.
    Riding through the neighborhood, the dirt bike putters along. I pass a road that has a little less activity. There are only a few of the sick people roaming about. To my surprise, the next block up has even fewer people. I feel lightly dusted with relief, but still have my guard up.
    I’m still in the crappy part of town, but I can’t have it all. I cross the next intersection and see a man, two streets down. He’s chugging a forty from the Quick Time Liquor store.
    My dad drinks those all the time, and it’s the only liquor store for seven blocks. That chunky guy guzzling the forty didn’t go that far to get his morning drink on. With the exception of the beer, he looks a little like my Mom’s half-brother, Uncle Victor. I hope he is as kind as my uncle, but I’ve never met anyone kind who drank beer so early in the morning. Approaching the man, I slow down. He is not the ideal person to talk to, but at least he isn’t like all the cannibals I’ve seen so far.
    “Hey Mister, do you know what’s going on?” I ask, slowing to a stop.
    “Hi—hi baby. You pretty,” he says, a smile broadening across his shiny, red face.
    Oh great, he's some midlife perv. With how this day's been going, how can this be a surprise? I should have known better than to stop from when I first saw that forty.
    “Never mind,” I say with a sigh.
    “No, no, don’t go. My name Edgar. It’s okay, really,” he says with one of the thickest accents I’ve heard in a while. He takes a step