Acceptance doesn't mean resignation; it means understanding that something is what it is and that there's got to be a way through it.

  -Michael J. Fox

  Tristan screamed again, only this time much louder. Sharon collapsed in a heap on the ground, every function in her body ceasing at once. George stood in the doorway, leaned against the frame. “I told you to be quiet.” He said, between shuddering breaths. The veins around the bite on his right hand had turned pitch black all the way up to his elbow. He was sweating buckets and looked as if he was going to be sick. He turned to Jennifer, absently waving his gun in her direction. “This… is all your-” he started to say before he was interrupted by his own retching. He leaned over and puked a mass of pitch-black liquid. Jennifer, who was barely conscious and had hardly reacted to the murder of Sharon, weakly lifted her head to watch George as he lost his dinner. “That’s it, buddy,” She murmured. “Just let it all out.”

  At least she was consistent.

  Tristan stood near the door, unsure of what to do. George saw her and weakly pointed the gun at her, still hunched over in the doorway. “Stay back!” He warned. “You need help! She needs help!” Tristan exclaimed. For the first time in her life, she found herself unable to be quiet. “Please don’t let anyone else die tonight.”

  George shook his head and laughed. “We’re all dead anyways.” He said. “That’s… stupid.” Jennifer whispered. Her eyes fluttered and then closed as she lost her fight to retain her consciousness. Her breathing slowed to an almost imperceptible pace. Tristan pleaded with more urgency. “Sir, please. I believe something terrible has happened to you. I believe you couldn’t handle what happened, so your brain made this… delusion to help cope. I believe that deep down, you’re a good man.” George winced at that last part. Tristan continued. “But please, you have to see how much pain you’re causing. You have to know that what you’re doing is wrong. Please let me take the both of you to get help.”

  He had to see reason. He had to. Tristan could tell that he didn’t want to be doing this. George lowered his gun a bit as he considered her words. Tristan could see the conflict in his mind. In fact, he looked really conflicted. He locked eyes with her and she thought she saw tears forming in his eyes. His resolve quickly returned, though, and he raised his gun again. “Help me move them to the bathroom.” He said. “We don’t know if they’ll ‘turn.’”

  Tristan’s heart dropped to her stomach. She no longer saw the rise and fall of Jennifer’s chest and a wave of guilt washed over her. If she could’ve found the right words, then maybe her coworkers would still be alive. If she had done something when she first saw George, then maybe none of these horrors would have ever happened. If, then maybe. If. Maybe.

  She agreed to help George move them. She didn’t seem to have much of a choice, anyways. She had to play along. She had to survive. She had to get out as soon as possible.

  George was barely on his feet by the time they moved the bodies. They carried them to the bathroom, the security guard first. They placed her under the sinks, out of the walkway. Jennifer was next. Tristan glared at George as she carried the lawyer’s legs under her arms. George couldn’t meet her eyes. He had to think of a way to get her out of this unscathed. They set Jennifer on the floor next to the guard. Tristan paused for a moment once the job was done and studied the bodies reverently. She stood and left without even a passing glance at George.

  George sat for a moment and thought. Or he tried to. He half hoped that Tristan would just walk out of the building. He couldn’t let that happen, of course. That might doom the world. But, still. It was a nice thought. George had never even pulled his gun on anyone before tonight, and now he had the blood of three people on his hands. How could he ever live with that? He glanced down at the infection quickly traveling from his hand to his heart. I guess I won’t have to for very long. He thought to himself with a rueful chuckle. He stood to leave, but his foot got caught on something and he nearly fell. He looked down to see what he’d tripped on.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Jennifer’s hand was around his ankle.

  George felt a deep, animalistic fear and kicked her hand off of him, scrambling backwards towards the door. He pulled his gun and prepared himself to be attacked in the same way he was earlier but he was surprised to see recognition on her face. She was still alive. He could tell that she was trying to say something to him, so he got closer and knelt down to listen. “Don’t… don’t hurt her.” She croaked. “She doesn’t deserve this.” George stared at Jennifer, surprised. He had expected some sarcastic comment, but she had decided to use her dying breath to plead for someone else’s life. He studied her for a moment, drowning in shame. He stood and exited the bathroom without a word. He made a point to avoid looking at the monster in the mirror.

  What makes a man turn into that?

  Tristan sat and studied her captor as he paced erratically in front of her. She could tell that he was deep in thought, but she really didn’t care what about. She had to get out of there immediately, no matter what. Blood from the two corpses covered everything, including herself. Her shirt was drenched from carrying Jennifer. The blood was warm and sticky, and Tristan knew that she would be washing it off herself for weeks if she got out of there. She corrected herself. Not if, when.

  George took a seat in the chair next to the door, the first time Tristan had seen him sit all night. He bounced his leg nervously and stared forward. He sat like that for a moment, radiating anxious energy. Finally, he spoke up. “He was my friend, you know.” He said. This took Tristan by surprise. “Who?” She asked. “The…” He sighed. “The zombie, as Jennifer so eloquently put it. He was my best friend.” He said, resolutely. “And you killed him?” Tristan asked in disbelief. George didn’t acknowledge the question. “His name was Patrick. He had three kids, around your age. Tonight was the first time we’d spoken in a few years - five, I think - and they were all he’d talk about.” He said. He had begun studying his hands. Tristan scoffed. “Clearly you were a great friend.” She said. George closed his eyes, as if that hurt him. Tristan immediately felt bad, despite the circumstances.

  “Don’t do that.” George said. “You’re better than that.”

  “Better than what?”

  “That righteous anger. God, it used to consume me when I was your age. But you… you look at monsters and you see people. I still struggle with that.” He said.

  This man continued to surprise Tristan. It was like there were two different people in control of his body. One was a sensitive and thoughtful man, and the other was a ruthless killer who would do anything to survive. In another life, she would have appreciated the sensitive side. If only. “Why didn’t you just kill yourself, if you were this worried?” She asked, pointedly. “You said that you wanted to protect people but all you’ve been doing is hurting them.” George seemed to chew on that for a moment. Good. Tristan thought. I hope his shame eats him alive. He cleared his throat and changed the subject slightly. “I’m uh… I’m sorry. I’m sorry that all of this is happening.” He said. “You don’t deserve it.”

  Happening? Tristan thought. She rolled her eyes. She sighed and decided to address the elephant in the room. “When are you going to kill me?” She asked. George grunted. “I don’t want to. I don’t think I have to. I just have to convince you to stay here until we know it’s safe for you to leave. Until you know.” He said. “How are you planning to do that?” She asked. George stood and began pacing again. “I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure that out.” He admitted. Tristan glanced at the side table and began to formulate an exit strategy. She was going to get out of there before he tried to enact any more of his “plans.” She was going to stop him.

  “Did you lock the bathroom door?” Tristan asked. George stopped in his tracks and looked at her with confusion. “The bathroom door.” She repeated. “I thought it locked on its own.” He said, his voice wavering momentarily. Tristan had hooked him, now she just had to reel him in. “It does, but not from the inside. You need to use my keys to do that, otherwise they could open the door.” She explained. This, of course was a lie. The bathroom didn’t lock from the inside at all, that would be stupid. But he didn’t need to know that. He glanced at the door to the hallway nervously and cursed. Tristan used this opportunity to pick up the stainless steel scissors from the end table and hide them under her leg. “Alright, you stay right here.” He said, his fear betraying him. “I will. Scout’s honor.” Tristan said as she did a fake salute.

  George lingered for a moment and Tristan worried that she had overdone it, but he turned and began to exit. This was her opportunity. It was now or never. For Sharon and Jennifer. She thought. For me.

  She lunged at him while his back was turned and stabbed the scissors deep into his left shoulder.