I spent the day lying low, trying to remain as still and silent as possible. The sun climbed higher, bringing with it the warmth of summer, but it also made the metal roof unbearably hot. The heat radiated through my sleeping bag, making it difficult to stay comfortable. Sweat trickled down my back, and I shifted occasionally to find some relief, but there was little to be found.
Every now and then, I peeked out from under my shirt to check on the zombies below. They continued to mill about aimlessly, their numbers seemingly unchanged. Their slow, erratic movements were a constant reminder of the danger that lurked just a few feet away.
The hours dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity. I focused on conserving my energy and staying hydrated, taking small sips from my Camelback. My mind wandered to the days before the outbreak
My plan was sort of working—the zombie numbers didn’t increase—but it also wasn’t really working. I could still see Patricia, who never strayed far from the building, and the kid from Apartment 2A. But the worst was Cat guy in the red shirt. I hated that guy and had always give me the creeps when he was alive. I remembered seeing him at the shop, buying tubs of ice cream, and on the street, walking his cat. He was one of those guys. He also looked at me like he was imagining me in his bedroom, I also saw him looking at boys. I told Patricia this, but she said I was exaggerating. My ability to read people was as flawed as a broken compass, leading me astray more often than not. As an engineer, navigating the world of human emotions felt like trying to decode an ancient, cryptic language. Engineers are notorious for their lack of interpersonal skills, and I was no exception. Patricia, however, was a good judge of character, and even she agreed that he was someone we would never let in to are house.
Even as a zombie, he was annoying. He’d shuffle to one of the doors and try the knob, then shuffle to the other door and try the knob, and then shuffle to the roll-up door. On a perpetual loop. His persistence was unnerving, like a broken record playing the same eerie tune over and over, a relentless reminder of his presence. Every time he reached for a door, my heart skipped a beat, fearing he might actually get in.
Patricia and the kid from 2A were less bothersome but still unsettling in their own way. Patricia’s slow, methodical pacing was like a ghostly waltz, and the kid’s occasional erratic bursts of movement were like scenes from a nightmare. They had been people I knew, neighbors, now reduced to these mindless creatures. I tried to push these thoughts away, focusing instead on my breathing, keeping it steady and quiet. The heat from the metal roof continued to seep through my sleeping bag, and I could feel my energy waning. I needed to stay sharp, to be ready for when night finally fell.
The noises from the zombies and the oppressive heat were annoyances, but the real problem was now that I wasn't running for my life, my brain was spinning out of control. Each "what if" or "if only" trapped my mind in an endless loop, like a hamster on a wheel, endlessly running but getting nowhere. What if I had taken her to the hospital sooner? What if I had listened to the news earlier look at phone? My brain was spinning its wheels furiously, replaying each moment in an attempt to rewrite history.
I felt the need to reenact everything from the start, to scrutinize every decision and mistake, as if by doing so, I could put my mind to rest. The mental gymnastics were exhausting, yet I couldn't stop. My thoughts were a chaotic storm, each one crashing into the next, leaving me with an overwhelming sense of guilt and regret. The stillness of my situation only amplified these thoughts, making it impossible to escape the relentless barrage of my own mind.
I tried to think back to maybe two weeks ago, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Jeff, my buddy, had canceled our camping trip because he was having a fight with his girlfriend. I had spent the time playing video games and watching TV, lost in the comforting monotony of my usual routine. I didn’t really keep track of the news—most of what I heard came from memes on Reddit or snippets from YouTube.
Patricia was working the day shift and transitioning into evenings at her job as an ER nurse. She mentioned it was a bit more hectic than usual, with a lot of patients showing flu-like symptoms. It was a passing comment, one that didn’t register as anything significant at the time. She had Wednesday and Thursday off and was going to start the night shift on Friday. But Friday night was when things began to change. At the time, I thought it was awesome.
Patricia got a call Thursday afternoon to see if she could come into work as there was an expected increase in patient volume. I remember overhearing her phone conversation.
“Yeah, I really don't think I can pick up the extra shift. I'm not feeling myself today.”
I asked her about it, and she said she wasn’t in the mood to pick up an extra shift because she wanted to spend some time with me. This was unusual for her since she was a workaholic and had been trying to collect as much overtime as possible to save for are house down payment.
She received a few more calls from work that she ignored until she finally turned off her phone and put it on airplane mode, leaving it in the bedroom. This was very unusual for her, as she was highly addicted to her phone. Probably my only complaint about her; otherwise, she was the perfect girlfriend.
I start to think how we had met in her first year of university. The nursing students and engineering students had a social mixer reminiscent of the days when both faculties didn’t have an abundance of opposite-sex students in their programs. Patricia was a smoking hot bombshell—she had a perfect ass and a beautiful huge set of breasts, spectacular soul-gazing green eyes, and long, silky red hair. I’ve had a thing for redheads since I was kid; Kim Possible and Daphne Blake from Scooby-Doo.
I would have been way too nervous to approach her; she was out of my league. Also, as previously mentioned, my social skills had evolved through playing Magic: The Gathering. My friends had directed me to the dance floor, and as I was trying my over-energetic sprinkler move, I knocked Patricia's drink out of her hand. I quickly offered to buy her a new drink, but she refused, saying that she was probably better off not drinking more since she needed to get up early tomorrow. She assured me not to worry too much, as she hadn't bought it herself. I guessed that being that pretty, she probably didn't buy many drinks. She then mentioned that what she really needed was somebody who could help rebuild the carburetor on her '78 Corvette so she wouldn't have to get up early tomorrow and do it. I told her I could help, and she laughed, thinking I was joking. I insisted, saying that I owned a '74 C3 and had a spare rebuilt carburetor for her if she had the stock 350 engine.
We spent the next hour chatting about our love for Corvettes. Her father had gifted her his car after he passed, and she had been trying to learn how to fix it herself. For me, I just thought Corvettes were the coolest cars. My favorite was the '63 Sting Ray, though it was out of my price range, so I had to settle for fixing up a C3, which was awesome as well.
We clicked and started out as just friends, which my friends jokingly said I would never escape the friend zone. But I guess with my strong intellect, manual dexterity, even stronger hands, and witty humor, I eventually won her over.
Thinking about this under my hot sleeping bag, with sweat rolling down my face and into my eyes, was the reason my eyes were watering so much. As I suffered in the heat, my mind churned with thoughts of how the true love of my life was now just feet away, separated by an infinite void.Thinking back to these fond memories was a comfort, a lifeline that helped me keep mentally sane. These memories were like a warm blanket, vague and comforting, whereas the memories from the last few days were vivid and shockingly etched into my brain, that refused to fade.
After Patricia got the call from work on Thursday we watched TV for a bit. Patricia suggested we go to the grocery store and make ourselves a special dinner. She had a craving for sweets and wanted pancakes with heavy syrup and whipped cream for dinner. Then, she wanted to pig out on as much candy as we could afford to buy. I wasn’t complaining; having a sweet tooth, that plan sounded perfect to me, even if it was out of character for my usually health-conscious girlfriend.
But then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she said, "First, we're going to fuck like animals before we leave this house." And so, we did just that. By the end of it, saying we needed a sugar fix was an understatement. Those moments of passion and indulgence were now precious, sweet thoughts. We laughed and joked as we picked out our favorite candies and grabbed the ingredients for our pancake feast.
I made my normal pancake recipe, which was good but nothing special. But Patricia couldn't stop complimenting them, her eyes lighting up with each bite as if they were the best she'd ever had. We had bought enough candy to give six kids cavities for a lifetime, and she dove into it with a vigor that matched her earlier enthusiasm for Sex.
We pigged out and watched Harry Potter, the sugary treats spread out around us like a treasure hoard. Halfway through the movie, she surprised me by going down on me, her touch gentle yet fervent. Eventually, we made love, our bodies moving in sync as Harry fought an ogre in the background and did stop intilll Quirinus Quirrellwas was banished just as we reached our own climax, and we lay there in each other's arms, breathless and content, while the Chamber of Secrets continued play in the background.
Patricia continued to eat candy, and we started the second film. My nether regions were raw, feeling like they’d been through a few Quidditch match. I found myself groaning about all the candy. I told Patricia I was going to take a shower and go to bed. She smiled and said she’d like to stay and finish the film.
After a quick shower, I crawled into bed, feeling the weariness of the day settle into my bones. I drifted off quickly but was woken by the sensation of a hand stroking my cock—a pleasant, yet stirring, sensation. Patricia had joined me, her touch igniting a spark of desire even in my exhausted state. Her presence was a comfort and a reminder of the passionate bond we shared.
We had passionate sex again, maybe for the fourth time that day, possibly breaking our record. Patricia was always adventurous and eager to try new things, often leaving me struggling to keep up. But this was unusually awesome. The stress of work and the incessant overtime she worked had made it hard to keep this side of our relationship alive. I didn't know what had thrown gasoline on the fire that tonight, but it was amazing. I might not feel that way in the morning, but at that moment, it was incredible.
After both climaxing many times, we rested in each other's arms, the rhythm of our breathing syncing as we drifted into a deep sleep. We slept in until the early afternoon, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and contentment.
I woke up to soft kisses on my lips and found Patricia wearing her sexiest green lingerie. It was an emerald, green set, sheer and lacy, with delicate straps that highlighted her curves and a matching pair of thigh-high stockings that completed the look. I thought to myself that I had died and gone to heaven. Though it took longer than usual to get excited, I managed to satisfy her insatiable cravings. She was turning into a nymphomaniac.
We both showered, and Patricia tried to make some more magic happen in the shower, but my stomach was growling. A bit unsettled and a bit hungover from all the lovemaking and candy from last night, I wanted some coffee—a close second lover to me.
Patricia only relented after I promised her pancakes again. Being a self-employed contract analyst for a large oil company, I did set my own hours, but if I didn't respond to emails by noon, some projects would face delays. I needed to verify some drawings of the chemical plants.
I whipped up a large batch of pancakes again. Not super interested in having anything sweet, I opted for buttered toast and copious amounts of my black nectar. When I went to make Patricia's pancakes and pour syrup on them, I found the bottle empty, which was quite peculiar since we had just bought it at the grocery store. I ended up using honey, thinking she wouldn't be too happy about it, but Patricia gobbled them up like nobody's business, even asking me for the container of honey.
I told her I had to get to work, and she pouted, insisting that I owed her the third Harry Potter movie I toil her watch it with out me as big fan the 3rd movie. As I glanced at the state of the living room, I noticed that there wasn't any candy left from last night. Just a mound of wrappers and discarded boxes. It was unlike Patricia; she was more of a neat and tidy freak than I was. That's how we got along so well—both of our slight OCD conditions seemed to overlap, creating a harmonious living environment.
Her unusual behavior gnawed at me as I sat down at my desk to tackle my work. The carefree, almost frantic indulgence in sweets and the mess left behind were so out of character for her. As I dove into verifying the chemical plant drawings, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was off. But with deadlines looming and emails piling up, I had to push those thoughts aside and focus on the tasks at hand.
As I finished up the drawings and sent them out, I realized that my inbox was almost empty. I had a few emails from colleagues saying they weren't feeling well and wouldn't be in today. Checking the online directory, I noticed that two-thirds of the staff were out of office. Assuming there must be a summer bug going around, I saw this as an opportunity to hang out with Patricia and repay some of her passionate lovemaking kindness with some quality Harry Potter time.
When I walked into the living room, I saw Patricia pouring honey directly onto a spoon and eating it. It was quite peculiar for her. The minute she saw me, she put the spoon and honey down and stripped out of her robe. The sight of her standing there, her stunning beauty on full display, was more than my sore loins could resist.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
We made love again, right there on the couch amidst the wrappers and boxes. It was the most passionate, vigorous, and rough sex we had ever had. Patricia bit and scratched me to the point where she almost drew blood, and I had to make her stop. The level of animal ferocity and passion was truly amazing, and it may have been the best sex of my life.
Her intensity was like a force of nature, wild and untamed, and I found myself swept up in it. The room was a chaotic mess, a stark contrast to our usual tidy environment, but in that moment, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the raw, unbridled connection between us. As we lay there afterward, breathless and entwined, I couldn't help but marvel at the depths of our bond, both physical and emotional.
I went to the kitchen and made us two cups of coffee and poured two large glasses of water. Completely exhausted, I drank mine down, refilled it, and brought the coffee and water to Patricia. She had one sip of the coffee and almost spat it on the ground. I guessed that eating all that candy had dulled her taste for anything bitter. She drank some water, and I tried to ask her what was making her feel so randy, hoping that whatever it was, I could replicate it again. She didn't know why. I asked her what time she was going to leave for work. Knowing her shift started at 7, she sometimes would pick up dinner or her meals for break a bit early, depending on her mood. She let me know that she had emailed work, saying she was sick.
Patricia described a strange mental fogginess she had been feeling, a persistent haze that clouded her thoughts and made everything seem distant and unreal. She said the only times she felt normal were when she was eating sweets or making love. These two sensations cut through the fog like a knife, bringing a clarity and intensity that made her feel more alive than she ever had in her whole life. The sweetness of candy and the raw passion of our lovemaking were her lifelines, anchoring her to the present and infusing her with a vibrant energy that eclipsed any other experience.
She explained that if it wasn't for our true love and connection, she felt like she could be running out the door and searching to get laid like a tomcat. This talk scared the hell out of me, especially after being cheated on in the past. Hearing her say this was shocking. She reassured me that everything in her heart was locked—mine—and no matter how strong the urge was, she would resist it if we could have chocolate cake, she joked to lite the mood.
Patricia ate one of the jars of icing, and we—mostly me—started making the batter for the cake. Patricia knew the recipe by heart, but she kept forgetting or being unsure of the amounts. Eventually, I had to find my cell phone, which was buried deep in the cushions of the couch. This took a Herculean amount of time and effort to locate. I tried to use Patricia's phone, but she had forgotten to put it on the charger, and being a piece of shit Apple, its battery had died overnight.
After finally finding my phone, I googled the recipe. As I did, I noticed that I had a text messages, but I ignored it. I didn't want to leave Patricia unattended in her current state.
As we worked together, I noticed Patricia's uncharacteristic scatterbrained behavior. She was normally so precise and meticulous, but today she seemed lost in a fog, her mind wandering aimlessly. Her earlier admission about feeling mentally foggy and only finding clarity through sweets and lovemaking now made more sense. It was as if her usual sharpness had been dulled, leaving her adrift and reliant on these intense experiences to feel alive.
Despite the challenges, we finally managed to mix the cake batter. The process was slow and laborious, but it brought us moments of laughter and connection, grounding us in the present. As the cake baked, I couldn't help but worry about Patricia's strange behavior, hoping it was just a temporary phase and not a sign of something more serious.
As the cake baked in the oven, Patricia begged me to make slow, passionate love to her. She said that the roughness of the last time had scared her, and she wanted memories of gentle and tender lovemaking. And that’s exactly what we did for the next hour and a half. Using massage oils and an assortment of buzzing toys, we were able to make Patricia climax to the height of Burj Khalifa.
When it was my turn, I slowly and passionately kissed her while I entered her, moving in a deliberate and gentle rhythm. We had the most prolonged and tantric sex and orgasm of my life. It was a stark contrast to the wild, rough session we had before. This time, every touch, every kiss, was infused with a deep sense of connection and intimacy.
In that moment, it felt like we had reached the pinnacle of our physical and emotional bond, creating memories of love and passion that would last a lifetime. As we lay entwined, basking in the afterglow, I couldn't help but feel that this was the most profound and heartfelt lovemaking we had ever experienced.
I had bought an engagement ring and was saving it for a special proposal. I thought about retrieving it and giving it to her in this moment, as I had a premonition that we didn't have very many moments left together, though I didn't know why I thought that. But I didn't want to do it after sex and make her feel like this was about that. I had the idea of proposing at the McDonald's where we had gone on our first date. I think that amount of tackiness and cuteness would have pleased her. Just telling everyone that her proposal was at McDonald's—the things she would love to shock her friends with by telling them that. But then showing off my one-carat engagement ring to contrast that. I really hoped she would understand my blend of sophistication and humor when I did propose, or I would always remember me as the clown who proposed at McDonald's if she said no.
I pushed the thought aside for now, focusing on the present. Patricia's strange behavior and our intense lovemaking left me feeling both closer to her and more worried about what was happening to her. The cake was nearly done, and I hoped a quiet evening with dessert and some lighthearted movies would bring a sense of normalcy back to our lives.
Patricia was back on the couch, her eyes gleaming with an unusual intensity as she watched me move about the kitchen. I couldn't shake the feeling that something significant had shifted between us, something that needed to be addressed soon. But for now, I chose to enjoy the moment, hoping that the sweetness of the cake and the warmth of our love would carry us through whatever lay ahead.
We watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire as we ate cake, this being both of our favorite movie and book from the series. I had a small piece of cake that I had already finished and was rubbing Patricia's back as she drank a large glass of milk and ate chocolate cake. She was looking a little paler than normal, which made her red hair stand out, giving her a classic doll-like appearance. I didn't think anyone could be sick if they had that much appetite for chocolate cake. She asked for a second and third piece.
As we watched the movie, I told Patricia that I remembered I had a of texts that I had not looked at. My phone was hidden again underneath some mixing bowls in the back corner of the kitchen. I normally leave it on silent while I'm with Patricia, as I believe in being present in the moment, something she finds very endearing but cannot match. I wondered if maybe her not being on her phone was the reason we had felt so close over the last day.
Feeling a bit guilty about looking at the phone, I retrieved it and saw that I had 67 new messages, which was bananas. I don't know if I've gotten 67 text messages in a year. I started looking at them, and the first ones were from Paul.
"Hey man, hope you're doing well. Just wanted to let you know that Jane is feeling really sick today. Any chance Patricia could drop by and help her out? Thanks!"
Next was a message from Mike:
"Hey, just checking in. Is Patricia at the ER today? I’m heading there now, not feeling too well myself. Would be great to see a friendly face."
Then a message from Sarah:
"Hey, sorry to bother you. A lot of people are out sick today. Are you and Patricia doing okay? Haven’t heard from you guys and just wanted to make sure everything’s fine."
I started to feel a knot of worry tightening in my stomach. The messages were starting to paint a concerning picture. Then I saw a message from my brother, Tom.
"Hey, it's Tom. Just wanted to let you know that Mom and Dad slipped into a coma. They’ve been in urgent care for the last five hours. We’re at the hospital now. Please get here as soon as you can."
My heart raced as I read through the remaining messages, multiple copies of the same alarming news from various friends and family members. Then I saw Tom's last message.
"I hate to tell you this, but Mom and Dad have both passed away. I’m so sorry. Please come to the hospital when you can."
The weight of the message hit me like a sledgehammer. My legs gave out, and I sank to the floor, the phone slipping from my hand. The world went black as I passed out from sheer shock.
When I came to, my head was pounding, and I felt disoriented. I struggled to get my bearings, the memories flooding back in a rush. My parents were gone. I pushed myself up and turned to see Patricia on the couch, her body convulsing violently. Panic surged through me as I stumbled to her side, desperate to help but unsure of what to do.
"Patricia! Patricia, hold on!" I shouted, fumbling for my phone to call 911. My hands were shaking as I dialed, but there was no answer. Every line was busy.
Frantically, I checked on Patricia, her convulsions continuing with alarming intensity. I tried calling Tom, hoping for some guidance or help, but all the circuits were busy. The network was overloaded, and I was left helpless, unable to get through to anyone. Desperation clawed at me as I held Patricia, praying for her to come out of it, feeling more alone and scared than ever before.
I thought about driving to the hospital. Grabbing my backpack and putting it on, I ensured I had the medical kit inside. I picked up Patricia, her skin feeling unnervingly like wax, and a sweet smell coming from her breath. I could still feel a pulse, and her convulsions were becoming less frequent.
I carried her down the three flights of stairs to the street, each step feeling like an eternity. My Jeep was parked just a short distance away, but the weight of the situation made it feel miles apart. As I walked, Patricia's body felt alarmingly limp in my arms, her breath shallow and erratic.
When I finally reached the Jeep, I carefully placed Patricia in the passenger seat. Just as I was about to close the door, the guy from Apartment 2A grabbed me and pulled me to the ground. We struggled fiercely, my mind racing with panic and adrenaline. I fought back, striking him with a set of keys clutched in my hand. The sharp metal dug into his skin, momentarily stunning him.
As I tried to scramble back to my feet, the guy who always walked his cat in very red shirt, appeared. At first, I thought he might be there to help, but to my horror, he started attacking me as well. His eyes were wild, and there was a frenzied intensity in his movements.
We grappled on the pavement, punches and kicks flying. I fought with everything I had, the desperation to save Patricia giving me strength. I managed to push red shirt away momentarily, but the guy from 2A lunged at me again.
I swung the keys at cat walker red shirt asshole, and they connected with face, sending him reeling. In the chaos, I heard Patricia moan from the Jeep, her convulsions resuming. With renewed determination, I gave one final, powerful shove, freeing myself from both of their grasps. I realized I needed to lead them away from Patricia to keep her safe.
I sprinted down the street, hoping they would follow. My heart pounded in my chest as I ran, the sound of their footsteps behind me. Glancing back, I saw them giving chase, their expressions twisted with a mix of anger and madness.
I took a sharp turn into an alley, my mind racing with panic and desperation. As I ducked behind a dumpster, trying to catch my breath, I heard their footsteps growing closer. I had to think fast. Spotting a pile of discarded crates, I knocked them over to create a barrier, hoping it would slow them down.
With a surge of adrenaline, I continued to run, weaving through the maze of alleyways. The noise from the crates seemed to have done the trick; their footsteps grew more distant. After a few more minutes, I found myself in a small park, the eerie quiet a stark contrast to the chaos I had just escaped.
I took a moment to collect myself, the realization of what had just happened sinking in. I had to get back to Patricia. Taking a deep breath, I carefully made my way back to the main street, my mind focused on the task at hand. I just hoped that Patricia was still safe and that I could get us to the hospital in time.
As I ran, I tried to piece together what had happened. The guy from 2A smoked a lot of pot; maybe it was laced with LSD or something. Their behavior was beyond erratic, bordering on insane. I needed to get back to the Jeep and to Patricia.
When I finally reached the Jeep, my heart sank—Patricia wasn't there. Panic gripped me as I realized there might have been enough time for the two guys to double back. I knew these streets well and made good time getting back, hoping against hope that she was okay.
I yelled her name, my voice echoing down the empty street. "Patricia! Patricia!" The silence was deafening, my heart pounding in my chest.
And then I saw her. Patricia was standing in a doorway, her eyes glazed and unfocused. Relief washed over me for a split second before it turned into horror. She let out a half scream, half growl, and started running at me, her movements wild and uncoordinated.
"Patricia, stop!" I shouted, but there was no recognition in her eyes. She charged at me with a ferocity I had never seen before. My heart broke seeing her like this, knowing something had gone terribly wrong.
I braced myself, unsure of what to do, but determined to protect her and get her the help she needed. As Patricia came closer, I realized I would need to either hold her back or hit her to stop her charge. My mind flashed to all the video games I played, and I used those reflexes to my advantage. I sidestepped and deflected her attacks, gently but firmly, trying not to hurt her. Each movement was calculated, more like a martial arts kata than a fight, guiding her momentum away from me.
"Patricia, please, stop!" I pleaded, but she was beyond hearing me.
I continued to maneuver around her, steering her away until I saw an opening. With a burst of energy, I started jogging toward the hospital, glancing back to make sure she wasn't following too closely. As I moved, I heard the footsteps and shouts of the two other guys. They must have heard me call out and were back on my trail.
I pushed myself harder, the hospital looming ahead like a beacon of hope. I had to get answers and help, not just for Patricia but also for whatever was causing this madness. I pushed myself harder, the hospital looming ahead like a beacon of hope. I had to get answers and help, not just for Patricia but also for whatever was causing this madness. But as I got closer to the hospital and downtown, the road was blocked with stopped cars and more crazed people. It was chaos—vehicles abandoned haphazardly, and the streets filled with frantic, unhinged individuals.
A trail of followers soon formed behind me, their erratic movements and wild eyes making it clear they were in the same state as Patricia. My heart pounded with fear and frustration. I realized I wouldn't make it to the hospital. I needed another plan, fast.
I thought about my camping gear in my backpack. Maybe if I could get out of town, I could find a place to tie Patricia up safely and try giving her some meds from my bag I think there was some expired antibiotics. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was the only option I had left.
With renewed determination, I doubled back, carefully weaving through the maze of cars and people. I had to keep moving, keep ahead of the growing crowd behind me. I spotted a narrow alleyway that cut through a block and took it, hoping to lose some of my pursuers.
When I emerged, I found myself on a less crowded street. I kept jogging, aiming for the outskirts of town where the chaos might be less intense. Patricia was still following, her pace slower now, and I hoped she wouldn't collapse before I could help her. I walked west toward the mountains, choosing a road with a light rail in the middle and four lanes wide on both side, giving me room to maneuver around the zombies—because that's what I was thinking of them as now.
The tall sound walls flanked the highway, designed to keep noise down but now serving as a barrier to keep the zombies trapped in the neighborhoods on the far side of the wall and off the highway. I saw only a few of them at the bridges and overpasses, and there were only about six major intersections before we were out of the city.
As I moved, I kept an eye on Patricia, making sure she was still following at a safe distance. I navigated around the few zombies we encountered, my heart pounding each time I saw one. Their vacant eyes and jerky movements were a constant reminder of the danger I was in.
I ran until I couldn't run anymore, my lungs burning and my legs feeling like lead. I need to rest or fall over. That how I was here on a hot rooftop, sweat dripping down my back and soaking my underwear, making a bad case of what my friends and I used to call "jungle butt." The discomfort was intense, but I had bigger problems to worry about. Patricia and other Zombies around the building.
