meant people. Maybe some vestigial, basic memories remained even when higher brain function left.
He wished now that he’d learned more about what happened to the brain of a person infected with Meir’s, but before he was bitten he didn’t really care, and afterwards he didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t remember anything from the month he had spent as an eater, shackled to a hospital bed surrounded by bars, but after he recovered he’d had dreams of feeling a deep hunger. It terrified him. For a while he was afraid he would turn again, even though he knew it was impossible. While physically he was cured, it had taken him a long time to get over the mental trauma. In some ways, he wasn’t sure he ever really had.
He wished he could tell the people to hide their lights, but that would mean going out onto the road and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that. Although if he did...
He thought about it, about just leaving now and walking home from here. He had his gun and a knife. He’d have to leave the rifle and sword with Micah. The sword, especially, would be a wrench. He’d never owned a sword and his inner nine-year-old couldn’t contain itself at how cool he would look to be wielding it through an outbreak. But on the other hand, getting home would be nice. He was worried about his friends, especially Leon, Pat, Emma and Katie. If anything happened to those little girls, he would never forgive himself.
And then there was Micah. He still didn’t know if he could trust him not to get him killed. Or to kill Alex himself. He felt a twinge of guilt at just abandoning him, surrounded by eaters, but he had no doubt Micah could take care of himself. And he would have a rifle and an uber cool sword.
Alex took a step towards the gate.
One of the eaters, a short, greying man, wandered past, its shoulder nudging his arm. Without thinking, Alex glanced at it. It turned its head towards him, lifting its face.
There was a pause. The eater sniffed.
In a heartbeat, its expression changed from vacant to ravenous. Moaning, it lunged at him, mouth gaping wide.
Alex leaped back, stumbling into another eater, this one a woman. It too opened its mouth and came for him, smudged red lipstick coated lips gaping. He shoved its shoulder and it spun away, falling. The commotion caught the attention of the other eaters in the garden, plus some on the road. Soon he was in the middle of a scrum of eaters scrabbling to catch hold of him.
He pushed past a middle-aged man reaching for his arm. The man caught hold of his jacket and pulled. More eaters lunged for him.
Shots rang out and several eaters dropped to the ground, thinning the press around him. But the man still clutched his jacket. Without any other choice, Alex pulled the knife from his belt and plunged it into the man’s ear. Its grip loosened as it fell, tripping up a couple of eaters behind it.
Alex ran. He dodged an eater in front of the steps, bounded up the stairs and pulled the door open. He slammed it behind him and turned the key. Thuds rained on the outside of the door again.
He ran through to the kitchen, dropped the knife into the sink and turned on the hot water. After ripping off his bandages, he grabbed the bottle of washing up liquid and squeezed a large puddle into his palm, scrubbing and rinsing repeatedly, ignoring the pain in his cut skin.
Rapid footsteps descended the stairs.
“What happened?” Micah said as he ran into the kitchen.
“Check the cupboards for bleach,” Alex said, still washing his hands as he shuffled his feet to one side so he wasn’t blocking the doors beneath the sink.
Micah pulled the doors open and leaned down to look, eventually straightening with a yellow bottle in his hand.
Alex rinsed again and held his hands out over the sink. “Pour it on.”
Micah looked at his hands, which had started to bleed again. “Are you
He wished now that he’d learned more about what happened to the brain of a person infected with Meir’s, but before he was bitten he didn’t really care, and afterwards he didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t remember anything from the month he had spent as an eater, shackled to a hospital bed surrounded by bars, but after he recovered he’d had dreams of feeling a deep hunger. It terrified him. For a while he was afraid he would turn again, even though he knew it was impossible. While physically he was cured, it had taken him a long time to get over the mental trauma. In some ways, he wasn’t sure he ever really had.
He wished he could tell the people to hide their lights, but that would mean going out onto the road and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that. Although if he did...
He thought about it, about just leaving now and walking home from here. He had his gun and a knife. He’d have to leave the rifle and sword with Micah. The sword, especially, would be a wrench. He’d never owned a sword and his inner nine-year-old couldn’t contain itself at how cool he would look to be wielding it through an outbreak. But on the other hand, getting home would be nice. He was worried about his friends, especially Leon, Pat, Emma and Katie. If anything happened to those little girls, he would never forgive himself.
And then there was Micah. He still didn’t know if he could trust him not to get him killed. Or to kill Alex himself. He felt a twinge of guilt at just abandoning him, surrounded by eaters, but he had no doubt Micah could take care of himself. And he would have a rifle and an uber cool sword.
Alex took a step towards the gate.
One of the eaters, a short, greying man, wandered past, its shoulder nudging his arm. Without thinking, Alex glanced at it. It turned its head towards him, lifting its face.
There was a pause. The eater sniffed.
In a heartbeat, its expression changed from vacant to ravenous. Moaning, it lunged at him, mouth gaping wide.
Alex leaped back, stumbling into another eater, this one a woman. It too opened its mouth and came for him, smudged red lipstick coated lips gaping. He shoved its shoulder and it spun away, falling. The commotion caught the attention of the other eaters in the garden, plus some on the road. Soon he was in the middle of a scrum of eaters scrabbling to catch hold of him.
He pushed past a middle-aged man reaching for his arm. The man caught hold of his jacket and pulled. More eaters lunged for him.
Shots rang out and several eaters dropped to the ground, thinning the press around him. But the man still clutched his jacket. Without any other choice, Alex pulled the knife from his belt and plunged it into the man’s ear. Its grip loosened as it fell, tripping up a couple of eaters behind it.
Alex ran. He dodged an eater in front of the steps, bounded up the stairs and pulled the door open. He slammed it behind him and turned the key. Thuds rained on the outside of the door again.
He ran through to the kitchen, dropped the knife into the sink and turned on the hot water. After ripping off his bandages, he grabbed the bottle of washing up liquid and squeezed a large puddle into his palm, scrubbing and rinsing repeatedly, ignoring the pain in his cut skin.
Rapid footsteps descended the stairs.
“What happened?” Micah said as he ran into the kitchen.
“Check the cupboards for bleach,” Alex said, still washing his hands as he shuffled his feet to one side so he wasn’t blocking the doors beneath the sink.
Micah pulled the doors open and leaned down to look, eventually straightening with a yellow bottle in his hand.
Alex rinsed again and held his hands out over the sink. “Pour it on.”
Micah looked at his hands, which had started to bleed again. “Are you
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