Allison Hewitt Is Trapped Read Online Free PDF Page A

infected. An exchange of fluids (like a speck of blood landing in your mouth or eyes) is probably what you should watch for. The depressing thing is, it seems despite the zombies, humans are still their own worst enemies.
    Allison says:
    September 20, 2009 at 5:37 pm
    Thanks, Isaac. I’d tell you to be safe but it sounds like you’re more prepared than we are. We’ve got a few first aid kits but nothing substantial. We would strike out but I don’t know how the others would feel about it. Ted might go along but I’m sure Matt would come up with some reason for us to stay inside.

September 21, 2009—The Botany of Desire
    And now, with absolutely no ado, 5 Things I Would Literally Prostitute Myself For :
    1. A hot shower (At least ten minutes—come on, I’m selling my body here.)
    2. A vegetable. Any vegetable (maybe not beets)
    3. Toothpaste and a toothbrush
    4. A functioning goddamned toilet
    5. A Panzer VIII Maus
    COMMENTS
    Isaac says:
    September 21, 2009 at 12:46 pm
    Add a few pounds of bandages and Neosporin and you’ve just about got my list.
    Allison says:
    September 21, 2009 at 1:09 pm
    You’re thinking too practically, Isaac. This is the end of the world, right? Tanks and toilets, my friend, tanks and toilets.
    Mel says:
    September 21, 2009 at 2:35 pm
    New Orleans gone. Attempting to escape by water and hoping Cuba is untouched.
    D.J. says:
    September 21, 2009 at 3:08 pm
    Is there a way to reverse this? Amputation? Medicine?
    Isaac says:
    September 21, 2009 at 5:59 pm
    I wouldn’t trust it. If someone is infected you should quarantine them or, if you can stomach it, end it for them.

September 23, 2009—Pandora
    “Good night survivors, Isaac, D.J. and Mel. Good night sun, good night moon, good night laptop, I think we’ll all be gone soon.”
    Nope, nothing, not a drooping eyelid, not even the softest suggestion of a snore. Nothing seems to work, not even a cheerful little lullaby can put me to sleep. I’ve become an insomniac.
    It began innocently enough. It started with a strange coincidence. After Ted and I returned with the loot, we rationed it out. I feel something happening with Ted, something like friendship or solidarity. He didn’t mention my complete lapse of judgment, the lapse that almost led to us being zombie snacks. I don’t know why he did it, but it made me glow a little with relief.
    We’ve worked out the rations to roughly this:
    2 Bags of chips per person per day
    2 Drinks (juice first because of the expiration date) per person per day
    3 or 4 Candies per person per day
    2 Cookies each, to be eaten at the owner’s discretion
    It really isn’t much but it’s the best we can do. There are still a few sticks of beef jerky left in the refrigerator and an old cling-wrapped muffin of indeterminate origin that no one has been brave enough (or dumb enough) to eat.
    After we finished rationing the food we sat down to eat. Ted and I kept mum for the most part. Janette seems extremely fragile these days; she’s never handled gore well, not in books or movies, and so we spared her the details of our expedition. Poor Phil ate in his office still curled up on the floor like a child silently enduring a time-out. He mumbled a quiet “Thank you” when I handed him a bag of Doritos and a soda.
    The rest of us ate at the table, sitting beneath the pale, buzzing glow of the emergency lights, crunching and chewing, each of us wrestling with our own tangled thoughts. Matt has been much more cheerful. I think he feels bad for voting against the mission in the first place and he’s demonstrated what one might almost call “enthusiasm”—or as much as his droopy basset-hound face can muster.
    It was after dinner or thereabouts that I noticed the remarkable thing on the floor. It was wedged beneath the counters across from the door. At first I thought it might be a packet of papers or an old “Team Work” pamphlet that had been dropped and forgotten long ago. I waited until the others had left