The Rabid (Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

around me.
    I feel hands on my shoulders. I turn out of the embrace, backing away, stumbling, and catching myself with all the grace of a blind man looking for a wall to balance on, my arms spinning wildly. “Get away from me, I’m turning, I think I’m turning.” It’s Momma, standing there, Bethany concealed behind her, eyes still sweating sorrow, her hands crossed over her mouth. For a moment, I consider turning and running into the woods like some werewolf trying to escape the full moon.
    Momma approaches with open arms, her voice low and soothing. “Honey , you’re not turning into one of them. Your eyes look fine. You’re just in shock from everything. It’s a delayed onset, you just need to breathe.”
    Delayed onset, a therapy phrase Momma had no doubt picked up from one of her groups.
    “He puked and he just started ripping the place apart. He killed her…he killed all of them. And his eyes—all of their eyes—I’ve never seen eyes like that. He puked first, that’s what he did though, and I puked; you’ve got to get away from me.” My teeth chatter as I relay what I'd seen.
    Its seventy degrees out. Why are my teeth chattering?
    “You’re not turning into one of them. Listen to me; you’re going to be okay. They said on the radio that it’s a fast acting virus, you’d know by now if you had it. We just need to get inside, and get you both cleaned up, and then we’ll wait it out.” She takes another step forward, beckoning me into her embrace.
    “Wait what out? They’re all dead. Pretty much the entire police force is dead, they ripped straight through them.” I go dizzy at the thought. Knives and bullets can’t stop them. Nothing can stop them.
    “It was the worst thing, Momma, the worst thing.” Bethany blubbers.
    “Listen to me, both of you. There are police in other towns and cities; there is the military, and the government, so it’s going to be okay. We’ve just got to stick together and wait this thing out.”
    It’s going to be okay.
    Momma, the post-therapy optimist.
    It’s going to be okay.
    “Alright, okay, I’m calm. I’m good.” I inhale as deep as my stress-constricted lungs will allow and let it out through my nose. There are sirens in the distance and the firecracker pop of automatic gunfire ringing in the air.
    I accept Momma's guiding touch and we head towards the house.
    It's going to be okay...
     
    ***
     
    Bethany and I both take showers and discard our clothes in garbage bags, which we promptly throw out on the front porch, everything except for my Stetson and my boots.
    The news keeps replaying the same images: Flaming cars, police and military lining the streets, bonfires constructed by the twice-dead corpses of The Rabid, highways clogged with panic-stricken urbanites making for the hills.
    “We’re lucky you know, living all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere.” Momma has reiterated this bit of information multiple times now as we sit gathered around a bowl of popcorn in a tangle of pillows and blankets.
    We're not exactly in the middle of nowhere . It's a sort of, but not really, situation. We're nestled between a moderately populated small town, Watkinsville, and an ever expanding college Mecca, Athens. Watkinsville is five miles to our east. Athens is five miles to our west. We're nestled back off of a narrow country road that winds through ten miles of unmolested fields and forest; big industry will get to it eventually. The little driveway our house rests on, is an unpaved path made up of three houses lining a half mile stretch of dirt and river rock (a city dump truck comes every three months to resurface it). Our closest neighbors are a couple of fellas named Peter and Tony. They are roommates . “They seem awfully close,” I’d commented one day as I watched them tending their garden together through the strand of trees dividing our properties. “They’re nice people, sweetie, that’s all that matters.” Momma had replied.