From Sometimes We Ran 4: Survival

Warning: This is a passage from a rough draft. Not responsible for misspellings, plot holes, odd phrases, or extra cursing.

I was tiring. My old body was giving up. I wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. Scaly, smelly arms reached between the bars. They wrapped around Sam's neck, chest, shoulders, and even his clean-shaven chin. He cried out again, starting to panic. All the Red-Eyes remaining outside our home were engaged now. They crowded in seeking a meal of tasty flesh. They poked their evil faces into the bars, twisting the slack mouths of the dead into nightmare grins. The sound of jaws snapping drowned out the cries and screams of the living. I let Sam go, and fired my gun into the crowd. The hollow points I loaded this morning destroyed the skulls of the nearest Red-Eyes, but they just kept coming. The red eyes of the attackers glowed in the shadow of the gate. Sam's arm twisted, and their was a horrible crunching noise. I closed my eyes.

I knew what that sound meant. I had heard it too many times before.

With one final heave, we pulled Sam from the gate. It happened so quickly, we wound up on our backs on the hard asphalt. Sam rolled over onto his knees, then stood up. I got to my feet. There was something I had to do.
It wasn't clear at first if Sam was even hurt. He turned around, and said, “I'm okay....I'm okay.”

I looked at the ground beneath Sam's feet. A few drops of blood hit his shoes, then it became a torrent. Sam raised his left hand. Where his two middle fingers should have been, was now a bite wound almost past his knuckle. It was bleeding like a fountain, but that was the least of his troubles.

Sam began to scream, grabbing his hand in agony. We all froze in terror, knowing what was coming next. Claire tried to go to him, but I stopped her.

Sam walked along the gate, wailing at his destroyed hand. The bleeding was actually slowing down, but that was not a good sign. We followed along waiting for the next step. Maybe he wouldn't turn. Maybe not enough parasites had transferred to his blood to complete the process.

Maybe.

Sam turned towards us, left hand held up. “Look,” he said, tears showing in his eyes. “I'm okay … really, I'm okay. It's not going to happen.”

Something like a cramp racked his body, and he fell to the ground. The screaming was getting worse and louder. Sam grabbed his head, and let out a scream that raised goosebumps. He put his head on the ground, and his breathing started to rasp. Sam was dying.

I walked over, and pointed my gun at the back of Sam's head. He reached out, and touched my foot. “I'm okay,” he said in a raspy tone. He looked up at me. Sam's eyes were almost vibrating, and turning a deep maroon color. His lips and skin were going pale and lifeless,.His breathing was coming in ragged gulps. “I'm okay,” Sam said again, in a voice barely above a whisper.

I pulled the trigger, and Sam fell, face first to the asphalt. His arms outstretched like he was begging for help. Blood and brain matter leaked into the street. I kept the gun trained on the corpse to make sure the job was finished. The defenders of Cannon Field stood around me in silence. Even the dead outside the gate went quiet in witness of my act of mercy.

Sam, or the living corpse of Sam, wasn't quite done yet.


I'll finish it soon, guys. I swear. :)