The Drift

by C.J. Tudor

You’re either a good guy or you’re a survivor, someone had once told him. The earth is full of dead good guys.

Carter didn’t know. But he did know that Nate had been wearing a gray bandanna this morning. This one was dark red. “Nate, I think we should just take a look at your head, okay?” he said. Nate gaped at him. Carter unknotted the bandanna and gently peeled it off. The top of Nate’s head slid off and hit the floor with a wet slap.

Necessity might be the mother of invention, but it was also the father of fuck you.

Funny, how many terrible things were done for the “greater good.” Carter sometimes wondered at what point the balance tipped. When did the greater good become the fortunate few—and screw everyone else?

People always think they want to know stuff. Secrets. Answers. Actually, there was plenty of stuff we were better off not knowing. If humans weren’t so intent on a quest for knowledge, they probably wouldn’t be in such a fucked-up position right now. Not all knowledge was good. And even the stuff that was good didn’t always fall into the right hands. Give the wrong idiot a shitload of knowledge and that was when the world imploded.

No one ever thinks they’re the bad guy. We all kid ourselves that we’re the hero of the story. And we’re usually wrong.

We all wore different faces for different people, some more palatable than others.

The virus was clever. Blood, fluids, air. It constantly found new ways to travel. The Elon fucking Musk of infection.