The Virus by Lee, Damien (summer books txt) 📕

an eager cry came from the doorway. The two men who had pursued him earlier now rushed at him again. This time, Glen was ready. Resting the shotgun against his shoulder, he blasted the pair with a single shot. Both fell to the ground in a heap as he pried the drawer open. He rummaged through the utensils until he found the sharpest knife he owned. Resting his shotgun on the counter, he placed his hand on the work surface.

“C’mon.”

He held the knife above his injured finger. The blade trembled as he tried to muster the nerve to go ahead with his plan. He let out an exasperated sigh as he stepped away from the counter.

“C’mon!”

His heart pounded against his chest as he paced back and forth. He glanced around the kitchen until he saw a towel. He snatched it from the worktop, bunched it up tight and bit down on one of the bulky edges. He spread his fingers wide on the tabletop, lifting the knife above his injured digit once more. He breathed deeply, trying hard to slow the pace of his heart. His hand became steady as he lowered the blade closer. He closed his eyes and began to count.

“One. Two. Three!”

The towel muffled his words, along with his screams as he sliced into the finger. He tried to cut through in one fluid motion, but the bone remained strong. Screaming into the towel, he looked away as he pushed all his weight on the blade. Eventually, the bone snapped, allowing the knife to slice the rest of the way through his muscle and flesh.

The room spun, bobbing up and down as his finger rolled away. He slumped to the ground, trying not to look at the bloodied stump left behind. Tears streamed from his eyes as he cradled his hand in the towel. The white fabric turned red as he wrapped it up. He breathed heavily, keeping his eyes firmly closed. The pain was unbearable, but he knew if it saved his life it was worth it.

On unsteady legs, he rose to his feet, aided by the shotgun which he used to push himself upright. The world continued to spin as he made his way over to the medicine drawer. He swallowed a cocktail of painkillers before remembering the second reason he returned home. He glanced at the kitchen table, relieved to see his bag of cannabis was untouched. Wiping away the tears in his eyes, he grabbed the bag and his lighter before staggering out of the house.

The cul-de-sac was still relatively empty, except for two undead Rottweilers. They snarled at Glen from the other side of the street as he cautiously approached the lorry. Red foam dripped from their fangs. One had its ribcage exposed, whilst the other stood on skeletal paws and had a huge portion of its shoulder missing. Both had fur matted with congealing blood. Wide eyes above mangled snouts watched him as he slowly reached for the door. Barking in unison, the pair dashed toward him.

Glen jumped inside and slammed the door shut as the two dogs bounced off the side. Their barking alerted others. All at once, several zombies emerged from neighbouring buildings. They eyed him hungrily as he turned the huge vehicle around. A brief jerk as he went told him that one dog had fallen under the wheels. He ignored the yelp, swinging the vehicle around until it was facing the right direction. Putting the lorry in gear once more, he drove forward, pursued by the persistent undead.

It only took him five minutes to reach the countryside again, leaving the ruined town behind. He blinked hard, trying to focus his vision as he rolled the cannabis between his fingers. The road ahead was empty, barring the odd abandoned car at the side of the road. Glen cast a glance at the vehicles as he retrieved his lighter. Nobody was inside, at least not from what he could tell as he raced past. He inhaled deeply, savouring the hot smoke that filled his lungs.

Despite waiting in anticipation for the high, he already felt lightheaded. He looked down at the sodden towel encasing his hand and could not help but wonder if he was safe. The hazy vision he attributed to blood loss. The slowing heart rate he blamed on the pills. Yet, it was too soon to blame his ravenous hunger on the cannabis. He looked at the remaining digits on his hand, surprised at how appealing they were starting to look.

***

“Okay, we’ve brought your stuff back. Now let’s talk about splitting it.”

“Fair enough,” Frank answered, looking between Ben and Amy, “What do you want?”

“Half.”

“Ha, you’re pulling my leg.”

“We don’t want half,” Amy interrupted. “All we want are a few weapons, ammo, food and that car.”

Frank looked at the sports car with raised eyebrows. “Now you’re pulling my leg. I haven’t even had a go in it yet.”

The pair watched him, annoyed.

“Okay, fine, take the car. Start unloading it and we’ll swap guns for food.” Frank approached the rear of the lorry and swung the metal doors wide.

“Wow, look at your haul.” Lisa beamed as she joined him.

“You should see some of the guns we picked up. We’ve got American imports and handguns. Our gun shop must have been doing some dodgy deals.”

“Most gun shops are.” She looked around at Frank’s bewildered face. “What? I know a bit about guns.”

“Yeah, and where to get them,” he said. “How?”

“I used to hang out with the right people. You learn things. And I can tell you, you don’t need to travel far to get your hands on illegal guns, it doesn’t matter where you live.”

“You learn something new every day. Either way, they’re not getting their mitts on these imports. They can have two handguns, a shotgun, a rifle, and that’s their lot.”