Zocopalypse (Death Fields 1)

She nods silently and disappears.

I close the door with a small click and press my back against it and hang my hatchet in my belt loop. I’m still trying to get used to this thing.

“Again, thanks for saving our asses,” I say trying to gain control of my breathing. “That was our first real encounter with the Eaters.”

“Mine too,” he says. “If the military is right this infection and disease is going to be around for a while.”

“How do you know what the military is saying?”

He points to an iPad and laptop and then I notice a small box with a walkie-talkie. “I found them in the maintenance closet. Took me a while to hack into the frequency but they’re out there.”

“You have power?”

“Sometimes.”

“What did you hear?”?”

“Just that they want us all in the evacuation shelters. Sounds like they’ve got some sort of processing situation going on. Like, they can test people for the infection and then separate them from there.”

“Do they have a cure?” I ask hopefully. Maybe this will be over soon. Maybe my father figured it out.

“No, not that I’ve heard.”

“Oh.” I try not to show my disappointment. “Why haven’t you gone to one of the shelters?”

He runs a hand over his short hair. “I work—well worked—here, part time while I’m getting my graduate degree. The whole complex had been evacuated about a week ago. I was on my way to the evacuation center when I thought about a couple of things I’d left in my desk. My iPad, some books, those kinds of thing. And when I got in here I just sort of couldn’t make myself leave.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

He shrugs. “I’ve got food in the kitchen, a couch, and electricity. I figured at some point if I had to, I could go upstairs and look for supplies.”

“You haven’t yet?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not convinced everyone left and I’m not convinced that everyone who stayed isn’t infected.” He wrinkles his nose in distaste.

“What makes you think that?”

“Just a hunch.” Again he shrugs. “What about you?”

“We’re trying to get to some family outside of the city,” I reply evenly.

“You’re walking?” he asks incredulously.

“That’s the current plan. Although, to be fair, the current plan did not involve anything that happened tonight. Cars are too risky with the roads being caught in a never ending traffic jam. Plus the military and police are rounding everyone up.”

“Yeah nothing is predictable anymore.”

“How’d you get so good with a gun?” I ask sliding down to sit on the floor. My feet are killing me. My back aches from the weight of the pack. Paul sits on the couch facing me.

“Weekends hunting with my family. This is North Carolina.”

I must look skeptical, which is totally racist of me because I’m definitely finding it strange that an Asian dude hunts.

He narrows his eyes at me and says, “What? Korean’s can hunt.”