Zocopalypse (Death Fields 1)

He shrugs. “I’m not privy to that kind of information. I just collect the data.”

Data.

Blood.

Tests.

My father’s lab at the university had been running a new experiment for months. Normally we were kept out of this part of his work, only hearing the boring details over dinner. Research this…grant money that…but this time he asked us to participate in some blind studies. A little blood once a week didn’t hurt although I wished I’d been cut weeks ago like my mom. Apparently, whatever was in her blood wasn’t as interesting as what was in my blood.

Don’t tell the vampires I have special blood, okay?

“Here,” LabGuy says handing me a green lollipop wrapped in cellophane. “The sugar is good for you—replaces the nutrients from the blood loss.”

“You didn’t take that much blood, you know.”

“Humor me.”

I pull the lollipop out of the wrapper and stick it in my mouth. “Happy?” I ask around the sugary sweet.

“Yep.”

“See you next week,” I say acting braver than I really am. If I could see his whole face I’d never flirt with him. Odds are he’s a graduate student working for my dad or some exhausted bastard they found over at the med school that needed a job. Either way he’s older, has pretty eyes and is absolutely unattainable. Perfect for me to practice my college flirt game with.

I make my way through the lab and spot my father in one of the rooms. I start to tap against the glass but I don’t. He’s got that worried look on his face, the one that comes when things aren’t going exactly his way. Sucks to be a perfectionist.

Speaking of suckers, I finish mine while signing paperwork at the front desk. It’s not a normal doctor’s office waiting room—just a small office where a woman named Josie mans the desk. Like every other time I’ve come in, the TV hanging from the ceiling is on, flashing images from the news. From what I can tell (and read in closed captioning) there has been another attack. This time outside of a truck stop in South Georgia.

“Another one?” I ask the woman working the desk. I push the pump on the hand sanitizer and a cool pool of blue gel fills my palm. I rub it around my hands generously. “Jesus, how many is that now?”

“Yeah, third one this week,” she says. Her forehead lines with worry and her eyes never leave the screen.

“They still blaming those off-market drugs? The ones truckers take or whatever?”

She nodded, eyes glued over my shoulder at the screen. The video is a constant loop of a man roaming around in a circle, hands balled into tight fists. There’s a lump on the ground blurred out—presumably a dead body.

“They said it took fifteen gunshots to take him down. The tasers and pepper spray didn’t even faze him.”

“You’re kidding.” I have a sudden desire to get home and look up this crazy situation on the internet. Some of my forum groups must be going wild. The news also could explain that look on my dad’s face. I’m sure he has plenty of thoughts on all this.

She shook her head. “They keep saying it’s isolated to the drug use, but seriously, what kind of drugs make you eat someone else? Last week that lady ate her dog. Her dog!” She pushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear and hands me a card with details about my next visit. We both watch the news a little longer but the show moves to a commercial break, breaking the spell.

Chapter Five

~Now~

We check the barn and thank God, it’s quiet—the good kind of quiet. I just do not have the energy to go any further tonight and one look at my mom tells me she’ll be asleep within an hour.

As I suspected, the barn is old and hasn’t been used in some time. The straw and dirt floor look undisturbed and the stalls are empty. I mean, it smells like goat and cow and probably some pigs lived in here at some point, but it’s quiet and the door has a lock. I latch the door behind us and we both collapse near a small workstation, exhausted from the day.

“I never knew walking so much would be this tiring,” I say.

Mom nods. “I never knew the benefit of a good pair of shoes. I’m really thankful you got these for me. Otherwise, I would have never been able to keep up.”

I don’t mention where I got them and that the owner of the shoes is dead. We open our backpacks and pull out some food. “Carbs or protein?” I ask holding up the plastic sheathed noodles in one hand and a can of tuna in the other.

“Do we have any crackers left?”

“A couple. I ate most of them at breakfast.”