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Drool ran from the corners of his mouth and Lonnie dared not wipe it away; if he did, then he’d see what was in that spittle. What white, wriggling things were there.
Things that were also hungry.
So hu
ngry.
He moaned again, and wept at the sound of his own voice.
Lonnie grabbed the slats of the fence and slowly, painfully pulled himself up. Then, holding on to the rail, he began walking again. He didn’t know where, he had no specific destination. He wasn’t even sure where home was anymore.
Down this road?
Or farther along the road he’d been on?
He didn’t know, couldn’t tell. Didn’t really care.
He went the way his weak legs could go, using the fence to stay upright. Following his moans. Following his hunger.
Looking for something to eat.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
TOWN OF STEBBINS
ONE MILE INSIDE THE Q-ZONE
Sam Imura told Boxer to pull onto a side road, and the Boy Scouts climbed out of the vehicle. Moonshiner hefted out a big duffel bag, zipped it open, and began handing out heavy-duty protective garments. These were not the standard white hazmat suits but were instead SARATOGA HAMMER Suits. They were permeable chemical warfare protective overgarments with composite filter fabric based on highly activated and hard carbon spheres fixed onto textile carrier fabrics. Sam had rolled into action on dozens of occasions wearing a HAMMER Suit. They were tough but light enough to permit agile movement during unarmed and armed combat.
“Hoods?” asked Shortstop.
“Not unless we know we’re heading into close-combat,” said Sam. “It’s a serum-transfer pathogen. No airborne components.”
“Shit,” said Boxer.
“You don’t want these fuckers to French kiss you, brother,” said Moonshiner.
“Be a lot more action than I’ve been getting lately.”
They all laughed. Sam turned to them and when they saw the look on his face the laughter faded.
“What?” asked Moonshiner.
“Let’s understand something right from the jump,” Sam said. “The infected are designated hostiles and we react and respond the way professional soldiers should while in combat. But … these are people. We don’t disrespect them. If we have to pull a trigger then it’s a mercy kill not a booyah moment, feel me?”
The others took a moment, then nodded.
Moonshiner said, “Sorry, boss…”
“No,” said Sam, “it’s cool. None of you have ever been in this kind of fight before. There are no rules except the ones we make. So let’s make rules we can live with when we’re done.”
“Yeah, I’m down with that,” agreed Moonshiner.
Gypsy, however, cocked her head and appraised Sam. “Boss … you said that none of us have ever been in this kind of fight. Have you? I mean, I thought this was all new shit.”
Sam gave her a weary smile. “The team I used to run with dealt with something a lot like this. Different pathogen, but similar effect.”
“Zombies?”
