Sup dudes? I thought I'd set you up with a little excerpt from my novel, The Rabid. Enjoy!
From the Desk of Dr. Lisa James – October 16
My son was too busy looking out the car window and watching the fiery-colored trees sweep by to notice anything was wrong.
I looked at the blood stain on my blue scrubs. I needed a distraction, so I turned my attention back to the road. I’d left the hospital immediately after an infected patient had bitten the surgeon. They were moving closer and closer.
I hit the Seek button on my radio again, watching it fly through the channels, trying to find a station broadcasting anything. But all I got was static and one classical music station. Up until about an hour prior, there were still a few news DJ’s talking about the outbreak.
Just last week, my son’s father had been bitten when he was trying to get to my house. He came to the door, scratching the bite wound on his forearm. It was already starting to become red and swollen. After two days, he became extremely thirsty, but the muscle spasms in his throat caused him to fear any water I offered. The day prior, he’d turned.
I winced at the sudden twinge of pain that tore through my ribs. My body had been slammed into the dresser when I’d tried to save my son from his rabid father. I’d fought him a little, but he was stronger. So, I did the only thing I could think of doing; I grabbed a nearby vase and smashed it over his head. He was dead.
But I didn’t murder the father of my child. I killed one of them.
On the right, a McDonald’s was coming up fast. I was feeling hungry, but I knew there’d be no one there. I’d probably never eat a Big Mac again. The golden arches swept by and my son started to whine.
“I want farm!” he said, pointing out the window. That’s what he called it.
“I’m sorry, Rex, we can’t stop. Not now.”
He sniffed and whined louder. “I want, momma…”
“No. I told you we can’t stop until we get to Aunt Sylvia’s.”
“But, momma! I want farm!” I could hear the tears in his voice and adrenaline pumped into my veins. I’d never be able to offer him his favorite fast food again. His childhood was taken away from him and he didn’t understand why.
“I’m sorry, Rex, I’m sorry.” I felt tears threatening to escape my own eyes. “But we can have ice cream when we get to Aunt Sylvia’s, okay? Would you like some ice cream?”
His little round face scrunched, trying to decipher my tone. “Okay, momma. I want.”
At least I’d diffused one stressful situation. I turned back around to face the road just as another presented itself. The silhouette of a male was lumbering across the asphalt about a mile in front of us. I pressed down on the gas, watching the speedometer crawl up past seventy. The car’s engine whined. Rex began to fidget.
“Everything will be okay, Rex. Just close your eyes.”
“No, momma! Slow!”
The infected victim was inching closer. I could see it turn to look at the car. It started to lumber toward us, dragging its feet and pulling at its hair. The speedometer went up to eighty. It was closer.
I sniffed. The infected were not going to ruin my son’s life. They were not going to steal his childhood away. Eighty-five miles an hour. I could see the foam dripping from its chin.
“Momma! No hit!”
Instinctively, my foot slammed down hard on the brake. The car swerved onto the opposite side of the empty road, narrowly missing the diseased thing that was once a human being. It dragged itself near the car. I could hear it gurgle and groan. When it started hitting its fists against Rex’s window, my son scooted away, but didn’t look up.
“What’s wrong, momma?”
“That man is very sick.”
“No, Rex,” I said. “There’s no helping him.”
The thing was sliding its way toward the passenger window now. It clawed at the glass, trying to get inside. I turned the key in the ignition; my car had stalled when we’d skidded. It clicked, but the engine didn’t turn over. I’d been meaning to take it into the shop to get it looked at, but things were crazy at work, and I’d never had a chance. I’d never have a chance again, either. And it was just too coincidental that it decided to die on me then.
“Start!” I slammed my fists into the wheel. The thing pounded harder at the window. If only I were a doctor of cars and not medicine.
I’m sure Rex felt my fear and frustration. He was succumbing to sensory overload and I couldn’t do a damn thing to help him.
As he started to whine, the thing outside slipped back to his window, scratching at the rubber frame and tearing the nails from its fingers. Blood streaked across the glass. Rex’s face was turning purple. The engine still wouldn’t start. My heart pumped harder.
“Stop it now, Rex. Be quiet, please.”
“I want go, momma!”
“Please, momma! I want fast!”
“I’m trying, Rex.”
The key turned, and the engine roared to life. I stepped hard on the gas, nearly fish-tailing. The back end of the car hit the thing as we started to drive, knocking him onto the road where he howled. That was the first time I’d ever heard one of them howl. It was such a sad sound.
Rex tried to stop crying. He tried so hard to be quiet and still the rest of the trip. He was so well-behaved. My sternum grew tight. I hadn’t meant to scare him.
Want to read more? Check out the book here.