An emergency light flickered dimly in the stairwell, so I went that way. The death groans only got louder as we got closer, but it would be better to run into the zombies in the light than having them sneak up behind us.
The battered lockers lining the halls were plastered with posters, all of them reminders about how to protect against the infected. Most of them were just graphics explaining the emergency procedures – board up the windows and doors.
That was the only real advice about dealing with zombies. Just keep them away, because if they bit you, you were as good as dead. Getting infected was far too easy, even if the zombies didn"t kill you.
When we reached the stairwell, I leaned over the rail. The landing below had three dead zombies and one dead soldier. They had already made it this far into the quarantine.
Harlow gasped when she saw the bodies, but I"d learned to keep my reactions to myself.
The coast looked clear for the time being, so I went down the stairs, stopping at the landing. The zombie bodies were mangled with bullets, their weird blood splattered all over everything.
The zombies weren"t really zombies, at least not the kind that rose from the dead and wanted only brains. They were regular people who had been infected with the lyssavirus genotype 8. A mutation of the rabies virus, it only infected humans, and it turned them into something completely monstrous.
Within a day of being exposed, people would begin having symptoms. Headaches, fever, nausea. Then they"d start hallucinating and getting paranoid and aggressive. Within three days, they"d be angry and violent - incapable of rational thought.
The virus overdosed them with adrenaline so they were crazy strong. Worst of all, they"d be insatiably hungry and eat anything, including dirt and other people.
The plan was to quarantine all the uninfected and let the virus run its course. If nobody else got sick, within a month or two, every infected person should be dead. That"s what they promised when we moved in here.
I had been here for over two months, and some people had been here even longer than that. So much for that theory.
The dead zombies on the steps hardly resembled people anymore. Two of them were very thin and clearly at the end stages of the virus, but the third one was fat, almost bloated. Froth covered their lips from , and their skin had gone almost gray. Their jaundiced eyes had dark rings around them. Zombies tended to attack and eat each other, so they were covered in bruises, scratches, and bite marks.
The thing I hated the most about zombies was their blood. It was thicker than human blood, as if always coagulating, and it had a weird greenish tint to it, making it look darker and alien.
I crouched down next to the dead soldier, glancing behind me to make sure a zombie wasn"t about to spring to life and grab my ankle.
Harlow and Sommer waited a few steps up as I started searching around the soldier"s corpse. I kept my eyes fixed on the dead zombies, pretending to watch them, but I just didn"t want to see the soldier"s face. I was afraid I might recognize him.
The thick ooze of zombie blood covered my hands, and I grimaced. I finally found the clip, along with his service revolver. He"d been using a semi-automatic shotgun, and it was still in his hands. I pulled it free, hating the way it felt to loosen a dead man"s grip. I stood up and turned back to Harlow and Sommer.
“Do you know how to use a gun?” I asked them.
Sommer was too busy staring down at the dead soldier. I understood her horror, but it didn"t do any good to let it take over, so I pushed it back. Harlow didn"t answer, either, but at least she managed to make eye contact with me when I spoke.
“Aim and pull the trigger.” I clicked off the safety and handed it to her. “And don"t shoot me.”
Harlow nodded and took the gun. I wiped my hands on my jeans. I didn"t need them slippery, and zombie blood is hella gross.
Shoving the extra magazine in my back pocket, I stepped over the corpses in front of me.
The stairs were slick with blood, and I gripped the railing.
I"d only made it down a few steps when the gun went off behind me, and I ducked.
Plaster dropped from the wall, and when my heart started beating again, I looked back at Harlow.
She was half-sitting on one of the steps, and her wide eyes were apologetic and terrified. She"d slipped on the blood and accidentally pulled the trigger.
“I"m sorry,” Harlow said, and she righted herself and stood up straighter. Presuming she learned her lesson about being careful with firearms, she"d do more good with a gun then without one.
“Well, at least we know you can take care of any zombies on the ceiling,” I said, then turned and hurried down the stairs.
Civilians were housed on the second floor, and the first floor was for army personnel and government officials. The medical facilities were in the gymnasium, and I had to get there for Max.