Part Two: The Infection

Collin Englewood snorted with derision. Stupid old man, he thought, as he wiped off the counter where he’d been working for the past six hours. The lab’s cleaning crew would be in to decontaminate the room after he left, but he prided himself in his fastidious ways. His toe kicked the lid of an empty Petri dish and he scowled, shaking his head. Seeing no label, he tossed it on Dr. Flynn’s cluttered desk and brushed his hands together. There.

Collin left the lab a little after six in the evening. On the way out, he waved to the two receptionists who manned the front desk. They waved back and the cuter of the two blessed him as he sneezed.

Pulling through the first checkpoint, Collin dropped his identification badge during another burst of sneezes. The guard picked it up for him, wishing him a good night before opening the gate.

Collin was quickly waved through the second and final checkpoints as both guards had families and didn’t want to bring the cold or flu home with them. By that point, Collin was coughing spasmodically and his nose had become nearly faucet-like with its continuous running.

Before heading home, Collin pulled into the EZ Drug and Grocery two blocks from his apartment building. He held the door open for a young mother overburdened by three bags, a stroller, and a rambunctious toddler. In the wellness aisle, he picked up a bottle of Echinacea and helped an elderly woman by pulling an herbal laxative from the top shelf. The checkout girl handled his cash with her fingernails, not wanting to catch whatever it was that he had. Catching his reflection in a security mirror, Collin flinched. He looked like death.

The foyer of his apartment building housed a bank of mailboxes. Collin grabbed his mail along with Mr. Hartwell, Mrs. Glover, Maxine from down the hall, and the guy from 2B. The elevator was nearly full, but Collin was able to squeeze in next to Bambi, the girl who owned the flower shop on the next block. He tried to smile flirtatiously, but she swallowed in disgust at the yellow goo rimming the edge of his eyes and edged a step away from him.

Finally reaching his apartment, Collin fumbled with his keys, dropping them twice before getting the door open. The door remained open as he stumbled into his living room, dropped face-first onto his sofa, and passed out.

Sleep quickly turned into a coma as the C-143x permeated Collin’s system. His central nervous system shut down completely; its destruction guaranteeing him freedom from pain. His brain underwent what amounted to a rewiring, and its function was reduced to a primal, feral survival instinct. In six hours, Collin Englewood was little more than a walking, hungry corpse. The same could be said for the nineteen people he’d encountered on the way home, the forty-seven people they’d encountered, and ninety-six people beyond that.

In twelve hours, the uninfected would be a minority.

NaNoWriMo?

I had good intentions last year. I got about 95 pages in, even!!

But I did not finishe my NaNoWriMo. With a toddler, a husband, and a full-time job...writing a novel in a month just doesn't happen. And I'm not willing to sacrifice sleep, soooo...

Now, however, I find myself back in November with the next NaNoWriMo starting today. So what do I do? Start a new novel? Skip it?

Neither. I'm going to continue what I started last year. If I finish it, great! If I don't, fine! I'll know what I'm working on next November!

What I started writing last year was a book called Dust and Ashes. As many people who know me know, I love zombies. Terrified of them. But I love them. So I started to write a zombie book. It's actually not as much about zombies as I expected, but that's the nature of writing a novel. Just when you think you know what it's about, it changes course and surprises you.

So I believe that I shall continue working on it and see what happens. In the mean time, for your reading pleasure, Part One of my book. Consider it a mini-prologue, if you will...

Part One: The Mistake

“Oops.”

            Dr. Xavier Flynn looked down at the bright, white toes of his orthopedic sneakers. His wife had insisted it was time to start wearing something with more support, and he had to admit he had been limping less of late. He chose not to admit that wearing sneakers made him feel young again, and he had haphazardly flirted with one of the lab interns last week.

            Now, his bright, white toes were sprinkled with the gray and green flakes that had previously been cultivating in a Petri dish. Said Petri dish was on the floor in front of his shoes, cracked down the middle, the lid popped off and resting halfway across the room.

            “You okay, Dr. Flynn?”

            Dr. Flynn looked up and smoothed his features, crafting a patronizing smile for Collin Englewood. Collin was staring at him through goggles that magnified his curious eyes to Coke-bottle proportions. He was also trying to control the twitching of his mouth as it desperately tried to form a smirk. Trying and failing. Dr. Flynn could see the young scientist’s battle to keep a straight face and hated the pompous little twit just a little more than usual.

            “Just fine, dear boy.” And Dr. Flynn grinned inwardly and outwardly at the sneer Collin gave the condescending moniker before turning back to his notes and beaker. “Just fine.”

            Dr. Flynn not, in fact, just fine. He watched as the green and gray dust spread from small mites into a spider web of mold before turning white and flaking away. C-143x had gone airborne.

            Cleaning up the now empty Petri dish, Dr. Flynn shoved it in the pocket of his lab coat. He reached into the containment unit and reshuffled the remaining dishes so that, at first glance, nothing was amiss.

            The first tickles hit his throat but he forced back a cough. His heart palpitated and he wasn’t sure if it were because of the spreading infection or the spreading fear.

            Busying himself for a couple of minutes, Dr. Flynn made a show of checking his watch.

            “Collin, my boy, this old man is going to call it a day. Be sure to catalog the rest of the P2XC cultures before you leave for the day.”

            Ignoring the scowl Collin gave him, Dr. Flynn walked out of the lab. He waved at the security guard as he drove through the final checkpoint.

            When he got home, he kissed his wife of forty-three years before shooting her and then himself in the head.