Read The Infected (Book 1): Jim's First Day for Free Online Page B

it!” he is not listening. He has changed. This is not my friend anymore. I
grip his throat. The horn on the van stops blaring. The driver is awake or he
is turned. I squeeze his throat and readjust my hands. My fingers slip into the
base of his skull. I can feel his brain.
    “Sam,
please!” I know he is not there but I love this man. He was my best friend for
the last ten years. He was the best man at my wedding. He got me the job and
taught me sales. I squeeze, twist and push his head up and back. The bones snap
in my hands. His body goes limp. He is gone.
    “I
killed him.” I whisper. I can’t breathe. Why? No! No! My brain screams while I
can only whisper.
    “Dude!”
Devon’s voice pulls me out of my downward spiral. I have got to keep moving.
    I
pop the trunk of my car and grab my keys out of the ignition. I remembered that
I have my tool belt in there from when I helped my mother-in-law put up a fence
in her backyard. It is a very tight fit between the roof of the car and the
brick wall. I fight to get out of my window and up onto the roof of my car. The
driver of the van has turned. It looks right at me while punching the
windshield. I climb down the back of my car. The trunk is smashed in and jammed
shut. I pull up on it but it is stuck. The driver has punched its way through
the windshield, the glass ravages its hand, and flesh strips away and hangs off
the bones. It crawls through the glass. I step back and give the trunk a hard
kick right on the lock and it pops open. I dig and find my tool belt, grab the
hammer and pull it out of the metal loop.
    My
dad gave me this hammer when I got my first house. I am not super handy and do
not build that much. The hammer looks new even though it is ten years old. I
climb back on the trunk of my car and hit the back window with the hammer. I
keep hitting the window until it smashes out.
    “Devon,
push her over here!” He forces her head towards me. Tracy was so pretty. Now
she is a wreck. I swing down into the car, and my hammer gets her right in the
forehead. I have to work the nose of the hammer back and forth to get it out of
her skull. Behind me the van driver has pushed his head and shoulders through
the window. The sharp glass has scalped him and exposed his collarbones. I get
the hammer out of Tracy’s skull and turn fast and deliver a killshot to this
motherfucker that killed my friends and wrecked my car. Its head caves in. I am
sprayed with blood. Devon climbs out the back window and joins me on the roof.
    “That’s
disgusting,” he rubs the tears from his eyes. “Now what?” All of my clothes are
sopping wet and now my face is coated in blood. We climb down off the roof of
my car. I have to kick the back of the trunk again to get it to open. There is
not much in there. An old busted football, some dirty socks, a tire pump, one
old dress shoe and a boom-box radio from the late eighties. It is all junk.
Crap I should have thrown out years ago. Why the hell am I holding onto this stuff?
The weirdest thing in there is a crinkled up Playboy from the nineties. I don’t
remember who was on the cover because it was torn off years ago. I am not sure
why I kept it. I have owned a smartphone for a couple years now and that is my
main source of female nudity. I grab my tool belt and pull out the two largest
screwdrivers. I tuck them both into my pants.
    “Dude,
what the hell is going on? I think it’s a terrorist attack,” he nods his head
at me.
    “I
don’t know what it is. We need to get off the street,” I wipe some of the blood
off my face. My eyebrows are soaked. There is so much blood; I wonder if it could
make me sick. I snatch up the old dirty sock and rub it all over my face to get
the blood off.
    “I
read online, a couple weeks ago, about this monkey that came back from the
dead. You think it’s that?” A car crashes into a telephone pole on the other
side of the street.
    I
duck down from the scare, “I don’t know. I doubt this is all from