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into the man's knee. And then he waited as the man rolled around on the floor of the trailer grunting and moaning in agony. While Ram waited he inspected what the terrorist had been working on, and, taking rubber gloves from his back pocket, the DEA agent very gingerly took the blood-filled test tube and held it up.
    “ You're going to tell me what I want to know or I'm going to pour this on your leg.”
    “ Go ahead, poor it,” the terrorist grunted and spittle flew. “I am Allah's servant and that blood can't hurt me.”
    It had been a bluff only. There was no way in hell that Ram was going to open a vile of that blood and risk catching the virus. Yet his threat hadn't been in vain. He was a good agent and this was primarily because he could spot lies in an instant and there was something about the man's attitude that struck him as odd.
    “ This blood can't hurt you? What about other blood? What about black as hell zombie blood?” The man answered Ram's question with the tiniest sneer, yet the agent read more into it than the terrorist wished. “What about pig's blood?”
    Now the terrorist set his face in stone and Ram reeled with sudden knowledge. The middle easterner did not fear being turned into a zombie yet he was horrified at the idea of pig blood. There could only one reason for this.
    “ You've been inoculated, haven't you?” Ram demanded. The man looked away for the briefest second and said nothing, and Ram knew he was right. “Shelton! There's a cure. Did you hear that?”
    The other DEA agent backed into the trailer, staring out. “I heard and so did everyone else. There's some zombies heading this way.”
    They all ducked down so they couldn 't be seen and Shelton locked the door. It was a flimsy door.
    It was tested a minute later as a number of the creatures pushed and pulled at it and then hammered and thumped at it, shaking the trailer. Shelton, his eyes huge in his brown face, had a firm grip on his gun with both hands. He had it pointed straight at the door and he wasn 't the only one. Both the Fed and Ram had their guns at the ready as well.
    Thankfully they weren 't needed. The zombies gave up after a few minutes and went shuffling down the alley in search of easier prey.
    “ Oh shit, that was close,” Shelton whispered, passing an arm across his brow. “I thought for sure…” he stopped staring past Ramirez.
    The middle easterner was lying there, staring upwards and in his neck was a small screwdriver. He had killed himself.
    “ Damn,” Ram whispered, staring in amazement. He then hurried forward.
    “ What are you doing?” Shelton asked. “Don't touch him.”
    “ I have to. He's got the cure in him,” Ram said pulling out a pocketknife.

Chapter 9
Neil
Montclair, New Jersey
     
    Neil Martin saw his first zombie…his first human zombie on the thirteenth of October. It wasn't much of a sighting. It was an old lady with a great deal of her left leg chewed off. She was grey skinned and scabby with oozing wounds. Her hair sat limp and greasy, her clothes were torn and hanging off of her, and her eyes were filled with a vicious, unnatural hate and as she wandered down the middle of Grove Street, people watched her from the safety of their homes. Neil clutched a broom to his chest until she was gone to who knew where.
    On the fourteenth the army rolled through the neighborhoods and there was some sporadic shooting and Neil felt safe enough to make an attempt at his neighborhood Whole Foods. He was out of many of what he deemed were essentials and had a craving for salmon and bagels. Climbing into his trusty Prius he drove the near silent machine the two miles to the store and in that time he only saw t hree people.
    They stared at him as if he was crazy and his friendly waves weren't returned.
    He found the Whole Foods was not just closed, it was also boarded up . Hoping that the one in East Orange was still operating he drove southeast, passing closed shop after closed shop, only this