Zombie Bite

“You look like Carrie on prom night,” I said, aiming my gun at the man’s face.

His wild eyes stood out against his blood-soaked skin as he studied me. “Carrie?” he choked out. I had heard his voice before. It was the one that had come across my radio asking for help.

“Yeah, from the old Stephen King movie. I like to watch old movies,” I explained as I sized the man up. I had to hold my breath as the rancid smell of his body odor stung my nose. His face was a mess that consisted of wrinkles and bruises. His stained Harley Davidson t-shirt clung to his skeletal frame. He managed to sneer at me, exposing a set of crooked, yellow and brown teeth.

“What’s going on?” The man growled as if he was seeing me for the first time. “Who the hell are you?”

“I came here to help you,” I answered. “Most people know to stay away from schools, so why are you here?” I asked. The infected tended to visit places that held memories for them. I'd heard people call the infected zombies, but that wasn't right. Zombies ate brains. The infected were just cannibals with no preference.