Infectivity
Michael wrestled the door shut and leaned against it, panting. The bloodstained sledgehammer hung heavy in his hand. He shifted the barricade back into position and tried to ignore the groaning and pounding and shuffling of the walking corpses outside.
“Emily?” he called. ”I didn’t mean to be gone so long, honey. I had to go a bit further this time.”
He reached into his rucksack and began stacking the cans of food on the counter. Startled by the sound of the sharp, wracking cough, he whirled round. Emily swayed unsteadily behind him, her eyes wide with fear. Flecks of aerated blood lined her blue-tinged lips. Michael’s hand tightened on the hammer’s handle as a single bloody tear ran down her face.
