The Exit Interview

“How much time you think I have left?” Jonathan asked.

“Depending on how much you weigh...”

“Ethan, I wasn't bitten by a fucking rattlesnake! I don’t think this will work like a poison. I was bitten by Rosie, my wife, my dead wife.” his Adams' apple started to work up and down rapidly. Ethan had seen the signs countless times before, the man was about to start sobbing.

“I'm sorry Jon. I didn't mean to be so clinical. It could be five minutes or five hours. I honestly don’t know.” He said and glanced at his gun out the corner of his eye. Originally Jonathan tried to convince Ethan to tie him down to the couch but Ethan refused. Now he was beginning to have second thoughts. It was true he had no idea how long the change would take. There were no medical formulas or calculations he could make and that troubled him. As far as he knew the rate of change followed no rhyme or reason. He'd seen small children go slowly and big husky adults go rapidly, it seemed as if the more meat you had on your bones the quicker the disease ate you up.

Leave the bones for Henry Jones 'cause Henry don't eat no meat! His mind cackled. He quickly placed a hand over his mouth to stifle a poorly timed guffaw. For the first time he seriously considered the fragile state of his own sanity. After killing men, women and children alike he began to wonder just how much of his own mental stability was left. He felt that the world was taking little bites out of him just as sure as the zombies would…eventually.

Zombies…WTF!





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