Bloody Knuckles and Shotgun Shells

“Hey Allison! Look at this!” Joey calls from two aisles over. I grab the jog of apple juice I’ve been eyeing and head over to him. He is kneeling over something on the ground. Worried, I drop the jug and walk quickly over to him.

His hand is firmly holding a clear plastic jar over what looks to be a large bug. He moves a bit and I get a better view.

“Holy hell, that’s a huge bug!” I hear myself scream.

“I know!”

The disgusting creature is squirming like mad. Its outer shell is dark, almost black. Its eyes are practically exploding from its head.

“What’s wrong with it?” I ask him, legitimately freaked out.
He looks at it more thoroughly. “I think it’s infected. With whatever the people have.

“So it’s a fucking zombie bug?”

“Pretty much.”

“Shit. We need to tell Ashton and Alex. Now.”

He lifts the plastic jar and quickly crushes the bug with his foot, creating a horrible crunching sound. I cringe.

“Do you think there are more?” I am definitely worried now.

“It’s quite possible.” Oh, I hope not. These little monsters will be much harder to keep away from; they are difficult to see and hear. We rush back to the campsite to warn the others.
When we arrive, we find Ashton asleep and Alex reading.

“Is she okay?” I question hurriedly.

Alex looks up from his book. “Yeah, fine. She just doesn’t feel good.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She just needed sleep. She’s stressed about everything. Why are you acting so crazy?”

“Alex, we just came across a bug. A huge bug!”

“Al, I know you hate bugs but you gotta stop this. Want me to kill it for you?”

I punch him. “No, you dipshit. It was an infected bug.”

“Infected? You mean with the same thing that’s causing all these dead people to walk around?”

“Yes,” Joey and I reply in unison.

“Oh God.” He looks around the floor and then at Ashton. “She said she felt nautious and tired. You don’t think she…”

“I sure hope not. Wake her up and find out.”

Alex leans down and presses his lips to her cheek, then her nose. “Alex, I said not right now,” she mumbles sleepily.

“Wake up,” he whispers.

“Alright. Fine. I’m awake.” She sits up and rubs her eyes, adjusting to the bright light.

“Are you okay?”

“Did anything bite you?”

“Do you feel sick?” All of our questions come out in rapid succession.

“Hold up, hold up. What?” she answers.

I explain what we found to her and watch as her expression changes from stoic attention to horror.

“Ashton, were you bitten? By anything? Dog, cat, human, bug?”

“No,” she tells us. “I was not. I’d remember that.”

We all breathe a sigh of relief.

“Lord have mercy,” I exclaim. “Momma needs a drink.”