9 9

I immediately turn and run, slamming the door shut behind me.

"Tristan!" I call as I hurriedly get into the passenger's seat.

He looks up at me, his green eyes wide. "What? What's wrong?"

"We need to go. Now," I plead urgently.

Tristan connects two wires together which causes the dash lights and radio to come to life. I look through the rear view mirror in terror. He then takes a blue wire and gently sparks it to the other two. The engine starts up as he simultaneously lets out a cheer. I hear a loud thud on the back window as Tristan jams his knife into the metal keyhole, popping it off. This finally gives him control of the steering wheel and we drive off. I look back once more to see the old man starting to retreat back inside. I let out a deep breath of relief and slump into my seat.

"Don't ask me how I learned to do that," Tristan says, smirking.

I smile and shake my head, not believing our luck. "Where are we headed?"

"42nd Ave.," he replies, glancing at me. "Down south."

I give him a questioning look. "42nd Ave.? That's 30 miles from here."

He nods. "I know someone who I think will take us in for a bit. At least until we figure out what the hell is going on."

I just sit back and stare outside as we pass by torn apart streets, wondering if we even have enough fuel to get us there. I'm surprised that this rusty piece of junk even works; it's such an old model. Maybe that's why Tristan was able to get it to start.

"What did you see back there?" he asks, interrupting my grim thoughts.

I picture the scene in my head again. "He killed himself, Tristan. Probably because he knew he had caught whatever's going around." I pause. "I know that because his body turned grey just like the woman's did."

Tristan shakes his head. "Shit."

I continue. "Then this old man who also looked like he was infected," I say for lack of a better word, "started towards me. But the worst part is that he had the same eyes as those staff members last night."

"This is exactly what I feared," Tristan replies, then looks at me for a brief moment. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Yeah," I reply, returning my gaze back to the outside. We're on the highway now. "Me too."

Tristan puts on some soft country music and only now do I realize that I don't even know him personally all that much. Oh well. My tiredness begins to catch up to me now and my eyelids grow heavy. I try to distract myself with conversation in order to stay awake.

"So tell me a bit about yourself," I say, sitting up.

"What about myself?"

I shrug. "A bit about yourself."

Tristan smiles. "Well, I just turned seventeen. My favourite colour is black." He pauses, thinking. "And I like country."

I laugh a little. "I can tell. Do you play any sports?"

He nods. "I like to think I'm pretty good at soccer."

"Hey, me too," I reply.

Tristan goes on to tell me about his favourite team but I feel myself slowly drifting off to sleep as his voice grows more distant. He eventually turns the radio off and I doze off into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

"I said get out of the car, shithead."

I wake up to a deep voice and see that we are stopped in the middle of an empty street. A lean black man is standing outside of Tristan's window. He keeps his pistol pointed at us through the window.

"Move or I'll make you do it," he repeats.

Tristan glances at me before slowly unbuckling his seat belt and stepping out with his hands on his head. I do the same.

"Check 'em," the man orders his accomplice, gesturing at us with his gun.

She does as he says and kicks me behind the knee, causing me to drop to the ground. "Goddamnit, we're clean," I snap.

The woman roughly pulls back my hair, tilting my neck. After inspecting me for any signs of sickness and finding nothing, she shoves me to the ground and does the same to Tristan. She finds his knife and tosses it out to the side. Then she nods at the man, who has just finished searching our car.

He spits to the side. "Get rid of them then let's move," he says before shooting both of the back tires flat. "Bunch of useless scumbags." Putting his pistol away, he begins walking away from us.

The woman takes out her gun and Tristan looks over at me. I give him a small nod. In one swift movement, he turns and thrusts his fist into her throat. She lets out a cry and stumbles back. This moment of hesitation is all Tristan needs to grab the knife and slit her throat in an instant. Hearing this, the man immediately whips around, pulling out his pistol but I'm already behind him. I ram my knee in between his legs and he doubles over, firing a stray bullet into the ground. I take the opportunity to knock the pistol out of his hand and Tristan shoots him in the head using the woman's gun. He collapses to the ground. I take the pistol he drops, checking for ammo. One full round.

Putting it away, I look around and let out a low whistle. "Damn."

Tristan doesn't reply. He is standing still and looking at the dead body. I walk up to him.

"Come on," I say. "Looks like we're on foot from here on."

"I just killed them, Hazel," he replies, still not taking his eyes off of the man's

corpse. "Just like that."

"Yeah, well, you had no choice," I tell him. "It was either kill or get killed."

He's looking down at his bandaged arm, inspecting the bandage. "I guess so." Then he sighs, lifting his gaze to the street sign. "We should keep moving. Not much further now."

I nod. It's not safe out here anyway. We start in the opposite direction, and I keep my gun ready in my hand at all times. This place looks just as dead as the one before and I wonder how it could have spread so quickly. Whatever "it" is.