In zombie movies, one guy always gets bitten, and tries to hide it from the group, and he winds up screwing things up for anyone.
And I laugh.
At his stupidity, and short sightedness.
Ignoring facts at the expense of his friends lives.
If it were me, I think to myself, I’d man up, eat a gun and save everyone a world of pain and danger.
But now, looking at the bite on my arm…
It’s barely a scratch.
And I’m so fucking scared.
I’m not ready to go.
Not like this.
I’ll tell them, I will. Just… not yet.