A/N: A HUGE thank you to my reviewers! I've gotten about 80 hits on the story since I published it last night, and only four reviews, but I am definitely not complaing - the reviews were wonderful. Quality ALWAYS outweighs quantity. So I'm pleased :]. Knowing that I am being read and appreciated gives me the motivation to continue writing. Thank you everyone who has taken time to read this work-in-progress. Please review! Criticism of any sort is welcomed. Reviews are like a giant glass of water for the soul of a thirsty writer.

A deafening roar drowned out everything going on around me - the vicious noises from the throats of the grotesque creatures circling the car, as well as my horrified screams - as Colin unloaded multiple clips into the horde of infected behind us. They were running at the car, and fast. Their mouths were dripping with a repulsive mixture of blood and bile. Some were even foaming at the mouth. I grabbed the rifle and pointed it at the front of the car, where another group of them was running at us. I leaned out of the window and began blindly spraying bullets, praying I was hitting them. I apparently was, because when my gun quit firing and I opened my eyes, there was blood on the windshield and bodies lay strewn all around the car.

I sat back in the seat. breathing heavily. It was quiet again. I was thankful.

Colin exhaled loudly and handed me some ammunition, showing me how to reload the rifle, after he reloaded his shotgun.

He opened his door and came around to open mine. "Come on," he said, looking down at me.

"We're walking?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Well we are obviously not going to be able to drive through this. And we need to move fast if we want to get to the evacuation center before they leave us behind."

I stood up, clutching my rifle to my chest. It was all I had at this point that was keeping me from becoming one of them; one of those mindless, slaughtering beasts that were slowly devouring every inch of the east coast. I held it as if it were a child in my care. "Okay," I mumbled, and followed him.

We started walking through the mess in the street. The high noon sun glared down at us. There was an occasional straggling infected wandering randomly. Colin was a dead aim, a fantastic shot. He'd shoot it once in the head and we'd keep going.

It was like this for a good two miles. We hardly spoke except to warn the other of an incoming attack or a strange silhouette in the distance. That is, until I heard someone crying. I stopped in my tracks and stared straight forward. The cry sounded vaguely familiar. I just couldn't put my finger on it for the life of me.

"Do you hear that?" I asked softly.

"Hear what?" he grunted. The sobs were so faint it was almost inaudible.

"Listen close. It sounds like a girl crying. Maybe someone is still alive."

Colin paused for a moment and listened intently.

"Holy hell.. You're right. I hear it now."

We decided to investigate. He cocked his shotgun in preparation as we inched forward. The sound was coming from a dark crevice under the overpass we were about to go under.

"Hold on a minute," he whispered, putting his gun down by his side. "That sounds like Malissa."

He was right. I knew I had heard that same sob before!

"Malissa?" He called out and we ran closer to the bridge. There was no response except for the sobs, which were getting louder.

It was then that the boney sight of the young woman emerged from underneath the bridge wearing the same clothes she had been wearing the day at the restaurant, but this time they were blood stained and torn. Her hands were covering her face and she wandered around aimlessly, belting out deep, mournful sobs. She was barefoot, and her legs were filthy with dirt and caked blood.

"Malissa.." Colin lightly set down his gun as he approached her from behind and rested a cautious, comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's me, Colin. It's your brother. Where have you be-"

Suddenly, Malissa turned around and dropped her hands from her face. Her eyes were bright red and almost glowing. Colin released his grip on her and slowly backed away. She growled low and deep before letting out an ear-splitting shriek, startling us. She raised her lanky arms above her head before lunging at Colin, slashing her mutated, long nails which were practically claws against his cheek, splattering his blood on the ground and leaving a huge gash under the wound which was already present underneath his eye, as she was still screaming in terror.

"RUN!" He shouted, grabbing the shotgun he had dropped and unloading three bullets into his little sisters skull. She fell forward and he fell backward. With what once used to be his sister's corpse lying across him, he screamed and slid backwards, staring at her body with bewildered eyes. He was panting, trying to get a grasp on what had just happened. He brought an unsteady hand up to the fresh wound, wincing as he touched it. "Shit.." he mumbled.

I slowly approached him. "Colin.. I'm.. I'm sorry..."

He shook his head. "Don't be," he said weakly. "That wasn't Malissa anymore. That was something else. That infection got to her. That wasn't Malissa.." he trailed off. I suddenly remembered the first aid kit I had brought, and retreated to the car to retrieve it. I hurried back to him and crouched beside his hunched over form.

"Here, you're going to need this," I said, putting some antiseptic across his wound. He said nothing, and let me do it. I placed a bandage on top of the gash and closed my kit back up, strapping it onto my shoulder.

After a long moment of silence between the both of us, he finally choked out the word, "Thanks." I nodded in acknowledgement of his gratitude and rose to my feet, offering my hand out to help him up. He reached out and grabbed it. With a sharp pull, he was upright again. He backed away from where his sister lay, shaking off the vision of what had just happened.

"We need to keep moving," he stated sharply, wiping the fresh blood of his sister from his shotgun with the bottom of his shirt. "We're never going to make it at this rate," and, with a fleeting glance at his sister's still body, he marched forward in the direction of the mall.

As we walked, I began to replay the events of the day in my head: I had left behind every single thing I owned except for the clothes I was wearing and the shoes on my feet. Everything that meant anything to me was now destined to rot in what would surely be a quarantined death-area in a matter of days. I had shot, with very little hesitance, hundreds of human beings. Hundreds of lives that were destroyed in ways worse than mine had been. I had murdered. I had watched a grown man split his own sister's skull into pieces. The infection had already gotten inside of me. Even though I was not like them, even though I was not blood-thirsty and though I was not literally infected, I was infected and tormented with the thoughts and memories of what the infection of others had caused me to do; what I must continue to do if I want to survive.