What does it feel like to turn into a zombie?
Alex White felt as if he had a fever, his mind foggy, like being trapped in a dream. The sunlight no longer stung his eyes, and he caught faint sounds, mistaking them for a rotting zombie crawling closer. He clutched the stick in his hand and reacted sluggishly, soon realizing the noise wasn't from something crawling but rather a soft mechanical whir.
He forced his eyes open, pausing as his brain tried to process the scene before him, lagging behind his vision. It was as if his thoughts were stuck in slow motion, taking time to catch up. The sound came from a bicycle, not the roaring motorcycle one might expect in a world overrun with zombies.
Alex stared at the bicycle, almost bewildered. In this post-apocalyptic world, it seemed out of place. Perhaps it was the fever or the infection's symptoms that left his thoughts fragmented. By the time he recognized it as a bicycle, it had already stopped in front of him. A silhouette stood against the sunlight, and two dark barrels came into view—an old, rugged double-barreled shotgun.
"@$#%#."
He heard the figure speak, but his foggy mind couldn't make sense of the words. "I need something for the fever," Alex muttered. His tongue felt thick and uncooperative, his words slurred and likely resembling a zombie's guttural growl to the person before him. Realizing this, he moved his lips without sound, swallowing back the rest. "I need something for the fever," he repeated, more clearly. The figure seemed to be scrutinizing him.
"Fever," Alex said once more, before sighing, "Forget it, just shoot me."
His body relaxed as he slumped back against the wall. He squinted, trying to discern the face of the person in front of him, then closed his eyes.
Maybe this was the least painful way to go.
He didn't know what it would be like to turn into a zombie but feared staying in this limbo—mind clouded, thoughts fragmented, only to snap back to reality and find himself gnawing on someone's arm...
The thought was too horrifying.
Alex White sat propped against the wall, his mind in a haze. He rocked his head gently, humming a low tune as he awaited the gunshot. In this situation, it seemed the only resolution for a zombie was a bullet.
It was preferable to various... well, he vaguely recalled a movie where a zombie was tormented by having his genitals grabbed until death. That was a grim fate—being a zombie too, perhaps it wasn't too far off to call it a brotherhood of sorts.
After a while, still hearing no gunshot, Alex tried to open his eyes and saw the bicycle moving away. He watched it fade into the distance. Frowning, he tried to lift his hand to check his forehead, pondering if his zombie state was due to a fever that had left him dazed and if cooling down might improve things. However, his hand stayed still, and his body remained unmoved. Looking down, he realized his hands and feet were bound.
"Hmmm..."
Alex mulled over the situation.
"@$#%."
Zombie curses.
Being shot might have been a better option than becoming a zombie and causing chaos on the streets. But being bound? What was the point of that? What if that vile creature came back to bite people?
Faced with a zombie situation and bound, he was feeling betrayed by the circumstances.
Damn it.
Leaning against the wall without moving, Alex realized he was truly becoming a zombie. The fact that he was bound and hadn't noticed it indicated that his senses were dulling.
He suddenly wondered if a zombie's body was cold or hot. Would their temperature drop after full transformation? His thoughts were chaotic and confused. The sun seemed to have shifted, no longer as bright as before. Alex lost track of time and wondered if he had lost consciousness at some point. Perhaps the next time he regained awareness, he'd find himself drooling and lunging at people… No, being bound meant he couldn't lunge, but rather be restrained. At least zombies generally don't attack their own kind, which was a small comfort.
Suddenly, Alex felt some movement. He tilted his head, cracking his eyes open a slit, and saw the person had returned. They shoved something into his mouth and began dragging him. The next thing he knew, he was swaying, which irritated him slightly. He tried to move, feeling a cool surface against his face, which offered a welcome relief as he pressed against the cold, unknown metal.
Alex White wasn't sure how long he had been swaying. In between, he seemed to hear two distant gunshots. Squinting at the sky, he saw that the sun had set entirely, and darkness was encroaching.
He felt as though he were lying on a pedal-powered tricycle. The sensation was strangely familiar, reminiscent of a distant past when, as a child in the countryside, his uncle would take him to work in the fields on a tricycle. The gentle swaying of the cart had once been a source of comfort.
When the cart finally came to a stop, the night had fully descended.
Alex had no clue where he was. He could only hear rustling noises followed by the flicker of a flame. The person who had brought him with the cart lit a candle and placed it nearby. Then, he picked up a stick and gently poked Alex twice.
Alex tried to speak, but his mouth was stuffed with something.
He pondered the situation.
Bound, and with a gag?
Alex's face remained impassive.
This bastard.
The person poked him with the stick two more times before pausing, as if deep in thought. After a moment, more rustling sounds ensued, and a cold object pressed against his wrist. Alex felt a wave of relief and attempted to move his arm, hearing a clinking noise. He looked closely and saw a metal chain attached to his arm.
The person was still occupied with something.
Alex had a sinking feeling. Had he been captured and was now at the mercy of a mad scientist?
It might be significant if they used him as a test subject to develop an antidote, but Alex didn't want to be part of something so grand. He felt there might still be a chance to save himself if he could cool down... though turning into a zombie seemed unavoidable.
Alex felt a profound sadness.
After completing his tasks, the person clapped his hands, holding the candle, and stepped back to observe him.
"Hmmph hmmph." Alex tried to muster some strength.
The person spoke, "You… #..."
Alex remained still, straining to understand the person's words. He recognized that the person was trying to communicate and listened intently.
Seeing Alex's focused effort, the person paused and repeated himself.
Alex felt anxious and a bit desperate, his eyes bloodshot, but he managed to remain still.
Repeat it again… he thought to himself.
He should be able to understand; the words seemed familiar.
The person continued to speak slowly, holding the candle and carefully watching Alex's reactions.
Alex White felt his condition rapidly declining and let out a groan from his throat.
The person immediately ceased speaking.
"Mm, mm." Alex made two more muffled sounds.
The person blinked, holding a candle and standing there motionless.
Alex emitted three more sounds.
After a brief pause, he made four more.
The person abruptly raised a hand in a stopping gesture. Alex remained still, then lifted his face slightly and made a sound indicating the gag.
"Cool down."
Once the gag was removed, Alex felt he might not be able to hold on any longer. His mind was clouded, but cooling down had been his obsession from the moment of infection to the present.
"Cool down," he repeated.
"Cool down."