1

Patient Zero

Lucas Porter broke into a sweat as he stumbled down the sidewalk. The sound of blood pounding in his ears was overwhelmed by the sound of the excitement around him as people pushed past. One guy bumped into him, nearly knocking the thin man over, and the guy spared a quick "sorry!" as he continued on his way without a second thought. Lucas groaned to himself, continuing past a group of booths where the people were calling out to passersby, trying to get them to buy something from their tables.

The summer festival in Haven City was always a busy time, and if there was one thing that Lucas hated, it was crowds. In fact, after being bitten in Fortune City, he had spent the last festival holed up in his apartment, taking his Zombrex and trying to rest quietly. He had been expecting to do the same thing this year as well, but instead he'd been forced to work a shift at the convenience store and then had made a run to the pharmacy just to make sure that he had enough spare containers of Zombrex at home to last until the end of the festival. He had taken his entire food budget for the week just to afford the damn thing, but those bastards at Phenotrans couldn't be bothered to maintain stock and the pharmacy was empty. The sheer indignity of it all, the mere thought that he was giving away every penny he earned to the same company that was rumored to be responsible for his infection made his blood boil. Now he was likely to turn soon unless he could get home. If the pharmacy didn't stock up soon, what was he supposed to do? Drive out into the wilderness and turn where nobody would be hurt? Shoot himself, or somebody else would? Was it still suicide, or was he doing a public service?

There was no time to think about the sad state of his life. He had less than an hour, and he was still a few blocks from his apartment building. His legs ached from walking quickly, and he was bitter when he looked around at the smiling faces around him, people who had come from all over to enjoy the festival. To think, if he just stood here until 11AM, they would all be in danger… but of course, he would never do that to anybody. This curse was something that he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy.

He pressed onward, jumping at the sound of a siren being turned on behind him. The noise caused a sharp pain to shoot through his head, and he looked over his shoulder at the sight of some officers riding in a glorified golf cart down the road toward him. They tore past, stopping up the road where a man was lying on his back on the sidewalk with his wife sitting beside him, screaming instead of doing anything useful. It was a hot day, Lucas thought, and the dumb fucker had probably forgotten to drink enough water. Shaking his head, Lucas continued on down the street. Time was running out, and the cops were just distracting him. Without realizing it, he began to scratch at his arms. After two years, he could still feel the virus inside of him, waking up as the time approached. He had to get home. He needed Zombrex now.

He broke into a jog, sweat trailing down his cheeks and stinging his eyes now. He was a very unathletic person; outside of work, he rarely left his apartment, especially since C.U.R.E. meetings started to dwindle. The woman next door, an insufferable lady named Joanne who never stopped talking, often remarked loudly about how he should come out with her for drinks. The benefit of the festival, he assumed, was that she was probably out instead of inside bothering him.

The street was packed, but nobody paid him any attention as he hurried down the sidewalk, finally reaching his apartment building just in time and casting a glance behind him as he shuffled inside. His heart was pounding as he charged up the stairs, panting heavily on his climb to the second floor. When he got to his door, he all but collapsed against it, fumbling for his keys. The next door opened just as he got inside, and he slammed the door behind him as footsteps followed him down the hall.

Lucas rushed through his messy apartment, kicking dirty shirts and fast food bags out of the way as he reached the closet, where a footlocker inside held his entire Zombrex stash. Licking his lips, he got down to his knees and slipped his fingers underneath the lid, lifting it open.

There was a familiar obnoxious knock on the door, and Joanne's voice echoed from the other side, "Lucas, is that you? Were you already at the festival?"

"Not right now, Joanne!" he snapped, his shaking hands grasping the lid, a trickle of sweat falling down just past his eye as he looked down in horror at the empty chest. Nothing? But… there had been enough boxes to last him a few more days, he was sure of it. "What the… fuck! FUCK!"

"What's wrong, Lucas?" she asked, concerned.

"Nothing!" he hollered. When did she stop calling me Mr. Porter? And when did I start allowing it? He almost laughed at the idea that his final thoughts were about Joanne as he pushed the footlocker out of the way and leaned forward, looking into the closet, seeing if they had simply fallen out somehow. He felt tired, suddenly. The infection was awakening. It was now or never. He groped around, finding nothing and praying to God that if he didn't die, he would listen to whatever stupid thing that irritating woman wanted-

"You won't find anything in there."

Lucas turned so suddenly at the voice that he nearly screamed. A man in a black suit with his hair slicked back, a metal briefcase in his hand, smiled politely at him as he got up from where he'd been sitting. The man looked rich, his features maybe even handsome, but his dark eyes were filled with a cold detachment. Something about it made Lucas suddenly very afraid.

"Who… who are you?" Lucas murmured dizzily. "Where… what have you done…?"

"What have I done with your Zombrex?" the man finished politely, straightening his tie with his free hand as he knelt down, opening the briefcase as casually as if he were at a business meeting with a man who wasn't dying in front of him. "Simple. We've reclaimed it, as you won't be needing it."

"What are you… talking about…?"

"Lucas Porter," the man said, his tone consistently mildly pleasant, with an underlying boredom. He spoke almost unnaturally clearly, measuring every word perfectly. "Infected in the Fortune City Incident, you were registered as a member of C.U.R.E. and participated in the protests afterward, calling for an investigation into Phenotrans based on what men like Frank West say but cannot prove," the man pulled a syringe from his briefcase, containing some glowing green liquid with small white blobs floating around inside. With a pang of horror, Lucas saw that the blobs were pulsating. "You, Mr. Porter, were detained after getting into a fight with one of our security guards. We graciously agreed not to press charges to get some public support after that whole debacle, but Mr. Porter… well, we haven't forgotten you. We got your records from C.U.R.E.'s database, not that they'll notice. We've been growing inside of them for some time now."

"Lucas, what's going on?!" Joanne called from outside, banging her fist against the door. Each knock was like a gong going off in his head. "Are you alright?!"

Lucas couldn't respond; his head was swimming and everything felt blurred and far away. His eyesight was fogged with dark shapes, and he felt his grip on consciousness slipping away as the man tapped the syringe, getting ready to inject him once he turned.

The last thing that Lucas Porter heard was Johanne knocking on the door, "Lucas, are you okay in there? What's happening?"

Lucas closed his eyes, She doesn't know, he realized, I never told anybody here that I was infected… I'm sorry, Johanne, you don't deserve this…

"Don't worry, Mr. Porter," the man whispered. "You're going to be the start of quite the operation here in Haven City."

With that, Lucas Porter faded away, going limp as the virus took over. His body went rigid, and his mouth fell open in a low moan. As the first zombie opened his eyes, the man forced the syringe down into his neck, lifting up his hand to push the zombie's head away as he pressed the serum into the zombie's body. The zombie jerked away, crying out like an animal in pain as its body began to distort in horrific ways as the Queen larvae was introduced to the host.

While this terrifying transformation was underway, the man slipped the serum back into his briefcase and fastened it closed, standing up and running a hand along his suit, smoothening it as he walked away, opening the door into the hallway where Johanne jumped backwards in surprise at the sight of the stranger as he cooly brushed past her, barely acknowledging her.

"Your friend is feeling ill," he said, walking down the hallway. "You should go and check on him."

"Who are you?" Johanne yelped. "What have you done?!"

The man gave her no response, and she looked back into the room where a low moaning sound echoed out. Worried that Lucas had hurt himself, Joanne hesitated before hurrying inside. She found him, collapsed on the ground struggling to get up, and rushed to his aid, putting her fat arms around him and pulling him up.

"Lucas! What-" she was cut off at the sight of his pale, bulbous skin, glassy red eyes, and open, hungry mouth, and began to scream as he lunged.