This one is called One Week Left:
May 29, 2010 (Jwan Alitas’s Point of View)
Jwan stared at the product he had placed in front of him, thinking of what to cut it with this time. Suddely he gasped, reaching for what he thought was the Drain-O he had placed in front of him. He grinned as he grasped it, dumping a majority of what was left of it into the few ounces of cocaine he had freshly ordered.
‘The suckers who buy this crap are so stupid… They’ll get high off of anything,’ he thought to himself, packaging the now seven ounces of cocaine he managed to produce. He walked out the front door of the small warehouse into the streets of Miami, Florida. Teenagers flooded the beach sides, surfing, swimming, tanning, and meeting up. He walked down a dark alley in between a French restaurant and an old Super 8 Motel, spotting his next customers.
“You Jwan Alitas? You got the stuff?” one of the men asked, his voice slurring together. A young teenage girl stepped out from behind the first man.
“I got it. You got the money?” he asked, holding out his hand.
The man on the other side of him hesitated. “Here. That enough?” he asked, dropping a wad of money into Jwan’s hand. Jwan counted the money swiftly. One… Two… Three hundred dollars. It was good enough for now. Jwan handed the other man the cocaine, tightly packaged in a tiny case.
Jwan walked away slowly, smiling with success.
‘Another one sold to yet another sucker,’ he thought, walking back towards his home to his beautiful wife and daughter, expecting a large meal and celebration.
He walked in the door, slamming the door in exhaustion. His wife ran to him, her long silky black hair flowing as she ran. His fifteen year old daughter followed her mother’s example, yet her short unnaturally blue hair sat still due to the hairspray she had layered on. Her hazel eyes gleamed as she looked up to her father.
“We made enchiladas, rice, tortilla chips, and guacamole sauce. Your favorite,” she said, pulling him by the hand towards the large kitchen.
“No, I don’t think I can eat right now… I feel very sick,” he informed her, going to the sink.
As soon as he began throwing up blood, he knew something was very wrong.
“Oh god… I’m really sick. Lakita, I just vomited blood,” he informed his wife uneasily. She frowned, looking down in the sink. Suddenly, Jwan began screaming. Not just and ordinary scream. It sounded like hitting a young girl with a baseball. He began to become rabid and ravenous. He let out a maniacal scream, jumping into the air at his daughter.
May 29, 2010 (Jwan’s Daughter’s [Marie’s] Point of View)
Marie’s father jumped on her, sinking his near razor-sharp teeth into her neck. In a matter of around forty-five seconds later, she began experiencing extreme hunger, pain, fear, and most of all, betrayal. She stood up as everything went blurry and she lost complete control, instincts taking her over like a cheetah. She let a screech out, just as her father had, jumping towards her mother. Her mother let out one last scream of fear before she became, like the others, yet another infected, putting thousands more Americans in danger by the seconds.
May 30, 2010 (David’s Point of View)
David sat on the couch, watching the news intently. It said something about an infection that had spread, in which had originated from a cocaine distribution. He chuckled lightly, looking down at the ground. He stood up, walking towards the tiny kitchen that was now filled with the lovely scent of blueberry syrup and pancakes. He smiled, walking over and wrapping his arms around his lovely wife’s waist.
“Pancakes,” he muttered gratefully, gazing down at the pancakes in the frying pan. “You just have this… special way of making pancakes. It makes my mouth water,” he informed his wife as his mouth began to water. He felt his wife smile. He knew she felt appreciated. “Stacey, what do you think the whole ‘infection’ thing is about?” he asked his wife in confusion. Her smile disappeared into the abyss as she grew thoughtful.
“I think it’s bull crap,” she said as-a-matter-of-factly,” I think everyone should just drop it. It’s just a way to trick America,” she said, a frown spreading across her face. She turned to her husband who stood over her by a few inches. He was grinning from a fresh idea.
“You know, we could benefit from this,” he informed her. She grew intentive.
“And what might that be?” She asked, a grin spreading across her face.
He grinned even wider, “We could sue,” he muttered. His wife’s grin slowly dissipated.
“Sue? SUE?! What is wrong with you, David?! That has to be the dumbest idea I have ever heard!!!” She screamed, fury filling her eyes.
“Sta—“He was interrupted.
“GET. OUT. OF. MY. HOUSE!!!!!!!” She screamed. Her anger echoed out. Suddenly, there was a scream in reply. Not just a scream. A maniacal scream. Something began banging on the wall. It came closer to the window. Then, crash. The window shattered, glass shards scattered around the room as something jumped into the house angrily; hungrily. It stared at David and Stacey menacingly, and yet again, hungrily. Janice growled and knelt over, leaving David breath-taken.
“Stacey, what are you doing?” he whispered in disbelief. She growled at him and turned, facing him.
“Follow my lead,” she urged impatiently, “Crouch over and growl menacingly. Put a hungry look on your face. Now,” she ordered, knowing she was quickly running out of time. He obeyed silently, leaning over, growling, and painting hunger across his face. The infected straightened slightly and ran out, disappointed that no food was in the particular house. David straightened and gasped.
“We’re okay, Stacey. He’s gone,” David said meekly. The pancakes were burning and he ran to them, picking up the pan and dumping it in the sink. He ran water over the pot grimly.
“We’re not okay… They’ll be back… They always will be… and this time… there’ll be more,” she informed him. She stood up and ran to their room. She opened her closet quickly and quietly, pulling out all the leather clothing she could find. “This is for you, David,” she muttered, pulling out a steel bat and a pistol. She ran back up to the front.
May 30, 2009 (Stacey’s Point of View)
She stared at David sadly, pressing the gun to his head. He jerked around suddenly; surprised she held a gun to his head.
“I have to do this…” She informed him sadly.
“No. No, please, don’t do this to me, Stacey. Please, I love you to much,” he begged.
“I’m sorry…” She muttered as she pulled the trigger. She screamed as she heard the bang and someone falling to the ground. She could hear the faint sound of blood dripping on the floor. Tears dripped down her cheeks as she opened her eyes. She looked down. To her dismay, there lay David with a faint smile on his face, blood dribbling down from his forehead to his chin. He was dead.
She would rather kill him while he loved her, rather than while he had no idea he was hungry for her flesh…