A fungus. That’s how the human race was taken out. Pathetic. Ophiocordyceps unilateralis. Also known as the zombie virus, it was discovered by British Naturalist Alfred Russel Wallace in 1859. It affected ants of the Camponotini tribe. The infected ant would leave its nest and travel to an area with the perfect temperature and humidity for fungal growth, then the ant would use its mandibles to hang on a leaf upside down until the inevitable death that would follow. Over the next one hundred and fifty years the fungi evolved. It became dangerous, lethal. Its DNA modified to survive the harshest of environments, and it travelled airborne with ease. I graduated in 2017, the year the fungus went viral, so to speak. Millions were infected within weeks. The doctors couldn’t seem to pinpoint the problem, but the symptoms were
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I was instantly brought back to reality. The once frigid handle of my knife had become warm in my deathly grip, and I remembered what I was doing. Slowly I crept across the linoleum floor, my feet as quiet as a mouse, thanks to the heel to toe method, something my Honors teacher had taught me. Another can flew over a number of aisles, and missed again. An idea formed in my head.
“Wait, don’t do anything else. I’m friendly.”
“Bull, you’re a savage. You’re here to take my life and strip me of everything. I know how this game works.”
I walked up the aisles until I saw a man holding a shotgun. He held the gun up and for a minute I had stared down the barrel of a gun. My arms were raised, but he remained vigilant. I remembered my knife, and sure enough, it was still firmly planted in my hand. My hand opened up and the knife fell with a tink.
“Look man, it’s cool. What’s your name?”
He put the gun on his back, and his knapsack over the gun.
“Grant, the names Grant. Yours?”
“Mason, Mason Reyes. How old are you?”
“25. You?”
“23. Where are you heading?”
“Colorado, I have family I need to check on. Want to come
I was instantly brought back to reality. The once frigid handle of my knife had become warm in my deathly grip, and I remembered what I was doing. Slowly I crept across the linoleum floor, my feet as quiet as a mouse, thanks to the heel to toe method, something my Honors teacher had taught me. Another can flew over a number of aisles, and missed again. An idea formed in my head.
“Wait, don’t do anything else. I’m friendly.”
“Bull, you’re a savage. You’re here to take my life and strip me of everything. I know how this game works.”
I walked up the aisles until I saw a man holding a shotgun. He held the gun up and for a minute I had stared down the barrel of a gun. My arms were raised, but he remained vigilant. I remembered my knife, and sure enough, it was still firmly planted in my hand. My hand opened up and the knife fell with a tink.
“Look man, it’s cool. What’s your name?”
He put the gun on his back, and his knapsack over the gun.
“Grant, the names Grant. Yours?”
“Mason, Mason Reyes. How old are you?”
“25. You?”
“23. Where are you heading?”
“Colorado, I have family I need to check on. Want to come