Matt hid in the back of the darkened pharmacy as Charlie scavenged for first aid supplies.
Matt was squeezing the oozing bite wounds on his arm, expressing blood and anything else that was lodged in there as Charlie crept up and dropped the supplies on the counter.
“How many times does this make,” Charlie whispered.
“I don’t know,” Matt whispered back, “Eight or nine?”
Charlie grabbed Matt’s arm and examined the exposed bleeding bite wounds and said, “What if you’re immune to the zombie viruses?”
“That would explain a lot,” Matt replied as Charlie doused his wounds with wood alcohol.