I didn’t shoot the bitch until she started eating Alan’s face. Before this whole thing began, I’d never shot anyone in my life. Not once. I never held a gun until a few weeks before Hamelin’s Revenge started. Hell, I never even referred to women as bitches. But that’s what she was. And I had the pistol in my hand.
Cue “Hey Joe” by Jimi Hendrix.
This thing… this plague; it changed people. Not just the dead ones, either. It changed everyone. Changed me. I’m a different person now. Listen… you never know what you’ll do until you find yourself in an impossible situation, so don’t ever say never. Survival instinct is a real motherfucker, and when your back is. against the wall, everything changes. Everything. I know. It did for me. It all changed for me.
My name is Lamar Reed and this is the way the world ended.
It started with the rats. They swarmed out of the sewers about a month ago. Well, maybe swarmed isn’t the right word. Swarm indicates speed, and the rats were anything but fast. The first attack took place in New York City during the evening rush hour. Imagine it. Sidewalks bustling with activity, crowds of people rushing to catch subways and trains and buses, streets choked with gridlock, taxi-cabs weaving in and out of traffic, horns blaring, manhole covers clanging as trucks drive over them. And then, in the middle of all this chaos, the rats slowly crawled out of a sewer grate on Thirty-first Street and attacked people-climbed up legs, raked at stomachs with their sharp little claws, sank their yellowed incisors into cheeks and thighs and necks; anywhere they could find a soft morsel. The rats fed.
