We were wrong about the zombie virus, he said, as he pushed out the revolver cylinder, tipped the pistol up and let the six bullets drop into his palm. He placed the six bullets on the table, standing them on their ends like little soldiers all in a line.
He flicked a finger and knocked on down. One, he said, it's airborne, not contact. Carried in saliva, spit, every time you exhale.
Flick. Another down. Two, it acts slow, not fast. Incubation is about 12 to 24 months, and you're contagious for every last second of them.
Flick. Three, the virus itself attacks the brain, it doesn't make you want to eat brains. Just slowly erodes your thinking, cognition, intelligence, turns you into a barely-sentient lump before it kills you.
Flick. Four. A virus is dumb, it doesn't think or want anything, just tries to make copies of itself. So it influences its host to do things which help it spread further and faster. Like I said, it's airborne, so the virus drives people to mindlessly mingle, to go out and blab endlessly with crowds of strangers. All those people regurgitating their lives on social media? Zombies, just mindlessly trying to follow the virus's genetic programming.
Flick. Five. One hundred percent mortality rate. No cure. For the individual or society. Once it achieves critical mass, there's no coming back. Everything you try to do, tell people about it, educate them, just spreads it that much faster. Well okay, we got that part right.
Six, he picked the last bullet up, and placed it back in the cylinder. Snapped it shut with a flick and pressed the barrel of the revolver under his chin. There's no band of misfits gonna save us.
Only one way out of this. Click.
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