Fifty Cal

Dishonorable discharge and murder in the first degree. I shot him right in the face with my .50 caliber handgun.

No else saw it. I’d known Tucker since basic and so I really knew him. No else saw how his eyes had gone all bloodshot, or how his movements had changed. I think he was the first on base.

It’s not going to be like in the movies. It’s going to be so much worse. I stole a mask from the infirmary. I didn’t let them take it off me, even after I shot Tucker and they wrestled me and the fifty cal to the ground. It’s airborne. This is all going to go down fast.

My little sidearm isn’t going to be enough anyway. There’s another .50 cal in the armory, an automatic. I know if I had that I could survive, on foot or behind a barricade. I just have to reach it first.

They’re getting sloppy. There’s only one watching me at a time now, and sometimes he leaves. So he didn’t see me smash the mirror the other day. And tomorrow when I pretend to be choking to death and he comes into the cell, I’ll slit his throat from ear to ear with the shard in my boot.

It doesn’t matter anyway, he’s already infected. They all are.

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