Dead Sector: Miami: The James' Strain by Drake Romero Page A

Remington, but like I have told you before, drop the ‘Mister.’ What do you say?”
    He is looking at us, and there is not really a choice here. Remington Flagler is my choice to land out of law school. So I say yes. The others do the same.
    The next two days feature non-stop coverage about the “zombie attack.”  No one really thinks that is what it was, but some sportswriter smarter than he realized started the joke and it stuck. LeBron and his bite became the butt of the late night writers and they get a lot of laughs. There was even one sketch of LeBron turning into a zombie. We all thought it was so funny at the time.
    Game four was even more anticipated than game three, but I am pretty sure that is because everyone just wants to see if LeBron could play with a bum hand.  Our seats are a little better this time, and I can actually see LeBron when he takes the court.  He has a smile on his face, but he looks sick-like he was sweating before the game even started.  The smile feels forced, but it is not a surprise that he insists on playing that night-it was the Championships. He is off the entire game, and the Heat are down going into the final two minutes.  I am able to sit next to Anne and we chat most of the night. We are talking about taking the Bar when it happened. I have not looked up from the conversation for a couple of minutes when what most consider the beginning of the zombie apocalypse occurs. LeBron James grabs the guy defending him and bites deeply into his neck. 
    The crowd is, for the first time that evening, completely quiet. Everyone at once gasps in surprise. Then the guy LeBron bit breaks away. He kneels on the ground for just a second. Three or four large players hold a struggling LeBron. The bitten man rises, and then bites the person closest to him.  Screams take hold of the arena. With terrifying speed the zombies from the court, those that were just playing a game for riches and fame, are grabbing fans from the floor seats and doing what zombies do… attacking. The transformation is so quick that nearly no one was actually eaten, as the zombies would lose all interest as soon as the turn occurred. One theory that I subscribe to is that the zombies goal, its true goal, is to spread-not to devour. 
    The crowd begins to make its way for the doors, but there are too many of them.  People begin trampling each other and the zombies spread like the “wave” at a sports event. The only reason I am here to tell you this story is that our seats were right next to an exit.  Everyone appears frozen, staring at the wild fire of zombies that will reach us in seconds. A man is turned by the woman in front of him.  He turns to the woman next to him, and takes a bite out of her arm.  She grabs the pre-teenager she is with (presumably her child) and bites him across the face. This kid turns upward and bites an older man’s ankle.  The older man grabs his wife by the hair and bites into the nape of neck.  The wife turns upward and bites a man in a sports jersey and basketball shorts on his inner thigh.  Blood accompanies each bite and it is all happening almost instantaneously.  And we are all watching and not running. I had joined them in this paralysis until it was almost too late. But then something in me wakes up. I take Anne by the hand.
    “All of you, we have to go, now,” I say. I am already headed for the exit.  Remington and Danny follow us.  I turned around long enough to see the two guys from Florida State grabbed by the “people” in the row behind them. I could only see one of their faces, and he looked at me pleadingly for help. Then he was gone and he was coming for us. I turn to run and we head into the hallway.  It is already flooded with screaming people. Among them are the zombies that have made it out of the main arena. People fall and rise around us. We are quickly becoming outnumbered. A woman grabs Anne and I make the split second decision to grab this woman by