The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead by Steven Ramirez

said.
    I don’t know how many shots were fired, but one by one the creatures hit the ground, half their faces blown off by shotguns and .44 Magnums. What was happening was unreal. The horde seemed to be growing. Some of the cops were bit as they tried to reload. No one could stop to help them as they lay on the ground, screaming.
    A crash.
    What used to be a man, teeth dripping with gore, was reaching for me through the shattered side window. I screamed and moved as far away as I could—still it almost touched me.
    “Help!”
    Because I was inside the car, no one could hear me over the gunfire. Pushing against the door, I tried kicking the dark thing’s arms away. But it grabbed one of my feet and, with incredible strength, pulled me towards it.
    “Help! For God’s sake!”
    As my leg went through the window, the creature’s head exploded. Officer Norm peered through the shattered window, still holding his .44.
    I got my leg back inside, and he leaned in. “You okay?”

    The ordeal lasted only a few minutes. The cops who were bit turned on their brethren and had to be put down. I thought about what Isaac said about the virus mutating. Victims were turning faster.
    “Cease fire!” the captain said.
    Then all was quiet. Every bit of the horde was dead—including the infected cops. The helicopter was gone. The employees who were still on the roof stared down at the carnage. The pungent smell of gunpowder hung in the air. One of the cops picked up the head of one of his comrades and puked on his shoes.
    As we drove in silence, I lay on the backseat, numb from cold and shock. The police dispatcher had called it right—mayhem.

    Norm and his partner brought me into a small office where Detective Van Gundy was already waiting. A dark green file folder lay on the desk. He closed the door, went behind the desk and motioned for me to have a seat.
    “Want something to drink?”
    I couldn’t answer. My head felt feverish, my legs detached. I vomited on the floor.
    “Sorry.”
    The detective stepped over the sick and flung the door open. “Can I get a mop and a bucket in here?” He touched my shoulder and helped me up. “Come on, we’ll use another office.”
    I sat in a metal-and-vinyl chair, a cup of room-temperature water in my hand, as Detective Van Gundy flipped through a pile of papers inside the folder.
    “Sorry about what happened,” he said. “Those cops should have never put you in danger like that. The way things have been going, not everyone is thinking right. What happened anyway?”
    I was about to say something when Isaac walked in.
    “Can I help you?” Detective Van Gundy said. “Oh, Dr. Fallow. What can I do for you?”
    “I came to see if I could be of help.”
    “Sure.” The detective looked resigned as Isaac took a seat next to me and patted my knee.
    “I was about to tell Mr. Pulaski that we found Ms. Soldado’s cell phone and—”
    “I knew her, okay?” I said.
    Isaac frowned. “You should get yourself a lawyer, son.”
    “It doesn’t matter.”
    “Her last text was to your cell number,” the detective said. “Want to explain why you didn’t tell me the truth before?”
    “Dave, I strongly advise—”
    “Because I was cheating on my wife with Melyssa Soldado, okay? I didn’t want anybody to know.”
    “I see.” Detective Van Gundy made a note in the file. “And your friend? How does he fit into all this?”
    I gave him as much of the truth as I was going to. “I don’t know, he might’ve been jealous.”
    “Jealous,” the detective said. “Her last text to you was …” He referred to a handwritten page. “‘You shouldn’t have done that, Dave.’ Shouldn’t have done what?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “Right.”
    “Have you located her yet?”
    “No. Someone reported seeing a woman fitting her description wandering in the forest near where Ms. Soldado lives. The description also says that she was covered in blood. We don’t have any other leads.”
    I