She didn’t bother aligning the car with anything. As soon as she was able to shove the thing into park, she was out, door open and obnoxious beeping following her all the way to the entrance of the garage lobby, engine still sputtering away. The short woman exploded in so hard that the door slammed into the opposite wall, but she skidded to a halt as the pistol in a man’s hand fired into her another man’s chest. If she had been pale before, it was nothing compared to the sickly, oatmeal-esque pallor of her face now, and she simply stared in shock.<br/><br/>The man who had just been shot moved again, almost instantly, and finally her green gaze froze in horrified recognition.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFBFBF"><span style="font-style: italic">Wesley?</span></span><br/><br/>An appalling, thick black maze of lines covered him, the pattern resembling blood vessels but far too enlarged and grotesquely dark. Drying blood, heavy along the side of his face and lower arms, made Amanda’s heart stop almost as much as the strangely vascular disfigurements, but she took a step toward him. Despite his appearance, she was surprised and relieved that the man with the gun had clearly missed his point-blank mark and<span style="font-style: italic">not</span>hit Wesley’s chest. After all, he was moving. Her voice broke like that of an adolescent male, but desperation made it fierce through the tremors as she snarled,<span style="color: #FFBFBF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“What are you waiting for call a <span style="font-style: italic">fucking</span> ambulance!”</span></span>in a single, unpunctuated command to no man in particular. She started to rush over to him, but he didn’t seem to need her help; faster than she had ever seen him stand up in a state of health, Wesley regained his footing, his focus entirely on the other people in the room.<br/><br/>One hand covered the wildlife ranger’s mouth as her eyes finally caught his beneath the net of blackened facial vessels. He was clearly out of his mind, delusional, probably hallucinating to the point where he didn’t even feel pain – the thoughts were rapid and jumbled, totally uncharacteristic for the methodically-minded woman – it was a thing, right? Mental patients had things like that, psychiatric wards and such… was this what the news had said? Was this “behaving strangely”? It didn’t have to be. This could just be an… an advanced case of rabies, or something. Amanda wasn’t sure why that was a comforting thought, exactly, but it definitely was right now.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFBFBF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“Wes… it’s me….”</span></span>she took a hesitant step toward him, her posture and face pleading and her voice as soothing as she could make it through the trembling,<span style="color: #FFBFBF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“I got your message an - ”</span></span><br/><br/>The shuffling, repulsive figure made a definitive turn for the woman who had attracted his attention, extending his arms toward her and making almost childlike grabbing motions with his hands. As the bile rose in her throat, Amanda could see that his fingertips had been worn almost to the bone. The bloodied strips of flesh that remained were leaking thick, black fluid, and in her peripheral stare she saw a perfectly round bullet hole in his chest, oozing a slow very slow, thin flow of the same repulsive toxin. A hated part of her brain whispered:<span style="color: #FFBFBF"><span style="font-style: italic">That’s not rabies.</span></span><br/><br/>She stepped back, toward the door.<span style="color: #FFBFBF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“Wes? S-stop moving, okay?”</span></span>The arm that had been extended to help him now turned, warding him off.<br/><br/>His lumbering, stiff gait and empty stare made the goosebumps rise along her arms, the painful wrongness of the entire situation threatening to override the adrenaline. Focus. Just think. What should she do? She couldn’t keep backing up while he stumbled forward- restraint? Should she try to restrain him? It seemed logical but… every last inch, every single fiber of her being resisted touching him.<br/><br/>Sirens echoed from behind her, closing in on the mechanic’s territory; the faintest tendrils of relief shot up her stocky legs. Police, ambulances, some form of armed individuals who had more training in dealing with people than saving them from rivers and getting lost, were coming. As some of her blood rushed back to her brain, she could hear a distant voice, sounding like it was coming from a megaphone or a speaker, echoing at the same distance as the sirens.<br/><br/>“… nside. All residents, please retreat indoors, lock all exits. Remain inside. Remain calm. All residents…”<br/><br/>Her other arm rose as she backed out the door slowly, hailing the cars that she knew must be closing in, though her eyes remained fixed on her cousin. She tried to call for them, but only a croak out as gurgling groan bubbled from Wesley’s lips, a mucoidal line of black running from the corner of his mouth.<span style="color: #FFBFBF"><span style="font-style: italic">Help!</span></span>