﻿<strong>Malcolm Mercer<br/>Thursday, 7/18/11 -- 7:30 AM<br/>McLemore's Auto Service<br/>"Shoulda Stood in Bed"</strong><br/><br/>One denim-clad leg kicked out as Malcolm rolled lazily over onto one side. His soft snores echoed through the mostly empty garage, and he twitched as cars backfired and sirens wailed in the distance. He groaned in his sleep, a thin trail of spittle hanging from his lips, and fought through the fog toward wakefulness. The morning sun's rays managed to pierce away some of the gloom, and Mal grunted his distaste. Whoever thought mornings were a good idea should have been taken out and horsewhipped before they'd gotten the chance to do their dastardly work.<br/><br/>Another car backfired, closer this time, and Mal's ears pricked up. More sirens, too. Wait...those...weren't sirens...and the odds of that many cars backfiring at once were ridiculous. Screams. And gunfire. Malcolm rubbed his eyes and clambered to his feet. Screams and gunfire?! What the hell was going on?<br/><br/>He stumbled toward one of the small shop windows, tripping over a couple of wrenches and a length of hose as he made his way to the front wall. Mal leaned his back to the heavy, pad-locked door and edged close to the window, peeking out the far corner. Nothing. He dared to move a little further in, one hand reaching behind his back to grip the hunting knife looped to his belt.<em>'Nothin' quite like bringin' a knife to a gunfight,'</em>Mal thought wryly.<br/><br/>As he leaned further forward and spied his first glimpse of the carnage outside, Mal realized his situation was<em>so</em>much worse than a simple gunfight. Bodies littered the parking lot, wrecked cars burned, plumes of smoke reached to the sky like dark pillars. A few people were staggering about, seemingly in shock, or perhaps injured. Mal was about to unlock the garage door and rush out to see if he could help, when he got a good look at one of the nearest shamblers. He...oh God, his<em>face</em>...his face was just<em>gone</em>! Blood and flecks of bone pooled around where his lips<em>should have been</em>, and ragged holes in what was probably once a nice suit displayed more ragged holes in the man's flesh underneath.<br/><br/><em>'I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure these people are way beyond Ace Bandages and CPR; time to split!'</em>Mal thought, backing away from the window. Part of him wanted to stick around and check on the old man and his boys, but another thought broke through the haze of fear that clouded his mind. Jesse! How far had this, this whatever the hell it was spread? She might be caught up in it! He dug his cell back out and tried to call home, to let his parents know something was going on. No signal. 911 was a similar failure. So much for calling in the Marines. Whatever was going on, he'd have to find Jesse and get her home himself.<br/><br/>But first, he had to find a way out of the garage. He'd finished the repairs on his bike the night before, but he hadn't fired her up yet. The old girl might run -- or she might not. There was a car in one of the other berths, an old Cutlass, and from the sound of the two mechanics working on it last night it was in running condition, just in need of a rear tire. Mal was pretty sure he could replace the tire and get it running without alerting the...<em>people</em>outside, but it would take time he didn't want to waste. For about a half second he considered going on foot, but nixed that idea. Whatever was wrong with those people out there, he wanted to be able to put distance between him and them in a hurry, and that meant he needed wheels. Preferrably a tank, but right now Mal would take what he could get.<br/><br/>At least there weren't many of them out there, and they hadn't seemed to realize he was inside. If his luck could just hold a little longer...