Shoots His Way Out

Emilio stares at you through the glass, a glazed look in her eye. But not so glazed as to hide a distinct twinkle. She slams her hands against the window of the passenger's side door, demanding to be let in. Naturally, having witnessed so many infections in the last few hours left Brad feeling disinclined to acquiesce to her amorous insistences.

And he was inclined to say as much. "Get the fuck away from me!" Brad felt stuck. And indeed he was in quite a pickle. With Emilio pounding on the window, and the other two rocking the van from side to side, Brad found himself trapped. And he was beginning to panic. The thought of becoming a sex-driven bimbo did not appeal to him in spite of the fond memories he had of the few times he had actually had sex.

If the news reports were true, he would lose entire sections of his memory - his life up until this point. A life that had not seen much accomplishment other than marriage at a young age and a bachelor's degree. Now his degree was useless and his marriage ended in the midst of his honeymoon. It pained him to think of Sarah. They had come to the island to celebrate their honeymoon after a short engagement and a wedding right out of college.

It was a honeymoon that had ended with Sarah demanding Brad fuck her. And though such a demand might seem like a gift in disguise, it was a demand brought on by the bimbo virus. Sarah had succumbed to the infection after being accosted in a bathroom at a restaurant. She had chased Brad through the halls of their hotel until Sarah found another victim who was more receptive to her needs. Though that man would have thought twice if he'd known what he was getting himself into.

Another thump on the plexiglass driver's side window of the ambulance called Brad back from his memories of his beloved wife. "Emilia wants some dick up in this cooter!" she yelled as she grabbed her crotch and made a lude gesture. Cries of, "Me too!" Echoed from outside the van. Brad stood up from the driver's seat. He looked over his shoulder and thought about bolting out the back of the ambulance. As the pilot pushed on one side of the van as if to tip it over, he thought about the strength of these women and their tenacity.

The woman who had converted the pilot pushed from the other side, rocking the ambulance the other way. It was beginning to dawn on Brad how simpleminded, or myopic, the bimbos could be. If one flipped the vehicle over, she'd squish the other. Emilio pounded on the window again, this time hard enough to crack the window just a bit. A grating sound of metal sliding against metal and the glint of something sliding across the back of the ambulance caught his eye: Officer Emilio Rodriguez's service pistol. The mysterious Zephyr had disarmed Emilio but had not collected his weapon before fleeing in a speed boat.

Brad made a quick leap for it and landed hard on his side, a sharp pain all too apparent in his right thigh. He grabbed the gun and stood but nearly fell over from the pain of his landing. He held the gun in his left hand as he grabbed for his thigh with the right, afraid to find a needle or syringe. Instead, he found the most useful thing he could possibly hope to find at that moment.

He had found the keys to the ambulance. He rushed to the driver's seat as Emilio pounded on the glass hard enough to send cracks through much of the window and leave a little bit of blood where she had made contact. Brad slid the keys in the ignition, started the ambulance, and threw it in reverse. His foot slammed on the gas pedal and he raced backwards before Emilio could land another blow against the beleaguered window. Brad backed away from the trio until he could turn the vehicle around. He sped away taking random turns throughout the harbour until he reached an empty section next to a marina and a neighbourhood.

He had gotten away from the infected but was still stuck on the island. Zephyr had sped away in a boat to leave he and Emilio to be sexually ravaged by beautiful bimbos spreading their bimboism, and Emilio himself had just fallen to the pilot that was supposed to rescue them. Brad stepped out of the ambulance and jogged down a pier toward one of the many boats tied up there when he heard a shout carry across the water, and more voices throwing up demands for dick.

Brad spied the trio at the edge of a street light, running toward him. He turned around to run toward the nearby houses he had seen when he stopped cold in his tracks. Lights had come on from inside some of the houses and silhouettes could be seen flitting about behind curtains. Shouts for help sounded out as people woke up to find bimbos breaking into their homes. He could see a pair of bimbos trying to **** their way into a home while one pleaded with whoever was barring her from entering, insisting her pendulous tits only needed to be sucked a little bit, to take the edge off her heat.

Brad turned back just in time to see that the trio was almost upon him. Being so close to the water, Brad made the best decision he could have. He made a mad dash for the end of the pier, grabbing a circular life preserver as he went. He reached the end and without breaking stride, leapt off the end. He fell into the cold abyss of the ocean, nearly losing his gun and preserver. But he clung to the life preserver nevertheless, stuck the gun in the small of his back and tightened his belt to help prevent losing it, though he didn't think a wet gun would fire and it would probably rust soon enough in the salty sea anyway.

But he kept it regardless and then kicked and swam against the waves and away from shore under a clear, moonlit night. He floated in the ocean, having not the slightest clue where he was going or what he would do next.