“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” David murmured, a low undercurrent of profanity standing in as the soundtrack to this nonsensical, straight-out-of-Hollywood nightmare that he was inhabiting. He was, conservatively, ‘old’; he had never seen [i]28 Days Later[/i] or its sequels, nor had he played any of the Resident Evil or Silent Hill video games. David Fischer had seen George Romero’s defining pictures when he wore a younger man’s clothes, but that time had passed, and a combination of literature, talk radio, and his career occupied David’s life.

So, naturally, he was a bit skeptical that this was widespread - and furthermore, he was unprepared to grasp the scope of this situation as a whole.

“You’re going t’get in the Prius, you’re going t’call the police, and they’re going to sort this mess out most ricky tick, mate, don’t you worry - you’ll see, it’s going to be A-OK.”

Fischer continued to babble to himself as he hurried across the abandoned street and into the Rankin Avenue garage. He was cut short as glance at the other side of the ground floor revealed a tiny mob of very frenzied looking folks staring at him intently, perhaps caught in the twilight of deciding whether or not he was one of them or another piece of meat.

“[b]Fuck[/b]!”

Turning to his right, David ascended the stairs to the second floor of the parking structure at top speed; he could hear the low footfalls of the lunatics beneath him, scurrying as quickly as they could to mount the stairs, eager to get ahold of the old boy. At the top of the flight he rushed forward, taking the next set of steps two at a time to the top floor of the garage.

Out in the open, David could see for miles; smoke in places, fire in others, a general audial cacophony billowing out across Asheville. What was going on, exactly?

Nothing good, David decided, remembering his current dire predicament and hurrying across the lot to C7, where a simple silver Prius hybrid was parked. Removing his keys from his coat pocket - and fumbling with them briefly, just to put a cliché spin on the whole affair - he deftly thumbed the symbol of an open lock: the Prius unlatched all four of its doors in agreement.

Wrenching open the passenger’s door and staring down at the wheelless dashboard, it took David several costly minutes to realize that this was an American car, and that the steering wheel was on entirely the wrong side of the damned thing.

“[i][b]Fuck’s sake[/b][/i].”

At precisely that moment, a front runner managed to catch up with the Englishman; David whirled about just in time to see the bastard hurtling towards him. On sheer survival instinct, Fischer took a step back and held the door ajar, allowing the man to collide with the side of the car, denting it with his knee. David then threw his shoulder into the passenger door, causing it to crash into his crazed assailant.

The man’s leg broke, with a sickening [i]snap, crack[/i], and David yanked the door open, allowing him to crumple in a heap on the asphalt. He shut the door and proceeded quickly to the [i]wrong[/i] side of the car, climbing in and shutting the door behind him. With a quick jab, twist motion, the Prius hummed to life - yes, hummed, not roared, it’s a Hybrid - and David snapped his seat belt into place. Safety first, gents.

Throwing the Prius in reverse, the Brit swiveled about and brought the car around in a J-turn fashion, shifting into OD just in time to whir past the horde of enraged pedestrians sprinting towards him.

“Eat it, you bloody cunts!” he roared, hauling ass around the two half-circles that took him down to the bottom floor. It was then that he realized that the orange-and-white entrance block was down - and he gunned it without a second thought, shattering the wooden blockade to pieces.

Simultaneously, a rather craft woman in sweats missing her left hand flung herself onto his hood, grappling with his windshield wipers and screaming at the top of her lungs.

“[b]MOTHER OF GOD[/b],” David yelped, tires squealing as he burned rubber against the pavement, picking up speed. The woman refused to relent, winding up and slamming her knuckles into the windshield. After two or three blows, the skin on her hand was giving way to raw red tendons and scraped bone beneath, but she continued, indefatigable, insistent that she shatter this windshield and perhaps kill this man.

David whipped the wheel back and forth, swerving across an empty street and slinging the woman onto the left side of the hood, where she found her grasp on an engine vent at the top of the hood, her lower body dangling and grinding against the street, blood spraying against the sidewalk.

Maneuvering the Prius into the left-hand lane, David nearly side-swiped a parked sedan, and the woman was struck, flipping up over the hood of the sedan and smashing through the windshield of the innocent vehicle.

“Jesus Christ,” David muttered, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

---

[b]SUMMARY:[/b] Fischer gets his hybrid, runs over some punk ass bitch, and cruises into the sunset like a true player. Still hasn't reached the library. Get on my level, I'll be there on post 550, boys.