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 accmplishment other than a marriage at a young age 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 engagent 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.
Aother thump on th 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 geture. 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
histhigh 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 backward before Emilio could
land another blow against the beleagured window. Brad backed away
from the trio until he could turn the vehicle around. He sped away
taking random turns throughout the harbor until he reached an empty
section next to a marina and a neighborhood.
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 carrry
across the water, and more voices throwing up demands for dick.
Brad spied the trio at the edge of a street light, eunning 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 force their way into a home while one pleaded withwhoever
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, /rad 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, leaped 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.