Snippet #2480980

"And the pathogenesis of bacteria results in . . ." Jonathan gave a yawn, not unusual when presented in situations of boredom. He could have sworn that he packed his copy of Mensa puzzles, but alas all he had was his various textbooks he had brought for study. "Gods" he thought as a man behind him was complaining to the flight attendant of a wheat sensitivity. How he wished he could just go and explain that unless he had an immunological response, the man had no problem with wheat. "Ugh", stupid people drove him mad.

He had joined the study abroad program to study medicine for a few quarters in the UK. Infectious diseases always fascinated him, and since the new scare of the new pathogen responsible for the zombie attacks, Woolf naively thought he would be the one to pioneer treatment for the malady. If it was bacterial, he knew he could do it, he had been working on the pathology lab in the states, but if it was a virus, well . . . Woolf was both discouraged and excited at the thought. Viruses where something else. Up till now, mankind has not come up with a cure for the common cold! "Baby steps" thought Woolf.

He overheard chatter, that chatter elevated onto what would be a woman screaming, finally the whole cabin was freaking out. Not one to miss on a a moment of curiosity, Woolf (as he was called by his colleagues, from his last name) rose to see quite a sight. Some large man in a suit had managed to break the skin of another woman. "Rabies? On a plane?" Woolf rolled his eyes at the irony. It was when he noticed the lack of spasms in the movement that he second thought his diagnosis. "No, not here, not now," for once in his life, he had a stroke of fear in him. He wasn't claustrophobic, but as a distance runner, he prided himself on his stamina. On a cramped plane however, he felt almost helpless. Grabbing his running pack (and a few textbooks for good measure) he slowly made his way away from the commotion when the seat-belt signal flashed. "What No–" was the last he remembered thinking before the plane made a dive and he lost his balance knocking out.

A hot pain came about from his outer thigh. Woolf freaked checking to see if he had been bitten! But rather it was his vape, firing all while he was knocked out. "Gods that's going to sting" Woolf thought. Screaming snapped him back to the situation at hand as he saw the aftermath. He was still in the cabin but the entire wall had ripped open as though someone had flown the plane through a blender. buried in his own luggage of books and running equipment, he counted himself lucky to have a small enough frame to be hidden from view. Outside was a rather beautiful countryside (if you ignored the wreckage) that reminded him of old postcard of the English countryside. People were screaming, running from various infected zombies. Some twitching, some crawling, one even dragged itself across the seats making its way towards him! looking about, Woolf quickly tosses his heavy textbooks at the thing, vainly trying to kill it. With no result, he grabbed his pack and bolted through the cabin running down the torn fuselage onto land.

Smiling once he reached the dirt, Woolf felt at easy as a zombie started making its way to him he ran at his familiar 7.3 mi. pace as the zombie struggled to maneuver around the debris. Nearby, he catches a group of men making their way into a barn. "I'd hate to be the one to bring one of lead one of these things into there," he thought. "Ugh, forget it!" As he sprinted towards the rest of the group. If he saw them, he'd be pretty sure another zombie did as well.