I’d seen this kind of thing before. People get a shot to the head and their brain goes sideways. They talked about their dreams, some movie they saw when they were six, all kinds of shit. He needed medical attention fast. I tried to get him to lie down, but he wriggled away.
“When my wife changed she tried to eat me.”
Goddamnit. This was bad, but maybe if I went along with it it would calm him down. “What do you mean tried to eat you?”
He threw out his arms and looked around. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I’m sorry about all the blood. I was hoping to get far away before something like this happened.”
“Just wait there, sir. I’m calling you an ambulance.”
He stabbed a finger in my direction. “Some bodyguard you are. This is your fault. When the shit hits the fan, you’re the one who threw it. I’m toxic, but I was going away. Now it’s too late.” He touched his nose and held out a bloody hand.
By now, there was a crowd around us. People were running wild, grabbing the cash. The situation was getting out of control. I gently put my hand on McKee’s shoulder. “Please, sir. Stop moving.”
He bit my hand until I let go. Then he jumped over the freeway guardrail and started down a small embankment toward the feeder road. “It’s too late,” he shouted. “It’s out in the air. I’m out in the air. It’s too late.”
I followed him, but wasn’t fast enough. McKee calmly stepped in front of a fuel truck headed for the airport. For someone who was worried about a few drops of blood a minute earlier, he sure left a lot around after that stunt.
Poor bastard.
Hell, poor me. I was about to be out of a job. Maybe worse.
I went back up the embankment and found my phone on the floor of the limo. Before calling work, I texted Alexandra.
Shits come up. Can’t make it now. See you tonight?
And got back: 
okay later gator
I called the company and told them about the wreck and McKee offing himself. They were sending the cops, an ambulance, and a corporate rep. I was more scared of the rep than anything else that had happened that day.
I sat in the car, rubbed my shoulder and thought about what McKee had said. Something was out. What did that mean? And his wife tried to eat him? None of it made any sense, which I guess helps explain why he strolled out in front of that truck. He was nuts.
While I was waiting for the rep and others to arrive, the wind changed direction and my throat went dry. Nearby, someone said, “What’s that smell?”
A few of us stood there for a minute with our noses in the air like a pack of dogs.
Finally, the cabbie who hit me said, “I think it’s chalk. Like in school.”
He was right. That was my first time smelling it on the wind. Later on, I realized that most of these grinning idiots with me on the side of the road were probably dead meat.
Me, on the other hand? If I didn’t get arrested, I was going to a fucking party.
You learn your lessons the hard way these days. You learn or you’re gone. It’s not a rule. It’s just reality.
The thing you need to know about Rollers is that while they look like one big beast, they’re really made out of a lot of little ones. You see, people who get infected change fast. You can hear their bones crack as they curl up into fetal balls, while spines like barbed wire sprout out of their backs. If more than one person is changing, they’ll crawl together and spiral around each other into a spiked ball of bleeding meat.
Then they start rolling.
If those barbed wire spines get hold of you, you won’t get away. You’ll be pulled into the flesh mass and the only human part left of you will be your eyes. I’ve seen Rollers the size of two-story houses. A hundred blinking eyes staring down at you, the air smells like chalk, and there’s nothing you can do but run.
Rollers might be meat and bone, but once they’re moving, nothing can stop them. They’ll crush cars and crash through buildings to get to you. I’ve seen them take down ten, twenty people in one mad run. So, you might wonder, why didn’t a Roller ever get me?
It’s like the old joke about how do you outrun a bear? I don’t have to outrun the bear.
I just have to outrun you.
I headed home after the cops interviewed me and the company made me write a report on the accident. I mostly talked about the pickup truck that cut everyone off and didn’t mention the texting because, really, who needed to know? My bosses were happy enough with my story, but not with me letting a client get killed. They fired me on the spot. But at least I wasn’t going to jail.
The party that night was in San Teresa, a ritzy gated community for people who thought Bel-Air was for losers. The mansion was owned by Franklin Bradbury, one of those faceless secret masters of money who traded movie studios and record labels like kids used to trade Pokemon cards. Frank was made of cash and power—which can get you hated in L.A.—but he churned out enough good product and treated people well enough that he was everybody’s favorite billionaire. He only had a few quirks I knew about. Like, when he found out I was a bodyguard, all he wanted to do was talk about guns. Frank had an impressive gun vault, and a safe full of ammo to go with all the toys.
“Don’t worry, big guy,” he always joked. “When you’re in my house, I’m the one guarding you.”
“I always appreciate it, Frank. We all do.”
It wasn’t a big party by Frank’s standards, just a get together of thirty or so people from his TV company. They were launching a new network that weekend so everyone was in a good mood and most of them were already lit by the time I got there. That included Macy, my wife. She’d come up with some other people from work and we hadn’t spoken all day. I winced a little when she put her arms around my shoulders to kiss me.
She said, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just a little sore. There was an accident today at work.”
Macy frowned. “What? Why didn’t you call me?”
“It was no big deal,” I lied, not wanting to get into it here. “Just a fender bender, but I got some nice bruises.”
She pushed my hair back from my forehead, something she always did when she was concerned for me. “I’m glad you’re okay, but call me next time.”
“I promise.”
She took my hand and led me into the botoxed masses. I was never comfortable with these people. They were all so pretty and tan that I couldn’t tell them apart or remember half of their names. Still, it was drinks all around, so no one minded if you got their name wrong on the first try.
Frank had a television the size of Kansas and someone was flipping through the channels until they stopped on a late-night talk show. I watched just long enough to see Alexandra appear on screen and give the host a peck on the cheek. I looked over at the sofas. The real Alex was there with the remote in her hand. She looked at me and winked. I smiled back.
She was curled up next to Geoff somebody, a handsome up and coming actor. They had a good relationship. He got her into all of the big movie premieres and she was his beard, hanging on his arm whenever he went out somewhere the studio wanted him to look macho. Macy was off talking business with Frank, so I went over and sat down with the happy couple.
Instead of hello Alex said, “So, did you bring any with you?”
“Bring what?”
“The coke! I told Geoff you’d have enough for all of us.”
I shook my head solemnly. The one thing you never want to tell a twenty-something singer who’s been waiting all day for a bucket of cocaine is that there isn’t any. But there was nothing I could do. “I’m sorry, baby. The guy was a ringer. There was no coke.”