She struggles with that reference for a minute. Romero. Wait, that's the zombie guy, right? Ugh. Zombie shit. She's never been much for horror films, but especially not zombie ones. It's too close to home, though she doesn't consider Infected to be like the frankly silly looking animated corpses in old movies. Real life is just so much worse.
"No. Not zombies," she says. She doesn't roll her eyes, but that tone is there in her voice, as if to say zombies aren't real. "It's a fungus. It's called cordyceps. It's a mutation of cordyceps that can infect people. It...gets into your brain and controls you so you lose your mind and you aren't you anymore. Infected go after regular people to spread the infection. That's all they really do."
Her voice sounds hollow, like always, when she explains it. There's always that part of her that wonders why she's different. She's one of them. But she isn't one of them. Fuck, it would have been easier to be one of them.
"What's it like?" she asks, abruptly. "2015. Where you're from. What's it like?"
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"No. Not zombies," she says. She doesn't roll her eyes, but that tone is there in her voice, as if to say zombies aren't real. "It's a fungus. It's called cordyceps. It's a mutation of cordyceps that can infect people. It...gets into your brain and controls you so you lose your mind and you aren't you anymore. Infected go after regular people to spread the infection. That's all they really do."
Her voice sounds hollow, like always, when she explains it. There's always that part of her that wonders why she's different. She's one of them. But she isn't one of them. Fuck, it would have been easier to be one of them.
"What's it like?" she asks, abruptly. "2015. Where you're from. What's it like?"