Bruce's condition had worsened. At one point he had lost control of his senses and tried to bite everyone near him. Everyone was in a grim mood except Charles who was asking me all sorts of weird questions.

"Why don't we have six toes?"

"Um. Maybe because of evolution." I said. I was just thinking how to explain this to him, when we stopped for lunch.

Everyone clambered out of their cars. I went to check up on Bruce. He was tied down by long ropes with his skin terribly mottled, a greyish colour. Red sores had erupted everywhere, oozing out blood. I averted my eyes and looked at his face which held an anguished expression, his eyes filled with pain.

Harry was standing next to him, his hands clenched.

"Bruce. Bruce. Can you hear me?" he said.

When Bruce gave no reply, Harry shook him.

Bruce closed his eyes and said something softly. Harry leaned into listen and then got up, his eyes filled with fury and left the truck, slamming the door behind him.

I looked at the girl tending to Bruce.

"How is he doing?"

"Not good. The infection has spread faster than any of us thought it would. We have given him something for the pain but it hasn't proven effective. Unfortunately that's all we can do until we reach North Wellsington."

"Do you think that there is a cure?"

She looked at me.

"Honestly I don't believe there is a cure yet. There are rumors, but nobody I know has been cured yet. All those who have been infected have either lost control of their minds and have become zombies or they have simply died."

Her eyes darkened.

"If you ask me, the latter is a blessing. At least they have escaped all the pain."

My heart sank. Things weren't looking very bright for Tess, Cherry or for anyone who had been infected.

Saying goodbye to the girl, I went outside. I was walking along to my car when I saw Harry sitting alone. I decided to ask him what he thought about all this. As soon as I went up to him, I saw that there were tear tracks on his face.
I froze, not knowing what to say.

He had seen me coming and he beckoned to me.

"Is everything okay?" I asked.

"Bruce doesn't believe that there is a cure."

"He still has three days left until he turns into one of those mottled men. We will surely reach North Wellsington by then."

"You don't understand."

"Understand what?"

He clenched his hands tightly.

"Bruce has asked me to kill him."