CRAWLING WITH THEM, by Jason A. ZwikerKit’s guts ran cold when he heard the double squawk of a siren in the distance. His eyes snapped to the rearview mirror. Nothing but empty road, abandoned cars, and the broken shell of what used to be a Burger King. He tried to force himself to relax. Someone else’s siren. Someone else’s problem.
But then something slid down his neck and his heart clenched so hard that it hurt.
Sweat. It was just sweat.
He slapped, made sure. Nothing biting. More sweat beaded up on his neck, on his back, on his legs. Ah, God, his legs, that’s where it was worst. That’s where it was gouged into his skin; that memory of pain, of burning, of blistering. He patted at his shirt, made sure again. Nothing but sweat. Nothing crawling.
He looked up and jerked the wheel to k
