All You Need To Do Is Bite

by Cherrae L. Stuart ©2026

All you need to do is bite, everything will be better then. The voice in her head whispered a little louder this time. Her jaw opened wide enough to crack a little before snapping back shut of its own volition. Her teeth banging against each other, a rattling clackety-clack like a handful of dice. She used to do that, play games with dice, and monsters, back before the sickness came and the monsters became real. No one played games anymore.

Her jaw slowly cranked open again, and she stopped moving until the inevitable tendon snap-back. It was hard to focus on anything until the tic ran its course. She squeezed her eyes shut. The clattering teeth boomed inside her skull. When it was finished, she opened her eyes. But the darkness gave no clues. Just blacks and greys and metal and stone with a hint of light far down what must be a corridor of some kind. Her destination. She resumed her escape.

She squeezed her head through the rusty steel bars with an audible scraping sound that set her already overworked teeth on edge. Wriggling back and forth, her skin pulled and released in a way that if she still had any feeling on the left side of her head, it would have been agony. But ever since the fever broke, her body felt more like a vehicle. She was still inside but more of a passenger than the driver. The driver was the voice. It had grown louder since the sickness, and it was impossible to ignore.

That’s it, it cooed. You can cure yourself if you just push a little more. A little more pushing resulted in a violent tearing followed by a muffled flapping, which must have been her ear ripping free as her head finally popped through the gap in the metal bars.

She hadn’t eaten in so long, her head was her widest point, and with little extra effort, the rest of her body flopped through the narrow opening and hit the wet floor with a moist meaty thwap that thankfully, she also barely felt.

The voice is what she felt. A niggling needling pinprick in the center of her skull that dug and dug until she did exactly what it said. Get up. Is what it now said. Get up now. Find the cure. Save yourself

She heaved her body up to a wobbly stand. One of her feet didn’t work right. It was cocked at an odd angle, and she was actually balanced on the ankle, the foot dragging beside it like a motorcycle sidecar. Her vision doubled and blurred, and she swayed for a moment, sure she was bound to topple over.

She was too far gone with the sick. The voice promised a cure, swore that if she just followed the steps, she could be better. That seemed unlikely, but what choice did she have? She reached her hands out in front for balance. She’d lost so much weight that her center of gravity had shifted.

Step... drag. Step... drag. One foot lifted, the dead one she pulled behind, a slow progressing shamble toward the light at the end of the corridor. Smell it? The voice asked. She paused to focus, but the sudden stop caused her body to flop against the wall. She hugged the powdery concrete with all the strength she had left. It was the only thing keeping her upright. She sniffed the air.

It was different up here. Back at the cage it was damp and moldy. Here was drier, and something on top. A smell she knew but couldn’t place. It’s the cure. You’re so close now. The voice was right.

A rattling echoed across the concrete hallway, and she realized it was her teeth again. The tic was back. Once again her jaw tightened, ratcheting open wider and wider until she thought it would dislocate. Followed by the sharp release and maracas that echoed in her skull. Her body knew what she needed. The cure was close.

She pushed off the wall and headed toward the light. The remnants of the old world caused this plague, and only they have the cure. She didn’t remember what the word remnants meant. She must have known it at some point, but it didn’t matter. Because she did know the word cure.

And so close. Hunger and excitement ran an electrical current through her bones. Voices grew louder as she entered the lit chamber. She’d forgotten how to hide, how to be careful. All her body knew was that the cure was there in front of her. 4... no 5 of them screaming now. Running around in circles looking for something. Saying words she didn’t understand, in the ancient tongue that she no longer spoke Words like “rifle” and “we’re out of ammo.”

She didn’t know what any of that meant. She only knew she needed the cure. She needed to bite.

She rushed toward the one closest to her and grabbed them before they could escape the room. Her jaw ratcheted wider than ever before, the skin tearing at the edges. At the snapback she sank her jagged broken teeth into the flesh of their neck, and hot, salty cure poured down her throat.

It was the taste of freedom and health... but after a too brief moment it became cold and rancid.

They were not cured after all. They too have the sickness.

She dropped the lifeless body onto the floor, and after a moment, it rose up. Its voice in her head. What is this? Am I dead? They were like her. Infected.

Yes, but they have the cure, she thought back. Together, we need to take it from them.

They turned to those remaining in the room.

All you need to do is bite.