Just listen to the beat.
It helped me concentrate. Helped me get into the zone. I had everyone of my tools and felt the weight of each one strapped to my belt.

I couldn’t draw my gone because the two hands on the steering wheel were the only realiable things keeping me and my partner alive.
The car swerved, and I avoided a light post.

“Getting iffy!” Collins yelled.

If I would have responded, I would’ve crashed.
If I tried to think of anything other than driving our police cruiser, we would’ve crashed.
So, thankfully, I just listened to the beat.

We popped onto the sidewalk when I failed to take a tighter turn.

Focus. Focus. Don’t think of the chaos. Don’t think of the chairs shattered against the grill. Just focus on the beat. This was my job. And while cops weren’t getting the best image as of late, I liked to think maybe I was the bright star in the force.

People hated police. And, frankly, I didn’t blame them. Even from my prospective, I found incompetence, stupidity, bad policing, and an all-around lack of faith in innocent people.

That’s how I was taught to say it.

The beat rumbled, the radio at the lowest possible volume without being zero. I slammed the pedals, twisted the handbrake, and barely slide around a corner with a decent fraction of speed.

Still I focused on that beat. A natural beat that everyone couldn’t resist bobbing their head to.

“You’re kidding me!” Collins said. “You’re one crazy SOB!”

Barely raced passed a screeching truck. Through red lights, sirens blazing, through an alley or two–
Wham!

The suspect crashed into a dead end wall. The cherry Camaro became an a accordion against a steel wall. The driver door, just as I’d seen in countless movies, conveniently popped off, flinging itself into the distance.

I brought my cruiser to a halt. I spun it to the side so it perfectly blocked anything from the other side.

I drew my gun the second I exited the vehicle, my partner careened over the hood and took a spot next to me. We followed the script to a point.

“Freeze,” I said. “Come out with your hands up. You’re under arrest. You’re being belligerent while under the influence, trespassing and not giving me your I.D. Also, you have an unregistered firearms, and I smell an odor.”

Collins snickered and said, “Jesus christ, you aren’t supposed to say all of them.”

“Shut up,” I whispered to him. “It’s not like they care. It’s them or us–

The zombie burst from the destroyed driver’s seat and barreled towards me and Collins like a beast from hell.

I popped a shot in its forehead, yelling “Stop being suspicious.”

“God damn,” Collins said. “Nice shot.”

The zombie dropped to the ground in a melted heap, devoid of its vicious road rage, then shape shifted back to a normal looking person.

I holstered my weapon and sighed heavily. That was another mountain of paperwork. And guilt.
Collins placed the fake gun to cover our tracks. He gave me a look I recognized all too well.
I laughed and said, “What? I got excited.”

“What the hell did I teach you?”
“Work smart, not hard?”
“Yes, that means not yelling useless shit that makes more work for yourself.”
“Okay, okay,” I said.

Collins called in the needed information to dispatch.

Fifth one for us tonight. This time he drove off without even trying to bite. Good thing was he caused a lot of damage. The killing would seem justified since I covered the bases. This one would sink into the cracks. Wouldn’t garner enough attention to cause any issues for the department, and none of the responsibility would fall on them.

Easy.

As we waited for backup–another six or seven cars since the zombie was black–I checked my vehicle. I yanked a twisted amalgamation of scrap, tables, and cafe chairs. The end caught the end of my finger, and a bead of blood built quickly on the tip of my thumb.

Which caught my attention when I noticed a smear of dried blood plastered across my hands.
Spray. That’s what I forgot.
Collins snickered behind me.

I found myself covered in the zombie’s blood. From head to toe. In my mouth, my senses more dulled than usual because of the adrenaline.

Infected.
Damn it, more paperwork. More problems. Worst of all, police corruption cover up.
Luckily, I became a police officer. That sweet, sweet paycheck, fighting zombies, and being completely immune.

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Next Prompt: Something is eating through the bed, and you can’t move, only hear it eating its way towards you.