Date: 2019-05-24 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Fantasy; Post-Apocalyptic | Infected
Description: It started with rumors of a plague that turned people into flesh-eating predators. The governments of the world and the media tried to suppress it, but little by little the truth got out. The economy had been in a free-fall, banks closed, protests turned into riots, people began hoarding and panicking. And then on a Friday morning, the collapse came. After the government office where Ray Daniels works shuts down, he just wants to get home to his wife and kids. On his arduous journey home, Ray gets a phone call from Craig, his supervisor, inviting him and his family to his home where the answer

COLLAPSE

DARK DAYS: BOOK ONE

A post-apocalyptic series by

MARK LUKENS

Collapse: Dark Days Book One—copyright © 2017

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reprinted without written permission from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (or in any other form), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by: Extended Imagery

Special thanks to: Jet, Ann, Joe, Kelli, and Mary Ann—your help is invaluable and means more to me than you may know.

OTHER BOOKS BY MARK LUKENS

ANCIENT ENEMY – www.amazon.com/dp/B00FD4SP8M

DARKWIND: ANCIENT ENEMY 2 – www.amazon.com/dp/B01K42JBGW

HOPE’S END: ANCIENT ENEMY 3 – www.amazon.com/dp/B07G1MS6RK

EVIL SPIRITS: ANCIENT ENEMY 4 – www.amazon.com/dp/B07L8KLXVB

SIGHTINGS – www.amazon.com/dp/B00VAI31KW

DEVIL’S ISLAND – www.amazon.com/dp/B06WWJC6VD

WHAT LIES BELOW – www.amazon.com/dp/B0143LADEY

DESCENDANTS OF MAGIC – www.amazon.com/dp/B00FWYYYYC

THE SUMMONING – www.amazon.com/dp/B00HNEOHKU

NIGHT TERRORS – www.amazon.com/dp/B00M66IU3U

THE EXORCIST’S APPRENTICE – www.amazon.com/dp/B00YYF1E5C

THE DARWIN EFFECT – www.amazon.com/dp/B01G4A8ZYC

A DARK COLLECTION: 12 SCARY STORIES – www.amazon.com/dp/B00JENAGLC

GHOST TOWN: A NOVELLA – www.amazon.com/dp/B00LEZRF7G

RAZORBLADE DREAMS: HORROR STORIES – www.amazon.com/dp/B076B7W252

FOLLOWED – www.amazon.com/dp/B078WYGMJN

THE VAMPIRE GAME – www.amazon.com/dp/B07C2M72X9

POSSESSION: THE EXORCIST’S APPRENTICE 2 – www.amazon.com/dp/B07NCZQTNR

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

I started writing this book quite a few years ago, but then I abandoned it for some time. That early first draft had most of the same characters as the series that it has now become: Ray and his family, Josh, Emma, Luke, and Wilma. That story was similar to this one, yet still different. That first draft had become a very long book. I loved the characters, but I was never satisfied with the story, and I won’t publish a story unless I’m as happy with it as I can be. Two years ago, I had a new idea for this series, a different direction to take it in, but the characters were still there, still alive in my mind through the years. But there was a problem—when I told the story from the multiple viewpoints of these characters, the book got way too long. So I had the idea to tell the story of the beginning of the collapse from these main characters’ points of view in their own books. So, this first book is told from Ray and his family and Emma’s points of view. The second book is told from Josh’s point of view. And the third book is told from Luke and Wilma’s points of view. In the fourth book the characters (the ones still alive) will all come together (this isn’t really a spoiler because it is alluded to in all three of these books). I know many readers may skip this Author’s Note (and I’ve heard some readers even skip prologues, even though I can’t understand why—it would be like going to see a movie ten minutes after it has started), so I imagine some readers may get upset if they don’t see much of the characters from Book 1 in Books 2 and 3. And maybe this approach is a little unusual, but I really felt I needed to write these books this way. Does this mean that the first three books could be read out of order? Yes, because each book is its own complete story, but I had intended them to be read in order because information is revealed along the way as you get deeper into the series. I do hope that after you’ve finished reading this book you’ll journey on to Books 2 and 3 to meet Josh, Isaac, Luke, and Wilma. And from there I hope you’ll continue on with the series.

Thank you!

Mark

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

Washington D.C. – October 21st

For Ray Daniels, the day civilization collapsed started out like any other day. He drove to the CDC building where he worked, just as he had done for the last twelve years: same route, same streets, same stops. As the sun peeked above the horizon, providing light but little in the way of warmth, Ray stopped for a cup of coffee at the gas station where he usually got coffee in the morning. He thought about getting some gas while he was there, but decided against it because the gas station seemed unusually busy at this early hour. In a few hours he would regret not filling his vehicle up with gas.

Back in his SUV, a Toyota 4-Runner that had been completely paid off for three years now, he set his coffee thermos (a Christmas gift last year from Vanessa, his seven-year-old daughter) in the cup holder. He started up his vehicle and left the parking lot.

As he drove, he half-listened to the news on the radio. It was nothing but bad news these days. There had been massive business closings and layoffs throughout the summer, and the stock market had finally crashed in late September. Some of the economists on the TV and radio news shows were calling the stock market crash the king of the bubbles, or the granddaddy of all bubbles, but most were just calling it “The Big Crash.” It wasn’t just one sector affected this time, like housing or commodities, but all of them. And there didn’t seem to be any signs of recovery anytime soon. Protests in the city streets had turned into riots. Violent crimes and murders had skyrocketed in the last few weeks. Rumors were whispered at work (mostly from Doug) about people being murdered by the thousands just in the last few days. There were other rumors of people being rounded up and detained by the police and the military. Many suspected martial law was coming soon.

But those rumors couldn’t be true, could they?

The economy seemed to be mirroring Ray’s marriage, which was also crashing and burning. Kim had admitted that she had cheated on him with some guy named Gary; a friend of a friend, she’d told him. It had just started out as a shoulder to lean on, she’d said, but then it had turned into something more. It just happened.

It just happened.

Ray felt numb now. How had his marriage spiraled out of control like this? How had it gotten to the point that he couldn’t trust Kim? How had it gotten to the point that Kim needed to find comfort in another man? Ray worked hard, he made great money. He’d bought Kim a nice house in the suburbs. He had invested their money carefully and wisely (but now all of their savings were evaporating thanks to “The Big Crash”). But apparently that hadn’t been enough for her.

She’d told him during their last argument that he was never around anymore. He wasn’t there for her, and he wasn’t there for the kids. And even when he was home he wasn’t there. He was still distracted with the work he brought home with him in his head, she’d told him.

“You wanted money and security,” he’d argued back. “I’ve given you everything you’ve wanted, and it’s still not enough.”

“I want you!” she’d screamed at him. “I love the fact that you provide for me and our children, but I want you here with us, too. You’re not yourself anymore. You’re so consumed with work that you don’t have time for us.”

“So this is my fault? I sent you to another man to sleep with?”

Their discussion had ended in more shouting. Ray had threatened to leave. Kim pointed at the door. “There it is,” she’d told him.

Now Ray was both numb and stressed out at the same time. He’d always taken good care of himself. He didn’t smoke or drink and he ate a healthy diet. He’d been an athlete in high school and at college, playing football well enough in high school to get a scholarship, but not well enough to make it as a starter on the Auburn football team. And even after graduation and getting a government job, he still worked out three times a week with the weightlifting equipment in the garage. He jogged around their neighborhood twice a week. But now the stress was getting to him. His stomach was constantly upset, and now he was starting to get strange aches and pains in his chest.

Ray stopped at a red light. He sipped his coffee and changed the radio station. A newscaster was reporting about a family that had been murdered in Kentucky—the entire family found slaughtered. Random attackers? Someone they knew? The newscaster didn’t know. It hadn’t seemed to have been a robbery, just one more act of senseless violence. And there were more reports of bizarre murders from around the country: three dead in Boston, seemingly ripped apart; six dead and mutilated bodies found in Arizona; a man who’d been half-eaten by animals in Arkansas.

The traffic light turned green.

He drove down the road and wondered what he was going to do. He didn’t want to leave; he didn’t want to be away from his children. Why should he leave? He wasn’t the one who’d been unfaithful. When he thought about being away from Mike and Vanessa, he felt like throwing up.

Kim assured him that it was over between her and Gary. It had just been a fling, and it didn’t really mean anything. But Ray still felt numb. He wasn’t sure what he wanted. Did he want to stay with Kim? Did he want a divorce? One thing he was sure of, he didn’t want to be away from his kids, he didn’t want to be visiting them on the weekends. Somehow he and Kim needed to find a way to work this out. It might take a long time, but they had to try. He had to try. He needed to change.

These last few days he had really tried to see things from Kim’s point of view. Some of the things Kim had been saying during their arguments had gotten through to him. Maybe he needed to cut back on his hours at work. Kim wanted him to quit his job so they could move to Cincinnati to be closer to her family. Ray had refused before, but now he was actually considering it—at least it would get her away from Gary. Why not move? They could sell the house before the value plummeted to nothing and buy something in Ohio, maybe even rent a house. He could always get a job somewhere else. He was just a number cruncher for the CDC; he could get an accounting job anywhere.

Ray sipped his coffee again, feeling a little better. It was Friday, and he was going to talk to Kim tonight—really talk about things. Maybe they could even get Mandy to watch the kids for a few hours while they went out to dinner. Afterwards, they could take a walk around the park where they used to bring the kids. They could spend some time together, really talk about things, talk about moving to Ohio. She would be excited about that.

He switched to another radio station. There was a report of violent clashes between protesters and police through the night in Seattle.

On another station, some kind of financial expert was explaining that the 2000 and 2008 stock market crashes had just been warning tremors compared to the earthquake that was going on now. The debt bubble around the world had gotten too big, and now it had finally popped. Money was just paper now, he explained, backed by nothing but faith. And when that faith disappeared, then there was no value anymore. “Your money is just blips on a computer screen somewhere,” the financial expert on the radio said. “Nothing but blips that you believe in. And now nobody believes in those blips anymore.”

Ray changed the station again. He didn’t want to listen to that. The next station had some religious zealot preaching that the End Times were finally upon us. The man urged people to get ready, to prepare themselves, to get as much food and water together as they could.

The religious zealot on the radio reminded Ray of Doug, a colleague at work. Doug had cashed in his retirement account and a large inheritance he’d recently received, converting the money to gold, silver, and other hard assets. He had bought some property in the boonies of West Virginia, a place where he could “bug out,” as he called it.

Usually Ray tuned out Doug’s paranoid ramblings, but some of what he was saying was beginning to make some sense. And after the 1200 point drop in the stock market yesterday, he had to admit that he was more worried than ever. He was sure that his retirement investments were about gone now. He had met with Larry, their financial advisor, earlier in the week and Larry had told him to be patient. Larry had smiled at him and Kim while nervous perspiration beaded on his upper lip; he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. This was a massive correction, Larry had told them. Everyone knew it was coming, he added with a nervous smile, his hands clasped together in front of him like he was trying to keep them from trembling. He went on to tell them that after this correction was over there would be plenty of money to be made in undervalued stocks and real estate—kind of like a massive garage sale. He told Ray and Kim that the markets had rebounded pretty quickly after 2008, and he assured them that the markets would rebound again. They always did.

But the markets weren’t even close to rebounding—they were on the verge of a true and total collapse now.

He switched to another radio station and listened to one man interviewing another man.

“Yes, people are panicking a little right now,” the man on the radio said with a chuckle. “But this correction in the market is not as bad as everyone’s making it out to be.”

“The selloff of derivatives?” the interviewer asked. “The out-of-control inflation? The currency collapse?”

“Oh, hold on,” the man said. “I don’t think I’d call it a currency collapse just yet. Everyone knew that stocks were way overvalued and that a correction was coming, just like it’s done for the last hundred years.”

He sounds like my financial advisor, Ray thought, and he could picture his advisor logging on to his computer right after he and Kim had left his office and cashing in all his chips while he waited for his next clients, wiping the sweat off of his face and forcing a smile before they walked in.

Ray switched the radio station again, trying to find some music. A man was yelling: “It’s only going to take one more terrorist attack, one more riot, one more protest that gets out of control before the government declares martial law! And you know what? I don’t blame them.”

Ray switched the station again. More reports of protests in Baltimore and New York.

“People are waking up this morning and finding out their bank accounts have been frozen,” a reporter said in a breaking report from the scene of the mob, the noise of the crowd in the background.

Ray’s heart skipped a beat. Was that true? Had the banks frozen everyone’s accounts?

He listened as the report continued, but then his attention was torn away when he pulled into the parking lot of the CDC building. There were a lot of vehicles parked already, as usual. But nobody was inside the building yet—they were all gathered outside the front doors in a big group.

CHAPTER 2

Ray parked his Toyota 4-Runner and turned off the engine. He grabbed his ID card, which was attached to a long cloth necklace. He draped the cloth necklace over his head and the card lay down against his tie, which was stuffed down neatly underneath his buttoned suitcoat. He grabbed his coffee thermos and his briefcase, and then he got out. He looked over at the building. Everyone was still there. No one had gone inside yet.

It was cold, but warming up just a little as the sun brightened the day. Ray felt a chill run through him, and there was a small stone of fear forming in the pit of his stomach.

Something was wrong here.

Why was everyone outside the building? Were the doors locked? Everyone had a keycard (the ID cards they wore around their necks); it wasn’t like they had to wait for someone to unlock the doors for them.

Maybe the system was down—some kind of computer glitch.

As Ray walked towards the large group of his fellow co-workers, which he realized now was made up of many smaller cliques of people, Doug ran up to him.

“Ray . . . Ray, they locked us out. Changed the keycards or something.”

Ray stared at Doug, gripping his briefcase handle a little too tightly. He could feel his fingers trembling slightly as he held onto the coffee thermos. This didn’t feel real to him right now; it felt like a dream, a dream where he was in a place that was familiar, but everything he knew was morphing into something strange.

Doug’s suitcoat was unbuttoned and his tie was loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone exposing pale flesh that was turning red. Doug was a painfully thin man with pasty-white skin. He had fiery red hair, and he always seemed to have a five o’clock shadow of reddish-brown stubble even though he shaved every morning. He usually had a disheveled look about him, but this morning it was even worse; he looked like he’d slept in his clothes.

But it was Doug’s eyes that bothered Ray the most. Doug’s eyes were wide and bulging. They were panicked eyes, but also excited eyes.

“Hold on, Doug,” Ray heard himself say, and it sounded like his voice was coming from somewhere far away. “Slow down.” He was beginning to feel a little light-headed.

“You don’t understand, Ray. This is it. The economy is in the shitter. People are rioting. Bank accounts have been frozen. Did you hear about that?”

Ray nodded.

“It’s the Collapse, man. It’s really here. I told you it was coming. I told you.”

Ray shook his head slowly. He opened his mouth to say something, but then he snapped it shut again. What could he say? He had heard the special report on the radio just a few minutes ago about bank accounts being frozen. But he didn’t want to panic just yet. There could be more to the story. Was it just one bank? Just one area?

“Which bank?” Regina asked as she hurried up to them. Her eyes were dinner plates of fear in her round, fleshy face. She hugged her arms in the chilly air like the thin sweater she was wearing wasn’t enough protection against the cold.

“All of them!” Doug screamed at Regina.

John shuffled up to them with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He had a long, basset-hound face that remained perfectly calm. He acted like they were discussing some movie he’d watched last night, determined not to allow anything like the mere collapse of society to bother him. He was the exact antithesis of Doug. “I heard that the banks had to shut down because of a system-wide virus. They’re saying they’ll be back up on Monday.”

Yes, Ray thought. Good. Finally, a voice of reason. That’s what we all need right now.

“Yeah,” Doug said as he turned towards John with a scowl. “That’s what they want you to think. They want everyone to stay calm while they shut everything down and escape to their bunkers.”

“Has anyone called Craig yet?” Ray asked, trying to change the subject.

“Of course, man,” Doug answered. “Can’t reach him. We’ve all tried.”

The look of smug satisfaction on Doug’s face was beginning to bother Ray a little, so he turned his attention to Regina.

Regina shrugged. “Just goes to voicemail when we call him.”

“What about security?” Ray asked. “Darrell and Jim. Are they—?”

“None of them are here,” Doug answered before Ray could finish his sentence with that I-told-ya-so smile still plastered on his face.

Ray breathed in the cold air and let out a slow breath. This was all going too fast. He needed things to slow down. He ran the information he had in his mind, analyzing it, making calculations. Security wasn’t in the building. Craig, their supervisor, couldn’t be reached. Their keycards weren’t working. Ray hadn’t tried his keycard hanging around his neck yet, but he had to assume that if the keycards of forty-five employees who were already gathered here weren’t working then his wasn’t going to work, either.

“You think we’re fired?” Peter, another employee, asked as he sauntered up to their little group. He had a lit cigarette in one hand and he held it down by his hip, cupped in his hand like he was trying to keep the smoke from drifting towards them. He turned away without waiting for an answer and inhaled a large drag like he really needed it.

“They wouldn’t close this department down without telling us,” Regina said. “Would they? I mean, they would have to at least let us clear out our desks. And they . . . they would have to give us some kind of an explanation. Right?”

“I don’t know,” Ray answered. He’d never considered the idea of being laid off, even though there had been record layoffs around the country in the last month, along with all of the businesses closing. But he figured that a government job would be safe. And even though he’d been contemplating the idea of quitting and moving his family to Cincinnati, the idea of being without a job wasn’t sitting too well with him. Suddenly, it was difficult for him to imagine being laid off. Since graduating college, he’d never been without a job. He could feel that wave of panic wanting to take over again.

He needed to get control of the panic. Just because their keycards weren’t working this morning didn’t mean that the whole department had been shut down. It could be a computer glitch. John had said that the banks were shut down because of a computer virus; maybe a similar virus was infecting the security system of this building. It made sense. All of it could even be a cyberattack by hackers. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. There had been plenty of cyberattacks lately, both from hackers and from foreign governments.

“I bet that’s it,” Peter said after blowing out some cigarette smoke behind him and away from their little group. “I bet the government is shutting down departments everywhere, trying to streamline since the economy’s going into the toilet.”

“Let’s not panic yet,” Ray told them, and he even managed what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “We’ve all been through some tough economic times before back in 2008. It was bad at first, and then everything was okay again after a few years. We recovered pretty quickly, and I’m sure we will again.”

God, I sound like Larry now.

Doug barked out a laugh. “No, this time it’s different. The whole world’s economy is collapsing. The currencies are collapsing everywhere. Banks are closing because everyone’s trying to pull their cash out at the same time. Money is becoming worthless. Pretty soon it’s going to be five hundred dollars for a loaf of bread. The riots and protests are getting out of control. People are turning into animals. Police are shooting first and asking questions later. I’m telling you, martial law is going to be declared soon. Travel’s going to be restricted. Except for our government leaders and the corporate billionaires, of course, the ones who knew this shit storm was coming; they’ve probably already headed for their little underground bunkers or flew off to their island retreats that they’ve been stocking with supplies for years.”

Ray glanced at the others. Doug was getting them paranoid.

“I’m not sure about all that,” John said in his deep, calm voice. But then he looked at Ray for an affirmation, and there was the first flicker of fear in those big brown eyes.

“You’re only getting the information that the mass media wants you to get,” Doug continued. “The media that’s controlled by the government and the big corporations.”

Ray could imagine where Doug was getting his news and information; probably from some extremist, right-wing website preaching doom and gloom; or some conspiracy theorist nut who believed Big Brother had the time, the ability, and the desire to watch every move he made; or some YouTube channel videotaped in a paranoid prepper’s homemade bomb shelter.

“Things seem to be heading downhill fast,” Peter said. “I mean, you have to admit that.” He dropped his cigarette down on the concrete walkway and ground it out with the heel of his shoe. He glanced back at the locked doors of the building. “I’m starting to get a little worried.”

“Well, you should,” Doug snapped at Peter. “The banks fucked up again.” He looked at Regina, giving her a sheepish smile and a curt nod. “Sorry about the language. But the Fed and the big banks screwed up, and the government wants us to bail them out again, even though they keep making the same mistakes over and over again. That’s why everybody’s starting to riot. The banks keep pulling this shit and then the government has to bail them out with our tax money. And now they’re freezing our accounts, holding our money hostage.”

“I’m sure it’s all going to get worked out,” Ray said.

Regina, John, and Peter looked at Ray with hope in their eyes, waiting for a further explanation from him. But he didn’t have one. He didn’t have a counter for the things that Doug was saying.

“I don’t have any cash on me,” Peter said, suddenly alarmed. “None at home either. If they freeze my account, close my bank, I won’t be able to get any money out.” His words hung in the chilly air.

“I told you to keep some cash at home,” Doug scolded Peter, jabbing a finger at him. “I told you to have a plan for when this happened. I told you the shit was going to hit the fan soon.”

“Okay,” Ray said. “Let’s all take a deep breath for a moment.” He needed to calm all of them down before things got out of hand. He was beginning to resent the smug satisfaction on Doug’s face and in his voice. It seemed like Doug was happy that this day had come, happy that he had been proven right no matter how much misery it was going to cause.

“Our country is going to collapse,” Doug continued, working himself up more and more, his pale skin getting redder and redder. “Martial law is going to happen, and then we’re going to be vulnerable to terrorist attacks. I’d get out of D.C. while you can, while the military and police will still let you travel. This place is going to be one big bullseye target soon.”

Ray looked at Doug, about to suggest that he tone down the end-of-the-world rhetoric until they had some more information.

“I heard there’s a plague,” John said in his Debbie Downer voice, looking at each of them. “You guys hear that? All of those murders and the suicides, some are blaming it on some kind of . . . like disease or something.”

“That’s true!” Doug shouted. “Absolutely true. I heard it’s some kind of rabies virus. I got a friend down in the Atlanta office, and he heard that it’s some kind of mutated virus that’s airborne now. Probably a bioweapon of some kind, I bet.”

Ray was glad that the CDC offices where they worked didn’t handle any diseases, most of the work they did here was office work: statistics, surveys, accounting, payroll.

A lot of the other employees were turning their way, some of them listening to Doug’s rising voice and then whispering to each other, some nodding their heads in agreement.

“I never heard anything about a possible pandemic,” Ray said. He didn’t have any contacts down at the Atlanta headquarters as Doug claimed, and he wasn’t as up to speed on current events and the news as he probably should have been, but he was pretty sure he would have heard something about a pandemic virus before today.

“Yeah,” Peter said, quick to agree. “Don’t you think the CDC would’ve informed us at least?”

“No,” Doug said and snorted out a laugh. “They don’t want us to know about it anymore than they want anyone else in America to know about it. The only reason I know about it is because of my friend down in Atlanta.”

Right now Ray was concerned that everyone was going to be whipped up into a frenzy, when the locked doors might still have a reasonable explanation. “Hold on, Doug. You’re starting to scare everyone.”

“They should be scared. Everyone needs to wake up.”

“There’s got to be a good reason the doors are still locked,” Ray said. “Maybe the electricity in the building is out.”

“The lights are on inside the building,” John told him in his monotone voice. “I’ve already walked around the building twice. Peeked in some of the windows.”

“Well, then, maybe it’s some kind of security problem. Maybe there’s a virus in the security system that shut everything down.”

“Like the virus at the banks,” Regina said with hope.

“A cyber virus,” Doug said. “That could be it. The Chinese or Iranians. Or even the North Koreans. They’ve probably launched a nation-wide cyber virus on our financial and government systems.”

“I think I’m going to the ATM,” Regina said. “Get some money out.”

“Me too,” Peter said. “Get some out while I still can.”

“Let me try to get a hold of Craig,” Ray said, pulling his cell phone out of his suitcoat pocket.

“Yeah, he might answer if you call,” Regina said, smiling. “You’re his favorite.”

Ray didn’t bother responding. It was true that he and Craig had become good friends over the last ten years that he had worked here. Ray and his family even got together with Craig and his family a few weekends in the summer to cook out on the grill and swim in his pool. Craig lived in a mansion—obviously several paygrades higher than the rest of them. Ray scrolled through his phone and found Craig’s cell number. He dialed the number and then walked away as he brought his phone up to his ear, listening to the ringing.

“We’ve already done that a hundred times,” Doug called after Ray. “He’s not answering.”

Ray walked farther away from the others, listening to Craig’s recorded voice asking the caller to leave a message.

“Hi, Craig,” Ray said into the phone, keeping his voice low. “It’s Ray. It’s a little after eight o’clock on Friday morning. We’re locked out of the building. There’s no security here and nobody’s keycards are working. We don’t know if there’s a system-wide malfunction or something. Anyway, we’re all waiting here for you, so . . . uh, just looking forward to getting to work.”

Ray hung up and winced. His message sounded lame—he hated talking on voicemail. Craig usually didn’t get to work until about eight thirty or even nine o’clock sometimes. Maybe he was already on his way.

But why wasn’t he answering his phone calls?

Maybe Craig already knew about the security problem and he was trying to work it out. Maybe he didn’t want to waste time calling every employee back who was bugging him. Or maybe he didn’t want to call anyone back until he had an explanation for what was going on. There could be a lot of rational reasons why Craig wasn’t here or contacting them.

Ray walked a little farther away from the group and scrolled down a little further in his contacts, finding Craig’s personal cell number. He pressed the screen, dialing the number.

The phone rang four times and then went to voicemail.

“Hi, Craig. This is Ray.” He glanced back to make sure he was well out of earshot of the others. “We’re here at work and we’ve been locked out. Something’s wrong with the keycards. And there’s no security here.” He dropped his voice even lower. “Look, people here are starting to panic a little because of the things they’ve been hearing on the news and internet.” He forced out a little chuckle. “And Doug’s not helping. He’s got everyone a little worked up. Just get back to me as soon as you can. Let us know if we need to stick around or go home.”

Ray hung up the phone and looked at it like he expected it to ring at any second with Craig’s return call.

It didn’t ring.

He walked back to Doug and the others.

“You didn’t reach him, did you?” Doug asked with that gash of a smile on his face.

Ray gave a slight shake of his head. “I think we should wait until nine o’clock. Craig might still show up.”

“No,” Regina said. “I’m going to the bank and get some money out.” She looked at John. “Will you call me if Craig gets here?”

John nodded. “Sure.”

“I’m going to get some money out, too,” Peter said, already walking towards his vehicle in the parking lot, lighting another cigarette along the way.

Doug was busy looking something up on his phone. He shoved it at Ray. “Here. Look.”

Ray looked down at the screen on Doug’s phone. An internet article exclaimed: Banks shutting down for the weekend. Another headline read: Accounts Frozen! They’re blaming it on a computer virus, but we know the truth!

Doug showed John the article on his phone. Others were heading over and glancing at Doug’s phone. Many of them were looking up news on their own phones.

“This is just the beginning,” Doug told everyone.

“I guess you don’t need to get to the bank,” John told Doug.

“I took cash out months ago,” Doug answered, beaming with pride. “I’ve always had a stash around the house.”

Ray felt a sudden urge to punch Doug right in the face and wipe that stupid smile away. And then he cursed himself for allowing that kind of thought to enter his mind. He had always liked Doug in a way, even though he could be a little annoying most of the time. It was just this panicky feeling that was getting to him, that was all.

More and more of Ray’s co-workers were heading to their vehicles in the parking lot, some of them breaking into a run.

And Ray was even beginning to think about heading back to his 4-Runner. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was beginning to worry a little. That small stone of fear in his stomach was getting bigger, getting heavier, more acidic, churning now.

CHAPTER 3

Thirty minutes later Ray drove away from the CDC building and headed to the first bank he could find. Craig still hadn’t called back or showed up to work. None of the management from their office had shown up or contacted any of them. Just about all of the others had left, too.

Doug told Ray that he would stick around for a little while longer to warn anyone else who came to work, but then he was going back to his house and pack up, head for his bugout property in West Virginia. He handed Ray a folded-up piece of paper where he’d drawn a crude map from Washington D.C. to his property, also writing down turn-by-turn directions below the map. “You bring your family up there with me if the shit gets really bad,” he’d told him. “You’re always welcome. You’re one of my only friends.”

In that moment Ray felt bad for wanting to punch Doug earlier. Deep down Doug was a good person. He was a little insecure, maybe lonely. Nobody really liked him at work, and his paranoia was tolerated to a point. But now, as much as Ray hated to admit it, Doug had been right all along. Maybe there had been a reason to be paranoid.

Doug had wished Ray luck and proffered his hand.

Ray had shaken Doug’s hand and left.

After a few more minutes of driving, Ray spotted a bank on the corner of a busy intersection. Morning traffic, which was always congested in this area, was now nearly jammed to a standstill in a lot of places. Ten minutes later Ray managed to travel another block and get over to the side of the road and into the bank parking lot, which was overflowing with cars and trucks. There was a mob of people in front of the bank, at least forty of them.

He found a parking spot on a median of grass between two of the parking areas. He parked so that the front of his SUV was facing out towards the street, a quick escape if needed. He got out of his Toyota, leaving the door open for a moment while he stripped off his suitcoat and tie. He didn’t want to seem like a possible bank employee in any way to this mob of irate and panicky customers. He threw the suitcoat and tie on the passenger seat, not worrying about neatness right now. He shut and locked the truck’s doors.

Ray had expected a long line at the ATM, but there was no line, just this group of people gathered in front of the locked doors.

An old woman stood apart from the others, fifty feet beyond the edge of the crowd, standing alone and staring at the mob.

“What’s going on?” Ray asked the woman.

The old woman looked at Ray like he’d just asked what color the sky was. “ATM’s down,” she answered in a husky smoker’s voice. She looked like she might weigh a hundred pounds. Her face was a roadmap of wrinkles. She seemed to have made a half-hearted attempt to tie her gray hair back in a bun, but quite a few strands were hanging down around her face. She was wrapped in a thin gray button-down sweater over what looked like pajamas, but she didn’t seem to be bothered by the cold.

“All of ‘em are down,” the old woman said as she looked back at the crowd. She seemed calm—a contrast to the anger and vibrant motion in front of her by the bank. But then Ray wondered if the woman’s calmness wasn’t really just shock.

And Ray also felt a little shocked. This was surreal, like something out of a disaster movie. He stared at the crowd. Shouts and chants drifted from them. Some of them were beating on the glass doors of the bank, the glass rattling in the metal frames. He was pretty sure the glass was going to shatter any second now.

“You okay?” he asked the old woman, looking at her again.

She was still staring at the group of people, her body motionless, her face expressionless. And finally she looked at him, her eyes glassy and blank—no emotion there. “You . . . you came to . . . the places we went . . . fire . . . and . . . and those . . . those things . . .” She seemed to be struggling to speak for a moment, struggling to find the right words she wanted to say, confused.

“I’m sorry,” Ray said, trying to sound as calm and gentle as he could. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

The old woman huffed out a frustrated sigh and looked back at the collection of people trying to storm the bank’s doors. She licked her lips, and then there was a sudden fierceness in her eyes.

She’s in shock, Ray told himself.

No, something’s wrong with this woman. Something’s wrong with a lot of these people here.

The word plague popped into his mind. He remembered John saying something about a plague, and Doug had been sure that it was some kind of bioweapon, an airborne rabies virus; at least that’s what his secret contact down at the Atlanta headquarters had told him. Was this woman sick with some kind of disease like that? What about some of the other people here? Was it contagious? Was he getting infected just standing here next to this woman?

Ray had to calm down. He was letting Doug’s paranoia get to him. The old woman was just in shock, that’s all. Anyone would be.

In the distance sirens wailed and popping noises echoed, popping noises that might have been gunshots. The noises sounded like they were several blocks away. Ray looked back out at the street and saw a police car working its way along the side of the road, driving over the sidewalk that was littered with trash in some areas. The lights and sirens were on, but the police car wasn’t stopping at the bank; it just kept going like there were more urgent matters to attend to at the moment. Perhaps the gunfire.

Ray looked back at the crowd and noticed that three of the young men were looking his way. They seemed to be eyeballing him, and then they whispered to each other. Maybe they thought he was affiliated with the bank. Even though he had shed his suitcoat and tie, he still wore a white button-down shirt, dark slacks, and expensive shoes. Maybe his attire was enough to mark him as the enemy; if not a bank employee, then at least a member of the evil corporate empire that these people were surely blaming this mess on.

“. . . the black guy over there,” one of the men said, nodding in Ray’s direction with hate in his eyes—hate Ray had seen so many times before in his life.

That pit of fear was rolling around in Ray’s stomach again, and there was a sizzling, electrical buzz in his mind telling him to run away.

He turned and walked quickly back to his Toyota 4-Runner. He felt like he’d just seen a pack of stray dogs that could be dangerous, and he was trying to walk away calmly, not too quickly, trying not to run and provoke these dogs into chasing him. He wanted to glance back at the men, see if they were following him, but he didn’t.

He made it to his Toyota and got inside. He shut the door and pushed the lock button down to lock all the doors. He looked at the crowd, spotting the three young men in the hoodies. They hadn’t followed him, but they were still watching him, still talking to each other.

What else could he do now? He sat there for a moment in his truck and his mind turned to money. If all of the banks were closed—and that seemed to be true—then he wasn’t going to be able to take any money out. He dug his wallet out of his back pants pocket while still keeping an eye on the crowd at the bank’s front doors. Sifting through his wallet, he counted seventy-four dollars in cash. He also had maybe three dollars and sixty-five cents worth of change in the cup holder.

That was it. That was all the cash he had until the banks decided to open their doors and fire up their ATM machines again.

Whenever that would be.

But they said they would be open by Monday, he told himself. That’s what John had told him only an hour ago. But he wasn’t so sure if he could really believe that now. Some of Doug’s warnings were beginning to seem real, seeming to make sense. But he didn’t really know what to do. If the banks opened back up on Monday, then everything would be fine. But if they didn’t, then he was going to have to think of something.

His thoughts turned to Kim and the kids. He checked his phone to see if Kim had called, but she hadn’t.

You thought she was going to call after the fight you guys had last night?

Even so, this was serious. He scrolled down the contacts for his house number and dialed.

As he listened to the ringing on the phone, he started his 4-Runner up. The motor purred as he sat there. He checked the gas gauge: it read nearly empty. Now he wished he would have waited in line to fill up the gas tank this morning.

Seventy-four dollars—that was all he had on him. Filling up the gas tank would take a big chunk of that money unless he found a place where he could use his debit card. But judging from the people at this bank, Ray didn’t think his bank card was going to be an option.

“Ray,” Kim breathed into the phone.

For a second Ray’s heart ached. Just hearing Kim’s voice brought back a sudden flash of nostalgia, a yearning for things to return to the way they used to be. He was surprised to find tears threatening, stinging his eyes. His chest was constricted and he didn’t answer right away, afraid his voice would crack.

“Ray . . . what’s happening?” Kim asked. She was scared. Maybe even crying.

“Kim,” he finally said. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“The kids?”

“The kids are fine.”

“Are they in school?”

“No. All the schools have been closed. Something about a computer virus. And there are some kind of alerts on the news. Most of the TV shows have been interrupted by news reports.”

Ray glanced at the crowd again. Those three men in the hoodies were still staring at him, starting to move away from the crowd, working their way towards his vehicle.

“What’s going on, Ray?” she asked again. It sounded like she was trying to keep her voice low so Mike and Vanessa wouldn’t hear her.

“I don’t really know,” Ray said.

The three men were definitely coming his way now. One of them pulled a short wooden stick out from underneath his hoodie. Their faces were set in anger, their eyes wild and paranoid.

Ray pressed his foot down on the brake pedal and shifted into drive. He was about to move his foot over to the gas pedal, ready to stomp down on it.

What was he waiting for?

The three young men were getting closer. And now some of the others in the mob had noticed their interest, and they were turning around, beginning to follow them.

“Ray?” Kim said again. “Where are you? Are you at work?”

“No. They closed our department down.”

A sharp intake of breath from his wife. “They . . . what do you mean, they closed it down?”

“I don’t know. All the doors were locked. None of our keycards worked. Can’t get a hold of Craig or anyone else.”

The three men started running towards Ray, two of them waving sticks. The third one had what looked like a rock or piece of brick.

Ray stomped the gas pedal down, turning the steering wheel to head back out to the street. But his rear tires were spinning on the grass median he was parked on, not gaining any traction for a moment.

One of the men was screaming something as he got closer and closer to Ray’s truck.

Finally, the tires grabbed traction and he sped out towards the entrance of the bank. But even if he got out of the parking area, the traffic was still backed up. He would be a sitting duck as this mob attacked his vehicle, smashing out the windows, rocking his SUV back and forth. TV news clips of looters in recent riots flashed through his mind like a montage. He saw a burning vehicle in his mind, the footage shot from a helicopter as a rioter pulled the driver out, beating him to death.

What if they burn my vehicle? Set it on fire?

“Ray!” Kim’s voice screeched from the phone. “Ray, what are you doing? Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” he grunted as he turned the steering wheel sharply, maneuvering his 4-Runner towards the street. The phone dropped from its spot between his shoulder and his ear. It fell down into the center console and then bounced over onto the passenger seat, on top of his suitcoat and tie.

Ray didn’t reach for the phone; he kept his hands on the steering wheel as he drove towards the entrance/exit of the bank. But he didn’t quite make it all the way to the apron of pavement, driving right over some of the decorative shrubs and flowers that lined the entrance of the bank. He bounced around in the truck as it crashed from the curb down onto the street. He pulled out in front of another vehicle, praying that he wouldn’t crash into it. He could imagine his vehicle locked onto another vehicle, stuck there in the middle of the road; he’d be helpless and trapped inside his vehicle as the mob surrounded it.

He missed the other vehicle by inches, and corrected his 4-Runner right away. He wanted to look behind him to see if the mob was following him, but he didn’t want to waste the precious seconds, and he didn’t want to take his eyes off the road.

But the road was still thick with traffic, and they weren’t moving anywhere anytime soon. That mob of people would catch up to his truck in seconds. His only option was going to be the sidewalk. The cop car had driven down part of the sidewalk, and now Ray would do the same thing.

Kim’s voice squawked from the phone, and he could make out some of what she was saying: “Ray! Ray, are you still there? What’s going on?”

No doubt Kim could hear the revving of his truck’s motor, his screeching tires, the impacts with the shrubs and plants, the honking horns of other cars and trucks.

“I’m okay!” he yelled at the phone, even though he didn’t really feel okay right now.

He chanced a glance at the rearview mirror and saw that the mob had followed him right out into the street. More of them had sticks and some were already throwing rocks at the back window.

Ray turned right and gunned the gas, driving right up onto the sidewalk, praying that no one would step out from one of the businesses and walk right out in front of him. He honked his horn as he sped down the sidewalk.

“Where are you, Ray? What’s going on?”

Ray didn’t have time to answer. He focused all of his attention on getting to the next intersection. Just as the light turned green, he drove off of the sidewalk, cutting in front of a car. He pulled out into the intersection, pulling right out in front of a delivery truck that had been turning the same way. The truck slammed on its brakes, its tires squealing. The driver honked his horn, cussing at him.

This side street was busy, but it wasn’t nearly as congested as the other one, at least traffic was moving a little on this street. He sped up as much as he could, tailgating another vehicle while he looked for another side street to turn onto, somewhere he could turn around so he could head back the other way.

He glanced down at the gas gauge—less than a quarter of a tank left. He was going to need to find gas somewhere before he got home.

“Ray!”

He grabbed the phone from the passenger seat and held it up to his ear. “I’m okay, Kim. I was at the bank, trying to get some money out—”

“All the banks are closed. That’s what they’re saying on TV.”

“Yeah, I know. There was this group of people there, beating at the bank doors.”

“Oh God, Ray.”

“They chased me. I don’t know why. But I’m okay. I’m coming home.”

Home. Was it still his home anymore?

“I just need to stop for some gas,” Ray added. “I think I can make it all the way home with the gas I have, but I don’t know how long the gas pumps are going to be working and I want to fill the tank up.”

“Ray, I don’t know . . . if people chased you . . .”

“I’ll find somewhere safe. Listen to me, Kim. I want you to stay inside the house. I don’t want you to go outside, not even to talk to the neighbors. Make sure Mike and Vanessa stay inside, too. I want you to lock the doors. Lock all the windows. Close all the curtains. Don’t answer the door for anyone. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Okay. Just . . . just hurry.”

Ray heard a beeping on his phone—another call was coming in. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen.

It was Craig calling.

He put the phone back up to his ear as he turned his 4-Runner around in a driveway. He backed out onto the side street and heard the blaring of a car horn and screeching tires right behind him. He turned around and looked out the rear window of his Toyota. A dark blue Ford Taurus was there, mere feet away from the back of his truck. He hadn’t even seen the car coming. The car backed up, the front tires barking just a bit, then the car sped around him. He breathed out a sigh of relief and shifted into drive, heading back towards the side road, the road that would take him back home.

“Listen, Kim,” he said into the phone. “I’ve got another call I need to take.”

“Who?”

The phone beeped again.

“It’s Craig. I need to take this. Just lock everything up and stay inside.”

“I will. Love you.”

Ray almost said “Love you, too.” But he didn’t as he hung up. He immediately regretted it; keeping his vow of love from her suddenly felt like a petty and mean-spirited thing to do. He pressed the button and the call went to Craig.

“Craig, I called you earlier,” Ray said into the phone. “The doors were locked at work. Our keycards weren’t working—”

Craig cut Ray’s words off: “I know, Ray. Listen to me for a minute. I don’t have a lot of time and there are some things I need to tell you.”

“What things? About work?”

“Don’t worry about work anymore. There is no work anymore. Everything has changed.”

CHAPTER 4

“What do you mean there’s no work anymore?” Ray said into the phone as he drove down towards the next road. “Are we shut down? Is it because of the economy?”

“Yes,” Craig snapped. “The economy is collapsing. But it’s more than that. Everything is collapsing . . .”

There was a blast of static on the phone, and then silence.

“Craig. Craig, are you still there?”

Another fizzle of static, and then: “Yeah, I’m here.”

“What do you mean everything is collapsing?” Ray asked.

“Look,” Craig barked into Ray’s ear on the phone. “Like I said, I don’t have a lot of time. Cell phones are going to go down soon, so if there’s anyone you need to call, any arrangements that you need to make, then go ahead and do that as quickly as possible after you get off the phone with me.”

“Cell phones are going to go down? How do you know that?”

“I just do. I don’t have time to explain everything right now. Just please trust me on this.”

“So it’s really happening?” Ray said. He felt that overwhelming sense of numbing shock again. “The economy is really collapsing.”

“Yes, don’t worry about going to the bank—they’re all shut down now, all assets frozen.”

“I know. I just went to the bank and these people, they chased me. Threw rocks at my truck.”

“It’s much more than just that,” Craig said, snapping at Ray again.

“What do you mean?”

Ray spotted a gas station. There were lines of cars and trucks at the gas pumps. He pulled in behind a car that was right behind a pickup truck, where a large man in a flannel shirt and camouflage pants was pumping diesel gas into his truck. Ray left his Toyota running as he waited in line. He made sure the doors were still locked.

There were a lot of people inside the gas station store, and Ray could see through the plate-glass windows that there were a lot of people in line. Others were hurrying out of the store to their vehicles with armfuls of groceries and drinks. Some had wide eyes of panic, others the flaccid expression of shock.

Ray had known Craig for years—Craig was a pragmatic, down-to-earth guy. He wasn’t one who lied; he wasn’t one who even exaggerated or spread rumors. This person on the phone didn’t sound like the Craig he had known for so long now. This Craig was agitated, on the verge of panic.

“The economy is collapsing,” Craig said, his words rushed. “And it’s not coming back. It’s not ever coming back. But there are bigger problems than that. Much bigger. Things . . . something’s happening to people. The government’s known about it for the last few weeks; they tried to suppress it but they can’t sit on it anymore. And there’s nothing that can be done about it now.”

Ray’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean? Like an outbreak?” He thought of the airborne rabies virus that Doug had been talking about earlier.

“. . . possible . . . breakdown . . .”

“Craig! You’re breaking up. I didn’t hear you.”

The large man in the flannel shirt and camo pants had finished filling up his truck, and the car in front of Ray had taken his place. A woman waited by the car while a man ran to the store to pay for the gas. Obviously the customers were able to pay for the gas here, so that must mean that they were taking cash—for the moment anyway.

Another blast of static hissed from the cell phone. It sounded like Craig was still there, like he was trying to say something through the fuzz of static.

“Craig. Are you still there?”

Ray thought about calling Craig back, trying to get a better connection. But if he hung up right now, he might lose him for good.

“Sorry,” Craig said, the static gone for a moment.

“Is there a plague?” Ray yelled into the phone.

The man was running back from the gas station store to the car, signaling wildly to the woman to start filling up the car. There were two car seats in the back of the car, and Ray could hear one of the children calling for his mother as she pumped the gas. The father opened the back door and was either consoling the children or yelling at them.

“I don’t know what your plans are,” Craig said. “But if you need a place to go, get to my house. I won’t be there.”

“If I need a place to go?” Ray said. “Why would I need a place to go? Why would I leave my house?”

Another blast of static, and then Craig continued like he hadn’t even heard Ray’s questions. “. . . I’ve got a place we can go . . . get your family out and . . . to safety . . .”

“You’re still breaking up,” Ray said. “I can’t hear you. Can you hear me?”

“. . . make it to my house . . . I left something there for you . . . the roses . . . are some answers to all of this . . . Avalon . . .”

“What’s Avalon?”

Static.

“Craig. What answers? What’s Avalon? What’s happening to people?”

The phone was dead now.

Ray checked his phone. No signal at all now. He dialed Craig back, but the call wouldn’t go through. He tried to dial Kim, but that phone call wouldn’t go through, either.

He turned the phone off, and then turned it back on as he waited for the woman in front of him to fill up her gas tank. The phone came back on, but he could see that he had no service bars. He tried again, dialing Craig, then Kim, then Doug, anyone—but none of the calls went through. He tried to bring up Google on his phone, but the internet wasn’t coming through, either. The phone was useless.

Again, he turned the phone back off to conserve the battery. Maybe it would work somewhere else.

But Craig had just told him that the cell phones were going to go down. How did he know that? But obviously he was right.

The woman finally finished pumping the gas. The man who was with her was already seated behind the steering wheel, ready to go, both of them buzzing with nervous energy. She hung the nozzle back up and jumped into the car.

Ray pulled up next to the pump. He got out on rubbery legs and walked over to the pump, already reaching for his wallet, for his bank card, an automatic reflex. But then he stopped when he saw the white piece of paper duct-taped to the pumps with two words scrawled on it in large letters: CASH ONLY.

There were already three other vehicles in line behind his Toyota, and he saw the impatient look on the driver’s face in the car behind his. All of the other pumps now had at least three cars waiting in line.

Ray didn’t make eye contact with the people in the cars behind his as he hurried to the gas station store.

The store was chaos. The shelves were nearly cleared of food and supplies. Ray knew that the gas was going to take up a lot of the seventy dollars that he had on him; gas prices had gone way up over the last few weeks, and who knew what they were going to charge right now. He figured he could put forty dollars in the tank and still have thirty dollars left. Maybe it was the panic all around him, but he felt the urge to buy something while he was here, at least something to drink. He still had the coffee in his thermos, but he was suddenly thirsty, suddenly craving water.

But there was no water left. This was like people preparing for a hurricane.

He would buy something other than water—whatever they had left in the store.

Ray hurried down a few of the aisles, grabbing things and adding them up in his mind: two packs of peanuts, a few packages of beef jerky, a dented can of Spam. From the coolers set in the walls, he grabbed a six-pack of orange soda and a six-pack of cream soda; almost all other varieties were gone. All of the beer and milk was gone.

Ray took his armload of groceries to the line at the cashier counter where two Indian men were quickly totaling up the customers’ purchases. Both men looked nervous, and there was a third man who waited behind them in a doorway, watching over everything. Ray could only assume that the third man had some kind of weapon within easy reach just inside that doorway.

A young woman and her child waited in front of Ray. They were behind several more people. She held her child’s hand. The child was quiet, staring at the people all around her with wide eyes. The people in line and the others hurrying around in the store were all pretty calm so far, at least compared to the mob at the bank. Maybe the fact that these clerks were at least taking cash and letting them buy groceries and gas was enough to soothe them for the moment.

Maybe Craig was wrong, Ray thought. Maybe this, whatever was happening, was only temporary. Maybe after a few weeks, things would return to some kind of normalcy.

Ray wanted to believe that, but he didn’t. Deep down he felt the fear wanting to rise again. And he knew he wasn’t ready for whatever was beginning to happen, he and his family hadn’t prepared at all.

He thought of Doug and that smug expression on his face this morning, Doug who had been the butt of everyone’s jokes for so long now, Doug who had spouted his doomsday scenarios for so long now they had become background noise to Ray. But Doug had been right . . . Doug had seen this coming.

I hope he’s happy, Ray thought.

They moved a little farther in line. Ray adjusted his stash in his arms and wondered how long this collapse might last. A few days? A few weeks? Months? How long would it be before he could get money out of the bank? And then he wondered how much food they had in their pantry at home. When was the last time they’d gone shopping? A chill ran through his body, fear dancing like live electricity along his skin as calculations ran through his mind. His mouth suddenly went dry and he was tempted to open one of the bottles of soda right now and drink half of it down.

You need to save it, his mind whispered. You need to conserve.

A few of the people in line ahead of Ray were talking to each other, but the woman and child right in front of Ray remained quiet. They looked scared, and Ray wished he could say something to help console them, but he couldn’t even console himself right now.

Ray overheard the grumblings from the people ahead of them in line.

“. . . all the politicians’ fault . . .”

“. . . I don’t think the banks are going to open again . . .”

“. . . they can’t just keep our money . . .”

“. . . unconstitutional . . .”

“. . . this isn’t right . . .”

A few minutes later Ray was at the counter. The younger of the two Indian men rang up Ray’s groceries with lightning speed. Ray glanced over at the mother and her daughter. The little girl looked so frightened. She seemed to be the same age as his own daughter.

“Twenty-three dollars and sixteen cents,” the Indian man said, turning Ray’s attention back to the clerk.

The amount seemed high to Ray for the few items he had, but he was sure all of the stores and gas stations were price-gouging now. He wasn’t going to argue with the man; he wanted the groceries no matter what they cost.

On impulse, Ray grabbed a few maps from a rack just off of the counter. He selected a map of the Washington D.C. area, and one of the eastern United States.

“I need these and forty dollars’ worth of gas out there on Pump Ten,” Ray told the clerk as he pointed at his Toyota parked beside Pump Ten.

The clerk seemed annoyed that Ray hadn’t told him about the gas and the maps as he was adding up the groceries, and for a moment Ray thought he was going to tell him to get back in line, but he rang up the two maps and punched in the amount for the gas on the cash register.

Ray had the amount totaled up in his mind already—he’d always been able to do math instantly in his head—and he handed the money and some of the change he’d grabbed from his cup holder to the man, the exact amount. He glanced once more at the woman and her daughter, wondering where they were going, wondering what they were going to do. But he couldn’t think about that. He had his own family to think about now.

More people were rushing inside the store, running for the nearly-bare shelves and coolers.

Ray walked past the inflow of people and hurried back to his Toyota. He pumped the gas into his vehicle; the gas was coming out slowly. When he was finished, he hung the nozzle back up and got back into his truck. He started it up. The gas gauge needle moved up to three-quarters now. Not full, but better than it was. Who knew when he would be able to get gas again?

He pulled out of the gas station and headed home.

CHAPTER 5

Kim paced from the living room, into the dining room, and then into the kitchen as she waited for Ray to come home. She had tried dialing him back on her cell phone but the call wouldn’t go through. She tried her sister’s number in Cincinnati, but that call wouldn’t go through, either. Her cell phone had no service now, and the landline phone had stopped working this morning, along with the internet connection. At least the cable was still on, something to occupy Mike and Vanessa for the moment.

They were watching cartoons in the living room, arguing over which show to watch. Kim had watched TV in her bedroom for a few hours, the sound turned down low because the news reports were too scary for the kids to be watching right now. Something big was happening; there were riots in most major cities now, and martial law had been declared in most of those places. There were curfews and checkpoints now. Citizens were urged to stay in their homes.

God, what was happening? The banks had been shut down this morning. She had taken Mike and Vanessa to school only to find out that all classes had been cancelled until further notice. She had talked to another mother while she was there, and that lady told her that the economy had collapsed.

And now Ray told her that his work had been shut down? The CDC? The government? That seemed almost too bizarre for her to comprehend right now.

She was scared, but she didn’t want Mike and Vanessa to see how scared she was. Her mind drifted back to the news reports that she’d been watching only moments ago—she couldn’t stop thinking about it. On TV, she’d seen lines of people waiting at the ATMs, hoping their bank cards would magically work. She’d seen footage filmed from news helicopters, lines of cars and trucks at gas stations, and parking lots full at supermarkets. She’d seen quick shots of signs in store windows that declared: NO FOOD or OUT OF GAS or CASH ONLY. One reporter outside of the White House said that there were rumors that the president and his staff had left Washington, and that all of Congress had left. All of them, gone.

Maybe we should leave, too, Kim thought. If our leaders are leaving, there must be a pretty good reason.

But leaving might be tough because she’d seen on TV that the airports had cancelled all flights, and it was the same thing with trains and buses. Of course all of the highways were backed up right now, long lines of cars and trucks stuck on entrance and exit ramps. Emergency crews were slow to respond, and multiple accidents and abandoned vehicles were jamming everything up. One TV channel showed a man running from car to car with a baseball bat in his hands, swinging it at windshields and at people. Then the man with the bat hit a guy who’d been on his motorcycle, catching him from behind, beating him over and over again with the bat. The helmet protected the motorcyclist’s head, but his attacker had to be breaking every bone in the man’s body with the bat.

What was wrong with that man? Why was he attacking people on the highway? What was happening to people? One woman being interviewed said that her neighbor tried to attack her with an ax—he’d turned into some kind of animal, she’d said.

“Yes,” the reporter said as he turned back to the camera. His clothes were disheveled, his hair messy, his face pale and unshaven, eyes wide with shock. “Many people are beginning to believe this is some kind of an outbreak. People are turning into bloodthirsty animals. Some are calling the supposed infected crazies. Others are calling them zombies and monsters. And others call them rippers.”

Another newscaster on another channel had also labeled these people that had gone crazy as rippers, because so many of their victims had been ripped open. Some of the victims had been eaten. “It’s like a scene from Jack the Ripper,” another newscaster had said, and the name had stuck.

Kim had turned off the TV then. She’d gone downstairs to make sure that Mike and Vanessa were still watching cartoons and not one of those newscasts. Mike liked to change the channel when Vanessa started watching a show, one of his ways of pestering her.

But they were both watching the same cartoon, both mellow—which was unusual. She couldn’t help but wonder if they could tell that something strange was happening. School being cancelled had been a surprise; Mike had been happy about it, but Vanessa had been upset. Vanessa was seven years old and she loved school. But Mike was a little older, eleven years old, and he hated doing schoolwork.

“Why can’t we go to school?” Vanessa had wailed on the way back home earlier this morning.

“It’s closed for the day.”

“I hope it’s closed all next week too,” Mike had said.

Mike wanted to go down to his friend’s house when they got back home. Even though Mike’s friend, Eric, only lived one street over, Kim had told him no. Mike had felt that his “free” day off from school should be put to good use, but she told him that he had plenty of studying he could be doing; his grades had already been slipping since school had started in August. He had lied about doing a few homework assignments last week, and she still wasn’t too happy about that.

Kim went into the kitchen, leaving Mike and Vanessa in front of the TV, stretched out on the couches. They argued a lot, but usually Mike gave in to his little sister.

She poured another cup of coffee. She had already downed four cups this morning, more than she usually drank, but she was jittery and nervous. Of course all the coffee probably wasn’t helping her nerves. Maybe she should switch to tea.

Feeling restless, she paced around the kitchen. She felt like she should be doing something, but she didn’t know what to do. She had pulled her SUV into the garage—there was only room for one vehicle in there because of all of Ray’s gym equipment. She had locked all of the doors and windows of the house like Ray had told her to, including locking all deadbolts. She had closed all of the curtains and drapes, but she peeked out through them every so often. Outside, everything in her neighborhood still seemed pretty normal. There were a few more people than usual walking around at this time of the day, a lot of people home from work and school.

But what was going on beyond their neighborhood wasn’t normal. Something was going on, something bad. The economy had been getting worse over the last few weeks, the stock market crashing. Prices at the stores had shot up seemingly overnight. And now with the schools closing, the banks closing down until Monday, she was sure something really bad was happening.

Ray had told her that some people at the bank had chased his truck into the street. He’d said that they had thrown rocks at his truck.

“God,” she whispered, shivering a little as she sipped her coffee. She felt a little cold even though it was warm in the house.

Her thoughts turned to Ray again, and their arguments over the last few nights. She had told him that she was sorry about her affair with Gary. Ray was analytical; he wanted some kind of rational explanation for why she had cheated on him. But she didn’t have one. It had just happened. She knew that was a lame excuse, an excuse probably used by so many unfaithful spouses, but it was the truth. She and Gary had started out as friends. It was nice to have a man to talk to, a man who was interested in everything about her life, interested in everything about her. He paid attention to her, complimented her, understood her feelings. And then one Saturday afternoon, after a few too many glasses of wine, it had just happened. It started with a touch of his hand to her face, then a kiss, then . . . then more.

If it had only been that one time . . . but it hadn’t. She had slept with Gary a few times over a three-week period.

And then she had broken it off.

But then Ray had found some text messages on her phone that she’d forgotten to delete. And after his accusations, she came clean. She told him everything. And it had felt good to tell him about the affair at the time; it felt good to hurt him because he had hurt her when he ignored her. So much of the time he seemed lost in his thoughts, consumed with some inner dialogue. She wanted emotion from him again. She wanted passion from him. She wanted things to be the way they were when they were first together. And maybe that nostalgia was what she’d been chasing with Gary. Even when she and Ray argued, she was the one who did the screaming, the threatening, the crying. Ray was an unemotional statue, always trying to reason and calculate, to analyze and categorize.

Ray was supposed to leave this weekend, go stay in a motel for a few days. It was a mutual decision they had come to. Tonight was the night they were supposed to tell the kids that Ray was going to his brother’s house in Mobile, Alabama for the weekend, a lie they had made up until they could figure out what was going on before telling the kids the truth.

They needed some time alone, she had told Ray, but both of them had come to that decision. They needed some time to think about where all of this was going.

“I don’t want a divorce,” she’d told him, crying as she tried to hold on to him. She didn’t think Ray wanted a divorce either, but he seemed so unforgiving at the moment. And she couldn’t really blame him. Maybe in time these wounds would heal.

“You don’t have to leave,” she’d told him last night. “Please, stay. We can get through this somehow.”

Ray had been angry in his quiet, smoldering way, shutting her off. He was hurt. He’d asked why she had cheated on him. And she hadn’t had much in the way of an answer for him. But she’d told him that she missed their younger days, missed his attention, missed his affection.

She remembered when they’d met in college, at Auburn. She was a year younger than him. She was physically attracted to Ray immediately, but she was also attracted to his studiousness, and how responsible he was for a young man. He had his life planned out. He had a part-time job at college, and he’d saved enough to buy a sensible used car. She stayed in a rented house with three other college girls, and there was this balcony on the second floor. She would call Ray, ask him to take her somewhere, and she’d wait on that balcony, watching the street for his car to pull up. When she saw that old blue car with the fading paint pull up, her heart had fluttered. It felt like she was light, about to lift up from the earth. She wished she could describe exactly how she felt when Ray would come to take her away. Maybe if she could describe it to him, then he could understand the feeling she’d been chasing, wondering if she could find that wildness and freedom with another man, if not with Ray anymore. But maybe she’d just been chasing youth and feelings she could never re-create.

She wondered if Ray was still going to leave tonight. Was he going to leave them alone with all of this—whatever all of this was—going on? She hoped not. She was suddenly afraid to be alone here in this house with the kids, without Ray.

“Dad’s home!” Mike shouted from the living room.

Kim set her cup of coffee down and hurried into the living room. Mike stood in front of the windows with the drapes pulled back.

“Get away from the window!” Kim snapped at him.

Mike looked at her with wide eyes of confusion, not sure what he’d done wrong.

“Just close the curtains,” she said and forced a smile on her face.

Mike closed them.

“We just need to keep them closed for now,” she told Mike.

“Why?”

She really didn’t have a good answer for him. “Because Dad said so.” She marched over to the coffee table and picked up the remote control. She shut the TV off.

“Hey,” Vanessa said. “I was watching that.”

“Come on. Let’s all go meet Dad at the door.”

CHAPTER 6

Ray’s heart skipped a beat when he didn’t see Kim’s SUV in the driveway as he pulled in.

Was she gone? Had she gone somewhere?

But then he saw Mike in the front window, waving at him enthusiastically. Kim must’ve pulled her truck into the garage. Good idea. He waved back at Mike as he shifted his 4-Runner into park and turned off the engine.

When he’d entered their subdivision a few minutes ago, he’d glanced around at the streets of the neighborhood. He hadn’t been sure what to expect when he got home, but it wasn’t as crazy as the places he’d seen in the city. He’d gotten stuck in traffic again after the gas station and it had taken him hours to get home. He’d idled past long lines at other gas stations and banks. He saw people ravaging grocery stores; it looked like some of the people were literally running out of the store with a shopping cart full of food without paying for it. Parking lots were madhouses. Businesses were closed down, some of them boarded up.

Nothing felt normal anymore.

Even his own neighborhood didn’t feel right. Maybe he had expected his neighborhood to be better than the rest of the city, and maybe the people here were a little calmer, but there were still signs that everything had changed. People were gathered on their lawns, some of them with dust masks on—one man actually had some kind of gas mask on. Some of the groups talked animatedly to each other, almost like they were arguing. Others were more conspiratorial, sneaking suspicious glances at him as he drove by. There were more people outside their homes than he’d ever seen before; it seemed like everyone was home even though it was a Friday afternoon. He saw one family packing up their car with suitcases, bags, and boxes, the parents snapping at their teenaged kids to hurry up.

Now Ray was home. He’d made it. He got out of his truck and grabbed his small bag of overpriced groceries with the two folded maps tucked down inside. He also grabbed his silver coffee thermos, his rumpled suitcoat and tie. He locked the doors and went to what they called “the back door,” even though it was really on the side of the house, tucked away behind the garage in a little alcove. This door opened up to the laundry room, and from there it led to both the garage and the kitchen.

Kim and the kids were already at the door, Kim holding it open for him.

For an instant Ray stared at his wife. He wasn’t sure if it was the strange day he’d had—the strangest of his life—or the fear that he’d been trying to suppress all day, but in that moment he was ready to forgive his wife; he was ready to do whatever it took to stay together with her and his children and get their lives back to normal. Suddenly he wanted their old life back.

Kim looked scared even though she was fighting to keep a brave face for Mike and Vanessa. She also looked unsure of what to do; should she hug him, give him a kiss, leave him alone? She looked scared to make the wrong move, to make him angry, and he hated that look on her face, so he gave her a hug and kissed her neck, holding her tight.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his ear, her body racked with sobs for a moment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Dad!” Vanessa yelled.

Kim turned away from the kids so she could wipe her eyes after she let Ray go.

Ray did his best to hug Vanessa with all of the stuff in his hands. “I missed you so much!” he told her.

“I missed you, too,” Vanessa told him. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“There’s no school today.”

“I know.”

“Do you know when we’re going to school again?”

“Hopefully never,” Mike said.

Ray sighed. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”

They all went into the kitchen. Kim closed and locked the door and followed them.

The kids began talking to Ray at the same time, both telling them more about the school closing, Mike complaining that Mom wouldn’t let him go down to his friend’s house.

“Okay,” Ray told them. “One at a time.”

Kim took Ray’s suitcoat, tie, and coffee thermos. She set the thermos on the kitchen counter and gently laid the suitcoat and tie over the back of a kitchen chair at the four-seat breakfast table off to one side of the kitchen. Ray watched his wife do those things, things that used to be routine, and for just a moment everything felt normal again. It felt good to be home. He felt like he’d been out on some battlefield, but now he was safe for a moment, like he was tucked away in a fortress.

But he knew that feeling of safety was only temporary. Something was wrong out there in the world, very wrong. And the sooner he came to grips with that, the better.

Ray talked to Mike and Vanessa for a few moments, listening to everything they had to say, keeping his promise that he’d made to himself today to be there for his family like Kim wanted him to be. He glanced at Kim. She smiled back at him, but that nervousness still lingered in her eyes. He wanted to talk about some things with her, but he didn’t want to say them in front of the kids.

Almost like Kim had read his mind, she scooted the kids out of the kitchen. “Go on, let your dad breathe for a minute. Go watch some TV.”

“Okay,” Vanessa squealed, already running off to claim the remote control.

“What’s for dinner?” Mike asked.

“I don’t know,” Kim answered. “What are you cooking?”

“Mom,” Mike said with an exasperated sigh at the same time. He looked at Ray and the bag in his hand. “What’s in there?”

“Just some drinks and snacks.”

“Can I see?”

“Later,” Ray promised.

“Go in the living room with your sister,” Kim said a little more firmly. “I need to talk about some things with your father.”

Mike knew not to push his mother too far. He turned and made an exaggerated winding-up motion of his body, like he was some kind of cartoon character getting ready to run, and then he darted out of the kitchen.

Ray watched the archway to the living room for a moment, and then he looked at Kim who still stood in the middle of the kitchen.

“Ray . . . I’m sorry about . . .”

“Not right now, please,” he said in a gentle voice. He set his bag down on the counter and opened it. He needed something to do; he didn’t want to talk about Kim’s infidelity, or talk about getting back together—hopefully there would be time for that later.

“What did you buy?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I . . . I had to get some gas and there were these mobs of people inside the store. They were grabbing everything they could get their hands on.”

Kim walked over to him and spoke in a low voice. “They said on the news that everything’s shutting down. Some of them were saying something about a system-wide computer virus.”

“I don’t know.”

“How are we supposed to get money out of the bank?” she asked, her voice still a whisper.

“I don’t know.”

“And those guys that chased you at the bank. Why would they chase you?”

“I don’t know,” Ray said again. “These three guys . . . they were just staring at me like they hated me. Like they wanted to kill me. They started running towards me, and then everyone else joined in. I didn’t know what to do. I just drove out of there. I drove on the sidewalk to get away. They were throwing rocks and sticks at my truck. It was like . . . like they’d all gone crazy or something.”

“Did they say anything?” Kim asked. “Did they call you names? Tell you to stop?”

Ray shrugged. “One of them said something about a black guy . . .”

Kim nodded knowingly.

“But I didn’t hear most of what they said. They just started running after me. But there was this old lady I talked to right before it happened. She had this . . . this kind of lost look in her eyes. And she was speaking gibberish, like she was getting all of her words mixed up.”

“Maybe she was drunk,” Kim suggested.

Ray shook his head. “I didn’t smell any alcohol.”

“Maybe she was high on some kind of drug.”

Ray didn’t respond. He was afraid it might be something else altogether, something too frightening to utter to his wife right now.

Kim stared at Ray, suddenly somber, like she had something terrible to say. She glanced at the archway to make sure that Mike wasn’t there trying to eavesdrop, then she looked back at Ray and continued in a whisper: “There have been some reports on TV talking about people killing others, slaughtering them. People turning into animals. Some are calling them rippers because they . . . they are ripping people open and . . . and eating them.”

“Eating them?” Just when Ray thought he’d reached his breaking point of shock, something else tested it.

“I don’t understand this,” Kim said. “Are people going crazy because the economy is collapsing, or is the economy collapsing because people are going crazy?”

Ray thought of Doug and his other co-workers from this morning. They had been talking about a plague. Doug had mentioned an airborne rabies virus. And then he remembered Craig’s words on the phone only hours ago. Was there some kind of plague out there? Were the people at the bank infected? That old lady he’d talked to? Had he already been exposed to the disease? Had he brought that disease home to his family, to his wife and kids? A panicky feeling surged through him.

“Ray,” Kim said.

Ray realized that he’d been lost in his own mind again. He looked at Kim.

“Is it true? Is there some kind of plague or something? A virus? They were saying something about it on the news.”

He shook his head. There was no sense in denying it, no sense in trying to protect her, but he still said: “I don’t know.”

“You work at the CDC. You haven’t heard anything?” The question almost seemed accusatory.

“No,” he said, but then: “Well, some guys were saying something about it this morning when we were all outside the office.”

“What were they saying?”

“It was Doug,” Ray warned. “You know how he is.”

Kim waited.

“Doug said he knows somebody down at headquarters in Atlanta. He said he heard there was some kind of airborne virus. He thought it might be some kind of bioweapon that either escaped from one of their labs, or a virus that was sent here.”

“Like what kind of virus? A rabies virus?”

“I don’t know,” he said, hating the sound of the same words he kept repeating, a lame answer.

“Rabies could explain how people have been acting the last few days,” Kim said. “All the murders. The people ripping other people open. Eating them.” Her last two words were a barely audible whisper.

He hugged her again.

“What are we supposed to do?” she asked.

Ray thought of the neighbors he’d seen on the lawn with the dust masks on, the one with the gas mask. They didn’t have any gas masks here at the house. He didn’t even think they had dust masks. What could they do if there was some kind of airborne virus spreading all over the place?

“We just stay inside,” he told her when he pulled away from her. “We’ll just keep watching the news.”

Kim was crying again. She wiped at her eyes and looked at the contents of Ray’s bag on the counter. She picked up the can of Spam. “Spam? That’s your end-of-the-world supplies?”

He stared at her.

“You don’t even like Spam,” she said.

He burst out laughing.

She started laughing with him.

“I don’t like it, do I?” he asked and laughed even harder.

“No,” she laughed. “You don’t.”

“What’s so funny?” Mike called out to them from the living room.

“Nothing,” Kim yelled back at him.

“Mike said he wanted to know what was for dinner,” Ray said and pointed at the can of Spam.

They both laughed even harder.

Ray felt tears in his eyes and he knew he shouldn’t be laughing right now. His marriage was falling apart, society was collapsing, he was unemployed, people had chased him at the bank, people were possibly infected by some disease and eating each other, but God it felt good to laugh right now. It felt good to be home with his wife and kids.

After they stopped laughing and wiped their eyes, Kim looked at Ray. “I tried to call you back, but my cell phone isn’t working anymore.”

“Yeah, mine either. The last call I got was from Craig.”

“Is he okay?”

“I don’t know. He was breaking up pretty bad. I think he said he’s getting out of town.”

“Yeah, so are the president and everyone in Congress. Big shock, huh?”

That wasn’t a good sign, Ray thought.

“What else did Craig say?” Kim asked.

“I don’t know. It was strange. He said something is happening to people.”

“The virus?”

“He didn’t say that,” Ray practically snapped. “He just said something is happening to them. And he said to go to his house if we didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“His house?”

“Yeah. Between the static I heard the word answers and the word roses. He said he’d left something there for me at his house. And then he said the word Avalon.”

“What’s Avalon supposed to mean? What do you think he left for you?”

“I don’t know.” There were those three words again—I don’t know. Those three words summed up everything right now for Ray.

“Dad!” Mike called from the living room. “Mom!”

They both turned towards the archway that led to the living room. Mike called them all the time for every little argument he had with Vanessa, but this didn’t sound like he was about to tattle on his little sister—Mike’s voice sounded different, he sounded afraid, on the verge of panicking.

“Mom! Dad! You need to come see this!”

CHAPTER 7

Ray and Kim hurried into the living room to see what Mike was shouting about. He and Vanessa stood in front of the TV. Mike had the remote control in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Ray asked as his heart thudded in his chest.

“Did you take the remote control from Vanessa?” Kim asked.

“No,” he said. “She asked me to fix the TV.”

“The cartoons went away,” Vanessa explained.

“It’s the president,” Mike said. “He interrupted the cartoons. He’s on every channel. He’s saying something about martial law. What’s martial law, Dad?”

“Let me see the remote,” Ray said.

Mike surrendered the remote control to Ray.

Ray flipped from channel to channel. Mike was right; the President of the United States was on every channel. Ray stopped at a channel and turned up the volume.

“What’s martial law?” Mike asked again. “What’s that mean?”

“Hold on, Mike,” Ray said.

On TV, the President of the United States stood behind a podium with the presidential seal on it. Behind him was a solid blue background with the icon of the White House on it. Two American flags drooped on poles, the flags on either side of the president in the background like sentry soldiers.

The broadcast seemed like any other presidential address to the public, but this one was different. It took Ray a moment to pinpoint what was so different, but he started to realize what it was: on every channel the view of the president was the same. Usually, there would be different angles of the same speech from different cameras from each news station, but this was the exact same broadcast on every channel. And there was nothing identifying which station this broadcast was coming from: Fox, NBC, CBS, ABC, CNN. Everything was eerily the same on every channel. Another thing Ray noticed was that he didn’t hear the sounds of reporters, there were no flashing cameras, nobody asking questions—everything was dead quiet as the president spoke. This wasn’t a live broadcast; this statement had been recorded earlier.

How much earlier? And from where?

“What’s that mean, Dad?” Mike asked, tugging at Ray’s shirtsleeve. “What does the president mean by all that?”

“Hold on a minute, son,” Ray said. “Let me hear what he’s saying.”

Ray and his family stood in silence in the middle of their living room and listened to the President of the United States on their TV.

“My fellow Americans,” the president said, looking solemnly into the camera, looking into the homes of American citizens. “Because of the recent outbreaks of riots and violence against our citizens, outbreaks that could not be described in any other way besides domestic terrorism, I have no choice but to declare martial law for a short time until our country gets back to normalcy.”

The president paused with a practiced stern yet compassionate expression. “My fellow Americans, this is for our protection. For our safety. I urge everyone to cooperate and stand strong until these dark days in American history pass, and until the terrorists—foreign and domestic—are found and brought to justice. Each city and county in the United States has been notified of exact procedures, and authorities will be in touch with everyone. I urge you to wait inside your homes until you are contacted. Local authorities will have answers for you. I ask you to conserve your resources, remain patient, and to be calm. If we stand together, if we stand strong, we can get through this.”

“We’ve been attacked by terrorists?” Mike asked.

“I don’t know, son,” Ray muttered.

Ray watched as the tape of the president’s announcement started over again—an unending loop of the same brief message on every channel.

The government had shut down the TV stations, and now they were broadcasting the same vague message over and over again. The president basically told them that terror was happening outside every American’s front doors, but everyone should remain calm and stay patient, remain indoors until authorities reached out. But he hadn’t really explained what was happening.

“Mom, I’m scared,” Vanessa said and hugged Kim.

“I know,” Kim said and gave Vanessa a squeeze around her shoulders. Then she looked at Ray.

“Dad?” Mike asked.

Ray cleared his throat and turned down the volume on the TV with the remote control. “Uh, yeah. Martial law. That just means that there’s like a curfew for everyone. There are times when we’re not allowed outside at night.”

“Even adults?” Mike asked. He seemed shocked by the idea of it.

“Yes, even adults.”

“Is it because of the terrorists?”

“Yes,” Ray said even though he knew it wasn’t that simple. But he wasn’t going to put horrible thoughts of diseases and infected people attacking and eating each other into Mike’s mind until he was absolutely sure what was going on.

“We need more information,” Ray said, turning to Kim. “What about the internet?”

“It’s been down since this morning,” Kim told him. “Only the cable was working, and now . . .” She let her words trail off, nodding at the TV, indicating how well the cable was working now—the tape of the president’s speech was starting over again.

“Of course,” Ray muttered. All forms of communication had been shut off at the same time: internet, news, cell phones and landlines. Maybe they could find something on the radio.

“But we’re gonna get the bad guys, right?” Mike asked.

“I’m sure we will,” Ray told him. “But in the meantime, we need to listen to the president, and listen to the police.” And the military when they move in, he thought. “We need to stay inside the house and keep everything locked up tight.”

“That means no going down to your friend’s house,” Kim told Mike.

Mike just nodded.

“I thought you said you were hungry,” Ray said to Mike, trying to cheer him up and change the subject. “Let’s throw something together for dinner.”

Mike brightened up a little.

“Can I watch a movie?” Vanessa asked Kim.

“Yeah,” Kim said, brightening. “That’s a good idea.”

Vanessa ran over to the cabinet near the TV and opened the door where dozens of DVDs were stacked.

Ray was about to head to the kitchen. He wanted to make some dinner for everyone, but he also wanted to take a quick inventory of the food they had in the cabinets, refrigerator, and the freezer—do some quick calculations. His mind was already on the conservation of food.

And that’s when the electricity went out.

CHAPTER 8

When the lights went out, Vanessa screamed more out of surprise than fear.

Kim ran over to Vanessa, scooping her up in her arms. “It’s okay, baby. The power just went out, that’s all.”

It was cloudy outside, and even though it was only late afternoon now, the house was dark with all of the curtains and drapes closed. The house was eerily quiet now; there wasn’t even the humming of the refrigerator or the heat drifting out of the vents.

“Why is the power out?” Mike asked. “There’s no storm outside.”

“I don’t know,” Ray said. He went to the front window—the one Mike had waved at him from only a few minutes ago—and looked out at the street beyond their front yard. Everyone else’s houses were dark, no lights shining anywhere.

“Kim,” Ray said, turning away from the windows. “You want to find some flashlights? Maybe some candles?”

“Yeah,” she said and offered a hand to Vanessa. “You want to come with me?”

Vanessa nodded and followed Kim into the kitchen.

Mike walked over to Ray who was still by the windows.

Ray parted the drapes a little and looked back out at the street. “Looks like the power’s out everywhere,” he muttered. He hoped he sounded calm to his son even though he was more worried than ever now. That surreal feeling was back now. This couldn’t be happening. It felt like some kind of nightmare; they were trapped inside their home with no electricity, no contact with the outside world, and there was possibly some disease out there turning people into animals . . . turning them into rippers.

Kim came back a few minutes later with Vanessa. They both held flashlights, the beams knifing through the gloom inside the living room. Vanessa seemed much calmer now that she had a flashlight in her hand.

“I’ll go back and find some candles,” Kim said. She looked at Mike. “Why don’t you sit with your sister on the couch?” Keep her calm, her eyes said.

Mike rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh, but he went to the couch and sat down with Vanessa.

Ray and Kim went into the kitchen to look for candles, both of them rummaging through the drawers. Ray found two small candles in one of the “junk drawers.” He also pulled out three packs of matches and a long plastic lighter. He started a little collection of supplies right there on the countertop.

“Ray, I don’t like this.”

“I know,” Ray answered. She didn’t need to explain any further. He was feeling the same thing she was—the electricity going out right after the president’s taped speech was no coincidence. None of this was. It had been like a series of dominoes falling, one after the other. First the stock market crash, and then the businesses closing, and then the extreme price gouging and protests, which quickly turned into riots. And then the reports of mass murders and slaughter. And today all the schools and banks close, even the government shut down. People were panicking, all services were gone, everything dark. No electricity, no money, no cell phones, no internet. No information or communication.

“What are we going to do?”

They needed some kind of information. “The radio,” Ray said. There was one in the garage; he usually turned it on when he was working out. But it was plugged into the wall. “Let me see your flashlight,” he told Kim.

She handed it over and Ray used it to light his way into the garage. The garage was very dark, but the flashlight lit his way well enough. He found the radio on top of the line of counters on the far side of the garage. He unplugged the radio from the cord and took it back into the kitchen. He opened the back, hoping that there were batteries inside. He thought there might be, remembering that they had taken the radio with them to a park not too long ago.

The batteries were in there, but were they still good? And how long would they last?

Ray turned the radio on and heard nothing but static. He spun the dial slowly. He found a few radio stations playing music, but the songs weren’t being interrupted by DJs, commercials, or news reports. Maybe the music had been pre-recorded. One station was playing It’s The End Of The World As We Know It by R.E.M. over and over again. But most of the stations were either off-air or were broadcasting various emergency signals.

Maybe he could find something on AM.

“What are we going to do?” Kim asked again.

Ray turned off the radio, wanting to save the batteries. He looked at Kim. “I think we need to get some stuff together. Maybe we should all go upstairs, stay the night together in our bedroom. We need a place where we can defend ourselves.”

Kim stared at Ray in the murky light, her eyes wide with fear. “You think someone will try to get in here?”

“I don’t know.” There were those three ineffectual words again; he wished he could stop saying them, but they kept slipping out. “It’s possible. There are some of those . . . those—”

“Crazy people,” Kim said. “Rippers.”

“Yeah, some infected people out there.” For some reason he didn’t want to say the word rippers.

“But what about us? Are we going to get infected?”

A sharp pang of fear seized Ray; it was his biggest fear, it was the thing he didn’t want to think about. Had he been infected already? Was the virus already taking over his body and his brain right now? Had he already infected his wife and kids? But what could they do about it now? If they were already infected, there was nothing they could do. If they weren’t, then what precautions could they take besides staying inside their home? Ray’s rational mind fought to take over. Even if these rumors about outbreaks were true, the disease couldn’t be everywhere all at the same time. There had to be areas that were infected, and he was sure that the government and military (and the CDC, his former employer) were already quarantining areas, getting the outbreak under control, working on drugs to battle the outbreak, or vaccines they would distribute soon.

“Our best bet is to just stay inside,” Ray told her. “I’m sure we’re not infected. This whole area may not even be infected. We just need to stay inside until we have more information. Until the authorities reach out to us and tell us what to do. In the meantime, we just need to protect ourselves as best we can.”

“We don’t have anything to protect ourselves with if someone gets inside,” Kim said. “No guns.”

“We’ll be okay,” Ray said, laying a hand on Kim’s shoulder. The gesture felt weird, like he was touching a stranger.

But Kim seemed to relax just from his touch. “Okay,” she said, breathing out a long breath. “I’ll get the kids upstairs while you get some stuff together. Unless you want me to help you.”

“No. You’re right. You go ahead and get them upstairs. Keep them calm.”

She nodded and went back out to the living room, leaving the flashlight with him.

“I’ve got a great idea,” Ray heard Kim say from the living room. “Let’s all go upstairs for tonight. We’ll pretend like we’re camping out. Maybe tell some stories.”

“What about Dad?” Mike asked.

Ray felt a pang of emotion inside of him at that moment.

“He’ll come up soon,” Kim promised. “He’s going to get some snacks together for us.”

“Can I have a juice box?” Vanessa asked.

“You hear that, Dad?”

“Got it,” Ray called back and then went to the archway to the living room, forcing a smile on his face. “One juice box coming up. Any other requests?”

“I want a Coke, please,” Mike said.

Ray and Kim tried to limit the amount of sugary drinks they let Mike and Vanessa have, but he decided that this was a special occasion.

“I’ll bring it all up in a minute,” Ray said. “Just go and help your mom.”

“Can we build a fort?” Vanessa asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Kim said.

“You’re so lame,” Mike told his little sister, and then he looked at Ray in the archway. “I could help you, Dad.”

Again, Ray felt that pang of emotion inside of him. For the last few days Mike seemed to want to be around him all the time, like he sensed that something was wrong between him and Mom. Maybe he had even overheard some of their arguments—God knew Kim had been yelling a little too loudly a few times.

“Thanks,” Ray told Mike. “But I got it. I want you to go up there and watch over your mother and sister.”

Mike smiled, knowing that Ray was patronizing him, but accepting the job anyway. He followed Kim and Vanessa up the carpeted stairs to the second floor.

Ray went back into the kitchen and looked at his meager pile of supplies on the countertop next to the radio.

Where to start? He suddenly felt overwhelmed. He needed to calm down and think rationally. What was the first thing they needed?

Coolers. There were a few of them in the garage.

He grabbed the flashlight and went back into the garage. He found two large coolers and one small one. He took them back into the kitchen and lined them up on the floor near the refrigerator. He needed ice for the coolers, but all they had was what the icemaker had made and what was in the ice trays. Luckily there was still half a bag of ice they had bought to take with them on their last trip to the park. That was in the refrigerator’s freezer in the garage. It was now a big chunk of ice, but he busted it up on the concrete floor of the garage. It still wasn’t enough ice, but it would be enough to keep their food cool for at least a few days.

But he wasn’t going to use the ice yet. He wanted to wait one more day; the refrigerator and freezer would keep their food cold that long. He just wanted to get the coolers ready and take an inventory of what they had. He looked for a cardboard box in the garage and found a medium-sized one. He brought the box back into the kitchen and filled it up with a few drinks and snacks, mostly from the refrigerator; they would have to eat that food first, saving all the canned and boxed foods for later.

And then what?

But he didn’t want to think about that.

He added the pile of candles, batteries, lighters, and matches to the food in the cardboard box. Then he went back out to the garage and grabbed a baseball bat and one of his golf clubs from a used set his wife had bought him at a garage sale, a set he’d never used. They weren’t the greatest weapons, but they were better than nothing. He also added a few kitchen knives to the box of food and supplies.

Normally he would not be panicking like this just because the electricity had gone out, but he had a feeling that this power outage was going to last a lot longer than a few hours—he was sure this was going to last for a long time.

After taking a quick stock of what they had in the pantry, which he guessed might last a month if they carefully rationed the food, he took his box of food and supplies with him. He carried the box and left the golf club, knives, and baseball bat down by the foot of the stairs; he would come back for those in a minute.

He headed upstairs to wait until night came.

PART TWO

CHAPTER 9

It was very late at night. Ray wasn’t sure how late, but probably almost morning. With the electricity out and his cell phone finally dying, he had no way to tell what time it was. He had slept fitfully off and on throughout the night next to Kim in the bed. He’d had some weird dreams that kept waking him up. He’d seen a beautiful woman in one of his dreams; she might have been in her late twenties. She had blond hair and pale skin. And she wore dark glasses. Was she blind? He knew it hadn’t been a sexual dream, but he couldn’t really remember what the dream of the woman had been about. He remembered another one of the dreams—it had been a nightmare. In the dream he’d seen a man hiding in the shadows, coming out of the darkness like he was materializing from it. But now that he was fully awake, he couldn’t remember either one of the dreams too well, all of the dreams breaking up into fragments.

They had come up here to their bedroom yesterday afternoon with the kids after the power had gone out. Ray had collected a box of supplies, snacks, and drinks and brought it up with him. He also brought up a golf club, baseball bat, and three kitchen knives (which he hid from Mike and Vanessa) for protection. He had locked the bedroom door once they were all inside and then pushed a large antique dresser in front of it. He left the golf club next to the dresser. He had also filled up the bathtub in their master bathroom with water just in case the water got shut off—something his mother used to do down in Mobile if a hurricane was coming. He didn’t know if the water was going to be shut off, but every other utility had been cut off so far, so he didn’t want to take any chances with the water.

They had eaten a meal of junk food earlier in the evening—not the normal dinner they usually ate, but tonight was not a normal night. And he didn’t think they were going to have normal nights for a while. After they had finished eating, as promised, Ray and Kim helped the kids build a fort before it got too dark to see.

Ray lay in bed next to Vanessa in the dark now. He was surprised at how dark it was with all of their lights out and the streetlights out. When he had looked out their bedroom windows earlier there was nothing but darkness in every direction.

Mike and Vanessa were asleep right now underneath the stretched-out sheet that served as their tent at the foot of his and his wife’s bed. Mike and Vanessa had left two of the flashlights on, but Ray had turned them off after they’d fallen asleep.

Ray looked over at Kim in the bed next to him. He couldn’t really see her, but he could hear her heavy breathing.

He lay there for a while longer, unable to sleep, his mind busy with worry. In the morning, he planned on making a proper inventory of the food and supplies they had left in the house.

And then what? It was the question he’d asked himself over and over again. What was going to happen after a few days, or even if they could survive for a few weeks? The president said in his address on TV that authorities would be reaching out. But what if that wasn’t true? What if this plague and the civil unrest had gotten way beyond control? Could he and his family survive here for months? What about other people? Would they start looking for houses to rob, people to kill? To eat?

Would they need to leave?

Was that what Craig had been talking about on the cell phone when it had started breaking up?

He had to stop thinking about these things before he went crazy with worry. Earlier, after he was sure the kids had been asleep for hours, he had tried the radio again, patiently spinning the dial from station to station. He kept the volume low, just enough for him to hear it if he kept his ear by the speaker. He tried FM. Not much luck there. And then he tried AM.

“Anything?” Kim had asked.

Ray mostly heard static, some Emergency Broadcast System warnings, some taped music, that same song by R.E.M., probably some DJ’s idea of a sick joke before he abandoned the radio station, but not much else. So much of it was either static or dead air. Obviously the radio stations had been shut down just like the cable networks and the internet. No information anywhere. He had heard one amateur ham radio operator that fizzled in and out, but they were repeating what Ray already knew. Just another paranoid person like Doug, a person already tucked away somewhere in his bunker up in the mountains, someone who had prepared for this.

“What’s going to happen?” Kim had asked him in the darkness after he’d shut the radio off to conserve the batteries.

She’d asked the question several times throughout the night. And he’d always given her the same answer: “I don’t know.”

Ray thought of his conversation with Craig again. Why had Craig told them to go to his house? He had said something about answers in between the bursts of static. And something about the roses. And Avalon. What did Avalon mean? And Craig had said he had left something there for him. What could Craig have left for him? Something to do with roses and Avalon? Ray knew that Craig’s clearance level was much higher than his, and maybe Craig knew a lot of the people down at the CDC headquarters in Atlanta. Did Craig know what was really going on? Could there really be answers at his house?

What was Avalon? He had looked the word up in the dictionary earlier before bringing the supplies up to their bedroom—of course he had to find the dictionary on the bookshelf because he couldn’t just look it up on his phone or laptop like he usually did. And basically the definition of Avalon was an island paradise in the King Arthur legends, a place where King Arthur and others were taken to after they died.

So what did Avalon have to do with the collapse of society? Or these so-called rippers killing and eating people? Maybe the word had something to do with the plague, this airborne virus that might have gotten loose or a contagion that America had been attacked with. The government and military (and the CDC had connections with both of them) loved those vague kind of code words for projects and missions, code words that often had hidden meanings.

Should they go to Craig’s house? Should they try to find the answers that he had promised were there? Look for whatever Craig had left for him? Would Craig and his family be there waiting for them? Was it safe to travel? It had to be, or Craig would have told him to stay put.

No, they needed to wait a little while first. They needed to get some more information, see if the authorities were really going to reach out to them, find out if there was some kind of airborne disease out there. If there was an airborne virus, then it wasn’t a really good idea to be driving around right now.

Thinking of Craig made Ray think of Doug and the folded-up piece of paper he had in his wallet with Doug’s bugout address and the crude map on it—his bunker in the woods. He’d forgotten to tell Kim about Doug’s offer to stay with him, but Ray was in no real hurry to pack up the kids and drive to West Virginia; yet he wasn’t completely abandoning the idea, either. There was just too much he didn’t know, and being in the dark (both physically and metaphorically) was driving him crazy.

At least he and Kim hadn’t been arguing tonight. Kim had tried to talk a few times earlier as they lay in bed, but Ray didn’t want to discuss things right now. Maybe she was still worried that he would leave, but he wasn’t going to abandon his children in a time like this; she should know that. They had too many other pressing issues to worry about rather than their marital problems.

Ray slipped out of bed and then stood beside it, listening to Kim breathe heavily, making sure he hadn’t awakened her.

She was still asleep.

He went over to the window that looked out onto the side yard and sat down in front of it. He could see part of the street from here. Their side yard opened up to an empty lot that had never sold.

It was dark, but there was a nearly-full moon which provided some light to see by. It seemed like his eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness. He watched the street and the other houses. He didn’t see anyone moving around out there, only a small light on in one other house. He cracked the window open just a bit, sliding it up a few inches. The chilly air drifted in and it felt refreshing.

In the distance there were sounds of sirens and tiny pops of gunshots. He’d heard what sounded like a far-off explosion earlier, and at least three times they’d heard helicopters roaring over their neighborhood. It was noisy out there even though it was almost morning, even though all of the electricity was off.

The eastern sky was just beginning to lighten up—turning from black to dark blue. It was close to dawn.

He was lost in his thoughts again for a while, lost in his worries, doing his best to plan for different scenarios. He’d been close to drifting off as he leaned there against the window, but then he heard a noise outside. He looked out the window and saw someone hurrying down their street, a man bundled up in a coat—he was practically running. He hurried up the walkway to the house directly beyond the empty lot—Helen’s house.

A faint light flickered in the downstairs windows of Helen’s house. Candlelight.

The man stood on Helen’s front porch, waiting there for a moment. And then the door opened and he rushed inside.

Ray stared at Helen’s house for a long moment, watching the windows like he might be able to see movement inside the house, like he might be able to tell what they were doing in there.

The sky had brightened up quite a bit over these last ten minutes while he had watched Helen’s house. And now two people, a man and a woman, walked side-by-side down the street to Helen’s house. They weren’t running, but they were walking fast. Like the man before them, they marched right up to Helen’s porch, right to her front door. Moments later, they were let inside.

Something was going on over there. These people were gathering for some reason, some kind of meeting.

Maybe they knew something, maybe they had some ideas about what was going on.

Ray jumped to his feet and pulled on the pair of pants and shirt that he had laid over the dresser. He still had his socks on and he stuffed his feet down into a pair of sneakers. He buttoned up his shirt and grabbed his suitcoat.

A rustling sounded from the bedcovers as Kim sat up. The sky had gotten light enough that he could barely make out her movements in the darkness.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, automatically mindful of the kids. “What are you doing?”

He hurried over to the bed. “I’m going over to Helen’s house for a few minutes.”

Kim shook her head like she was still struggling to wake up, like she was trying to piece together what Helen’s house had to do with anything.

“There are a few people going over there,” he explained in a whisper. “Our neighbors. I think they’re having some kind of meeting.”

Kim just stared at Ray.

“I want to see what’s going on. Maybe one of them knows what’s going on.”

“But . . .” She sounded suddenly worried.

“It’s okay,” he told her, still whispering. “I won’t be long. Just keep the bedroom door locked. I’ll knock three times, then twice. That will be our code, okay?

“Ray, I don’t know . . .”

“Please, Kim. I have to do this. I need to do something. I can’t just sit here. Just sit tight. Okay?”

He didn’t give her a chance to argue; he was across the room in a flash, already moving the dresser out of the way so he could leave.

CHAPTER 10

Ray walked down the street towards Helen’s house. He walked quickly like the others he’d seen. He glanced around at the houses as he walked. It was already pretty light out here, and he wished he had come out here about ten or fifteen minutes ago when it was darker. He felt exposed, like many pairs of eyes were watching him. He wouldn’t be surprised if some of his neighbors were watching him just like he had watched the people hurrying to Helen’s house. Maybe those people watching him would decide to come to Helen’s house too, or maybe they would just stay inside and keep watching.

The cold air bit into his skin. He buttoned up his suitcoat against the chilly breeze. He really should have grabbed another coat from the front closet, but he had just rushed out the “back door” of their house.

He had his car keys in his pants pocket, locking the kitchen door when he’d left. He had considered taking some kind of weapon with him, maybe a small kitchen knife or something, but he had decided against it. Still, he couldn’t help feeling just a little vulnerable out here right now. The stories of these “rippers,” as some of the news reports had called them, a name that had circulated quickly before the electricity, cable, and internet were all turned off, were flashing through his mind. Could there be rippers out here? Rippers in his own neighborhood? Had the disease reached their neighborhood? A twinge of fear ran through him, and he wondered if he should be out here without some kind of protection; at least a pair of rubber gloves and a cloth tied around his face. But how would that look if the authorities happened to drive by, a black man out on the street with a mask and gloves. It was sad that he had to worry about something like that even as society was in the process of breaking down, but the thought had entered his mind.

Besides, the other people he’d seen hurrying to Helen’s house hadn’t been wearing cloths tied around their faces. They hadn’t been wearing dust masks, or any kind of gas masks at all. Maybe they knew something.

God, he hoped so.

The world around him felt surreal, that now-familiar feeling that kept coming back to him, like this was all some kind of dream (or more accurately a nightmare) that he couldn’t wake up from.

Moments later he walked up the steps to Helen’s front porch. He knocked on her front door, three loud knocks. He glanced around at the empty street. There were still the faint sounds of sirens somewhere in the distance, airplanes and helicopters flying around over the city across the river, gunshots and booms, and other sounds of violence.

The front door opened. A man Ray had seen in the neighborhood stood in the doorway, but he didn’t know the man’s name. The man had a scowl on his face like Ray had interrupted a private party.

And maybe this was some kind of private party.

“Yes?” the man asked.

Ray was at a loss for words. He had irrationally expected to be invited inside like the others had been, like his residence in this neighborhood entitled his attendance here to whatever this was. But what could he say? I saw some neighbors go inside, and I want to know what’s going on.

A second later Helen was at the door. The man moved out of the way and she stood in the doorway with a smile. It wasn’t a warm smile, almost an obligatory smile, like a smile at a funeral, a smile of shared misery and understanding.

Ray still didn’t know what to say.

“Ray,” Helen said, and the warmth in her voice set Ray at ease a little.

“I . . . I saw . . . there were some people coming to your house.”

Helen stopped his stumbling words with a firm nod. Then she opened her door wider, inviting him in. “Ray, welcome. Come on inside.”

Ray entered and then Helen closed and locked the front door.

Helen was an older woman, maybe in her late fifties, but she was still slim and attractive. Ray had seen her jogging around the neighborhood streets, keeping to her workout religiously. She lived alone. Divorced? Widowed? Ray didn’t know. He really didn’t know much about Helen, or much about any of his neighbors. He and Kim had bought this house a few years ago, and in that time he had talked to some of his neighbors from time to time, exchanging a few pleasantries, but that was as far as it usually went. Ray was a private person, but now he wished he would have gotten to know his closest neighbors a little better.

“What’s going on?” Ray asked, hoping his question didn’t sound accusatory.

If it did, Helen didn’t show it. “We’re having a neighborhood meeting. Everyone’s invited.” She shot the man who had opened the front door a disapproving glance.

I didn’t receive an invitation, Ray almost said, but bit down on the words.

“This is Tim Sherman,” Helen said, introducing the rude man who had opened the door for Ray.

Ray offered a hand even though he didn’t really want to. “Ray Daniels,” he said.

Tim shook Ray’s hand, a quick and weak shake. Then he drew his hand back quickly like he didn’t really like touching Ray’s skin. Ray was used to that kind of reaction from some people. Tim was as tall as Ray, but his arms and legs were much thinner, even though he had a potbelly pushing his shirt out. His dark hair was receding and he had the pallid flesh of an unhealthy person. His eyes were small and coal-black. Beady eyes. Suspicious eyes.

“Where’s Kim?” Helen asked.

Ray was a little shocked that Helen knew Kim’s name. Who knew? Maybe Kim and Helen talked while Ray was at work. “Uh . . . she’s back at the house with the kids.”

“Are they okay?” There was real concern on Helen’s face and in her voice.

“Yeah. They’re fine.”

Helen nodded. “Good. Come on into the living room. We’re about to get started.”

That surreal feeling was back again, making Ray’s head feel light, like he was struggling to swim through the thickness of a dream. He followed Helen, and Tim followed him, walking right behind him as they entered the family room off of the formal living room. There were seven other people seated on couches, a love seat, two recliners, and an assortment of dining room chairs; all of the furniture made a big circle in the room. It was still murky in Helen’s house, even though the world outside was lightening up quickly. A few battery-powered lamps were lit and they gave off a little bit of light.

Ray recognized most of the people in the room; he’d seen them out on their front porches, mowing their lawns, tending to their gardens. He had waved at them as he drove past or when he jogged by. But he had never stopped to talk to many of them. He hadn’t gotten to know hardly any of them. They all seemed much more familiar with each other than he was with any of them, and it made him feel a little awkward as he stood there.

Most of the people had some kind of drinks in their hands, coffee cups and bottles of water or soda.

“Everybody, this is Ray Daniels from next door,” Helen said.

Ray nodded at everyone.

Helen began pointing out the others, introducing them. “That’s Mr. and Mrs. Penetti,” she said, pointing at an older, overweight couple—the same couple that Ray had seen a little while ago from his bedroom window.

“Ned and Dee,” Mr. Penetti said with a big smile.

“That’s Carrie Schneider.” Helen pointed to a woman in her forties who looked like a librarian with her conservative haircut and oversized glasses. She nodded and looked scared to death.

“James Tober,” Helen said, pointing at a stick-thin man with slicked-back hair who stared at Ray with the same degree of suspiciousness that Tim had shown.

“And those two are Jack and Angie.” Helen pointed out an elderly couple who sat huddled together on the couch.

The last one Helen introduced was Donny, a stocky man who sat in a dining room chair closest to the archway that led back to the living room. He wore work jeans, a camouflage jacket, a beat-up baseball cap, and work boots. He had a hard look about him, and he just nodded at Ray.

“And you’ve already met Tim.”

“Yes,” Ray said as he took the last available dining room chair—he’d already received the warm reception from Tim.

“We’re just getting together, trying to exchange any information we have with each other,” Helen explained, bringing Ray up to speed.

That was fine with Ray, it was exactly what he’d hoped was going on.

James Tober stared at Ray. “Hey, don’t you work for the government?”

Ray nodded, and then glanced at the others. He could feel the weight of all of their stares, the weight of their suspicion. He was suddenly the enemy in this room, and he felt the same way that he’d felt at the bank yesterday morning when the three young men had looked his way, staring at him like he was the cause of all of this.

“Yes,” Ray answered, and then cleared his throat a little. “I work for the government. I mean, I did. I got laid off yesterday. Our whole department got shut down.”

“Why?” James asked.

“They didn’t say. We got to work yesterday morning and none of our keycards worked. My supervisor called me and told me that we’d all been shut down.” It was a small lie, but he didn’t feel like going into a long explanation about something he didn’t really have the answers to.

“He didn’t say why your department was shut down?” James pressed, not hiding his suspicion.

“I think he was trying to, but the cell phone was breaking up. Then it quit working completely.”

A few knowing nods from around the room, the trauma etched on their faces like they remembered the exact moment their cell phones stopped working.

James leaned forward, his sharp elbows on his bony knees, his eyes never wavering from Ray. “What did you used to do for the government?”

Helen jumped in quickly. “We’re not here to interrogate anyone.”

“I wasn’t interrogating,” James snapped, sitting up ramrod straight again, looking at the others around the room for backup. “I was just asking him a simple question.”

“We’re just trying to figure out what’s really going on,” Helen said. “We’ve all heard reports of banks closing, of the government shutting down, of curfews, of martial law.”

“People killing people,” Carrie said, her voice trembling a little. She adjusted her glasses like it was a nervous habit.

“Rippers,” Dee said. “That’s what they were calling them on the news yesterday before the cable went out.”

The others began speaking at the same time, their words turning to a jumble of voices.

“. . . a bioweapon, some kind of disease unleashed on us . . .”

“. . . the Iranians, that’s what I think . . .”

“. . . our own government did this to us . . .”

“. . . or they let it happen . . .”

“. . . it’s just nature fighting back . . .”

Helen jumped in to moderate the out-of-control discussion. “Let’s all take turns with our comments so we can hear each other.”

The room fell silent.

“What did you do in the government?” Tim asked Ray, not letting James’s earlier question go.

This time Helen didn’t jump to Ray’s defense.

Ray felt everyone’s curiosity and their impatience, so he answered the question: “I worked for the CDC.”

CHAPTER 11

Mike and Vanessa were awake. Ray had only been gone for thirty minutes, and it was like the kids could tell he was gone, snapping awake and asking where he was.

The room was already brightening up with the direct morning sunlight streaming in from the front windows. Mike was lying down inside their “fort,” reading one of his Incredible Hulk comic books. His head and arms were poking out of their tent. Vanessa was right beside him in the tent, hovering over him as he tried to read.

“Come on,” Vanessa told Mike. “Let’s play fort.”

“I want to read this,” Mike said, trying to shoo her away.

“Let’s play fort. You promised.”

“I need some ‘me time’ right now.”

“Mike,” Kim warned. “Don’t talk to your sister like that.”

Mike didn’t respond, trying to ignore them both and get back to his comic book.

Kim knew the kids were restless, they were scared and confused, and now they were lashing out in their own ways.

“Where’s Dad?” Mike asked again.

“I already told you,” Kim answered. “He went to the neighbor’s house to see if he can find out what’s going on with the electricity.” It wasn’t completely a lie.

“Whose house?”

“Helen’s house,” Kim told him.

“Who’s Helen?”

“She lives next door,” Kim said, hoping to leave it at that. She really didn’t know Helen too well. She had spoken to the woman a few times, waved at her as she jogged by. She seemed to be a nice enough lady.

“I hope he comes back soon,” Mike mumbled.

“I’m sure he will.”

“I want the lights to come back on,” Vanessa said. “I don’t like the dark.”

“I’m not afraid of it,” Mike said immediately.

“Yes, you are,” she teased, smiling at him.

“No, I’m not. You are.”

Kim didn’t jump in this time—she let them argue for a bit, letting them get some of it out of their systems. If their teasing turned into a real argument, then she would step in.

She glanced at the bedroom window that looked out to that empty lot that she always hated so much; it was the only empty lot left in the neighborhood, apparently a lot no one wanted to buy. She thought about peeking out the window to see if she could tell what was going on over at Helen’s house, but she didn’t want Mike and Vanessa joining her to gawk out the window.

Vanessa snuggled up right beside her brother in the tent, reading over his shoulder.

Mike breathed out an exaggerated sigh and looked up at Kim for help. “Mom, could you tell Vanessa to stop?”

“I wanna read, too,” Vanessa sang out.

“Vanessa, give your brother some space.”

Vanessa rolled away onto her back and stared up at the roof of her tent. “Can we have breakfast now?”

“We’re going to wait until your father comes back,” she said. She really didn’t want to start handing out food. She knew they needed to start conserving their food and she was going to plan that out with Ray. He told her that he had set some coolers in the kitchen so they could put the food from the refrigerator and freezer in them, saving as much of the food as they could.

It was a little chilly in the bedroom, and she was afraid that it was only going to get colder. If it got really cold they would have to use their fireplace downstairs, a fireplace they hadn’t used since last Christmas. She wasn’t even sure if it was clean enough to use. Couldn’t the chimney catch on fire if it wasn’t cleaned out? She wasn’t sure. Maybe Ray would know.

“But I’m hungry,” Vanessa whined.

Kim knew Vanessa was testing her. They were all bored and uncomfortable, and the kids were taking it out on her.

Kim was about to tell Vanessa that they were going to wait for their father and that was the last she was going to hear about it, but then she froze. She’d heard a loud banging noise from somewhere downstairs.

Apparently Mike and Vanessa had heard the noise, too. They were just as still as she was, both of them staring at the bedroom door with wide eyes.

“What was that?” Mike whispered.

“Shh,” Kim hissed.

Another noise from downstairs, a crashing noise.

Someone was inside the house.

CHAPTER 12

“If you used to work for the CDC,” Tim said to Ray, “then you must know what’s happening out there.”

Some of the other people around the room began talking all at the same time again. Ray heard the words: diseases, virus, bioweapon.

“Let him answer the question,” Helen told the group. She had a powerful and commanding voice for such a small woman.

The neighbors quieted down, all of their eyes on Ray, waiting for his answer to Tim’s question.

“I worked for the CDC, but I’m not a scientist. I’m an accountant. I don’t work with diseases, I work with numbers.” He tried a small smile. “I’m just a number cruncher. A bean counter.”

Some of the people in their little group nodded slightly, their hope deflated, but accepting his answer.

But Tim didn’t really seem to believe Ray. “You must’ve heard something at work. Some kind of rumors around the office.”

Ray thought of Doug and his supposed contacts down at the Atlanta headquarters, but he shook his head slightly. “No. Sorry. I work with other accountants.”

Carrie spoke up. “I don’t know what we should do.”

Ray was glad that Carrie was changing the subject.

“We wait until the authorities contact us,” James said. “They’ll tell us what to do. Maybe there’s been some kind of terrorist attack. Maybe a cyber-attack too. Right now we all need to do our part to help, which right now is follow the curfew and martial law.”

Helen looked at James. “Even if this was a terrorist attack, the government has no right to declare martial law and shut down our electricity and cell phones, keep us in our homes. We can’t stand for this.”

A few of the neighbors nodded, agreeing with Helen, but most of the others didn’t seem to share Helen’s enthusiasm for resistance against martial law.

James jumped to his feet. “This isn’t getting anywhere. None of us knows what’s going on.”

“I think he does,” Tim grumbled, looking Ray’s way again.

James ignored Tim. “There’s nothing we can do right now but sit and wait.” He looked at Helen. “What do you want to do, go and march in the streets?”

Helen looked offended, staring right back at James, her mouth a thin slash.

James looked at the others. “I’m going back home to my family. It’s getting light outside. If they are . . . patrolling, then I don’t want them to see me outside. I’m going to do what we were told, I’m going to be patient and wait.”

“None of you have driven around here this morning, have you?” Donny asked. He’d been quiet the whole time as he sat in his dining room chair with his thick arms folded over his beefy chest. He seemed to be somehow leaning back in his chair even though all four legs were on the floor. The brim of his baseball cap was pulled down low.

Everyone was quiet. Donny hadn’t said a word so far, and both his voice and his words had halted everything.

“What do you mean?” Tim asked him.

“I drove around a little last night,” Donny said. His words came out in a slow drawl. “And a little this morning before I came here. Right before dawn.” He paused for just a second. “You guys don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Know that the entrance to this subdivision is blocked off.”

“What entrance?” Carrie asked. “You mean our entrance? The entrance to our neighborhood?”

Donny nodded, his movements as slow as his words. But Ray believed the man could move quickly if he needed to. He reminded Ray of a large reptile conserving his energy until it was required.

“The military and cops are everywhere out there,” Donny said. “All over the place. I saw them last night on the roads. And then I saw them again this morning. They’re staked out in front of our subdivision. They’ve got us quarantined. They’ve got some of the other neighborhoods quarantined, too.”

“Quarantined?” Tim asked in disbelief.

“I saw them,” Donny said.

“But maybe that’s a good thing,” Carrie suggested. “If there’s a virus out there in the air, maybe it’s not here yet and the soldiers are here to protect us.”

“They’re all wearing rubber gloves and gas masks,” Donny informed them in his unemotional drawl.

“I saw our crazy redneck neighbor wearing a gas mask all day yesterday,” Dee said. She looked at Donny like she might have just offended him, her face turning red.

If Donny had been offended, he wasn’t showing it.

“Maybe they are trying to protect us,” James said, clinging to Carrie’s theory. “The president said that the authorities would be reaching out to us. Well, they’re here now. All we need to do now is wait. They’ll tell us what to do.”

“You think they’re going to just hand out gas masks to everyone?” Donny asked. He still didn’t have any emotion in his voice, like a man resigned to his fate. “They’re out there to keep us in. To make sure none of us leave.”

“You don’t know that,” Tim said.

“Why don’t you try to leave, then?” Donny challenged.

Tim didn’t respond.

“They might be making sure we don’t leave so we don’t go somewhere and get infected,” James said. “Spread it around.” He stood up. “I’m going back home and wait for instructions. I’m going to follow orders.”

“James,” Helen pleaded.

James didn’t respond. He was already leaving.

Others were standing up, ready to leave, nervousness infecting the group.

“I think we need to talk about this more,” Helen said in one last attempt to get them to stay.

“James is right,” Ned Penetti said and took his wife’s hand as both of them headed for the front door. “There’s nothing we can do right now except wait.”

“I should go, too,” Carrie said and got up to leave.

Me, too,” Tim said. He and Carrie left the room together. Donny was on his feet, following them out.

Ray was the last one left. He stood up. “Thank you, Helen. I know you were just trying to help.”

She touched Ray’s arm, stopping him. “Please wait a moment.”

Ray didn’t respond, but he waited.

“Let me just check the front door,” she said. “Make sure it’s locked.”

He nodded.

Helen darted out of the room. She was back in less than a minute, obviously satisfied that the front door was secure.

Ray was ready to go, ready to get back to Kim and the kids. He felt odd being in Helen’s house, asked to stay by a woman he barely knew. But she was looking at him in a strange way now.

“Could you stay for a few minutes?” she asked.

“I really need to get going.”

“It was you who I wanted to get here,” she told him. “I called everyone together hoping to get you here. Hoping you’d see everyone here and come over.”

CHAPTER 13

Another crashing noise sounded from downstairs.

Vanessa bolted out of their homemade tent and jumped onto the bed with Kim, clutching onto her.

Mike was out of the tent, too. He stood in front of it, staring at the bedroom door.

There was another banging noise from downstairs. This one sounded even louder, closer.

“Mom . . .” Vanessa whispered, still clinging to her.

“It might be your father,” Kim whispered. She didn’t really believe that, but she hoped she was convincing Mike and Vanessa of the possibility. But she could already tell they didn’t believe it was Ray down there, the noises were too loud, too violent. It sounded like someone had broken in through one of the windows or doors. And now it sounded like stuff was being thrown around down there, furniture being tipped over, knickknacks being thrown and crashing apart.

Maybe it was more than one person.

Mike still watched the door, frozen in the middle of the bedroom. “That’s not Dad,” he said.

Someone was coming up the stairs now, stomping up them, not even trying to be quiet.

Kim bolted into action, rushing to the bedroom door. She made sure the doorknob was locked, and then she pushed at the heavy dresser, trying to get it back in front of the door to block it. The dresser was heavy, and it was difficult to push it across the thick carpeting of their bedroom floor, but she put all of her strength into it, pushing like a football player trying to move a tackling sled.

Mike was beside her in a flash, helping, grunting with effort.

Finally the dresser was moving across the floor and they got it in front of the bedroom door. Maybe it wouldn’t stop someone completely, but it would slow them down.

Slow them down for what? Where were she and the kids supposed to go? Jump out the window?

Kim saw the golf club Ray had brought up yesterday, it was leaning against the wall. She grabbed it, gripping the handle like it was a baseball bat. She looked at her children and they stared back with wide eyes of terror. She gestured at them to run to the master bathroom, mouthing the word “go” at them.

Vanessa was already crying and Mike hugged her, whispering something into her ear that seemed to calm her down just a little. He guided his little sister to the bathroom.

Kim looked back at the bedroom door behind the dresser.

The doorknob rattled slightly behind the dresser. Someone was testing it.

The rattling stopped.

It seemed like the silence stretched out for a long moment, the person on the other side quiet for a long moment.

Kim stood very still in the middle of the room, the golf club in her hands. She stared at the dresser in front of the drawer, willing the person behind it to go away, hoping that the locked door would discourage him.

A ripper—that’s who it is out there. One of the infected ones, a ripper coming to tear them apart with his bare hands, to eat them.

For another few seconds Kim watched the door. She had begun to believe that the intruder had moved back down the hall, but then whoever was out there began pounding at the door.

Kim wanted to believe it was Ray at the door. She was waiting for the three knocks, followed by two more—Ray’s code identifying that it was him. Maybe he’d forgotten the code; maybe he was panicking and beating at the door because it was locked. But no, Ray would call out to them; he would call their names. It wasn’t her husband on the other side of that door.

Kim hurried over to the bathroom door and looked in on Mike and Vanessa. They were over by the bathtub. Mike held Vanessa, comforting her. She was still crying, but at least she wasn’t wailing. Maybe if they were quiet the person (ripper) on the other side of the door would just go away.

“I want Daddy,” Vanessa whimpered, her voice sounding so loud now.

“Shh,” Mike whispered to her. “He’ll be here soon.”

Kim hoped that was true, but then she was afraid that there might be more than one intruder out there. Maybe Ray could fight off one of them, but not three or four of them. And what if they had guns? She was afraid she was going to hear a gunshot at the door at any second.

She looked at her kids again and gestured at them to stay put. She hurried across the room to the window that looked out at the vacant lot. She saw Helen’s house but she couldn’t see any activity over there, nobody in the windows.

How far was it down to the ground? She looked down at the grass two stories below. Could she drop her kids down there without them breaking their bones? Would jumping out of the window be their last resort if this person broke into the bedroom?

That person behind the door was relentless, the constant pounding maddening.

A moment later the door’s wood splintered near the doorknob like the person had finally managed to kick it in. The door crashed open a few inches, slamming right into the back of the dresser, and that piece of furniture was the only thing keeping their intruder out, but it wasn’t going to hold him back for long.

Kim gripped the golf club even tighter, ready to swing if she needed to.

CHAPTER 14

“You wanted to get me here?” Ray asked. “Why?” An idea was already running through his mind; Helen didn’t believe his story that he didn’t have any idea about what was going on. She knew he worked at the CDC, and she wanted some answers.

And hadn’t he told a lie? He knew a little more about what was going on than he was letting on. He’d gotten the phone call from Craig who claimed to have answers at his house. But how could he tell anyone about that? Besides, maybe he’d heard Craig wrong. He’d only heard part of the conversation with the call breaking up so badly.

“Could I offer you a cup of coffee?” Helen asked.

“How did you make coffee without any electricity?”

“I’ve got a small propane camping stove. Enough to boil some water.”

Coffee sounded good; Ray could admit that he’d gotten somewhat addicted to his morning cups of coffee over the years.

“Just a quick cup of coffee,” Helen said. “I really need to talk to you about something.”

He nodded at her and followed her into the kitchen, grabbing a few chairs along the way to help put them away.

In the kitchen, Helen poured Ray a cup of coffee. “Cream or sugar?” she asked.

“Both please,” he told her.

Helen spooned some sugar into the cup and stirred it. She had a small sealed packet of cream like they had at the restaurants, and she handed a couple of the packets to Ray along with the coffee.

He wondered where she’d gotten the containers of cream from, but he didn’t ask. He was sure they had to be okay if they were still sealed. He opened the cream and poured it into his coffee, stirring slowly. The aroma of the coffee was wonderful and he wondered when he would drink another hot cup of coffee after today.

“Something bad is happening,” Helen said.

Ray wasn’t sure if she was making a statement or asking a question.

“And I believe you may know more about what’s going on than you told us.”

There it was; that suspicion was back. Ray didn’t answer, giving nothing away.

“I’m not condemning you,” Helen said quickly, as if she meant no offense. “I might do the same thing in your situation.”

Ray took another sip of his coffee. He was really ready to go now, already thinking of a tactful way to end this conversation.

“I have a daughter,” Helen said. “Her name is Emma. She lives in a condominium in a complex called The Groves.” Helen got up and went to her purse on the counter. She rummaged inside and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She brought it back to the kitchen table with her and slid it across the table to Ray. “Please, take this.”

“What is it?”

“Directions to my daughter’s condo. I drew them up for you.”

Ray was a little shocked, unable to hide it now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why do you want me to have this?”

Helen smiled. “I’m sick, Ray.”

The sudden change in the conversation was making Ray’s head spin.

“I’ve got stage-four cancer,” she continued with a wan smile. “I’ve tried everything: chemotherapy, radiation, nutrition and exercise.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “Nothing worked for long. I’ve got maybe a few months left now. I need someone to take care of my daughter.”

It was one shock after another for Ray. How could a woman he barely knew ask him to take care of her daughter? He had his own wife and children to worry about.

But Helen continued on before Ray could even say anything. “Emma can help you when you leave.”

“When we leave? Who said we were leaving?”

Helen just smiled at him like it was already a foregone conclusion. “Emma can show you the way.”

This conversation was getting a little too weird for Ray. He began to wonder if Helen was still in her right mind, and he hoped she hadn’t tampered with the coffee. He pushed the cup away and smiled politely. “I really need to get going.”

Helen nodded. “Please, Ray. I don’t have much time left. And Emma can help you find Avalon.”

Everything stopped for a moment, Ray’s whole world screeching to a halt. He just stared at Helen, his body and mind frozen for just a second. “Avalon,” he finally whispered. “How do you know about Avalon?”

“I don’t know what Avalon is,” Helen said. “But Emma mentioned it to me. All I know is that she can help you find it when the time comes.”

Ray got to his feet. This conversation was over now; it was all getting too bizarre for him. “I’m sorry. I really need to go.”

Helen was on her feet, too. “Yes,” she said. “You should get back to your family now.” She had the folded-up piece of paper in her hand. “Please, take this.”

Ray took the paper and stuffed it into his pants pocket.

“Thank you,” she whispered like she believed he was going to grant the request she was asking.

Ray was on Helen’s front porch a moment later. He could hear her locking the front door as he shuffled down the porch steps to the walkway in her front yard that led out to the sidewalk. It was still cold out here, but warming up quickly. Yet the cool air felt refreshing to him, helping to clear his mind a little.

Nobody was out on the street. Everyone else must have gone back to their houses. He thought about what Donny had said, about the soldiers in gas masks guarding the entrance to their subdivision. He almost expected to see a military vehicle turn the corner to patrol their street.

He hurried down the street to his house. He needed to get back inside, maybe try to sleep for a few hours. He hadn’t slept well last night and he just needed some time to shut his mind down for a while.

As he walked down the sidewalk, he couldn’t get the strange conversation he’d just had with Helen out of his mind. He had the folded-up paper in his pants pocket with the directions on it. He had taken the folded-up paper out of politeness, taken it just to get out of her house, but he was going to throw it away when he got home.

Are you? Are you really going to throw it away? Even if she knows something about Avalon?

Where had that thought come from? He really needed some sleep.

Ray was past the empty lot that separated his house from Helen’s house now, right at the front corner of his lawn. He looked up at the side window of their bedroom. The window was still open a crack, just the way he’d left it forty-five minutes ago when he’d left to go to Helen’s house.

He heard a scream from the window . . . Kim’s scream.

Ray bolted across the front yard; he’d never run so fast in his life. He was around the garage and to the “back” door.

The door had been forced open.

He heard Kim scream again from inside the house.

CHAPTER 15

When Tim left Helen’s house, he decided not to go home. Instead, he walked past his house to the main street that led towards the entrance of their neighborhood. He wanted to see if there really were soldiers guarding the entrance to their subdivision like Donny had said there was.

Besides, it wasn’t like he had anyone waiting at home for him. His wife had left him six months ago, tired of his drinking and gambling, both of which had gotten worse over the last few months of their marriage.

Hell with her. If he wanted to drink, then he would drink. She couldn’t tell him what to do. He hoped she was happy living back with her mother again, a woman who had hated him since the day that he’d married her daughter.

You’re not good enough for my daughter.

Well, she’d never actually said those words, but he could practically read her mind. He was sure that if his wife were still here, she would tell him not to go check out the entrance. She would tell him it was too dangerous. Hell, now everything had become too dangerous if you could believe what was on the news these days.

He’d gotten drunk last night, drunker than usual, and the hangover now was pretty bad after only a few hours of sleep. The beer and whiskey used to help him sleep; it had been his excuse to drink for the last fifteen years, but now the alcohol wasn’t even helping him stay asleep very long anymore. He felt queasy right now, and shaky. His stomach felt sick. Maybe he was hungry.

What if these are symptoms of whatever virus is supposedly out here, the one that’s turning people into animals, into crazed killing machines, into rippers?

No. It was just a hangover. That’s all.

Still, he’d been having some strange thoughts the last two days. And some really bizarre dreams. He’d never dreamed much in his life, or he didn’t really remember them if he did (his wife had always joked about his lack of imagination), but these last two nights he’d had some terrible nightmares, some real whoppers. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t slept very long; it wasn’t the alcohol waking him up, but the nightmares. He couldn’t remember the nightmares, but there was a man in the dreams, a man hiding in the shadows. And the man’s eyes shined in the darkness.

Maybe he would go home after checking out Donny’s story and get a few hours of sleep. His leg muscles were beginning to ache just from this walk to the entrance. He wished now that he would have gotten his car and driven it down here. He had expected to see others from Helen’s house doing the same thing he was, checking out the entrance, but the streets were clear.

When he turned the corner onto the main street—the street that separated their neighborhood into two major areas—he saw the military vehicles blocking the entrance and exit to the neighborhood. The entrance consisted of two roads, an in and an out road, both of the roads separated by an island of shrubs and flowers that the HOA took care of. He slowed his walk down, staring at the vehicles parked in front of the entrance; he wasn’t sure what kind of vehicles they were, maybe some kind of Humvee or even some kind of small tanks, but they were definitely military. Of course these days the police forces were using vehicles, gear, and weapons that looked more and more like the military.

His curiosity was piqued, and his aching leg muscles and nausea were forgotten for the moment. He kept walking towards the entrance.

As he got closer, within forty feet, three soldiers left their posts beside the vehicles to stand guard together, rifles in their gloved hands, gas masks over their faces.

“Sir, please return home,” the soldier in the middle said as Tim approached. Even though he’d said the word please, it didn’t seem like a suggestion.

Tim stopped when he was within a few feet of the soldiers.

“Sir, there’s a curfew,” the soldier said.

“Curfew. That’s only at night, isn’t it?”

“Sir, please return home.”

“I can’t leave the neighborhood?”

“Please return home, sir.” The soldier’s voice sounded like Darth Vader through the gas mask.

“Why can’t I leave? Are we being quarantined? Is there some kind of disease?”

The soldier didn’t answer.

“Why are you wearing those gas masks and rubber gloves?”

“Just a precaution, sir.”

“Is there some kind of virus that we should know about?”

“The safest thing for you to do is to return home,” the soldier in the middle said, obviously the spokesman for the group. The soldiers on each side of him looked tense, their eyes wide behind their face shields.

Tim took a few steps closer.

All three soldiers aimed their rifles at him.

Tim stopped, his hands shooting up in surrender. “Hey, wait.”

The soldier on the left rushed up to Tim, aiming his rifle right at his head. “You need to come with us.”

“No. Hey, wait. I’ll go home. I  . . . I didn’t know the curfew was in the daytime.”

The soldier lowered his weapon and pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his jacket pocket.

“No wait,” Tim pleaded. The nausea was back again, raging in his stomach, acidy vomit threatening to come up. “No. You don’t want me. Listen, there’s someone else. Someone you should know about. There are people in this neighborhood plotting against you.”

“Wait a minute,” the middle soldier said, holding up a gloved hand to the soldier with the handcuffs. He turned his attention back to Tim and nodded, indicating for him to continue talking.

Tim could barely catch his breath. This situation had gotten out of control so quickly. “There’s a . . . a woman. Her name is Helen. She . . . she had a meeting this morning. She was getting everyone together, trying to get everyone to fight back.”

“Where is this woman?”

Tim gave them Helen’s address.

The soldier nodded.

“There’s this other guy you might want to know about,” Tim said. “A black guy. His name is Ray . . . Ray something. I can’t remember his last name. I don’t know where he lives. But he works for the CDC. I . . . I think he knows something about all of this, something he’s not telling anyone.”

The middle soldier looked at the other two, almost like they were communicating telepathically with each other. Then the solider looked back at Tim. “Go home, sir. If you try to leave we will have to detain you.”

Tim nodded and turned around. He hurried back down the sidewalk toward the street his house was on, trying not to run, afraid that he would feel a bullet in his back at any moment.

CHAPTER 16

Ray bolted inside his house, his mind a blur of white-hot panic. He raced through the laundry room into the kitchen and then up the stairs.

He wanted to call out Kim’s name. Call out for Mike and Vanessa. But he also didn’t want to alert the intruder (or intruders—there could be more than one).

Kim screamed again.

She’s still alive . . . Oh God, let her and the kids still be alive.

He raced down the hall, time stretching out, everything in sharp focus like his senses were intensified.

There was a crashing noise coming from the bedroom.

Ray rushed inside their bedroom, squeezing past the dresser that was tipped over, but still partially blocking the door.

Kim was on their bed, held down by a man in a dark shirt and baggy jeans. He had his hands around her throat. Even from where Ray stood, he could see that her eyes were bulging in her face. She was pulling at the man’s arms, trying to break his grip from her neck.

Then Ray saw his children.

They were alive—thank God, they were still alive.

Vanessa was at the bathroom door, hugging the doorframe, watching the attack on her mother with wide eyes that were wet with tears. Mike was near the bed, the golf club in his hands, choking up on it like he was holding a baseball bat.

“Get off my mom!” Mike screamed as he ran at the man, crying. He hadn’t even noticed that Ray had come into the bedroom. He swung the golf club at the man, hitting him across the back, a hard swing for an eleven-year-old boy.

The man let Kim’s throat go and turned to Mike.

Kim drew in a choked breath, struggling to breathe, barely clinging to consciousness.

The man was young, maybe in his mid-twenties. His clothes and hair were filthy. There was what looked like blood caked around his mouth and on his hands; he’d left bloody smears all over the comforter on the bed, and on Kim.

It was the look in the man’s eyes that frightened Ray—the look of an animal, of a wild beast. The attacker hadn’t noticed Ray either, and Mike’s focus was on the man in front of him.

Mike backed up towards the bathroom. He still had the golf club in his hands, but he looked too frightened to use it now.

Ray was across the room in a flash. He grabbed the man from behind in a chokehold, twisting him to the side, wrenching him off of his feet and slamming him down to the floor.

“Get out of my house!” Ray screamed at the man as he picked him up, dragging him towards the bedroom door.

The man was a few inches shorter than Ray and at least twenty-five pounds lighter, but he was surprisingly strong. He was like a crazed animal. His hair, skin, and clothes stank of sweat and rot. He was growling like some kind of rabid dog.

Ray tried to push the man closer to the bedroom door, but they were locked in battle.

And what was he supposed to do once he got him out the door? Force him down the stairs? Force him all the way through the living room and then out the kitchen door, which was busted now?

The man wrenched free from Ray’s grip in one violent twist and then whirled around like lightning, pushing Ray back and knocking him off balance. The man was like a tornado, his hands like claws.

“Dad!” Mike called. “Here!”

Ray looked at Mike. His son had already tossed the golf club through the air at him. Again, time seemed to slow down as Ray caught the club right in the middle of the handle.

The intruder was running at Ray again.

Ray turned with the club in his hands, holding it like a baseball bat, just like Mike had done. He was already swinging without even thinking about it.

Most people might have stopped when they saw a golf club coming right at them, but not this man. It was almost like the man didn’t even realize what was happening . . . or he didn’t care.

The club connected with the side of the man’s head, the impact making a sickening crunch. The intruder dropped instantly, his body crumpling down to the floor. He was on their carpet in the middle of the room, writhing on the floor, but still growling.

“Hit him again, Dad!”

Ray couldn’t do that. The man was down on the floor now, defenseless. If he hit the man again he could kill him.

The intruder struggled back up into a half-sitting position, rolling over onto his side, pushing himself up onto his knees, trying to get back to his feet. He was still growling, drool spilling out of the corner of his mouth, drool mixed with dark blood. The wound at the side of his head was already bleeding, matting his filthy hair to the side of his dented scalp. His eyes didn’t seem to focus on anything, but he wasn’t letting that stop him.

“Stay down!” Ray yelled at the man.

“Dad!” Mike screamed. “Hit him again!”

Ray glanced at Kim on the bed. She was still holding her throat and moaning, but at least she was still conscious.

The intruder was back on his feet, and even though he was a little unsteady, it seemed like his vision was clearing. He smiled; it was a wicked smile rimmed in blood. The blood from his head wound was flowing more freely, soaking the shoulder and sleeve of his dark shirt, making the shirt look shiny in the bright morning light.

“Dad!” Mike screamed again.

Ray didn’t turn around to look, but his son sounded closer.

“Stay away, Mike!”

“Hit him again, Dad!” There was panic in Mike’s voice.

Kim was still fighting for breath, but at least she was coughing, getting air into her lungs.

The intruder charged.

Ray didn’t have a choice—he swung the golf club. The man didn’t even try to defend himself. The club connected in nearly the same spot on the man’s head as before. He was down again, and this time he wasn’t moving.

Was he dead?

Ray didn’t know for sure.

Mike ran up to Ray. He was crying.

“It’s okay, Mike,” Ray said. He dropped the golf club onto the carpeted floor. The bloodstained head of the club bounced off of the carpet a little, leaving a few splotches of bright red blood behind.

Vanessa ran up to Ray, hugging him.

Ray looked at Kim. She was sitting up, her eyes wide with shock as she massaged her throat.

“Kim . . .”

“I’m okay,” she told him. Her voice was a little raspy.

“I didn’t . . . I didn’t have a choice,” Ray said. He looked down at the intruder, who was still motionless, his eyes half-open, blood staining the carpet all around his head.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Ray said again. “He was coming at me . . .”

Kim nodded. She understood.

If I would’ve been back here a few minutes earlier, Ray thought. If I hadn’t stayed for that cup of coffee with Helen . . .

And then an even more terrible thought occurred to him: What if he had stayed a little longer at Helen’s house? What if he would have finished his cup of coffee and listened to her rambling a few minutes longer?

The kids ran over to Kim, both of them hugging her, both of them crying. She hugged them back.

Ray looked back down at the man. “I didn’t have a choice,” he whispered.

CHAPTER 17

Twenty minutes later Ray, Kim, Mike and Vanessa were all in the kitchen. Kim got a juice box for Vanessa and a Coke for Mike. She took another can of Coke, which was surprisingly still pretty cold, and held it gently against her throat. It still hurt, but she didn’t think there was any kind of permanent damage, but she was sure it would be sore for a while.

Mike and Vanessa sat at the kitchen table. They were both quiet, both in shock after seeing their mother attacked and their father kill the intruder with a golf club.

The kitchen was gloomy with all of the blinds and curtains drawn. Ray found a bucket and was collecting some cleaning supplies: rags, garbage bags, bleach in a spray bottle, disinfectant, a small scrub brush, dishwashing gloves, plastic wrap. He searched the cabinet underneath the sink where Kim kept most of those things. He was panning the flashlight beam around, checking to see if he had missed anything.

She had volunteered to help him with the cleaning tasks, but he’d told her to rest.

“Mom,” Vanessa said. “Can I have some cookies?”

Kim didn’t answer right away. She’d been trying to save the dry and canned food for as long as she could. She didn’t know how long the food was going to last, but how could she deny her daughter a treat after what she’d just seen upstairs?

“Just a few,” Kim said in a whispered, raspy voice. She took out the pack of cookies and put three on the plate for each of them.

Vanessa took a bite of the chocolate chip cookie, but Mike wasn’t touching his. Kim didn’t say anything; she didn’t feel like talking any more than she had to at the moment. She stood there wondering how long the food was going to last. How long could they ration out the food they had? How long were the power and phones going to be out? How long was all of this going to go on?

What if it didn’t end? What if it went on and on? How were they going to eat? They didn’t have any cash on them, and even if they did, the stores were probably cleaned out by now. And there would be no delivery trucks coming.

She felt panic building up inside of her. She had never considered the possibility of starving, or of scrounging for food. Begging for it. Would she steal to feed her family? Would she hurt someone for food and water? She tried to push those thoughts away.

Ray had already hammered a few large nails into the damaged kitchen door to keep it closed. He’d left the heads of the nails sticking out far enough so he could get them back out if they needed to leave. It wasn’t a permanent solution for the broken door, but it would have to do for now while he cleaned up the mess upstairs.

She glanced at the busted panes of glass in the door, the blood on the jagged pieces in the frame where the intruder had reached in to unlock the door. She remembered the man’s face so close to hers, his eyes so wild, like an animal’s. He was like a wild dog attacking her, no mercy in those glassy eyes of his, nothing but rage. His breath had smelled like warm roadkill.

Ray walked over to her with his bucket in his hand. “I’m going upstairs to . . .”

She just nodded.

He hesitated for a moment, staring at her like he was going to say something else. But then he walked away.

She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but she didn’t. Maybe he didn’t want to hear that from her right now. Maybe never again. She tried not to think about the fact that a few days ago their marriage had been pretty much over, Ray agreeing to leave for a while.

The kids watched Ray leave the kitchen. They seemed suddenly frightened because he wasn’t going to be there with them. They knew what he was doing; they knew he was going upstairs to clean up the mess on the bedroom floor . . . the dead man. How was she supposed to shield them from that? How was she supposed to keep them safe from the horrors outside their doors now?

She felt a little light-headed. It was just from the attack. And from the stress. She was worrying too much, but she couldn’t stop.

A scary thought came to her. What if Ray left with the kids? What if he left her alone now? She was sure that some part of him hated her for what she’d done, and she could understand that, but she couldn’t be alone; she couldn’t be away from her kids.

But she also knew that Ray felt guilty for not being there when that ripper had broken into their house and attacked her. Maybe that meant that he still cared about her somewhere deep down inside, still loved her even after the terrible thing she’d done. Could he ever find a way to forgive her?

She wasn’t sure if he could. But she knew that they needed to stay together right now. Somehow she needed to convince Ray of that.

*

Ray carried his bucket of cleaning supplies upstairs to their bedroom. He went inside and closed the door. He really wasn’t sure exactly what to do—he’d never cleaned up after a homicide before.

He set the bucket down on the carpet and then slipped the yellow dishwashing gloves on. He wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong with this guy, but there was a good chance he was infected with some kind of disease. And now his blood was soaked into the carpet.

The man lay in a crumpled-up, almost fetal position on one side, exactly how Ray had left him. The golf club (murder weapon) was on the floor not too far away from him.

The first thing Ray did was take a plastic Wal-Mart bag out from his supplies. He lifted the man’s head up so he could slip the bag over his head, cringing at the thought of this. But it had to be done. The blood had stopped seeping out of the man’s head wound, but there was still so much of it all over the carpet. It must be under the carpet now, soaking into the wood floor underneath, into the sub-floor.

“Okay,” Ray told himself, trying to psyche himself up to do this.

He had it planned out. He was going to wrap the man’s head up in the plastic bag and then wind the plastic wrap around his head and neck. Then he could pull a garbage bag down over the top half of the man’s body. Maybe wrap some duct tape around the bag to keep it in place.

Shit, he’d forgotten the duct tape.

There was probably some tape downstairs in the garage.

He sat back down on the floor, the gloves still on his hands. He stared at the dead man. He didn’t feel like going back downstairs and getting the tape. He didn’t feel like cleaning this up. It felt like all of the energy had drained out of him suddenly.

You’re just in shock, that’s all. You need to clean this up. In a day or two this guy’s going to start stinking.

And where was he supposed to put this guy when he had him wrapped up in plastic and tape? Drag him downstairs? Put him in one of the trashcans? Stick him in the guestroom closet? Bury him in the backyard?

Ray felt like crying, and he never felt like crying. This felt so hopeless . . . everything felt so hopeless right now.

A noise from outside caught his attention as he sat there for a moment. It sounded like vehicles were parked outside in the street with their engines running, but these engines sounded loud and powerful, like trucks.

He got to his feet and went to the side window to look outside—it was the same window he’d looked out this morning before the sun had come up. He kept to the side of the window so he wouldn’t be seen as he pulled the curtains back just a little.

There were two military vehicles parked right in front of Helen’s house; they looked like Humvees, both painted tan with dark stripes, giving them a camouflage look. A moment later four soldiers with rubber gloves and gas masks left Helen’s house, two of them dragging the small woman with them. Even from the window Ray could hear her pleading with them, crying and begging as they forced her into the Humvee. There was blood on her face and staining the front of her shirt. Had they beaten her?

They were taking Helen away. Why?

It was because of the meeting they’d had this morning. Someone must have told the soldiers about her little get-together, possibly telling them that she wanted to fight back, like she was some kind of revolutionist.

They were going to question her, make her talk. They were going to beat her some more. Hurt her some more. And Ray knew it wouldn’t be long before she mentioned his name and where he lived.

He looked back at the dead body in the middle of his bedroom.

Would the soldiers believe that he had killed the man in self-defense? Would they even give him a chance to explain?

His balls felt like they had shrunk, trying to crawl up inside of his body. He felt suddenly sick to his stomach.

But one thing was very clear now—they needed to leave.

CHAPTER 18

Kim put the can of Coke she’d been holding up to her throat back into the fridge. She thought about drinking it—she was thirsty—but she thought it might hurt a little too much to swallow right now, especially the fizzy soda.

She opened the freezer and saw that they had a little bit of ice cream left. She took it out, got a spoon, and then took a bite. It was still mostly frozen and it felt good on her throat.

Ray rushed into the kitchen. Before he even said anything, she knew something was very wrong.

“I need to talk to you in the living room,” he told her.

“What’s wrong?” Mike asked, his hands around his can of Coke even though Kim didn’t even think he’d drunk any of it yet. He’d just been holding it, like it was something from the normal world that comforted him.

“Nothing,” Ray said. “You two stay here for a minute.”

Kim followed Ray into the trashed living room, both of them going to the other end, far enough away from the kitchen so their two little eavesdroppers couldn’t hear them.

Ray was scared; she couldn’t remember ever seeing her husband like this. She’d seen him angry plenty of times before, especially when he found out she’d cheated on him. She’d seen him disappointed and sad about the possibility of a divorce. She’d even seen him scared of not being able to see his kids as much as he wanted to after the divorce. But that fear was nothing like this; it was nothing like the look in his eyes right now.

“Come upstairs with me,” he whispered to her.

“I don’t want to go up there.”

“Just for a minute.”

She glanced back at the archway to the kitchen. She almost expected to see Mike peeking around the edge of the opening, spying on them. But maybe both of them had actually listened for once and remained at the table. She looked back at Ray. “I don’t want to leave them down here alone.”

Ray seemed to understand that, especially after what they’d just gone through in the last hour. He nodded, but he was still adamant. “They’ll be okay for a few minutes.”

“What is it?” she asked.

He seemed to be almost shaking with fear now.

“I don’t want to see that man again,” she said.

“It’s not that,” he whispered, his eyes darting beyond her to the archway. “It’s something else.”

“What?”

“I don’t know if they’re still outside.”

Kim’s heart skipped a beat, her body tensing. She automatically pictured more attackers outside their home, a whole pack of men like the one who had just tried to kill her. She imagined the rippers prowling out there, trying to get inside. “Who?” she whispered.

“Next door. At Helen’s house. I just saw soldiers taking her away.”

Kim felt like the whole world had just tilted for a moment, knocking her off-balance. She felt a sudden and urgent need to hold on to something. For just a few seconds she was scared she might actually fall over. “What?” she whispered, the word coming out as a hoarse croak.

“The soldiers were dragging her out of her house,” Ray continued in a low voice. “Helen was kicking and screaming, but they threw her into a Humvee. She looked like she’d been beaten. Her face was bloody.”

Kim glanced at the stairs for just a moment, but she still wasn’t ready to go up there. “Why did they take her? Where’d they take her to?”

“I don’t know where they’re taking her, but I think someone told the soldiers about our little meeting this morning. A guy there, I can’t remember his name, he said there are soldiers guarding the entrance to our neighborhood.”

“Wait. What?” Ray was talking so fast now. All of this was going too fast.

“I know. I haven’t had time to tell you what happened at the meeting. This guy, his name was Donny, he said he drove around last night and early this morning. He said he saw the soldiers setting up at the entrance to some of the neighborhoods around here, and in front of our subdivision. He said we’re being quarantined.”

“Quarantined for what? For that virus? You said that might just be a rumor at work or fake news.”

“I don’t know. Some of the people were talking about it yesterday when we were all outside at work, waiting for the doors to open . . .” He let his words trail off.

She waited for him to finish.

“Like I told you before, it was Doug. I don’t know what to believe with him.”

“So you think someone at Helen’s neighborhood meeting told the soldiers what you guys were talking about?”

Ray shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. Helen was talking about fighting back. Saying things like the government didn’t have the right to keep us in our homes.”

Kim just stared at her husband—she knew there was more.

“They were all kind of suspicious of me.”

“Why?”

“They knew I worked for the government. For the CDC.”

Kim just sighed.

“I think they’re going to be coming for us next. I think we need to leave.”

Kim’s breath was trapped in her throat for a second. “Leave? We can’t just . . . we can’t just leave. Didn’t you just say that there are soldiers guarding the entrance to our place?”

“I know, but they’re going to come after us soon. I know it. And I’m not going to have much of an explanation for the dead guy upstairs.”

“We can’t just leave,” Kim said again, feeling numb. She wasn’t ready for this.

“Don’t you see? Martial law has been declared. They’re starting to round people up.” He grabbed her arms; it was a gentle grasp even though there was panic in his eyes. “Listen,” he said in a low voice. “I need you to pack a bag for the kids. Don’t let them pack their own bags—they’ll want to take everything. And we need a bag for us. Take only absolute necessities, just a few changes of clothes, an extra pair of shoes for all of us. Sneakers or hiking boots, something comfortable but durable.”

“Ray.”

“We need to get some bathroom stuff together. Soap. Toothpaste. Toothbrushes.”

Ray,” she snapped at him. “There’s a curfew. We can’t just drive around. Martial law, remember?”

“They’re taking people, Kim. They’re going to make Helen talk. They’re going to round up any other people that were there at her house.”

“Maybe they just want to ask her some questions. That’s all.”

“You didn’t see the way they were dragging her out of her house. You didn’t see the blood on her face. That’s why I wanted you to come up there with me. I wanted you to see them before they left.” He glanced towards the front door like he expected a knock at any second.

This was crazy. Ray was acting crazy, but he seemed dead-set on leaving. She couldn’t take the chance that he might leave on his own, or worse, snatch the kids and leave without her.

“Where are we going to go?” she asked, still trying to slow things down.

“We’ll go to Craig’s house. It’s far from the city. He wanted us to go out there anyway. He said something on the phone about having something there for me, and answers that he had there.”

Kim remembered Ray telling her about that yesterday. “What about that disease out there?” she asked. “You think it’s a good idea to be driving around out there right now?”

“Maybe not, but if that disease is out there, then we’ve already been exposed to infected people. It’s a chance we have to take. If we stay here, we’re going to be taken for sure.”

Kim still didn’t want to leave. She wanted to hunker down in their home and hide, wait for the authorities to figure everything out, wait for people to help them. But she had to be realistic. There was no help coming. And how much food and water did they have left? Enough for two weeks? Maybe three if they rationed their food? What were they going to do after that? And now soldiers were forcing people out of their homes and into Humvees? Why? And then she remembered hearing on the news that the president and his cabinet, and the entire Congress, had left Washington. Maybe something bad was coming here. Maybe Ray was right and they should leave.

Ray touched her arms again. She liked his touch, she felt better when he was touching her, holding her gently, even though he was still so panicky.

“I know you’re scared,” Ray said. “I’m scared too. But we have to try. If we don’t do anything, then the soldiers are surely coming. We have to try. This is our only chance. If there are answers to what’s happening, or some kind of cure, then I’m sure Craig will know about it. He wouldn’t have told me to bring my family to his house if he didn’t know something.”

That seemed to make sense to Kim. She nodded. “Okay. We’ll leave. How are we going to get out of our neighborhood?”

“Leave that up to me. I’ve already got an idea about that. Right now, we need to get those bags packed. We’ll use your Tahoe to get out of here.”

Kim felt tears coming. She didn’t want to cry, but the tears were coming anyway. She wanted to be strong for her husband, for her kids, but this was getting to be too much. It felt like everything was falling apart.

CHAPTER 19

Ray wanted to load up Kim’s Chevy Tahoe instead of his Toyota 4-Runner for a few reasons: her SUV was newer than his Toyota, it was bigger, and it was already parked inside the garage, where no one would see them packing their boxes and bags into it. He checked the gas gauge in her truck and it was nearly full—one small stroke of luck in this shittiest of days.

After Kim helped Mike and Vanessa with their duffel bags and backpacks, they all met downstairs in the garage. Ray had the Chevy’s back hatch open and the interior lights on inside the vehicle, giving them just enough light to see.

Soon the back of the Tahoe was filled up with their two duffel bags, two suitcases, and the kids’ backpacks. Ray also slid his toolbox inside, adding a few extra kitchen knives and any extra batteries to the toolbox. He also had a pillow case filled with various kitchen supplies including: two handheld can openers, eating utensils, plastic cups and plates. He had a small cardboard box with a few pots and pans, and a small hibachi grill, a bag of charcoal and a small can of lighter fluid. They shoved in two small red plastic cans of gasoline that they used for their lawn mower. Another small cardboard box contained some bathroom supplies, any medicines that they needed, a first-aid kit, and a large manila envelope with their important papers inside: IDs, mortgage papers, bank and retirement statements, birth certificates, the titles to the vehicles, social security cards, and two small photo albums. They laid two blankets over everything, and crammed pillows and extra bedsheets in the back seat with the kids.

Ray stood there at the back of the truck, looking everything over that they had packed into the vehicle, wondering what they might be forgetting or overlooking.

Here’s what they didn’t have: cash, guns, or any kind of survival or camping gear.

Moments later, after Kim and the kids were in the Tahoe, Ray started the truck up and went to the garage door to open it. He slid the locks back at the bottom on both sides of the garage door, released the handle at the top to manually open the door, and then he lifted the door up. The door slid up smoothly on its track. Daylight and cold air flooded the garage.

He stepped out onto the driveway a few feet, to the front of his Toyota, looking up and down the street. He didn’t see any soldiers or military vehicles, but some of his neighbors were outside, a few of them standing in groups on their porches or at the ends of their driveways. Some of these people had to have seen Helen being dragged out of her house not even an hour ago by the soldiers; they had to have heard her screaming as she was forced into the Humvee. Maybe they were talking about it right now, perhaps planning to leave just like he and his family were doing.

A few of his neighbors were looking his way.

Ray darted back inside his garage and got into the Tahoe. This was it; it was time to leave.

He backed out of the garage and parked beside his SUV, then put the truck in park. He got out with his flashlight and rushed back inside the garage. He pulled the garage door down and slid the locks in place. All of the other doors and windows in the house were locked. He locked the side door to the garage when he went outside. The kitchen door was still nailed shut. Hopefully their house would be okay, but he could imagine soldiers busting their front door in sometime in the next hour or so. But maybe they could come back to their house in the future, when all of this was over.

Some of his neighbors were crossing the street, walking towards his driveway, as Ray hurried to the Tahoe.

“Ray,” a man called out.

Ray didn’t answer. He got into the truck and backed out of the driveway into the street, searching for the man who’d called his name in the rearview mirror. He didn’t see him, so the man must’ve gotten out of the way.

After he was in the street, he shifted from reverse into drive. He was about to stomp down on the gas pedal.

“Ray,” Kim yelled. “Wait!”

The man from across the street was right in front of their truck, blocking their way. He was older and thin, his wrinkled face broken into a strange grin that looked more sinister than friendly. He held up a finger, signaling them to wait, and then he hurried around to the driver’s door.

Ray pushed the button to roll down the window.

“Hey,” the man said. “Ray, right?”

Ray nodded, but he couldn’t remember the man’s name; maybe Bill or Bob, or something like that. This man hadn’t been at Helen’s house this morning. His eyes were wild and bulging, his hair messy, his lips pulled back in that strange grin. His breath was vile, like he’d been eating rotten meat all morning. He cupped his hands over the top of the door after Ray rolled the window all the way down; his fingernails were caked with dirt and something else that could have been blood.

“What are you doing, Ray?” Bill or Bob asked, that strange smile never leaving his face.

“We’re leaving,” Ray told the man.

“Leaving? You can’t leave. No one’s allowed to . . . to . . . left.” Bill or Bob’s face scrunched in confusion like he knew he’d just said the wrong word, but he was unable to find the right one. His mouth worked up and down, a grunt locked in his throat as he tried to find the right word. “They won’t . . . won’t let you . . . at the . . . won’t let you left. Stop you . . . forget those . . .”

Ray nodded, but didn’t say anything. Bill or Bob was different. He was mixing up his words just like the old woman at the bank had done, just like the man who had attacked Kim in their bedroom. Bill or Bob was infected, or at least in the early stages of this disease that was spreading.

Two more people walked up to their SUV, and others were looking their way. Ray was getting more and more anxious now, ready to get going before everyone came over to their truck. He had an image of all of these people surrounding their vehicle, and flashbacks of the mob at the bank yesterday came back to him. He thought he saw the same look of hatred and violence in Bill or Bob’s eyes right now.

“I’m sorry,” Ray told Bill or Bob. “We need to get going.”

“What’s going on?” a woman’s voice called out. Ray looked past the man at his driver’s window and saw a woman who’d been at Helen’s meeting this morning, Dee, Ned’s wife (but he didn’t see Ned). Dee was small, but her voice was so loud, her New York accent carrying across the chilly air.

Ray didn’t answer Dee. His foot was pressed down on the brake pedal, trembling even more now. He gripped the steering wheel harder.

Dee looked around at the quickly-forming crowd. “He works for the CDC!” she shouted, drawing the others closer. “He told us that when we were at Helen’s house this morning!”

Everyone was looking at their truck now.

“He knows what’s really going on!” Dee continued. “That’s why he’s leaving!” Her voice was like an air raid siren beckoning the others forward.

“Ray,” Kim said, gripping the armrest of the passenger door.

He glanced at her and saw the fear in her eyes.

“Can’t . . . box ‘em in,” Bill or Bob said, and there was some dried spittle at the corners of his mouth. His eyes were bugging out so much it looked like they might pop right out of his face. “Form . . . taking apples . . .”

“I . . . I don’t know what you’re saying,” Ray told Bill or Bob.

“Don’t argue with him,” Kim hissed. “Let’s go.”

The situation was spiraling out of control—dozens of neighbors were approaching now.

Bill or Bob hadn’t taken his hands away from the driver’s-side door, still clutching it in an iron grip, staring at Ray.

“Take your hands off of my vehicle,” Ray told Bill or Bob in a stern voice.

“Boxing them in,” Bill or Bob said, his words were a little slurred now. “Haven’t seen the flowers on the roof?”

Ray didn’t care if Bill or Bob wasn’t going to let go of their truck; he gunned the gas and their Chevy Tahoe lurched forward. Bill or Bob let go, and another man had to jump out of the way at the last second before being run over. It sounded like one of the men had kicked the rear quarter panel as they drove past. Others were running after their Tahoe, including Bill or Bob, who was still shouting out his confused nonsense, his eyes practically bugging out of his head, but Ray was leaving them behind quickly.

Other neighbors were taking off back to their homes. For what? To get guns? To get their own vehicles so they could chase them? What had happened to some of these people? They were turning into animals.

They’re infected, Ray’s mind whispered. And we’re probably infected, too.

“Daddy,” Vanessa said from the back seat. “Why are they chasing us?” She seemed to be on the verge of crying.

“I don’t know, baby,” Ray said as he sped down the road. He didn’t have an answer for his little girl, but he was going to get his family out of here. He turned down the next street and his heart froze for a second.

“Oh God,” Kim whispered.

Two military Humvees were parked outside a home. Four soldiers were dragging a man out of his house. Ray recognized the man; it was Tim, the man who had been so suspicious of him. Tim was trying to fight back, trying to struggle, but he was no match for the soldiers.

Ray drove past the house and felt a sick sense of satisfaction now. He had wondered a thousand times if he was making the right decision to leave, if he was overreacting. But now, seeing Tim being taken, he knew he was making the right decision. It would only be a matter of time before those soldiers made their way through Helen’s list of co-conspirators.

A lot of people were out on their lawns, watching Tim being taken away, shock on their faces, yet they just stood there and watched.

There was a loud crack from some other street.

Was that a gunshot?

Ray didn’t know and he didn’t want to find out. He turned onto the main road that split their subdivision in half, the road that led to the entrance of their neighborhood. And before he was even halfway down the street, he saw the two Humvees parked nose to nose, blocking the entrance. Three soldiers in fatigues, rubber gloves, and gas masks stood guard in front of the vehicles.

Kim still held on to the armrest tightly, pushing herself back into the seat like she was riding on a roller coaster.

“Dad, what are they doing?” Vanessa asked from the back seat. She was about to burst into tears at any moment, Ray was sure of it.

“Vanessa and Mike,” Ray said. “I want both of you to get down on the floorboards with your pillows and blankets.”

“But we need to take our seatbelts off,” Mike said.

“I know,” Ray answered, gripping the steering wheel harder as he got closer to the soldiers guarding the entrance. “Take off your seatbelts.”

“But that’s against the law,” Mike said.

“I know,” Ray said. “But it will be okay this one time. Will you just do what I’m asking, please?”

Mike unclicked his seatbelt.

“Help your sister,” Kim said, glancing back at him. She sounded nearly out-of-breath with fear.

Mike helped Vanessa out of her seatbelt, and they got down on the floorboards behind Ray and Kim’s seats.

Kim looked at Ray as he drove towards the guards.

CHAPTER 20

The soldier in the middle of the three raised his hand up, motioning for Ray to stop his vehicle.

Ray slowed down to a stop in front of the soldiers, his Chevy Tahoe angled like he’d been about to go out the exit to the right if the Humvee hadn’t been parked in the way, like he was waiting for them to move their vehicle so he could leave.

Two of the soldiers raised their rifles up, aiming them at the windshield of the Tahoe.

Ray didn’t shift into park. He kept his foot down on the brake pedal, and once again his leg was beginning to tremble just a bit. But he tried to keep a calm expression, even smiling at the solider who had stepped forward towards his driver’s window that Ray had just rolled down.

“What are you doing?” the soldier asked, his voice a little muffled from the gas mask.

Ray smiled even wider. “Sorry. I need to leave. We’re going to my mother’s house. I need to check on her. Make sure she’s okay.”

“No one can leave right now.”

Ray pretended to look a little shocked. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a curfew in place right now. No one in or out.”

“Curfew? That’s not until tonight, is it?”

“A twenty-four hour curfew has been implemented,” the solider said.

Ray had seen a narrow gap between the rear end of the Humvee and the wooden sign that advertised their neighborhood. It would be a tight squeeze, but he was pretty sure he could get their Tahoe through that space—it might mean taking out part of the sign and running over some shrubs, but that’s what he would have to do.

He tried not to look towards his escape route, trying not to give anything away. For just a moment he thought he might’ve been able to talk the soldiers into letting them leave, but now he saw that reasoning with them was going to be impossible.

“Look, I don’t mean to be a pain,” Ray said, still smiling. “But I’m really worried about my mom. She lives alone and I want to make sure she’s okay.”

The other two guards hadn’t lowered their rifles, both weapons still aimed right at their windshield.

“Sir, you’re going to have to turn around and return to your home.”

“Why are you wearing gas masks?” Ray asked. His smile slipped away and he was suddenly angry. “Is there some kind of disease that we should know about?”

“Sir, go home,” the soldier snapped. He still had his rifle down low, but he looked itchy, ready to raise it up at any second.

“Why are you guys wearing gas masks and no one else is? Why aren’t you handing out safety equipment to all of us? What are we being exposed to out here?”

“Sir, shift into park and turn your engine off.”

Ray felt his body tense up with fear, his balls crawling. His foot holding down the brake pedal trembled even more. He kept his hands right on the steering wheel where the soldiers could see them, not wanting to make any sudden moves.

“Sir, shift your vehicle into park and turn off the engine.”

Ray didn’t know what to do now. If he tried to gun the gas and drive forward, the two soldiers were going to shoot, and they wouldn’t stand a chance against the barrage of bullets coming through the windshield. What else could he do now but follow orders?

Just then sounds of commotion came from behind their vehicle.

The soldiers turned their attention towards the noise, the two soldiers pointing their rifles that way, all of them aiming their weapons at the approaching crowd.

Ray glanced at the rearview mirror and saw two vehicles speeding down the road towards the entrance. A mob of people was following the vehicles, some with sticks and other weapons in their hands. Others were pumping their fists in the air, yelling.

This was his chance—he wouldn’t get a better one. He stomped down on the gas pedal. The Tahoe’s motor roared and the rear tires barked for half a second before the truck sped forward. Everything was like a blur, and it didn’t even feel real for a few seconds, like something out of one of Mike’s video games. They were around the rear of the Humvee in a second, shooting through the gap between it and the wooden sign. The front of the Chevy took out a section of the sign, shattering it, pieces of wood and splinters flying at the windshield. Ray kept the gas pedal stomped down, driving right over the shrubs, the front grill mowing them down like a tractor in a wheat field.

“Stay down!” Ray yelled at the kids as he drove, and he realized that he had crouched down as far as he could in the driver’s seat.

Everything seemed to slow down for a moment even though it was still all a blur. The next thing he knew, they were out on Spruce Road, the back end of their Tahoe fishtailing on the concrete street, tires screeching. Ray’s foot was on the brake pedal without even thinking about it, trying to stop the sliding of their truck. He was on autopilot right now, wrestling with the steering wheel, trying to get the truck straightened out and in the direction he wanted it to go. Pieces of the wood sign and the leaves and twigs from the shrubs rolled off of the hood, some of the debris stuck to the bottom of the windshield on the wiper blades.

When their Tahoe had come to a stop in the road for a second, Ray stomped his foot down on the gas pedal. The SUV shot forward, the engine revving with power. And then they were speeding down the road.

“Everyone okay?” Ray yelled.

The adrenaline seemed to be rushing in his ears, drowning out everything else.

The kids were yelling from the back seat floorboards. Vanessa sounded like she was sobbing. Kim was still bracing herself in the passenger seat, still frozen with fear for a moment, her right hand clutching the armrest, her left hand grabbing at the center console, her eyes wide with shock, her body rigid.

Ray glanced at the rearview mirror as he sped down the road, making sure that the soldiers weren’t running out into the street and firing at them. And then he wondered if they had shot at their truck. But the rear window wasn’t shattered, and there were no bullet holes in it that he could see.

But no soldiers had run out into the street. They were probably still occupied with the mob of people that had come rushing up the street—the people that had inadvertently saved their lives.

“Everyone okay?” Ray shouted again.

“Yeah,” Mike said as he popped his head up, a strange grin on his face. “That was cool.” But there was fear in his eyes, too.

Vanessa was still sobbing.

“Mike, help your sister,” Ray said. He looked to Kim for help.

She swallowed hard and peeled her clawed hands away from the console and the armrest. She looked at Ray for a second like she didn’t know who he was, and then she turned to Mike and Vanessa. “Mike,” she said and then cleared her throat, her voice louder now. “Mike, help your sister.”

Ray took a right turn and sped down the street. He wanted to go west eventually, work his way towards Craig’s house via as many backroads as he could use, but right now he was just concerned with putting as much distance between them and the soldiers as he could. After a few more turns down different roads, he would start heading west.

They sped past a man who was stumbling along the side of the road, his clothes filthy and his movements a little jerky. His face was stained dark with something that could be blood. He stared at them with wild eyes as they drove by.

“Look, Dad,” Mike said. “A zombie.”

“Stop it, Mike,” Kim snapped at him. “You stop talking like that right now! I don’t want to hear that nonsense.”

Mike was shocked into silence.

Vanessa cried harder.

“It’s okay,” Kim told Vanessa as she twisted around even more to look at her. “We’re okay. We’re safe. There’s no such thing as zombies.”

But there are obviously such things as monsters, Ray thought. There were rippers now—they were monsters, they were true monsters.

Vanessa stopped crying, but kept on sniffling. She wiped at her eyes.

“You two get your seatbelts back on,” Kim ordered.

Both kids buckled their seatbelts without argument. Mike had the Incredible Hulk comic book he’d brought with him opened up, but he wasn’t really reading it; he was hiding behind it and pouting because his mother had just shouted at him.

Kim looked out the windshield for a moment, then she turned around and looked at Mike. “I’m sorry, Michael. But I don’t want to hear any more talk about zombies. Okay?”

Mike just glared at her from over the top of his comic book and nodded.

There were a few cars stalled in the middle of the road, and a few others that had crashed. Some had crashed into other cars, some into houses. One car had slammed into a tree and burst into flames, the car and trunk of the tree charred black now. But at least there were no police or soldiers around right now.

As he drove, Ray realized that they were coming up to The Groves, the condos where Helen had told him her daughter lived. He realized that he still had the piece of paper in his pocket that Helen had drawn the map on and written down the address.

Helen had mentioned the word Avalon; she’d said that Emma knew the way to Avalon, that she could help them find it when the time came. Avalon—the same word Craig had said to him on the phone yesterday morning when the call had been breaking up.

Ray clenched the steering wheel harder as he maneuvered around the abandoned vehicles in the road, getting closer to the condo complex. Who cared if Helen had said the word Avalon, or if she knew something about it? He couldn’t be expected to risk his family’s lives because of a probable coincidence. He needed to get them to Craig’s house, and farther out of the city.

They were only a block away from The Groves complex when a huge crowd of people poured out into the street, men and women running right towards their SUV as fast as they could, some of them screaming and yelling, all of their eyes wild, many of their faces and hands stained with blood.

“Zombies!” Mike yelled.

“Daddy!” Vanessa shouted.

Ray saw the horde of rippers coming for them. There were more rippers running out from between other houses and businesses on the other side of the street. Ray stomped down on the gas, the Chevy Tahoe picking up speed, but then he saw a line of military vehicles coming towards them. The convoy of military vehicles was only a few blocks away, and they were taking up the whole road.

“Shit,” Ray hissed. “Everyone hold on!” Ray made a hard right turn into the parking area of The Groves condos. Part of the parking area was covered with a metal awning and the lines of cars and trucks parked there were hidden in shadows.

The military vehicles roared past the parking lot, four tank-like vehicles and two trucks. The last tank had a soldier perched on top through a hatch with a gigantic machine gun mounted in front of him. He fired at the crowd of rippers, mowing them down with bullets.

Ray pulled into a parking space between a van and a car, slamming the shifter into park and turning off the engine.

“What are you doing, Ray?” Kim yelled.

“We have to get off the street,” he said. “If those soldiers don’t get us, then the rippers will. They’re not going to get all of those rippers.”

The machine gun fire was firing, bullets flying everywhere. Bullets were hitting some of the parked cars of The Groves parking area now, bullets thudding into metal, glass shattering.

“We need to go!” Ray said.

“You don’t even know where we are,” Kim yelled.

“The zombies are coming!” Mike yelled. He turned around and looked out the rear window.

“There’s someone here who can help us!” Ray told Kim.

“Who?”

“I don’t have time to explain! We need to run! We don’t have time to grab anything; we just need to go right now!”

Rippers were running everywhere out in the street in frenzied confusion amid the gunfire. The military vehicles had turned around a block down the street and were coming back. The truck in front of the small convoy was running over rippers, mowing them down like a giant lawnmower, driving right over their bodies and crunching them down into the street. But after a few moments that vehicle was beginning to bog down as its tires tried to churn through the flesh and bone, and now it was slowing all of the other military vehicles down. The soldier on the top of the last tank was still shooting from the turret at the scrambling rippers, spinning around, pelting the masses with bullets. But some of the rippers were getting away from the gunfire, hiding behind cars and the corners of buildings. Some were starting to run across the street to the parking area.

“Come on!” Ray yelled again. “We gotta go now!”

“I need Cappy!” Vanessa squealed. Cappy was her small stuffed turtle she slept with every night.

“Just grab it and go!” Ray said. He was already out of the Tahoe. He had the back open and he grabbed the golf club, the same club he’d used to kill a man only a few hours ago—his only weapon, his only defense against the horde of rippers that were coming their way.

Kim got Vanessa out of the back seat and Mike had already darted out from the other side.

“We need to hurry,” Ray yelled at his family as he guided them towards the entrance to a massive breezeway between two of the buildings that led to the interior courtyard of the complex.

Ray glanced back when they got to the breezeway. Some of the rippers on the street were running towards the condo buildings, spotting fresh meat, spotting Ray and his family.

CHAPTER 21

Ray, his wife, and kids hurried through the massive corridor between two of the two-story buildings, a covered breezeway that was big enough to drive a garbage truck through. They hadn’t had time to take any of their bags or supplies when they’d fled their Chevy Tahoe; Vanessa had taken Cappy, her stuffed turtle, holding it by one of its feet in a death grip, and Mike had grabbed his Incredible Hulk comic book. Ray had the golf club clenched in one hand like a sword as he ran. Their footfalls echoed off the concrete walls and ceiling as they raced towards the other end that ended in a big, bright square of daylight.

Ray was a few steps behind his family. He kept looking behind him to see how close the rippers were.

“Why are we going here?” Vanessa asked, her voice echoing off the walls.

“Shhh,” Ray said. “You need to be quiet,” he hissed at his daughter. “Hurry. Run.”

“Zombies are attracted to noise,” Mike informed Vanessa as he ran.

The breezeway opened up to a gigantic courtyard that all of the two-story buildings surrounded. Off to the right was an in-ground pool with a chain-link fence around it. A large field of grass with a few islands of shrubs took up most of the courtyard, with a few concrete walkways meandering through the grassy area. All the way to the left were a few more fences and short concrete walls that most likely hid the dumpsters and utility sheds. Ray jumped out in front of his wife and kids as soon as they were in the courtyard, wanting to be the first line of defense in case rippers were waiting for them out there. But he didn’t see anyone.

Ray dug out the piece of paper from his pants pocket that Helen had given him that morning, managing to unfold it as he ran. He glanced down at Emma’s address—Unit 138. At least it was on the ground floor and the directions read: Take a left after you come out of the breezeway. So at least they were heading in the right direction.

Footfalls and yells echoed from the breezeway, their whoops and screeches magnified. It sounded like hundreds of them were coming.

“Daddy,” Vanessa whined, already reaching for him.

Ray scooped his daughter up in his arms. “Come on, we need to hurry!” he told Kim and Mike.

They ran down a walkway beside the brick building, the second-story walkway above formed a roof over their heads. Ray ran past doors to condo units with Vanessa in his arms. Some of the doors had Halloween decorations taped to them: cartoon witches and ghosts, jack-o-lanterns grinning with squared, blocky teeth.

They passed Unit 110.

Then Unit 118.

Across the football field-sized courtyard, Ray saw a few people collected on the balconies of the upper condos. For just a second Ray thought they might be rippers, but then he realized that it was most likely the residents of that building. Some of them were standing at the railing, watching them as they ran.

“They’re coming!” a woman on the balcony yelled. “Hurry!” she squealed and pointed in the direction they had just come from—the breezeway.

Ray ran faster. He could hear Kim and Mike right behind him, their shoes slapping at the strip of concrete. But he could also hear the rippers in the breezeway.

Unit 124.

A few seconds later Ray was in front of Unit 138. He kept Vanessa cradled in one arm and handed the golf club to Kim so he could pound on the solid door. There was only a peephole right under the brass numbers.

No answer.

“Hey,” a man from across the courtyard yelled, his voice echoing across the field. “Hey! Look out behind you! You need to run!”

“Ray,” Kim moaned as she looked behind her.

Ray didn’t even want to take the time to look that way. He pounded on the door again. The brass numbers tacked to the door rattled against it when he pounded on it again. He could feel the door reverberating under the edge of his fist.

“Emma!” Ray yelled through the door. “Emma, open up. Please. Your mom Helen sent us here!”

Still no answer. Ray couldn’t even hear any noise from inside the condo. Of course, it might be hard to hear with all of the noise coming from down the walkway at the entrance to the breezeway.

And then a terrible thought came to Ray. What if Emma wasn’t here? What if she’d gone somewhere safer and Helen never knew? What if he was wasting seconds beating on an empty condo door? He tried the doorknob, twisting it, but the door was securely locked.

He couldn’t wait much longer. Even if they ran right now, he wasn’t sure if they could outrun the rippers, not with him carrying Vanessa in his arms.

“Daddy,” Vanessa whispered. “I’m scared.”

Ray didn’t console his daughter; he didn’t have time. He pounded on the door again. “Emma, please. Open the door! The rippers are coming!”

Ray risked a glance back at Kim and Mike—they were scared, all wild eyes and quick, panicky movements. He looked beyond them at the mass of horrors escaping the breezeway, falling all over each other to get in the lead of the group. The rippers were in the courtyard now, and they had spotted prey waiting to be taken down, prey waiting to be eaten.

Ray looked around at the courtyard, trying to decide the best place to run. Should they keep running down this walkway, try to find an unlocked door or someone who might let them in? Or should they run across the courtyard, try to make it to the stairs, up to the balcony in that building where at least a dozen people still waited by the railings, watching the action in the courtyard below like an audience watching a play?

Kim was pushing against Ray now, panicking, trying to get him moving. She was screaming something unintelligible, a mixture of words. She was practically clawing at him.

They had to move. The rippers were too close, running full speed now that they had spotted them. Ray had given Kim the golf club so he could hold Vanessa in one arm and pound on the door, but what good was the golf club going to do against the dozens that were running towards them now? How many could Ray hit before the mass of rippers descended on them and tore them apart?

The door to Unit 138 opened. A young blond-haired woman stood in the doorway. She had dark glasses on. “Come inside!” she yelled. “Hurry!”

Emma moved out of the way and Ray, Kim, and Mike darted inside. Emma closed and locked the door. Then she twisted a deadbolt, the bolt thumping into place, making a satisfying sound.

Ray set Vanessa down on the carpeted floor. She bolted to Kim, latching on to her mother. Ray watched the door to the condo. Three seconds later he heard the rippers outside the door, pounding on it, clawing at it, hitting it with sticks and knives and any other crude weapons they had.

Three seconds. That’s all they had before they would have been mobbed, killed. Beaten and ripped apart. Eaten. He could feel his body shaking from the adrenaline. “Is that door going to hold?” Ray asked Emma.

“It has so far,” Emma said.

“We’re okay,” Ray told his family. He looked at Mike who stared back at him with wide eyes. He looked at Kim who held Vanessa close to her. Kim was trembling, breathing hard; she looked like she was about to faint. He had never seen his wife look so frightened before. He gathered them together, holding them all in a group hug for a few seconds, whispering to them as the pounding continued at the door, as the howls and screams came from outside. “We’re okay,” he told them again and again. “We’re okay now.”

Ray turned to Emma. “Thank you for letting us in, Emma.”

Emma just nodded.

Ray stared at Emma for a moment. There was something familiar about her, like he’d seen her somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember where. Maybe he’d seen her at Helen’s house before, or maybe she just resembled Helen slightly and the resemblance was making him think he’d seen her before. But it seemed like something else, a detail nagging at him, something he was overlooking. But he didn’t have the time to think about it right now. He looked at the only window in the living room—it looked out onto the walkway outside and it was covered by two large pieces of thick plywood screwed into the wall with hinges attached to them. Ray heard the glass of the window shattering behind the plywood.

“I had the plywood installed a few weeks ago,” Emma explained as if Ray had asked her about the pieces of wood, like she knew he was staring at the window. “I had them installed on all the windows. I also had metal bars installed, ones that open from the inside.”

Like you knew this was coming, Ray thought.

Ray looked at Emma again. She stood in the same spot in the living room, a pale woman in every regard: her hair, her skin, and even her clothing—her black sunglasses were a dark contrast to all of the paleness. She was beautiful in a haunting way that Ray couldn’t articulate, like an angel . . . or a ghost.

“Are you blind?” Mike asked.

“Mike,” Kim warned. “That’s rude.”

“Yes,” Emma answered with a slight smile. “I’m blind.”

Gunshots sounded from outside. One of the gunshots sounded like it hit the exterior wall right outside Emma’s apartment.

Ray ducked reflexively, and then grabbed his kids, herding them towards Kim. “Come on, we need to get away from the door. Into the hallway.” He guided his family and Emma into the hallway.

CHAPTER 22

Ray, Kim, Mike, Vanessa, and Emma cowered in the hallway. Ray wasn’t sure if these extra walls would stop a bullet, but it was better than crouching down in the living room, or even in the dining room or kitchen, which were really just extensions of the living room. He wasn’t sure what kind of gun was used out there, but it had sounded powerful, the shots echoing off of the buildings surrounding the large courtyard. Most likely a rifle, he thought. How many walls could a rifle bullet go through? He wasn’t sure. But he’d read newspaper articles about street gang drive-by shootings where bullets had gone through several walls of a house, sometimes hitting a child in a bedroom. He felt woefully inexperienced at this, woefully unprepared to help his family. He felt like a sitting duck, like a helpless victim. And he hated feeling like that.

“I think I know who it is shooting out there,” Emma said from behind Ray.

Ray was the closest one to the end of the hall where it opened up to the living room. Kim had the kids crouched down next to a wall, the guest bedroom just on the other side of it. He looked back at Emma who stood in the gloom of the hall.

“They’ve shot at the rippers before,” Emma said. “Some guys across the courtyard. The gunshots seem to drive the rippers away. For a little while, at least.”

Ray looked back towards the living room and listened. The gunshots had stopped. There had only been a few. Maybe whoever was shooting was conserving their bullets. The pounding and clawing at the front door and living room window had stopped. And that was a good thing, because even though the rippers might not be able to get in through the barred windows, it would probably only be a matter of time before they were able to smash the front door in.

Ray looked back at everyone. “You guys okay?”

Mike nodded. “Yeah, Dad.” His son seemed shell-shocked, but he was putting on a brave face.

“Okay,” Ray said. “You guys wait here for a minute.”

Ray left the hallway and entered the living room. His skin felt like it was buzzing with energy and his muscles were jittery. It was still quiet beyond the front door, but he wanted to peek outside and see. He walked towards the solid door and looked out through the peephole. It was getting dark outside, but he could still see quite a bit from the fisheye view of the peephole. He saw no one in his field of vision, and everything was getting dark with shadows.

“I think it’s okay now,” Ray said as he moved away from the door.

Kim and the kids came out of the hallway, followed by Emma.

“I’m sorry,” Ray told Emma. “I haven’t introduced myself.”

“You’re Ray Daniels,” Emma said.

The words dried up in Ray’s throat. He realized he was nodding, and then he cleared his throat. “Yes. That’s right.”

“My mom told me a lot about you.”

“She did?” Ray asked. That was strange. He never really considered himself close to Helen. He could probably count on one hand the conversations he’d had with his neighbor.

“Yes,” Emma said, but she didn’t bother explaining any further.

“This is my wife, Kim.”

“Hi,” Kim said. She was being polite, but she was still trembling, her eyes still wide.

“Hi, Kim,” Emma said.

“These are our kids, Mike and Vanessa.”

“Hi, Mike and Vanessa,” Emma said.

“How did you go blind?” Mike asked.

“Mike,” Kim hissed at him, warning him again.

Emma just smiled. “Are you two thirsty?” she asked Mike and Vanessa.

“I am,” Mike said.

Vanessa just nodded, staring at Emma with wide eyes.

“The electricity’s been out for a while,” Emma said. “I have some cans of sodas and bottles of water, but they’re all warm.”

“That’s fine,” Ray said and cleared his throat, suddenly realizing how thirsty he was.

Emma smiled and headed for the kitchen that was just off of the living room. The condo was small but cozy, without much in the way of furniture or décor. There was a couch along the one wall with a recliner caddy corner from it, with a low coffee table in front of the sofa. A few small tables were snug against other walls with a few knickknacks on them, but that was about it. Everything seemed neat and orderly, everything in its place.

Ray watched Emma as she moved around the kitchen so easily.

“Ray,” Kim whispered.

He looked at her and she nodded towards the kitchen. “Go help her,” she mouthed the words.

Ray hurried into the kitchen. “Sorry,” he said. “I must still be in shock. What can I do to help?”

Emma smiled at him and handed him two cans of sodas. “I don’t know what Mike and Vanessa want. Just let them pick out what they like.”

Mike and Vanessa took that as an invitation to rush into the kitchen. They picked out their drinks.

“Ray,” Emma said. “Can I ask a favor?”

“Sure.”

“I wanted to move the refrigerator in front of the sliding glass door.” She gestured at a wall of vertical blinds that hid the door. “I’ve got the metal bar locking the sliding glass door, but I’m still worried someone could bust the glass and get in. I tried to secure this place as best I could, but that’s still a weak area.”

“Yes,” Ray said and he went to work moving the refrigerator in front of the sliding glass door that led outside to a small strip of grass that served as the backyard, a stucco wall only thirty feet away from the door.

Mike wanted to help but Kim warned him to stay away. Ray was more than capable of sliding the fridge in front of the glass doors, she told him. Ray also moved the stove over beside the refrigerator after unplugging it from the wall. The appliances didn’t make an impenetrable wall of any kind, but it would be enough to slow intruders down if they tried to get in.

Emma turned to the kids like she knew exactly where they were. “So, Mike. How old are you?”

“I’m eleven,” he told her.

“I’m seven,” Vanessa said.

“Are you really blind?” Mike asked.

“Mike,” Kim said. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

“It’s okay,” Emma said. “Yes. I’m really blind.”

“You can’t see anything?” Mike said.

“Nope. But I can still get around just fine.”

“How come you don’t have a dog to help you?” Vanessa asked.

“A seeing-eye dog,” Mike corrected his sister.

“Mom and Dad won’t let us have a dog,” Vanessa said.

“Well, I had a dog for a little while,” Emma said. “But not anymore.”

Ray looked at Kim, then at the kids. “Why don’t you two take your snacks into the living room?”

Mike could tell that it wasn’t a suggestion, that they were being forced to leave because the grown-ups wanted to talk.

“I want to stay with you,” Vanessa pouted.

“Come on,” Kim said, escorting Mike and Vanessa into the living room.

Ray looked at Emma when Kim and the kids were in the living room. They were only in the next room, and probably within earshot, but Ray kept his voice low. “I need to tell you about Helen.”

“She’s dead,” Emma said in a low voice.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Ray said.

But Emma looked certain about it.

“The military took her.” Ray glanced at Kim in the living room with the kids and then he looked back at Emma. “Your mother, Helen, she had a neighborhood meeting this morning at her house. A few of us were there, about ten of us. We were talking, trying to figure out what’s going on. Someone there said that the military had our subdivision blocked off, that they were quarantining some places. But it looked like they were beginning to round people up. They took Helen.”

Ray could see the soldiers forcing Helen into the Humvee again in his mind. He remembered how beat-up she’d been as they dragged her down her own front yard walkway. But he decided to spare Emma those details.

“She’s dead,” Emma said. “I know it. I can feel it.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Ray said again.

Emma just nodded, her face set. “I know she is.”

“She told me she had cancer,” Ray said as if it might help with the grim news he had just delivered. “She said she didn’t have long.”

Emma scrunched her face a little in confusion. “No. She didn’t have cancer.”

Ray was about to argue with her, but then he closed his mouth. He remembered Helen jogging around the neighborhood only a few weeks ago, and now that he thought about it, she didn’t look like someone who was deathly ill. Then why had she told him that she had cancer?

Because she knew the end was coming, a voice in his mind whispered to him. She knew the soldiers were coming to take her.

“There’s something else,” Ray told Emma. “Helen talked to me about you this morning. After the meeting was over and everyone else was gone, she asked me to stay for some coffee.” He thought again that if he would have skipped that meeting with Helen, he would have been at his house sooner to protect Kim from the ripper that had attacked her. He also thought that if he would’ve stayed just a little longer at Helen’s house things could have been much worse.

Emma seemed to watch Ray from behind her dark glasses. She was seated at the kitchen table, sitting very still, waiting for him to continue.

“Helen said you would need some help,” Ray said. He could feel his words breaking up a little, his throat swelling with emotion. But he didn’t want to cry with his kids in the next room—he wanted to be strong for them. “Helen asked me, asked us, to help you.”

Emma nodded. “Thank you.” But Emma waited like she knew Ray had more to say.

“But your mother also said that you could help us,” Ray said.

Emma didn’t say anything; she just waited for Ray to continue.

“She said you could help us find the way. She said you knew something about Avalon.”

For a moment, Emma was quiet. Then she finally nodded, breathing out a long, slow breath. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

CHAPTER 23

“What do you mean by that?” Ray asked Emma. “What do you mean you’ve been waiting for us?”

“I felt you and your family in my dreams. I knew you would be coming here soon.”

“What? Like you’re psychic or something?”

“I don’t know what you call it exactly, but I can sense things. Not everything, just what comes to me. I’ve always had this . . . this ability, but lately, ever since all of this happened, it’s been much stronger.”

“How do you know about Avalon?” Ray asked her. “Do you know Craig Schuller? Do you work for the CDC? Does Avalon have something to do with the disease out there, this pandemic?” Ray stopped talking, realizing he was shooting rapid-fire questions at Emma, grilling her like he was interrogating a prisoner.

Emma just shook her head slightly. “I don’t work for the CDC, and I don’t know anyone named Craig Schuller. But I know that Avalon is something important. I know there are clues there, answers to the questions you’re asking, answers for everyone. Answers to a lot of things.”

“Answers to what’s going on out there?” Ray asked, pointing at the front door. Then he realized that she couldn’t see where he was pointing.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe.”

“So Avalon is a place?” Ray asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.” Emma sighed like she could feel Ray’s frustration. “I’m sorry. It’s the best explanation I can give you. I wish I knew more.”

*

Later that night, after the kids were asleep on the living room couch, Emma offered her spare bedroom to Ray and Kim. She had a bed in there that Helen used when she stayed the night.

Ray checked the plywood panels over the window in the guest bedroom, opening them and then checking the bars that had been installed a few weeks ago. He pulled on the bars. They were strong. Emma had known something was coming; she had prepared as best she could with the bars, the plywood panels, stocking up on food and water and candles. But why hadn’t she left if she knew this was coming? Why hadn’t she gone somewhere safe? Why hadn’t she gotten Helen away if she suspected something bad might happen to her?

But maybe she didn’t know exactly what was coming—she just knew that it was something bad.

Ray still felt tense, not ready to lie down in the bed next to Kim yet even though he needed some sleep. But he forced himself to lie down. Kim was breathing a little heavily, but he could tell that she was still awake. She’d been quiet for a while now, just lying there in bed.

“I’m scared,” Kim finally said in a whisper.

“I know,” Ray told her.

“No,” she said, still not moving, still staring up at the ceiling. “I’m scared of that disease out there. Look at all of those people who’ve been infected with that rabies thing, or whatever it is. All of those people in the streets. All of those people the soldiers killed. And those soldiers were wearing gas masks. But we’ve been breathing the same air as the rippers.”

These same thoughts had been running through Ray’s mind nonstop all day.

Kim was quiet for a long moment, and then she said: “I don’t feel good.” Her voice was trembling now. “I know I’ve been stressed out, but it’s more than that. It’s like there’s this anger inside of me, an anger that I’ve never felt before. And I’m having these strange thoughts . . . and strange urges. I feel like I can’t control them for much longer.”

Ray rolled over closer to Kim and held her. “You’re just freaking out,” he whispered to her. “That’s understandable with everything that’s happened. You’re having a . . . a panic attack or something. We’re going to be fine.”

“Stop saying that,” Kim snapped. “Stop saying that, because you don’t know that for sure.”

Ray was silent. He wanted to comfort Kim, but he feared the worst.

“What if I’m infected?” Kim asked, her voice soft again. “What if you are? What if the kids are?”

“Everyone is not going to be infected,” Ray said. “There’s never a one hundred percent infection rate for any virus or disease. It’s nature’s way of preserving a species.”

“Yeah, well plenty of species have gone extinct through the years.”

Ray didn’t have a reply for that one.

“What are we going to do if one of us . . . if one of us gets sick?” she asked.

Ray didn’t answer her. He felt panicky again. He felt that overwhelming weight pushing on his chest, trying to crush the breath out of him. He felt like a wave of electricity was buzzing on his skin, like his nerve-endings were frying, or shorting out somehow. His skin began to prickle, like a sheen of sweat was going to break out soon. He wanted to get up. He needed to move around, but he stayed there in bed.

“I don’t know,” Ray finally answered Kim. And that was the truth. How was he supposed to plan if he didn’t know what was going to happen? He’d always been a planner, someone who made lists and had steps marked out along the way. He always had a backup plan, and then a backup plan for that. He tried never to put himself into situations where rash decisions needed to be made; his whole life had been about order and predictable outcomes, probabilities and statistics, calculations and analysis.

Maybe that was why people considered him boring.

Maybe even his own wife considered him boring. Maybe that was why she had cheated on him.

He rolled over, hating himself for letting his mind go there, but Kim’s infidelity was never far out of reach, always lurking in the shadows of his mind, always waiting to come forward when he had a moment to think.

“We’re going to be okay,” Ray whispered. “I promise.”

Kim didn’t answer. She was breathing even heavier now, maybe sleeping finally.

Twenty minutes later Ray sat up in bed. He waited there for a long moment, watching Kim even though he couldn’t see her in the darkness. He waited, thinking she might call out to him, ask where he was going, but she didn’t.

Ray still had the urge to move, to get up and walk around, to somehow prove to himself that he was still somewhat in control, that he wasn’t losing his body or his mind to whatever virus was out there.

He stood up and began to navigate the almost pitch-black darkness.

Kim mumbled in her sleep.

Ray could make out the words, but the words weren’t making any sense, just gibberish. It scared him, because her gibberish sounded like some of the other people he’d already seen, people who were turning into rippers. But it wasn’t just her jumbled words that scared him; it was the anger in her voice when she muttered them, the rasping curses and the hatred.

She’s just dreaming, he told himself. She’s just having a nightmare.

He walked around the foot of the bed to Kim’s side and laid a hand on her forehead. He had been expecting to feel heat from her skin, like she had a fever, but her flesh was cool. She didn’t wake from his touch and he drew his hand back.

He felt a little better now that he was sure she didn’t have a fever. Maybe she was just having a nightmare, just muttering words in her sleep. That’s all. It didn’t mean anything. And who wouldn’t have nightmares after the last two days they’d had?

Ray left the bedroom and went out to the living room. There was no light out here either, but he could just make out the bulky black objects in the room—the furniture. He checked on Mike and Vanessa; both of them were curled up on the couch, both of them sleeping, Mike on one end and Vanessa at the other end with one arm around Cappy, her stuffed turtle.

Everything was quiet outside for the moment. There had been the sound of gunshots and police sirens earlier, and some aircraft flying overhead, but now it was quiet, the silence so complete it felt like it was throbbing in his ears.

He didn’t want to, but he made himself lay a hand on Mike’s forehead. His skin was cool and dry. He didn’t stir from the touch. Ray went to Vanessa and laid a gentle hand on her forehead. She was a little warmer, but she was also half covered with a blanket.

A shuffling noise startled Ray—it had come from the kitchen. He whirled that way, staring into the darkness, trying to see what had made the noise. Then he saw someone sitting at the dining room table.

It was Emma.

Ray made his way slowly into the dining area off of the kitchen.

“Sorry I startled you,” Emma whispered.

“It’s okay,” he told her.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said. “So I came out here to get some water and sit here for a little while.”

Ray just nodded. He sat down in a chair at the other end of the table.

“How are they doing?” Emma asked.

“They’re out. They need their sleep. Don’t worry, we won’t wake them. Once they’re out, they are out.”

“How about Kim?” Emma asked. “Is she sleeping?”

“Yes,” Ray said. He couldn’t help feeling that Emma wanted to say something to him, that she was leading up to something.

“Kim,” Emma whispered. “She’s infected, isn’t she?”

CHAPTER 24

Emma could tell that she’d caught Ray off guard with her statement. She’d been sitting at the dining room table for a while now, trying to think of the right way to say it. But she couldn’t come up with the right words, so she just decided to spit them out. She imagined Ray would become angry and defensive, perhaps even wondering why she suspected that Kim was infected. He would ask if she had been spying on them, listening to their conversation.

But Ray hadn’t lashed out in anger, and she could sense that deep down inside he already knew the truth.

“She’s just not feeling good,” Ray finally answered.

Emma didn’t try to argue with Ray. She knew that Kim was infected with whatever this disease was, just like she’d known other things in life; she knew it with an unquestioning certainty. Kim was infected. How long before Kim turned violent? How long before she turned into a ripper? How long before she attacked her own children?

Ray was still quiet. She could hear him breathing.

Emma was dependent on Ray right now. There was no way she could survive out there on her own. And there was also no way she would be able to fight Kim off when she invariably turned into a raging animal. Ray loved his wife, there was no denying that. But she needed him to face the truth before he waited too long, before Kim became too wild and strong to fight. And even when Kim turned into a ripper, would Ray be able to kill his wife? Somehow Emma needed to make Ray understand the severity of their situation.

“She’s infected,” Emma said again in a whisper. This wasn’t a suggestion now, but a fact.

Emma waited again for an outburst from Ray, a demand to know how she was so sure of a thing like that. She had always had this “sixth sense” as some called it, but like she’d told Ray earlier, it was even stronger now. She wasn’t sure why it was stronger; maybe the dire situation they were in had increased her awareness somehow.

She had always been able to feel things, sense things, see things in her mind. She hadn’t always been blind; she’d been able to see up until she was eight years old, and she still occasionally saw things in her dreams now. She’d seen Ray and his family in her dreams; she already knew exactly what they looked like. She’d seen them coming to her.

And there were others in her dreams.

In one dream Emma saw a scrawny young man with long hair and a scraggily beard. He had tattoos and wore grungy clothes. He was searching for his sister and his nephew. She didn’t know the man’s name, but she knew that she needed to be with him, and he needed to be with her. And they needed to be with Ray and his family. They all needed to be together.

In another dream she saw a tall, muscular man in his late thirties, a man who had done some terrible things in his life. But he wasn’t totally a bad man, there was some good inside of him; he was a man who could be good if given the chance. He needed to be with them, too. They all needed to be together, and she had a feeling that it was going to happen somehow.

And there was another person she saw in her dreams—the man in the shadows, the dark man with the shining eyes, the evil one, the one who made her quake with fear in her own bed. She would wake up bathed in sweat, breathing hard, feeling like the man was standing in the darkness near her.

But the shadowy man was never in the room with her; he was out there somewhere. He was out there looking for them, looking for each one of them.

For the last few months Emma had a sense of an impending doom of some kind, a doom of such colossal scale. She didn’t know what it was—nuclear war, some kind of natural disaster, an asteroid hitting the Earth—she just knew that it was going to be terrible, some kind of cataclysm of biblical proportions, the end of civilization, the end of humanity’s existence on this planet; this lit-up world in a lonely corner of the galaxy was going to go dark suddenly, winking out without anyone knowing it, a blip on the cosmic radar suddenly snuffed out. It was like God had turned His back on the world, like He had given us every chance, ample time to rise above our petty greed and selfishness and wastefulness, and then He’d had enough. It was the closest Emma could get to describing what she felt in those panicky moments before the horror had actually come.

And now those times were here. She kept hearing a snippet from a song she’d heard a long time ago—Bad Moon Rising by Creedence Clearwater Revival, a song about destruction and calamity. Somewhere out there, the man with the long hair and scruffy beard was listening to that song in his mind, the lyrics playing over and over again in his mind.

Knowing that something terrible was coming, but not exactly what it was, Emma had prepared as best she could. She called a company to install the bars on her windows, and then she contacted a handyman who had installed the plywood panels over the windows to block out any light or sounds from inside her condo. She’d had her door locks inspected and upgraded. She had stocked up on food and water during her last three shopping trips with her mother. She had begged her mother to come stay with her at the condo. Emma had suggested that they leave, go somewhere else. But where? When this started, whatever it was going to be, she had a feeling that nowhere was going to be safe.

Her mother had told her she needed to be at home. Emma knew that was true.

Emma had known things needed to be in certain places for a reason, for reasons that she couldn’t see yet, for reasons that she might not ever understand.

Her mother was dead, Emma was sure of that. But her mother didn’t have cancer as she’d told Ray. But Emma was sure that her mother, who had the same psychic ability she had, just not as strong, knew she had an illness. She knew she’d been exposed to this pandemic, that all hope was now lost for her. But her mother had also known that hope wasn’t lost for Ray, and not for all of his family. Not for her, either. Her mother had known that she needed to be with Ray, just like they needed to be with the others she saw in her dreams.

Even though Emma had prepared as best she could for this coming disaster, she still wasn’t ready for it right now. But even with the crushing sense of doom, there had been sparks of hope—like Ray and his family, like the other two men she saw in her dreams. There was hope for them, and maybe that hope was Avalon, whatever that meant. She was telling Ray the truth when she told him she didn’t know what the word meant. She didn’t know if it was a place or an object, or something else entirely. The word had just popped into her mind as something real, as something important, as something to be sought. That’s all she could really explain about it.

“She’s not infected,” Ray mumbled, almost like he was talking to himself, trying his best to convince himself of a truth.

Emma didn’t say anything. She could feel Ray looking at her now in the dark.

“She can’t be,” Ray said, his voice cracking just a bit.

Emma didn’t want to say anything. She could tell that Ray was beginning to see the truth; she could tell that he’d known for a while now.

“I need to go check on her,” Ray said, standing up.

“Of course,” Emma said. But she knew he just wanted to get away from her. She was a freak, she always had been, and she could tell when she unnerved people, when she drove them away.

“You going back to bed?” Ray asked.

“I’m going to stay up for a while longer.”

“If you hear anything outside, you come get me.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Ray stood there for a moment longer, like he wanted to say something else. But whatever it was, he never spoke. He walked away.

Emma took a sip of her warm water and realized that her hand was shaking just a bit. A symptom of the disease? Possibly. But she knew she wasn’t infected. She knew that she was somehow immune to this disease . . . just like Ray was. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew.

There were a few sounds from outside, but they were far-off sounds: gunshots, emergency sirens, some kind of an explosion, car alarms going off. Earlier she’d heard what sounded like a few low-flying helicopters buzzing right over her building, and every once in a while she heard the sound of fast airplanes, like fighter jets, flying overhead.

An hour ago she’d heard what sounded like someone outside the sliding glass door, footsteps crunching on the dry grass out there in the small strip of grass that constituted her back yard. But the person hadn’t tried to get in, and the person wasn’t out there very long, moving on quickly. Maybe it had been a ripper, or just another person on the run, another person seeking shelter and food.

Emma took another sip of water. She couldn’t get her hand to stop shaking. She had wanted to tell Ray about his wife, that she was infected. He needed to hear that, needed to be prepared for that. They all did.

There was something else she needed to tell Ray, but she hadn’t worked up the nerve yet. Yes, she probably should have told him now, she should have revealed everything just then when they’d been talking, but she hadn’t. She had chickened out. She was worried that Ray might not be able to handle all of it at one time.

Kim wasn’t the only one infected. One of his children was infected, too.

CHAPTER 25

Ray managed to get a few hours of sleep before jumping awake in the darkness, awakened by some terrible dream that he couldn’t remember. It was like he didn’t want to remember the dream. The darkness of the bedroom felt like a crushing weight on him, and he struggled for breath for a moment.

Kim.

He didn’t hear her breathing in bed beside him. He reached out for her. It was a small bed and he should’ve already been able to feel her next to him, feel her breath on him. Before he even reached his hand out, he knew that she wasn’t in bed with him.

He sat up and put his feet on the floor, slipping them into his sneakers. He was still fully-dressed, wanting to be ready if he needed to jump out of bed. It was chilly in the bedroom, but not cold enough to see his own breath yet.

The condo was quiet. Everything outside was quiet.

“Kim?” he whispered.

Ray thought he saw someone standing in the far corner of the room. He thought it might be Kim, but the person in the corner was too big—it was a man. Ray got up and grabbed the small flashlight next to the bed, turning it on and shining it across the room to make sure no one was standing in the room with him.

No one was there.

Kim wasn’t in the bedroom. She must’ve gotten up and gone out to the living room. Maybe the kids were awake, too.

And then Ray’s heart jumped when he thought of what Kim had said last night in bed. She’d told Ray that she hadn’t been feeling well. She’d said that she was worried she was infected. She’d said that she had strange urges that were getting harder and harder to control. And then Emma had told him that Kim was infected.

Well, hell with this. Emma was obviously a crazy woman. He couldn’t let his family stay here with her. He didn’t care what he had promised Helen, or what Emma knew about Avalon, he wasn’t going to keep his family around a woman who thought she was some kind of psychic.

He rushed out into the hallway with the flashlight in his hand. As soon as he stepped out into the living room, shining his flashlight, he froze. Emma was the first one he saw on the living room floor, her pale figure almost luminous in the glow of the flashlight beam, but her pale throat was a dark gory mess now, her throat ripped out, strings of blood and meat dragged from her throat across the carpet.

Ray panned his flashlight beam to the couch. Kim and Vanessa were there, Kim growling as she hovered over Vanessa’s dead body, feeding on her, biting down on her flesh, tearing a piece away, slurping up the blood.

“Dad?” Mike whimpered.

Ray turned his flashlight beam towards the kitchen and saw Mike standing there with a shadowy man right behind him, the man’s hands resting on Mike’s shoulders. The features of the man’s face were hidden in shadows . . . except his eyes. They were shining.

Ray couldn’t breathe and then he was . . .

. . . awake. He sat up in bed. The room was murky, but it was daytime. Light seeped in around the edges of the plywood panels, enough so he could see. It was cold, but he tore the blanket off of him. He was fully-dressed, just like in the dream.

Kim wasn’t in bed with him.

Just like in the dream.

For a moment his heart froze, and he wondered if the dream had been a premonition, if he was going to go out to the living room and see what he’d seen in the nightmare, Kim feeding on Vanessa and Emma.

But no, he heard someone whispering from across the room.

The shadowy man with the shining eyes? For just a second Ray thought the man had followed him out of the dream and into the bedroom. But then he saw Kim in the corner, huddled up, facing the wall, squatted down and rocking back and forth a little. She was saying something to herself, rapid words whispered over and over again.

Ray sat at the edge of the bed and slipped his socked feet into his sneakers.

Just like in the dream.

He walked over to Kim, standing right behind her as she faced the corner, still rocking back and forth, still whispering, not noticing that he had gotten out of bed and approached her.

“Kim?”

She didn’t turn around or acknowledge that he was there. She kept on whispering words that didn’t make sense now that Ray could hear them.

“. . . the people on the stairs, and when were they going to tell any of us about the rivers . . . coming back to the front . . . back to the front where the wires are burning . . .”

“Kim,” he said, touching her shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

She jumped when he touched her, spinning around with a wild look in her eyes, but not a wild look of fear, an expression of hatred and rage for just a moment. But then her features softened, her eyebrows shooting up in concern. She looked like someone who had just been roused from sleep, roused from a disturbing dream.

“Ray,” she said, almost like she was proving to herself that she knew his name, proving that she could remember it.

“Kim, are you okay?”

She just nodded, her mouth closed tight, eyes still wide.

“What are you doing here in the corner? What were you talking about?”

Kim looked a little confused. She just shook her head a little. “I don’t remember saying anything.”

Ray felt the shivers run through his body again, and his head swam just a little. For a moment he felt a little unstable, like everything had tilted just enough to knock him off balance. But he swallowed and forced himself to smile at her. He offered a hand. “Come on, let’s get back to bed.”

She nodded and allowed him to help her up from the floor. They walked to the bed together and she crawled under the covers, shivering now. Her eyes were still wide, but she had a blank look in them now.

“You okay now?” he asked, whispering to her.

She nodded and looked at him. Her blank look was replaced with horror. “I don’t remember getting up and going to the corner.”

“I know. You were just sleepwalking. We’re all tired. We’re all beyond tired. Exhausted.”

“It’s happening.”

Her words froze Ray for a moment, the certainty of her statement. The realization hit him that he couldn’t pretend anymore. Kim wasn’t going to pretend, and he couldn’t pretend either.

“No,” was all Ray said. It wasn’t a challenge to her statement, but more of a plea.

“It’s going to happen soon, Ray. You have to help me. I don’t want the kids to see me like this. I don’t want them to see me turn into one of those . . . those things out there.”

Ray felt the tears. He tried to hold them back, but he couldn’t.

Kim swallowed hard, licking her lips. “I’ve got these . . .” She paused and seemed to be struggling to find the right words. “I’ve got these bad thoughts. Bad things I want to do.”

He held her close. She was trembling even more now.

“See if Emma has something I can take,” Kim whispered into his ear. “Please. Some kind of medication. Sleeping pills or something. Something that will let me fall asleep and slip away.”

“No,” Ray said. It was an automatic reaction. He pulled away from her, the tears falling now.

“I’m sorry,” Kim said, reaching out for Ray’s hand, taking it, holding it, gripping it hard. “I’m so sorry for everything I did. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you. I’ve always loved you. Never stopped loving you.”

Ray was crying harder. He wasn’t ready for this. He couldn’t lose Kim, but he knew he was going to. He didn’t want to go ask Emma if she had some kind of pills that could end his wife’s life, but he also didn’t want to watch her turn into a ripper.

“Please, Ray. I don’t have a lot of time. I can feel it coming. Things . . . things aren’t making sense. There’s a bad . . . there are bad . . . a bad moon is rising.” Then she giggled, and her eyes shifted away, her expression suddenly so different.

Ray backed away a little, wiping at his tears. The woman in the bed was Kim, but at the same time she wasn’t the woman he’d known all these years, the woman he’d loved all these years. She was slipping away, being taken over by some kind of virus that was changing the chemicals in her brain, re-forming it, stripping away her humanity and leaving a raging animal behind.

“What about the kids?” Ray asked.

“I want to see them.”

He nodded, wiping at his eyes. He didn’t want his kids to see that he’d been crying. “Of course.”

“But I can’t,” she said, her eyes wide again, her emotions switching from one to another with lightning speed. “You can’t let them in here. They won’t want to leave me. And I can’t have them around me in case something bad happens.”

She didn’t need to explain what “something bad” was supposed to mean.

“Tell them I’m sick. Real sick. Then . . . after I’m gone . . . you can tell them that I passed away in my sleep.” There were tears pooling in her eyes. “Please protect them, Ray.”

Ray struggled to hold back more tears. He nodded.

“You need to hurry. I’m . . . I’m hungry. I’m craving meat. Raw meat. And . . . and blood.”

He wanted Kim to see Mike and Vanessa one last time, but he had to agree that it wasn’t a good idea to bring them in right now. What if “something bad” happened? Did he want Mike and Vanessa to see that? Did he want them to see their father beating their mother with a golf club because she was trying to attack them? And what if she was contagious right now? Of course, that didn’t matter anymore. They’d all been around each other for the last few days, all of them crammed together in this little condo overnight. If Kim was contagious then he surely had it, and so did the kids and Emma.

“The pills,” Kim said. “Please ask Emma. If not, then we’ll think of something else. But we need to hurry.”

Ray couldn’t imagine what that something else might be, and he didn’t want to think about it. “You just wait right here. Don’t get out of bed.”

Kim just watched him as he left the room. He hurried down the hall to the living room. Even before he got to the living room, he could hear Mike and Vanessa talking. Emma was in the living room with them. They were all snacking on some dry cereal.

“Dad!” Vanessa squealed.

“Sorry,” Emma said. “We were trying to be quiet. Trying not to wake you.”

“That’s okay,” Ray said with a smile, but that smile felt false. He felt like a bad actor trying to pull off a role and the whole audience knew he was failing. He looked at Emma. “Kim’s real sick. She’s going to stay in bed for a little while.” He hoped she understood what he meant.

“I want to see Mom,” Vanessa said.

“Not right now,” Ray told Vanessa. “We need to let her rest.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Mike asked, already suspicious.

“She’s just not feeling well.” Ray forced that smile-thing back on his face again. “She’ll be fine in a few hours. She’s just got a headache. That’s all.”

But Mike didn’t look so sure about that.

“We should bring her some 7-Up,” Vanessa said. “Mom likes 7-Up when she’s sick. And chicken noodle soup.”

“I’ll get it for her,” Ray said. “You two just stay here and finish your breakfast. Okay?” He looked at Emma, his throat choking up, barely able to speak. “Do you have some aspirins I could get for Kim?”

Emma was already standing up before Ray had the words out of his mouth.

CHAPTER 26

Ray got a bottle of 7-Up from the pantry that was stocked with food. Of course Emma had 7-Up, like she knew Kim would want one, like she knew Vanessa would want one for her mother because she wasn’t feeling well. Did that mean that Emma would have the pills Kim wanted?

Ray told Emma what he needed in a whisper, trying to keep it together, trying not to cry.

“Up in the cabinet above the stove,” she whispered back. “They’re in a big metal cup.”

Ray opened the cabinet and found a prescription pill bottle inside the metal cup, just like she said. He read the label, which was printed with words on one side and brail on the other. The prescription was made out to Emma Steele.

“They’re sleeping aids,” she told him. She didn’t add that the pills would do the trick—she didn’t need to.

“Vanessa!” Mike yelled from the living room. “You’re not supposed to bother her.”

Ray’s heart jumped and he shoved the bottle of pills down into his front pants pocket.

“Ow!” Mike yelled. “Stop!”

Ray was in the living room in a flash. He saw Mike and Vanessa at the entrance to the hallway; Mike was trying to keep Vanessa from going down the hall. “What’s going on?” he yelled. “We’re supposed to be quiet. Mom’s sick.” He could imagine Kim bursting out of the bedroom, the door slamming open. He could imagine her running down the hall in an insane rage, her mouth wide open in hunger, a growl in her throat.

“I was trying to stop her,” Mike said. “But she hit me in the face.”

Ray looked at his daughter. She was about to cry. “Is that true?”

She nodded. “I . . . I don’t know why I did it. I just . . . I just want to see Mom.”

“I know,” Ray said. “But we need to let her rest. You two go back and finish your breakfast.” He turned around and saw Emma standing at the edge of the kitchen. He looked back at his kids. “Not another peep, okay?”

They both nodded. They looked scared.

“I just want to give her some 7-Up,” Ray said in a softer voice, lifting the bottle in his hand like it was proof. The bottle of pills in his front pants pocket felt conspicuous. “I . . . I just need to sit with her for a while. Try to make her feel better.” He barely got the last of the words out, his throat nearly locking up. His heart was still beating hard from his dash into the living room, his fear that his seven-year-old daughter was attacking his son.

His kids nodded again. Emma was still at the edge of the kitchen. Ray didn’t know what else to say, and even if he had, he didn’t trust his voice not to crack with emotion right now. He hurried down the hall to the bedroom.

Kim wasn’t in bed. She was at the corner again, crouched there with her arms around her knees, rocking back and forth, just like he’d found her when he’d woken up a little earlier. She was whispering again, speaking the words quickly, but mixing them up. He could hear those words more clearly now.

He closed and locked the bedroom door. He approached cautiously, not sure if she had completely turned now.

“Kim?”

She kept whispering and rocking back and forth.

He touched her on the shoulder, his body tense—he was ready to jump back if she attacked him. He didn’t even have anything to protect himself with.

A weapon to protect himself from his wife? God, what was he thinking?

Kim turned around with wild eyes, her mouth wide in a grin that wasn’t exactly a smile.

“Kim,” Ray said a little more sharply.

Her eyes seemed to clear. She seemed to notice that she’d been drooling. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. Once again, she seemed to be confused about why she was crouching in the corner. “I . . . I keep hearing this song in my mind,” she whispered. “But . . . but the words aren’t making any sense.”

“I know,” Ray said. “You’re not feeling well. But I’ve got some . . . some medicine that will make you feel a little better.” His stomach clenched, and for just a moment he thought he might have to rush out to the bathroom in the hall and vomit into the toilet.

Kim just stared at him like she was trying her hardest to understand what he was saying, like she was processing each word, trying to piece them together into the sentences and decipher their meaning.

He offered his hand, a gesture that she seemed to understand. She took his proffered hand and stood up. She didn’t seem weak or shaky, if anything, she seemed stronger and more limber. But she allowed him to guide her back to the bed.

“It’s happening,” she whispered, but there were no tears now. The change was so sudden—faster than Ray thought it would be.

Ray nodded. “I know.”

“The kids,” she whispered.

“They’re okay. I told them that you’re not feeling well. I told them not to come into the room.”

“Then they know?”

“I don’t think Vanessa does,” Ray said, and he thought of Vanessa hitting her brother. Mike and Vanessa had had their arguments before, like all kids, but he couldn’t remember Vanessa actually striking her brother in the face before. And Mike hadn’t hit her back, almost like he’d been too shocked by his sister’s sudden violence to react. “I think Mike knows.”

Kim just nodded.

Ray pulled out the bottle of pills from his pants pocket, the pills rattling around inside—a death rattle, he thought. “Here,” he said, his word just a croak. He cleared his throat. “You . . . you just take as many as you can. They’ll put you to sleep.”

Or maybe she would get sick and pass out, Ray thought. Maybe she would puke in her sleep, choking to death. Maybe she would go into seizures, foaming at the mouth. Or maybe she would scream from intense stomach cramps before she died. He had no way of knowing for sure.

He opened the bottle for her and handed her a pill.

She took the pill and swallowed it with a little bit of 7-Up.

“Vanessa thought the 7-Up would make you feel better,” Ray said. And then he couldn’t help it; he burst into tears.

His wife laid a hand on his muscular forearm, but she still wasn’t showing much emotion. “We don’t know how these pills are going to work,” she said, being the rational one of them now when he couldn’t be. “Get something to tie my legs and hands.”

Ray wiped at his eyes. He should’ve thought of that, but his mind was muddy right now. He stood up and went to the closet. There were some extra sheets and pillows on top of the closet. He unfolded a bedsheet and tore it up into strips. He came back to the bed and tied his wife’s ankles together. “Too tight?” he asked.

She shook her head no, already taking another pill and chasing it with a swig of 7-Up. She’d taken four so far.

Ray nodded. He had the other strip of bedsheet in his hands. “I’ll wait to tie your hands until you take some more.”

Kim nodded and took two more pills, swallowing them down with barely any soda now. “Thank you for doing this.”

Thank you? She was thanking him for ending her life. But wouldn’t he want the same thing if he was in her situation? He knew he would. He couldn’t die thinking that he would be any kind of a threat to his family, and he had to understand that Kim felt the same way. Mike and Vanessa had always been her world, and this was the last way she had to protect them from the horrors outside their door now.

Kim was already looking sleepy, her eyes glazing over a bit. But Ray wanted her to keep going. He didn’t know exactly how this would work, but he wanted her to have enough of the pills in her so she could overdose. Maybe she should mix the pills with alcohol—he’d heard of that kind of combo killing people before. He wondered if Emma had any alcohol, but then he was sure she wouldn’t. Why would a blind woman have alcohol in her house? He almost laughed at the absurdity of it, picturing a blind woman getting drunk by herself and stumbling around. He had to bite down on his fingers to keep from laughing.

Ray sat on the bed right beside Kim with the length of torn bedsheet still in his hands.

“I want you to go to Craig’s house,” Kim said in a moment of clarity. She spoke quickly, rushing her words like she wasn’t sure how long she would be cognizant enough to express herself. “I want you to go there and try to find the answers he was talking to you about. If there’s a cure there, then I want you to get my babies there. Can you do that for me?”

Ray just nodded.

“Take Mike and Vanessa somewhere safe,” she said, her voice softer now, almost a whisper. “Protect them, Ray.”

“I will,” he promised.

She took a few more pills and closed her eyes.

CHAPTER 27

Ray waited on the bed until Kim stopped breathing.

He had tied her hands together after she had passed out in case the pills didn’t work, in case her eyes popped open, bulging with a murderous rage. But it hadn’t happened, she hadn’t woken back up, and she had never completely turned. She had closed her eyes and just passed out. Her breathing was regular for a little while, and then a little later it was shallow, almost raspy. And then it seemed like she stopped breathing for ten or twelve seconds, and then she took another breath. Eventually, she just stopped breathing. At least she hadn’t suffered.

There were still some pills left in the bottle; it was almost half full. Would that be enough for the rest of them?

Ray cried for a while. He sobbed, burying his face in a pillow. He cried so hard it felt like his body was convulsing. After he was done crying, he was thirsty. The 7-Up was gone, but he was afraid to get another bottle of water, afraid of his children seeing him like this.

How were they supposed to see him? He was going to have to tell them the truth eventually, even though he was fairly certain Mike knew what was happening.

He sat on the floor across the room for a while, his back up against the wall. He had untied Kim and wrapped her body in the bedsheet, using more strips of the other bedsheet to tie around her body. She was now just a shrouded corpse in the middle of the bed.

Why keep going?

He didn’t want to do anything but sit here on the floor for a while. The world had turned to shit, and he felt like giving up. He probably had the same virus Kim had. And the kids were probably infected, too. And Emma. They were probably all going to die in the next day or two, holed up in this condo with those animals out there finishing off any uninfected people that they found.

Uninfected. He thought of what he’d told Kim earlier, that there was never a one hundred percent infection rate with any virus or plague. He wasn’t sure if that was true, but he’d heard that even the most virulent strains of the Ebola virus spared at least ten percent. If this plague was that bad, then at least five or ten percent might survive. Even one percent of the population would still be a lot of people. There were roughly three hundred and fifty million people in the United States. A one percent survival rate would still leave millions unaffected.

God, he couldn’t believe he was thinking about immunity from the virus, giving himself some kind of hope while his wife’s dead body rested on the bed. But if he didn’t think of some kind of possibility of survival, then he was afraid he was going to go crazy.

What kind of virus was out there? Some kind of natural mutation? Or had it been engineered by terrorists, a bioweapon of some kind? Maybe it was something that had gotten loose from the CDC, his own employer (former employer). If it was some kind of genetically altered virus, then the kill rate could be higher than ninety percent—that was something he needed to consider. The kill rate could be ninety-five percent. Or even ninety-nine point nine percent.

But what kind of virus was it? He was definitely no expert; he was just a number cruncher, but he knew a little bit about diseases just from reports and articles he’d read over the years. It didn’t seem like some kind of influenza to him; there were no flu-like symptoms that he’d seen. Kim hadn’t even had a fever; she hadn’t even been warm to the touch. So far, the only effect he’d seen of the disease was that it turned human beings into raging animals.

Rabies? Rabies was a virus, but it wasn’t airborne. Of course it could’ve been genetically altered to be airborne. But why? It seemed like an unlikely virus to use as a weapon. Rabies almost always killed its host after a few weeks. And even though the rippers seemed to be rabid, they didn’t exhibit the other classic signs of rabies like fear of water and foaming at the mouth.

Maybe it was something completely new. Some new kind of virus either made by man or made by Mother Nature; a natural cleansing of humans who had gotten out of control on this planet.

He looked back at Kim’s body again.

Protect them, she had told him. How was he supposed to do that? She’d told him to take them to Craig’s house, to where the answers were. She thought there might be a cure there, and he hadn’t argued with her, wanting her last thoughts to be comforting and full of hope. But at least Craig’s house would be a lot safer than Emma’s condo. Craig lived out in the country, far outside of the cities around Washington D.C. His house was surrounded by a fence, built on a few acres of land in a posh rural neighborhood.

And there might be answers there. He couldn’t help thinking about what Craig had been trying to say on the cell phone a few days ago before the service went out. Craig had told Ray to get to his house. He’d said he’d left something there for him. He’d said something about answers. He’d also said something about roses. And Avalon. Could there be clues to some kind of cure at Craig’s house? Ray dared to believe that Craig might even have some kind of a vaccine or antidote.

But no, Craig hadn’t said anything about a cure or an antidote or vaccine. But then again, the phone call had been breaking up. Maybe there was a lot more that Craig wanted to say, but the phones had gone out before he could say it.

Emma knew something about Avalon. She said that the word had just come to her, that she’d seen it in her dreams, but she didn’t know what it meant. Was she telling the whole truth, or was she holding something back? Was she doling out just so much information to him to keep leading him somewhere?

Paranoia crept through his mind like its own disease. Did Emma know more than she was saying? She had known that Kim was sick; she’d been so sure of it. Could she sense who else was sick? Would he even want to know?

He stood up and his head swam for just a moment. He paced across the room, trying to clear his mind a little. His thoughts were getting strange.

God, was he showing the same symptoms Kim had?

A tingly feeling of fear danced across his skin like some kind of static electricity, a panic wanting to build up and erupt inside of him. But he didn’t have anywhere to run to. He needed to calm down and try to think of things as rationally as he could, even if it was difficult right now.

He tried to think of the terrible things humans had experienced throughout history. He imagined how people had lived during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries; he tried to imagine how people had dealt with the Black Plague. Families had lost loved ones countless times throughout history to disease, accidents, and violence. Families had dealt with the kind of loss he was feeling right now and they had forced themselves to move on. This was just another dark time in history right now—maybe the worst time—but he still needed to be strong for his kids for as long as he could. And he needed to be strong for Emma. She was now his responsibility, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He had to believe in science and the government. He had to believe that the leaders of America were reacting to this outbreak at this very moment. He had to believe that they had planned for something like this, planned for every conceivable disaster possible. He had to believe that there were countless people around the world working on this problem right now.

But he had seen the bad side of the government in his neighborhood yesterday, the dark side of martial law. They hadn’t been quarantining people; they had been rounding them up. Killing them? Eradicating the exposed? Studying them? Who knew? All Ray knew was that all of the soldiers had been wearing protective gear.

Had the protective gear helped?

Maybe. Ray wondered if Emma had some kind of dust masks and gloves. If she’d known something bad was coming, if she had prepared like she had, then maybe she had “seen” far enough into the future to buy some masks and gloves. But if she had them then why wasn’t she wearing them? And she would have told him by now if she had protective gear for them.

So many questions. He needed to talk to Emma without Mike and Vanessa overhearing.

Ray took one last look around the bedroom. He had the bottle of pills shoved down in his pants pocket again (just in case). He didn’t need anything else in here, and he didn’t want anyone coming back in here. He opened the door, twisted the lock on the doorknob, and shut it when he was out in the hall so Mike and Vanessa couldn’t get inside. He hurried across the hall to the bathroom and went inside. He shut and locked the door.

He looked at himself in the mirror, making sure he didn’t look too bad. His face was puffy from crying, his nose tender. But his eyes were dry now.

“Please, God,” Ray whispered. He’d never been a very religious man, but what harm could prayer do now? “Please let my kids be okay. Please help me protect them.” He said a few quick prayers for Kim and then left the bathroom.

Mike and Vanessa were sitting on the couch. Emma was seated in the chair. Mike was reading his comic book and Vanessa seemed to be on the verge of sleep. They looked up when he entered the living room.

“Is Mom okay?” Vanessa asked in a drowsy voice.

Ray shook his head no. “She’s . . . she’s real sick.”

“Can I see her?” Vanessa asked.

He had to be careful, and he could feel his throat constricting. He kept his mouth tight for a moment and shook his head. “Not right now, baby.”

Mike just stared at Ray in shock. He knew the truth, but he wasn’t saying anything, perhaps hoping and praying that he was wrong.

Ray looked at Emma. “We can’t stay here much longer.”

She nodded like she already knew that.

“Those bars on the windows will keep the rippers out, but the front door and the sliding glass doors in the kitchen, they’re not going to hold them out forever.”

She nodded again, agreeing with him.

“I know a place we can go,” Ray said. “It’s about thirty miles away from here, but I think it will be safer. It’s Craig’s house, the man I mentioned before. He was my supervisor at work. He was the one I was talking to on the phone before the service went out. He was the one who told me about Avalon.”

If the word had triggered some kind of revelation from Emma, she wasn’t showing it.

“It will be dark pretty soon,” Ray continued. “I think we should leave before it gets dark.”

Emma nodded.

“What about Mom?” Vanessa asked.

Ray didn’t answer his daughter. He moved closer to Emma. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Emma stood up. “We can go to my bedroom.”

Ray looked at Mike and Vanessa. “You two stay there.” He looked at Mike. “You take care of your sister. Keep an eye on her.”

Mike nodded, but he looked like he was about to burst into tears at any moment. “I’ll talk to you two in a minute,” Ray told them.

He followed Emma down to the end of the hall to her bedroom, passing the locked door to the guest bedroom, where his dead wife lay on the bed inside, wrapped in a sheet.

“We need to keep our voices low,” Ray said once they were inside Emma’s bedroom. He looked at the closed bedroom door. His voice hitched again as he continued. “Mike has a . . . he has a habit of trying to eavesdrop.” He couldn’t help smiling, and he had to fight back the tears.

“Okay,” Emma said.

“Kim . . . she’s gone. She . . . just went to sleep and now she’s gone.”

Emma didn’t say anything.

“I’m going to have to tell Mike and Vanessa. I don’t know exactly what I’m going to say, but I need to tell them. I think Mike already knows.”

Emma just nodded like she already knew that.

And what else did she know?

“After we’re done talking,” Ray said, “if you could wait a few minutes in here, let me have some time alone with them?”

“Sure.”

“It’s going to be dangerous going to Craig’s house, but I think we need to try. He said something about answers to what’s going on. I have to try; it’s better than just sitting here and waiting.”

“Yes.”

“Like I said out there, we need to leave pretty soon. Before it gets dark. I don’t know how safe it will be traveling at night. We need to get some stuff together. Do you have a bag you can pack?”

“I’ve got a duffel bag I can put a few changes of clothes into.”

Ray nodded. “There’s not a ton of room in our truck.”

“I just have the one duffel bag,” she said.

“Take an extra pair of shoes with you. Something sturdy that you can walk in.”

She nodded.

“We’ll put another bag together with a few extra drinks and some food from your pantry. We’ve got some food in the truck, but a little more won’t hurt. I’m hoping Craig has some food at his house, but we can’t depend on that.”

“Okay,” she said.

Emma stood there in front of Ray like she was waiting for him to say something more. Like she knew he had more to say, like she was bracing herself from an assault that she knew was coming.

“Your . . . powers—” Ray began.

“They’re not powers,” she interrupted.

“The things you . . . you sense. You can tell certain things. Right?”

She nodded, waiting. “Sometimes.”

“You knew Kim was sick.”

“Yes.”

Ray didn’t want to ask; he’d never been so afraid of anything in his whole life, but he had to know. He had to be prepared. “Do you know if any of the rest of us are sick?” His mouth went dry as he waited for her response.

Emma nodded. “Just one.”

Ray’s heart skipped a beat. But before he could ask her about it, he heard Mike yelling from the living room.

“Dad!” Mike yelled. “Vanessa just tried to bite me!”

CHAPTER 28

Ray felt like his world was spinning out of control. A rush of emotions stormed through him, conflicting and combating each other. He was sick with himself because he felt relief that only one of his children was infected with the disease. But he was also overcome with dread because he didn’t need to ask Emma which one of them it was.

I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for this.

He rushed out to the living room, his legs somehow weak with fear yet surging with adrenaline at the same time.

Maybe Emma was wrong. She’d been right about Kim, but maybe she was wrong about Vanessa.

He was in the living room, staring at Mike who was seated at one end of the couch, holding his forearm. Vanessa was curled up at the other end, her face blank. She was rocking just slightly, looking so much like Kim had only hours ago.

“Did she bite you?” Ray asked Mike.

He shook his head no. “She grabbed me. She had her mouth open. She was trying to bite me.” His words trailed off. He looked scared, but maybe more frightened that his father wasn’t going to believe him. He looked like he was scared he was the one who was going to be in trouble for this.

Ray looked at Vanessa. “Did you try to bite Mike?” His mouth was so dry now as he spoke the words.

“I don’t know,” she said, her expression still blank. And then she started talking, but she was whispering so low that her words were unintelligible.

“What’s that, baby?” Ray asked, biting back his tears.

She looked at him and stopped whispering. She stopped rocking. She had that confused look on her face just like Kim had when he had tapped her on the shoulder as she crouched in the corner. “Bad moon,” she whispered.

“What does that mean?” Ray asked.

“Bad things,” she said, and then she shook her head a little like she was trying to clear it. “I’m sorry,” she said, and now her voice sounded like her own again. “I didn’t mean to do it.” She started crying, sniffling.

Ray wanted to rush over to his daughter and pick her up, hold her, hug her, protect her, tell her everything was going to be okay.

But he didn’t move. There was something in his daughter’s eyes, something untrustworthy, like a mongrel dog that might attack.

“Are you okay now?” Ray asked Vanessa.

She nodded, rubbing at her eyes, the tears drying up right away.

“Mike,” Ray said, looking at his son. “Let’s go to the kitchen and get Vanessa something to drink.” He looked back at Vanessa. “You want something to drink?”

She nodded.

Mike got up and Ray met him in the kitchen. Ray grabbed a can of soda. Emma was still in the bedroom, giving him a few minutes alone with his kids as she had promised and getting her bag together so they could leave soon.

“Mom’s dead, isn’t she?” Mike said.

Ray felt like he’d been punched in the heart. He wanted to look away from his son’s eyes, but he didn’t—he made himself look right into Mike’s eyes as he nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Fat tears spilled from Mike’s eyes.

Ray hugged his son. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

Mike pulled away from Ray and wiped at his eyes.

“We need to get ready to go,” Ray said after clearing his throat. “Okay?”

Mike nodded.

“As soon as Emma is ready, and as soon as we get a bag of food and drinks together, we’re leaving.”

Mike nodded again. He didn’t ask where they were going, or anything else, his usual fountain of questions was dried up now. He looked like he was in shock.

“Are you going to be ready when it’s time leave?” Ray asked. “I need you to be ready.”

Mike nodded.

CHAPTER 29

Emma had said only one of them was sick, and Ray knew now that it was Vanessa.

Oh God, his baby girl. Why?

Did that mean that the rest of them weren’t infected yet? Did it mean that they were immune? God knew all of them had to have been exposed to the disease by now.

He felt a sickeningly sense of selfishness right now. He was relieved that at least one of his children might be spared, that he himself might be spared to protect Mike and Emma. But he was feeling an irrational hatred of Emma right now, like she was somehow involved with this calamity even though she couldn’t possibly be. Emma wasn’t the cause of this, but he felt so hopeless, like he needed to lash out at something, like he needed to hate something, blame something. Ray had never been an emotional man, and maybe that’s why Kim had turned to another man for comfort. But now his emotions seemed to be out of control, like he was overloading on them. It was a constant fight to keep his mind clear and keep himself focused on the tasks that needed to be done.

What was he going to do about Vanessa?

He was going to take her with them to Craig’s house, that’s what he was going to do. Maybe there was some kind of cure at Craig’s house. He imagined a vial of blue liquid locked away in a safe somewhere in Craig’s office, the cure left there for Ray and his family. Probably not, but he was going to take Vanessa with them if there was even the slightest chance that he could help her. He had to try.

It wouldn’t be long before Vanessa turned. She was already at the stage he’d seen Kim at only a few hours ago; that stage of confusion and rage . . . and hunger. She’d already tried to bite Mike.

Emma was ready to go now. She had a duffel bag packed full, and she had a collapsible walking stick with her. She had an electronic walking stick that ran off batteries—it emitted a small beeping sound when she came across something in her path—but she didn’t want to use it in case the sound drew the rippers.

Ray had already packed a cloth shopping bag full of drinks and canned food. It was extra weight to carry, but he wanted to take something in case their vehicle had been looted while they’d been in Emma’s condo. Maybe the rippers had shattered the windows of their Chevy Tahoe and taken their food and drinks. Or maybe other survivors had stolen their food.

Mike and Vanessa waited on the couch, one on each end of it, Mike sitting as far away from his sister as he could. Vanessa was rocking a little, whispering words none of them could hear, trapped for moments at a time in her own world. Mike was tense; he looked like he was ready to jump up in a flash if Vanessa made a move towards him.

They were all ready to go. Before Ray could say anything there was a sound from outside, a roaring sound right above them.

“What’s that?” Mike yelled.

Ray looked up at the ceiling. The roaring was already past them. “Airplanes,” he said. “Fighter jets, I think.”

Fighter jets roaring past. Did that mean the military was still out there, still trying to battle the rippers? Was there still some kind of hope?

But then Ray’s hopes were dashed seconds later when he heard the explosions. The vibrations from the explosions rumbled through the building, actually shaking the walls like they were in an earthquake.

They’re blowing up Washington D.C. They aren’t winning the battle; this is a last-ditch effort to eradicate as many rippers as they can.

“Dad!” Mike yelled. He was on his feet now, still staring at the ceiling as if he could see through it, as if he could see the fighter jets in the sky. “Those planes just blew something up.”

Vanessa stared up at the ceiling just like her brother, her eyes big and round. “Bad moon,” she whispered. “Bad moon.”

Mike was right. The airplanes just dropped some bombs. And from the direction the sound had come from, Ray was certain they had just bombed Washington D.C. Were they nuclear bombs? Was a shockwave coming their way? A cloud of radiation?

“We gotta go now!” Ray told them. He already had his truck keys in his hand. “We need to get as far away from the city as possible.” At least Craig’s house was in the opposite direction from D.C., farther way from the city, with some hills and small mountains in between.

“I’m going to get the truck,” Ray said.

Mike looked instantly nervous. “Dad . . .”

“I’m going to make sure the truck is okay, get it started, and bring it back here. Drive it right through the breezeway. I’m going to park it right outside the door so we can all get inside.”

“I’ll go with you,” Mike practically begged.

“No, Mike. You need to stay here with Vanessa and Emma. They need you right now.”

Mike didn’t argue, he sniffled, doing his best to hold back tears. He nodded.

“Can you take this when I get the truck here?” Ray asked, handing Mike the bag of food and drinks.

Mike grabbed the bag. It was a little heavy, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He rolled his Incredible Hulk comic book up and stuffed it down into the bag.

Ray could sense Mike’s fear about going outside again, back out there where they had run from the horde of rippers, but it had to be done. Staying here would eventually be a deathtrap. He wished he had time to explain all of that to Mike, but they needed to go now. What if those planes came back around to drop more bombs? Or what if other bombers were on their way?

He went to the condo door and unlocked the deadbolt, and then he twisted the little lock on the doorknob. He looked back at Mike before he opened the door.

Mike stood next to Emma. Vanessa was still curled up in the corner of the couch, staring at the corner of the living room like she could see something that none of them could see. She was rocking just a bit on the couch . . . just like Kim had done.

Ray stared at Mike. “You lock this door when I leave. Don’t open it until you hear our truck outside or you hear me knock on the door. You got that?”

Mike nodded and hurried over to the door, giving Ray a hug.

“I’ll be back,” Ray told him. “I promise. Just remember to lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone but me. Look through this peephole first before you open it.”

Mike wiped at his tears again, but he nodded.

Ray’s hands were shaking as he opened the door. He had his golf club in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other. He peeked out the door. There was no one around that he could see in the courtyard. He looked across the yard to the other buildings. There was no one on the balconies now, no one coming outside to see what the noise from the airplanes had been. From the doorway, Ray couldn’t see too much of the sky with the walkway above making a roof over Emma’s front door, but those bombs had sounded pretty close.

It was now or never. Ray slipped out the door and closed it softly. A second later he heard Mike locking the door from the inside.

CHAPTER 30

Ray hurried down the walkway with his golf club in one hand and the kitchen knife in the other. They weren’t much in the way of weapons, but they were all he had right now. His footsteps were quiet in the eerie silence of the condo complex. He still hadn’t seen any rippers, and he hadn’t seen any of the other people who were holed up in their condos across the courtyard. Maybe some of them had left during the night. Maybe some of them had turned into rippers or died. Or maybe some of them had killed themselves—like Kim had.

He got to the end of the walkway, to the breezeway area. He peeked around the corner and stared down the long, wide tunnel of concrete. No rippers in sight. The breezeway was definitely big enough for him to drive his SUV through it and into the courtyard—it even looked like it was made for that. Maybe utility vehicles came back here from time to time to work on the lawn or the pool.

Or they used to. Never again.

It seemed like such a long way to the other end of the breezeway. He needed to hurry, but he would have to be quiet, his footsteps might echo.

After a deep breath, Ray hurried down the breezeway, staying close to the block wall. He got to the other end and stopped at the corner for just a moment, looking around. He spotted two rippers across the street, prowling like animals close to a building, but their attention was on something at the other end of the building they were in front of. The street was littered with dead bodies, and pieces of dead bodies, flesh smeared along the road from the tanks and military trucks. A murder of crows pecked at the stringy remains in a few areas, taking flight when two other rippers got too close, squawking as they flew away.

Ray made himself wait a few more seconds, listening. He didn’t hear any vehicles farther down the street, no cars or trucks, or military patrols, and thankfully, no airplanes right now.

His SUV was parked on the other side of the parking lot underneath the large metal awning, backed into the parking spot. The truck looked untouched from where he stood; the front tires were still inflated and the windshield was still intact. Maybe no one had stolen anything out of his truck yet.

After the two rippers across the street disappeared around the corner of the building, Ray crossed the parking lot quickly to his SUV. At least he had the cover of the awning, but he could still be spotted by the other rippers on the street. He got to his vehicle and held the knife and golf club in one hand while he dug his keys out of his pants pocket. He pressed the button on the fob to unlock the door, and the clunking sound of the locks sounded so loud in the silence, like the noise had echoed out into the street.

He opened the door and slid inside, throwing the knife on the passenger floorboard and the golf club into the back seat. He saw that the back was still full of the boxes of supplies they had taken from their house. Blankets and pillows were still in the back seat.

It took a few seconds for his shaking hand to get the key into the ignition. He waited just a second, and then he twisted the key. The SUV started right up, the motor sounded like a jetliner to him under the awning. Surely the sound of his SUV starting up would alert those two rippers he’d just seen across the street. And any others nearby.

Because it was almost dark, the headlights came on automatically when Ray turned the truck on. He shut the headlights of as quickly as he could, hoping none of the rippers out on the street had seen the flash of light. He turned around in the driver’s seat, staring out through the rear window.

The two rippers he’d seen a moment ago were bolting across the street towards the condo parking area. But there were more of them coming—he could hear the calls and cries of the other rippers.

He shifted into drive and gunned the gas, turning the wheel and driving right towards the breezeway. He sped through the wide tunnel to the other end, the engine’s noise even louder in the tunnel. He turned left at the end of the breezeway, his eyes darting back and forth across the courtyard, but he still didn’t see anyone yet.

He drove over a small row of shrubs and onto the large grassy area of the courtyard, driving down to Emma’s condo. He swung around in a big circle and parked right in front of Emma’s door so the SUV would be pointed in the right direction—the way back out.

And then he saw a pack of rippers pouring out of the breezeway and running towards the SUV. There were at least twelve or fifteen of them, men and women, different ages, some carrying crude weapons, others just running towards him with their bare hands clenched into claws. They were yelling and screeching.

Ray got out of his truck, leaving the motor running and slamming the driver’s door shut. He ran around the truck to open the passenger door and the back door on that side.

He’d told Mike to keep the door to the condo closed and locked until he came back and knocked on the door, but for once Ray was glad that Mike had disobeyed his orders; Mike already had Emma’s door open, standing there in the doorway with the bag of food in his hands that Ray had given him earlier.

“Come on,” Ray yelled. “They’re coming!”

Emma was out the door, flicking her cane back and forth in front of her. She had her small duffel bag looped over one shoulder, her dark glasses on.

Mike helped Vanessa to the SUV, even though she seemed to want to wander away, like she didn’t understand what was going on.

“Help Emma,” Ray told Mike as he scooped Vanessa up into his arms to carry her to the SUV. Vanessa screeched (an oddly similar sound to the rippers that were heading their way) and fidgeted in his arms. She was strong, and she tried to bite at his neck, her teeth chomping together.

He practically tossed Vanessa into the back seat as Mike guided Emma right to the passenger seat.

“Get in!” Ray told Mike as he ran to the rear of the vehicle to run around it. He didn’t even glance at the approaching rippers, he couldn’t spare the second that it would take, and he was afraid he might freeze in horror if he did.

Mike was in the back seat, slamming the door shut.

Ray was at the rear of the SUV when the first of the rippers got the front of the truck. He wasn’t going to make it to the driver’s door; the rippers were going to get to him first. His kids were going to watch him die right outside the windows, and they would be trapped inside the running vehicle after that.

A gunshot rang out in the dusk and the ripper running towards the driver’s door spun around, a spray of blood exploding out of the side of his head. He dropped to the ground in a heap.

Another gunshot. Another ripper went down.

Then another.

The man (or men) from the condo across the courtyard was shooting at the rippers, picking them off one by one, like a sniper.

The other rippers hadn’t reached the SUV just yet, and they had stopped, looking around like they were trying to figure out where the gunshots were coming from. But the shots had frightened them, halted them just long enough for Ray to get to the driver’s door and get inside the Chevy Tahoe. He slammed the door shut and slapped at the door lock button, locking all the doors.

A few more gunshots rang out. These shots didn’t hit any of the rippers, but the gunshots backed them up even more.

“That guy’s shooting at them!” Mike yelled in triumph.

Vanessa was saying something, but it was just gibberish, something about the moon again.

Ray looked to his left, across the courtyard field to the condo building. He couldn’t see where the man was shooting from in the quickly-approaching darkness, but he knew it was the same man who had warned them yesterday that the rippers were following them when they had first come to Emma’s condo, the same man who had fired shots at Emma’s building to drive the rippers away.

“You guys okay?” Ray asked.

“Go, Dad!” Mike yelled.

Ray shoved the shifter into drive and stomped down on the gas pedal. He couldn’t remember if any of the rippers had fallen in front of the SUV, but he didn’t have time to worry about that now. He just drove forward as fast as he could, the rear wheels spinning in the grass for a moment before the truck lurched forward. There was a spray of blood across the bottom of the windshield from one of the rippers the man in the building had shot. Ray was tempted to use the windshield wipers, but he didn’t want to smear the blood all over the glass and make it more difficult to see.

As he drove forward, the rippers became bolder, diving in front of his truck. Ray ran them right over. The other rippers that had stayed out of the way turned their attention to the condo building from where the shots were coming from, and then they started running towards the building.

Oh God, they’re going to storm that building. They’re going to get the guy who was shooting at them and tear him to pieces—the guy who saved our lives.

Ray hoped to God that the man would pick all of the rippers off before they got to him, but there were so many now. More rippers were running from the other direction, from the utility building and the fence around the dumpsters. Dozens of them were pouring into the courtyard from behind the buildings across that field.

Ray hit the brakes when they got to the breezeway, the rear end of the Tahoe sliding on the grass, then catching traction as soon as they hit the pavement. He muscled the steering wheel, turning the truck, then stomping down on the gas pedal.

More rippers were running down the breezeway towards them, but only a few, the stragglers in the group. Ray turned on his headlights, freezing some of them for just a second, blinding them. He hit two rippers that were in the way as he raced through the tunnel towards the parking area, their bodies making a loud thump against the truck and then flying away from the front of the SUV in a blur. The impacts didn’t even slow the Tahoe down.

Emma held onto the doorhandle on the passenger door, much like Kim had done on their wild ride from their house to here. She didn’t have her seatbelt on, and Ray was pretty sure neither one of his children had had time to put their seatbelts on.

“Buckle up!” Ray yelled at Mike and Vanessa as he raced through the parking area towards the exit onto the four-lane street in front of the complex.

“Vanessa, buckle your seatbelt,” Mike yelled at his sister.

Ray skidded out onto the street, the back end of the SUV sliding sideways, the street still somewhat slick from all the blood. Ray tried to avoid the bodies littering the street from when the soldiers had run them over and gunned so many of them down yesterday. Some of the bodies were half-eaten by scavengers, maybe probably eaten by other rippers.

He turned left on the street and sped away. More rippers were running out into the street from the buildings, attracted by the sound and lights of their vehicle. But Ray was driving too fast now, bumping any of the rippers to the side that darted out in front of him. He was worried about the radiator; how many of these rippers could he hit before they damaged the truck too much?

“Stop!” Mike yelled at Vanessa. “You have to get your seatbelt on! Dad, she’s grabbing me. Scratching me!”

Ray’s blood ran cold listening to his son’s words, but his blood ran even colder when he saw the crowd of rippers pouring out into the street a block away. There were hundreds and hundreds of them, all running together like a herd of cattle.

He slammed on the brakes and the Tahoe slid to a stop. He shifted into reverse and stomped down on the gas pedal, backing up, then cutting the steering wheel hard so he could turn around. He drove back down the street the way they had just come. He passed by a few dead and injured rippers that he had just struck moments ago. There were rippers running out into the street here, but not near as many as the other way.

He spotted a side street to the left and he was already slowing down a bit so he could make the turn without flipping their vehicle over. The tires skidded on the pavement as he turned, screeching into the night air. The headlights lit up only a small part of the road in front of them.

The rippers were attracted to their headlights.

Ray turned off the headlights. It was dangerous to drive without the lights, but it was still light enough to see, not nearly dark yet, and some of the streetlights were still working, probably running on emergency battery-powered generators, or some might even be solar-powered. He turned the parking lights on so he could see the instrument panel on the dashboard, making sure the temperature gauge wasn’t running hot from a damaged radiator.

Just head west, he told himself. Head west towards the setting sun, west and away from Arlington, west and deeper into the suburbs of Virginia, closer to Craig’s house.

He wished now that they had left an hour earlier while it was still late afternoon. It was too dangerous to drive at night, especially without headlights. He was waiting to smack into a parked car or truck, afraid that he wouldn’t see it until the last second in the dark spaces between the unlit streetlights. The streetlights that were lit helped a little, but they only pushed the darkness back so far.

A jet roared by overhead. Ray just caught a glimpse of the low-flying airplane. It was heading northeast towards D.C. Now that it was darker, Ray could see the hazy red glow on the horizon—Washington D.C., and much of the cities across the Potomac River, were burning now. And now another jet was on the way with more bombs.

Mike turned around in his seat, watching the jet fly towards the reddish glow of the city on the horizon.

Ray glanced at the rearview mirror and saw Vanessa playing with her hands, still mumbling things that only made sense to her. She couldn’t even form a sentence anymore now.

He turned down a few more side roads, but he made sure he kept heading west towards the sunset; the glow of the city on the horizon was to his right. As the buildings turned to housing developments, the rippers thinned out a little. He saw a pack of them here and there, but at least there weren’t hundreds of them running out into the streets.

“Stop!” Mike yelled at Vanessa in the back seat.

Vanessa growled like a mountain lion and then said something that didn’t even sound like words anymore.

“Dad, she bit me!”

Ray looked at Emma who was staring back at him like she could see him. “She’s turning,” Emma told him.

CHAPTER 31

Ray needed to get Vanessa away from Mike before she started to rip him apart—he didn’t have a choice.

But he couldn’t kill her. Oh God, he couldn’t do it. He realized now that he should have poisoned her like he had done to Kim. Vanessa could’ve just fallen asleep like Kim had, passed on peacefully, just fallen asleep and never woke up again. But he hadn’t been able to do it; he’d been too selfish, too scared to do it. And now Vanessa was turning into a ripper in the back seat.

The only thing that saved Mike from further attacks from his sister was that he had somehow managed to buckle Vanessa into the back seat, using the shoulder harness. She didn’t seem to know how to get out of the lap belt, struggling against it, reaching out for Mike who had squirmed out of his seatbelt so he could cringe against the door. But Ray was sure Vanessa would be able to get out of her seatbelt soon; she would eventually get to Mike.

You have to let her go now, a voice whispered in Ray’s mind. The voice sounded a lot like Kim.

Tears welled up in Ray’s eyes, blurring his vision. He wiped at them as he drove, slowing down a little because he couldn’t see that well. He looked at Emma and she still seemed to be looking at him somehow. She nodded slightly like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Ray pulled over in the middle of a big intersection that was lit up by sodium lights, giving off an orange glow. There was a pileup of cars and trucks at one corner, but so far the intersection was clear of rippers.

But it wouldn’t be long before the rippers came out of the darkness, screeching and yelling, waving sticks and throwing rocks, running for their SUV.

Ray left the truck running as he got out, afraid to turn it off, afraid it might not start back up. He opened the back door and looked at what used to be his daughter. He was crying harder now. She turned to him, reaching out for him like she wanted to hug him, but her hands were formed into claws now, ready to grab at him, her teeth gnashing, her eyes wild.

He unbuckled her seatbelt and she jumped at him like a cat. Ray grabbed her and picked her up. He swung her out of the truck and set her down hard on her feet. She backed up a step on the street, teetering there for just a moment. She seemed ready to charge at Ray.

“Stop!” Ray yelled at Vanessa. “Please, just stop.” He was crying harder now.

And for just a moment, Vanessa hesitated before charging him. For just a moment it seemed like she understood what he was doing, that he was abandoning her, leaving her in the middle of some suburban intersection.

“I’m sorry,” he cried. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

Vanessa’s mouth curled into a mean smile.

Ray heard rippers screeching—a horde of them was coming this way.

“Dad!” Mike yelled. “They’re coming!”

Ray didn’t look into the back seat, but he could imagine that Mike was pointing out the windshield at the approaching mob.

“I love you, Vanessa,” Ray whispered. “I know you can’t understand me anymore, but I love you.” He got back into the SUV and slammed his door shut. He didn’t look back at Vanessa; he just drove forward.

When Ray was at the other side of the intersection, he stopped the truck for just a moment. He turned around and stared out through the rear window. The horizon was a red glow from the fires of Washington D.C. It was almost dark now, but there was enough light from the streetlights and the glow on the horizon for Ray to see the horde of rippers rush up to Vanessa. She stood right in the middle of the intersection where he had left her.

The rippers stopped when they saw Vanessa, circling around her, staring at her.

For a second Ray had an overwhelming urge to back the truck up to the horde of rippers and get his daughter back, rescue her from those animals, scoop her up in his arms and get her back inside the truck. But Vanessa wasn’t his little girl anymore, she wasn’t his daughter now.

Two of the rippers moved closer to Vanessa. She reached out to touch them. They looked like animals meeting each other for the first time, sniffing each other, each wary of the other.

Ray thought the rippers were going to attack his daughter, tear her to pieces, and he couldn’t watch that. But a female ripper picked Vanessa up and held her. The rippers were taking Vanessa in as one of their own—because that’s what she was now, one of them.

Mike cradled his forearm where Vanessa had bitten him. There was some blood on his sleeve, but not too much. He was staring out the back window, crying now.

Ray turned back around and stared out the windshield. He drove away from the intersection. He didn’t want to see any more.

PART THREE

CHAPTER 32

The drive to Craig’s house got a little better the farther they got away from Arlington. They were attacked by a horde of rippers when they slowed down to get around a jackknifed semi-truck. Yells and screeches came from the darkness, then chunks of rocks, stones, and bottles and other debris rained down on their SUV. The projectiles left a few dents in the passenger side of the truck, not too much other damage besides the rear window being shattered. Ray sped away from the group of rippers before they could jump onto the truck or get in front of it.

Mike was crying by then. He wasn’t sobbing; it was just a low but inconsolable crying. Maybe the rocks had scared him, or the shattered back window. Maybe he was hurt, cut by the shattered glass. He didn’t seem hurt, but he seemed broken, his mind snapping now, like this last attack was the thing that had finally broken him after all of the horrors he had seen.

Ray asked Mike if he was okay. He asked if he was hurt. Mike wouldn’t answer. After Mike had stopped crying, he just stared out the window at the inky black night, sniffling over and over again. Ray couldn’t stop the truck to check him out. He almost asked Emma to do it, but then he had to bite back the words—she couldn’t see what was wrong with him.

As if Emma had read his mind (and who knew, maybe she had read his mind), she turned around and spoke softly to Mike: “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer her.

She reached back to him, offering him her hand. He took her hand in his and held it.

“Did you get cut?” Ray asked Mike, glancing at the rearview mirror for a second too long before looking back at the road again.

Mike still wouldn’t answer.

Ray looked at Emma. But she didn’t say anything.

Ray concentrated on the road again. He was driving fast now, his headlights on. As long as he drove fast enough, the rippers seemed to know enough to stay out of the way; it was like they had an instinctual fear of the speeding vehicle, like the instinctual fear of gunshots and fire that they had. The headlights helped Ray see a little better in the darkness, but they only lit up so much of the road in front of him. Now that they were far away from Washington, he couldn’t even see the glow of the fires behind them on the horizon and the streetlights here weren’t on—there was nothing but darkness. At least there was a nearly-full moon out without too much cloud cover, and that helped just a little.

Ray’s stomach had clenched into knots when he heard Mike crying like that. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Mike cry. A year ago Mike had broken his arm playing on his friend’s skateboard down the street. He’d come home supporting his broken left wrist with his right hand, his left hand flopping up and down uselessly, his broken forearm a sagging U where the bones should have been—a clean break of both bones. Maybe Mike had been in shock at the time, but he hadn’t cried.

But now he was crying.

Mike had seen too much, that was it. He’d gone through too much now. This wasn’t a broken bone or a forgotten book report for school—he’d lost his mother and his sister in the last few hours, and now they were driving away from their home in the darkness as the world turned to a nightmarish hellhole all around them with packs of human monsters roaming around, waiting to attack them and rip them apart. Mike had seen too much, experienced too much, and now he was breaking down.

The roads were clearer now as they drove along a back road. There were a few cars and trucks on the sides of the roads, some of them half in the street and half on the shoulder. Some of the vehicles were crashed head-on into tree trunks, others rested on mowed-down lines of mailboxes and signs. One car had smashed through a fence and flipped over in a field. All of the cars and trucks had their lights out—all of them looked abandoned. Some of them had their doors wide open.

He hadn’t seen many rippers near the road in this rural area. The houses and businesses had given way to farms out here and large homesteads, but there were vast areas of rolling fields and thick woods. No lights of any kind burned in the houses that they passed, no lanterns or candles. If anyone was hiding in those homes and buildings, they would be sitting ducks if they had lights burning or a generator running. Maybe there were a few survivors hidden in the cold darkness of those buildings, trying to be quiet, trying to survive the night. Ray liked to think so, anyway.

Mike had finally stopped crying. He wiped at his eyes and nose, sniffling some more. He’d finally let Emma’s hand go and she had turned back around in the passenger seat, facing forward.

Ray risked a glance back at Mike as he turned left onto Bushrod Road. Mike stared out his window in a daze. He had covered himself up to his chin with one of the blankets Kim had brought with them from the house.

God, that seemed like such a long time ago. A different world.

“Mike?” Ray said.

Mike didn’t answer him. He didn’t even look his way.

The only sounds were the SUV’s engine, the tires humming along the road, and the wind rushing in through the shattered back window, bringing the chilly air with it. Ray had the truck’s heater blasting, but it wasn’t competing very well against the cold air.

At least they still had half a tank of gas. And the other gauges looked good so far: temperature, oil pressure, battery. Ray had turned on the radio earlier and scanned through the stations, but there was nothing now. Even the recorded announcement by the president was off the air now. Nothing but static. He gave up after a few minutes and turned the radio off.

“We’re going to Craig’s house, Mike,” Ray said as he glanced at the rearview mirror again. “You remember Craig, don’t you? My supervisor at work. We went to his house a few times when he had cookouts. There were a lot of people there. You played with a lot of kids (he almost said: you and your sister). He had a swimming pool. Remember?”

No answer from Mike.

“One time, for someone’s birthday I think, Craig rented one of those inflatable rooms and you kids jumped around inside of it for hours.”

Still no answer from Mike. Maybe the nostalgia wasn’t working.

“We’ll be safe there, Mike.” A lie because Ray wasn’t sure if they were going to really be safe there. But what the hell was he supposed to say?

“We need to keep fighting,” Ray continued. “We can’t give up. We can’t ever give up.”

The SUV was still quiet except for the rushing of the wind in through the back.

Ray turned left onto Prospect Road, and slowed down a little. The road to Craig’s house would be off of this road, maybe about two or three miles farther. They were close now and Ray decided to shut the headlights off for the rest of the trip so he wouldn’t alert rippers and bring them to Craig’s house.

As soon as he turned the lights out everything turned pitch-black. He slowed down almost to a stop. Even the moonlight wasn’t getting down here on this tree-lined road very well. Ray drove a little faster, twenty miles an hour now, he guessed. He was tense as he drove, waiting for a ripper to rush out in front of him. He would hit the ripper if he or she ran out in front of him, he swore to God he would; he wouldn’t even slow down.

He searched the darkness for the small road to Craig’s house, slowing down even more because he had to be close now.

God, just let us make it there. Let us make it inside. Let us be safe tonight.

Ray saw the road at the last second and had to back up a few feet so he could turn. He made his way down the narrow road through the woods. This road looped back around eventually, but there were twelve or fifteen properties, most of them on several acres of land. Craig’s house was the second one on the left.

He pulled into the driveway, which ran up the hill towards the block wall that surrounded Craig’s property, and then Ray remembered that there was a metal gate that blocked the driveway. His heart froze for a moment when he thought the gate might be closed. He turned his headlights on for just a moment and the light washed across the driveway—the gate was wide open. He shut the lights off again.

Maybe Craig had opened the gate when he’d left with his family, not bothering to close it again. The electricity was out and he probably hadn’t wanted to risk getting out of his vehicle to push the gate closed. Besides, what did it matter if the gate was closed? Craig and his family were leaving their home behind. If rippers were going to get onto the property, a closed gate wasn’t going to stop them when they could just climb right over the five-foot-tall block wall that surrounded the property.

Ray was glad the gate was stuck open. For a few seconds he had a picture of himself stopping his SUV at the gate, getting out and trying to figure out how to open it, shining a flashlight around in the darkness, rippers sneaking towards him. He could see himself overrun by rippers in mere seconds, torn apart while Mike watched from the truck.

But he didn’t have to worry about that now as he drove through the open gate and up the long driveway that ascended towards Craig’s house that was built on top of the slight hill. Tall pines and massive oaks surrounded the house, the tops of the trees silhouetted against the night sky. The moon’s light was a little stronger now that they were out of the woods and on the driveway.

The next challenge was to get inside of Craig’s house. The front door was in the middle of the massive home. On the left side of the home, where the driveway split off into a parking area, there was a three-car garage connected to the home, and a free-standing two-car garage on the other side of the parking area. If Ray remembered correctly, there was a door to the laundry room next to the three-car garage that Craig and his family used as their main entrance rather than the front door, which was more for guests.

There were no vehicles parked in the parking area between the two garages, so Ray pulled up to where the driveway ended, parking fifteen feet away from the door that led into the laundry room, the front tires of the Chevy Tahoe parked on a wide brick path that led back to the pool area. He shut the SUV off and sat there for a moment, listening. He had his fingers on the ignition key, ready to restart the truck if he saw any rippers running at them from the darkness.

The world was silent. No screeches in the distance, no sounds of a stampede coming towards them.

Ray grabbed his small flashlight from the center console. He wished he had one of those big Maglite flashlights that he could also use as a weapon, but what good would that do if twelve or fifteen of those rippers came at him at once?

He waited another minute in case Craig was still in his house with his family. He was pretty sure Craig was gone—that’s what he said he was doing when he’d called Ray a few days ago, but there was still a remote possibility that Craig and his family hadn’t left. He could imagine Craig waiting in the darkness with a handgun or a shotgun, ready to shoot anyone who approached his house. But no lights came on inside the house, no one called out for them to identify themselves; there was no noise of any kind.

Ray looked at Emma. “I’m going to bust a pane of glass out in that door,” he told her in a low voice. He thought of telling her to lock the doors after he got out, but why bother? “I’ll reach in and unlock the door, then I’ll come back for you two. Okay?”

Emma nodded. “Okay.”

“You two need to be ready to run when I come back,” Ray told her. He looked into the backseat at Mike. “Okay, Mike?”

At least Mike was looking at him now and not staring blankly out his window. “Dad . . .”

“You’ll be okay, Mike. Hand me that golf club back there. It should be on the floorboards.”

Mike unbuckled his seatbelt and rooted around on the floor for the golf club. He handed it to his father.

Ray got out with the golf club and the flashlight. He shut the door softly and hurried towards the side of the home that was hidden in deep shadows. He was only parked fifteen or twenty feet away, but even crossing that distance sent shivers up and down his spine, his skin prickly with fear.

At the door to the laundry room, he used the handle of the golf club to poke out one of the small panes of glass. The shattering of the glass wasn’t as loud as he thought it was going to be, but it was still loud. He used the end of the flashlight to knock out the jagged bits of glass left in the frame. He stuck his arm through and reached down, trying to feel for the doorknob. He twisted the lock on the doorknob, then moved his hand up, searching for the deadbolt. He hoped this wasn’t the kind of deadbolt that didn’t have a knob and needed a key. But then his fingers found the knob and he twisted it; the deadbolt unlocked with a loud click.

Just then Ray heard a crunching sound on the grass and leaves in the darkness—footsteps.

Something was coming this way.

CHAPTER 33

“Did you hear that?” Mike asked Emma.

Emma had heard the sound outside their truck—it seemed like it was coming from beyond the front of the SUV, maybe thirty or forty feet away and off to the left a little. Something was moving around out there, feet crunching down on dry leaves. Not running, not rushing towards them . . . not yet, anyway.

“Get your bag,” Emma told Mike. “And could you hand me mine?”

“But Dad said—”

“We can’t wait, Mike. I just heard him break the glass in the door. He probably has the door open now.”

“You think something’s coming?” Mike asked with a tremble in his voice.

“Maybe. I hear something out there. Can you see anything that way?” She pointed in the direction the sound was coming from.

“No. Everything’s dark.”

“Listen, Mike. We need to get out. I need you to help me get to the house.” It wasn’t a total lie. She was sure she could manage to get to the door, judging from where the sound of the breaking glass had come from. With her walking stick she could navigate around any obstacles between the SUV and the door to the house, maybe even better than Mike could since he was practically as blind as she was right now. But she knew Mike was terrified, maybe bordering on panic that could paralyze his actions. She needed to get him calmed down. Maybe pretending like she couldn’t make it to the door without his help, giving him a responsibility to concentrate on, a purpose higher than his own survival, just might help.

“Mike?” she said again.

She heard the sound of rustling movement from the back seat.

“Here’s your bag,” he said and handed her the bag.

“Thank you, Mike. Now scoot over to this side of the truck. I’m getting out now. We need to hurry to the door.”

She heard Mike moving across the back seat of the SUV, then she heard the back door opening. She opened her door at the same time and flipped her walking stick down, the collapsible cane opening up with a loud popping sound. She had the cane in one hand, her bag’s strap looped over her shoulder.

The crunching sound on the dry leaves was closer now, but whoever was out there wasn’t rushing towards them yet, still being cautious.

Emma felt Mike’s hand on her shoulder.

“I can’t see anything,” he whispered.

“Follow me,” she told him, already walking forward and waving her cane back and forth. She knew it wasn’t too far to the door, maybe ten or twelve steps.

“What are you two doing?” Ray hissed at her. He was suddenly right in front of them.

“Did you get the door open, Dad?”

“Yeah,” Ray whispered. “I told you two to stay in the truck.”

“There’s something out there in the woods,” Mike told his father in a rush of words. “We heard it moving around.”

Emma had already relaxed. Now that she’d heard the sound again, she was sure what it was. “It’s not a ripper,” she told them. “I think it’s a deer.”

She heard Ray breathe out a sigh of relief. “Mike, help Emma inside. I’m going to get a few more things from the truck.”

Emma felt Mike’s gentle hand on her shoulder again.

“Thank you, Mike. Can you see?”

“Not too well.”

“Let me go first,” she told him. “I can feel my way up the steps with my cane. Keep right behind me.”

She felt him close behind her, his hand still on her shoulder.

“There’s a set of concrete steps,” she told him as she hurried up them. A moment later they were inside a room. Mike let her go and she moved around the perimeter of the room, tapping at the base of the walls and then cabinets, then a refrigerator, more cabinets, a washer and then a dryer.

“Okay,” Ray whispered as he rushed inside, setting bags down on the floor. He closed the door and locked it. Then he twisted a sturdier lock that sounded like the clunking of a deadbolt.

“Here,” Ray told Mike. “Hold it like this, with your hand over the end of it so you only let a little bit of light out.”

Ray must have given Mike a flashlight. She heard Mike relax a little now that he had a source of light.

“Shine it over here,” Ray whispered. “I’m going to move this washer and dryer in front of the door to block it.”

Emma heard the scraping sound on the tile floor as Ray moved the appliances in front of the door.

“We’re in a laundry room,” Mike whispered to Emma.

Emma smiled—she had already figured that out, but she didn’t want to tell him that.

“It’s pretty big in here,” Mike whispered. It was nervous talk. “There’s some counters, a sink, a refrigerator.”

Emma heard the sound of Mike opening the refrigerator door, and then the smell of warm rot hit her right away.

“Oooh,” Mike said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Hold your nose,” Ray told him, suddenly right there beside them. “There could still be some water and canned drinks in there.”

She listened as Ray filled some kind of plastic bag with canned drinks and water bottles. “Keep shining the light in there,” Ray told Mike. “Keep your hand over the front of it, not too much light. You’re doing great, son.”

Emma knew that Ray was giving Mike a job to do like she had done when she’d asked him to help her to the house. Ray wanted Mike to focus on the task at hand so his mind didn’t wander back to the horrors they’d just been through these last few days.

As Mike helped Ray fill the plastic bag with drinks and whatever else they could salvage from the refrigerator, Emma turned towards the door that now had the washer and dryer in front of it. There was another door on that side of the large laundry room—a door that led to the garage. There was something bad beyond that door. It wasn’t rippers, nothing that would attack them, but it was still something bad.

“Okay, let’s go,” Ray said, closing the refrigerator door gently. “Mike, help Emma.”

“Hey, there’s dog dishes down here in the corner,” Mike said.

“Yeah,” Ray answered. “Remember Craig had a dog. A big Golden Retriever that always wanted to be petted.”

“Where do you think their dog is?” Mike asked.

“I’m sure Craig took her with them when they left.”

Mike touched Emma’s shoulder as they entered the next room. She tapped her cane in front of her as she walked, trying to tap it as lightly as possible so she didn’t make too much noise.

“We’re in the kitchen now,” Mike whispered to her. “It’s huge. There’s this big . . . I don’t know, big thing in the middle of the kitchen, like a counter.”

“An island,” Emma said.

“Island?”

“That’s what they call it.”

“That’s weird,” he muttered.

“Windows everywhere,” Ray whispered at them. “Curtains and blinds are open. Mike, you and the kids played in a basement when we were here before, right?”

“Yeah. They had a pool table down there and a big TV that we played video games on.”

“Let’s look for the door to the basement.”

“I think it was over here.”

Emma felt Mike’s hand leave her shoulder. She heard him and Ray walking away. She followed them, following the sound of their footsteps, lightly tapping her cane on the floor along the way.

“Here,” Mike whispered.

“Good, son.”

Emma caught up with them.

“How are you going to get down the stairs?” Mike asked her when she was near them.

“I can walk down stairs just fine,” she told him with a smile.

“I’ll go down there first,” Ray said. “Give me the flashlight, Mike.”

Emma could tell that Mike was hesitant to give up the light, but she heard him hand it to his father.

“You two wait here,” Ray said. “I just want to make sure everything’s okay down there.”

“You think there are rippers down there?” Mike asked.

“No.”

“Then what?”

Ray sighed. “Just let me check it out, Mike. It will make me feel better. Okay?”

“I could go with you.”

“You need to stay here with Emma.” There was a slight sternness in his voice, ending the argument.

“It’ll be okay,” Emma told Mike. She felt for him, grabbed his hand.

“I’ll be right back,” Ray said, and then Emma heard him hurrying down the basement steps, his footsteps echoing up to them even though he was trying to be quiet.

“I don’t like the dark,” Mike whispered when Emma couldn’t hear Ray’s footsteps from the basement anymore.

The house was cold, but not as cold as outside. There were a few subtle creaks and pops throughout the house, but that was it. Emma didn’t hear anything else that worried her at the moment.

“What’s taking him so long?” Mike asked.

Emma heard the fear in Mike’s voice and she knew she needed to do something to distract him. “It might be a big basement. Do you remember how big it was when you were here before?”

“It was really big,” Mike said.

“You said they had a pool table down there. Did you play pool?”

“No. They wouldn’t let me. But we played video games.”

Just then Emma heard Ray coming back up the stairs towards them. “Everything’s okay,” Ray said. “I need to check the rest of the house. Check the front door, the sliding glass doors.”

“We’ll go with you,” Mike said.

“It’ll be a lot faster if I go by myself,” Ray said. He handed something to Mike. “Here. I found another flashlight down there. But remember, keep your hand cupped over the front of it. If you hear a noise, don’t shine the light in that direction. You understand?”

No answer from Mike, but Emma figured Mike was nodding yes at his father. She thought of telling Mike that she couldn’t hear his head rattle, but decided that it might not come across as funny at this particular moment.

“Okay,” Ray said. “Why don’t you wait over there behind those cabinets until I get back?”

“It’s called an island, Dad.”

Emma couldn’t help smiling.

“I know what it’s called,” Ray snapped. “You and Emma wait behind the island. Crouch down there out of sight, okay?”

Emma was already moving towards the island, tapping her cane across the floor until she found it. Then she moved to the other side of it and crouched down, unloading her duffel bag from her shoulder. She could feel Mike right beside her.

“Wait here,” Ray said in a low voice. “I’m sure everything’s fine, but I just want to check it out. I’ll be right back.”

Ray took off before Mike could protest again. Everything was quiet for a moment, but then she heard a far-off sound, a slight sound. Maybe Ray was checking the front door. Every little sound seemed to carry so easily through the cold air of the house, echoing off of the walls and high ceilings.

Mike was still quiet, but he was fiddling with something—probably the flashlight in his hands.

“We’ll be safe here,” Emma told him.

“Yeah,” Mike whispered but didn’t sound convinced, like he wasn’t sure they would ever truly be safe again.

But they were safe for now, Emma could sense that. They were as safe as they could be, even with something terrible waiting for them in the garage.

CHAPTER 34

Ray checked the front doors for any signs of forced entry. They were massive doors that almost reached the ten-foot ceiling. Both doors were locked, including the deadbolt. They seemed sturdy enough, but maybe he could figure out a way to barricade them. But he would wait until tomorrow. He wasn’t going to worry about doing any of that tonight in the dark; he just wanted to make sure all of the doors and windows were locked, and he wanted to make sure there were no signs of break-ins anywhere.

Directly across from the foyer was a formal living room with a piano and furniture that was probably rarely ever used. There was a set of French doors at the other end of the room that led out to a brick patio area with a fire pit built into the middle of it. Metal patio furniture with seat cushions surrounded the cold, dark fire pit. The brick patio led down to a massive pool deck below with a huge pool, the entire area enclosed by a screened room. The windows and the French doors were all locked and none of the panes of glass were broken, but the French doors were vulnerable. Tomorrow he would shove the couches in the room in front of the doors, not that it would help much, but maybe the furniture would slow some rippers down if they tried to get in that way.

The other room off of the foyer was Craig’s office. Ray crept through the room with his flashlight, his hand cupped in front of it so that he let out just enough light to barely see. The right side of the office was a wall of bookcases. Along the other walls there was a couch and a recliner with a reading lamp hanging over the recliner. At the far end of the office was Craig’s desk and office chair. Built-in bookcases flanked the one big window behind the desk. The curtains were drawn back from the window. All of the bookcases were crammed with books, but there were also folders, notebooks and knickknacks among the books; some of the knickknacks looked like they could have been Christmas or Father’s Day presents.

The large desk was a mess, papers and folders scattered all over it around a laptop computer that was closed. There were more papers and books all over the floor. At first it looked like the office might have been ransacked, but the rest of the house wasn’t torn apart, so it looked more like Craig had been frantically searching through papers before leaving.

Maybe the answers that Craig had mentioned on the phone were in these papers and folders. Maybe some of these printouts were from top-secret files stored on his laptop. Maybe some of these papers had something to do with roses and Avalon.

Ray couldn’t think about that right now. He would have to wait until tomorrow to check through the papers when he could see in the daylight. He checked the window beyond the desk. It was locked and secured, undamaged. He closed the blinds and drew the curtains shut.

The bedrooms at the back of the house were messy (especially the girls’ bedrooms), but again, it looked more like they had been in a hurry to pack rather than looters or scavengers were looking for stuff. He checked all of the windows back here—they were all locked and unbroken.

The bathrooms were similar to the bedrooms, messy with drawers pulled open. The countertop around the sink was covered with items. Ray turned on the faucet in the sink, but it only gurgled and no water came out. He had hoped that Craig had a well on this property, but even if he did it probably ran off of an electric pump.

Ray walked down the hall to the formal dining room on the other side of the foyer. It was eerie walking through this large home in the darkness, the narrow shaft of the flashlight beam lighting his way. It seemed like shadows were moving in the darkness, flashes of motion out of the corner of his eye. But there was no one else in the house with them. He was just tired and seeing things in the dark.

The windows were all locked in the dining room, and he drew all of the curtains shut. He shined his flashlight towards the table and chairs and then froze for a second as the meager light shined on a chair pulled out from the table. There were ropes tied to the arms of the chair and two more ropes tied to the front legs. On the wood floor in front of the chair were smears of what looked like blood.

The dining room table had been cleared off, everything swiped down to the floor in a heap at the other side: the table cloth, sets of candles, some kind of fake flowery centerpiece.

The ropes bothered him, but there was still no sign that anyone else was in the house.

Ray walked through the living room to a large family room beyond it. A wall of sliding glass doors led out to the pool area. At least he could pull the vertical blinds closed over the doors, which were all locked, but anyone could throw a brick or a rock through the glass doors. Maybe he could stack some furniture in front of the doors, but there wasn’t enough furniture to block them completely.

There were a few other windows in the room and two doors that were mostly glass. He checked them all and they were all locked. This room was too vulnerable, too many glass doors. It would be better if they hid down in the basement tonight and assessed things more in the morning. He’d seen another door down in the basement at the top of a set of concrete steps, an exit out of the basement, so at least he wouldn’t feel trapped down there.

He went back to the kitchen and found Emma and Mike crouched down behind the island. Mike had the flashlight on, his hand cupped over the front of it, blocking out most of the light but letting just enough out to comfort him.

Mike’s going to need to get used to the dark, Ray thought. Because when the batteries in these flashlights run out in a few months . . . or years . . .

But he didn’t want to think about that. First things first.

“Come on,” he told them. “Let’s get down to the basement. We can spend the night there.”

Ray went down the basement steps first, then Emma, and Mike was right behind her. Even though Emma swore she could navigate a set of stairs, Ray wanted to be right in front of her in case she tripped. They had left their bags upstairs by the island and Ray would go back for them after Mike and Emma got settled down here. He didn’t want Mike carrying his bag and lose his balance in the dark, take a tumble down the steps. What if Mike broke his arm or his leg? Ray didn’t know how to set a bone, didn’t really know much basic first-aid. He couldn’t rush Mike to a doctor. A sudden wave of panic threatened to overwhelm Ray. What was he going to do if Mike got hurt or sick? Or Emma? What could he do?

“We can sleep on these couches over here,” Ray said after pushing the slight panic attack back down somewhere inside of him; he hoped they couldn’t hear the fear in his voice.

There were two overstuffed couches and a recliner set up in a semi-circle around a low coffee table, all of the furniture facing the large flat screen TV mounted on the wall. It was cold down here. There were windows, but they were high up on the walls, near the ceiling, small rectangular windows with little curtains over them. Ray didn’t think their flashlights could be seen outside through those curtains, but he didn’t want to take a chance of creating a beacon of light out in the darkness that could draw any nearby rippers. Maybe tomorrow he would look in the garage for cardboard and tape, maybe even paint the windows black, do something to black out the windows.

A few minutes later Ray had all of their bags down in the basement along with the plastic bag of drinks and a box of canned food he’d gotten from his SUV earlier. He locked the door to the basement from the inside before coming down the steps one last time. The lock on the basement door was flimsy, a bolt-action lock screwed into the doorframe, but at least they would hear someone trying to get in the door. The other door to the basement, the one up the set of concrete steps that led outside at the far end of the basement, was sturdier—a metal door with a heavy-duty bar in place for a lock.

There was a small bathroom down here with a sink and a toilet, but the water didn’t work down here either, it just gurgled like it had done when he’d tried the faucets upstairs. In a large closet he found some extra pillows, blankets, and bedsheets. The shelves on the other side of the closet were loaded with books, board games, and toys.

After they got settled on the couches with blankets and pillows, Ray draped an extra shirt over his flashlight after standing it up on end on top of the coffee table. It provided the barest of light, but at least it was something. He opened a few cans of food, and passed them to Mike and Emma with plastic utensils sticking up out of them. Mike wanted the fruit cocktail, and Ray gave it to him. He thought of telling Mike that in the near future they weren’t going to be able to be so picky about what they ate, but he didn’t bother right now. At least Mike wasn’t crying like he’d done in the SUV on the way here, inconsolable for a while. Maybe he had needed to get it all out.

Ray ate from a can of beef stew and Emma ate a can of bean and bacon soup. He and Emma drank bottles of water and Mike drank a can of warm soda. They also shared a few individual bags of potato chips.

Mike was tired after eating, exhausted now, curling up at the end of the larger couch. He looked so small underneath the covers, curled up like he was, only his head poking out from under the covers. Ray kept the flashlight turned on for a little longer until Mike fell asleep.

Emma curled up at the other end of Mike’s curved sectional couch even though Ray warned her that Mike might fidget in his sleep, maybe even kick her. Ray took the other couch, the shorter one. It felt good to lie on the couch, to stretch out fully. His belly was full, he was relatively warm with the blanket over him, and he felt safe for the first time in days. A full stomach and warm skin seemed like such mundane things not too long ago, things that he didn’t even think about, but now they were important—they were the keys to survival.

What were they going to do a week from now? A month from now? How were they going to get through the winter?

Ray didn’t want to panic himself again. He would just focus on tonight, then on tomorrow. That’s all he could do.

Emma sounded like she might be sleeping; she was breathing heavily but not snoring. But sleep was eluding Ray, his mind still racing as he thought of all the things he needed to do when the morning came. First thing was to secure all of the doors and windows as best he could, and maybe reinforce the basement door somehow. He would bring the rest of their stuff from the SUV down here. But even more important, he would go through Craig’s office and look for the answers that he’d come here for.

He thought of the ropes he’d seen tied to the dining room chair, and the little smears of blood on the floor. Now the panicked packing seemed different to him, yet he wasn’t sure why. Something was bothering him about it.

He closed his eyes and there was no difference in the darkness from when he’d had them open. He needed sleep. He needed to relax and sleep. He tried not to think about Kim and Vanessa, how he had left his daughter behind in the middle of an intersection. He tried not to think about what she had become.

Ray drifted off to sleep without even realizing it, and then he dreamed.

CHAPTER 35

In Ray’s dream, the first part of it, he saw a man. The man looked young, maybe mid to late twenties, but his scraggly beard made him look a little older. His skin was pale and his unwashed hair hung down to his shoulders. He wore dark pants, an oversized sweatshirt, and hiking boots. He had a backpack on his back, a shotgun in his hands.

Ray was sure he didn’t know this man, yet the man seemed familiar to him for some reason. The man walked down a deserted road through the woods, a road that seemed similar to the road that led here to Craig’s house. The man walked down the road with his head down, his light brown hair hanging in his face. There was a defeated posture to the man, apathy in his gait; he looked like he’d lost everything. And Ray knew how the man felt.

Ray stood at the edge of the road as the man approached—they were the only two people around.

“Hey,” Ray yelled at the man. “Hey. Over here. Can’t you see me?”

The man kept walking. Either he couldn’t see Ray, or he didn’t care. He walked on by, his shoulders slumped under the weight of his backpack, his weapon held loosely in his hands, his exhales pluming in front of his face in little clouds in the cold air.

“Hey,” Ray yelled at the man again. “Can’t you see me? Can’t you hear me?”

Am I dead? A ghost?

Ray was about to run after the man, grab him, make him turn around and face him.

But then Ray was somewhere else, in a different dream. He was in a town now that looked like some war-torn village in another country. There was a man in this dream; this man was maybe a little older than the last man, or maybe he just seemed older. He was about Ray’s height, and muscular. His dark hair was buzzed short, his dark eyes were intense. This man had a backpack and a gun, but his wasn’t a shotgun—it was a pistol with a silencer screwed onto the end of the barrel. Again, Ray was sure he didn’t know this man, but at the same time the man seemed familiar for some reason.

“Hey!” Ray yelled at the man.

This man didn’t seem to hear or see him, just like the last man. And like the first man in his dream, Ray felt an overwhelming sense of loss and hopelessness coming from this man, like he had nothing left to live for.

Ray ran towards the man. This time he was going to grab him, but he passed right through the man like he was a hologram.

Or maybe I’m the hologram, Ray thought. I’m the illusion. I’m the ghost. I’m the one who’s not here anymore.

Ray woke up with his breath caught in his throat—and for just a second it felt like he’d stopped breathing. He sat straight up on the couch, exhaling a breath that sounded like a wheeze.

Just a nightmare, that’s all.

It was light inside the basement now, the morning sun managing to shine through the curtains over the rectangular windows at the top of the basement walls on the one side.

Mike was crying again.

Ray looked at the other couch. Mike was curled up at the end of the couch like he’d been last night, but now he was sitting up and slumped over, turned to the back of the couch, his face buried in the fabric as he sobbed.

And Emma was gone.

Ray jumped off the couch and rushed over to Mike, sitting down right beside him, reaching out to touch him, to bring him closer so he could hold him.

“Mike? What is it?”

Dumb question. What did he think was wrong with Mike? His son was devastated because his mother and his sister were gone. He was devastated because now they were living minute-to-minute like some war refugees, waiting for an attack to occur at any moment.

“Mike?”

Ray pulled Mike closer and saw that Mike was grinning, a sinister smile that reminded him of Kim’s smile as she was turning. What Ray had mistaken for sobs was laughter. Mike lunged at him, grabbing him, biting down on his neck.

Instant pain shot through Ray as he tried to push Mike off of him, but Mike had bitten down hard and he was pulling a hunk of Ray’s flesh away, shaking his head back and forth like a pit-bull.

Ray finally pushed Mike off of him and jumped back away from the couch. He looked beyond the couch and saw Emma standing there. She didn’t have her dark glasses on now and there were deep holes where her eyes used to be.

Behind Emma, there was a man hidden in the shadows, but he was coming closer. He was a tall man, a big and muscular man, but his features were hidden in the darkness. The man’s eyes shined in the darkness, just two pinpoints of light as he rushed forward. Ray had seen this man before, in the dream he’d had in Emma’s condo—he’d been the man standing behind Mike in that dream.

Ray woke up with a start, sitting bolt-upright on the sofa. He tore the blanket off of him as he tried to catch his breath. It was light in the basement, the morning sun managing to shine through the dark curtains over the rectangular windows.

Just like in the dream.

He was awake now, wasn’t he?

Mike and Emma were on the couch, in the same places they’d been last night, curled up, one at each end under their own blankets.

Ray rubbed at his face and got up.

Emma stirred and seemed to be looking at him. She didn’t have her dark glasses on, but her eyes were still there, half-closed now. “Bad dream?”

“Yeah,” he told her. No use lying—it seemed like she already knew the answer. Maybe she’d heard him talking in his sleep, or even crying out. The image of the shadowy man in his dream came back to him, the features of the man’s face hidden in darkness. Except for his eyes—his eyes had shined in the darkness. He’d dreamt about the same shadowy man in Emma’s apartment.

And then he realized where he’d seen Emma before. He stared at her, remembering how she had seemed so familiar to him when he’d first gotten to her condo yesterday. And he knew now where he’d seen her before. He’d had a dream about her the last night he’d slept in his own bed next to Kim.

Ray decided not to say anything to Emma about his dreams. He grabbed a bottle of water from the supplies he’d brought down last night, managing to convince himself that he had the timelines mixed up a little, mixing up dreams and imagination. He was still overly tired, and still in shock. He had more important things to concentrate on now than strange dreams. He opened his bottle of water and drank half of it down. He was thirsty. His body was stiff, his joints aching from the cold.

“You want some water?” he asked Emma.

“Please,” she said as she sat up. She kept the blanket around her legs and stretched her thin arm out to him.

He handed her the bottle of water. “You want something to eat? I could open up a can of something.”

“No, thanks,” she said, showing a slight smile.

“I need to get upstairs,” he told her. “I want to find a way to barricade the doors and some of the windows.” And that was true, but the urge to look through Craig’s office was even stronger.

Emma nodded.

“I’ll come back down when everything’s safer. You going to be okay down here?”

Again, she nodded. “I might try to go back to sleep for a little while.”

Ray thought it might be a lie, but he didn’t question it. “Okay.”

“Ray,” Emma said.

He looked at her.

“Just be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” he said and slipped his socked feet into his sneakers and grabbed his golf club. He went up the basement steps, treading softly. He didn’t want to wake Mike up—Mike needed as much sleep as he could get.

He felt bad for not inviting Emma upstairs with him, but he couldn’t look after her while he searched through Craig’s office. And maybe it would be better if she was down here when Mike woke up.

It was irrational, but Ray couldn’t help feeling like Emma was somehow a cause of all of this, of Kim dying and leaving Vanessa behind. He felt like if he hadn’t kept his promise to Helen and stopped at Emma’s condo, maybe Kim and Vanessa wouldn’t have gotten infected. Or maybe they could have gotten here to Craig’s house sooner. But he’d had no choice but to stop at Emma’s condo; the rippers would have overrun them if they tried to drive through the street that day. Or maybe the soldiers would have shot them.

The truth was that they had been infected before they’d even gone to Emma’s condo. It didn’t matter if they would’ve avoided Emma’s place, Kim and Vanessa were going to get sick; they were going to turn no matter where they went. They would have turned here at Craig’s house.

He scolded himself for those thoughts as he entered the kitchen. It wasn’t Emma’s fault, none of this was. And it wasn’t his fault, either. Maybe it was someone else’s fault—government scientists playing around with super-plagues or terrorists unleashing bioweapons—but it wasn’t his or Emma’s or Mike’s fault. Then again, maybe it was nobody’s fault. Maybe it was just nature fighting back against the plague humanity had become to this planet. Or maybe it was God wiping out the masses, like the stories in the Old Testament of Noah or Sodom and Gomorrah. Maybe the world had gotten too wicked and it was time for God to hit His reset button.

Who knew the answers? Maybe some of the answers were in those papers in Craig’s office. He hoped so.

As much as he wanted to get started in Craig’s office, he knew that he needed to barricade the doors and windows. He needed to find some supplies, some extra wood and a hammer and nails. He looked through some “junk” drawers in the kitchen. He found a few screwdrivers, a pair of pliers, and some electrical tape. He piled these items up on the countertops, which were covered with papers, dishes, canned and boxed goods. It was more evidence of the panicked packing Craig’s family had done before they’d left, but something seemed strange—it seemed like they had left quite a bit of food behind. He would have to check more drawers in the laundry room, and then the garage attached to the house. He wasn’t holding out much hope of finding an array of building supplies—Craig hadn’t really been the handyman type—but he was pretty sure that he would at least find a hammer and some nails, maybe a cordless screw gun with some battery life left.

He walked over to the refrigerator before heading to the laundry room, bracing himself for the smell as he opened it. There was more bottled water inside. He grabbed one and opened it, drank some of it down. The smell inside the fridge wasn’t too bad, or maybe he was just getting used to it. There might be a few salvageable items in this refrigerator: a jar of pickles, mustard, a can of olives, packets of condiments from restaurants. Along with the five bottles of water, there was a six-pack of beer, three sodas, and a bottle of wine.

After taking what he could out of the refrigerator and loading it up into a cardboard box he found underneath the sink, Ray went to the laundry room. The smell from the refrigerator they had opened last night in here still lingered a bit. The large washer and dryer were still pushed in front of the door that led outside.

He stayed low as he approached the washer and dryer, peeking out through the window over the sink first, and then through the glass panels in the door.

Nobody out there.

He stared at his wife’s dented and battered SUV parked a few feet away, the front of it run up partly onto the brick walkway and the grass, one tire resting on a small line of border plants along the walkway. The brick walk led down the side of the home to the screened-in pool enclosure in back. The SUV looked untouched, there didn’t seem to be any sign of rippers anywhere out there.

Ray looked at the door that led to the garage. A now-useless security panel was attached to the wall on the left side of the door. He unlocked the garage door and opened it.

The smell in the garage hit him right away—an overwhelming chemical smell, a familiar smell. The air was thick with a haze, and his eyes were watering. He closed the door to the laundry room and pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose, trying to hold his breath as much as he could. It was warm in here too, much warmer than the rest of the house.

And Ray knew why.

There were two vehicles parked in the garage side by side, both of them carefully backed in so they could drive right out when the garage doors were opened. The vehicle closer to Ray was a large black SUV, a Chevy Suburban. The one on the other side of that was a Mercedes SUV, it was smaller but sleeker and sportier. And it was full of dead people.

CHAPTER 36

Emma sat up straighter on the couch. She’d been awake, but about to drift off to sleep again. But now she knew Ray had found the bad thing in the garage, not a thing that could hurt them, but it was still something bad.

Mike groaned and rolled over on the couch.

Emma sat back.

“Where’s my dad?” Mike asked. She heard the sound of his blanket rustling as he sat up on the couch.

“He went upstairs,” Emma told him. “He went to see if he could board up some of the doors and windows. Make things safer.”

Mike was quiet for a moment.

“You hungry?” she asked him. “You could fix us some breakfast. Canned something or other, I’m guessing.”

No answer. She thought he might be nodding at her. “I can’t hear your head rattle,” she told him, smiling at him so he knew she was joking.

“Sorry,” he answered sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m hungry. And I need to pee. Can we use the toilet down here?”

“I don’t see why not,” she told him. “It should still flush as long as there’s water in the tank.”

*

Ray opened the two windows on the back wall of the garage. He knew there was a danger of rippers being around, but he needed to get the remaining exhaust fumes out of the garage. He was sure most of the exhaust had leaked out around the main garage doors over the last few days, and maybe the gasses weren’t deadly anymore, but it was still overwhelming and he needed to air the place out.

He walked to the Mercedes, but he stopped before he even got to it. There was a plastic flexible pipe taped to the exhaust pipe of the vehicle—the flexible hose ran from the tailpipe to the driver’s side window, the window rolled up enough to hold it there snuggly.

In between the two vehicles, lying on the garage floor, was Craig’s dog. She was on her side, her belly a swollen mound, her tongue hanging out of her mouth.

Ray walked down the space between the vehicles, bracing himself for what he was going to see, but he still wasn’t ready. Craig’s two daughters were in the back seat. One of the girls was Mike’s age, maybe a year or two younger, the other a few years older. They both had their hands bound behind their backs and their ankles were tied together with lengths of rope. They also had their seatbelts on. The daughter on Ray’s side of the car, the older one, Laura, had her face smeared against the glass. Her eyes were still wide open and glassy, her skin ghostly-white. Her mouth was caked with dried blood, some of that blood smeared against the glass of her window. Her blond hair was disheveled, strands of it matted across her forehead and face.

A few steps forward and Ray was standing beside the passenger window. He was careful not to step on the dead and bloated dog. He imagined that when Craig decided to kill his family (because that’s obviously what he’d done, wasn’t it?), he had called his faithful dog in here to the garage so she could die with them. Ray could imagine their dog laying on the floor while the car ran, perhaps confused about why her owners wouldn’t let her inside.

Craig’s wife Julie was leaning against her window much like her older daughter was, her hands behind her back, her ankles tied together, the seatbelt snug over her body. Her eyes were closed and she looked more peaceful than her daughter, almost like she was sleeping. She didn’t have the face of anguish that her two daughters had.

In the driver’s seat, Craig was slumped against his own car door, his head resting against the window that held the flexible plastic pipe at the top of it. The hose came in through the window and across Craig’s lap to the center console. Craig looked like he was sleeping. He had vomit crusting his chin and staining the front of his shirt.

Ray had always heard that dying of carbon monoxide poisoning was a peaceful way to go, and maybe it was, but judging from Craig and his two daughters, it hadn’t looked peaceful at all.

The ignition was still turned on, but obviously the car had run out of gas and now its battery was probably dead. Ray thought it was lucky that Craig hadn’t slumped forward when he’d died and leaned against the car’s horn, which would have been a siren to any rippers who wandered close to this house. But maybe his seatbelt had kept him in place—maybe that’s why he had put it on. Craig had always been a smart guy; he’d always been a man who thought of every angle, every possible scenario in a situation. Apparently he’d thought this suicide and murder through thoroughly.

Now the picture became clear to Ray. At least one of Craig’s daughters (most likely Laura), or maybe both of them, had begun to turn, or already had. At least one of them had been tied to the chair in the dining room. Craig might have known about the disease before others and he might have been able to spot the symptoms earlier. Maybe all four of them were beginning to turn, and Craig felt it was better to put himself and his family down rather than become more of those monsters out there.

A horrifying thought came to Ray. What if Craig had been turning when he had called a few days ago? What if those things Craig had said on the phone while it had been breaking up, those things about roses and Avalon, were just gibberish and didn’t mean anything?

Ray remembered Kim in Emma’s spare bedroom, how she had squatted in the corner, mumbling to herself, saying things that didn’t make sense. Vanessa had acted the same way. So had the old woman at the bank and the ones who had chased his truck into the street. And his neighbors surrounding Kim’s Tahoe had been speaking the same gibberish when Ray had been trying to get his family out their neighborhood.

He tried to remember back to that phone call from Craig, which seemed so long ago now. Craig had seemed rational enough before the phone started to break up. But Kim had had her lucid moments too in between her confused mutterings. She’d been lucid enough to beg him to kill her so she didn’t turn into a ripper.

Ray wondered if he had risked Emma and Mike’s life by coming here because of a man who was already turning into a ripper and losing his mind. Ray could even imagine that Craig had made that phone call right after placing his bound daughters into the back seat of the Mercedes, and then his wife. He could imagine Craig trying to explain to his daughters and his wife in his slow and patient cadence how suicide was the best option.

All hope drained out of Ray, and he was beginning to feel weak and light-headed. He’d kept the neck of his shirt over his mouth and nose the whole time he’d been in the garage, but maybe it hadn’t been enough protection from the fumes. Maybe the open windows weren’t even enough right now. He felt a jolt of energy and knew he needed to get out of the garage. He didn’t want to pass out in here and have his son find him a few feet away from the dead dog.

Ray didn’t close the windows—he would come back later to do that. He didn’t look for spare wood or nails; he just needed to get out of here.

Once he was back in the laundry room, he shut the door to the garage and locked it. He lowered his shirt and took a tentative breath. He felt a little better, but still a little weak and light-headed.

Maybe he needed to drink some more water, eat some more food. He was sure he hadn’t eaten enough in the last few days.

He went back into the kitchen, then to the doorway that led down to the basement.

CHAPTER 37

Mike was awake and eating a can of fruit. Ray joined him for breakfast, and he and Emma shared a can of corned beef hash and a pudding each.

“Did you get the doors secure?” Emma asked, staring at Ray in the way that made him feel like she could see him.

“Uh . . . no. I didn’t know if Mike was awake yet. I didn’t want to make too much noise.”

“I can help you, Dad.”

“Maybe later,” Ray told Mike. He looked at Emma again. “I went into the garage to look for some tools, maybe a hammer and some nails. Some spare wood.”

Emma kept “looking” at him and gave him a slight nod.

She knew, Ray thought. Somehow she knew that Craig and his family were in there. She’d told him to be careful—he remembered that now.

Ray took a deep breath. He wanted to keep what he’d found in the garage a secret, especially from Mike, but then he wondered why he should. Mike had seen horrors beyond belief already—he’d seen people turn into rippers, people attacking other people, trying to attack them and rip them apart. Mike knew his mother had died. He’d seen his sister turn and watched her join a horde of rippers as they drove away.

Mike was only a boy, but he was going to have to get used to this world that they lived in now. Shielding him like he was still a child wasn’t going to help. Ray wished he could still shield Mike, but he knew he couldn’t anymore. Besides, he didn’t want Mike somehow wandering into the garage by himself and find Craig and his family in the car.

“I . . . I found something in the garage,” Ray said.

Mike’s eyes lit up. “What?”

Emma didn’t say anything—she just seemed to be bracing herself.

“It’s not something good.”

Mike’s face dropped, and he was suddenly tense.

“Craig and his family, they’re in a car. They . . . they must’ve killed themselves.”

“How?” Mike asked.

“Carbon monoxide poisoning,” Ray said.

“What’s that?”

“If you run a car in the garage for too long, the fumes from the exhaust can build up inside and kill you,” Ray told him.

“Why did they do that?” Mike asked. He hadn’t taken another bite of his food. He didn’t seem hungry anymore.

Ray shrugged. “I don’t know, son.” It was a lie, but he didn’t want to go into his theories that both girls had turned into rippers or were beginning to turn. He didn’t want to tell Mike that Craig had tied up his family before putting them in the car. He didn’t want to tell Mike that Craig’s dog died right along with them beside the car. “I don’t want you going in there. You understand?”

Mike nodded.

“I mean it, Mike.”

“Okay,” Mike said.

“I want you two to stay down here for a little while.” Ray told Mike as he stood up.

“Where are you going?” Mike looked suddenly agitated and nervous.

“I’m just going upstairs for a little while to make sure everything’s secure up there,” Ray said, still looking right at Mike. “Okay?”

Mike nodded, already sulking a little.

“There’s plenty to do down here,” Ray told him. He glanced over at the pool table. “You could shoot some pool.”

“I don’t know how to shoot pool.”

Ray smiled. “I’ll show you later. We’ll play a few games.” That seemed to brighten Mike up a little.

“There’s a whole bookshelf of toys and books down here,” Ray said. “Card games. Board games.”

Mike still didn’t say anything.

Ray could read Mike’s expression: What was he going to do down here with a blind woman?

“I just want you to stay down here with Emma. Okay? Will you do that for me, please?”

Mike finally nodded.

“I shouldn’t be too long. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

*

An hour later Ray sat at Craig’s desk, looking through folder after folder of papers. There were more loose papers stacked up in piles on the floor. When he’d first gotten in the office, he had opened up the laptop computer. The screen lit up and Ray was amazed that the battery still had some life left—Forty-eight percent battery left according to the little icon up in the corner. But the computer was password protected, and Ray couldn’t get anywhere with it. He had tried a few common passwords and then variations of the words roses and Avalon, but nothing worked. Maybe Craig had the password written down in one of these notebooks or folders.

After stacking a lot of the loose papers into piles, Ray went through the drawers in Craig’s desk. He leafed through old address books. He didn’t find anything that resembled a password. There were small boxes and envelopes of receipts, computer printouts, their home financial records, investment reports.

In a bottom drawer Ray found CDC auditing reports and financial statements and payroll records. There were many more of these reports in the dozens of folders on the floor. Ray was familiar with most of the paperwork, and there was nothing in any of the reports about diseases or the plague that was wrecking the world right now.

Ray closed the folder he had in his hands and set it down in the “already gone through” pile. He picked up another folder and set it down on the desk. There were newspaper clippings and papers printed from internet articles inside, all of them detailing seemingly random acts of violence around the world in the last few weeks. At first the reports were scattered, a lot of violence blamed on the collapsing world economy, but in the last week it had become undeniable that large amounts of people were killing each other, some of them eating their victims. From what Ray could tell from the articles, the plague had swept across the world slowly at first, beginning around a month or so ago. There were isolated cases here and there at first, but then the plague had grown exponentially.

He sat back in the office chair, leaning back a little. He still had many more stacks of folders to go through, but he could already tell that the answers to this plague were not going to be in those folders. Those articles were the closest thing he’d gotten to any kind of an answer. There had been no mention of roses or Avalon anywhere in any reports he’d read so far.

The thought that Craig had been in the beginning stages of turning when he’d called a few days ago occurred to Ray again. What he’d heard on the cell phone two days ago had just been the ramblings of a sick man, random words and images that had popped up into Craig’s failing brain, random words uttered into the phone between the static.

What was he doing here? How long could they stay here at Craig’s house? And if they were going to leave, then when? And where would they go?

He felt that sense of panic growing in him again, that helplessness ballooning, overwhelming him. But he needed to fight it.

“We’ll survive somehow,” he whispered to the empty office. “I don’t know how yet, but we’ll survive.”

He closed his eyes, thinking for a moment.

Where could they go?

And then he remembered Doug at work. Last Friday morning, when everything had finally collapsed, Doug had given him a map to his bugout property in West Virginia. He still had the piece of paper in his wallet that Doug had given him. Maybe they could go there. West Virginia wasn’t too far away.

But it would still be a dangerous trip, and Ray wasn’t too excited about the idea of driving around again, exposed to the rippers in their vehicle.

Suddenly restless, Ray felt like getting up and moving around. He abandoned the rest of the folders and envelopes. Maybe he should search Craig’s house for something useful, like a gun. Ray didn’t know how to use a gun, he’d never even shot one before, but he was sure he could teach himself. He also needed to go back to the garage and close those windows. He was pretty certain the fumes would be gone by now. He also needed to look for some tools while he was in there, at least a hammer and some nails so he could nail the doors and windows shut. There was still a lot to do, and sitting here poring over CDC financial reports wasn’t helping anything.

Ray stood up from the chair and placed the last folder he’d gone through on top of the stack of folders on the floor. He looked down at the pile for a moment, thinking of those articles he’d read about cases of violence around the world. Something seemed strange about it, something tugging at his mind.

But he wasn’t sure what it was, and it was time to get some things done around here before it got dark again.

He was just about to walk away from the desk, but then he stopped, frozen for a second as he stared at the wall.

The answer had just come to him.

CHAPTER 38

Mike shot pool. He’d been playing for an hour now. His dad had told him that he would teach him later and that they could shoot a few games, but Dad was still upstairs.

He looked over at Emma who sat on the couch. He was bored of sinking the balls into the pockets on the table, so he walked over to Emma and sat down on the other couch, staring at her. She was a pretty lady (although not as pretty as his mom was), and she was still kind of young.

“Want to play pool with me?” he asked her.

She smiled at him. “You’d probably win the game.”

He smiled back at her even though she couldn’t see him. “I could tell you where to shoot.”

“You go ahead,” she told him.

He sighed. “What did you used to do? I mean for fun.” He really couldn’t imagine what a blind person did all day.

“Well, I used to listen to the TV. Listen to the radio. I love music.” She paused for a moment, smiling like she was remembering some of the songs she used to listen to. “And I used to listen to books.”

“Listen to books?”

“Audiobooks. Someone reads a book and records it.”

Mike remembered his mom listening to something like that in the car, but only once because he and Vanessa wouldn’t shut up long enough for her to listen to it. She never listened to another book in the car after that. Maybe she listened to them when he and Vanessa weren’t in the car with her. A twinge of sadness struck him. He wished he would’ve let her listen to her book that day. He wished a lot of things now.

“Can’t listen to books anymore,” Emma said. “No electricity now.”

“Yeah,” Mike agreed, the word coming out as a sigh.

“But I used to do a lot of other things,” Emma said. “I cleaned my apartment. I cooked for myself. I used to take the bus and go to a blind center where I volunteered to help other people who were losing their sight. My mom used to take me shopping sometimes.”

“Where’s your mom?”

“She’s gone now,” Emma told him.

Mike didn’t ask how Emma’s mom had died. He didn’t want to think about it; thinking about it made him think about his own mother and sister.

He tried to think of something else. “I couldn’t handle being blind,” he told her. And it was the truth. He was already afraid of the dark, and the thought of being trapped in darkness forever made his skin crawl.

“You never know what you can handle. I never thought I’d be able to handle it, but we’re all a lot stronger and tougher than we think we are.”

“Didn’t you say before that you weren’t always blind?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I had a genetic disorder. It’s a long and complicated story. I started losing my sight when I was about six years old. The doctors did a few operations. They tried some medications. But it was all a longshot. They tried their best, but eventually, two years later, I couldn’t see at all.”

Mike didn’t know what to say to that, and he really didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He got up and looked around the room. He’d already looked through everything already. There were toys and board games in the little room that looked like a closet, but they were all girls’ toys.

He knew what he really wanted to do; it had been tugging at him for a while now, ever since his dad had told them about Craig and his family in the garage. Mike wasn’t sure why he wanted to see them, but he just wanted to. He felt like he needed to.

Emma had curled up at the end of the couch, the blanket pulled over her. She looked so small under the covers. She looked like she was sleeping, breathing heavily.

Mike watched her for a long moment, and then he walked back towards the pool table, then towards the stairs. At least the carpeting covered the sound of his footsteps.

A moment later he was at the foot of the stairs. He looked back at the couches, but Emma hadn’t moved—he couldn’t even see her head from all the way over here. He knew he was disobeying his father’s orders, but he couldn’t help himself. It had to be safe upstairs or Dad would’ve come back down by now.

Mike took the first step, then the next one up the stairs. He was afraid Emma was going to call his name like she knew what he was doing. She was nice, but she was also weird in a way. It was like she knew things about people, like she could “see” certain things even though she was blind. Psychic ability, that’s what it was called. Like reading minds and seeing into the future, he guessed. He was both intrigued and frightened at the idea of it.

He was halfway up the basement steps now. He had the flashlight his dad had given him last night in his front pants pocket. He took the next step; it creaked just a little, but Emma never sat up or said anything. For some reason Mike couldn’t explain, he was sure Emma was awake and he was sure she knew where he was going and what he wanted to see. The idea of wanting to see dead people embarrassed him, but it was a pull he found hard to resist right now. He’d already seen a dead person—the ripper his father had killed with the golf club. He’d also seen dead rippers littering the streets on their drive here—rippers run over, rippers shot down by soldiers, some of the bodies nearly picked clean of flesh. But he knew the dead man in his parents’ bedroom wouldn’t be the last dead person he would see now that the world had changed. He knew he needed to toughen up and get stronger. And to do that, he was going to have to expose himself to death and face it.

He used to play a video game with Eric, the kid down the street. They played a zombie game about the world turning into a wasteland—a game his mom would never allow him to play at home. Mike knew that soon this world, the real world, would look just like the world in that video game. Mike wanted to survive in this new world, and he wanted his dad and Emma to survive, and to do that, he knew he would have to be more of a help.

At the top of the stairs, Mike opened the door and slipped out. He closed the door as quietly as he could. He stood there for a minute, listening for any noises in the house. He knew his dad was up here somewhere, but he couldn’t hear him. He looked back at the door to the basement, listening and making sure Emma hadn’t woken up and was calling out for him. If he would’ve heard her at that moment, he would’ve gone right back down there no matter how badly he wanted to see Craig and his family.

But Emma didn’t call out, and he couldn’t hear his father anywhere in the house.

This wouldn’t take long. His plan was to hurry through the laundry room to the garage. He would only be in there for a few minutes, just long enough to see . . . well, he wasn’t really sure what he wanted to see, just that he felt like he needed to. It almost felt like he was daring himself to do this.

Mike entered the laundry room and closed the door behind him. He saw the heavy washer and dryer in front of the door that they’d come through last night. The room was cold with that little pane of glass broken out in the exterior door. Mike walked over to the dryer and looked out through the glass panes in the door. It was snowing out there, just a light dusting. Flurries swirled in the air. Their SUV was covered with a thin layer of snow, and Mike was sure there was snow inside the back of the SUV now that the back window was gone.

He turned his attention to the door that led into the garage. He reached for the doorknob, twisted it, and opened the door.

CHAPTER 39

Ray stared at the wall of Craig’s office for a moment, staring at the painting that hung there—a painting of roses.

Could that be it?

He was in front of the painting a few seconds later, pulling it off the wall with trembling hands. He turned it over and saw a white notecard taped to the back of it.

Ray brought the painting to the sofa and set it down with the back facing him and that little white notecard secured to it. He peeled the two pieces of Scotch tape away, trying to be careful, and then the card was free. He turned it over and saw writing: For Ray. The password to my laptop is: 8*611226390a.

He felt a moment of elation and victory, he felt justified in risking all of their lives in coming here. Even if Craig had been turning, he had left his password on the back of this painting, so there had to be something on his computer that he wanted him to see. Ray also felt a feeling he hadn’t felt in what seemed like such a long time, a feeling he was afraid he would never feel again—hope.

Craig’s laptop only had thirty-eight percent battery life the last time he had checked, and it could be even less by now; he didn’t have a lot of time to waste. He sat down in the office chair and pulled the laptop closer to him, opening it up. After a moment he typed the password into the little rectangle.

It worked.

Ray searched through Craig’s files after using a shortcut on the main screen. There were hundreds of files. Some of the file names seemed pretty straight-forward and easy to figure out: more financial records, family photos, even what looked like a few Word files containing novels and short stories Craig might have been working on. But the file he wanted to check first was called Avalon.

Ray opened the Avalon file and he began to read. He wished he could print everything out, but he didn’t have that luxury. He remembered seeing a small leather-bound notebook that was about the size of a paperback novel in one of the desk drawers. It was brand-new. He found the notebook and a pen—he would use it to jot some notes down. The notebook looked like it might have been a Christmas or birthday present from one of his girls.

The Avalon file was separated into different articles and he scrolled through them. A lot of the articles were similar to the newspaper clippings and internet articles in the folder he’d looked through earlier, but these weren’t news articles. These were scientific reports from the CDC documenting cases of the ripper rage, as it was called in one report. Another report called it the rage virus, and another called it the ripper virus.

He came to what looked like an email from someone in the CDC. The person writing the email stated that there had been cases of the plague in various places around the world, the earliest ones being: one in Argentina, one in New Zealand, one in Australia, one in Singapore, one in South Africa, one in Egypt, one in British Columbia, one in Mexico, two in Brazil, three in the United States, a few in India, and several in various European countries. The author of the email made it clear that statistics from China, Russia, some middle-eastern countries, and some poorer nations weren’t available at that time.

Another thing the author of the email made clear was that there was no patient zero. The CDC had no idea where this plague had started—it seemed to have started in many places at exactly the same time, in developed and undeveloped countries, in cities and rural areas, on continents and on islands, in cold and warm climates.

Ray saw a big difference between the newspaper articles he’d read earlier and these articles stored in Craig’s laptop—these articles were from government agencies like the CDC. This was top secret information kept from the public.

“They knew,” Ray whispered. “They knew about this for weeks.”

More articles and emails confirmed that the government knew about and was covering up murders of entire families, whole villages, random people. They covered up stories of mass murder and cannibalism. They covered up stories of people ripped apart and eaten. The news, for a few weeks, reported what they were told to report, portraying many of these stories as local murders, keeping these things separated from different areas of the country, and outright burying other reports of rippers.

Another report in the file was about corporations and business leaders dumping stocks as the market crashed. There was a report of elites packing up and moving to their bunkers or private islands—billionaire doomsday preppers.

We always knew another pandemic was coming, a scientist was quoted as saying in another report. There have been pandemics throughout history. Hell, even the dinosaurs were probably wiped out by a pandemic. It’s probably happened more times than we can imagine.

Ray scribbled down the words they knew in his notebook.

He opened another article; it was a report about two rippers that scientists had experimented on, along with photos that were a little grainy and blurry of what looked like doctors in an operating room with a body on the table, only these doctors were dressed in hazmat suits and the patient had been strapped down to a table.

The report said that the study had been done in a place called Avalon.

Avalon is a location, Ray wrote down in his notebook.

He read the findings of the experiments, but the strange thing was that the rippers showed no signs of any known disease in their bloodwork or brain dissections. No sign of a viral or a bacterial infection. No sign of a fungal infection. No parasites of any kind. No strange proteins or prions in the brain, even though they could tell from CAT scans that large areas of the brain were definitely affected. One photo showed a side-by-side photo of brain scans, one of normal brain activity, and the other was the activity of a ripper’s brain, where so much of what had been lighted up in the prior brain was dark.

Ray grabbed his notebook and scribbled down a few more notes: Something fundamentally changed in the brain, but it didn’t seem to be caused by any kind of pathogen.

He looked through more articles and reports until he found a photo of Avalon. The building was small, located in the mountains of northern Georgia. The small building was surrounded by chain-link fencing. The building was small because most of the facility was underground.

Ray flipped to a blank page in his notebook and drew a crude map, a route from Washington D.C. to Avalon in Georgia, writing down the major highways leading there. Of course they would have to find a map somewhere so they could plan a route along back roads to get there. He also found some maps in one of the drawers, but he wanted to have his own map drawn in the notebook just in case he lost those maps.

There wasn’t much more information on the computer, just a lot of articles that repeated and confirmed other articles, emails from one scientist or government official to another.

He sat back in the chair, thinking for a moment. There was a plague that started in many different places at the same time, a plague that turned people into animals, a plague that had no known pathogen. The CDC estimated that anywhere from two to four percent of the population was immune to this plague.

Leaning forward again, Ray grabbed his notebook and did a quick calculation. There were roughly 360 million people in the United States, so he multiplied that number by three percent and came up with ten million eight hundred thousand people who might be immune to this ripper plague. Almost eleven million people just in the United States.

Of course not all of those people were going to survive, many had to have been attacked, killed and eaten by the rippers. He also had to consider that some of those eleven million people might be children, or elderly people, or others unable to care for themselves. Many of those people would’ve been sitting ducks for the rippers. A small number of the immune might be in prison, perhaps trapped in their cells at this very moment, or even worse, trapped in a cell with an inmate who had turned into a ripper.

And then Ray wondered how many of the immune might have done what Craig did and took themselves out along with their families, unwilling to go on with the world turning to shit, unwilling to let their families turn into rippers.

Ray remembered the rumors about this plague being some kind of airborne rabies virus. He remembered how he hadn’t noticed the classic rabies signs like foaming at the mouth. He knew rabies victims ended up dying from the disease. But would this ripper plague kill its hosts like other diseases would?

Something’s happening to people. That’s what Craig had told him on the phone. He hadn’t said that people were infected or that a plague was spreading—he’d said that something was happening to people.

A noise somewhere else in the house startled Ray. He jumped to his feet, grabbing his golf club. He went to the office window behind the chair in between two of the bookcases and parted the curtain, peeking out through the blinds. It was still snowing, but it was a light snow that would probably melt in the next day or so when the day warmed up a few degrees. It wasn’t the dead of winter yet, but winter was coming.

He didn’t see anyone outside, no one in the large group of trees in the field that separated the driveway in front of the house from the road they had driven here on. He didn’t see any tracks in the snow.

He hurried to the office door to check the rest of the house—it sounded like the noise might have come from the kitchen.

CHAPTER 40

Ray hurried down the hall past the foyer, and then past the dining room. Everything looked okay so far and he hadn’t heard any other noises. He got to the kitchen, scanning the family room, looking at the archways that led to the other large room. He could see the sliding glass doors from where he was—nobody out there that he could see.

He was about to open the basement door to check on Mike and Emma, but then he stopped. He’d heard the bumping noise again. It was coming from the laundry room.

Gripping his golf club in one hand, he pushed the door open, creeping inside the laundry room. The door leading into the garage was ajar, the cold air from the garage seeping into the laundry room.

He hadn’t shut the garage windows yet, and it had to be freezing in there. He crept to the garage door and hesitated there for just a moment.

A scuffling noise came from inside, like a sneaker scraping across the concrete floor. Someone was inside the garage. Maybe they had gotten in through the windows he had left open, tearing the screen away and crawling inside.

If it was more than one ripper, Ray knew he wouldn’t be able to fight them. He was about to peek around the doorway to see how many there were, ready to bolt back to the basement door if he needed to. Another thought occurred to him. It might not even be rippers in there. It could be other people checking houses for food and shelter; it could be one of the nearly eleven million who were immune to the plague, the survivors, and those people could be just as dangerous as the rippers now. They could have guns.

“Ray, wait.”

Ray whirled around at the sound of the voice behind him, his golf club up and ready to swing. But he knew that voice and he stopped at the last second.

Emma stood in the doorway of the laundry room, her dark glasses on, her cane in one hand.

“Emma? What are you . . .?”

“Mike’s in the garage.”

“Mike? How do you . . .?” He let his words trail off. He was about to ask how she knew, but that would be a dumb question.

“I heard him leave the basement a little while ago,” she said. “I think he wants to see Craig and his family for himself.”

Questions raced through Ray’s mind at light-speed, along with the relief that it was Mike inside the garage and not intruders. He wondered how Emma had gotten up the basement steps by herself, but then he realized that she had been living by herself in her own condo for years. He also wondered how Emma knew Mike was up here, exactly where he had gone. Had Mike told her he was going up here? Had Mike told her that he wanted to see Craig’s dead body, the bodies of his wife and daughters?

Then he thought of the girls and the wife being tied up in the Mercedes. He thought of the oldest girl’s contorted face smeared against the car’s window. He didn’t want Mike to see that.

“Don’t be mad at him,” Emma said in a soft voice that reminded Ray of Kim when she asked him not to lose his temper with Mike. Kim had told him many times that he was always harder on Mike than he was on Vanessa.

Because he’s older, he had told her. But it was more than that. Boys could grow up to be bad so easily, they could take one wrong turn in life and end up in a gang, or in jail, or dead.

Like Ray’s brother had done.

“I won’t be mad at him,” Ray said, finally answering Emma. He turned and entered the garage, walking down the three steps to the concrete floor.

Mike stood in pretty much the same spot between the vehicles where Ray had stood not too long ago. Mike stared at the dead family inside the car; all four of them slumped towards their own windows.

Ray hurried over to shut the two garage windows. The fumes were long gone from the garage now. He closed the first window and stared at the snow-covered ground outside. He saw a line of footprints in the distance along the trees on the other side of the driveway. Someone had been walking around out there recently. He closed the other window, watching the trees for any sign of movement, but he didn’t see any. He closed the blinds on both of the windows. He turned towards Mike who was looking at him now.

“Some of them were turning,” Mike said. “That’s why he did this to them, isn’t it?”

Ray nodded and walked towards his son.

“They even killed their dog,” Mike said. He sounded sad, but not on the verge of crying.

“Maybe Craig didn’t think their dog could survive on her own,” Ray explained. “Maybe he thought he was being kind to her.”

Mike looked down at the dead dog, then he looked back at the Mercedes with Craig and his dead family inside.

“Come on, son. It’s cold in here. Let’s get back in the house.”

For a moment Ray thought Mike was going to argue with him; he was afraid that Mike wanted to stare at Craig and his family a little longer. Maybe this was Mike’s way of dealing with death—the death of his mom and his sister turning into a ripper (and her turning into a ripper was like she was dead, wasn’t it?). But then Mike walked to Ray.

Ray wasn’t the best father in the world when it came to giving hugs and comforting his children. But that wasn’t really true, was it? He’d been great at giving Vanessa hugs, but not Mike. He’d always been afraid of being too soft on Mike, and maybe that’s because that’s how his own father had raised him and his brother. He realized he’d held back hugs and affection from Mike for years now, but his son needed a hug now, and Ray grabbed his son and held him.

“You won’t do that to us, will you?” Mike asked into Ray’s shoulder, his words a little muffled, but Ray understood every stinging word.

Ray pulled away from his son, gripping his upper arms, staring him right in the eyes. “What did you say?” he asked, even though he’d heard exactly what Mike had asked.

“For our own good,” Mike said, staring right back at Ray. He didn’t flinch or look away even once—he was seeking the truth.

“How could you—” Ray started, but then he stopped his words. He thought of what he’d already done to Kim, poisoning her, killing her.

But she asked me to do it. She begged me to do it.

Tears burned in Ray’s eyes. “I . . . I would never do that to you. You hear me? Never. I . . . I love you, Mike. You’re all I’ve got left in this world now.” The tears were flowing now. “All I’ve got. You understand?”

Tears slipped out of Mike’s eyes, but he didn’t seem to really be crying. There was a hardness in his expression that Ray had never seen before.

Ray pulled Mike to him and hugged him again. “We won’t go out like that,” he told Mike. “We won’t give up like that. You hear me? We’re going to keep fighting. Keep surviving.”

Mike pulled away from Ray and wiped at his eyes and nose.

“We need to look for a hammer and some nails,” Ray said, trying to get Mike’s mind on something else. “You want to help me find some?”

“Yeah,” Mike said, nodding.

“We need to get some of these doors and windows nailed shut,” Ray told Mike as he walked over to a row of cabinets. He thought again about the footprints he’d just seen in the snow—they needed to be ready for whoever was out there.

Mike walked over to a wall of floor-to-ceiling shelves and started rummaging through the boxes and crates.

Ray looked over at his son. He looked so normal right now, a kid helping his father look for some tools.

We’re going to survive somehow.

Emma stood in the doorway to the garage, but she hadn’t come down the three steps. She had a smile on her face.

“I found a hammer,” Mike shouted, holding up a claw hammer with a big smile.

Ray nodded. “That’s good, son.” He knew he should probably go back to Craig’s office and read the rest of the files before the laptop’s battery died, but the laptop was probably dead by now anyway. No, they were going to secure this house as much as they could with the daylight they had left.

And then what?

And then they would have a decision to make. Ray needed to talk to Mike and Emma about something.

CHAPTER 41

As the day grew into late afternoon, Ray, Mike, and Emma ate a meal in the kitchen. Ray had been busy, and Mike had helped a lot. Together they got the rest of the stuff from their SUV, letting a few of the wet cardboard boxes dry on the kitchen floor. They nailed the front doors shut, and then they nailed the French doors shut in the fancy living room with the piano. They moved the couches against the French doors and then piled a recliner up on top of them. They did the same thing in the large family room, pushing as much furniture as they could in front of the line of sliding glass doors that led out to the pool area. They went through the food and drinks in the house, organizing everything they had into boxes—one for water, another for canned goods, another for boxed and bagged foods. Most everything in the two refrigerators was off-limits. Some of the food might have been oaky to eat, but Ray wasn’t going to take a chance on any of them getting sick.

After those tasks were completed, Ray and Mike searched through the bedrooms, trying to find anything that might be useful. Ray was hoping to find some kind of gun or a rifle in Craig’s closet, but he didn’t find anything. Maybe Craig didn’t own a gun, and maybe that explained why he had used the Mercedes in the garage to kill his family. But Ray did find a pair of expensive binoculars.

They also found some camping gear in the garage: a tent, two sleeping bags, a few thermoses, a first-aid kit, a little camping grill with a small propane tank. He kept most of that stuff in a pile in the corner of the garage.

“I found some things on Craig’s laptop,” Ray told them as he ate. “Craig told me to come to his house because there were answers here. He mentioned roses and the word Avalon, but the phone was breaking up so bad I couldn’t hear everything he said. And then the phone went out for good.”

“What’s Avalon?” Mike asked.

“It’s a mythical place,” Ray told him.

“We’re going to a mythical place?” Mike asked Ray with a smile, teasing him.

“No, smartass. But there is a place called Avalon. It seems to be some kind of underground research center. I think it might be part of the CDC. It’s in northern Georgia.”

“That’s where you want to go?” Emma asked.

“Craig said the answers were in Avalon. I couldn’t find anything on his computer, but maybe they’re working on a cure there.”

Emma didn’t say anything. Ray didn’t think she was too sure about his idea.

“Georgia’s not too far away,” Ray said. “Of course with things the way they are now, it could take a while to get down there. And with winter coming . . .” He didn’t bother finishing the sentence.

Mike took another bite of his peanut butter sandwich. Ray wanted to finish the bread up so they were all eating sandwiches. “We could stay here for winter,” Mike suggested.

Ray nodded. “I’ve thought of that. But this place isn’t that safe.” He paused for a moment, not sure if he should tell them what he’d seen outside the garage windows earlier when they’d been in the garage, but he decided that he didn’t want to keep any secrets from them. “I saw some tracks in the snow by the trees when I was closing the garage windows. They were pretty far away, so I don’t know if they were from animals or people. And if those tracks were made by people, I don’t know if they’re from rippers or other survivors. Survivors may become as dangerous as rippers when the winter gets worse and the food supply dwindles. People will kill for food and water.”

Mike’s eyes were big. He had stopped eating his sandwich.

Ray pulled out his wallet (he couldn’t even believe he was still carrying it in his back pocket, but old habits die hard). He plucked out the folded-up piece of paper Doug had given him and laid it on the counter.

“What’s that?” Mike asked. He looked at Emma like he realized that she couldn’t see what his dad had just done. “He pulled out a piece of paper from his wallet.”

Emma smiled. “Thank you, Mike.”

“Sorry,” Ray muttered to Emma. “A few days ago, last Friday morning, the same day Craig called me, the day the phones and electricity went out, I went to work that morning. Our building had been closed down. Everyone was waiting outside because the doors were locked. Craig hadn’t shown up and everyone was panicking because of what they were hearing on the radio and seeing on their phones. Well, there’s this guy I worked with, Doug, and he’s what you’d call a prepper.”

“A prepper?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, a doomsday prepper. He always believed the end of civilization was coming and he wanted to be prepared for it.”

“I guess he was right,” Mike said, taking another bite of his sandwich.

Ray didn’t need to be reminded that Doug was right. “Well, he prepared by buying and fortifying a cabin in West Virginia. He drew me a map on this piece of paper and invited me and my family up there when the . . . when everything collapsed. He said it’s completely off the grid.”

“Off the grid? What’s that mean?”

“It means the place is self-sustaining. It has its own water and electricity; it’s not dependent on the city or county utilities.”

“How does it have its own water and electricity?” Mike asked.

“Probably a well and solar panels,” Ray told him.

“Electricity,” Mike said. “We could have lights again.”

“And a hot shower,” Emma said, smiling.

“Hot food,” Ray added.

Mike turned to Emma. “And we could charge a tape recorder up so you could listen to books and music.”

Emma touched Mike’s hand, squeezing it, still smiling.

Ray sighed. “I know it’s a longshot, and I know it’s risky to go to West Virginia, but I don’t know how long we would be able to stay here. Even if those tracks by the trees weren’t from rippers, some of them will find this place eventually. Even other looters and scavengers will eventually find us. And there’s no heat here. We can’t use the fireplace because we’d draw the rippers or looters here for sure because of the smoke from the chimney.”

They were all quiet for a moment.

“The thing is, I wanted to get your opinions,” Ray said. “If we’re going to leave, then we need to do it pretty soon. Probably in the next few days before it gets too much colder.”

“I vote that we go,” Emma said without hesitation. “I think we need to.”

Ray stared at Emma for a moment. He couldn’t help thinking that she was following some kind of secret plan of her own, something only she could see. Or maybe she could tell that it wasn’t safe here at Craig’s house.

Mike looked doubtful.

“I know it’s scary going back on the road,” Ray told him. “Believe me, I’m not looking forward to it. But I think it’s the best choice. Doug may be at his cabin, or he may not be. He might’ve turned into a ripper before he could get there. Or he might have been killed along the way.” Or he might have been killed or turned after he got to his cabin, but he didn’t want to say that. “Doug assured me that his cabin and the property is well-hidden. He told me the only way to find it was by this map.” He tapped his finger on the piece of paper on the countertop.

Mike still looked scared.

“We’ll take the back roads. I found a bunch of maps in Craig’s office. I’ll plan out a route that’s the least populated. We’ll take Craig’s other vehicle in the garage. Make sure it’s filled up with gas. Bring some extra gas with us.”

“And a gun,” Mike muttered.

“I couldn’t find a gun, but I’m sure Doug will have a few of them at his cabin.”

Mike’s expression brightened up a little.

“Or maybe we’ll find a gun along the way,” Ray added, even though he didn’t really believe that.

Mike finally nodded.

Ray smiled. “It’s settled, then. We’ll leave in a day or two. We’ll rest a little more, eat some more, pack up the truck in the garage after we make sure it still runs. We’ve got a lot to do in the next few days.”

CHAPTER 42

Two days later it was time to leave.

“I saw more tracks in the snow,” Ray told Emma and Mike when he came back down to the basement. It was morning, only eight o’clock, and it had gotten even colder in the house. “These tracks are closer to the house. Definitely human footprints.”

“Rippers?” Mike whispered. He had just woken up, but the news had him fully alert.

“Maybe,” Ray said. “Probably.”

“You didn’t see any of the rippers?” Emma asked.

“No,” Ray told her. “But they’re out there. A few of them, judging from the amount of tracks. We need to go right now.”

Two days ago Ray found the keys to the Chevy Suburban that was parked in the garage. He started the truck in the garage and it had fired right up. The gas gauge was almost full. He shut the SUV off and spent the next few hours packing the back of it with their supplies. He found two extra red plastic gas cans, one of which was already full. Mike had his backpack he used at school, and Ray found dark blue backpacks he and Emma could use; the backpacks would make carrying their stuff around a lot easier. They packed their extra clothes and supplies into the backpacks, and Ray shoved the small leather-bound notebook down into his backpack, the notebook in which he had jotted down the notes from Craig’s computer and the map to Avalon. He had also copied the map that Doug had drawn into the notebook. He had a map of West Virginia folded up and secured to the notebook with a few rubber bands.

He was glad he had packed the back of the Suburban already, now all they needed to do was grab their backpacks they had down here in the basement and leave.

“Here,” Mike told Emma as they were getting ready to leave. “I found these yesterday.”

“What are they?” she asked reaching out for the objects in his hand.

“Books on tape and some CDs,” he told her. “I found them in the family room. I also found a CD player. It runs on batteries.”

“Thank you, Mike.”

“Come on,” Ray told them. “Get your shoes on. We need to go.”

Mike waited beside the couch, his backpack still down by his feet. Ray looked at him and he could tell his son wasn’t ready for this. Mike had been brave about leaving up until now, until the moment they really had to do it.

“It’s okay, Mike,” Ray told him, giving him a quick hug. “We’re going to make it. You believe me, don’t you?”

Mike nodded.

“Can’t hear your head rattle,” Emma said with a smile.

Mike barked out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

“Okay,” Ray said. He told them to wait there as he went to the foot of the stairs with his backpack on and his flashlight in his hand. The basement was gloomy, but even with the curtains over the windows there was enough light down here to see. But the stairwell was even darker.

Ray made his way up the stairwell. He heard Mike helping Emma get to the bottom of the stairs below him. Ray turned the doorknob gently and opened the door. He stepped out of the doorway and listened for a moment. He heard a screeching sound from somewhere outside, then a hollering answer to it.

The rippers were already out there.

He jumped when he heard a slamming sound from somewhere deep in the house, and then he heard what sounded like breaking glass. It sounded like some of the rippers were breaking in through one of the bedroom windows.

Mike had helped Emma up the stairs, and they stepped out of the doorway.

“Come on,” Ray whispered to them. “We need to be quiet. I think one of them might be getting inside the house.”

They followed Ray to the laundry room door, and he motioned for them to stay there by the door. “I’m going to check the laundry room and garage,” he whispered to them.

Ray entered the laundry room. He ducked down and hurried over to the washer and dryer in front of the door. He peeked up over the dryer and looked out through the panes of glass in the door.

A group of rippers were huddled near their SUV, a few of them inspecting it, but other rippers were on their way towards the garage doors, moving out of his view from the window. The group consisted of five men and three women, no children. They were all filthy, their clothes torn and stained, their faces splattered with what looked like mud, but it could have been blood. Two of them weren’t wearing shoes, but the cold didn’t seem to bother them even though the temperature had to be a little below freezing out there.

Ray kept low and remained still. He didn’t want to move and catch their attention. He was pretty sure they probably couldn’t see through the windows because of the daylight out there, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

The rippers hadn’t come back from the garage doors, and the other two who had been sniffing around their SUV hurried over to join them. Maybe they were waiting by the door and staying out of the freezing wind, or maybe they were trying to find a way in. There were probably more rippers all around the house, looking for a way inside. Ray thought about the two windows in the garage with the blinds over them, and how easy they would be to break into.

How was he going to open the garage door if the rippers were in front of it? He wouldn’t have time to jump back into the SUV before they rushed him. And even before he opened the door, the rippers would hear the SUV when he started the engine.

Maybe it would be better if they went back down to the basement. Maybe they could wait out the rippers for a day or two, until they moved on. But if other rippers were breaking into the bedrooms right now, then this house was going to be full of rippers within minutes, and eventually they would break down the flimsy door to the basement.

For a moment Ray was paralyzed with indecision as he crouched down behind the dryer, staring at the door that led to the garage. He thought he’d been ready for this. He thought he’d made all of the necessary preparations, but everything was turning to shit in seconds now.

Need to think. Need to make a decision.

“Dad,” Mike whispered.

Ray jumped, turning towards the laundry room door. Mike and Emma had crawled into the room and shut the door, locking it. Mike was crawling across the floor to him now.

At least he was keeping low.

“Mike,” Ray hissed at him. “What are you doing? I told you two to stay put.”

Mike took his backpack off and opened it, rummaging through it. He pulled out a string of firecrackers.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ray asked him.

“I found these in the garage when I was looking for the hammer.”

Ray didn’t understand what Mike was doing, and for a few seconds he thought his son might be losing it, his mind finally snapping under the pressure.

“We can use these,” Mike said, his voice a little louder now. “There’s a lot more of them in the garage. They’re in a bag on a shelf in there. Bottle rockets and fireworks.”

Suddenly it dawned on Ray what Mike was suggesting.

“Remember when we were at Emma’s place?” Mike said. “Remember when that guy from the other building was shooting at them?”

“The sound of gunshots startled them,” Ray finished for Mike. “They were scared of the gunfire.”

“We could set these off somewhere,” Mike said.

“And create a diversion,” Ray finished.

CHAPTER 43

The three of them entered the garage after Ray peeked inside to make sure none of the rippers had broken in through the windows.

“The bag is over there on that shelf,” Mike whispered to Ray.

“I’ll get it in a minute,” he told Mike. He pointed at the SUV, herding Mike and Emma there. Ray gestured at them to get into the truck. Emma got in the back seat and Mike sat down in the passenger seat—Ray would need Mike in the passenger seat for his plan to work.

If it would work.

“Dad,” Mike said as Ray was about to leave.

“Just wait here for a minute,” Ray whispered at him. “I’ll be right back. We’ll be okay. We’re survivors, remember?”

Mike nodded, but his eyes were dinner plates of fear.

Ray hurried over to the shelves and found the paper bag of fireworks.

A moment later Ray hurried through the laundry room and then he was in the kitchen. He froze for a moment, listening for more sounds in the house. He couldn’t hear anything as he stood in the kitchen, nothing from inside the house anyway. Maybe the noise he’d heard earlier was outside, or maybe he had imagined it.

He darted into the living room and crouched down in front of one of the windows that looked out onto the same side of the house that the garage doors were on. He emptied the paper bag onto the floor. Ray wasn’t a fireworks expert, but these seemed like mild fireworks to him, and they seemed pretty self-explanatory—just light the fuse and watch it go.

He had two lighters with him in case one of them didn’t work. He peeked out through the blinds to make sure there weren’t any rippers right outside the window.

None that he could see at the moment—they were probably still by the garage.

Ray raised the wooden blinds and then slid the window up; the colder air drifted in. He used a razor knife to cut the screen away and then lined up the bottle rockets and fireworks on the window sill. He flicked the lighter and lit the fuses.

A ripper was coming. Ray glanced up at the window and saw what used to be a middle-aged man running towards him with wild eyes, a growl rumbling in his throat.

It was taking forever for the fuses to burn down to the rockets.

The ripper was at the window. He seemed ready to dive in at Ray, but he stopped at the last second, staring down at the burning and hissing fuses, backing up like he was unsure about the flames, scared for just a moment. It was like these rippers had a natural fear of any kind of fire.

But Ray knew the fuses weren’t going to hold the ripper back too much longer. Ray took off running through the living room. By the time he reached the kitchen he heard more crashing noises from the other side of the house—a ripper was definitely inside the house now, somewhere back in the bedrooms; there were probably a few of them inside the house by now.

He got into the laundry room and closed the door. He twisted the lock on the doorknob. Maybe the locked door would slow them down for a few seconds. The bottle rockets and fireworks were going off now, all of them at once. It was startlingly loud even from inside the laundry room. Maybe those fireworks were more powerful than he had assumed. He didn’t bother staying low as he hurried across the laundry room to the door that led out to the garage. He saw a blur of movement outside the window over the sink—the group of rippers was running towards the sound of the fireworks.

But was it all of them? Had all of the rippers moved away from the garage doors?

He couldn’t tell. Maybe a few of them had stayed behind.

But he didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about anything that would slow him down right now. More and more rippers were outside, and some of them were in the house now. They couldn’t go back down to the basement; they couldn’t do anything except get in the SUV and try to leave. It was now or never.

Ray was inside the garage in a flash. He closed that door and ran down the aisle between the two vehicles. The blinds over the garage windows still looked undisturbed. He opened the driver’s door of the Chevy Suburban and the dome light came on. Emma was in the back seat, her body tense. Mike stared at him from the passenger seat.

“Now, Dad?” Mike asked.

“Not yet,” he told him. He turned the key in the ignition and the SUV fired right up, the engine running.

Ray left the driver’s door open and ran to the garage door. He pulled down on the handle of the rope so that he could lift up the door manually. He lifted the door open and daylight flooded the garage.

There were no rippers waiting on the other side.

But the rippers were coming. He saw them running down the side of the house towards the garage doors. They would be here in seconds.

Ray jumped inside the SUV and slammed his door shut. He pushed the button down to lock all of the doors.

“Now, Dad?” Mike asked.

“Yes,” Ray told him. “Now.”

Mike lit the string of firecrackers in his hand as Ray shifted the SUV into drive. Thank God the vehicle had been backed into the garage so he could just pull right out into the parking area. He stomped down on the gas pedal and the SUV lurched forward.

As the fuses sizzled on the string of fireworks, Mike pushed the button to roll down his window.

Ray sped out into the parking area, but he’d forgotten that Kim’s SUV was parked so close to the garage. He had to turn the steering wheel sharply to the left, the tires sliding on the thin layer of snow, the back end of the SUV fishtailing.

We’re going to hit the truck and be stuck here.

Mike flung the string of firecrackers out of his window. They started popping before they even hit the ground.

The group of rippers stopped when they saw and heard the firecrackers, some of them sliding on the snow, some of them stumbling a little as they backed up a few steps, their eyes wide with surprise.

“It worked!” Mike yelled.

But they weren’t in the clear yet. They had missed crashing into Kim’s SUV by mere inches as Ray let off of the gas and kept turning the steering wheel. He had to turn the wheel the other way to straighten the vehicle out so they didn’t crash right back into the garage. He stomped down on the gas pedal again.

The back tires spun on the film of snow, but they finally caught traction. They sped down the driveway towards the open metal gate.

The rippers were chasing them down the driveway now. And at least twelve more rippers were running across the front yard from the trees, trying to cut them off before they reached the gate.

Ray had to slow down as he reached the gate. He couldn’t take that turn too fast out onto the road; he couldn’t slide off the road and into the bushes and trees, stranding them in a ditch or in the brush. He let off the gas and pressed down on the brake pedal gently as he turned the steering wheel. He felt the back end of the SUV sliding, but it wasn’t out of control yet.

Some of the rippers were throwing rocks at them. Ray heard the pinging sounds of the smaller rocks bouncing off of the rear quarter panels, and one large rock thumped off the back, but at least they hadn’t shattered any of the windows yet.

Ray drove a little faster now that they were on the road that ran through the trees. He glanced to the right and left, but he didn’t see any rippers running towards them from the other mansions set back on either side of the road. And now he could see Prospect Road ahead through the trees. He risked a glance in the rearview mirror and saw that they were leaving the group of rippers behind. A few of them threw some rocks, but none of those rocks even got close now.

He slowed down and turned onto the street, turning right, heading west. They were driving faster now, the trees on both sides of the road whipping by in a blur.

Emma breathed out a long breath, like she’d been holding it in for a while. She unbuckled her seatbelt, and then she was moving around back there.

“You okay?” Ray asked her.

“Yes,” she said as she picked up something from the floor. “How about we celebrate with a little music?” she asked and handed Mike the CD player he had found for her.

Mike smiled and took the CD player she offered. “Don’t we need batteries?”

“I put some in it yesterday,” Ray told him.

Mike flipped the lid up on top of the player. “There’s a CD in here already.”

“Play it,” Emma said.

Mike frowned, reading the CD inside the player. “Gloria Gaynor? Who’s that?” He was about to take the CD out.

Ray put a hand on top of Mike’s hand, stopping him. “Just play it.”

Mike closed the lid with a sigh and hit PLAY. A moment later I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor began to play.

“What’s this?” Mike asked.

“It’s great music, son,” Ray told him. “That’s what it is.” And Ray began singing along.

“Please don’t sing,” Mike groaned.

Ray sang anyway, and Emma joined in. After a few choruses, even Mike began to sing along.

Yes, Ray thought, he had made the right choice to leave Craig’s house. It would have been overrun by rippers today. They would have been trapped down there in the basement. But he didn’t want to think about that. It was already the past, and now he was looking towards the future. Doug’s cabin in West Virginia would have weapons and food, he was sure of it. They would be safe there if they decided to stay through the winter. And after the winter was over, maybe they could go down to Georgia, find the place called Avalon. Maybe there were scientists in Avalon, scientists working on a cure.

He liked to believe there was.

But in the meantime, Ray was going to enjoy this moment, and after that they would keep on surviving.

A THANK YOU:

Thank you so much for reading my book! I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you’ll check out the next book in this series – Chaos: Dark Days Book 2. Being an author is a dream come true for me, and it only happens because of readers like you. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Please feel free to follow my blog for updates, sales, articles, and more. Just click on the link below and select the Follow button.

https://www.marklukensbooks.wordpress.com

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Mark Lukens has been writing since the second grade when his teacher called his parents in for a conference because the ghost story he’d written concerned her a little.

Since then he’s had several stories published and four screenplays optioned by producers in Hollywood. One script is in development to become a film. He’s the author of many bestselling books including: Ancient Enemy, Sightings, The Exorcist’s Apprentice, Devil’s Island, and Followed. He’s a proud member of the Horror Writers Association.

He grew up in Daytona Beach, Florida. But after many travels and adventures, he settled down near Tampa, Florida with his wonderful wife and son . . . and a stray cat they adopted.

He loves to hear from readers! You can find him on Facebook here:

https://www.facebook.com/Mark-Lukens-Books-670337796318510/

You can follow him on Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/marklukensbooks

His blog is: https://www.marklukensbooks.wordpress.com

He can be reached via email at mark@marklukensbooks.com and at marklukensbooks@yahoo.com

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