Dark Days of the Apocalypse (10 World-Ending Books): A Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Horror Collection
Author: Derek Shupert
Date: 2022-09-27 05:00:00+00:00
Description: From bestselling author, Derek Shupert comes 10 post-apocalyptic novels set in a future where zombies rule the world, and humanity is pushed to the brink of extinction. Dive into this survival horror thriller now at one unbelievable price! Books Included in the Dead State A prehistoric virus. An infectious primal hunger. Some discoveries are better left buried… 0. Catalyst1. Fallout2. Survival Road3. Executioner4. Immune5. Evolved Undead Apocalypse If he could cure the big diseases, it would advance humanity. Why would someone try to stop him? 0. Genesis1. Deadfall2. RipTide3. Dead Reckoning “
Publisher: anonymous
Rights: Copyright &#x00A9;2022 byanonymous

Copyright

Dark Days of the Apocalypse

Copyright © 2022 by Derek Shupert

Cover design by Derek Shupert

Cover Copyright © 2022 by Derek Shupert

This book is a work of fiction.  The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictionally and are not to be constructed as real.  Any resemblance to a person, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For information contact :

Derek Shupert
www.derekshupert.com

First Edition

Contents

THE COMPLETE DEAD STATE SERIES
DEAD STATE: CATALYST
1. CHAPTER ONE
2. CHAPTER TWO
3. CHAPTER THREE
4. CHAPTER FOUR
5. CHAPTER FIVE
6. CHAPTER SIX
7. CHAPTER SEVEN
8. CHAPTER EIGHT
9. CHAPTER NINE
10. CHAPTER TEN
11. CHAPTER ELEVEN
12. CHAPTER TWELVE
13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DEAD STATE: FALLOUT
14. PROLOGUE
15. CHAPTER ONE
16. CHAPTER TWO
17. CHAPTER THREE
18. CHAPTER FOUR
19. CHAPTER FIVE
20. CHAPTER SIX
21. CHAPTER SEVEN
22. CHAPTER EIGHT
23. CHAPTER NINE
24. CHAPTER TEN
25. CHAPTER ELEVEN
26. CHAPTER TWELVE
27. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
28. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
29. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
30. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
31. CHAPTER SEVETEEN
32. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
33. CHAPTER NINETEEN
34. CHAPTER TWENTY
35. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
36. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
37. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
38. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
39. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
40. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
41. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
42. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
43. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
44. CHAPTER THIRTY
45. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
46. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
DEAD STATE: SURVIVAL ROAD
47. CHAPTER ONE
48. CHAPTER TWO
49. CHAPTER THREE
50. CHAPTER FOUR
51. CHAPTER FIVE
52. CHAPTER SIX
53. CHAPTER SEVEN
54. CHAPTER EIGHT
55. CHAPTER NINE
56. CHAPTER TEN
57. CHAPTER ELEVEN
58. CHAPTER TWELVE
59. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
60. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
61. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
62. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
63. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
64. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
65. CHAPTER NINETEEN
66. CHAPTER TWENTY
67. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
DEAD STATE: EXECUTIONER
68. CHAPTER ONE
69. CHAPTER TWO
70. CHAPTER THREE
71. CHAPTER FOUR
72. CHAPTER FIVE
73. CHAPTER SIX
74. CHAPTER SEVEN
75. CHAPTER EIGHT
76. CHAPTER NINE
77. CHAPTER TEN
78. CHAPTER ELEVEN
79. CHAPTER TWELVE
80. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
81. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
82. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
83. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
84. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
85. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
86. CHAPTER NINETEEN
87. CHAPTER TWENTY
88. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
89. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
90. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
DEAD STATE: IMMUNE
91. CHAPTER ONE
92. CHAPTER TWO
93. CHAPTER THREE
94. CHAPTER FOUR
95. CHAPTER FIVE
96. CHAPTER SIX
97. CHAPTER SEVEN
98. CHAPTER EIGHT
99. CHAPTER NINE
100. CHAPTER TEN
101. CHAPTER ELEVEN
102. CHAPTER TWELVE
103. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
104. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
105. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
106. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
107. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
108. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
109. CHAPTER NINETEEN
110. CHAPTER TWENTY
111. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
112. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
113. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
DEAD STATE: EVOLVED
114. CHAPTER ONE
115. CHAPTER TWO
116. CHAPTER THREE
117. CHAPTER FOUR
118. CHAPTER FIVE
119. CHAPTER SIX
120. CHAPTER SEVEN
121. CHAPTER EIGHT
122. CHAPTER NINE
123. CHAPTER TEN
124. CHAPTER ELEVEN
125. CHAPTER TWELVE
126. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
127. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
128. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
129. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
130. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
131. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
132. CHAPTER NINETEEN
133. CHAPTER TWENTY
134. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
135. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
136. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
137. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
THE COMPLETE UNDEAD SERIES
UNDEAD APOCLAYPSE: GENESIS
138. CHAPTER ONE
139. CHAPTER TWO
140. CHAPTER THREE
141. CHAPTER FOUR
142. CHAPTER FIVE
143. CHAPTER SIX
144. CHAPTER SEVEN
145. CHAPTER EIGHT
146. CHAPTER NINE
147. CHAPTER TEN
UNDEAD APOCALYPSE: DEADFALL
148. CHAPTER ONE
149. CHAPTER TWO
150. CHAPTER THREE
151. CHAPTER FOUR
152. CHAPTER FIVE
153. CHAPTER SIX
154. CHAPTER SEVEN
155. CHAPTER EIGHT
156. CHAPTER NINE
157. CHAPTER TEN
158. CHAPTER ELEVEN
159. CHAPTER TWELVE
160. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
161. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
162. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
163. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
164. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
165. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
166. CHAPTER NINETEEN
167. CHAPTER TWENTY
168. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
169. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
170. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
171. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
172. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
173. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
174. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
175. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
UNDEAD APOLCAYPSE: RIPTIDE
176. CHAPTER ONE
177. CHAPTER TWO
178. CHAPTER THREE
179. CHAPTER FOUR
180. CHAPTER FIVE
181. CHAPTER SIX
182. CHAPTER SEVEN
183. CHAPTER EIGHT
184. CHAPTER NINE
185. CHAPTER TEN
186. CHAPTER ELEVEN
187. CHAPTER TWELVE
188. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
189. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
190. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
191. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
192. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
193. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
194. CHAPTER NINETEEN
UNDEAD APOLCAYPSE: DEAD RECKONING
195. CHAPTER ONE
196. CHAPTER TWO
197. CHAPTER THREE
198. CHAPTER FOUR
199. CHAPTER FIVE
200. CHAPTER SIX
201. CHAPTER SEVEN
202. CHAPTER EIGHT
203. CHAPTER NINE
204. CHAPTER TEN
205. CHAPTER ELEVEN
206. CHAPTER TWELVE
207. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
208. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
209. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
210. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
211. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
212. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
213. CHAPTER NINETEEN
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THE COMPLETE DEAD STATE SERIES

BOOKS 0 - 5

BY

DEAD STATE: CATALYST

A DEAD STATE SERIES NOVELLA

BOOK 0

BY

CHAPTER ONE

Evil is all around us, Madison. Just because it isn’t visible on the outside doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Sometimes, we have to look past the façade to truly see what’s lurking below the surface. Keep your guard up, and always remain vigilant, my sweet girl.

My father’s mantra. A man that always kept his guard up, regardless of who he was dealing with. For William Price, steadfastness was the most sacred possession a man could own. Without it, he was nothing more than a sheep.

From an early age, he drilled this bit of wisdom into my brain. “Don’t be a sheep, Madison. Be the wolf,” he’d say. Probably why it’s so ingrained into my psyche to this day. Even though he has passed, his words breathe truer now than ever. There are infinitely more sheep trotting about in this world now, oblivious to the fact that they’re being led to the slaughter. I love you, Pop.

My eyes begin to glaze over from days gone by as I stare at a picture of my father and me. One of the few I have. It was taken in Hawaii almost two years ago. His smile was genuine. Not fake like he did on most occasions.

Lightning crackles to my right, illuminating the dark swollen clouds we’re flying through. It rips me from my thoughts. I lean to my right, and glance out of the small, round window. I search for sunlight, but find none within the ghastly, gray hue that has blanketed the sky.

Thunder rumbles. The private jet rattles and acts as if it wants to fall apart. My hands white knuckle the armrest. I’ve never been a big fan of flying. Especially in crummy weather.

The jet’s stewardess stops beside me. “Ms. Price, can I get you anything?” She smiles at me with her arms tucked behind her back. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her makeup still looks pristine, even at this ungodly hour.

I grimace as the plane jostles about again. “A smoother ride would be nice.”

She continues smiling and nods. “The captain has informed me that we should be passing through the worst of the storm shortly. Can I get you another coffee or something more to eat?”

“No, thank you. I’m good.” I glance out the window, then back to her. “How much longer until we land?”

She removes the empty plate and cold coffee mug from the table in front of me. “I believe we still have roughly four hours to go.”

My body deflates.

“Please let me know if you need anything else, Ms. Price.”

I nod.

She walks past me as thunder continues to torment the ether just outside the plane. I need a distraction to ease my mind. My body is tired and spent, both physically and emotionally.

The last thing I wanted to do right now was to come out on another assignment, but Vincent did a good job of convincing me to think otherwise.

Vincent Reigns, CEO of Beacon Intl, is a long-time colleague of my father’s. My father helped Vincent on some past projects, providing insight and analysis for him. One of Vincent’s main passions, aside from his numerous business ventures, is history.

He is obsessed. He actually takes a large portion from his company, the Beacon’s, main holdings to fund expeditions all over the world. When he catches wind of a possible archeological find, he jumps on it. He spends money like there’s no possible way he’ll run out of it.

When he called me about his latest find, he did just that. Dollar signs clung to the air as I listened to him speak. Figures rolled from his tongue like water from a faucet. Mind you, I’m not hurting for money. I’m too frugal to ever lose what I have.

But bribing me with an enormous amount of money wasn’t Vincent’s angle. He took a different approach.

History.

Much like him, I am captivated by it. Probably why I ended up as a freelance archeologist and consultant. A tomb raider even. I have seen and been a part of many amazing expeditions. Unearthed finds that have given us so much more insight into the past. But this latest find was something I haven’t been a part of, yet.

My hands relax, allowing the blood to fill in the white splotches on the tops of them. I reach down to my satchel on my left, and sift through the contents inside, retrieving a manila folder. I sit up straight and open it.

Inside are photos and other documents of Vincent’s current project—an ice man that is perfectly preserved.

He has already excavated the body and taken it to one of his research centers nearby in the frozen land. Although initial reports have shown promising data, Vincent is a thorough man. Much how he valued my fathers’ input, he now looks to me for that same insight.

My involvement is simple. Once onsite, evaluate the find and determine its legitimacy.

I am excited by the notion, but to be candid, I always reserve any judgment until I have given the evidence and subject its proper due. Regardless of how much it teases me so.

For Vincent, it is much the same. A find that would surely be remarkable. And lucrative. Even with his lust for history, his lust for wealth is not far behind.

I yawn and stretch my arms. The weather seems to have calmed down. Brief flashes of lightning flicker off in the blackness of night, but nothing more than that.

I pull the cover down over the window, and sink into the rich brown leather chair. Its heated warmth cradles me like a lover. I lace my arms across my chest and close my eyes.

My father enters my thoughts as I drift in and out of consciousness.

CHAPTER TWO

An endless sea of the past and present collide in my head. Despite the soothing comfort of the plush chair I’m in, I can’t stay the thoughts bombarding my mind.

My father’s passing.

The storm we have passed through.

And finally, the find of the century.

It’s all too much for me to brush to the side. My brain keeps processing while I try to dial it down.

Fine. The rampant thoughts stewing on the meaty parts of my intellect have won.

I sit up and stretch. My fingers reach for the ceiling as I groan. I rub my eyes with the heel of my hands, clearing the haze from my vision.

Through the window, the sun’s strident rays shine on the seat across from me. I reach over and lift up the window cover. My eyes take in the cloudless, clear blue sky. A smile breaks across my face.

Below, and just to the left of the jet’s wing, I spot my home for the next week or so—a frozen white wasteland as far as the eye can see. Void of any structures or civilization, the desolate, snow-covered land sends a shiver slithering up my spine.

“Ms. Price, we’ll be landing in roughly an hour. Mr. Reigns has your gear and attire prepared for you in the aft portion of the plane. You are free to change now if you’d like to do so.”

The stewardess holds out her arm, and directs my attention to the rear of the plane.

“Thank you. Could I possibly bother you for a cup of coffee? I didn’t get much sleep, and I need to wake up.”

She smiles and nods. “Of course, Ms. Price. Would you like any creamer this time?”

“Black is fine, with a bit of sugar.”

“I’ll prepare a fresh pot while you’re getting changed,” she responds.

She walks toward the cockpit. I unlatch my safety belt and stand up. My legs are sore from being stagnant for so long. I run my hands up and down my thighs, trying to get the blood circulating once more.

I stumble back to the overly large facilities where my winter attire awaits. Vincent was more than ready to have me on this expedition of his. He has provided all of the clothing and gear that I need in this chilled rigid weather.

I strip down to my unmentionables, and skim over the garments Vincent has provided. Each piece of raiment is bulky and overly sized. Plain in its visual appeal, the drab garment at least appears to be insulated well enough. Hopefully, it should keep the bite of the bitter cold from getting to me.

Layer by layer, I load down with the thermal vestments. There are no rags or cheaply made garments here. Every piece works perfectly with the others.

I take my clothes and load them into the black duffle that is sitting in the corner before checking myself in the mirror. My eyes are slightly puffy with a black and blue hue resting under both. I turn on the water and splash the cold liquid against my face, trying to erase the sleepiness.

The overhead speaker crackles.

“This is the captain. We will begin our final approach shortly. Please make sure that you are seated and secured.”

I dab my face with a lavender colored towel, then retrieve the duffle from the floor and exit the lavatory. The stewardess approaches me.

“Ms. Price, I have your coffee on the table for you. Can I get you anything else?”

“No. That will be all. Thank you.”

She walks past me.

I make for my seat and sit down. I stow the duffle bag under the table. The smell of the freshly made brew brings a warm smile to my face. I carefully grip the mug and softly blow over the black caffeine enriched java as my eyes cut to the right.

The ground is closer now. The detail of the snow and glaciers are more defined. I take a sip of the coffee as my eyes continue to soak in the splendor of the vast openness of the inhospitable lands. Although I am not so big on extremely cold environments, I must admit, this is quite breathtaking.

I polish off the potent brew as the plane finally lands. The tires squeal as rubber meets the tarmac. The plane jostles a bit. My hands instinctively grip the armrest.

The engines thrum as my ears pop and adjust from the change in altitude. I expel a sigh of relief, thankful that we have finally landed on solid ground.

The plane travels for a few more moments before coming to a complete stop. I gather up the documents on the table, and slip them back into the manila folder. I place the file into my satchel, and undo my safety belt.

“Ms. Price. There is a car waiting to take you to the research center. Is there anything else that I may be of assistance with today?” she inquires.

“Not that I can think of,” I respond.

She smiles and nods. “Very well. I hope you enjoyed your flight with us. Take care and have a good rest of your day.”

I smile back. “Thank you. Same to you.”

I retrieve the duffle and satchel from the floor and move to the front of the plane. The door has been retracted. The captain and first officer greet me with a smile and a simple nod. I respond in kind.

Cold air brushes against my face as I step out of the plane. An instant shiver comes over me. I grab the hood to the parka I’m wearing, and pull it up over my head before continuing down the steps.

The wind beats against me like a thousand fists. Snow blows across the pavement in a manic nature. Directly in front of me is a black Land Rover. A man, dressed in similar fashion to me, rushes up to meet me.

“Ms. Price. Welcome to Siberia.”

“Thanks. How far is it to the research center?” I respond.

“It’s about an hour drive. The terrain is a bit rough. We’ll be there before you know it, though.” He reaches out his glove-covered hands toward my duffle. “Let me stow that for you in the back.”

I hand the bag to him. He heads to the back of the SUV and pops open the rear latch. I make for the back seat of the driver’s side and hop in.

The interior is warm and comforting. I place the satchel in the seat next to me and lower the hood back down. The rear hatch closes with a dull thud as he comes around to the driver’s side. He slips inside and fastens his seatbelt.

We take off, leaving the runway in our wake. I settle in and watch the snow-covered buildings as we leave the small airport. The view from up high was amazing, but being on the ground is something else. I’ve never been in an environment where I felt as though I had been transported to another world.

I watch the bleakness of the stark land pass by, and think of the ice man that has been freed from his frozen grave. Skimming over the initial photos and reports does have me a bit thrilled, but yet, cautious.

As much as I want this to be true, I’m trying to remain objective. I’ve found in this line of work, and life in general, it’s best to be skeptical when evaluating any situation. Let the evidence present itself, and be reasonable with your conclusions.

Try to debunk it if you can. If all checks out, then great. Either way, you’ll get your answer.

CHAPTER THREE

Much like a caged animal, I yearn to be set free. All of the sitting is the one thing about traveling that I do not like. Although I’m spent, and in need of rest, I would still rather be up and moving about. Fortunately, we are nearing our final destination.

The Land Rover crunches over the icy surface. The uneven road sends the bulky vehicle from side to side as we crest an inclined snow bank. I brace myself against the driver’s seat. Both hands grip the warm leather as the research center comes into view.

I’m not sure what I was expecting to see, but find the setup that Vincent has in place extensive. Roughly the size of a football field, the frozen land has been cleared away and smoothed out. Massive mounds of snow create a barrier around the perimeter.

I can see rows of dark, gray prefabricated buildings—boxy steel and concrete made modules that are connected to one another by adjoining enclosed walkways. They’re lined up on a grid of snow and ice.

Satellites and antennas are on top of the roofs. Immense generators are attached to the sides of the buildings. Oddly enough, I notice armed men outfitted in white parkas and pants standing guard throughout the area.

The Land Rover comes to a halt in front of one of the buildings. The driver hops out and opens my door, then moves to the back of the SUV and opens the rear hatch.

I retrieve my satchel, and step out onto the icy plain. He hands me my duffle, and offers a jovial smile as he shuts my door. He slips back into the comfort of the vehicle as a tall, slender Hispanic woman emerges from the building.

She offers a half smile, that looks to be forced more than anything. Her posture seems rigid, with her hands clasped behind her back. I’m unsure what’s colder, the weather, or her personality.

I try not to indulge my intuition, though, considering I haven’t even met her. Afterall, everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt.

“Ms. Price, welcome to the Arctic Research and Development Center.”

Dressed in a black sweater, with a white lab coat draped over top, and thick, black parka pants, she extends out her hand as she walks up to greet me.

“Please, call me Madison.” I shake her hand. “All these formal greetings are starting to make me feel old.”

She chuckles.

“Of course. I’m Nora Sanchez, the lead scientist here at the center. We are thrilled to have you on the team.”

I shiver. My lips tremble from the chilly weather bombarding my face. The wind tries to exploit any openings in my garb. I can feel the breeze sneaking in past the zippers, and the thick brown material from the gloves’ openings. “Let’s go inside and get out of this dreadful weather.”

Nora leads the way.

My eyes cut to the armed men on either side of the door. Their faces are stern and rigid. They offer no such greeting or warm welcome as they peer at me furtively.

“What’s up with all the security?” I inquire.

“Oh, they’re just here to appease Vincent.” Nora dismisses the question with a wave of her hand. “They’re a part of a private security firm that Vincent does business with. He can be a bit overly suspicious at times. Since we’ve been onsite with the subject, he wanted the additional security. Just to be safe.”

Bewildered, I tilt my head slightly. “Safe from what, exactly?”

“His own delusions.” Nora chuckles. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of nowhere. He has a deal with the Russian government to be here, so there shouldn’t be any sort of issues with them interfering, or anyone else for that matter. I tried to tell him it was a waste of money to have them here, but he insisted. It’s his money, and if he wants to waste it, then so be it.”

We walk along the winding hallway. The sound of our footsteps plays off the black speckled linoleum. The walls are a dull antiseptic white with labs that are mixed in every five feet or so.

Nora pauses and turns toward me. “This is the main hub where the research takes place. The entire complex is connected together by adjoining hallways. Living quarters, showers, cafeteria, and storage are on the far side. Medical, research, and communications are on this side.”

“Was this solely set up for the subject?” I ask.

“No. Vincent had this built sometime back. We’ve had a few other finds that have come through that didn’t pan out. This is the first that is looking promising,” Nora responds. “Would you like me to show you to your quarters?”

“Actually, I’d like to see the subject first, if that is ok?”

Nora nods. “Of course. We are currently running some tests on him, so we’ll have to view him from the observation deck. The tests shouldn’t take too long. You should be able to see him later today.”

“That will be fine.”

“Perfect. We can have your bags taken to your room while I show you.”

Nora motions to one of the lab techs standing close by. I remove the satchel from my shoulder, and hand both bags to the tech.

“Please. Follow me.” Nora continues on the guided tour of the facility, pointing out and explaining what each section of the facility is currently handling.

We pass by medical, row after row of sterile white-sheeted beds going toward the back. At the end of the ward is a lone patient.

Separated from the rest of the room, and encased in a thick heavy plastic barrier, is a sickly-looking woman. I pause, and walk over to the glass barrier to examine her closer.

I can only see a small portion of her flush and sweaty face through the narrow opening. She lays motionless on the steel gray bed. Her eyes are closed and mouth slightly open.

“What’s wrong with her?” I inquire.

Nora comes up beside me. “At the moment, we are not sure. She fell ill a few days ago. We felt it prudent to keep her isolated until we have learned more.”

The woman’s lips move as though she’s trying to speak. Her eyes are slightly open, revealing her bloodshot sclerae. Her gaze cuts through the narrow slit of the plastic barrier, and right at me.

I glance at Nora. “Is she going to be ok?”

Her gaze looms in the patient’s direction before responding with a monotone voice. “Dr. Stevens is as tough as they come. We are confident that she’ll make a full recovery.”

Nora’s less than convincing cannon fodder does little to convince me of Dr. Stevens’s potential for recovery. A part of me is anxious at the thought of someone falling so ill in the middle of this frozen wasteland. What if it spreads?

I try to stay the apprehension creeping up my body as Nora offers me a fake comforting smile.

She softly places her hand on my shoulder. “No need to worry, Madison. We have the best medical staff and scientific minds right here. She’s in good hands. Shall we? I imagine you are anxious to see our guest.”

I nod.

We leave the window of the medical ward and continue on. Nora educates me on what they have found thus far that wasn’t included in my file. I listen with an attentive ear as I examine each lab we pass by. The lights are shut off, cloaking the various technical equipment in a shroud of shadows from the hallway’s lights. Only the glow from the machines’ lights are visible.

Nora stops and turns to a door on her right. She places her palm flat against a square device to the right of the door.

“Where is everyone?” I ask. “A large portion of the labs are vacant.”

“We are currently running on a skeleton crew. Bare bones,” Nora retorts. An illuminated, blue light scans her hand from the top down. The locking bolts of the hefty door retract obediently, followed by the low hiss of expelled air. “Vincent wanted to keep this as low key as possible. So, there aren’t too many of us here.”

Nora pulls open the door and walks in. I follow close behind. We pass through another doorway, and hook a left into what appears to be an observation deck. It’s elevated above the space below where the subject is being kept.

Medical and other technical equipment take space along the periphery of the walls. Cabling runs along the floor, from the various machines, to a large cylinder looking contraption in the center of the room.

I pull the door closed behind us as Nora turns toward me and says, “This is Tak. The chamber he has been placed in is temperature controlled to preserve his body. On either side of the unit are sliding access points for us to be able to reach in and examine him closer.”

Remarkable is the first word that materializes in my mind. Astonished, I step toward the plexiglass window. Like a kid at Christmas, I examine Tak with eyes wide open.

He’s laying flat on his back. Wiry, thick brown hair blankets the majority of his muscular, wet body. Chunks of ice cling to the damp hairs as the scientists continue their work.

His face is huge, with an enormous nose, and the front part of his face pulled forward. Around the cheeks, the skull curves outward rather than being hollowed out.

His forehead is also much flatter. Above his eyes are a pronounced double arch of the brow-ridge that hangs over the rest of his face.

I’ve seen numerous digital mockups and renderings of various Neanderthals over the years. All of this is second nature to me, but seeing this perfectly preserved man from a long-lost era, in the flesh, is almost surreal.

“We know Vincent wanted you here to authenticate the find, even though we are extremely confident in our ability to do so.” Nora seems a bit perturbed by my presence. Her tone a bit standoffish now. My initial assessment of her was pretty spot on. At least I gave her the chance to prove me wrong.

I glance at Nora, who offers me a curt smile. The last thing I want is to give the impression of stepping on anyone’s toes. So, I keep my rebuttal short and to the point.

“I have no doubt that you and your team will be able to do so. I am just here to assist in any way that I can.”

Nora’s eyes cut downward to her watch, then back up to me. “I imagine you would like to get some rest. I know the flight can be brutal.”

“That is true. I could rest my eyes for a bit,” I reply.

“I’ll show you to your quarters. We’ll reconvene after they’ve finished with Tak. Shall we?” Nora holds out her arm, allowing me to take the lead out of the observation deck. We exit the lab, and head back the way we came.

We continue on through the remainder of the facility, passing through the other sections of the center before reaching the sleeping quarters for the base’s crew. My dwelling is at the far end. Room 3B.

“I’ll notify you once we are able to gain entry to examine Tak closer. Shouldn’t be too long. Get some rest and we’ll speak soon. If you need any additional blankets or toiletries, we have them in the storage room just down the hall. There isn’t much currently in there, as we’re waiting to be restocked with more supplies.” Nora offers another smile before excusing herself.

I enter my quarters and turn on the light. The lamp against the far wall springs to life, dimly lighting up the small, compact space.

The furnishings are adequate and plain, boasting nothing more than a twin-size mattress, slightly elevated off the ground, with a night stand off to the side.

To my left is a gun-metal gray desk with a brown top that is slightly worn. A video conferencing phone is stationed toward the right corner. A black desk lamp is clamped to the desk’s left edge. A small, black task chair completes the arrangement.

My duffle bag and satchel are resting on the floor in front of the desk. I shut the door and remove my parka.

It’s warm, but not overly hot. I sling the bulky jacket over the chair’s backrest and plop down on the bed. I don’t bother changing. My body just wants to rest.

I bring my legs up, and lay flat on my back. The mattress has little to no padding. The springs poke and prod my spine. I shift my weight slightly to gain some comfort. It does little to no good. Oh well. It’s better than trying to sleep in a chair or moving car.

My arm falls across my face as I exhale a spent breath. I don’t even bother with turning off the light. Although my mind is still contemplating what’s to come, I fall fast asleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

A few solid hours of sound sleep can make a world of difference.

Despite the wafer-thin mattress’s attempt to steal my slumber, my spent body prevailed. The bed did manage to place a knot in my lower back, but it was worth the tradeoff, I think. I want my mind clear and rested for Tak.

After all, Vincent didn’t fly me around the world for a half-assed assessment. Speaking of, I need to check in with him.

The video phone rings, the screen flashing and coming online. I get to my feet, pull the chair out from the desk, and plop down on the razor thin seat. Guess I found an area where Vincent does skimp on the luxuries.

Nora appears on the screen as I try to gain some comfort.

“I trust you slept well, Madison.”

“I’m rested. I’ve been up for a few minutes now,” I respond.

“Good to hear. If you’re ready, we can examine Tak now. They have removed the remaining ice from him,” Nora informs.

“Perfect.” I check the time on my watch. “I can meet you in the lab in say, twenty minutes?”

Nora nods and smiles.

The screen turns off.

I punch in Vincent’s number, and press the call button. Sending flashes on the light blue screen as the phone tries to connect. I glance back down at my watch again, wondering what time it is in New York. I’m still off from the time change.

The phone clicks, and connects the call, but the screen remains its light blue hue. “Madison! It’s good to hear from you.”

I don’t recall ever speaking with Vincent, and him not sounding as though he’s on cloud nine.

I glance over the controls on the unit’s base, trying to decipher what the issue may be. “It appears we are having some connectivity issues. I’m not sure if you can see me, but I can’t see you.”

“I can’t see you either. It’s probably just a connection issue. Happens more than I’d like, given the region and all you are in,” Vincent responds. “How are things going so far? I’m looking forward to hearing your thoughts on our find.”

“I’m actually getting ready to examine Tak with Nora here shortly,” I answer.

“Excellent. Nora is one of my top scientists there. I’m confident that between the two of you, we’ll be able to verify and validate Tak.”

“Yeah. She seems as though she isn’t too thrilled to have me here,” I mention.

“Did she say something to you?” Vincent inquires.

“Not directly, but she comes across as though she is not pleased with my presence,” I respond.

“Much like you, she is a strong, smart, confident woman,” Vincent says.

No need to continue flattering me. I’m already here.

“She did mention that her team could handle the verification process, but I insisted. If you run into any issues, please let me know.”

“I will, but I don’t think that will be necessary,” I retort.

“I imagine it won’t be.”

Static overcomes Vincent’s voice before the line falls silent. The screen goes blank, and back to its dark gray hue. That’s comforting.

I stand up from the uncomfortable chair and make for the door.

Making my way to the lab to meet up with Nora, the eerie silence of the complex plays on my nerves. My eyes shift from left to right at the darkened labs. My arms fold across my chest as the ether of each space bleeds over to the next. It feels as though I’m on another planet, completely cut off from civilization. Extremely unsettling.

The medical ward is still vacant except for Dr. Stevens who still remains quarantined. Curiosity gets the better of me. I stop.

Through the clear plastic barrier that encompasses the ill patient, I can see a doctor standing next to the bed. I hone my gaze through the narrow opening, and find Dr. Stevens looking right at me.

Her wrists are bound to the steel frame of the bed she is confined to. Her right palm is bandaged, wrapped in white gauze. She tugs and pulls against the restraints as she stares at me with her wide, bloodshot eyes. She moves her mouth in such a way that I can’t tell if she’s speaking or growling.

Becoming more irritated and, dare I say, vicious, Dr. Stevens arches her back off the bed. She leans toward the doctor, but I can’t make out what she is doing. The plastic has distorted her movements.

It appears as though she is trying to... bite him?

“Did you get lost?”

Startled, I flinch.

Nora stands off to my left.

“Oh gosh, you scared me.” I was too consumed by the disturbing imagery unfolding before me to hear or see Nora approach.

Nora stares at me with a bewildered gaze before she looks inside the medical ward. “Her condition is deteriorating much faster than anyone had anticipated. We had to restrain her to keep her from hurting herself or any of the staff. She hurt her hand in the process. We are still trying to pinpoint the exact cause of her ailment, but have been unsuccessful thus far.”

Two other doctors rush toward Dr. Stevens with surgical masks covering their noses and mouths. They throw open the plastic barrier and struggle to restrain her. She bites at the men with an intense rage brimming in her flush, red face.

Nora places her hand on my shoulder. “We really need to go, Madison. We have a schedule.”

“Yeah. Ok.”

We leave the medical ward just as they plunge a needle into Dr. Stevens’s right arm.

In all my travels around the globe, I can’t recall a time that I’ve witnessed such manic behavior. A truly scary notion.

We enter the lab where Tak is being kept, and bypass the observation deck. Nora leads me to a room full of medical scrubs and other garments. She thumbs through the numerous suits before retrieving one from the hanger. “Put this on. It’s required before entering.”

I take the stark white hood coverall from Nora and start to slip it on. She takes another from the rack and follows suit.

I put my hair up into a ponytail, zip up the front part of the suit, and pull the elastic hood over my head, leaving my face exposed.

Nora hands me a surgical mask and motions for me to follow her. I put it on, and secure it over my nose and mouth as we walk toward the lab. She provides her authorization by placing her hand on the scanner on the wall. The door opens.

My heart pumps with excitement as we enter the space. Nora walks to the far side of the chamber Tak is in, and checks the system’s gauges.

“Everything ok?” I ask.

Nora nods. “Yes. Just making sure the system is operating as it should be. Anytime a different party enters the lab, it is required that we check the chamber’s controls for any abnormalities. It’s standard operating protocol.”

My eyes divert from Nora and down to Tak. I lean in closer to the glass.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Nora slips her hands into a pair of dark gray rubber gloves that are attached to the chamber’s interior. “Our initial test shows there has been little to no decay. All organs and tissue appear to be fully intact.”

I make eye contact with Nora and point at the rubber gloves before me.

“May I?”

She nods.

I place my hands and forearms into the thick rubber material. I reach up to his face and gingerly grip his chin. My eyes soak in every detail as my brain catalogs every strand of hair and facial feature.

“Is this being recorded?” I ask.

“Yes. We have cameras mounted in the corners of the chamber, as well as around the lab,” Nora responds.

I continue on with my initial assessment.

“Homo neanderthalensis. Male. Roughly five feet tall. Weight, approximately 165 lbs.” I tilt his head slightly to the right. “Subject appears to have suffered some sort of contusion to his right temple.”

Nora points to some large scars that run at an angle from the upper right of his chest down to his lower right abdomen.

“Could these be from an animal?”

I gently run my fingers over the scarred tissue.

“It is possible. Neanderthals were skilled hunters. They generally hunted large prey like mammoths and bison at close range. They’d use thrusting spears to take them down. Thus, why they had the stocky physique.”

“So, you think Tak is a Neanderthal, then?” Nora poises.

“From the looks of him and such, I’d say yes. Of course, though, additional testing will confirm this. Plus, we will be able to narrow what timeframe he lived through,” I remark. “Neanderthals lived between 130,000 and 40,000 years ago. The species had evolved over that period.”

“Wow. That’s pretty interesting,” Nora responds as she raises her brows. “Our first initial speculations were cave man. Some did say Neanderthal while others said Cro-Magnon man.”

“They were a fascinating part of our history. One interesting theory is that they practiced cannibalism and ritual defleshing.”

Nora cringes, her face contorting in such a manner you’d think she smelt something foul. “Cannibalism and defleshing? Sounds gross and barbaric if you ask me?”

I nod in agreement.

“Defleshing, or excarnation, refers to the practice of removing the flesh and organs of the dead before burial, leaving only the bones. Defleshing may be precipitated through natural means, involving leaving a body exposed for animals to scavenge, or it may be purposefully undertaken by butchering the corpse by hand.”

Nora cringes and takes a big gulp. Her eyes, and disgusted expression, land upon Tak.

Thump... thump... thump.

The deep, forceful pounding on the observation deck’s glass rattles us. We shudder as Nora mutters some choice words. She glances up.

“Yes!” Nora’s eyes narrow, and she tilts her head slightly to the right as if she is straining to listen. Her mouth moves through the mask, but no words are spoken. She removes her hands from the rubber gloves and walks around the chamber.

Intrigued, I do the same and turnabout. I look up to the observation deck. There’s a frantic man dressed in a white lab coat waving his arms. His words are muffled, but the terror painted on his face conveys his message. He points to the room that we changed in, then disappears.

Befuddled, I glance over to Nora who is just as confused.

“What was that all about?” I inquire.

“Not sure.” Nora heads for the room with the medical garments and supplies. She opens the door to the manic doctor.

His breathing is labored, sweat rushing down from the top of his scalp as he glances over his shoulder.

Nora lowers her mask and grabs him by the arms. She shakes him, trying to hone his attention. “Scott, what is it?”

Shaken, he replies, “There’s been an incident in the medical ward.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“ What sort of incident?” Nora sternly inquires. He doesn’t respond at first. “Scott, what happened in the medical ward?”

“Dr. Stevens. She attacked Dr. Johnson! Bit him on the forearm. She took a good chunk of flesh off.” Scott shudders and gazes at us with a worried look.

I remove the surgical mask, and pull back the white hood of the coveralls I am wearing.

Nora’s eyes fall to the floor as Scott glances at me.

I gulp. “How did she bite him? I thought they subdued her? I saw them giving her a shot or something.”

Scott’s voice trembles with fear, terror thick on his face. “We did. Gave her a general sedative that should have calmed her down. It momentarily did. Dr. Johnson was adjusting the restraints on her wrist when she woke up and attacked him.”

Concerned, Nora glances back up. “Where is Dr. Stevens now?”

Scott recoils. “Gone.”

“Gone!” Nora snaps. It sounds like a hoarse growl. “How is she gone? We’re surrounded by subzero temperatures and snow in Siberia.”

“After we pulled her off Dr. Johnson, she got free from us, and ran out of the medical ward,” Scott says. “It was like she was a wild animal or something. We tried to speak to her, and calm her down, but it was like mentally, she wasn’t there anymore.”

Nora retorted with a heavy sigh. “Is anyone looking for Dr. Stevens now?”

“Yes. The security team is trying to locate her as we speak,” Scott replies. “We didn’t want to raise any alarms until you were informed first. That’s why I rushed right over to tell you.”

I scoff. “Seems like a perfect time to inform everyone that there is a crazy person loose, who is apparently trying to bite people.”

Nora shakes her head in disbelief. She pulls back the hood to her coveralls and removes them. I follow suit. We dump them in the medical disposable bin in the far corner of the room before coming back to Scott.

“Take me to Dr. Johnson, now,” Nora flatly orders.

We trail Scott out of the lab and make for the medical ward, our pace quick, our nerves on edge from the rattling events retold.

My eyes cut from left to right at the workspaces we walk past. There is no sign of anything wrong. The lab techs and or base personnel continue with their daily duties. Perhaps, for now, that is for the best.

Scott opens the door for Nora, who storms into the medical ward like a woman on a mission. He still has a naked fear lingering in his eyes, and every sound causes him to tremble as I walk by.

I feel out of my depth with what’s transpiring. My anxiety wants to burst from every pore in my body, but I maintain—more so for my own sake than anyone else’s.

Nora approaches a man resting in one of the beds. His right forearm is being examined by one of the other doctors as he glances up. “Dr. Johnson, how are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better.” He winces, grinding his teeth against one another as the wound is dabbed with a damp cloth. He reaches for the mangled flesh, but refrains from touching the irritated exposed tissue.

I grimace at the grisly site, and divert my eyes.

“Why did Dr. Stevens attack you?” Nora asks.

He shrugs. “No clue. After administering the sedative, she calmed down. She was still restless, but otherwise stable. She had been tugging at the restraints with her wrists and loosened them some. I went to tighten them back down and she attacked. Caught me off guard.”

Dr. Johnson pushes the doctor’s hand away from the wound. “That will do. Just wrap it up and give me a shot of antibiotics. I’ll be fine.”

“I want you to stay here for observation. Have some tests run to make sure there is no infection,” Nora says.

“There is no need for that. I’m fine, really. I’ll take some pain meds, and sleep it off in my quarters.”

Nora places a restraining hand on his left shoulder. Dr. Johnson narrows his gaze in her direction, apparently annoyed by the contact.

“Dan, I insist.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll be back later to check on you.”

Dr. Johnson nods as the wound is wrapped with gauze.

Nora takes me by the elbow and pulls me back out into the hallway. She approaches one of the security guards standing watch, leans in close, and whispers in his ear.

Their conversation only lasts a few seconds before he offers a simple nod and walks away. She turns to me.

“What the hell is going on here?” I bark. She hushes me with her hand, and motions for me to keep my voice low. “Is this some sort of viral outbreak or something?”

“I don’t know, but I’d rather not be throwing those words around since we don’t know for sure what it is we are even dealing with.” Nora’s eyes shift from right to left as she leans in closer to me. “We have Dr. Johnson under observation, and the security team is searching for Dr. Stevens as we speak. They are the best Vincent’s money can buy. They will find her shortly. I’m certain of that. In the meantime, I’ll inform all research staff to keep an eye out for Dr. Stevens. If anyone spots her, they will be directed to contact security immediately. Ultimately, we need to maintain composure, and not allow this situation to get any further out of hand than it already is. That will only compound the problem.”

“Well, I just don’t want to see things get any worse. We’re not exactly in a position to handle it if it does.” I snidely remark.

“Agreed, that’s why, right now, we need to maintain control of this situation,” Nora rebukes. “Once we locate and retrieve Dr. Stevens, hopefully, we’ll be able to figure out what is going on.”

I place my hands on my hips, and cock my head to the side. “I surely hope you’re right about all this. I didn’t sign up for any of this crap.”

I have been told that when I get stressed, I become a smartass, times ten. That ugly side of me is oozing from my pores, no matter how hard I try to stop it.

Nora is not the least bit appreciative of that fact. She purses her lips tightly, and rolls her eyes. “When’s the last time you ate something?”

“Not sure. Maybe when I was on the plane. Why?” I inquire.

“Go to the cafeteria and get some food. Take a shower, sleep, work on your initial assessment for Vincent, I don’t care. Just relax. Can you do that?”

I sigh.

“Fine.”

CHAPTER SIX

What the hell have I got myself wrapped up in?

The words are a broken record spinning aimlessly around in my head as I try to dissect the strange and horrid events. I’m not really in the mood to eat, all things considered, but Nora is right. My blood sugar could be running low, causing me to act more irrational that I normally would. I need to focus. Regain my clarity.

My gaze stays fixed to the floor as I make my way to the cafeteria. Fortunately, the halls are mostly empty. If eye contact is made with the few people walking them, I simply nod, and keep moving. I like to think I’m a pretty personable person, but right now, I want my space.

The commissary is brightly lit; the strident shine from the lights above beam off the slick white floor. Three rows of plastic white tables are lined up in perfect order, black folding chairs pushed underneath their tops with only a single person occupying them.

She keeps her head buried in the half-eaten sandwich resting on her plate. She doesn’t even acknowledge my presence, which I am grateful for.

It’s dead quiet, except for the refrigerated units to my right that are filled with various drinks and food. My stomach rumbles, and beckons me to feed it.

Surrendering to the growling in my stomach, I walk the periphery of the space, and make for the food. My eyes take in each machine’s offering. Filled with various sandwiches, salads, fruits, and other packaged meals, there is no shortage of options.

Not wanting to waste my time of having the eatery mostly to myself, I grab a ham sandwich and a cup of peaches. I add a bottle of water, and make for one of the empty tables away from the lone woman.

I set my food down, and pull out the chair. I plop down onto the chilled steel seat, which sends a shiver through my body. There are rounded cups, in the centers of each table, filled with utensils wrapped up in napkins. I retrieve one and dive into my food.

Lost in my own thoughts, I take a hearty bite of the meaty sandwich. It actually tastes relatively good for being prepackaged. Bite after bite, I consume every morsel of my sandwich before I notice the woman approaching from my left.

She’s on the opposite side of the table with her plate clutched in her hands. She stops, and turns toward me. “May I?”

I wipe the bread crumbs from my lips and nod.

She sets her plate on the tabletop and pulls out the chair in front of her. I finish chewing what food remains in my mouth as she sits down. She discreetly looks to her left, toward the entrance of the commissary, and leans forward.

In a low, hushed tone, she whispers. “Have you seen it yet?”

Confused, I respond, “Excuse me? Seen what, exactly?”

She clarifies. “You’re the fresh blood Vincent hired to come up here to help examine that thing we pulled from the ice, right?”

“If you mean Tak, then yes.”

She scoffs and shakes her head, acting as though she is disgusted by my words. “I can’t believe they named that thing.”

“You mean the Neanderthal? It is a person.”

“So, that’s what it is, then? A Neanderthal?”

I confirm with a nod.

“You’re sure about that?”

I place the napkin on the table, and grab my bottle of water. I unscrew the cap, and take a gulp of water to wash the sandwich down. I refrain from responding until my mouth is clear. “From my initial exam, that is my current assessment.”

The woman’s eyes continually shift toward the entrance of the commissary. I glance back over my shoulder to see what keeps stealing her attention. There is no one present.

She focuses her suspicious eyes back onto me. “You’re one of those people who digs stuff up and analyzes it, right?”

“Yes.”

“What is the possibility of a virus, contagion even being able to survive within its host? Namely, being frozen? Is that plausible?”

I set the water bottle down and lean forward. Although sounding and acting paranoid, she has managed to pique my interest. “If you’re asking is it possible for a virus or some sort of contagion to survive for thousands of years while frozen, it’s certainly within the realm of possibility. Although, to my recollection, I have never heard of a confirmed case before. Why do you ask?”

Her eyes grow big, and she nods as if I have just confirmed something for her. She leans in closer.

“What if Dr. Stevens was infected with some sort of virus that has been lying dormant for thousands of years in that ice man? What if, whenever he was excavated and brought here, we released that toxin somehow?”

I train a tentative ear toward her. She has piqued my own curiosity. “What happened to Dr. Stevens, exactly?”

The woman throws her hands into the air, her hushed tone increasing as she speaks. “She went all crazy! Tore a chunk of skin out of one of the other doctors’ arm! Last I heard, the security team hadn’t located her yet. Nora has informed everyone of the situation, but I feel that things are more dire than any of us truly realize. This is much more than someone just losing their mind and going mad.”

I cock my head slightly to the right. “And you saw this happen?”

She nods. “I was in the lab across the hallway when it went down. It happened so fast. She attacked him like a ravenous animal. At first, I didn’t believe what I saw was real.”

I lean in closer, prodding her for more details. “Why would she have attacked him in such a manner? Even more so, how would she have been exposed to any such possible virus? Tak has been frozen the entire time, hasn’t he?”

I can see the gears turning inside her head as she nibbles the ends of her nails. “True. When he was excavated, he was kept inside the ice while transported here. After arriving, and securing him in the lab, they began thawing him out within the chamber. There was a breach in the housing shortly after the process. Faulty seal or a malfunction of some sort. Dr. Stevens was the only one present when it happened.”

My own curiosity is getting the better of me. “Wasn’t she wearing her safety garb? Gloves, mask, and such?”

“She had everything on except for a mask. It wasn’t required since he was secured within the chamber. She got blasted in the face when the seal ruptured. Only lasted a few seconds before she sealed it. What if, after exposure, it somehow mutated inside of her? Couldn’t a virus from that time period affect us differently than people from that era?”

“Like I stated earlier, it is possible, but there’s never been a documented case before, as far as I know.” I sit back in my chair with my cup of fruit in my hands. “These are some bold claims to be making. Nora hasn’t mentioned anything about a containment breach. Neither has Vincent. Have you brought up these concerns with them?”

A sour look floods her face. From her disgusted reaction, she doesn’t appear to think highly of them.

“Nora already knows about the breach. After the incident, she had the lab sterilized per operating protocol. I imagine Vincent was informed, but can’t say for sure. You know he’s wanting to bring that ice man back to the states within the next few weeks, right?”

I shrug. “That could be accurate. I’m not sure.”

“That’s the last report we received.” She removes her nails from her mouth, and mashes her finger against the tabletop. “I’m not crazy. Like you said, all of this is plausible.”

A noise to my right captures her attention as two members of the security team enter. Her breathing escalates. Her chest heaves. She quickly stands up and grabs her plate from the table.

“Hopefully, I’m wrong about all of this. If I’m not, then god help us.” She lowers her head and makes for the trash can in the corner of the room. She dumps her plate and leaves the commissary.

And me with a lot more to chew on.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Strange. Every minute that ticks by seems as though this place is being driven to the 6 th dimension of hell, and I’m stranded for the ride.

At least, at the moment, I do not have to concern myself with a chance encounter with Dr. Stevens. The security team is currently tracking her in another portion of the facility, after reports of her being seen in the area.

But still, the frantic woman’s concerns, nay borderline ravings, bore deep into my mind.

Although I am not a viral scientist, or whatever they are, it is true that certain diseases can linger within and around a burial site if the conditions are right. It’s also hard to gauge how people would respond to being exposed from an unknown toxin.

As much as the woman’s hypothesis of a thousand-year-old virus being kept in a dormant state, and altering Dr. Stevens’s condition after exposure is a huge leap, I can’t dismiss it for some reason.

The woman’s words of dread and utter doom gnaw at me like a festering parasite going deeper into my skull. I’m lost in thought as I make my way to the storage room. The meager blanket they have provided has done little to keep me warm.

I try to debunk everything that she said. Find ways to say it isn’t what she says it is.

To be honest, if I hadn’t seen the bite mark, and Dr. Stevens’s strange behavior before the incident, it would be much easier to do so. I continue chewing on the idea, trying to digest this outlandish and twisted picture she has painted for me.

The more I dwell on her words, though, the more I want to get what I need, and retreat back to the safety of my room.

The squeaking sound of my shoes against the tiled floor play as background noise to my thoughts. I’m submerged in “what if” scenarios that have me distracted from my surroundings.

I approach the double doors of the storage section of the facility. I peer through one of the clear plastic windows molded inside the door. It’s black as night. The darkness has consumed the space. My eyes shift from left to right, struggling to pierce the veil that cloaks room.

My left-hand digs into the back pocket of my jeans and removes my phone. I switch on the flashlight. I expel a deep sigh of air.

I’m starting to hate this place. The unsettling sensation that eyes maybe watching me from the ether sends a shiver of fear through my body. That each dark corner of this facility is a door way to hell itself.

I press my forearm against the cool, rigid texture of the door, and push softly. The hinges squeak. The angst residing within me forces me to listen for a reaction. There is none. I push a bit further, and thread my frame through the narrow opening.

The phone’s brightness sweeps over the space. The light is my weapon against the darkness. It brings to life rows of shelves that run horizontal to my position. Shadows morph and move over the steel fixtures that are sparsely stocked with various can goods and other non-perishable items.

The fans, mounted on the walls to my right and toward the ceiling, whir listlessly as they slow to a stop.

I narrow my eyes, and scan for any blankets that might remain. I spy none from where I stand. Although bright, the phone’s light only goes so far.

Crap.

The light switch is eluding me. Despite how much I want to erase the darkness, I don’t want to waste any more time than needed in here. I just want to get it done and over with.

I venture further into the maze of shelves. The silence is deafening. Each step I take sounds like it is amplified ten times over. I cringe, hoping it isn’t as loud as I think it is.

As much as my anxiety wants to conjure up a demon waiting for me within the void of darkness, the rational part of my brain tells me to calm down. I heed its advice.

Rack after rack, the light washes over the shelves, until I catch sight of the green folded fabric. Set off to my right, and toward the corner of the room, a short stack of blankets resides on the next aisle over.

Finally.

I carry on to the next row and enter the corridor of steel that surrounds me on both sides. It’s tight and cramped, without much room to maneuver in. My heart pounds. Palms gush with sweat. Just grab and go. That’s what I mutter to myself.

As I near the blankets, I spy a tiny gap between the wall and the racks. There isn’t much space, but enough for a person to pass through.

I lay hands on the rigid green woven fabric. A strange noise stirs.

Grunting.

Heavy breathing.

It stops me cold. I move the phone down, and press the light against my pants. The darkness envelops me, erasing the shreds of visual context.

I turn my head slightly to the right, and listen intently. It is hard to tell if my mind is hearing things or not. There is no more noise. It has grown silent.

I listen for a minute more before raising the phone back up. The light reveals a man dressed in dark blue coveralls standing in a void of darkness beyond the racks.

Shock steals my voice. I want to scream, but can’t. Fear has robbed me of that.

He stands rigid, with both hands clenched tightly by his sides. Blood covers the front of his suit as his bloodshot eyes look in my direction. He has a chunk of skin missing from the right side of his neck. His sunken face tilts slightly to the left as his teeth start to chatter.

My legs begin to slowly move backwards down the constricted aisle. He grunts harder, and growls as he narrows his eyes. He starts advancing towards me.

Veins populate the surface of his pale face. His hands tremble wildly, fingers twitching at the nothingness that is before him. He slams his arm against the rack repeatedly.

I back pedal down the aisle. He gives pursuit. I am scared, frightened to a degree that I have never been before. My thoughts are fractured, diced up in bits of incoherent decisions.

His heavy footsteps are right on top of me. The raging grunts that part his bloody lips whisper in my ears.

I hit the opening between the rows of shelving, and bolt to the right. Before I realize my poor decision, it is too late. I have gone the wrong way. The exit to the storage room is actually to my left. My only salvation now is the room beyond the door directly in front of me.

Light bounces up and down the walls as I make for the room. The man is hot on my heels. He wails, the sound of running footsteps closing the distance between us. My free hand stretches out for the silver doorknob. I pray it is unlocked. My fingers wrap about the cold steel, and turn. Fortunately, it is.

I swing open the door and dash inside. I throw it closed just as he reaches for me. It shakes under the violent protest of the deranged man. His fists hammer. The doorknob jiggles and twists. I press my mass against the door.

Each blow vibrates through the dense wood. I glance up through the frosted window, and shine the light. His face is contorted, mouth ajar as he continually beats at the door with malevolent eyes. The man shows no signs of stopping his assault. I have to figure out my next move if I hope to survive.

I flip over my phone, and turn on the screen. No signal. Great. I turn about, and lean against the trembling door. I hold the light up, and take stock of where I am.

The space is small and filled with various tools and other equipment. The smell of grease permeates the room. My nose crinkles from the stench. I franticly search for anything I can use as a weapon. Anything to allow me to defend myself.

I push and move the wrenches, screwdrivers, and a small ball ping hammer about. Each blow against the door sends a shockwave of fear coursing through my body. It is hard to concentrate. I struggle to focus, and formulate a plan.

The wood frame of the door starts to give way to his bulk. My breathing escalates. Panic swallows me whole. If I don’t move fast, I’ll be at his mercy.

My hand grazes over something thick and dense. The light focuses, and I narrow my gaze on what I have found. A crowbar. I can’t afford for him to gain entry to the room. I’d surely perish. I have to act now.

A plan starts to gel through the terror that is flooding my brain. Actually, it is more of a last-ditch effort to save my life.

I retrieve the crowbar from the pile of tools, and turn my attention back to the door. The phone drops as my fingers wrap around the solid piece of steel.

The light illuminates the small space in an eerie luminescence as I spew a breath of tension.

Wood splinters.

The door gives way.

He rushes in.

His face is framed in a portrait of pure rage.

Without further thought, I act.

Wielding the crowbar, I swing with all my might. The bent end connects with the side of his head. His skull crunches and crackles. The impact knocks him off balance, and into the door.

Dazed for only a moment, he twists his head up, and looks at me. I swing again.

A wail escapes his bloody lips as he stumbles out of the storage closet, struggling to keep his feet under him. He collapses to the ground. No words are spoken, just grunts and incoherent ramblings.

The light strains to reach out into the bleakness. Only the man’s silhouette can be seen. My eyes adjust some to the darkness. I watch in disbelief as he starts to get back up. Two blows to the head should’ve put him down, but it hasn’t.

He reaches for me from the flat of his ass. His fingers tickle the air as he growls through clenched teeth. He’s blocking my path to escape from the storage room. He isn’t going to stop until I’m dead.

I take the pointed end, and jam it into the middle of his forehead. I push with all my might, burrowing the steel tip in as far as it will go.

A final grunt escapes his mouth as his lifeless hands drop to the floor.

He’s dead.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Taking a man’s life. I’ve never done that before. Regardless if it was in self-defense or not, it was still hard to do.

My body is tense. Neck tight. My once pounding heart has slowed down. Sweat bubbles on my forehead, and races down my flush face. My eyes sting from the salt invading them.

I tug at the crowbar, but it doesn’t budge. It is buried deep. Every pull brings the man’s lifeless head forward. I consider leaving the crowbar, but what if there are more like him out there? Although not a killer, I’m not opposed to defending myself.

My hands wrap around the crowbar tightly as I place my right boot against his chest. I pull and push at the same time. A squishing sound fills my ears, making me gag, but I pull harder. The pointed tip finally wiggles free.

The man’s body hits the floor with a dense thud. I blow the stray hairs in front of my face out of the way, retrieve my phone from the closet, and make for the swinging doors.

I toss them open, and enter the hall, only to find Nora standing to my left. Startled, I raise the crowbar in defense.

Her arms spring up in a defensive manner. “Woah, Madison, it’s just me.” Her body recoils, naked fear in her eyes. Coming down off the high of adrenaline bombarding my system, I slowly lower the crowbar to my side as my body deflates. “Christ. You scared the hell out of me.”

“Yeah, sorry. I was just coming to check on you.” She looks me up and down. “What the hell happened to you?”

Spent, I glance over my shoulder at the storage room. “I went to get an additional blanket for my bed, and found some guy in blue coveralls just standing in the darkness. He just attacked me. Or tried to. He had me cornered in some closet. I found this crowbar and... defended myself.”

Nora’s face is thick with shock and disbelief. She glances to the storage room, then back to me. She cautiously walks over to the doors, and opens them slowly. She disappears into the darkness, and turns on the lights.

The toll of the intense encounter weighs heavily on me. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. I calm my thoughts as best I can, and take in a deep gulp of air. I release it slowly.

Nora screams.

She runs out, the light from the overhead lamps bringing to life the dead man sprawled out on the floor. Blood is smeared over the linoleum, and pooled under his head—a gruesome scene that the darkness spared me from.

“It’s Stan, the facilities general handy-man and mechanic. Why would he do that? He’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met.”

I shrug, and point to the right side of my neck. “It looked like he was attacked himself. He had a nasty bite mark here.”

She doubles over. The heels of her hands rest on the soft parts of her knees. She appears as though she is going to throw up. After seeing the aftermath in the light, I feel much the same.

“What’s going on here?” I ask.

She places the palm of her hand over her mouth as her body convulses. The gagging noise torments my stomach even more, but I maintain.

Nora keeps the contents of her lower region down as well. I’m thankful for that. I’m prone to upheaving rather easily if I so much as catch a whiff or sight of the vile stuff.

She swipes her hand across her lips, and turns toward me. She pants, eyes full of confusion and disgust. “I have no idea. I’m just as lost as you are.”

My head cocks to the side, lips pressed together. For some reason, I’m not buying her naive response. Not after what I have just been through.

“So, you have no idea why that crazy bastard in there had a chunk of his flesh ripped from his neck, and attacked me like Dr. Stevens would’ve attacked me?”

“Of course not, Madison.” Her confused state quickly fades, and turns to that of a defensive posture. Her body tenses, and eyes narrow at me. “I have never encountered anything like this before. I have no earthly idea what is happening. I can’t believe I’m actually standing here defending myself to this.” Nora takes a step back and sighs. Revulsion clouds her face as she looks away from me. She is pissed from my question. I am either completely wrong to ask, or hit a nerve that tells me she knows more than she is letting on. I decide to press further.

“The only reason I ask is because I recently spoke with one of your staff members. They speculated that Dr. Stevens’s odd behavior and ailment could be due to her being exposed to some sort of contagion or virus when one of the seals on Tak’s chamber failed.”

Nora glances back at me, and pulls her shoulders close to her body. She shakes her head, and crosses her arms. “Cynthia.”

I shrug. “I didn’t catch her name. She didn’t offer and I didn’t ask. She seemed to have a whole lot to say on what is happening around here. Although intriguing, I took what she said with a grain of salt. After what I just went through, though, I’m inclined to give it some credit.”

“That woman is delusional. I think she’s been onsite for too long. People can get stressed out when they are stationed in remote locations for long periods of time. I think she’s at her breaking point,” Nora hisses. “I told Vincent that he needed to send her home, but he declined that request. He wanted her to stay and help out. Much like everyone else here, he feels she is of great value. Don’t get me wrong, she is a smart and talented scientist, but she can also cause problems. Likes to force feed her conspiracy theories down other people’s throats whether they want it or not. Vincent knows this, but still insists that she is fine overall.”

“So, Dr. Stevens wasn’t exposed to any toxins when the seal ruptured?” I redirect.

Nora’s eyes remain deadlocked with mine. “When the seal ruptured, some air vented out of the chamber. Dr. Stevens was exposed, but only briefly. Shortly after the incident, she was examined, and found to be perfectly fine with no side effects. It was only later that she fell ill.”

I hold my hand up to my face. “Why wasn’t she wearing a mask while in the lab?”

Nora sighs, and shakes her head. “The chamber that he is stored in was designated as being more than sufficient by myself and even Vincent. However, since that incident, it has been required that any personnel entering the lab wear safety masks in case of a repeat failure.”

“Has the rest of the staff been briefed on what had happened?” I pose.

“Yes. All base personnel were informed of the incident, and the updated protocols, promptly,” Nora answers with an angered tone. “Listen, Madison, let’s get one thing straight here. I don’t work for you. I work for Vincent. It is at my sole discretion to divulge what I want to you, and how to run this facility. Other than examining Tak, and giving us your input, you’re not entitled to anything else. The situation was handled per protocol, and within operating procedures. You just worry about doing what Vincent paid you to do.”

I scoff. “Well, obviously you’re not doing that good of a job, considering the current state of things here. If Dr. Stevens did in fact bite Stan, then it seems that she’s transmitting some sort of virus through her saliva. Cynthia suggested that when someone is exposed to whatever toxins might be contained within the chamber, they mutate within the body, and only get passed on from that point through a bite.”

Nora furrows her brow. Her lips grow taut as she ponders on my bold words. She goes to retort, but holds her tongue as the sound of heavy footsteps rushes headlong toward us. We both turn around, and find one of the security guards approaching.

He has his rifle laced across his chest. His finger hovers just above the trigger. A look of concern floods his rigid face. “I need for you to come with me, mam.”

“Yes, Clint. Did you find Dr. Stevens?” she inquires.

“Just please come with me.”

CHAPTER NINE

Down this dark and twisted rabbit hole we go. To say that I’m out of my depth here would be the understatement of the year. To be honest, I think everyone stationed in this frozen hell is out of their depth.

After all, when is the last time you heard about people attacking one another, and trying to eat each other? I’m inclined to think never.

Cannibalism is nothing new of course, but not in modern society. Perhaps in certain cultures around the world this may still happen. Who knows.

But your normal, average person isn’t just going to go all feral suddenly, and attack someone without provocation. Even then, I can’t see someone getting so enraged that they’d want to physically maim and eat a person. Just the mere thought of tearing the flesh from another person sours my stomach.

When Nora told Clint, the head security guard, about what had happened in the storage room, he rubbed the palm of his hand over his face, and shook his head in a stressful manner.

We continue walking through the halls. My mind is still wrestling with what happened, trying to decipher if this is real, or just a bad dream that I am stuck in. Nora is silent as well, and keeps her gaze away from mine.

Clint points down the hall that curves to the left. “Right up here, mam.”

My head cranes, and tilts to the right to see what we are in for. Another one of the security guards comes into view. He stands at the ready with his rifle drawn and shouldered. He stands next to a blood-stained sheet in the middle of the floor.

Nora gasps, and slows her pace. She places her hand over her mouth and carefully approaches. I do much the same, although not as noticeable as her.

Clint grabs the edge of the sheet. He glances back up at us. “It’s pretty gruesome. Just wanted to give you forewarning.”

Nora nods.

He pulls the sheet back, just past the woman’s neck that I had spoken to earlier in the cafeteria. Her throat has been ripped out. The mangled flesh is riddled with teeth marks. Her eyes are wide and full. I can only imagine what must’ve gone through her head while being attacked in such a horrid manner.

“It’s worse below the sheet,” Clint cautions.

I grimace. My eyes clamp shut. I divert my gaze, and try to restrict the image from being burned into my brain. It isn’t working.

“Dear God,” Nora mutters with a tremulous voice. “Cynthia. “We have to find Dr. Stevens, ASAP.”

Clint covers Cynthia’s face with the sheet. He stands back up, and adjusts the strap to his rifle.

“This wasn’t Dr. Stevens.”

Nora cocks her head slightly to the side. Confusion sets in as she wrestles with Clint’s words.

“How could this not be her? Who else could’ve done this?”

I chime in. “Dr. Johnson.” Nora glances at me, then to Clint who nods in agreement. “Just like Stan. Once she bit them, they contracted whatever she was exposed to. That’s the only possible explanation for all of this. It’s like Cynthia said. Otherwise, we’d be infected now.”

“How did this happen? I thought he was under observation,” Nora demands.

“We’re not sure what happened. After the shift change a guard called in saying that Dr. Johnson was missing. We started our search, and came across him doing this to her.” Clint’s eye fell to the body on the floor briefly, before coming back up. “He was shot several times, but didn’t go down. He ran off that way. One of my men gave pursuit, and finally took him out, outside.”

“So even shooting him didn’t kill him?” I ask.

Clint shakes his head. “Nope. Placed two in his chest. Knocked him flat on his ass, but it didn’t keep him down.”

“Show me his body,” Nora flatly orders.

“Right this way.”

We retrieve our heavy parkas, and follow Clint out of the west side exit of the facility. Drops of blood speckle the floor that leads out into the snow.

The wind howls. Large flakes of snow pelt me in the face. The frigid air brushes against my still moist skin, and sends a shiver coursing through my body.

The red, tainted snow crunches under our boots. I wrap my arms across my chest, and hold firm to try and keep warm.

Clint points to the edge of a small building just ahead of us.

“Right up here.”

I follow close behind Nora as we approach the structure. Another of the security guards stands at the ready to the left of the doctor’s body. Blood drips from his right hand as sweat beads on his forehead.

The doctor’s body is embedded slightly into the snow. His face is pale with light black circles encompassing his glassy, septic eyes. A hole resides in the middle of his forehead.

“Finally took him down with a slug to the head,” the wounded guard growls. “Son of a bitch got the drop on me, and got my arm. Piece of crap.”

Concern floods my body. I pause, and stare intently at the teeth indentions in his arm. I look to Nora, who glances at the guards in a similar manner. She then peers down at Dr. Johnsons’ dead body.

“What do you want us to do with the bodies?” Clint inquires.

Nora remains silent, her sad gaze fixed on the doctor’s corpse. Tears flow from her swollen, puffy eyes as she struggles to maintain a strong presence.

This outbreak, or whatever label you want to slap on it, has spiraled out of control...

...and the fate of everyone left hangs in the balance.

CHAPTER TEN

Clint glances at me, then back to Nora. “Ms. Sanchez. Where should we store the bodies?”

Nora clears her throat, and wipes away the tears with her forefingers. “Wrap them up, and take them to the vehicle storage building until I can figure out what to do with them.”

Clint nods. “Copy that.” He glances over to the other guard. “Kylan, go get that checked out.”

He lifts his arm into the air. A scowl forms on his face as blood continues to drip from the gaping wound.

Nora turns her attention to the security detail. “We’ll need to place your injured man here in a secured room. Not the medical ward. Until we know more about what’s going on, he could pose a threat to us all.”

Kylan purses his lips, and guffaws at the request. “You think I’m going to turn and do what this dick bag did?” He holds his arm out to us, showing the grizzly wound. “It doesn’t look that bad. Just bandage me up, and give me some meds.”

“So far, anyone who’s been bitten has gone mad. Until we know more, we can’t take the chance. We can give you some meds, but that will just be for the pain.” Nora directs her attention to Clint, who nods in agreement. “We need to do a head count of all base personnel. I want everyone secured in their rooms or labs. Also, access to Tak will be suspended until we can figure out whatever the hell is going on here.”

That’s the smartest statement I’ve heard come out of Nora’s mouth since I’ve been here.

Kylan huffs. “Come on, sir. I’m fine, really. If I start feeling ill or whatever, I’ll let you know, and we can take it from there. You need me out here.”

“If what she is saying is true, then you being out will just compound an already messed up situation,” Clint responds. “Look at what happened with the doctor here. Same sort of bite on his arm, and his condition deteriorated in less than a day. Can’t take the risk. If it doesn’t get any worse and all, then we’ll go from there.”

“And what if it does?” Kylan’s tone is more agitated as he waits for Clint’s response.

“We’ll cross that bridge whenever we get to it,” Clint says.

Nora holds out her arm, and turns to the side. “Here, I’ll take you to one of our labs. We’ll get you fixed up.”

Sullen, Kylan’s shoulders drop, and he lowers his weapon. “Fine.”

Nora escorts him away as I approach Clint. “Seems like the quickest way to take anyone infected down is with blunt force trauma to the head.”

Clint peers down at the dead doctor’s body. “Yeah. I’m figuring that out.”

“Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to take care of Cynthia in the same manner. Just to be on the safe side. Curb any surprises before they spring on us.”

Clint concurs. “I’ve got two more guards active besides me and Kylan, so we should be good. Hopefully, we’ll track down Dr. Stevens soon, and have this contained.”

“So, if he does change, how are you going to handle it?” I pose.

Clint doesn’t hesitate with his answer. It is as if he already knew what I was going to ask, and is ready to respond. “Like you said, blunt force trauma to the head. Do you think it’ll come to that?”

I shrug. “No idea. This is all new to me as well.”

Clint looks to his left, and peers out over the endless mounds of snow that blanket the area. My arms draw tighter across my chest as I follow his gaze.

“What is it?” I ask.

His eyes narrow at the dark blue and gray clouds that are building in the distance. “There’s a storm inbound. Supposed to be pretty rough. We were hoping it would go around, but it looks like it isn’t.”

Great.

“Should I assume that will interfere with communication?”

“More than likely.” Clint places his hand on my right shoulder. “Head back to your room now and stay there. Lock the door and hold tight till we can track down Dr. Stevens. I’ll have one of my other men escort you to your room.”

“What about you?” I ask.

Clint points to Dr. Johnson’s corpse. “I need to get these bodies taken care of before that storm overruns us.”

I nod in agreement. Besides, I want to reach out to Vincent before communications are completely down.

Clint slings his rifle over his shoulder, and retrieves the radio that is clasped to the right side of his belt. He starts to speak into the microphone as I head back to the main building.

Our footprints are already being covered up as the snowfall intensifies. My body shudders, my face stinging from the piercing cold attacking my exposed skin.

I dash inside the west side entrance, and pause. I stomp my feet against the thick, black rug that glistens with melted snow.

One of the security guards stands at the ready. His rifle is pressed firmly to his shoulder as he offers me a crisp nod. "Mam.” He takes the lead, and makes for my room. No detours are taken. Cynthia’s body has been removed from the hall. Only her smeared blood remains on the floor to remind me of what happened.

Our pace hastens. We arrive at my room in a hurried fashion. He goes in first, and checks the dimly lit space while I stand to the left of the entrance. My eyes play over the silent halls, wondering where Dr. Stevens is.

“All clear, mam.” He steps out of the way, allowing me to gain entry to my room. He offers a final nod before leaving.

I step inside and secure the door. I remove the parka, and drop it to the floor. My hands cup together, and come up to my mouth as I breathe inside of them.

I take a seat in my chair and pause. The phone’s bulk reminds me of where it is. I pull it free, and place the charger into the bottom access port.

My fingers work the key pad of the phone’s base. The screen illuminates as I punch in each number. “Connecting” flashes on the display. My legs shake, posture stiff and ridged.

I haven’t bothered checking to see what time it is. It doesn’t really matter though. Even if it is the middle of the night, and he is dead asleep, this can’t wait. We need help, now.

My world has been flipped upside down within a matter of days. What was once a golden opportunity, has now turned into a hellish nightmare that I’ll be lucky to escape.

My eyes are glued to the phone, each ring keeping me on the edge of my seat. An endless loop of the dial tone taunts me with its nagging digital ringing.

With each angry redial, I lose hope. Fate seems to have cornered me at the edge of the world, and now, I am at its mercy, powerless to defend myself.

The call finally connects, which pulls a deep sigh of relief from my body. I sit up straight from my deflated posture across the desk’s top as Vincent answers.

“Madison. How is everything coming along?”

“Vincent, we have a problem.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

For the next hour or so, I lay everything out as best as I can. The ominous snowstorm starts to severely hamper communications. Vincent’s image fades in and out as the crackling of static in the line intensifies with every second that creeps by.

It is challenging to tell what he has heard by the choppy responses he has given. For all I know, my words detailing the current situation are coming across as a garbled mess of gibberish.

“Vincent, can you hear me?” I inquire.

There is mostly static now. I can hear bits and pieces of his words bleed through as his voice attempts to penetrate the weakened connection. A brief moment of clarity channels in over the line.

“Communications will more than likely be offline for a day or so with the storm cell that’s in the area. We won’t be able to send assistance until the weather clears up.”

I sigh, lowering my head some before I continue on. “I’m not sure if we have days to spare. The situation here is dire. We need assistance now!”

“Madison. This is... best that can... done. Hold tight...support... can.”

...

Static.

“Vincent? Can you hear me?”

The line is dead. The annoying sound of being severed from civilization taunts my ears. I sigh from the irritation, and press the disconnect button on the base of the phone. It is hard to tell if he comprehended the severity of the situation, or not.

From his response, it seems as though he heard enough. It’s hard to be sure, but I’m hopeful that I’m right.

I’m desperate at this point, and desperate people do desperate things. And that scares me the most.

The lights in my room dim, then flicker. A low buzzing noise emits from the desk lamp shortly thereafter. I push the chair away from the desk, move toward the door, and grab the knob. My hand twists slowly. The gears inside engage as I slowly pull toward me. Cautiously, I peer out into the hall.

The overhead lights that run along the ceiling buzz and fade in and out. Is the power going out? Are we on the verge of going completely dark?

As much as I try to stay the thoughts, different scenarios of my demise bombard my head. Not only do we have to contend with flesh eating cannibals, but now the threat of freezing to death is a real possibility.

I feel lost. All alone in the coldness of this bleak winter landscape that grows less hospitable as the minutes tick by. My heart races. Breathing escalates. It feels like the walls in my already tiny room are closing in on me. I am losing control fast.

Two deep breaths.

In and out.

I push the door to, and turn around. My back presses against the wall as I close my eyes. I long to hear my father’s voice. Some meaningful inspiration to gather myself, control the situation, and not allow it to control me.

His voice whispers in my ear. His words calm my unnerved soul. I still hope that this is all a bad dream, and soon I will wake up back in my bed in the states. I know it isn’t, but it helps to distract my mind.

A loud pop sounds from the hall, followed by the lights going dark. Blackness engulfs me. The thin sliver of light emitting from my phone’s screen draws me in.

I retrieve it from the desk, and disconnect the charging cable. I flip it over to check its status. It is nearly charged at ninety five percent. There are no bars visible in the upper right-hand corner, though, which doesn’t surprise me. Other than using the flashlight, most of the functions are worthless.

Two deep knocks pound on the door. I jump, and cover my mouth to muffle the scream. The anxiousness that has been plaguing me grips me tighter. Is Dr. Stevens waiting on the other side, ready to lay waste to my body, and turn me into a thoughtless killer?

Two more hard raps pound against the wood, followed by a gruff voice. “Madison, are you in there?”

I gulp, and cautiously approach. “Who is it?”

“It’s Clint.”

I reach for the doorknob, and slowly twist it to the left. I crack the door open, and peer out into the hall. Clint stands there with his rifle pressed against his left shoulder. His body is cloaked in a dark red hue that fills the hallway.

“You ok?”

I move back a step, and open the door farther. His head swivels from left to right. A concerned look fills his face. Something is wrong.

“Yeah, I am. Have we completely lost power?” I ask.

The radio on his hip crackles. He retrieves it from his belt. “Go for Clint, over.” He swipes the back of his hand across his forehead. “The storm knocked out the main power. The generators have kicked in, but that’s not why I’m here.”

I am hesitant to probe further into the reason he is here. I’m unsure if I want to know more. From his flustered demeanor, it doesn’t appear to be good. “What’s going on? Is it Dr. Stevens?”

The radio goes off again, but the voice is a garbled mess. Clint sighs. “Say your last, over.” He looks at me, the red coating his face from the emergency lights on the ceiling just above my entrance. “We’re missing some folks.”

I draw a sharp breath. “Oh no. That’s not good.”

“No, it is not. We’ve got multiple staff members MIA, and I’ve got two men that are missing as well.”

The radio crackles once more, followed by a panicked voice bleeding through the static in the speakers. “I found Rutledge and Barnes.”

Relieved, Clint exhales. “Thank God. What’s their status?” Silence “Cobb. Come in. What’s their status, over?”

Cobb groans. He pants over the speaker and the mumbles under his breath. “Sorry, sir. Got a little banged up.”

Clint brings the radio closer. The microphone is but a scant inch away from his lips. “I need you to focus here, and tell me where Rutledge and Barnes are.”

Cobb grunts. “They attacked me. I came across them in the back room of the commissary. They were... eating one of the scientists. I managed to take down Rutledge, but not before he bit me. I shot Barnes in the chest three times, but he tore ass and left before I could finish him off.”

Clint purses his lips. His face fills with anger as his eyes squint. He is pissed. “Hang in there, Cobb. I’ll head your way shortly.”

Cobb guffaws. “Don’t bother. We’ve seen what happens when you get bit. You get infected with whatever they have. I’m not going to turn into one of those things, sir.”

“You just hang in there, and we’ll get this sorted-”

A gunshot rings out through the speaker. He flinches. He stands there, shock filling his wide eyes. His face contorts with rage. He draws his arm back, and acts as though he wants to slam the radio against the wall, but refrains from doing so.

Clint growls. “Damn it!”

I offer a sympathetic nod.

“I’m sorry about your men.”

He lowers his arm, and clamps the radio onto his belt.

The faint groan of a tortured voice looms from the deep red vacuum of the hall to our right. Clint spins on his heels, and drops to one knee. He brings his rifle to bear.

Silence. Not a word escapes his lips. He is poised to strike. His form is steady, free of any hesitation. I suck back into the door jamb, and watch with a timid gaze.

Heavy footsteps pound the tile floor. The silhouette of a body comes into view. It pauses, but only for a moment. A man, outfitted with thick black boots, and a dark gray winter set of pants and coat like Clint’s rushes headlong at us, grunting and growling as it closes the gap. Clint remains focused and vigilant, keeping perfectly still.

The man doesn’t look like Kylan. It has to be Barnes.

Fire spits from the end of Clint’s rifle. The orange glow of the muzzle lights up the space. Barnes’s head flies back violently. A faint mist of blood erupts from the back of his skull as his body crumples to the floor.

Clint holds his steadfast position a moment longer before standing back up. He keeps his rifle pressed firmly to his shoulder with the barrel trained at the motionless corpse on the floor. He approaches with caution, and nudges the man’s arm with the toe of his boot. There is no reaction to the touch. He lowers to the ground, and grabs Barnes’s right arm.

Clint pulls him onto the flat of his back. I crane my neck, and pull my phone free from my pocket. I turn on the light, and shine it toward the body.

His skin is pale, mouth drenched in blood that encompasses most of his face. A lone hole resides in the middle of his forehead. Clint places his hand on top of his padded chest, and lowers his head. A moment of silence is offered to his fallen friend.

My ears pick up the faint whispers of heavy breathing in the blackness beyond my sight. I move the phone’s light up, and try to penetrate the veil of red that shrouds the hall.

Clint stands up, and makes his way back toward me. He pulls free a pistol from its holster on his side, and hands it to me. “You know how to work this?”

I eject the magazine, and take stock of the ammo. I slap it back in, and chamber a round without fault. “My father was in the NRA.”

“Good to know.” The ominous noise brings Clint’s attention front and center, then back to me. “Stay close and keep your eyes peeled. If it’s more of those things, when I tell you to, run.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

This nightmare has spiraled out of control. What was once a slow progression into the unknown, has turned into a free fall into death and madness.

I want to remain strong, but every second that ticks by seems as though the virus is collecting another soul. And soon, I fear the dead will outnumber the living.

Clint doesn’t seem to have the same worry as myself. He is focused. His body is coiled, and ready to lash out at any infected that dare to cross his path.

Anger spews from his pores. Contempt for the dire situation we are trapped in is palpable. I don’t envy those who receive the brunt end of his frustration.

We leave my room, and venture out into the void of the research center. The red hue swathes the abandoned halls in its dark, rich lather. The afflicted souls cry out from the shadows.

I stay glued to Clint’s backside. He has attached a silencer to the front of his rifle to reduce the weapon’s cacophony, so it won’t attract any undue attention.

A ghastly gray shape appears from the ether ahead of us. Clint stops cold, and holds us up. The figure steps closer, revealing more of their identity.

It’s a female scientist, dressed in a bloody white lab coat. Her face is filled with rage. Her teeth chatter rapidly as her hands twitch. She rushes us in a dead sprint.

Clint opens fire. His precision is on point. He refrains from shooting the infected woman in any other place except for her head. His weapon discharges, and her frantic body drops to the floor. I am only to use my pistol in need be situations.

The only saving grace is that there is a skeleton crew onsite. Nora never mentioned the exact number of individuals, though.

We go to move, but Clint suddenly holds me up. A disturbance to our right grabs his attention. He turns toward the noise. He sweeps from left to right, trying to discover the source.

A body, draped in a white lab coat stained with blood, emerges. Clint pulls the trigger, but nothing happens. The rifle clicks empty. His magazine is spent. He turns toward me as the shadowy figure charges us.

“Get out of here, now.” I take aim with the pistol, and prepare to fire. Clint grabs the gun, and pushes my arm down. “Save it. We don’t want to attract anymore that might be close by. Now move!”

Clint drops the rifle to the floor. He retrieves a blade from the sheath that is attached to his upper right thigh, and offers me a final nod before charging the infected.

The two collide. The infected chomps at the nape of his neck. Clint stabs the deranged man repeatedly in the stomach and chest.

I am paralyzed by indecision. Clint saved my life, and it feels wrong to just abandon him in his struggle for our survival.

The pistol I wield is trained in their direction. My hand is unsteady. It trembles with indecision. I can’t get a clean shot without the risk of hitting Clint.

Distressed, he calls out to me. “Madison, get out of here, now!”

“I can’t fire without possibly hitting you.”

More infected are inbound. The pounding of their feet races toward Clint. I have surrendered to the fact that the entire research center has been taken over by the virus. I guess that’s why a part of me doesn’t want to leave Clint. I don’t want to be alone.

He continues to fight with the rabid man. The wetness of the blood gleams off the floor, and off Clint’s garb. My legs are jittery. Fear has assumed control over my body, and forces me to flee in the opposite direction.

Guilt floods my system as I run away. I am not strong enough to stay and help him. I can’t muster the courage.

The pistol stays glued to my hand as I flee. I don’t know where I am going, or where it is even safe to be. Aside from Clint, I haven’t seen another soul who hasn’t been defiled by the devil’s touch. I’m not much of a religious person, and don’t rely on the hopes of prayer. Given my current situation however, I might consider it.

I round the corner of the grim corridor, and am met with mischievous clamor. Faint yowls and footsteps abruptly skid along the tile floor, stopping me cold. I try to find the source, but can’t. The cold hand of death creeps up my spine. I fight to brush it off, but am powerless to do so.

It lurks within the shadows, playing a cat and mouse game that I am forced to participate in. Panicked, I glance to my left, and make for the door.

My fingers grab the handle and jiggle, but the door doesn’t budge. I can see the figure approaching from down the hall. It is hard to tell if it has spotted me or not from its distracted movement.

A hushed voice whispers to me from the shadows to my right.

“Madison, over here.”

Instinctively, I raise the pistol, and train it in the direction of the weakened voice. Nora stands within the shadows of the lab she is taking refuge in.

She pantomimes me over. I dart across the hall, and into the lab. She quietly closes the door, and turns around.

She keeps her voice low, and her movements subtle. “You ok?”

I shrug, and bob my head. “I guess. Is everyone else infected?”

“I don’t know.” Nora stays off to the side of the door. She cautiously peers out into the hall. One of the research center’s staff appears suddenly in front of the glass window.

She presses her face against the surface as her eyes search for a target. Nora deflates against the wall as I retreat from the woman’s wandering eyes. After a few moments of intense breathing, and grunting, she moves on.

We sit there in the darkness of the barely lit lab. Silence fills the space between us as I gather my thoughts. I crawl over to one of the desks, and lean back against its chilled wooden exterior.

The red from the hall bleeds through the windows of the lab. Nora’s face is filled with sorrow as she sits prone on the floor with her legs pulled up to her chest. Her arms rest on her knees as she glances my way.

“Have you seen Clint by chance?”

My hand brushes against my face as I look away. I clear my throat, and swallow the lump of regret. “The last I saw, he was fighting with the infected. I’m not sure after that.”

Nora sighs, then shakes her head. “How about the rest of his men?”

“As far as I know, they’re either infected or dead.”

“Great.”

I place the pistol on the floor next to me, and expel a breath of tension. “I contacted Vincent before we lost power. I told him what all was happening here. He said it would be at least a day or so for them to be able to reach us because of the storm.”

“I know. He told me as much.” She runs her hand through the matted strands of her hair. “Before we lost power, we got some results in from the carbon dating on Tak.”

“And?”

“You were right. He’s roughly 40,000 years old,” Nora states.

“Speaking of, what will happen to him if we lose the generators,” I pose.

“Depends. If the backup generators fail, then the chamber he is stored in will discontinue operating. Which means, we will lose him.” Nora cocks her head from side to side. “Which also means that the system that is containing the so-called virus will stop functioning.”

I grimace. “Am I safe to assume where this is going?”

Nora confirms with a tilt of her head. “Baring that whatever has infected everyone here originated from Tak, the likelihood of us becoming infected before help arrives is slim but it is possible. That is, if we don’t freeze to death first.”

“Perfect.”

“The facility is insulated well, so it wouldn’t happen fast. But it can happen.”

I give thought to Nora’s disconcerting words of doom that bore into my fragile mind. Given what we currently know, that the virus can be spread from Tak’s chamber, any sort of rescue team could be walking into a lethal contagion.

“We need to make sure that they are adequately prepared before arriving here. I’m not sure Vincent understood everything I was saying to him earlier because of the bad connection we had.”

“We can’t. Communications are down, and our one and only sat phone is inoperable. They are supposed to be bringing us a replacement upon their arrival.”

Irritated, I grab the pistol and pull myself up from the floor.

She gets her feet under her as well and looks at me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to communications to see if I can get through and warn them.”

She balks. “The system is down. Remember, no power.”

I spoil my tone with a heavy dose of indignation.

“What about the generators? Don’t they kick over if main power is lost?”

Nora points up to the ceiling, then around the lab. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but the generators only provide basic power. All other systems go offline. Thus, the reason we had the sat phone.”

I am finished debating. I walk toward the door, and she steps in my way.

“You’re not going out there,” she bluntly says. “If they see you leave, it will draw them here.”

“If that happens, then I’ll deal with it,” I retort.

“You’re not leaving, Madison.”

Without thought, my arm springs up with the pistol clutched in my hand. I train it at her head. “Move. I’m not going to ask again, Nora.”

We stand there in the shadows, toe to toe, as we eye each other. My hand is steady this time. My mind is made up.

Nora clenches her fists. Her body tenses. She starts to speak when something blunt rams into the door. The glass window shatters, sending the two of us reeling back.

Two infected scientists’ clamor to get inside. They back away, and rush headlong into the obstruction before them. The repeated blows dislodge the door from the jamb.

Wood splinters.

Glass crunches under our feet.

The door flies inward, and the infected funnel in. I open fire. My aim is less than perfect, striking the ravenous woman, to our left, in the chest.

The impact knocks her off balance, and she stumbles back into the wall. I chamber off another round, this time connecting with her head.

Nora is thrown to the floor by the remaining male aggressor. She hits hard, and ceases any further movement. He grunts, and growls as he reaches for her. I open fire, but nothing happens. The pistol is jammed.

My instincts take hold. I flip the gun around and pistol whip the man in the head. It diverts his attention away from Nora’s motionless body.

He charges, driving me backwards. I lose my footing and stumble to the floor. The back of my head slams against the desk drawers facing. Stars instantly fill my gaze.

The gun rips from my grasp as we grapple for control. He snarls and fights for a clean shot at my flesh as I struggle to keep him at bay.

My hand reaches up, and swipes across the desk’s tabletop. My fingertips discover a pair of shears. My fingers wrap around the cool metal. I bring my arm down, and repeatedly stab him in the back of the head.

The pointed tip penetrates his skull. His warm blood coats my fist as I continue my assault. He crumbles on top of my legs.

Spent, I drop the shears. I heave his bulk off me. I am drained, both physically and mentally. My heavy eyes peer over to Nora, who is still lifeless. I pull myself up off the floor and manage just a few steps before I collapse next to her.

The back of my head feels moist, like it’s wet. My vision is becoming distorted as I try to blink the stars away.

In that moment, I contemplate my life, wondering whether or not I am the wolf or the sheep, before my world turns black, and my eyes clamp shut.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

My body feels weightless. I try to move, but can’t. A resounding pressure fills my head. My body aches. Every inch throbs with unrelenting aggression.

A suppressive hand presses firmly against my shoulder. “Ms. Price, can you hear me?”

Discombobulated, I crack open my eyes. A bright light flashes in front of them, causing me to squint, and divert my gaze. My ears are bombarded by a thundering sound, which makes it hard to hear him speak.

In a weakened tone, I answer. “Where... am I?”

The harsh light ceases, and an older man’s face appears above me. He has a brown beard with white sprinkled throughout. His inquisitive eyes look me over.

“You and your friend here are 30,000 feet in the air above New York. We’re heading back to the states. You’re lucky we got to you when we did.” My head tilts to the right. Nora is secured on a gurney next to me. She has a mask over her nose and mouth. “The research center went black. The generators had given out from the bitter weather you experienced.”

My mouth is dry, and feels as though it is stuffed full of cotton. My lips drag along the dried, sticky skin. It takes me a moment to comprehend what he is saying, but I finally do.

I jerk my arms up. The padded straps, attached to my wrists, restrict my movement.

“Why do I have these restraints on me?” I hiss.

He holds his hands up in an attempt to stay my mounting frustration. “They were put there for your safety.”

My head lifts up from the gurney. I franticly search for Tak. “Where is the body? Have we been exposed to the toxins?”

He tries to calm me down once more, his voice smooth and even toned. “Ms. Price, the chamber the body was housed in suffered power loss, and was not salvageable.”

“What about the security detail for the center?” I inquire. “Were there any survivors?”

“Most of the centers personnel and security team was found dead.” He calmly remarks.

Hearing the news brings a weight of sadness that drapes over me. Clint had given his life to save mine. I am here because of him. He will not be forgotten.

He offers a warm smile, and pats my arm softly.

“We did, however, retrieve some of the scientists that were inside the facility with you and Ms. Sanchez here. We managed to sedate one of them. A Dr. Stevens.”

The sadness I feel for Clint quickly fades away. A sudden rush of dread consumes my body. My eyes fill with terror as I fight against the restraints. I kick my legs, and thrash my body about.

“What have you done? You have killed us all. We can’t go back to the states. We’re all infected. If we land, we will spread the virus. Do you understand me?”

The man puts the full brunt of his weight on my shoulders. He speaks to one of his colleagues before looking back down to me. “Ms. Price, if you don’t settle down, we will have to sedate you again.”

“Why aren’t you listening to me?” I growl. “We are all in danger-”

A blood curdling yelp stops me cold. Prone on my back, I lift my head up, and search for the source of the distress. Staggering through the crates and other equipment, a man dressed in military fatigues comes our way.

He clutches his arm, hand palming the wound. Blood seeps through his fingers as terror fills his face. “Davis bit me. He freaking bit me.”

Confused by what is happening, the man holding me releases his hands from my shoulder. He goes to the back of the plane to investigate the man’s ravings.

The soldier walks past me, mumbling and stumbling about in a disoriented fashion. I test the straps for any way to get free. I pull and tug, but it does little good.

Nora’s hand twitches. Then her fingers. She cocks her head to the left, and opens her eyes. She has been consumed by the virus.

And soon, I will be too.

The beginning of the end…

DEAD STATE: FALLOUT

BOOK 1

BY

PROLOGUE

Duke has been on edge ever since we’ve left the house. I’ve never seen him this way before. His body is so tense, head on a swivel as his ears stand on end. They twitch and move, honing in on every single sound they pick up.

There’s been some rustling down in the thicket below us, which is driving him crazy. He crouches down and inches his way toward the cliff’s edge. He growls subtly from deep within his chest, watching with great intent.

“It’s ok, boy. Probably just some animal scurrying about. Nothing can get us up here. Why don’t you come over by the fire and get warm?”

I pat my leg gently, trying to snare his attention away from the animals below.

He looks back at me with those big brown eyes as his tongue licks around his mouth. A yawn escapes him as he stretches his front legs. He comes over to me and turns about. He faces the entrance to the cave we’re in and sits down, lowering his head to his front paws.

I gently run my fingers up and down his yellow coat, starting at the back portion of his head and coming down to his tail. He lets out a small groan, which I can feel through my hand.

This has been a nightly routine with us for as long as I can remember. When Dad brought him home for the first time, just a pup and full of life, we bonded instantly. Wherever I went, Duke was right there, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth as we ran and played. We were inseparable.

Now, I try to think of those happy times as much as I can. Anything to take my mind off what is happening, which I’m still unsure of. It all seems so unreal, like a bad dream that I can’t wake from.

All the chaos.

All the death.

I’ve cried more this past day than I think I have my whole life. I know if my father could see me now, his response would be the same as it always has been.

“Don’t let it get to you, son. It only has as much power to hurt you as you give it.”

Right now, it feels as though it has all the power in the world, and I am powerless to stop it.

The chilly night air whips about in the cold moonlight. I’m beat. I need to get some shut-eye before we get moving again in the morning.

Hopefully tonight, I’ll get a better night sleep than last.

CHAPTER ONE

Saturday morning. The light from the hall creeps in through the narrow crack in my door and hits me right in the face. I knew I should have closed it all the way, but it wouldn’t have made any difference.

“Come on, James, time to get up. Get showered, dressed, and head downstairs. I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee going for us,” Dad yells from the kitchen below.

I lift the covers over my head and bury my face in the pillow. It’s bad enough that I have to get up before the sun does during the week to go to school. Now, what seems like most weekends, my father wants to go hunting, hiking, or something that involves me getting up way too early.

Duke groans and moans at the edge of my bed, trying to wake up himself. He gets to his feet and stretches. His nails rake along the sheets, his sharp claws snag the plaid pattern fabric. He nudges my foot with his nose and follows it with his paws.

“You are so going to stop hanging out with Dad,” I mutter through a yawn. Nothing like getting a second wakeup notice from a large yellow golden retriever who doesn’t take no for an answer. “Can I get fifteen more minutes, please?”

Of course, Duke is like my dad and doesn’t believe in the snooze button. When it’s time to get up, it’s time to get up. He never wants to sleep in.

He grabs my blanket with his teeth and drags it down off my head. The cool air nips at my warm flesh. A chill comes over me as the rest of my body is exposed to the chilliness of my room.

“All right, dude, I’m getting up.” I remove my head from under the pillow and peer down at the end of my bed. Duke sits there with my blanket still resting in his mouth, stiff as a board. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he probably enjoyed that.

“Traitor.”

Bark!

Duke drops the blanket and gets to his feet. He turns tail and darts out the door. No doubt going downstairs to get his reward from Dad for not letting me rest any longer.

It’s 5:35 A.M. This has to be a crime somewhere in the world. No use whining about it, though. Better get to the shower before Dad comes stomping up the stairs.

Still half asleep, I half-heartedly get out of bed and trudge to the bathroom. The house is still dark, except for the hallway light that beats down on me. It’s just as cool out here as it is in my room. An extra incentive to get me moving quickly.

I stop at Cindy’s room. Her princess nightlight catches the corner of my eye. She’s sleeping peacefully with her brown teddy bear, the one with a big red heart on the front, clutched tightly in her arms. She gets on my nerves on a daily basis, but seeing her sleeping makes me glad she’s around. And also, that she’s sleeping and not bothering me.

“James, you in the shower yet? I don’t hear the water running. We’re burning day light, son. Get it in gear,” dad calls out once more.

I yawn, and rub my eyes.

Doesn’t it have to be daytime to burn it?

“Getting in now,” I reply half asleep.

The soles of my feet hit the ceramic tile of the bathroom floor. I flick the light on. The sudden shock of the large glamor lights causes my eyes to shutter. I shield my face with my right arm, as I scamper to the mat in front of the shower.

Cold as ice. Got to love winter time in Oregon.

I start the shower, twisting the silver handle to the hot, red side. The pipes subtly rattle in the wall while I slip my boxers off, and step inside.

The warmth of the water nearly puts me back to sleep. Through past experience, I know if I don’t do this quickly, Sergeant Sleep Hater will be all up in the bathroom giving me the third degree. I would lock the door, but Dad doesn’t believe in locks. At least, not on bedrooms and bathrooms.

I can just hear his heavy footsteps clomping up the stairs and down the hall toward the bathroom. He’d test the doorknob first, then hammer the door with his fist.

“James. You know my rule on locked doors, son.”

Ugh. So annoying. Privacy in this house is hard to come by.

I scrub down, and take a few minutes to enjoy the silence before turning off the water and getting out. I dry off, and quickly shuffle back to my room. The cold air is hot on my tail, causing goose bumps to flood my wet skin. I start to get dressed in my hunting gear when my computer screen turns on.

“You up, Lady Killer?” a voice asks from the speakers on my desk.

It’s Dawson. He stares at me with a smile on his face as he snickers.

“Lady Killer. Somebody got jokes early in the morning,” I reply while slipping on my shirt.

“I’m just calling you by your new name. After that stunt you pulled with Kimberly, seems fitting, dude.” Dawson laughs, which actually sounds like a snort or something. That’s about the only thing about him that anyone could possibly pick out as a turn off.

Oddly enough, most of the girls find it charming. Perhaps, they look beyond it to his California blond surfer look and athletic stature. Plus, carrying a high GPA doesn’t hurt either. Though, to be honest, I’m not sure how many really care about grades.

“Yeah, well, it would have worked if Steve wouldn’t have gotten in the way. I spent a good amount of time working on that poem. It took a lot of guts to not only write it, but then try to sing it to her during lunch.” I sit down on the edge of my bed, and start to slip on my boots. “Anyways, you didn’t call me to bust my balls this early. Have you been scavenging the web again for conspiracy theories of UFO’s?”

I try not to chuckle, but it slips out. You wouldn’t peg Dawson as one of those types who lends credit to grand stories of abductions by little green men. It’s all B.S., but don’t tell him that.

“Actually, naysayer, I came across an article and some footage that someone shot in Gresham,” Dawson snidely remarks. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that he didn’t care for me poking fun at him.

“Of little green men running wild and the mother ship ready to beam them and their victims back for a good probing?”

I chuckle. I do enjoy giving him a hard time. He enjoys giving it much more than receiving it though.

“No, smart ass. This is a whole other level of weird. Like X-Files on crack.” Dawson’s eyes shift to the left.

Laughing under my breath, I finish lacing up my boots, and grab my coat from the dark brown chair near my computer. I reach for my phone, but think twice as Dad hates it when I text on our outings.

“Whatever. It’s probably some guys messing around, and trying to stir things up. I wouldn’t get sucked into anything.”

“Nah, man. The article was talking about outbreaks that are popping up all over the country. Remember that plane crash that happened in New York about three weeks ago? The one where the CDC came in, and quarantined the crash site?”

I’ve never been big on watching the news, or following the conspiracy threads on the internet like Dawson does.

I shrug, and shake my head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. You know I don’t generally watch the news, dude. I have a life, you know.”

Dawson rolls his eyes. “Anyway, apparently, people are going all homicidal and crazy. Like attacking random folks and such. I’m talking bath salts, but amped up. They’re calling these freaks chasers.”

“I haven’t heard anything on the news about people doing what you’re talking about,” I counter. “And chasers? Come on, man. Sounds like a made-up story to stir things up. Some media companies trying to get ratings.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve been following this, and it seems legit. Besides, the news and the government are probably trying to keep this under wraps. Can’t have the general population finding out that a deadly virus is circulating on the streets.”

I check the time on my hunting watch that my father got me for Christmas. It can do everything under the sun, even tell me when my dad is about to blow his top. Kidding on the last part.

“Hey, man, I got to get running. My dad’s waiting for me. I don’t need to get him irate this early in the morning.”

“All right, man, but before you go just watch this clip that I found.” Dawson’s fingers pound away on his keyboard in a fury.

“Daw-” I try to say but he’s gone. Logged off. There’s a file waiting in my inbox titled, People gone crazy: Volume 1. Rise of the chasers. Who comes up with this stuff?

I go to turn off the screen. The video starts to play. I jump. My hand springs to my chest. Dang auto play feature.

People scream and run around with a naked fear gripping their faces. The footage shakes as if it is a handheld camera.

“Oh, my gawd, check this crap out,” the guy recording says with a horse growl.

He zooms in on a handful of cops circling a guy that has blood all over his face and body. The camera shifts to the side some, and moves down.

A cop is prone on his back on the ground. His face is severely bruised and swollen. The top portion of his skull is smashed in. His light blue shirt is torn open. Portions of his flesh are missing from his chest and stomach.

“Put your hands on top of your head and get to your knees, now!” one of the cops yells.

Now, I know this is fake and all. It seems like a low budget zombie flick that someone threw together to just shock the crap out of people.

For some strange reason though, my heart beats a little faster—my nerves getting the better of me. These people are really selling this. And that guy the cops are surrounding, his eyes are all red and bloodshot. A distant expression of wild rage fills his face. He seems unafraid of all those guns pointed at him.

“I am not going to say-”

The man lunges at the police officer. Their gun discharges, triggering a salvo of bullets that tear through the man’s flesh.

“OH, MY GAWD! OH, MY GAWD!” the man recording the dramatic footage screams. You can hear him scrambling about and breathing heavy. The camera’s video becomes distorted. “I don’t know what the hell is happening, but I’m gone. I hope this is all recorded ‘cause I’m not going to try to get anymore.”

Silence ensues. No screams or gunfire. Just the unsettling pants of panic from the distance as the man’s breathing slows back to normal.

The camera’s view is more stable now. It points at the concrete, but you can hear the man working back up to his feet.

“I’m going to make sure it’s clear before I jet.”

Bringing the camera back up and around, the man screams as a police officer’s body is laid out on the back of his cruiser. His face is covered in blood and his eyes peer deep into the lens.

“James?”

I nearly jump out of my skin at my dad’s voice.

“What are you doing? I’ve been calling you for the past few minutes.”

My eyes stay focused on the screen. I tilt my head slightly to the left, and respond. “Sorry. Guess I didn’t hear you. Dawson sent me another one of his conspiracy theory videos he found on the internet.”

“Well, turn that mess off and come on.”

“Yes, sir.”

My dad heads back downstairs. He totally scared the crap out of me. I didn’t even hear him enter my room. Stupid video. I’m so going to get Dawson back for that. I still think it’s all bogus, but it certainly did give me a jolt of fear.

I shut my monitor off, and grab my pack from the floor. Tossing it over my shoulder, I turn off my light and head down the stairs.

The smell of coffee brewing, and Dad’s normal hunting breakfast, fills my nose. Mom always tries to slip the decaffeinated stuff in when Dad isn’t paying attention. Most times it works, but on occasion, he lets me have the other. Just our little secret though.

Duke’s waiting by the door patiently, his head going from side to side, that yellow, bushy tail wagging about happily. I drop my pack, and saddle up to the bar to eat.

Dad’s normal hunting breakfast consists of three eggs, over easy, bacon that’s not too crispy, a bowl of oatmeal, and a glass of orange juice to wash it down. Protein for the hunt is what he calls it.

There is no savoring, or taking your time to eat. You just clean the plate like it could disappear at any moment. I can enjoy it later, I guess.

I scrape my plate for any leftover food, rinse it off, and place it in the dishwasher. Dad’s got my mug ready to go. The steam from the warm coffee billows up from the lid’s single slit. The scent grabs my nose. I inhale.

“Come on, Duke,” Dad says as he cracks open the door.

Duke bolts out into the chilly morning air. He runs about and sniffs for a good place to relieve himself.

I snatch my pack from the floor, and with my coffee in hand, I head outside. It doesn’t matter how many times we go out in the Oregon winter, the chill of the cold, crisp air always seems to find a way to seep between my hunting attire. Dad tells me regularly I’m overreacting, and that it isn’t that cold. I just roll my eyes and hold my tongue.

“I got you the good stuff this morning. Your mom has been on my case about giving you that caffeinated coffee, but a young man needs his morning jolt before a long day.” Dad lifts his arm up and flexes.

“Yeah, well, you know Mom has a nose like a blood hound, and the instincts to go with that. When she finds out, you’ll for sure get it.” I nudge him in the side, winking at him as we watch Duke search the blades of grass.

“What? You think I’m scared of your mother?” Dad cuts his eyes over to me. A coy smile slithers across his face.

No response is needed. We both know the answer to that question.

CHAPTER TWO

“ You want to drive?” Dad tosses his pack into the back of the Bronco. It hits with a dull thump.

“Really?” I respond with a hint of jubilee in my voice.

Dad nods. “Sure. We’re going back up through the trails, so I think it would be good practice for you to drive some while there’s still some night left.”

I’m hesitant. I’ve never driven at night, just during the day, and that was around the house and on flat land. Never up rocky terrain that snakes up through the hills and into the forest that swallows you up.

“The trails seem hard to navigate and all. Not sure I’m ready for that.”

Dad dismisses the hesitation lingering in my voice with a wave of his hand. “That’s why we need to get some practice in.” I guess Dad could see the doubt on my face in the dark by his reassuring words. That, or it was my silence that gave it away. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine, James. The Bronco here has been through a lot over the years, and it’s still going strong. I think it can handle a fifteen-year-old boy.”

Dad pounds his fist against the side of the Bronco’s passenger side wheel well. I can narrowly see him smile, which he rarely does. “Come on, Duke. It’s time to go. James is driving today.”

Bark!

Duke rustles through the bushes on the other side of the truck. The noise makes me think of that video—something lurking in the shadows, ready to jump out and pummel anything in its path.

Chasers.

Oh, man, Dawson’s so going to get it on Monday. That’s for sure.

“Here you go.” Dad hands me the keys. “Get in there and fire it up. Might need to idle for a few minutes in this cold weather.”

I grab the keys from Dad, and head for the driver’s side. The cold air tickles my lungs. I take another swig of coffee, hoping that it’ll warm me up.

Duke leaps out of the bushes, and rushes to my side. His tail is wagging, and that large pink tongue of his drapes over his left jaw. He gives a good shake as I rub the top of his head. He’s covered in stickers and leaves, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from being happy.

“Come on, boy, hop in.”

Duke turns about, takes a single jump inside the cab, and sits down next to Dad. I get in and close the door. The cab is just as cold as the outside, but at least now, there’s no breeze to contend with.

I slide the key into the ignition, and place my foot over the gas pedal. I pause, then glance over at Dad. A simple nod from him tells me I’m on the right path.

Pumping the gas twice, I start the truck. It grumbles like an old man, acting as though it doesn’t want to start. It idles rough. The grogginess of the engine is felt through the tremors sent through the frame of the vehicle. Finally, it slowly subsides to a gentle purr.

Dad stares out the window, and up into the sky. He takes a sip of coffee as he rubs the back of Duke’s coat. “Hopefully, we won’t run into any crazy people out there today,” he says with a smirk.

“Very funny, old man.”

“Thought you’d like that.”

We both smile as I rub my hands together rapidly. The cold seems to be finding its way through the gloves I have on, which always makes these trips so dreadful. I try to keep my complaining to a minimum, as to not irritate Dad.

“Go ahead and kick on the heat. Might be cold at first, but it’ll warm up quick,” Dad suggests.

Thank gosh.

I turn the heat on, and point two of the vents in my direction. The air is cold, but I can feel it getting warmer.

My hands hover in front of the vents, anxious for the warmth. “So, what are we hunting today?”

Dad sips his coffee leisurely before responding. “I thought today we’d set some traps and take it easy some. Maybe go over some survival stuff. I know you enjoy that sort of thing.”

Take it easy?

Easy is generally a four-letter word that Dad never spoke or even believed in. Or at least I thought he didn’t. Usually, whenever I complain or offer a simpler solution to a problem, Dad is quick to say that taking the easy way out makes one soft and complacent.

Life’s not always easy, and you can’t always take the easiest path, James. Sometimes, you have to roll up your sleeves and get dirty to get ahead.

It makes me wonder if everything is ok with Dad. He’s being semi easy going this morning. I hope that trend continues throughout our trek. I’m kind of liking it.

I stare at him baffled, and wonder if the invasion of the body snatchers is happening right now, and my dad is the first to be taken over.

“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, James, where’s Captain hard ass,” he says.

“Actually, yes. That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

Dad pauses for a moment. His hand rests on the back of Duke’s neck. He takes another sip of coffee. That hard, rigid exterior that has always been my father is now something else. Something that I’ve rarely seen, and only wondered if he even had a softer side.

Don’t get me wrong, my dad is one of the toughest and bravest around. Seeing the stuff he did when he was in the military, would mess with anyone’s head. He doesn’t talk about it, though. He just pauses, clears his throat, and quickly changes the subject.

I guess for some it’s hard to let your guard down when you’ve been put into situations where there’s someone waiting to kill you on a daily basis. Kill or be killed. But to see Dad, dare I say it, emotional, is really confusing me right now.

“You’re not dying, are you?” I finally ask with a worried tone.

“Dying? Gosh no.” Dad snickers. “Listen, I know it seems as though I’m being rough on you at times, and dragging you out on the weekends to hunt and whatever else, but I see it as a building block to your character, son. A stepping stone to you becoming a man, and a contributing member to our society. The world can be a very unforgiving place. We have to be ready to face those moments. I only want the best for you, James. Always have, and always will.”

If I didn’t know any better, I would think my dad is on the verge of crying. His eyes are getting all glassy. He runs the top of his hand across the rim of his nose. I won’t dare ask that question, though.

For the first time since I can remember, I feel as though we are bonding on a different level. And to be honest, I like it.

“I know, Dad.”

CHAPTER THREE

The cab is getting warmer, finally. The cold air is being pushed back outside where it belongs. I place my hands over the vents again.

Dad’s head is turned toward the window. His left-hand wipes what I can only imagine to be tears from his face. “All right, enough of this mushy crap. How about we get things moving here, and get our day started?” Dad clears his throat, and secretly dabs his eyes once more.

“Sounds good to me.”

After our little bonding session, I don’t mind as much being out here with Dad and Duke. I hope we have more moments like this.

I put my seat belt on, turn on the headlights, and place the Bronco into drive. Steady hands grip the warm wheel. My nerves lessen some as we get moving.

“Just remember, take it slow and easy. We’re not in any kind of rush, so take your time.” Dad coaches with a calm and relaxed tone as he points straight ahead.

“Yes, sir.”

I make a U-turn, and follow the grass-covered tracks that lead behind the house. They fade off into the distance. I notice the gas gauge is right around a half a tank.

I tap the fuel gauge. “Do we have enough fuel?”

“We’ll be fine. I topped off the gas can strapped to the back just the other day. You just worry about keeping your eyes ahead and not killing us.” Dad winks.

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

Dad pats me on the shoulder, and offers a jubilant smile. Duke’s bad breath blasts me in the face every couple of seconds. Smells like rotted meat being vented over a heater. I plug my nose. My face contorts in disgust. Yuk!

“Breathe in Dad’s face, dude. When we get back, I’m going to get you some doggie mints or something.”

Bark! Bark! Groan!

“I hope you’re excited, because you need it BAD.” I peer into the driver’s side mirror, and watch as our house fades into the distance. The field we drive through is just as rough and bumpy as the trail going up through the woods. The leftover ruts, from past endeavors, send the Bronco violently jostling about.

It’s hard at times to keep the car steady, as I’m not able to gauge when to slow down, but Dad just looks out the window, enjoying the ride, I guess. He sips his cup of coffee and continues to stroke Duke’s coat. I sure hope he doesn’t spill any of it on him. Wouldn’t be a good way to get our day started.

A little more daylight has lit up the pasture. The thick clouds break up the sun’s strident rays, leaving dark patches in our way. Thunder rolls in the distance, and I think I hear a crackle of lightning follow right behind.

“We should be away from the storm. Supposed to be heading in the opposite direction from where we’ll be.” Dad leans toward the window, and tilts his head upward.

“If it does rain, we’ll just tough it out. A little rain never hurt.” I try to refrain from any negative notion so as to not spoil our current mood.

“Yes, we will,” Dad replies with a smirk.

The woods ahead are dark and eerie. Parts are cast in dark pockets of blackness that make it hard to tell what’s lurking inside. Even before watching that stupid video Dawson sent me, this always gave me the creeps.

“There’s a deep rut right before you hit the base of the trail heading into the woods. Slow down, and allow the Bronco to ease into it, but don’t let off the gas too much.”

I can’t see the rut due to the tall grass growing out of the dirt where the tire tracks run. But I do as Dad says, and tap the brake. The Bronco slows down as the front tires drop into the rut.

It feels as though we have fallen into the earth. The front portion of the truck slams into the ground, and quickly pops back up.

The steering wheel jerks about violently, but I keep my hands locked on it, and finish the ride. I don’t remember it being so rough in the passenger side.

The back end of the truck bottoms out with a hard thud. The Bronco climbs out of the ground, and onto the base of the hill. I stop, and shift the truck into park.

Dad glances over at me with a raised brow.

“Everything all right?”

“You sure you don’t want to take over?” I’m trying to stay confident, but my nerves are getting the better of me.

“I’m sure. Besides, you’re doing a great job, James. I doubt this messy old hill here can conquer you.”

Dad is really acting strange and all. I’m not used to him being this laid back. Don’t get me wrong, it’s better than him being uptight and stern, but still weird.

I take the Bronco out of park, and hit the gas, sending the truck lunging forward. It rolls up and over rocks and who knows what else. We’re thrown around wildly. The truck shifts from side to side as I try to stay on the fading trail.

My head bobbles about loosely. “So, where are we going first?”

“Head up to Broken Nose. Let me know when we get there.” Dad leans his head back against the ripped headrest. He lowers his camo hat over his eyes, crosses his arms over his chest, and settles in.

“Really? You’re going to sleep now?”

“Yep. Gonna have a long day, so figure I better get some shut-eye while I can. Don’t worry, if you need anything, Duke here knows these woods better than anyone.”

Bark! Duke gives me a single lick on the side of my face. His matted tongue gets the full scope of my cheek. Lord, his breath is rancid.

“All right, dude, I’m trying to drive here.” I wipe the slobber free from my face with my shoulder. “I guess since you’re my navigator, keep a watch out, all right?”

Groan!

And really, what I mean is if you spot anything that closely resembles that thing from the video, then bark like crazy.

CHAPTER FOUR

Surprisingly enough, the trek up through the woods has not been as bad as I thought it was going to be. Don’t get me wrong, I feel as though I’ve been put through a blender. The truck doesn’t have much give when it rolls over rocks, logs, or anything else lying about.

The sun breaks through the thick canopy of trees, and sheds some light in what would otherwise be a dark place. Looks like the clouds have moved out as well, like Dad said they would. Good thing too. I didn’t want to be wet all day.

“What you think, Duke? You ready to get out and stretch those legs?” I rub his head as he whines and fidgets in the seat.

Bark! Bark!

“Thought so. Me too.”

Up ahead is a rock formation that we have dubbed Broken Nose. It’s a massive round face with two deep impressions that look like eyes glancing off into the distant sky. In the middle of the rock, and where a person’s nose would be, a section has been busted off. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember.

Dad is big on finding formations up here and giving them names as a way to help kind of navigate the hills. We’ve come up with a number of odd formations that to anyone else might look like nothing. Angry Tree Beard and the Hand of Earth are a few that we have named.

“Well, we made it. It wasn’t too bad, huh?” Dad says as he runs his hands over his face.

“How were you able to sleep through all that? Every time I looked over at you, your head was bobbling around all crazy like,” I inquire perplexed.

“When you’re really tired, you can sleep anywhere. Or at least I can.”

I park in front of Broken Nose. Duke’s tail wags faster. He groans and moans as he looks from side to side.

Bark! Bark!

“Someone’s ready to get out of this truck.”

Dad opens his door, and gives Duke the customary nod. He leaps over Dad’s lap and hits the ground running. He sniffs the grass, and finds the perfect spot to relieve himself before surveying the area.

“Here’s the keys.” I hand Dad the keys to the truck.

He shakes his head and pushes my hand back. “You hold onto them. You’ll be driving us home as well.”

I pocket the keys. “So, I’m your chauffeur today, huh?”

He nods. “That you are.”

I hold out my hand, fingers wiggling for the payment I won’t be receiving. “Tip?”

“Don’t eat yellow snow or run from a bear. Oldies but goodies,” Dad replies with a chuckle as he exits the cab.

“Somebody’s full of jokes this morning,” I say while stepping out of the truck.

“I try to pick my moments when I can.”

Duke runs up to my side in a mad dash. He nuzzles his nose into the palm of my hand. His body brushes up against me, and his tail wags ninety to nothing.

“I know you’re ready to get going, but just hold on,” I say.

We walk to the back of the Bronco where Dad has the tailgate down. He looks over the gear he has thrown into the back.

The man prepares for anything and everything. The kitchen sink may be somewhere under all that mess. Fishing poles, guns, camping gear, MRE’s and a slew of other items take up the space.

“How long are we going to be up here?” I lean forward and take stock of all the items he brought.

“Today, and we’ll head back sometime tomorrow. Are you ok with that? I don’t want to get that girlfriend of yours upset because you haven’t called, texted, emailed, or whatever it is you kids do nowadays.”

“Well, there won’t be any worrying about that,” I respond bluntly, hoping that he drops the issue.

Dad digs my pack out. He tosses it out onto the ground by my feet. “Why not? I thought your mother said that you had a girlfriend. Kim, Kimberly or something like that.”

I scoff at the subject. “No, she isn’t my girlfriend.” The last thing I really want to do right now is talk about my non-existent love life with my father. I love him and all, but if I even wanted to dive into that mess, Mom would be more at the top of my list of go to people. Maybe even Duke. There’s never any judgment there.

“So, what all do we need to bring with us?” I ask to change the subject.

“We’ll take our gear, rifles, and some MRE’s just in case we don’t catch anything.” Dad pulls my rifle out and hands me it.

It was my grandfather’s gun, a classic, and one that Dad used when he was a kid. A Remington 740 Woodsmaster with a scope that Dad added way back when. The stock has been restored a few times, but the deep embedded scratches and scuffs still remain.

When my grandfather was still alive, he wanted us to keep the gun as original as possible to remind us of the past, and the times we all spent up here.

Both me and Dad miss him terribly, and at times, we reminisce about the hunting trips we had with him. Those were times that I will always remember and cherish.

“Here’s an extra box of ammo.” Dad hands me the box. The cartridges clank against each other.

I take a knee and load the magazine. I place the remainder in my pack. Dad quickly loads his gun, and pulls his pack and other items from the Bronco. He slams the tailgate shut and closes the window. He straps his gear to his back, and rests his gun against his right shoulder.

He takes a deep breath, and looks out through the clearing that falls off into the valley. He doesn’t say a word, his eyes just taking in the view.

“You ok, Dad?”

“Yeah, just thinking of your grandpa, and how much he loved this area. He loved hunting with that rifle.”

“Yeah, I miss him too.”

Dad seems to get back to normal as he peers up into the sky. His hand rests on his forehead as the sun tries its best to sneak through the canopy of trees above us.

He cuts his eyes down at me.

“Do you want to take point this go around?”

I shrug. “Sure, why not.”

“Well then, by all means lead ahead.”

Dad gives me another smile as he motions for me to go ahead.

“Come on, Duke.”

Bark!

Duke bolts, and disappears quickly around Broken Nose as Dad and I trail behind him. He always likes to scout ahead, checking out the terrain and letting us know with a bark if there is something we need to pay attention to. That dog is a mess, but I love him regardless.

“I hope we get something today. I don’t feel real keen on chowing down on those MRE’s. I really don’t see how you do it.” My face contorts with disgust, as if I have entered a stall in the boy’s locker room after one of the football players did their business.

“You eat to survive. When I was in the service and out on missions, we didn’t have the luxury of a cooked meal. Those meals were the only food we had most days,” Dad says.

“I guess. Just hope we don’t have to bust them open is all.”

We round the boulder, and head down into the thick woods below. There are trees as far as the eye can see. The sound of pinecones crunch under our boots, breaking up the eerie silence of nature. Duke is off in the distance. His yellow tail points straight up in the air, and darts from side to side.

“So, where are we going exactly?” I ask.

Dad grips the strap of his rifle. He gives it a tug.

“Just keep following the trail. We’ll set some traps along the way. Then we’ll head up a bit farther, and make camp.”

“What traps are we setting?”

“Figure we’ll do some 110s and 220s. We need to check the dog proof conibear boxes before setting the traps to make sure it’s all safe for Duke.”

I remember the first time Dad showed me how to set one of the 110 traps. He did it first, going step by step. He kept telling me how dangerous they were. From there, he went on to show me the 220 and the 330 conibear traps.

To me they looked like nothing more than a weird piece of steel, but after Dad fixed the trap and set it off with a stick, I quickly thought otherwise.

The 110 did some damage, denting the stick while the 220 and 330 were much more severe. To be honest, I didn’t want anything to do with the traps for fear of getting my hand chopped off. Perhaps I was being dramatic, but better that than to not take the traps seriously.

Dad hands me the setting tool, and points where he wants the traps to go. I still struggle a bit on the 220 and 330 traps, but I get the job done.

Bark! Bark!

“I wonder what Duke’s come across,” Dad says as his attention is pulled in the direction of Duke’s bark.

“Who knows. Hopefully, he got a rabbit, has already skinned it, and dressed it out for us,” I reply with a chuckle.

“Wishful thinking on that, my boy,” Dad counters.

We quickly wind down the trail, and spot Duke off in a thicket of grass where only his tail is showing. He darts out onto the trail and spins around, barking and going back into the grass.

“Must be something of importance or at least to him anyway,” I say.

We veer off into the grass, and slow our pace. We cautiously approach where Duke is barking and moving about in a circular frantic pattern. His ears are perked up. The muscles in his body are tight.

Dad draws his gun and shoulders it. He places his hand on my shoulder, stopping me in place. “Wait right here.”

Duke jumps about, barking as he leaps into the air, then disappears again in the grass. I’ve rarely seen him this fired up unless something has him on edge, or he has found something out of the ordinary.

“All right, boy, take it easy and show me what you got?” Dad says as he approaches.

Duke’s barking subsides as Dad takes his free hand and moves the grass about, trying to locate the cause of Duke’s meltdown.

“What the hell is that?” Dad mumbles under his breath. “James, call Duke over and put his leash on.”

“Duke, come here boy,” I call out, not questioning his order.

He gives a few more barks and growls before he breaks and trots over to my side. I remove the leash from my gear. He sits next to me, allowing me to attach the leash to his collar.

“What is it?” My voice is thick with hesitation and worry as Dad’s demeanor suddenly becomes more focused.

He’s quiet. His posture tenses as he bends down into the thick brown brush. His hands part the grass to either side. It must be something really strange or bad, as I hardly ever see Dad this focused.

I tie Duke’s leash to a tree near us, and tell him to stay put. He’s still beside himself, moaning and pacing as far as the leash will allow him to roam.

All sorts of things run through my mind, sending my imagination running on overdrive. I couldn’t imagine it would be any worse than a dead animal, as I’ve seen more of those than I’d like to admit. But with the way Dad is acting, I’m starting to think otherwise.

“Dad,” I sputter with a tremulous voice as I stop behind him.

“Here, James.” Dad hands me his rifle without even looking back at me. I take it from him and look on. His head is fixed straight ahead and down. I step to the side, and try to find what is keeping his attention.

“Is that ...” My eyes widen. My mouth gapes open at the grizzly sight.

“It is.” Dad replies flatly.

Now I have killed many animals and dressed them, but this is totally different. Being fifteen, I’ve seen a lot of stuff in movies and video games, but nothing like this in real life. Not the way I wanted to get my morning started off.

“Why would there be backpack and bloody clothes just lying in the woods?” I finally inquire.

“Well, there are black bears, cougars, and wolves that roam these parts. Whoever this was could’ve walked up on one of these animals and not been able to get away. I wouldn’t worry too much about it though. It’s pretty dried on so whatever was around here, it’s safe to assume it has moved on.”

My stomach churns. I feel Dad’s power breakfast acting as though it wants to be set free. Dreadful thoughts of how the owner met their demise flood my mind.

He peers back at me. “You ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

I drop my hand from my mouth, and clear my throat as Dad pulls a bandana free from his gear. He grabs the backpack with great care. I cringe at the sight, wanting to divert my gaze, but curiosity keeps me looking.

He brings it in closer, why I do not know. He glances around the outside, then proceeds to open it up.

“What are you doing?” I balk, pointing to the bloody bag.

“Trying to find out who it belongs to.” Dad rummages through the contents. “Maybe an ID or something to tell us who this was.”

I cut my eyes down and watch while Dad goes through the stranger’s contents. “Any luck?”

“No. Just some clothing and camping gear. Nothing with a name on it though.”

“Do we need to report this?”

Dad removes his hands from inside the pack and rest them on his legs. “Yeah. When we get back, I’ll give Frank a call.”

Frank is the local sheriff and one of Dad’s oldest friends. They’ve been all over these woods more times than I can count. From the stories I’ve heard, they have seen some pretty messed up things. Not sure if they’ve ever seen anything close to this, though.

Dad drops the backpack where he found it, and stands up. His head swivels around the small clearing we’re standing in. He turns back and grabs his gun from me, checking to make sure it’s ready to fire.

“You still want to go on?” he asks.

A bit shaken, I shrug. “Is it safe to go on?”

“Yeah, it should be.” Dad offers a reassuring smile. “We can turn around and go home, James, if you want. It’s ok. I can imagine this may be a little unsettling to you, huh?”

“Yes, but I am good to go on if you think it’s okay to do so.”

“I do. We’ll be fine. Especially with mad dog over there.” Dad nods in Dukes direction.

I think Dad could tell by the uneasiness in my voice that it did freak me out. One thing I can say about him is that he always treats me like a man. It is his way of trying to make me strong for anything and everything.

Right now is one of those times I don’t want to cave in and make him think otherwise. I don’t think he would be disappointed if I wanted to leave. I just think I would be disappointed in myself.

I give Dad a reassuring smile, and walk back to Duke. He groans and whines, pacing back and forth. I get down to one knee, and knead the top of his head. He licks my hand, then snuggles his head up against me.

I glance over my shoulder in Dad’s direction. “Do you want to leave Duke’s leash on?”

“Nah. It should be fine. We’ll let him scout ahead some more. Just need to not let him get too far in front of us.”

“Don’t go too far, boy, ok?” I remove Duke’s leash from his collar. He licks the side of my face. He darts off past Dad and the bloody gear. I un-tie the leash from the tree, and place it back in my pack. I sure hope the rest of the day goes better than the way it’s starting out.

CHAPTER FIVE

Dad’s asked me to stay close, and not get too far ahead of him. To be honest, he didn’t have to make that request. I was planning to do that anyway.

Venturing deeper into the hills, and the massive trees blocking out the sky, everything’s surprisingly silent. Almost as if nature has been put on mute.

We finally catch wind of some birds chirping, and the occasional rustling off the beaten path. My head tilts upward toward the canopy of branches that hang overhead. My eyes shift from left to right in search of the cause of the disturbance. Turns out to be nothing more than squirrels. Thank goodness.

We stray from our trail, and set up our conibear traps. I sure hope to have something caught soon. I’m getting hungry, and the thought of digging into those MREs is holding my appetite at bay. Well, that and the thought of how that hiker must have met his fate. From the amount of dried blood all over that pack and clothes, I would say it didn’t end well for him.

“We’ll come back a little later, and check our traps. I know how much you’re looking forward to eating the MREs for supper, and possibly breakfast.” Dad chuckles.

My hand palms my stomach as it growls from hunger. “I might have to find some wild berries or something just in case.”

“If you do that, remember what I taught you. Don’t want to get sick or have the runs being all the way up here.” Dad offers in warning.

Yeah. I learned that lesson the hard way. I never want that to happen again.

So far, we haven’t come across any tracks that would indicate any large predators are in the area. Duke’s been relatively silent. He’s only rustling around in the foliage when he’s looking for a place to relieve himself.

Our campsite is up ahead, and I’m more than ready to take a breather and sit down. Out of the many campsites we generally use, I especially like this one. The view is awesome, and the massive boulders that encompass the area tend to shield us from the chilly night air.

Bark! Bark!

“Sounds like someone is happy we arrived,” Dad mentions as Duke trots about the site.

The trail winds downhill and feeds into an opening that leads into our campsite. Duke’s got his nose planted to the ground. He sniffs, and goes around the perimeter before changing direction on a whim.

My body trudges along, the bulk of the pack on my back becoming heavier with every step I make. “I’m ready to drop this gear. It’s killing my back.”

Duke barks and runs toward me. His tail wags, and his breathing is labored some. I grab both sides of his face and rub. His moist, sticky tongue narrowly catches my right hand.

“Come on, boy. Let’s take a break. You’ve been going all out since we got out of the truck.”

We race down the trail and into the camp. Duke leaves me in his dust as always. I unlatch the gear from my back, and drop it to the ground. I plop down on a log we moved in last time. Duke’s nowhere in sight, but the frequent bark and rustling lets me know that he’s close by.

“You look a bit winded, James,” Dad says as he strolls in like that hike was nothing. “You’re not tired already, are you? We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

“Not at all. Gym this past week has been a killer. Coach Burns has been having us do bear crawls and running for almost the whole period. Not sure what his deal is, but I wish he would let up some.”

Dad removes his gear from his back, and leans it against a tree that he likes to sleep under. “All that exercise is not a bad thing. I would imagine that many of those kids probably need it.”

He is right about that. I do have some plump friends that could stand to shed a few pounds.

“Before we head out, did you want to go ahead and set up camp?” Dad stands in front of me with his hands resting on his waist. He glances at the ground, looking left, then right.

“Heck yeah. Not sure how motivated I’m going to be when we get back.”

“Sounds good. Let’s get everything in order and when we’re done, we’ll leave.”

I stand up, and we get to work. We pitch our tents, and get everything in line pretty quickly. We prepare our fire pit, and remove what we need for our trek. Our gear is stored inside our tents. Duke watches us, his ears standing straight up as his tail wags from side to side.

“Make sure you got plenty of ammo on you,” Dad says as he points at my rifle.

I grab some extra ammo, and slip them into a smaller pack that I can easily carry over my shoulder. I’ve got my knife latched in its sheath, and my Remington loaded and ready to go.

“Where are we heading to now?”

Dad points off to his right. “I figure we’ll head off this way, and see what we come across. It’s been a while since I’ve checked that trail. The last time I did, I was with Frank. I remember seeing some cranberries I think.”

“Really?” My eyes light up as my tongue subtly slides across my lips. The thought of some fruit, despite it being cranberries, fills me with excitement. I’d prefer anything to those MREs.

“Yeah, I think so. We’ll just need to keep an eye out for them. Don’t eat anything until I’ve checked it out first though, ok?” Dad gives me his normal stare, head tilted down some and to the left as he waits for my reply.

“Yes, sir.”

“How are you doing on water?”

“It’s about half way full,” I respond as I shake my bottle.

“We’ll fill up when we come across a stream or something.”

I double check to make sure I got everything, patting down my coat to my pants. I feel something in my right coat pocket. Feels like a candy bar or something. I remove it and look it over. It’s a Power bar with a note wrapped around it.

James,

I know your father likes to “rough it” when the two of you go out, but here’s a little something for you. I know how much you like the peanut butter chocolate ones. Have a good time, and we’ll see you in a few days.

Love you,

Mom

P.S. Don’t let your dad see it. Wouldn’t want to make him jealous. :)

My mom is great. She always knows what I need at the right time. And right now, I want nothing more than to break open this wrapper and devour every last morsel. But I think I’ll wait till later on. If we come up short on the traps, then this will definitely come in handy.

Dad slings his rifle over his shoulder. “You ready, James?”

I nod. “Yes, sir.”

Dad cranes his neck, and looks ahead. “Where’s Duke?”

“Duke!” I call out. “Come here, boy. We’re about to head out.”

Bark! Bark! Duke explodes out of a set of bushes, and rushes toward me. I really wish I knew where that dog gets all of his energy from. I could really use some right now.

He rushes to Dad, and sits next to him. He anxiously waits for his pat on the head, and rub under the chin. His sweet spot.

Dad points at the trail in front of him. “James, you take point. Keep your head up and your eyes on everything around you.”

I nod, and pat my leg with my hand. Duke bolts from Dad’s side and runs in front of me. His nose is glued to the ground, sniffing anything and everything.

Shouldering my Remington, I follow behind Duke while Dad brings up the rear. We head off in the opposite direction and down a trail that we haven’t really explored in some time.

The foliage around us is much thicker, making it hard to see anything clearly moving around on the inside. The trail has grass growing up through it, portions gone and reappearing at random spots.

“So, why are we going this way?” My hands glide over the tall grass, the blades brushing over my gloves.

“Frank told me that he has had some luck with big game down this trail. Thought we’d give it a shot.”

The grass covering the trail stands on end, not laid down like when it’s been trampled consistently. My boot discovers an impression in the dirt. I part the weeds and peer down. Are those hoof indentions? I can’t tell how fresh they are.

“When’s the last time he came this way? Doesn’t look as though anyone’s been down here in a while?”

“He didn’t say. Besides, that might be a good thing. More animals might be passing through since there doesn’t seem to be much human activity.”

Not sure why, but I get an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. The whole ambience of this part of the trail is working on my nerves. The intermediate call of birds chirping, and the occasional snapping of branches stops me cold. I search for the culprit.

“What was that?” I tremble. My fingers tighten around the Remington. My body tenses and my eyes widen.

“What was what?” Dad responds, all calm and collected.

“That noise. Sounded like footsteps or something over that way,” I reply, pointing to the thicket off to our right.

Dad stops behind me and looks.

“I don’t see anything, James. You sure you’re ok to go on,” Dad asks once more. “If you want to turn back and head home, we can.”

“I’m fine. It’s just this creepy trail messing with me. That, and seeing that bloody back pack has me on edge.”

“We’re fine, James. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Just relax, and keep your eyes out for any deer. Don’t want to scare them off. Unless you just really want some of those MREs.”

“I don’t think it will be us scaring them off. This area is doing a good enough job of that on its own.”

Dad tries to lighten the mood some as he nudges my shoulder playfully. It does little to curb my thoughts of what could be out there lurking in the dense forest, but I hold it together and “man up,” as Dad would say. I get moving, trying to ignore the random sounds that creep into my ears.

Images of that horrid thing from the video I watched this morning seem to catch my eye from within the thicket of trees and bushes. I really want Duke next to me.

“Duke!” I sternly call out.

Bark!

Here he comes, barreling up the trail with something latched inside his mouth. Can’t tell what it is from here.

“Let me see what you got there, boy.”

Duke drops what appears to be a boot at my feet and sits down. His head swings around to his back and digs his teeth into his fur. I bend down and pick it up.

I instantly look for a foot wedged inside. Fortunately, there is none.

“I wonder if this belonged to that hiker?” I hand Dad the boot.

“Not sure. From the looks of it, seems like it’s been up here a while.”

The boot is dingy, covered in mud and has tear marks along both sides of the black leather. Granted, any animal could’ve had its way with it, biting and pawing with its claws.

“Come on, James. Let’s get moving,” Dad says as he walks past me. He discards the boot without a further thought on the matter.

I stand up, and we get back on our way. Duke’s staying close, walking right in front of me. It feels the further we venture down into the woods, the more my nerves get rattled. Today is going to be a long day. That’s for sure.

CHAPTER SIX

It’s been about three or so hours since we left our campsite. We still haven’t seen any deer or animals that I would want to cook over an open fire. I caught wind of a skunk that Duke wanted to go investigate. I had to hold him back by his collar until the smell dissipated. Obviously, for him, it took much longer.

“Either Frank was blowing smoke up your butt or we’re just that unlucky today.” I toss a stick into the bushes to my left.

“Patience, son. Sometimes, you have to let the prey come to you,” Dad calmly replies.

“Well, I wish it would come already. My stomach is starting to rumble. Can you not hear it?”

I turn toward him. I place my hand on my belly again. He doesn’t respond. No chuckle or laugh. Makes me think he’s getting aggravated with me about all the complaining I’m doing.

“Sorry, Pop, for all of-”

“Be quiet!” Dad snaps in a lone muffled tone.

He suddenly stops and crouches down. His gaze is fixed to our left. I immediately follow his lead and hit the dirt. Duke paces about and sits down next to us.

“What is it?” I worriedly ask, thinking of those chasers in that video.

“Look to your left some and down a little. Tell me what you see in that cluster of trees in the clearing?”

I follow Dad’s finger down to a clearing that has a handful of pine trees arranged in a half circle. Inside the dense foliage, I spot Dad’s target—a white-tailed deer.

It’s hidden well. Its tan fur blends in with the trees and other foliage. Most probably wouldn’t have seen it, but Dad’s eyes are keen to the wild. I hope I get as good as he is some day.

I keep my voice low and glance over to Dad. “How big do you think it is?”

Dad shrugs. “Not sure. Can’t get a good enough look from here. Let’s move down this hill some, so we can get a better view.”

Duke’s been trained for this most of his life. He doesn’t need any coaching or being told to be silent. He instinctively stays by our side and his body low, waiting for me or Dad to give him the green light.

We stay within the thick brush and trees as we come to the edge of the clearing. The deer pauses. Its head points straight ahead in the opposite direction of us with its ears standing on end.

“Is he picking up our scent?” I whisper softly.

“Maybe, but the wind is blowing out of the other direction. I don’t think it’s us he’s worried about.” Dad pulls his binoculars from his pack. He scans over the area for any other hunters or predators that might be lurking about. “I don’t see anything that would be scaring it. Go ahead and take it down.”

“Ok.” I remove the Remington from my shoulder and take aim. Taking a deep breath, I wait for the deer to show its head, and preferably, face me.

Dad taught me that it’s always better to try and kill the deer in one shot. Doing so helps in preserving the meat, and keeps the deer from spooking any others that might be in the area.

There are too many branches in the way. I’m still learning to take my time and wait for the shot to present itself. I want to impress Dad by nailing this deer between the eyes. I haven’t been able to do it yet, but practice makes perfect, right?

“That’s it, James. Wait for it to give you the shot. Don’t force it.”

The wind is picking up some. It feels as though it’s changing direction. I’m trying to keep my arm steady, but it’s being slightly pushed to the left by the gust of wind blowing through.

Hurry up already. Let me kill you so we can move on.

“Don’t get impatient, James,” dad calmly coaches.

He must’ve heard me breathing hard, then sighing. It’s my telltale sign that my patience is wearing thin. I don’t like to wait. I want it to happen immediately. But Dad’s right. If I wait, the deer will give me my shot. Patience is key.

After a few more minutes of watching it graze in the thick brush, and poke about the foliage, it finally moves enough to give me a chance at a clean shot.

“There it is. He’s almost ready. You got this, son.” Dad places his hand gently on my back.

Duke moans and groans, whining some from the anticipation of tracking the animal down. Duke and I are like two peas in a pod. Impatient. Not sure how Dad stands it sometimes.

I keep pace with the deer, the crosshairs hovering about its head. My finger hugs the trigger. I don’t want to jump the gun, but I totally want to nail this. Rub it in Dawson’s face. Not that he’d care or anything, but it’d be nice to have a kill shot like that under my belt.

The deer looks up at me, grass hanging out of its mouth. Here it is. I fire.

A single shot rings out. The sound crackles in the clearing as the deer jets out of the thicket of trees and grass in the opposite direction.

“Dang it, I missed!” I snarl.

“No, you didn’t. Looks like you got him in the chest area. Come on, let’s see if we can track him down.”

Dad gets his feet under him, and straps his binoculars back to his pack. I sling the Remington over my shoulder and stand up. Duke’s panting hard, and moaning between breaths.

“Come on, boy. Let’s see if we can track down that deer.”

Duke springs to his feet and takes off into the clearing with me and Dad following at a much slower pace. He darts into the woods on the opposite side, disappearing from sight.

“Guess I need to practice a lot more, huh?” I pose to Dad as we follow after Duke.

“Practice does make perfect, but that was still a hell of a shot,” Dad replies. “You’re getting much better and with time, and patience, you’ll slip right into those shots.”

I think Dad is being nice, and padding my self-confidence here, but I’ll take it.

I point to the ground where the grass and dirt is stained red. “Is that the deer’s blood?”

Dad stops and stoops down. He brushes his hand over the green and brown blades of grass, and rubs one of the blades between his fingers, smearing the dark red over them.

“Seems to be bleeding pretty well. It shouldn’t get too far.” Dad is a pretty good tracker. He’s been showing me the ropes for some time now. Actually, since I’ve been coming with him on these hunts. It’s been years now, I think. He’ll show me what to look for, and has always made it a point to pay attention to everything.

The moment you get careless, you can miss the smallest detail that can make or break finding your target, he would say.

I’m still learning, but getting better with time. Just like everything else, I guess.

The sun has peaked in the sky, and is now heading down. The day has slipped away from me, the hours ticking down like minutes. The cool air is creeping its way back in.

We’ve tracked the deer’s hoof prints, and Duke’s paw impressions, which follow right in line, well into the woods. With us losing daylight, and the darkness taking hold, it’s becoming increasingly harder to track the deer. The impressions slowly morph to black, concealing the animal’s movements from our eyes.

“Where has the day gone?” I ask.

“When you’re up here, time can slip away faster than normal. It’s not like being in the normal everyday hustle and bustle of life.” Dad bends to go under a branch.

My stomach has been growling at me for a while now. I ate my care package Mom stowed away in my coat when Dad wasn’t looking. It didn’t fill me up by any means, but somewhat curbed the rumbling.

Duke barks repeatedly, which doesn’t sound too far away. Dad has me as the point man, letting me track my deer. I’m not sure how much farther I want to go as the dense woods and us losing the sun is not setting well with me. I would much rather be back at camp sitting around our fire with Duke and Dad, eating on whatever we caught in our traps. At least, I hope there is something in our traps.

“There’s Duke,” Dad says as he comes up alongside me.

Duke bolts around a set of boulders, and quickly rushes to my side. He licks my hand and wags his tail fiercely.

I knead his head for a moment and pat his side. “Where’s the deer at, boy?”

Bark! Duke takes off again, but this time at a much slower pace so that we can keep up. There is no trail, just more rocks and massive tree limbs that litter the thick grassy area. Duke stops up ahead. He turns back to us.

Dad places a restrictive hand on my shoulder. “We need to approach quietly. We don’t want to spook it again, and have it run off.”

“Well, if that happens, I’m done.”

Dad and I lessen our pace. We creep up to where Duke is. He’s crouched down in the grass, looking straight ahead.

“Good job, boy.” I rub his head, thankful that he found the deer. I dig out some treats from my pack.

He scoops up the jerky style meat from my hand, and wolfs them down. I don’t think Duke had time to savor any of the flavor. All that running around must have zapped his energy.

Dad points down into a small opening in a cluster of trees and rocks. “There it is, James.”

The deer is laying on its side. Its body twitches from the wound. Its breathing appears to be labored. Its body is illuminated in the dying light as it kicks its legs wildly and thrusts about, but the wound from my gunshot keeps it down.

I remember the first time I came with Dad, and he shot a deer. It made me feel bad, watching another living creature dying from what we had done to it. But Dad explained to me that it was only wrong to kill these animals for fun. Meaning, not taking the animal for the meat it would provide. Still, it was rough for me. Now, it has become second nature. I don’t feel bad anymore, just thankful.

“Do you want me to finish it off?” I ask.

Dad nods. “Yes. No need to let it suffer any longer.”

I remove the Remington from my shoulder, and take aim at the deer’s head. Dad grabs the barrel of my gun and pushes it down.

“What’s wrong?” I inquire.

Shush!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dad presses his index finger to his chapped lips. He doesn’t speak a single word. His eyes narrow and fix on me, and a look of concern floods his face. He leans in closer to whisper in my ear.

“Don’t move or make any sounds what-so-ever.” He grabs my chin, and turns it to the right. A figure looms in the shadows of the brush. He doesn’t appear to be a hunter or hiker. There’s no visible weapon or backpack that can be seen.

He stays low, crouched within the thicket of foliage. He slowly advances forward, taking great care to not alert the injured deer to his presence. His precise movement’s mimic that of a cougar watching its prey. Dissecting and plotting his point of attack from his concealment.

After a few moments, he sprints out of the darkness, and stumbles into the little bit of light that remains.

He stops at the deer, his hoodie concealing his face.

The deer continues to thrash. It kicks its legs wildly. It struggles to get off the ground as the man looms over the animal like the grim reaper.

The woods around us are silent. It’s almost as if the other animals in the area know an apex predator of some sort was lurking in the shadows.

“Dad, I think we should leave. I’m not getting good vibes from the creepy guy.” My heart pounds harder.

Dad doesn’t respond. His attention is focused on the mysterious person.

One last yelp of pain is all the deer can muster as it falls to the ground. The man buries his head into the deer’s throat. Like a wild animal, he bites and tears into the deer’s hide.

Its legs stop moving. Its body is now motionless. Its eyes are wide and full. The man pulls chunks of meat from the deer’s throat, and shovels it into its mouth.

I place my forearm over my mouth and nose. My stomach churns from the ghastly sight. I feel as though I could toss my lone candy bar and breakfast at any time.

The man pauses with a portion of the deer’s insides dangling from his blood-soaked hands.

Dad grabs the top of my head, and shoves me down closer to the ground. “Damn it.” Dad’s voice is thick with frustration.

I peer through the blades of grass and find that the man is looking in our direction. He throws the grimy hoodie back and reveals his face.

A sudden jolt of terror floods over me. The man looks like the psycho from the video. Half of his face is severely injured; a small portion of his right jaw is showing through the missing flesh. I can’t make out anything else, but to be honest, I really don’t want to.

“What are we going to do? He’s just standing there looking this way,” I frantically whisper as I try to move.

Dad stays silent as he palms my back, keeping my body prone to the dirt.

Duke growls, his side vibrating against my hand. I gently rub the crown of his head, whispering to him to settle down.

“Get ready to move back to camp,” Dad flatly orders as he grabs a rock from the ground. “Be quick. Don’t stop for anything. Am I understood?”

Through chattering teeth and in a timid tone, I acknowledge, “Yes sir.”

The man peers to his left for a brief moment, allowing Dad to chuck the rock toward the trees on the opposite side. It clatters along the ground. The man springs to his feet, honing in on the disturbance. He dashes away from the deer to investigate.

Dad whispers low in my ear, “Ok, let’s go.”

I quickly but quietly get my feet under me, and head back to camp. Another figure emerges out of the trees near us, and tackles me. We both hit the ground hard, the wind pulled from my body. Duke growls, and I catch sight of him biting the man’s leg and pulling.

“James!” Dad smacks the man in the temple with the butt end of his gun. His bulk presses down on me. I push up on his torso with all of my might. The blow rattles him enough for me to get back to my feet.

“Take Duke and get your ass back to camp. If I’m not there shortly, get to the truck and go home,” Dad orders as he points back the way we came.

“Dad, I’m not leaving you up here.” My hand brushes over my face, wiping the dirt free of my skin. Shadows plague the thick brushes and dense foliage that encompass us.

Dad snaps back with a horse growl.

“Don’t argue with me, James. Now get moving!”

The figure lunges for me again, but Dad tackles him this time. Both of them disappear from sight as they fall into the trees and bushes.

“Come on, boy, let’s go.” My boots punish the ground as I leap over rocks and dart around the trees that are in my way. My legs are on fire, and my heart is beating a million miles a minute. I can’t remember the last time I ran this hard. Duke keeps pace with me, staying right by my side.

The image of the enraged man attacking us, and Dad tangling with the voracious individual, has me worried about him.

My fearful eyes strain to probe the ether of darkness in search of any more of those chasers. Perhaps that is what’s driving me on. Dad better be on his way right now. I can’t believe I just left him there with those chasers. Regardless if he ordered me to go, I should’ve stayed. I should’ve helped.

Two consecutive gunshots ring out. I stop cold.

“Dad!” I hope to hear his voice telling me he’s ok, but there’s nothing. Just silence.

A part of me wants to go back and make sure he isn’t hurt, but fear has sunk its teeth into me, and won’t let go. I try to move my legs back in the direction of Dad, but they don’t respond. As much as I want to disobey Dad, I can’t.

“Let’s go, Duke.”

We finally make it back to camp. I’m panting hard. My hands rest on my hips to regain some energy, but there isn’t any time for that. I have to keep moving.

I franticly gather everything I can, and latch it down on my pack. My sides hurt from running all the way here. My legs are like Jell-O, but all I’m thinking about is Dad.

Duke’s ears remain perked and on end. His head trains in the direction of Dad. He releases a short burst of ruffs from his snout.

Twigs snap. The sound of footsteps rapidly approaching the camp tightens my nerves. I remove the Remington from my shoulder, and take aim.

“Come on, Dad, please be you. I’m not leaving you up here,” I mutter under my breath.

My hands shake. The Remington is unsteady in my unsure grasp.

Duke has his ears lowered back. A deep throated growl sounds from deep within him. He does not like it either.

“Take it easy, boy. It may be Dad,” I say as calmly as I can.

It’s getting closer, working up the blind trail and into the line of my fire. My heart beats like a drum with my finger resting on the trigger. My inner voice beseeches me to take a deep breath and calm down.

I try to steady my arm, and keep it from shaking so much, but it’s like it has a mind of its own.

Snap! Snap!

I ready to open fire. Dad emerges out of the darkness of the trail. He holds up his hands in the air. “Whoa, James, it’s me.” Dad is winded. He places his hands on his knees and gasps for air. “Let’s get-”

“Watch out!”

I catch the vague silhouette coming up behind Dad. I fire a single round in his direction. Dad seizes up as his hands fly into the air. The bullet whips past him, grazing his right shoulder. He stumbles to the left in search of cover.

He grumbles some choice words as he narrows his eyes in my direction. “What the hell are you doing, James?”

“I’m so sorry, Dad,” I sputter. “One of those things was coming up behind you.”

I point to the ground. Dad glances to his right at the dead body lying face down in the dirt. A small hole resides in the back of his head. His blond hair is coated with chunks of flesh and bone.

His brow unfurrows. “Are you ok, James?”

My eyes swallow the corpse. The realization of what just transpired hasn’t registered yet in my head. I keep the rifle up for a moment longer before lowering the barrel. “Um, yeah. I think so.”

Dad comes over to me. He places his hand on my shoulder, and gives me a single nod. “You did what you had to do, son. Don’t second guess your actions.”

Even with that said, it still doesn’t lessen the burden of taking a man’s life. Regardless if he was in his right mind or not.

I nod, sling the Remington over my shoulder, and give him a hug.

“Aww,” Dad mutters in discomfort.

“Are you hurt?” I step back and look him over, franticly searching for any wounds.

There’s blood splattered all over him. I can’t tell if it’s his or the chasers.

“This one got me good on my shoulder. I thought I killed him. I managed to take the other down though.” Dad’s shirt is ripped and torn open. His shoulder has a wide, bite-size indention in his flesh.

“We need to dress this to keep it from getting infected,” I stutter. I reach down to unlatch my gear.

Duke growls. In the distance, I can hear heavy footsteps beating the earth. Something is coming for us.

“There’s no time for that right now. We need to get back to the truck and down the mountain to your mom and sister. You still have the keys on you, right?”

“Yes sir, right here.” I remove the keys to the truck from my left pant pocket, and show them to Dad.

“Good.”

Some low growls and moaning creep up from the darkness. Barking and growling, Duke starts to advance forward, but I sharply order for him to stop. Although hesitant, his legs shifting in place, Duke groans and stays put.

“Come on, boy. We’re not staying any longer.” I grab Duke by the collar, and pull him backward. He pulls in the opposite direction, but then complies. Dad grabs his gear, and we’re on the move.

“You sure you’re ok, James?” Dad inquires with a painful wince. His body shifts away from any branches looking to probe the injury. His palm comes up, and he tries to conceal the bite marks.

“I’m good, Dad. Let’s just get down the mountain.” My voice trembles with dread, my body filled with a fight or flight response as my mind thinks of the deranged people we have encountered. “It’s the chasers, Dad. Dawson told me about them this morning. How did they get up here?”

“I don’t know, but everything is going to be all right.” Dad tries to reassure me as calmly as he can. He offers a jovial smile that struggles to break through the painful expression on his face. “Let’s just get back to the Bronco.”

“Do you think Mom and Cindy are ok?”

“Yes. I bet they’re snuggled in bed as we speak, sleeping the night away.”

I hope so.

More twigs and branches snap in succession from behind us. We stop and listen. They break, one right after the other. Is there more than one?

“How many do you think there are?” My voice trembles with fear.

“I don’t know, but we don’t need to find out. Keep moving.”

We pick up the pace, and double time it to the truck. We throw our gear in the back, and jump into the cab. My hands shake, my heart beating so fast that I struggle to focus on sliding the key into the ignition.

I miss the narrow slit not once but twice. I curse under my breath. My eyes cut out through the window in search of the chasers.

“Calm down, James,” Dad says in a weak tone.

Even in the dark of night, I can see Dad’s not fairing too well. His voice is becoming fainter, and he’s sweating so much. I’m not sure what’s wrong with him, but we need to get back to the house as fast as we can.

I do as Dad says and take a deep breath. Duke pants hard in my face.

I slip the right key in the ignition finally. I slap my hands together in jubilation. I fire up the Bronco. The headlights spring to life. In the distance, two figures appear. I point straight ahead at the two men standing in the woods.

“Um, Dad.”

Duke barks, baring teeth and growling as they advance.

“Drive, James!”

I shove the Bronco in drive and hit the gas. The back tires spin out as the truck lunges backward. Bouncing over rocks and broken tree limbs, I move up to a narrow clearing that’s just big enough for me to turn around in.

“Watch out!” Dad warns. He lifts his injured arm and points through the pain gripping his body.

The chasers recklessly run into the driver’s side of the Bronco as I make the turn. The impact shatters the window and dents in the door. I lose control for a few seconds. My arms cover my face to shield it from the airborne glass.

“James, the wheel!” Dad reaches across and jerks the steering wheel hard to the right.

One figure slips under the back wheel with a brief moan cut short as the Bronco finishes him off, while the other holds onto the frame of the door.

His face is covered in blood, and portions of his skin have been ripped away from the busted glass. His right temple is bulging out from the impact.

He pokes his head inside the cab and snaps at me. He tries to bite my shoulder, but I move away.

“What do I do?” I yell. I keep leaning to the right as I try to get the Bronco back under control and on the trail.

Dad falls back into his seat, grimacing as he palms the wound.

Duke barks in my ear and growls at the chaser. It’s making it even harder for me to concentrate.

I reach down with my left hand and yank on the door handle. The dented door flies open with the chaser attached to it. He’s only there for a few seconds before he plows into a boulder.

The door tears free from the frame, the crunch of metal and the squelch of our unwanted hitchhiker playing in my ears.

The cool night air floods into the cab. My body jostles from side to side freely with nothing holding it in place. I don’t have my seat belt on. The roughness of the trail makes it difficult to get the buckle secured. With the door missing and the rigidness of the terrain we’re plowing over, I need to get it fastened. Bouncing from side to side, I finally latch myself in.

I’m still frazzled from the attacks. My breathing is labored. Dad is now completely passed out. His head is being tossed wildly about like a bobble head toy.

“Pop!” I grab his arm, and shake it hard. “Dad!” My eyes leave the trail for a split second while I focus on him. At this point, I’m more concerned with him not responding than anything else.

Duke barks, jerking my attention back to the trail. A tree looms in front of us, racing forward. I jerk the wheel. Too late. The front end smashes into the tree, bringing us to a grinding halt.

CHAPTER EIGHT

My body is sore all over. My neck is stiff and my chest aches. Smoke from the engine filters into the cab, making it hard to breathe. Duke is barking, pausing every couple of seconds to lick my face before he continues on.

“All right, boy, I’m awake.” I push him away.

Duke hops over me to the outside and stops. He turns around and continues barking. He appears to be all right. He’s not walking with any type of limp, which makes me feel good. If anything would’ve happened to him, I’m not sure how I would’ve handled that.

“Ok, Duke. That’s enough, boy,” I mutter as I lean forward. Duke pauses his barking, giving me a reprieve from the noise.

How long have I been out?

The sun is coming up just over the horizon. I check the time on my watch. The numbers appear as smudges, unrecognizable at first. I blink to clear my vision.

6:58 A.M. Can’t believe we’ve been out for this long. To be honest, I really don’t know how long it’s been. Everything happened so fast that time seemed to stand still.

I glance over at Dad. He’s got a good size cut above his right eye now, and he’s still not moving. The color has left his face, and the gnawed meat on his shoulder is black and purple. It looks as though it is infected.

I unlatch the seat belt, and scoot across the bench seat.

I give him a subtle shake so as to not startle him too bad. “Pop, we need to get moving and get you back to the house, so Mom can take a look at you.”

Duke starts barking again wildly, making my head twist back. My stomach rumbles with fear. If more of the chasers are coming, I don’t see how we can get away.

“Duke, stop barking!” I snap angrily. He lowers his head and lies down on the ground.

“James...” Dad says in a weak voice. His eyes narrowly open. Both retinas are bloodshot. His face is painted with streaks of semi dried blood.

“Hey, Dad, I’m here,” I reply, feeling joy that he is now awake.

Disoriented, he blinks and shakes his head slightly. “What happened?”

“When we were leaving, more of those things attacked the Bronco. I managed to get rid of them, but ended up hitting a tree. I’m sorry.”

Dad puts his hand on my face. He tries to smile as he coughs up some blood. “Don’t be sorry, James. You did... good.”

“We need to get moving. If I have to, I’ll carry you down the rest of the way.” Tears fill my eyes. To be honest, I never thought I’d see him like this. To me, he has always been invincible.

Dad tries to move, but his body refuses to budge. I reach for his belt latch, trying to push it in, but it’s jammed. I fight and tug at the leather strap, trying to release him.

“Your seat belt is messed up or something. I can’t get it free.”

“James, don’t-”

“I’ll be right back.”

I scoot out the driver’s side door and get to the back of the Bronco. I climb inside the mess, finding that all of our gear has been jostled around.

Where is it?

After digging through everything for a good five minutes, I finally find my knife buried under our camping gear.

“Bark! Bark!” Duke is going to attract more attention than what we need right now.

“Come on, Duke, you need to be quiet before-” I say sternly as I slip out the back of the Bronco.

Duke’s baring his teeth and growling at the cab of the truck.

“It’s just Dad. Stop growling at him. He’s hurt and in no mood for that,” I scold as I shake my finger at him.

As I near the cab, I hear strange noises emitting from within—almost like the moaning sounds the chasers made.

Duke ignores my order and stays poised to strike. He’s baring his teeth, body rigid with his ears folded down.

“Dad?” The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A sinking feeling fills the pit of my stomach as I slowly peer into the cab.

Tears blur my vision at the sight of my father. He’s still strapped in, struggling to break free as he reaches for me. Both of his eyes are now completely bloodshot. The look of a raving lunatic is all that remains. A chaser.

Holding the knife even tighter in my hand, I’m overwhelmed with a wave of emotions. Guilt, sorrow, and heartbreak all rolled up into a feast that I just can’t digest. Truly, a bitter pill to swallow.

“Dad, if you’re still in there please give me some kind of sign?” I plead. It’s a fool’s question, but one that I am clinging to none the less.

He lunges forward, even more intent on breaking free and attacking me. Duke’s growling grows deeper with every move Dad makes. He doesn’t trust him anymore, and maybe now I shouldn’t either.

“I’m sorry, Dad, but I have to get back to Mom and Cindy. I love you.”

Those are my final words as I force myself to walk away and head to the back of the Bronco. Dad’s still going crazy, thrashing about the cab and moaning wildly.

I quickly dig my gear out and my Remington. I make sure it’s loaded. Tears drip from my cheeks and land on the butt end of the stock. I can’t leave him like this. What if someone else comes across him and he attacks them? What if they kill Dad? However remote of a possibility it is, I still must consider it.

Holding the Remington tighter than I think I ever have before, I glance at the thing that was once my father. I stare hard, trying to find some glint or spark that lets me know that the man he once was is still in there, but the longer I stay in his sight the more enraged Dad gets.

With every thrust and wild thrash, Dad manages to free a portion of his body. He’s now lying on the bench seat. His legs are snared in the seat belt as he reaches for me.

Indecision swirls inside of me. I’m lost as to what I should do. This is the biggest decision that I’ve ever been faced with, and I’m ill prepared to make it. After all, it’s my father’s life that hangs in the balance.

I spin away from the cab. I stomp my boots against the earth in anguish. My hand balls into a fist. Swelled with anger and sadness, I curse the sky with every colorful word that springs to mind.

Lost in the ether of darkness that consumes my mind, I hear a dull thump hit the ground behind me. Duke growls and advances forward, which turns my attention back toward the truck.

Dad is on the ground, prone on his stomach. He glances up at me. His eyes are wide, rage filling both as his teeth chatter rapidly. He reaches out for me. His fingers dig into the dirt. I snare Duke by the collar, and hold him at bay. I don’t want Dad to get injured, and I don’t want him to infect Duke.

I defuse Duke’s tense posture, and divert him away from Dad. I back away slowly as my heart pounds inside my chest. He pushes himself up off the ground. His balance is off, swaying from side to side as his chest heaves in and out.

I offer one last plea from a lost son to his father, begging for some sort of sign.

“If there’s still a shred of you left in there, Dad, you have to let me know now. Please.”

My words fall on deaf ears that are no longer capable of understanding.

There is no loving embrace here. I’ve gotten my answer.

I bring the Remington to bear with an unsteady grip. My face floods with tears. My emotions wreck me through and through. My stomach ties in knots, and acts as though it may release any food that resides within it at any second.

I train the crosshairs on Dad.

Part of me screams out on the inside. Yelling ”Stop!” and “What the hell do you think you are doing?” But I ignore that side. I am now put into a no-win situation that will only end in heartbreak. Regardless of what happens next, there will pain for me to bear.

He lunges for me with his arms outstretched in front of him. His boots hammer the grass covered hill briskly.

I pull the trigger. The Remington kicks back into my shoulder. One shot, through the middle of the head, and it’s done. Dad stops. He stumbles forward and falls face first onto the ground.

I lower the Remington to my side. My heart breaks into a million fragile, tiny pieces. My legs give out, and I fall to my knees, sobbing in my hands at my loss.

Duke nudges me. He gently licks the river of tears flowing down my red cheeks. I grab him by the neck and give him a big hug, thanking Dad for bringing him home that day.

Pulling myself together as best I can, I get back to my feet, and look in the direction of home. I know Dad would want me to get back to Cindy and Mom, and make sure they’re ok.

I give one final look to my father before we leave.

R.I.P. Pop!

CHAPTER NINE

I’m spent. The pack on my back feels like I’m lugging around boulders. It’s taken most of the morning for me and Duke to make it down the trail on foot. I had to stop a half dozen times to rest my burning leg muscles.

Reminds me of gym class where coach would make us run so much that you thought you were going to die.

Duke bounces around like he’s on crack. That tail of his wags constantly. His tongue dangles out the side of his mouth as he pauses and glances back to me. That dog is crazy.

Besides, the biggest weight of all that I’m carrying is guilt. I wish I could erase what happened up there. What happened to Dad. I’d give anything to have him by my side right now. Telling me everything will be ok. But he is not and never will be again. This shameful and lost feeling festering in my gut will be with me forever. All I can do now is live with it.

The brown and black of the shingles covering the roof of my house come into view through the mass of trees. Thin trails of smoke plumes from the chimney. I’ve never been so glad to see home before, yet so afraid. I have no clue how or what I’m going to say to Mom and Cindy about Dad. I guess the only thing I can do is to be honest and get it over quickly. Like ripping a band-aid that’s stuck to a moist scab, it’s going to be painful.

Walking across the field, I pause and take a knee. I whistle for Duke. He comes right to my side and sits down. Call it paranoia or whatever, but I pull out Dad’s binoculars and take a closer look. It might be home, but I want to make sure there are no chasers lurking about. Given what we just went through, I’m more cautious now.

Coast seems clear. There’s no movement of any kind except for the blades of grass swaying in the cool morning air. Such a relief. I just need to get a hug from Mom and have her coddle me like she used to.

I remove the Remington from my shoulder, and make for the front of the house. Everything looks as we left it. Nothing is out of the ordinary or hinting that something’s wrong. Duke’s not growling either, which is a good sign.

Before opening the door, my hand stops on the handle. A flood of panic washes over me as I think of telling Mom that Dad is dead because I shot him. Never mind the fact that he turned into something else which made me do it, but just saying the dreadful words out loud sounds horrible.

I sniffle and my eyes water. I’ve got to try to get it together the best I can before Mom sees me.

Duke licks my hand gently and peers up at me with those big eyes.

“Thanks, boy!” Taking a deep breath, I open the door and step in. The house is quiet. Like middle of the night everyone sleeping quiet. No TV going or Cindy running around playing Space Invaders with her dolls.

“Mom... Cindy?” I call out in a weak voice.

Nothing but the cold dead silence and the wind whipping about outside to greet me.

I wonder where they’re at.

I glance out of the window, and notice that Mom’s car is still here. But where are they? Perhaps she got called into work, and there’s something wrong with the car, and she couldn’t drive it. Wouldn’t be the first time that hunk of junk gave this family problems.

I settle on that reason as to why they’re not here. My imagination tries to get the best of me, conjuring up horrid scenes of them being chased by those creatures as they weep and call out for me and Dad. The mere thought of such a scenario does its best to rattle me, but I try not to let it.

Dropping my pack to the floor, and laying my Remington on the bar top, I head for the fridge. My stomach growls loudly. Guess it read my mind.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going to feed you.” I open the fridge. A mountain of food greets my hungry eyes. My stomach rumbles once more. I pull out the makings for my favorite sandwich since I can remember. It’s basic, but it always manages to hit the spot. Wheat bread with mayo and honey mustard. Next, add some deli sliced black forest ham topped with Munster cheese. Yum.

Duke sits and just watches me. His eyes are fixed on all the food I’m bear hugging out of the fridge.

“I know you got to be hungry too, boy.”

Duke licks his chops. His ears stand on end. A serious expression rests on his face.

I grab his bowl and container of food and pour a mound inside the silver dish. He scoops up large amounts of the moist gravy and beef mixture.

I rub the back of his head and get back to my sandwich. I add a little more meat than I normally would and dive in.

I wolf down both portions in what seems like seconds. My stomach finally feels at peace. Between a full stomach and the long stressful day that I’ve endured, I’m feeling the urge to sleep.

Grabbing the Remington from the bar top, I head upstairs to my room. I lay the Remington on the floor and collapse on my bed. I dig my phone out of my pocket to find that the battery is nearly dead. I pull up Mom’s number and call her.

Two rings and it goes directly to voicemail.

“Hey Mom, it’s me. Just making sure you and Cindy are ok. Give me a call as soon as you get this and let me know where you are. Something’s happened to Dad. Love you.”

I hang up and put my phone on the nightstand next to me. I attach the charger and roll back over. Before I know it, I’m out.

Back at school already? Ugh! Where did the weekend go? It’s bad enough that I don’t feel good, but now I have to sit through hours and hours of boring dribble from these lame teachers.

Standing in front of the school, I contemplate going back home. Sneak into my room and crawl back into bed. If Mom or Dad finds me, I’ll just tell them I wasn’t feeling good.

James.

I look around for whoever called my name. I don’t see anyone at first, but finally spot Kimberly leaning against the main building to my right. She looks right at me, smiling and motioning for me to come to her.

Man, she’s so hot. That short, yellow dress she has on and her tan skin always has a way of making my thoughts drift. I better not keep her waiting.

I forget about leaving school and make my way over to her. As I get closer, Kimberly pushes off the wall and spins around. Her dress twirls in the cool breeze as she continues to smile before she disappears around the corner.

My pace quickens. My heart beats faster from the cat and mouse game she is playing with me. I’m liking school today. It should be like this every day.

I make the corner, and see her waiting in the opening of the school’s utility shed on the opposite end. I wonder how she got down there so fast.

Trying not to make it look like I’m so anxious, I walk down to the utility shed at a slower pace. I look in every direction, waiting for a teacher to yell, “What do you think you’re doing out here, James?” Not sure if they would like the answer.

“Come on in, James. I’m waiting for you.” Kimberly giggles as I reach the entrance.

I strain to peer through the black spots in the congested structure. Gaps of light from the outside sneak in, illuminating small portions of the shed.

“Where are you?”

“Follow my voice, stud. I have a surprise for you if you can find me.”

She’s baiting me in like a mouse going after cheese. I bite and start my hunt. Forget the musty smell of lawn equipment and other tools, my only thought, at the moment, is finding Kimberly.

“You’re getting closer, big boy,” she playfully taunts.

I nearly trip multiple times over shovels and racks that have fallen to the ground. I hope Kimberly didn’t see any of that.

“Oh, my, you’re so close that you’re on fire,” she softly taunts in a seductive voice.

The excitement is on the verge of erupting inside of me, but I try to play it cool.

There she is. Leaning back against a pillar, part of her dress slips off her shoulder. I quietly move in.

“Where are you, stud? I’m waiting for you.”

Sneaking up behind her, I gently place my hand on her shoulder. I lean in and whisper in her ear, “Here I am.”

Kimberly turns around. Her face is contorted and her eyes are bloodshot like Dad’s. She’s breathing heavy, fluids dripping from her once beautiful, soft pink lips which are now cracked and torn.

I scramble backward, and fall over some racks and shovels in the darkness.

“What the hell is this?”

“What’s the matter, James? Do you not want me now?” Kimberly asks in the most demonic tone I’ve ever heard.

I try to get up and run away, but I’m frozen from fear. Before I can lift myself off the floor, she jumps on top of me.

“AWWWW!”

I awake in a fit of panic. My arms are outstretched in front of me as I defend myself from my own tainted thoughts. I gasp, and expel the pent-up air from my lungs as I sit up from the mattress. It takes me a moment to realize it was just a bad dream, and that I’m actually in my bed. Duke just stares at me with a bewildered gaze as I try to calm down.

Man, what a way to mess up a great dream.

CHAPTER TEN

Running my hand over my face, I take a deep breath. Stupid nightmare. True, I was going to possibly hook up with Kimberly in a dream, but it would still be something.

I feel beaten down and tired. I grab my phone to see if I have any missed calls. One from Mom about five hours ago.

Crap!

It’s after 7 P.M. I didn’t even realize the time. I might have heard the call if I hadn’t had the ringer set to vibrate. Looks like she left a voice mail, though.

“James! I only have a few minutes before I lose my signal, and I can’t get a hold of your father, but if you get this, don’t go... We were seeing... fields. Your sister and I... are heading to our cabin. Tell your father and ...careful. I want the two... here with us. Love...”

The call ends abruptly, but leaves me feeling relieved that I have heard from them. Mom sounded stressed and frantic. I hope they’re all right. I try to call Mom back. I punch in her number when I hear something downstairs. My hand freezes. My ear listens intently to the disturbance.

Duke instantly gets to all fours. His ears stand on end. A low growl emits from his throat. I wrap my arm around his neck and pat his side. I whisper into his ear that’s it’s ok and to settle down. I don’t believe that it is, especially now that I know that Mom and Cindy are a long way from here. There is someone in the house, and I need Duke to be quiet.

I slip the phone back into my pocket. I slide out of my bed and gently place my feet on the floor. The dried mud caked to my boots chips off in chunks as I grab my Remington and head toward the door. I pause and listen.

From my room, I have some visibility to the downstairs area, but it’s limited. Holding tight, and with Duke by my side, we notice something quickly dash pass the staircase. It disappears into the hall that leads to the kitchen.

What the hell was that?

Oh, crap!

Instantly, my palms become moist. My breathing goes into overdrive. I duck back into my room. The walls feel as though they are closing in around me.

Get it together, James. Come on. This is no time to chicken out. You don’t have that luxury anymore.

Not the best pep talk in the world, but it’s all I got.

Duke sits in the doorway next to me. His eyes are focused dead ahead as he keeps a watchful guard. The perfect sentry. He looks over at me and groans.

“Yea, yea. I know, Dad.”

This dog takes after Dad. That’s for sure.

“Stay!” I whisper to Duke, whose groaning and getting antsy. He moves his legs in place. He takes a step forward, but then suddenly stops and moves back.

Cautiously, I creep out of my room. I pay attention to my footsteps while keeping an eye out for whatever’s making the noise. Each room I pass, I carefully peer inside to make sure it’s clear.

With the daylight fading away, and the house now becoming darker with what seems like every step I take, I can’t help but become more worried. I can’t risk turning on any lights for fear of alerting whatever might be down there, or in the house in general. It could be nothing more than my bad dream still haunting me, but I don’t think it is.

Some rustling and banging around below stops me cold. I take a gulp of air. My hands tremble. My heart feels as though it wants to explode out of my chest and run the other way.

Man, I wish I had a flashlight or something on me, but that stuff was left in my gear downstairs.

I look down to the bottom floor. I train my ears and listen for the noise so I can pinpoint where it’s coming from. There’s nothing at first, but then it starts again.

Sounds like it’s coming from the kitchen, which is only accessible down a hallway that runs under the stairs.

Slowly and cautiously, I descend down each step. My footsteps are steady. I take great care to be as quiet as possible. A few of the steps squeak as I put pressure on them. The noise makes me pause and cringe. I listen for a reaction. There is none.

Making it down to the bottom rung, I peer over our large living room. Sometimes, I wish we didn’t have so much furniture in here. It’s so congested and makes it hard to see anything clearly.

I’ve told Mom and Dad they need to sell some of this crap off ’cause they’re looking like a bunch of hoarders, but they just ignore me.

A thin shred of light catches my attention down the hall from the kitchen. I step off the stairs and onto the hardwood floor.

The front door is wide open. The crisp, cool air blows in leaves from the outside. I know that was shut when we came in, wasn’t it?

A part of me says “Get out now while you have the chance,” but I can’t. My gear is in the kitchen. I need that pack.

I train the Remington dead ahead and push on. One cautious step in front of the other, I move toward the hallway. The house gets darker with every second that ticks by. I remove my cell phone from my pocket and turn it on. I sweep the room from left to right, bringing light to the void of darkness.

Nothing appears to be out of the ordinary or hinting that someone or something is loose in the house. Still doesn’t mean that I’m going to let my guard down. Not till I have my pack in hand, and me and Duke are out of here.

I approach the hall slowly and turn about. The light breaches the blackness lurking in the corridor. There is still nothing. Maybe it was my imagination playing tricks on me. Seems as though my fear got Duke all worked up as well. He’s in that ready to pounce stance.

My cell phone vibrates, startling me. It’s a text message from Dawson.

Dawson:

Dude, I told you this was real. Have you not been watching the news? You’re not a flesh-crazed psycho, are you? Lol.

James:

Not really a good time. Kind of in the middle-

I hear some clanging noise in the kitchen. I drop my phone. It hits the wooden floor hard, making more unwanted racket. Dang it.

I wait for something to explode around the corner in search of the source, but nothing comes. I grab my phone from the floor, then slip it back into my pocket.

As I near the kitchen, I hug the wall and peer around the corner. I don’t notice anything, but hear some commotion coming from the other side of the kitchen island. I can’t see what’s causing it, but it really doesn’t matter.

There’s my pack. Just where I left it. On top of the kitchen counter.

I tell myself to get it and go. No extra BS.

Quietly, I move to the island and grab my gear. I slip it on. I turn to leave and my curiosity gets the best of me. I know I shouldn’t, but I kind of want to know if I am losing my mind here or not.

Gripping the Remington a hair tighter, if that’s even possible, I move around the island to the other side. I pause for a brief second before committing to my actions of seeing what it is.

Hesitantly, I slowly peek around to see what it is. It’s a raccoon that suddenly comes into view, which scares the piss out of me. I jump and gasp. It rummages through the tipped over garbage. I breathe a sigh of relief and lower my gun.

“Man, you had me scared shi-”

I catch wind of heavy breathing. I know it’s behind me somewhere, but I’m not sure where. I cut my eyes to the right and twist my head some, trying to see if I can see it. My heart pounds hard. A tingling sensation courses throughout my body.

The wood floor creaks slightly in the dead silence as dense footsteps creep up to me. I turn around and fire. I completely miss whoever it is and hit one of the lamps in the living room. The light created from the muzzle shows a man’s face in all of its disgusting glory.

Half of the right side of his face has been scratched severely. Deep claw marks have ripped his flesh open, exposing the inside of his mouth.

He pins me against the kitchen sink. The only thing between me and his disgusting, rotting breathe is the Remington.

I struggle to get him off. He presses the Remington closer to my chest with his blood covered arms. Duke rushes in, grabs his leg, and pulls. His teeth rip flesh from bone. Duke manages to get the chaser off me and give me some space. With strips of meat laced between his teeth, Duke stands there poised to strike again.

Growling and his row of fangs being displayed, Duke lunges forward. He latches onto his arm and pulls, trying to drag the man away from me. Blood drips to the floor below as he peers back in my direction.

Fumbling with the Remington, my hands shake. I finally bring it back up and take aim. Ripping his shredded arm free from Duke’s mouth, the man comes for me once more.

Boom!

One shot this time and I don’t miss. Dead center and right between the eyes. The back of its head erupts in a mist of red. The wall behind him is painted in a mural of his blood. He drops to the floor before my feet, lifeless.

Duke gives himself a good shake and eases off. He trots over to my side and licks my hand.

“Thanks, boy.”

I rub his head and turn to the sink. I get some cold water and splash my face with it. It feels good. A part of me wishes I could go back to sleep and continue my dream. Well, without all the weird stuff.

Wiping my face down with a towel, I catch movement through the window.

“Come on, boy, we need to get out of here, now.” Stepping over the dead body, we bolt for the front door. I pause and take a peek, trying to get a good idea of where I want to go.

I know Mom and Cindy are heading for our cabin, but that’s a long way away. For the moment, we just need to get out of here, and find some place safe so I can have a few moments to plan out our route.

“Ok, Duke, when I open the door, you stay by my side and follow my lead. Am I understood?” Duke looks up at me and licks his mouth. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

I peer off into the woods on the right. There’s a trail that leads back some to a secret hideout that I used to play at way back when. I haven’t been there in some time and don’t know if the trail still exists, but it’s the only thing I’ve got.

One of the windows in the living room shatters. A body slams hard against the floor. I throw open the door and bolt out of the house with Duke by my side.

I try not to look around, and keep my eyes focused dead ahead. The grunting and rustling in the grass around us sends my head swiveling about.

A handful of chasers are going inside the house while one must have caught a glimpse of us, and is now in pursuit.

My legs are on fire again. Running as hard as I can with this pack on my back is making it challenging. The tree line seems so far away compared to where that chaser is behind us, but I keep going as hard as I can. Lungs combusting and limbs like Jell-O, we hit the woods.

“Yes,” I mutter, finding that the trail is still here.

Duke and I make our way up a bit and get off the beaten path. We hide from our stalker in a thicket of bushes. Sitting there, I try to catch my breath. I’m so winded and tired still that I just want to go back to sleep and forget this nightmare.

Branches snap. I seize up, paralyzed with fear. Duke rests his head in my lap. It’s close. The sound of the chaser’s heavy breathing becomes more defined with every second that ticks by.

I ready the Remington just in case, but hope I don’t have to use it. Not sure what else we’re going to encounter. I need to use what ammo I have sparingly.

It stops cold right in front of where we’re hiding. I’m not sure if it has picked up our scent or what, but it just stands there.

I bring the Remington up. The barrel trains in the general direction of where I think its head might be. Right now, all I can see is the bottoms of its torn jeans and muddy boots.

The chaser turns about in circles, trying to find where I went. Duke growls. I put my left arm over his side and pat him. I can feel the vibration coursing through his body. He wants to attack.

It pauses. It doesn’t make a single noise. With the Remington ready to go, I wait to see what it does next. The chaser takes a step forward. The cracking of branches to its left captures its attention. The chaser grunts and growls. It bolts in the direction we came from.

For a moment, I breathe a sigh of relief. Duke calms down as well. He licks my hand. His head tilts back, and he licks my face.

“Dude, your breath smells rancid.” Not that he cares or anything.

We hang in the thicket for a little while longer. I want to make sure there’s no more chasers roaming about before emerging and getting back on the move.

Forcing myself up from my crouched position, I push along the trail till we reach our destination. It’s not much, but it’s off the ground, and should give us some cover and security till morning.

I’m not sure if I’m really looking forward to another round of sleep, but I know I need it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

So much for getting any sleep tonight. I toss and turn and can’t relax any. I use my gear as my pillow. The ground is rough, but what kills it the most is my mind replaying the last twenty-four hours over and over again. I can hear Mom whispering in my ear to think happy thoughts. Not too much of that right now. The bad and evil I’ve experienced have trumped that easily.

Duke on the other hand slept relatively well. That is after he decided we were safe and could let his guard down. He spent most of the time snuggled next to my feet. Every time there was a noise, though, or something that didn’t sound right to him, he woke up and investigated it. I tried to tell him it was ok, but I guess he needed to check it out for himself.

The fire we had going has been extinguished. A small thin line of smoke trails up into the morning air. It’s pretty cold now that there’s no heat. I wrap my coat around me even tighter to keep the chilly air at bay.

I give a good stretch and yawn. My eyes water, and parts of my body ache that I didn’t know could. I sit up. The sun arches in the sky. I would much rather deal with anything in the daytime than at night.

Duke groans and gets to his feet. He gives his yellow coat a good shake.

“Did you get a good night sleep at least?”

He licks my face and sits down. His right leg springs up, and goes to work on the side of his head. He scratches intently, trying to relieve whatever’s bothering him.

“Well, I hope you did because we’re going to have a long day today.”

Duke turns about, and heads for the entrance of our temporary shelter—a make-shift cave comprised of multiple boulders that has us elevated off the ground. He pauses at the edge and looks down. His head pivots from side to side. Since he’s not barking, I guess the coast is clear. He looks back over his shoulder and just stares at me.

“Don’t go too far, boy, and hurry back.”

That tongue of his instantly rolls out of his mouth as he leaps from the edge to the ground below. He rustles about in the bushes. I grab my gear and open it up.

Man, I am starving. I hope I’ve got something left in here to eat on.

Digging through everything, I finally come across another power bar at the bottom. It feels squished, but I don’t care. It’s better than nothing right now.

I pull it free from my pack and tear it open. I waste little time in devouring the chocolaty mess. My tongue licks clean the leftovers from the wrapper’s silver insides. My canteen is roughly half filled as I take a big swig. It wasn’t the best breakfast that I’ve ever had, but considering the situation, it is better than nothing.

Now, what to do next. I know that I want to get to Mom and Cindy as fast as I can, but I’m not sure what the best approach to this might be. If I try to hike it through the woods, that will take forever and with the chasers roaming around, we’ll be more vulnerable.

On the flip side, finding some wheels and driving it will be faster, but could be much more dangerous. The risk of encountering more chasers will go up drastically when venturing into more populated areas. Or so I think.

Plus, my grand theft auto skills are a little rusty since Mom and Dad grounded me from my game system for my grades. Oh, and the fact that I have never really driven on the highways before. Can’t forget that.

Duke pops back into the cave, and trots back over to me. As always, he’s covered in those thick stickers that cling to his coat. He sits down in front of me, panting hard. I rub his side and start to pick off the stickers as I mull over what I want to do next.

Dawson?

Dawson’s place isn’t too terribly far away from here. We could easily make it over there in a few hours or so. Well, barring any of the chasers getting in our way.

I remove my phone from my pocket to check if I have a signal by chance. One bar is showing, and my battery is roughly sixty percent charged. Might as well give it a shot.

I pull up Dawson’s number and call him. The signal is a bit choppy. The ringing fades in and out. A crackling noise looms from the microphone. After about four rings, it dumps into his voicemail.

“Hey, Dawson, it’s James. Duke and I are coming over. When you get this message, hit me up. Later.”

I hang up and go to the text that Dawson sent me. I reply back to that as well, saying the same thing.

“I couldn’t get a hold of Dawson, but he should be home. I highly doubt that he would’ve left his house or anything. Are you up to heading over there?”

Duke gives a single bark and wags his tail. It’s not that he especially likes Dawson, but there’s a female Husky that hangs around over that way.

“Let me get situated, and we’ll head out.” I grab my gear and thumb through it quickly. I remove a box of ammo, and sit it next to the Remington. Everything else crammed inside is of little use right now. I do need to find a stream, so I can fill my canteen up, though.

I re-load the Remington and place the leftover ammo back in my pack. I’m still tired and hungry, but don’t have time to really dwell on my growling stomach. I would imagine Duke feels the same way.

Getting to my feet, I slip my gear on and move over to the edge of the cave we’re in. Peering out and down, I survey the area. I try to see if I can spot any movement from those things.

All seems to be still. The morning wind whips the trees and bushes about. Birds chirp and the squirrels in the trees nearby scurry up and down the thick tree trunks.

“All right, boy, you ready to get moving?”

Duke gets to his feet, and trots over to me. Even if he wasn’t ready and wanted to rest a little while longer, he wouldn’t let me venture out there by myself. He gives me a single groan and yawns.

“I know, I feel the same way. Maybe when we get to Dawson’s house, we can rest a little easier.” I rub Duke’s head and shoulder the Remington. I carefully work my way out of the cave, trying to be as quiet as possible. Even though I don’t see anything doesn’t mean that the chasers are not within earshot of us.

Reaching the ground, I slip the Remington off and whistle for Duke. With the thick brush and foliage around us, it’s hard to make anything out. I think we’re safe for now, though.

Duke effortlessly makes his way down the stacked rock formation and starts sniffing. He moves off to the right through the thicket of trees and bushes that lead back to the trail.

I keep close behind him, so he doesn’t get too far ahead. He pauses every so often. His ears stand on end. Not sure what he’s picking up, but it must not be anything to concern myself with. After walking for about an hour or so, we come across a stream. Duke trots over and gets his fill of water. Fortunately, the day has started off not as cold as it normally is, making this hike through the woods a bit more bearable.

Dropping to my knees next to Duke, I grab my canteen and hold it in the water. I pat his head as his tongue laps up the cool spring liquid.

“Thirsty, huh?” I ask as I take a drink myself. “Man, that is cold.”

I take a few more hefty swigs before topping the canteen off. I apply the cap and place it back on my gear.

“Well, we shouldn’t have too much further to go. If we keep our pace like this, we should be at Dawson’s place in the next hour or so.”

I wish I had something to give Duke to eat. I know he has to be hungry. He ate at the house while I wolfed my sandwich down, but with as much walking and running as we’ve been doing, I know he’s been burning a lot of that off.

“When we get to Dawson’s, hopefully, he’ll have something to eat for you. If not, we’ll figure something out.”

Duke barks and sits down. His right foot springs up and he starts scratching his right side. That dog is crazy. He probably needs a bath.

Snap!

What was that?

It sounded like a branch breaking from the direction we just came. Not sure how far away it was, but it was close enough for me to hear it clearly. I grab the Remington and take aim. Duke stops his itching and whirls about.

“What do you think, boy?”

Duke lowers his head, and growls under his breath. He bares his teeth, a clear signal we need to get back on the move.

“Come on, Duke. Let’s get going.” I grab him by the collar and gently pull him with me. He resists at first, but finally obeys. We change our pace from walking to a dead sprint down the trail. It could’ve just been an animal or something moving through, but I didn’t want to take the chance.

Feeling the burn in my legs and sides already, we finally make the clearing which opens up into Dawson’s backyard. My hands fall to my knees as I gasp for air. Duke pants hard as well. His tongue drapes out of his mouth and nearly lies on the ground.

“We’re almost there, boy.” I take a quick once over of Dawson’s house, making sure it looks safe for us to approach. I remove my phone and try to call him again. Three rings and I’m dumped back into his voicemail.

“Dude, I’m in the woods behind your...” The phone loses its signal and cuts off.

I slide the device in my pant pocket. We make a beeline for the back of Dawson’s house. Duke’s by my side, stride for stride. The gear on my back bounces all over the place, making me unstable once more. I keep peering to the right, then left. I wait for something to emerge from the bushes.

Approaching Dawson’s porch, we step up on the wooden deck and make for the door. I try to be quiet as I don’t want to freak him or his parents out by making a lot of noise. Dawson’s dad is a hunter as well and is already paranoid enough. The last thing I need to have is someone shooting at us because we startled them.

The boards squeak from my bulk, regardless of how light of a step I make. I get my back against the wall and give a sigh of relief. Finally made it.

I peer out to the tree line in Dawson’s backyard and spot something emerging from the woods. I can’t tell if it’s a chaser or just a shadow being cast by the trees, but I do not want to find out.

Knock! Knock!

Come on, dude. Answer!

Duke and I wait for a few moments. My anxious eyes sneak back over my shoulder to the tree line. The figure stands motionless in the morning light. I rub my eyes, figuring that it could be me just imagining the whole thing.

Slow and subtle, it takes its time moving toward me. I knock again, a little louder as I scramble for my phone. It’s down to fifty-five percent. I need to charge it when we get inside.

I pull up Dawson’s text from earlier, and start thumbing the keyboard.

“Dude, seriously! Answer the damn door!”

The chaser breaks into a dead sprint, heading our way. Duke growls and barks. There’s no mistaking now that it isn’t a figment of my battered imagination.

I fumble for the Remington, and remove the worn strap that dangles over my shoulder. The chaser seems to gain ground by leaps and bounds.

I shoulder the rifle. My cheek rests against the stock. I take aim and line up the scope on its head. A hand grabs me by my shoulder and yanks me backward. I trip over the door jam and fall hard to the floor. The gun dislodges from my hands. Duke rushes in and the door slams shut.

“What the hell-”

“Shhhh,” Dawson replies as he heads over to the blinds. He stands there for a moment, watching what I can only guess is the chaser that’s tracking us.

“Dude, why didn’t you answer my text or calls?” I bark with a hoarse growl.

“Sorry, man, but as you can see things have gotten a bit crazy around here.” Dawson grabs my Remington and helps me off the floor. He heads to the kitchen and leans the rifle against the wall. His house is so dark that my eyes take a minute to adjust.

Duke trails Dawson. He’s probably hoping to snag something to eat.

“Hey, boy, you hungry?” Dawson asks.

Duke groans and moans as I slip my gear off. I sit it against the wall next to my gun. I look out through the blinds and find that the chaser has stopped in the middle of Dawson’s yard.

“It just stopped, dude. I wonder why?” I say befuddled by its actions.

“No clue, but I figured out that if I keep the blinds closed and the house dark then they don’t really bother with checking it out. I try not to draw attention to myself.”

Dawson cracks open the fridge and bear hugs a ton of food. He turns and slams the food down onto the island countertop.

Duke sits perfectly still. He licks his lips. His ears stand on end. His yellow tail wags from side to side. His groans become deeper, and he struggles to contain his excitement.

“Here you go, boy. I don’t think I’m going to be able to finish this myself.”

Duke grabs a massive piece of steak from Dawson’s hand. He takes it over to the corner of the kitchen and sits down.

“Where’s your parents?” I move away from the blinds and go over to the island. My eyes enlarge at the sight of the food. My stomach grumbles again, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I don’t know. They were heading into Portland the other day when all this started happening. I’ve tried to call them a half dozen times, but all I get is their voicemail.” Dawson rummages through the food, and scratches his head.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” I reassure. “After all, wasn’t all this mess stemming from Gresham?” I can’t help but think of Mom and Cindy. Man, I hope they’re ok.

“Yeah, I imagine they are,” Dawson responds half-heartily. “You hungry?”

“Yeah, man. I’m starving. All I’ve really had in the last twelve hours is a power bar. My stomach isn’t too happy with me right now.”

“What would you like? Mom made me a lot of food to hold me over till they got back.” Dawson presents the array of food as if it’s a prize I could end up winning.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m good with whatever.”

Dawson grabs a container of his mom’s infamous cheesy meat casserole. He opens the door and slides the food into the microwave. I can hear Duke over in the corner devouring that steak. I bet he’s savoring every little morsel.

Dawson leans against the stand the microwave rests on.

“So, why are you here and not with your parents and sister?”

“My mom and Cindy went to our cabin after all this went down. Me and my dad were out on a hunting trip when they left.” The smell from the food cooking grabs my attention. My nose probes the air.

Dawson looks around. He acts as though he might have missed him come in. “Where is your dad?”

My eyes glaze over almost instantly. The heartache and pain that I had managed to temporally stuff away comes back as if everything had just happened. I divert my gaze and rub my eyes, struggling to hold the tears back.

Dawson’s face becomes long and filled with sadness. I don’t go into any detail and keep my response short and to the point for fear of erupting into a cataclysmic meltdown.

“He... he didn’t make it.” I sniffle as I run my sleeve under my nose.

Dawson places his hand gingerly on my shoulder. “Dude, I’m so sorry.”

I muster a slight nod as my palms try to dab away the tears. “Yeah, me too.”

Dawson retrieves a few plates from the cabinet near him as I regain my composure.

“What are you going to do, then? Last I heard, chasers are everywhere, and they’re multiplying like freaking rabbits. It’s been all over the news for the past day or so,” he says.

“I don’t have many options right now. I’m going to do whatever I have to in order to get to Mom and Cindy.”

The microwave dings. The smell venting from its sides makes my mouth water. Dawson’s mom, much like mine, cooks food that always tastes great. Whenever I would come over, she was always asking if I wanted a plate. Like she had to ask.

“Dude, if I remember correctly, that cabin is a long way away from here. How are you planning on getting out there with no wheels? Sounds like a suicide trip to me, bro.” Dawson opens the microwave door and reaches inside. He grabs the plastic container by the sides and pulls the food out. Steam vents out from under the lid that is positioned slightly askew. He hurriedly sets it down on the countertop.

“Maybe, but they’re the only family I have left, and I need to get to them,” I retort.

Dawson removes the lid. He jams a large silver spoon into the dish. He shovels out a heaping mound of the casserole on one of the plates and slides it my way.

My stomach growls, begging me to fill it full again. “What about you? What’s your plan?”

“To be honest, I think I’m going to try and ride this out here. So far, I haven’t seen too many chasers around the house. I think if I stay quiet enough, then it shouldn’t be a problem.” Dawson loads his plate down, and we both dig in. The conversation is tabled as the sound of fork to plate plays over the kitchen. That, and Duke is still working on that thick T-bone steak he was given.

“And what if that doesn’t work? What if they manage to get inside the house? They did in mine. We were lucky to get out when we did,” I pose as I take another bite.

“I don’t know, James. What do you suggest I do, then? For all I know, my parents are dead and the closest family I have are hundreds of miles away. Might as well be on the other side of the planet.” Dawson hisses.

“Don’t think like that. I imagine they are perfectly fine and safe.” I can understand Dawson’s point and his mounting frustration. We always thought and acted like we were adults—too grown up to have our parents coddling us like little babies—but in reality, we were just kidding ourselves. We aren’t ready to face the world on our own yet, and sure as hell not this, but we can’t sit by and do nothing. We don’t have that luxury anymore.

“Come with me and Duke to the cabin. Once we get my mom and Cindy, then we can figure out how to find your folks.”

Dawson polishes off the remainder of his food. He balks at the suggestion with a dismissive wave of his hand. He places the plate in the sink behind him and turns on the water. He shakes his head.

“Go to Portland? Are you thinking straight, bro?” Dawson’s eyes grow large at the notion, acting as though I offered an outlandish plan of action. “That sounds just as big of a suicide trip as going to your cabin. I want to find my mom and dad, but we’re not prepared for anything like that. Like this.”

“I know you’re scared, Dawson. I’m scared to death too. The past twenty-four hours has been the worst of my life. I didn’t think I would make it. But we can’t give up. We need to do what we can to get to our families.”

My voice grows more with every word that parts my lips. It probably isn’t the best idea to call Dawson out like that, but right now, I don’t care. Regardless of how big a prick Dawson can be at times, he’s still my friend. I’m not going to stand by and leave him behind, all alone.

He’s coming with us. He just doesn’t know it yet.

Dawson shuts the water off, and leans against the sink with his arms folded across his chest. I can tell my words don’t set well with him by the scowl on his face. It wasn’t my intention to piss him off, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides, I think we’ll both have a much greater chance if we stick together.

“Listen, I didn’t-”

“If you or Duke want some more to eat, get what you like. Just keep it down and leave the lights off.” Dawson disappears around the corner without speaking another word.

I hear a door slam in the silence of his home, which brings Duke’s head up and his ears on end.

“It’s nothing, boy. Don’t worry about it.” I finish the rest of my food off and place my plate in the sink. I contemplate getting some more as I’m still hungry, but don’t want to take all of Dawson’s food. I’m feeling content, at the moment, and that is good for now.

My phone vibrates. It scares me at first, causing me to shudder, but then I think that maybe Mom is sending me another message. I hurry and dig it out of my pocket. The battery is running low. I wish I would’ve gotten another phone when Mom mentioned it. The battery in this one doesn’t seem to hold a charge anymore.

I temporarily ignore the warning and dial Mom’s number again. I just need to hear her voice, whether it’s for a few minutes or a few seconds. It rings and then cuts to voicemail.

“Hey Mom, I’m over at Dawson’s right now. We’ll be getting on the road shortly. Hope you and Cindy are safe. See you soon. Love you.”

I move over to my pack and find that I actually had a charger tucked in a little nook in the bottom.

I get the phone attached to the charger and plugged in, then leave Duke to polish off the remainder of his steak. I head into the living room.

With it being as dark as it is, I’m starting to get sleepy again. I plop down onto the couch and sit there. My thoughts stretch in every direction.

Before I know it, I’m out.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Bang!

What was that?

I jolt up from the couch in a manic state with Dawson lingering right there above me. He grabs me by the shoulder, and places his finger over his lips.

Duke’s fur running down his spine stands on end. His ears are folded back as he bares his fangs. I hear that all too familiar low tone growl coming from his chest.

“There’s one of those chasers at the back door,” Dawson whispers with a gun in his hands.

I blink rapidly, trying to erase the sleepiness from my eyes. “How long have I been out?”

Dawson whispers as his head trains towards the clatter, “About three hours or so. There was a group of them that moved through about an hour and a half ago. A few stopped and are hanging out.”

I dig the palms of my hands into my eyes and get to my feet. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Dawson keeps peering over to the windows beyond the kitchen. He looks worried, eyes large and hands tightening over the rifle. “Because, I was hoping they would just move on and didn’t want to take the chance of anyone making any noise.”

“I’m taking it since you have your gun that they aren’t just moving along then?” I inquire.

“Yeah, they’re not.”

My gear is by the couch now along with my gun. My phone sits on top of my pack. I spot a portion of the charger hanging out of the top. I rub my eyes once more, trying to wake up and get ready for whatever might happen next.

I scoop up my pack from the floor and toss it over my shoulder.

“So, what’s the plan, then?”

Dawson briefly glances at me. “I’ve been thinking about what you said and I’m in.”

“In as you’re coming with Duke and me?”

“Yes,” Dawson replies. “As much as I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I am scared. Not knowing if my parents are alive or dead and with those things out there, I’m pretty stressed. I don’t want to be here by myself.”

I place my hand on his shoulder and offer an understanding nod. “I know, bro, I am too.”

Bang!

The door rattles under the onslaught of the chaser’s bulk. Fists hammer away. The brass doorknob violently jiggles. The chaser groans and the sound of wood cracking nabs our attention.

I quickly retrieve my Remington and take aim at the door.

Dawson points to my left as Duke’s growling grows with every noise the chaser makes.

“There’s another vehicle inside the garage we can use. I’m not sure how much gas is in it. It’s my dad’s work truck.”

“Hopefully, there’s enough to at least get us out of here.”

I grab my gear and toss it over my shoulder while working my way toward the kitchen. The food that was sitting out is now in a big red igloo cooler.

“I packed some munchies for the trip,” Dawson says.

“Let’s grab the cooler and get the heck out of here, then.” I can hear the chaser moaning and breathing heavy through the door as it scrapes its fingernails down the wood.

Dawson grabs one side of the igloo and I the other. It’s pretty heavy. Its bulk makes it cumbersome to carry. At least we’ll have plenty of food this time.

Working our way out of the kitchen and through the hall that leads into the garage, Dawson takes the lead. Duke is in tow, pausing every time the chaser slams against the back door.

My muscle-challenged arms struggle to carry my end, shaking, and my fingers lose their grip on the white handle.

“Dude, did you bring the entire refrigerator? This thing weighs a ton.”

“You never know when you’re going to get the munchies, bro. Besides, would you rather have too much or not enough?” Dawson poses with a raised brow.

“True.”

Dawson turns on the light to the garage and cracks open the door slowly. Although the outside door is down, it doesn’t hurt to play on the side of caution. With nothing stirring inside, we scramble in.

We get over to his dad’s truck, which I must say is much nicer than I remember.

“I thought your dad had some beat-up piece of crap that he drove to work?” I inquire as we shuffle our way to the driver’s side of the truck.

“He did, but it keeled over. So, his job bought a new truck and gave it to him to use.”

“Nice.”

Dawson opens the driver side rear door. We slide the cooler in the back. I remove my gear, and throw it in as well. Duke jumps into the backseat, and I close the door.

“Crap!” Dawson slams his fist down on the side of the truck with a deep huff.

“What?”

“I need to get the keys. Hopefully, they’re where Dad generally keeps them in his room. Be right back.”

With the banging noise intensifying, Dawson bolts back into the house, vanishing around the corner.

Duke sticks his head out the window and barks at every noise the chaser makes.

I reach in and run my hand along his side. I gently pat him and give him some love. He eases off a bit. His tail wags, and the growling slowly subsides.

Crash!

“Dawson? What’s going on out there?” I skittishly ask, my voice thick with fear.

No response is given. The turmoil from within the house sounds as though the chaser has gained access now. Like a bull in a china shop, the bedlam of destruction increases tenfold.

Crap!

“Dawson! Dude, this isn’t funny. Quit screwing around and come on!” I shout.

I pull my arm free from the truck and train the Remington at the doorway. I hold steady.

This better not be some sick little prank that he’s cooking up. I’m not finding it amusing if it is.

More disruptive clamors escape into the garage. Sounds like someone or something is destroying the house. Duke growls again.

“Come on, man, answer-”

Dawson explodes from around the corner with a panicked expression on his face. “Get in the truck! We got to get out of here now!” he yells as he grabs the handle to the garage door and slams it shut.

I lower my gun to my side. “What happened?”

Dawson breathes heavily, his face flushed and full of fear. “The one at the back door broke in. Man, those things are fast and strong. I barely made it past him.”

“Did you find your dad’s keys?” I ask, my voice strained with stress.

“Yeah I-, oh, no.” Dawson feels his pockets.

I narrow my eyes and throw my hands in the air. “Oh no what? You better have those keys.”

Dawson pulls the keys free from his back pocket and shakes them at me. He exhales a sigh of relief while gazing upon the distressed look on my face. “Dude, I thought I dropped them back there.”

The chaser’s bulk slams into the door with a hard thud. Duke growls and barks once more as the chaser shrills and moans.

I quickly move around to the other side of the truck and get in. Dawson settles into the driver’s side seat as we shut our doors.

“I just thought of something. What if the highways and roads are covered with those things?” Dawson’s chest heaves.

“I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, but for now, we have to get out of here.” I motion to Dawson to start the truck.

“All right, here we go.” Dawson fires up his dad’s truck. The engine comes to life. That subtle rattle never sounded so good. I latch my seatbelt and place the Remington next to me on the floor board. Duke lays down on the back seat.

“Looks like we have about a half a tank of gas,” Dawson informs as he taps the fuel gauge on the dash.

His free hand grips the steering wheel tightly. A look of fear, panic, and uncertainty all roll up and smash together on his face.

“Well, that’s better than what I was thinking. Hopefully, that’ll be enough until we can find a gas station, so we can fuel up,” I respond.

“Okay, you ready for this?” Dawson glances my way, beads of sweat racing down his face.

“About as ready as I can be,” I reply. “Just do me a favor.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t kill us.”

“I’ll do my best.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Dawson is roughly a year older than me and has been driving forever. His dad was always taking him out on back roads and trails, letting him go wherever. I rode with him from time to time on those little driving lessons, which makes me reemphasize my point of not killing us.

He presses the garage door button that’s attached to his visor, but nothing happens. He presses it again with the same result.

“Damn it,” he growls, while glancing over his right shoulder.

“Why isn’t the garage door coming up?” I inquire.

“My dad was supposed to have fixed this already. There’s a short somewhere in the motor. He took it apart and thought he had found the problem.” Dawson keeps pressing the button with the same result. That scared and aggravated expression on his face grows more intense with each push. His eyes narrow and lips become taut as he smacks the controller against the palm of his hand.

“So, how do we get out of here?” I stare at Dawson, waiting for him to respond as the chaser continues its assault on the door.

“Well, aside from ramming the garage door and hoping nothing happens to the car from us doing that, we could disengage the motor and lift the door ourselves. That’s about the only thing I can think of.” Dawson points straight up and shrugs his shoulders.

As much as I want to just stay in the truck and have Dawson gun it, I don’t want to risk messing up the truck to the point it breaks down.

“Okay. I’ll get out and lift the door up.” I can’t believe those words escaped my lips, but they did.

“You sure?” Dawson asks with a surprised expression on his sweaty face.

“No, but we really don’t have a choice, do we? Can’t risk messing up the truck.” My hand takes hold of the door’s handle before Dawson stops me.

“To lift the door manually, you’ll need to pull the rope with the red handle down that is attached to the motor. You’ll hear it break free, and you should be able to lift it up then.”

“Got it.” Taking a deep breath, I grab my Remington and open the door. Duke gets to his feet and climbs over the center console. “Stay right here with Dawson, boy. I’ll be right back.”

Duke sits down in my seat, groaning a little. I can tell he wants to get out with me, but he doesn’t.

“As soon as you get that door up, get your butt back in this truck,” Dawson urges from the cab.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” I reply.

Holding the Remington close, I flick off the safety and move around the truck to the other side. The chaser in the house is still pounding on the door. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to give up until it breaks through.

I spot the red rope with the red handle dangling from the ceiling. I reach up. My fingers lace over it and pull. It pops. The track for the door is now free from the motor. That was the easy part.

I turn back around and head to the garage door. I press my ear against the cool steel to listen for anything that might be on the other side. The truck’s engine is overpowering, making it difficult to hear.

Glancing back toward the truck, I signal to Dawson to kill the engine. It dies immediately.

He pokes his head out of the driver’s side window and asks, “What is it?”

“Nothing yet. I can’t hear over the engine going.”

Taking another listen, I press my head back against the door. It seems quiet. That doesn’t mean that there isn’t anything out there, but I can’t pick up on whether or not any chasers are close by.

I shoulder my Remington and lift up a little on the door. It’s not too heavy, but enough to where I can’t hold the door and take a peek outside. I lower it back down and glance back over my shoulder. I spot a stack of red bricks. An idea gels inside my brain. A way for me to assess the situation beyond the garage door. I snag a brick from the pile.

“What are you doing now?” Dawson inquires once more.

“I’m trying to prop up the door, so I can see if any of those chasers are close by. If I open this door and there’s a handful waiting on the other side, then I am as good as dead.”

I lift the door and slip the brick underneath. Prone on my stomach, I peer outside.

“Well? Are we screwed?”

The coast looks clear. I don’t see any in or around the house. I can’t see off to the sides though, but figure with the noise the truck was making and me lifting up the door, if there are any lurking about, that would have drawn them in for sure.

“I think we’re good.” I respond.

I get back to my feet and lift the door. The wheels squeal as they race up the track and stop. I spot movement just ahead. Time to go.

The door that leads into the garage from the house, pulsates violently, causing a lot of racket. The enraged creature on the other side continues its campaign to get through. Each dense crash against the obstacle causes me to cringe and flinch.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see numerous bodies barreling toward us from down his driveway. The door finally succumbs to the relentless aggression of our attacker and bursts open. The chaser stumbles down the few concrete steps and slams into the truck. Duke barks inside the cab. I keep the Remington shouldered and pick up the brick. I have to conserve my ammo.

Moving around the bed of the truck to the driver’s side, I slam the brick into the side of the chaser’s head. Its deformed skull cracks from the impact as it topples over onto its side. It isn’t dead, just dazed. It stumbles aimlessly in circles with no particular direction to head.

“Damn, bro,” Dawson exclaims as his eyes go wide. “That’s hardcore.”

“Start the truck. There’s more coming!” I kick the brick out of the way and head around the front of the truck.

“Ok, ok.” Dawson fires up the engine. His hands motion for me to hurry along. I swing the passenger side door open and hop inside the cab.

“Dude, that was amazing. You totally creamed that thing’s head.”

I give no reply as I peer into the side view mirror. I can see them charging this way. Their bodies have turned into some symbiotic creature full of rage and mindless aggression. It takes me a moment, but I recognize most of the faces within the horde.

“No way,” I mutter. “Ms. Granger. Mr. Larkin. Danny Thompson!”

“What are you rambling about, James?” Dawson glances into the rearview mirror and gasps. “Dude, my neighbors are chasers!”

Dawson puts the truck into reverse and slams the gas. The engine revs up, but we do not move.

“Why aren’t we moving!” I respond tersely.

“I don’t know! Give me a second to think,” Dawson yells back in protest. He slaps the steering wheel. He glances down and reaches toward the floorboard. “Forgot the parking brake.”

Multiple thuds resonate from the tailgate of the truck, sending both of our heads toward the back. There are three chasers staring right at us.

Ms. Granger’s pale and wrinkled face is peppered with blood as her mouth chomps up and down. Mr. Larkin and Danny Thompson start around the back end of the truck, then down the sides.

“Punch it, dude!” I urge as I move away from the door.

Dawson releases the brake and hits the gas. Ms. Granger disappears under the truck as we roll over her body. We jet out of the garage, and onto his driveway. She clamors on the concrete floor with both legs broken and her body mangled. She twists her head in our direction and reaches for us.

Mr. Larkin and Danny Thompson bolt out of the garage. Their arms claw at the air, mouths chomping up and down. Their eyes remain deadlocked on us. The chaser I smashed in the head gets to his feet and ambles after us as well.

A chaser rams into my side of the truck. The impact sends a jolt of fear down my spine, causing me to tense up. It beats on my window with its bloody fists. It opens its hands and scrapes its fingernails down the glass as it looks at me.

“Christ!” Dawson blurts out as he slams the brake.

“Go, go, go!” I yell, motioning for him to hit the gas.

Throwing it into drive, Dawson peels out in the gravel drive and heads toward the street. The back end of the truck fishtails, rocks firing from under the spinning tires like a machine gun.

A handful of chasers rush headlong toward us from the street. The creatures are multiplying rapidly. They run right into the front of the truck without pause. Dawson keeps his foot mashed to the floor as the chasers quickly vanish from sight.

“You might want to try to avoid hitting every single one of them. We don’t need the truck damaged to the point where it doesn’t run. Just a thought,” I offer as I glance back over my shoulder.

“I’ll tell you what. Next time, I’ll politely ask them to move out of the way. How does that sound?” Dawson counters in a condescending tone.

Dawson swerves and misses one chaser as we hit the two-lane street that runs along the front of his house. The truck gains traction and stops fishtailing. More of the creatures emerge from the wooded area to our left. They dash through the tall, swaying grass after us. The homes to our right show much of the same chaos, with the chasers in pursuit of any of Dawson’s neighbors that are trying to flee. There aren’t many, perhaps a handful who decided to brave it. Leaving his house and the chasers to fade off in the distance, we both exhale a sign of relief.

I glance at Duke who is laying in the back seat with his head draped over his front paws.

“You doing ok, boy?” I reach back and give his head a rub. He rises up to meet my hand. His coarse tongue gently licks my palm. He looks tired and worn out. I feel the same way.

“Okay, so I figure the closest gas station is roughly twenty or so minutes up the road. If it looks clear, we can stop and fuel up,” Dawson mentions as he points straight out of the windshield.

“And if it’s not? How far is the next one?” I pose.

“Not sure, but I know it’s a ways away.” Dawson shrugs his shoulders.

“Then let’s hope it’s not crawling with those things.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sitting there, watching the trees and displaced vehicles flash by, I run my fingers through Duke’s coat. All I can think about is Mom and Cindy, and how much I miss them. I know they made it to the cabin. They had to.

Although, seeing all of the abandoned cars sprawled over the roads here, causes me to doubt they did. I try and not let it get to me, but it’s hard. If I could just hear their voices for a minute, or even a few seconds, then I think that would ease my mind some.

“You ok?” Dawson inquires.

“Yeah, just wishing I could get a hold of my mom.” My eyes won’t leave the screen of my phone as I cradle it in my palm.

“Have you tried calling again?”

“Not yet. The cell signal has been up and down for some reason the past day. Not sure what is going on.”

I show Dawson the screen and point to the zero with a line through it. It suddenly changes to having a single bar of service available. Not sure if it’ll be enough to get through.

“It’s probably because of all this mess going on,” Dawson replies as we pass a car with a few chasers trapped inside. They strike the dingy windows, their large eyes looming at us as we pass by. “Why don’t you try again? We’ll be at the gas station here shortly.”

“Yeah, I guess it couldn’t hurt to try once more. I’m just getting tired of being let down. It’s wearing me out.” Reluctant, I pull up Mom’s number. A few bars of service appear on the screen. Hopefully, this time I’ll get through. Dialing her number, I say to myself, Please pickup, please pickup. It clicks, but doesn’t hang up. I’m connected.

“Mom?” A feeling of joy surges through me and I sit up straight. “Mom, are you ok? How’s Cindy?”

There’s no response. My phone dies. I lost the signal or something, but at least it connected.

“Well?” Dawson inquires as he adjusts the temperature controls on the dash.

“I got through this time, but she didn’t say anything. It could’ve been a bad connection or something, but at least it didn’t go directly to voicemail,” I respond.

“Oh, great,” Dawson mutters.

“What’s wrong?” I look up from my phone and see the gas station ahead on my right. There are cars all over the place, blocking us from getting to the pumps. Looks like I’ll have to try Mom again later.

Dawson stops the truck in the middle of the road. We both just stare at the congested parking lot before us without saying anything. I don’t see any movement, but the gas station is big. With all the cars scattered all over, it’s hard to get a good idea if it’s empty or not.

“What do you think, James?” Dawson asks as he puts the truck into park.

“Not sure, but I really don’t like the idea of leaving here without getting some gas and possibly coasting in on fumes to the next station. If we even make it that far,” I reply as I glance over at him.

“How are we going to get the truck fueled up, then? I don’t see any way to get close to the pumps. And us trying to move these cars out of the way isn’t an option.” Dawson motions with his right hand, pointing out all of the deserted vehicles blocking our way.

“Does your dad have a gas can or anything in the back?” I point back to the truck bed.

Dawson’s lips purse together, brows slanted in as he strokes his chin. “No, I don’t think he does. Besides, do you know how long that would take running gas back and forth from the pump to the truck? That is, barring any run-ins with those things.”

“Yeah, I know it’ll eat up some time, but we really don’t have a choice in the matter right now, do we?” I turn in my seat to face Dawson. He’s leaning forward now with both forearms resting on the steering wheel.

“So, where are we going to find some gas cans at?” Dawson poses.

I glance to my right toward all the cars and the gas station itself. It should have one or more, right?

“So, we’re going to just go from car to car and search that building in hopes that there might be a gas can or two just lying around?” Dawson doesn’t seem to be on board with my plan. That much is evident from his large eyes and hand gestures.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“All right, screw it. Let’s do it.” Dawson removes the keys from the ignition and slides out of the truck. I give Duke’s back one last good deep rub and pat his head. “You ready to get out for a bit and stretch those legs?”

Looking up at me, Duke licks around his mouth and sits up. He hops up into the front of the cab and rests his body in my lap.

I open my door, allowing the mid-afternoon breeze to blow into the cab. Duke stands up and leaps from my lap to the ground.

“Stay close and don’t wander too far.”

Sniffing the air, and trailing his nose along the road, Duke runs over to a small patch of grass to handle his business. I slip out of the cab with only the Remington slung over my shoulder.

“No gas can back here,” Dawson informs from the bed of the truck. “And are we sure we want to walk through all of that?” he inquires one last time as he points to the jungle of abandoned cars.

“Right now, the only thing I’m sure of is getting to that cabin by any means necessary,” I retort as my hand grips the strap to the Remington.

“All right, bro, just thought I would ask one final time seeing that we’re more than likely going to get eaten alive. Remember when a chaser is cleaning the skin from your bones, that I told you so.” Dawson doesn’t crack a smile or anything suggesting he is being facetious. Even with the terse response, I know he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Regardless of how much he may despise my plan.

“Ever the optimist, aren’t you?” I nudge him with my elbow.

“Just keeping it real, James.” Dawson walks past, stern face and all.

I remove the Remington from my shoulder and take the safety off. Dawson removes a handgun from behind his back and grips it with both hands.

“I didn’t know you had a handgun?”

“I don’t. This is my Dad’s. It’s a 9mm Berretta. He keeps it in his room next to his bed. I found it one day and so he showed me how to use it. I figured it would be better to have something a little smaller to carry around in case we get caught in tight quarters. I don’t plan on being made a meal by those things.” Dawson ejects the magazine and looks down over the ammo. He slaps it back in and cocks the gun then shoots me an irritated glance. “You ready to do this?”

“I’m ready to get the gas and get out of here,” I respond. “Do you want to take the lead?”

“I’ll let you take this one. I’ll get the next one.”

I whistle for Duke who weaves in through the cars to my side. I give him a pat on the side and rub his head. “Stay close, boy.”

He gives a good shake and trots ahead of me. His nose instinctively trains to the ground. I follow close behind him with Dawson bringing up the rear.

As we pass the abandoned vehicles, I peer into each one, looking for anything of value. Right now, I’m more concerned with finding gas cans and stuff of that nature than anything else. So far, we’re coming up empty.

Dawson stops and cracks open a door to a dingy white Nissan Altima. He leans inside and grabs a necklace that is hanging from the rear-view mirror.

I pause and turn toward him. “What are you doing?”

“You never know when we might need something to barter with out here,” Dawson retorts as he pushes the jewelry into his pant pocket.

I roll my eyes and keep going.

“What?” he asks with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Nothing.”

We finish going through the rest of the vehicles as we near the pumps. Dawson has managed to pilfer some not so useful items. I keep quiet and let him do whatever.

“You know, I just noticed something, James.”

“And what’s that?” I lift up a blue tarp from the bed of a gray truck and skim over the contents.

“There’s a ton of cars here, and we haven’t seen a single body, dead or alive.”

I lower the tarp, not finding anything of real use. “Maybe things got so congested here and they didn’t have time to wait for it to thin out and they left on foot. Who knows?”

“Yeah, but it’s just kind of weird. Makes you wonder how long ago all this happened. The government must have moved quickly to keep the media quiet.” Dawson stops. He leans forward to probe the inside of a white sedan. He suddenly yelps and jumps back. Shaken, he trains his pistol at the chaser who has her face pressed against the window.

“Don’t fire. She’s trapped inside and no threat. The sound could attract more that are close by,” I urge.

“I really hate this,” Dawson mutters as he lowers the pistol to his side.

Duke runs over to the store and sniffs around the front of the building. I check the pumps, which seem to be operational. The lights on all three are lit up, indicating they have power.

“Okay. So, looks like we need to head inside the store,” I say, pointing over to where Duke is.

Dawson doesn’t want to go inside. That much is certain from the concerned expression flooding his sweaty face. “Do we have to? I bet if we keep looking out here, we’ll come across a gas can or something.”

I retrieve one of the handles from the pump and squeeze the silver handle. Nothing happens.

“It’s not just the gas can. I think we have to turn on the pumps to get the gas.”

Dawson points to the green hue of numbers.

“The pumps are already on.”

“I know they’re on, but it’s like when you get gas, you have to let the guy inside know what pump you want and how much. He then does whatever and sets the pump where you can start pumping the gas. Have you never seen your parents get gas before?” I ask while setting the handle back in its resting place.

“Yeah, I have, but never paid attention to every single step the person was doing,” Dawson retorts. He removes one of the hoses from the pump station and squeezes the trigger, acting as though he doesn’t believe me.

Nothing happens.

He puts it back and gives me a look that says it all. “You know, for once I would really like to catch a break,” Dawson croaks with a heavy sigh.

“Hey, we’re alive, aren’t we?” I respond.

“True, but taking risks like this may shorten our lifespan.”

“Do you want to wait out here while Duke and I check out the store, or are you coming with us?” I point in the direction of the store.

Dawson shudders at the thought of going inside the building. “No, I would rather be out here in the open than in there.”

“Ok. Keep an eye out for any chasers, and look around for some gas cans while you’re at it. If you see anything, let me know, all right?” I start toward the building as Dawson agrees with a tilt of his head.

“All right. Be careful in there.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I walk away from the pump, and head for the front door of the store. Duke’s nose is still trained to the ground, until he sees me. He rushes over to my side and rubs against my leg.

I’m super nervous and scared, but I focus on what needs to be done. I take a deep breath. If I’m going to get to Mom and Cindy, I have to do this. That’s all that matters.

I test the door. It budges, but barely. I continue to tug, but it doesn’t open. Guess it’s jammed? Who knows. Either way, we’re not going in through the front. Damn it.

I sigh, and peer inside the dimly lit space. Most of the lights are out. Great. I press my face to the cool glass and try to look around to see if I can spot any movement.

Most of the store looks to have been tossed. Food and other odds and ends cover the floors. The shelves appear to be bare, ransacked of anything edible.

“Come on, boy. Let’s go around the side here, and see if we can get in.”

We leave the front door and head to the right. Duke trots ahead of me and stops at the corner of the building, waiting for me to catch up. He’s not growling or giving any signs that a chaser or some stranger is lurking about, which stays my nerves.

I cautiously poke my head out and take a look. The coast looks clear. We move on, keeping close to the wall. We make it around to the backside of the building and find a lone door.

Duke waits patiently at the edge of the store. His body is poised and tense, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Dad did an amazing job of training Duke. I’m grateful for that right now.

I get alongside him, and take a look down the overgrown weeds that are pushed up against the building. It’s not too bad, but enough to possibly conceal someone that might be hiding within the vegetation.

I pat Duke on his side, signaling for him to go on. He takes it slow and steady with his nose to the ground as I follow close behind.

A slight breeze whips the blades of grass in every direction. A bad smell claims the air. Something rotting perhaps? Similar to trash that has been confined to a trash can for some time. My face contorts in disgust. I keep my guard up.

Duke stops suddenly. His ears perk up. He’s motionless and staring straight ahead.

“What is it, boy?”

A low growl and I bring up the Remington. After a few seconds of waiting for whatever it is, I hear a rustling noise.

My heart beats faster. Blood rushes to the tips of my fingers and toes as I cautiously inch along the back side of the building. I hold my hand out to Duke, motioning for him to stay put. He complies.

Hugging the cool brick wall, I peek in the direction of the noise. My veins swell with adrenaline, pumping hard and fast as I crane my neck. My fingers grip the Remington tighter as I seek for the disturbance. A raccoon darts out from between two metal trash cans and runs past me. I mumble some choice words and try to catch my breath. I’m glad that’s all it was. Duke races after the coon.

“Come on, boy, let it go.” Duke halts his pursuit and comes back to my side.

The weeds turn to pavement. The trash stewing in the dumpster seems to be the source of the atrocious smell. I was thinking of food, but not anymore. Doesn’t seem to be bothering Duke any, though. He sniffs around the base of the trash and hikes his leg. My feelings exactly.

The back door to the building is on the other side of the dumpster. It’s ajar. Blood trails out and around to the opposite side of the store.

As we approach, I notice bloody hand prints around the door handle and wall. Not what I wanted to see. We could stop, get back to the truck, and make for the next station, but it could be just as bad, or worse, we could run out of gas and get stranded out here.

We’re here, and haven’t seen any chasers roaming around. We just need to keep our eyes peeled and ears open.

“Stay close,” I quietly speak to Duke.

Grabbing the door, I gently pull it open far enough for us to get in. Duke goes first, and I follow close behind. The back room is dark and quiet. Some light from the store’s main area shines through the two small windows on the double doors on the opposite side of the stockroom.

Water drips from somewhere, adding to the already creepy ambience. I reach for my pack to get my flashlight, but remember that it’s in the cab of the truck. I’ve got my phone in my pocket and a flashlight app that will have to do.

I pull it out and turn it on. Surprisingly enough, the phone gives off a good bit of light. It’s not as good as the flashlight, but beggars can’t be choosers at this point.

Bringing the phone up, I pause and sweep it over the periphery of the stockroom. There are all sorts of boxes and other miscellaneous junk scattered all over the stockroom’s floor. It’s in complete disarray. Looks like looters or whoever have already searched the area. Twelve packs of soda lay dented and dispersed on the unkempt off-white linoleum floor. Among the mess are crushed Twinkie packages.

I catch sight of the blood and follow it with my light. It veers off to the left. Duke’s tail wags.

“You got something?” I ask, carefully walking over to where he is.

I shine the light, and find Duke just staring at what seems to be a janitor’s closet. Blood is smeared all over the door with streaks running in every direction. I grab him by his collar, and gently pull him to the side. I’m debating on whether or not I want to open the door. It’s hard to tell what’s lurking on the other side. Whoever it is, the likelihood of them being injured appears to be high. The problem is, have they been bitten.

“What do you think, boy? Should I op-”

The door bursts open, knocking me backward into a tower of boxes. The Remington is freed from my hands. Duke growls at whatever emerged from the closet. His aggressive barking is quickly muffled by the door slamming shut, and sealing him inside the confined closet space.

“Hey, pal, if you’re here to try and kill me or whatever, it’s not going to work out too well for you.” A man tosses the boxes that are on top of me to the side, and grabs me by my shirt. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t kill-” He stops and just stares at me.

I don’t say a word. Not sure if it’s because I’m scared to death or just don’t want to get this guy any more riled up than he already is.

“You’re just a kid,” he states in surprise. He releases my shirt and stands up. He’s dressed in some camo military clothes. Some blood has stained his top right chest area—more than likely from whomever the blood belonged to on the outside of the door.

“You alone?” he asks as he holds his hand out.

I take it and get back to my feet. His lip is busted and his cheek bruised.

“No. My friend is outside. We’re looking for some containers to fill up with gas.”

“Sorry about that. I got jumped by a few pricks, and then had some of those things chase me in here,” he says as he points to the cramped closet behind him. “You haven’t seen any of them out there, have you?”

“No one is out there. Chasers or otherwise,” I say. Duke barks and claws at the closet door behind him. “Can I let my dog out now?”

“Yeah, sure. Wait, it’s not going to attack me, is it?” he hesitantly asks.

“Well, you were kind of an a-hole and all so I make no guarantees.” The man narrows his eyes at me. His brow furrows and lips purse together. I stride over to the closet, where Duke is scratching at the interior of the door with his claws. I grab the doorknob and twist. Duke bolts out and rushes toward the stranger. His ears are lowered, his teeth visible from under his snout as he growls at him.

“It’s ok, boy. For now, he’s cool.” It takes Duke a minute, but he finally eases up and sits down. He stays close to my side, rubbing against my leg, while keeping his eyes on the man. I retrieve my Remington from the floor and toss it back over my shoulder.

He looks toward the double doors and back over his shoulder to the exit.

“Expecting someone?”

“No. Just keeping an eye out for, what did you call them? Was it chasers?”

“Yeah. At least, that’s what they were called on this video me and my friend watched,” I respond with a nod. “We didn’t see any out there, but they can pop up pretty quickly.”

“Yeah, well, I really don’t want to hang around here for too long. Especially without a gun.” He cuts his eyes toward the Remington.

I grip the strap a bit tighter, holding it close to me.

“Don’t worry, kid, if I wanted to take your gun, I would have.”

That’s true. He had me dead to rights on the ground and could’ve done whatever. Doesn’t mean I trust him, though. “I’m James. This is Duke.”

“Tony.”

We shake hands this time, bridging the recent awkward gap.

“Do you know if the store out there is clear?” I inquire with a nod in the main store’s direction. If any were inside, we would’ve already found out with the racket we were just causing.

“No clue. I never made it inside. This is as far as I got.” Tony glances back to the double doors.

“I need to find the controls to the pumps so we can get the gas flowing. I’d think it would be behind the counter at the front.”

“You’ve got a vehicle out there?” Tony inquires as he cuts his eyes back to me.

I pause before responding. I don’t exactly want to give up too much more than I already have. Right now, that truck is the only thing that I have in order to get to my mom and Cindy, and I’m not sure if he is fishing for what we may have.

“We do a couple of miles back. Ran out of gas on the highway. Not sure if that’s it or if there was something else wrong with it.” I allow the lie to flow from my lips as if it’s the truth.

Tony nods, his eyes lingering in my direction. I can’t tell if he’s buying what I’m telling him, or if he’s plotting to kill me and Dawson. I hate to think wrong of people, but when things go south, good people can do bad things.

“Come on, I’ll give you a hand,” Tony finally says as he heads toward the double doors.

I’m glad he’s in front of me and not behind. I slip the Remington free from my shoulder, and we follow his lead.

Tony pauses at the door. He looks through the small window. His eyes roll from side to side. Duke groans a little, yawning and scratching his coat.

“You know how to use that gun, kid?” Tony inquires.

“Yeah, I’m a crack shot with it.” I may be over embellishing skillset some, but he doesn’t know that. “Do you see anything?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing in there. Stay close to me and watch our backs.” Tony pushes the door open. The hinges squeak in the cold, dead silence. He puts one foot in front of the other carefully and heads out into the store. I give one last look back down the stockroom before heading out as well.

Tony pauses while he holds the swinging door open for me. “You coming, kid?”

“My name is not kid. It’s James,” I flatly respond.

“Well, James, don’t get too trigger happy and shoot me in the back with that rifle.”

I place my hand on the door as Tony continues on. He seems to be a bit of prick, but that’s something I can look past for now since he is giving me a hand. Duke doesn’t care for him much either. I can hear him growling every so often under his breath as he stares at him.

We move out into the main part of the store, staying close to the refrigeration units along the wall. Drinks, food, and other items litter the floor. They’re crushed and ripped open, their contents spread all over the sticky white linoleum flooring. Shelves are barren of anything I’d want to investigate further.

The lights flicker for a moment. The store becomes dark, then slowly grows bright once more as we near the front.

“What was that?” I stop cold. The Remington plays over the open space as my hands tighten around the forestock.

“The backup generator might be on the fritz. Let’s just hurry up and get this done.” Tony stops suddenly, halting me with his hand. He points to the ground with his finger. A pool of blood sweeps off to the left and around one of the shelves.

“Wait right here,” he whispers.

I grab Duke by his collar and hold him near me as Tony inches toward the end of the aisle. By now, I’m just ready to get this done, and get back outside, so we can pump this gas and be on our way.

Tony pauses briefly, and then moves out. Duke and I slowly work our way up the aisle and stop. I glance around the shelving, and find Tony kneeling next to a man lying face down. He’s feeling his neck. I can’t tell whether the man is alive or not, but from the amount of blood pooled under his body, I would say no.

“Is he dead?” I whisper.

“Yeah, he’s pretty dead,” Tony replies sarcastically. He strips the corpse free of the knife that’s attached to his hip. “Wait right there while I get the gas ready to pump.”

The lights flicker again and go out. The emergency lights flood the interior in a red hue from the corners of the store. There’s still a good bit of daylight coming in from the outside, but the front counter looks to be in the dark.

“Christ, can I not catch a break,” Tony grumbles. Flipping the blade about, with the serrated edge facing outward, Tony approaches the counter with caution. He stops, then peers over the counter.

Duke groans and moans, then starts to growl under his breath as he twists his head back.

“What is it, boy?”

He breaks free from my grasp, and runs back to the double doors, disappearing from sight.

“Duke?” I quietly yell. “Duke, come here now!”

I start after him. I hear some rustling from within the coolers next to me. I take a few steps back and train the Remington at the refrigeration units. I scan over each section, trying to see what caused the sound. With the power out, the coolers are partially lit; leaving most of the units in the dark.

Click... click!

I track down the noise to the third cooler down from where I am and crack open the door. Cool air rushes out and brushes against my skin, sending a chill over my body.

Click!

The fan in the upper right corner twitches back and forth, but doesn’t budge. Guess with the power going out it messed it up or something. Not that this place looks like it’s in top running condition anyway.

“James?” Tony says aloud.

“Yeah, sorry. Duke ran off after something, and I was going after him,” I glance back in Tony’s direction.

“I got the pumps primed and ready. We’re good to-”

A figure emerges from the shadows of the small kitchen that’s adjoined to the front counter and rushes Tony. It grabs him and forces him back up against the wall. It’s teeth chatter as it tries to get closer to him.

I bring the Remington up and try to get a clear shot of its head. Between it being dark and the figure thrashing about, I can’t line up a clean shot.

“I am seriously about done with this day,” Tony growls as he stabs the man multiple times in the stomach. It does little to phase the corpse who’s still surging forward. “You got a shot, kid?”

“If you can get a little bit of space between him and you, then I think I can take him down.” I struggle to obtain a clear shot.

The glass behind me shatters as something explodes out of the cooler and lands on my back. Its bulk knocks me hard into the shelving in front of me. Bottles of coke bounce off the floor. Some puncture and spray the sticky beverage all over me.

“Hold on, kid,” Tony shouts. The chaser grabs me from behind and pulls me free from the shelves.

Its warm breath brushes over my neck as it pulls me in closer. I struggle to break free, ramming my elbows into its side and thrashing about. Tony’s still fighting with the chaser behind the counter. I only get a brief glimpse before it places its hand across my face, distorting my view.

“Duke!” I yell, but my voice is muffled from its grungy fingers across my lips.

Tossing my head back in a frenzy of panic, I connect with its face and break its hold. I fall forward to the ground and scavenge through the smashed junk food in search of the Remington.

It should be right here close to me. Items that were on the shelf now litter the floor, making it hard to locate the gun.

There it is!

I knock the flattened bags of chips and open packages of candy out of the way, and grab the Remington. Getting to my feet, I bring the rifle to bear and fire. The blast tears half of the chaser’s face off, its flesh splattering against the glass.

The chaser stumbles backward, but doesn’t go down. I ready for another shot. Tony stabs it in the forehead and releases the blade.

“Save your ammo,” he says winded.

It crumbles to the floor, its mouth opening and closing a few more times before stopping.

“Nice work, kid. You held your own pretty good. There for a moment, I thought for sure you were a goner.” Tony pats me on the shoulder.

“Thanks.” I place my hands on my knees and try to catch my breath.

“Where’s that dog of yours?” Tony inquires as he looks to his right, then left.

“I’m not sure. Duke!” I call once more, craning my neck to see if I can spot him.

He bolts around the corner. As soon as he spots me, he slows his pace and folds his ears down. He creeps up to me and glances up, giving that sad puppy dog look. I scold him with my finger. I’m pissed, but more so for the fact that I was afraid something had happened to him.

Bending down, I rub the crown of his head as he licks my face. “Don’t do that again boy, ok?” A single bark and a lick to my hand shows he complies.

“Well, now that you and Lassie have gotten that straightened out, let’s get out of here.” Tony grabs the blade buried deep inside the chaser’s skull and places his boot on its face. A single yank and it comes free. He wipes the thick blood off on its shirt and places the blade back into its sheath.

“Are you ok?” Dawson asks as we come out through the front doors.

“We’re fine. Had a run in with a few chasers, but we took care of them,” I respond while pointing to myself and Tony.

“I can see that. You got some blood on your face.” Dawson rubs his index finger up and down on his right cheek as his gaze shifts to Tony.

I lift my shirt and swipe it across my face, trying to remove the blood that apparently splattered on me. Hopefully, none of it got inside my mouth. Would that even matter?

“Who is this?” Dawson’s hand tightens a bit more over the Berretta.

“Tony; Dawson. Dawson; Tony,”

“Nice to meet you, kid,” Tony says, extending his hand.

“Yeah, likewise.” Dawson cautiously shakes his hand, his eyes narrowing at me.

“We got the pumps turned on and ready to go. Did you find any gas cans or containers?” Tony looks down at the ground and past Dawson.

“I haven’t found any yet. There’s a Humvee over there I haven’t gone through yet. I heard a gunshot from inside the store and rushed back over here. I thought something had happened to you.” Dawson glares at me.

“Man, I’m surprised the Humvee is still here. I thought for sure they would’ve taken it,” Tony says as he walks off toward the truck. “Be right back.”

“Where the hell did you find that guy?” Dawson whispers. His voice is laced with revulsion.

“He was in the stockroom of the store inside a closet. I guess some guys jumped him or something like that and some chasers were after him as well.” I point back to the store.

“Dude gives me the creeps. Looks shady and all.” Dawson briefly cuts his attention back over his shoulder to Tony, who’s looking at one of the vehicles.

“Well, he just saved my life, so I’m willing to give him a chance.”

“You didn’t tell him about the truck, did you?” Dawson narrows his eyes as he waits for my response.

“I told him that it broke down a few miles back, and that we weren’t sure if it ran out of gas or if it was something else,” I inform, somewhat irritated by the question.

“Okay, good. You might trust him, but I don’t. For all we know, he could kill us and take it.” Dawson’s tone increases with every word as he throws his hands up into the air.

“Will you chill the freak out,” I snap. I grab his arms and pull them back down. “The only person here acting like a psycho is you. Maybe he’s just trying to get out of town as well. For now, let’s give him a chance. If we see it’s going in the wrong direction, then we’ll cut him loose, okay?”

“All right man, but I hope you’re right,” Dawson replies with a shake of his head. “This is all on you, James.”

“Fair enough,” I counter with a shrug.

“What does Duke think about him? That dog seems to have a good judge of character.” Dawson shifts his gaze down to Duke who’s sitting by my side.

“He’s still on the fence with him, but he was the same with you when we first met if you remember. Now he’s accepted you. Mostly.” I smile at Dawson and gently punch him in the arm as he tries to not smile back.

“More like tolerating me.” Dawson reaches for Duke’s head, but is met with a low growl and sharp fangs. He quickly yanks his hand back and shakes his head. “Yeah. He is super sweet on me.”

“Did he bite you?” I pose.

“No.” Dawson continues to look down at Duke.

“See. Progress.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“ Those guys that were after me trashed my Humvee. I got two gas cans, though that they didn’t take. Should be more than enough to get your truck some fuel and have some extra to throw in the back.” Tony says while holding two red gas cans in the air.

“Awesome. Let’s get this done, and get the hell out of here,” Dawson adds with jubilee. “I don’t like just hanging out here.”

Dawson grabs the cans from Tony and sits them on the ground next to each other. He removes the handle from the housing and starts pumping into the first can.

Duke’s ears perk back up, his body becoming tense once more. He looks to Dawson’s left and starts growling.

“What’s wrong with the dog?” Tony peers to the left, back toward the store.

“Whatcha got, boy?” I pat his side. Tony pulls a gun from behind his back.

“Don’t move.” Tony points the gun in Dawson’s direction. Dawson looks up, his face flooding with terror as his arms fly up into the air.

“I told you that we couldn’t trust this asshole. He went back to his truck and got that damn gun to rob and kill us.”

“Tony, what the hell!” I yell as Duke barks his head off. “So now you’re just going to kill two kids in cold blood like it’s nothing?”

Tony’s face is stone cold, his lips straight as an arrow. His hands are steady, eyes locked dead ahead at Dawson’s skull.

Before I get the balls to do something that will probably get us both killed, Tony fires a single shot off. I look away, unable to bear the thought of Dawson being shot in the head. He screams, which turns my stomach inside out.

Something heavy plops to the ground, and then Dawson mutters something. My eyes crack back open. I turn toward him.

“That was close, huh?” Tony lowers the gun to his side. “Pretty good shot too.”

Dawson’s right ear is bleeding. “What!” Dawson’s fingers dig inside his ear canal. He stares at me with a bewildered gaze. I point toward the ground as he looks behind him.

“Holy hell!” He jumps in the air and scrambles to get away from the chaser that is laying mere inches from his feet.

“Thanks to Duke here, I spotted it through the window of that Camaro over there and kept an eye on it. I was hoping it wouldn’t venture this way, but it did.” Tony places the gun behind him and reaches his hand out to Dawson who’s still messing with his ear. “Sorry if I scared you, kid. Didn’t want to cause any panic or anything, and have either of you do something stupid.”

“Yeah, thanks. Now I have this damn ringing in my ear,” Dawson yells back.

“That should go away shortly,” Tony reassures.

Dawson takes Tony’s hand and shakes it one time before pulling his hand back.

“Listen, I might come across as an asshole, but I’m no murderer. Well, not of the living or people who don’t deserve it anyway,” Tony assures.

“Glad to hear it. You had me wondering.” I notice gas running out of the top of the gas can and let go of Duke’s collar. I retrieve the gas handle and remove the nozzle. I sever the flow as the potent fumes fill the air. I slide the nozzle into the remaining can and begin pumping once more.

“I’d hurry it up there, James. Looks like that gunshot attracted some unwanted attention.” Tony places his hand just above his brow. His head goes from left to right.

I top off the can I’m filling and stow the handle back into place. Screwing the caps on, I get to my feet and notice multiple chasers running through the tall weeds on the left side of the store. I count two, now three, no wait, five total barreling our way.

Duke’s nose is in the air and ears on end. He must’ve picked up their scent as well. His body is rigid, muscles taut as he stares at the group of chasers coming our way.

Bark! Bark!

I start to remove the Remington from my shoulder, but Tony puts a restrictive hand on the barrel.

“Save it, kid. Get your friend and fall back to the road,” Tony says.

“What are you going to do?” I inquire, standing next to Tony.

“Hopefully, buy us some time. Now move!”

“Come on, Duke,” I call out while heading over to Dawson. He jumps when I grab his shoulder. “We need to get back to the road now! Grab one of the gas cans, will ya?”

Dawson shakes his head. His hand cradles his injured ear. We each pick up a can, and lug them through the maze of cars. I look back over my shoulder while on the move. Tony removes the gas handle from the pump and holds it out in front of him.

“Oh, no, he isn’t going to do what I think he is,” I mutter.

Tony sprays the gasoline all over the store’s front, and the ground in front on him.

“Pick up the pace, Dawson. We have to move faster,” I urge.

Dawson and I weave through the cars. We make it to the road, and stand alongside the truck. We toss the gas cans in the back. They hit the bed with a dull thud. Duke moves to my side, still barking at the incoming threat.

Tony jumps and slides over the hoods of the some of the vehicle while sprinting around the others as the chasers close the gap.

“Get in the truck, dude.” Dawson pounds his fists against its side as the stampede of infected charge our way.

I glance in Tony’s direction. “What about Tony? He’s going to know that we lied.”

“I’m more concerned with putting distance between us and this gas station. If he’s about to set this place off like a roman candle then we need to be on the move and heading in the opposite direction.” Dawson opens the passenger side and hops in. Duke quickly follows and sits next to him in the middle.

“Start it up, James!” Tony yells as a fire erupts in front of the store.

I get to the driver’s side and fire up the truck. Duke is still barking, which is kind of getting annoying. I quiet him down as Tony hops into the bed of the truck.

He slaps the back window repeatedly and yells, “Go!”

Slamming the gas pedal down, we peel out of there. A handful of chasers run right through the raging inferno, igniting their bodies. They make it a few more strides before falling to the ground, their clothes consumed by the flames.

The remainder of the pack veers off. They weave through the cars and onto the road. Tony nudges the back window open. The smell of gasoline fills the inside of the cab.

“That was close, boys,” Tony says as the gas station erupts in a massive blast, shaking the truck.

In the rear-view mirror, the flames engulf the vehicles and the surrounding area. The remaining infected chasing after us fall farther and farther behind as I speed up. Eventually, they’re nothing more than a spec in my mirror.

We drive about another fifteen minutes, and I pull over to the side of the road and kill the engine. The gas gauge hugs the empty mark. The warning light has been flashing for the last five minutes.

“How are your ears doing?” I inquire as I glance to Dawson.

He massages his ear and opens his mouth. “The ringing is not as bad now, but my head still hurts.”

“Well, take it easy. I’m going to fill up the truck and check on Tony. Then, we’ll get going again.”

Dawson leans his head back against the headrest. His eyes close and his hand rests on top of his forehead. Duke seems to have calmed down as well. He lays close to Dawson with his head resting in his lap. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t shocked at the sight. Never thought Duke would come around, but glad he has.

In the distance, thick black smoke billows up into the sky from the store. That dude is one crazy sob, that’s for sure. Better check on him.

I step out of the truck. Tony’s already filling up the gas tank. He’s sweating something fierce, beads racing down his face and mixing in with the dirt and grime coating his skin. I imagine the cool, brisk air will stay the heat he’s feeling.

“How’s your friend doing?” Tony inquires as he elevates the gas can higher.

“He’s fine. I think he’s more shaken than anything.” I glance through the back window. All I can see is the crown of his head.

“That’s good. Pretty lucky you came across this truck and all.” Tony shoots me a quick glance, our eyes briefly connecting before he looks away.

My body slumps over some and my deceiving eyes train to the ground. “Yeah, about that. Sorry about lying to you. Didn’t know if we could trust you or not.”

Tony meets my shameful expression with a shrug of his shoulders. “No worries, James. Can’t say I blame you. You have to protect what you have, especially now. Besides, when things go to crap, trust is a valuable thing. Without it, we’re just as bad as those things.”

I raise my head. “So, can we trust you?”

Tony gives the gas can a shake, draining what remainder of fuel is left inside into the tank of the truck. He removes the nozzle and tosses it back into the bed of the truck.

“What do you think, James?” Tony grabs the gas cap and secures it into place.

“No,” I reply. “I think you’re a bit on the crazy side, but if you wanted to kill us, you would’ve done it already.”

“Mind if I have a smoke?” Tony moves around to the back of the truck. He lowers the tailgate, and fishes about in his pant pockets, then moves up to his camo breast pocket that is bulged out. He removes a pack of cigarettes—Marlboro 100s, Gold pack.

“I haven’t had a smoke in nearly five years,” he says, hopping onto the tailgate.

I lean against the truck and lace my arms across my chest. “My dad used to smoke too when he was in the service. He always told me that it calmed his nerves and helped him stay focused. Took the edge off.”

“Your dad was in the service? What branch?” Tony inquires as he looks at me.

“He was in the Marines. He did a lot of black ops, off the books kind of stuff. I asked him many times about what he did, but he never told me. Partly because he couldn’t, but I think he also wanted to shield me from the things he did, good and bad,” I say.

“God, there seemed to be more bad stuff than good. After a while, it wears on you. The lines become blurred, and you start to lose yourself if you’re not careful. It’s important to remember that life is valuable, James.” Slapping the box against the palm of his hand, Tony tears open the top. He pulls a cigarette out. Staring off into space, he slips it between his lips and pauses. My dad had that same look at times when he thought about those days, remembering where he was and the things he did.

“You okay?” I softly inquire with a tilt of my head.

“Yeah, kid.” Tony ignites the red fluorescent lighter, and torches the end of the tobacco rich stick. Taking a deep drag, he closes his eyes and exhales the smoke. “Man, never thought I’d miss that.”

I ask, “Does everyone that’s in the service smoke?”

“Smoke, drink, chase a little tail,” Tony replies with a chuckle and grin. “It’s hard not to pick up some bad habits. Before I went into the service, I didn’t smoke or drink, but your dad was right. Sometimes, you just need something to take the edge off, regardless of what it is. Want one?”

Want one? The last time I attempted to smoke was a few years back. I got into Dad’s pack and snuck one outside. Before I could even light it up, Mom caught me and went off. Man, she was so pissed. I think Dad got an ear full as well. Still, I’m curious, though.

“Sure.”

Tony tosses the pack to me. He has that white and gold stick clutched tightly between his lips. I pull one free and stick it in my mouth. It tastes bad already. The smell is less than to be desired, but maybe it’ll get better?

He gives me a light. My lips suck on the end. The smoke builds inside my mouth. It hits me hard, gagging me at first and making it difficult to breathe. I cough deeply and repeatedly, trying to get some air.

“The first time is always a bitch, kid. Take it slow.” Tony motions with his hands to pace myself.

Blowing the smoke out, I clear my throat and try to regain my coolness. I take another drag, this time taking it slow and not as deep.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” I reply with a cough or two. It tastes horrible. I don’t recall ever having anything as foul as this in my life. Not sure why anyone would want to do this. I guess for some, you just get used to it.

Tony finishes off the last little bit of his cigarette. He presses the end into the tailgate, putting out the bud, flicks it onto the road, and hops down from the truck’s bed.

“Well, seeing that I no longer have a ride and we seem to be having a pretty good rapport here, would you mind if I tagged along with you and your friend?”

I know Dawson would probably say no before Tony could finish speaking, but I think it might not be a bad idea to keep him around. Besides, he didn’t really need to ask and if he wanted to, he could take the truck from us.

“I think we have some room in the cab if you want to come up there,” I offer.

“All right, then,” Tony replies with a smile.

Putting the tailgate up, I walk back to the driver’s side of the truck and open the backseat door. We have some food and other odds and ends in the seats which I shove over to give some room.

“What are you doing?” Dawson moans from his semi reclined position.

“I’m making some room back here for me to sit,” I respond as I push our rations and other items to the side some.

“Why are you sitting back-” Dawson stops talking as he spots Tony standing outside next to the truck. I can tell he’s not happy by the heavy breathing and the long drawn out sigh. He’ll get over it.

“Tony’s coming with us. I figure it would be better if he drove since he’s an adult,” I say.

“Listen, James, as much as I want to pick up every-” Dawson pauses and looks over to Tony. “Can you give us a second?”

“Sure,” Tony replies, stepping away from the truck.

“As much as I want to pick up every random hitchhiker and pray that they don’t slit our throats the first chance they get, I don’t want him tagging along with us,” Dawson says.

“It’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it,” I calmly respond as I clear enough space on the seat.

“He nearly took my head off earlier,” Dawson sharply snaps.

“He saved your life too and just nicked your ear. Maybe you need to show a little gratitude, man,” I tersely respond back. “He stopped one of those things from making you a snack.”

“I am grateful. I just don’t want him tagging along with us anymore. Besides, this is my truck. Don’t forget that.” Dawson stares out the front window.

“You know, you’re right. This is your truck.” I grab my gear and remove it from the backseat. “Come on, boy.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Dawson’s head twists back toward me with a bewildered look filling his face.

“Walking until I can find my own transportation.”

Duke jumps out of the cab and rushes to my side.

In disbelief, Dawson shakes his head. “Really, dude? You’re going to walk to your mom and sister with those things crawling all over the place because I don’t want that creepy Marine guy with us?”

“If I need to, yes. You coming?” I ask Tony.

He says nothing as the three of us start walking, leaving Dawson alone in the truck. I might have overreacted a bit, but if I know Dawson, he’ll get my point.

“Listen, James, I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t want to cause any problems between you and your friend. I can find my own way from here,” Tony solemnly says.

“It’s not a problem, Tony. He’s just being a dick and hardheaded. Just like when we were in school.”

Duke runs ahead of us, sniffing the ground and trailing off to the left into a patch of weeds. I hear the squeaking of the truck door and Dawson’s ever annoying heavy breathing.

“James, hold up!” Dawson yells.

We keep walking. I don’t give as much as a twitch or turn of my head.

“Dude, seriously.”

“I already told you I’m done, man,” I shout back while keeping my steady pace and my focus dead ahead.

“All right, man.” Dawson grabs me by my shoulder. I turn around and peer at him with pursed lips. “Sorry for being a douche bag back there. There’s been a lot that’s happened in the past few days. To be completely honest, I’m scared out of my mind. Right now, you and Duke are the closest thing I’ve got to family, and I don’t want to lose that.”

“I get it. I’m scared too, but right now we need to stick together if we hope to make it through this,” I sneer. Dawson is my best friend, but right now, he’s just getting on my last nerve.

Tony moves off on the side of the road, giving us a little space. He pets Duke and plays fetch with him.

“Looks like he’s warmed up to him rather quickly,” Dawson comments as Duke runs after a stick that Tony threw.

“He’s different with everybody. Some he gets comfortable with faster than others,” I reply with a smirk, nudging Dawson in the side.

“Whatever, dude,” Dawson scoffs.

I ask, “So, we good?”

Dawson nods. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Good. Now stop being a prick,” I say, playfully slapping Dawson in the face. I catch his wounded ear by accident.

“Christ, man.” Dawson clutches his ear with a grimace of pain. “Thanks a lot. It was starting to feel better.”

My hand covers my mouth as I grab his shoulder. “Sorry man, didn’t mean to get the ear, just your face.”

“Whatever. Can we get going now?” Dawson responds, his face contorted with discomfort.

“Sure. Let me get Tony and Duke real quick.”

Holding his black and blue ear, that is slightly puffy and caked with a thin layer of blood, Dawson heads back to the truck.

“Is everything ok?” Tony inquires as he kneels down.

I glance back to Dawson who is heading for the truck. “Yeah, we got everything straightened out.”

Tony rubs the top of Duke’s head, Duke’s tongue lashing out and trying to get his hand.

“Looks like you and Duke are getting along better,” I observe.

“He’s a pretty good pup. You’re lucky to have him.” Tony scratches underneath Duke’s snout.

“He can be a pain at times, but I don’t know what I would do without him,” I respond while looking down at him.

Duke gives a single bark and sits down on his hind legs. He flips around and digs into his backside, his teeth chomping through his thick fur.

“Come on, Duke, let’s get going.” I pat my leg which ceases his festering itch. He gets to his feet and runs over to the truck. Tony and I follow suit, watching Duke as he hops inside the cab next to Dawson who has his head resting against the seat, his eyes barely open.

I load up into the backseat and slam the door. “The keys are in the ignition.”

Tony gets in and shuts his door. He glances over at Dawson and holds out his hand. “Thanks for letting me tag along with you two.”

“Yeah, no problem. Sorry for being an ass and all. Someone shot me in the ear.” Dawson replies, elevating his eyebrows.

Tony snickers. “Man, what kind of person would do that?”

We all chuckle. The mood changes from a storm of tension to that of a subtle breeze of easement.

“So where are we heading?” Tony adjusts the rear-view mirror, and moves his seat back some as he gets situated.

“Keep heading down this road. We’ll be on it for a while,” Dawson says.

“Sounds good.” Tony fires up the engine and puts it into drive. We take off, leaving the plume of black smoke behind us.

CHAPTER SEVETEEN

Deafening is the silence inside our heads.

That’s what my English teacher, Mrs. Pritchet, used to say to her students who didn’t pay attention, or who seemed lost in space. At the time, I never grasped what she really meant. Not until now.

Sitting here in the backseat, with my head resting against the narrow glass and my feet propped up on the seat, I try to relax and enjoy the first bit of peace we’ve had in the last twelve hours.

Dawson’s snoring up a storm. Duke is doing much the same. Tony’s got his window down and the radio scanning for any stations that come in clearly. Most are filled with static, or the crackle of a voice here and there.

My thoughts start to drift about, bouncing from the past to the present. Like a recap of my life, the good and the awful play inside my head.

I see Mom and Dad outside, standing together and looking out to the mountains off in the distance, while Cindy is on the couch next to me playing with her dolls. She’s so happy, singing some little kid song from one of those Disney channel cartoons.

“James,” a faint voice beckons.

I look to my left and find Dad trapped back in the Bronco. He has this blank stare in his wide eyes, full of the infection or virus or whatever it is taking hold of him. He reaches for me, clawing at the seat one minute and the next pleading for my help.

“James, please help me. Get me out of here.” Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Two different persona’s fighting for control.

I divert my gaze, wrestling with myself on what I should. I want to help him, but I’m scared. Dad keeps on, his voice carrying over the growls and moans that are reeling me in. I turn back around and find him standing right there with his mouth open. He lunges at me with a burning rage in the pits of his eyes.

“You all right back there?” Tony inquires.

Breathing heavy and disoriented, I run my hand over my face, and try to calm myself down. I’m looking for Dad, peering through the back window and into the bed of the truck.

I grumble. “Yeah. Guess I drifted off.”

Tony probes further. “Didn’t sound like it was too relaxing. Want to talk about it?”

“It wasn’t. And not really. Thanks anyways.”

I move to the center of the seat. The heals of my palms rub my eyes as Duke reaches up. He gives me a lick across the face. Thanks.

His breath smells like feet and butt, which is nothing new. Every morning I get woken up by that god-awful stench.

“All right, Duke, that’s enough.” I push Duke’s head back down and pat him on the back as Dawson looks back at me. His ear still looks nasty, but it’s stopped bleeding, which is good.

“How’s the ear?” I skim it over some more, leaning in closer for a better look.

“I imagine it doesn’t look pretty, but it’s not hurting as much anymore,” Dawson responds. He sits up and leans to his right. He tilts his head to the side and examines his ear in the side-view mirror. “You were out for a while back there.”

“It doesn’t look that bad,” Tony says. He glances back at me, his face slathered in guilt.

“Yeah, so says the man who shot me,” Dawson states.

“Would you rather that have happened or one of those chasers make a meal out of you?” Tony poses, slightly raising his right brow.

Dawson gets silent for a moment, pondering Tony’s rebuttal. He dismisses the question with a huff. “Whatever, dude.”

“Thought so,” Tony responds.

“Anyways, how far have we gone?” I ask, not recognizing the scenery.

“Oh, about thirty miles or so,” Tony informs.

I check the speedometer. He’s only going fifty.

“Thirty miles? That’s not too bad? Why are you going so slow?”

“We passed through a roadblock a few miles back when the traffic started to get heavy. I had to slow it down to get through the mess. The last thing we need is to wreck the one vehicle we know is working right now. Don’t need to chance it,” Tony says as he points to the deserted cars we pass by.

“Have you spotted any more chasers?” My gaze trains out the window, inspecting the stagnant cars as we drive past them.

“Not really. There were some bodies inside the cars, but it was hard to tell whether they were infected or not.,” Tony replies.

“It was creepy, dude. Some just stared at us while we drove by. Couldn’t tell if they were alive or if they died that way. Gave me the chills for sure,” Dawson quickly adds.

I lean back in my seat and retrieve my phone. I pull up Mom’s cell and dial her number. I know that her and Cindy made it to the cabin and that they’re safe and sound and waiting for me to get there, but seeing all of these cars and hearing about the chasers that are trapped inside brings a cringe of doubt to my assumption.

“Who you calling?” Tony asks.

“Probably his mom. That’s where we’re heading. They have a cabin up in the woods that is pretty badass. His dad was like a doom’s day prepper and all. Last time I was up there, place was stocked to the gills with all sorts of rations and supplies.”

No service, not even a single bar. Crap! I power off the phone to conserve the battery, and lean my head back against the glass window.

“Any luck on reaching your mom, dude?” Dawson probes.

“Hell no,” I hiss. My body slumps back into the seat.

“I bet they’re all right, James,” Tony offers in a reassuring tone.

I peer out the window and watch the trees as we drive past them. “I’ll just feel much better when I see them in person.”

“Great,” Tony says.

I lean forward. “What?”

“Well, this sucks. How are we supposed to get around this cluster flop of cars in our way?” Dawson groans.

Tony throws the truck into park and kills the engine. Slinging the door open, he hops out with Duke following close behind.

Dawson leans forward. He scans the parking lot of vehicles before us. “Dude, I’m not seeing any way through.”

I get out and walk up next to Tony. He’s got another cigarette burning between his dingy fingers. Duke roams around, sniffing the ground, and then darting off into the trees to our right.

“You see anything?” I ask. I skim over the abundance of stagnant steel blocking the road.

Tony takes a deep drag, slowly exhaling the smoke through his nose and mouth. “No. Might need to get a closer look up there, though.”

“Okay. Be right back.” I hurry back to the truck and retrieve the Remington from the back seat.

“What’s going on?” Dawson asks.

“Not sure yet. Tony thinks we should see what’s going on. You coming?” I respond.

Dawson slumps back into his seat. He has no desire to get out of the truck. “I’ll hang here. I’m still feeling out of it and all.”

“All right. Keep an eye out for any trouble. If you spot something, honk the horn or whatever. We shouldn’t be too long,” I advise.

“Just hurry up,” Dawson sharply retorts.

I shut the door and hear the locks engage. I get back to Tony who’s got his handgun in his hand. His cigarette is nearly out. I double check my ammo. I’m good to go.

“Stay close.” Tony takes point with me shadowing his every move. Duke barrels out of the tall weeds, giving a quick shake, then races to my side. I wish I had some treats for him. He’s been doing very well with obeying and I would like to reward him. Next time we come across a store or something, I’ll hook him up.

My stomach growls and cramps. I’m also feeling a little lightheaded. It’s probably because I haven’t eaten well since all this has gone down. I’m really craving Mom’s cooking right now. Well, maybe not her meatloaf, but anything else would do.

Instead of going through the thick of the cars, we veer off to the left and get in the grass. I peer into each vehicle, looking for something dead lurking inside.

The wind picks up, rustling the trees about. The branches creak and scrape against one another in an unsettling manner.

Not sure as to why, but these vehicles have bullet holes all over them. Why would that be? Who would’ve been firing at these people?

“You seeing this?” I ask, stopping at a dark blue Chevy Avalanche. The windshield has numerous holes with two dead men inside. They don’t appear to be chasers, but regular normal people.

Tony inspects the vehicle, leaning in close, and probing the holes with his finger. He looks out over the others with a concerned stare. He grips his handgun a little tighter.

My hands grip the Remington tighter as well, if that is even possible. I whisper to Tony. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Thought I heard something. Come on.”

We get back on the move and head toward the bridge.

Duke runs up in front of us. He stops just shy of where the bridge would’ve started. It’s nothing more now than a pile of rubble resting in the raging waters below.

Mangled pieces of rebar protrude from the ground on both sides. Chunks of concrete cling to the ends.

I rest the barrel of the Remington against my shoulder and point to the vacant space. “What happened to the bridge?”

I move closer to the edge, peering over the busted rubble and to the water below. Duke does the same, his front paws clutching the jagged edge. I grab his collar and pull him back, making sure he doesn’t go too far.

There are a few cars resting at the bottom, submerged as the swift moving current flows over the contorted vehicles.

“Looks like we’re going to have to backtrack and find another way around.” Tony discards the remnants of his cigarette with a flick of his fingers to the water below.

Honk! Honk!

“What’s that?” Tony spins about on his heels and brings his pistol up.

My head snaps back over my shoulder as I bring the rifle to bear. “It’s Dawson. I told him to let us know if there was any trouble.”

“Great!” Tony mumbles.

We book it back to the truck, sprinting as the horn continues to blare. Off to my left, I spot some movement within the cars. Something stirs within the trees.

Duke runs ahead of us and cuts to the left. He darts behind a red Dodge Ram pickup. He growls and attacks something, struggling with whatever it is.

“Duke!” I yell. I catch the sound of an engine revving up and tires squealing.

“Go check on Dawson. I’ll get Duke,” Tony instructs as he moves around the truck.

Duke’s fighting with a chaser, biting at its legs as it tries to grab a hold of him. It stops for a moment and looks in our direction with its one eye. Bullet holes riddle its body, carving out large amounts of flesh. It starts to come for us with Duke pulling on its leg. Each step is labored and sluggish, but it still moves slightly forward.

Fire spews from the end of Tony’s handgun, nailing it in the middle of its forehead.

“I got this, James, now move,” Tony barks.

Two more chasers appear a few cars ahead and head our way. They’re just as disfigured as the one Tony just took down.

I leave Duke with Tony and make a mad dash to see what’s going on with Dawson. He’s still inside the truck, positioned in the driver’s seat. More chasers claw and batter at the windows, trying to get in. One moves around to the front of the truck and Dawson guns it. He rams it into the vehicle ahead of him. The force nearly cuts it in half. Dawson throws it in reverse and backs up.

“Stop before you mess up the truck!” I yell while waving my arms frantically in his direction.

Dawson stops and guns it again as the chaser struggles to get its feet under it. I can’t tell if he can hear me or not.

Going full throttle, he mows the chaser over and crashes into the car in front of him once more. Smoke billows out from under the hood. The remaining chaser turns its attention to me. Without pause, I bring the Remington up and fire, connecting right between its eyes. It crumbles to the ground in mid stride.

Dawson slings open the door and steps out as I race over to the truck.

I lower the Remington and place my hand on his shoulder. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, they came out of nowhere and I panicked,” Dawson replies as he struggles to catch his breath. He’s got a small gash above his right eye now.

“Is everyone ok?” Tony asks as he and Duke rush up to us.

“We’re good.” I love on Duke for a moment as Tony peers at the truck.

“What the hell happened?” He inspects the truck closer, running his hand over the crumpled-up metal.

“Dawson took out a chaser,” I say.

“I’d say so.” Tony drops his hands to his sides.

A slight moan comes from the wreckage. The chaser leans to the left, and grabs the hood with the bloodied tips of its fingers. It pulls and growls, but doesn’t budge. Tony holsters his pistol and checks the back of the truck. He pulls out a crowbar.

“Come here, let’s sit down for a minute,” I say to Dawson.

I lead him over to the side of the road and take a seat in the grass. Some thunder crackles to the south of us. Thick clouds roll in, blotting out the sun and casting some shade over us.

“Come here, you ugly piece of crap,” Tony growls.

Grabbing what little hair it has on its scalp, Tony yanks its head back and rams the crow bar through its skull. It stops moving and drops its head to the hood of the truck.

“That’s one tough bastard,” Tony says as he walks over to us.

“Man, what I wouldn’t give right now to be in my room with the door closed, some metal playing, and an ice-cold cola next to me. Laid back in my chair and playing some video games,” Dawson dreams.

“No kidding. I wouldn’t mind playing a zombie game instead of being in a real-life version of it,” I add.

Dawson cuts his gaze toward me and nods in agreement. “I know, right? But think of the stories we’ll have to tell. There will be so many girls throwing themselves at us that we won’t know what to do.”

“That might be a stretch. Besides, what if everyone we know is a chaser by the time this is over with?” I pose.

“Please. Like you still wouldn’t want to get with undead Kimberly if she came chasing after you, looking for a meal. You’d be all over that. Come here Kimberly, give me some of that infectious tongue.” Dawson sticks his tongue out and wags it about.

“Dude, you are truly a sick individual,” I reply.

“Yeah, well, the truth can be sick sometimes, bro,” Dawson adds with a wink.

“Whatever, dill hole.” I punch Dawson in the arm and quickly get to my feet.

“Damn, dude, that hurt, you ass.” He grabs his arm and tries to kick my legs. I move out of the way.

Tony gets inside the truck and turns it over. The engine sounds pitiful, but comes to life. Spitting and sputtering, he backs it up. The dead chaser slides off the front of the truck and plops to the ground in a heap of contorted flesh and busted bone.

“It sounds horrible,” I say as smoke plumes out from under the hood.

“Yeah. I’m going to need to pop the hood and see what the damage is like.” Tony kills the engine and hops out. He steps over the chaser and gets in front of the truck. He waves his hand in the air at the smoke filtering out through the grill. Popping the hood, the pent-up smoke belches out into his face.

Choking, and waving his hands in front of him, Tony takes a step back. “Christ.”

“What do you think?” I inch my way toward the engine.

Loosely holding his hand over his nose and mouth, he points inside the truck. “I think the radiator is screwed among other things. It’s got a crack running right down the center.”

“Just from that?” I respond, shocked by the thought. I’m no mechanic, but I figured it would take more to do that than what Dawson did. Then again, I’m just a kid.

“It could’ve already had a hair line fracture in it. Who knows. Bottom line is, we’re not getting anywhere in this thing. It’s toast,” Tony flatly responds.

Dawson gets to his feet and gingerly walks over. His head hangs low, and a look of embarrassment floods his face. He stands next to me, silently.

“Sorry about the truck, dude,” Dawson finally says in a low mutter.

“Don’t sweat it. You’re the one going to have to tell your dad that you messed up his truck. I don’t want to be around for that discussion.” I jab my elbow into his side, causing Dawson to grunt and step away.

Tony grabs another cigarette, his second, third, I don’t know how many in the last couple of hours and lights it up. Taking a drag, he peers over at us.

“Way I see it, boys, we’ve got two options here. We can go over each of these cars and hope that one starts, and we can back track and find another way around.”

“Or?” I pose.

“Or, we can grab what gear we can carry and head into the woods and find a place to cross. Probably will be much quicker, but we’ll be exposed. Maybe we’ll find an abandoned car on the other side.”

“I’m leaning to find a car and back track. Being out in the woods with the chasers running around doesn’t sound too tempting,” Dawson says. “I think we’ll have a much better chance in a car.”

“What do you want to do,” I ask, peering over at Tony.

“Doesn’t matter to me either way. We just need to make up our minds and get moving before-” Tony pauses. He holds his right arm in the air and makes a fist.

Snap!

“Did you hear that?” My head pivots to the left as a rustling noise in the woods captures our attention.

Duke instantly gets to his feet and starts walking to the edge of the road. His ears are perked, his body tense, and muscles tight in his chest and hind legs. He lifts his nose in the air and sniffs.

“Can anyone see anything?” Dawson inquires as he narrows his eyes. He cranes his neck and strains to penetrate the dense tree line before us.

“Yeah, I got two coming out over here.” Tony removes his sidearm and walks toward the grass. Taking aim, he fires two shots, nailing both chasers square in the head. They drop instantly, their bodies sliding over the tall verdure.

Dawson fires five shots behind us, finally taking down a woman heading our way.

“I don’t think we’re going to have time to mess with the cars, boys. Looks like option one is off the table now.” Tony moves back around the front of the truck to the driver’s side door. “We’re gonna have to double time it.”

I look back to the woods and hear more rustling. There’s no telling how many are coming this way, and I really don’t want to find out.

Digging the gear out from the back seat and tossing it at our feet, Tony slams the door and starts picking up what he can. “Grab what you can carry, but don’t overload yourself. We’re going to be moving quickly, so keep it as light as possible.”

We grab what we can, trying to be conservative as the moans from the woods carry our way. Duke barks, staying at the edge of the road. He advances forward, but then stops. I have to yell at him a couple of times, trying to calm him down.

“All right, that’s enough. We got to go.” Tony sternly orders.

“But there’s still a lot here,” Dawson retorts, still rummaging through the pile.

“Leave it,” Tony snaps, firing two more shots. His gun clicks empty with the sounds of the chasers still closing in. He reloads without hesitation, swiftly ejecting the spent magazine and slapping in a fresh one.

“Forget it, Dawson! Come on!” I urge, standing next to him as my hands bat the air near him.

“But-”

“But nothing. We’ve got to move now, or we’re going to end up dead.” I grab Dawson by the scruff of his shirt and pull him away as Tony continues to fire.

“Are we ready to move?” he calls out.

“Yeah. Duke, come on, boy.”

We turn to head in the opposite direction. A chaser emerges from the tall weeds at the end of the woods. It pauses for just a moment before sprinting toward us. I scramble for the Remington, trying to get the strap free of the extra gear I’m hauling, but it’s bound up. I franticly tug at the strap. Dawson takes it out.

“Good shot, dude,” I praise.

“Well, you were taking too long, as usual,” Dawson counters.

“Come on,” Tony barks, backing up to the grass.

We head for the woods, running hard and fast. Duke takes point while Tony brings up the rear. I don’t see any movement in the woods, but its dense foliage makes it hard to see in some areas.

Tony stops and opens fire. “Keep moving and find a place to cross the river. I’ll be right behind you.”

I stop briefly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I got this. Now go.”

Seeing the multitude of bodies heading our way sends a ripple of unease down my spine. My feet instinctively respond. I head down toward the bank where I find Dawson and Duke waiting.

“Why the hell did you stop? Where’s Tony?” Dawson screams out as he waves me toward them.

“Buying us some time. He’ll be along shortly,” I yell back.

Maybe.

The gunshots cease, and only the moans and snapping of limbs remain. I fear that Tony has met a gruesome end trying to save us. A moment later, he appears through the trees sprinting down the hill directly toward us.

“Go, go!” Tony yells as he runs right into the river.

The chasers emerge at the top of the hill and race toward the bank. Duke barks and growls, baring his teeth. I grab him by the collar and drag him into the water.

It’s pretty deep but not too bad. The added weight pulls me down as I tread water. Dawson’s nearly across, moving rapidly. He steps out of the river onto the bank and turns toward me. He waves his arms franticly at me, urging me to move faster.

“Come on, James! They’re closing in,” he calls out, his voice thick with fear.

The current moves swiftly, trying to carry me downstream, but I fight it with everything I’ve got. Man, this water is freaking cold. It sends chills to my core, but I press on.

Duke makes it to the other side and shakes the water free from his coat. I hear multiple splashes behind me.

My arms swing faster. My legs kick harder. I glance back and only see the tops of the chasers’ heads as they disappear below the water line.

I take on a big gulp of water, choking as I hit the bank and grab hold of the thick grass. Tony and Dawson grab my arms and pull me out. I cough hard, water exiting my mouth as I glance back toward the river from the flat of my butt.

“Hopefully, they’re not good swimmers,” Tony says winded.

“There!” Dawson exclaims, pointing downriver.

They appear, caught among the wreckage. The current keeps them pinned among the cars. Not sure how long they’ll stay put.

“You okay?” Tony asks while helping me to my feet.

I place my hands on my legs, trying to catch my breath. The wind brushes against my wet skin, making me shiver. Duke comes over and gives me some love, nudging his head against me.

“I’m fine, just tired is all,” I sputter.

“That was close, dude.” Dawson pats me on the back as he gulps for air.

“Yeah, well, I’m not used to having to tread water with gear on my back,” I reply, standing up straight.

“We probably need to get moving. It’ll be dark here after a while, and we need to find a good place to hole up. How are the both of you stocked for ammo?” Tony inquires with a tremor to his voice.

“I’ve got maybe an extra magazine in my pack somewhere,” Dawson replies.

“Not sure how much ammo I have left for the Remington,” I add.

“We’ll need to use what we have sparingly until we can find some more.” Tony rubs his hand over his wet face, swiping the water from his skin.

“Use it sparingly? So, are we not to shoot at those things?” Dawson blurts out in protest.

“No, just make every shot count,” Tony clarifies.

“Ok, Duke, that’s enough,” I say, patting his head and pushing him away. I’m cold and wet now and don’t feel like being licked to death.

“Guys, I think we need to get going,” Dawson says flatly, pointing to the top of the hill on the other side of the river.

We look back and find a chaser staring down at us. Out of the trees and bushes emerge two more, then four more.

Dawson pulls his handgun up, but Tony grabs the barrel and pushes it back down.

“Conserve your ammo. Besides, the noise might attract any on this side of the river,” Tony says.

The chasers start moving down the hill to the bank as we run off into the woods. I give only a single glance back and watch as the bodies vanish under the current of the river.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“ Have you not found a spot yet?” Dawson whines. His upper body is hunched over, arm swinging lifelessly as he huffs and sighs. “I’ve seen a half dozen or more that look fine. My legs feel like they’re about to fall off, dude.”

“I’m getting tired too, Tony,” I quickly add. “We haven’t seen any more of those things since the river, and it’s nearly nighttime.”

Tony’s not as talkative now as he was before. He trudges through the woods ahead of us as puffs of smoke billow into the air in front of him. He’s acting weird. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s more of a hunch, I guess, since he’s not really acknowledging us at the moment. He’s more distant and colder now, like the wind blowing through the trees. Who knows what’s going on.

“How you doing, boy?” I ask. Duke’s panting hard, his tongue reaching to the ground as his pace lessens. “I know, boy.”

The sun dips down over the tree line, taking what little warmth it offered with it. Now, the bitter dark of the night air is able to take hold. Out of all the things I would love to have right now, a warm blanket and fire are at the top of my list. And perhaps one of Dad’s MREs. Can’t believe I just thought that.

“There,” Tony says, pointing to a small patch of ground to our right. “That should do us for the night.”

“Thank god.” Dawson nearly knocks me over as he rushes past us in pursuit of sitting down and taking a rest. Duke follows close behind.

“Keep it down, just in case,” Tony calls out.

Dawson falls to the grass in grand fashion. His pack bounces off the ground. The contents inside clatter against one another loudly. He can be a drama queen at times, that’s for sure. During athletics, he could run circles around most of the guys. I guess when there are no girls watching, he doesn’t have to try as hard.

“Damn, man, I said keep it down,” Tony snaps. Dawson raises his thumb in the air with no words, his face still planted in the grass. “I’m going to check the perimeter out to make sure there aren’t any chasers lurking around.”

“You want some company?” I ask tiredly. I don’t really want to go, but figure I should ask.

Tony dismisses the offer with a wave of his hand. “Naw. Why don’t you three get some rest? Maybe get some wood close by so we can get a fire started. Feels like it might be a cold night.”

“Isn’t it every night?” Dawson mutters through the blades of grass impairing his speech.

Tony walks off, vanishing into the trees and thick brush directly behind us.

“James, will you please tell Duke to stop licking my face. His breath smells like a combination of butt and feet,” Dawson pleads as he tries to fend off Duke’s affection.

“He’s a dog, dude. That’s what it’s supposed to smell like.”

Dawson covers his head, shooing away Duke with his hand, but he thinks it’s a game.

“All right, boy, that’s enough,” I say, dropping my gear to the ground. “Ease up on Dawson. He’s not in the mood right now.”

“Yeah, get butt-breath out of my face,” Dawson beseeches.

I pull Duke away, patting him on his side. He gives a gentle shake of his coat and walks off. I plop down on the ground. My feet ache and my tense legs indulge in the relief.

I lean back against a small plot of wood and ask, “So, what do you think is going on with Tony?”

“What do you mean?” Dawson flips over onto his back.

“I don’t know. He’s acting really weird now. Ever since we came across those cars on the road, he’s just been acting… strange.” I glance in the direction he walked off in, wondering what might be going on with his sudden shift in mood.

“Dude, that guy is strange. No acting needed. I’ve been telling you that since we came across him.” Dawson settles in against a tree across from me.

“It’s just when we noticed the cars with the bullet holes and the bridge being destroyed, his mood changed or something.” I scratch my head, my mind chewing on the puzzle before me.

“Well, that right there seemed crazy. I mean, who the hell would blow up a bridge and then open fire on innocent people trying to cross it. Smells funny, dude,” Dawson adds.

“I agree. Do you think it was the government trying to contain the virus or whatever this is?” I ask.

“Probably. I read some stuff online saying that the government was involved in cleaning up and containing the biohazard, but nothing was confirmed,” Dawson says, partly confirming my suspicions.

Although I take what he reads online with a grain of salt, the government would be the only logical solution. They would have the firepower and pull to keep these sorts of activities under wraps.

“Biohazard is definitely the right term. And besides, I know what sites you frequent,” I say with a skeptical tone.

Dawson crosses his arms. “Hey, there might be a lot of BS on those sites, but the video I sent you seems to be legit, huh?”

I hate when Dawson makes a valid point. It irritates the crap out of me. “Well, if the government is out there killing innocent people then that’s pretty screwed up.” “It’s the government, dude. They’re all screwed up in a bad way. My dad complains about how shady they all are all the time,” Dawson says.

“Who’s screwed up,” Tony asks. He drops some wood to the ground. Our bodies tense up and a frightful gasp escapes our lips.

“We’re just talking about everything going on and how messed up it is,” I reply quickly.

Tony says nothing at first, staring at us with a blank stare. “It’s extremely screwed up. Never thought anything like this would ever happen, much less here in the states.”

“What I want to know is how did this get started?” Dawson asks while digging through his pack. “Is this like judgment day where we are being punished? Or is this some sort of alien invasion master plan to have us kill each other off so the little green men don’t have to?”

“Dude, you have got to stop reading that stuff. You’re starting to sound like some of those nut jobs or religious freaks,” I jab as Duke walks over to me.

“Too late,” Dawson replies with a mouth full of food that he had stuffed in his pack. If he doesn’t slow down and conserve it, he’ll plow through it in no time.

Duke nudges up against me, and rests his head on my legs. Tony digs out a small area of the ground. The chit chat has ceased. The sound of the wind blowing and the creatures of the woods chattering remain.

“Need some help?” I start to stand up.

Tony halts me with his hand once more, stopping me in place. “No. I got it.”

Arranging the wood over the hole, and placing some tinder along the bottom, Tony ignites the pile with his lighter. It doesn’t appear to catch, with the wind picking up and trying to extinguish the flames, but it finally does.

The wood crackles and pops. The warm orange glow of the fire illuminates our campsite. The smell takes me back to those times where we would be sitting in the living room around the fireplace, watching old movies. My mom loves those.

I’d be near the fireplace, planted on the brick mantel with Duke right by my side. Mom would tell me not to get too close, but I loved to feel the heat on my face, especially on those cold winter nights.

“Hey, you ok?” Tony asks, nudging my boot as I stare off into space.

“Yeah, just drifting is all,” I solemnly respond.

My eyes well up, vision cloudy and the sadness that I’ve managed to suppress creeps back. I brush my sleeve across my face and struggle to stay the hurt, but it’s extremely hard to do so.

Tony scoots back and leans against a rock. He fires up another cigarette, tossing the empty pack onto the fire. He inhales deeply, slowly releasing the smoke into the air as he tilts his head back.

“You missing your folks, huh?” he says.

“Missing everything is more like it,” I answer.

“War is a bitch, kid. No matter how you slice it, and regardless of the enemy, it makes it that much tougher when it’s going down in your own backyard.”

Dawson’s obnoxious snoring gains strength in volume. It is getting on my nerves with every breath he takes. I don’t recall it ever being this bad. Perhaps it’s because he’s tired and not wearing one of those nose strips. He might not survive the night.

“In some ways, this all seems like a bad dream. Like I wonder if I’m actually lying in my bed, Duke down by my feet, and the rest of my family is safe and sound in the house. I’m hoping to wake up anytime,” I say.

Tony digs into his pack, rummaging through its contents. A noise catches my attention off to the left. I grab my gun and bring it to bear, trying to find the cause through the dying of the light.

“I think what you need is a good night sleep,” Tony suggests with his back turned to me.

After a few seconds of skimming the dense foliage, I lower the rifle. “I haven’t been able to really sleep sound since all this crap started. I’m tired, but my mind won’t slow up.”

“Here, maybe this will help you relax.” Tony tosses me a silver container and nods. “That should do it.”

“What’s inside?” I unscrew the cap, and take a whiff. The pungent odor is stout and sharp, biting at my nose. “Man, that smells like death.”

“It’s something that will help calm your nerves. After a few sips, you’ll get past the smell and taste.” Tony shifts his weight to get comfortable.

I slowly bring the silver flask to my lips. The potent aroma invades my nostrils, causing me to cough. I tilt the container slightly, allowing Tony’s concoction to stream into my mouth.

It tastes as bad as it smells. My face cringes with disgust. I look over at Tony who’s just sitting there watching me and puffing on his last little bit of tobacco.

All right, come on, James. Don’t be a girl. Just take another swig and get it over with.

I bring it back to my lips and down another small mouthful. I feel as though I’m going to gag. I cough and place my hand over my mouth as I gulp it down. It burns, scorching the inside of my throat. My stomach rumbles as the liquid invades it.

I hand the flask back to Tony who holds up his hand and stops me.

“Get one more.”

Really? One more? I’m not even sure if Tony has tasted this crap before. Not sure any human should consume something as vile as this. But being the impressionable teen that I am, I go against my better judgment, and take another swig.

The second is not as bad as the first, but it still tastes horrible. I hold it in better this time, coughing some as I gulp it down. I hand the flask back to Tony and shake my head.

“Smooth,” I say in a disgusted tone. My eyes water and the after taste is just as bad as the liquor itself.

Tony takes a big gulp and doesn’t flinch. I imagine he’s gotten used to the strong bite of the drink.

After a while of sitting there, and sharing a few more drinks with Tony, I start to feel a bit more relaxed. I’m still thinking about Mom and Cindy, and what happened to my dad, but it’s not as crushing as it was before.

“Feeling better now?” Tony pokes at the fire, moving around some of the wood to keep the flames going strong. Duke groans and fidgets on the ground. He passed out next to Dawson who’s still sleeping sound.

“Yep. Feeling pretty damn good,” I respond with a slight slur. “So, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Tony cuts his eyes over to me.

I cross my legs and fold my arms over my chest. My head tilts to the side as I dive into the matter. “So, what’s the deal?”

“Deal?” Tony retorts.

“Yeah, deal,” I respond again.

“Not sure what you’re getting at.” Tony stares at me with a befuddled expression as he continues to probe and poke at the wood.

“Since we came across those cars and the bridge, you’ve been acting different. I can’t quite pinpoint it, but it just seems as though you know more about this than you’re letting on. I mean, you’re in the military and all, and I would assume that they are involved in this in some sort of way. Just seems like something they’d have their hands in.”

Tony sits there, speechless, and stares at me with a stern look. I can’t tell if he’s pissed, surprised that I’m busting his chops, or what. After a few moments of the awkward silence, Tony grabs his gun and removes it from its holster.

My eyes go wide and I gulp.

Tony looks at me with a blank stare as he sits the gun down on his gear and adjusts his body. He flicks the now extinguished bud into the fire as the chirping sounds of the birds and insects cease.

The wind nips at my exposed flesh, becoming colder. I shiver, and pull my arms tighter over me. Saying that there’s tension now around our little campsite would be an understatement.

“Did your dad ever tell you what it was like to take another person’s life?” Tony stares at me with a vacant look, his once inviting demeanor more rigid now.

I gulp. “He told me some stories of what he went through while overseas. Nothing about killing or anything like that, though. I know he did whether he said it or not.”

“Well, killing a person, regardless if they’re a scumbag terrorist hell-bent on blowing up a school or driving a car full of explosives into a convoy carrying food and medicine, is still something that you never get used to. That shit stays with you for the rest of your life,” Tony flatly says.

I nod in agreement. The people I have killed, regardless if they weren’t in their right mind or not, were still people. It’s definitely something that I’m trying to cope with.

“How many people have you killed?” I probe further. Considering the current state of things, I imagine I’ll be doing it a lot more since the infected seem to be sprouting up everywhere.

Tony pauses for a brief moment, his gaze sliding up to the sky as he downs another swig. He hands me the flask, which I refuse with a simple gesture.

Tony shrugs. He sucks down the remainder, appearing to savor the last little drop of the God-awful liquid as he licks his lips. “Let’s just say, James, that I’ve killed more people than I would’ve liked to. Most deserved it, but some just got caught in the cross fire. They call that collateral damage.”

Perhaps it’s the alcohol swinging through my system, and making me so brazen, but I press further. “Did you have anything to do with those people being killed at the bridge?”

“No, I did not,” Tony replies with a solemn tone. The light from the fire brings to life his glassy gaze. Tears fill his eyes to the point of rushing down his cheeks.

“So, why the sad response to my question, then?” I stare at him in my intoxicated stupor, waiting for him to confess more of what is eating away at his conscience.

“I was part of a top-secret platoon deployed onto U.S. soil to help contain and control the biohazard. By any means necessary.” Tony brushes the back of his hand across his eyes, wiping away the guilt and remorse. He clears his throat.

“The mission was straightforward. Contain any infected areas and control the population. If containment was not possible, then extreme measures were to be exercised.”

“As in blowing up bridges and shooting innocent people?” I say.

Tony just nods.

“That’s crazy. I can’t believe the government would do something like that,” I protest. “How are they able to cover that up without people finding out?”

“Believe it, kid. The government can be extremely persuasive when they want to be. The media is in their back pockets. They’re perfectly at peace with bending the truth and giving the public a bogus story. Anyone goes astray and decides to grow a conscience, they get dealt with. After about our third deployment, that’s when I had enough of the sludge and decided to split,” Tony said.

“So, they just let you leave like that?” I inquire.

“Not exactly. The military never lets one of its own just walk away, especially when something like this is going down. It’s called being AWOL. Plus, they really don’t want the deep, dark, nitty gritty stuff we were ordered to do getting out. They’ll be coming for me soon enough.”

Tony stokes the fire a little more. He shuffles around the wood and adds some more tinder to the base. The warmth from the flames is comforting, and makes me that much drowsier.

“You need to get some rest. We’re going to have an early start tomorrow morning.” Tony gets to his feet.

“Yeah, ok,” I reply through a yawn. I lean to the left and rest my spinning head against my pack. I briefly hear Tony rummaging about as his footsteps trail off into the brush behind me.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

James get up. GET UP NOW!

“Dad!” I call out.

Startled from the intense sensation that he’s so close, I sit up, looking franticly around for him. My breathing is labored. My heart pounds so hard that it almost hurts. He’s here, I know he is.

After a few moments of searching for him, I finally realize it was nothing more than a tormenting dream. Deflated, I lay back down.

My head feels like it weighs a ton. It hurts to almost process a single thought. My body feels much the same from sleeping on this rough ground.

“Duke!” I call out. The night has surrendered to the strident sun rising. I squint, then close my eyes. It makes my head hurt even more. “Duke?”

Where is he? He’s always near me in the morning, regardless if we’re out camping or in the house.

“Dawson, have you seen-”

I look over at Dawson’s pack and he’s gone. Tony’s vanished as well. The fire we had going has been smothered, but looks like it happened recently. I can feel a small bit of heat still emitting from the charred wood, a thin line of smoke trailing up into the air.

Snap!

I sit up, trying to find the source of the disturbance. It could be an animal moving through or something else. I wouldn’t put it past Dawson to try and freak me out, though. We’ve always tried to one up each other.

My head throbs so hard that I close my eyes and place my hands on my temples. I squeeze to relieve the pressure, hoping that the lightheadedness will wane. The next time I’m offered a drink, I think I’ll pass.

Snap! Snap!

“All right guys, this isn’t funny anymore. Stop messing around and get out here!” I hiss.

Feeling less than ok, I sluggishly grab the Remington and take the safety off. When I find those two, I’m gonna kick their asses for sure if I don’t shoot them first.

I move toward the bushes and trees. My pace is slow and sluggish. I hold my right hand in the air to block the sun from hitting my face. The rustling suddenly stops. I pause only for a moment before moving around to the back of the thicket.

“Gotcha!” I yell, but there’s no one there. I guess it was an animal scurrying off. Where are they?

Anxious, I quickly back up, and scramble to grab my gear. The barrel of a gun presses against my temple.

“Don’t move, boy,” a gruff voice demands.

The Remington is ripped free from my hands. A creepy cackle plays behind me. I look around for Tony, Dawson, and Duke, but don’t see any of them.

“He looks scared, Roy.” A man chuckles off to my right.

“Yeah, boss. I wonder if he’s going to piss his pants,” another voice chimes in to my left.

“Will you two idiots shut up?” Keeping the gun mere inches from my head, the man steps right in front of me with the gun now dead center at my skull. “You must be James.”

I say nothing. The fear of having a gun pointed at my head steals my response. I stare at the burly bearded man. He’s big, not muscular, but more fat and plump. His face is covered in dirt, and the foul stench of not bathing coming from his body is overwhelming. He smiles, revealing his yellow-stained teeth through his crusty and cracked lips.

“I think this is the kid, boss. Looks just the way his friend said he would,” the man to my right says as he points at me.

Excited, I ask, “You’ve got my friends?”

“We sure do. Picked them off a while ago down by the stream,” the man to my left snickers.

“Aw, he can speak. And here I was thinking he was a mute or something,” Roy says with a smile. “Now, James, you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

“No, sir,” I remark while keeping still.

“Sir? Wow boys, did you hear that?” Roy glances to his left, then his right at the other two as he chuckles.

“He’s just sucking up ’cause you got that canon pointed at his face,” Benny says.

“Regardless, perhaps you two could learn a lesson here from our friend, James.” Roy lowers his gun. He holsters the weapon while keeping his eyes locked on me. He digs into his pocket and removes a half-smoked cigar. He runs it underneath his hairy nostrils and inhales. He exhales deeply through his mouth as he slips it between his lips. He ignites the charred end and stares at me. “Benny, tie him up,” he orders with a wave of his hand.

Benny comes toward me with a thick piece of rope. He grabs my arms tightly, smiling the entire time with a goofy grin. He’s randomly missing a few teeth. His lip is busted, and he has a black eye to round out his unsavory facial features.

He smells just as dreadful as Roy. His clothing is torn and ripped, and it looks as though it hasn’t been washed in ages. He stares at me while bounding my hands together. A vacant gaze lingers within his eyes. I can’t tell if he’s all there or not.

“Pete, go check their campsite. See if there’s anything useful we can take with us,” Roy demands.

“Sure thing, Roy,” Pete replies. He glances at me briefly with a big smile as he heads over to our campsite.

Benny finishes binding my hands together and gives the end of the rope to Roy. On the inside, being at the mercy of these seemingly backwoods hillbillies has me scared to death, but I try to keep my fear in check. I’m doing a lousy job from the way Roy keeps looking at me and smiling.

“Go help Pete and make it fast,” Roy says.

Benny leaves to go help Pete, leaving us alone.

Roy removes the cigar that he’s been gnawing on and discards it. “So, I asked your friend Dawson where you boys are heading. He said no place in particular.”

I’m hesitant at first to say anything, afraid that he might see through any false story that I may tell him. But my silence might say more than my words.

“It’s true. We had to leave our homes in a hurry because of the chasers. Not sure where we’re going. Any place that isn’t overrun with them,” I respond.

“Where are your parents at, boy?” Roy inquires as he tugs on the rope some.

“They’re dead,” I reply quickly, my eyes becoming glassy.

“Dead, huh. How did they die?” Roy asks in such a way that it seems overly creepy, almost like he wants to hear the details or something.

“They got infected. I had to do what I needed to do,” I answer in a weak voice.

Roy places two of his fingers against my forehead and says, “Did you shoot ’em in the head like this? You know that’s the only way to kill those sons of bitches.”

“I did,” I reply softly, not giving this sick, inbred piece of crap the satisfaction of hearing any more of the painful details.

“I had to release my old lady. We got overrun, and she got bit on her arm. It hurt me to no end, but I had to put her down before she became all feral,” Roy says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Was it hard to do? Shooting your wife like that?” I ask.

“Once she got infected, she was no longer my wife. So, no, it wasn’t.”

To Roy it appeared to be matter of fact, showing little to no remorse or sadness from his loss. He acted as though it was his duty, and that he did her a favor. Perhaps he did the same as me with dad. I guess you could say it’s the human thing to do. Still, doesn’t make it any easier. At least, not for me anyway.

“Are you boys done yet?” Roy squawks.

Pete and Benny rush back over with armloads of our supplies. It’s pretty much everything we have, nothing left to show that we were even here.

“They got anything good?” he demands.

“Some clothing, food, and a little bit of ammo,” Pete replies as he displays the arms full of our gear to him.

Roy grunts as he thumbs through our belongings. “I was hoping for more, but it’ll do. Let’s get moving.”

“Where are you taking me? Where are my friends?” I protest.

“Don’t worry, James, you’ll see them soon,” Roy replies, tugging at the rope. “Keep an eye out, Pete. I don’t want any of those chaser things sneaking up on us.”

Pete gives the goods he’s carrying to Benny and gets to the back. Roy takes point with Benny behind me as we get on the move. He tugs the rope, pulling me along at his whim.

CHAPTER TWENTY

We’ve been walking through the woods for a while. I’m tired. My head has finally stopped hurting, but I’m thirsty and getting hungry. I’ve kept quiet, keeping to myself and trying not to interact with the crude men.

“How you doing back there, James?” Roy calls out.

“I’m thirsty. You got any water?” I reply.

“There’s a stream up ahead. You can get a drink there,” Roy answers.

I notice a canteen hanging from Roy’s side, bouncing off his hip every time he takes a step. There’s probably no water inside, just booze. I smelt the stale liquor emitting from him the moment we met.

“You know that friend of yours, Tony, is not as good of a guy as you think,” Roy says. “He’s not this boy scout that he claims to be.”

“He never said he was a boy scout,” I correct.

“So, you know the things he’s done? Innocent people he has killed?”

“Yes. He told me last night about what he was ordered to do.”

Roy holds us up and points to the left at a stream. “Go get a drink, boy.” He keeps a hold on the rope, giving me just enough slack to get to the edge of the stream. I dip my dingy hands into the chilly water. I first splash some on my face, followed by a handful straight to my mouth.

I take a few more drinks, savoring the cool and refreshing water as Roy chuckles behind me. Pete and Benny kneel beside me, dipping their canteens into the stream.

“Following orders, huh? So, he told you about what he and those other military boys were doing to us Americans?” Roy follows up. “All in the name of protecting us.”

“He didn’t give any specifics, but he clearly conveyed what they were ordered to do if things turned bad.” I run my cool hands through my hair and to the back of my neck.

“Uncle Sam. Never thought I’d witness the day that the good ole U.S. of A. would resort to such third world country tactics. Killing its own people instead of helping us in a state of emergency. But don’t you worry, boy. We’ve got something planned for those murderers,” Roy continues.

I glance back toward Roy. “What do you mean by planned?”

“Just what I said. We’re gonna serve up some good old-fashioned justice. That’s for sure. All with the help from your pal, Tony.”

Roy tugs on the rope. He jerks me back from the stream and causes me to trip over my feet, face first into the damp grass. I look up at him and notice something moving about to his left.

“Come on, get off the ground. We need to-”

“Boss, watch out!” Benny yells, drawing his pistol and taking aim at a chaser emerging from the bushes behind him.

“Don’t shoot!” Roy orders while motioning to Benny to lower his weapon.

Dropping the rope, and pulling his knife free from its sheath attached to his right thigh, Roy turns about just in time to engage the chaser.

The chaser chomps and reaches for any meaty part of Roy’s obese body. He stabs it repeatedly in the gut. Its insides spill to the grass below with a wet thump. It continues to fight, wrestling with Roy like nothing happened.

Two more emerge from the thick foliage to our right. Benny and Pete fire, bullets flying wildly. They can’t shoot for crap, hitting everything else but their targets.

I’m caught in the middle and think of getting to my feet and bugging out, but find that my legs refuse to move. They keep me grounded, and unable to get away. I’m stricken with the paralyzing thought of getting shot or eaten. I’m unarmed and bound, at their mercy.

I keep to the ground and scoot off to the side, waiting for them to finish off the chasers. As much as I want them dead, I need them to take me to Duke and the others.

Roy manages to better the chaser, bringing his knife back and drilling the tip into the middle of its head. It sinks in deep, half the blade burrowed inside its skull. The chaser goes limp. Roy grips the handle and pulls hard while kicking it in the stomach.

“Christ! Can you two morons not shoot straight?” Roy scolds.

After wasting what I would consider a full clip of ammo, Pete and Benny finally find their mark. The bullets tear through the chasers’ heads and blow out the backs of their skulls, sending them to the ground motionless.

“Sorry, boss. They were moving so fast, and we couldn’t get a clear shot,” Benny replies apologetically.

“Whatever. You managed to shoot up all the damn trees around us, and you nearly shot me in the process!” Roy wipes the blood free from the blade on his stained blue jeans. He places it back in its sheath as he gives Benny and Pete the evil eye. They don’t look happy being scolded like children, but they remain silent just the same.

“Hey, boy, I figured that you would’ve tried to run away or something.” Roy grabs the rope closest to my hands and yanks me up from the ground.

“I thought about it, but decided to stay put. I didn’t want to get shot by one of your goons over there,” I snidely remark.

“Well, I can’t say that I blame you for that.” Roy cuts his eyes back over to his men, his stare fierce and disapproving. “But I am glad you listened to me earlier. Running would’ve only gotten you in a much worse place than you are now. Besides, you’ll be much safer with us than out here on your own.”

I highly doubt that.

“Roy, I think there are more of them coming,” Pete says while pointing across the stream.

Off in the tree line we see multiple figures staggering about, coming closer to the water. The stream doesn’t appear to be very deep at this point, making it possible for them to cross it with ease.

“Come on, boy.” Roy jerks the rope hard, and we leave the stream. Just in time too. I peer over my shoulder and see chasers stopping at the water’s edge, looking around for any warm bodies to feast upon.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

The chatter among us has all but ceased, leaving nothing more than silence and the sound of nature. Roy’s kept to himself mostly, not even looking back at me. Since we left the stream, all I’ve seen of him is the back of his sweaty head and smoke flowing over his shoulder. Seems like he’s all business now, not wanting to flaunt how much he’s in charge anymore.

My wrists are red and chaffed, sore to the touch and aching from the rope continually rubbing back and forth. Roy’s kept the rope tight, giving me little slack. I’ve managed to keep my mind off the pain by thinking of Mom. and Cindy, and my friends.

“Man, I’m so ready to sit down and relax. Hell, I might even have a beer if there’s any left,” Benny says with a snicker.

“There probably won’t be any. You know how they are. We go out and do all of the dirty work, and they sit on their fat, lazy asses doing nothing and drinking all the good stuff,” Pete quickly adds.

We come out of the woods to a clearing that has a chain link fence running the perimeter with multiple bodies lying lifeless next to it.

Roy pulls a two-way radio from his pocket. “Turn off on five.”

Roy waits for a few moments before touching the metal gate. Is the fence electrified? He grabs the rubber handle and slides it to the left and heads in. Pete’s the last one in, stopping and securing the gate back in place.

“I’d watch what you touch, James,” Roy cautions.

“Yeah, you might be ‘shocked’ by what you find,” Benny jokingly adds, snickering under his breath.

“When can I see my friends?” I inquire.

“I’m taking you to them right now,” Roy advises.

Benny and Pete split off and head to the right toward a cluster of buildings while we keep straight. I’m not sure where we’re at. The grounds are covered in overgrown weeds and buildings are clustered all around. They appear as though they have been abandoned for some time now by the holes in their sides and the worn paint.

“Way back when, this used to be some kind of processing plant. The economy went belly up and they had to close it down. The owners put up that fence till they could figure out what to do with the place,” Roy says as he points to the structures ahead of us.

“Why did they make it into an electric fence? Seems a bit of overkill to protect a bunch of condemned buildings,” I add as I take in the drab buildings.

“They didn’t. We tied some generators we salvaged to the fence. That’s the only power here for the most part. So far, it’s working really well in keeping those things from getting inside.” Roy stops to talk to a big, burly man covered in dirt and grease. I take a look around, trying to get a sense of the place. I only spot a handful of armed people trolling the perimeter of the fence and others walking about, free of any visible weapons.

It’s getting late in the day. The sun dips over the horizon. I didn’t realize it was as late as it was. This day has escaped me and pushed me farther back from getting to Mom and Cindy.

“Where are you taking me?” I demand once more.

“To your friends, just like I said I was going to do,” Roy calmly answers.

We come to a small, shed-like structure with an armed man standing next to a ramp that leads up to a door. It almost looks like a hen house or chicken coop, but much larger.

Roy stops. He removes the rope from my wrists. The skin is raw and red from the friction of being pulled on. He grabs the handle, and opens the door.

“Go on, get in there,” Roy orders.

I’m hesitant at first, looking up into the darkened space. I do not see or hear anyone stirring about. Duke pokes his head out from the side and instantly folds his ears down after seeing me.

“Hey, boy!” I exclaim, racing up the ramp and wrapping my arms around his neck.

“James! Glad to see you’re all right, bro,” Dawson says relieved.

“You ok, kid?” Tony asks.

“Keep a close eye on them, all right,” Roy orders. “If you have any problems with them, come get me.”

The shabbily dressed man guarding the building nods.

“Hey, Tony!” Roy says.

“What?” Tony replies angrily.

“You may want to reconsider your position on the matter we discussed. I’d hate for something horrible to happen to those boys you’re with,” Roy suggests.

“Go to hell,” Tony snaps back.

“You first, solider man.” Smiling and chuckling, Roy slams the door, sealing us back into the building.

Dawson offers a high five as I carefully raise my hand to meet his. “Dude, I didn’t know if they killed you or if you managed to get away.”

“They got me when I was looking for ya’ll. Are those the people you were talking about back at the gas station?” I ask Tony.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Tony responds, his voice thick with disgust.

“How did they find us?” Dawson asks while trying to peer through a tiny sliver of wood on the front of the building.”

“Dumb luck I would imagine. I didn’t think they’d be over by where we were,” Tony replies. “Are your wrists ok?”

“They hurt, but I’ll live,” I respond.

Duke licks my face, his tail wagging as I keep hugging his neck. I let go and lean back against the wall, thinking of Mom and Cindy. I remember my phone is in my pocket. I wonder if the battery is dead.

I fish it out and turn it on. The screen illuminates the dark, dank building, but I don’t waste any time on looking around. I have but one bar missing. It’s probably because I haven’t used it any since we had to ditch the truck. And of course, there’s no service out here in the backwoods or wherever we are.

Dawson points to my phone. “I’m surprised they didn’t take your phone.”

I show Dawson the screen. “Wouldn’t do them any good or us for that matter. No service out this way.”

Duke places his head and front paws on my lap and relaxes. He lets out a deep breath from what I can only imagine is relief in finding me. I feel the same way. I stroke his back and pull up a picture of Mom, Dad, Duke, and Cindy from our last vacation. That was such a great time.

Tears well up in my eyes. I wipe them away before I bust out into a blubbering mess, and notice I’ve got a text message.

Mom: James, I haven’t gotten a reply from you yet. Please let me know that you and your father are all right and on your way. Be careful. I love you both.

I know I don’t have any service, but I reply anyway, hoping that it will reach Mom and Cindy somehow.

James: We love you too and can’t wait to see you. We are doing everything we can to get to you and Cindy. I will call next chance I get. Love you.

I hit the send button. The blue round circle spins aimlessly, trying to find a signal. I turn off the screen to try and conserve the battery, and pocket the phone once more to conceal its presence.

“I’m not overly keen on the way that guy used horrible and boys in the same sentence,” Dawson states with a shudder.

“Yeah, Tony, what did he mean by that?” I quickly add.

“Nothing good, that’s for sure,” Tony replies while walking around the building. He stops and peers out the tiny cracks in the wood.

I fold my arms across my chest and narrow my eyes at Tony. “What is he wanting you to rethink, exactly? It must be something pretty important for him to kidnap a couple of kids, and threaten to do bad things to us.”

Silent, Tony continues to peer out through the opening in the wall. At last, he sighs and looks back toward us. “He? They, want revenge.”

“Revenge? Against who?” My head tilts slightly downward, confused by Tony’s response.

“The military. The government. Anyone who had a hand in what happened at that bridge,” Tony answers.

“But you had nothing to do with that,” I respond.

“Doesn’t matter if I did or not. I’m with the military and that’s close enough.” Tony shrugs.

“So, what do they want you to do, exactly?” Dawson poses as he leans back against the wall.

“They want me to give up the locations of the platoons we have around the country for starters. Plus, caches of weapons and anything else they can get their hands on. Apparently, there are other militias out there that they’re working with that have the same goal,” Tony says.

“Do it,” Dawson flatly remarks. “Give them what they want, and they’ll let us go, right? Not sure why you’re not helping them. After all, the government is a bunch of tools killing their own people.”

“Regardless of how I feel about the military, or even the government, right now, I’m not going to betray my country to a bunch of backwoods hillbillies,” Tony hisses with a hint of indignation layered on his words. “Besides, giving those psychopaths military grade weaponry and other confidential intel would just exacerbate the already problematic state we are in.”

Dawson leans to his left and whispers to me, “What does exacerbate mean, exactly?”

“Basically, make everything ten times worse,” I respond.

“Yeah. We don’t want that for sure,” Dawson grumbles as he straightens up.

“So, what’s the plan, then?” I pose.

“I don’t know, James. I just... don’t know.” Tony places his hands behind his head and sighs in frustration. He drops them down to his sides and begins pacing the length of the space we are in.

Back and forth he goes, mumbling to himself. His hands move about in front of him. His fingers draw at the air.

Dawson and I watch the silent madness before us, hoping he’s formulating some sort of escape plan.

Duke’s passed out in my lap, snoring. Actually, it’s more like a whistling noise that comes from his nose. It’s annoying and yet kind of cute at the same time.

“I really hope all that talking to himself and acting all weird pays off, bro. Right now, I’m not feeling too optimistic.” Dawson drops to the unforgiving, dirty wood floor. He props his head up with his arm. “Wake me when he has a plan, or when the rednecks come back.”

Dawson grows silent as Tony finally stops pacing. He vigorously rubs both hands against his face and growls in aggravation. His body deflates and slumps back against the wall. He plops down to his backside and mutters some choice words.

Visibly pissed, he presses his teeth together and bangs his head against the wall. He reaches into his left pant pocket and removes another pack of cigarettes. He opens the lid and chuckles under his breath. “One left. Perfect time as any to stop smoking, I guess.”

“Probably for the best. Those things will kill ya,” I say.

“Yeah, among other things.” Tony glances my way with a long face. “Sorry, kid, for getting you and your pal mixed up into all this. Wasn’t my intent.”

I shrug. “Is what it is. Life doesn’t seem to be fair right now to any of us. I’ve had more bad crap happen to me these last few days than I have my entire life.”

Tony agrees. “It only gets better, kid.”

Even being as young as I am, I pick up on Tony’s sarcasm.

His gaze drifts off to the left as I continue to stroke Duke’s coat. With no one else to engage my thoughts, I sit anxiously and wait.

For what? That remains to be seen.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

As night sets in, and the building we’re trapped in gets darker, I stare off into the void of my nothingness. Both Dawson and Tony are out, leaving me to my restless thoughts.

I haven’t been to sleep. I’ve closed my eyes, but never drifted off. How could I? Every time I do now, I wake in a panic from the dread that plagues me. Regardless of where I go, it follows me constantly.

I try to curb the impulse to check my phone every second in the hope that my text got out, and Mom has already replied. I know the battery is inching down every second that goes by, and when I turn on the screen, ZAP! There goes even more power. I didn’t even realize that my hand was already cradling the phone.

I slip it back into my pocket, resisting the temptation. My face disfigures in anger. My fingers want to ball into a fist and punish something, anything for the way I feel. I struggle to maintain my composure, and refrain from lashing out.

I’m still just a kid, and it’s not fair. I know most kids complain that they want to be an adult and are ready for such grown-up things, but this is way more than I can bear.

Something stirs just outside the wall and catches my attention. The distraction frees my mind and gets my focus back. I listen closely, pressing the side of my head to the narrow gap in the building. There it is again. What is that?

“Hey guys, get up!” I say, but they don’t budge. Duke lifts his head and stares at me. “Did you hear that, boy?”

Duke groans as he yawns. His fangs glisten in the brief shred of light that slips in through the narrow cracks of the walls.

“Daw-”

The door unlocks and swings open. A foul stench invades our space before a large, overweight man enters our lavish accommodations.

“Hope ya’ll are ready to give the boss what he wants. For your sake, anyway,” he says with a halfhearted chuckle. Another one of Roy’s fetid henchmen. Great.

We say nothing.

“Get up!” He slams the butt end of his gun on the wall, startling Tony and Dawson out of their slumber. Duke begins to growl, baring teeth and folding his ears back.

The man trains the rifle at Duke. “I’d watch that dog, boy. If he tries anything, I’ll put him down.”

“It’s all right, just settle down,” I say to Duke while glancing up at the man. His face is mostly blocked out with shadows, leaving only a hairy round outline for me to view.

“Wake up and get down here. You have two minutes.” The man and his stench leave the building as Dawson and Tony shake the sleepiness from their faces.

“All right,” Dawson croaks. He laboriously gets his feet under him. “Stinky prick.”

Tony’s lips remain sealed as he rubs his face.

I run my fingers through Duke’s coat a little more before standing up.

“What was that all about?” Dawson whines.

“I guess Roy doesn’t want to wait any longer.” I glance at Tony. “Tell me you have a plan to get us out of this?”

Tony looks in the direction of the door and strokes the thick black stubble on his chin. “I’m sorry, boys. I-”

“Get down here now,” the man bellows from outside the building.

Tony takes the lead and walks toward the doorway. He steps out and down the ramp, followed by Dawson, then Duke, and myself.

A handful of armed men stand off to the side, their darkened faces void of any sort of jovial expression as they hurry us along.

Dawson stops at the opening. He glances back over his shoulder at him, his eyes wide with a look that he’s thinking intently on something. He grabs the door jamb on either side of him and barks, “What are you going to do with us?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, pretty boy, if Captain America here doesn’t give up what the boss man wants to know” the man replies. “Now get on down here.”

“Guess he’ll have to wait then ’cause I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where you’re taking us,” Dawson demands.

I lean in close and peer over Dawson’s shoulder. Tony is pulled off to the right and held at gunpoint.

The man on the left narrows his eyes in Dawson’s direction. His tongue plays across his pursed lips as he spits off to his left and responds in a gruff baritone, “Boy, if you don’t get your ass down here now, I’m going to break every bone in your body slowly.”

I whisper into Dawson’s ear, beseeching him to do as instructed. The man’s intense gaze is deadlocked onto us as he points to the ground.

“Are they ready?” Roy asks over his two-way radio.

“Don’t test me, boy. You will regret it,” the man threatens. Dawson turns his head to the right in Tony’s direction, who has the barrel of a rifle pressed against the back of his head. After a few seconds of pondering the alternative, Dawson steps out.

“Yeah, boss man. Got them heading over right now.”

“Good. Send them over to the pit. Hopefully, soldier boy has had enough time to make the right call,” Roy says. “For those boys’ sake, anyway.”

The man to our left grabs Tony by the shirt and throws him forward. “Move it, military man.”

Pissed, Tony stops, and turns around. He walks toward the man. The butt end of a rifle hits him in the face. The impact rattles Tony, dropping him to one knee.

“Chill it, big man, before you get your compadres killed over there.” The man presses the barrel of his rifle against Tony’s head. Two more guns click from behind us, the sound of the weapons sending a tremble of fear down our spines. “Now move!”

Tony complies without any further objections. The man’s gun stays fixed in the middle of Tony’s back.

We’re led through the thickness of the damp, cool night air through the tall weeds. Two bright lights illuminate the ether of darkness up ahead.

“What is the pit?” Dawson whispers. “Pits are never a good thing.”

I nod in agreement. “If we stay calm and don’t do anything stupid, we’ll be fine.” I’m not sure I believe that, but I want to keep Dawson from freaking out. Just wish I had someone to stay any impulses I have.

Roy huddles underneath the bright lamps with some of his men. He swats at the insects that are drawn to the light’s radiance.

Roy waves us over as he dismisses his men with a flick of his hand. They fan out, keeping their rifles pressed to their chests as their shadowed faces create a frightful silhouette.

“Morning, boys,” he says. His voice is laced with jubilee. “I trust everyone slept well and took that time to make some really smart decisions.”

We stay silent. Our eyes pointed toward the dirt as we’re halted by fingers grabbing our clothes a few feet from the pit. I can hear something moving within the hollow opening, but I can’t see what it is. I gulp.

Roy waddles over. He tosses his arm over Tony’s neck and says, “So, tell me something good. Something that I want to hear.” He leans in closer to Tony, and tilts his chin down some and slightly to the right.

“I’ve got nothing to tell you,” Tony flatly responds.

Roy nods.

I gulp louder as he glances toward us.

Roy removes his arm from around Tony’s neck. He pats him on the shoulder, and motions to one of the armed guards to his left. “Give me your side-arm.”

The guard complies.

Taking the weapon, Roy comes over to us. Duke growls, baring his fangs and folding his ears back. Roy points at Dawson.

“Come here, boy.”

“Uh, no. I’m good right here,” Dawson says as he scooches close to me.

“I don’t recall asking.” Roy nods to the guard to my right.

He grabs Dawson by the arm and drags him over to Roy. Stiff and rigid, his arms by his side, Dawson stands perfectly still.

Wielding the pistol in his left hand, Roy glances at Tony. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

Tony’s fists clench tightly as he narrows his eyes at Roy. “Let the boys go. This is between you and me. They have nothing to do with any of this.”

“Wrong place, wrong time.” Roy brings the pistol up and presses the barrel flush against Dawson’s temple. “Last time I’m going to ask. Give me what I want, and you and these boys are free to go. Simple as that.”

Dawson’s tremulous voice squeaks. “Come on, Tony. Just tell him, will ya?”

“Yeah, Tony. Just tell me,” Roy quickly adds.

The muscles in Tony’s arms contract. He goes to speak, then stops.

“To be honest, I’m not a kid killer,” Roy says as he lowers his gun. “You got me. You called my bluff.”

I exhale a deep sigh of relief as Dawson cuts his eyes over to me. His face is flush, beads of sweat racing down from his hairline as Roy hands the pistol off.

“I’m a sporting man. I believe everyone should have a chance in this world. Regardless of who they are.” Roy aggressively grabs Dawson’s wrist. He shoves him backward toward the pit, stopping him just shy of the opening.

The chasers inside the pit of doom whip up into a feeding frenzy. Their insatiable pleas for Dawson’s body radiate from the gaping hole.

Dawson yelps. His eyes go wide with shock as his body leans over the gaping hole.

“Wait!” Tony shouts as he reaches for him.

“Now, I am done messing around. You give me what I want, or I will drop this kid into this pit.” Roy foams at the mouth, spit spewing from his lips like the chasers do when spotting their prey. “Perhaps the chasers that I have down there will cushion his fall.”

“James, do something!” Dawson pleads as his free arm grabs at Roy.

“You got two seconds to make your mind up,” Roy threatens. “One... Two-”

The report of a rifle crackles in the early morning sky. A low buzzing noise swarms in our direction. The single shot hits one of the armed gunmen closest to Roy, sending him stumbling backward into the pit.

The gunmen shoulder their rifles and search for the source of the shooter. I drop to one knee and cover Duke.

Roy releases Dawson’s arm as he drops to the ground and scurries away. Dawson struggles to keep his balance as he teeters on the edge. Tony takes two big strides and reaches out for Dawson as he falls back, and disappears from sight. Hitting the ground, Tony reaches down into the pit.

“Dawson!” I yell as another gunshot sounds off. Another of Roy’s gunmen goes down.

“Who the hell is firing at us?” Roy growls as he struggles to get his feet under him.

“Not sure, but we have chasers inside the fence!” Pete screeches as he helps Roy up.

“What the hell are you waiting for? Go take care of it.” Roy grabs Pete and pushes him forward. “The rest of you, go kill something.”

My fingers come across a board in the grass as Roy barks orders at his men. He pays me no mind, his back is turned to us.

The volcanic emotions stirring inside me brim on the verge of erupting into a violent display. This fat swine killed my best friend, endangered Duke, and is responsible for the crap storm that we are all swallowed up in now.

My hands tighten around its moist edges. I pull it free from the weeds. Standing up, I charge Roy. I unleash my pent-up feelings, striking him in the side of the head with the stout block of wood.

The impact is harsh and brutal. Roy stumbles to his left, and drops to the dirt in a heap of unconscious blubber.

“James, give me a hand, will ya?” Tony calls out.

He slowly pulls Dawson up from the bowels of the pit as his fingers claw at the dirt. I run over and grab his other arm. We pull him up the rest of the way and drop him to the ground.

Panting and breathing hard, Dawson lays prone on his stomach. I plop down on my butt as Tony gets to his knees.

“You ok, bro?” I inquire. Duke comes over and licks Dawson in the face as he rolls over to his back.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he huffs. “All right, Duke.” Dawson pushes Duke’s face away as he gets up on his knees.

“We need to go while we can,” I urge.

Tony stands up, and peers into the direction of the rifle reports. “You boys go on and get out of here.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?” I ask.

“I can’t.” Tony rushes over to the slayed gunman. He relieves the dead body of his rifle and pistol. “I need to make sure they don’t follow you.”

Dawson climbs to his feet, and places his hand on my shoulder. “James, we have to get moving, bro.”

I stand up as flashes from the gunmen’s rifles light up the fading darkness like fireflies. Screams of panic and distress fill the air. Dawson’s ready to go, shaking his hands as his gaze looms over the field.

“Don’t worry, James. Everything is going to be all right, but I need for you to go, now.”

A chaser runs toward us through the weeds. Tony shoulders the rifle and fires. He takes it down with a single shot—right between the eyes.

“Get to your mom and sister. Be safe, boys.”

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Tony is gone. I can no longer see him as the darkness of night surrenders to the rising sun. The cool, crisp air brushes against my sweaty skin, sending a shiver that slithers down my body.

The crackles of gunfire continue to sound off. Dawson collects any weapons the downed gunmen may have before we leave. Duke sniffs Roy, pawing at his unconscious body.

“Duke, get away from him and come here, now.” I sternly pat me leg. Duke shakes his head and complies.

“All right. We’ve got a rifle, hatchet, and some extra rounds of ammunition. Pick your poison.” Dawson shows me the weapons. I take the hatchet.

“Ready?” I ask him.

“More than ready. Let’s get out of here.”

We take off running away from all of the chaos and gunfire. Duke is by my side stride for stride, and Dawson follows close behind us. We make a beeline for the buildings up ahead.

Roy’s men are nowhere to be seen. I glance to my left, then my right. Nothing but wide-open fields with the weeds swaying from side to side.

Visibility is getting a bit better as the sun continues to grow brighter. I can’t wait to be out of here.

We slow and stop for a moment behind one of the buildings. Dawson doubles over with his hands resting on his knees, breathing heavy. Duke pants hard, his tongue dangling out of his mouth.

I rest my arm against the wood siding of the building. My chest heaves out, then in as I try to refill my lungs. Winded, I ask, “Ready to move?”

“Dawson shakes his head. “No, but we need to get while the getting is good.”

“Agreed.” I carefully slide down the left side of the building. Duke stays by my side. Nearing the edge, my fingers wrap around the hatchets handle tighter.

We make the corner and head down the narrow space between the buildings. Our pace quickens. We shuffle along, through the silence. We are almost in the clear. We’re going to make it out of this nightmarish place in one piece.

A chaser bursts from an open doorway and tackles me. The impact dislodges the hatchet from my hand, leaving me defenseless.

Dawson brings his rifle to bear, but struggles to obtain a clear shot. “I can’t fire without hitting you, James.”

“Then hit the damn thing, will ya?” I exclaim as its rancid breath blows into my face.

Duke bites its arm, clamping down and pulling. Blood pours from the wound, racing down its mangled arm and dripping onto me. It pulls its arm free of Duke’s mouth and backhands him, knocking him hard against the building next to us.

“Come on, man, do-”

Dawson rams the butt end of the rifle into its head, momentarily breaking its hold. I quickly look from side to side. I search the ground, trying to locate the hatchet. Dawson tries to strike it again, but is knocked off balance by the chaser’s wildly erratic movements.

Still on top of me, blood flows freely from its head and mouth, splattering my face. My right hand skims across the hatchet’s handle. Staring deep into my eyes, it comes for me once more.

I bring the hatchet up swiftly and bury the bit deep inside its skull. Its bones crunch. The trickle of blood turns into a flood and coats my face with the warm substance. Lifeless, it falls forward on top of me.

“Dude, get this thing off me!” I yell to Dawson, feeling panicked and trapped. After a few seconds of trying to bench press the dead weight off me, the body is pulled up and tossed to the side.

“Are you ok, kid?” an unfamiliar voice asks me.

In shock, I lay there. My hand palms the warm, thick blood on my face as I notice a figure standing over me. I’m not sure if I want to throw up or scream right now.

Oh, crap, what if I swallowed some. What does that mean? “Did I swallow any of its blood? I don’t know if I did. Am I going to turn?”

“Calm down, kid, you’re fine,” the man says. He grabs my shoulders and tries to get me focused.

“Who are you? Get off me!” I push and shove at him, scooting away in a fit of panic.

He puts his hands in the air. “All right, kid, just calm down, and shut up before you attract any more attention.”

Duke comes over and gingerly sits next to me. He’s got a bit of a limp to his walk, but otherwise he seems fine. He growls at the stranger as I hug his neck.

“Christ. I’m about tired of being the piñata of the group,” Dawson growls in annoyance. “You ok?”

“I think so.” My fingers swipe across my eyes, removing any excess blood from them.

Dawson’s face distorts in disgust. “Oh, crap dude. That’s gross.”

“Here,” the man says, handing me a red and black bandana.

I take it and vigorously rub my face. “Who are you?”

He extends his hand toward me. “The name’s Snyder.”

A little leery, I shake his hand. “James. This is Duke. That’s Dawson.”

Synder grips the bill of his green John Deer hat and nods. “Good to meet you, boys. Here, let me give you a hand there.” Snyder grabs my arm.

Duke growls, baring his teeth.

Snyder quickly releases and takes a step back.

“It’s ok, boy.” I pat him on the side gingerly and stand up. “Why are you helping us?”

“I’m no kid killer,” Snyder remarks. He retrieves Dawson’s rifle from the ground and hands it back to him. “Roy has taken this initiative of his too far. He had some of my good friends killed because they wouldn’t follow along with his ideology. I’ve been biding my time for the moment to strike back. Plus, I’m not about to start killing innocent Americans because of his revenge trip.”

“So, it was you who was doing the shooting earlier?” Dawson inquires. He holds the rifle close to his chest.

Synder turns toward Dawson. “It was. Like I said, I’m not about killing kids.”

Gunfire ensues, which grabs Snyder’s attention and his head twists over his shoulder. He removes his John Deer hat and runs his fingers through his moist, brown hair.

“I need to get you boys out of here before someone spots us. There’s a place in the fence that’s pretty well concealed from prying eyes.” He glances at Dawson. “You know how to handle that rifle, kid?”

Dawson narrows his eyes at Snyder and scoffs. “Yeah, I think I’ll manage just fine.”

“Here, I managed to grab this rifle from the belongings they brought back.” Snyder removes a rifle from his shoulder and hands it to me. It’s my dad’s Remington. “I packed a few more boxes of ammo in this pack.”

He tosses my gear at my feet, which I quickly retrieve. “Thanks. I didn’t think I’d ever see this again.” I slip the pack over my shoulders.

“Here, take this too.” He pulls a pistol from behind his back and hands it to me.

“Don’t you need it?” I ask.

Snyder pushes me to the side, pulls out another pistol, and fires a single shot. A chaser falls to the ground behind me.

“I’ll be good. Now come on, let’s get going.” Snyder blows past me down the side of the building. I take off after him, following close behind with Duke by my side. Dawson brings up the rear.

We stay close and shadow every step Snyder makes as he leads us through the maze of buildings. He pauses frequently to scope out the area for Roy’s men or any chasers. Even though I’d say that they have their hands full right now, I really don’t want to take the chance.

“Snyder, have you gotten eyes on those damn kids?” a voice crackles in over the air.

Snyder stops and holds us up. Grabbing the radio clipped to his side, he responds. “Not yet. Been dealing with those things mostly. Has anyone had a visual on their last whereabouts?”

“They were last spotted running through the field to the east toward the buildings,” the man replies.

“Oh, crap, dude. They’re still looking for us. We need to get out of here now,” Dawson says in a panic.

“Chill out, man. Stay calm and keep it together,” I remark.

“Yeah, I’ll keep an eye- watch out!” Snyder fires his gun behind us. The bullet zings past Dawson who falls to the ground in a panic. It grazes a man who is charging our way on the arm.

Snyder engages.

The two men collide. The sounds of struggle come from both as Snyder is pushed backward against the building. We keep our distance as they fight. Duke runs to intervene, but I stop him. I don’t want him to accidentally get hurt in the process of helping.

“James, I think we should get going while it’s good,” Dawson says while getting to his feet.

My arms go up in the air. “We don’t know where to go. Without him, we’re just wondering around.”

Snyder is punched in the face and thrown to the ground. The man wraps his arm around Snyder’s neck, and yanks him off the ground, squeezing with all his might. Snyder looks in our direction as he rams his elbows into the man’s sides again and again.

The man releases his hold. Snyder takes a step forward and throws his right elbow into the man’s face. Grunting in pain, the man clamps his hands to his face as he stumbles backward.

With one fluid motion, Snyder zips about and discharges his firearm. He puts two in the man’s chest and one in the head.

Snyder grips his throat and says, “All right, come on.”

“Dude, that was badass and kind of scary at the same time,” Dawson whispers to me.

“It was,” I respond.

Snyder continues to massage his throat as he walks past us. He doesn’t really say much of anything, looking beyond the building’s edge and out over the open field. I can see a thin stream of blood trailing down from the top of his forehead and dripping from his chin.

“You ok?” I inquire.

“Yeah, I’ll live. Things will probably get wild before I’m able to get you two free outside the fence. So, when I tell you to go, you book it! Understood?”

I nod.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Dawson adds.

Staying low to the ground, Snyder slips out from behind the building. He signals us with his hand behind his back. He never turns around.

His head pivots from side to side as we work our way across the back section of buildings. It’s overgrown with tall weeds.

Every little twig snapping or scurrying sound sends Duke on the defensive. I give him a gentle pat on the side, indicating that it’s ok. His deep throated growling subsides.

Snyder stops suddenly, making a fist behind him. He scoots to the side and grabs me by the shoulder. Pulling me forward, he points out into the open field.

“Twenty paces straight ahead. There will be a portion of the fence that will be loose. You’ll be able to get out through there.”

“Isn’t this an electrified fence?” Dawson asks.

“It is, but I’ll take care of that,” Snyder ensures.

We hear some voices in the distance. Snyder’s arm spans across my chest, pulling me back up against the building. He looks out beyond the building’s edge.

“What is it?” I ask.

“You three wait here. When you see your opening, run.”

“How will we know what the signal is?” Dawson asks.

“Oh, you’ll know what it is,” Snyder replies with a coy smirk.

“What about you?” I ask.

Since losing Dad, and Mom and Cindy being on what should be the other side of the world, I’m finding myself holding onto that thin piece of humanity. True, we don’t know this guy, but it feels comforting to have someone not wanting to kill us or feed us to the wolves. Well, chasers in this case.

“I’ll be all right. You just worry about surviving and getting to wherever it is you’re going.” Snyder turns and gives us a nod. He heads back in the opposite direction. He stops and looks back over his shoulder. “Remember, run like hell.” And with that, Snyder vanishes around the corner.

Dawson and I stare at one another for a few moments, still a tad confused by this plan.

“Man, that guy seems almost as crazy as the other. I think he figured it wasn’t worth getting himself killed over a bunch of kids and a dog. That’s why he split,” Dawson says.

“Let’s be ready in any case. If we have a chance to get out of here, we need to take it.”

The voice of the armed men sends us back up against the building, and our nerves on edge. Duke scrambles to his feet, ears folded back and making for the field, but I hold him tight. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that he’s had enough of all of this himself.

“Calm down, boy,” I say while stroking his dirty coat.

“Hey! Look!” Dawson exclaims, pointing out into the field.

The armed men patrolling head away from the fence and us. The area clears quickly, leaving nothing in our path.

“Come on, let’s go,” I say as I ready to make a mad dash.

“Dude, are we sure about this? What if this is all part of their sick twisted plan?” Dawson points out to the field as he makes his case. “We run out and they pick us off.”

“Do you want to wait here and watch me and Duke?” I ask.

Dawson shakes his head emphatically. “Not really.”

“Then come on. We’re wasting time.” I peer around the corner, double-checking that there’s no one lingering about. More gunshots fire off into the air, but this time in rapid succession.

“Come on, boy.” I release my hold from around Duke’s collar. We bolt from behind the building. I keep as low as possible, counting in my head the twenty or so paces that Snyder said the fence opening was.

15, 16, 17, 18, 19, and 20.

I come to an abrupt stop, which nearly causes Dawson to bulldoze me over.

“Sorry, James. I thought I had a chaser running after me. Guess it was nothing,” Dawson apologizes.

I look over the fence, trying to find the opening that Snyder was referring to. “Where is it? I don’t see anything.”

I get closer. My eyes roll over every inch of the chain link fence. At first glance, it appears to be intact. Taking a second look, I find the opening within the tall weeds toward the ground.

“Found it!” I exclaim. I reach for the steel.

Dawson grabs my arms. “Hold up, man. We don’t even know if the fence is still live or not.”

I forgot about that.

I look down around my feet for something to throw at it. The weeds are thick, making it difficult to see through its base. I run my feet over the ground and hit what I think is a stick. I retrieve it and toss it, hoping for the best. The wood bounces off with no sparks or signs of life.

“Guess he didn’t bail on us after all,” Dawson says.

It’s nice to see Dawson eat his words again.

I grab the corner of the fence that’s dislodged in the bottom right hand corner and pull up. I whistle for Duke, who gets low and squeezes through.

“Come on, man, your turn.”

Dawson slides the rifle through first. He drops to his belly and army crawls through the small gap. He inches the rest of the way out and pulls his feet in.

I bend down to get in position.

“Hurry up, there’s a chaser coming this way!” Dawson takes aim with the rifle.

“Don’t fire. It’ll give away our position.”

Dawson shuffles his hands in a manic fashion. “Then hurry the hell up, slowpoke, unless you want to be on its menu.”

I peer back over my shoulder and find it rushing toward me with a slight limp. From here, it looks injured, but I still don’t want to take the chance. A single bite is all it takes for you to become a chaser.

I shove my pistol through the opening along with the Remington. I pull up as hard as I can on the fence, trying to give me some more room since I don’t have a spotter.

“Dude, come on!” Dawson exclaims.

I drop back to my knees, then to my stomach. I try to maneuver around the jagged ends of the fence that are trying to rip me apart. Catching on my clothes, the ends rip and tear them to shreds.

The chaser stumbles and falls into the high weeds, disappearing from sight.

“How far is it?” I ask in a panic.

“Dude, it fell. I can’t see it. Move your butt!” Dawson urges.

Its bone chilling moans and gurgling sounds creep up my back, sending a wave of goose bumps flooding my skin. My legs kick wildly, trying to move me through the tight space faster.

“My pants are caught on the ends!” I hiss.

The weeds shift in all directions. The crunching of the creature’s bulk is right on top of where I am. Duke barks, going ballistic as he jumps on the fence and sends the pointed ends of the fence further into me.

“Dude, screw your clothes, man. Rip it and get out of there.”

Dawson drops to his knees and grabs the fence. After a few seconds of pulling it back and forth, he manages to free it from my pants.

“I got it James, now move,” he orders with a winded tone.

Struggling to hold it up from the position he’s in, I move as fast as I can. My pant legs get caught on the sharp edges, but I keep going.

“Oh, crap, dude, pull your legs in!”

I pull the remainder of my legs in from the other side without pause. They get shredded some, but not too bad. Dawson lets go of the fence as the crawling corpse reaches for my feet.

Dawson swipes his hand across his forehead. “Man, that was close.”

“You’re telling me,” I reply. I’m sweating badly, my heart pounding in my ears.

The enraged chaser presses his face firmly against the metal as his one good eye locks on us. He tries to reach under, but I give him a solid kick to the face. His nose crunches under the impact, his head snaps back. It’s dazed, but only briefly. It shakes off the blow and presses on.

“Forget about him, James. I doubt he’s going to be able to get through there.”

He advances once more. Thick dark blood oozes from his face as he makes contact with the fence. The chaser’s body sparks and ignites. We all scurry away from the live fence, watching as he burns.

“Duke, you ok, boy?” I frantically ask, looking all around for him.

He comes over next to me and nudges his head against my chest. He gives me a few licks to the face and sits down.

“All right, man, we need to jet. I think they’re coming this way.” Dawson points to a handful of armed men who are heading in our direction. He helps me to my feet. I catch a rustling noise in the woods behind us, and glance back. Great. More chasers emerge through the dense foliage.

Dawson points to my thighs. “Dude, your legs are looking kind of gnarly man.”

I don’t bother looking down. “I’ll be fine. Let’s get out of here.”

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

With the compound fading into the morning sunrise, we stop and take a break.

Duke pants hard, his long pink tongue dangling from his snout. Dawson looks like he just ran a marathon. I can’t say that I look or feel much better. My legs are killing me. They sting and burn from the cuts that I suffered from the hands of the fence.

“All right, man, I’m officially wiped,” Dawson grumbles. He drops to the ground and rolls over to his back. “How are your legs doing?”

I take a seat on a log and rest the Remington next to me. I carefully pull up my right pant leg, taking care not to disturb the injuries. They don’t look that bad, just throb like hell. There’re streaks of dried blood racing down my leg, turning my once white socks to a dingy, dirty red color. My left leg is much the same.

“They hurt some, but I’ll live.”

“That’s good. Can’t say I want to keep trudging through these god forsaken woods by myself,” Dawson snickers.

“I appreciate the concern,” I reply.

“Don’t ever think that I don’t care, man.”

My pant pocket vibrates. My body jolts and seizes up. Maybe it’s Mom trying to call me.

I frantically reach in and pull it out, hoping to find something good happening for a change.

Low Battery!

It’s on its last leg. The only connection that I have to Mom and Cindy will soon be severed.

My eyes shift to the top left of the phone’s screen for any text messages that I might have received from them. Hope against hope, I guess. And of course, there’s nothing new. Feeling defeated, my face falls.

“You ok?”

“My battery is nearly dead and I still haven’t heard from Mom and Cindy.”

Dawson gets up on his knees. “Stop beating yourself up, James. I bet they’re safe and sound at your cabin.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“How far away are we now?” Dawson asks.

I sigh. “Not sure. These stupid hillbillies took us out of the way a bit. Definitely added a lot more to our trek.”

Looking up at the dimly lit screen, I start to type a message to Mom, but stop. What’s the point? They’re more than likely dead or a chaser now. My messages are probably just lost in the ether of digital space.

I tear up, sadness mixing with rage and anger. A dangerous mood to be in right now. I feel myself slipping, caring less and less about what happens to me.

Hell, I’m to the point of just running into a herd of chasers and taking down as many as I can. Screw it right? If I die, so be it. If I become a mindless sack of flesh, then my mind will be free. Or so I think. Either way, I’ll be released from the torment of knowing that my family is gone.

“Dude.” Dawson places his hand gently on my shoulder and sits next to me. He reaches for the gun that I somehow have clutched tightly in my hands. “Give me the gun, bro.”

Tears race down my face, and gather at the bottom of my dirty chin. One by one, they fall to the screen of my phone. Seeing my reflection in the blank screen, I turn and look at Dawson. I try to speak, but feel if I do, I may explode with emotion.

“It’s okay, James. We are going to make it to your mom and sister, and you’ll see that they’re fine,” he comforts with a soft voice.

“How do you know that they are?” I counter.

“I just have to believe it, man. Like I’m hoping that somewhere my mom and dad are ok. I know I talk a lot of crap and all, but deep down, I’m just as worried, man.”

Dawson pats my shoulder and smirks. I rarely, if ever, see him this raw and open. Like all kids our age, we put on this façade that we’re untouchable, and that we can handle anything, regardless of what it is that comes our way. Truth be known, I think we’re all scared little boys. I won’t say this out loud of course. I still have a reputation to uphold.

A branch snaps on the other side of the clearing where we are sitting in the woods. Duke quickly gets to his feet. He bares his teeth. A deep growl pulses from his partially open mouth. Before we can react, a voice comes from the cover of the trees.

“Don’t shoot!”

“Come out slowly with your hands up,” Dawson orders. He’s got the handgun trained dead ahead.

The figure rustles about in the brush before coming out to the right. It’s Tony.

“You boys ok?” he wearily asks.

“Yeah. Just a little banged up is all,” Dawson replies while lowering his weapon.

Limping and with blood covering his torn shirt and pants, Tony takes a seat on a rock. He’s visibly winded, breathing heavy and sweating profusely.

“I wasn’t sure if you made it out or not.” I’m glad to see Tony’s alive and that he found us.

“It wasn’t easy, but I managed to track down what info Roy had on the military’s movements,” Tony grimaces. “I destroyed what I could and tore ass to the fence. I barely made it over before it went live again.”

Tony clutches his right arm. His shirt is ripped. Blood seeps out over his grimy hand. I get to my feet. My legs ache and scream for a moment’s peace as I head his way.

I reach for his wound. “Here, let me bandage that for you.”

Tony holds up his blood-covered hand and stops me cold. “Don’t come any closer, James.”

I now see the wound. A good size chunk of his flesh has been torn and ripped free from his bicep. Duke starts toward him. I snag him by the collar.

“Aw dang, man,” Dawson mutters.

Tony looks down at the teeth marks in his flesh. “It happened when I was trying to get out of there. A chaser came up on me from behind and took a chunk from my arm before I could do anything.”

“So why the hell did you come find us, man? Kind of seems like you should’ve kept rolling on, dude,” Dawson snidely inquires.

“Dawson!” I snap.

Dawson shrugs. “I’m just saying, James, if he’s infected, then he could be turning at any time.”

“He’s right. The only reason I sought you out was to make sure you were ok. Probably was a stupid decision, but I needed to know.” Tony crumbles to his knees. He coughs violently, hacking up blood that dribbles to the dirt. He’s looking worse by the second. I limp over and lift him up. I lean him back against the rock. His eyes are barely cracked open. The whites of his pupils are fading into the blackness.

“Come on, James, we need to get back on the move,” Dawson urges.

“Listen to your friend. I spotted a few of those things just over that ridge.” Tony lifts his unsteady arm and points dead ahead.

I grab Tony’s hand and grip it tightly. Tears stream down my face once more, turning the dirt to a gritty mud mixture. I lower my head, embarrassed. I’m trying to hold it together the best I can, but it’s slipping away from me.

“Don’t worry about me, kid. I’ve been in tougher situations than this.” Tony coughs and hacks again, each one sounding more painful than the last. He releases a nasty blood mixture from his mouth, hurling it to the grass. Seemingly spent, Tony’s head falls lifeless back against the rock as he stares up to the sky.

Snap! Snap!

Branches snap and crunch from behind Tony. I peer up through the trees and bushes, but spot nothing. The noise remains, creeping closer to us.

“Dude, come on.” Dawson grips my shoulders, the urgency potent in his tone.

I reach around and pull out the handgun Snyder slipped me. I hand it to Tony. “Take this. I’m not asking.”

Tony lifts his arm up slowly, acting as though it’s a chore just to flex his limbs. I meet his hand, placing the grip in his palm. I give him a single nod, with no words to follow.

Dawson is breathing heavily as his feet shuffle in place. His hands rap on my shoulder, trying to get my attention. “James, I can see them heading this way.”

I strain to get back to my feet. My legs burn with a desire to just stop any sort of movement.

Dawson tosses me the Remington as he approaches Tony. He offers a single nod, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for everything.”

Tony nods back.

The sounds of the dead creep closer by the second. Duke trots over, licks Tony’s face, and turns tail, heading in the opposite direction with Dawson.

“Hey, James,” Tony wearily says. I stop and look back over my shoulder. “Make sure you do whatever is necessary to get back to your family.”

“I will.” And with that, I limp off after Dawson and Duke. I don’t dare look back. I might change my mind and make a foolish decision if I do.

Tony was a brave man, much like my father. He might have done some bad things, but in the end, he saved our lives.

I am grateful for that.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

The guilt of leaving Tony lying there holds me down like weights shackled to my ankles. Every step I take is labored. I contemplate going back and freeing him, knowing what being bitten by the creatures turns a person into.

He did so much for us. I feel as though we abandoned him at a time that he needed us. We should’ve stayed, regardless of the dangers.

A single gunshot echoes through the cloudy sky.

I slow my pace, eventually coming to a halt.

Dawson moves to my side. “Do you think he actually did it?”

I place my hands on my knees, panting. My head dangling toward the ground. Duke’s by my side, his breathing labored as well. I shake my head gingerly. “I don’t know.”

I glance back the way we came. The moans and sounds of the chasers roll over the terrain like brutal waves of terror. I hope Tony’s at peace now.

“Dude, I know that sucked and all, but we need to keep moving. Those things are probably right on our heels,” he cautions.

I’ve never understood how Dawson can just push his feelings to the side, and not let it get to him. I’m trying, but it’s so hard to just bury it deep and move on. It almost seems like we’ve got one foot in the grave at all times now.

Depressing? Perhaps, but that’s the way the world is now. Dark and grim.

Duke nudges my hand. His head slides under my palm as he awaits his loving pat. I bend down and give him a hug. The report of a gunshot cracks through the air, followed by a thud directly behind me.

I whirl around, finding a chaser lying face first in the grass mere inches from my boots. The back of its head has a gaping hole. The blades of grass are painted in a thick red.

Dawson lowers the rifle. “There’s more coming, James.”

My wake-up call. Kick in the ass if I ever needed one. Dealing with the turmoil I’m suffering with will have to wait. I can’t let it bog me down. Not now.

“You good, bro?” Dawson asks.

“Yeah, man. I think I’m good to go,” I say.

Dawson reaches out his hand to me. I take it willingly and get up. The wounds on my legs still burn and sting, but I ignore the nagging pain.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

The day wears on. The temperature feels as though it drops a degree with every step we take. The wind picks up, slicing through my dirty clothes and nipping at my flesh. I cross my arms and lace them across my chest in hopes of keeping warm. It does little to fend off the stinging bite of the cold.

“How far have we gone?” I ask Dawson.

“I can’t tell. Feels like we’ve been walking for hours, though,” Dawson responds.

Trudging through the dense woods, in unfamiliar territory, has made it hard to tell if we’re even heading in the right direction.

Dawson’s been leading the way using the compass his father gave to him last year. At the time, he said he’d never have a use for it, seeing as he hardly ever went out on an adventure. To be honest, I never thought to ask if he even knew how to use it.

Dawson pauses. He holds the compass up in front of him, and moves it to the left, then the right.

“Your dad showed you how to use that, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did, person of little faith.” Dawson lowers it and closes the lid. “I finally figured out that we were heading in the wrong direction about an hour ago and changed course.”

“What?” I snap.

Dawson snickers. “Just kidding, James. Just wanted to ruffle your feathers again. Sometimes you make it too easy, bro.”

“Not cool, man. Not cool at all.” I grouse.

Duke’s nose is glued to the ground as he sniffs about. He darts in and out of bushes, looking for who knows what.

So far, we haven’t seen any more chasers, but that does little to stay my nerves. Just in the short time we’ve been walking, I thought I saw a number of them. Hiding in the trees, laying low in the bushes. Ready to strike and devour us. Thank goodness, it has only been a figment of my imagination, or perhaps it’s my body’s way of keeping me sharp.

“Do you hear that?” Dawson freezes. His head tilts to the side slightly.

I stop and listen. It’s dead silent. I’m not picking up unusual noises, which makes me wonder what he heard. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Come on!” Dawson dashes off to the right and down a small embankment.

“Dude, wait up.” I trail after him. Duke stays by my side as we sprint through the swaying grass.

Dawson’s not letting up, running as though his life depends on it. “Almost there, man. I can hear it more clearly now.”

“Hear what?” I yell.

Dawson disappears behind a thicket of trees. I’m still unable to hear whatever it is that has him so excited. We make the bend, and I find him on his knees next to a steady flowing stream.

Winded, the palms of my hands resting on my knees, I ask, “Water? This is what you heard?”

Dawson cups his hands together. He submerges them into the stream and brings the water to his mouth. He sucks it down. Beads of the liquid race down his mouth and drip from his chin.

He nods and swipes his arm across his mouth. “Yeah. Wasn’t sure if I was hearing things or not. Glad I was right.”

I step to the bank’s edge and look over the water. “Does it taste all right?”

“It tastes like it’s better than nothing,” Dawson replies as he gulps down another mouthful. “Do we still have a canteen?”

“Let me check.” I remove the pack from my back and open it up. I can’t remember what’s inside. I dig around for a few seconds only to find nothing of use. “I got nothing.”

Dawson pats the grass next to him.

“Oh, well. Guess we better get our fill while we can. Take a load off, brother.”

I plop down next to Duke who’s still going to town. His tongue laps at the water, his fur under his chin becoming soaked.

He pauses for a brief moment and glances at me. He leans in and licks me across the face. Generally, I would push his head away, not wanting his spit and whatever else on me, but I take his loving gesture with open arms.

Dawson points to our left. “So, I figure if we follow this up stream, then it should get us back on track.”

“How do you figure?” I ask, finally stopping Duke from tonguing me to death.

“When we were being taken to hillbilly haven, they followed this stream. It’s not too much farther before we get to where we were,” Dawson informs.

“Wow, I’m impressed. Why couldn’t you pay attention like that when we were in Ms. Johnson’s science class?” I ask half-jokingly.

Dawson holds up two of his fingers. “Two reasons, my friend. One, she was boring as hell. Two, there were too many hot girls in our class that drew my attention. So, to be fair, it really wasn’t my fault at all. It was the school’s.”

I try to contain myself, but bust out laughing from Dawson’s ever so predictable response. He tries to hold on to some serious expression, but quickly waivers. We get a good chuckle in.

“You are right about that. Ms. Johnson had all the hot girls in her class. It was about the best part of going there,” I say.

“Hey, I was just thinking. Not sure why, but do you think Kimberly’s a chaser or not?” Dawson asks.

My face crinkles in confusion. “I don’t know. What brought that up?”

Dawson shrugs. “Just wondering if she is a chaser, if she is still hot.”

“Probably not, man. Have you not been paying attention to those things? Looks seem to fly out the door once you’ve turned,” I respond.

“So, does that mean if you came across her and she was in mid transformation, you wouldn’t make out with her?” Dawson looks at me with a stare that has me baffled. He looks serious, and yet he is smiling at the same time. Not sure what he’s getting at here.

“I don’t know, man. Depends.”

“Damn. Dude, that is gross. I know you like that chick, but dang, that is pretty bad,” Dawson chuckles.

“I said depends, butthead.” I punch him in the arm. It’s actually kind of nice having my mind diverted from the current dead state we are trudging through, but a big part of me is still riddled with so much guilt and hurt that it feels wrong to being doing such things. “Can I ask you something?”

Dawson swipes his arm across his mouth, wiping away the water dripping from his chin.

“Sure, bro.”

“Do you think it’s wrong for us to be talking the way we are? As if nothing is wrong and people haven’t died?”

Dawson takes a moment and mulls over my question. His brow furrows as his right hand fetches an itch on the back of his neck.

“To be honest, man, I don’t know. I’m just trying to cope with everything the best way I can. Is it wrong? Maybe, but sometimes to keep from crying and breaking down you need to inject some humor. It may be a dick move, but I don’t know how else to process it all. We are out of our depth here.”

I nod in response. In some small, weird Dawson way, what he said kind of makes sense. This whole event has completely obliterated my world, and I’m lost to know how to deal with the feelings tearing at my insides. For now, we need to remain as sharp as we can. Our lives depend on it.

We sit there for a few more minutes, talking and cutting up while I splash some water on my face. The water is frigid, but the coldness on my skin does much to keep me alert.

I clean the wounds on my legs. They still look gross, but the water washes away the dirt and dried blood. After all, they don’t look as bad as I had guessed they would.

“Closest thing to a shower we’ve had in days, huh?” Dawson splashes water on his face and head.

“Not really. Remember that crossing we had to do? It was a quick, cold dunk. Although, this has been a little more refreshing. At least we aren’t currently being chased by those things and get to enjoy this some.”

Duke pauses from drinking any more water. His ears perk up. His head rotates back, and he looks in the direction we just came from. He’s frozen, eyes peeled dead ahead. His body becomes tense.

Dawson huffs. He rolls his eyes. “Well, that was nice while it lasted.”

“It could just be some animals or whatever,” I reply.

Whom am I kidding?

The disturbance grows louder, coming closer with every second we sit here.

Dawson gets to his feet. He gives me a hand up. Duke tries to charge the rustling noise, but I stop him.

“No, boy. Stay with us,” I command.

Duke barks once, followed up with a growl. He tugs a few more times, but ultimately complies with my command.

We head off in the opposite direction, quickly moving up stream and away from the disturbance. I keep peering back over my shoulder to see if we’re being pursued, but find nothing in our wake.

“I don’t see anything back there. Like I said, could’ve been an animal or something making all that racket,” Dawson says.

“Did you really want to take that chance?” I inquire while glancing over at him.

“Not really. I’m good with leaving it a mystery.”

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

The day wears on, which feels like an endless loop of us trudging through the woods. The sun fades behind the thick clouds rolling in just to the east of us.

We continue upstream, passing where we were and getting back on track. I’m surprised that we’ve kept the pace we have. We haven’t had much in the way of sound sleep, and a full meal has eluded us since this whole thing started.

Chatter has been null. Not sure if it’s because we’re both tired or the day’s events are wearing on us. With the stillness of the forest invading my mind, I start to think of Mom and Cindy. I know my phone is probably dead, but I still want to look.

Wrestling it out of my pocket, I notice it looks rough. The corners are all beaten up. The screen has a nice crack running right down the middle. I don’t see any point in getting mad or upset, considering what I’ve put it through. Even if the battery isn’t completely drained, the damage alone is probably enough to keep it from working.

I hold the power button on the side for a few seconds. To my surprise, the broken screen comes to life. I didn’t think it would, but I’m glad it did. It boots up and splashes the manufacturer’s logo across the screen. A warning message appears.

You have 1% battery life remaining. Connect to charger now.

The screen goes blank, along with any hopes of hearing from my family. I don’t see any reason in continuing lugging this thing around. I might as well just chuck it in the woods, but I don’t. I slip the paperweight back into my pocket.

Breaking it into a million tiny pieces would only soothe my anger and frustration for a short bit. It’s the only thing I have now that is tethering me to my family, whether they be dead or not.

“Everything ok?” Dawson asks.

“Yeah, why?” I flatly retort.

Dawson pushes a low-lying branch out of his way as he walks under it. “I heard you sigh like you sometimes do when you are really stressed or aggravated.”

I groan. “It’s nothing. Just my phone is cracked, and the battery is completely drained now.”

“Don’t sweat it, bro. If we keep hitting it at the pace we’re going, we should be to that cabin in no time,” Dawson reassures.

I was so caught up in my self-loathing that I didn’t realize where we were. Looking about, I quickly remember the times Dad and I came out here to hunt while Mom and Cindy hung back at the cabin.

We would venture well beyond what Mom was comfortable with. It always made her worry, but she wouldn’t say anything. Dad told her he didn’t want her coddling me too much, and that it was good for me. There was normally some good game around these parts too.

My stomach growls. “Are you hungry?”

“Heck yeah, dude,” Dawson exclaims. “I’ve been starving for the past few days. Just haven’t said anything.”

“Let’s find a place to hole up for the night. We’ll see if we can catch something to eat,” I suggest.

“My hunting skills aren’t as good as yours. Just not my thing, bro. If it’s not deep fried and in a bucket, then I’m pretty much screwed.”

“It won’t be up to par with Colonel Sanders, that’s for sure,” I add.

Dawson shrugs.

“At this point, as long as it’s cooked and edible, then I’m good. Hell, it might not even need to be cooked.”

We hold up for a moment, so we can survey the land for a place to make camp. Dad and I never stayed in these parts of the woods. I do recall a few areas that looked like they’d provide a good place for us to hole up for a bit.

“Over there.” I point at a thick group of trees that’s layered with bushes and other foliage. “Let’s check that out and see if it’ll work.”

Duke decides he’s going to take point. He stays a few steps ahead of us as we work our way over. I remove the Remington from my shoulder. Dawson pulls out his pistol as we near the site.

We pause at the outer rim of the thick, prickly bushes, trying to see what it looks like on the inside. With the clouds seemingly following us, and keeping us in a constant state of gray overtone, it’s difficult to tell what’s lurking within. Looking it over, I find a narrow, almost hidden path that snakes inside.

I bend down and rub Duke’s head. “Ok, boy. Go in there and check it out.”

Wagging his dingy, yellow tail, Duke disappears into the thicket of bushes while Dawson and I wait anxiously by.

Shocked, Dawson says, “Wow, man, you let him go by himself. I’m impressed.”

“Ha ha,” I reply with a sarcastic expression.

I bend down and look through the narrow opening, trying to get eyes on him. It’s quiet, except for the occasional rustling from what I can only assume is Duke. I’ve got the Remington lying across my legs. My finger rests against the trigger.

Bark! Bark!

Springing to my feet, I bring the Remington up and train it dead ahead. Dawson does the same. It sounds like he found something, but I can’t see what’s going on.

“Duke!” I call out.

“Dude, what do you think he found?” Dawson inquires.

“Not sure, but be ready,” I advise.

Patiently waiting, the disturbance comes for us. It rips through the bushes with a violent jostle. We back up quickly, holding fire for fear of hitting Duke.

“Duke!” I call once more, hoping for another bark or something.

The noise suddenly stops. We hold steady. I still see nothing, not even Duke. I try to find his yellow coat among the vibrant vegetation.

Did a chaser get him? I don’t know, and it’s killing me not hearing him.

I take a step forward. Duke bursts from the bushes with something clutched in his mouth as he runs up to me.

Dawson shudders from the sudden emergence. “Jesus, Duke!”

Duke drops a rabbit at my feet and brushes up against me before jetting off in the opposite direction.

I shoulder the Remington, and grab the rabbit by the ears. “Looks like dinner is served. Hungry?”

Dawson lowers his weapon, and makes a slightly disgusted face. “Not particularly what I was wanting to eat, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“True. Not sure what you thought we were going to have.” I point out past the trees. “You want to gather up some firewood while I prepare this?”

“Dude, that was a given. There was no way I was going to de-gut or whatever you call it,” Dawson says with revulsion. “Are we still going in there?”

I nod. “Yeah. Duke didn’t find anything except for dinner. So, I’m good with that.”

“All right. Guess I’ll get the wood, then. Be back shortly.”

I glance up through the canopy of trees. “I would hurry. It’s getting dark quickly, and we probably want to get a fire going.”

“Roger that.”

Dawson heads off through some trees as Duke rushes back to me. He sniffs the rabbit. He wags his tail, and his ears fold back. I know he’s probably just as hungry as we are. Having that animal in his mouth was just a big tease to him.

“Come on, boy, let’s go fix this up.”

Bark! Duke leads the way through the bushes. I follow behind on my hands and knees. It’s a tight fit, but I manage. I keep the rabbit in front of me, and away from the sharp ends of the branches.

I emerge and stand up. The area seems pretty well enclosed. There’s a narrow opening that heads off to the left through a maze of mounded rocks. I’m not sure where it leads to, and at the moment, I’m more concerned with getting this rabbit ready for roasting.

Laying the rabbit down, and well out of Duke’s range, I begin processing it. He quietly sneaks up to my left and sniffs the air.

“I’m working on it, boy.”

I’ve only done this two other times. It was some years back when Dad and I were out on one of our hunting trips. I generally don’t find myself overwhelmed by the process, but once you start cutting, it’s a whole different ballgame.

I remove the gear from my back, and set it on the ground. I unzip the top portion and peek inside. My hand dives in and retrieves my sheath. I remove the knife and take a deep breath.

I start cutting. Blood flows instantly and my stomach churns from the sight. I gag a bit, but hold down what little morsels of food might be swimming in my stomach.

Duke sits next to me, watching every move I make. I think he’s hoping I’m going to throw him a bone or something.

“All in good time, boy.”

Getting past the first few minutes of wanting to spew all over this dead animal, I find my rhythm and press on. I can’t remember if I’m doing it exactly right, but I guess it really doesn’t matter.

“You got that done yet, man?” Dawson asks as he drops an armful of branches and twigs to the ground.

“Getting there. If you want to get that pit dug and the fire going, we can get Bugs Bunny on there,” I respond.

“Duke, come here. Dig right here.” Dawson points to the dirt in front of him as Duke gives him a quick glance before looking back up at the rabbit. “Thanks for nothing, dude.”

Jamming the best-looking piece of wood from the bunch he gathered into the ground, Dawson digs out a good size hole. Placing rocks around the outer rim and filling the hole with tinder, he adds the branches.

Dawson places his hands on his hips and says, “All right. It should be good to go. You got any matches?”

I stick my butt out toward him. “I got a lighter in my back pocket.”

Dawson guffaws. “Yeah, dude. I’m not fishing that out.”

“Don’t be weird. I’ve got blood and guts all over my hands. I would prefer to not add anymore on my clothes.” Dawson hesitates. His hand reaches closer before he reels it back. “Come on, man, right back pocket. You’re not going to grope me, are you?”

“Funny. Besides, you’d only be so lucky.” Dawson reaches in and digs the lighter out fast. He shivers and backs away.

I can’t help but laugh as I finish the rabbit off. “Done.”

Dawson strikes the lighter. He places the flame close to the tinder. It catches with relative ease. The wood crackles and the fire spreads throughout. Blowing on it some, Dawson nurses the flame until it’s going strong.

“Nice, man,” I compliment.

“Not bad for someone who’s not the outdoorsy type, huh?” Dawson stands up and admires his handy work. To be honest, I’m surprised he was able to do it. Like he said, he’s not the outdoorsy type.

“Yeah, man. Good job. Let’s throw this rabbit on there and get it going. Hopefully, it won’t take too long.”

It’s crude at best, but I ram a stick down its mouth and out the other end. We set up sticks on either side of the fire pit, and place the rabbit on top. It starts to crackle and pop from the heat cooking its flesh.

“Did you happen to see any water while you were out gathering wood?” I inquire.

“Yeah.” Dawson points back to the way we came in to our little sanctuary. “Keep straight and you’ll head down a hill. Then take a left at this janky tree. There’s a small stream running through the trees just on the other side.”

“Janky tree?”

Dawson shrugs. “Yeah. Weird looking. Not sure how else to describe it, man. Is what it is.”

“I need to clean my hands off. Be back shortly. Watch the rabbit, and turn it when it seems like it’s done. Come on, Duke.”

I get off the ground and retrieve the flashlight in my pack. I head out of our little secluded hiding place with Duke on my heels. It’s even darker now, which I didn’t realize while messing with that rabbit and sitting by the fire for a few. I turn on the flashlight, and follow Dawson’s less than stellar directions.

It’s quiet. The wind is barely blowing, and there’s hardly any animals, signaling that they’re in the trees or bushes. It’s kind of eerie to be honest. Duke doesn’t seem to care much. He just trots along ahead of me with his nose to the ground.

We keep on, passing Dawson’s “Janky” tree. We finally find the stream. I rush over and get to my knees. Duke is beside me, lapping up the water.

I submerge my hands. The coolness grips me tightly and sends a deep shiver through every inch of my body.

I don’t take too long in rinsing my hands clean, getting as much of the grime and blood free from them as I can. I cup my hands together and douse my face. It’s so cold, but refreshing at the same time.

Man, what I wouldn’t give for a shower right now. Cold or hot. Preferably hot.

Wetting my hair, the water streams down my neck to my back. I dunk the canteen. It fills up quickly, which I take a big gulp from. I add more and pet Duke.

“Drink it up, boy.”

He licks around his mouth and goes in for some more.

Something moves in the bushes directly across the stream, stopping us both cold. I fumble for my flashlight, knocking it around on the ground until I’m finally able to take hold of it.

The disturbance stops, but only for a few seconds. I shine the light frantically over the bushes, but see nothing. Duke wants to pursue, shuffling his paws in place as he groans, but I hold him back. I get to my feet. With my hand still clasped around Duke’s collar, I back up.

Duke growls, which I silence quickly with a stern shush. Back peddling away from the stream, we leave the disturbance and head back to our site. I check over my shoulder, not finding anything after us, which comforts me some.

Dawson sits there on the ground. He pokes a stick at the fire as he turns to me and asks, “You all right?”

I glance back the way we came. “Yeah, man. We heard something down by that stream and bugged out.”

“Did you see what it was?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I think it was probably some coon, squirrel, or something like that.”

“Hopefully you’re right.”

Duke’s nose is drawn to the smell of the rabbit cooking, as is mine. I walk around and sit my canteen down next to the gear. I take a big whiff, inhaling the smell of the cooking meat.

Dawson points the end of his stick at the rabbit’s side. “I think it’s close to being done. I cut into it right there.”

Pulling the flesh back with my knife, I inspect the rabbit. “Looking good. Just a few more minutes and I think we can eat.”

Duke sits close to the fire. His eyes focus on nothing but the rabbit. I take a load off, and lean back against the gear I’ve been hauling all over these god forsaken woods.

I look up to the sky above. Through the narrow opening in the canopy, I spy a vast number of stars. They’re so vibrant. I can even see the Milky Way. It’s kind of peaceful.

I stroke Duke’s back while watching the stars shine in the blackness of space.

“All right, James. My stomach can’t wait any longer. I’m getting my grub on, bro.” Dawson gets his knife and cuts off a good-sized chunk of meat. He cautiously grabs it with the tips of his fingers, fumbling it back and forth in his hands while blowing on it. He takes a bite.

“How is it?” I ask.

Dawson chews the meat and nods. “Well, it could use some salt and pepper, but not too bad.”

I reach up and slice a leg off and give it to Duke. He snatches it out of my hand and goes to work, ripping meat from bone. I get me a part of the rabbit and start eating as well.

There’s still some fur that I didn’t get off, but it doesn’t bother me right now. I chomp it down without care and go back for seconds.

“If you would’ve asked me a few days ago if I’d be eating a rabbit in the middle of the woods while being chased by ravenous dead people things, I would’ve laughed my butt off and said you were crazy,” Dawson says, followed up with a deep belch.

“I find it amusing that you’d say that, Mr. Conspiracy theory.”

Dawson nods in agreement. “Well played, sir, well played. Although to the degree this has gotten, not sure I’d ever see anything like people eating one another.”

We laugh a bit and continue eating. For the next couple of hours, we cut up about our past school struggles, and what we think our fellow classmates are doing right at this moment.

The odds are not in their favor at all. Some we think might handle the walking dead apocalypse while the majority are either dead or looking for a tasty morsel. Oh, the deranged mind of a couple of teenage boys with nothing to occupy their time.

“I’ll just say this, James. If I turn into one of those things, please, oh please, put me out of my misery. They look horrible dead, and I am too damn good looking to suffer through that,” Dawson chuckles.

“One right between the eyes,” I reply.

I don’t take Dawson seriously, as there is no question that we are both making it through this. I don’t think of the “what if’s” of this nightmare. Or at least I’m trying not to.

Duke curls up next to me and falls fast asleep. That whistling nasal sound creeps back, which I try to ignore. I know it’s probably from him being so tired and worn out, but it still aggravates me. I massage the back of his head and behind his ears, his sweet spot, as we lay silent around the fire.

The rabbit is all but gone. Nothing more than bones and what meat we couldn’t shovel into our mouths remains. I think I ate too much. My stomach rumbles and gurgles from being filled to capacity. It could just be upset that a pizza or something deliciously sweet hasn’t come along in a few days.

Dawson is passed out as well, snoring along with Duke. I’m close, my eyes weighing heavy. Glancing back up at the sky, I think of Mom and Cindy and wonder how they’re doing. I’m hoping they’re ok, safe from those things.

I’m coming. Be there soon.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

It’s been hard getting to sleep. I have no clue how Dawson has checked out and turned deaf ears to the world. The silence is almost as bad as the scurrying and rustling sounds.

At least with those, I never have the chance to relax and let my guard down. But with the stillness surrounding us, my body wants nothing more than to recoup some much-needed sleep. I finally give in.

My mind fades and eyes clamp shut. Duke’s nostril whistling has reduced to a low snoring hum that’s actually not too bad. With him snuggled next to me, the added warmth on this cool crisp night is like a blanket I’ll gladly take.

My body goes limp and I’m toast. Before I can get to dreaming about anything exciting, I’m startled by Duke shifting his body.

“Come on, lay still will ya? I’m trying to sleep here,” I mumble half asleep. He persists, his fur brushing across my cheek and making it itch. “What is your problem?”

Groggy, I sit up. My back is full of knots, and I grimace from the discomfort. My eyesight is hazy and foggy from being so out of it. I jam my fist into my eyes, rubbing and trying to clear it out.

“All right, dude, what’s all the fuss about?”

Duke sniffs around where Dawson had been sleeping. I look about. That feeling from before when I woke up all alone creeps up on me. I try to stay the fear, but I’m losing that battle.

“Dawson. Where are you?” I whisper. “Dude, this better not be a joke because I’m in no mood for it.”

I get no response, not even a snicker or chuckle from wherever he’s hiding. Reaching for the Remington, I keep Duke close as I look over the darkness.

The flames from the dying fire whip about from the wind blowing through. It casts some oddly shaped shadows that ramp up my imagination. Taking the safety off, I get to my knees. Then my feet.

“Dawson!” I call out once more, checking the area where he was sleeping. Still, no response.

I’m clueless as to what to do. Do I go looking for him or stay put? Trying to find someone out here is almost like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

I look over the ground where he slept, trying to locate any clues. I really don’t know what I’m looking for either. To be honest, I could be overacting for nothing. He might have gone to use the restroom or refill his canteen down by that stream. I wouldn’t have alone, especially after the freak out session I had, but he might.

“Duke, what do you think?”

He groans and tilts his head to the side and sits down on his hind legs.

“Thanks. You’re no help.”

Something moves in the bushes around us, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from exactly. The Remington springs up as my finger instinctively moves to the trigger. I start sweating, the cool night air nipping at the beads racing down the back of my neck.

Duke growls, and moves up next to me. He starts advancing forward, but I hold him back.

We pivot in a circle, trying to locate the disturbance. Something grabs my shoulder from behind. I scream and whip about.

Dawson puts his hands in the air and exclaims, “Whoa, dude. It’s just me. Are you ok?”

“What the hell, man?” I bark. “You scared the crap out of me. Where were you?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and walked around. I tried to tell you, but you just mumbled and rambled something I couldn’t understand. So, I just left.” Dawson points at the Remington. “Would you mind pointing that away from me, please?”

I lower the rifle back down to my side. “Holy crap, dude. I didn’t know if something happened to you. Duke woke me up and was growling at something in the bushes so my mind went wild.”

Dawson nods. “Yeah. It’s been pretty quiet for sure. I didn’t hear too much.”

“To be honest, I’m surprised that you went walking around, considering all that’s going on.”

“Well, I needed to get up and clear my head. My mom and dad are weighing heavy on mind and it was starting to rattle me. I’ve been coping with it as best I can, but my mind was going non-stop.”

“Do me a favor. The next time you want to go for a stroll in the creepy, dark woods alone, make sure I’m awake and lucid first,” I tersely retort.

“That I will do.” Dawson pats me on the back and nods as we sit back down around our dying fire. We pile some more twigs and leaves on the bottom and light it up, reigniting the flame. We both seem pretty well awake now.

Duke rubs up against me and licks my face a few times before darting through the bushes. I don’t bother with inquiring where he is going. He probably needs to stretch his legs and use the restroom.

We spend the rest of the night talking, both of us unable to get back to sleep. The rabbit gets picked clean a little further till there is nothing more than a skeleton dangling from the stick.

Morning breaks with the sun cresting over the mountains in the distance. The warmth hits our campsite, splashing Dawson right in the face.

Duke is asleep next to Dawson. It doesn’t seem to be bothering Duke any to have him so close. His dirty yellow coat lights up from the sun striking it.

“Man, I can’t believe it’s already morning,” Dawson says as he yawns and stretches. He gives Duke’s side a gentle rub and pats the side of his head.

“I know, right,” I reply with a big yawn of my own. My butt’s aching, and my back still hurts from resting against this rock all night long. “Now don’t be stealing my dog, ok.”

Skeptical, Dawson says, “I really don’t think you’re going to have to worry about that, James. You know how this dog feels about me.”

“Actually, I think he’s warming up to you,” I retort.

“And all it took was a plague of undead to bring us closer together.”

Duke groans and stretches his legs out in front of him. The fire we had going has died out. We don’t bother building it back up, but instead we push dirt inside the pit.

“You ready to bust it today so we can get to the cabin?” I ask.

“For sure, man,” Dawson responds with a thumbs up.

He gets to his feet and lends me a hand. My legs are sore and my back is still knotted from the uncomfortable sleeping position I was in. I think I should’ve found a better resting spot.

We gather up our supplies and pack, making sure the fire’s been extinguished well enough before we get on the move. Duke races and jumps around. It seems he was the only one who got a good amount of sleep.

“So, you think by the end of the day, we should be there?” I ask while stretching.

Dawson grabs his rifle and slings it over his shoulder. “I guess. If we keep a good pace and try to avoid stopping too much then that should work. You’re Mr. Adventure here. I’m just the city boy, remember?”

I strap my pack to my back. “I don’t know. You seem to be coming into your own out here.”

“What I would like to come into is a nice hot shower, a change of clothes, and a night out filled with stupid decisions. You know, the little things,” Dawson mentions.

“So, you basically want a normal day then,” I reply with a chuckle.

“Haha. Let’s not forget about the skeletons in your closet, dude,” Dawson reminds me with a tilt of his head.

He’s right about that. I have my fair share, although his are much more fun to talk about.

I rub Duke’s head. “This is true. You ready to see Mom and Cindy, boy?”

Duke wags his tail faster. He rubs against my leg and takes off through the bushes.

“Guess that’s a yes,” Dawson says. “Wish I knew how that dog has so much energy.”

“You and me both,” I reply.

Dawson heads out after Duke as I kick some more dirt over the smoking firepit, just to make sure it’s out.

“Hey, I’m going to get a drink from the stream before we get going. Do you want to come?” I inquire.

Dawson shakes his head. “Nah. I’m good.”

“All right. Be right back.” I sprint down to the stream, feeling much more relieved now that the sun is out, and I can see everything a lot more clearly. I didn’t realize how chilly it was this morning without being close to the fire we had going.

A shiver slides over my body as I kneel down at the stream. Dunking my hands and filling my palms full, I take another swig. I drink as much as I can and dunk them again.

Something moves in the bushes across the way. My body tenses up, hands spring up from the water. I get to my feet. I catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. It doesn’t look like an animal at all. It’s much larger, like a person.

Oh, crap!

My heart beats faster, and my breathing escalates. Fear grips me tightly. I manage to dart behind a tree before it looks back. I didn’t get a good look, but my intuition is screaming in my ears what it is.

Hands shaking like a leaf, I try to plot my exit. The chaser feels close, like it’s on the other side of this tree waiting for me to make my move. I remove the Remington. I take a couple of deep breaths.

I twist to the left, slowly rolling out from behind the tree to see if I can get a better look. It’s still in the bushes, thrashing about and messing with something on the ground. It pauses, and looks back this way.

I start to take cover again, but realize that it doesn’t see me. It’s looking in every direction and at nothing in particular. My nerves ease some. After a few minutes of it being curious, it turns and continues messing with whatever is on the ground. I really don’t want to know.

I jet from the stream and make a beeline back to where Dawson and Duke are waiting for me.

“You ok, bro?” Dawson asks.

I double over and place my hands on my knees. “I just saw one of those things by the stream.”

“Crap, dude. Was it chasing after you?” Dawson pulls his handgun from behind his back and points it in the direction I came.

“I don’t know. I didn’t stop to look.”

Duke comes over and tries to lick my face. I push him away.

Dawson stands on the tips of his toes and struggles to peer over the thick bushes. “I don’t see anything. Maybe now is a good time to get moving.”

I nod.

Dawson backs up and heads off in the opposite direction with me and Duke trailing behind. I really want nothing more than to just get to the cabin and not have to worry about all this. I don’t really know if the chasers are there or not, but I’m trying to find a silver lining in this nightmare we are living.

“You know, I never thought I’d see the day I’d be following you through the woods,” I mention as I follow behind Dawson.

“I know. Your dad always busted my balls about how I needed to learn more about hunting and survival, and get my head out of those games and things,” Dawson replies.

We continue walking through the dense woods. The sun’s rays beam down through the sparsely covered branches above, making it less chilly. I don’t really want it to get too hot though, considering that we already smell horrible, and the stench will only get worse. Man, what I wouldn’t give to have a nice shower right now.

“How long you figure we’ve been walking?” I ask.

“Too long. My legs are tired, and my feet are on fire,” Dawson barks.

Funny how fast his mood has changed.

I think back to school and remember our days in athletics.

“Didn’t you run track and all that?”

Dawson scoffs. “I did, but not for three days straight, man.”

“We’ve had some down time here and there,” I counter.

“Down time,” Dawson replies with a sarcastic chuckle. He throws up a rock, and clubs it with a block of wood he’s been toting around. “Not exactly what I’d call down time, man. Being chased by those things and spending a night in Hotel De Hillbilly. I’ll take my bed and less than boring life over this adventure any day.”

I can’t help but laugh at Dawson’s bellyaching. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve done my fair share here as of late. Guess I’m glad that it’s him instead of me at this moment.

Dawson turns his head to the right and asks, “What’s so funny back there? I can hear you laughing, dill hole.”

“Nothing, man. Just figure it’s better to be laughing than feeling sorry for myself. You know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

Dawson clubs another rock, sending it screaming off into the distance. The noise echoes through the canyon we are walking through.

“Hey, maybe we should take a break from home run derby. It seems to be causing a whole lot of extra noise,” I advise.

Dawson tosses up another rock and slugs it hard. “Don’t be jealous of my batting skills, James. I know you’re not much into the sport.”

“Ha ha. Very funny. We’ll see what kind of jokes you have when a chaser shows up because of the racket you’re making,” I say.

Dawson stops for a moment and digs into his right pant pocket. Duke continues on and disappears over a hill ahead of us.

“What are you digging for? Some more smartass comments?” I jokingly poke at him.

“Maybe.” Dawson removes a pack of cigarettes. The box is crushed and mangled. I didn’t particularly care for the taste or smell of the rancid things, but it seemed to take the edge off some.

Dawson hands me the pack.

“Two left. Want one?”

“Sure.”

I take one from the pack. Dawson grabs the other and discards the box to the ground. Litter bug.

I take out my lighter and ignite the end. I light Dawson’s as well. We both stand there in silence, puffing on the cigarettes. We take turns chocking on the toxic fumes while coughing the smoke from our mouths.

“So, you think your mom will be upset?” Dawson asks as he takes another drag.

My face distorts in disgust as I glance his way. “Upset about what?”

Dawson holds up his half-smoked cancer stick and points to it. “You smoking, fool.”

“I think she’ll just be happy to see me. This seems to be trivial compared to what’s happening.” Right now, I’m not even sure if the horrid smell of smoke lingering on my tongue would matter to her.

“Dude, if my mom and dad ever caught me smoking, there is no place I could run and hide. I don’t even think they’d care about the dead rising and trying to eat us. It would just be nagging about why I had to try smoking cigarettes or whatever.” Dawson folds his arms across his chest and contorts his face to look like his mom’s. Brows slanted inward and a furrowed frown as he points and scolds the air.

“Yeah, I could see that. Your parents are ball busters for sure. But deep down, they love you a lot, Dawson.” I reassure him with a smile.

He scoffs and shrugs. “If you say so, James.”

“Actually, mine can be just as tough and hard on me. Guess that’s their job and all. To make our lives miserable for eighteen years, or to make sure we don’t end up like Nick Colson, the high school dropout who does way too much drinking and drugs. Last I heard, he was in jail.”

“Lord! Amen to that.” Dawson nods. “That dude is a basket case. He’s definitely not going to make it through the apocalypse.”

To be honest, I really miss Mom and Dad worrying all the time about me and being nosey. More so Mom, but in either case, I wish things were different.

“Ok, man. I can’t take any more of this thing.” Dawson chokes on the smoke as it comes blowing out of his mouth. He tosses the snuffed-out cigarette onto the ground, and stomps it out.

I take one last drag and do the same. The smell is annoying me, and the smoke filling my lungs burns.

“Not sure how great of an idea that was,” I say with a scratchy tone.

“Agreed.”

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

My mouth is dry, full of cotton. I wish I could vanquish the bitter taste of the cigarette. The rich tobacco has done little to calm my nerves, but instead has made me more hyper.

Dawson turns and heads up the hill. I swish what fluid I have in my mouth and spit, trying to rinse out the disgusting aftertaste, but it does little good.

A noise in the distance stops me cold. My eyes shift in the direction we just came. I’m so paranoid now that every little bump, creak, or strangely odd noise that’s carried on the back of the wind sends my guard up. I take heed of the eerie feeling overcoming me.

Everything around me falls silent. I listen intently, tilting my head slightly to the right. There it is again, but this time louder.

My nerves tighten, and I reach for the Remington. My fingers brush against the wooden stock. A rabbit hops out of a bush to my right. It doesn’t pay me any mind, hopping past me and darting off into the thick trees and bushes.

“Dude, you dying down there?” Dawson calls out.

“Nah. I’m coming.” I make my way up the hill and over the peak, catching up to Dawson and Duke. We get back on the move, stopping only when necessary and not messing around. Duke’s been ahead of us for a while, hopefully scouting and not chasing any animals he comes into contact with.

Bark! Bark!

Dawson squints. He brings the edge of his hand up just above his brow. “Why is he barking?”

"Probably just signaling where he is so we can find him.” We race down through the overgrown brown weeds and push our way through the low-lying branches in search of Duke. His barking becomes louder, more focused every step we take.

I get in front of Dawson, my ears honing in on each gruff noise he makes.

“Duke!” I call out. I catch sight of his dingy yellow coat through the thicket of verdure. He’s standing in place, and barking with his head tilted upward toward the sky. “We’re here, boy!”

Pushing the remaining branches out of our way, we make the clearing. I head for Duke when I suddenly spy the wide openness of sky and the void of any land. I hit the brakes and put my arms out to stop Dawson from going any further.

My feet slide over the loose dirt and rocks as I glide near the edge of the cliff. Dawson grabs me by the shoulders and pulls back. “Whoa, dude. That’s a long way down.”

I exhale a sigh of relief. “Yeah. That’s a trip I sure don’t want to take.”

Duke ceases his barking and comes over to us. He licks our hands and sits down on his hind legs. My heart races, and my breathing is labored.

I’m not a big fan of heights. Never have been and never will be. Going to amusement parks was a nightmare. Everyone always wanted to go on the biggest, tallest, scariest rides, and I just had to suck it up and deal with it. On the outside, I tried to look as though it was fun, but on the inside, I was crying like a little baby.

“Well, this sucks,” Dawson says plainly.

He carefully inches toward the edge and peers over. Just watching him is rattling my nerves.

“Can we back track and find another way around?” I suggest. I’m up for anything, really.

Dawson shrugs. “Guess we could, but I have no clue how far it would be or where to even go.” Dawson looks to either side. He raises his hand in the air to blot out the sun. “Or we could just cross right over there.” He points to his left to a shady bridge that’s swaying in the wind. From here, it looks like it has seen better days.

Dawson and Duke head over to the bridge. I take a couple of deep breaths and follow along.

The wind howling through the gorge before me sends a frightful shiver of fear through my body. I tell myself over and over again that if need be, we are crossing that bridge for Mom and Cindy, despite my fear.

“James, come here,” Dawson yells, motioning me to him.

Remember, you’re doing this for Mom and Cindy. For Mom and Cindy. So, get over there.

I walk over to the bridge. It sways back and forth, the wind picking up even more the closer I get. Is Mother Nature out to get me as well?

Dawson takes a couple of steps out, pressing his foot down on each board to test it. “Feels pretty solid to me.” He jumps up and down. My anxiety goes just as high. “I don’t see any bad spots really, but we’ll need to be careful when walking across. What do you think?”

My eyes are focused on the bridge, and of course, the worst possible scenarios—a board snapping under us or the ropes giving way and sending us plummeting to the ground below. Stupid, I know, but I can’t help it.

“James?”

“Yeah?”

“You good with this? You got that same look as when we went to that park and rode the Iron Maiden,” Dawson reminds me.

Thanks. I had forgotten about that.

Slowly backing away, I feel as though I am hyperventilating. Placing my hands on my knees, I take a couple of deep breaths. This is for Mom and Cindy. I just have to suck it up and get it over with.

Duke growls. His ears fold down onto his head. My muscles become tense and swollen with angst. My eyes widen as I search for the cause of the disturbance. His growling becomes more violent.

“Do you see anything?” Dawson asks, backing further onto the rickety bridge.

As I glance to the side, something blunt smacks me in the back. The impact sends me to the ground hard.

“James!” Dawson yells.

“Hold it right there, boy,” a familiar voice curtly demands as he fires a single gunshot into the air. “You and Koojo there keep your asses where they are.”

Oh no, is that... Roy?

Dawson grabs Duke by the collar. Duke barks fiercely, baring teeth and growling under his breath.

“Man, I sure could use a dog like that. Would come in handy for sure,” Roy mentions.

As I lay face first in the dirt, Roy grabs the Remington and pulls it free from me. I try to get up, but get a boot in the small of my back that sends me back to the dirt hard.

Unable to assess the situation from where I am, I try to reason with him. “Listen, just let us go. We didn’t have anything to do with what transpired back at your compound.”

“Toss it over here, boy!” Roy orders Dawson.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Dawson holding his handgun in his free hand. With a scowl, he tosses it over. It hits the ground right in front of me, kicking dirt into my face.

Roy bends down and retrieves the weapon. He takes a moment before demanding that I move.

“Get your worthless hide off the ground slowly, boy.” He lets up his foot that is pressed in my back. He grabs my coat, and yanks me off the ground. “And here I didn’t think I’d find you boys again.”

“I thought-”

“You thought I was dead or something!” Roy angrily snaps.

He flips me about face and jerks me toward him in a fit of rage. His breath still smells horrible, the stink worse than the trash dump we pass on the way to school. His face is covered with bruises and cuts, blood completing the palette.

Duke’s growls grow in intensity. His barks become deeper in tone. I look back over my shoulder, holding my hand up to try to calm him down. It doesn’t do any good as Dawson struggles to hold him back.

“Well, no thanks to you, kid! I came too just as a handful of those chasers were barreling down on me,” Roy growls. “Guess you should’ve taken another swing to make sure I wouldn’t get up.”

“Seems like your country ass and your fellow hillbilly friends got what you deserved,” Dawson hisses from the swaying bridge.

With my head bouncing all over from Roy jerking me from side to side, I mouth “shut up” to Dawson.

“Perhaps we did, smartass. But I guess it’s too bad that they didn’t finish me off,” Roy counters. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to track you boys down.” Roy shoves me away, my feet fumbling as I stumble backward onto the bridge. Dawson catches me by my arms and helps me back to my feet. Duke charges Roy, growling more fiercely than I’ve ever heard him before.

“Duke, stop!” I yell as Roy trains his gun at Duke’s head.

He complies, stopping immediately upon command, in what I fear is not a moment too soon. He continues to growl, baring his glistening fangs for Roy to see.

“Man, that dog’s got a temper for sure,” Roy snickers. “I love me a mean and feisty mutt. You got him well trained, boy.”

“You ok?” Dawson asks.

“Yeah,” I adjust my clothes and gear. “So, what are you going to do to us?”

Roy rests the barrel of his gun against his shoulder and paces about. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that and couldn’t make up my mind. I could just kill you right here on this bridge, quick and fast. Kick your bodies over and down into that nasty little river below. Probably some nice jagged rocks to break your fall.”

“Or...” Dawson adds sarcastically.

Roy pauses and stares at him. “Man, kid, you sure got a pair on you. Hanging out to dry and you’re still running that mouth of yours.”

“Just want to know my options here,” Dawson remarks.

“Dude, what is your deal? Quit adding fuel to the fire,” I snap. “I’d like to see my mom and sister again.”

“Listen. We’ve been chased by dead people for the past few days. I’m tired of all this crap. Consider this my breaking point,” Dawson retorts.

“You two do realize I can hear you, right?” Roy asks.

We both shut up.

Roy brings the barrel back down and trains it in our direction. “Option two is less pretty and way slower, more painful, and time consuming. I won’t bore you with the details.”

Standing there, I catch something moving out of the corner of my eye. Duke growls again, baring teeth and lowering to the ground. I glance at Roy, then back over his shoulder and find one of those things creeping over a boulder.

I reach back and tap Dawson on the leg and whisper, “Look behind him.”

“What?”

“The rock behind him. At the top,” I respond again.

Dawson glances up. “Oh shi-”

“What are you two girl’s gabbing about?” Roy angrily snaps.

“Nothing,” we both quickly reply, clamping our mouths shut.

“Are ya’ll trying to come up with some sorta plot here to try and escape? Because if that’s the case, I hate to break it to you, it will not work.”

The chaser. It’s gone out of sight as my eyes go from where it was to Roy and back again.

Where did it go?

A rustling in the bushes, closer to the ground and to Roy’s left, grabs his ear. Both Dawson and myself seize up as Roy turns swiftly around. He trains his gun in the general direction, but nothing is there.

I tap Dawson’s leg once more and take a step back. At this point, I’d rather take my chances on a rickety bridge.

“Who’s there?” Roy demands. “Don’t much think you want to mess with the widow maker here. She’ll tear you in two in a heartbeat.”

Slowly and quietly, we continue to back down the bridge. I’m trying to not look to either side and keep my focus dead ahead, but it’s hard. I catch glimpses of nothing but open space. My heart thumps faster in my chest and short bursts of air escape my trembling lips. The view rattles me, but I keep it together.

“It’s probably some damn varmint,” Roy mutters, spitting at the bushes. “Hey, and just where the hell do you think you’re going?”

We stop as Roy follows us out onto the bridge. He’s not as careful as we are. His heavy feet and plump stature test the aged ropes. The bridge sways, jostling us from side to side. Both hands grip the thick rope tighter. Duke stays in front of us, his body poised to strike.

“Looking a little green under the gills there, boy,” Roy chuckles. “Not a big fan of heights, huh?”

I give no reply. The terror on my face says it all. I grip the ropes so hard that it feels as though the blood is rushing from my hands, turning my knuckles a white, milky color. My lips tremble with fear. I try to shake it, but can’t. Being caught between certain doom has my fight or flight instinct working overtime.

“Well, at least I’m not about to die, dick head,” I snap through trembling lips.

“Oh really,” Roy replies, training the barrel of his gun directly at my head. “Seems as though I have made up my mind.” Smiling devilishly, he readies to fire.

The chaser explodes out of the thicket behind Roy. His gun discharges in our direction as the creature sinks its teeth into his left shoulder. I drop to the wooden slats, covering my head, but keep an eye on Roy.

He screams a curdling cry of pain as he struggles to rid himself of the creature on his back. Blood spews from the wound, racing down the front of his dirty flannel shirt.

“Uh, James,” Dawson mutters from behind me.

I glance over my shoulder to find Dawson on his knees, both hands covered in blood as he cradles his stomach.

“Oh, Christ!” I scramble to get up and check on him. “Oh man, oh man, oh man.”

The bridge sways violently. I grasp the rope and Dawson, trying to keep him from slipping over the edge.

Tears flowing down his grungy cheeks. I’m lost as to what to do. I don’t want Dawson to die.

“Dude, let me see.” His hands shake as I move them out of the way, trying to get a better look at the wound. There’s so much blood, and with everything going on behind me, I can’t really gauge how bad it is. “We need to get you off this bridge, now.”

Getting to my feet, I grab Dawson by the arm and try to help him up. Another gunshot rings out.

The bridge shifts to one side. I drop down on top of Dawson, covering him up and keeping him from slipping off the side. I glance over my shoulder. Roy has blasted the left side post.

The rope holding the bridge steady tears through the shredded wood like a hot knife through butter. I brace my feet in a small opening on the slats as I try to figure out what to do next.

“Hold on bro, just please hold on,” I whimper in a quivering mumble.

I want to yell for help, but my cries and pleas would only fall on deaf ears. The chaser has overtaken Roy. He’s just a few feet from us now and is feasting on Roy’s dead body. I can’t say that it’s not bittersweet for him.

In all of the commotion, I must’ve lost track of Duke. Franticly looking down below us, I fear the worst.

Bark! Bark!

I look to the opposite side of the bridge and find him pacing back and forth, barking his head off.

Thank God!

The chaser continues to rip and tear through Roy’s dead corpse, pulling chunks of flesh and his insides out. I’m not sure how much longer it will be occupied with him, as his body is partially hanging off the side of the bridge. His right leg is intertwined with the rope and his foot has somehow slipped through one of the slats.

“All right, man, we need to get moving now.” My voice is overtaken with uncertainty and dread.

I get off Dawson and stand up. He’s losing color in his face fast and is appearing weaker by the second. I struggle to pick him up, but the bridge bounces all over with the slightest move we make. I try to keep my eyes focused on him and the solid ground, and not the massive gorge below us.

“Come on, bro. I need you to try, man,” I plead.

Dawson hacks and spits up a nasty blood clot, the life fading from his eyes right before me. I’m doing everything I can to try and save him, but I’m not sure it’s enough.

Roy’s mangled and ravaged body finally slips from the snare his leg was caught in. Confused, the chaser slurps down the juicy meat clutched between its teeth as it looks for him.

“Christ, dude. We have to go now!” I grab Dawson by the scruff of his shirt and try to pull him off the bridge. I struggle to do so as Dawson is not a small person, and the bridge is now at an angle. He helps some, but not much. Glancing back over my shoulder, the chaser’s attention focuses in our direction. Its eyes narrow in on us.

“Dude, I need you to try and get up.” Tears flow freely down my cheeks in my helpless predicament. “I can’t do this by myself.”

Dawson’s body finally goes completely limp. He’s semi-conscious, eyes glazed over as he lifts his hand in the air.

He mutters. “Get… off this… bridge and to… your family.”

“I’m not leaving you, man, so come on.” I strain to lift him up again. I can hear the chaser coming closer and closer. Its heavy breathing and moaning creeps along the bridge toward us.

“James… go.” As much as it pains me, I give in and grasp Dawson’s hand. He’s lost so much blood, and I can’t get him off the bridge in his current fatal state. He digs in his pocket and hands me his compass. “So you can… find your… way. Promise me… you’ll make it.”

“I promise,” I somberly reply. Tears pour from my swollen red eyes.

Standing back up, I carefully step over Dawson. I grab the rope in front of me and shimmy along the narrow slats of wood around him. I try not to give the chaser a second look. I keep my eyes focused on Duke who is still barking and growling.

The wind picks up, throwing the bridge back and forth with a violent shake. I pause for a minute as my eyes catch the open air beneath us. By now, I’m partly straddling Dawson. His breathing has become shallower with every second that goes by.

Come on, James, you got to move.

I go to take another step. Something grabs my ankle, causing me to lose my balance. With both hands clutching the rope for dear life, I spin around. The chaser lays across Dawson while holding my leg. Panicked, I kick and thrash, hoping to free its grasp on me.

It moves its bloody hands up my leg, trying to get a better position. I continue to kick, but with the way I’m dangling here, I have no leverage to break free.

“Get off me!” I yell.

My panic-stricken tone sends Duke into a barking frenzy.

Dawson is motionless now. His eyes are closed, and I’m not sure if there’s any life left in him. I try to kick the chaser with my other leg, but can’t.

Looking at me with its soulless hollow eyes, I fear that I’m going to die on this God forsaken bridge. If it really wants me that bad, then it’s going to have to work for it.

I continue to fight with everything inside of me, cursing the chaser and flailing around wildly. Dawson’s body jolts under us. He grabs the chaser and breaks its hold on my legs.

“Go,” Dawson grimaces in pain. Blood streams out of his mouth as the chaser turns its hungry gaze to him.

I pull my legs in and move back some. The boards creak and pop under what I can only guess is stress from all the commotion and decades of decay. The rope slipping through my hand feels tattered and worn, hurting the palm of my hand.

The chaser takes advantage of Dawson’s weakened and near-death state, and digs into his right shoulder.

Dawson cringes and writhes in pain. He gives me one last look, eyes glassy from all the tears, before he mutters his final words.

“Rock on, brother.” Clutching the chaser close to him, Dawson leans forward and slips through the ropes. The chaser pays no attention to the fact that they’re falling, continuing to feast on Dawson’s body.

“No!” I yell as they plummet to the watery grave below.

I dare not watch the impact, feeling as though the guilt of not being able to save him might be too much for me to withstand.

Goodbye, brother. You will be missed.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Duke’s been stuck to my side like glue since leaving the bridge. He hasn’t run ahead or wandered off in search of whatever he wants to explore.

I think he can tell how my current mood is. He licks my hand frequently, and rubs against my legs in that loving manner he has. I knead his head and try to break a smile, but can’t.

I’ve lost track of time, wandering around what feels like in circles for hours. I’m hungry, starving in fact, but I don’t care. My stomach is just going to have to deal with it.

I have to rest.

Tired, I stop, and plop down on a log that is nearly swallowed by the tall grass trying to take it over. It’s uncomfortable, but my butt and legs don’t whine. Duke sits at my feet, still staring at me with a sad look. Ears folded back, he lays his head and front paws on my boots.

My head hangs low from the crushing weight of Dawson’s death. I gently glide my fingers over his fur before breaking into tears. Hands cradling my face, the loss spills out of me.

Sobbing and weeping for all that has been lost due to this plague of death, I bellow out for friends and family. I feel as though I’m cursed, and that anyone around me is doomed to fall victim to those horrid things. My dad, Tony, and now Dawson.

Maybe I should just stay away from Mom and Cindy. Not even bother with going to the cabin. Since death feels it necessary to walk in my blind spot, I’d be doing them a favor. No reason to subject anyone else to my curse, or at least, anyone that doesn’t deserve its wrath.

Wiping the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, I pick up a rock next to me, and throw it as hard as I can into the trees in front of me. It knocks and clocks off the bark, striking a few rocks before falling silent.

“Good throw, for a girl I mean,” a voice says near me.

“What the hell!” I yell. Startled by the familiar voice, I quickly scoot down the log. “Dawson?”

“Yeah, dude. Surprised to see me, huh?”

He’s sitting there, smiling at me, and acting as though nothing has happened. The gunshot wound to his stomach still looks fresh and raw. The bites from the chaser ooze blood and other fluids from his shoulder. It all seems so surreal that I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or not.

Hesitant, I ask, “You’re alive?”

Dawson scoffs. “Heck no. You did see me take a nosedive off that bridge with that thing latched to me like a face hugger, right? It kind of made me feel like Sigourney Weaver from that movie Aliens, bro.” Dawson snickers while acting that part of the movie out. “Besides, dude, this is your hallucination, not mine.”

“So, you’re not real, and I’m tripping right now?”

“Tripping pretty damn hard, my friend,” Dawson chuckles as he springs up from the log.

“You’re not giving up, are you, son?” my dad asks from behind. His presence sends me scrambling to the weeds.

“Pop?”

He peers at me with that sad look that he used to have when I let him down. I try not to look beyond his unscathed face to his ravaged and broken body.

“I know things are tough right now, and the road ahead feels impossible, but you must keep going,” he says with that firm but caring tone of his.

“I’m not sure I can,” I somberly reply. “What if Mom and Cindy are dead, or worse even, turned into one of those things? I don’t think I have it in me to do what is needed.”

Feeling myself on the brink of another breakdown, I peer over to Duke who’s looking at me with a bewildered gaze. I know he’s probably thinking that I’ve lost my mind, and to be honest, I think I have.

Dad smiles at me. His eyes are full of hope. “But what if they aren’t, James. Your mom and sister will need you to make it through this. I know you’re scared, but you’re stronger than you realize, son.”

“Weak!” another familiar voice chimes in to my left. “You might as well give up, boy, and just let those things tear you apart, or better yet, become one of them because you ain’t got the stomach or nerve to finish this out.”

Glancing over, I find Roy standing near the log with a cigar clutched between his teeth. His upper torso has been ripped open in multiple spots, allowing the smoke to escape from the wounds. But that doesn’t seem to keep him from smiling and being a dick in the afterlife.

“Face it, boy, your family and best friend are all gone, and you weren’t strong enough to do a damn thing about it. You couldn’t stop it. Again, weak.” He chuckles, the flab on his arms and stomach jiggling.

“SHUT UP!” I yell, feeling my blood boil. “I am strong enough to save them.”

“Then prove it, ’cause all I’m seeing and hearing is a little boy who’s not man enough to handle what needs handling.”

Tired of Roy running his mouth, I bolt to my feet and charge at him. I take a swing, but get nothing but air. I fall flat on my face. He laughs. The smell of his cigar fills my nose as I spit out grass and dirt.

“Like I said, boy, weak and pathetic. Do them a favor and just give up.”

“STOP SAYING THAT!” I roar in contempt. I scramble to my feet again with a fire raging inside of me. “You’ll see that I am-”

There’s no one there except for Duke and myself. I franticly look around, trying to find Roy, my dad, or Dawson, but come up empty.

My feelings of sorrow and guilt have changed into pure rage and determination to save my family. They will be alive when I get there, and nothing’s going to stop me now.

In my imaginative fit, what little gear I had left jostled free from my pack and has been tossed all over. Feeling more focused, I quickly gather up the miscellaneous supplies and take a deep breath.

I don’t have my Remington anymore. Lost it while on the bridge. The only weapon I have left is my knife, which is tucked neatly inside its sheath on my left leg.

“You ready to get to Mom and Cindy, boy?”

Bark! Bark! Duke gets to his feet and stands at the ready. If I didn’t know him any better, I’d think he was waiting for me to get over myself and back to reality.

I nudge his head with my knuckles and rub the side of his face. He licks my hand and takes a stab at my face, which I gladly take.

“Let’s go home, boy.”

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Day is turning into night. The sun dips down over the mountains as the valley’s light lessens. I’ve got my flashlight out, but the beam isn’t as intense and bright as it should be. I think the batteries might be going out on me.

Duke and I have been running in what seems like a dead heat for the better part of the evening. We’ve only stopped at streams to rest and to get a drink.

He’s panting hard. His tongue dangles loosely from his mouth as he laps up the water from the chilled stream. I check the compass.

It looks like we’re heading in the right direction, but I’m not 100% sure. It’s been a while since we’ve been to the cabin. The scenery looks familiar, but it has for the last couple of days. Trees, bushes, and thick blades of grass are everywhere.

I cup my hands and dip them into the water. I scoop up the chilled water and get a drink. Something stirs to our right. I pause.

Lowering my hands, the water spills from my hands and splashes the ground. I can’t completely make it out and don’t want to take the time to try either.

“Duke, come here, boy,” I whisper to him, trying to keep his attention focused on me and off whatever is rustling about.

He happily comes to me, and licks my hands as I hold him near. With my fingers laced around his collar, I get moving.

Snap! Damn it. I stepped on some twigs. I pause for a moment and glance back over my shoulder, but don’t find anything in pursuit.

I let loose of Duke’s collar. Something explodes out of the bushes. A chaser. It knocks me down hard, sending me sliding into the stream. I dip under the water for a few seconds before my head pops back up. It’s freaking cold. My body shivers as I lift up out of the chilled water.

Baring teeth, Duke charges the chaser. He grabs it by the leg and pulls, twisting his head from side to side as blood flows free from its leg. He digs in deep, chunks of flesh being torn free as it falls to its knees.

“Duke, get away from it, boy!” I yell.

In a jerky and creepy tilt of its head, it glances back at Duke.

“No! Let it go, boy,” I yell, fighting to get out of the stream.

He doesn’t listen, continuing to attack the chaser viciously. Dad taught him, as a pup, that he is to protect his family at all cost.

“Hey, I’m right here, you dead freak!” I yell, trying to get the chaser’s attention. It reaches for Duke, but stops and puts its focus back onto me. “Yeah, that’s it, come and get it!”

Bear crawling toward me, his soulless eyes peering deep into mine, he comes for his meal. Duke’s still holding strong, his growls muffled by the mouthful of chaser flesh.

I wade in the water, waiting for the chaser to get closer.

Almost there.

He reaches out and grabs my shoulder. He pulls himself in with his lipless mouth opening wide for his first bite.

“No meal here today,” I explode out of the water with my knife clutched tightly in my right hand.

I jam it hard into the base of his skull, sinking it in deep. He lets out one last gasp before becoming motionless.

Duke stops his attack. He walks around the dead body to me. He sniffs my face. I hold him at bay.

“I don’t think so, dude. Not till you get a drink of water and wash that nasty mouth of yours out.”

He groans and sits down briefly to scratch and lick himself before burying his snout into the water.

I finally manage to drag myself up the embankment. Drenched from head to toe, I flip over onto my back and peer up into the sky. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, I lay there for a moment and take in the view.

There’s not a cloud in sight now, just hundreds or maybe thousands of stars sparkling in the vast space. Well, actually that one might be a plane or something since it’s moving.

Duke comes back over and gives me a good licking across the face. His mouth smells just as bad as ever, but I don’t complain. There are worse things to have this close, and right now, I’m lying next to one.

“I’m about ready to be at the cabin. How about you, boy?”

Bark!

The flashlight flickers and tries to go out. I smack it against my palm which brings it back to life, for the moment anyway.

Slowly and painfully, I get back to my feet and pull free my blade from the chaser’s skull. I wipe his juices off on his tattered clothing, and place it back in its sheath.

Not too much further. I hope, at least.

We get back on the move. I anxiously wait for the first glimpse of the cabin’s brick chimney. Smoke will be billowing out of the top, and maybe the smell of some home cooking filling the air. Granted, it is extremely late, and not sure why Mom would be cooking, but a guy can dream, can’t he?

The flashlight flickers once more, cutting in and out, as we make a mad dash over the open grassy plain. Continuing the pace, I slap the flashlight against my palm a few more times. It sparks back to life, but only for a few minutes longer. Eventually, it dies out.

I let Duke take the lead, seeing how he’s roamed all over these parts more than once. I keep close on his tail trying to keep pace with him. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he wants to get there just as bad as me. I have to tell him to hold up some as he starts to pull away, leaving me behind.

“Slow down, boy.” I pause to catch my breath. With my hands on my knees, I gasp for air. A smell hits me. Burning wood. Perhaps from a fireplace or something. It’s faint, but strong enough to perk me up.

Sniff! Sniff!

“I think we’re almost there, boy. Come on!” I take off. Duke catches up as we race across the grassy field toward a hill.

It’s all starting to come back to me now. Me and Cindy running around playing tag while Duke tried to keep pace with his stumpy little legs. The smell of Mom’s homemade pot pies drifting from the kitchen while Dad sat on the porch reading his books.

We scramble up the hill and stop at the peak. There it is. I can see the outline of the brick chimney through the darkness. The smell of burning wood tingles my nose, which brings a smile to my face.

“We’re here, boy!” I bust out in joy. I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him, feeling like I’m on cloud nine. “Come on, race you there.”

I get to my feet and race down the other side, nearly tripping over myself as I make a beeline for the front door. It almost seems surreal being here. I’m almost afraid that this is a dream, and as I get closer, the house will vanish.

Duke zooms past me and leaps over the stream that wraps around the cabin. I stomp my way through without care, seeing nothing but the front door and the back of Mom’s car on the opposite side of the cabin.

“Mom! Cindy!” I yell as I leap onto the porch.

My smile and new-found life are quickly dashed. The front door is ajar, and the glass windows are busted out. The jagged broken pieces litter the floor.

Duke stands at the entrance with his nose to the ground, sniffing the broken glass. His body is rigid, his tail taut.

“Be careful, boy. That’ll hurt you,” I caution.

I reach down and get my knife. I hold it tightly in my sweaty palm as I peer inside. I don’t see Mom or Cindy, or anything else for that matter. No sounds of movement at all. It’s dead silent.

“Mom? Cindy? It’s James,” I call out.

Still nothing. No response or sounds that anyone is in there. I feel like crumbling, but I hold it together.

“What do you think, boy?” I whisper to Duke who stares up at me. He groans and moves closer to the door, nudging the faded wood with his nose. “My thoughts exactly. Wait here.”

With my free hand, I gently push open the door. The hinges squeak from lack of oil. The broken glass crunches under my boots as I survey the interior.

It’s mostly dark. Shadows plague the space. The only source of light is the lamp off in the corner near Dad’s chair. It’s been knocked over and broken. The fire in the fireplace is almost completely out. The red ambers slowly fade away.

The entire bottom floor looks to have been turned over. Dishes thrown everywhere from the kitchen, and the living room is in disarray.

“Mom, are you in here?” I call out again.

The floor stretches with every step I take, creaking and crackling under my weight. I forgot how loud it was.

Duke waits patiently at the entrance. I can hear him moan and groan, his paws getting antsy as he paces back and forth.

My hands shake. I’ve got this knife clutched so damn hard my knuckles are white. Where the hell are they? Are they hiding? Oh, no. Are they... dead?

I search the entire bottom floor for clues. Anything hinting at what might have happened here, but come up with nothing but more questions.

A boisterous rap upstairs catches my attention. Duke rushes to my side. I don’t scold him, but keep him from dashing up the stairs to investigate.

I take a step forward and spot a pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs. It trails up. Boot size impressions from the looks of it and some that are not my Mom’s size. Bigger. More like a grown man’s shoe.

“Hello?” I call out.

The banging intensifies, becoming louder as I peer up into the semi dark space. The howling wind catches the front door and slams it against the wall, rattling my nerves even more.

I’m not entirely sure that I want to go up there. I might not like what I find. However, I didn’t come all this way and lose so much to stop right here.

“Let me go first. Stay down here, and if you see anything, bark your head off.”

Duke groans and licks his chops. He brushes up against me as he turns and walks away.

“Whatever you find up there, deal with it, James,” I whisper to myself.

Exhaling slowly, I cautiously hit the first step and begin my ascent. With every step I take, I crane my neck to get a better view of the room. Its Mom and Dad’s bedroom, and we weren’t really allowed up here to play, so I can’t entirely remember how it’s laid out.

The stairs creak, stopping me cold as the banging ramps up again. It sounds like it’s coming from their closet to the right, but I’m not entirely sure. It could be a chaser trapped, trying to free itself from the walls that confine it. That would explain the mindless constant banging noise. I don’t know, but I will soon find out.

I pause briefly, and look back over my shoulder to the first floor, getting a sense of what happened here. Duke’s still pacing about, his nose to the floor and stopping every so often to glance up at me.

I continue my ascent, making it to the landing. The commotion stops. The cabin falls silent once more. I really wish I had my Remington instead of this knife. I ready myself for what might come and what I might have to do to defend myself if need be. It won’t be easy, but I’ll have no choice.

Carefully, I enter their bedroom with the blade poised and ready to strike. The small flower lamp on my mom’s side of the bed has been thrown on the floor, casting a portion of the room in a massive shadow. I spot some hair poking out from the edge of the bed and race over.

“Mom, are you-”

One of Cindy’s dolls stares up at me. Actually, her favorite. I’ve never seen her without it. Mom and Dad tried to break her of carrying it with her everywhere she went, but failed to do so. That baby doll was stuck to her like glue.

I pick up the doll. There are streaks of blood covering its face.

Thump! Thump!

I whip around, facing the door. I discard the doll onto the bed and slowly approach.

Thump! Thump! Bang!

The closer I get, the more it sounds like one of those things. There are no muffled pleas for help or anything of the sort. Just intense banging.

“Hello?” I ask.

Standing next to the door with the knife poised, I exhale.

My head presses against the aged wood, listening for any reply. The floor creaks under my weight. The person inside is now silent. My free hand grips the bronzed handle that is worn and faded. My knife is at the ready.

I contemplate whether I’m ready for what I might see on the other side. To be honest, I’m not. I start to twist the doorknob clockwise. The thing on the other side screeches.

It slams into the door with a harsh thud. I feel each blow as the wood vibrates.

I take a few steps back and rethink my course of action. Wait. What is that? A piece of paper half hangs out from the bottom of the door. I retrieve it from the floor.

Opening it up, I begin to read.

First and foremost, your sister and I are safe and sound. The cabin was overrun by those things and we managed to trap one in our closet, so please do not open the door.

Sam and some of your other army buddies were up this way and came across us just in time. They’ve taken us to a temporary safe zone south of Portland that is currently under military control. I tried to get the location, but wasn’t able to. I wanted to wait for you, but we couldn’t. More of those things were nearing, and we had to leave.

Lord, I miss you two so much, and hope you’re safe. Be careful and take care of each other. See you soon.

XOXO

Mom

My eyes well up with tears. Happiness and sorrow fill me completely as I break down at the top of the stairs. I’m relieved that they’re safe, but knowing that they’re heading so far away, I feel as though they might as well be on the other side of the planet. I’m not sure I can get to them. How I’d get to them.

Overwhelmed and dead tired, I tromp down the stairs to where Duke’s waiting for me. I leave the chaser in the closet, paying no mind to its relentless beating on the door. It knows food is near, moaning and growling with delight.

“Eat your damn arm if you’re that hungry. Just shut the hell up!” I snarl.

Pointless, I know, but I need to vent.

I slam the porch door closed and slumber in Dad’s chair. It’s not that comfortable. The springs have all been worn out, but I guess that’s what makes it just right. Plopping down my lifeless body, I sit there in the corner, and watch the remaining flames from the fire crackle and pop.

The orange glow loses its intensity. Soon, it will be gone. I drive the blade of my knife into the old oak end table as Duke sits down at my feet. Rolling over to his side, he falls fast asleep.

Sitting there, I drift in and out of sleep. The wind slips through the many bullet holes in the walls, creating a low whistling noise.

The chaser continues its ravenous rant, still beating at the door. I don’t worry if it will get out or not. At this point, it doesn’t even matter.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

The next month trudges along. I think I’ve worn this chair out even more, if that’s possible. Every time I sit down or shift my weight, the springs creak and pop and act as though they’re going to release their tension.

The only saving grace is that it’s now silent. No moans or racket from the annoying chaser upstairs. I finally disposed of it a few weeks back. The door sounded as though it was weakening to the point of total failure. So, I set it free. And when I say free, I hit it in the back of the head with a hammer and sent it tumbling down the stairs. It got blood and brain goop everywhere, which I have yet to clean up.

The old oak floor is stained red and chunks of its skull remain. I doubt Mom will care, considering she’ll probably never see this place again.

I’m still unsure what my next move is going to be. I checked Mom’s car shortly after arriving. I found her keys lying on the floor in the kitchen. I wish that would’ve been the hard part.

Both front tires are toast, and a stray bullet caught the engine. Even if I could turn it over and it somehow miraculously started, I wouldn’t get far on just one spare tire. Riding on the rim isn’t an option.

I thought about us hiking out and heading toward Portland on foot, but decided against it, for now. It feels as though it’s on the other side of the world from where I am. That, and I really don’t know where I’m going anyway. I’m just a kid after all. Besides, Dad always did a good job of keeping this place stocked with food and water.

Hell, Duke and I have been eating like kings. That is, if kingly food is Spaghetti O’s and Frank and Beans. I’ve avoided the tuna. Can’t stand the taste. Gag. We aren’t complaining, though. Better than squirrel or some other rodent.

“Another one down,” I mutter in my lifeless tone, tossing the empty can across the room to the mounding pile.

Duke just lays there at my feet, about as worthless and lifeless as me. Fortunately, no more chasers have crossed the cabin.

Sitting here, lethargic and full from processed food, I drift in and out. The stench fuming from my body has driven me crazy for some time now. I still haven’t found the will to drag my lazy ass to the shower and remedy it, though. Yeah, a chance to take a semi luke warm shower and wash away all this filth, and I haven’t yet. Weird, huh?

Duke’s ears perk up, and he gets to his feet like something’s going on. He groans and moans, pawing at the door with unrelenting intent.

“What is-”

Then I hear it. A faint noise that is hard to make out. It almost sounds like a… vehicle.

Grabbing one of Dad’s many rifles from the cellar, I scurry to the kitchen window.

It’s midday, but you wouldn’t know it from the thick clouds hanging overhead. I haven’t really seen the sun much lately. I think that might have a lot to do with my current vegetative state.

Looking through the scope, I see a truck barreling over the top of the hill. It weaves from side to side, narrowly missing the trees. I don’t see anything pursuing the vehicle, so I’m not sure why the person is driving so reckless.

Pushing up the window a few inches more, I slip the barrel out. I shift the rifle to the corner and keep a keen eye on my visitor.

“Hold tight, boy,” I calmly say to Duke who is standing at the door. He peers over at me, then back to the door.

Taking the safety off, I wait patiently as the truck plows through the stream, sending a tide of water that spreads outward. It heads straight for the porch.

Dents cover the body of the dark blue truck. Smoke plumes from the grill as the tail end fishtails around the bend.

I can’t get a good look at the driver from where I am. The truck straightens out and heads straight for me. My finger slips over the trigger, ready to fire if it doesn’t stop.

The truck continues toward the cabin before it comes to a grinding halt. The tires lock up, sending the vehicle sliding over the grass.

The engine idles rough and loud for a few seconds. There’s no activity I can see from within. The man sits there with his hands latched to the top of the steering wheel.

Finally, the engine dies.

The door squeaks open.

A scruffy, burly man steps out. He stays behind the driver’s side door. Thick black hair crawling down from under his Trailblazers ball cap, obscures his face.

He looks around, first at Mom’s car and then to his right just past the cabin. I can’t tell if he’s scoping the place out or not. I’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt, but it’s hard trusting people here lately. It’s been a mixed bag of those that want to help and those that have tried to feed us to the chasers. Either way, I need to play this smart. My life could depend on it.

After a few moments of surveying the cabin, he steps out from behind his door, and walks toward the porch. That’s when I spot the shotgun he’s totting by his side.

“That’s far enough!” I yell.

Startled, he puts his hands up and stops. “Hello? I don’t mean any harm.”

“You plan on using that shotgun?” I yell back.

“It’s just for protection against the chasers. Wasn’t sure if there was any close by or not. You can’t be too careful.” He moves his head in such a way that I think he’s trying to locate where I am.

“How ’bout you toss that bad boy to the side and maybe we’ll continue our conversation,” I suggest.

“Sure thing.” He tosses the shotgun to the side while keeping his hands high in the air. He still doesn’t know where I am, his head searching every window in the front. I figure he’s probably thinking he’s dealing with a grown man instead of a kid and his dog.

I ask, “What do you want?”

He looks about in no particular direction. “I noticed the smoke and thought there might be people here.”

“And?”

“And I thought if there was, maybe they’d be kind enough to let me join them. Power in numbers, right?” he responds.

Yeah, right.

“You alone?”

He gets silent. I can’t tell if he’s going to try something or what. “Yes.”

“What do you think, boy?” I say.

Duke groans and moans. His ears fold down on top of his mangy coat. He scratches at the door playfully.

He’s getting soft.

“We could use that truck. Seems to run and all. Could help us get to Mom and Cindy,” I say.

Duke barks and licks himself. I’m never too sure what his signals mean, especially the licking himself part.

“All right, stay right there and keep those hands held high where we can see them. If he moves an inch, kill him,” I yell to the fictional people living here.

I head to the front door with the rifle in hand. Duke gets excited. He turns around in place and wags his tail as I grip the doorknob.

I glance down at Duke. “Now, don’t go out there and lick him or roll over like some weenie. Bare some teeth and growl. Show this stranger you’re one bad mother and that he better not try anything stupid, ok?”

Bark!

I rip open the door and Duke dashes out, making a beeline for the stranger. He growls and barks but only for a minute. He stops at the man’s feet and rolls over onto his side, then his back, exposing his privates to him.

“Really?” I mutter in disgust.

“Keep them high, friend,” I yell. I step out onto the porch.

The man looks in my direction with his long matted black hair still covering a good portion of his face. He doesn’t say a word, but his head follows me as I make for his shotgun.

“I hope you know I mean you no harm,” the man says flatly.

“Duke, come!” I snap, retrieving the gun and pointing both in the man’s direction. Duke gets off the ground and runs over to me. “A lot of people have told me that here lately, so you’ll excuse me if I don’t exactly drop my guns.”

“I understand.” He nods toward the house. “How many are in the house with you?”

“Enough to cut you in half if you try anything stupid.” I step slowly and cautiously over to his truck. I peer inside the dingy cab. It’s empty except for trash and a box of shotgun shells strewn across the bench seat.

“Is the truck in decent shape? You were riding it pretty hard over that hill.”

“Yeah. It starts and gets me around. Sometimes it’s a pain in the ass. The radiator can be a bit temperamental, but hasn’t let me down yet.”

I nod my head, my mind working overtime. So many different thoughts and scenarios of what I’m about to ask play through my mind. I’m hopeful he’ll oblige and do as I ask. Either way, it’s going to happen.

“How do you feel about going to Portland?”

DEAD STATE: SURVIVAL ROAD

BOOK 2

BY

CHAPTER ONE

If Dad could see me now, what would he think? Would he be proud of my resolve, and how I’ve handled myself since the virus ripped him away from my family? Forced my hand to do the unthinkable.

To be perfectly honest, I don’t really know. He taught me to be strong. To be resilient. Sometimes, doing the right thing is hard.

I always thought he’d be around forever. Guess life had other plans.

The burly man before me shifts his eyes down to his shotgun which is clutched in my left hand. He remains still, though. Motionless. He’s getting antsy, though, from the slight twitch of his fingers and shifting of his weight. He tries to maintain his collected demeanor, but his fingers twitch. Lips purse together as he subtly shifts his weight from his left to his right leg. I double down, and hold the rifle firm in his direction. No head shots, just center mass placement for the living. Placing a bullet in the brains of the infected is really the only sure-fire way I have found to take them down quickly.

Duke, my faithful dog and companion in this nightmare, stays by my side—obedient, for now.

The man points at me. “Listen, kid, I’m not going to hurt you. I’d feel a bit more open to talk, though, if you pointed that rifle away from me. I’d hate for you to get excited, and accidently shoot me.”

Is it bad that I find his remark insulting? A sarcastic response tiptoes the edge of my tongue, but I hold my words.

“You’re not going to have to worry about that. I know how to handle a rifle.” My face remains stern, malevolent eyes locked with his. Life has taught me lessons that I never thought I would have to learn. Especially at this young of an age. But it has, and I fear the lesson is only beginning.

He glances back over his shoulder to his truck, then back to me. “I’m not sure why you want to go to Portland, but if you lower the weapon, we can talk about it.”

I’m hesitant to relinquish my advantage, but given the circumstances, and the lack of transportation options, I don’t have a choice.

I sling the shotgun over my shoulder, and train the rifle away from him. My finger remains over the trigger, ready to fire if need be.

“Just to let you know, I have no problem killing you if you try something. So, I’d keep that in mind,” I say.

He cuts his eyes to the cabin. No doubt in search of the other armed men that I told him were positioned at the windows. A little white lie to keep him from trying anything stupid.

He nods, and slowly lowers his arms down to his side. “Fair enough. You mind telling the others to lower their weapons as well?”

I briefly glance at the cabin.

“There’s no one else in there. It’s just us.”

The man cranes his neck, and narrows his eyes past me. Guess he felt I was being deceitful. “Well played.”

Duke groans. His back-leg springs up, and his paw digs into his dense, yellow fur. He works his way up his back to the side of his head.

The man points toward Duke. “I had a dog similar to him way back when. They can be headstrong, but great companions.”

My eyes cut down to Duke, who ceases his vigorous scratching. He glances up to me and licks around his snout. “Yeah. He can be a pain in the butt for sure, but he’s my pain in the butt.”

The man takes a single cautious step toward us. He extends his hand out. “My name is Lucas, by the way.”

Cautiously, I reciprocate the gesture. “James. This is Duke.”

Lucas trains his attention on Duke, who remains alert, with his ears on end, but doesn’t bare his teeth or crouch down. “May I?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t seem to think you’re a threat. After all, he did run up to you and roll over onto his back. Not exactly intimidating when they flash their junk at you.”

Lucas takes a few steps toward Duke and bends down. He extends his arm out slowly, gauging Duke’s temperament. A low, muffled growl emits from Duke, but only briefly. Lucas pauses. His fingers gently move in front of Duke’s face.

Duke’s nose tests Lucas’ scent. He licks the ends of Lucas’ dingy fingers. Duke leans forward, allowing Lucas’ palm to stroke the back of his head.

I scoff under my breath. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re going soft there, boy.”

Duke’s ears stand on end and twitch. He gets up to all fours, and trains his attention to the woods to our right. No growling, but just a rigid, concentrated stance.

“Something wrong?” Lucas shoots up and follows his gaze.

“Probably just an animal. Generally, if there are chasers close by, he’ll get into more of a defensive position.” I lean the rifle against my shoulder, and place the side of my right hand just above my brow. I skim over the tree line, trying to penetrate the dense green and brown foliage.

Befuddled, Lucas cuts his gaze over to me. “Chasers?”

“Yeah. That’s what they’re called. At least, that is what I heard them called on the news back when all this first started. Seems fitting since they chase after you.”

Duke bolts toward the trees. His pace hastens. He closes the distance to the tree line fast.

“Guess he found something worth investigating,” Lucas mentions.

“Appears so.” I don’t give a second thought to Duke running into the unknown. He’s a smart dog.

Besides, since this nightmare began, I’ve had to change my view on things. More has happened to me in the last month than in my entire life. People I have loved were taken from me. Friends, new and old, are now just a thought that I carry with me. I’m not the scared, timid little boy that I was.

This event, whatever it is, has forced me to evolve. Forced me to harden my feelings, and not allow the sadness to cripple me.

Lucas focuses his attention back to me. “So, what’s in Portland?”

“Family.”

CHAPTER TWO

Lucas rubs the back of his neck. He shifts his eyes to the truck and lets out a deep sigh. “You know Portland is overrun with those chaser things, right?”

The news rattles me some, causing my eyes to widen slightly, but I remain steadfast in my decision to find them. My resolve in getting to Mom and Cindy are cemented. It’s going to happen.

“First off, regardless of the state that Portland is currently in, I’m not going to change my mind. Secondly, my mom and sister were taken to a safe zone in one of the smaller towns on the outskirts of the city. They didn’t say which one, though.”

Doubt floods Lucas’ face. Concern fills his eyes as he briefly looks away. “One of the safe zones closest to us, that I’m aware of, is on the outskirts of Portland. The military was setting up a few outside the major cities in each state for residents to go to. Last I heard, though, they were unable to contain the infected, and all sites were overrun. Meaning, no survivors.”

“And you know this for a fact? That there are no survivors at all? What if whoever told you this was wrong or misinformed?”

Lucas rubs the scruff on the side of his face. He removes his ball cap, and runs his fingers through his damp hair as he chews on my rebuttal.

Duke dashes back over to us. His tongue dangles out of his mouth. He pants hard as he plops his backside down on the ground next to me.

Lucas finally responds. “That is true, but it’s a really big gamble none the less. I don’t know what you have gone through since this whole outbreak started, but I’ve had more than my fair share of run-ins with those chasers out here where it’s less populated. Going to a major metropolitan city, or anywhere close to one, where the population is exponentially larger is nothing short of a suicide mission.” Lucas points to the mass of trees all around us. “I’m sorry, James, but I just can’t do that. I hope you understand.”

His words are like a thousand fists punching me without pause. My heart sinks. What little faith I have left lingering in my body teeters on the brink of leaving me for good. With a flood of emotions fighting to take me over, I remain strong. I remain... hopeful. Afterall, Mom and Cindy are all I have left in this world.

“I understand. And I hope you understand that I’m taking that truck with or without you. Your choice.” The rifle lowers from my shoulder and back in the direction of Lucas. His eyes enlarge, and he takes a step back. His brows lift in the air, and his hands follow suit.

“Listen, James, I know how you feel. I-”

“I don’t think you do.” I snap back angrily. My emotions are on the cusp of a volcanic eruption. “I lost my best friend, killed my father after he got infected, and the only other people in this world right now that mean anything to me are possibly in that safe zone. I have been through too much to stop now.”

Tears fill my eyes. My hands tremble with remorse and anger.

Lucas’ expression of surprise quickly turns to a sympathetic nod. I wasn’t looking to make him feel guilty or to gain any pity. I just wanted him to know where I was coming from, and why I was doing what I was.

“All right, James,” he solemnly says.

“All right, what?” I respond through a slight whimper of agitation.

“I’ll help find your mom and sister.”

Duke brushes up against me. His head tilts upward as he rests his snout on my leg.

“I don’t need you to come with me, or do me any favors. I can handle myself.” That is a lie. I do need him, but relying on people now seems almost pointless. I’ve been let down so often by circumstances beyond my control, and theirs, that I’m almost scared to try again. Death seems to loom large no matter where I go, and it claims those that are along for the ride. But I’m desperate, and right now, he’s my only option.

I hold firm as I battle the doubt eating away at my insides.

“I can see that,” Lucas replies. His attention shifts to the truck. From the unsteady gaze upon his face, he doesn’t seem to have much faith in it. “This truck here can be temperamental, and the last thing you want is to be in a bad situation when it breaks down with no way of fixing it.”

What Lucas states is true. I know less than nothing about vehicles. Hell, I haven’t even gotten my driver’s license yet. I doubt the highway patrol is going to care much, though, for a fifteen-year-old kid driving when the world is burning down around us. Do they even still exist?

He points to the cabin. “Why don’t we go inside and hash out the details. I’m a bit tired and would like to collect my thoughts if we can. You wouldn’t happen to have any coffee in there, would you?”

I lower the rifle, and train the barrel toward the ground. As much as I’m geared up to jump in the truck and leave right away, I agree with him. Probably would be best to lay everything out first. He seems to know a lot more than me about what is going on at the moment.

He does look a bit haggard and beaten down. The deep black and blue circles that fester under both his worn eyes reaffirm his request. The only way this will work is if we are both focused and alert.

“Not sure if there is any coffee or not. I imagine my father probably had some stashed somewhere in the cabin. Come on, boy.”

My hand pats my leg. Duke springs to his feet and dashes toward the cabin. Lucas follows close behind as we step up on the porch, and go inside.

I remove the shotgun from my shoulder, and lean it against the wall to the left of the door. I place the rifle right next to it as Lucas pauses at the opening.

He remains silent. His head cocks to the left, and he slowly surveys the defunct space. I can only imagine what is going through his head as he soaks in the disarray and chaos.

“Cozy.” His tone is void of any mockery and without intonation.

I sift through the upper cabinets first, in search of the caffeinated brew. Each is still fairly stocked with can goods and spices. The cellar below is where the main food supply is held. That’s also where the generator is that feeds the cabin its power.

I have been down there once since arriving here to replenish the food. It always gives me the creeps, and I always try to avoid its dungeon-like flavor whenever possible.

Glass crunches under my boots as I move past the sink. My hands dig inside the next set of light brown oak cabinets when I spot my dad’s favorite blend. Folgers dark roast.

The bag is mostly empty and rolled down to nearly the bottom. He probably has more in the cellar. Hopefully, this will appease Lucas.

I turn and show him the bag. “Found some. Not sure how much it will make, but it’s better than nothing.”

He steps over the fallen lamps and other debris that litters the wooden floor. “Beggars can’t be choosers. It’s been about a week since I’ve had a cup. When you’ve drunk as much coffee as I have over the years, a week can feel like decades. I’m grateful for whatever I get. If it’s weak, then I’ll still savor every drop.”

The coffee maker sits at the ready. Just how Dad liked to keep it. Being the forward-thinking individual he was, he always wanted the things he used daily to be ready to go. His coffee machine was no exception. I imagine Mom prepped the machine for when we arrived.

The water reservoir is filled to the top notch. A single paper filter rests in the bin where the coffee is placed. Considering that I’ve never made a cup before, I wing it.

I unfold the top, and dump the contents inside. I give the reddish bag a single shake, making sure every last little bit has been extracted from the bag.

The rich aroma fills my nose. It makes me think of the morning all this started. Me, being the irritable, cranky teenager who didn’t want to crawl out of bed and go hunting, begrudgingly appeasing my father. After all, he wanted nothing more than to spend quality time with me.

“Do you need some help, James?” Lucas calls out from across the room.

“Nope. I got it.” I close the lid, and press the power button. The coffee maker hums, and quickly begins to dispense the dark rich brew into the glass carafe under the black nozzle. I retrieve two white coffee mugs from the cabinet to my right, and place them on the counter. I turn to face the cluttered mess of the cabin and lean back against the counter’s edge.

“This cabin is actually really nice. When Duke and I arrived here, this is how we found it. Place got overrun with chasers. Guess after my mom and sister left, they lost interest and moved on.”

Lucas walks toward the stairs and pauses. His head tilts downward. His gaze trails up each step to the landing. I imagine the pool of blood and brain matter from the chaser I dispatched from upstairs snags his fixed stare.

“Seems as though your mom and sister were fortunate to elude the creatures.”

I point to the upstairs section of the cabin. “They had one trapped inside a closest near the landing. I didn’t really want to mess with it, but the continual striking of the door made it sound like it was going to give way any moment. So, I let it out and bludgeoned it in the back of the head with a hammer. It toppled down the stairs. Wasn’t a pretty sight.”

Lucas nods with a slight grimace. “I imagine it wasn’t.” He turns back toward me and places his hands on his hips. “How long have you been here by yourself?”

“Roughly a month. Fortunately, we haven’t seen any chasers or anyone else. Which, to be honest, is kind of a relief. I haven’t had a good track record with the dead, or the living for that matter. Since the world has descended into madness, the living can almost be as bad as the chasers.”

Duke jumps up on the couch. He moves in a circular pattern and sniffs each cushion before he plops down.

Lucas closes his eyes, and slightly tilts his head back. His nose tests the air. He breathes in deeply, then slowly exhales out through his lips. “Man, you never know what you miss until it’s not readily available.”

I never understood the intense relationship people have with coffee. My dad lived by it, at least three times a day. I’m surprised he didn’t have an IV drip placed into his arm that pumped the stuff directly into his veins.

Don’t get me wrong, the handful of times I was able to try it without Mom catching me, it definitely jolted my system. Then again, it didn’t seem to take much to do that. Probably why Mom was so against it.

Lucas moves about the clutter and comes over to the kitchen area.

I step out of the way of the coffee maker. “We’ve probably got some sugar somewhere around here. Not sure about creamer, though.”

He grabs one of the white mugs and dismisses the thought with a wave of his hand. “Don’t need it. I’ve never been a big fan of that sort of thing. Just give me the java hot and black, and I’m good to go.” Lucas grips the black handle to the carafe. He pulls it away from its housing. The brew is still being dispensed as he carefully places the mug under the spout to catch it. He fills his mug full to the rim and slides the carafe back into place.

Steam lifts into the air. His worn and callused hands gingerly grasp the sides of the mug as he brings it up to his mouth. He blows gently against the scalding hot liquid before taking a sip.

“How is it?” I inquire. I’m curious to hear how my first cup of coffee is. Not that it was overly complicated or anything.

Lucas downs a few more sips. “Good stuff. Are you going to get a cup?”

“Perhaps in a bit.” I cock my head to the right of Lucas, and look out of the kitchen window at the truck. The thought of getting to Mom and Cindy really invigorates my withering spirit. I wasn’t overly keen on leaving the cabin and going at this daunting task of getting to the safe zone on foot. I just hope Lucas’ truck is up to the task.

CHAPTER THREE

Duke’s been persistent in licking his private area for the better part of ten minutes. Man, that turns my stomach. Just the sound of it makes me shiver. Lucas hauls his cup of coffee over to the living area. He sits down in the chair across from Dad’s recliner. I follow suit, and settle in on the couch.

Duke ceases the nauseating activity, finally. He inches over to me and tries to lick my face. I halt his loving, and gross, gesture all the same.

A calmness floods over Lucas almost instantly. He leans his head back against the chair’s cushion, and briefly closes his eyes. His large frame sinks into the seat.

His head tilts to the left, and his gaze hones in on me. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

“One hundred percent sure.” Duke rests his head in my lap. My hand gently strokes the back of his head.

Lucas takes two more sips of his coffee. He sets the mug down on the rustic, solid wood coffee table before us. “Ok. Just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. This isn’t going to be easy and will be extremely dangerous.” Lucas rubs his hands together as he looks about the cabin.

His subtle yet obvious gesture is not lost to me. I had planned on sweetening the pot a little for him agreeing to accompany me on this most harrowing trek.

“I’m not blind to the dangers that lay ahead of us. I’m also aware that this could end badly for both of us, regardless if I do find them or not at the safe zone. With that being said, what else would you require to stay any second thoughts about bailing on me?”

Lucas lifts his right brow. I have piqued his interest. He leans forward and strokes the thick, black stubble on his square chin. The wheels turn inside his head as he scans the cabin’s furnishings.

“As much food and water as I can take, for starters. Maybe any additional ammo that you may have as well.”

“Done and done. Not sure what all ammo my dad had stocked in the cellar, but we can check it out and see. To be honest, I’m not tied too much to anything else here, so whatever you want to take, it’s yours. The odds of me and my family coming back here are pretty slim.”

Lucas downs another gulp of the coffee. He shakes his head. “To be honest, you’ll fair much better out in the middle of nowhere than you will in a major city, or close to one. You significantly reduce the number of infected that you’ll likely have an encounter with in rural areas.”

His words ring true. I hadn’t thought of it from that angle. Although, I doubt we would want to come back to a place that holds so many dear memories. Especially, after Mom finds out that Dad is dead, and that I’m the one who did it.

“I imagine once we leave here, someone will probably come across the cabin. If they don’t stay, I bet they’ll strip it of anything useful. I don’t think my mother and sister will want to come back here regardless.”

Lucas shrugs. “It’s your call. A place like this, during a world-altering event, is ideal. Not sure you should dismiss the notion entirely. At least, I wouldn’t.”

Not that I have the final say so by any means, but I know my mom. She doesn’t care for this place like Dad did, but she always trusted what he said. He always said this was our fall back place in case anything catastrophic happened. I guess, since the chasers have been active in the area, that is no longer the case. Ultimately, it’ll be up to her on what we do.

“All right. Now that is settled, when can we leave?”

Lucas polishes off the rest of the java in his cup with a single gulp. He lifts up from the chair and makes his way back to the kitchen. He wasn’t kidding about liking his coffee.

He steps in front of the coffee maker and pours another cup. His head drifts to the left slightly as he peers out of the window. He slides the carafe back into place and comes back over to his chair.

“Depends. A trip like that, I’ll need to look at things on the truck to make sure it’s good to go.”

I cast a disapproving stare in his direction. I shift my body weight on the couch, causing Duke to lift his head from my lap. “So, the truck isn’t running fine, then?”

Lucas shakes his head. “Not at all. It runs, but not sure how it would handle a long drive like that. I picked it up about a week or so ago at a restaurant. It’s got some quirks and such, but I would rather go through it now while we have the luxury of not being in a bad way, where we have to bolt in a hurry.”

I sigh. I get what he’s saying. I’m just not thrilled about it. “How long is that going to take?”

“I’ll go out there shortly and pop the hood. I’ll have a better idea once I do that.”

“Just so we’re clear here, our arrangement hinges on that truck running and being in a capable state of getting me to the safe zone.” The words spew from my lips as if I hold all the cards, and he is at my mercy. A knee jerk reaction. That’s all I can think. My body tenses. Truth be told, if he was so inclined, he could easily take what he wanted and leave. His rigid and gruff appearance makes that quite clear.

Fortunately, Lucas doesn’t take offense. Not yet, anyways. I wish that I could take those words back, and not be so blunt and coarse with my attitude.

“Agreed. I don’t think it’ll come to that, though. I’m pretty handy, and know my way around vehicles,” Lucas says.

My body relaxes. The tension lessens within my muscles.

“Great. If you need any parts for the truck, you can take whatever you need from the car. It’s got a couple flat tires, but other than that, it should be good to go. I was hoping there might be some spares in the trunk, but there wasn’t any.”

Lucas leans against the chair and sips his coffee. He gives me a thumbs up as he checks the time on his watch.

“Do you have a bug out bag ready?” His words are lost on me. “Bug out bag?”

He nods. “Yeah. A pack that is stocked with essential items that are ready to go if you need to evac an area in a hurry.”

Come to think of it, I remember overhearing my dad and his army buddies mention this, or something similar. I never knew what they meant, or what it was for. Now I know what is meant by it. Besides, I’ve done this regularly when hunting with Dad. Well, close to it.

“I do not,” I say. “What sort of supplies would I need to gather?”

“I would just stick to the basics. First aid kit, flashlights, batteries, duct tape, trash bags, etc.” Lucas rattles the items off.

“Wasn’t sure what you meant by bug out bag at first,” I say. “I have a pack somewhere around here with some stuff already socked away from when I left my house. I’ll have to see what I have. I imagine there is a good bit of those supplies here. Just need to find them.”

Lucas smirks. He takes another sip of his coffee. “Yeah. That’s the survivalist/prepper coming out in me. I just assume everyone I speak too about this sort of thing knows exactly what I’m referring to.”

I find his knowledge to be a big relief. It feels as though Dad is here with me in a sense. Like he’s looking out for me.

“No worries. It sounded vaguely familiar. My dad used to talk to me about various survival tactics and all when we would go hunting. I think it’s safe to assume that a portion of his words fell on deaf ears.”

Lucas snickers. “Your dad sounds like a good man.”

“He... was.” An overwhelming sense of loss slams into me like a tidal wave. It has been over a month since that fateful day when Dad became infected with the virus. When his only teenage son had to take his life, to save his own.

The image of me pulling the trigger still cooks in my memory. It is seared into my spirit and will haunt me for the rest of my life.

My body deflates. Sadness overtakes me.

Lucas clears his throat as the silence fills the space between us. “You know, it probably wouldn’t hurt to pack another bag for me as well. The one I have behind the seat in the truck is nearly depleted. I haven’t been able to replenish much of anything yet.”

“Um, yeah. For sure.” I push Duke off me, and stand up. Duke jumps to the floor. “I’ll start working on that now.”

Lucas nods in agreement. “I’m going to head outside, and start on the truck.”

“Sounds good.”

Lucas walks out of the cabin. Duke bolts out the door right behind him.

My legs respond as though they are shackled to cinder blocks. A heavy imaginary weight presses down on my shoulders, causing me to slouch slightly. The strong wind of hope that had spurned me to keep living and pushing forward has been reduced to a slight breeze.

I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. I hold it for a moment before exhaling. The guilt is still there, following me no matter where I go. It’s like the stench on my clothes. It won’t go away.

I need my mom and her caring touch. But ultimately, I need to share my grief and guilt with her. She’s the only person in this world who can mend my broken heart.

CHAPTER FOUR

When it rains, it floods.

Of course, this would be my luck.

The truck that Lucas tore ass into my life in is not as intact as he had originally thought. He rambles off a bunch of issues that need to be addressed before we attempt our suicide mission. Not my words, but more what he hints at.

There is so much technical jargon that it completely goes over my head. That should’ve been evident from my crinkled nose, and my arms folded across my chest. To be honest, I think he suffered a temporary lapse and forgot whom he was telling this to.

At first, I nodded, and tried to follow the mystic language he was speaking. I’d watch his hands as they quickly moved from part to part inside the greasy engine with a bewildered stare plastered on my face.

He continued on.

I ultimately conceded and rubbed the back of my neck. My eyes went wide with confusion. Anything other than a flat tire or plain English like, “It’s just broken,” and I’m done for.

The light sprung to life in that moment on his face. He grumbled a few words, and finished with “I’ll just spare you the details and fix it.”

Thank God.

But, with the crap that has rained down upon me, there is a beacon of hope that rests near the cabin. Namely, the family’s car. After all, it’s just sitting there with no useful purpose. I mean, with multiple flat tires and no spares, it is nothing more than a two-ton eyesore.

Lucas digs into the vehicle, and scavenges what parts are required like a vulture. There is no hesitation or confusion. His hands move as if they are autonomous, surgically extracting each piece with great care.

I dare not impede the rhythm he has settled in, or ask any undo questions that would slow him down. He is cruising at a steady pace, and I want him to stay on point.

“James!” he calls out from under the hood. “Can you grab me three-eighths socket?”

I move from the left side of the porch toward the car. Lucas has a black case that rests on the right side of the front part of the vehicle.

Mom had a set of tools in the back of the trunk that Dad had stowed away. Like everything else, Dad believed in being prepared no matter the situation or circumstance.

Lucas’ hands are embedded deep in the guts of the engine block. He nods his head. “Right there. Grab the three-eighths socket for me, will ya?”

My eyes skim over the shiny steel tools. It takes me a moment, but I finally find what he is after. I hand the socket to him. “Here you go.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it.” Lucas removes his greasy hand from the depths of the engine and grabs the socket from me.

I spy over his shoulder for a moment, craning my neck to get a glimpse of what he is doing. It’s hard to see what is happening, so I give up. “Want me to take these parts on the ground over to the truck?”

He grunts. A ratcheting noise emits from the engine. “Yeah. That would great. Just set them over on the ground in front of the truck. Once I get this last part out, then I’ll start working on getting them swapped out over there.”

I bend down, and scoop up the dingy, greasy parts from the grass. With my hands full of mechanical parts, I take a single step and stop. “Not to be pushy or whatever, but when do you think you’ll have the truck ready to go?”

He grunts once more, then sighs. I can’t tell if it’s because of my question, or if the part he’s after is being uncooperative.

“Uh, not sure at the moment. Shouldn’t take me long once I get this stubborn thing freed.” He jerks and tugs. His arms flex with each pull. The car moves to and fro. “My goal is to have it hopefully wrapped up in the next three to four hours, barring I don’t run into any problems when installing them. After that, we should be good to go.”

I mutter “yes” to myself. A brief moment of joy to an otherwise drab existence. “Excellent. I appreciate you doing all this. You could’ve just said screw this and left. I’m glad you didn’t, though.”

“Well, from a rational stand point, it is foolish going toward Portland, but I get it. It’s family. Besides, I couldn’t live with myself leaving with you all alone out here. Wouldn’t set right with me.”

“In either case, thanks.”

Lucas continues diligently working. I leave him be, and head over to the truck. Duke is inside the cabin, barking his head off. He isn’t happy with me, at the moment, for having him confined to the cabin. He lets me know by barking and clawing at the door and window seals. I have the door closed to keep him inside. He wants to keep wandering off into the woods. I don’t like that.

The first few times he did, it didn’t bother me much. He’d handled his business, or whatever the heck he was doing, and came straight back. But his jaunts into the dense woods have grown longer. He’d leave, then be gone for an extended period of time, then finally come back. I guess since Mom and Cindy aren’t here, I’m feeling more worried, and I can’t shake it. I try not to think the worst, but it’s hard not to. As it stands right now, Duke is all I have left.

Truth be known, I’m over embellishing a tad. He was gone for maybe forty minutes to an hour, tops, but still. I didn’t like it. He was quick to let me know he was displeased about being restricted to the cabin.

He spoke to me through the slightly open window in the front portion of the cabin. He’d grumble. Then groan as he pawed at the dingy glass. Then he’d bark, and stare at me. After a few minutes of this routine, he’d calm down and leave the window. Now is different.

He has skipped the grumble and groaning, and has headed straight to barking, and even growling. His nails claw at the window as he frantically tries to find a way through.

His odd behavior has me worried. The only time he acts like that, especially here lately, is when...

A sudden rush of panic floods my body. My heart races. And that’s when I hear it…

Heavy footsteps tromping the ground.

I train my ear and listen. It’s close, whatever it is that’s rushing headlong in our direction. The dead, crunchy leaves that carpet the earth grab my attention. It comes from my right. It’s close by.

With my arms full of the car parts, I pivot on my heels and turn sharply in the direction of the disturbance. I only make it halfway before being tackled to the ground.

The various parts I cradle against me go tumbling through the dead grass. I flip over onto my back, and try to scoot away. The chaser grabs my leg and pulls me toward him. His face is framed in a hurricane of rage. He growls and shrills with an unbridled contempt for the living. His eyes are full of madness as he comes for me.

My hands brace against his broad shoulders to thwart his advancement. His teeth chatter quickly. Spit drips from his torn and cracked lips. His breath is intense, full of rot and disease that blows my way.

I struggle to keep him at bay. The more I resist, the angrier he gets. I want to scream, but I’m worried I’ll lose what sliver of leverage I have on the persistent demon.

We continue our strife for my body and soul. My meager arms start to tremble and slightly bend. I turn my head to the side. Fear grips me so tight it steals my breath. I look at Duke through the window. He continues to growl and paw at the glass as he fights to break free.

Another set of heavy boots fills the gap between the chaser’s moans. I catch sight of Lucas rushing toward us. He has a hammer clutched in his right hand.

The chaser’s putrid mouth is but a scant inch away from my sweaty, moist flesh. His tongue slithers out from the depths of its rotting hole and tries to taste me. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end. I close my eyes, and press up with every ounce of strength I can muster.

The chaser growls and snarls. A loud crunching noise fills my ears, followed by something warm and wet that splatters my face.

My eyes crack open.

The chaser goes limp. The full brunt of his bulk tests my will. My body is swollen with adrenaline. I’m on a high dose of fighting for my life.

Lucas yanks the hammer back hard. The chaser’s head moves in sync with each tug he makes. The claw end is buried deep into the man’s skull.

Water splashes to my left. More snarls and growls loom large as I cut my head toward the stream. Another chaser is inbound. Great.

Lucas catches sight of the creature rushing at us. He positions his hand further down on the hammer’s wooden handle. He jerks it hard from side to side. The clawed end finally releases from the man’s cranium.

Chunks of bloody brain matter and bone cling to the jagged ends. Lucas grabs the lifeless man by the scruff of his red and black stripped flannel sweater. He tosses the limp body to the side, discarding the vile creature without care.

He spins on his heels and pulls his arm back. He throws the hammer in the chaser’s direction. End over end, the weighted tool twists through the air. The chaser makes no attempt to dodge the incoming threat.

The face of the hammer slams into the creature’s forehead. Its skull cracks. Blood streams down its disfigured face. The impact jars it senseless and knocks it off balance. Its body stumbles a few more feet before crumbling to the dirt.

It isn’t dead. Not yet.

It squirms on the ground. It fights to get its feet back under it and to continue its pursuit.

Lucas retrieves the bloody hammer from the brown blades of grass.

The chaser shakily gets to its knees. Its head bobbles about like it’s fixed on top of a spring that’s loose. Blood flows freely from the indention in the middle of its head. Its bloodshot eyes glare at me as it reaches in my direction.

Lucas brings the tool to the air and deals the chaser its final blow. The face of the hammer smashes into the right side of its skull. Its head violently snaps to the left. Its bone surrenders to the weapon.

Defunct and lifeless, the chaser topples over onto its side.

I lay there on my back with my hands resting on my chest. My heart pounds relentlessly. Breathing is labored. My head is full of more horrid imagery that has been branded into my brain.

Lucas drops the hammer and turns toward me with a blank stare looming at me. His face is void of any sort of emotion. He shows no signs of anger or rage. He dispatched both chasers without pause. He did what was needed.

He reaches out his hand toward me. “You ok, James?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Thanks to you.” I say, and grab his bloody palm.

Lucas pulls me to my feet. My legs wobble as I rest my hand on top of his shoulder. He holds me up until I gather myself.

“It didn’t bite you, did it?”

I brush my coat sleeve across my face. The warmth of the chaser’s blood is smeared across the dark blue fabric. I feel sick to my stomach. I can’t discern if it’s from the intense ordeal, or if some of the chaser’s blood got into my mouth.

“I don’t think so, but my stomach doesn’t feel well. What if I swallowed some of its blood?”

The world around me seems to be spinning out of control. Fear consumes my thoughts. I’m spiraling into a dark place as my vision becomes hazy.

“James, I don’t think you ingested any of its blood. You’re just coming down off the adrenaline rush,” Lucas consoles. “Here. Let’s take you inside, and let you relax.”

“What about the bodies?” I inquire.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it.”

CHAPTER FIVE

The sun’s strident rays have all but vanished. The dark, rich blackness of the endless ether has enveloped the world beyond the cabin.

The lamps that have been on the floor since I arrived are placed back on the end tables. The dull yellow light beams out from the sterile white lampshades that filter their intensity.

The dizziness and nausea that has gripped me so, wanes. Still, I remain on the couch with my head propped up on the dark red pillow that Mom made.

Lucas insisted that I do so.

Duke refuses to leave my side. He rests on the floor near the couch. Any movement, or shift of my weight to try and gain some comfort, he is there, up on all fours, investigating.

He was always like that. Whenever Cindy or I would fall ill, he would stay glued to us. Another caring individual in our house that always made us feel loved and safe.

I reach down, and rub his head with my forefingers. He tilts his head upward and licks the digits. He gets to his feet and tries to lick me in the face, but I deflect the gesture. The last thing I want is his hot breath blasting in my face. I think he understands.

The encounter with the chaser has zapped me of my strength and energy. Although, I think it was more than that. Was I getting sick? A cold, or even the flu?

The few times that I manage to peel myself free of the couch and make for the restroom, I feel lethargic. I move in a ponderous, slow motion.

Perhaps the virus is mutating my body and turning me into another enraged soul. Will I be damned to walk this world as a soulless teenage demon, hell bent on devouring the flesh of the living?

Dark? Yes, but that is what my world has become.

There is no happiness to be had anymore. I have struggled with that notion for so long and have finally surrendered myself to that fact. The only thing that keeps me going, living, is Mom and Cindy.

Lucas has spent the rest of the day working on the truck, and hauling off the dead chasers he so violently dispatched. Good news is that the truck is ready to go.

He has syphoned off what gas remained in the car and filled the truck’s tank to capacity. Fortunately, Mom had filled the car up, so it sat full of gas. Lucky for us.

Our bug out packs are placed by the door, along with my rifle and Lucas’ shotgun. He raided the cellar for any ammo and other odds and ends that he felt would be required. I refrained from protesting. At this point, considering all that he has done and will do, whatever he wants, he will get.

“How are you feeling, James?” Lucas gently places his oversized palm on my shoulder. He towers over me. Dark shadows plague the ceiling around him where the lamp’s light is unable to reach.

I rub my hand up and down my face. I sit up, and swing my legs to the floor. Duke moves out of way. He jumps up onto the couch, and lies down.

“I feel better. Still a bit out of it, though. Guess it’s safe to assume that I haven’t contracted the virus.”

Lucas smirks. He pats my shoulder. “Well, you’re alive and not dead. So that should be a good indication.”

I grumble.

My mouth is dry. It feels full of cotton. The bumps on my tongue slide across my lips to try and moisten them. “Yeah. Besides, I kind of don’t want to get on your bad side. You dispatched those chasers with ease. Haven’t seen anybody wield a hammer like that before. Brutal to say the least.”

Lucas nods. He pats my shoulder once more. “Just did what was needed. The best way to survive in this world is to be efficient. Know your objective, and follow through. No fluff. The odds of staying alive will be greater.”

I guess.

I glance down at my watch, and notice the time. It’s 5:15 in the morning. “I didn’t realize the time. I didn’t think it was as late as it is.”

“Yeah. You have been in and out most of yesterday and last night.” Lucas walks to the kitchen, grabs a plate from the counter, and brings it over to me. “Here. Eat this.” He sets the plate on the coffee table in front of me, along with a bottle of cold/flu medicine.

I don’t feel much like eating anything, or taking the disgusting medicine for that matter. “I’m not really feeling the saltine crackers and tuna.”

“You might be coming down with a cold or something. That, and you look like you haven’t been eating well. If we’re going to do this, I need you at a hundred percent. Otherwise, you’ll be more of a liability than anything.”

I grab the medicine bottle, and look it over. Cherry flavor. Yuck. “Is this dessert?”

“If it helps you take it, then sure.” Lucas lingers over me. His thick arms are laced across his wide chest. His gaze is fixed solely in my direction.

He reminds me of Coach Conner from gym class. Big, intimidating, and didn’t take no for an answer. Most of the kids weren’t brave enough to venture those two syllables for fear of him ripping their head off. For guys like the coach and Lucas, their presence is generally incentive enough.

I sigh, and set the medicine bottle back down on the coffee table next to the plate. “Ok. Fine. I’ll eat this scrumptious meal you’ve prepared. Just how I like to get my day started. Tuna and flavorless crackers. Yum.”

“It was that or sardines,” Lucas sarcastically jabs back. “I didn’t exactly look to spend a ton of time on this. I just grabbed what I could really quick from the cabinets and threw it on the plate. If it makes you feel any better, I added some mayo to the tuna, so it wouldn’t be so dry.”

“It doesn’t, but I’ll make due. Thanks.” My face contorts in disgust as I sniff the canned fish. I was never really big on tuna. I always avoided it when Mom tried to give it to me. Guess I’m eating it now.

Lucas turns about sharply. He heads for the kitchen. He retrieves a glass from the upper cabinets and fills it full of water from the sink. “Drink this. Don’t want you getting dehydrated either.”

I gulp the water down without pause. I wasn’t overly big on cabin water either. It has a strange taste that I don’t like. Dad always told me to stop complaining so much, and be grateful that there was water to drink.

I prefer bottled water, but this is better than nothing. If I had my druthers, I would’ve ransacked the cellar for something more delectable to satisfy me.

I set the half-empty glass down on the table to the left of the plate, and start on the crackers first. The tuna can wait.

Lucas says, “I figured, if you’re up for it, we could head out once you’re done eating.”

I swipe my arm over my mouth, and clear away the crumbs that remain on my lips. “That sounds good to me.”

Duke inches closer to me. His ears stand at attention. His eyes hone in on the plate and the contents that lay before him. His tongue dances along his snout as he groans.

Lucas points at him, then over to the door. “I’ve got some dog food in a bowl over by the door if he’s hungry. You need to eat what’s there.”

Duke looks at me, then the plate.

“You heard the man.”

Lucas walks around the coffee table, and over to the gear he has packed by the door.

“I’m going to start taking this stuff out to the truck, so when you’re done, we can get moving.”

“Sounds good.”

Lucas snatches up our go bags. He disappears out into the blackness of night. I grab the can of tuna, and give it to Duke, who quickly devours the moist, foul-smelling fish.

He licks the evidence clean from his snout and gazes upon me with hungry eyes. With a groan, he paws at my leg.

“Hey, dude, I gave you that tuna. If you’re still hungry, go eat that dog food Lucas got for you over there.”

Duke hikes his hind leg. His head darts down to his private area as if he has a dreadful itch. His teeth nibble. His tongue laps over the smooth skin. It’s so quiet that I can hear each stroke of his tongue. It’s one of the many things he does that always grosses me out. He does this a lot. To me, more than once is too much.

With the room feeling as though it is slightly spinning, I slowly get up from the couch. My movements are slow at first. I hope the odd sensation will wane quickly. I retrieve the empty plate, and take it over to the sink. I don’t bother washing it clean. Don’t see the point in doing so. The odds of us coming back here are slim to none. I doubt Mom would chastise me for doing so.

My stomach grumbles. It’s a hunger pain and not a sickly induced bowel movement. Lucas was correct in his observation. I haven’t eaten well over the past few weeks. I was depressed and had given up hope.

Eating, to stay alive, seemed arbitrary. But all that has changed. At least for now. If I want to make it to the safe zone, I need to gather my strength.

Courage fuels my conviction. Now, I just need some sustenance to fuel my body for the long road ahead of us.

CHAPTER SIX

Over the next thirty minutes, I manage to stuff my face with more saltine crackers, a half a can of peaches, and some chicken breast from a can that was mixed in with some of Mom’s spices.

The hunger pains slowly subside. The weakness that had latched onto me starts to wane.

I sit at the small kitchen table, and look outside the window. Duke and Lucas’ ghostly gray shapes move through the bleakness of night. The brisk morning air flows in through the open door. Duke stays glued to Lucas’ side, escorting him back and forth from the cabin to the truck.

Lucas’ arms are full of boxes that house various foods and additional ammo that he has pilfered from the cellar. He piles what will fit into the narrow space behind the bench seat. I hope he has left some room for Duke back there.

I love that dog, but he can quickly invade one’s space. Like most animals, he doesn’t believe in boundaries.

Glass number four. Or is it five? I’ve lost count.

The strange flavor of the tap water has almost dissipated. After as many glassfuls, my taste buds have accepted this reality.

I cut myself off, and set the glass down. I close my eyes, and absorb the silence that has taken over the cabin. Memories of yester year play through my head like a family home video.

Cindy and I would be playing on the floor, each in our own space that was claimed as our nook of comfort for the duration of our stay.

She generally enjoyed being close to Mom and Dad. Her dolls, and the additional accessories that she lugged around, would be spread out in an orderly fashion. Whenever I tried to mess them up, she’d have a complete meltdown.

Me, on the other hand, I preferred my privacy.

My fortress of solitude was a narrow section between the bookcase and the stairs. Mom hated it when I’d lie over there. She couldn’t understand why a pre-teen needed to have his space. The concept was lost to her. At least, that’s how I took it. I knew she just wanted me to spend time with everyone. “Family bonding,” she would say.

Dad never pressed the issue. Told her to let me be and that I’d find my way over when I wanted. Man, he was so great.

I open my eyes, and glance over to the bookcase by the stairs. Now I wish I had listened to her more closely. I’d give anything for another second of that tranquil sensation. The family togetherness.

A shadowy figure dashes by the window near the kitchen. I lean forward. My head tilts to the left slightly. Did I imagine that?

I blink. Then jam the heels of my palms into each socket. It’s early in the morning. Perhaps I’m still intertwined in some sort of partial dream state.

I search for Duke and Lucas through the window, but they are nowhere to be found. My mind wants to break free, and conjure up all sorts of grisly scenarios that send shivers down my spine. I hold it together and fight the urge to panic. Even though I’m fairly certain I’m not dreaming, an uneasy feeling still festers in my brain.

The chair’s legs scrape along the aged wooden floor. The commotion creates a loud crescendo as I push away from the table. I grimace from the abrupt sharp noise.

I cautiously near the window. Every step I take, the floor creaks a warning signal that sounds like a thunderclap in the dead silence. I pause, then cringe, afraid that I’m creating too much noise. Two breaths, in and out, and I move on.

Peering through the dingy glass, I search from left to right. My gaze flows over the grassy plain before the cabin as the night slowly starts to dissolve. More of the world comes into focus.

I can’t actually say for certain what I saw. It was nothing more than a blur.

I remove my attention from the window. A shadowy shape dashes by once more. The slats of wood creaking, confirming the presence of something with considerable weight. The noise fades off to my left and down the porch.

It isn’t Duke. That much is certain. I can’t imagine Lucas doing any such thing, considering what recently transpired the day before. That, and he doesn’t come across as the joking type. At least, not that I can tell.

I lean back on my heels. My gaze fixes at the wide-open door. Dead leaves are blown in from the wind’s howling gust. Lucas’ shotgun is missing, but mine remains. It sits at the ready, leaning against the wall near the jamb of the door.

I listen for any additional noises. None are heard. Is it a chaser that is toying with its prey? A cat and mouse game that I have been forced into? I have no plans of being the mouse in this scenario. That much is certain.

Slow and steady, I keep to the wall, and move toward the opening. My heart pounds. My hands twitch. Ready for what might be lurking beyond the safety of these four walls, I steady my nerves.

My back presses firmly to the door’s outer edge. I crane my neck, and skim over the porch. No dark gray figures loom within the vast stillness of the wilderness. Lucas and Duke are also nowhere in sight. Where could they be?

Could this be a dream after all?

Three more steps, and the rifle will be in my grasp. It’s a gamble, but one I need to take.

I near the edge of the open door and stop. My back rests flush against the chilled wooden grain that seeps through my jacket. I’m so close, yet, when I go to reach for the barrel, my body freezes.

My feet are planted. Legs refuse to obey my command.

“This is nothing more than a vivid dream. You have fallen asleep at the kitchen table. That is all.” I’m not overly convinced, but it helps stay the fear.

I finally force my body into submission, and move across the doorway. I reach for the rifle, but catch sight of a figure standing on the porch. My head cocks to the right slowly. My fingers are just mere inches from the black barrel.

The ghastly shape of a chaser lingers in the early morning light. His head tilts forward slightly. His chest heaves in and out. He pants and grunts. His fists are clenched so tight that they tremor.

Those bloodshot eyes burrow into my soul as he groans and bares his teeth. He releases a pent up wail and comes for me.

The demon has me dead to rights. I reach for the barrel to my rifle, and grab the chilled steel. My skin crawls with a tingling sensation that sends a shockwave of panic surging throughout my body.

Then, as if the thunder god himself came down from the heavens above, a single loud clap of fire explodes to his right.

My body tenses. Fingers latch onto the barrel of the rifle as I bring it to bear. The left side of the chaser’s head erupts in a volcanic blowout of brain and bone.

His lifeless body stumbles a single step more before crashing to the wooden planks. The bedlam of the impact is jarring. The world falls silent once more.

“You good, James?” Lucas asks from my right.

Startled, I jerk, and turn to face him.

Lucas holds up his hands in protest of the barrel of the rifle that is pointed at him.

“Whoa. Easy there.”

I expel a sigh of relief and tension through clenched teeth, lower the rifle, and lean against the doorjamb.

“Christ. They’re coming out of the woodworks now.” Lucas lowers the shotgun he has clutched in his right hand. He glances back over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong? Where’s Duke?” I demand more than ask.

Lucas grabs my arm. He pulls me from the cabin, and over the dead chaser that lays sprawled out between us.

His tense and worried posture causes concern to wash over me. I still haven’t seen or heard Duke yet, which amplifies my rattled demeanor.

A wail echoes in the distance. Then... another.

We stop cold. Our attention focuses out into the vastness of the grass and trees that encompass the cabin. A dense fog looms in the air, making it difficult to spot any movement. The weather is like this at times, but generally clears out by mid-day. Lucas keeps a tight grip on my arm. He glances to the left, then the right in search of the incoming threat.

“We have to leave, now.” Lucas sternly orders.

I look over to the cab, and spot Duke in the back seat. He barks and paws at the window. His pleas are muffled as he continues to beg to be released.

We dash over to the truck. Branches snap to my right. The clomping of heavy footsteps rushing toward us hastens my pace and spurs me to get inside.

We toss open the doors and pile in. Duke tries to jump over the seat, but I halt him with a restrictive hand. He groans and continues to bark.

We slam our doors as the chasers emerge from the gloom. Lucas anxiously slips the key into the ignition. I plead with him to hurry.

The engine grumbles and back fires. A look of surprise floods his face. The discord of the harsh motor draws the chasers’ attention.

They alter their direction, and charge the truck at full speed. Their mouths clamor up and down rapidly, savoring the meal to come.

Lucas pumps the gas pedal three to four times. His hand sits ready on the ignition. He glances over at me, and speaks as calmly as he can. “Don’t worry. We got this.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Second time’s a charm. I know, generally speaking, the saying is third time’s a charm, but I’m hoping to break that mold. I doubt we’ll get another shot at this if the engine doesn’t kick over. We’re sitting ducks here, ripe for the picking.

The chasers have locked onto us. Rage and fury, in the form of contorted faces, and a virus enriched fueling system, is about to rain down upon us. Their arms are stretched out in front of them. Their fingers tickle the air. The hunger festering deep inside their rotting stomachs compels them to seek and destroy untainted flesh and blood. Now, we’re on the menu.

They show no signs of slowing their quick, famished pace. The chasers don’t see a vehicle. It is a large, steel container that houses their food.

Lucas turns the key just as the chasers slam into the driver’s side of the truck. The engine rattles and refuses to comply with the order given. It’s throaty, congested muffle does little to gain my confidence. Lucas pumps the gas pedal a few more times, trying to breathe life into the monster he has created.

The chasers, dazed and disoriented from the raucous collision with the two-ton vehicle, stumble about, shaking their bloody heads as they focus back on the task at hand. Spying our edible faces, their mission becomes evident once more.

One charges the driver’s side window, while the other leaps on top of the hood. Lucas maintains his intense focus. He nurses the engine, like a newborn baby, while the dead pummel the window next to his head.

The chaser crawls toward the windshield. He presses his hands firmly to the grimy glass. His lust-filled gaze looks at Lucas first, then me.

Fluids drip from his cracked and torn lips. His teeth clench together as he draws his arm back. I fumble with the rifle between my legs. I bring it to bear as the demon wails and strikes the glass.

Lucas reaches up and grabs the barrel. He forces it down toward the floorboard. “Don’t shoot the glass. It’ll make it easier for them to get inside if you do.”

Duke growls and barks. He fights to jump over the bench seat. I hold him back with my left arm as he groans in protest. His ears are folded back, fur on end as he presents his glistening fangs to the hostile threat that is determined to gain entry.

The truck finally jumps to life. I release a breath of air in response to the grumbling noise.

Lucas smiles and claps his hands in a breath of satisfaction and relief. “Told you. We’re good.”

The chaser next to Lucas slams his head against the glass—repeatedly. Cracks fan out from the point of impact, blood smeared across them. My eyes go wide with fear as I look at the fractured glass.

“Put it in gear, and punch it!” I demand.

The chaser on the hood strikes the windshield two more times. His fists bleed more with each blow. I cringe.

The abuse his knuckles are taking seems to be lost on him. Regardless of how hard and often he strikes the glass, he perseveres without any signs of distress or fatigue. His mission is simple, and he is hell bound to complete it.

Lucas shifts the truck into drive. He smashes his foot to the floorboard. The back tires spin wildly in the dead grass before finding traction.

The truck lunges forward. Momentum grabs the chaser’s body and slams his face into the windshield. Blood ejects from his mouth as Lucas twists the steering wheel hard to the left. The chaser’s body flings from the hood. He hits the ground with a dull, lifeless thud. He rolls over the rigid earth, only halted by the ends of the unforgiving slats of the aged porch.

The back end of the truck fishtails. The tailgate flies open, and narrowly misses one of the support beams on the porch. Dirt and rocks fire like shotgun blasts in every direction. The cabin’s exterior and windows are pelted relentlessly.

Glass shatters.

Wood splinters in our desperate attempt to gain some distance.

Duke shifts his attention to the large, back window of the truck. He barks and growls at the infected who give pursuit.

I brace my right hand against the top left portion of the door, and my left plants firmly to the dash. Lucas keeps the gas pedal pressed to the floorboard as the truck bulldozes through the stream.

Water splashes up and fans out in both directions. Our bodies are jostled from side to side. The gear he has stuffed in the back rattles and shifts with each bump.

Lucas has a steady hand on the steering wheel. Ten and two. His gaze sneaks back over his shoulder at the chasers, who lag behind the runaway truck.

I cut my eyes to the right, and watch their outstretched arms reach for us through the side view mirror. The backdrop of the cabin being swallowed by the dense fog brings a sense of loss that compounds what I’m already dealing with. It is just another piece of my childhood that has been ripped away from me. Taken without care or remorse. And once more, I am unable to stop it from happening.

Silence drapes over the cab. Words are held within our trembling mouths. Well, at least mine, anyways. The engine whines as the grogginess of the gears seem to smooth out. So far, Lucas’ Frankenstein machine is alive and thriving.

Lucas eases up some on the gas. The dirt trail we traverse is unforgiving. The front tires plummet into the bottomless pits of the road. The truck bounces in, then out as the undercarriage touches earth. My body lifts off the bench seat for a mere second before coming down hard.

I don’t recall it ever being this bad. Granted, Mom and Dad knew this makeshift road like the back of their hands. Every depression within the ground was ingrained into their memories and navigated with precision.

That, and they were more cautious. They took it slow and easy to minimize the stress on the vehicles. They didn’t want to damage anything and be out in the deep woods with a busted ride. Lucas doesn’t seem to share this approach.

Perhaps it’s the adrenaline in his veins. After all, having ravenous fiends hot on your tail can frazzle one’s mind.

I peer into the side view mirror. The chasers are nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they have given up and decided to search for an easier meal.

“I think we’re in the clear,” I offer.

Lucas shifts his attention to the rearview mirror. He lowers his head slightly. His eyes narrow as he licks his lips. “Yeah. I don’t see them back there anymore.”

Duke has ceased his incessant barking. He leans over the bench seat and licks the left side of my face. The rigid bumps of his sticky tongue slither up my flushed skin. I don’t push him away, or thwart his loving gesture.

In that moment, I actually welcome it. It eases my runaway mind—the ever-persistent voice, lingering in the back of my brain, telling me that hope is nothing more than a myth. That, regardless of what I do, I am destined to repeat failure, and suffer heartbreak over and over again.

My gaze fixes out the window to the thick jungle of trees and brush that encompass us on both sides. A heavy, gray haze hangs in the air like a damp sheet. Light from above struggles to penetrate the canopy of leaves that shield the floor of the forest from its rejuvenating rays.

The trunks of the trees are partially hidden within the dense fog. The farther back my sight tries to penetrate, the less I am able to clearly make out.

What is that?

Did I spy some movement within the haze? Could it be a chaser darting between each tree as it advances toward us? I close my eyes briefly, then open them once more. It is gone, but was it ever really there?

“You ok over there?” Lucas inquires.

I pull myself from the haze, expel a sigh of frustration, and glance over to him. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He shakes his head slightly. His hands twist the steering wheel from left to right, trying to avoid the cavernous trenches that lay like land mines on a battlefield.

“Glad that vehicle was there. Without it, this would’ve been a much different story.”

I agree with a single nod, but give no reply.

Lucas places his palm on my shoulder. He gives it a pat or two, which says more than his words could.

We finally reach the end of the trail. Dirt and grass morph into concrete and tar. The rutted earth gives way to solid, even ground. The tires gain traction, and squeal as they cling to the damp road.

Lucas cuts the steering wheel to the left. The truck turns on a dime as he brings the steel beast under submission. He pushes the truck past sixty, and our journey to the safe zone has begun.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The long desolate road.

The highways seem so much emptier now that the world is sinking further and further into oblivion. Despite the abandoned vehicles that randomly litter the highway, the absence of the non-infected brings the current state of affairs into perspective.

It is grim. The sight of humanity crumbling is such a terrifying and gut-wrenching thought to process, even for a fifteen-year-old. How many non-infected people are left? What sort of future do I have to look forward to? Such thoughts hurt my brain. As long as I have Duke, and some sort of human connection in this new world that is taking shape around me, I may have a chance at surviving this. That last one seems like a long shot, though.

Aside from Lucas, I haven’t seen another person who didn’t want to eat me. Not since Dawson perished on that bridge.

It has been a month, perhaps more, since I arrived at the cabin. A part of me wonders if Lucas was sent my way to help save me from myself.

I’m not religious, nor was my mom and dad. They just believed that when you do good, it will come back to you in your moment of need. And for me, I was there.

My mind was in a dark place. I was living inside my head. Sitting in the familiarity of the cabin drudged up so many happy memories that I feared I would never have again. To be fair, I kind of still am in a dark place. But having that connection with another human has drawn me back from the darkness that was beckoning me into the vast ether of madness.

Granted, I have only known Lucas for a short period of time. I have run the gambit of coming across decent people in this deprived world, as well as vile individuals. Those who seek nothing more than to add to the destruction that the chasers are already causing.

Despite being content and relieved with his presence, though, I’m still being cautious. At the end of the day, my goal is still the same. Get to Mom and Cindy however I need to. If he manages to stay along for the ride, so be it.

Lucas stretches his arms out in front of him. He gives a big yawn as he rubs his hand up and down his face. He blinks and opens his eyes wide.

He looks tired. Purple and black bags rest under each eye. His face hangs with a spent expression. I have been so out of it, I‘m not sure how much rest he got before we were forced to flee the cabin.

I sit up straight, and ask, “When’s the last time you had some sleep?”

Lucas shrugs. “Depends.”

“Depends on what?” I reply.

“Your definition of sleep.” He adjusts the temperature on the dash. It’s warm and toasty, which probably compounds the sluggishness he’s coping with. He twists the control knob more to the cold blue side, cracks his window, and places his left elbow on the door’s armrest.

The cool crisp air whistles inside the cab. I draw my arms tighter across my chest. The drop in temperature doesn’t seem to faze Lucas all that much.

“How about I take over for a while? Let you get some rest.”

Lucas gives me a precarious stare. He then looks out to the road ahead. He rubs his chin, then the back of his neck. He seems hesitant about relinquishing control of the truck to a kid. “I’m good. The warm air is just working on me. Get some of that cool refreshing air in my face, and I’ll be good.”

I scoff, and shake my head.

“What?” he asks.

“I have driven before.” Not sure why his dismissal of the notion chaps me so bad, but it does. “My dad would let me drive his Bronco up through the woods on our hunting trips. By his standards, which were strict to say the least, I did fairly well.”

Lucas nods. “I imagine you did, but this is a tad bit different than being out in the middle of the woods.”

Whatever. “I’m just trying to be helpful. The last thing either of us want, or need, is for you to black out while behind the wheel. You’re obviously tired and need some rest. But hey, what do I know? I’m just a kid, after all.”

It’s hard to tell if Lucas is angry at my sarcastic and derogative tone, or if he is just so tired that his face appears agitated.

His furrowed frown turns into a smirk as he chuckles. “All right, James.” He slows the truck down and pulls off to the side of the road. He puts it into park, but keeps the engine idling. “You sure about this?”

“Yeah. It’s not that hard. Stay on the road, and watch out for the abandoned cars. If I see a chaser, I’ll mow it down. That’s ten points, right?”

Lucas presents me with that all too familiar stare that Dad would when I’d tried to be funny in a serious moment. He tilts his head slightly forward and to the right. His lips purse together as his eyes narrow at me. It makes me wonder if Lucas has kids or not.

“Funny, James.” He kicks open his door and hops out. The hinges of the door squeaking brings Duke to life in the back seat. He sits up, yawns, and gives his coat a good shake before leaning forward and licking my left ear.

“Did you sleep well, boy?”

Duke answers with a groan and an additional lick to the face.

Lucas makes his way around the front of the truck.

I slide across the bench seat, and settle in front of the steering wheel. My foot reaches for the gas pedal. It makes it about halfway up the floorboard before I have to stretch my leg out further. The seat needs to be adjusted some.

My hand searches just below me. Moving from side to side, my fingers discover a bar. Lucas opens the passenger side door and slides in.

“Grab that bar, and move it to the right. Should allow you to adjust the seat if you need to.” His door closes with a dull, hollow thud.

I work the handle to the right, and pull the seat forward. It moves up slightly before locking back into place. My foot is now able to reach the pedal with ease.

I check the mirrors first. Adjusting each as needed. I fasten my safety belt.

Lucas leans back into the seat and watches my every move. He doesn’t say a word as I finish my pre-driving checklist. “Everything in order?”

“Yeah. Just trying to get familiar with where everything is at first.” I’m a bit nervous. That much is obvious. To me, it is anyways. I don’t want to come across as some overly helpless child. I have survived through so much so far, and I want to show that I can handle myself. I think Lucas can see that, or at least, I hope he can.

“Whenever you’re ready, James.” He rests his head to the side of the cab.

I got this.

I place my foot on the brake, and grab the gearshift on the column. I push it toward the floor, and shift the truck into drive.

My foot switches over to the gas pedal as the truck begins to roll forward. With a ginger, but stern touch, I apply pressure to the gas.

I move out into the center of the highway. The truck slowly starts to gain speed as I adjust my weight. My hands stay firm at ten and two. Dad would be proud of me. Mom would probably be beside herself.

Forty.

Fifty.

The truck reaches fifty-five before Lucas interjects.

“Keep it around there. That’s a good cruising speed for you. Let me know if you need anything.” Lucas lowers his hat down just below his brow. He closes his eyes, and tucks his arms across his chest. “Oh, James, one more thing.”

I keep my attention focused straight ahead. “Yeah.”

“Don’t kill us, ok?”

It seems as though I’m not the only one who can dish out a serving of sarcasm. “I’ll do my best. No promises though. This road is kind of slick.”

The idle banter quickly dies off as Lucas passes out. He must’ve been tired. I’m the captain of the ship now. The man in charge. It’s up to me to make the tough calls. Not sure Lucas would agree with that bold statement, but hey, he agreed to let me drive. That, and he’s asleep.

It is completely possible that I’m reading too much into such a simple daily task that most people do on autopilot. For me, though, it’s a huge step. A threshold of sorts that I’m scared, yet wanting to cross.

All the times that Dad wanted me to drive, and I showed such hesitation and lack of confidence, wasn’t because I didn’t think I could do it. I just didn’t want to let him down. But given the insurmountable task that has been laid out before me, I have to man up. I have to own my fear of failure and self-doubt. It’s time to show up, and handle matters as Dad would have.

Besides, this whole driving thing doesn’t seem so hard. Stay on the road, and don’t hit anything.

Got it.

Our course is relatively easy to navigate too, which helps out tremendously. Stay on Highway 20, then cut over to Interstate 5. That’ll lead us to the safe zone. I don’t plan on driving that far, though. Just long enough for Lucas to get some sleep, so he’ll be a bit more alert.

About the only aspect of traversing a post-apocalyptic world that draws concern from me, are the number of abandoned cars that plague the roads. Fortunately, Highway 20 is not as traveled a road as Interstate 5. So, the number of vehicles that sit dormant on the roads are few. Still, there are some.

As we pass by, I slow down, and try to guess what happened. Not that it’s too hard to tell. Some have busted windows, others have flat tires. Most, if not all, tell a grisly tale of a painful demise.

Blood.

Bodies.

And at times, chaser’s feasting upon their lifeless corpses.

I cast a morbidly disgusted glance at the decrepit souls devouring their prey. They pay us no mind as they slurp up the moist, meaty strands of flesh. The chasers are knee deep in their victims—a mushed pile of tattered clothing and human remains. The victim’s faces are frozen in a moment of pure terror and suffering before what life remained was ripped from their bodies by the vile demons.

The chasers’ hands are a bloody mess. Some get to their feet, and stare as we pass by. I imagine what little brain activity remains calculates if we are worth leaving their present meal for or not.

My face contorts in disgust. My stomach turns over. But still, I want to see the carnage. Perhaps it’s my subconscious keeping me focused and my guard up. Not that I would ever let it slip, but still, it’s good to be reminded regularly just how dangerous the world is now.

The damp road has all but run dry. The sun has forced its way through the dense clouds. The fog that plagued a portion of our trek has vanished.

I settle into this whole driving thing. My nerves lessen. My confidence has blossomed to the point where I feel as though I have been doing it forever.

Lucas is still sound asleep, his mouth gaped open. A deep exhale of air filters out through his mouth as his chest expands.

Duke places his head on top of the bench seat. He stares at me with those big eyes and groans. He needs some loving, and probably some space to stretch his legs and relieve himself. I reach back and rub him for a second to calm his nerves.

“I know, boy. We’ll stop here in a bit, and let you handle your business.”

He grumbles some sort of dog mutter, then tries to lick my face. I lean away from him, moving closer to the driver’s side door. He gives pursuit with his tongue. I remove my attention from the road for a split second to push him away.

Lucas starts to come to. He rubs his hands over his face and lifts his hat back up onto his head. He sits up straight. His face is thick with sleep, but he sounds as though he didn’t fall into a deep slumber.

“How are you doing over... watch out!” Lucas shouts, and points out of the windshield.

My attention snaps back to the road. It has only been diverted for a few seconds. A chaser is rushing headlong at us in the middle of the highway. I jerk the steering wheel hard to the right.

The tires squeal.

The back end of the truck wants to fishtail.

I’m losing control of a situation that I thought I had conquered. I am, in fact, the captain of this ship.

Duke barks.

Lucas gasps as he reaches over and fights with the steering wheel.

The chaser doesn’t alter his course. His brain doesn’t register danger. It’s only seeking out the strange noise with the hopes that there might be something to quench its hunger.

I hold my breath as the driver’s side of the truck smashes into the chaser’s bulk. He hits with a dense thud. His head busts through the window. Tiny shards of the fragmented glass rain inside the cab. His crippled frame disappears from sight.

We dart across the highway like a bat out of hell. My foot frantically searches for the brake as we make for the ditch. We’re on a collision course with an abandoned hatchback.

I mash the brake as hard as I can. The truck’s tires seize up, but it’s too late. We collide with the rear of the vehicle.

The sound of tortured and groaning metal creates a horrifying crescendo. My seatbelt holds my body in place as my head is thrown forward. The steering wheel explodes like a shotgun blast. A brief puff of smoke is followed by the airbag being deployed.

Within that split second, my youthful, fragile life flashes before me as the world around me goes black.

CHAPTER NINE

Smoke fills my lungs, and rips me from my unconscious slumber. I cough. I hack on the fumes that emit out from the engine.

My eyes wearily crack open. I blink. They burn with an irritating sensation that causes tears to flow freely. I squint hard, trying to relieve the stinging.

The left side of my face is fixed to the airbag. Smoke filters into the cab through the vents on the dash. A cool, crisp breeze flows through the busted window next to me.

I’m disoriented. My head swells with confusion, and a throbbing headache, but at least I’m alive. Every inch of my body aches. The seatbelt has done its job, though, and held me in place. For now, I’m still among the living.

I lean back to the bench seat from my slumped over posture. I bring my hands up to my face, and dig the heel of my palms inside each socket as my dizziness wanes.

I catch sight of the rearview mirror. Blood trickles down from the top right portion of my scalp. I grimace. My fingers probe the wound gently as I clench my teeth. As far as I can tell, it’s not as bad as it seems. It’s sore to the touch, but appears to be only a minor flesh wound.

I don’t hear Duke in the back, or see Lucas in the seat next to me. His door is slung open. Blood is smeared on the dash and trails out through the opening of the truck.

“Duke? Lucas?” Just the hissing of the busted engine answers me back. “Duke, come here, boy.”

The seatbelt is snug. Locked into place. I can’t move from the restriction it has placed on me. I try to twist and peer over the seat into the back, but can’t.

A part of me panics. Is Duke dead in the back seat? Did Lucas ditch me and flee, or did a chaser get a hold of him?

Questions flood my fragmented thoughts. I can’t think clearly, or rationalize my downward descent into sheer, unhinged trepidation. One thing I do know is that I have to get loose from this seatbelt. I have to get out of this truck, then I can sort things out.

The latch on the buckle that holds the seatbelt in place won’t respond. I pull and tug on it, trying to release the latch. It’s pressed in, but still, I’m a captive of the truck.

My agitation amplifies. Anger surges. Lips press firmly together as my blood boils. I grab the strap, and pull with all my might. Not only is it me against the world, but now I have this stupid truck to contend with as well.

Something touches my left shoulder. My head whips about. A chaser stands just beyond the door. From the look of his bloodied and contorted face, it’s the one who met a painful demise by our hand. Or so I thought.

His chest heaves. His eyes are deadlocked on mine. His teeth grind against one another as he comes for me. I close my eyes, and brace myself for the violent end I know is coming.

“No!” I cry out. My hands push and shove. I do everything I can to thwart the demon’s advances.

“James, are you ok?” a voice calls out to me. It sounds faint and distant, like the person is whispering. A restraining hand is placed on my shoulder. I continue my strife. The voice grows louder, like a freight train barreling toward me. “James, you’re ok.”

I curb my rebellious efforts.

There are no teeth digging into me. No tearing of my flesh. Just a singular voice beckoning me to respond to them. To discontinue my defensive state.

My eyes crack open. The tension in my body has my muscles taut and ready. My hands are balled into fists. The knuckles of each hand have turned a milky white.

No chaser is there, ready to strip me clean of my flesh and soul. It’s just Lucas.

“Breathe, James. It’s just me.” Lucas eases his grip on my shoulder. He nods his head in a reassuring manner.

My head is still thick with confusion. I’m not sure what’s going on. I take a moment and breathe in and out, trying to clear my mind. The tension that fills my clenched fists lessens, allowing the color to return to them.

“Wha... where’s Duke?” I grumble.

“He’s fine. He’s out here next to me.” Lucas glances down toward the ground, then back to me. “He was a little shaken by the accident, but otherwise, he seems to be fine. Are you ok? Everything in working order?”

I nod, and sit up straight in the seat. The airbag has deflated and hangs lifeless from the exposed steering wheel. My hands go back to the buckle as I struggle to get free.

“The buckle is jammed. I can’t get it loose.”

Lucas hushes me. He peers to the left. Then, his head snaps to the right.

“What is it? Chasers?” I ask.

“Not sure, but we need to keep moving.” He takes a step back, and opens the door. Duke is right beside him, waiting patiently. He glances up at me. “Sweet Home is roughly a couple miles or so up the road. I figure if we maintain a decent pace, it shouldn’t take much more than an hour to get there.”

Lucas removes the knife he has secured in its sheath on the side of his hip. He grabs the top portion of the seatbelt that is laced across my chest, pulls it away from me, and slides the blade along the strap.

The knife slices through the seatbelt with little effort. He reaches for the strand that runs over my lap, and repeats the process. He maneuvers the blade carefully over my leg and under the strap. He twists the blade upward, with the serrated edge resting on the belt. It slices through it easily. I throw the loose strap from my lap and exhale a breath of relief. I’m now free.

Lucas moves to the door behind me and slings it open. I slowly exit the truck. Duke wags his tail and groans. I drop to one knee, bring him close, and hold him tight. My hands rub his sides as he licks my face repeatedly.

He’s happy to see me. That never fails. One of the many things that I love about him is his unconditional love. Given what has just transpired, I eat up every lick he offers.

I knead the crown of his head while my other hand attends to the bottom of his snout.

“Are you ok, boy?”

There are no visible injuries that I can spot. He doesn’t walk with any sort of impairment. He is full of life. A part of me wishes I could extract some of the energy. I imagine he’d share it if he could.

Lucas tosses my go bag to the ground. He then hands me my rifle. “Here, James.”

I give Duke one last rub, and stand back up. He shakes his thick coat and offers a subtle bark.

“I know, dude. We’ll be leaving shortly.” I take the rifle from Lucas, scoop up the go bag from the road, and sling it over my right shoulder.

Lucas continues to quickly sift through the abundance of supplies and gear that he offloaded from the cabin. We won’t be able to take it all. It makes me feel bad about wrecking the truck.

I stand just beyond the door, biting my bottom lip as I wrestle with any words of apology. “Hey listen, I’m sorry for-“

Lucas’ hand springs up. He doesn’t look back as he opens a box.

“It’s ok, James. No apologies are needed.” Lucas is hard to read. He always has that gruff, rigid demeanor, so it makes it difficult to know if he’s mad or not. Unless he actually smiles, it’s always murky water for me to slog through. “Ah, there you are.”

I crane my neck to see. “What are you hunting down?”

He pulls two small boxes from the truck and turns toward me. “Here. Do you have any room left in your bag for one of these?”

A box of ammo for my rifle.

“Maybe.” I slide the bag free of my shoulder, and pull the zipper around the outer portion. I open it up and peer inside. The pack is already stuffed with the supplies Lucas loaded it down with. There is but a small spot at the top that could possibly accommodate the ammo.

The angry yowls of the chasers capture our ears. We both pause and listen. My eyes stay glued to Lucas, who shifts his head in the direction of the incoming wails.

“How far away do you think they are?” I ask.

“Close enough for us to hear them.” Lucas reaches inside the truck. He retrieves a few bottles of water and stuffs them into another pack. He crams the box of shotgun shells clutched in his free hand into the other pack he is lugging around.

He steps clear of the door, and slams it shut. He is weighed down with gear on both shoulders. The added bulk doesn’t seem to bog him down any.

Lucas moves with purpose. His shotgun is clutched tightly in his hands as he walks past me. He doesn’t give the truck or supplies we have to forgo, a second look as he continues walking.

“You coming?” he calls out.

I cram the ammo inside the pack with a single shove of my hand. I secure the supplies, and retrieve my rifle that is leaning against the truck. I scramble after him.

Duke stays by my side. We make it alongside Lucas on the long tree-lined stretch of highway. The chasers’ squalls continue to taunt us. It’s difficult to gauge their position.

Lucas’ demeanor doesn’t waiver. He doesn’t show any signs of panic or concern about the infected that are seemingly all around us.

The next hour and a half fly by. We stop and check any vehicles that appear to be in decent shape. No flat tires. Void of any chasers inside. We don’t want to take the chance of having to use our weapons and drawing in anymore that might be close by.

Any that meet this requirement, Lucas is quick to inspect further. None pan out though, for one reason or another. After the last one, we decide to just bypass the rest and get to Sweet Home. We’re wasting a lot of time without finding anything of use.

Conversation is null. Lucas keeps a watchful gaze on the tree line as his shotgun remains at the ready. I imagine he doesn’t want to discharge the loud weapon unless absolutely necessary. The only words he does offer to me are not to fire unless he says so.

Right now, we have the ability of keeping our presence from the chasers. In an age where noise can be detrimental, silence is golden.

I have no qualms about holding my tongue. To be fair, I don’t have much to say anyway. All that cooks on my brain is Mom and Cindy. Everything else is repressed. It’s inconsequential.

Besides, I’m not known for being an overly talkative person. At school. At home. I enjoy my solitude. I thrive in the silence. Some of the best memories I have are being able to hang out with people where we just sat and enjoyed one another’s company. It’s not always about what is said, but what isn’t.

Lucas raises his arm and balls his fingers into a fist. He comes to a dead stop in the middle of the road.

I nab Duke’s collar and halt him. “Do you see something?”

His gaze is fixed directly in front of him. I follow his line of sight to the road sign that has been vandalized. The additional commentary does little to keep me calm. It reads:

Welcome to Sweet Home. Gateway to the Santiam Playground.

I couldn’t tell you what Santiam is. But at least it has a playground of sorts.

The light green sign is spray painted with a dark red circle, that has a diagonal line running from the top left to the bottom right. The color has run down, creating thick lines that look more like blood than paint. At the bottom of the circle are the words: Town gone. Full of chasers.

“Well, the welcome mat they’ve laid out here doesn’t inspire a bunch of confidence in me.” Duke sits down by my feet. I release my hold from around his collar.

“I’ve been through this town, but it has been a number of years since the last time. Some nice folks here,” Lucas replies.

He peers back over his shoulder to the way we just came. The edge of his hand presses to his forehead, right above his brow. He’s deep in thought. I can see the gears twisting and turning inside that head of his. I have a hunch of what he’s contemplating, but I’m not overly sure.

I finally pick at his brain. “Is there another way we could go?”

He remains silent for a moment longer. “There is always a different way we could go, but no telling if it would be any safer.” He refocuses his attention to the tree line to our right and points at its dense foliage. “We could always cut through there. Again, no telling what might be lurking inside, though.”

I grimace. I have already been through the bowels of a wooded death trap. My father and best friend got killed in places like that. I would rather take my chances in the city. In the urban jungle, right or wrong, to me, it is the lesser of two evils.

“I say we continue on to Sweet Home. They’ll have supplies and such that we can possibly use since we had to leave the others behind. That, and I’d rather be in a car right now than tromping through those woods on foot.”

Lucas nods in agreement. “I was planning on staying on our current path. I was just going over all options here.”

How many people lived in the town? Regardless if it’s big or small, I’d like to know. It isn’t swaying my decision any. I just want to know what we are walking into.

“What’s the population of Sweet Home by chance?”

Lucas rubs, then scratches the thickening black beard that is full of wiry, scraggly hairs. “No telling. I don’t recall seeing a population sign. Could’ve missed it, though.”

“Best guess, then.”

“I don’t know. Maybe 10,000? Perhaps a bit more or less. Seems to be a small town. I’d imagine most people probably fled, though. So, we probably won’t have too many to contend with.”

I take Lucas’ assessment at face value. It does make sense in a way. Most would have probably fled at the first hint of their neighbors trying to eat one another. Small towns are like that. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. Gossip spreads like wild fire.

We are left with no choice that outweighs the other. The best course for us to go is where we are being warned not to. It’s a crap deal, but one I’m used to by now.

I shrug, then sigh. “Screw it. Let’s go find us a ride.”

CHAPTER TEN

This is the first town I have been in since the virus has been unleashed. I have either stayed to the woods or took roads that bypassed any such dangers.

Not that I’m overly thrilled about our plan of action here. Strolling through a minefield of ravenous infected people, who are more than likely lurking within the shadows of the buildings, is not high on my to do-list. But we have to find a ride if we want to have any strand of hope of making it to the safe zone.

Which proves to be a challenge. Much like most of the highway, there is an overabundance of vehicles to choose from. The problem is, most are in dire shape.

By the amount of bullet holes that riddle most of the vehicles, it’s hard to tell if the military has been through here, or if the locals took up arms and fought back. Windows are busted out. Cars are flipped over onto their sides. The interiors are blackened by fires that left their mark on the steel frames.

Trash and spent cartridges litter the road. They crunch under our boots as we soak in the decimation of the once quaint town. The businesses that ran along the highway are either boarded up, or have their storefronts riddled with busted glass.

Lucas skims over each store that may offer some sort of value to us as Duke and I provide cover. Food, gear, weapons. Any and all would be welcomed. We stay to the main highway, and keep a consistent pace as we progress through the void that was once a civilized town.

“Where do you think the chasers are?” I skim over the buildings that are across the street. Those that don’t have plywood covering the windows and glass doors, I try to look in for any signs of life. Dead or not.

“Not sure. Let’s just be thankful that they’re nowhere around at the moment. We’re not exactly in the best position to make a getaway if any rear their gaunt faces.” Lucas peers inside a beige four-door sedan that has run up on the curb. He leans back on his heels and scrutinizes the condition of the vehicle.

His head goes from left to right. He checks the tires, kicking the outer black rubber wall with the tips of his boots. He makes his way around to the other side and does the same.

“Maybe the chasers moved on?” I pose. It’s wishful thinking that I hope is true. “Haven’t seen any bodies yet, so that could be a good sign.”

Lucas doesn’t offer any sort of reply. He is too busy inspecting the car.

I shrug off the silence. I narrow my eyes, and peer through the window of a bakery that is directly across the highway from us.

The interior of the lime green building is mostly dark. What little bit of sunshine that breaks free of the dense clouds overhead brings the interior of the bakery to life.

“We might have a winner here,” Lucas calls out from behind me.

My gaze stays focused on the building. I pan from left to right. The absence of any bodies on the streets, dead or alive, makes my mind wander. What if the chasers are trapped inside the buildings? Could that be what the sign meant?

It is difficult to tell. Unless they had their meager faces pressed to the windows, I wouldn’t see them. As long as the buildings are secure and sealed tight, whatever looms within the four walls can rot there for all I care.

The grumble of the car engine diverts my thoughts from the building. I turn on my heels, and watch with a hopeful stare.

Duke makes sure to stay close by. If he starts to stray beyond my comfort, I’ll whistle and stop him. I think he wants to go exploring from the look he expresses at me. He won’t keep eye contact, and he lowers his head toward the pavement. Sorry, bud. Too dangerous to go messing about on your own.

Lucas is nestled in the driver’s seat. Wires hang from the bottom of the steering wheel as his foot works the gas pedal. He mumbles something through his pursed lips as the groaning of the engine turns to a simple clicking sound.

He slaps the palms of his hands against the brown steering wheel. “Damn it.”

“Not a winner, huh?” I inquire.

Lucas reaches down with his left hand, and pops the hood. Frustrated, he steps clear of the car. He moves to the front, and opens the hood. “I think the battery might be dead. Not sure.”

I move closer as he inspects the battery, and the cables attached to the silver ends that protrude from the top of the black box.

“What’s all that yellowish white stuff around the connections there?”

Lucas pulls a rag from his back pants pocket. “That would be acid buildup.”

There is a good amount that resides on the terminals.

“How does that happen?”

Lucas dabs at the powder. He tries to clean it off as best he can. “Well, corrosion on the terminals is due to hydrogen gas being released from the acid in the battery. It mixes with other things in the atmosphere under the hood, and produces the corrosion you see on the terminals. Generally, if the corrosion is occurring on the negative terminal, your system is probably undercharging. If it’s on the positive side, it’s probably overcharging.”

“Sorry I asked.” I half smile. I guess I should’ve known better from the first time he tried to explain something mechanical to me. “Is that going to help?”

“If we can find another car to perhaps jump it with, then yes. Not having all of that acid will make a huge difference.” Lucas gets out from underneath the hood. He shakes the rag in his hand, allowing the yellow tinted powder to flutter to the road.

His thick forearms rest against the hood. He wipes the tiny beads of sweat on his face on his long-sleeve flannel shirt.

I confirm Lucas’ plan with a hint of doubt. “So now we just need to find a car that isn’t too messed up that we can push over here and just jump it off with then? Is that what you’re saying?”

Lucas nods. “Yeah. The only down side to this, is that the more noise we make, the more likely we’ll draw the attention of any chasers close by.”

“True. Seems like it will up our chances for grabbing the attention for any that are lurking within the town.”

Lucas peers back over his shoulder. He is back into a deep trance of thought. His tongue runs over his lips. He squints through the thin rays of sunlight that periodically peek through the clouds overhead.

His plan is sound, but I’m not overly keen on creating a bunch of extra noise in a place where the infected were known to be. It is almost like a rabbit sitting in the middle of a wolf’s den and ringing the dinner bell. I don’t want to see us as the rabbit, but we are.

Lucas’ eyes dart from side to side. His finger beats the air. “Wait.”

“What is it?” I probe.

Life surges in his eyes. Whatever he is mulling over seems to bring forth a bounty of hope to our otherwise dismal plan. “If we can find an auto parts store, they may have a battery charger.”

My right brow lifts in curiosity.

“A battery charger? You mean like something you would put AAA batteries in and plug into the wall to charge them back up.”

“Something like that.” He glances back down to the battery. “If it still has enough juice left, we can possibly charge the battery up enough to get it started. It will be infinitely easier, and will drastically reduce any noise pollution that we’ll create with trying to jump it off from another vehicle. But mostly, it will save a lot of time if we don’t have to scout out a working vehicle.”

After listening to Lucas’ plan, I’m on board. I surely want to keep our chances at being detected by the chasers at a null.

“So now we just need to find an auto parts store. Surely this town has one.”

Lucas points down the highway. “I believe there’s an auto parts store up that way.”

I follow his gaze down the grim looking road that is cluttered with debris and stalled cars. “Are you sure?” My tone is hesitant.

Lucas confirms with a confident nod of his head. “I believe it’s an O’Reilly’s Auto Parts store. Like I said, it’s been a while since I’ve been through here, but I do recall seeing one.”

“How far away do you think it is?” I inquire.

Lucas shrugs. “Maybe ten blocks. Give or take. I know it was on Highway 20, though.”

A part of me wants to just stay put, and hope for the best in finding a car that is good to go. Then again, even I know you have to have tools to remove the battery from its hold. Again, luck is doing its best to avoid us. It’s rather elusive at the moment.

I sigh. “Let’s get going, then. The sooner we can find this battery charger, the quicker we can get out of here and back on the road.”

Lucas leaves the hood of the car up. He retrieves his shotgun from the driver’s side of the car, removes a water bottle from his pack, twists the cap free, and takes a big gulp.

The two packs are still slung over both of his shoulders. I can only imagine the added bulk makes his body that much more tired. Especially, with all of the walking we have to do.

“Did you want to leave one of those packs here in the car? Perhaps in the trunk?”

Lucas finishes off the bottle, crunches the plastic in his hand, and discards the crumpled container without a second thought. Littering seems to be the least of anyone’s worries at the moment.

“I’d rather keep them with me. If something happens, and we’re not able to make it back here, then we’re out of the supplies and other stuff I packed inside it.”

I hadn’t thought about that. I imagine he wants to keep what supplies he has taken from the cabin close to him. We had to leave so much behind in the truck. I wonder if that still eats at his nerves.

“Just a suggestion. Hauling all that on your back must take a lot out of you.”

Lucas rests the barrel of his shotgun against his shoulder. He wipes the remnants of the water away that have run down from his lips to his beard.

“Nothing I’m not used to. When I’d go hiking, I’d have about as much weight on me as I do now.”

It is hard not to feel a tad bit inferior to Lucas. Although, I’d venture he is at least twice my age, he seems to have as much energy and stamina as me. If not more. Lugging that gear on his back doesn’t seem like a burden but more of a regular constant. I’m glad he didn’t ask me to share the load. I’m not sure I’m up for that.

We leave the car, and head up the highway in search of the auto parts store. Duke takes point, with me following close behind. Lucas covers the rear.

I clutch the rifle with a firm grip. The right grasps the stock close to the trigger while the left cradles the barrel.

The town is consumed by an eerie silence. No animals make their presence known. It’s as if I have plugs in both ears.

Duke keeps a steady pace with his nose to the road. He stops briefly and moves his head from left to right. His ears perk up, and twitch as if he caught wind of something. He groans, but quickly disregards any notion of running off.

Curiosity continues to plague my mind as I take in the buildings that span both sides of the highway. Pondering where the chasers might be is a double-edged sword that I wrestle with. Either they have completely moved on, or they’re lying in wait. The more I chew on it, the more the thought begins to spawn inside my head.

What if the absence of stimulus causes the chasers to eventually go into a comatose state? I have nothing to base this theory on really, but seeing how the sign warned of the town being infested with chasers, and us not having seen a single one, it kind of makes me give wind to the notion. Then again, this is just pure speculation from a kid who doesn’t know any better.

I glance at the boarded up windows of the businesses that we pass by. I wonder if people are taking refuge inside the fortified walls or if it’s only the chasers huddled together in a dormant-like state. If there are people, perhaps they’re thinking the same thing I am. Like any prey, if you stay silent and out of sight, your chances at survival increase.

A part of me hopes that’s the case. It makes this nerve-racking walk through this obstacle course of decimation that much easier to stomach. If there are non-infected people inside watching us right now, they’re probably thinking one of two things. Joy at seeing people who aren’t on the prowl for a meal or pity watching us walk to our inevitable doom.

My gaze sneaks back over my left shoulder to Lucas. His attention is clear and focused. His eyes scan to the left, then shift to the right. He looks back over his shoulder frequently to make sure we aren’t being hunted.

Duke freezes. The hairs on his back stiffen. He lowers his head closer to the road. A low growl seeps from his throat, growing louder and angrier.

I bring my rifle to bear, and press the butt end firmly to my shoulder. I inch my way toward Duke, and kneel beside him. My hand pats his left side. I can feel the tremors of each growl course through my palm. His muscles are taut. Something is close by.

“Do you see anything?” I whisper.

Lucas moves up beside me with his shotgun at the ready. He sweeps from left to right, pointing at the multiple cars that are smashed together in the middle of the highway. Glass litters the pavement. Fluids from the engines have bled to the road. It’s difficult to pierce the contorted steel of the vehicles to see what is lurking on the other side.

Duke starts to advance, but I grab his collar, and hold firm. He wants to go, pressing his weight forward.

“I don’t like this,” I mutter.

Something within the concealment of the wreckage moves. That rips a brief ruff and sharp warning from Duke’s snout. His growling intensifies tenfold. He’s poised to attack whatever is there.

I struggle to keep him planted. He wants free to the point of dragging me along for the ride if need be. I turn to Lucas and start to ask for guidance when a body emerges on top of the cars.

Duke growls and barks. He displays his teeth at the gaunt chaser who stands atop his mountain of twisted metal. His shirtless chest heaves in and out. Blood stains the skin with a red hue that is caked on thick. His eyes narrow at me, then over to Lucas.

I take aim with my rifle, and prepare to fire.

Lucas holds up his hand. “Don’t shoot,” he calmly orders.

“Why the hell not?” I grumble back.

Another chaser emerges to our right from behind the wreckage. Just as ghastly as the one looming over us, he stands at the ready.

Our situation has quickly degraded. It’s unclear how we’re going to escape the chasers. True, discharging the weapons could attract more, but not doing so could put us at a disadvantage. There it is again. That damn double-edged sword.

My head tilts to one side, trying to figure out what is happening. Why aren’t they attacking us?

“What are they waiting for?”

Lucas keeps his shotgun trained at the gruesome infected as he calmly speaks in my direction.

“On my mark, I want you and Duke to break and head for that alley to your left. You don’t stop, and look back. Run as hard and fast as you can.”

Duke continues barking and growling as I struggle to keep him under control. I’m unclear what Lucas’ plan is, and don’t like the thought of us splitting up.

“What about you?”

The chaser to our right fidgets and picks at invisible nothings.

Lucas trains the shotgun in his direction. He slowly starts to drift off to the right, away from me and Duke. “Just head to the auto parts store. I’ll meet you there.”

The chasers divert their attention to Duke and myself, as though we are the easier meal to target.

Lucas raises his arms in the air and shouts, “Here! Come and get me, you skinny bastards.”

The chasers each clench their teeth, and growl with a violent rage that swirls in their bloodshot eyes. They yowl a blood-curdling plea to have their insatiable hunger satisfied.

Lucas makes a mad dash in the opposite direction of us. The chasers follow.

“Lucas!” I call out.

He doesn’t look back over his shoulder as he maneuvers between the vehicles in his way. The chasers are in tow, trying to narrow the gap between Lucas and them.

I pull on Duke’s collar, and direct him toward the alley to our left. His barking and growling quickly subsides as we enter the space between the two brick buildings.

That crazy bastard. I can’t believe he did that. A part of me wonders if he will survive and get away. Heck, I wonder if Duke and I will as well. After all, I have no clue where we are going, or if I am rushing headlong into the arms of death around each dumpster and corner we take.

Our pace is fast and brisk. My gaze sneaks over my shoulder to see if we are being followed through the maze of buildings and back alley passageways.

The pack on my back bounces up and down, which throws my balance off some. I gasp for air. I hate running.

The rifle stays close to my chest. I try to gauge each blind corner we approach. Duke doesn’t seem to share my same cautious approach. He runs in a dead heat without care.

Trash bins behind us are knocked over by something keeping pace with us. I can’t see what it was, or how many there are.

My heart pounds. My lungs are on fire. Fear and desperation fuel my body, and drive my legs to move even faster.

We turn sharply to the right and keep moving. We’re lost. That much is certain. The unknown clings to me like a bad stench. I hate running blind. The reddish-brown brick veneer all looks the same. I want to find the road, so we can get our bearings.

Up ahead is a tall chain link fence that seals the street off on the other side. It spans the entire alley from left to right. We stop at the interlinked steel barrier.

I frantically search for a way through. The tromping of the chasers rushing this way sends a flood of panic surging through my tired and worn body. I grab the bottom of the fence and pull, but it doesn’t budge.

I step back, and take in the height of the obstacle before me. I could scale it, but what about Duke? Carrying him over isn’t an option, and I’m surely not going to leave my family to the wicked desires of the infected looking to feed their hungry bellies.

Crap.

I have to decide. Fast. Screw it.

I turn the way we came, and take a knee. Duke stands by my side with his fangs displayed. He growls, and folds his ears back. I shoulder the rifle, and train the barrel at the incoming threat.

“Whatever happens, boy, we stick together.”

Duke remains glued to my side. I try to control my breathing through the panic.

In the back of my head, I can hear Dad whispering in my ear. His hand gently rests on my shoulder as he points out into the dense woods before us.

“Remember, James. Control your breathing. Steady your nerves and remain calm. When the shot presents itself, exhale slowly, and squeeze the trigger.”

My body struggles to act under Dad’s wisdom. My muscles are poised for a fight. One that I’m sure we are going to lose.

The door to our left vibrates subtly, then swings open. I turn toward the opening, and train my rifle at the blackness that looms before me. I’m prepared to unleash on the demon coming for me.

“Hurry up. Get inside,” a female voice beckons.

I’m frozen in indecision as the chasers’ wails creep closer. They’re almost here. She emerges from the shadows, face stern and void of any fright in her blue eyes. She peers to her left. She has a flashlight clutched in her right hand. “If you want to stay out here, that’s fine by me.” She steps back into the building and starts to close the door.

“Wait.” I lower the rifle, and scramble to my feet. I grab Duke by the collar, and lead him inside the building. She slams the door behind us as the chasers arrive. They spin around in circles, trying to locate our whereabouts.

Sitting there in the dark, I grab Duke, and hold him close. I place my hand over his mouth to try and calm him down. He growls and groans through his sealed snout. I know he doesn’t care for it. He pulls away from me and fights to free himself from my grasp.

The girl is cloaked by the darkness. The hint of her outline is visible through the thin bead of light that seeps in from around the door. She holds the large Maglite flashlight close to her chest as she turns it on.

Her face is framed in an ominous manner as the beam shoots upward. She looks down at us. Her finger presses firmly to her pink lips. She cocks her head to the right and listens closely.

Duke’s thrashing and rigid posture lessens as the threat vanishes. After a few moments of awkward silence, the girl turns her attention back to us.

She exhales a deep sigh of relief and says, “Welcome to Sweet Home.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The grumblings and wails of the chasers just beyond the door fade to a subtle silence. I give Duke a firm hug, and get my feet back under me. Our savior slouches against the door. She stares at us with a curious gaze. The light stays fixed just under her chin as she hands me my rifle.

I take it from her, and offer a nod of gratitude. “Thanks for your help. We appreciate it.”

She cuts her eyes down to Duke, then back up to me. “Cute dog. What’s his name?”

“Duke.”

He rests on his hind legs and pants hard. His tongue hangs from the right side of his mouth as his chest expands outward rapidly. His yellow-gold coat is filthy, and is chocked full of stickers and brush.

“Golden retriever?” she inquires.

“Yeah. I’ve had him since he was a pup.” Still one of the best days that I can recall, even if I didn’t know it at the time.

She nods. “Cool. I like golden retrievers. They’re good dogs. I had a pitbull. She looked evil, but was super friendly.”

I run my palm over Duke’s head. He lifts up to meet my hand as he glances up at me.

“He’s much the same. Not that he looks evil or anything like that. Most people are a bit standoffish with him at times because he can come across a bit aggressive and intimidating,” I say. “It can be a pain at times.”

She lowers the flashlight in Duke’s direction. She smiles, and carefully reaches for his head. He doesn’t offer a single growl or show of his teeth.

He sniffs her at first. Then his tongue carefully slides out of his mouth to lick the back of her hand.

A half smile breaks across her face, as she gently scratches his snout. “Follow me.”

Softy.

She walks past us toward a flight of stairs to our right. Darkness quickly envelops the space we are standing in as she starts up the stairs.

We give chase and follow close behind. Each rung we ascend sounds off from our weight pressing down on the wooden steps. Light from the windows to our left filter through the narrow openings between the plywood that cover them.

Having found a temporary safe haven from the threat that looms beyond the brick walls of the building, I can’t help but think of Lucas. Is he alive? Did he manage to lose the chasers that were after him?

As much as Lucas came across as a tough and resilient survivor, the odds of him escaping the clutches of the infected seem so bleak. I want nothing more than to be wrong, but it’s hard not to toy with that realistic notion.

The darkness of the stairs slowly melts away, and gives way to the light that grows brighter the closer we get.

“You know, you two are lucky I spotted you from the window when I did. Those things are crawling all over the place out there.” She hits the landing of the openly bright space. More light floods into the massive loft type area from the few windows that aren’t covered up.

We exit the stairs shortly after her. I pause. My hand braces against the railing to my right. I take in a few deep breaths, and exhale slowly.

“Crawling, huh? We hadn’t seen any chasers except for those two by that wreckage. Well, and the ones that were after us,” I say.

She sets the Maglite down on a crate, turns sharply on her heels, and looks at me. “Oh, they’re around out there. Make no mistake about that.” She points toward the street. “You’re fortunate you only had to contend with what you did. There are hundreds more all over the town. Maybe more than that. I only go outside when it’s absolutely necessary. Like, for instance, to save strangers who blindly walk to their death.”

As much as I don’t appreciate her heavy dose of sarcasm at the moment, I decide to let it fall to the floor without a rebuttal. She did save our hides, and she knows infinitely more about this town than I do.

“Where are they? We weren’t sure if there was anyone still left in the town, alive or dead. We didn’t see any traces that led us to believe otherwise.”

Her gaze drifts to the floor, then back up to me. “As far as any survivors, besides me, there’s at least one other. But the infected are everywhere, in most of the buildings and alleyways that run through this cursed place. Just because they’re not marching down the street, and making a bunch of racket, doesn’t mean they aren’t close by.”

I slip the pack free from my shoulder, set it on the floor next to the stairs, and rest the rifle next to it.

“Well, we really appreciate you helping us out down there. We were sure in a tight jam.”

She nods.

I walk toward her, and extend my hand. “I’m James.”

She appears a bit apprehensive at first, but finally reciprocates the gesture.

“Cassie.”

I glance over at Duke who is wandering about. His body vanishes within the cluster of boxes and crates that litter the loft type space. His tail is on end and moves about as he explores the surroundings.

“That was really brave what your friend did down there.” Cassie offers. “Stupid, but brave.”

I can’t help but to partially agree with her assessment. I don’t want us to split up, or have Lucas feel as though he has to sacrifice himself to save us. We had the firepower to dispense of the chasers quickly, but at what cost?

Still, I desperately hope he managed to slip away, and find a place to hold up till we can rendezvous at the auto parts store.

“Thanks. I imagine it’ll take more than just two chasers to take him out. He’s pretty stubborn like that.”

Cassie half-smiles. “Yeah. It was smart not firing those weapons. Doing so would only attract more of them.” She glances down to a machete strapped to her right thigh. The blade is stained red with blood. “We only use guns as a last resort. Most times, it’s up close and personal with one of these.”

Cassie is intimidating. Not only from being a cute blonde, around my age, but also from her strong and independent persona. She is full of grit and seems as though she has all the confidence to take on this threatening and violent world.

Her words are direct. There is no hint of fear or doubt that leaves her soft, pink lips. Her blue eyes are piercing, and suck me in when she speaks. Her porcelain-toned skin is splashed with dust and dirt, but it does little to detract from her beauty.

She leans her athletic framed body against the aged, rusted filing cabinet to her right. She glances over at Duke, who is navigating the maze of boxes as he sprints back over to us.

Cassie drops down to one knee and starts rubbing his head. Duke soaks up the attention like a sponge. His tongue dangles from the left side of his snout as a smile breaks across his face.

For some reason, I have a lump deep inside my throat. I’m nervous being around her. I’m fairly certain I have masked it to the point of her not spotting it, though. At least, she doesn’t act like she sees it.

I have been so far into death and carnage for the past month that I had forgotten what it felt like to be around girls.

I’m generally not like that, timid and unsure of myself. Despite what Dawson and our other friends would say, I was pretty confident around girls. Mom always told me that I got my charm from my dad. It was a curse really that the men in our family had when it came to the opposite sex. She said Dad knew what to say and when to say it, which instantly made her fall for him.

Cassie glances up at me. “Does he want something to drink and eat?” She moves her hand back behind his left ear and scratches deep. His hind leg starts to move faster as she digs in.

I shake my head at him. Crazy dog.

“Yeah. That would be great, if you don’t mind. It’s been a little bit since he’s eaten last. I imagine he’s super hungry. We’ve been on the move, and I haven’t been able to get him anything yet.”

Cassie gets back up. She makes some kissy face at him as she walks away to her right.

Duke eats it up. He follows close behind. He isn’t blind to what is hopefully coming next.

“I’ve got some bottled water, and some cans of tuna. Does he like tuna?” She walks toward a storage cabinet that is near the staircase.

“To be honest, I don’t think there is anything he doesn’t like. He generally eats whatever. Except for certain vegetables. He just sniffs them and walks away.”

Cassie opens both metal doors wide. The shelves are partially stocked with bottled water and an array of canned goods. She retrieves a water, and a small can with a blue label wrapped around its outer rim.

She glances back over her shoulder at me. “You want anything?”

“A water will do.”

She holds the can of tuna up in her right hand. “Want a can? Seems like we have plenty of that.”

I shake my head, and try to be pleasant about it. I’m not hungry enough yet to dive into the fishy smell again. I imagine if Lucas was here, he’d be insistent on me eating whatever was given.

Cassie shrugs and tosses the bottle of water to me. I fumble the plastic bottle like an uncoordinated clown struggling to keep all of his clubs in the air. I finally gain control, and firmly grasp the rounded bottle before it hits the floor.

I divert my gaze to the large windows across the room, and take a gulp of the room temperature water. Cassie cracks open the can of meat. She sets it down on the floor in front of Duke, who wastes little time devouring the foul-smelling fish.

“Wow. He is hungry.” Cassie stands next to Duke with both hands on her hips. She watches him clean the can dry. “Do you mind if I give him another can?”

“Not at all. He generally eats a lot. If you keep putting it in front of him, I imagine he’ll keep wolfing it down,” I say.

Duke is a loud eater. I can hear his lips smacking like I am right next to him. He groans, then spins in circles as Cassie grabs another can from the cabinet.

“Man, someone is a hungry boy, aren’t they?”

I make my way over to the windows that face Highway 20. I peer out of the grime-covered glass to a world that is now our reality. A no man’s land of lawlessness and utter chaos.

My eyes soak in the carnage that the virus has rained down upon my life. Death and despair are the only scenery that greet my solemn sight.

My eyes narrow in every attempt to try and locate any chasers that might be close by. I sweep from right to left, but don’t spot any gaunt bodies in search of a meal. The absence of the creatures does offer me a bit of hope that perhaps their numbers are not too large. I still don’t want to stay any longer than is required. If I have an open window to move, I need to take it.

Cassie approaches from my right. She meets my longing gaze as she peers out over her ruined town. “What are you going to do now?”

“My plan still hasn’t changed.” I take another sip of water. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until my lips felt the touch of the refreshing liquid.

She glances at me with an inquisitive gaze. “Oh? What plan is that? Stroll down the highway as a tasty morsel for the infected until they chase after you and pick you clean?” Her sharp tongue is lethal. She doesn’t hold back. And here I thought I could be an ass at times.

I parrot her snarky expression, which she apparently finds amusing. “We were heading to the auto parts store on the other side of town. O’Reilly’s, I think he called it.”

Cassie nods. She glances down to the street, then back to me. “Seems like an odd place to be going since you don’t have a ride. Besides, I imagine your friend is probably dead. Or one of them. That is generally the only two outcomes for people around here.”

I cut my eyes over to her. “You’ve made it.”

She half-smiles. “Well, I’m a woman, and generally, women are much smarter than men. So, yeah.”

Her constant barrage of confident quips pull a slight chuckle from me.

“Gotcha. I didn’t know that’s how that worked. I feel so much more enlightened, and scared.”

“Just being honest.”

I glance back over my shoulder in Duke’s direction. I crane my neck, and find him working on his third can of tuna.

“We were heading to the auto parts store to get a battery charger. We found a car that we think we can jump with it.”

Cassie nods. “Good idea, if they have any of those. The last time I was in there, it was pretty well ransacked. Granted, I wasn’t looking for a battery charger, but the place looked like a tornado had been through it. A complete mess.”

I finish off the remainder of the water with a single gulp.

“Anyway, that’s where he’s heading. So, that’s where we’re going.”

“You think he’s still alive, then?” Cassie counters. “Not to sound like a pessimist, but most people don’t make it for long out in the open.”

“I do.” Lucas isn’t dead. I don’t know that for sure, but my gut tells me he’ll be there. “Ok. So, you get this battery charger, and let’s just say for arguments sake, you live long enough to get back to the car you found and get it running. What’s next?”

“I’m going to the safe zone near Portland.”

Her eyes widen. Disbelief floods her olive-toned face as she stares at me. “Safe zone, huh?”

I confirm with a tilt of my head. “Yeah.”

“You do have a death wish,” she observes.

“So, I’ve been told.”

Cassie goes to speak again, but the creaking of the staircase grabs her attention. Her head snaps to the left as each board gives its warning signal.

Concern floods my body. I turn to make a mad dash for my rifle. A big, burly man hits the landing. The sudden appearance of the overly large individual stops me cold in my tracks.

The same look of shock floods his weathered face. His eyes loom at me from under his furrowed brow. His black handlebar mustache engulfs most of his mouth and chin. The dingy, dark gray beanie on top of his head is stretched. He doesn’t appear happy to see me. He exhales deeply through his enlarged nostrils as his face becomes a deep shade of red.

Cassie rushes up to the intimidating brute as he keeps his eyes fixed on me. “Mack, before you say anything, just let me explain.”

He holds up his baseball glove sized hand to silence her. “Who is this?” His voice is deep, like thunder exploding in the sky.

It catches Duke’s attention. He starts to bark, and run around the boxes toward him.

I scramble to snag his collar. My fingers slip under the tattered leather and take hold. I pull back, and keep him from moving forward. He raises up on his hind legs and continues his barking.

The agitated man removes a revolver from the front part of his pants. He pulls the hammer back, and takes aim at Duke. “Cassie, you’ve got five seconds to explain what this kid and his mangy dog are doing in here?”

Duke displays his fangs. He growls and barks at the man. I hold him close, and speak to Duke in a calming tone to try and stay his nerves.

Cassie gently touches the man’s forearm. “Lower Betsy, and I’ll explain.”

His eyes cut away from us and down to her.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Although defused, the man still looks pissed. He leans against the wall as Cassie speaks to him. He has put away the revolver, for the time being. His thick arms are crossed in front of his chest, and his eyes occasionally sneak over in our direction.

Duke has finally settled down as well. I keep him close to me. The last thing I want is to have him irritated any more than he already is. He growls and moans. His body is taut and ready to attack if provoked enough.

I have to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Cassie glances back over her shoulder and points to us. By the bored expression on the man’s face, it seems he couldn’t care less. With the man’s arrival, I want to leave even faster.

They continue their heated discussion for another five minutes or so. I’m not sure why Cassie is arguing with him so intently. If he wants us gone, that isn’t going to be an issue.

“Um, excuse me.” I raise my hand slowly in the air. The man’s hand instinctively goes for his revolver. Cassie presses her palms to his forearm, wraps her fingers around, and holds firm.

This guy is super pissed, and I’m not sure why he is so defensive. I don’t think Duke and I have come across as threatening. Still, I need to ease his mind. Duke isn’t the only animal in the loft.

“Sir, I can tell us being here is not exactly what you want. We will be leaving shortly. I’ll grab our things, and we’ll be on our way.”

His demeanor remains the same. It’s as if my words have fallen on deaf ears. Finally, he speaks. “You should’ve never gotten in here in the first place,” he thunders. His gaze fixes back to Cassie, who has finally released his arm. “Why did you let them in here? They could be infected with the virus.”

I interject once more. “Sir, I can-”

His head snaps back to me. His eyes enlarge, and brim with a fiery anger. “I would advise you to shut up right now, boy.”

Like a dog being scolded, my body deflates. My weakness is apparent from my slouched posture. Not that I wanted to man up to the beastly man anyways. I just want to plead our case.

Cassie slaps his chest. It does little to divert his intense gaze.

“Mack, will you stop this?” she says. “They are not infected.”

“How do you know they aren’t infected? Did you check them from head to toe?” He throws his hands in the air in dismay, then points his finger at her. “That answer better be ‘no’ by the way.”

She diverts her gaze toward the ground, like a kid who has been caught lying. She refrains from answering, but only for a few seconds “No. I haven’t checked them.”

“Then why are they in here?” He points to us and leans toward her. Duke’s growling increases.

Cassie holds her ground. She isn’t afraid of the man that is easily twice her size. I am once again impressed with her resolve, or stupidity.

“They were being chased by the infected down the alleyway. They were with another man when they got attacked by a pack on the street in front of the building. If I didn’t let them in, they would have been killed.” She calmly, but firmly, places her hand to the right side of his stubbled face. “It’s ok, Mack. Everything is fine.”

“If you say so,” he croaks. Then adds, “I want them gone, now.” He presents one last displeased glance at us.

Cassie holds up her hands. “Ok. Just please calm down.”

He huffs and walks past her.

I stay planted in my spot for a moment to allow things to settle down.

Cassie turns, and walks back over to us. Duke lowers his ears. He begins to wag his tail. I feel as though I need to apologize. For what, I do not know.

She glances to her left, and shakes her head as Mack fumbles with some boxes in the corner of the space. “I am sorry about that, James. Mack can be overly protective.”

I agree. “I hope he knows we are no threat. We are grateful for you saving our hides and allowing us to hide out while the chasers went elsewhere.”

“He knows. We just had an incident when all this first went down. We let some people in that were infected. At the time, we didn’t know they were.” Her gaze stays fixed on him. “They turned and nearly killed me. He saved my life. Since that day, he hasn’t been the same.”

I can understand his reluctance now. Dad probably would’ve been much the same way if it had happened to us.

“Sounds like your dad just wants to keep you safe and protected.”

Cassie shakes her head. “He isn’t my father.”

“Oh?”

Her eyes move down to Duke, who is licking the tips of her fingers. “He’s a family friend. My parents got infected and attacked me in our home. I was stuck in my closet, trapped with them trying to break through the door to get me. I called Mack, and he rushed over.”

“What happened?” I probe further for some reason. Perhaps it’s because I feel her pain. I know what she has been through.

“He did what he had to do.” Her answer is direct, and without emotion.

Although vague, and without the gory details that I imagine imprinted on her heavily, I know how the story ends. So, I leave well enough alone. Having someone, especially a stranger, pry into such a personal and heart-breaking moment is the last thing anyone wants to have happen.

I simply offer an understanding nod.

Cassie brushes her free hand across her eyes as if to wipe away any evidence of that gut-wrenching event. Still, she remains in complete control.

“I guess Duke and I are going to get out of your hair now.” I rub his head as he glances up at me. “I do greatly appreciate your kindness and all. Come on, boy.”

I walk past Cassie and head straight for my bag. I briefly glance over at Mack, who discreetly cocks his head to the side and watches my every move.

Cassie comes over with Duke by her side, and says, “Are you still planning on going to the auto parts store?”

“Yes. That is where my friend told me to meet him. It’s imperative that I get there.” I grab the straps to my pack, and toss them over my shoulder. I retrieve the rifle that is leaning against the railing of the staircase.

Cassie glances at me, then over to Mack, who has his full attention directed at us. He still looks pissed.

“I’m sorry, sir, for the intrusion.” I offer him a grateful nod, and pat my leg. Duke moves to my side obediently as we make for the landing.

Cassie reaches out and grabs my arm, stopping me. “Wait.”

“Cassie, what are you doing?” Mack speaks up in his intimidating tone.

She glances to him, then back to me. Indecision plagues her eyes. She wrestles with a dilemma that I’m completely unaware of. “We can’t let them go out there alone. The town is crawling with those things.”

“You heard the boy. He is going to the auto parts store to meet up with his friend. He’ll be fine.” Mack’s stance on the matter is pretty cemented. He wants us gone, and I don’t want to be here any longer.

Cassie rolls her eyes. She sighs and mutters something low under her breath.

Mack takes a step toward us. He tilts his head to the left slightly and asks, “What was that?”

She rolls her eyes and diverts her gaze briefly to hide the rebellious gesture. Her arms fold across her chest. “I can’t believe you. You’d be just fine letting him and Duke stroll down Death Valley without a single care in the world. I can’t believe you at times.”

He points at us sternly. “They are not my problem. You are. I imagine they have been through worse. After all, they made it here from wherever it is they came from.”

Cassie shakes her head in disbelief. She releases my arm and looks directly at me. “I’ll take you to the auto parts store. I know the town and where the infected generally roam.”

“The hell you are. Your parents would’ve wanted me to keep you safe, and that is exactly what I am doing.” Mack erupts in a volcanic meltdown that makes me cringe.

Cassie spins on her heels and faces the mad titan. “I am going. With or without you. I’m not going to just watch them leave. If we become like this, then we’re no better than those things that are killing off everyone we knew and loved.” She is hardheaded, and doesn’t back down even when the odds seem to be stacked heavily against her.

Mack’s lips are pursed together. A single vein that runs across his wrinkled brow protrudes to the point that I think it’s going to burst. His mouth wants to move, but he holds his words.

Tension swirls in the loft, making me feel uncomfortable in my own skin. We’re at the point of fighting for our lives, and people are at each other’s throats. As much as I appreciate Cassie’s willingness to go to bat for us, I don’t want to cause any undo trouble.

“Cassie, it’s really-”

“Shut up, James,” she snaps back.

I remain silent.

Mack finally lowers his arm and expels a deep sigh of frustration. “Why won’t you just let me protect you?”

Cassie lessens her guard as well. The built-up tension slowly subsides. My eyes cut from Cassie to Mack. I’m not sure if I should move or not.

“You have. You have done so much for me that I can never repay you. Without you, I fear that I would have died in that closet. All alone, and at the mercy of my mom and dad.” She shifts her gaze back to us. “But they need our help, like you helped me.”

Mack’s rigid posture eases. His tightened muscles relax. It’s strange to see such an intimidating person let his guard down.

He places his hands on the sides of his hips. His gaze focuses on me, then back to Cassie. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Mack points at Cassie. A smile struggles to break across his stern face. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

Cassie smirks, which I am pleased to see. “You know you love me, you big softy.”

Mack walks over to us. He embraces Cassie, kisses the side of her head, and glances over to me. He extends his hand toward me. An olive branch that I wasn’t expecting. “You’re lucky she’s as hardheaded as I am.”

“I do appreciate any help you can give us.” I reciprocate the gesture, although hesitation nearly gets the best of me as I grasp his palm.

Mack nods. He peers down at Duke, who isn’t as forgiving as I am. He growls under his breath. I can feel the tremors from his body on my leg.

Mack doesn’t venture his hand down toward him. Probably a good move.

He shrugs. “Most animals don’t care for me anyway.”

Cassie grabs Duke’s face and rubs his snout. Duke instantly relaxes and starts to pant. “Perhaps it’s because you come across so aggressive all the time. If you’d take a chill out once in a while, maybe they wouldn’t be like that,” Cassie advises. “You do realize dogs are extremely perceptive, right? They can pick up on moods just as easily as people can.”

Mack dismisses the notion with a wave of his hand.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m a grumpy old bastard. I don’t see that ever changing.”

Cassie agrees. Then adds, “Well, we’re going to work on removing that stick that is wedged up your butt. I think it’s time it comes out.” She tilts her head up and winks at Mack.

He directs his attention at me. I’m still intimidated by him, but now feel like he doesn’t want to snap me in half. “So, tell me, James, is it?”

I confirm.

“What is so important about the auto parts store? That place has been completely run through. Not sure there is much left of any use.”

“They’re after a battery charger for a car they found,” Cassie says.

Mack strokes the thick strands of hair that dangle from each side of his mouth.

“We figured it would be easier, and safer, for us to use that instead of trying to push a car over, and get it started that way. Just trying to minimize any noise that will attract the chasers.”

“It will be risky regardless. It may not look like it, but they’re everywhere.” He pauses briefly and paces about before he continues on. “Where you heading after that?”

My head turns toward the highway. “We’re heading to Portland to find my mom and sister. They were taken there by some family friends when all this started to go down.”

Mack’s nose crinkles as if he caught wind of a bad smell.

Cassie chimes in. “Yeah. I already told him it wasn’t a good idea.”

I understand their concern. Much like Lucas, I’m not oblivious to the dangers that lurk within the metropolitan city. But family is family, and besides Duke, they’re all I have left in this world.

“Not to sound like a prick, but have you considered the possibility that they may be dead? Or worse yet, one of those chaser things?” Mack points out the obvious, but does it in the most tactful way I think he can manage.

“I have. Either way, I need to find out.”

Mack takes a moment with his response, but eventually he acquiesces. “I got you. It’s a fool-hearted plan that will more than likely get you and anyone else with you killed, but I see why you’re doing it. Family is family.” Mack shoots Cassie a glance, and winks.

“All right, then.” Cassie sprints over to the window. She points to the west and looks back toward us. “I think as long as we move fast, and keep our eyes open for any chasers, then we’ll be fine.”

Mack agrees with a simple nod. “If we stay quiet, stick together, and not do anything stupid, this may work.”

A part of me feels bad for both Cassie and Mack risking their lives for someone they do not know. Having someone put their life on the line for you, and they end up dying in the end is a heavy burden to carry. I’m not expecting that to happen here, but it is now a reality that has to be addressed and considered. I’m not sure I could do that again to someone else.

“Listen, I know we’ve already had this discussion in some form, but Duke and I can head over to the auto parts store on our own. I can’t, in good conscience, ask you two to come with us. The risk is too great.”

Cassie becomes flushed with agitation. She goes to speak, but Mack raises his hand and cuts her off.

“James, to be honest, I don’t want us to. I think it’s a massive risk, but I get it. Cassie was right. If we stop helping out one another, then what chance do we have in this world? Our backs are already pressed to the wall as it is with those things outside. If we don’t band together and start looking out for each other, then what is the point of living?”

Cassie half-smiles at Mack’s heartfelt speech. To be honest, I am taken back by it as well. It doesn’t seem like he could possibly speak such deep and thoughtful words. He comes across so brash and unfeeling. It feels as though he could squeeze the life from me with his bare hands, and not shed a single tear for doing so.

It’s an emotional detachment. A feeling that I have dabbled with as well. You slip into a certain mindset that keeps you focused on the things that matter in your life, and scrub the rest as unimportant.

For Mack, it’s Cassie. She is his anchor, and he is hers. When the world is burning down around you, you cling to the people that make life worth living. Protect them at all costs, regardless of the price you pay in doing so.

I offer a nod of gratitude. It means more than I think I can ever say.

Mack returns the gesture. He shifts his gaze over to Cassie. “Are our packs ready to go?”

She turns sharply around, and cranes her neck as she shifts her weight to the right some. “Yeah. Do we really need to take our bug out packs for this?”

“I think we should. If anything goes wrong, and we can’t make it back here, I’d rather have them with us. Better to be safe than sorry. We haven’t ventured this far away from the building for a while. If you remember, the last time I did, I had my pack with me.”

“Do we need to bring any firearms, or just use the machetes we have?” Cassie asks.

“I think we’ll go ahead and bring the Beretta’s. Make sure my Molle tactical vest is filled with additional magazines.”

Cassie springs into action and gets to work on gathering their gear per Mack’s direction.

“Go ahead and grab some of the frag grenades as well.”

She offers a thumbs up as she disappears from sight.

I glance over to Mack.

“Frag grenades?”

“Yeah. Never know what we might need. They don’t weigh much, but pack a hell of a punch. We get into a bind, they’ll come in handy.” He glances at my rifle, then back up to me. He holds out his hand. “May I?”

“Sure.” I hand the rifle to Mack.

He skims over the weapon. He brings it up and presses the butt end of the stock to his thick shoulder. “Nice rifle.”

“Thanks. It was one of many that my dad used when we would go hunting together. I couldn’t shoot for crap, but I’ve gotten better over the years,” I respond. “Amazing how much better your aim gets when your life depends on you being accurate.”

Mack lowers the rifle. He takes one last look before handing it back to me. “I think you’d be better off with a handgun right now. You’ll be able to maneuver with it much easier in close quarters. That, and the report from a handgun will be much quieter than that of your rifle.”

I take the rifle from Mack, and sling it over my shoulder. “Do you have any extra handguns I can use, then?”

He nods. “Yeah. I’ll have Cassie get you set up.” He turns toward where Cassie disappeared. “Grab James here a Beretta and a machete as well. We have an extra one of those, right?”

“I think so. Let me check to make sure,” she calls back.

I remove the knife that I had clipped to the side of my hip, and show it to Mack. “I’ve got this knife I can use if we can’t discharge our weapons.”

Mack scans over the blade, then pushes my arm down as to dismiss the thought. “That pig sticker is all well and good, as a last resort, but you need a good slashing weapon. One that you can remove arms and heads with if need be. Quick and efficiently.”

It seems as though he has done such a thing from the way he describes it to me. Almost as if it were a daily routine that he does without giving it a second thought.

“Not to rush you or anything, but when do you think we’ll be able to get going?” I inquire.

Cassie approaches from my right. She wields a machete in one hand and a handgun in the other. A black tactical vest is draped over her right arm that is stuffed with extra magazines. “You had an extra vest in your cabinet. I think it’ll probably be loose on him, but at least he won’t have to worry about finding a place to stuff these extra mags.”

Mack takes the black padded vest from her. He holds it up next to me and cocks his head slightly to the right. “It’ll be big on him for sure, but it should do as needed. Take your pack off, so we can get this on you.”

The rifle slips off my shoulder, followed by the weighted pack. I hold my arms out as he places the vest over me. The added bulk presses down on me as he shifts it from side to side. He grabs the bottoms of the vest and pulls them together. He zips it up as far as it will go, which falls right below my throat.

“How does it feel?” Mack inquires. “You think you can manage with it on?”

I glance at my chest. The vest engulfs my entire upper body. My arms look like meager branches sticking out from a dense tree trunk.

“Yeah. It should be good.”

Cassie hands me the machete as Mack takes the Berretta from her. My fingers wrap around the black leather-bound handle. I move it from side to side, testing its heft.

The blade is fairly wide but not too long, perhaps a foot or two of scored black steel that has its sharpened edge tainted red with blood. It feels substantial in my small hands. I briefly imagine burying its blade deep into a chaser’s head, stopping it cold before it can kill me or someone I care about.

Morbid?

Perhaps. But that’s what helps me get my mind focused and ready for the task before me. Whatever gets in my way will taste the bitter end of death. That is certain.

Mack holds the handgun in front of me. I lower the blade, and set it down on the ground next to me.

“You ever fire a handgun before?” he asks.

I haven’t, but figure it can’t be any more difficult than shooting a rifle. My body is already used to the high-pitched pop. I don’t flinch much at all now when the trigger is pulled, and death is dealt to my target. After every discharge, it only becomes more natural to me.

“No. My dad only let me shoot a particular stock of the rifles he had,” I respond with a shake of my head. “He was going to teach me about handguns, but never got around to it.”

Mack ejects the magazine from the bottom of the pistol. He tilts it toward me, and points to the brass bullets loaded inside. Cassie stands off to my right with her arms folded across her chest. She acts as though the quick tutorial being given is a bore.

“There’s sixteen .45 caliber rounds loaded into each magazine. One is already in the chamber. When you hear it click empty, use your thumb of the firing hand, and press the magazine release button here.” Mack points to a small black lever on the left side of the grip that is just behind the trigger. “You with me so far?”

I nod.

Cassie adds her two cents to the expedient lesson being given. “It’s super easy. Once you do it once or twice, it’ll become second nature.”

Mack points to the pockets on my vest that are loaded with additional ammo. “You’re going to grab a magazine from the vest, and load it into the well. Then load the magazine with the bullets facing the barrel. Guide it into the well, and push up until you hear it click. Once seated, take your free hand, and pull back on the slide sharply until it stops. Then release. This will chamber a round, so you’ll be ready to rock and roll.” He slaps the magazine back into the pistol and hands it to me. “You got it?”

I take the handgun from him, and hold it in my right hand. “Yeah. Seems simple enough.”

He places his hand on my shoulder and gives it a single hard pat. “It is. Just remain calm and all. You’ll be fine.” He glances over at Cassie. “You got our packs ready?”

Cassie unfolds her arms and stands up straight. She peers back over her shoulder and points toward a set of boxes to her right. “Yep. They were already good to go. I grabbed your vest, and made sure we had plenty of magazines and all. Plus, the machetes.”

He follows her finger, then brings his focus back. “The frag grenades?”

“I got three sitting by your pack.”

“Good girl.” Mack walks away with Cassie following close behind. I hold the gun for a few moments longer before stuffing it in the front part of my pants. After all, that’s what most of the people I watched on TV did with the guns they carried.

I reach down, and retrieve the machete from the wooden floor. Between the two weapons, I seem to favor the blade over the pistol. There is something about it that seems more primal to me. It feels more natural than the pistol, at least at that moment. Granted, we are in the safety of a building away from the chasers, but still, I feel more at home with it. Either way, I’ll use whatever I have at my disposal.

I glance down at Duke as I strike a pose. I feel as though I look like a badass. In reality, I probably look like a jackass.

“What do you think, boy?” Duke groans, then hikes up his hind leg to tend to an itch in his private area. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

Cassie appears out of the corner of my right eye. She has her pack loaded onto her back. I fumble with the blade, and try to save myself the humiliation of actually acting my age in front of her. Not that I think she would mind.

A smile cuts across her face. She grabs her blonde hair and pulls it back into a ponytail. “You ready to go, Rambo?” She offers a wink, and the hint of a giggle, as she continues toward the landing.

My face goes flush with embarrassment. I clear the frog that has taken immediate residence inside my throat, and gather myself. “Um, yeah. Of course.”

Mack passes by and shakes his head. He keeps his eyes on the ground. Not my finest moment by any stretch.

I scoop up my pack and rifle. Both are slung onto my back and right shoulder. I make sure everything is secure before heading over to them.

Mack takes point and heads down the rickety sounding staircase first. With each heavy footstep he makes, the slats creak and pop as if they can’t bear his bulk.

Cassie steps to the side and holds her arm out. “You and Duke should stay in the middle.”

I pause, and glance her way. “What about you?”

“I’ll cover our rears.”

“You can take the middle. Me and Duke can cover us.” Her hanging back doesn’t set well with me.

She grasps the machete, and twirls the brown wooden handle in the palm of her hand. The way she wields the blade makes it seem as though she is more than comfortable using it. “Don’t worry about me, James. I can take care of myself. Besides, I wouldn’t want you gawking at my backside and getting distracted. I’d like to survive this.”

“Oh, lord no. That’s not what I was getting at, at all,” I protest, as once more my face swells with the awkwardness of a shy person. Which I’m not really.

“Sure, sure.” She snickers, then motions for me to move along.

I turn sharply around, and make my way down the stairs. Duke stays by my side as we head for the bottom landing. Cassie follows close behind. I refrain from looking back over my shoulder. I can feel her eyes boring into the back of my skull. I don’t know what has me more on edge in that moment, the chasers, or her.

She steps off to my right as we both ready ourselves for whatever confronts us on the other side.

Mack has the left side of his head against the door’s scuffed wood grain. He presses his finger to his lips to hush any undue noise. He pushes away and grasps the handle to the door. He carefully cracks it open. His gaze sneaks out between the narrow slit. I crane my neck, and try to sneak a peek for myself, but can’t get past his broad frame.

He glances back to us and speaks in a low whisper. “Remember. We stick together and move quickly. No talking, and no firearms unless absolutely necessary.”

Both Cassie and I acknowledge the order with a tilt of our heads.

He inhales two deep breaths. His fingers reposition themselves over the machete’s brown wooden handle. He opens the door slowly and steps out into the alley.

Nerves swim in my gut as I follow. Whatever happens from this point forward, I have to be ready for anything.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The silence is the worst part. It grates on my nerves like a chainsaw. I’m almost afraid to breathe for fear the chasers will hear and find us.

We’ve already crossed paths with a chaser who was ambling down the alleyway in search of its next victim. He looks famished. Nothing but a skeletal frame dipped in a mixture of dirt and dried blood.

His ribs are visible to the point where you can easily count each one from a distance. His jaw chomps up and down. His teeth chatter rapidly and his hands tremble uncontrollably.

The sight of the unclothed fiend claws at my stomach. A part of me feels sick from the ungodly mess that is this ravenous, infected soul. But more so, I feel justice is being served to the chasers. Are they going hungry, and dying from lack of human flesh?

Perhaps.

Mack tests my theory without me having to speak a single syllable. He holds us up and motions for us to stay silent. He keeps close to the building’s rough brick exterior as he edges his way toward the chaser.

Slow and steady, he stalks the gaunt man. The prey has now become the predator.

The chaser’s head twitches at the nothingness that plagues him. His boney fingers fidget in the air. The closer Mack gets, the more the chaser becomes excited. Did the chaser pick up his scent?

The chaser’s nose tests the air. His teeth chatter with excitement. Mack stays glued to the wall as the chaser’s head twitches from left to right. A hiss of warning escapes his stained, thinly laced lips as he hones in on Mack.

Duke growls and shifts his body beside me.

I hold him close with my fingers wrapped over his collar.

The chaser rushes at Mack, wailing and reaching out for him.

Mack draws the machete back. He brings the wide blade down at an angle. The sharp edge burrows into the chaser’s upper right shoulder, bringing the enraged man to a grinding halt. Blood pours from the open wound, and races down his naked body.

His arms flail in the air wildly, fingers searching for the meal before him.

Mack wrestles the blade from the man’s body. He pushes the chaser back, creating enough space to engage once more. He swings the machete at the man’s neck. The blade slices through the thin sheet of skin with ease. It continues on through his spine.

A red mist follows the blade as it emerges out the other side. The chaser’s head wobbles about before falling to the ground. Mack shoves the headless demon in the stomach with his boot, knocking him backward into the trash bags that have been piled up.

Mack kicks the decapitated head out of the way like a soccer ball. He slices down. Blood splatters on the cement.

He glances at us. “Let’s move.”

We get our feet under us, and make haste. We keep close to the building’s wall. Mack moves with a cautious step as he nears the edge of the structure. His head pivots from right to left. The closer we get to the highway, the more my nerves take hold.

I steady my breathing, and stay my tremoring hands as I tighten my grip over the machete’s handle. Duke is ready as well. Just like when we went out hunting, he is poised to do his part. It is ingrained into his DNA now.

Mack pauses at the opening of the alleyway. He cranes his neck to the left. He leans over slightly and surveys the highway to our right. He carefully takes in the periphery of the town’s storefronts, and open grassy lots as he pivots his head to the left. He leans out, and glances the way we are heading.

He offers a thumbs up, then motions for us to move.

Staying low, he darts out onto the sidewalk. Duke, Cassie, and I follow, moving in unison. The only noise we offer is the shifting of our packs bouncing up and down.

I search the shadows of each storefront we pass by to see what might be lurking within. I imagine there are chasers hidden among all of the tables and other décor as the void of any stimulus keeps them in a catatonic state—another theory of mine that I’m not sure is true or not.

I spy nothing, but that means little. A few chasers are manageable. Hordes of them would be a much different story.

Mack has us going at a slight jog. Between the vest, my pack, and the rifle bearing down on me, my lungs start to burn. I wheeze. My legs and back ache with every heavy step I make. Exhaustion saturates my muscles, but I keep pushing on.

After a few blocks, Mack holds us up in front of a laundry mat. He takes a knee, and peers back over his shoulder. “We’re making good time. How are the two of you holding up?”

I nod, and offer a thumbs up. My body sucks in air as beads of sweat race down my face.

Cassie kneels beside me. She brushes her right arm across her forehead as she gives a nod as well.

“How much further to the auto parts store do we have?” I inquire.

“About another four blocks or so,” Mack answers.

Cassie points in the direction we are heading. “I thought I spotted some movement up there. It could’ve been nothing, though.”

Mack lifts from his kneeled position. He glances out over the highway.

I turn toward Cassie. “Chasers?”

She shrugs. “Not sure. It’s hard to tell with all of the crap cluttering the road. Like I said, it could be nothing.”

Mack turns his attention back to us. He brings up his machete. He slings it hard, sending the large blade end over end past us.

My head snaps back over my shoulder in panic. The broad end of the blade slices through the air and burrows deep into a chaser’s sternum that is rushing headlong at us down the sidewalk. The sudden blunt impact halts the creature’s forward movement and sends it flat on its back.

The cracking of bone fills my ears. A brief yowl escapes the man’s dispassionate face. The chaser squirms on the sidewalk—down but not dead. Blood flows from his chest cavity as he fights to get back to his feet.

Mack rushes over, and frees the machete from the man’s torso. He presses his boot down onto the gash. He brings the blade up and hammers the edge into the man’s head.

A sickening final wail escapes the chaser’s mouth as his body goes limp. Mack jerks the blade out of the man’s splintered cranium. He turns toward us. The howls of the chasers fill the air.

We freeze.

It’s hard to tell where they are coming from. The noise seems to be all around us. Bombarding our ears from every angle possible.

Worry floods Mack. He motions for us to get up quickly.

Another chaser emerges from the corner of the laundry mat in front of us. Tattered rags drape over its pale skin like a demon coming for its victims.

Duke breaks away from my grasp and rushes at the wailing chaser. Growling and bearing his teeth, he lunges. The two collide.

The chaser crashes to the sidewalk as Duke tugs and pulls at his right arm. The chaser growls and tries to grab Duke’s coat with his bloodied fingers.

Duke has the chaser’s arm stretched out as he thrashes his head violently and pulls back. The chaser growls as it catches sight of me racing toward them.

I spring into action with the machete at the ready. My arm lifts in the air. The blade slices downward with all of the might my body can muster. It strikes the chaser’s forearm, just below the elbow joint. It doesn’t cut all the way through but far enough to make the arm worthless.

The chaser kicks Duke, breaking the hold he has on the man’s appendage. I hack and cleave at the nearly severed arm as the man struggles to gain his footing.

Two more hard swings, and the arm is finally gone. Thick, red blood pours from the mangled stump. The chaser kicks and tries to find its footing. Its severed stump presses against the concrete. It bears down on the ghastly wound and pushes up. No discomfort or pain shows in the chaser’s enraged face. His arm continues to function as if the missing appendage is still attached.

My blade slices across his chest and knocks him hard against the storefront’s large glass window. My mind swirls down the drain of adrenaline pumping hard through my veins. I hack at the chaser until there is nothing left except a pile of butchered flesh.

In that heated moment, I feel no purging of the hatred I have for the infected. Taking the chaser’s life, as I imagine he has done to so many others, feels like vengeful payback. It is not survival, but personal.

A hand grabs my shoulder. I whirl around with my machete at the ready.

Cassie puts her hands up in the air. “Whoa there, killer.”

I heave. Copious amounts of air escape my mouth. My vision is congested with fury. The additional adrenaline surging through my body has me seeing red. I’m swept up in the heated confrontation and find it difficult to turn off the fight response. It takes me a moment to calm down some and reel in my thoughts.

Off to Cassie’s left, I spy more chasers. Their heads poke out from the corners of buildings and storefront entrances. One turns into three. Three into seven. Our odds are quickly tipping into the infecteds’ favor.

Mack backs up toward us with his machete ready to strike. “Move, now!” he forcefully demands.

We back peddle as the small horde of chasers sprint out onto the highway. Gaunt bodies materialize from what seems every turned car and nook and cranny within the abandoned buildings.

I turn and run. I keep the machete gripped tightly in my palm. I have no clue where I’m going. I just know I need to keep straight, and eventually we’ll come across the auto parts store.

The combined mass of the chasers plagues my ears. I can hear their pleas for flesh as the ground quakes slightly from their gait.

Caution has been tossed out of the window. It’s a matter of survive or die. There is no stopping for any threats that might be lurking within the alleyways we pass by, or the cars that sit abandoned on the road.

Duke sets the pace for the rest of us, sprinting fast and hard. He expertly maneuvers around the newspaper stands and other obstacles that get in his way.

Another block down, in what seems like record time. My legs hurt, lungs burn as my heart pounds. Mack continues yelling for us to keep moving and not to look back.

Up ahead, I spot more chasers heading our way down the sidewalks and street. I can’t gauge their numbers, but it doesn’t really matter. At this point, adding any more is just another nail in our coffin.

Mack calls out in a winded tone, “Take that alleyway to the right!”

I veer off to the right, and into the middle of the street. A chaser leaps out from behind an overturned car in front of me. I maintain my course, and swing the machete at the man’s tanned, bald head.

The blade strikes just under his chin. A blur of skin and blood taints the air.

We enter the narrow opening between the two large, brick buildings, trampling newspapers that are stuck to the cement. I knock the trash cans in our way off to the side as we make a mad dash for our lives.

The silhouettes of a few chasers in the field beyond the buildings ahead of me brings me to a grinding halt. My head twists from side to side as I try to plot what we should do next.

“Here,” Mack yells. He shoves his large boot into the door of the building to our left. It bursts open. He motions to us to scramble inside the barely lit interior.

Duke growls and barks at the incoming horde rushing this way. I nab him by the collar, and forcefully direct him in behind Cassie. I dart inside and Mack quickly follows.

He slams the door shut just as the chasers make the door’s edge. He hops back with his machete raised in the air.

Our gazes are fixed at the wooden obstacle that stands between us and the chasers gaining access. It vibrates with every violent blow. The infecteds’ wails are muffled but only slightly.

I’m spent. The heels of both palms rest on the top portions of my knees. My body begs for a break that I can’t afford to give at the moment. “How many do you think are out there?” I pose.

Both Mack and Cassie are winded as well. Cassie is bent over with her hands on her knees while Mack has his arms up and behind his head.

“Too many,” Mack pants.

Cassie glances around the space we are in as Mack slowly lowers his arm down to his side. I imagine moving his bulk like that zapped a good amount of energy.

Duke trots over to Cassie who is walking around in the large, empty space. The light gray carpet is filthy and worn in numerous places. Small piles of debris lay scattered around the space.

Beams of light filter in through the openings between the plywood that is fixed to the windows. It isn’t much but enough to get a sense of the layout.

Placed in the back of the structure are cans of paint and a handful of large wooden boards that are maybe sixteen feet in length.

Cassie approaches the front of the building.

“What are you doing? Get away from the windows,” Mack demands.

“I’m just looking out to see what’s going on is all.” She carefully peers out through the dingy glass. Something slams against the window. She hops back as Duke barks and growls.

“Duke, come here, now,” I sternly order.

He barks once more before coming back to me.

Cassie throws her hands up in the air. “This is great. What do we do now?”

“Working on it,” Mack flatly responds. He paces the open space. The machete rests on his right shoulder as he taps it softly against his muscle.

I remove the rifle from my shoulder, then slide the pack free from my back. I retrieve a water from the interior as Duke pants hard in front of me.

“Here, boy, get a drink of water.” I remove the cap, and tilt the bottle to the side. A steady stream of water pours from the opening. Duke laps at the refreshing liquid as I rub his head.

The chasers continue their crusade to find a way in. Fists pound the door’s exterior. Grunts and wails fill our rattled nerves. I’m reluctant to think that we are going to make it out alive. For all intents and purposes, we’re trapped like rats. Circling the drain of giving up, and feeling the hopelessness sink its teeth in, I battle the urge and trash that notion. This is just one more bump in the road to me getting to Mom and Cindy. Come hell or high water, we will survive this.

The bottle’s opening presses firmly to my lips. I tilt my head back, and gulp down a mouthful of water. Beads race down each side of my chin. Hard swallows force the liquid down into the pit of my stomach.

“You weren’t kidding about the chasers being spread all over the place,” I say to Cassie. “They were coming out from every nook and crack in this town.”

She snickers, then folds her arms over her chest as she paces the room. “The sign didn’t lie. After all, I’m the one who spray painted that warning on it.”

I take another gulp before giving the rest to Duke. “Makes me wonder why we didn’t see any when we first entered the town.”

Cassie holds up a single finger in my direction. “That’s an easy one.” She lowers it down as she speaks. “You’re extremely lucky.”

I can’t disagree with her statement. We were fortunate to only cross paths with the two in the road. But still, something about the entire situation gives me pause. Especially the anorexic chaser from the alleyway.

“What was up with that one Mack dispatched in the alleyway shortly after leaving your place?” I ask?

Cassie raises her left brow. “What do you mean?”

“Did you not notice how skinny he was, and the way he moved? Nothing but skin and bones. Looked as though his legs would’ve snapped from an additional ounce of weight.”

Cassie shrugs. “Who knows. Perhaps he hadn’t eaten in some time. I imagine they still need food to keep going.” She points to the horde that is just beyond the brick wall. “You’ve seen how they act. Always moving in some way. Hands fiddling with God knows what. And that creepy heavy breathing. I bet their bodies burn calories like crazy.”

I nod, soaking in her words as I struggle to hear her over the chasers’ clamoring.

Mack approaches us from the back of the building. He points toward the ceiling. “I think I found us a way out of here.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“ You must be kidding.” Cassie rubs her hand up and down her face. She glances at the ladder that leads up to an opening in the ceiling. It’s a ways up there. Maybe twelve feet or so.

Daylight floods into the building’s drab interior. The noise from the chasers amplify tenfold. I dare not think of how many are surrounding the building or heading this way in general.

She cuts her eyes over to me. “What do you think, James?”

I glance back to the door that the chasers are beating on. Then to the front of the building where manic fists hammer the panes of the windows.

“We can’t stay here. They’re going to get in sooner rather than later. If that happens, we’re done.” I shift my attention to the windows up front. “If they continue ramming into the glass, it’ll eventually shatter.”

The door vibrates. As if we could forget the chasers are there.

Cassie huffs, then tosses her hands in the air. “Screw it. Let’s go balance beam across the buildings.”

I glance at Duke, and think about how he is going to get up through the opening in the roof. “How are we going to get Duke up there?”

Cassie glances to Mack and shrugs.

“I can’t haul him up the ladder, and I am not leaving him behind. So, if you even hint at suggesting I do that, you can go on without me right now,” I say.

Mack places his hand on my shoulder. “No one is getting left behind.” He peers down at Duke, then back to me. “I’ll carry him up.”

The door bows.

The horde of chasers are not giving up. That’s for certain. Their empty bellies won’t let them. Much like us, it’s survive or die, and they aren’t going down without a fight.

Mack grabs one of the boards and feeds it up through the opening in the ceiling. The dense board clatters on the roof, making a dull thud that is drowned out by the chasers’ wailing.

He reaches for Cassie. “Get your butt up there. James, you go after her. I’ll grab Duke, and bring him up.”

Cassie wedges the machete between her pack and her back. She grabs one of the white spray-painted metal bars and climbs up the ladder. She pauses and glances down to Mack. “Don’t take your sweet ole time, old man. This was your idea, after all.”

Mack winks, then motions for her to move.

She quickly scales the rest of the ladder and disappears onto the roof.

“All right, James. Your turn.”

I take a knee next to Duke and rub his head. The noise is getting on his nerves. He groans, then growls. He’s antsy. He can’t stop shuffling his paws or swaying his body. At home, when the doorbell rang or someone knocked on the door, he went ballistic. This is infinitely worse.

I wrap my arms around his neck, and hold him tight. I kiss his head.

Mack’s voice dials up a notch or two, imploring me to move. “He’ll be fine, but if you don’t get up there now, we won’t be.”

“I’m trusting you with my family.”

“Just as I have trusted you with mine. Now move.” Mack responds without missing a beat.

I release Duke from my embrace. He continues his barking and growling as I make for the ladder.

The door splinters.

Light from around the jamb of the door grows brighter as gnawed fingers slip through the narrow slits.

I secure the machete, and zip up the ladder in a frenzy of panic. My head twists back over my shoulder and down briefly at them. “I’m trusting you, Mack. Don’t let anything happen to him.”

Cassie stands to the right of the opening, pacing back and forth as her gaze sneaks down into the interior of the building.

“Hurry up, James!” she pleads. “There are so many crammed into the alleyway now.”

I heft my bulk up and out onto the warm asphalt roof. I roll over to my back. Cassie drops to her knees directly in front of the opening in the roof.

“Where’s Mack?” she inquires. Her voice is thick with fear. Her head darts every which way. “James, I don’t see him.”

I roll over onto my knees. I kneel next to her with my hands gripping the side of the metal covering.

“Mack!” she calls out in a strained, high-pitch squeal. “Where the heck are you?”

We both look on, trying to locate him and Duke. Our heads drop low as we search the interior of the building. He finally appears with Duke cradled in his arms.

Duke squirms. His head thrashes back and forth. He hates being handled in such a manner, especially by people he isn’t familiar with.

“It’s ok, boy. Just calm down,” I call down to Duke, which is pointless. Between the chasers and Mack, he’s a nervous wreck. That much is certain.

Mack adjusts Duke and tosses him over his right shoulder. He continues to thrash about, bearing his teeth and growling. His back claws dig into Mack’s chest and stomach.

Cassie disappears from my side. My eyes remain fixed on Duke and Mack. I reach toward Duke as Mack starts up the ladder.

The crackle of gunfire startles me. My body jolts, and my head snaps to the left. Cassie’s near the edge of the building, firing her Berretta at the mass of infected in the alleyway. She mumbles something, but I can’t make out the words.

“James, take him.” Mack places his hand under Duke’s belly, and bench-presses him upward toward me. I grab around both sides of his body, and pull him through the opening.

“They’re inside!” Cassie dashes back over to me as I drop Duke to the rooftop. I come back to the opening to find Mack’s large frame coming into view.

“Just in the nick of time.” Both arms come up and out. They fall to either side. He lifts the rest of his mass up the ladder. “Thank God they don’t know how to climb a ladder.”

The tidal wave of chasers has engulfed the interior of the building. Bodies are pressed together as they huddle at the foot of the ladder.

Rapacious hands reach toward us. Their sunken in eyes and gaunt, ghastly faces plead for our flesh. For now, they will still go hungry.

Mack drops to the asphalt with a thud. He expels a breath of relief as Cassie wraps her arms around his neck.

She pulls away, then slaps his arm. “Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you?”

Mack nods. Sweat beads on his face and forehead. His mouth opens and sucks in air as he glances over at me. “I think we bonded in the hectic moment.”

Duke saunters over to me and rests on his hind legs. He nudges his head to my right arm and licks my face.

“Yeah. I’d say that’s about as much bonding as he’s had with a person he didn’t know too well.” I hug Duke’s neck.

Cassie storms over to the opening, and presents the gathering mass of infected the finger. She slams the metal covering hard in their faces. “Sorry, but that noise is getting on my last good nerve.”

“No complaints from me.” I rub Duke’s head, and glance up at her.

Mack pulls himself off the roof’s coarse surface. He grabs the wooden board, and hauls it over to the opposite side of the building. He stops just shy of the structure’s edge and crane’s his neck.

Cassie and I venture over. His head carefully twists from left to right. We quickly sneak a peak, to see if any chasers are roaming the alley. For now, it’s clear.

I take in the board’s length, then eye the distance between the two buildings. It looks like it’s going to be close. I don’t want to be the negative one at this moment, but feel I should speak my concerns.

“You’re sure this will reach to the other side without any problems? If you underestimate, and lose your grip on the board, we’re going to lose our only way off this building.”

Mack has the board resting on its end, with its full length standing straight up in the air. His eyes skim over the maple colored wood from top to bottom. He then glances out over the alleyway to the building across from us.

“We should be good. I think. We won’t know unless we try.”

Cassie and I are hesitant as we stare at each other. Doubt swirls in our eyes, but we decide to proceed and trust in Mack.

The wailing from the chasers inside the building, and those out in front, add ample incentive for us to proceed with caution. We want to minimize any additional noise that might grab their attention, and bring them over to investigate further.

Mack takes in the length of board one more time. He maneuvers it as close to the edge of the building as possible, just to make sure we’re not cutting it too close. There will be no slow going. It’ll be all or nothing. Once it starts to fall, that’ll be it.

“Here we go,” Mack says.

He leans it forward, and tries to control its descent. The muscles in his arms flex and tighten as the board starts to gain speed. Mack grunts as he struggles to keep it from dropping too fast.

Cassie keeps a vigilant eye out for any chasers. I watch our only way off this building plummet like a rock in a pond. I draw a sharp breath as the other end quickly races toward the outer edge of the other building. I remain hopeful, though, that it will be long enough, but doubt tries to force its way in.

“I think it’s going to make it,” I advise.

From my vantage point, it appears as though we are in the clear, but life has a funny way of showing up when you least want it to.

The end of the hefty board slams onto the edge of the other building. Mack grits his teeth and fights to keep it from slipping free. Through sheer will, he holds the board in place to where it rests flush and even on both rooftops.

"That was too close,” I say relieved.

Mack stands up. He steps to the left, and looks to the other side with a calculated gaze.

“I’ll go first, just to make sure it’s safe. Then, you three follow.”

It’s hard to concentrate on the task set out before us. The background noise is relentless. The infected clamor below. I struggle to block it out, and focus on what needs to be done.

Mack places his right foot on the plank. Then his left. His boots take up much of the surface of the wood with only an inch or two to spare.

He pauses, but only briefly. With his arms positioned to stable his balance, he begins his journey across.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Slow and steady. Not that we have time for such things but this isn’t a race to the finish line. For now, time is on our side for a change, or at least it seems like it is.

It’s difficult to watch Mack cross the plank. Each cautious step he makes heightens my anxiety. I tug at my clothes and chew at my lip. Instinctively, I want to reach out as if I might be able to catch him if he slips.

A morbid thought of him slipping and falling to the concrete below plays in my head. His legs breaking in such a way that he yells in pain. Hobbled to the point of not being able to flee the nearby chasers.

I can’t tell you why I think such horrid things. It isn’t by choice. The fear that I have been fighting with has plotted its moment to strike. Right now, I’m ripe for the picking.

Mack finishes off the last leg of the plank. He hops down onto the roof and turns toward us. He motions for us to come over.

Cassie positions herself in front of the board. Mack grabs the opposite end and holds it firmly in place.

She peers over the edge and shakes her head. “This is some crazy stuff. I can’t believe we are doing this.”

Despite my rattled nerves, I swallow the unimaginable images that stew inside my head. There is no time for that. The slight bit of hesitation could cost me, or them, their lives.

“When you make it across, I’m going to need for you to get Duke over.”

Cassie glances back to Duke, who is pacing back and forth. He’s pretty perceptive, and knows when something is going on.

“How am I supposed to do that?”

That’s a good question. I hadn’t gotten that far in my thought process. There is no way of her shouldering Duke like Mack did. So, we have to find a way to incentivize him to cross the great divide. Something that he really wants.

“Do you happen to have any food in your pack? Jerky or anything that might be appealing to him?”

She bites the right side of her lip gently. “Yeah. I think I have something in my pack. Either way, we’ll find a way to get him across.”

I glance down, then back up to Cassie. “Be careful, ok?”

She scoffs. “I don’t plan on falling.”

She keeps her head straight and mimics Mack’s stance. I watch with nervous eyes as she quickly scurries across. The board jostles about. My hands frantically reach for the edge of the plank to stable its movement.

Cassie hops down onto the other side. Mack isn’t amused by the reckless display. He hugs her tightly, then scolds her with his finger.

It’s Duke’s turn.

“Come here, boy.”

Duke scampers over to me. He lowers to the ground and rolls over onto his side. I dig my fingers into his fur and rub his head.

“Listen, boy. I know I’ve been asking a lot of you, but I need for you to get across that board to the other side, ok?”

He stays on his side, oblivious to my pep talk.

The chasers below are not growing tired. Their tumult is not wavering, and neither is Duke’s groans and growls. It’s time for tough love.

My fingers wrap around his collar, and pull him up off the ground. Panic floods my system as I bring him to the board. He resists. His body lowers to the ground. He pulls his head back.

I’m not sure what I was expecting from him, but that doesn’t matter. Like it or not, I need him across that plank.

I catch sight of Cassie waving her arms. She points to the plank. A can of food rests on the end. I imagine he‘s still fairly famished. He hasn’t eaten much, except for the few cans of tuna back at their place. For a dog his size, that isn’t enough to stay his hunger. Not by a long shot.

A battle of wills commences. I narrow my eyes at him. My brow furrows, lips purse. This is the wrong time and place to have a defiant moment. A part of me understands his apprehension. That same uneasiness festers deep inside my gut. But death looms large below, and I don’t want to test the chasers’ resolve.

Cassie whistles and calls out his name. She waves her hands frantically, trying to nab Duke’s attention. She retrieves the can of food from the plank and tilts it toward us.

I sternly command him to go with a shake of my finger. He finally spots her. His ears perk up. He discontinues being a stubborn butthead. His tongue edges the outer rim of his snout as he advances forward.

Cassie implores him to come to her, smiling and making that kissy face that he ate up earlier. It’s the food, however, that hooks him. His hunger outweighs the danger that feeds into his fear.

Finally.

Cautious at first, Duke steps up onto the plank. His ears stay taut. He’s focused on Cassie.

Living out in the rural area like we did, Duke traversed numerous obstacles when we’d venture out into the woods. Crossing streams and such, but nothing as jarring as this. I imagine adding in being chased by ravenous freaks who want to eat us doesn’t help any. When your nerves get rattled, it throws your concentration off.

The roof access cover rattles. Did I imagine that, or did that really just move? I have no intention of waiting to see.

“We need to hurry this up!” I call out.

Cassie continues her engaging trance with Duke. He works his way across the remainder of the plank. She grips the sides of his head and rubs them. She drops the canned food to the ground, allowing him to dig into his reward.

“Come on, James. You need to get across now!” Mack points over to the dull gray metal cover. It lifts up slightly as voracious fingers, bloody and worn to the bone, emerge from under the cover.

“How are they climbing ladders?” I holler out loud. “When did that happen?”

Cassie tosses her arms in the air and shrugs. “Does it matter right now? Move!”

Two deep breaths and I’m standing on the plank.

Instantly, flashbacks of the rope bridge where Dawson, my best friend, died form in my thoughts. I freeze for a moment, unable to move. Fear sinks in its teeth and won’t let me go. Heights are not my favorite thing by far anyway, which adds to my paralyzed state.

Don’t look down, James, and you’ll be fine.

My legs don’t respond, not at first. The creature’s yowls don’t help any either. I have to tune out the chasers, but struggle to do so. I tell myself not to look back, but curiosity gets the better of me.

My gaze sneaks over my left shoulder. Bloodshot eyes meet mine. Teeth chomp up and down wildly as the cover explodes upward. Like a symbiotic creature from an alien planet, the horde of chasers fight their way out onto the rooftop.

Their emaciated bodies plop onto the asphalt roof. They wail with unsatisfied hunger as they rush toward me. The crackle of gunfire plays in my ears, followed by the zip of air being disturbed near me.

The bullet impacts one of the chasers in the middle of his skull and exits out through the back. A fine red mist taints the faces of the impeding horde of flesh-crazed fiends. His body goes limp and crumbles to the ground, tripping up a few of the others in the process.

I exhale all of the air in my lungs and scoot across the plank. My panicked eyes focus on Cassie. Mack continues to chamber off round after round from his Berretta.

The chasers are so close, it feels as though their fingers are mere centimeters away from my jacket. I start to lose my balance. My weight favors to the left. My arms swing wildly to regain my equilibrium.

The plank shifts. Heavy footsteps pound the board. I’m almost there, but not quite yet.

I’m not ready to die. It’s too soon, and I still have too much that needs to be done.

Death wants my soul, but it won’t happen this day. I do the only thing that seems logical, and most practical.

I jump.

The plank slips free from both buildings and tumbles to the ground below. My body glides through the air as Mack extends his hand out for me. I collide into the brick façade, just below the roof’s edge. Gravity engages and sends me free falling to the cement below. My fingers frantically grab at anything they can wrap around to stop my descent into the graveyard I had dreamt of.

They catch on thick black rubber cabling that spans along the building’s exterior. I hang there, dangling like a worm on a hook.

The wood clanks on the cement. The chasers give pursuit, jumping from the building and reaching out for me. They miss by a wide margin, and fall to the ground below. Their gaunt frames slam into the unforgiving earth.

Both Cassie and Mack lean over the roof’s edge, screaming my name as if my death is certain.

I glance up at their tormented faces. “How about a hand?”

Mack leans over the roof’s edge. He extends his arm down as far as he can. His fingers are just shy of mine by roughly a half a foot or so.

“You’re going to have to come up some more, James. I can’t go any farther.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” The gear attached to my back feels like weights are anchored to my feet.

“You’re going to have to remove one of your hands from the cabling, and see if you can reach up to me. It’s the only way,” Mack yells back.

More of the chasers have been drawn to the commotion. Their bodies flood out of the building’s interior as more on the rooftop test their limits and jump from the building’s edge in an attempt to try and get to me.

I was horrible at doing pull ups in gym. My meager arms are already pressed to the brink of giving up. My fingers are turning white from the strain my bulk has placed on them. But this is fight or die. I have to try, for Mom and Cindy.

My right hand releases the cable, shifting my weight to the left. I twist and turn in the air. I don’t have long before I lose my grip. I can feel each digit slip free. I have to make a move.

Mack extends his arm down to the max. His fingers dance in the air as I reach up. We’re so close. I can feel his skin graze mine.

“Reach farther, James!” he pleads.

I summon what strength remains in my left arm, and pull myself up. It doesn’t feel like much, or that I have even moved at all. My right hand goes for Mack’s, and this time, finds more of his palm.

Like a snare, his hand snaps shut over mine. He tightens his grip, and lifts me up to the safety of the roof. Dragging my spent body over the edge, I drop to the graveled rooftop.

Duke rushes over to me. His tongue laps over my face. My chest hurts. My head is swimming in an ocean of near-death abyss.

I put my hands up, and push Duke away. I roll over to my side, then up to my knees.

Mack and Cassie stand over me. Relief pours from my flush, sweaty face. I brush my arm across my brow, and exhale the tension that has clutched my body.

Cassie nudges my arm with her fist. “Nice move, wild man. I thought for sure you were going to go splat.”

“For a moment, I thought I was too,” I say.

Mack helps me to my feet. I turn, and glance over the side of the roof to the gathering mass of infected. They’re completely beside themselves, wailing at the tops of their lungs with bloodstained hands reaching for us.

“Doesn’t seem like they’re going to give up anytime soon,” I observe.

Cassie presents her middle finger to the horde once more. She waves it from left to right, then down below.

“Awfully tenacious, aren’t they?” she says. “They remind me of one of the local guys who used to live around here. A real creep. Gave me the chilis. Anytime I saw him in town, he’d give me a weird, uncomfortable smile—like a rapist or child molester would.” Cassie shivers at the thought.

I glance to Mack in search of any solid direction on what we should do next.

“Got any ideas? We can’t afford to keep cutting it this close. I know this was a probability, but we need to buy some time, or we won’t make it far.”

Cassie turns to face us and points to Mack’s pack. “Can we use one of those frag grenades?”

I draw a cautious glance at her. My right brow lifts slightly in the air from the bold suggestion. “Seems a bit extreme, doesn’t it?”

Cassie huffs at my counter. She then points back to the chasers with a stern finger.

“I’d consider all of that an extreme measure, wouldn’t you? If you have a better idea, then let’s have it.”

Mack grinds his teeth as his right hand strokes his mustache. He walks over to the edge of the structure and peers down.

“It would take care of the ones on the ground. We don’t really need to worry about the others on the rooftop right now.”

Both of my hands come up in front of me, motioning for them to slow down.

“Before we go blowing stuff up, do we know how we’re getting off this rooftop?”

Cassie points to the back of the building. “There’s a fire escape that we can go down. It’s got one of those spring-loaded ramp things that allow it to come back up on its own. Should be easy for Duke to get down.”

I look to Mack for any final words.

“It’s the best option we have.”

My right palm rubs up and down my face. “All right, let’s do it.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

We gather at the back of the building near the rusted brownish red ladder. I glance over and down the metal stairs that zigzags to the cracked pavement below. My hand grabs the steel frame, and gives it a solid shake.

“It’s going to be fine, James,” Cassie offers. She glances down and shrugs. “Besides, it’s not that far down. Maybe a few stories. Three at best.”

My eyes cut to her. “Yeah, well, you weren’t just dangling from the side of a building with a mass of hungry, infected people waiting for you to fall.”

I glance back over my shoulder, and find Mack with his pack on the ground. He’s down on one knee sifting through its contents. What’s he searching for?

Cassie cranes her neck in his direction and points toward the rucksack. “They’re toward the bottom.”

Mack pulls out a brownish green spherical explosive. He secures his pack and slips it back over his shoulders.

“It’ll have a four to five second delay before it detonates. When I say go, I want you three to haul ass down this fire escape to the ground. You got me?” We nod in agreement. “Good. Get ready.”

Cassie takes the lead in front of the ladder. She clutches the Berretta in her hand as Duke and I ready to follow her down. My hand rests on the edge of the brick building as I lean forward. Duke remains standing. He lunges forward slightly, indicating that he’s ready to go.

Mack walks back over to the edge of the building, where the chasers are clamoring in a frenzy. He peers over the ledge with the grenade at the ready. He grabs the pin with his free hand, and glances back to us.

He signals, with a tilt of his head, that it’s go time.

I take a knee, and rub Duke’s head. I wrap my arms around his fury body, and hold him tight. The explosion is probably going to frighten him. I want to make sure he’s ok.

Mack yanks the pin free and tosses the grenade to the chasers below. He pivots on his heels and makes a mad dash back toward us.

I count backward in my head.

5...

4...

3...

2...

A sharp crackle of thunder reverberates out from the narrow opening of the alleyway. A slight tremor rattles the building under us. Duke cowers at my feet as dust and debris blows into the air.

Mack waves his hands for us to get moving.

Cassie jumps over the ladder, and onto the steel landing of the fire escape. She quickly begins her descent down to the ground as Duke and I follow.

Section by section, we race down the stairs. Mack is right behind me, our feet pounding the steel rungs.

My gaze cuts to the right in search of any chasers who may have survived the blast. The explosion is probably going to lure the infected in droves.

So far, none have come into view.

Cassie jumps to the ground, and steps away as the platform springs back up to Duke and me. She stands at the ready with her Berretta clutched in her hands. She sweeps the building from left to right.

Duke stands on the platform, followed by me. It starts to move down. Cassie opens fire.

Two chasers emerge from the alley to our right. The macabre bodies snag my attention as we slalom down the incline. Peppered with blood and skin, the infected stagger our way.

Chunks of flesh have been cleaved from various spots on their frames. Arms dangle by tendons. They each struggle to keep upright from the shrapnel that has shredded their legs.

Mack places a restrictive hand on the Berretta. He pushes it toward the ground and grabs her arm. “Save it. We need to conserve what we have. They won’t be able to keep up with us.”

Cassie huffs at the suggestion but follows along.

We turn to leave as more chasers emerge from the alleyway. They reach out for us with mouths gaping open. Their painful wails taint the air. The stifling stench of burnt flesh and gunpowder fills my nose.

Stay the course, and don’t look back. No matter what gets in our way, we take it out and keep moving. That seems to be our current mindset.

We stay to the fields and gravel roads that run along the backsides of the structures we pass by. At each alleyway and open section between the buildings, I spot chasers on the highway.

The rucksack on my back jostles from side to side. My lungs are on fire as I struggle to refill the deflated organs.

Cassie and Mack’s breathing are just as labored as mine, but no one dares to suggest that we stop and rest. It’s not an option.

Through each winded breath, I give voice to my inner child that wants to be there already. “How much farther do we have?”

Cassie points ahead of her. “Almost there.”

Our feet hammer the road with unrelenting aggression. The sign comes into view just beyond the corner of the building we pass by. A welcome sight.

There are no chasers in the area. A handful of cars are scattered about the parking lot of the store’s perimeter. Their windows are busted out. Car doors are open, gouts of blood staining the concrete a deep, dark red.

We race for the rear of the building where the small loading dock resides. Our backs press to the dull gray cement blocks as our bodies deflate against the structure.

Wheezing, we scan the open field before us. Still, no movement can be seen, but the chasers’ yowls are still heard in the near distance.

Mack takes position in front of Cassie. He approaches the short staircase that leads up to the entrance of the store. Training his Berretta toward the ground, he motions for us to follow his lead.

He takes each yellow painted block with a cautious step. His gaze shifts toward the metal door just beyond the gray railing to our left. Mack hits the landing and pauses.

The Berretta comes up. He makes a fist.

“What’s wrong?” I quietly whisper.

His focused eyes stay glued dead ahead. “The door is cracked open.”

Cassie hits the landing and moves off to his right. Duke and I head up the short stack of stairs, and keep to his left. I remove the Berretta from the front of my pants.

The weapon trembles slightly in my hands as I bring it to bear. It’s not fear that grips me at the moment, but a heightened sense of what we’ve been through, and what may lie beyond the four walls.

Mack presses on. He reaches out and grabs the edge of the door. His head tilts slightly to the right, trying to peer inside the darkened space. He pauses, but only briefly.

He swings it open a bit more while carefully scanning over the interior of the loading area. The barrel of his Berretta remains at the ready.

The hinges stir the silence as Mack presses the door open wider. He stands in front of the opening, cautiously peering inside. He moves in.

Cassie falls in behind Mack with her pistol tilted toward the ground. Duke trots in after her as I bring up the rear. The wind picks up and brushes over my damp neck. Dead leaves blow across the pavement.

A crunching noise stops me cold. I spin about on my heels, facing the wide openness of the field behind the store. The Berretta springs up as I take in the brown vegetation that spans what seems like a mile or more.

There’s nothing there. I try to pierce the light brown blades of grass but can’t. An unsettling sensation bubbles inside my gut.

Off in the distance, I notice houses that are set on top of hills and low-lying land. I wonder if the occupants are still alive, hiding inside their homes, waiting for this dreadful nightmare to run its course.

Something grabs my arm from behind, which sends me on the defensive. The Berretta springs up with my finger over the trigger. It’s Cassie.

“Whoa!” She puts her hands in the air, and takes a step back.

I lower the Berretta and sigh. “Christ. You scared the crap out of me.”

“Likewise. Watch where you’re pointing that thing, will ya?” Cassie hisses with a nasty look painted on her face.

I glance back over my shoulder to the weeds that are swaying from side to side. “Sorry. I thought I heard something close by.”

Cassie nods in agreement. “Are you coming in? I think we found your friend.”

“Yeah.” I follow Cassie inside the store. I close the door gently behind me. Mack and Duke are waiting in the dim storage area with Lucas. He’s down on one knee, rubbing Duke’s face as he glances up at me.

He smiles and exhales a sigh of relief. “Thank God you made it. I was starting to worry that you hadn’t.”

I stuff the Berretta down the front of my pants. “Likewise.” I’m relieved to see that Lucas is still alive and in one piece.

Lucas stands up. He glances to Mack, then to Cassie. “I see you made some friends.”

“Yeah. This is Mack, and that’s Cassie.”

Lucas turns to Mack and extends his hand. “Good to meet you.”

Mack puts the Berretta away behind him. He takes his hand and shakes it. “Ditto.”

Lucas steps toward Cassie and offers a warm smile as he shakes her hand.

Mack glances out of the open, single plastic door to the front portion of the store.

“James here told us what you were looking to do if you find a battery charger. I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think it’s going to happen. They’re crawling out of the woodworks out there. We barely made it by the skin of our teeth.”

“I’ve had to scrap that idea. The two I had hot on my ass quickly turned to four. Before I knew it, there were too many to count. They nearly had me cornered in one of the buildings across the street, but I managed to give them the slip.”

Cassie half-smiles at Lucas’ statement. “Seems like you two took that sign as an exaggeration.”

Lucas shakes his head in disagreement. “Not at all. Just didn’t have any choice in the matter. We were hoping we could score a ride quickly, and be gone before anything went down.”

Duke trails off through the open door into the front portion of the store. I go after him. “Hold on, boy.”

“It’s fine, James. I’ve already checked the place over,” Lucas calls out. “Had a few loners that I dispatched and stuffed into the men’s restroom. We should be clear. Just need to refrain from making any undue noise until we figure out our next move.”

Duke presses his nose to the ground. He sniffs around the various auto parts that lay scattered over the white tile floor. Cassie and Mack weren’t kidding about the store being picked clean. There isn’t much left to rummage through. Nothing more than some windshield wiper blades and some air filters. These wouldn’t be of much use at the moment. There are also empty packages of spark plugs and other items that I’m not sure what they are.

For my own two cents, I scout out each isle in search of any chasers that Lucas may have missed. I trust his word, but my paranoia beckons me to do my due diligence anyway.

I clear the remaining isles, and turn back toward the others who have come into the front portion of the store.

“So, what’s plan B, then?” I poise.

Lucas rubs the scruff protruding from his chin. He holds his hands up in the air as if he’s unsure of what to say. “We still need to find a ride, but we can’t just go strolling about now from car to car, and see what works and what doesn’t.”

I agree. “So, what, then?”

Lucas remains silent.

“Awesome.” I slip the pack free from my shoulders, giving my back a reprieve from its bulk. Duke comes over and rests on his hind legs near me. I toss my gear on top of the counter near the cash register.

I spy the open till that is void of any currency within its black sectioned spaces. Who would’ve stolen the money? Is it still worth anything, or is it now nothing more than printed monopoly money? The thought seems outlandish, but then again, it doesn’t.

Mack walks toward the large glass pane windows of the store’s entrance. Lucas follows as the two scout for any chasers that may be close by.

Cassie comes over, and leans against a rack of empty sweets that would generally demand attention, especially now with me being hungry. “You ok?”

“Peachy.” I pull open my pack, and take out any food that resides inside. Some beef jerky and Vienna sausages round out my assortment to choose from. I’ve got multiple packages of the dehydrated beef product and a handful of cans of the potted meat. I glance down to Duke, who is watching me with keen eyes.

“What are you thinking, boy? Beef or sausage?”

His ears stand on end. His tongue licks the outer portion of his snout repeatedly. He groans and paws at my legs. I don’t think it really matters.

I crack open the sausage, and place one of the cans on the floor before him. He dives in without pause. The can scoots along the tile as he laps the meat free from the interior.

Cassie stands there, staring at me as I wrestle open the package of jerky.

“Want one?”

Her face contorts in a disgusted manner, and she dismisses the offer with a wave of her hand.

“Your loss.” I devour the hickory-flavored beef in just a few bites. My stomach rumbles and pleads for more food. I’d love to, but I can’t be greedy. I need to make it last. Who knows when we’ll find more, or if we’ll still be alive to find it?

Silence fills the space between me and Cassie. Only the sound of Duke’s tongue can be heard as it probes at the can’s empty contents. He scoops out the lightly tinted jelly that the meat resides in.

The sight claws at my stomach, and temporarily stays any notions of being hungry. “That’s gross, dude.”

Cassie’s face lights up. “I think I know where we can get a car from.” She heads toward the front of the store and motions for me to follow her.

We approach the glass where Mack and Lucas are standing watch. Cassie nears the front door. She glances at Mack and points to her right toward a gas station that’s across the street. “Didn’t Dwayne keep a truck in his garage? That far stall at the end of the building?”

Mack cranes his neck and peers over to the white brick building. “There is a truck there, but not sure if he ever got it finished or not. Last I saw, he still had the engine in pieces.”

“How long ago was that?” Cassie counters. “He may have finished it out.”

Mack rubs his head. His eyes narrow in thought. “Maybe a couple months back. Not sure.”

She glances at Lucas and me. Her face looks hopeful. “It could be finished, and it’s right there. What do you think?”

“I say we check it out. We have nothing to lose here. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen?” Any sign of hope that I can possibly grasp onto, I’m willing to take that chance.

“Maybe the infected figure out we’re in here?” Mack answers promptly.

More of a reason to do it now than while the chasers are close by. We can’t stay in here forever, and I don’t currently see any chasers meandering about out front. This might be the best shot we have at getting out of here. I nudge Lucas on his arm with my elbow. “What do you think?”

“If we’re going to do this, we need to do it fast. Don’t want to give the chasers any more time to figure out we are in here.”

I reach for the flat metal handle to the door.

Lucas grabs my arm. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to get the truck.”

He peers over to the garage, then back to me. “Slow it down there, James. I think it should be me to go check it out.”

I pull my arm free from his grip. “I can’t ask you to risk your life again for me.” I look to Cassie, then Mack. “None of you.”

“James, you’re not asking me to do anything,” Lucas responds. “We’re trapped here just the same as you. We’re risking our lives regardless. Besides, do you know how to hotwire a car if the keys are not in the truck?”

Damn it.

Good point.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Lucas stands ready at the door. His right hand rests on the gunmetal handle of the door’s frame. In his left, he clutches the shotgun. His face is poised, focused on the task at hand. I refrain from any more argument about the matter. After all, it does make sense for him to go.

Mack peers to his left, his neck craning out of the window’s slightly tinted glass. His arm hovers in the air, signaling for Lucas to hold his position.

Cassie maintains a watchful eye to the right. She peers back over her shoulder and nods. “You’re good this way.”

Mack lowers his arm, giving Lucas the go ahead to move. “I don’t see any infected. I think it’s safe to go. I’d be quick about it, though.”

“Make sure you’re ready to move. We may not have much time.” Lucas slings open the door and bolts.

I grab the handle, and pull the door closed. My hands rest on the window. I watch with nervous eyes, hoping that he’ll make it to the garage without incident.

He makes a mad dash for one of the vehicles in the parking lot. His body stays low to the ground as he stops at a black sedan. He presses his back to the dirty panels of the car. He glances to his left, then to his right down Highway 20.

“He’s still in the clear as far as I can tell,” Mack offers.

Lucas gives a thumbs up. He turns and presses his shoulder to the passenger side of the car. He glides along its body till he reaches the front portion of the vehicle. His head pops up over the hood. He scans over the highway once more for good measure.

“Still looking good over this way as well,” Cassie adds.

Lucas springs to his feet. He runs hard and fast across the highway. The pack on his back bounces from side to side as he reaches the gas pumps. He pauses, but only briefly. He takes one last look before moving on.

I narrow my eyes, and squint to watch him. He approaches the entrance of the station with cautious footing. He peers inside. Bringing the shotgun to bear, he reaches with his free hand, and swings open the glass door. He dashes in and disappears within the interior of the station.

Now, we wait.

This is always the hardest part. Waiting for the good or bad news. I’m hopeful that our luck will change, but I remain ready to fall back to plan B, whatever that is.

I make for the counter where my gear is. Duke has polished off all of the cans of sausage and one package of the jerky. He stares at me with that familiar glint in his eye, wondering when the remainder of his food is coming.

“Sorry, boy. That’s it for now. We’ll see if we can score you some more later.”

He groans and lowers his head. I imagine what little I did feed him only teased his partially empty stomach. I know how he feels.

Duke walks off toward the front of the store while I secure my pack. I pull the zipper closed, sealing the remainder of the contents inside. I grab the thick, padded nylon straps and pull up. A banging noise catches my attention from the rear of the store where we came in earlier.

What was that?

I release the straps, peer back over my shoulder, and train my ear. There it is again.

I catch sight of some daylight coming from the storage room. It fades in and out with each noise that is made. I could’ve sworn I closed the door, but did I secure the dead bolt?

I can’t remember.

Crap.

I reach down, and take hold of the machete’s handle. I give a quick glance up to Cassie and Mack who are still keeping a watchful eye out for Lucas and the infected. The disturbance hasn’t caught their attention. I refrain from saying anything to them as we need eyes peeled for when Lucas heads back this way. Besides, I can handle securing the door. It’s probably just the wind pushing it open.

I make my way through the cluttered mess of the store to the stockroom. Despite my assumption of what is causing the racket, I still proceed with caution. I pause just shy of the open entryway, and peer inside.

Flashes of light illuminate the dimly lit space. The wind can be heard gusting through the openness of the metal door. It bangs against the jamb, before swinging back open.

Regardless, my fingers cinch down on the machete’s leather straps. One foot over the other, I enter the stockroom. My eyes scan over the nearly empty room as I approach the door. Nothing appears to be out of the ordinary. It’s still the same junk in the same place.

My hands press to the door to keep it from slamming shut. I go to pull it to, and stop when I catch sight of it. Is that what I think it is?

Blood.

Streaks of the dark red fluid are smeared across the door’s surface. On the floor, droplets of blood trail from the landing to inside the building. My body tenses up. I draw a deep, unsteady breath as a cold chill of dread washes over me.

I take a step back, and try to reconcile the growing panic boiling within me. This could’ve been here when we first came in, and I didn’t notice it. I was so concerned with the chasers right on our tails, that I didn’t bother taking in any of the little details. It doesn’t work to stay the uneasiness inside of me, though. I need to get back to Mack and Cassie.

I turn to leave the stockroom, but a chaser blocks my way. Blood leaks from an open wound from atop his right arm. Streams flow the length of his pale skin, down to his forearm. His lips are missing, displaying his gums and enlarged teeth that chatter wildly.

The chaser rushes at me. I go to strike with the machete. The blade catches his right shoulder, and slides down at an angle across his meager chest. Flesh to bone, the blade opens him up with ease. He wails aloud, but the blow does little to thwart his advancement.

He pushes me backward in a fit of rage. I slam into the unforgiving cinderblock wall with a hard thud. The machete slips free of my hand as the air is ripped from my lungs. The steel blade rattles on the floor. I heave, and try to regain my composure.

Through the opened flesh on his chest, ivory colored bone peeks through. Blood pouring out down his stomach. Still, he comes.

I reach for the blade but can’t find my grasp around the handle in time. My arms come up in front of me to meet his advancing bulk.

He chomps and bites at the air. The foul smell of his breath turns my stomach end over end. My arms start to give, and slip from his moist flesh.

He’s gaining position on me, his chattering teeth coming closer to my flesh. I’m afraid that the end of my journey may be near.

“James!” Mack calls out for me from the store. Feet pound over the linoleum floor. I go to respond, but I’m unable to. Fear has gripped me so tight that I can’t seem to form the words.

I catch sight of him from the corner of my eye as the chaser inches closer to my face. The light from outside reflects off the machete Mack is wielding. He strikes hard and fast.

The blade smashes into the back of the chaser’s skull. The bone cracks, followed by a squishing sound. The pale demon goes limp. Mack grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him off to the side. He places a heavy hand on my shoulder and looks me dead in the eyes.

“Are you—oh, shit!” Mack scrambles for the door. He grabs the smooth metal handle, and tries to slam it shut. Fingers and hands grip the edge of the door, keeping it from closing all of the way. He pulls back with all of his might. The chaser’s yowl and fight to get through.

I retrieve my machete from the floor. I beat myself up on the inside, not realizing that I hadn’t pulled the door all the way to. I move to Mack’s left, and look to hack away at our aggressors. A portion of Mack’s body is in the way. I can’t get a clear strike without possibly hitting his arm.

“Move over so I can get a better shot at them,” I say.

The muscles in his arms are taut. He grunts and huffs through clenched teeth. “No time. Lucas is on his way over. You and Cassie grab your gear and get your ass out of here, now.”

The door starts to open more, providing me with a better view of the chasers that are gathering at the entrance. Hands turn into forearms that exploit the narrow gap. It’s impossible to determine their numbers.

I move off to Mack’s side and train the barrel of the Berretta at the narrow opening. I squeeze the trigger and start firing. A few rounds chamber off before it jams. Damn it.

“The stupid gun jammed or something,” I growl as I fiddled with the weapon.

“James, just go! I can’t hold them back forever.”

“We’re not leaving you behind. That’s not an option.”

I continue struggling with the Berretta. His knuckles are turning a milky white from the strain of holding the ravenous horde at bay.

“If I let this go, then we all die.” Mack insists. “Now do as I say, and get the hell out of here!”

Cassie bellows from the front of the store, calling mine and Mack’s names. I hesitate a moment longer. I can’t stomach another death on my conscious, but the mass of infected converging on the building has left me with no other choice.

Through swollen, tearful eyes, I turn and leave.

I race out of the stockroom in a dead sprint. Through the windows up front, I catch sight of a truck barreling through the parking lot, and racing toward the front door. I make for my gear near the register as Cassie rushes up to me.

“Lucas is pulling-” She stops mid-sentence and takes a step back. Her eyes widen as she looks me up and down. My face is flush and red.

I grab my pack, and sling the straps over my shoulders. I retrieve my rifle and whistle for Duke.

“What the hell happened?” Cassie frantically searches for Mack as Duke quickly approaches us. “Where’s Mack?”

I pat my leg, and head for the front.

“James, where is Mack?”

I wait till we’re close to the front before answering. “The chasers are trying to get in through the back door. He’s holding them off until we get out.”

Lucas fishtails the back end of the tan Chevy truck. The tires screech loudly as he slams the brakes. The truck comes to a sliding halt with the passenger side door facing us.

From inside the cab, Lucas glances over his right shoulder. A fearful gaze resides on his sweaty, bloody face as he waves for us to move. He leans over and flings the door open.

Cassie starts to head back to the rear of the store.

I grab her arm. “There’s no time. We have to go now.”

She hisses and narrows her eyes at me. “We have to go help him, James. I’m not leaving-”

The crackle of gunfire echoes from the stockroom. Brief flashes of bright yellow light illuminate the space. We’re out of time.

I push open the door, allowing Duke to dart out. He hops into the truck, then jumps over to the backseat. Cassie screams and wails a gut-wrenching cry. I drag her out of the store and toward the truck. She fights and resists, pushing away from me as her legs move in the direction of the storage room. She struggles to break free, but I maintain my hold.

Chasers rush down the highway in our direction. The mass of bodies stampeding our way makes the ground tremble.

I force Cassie inside the cab. She cries and pleads for Mack as she reaches out for him.

“Get in the truck, James!” Lucas beseeches.

Chasers pour out of the stockroom in droves. Their grunts and ravings are slightly muffled as the door comes to. I scramble inside the cab, and slam the door behind me. I rip the pack off my back and stuff it onto the floorboard.

Duke barks and growls from the backseat, clawing at the glass.

Lucas shifts the truck into drive and punches the gas. The engine revs its throaty roar. The tires spin and squeal. The truck lunges forward, and takes off just as the chasers burst through the front entrance of the store. Like a tidal wave of teeth and unrelenting aggression, they pour out into the parking lot.

He jerks the steering wheel hard to the left to avoid side swiping a red minivan. After we hit the highway, the infected still race after us.

Lucas brings the truck under submission. He straightens out our reckless abandonment of the town that has punished us so. I glance in the side view mirror, and watch as the chasers in tow fade in the distance. Their fingers reach for us, trying to capture the ones that slipped away.

Through labored breathing, Lucas ventures the question that I’m terrified to answer.

“Where’s Mack, James?”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Silence.

The only other sound that is just as destructive as the yowls of the infected. It allows the mind to run free, and dwell on mistakes and mishaps that have plagued one’s life. It’s Death’s passageway to sneak in, and wreak his havoc upon our tormented souls.

I haven’t summoned enough courage yet to answer Lucas’ question, or set guilty, sad eyes on Cassie’s somber face. The tips of my fingers brush my tears away. My attention stays drawn to the right and out the window.

Mile after pain staking mile we drive. The humming from the tires along Interstate 5 fills the void of silence within the cab. Duke has disappeared within the truck’s vinyl seating. I venture a quick glance from the corner of my eye to see how Cassie is doing.

She sits with her feet on the seat, and her head buried between her legs. What was once deep sobs of sorrow and grief, have turned to slight sniffles and mutters of acceptance. She lifts her head up and brushes away the sadness that drips from her eyes. She clears her throat and glances in my direction.

“James.” She puts her hand gently on my trembling leg. I give no response. “James, look at me.”

I’m afraid to. The guilt of another person dying from my crusade is crushing down upon me. The weight is unbearable, and I’m afraid if I speak, I won’t be strong enough to hold the emotions that have built up inside of me.

Her hand comes up to my face. She gingerly grabs my chin and pulls my attention toward her. I fight to stay strong as I set eyes upon her.

In a weak voice, I muster the only two words that seem fitting in such a solemn moment. “I’m sorry.”

Her thumb softly caresses the side of my cheek. She nods and offers a half-smile through the pain that is ripping her apart. “This isn’t your fault, James. You can’t blame yourself.”

It doesn’t feel that way. This journey that I’m on seems to be costing more than I can afford to pay. The bounty is paid in blood and sacrifice. I hope it is worth it in the end.

“I was the last one to come in through that door. I should’ve made sure it was secured. I’m surprised you don’t hate me now.”

“I don’t hate you, James. I hate those vile creatures. They are the cause of all of this. The bringers of so much pain and suffering.”

Lucas leans forward and glances around Cassie. “She’s right, James. You can’t beat yourself up over things that are beyond your control. You weren’t the only one there.”

“Perhaps if I never-”

“Hush.” Cassie interrupts me. “That town was doomed. Mack and I knew that. Our luck was going to run out sooner or later. It was inevitable. You weren’t the cause of anything.”

Cassie’s forgiveness does little to stay the overwhelming burden that I have placed on my shoulders. I carry each death that falls at my feet, regardless of what anyone says. But much like everything else that has been handed to me, I can only accept what has happened and try to push on any way that I can in order to survive. I imagine Cassie is doing much the same. At least, I hope she is.

I expel a breath of tension, and nod my head. “How much farther till we reach the safe zone?”

Lucas glances down at his watch. “Shouldn’t be much more than an hour and a half or so. I imagine traffic heading that way will not be as bad as traffic leaving Portland. You’re sure you still want to do this? I’m with you either way, just want to be certain that you’re ready for whatever we may find.”

Am I ready? Probably not, but I have to know for sure. It’s my family. They’re all that I have left in this world.

“I am sure.”

“Ok, then,” Lucas responds with a nod of his head.

The thought of being so close to Mom and Cindy helps soften the sadness within me. I try not to dwell on Lucas’ initial statement about the state of the safe zone being overrun with chasers. His words were so certain that heading there is nothing more than a suicide run that will get us killed, or worse, infected. I’m thankful that he has stuck with me, though, and not cut his losses and bailed.

My body is spent from the day’s painful reminder of who is in charge. The one essential thing that I’m lacking more of than a good solid meal is sleep. I’m in desperate need of some rest.

Cassie falls silent. She’s slouched in the seat with her arms folded across her chest. Her head gently bobbles from side to side with the motion of the truck. She leans toward me and rests her body against mine.

“Why don’t you get some rest while you can?” Lucas advises. “I’ll let you know once we have made it there.”

I settle into my seat, shifting my weight to gain a comfortable position. I close my eyes, and release a heavy sigh. I think of Mom and Cindy as I drift off, allowing the terrible world to fade to black.

CHAPTER TWENTY

In the ether of my subconscious, I hear Dad’s voice whispering in my ear. It’s hard to understand him. I strain to focus on his words, but I can’t make them out. The harder I try to listen, the more it sounds as though he’s moving away from me.

I ask him to speak louder, but it does no good. Eventually, his voice melts away.

A sudden jostle of the truck rips me from my brief moment of rest. Through sleepy eyes and a foggy mind, I come to.

My hand runs up and down my face. I stretch my arms out in front of me. It takes me a moment to take in the scenery that’s beyond the dirt-covered windshield. I blink, and look again. It isn’t dirt that is coating the window.

“Am I seeing this correctly? Is it raining ash?”

I cut my gaze to Cassie. She leans forward in the seat with her hands resting on the dash. Her face is just as perplexed as mine is.

“That’s what it looks like.”

“Welcome to Portland,” Lucas mutters under his breath. “This is the outer rim of the city.”

A dull gray haze lingers over the metropolis like a blanket. Black smoke vents from the tall structures, fueling the skies with more ash. A fiery orange glow burns within their centers. Worry and dread plague my wavering thoughts, but I manage to stop their invasion.

I divert my attention from the unsettling skyline to Lucas and shudder. “Where’s the safe zone located?”

“Shouldn’t be too much further. A buddy of mine told me that the military had set up multiple safe zones for people to come to just outside Portland,” Lucas says.

“Is that it?” Cassie points to an exit ramp that veers off to our right. A portion of the green tinted sign is spray painted with the words Safe Zone - Wilson High School.

“It’s as good of a place to start as any, I guess.” Lucas slows the truck and takes the Terwilliger Blvd exit. He cautiously follows the winding ramp up through the dense trees and brush that run along both sides of the ramp. Only a handful of cars sit abandoned on the mostly vacant road.

There is another sign that’s mounted to the thick steel pole with an arrow pointing to the left. We run through the extremely dim flashing red light that emits from the traffic signal, and continue on Terwilliger Blvd.

We cross back over the interstate at a steady speed. Lucas carefully maneuvers around the vehicles in the middle of the road. There’s not too many, but enough to make us cautious.

I lean forward in my seat and crane my neck, trying to see as far down the north bound lane of Interstate 5 as I can. The road is completely barren of any vehicles. Nothing but the dimly lit gray cement can be seen.

The southbound lane is nothing but a parking lot though. The vehicles sit bumper-to-bumper with no room between them.

I cut my gaze to Lucas and Cassie. “I wonder where all of the people who were driving those vehicles went to?”

Cassie shrugs. “No clue. Hopefully, they aren’t all infected and still in the area.”

“Just keep your eyes peeled for any movement,” Lucas says.

Duke pops over the seat, and licks the side of my face. I gently rub the side of his head, but keep my attention focused through the windshield.

Silence befalls the cab. Each of us maintains a vigilant gaze as we pass by the defunct businesses and abandoned cars.

Further down, we discover an array of hummers and transports that are parked askew on the road. The driver’s side doors are slung open. Pools of blood stain the cement below. The cabs of the large vehicles sit empty. No bodies—dead or infected.

A knot forms in my stomach. It tightens with every inch we travel. Lucas warned me about the state of the safe haven, but witnessing the void of any living presence sends my thoughts in a tail spin of utter doom.

Cassie places her hand on my knee softly. “You doing ok?”

I nod.

Another sign guides our way at the intersection. A red arrow is painted on the side of a black sedan. The front of the car is busted, and its frame is crumpled up. Three other vehicles sit in just as dire of shape as we hang a left onto SW Chestnut Street.

Spent casings litter the road. Bodies lay sprawled out in various positions. Their clothes are bloody. Torn and ragged strands of the fabric are given life by the wind.

Through the winding road and heavy vegetation that hampers our vision, we cautiously continue on.

My legs bounce up and down. My heart thumps harder in my chest as we move through the residential area. The number of military vehicles increases the closer we get.

Lucas points out the windshield. “There’s the school.”

We follow along the road that runs alongside the school. I remain on the edge of my seat. Both palms are pressed against the dash. I scan over the parking lot of vehicles that span the side of the street.

A chain link fence, with barbwire coiled around its top, encompasses the school’s outer perimeter. A massive white dome-like structure is off to the left of the high school in the open grassy area.

Smoke plumes from various parts of the structures. Portions of the fence have large gaps ripped open. More bodies lay motionless on the grounds, with no visible movement seen from our current position. There are no guards. No living.

Lucas brings the truck to a grinding halt. He glances over my way. “You still want to check it out?”

Despite the sinking pit of doubt in the depths of my tormented gut, I need to know.

I shakily nod. “Yes. I need to find them. Dead or alive.”

Cassie squeezes the lower portion of my leg right above my knee. She offers a reassuring smile through the pain that she is trying to cope with. “We will find them, James.”

Lucas kills the engine and removes the keys. “All right. Let’s go check it out.”

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

The moment of truth. One that I’ve dreamt of, and also feared for the last month. The festering doubt won’t leave me be. Its unrelenting voice whispers its horrid little nothings that cause me to gulp.

I brace myself against the side of the truck briefly. My head dangles toward the ground. My lungs release the tension that has gripped my body. It’s judgement time. I need to be ready.

Lucas and Cassie are ready to roll. They have their weapons at the ready, and their packs strapped to their backs. They chatter among themselves. I can’t hear what they’re saying. Their voices are muffled.

Lucas points toward the high school, then to the large white dome structure to its left.

Cassie nods in agreement. She glances back to me. “I think we should check out the building here next to the school first. Then work our way around the grounds to the other structures. What do you think?”

“Sounds good.” I push off the truck. I grab my machete from the ground and head over to them.

Duke stays by my side. His head is on a swivel, ears perked and his body ready to act.

My fingers dance down the crown of his head and along his spine. His rigid posture doesn’t waiver from the attention.

“Remember, we do this clean and smart. We stay together and work each building quickly. No unnecessary noises, and only discharge your firearms as a last resort.”

Cassie and I acknowledge Lucas’ direction with a simple nod.

He takes point, followed by Cassie. Duke and I bring up the rear. Lucas heads for an opening within the fence. His shotgun is poised and ready as he brings it to bear. He pauses, but only to carefully slip past the jagged ends of the metal fence that protrude out.

“Watch those ends,” he whispers.

Lucas slips through unscathed. He steps off to the right. He grabs a handful of the fence and pulls toward him. Cassie shimmies her thin frame through the opening with room to spare. Duke follows with ease. I carefully maneuver past the sharp edges and move out of the way.

Tiny granules of ash softly land on my face. My nose crinkles from the pungent odor of smoke and death that cloud the air. My fingers brush over my left cheek. I hold them out in front of me. The tips are slightly discolored with a grayish white smear.

Lucas pats my shoulder as he walks past me. We fall back in line and scurry across the grassy field to the first structure. My gaze wanders from left to right. I soak in the silence and destruction that the chasers have brought down upon this safe haven.

Dead bodies litter the field. Both chaser and the non-infected lay as one within the blood-soaked blades of grass. I can only imagine what sort of chaos and pandemonium ensued once the chasers gained access to the interior.

Heavy weaponry discharging.

The chasers tracking down their targets like predators in the wild.

Screams of panic and terror gripping the people as they fought for their lives. It’s a hard thought to process.

Each body we pass by, I quickly check to see if it’s a woman or young girl. I’ve thought about my mom and Cindy so much that they’re all I can see. So far, they are nowhere in sight.

Cassie has her Berretta up and at the ready. Lucas and Cassie split apart and get to either side of the white double doors that lead to the interior of the structure.

Lucas cranes his neck and peers inside through the dingy plastic window that is molded within the door. His head tilts slightly to the right, then to his left.

“Well?” I ask.

Lucas shakes his head. “Can’t see much from right here.” He stretches his left arm out and places his palm flat against the door. The shotgun trains at the seam. He carefully pushes it open.

My fingers wrap tighter around the handle of the machete. My breathing escalates more the wider the door opens.

Cassie steps out, wielding the Berretta with both hands, and covers Lucas as he walks in.

I keep Duke close. I gently pat his side as we follow them in.

The interior is partitioned off into two sections with a wall that runs down the middle of the structure. Heavy, clear plastic coverings hang from the ceiling on both sides.

Lucas points to his right. “You two check out that way. I’ll take the left.”

Me, Cassie, and Duke take the right side of the building as Lucas disappears past the clear plastic.

The putrid smell of death tears at my stomach. I gag, but manage to keep what little contents are inside my stomach down. The silence grates on my nerves. The flickering lights above us taunt my already stressed mind. A part of me hopes that Mom and Cindy are not here. This isn’t a place for the living but a graveyard for the dead.

We pause and take stock of the space. The front portion has desks lined along the walls with communication equipment positioned next to each. Soldiers lay face first in a pool of their own blood on the tops of their stations.

I cautiously approach one of the soldiers. My machete is ready to strike if need be. The back of his head has a small hole in it. It looks as though someone shot him. I grab his shoulder, and pull him upright in his metal chair.

His face is smeared with blood. The middle of his forehead has a gaping hole where the bullet tore through. A red foam leaks out of his mouth and nose and races down his neck. There is a bite mark on his hand. He was infected, and someone did him a favor.

Cassie points to another set of double doors to our right and directly in front of us. “Looks like they have different wings within the building.”

The light in the next room flickers, offering me brief flashes of what lays in wait for us. I catch site of sterile white coverings through the plastic window, but can’t see much of anything else.

Cassie pushes the door to our right slightly ajar. She peers inside, before calling me over. “They have cots set up in here.” She pushes the door open farther, and cautiously steps inside. Duke chases after her. I follow.

A banging noise, from the room in front of me, snares my attention. I pause.

What if it’s Mom or Cindy? What if they’re hurt and need help?

One cautious step after another, I press my free arm against the door and enter the space. The unpleasant smell of death remains, and increases the further in I venture.

Heavy white sheets hang from metal hooks, separating each section. Most are splattered with a mural of blood.

I glance to my left, and decide to check each section. One by one, I pull back the curtain to see what is on the other side. Some are empty while others have civilians and soldiers lying on the beds. Their bodies have been ravaged, torn into and ripped to shreds. It’s a grisly sight that causes me to divert my eyes, and step away.

I catch movement to my right. The silhouette of a figure on their knees bleeds through the curtain. I train my ears and listen.

A subtle mixture of grunts and what sounds like weeping fills my ears. A survivor perhaps? I stay vigilant and approach with care.

The curtain is partially askew. I’m able to peek inside. There’s a woman hunched over a body. Her back is facing me. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail. From my vantage point, it kind of looks like Mom. But where’s Cindy?

I reach for the curtain and pull it back.

“Mom!” A jovial smile breaks across my face.

My spirit roars back to life. The pain and anguish that I have suffered through gives way to a sense of relief that washes over me. It has been so long since I have had one of her endearing hugs, that I crave it now more than anything.

She pauses. Her head lifts up. She turns to face me. My world falls apart.

No. This can’t be happening. Not again. NO!

She growls. Blood drips from her chin. She slurps up strands of chewy muscle from one of Dad’s friends that lays before her. Her eyes are filled with anger and torment. She’s lost in a hurricane of rage.

Tears flood from my eyes as I step away. I said I needed to know either way, but now, I regret it.

She stands up and comes out to face me. Her chest heaves. My mother is dead, and only a monster remains.

She rushes me, ready to devour her only son.

I bring the machete up, and bury the blade in her head. She stops and crumbles to the floor.

I drop to my knees in a fit of grief and sadness. The machete releases from my hand and clangs off the steel grates. My fists clench tightly. The end of my nails burrow into the palms of both hands. The pain doesn’t register, only the pressure from my fingers growing tauter.

Cassie rushes into the room with Duke. She tries to speak to me, but her words are nothing more than distant echoes that I can’t comprehend. Once more, I’ve been forced to do the unthinkable.

My mind is consumed by hate. The reaper of souls has broken me down. He probes my resolve with his elongated boney digits. His fists pound away at what thin shred of humanity resides within me. He obliterates my innocence. His harsh reality, of the world he now roams, rushes like toxic waste into my skull.

Perhaps if I would’ve left the cabin sooner, and not sat in my own sadness and self-loathing, I could have saved them. Just acting sooner could’ve made the difference of her being alive instead of dead. Now, I fear he has pushed me past my breaking point. I am not sure I can make it back.

Through tearful eyes and a gut full of rage, I have now come full circle to what this world wants me to be. My contempt for the chasers, that have rid me of my childhood, has fueled the fires of hate buried inside me.

I am no longer James, the victim.

He is dead.

I am now the executioner of the damned.

And soon, the dead shall feel my fury.

DEAD STATE: EXECUTIONER

BOOK 3

BY

CHAPTER ONE

No. Please, God, no.

The inner voice inside my head screams out in pain, wading in anguish that is drowning me. My face throbs with a pulsating sensation from the sadness, and complete outrage that is nothing short of a massive storm swelling up from my core.

I cannot accept this reality. This is not happening right now. Cindy is not missing, and she is not dead. She did not turn into one of the ravenous creatures that consumes flesh. My mom did not become a... chaser.

I’m on my knees, with my dog, Duke, sitting by my side. We sit solemnly next to the dead body of the woman who raised me, the woman who loved me, the woman I had to dispatch when the virus took over her body. I whimper in utter agony.

I view the motionless corpse through what looks like the end of a bottle—all distorted with the imagery a garbled mess.

Cassie and Lucas, two brave souls who’ve helped me out while on my journey, speak to me. Their voices are nothing but distant sound bites that I don’t care to register. Their hands rest on my shoulders, and pull me backward. I jerk away, freeing my body of their grasp. They leave me be, and allow me to mourn my mother’s death.

“I’m going to check the perimeter really quick to make sure we don’t have any chasers inbound,” Lucas mutters to Cassie. He doesn’t actually mutter, but the detached feeling that I have right now makes it seem like that. “We can’t stay here for too long. We need to get back on the move.”

Boots echo off the grates, walking away from us. My attention stays focused on the body before me. Lucas leaves the medical ward section of the building.

The hinges squeak as his bulk presses down on the grates, and fades to nothing.

In the lull of the silence, I think about my life, my family, and my friends. Most of all, I wonder if, for some strange reason, I am being punished for some wrong that I committed. Have I pissed off some higher power to where it’s exacting its revenge by making me kill my family? By turning them into mindless meat sacks of skin and bone, hell bent on devouring the meaty strands of flesh from the living?

It’s bullshit. One hundred percent.

I can feel Cassie hovering behind me. She’s probably wrestling with what else to say that will soothe the devastating pain eating away at me.

“James.” Her palm gingerly rests on my shoulder. Her fingers grip a hair tighter. “I know how much pain you are in. I am so sorry that you are going through this.”

Sorry? Perfect word to describe me.

I have failed my family in every way possible. I don’t care if what is happening is beyond what any grown man could fight against. My father, God rest his soul, taught me to be strong, and fight for our family. The man takes care of it all. When the crap is hitting the fan, you knuckle down, and hit right back. Protect the ones you love. I know in the end, my parents would forgive me for not being able to protect everyone, knowing that I have done the best I could. Still, I can’t forgive myself.

My eyes divert from my mother. I turn and stand up. So much grief and pure hate fill my being that every muscle fiber in my body wants to destroy whatever gets in my way.

I pace in a circle for a moment before I suddenly stop. I don’t know how to process my feelings. My head shakes from side to side, my brain struggling to find a way to get me back from the edge of despair.

I point to the body with an unsteady finger. “Why? Can anybody tell me why this is happening?”

Tears stream down Cassie’s flushed cheeks as she struggles to keep the flood of emotions from bursting free.

She goes to speak, but nothing more than a sobbing whimper escapes her trembling lips.

“Please tell me WHY IN THE HELL this is HAPPENING!” My hands wrap around the edges of the steel bed frame next to me. I lift up with all of my might, flipping the blood-soaked sheets and the covered body hard to the floor. It hits with a dull thud.

Duke scrambles to his feet and moves back to where Cassie is. His tail folds under his genitals while his head lowers to the ground. His grungy yellow ears lay down as he looks up to me with sad eyes. I don’t think he’s ever looked at me like that. I have failed him as well. The surge of anger that I’m already struggling with only increases at the realization.

My breathing escalates, eyes dart all around wildly. The walls feel like they’re closing in on me. I need to release the anger and heartache that is pent up inside of me. A short reprieve from the damage that is being done to my soul.

Chest heaving and my meager arms surging with a steady flow of hate, I continue on my rampage. I tip bed after bed over, and rip the antiseptic white curtains from the silver rings wrapped over the steel tubing running along each section.

“THEY ARE ALL GOING TO DIE. MARK MY WORDS.” Spit spews from my mouth like I’m possessed. My lips are taut. My face radiates such heat that I feel like I could combust at any second. “I am going to kill each and every one of those creatures if it’s the last thing I do!”

Cassie’s look of compassion and understanding twists to unease. Her body tenses up. Her hands swipe away the tears from her red cheeks.

“James, please. You’re out of control,” she sternly says. “I know how you’re feeling right now, but you have to settle down, and stop creating so much racket, or you’re going to get us all killed.”

My mind totally bypasses her words. Through the blinding fury, I throw my arms up in the air. “Am I being too loud?” I bark. “I am sorry that I am not handling this as well as you did, Cassie. Maybe, just maybe, I’m not as strong as you. Perhaps, all of the people that I have lost on this messed up trek into hell has made me hit my tipping point!”

Cassie folds her arms across her chest. She’s definitely pissed now. Her eyes narrow at me as her boot taps the ground rapidly. Duke remains crouched by her side as a chuckle escapes her taut lips. “You know, being a complete asshole doesn’t help a damn thing here. I am sorry for all that has happened to you, but, like I said before, you’re not the only one who has lost loved ones to these creatures.”

I point to my mom. The blood from the gaping gash in her skull coats the steel grates, dripping through the openings to the blackness beyond.

“Did you have to kill your own parents? No, Mack did that. Speaking of Mack, did you have to strike him down because he was infected? No, he died because of ME. Because I failed to make sure that door was secure in that auto parts store. He paid with his life because of my careless actions.”

Lucas slings open the door to the medical ward with his shotgun poised and at the ready. He stops dead in his tracks. His head swivels from left to right. “What the hell was that clatter going on in here?” His concerned expression morphs to that of confusion. He looks to the tossed over beds, then to me. “Did you do this?”

Cassie turns sharply around on her heels. She gives me one last evil stare before heading toward the door. She pauses next to Lucas, and peers over her shoulder at me.

“I need some air. I’ll be outside.” She continues on through the swinging door. Duke stays by her side and doesn’t offer me another look.

“Duke, stay,” I command him sternly. He ignores my demand for obedience. “Fine. You’re probably better off anyway.”

Lucas’s eyes widen. He lowers the shotgun, and shakes his head. I couldn’t care less what he’s thinking.

“You’re losing it, James,” he firmly, but calmly states. “I can only imagine what you are going through, but if you don’t settle down and get control, you’re going to draw any chasers nearby to us.”

“Let them come,” I bark in response. “I’ll kill each and every last one of them.”

Lucas motions with his hands for me to keep my voice down. His fingers press firmly to his lips. “James, lower your voice, and get yourself under control, now.”

I look at him through glassy, teary eyes as I hold back the sadness and guilt. I allow it to spawn into something else entirely—a monster consumed by rage that must be fed. “Or what, Lucas? You going to make me shut up?”

Lucas clenches his teeth and shakes his head. His hands ball into a fist for a moment before he slowly releases a deep sigh. “I will do what is needed to calm you down if need be, but I don’t want to do that. So please, just take a deep breath, and bring it down a bit.”

My eyes cut down to my mom, then to the left at the bloody machete lying next to her. I bend down, and grab the handle. I lock eyes with Lucas. His hand repositions over the stock end of the shotgun. He doesn’t bring it up, but he’s poised to do so if need be.

I need some space without anyone telling me how I should be acting. For their sake and mine.

“Forget this. I’m out.”

CHAPTER TWO

I walk toward Lucas. The hand wielding the shotgun flinches. He doesn’t bring it up to bear, but by the uneasiness of his stance, he’s contemplating it.

The sight of him clutching the shotgun does little to sway my emotions and the spiraling madness that I’m being engulfed by. I brush past him, not offering a single look as I make my way out of the medical ward.

“I need some air.” The heel of my palm slams into the dense rubber door, thrusting it forward. It slams into the wall with a deep thud. I continue walking with a scowl of contempt for everyone and everything.

I hear no rapid movement of feet racing up to me from behind. Cassie and Duke are nowhere in sight. It’s just me and whatever poor, infected bastards dare cross my path.

My boot strikes the main doors to the long, portable structure the military had erected here, forcefully knocking them out of my way. They rattle and make a loud crescendo of noise that I hope draws in any nearby chasers. I entered this building a boy with a shred of hope that teetered by a wafer-thin string. I have now emerged a person poisoned with hate for the chasers.

“Where are you, you bastards,” I scream out.

I step out from the building and into the darkness of the defiled landscape—a supposedly safe haven that the military had under control. Guess they underestimated the infected’ resolve in spreading their pestilence.

My gaze skims over the defunct area, scouring for any chasers that I can release the full brunt of my fervor upon. The blurred edges of the buildings around me meld with darkness. There are large lumps scattered on the lawn. It’s hard to tell what they are. Possibly an assortment of unlucky dead souls that weren’t able to get to safety.

“Come on! I know there are some of you close by! Here I am! Come finish me off! You have taken everything from me! Now come and exact your pound of flesh!”

I catch movement to my right. The silhouette of a figure swiftly manifests out from the side of one of the buildings. It grunts and moans. Its feet hammer the grassy field as it rushes toward me.

My hand tightens over the handle of the machete, and I sprint toward the creature. Caution is cast aside, granting the monster inside me leave to take control.

I grit my teeth, and allow the cataclysm of distress to boil to an explosive outburst. The machete demands the chaser’s flesh and blood, and I aim to feed it.

As I race toward our collision course, I can hear its breathing escalate. Our weight trounces the matted grass as the blades crunch under our feet.

The chaser is burned, and his chest splattered with a dark mass that coats the flimsy white shirt that is ripped and torn. I can only imagine its blood, either from him or the people that its dismembered.

A brief glimpse of the moon’s light gleams off the creature’s head, revealing its missing right eye. A portion of its skin has been removed. The ends are jagged and gnawed. I hope it hurt. A futile thought, but one I wish was true.

I pull the machete back and take a swing at the chaser. The blade runs horizontal across its chest. The blow knocks it off balance some. It stumbles to the side before regaining its footing.

“Come on!” I taunt, daring the chaser to come at me once more. “Here I am!”

A deep growl rises from its lips. The tremor of anger the creature exhibits does little to sway my course of action. Any such fear that resides in me is being trumped by the hate that has currently swallowed my blackened soul.

The chaser comes for me again with its arms outstretched. I plant my feet and swing the machete as hard as I can. The blunt blade of the bulky weapon burrows into the right side of the creature’s neck. It effortlessly slices through the flesh and bone, and emerges on the other side.

Headless, the chaser continues its forward momentum. It stumbles as its skull bounces off the ground. I try to steer clear of the headless corpse, but it plummets right into me.

The blunt contact knocks me off balance and flat on my back. My machete flies out of my hand. The chaser’s body lands askew across my waist and a portion of my legs. I’m trapped under the dead weight of the creature.

More movement catches my attention. I can hear the rapid thump of feet heading my way, but can’t identify the source.

Damn it.

My hands franticly sweep over the grass in search of the only salvation that I now have—my machete. Where is it?

I finally catch sight of the chaser that is inbound in front of me. It looks to have come from the street and through the opening with the fence that has the school enclosed.

My fingers wrap around the creature’s arm as I struggle to work its bulk free of my body. It moves ever so slightly, but not enough for me to slip away.

More footsteps loom from behind me now.

“Jesus, James,” Lucas growls. He grabs the corpse and lifts it off me. He pants hard. His stocky stature hangs over me with his face barely visible from the darkness, concealing the disappointment I can only imagine is plastered on his face.

Lucas diverts his attention from me to the chaser who is rapidly closing the distance to us. Lucas brings the shotgun to bear.

A deafening boom crackles in the air. The barrel erupts in a brief flash of hellfire. The swarm of pellets strikes the inbound chaser’s skull. Its head turns to a mushy pulp as it stumbles lifeless to the earth.

“Great.” Lucas tosses up his arms. He’s agitated. “Not what we needed right now, James. Anymore of those things that are close by more than likely heard that.”

He turns toward me and reaches out his hand. I grasp his palm as he pulls me up off the ground. I brush the dirt free from my clothing. With my head tilted toward the ground, I search for my machete.

“I had it under control. I didn’t need your help,” I flatly hiss. I look a bit more and finally find the machete a few feet to my right within the blades of grass.

“The hell you did,” Lucas barks back. “If you haven’t figured this out yet, James, we are not your enemy here. We are on your side. Right now, we are all that we have, and we need to stick together, and be smart if we have any hopes of surviving whatever the hell is going on.”

Cassie dashes out of another building to our left, running hard with Duke galloping by her side. We put aside our squabble for the time being, and turn our attention to her.

“What’s wrong?” Lucas inquires.

She comes to a grinding halt, and points back to the building that she just left.

“I found a survivor.”

CHAPTER THREE

I crane my neck and peer past Cassie at the building she just left. Her hopeful words battle the angst and emotional turmoil I’m struggling with.

“A survivor?” I ask. “Who?”

“Some guy. He was hiding out in one of the closets. Duke found him.” Cassie turns and points back in the direction of the elongated structure.

Lucas shifts his gaze to me and I to him for a split second before he turns back to her. “Is he military?”

Cassie shakes her head. “I don’t think so. He isn’t wearing any sort of fatigues or military get up. He looks to be pretty shaken up, though. When I opened the door, he was cowering in the corner with his hands held up in the air and rambling on about the chasers and other stuff that I couldn’t make out.”

Lucas takes a step toward Cassie, and places his hand on her shoulder. “Has he been bitten?”

Cassie shrugs. “Not that I can see. I didn’t exactly examine him that closely though.”

“If he’s talking, regardless of how muttered it is, then that’s a good sign, right?” I say.

Lucas sighs and subtly shakes his head. His right hand reaches over and rubs the back of his neck. “That still doesn’t mean that he isn’t infected. There are more of those chasers around here. He could’ve been bitten somewhere not easily noticeable and hasn’t turned yet. We need to be cautious until we know for sure.”

I start in the direction of the building.

“Where are you going?” Lucas says.

“To see what he knows. My sister is still missing.” The machete stays taut in my grasp as I head for the lengthy portable building that is cast in darkness. Cassie and the others follow behind. The utter silence that befalls us allows the whispers among the duo to trickle into my ears. It’s faint and low, but still audible enough for me to notice that they’re speaking quietly, so I can’t hear, more than likely about me. I can honestly say I don’t care at the moment. Their opinion is of little concern to me right now.

The muttered words trail off as I step into the entrance of the portable structure. Laid out similarly to the one that I found my mother in, there are paths that lead off in either direction of me through the swinging, thick plastic doors. I pause inside the main entryway. I crane my neck to the left, then the right in search of this survivor.

“He’s this way.” Cassie drifts to the right and passes through a set of thick, black, plastic doors. The hinges squeak as she pushes them open. Duke stays hot on her trail. I follow up behind with Lucas bringing up the rear.

Bodies of soldiers and civilians lay spread out over the gun metal grates of the portable building. Their motionless, ravaged forms lay contorted in various positions. Their clothes are doused in blood. Portions of their flesh are ripped and torn free like a wild animal attacked them all.

To a certain degree, one did.

We pass by a few desks, and enter into another space that is just beyond the plastic curtains—not a medical ward like the one we were in, but more of a place that people may have slept in.

Jumbled cots line both sides of the walls, and span the entire length of the structure to the back end. The frames of the beds are tossed over in a complete scene of disharmony. I spy no more deceased soldiers or civilians as I skim over the periphery of the space, only a lone man with his head hanging toward the ground.

He rests on the edge of one of the cots with his forearms on the soft parts just above his knees. His feet rapidly tap the steel grates. The ends of his fingers on his right hand feed into his trembling mouth as he gnaws at the nails. A distant look swells in his eyes as beads of sweat race down from the stubble covering his pear-shaped head. He looks to be lost in another world. I can relate.

Cassie slowly approaches the shaken man from the side. She carefully reaches out and places her hand on his shoulder. “Scott.”

He jumps, and a gasp of fright escapes his shuddering lips as he falls back onto the palms of his hands. It’s almost as if he is so adrift in his nightmare, that the world around him is invisible.

With his eyes agape, his bloodshot gaze shoots to each of us. He mutters something that I can’t make out cleanly. A grown man so overwhelmed with terror is something I haven’t seen on this scale. Then again, I’m a kid, and to me most grownups don’t show such horrid emotion. Given what obviously transpired here, I can say that his reaction is warranted.

Cassie’s hand remains on his quaking shoulder. Lucas shifts his body to my left. He keeps his hands clutched firmly on the shotgun. His fingers wrap around the stock and barrel, ready to intervene if need be.

“So much blood. The creatures are coming. They are here,” he says with manic eyes shifting wildly about. He points toward the set of double doors that we passed through. His arm trembles as if he is unable to control its movements. “There. The demons came from there and killed everyone.”

Cassie leans in closer and places her free hand on his fidgeting leg, trying to calm him down.

Short bursts of his escalating breathing spews from his mouth.

“Be careful there,” Lucas advises. “This guy is giving me a bad vibe.”

Cassie tilts her head to Lucas, then me, and nods. Duke stays wedged between us. The muscles in his body are rigid as he stares at the distraught man. I can feel his tension on my legs as he nudges against me.

“We have taken care of any chasers out there. You are safe,” Cassie calmly says.

Scott shakes his head in disagreement. He wraps his arms around his chest. “That is what the military told us—that it was safe here and that they had everything under control. That is why me and my family came here. It was my idea to trust them. It is why they are all dead now.”

Lucas speaks up. “How exactly did all of this happen? What changed?”

Scott sucks in a big gulp of air and releases it out through pursed lips. “To be honest, I don’t know. It happened so fast.” Scott unfolds his arms and stands up from the edge of the cot. He paces back and forth for a moment as he mutters more incoherent nonsense to himself. “My family and I came from Portland. The containment that the military had setup around Gresham was starting to fail from the number of infected. They were pushing toward Portland. When we got here, there was no activity from any infected. That changed after a week or more. Can’t remember exactly.”

“What happened?” I inquire.

“The chasers started to show up. At first, it was only a few here and there. But then more started to arrive in larger numbers. The military was able to hold them off for a bit, but was soon overwhelmed. Then, a few people who were let in had been bitten, and turned, which really sent things into a whirlwind of chaos. But the strangest thing of all was this little girl. Some military types were really interested in her. They escorted her away in a helicopter before the crap really hit the fan. The girl’s mother wasn’t too happy about it either. She kept pleading with them not to take her. She also spoke of her husband and son, saying that they were heading this way and they couldn’t leave till they arrived?”

A surge of hope fills my body as my eyes widen from the semi vague response. The sadness and rage filling me is washed over with a sense of temporary relief as I take a step forward.

“Why did the military take her? Was it a woman with long dark hair in the other building just to the left of this one who was asking the men to wait?” I ask excitedly.

The man’s face contorts in confusion. His eyes narrow at me before drifting toward the floor. The heel of his palm smacks against his temple as he continues muttering gibberish.

Agitated by his lack of response, I take a few steps more toward him. My hand sternly grabs his forearm and whips him about so he can face me. “What happened to them? I need to know.”

Scott yanks his arm free of my grasp and takes a step back. “Christ, I’m thinking, all right?”

Lucas places a restrictive hand on my shoulder. “James, give him a second.”

I brush his hand free of my shoulder, cock my head back toward him, and point in the direction of Scott. “I need to know more about this. I think he’s talking about my mom and sister.”

Scott pauses. Frozen in place. His eyes cut back over to me as if a lightbulb suddenly flickered to life. “Is your name James?”

I nod emphatically. “It is.”

Scott runs his hand up and down his long, tired face for a second before continuing. “I don’t know exactly where they took your sister. I just overheard them saying it was to some research hospital in California. Another one of the refugees told me it was located off Interstate 5. Take that as you will.”

“Why her?” I demand.

He gnaws on the ends of his fingernails. Something my mom would do as well when she was stressed or had to tell Dad some less than stellar news. “It was discovered that she was bitten a week or so prior and for some reason, hadn’t turned. About the time they were taking her, more chasers flooded into the compound. Your mom got bit while they were fleeing to a helicopter. They left her behind and took off.”

I grow silent. A cumulation of mixed emotions melds in with the turmoil. Cindy’s alive, but also infected. But more so, she hasn’t turned.

For now, the hopelessness of having my family ripped away from me has been given a new lease on life. For now, I still have something to fight for.

CHAPTER FOUR

Reeling from the sudden revelation, I take a step back, and place my arms over my head. All sorts of questions flood my worn mind. I try to piece together a puzzle that is lost on me as I pace back and forth. My only surviving family has been taken to another state, and she is infected, but not changed into the horrific monsters that now plague the world.

Cassie cautiously approaches. I imagine she is hesitant to inquire how I’m doing, considering I’ve been the biggest ass in the world to both her and Lucas—a byproduct of a teenager dealing with the weight of his family’s death in the best way he knows how. Horribly bad.

She goes to reach for me, but stops. Her arms stay by her side as she tilts her head slightly to the left and leans toward me. “James, how you doing?”

The machete is still clutched in my palm, fingers tightly curled over the tattered leather-bound handle that rubs against my moist flesh as I try to digest the latest news in my so-called life. I’m still stressed and pissed, but just knowing that Cindy is out there soothes the savage beast inside me. For now, anyway.

“I’m doing.” I lower my arms and release a sigh through my dry lips. “I’m glad to hear my sister is alive, but can’t believe she’s infected.”

Cassie stays close, but also keeps at arm’s length from me. She’s still pissed for me acting like I have, but none the less, she is there for me. “It’s unbelievable for sure.”

I stop, then turn toward Scott who has his arms guarding his chest. The whole thing doesn’t sit right with me. I haven’t seen or heard of anybody being immune. Don’t get me wrong, that is what I want it to be. It’s just that my heart has been broken so much that I’m almost afraid to feel anything positive right now.

“And you saw the bite mark on my sister, and you’re sure it was a week or so old?”

Scott gnaws at the end of his fingernails. “My daughter saw the bite mark. That is how the military found out about it. I didn’t see the bite personally, though.” Scott continues nibbling at his dingy nails as he trails off toward the rear of the building.

Lucas and Cassie approach me from either side as I take a seat on one of the cots. The springs creak and stretch, adjusting to my weight.

Duke lays his head in my lap. His tongue shoots out and licks my hand. I rub the crown of his head as I stare off into space.

“That’s pretty heavy what he said,” Lucas whispers. “Can’t say that I have heard anything like it before.”

“True, but no one has ever heard of people going crazy and wanting to eat each other either. It could be possible, all things considered,” Cassie chimes in.

Lucas peers over his shoulder at Scott, who is still pacing about and talking to himself. “Don’t get me wrong, I want it to be true for you, James, but I’m not sure about this. I mean, he is definitely suffering from PTSD. I can only imagine what he went through and witnessed. Seeing that kind of stuff messes one up.”

I shift my gaze up to Lucas, then to Cassie who gives me a stare as if to signal that not only is he referring to Scott, but to me as well. I don’t respond with some snide comment or get irate and start demolishing the place. I contemplate it, telling them where they can stick it, but decide to keep my lips sealed. Instead, I peer over to Scott and mull over Lucas’s statement.

“I agree. I think he’s not all there at the moment, but what if what he is saying is true? I know if it were my family, I’d want to check it out,” Cassie says.

I can feel their eyes beating down on me. I’m torn as to what I know I should do, head for safety, wherever the hell that is, and what the inner me is whispering. Go and find your sister, you fool. Finding Cindy, regardless of how that may end up, is what I need to do. But still, what if this guy is a nut bag, too far gone to be able to discern facts from the jumbled mess his mind conjures up. As much as I need for this to be true, I’m just so scared of what I might find.

Damn it.

Cindy is all that I have left in this world, and I am going to find her.

I push up off the edge of the cot. The negative side of my brain that tries to lace my resolve with doubt is stifled with decisive action.

“I can’t ask either of you to come any farther with me. You have both risked so much, and I have not been the easiest person to be around the past little bit.”

Lucas places his hand back on my shoulder, but this time I don’t brush off the gesture. “It’s understandable, James. Having to do the dreadful things you have would be terribly hard on anyone. Like I stated earlier. We are on your side. What you are dealing with and what you’ve endured would press anyone to the brink of losing it. Believe me, I’ve been there. It’ll take some time for you to work through it, but you’ll get there.”

Cassie nudges my arm, and offers me a half smile. “You’re forgiven for now, butthead. But the next time you talk to me in such a manner, I’ll put you flat on your ass. You got me?”

Given how I’ve seen Cassie handle herself with the chasers, I don’t doubt her words.

I nod. “How are we going to find this research facility in California? That’s a lot of ground and chasers to contend with.”

Silence befalls us as we each think about the best way to approach the matter. It’s difficult to concentrate at the moment. Dealing with the trauma of my mother’s death has not been conducive to critical thinking.

Cassie’s head pivots from side to side as she scans over the building. What is she looking for? “Maybe they have some sort of map or something in one of these offices showing other installations that are relatively nearby? A city or something.”

Lucas shrugs. “It’s possible. Better than what we’ve got to go on right now.” Lucas trains his gaze over to Scott who is still in his own little world, pacing about the cluttered mess of jumbled up cots. I see a lot of his turmoil in me. I am struggling to keep the demons at bay. I am way past the point of returning to the childish things that I once treasured above all else such as playing video games or lying in my bed watching movies as I drown myself in Mountain Dew and gorge through a mound of junk food. This traumatic experience has forced me into adulthood, whether I was prepared for it or not. Fortunately for me, I’ve been lucky enough to come across individuals who have helped me keep hold of what humanity lingers inside my soul.

“Should we ask him if he might know?” Cassie inquires.

“I’ll go ask him real quick. We shouldn’t hang around any longer than we have to,” Lucas turns and nods toward the front entrance. “Who knows how many more chasers are in the area.”

Cassie nudges my arm once more. “James and I will start going through the offices to help speed things up.”

“Good idea. Keep your eyes and ears open.” Lucas shifts his gaze to me. “And James.”

“Yeah.”

He tilts his head to the right slightly and gives me that parental stare that I’ve seen more than once before on my mom and dad’s face.

“No more lone wolf stunts, all right?”

I dismiss his words of caution with an idle shrug. “I make no promises.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Lucas heads toward the back of the building where Scott is. I pat my leg twice, which snaps Duke to attention. We turn about and head toward the double plastic doors that lead out of the overly large space.

Cassie follows close behind as we exit through the office and out into the darkness of night. We pause briefly as I stare out into space. The stillness of the compound invades my already rattled and frayed nerves.

Faint moans and something shuffling its feet through the grass plays in my ears as if the creatures are lurking within the ether of shadows that swarm the recessed places around us. I can’t tell if it’s real or not, considering Cassie doesn’t seem to be on edge.

Cassie’s blonde ponytail bounces with each step she makes, subtly swinging from side and side. She pauses. Then looks to her left, then right. She nods toward the facility that we discovered my mother in. “I’ll check that one out, and see what I can find.” She then points to the structure to our left that has a multitude of what appears to be antennae or something jetting up through the roof. “Do you want to check that out? That could be a communication building or something like that.”

I continue to stare off into the unknown, thinking about my life and what all has happened thus far. My eyes drop down to my hands. The stench of death lingers from my palms. People I have lost. Killed even. Dad, Mom, and Dawson. I finally respond. “Yeah. I’ll check it out.”

“Be careful, and watch your back.”

I nod. “You too.”

Cassie walks behind me and makes for the structure. Her thin frame melds with the darkness and fades to nothing more than a shadowy figure moving through the bleakness of the night.

Duke and I turn toward the other structure. The machete stays tightly grasped against my palm. My eyes cut downward to Duke, who is resting on his hind legs, waiting patiently for me to give a command.

“Come on, boy.”

He springs to his paws, and stays right by my side as we cautiously navigate the cluttered grounds. Stacks of large military crates rest in the grass. A number of the immense totes have busted open, and their contents lay scattered. Looks like MREs and bottled water mixed in with medical supplies. The large lumps I noticed earlier are in fact deceased bodies. His head tilts to the earth with his snout mere inches from the matted down grass.

My eyes shift from side to side, evaluating the cluster of crates, and other miscellaneous junk that litters the compound’s interior. I peer out beyond the fence and scour for any chasers that may be inbound. It’s hard to pierce the veil of night. I can spot the outlines of the vehicles parked along the street, and what seems like shadowy figures swiftly moving this way.

I blink a few times and dig my fingers into my eyes. The dark images are gone. Am I losing my mind? Am I being swallowed up in the mouth of my own grief or personal torment?

My father told me of friends of his that suffered from PTSD after returning from service overseas. He spared me any details, but did tell me how it affected them, and the struggles they faced after returning to their daily lives. Given the horrors that I have seen, and the lives that have been taken, I understand now how they feel. I am unsure if I could ever go back to my old life. One can not simply switch off the hell they’ve endured. I didn’t know then what my father truly meant. Now, I do.

Mom told me that he had it as well after he was done with the service, although not as bad as most others. It took him some time and counseling to really get past it all, but eventually he overcame it.

For me, I am unsure how I’ll be able to get past it in a time where your guard has to be up twenty-four seven. There is no couch for me to lay on. No shrink to sit across from me with a pen and paper and dissect my young mind to sort out the mess that this biblical event has caused.

The only way I see myself remotely dealing with my broken heart and fractured soul is by releasing my grief out into the world on those who deserve it. Not the best approach to deal with such a matter, I know, but given the alternatives, it is all I’ve got to keep me going on. To keep me from completely going insane.

As Duke and I get closer to the other building, I see brief flashes of light emit from the interior. I pause and hold Duke up. I crane my neck, and narrow my eyes at the window molded within the door. There is no movement that I can see from here, although that doesn’t mean much.

What in the world is going on?

Could the structure have some sort of generators set up close by that is providing them with power? I imagine that would be the most logical answer here. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter what is going on. I need to check it out. After all, it is for Cindy that I am doing this.

I finish rationalizing out the flickering of the lights as the generator’s failing. I need to get in there while there is still power. It’ll be much easier to search for any map or whatever with light. That, and it will aid in helping me spot any chasers that could be lurking within the confines of the building.

“Stay close, boy, and keep your ears perked for any of those creatures, ok?”

Duke responds with a single ruff.

Bringing the machete up, we continue toward the entrance of the building. My gaze cuts down to the left side of the structure, trying to penetrate the murkiness. I notice a square-like object barely visible from where I am. I tilt my head slightly to the left and listen.

The faint humming of a grumbling motor catches my attention. My hunch was accurate. I’m willing to bet the other structures around the school grounds are set up similarly and will be failing before too long if they’re not fed any fuel.

I step up on the wide platform that leads inside the structure. Each stride of my legs is swift and calculated. My back presses against the smooth, cool exterior of the complex just to the left of the door. Duke remains by my side as we move as one. I pause just shy of the window. I push up to the tips of my toes and crane my neck to sneak a peak of what I’m in store for. I don’t want any surprises, but I’ll deal with whatever comes my way.

From where I am, it’s difficult to make anything out clearly. The lights flash then dim to almost nothing before surging back to life.

Great.

“Stay ready, boy.”

Duke cautiously moves toward the opening. I press the length of my arm to the door with my palm open and flush to the surface. I push slowly, trying to keep the hinges from blurting their warning signal and alerting any creatures that could be lurking within.

My guard is up, and my breathing is controlled and calm. I’m poised and ready to strike with lethal intent if need be.

The further the door opens, the better sense I get of what I’m walking into. Similar to the last building, a scene of death and mayhem fills my focused gaze. Between the flashes of intermittent light that illuminate the space, I soak in the disheveled state of the complex.

It doesn’t appear to have housed any civilians, given the array of computers and perhaps some type of cellular transmitters and other technical military equipment. Ultimately, I am lost as to what they are.

Pushing the door open farther, I step inside. Duke follows along quietly. His nose trains to the grates as he investigates the scene.

Unlike the other two buildings, this unit is set up differently than the rest. Toward the middle, there are numerous sections of the complex that are portioned off with makeshift walls. To the right are multiple doors that reveal access to other areas. There are still no signs of any chasers, or dead bodies for that matter. Which, given the state of this facility, and the amount of blood that is slathered on the walls, makes me wonder where the corpses are.

I’m not really sure where I should start, so I just go to each desk and start thumbing through paperwork. To be honest, it is more of a task than I thought it would be.

Papers lay slathered over the tops of the desks. The cork boards mounted above each have numerous documents and maps of Oregon pinned to their fronts. Red X’s are marked on various cities and towns, which quickly spread like wildfire over the state. It doesn’t exactly leave me with a warm and comforting feeling. Not that any of those sorts of emotions are present currently. The scenery that I’ve absorbed while on my journey has been nothing short of a world caught in the grips of the end. Like most movies that I’ve watched over my relatively short life, the real thing is much more depressing than the fake Hollywood stories. For obvious reasons.

Duke continues his search of the facility. He heads toward the rear of the structure.

“Don’t stray too far away, boy,” I call out.

He pauses briefly, and looks back my way before continuing his investigation.

A low buzzing noise emits from the overhead lights that are fighting to stay alive. The ever-persistent annoyance keeps me motivated to work as diligently as I possibly can before I’m left in the darkness. Not ideal for sure.

Desk after desk is cleared. My eyes skim over each document that I feel could be of possible value. Most are laden with jargon that is either lost on me or doesn’t contain the location of the other facility that I’m after.

I growl under my breath.

Christ! Damn it!

My arm sweeps the contents off the desk. Papers flutter in the air. Office supplies clatter off the grated floor.

Duke stops. His head cuts back toward me as his ears stand on end. His left paw springs up off the floor as he stares at me. I can only imagine what is going through his head. He’s probably wondering which one of us is the animal in this scenario.

He continues scouring the facility. I stand there for a moment with my hands on my hips. The tension and anger that I was able to quell is coming back with a vengeance. Taking in the mountain of work kills any good vibes trying to bring me back from the mouth of madness.

Wait. What is that?

Across the way from me a larger map is fixed to a wall. I narrow my eyes and skim it over. It looks to encompass not only Oregon, but a few of the surrounding states to the north, east, and south.

I give in to my curiosity. Nothing else I’ve dug through has born any edible fruit.

I walk over to the desk across from me. I give a quick look to Duke who enters the narrow hallway between the two sets of walls. His matted and dirty, yellowish fur fades in and out of the flickering lights.

Pushing the chair away from the front of the desk, I rest the machete on its top. Both palms lay flat on the scattered papers. I lean forward for a closer look. The amount of red marks is much less than what I have seen thus far, and don’t encompass most of the towns and cities. Could these be other military installations that the government has set up to battle the infection?

My finger struggles to hone in on our current location. It’s hard to make out clearly because of the intermittent lights going out, but I manage to finally find us by the red X that is circled just south of Portland.

The tip of my finger remains pressed on the X as my eyes glide down Interstate 5 into California. Town after town is passed until I come to another red X close to the Interstate. Yreka. Is that it?

There are two more located further south along the same route, plus a bunch more that populate the rest of the state. It’s hard to tell if Yreka is the right one or not, but I’m willing to find out. If it’s not, I’ll move on to the next one.

A deep seated growl and brief sharp bark escapes Duke’s snout, which snares my focus away from the map. I crane my neck toward the back of the facility. I can’t get a good look at him from where I stand.

I rip the map off the wall and haphazardly fold it up. The crinkled, large paper is shoved into my back-pant pocket with little care of its condition. I reach for the machete as he continues his short burst of deep ruffs.

“What is it, boy?”

I move away from the desk and position myself in the middle of the facility where I have a clear line of sight at Duke. His head is trained toward the bottom of a door as he sniffs and paws at the wood. I look up at the lights, unsure how much life they have left.

“Duke, come on. Let’s go.”

He ignores me, his attention on the door.

My voice grows curt as I dial up the volume of my tone. “Duke. Now. I’m not playing. Let’s go.” My free hand raps against my upper thigh twice, hard. He pauses and stares at me before going back to scratching at the door.

Ugh.

“There better be something amazing in there, dude.” I quickly make my way toward him through the mess of tipped over furniture and the other tech equipment that has been ransacked—a narrow trail for me to follow through.

The closer I get to the narrow hallway that runs the remaining length of the facility, the more a sinking feeling swirls in the depths of my stomach. A sense of dread washes over me as I pause at the opening.

Duke’s two doors down on the right. He isn’t focused on anything else except for that particular space.

Come on, dude.

What remainder of power the structure was sucking from the generator finally stops, and my world instantly goes black. I gasp. My body clenches up as I draw a sharp breath of panic that swells inside of me.

The glow of something off to my left catches my attention, followed by a beeping noise that sounds off every couple of seconds. I search for the source and find a computer monitor on its side. The insistent beeping could be a battery backup supplying what power it can before it fails.

The screen’s radiance shoots up through the turned over chairs and other damaged equipment toward the hallway. Contorted shadows are cast over the walls, which look more like demonic arms stretched out wide.

I summon what courage is needed and make my way down the hall. After all, I’m James the punisher, the executioner of the wicked demons.

The machete stays up and at the ready. I try to grasp it tighter, but it’s virtually impossible to do so. My eyes train to the left, then the right quickly. The doors appear to be shut, but I don’t test the latches.

I reach Duke who finally stops. My fingers encircle his collar and I pull him back from the door, scolding him. A thin shred of light from the screen reveals a set of fingers wiggling under the door.

The tips are bloody. Most of the meat is gone, leaving only the bony ends. Subtle grunts and growls sift through the door’s wooden grain. Curious, Duke pushes forward as his snout reaches for the fidgeting digits. I hold him at bay, and try to remain silent as the door vibrates slightly. No words are spoken from the other side. No pleas for help or distress. Just the annoyance of not being able to break free of its prison.

I leave the creature alone. I turn Duke’s attention in the direction of the entrance of the facility. He resists at first, pulling against me, but finally complies.

The chaser trapped inside the space bangs against the door harder and harder. I guess it has figured out that something worthwhile lingers just beyond its reach.

I peer over my shoulder and down toward the floor. Although difficult to see now, as my body is blocking out a chunk of the light, I cannot spot the chaser’s fingers anymore. With each punishing blow and growl, the chaser’s excitement gains in volume. What was once subtle raps against the wood is now more volatile. More intense.

“Come on, boy. Let’s-”

The door to my left bursts open, causing us to freeze in place and take a step back. The ghastly gray silhouette of a figure stumbles out into the narrow space and slams into the adjacent wall, blocking any sort of retreat.

Duke barks and growls in the figure’s direction. I can’t get a clear view of its face, but I don’t think that’s overly necessary. What little bit I can make out tells me all I need to know.

The vague hint of damaged flesh and moist skin fills my gaze. Rapid spates of grunts and anger escape through its lips. Its chest heaves swiftly as it comes for me.

I go to strike the chaser with the machete. I manage to only get the blade lifted above my head before it collides with me, and shoves me back into the wall. The dull sounding thud of our bulk colliding with the wall resonates through the silent space. A slight yelp escapes my lips. The air briefly pulls from my lungs as disorientation overtakes me.

I’ve lost sight of Duke, but can hear him growling and barking loudly now. His angry tone becomes muffled, more intermittent as I notice the chaser’s body being pulled and jolted about.

The creature pays him no mind. His focus and shaded, grim face remain fixed on me. His teeth clatter rapidly as he forces his bulk toward me. The foul stench of death escapes the chaser’s lips. With wide eyes, that look more like hollow, endless pits that span into nothingness, he comes for my neck.

My meager arms tremble in response. The machete is pinned above my head by the creature’s hand. I fight against the creature’s strength, pushing forward with the hopes that I’ll overtake him. It’s strong, and unwilling to yield to me. My fingers wrap around his moist throat as I attempt to push him back and add some space between us.

The rage and determination to feast has the chaser’s system surging past any normal point. It’s difficult to combat. Even with Duke latched to its leg, pulling and tugging with all of his vicious grit, the chaser is not deterred.

Still, I remain as collected as I can.

Adrenaline fills my veins. The haunting images of my mother and father linger next to the creature’s shadowy face as Cindy’s sweet, innocent voice whimpers in my ear, “Don’t let me die, James. Please, save me.”

Sadness, guilt, and a multitude of feelings pelt me all at once with an unrelenting aggression that I cannot defend against. My eyes narrow at the chaser as each becomes glassy. My jaw clamps shut. So much pressure is applied to my teeth that they feel as though they could shatter at any moment.

The chaser who is trapped a few spaces down to my right continues its campaign. I cut my eyes briefly in the direction of the upheaval. The door surges violently as the wood starts to crack and give. I need to do something now or I’m a goner.

I release a roar through teary eyes that sounds more like the creatures. My fingers separate from its damp, clammy throat. I quickly step to the right, allowing the chaser to lunge face first into the wall with a dull, blunt thud.

The arm wielding the machete comes free just as the door behind me breaks loose. Splintered wood cracks and pops, filling the cacophony of chaos that has engulfed the hallway. The scared boy I was when this apocalyptic event first started gives way to a less timid, violent animal.

Swept up in the mayhem and darkness, I strike with the machete hard and fast. I hack at the back of the chaser’s neck repeatedly in the same spot. Through flesh and bone, the broad blade slices its way through the meat of the chaser’s body until its neck detaches from its lower half.

Duke continues jerking at the creature’s leg. It slumps against the wall lifeless, and slides down the façade to the floor.

The bumbling footing and quick pace of a chaser enters the hallway directly behind me. I turn on my heels, ready to engage the creature. Its bulk slams into me. I thrust forward, but keep myself from tripping over the dead chaser on the ground.

Its arms snare me from around my chest. I can feel its rotting, balmy breath brush over my sweaty skin and fill my nose. The gut-wrenching odor turns my stomach over and ties it in knots as it fights to bite me.

Not today, a-hole.

I bend over as far as I can, placing as much distance between the chaser’s mouth and my flesh. Still clutching the blade tightly, I tilt to the left some and ram the tip of the machete into what I hope is the creature’s head.

The blade hits something solid but pliable, squishing loudly before it pushes past and continues on. The crunching of bone fills my ears, followed by a squishing sound. The edacious pleas of the chaser muffle, and quickly lessens to nothing more than a few simple gasps of the creature taking its last breath.

Gripping the handle of the machete, I yank it toward me. The full brunt of the chaser’s bulk hangs on my back like a weighted down backpack. Its body slides down my backside and to the floor as I take a step forward. Panting, I stand there for a second to collect myself.

Duke sniffs the headless corpse before resting on his hind legs. I turn back toward the chaser. It’s outfitted in what appears to be military fatigues.

Heavy footsteps from the front of the facility snare my attention. My head snaps back over my shoulder. I spot Duke twisting sharply around as well. A deep growl escapes his mouth. An unstable light source bounces over the dark walls that the screen’s glare cannot reach. Flooded with the taste of vengeance, I’m poised to dish out more killing.

Fingers wet with the creature’s tainted blood reposition over the soggy handle. I spin about and raise the machete in the air to thwart the incoming threat. The intense glow of the yellow light beams me square in the face, blotting out the figure advancing toward us.

“James! Are you ok?” Cassie worriedly asks.

The machete remains in the air. I’m blinded by the intense strife that I just had with the headless creature bleeding out on the floor before me.

It takes me a moment to register that it’s Cassie, and not a threat. I lower the blade slowly, and expel a sigh of spent energy from my lips. I nod wearily.

The light moves away from my face and down toward the floor, illuminating the dispatched bodies of the military personnel. Duke lowers his ears and walks up to Cassie. She rubs his head and under his snout. He eats it up.

Bent over, with the heels of my palms resting on my thighs, I share the good news. “I think I found out where they are keeping my sister.”

CHAPTER SIX

Man. I’m tired.

That is all I can think while standing among the deceased chasers that I put out of their misery. The high I was riding is coming to a grinding halt. I’m still pissed and livid at the world, but my body is feeling the brunt of my strenuous, and intense engagement. Any energy reserves that I had stored are nearly depleted.

The news of finding some possible locations of where Cindy may have been taken in California has brought a smile to Cassie’s face. Although somewhat obscured by the shadow that is cast over a portion of her face, it is still nice to see.

“Man, you look like hammered dog crap,” she observes. “Perhaps it’s all that carrying on and acting like you’ve lost your mind that has you so beat. Among other things, which would make sense.”

I nod in agreement. I can’t deny anything she is saying. It’s all true. The constant bombardment of what the chasers have reduced me to, is a weight that is slowly crushing me—not only physically, but emotionally as well. The glint of hope that hangs on the horizon is my sister.

“Do you have a map showing the locations?” Cassie inquires.

I reach for my back pocket, and pull free the folded up thick paper. I start to unfolded it when the faint report of a gunshot echoes from outside the structure.

We both freeze, and stare at one another. Cassie spins around to face the swinging doors toward the front. She retrieves the pistol from behind her back and trains the barrel at the entrance.

Duke stays poised and on high alert next to her side. He hunches down some and growls under his breath.

The waning of my energy is curbed for the moment as I find a pocket of stamina. My body tenses up, muscles surging with angst that causes me to breathe hard and heavy. Wielding the machete, I step over the dead bodies, and take my place to Cassie’s right. We offer one another a quick glance, and a subtle nod as heavy footsteps creep up.

The outline of a figure rushing headlong at the doors comes into view through the slightly opened, dense plastic doors. Cassie has her flashlight trained at the entryway with the pistol resting on top of her wrist. A focused and intense gaze lingers on her face.

The doors fly wildly open as Scott charges in. Cassie releases a sigh of relief as she lowers her weapon. “Christ,” she hisses. “I could’ve shot you.”

Panic clouds his sweaty face. He peers back over his left shoulder, and side steps to the left as he nearly collides with a chair resting on its side. He loses his balance as his legs struggle to stay under him, but he manages to correct himself before stumbling into the mound of wood and steel.

“They’re coming! I told you, they were coming!” he frantically rants.

We work our way through the pathway toward Scott who’s panting as if he just ran a marathon. His eyes are wide. Chest pulsating in and out as if it’s being inflated rapidly. He points at the doors sternly as if to warn of a coming threat.

“What’s wrong?” I inquire.

Cassie tilts the beam of the light up from the floor and in the direction of his face. He continues to point at the entrance as his legs fret in place. Beads of sweat race down from his thick grungy hair, which appears to be... red.

Is that, blood? My mind races as I think of the only person who isn’t here. Lucas.

Another gunshot sounds off, much closer this time.

I grab him by the shoulders with a firm grip. He continues speaking faster than what I can keep up with as he points at the entrance. It all bleeds together with no pause or break to breathe.

“Scott. Where is Lucas at? What’s going on out there?”

He turns toward me and grabs me by the scruff of my jacket. He pulls me close, and looks at me with large, crazy eyes. “The chasers. More of them are out there. I don’t know how many. All I could see were shadowy figures moving within the darkness.”

Duke bears his teeth, and barks and growls at Scott. I knock Scott’s hands free of my clothing, and take a step back.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I growl. “Whose blood is that on your face, and where in the hell is Lucas?”

Cassie nudges my arm lightly. She focuses the light on the inside of Scott’s right forearm, highlighting the indentions and mangled flesh from a fresh bite mark.

“One of those things tried to get me, but your friend saved my life,” Scott franticly says. “We need to get out of here now! There are some Humvees parked in the parking lot to the east. If we go now, I think we can make it.”

He walks toward the door, but stops suddenly. His hands move up in front of him. I can’t see what he’s doing. He paces back and forth as if consumed by indecision. His manic behavior is causing the both of us to proceed with caution. After all, he’s been bitten. I don’t think he even realizes it with the way he’s acting.

Cassie keeps her finger over the trigger of her pistol. Her eyes shift to me then back to Scott. He walks back toward us. She brings the pistol to bear.

He halts, a look of shock flooding his face. His lips tremble with fear as he raises his hands in the air. “What the hell is this all about?”

Cassie holds him at bay with the barrel of the pistol trained at his head. He takes a step forward as she bears down with the pistol. “Don’t come any closer, Scott,” she warns. “The inside of your right forearm. You’ve been bitten.”

Confusion swirls in his eyes. He offers a brief look to his left first, then to his right. It takes a moment for the reality of what has happened to sink in.

Blood drips from the tattered skin. His eyes widen with panic as tears stream down his dirty, flushed cheeks. He lifts his head up to us with a frantic, doomed look. “You’ve got to help me, please.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Cassie inquires. “You’re already infected.”

I snare Duke’s collar, and hold him in place. I don’t want him charging Scott unless absolutely necessary. Don’t want to take the risk.

His trembling fingers play over his quivering lips as he tries to come up with the words to respond.

The double doors at the entrance fly open as Lucas rushes in. Startled, Scott flinches and releases a frightful squeal as his body tenses up. Duke barks at first from the sudden surprise, but quickly halts his aggressive growling.

“We need to leave, now,” Lucas says through panted breathing. He hurriedly gets back to the double doors and peers through the narrow slit. “I just took out a handful of those things. They seem to be coming out from every direction.”

Glancing around Scott, I crane my neck in Lucas’s direction.

“Can we make it to the truck?”

He shakes his head, then shrugs. “Not sure, but I wouldn’t want to risk it. I think I saw more of the chasers moving about the vehicles in the street that runs in front of the school. It was hard to tell for sure because it’s dark.” He cuts his gaze back over his shoulder. A confused expression washes over him as he points to Scott. “Um, what’s going on here? Why do you have the pistol on him?”

Scott advances toward Lucas.

Cassie’s sweet, soothing voice morphs to that of a horse growl that stops him dead in his tracks. “I don’t want to kill you, but if you take one more step, I’ll place a slug in that head of yours.”

Scott turns to his side. His eyes shift to us first, then to Lucas as he proceeds to plead his case. “Help me, please. Those kids have lost their minds. They’re trying to kill me.”

Lucas diverts his gaze from Scott to me.

“He’s been bitten. Inside right forearm,” I advise. Lucas shifts his eyes to Scott’s arm. Scott tries to conceal the gnarled flesh by bringing it closer to his body. “Could’ve happened earlier when you saved him from the chasers who were attacking him.”

Lucas brings his shotgun up. He trains the barrels of the stout weapon at Scott’s chest. “Great. What’s our play here?”

My fingers release from around Duke’s collar, and motion for him to stay put. I point to the left in the direction of the parking lot in front of the school.

“Scott said that there are some Humvees out front of the school’s main entrance. Since we can’t get to the truck, we might try one of them.”

“There could be more of them out that way as well,” Lucas counters.

Cassie adds in her two cents. “True, but we really don’t have a choice here. We need to do something before we become completely overrun. I say we go for it.”

Scott lowers his arms. He pleads with Lucas through sobbing teary muffles of sadness and desperation.

“Please don’t leave me. Take me with you. Perhaps I’m not infected, and I’m like his sister. I don’t want to die here!”

“You’re already dead,” I flatly say.

Grunts from the chasers circulating around the main entrance of the structure capture our attention.

Keeping the shotgun trained on Scott, Lucas tries to ascertain the creatures’ whereabouts. “What if we take him with us to the Humvees? He can take one, and we’ll take the other.”

Scott shakes his head emphatically. “I won’t last two seconds out there on my own. The reason I survived here was because I was hiding, and it was quiet. That is, until you three showed up and started causing all sorts of unnecessary noise.”

I’m done debating this. We need to leave now. Whatever happens to Scott is solely on his shoulders.

“We’re done with this. It’s time to-”

Heavy footsteps rush into the entrance of the building. Multiple grunts and growls fill the space. Lucas twists on his heels, and brings the shotgun to bear as the chasers throw open the doors.

His shotgun belches fire from the barrels, illuminating the enraged chasers’ faces in a portrait of madness. The repercussion of the throaty blast batters my skull like a sledgehammer.

The pellets rip through a chaser’s chest, and exit out through his back. It stumbles and drops to one knee briefly before trying to get going again.

Scott tucks tail and bolts to the left. I flinch and bring the machete up in the air. He disappears through a set of doors that lead to another section of the facility.

Chasers flood forward, slamming into Lucas. He’s thrown to the floor, air rushing from lungs in a whoosh. Prone on his back, he struggles to get his feet under him as the chasers go in for the kill.

He kicks his legs at the creatures, knocking some back and off balance as they quickly regain their footing and come surging back.

Duke takes off and engages one of the chasers wrestling with Lucas on the ground. His teeth try to find their mark on any portion of the chaser’s body that he can. He tries to bite the creature to our right on the leg, but is thwarted by a heavy hand that swats him in the head. A yelp escapes his snout. His body reels from the impact as he dumps over to his side.

Cassie keeps the light trained on Lucas and the creatures. The barrel of the pistol pivots about.

“I can’t get a clear shot!” she screams out.

Lucas grunts as both of his hands keep the deranged chasers at bay. Wielding the machete, I strike with blind fury at the chasers’ limbs. The broad blade hacks and chops through the meaty portions.

“Take Duke and get to the Humvees!” I shout. “We’ll be close behind!”

Cassie’s lips purse. She has the pistol trained at the chasers attacking Lucas, searching for a clear shot that will avoid striking Lucas. I catch sight of her legs as she shuffles in place. “Come on, Duke.”

Duke gets back to all fours as a deep-seated growl of pure animal rage looms through his throat.

“No! Go with Cassie,” I harshly snap.

Duke continues growling for a bit more before Cassie pats her leg sternly and calls his name. He complies with her command.

They both leave out through the doors to our left—the same way that Scott did. The bright luminescence of the flashlight’s beam is reduced a dim glow from the dumped over computer screens.

Lucas manages to bring his legs up to his chest. The soles of his boots press against the chaser’s lacerated chest. Fighting to get past, the chaser forces the full brunt of its weight down on him.

“Damn things,” Lucas angrily spews through clenched teeth.

The machete finally cleaves through the chaser’s arm that I’m working on. The limb plops to the floor next to Lucas. My free hand wraps around the side of its head and yanks toward me. It’s body dumps over onto its side. Dark fluid pumps from the missing appendage in bursts.

Lucas brings the chaser closer before thrusting his legs hard forward. The creature flies back, crashing backward through the set of double doors. It crashes into the wall close by the opening to the building.

Without pause, I hack at the flailing chasers’ neck. Each blow sinks farther into the creature’s flesh until it slices all the way through.

Lucas scrambles to his feet. He retrieves the shotgun and grabs my arm tightly. He pulls me back from the headless corpse. “Come on!”

CHAPTER SEVEN

We take off after Cassie and Duke through the swinging door. The ever-persistent clamoring of the chasers beyond the walls crashes through the front, and gives chase. Anything could be lurking within the ether of blackness around us. Up ahead, a beam of yellow light dances off the walls—a beacon of hope shines within the pit of despair. I keep a few paces behind Lucas as the door we just came through crashes open.

A mob of ghastly gray silhouettes swarms toward us. They’re reckless and wild, crashing through whatever is contained in this area of the building without care or concern.

“Over here!” Cassie waves her hand franticly from side to side as Duke barks and growls. She shines the light in our direction, bringing to life bulky green totes and other junk stacked about.

“Where’s Scott?” I ask from behind Lucas.

“He went through here,” Cassie turns toward a door and rams the right side of her shoulder into it. Her tiny frame does little against the barrier.

Lucas waves his left hand to the side, motioning for her to move away as we hurriedly approach.

Cassie steps to the side, giving Lucas access to the exit. She brings her pistol to bear and shines the light at the chasers rushing toward us. She opens fire at the horde of infected. Round after round spats from the end of the barrel. The deafening concussion of the weapon in the enclosed space hurts my ears.

A few miss the chasers’ heads, striking them in the arms and other various points on their bodies. The contact knocks them off balance enough to trip them up, and they stumble to the floor. The others following close behind lose their footing, and topple on top of them.

I shake my head, trying to clear out the ringing filling my ears.

“Come on, damn it,” Lucas growls as he takes a step back and rams the door. It doesn’t budge. He massages his arm briefly while he moves back from the door. “Can’t tell if it’s jammed, or something is blocking it from the other side.”

I get alongside Lucas as Cassie continues firing at the mass of dead surging toward us. “On the count of three.”

Lucas nods.

I’m not sure how much help my body will do, but it’s better than nothing. “One. Two. Three.”

We both smash into the door. It swings open. We stumble outside into the damp grass. Duke bolts out of the building, followed by Cassie. Her pistol clicks empty as Lucas scrambles for the door. He grabs the edge, and slams it shut.

“I’m out!” Cassie informs. “That was my last magazine.”

“Doesn’t matter. We need to get to the Humvees now!” Lucas quickly adds. “This way.”

He dashes to the left with us in tow. We pound the ground hard, making our way down through the opening between the structures on our left and right. There is no sign of Scott, which to be honest, I’m glad. Although I am grateful for him informing me of my sister, I can’t say that with him being infected I felt overly comfortable having him among us.

We round the corner of the building to our right. Startled, Lucas holds us up as he comes to a sudden stop. His boots glide over the moist blades of grass as he puts his arms out to try and keep his balance.

The vague outline of a figure, with it’s back facing us, is hunched over. The squishing of something wet plays in the air as it digs into a mass of dark, tattered clothing before it.

The chasers’ grunts and heavy breathing loom from the opening behind us. Duke’s subtle growling grabs the figure’s attention. It turns our way. Meaty strands of flesh and shreds of bloody clothing protrude from its mouth. It chews and tugs on the stringy muscle. It’s lips and chin are stained red. It chomps up and down as it starts to get up. I bury the blade of the machete into the crown of the chaser’s skull. It collapses, lifeless.

“Guess Scott didn’t make it to the Humvees after all,” Cassie announces. The beam from the flashlight brings to life his body, his rib cage cracked open like a lobster’s shell. His eyes are wide. I can only imagine what he witnessed in his final moments before being devoured.

I wiggle the blade free from the chaser’s skull as we get back on the move.

The mob of infected filters out from the opening and remains in hot pursuit of us.

“What the hell are we going to do if the Humvees don’t have keys inside of them?” I pose through panted breathing.

“We’ll improvise,” Lucas shouts back.

More chasers materialize from the darkness to our right. It’s difficult to gauge their numbers, but ultimately it really doesn’t matter. We’re more than outmanned right now, and the only thing that matters is getting to those military vehicles.

Lucas points ahead of us at the fence. On the other side, are four Humvees that are lined up in a row and parked next to the curb. I don’t spot any movement beyond the stout chain link fence that encompasses the school grounds. A good sign as far as I can tell.

“How are we suppose to get to the other side?” Cassie hisses panic as we scour the intertwined steel links for a way through.

The looming threat of the chasers bears down on us. We’ve committed to this act and have no choice but to find a way through. There is no retreating. We find a way to the other side, or we fight to the bitter end.

Duke turns and faces the ravenous mob converging on us from all directions. He barks and growls, baring his teeth and jumping from side to side. Like a tidal wave of teeth, they advance. We’re at the end of the line.

I don’t plan on dying here, though. Not today. Not while I still have life inside my body and a reason to live.

I formulate my plan of attack as my eyes shift from left to right. There is no easy way out of this. I’ll just have to slash and kill anything that gets within striking distance.

“I found a way through!” Lucas calls out from our left.

We scurry down the length of the fence to where Lucas is while the stampede of infected follow. He has a portion of the barrier unlatched and swung open. He waves his arm swiftly in a circular pattern to hurry us through.

Cassie goes first, followed by Duke then myself. Lucas pushes the gate closed and secures it by setting the steel latch into place just as the swarm of chasers arrive. He takes a step back as the ravenous horde slams into the fence.

Their shadowy faces press firmly to the steel. They growl and bare their teeth. They attempt to squeeze their arms through the tiny openings within the fence, but fail to get their hands through.

The clamoring of the brood grows louder and louder as more arrive. I take in the mass of bodies collecting a mere five feet away. I feel as though I’m taunting the creatures by just standing here.

Most, if not all, show a decline in their physical appearance. Frail skeletal frames are draped in smirched flesh that has seen better days. I imagine the more people they infect, the less of a food source they have. I contemplate as to if they’ve ever turned on each other. Consumed the dead rotting flesh of their own kind. It’s hard to tell. Perhaps things aren’t too bad yet for that to happen. Either way, I hope they all starve, and die a slow, painful death.

Gripping the machete, I contemplate exacting some much-needed revenge to soothe my aching soul. A perfect time to do it without much worry from the creatures getting to me. I take two steps toward the fence.

“James. Come on,” Lucas calls out to me.

I’m torn between my moment of weakness, and doing what is the smart thing. If one has an opportunity to flee from the chasers, they should do it. I finally give in, and leave the horde of dead to lust after me. There will be another time to deal with such matters.

I spin around to face the Humvees. The interior light from the lead combat vehicle is a guiding light within the darkness of night. The passenger side door is swung open, and void of any bodies. I slip my pack off my back, and shove it on the floorboard. I grab the handle, mounted in the corner of the vehicle, and pull myself up in the cab. Secured to the dash next to me are two rifles. Nice.

I peer back over my shoulder to the back seat where Duke and Cassie are nestled. I only see the back of Cassie’s head as her attention is focused outside the dark-tinted window at the chasers trying to break through the fence.

“You good, boy?”

Duke’s ears stand erect, and his body is rigid as he fidgets in place. The commotion from the chasers is keeping him on edge. I feel much the same way.

“Damn it. Come on you piece of crap.” Lucas searches for something below the steering column. I think he’s trying to hotwire the truck.

“No keys?” I inquire.

His lips purse. He strains to rip the cover free from the steering column to expose the wires. “Not that I could find quickly. We wait too much longer, and we’ll run the risk of those things breaking through. On a regular vehicle, this would be an easier endeavor.”

Staring at the dash, I search for any place that a set of keys could be hidden. I remember with the Bronco, my dad would stash extra sets in certain places just in case we needed them. For the life of me though, I can’t seem to remember where right now.

“Guys, we need to move,” Cassie warns. “Not sure how much longer that fence is going to remain intact.”

The tumult from the voracious mob sounds as one loud speaker, drawing in more that are within earshot of the school.

Lucas remains silent as he focuses on trying to get the Humvee started. Skimming over the dash toward the driver’s side, I spot a hint of silver from one of the nooks. I reach inside and feel around. My fingers grip the object and pull them out.

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

Lucas catches sight of the keys dangling before his face. He sits back in his seat and grabs them from me. “Hopefully, these are it.”

There are only three keys on the key chain. He tests the first, which doesn’t even slip into the ignition.

I peer to my right and notice the fence is starting to bow outward toward the parking lot. The chasers are more than determined to get through.

“That fence is going to give at any time,” I advise.

“I’m working on it,” Lucas snaps back. He slips the third and final key into the ignition. It slides in effortlessly. He turns the key over and cranks the engine.

The Humvee thrums to life. It sounds infinitely better than that truck we used when leaving my parents’ cabin. The engine shows no signs of faults or problems that could hinder us. At least, for now.

Lucas claps his hands excitedly. “Yes.” He slams his door shut. I do the same. The overhead light fades away, leaving only the brightness from the gauges on the dash to illuminate the interior. Lucas switches on the numerous lights outfitted on the tactical vehicle’s body.

The intense sharpness of the beams brings to life numerous chasers standing before us in the darkness.

“Oh, crap,” Cassie mutters from the back seat at the troubling sight. “What are we going to do?”

Lucas shoves the Humvee into gear. He grips the steering wheel with both hands as he revs the engine. “We’re going to plow through them.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Glancing out the window, I stare at the panting, stationary chasers. They’re still a ways away, but given their proclivity to cover large amounts of ground quickly, they could be on top of us before we know it. With that being said, I’m a tad hesitant at just going all out and bulldozing the creatures. If this rig gets messed up now, we won’t stand a chance of being able to escape.

“Are we sure we just want to go balls to the wall and charge headlong at them?” I ask.

“Doesn’t look like we’re going to have much of a choice considering they’re blocking the way out of here. Besides, this is a military combat vehicle. It’s made to withstand enemy gun fire and much more. It shouldn’t have any problems with those things.” Lucas keeps pressure on the gas pedal. The engine shows no sign of backing down, and neither does he. “I figured you’d be all for plowing through them since you seem to be on a suicide trip.”

He is right. My perception of reality has been twisted and morphed into a blinding rage of hate. Any chance that I’m afforded to dish out some painful payback on the creatures for what they have stolen from me, I’m more than willing to jump on that opportunity. Especially now. But with the recent revelations of Cindy’s possible survival, I need to think more rationally. Attempt to not give in to my basic instincts to just act without thought.

Something dense slams into the passenger side door next to me. Everyone in the Humvee gasps, and slightly yells from the surprise. I lean away, and stare out of the dark-tinted glass.

A chaser has the right side of his face pressed firmly to the window. His fists pound the steel body of the Humvee repeatedly. Duke barks and growls as more chasers converge on us.

“The fence is collapsing!” Cassie warns.

Looking through the enraged, hungry creatures wailing on the Humvee, I watch as the fence topples over in our direction. The caged chasers flood out of the enclosure, and charge our way.

Lucas punches it. The tires squeal as we take off. The chasers before us jump to life, and rush headlong toward us. They give no indication of veering out of the way. Self-preservation for the creatures is a notion that died once the virus consumed them. All they see now is a possible food source that needs investigating.

The chasers slam into the grill of the Humvee with a heavy thud. The recently turned infected, that still look somewhat human, vanish under the vehicle, while some of the more famished starved frames of the chasers are tossed up onto the hood. Their gaunt faces smash into the windshield. Heads crack open as blood and other fluids splatter over the glass.

Lucas cuts the steering wheel hard to the left. The bulky vehicle alters its course through the empty parking spaces, and hops over the yellow concrete parking stops. We’re jostled violently inside the cab every which way. The howls from the chasers filter inside the vehicle. Lucas keeps his boot mashed to the floor as his hands shimmy from side to side.

“Watch out for the car!” Cassie warns as she leans forward and points out of the windshield.

“Yeah, I can see that!” Visibly stressed, his tongue plays over his taut lips, and his eyes focus on the street ahead. Cars block our way.

My left hand braces against the dash while the other grabs the handle. I see no way for us to slip through without crashing into the parking lot of cars. I have no choice, but to trust that Lucas knows what he is doing.

I look in the sideview mirror, and spy the ghostly, shadowy frames of the chasers pounding the pavement behind us. They’re lit up in a red hue from the vehicle’s taillight. Their arms are outstretched in our direction, their moans carrying on the back of the wind whipping about.

I catch movement just outside the vehicle.

Hold on. What the hell is that?

I lean toward the window as dismay fills me. A ragged hand clutches the bottom portion of the mirror’s frame. My eyes shift toward the rear and follow along the dimly lit arm to find we have a stowaway.

The chaser’s tenuous frame flutters in the darkness like a feather caught in a tornado. It reaches out to grab my image within the glass, but with every bump in the road, the chaser’s body slams into the doors with a dense thud.

“Christ! There’s one of those things hanging on the outside!” Cassie screams from the back of the vehicle.

“Yeah. It’s holding onto the mirror,” I confirm as I drift back from the window. They are tenacious, that much is certain.

“Hold on!” Lucas blurts out.

He jerks the steering wheel hard to the left. The tires screech as my body is slung into the door. We bounce over a curb and into the grass. We tear through a wooden fence and into someone’s yard. Busted boards fly into the air and crash into the windshield. A kid’s inflatable bounce house is knocked out of the way.

Cassie clutches Duke in her arms tightly as he barks and cowers into her. Lucas focuses on the remaining fence dead ahead.

We bust through and emerge into the front yard. Lucas rotates the steering wheel to the left, narrowly missing a massive tree that scrapes along the passenger side of the Humvee. The sideview mirror, and the chaser who is attached to it, disappear. The crunching of metal and busted glass fills my ears for a split second before the throaty engine takes over.

Lucas threads the needle, as best he can, between two cars that lay in our path. The wide, bulky body of the Humvee smashes into both of the vehicles head on. The sound of tormented steel and crunching glass creates a horrifying apex.

We’re thrown wildly about as Lucas fights to tame the swerving combat transport. The tires squeal as we drift over the pavement at an angle, straight toward another parked car. Lucas works the brake and steering wheel in tandem, trying to slow our out of control trajectory.

With teeth clenched and hands franticly twisting the steering wheel to the left, Lucas manages to graze only the driver’s side quarter panel and bumper. We deflect off the stationary vehicle and straighten out, heading down the winding street.

Lucas leans forward and peers into his sideview mirror. He expels a deep sigh of tension through pursed lips. Beads of sweat populate his moist brow. He keeps the Humvee going hard through the streets of Hillsdale, putting as much distance between us and the horde of chasers as possible.

“Everybody ok?”

We’re all a bit frazzled at the moment, reeling from the intense getaway that nearly snuffed out our lives. My fingers are dug into the armrest on the door and the center console. I look to the back seat and stare at Cassie. She takes a big gulp, and swallows the fear stuck in her throat as she strokes Duke’s coat.

“You good?” I inquire.

Although hesitant, she nods. “Yeah.”

My eyes shift down to Duke who is not as vocal right now. I imagine he’s a bit frightened as well. I reach back and strain to run my fingers through his coat. “How are you doing, boy?”

His face is cloaked in darkness, making it difficult to make out his reaction. Considering that he isn’t barking his head off or sitting up in the seat says a lot.

My fingers move to the left through his fur. They finally find his head. His tongue gently licks over my hand as I rub underneath his chin. I love on him for a few seconds more. Doing so helps calm him down, and me as well.

I cut my eyes over to Lucas. He brushes the sleeve of his coat across his forehead. His hand trembles against the steering wheel as his other rubs up and down his face.

“How are you holding up?” I ask.

He offers a thumbs up, and cuts his gaze over to me with wide eyes as he shakes his head. “I could use a smoke and a stiff drink, but all things considered, I’m good. Just happy to be alive.”

“That was some pretty good driving back there,” I mention. “Cutting through that yard probably saved our hides. Not sure I would’ve thought to do that.”

Lucas shrugs. “It was a last-minute decision that fortunately panned out in our favor. Can’t say that I’ve ever done anything like that before. Glad it worked out the way it did. Whoa!” Lucas swerves to miss a chaser. The gleam of the headlights brings to life the infected creature’s sunken face and boney body. It charges us in a dead sprint. Its blood-stained fingers reach for the armored body of the Humvee as we fly by. It turns to give chase, but it’s futile to do so.

“Damn things are crawling out of the wood work now. Did you find something worthwhile before everything went to hell in a hand bag?” Lucas says.

“I think so.” I raise up off the seat, and dig into my back pocket for the map. I wiggle free the waded-up paper, and present it to Lucas. “I found this hanging on one of the walls with some locations circled along Interstate 5. Given what Scott said, I figure we start at the top, and work our way down till we find her.”

“Christ.” Lucas slams the brakes of the Humvee without warning. The tires screech, the tread fighting to slow our momentum. I’m thrown forward, but manage to brace my arms against the dash to keep my face from smacking into the windshield. During our escape from the compound, I forgot to latch my seat belt. I do that now.

Cassie mutters some choice words from the back as her bulk hits my seat.

I peer over to Lucas with a dumfounded expression. He stares out of the windshield with a blank look coating his flushed face. Whatever he sees has him worried enough to steal his tongue.

“What’s wrong?”

With his hand still resting on the steering wheel, he points ahead of us. “More Trouble.”

CHAPTER NINE

When it rains, it pours. A crap storm is always waiting on the horizon. It’s inevitable that you’re going to drive through it sooner or later, son. Hell, you may even stay under its brown, smelly anus for some time. Just remember, no one is lucky enough to avoid it all of their lives. Not even you, James.

My dad. Ever the word smith. A man who spoke his mind and told me how things were. No sugarcoating it. Just blunt and to the point. After all, life doesn’t sugarcoat anything. Why should we?

Through his life experiences, I imagine he swam the dark rivers of fecal matter more than I’d like to know of or count. Most times, he handled any such adversity as a grownup would—poised and collected. Other times, he’d excuse himself, and punish some unsuspecting inanimate object until he felt better.

I am my father’s son. His temper thrives inside me. I am trying to maintain my composure as best I can, but it is proving to be more difficult than what Dad could’ve ever told me it would be.

Right now, I feel as though the brown river runs deep, and it’s only getting deeper. Time to put on the wading boots, I guess.

Leaving the school the way we did, our trek into the unknown is not the same as it was when we first arrived. Coming in, we had the aid of signs that the military had put out. We also didn’t have mobs of chasers hot on our tails, or the bleakness of night to contend with.

Now, we’re just lost in unfamiliar territory where all of the suburban streets look the same. If that isn’t bad enough, then the road block, jammed with abandon cars and chasers, is.

Cassie leans forward and peers out through the windshield. She rests her arms on the center console, and pivots her head from left to right. Her discouraged look parrots mine and Lucas’s. “I guess it’s too much to ask for a break, isn’t it?”

Duke places his paws up next to Cassie’s arms as he pants slightly. She rubs under his snout. They have really bonded in a short time.

“There is no plowing through there, that’s for sure,” I add. “At least they haven’t noticed us yet.”

We’re parked in the middle of the street, and set far enough back from the congestion of metal and infected that the headlights only pierce the veil of blackness so far. The creatures that can be seen from our vantage point mill about the vehicles like they are lost and without purpose while others stand like statues, frozen in time. They’re acting similar to the ones in the town where I came across Cassie. Does the lack of stimulus place them into a catatonic state? That is one possible theory I have thought of. It seems plausible.

Lucas cocks his head to the right. He nods at the map I have clutched in my hands.

“You said Interstate 5, correct?”

I confirm with a tilt of my head. “That is what it shows. The closest destination marked on the map is a town called Yreka.”

Lucas’s palm kneads his black beard. He finally sighs. “Does that show any of the side streets or the fastest way to get to Interstate 5 from where we are?”

I unfold the map fully and lay it flat on my legs. Cassie shines her flashlight at the wrinkled paper as I skim over the area. My fingers trace along the paper while I look for any such markings designating streets or anything of the sort.

“It doesn’t show anything like that. Just vague references to towns and cities and the major roads that intersect with them,” I say.

Lucas nods, then adjusts his bulk in the Humvee’s less than comfortable seating. It’s firm and rigid as if it were made out of bricks. “I figure we’re not too far away from where we came in earlier.”

Cassie peeks at the map as her fingers continue to massage Duke’s fur. “I think we came in on SW Chestnut St. from Terwilliger Blvd.”

Those names jog my memory. Although, it’s only been a few hours or so since we arrived. My mind must have forgotten considering everything that has transpired.

I peer back to her and nod in agreement. “Yeah. I think that’s it.”

“Do we know what street we are currently on?” she asks.

Lucas positions his hands back on the steering wheel while I peer out of my window in search of any sort of marker or road sign. With the absence of daylight or any glint to aid us in our hunt, I’m finding it difficult to locate anything useful.

“Can’t tell from looking out the window. The tint isn’t helping and neither is the darkness.” I hold my hand out toward Cassie. “Let me see the flashlight. I’m going to step out really quick and see if I can get a bead on where we need to go.”

Hesitant, Cassie places the aluminum casing in my hand, but she doesn’t let it go. “You sure that’s a good idea? There could be more of those chasers close by. You step out there, you could get attacked by one.”

I grab the handle of the machete, and start to lift it up.

“You’re not going out there.” Lucas interjects curtly.

Excuse me? I cut my eyes over to him. “Why not? We have no clue where we are or how to get to Interstate 5.”

With a semi steady hand, he reaches down to the gear shift on the center console. His fingers close over the black knob tightly.

“Sit back and hold on,” he flatly orders.

Cassie quickly drifts back into the seat with Duke in her arms. My eyes shift from Lucas to out the windshield.

The chasers that were motionless now stare in our direction. A mixture of angular faces and stout bodies draped in an array of military clothing and regular civilian threads beam our way.

They advance toward us, slowly at first, as they find their way through the maze of stationary steel. They climb over the hoods and appear out from underneath the chassis of the vehicles. Like a lion spotting its prey, they’re ready to chase down their meal.

“We’ll find our way over to I5, but for now, we need to get back on the move,” Lucas warns through a tense breath.

I spot the silhouette of a figure charging right at us through the murkiness of the night. Before I have a chance to raise any alarm, it slams into the door with a painful clatter. The flashlight springs up and fires the beam of light out though the tinted glass.

Lucas jumps up from his seat slightly as a gasp and growl escape his lips. He leans away from the door and stares at the chaser’s macabre, sallow face. It barks and howls, fists hammering against the resilient glass.

The chasers before us morph from an ambling group to a sprinting mob that charges our way. More chasers appear from the blackness, and converge on us once more. With his hand still firmly gripping the gear shift, Lucas pulls it back into reverse and hits the gas.

He gets back up straight in his seat. Both hands grip the wheel tightly as he peers into the sideview mirror.

“We need to find another street to turn onto.” His voice is stricken with panic, but he remains as calm and collected as he can. I’m glad that he’s driving now instead of me.

Flooring it in reverse, Lucas’s attention toys between the sideview mirror and the uproar of the chasers seeking our flesh. I scour my side of the street for any outlet that we can exploit to gain some distance from the chasers.

Grass, trees, and houses line the suburban street with no way out. More tormented souls stagger in the night, and reach for the Humvee as they join their depraved brethren in the hunt.

“I’m not seeing a way out of here,” I call out.

The Humvee swerves erratically from side to side as Lucas tries to dodge any debris and stagnant vehicles that are parked in the street. I go to look in my sideview mirror, but remember that it was removed by the tree that nearly took us out.

“Christ!” Lucas shouts. His hands franticly twist the steering wheel to the right, sending the bulky vehicle swaying from side to side suddenly. We strike something hard that jolts us in our seats. The crunching of metal signals that we more than likely ran into a vehicle.

Jarred and a little dazed from the collision, Lucas shakes off the disorientation before regaining his focus. He shifts the gear into drive and punches the gas.

The chasers slam into the side of the armored body as he brings us full circle and heading back the way we came. We run over a handful of the creatures that rush directly in front of the vehicle without care or hesitation. Their bodies crumble upon impact and disappear from sight. Lucas keeps his foot planted firmly to the floor as the engine revs. It’s pushed to the max.

Cassie and Duke are hunkered down in the back. I can only spot the vague outline of Duke’s furry spine and splotches of Cassie’s leg.

I bring my attention back to the street. My eyes narrow through the windshield at the sign that is coming up. The headlights wash over the white lettering, bringing a stint of relief to an otherwise dire situation.

“SW Chestnut Street!” I call out while pointing dead ahead. “Take a right, then follow it down to Terwilliger Blvd.”

“Are we sure?” Lucas belts out.

Cassie speaks up from her crouched position in the rear of the vehicle. “Those were the streets that I could remember.”

Lucas cuts the steering wheel hard to the right without letting up on the gas. The tires struggle to keep traction. We zip past cars. More chasers charge at us from every direction. He does as good of a job as one can dodging the incoming infected.

Careening down the suburban street, Lucas follows the winding road till we come to Terwilliger Blvd. He hooks a right, and floors it down the boulevard.

The number of chasers has reduced some, but there are still stragglers milling about the streets and shops that spot the hint of a possible food source. They twist their bodies in the direction of the incoming noise and sprint toward the road.

We zip past familiar buildings and vehicles which signals that we’re on the right path. I test the seatbelt to make sure it’s still latched and secured. Given our reckless driving, it may be prudent to do that.

I look to my right and find the buckle. I lace it over my waist and secure its end into the latch. We fly past a Pizza Hut, which makes my mouth water. It’s been so long since I’ve had any such food that my stomach growls and beckons for me to fill it full. It will have to wait, though. Perhaps indefinitely.

“Okay, Interstate 5 is right up here, so which way do I go?” Lucas calls out.

Cassie repositions Duke in the seat next to her as she sits up. He stays low, with his head resting on his front paws.

I lean forward and search for any way to get onto the interstate. “I don’t know. We could take Pacific Highway, and follow it down till we can find an on ramp that isn’t completely blocked with cars.”

Lucas cuts his eyes over to me. “That’s a big gamble seeing as Portland is now a complete dead zone with no way of telling how many chasers we’re looking at and where they are.”

“Keep going straight over the bridge,” Cassie flatly orders. “Trust me.”

Lucas blows through the intersection without batting an eye and heads over the bridge.

Confused, I tilt my head to the side. “Isn’t that going in the wrong direction? We want to head in the direction of California.”

Cassie nods. “We’re still heading back in the same direction, just on the other side of the road.” She points to the ramp. I recognize it from earlier. It clicks inside my head as to what she is getting at. “Here! Take the ramp!”

Lucas pumps the brake and takes the dark corner like a formula one driver—just one of the many sports that me and dad watched together.

Gravity shifts everything to the left side of the cab as Lucas dodges more abandoned cars that lurk within the blackness on the ramp. We’re more than likely in the clear from the chasers, but given how they are crawling out of every hollow void within the city, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

We find open roadway that is mostly free and clear of any obstructions. Lucas keeps the Humvee going at its top speed. I don’t question that. The faster we can get to Yreka, the better.

CHAPTER TEN

The humming of the engine.

The warm air brushing against my face.

The silence that has befallen the cab of the Humvee.

The large, thick treads of the tires playing off the asphalt.

It all melds together seamlessly in a rhythmic dance that challenges my resolve to stay awake. Within the lull that is absent of any ravenous creatures hellbent on devouring our flesh, I start to succumb to the darkness that surrounds me.

The back of my head rests against the rigid headrest of the seat as I stare out of the window, and into the great beyond. The faint hissing sound escaping Duke’s snout tickles my ears. Cassie’s just as quiet. I can’t tell if she’s getting some rest or just reflecting in the solace of the past day’s events. She has lost someone as well.

Lucas has been going non-stop since we fled the outskirts of Portland. The armored transport we procured was fortunately topped off with diesel fuel, and apparently has multiple twenty-gallon military grade fuel storage containers latched to the rear of the Humvee. An added convenience that will come in handy if we get into a pinch.

I’m unsure how much time has passed. It’s still in the dead of the night, and we’re trucking right along with not much getting in our way. That is all I need to know.

We switched over to the southbound not too far after leaving Portland. We found an opening and took it. Good thing too seeing as a major accident had the northbound lanes completely blocked—contorted metal all jumbled up into a mess that sought to hinder anyone trying to circumvent this post-apocalyptic nightmare.

Tired and weary, my head rolls over the headrest in the direction of Lucas. My eyelids are battling my will to keep them open when all my body wants to do is sleep. To be honest, sleep scares me. Has for some time. That’s when the dreams come. The nightmares of what I have done since the world seemingly imploded and slipped into madness with no hint of it coming back. Perhaps if a state of emergency was given before the SHTF, as Dad would say, then he could’ve been ready. We could have been ready. Doesn’t matter now anyway. What’s done is done.

I try not to let the demons inside, but they are persistent. No matter what defenses I throw up to stall their arrival, they find a way through. That’s what they do. I need to learn to let them come. After all, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?

Lucas appears to be more relaxed now. Well, he doesn’t look as stressed as he did earlier when we were fleeing for our lives. He’s still as alert as he was when we first arrived. I can’t spot any sort of sleepiness within the stern, rigid expression that has owned his face for a better part of the night. The hue from the gauges in the dash highlights various portions of his facial features, which to my heavy eyes, makes him look even more intense.

He looks toward me. “I thought you were sleeping. You’ve been quiet for a while now.”

I blink slowly, or it feels like I do. I’m sluggish to respond. “I’ve been in and out. Trying to resist the urge to sleep. I figured having another set of eyes keeping watch wouldn’t hurt.”

Lucas subtly nods. “True, but if you’re that sleepy, then you may become delusional and cause more problems. Freak out on me, or see things in the night that aren’t there.”

I try to grasp onto his words, but I’m struggling to process any sort of speech at a normal pace. It takes me a few seconds for what he said to register. “Won’t happen. I’m used to staying up late and functioning without losing my mind. Video games and caffeinated soft drinks... my friend.”

Lucas half smiles, which is barely visible as he turns his attention back to the road. “You want to help, James, get some sleep like everyone else. Now’s the perfect time to do it. Things are calm. You’ve had a trying day. The sleep will do you good, and give you some clarity on what has happened, and what is still to come.”

That’s what I’m afraid of. I know what has happened. I don’t need my mind replaying it over and over again. That’s part of the problem.

I go to speak, but Lucas’s finger presses to his lips. I’m far too exhausted to tell him to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.

“Relax. Get some rest. If I need anything, I’ll make sure to let you know. You won’t have to worry about that.”

My eyes gradually close, and the image of Lucas’s dimly lit face fades to black. We hit a pothole or something in the road which jars me awake enough to open my eyes once more. This time, though, I’m not in the truck, but back in my house.

I’m prone on my back in my bed with Duke sleeping next to my legs. It takes me a moment to sift through the confusion plaguing my haggard mind.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling. What, the hell, is going on? The faint sound of voices beyond my four walls captures my attention. My head lifts free from the softness of my plush pillow. I blink a few times, trying to erase the sleepiness from them.

Daylight, or the hint thereof, brings the hallway to light just before my room. I listen closely to the chattering that is a mixture of chuckles and light-hearted banter. They sound familiar. I know those voices.

I sit all the way up in my bed, which brings Duke to life. He’s not dirty and covered in an array of earthly bound foliage. His yellow, scraggly coat appears to be clean. He also smells decent for a change.

“Hey, boy.” My fingers knead the crown of his head. I’m a bit confused, but I normally am after a hard night of sleeping. Duke gingerly licks my hand as he opens his snout wide to yawn. His fangs glisten as a bead of light from beyond my room strikes them just at the right angle.

“James! You coming down to have breakfast with us?” Dad calls out. “You don’t want it getting too cold. Your mother has been working hard on this amazing spread for the better part of the morning. Come on, sleepy head!”

I swing my legs off the right side of the bed, allowing my boots to hit the hardwood floor. I sit there for a moment, and notice that I’m fully dressed. Decked out in my hunting gear and ballcap. That’s weird. I don’t remember going hunting, or Dad telling me we were going today.

A lingering set of confusion nestles into the back of my brain as I stand up. Duke springs to his paws and leaps from the bed. He dashes out of the room and down the stairs. I imagine the scent of a hearty meal gave him ample incentive to race down to where they are. Then again, that dog never needs much prodding to get him going when it comes to Mom’s food. He’s always hungry.

Standing there, my body feels tired and worn. I’m not sure why. My muscles ache all over as if I’ve wrestled with a bear, and lost badly. Not only that, but a deep sense of sorrow and sadness reside within me for some reason. What the heck is going on with me today? Perhaps a good meal and something to drink will make things better.

I make my way out of my room and down the hallway toward the staircase. I pause briefly at Cindy’s room, and find that her bed is neatly made. Her favorite dolls rest against her unicorn pillows as their stitched button eyes stare at me. Not too creepy. But more so, where is she? Mom never fixes breakfast late in the day, so I’m a bit taken back as to why Cindy’s bed appears as though it hasn’t been slept in. Weird.

I hear Dad and Mom laugh from the kitchen. Their jovial voices are a welcome sound. I pause briefly on the landing, and peek back over my shoulder to Cindy’s room. Strange indeed.

“James, are you coming?” Mom calls out. “If you don’t hurry, Duke is going to take your place at the table. He can smell that thick, crispy bacon, and he wants it badly. So, I’d hurry it up if you don’t want to miss out.”

“Coming!” I respond.

With my hand on the oak banister, I slowly make my way down the stairs to the first floor. On the other side of the sprawling living room, Mom and Dad are sitting at the table. Duke is waiting patiently by my chair as he tilts his head toward me.

Dad notices me and smiles. “It’s alive.” He likes to joke. “Late night, killer? You look a little worse for wear. Dawson keeping you up again on those video games?”

I don’t know. I can feel my face disfigure in bewilderment. They don’t press anymore, or probe as to why I have this look on my face, which is sort of weird. Like most parents, they are generally attuned to mine and Cindy’s behavior. Anytime we act out of the ordinary, they are quick to investigate why. Not so much today, though. Again, strange.

I navigate the labyrinth of furniture that resides in the living room, while making my way over to the table. The more I think of things, the more this feels off for some reason. I can’t pinpoint it, but the vibe doesn’t feel natural at all.

“Saddle up, Son,” Dad says with a mouthful of fried eggs. His fork scrapes along the ceramic plate as he tries to stab the yellowish egg white from the plate’s greasy surface.

I pull out my chair and sit down. Mom reaches over to me and rubs my arm.

“How did you sleep, sweetie?”

My eyes fix on the empty seat across from me where Cindy normally sits. I gaze to my right and past Mom as I crane my neck.

“I… I slept all right, I guess. Where is Cindy? Her bed is perfectly made, and it doesn’t appear as though it has even been slept in. I normally don’t see it like that this early in the morning.”

“She’s not here, silly. You know that.” Mom offers me a big smile as she feeds a large strip of bacon to Duke. He chomps it down in just two bites and looks for more.

“She’s not?” I’m lost. Cindy’s always here. She is generally bugging the crap out of me. “Where is she?”

Dad chuckles once more as he cuts into the French toast that is now on his plate. “Did you hit your head or something, Son? The government has her.”

Mom reaches out and grabs my arm softly. “Honey, are you sure you’re feeling all right? You’re acting awfully peculiar this morning. You’re not getting sick, are you?”

My gaze cuts to Dad, then Mom. Why the heck are they so calm, and acting as though the answer provided is ok in the slightest.

“And you’re ok with this why?”

“Honey, you sure did out shine yourself today. This was a fantastic spread. Plus, a great cup of java to boot.” Dad sets his fork down on the edge of his plate. He holds up a finger as he grabs his white coffee mug. He takes a big sip from the hot brew.

Mom makes a kissy face at him and winks. “Anything for my men.”

What the hell is happening here? Why are they acting as if nothing is wrong with this picture?

Anger swells in the pit of my gut. Both hands ball into tightly clenched fists as my lips purse. They continue making faces at each other.

I snap and hammer the edge of the table abruptly. “What the hell is wrong with you two? Cindy has been taken by the government, and you’re just sitting eating as if that’s a perfectly acceptable response. Now tell me what the hell is going on!”

They stare at me. Dad places both elbows on the table and laces his fingers together. Mom wipes her mouth free of any left-over food and sets the napkin down on top of her plate.

“Son, we’ve been over this a few times,” Dad calmly states.

“Enlighten me again, please then, Dad,” I curtly respond.

“They took your sister because she’s been bitten by the infected, but hasn’t turned. They are not sure as to why, but they hope to figure it out.”

“Those chasers are dreadful creatures. So primitive, like mindless vessels destroying everything in their path,” Mom quickly adds.

Infected?

Chasers?

The wheels grind inside my head. For some reason, this all sounds familiar. Not sure how, but it does. As if it has happened to me before. Deja vu maybe.

My eyes cut down to my mounding plate of food. I stare intently at it while Mom and Dad continue to banter back and forth. Something moves on my plate.

What is that?

I lean in closer, and spot a white, round object slithering about in my fried egg. I retrieve my fork and investigate. The steel ends prod the burnt white outer edge. I lift it up, and discover it is a maggot.

The fork drops from my hand and clatters on the plate. I gasp in disgust and lean back. I close my eyes briefly, and open them again to find more of the disgusting insects crawling all over the rotting food on my plate.

“James, sweetie, you’re scaring me. What is wrong?” Mom inquires with a softly spoken tone.

Panting, I look up, and find her face to be bloody and disfigured with a winding gap in her forehead. Her skull has been cracked open with a portion of her brain visible through the strands of hair that stick to the grisly looking wound.

I give a loud scream that sends my eyes nearly bugging out of my skull.

Another hand grabs my left forearm, and I dare to look.

Dad is just as badly disfigured with a portion of his head completely missing now. Blood drains from his torn, tattered lips as the infection swirls in his eyes.

An orange, burnt glow beyond the windows captures my glassy eyes. Fire and smoke loom in the distance as far as I can see. There is no clear blue sky. No birds chirping, and no hint of a normal, peaceful life.

“What’s going on here?” I mutter. I try to scoot away from the table, but both my parents gangly looking hands remain latched onto my arms.

“This is hell, Son. Where we are now because your mother and I are dead. But it’s ok. We’ve come to terms with it and have moved on. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Mom smiles, revealing rotting teeth out from under her blood-stained lips. “That is correct. I imagine soon James and Cindy will be joining us for eternity. It will be so nice to have the family all together again. Isn’t that right, Duke?”

I look to my right, and find Duke staring at me. His eyes are consumed by the virus. His fangs are completely visible through the missing flesh around his snout. He growls, and barks at me as Mom and Dad snicker in delight.

“No. No. This isn’t real. I’m just dreaming.”

Dad grabs me by the scruff of my camo jacket. He yanks me forward. His eyes narrow at me, and the rotted flesh of his brow furrows. “Do yourself a favor, Son. Prepare for the end, because it’s coming, despite what you try to do to stop it.” He lunges for my throat.

I close my eyes, and scream aloud as I’m startled awake by a restrictive hand on my shoulder.

“James, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I shoot forward in my seat in a panic. Beads of sweat coat my face. It mixes with the grime that covers my skin, making it tacky. My heart hammers so fast and hard that it nearly hurts. I look around, looking to the driver’s side seat. Lucas is nowhere to be seen.

Cassie leans against the center console with Duke by her side. They both stare at me for a moment as I struggle to calm down.

“Bad dream?” she finally inquires. “You were talking in your sleep some. Didn’t sound pleasant.”

I suck in a big gulp of air, and hold it for a few seconds before slowly releasing it. “Yeah. You could say that. Wish I didn’t have to sleep. Can’t seem to get a break no matter where I am.”

Cassie nods. “I feel much the same. There is never a good dream. Just dark places that I’d care not to visit again. At least, not like that.”

“Tell me about it.” My hand brushes up and down my face. Although I still feel like crap, at least now I feel more awake and alert than I was before. “Where’s Lucas?”

Cassie motions to the right side of the Humvee with her head.

“He’s filling the tank up with gas real quick. Most places we’ve come across haven’t looked too safe to stop, so he kept going. We had to finally stop and fuel up before the tank ran dry.”

I peer out through the windshield. My eyes narrow as I try to look beyond the darkness.

“Where are we at?”

“Lucas said last sign he saw was for Myrtle Creek. That was a bit ago, though. I’ve been in and out as well, so I’m not sure where we currently are.”

I go to open my door. The driver’s side door cracks open, and Lucas slips inside. The cold chill of the night air drifts into the cab.

“Man. It’s a bit chilly out there after being in this warm cab.” Lucas peeks over to me as he cups his hands together and blows into them. “Rested?”

I shrug. “I guess so. Don’t feel like it, but I’m awake now.”

“Yeah. Didn’t seem like you were sleeping well from the way you were fidgeting in your seat,” Lucas says as he continues to rub his hands together and blow into them.

“Cassie said the last town you remember seeing us go through was Myrtle Creek.”

“It was, but I haven’t seen a sign since. I could’ve missed one, though. There have been splotches of road where cars were in the way, so I had to do some creative driving.”

I lift my right brow in the air slightly in curiosity. “Creative driving?”

“As in, he went off the road and drove in the ditch. Thankfully, we didn’t get stuck or anything.” Cassie interjects. “You woke up disoriented and a bit frantic. Once we got back on the road, you calmed down and went back to sleep. Don’t you remember?”

I shake my head. “I do not. All I remember at the moment is the horrid dream I had.”

“If this would’ve been a car, I’d have been a bit more hesitant to do so, but seeing as we’re traveling about in an armored military combat vehicle with a machine gun mounted to the ceiling, I figured it could handle it,” Lucas says. “Besides, it was that or try to find another way around, which would’ve taken infinitely more time and gas. By the way, we are now running short on gas. I’ve emptied all of the gas cans that were loaded into the rear. I thought they’d be completely full, but they weren’t. They were each maybe halfway filled. Perhaps a little less.”

That sucks.

“How far will that get us before we completely run dry?” I inquire. A feeling of dread slithers in.

Lucas shrugs.

He fires the engine back up, which kicks the heat back on. Its warmth blows from the vents mounted on the dash, but it struggles to battle the cold chill that I feel from Lucas’s not so reassuring response. He stares at the gauges briefly before responding.

“What little I put in barely took us up to a half a tank. Given these types of vehicles get crap for gas mileage, like around eight on the highway and four in the city, we’ll burn through it rather quickly.”

“Doesn’t seem that efficient,” Cassie observes. “Wonder why the military even bothers with such a gas guzzling type of vehicle.”

“I imagine the fuel economy of the vehicle wasn’t high on their list compared to the tactical application that it would provide them. After all, this is a six-ton armored combat vehicle that is specially made for war. Not Sunday driving to a relative’s house. One of the main reasons I never got one of the H3’s years ago.”

A bit defeated, I pick at Lucas’s brain to see what our next move will be. “Ok, given what you said, what should we do? I’d like to avoid having to walk to Yreka, but if that’s what I have to do, then I’ll do it.”

Lucas points in my direction as his head moves from side to side as if he’s in search of something. I wonder what he’s looking for. “Where’s that map you have?”

I look down, and don’t see it. I temporarily forget what I did with it since looking it over last. I feel my back pockets, but they’re empty. I glance down to the floorboard, and move my back out of the way. There it is.

It’s only folded once. I undo it, and spread it open.

“What town is shown next?” Lucas inquires.

I retrieve the flashlight from the dash, and turn it on. I skim over Interstate 5 and locate Myrtle Creek. I continue down to the next listed location. “Looks to be Canyonville. Doesn’t appear to be much further on the map past Myrtle Creek.”

Lucas nods. “Sounds like just as good of a place to stop as any.” He cranes his neck so he can look at the map and narrows his eyes as he leans forward.

“What is it?” I prod.

He points to the heavy green shaded areas that look to populate mountains just beyond the town.

“We’ll definitely need to stop there then to refuel. Doesn’t look like much till we pass through Azalea. A lot of these little towns are hit and miss. Hopefully, we’ll be able to find a station that still has some diesel fuel left. That’s a whole lot of desolate road to be traveling while sucking fumes.”

“Agreed.” I fold the map back up, and slip it inside my gear for safekeeping. If, for some reason, we need to ditch the Humvee in a hurry, I want to make sure I have the map on me. Although not a life shattering thing if it did get lost, it would just make things a tad bit harder. And right now, things are bad enough the way they are.

Lucas places the Humvee into gear and gets us back on the move. I settle into my seat, and exhale a breath of tension and stress.

My body and mind are still suffering the effects of the all-too-real dream that has me feeling weird and disconnected from the world. I know it’s the guilt that is slowly and ever so persistently gnawing away at my insides. One of the reasons I like to stay busy and my mind working on our next move. I’ve always heard that idle hands are the devil’s playground. Right now, my mind is the horned demon’s amusement park, and it seems to be open for business twenty-four seven.

As I sit, warm air blasts me in the face. I divert the vents, and stare out the windows. I watch the trees that fly by as the headlights shine through their scantly formed branches. Glancing at the slender sticks, they appear more as arms attached to a large body than anything else. Long, boney fingers ready to snatch any poor suspecting soul who wanders by.

That’s where my mind is now. Swimming in the deepest and darkest places that project those fears and unspoken horrors that I’m battling into the real world. Not that it has to try that hard. There is more than enough evil now to make one think they were tossed into purgatory and left for all eternity to suffer endlessly.

I close my eyes for a moment, and try to erase the torment that will not release me. I fight through the images of all those I have lost to find a glimpse of Cindy’s sweet smiling, and yet annoying, face.

I focus on that. On her voice. I long to feel something that is not sadness or utter doom. I need to feel love if I have any hope of emerging from this blackness consuming me.

My thoughts battle through the demons that plague me to that happy place where Cindy is at. She’s in her room on her floor with her dolls surrounding her. She’s playing with them, setting up a tea party, then stomping through the middle of them as if she is Godzilla.

Crazy girl.

Much like me, she has an insane imagination and wicked creativity. Makes me think she just enjoys bugging me. Not because she can’t entertain herself, but because she finds it amusing to get a rise out of me. I didn’t realize at the time, but I miss those days now.

I manage to hold the dreadful thoughts at bay as I relive moments that Cindy and I shared. It brings a moment of solace to me that almost causes me to smile.

Lost in my own thoughts, I disconnect from the world for a little bit as the repetitive scenery flashes by. I get so lost in myself, that I don’t realize it when we come to a complete stop.

Lucas snaps his fingers, then waves his hand in front of my face to snare my attention. “James, you home?”

I curb the past memory, and cut my eyes over to him. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“We’re here,” Lucas says.

Cassie leans against the center console. Duke sits next to the door on the driver’s side. I imagine he wants to stretch his legs and probably relieve himself. To be honest, I kind of want to do the same thing.

“The station doesn’t seem to have any power. The pumps aren’t going to work, are they?” she inquires.

Lucas shakes his head. “I’m not even going to bother with the pumps. Most have backup generators that would turn on in the event of a power outage. Given how much time has passed since things have declined, I doubt their generator has any fuel left to power the pumps. That is, if they even have one.” Lucas cuts his gaze out of the window to the pump right next to us. “If they did have some sort of power, there would be some indication letting us know that they did.”

“How do you plan on getting the fuel, then?” I ask. “Seems like a waste of time to stop here if the pumps aren’t operational.”

“We could locate the covers that cover the tanks full of gas underground, which should be off to the side of the pumps close by. Pry one of them up and try to figure out if it is diesel or not, and haul it up. The hardest part would be figuring out what kind of gas it is.” Lucas then points to the large RV’s that are parked close by. “An easier approach would be to check out the vehicles around us. Certain models run off of diesel.”

“I say we check the vehicles. Seems to be the quickest and easiest approach,” Cassie suggests.

I nod.

“Agreed.”

Lucas points towards the rear of the Humvee. “I’m going to take the gas cans and syphon off any fuel I can from any rigs that have the right kind of fuel. Hopefully, there will be more than not that haven’t already been bled dry.”

I reach for the door handle. “Sounds good. Let’s go and get this over with.”

“Hold on there, James.” Lucas holds his hand out and grabs my arm. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for everyone to get out.”

I look down at his fingers that are wrapped around my wrist, then up to his face. “I’m not looking for permission. We’ve been in this vehicle most of the night. We need to stretch our legs, and I imagine Duke needs to relieve himself.”

Lucas peers over to Cassie who agrees with a nod. It’s not that we particularly want to get out for the heck of it. Some fresh air might do us some good.

He stares at Cassie, then me for a few seconds as he remains silent. His approval really isn’t needed. It’s not like I plan on wandering about just for kicks.

Finally, he nods. “All right. Just stay close to the Humvee, and watch each other’s backs.” Lucas goes to open his door.

I hand him the flashlight. “Here. Take this.”

He refuses with his hand in the air, halting me. “You keep it. I found another one in the rear earlier.” Lucas reaches down below the seat and retrieves a large black flashlight that looks like a club. “Stay close and keep quiet. We don’t know if any chasers are lurking nearby.”

“There always seems to be some of those creatures nearby.” I grab my machete as we all disembark the Humvee. Duke gets out of Cassie’s side. With paws to solid ground, he stretches his front legs, and then his back ones.

Lucas moves to the rear of the vehicle and retrieves two of the large gas cans. He’s got a hose that is bound up and clutched between his fingers as he makes his way toward us. “Remember, stay close by and keep an eye out for any chasers. I shouldn’t be too long.”

Cassie points to the containers. “Need me to come with you to keep an eye out and help carry those?”

“Thanks, but I’d rather you three stick together. I’m not going too far away.” Lucas adjusts his grip on the outer handles of the gas cans. He darts off across the parking lot in the direction of the parked RV’s. He hunches over as his head swivels from left to right.

Standing near the Humvee, Duke groans and spins around in place. That’s just one of the many ways he tells me he needs to go to the bathroom, and possibly burn off some pent-up energy. He prefers to do his business in the grass. He’s one of those dogs that likes to turn his rear end toward the waste and kick grass up on it.

I motion with my hands for him to calm down. A stray finger presses firmly to my lips as I shush him silently. He can get quite vocal when he’s excited and has been cooped up for long periods.

I move to the rear of the armored vehicle, and take in the grounds of the gas station. The flashlight scans from right to left, skimming over the sparse parking lot of vehicles that remain stationary and void of any bodies. Off to our right, in the direction of the interstate, is a set of trees and bushes. It’s as good of a place as any.

“Come on, boy.” I pat my leg softly which brings Duke’s head springing up from the ground. He rushes to my side in a frenzied hurry. Cassie walks next to me to my left as we all stroll over to the small patch of earth.

She folds her arms over her chest and shivers. Her lips tremble in the early morning cold. She’s already wearing a coat, but it doesn’t seem to be helping much.

“Would you like my coat as well?”

Her teeth chatter as she cuts her eyes to me. “Won’t you be cold. It’s awfully chilly out here.” Her arms tighten down further over her chest to try and keep the cold at bay.

I shrug, then shake my head. “I’m actually pretty warm right now, so I’ll be fine.” I stop and place the machete between my legs. I start to unzip my coat, but she places her hand on mine.

“Thanks, James, but I’ll be fine. Don’t need you getting sick on account of being a gentleman.” She offers a warm smile through the chilly night air.

I smile back. “It’s no problem. Let me know if you change your mind.”

The zipper gets pulled back up some, leaving a gap to allow some air to circulate within the confines of the dense fabric. I grab the handle of the machete, and we get back on the move. Normally, I’m a pretty cold person, but for some reason right now, it actually feels good. It could be because of everything that is happening and my mood swings that have me raging one minute and calm the next.

Duke moves within the cluster of bushes and grass sprouting up through the woodchips. I can see the vague outline of his furry spine as he searches for the perfect place to handle his business.

We stop and let him do his dog business without us bothering him. We turn toward the storefront and just stare. I view the sign to our left, Creekside Restaurant, and my stomach growls. Man, I’m hungry.

“If you could have anything to eat right now, what would it be?” I ask.

The mere mention of food causes Cassie to moan subtly. Her lips pucker up briefly. “You just had to bring up the F word, didn’t you? Thanks for that.” She nudges my arm playfully as a snicker escapes her soft pink lips.

I nudge her back. “Come on. If you could have anything in the world to eat, what would be your go to? A pizza with everything? A massive hamburger with the works and a side of hot crispy French fries?”

“To be honest, I wouldn’t care. As long as it was hot and fulfilling, I’d be good to go. I’m not overly picky.” Her hand springs up with her finger pointing in the air. She turns to me and says, “I would love a Thomas Kemper Root Beer, though. Ice cold.”

Those drinks are amazing for sure. “Yes! Would have to have one of those.”

Duke leaps from the bushes and trots over to us. He sniffs the ground around our feet. I rub his head and pick out the leaves and other objects that are stuck in his coat. I look back over to the ominous storefront.

“How about we check it out really quick and see if maybe we can find something to drink or eat?”

Cassie squints at the grim structure that is cast in darkness. “I’m not overly sure I want to venture inside. Our luck has been crap lately. Besides, I doubt they have anything substantial that is even edible now.”

I shine the flashlight in the direction of the windows.

“True, but I bet you could probably find something that would satisfy any hunger you may have. Hell, if I can find a pack of M&M’s, I’ll just pretend it’s a steak or that hamburger.”

Cassie stares at me. “Really? Does that kind of stuff actually work?”

“Not sure, but I’m willing to try. I really want a steak now, so who knows. They may even have some Thomas Kemper Root Beer in there too.”

A low blow, I know, but I really want to go inside and see what they have. I am beyond hungry for something hearty. I’m afraid that if I don’t feed the beast soon, it’ll start cannibalizing me from the inside out.

“You know if Lucas finds out that we went in there, he’s going to lose it. I don’t think he wants us just wandering about out here. He didn’t seem too keen on us wanting to stretch our legs and letting Duke do his business.”

I shrug. “Let him. He’s not our parental guardian. To be honest, I don’t think that’s even a thing anymore, is it?”

“Not sure. Fine. Let’s go,” she says. “A steak or something more fulfilling does sound good.”

I think it’s more of her stomach making the decision than her, but I’ll take it.

With Duke by our sides, we head for the restaurant section of the travel center. I keep the flashlight up, and sweep it from left to right. The darkness that lingers on the other side of the windows draws an eerie sensation from the depths of my stomach. The hunger I’m battling compels me to continue on, despite any reservations that I may have. I rationalize the move, convincing myself that no place is ever going to be super safe or secure. Risk is a way of life now. If we have any hopes of surviving, we’re going to have to do things like this—regardless if we want to or not.

I stow any verbal reservations I may have. We’re all hungry, and need to eat. We pass by a SUV that has its driver’s side door ajar. There are no interior lights on. I imagine they burned out long ago. I pause briefly, and shine the light inside.

The seat and dash are splattered in dried blood. It trails out of the vehicle and pools on the ground just outside its steel frame. A shoe imprint is embedded within the red substance on the pavement near the SUV. The sight gives me pause.

We’re close to the entrance of the restaurant, just shy of the curb. I shake my head, trying to rid the image from my mind. I turn, and look toward the building and the surrounding area in search of any chasers that could be lurking within the darkness. I’m not sure I want to venture any farther, but the hunger inside my stomach is persistent.

Cassie grabs my arm suddenly. My body tightens, and I flinch in response. I bring the light to her face, and find her staring dead ahead at the windows.

“What’s wrong?” I inquire.

“I thought I saw someone or something moving around inside the building,” she responds with a nervous voice. She reaches behind her back and retrieves the pistol that is secured inside her pants. She thumbs the hammer back and wraps her fingers around the grip.

My gaze diverts from her to the dimly lit interior of the building. Although dark, one can barely make out the shapes of the booths back rests and the tops of chairs from the light given off from the half moon overhead. I start to bring the flashlight up to shine into the structure.

“James, don’t! I’m telling you, I think there’s someone inside. I saw a shadowy figure over that way.” Cassie removes her right hand from the pistol and points inside the windows to the right of the entrance.

“It could’ve been the light from the flashlight creating shadows from objects inside. That, or it could be your mind playing tricks on you. After all, we haven’t exactly been getting a whole lot of sleep here lately.”

Cassie narrows her eyes at me. Probably not the best choice of words to use. “I know you’re hungry, James. So am I. But I’m telling you, I, for sure, spotted someone inside that building.”

A subtle growl emerges from Duke’s snout as he stares in the direction of the restaurant. Regardless of how starved my body feels, it will have to wait to be fed.

“Come on. Let’s get back to the Humvee. Hopefully, Lucas won’t be too much longer.”

We slowly back up, and turn toward the pumps.

Lucas suddenly appears before us. “Get in the car. We’re leaving now.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lucas places his finger against his lips, indicating for us to remain silent. He looks past us in the direction of the restaurant. His hand rests on my shoulder as his eyes shift from side to side.

“Is it chasers?” Cassie’s voice has a slight twinge of fear in it.

“I can’t say for sure, but I think it may be people. Non-infected.”

I look back over my shoulder at the restaurant. “How many?”

“Don’t know. Spotted two for sure milling around the back of the building before they went inside. I don’t think they noticed me, though.”

“And you’re sure they weren’t chasers?” Cassie probes once more. “If they’re regular people, perhaps we can reach out to them for any supplies that we’re lacking.”

“No.” Both Lucas and myself sternly respond at the same time. We stare at her with conviction engulfing our eyes.

Lucas clarifies. “They had weapons in their hands, so I think that’s a good indicator that they’re not infected. Not completely sure, but it looked like rifles. It was hard to tell for sure since it’s dark.”

Cassie looks confused. “The world is being overrun by those things. I would imagine anyone that we come across is going to be armed.”

“Let’s just get back in the Humvee where it’s safe. I don’t like being exposed like this,” Lucas says before I can get a word out.

With the gas containers clutched in both hands, Lucas spins on his heels and makes a beeline for the Humvee. We follow suit. He secures the gas in the rear as we load back up in the vehicle. He slams the rear hatch shut and scampers around to the driver’s side door. Swinging the door open, Lucas jumps up into the driver’s seat, and quietly brings his door to.

Still confused by the decision, Cassie looks at both of us with a dumbfounded expression. Her eyes narrow as she shakes her head. She digs deeper into our abrupt reaction. “What is it with you two?”

“To put it plainly, people can be just as bad as the chasers,” I say. “Especially the longer this whole mess goes on. Unless there is no other alternative, I’d rather not approach any other groups. I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with horrible people and would like to keep my distance.”

Lucas agrees with a nod of his head. “The longer this event plays out and the scarcer supplies become, the more often even the nicest of people will become deadlier than even the chasers. Like James said, unless we’re absolutely caught in a pinch, we need to play it smart and keep our distance. It’s better to err on the side of caution than not.”

Cassie sighs and shakes her head. “All right. I don’t agree, but I’m outvoted. I’d imagine there are still good people out here.”

“I imagine that as well,” Lucas responds. “But our survival depends on us being smart, not emotional.”

“How much gas did you get?” I inquire.

Lucas shakes his head. “None. I was having to check if the RV’s were gas or diesel. When I finally found one that was diesel, I noticed those guys and rushed back over here when the coast was clear.”

Great. I toss my hands in the air and sigh. “So, what now?”

“We’re on the outskirts heading into town. I imagine they have at least one more gas station further in,” Lucas responds calmly.

“And if they don’t?”

“Then we’ll make do. We’ll figure it out one way or another.”

A muffled blast rings out. I twist in my seat and look to the restaurant. “Was that a gunshot?”

Lucas cranes his neck to peer around me. Flashlights come to life through the blinds. The beams sweep about before focusing out the window and in our direction.

“Oh no,” Cassie mutters.

“And that is why we avoid other people as well. Most seem to be dicks now,” I state.

“Maybe they came across a chaser?” Cassie says.

“True. And maybe they just snuffed some poor sap just because they could,” I fire back. “I’m inclined to think the later.”

“You would.”

With hands firmly planted on the steering wheel, Lucas fires up the engine. He puts the armored transport into drive and slams on the gas. My face stays glued to the window as a handful of shadowy figures rush out of the double doors of the restaurant. Their weapons are clutched firmly in their hands. They pause and bring them to bear just as we speed away.

We leave the truck stop in our wake and merge back onto Interstate 5. Lucas gets the Humvee running full out. He checks the mirror, lowering his head as he offers a quick look back to the road.

“Anyone following us?” I inquire.

“I’m not seeing any headlights, so I think we’re good.”

Duke groans, and fidgets in his seat next to Cassie, who has a dismayed look on her face.

“What do you think happened back there?” she asks.

Lucas brushes his sleeve across his brow as he checks the sideview mirror once more.

“Who knows. They could’ve killed a chaser, or they could’ve had a disagreement over something. A robbery. Double cross. People being assholes. Take your pick,” Lucas replies. “Doesn’t really matter anyway. We find a fuel station, and hope they have some diesel for us so that we can put as much distance between us as we can.”

We continue down the interstate in a mad dash while I scour the sides of the road for another place for us to stop. There isn’t much of anything useful thus far. Just a crap ton of trees and some houses. The longer we drive, the less inclined I am to think we’re actually going to come across another station before we run out of fuel.

Lucas lifts a finger free from the steering wheel and points to the left side of the road. There’s a sign that shows there are fuel stations at the next exit.

“Got a Shell and Arco gas station up ahead. Hopefully, there’s a diesel truck or something we can syphon the gas from.”

Lucas takes the exit ramp without letting off the gas. We blow through the intersection, and continue straight along the winding road. We run parallel to the interstate before coming to a curve that takes us under the bridge. He slows down just enough to keep us from going wide and crashing into the stone wall. We continue on past the stop sign and hook a left, then a quick right into the Arco gas station.

The pumps are clear of any vehicles blocking our path. Actually, there aren’t too many vehicles in general that I see. To be honest, I’m not even sure which vehicles take diesel. Unless it’s a semi-truck, then I probably won’t be much help.

Lucas comes to a grinding halt, locking the brakes of the Humvee up next to the outer most pump that is closest to the building. We take a moment to gather ourselves. My eyes scrutinize the interior of the building for any movement. Considering what just happened, I’m inclined to play it extra safe.

“I don’t see any movement inside,” I inform.

“Yeah. I’m not seeing anything either, but that doesn’t mean much.” Lucas glances to his left and out of the window as he surveys the silent and eerie calmness of the dark town. He kills the engine and removes the keys from the ignition. “Wait right here.”

Lucas swings open his door and hops out. He leaves the door gaping wide as he walks alongside the Humvee. He’s gone for only a few moments before reappearing.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Checking the pumps to see if maybe they had any power. They don’t.” Lucas braces himself against the vehicle’s frame. He slams the palms of his hands against the edge.

Cassie points in the direction of the other gas station across from us. “Maybe the Shell station across the road will have some fuel.”

Lucas steps back from the Humvee. He twists his head in the direction of the other gas station. There aren’t many vehicles close by, and the ones that are aren’t the type we need to bother with. A couple of sedans are parked in front of the store with another parked off to the left of the structure. I don’t know about fuel types, but know enough to figure out they aren’t what we are after.

My gaze ventures further out beyond the parking lot and across the street. I’m trying to remain hopeful, but it’s becoming increasingly harder to do so. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that life was going out of its way to make sure I don’t reach Cindy. At times, life can be just as vicious and cruel as the chasers, or people for that matter.

Lost in indecision, and what thin shred of hope is lingering inside me, I spot what appears to be another vehicle across the street. It doesn’t look like a car, though. It’s much wider and larger than the ones close by.

“Hey, what about that over there?” I call out. “Across the street between that large and small building.”

Lucas turns back toward the cab and stares at me. He pivots on his heel and follows my finger that is pointing out of the windshield. He takes a couple of steps back to clear the opened door obstructing his view. “Can’t tell for sure, but it looks like a truck from here. Possibly a Dully. Those are known to run off of diesel.”

“Do we drive over there and check it out?” Cassie inquires?

Lucas shakes his head. “I’d rather not. I don’t want to start it up again until we’re ready to leave. Don’t know who or what might be close by. The noise of the engine going again could attract some unwanted attention. Best to try and remain as quite as possible. Besides, it isn’t that far. Shouldn’t take too long.”

“All right. Let’s hurry up and do this,” I say. I crack open my door.

Lucas speaks up. “James, probably best you-”

“Nope. Not this time.” I already know what he’s going to say. “I’m coming with you on this one. If it’s what we’re looking for, then you’ll need someone covering your back. We need that fuel.”

Lucas shifts his gaze from me to Cassie who’s sitting next to Duke. “I’ll wait here and keep a look out. If I spot anyone, or anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Keep Duke with you,” I say while glancing in the back at him.

Mentioning his name sends his ears erect and his body at attention.

Cassie rubs his back for a second before giving him a gentle pat on the side. “Take him with you. I imagine he doesn’t want to be cooped up in here anymore. It will give him a chance to stretch his legs again before we get back on the road. Besides, he’ll be an extra set of eyes and ears for you in case any chasers try to sneak up on you.”

Lucas points to the automatic rifles that are fastened to the dash near me. “Hand me that rifle, James, will ya?”

I reach down, and unstrap the rifle from the dash. I lift the weapon up, and hand it over to Lucas. He grabs the barrel and brings it in. He ejects the magazine, and skims over the interior, then slips it back into the well and secures it in place by slapping the bottom with his palm.

“Make sure to grab your flashlight, and bring it with you,” Lucas says.

“Got it right here.” I hold my hand up in the air, showing the light clutched in the same hand as my machete.

“You sure you’re good here alone?” Lucas diverts his gaze over to Cassie one last time.

Cassie leans forward and retrieves the pistol from behind her. She sets it in her lap and offers a single nod. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’d feel safer in here right now than out there.”

“Yeah. She’ll be fine. She’s a badass with that pistol. I wouldn’t mess with her.” I wink at Cassie.

She offers a half smile in return.

Lucas steps away from the driver’s side and slams the door. I push the passenger side door open and drop down onto the cement. Man, these vehicles are high off the ground. Makes me feel like a little kid trying to get in and out of this thing.

Cassie swings open the door next to her, allowing Duke to spring over her waist. He lands on the ground and spins around in circles. Wish I was that spry. He always acts like he’s got so much energy that if he doesn’t expend it, he’ll explode. It would be nice if I could syphon some of that off of him.

“All right, dude, settle down,” I say. He trots up to me and licks my fingers before darting back to the rear of the Humvee. I turn my attention to Cassie. “We won’t be too long.”

“Be safe, and watch your backs.” Cassie brings her door to, filling the interior of the Humvee with blackness.

I turn on my flashlight, and make my way to the rear of the armored transport.

Lucas stands there with both gas cans clutched in his hands. The rifle is slung over his left shoulder. “We do this quickly. We take what fuel we can then we get the hell out of here.”

I nod in agreement. “I don’t want to be here any longer than we need to be.”

“Come on. Let’s go.”

We move around the steel column and out into the next stall. Our pace is brisk as we dart across the parking lot. My flashlight sweeps the area from right to left in search of any chasers who might be lurking about. Duke stays glued to my side.

The front end of the large, maroon truck is smashed into the side of a tiny beige house, a chain link fence wrapped up under its chassis.

We slow our pace, approaching with caution. The yellowish tinted beam washes over the bullet-ridden body of the truck. The driver’s side door hangs open, the window busted out. Fragments of glass rim the edge like sharp, jagged teeth.

“I think it’s safe to assume that chasers didn’t shoot this truck up,” I observe.

“Yeah. Hopefully, whoever did this is long gone.” Lucas cranes his neck and searches the area for any threats. None can be seen.

Duke cautiously advances, his nose trained to the ground. He pauses and lifts his front right leg, investigating the scene. I shine the light toward the cab, and walk up behind him. My fingers grip the handle of the machete a bit tighter as I exhale a breath of air. Glass crunches under my boots.

The truck is empty. Dried blood has stained the light gray fabric seats. Speckles of the poor soul’s blood coats the large, black dash. I step closer to the door, and rise up on my tippy toes in search of a body. There is none. I crane my neck, and move the light to the back seat. It’s stuffed with luggage and boxes. Whoever it was could’ve gotten away. Or not.

“James, come here, and give me some light, will ya?” Lucas asks from the opposite side of the truck.

I back away from the cab, and move toward the rear. I hang a left, and continue on past the tailgate to the passenger side. I shine the light over Lucas, who is down on one knee. He unscrews the caps of the gas cans, and sets them side by side before standing up. Clutched in his hand is a long rubber hose. He reaches for the truck’s gas cap.

“Is it diesel?” I inquire, hoping the answer will be yes. I tilt the flashlight toward the truck as Lucas leans in closer.

“Looks like it is.” He points to the cap that is secured in place on the truck. It has diesel written around the outer portion.

Lucas twists the yellow cap free, and lets it dangle from its black rubber band. “Now, just got to hope that the tank is fairly full. These vehicles can hold up to forty-eight gallons of fuel. It will be more than enough to fill both of these up and then some.”

Lucas works one end of the rubber hose down into the truck’s gas tank. He feeds it in, pushing it farther inside until he feels it’s in far enough.

“Glad this is an older model truck. The newer ones are a lot harder to syphon fuel from.”

I can’t say that I’ve ever seen anyone do this in real life before. Dad has told me how it’s done, but has never done any hands-on training. I can say I’m glad about that. The smell of gas is my least favorite thing to inhale, and considering you might suck in a mouthful of the fuel, that doesn’t really get me all that excited to jump in and do it. Plus, Dad always warned that ingesting the fuel could kill you. All things considered, if I had to, I would do it. I’m just glad Lucas is taking point on it.

Lucas places the other end into his mouth. He sucks on the hose for a few moments before he quickly pulls it out. Fuel starts to pour from the end as he places it down into the gas can closest to me.

Lucas contorts his face. He tilts his head to the left and spits what I can only imagine is the remnants of the diesel lingering in his mouth.

“Tasty?” I snidely remark.

“Better than coffee, I’d say.” Lucas spits a few more times and runs the sleeve of his coat over his mouth. “Watch that, will ya?”

He turns about and walks toward the back passenger side door. He grabs the handle and opens it. He leans in and rummages through the belongings of the person or people the vehicle belonged to.

I turn, and rest my back against the body of the truck. I look to my right at the motel. The parking lot is mostly vacant of cars. The windows that litter the portion facing me are all black, and void of any hint that people are residing within its brick walls. There could be chasers ambling up and down the halls, lost in a cathartic state due to not being stimulated by any noises that may bring a hope of a meal.

One thing that I have grown leery of since the world plummeted into madness, and started to eat itself, is the deafening silence. It’s really a two-edged sword, seeing how silence is the only way to avoid the chasers and even the non-infected. Still, the lack of any sound or stimulus causes my mind to drift and wander in the no man lands of despair and grief. I hope one day I can enjoy the sound of silence once more, and not be terrified of what lingers there.

I glance down to the gas can, and check to see how it’s coming. The light plays over the top, but I can’t tell how full it is from where I am. I drop to one knee and hone the beam over the opening. Duke rests on his hind legs next to me. I wrap my arm over him, and give a tight squeeze.

The smell of fuel penetrates my nose, causing it to crinkle in disgust. I move my head every which way to try and gauge how much fuel has filled the container. I grab the handle, and tilt it slightly toward me. It sloshes about, indicating that it’s well on its way.

“It’s not going super-fast but it’s still coming out,” I inform. “Hopefully, we’ll be able to get enough to fill the tank up.” I tilt the light toward the cab. Lucas is still leaned over, sifting through the belongings. Not sure if he heard me or not since he hasn’t responded. “Did you hear what I said, or are you just ignoring me?”

He pauses. No movement. He stands motionless like a statue for a moment before pulling free of the cab. He has something clutched in his hands. I think it’s a photo. He deflates back against the door, and just stares at the picture in his hand.

“Yeah. Sorry. What were you saying again?” Lucas is acting extremely strange now. His stern and focused posture has nearly evaporated. His shoulders slump forward like they’re weighted down with boulders. His eyes grow glassy with tears. He has that all too familiar defeated look.

“What’s wrong?” Concern swells inside me as I keep the light focused on his distraught face. He turns his attention back to the cab. He runs the heels of his palms under each eye to erase the tears that are racing down his cheeks. “Nothing. Just looking at this photo of this family and the kid clothes brought back some memories. I’m fine.”

Lucas discards the photo back into the cab of the truck with a flick of his wrist. He shakes off the burdensome misery that is obviously taking its toll on him.

I go to ask another question, but refrain from doing so. I’ve never been good with feelings and talking about them in a productive way. My behavior as of late is a testament to how I have been cooping with such disheartening matters. Besides, this isn’t really the best time or place for us to get lured into a vulnerable state.

He slams the door and brushes his hand up and down his face. He comes back over to us, and inspects the gas cans.

“This is a good sign. It appears as though the tank was pretty full. Hopefully, we’ll be able to tap enough to get both of these full and add some more to the Humvee.”

I nod.

A part of me is envious of how Lucas can switch off those emotional feelings like a light switch. But a few moments ago, he was nothing more than a grieving, broken man who had been pulled back into the past. A moment that surely weighed heavy on him. I imagine the turmoil lingering inside of his soul is similar to what we are all facing now.

Towing the edge of our own survival, the pain of loss never gets any easier. You either allow it to consume you until you’re nothing more than a hollow shell that is void of any soul, or you rise up, and handle it as Lucas apparently has.

Perhaps it’s my age and immaturity that is hindering me from doing so. Regardless, I need to try harder to bear this burden of guilt, and move on. Release the anchor that is tightly fitted around my ankles. It’s not only for my sake, but for Cindy’s as well.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

We stand there, huddled around the fuel cans without saying so much as a word. I’m not sure if Lucas is feeling a bit out of sorts from his moment of being sucked into the past or not. He avoids eye contact with me. He probably doesn’t want to dive into his feelings any more than I want to go into mine. We all deal with our demons in different ways. Perhaps when things calm down and when we have the time, I’ll probe deeper. Then again, it may never be the right time.

Lucas grabs the container and pulls it toward him slightly. I shine the light at the top as he narrows his eyes at the interior.

“That should be good on that one. We’ll go ahead and start filling up the other one now.”

He pinches the hose, and quickly moves the end to the other empty gas can. A bit of diesel spews out over the grass and cans during the exchange. I place my arm over my nose to avoid breathing in the fumes.

“You all right?”

I take a second before removing my arm from my face. “Yeah. Not a fan of how this stuff smells. Gives me a headache at times.”

“I can handle this, James, if you want to go back to the Humvee. It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

I dismiss the thought with a shake of my head.

“No. I’m good.”

A branch snaps to my right on the other side of the tiny house we are huddled up next to. Our heads are drawn to the noise. Lucas places his finger over his mouth quickly.

Duke starts to growl. I pull him close to me and whisper in his ear to calm down. His head remains trained toward the other side of the structure. His ears are on end. His body grows stiff as his muscles prepare to engage whatever threat may linger within the darkness.

Lucas calmly removes the rifle slung over his left arm. He shoulders the weapon and slowly stands up. He motions with his hand for us to stay put. Crouched slightly, Lucas moves cautiously toward the forbidding disturbance.

The machete remains tight in my grasp. At times, it feels as though it’s been permanently fixed to my hand. Although I miss having my rifle, more for sentimental reasons, having this blade has proved to be a much more valuable asset in the apocalypse.

It doesn’t run the risk of jamming or malfunctioning in any sort of way. But most importantly, there is no ammunition that I have to worry about running out of.

I focus the flashlight’s beam at the ground where Lucas is stepping. He presses his left shoulder against the beige wood facade of the house and slithers down to the corner. He pauses just shy of the darkness hovering beyond the edge. It’s only a second or two, nothing more before he peers out into the dimness.

The barrel of the rifle sweeps from left to right carefully, methodically, as he pushes on into the cloak of night. He vanishes from my sight. The strange sounds have all but ceased, which causes a flood of concern to swirl in my gut, and my mind to race.

Is it a chaser ambling about in the dead of night in search of something to satiate its hunger, or could it be nothing more than a wild animal passing through? I’m hoping for the latter.

Duke continues to try and pull away from me. I carry on with speaking softly in his ear to try and stay his antsiness. Mine as well.

Indecision floods me. I’m not one to stay on the sidelines anymore, waiting for trouble to find me. I either flee, or face it head on. Here lately, I’ve been doing more of the latter. Probably not the smartest of decisions, but it is what it is. The only thing now that scares me more than the chasers, is losing the people who are closest to me. That frightens me beyond all belief.

Screw this.

I stand up from my crouched position and remove my arm from around Duke’s neck. Lucas may get upset with me for not staying put, but he’ll have to deal with it.

One cautious boot in front of the other, I work my way toward the edge of the tiny house. Duke stays by my side. I wait a moment, and listen before allowing him to move.

“Go ahead, boy,” I softly whisper.

He quietly moves into the darkness, vanishing from sight. I toe the corner of the house briefly with the flashlight’s beam trained toward the ground. A solid breath in and out, and I’m ready to move on. I start to advance when I feel something round and solid press between the mid part of my upper back.

I freeze.

A chaser has gotten the drop on me. It has me dead to rights. As I stand there, I wait for the creature to do its worst. Oddly enough, it doesn’t. It offers no movements or grunts that tickle my ear. My mind races as I try to connect the dots and focus on what it is that is jammed into my spine. Hold on. It feels like a weapon. Perhaps a rifle. The creatures don’t carry weapons.

My instincts take over, and urge me to spin around on the heels of my boots and engage whatever is behind me. I move slightly, and the barrel of his rifle presses harder into my back.

“Don’t think about it,” a rough voice says.

The machete stays lifted in the air along with my other arm. The beam illuminates the dark space between the two buildings. I don’t spot Lucas or Duke. Thank God. Hopefully, they’re safe.

Still, a wave of panic consumes me given my dire situation. I try to remain calm and collected, and not do anything rash that will get a bullet in my back.

“Who are you?” I inquire plainly.

“Doesn’t matter who I am. Where’s your friend at?”

My hand wielding the machete fidgets slightly, which draws a nasty response from the aggressor behind me.

“I’m serious, kid. Don’t do anything stupid to get yourself-”

He falls forward into me. His body drops to the ground with a dull thud. I pivot about and hone the flashlight at his unconscious body. Next to him is another pair of boots and furry legs. It’s Lucas and Duke.

“You all right?” Lucas asks.

I nod. “Yeah. Dude got the drop on me.”

Lucas takes a knee. He skims over the bearded man’s dingy and dirty face as he pats him down. “Is it the same guy from the truck stop?”

“Not sure. It was dark, so I didn’t get a good look at his face. Could be, not sure, though.”

Lucas works his hands into the man’s front pockets when the sudden realization hits me. What about Cassie?

“Cassie. We need to get back over there now.” I take off in the direction of the Humvee.

Lucas stands up quickly, and grabs me. “Hold on, James, we-”

The crackle of gunfire sounds off. Lucas loses his grip on the rifle as he stumbles back. A welp of pain escapes his lips. We drop to the ground and take cover behind the large truck.

“Son of a bitch.” He leans back against the set of dual wheels, palming his shoulder tightly. I shine the light at his hand. Blood seeps out between his fingers, and races down the length of the backside of his hand. “Damn it.”

I turn the flashlight off, severing any sort of indicator for the armed gunmen to be able to track us. It falls free of my hand to the grass. I lean toward the edge of the truck to see if I can get eyes on them. Lucas removes his hand from the gunshot wound, and grabs the sleeve of my hunting jacket.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growls. “You want to get your head blown off? With it being so dark, you’re not going to be able to see much anyway.”

I yank my coat free of his grasp. “Should be the same for them. We had the flashlight on earlier, which made it easier for them to pinpoint where we are. Without it, they’re just as blind. Besides, I need to check on Cassie. That gunfire sounds like it came from the gas station.”

Hugging the rear panel of the truck, I slide toward the bed and pause. I’m scared, not only for us, but for Cassie as well. She’s all alone over there with God knows who. I must get to her.

Two deep breaths, in and out. Body is tense. My head is swimming with that fight or flight feeling that is raging inside. The fear weighs heavy like an anchor shackled to my ankles, but I overcome, and push through it. The absence of any light should conceal my whereabouts. I peer out from the corner. Another crackle sounds off. This time, it strikes the passenger side brake light. I jerk back from the edge of the truck, and fall flat on my butt with eyes wide. Debris from the plastic covering the truck sprays in all directions. Duke is planted to Lucas’s left with his head lowered and ears folded back. A deep growl escapes his snout.

“What the hell,” I grumble through trembling lips. “How are they able to see me?”

“Only thing I can think of is they have a scope with night vision on it or something.” Lucas’s voice is strained, and thick with pain.

My heart hammers, blood pumping ninety to nothing. It seems as though they have us pinned down. We can make for the other side of the house, but we’ll be exposed for a short minute.

I place the machete in the grass, and reposition myself where I’m prone on my stomach. I stay far enough back from the truck, but still close enough to where I can look out toward the station from underneath the chassis.

“Crap!”

“What is it?” Lucas inquires.

I bury the right side of my face into the grass to try and obtain a better look. Flashlights play over the parking lot, offering brief glimpses of the Humvee and the immediate area. A stray beam points in our direction, and washes over the driver’s side of the truck. It reaches only so far underneath the vehicle before the light yields to the darkness. The unfamiliar truck’s headlights, parked next to the Humvee, are dim and dull with only one apparently functional.

“There’s a truck parked right next to the Humvee. There’s a guy taking a knee in the parking lot. He’s facing this direction, but I can’t tell what he’s doing. He’s not moving.”

“He’s waiting for one of us to show our face so he can take our head off.”

Two gunshots ring out, followed by a painful screech that tightens my nerves even more.

“Let me go, you piece of crap,” Cassie screams from the tops of her lungs.

I’m only able to get a visual of her legs kicking wildly in the air as she’s lifted off the ground. She’s shoved into the back of the truck as her muffled yells and screams fade in and out.

“Christ! They’re taking her!” Anger swarms me like a nest of pissed off wasps. My lips grow taut, and my eyes narrow. My brow furrows as my hand reaches for the machete. It thumbs through the grass franticly until my fingers find the handle. I push myself up, and get my feet under me.

Lucas grabs me once more. “Jesus, James, stop and think. What are you going to do? Run out there in the open with that freaking blade in your hand like some nut bag? They’ll drop you before you even manage a couple of steps.”

Adrenaline pumps fast through my veins. All I can think about is Cassie, and what those vile scumbags plan to do with her.

“We can’t let them take her! I’m not going to lose her!” I protest.

Even though it’s dark, I can see the vague outline of Lucas’s face through the dimness of night. He’s in no shape to be fighting with anyone right now.

“James, we will find her and get her back. For now, though, we need to fall back and regroup somewhere safe.” He grabs the barrel of his rifle. “Here. Take this.”

He struggles to pull it toward him. I glance toward the gas station, then back to him.

Damn it!

I grab the rifle and take it from him. I place the stock against my shoulder and grab the handguard with the other.

“So, what’s the plan?” I inquire, my tone dense with indignation.

Lucas points toward the far side of the tiny house with an unsteady hand. “I want you to pop off a few rounds in the air. That should buy us some time to make for that corner.”

“Why don’t I just return fire at them?” I say.

“Because it’s a gas station, James. I don’t think we really want to be opening fire at highly combustible fuel. Besides, Cassie is over there. You don’t want to run the risk of hitting her, do you?”

He’s right. It does make sense, even though I’m not pleased with it.

“All right, let’s get you up and ready to move.” I help Lucas to his feet. A static rich noise plays in the air close by. It’s coming from the unconscious man’s hip.

“Duncan, come in, over?” Both Lucas and I momentarily freeze, our attention on the body and the transmission coming in. “What’s your position? We’ve got the girl and her friends pinned down. The boss wants us to finish this quickly. Chasers have been spotted in the area.”

Lucas remains stooped down with his hand over his wound. I retrieve the radio from the body, turn it off, and attach the clip to my hip. I inch my way toward the rear of the truck. The rifle stays firmly grasped in my unsteady hands. A mixture of emotions bombards me. It makes me a bit lightheaded, and causes a slight dizziness to spawn. I’m scared, mad, sad, and worried all at one time. It’s making it difficult to concentrate.

“The safety should be off. Just fire off a few rounds in the air. That should, hopefully, have them scrambling for cover long enough for us to get out of here,” Lucas reiterates.

I’m not happy about this situation, but I get what he’s saying.

I position the barrel of the rifle in the air. My finger slips over the trigger. Just five pounds of pressure is all it takes, Son. That’s what Dad always said to me when I first started using a gun. Looking back, I’m thankful for everything he taught me. Despite the whining and complaining I did, I’m grateful for his guidance and wisdom. Especially now.

“Are you ready?” I ask.

Lucas offers a subtle nod. Duke is by his side.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Here we go.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

My finger gently squeezes the trigger.

The automatic rifle belches fire from the muzzle. My body stiffens. Frayed nerves have me on edge. I close my eyes and try to reign in my hastened breathing. My hands still slightly twitch. I release and cautiously sneak a peek out from around our cover.

The men scatter like cockroaches, scurrying for any cover they can find. I can hear them talking loudly at each other. Cassie’s in the backseat of their truck, her arms flailing about wildly. Her head emerges from the cab. They force her back inside the truck and slam the door. Her loud, boisterous pleas for us are now muffled.

Bastards.

I contemplate just charging the truck in a mad dash to save her. Do whatever it takes to save her, but given Lucas’s current injury, and for the simple fact that I’d probably only make it a few hearty steps before they shot me dead, I table the idea. I’ll have to find another way. For now, we need to move.

“We’re clear. Let’s go!” I say.

We take off for the far side of the building in a dead sprint. I scoop up the machete along the way and cover our escape. Bullets zip past my head, narrowly missing me. I duck lower to the ground until we’re out of range.

Every step Lucas takes, he grunts in discomfort. He doesn’t slow down, though. He keeps his legs moving without any hint of stopping. We veer off to our left, and follow the dirt road that curves off to the right. Not only do we have to worry about any chasers that may be in the area, but now we have to contend with those a-holes hunting us down.

I sling the rifle over my shoulder without breaking my stride. I look back over my shoulder to see if we’re being tailed. The darkness is doing a favorable job of concealing our presence, but it’s also doing the same for them. I focus on trying to put as much distance between us and them as possible, even though it pains me to do so.

Duke has the lead, followed by Lucas, then me. Our feet pound the unpaved road aggressively. My head swivels from right to left in search of any chasers looming within the shadows. The gunfire will likely draw them out of whatever hole they were in. So far, there’s no sign of the vile creatures.

There’s more of those tiny homes to our right and a larger rundown building to our left. I hear what sounds like footsteps looming within the tall, dark brush to my right. I can’t see anything within the dense foliage, which strains my already tensed nerves. I flinch at every single noise that my ears catch. My eyes remain wide and alert as they dart from each shadow figure that my mind thinks it sees lurking in the night.

The dirt road morphs to pavement. Lucas slows down. I imagine all of the running is causing that wound on his shoulder to hurt like crazy. Each step he makes is labored, and the more we go, the slower his pace becomes.

Duke hops up on the curb under a metal covering that is attached to a concrete building. He stops and turns toward us. His ears are still on end, twitching with every sound.

I keep pace with Lucas, staying by his side as we reach where Duke is. I bend over, and place the heels of palms on the fronts of my knees, panting. Lucas crumples against the wall.

“Are they following us?” I wheeze.

Lucas leans his head back. Even with the absence of daylight, I still get a sense of the pain he’s fighting against on his shadowed face.

“I don’t know,” he responds. “I don’t see anything.”

An engine revving in the distance snares my attention. My head twists back over my shoulder to check for the vehicle’s whereabouts. I think of Cassie, crammed into that truck with those despicable, vile thugs. I fight against my own imagination that wants to conjure up such horrid scenarios of her captors touching her in ways that would make me do unspeakable things. I try to table those thoughts, and focus on just getting her back. It doesn’t help in calming me down. It only increases my rampant rage. I growl and mutter some choice words that filter out through the gaps between my clenched teeth.

I battle the urge to go back and seek out Cassie for the time being, seeing how Lucas is in such dire shape. The guilt of not being able to go after her right now is like a weighted vest that is attached to my body. For now, we have to keep moving, and find someplace safe to hold up, and get Lucas patched up.

The grumbling of the engine sounds like it’s heading this way. I pull Lucas off the wall, and we get back on the move. I stay by his side as we head to the right, and dip around the corner of the building.

The sun slowly starts to rise and erase the darkness. It turns to gray and then the pale red-gold on the horizon offering us a better view of where we’re going and what may be coming ahead. Duke keeps his nose to the ground and sets the pace. He stops randomly. His ears twitch and his head pivots back and forth. He grumbles before deciding to move on.

We cautiously work our way around the back side of the structure. Thick blades of foliage and trees encompass most of the area. One of the things about living in Oregon is the vast amounts of vegetation that are almost everywhere. There are numerous places to conceal one’s presence, which can be good and bad.

Lucas continues to nurse his wounded shoulder. He grunts in discomfort with every step he makes, but he maintains our current pace. We worm our way through a narrow gap in the buildings, and emerge on a side street. I don’t spot the truck, but can still hear the faint thrumming of the engine in the distance.

I swivel to my right and spot a handful of homes off the curve of the road. It isn’t too far, but its far enough when you’re being tracked and someone is wounded.

“This way.” I grab Lucas by his good arm and tug. He moves, just not as fast as me and Duke.

Our feet pound the pavement. I try not to look back over my shoulder, and focus on what’s ahead of us, but it is difficult to do so. What was once a distant whine of machinery, has grown louder.

The vehicle is heading this way. That much I am certain of. I know Lucas hears it as well. His pace has increased slightly. The houses are still a ways away. I doubt we’ll reach them in time.

I slow down, and call for Duke. He reduces his gallop to a trot and stares back to me. I point toward a black sedan that is parked on the side of the street.

“Here.” I move around the front of the vehicle, and duck down on the opposite side. Duke rushes up to me just as Lucas drops to the pavement in a huff of sweat and blood. I rub Duke’s thick coat with my back against the vehicle’s body. I crane my neck, and peer through the dingy windows.

“James, turn on the radio, so we can hear what they’re saying,” Lucas wearily suggests.

I reach for the two-way. Before I can flip it on, a low, muttered voice tries to get our attention. It’s faint, but loud enough for me to know that I’m not hearing things. Lucas and I eyeball each other for a split second, indicating that he heard it as well.

My eyes narrow at the large, white building to our right. I skim over the front of the structure, searching for the source of the voice. I spy no movement or figure within the painted square glass windows and the chained, sliding wooden doors.

“Here. Hurry, before they discover us.”

The voice is still dull, but loud enough this time for me to pinpoint where it came from. The silhouette of a woman, standing off to the right of the building with just the top portion of her body visible, motions for us to come to her.

I’m hesitant to just get up and dash over to this stranger lurking within the dark, narrow cracks of the buildings. Considering what all we’ve been through, I’m inclined to remain cautious of any people. At least with the chasers, I know what their intentions are. The non-infected are a mixed bag of good and evil.

The machete remains clutched tightly in my sweaty hand. I remain planted where I am.

“What do you think?” I look to Lucas for his input.

His breathing is rapid. He grimaces. He removes his hand, revealing the large, dark spot on his shoulder. Before he has a chance to answer, the grumbling of the truck’s engine becomes clearer. I crane my neck once more and spot its yellow tinted headlight within the fading darkness. The ragged truck materializes from the building and comes to a dead stop in the intersection. It just idles in the middle of the road.

Crap!

My eyes cut back over to the woman shrouded in shadows. She motions to us with her fingers to follow her. I glance back to Lucas who offers me a single nod of approval. As much as I don’t want to trust this mysterious woman, she is currently the lesser of two evils. I sure hope I don’t regret doing this.

The truck’s engine revs, rattling something awful. I grab Lucas by his good arm, and pull him from the ground. Duke stays glued to our sides. We quickly scurry over to the woman who fades back within the depths of the shadows as the truck turns and heads this way.

I remain on high alert as we make for the opening. The machete is ready to do its worst if need be. Although, I’m not too keen on killing people who aren’t infected, I’ll defend myself and my little tribe however I need to.

Duke remains fixed to Lucas’s side as they follow close behind me. I approach the corner of the building with cautious footing. I pause just shy of the opening, and spot the woman drifting farther back within the fading darkness.

She motions with her arm, and keeps her voice low. “Hurry. This way.”

My brain still has reservations about going with her. It wants me to stop and weigh out the ramifications of what could happen. There’s no time for that, though. We enter the narrow alley between the two sets of buildings and continue on. It’s cramped, only offering two arm lengths worth of space for us to shuffle down. I’m not even sure it’s an alley. Both of the structures are so close to each other, I feel as though I could stand in the middle, with my arms stretched out, and touch both brick walls at the same time.

The woman enters the building through an opening and continues to motion for us to hurry along. I try not to think the worst of what could happen, but given the events over the past few months, I’ve learned that one must be vigilant and cautious if one hopes to survive.

The truck is so close now that I can hear clearly every defect within the rough-idling engine. I step past the dark open space, and spot the woman lurking within the shadows.

“Come on,” she beseeches once more.

I turn and face the street, and allow Lucas to go first. Duke follows close behind him just as the truck comes into view. As much as I yearn to rip the automatic rifle from my shoulder and unleash hell on the vehicle, I refrain from doing so.

I will find and rescue you, Cassie. I promise you that.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I duck inside the structure behind Duke and Lucas. The woman squeezes past us and heads for the opening. What light the rising sun offers is quickly snuffed, plummeting us into a black void of nothingness. I can hear her move, but struggle now to see where she is. I search my person for the whereabouts of the flashlight I had, but then remember that I dropped it back at the truck.

A spark of light flickers to life, and the smell of sulfur taints the air. The warm glow from the match’s red, phosphorous tip gives light to the woman’s aged and slightly wrinkled face. It’s nice to see that school wasn’t a complete waste of time. I actually retained something.

In her other hand, she is holding a lantern. She lights the wick, and closes the clear door. She flicks her wrist, reducing the match to nothing more than a puff of smoke that fades to nothing.

I shift from foot to foot. My fingers loosen then tighten back over the machete’s handle. I glance to Lucas, then over his shoulder to the blackness beyond before training my sights back to her.

She lifts the lantern higher in the air and squints her eyes. “Are you ok?” Her voice is soft and sweet. I can’t tell if she’s whispering or just soft spoken. She stares at me with a concerned expression like a mother has for a child. Reminds me of how my mom would look at me when I hurt myself. Still, despite her pleasant and outwardly caring disposition, I’m slow to respond.

A part of me feels like I have been ruined on trusting people. My initial instinct now is to keep my guard up, and be prepared for anything. Right now, everyone is my enemy until they prove me wrong.

She seems to pick up on this fact as her eyes shift toward the machete that is still tightly grasped within my hand.

“You have nothing to worry about. I’m not going to hurt you.” She shifts the lantern to her left hand and focuses it on Lucas, who’s resting against a beam. She stops the light at his injured shoulder, revealing his blood-soaked hand. She narrows her gaze and squints, revealing the crow’s feet, as Mom called them, on both sides of her eyes. “Oh, my lord, you’ve been injured.”

He nods, then tilts his head toward his blood-soaked shirt. “Yeah. Those people out there shot at us while we were trying to get some fuel. Caught me in my shoulder.”

She raises her hand toward his shoulder. Duke growls under his breath and lowers his ears. I step closer to Lucas.

She stops cold. “Like I said, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to take a look at the wound, if that’s ok?”

We’ll see about that.

“My trust in adults right now is less than stellar, lady. I’ve come across a ton of bad people, so you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t exactly trust you at the moment.”

“It’s fine, James.” Lucas wearily removes his palm from his shoulder, revealing the bloody flesh and smirched clothing. She reaches for the wound slowly as she glances to me. She moves the torn fabric carefully out of the way and examines the area. She pulls him gingerly toward her, and shines the light at his back.

I watch every move she makes vigilantly. She glances to me out of the corner of her eye. Yeah, I’m right here, and I’m watching what you’re doing.

She takes a step back and lowers her hand to her leg. She wipes her fingers off on her pants. “We’ve got a first aid kit upstairs that I can patch him up with if you’d like me to?” she offers. “The wound needs to be cleaned and dressed to keep it from getting an infection.”

Lucas pushes away from the solid steel beam and nods. “Anything you can do would be most appreciated.”

She offers a warm smile, even to me.

“I’m Lucas. This is James. And this is Duke,” Lucas says.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Beverly. If you will, please, follow me.” She scoots past Lucas and Duke, who stops his growling for the moment, and walks down the dimly lit opening of the silent space.

“I hope you know what you’re doing here,” I say as we turn and follow her.

“Just keep your eyes peeled. I think if she wanted to do something to us, she could’ve just left us outside. That would’ve been enough. Besides, I need to get this patched up. Getting an infection now would not be good at all.”

Beverly turns to the right and heads up a rickety staircase. Each board creaks and pops. Duke goes first, followed by Lucas then me. I crane my neck, and try to look past Lucas at her. She remains front and center with the lantern lifted in the air. She doesn’t offer a glance back over her shoulder at us. Apparently, she trusts us infinitely more than we trust her. Well, at least me anyway.

Don’t get me wrong, when it comes to people’s intentions, I’d like to be proved wrong for a change. Before the world was cast into the nightmare it is today, I had this notion that all people were good and innocent until proven otherwise. Mom and Dad taught me that. There is evil in the world, but not every person I meet will have mischievous intentions. When people act like they genuinely care, they really do. Although they told me to not blindly follow, and be aware of what is happening, there are those that I’ll come across during certain times in my life that are just what I need. Perhaps, this is one of those times. We shall see.

Beverly hits the landing and turns to her right. She walks along the narrow space between the peeled and scuffed white walls and the drab banister. My eyes follow her every movement, my head twisting back over my shoulder to follow her.

“Hold up for us, boy,” I order Duke.

He stops his pursuit of Beverly and glances down to us from our right. He plops down onto his hind legs. His left paw comes up and scratches at the side of his head.

Lucas makes the landing with a heavy clomp of his boots. He takes the corner in a sluggish manner as his hand braces against the railing. He continues after Beverly, who pauses across the way at an opening that leads into another room.

She motions with her arm for us to continue following her. “Come on, this way now.”

Duke gets back to his paws and continues on. She moves farther into the dimly lit space and temporarily disappears from my sight. The flickering of the wick from the lantern still moves and shifts across the wall. Shadows of bodies within the room play on the walls.

My anxiety is all over the place. My mind wants to convince me this is a trap. That she’s leading us to our inevitable doom. Regardless of how nice and helpful this woman presents herself to be, I’m finding it difficult to let my guard down. She could be leading us to a feeding frenzy of chasers that she has restrained. Their gaunt bodies in need of human flesh to sustain their existence. Perhaps she is just looking to rob us, although, she could’ve done just that outside given our situation. In either case, I remain vigilant, and alert to whatever may happen next.

We enter the large, loft type space, cautiously. I take in the drab looking walls and tattered, bare wood floors. The lantern gives off enough light to get a general lay of the land.

The space is completely barren except for some backpacks and blankets that are laid out on the floor. A single wooden crate sits in the corner that offers the lantern a place to rest. Beverly kneels down next to an elderly man with a rag draped across his forehead. Blankets cover him up to his neck. She places her hands gently to the sides of his face. A single groan escapes his thin lips.

He appears to be on his death bed. Or in this case, death blanket. “He’s not infected, is he?”

Beverly pats her hand softly on his chest and stands up. Slowly, she turns to face us. A solemn look of sadness washes over her. “No. He has a heart condition. We ran out of his medicine a week or so ago. We have been trying to find more, but most, if not all of the stores that have pharmacies have been rummaged through and pilfered already with not much left that’s worth anything.”

Lucas groans subtly in discomfort, but still manages to offer a sympathetic response. “I am sorry to hear that.”

Beverly gives us a half-smile, which looks to be forced through the grief on her face. She holds her hand out in the direction of a set of blankets that is laid on the floor to our right. “Here, let's get that shoulder taken care of.” She accompanies Lucas across the room. Duke stays by his side. He has always been in tune with people who are in pain or in need of some comfort.

I catch sight of a tall, slender man leaning against the wall next to a boarded-up window. Beams of sunlight slip through the thin spaces between the wooden pieces that are nailed to the walls. He looks to be in his early twenties from what I can tell. His head is covered with a black beanie that is lowered down just above his eyebrows. His eyes are narrowed at me, lips taut as he spits something from his mouth. He’s holding what appears to be a shotgun in his right hand.

“So, I see you actually brought them in with you. I don’t think that was a wise thing to do, Mom.” His tone is blunt and snarky. There is no warm, inviting feeling from him. He wants us gone. Honestly, I can relate.

Beverly assists Lucas as he carefully sits down on the folded-up blankets. She says something to him that I can’t quite hear.

Lucas subtly nods his head as his body melts into the wall. The muscles in his arms and shoulders turn to sludge and drop lifelessly to the blankets. The upper lids of his eyes droop down slowly. His will to stop them seems to be too much for him to bear. I imagine that the lack of sleep and proper eating is only adding to his already fatigued state. Duke sits by Lucas’s side with his head resting on his front paws.

“We don’t know them,” Shane says. “For all we know, they’re just as bad as those people who killed Dad and took Jenny. Hell, for all we know, they’ve already killed Donny. That is, if the chasers didn’t get to him first.”

“Yes, Shane, I know where you stand on the matter, but your father wouldn’t want us to just cast aside people who are in need.” Beverly grabs a small, white, square box that is off to Lucas’s left and opens it. “With your sister and brother out there, would you want people to just turn their backs to them if they needed help?”

He scoffs, and glances out through the opening between the wooden slats covering the window. “Yeah, well, Dad’s dead now, and Grandfather won’t be far behind. We may not even see Jenny and Donny again.”

Her hands freeze with some gauze and other items clutched in her fingers. They tremble, as if being compelled to a violent recourse isn’t out of the question. After a moment of complete silence, she releases what sounds like a sniffle.

In that moment, I can relate to how she is feeling—wanting to be strong and carry on with a hopeful glint in your eye when your soul is being torn apart over and over again. She wants to break down and cry, but doesn’t. Her a-hole of a son is less helpful. Beverly remains in control of her feelings though, and snuffs out the heartache and anger churning below the surface. I can only imagine how much strength it takes to let those feelings subside. I wish I was that strong. Hopefully, one day, I will be.

“Can you please just leave me be? I need to concentrate on what I’m doing, and don’t have the time or energy to deal with you right now,” she calmly says. It sounds more a demand than a request.

With a snicker, he shakes his head, and leans the barrel of the shotgun against his shoulder. He walks across the room toward me in a huff of frustration and anger. His gaze cuts to the woman with venomous contempt as he brushes past me.

“I’ll be downstairs… Beverly.”

Beverly digs inside her pack as if she didn’t hear him, and retrieves a small bottle of liquor. She removes the cap and places it in Lucas’s palm.

“Here. Drink this.” Lucas doesn’t question what it is. He knows what’s coming. He lifts his arm slowly, and takes a hefty swig of the stout spirit. The taste bites him hard. He grumbles and flinches, making his face contort in disgust.

“I’m sorry about that,” Beverly says. “He’s been devastated by everything that has happened. He’s never really been that good in dealing with stress.”

She can say that again. Although, I’m much the same way at the moment.

Beverly unbuttons Lucas’s shirt. She maneuvers the dingy fabric off his left shoulder far enough to reveal the injured flesh. Just to the right of the gunshot wound is a large tattoo of what appears to be a skull with spikes surrounding it.

I walk across the room toward the window, and peer out to the street below. The truck is nowhere in sight, and its grumbling engine cannot be heard. I hope Cassie is ok.

“Do you know who those people are that took your daughter?” I inquire.

“Savages. Scum. Take your pick. They’re all of them and then some.” Her voice is laced with disdain, tone infused with indignation, yet her touch remains gentle and caring while attending to Lucas. “They snatched my daughter while we were inside a store nearby searching for supplies about four days ago. My husband tried to stop them, but they killed him without thought. They would’ve killed us too, but some chasers showed up and drew their attention away from us. We were forced to flee and find shelter. We found this place and have been holed up ever since.”

She grabs a canteen that is close to the pack and soaks the gauze in her hand. She brings it up to Lucas’s shoulder and cleans the damaged flesh. Lucas winces. His teeth clench and eyes clamp shut as she cleans the area as gently, and yet as thoroughly as she can.

I probe deeper. I need to know as much as I can about these vile degenerates, so I can figure out how I need to approach getting Cassie back. “Why did they just take her?”

She discards the blood-soaked gauze, grabs another piece, and douses it just the same. She carefully pulls Lucas’s dead weight forward, and cleans the back of his shoulder.

“To be honest, I don’t exactly know. They literally came out of nowhere and surprised us. One of the men did mention that she would work, but didn’t elaborate any more than that. My oldest son, Donny, has tracked them down and went to rescue her. Shane wanted to go along, but Donny told him that he needed to stay behind and protect us in case they came back. That was a day or so ago. We had hoped that they would have returned by now.”

Listening to the woman retell the sad and sickening tale makes me even angrier. Given the fact that they showed no interest in robbing the family, and was only interested in taking their daughter, tells much more of who and what we are dealing with.

Beverly finishes cleaning off the excess blood, and eases Lucas back against the wall. She pads the wound with some gauze, and wraps a white bandage around his shoulder. Once finished, she helps Lucas lean over and lay flat on his back on the mound of blankets.

Duke scoots out of the way, but remains close by his side. His big eyes look over at me as he vents a sigh through his nose.

“Your father will be ok, but he needs to rest for a bit.” Beverly places the medical items back into the box. As she stands up and turns to face me, she wipes her hands off on a rag that is clutched in her hands.

I start to correct her, but stop. Not sure why I didn’t set it straight that Lucas isn’t my father. I think a part of me sees Lucas as a father figure in the way he’s been looking out for me. Back at the cabin, where he came into my life, he could’ve passed on helping me get to Mom and Cindy, but he didn’t. Despite how much I gripe and lash out, he’s still around. I’m thankful for that.

“Thank you for helping us. We really appreciate it.”

Beverly offers me a kind smile.

I try to repay her with one, but ultimately just nod. “Does Shane know where they have taken your daughter?”

“He does. He’s been itching to go after them, but doesn’t want to leave me and his grandfather alone.” Beverly glances at the door. Her eyes start to glaze over with sadness. She runs her fingers under both to clear out the tears forming. “He’s been through so much over the years. It’s been one thing after another. At times, I feel as though I have failed him as a mother. Probably why he hates me so much.”

“I doubt he hates you,” I sincerely reply. “We all handle stress in different ways. What’s currently happening in the world with the chasers, and with this recent tragedy, probably just has him in a tailspin of not knowing how to deal with everything. Believe me, I can attest to that.”

Beverly folds her arms across her chest and clears her throat. “How old are you, exactly?”

“I’m fifteen and a half,” I say rather confidently. Lately, I’ve felt invincible. Perhaps it’s the desire, and sheer will not to give up since Cindy is alive. Much like Donny, and even Shane, I’d do anything for her. Cassie too, for that matter.

“I didn’t think you were much older than sixteen. You know, for a teenager, you’re pretty perceptive.”

The elderly man groans once more in discomfort. His breathing seems forced, and shallow. A low, subtle whistle escapes his pale lips.

Beverly discards the rag and checks on him. She lowers down to both knees and takes his wrinkled hand into hers. “I’m here, Dad.” She speaks softly to him as her free hand strokes back his thinning white hair. His fingers twitch slightly, and barely close over the side of her palm. She grips his hand tighter as if that will keep him from slipping away.

My gaze moves to Lucas. His eyes are closed, and he seems to be at peace. I can only imagine how rundown he must feel. On top of trying to keep us safe from any and all danger, and dealing with my erratic behavior, getting shot has got to be the final straw that has broken the camel’s back. I have asked so much of him, that now, I can’t ask anymore. He needs his rest, and deserves some peace for all that he has given me.

I kneel down beside him. I venture a thought of telling him what I’m planning to do, but stop. I imagine he’ll be pissed when he wakes up, but we can’t afford to wait that long. He’s in no condition for what lies before us, and Cassie might not have time for us to wait.

I reach over and rub the top of Duke’s mangy head. I can feel all sorts of dirt and stickers bound within his fur. He really needs a bath and a brush run through his nasty coat. I lean forward and kiss his nose. He smells awful, but I love him just the same. His tongue swipes across my face lovingly. He’s such a good dog.

“You take care of Lucas, ok. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I give him one last tight hug around his neck and close my eyes. As much as I want to get to Cindy, as quickly as I can, I can’t leave Cassie to the whims of those perverted men. She was there for me when I needed it the most. Now it’s my turn to be there for her.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I release my hold from around Duke’s neck and stand up. He starts to get up, but I halt him with my hand. “Not this time, boy. You’re staying here.”

He whines and groans, but stays put.

I turn toward Beverly. “Tell me you’re a good person?”

She glances back over her shoulder at me with a bewildered look on her face. “Excuse me?”

“Tell me you’re a good person. I need to hear you say it.” I repeat myself once more, more stern and direct. I’m not trying to be a dick, but I really need to know that she is. My gut says she is a good person, and someone I can hopefully trust, but there’s so much riding on it that I need to be certain. As much as I can, anyway.

Beverly lays her father’s hand by his side tenderly. She stands up and faces me. It’s not anger that swirls in her glassy eyes, but confusion.

I clarify what I mean. “I need to know that you’re a decent person, and you’ll look after Lucas and Duke until I get back. I’ve come across so many horrible people, and I’ve lost so much since this whole thing started that I can’t bear to lose anyone else. Someone recently told me that not everyone left living in this world is evil. I’m hoping that you’re one of the good people.”

Although most would probably consider my question an insult to their character, Beverly doesn’t seem to take offense. She stares at me for what feels like forever before offering an understanding nod. “You can trust me with your father and dog. I’ll care for them.”

All right. Like Lucas stated earlier, she could’ve left us outside. She also didn’t have to bring us up here and patch him up. It’s by no means a perfect measure to completely gauge a person’s character, but it’s all I have to go on right now.

“Thank you. When he wakes, tell him that I had to leave. I couldn’t wait any longer. I’ll return as quickly as I can.” I head for the door.

She grabs my arm, and I stop. I glance over my shoulder to her pink cheeks and red, puffy eyes.

“Where are you going? It’s dangerous out there, certainly no place for a young boy such as yourself.”

I know she means well, but she has no clue the horrors I have faced, and the obstacles I have overcome. I have lived a lifetime since all of this started. I’m more evolved than she can possibly understand.

Beverly realizes what she is doing. Her motherly instincts have kicked in to protect what she views as a child that needs a guiding hand at the moment. She finally releases my arm, and takes a step back.

“I’m going to get my friend, and your daughter back from those people.” I walk away. Her arm stretches toward me and her mouth opens, but the words don’t come to bear. They would fall on deaf ears, anyway. After all, I’m not her kid.

The only thing that I hear is the wood floor creaking with every step I take. My hand glides along the railing fixed on top of the banister. I hit the landing and glance over to see Duke standing just inside the space. His ears are perked like he wants to come to me, but his training and obedience won’t allow it. His head tilts back over his shoulder at Beverly, then back to me.

I love you, boy. I’ll see you soon.

I divert my gaze, and quickly make my way down the rickety stairs. Sunlight slowly bleeds in through the narrow openings within the walls. I pause, and take in the openness of the space.

Where is Shane at?

To my left is the narrow hallway that we came through earlier. To my right is another room that is slowly coming to life with strident rays of sunshine. My head twists from side to side with indecision.

Standing there, contemplating his whereabouts, my free hand brushes against the radio that is still attached to my hip. I pull it off my belt. Perhaps I can listen in on any transmissions that are being sent between them. It could aid in providing me a location of where they might be keeping Cassie. That is, if they haven’t figured out that one of their radios is missing. It’s a long shot, but one I’m willing to take. I have nothing to lose.

I secure the machete under my arm, and mess with the controls on top. I twist the dial clockwise to the far left, which brings to life a hiss of static. I adjust the dial to the right and thumb through the different channels.

Dad let me play with the ones he had when I was younger. He wanted me to be as familiar with the devices as I could be. At first, I would just toy with the radio, adjusting the knobs and controls without any sort of rhyme, or reason. Dad didn’t say much, though. He was pleased that I was finding an interest in such things. To be fair, I found the crackling of the speaker, and the high-pitched squeal, brought a subtle piece of joy to me. When a voice loomed from the speaker, it blew my mind. From that point on, Dad dove deeper on how to operate it more efficiently.

Today, nothing but static emits from the speaker. It echoes throughout the hollow, drab space.

Come on, what channel are you on?

I continue adjusting the controls. When I come across the faint sound of chatter in the air, I stop. I slowly work the control knob left to right, trying to focus in on the distorted voice. There. I think I have it.

I bring the speaker closer. I cock my head to the side, and listen closely. The signal dips in and out, making it difficult to hear clearly what is being said. Not sure if the building is interfering with the transmission, or if they are so far away that the signal is weak and losing its clarity.

A voice speaks free of distortion. “Your friend is a firecracker. A very spirited girl.” He sounds like he’s addressing me. What the hell? “Just a tip, in the future, you may want to not have the transmit button pressed until you’re ready to speak.”

I pull the radio away from my ear in shock. I stare at the square black box. I finally realize that my finger has had the push-to-talk button pressed in. Perhaps he heard some ambient noise or something that gave me away. A blunder for sure. I know better. I’m more rattled by everything that is happening than I thought.

“Who are you, and why did you take my friend?” I release the button, this time, and wait for his reply.

The silence grates on my nerves. My eyes dash from side to side rapidly. I can feel the pit of my stomach boil, the rage churning like molten lava. Although I want him to respond, I’m also scared to hear the reason. With the lawlessness running unchecked throughout the country, his answer is probably going to be something that I’m going to regret hearing.

The radio clicks.

I flinch.

“Just know that she will make a wonderful addition to my stable of girls. This will be the last time you hear from her, James.”

In the background, and barely audible, Cassie’s angered barking can be heard. She threatens to maim and do other horrible things to the vile men.

“Cassie!” I yell into the radio. “I’m com-”

The man chuckles and disconnects the feed.

I try to contain my emotions, but it’s a lost cause. The machete drops from under my arm and rattles about on the concrete. The noise doesn’t register. I’m drifting in and out of the panic and rage that is swallowing me whole. My thoughts conjure up scenes of her captors doing horrible things to her that I try to erase. Touching her inappropriately and anything else that would be deemed as just plain wrong. I battle the images that circulate through my mind. It makes me cringe and increases my anger tenfold.

My left hand balls into a fist, while the right grips the radio even harder. I glance about the space in search of something to abuse. A growl slips out through my taut lips. I give in to the violent feeling and release it.

I hurl the radio across the room. It slams into the wall and breaks apart. Pieces of the device pelt the floor. Her voice keeps playing inside my head as if fixed on an endless loop. One minute she’s threatening her captors, and the next she’s pleading for me to come and save her.

Doubt fills my thoughts, probing my resolve to the point of making me think that I can’t rescue her. After all, I’m only a kid, right?

The palms of both of my hands come up to my face. I stoop down and take in copious amounts of air to try and regain control. I can do it. I will rescue Cassie. Despite the odds, it will happen. I have survived this long. I’m not planning on dying yet.

I remove my cap and run my hands through my oily, matted hair. I take in one last gulp and exhale it slowly through my nose. It’s time to go.

I retrieve the machete from the floor, and slip the ballcap back onto my head. I make for the door at the end of the hallway with fire in my step. The palm of my hand presses against the cool metal surface and starts to push it open. I catch a whiff of something burning. The stench of smoke invades my nose. It smells like tobacco. It’s not coming from outside, though.

My head tilts back, and I test the air. The smell shifts to the right, toward the front of the building. I step away from the door and follow the pungent scent. There’s a room to my right with a missing door.

The cigarette smoke is sharp, and has a slightly sour note. Not quite like burning leaves, but similar. Man, I can’t believe I smoked those things back when the world first started to crumble around me, when I fled to the dense woods for my family’s cabin. Curiosity spurned me to try them. Man, once was enough for me to keep my distance from the dreadful cancer sticks.

I peer inside the dimly lit space, and find Shane in the far corner. He’s resting on a dingy paint bucket that is flipped upside down. He’s slouched and leaning against the wall as he takes a drag from the cigarette. His shotgun is laid across his lap with his right hand resting on the grip.

“Hey there, boy scout.” He belches a mouthful of smoke in my direction. The darkness and smoke conceal his face. I think he smirks at me, but I can’t really tell. “Having a moment out there, huh?”

I’m not in the mood for this guy’s B.S. My temper is at a point where I might, and probably will, say whatever pops into my head, which won’t benefit me. I need what information he has, so I keep my responses on point, and don’t give in to his comments.

“I was speaking with your mom, and she informed me that you know where the people who have your sister and possibly your brother are. Is that correct?”

He takes a long, drawn out drag that brightens the tip an orangish red hue. He removes the bud from his lips and holds it out toward me. I hold my hand up and shake my head no.

“Perhaps I do, but I’m not saying crap until you take a puff of this.” He waves the bud at me.

Ugh. Great. Guess I’ll have to play along to get what I need.

I take the shortened bud from his fingers. He nods his head for me to continue. The end slips between my lips. I take a slight puff and hand it back to him. He stops me.

“One more. Make it count this time, boy scout.”

Fine. The things I do to get what I need.

This time, I suck more of the toxic fumes into my mouth and lungs. My nose crinkles as if something horrid has invaded my mouth. The smoke chokes me up some. I cough and expel it out as I try to breathe. I hand it back, and he willingly takes it. I can honestly say that I’ve had more than my fill of those.

“So, why exactly do you want to know where those people are? Not exactly a place for a kid to be poking around. A good way for you to get killed. Although, if that’s what you want, there are much easier ways of that happening with those chaser things outside.”

I shake off the unsavory aftertaste of the cigarette. “I appreciate the concern, but I can handle myself.” My voice is thick with sarcasm. I don’t try to hide it. He snickers at the response. I guess he finds it, or me, amusing. “If you could just point me in the right direction, then I’ll be on my way, and I’ll leave you to pout down here in the dark.”

The words slip out. I can’t help it. I don’t try to hold it back. The words were not going to remain silent. They had to be set free. To be honest, though, I didn’t put up too much of a fight. I don’t have time for these games he’s playing. Cassie’s life is at risk, and so are his family’s.

The amusement clouding his face evaporates. His smirk changes to an angry frown. He discards the cigarette bud with a flick of his finger and stands up. This guy reminds me of the jocks and other meat heads from my school who thought they could push around anyone that looked as though they couldn’t defend themselves. I imagine he was a dick before all of this, and will probably remain one for the rest of his life. Sometimes, people don’t change.

“You got some balls on you, boy scout.” He gets but a scant inch away from my face. I have to tilt my head back slightly to look up at him, but I don’t back down.

“The name is James,” I sternly respond without a hint of trepidation lingering in voice. “If you just want to be an ass and not tell me, fine.”

Our eyes stay dead-locked for a few seconds longer before I pull away. As much as I want that information, I’m not going to be bullied in the process.

I make for the doorway, and pause just as I step out into the hallway. I glance back into the space and find Shane standing rigid with his head trained in my direction.

“You know, I get what you’re going through. I really do. I’ve lost a lot since this whole thing started. I’m not asking you for much. I’m just asking for you to help me save your family, and my friend, from some really bad people.”

I leave it at that and walk away. Like all things now, I’ll have to improvise and do my best with what I’ve got, which is literally nothing. Oh well. It is what it is, I guess.

I unlatch the door and carefully crack it open. I peer out into the space between the two buildings, checking to make sure the area is clear of any chasers or those people. There isn’t a soul in sight. I peer out and around the edge of the door toward the rear of the building. No movement.

My hands push the door open far enough for me to slip through. I step clear of the building, and allow the door to close. I trudge through the overgrown weeds, and make for the street.

Something moves behind me.

I stop and spin about on the heels of my boots. I bring the machete up over my head with the intention of slaying whatever might be there.

Shane pauses and puts his hands up. “Whoa, man. Chill. It’s just me.”

I sigh, and lower the dense blade. “What do you want, Shane? I don’t have any more time for your crap, man.”

He lowers his hands, and relaxes his defensive posture. His furrowed brow and angered face have all but changed to that of guilt and embarrassment. Another look that I’m familiar with.

“I’m not here to fight or argue with you,” he says.

“Then why are you here?”

Shane tugs at the pump action on the shotgun. He stares at me with an intense gaze. “I’m coming with you.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Did I hear him correctly?

Perhaps my pointed words jabbed him deep enough for him to take action, and stop being an ass. I’m not sure if it will change that last part, but at least now, I can hopefully get what I need.

“You’re coming with me?” I clarify. I’m a bit taken back by his words. I know he has been chomping at the bit to go after his brother and sister, but he hasn’t wanted to leave because of his family who are here. “What about your mom and grandfather?”

Shane tilts his head forward. He removes the black beanie and digs his fingernails into the back of his scalp, as if to relieve a bothersome itch. He pulls back his semi-long strands of black hair, and secures the beanie back in place.

“To be honest, my mother is more than capable of taking care of herself. She’s killed a number of those chasers on her own. I know she may look fragile and unintimidating, but when push comes to shove, she has no problem throwing down if need be.”

I’m not one to underestimate anyone’s skillset in this hostile environment. Every person I come across is assumed to be able to handle themselves in a fight. I’d rather size people up that way than to be foolish, and think that they are meager just because of their looks. One thing I have learned so far in the apocalypse is that women are just as capable of taking care of themselves as men.

“Then why haven’t you gone to look for your brother and sister?” I pose.

I recall the conversation that Beverly and I had earlier about him, and I get it. Shane’s being pulled in two different directions. He’s trying to find some magical way of being able to protect his family here while also trying to save his siblings. It’s a tightrope that he must walk. I hope he doesn’t ask my opinion on the matter, though, as I am the last person in this world he needs to pump for advice. I’m doing what I think is best for me and my remaining family. I might be wrong, but it is my decision to make.

“Honestly, I’m scared. Not so much of the chasers, or the people that have my sister, but scared of what I might find,” he sincerely replies. “Not going out and searching for them maintains the hopeful illusion that they’re still alive. If I do find them, and they are dead or turned into those abominations, I’m not sure I can handle that. I guess that’s why I’ve stayed put.”

Man. I wasn’t expecting all of that from a guy his age. Not that this cataclysmic event doesn’t have everyone left alive, and uninfected, scared to the marrow. We’re all battling demons that won’t leave us be. It’s a tiresome fight, and one that completely drains a person. Almost like a parasite that sucks every last bit of strength and resolve one might have.

“Listen, you do what you feel you need to do. Come or don’t. Doesn’t matter to me as long as you can just tell me where to go,” I respond point blank. “I have no doubts that your mother is more than capable of handling any threat that could arise. Besides, Lucas and my dog are up there as well. They will protect them if it comes to that.”

Shane smirks, and runs his fingers over the stubble sprouting around his mouth. “Man. You sure don’t act like any kid I’ve ever met before. Not even Jenny’s friends, who are about the same age, acted the way you do.”

“Everything has changed. The world isn’t what it was. I’ve had to grow up really fast over these past few months. Survive or die. That’s the name of the game now. I’ve got friends and family who are counting on me. I can’t let them down.”

Shane nods. “They’re lucky to have you then, James.”

I return the gesture in kind. Not that I needed it, but it does feel kind of nice to have Shane tagging along. Not only does he know where we’re going, but an extra set of eyes keen to the chasers and those people will certainly come in handy.

“Now that we have that settled, care to lead the way?” I step to the side and lean back against the wood siding of the building, allowing Shane to slip past me. I trail him out onto the street.

The warmth of the sun slices through the morning clouds overhead and splashes us in the face. It’s still a bit cold and all, but having the strident rays is a nice change of pace. I prefer the daylight over the darkness anyway. It may not be as safe, but the nighttime still gives me the creeps.

Shane glances along the street that Lucas and I barreled down not too long ago, then straight ahead at a passage that leads behind some buildings.

“How far away is the place where they’re keeping them?” I inquire.

He points diagonally to the north. “On the other side of town. Donny said it was some old, abandoned factory or something like that.”

“Are there many chasers around these parts? Some of the towns we have been through have been hit or miss.”

Shane shrugs. “Not entirely sure. We were just passing through when those a-holes got the jump on us. Aside from the small horde of chasers who came upon us when they took Jenny, we haven’t seen too many more since then.”

For me, I like to think everywhere we go is going to be infested with the creatures. I’d rather be ready for them than to have my guard down, and think that we are in the clear when we’re not.

I point toward the back end of the buildings. “Probably should stick close to the structures. Stay out of sight in case they come back trolling for us.”

“Agreed.” Shane takes point and heads across the street with his shotgun clutched tightly in his hands. I follow close behind with the machete ready to hack and cleave if need be. The rifle is still slung across my body. I meant to leave it with Lucas as I don’t plan on using it. Oh well. I guess I’ll hold onto it just in case we get into a bind, and I find some use for it. The last thing we need to do is attract any unwanted attention. Speaking of which…

“Hey, do you have any other weapons on you besides that shotgun?” I pose.

Our thick-soled boots crunch over the loose gravel. We trudge along the makeshift road with the old, haggard buildings shielding us from prying eyes.

“Only other thing I’ve got is this knife on my hip. That’s about it. Why?” Shane says.

I scan each structure and check for any chasers who may be lurking within the dark spaces. Each is void of any gaunt bodies waiting to charge out and attack.

“We really want to minimize any noise that might draw attention to us,” I retort. “Discharging that shotgun will be like ringing the dinner bell. I would only use it as a last resort, and stick with your knife. Silent and efficient. Stab them in the head, and the rest is gravy.”

“Good call. Most times, I’m more of a sledgehammer guy than anything else.” Shane turns to face me while still walking backwards. He trains the shotgun off to this left and pretends to fire. He makes the noise and everything. “Just one of the many ways I like to relieve stress. Removing their freaking heads with blunt force. Did you ever see Gallagher do any standup?”

Shane lowers the shotgun. He slips the attached strap over his shoulder, and removes the hefty hunting knife from the sheath fixed to his waist.

“The name sounds familiar, but I don’t recall ever watching it.” I think Dad used to watch some of his stuff when I was younger. Not sure, though.

Shane’s mouth gapes open, and his eyes bulge from his skull. “I know you’re young and all, James, but the dude was freaking great. You’ve definitely missed out. He always did this bit with bringing out a variety of food and these large watermelons. He would get his makeshift hammer and smash them to bits with it. Chunks of food would fly out in every direction. Kind of makes me wish I had that beast of a tool here with me now. It would definitely make short work of any chasers.”

He presses his hands together and acts out the creature’s head being smashed and blown out in every direction. Not exactly what I would call fun or exciting, but to each their own, I guess.

I offer a half-smile just to shut Shane up. He spins back around with the knife in his hand. This guy is nothing short of a basket case. He’s all over the place mentally, acting as though killing the chasers is some sort of sport or comedy special. Listening to him makes it that much harder to really concentrate on our environment. I’m more concerned with navigating this town and getting Cassie and the others away from those people as fast and quietly as possible. Although, I’m not opposed to pointless banter, now is not the time I want to do that.

Wow, listening to those words rattle loosely about inside my skull makes me sound like Dad. It’s not a bad thing by any means. The more I take from the words of wisdom that he bestowed upon me over the years, the better off I’ve been. I’m still alive and breathing. Right now, that’s job one.

We continue on through the town. Shane has refrained from any more chatter that isn’t dire to what our current situation requires. I’m thankful for that. I’m not sure I could stand another word before I lose my mind. I think he picked up on my lack of enthusiasm, though. I’m not looking to chum it up with anyone right now. I am focused on what needs to happen. That is all.

Taking in the abandoned town brings a sense to me that makes me feel as though we are on another planet. It’s really strange to not see any sort of daily life happening. People shopping, or kids going to school. The humming of cars and trucks bustling up and down the streets and highways. The smell of exhaust. I never put too much thought into those small, trivial things. Not until their absence was really felt, and dare I say it, missed. Perhaps one day everything will get back to normal, whatever that may be.

“Whoa, hold up for a minute.” Shane’s hand springs up into the air. He slows his pace and stops. He takes a few steps to his left, and hugs the reddish brick wall of the building we’re traveling behind.

I follow suit. “What’s wrong?”

He places his finger firmly to his lips to silence me. I find that ironic, given his random babbling from earlier. He points toward the street we’re coming up on. “Thought I heard something.”

I listen closely. It’s faint, and barely audible, which makes me think of one thing. Chasers.

“There may be some chasers close by. We need to be careful.”

Shane flips the knife around with the tip pointing toward me and the serrated blade facing the ground. He brings it up into a defensive position as he carefully steps to the corner of the building.

Slow and steady, he inches his way along the wall to the corner. He pauses, but only briefly. He braces himself, for whatever might be on the side, and takes in a sharp breath before glancing out into the street.

I grip the machete’s handle tighter. I take in a big gulp of air, and slowly vent it through my nose and mouth. Whether there is one or a hundred, I’ll plow through them if necessary. Whatever it takes.

“I count maybe six chasers total. Four in the street and two on the sidewalk close to... Oh crap.” Shane reels his head back in as panic sets on his flush face. His chest heaves slightly, breathing elevated as his body presses against the brick wall. The sudden movement makes me bring the machete up into the air.

“What happened?” I ask.

He glances past the corner as far as he can without giving away our position to the creatures.

“I think one of the chasers on the sidewalk may have seen me. He turned and glanced back this way, but it was hard to tell if he actually noticed me. He was missing one eye and the other look like chewed dog meat, so I don’t know.”

I grab Shane’s arm and move him down the wall past me. I hug the rigid surface of the brick wall with my left shoulder while keeping the machete up and ready to strike a lethal blow. I near the edge of the structure, and peer out far enough to get eyes on the chasers.

The ones in the street are ambling about. Their shoulders droop forward with their heads dangling toward the ground as if they have no purpose or will to move with haste. Each step they make looks laborious at best.

My gaze shifts to the left, past the dust-covered green sedan, to the two chasers meandering along the sidewalk. The one closest to us shuffles its tattered white shoes in our direction. It stops. It’s head tilts back slightly with its mangled nose trained in the air. It stays frozen in that position for a few seconds before lowering its head back down. I don’t think it can actually see or detect us as it doesn’t look directly at the corner of the building. I think it’s responding to some movement that it might have heard.

I lean against the wall, and shift my attention back to Shane who looks ready to throw down. His arms are up in the air in front of him. Wrinkles form above his brow as a serious, focused look washes over his face.

“I don’t think that one can see. If it had spotted you, it would’ve signaled in some way. It’s not advancing toward us,” I say.

Shane points the end of his blade across the street at the buildings that line the opposite side of the road. “I’m not sure running across the street would be a wise decision. I see no outlet over there, and I’m not exactly sure what’s inside those buildings.”

I nod in agreement.

Rushing into a building with no clue what is lurking inside is never a good idea. Especially when you run the risk of having a pack of chasers hot on your butt. It could prove to be fatal.

“Is there no other way we could go?”

Shane scratches at the scruff on his chin and the side of his face. He shifts his gaze to the right, and down the street. More buildings continue on along the long, desolate road.

“We could try to make our way down there, but I’m not sure where we would go after crossing behind that last building. Could be a ton more chasers over there.”

Crap. Not what I wanted to hear.

I’m not looking to add any more time to this venture. Cassie can’t afford it, and neither can my sister. The longer things take, the more I feel as though the people I care about are one step closer to being in the grave, or worse yet, turned by the creatures. I can’t have that happen. Not again.

Do whatever it takes to get to them. Just make it happen.

I glance back to Shane, and turn my hat backward on my head. There’s really only one way for us to tackle this. We’re going to have to go through them. I’m not sure if he’s going to be down to go along or not, but he really doesn’t have a choice. He made the choice to come, and if he wants to rescue his family, he’s going to have to do whatever is necessary to ensure that happens.

The chasers are in our way, and I plan on plowing the road.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“ You want to do what again?” Shane lifts his right eyebrow slightly in the air. He exhales a deep sigh of uncertainty through his taut lips. He shakes his head and offers a single nod.

“We do this right, and we’ll be able to manage their numbers easier than if we were to run out there, and try to take them all on at once,” I reassure. “It’s not the best approach, but the only one we’ve got to work with.”

“All right. Let’s do this.”

I take the side of the machete, and gently rap it against the side of the brick building. I peer far enough around the corner to watch their response. I hope that we’ll be able to attract the two who are on the sidewalk, without snaring the other four’s attention.

At first, the chasers appear to be deaf to the noise. They continue their mindless stumbling about. I try again, but tap the blade a tad bit harder against the edge of the building. The one closest to us stops once more and turns back this way. There is no wondering if it heard a noise or not. It instantly heads this way. It’s not in a dead sprint, but more of a fast-paced stumbling walk due to its meager legs that are riddled with large gashes, and chunks of muscle, and flesh that look to have been torn free.

I step back from the corner, and ready myself with the machete. Shane stands just behind me and off to my right with his knife in the air.

The chaser’s shallow growls grow louder as it nears the corner. My heartrate increases with every yowl that escapes its lips. I remain in control, though, not letting loose the desire to savagely attack the creature.

The chaser stumbles into view and spots us. It’s once clunky movement and lack of violent behavior instantly shifts to a frenzied rage of hunger. Its blood-stained mouth widens, revealing the discolored and rotting teeth festering inside its gaping cavity. Dirt and grime coat the chaser’s face as it roars.

It reaches out for me, fingers fidgeting with the hopes of snaring my jacket. I bury the sharp edge of the machete in the front part of its decomposing skull. It doesn’t take much force to penetrate its head. The bone crunches, followed by a squishing sound. A steady stream of blood races down the middle of its face.

The chaser drops to its knees and ceases any further aggressive behavior. I tug at the blade, trying to remove it from the creature’s skull. More yowls clearly sound from the other, beckoning me to work faster.

“That doesn’t sound like one at a time,” Shane nervously mentions.

“I never said it was foolproof. I was just hoping for the best case here.” I finally wiggle the blade free as another body breaks around the corner. Shane rams the tip of his blade into the side of its head. He presses his forearm into the chaser’s smirched rags and drives it back against the wall hard. The impact makes a dull thud. A final howl escapes its mouth as it slumps forward lifelessly.

The steady thump of feet pounding on pavement echoes down the alley—the combined growls of the infected drawing closer.

I brush past Shane, and dart for the corner of the building just as another chaser materializes. I swing the machete as hard as I can at the creature’s neck. The blade slices through its black flesh with ease and emerges out the other side. The head tilts to the right and tumbles down the right side of its body.

It stumbles a few more feet, with its arms wildly searching for anything to grab onto, before falling to the ground. Its head bounces past me with eyes wide and full of carnal rage. Its teeth chatter up and down as it continues on through the overgrown vegetation.

Three down. Three to go.

I step out onto the sidewalk, and confront the remaining chasers who are within arm’s reach. Their once dormant and vegetative state has given way to the ravenous fiends who have gnawed through the western world. I strike the creature closest to me at an angle. The blade cleaves a portion of its jaw free from its gaunt face. A thin strand of muscle keeps the dangling bone in place as the chaser stumbles off to the side.

The remaining two crash into me, knocking me down to the concrete hard. I hit with a dull thud, and the air rips from my lungs. The bulk of the automatic rifle burrows into my spine, causing me to grimace in pain. They converge on me with rapacious hands, frantically reaching for my body.

I thrust my legs at the chasers, trying to keep them at bay. Shane charges the creatures and collides with them. He knocks them off balance, and stumbles back into the street.

“You good?” He reaches down and offers me his hand.

“Yeah. Let’s finish these freaks off.” I take his hand, and he pulls me to my feet. The chasers regain their focus. Shane and I step away from one another. The creatures split apart, and pick their targets.

They growl and bare their teeth. I charge full steam ahead, and bury the dense blade of the machete into the chaser’s upper right shoulder, the nice meaty part between the collar bone and the bottom of its throat, as it tries to strike me with its right arm.

Blood rushes down its mangled flesh.

The sanguine fluid stains the front of its tattered blue sweatshirt. I slide the machete down and out of the chaser’s torso. I continue my assault, hacking away on the wounded area until the chaser falls to the cement, lifeless.

Shane spins the large knife about while holding the remaining chaser at bay. His palm is pressed into its chest. Its teeth chatter as voracious yowls spew from the creature’s gaping cavity. He plunges the tip of the blade into the bottom of its jaw. The gleaming silver of the steel vanishes into the chaser’s head. Blood rushes down past the hilt and onto Shane’s hand. He holds it fixed inside the chaser’s skull for a second longer before pulling it out.

A disgusted, yet satisfying, look washes over his face. He steps back and allows the dead weight of the chaser to crumble to the cement. Staring at him, I wonder briefly if that is how I look when I take one of the creatures’ lives.

Shane looks at me with exhausted, heavy eyes. His chest heaves from the excretion of our heated battle with the infected. He flicks his hand, trying to rid his flesh of the chaser’s bodily fluids.

“You know, before all of this started, I never imagined that I would be doing such things to people. But now, after I’ve killed as many of these things as I have, the shock of the act lessens with each time I do it. I’m not sure if that sounds depraved or creepy, but I’m numb to it all now.” Shane wipes the blood off on the sides of his pants, followed by his hand. The disgusted expression that sat on his face has all but vanished.

“It’s a matter of survival now,” I coldly reply. “I don’t view them as people anymore. They’re nothing more than mindless animals who have no thought or regard for life. At least, that’s how I look at it.”

Shane adjusts the strap of the shotgun that’s secured across his chest. He glances my way, and gives me a confirming nod. “Guess it’s best to look at it like that. Makes it bearable to do what is needed.” He takes stock of our handy work, glaring at the dispatched bodies who lay in pools of their own blood. “Probably need to get back on the move before more show up.”

“Lead the way.”

Shane keeps the knife grasped firmly within his hand as we start across the street. We hop up on the sidewalk, and make our way down to the corner of the building. Both of our heads remain on a swivel as we keenly look out for any more chasers.

He slows his pace, and approaches the edge of the building with cautious footing. I stay close behind with the machete hovering in the air. He peers out and to the right. He doesn’t look back, but waves his hand, signaling to me that the coast is clear.

We continue on through the remainder of the small town. Shane sticks close to the buildings and any alleyways that will keep us out of sight of the chasers, and the people who took Cassie.

Through the silence of the town, and the crunching of the loose gravel under our boots, I continue to chew on what he said about the chasers, and Cindy. I think of Mom and Dad—their faces contorted in rage, eyes void of any love for their only son. I feel as though that’s the main reason why I have grown so numb to killing the vile creatures without thought or hesitation. Like a thief in the night stealing my most treasured possessions, this plague has robbed me of so much, and continues to try and pick my pocket at every turn.

I pray that Cindy is safe, and has not fully made the transition into one of those abominations. I’m not sure I’ll be able to withstand that devastating blow.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The thought of everything that I have lost, my mom and dad, and what I stand to lose, Cassie and Cindy, tries its best to distract me, and send me into a tailspin of despair and anger. I’m trying to manage the anger, guilt, and sadness inside me as best as I can, though. With each day that passes, the fight to remain hopeful and steadfast in my mission doesn’t waiver, much. Not without this apocalypse trying, though. It’s persistent in its attacks, but staying on the move and not giving my mind enough time to dive into that horrid place has helped. As much as the rational side of my mind keeps whispering to me that my family is all but gone, I remain hopeful. At the end of the day, that’s all I have left. Hope.

Shane has remained silent since our skirmish with the infected. He’s been vigilant with our path that has taken us across the town through alleyways and weed covered plots of land. He’s kept us out of the open and mostly shielded from any chasers in the area.

Fortunately, the chasers have been few and far between, which made dispatching the creatures that much easier. We haven’t had to use our guns fortunately. Our sharp weapons have done the brunt of the killing.

Shane has proved to be more than capable of taking care of himself. Not that I had any doubts. Given the dead state of the country and all, coupled with the lack of authority to keep everything in check, any souls still pushing forward are more than likely tough enough to survive. His brief moment of vulnerability from earlier did take me by surprise, considering we really don’t know each other like that. But still, I get why it happened. You either let it out, and free yourself from the shackles of that guilt and anger, or you allow it to fester deep inside your soul until it rots you to your core.

My approach to dealing with my demons has been less than perfect, but at least I am, regardless if it’s good or bad.

“How much farther do we have.” I move up, just to the left of Shane, and walk by his side.

His gaze is long and deep. Eyes narrowed and peering dead ahead. “Shouldn’t be too much farther. I think it should-” Shane comes to a grinding halt without warning.

The sudden action sends me on edge. The machete springs up in the air instantly. My head surveys the area around us, seeking for the incoming threat. “What is it? What do you see?”

A concerned look floods his face as he takes off. His eyes widen slightly, mouth agape, as he stands motionless and acting as if he is searching for something. I don’t hear anything that would cause such a sudden response. Still, I follow his lead.

Our feet hammer the pavement of the road we’re traveling along. I continue searching for what has him spooked, but see and hear nothing.

There is something on the side of the road, though. I see it now. Looks to be a discarded backpack. Black, with the fabric tattered and frayed.

Shane slows his pace. He stares at the backpack as if it looks familiar somehow. He looks up, and places the ridge of his palm just above his brow. He looks to his left at the buildings across the street, then to his right.

“Hey, what is it?”

A sad and worried look overtakes Shane. He places both hands on the back of his head as he continues to look aimlessly in every direction. “It’s my brother’s gear.”

I skim the area as well in search of his kin. Much like him, I see nothing.

“There are any number of reasons why he may have had to ditch it,” I reply. “I imagine he’s ok.” I try to allay his fear, to keep him from losing it, but I see the speckles of blood on the outside of the pack. Still, I try to ease his worries. I know all too well what happens when one drifts into the darkness of their mind. It’s not a good place to be.

“I bet those scumbags took or killed him,” Shane growls. His fingers continually reposition themselves over the handle of his knife. He paces back and forth as he mutters under his breath. “I should’ve gone with him. He shouldn’t have gone alone. Damn it.”

I try to defuse the situation as fast as I can. “Listen, I imagine your brother can handle himself. We don’t need to jump to any conclusions since we don’t know what exactly happened here.” My words have little to no effect on his boiling hysteria that is circling the drain of a meltdown. He growls and grits his teeth. His hands ball into tightly clenched fists that turn his knuckles a milky white. Some choice words escape from his lips. He’s not stupid, and I’m not naïve. By nature, now, I tend to think the worst and hope for the best. “Listen, I get what you’re dealing with, I really do, but you’re going to have to keep it together, at least until we have what we’re after. If you can’t do that, then you need to head back, and I’ll go at it alone.”

Shane squints his eyes and looks down on me as if I’ve said something that he doesn’t understand. I know that’s not the case, however. He’s just so consumed by the emotions flooding his body he’s struggling to reign them all in.

“I’m not going back without my sister and brother,” he snarls.

I hold up my hands in the air, and take a step back from Shane. I’m not foolish, and don’t want to get into a fight with him. That’s the last thing we need. Besides, people tend to lash out when they’re in such an emotional state.

“I agree. I’m not going back without my friend either, but the only way we’re going to accomplish that is if we’re thinking clearly and not acting on emotion.”

Man, if Lucas could hear me now. He’d probably be thinking, “Where have I heard that before?”

Shane breathes out the wad of emotion that has him shackled, and unable to think clearly. He offers me a subtle nod while adjusting the beanie on his head. He scoops up the backpack from the road. At least he appears to be more in control.

I give him some space, and allow him to vent what remainder of frustration is clinging inside of him. He paces about for a few moments. He exhales deep breaths as he places both hands on the back of his head. It doesn’t go away that fast, but it can be repressed until it can be properly dealt with at a later time.

Shane finally stops and removes the shotgun. He slips the straps of the pack over his shoulders. He fixes the weapon between the backpack and his person and gets back on the move. He doesn’t say anything, but he really doesn’t need to.

I fall in line behind him, following a good distance back. With his rigid and aggressive body language, he acts as though he wants that. I think now we have an understanding of how we need to proceed from here. At least, I hope we do. Lives depend on it. The girls and ours.

The full brunt of the sun’s exposure casts its warm glow over the town, causing my eyes to squint slightly from the strident rays. I grab the bill of my hat and bring it about face. I pull it down a bit farther to where it’s just a scant inch above my brow.

Thinking back, I don’t recall the last time there was this much sun. It feels like an eternity since I’ve seen it last. Perhaps it has been, and I haven’t even noticed. It’s still fairly early in the morning, though. Clouds could still come rolling in and blot its rays.

Having the sun out has been a nice change of pace. It’s not too cold, but it’s not too hot either. Just the right mixture at the moment. My body has been running like a flamethrower as of late, so it’s been bearable, and even pleasant.

Most times, I feel like if I was to jump into a mound of snow, I’d probably melt it instantly. Could be teenager hormones going rampant, or just me being pissed off at the world twenty-four/ seven. One is a lot, both is a recipe for disaster. Or so Dad would say, but much more colorfully.

Neither Mom or Dad was looking forward to me becoming a teenager, or so they jokingly told me when I was younger. I think they were afraid I’d be too much like them. They would tell me stories of the things they did when they were my age, and of how their parents would get so upset at them. Their parents warned them that when they had kids, they would be just as bad, if not worse than what they were. I enjoyed proving that wrong. Aside from the occasional whining and moaning about doing chores, I never really did too much to get my parents truly pissed off. I imagine those moments were coming. Guess it’ll never happen now.

Damn it, James. There you go again. Thinking of the past.

It always happens like that, though. Memories slip in through the tiniest of cracks and pull at my heartstrings. Most times, I try to shake it off. I don’t want it to weaken me, and turn my focused mind into a mushy pile of scathed feelings. But this time, instead of fighting it, I try something different. I allow it in, and embrace those good times. My heart has so much darkness filling it that I need to try and bring some of the humanity back in. I can still be tough, and hold myself to doing what is needed to survive, but I can’t lose feeling something more in this life. Friendship and love, for my extended family, and Cindy.

We continue along the road. Shane stops and sidesteps toward the field that is off to our right. I follow his lead, and do the same. We kneel down and enter the overgrown, tall, brown blades of grass.

“A truck is heading this way,” he says flatly. His head is trained toward the road.

“Is it them?” I inquire. My heart starts to beat faster from the thought.

“Not sure, but I don’t think we need to take the chance either way.” He points dead ahead through the thick foliage. “See that large building up ahead?”

I move up and hunch down to the right of him. I stay low to the ground and crane my neck. It’s hard to see clearly, but I see enough to know what he is referring to.

“Yeah. Is that where they’re keeping them?”

He lowers his arm.

“I think so. I know it’s in this general area from what my brother… Hold on.” Shane places his right arm over my shoulder and pushes me even farther toward the ground. The grumbling of an engine captures my ears, and sends my attention to the road. We peer through the grass, and find a truck heading this way. Can’t tell for sure, but it could be those people who took Cassie. I’d rather assume that it is than not. I really don’t want to risk it.

Whoever it is, doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. We still remain hidden, though.

It passes by us without stopping or slowing down. My head twists back over my shoulder as I push away Shane’s arm that is still draped over me. I lift up a bit, and crane my neck over the tall verdure. I notice two guys sitting in the bed of the truck with their backs against the cab. They look to be holding rifles, or at least I think that’s what I see in front of them.

Bastards.

Shane tugs at my arm.

I stoop down and point to the truck. “I think that was them. I saw a few guys in the back with what looked like rifles.”

“That’s good,” Shane says. “Means they won’t be there. One less thing we have to worry about.”

He’s right. I offer one last glance to the truck as it disappears behind a building within the downtown area.

With his knife still clutched tightly in his palm, Shane taps me on the arm to get my attention. I glance back to him just as he starts to stand up.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

We crossed through the field swiftly, using the tall blades of dead grass as cover. Our feet move with purpose, heads on a swivel as we approach the side of the large structure. Shane pauses, and takes a knee at the edge of the field where the tall weeds end, and the lot of the building begins. I lower down and take a deep breath next to him.

It’s getting warm, or at least to me it is. My jacket is thick, and contains my body heat well. With the exertion, all the moving around, and the sun beating down on us, I’m feeling a bit overheated. I swipe the sleeve of my coat across my brow, and wipe away the beads of sweat that race down from under my cap. I grab the zipper, and pull it down some, allowing the heat to escape, and the wind to seep in and cool me off.

Shane remains focused on the large, reddish-brown brick building before us. He glances to his left, past the rusted, stationary vehicles that litter the dirt covered lot.

I skim over the face of the building, looking for a way for us to get in. Or, at the very least, be able to look inside to see if this is in fact the right place. There doesn’t seem to be anything at ground level. I look further to my right, and spot a window just above a large delivery truck that is parked next to the building.

I nudge Shane with my elbow, then nod toward the window. “Up there. That may give us a vantage point to see what’s inside.”

Shane peers up to the window briefly. He glances back to his left and nods in agreement. “Sounds good. I’m not seeing anything else down this way. I don’t see any guards or chasers either. I think we’re safe to move.”

I sprint across the lot to the right, and duck behind a yellow car that has its tires missing. The windows have been busted out. Shards of glass crunch under my boots. I lift up and look through the missing driver side window at the building. Still, no movement.

Shane’s feet pound the dirt as he approaches me. He lowers down, and pauses briefly before we venture on to the next car. We move carefully among the few cars that are scattered about. There could be eyes watching the perimeter of the structure. So far, there is no visible movement.

We make for the side of the large truck, trampling over what little grass there is, and take cover along the driver’s side. With our backs pressed to the box-shaped vehicle, we slide toward the rear of the truck and pause. I toe the edge of the vehicle, and cautiously peer around the corner for any surprises that may be waiting for us. It’s clear.

I swing out, and step in front of the large, roll-up door. Shane moves to my side. We look toward the roof of the truck, and ponder how we’re going to get up there. A single silver handle is fixed off to either side of the door. Beyond that, I don’t see much that would aid in us being able to scale the large vehicle.

Shane looks to me, and raises his brow as if he’s waiting to hear what my idea is to scale the unruly vehicle. “I’m not seeing an easy way to get up there.”

I continue looking at the handle, and the thick black steel bumper. It doesn’t look like it’s going to be easy to scale the large, bulky vehicle, but that’s never stopped me before. I’ve climbed trees much larger than this truck and found ways up those dense trunks. It took some thought and ingenuity, but I made it happen.

“We’ll make it work.”

Shane walks away, leaving me with my mind deep in plotting out how I’m going to scale this vehicle. I reach for the handle, and pull myself onto the bumper. My head tilts back, and I glance up at the roof.

Crap. The machete.

I turn and release the blade. It falls to the dirt below, and hits with a dull clump. I stretch my arm upward, fingers wiggling for the edge of the truck’s roof. I’m still a good seven feet or so away from being able to reach. I crouch and jump upward, but don’t make it too far. I land back on the bumper, and nearly fall off. This isn’t going to work. I’m going to have to go at this a different way.

I jump to the ground and retrieve the machete. I’m not giving up. There is a way to do this. I take a few steps back and mull over the situation a bit more. I step to my left, and look at the driver’s door. There’s a steep foot side step mounted just below the door. My gaze drifts up to the large mirror fixed to the frame with a dense steel brace. Hmmm.

An idea gels inside my head. Where there’s a will, there is a way. I don’t want to try this on the driver’s side of the vehicle, though. I’ll be exposed and out in the open. The passenger side would be preferable. We’ll be better hidden between the truck and the exterior of the building. I turn on my heels to locate Shane and find him over by the edge of the building. His left shoulder hugs the brick façade as his head peers around the bend.

“Psst. Shane!” I call out. “I think I figured out a way for us to get up here.”

Shane glances back over his shoulder at me as I point to the passenger side of the truck. “You go ahead. I’m going to check this way to see if I can find a way in.”

Before I have a chance to protest, Shane vanishes around the corner. I growl under my breath, and shake my head. He better not mess this up.

I don’t waste any more time. I near the passenger side, and carefully look down the tight-fitting space in search of any dangers. Minus the absence of any sunlight striking the shadowy space, it appears to be clear of any threats.

If I was any bigger, this might pose a challenge. I fit with just enough room on either side of me. My body remains front and centered, and I don’t have to turn sideways to continue on.

I’m not overly keen on such tight quarters, but stay the uneasiness creeping up my spine. I hear a noise behind me that sounds like footsteps, which stops me cold. I turn about abruptly, and scrape my right arm along the rigid surface of the brick wall. The sleeve of my coat snags on the ends of the bricks, slightly fraying the fabric.

There’s nothing there.

“Shane. You there?” I whisper.

There’s no response. I wait for a moment more, and still get no reply. I bend down and peer under the belly of the truck. I spot nothing lingering under the shadowy depths of the steel undercarriage, or on the other side. Guess I was hearing things. Not finding a chaser crawling my way eases my ransacked mind. Being in such a fight or flight state constantly has me on edge, and at times hearing things that aren’t really there.

I lift back up, and continue on toward the cab. I keep the machete up and at the ready, just in case there is something close by. I grab the steel brace that the mirror is attached to, place my right boot onto the steel step, and hoist myself up.

The passenger side window is missing. I glance inside the dirt covered cab and spot a body in the seat close to me. A faint yelp escapes my lips, and I lift the machete in the air without thought, but stay the impulse to attack.

As far as I can tell, the man appears to be dead. He’s slouched over to the left with his head buried in the driver’s seat. Dried blood is splattered on the dash and floorboard. I can’t see his face clearly from the angle I am looking at him, but he doesn’t twitch or show any signs of life.

I stand there for a moment, and work out how I’m going to tackle this. I need both of my hands for climbing, so I need to do something with the machete. I don’t want to leave it on the ground, and I surely don’t want to toss it up on top of the roof. The noise that would cause would more than likely draw unwanted attention. That, and I run the risk of it not landing right and falling back down toward me. A gruesome thought. I ultimately decide to secure it between the rifle that is slung across my body and my back.

I test the strap first. It’s rather tight against me. It should hold long enough for me to get up there. I work it around, and manage to get the machete secured in place. It doesn’t feel as though there is much wiggle room for it to move. Now, back to the task at hand.

With both hands free, I glance up past the cab toward the roof. I spot a narrow lip that runs along the outer rim of the vehicle’s curved framed. I reach up, and test to see how much I can grip. The ends of my fingers slip into the narrow groove, and take hold. This may work.

My left arm is not as strong as my right, so it takes a bit more energy for me to pull my bulk up. I strain and grunt. My feet lift up more until I’m on the tips of my toes. My right hand releases from the mirror and shoots up to the narrow gap. I dig deep, and pull up with all my might. I struggle to lift myself up. A stinging bite festers in my arms, the strain on my fingers amplifying the longer I dangle from the edge of the truck. Doing such things as a simple pull up makes one realize either how fit or how out of shape you really are. I’m obviously more of the latter. Still, I fight through the stinging pain invading my muscles.

I fight my way up the side of the truck, through the narrow gap, and onto the roof of the cab. I lay flat on my back, looking up at the clear blue sky. A couple deep breaths is all I allow my body to take before I sit up, and get my feet under me.

I stoop back down, and inch my way toward the large windows. My eyes cut to the left, then the right, making sure there are no wandering gunmen meandering about the grounds. I don’t need to take too much time up here. I’m exposed with no cover to take refuge behind in case someone shows up unannounced.

My boots toe the edge of the truck. I remain aware of the gap between the truck and building. I don’t want to get careless, and fall to the ground. I stretch my neck, and glance inside the grime-coated windows. It’s hard to see anything clearly, but I do spot people walking about. I squint my eyes, and lower down some to look through a section of the windows that isn’t completely smudged and covered in filth.

They appear to be carrying rifles tossed over their shoulders. That doesn’t exactly mean this is the place. After all, most, if not all survivors, are more than likely packing some sort of firearm. I need to get a better look. I need to get inside.

Wait. What is that?

My eyes tilt down and notice what looks to be a steel walkway running along the wall near me. Another idea percolates in my head. I don’t dwell on the pros and cons. I don’t have much in the way of options here.

I reach up over my back and retrieve the machete. Holding the blade, I eye the tip, then the window seal. I can’t tell for sure if the window is locked or not. I’m hoping not.

My arm stretches with the machete’s tip targeting the bottom portion of the window. Fortunately, it’s relatively close. I go slow enough to keep my balance, but quick enough to not waste too much time. The end jabs the glass, then the brick building. I struggle to find that sweet spot in the middle. A few tries and the blade slips into the narrow groove. Now, I just hope its unlocked.

I softly but firmly work the machete up and down, applying just enough pressure to hopefully pop it free. It doesn’t budge.

Great.

There’s no telling how long this building has been neglected. Just from the ragged state the outside is in, I’m guessing a really long time. It’s probably stuck.

I’m disappointed, but not deterred. I maneuver the blade up and down a bit harder. The window finally moves slightly. Yes. I continue working the blade until the window opens far enough for me to get my fingers under.

There. That should do it.

I remove the machete and secure it behind me. I stretch out both arms and grab the bottom of the window. I push forward carefully. There is a bit of resistance, but the window begrudgingly swings out toward me.

The hinges squeak and pop. I freeze, and check to see if the noise caught anyone’s attention. I lower down some, and stare inside. Mounds of crates and boxes litter the space. I still look to be in the clear. I push the window inward further until there’s enough room for me to slip inside.

Ok. Here we go.

I make it a point to not look down. The gap isn’t all that much, but my own fear of falling still tries to mess with me. This isn’t as bad as the rickety rope bridge I traversed on the way to my parents’ cabin, or the plank of wood that I nearly died on back in the little town of Sweet Home, but its still something that could really mess up my day.

My leg stretches toward the bottom of the metal frame as my fingers reach for the side. They find their grip and hold on. I pull myself inside the building and quietly step down on the metal walkway before me.

I crouch down and remain still, searching for any curious stares that may have glanced up here. I spot some armed men walking among the crates and boxes. I count only a few at the moment, but there could be more, close by.

Good. No heads are fixed in my direction. I’m still in the clear. Time to move. I near the edge of the railing before me, and scan over the ground below. Boxes and crates of various sizes lay scattered about the area. Large, industrial type equipment rests along the walls and in the middle of the space. I glance to my right, and find more boxes before my view becomes obstructed by the walkway I’m on.

A single gunshot rings out, which causes me to freeze. The blast echoes throughout the large structure. I follow the weapon’s discharge toward the front of the building.

Two armed men dash through the maze of boxes toward the wall on the side I’m on. They yell at someone.

Hold on. Is that a girl’s voice?

I turn my head to the right slightly, and train my ear. It sounds like a girl giving them the riot act. I can’t make it out clearly, but it definitely sounds like I’m in the right place. Either way, I need to check it out. If Cassie is down there, I don’t want to waste any more time.

I remove the machete from behind me, and tell myself to do whatever is needed to get this done. Rescue Cassie and Jenny, if she’s here, and take out anyone who gets in my way. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I make my way across the metal walkway, and down the rusted steel steps. The soles of my boots play off each step as I quickly make for the floor. I scan the grounds, my ears alert for any subtle noises that may arise. I hit the landing without making any audible noise, and hear the sound of someone heading this way.

There.

I make for an opening between a couple of crates to my left that are double stacked and covered in cobwebs. I slip into the tight opening, and slide further in between the wall of wood and brick behind me. The cobwebs stick to my jacket like glue. My skin crawls with the thought of spiders slipping inside my clothes and touching my skin. A shiver slips over me.

Two guys approach, chattering to each other. I peer through the opening among the two stacks of crates concealing my presence, and listen in.

“Man, I tell you what. The girls our boss seems to come across are nothing more than high octane gas mixed with hellfire, and rolled into a tight skinny frame,” one of the men says.

Damn it. I can’t get a good visual of them. I can only see a dark brown coat with a hood, and some black scraggly hair. My head moves about, shifting in any direction or position that may offer me a better look at them.

“Well, you know better than to mess with the merchandise,” the other man responds. “If he finds out, he’ll kill you for sure. The girls are to be used for trade only. We aren’t supposed to touch them. They don’t fetch the same price if they’re damaged or used. That’s what makes them so valuable. How else are we going to get ammo, weapons, and fuel if the people we trade with don’t like what we have to offer?”

“We kill ’em, and take what we want. Plus, we’ll still have the girls.” He snickers at the statement. Bastards. “I’ll tell you what, that one we just came across earlier is a fine piece of work for sure. Toned and athletic. Blonde hair and blue eyes. My favorite.”

Cassie. Listening to the vile men talk about her in such a way boils my blood. I want nothing more than to rush out there right now, and hack their arms and legs from their bodies. Beat them into a pulpy, bloody mess that is filled with clothes and bones. I have to bite my lip, and clench my teeth to refrain from acting upon such primal instinct. It’s beyond hard, but I manage to keep my composure.

“Yeah, you like them wild for sure,” the other man jokes. “She nearly scratched off your face when we nabbed her from that Humvee. Too bad her friends got away. I would’ve liked to have those keys for that ride. That’s some military grade transport right there.”

The man, with his back to me and outfitted in the brown coat, takes a step back. I follow suit and move to the left as a bit more of his body comes into view.

He turns to the side and pats his pants in search of something. “You got any smokes?”

“Yeah. I got a few left,” the other man replies. “Next time we’re in a store and aren’t in a rush, we need to grab a few more cartons.”

“Come on. Let’s go outside, and have a smoke. I’m starting to get the shakes. Need my hands steady and my mind focused.”

The two men finally walk off. I give them a few moments to make sure they’re gone. Their disgusting banter fades to nothing more than a faint whisper.

I briefly rethink my plan of attack to include slaughtering all these a-holes where they stand, but I quickly table that thought. I don’t need to bite off more than I can chew. That’s not the goal. Saving Cassie and Jenny is.

I shimmy through the crack to the other side, and emerge in a small gap between another stack of crates. I keep to the wall and crates, and work my way to the left as stealthily as I can. I don’t pick up anymore chatter.

Through the openings of the boxes and the equipment, I spot a cage-like enclosure that is outfitted with what looks to be chicken wire. I spot two bodies on the ground, huddled together as they embrace one another. I move my head about, trying to get a clearer view of them.

I continue to thread my thin frame through the narrow, tight spaces and openings until I get to the left of the enclosure. I stay hidden among the shadows cast by the crates. I inch up a bit further and hold my position. I’m close enough to get a better visual of who is inside.

I have found Cassie.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Cassie turns her head to the left and looks out through the crates. The girl who is weeping on her shoulder pulls away, and wipes her swollen red eyes.

“Cassie,” I say in a low, whispered tone. She doesn’t respond. I don’t think she can hear me. “Psst. Cassie.”

She looks around in circles before glancing back to where I am. I wave my hand at her, so she can see me.

The rage and anger on her red, swollen face quickly morphs to relief and happiness. A warming smile breaks across her face. She whispers to the other girl who glances my way. She brushes aside the strands of her long black hair that hang in front of her face like a veil. She swipes away the tears that stream from her bloodshot eyes.

Cassie skootches to the wall and leans back against the brick facade. “James! Oh my gosh. You came!” she whispers with joyful glee to her voice.

“Of course, I did. I wasn’t going to leave without you.” I make sure to stay somewhat set back within the cover of the crates that are keeping my presence unknown.

She looks past me in search of something. “Where’s Lucas and Duke?”

“They’re safe. Don’t worry.”

“How did you find me?”

My gaze shifts from Cassie to the distraught girl who has her head buried between her legs.

“Is her name Jenny, by chance?”

Cassie peers over to her and nods. “It is. How did you know that?”

I catch wind of footsteps nearby. I quickly sink back into the darkness, and remain motionless until they pass. Cassie hangs her head lifelessly toward the concrete floor to not draw any unwanted attention.

The heavy-footed individual continues past us without stopping or breaking his stride.

“I’m with her brother. He brought me here,” I say.

Jenny lifts her head up from her legs, and her eyes widen. She tries to contain the relief that washes over her as she gets to her knees and comes near the wire.

“Donny is with you?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Not Donny. Shane. We’re not sure where Donny is.”

Jenny glances about wildly. Her head twists every which way possible in search of her sibling. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know exactly,” I reply. I peer to the right, past the edge of the crate. “He didn’t stick with me. Not sure where he went off to.”

The chatter of two different voices looms close by, which draws Jenny and Cassie away from the wire. They maintain their deflated state of hopelessness perfectly. I drift back inside the crates once more as the men approach the front portion of the enclosure.

This time, I have a much better view. I can see them clearly, and I think I’m far enough back to where they can’t see me.

The gentleman in the front leans forward and grabs the chicken wire. The tips of his fingers wrap over the steel strands as he smiles at his captives. He removes the red ballcap from his head and wipes away the layer of filth that has accumulated on his brow. His lips part slowly. The tip of his tongue probes the narrow crevices between his crooked teeth.

The other two men stay silent behind him with their rifles pressed against their chests.

“How are you girls doing in here?” he inquires. “It got awfully silent over here. I thought I’d better come over, and check on you.”

Cassie stares at the man without diverting her gaze. Jenny refrains from making eye contact as she keeps her head tilted toward the ground.

“We’re fine,” Cassie bluntly retorts. Her voice is thick with contempt and hatred.

He nods, places the cap back onto his scalp, and smiles happily.

“Well, I’m just glad you girls have finally gotten with the program here. Better to learn obedience now than with whoever you end up with. Not everybody left in this world is so sweet and charming as yours truly.”

Man, this guy is a piece of crap for sure.

Cassie’s face remains rigid and stern. Her lips are taut, and eyes narrowed at the man. I think from the stare she is giving him, she has offered her thoughts on the matter.

He checks his watch, and then nods. “Shouldn’t be too much longer here before we move out. We’ve got some road ahead of us so-”

The crackle of gunfire from outside the building catches his attention. Mine as well. He pushes back from the chicken wire and looks up into the air. His eyes move from side to side as he listens. He looks bewildered, and concerned.

A radio beeps, followed by the crackle of a voice coming online. I panic. I check my waist for the radio I had taken from them earlier, but quickly remember it’s in pieces on the floor back in the warehouse where Lucas is.

“Boss man, we’ve trouble out here,” a strained voice warns.

The man rips the radio from his waist. “What trouble is that?”

“We’ve got chasers inbound, Frank. They’re coming in through the fields and the road.”

“Okay. Handle it. You’ve got guns. They don’t.” He shakes his head as he secures the radio back on his belt, and glances back to Cassie.

“Sometimes, it is hard finding good help.”

A gut-wrenching scream of pain echoes throughout the building, followed by the continuous rambling of gunfire. That definitely came from inside the building.

Frank spins about on his heels and draws a concealed pistol from inside his black coat. He cocks the weapon and holds it in the air.

His men twist around with their rifles drawn and shouldered, searching for the source of the painful screech.

“Don’t stand there, go find out what it is.” Frank shoves the others forward, getting them moving. They dash away as more gunfire ensues. His radio goes off again, the voice more frantic than the last.

“Chasers have gotten inside. They’ve—ahhh!”

“Christ,” he growls. Frank doesn’t give the girls a second thought as he sprints away. Here’s my chance. Time to move.

I emerge out from the nook I was hiding in, and make my way carefully around to the front of the enclosure. Both Cassie and Jenny spring to their feet, and rush over to greet me. I locate the makeshift entrance, and discover a padlock is secured over the latch. I take a step back, and swing the machete at the lock. It takes me a couple of tries, but I finally manage to break it free.

Cassie spurs me to hurry with her hands moving rapidly. I go for the busted lock. The incoming yowls of a chaser rush toward me. I spin on my heels, and strike the creature across the top portion of its head. The blade digs in deep and knocks it off to the side.

Staying positioned with my back to the cage to keep an eye out for anymore chasers that may be inbound, I reach back, grab the lock, and slip it free of the latch. I discard the lock to my left, and pull open the wire gate.

Cassie rushes out, throws her arms around my neck, and squeezes tightly. She whispers in my ear, “Thank you, James.”

I hug her back, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. The clatter of a chaser rounding the corner of a crate pulls me out of the moment, and hurls me into action.

I push Cassie away, and thrust the blade forward. The tip tears through the red stained throat of the chaser and emerges out through the back of its neck. It gurgles on its own blood briefly before falling to the ground.

Cassie grabs the strap of the rifle around me and pulls up. I work it over my head, and give it to her. She shoulders the weapon and trains the barrel dead ahead.

“How are we supposed to get out of here?” she asks.

I point to the other side of the building. “There’s an open window at the top of that staircase. We can climb through it, and make our way down a truck that is parked next to the building.”

Jenny sinks into Cassie, and stays glued to her backside. The cacophony of gunfire causes her to flinch and shudder.

They head in the direction I pointed. I cover our retreat. Through the chaos and madness swallowing this place whole, I wonder where Shane is. I assume he is the reason for the chasers gaining access to the building.

Cassie moves swiftly from crate to crate, staying as far over toward the wall as she can. We stop briefly, and take cover from the chasers who are lingering inside the building among the stacks of crates. One passes by us and pauses. It’s scarred and bloody head tilts back as its nose tests the air.

The painful groans of a man nearby catches the creature’s attention, and sends it on its way. That was close.

“All right, move,” I say.

The girls swiftly make for the staircase with me in tow. I glance back over my shoulder to cover our getaway. Something slams into me, knocking me hard to the ground. The machete breaks free of my grip. My back collides with the edge of a crate that burrows into my spine. A faint yelp escapes my lips as I grimace in pain.

“Are you freaking kidding me,” an angered voice snarls. Through the discomfort flooding my system, I glance up through tearful eyes, and spot a figure hovering above me. He reaches down and wraps his fingers in my jacket. He yanks me off the ground and shoves me back hard into the unforgiving crates. He rams his forearm just under my chin and leans hard against my throat. “And just who the hell are you?”

The side of his neck is bleeding badly. The flesh is mangled, teeth marks indented into his skin. He’s been bitten. Serves this asshole right.

“James!” Cassie races back down the stairs with the rifle laced across her chest.

“James, huh,” Frank says angrily. He turns his attention toward Cassie. He lifts his left arm in the air and fires his pistol. He chambers off a handful of rounds that pounds my skull like a sledgehammer. Cassie quickly retreats back up the stairs.

His gun finally clips empty. He glances at it and offers it a furrowed frown. He discards the weapon without care and turns to face me.

“Leave her alone, butthead,” I sputter while trying to breathe.

He offers me a sharp gaze, and draws back his free arm to punch me. I thrust my leg up and kick him in the balls. His eyes go up, and hands drop down to his private area. He stumbles back a few feet while cupping himself.

I gasp for air. My throat aches something awful. I rub the area as I try to swallow. It hurts.

Frank points at me with an unsteady hand. “You made the biggest mistake of your life, boy. I’m going to make sure those girls suffer at the hands of the worst people I can find.”

My gaze diverts to the ground and finds the machete. I don’t dwell on what I should do next. I just act on pure instinct, and my contempt for this depraved human being.

I kneel down, and grab the handle as Frank comes for me once more. I turn, and ram the blade through his midsection. The blade slides all the way through. He looks down in disbelief. I climb back to my feet. I brace my hand against his shoulder, and push him back. The machete slips out, coated in his blood. I was willing to leave without killing him, but he forced my hand.

His hands cradle his bleeding gut. He stumbles backward past the crates. Rapacious fingers grab the scruff of his coat from behind, and throw him onto the ground.

Frank screams and yells, fighting the voracious demon with every bit of energy he can muster. His legs kick in the air, arms swinging wildly as the unyielding chaser drops onto him none the less.

The creature forces its hands inside the wound in Frank’s stomach. Another arrives, then another to join in on the feast. I slip away from the gathering mass of dead and head for the stairs.

My legs are a bit wobbly from the skirmish. My back hurts, and my head is in a daze. Still, I maintain my hasty retreat through the crates and up the stairs. Cassie comes down, throws my arm over her shoulder. We step over a chaser that lies face down on the stairs before us. She aides me up the remaining steps toward the window.

“Are you ok?” she inquires.

I nod. “Yeah. A little banged up but otherwise good.”

“Sorry I couldn’t help out. Had to deal with that chaser on the steps.”

Jenny is at the top, crouched down, and watching as she motions with her hands for us to move faster.

The gunfire slowly ebbs to nothing more than sporadic crackles that pop off intermittently. The insatiable grunts of feeding chasers below loom in the air. An occasional scream of agony breaks the silence.

We hit the landing, and make our way to the window. I remove my arm from around Cassie’s shoulder, and lean against the small piece of brick wall between the two sets of windows.

Cassie rests the palms of her hands on the window. She peers at the truck, then reaches out her hand to Jenny. “Come on. You go first.”

Jenny takes her hand, and approaches the opened window. She leans forward slightly and cranes her neck toward the outside as she looks at the truck. The grunting and feasting creatures below offer ample incentive for her to get moving.

She carefully steps up on the metal frame and leaps across the gap to the truck’s roof. Cassie tosses the rifle over her shoulders and secures it in place. She makes her way up on the frame, and immediately disappears from sight. The sound of her landing on the truck’s roof a second later indicates that she is safe.

“James, come on,” she calls out.

I push away from the wall, and face toward the window. I step up and out over to the truck. Cassie moves to her right, allowing me enough space to safely step onto the truck.

My balance is still a bit off, so she grabs my arm and holds tight.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” she asks with concern in her voice.

“My back hurts, and I’m a bit rattled, but I’ll be fine.” I wince. “We need to keep moving.”

“Jenny?” Shane calls out from the ground by the driver’s side door.

Her face lights up. A smile of relief and joy overtake her to the point where she starts crying again. She carefully makes her way down the side of the truck to her brother’s open arms.

Shane embraces her and holds her tight. Watching the two of them warms my heart, and makes me yearn for the moment when I can embrace Cindy in such a manner.

Cassie climbs down the side of the truck, followed by me. She removes the rifle from around her and holds it tight. Shane releases his sister and glances over at me. “Did you see Donny in there by chance?”

Jenny shakes her head. “Did he come after me?”

Shane nods. “He did. I hung back with Mom and Grandpa while he came after you.”

Both Shane and Jenny finally cut their attention over to me. A hopeful gleam rests in their eyes. I lower my head, and shake it subtly. “I saw no sign of him, and whoever these people were, made no mention of having anyone else held against their will. I’m sorry.”

Shane fights back the tears as he grabs his sister tighter. I wish I could’ve found him as well.

Cassie turns and shoulders the automatic rifle. She pops off a single round that connects with an incoming chaser. Its head snaps back, and a red mist blossoms in the air.

More yowls from chasers creep closer to us. With discharging that weapon, they will surely come to investigate.

We make a mad dash for the field, and vanish within the overgrown verdure.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

The walk back to Lucas and the others is uneventful. We keep to the alleyways and tight spaces that the town offers, just in case any of the group’s men survived the chasers’ siege.

Nothing but the rustling of weeds and the wind whipping about fills our ears. The occasional grunts and growls from chasers ambling up and down the streets catch our attention, and halt our movement.

Shane and Jenny have been in a tight embrace ever since we fled her captors. They haven’t said much to one another. It’s just been more of being in the moment with each other. Happy to be reunited once more.

“So, why didn’t Lucas and Duke come with you?” Cassie inquires. “Did something happen to them?”

I nod. “They’re both still alive, and not too severely injured.”

A worried look washes over Cassie’s face. “What exactly happened?”

“The people that took you opened fire on us. Lucas got tagged in the shoulder. We were forced to flee and came across Shane and his mother and grandfather. They brought us in and patched up Lucas. He was beyond out of it and needed to rest, so I let him be and made Duke stay with him. Glad I did too. It would’ve been too dangerous for Duke to come considering what all I had to do just to get inside the building.”

“Well, I’m just glad that the three of you are safe.” Cassie gives me a half smile. “I’d hate to have to kick your butt for dying or anything like that.” She elbows me in the side.

Although Cassie is smiling, and seemingly in good spirits, I can’t help but feel horrible about letting those bastards take her. Once more, I have let down those that I care about. I should’ve done more. In the end, I am beyond thankful that she wasn’t hurt.

I half smile back, then lower my head as if ashamed.

She touches my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

My head remains lowered. “I’m sorry we couldn’t stop them from taking you. I feel horrible about the whole situation. We don’t know what we would’ve done if we had lost you.”

Cassie’s smile remains. “It’s ok, James. The only thing that matters now is that we’re all back together again.”

I lift my head, and half smile at her. I still feel horrible, but glad we have gotten that out of the way. My guilt of it all was eating me alive.

Duke bolts out from around the corner of the building that Lucas and Shane’s family is hiding in. His long pink tongue dangles from the left side of his snout as he races toward us. A yelp escapes Jenny’s mouth. She scrambles out of the way as he darts right past her.

I drop to my knees, and hold out my arms. “There’s my good boy.”

Duke smiles from ear to ear. He’s super happy to see us. He slows his pace and jumps up on me, nearly knocking me down to the pavement. He goes for my face, licking any part that he can find.

“Oh, Duke. I’m so happy to see you.” Cassie rubs his head and hugs his neck. He steps off me and jumps up to Cassie as she continues to love on him. I sit up and get my feet under me.

“I think he’s happy to see us,” I say. My fingers race down his back as he stares up at us.

“I think that’s an understatement for sure.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a figure coming out from the shadows of the structure. It’s Beverly.

She pauses at the sight of Shane and Jenny. Her furrowed frown and pensive stare quickly subside at the sight of her kids. Her lips quiver and eyes glass over.

Jenny breaks loose from Shane and dashes over to her mom. They hug one another, crying and sobbing. Beverly reaches out and motions for Shane to come to them. He hurries over and embraces them both.

“Come on. Let’s go check on Lucas,” I say.

We head toward the trio. They break apart and go inside. We follow close behind, making our way up the stairs to the space where I left Lucas.

Beverly and her kids walk in first, followed by me, then Cassie. Lucas stands near the window that faces the street. He’s favoring his arm, but otherwise looks to be in semi-good spirits. As in, there isn’t an angered expression smeared on his face.

Cassie rushes over to him. She carefully gives him a hug and releases him. She examines his wound, leaning forward and staring at the bloody shirt.

“Oh no. Does it hurt much?” she asks worriedly.

“It’s not too bad now. Beverly found some pain killers in one of their packs. Gave me and her dad some.”

“Well, I’m just glad you’re ok.”

Lucas gives her another hug. “I’m glad you’re ok as well. We were worried about you.”

Cassie turns to the side and looks over to me. “James and Shane saved mine and his sister’s lives. If they wouldn’t have found us, there is no telling what would’ve happened.”

“We’re just glad you’re safe. That is all that matters,” Lucas retorts.

Cassie steps away and heads over to Beverly and the others. Lucas narrows his eyes at me. Wrinkles form in his brow as his lips purse. I figured he’d be pissed. It’ll be something that he’ll need to get over, though.

“Just let me say that I know you’re probably pissed-”

Lucas takes two gigantic steps and grabs me. He pulls me in and holds me tight. Not what I was expecting. He squeezes hard, which forces a grunt from my lips.

“That was an extremely reckless and stupid thing you did, James,” he bluntly says. “You could’ve got yourself or Shane killed.”

I go to respond, but Lucas continues.

“But it was also a brave and courageous act.” He finally releases me and takes a step back. He offers an approving smile, similar to what Dad used to do when he was proud of me.

A bit confused, I lift my right brow. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased with how this is going.

“Thanks, Lucas.” I lean forward, and gaze at his wound. “I’m surprised to see you up and about. I thought for sure you’d be dead to the world for a while.”

Lucas glances down to the wound briefly before looking back at me. “Yeah. I had a hard time getting comfortable. Beverly informed me that you, and apparently her son, had left. I couldn’t go back to sleep after that. I got maybe thirty minutes to an hour of sleep. The pain meds are really helping, though. Besides, this isn’t the worst injury I’ve ever had. I think I was more tired than anything.”

“I’m just glad to see you’re doing better.”

Beverly approaches me from behind. I step to the left, and stand next to Lucas. She offers me a warming smile, grabs my shoulders, and pulls me close to her. She hugs me tight. “Thank you, James, for bringing my daughter back to me.” She lets me go and steps back.

“I’m glad we found them. I’m sorry we couldn’t locate your other son,” I say.

She nods, her eyes glassy, probably from being happy and sad at the same time. “We’re not giving up hope. He still might be out there.”

That is true, however doubtful it may be, Donny could still be alive. “I hope you’re able to find him.”

Beverly glances back toward her father on the floor. He doesn’t look any better. His skin is overly pale and flushed. His chest barely moves as he breathes.

“I think we’re going to figure out our next move here, and search for him. I think my father is getting close to passing. I have done all I can for him. It’s just a matter of time now.” Beverly’s lips quiver from the words, but she keeps her composure. I envy her strength. I am grateful to have met these people. I just wish it could’ve been under better circumstances.

She excuses herself, and heads back over to her kids who are knelt down next to their grandfather. Both Lucas and I stand there silently, looking down upon them. Duke comes over and sits down in front of me as Cassie approaches us.

“You know, James, you are one brave kid.” Lucas pats me on the top of my left shoulder.

I simply nod. I wasn’t doing it to feel brave or whatever. I just didn’t want anything to happen to Cassie.

Like him, I consider us a family, and if Dad taught me anything, it is that you protect your own.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

We gather up what small amount of gear we had with us, which isn’t much, and head out. Beverly and her family wish us the best with our journey. We do the same with them.

We leave the building, and head for the gas station to see if using the Humvee is still an option. I’m really hoping that those people didn’t mess it up.

Cassie takes point, and I bring up the rear with Duke and Lucas sandwiched in the middle. We backtrack the way we came through earlier, and come across the crashed truck. Lucky us, the gas cans are still there. I check both, tilting them from side to side. One is mostly full while the other is less than half, maybe. Between the two, we should hopefully be good.

I hand Lucas the machete, and grab both of the bulky containers. They’re stout, but I think I can manage.

“Do you need some help with that?” Lucas offers.

I shake my head. “I’m good. Let’s just hurry up, and get over to the Humvee. I want to put as much distance between us and this town as we can.”

Cassie and Duke go ahead of us and check out the Humvee. I waddle across the street with the gas cans dangling from each hand. Their bottoms scrape along the pavement. My fingers on my right hand turn a whitish red as they fight to keep their grip on the mostly full container. My arm burns and aches, but I hold firm. I approach the driver’s side of the Humvee, and drop the cans. They hit the ground with a dense thud. The fuel contained in both sloshes about. I shake both hands, trying to relieve the burning festering in them. The right is worse.

Lucas heads toward the back and pops the rear hatch. Cassie opens the door near me, allowing Duke to poke his head out and lick me.

“Everything looks fine,” Cassie informs.

Thank goodness.

Lucas retrieves a funnel from the back, removes the cap, and slips the narrow yellow end into the fuel tank. I grab the can that isn’t as full, and pick it up. I lift the opening in the air, and tilt the end toward the large mouth of the filter.

My arms tremble from the weight, but I hold position. The fuel pours out into the funnel. A little bit splashes over the edges and drips down the side of the truck’s exterior. I try not to breathe in the fumes by turning my head to the left.

I empty the container of its contents. I retrieve the heavier of the two, and lift it up. This one takes a bit more strength and concentration to pour in. Lucas aides me as best he can with his good arm. Together, we get the container fixed at an angle that allows the diesel to gush out into the funnel. After a few moments of inhaling the fumes, and fighting the urge to move away, Lucas cuts it off.

“That should be good.”

Relieved, I lower the can to the ground. I secure the lid over the spout as Lucas places the gas cap onto the Humvee and twists it tight. It clicks three times, indicating that it’s in place. He closes the hatch and turns toward the back end.

“Bring that back here, and we’ll secure it in its holder. Might come in handy later.”

I screw the cap on the other can, and haul them to the rear of the Humvee. We place them in their holders, and latch them down. Lucas heads for the driver’s side.

“Are you good to drive?” I ask.

He glances at his shoulder and nods. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. It isn’t too much farther to Yreka. Maybe a couple of hours, barring any mishaps along the way.”

“That’s a big if,” I say. There seems to have been nothing but mishaps for as long as I can remember.

Lucas half smiles from my response. He tilts his head toward the vehicle. “Come on. Get in.”

We load up into the Humvee, and secure ourselves in the seats. I place the machete on the floorboard off to my left. It is still caked with blood. Cleaning off the evidence of what I had to do has been the least of my concerns. I try not to stare at it, and remember all that has transpired since I’ve gotten it. It’s a tool. A means to an end.

Lucas fires up the engine. It grumbles at first, but quickly comes to life. We smile, low joyous mutters escaping our lips. Lucas puts the Humvee into drive and gets us on our way. We hit the highway shortly thereafter, and make for Yreka.

I settle in the seat, and allow my body to finally relax. The days, who am I kidding, the past few months has been nothing short of a continuous nightmare that has been near to impossible to awake from. The thought of actually finding Cindy alive, and hopefully well, seems at times like a fool’s errand.

Despite any negative thoughts that continue to fester inside my brain, I maintain the idea that she will be in Yreka and will be ok. I know Scott said that she had been infected, but hadn’t turned. I pray that is still the case.

The road to Yreka is mostly free and clear of any cars. I’m happy that the sun is still out and shining bright. My mood feels slightly better with the sun’s warm glow coming in through the window. The darkness and gloom that has shadowed us for what feels like an eternity, has kept me shackled to my sadness and despair.

Mile after mile quickly ticks down, and the realization that I might be holding my sister soon brings a glimmer of hope to my soul, and a smile to my face.

The next hour and a half fades away with no interruptions to our journey. The infected have been sparse, with only a few pockets that had the creatures ambling along the sides of the road in the tall grass. They’d reach out their hands, and try to stop us, but were too slow to do so. Plus, I don’t think they’d be a good match against a vehicle such as this. Steel trumps flesh and bone one hundred percent of the time. Unless they all got in the road, then that might be a different story.

I lift my waist up off the seat, and remove the waded-up map from my back pocket. I unfold the creased and crumpled paper, and smooth it out on my legs. I locate Yreka. I don’t see any detail that shows on the map where exactly in Yreka this research hospital is located. I bring the map closer for a better look, and scrutinize every part of the city with the hopes that I may find something of use.

Ugh.

I sigh subtly, but loud enough to snare Lucas’s attention.

“What’s wrong?” A hint of pain that lingers on every word Lucas speaks.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” I inquire. “Sounds like those pain meds are wearing off.”

Lucas shakes his head. He tries to remain strong, but the pain residing on his face tells the story that he doesn’t want to. “I’ll be all right until we stop. I have a couple of doses left, so I’m trying to use them sparingly. It’s manageable right now. So, what’s the deal?”

I point at the red circle that is around Yreka, then glance back over to him. “I know Scott said that the military took her to a research center-”

“I believe he said hospital,” Cassie quickly corrects.

“Hospital, whatever, but I can’t locate any such thing on this map. It’s just frustrating is all. To be so close, and not know where to go is aggravating.”

Cassie leans forward from the back seat and points out through the front windshield.

“Guess we don’t have to wait any longer.”

There it is in big bold red letters.

WELCOME TO YREKA

“THE GOLDEN CITY”

A hodge podge of other signs are clustered about at the bottom.

Perfect. I’m elated to be here, but also a bit worried that we won’t be able to find this place. I’m doubtful that the military is going to have signs like they did near Portland informing civilians where they are. They may not want a bunch of people in the way of whatever it is they’re doing.

“Short of just driving around, and burning fuel that we just don’t have, with the hopes that we may get lucky, is there anything else we can possibly do to try and track down this place?” My tone is a bit snarky. I’m feeling the stress of being this close and yet so far away.

I glance back to Cassie, who’s finger taps against her pink lips. She shrugs. My eyes cut over to Duke. I’m desperate here. He leans forward and tries to lick my face. Thanks, dude.

“What about the radio?” Lucas suggests.

“I broke it back at the warehouse that we were holed up in. I don’t think it’ll do us much good.”

Lucas shakes his head. “Not that one. The one in front of you and off to the left on the dash. We may be able to thumb through the channels, and find one that the military might be using. It’s worth a shot at least.”

Might as well.

I retrieve the handset from the dash, and place it against my ear. Staring at the array of buttons, I’m lost as to what to switch on and adjust. After a few seconds of mulling it over, I start to tweak buttons until I find something that sounds like I’m making some headway. The panel lights up with a multitude of lights.

Knob after knob I twist and adjust until I get the hint of a voice breaking in over the garbled hiss of static.

I go to speak into the receiver, and freeze. “What do I say?”

Cassie offers a thought. “If they’re a research hospital, I’d imagine they might be treating some wounded in conjunction with any infected. We could put out a distress call since Lucas is injured. He probably needs to be properly looked at anyway.”

I press on the handset, and speak to whoever will listen. “If anyone is listening, we are in need of medical attention. We have an injured person in our party that has been shot. He is in pain, and we need assistance. Please, if anyone is out there, let us know, over.”

My finger releases the button. The crackle of static fills the silent cab of the Humvee. The longest minute of my life ticks by like molasses. Are they going to respond to an unfamiliar voice considering the state of things? More so, is anyone even there to receive our distress call? I decide to give it another try regardless. I lift the radio to my lips.

“This is a secured military channel that is not to be used by civilians. Cease any further use of this line immediately,” a stern and deep voice barks.

The line goes silent.

Bastards.

I haven’t come this far and trudged through so much death to be turned away by some stern sounding military grunt.

With the receiver still clutched in my hand, I open my mouth. Lucas shushes me.

“Why did you just shush me?” I ask bewildered.

“Listen.”

Through the humming of the tires grinding over the pavement, I hear the subtle thumping of something close by. What is that? I continue listening as it grows louder and louder. It becomes more defined with each moment that goes by.

“Is that a helicopter or something?” I inquire puzzled.

Lucas nods. “I think it is.”

The helicopter’s blades whir tirelessly close by. A few seconds later, the airborne chopper buzzes overhead. Its blades beat the air above us as I look out my window. It seems to be flying low.

Lucas hunches down while trying to keep his eyes on the road. The nimble aircraft maneuvers toward a large building. “That’s a military chopper. I’d bet my bottom dollar that’s where they’re located.”

“Does that mean you think they’re there?” I ask.

“Yes,” Lucas says. “It’s an old saying. Means I’m pretty certain.”

Up ahead a wide paved road looks to lead toward the building that the chopper just landed on.

I point out the road with my hand. “There.”

Lucas hangs a right and heads down the road. We dodge a handful of abandoned cars that are riddled with bullet holes and missing windows. Countless bodies lay motionless in the dirt and grass to either side of us.

We slow down and drive around the cars with care. As we push closer toward the massive structure, I notice a large roadblock up ahead. Concrete barriers and vehicles have been positioned in a circle that encompasses the outermost perimeter of the hospital’s grounds. A handful of military guards train their weapons in our direction from the safety of the dense blockade.

Lucas approaches with caution.

The radio clicks back on and the voice from earlier breaks in over the static. “Discontinue your current heading and turn around, or we will be forced to open fire.”

Lucas comes to a halt. We’re close enough now that I can see the armed military men taking cover behind the barricade.

“Listen, my sister was supposedly brought to this facility from the safe zone in Portland that got overrun with chasers. Her name is Cindy, and I’m desperately trying to find her. She’s all the family I have left. If she is in there, I beg of you to please let us through. We have been through hell and back to make it this far, and I’m not turning around now.”

The radio falls silent once more. I fear I have either pissed them off royally, and they’re giving the order to riddle us with hot lead, or their digesting my plea for their help.

A few more moments pass by in silence. Then a different voice comes through over the radio. It’s much older and gruff, but the stern undertone remains. “Head to the lower level parking garage. Section C. Jacobson will be waiting for you, and will take you to your sister.”

The radio goes silent. I sit there, almost in a daze as I’m overcome with a sense of joy that Cindy is actually here. A smile breaks across my face, and I shed a tear of joy from the good news.

The guards in front of us start to move one of the vehicles out of the way, and wave at us to proceed.

In that moment, all of the pain that I have endured over the past couple of months seems to release from my shoulders. The blackness that consumes my heart lessens. Perhaps this is the turning point for me. To rid myself of the guilt, and to finally feel something more than rage and anger.

Although I am afraid for Cindy, and the affliction of the virus that has taken hold of her, I am still relieved to finally be with her, and to tell her how much I have missed her.

Don’t worry, sis, big brother is almost here.

DEAD STATE: IMMUNE

BOOK 4

BY

CHAPTER ONE

Panic.

Terror.

The soldier’s faces fall thick with the unsettling expression within a blink. They take cover behind the wall of battle-hardened vehicles and concrete barriers that are smirched with dried blood, and riddled with bullet holes. That can’t be good.

They point to the plot of land to my right, then motion for us to hurry inside.

I glance out of the passenger side window of the Humvee, and spot the cause of concern.

Chasers. Not a full-blown army of the damned, but enough for them to be lethal.

“Man, they just don’t give up, do they?” Lucas remarks.

They don’t, and that’s the problem. It doesn’t seem to matter how many we kill, or how far we go, they just keep coming—a constant wave of rotting flesh and chattering teeth that search for a meal to satisfy their famished stomachs.

The radio crackles and static fills the cab of the Humvee. A strained voice barks through the speakers as sharp reports of gunfire chamber off in the background.

“Move your asses if you’re coming inside! We have more chasers inbound!”

The line goes silent.

The car blocking our path to the hospital moves out of the way. There’s a gap just wide enough for us to fit through. I hope.

Lucas punches the gas. The tires squeal and send us barreling down the stretch of road toward the barricade that surrounds the hospital.

A white glow flashes from the muzzles of the soldiers’ guns. The spark from the rifles light up in a circular pattern behind the barricade.

The projectiles punch through the chasers’ decaying bodies, and exit through their backs. A fine red mist trails the approaching horde. Many go down while others keep charging.

Duke barks and growls from the back seat. Cassie wraps her arms over his body and pulls him in close. She speaks to him softly, but it does little good.

“Hold on,” Lucas advises through gritted teeth. He swerves from left to right, dodging the cars and any dead bodies lying in our path. He grimaces in discomfort from the gunshot wound he sustained in his shoulder but a day or so ago.

I brace myself against the door and dash. Off to my right, I spot more chasers racing across the grass toward the hospital.

Five frail frames, draped in tattered rags, bear down on the hospital. Blood soaked strands of their clothing flutter in the wind. They turn and spot us. They change direction and rush headlong toward the Humvee. Their faces are sunken. Deep, hollow pits with enraged wide eyes narrow at us. Their teeth chatter rapidly.

One by one, the soldiers shoot the infected in the heads, and send them stumbling to the earth in a heap of dead flesh.

Lucas keeps his foot pressed to the floorboard and makes for the narrow gap. We have no choice but to run over the dead bodies that lay in our way. We’re jostled about and tossed from side to side as Lucas does his best to avoid hitting every corpse that lies in the road.

The soldiers wave us in as more chasers converge on the hospital from the surrounding buildings. It’s not a large horde, but more than enough to warrant panic among the living. I can’t get a count of their strength from the rough ride of the Humvee.

I continue to stare out the window at the decrepit bodies sprinting toward the hospital as we breach the edge of the barricade. The Humvee scrapes through. The car’s bumper, to our left, scratches along the driver’s side while a concrete barrier rakes along the passenger doors. We ignore the sound.

“Where the hell are they coming from?” I bark.

The chasers seem to rise up out of the ground from behind the abandoned cars and manifest from the ruins of destroyed buildings.

“Doesn’t really matter. They’re here now.” Lucas jerks the steering wheel hard to the left and makes for an open space that isn’t occupied by any soldiers. He slams the brakes, bringing the bulky vehicle to a skidding halt.

I sling open my door.

The report of the soldiers’ rifles discharging creates a loud crescendo that fills the sky. Lethal and deadly, the marksmanship of the armed military men dwindles the number of dead trying to breach the barricade.

I catch brief flashes of the chasers falling like dominos as a pink mist explodes from the backs of their heads.

The radio crackles, followed by the stern, gruff voice from earlier that granted us entry to the hospital. “Jacobson is waiting for you in Section C of the lower level parking garage. Make your way there now, and he’ll escort you into the facility. It isn’t safe outside.”

No kidding.

The line goes silent.

“James. Come on. Get inside,” Lucas shouts from the cab.

The soldiers stop firing. The chasers have been neutralized, for now. The soldiers lower their weapons and skim over the area for any more threats that might be lurking within the nearby buildings.

The streets have been blocked off with cars and any other bulky objects to provide a defense against the infected. The short, wide buildings that encompass the area around the hospital stand in partial ruins. Mounds of busted brick and wood litter the landscape.

Duke’s sharp barks die off. He groans and paws at the center console as I slip back into the passenger seat. He leans over and licks the side of my face.

“Thanks, boy.” I close the door. My head falls back to the headrest while Lucas puts the Humvee in drive. I exhale a deep sigh of relief, thankful that we have arrived at the place my sister, Cindy, was brought to.

We head to the left and drive adjacent to the expansive hospital. Lucas hooks a right and takes us down into the lower parking garage.

I watch the yellow lights mounted on the walls pass by. The sound of the Humvee’s engine melds with the tires traveling over the pavement. It echoes throughout the nearly empty underground parking garage.

Round and round we go as we move further below the hospital. I had my doubts that this day would ever come. That I’d be reunited with my little sister. Cindy is the only blood family I have left in this God forsaken world. A link to my past that teeters on the verge of being snuffed out with her being infected. It’s a known, and that’s the scary part.

I’m not sure how I’m going to explain where our parents are to her. Even if I omit the gruesome tale of how I was forced to kill them because they were infected, just merely speaking the words that they are dead and gone is going to be unbearable.

Strong.

That is what I must continue to be. Not only for myself, and the extended family that has joined me on my journey, but for Cindy as well.

We are no longer kids. Those days are done. If we hope to survive, we must remain steadfast and strong. It’s the only way that we’ll remain among the living.

We make the last bend and enter the lowest level of the parking garage. A number of military transports are parked along the walls of the concrete garage—Humvees and larger vehicles I can only assume are used for transporting large amounts of soldiers.

On the far side of the space are a half dozen soldiers standing at the ready. They have their rifles pressed to their chests, and their attention focused on us.

“Not the warmest welcome I’ve ever received,” Lucas half-jokingly says. He scratches at his thick, black beard as a smirk slips across his long face. The crow’s feet, in the corner of both his eyes, are deep.

I glance over to Lucas. “At least they’re not firing at us. I’ll call that a win.”

“Are you becoming a glass half full kind of guy now?” Lucas half smiles through the discomfort he’s battling with his shoulder. His body stiffens for a second as his lips purse and he grunts.

I shrug. “Maybe. I’m just relieved to have found Cindy.”

Cassie leans forward, and gently places her palm on my left shoulder. “We’re glad as well. Looking forward to meeting her.”

Lucas slows the Humvee down as we get closer to the soldiers. Their hands reposition over their rifles. They shoulder the weapons, and take aim at the windshield of the vehicle. This doesn’t look good.

“What are they doing?” All I see is another barrier between me and the only family I have left. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get to Cindy. Even if that means I have to fight my way through them, I will.

“Just hold on, James,” Lucas calmly advises. “I imagine they’re just being cautious. After all, they didn’t even have to let us in, especially with the chasers attacking like they were. Keep it calm and collected, and everything will be fine.”

I hope he’s right. We have come so far, and sacrificed so much that I can’t bear for it to just end right here.

One of the soldiers holds up his hand. Lucas brings the Humvee to a dead stop in the middle of the parking garage, and kills the engine.

Standing in the middle of the pack of armed men is a man dressed in tan, brown, and gray fatigues. He stands rigid with his arms clasped behind his back. He has the typical high and tight haircut that Dad used to have when he served.

His intense gaze hones in on us through the windshield. He lifts his arm and motions with his fingers for us to disembark the transport. Is this Jacobson?

We open our doors.

The soldiers fan out to either side of the vehicle as we step out. Their weapons are deadlocked on us, the barrels of their rifles trained at our chests.

Duke hops out of the backseat and comes up to my side. He sits down on his hind legs next to me. His non-aggressive demeanor offers a bit of relief to an otherwise tense situation. The soldiers are already on edge from the way they are greeting us, and we don’t need to escalate the tension anymore.

The soldiers surrounding us are just as stone-faced as their leader. Pursed lips and narrow eyes are all that I see. I try not to think of Tony, the soldier who defected from his unit back when the outbreak first started, and helped us get to my family’s cabin. Back then the military was trying to cover up a horrible event by killing its own citizens.

It is hard not to think of such things in the moment. For the military, it would be easier to not take the risk, and just blow our brains out. Simple and uncomplicated. Then again, having more living around than the dead will be needed to rebuild the world once we win. IF we win.

“Thank you for letting us in. I’m James. We’re looking for my sister, Cindy,” I say aloud.

My words fall on deaf ears. I’m not offered so much as a blink from the soldiers.

The man standing before the Humvee heads straight for me. His men remain steadfast with their fingers hugging the triggers of their rifles. He looks us over, then nods to one of the soldiers close by.

The soldier lowers his rifle, and slings the black strap attached to the weapon over his right arm. “If you have any weapons on your person, give them up now. You will not be let inside with any kind of weapons, regardless of what they are. This is non-negotiable.”

I left the machete in the cab, and have nothing else on me that would need to be given.

“Arms up,” a soldier demands to my right.

A subtle growl escapes from Duke’s snout, but he remains planted on his haunches. I rub the crown of his head with my fingertips as the soldier approaches.

Slowly, I lift my arms above my head, shift to the side, and stand directly in front of the soldier.

He grabs my left arm first and pats me down. I glance to the side and look over to Cassie and Lucas who are being given the same treatment.

The soldier moves down my chest then to my waist. This is the first time I’ve ever been patted down as if I’m a threat. He finishes up with both legs and takes a step back.

“He’s clean,” the soldier states.

The two soldiers clear Cassie and Lucas as well.

Jacobson nods at the soldiers, who drop their weapons and fall back into position around us.

“Have any of you had direct contact with the infected? Any injuries sustained from any such encounter?”

I look to Lucas. “Like I stated on the radio, my friend down there was shot in the shoulder. It was dressed as well as we could get it, but it probably needs to be tended to. Other than that, we haven’t suffered any injuries as a result from the chasers.”

The report of gunfire from up top grabs our attention. Jacobson turns on his heels. The soldiers spin about, and take aim with their rifles. The gunfire lasts for a few seconds before ebbing away.

Jacobson turns back toward us, and the soldiers follow suit. His eyes briefly cut to Cassie and Lucas who’s standing off to the side.

He brings his focus back to me. “Follow me.”

CHAPTER TWO

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

That’s how our current situation feels.

The soldiers line us up in a single file line, and flank us—two in the back, two up front, and one on either side of us. Jacobson stands off to my right. His narrowed gaze shifts from me to Cassie, and finally Lucas who’s at the back. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he wasn’t happy with us being here.

“Let’s move out!” He turns about sharply, facing a set of large, gray, double doors. He heads for the entrance to the hospital. The soldiers move us along by marching forward in perfect sync with each other. Duke stays glued to my side. I continue to rub his head with my fingers to keep him calm.

The doors swing inward. More soldiers are posted on either side of the entrance with rifles clutched tightly in their hands. They offer more of the same emotionless expression as the soldiers escorting us in—pursed lips and focused eyes that linger in our direction as we stroll by.

I gulp.

I’m not sure what’s more unsettling, being among the dead or these soldiers.

We’re led down a dimly lit corridor. It’s narrow and lined with pipes and wires that snake along the dark-gray cinderblock walls. Large bulbs, mounted high up on the wall and encased in steel coverings, are sparsely positioned to our right. The ceiling is maybe three feet or so above my head. Not spacious or roomy by any means.

Jacobson disappears within the dark spots that the light can’t reach. The only sounds I hear are the low humming of machinery in the far distance and our footsteps playing off the concrete walkway.

“Do you know where my sister is being kept?” I finally ask.

Jacobson maintains his brisk pace and doesn’t glance back.

The corridor we’re walking down feels like it’s going on forever. A slamming sound from behind us echoes down the tight space. My head twists back over my left shoulder to find the double doors closed.

I cut my eyes over to Cassie who has the same concerned expression as me. She remains silent.

Jacobson hooks a right and makes his way up the steps to another large, steel door. He pauses on the landing. He balls his hand into a fist and raps his knuckles on the door once—a solid hit that’s deep.

He takes a step back as the door swings open. Another soldier stands at the ready. Seems like they have this place locked down tightly.

Jacobson heads inside with us in tow. The dimly lit space brightens to the crisp, strident white lights that loom from the interior of the hospital. The musty stench quickly changes to a sterile, clean scent.

A cold chill brushes over my face and sends a shiver down my back. The cold fights to penetrate my coat through any opening it can exploit.

The soldier ahead of us balls his hand into a fist and holds us up. Jacobson approaches a nurse in blue scrubs to our right.

Her long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She peers down at a clipboard before she notices him.

He leans in close and speaks to her in a low tone that I can’t make out. She points to the left. He nods and walks away.

We follow in his wake.

The nurse looks my way and offers a half smile. She has a badge on that says hospital staff. Below that is her name. Debbie.

I smile in return.

We walk a bit farther down the hallway until Jacobson stops beside what looks like a lab. He turns sharply around to face us. I glance to my left, searching for Cindy, but don’t see her. There’s nothing but cheerless, white sheets covering beds and a few more nurses standing about the space staring at us.

“Where’s my sister? I want to see her, now.” I’m tired of being ignored. The tone of my elevated voice makes that apparent.

Jacobson stares at me with his cold, calculating eyes. I go to speak again when he finally responds.

“Let me make myself perfectly clear here,” he barks. His voice is loud, but direct and focused. Much like how Dad would speak at times when he’d chew on me for messing up big in some way. “This isn’t a democracy. It’s a dictatorship. I speak. You listen. Am I clear?”

I just nod. His commanding tone makes me rethink my approach, for now.

He shifts his gaze back to Cassie and Lucas, who I assume offer the same understanding nod as I did.

This situation doesn’t settle too well with me. I figured the government might be a little more hospitable than this now, considering that we’re survivors, and the dead haven’t been stopped.

Guess I was wrong.

CHAPTER THREE

I can’t help but be cautious and keep my guard up around the soldiers. I watch their every move. Any subtle shift in their weight or movement of their hands toward their rifles, binds my nerves tighter.

I want to take their weapons away before they have a chance to use them. I refrain from giving in to that impulse, seeing as they’d kill me first, and I wouldn’t see Cindy.

I’ve experienced a ton of pain and heartache. Not only from the chasers, but from the evil and vile men who have survived this plague.

Jacobson glances briefly to the lab we’re standing next to. “Good. Before you can go any farther into the hospital, we need to check you out. Make sure you haven’t been bitten, scratched, etc. by the infected. Once that is completed, and you’re given the all clear, we can proceed.” Jacobson nods to the soldier to my right.

The soldier snaps to and walks over to the entrance of the lab. He grabs the silver handle and pushes the door inward. He steps inside and moves off to the right of the door.

I head for the opening, but Jacobson holds up his hand to stop me.

He glances down to Duke, then back up to me. “The dog can’t go in there.”

My gaze falls to Duke who’s being on his best behavior, for a change. Low subtle growls escape his snout, but he remains calm and obedient. I look back to Cassie and Lucas, who don’t provide any words or thoughts on the matter. They just stand there, silent and waiting to be told what to do next.

I don’t want to have Duke leave my side. I want him with us.

“He won’t cause any problems. I promise,” I assure. “He is well-behaved.”

Generally, he is, but given how the world is collapsing, and the constant threat of danger looming around every corner, he is extremely protective of us now.

“Sorry, kid. You’re lucky that we let him inside the hospital to begin with. The only reason we did was because those things are pretty active out there. Besides, do you remember what I said a minute ago?” he asks.

I nod. He directs my attention to inside the lab with his arm extended out. “That’s a sterile environment. Can’t have animals roaming about in there. It could compromise tests, which could cost lives.”

The nurse from before approaches us, holding the clipboard snug against her chest. She kneels down and pets Duke’s head. He lowers his ears and turns toward her. He sniffs her hand, then carefully licks her fingers.

“I can watch him out here if you’d like,” Debbie offers. “That is, as long as it’s ok with you, sir?” She tilts her head back, and looks up at Jacobson who simply nods. “I’ll make sure he’s taken care of. I use to have a dog like him many years back. He was sweet and well-behaved. What is his name?”

“Duke,” I answer.

“He looks like a Duke,” Debbie says with a grin as she massages the side of his face. “When you’re done with the tests, I’ll bring him to you. Come on, Duke. You hungry?”

Debbie walks away and pats her leg. Duke looks up to me for my approval.

“Go ahead, boy.”

Duke trots over to Debbie who leads him to another room down the hall.

Jacobson doesn’t offer another word as I head inside the lab.

Another cold gust of air hits me in the face. I shiver, then pull my jacket tighter. I walk over to the first bed to my right. Lucas and Cassie make their way over to the other nurses who are waiting for them.

Two more soldiers step inside. The door shuts and seals behind them. They spread out and take positions near Cassie and Lucas. Their rifles are held against their padded chests, fingers over the triggers. They’re treating us as if we’re a threat, even though they allowed us in. I guess I’d be the same way. There are tons of unscrupulous people in the world. I should know. I’ve met my fair share of them. In the end, it’s better to be safe and cautious.

“We’ll get started shortly,” the nurse advises through the surgical mask that’s covering her nose and mouth. Her tone is cold and callous. She doesn’t even look my way. Not that I’d expect her to be jovial, all things considered, but still.

I’ve never been a big fan of doctors, or hospitals for that matter. Every time I had to go to one, it was never a good thing. There was always something wrong with someone I cared about.

The last time I went was when Cassie broke her arm going down the stairs in our house. She always copied me, or tried to anyway. Regardless of what it was that I was doing, she would do her best to mimic my actions. Mom and Dad told me that she looked up to me, that she wanted to be like her big brother, since apparently, I was cool.

She ended up tumbling down the stairs one day by trying to take more than one step at time. Mom was more scared than anything, but Dad was pissed by what had happened. He knew why she had done it. He made sure to properly incentivize me to watch what I do in front of her from that point forward. Looking back, I’d give anything for another stern lecture. Man, I miss them.

“Please remove your coat and hat,” the nurse asks. She stands next to a gunmetal surgical tray that has needles and other medical tools covering the top.

I gulp.

“What sort of tests will you be doing?” I stutter as I slowly unzip my coat. My eyes stay glued to the tray of torture devices she is going to poke and prod me with me.

“There is nothing to be concerned about. We are just going to take your temperature and check your body for any signs of the infection.” She glances down to the tray and points to the needles with her gloved hand. “The needles are filled with antibiotics and some vitamins. Think of it as a flu shot. Just for preventative measures.”

I look at the needle, then to her. I’m a bit leery of being pricked, but if they wanted to kill us, they could’ve left us outside, or just shot us.

The coat comes off, followed by my hat. I place them in the chair nearby.

The nurse raps her hand on top of the thinly made mattress. “Please hop onto the bed.”

I hesitate once more, but the soldier standing near us moves closer. His stern, rigid expression compels me to do as she requested. I climb up on the bed.

“Has anyone actually gained access to the hospital who’s been infected?” I inquire. “What happens if you are found to be infected with the virus?”

She grabs the edge of a curtain and pulls it around the area of the bed. Lucas and Cassie are severed from my sight by the light blue fabric that boxes us in. They voice no concern or raise their voices in protest. The soldier stands still and at the ready as he watches us with keen eyes.

“Anyone we have here who is infected has been quarantined on the upper floors. The rest of the hospital is sectioned off from them.” She grabs the surgical tray, and wheels it around the bed to the side I’m on. “Let me ask you, have you been bitten or sustained any such injuries that could possibly result with you being infected?”

I’m not sure how to respond to that question. I sit there, silent for a moment, as I think back over all of the run-ins that I’ve had since this plague has started.

“I haven’t been bitten by the chasers. Like most everyone else here, I have had my fair share of run-ins with them. I’ve probably got cuts and bruises all over my body, but that’s about it.”

“Sounds like you have nothing to worry about then.” She grabs a thermometer and removes the plastic housing covering the end. Her fingers press the few buttons on the front before she slips the silver tip into my mouth.

I hold it steady with my lips, and wait anxiously for that familiar beep that lets you know it’s finished. She takes my right hand and slips on a blood pressure gauge. She starts the gauge, moves to the front of the bed, and retrieves a clipboard.

The strap squeezes my arm and cinches firmly into place. I can feel my heart throbbing inside my head. My muscles tighten. I fidget in place. I try to remain calm by thinking of Cindy, and how happy I’ll be to see her.

The thermometer beeps.

She grabs the end and pulls it clear of my lips. She glances at the front and jots down the readings on the paper that is attached to the clipboard.

The gauge finishes its readings. The pressure releases as the strap loosens. She pulls it down and removes it from my arm. She logs the readings, and places both items back on the surgical tray.

She sets the clipboard down on the bed next to me. Her hands grab the bottom of my shirt and start to lift it up. I grab her wrist. The sudden movement draws the soldier standing watch a single step closer to us. He brings his rifle to bear and presses it against his shoulder. He takes aim at my head.

Her eyes divert to the soldier. She lifts her free hand in the air and halts him with her palm. “It’s ok. Stand down.”

It takes him a moment to do as she requests, but he finally lowers his rifle.

“What are you doing?” My hand slowly releases its grip from around her wrist.

She takes a step back to give me a bit of space. “We have to do a physical inspection for any signs of the infection.”

“As in, strip me down naked and look over my body?” My face burns red with embarrassment. I’m not liking the idea. Although this is part of a fantasy that I’ve dreamed of before, the setting was a lot different, and there wasn’t an armed guard wanting to possibly shoot me.

“Unfortunately, yes. As much as we would like to take the word of any survivors who are brought in, which to be honest, are few and far between now, we have to be certain that you are not infected. Not doing so could jeopardize the lives of everyone here, and we do not want that.”

I’m still not keen on the idea, but I do understand the caution that is being taken. If it’s the only way for me to see Cindy, then I will grit my teeth and bear it. I know I have nothing to hide. It just makes me feel uncomfortable to do it.

The palms of my hand fall flat on the bed. I shake my head, giving her the go ahead to proceed.

“I do apologize for my behavior there. I should’ve told you what I needed to do next,” she says.

I glance to the left of her at the soldier. His eyes are now deadlocked on me, which is going to make this even more awkward. Regardless, it still has to be done. The price of admission, I guess.

“It is ok. Just caught me off guard is all. Not used to having someone take off my clothes like that,” I say.

She offers an understanding nod. “I promise it shouldn’t take too long.”

The redness in my face remains, but I swallow the embarrassment and take off my shirt. My pants and underwear quickly follow. I stand there, shivering in the coldness of the lab with my hands cupping my genitals, as the nurse quickly looks me over.

Every inch of my flesh is covered with her eyes. Fortunately, the soldier has diverted his gaze for the time being.

She finishes up her physical inspection and allows me to get dressed. In a whirlwind of embarrassment, I slip on each article of clothing as fast as I can. She takes some blood and jams a few more needles into my arm. She’s gentle when doing so, but it still doesn’t take away the sting of the needle’s bite. I’ve never been a big fan of them.

“For now, I think we’re-”

The soldier’s radio goes off, and silences her. It crackles at first, then a distressed voice shouts out from the speaker.

It’s hard to make out what exactly is being said, but given the strained, panicked tone, it doesn’t sound good.

The soldier retrieves the radio from his side and brings it up to his mouth. “Say your last, over?” He places the speaker near his ear. It’s still hard to understand what’s being said. He goes to respond when a fist pounds on the window from the hall.

Two more soldiers stand just outside of the lab. They frantically wave at him and the other guards.

Concerned, I look to the nurse who is watching the soldier near us. “What’s happening?”

The soldier stomps toward us. He grabs the curtain, and yanks it back. “I need you out of here now, ma’am.”

She gathers up the blood sample and clipboard and makes for the entrance of the lab. The other two nurses are close behind.

“Hey, what the hell is going on?” I ask the soldier once more, this time with a bit more indignation to my tone.

“We have a situation,” he flatly replies.

CHAPTER FOUR

A situation is never a good thing. Especially when the world is ending.

The nurses and soldiers have left the lab with us locked inside. My face presses against the cool surface of the window. I struggle to peer down the halls for any hint as to what has everyone in lockdown mode.

The lights overhead flicker.

They go dark for a few seconds before struggling to come back on. My fingers twitch and move, as if the machete is fixed within my grip. I wish I had it, or any weapon for that matter. It would help stay the uneasiness swarming inside of me.

“See anything?” Lucas calls out from across the room.

A soldier dashes past the lab. I pound my fist against the glass and yell, trying to snare his attention. He doesn’t pay me any mind, though. He just races past us.

“I see some people moving in both directions, but can’t tell exactly what’s wrong,” I respond.

Lucas rests against the edge of the bed, slipping his shirt back on. His bandage has been changed on his shoulder, and his wound cleaned up. I imagine it looked pretty grisly. Then again, a gunshot wound never looks anything other than that.

We’re lucky that’s all that happened back in Canyonville. Those thugs that got the drop on us could’ve killed us.

Cassie approaches me, and looks out into the hall. Her head twists from left to right.

“Have you seen Duke?” she inquires.

I shake my head. “I haven’t, and it’s starting to worry me.”

I’m also concerned about Cindy. I want to bust out of here and go find her. She’s probably scared to death. She needs her big brother.

Cassie places her hand on my shoulder. “I imagine he’s fine. I bet that nurse is taking good care of him.”

Speaking of which.

Another nurse comes into view, heading this way. Her pace is brisk, her arms swinging back and forth.

I pound my fist harder on the glass, trying to get her attention.

“Hey!” I yell out. “Can somebody please tell us what the hell is going on?”

We make eye contact, so I know she can hear me, or at least, see that I need her in some capacity.

She slows her pace, and glances back over her shoulder, then back to us.

I motion to her with my hand to come closer to the window.

“Yes. Come here,” I mutter.

She continues to glance to either side of the hallway as she approaches the window. She looks concerned, eyes slightly enlarged as a hint of panic resides on her face.

“Can you please tell us what’s going on?” I yell. “The guards and other nurses bolted a bit ago and just said there was a situation.”

A tremor shakes the ground beneath our feet. The walls rattle as the lights nearly extinguish. Our bodies tighten, and we look around aimlessly. The nurse lowers to the ground, nearly disappearing from our sight.

“Was that an earthquake?” Cassie inquires.

My eyes wander about in every direction. “I don’t know,” I finally answer.

The nurse cautiously raises back up and looks at us. She moves the few strands of her long, dark hair away from her flushed face.

“It’s the infected. They’ve been showing up in greater numbers for the past few days.” Her words are low and muttered, but I manage to get the gist of what she says.

Cassie presses her palm to the window, and stares at the nurse. “Do you know how much longer we’re going to be locked in here?”

The nurse backs away from the window. She raises her arm up, and motions for us to stay put.

She starts to walk away.

I strike the window one more time in frustration. “Hey! Don’t leave!”

She vanishes down the hall.

I move away from the window and turn around. All I can think about is Cindy and Duke. Regardless of what’s happening outside, it doesn’t sound good, especially if it involves the chasers. I want them with me.

Lucas saunters in my direction with his arm swinging. He doesn’t seem as concerned or worried as Cassie or I. His body isn’t tense, but more at ease than anything. His arms swing as he saunters towards us. He doesn’t show any angst or a need to flee this confined space. He does grimace some in discomfort as his fingers adjust the shirt over the bandage.

“How are you so calm?” My voice is thick with agitation and worry as I pace back and forth. Cassie remains at the window with her eyes fixed on the hall. She continues to smack her palm against the window. It isn’t too hard, but enough to hopefully stop someone else passing by.

Lucas looks past me to Cassie. He cranes his neck and points over to her. “You might want to stop doing that.”

Cassie glances back over her shoulder at us.

“I’m just as worried as you two are, but banging on the window and yelling isn’t going to get us out of here any faster. They let us in, and we have to play by their rules. If we have to stay in here for the time being, then that’s what we need to do. Doing anything rash or pissing them off might get us kicked out into whatever crap storm is brewing outside. Do you want that? I sure as hell don’t,” Lucas says.

I sigh, then throw my arms up in frustration. “I just want to see my sister. I’m so close and yet, I feel so far away. Feels like I’m never going to see her. I can only imagine what she’s going through right now.”

Defeated, I plop down in a chair near me. The floor trembles under my feet once more.

Lucas comes up and places his hand on my left shoulder. He gives it a single pat. “Everything will be fine, James. For now, we have to stay patient, and let the soldiers handle whatever is going on outside. Before you know it, we’ll be out of here, and you’ll see your sister.”

“Hey, guys,” Cassie calls out.

I turn around in the chair and find nurse Debbie standing at the door with a soldier. I can hear keys rattling about as she grumbles something through quivering lips.

Any subtle vibration or tremor causes her to flinch and cower. She looks about for something, but I don’t know what it is.

I spring up from the seat and race over to the door. She finally unlocks it and pushes it open. Duke rushes in. He licks my hand as I rub the top of his head.

The soldier remains at the entrance with his rifle shouldered and his finger over the trigger. He peers at the door we came through a bit ago.

“Have the chasers breached the hospital?” Cassie worriedly asks.

Debbie glances at Cassie, but doesn’t answer. She skips any such pleasantries and gets right to it. “We’re evacuating the ground floor. Grab your stuff and follow me, now.”

CHAPTER FIVE

There is no such thing as being safe anymore. In a world where the dead roam free, and the living are an endangered species, the odds of survival grow slimmer with each day that passes by. In the end, we all have one foot in the grave, and the other foot is not far behind.

We’re funneled out of the lab by nurse Debbie. The soldier accompanying her trails us as we head down the long stretch of hallway to our left. No words are spoken. No questions are asked.

We stay mute.

Silent.

The most important thing right now is safety, which I’m doubtful even exists anymore.

I see no other hospital staff or military personnel within the vacant halls. It’s a ghost town. The rooms on either side of the floor are vacant. It feels as though we are completely alone, cut off from the rest of the military.

We pick up the pace. Debbie bypasses the elevator on our right, and heads for the stairwell a few doors down. She slings it open and continues inside. The hollow sound of heavy footsteps beating against the concrete landing of the enclosed space echoes around us.

One by one, we enter the stairwell, and make our way up the first flight of stairs. I glance back over my shoulder to find the soldier stopping and securing the door. He slams it closed, then grabs the silver handle. He tugs on it multiple times. He back peddles away, and dashes up the stairs after us.

We bypass the second floor and head for the third. Duke remains by my side as we round the next bend. Up the next flight of stairs, we climb.

At the top of the landing is another soldier, standing at the ready. He has his rifle shouldered, and the barrel trained in our direction. He diverts the weapon off to the right and motions with his hand for us to head inside.

We spill out into the dimly lit hallway, and move away from the entrance of the stairwell. We take a moment to catch our breath. I bend over, and place the heels of my palms on the lower portions of my thighs. I gasp for air, but otherwise am good to go.

Duke faces the stairwell with his ears standing on end. His body is taut, eyes focused dead ahead. Muttered growls escape his snout as he steps forward.

The soldier trailing us heads inside as the other remains stationed on the landing. He offers us a quick glance before he slams the door.

I stand up straight, and look down either side of the hallway. There are more people up here, both hospital staff and military personnel. I crane my neck, and try to see if I can locate anything useful that might tell me where they’re keeping Cindy.

From the way the nurse spoke while examining me, all infected would be quarantined in some manner. I spot no dense plastic barriers or biohazard signs restricting access.

“Do you know where they’re keeping my sister, Cindy, by chance?” I ask Debbie. “I’d really like to see her.”

Debbie brushes the light brown hair away from her damp face as Jacobson walks toward us. “I can’t say. It’s classified.”

“Is this everyone from the first floor?” Jacobson asks the soldier.

“Yes, sir. No more civilians were spotted on the lower levels. I think we’re good.”

Jacobson nods. “Well done, private. Go meet up with your unit. I’ll take care of our guests from here.”

“Sir!” The soldier snaps to and salutes Jacobson. He turns sharply to his left and heads toward the stairwell. He tosses open the door and vanishes within the dimness of the space.

Jacobson turns to Debbie. He gently cups her elbow with his hand. “Do we know how much longer until we have the results back from their blood samples?”

Debbie pulls the loose strands of hair back over her head. “Shouldn’t be much longer. Given that none of them were running fevers or had any bite marks, I don’t see any reason that they would be infected, but we will know for sure soon.”

“Excellent,” Jacobson says.

A subtle vibrating looms in the air. Debbie glances down as her hand retrieves a small, black, square device from her hip. She brings it up and stares at it for a second.

“If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’m needed elsewhere.” Debbie turns to her left and heads down the hallway at a brisk walk.

“Thanks for letting us out of that room. It’s much appreciated,” I sincerely say. “I can tell you right now we aren’t infected.”

“It was a precaution that we felt we needed to take,” Jacobson says.

A low humming sound plays from the lights overhead. They continue to flicker. Seems like the hospital is on the verge of losing power. To be honest, I’m surprised the building has any power at all considering most of the areas we’ve traveled through have been without any form of electricity.

I point up to the lights while looking at Jacobson. “Are we going to lose power soon? Seems to be doing a lot of flickering all over the building.”

Jacobson tilts his head back and stares at the lights. “Eventually, yes, but we should be good for now. That is, as long as we don’t have any more issues with the generators in the basement, and the infected outside don’t get in.”

Lucas steps up next to me. “Is that a possibility?”

Jacobson nods. “We’ve been seeing an increase in their activity over the past week. They were showing up in small numbers, stragglers for the most part that were easy to manage. For some reason, more are arriving daily. We’re struggling to maintain our hold on this facility. That’s one of the reasons we evacuated the bottom floors of all civilians.”

Listening to Jacobson speak of the declining situation with the chasers, and they’re decision to evac everyone to the upper floors, I’m concerned for her safety.

Since, for the time being, we aren’t considered a threat, I throw out the question again as to when I can see her.

“Is there any way I can see my sister now? Even if it’s just for a moment? After that, if you want to lock us in a room until you’re completely satisfied that we aren’t infected, then we will go with no issues. I just need to see her.”

“That’s actually another reason why you were brought up here. The commander would like to speak with you.”

CHAPTER SIX

I swallow the large lump of fear that forms inside my throat—a mass that refuses to go down easily. My mind instantly conjures up a plethora of possible scenarios that ends the same way. That Cindy is dead, or has fully turned into my worst nightmare. A chaser.

Lucas rests his hand on my shoulder, and I look back to him. He offers me a reassuring smile. I force one back through the uncertainty and angst swirling inside of me.

Jacobson leads us through the halls of the third floor. Hospital staff and military personnel race past us in both directions. The tromping of their shoes rapping against the tile floor plays in my ears.

We hook a right, and head a bit farther down the hall. Off to the left stand two heavily armed soldiers who are positioned on either side of a door. Clutched in their gloved hands are automatic rifles.

They offer sharp, crisp salutes as we approach the door.

Jacobson salutes them back. The soldiers lower their arms, and remain fixed at their posts. They don’t offer us a single look, as they keep their attention focused dead ahead.

We’re led through the single door into a large office. Standing across the room, on the other side of a cherry wood desk, is an older gentleman who’s peering out of the window. His arms are fixed behind his back, hands clasped within each other. He’s dressed in the same tan, brown, and gray fatigues as Jacobson.

His short, silver hair is buzzed close to his head. The sleeves on his shirt are rolled up just past his elbows with the camo facing outward. Thick veins snake down from underneath the fabric, and run the length of his muscular forearms. He looks away from the window and stares at us with an intense gaze.

Jacobson snaps to and offers him a crisp salute.

He offers a single nod in return. “At ease, lieutenant.”

Jacobson lowers his arm. He steps off to the left and turns to the side. “Commander Reynolds. This is patient 2468’s brother and his companions.”

The commander’s eyes shift from Jacobson to us. He turns sharply to the right and walks around the desk. His arms stay clutched behind his back as he levels the same stern expression as the other soldiers at us.

I gulp as he tromps across the carpet and stops just before us. He looks directly at me, then back to Cassie and Lucas who are just as quiet. Duke groans, which sends his attention down to him.

“This must be Duke,” he finally says. “I’ve heard much about him, and you as well, James.”

The lump finally clears from my throat. “So, Cindy is ok, then?”

“She’s as well as can be expected given the circumstances. That’s a brave sister you have there.” Commander Reynolds cuts his gaze over to Jacobson. “How are we holding up against the infected outside?”

“We’re keeping them at bay, for now, but we’re running low on ammo and have sustained some losses.”

Commander Reynolds nods. “Deploy any additional personnel as needed, and keep me posted on any new developments. I’ve informed HQ about our situation here and am waiting for a response from them. Hopefully, it shouldn’t be too much longer. That will be all, lieutenant.”

“Sir!” Jacobson salutes him before walking behind us and exiting the room. The door slams, leaving just us and Commander Reynolds in the room.

Commander Reynolds points out of the window in the direction of the brown haze that clings to the sky. “I tell you what, those damn infected are relentless. Doesn’t seem to matter how many we kill, they just keep coming and coming. I’ve never seen anything like it in all of my years.”

Duke plops down on the floor. His tongue hangs from the left side of his snout as he yawns. Cassie sits down in a chair near him, and strokes the back of his dirty coat.

“They are for sure. You have to get them with a headshot, anything else is basically a waste of time,” I say.

Lucas takes a step forward and stands alongside me. He glances around the space with his arms outstretched. “If I may ask, what exactly is the military doing in a civilian hospital? Doesn’t seem like a typical military installation you’d use. That, and it looks as though you’re pretty well cut off from any sort of reserves or reinforcements who would be able to provide support.”

Commander Reynolds lowers his arm. “There are a number of units stationed throughout the country working on possible cures and trying to find more out about the infected. This particular location was found to not have as much activity from the infected as other locations. Plus, the hospital itself was already outfitted with enough equipment and space for us to study and research the virus. We only had to bring in a minimal amount of equipment to suit our needs.” Commander Reynolds looks to me. “That’s one of the reasons that we brought your sister here from Portland.”

“Do you know why more of the chasers are coming here now?” Lucas inquires.

Commander Reynolds shrugs slightly. He looks as though he doesn’t have a firm answer to provide to Lucas’s question.

“It’s only been recently that the influx of the infected has increased dramatically within the area. Some theories suggest that they’re searching for possible food sources. Gathering in larger herds and attempting to overtake any strongholds that might house non-infected.”

Lucas strokes the black beard that is coming in thick around his chin and jaw. “Depending on how much of the population has been infected, or is dead, then I could see this. A lot of the chasers we’ve seen look meager and frail, as if they’re going hungry. Too bad we can’t just wait them out.”

Another explosion rattles the building, followed by black smoke that plumes into the air outside the window. Commander Reynolds glances back over his shoulder. His lips grow taut. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs in frustration. He turns back to face us.

“One of the saving graces that we’ve discovered through this mess is your sister, James. It seems as though she has some sort of immunity to the infection. Even though she’s been bitten, she hasn’t turned, or shown any signs of transitioning into the creatures. We’re trying to figure out why that is. She’s one of a few who have been located who have shown a resistance to the virus.”

“So, there are others here who are infected but haven’t changed?” Cassie inquires.

Commander Reynolds confirms with a nod. “We’re the only unit that has gathered any survivors who are immune. There was a survivor recovered, from the plane crash in New York when this all first started, but the injuries she sustained were too great, and eventually she passed. Out of the ones we have, your sister is doing the best. Hopefully, some of the tests we are running on them will give us some idea what is keeping the virus from progressing within them.”

Duke scoots closer to Cassie and lies around her feet. He lowers his head down onto his front paws as he looks up to me with wide eyes.

I bet he’s a bit anxious and scared from all of the commotion happening outside. It probably has him on edge.

I turn to the side, and kneel down next to him. I rub his head, and give him a kiss. He tries to lick my face in return.

“It’s going to be all right, boy,” I softly whisper to him.

Commander Reynolds approaches us, which brings Duke’s head up from Cassie’s shoes. I twist back and look up at him as well.

“Are you ready to go see your sister now, son?” Commander Reynolds asks.

Those words play like a hopeful tune in my ears. I spring up from the floor. “I am, sir.”

Commander Reynolds turns his attention away from me to the others. “I’ll need for your companions to wait here, though. We want to minimize the number of unauthorized personnel on that floor as a safety precaution.”

I look to Lucas and Cassie who offer me a smile, then a nod.

“Go see your sister, James. We’ll be here waiting for you when you get back,” Lucas says. I turn to walk away when he grabs me by the arm. “Watch your back, though, and stay alert.”

“You got a bad feeling about this or something?” I ask.

Lucas glances to Commander Reynolds, then back to me. “No. Just pays to be cautious is all. They seem pretty straight, but you never know. I’d prefer us all to go, but that isn’t going to happen.”

“Copy that.”

Lucas releases my arm as I look to Cassie.

She continues to love on Duke who looks up at me. I’d love to bring him, but I know that’s not a possibility at the moment. Seeing Duke would make Cindy’s day. She loves him just as much as I do. I guess that reunion will have to wait.

I shift my gaze back to Commander Reynolds. For the first time in a long time, I have something to be happy about.

“Let’s go.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

I have lost so much to get to this point. The journey through this world has pushed me beyond my limits. It has tested me to the point that I thought I had lost myself completely. For a moment, I had.

I’ve killed without remorse.

Suffered the loss of my parents and best friend to this virus.

Witnessed the worst that humanity has to offer.

And yet, I find myself still standing upright without that ravenous hunger stirring inside me. Although, at times, a different hunger rears its ugly head, and takes care of what needs to be handled.

It’s a part of me that I know I need now if I plan to keep those that matter most in my life safe from the dangers this world now holds. I just hope that Cindy remembers me for who I used to be, and not the monster that I have become.

My head sneaks back over my shoulder in the direction of the room that Duke and the others are in. The soldiers remain posted by the door as Commander Reynolds leads me down the hall away from them.

A constant barrage of soldiers and hospital staff stop us along the way. He keeps moving, though, as files are handed to him, and he’s debriefed on a number of issues.

I pay it no mind. My eyes wander all over the hall. I’m focused on one thing at the moment, and that’s getting to Cindy. Everything else is trivial to me.

“Damn it to hell,” Commander Reynolds growls. He comes to a grinding halt next to an older gentleman dressed in a white lab coat standing off to his right. A doctor from the looks of him. “I thought he was stable? What happened?”

The man gulps, then clears his throat. His finger pushes the bridge of his glasses farther up his nose. “We are still trying to determine what exactly happened. His vitals were starting to even out and the virus was showing to be in remission. We’ll continue to run some tests, though, to see if we can find out what caused the sudden shift in his condition. Fortunately, Private Ferris was there and stopped him before he could do any real damage.”

Commander Reynolds sighs, rubs his palm over his face, then hands back the files to the doctor. He pats him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Jim. We appreciate all of the work you and your team are doing here.”

The doctor offers a subtle nod. “I know how much you hate losing your men. Especially to something like this. We’re doing our best to save as many lives as we can.”

“I know you are. I hate losing anyone to this damn virus.” Commander Reynolds removes his hand from the doctor’s shoulder. “Make sure that all of the test data is being backed up. We may have to evacuate rather quickly if the situation outside doesn’t improve. We can’t afford to lose what we’ve already gathered. Hopefully, HQ will get back with me soon on how we are to proceed.”

The doctor grabs the right side of his glasses. He shifts them from side to side. He holds the files close to his chest, and nods in the direction we’re heading.

“All data is being backed up as requested. Lieutenant Jacobson has checked and double-checked the systems to ensure they are. Also, Private Buckner’s body has been moved to another wing of the fifth floor away from the subject. We’ll continue our research on him there.”

Commander Reynolds nods. “I’ll probably stop by and pay my respects. He was a damn fine soldier.” He falls silent and takes a moment before continuing. “We’ll talk later about what you discover with the private.”

“Yes, sir.” The doctor offers me a nod. He walks past me and heads down the hall in the direction we just came from.

“How many others are on the fifth floor with my sister?” I inquire.

“She’s the only one left.” The commander approaches the door to the stairwell. He grabs the handle and pulls it toward him. The soldier standing guard snaps to attention with his weapon pressed to his chest. Commander Reynolds veers off to the right and heads up the flight of stairs. “Aside from your sister, we’ve only had two other cases. One being Private Buckner, who is no longer with us, and a young woman who went into cardiac arrest when she was being transported here. To say that your sister is extremely important right now is an understatement.”

The commander moves swiftly up each step. The hollow thud of our bulk pressing down on the stairs echoes throughout the enclosed space.

Man, this guy can move. I find it challenging to keep up with him. The distance between us widens, and I’m forced to pick up the pace to catch up to him. He cuts sharply to the left and continues up the next flight. The fourth floor is void of any soldiers standing guard. It’s not until we reach the fifth floor that I find two sentries stationed just outside the entrance.

We hit the landing and pause. The armed men salute Commander Reynolds. He lifts his arm and reciprocates the gesture with a stern salute to his men as he walks toward them.

His fingers grip the handle and push down. The dense door clicks, then unlatches. He swings it open, walks into the hall, and turns to his right. I grab the edge of the door and move to the left. I push it closed with a dull thud.

It’s quiet and dark. Not a single sound can be heard within the vacant halls. I spy no hospital staff or soldiers in either direction.

Is Cindy up here all alone? I hope she isn’t. I can only imagine how terrifying that would be.

“There doesn’t seem to be any activity up here,” I say. “Actually, it looks vacant. No power or anything. She isn’t by herself, is she?”

The commander shakes his head. “Not at all. There are a few nurses stationed on this floor who tend to her, as well as a few more soldiers. We also have Doctor Harper, the man I spoke with earlier about Private Buckner, who has been treating her.” He glances up to the lights above us. “To conserve power, we’ve shut off most of the systems on this floor. Only what is needed is in use since there aren’t as many personnel stationed up here. That, and we’re trying not to tax the generator too much. It’s been acting up lately.”

I’m relieved to hear that at least she has had some interaction with people, and that she hasn’t been completely cast aside. Although, I’m not overly keen about what sort of tests they have conducted on her. She never liked being probed or having needles stuck into her skin. Mom always told her to be brave, and that it would only last for a second or two. Cindy would close her eyes and count to five slowly, then it would be over with.

“How is she doing overall with what happened back at the safe zone?” I inquire. “I know you left my mother behind since she was infected and starting to turn. I found her when I arrived.”

Commander Reynolds sighs.

His head hangs low, and his shoulders shift forward. He looks as though the weight of the world is pressing down on his shoulders.

“All things considered; we’ve tried to comfort your sister as best we can. She’s doing as well as can be expected.” He pauses briefly, then continues. “In regards to your mother, it was a tough call not to bring her with us, but she was already showing physical signs of the infection. Doing so would’ve jeopardized not only our lives, but the life of your sister. It was only a matter of time before she fully turned. It’s a decision that wasn’t easy to make, but it was the right call.” Commander Reynolds turns to the right and heads down the hall.

I stay by his side, and keep stride with him. “I hope you know how important Cindy is to me. She is the last remaining blood family that I have. I’ll do what is needed to protect her from whatever, or whomever, tries to harm her.” My voice cracks somewhat through the stern and direct tone of my pointed words. It could be the looming fear and dread of what I may find when face to face with my sister, or it could just be the child in me giving way to the man fighting to break free. Either way, I don’t faulter or back pedal on what was said. I hold firm.

A simple “hmmm” escapes his lips, followed by a twitch of his thick-gray mustache.

I don’t turn my head to look at him. Instead, my eyes shift to his rigid face that is partially cast in shadows.

I want Commander Reynolds to know that I mean business, and that I mean what I say. I don’t know what exactly the military’s plans are with my sister, but I hope it’s honorable.

He doesn’t say much at first. He could be chewing on a rather idle threat from a fifteen-year-old kid, or I could just be pissing him off. He’s sort of hard to read.

He stops suddenly. His arm stretches out and his palm presses against my chest.

“You got balls, kid. I can respect that. You’re a protective big brother, and that’s good, but remember who let you into this facility,” he says. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but we don’t exactly just let anyone in here. The research we’re doing is too important. The only reason you and your companions were granted access is because I allowed it.”

Guess I got my answer. Seems like we’re on the same page.

I gulp. “Why did you let us inside, then?”

Commander Reynolds removes his arm from across my body. His narrowed eyes lessen. “Because I wanted your sister to have you close by.” His hands fall to his hips. “Those things out there took my daughter, Abigail, and I wasn’t able to stop it. When your sister was brought in, I saw the fear and terror in her eyes. I hated that. She kept asking for your mother, father, Duke, and you. It crushed me to see her so distraught. So, when you showed up outside, I was a bit relieved.”

Not what I was expecting at all from a man that looks as gruff and hard as my dad. I guess I forget, at times, that despite how people may look and act, you never know what they’ve been through, what sort of torment and hurt may be residing below the flesh.

I refrain from badgering the commander any more. I offer a grateful nod instead. “I appreciate what you’ve done for Cindy, and for letting us in as well. I’ve lost so much and have had to do unspeakable things that have made me cold and hard. I figure that’s how I have to be all of the time to survive, and to keep those that matter to me safe.”

Commander Reynolds pats me on the shoulder. Through the dimness of the hall, he offers a half smile. “I can only imagine what you’ve been through, son. It’s never easy to do what one must in order to survive. In the end, though, you’re here, and alive. That’s all that matters.” He removes his hand from my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go see that sister of yours.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The day of reckoning is upon me. I now have to face my sister, who is infected with the virus that has ripped my parents and friends away from me.

I’m not sure I’m strong enough to face her without breaking down into a blubbering mess of self-loathing. Especially now, after Commander Reynolds told me how she cried for Mom and Dad.

Damn it, this is going to hurt.

My heart hammers inside my chest like a marching band drum. Each step we take down the dark hall, it grows more intense. It may just burst from my chest and run the other way.

We hang a right and travel a bit farther down the corridor. I spot a thread of light beaming from a set of double doors ahead of us. A single soldier stands at the ready nearby with a rifle clutched firmly in his hands. His head turns in our direction.

He snaps to and throws up a crisp salute. “Sir!”

Commander Reynolds slows his pace. He looks in the dark, empty rooms we pass by as if he’s searching for something. I wonder what he’s looking for.

“At ease, Private.” He stops, and looks around the immediate area some more. “Where’s Private Ferris?”

The soldier lowers his arm to his side. “One of the nurses, um, Ms. Davis I think it was, asked if he’d accompany her to the other side of the floor where Private Buckner is being kept and stand watch while she ran some tests on him. She was a bit apprehensive being up here with everything going on outside and such. Especially since, well, Private Buckner passed.” The soldier pauses, then taps his finger to his lips as if he’s trying to remember something. “He also mentioned something about feeling under the weather. Said he didn’t feel right or something. Nothing serious or anything. Maybe a cold. I know we’ve been pulling long shifts with little to no sleep.”

Commander Reynolds turns to the side. He glances back the way we came. He lingers for a few seconds before turning his attention back to the soldier.

“Who authorized that?”

The soldier gulps.

“We both made the call, sir. We know we’re strapped for men right now with additional support being sent outside to combat the infected. I didn’t really see the need to radio it in or anything like that. Just trying to help out and take care of things up here, sir.”

Commander Reynolds scratches at the right side of his face as he stares at the private. “In the future, you make sure to get the proper authorization for any changes, whether it’s from me or Lieutenant Jacobson. Am I clear, Private Carter?”

“Sir, yes, sir.” He throws his arm up, presenting a stiff and firm salute.

“I’ll check on him once we’re done here.” Commander Reynolds continues on through the double doors as the soldier finally lowers his arm. I’m close behind as we enter the sectioned off wing of the hospital.

A nurse stands off to our left, leaning against a counter with her head hunched over. She looks like she’s writing something.

The soles of our shoes squeak over the tile floor, which grabs her attention and brings her gaze in our direction. She has a white surgical mask that’s covering her nose and mouth. She grips the front of it and lowers it below her chin.

“Commander Reynolds. What can I do for you?” Her eyes shift from the commander to me then back to him.

He looks over to his right at a room that has been sectioned off with a wall of thick plastic.

“How’s our patient doing today, Ms. Jones?”

The nurse sets her pen down on top of the chart she is writing in. She turns toward the space and nods. “She’s doing good. Holding steady with no change in her condition. There are still no physical signs of the infection aside from the bite mark on her arm, which is healing nicely. I got her to eat a bit more, too. She was a bit worried about the vibrations from earlier. Thought it was an earthquake or something.”

Commander Reynolds nods while listening to her. “Good. Glad everything’s still going smoothly.”

“And who is this young man?” The nurse looks to me. She appears to be bewildered by my presence by the way she keeps staring at me. Being a restricted area, I can only imagine how this must look. Then again, Commander Reynolds is the man in charge, and I doubt she’s going to bark at him.

Commander Reynolds places his hand on my shoulder. “This is James, Cindy’s brother.”

Ms. Jones’s eyes widen, mouth slightly agape. She smiles at me. “Oh my. How in the world did you ever find us?”

“A survivor from the safe zone in Portland told the people I’m with that she was taken to another facility in California. We searched the buildings and found some maps pointing out possible locations. So, we came looking.”

She continues to smile brightly. “She will be so happy and relieved to see you.”

I smile. “I am just as happy to see her. Thank you for taking such good care of her, Ms. Jones.”

She dismisses the statement with a wave of her hand. “Nonsense. She is an amazing young lady. I just wish I could’ve done something more for her. She has been so sad that it has just broken my heart.”

I point toward the plastic barrier. “Is she awake? Can I see her now?”

The nurse diverts her attention to Commander Reynolds. “I believe she is. Last time I checked on her, she was sitting up in bed coloring. It’s up to the commander here, though, on if you can go inside or not.”

I look to Commander Reynolds.

“I think it will be fine. You’ll need to wear a protective mask, though, before entering. It’s just as a precaution for the time being until we’re certain she isn’t contagious. This is a whole new territory for us, and we can’t afford to not steer cautiously into it.”

The nurse stands up on the tips of her toes. She reaches over the counter and grabs a mask. “Here. Put this on.”

I take the mask, and slip it over my cap. I secure the filtered white part over my nose and mouth, and adjust the straps over my ears.

This is the first time I’ve ever worn one of these things. I doubt Cindy is contagious, as we have all been in contact with the infected at some point in time and have not turned. Still, it is not my call, and I have to play by their rules if I want to see her.

The nurse hands one of the masks to Commander Reynolds. He holds his hand in the air and shakes his head.

“I don’t need one right now. James will be going in alone. Give them some time to catch up without us hanging over them.”

I look to the commander and nod. “Thank you.”

He half smiles and pats me on my shoulder. “Get in there, and see that sister of yours. We’ll be right here waiting for you when you’re done.”

The nurse turns back toward the counter and retrieves the chart from the top of the station.

“If you have a few moments, sir, there are a few things that I’d like to go over with you?”

“Sure.” Commander Reynolds approaches the counter. The nurse shifts the chart to her right. She leans forward and goes over her findings.

I head for the sectioned off barrier. My pulse spikes, heart thumps a bit harder in anticipation, and fear of speaking to Cindy. My palms are clammy. I rub them up and down on my pants to try and erase the uneasiness I feel. A single breath is sucked in and held for a short second before releasing it through trembling lips.

Through the dense plastic material, I spot her. My little sister. It’s a distorted view that only offers me the vague outline of her body, but I see her nonetheless. She’s sitting upright in her bed. Can’t tell exactly what she’s doing, but it looks like she might be hunched over some. Perhaps coloring?

I reach for the edges of the partition that runs the length of the plastic before me. My fingers grab a handful of the material. It crinkles in my hand, which captures Cindy’s attention.

I stop as panic sweeps over me. I’m afraid the horrid acts I’ve committed are tattooed on my face; permanent and unable to be removed.

“Hello?” she calls out in that same sweet voice I remember. It’s not as annoying now as it was when she followed me around like Duke. Looking back, I shouldn’t have avoided her or complained as much. “Nurse Becky, is that you?”

Another deep breath in and I open the curtain. “Hey, sis.” My voice is muffled some from the mask over my mouth.

She stares at me, her mouth slightly open as she squints in my direction. “James. Is that you?”

I step inside and seal the plastic barrier behind me since it seems to be their protocol. She moves about in her bed. I can hear the bed squeak from her weight shifting about.

I turn back to find Cindy on her knees at the end of the bed. Her hands rest on the round, molded white edge of the frame. She continues to stare at me as if she’s not convinced it’s really me.

Screw protocol.

I don’t really need this thing anyway. If she is contagious in any form or fashion, then I really don’t care. She’s all I have left.

My fingers pinch the front of the mask and pull it down, revealing my face. I smile at her. “It’s really me, Sis.”

The unsure expression covering her face melts away. With eyes wide and a big smile, she holds her arms out to the side.

“JAMES!” she shouts.

I race up to Cindy with arms wide open.

She nearly jumps from the bed to hug me. I wrap my arms tightly around her and squeeze. Clear plastic tubes and wires that are attached to her bounce off my arms.

Cindy sobs into my shoulder. Tears stream down my cheeks as I hold her tighter.

“I thought you were dead,” she whimpers softly. “They left Mom back at that school dad’s friends took us to. They wouldn’t bring her with us no matter how hard I begged and pleaded with them. All they said was that she was infected, but not like me. I miss her terribly, James.”

I cry even harder thinking about Mom and Dad. I have no clue what to say or how to say it.

“I know. But I am here with you now. Your big bro isn’t going anywhere. Ever.”

Cindy finally pulls back. She sits back on her feet and wipes the tears away. She shudders and exhales a deep sigh. “I still can’t believe you’re really here.”

I sniffle, then wipe away the tears from my face with the backs of my hands. “It’s been a tough road to get here, but I wasn’t going to give up. We went to the cabin first to look for you and Mom. Then, we went to the safe zone once we discovered that the both of you weren’t there. From there, we set out checking all of the places that the military could have brought you. A source at the safe zone recalled the military taking you away before the place got overrun with chasers.”

“Did you see Mom there? Is she ok?”

Cindy’s voice is thick with hope. Her eyes look upon me as if I have the answer she wants to hear.

I hesitate once more. I chew my bottom lip and divert my eyes.

“Um...”

Cindy stares at me, waiting for an answer. I rub the back of my neck, then look to the plastic barrier, trying to figure out what to say. “She’s um...”

Cindy leans to the right. She cranes her neck, looking to the plastic barrier behind me. “Is Dad and that scruffy dog of ours out there waiting to see me? I need one of Dad’s hugs, and some loving from Duke. I’ve missed his bad breath.” Cindy smiles, then chuckles some.

My eyes swell with tears. I’m defenseless to hold them back. I fight to keep my composure, but the guilt and weight of what I have done eats me alive on the inside. Like an insatiable parasite, it feeds on my torment, and refuses to leave me be.

Hold it together, James. You can’t tell her the truth. Not now.

I repeat that over and over inside my head. Doing so may hurt her more than I can bear. For now, I’ll have to bend the truth. Twist it in a way that will spare her the grief. It may not be the best call, but it’s the one that I feel I should make at the moment. It is my job now to take care of her.

I clear the lump of guilt and sadness from my throat. It’s thick and doesn’t want to go down. I bring my somber gaze back to her.

Cindy sits there with large, hopeful eyes that refuse to deviate. I need to say something now, or she’s going to think something more is wrong.

I blurt it out, and it rolls off my tongue as fluid as I can make it. I try not to appear so sad, but it’s damn hard not to be.

“Mom and Dad are together. They couldn’t make it here with us, but said that they will see us soon. Duke is on the third floor with some people who helped me get here. They wouldn’t allow him in this area for safety reasons.” I force a half smile.

Man, I feel like a jerk.

Cindy keeps staring at me as if she has seen through my deceptive deed. “James. Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

Oh crap.

I shrug, then say,” What do you mean?”

Cindy leans back, then folds her arms across her chest. She cocks her head to the side and purses her lips just like Mom would when she could read right through me.

“I know when you’re lying, James. You’ve done it enough to me that I can tell when you’re doing it. Mom didn’t make it, did she?” Her eyes shine with unshed tears as she waits for my response.

I can’t keep the lie going any further. I have to come clean.

I lower my head in shame, unable to speak the words while making eye contact with her. “She didn’t. The infection took her from us.”

A sniffle escapes her as she asks the other dreaded question. “Is dad and Duke dead as well?”

Tears flow from my eyes as I keep my head tilted toward the bed and away from her.

“Dad died while we were on our hunting trip. Those things attacked us, and he saved me. Duke is fine and is on the third floor like I said a moment ago.”

Her sniffles twist into sadness that spills from her eyes as she deals with the devastating news that has been given.

“I’m sorry, Sis, that I couldn’t save them. I wanted nothing more than to do that.”

Cindy opens her mouth to speak when the lights completely go out. A yelp of fear escapes her lips instead. “James! James! Where are you? What’s going on?”

She thrashes about on the bed wildly. All I can see is a dark splotch moving about in the darkness. The bed creaks as she pants.

I find her arm, and take hold. “I’m right here, Sis. Don’t worry.”

Her small fingers wrap around my wrist. Her nails burrow into my flesh. I stand near the end of the bed as she holds me tightly.

Footsteps pound toward the plastic barrier. I glance back over my shoulder and spot a bright light that is distorted by the material. The center opening is flung open, and Commander Reynolds appears.

He’s holding a mask over his face with the flashlight clutched in his other hand. He doesn’t come in, or tongue lash me for not following his protocol.

“Are you ok?” he sincerely inquires.

Cindy stays glued to my arm. She refuses to let go or give me an inch of space.

“Yeah. What happened to the lights?”

Commander Reynolds glances up briefly, then shrugs. “Not exactly—”

The report of gunfire from close by captures our attention.

Cindy yelps and sinks further into me, if that’s even possible. My body clenches.

Commander Reynolds’s head snaps back over his shoulder at the entrance of the ward. He draws his sidearm. The beam from the flashlight is diverted from us to his left. Half of his body is within the quarantined area while the other half stands in the hall.

“What was that?” Ms. Jones whispers. I can see the vague shape of her outline pressing against the plastic next to him.

He just clutches his sidearm.

A loud crash rips a gasp from our lips.

“Commander!” a panicked voice shouts out.

The soles of Private Carter’s shoes squeak across the floor.

“What is it, Private?” Commander Reynolds’s voice is strained.

“I think we’ve been breached, sir. There’s a chaser in the hall.”

CHAPTER NINE

Oh my God. I hope he’s not right about the chasers being on this floor.

The soldier stands before Commander Reynolds in full on panic mode. His breathing is escalated. The flashlight’s brilliance shines upon him, offering me and Cindy a glimpse of his frantic hand gestures through the plastic.

“Calm down, Private,” the commander sternly orders. “Get it together, and tell me exactly what happened?”

The soldier turns to the side. He points at the entrance. “Something came out of the shadows from down the hall.”

Commander Reynolds cranes his neck. He peers in the direction of the swinging doors. “You’re one hundred percent sure it was one of the creatures?” His tone is slathered with doubt.

The private diverts his gaze to the floor. He remains silent for a split second before looking back to Commander Reynolds. “I’m pretty sure, sir. I doubt it was anything other than that. The way it moved, slouched over and low to the ground. When I called out, it stopped suddenly, then charged at me. That’s when I opened fire. I think I injured it.”

I gently grab Cindy’s hand and try to pull it free from my wrist. I can’t defend and protect her if she’s latched onto me.

“No, James! Don’t leave me!” She holds on tighter, refusing to let go.

I bring her close and kiss the crown of her head. “I’m just going over there, so I can see what’s happening. I won’t be that far away, ok?”

Cindy hesitates. It takes a few seconds, but she finally releases her hold on me.

I forgot what kind of grip she has. The indentations her nails have left in my skin sting.

“I’ll be right over here. Just wait right there,” I calmly say to her.

She whimpers softly, but complies.

Commander Reynolds trains the light at the double doors. I approach from his left, and poke my head outside of the plastic tarp into the hall.

“Is there really a chaser out there?” I ask in a low tone.

Ms. Jones cringes. She stays hidden behind Commander Reynolds. “How could one of those things have gotten in the building and up on the fifth floor? Wouldn’t someone have seen it, and hopefully killed it before it got all the way up here? Aren’t there soldiers stationed in the stairwell?”

The private points back toward the door. His face is coated with fear. “Not if they’re all dead. What if they’ve gained access below, and everyone down there is dead, or infected?”

Commander Reynolds grabs him by the scruff of his fatigues. He yanks him forward. The private shuts his mouth instantly. He’s but a scant inch away from the commander’s thick, full mustache.

“I said stow that chatter, Private.” A deep, hoarse growl silences the private.

He offers a single nod in compliance. “Sorry, sir.”

Commander Reynolds releases the soldier’s clothing. The private clears his throat. He adjusts his contorted jacket, so it isn’t wadded up.

“You shouldn’t have opened fire. It could’ve been Private Ferris or Ms. Davis heading back this way. With the power going out, it could’ve spooked them. The last thing we need to do is go off halfcocked and start firing our weapons when we don’t have a positive visual on the target. That’s how people die from friendly fire. Right now, we can’t afford to lose more than we already have.” Commander Reynolds turns and looks to me and Ms. Jones. He trains the flashlight at the dead lights that reside above us. “Generator’s probably acting up again.”

A loud cacophony rises from the hall just beyond the double doors, followed by intermittent gunfire. Yellow flashes light up within the darkness that’s visible through the two windows molded inside the double doors.

The private and Commander Reynolds bring their weapons to bear. They take aim at the dense, plastic, swinging doors.

Cindy screeches, which draws my attention back to her. She’s resting on her bottom with her knees bent and tucked close to her chest. Her arms are wrapped around her legs with her face buried in them.

“It’s ok, Cindy. Everything is going to be all right. I promise,” I reassure. I’m just as worried, but I have to remain strong for Cindy. I must be her rock now.

The gunfire ceases completely, and so does the clamoring beyond the doors.

“Do you think we got whatever it was out there?” The private’s tone is shaky, and laced with trepidation.

The commander looks to me and Ms. Jones then glances back to the door briefly. “The private and I are going to go check out whatever that was. You two will stay here with Cindy.”

Ms. Jones cringes. She looks to me, then points to my left in the direction of Cindy. “You’re going to just leave us here alone, and unarmed?”

Commander Reynolds spins to his right on the heels of his boots. He looks to the counter. “You have a two-way radio up here, right?”

Ms. Jones nods, but chews on her bottom lip. “I think Ms. Davis took it with her when they transported Private Buckner’s body over to the far wing. We may have another radio in one of the offices close by.”

Commander Reynolds shifts to the right a bit more and points in the direction of the blackness beyond the nurse’s station. “All right. Go see if you can find that radio, and double time it back here.”

Ms. Jones looks back to the ether of darkness that has swallowed that portion of the building whole, and shudders.

“Here. Take the flashlight with you.”

Ms. Jones holds up her hand, refusing the light. “Just shine it over toward the counter real quick. I think we have one on the other side I can use. You’ll need to keep that one anyway.”

“It’s fine. I have one on my pistol I can use.”

He reaches down and thumbs a switch under the pistol. A sharp beam of light that brightens up the hallway fires off the end of the weapon.

“Give it to James, then. He’ll need it.”

She takes a deep breath, then exhales it through her nose.

Commander Reynolds hands me the flashlight, and trains the beam of light from his pistol at the top of the counter. She walks across the hall toward the nurse’s station as she glances about the darkness.

“What the hell is going on out there?” I whisper under my breath. “Chasers wouldn’t have gotten past your men, would they?”

Commander Reynolds shakes his head. “They shouldn’t have, but there is always the possibility of things going south. That’s why me and Private Carter are going to see what’s happening.” He looks over my shoulder at Cindy. “Stay here with your sister. Once Ms. Jones gets back with her radio, contact Lieutenant Jacobson, and inform him of what’s going on up here.”

“Got it,” Ms. Jones calls out. She turns around to face us. Clutched in her hand is a black Maglite that looks like a club.

“All right. Get that radio ASAP, and double time it back here to James. Radio the lieutenant immediately.”

“Can we not just come with you?” I inquire.

Commander Reynolds shakes his head sternly. “I’d rather you wait here. We don’t know what’s going on yet, and I don’t want any of you to get caught in any crossfire. You’ll be safer here for the time being.”

Private Carter shoulders his rifle. He twists the weapon to the right slightly, and engages the flashlight that’s mounted under the barrel. His face is thick with fear, eyes wide as he takes a big gulp. He stares at Commander Reynolds, waiting for his orders.

“Remember, stay here, and wait for Ms. Jones. Then radio down to Jacobson. We’ll be back once we’ve made sure everything is secured,” Commander Reynolds says.

I’m not overly keen about being left alone in the dark with no weapon. Wish I had my machete or my grandfather’s Remington 740 Woodsmaster rifle. Especially if there is a chaser loose on this floor.

Still, I follow his command. I can’t risk anything happening to Cindy.

“Copy that. We’d appreciate it if you could hurry back, though,” I say.

“We’ll be back before you know it.” Commander Reynolds holds his right hand in the air. He motions to the private to move out with his index and middle fingers.

The private complies with a tilt of his head. He adjusts the rifle against his body one last time. His finger slips over the trigger. He makes for the double doors.

Commander Reynolds stays off to his left with his pistol clutched tightly with both of his hands.

The private stops just shy of the door. He moves off to the right of the window that’s built into the makeup of the dense plastic. He inches closer, then cranes his neck. His head twists from left to right.

The commander stands at the ready to his left. He leans against the door, and peers through the window before him.

“James!” Cindy tries to keep her voice low, but it’s louder than anything. “I’m scared. Are there really those creatures out there?”

“Everything’s going to be ok. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.” I stand just inside her room with half of my body out in the hall. I watch the commander and private assess the situation. They give each other a nod, and push the doors open. I look back and shine the light at her.

“Pinky promise?” She holds up her hand and sticks up her little finger.

I glance over to Commander Reynolds and Private Carter as they disappear into the hall. The door barely swings in and out.

“Sure, munchkin.” A half smile spreads across my face. I walk back over to the bed, and wrap my little finger around hers. We shake on it.

“Say you pinky swear, James,” she demands. “It doesn’t count if you don’t say the words.”

“I pinky swear that I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Cindy holds tight for a few seconds before letting go. She stares at me, looking as though she’s trying to see if I’m messing with her like I used to.

“I promise, Cindy. For reals. I’m not playing around.”

The one bad part about always messing with your siblings is that you get conditioned to them acting a certain way. It’s hard to shake.

A crashing sound from the hall breaks our bond. Cindy gasps, then covers her mouth with her hand.

I spin around, and train the flashlight at the clear plastic.

“What was that?” Cindy whispers this time.

“I don’t know.”

I spot no figures moving by the plastic. No footsteps playing off the floor.

I take a step toward the plastic, which draws Cindy forward in her bed. She grabs my wrist once more. “You promised, James. No take backs.”

“I’m not. I’m just going to look and see what that was.”

Cindy narrows her eyes at me. Her brow furrows, and her small lips grow taut.

I train my ear, and listen for any more sounds beyond the plastic sheeting before me. It’s silent. I know I didn’t imagine that noise. Cindy heard it as well.

“Hello?” I call out in a low tone.

“What do you think made that sound?” Cindy inquires. “Do you think it’s one of those monsters?” Her voice is filled with tension. Each word that clears her lips is unsteady and shaky.

I stop just shy of the seam in the dense material. I try to peer through the narrow opening, but can’t see anything clearly.

“It’s probably just Ms. Jones. It’s pretty dark back in there. She may have fallen or bumped into something that made that noise.” Cindy isn’t going to like this next part. “I’m going to step out into the hallway, and see if she’s all right.”

Cindy’s face morphs into a scowl. She crosses her arms over her chest and huffs. “I knew it. You’re always breaking your pinky promises.”

“Ms. Jones could be hurt. She may need our help. Do you just want to leave her out there hurt and alone? Besides, she was going for the radio to call for help. We need that to reach Lieutenant Jacobson or any of the other soldiers who are below.”

Cindy reaches around and grabs the pillow from the front of the bed. She clutches it tightly to her chest and buries her face into the white fabric. She looks to me then the hall beyond.

“You’ll be just right out in the hall, right?” she asks.

I nod. “I’ll be close by. I’m just going to make sure she’s ok.”

Cindy takes a few seconds more to mull it over. Her eyes continually dart from me to the hall as she grips the pillow tighter. “All right. Just hurry up. You know the dark scares me.”

“Ok. Stay quiet, and I’ll be right back.” I carefully part the seam in the plastic. The wide beam of the flashlight moves out into the hallway. I sweep it from left to right. It plays over the walls and the nurse’s station. I don’t spot Ms. Jones, or anything else for that matter.

Cautiously, I slip through the opening and step out into the hallway. The material of the enclosure crinkles and crunches. It isn’t overly loud, but enough to make me wince.

I shine the light at the double doors that Commander Reynolds and Private Carter moved through. I don’t hear any strife or screams of panic from the hall beyond. I’m unsure if that’s good or bad.

My body shifts to the right in the direction of the offices behind the nurse’s station. I raise the flashlight higher and train it at the blackness. My neck cranes and head tilts to the right slightly as I look for the nurse.

“Ms. Jones. Are you ok?” I call out.

Still, no reply.

My hand instinctively closes, as if something lethal and deadly is resting in my palm. I wish I had my machete, or any weapon for that matter. I glance about the floor and nurses’ station, but can’t find anything of use.

The gleam of the light focuses back to the passage that leads past the nurse’s station to the offices beyond. I move the light off to the right as an uneasy feeling crawls up my spine. There’s nothing there. No monster hiding within the shadows to spring forth and devour me. Just more empty beds and medical equipment.

The silence is deafening. I can hear every thump of my heart. To me, it sounds as if it can be heard for miles. I try to calm my nerves, but they’re frayed. I have to remain strong for Cindy. She’s doing enough worrying for both of us.

I near the right side of the nurse’s station where the walkway through to the offices are. I pause at the opening. My hand rests on the countertop as I sweep the area.

“Ms. Jones. Are you ok?” I ask again.

Silence.

Damnit.

Steel shelving units against the wall on my right, protrude out into the walkway, which blocks my view of the offices beyond. I lean to my left against the counter’s edge and crane my neck for a better look. I still can’t see clearly past the rack of shelves.

I glance back to the double doors, then over to where Cindy is. She’s quiet as a church mouse. Not a single peep or murmur carries from her room.

One more sweep of the immediate area finds it to be free and clear of anything that would have caused such a clatter. It had to have been from around here, though, since it was close enough for us to hear it clearly.

This would be so much easier if I knew exactly where Ms. Jones was going. Which office had the radio inside of it? I can check these few rooms right here and see. I’ll still be close enough to hear Cindy if she needs me. I’ve rationalized long enough. I need to find Ms. Jones to make sure she’s all right, and to ensure she has that radio. Most important, I need to make sure that she hasn’t been attacked by a chaser.

Slow and steady, I move through the opening. I tilt the flashlight down at an angle to the left, and hone the beam at the space behind the counter. Empty.

The room to my right has its door ajar. I step closer. My hand presses flat against the exterior as I push it inward. The hinges barely squeak, but it sounds like a loud horn going off. I grab the edge and stop. I think there’s enough room for me to thread my body through.

The light washes over the far wall to my right as my head slips in through the opening. I look quickly for any signs of Ms. Jones, but find nothing more than an open room that’s a disorganized mess. Loose papers carpet the floor. I don’t spend any more time looking. I step away from the room and close the door behind me.

On the other side of the shelving unit is another room. I narrow my gaze and try to peer through the stocked shelves of medical supplies. All I can see is the dark, brown wood grain of a door. Nothing more.

My teeth grind and fingers ball into a fist, then release. If Ms. Jones isn’t in this next room, then I’m cutting loose and getting back to Cindy. I can’t stray too far.

A subtle noise catches my ear from behind. It sounds like footsteps. I spin about anxiously and train the flashlight at the source. My body accidently bumps into the mobile shelving unit. It clatters against the wall, making a god-awful ruckus.

I cringe as I feverishly search for the source of the footsteps. I’m halfway expecting to find Cindy standing there, but I spot no one.

Did I really hear footsteps? Are my nerves getting the better of me?

A groaning sound looms in the air close by, followed by the door behind me slamming shut. I gasp. I hold my breath in fright, and turn back toward the office.

My heart pounds so hard that I feel like it’s going to burst through my chest. Rapid, shallow breaths escape my trembling lips. I know I heard that. That has to be where Ms. Jones is, and not the chaser that might be loose on this floor.

My fingers tighten over the flashlight. I gather what courage I have and move toward the office.

I step closer, stopping just shy of the door. I reach for the silver handle. My fingers wrap around its steel surface. I lean forward, and tilt my head to the right. I press my ear to the exterior of the door and listen.

Low and silent, I speak as softly as I can with the hopes that she’ll hear me.

“Ms. Jones, are you in there?” Another groan sounds, followed by some mumbled speech I can’t make out. It’s faint. That doesn’t sound like a chaser. It has to be her in there. “Hold tight. I’m coming in.”

I push down on the handle, and press my body to the door. I push forward, but the door doesn’t budge. Not much, anyway. I try again. It moves a scant inch, but it feels as though something is keeping it from opening from the inside. I plant my feet and push as hard as I can. It moves open wide enough for me to peer inside the office.

A beam of light shines out from the ether of blackness within the disheveled office.

I position my light inside the opening and look about. A cluttered mess greets my gaze. I tilt the beam toward the floor and discover a head full of hair.

“Ms. Jones. Are you all right? What happened?”

Another groan lingers in the air as the head twitches and moves. I’m waiting for her to respond with actual words and sentences instead of muttered groans like the chasers.

“James.” Ms. Jones grumbles in discomfort. She slowly moves away from the door, allowing me to open it farther. My free hand grips the edge of the door and pushes it open a bit more. I crane my neck, and peer around the door to the floor.

Flat on her butt with her back resting against a row of gray four-drawer filing cabinets that span the wall, she sits in a daze.

The flashlight is on the floor to her left, pointing in the direction of the door. Her face is contorted in pain. Her right arm reaches up as her fingers probe the gash across her forehead.

I move in.

The flashlight sweeps the office from left to right. I find no signs of chasers or anything else for that matter that would hint at any danger. I’m lost as to what went down in here.

I kneel down next to her and stare at the open wound on her head. Blood runs down her porcelain flesh.

“That’s a pretty nasty gash you have there,” I say.

Ms. Jones removes her fingers from the wound and holds them up in front of her. The ends are coated in blood.

“I’m such a damn klutz,” she angrily snarls. “I think I have two left feet at times.”

I eye the torn flesh. “Did you fall?”

She nods. “I was leaving the room, and my foot caught one of the legs of the chair over there by the desk. I fell forward and hit my head on the end of it. The flashlight flew from my hand. Dazed me pretty good.”

I twist in the direction of the desk. The lone guest chair is flipped over on its back. I shift to the left a hair more and find a small trace of blood on the edge.

“Are you able to stand up?”

Ms. Jones raises her arm up to me. “Yeah. I think so. My pride is more hurt than anything.”

I stand up and take her hand. I gently assist her off the ground and back to her feet. She leans against the filing cabinets, taking a minute to gather herself.

“Did you find the radio?” I inquire. I don’t see it on her person.

“Yeah. It’s probably on the floor somewhere. I dropped it as well.”

I train the flashlight to the ground just as a blood curdling scream catches my ear. I spin toward the partially open door. A wave of panic crashes into me.

Oh no. Cindy.

CHAPTER TEN

Another scream fills my ears.

I bolt out of the office.

I collide with the corner of the shelving unit next to the office, which sends it rolling away from the wall and into the walkway.

I lose my balance and fall into the textured wall to my right. The rigid surface scraps along the side of my face, but I don’t care. All I can think of is Cindy. I screwed up. I shouldn’t have left her alone like that, regardless of how far away I was.

“Cindy!” I yell out. “I’m coming!”

“James!” she cries out.

I push away from the wall and try to maneuver around the steel cart. It’s at an angle, blocking my path. If anything has happened to Cindy, I can’t, won’t, be able to live with it.

Adrenaline surges through my veins like a raging river of boiling testosterone. My fingers wrap around the steel bar running vertically along the side of the mobile shelf. I violently yank it toward me, and shove the shelf out of my way.

The wheel catches and tips over. It slams into the cabinets to my right, creating a god-awful crescendo that echoes throughout the space. Medical supplies dump from the shelves and clatter on the tops of the counters and the floor. I fumble my way past the toppled over cart as I struggle to train the light across the hall.

A portion of the plastic curtain that surrounds Cindy’s space has been torn free. It hangs by a handful of wires from the ceiling.

“James!” She continues to scream my name.

“Cindy!” I round the nurse’s station in a mad dash, cutting the corner by mere inches.

The light is unsteady in my grasp. Each step I take, the beam wildly bounces over the far wall and medical equipment. I spot the edge of her bed, and that’s when my heart plummets into a deep, dark ravine of despair.

“No!” I yell.

I come to skidding halt.

My eyes widen at the sight of a woman in scrubs who is on her hands and knees, straddling Cindy on the bed.

Cindy pants and cries as the woman hovers above her meager body. Cindy peers to her left around the woman’s skinny frame. The light washes over her flush cheeks, moist with tears.

“Hey! Get the hell away from my sister!” I demand with a hoarse growl.

The woman’s head twitches, and shifts to the right. She looks back over her shoulder in my direction. Her face is filled with anger. Her teeth gnash, and she pants hard and deeply. She has a chunk of flesh missing from the right portion of her neck.

I charge the bed. The nurse quickly spins about. I have no weapons on me except for the flashlight. Guess it’ll have to work. I raise my arm in the air and pull it back over my shoulder. I growl through clenched teeth.

She lunges from the bed like a crazed animal. Her boney body slams into mine and knocks me hard to the linoleum floor. I slide backward, prone on my back, into the hall with her straddling my waist.

We tussle and fight on the floor. Her teeth chomp up and down as her crazed eyes peer into mine. I don’t bother trying to reason with her. There’s no point. She’s already been consumed by the virus, and there is no going back.

She leans down and tries to bite my chest. I grab just under her jaw and hold her back. She growls and grunts, pushing down with all of her might. My arm shakes, then bend. The chasers are strong and formidable, which makes tussling with them that much more dangerous.

The nurse presses down relentlessly as I struggle to hold her at bay. From the wild look in her eyes and the chomping of her teeth, she shows no signs of giving up, but neither am I. Wielding the flashlight, I strike her across the right side of her skull. The dull thud of the barrel sends her head snapping to the left violently.

A trickle of blood runs out from the now open gash on her forehead. It races down the side of her face. Droplets of blood drip from the end of her chin and splash against my coat.

I swing the flashlight once more. She grabs my arm. Her head fixes front and center with mine. She pins my arm to the floor with the weight of her body, and growls wildly.

The beam of light is pointed in the opposite direction, so all I can see is the silhouette of her long hair dangling in front of her face like spider legs.

Cindy’s still on the bed, crying and screaming for me. Her frantic words are lost on my ears and play as background noise to the nurse who has me mounted. I have to get out of this situation alive. That’s all there is to it.

More intense growls escape from the nurse’s lips. I struggle to keep her away with my left arm. It bends even more, and she inches closer to my flesh. I snarl and spit through clenched teeth as I try to free my pinned right arm.

The sharp report of a single gunshot nearby startles me. It echoes down the hall. I flinch. A brief flash of yellow and orange from my right catches my eye.

A squishing sound quickly fills my slightly ringing ears followed by the nurse’s head jerking to the left. Her body drops lifelessly onto my chest in a heap of dead weight.

My hand releases the flashlight, so I can try to get the nurse clear of me. I struggle to position my arms under her body to push her off. She wasn’t overly big, but trying to bench press dead weight off of me, especially when I have skimpy muscles, is challenging.

Footsteps head this way. I grit my teeth and finally roll her bulk onto the floor. I spew a breath of tension and exhaustion from my mouth.

My head tilts to the right and finds a pair of military boots and fatigues standing near me. I look up toward the ceiling. I’m met with a blinding light that blasts me in the face. My eyes narrow from the harsh beam as my hands come up to shield my face. I can’t tell who it is.

“You all right, son?” the voice wearily inquires. It’s Commander Reynolds.

“Yeah. I’m better now. Thanks.” My head turns away from the light to keep it from blinding me.

He sweeps down my body, then back up. “She didn’t bite you, did she?”

My hands remain up as I shake my head no. “Not for lack of trying. Can you remove the damn light from my face?”

It takes him a moment to comply, but he finally does. He reaches down, takes hold of my hand, and pulls me to my feet.

I scan the floor for the flashlight, and find it clasped within Cindy’s hands. She’s barefoot and dressed in a hospital gown. I rush over to her.

“Are you ok?” I worriedly inquire.

Cindy hands me the flashlight. I take it from her, and cradle her flushed face. Tears stream down her cheeks.

She whimpers as she wraps her arms tightly around my neck. “I was so scared, James. I didn’t know what it was going to do to me.”

I hold her tight for a moment longer. She releases her hold and takes a step back.

I grip the sides of both of her arms. I thoroughly check her for any additional bites or wounds that the chaser may have inflicted.

“Did she bite or scratch you? I don’t see anything.”

Cindy shakes her head. “I don’t think she did, but it all happened so quickly.”

Commander Reynolds approaches from our right. He towers over us. “What exactly happened after she spotted you?”

Cindy brushes away the tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands. She sniffles, and slows her panted breathing.

“I tried to stay as quiet as I could. I guess she saw me sitting there, and that’s when she came at me.” She pauses, and swallows down the fear that remains. “She jumped up on the bed and just sat on top of me. That’s when I yelled for James.”

Commander Reynolds nudges my arm. “Were you not with her when this happened?”

I turn and point in the direction of the office. A bead of light comes out of the dark room and into the walkway where I left Ms. Jones.

“Ms. Jones had an accident when she was getting the radio. She tripped and banged her head pretty good. Made a lot of noise as well. I went to check on her, and found her on the floor. That’s when I heard Cindy screaming for help.”

Commander Reynolds turns his focus back to Cindy. “So, she didn’t try to bite or attack you?”

Cindy shrugs, then shakes her head no. Her bottom lip quivers. More tears swell in her eyes as she looks at me.

“That’s enough questions for now,” I say.

“I got ahold of Lieutenant Jacobson on the radio,” Ms. Jones says from behind us. “He’s heading up now with some men.”

Ms. Jones walks alongside me, and braces herself against the edge of the bed. She looks a bit shaken still. Her balance is a bit unsteady as she sways from side to side.

Cindy points at her forehead. “Your head. It’s bleeding.”

Ms. Jones nods. “I know. I was in such a rush to get back, and it was so dark that I ran into the shelves. It’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about it.” Ms. Jones reaches down and runs her fingers over the few wires and tubes that are still attached to Cindy’s arm. “Come here, sweetie. Let’s get those off of you. We’ll probably be moving down to one of the lower floors now.”

“I’m glad you’re ok.” Commander Reynolds gently places his hand on Cindy’s shoulder. Cindy offers a warm smile through the sadness on her face.

Ms. Jones escorts her back over by the bed.

I spot some blood splashed on top of the commander’s hand. “Did you get bit or something?”

The commander grumbles. “No. It’s just a cut. The nurse over there and Private Ferris attacked us. Knocked me into a window. Damn jagged glass carved me up good.”

I look back over my shoulder. Someone is missing.

“Where’s Private Carter?”

“We split up. He went after Private Ferris, and I came after the nurse. She had the jump on me after putting me into the window. Last I saw, Private Carter was chasing Ferris toward the other end of the hospital.”

Christ. That doesn’t sound good.

The odds of Carter becoming infected are pretty good. I hope he manages to take down Private Ferris before that happens, though. The last thing we need is to have more infected roaming the halls, and the grounds outside.

The double doors from the hall burst open. Multiple beams of light slash through the darkness. The tromping of footsteps charges our way.

Lieutenant Jacobson appears with four other men behind him. He stands just outside of Cindy’s room with his pistol drawn. Both hands tightly grasp the grip. He looks toward the dead nurse, then back to us.

“Is everyone all right?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“ We’ve got a situation, Lieutenant,” Commander Reynolds tersely says.

He can say that again.

Jacobson motions with his right hand for his men to disperse and check the perimeter. They stomp off, splitting up to sweep the immediate area.

The lights overhead buzz, then flicker as if they’re struggling to come back on. Brief snapshots of white from the rounded bulbs illuminate the space in a warm, white glow before fading away.

“Are we still having issues with the generators?” Commander Reynolds inquires. “Power has been off for a while up here.”

Jacobson glances up to the lights that finally cease their flickering and come back to life. “Among other things, sir. I’ve had a few of our men down in the boiler room working on it. Damn thing’s got issues. They’ve got them working as best they can with what we have on hand. Not sure how much longer they’re going to hold out.”

It takes a few minutes for the power to fully recover. I squint and blink a few times, but quickly adjust to the brilliance.

I peer over to Cindy. Ms. Jones is finishing up removing the wires and tubes attached to her. She takes great care in handling Cindy.

“Christ, sir, your hand!” Jacobson exclaims. “Are you all right?”

I train my gaze down to the commander’s hand. Tiny drops of blood drip from the ends of his fingers and spatter against the floor. His forearm has lines of the sanguine fluid racing down them from the large, vertical gash on the side of his arm.

Commander Reynolds offers nothing more than a quick glance to the wounded area. “It’ll be fine.”

“What the hell happened up here?” Jacobson looks back to the dead nurse who is rolled over on her side. The floor under her head is pooled with blood that spreads away from her. “Is that Nurse Davis?”

Commander Reynolds nods.

“It is. She became infected somehow. So did Private Ferris.”

A look of shock floods Jacobson’s face. “But how?”

“It could’ve been when Private Buckner turned right before he passed. The private fought to restrain him and apparently got injured in the process. I’m taking it that he got bit or something and didn’t say anything. It’s hard to tell. Right now, though, that’s a moot point because Private Ferris is still on the loose somewhere on the fifth floor. Private Carter took off after him while I came after Nurse Davis here.”

One of Jacobson’s men rushes up to him from the right. “Area is secure, sir. No sign of any other staff or infected for that matter. I’ve got men stationed at the entrances to this section.”

Jacobson nods. “Very well. Carry on.”

The soldier salutes both of his commanding officers. He turns and leaves in the direction of the double doors.

“We need to evac this floor now and get down below,” Commander Reynolds orders. “Have your men look for both Private Ferris and Carter. I want them found ASAP.”

“Yes, sir,” Jacobson retorts.

“Have we received any response back from HQ yet? What’s the situation outside?”

Jacobson looks to me briefly, then back over to Commander Reynolds. A look of concern clouds his face, despite how hard he tries to hide it.

“I’ll need to fill you in once we get below,” he says.

The commander sighs, and rubs along his worn face. “All right. Let’s get out of here, and we’ll discuss things further once we’re secured.”

Cindy moves over to stand close to me. She leans her head against my side and gives me a hug around my waist.

“How is our patient doing?” Jacobson offers a half smile, to which Cindy subtly waves back.

“She’s doing well overall,” Ms. Jones responds. “She’s still shook up from everything, but physically, she remains stable. No changes.” Ms. Jones dabs away the blood on her face and fixes a bandage to her forehead.

Jacobson looks to the double doors, then back to Ms. Jones. “Are you ok? Seems like everyone has had it rough up here.”

“I’m fine. It will probably need stitches. I’ll take care of it later.” Ms. Jones presses around the outside of the bandage to make sure it’s in place. She steps away from the bed and heads for the hallway.

Jacobson glances to his left and nods. “I think we’re good to move, sir.” He looks to Cindy, then back to Commander Reynolds. “Is it safe to move her down below?”

“Safe as in how?” I quickly counter. “I don’t think she’s contagious by just being around her without a mask. Besides, she isn’t remaining up here. Not with that chaser on the loose.” I place my hand on the small of Cindy’s back and hold her tightly.

Much to my surprise, Jacobson doesn’t snarl or get heated like he did when we first arrived. Instead, he holds up his hands in defense. “I’m just asking if we’re sure we’re clear of possible contamination, is all. You have to remember, this is all new to us. I’d rather tread on the cautious side than not. It’s not just our lives at risk but everyone else’s.”

“From what I’ve seen, it should be fine.” Ms. Jones says. “You have to remember that transmission of the virus is only through a bite or something similar. Just being around someone who is infected doesn’t mean that you run the risk of contracting it. I know this is unfamiliar territory and all, with her carrying the virus and not turning into one of the creatures, but we should be safe. We’ll just keep an eye on her and monitor her condition as best we can.”

“Sir, we’ve made contact.” A soldier approaches Jacobson from the left. He has his rifle pressed to his chest with his finger near the trigger.

“Where?” Commander Reynolds inquires.

“Nearby, sir.” The soldier points in the direction of the way we need to go to get to the stairwell. “Hallway, dead ahead.”

“Take your men and scour this floor. I want Private Ferris handled and Private Carter found. Check in when you have confirmation.”

“Yes, sir!” The soldier salutes both men. He turns and bolts for the double doors. His hand covers his ear as he speaks into his mic.

Jacobson drifts farther back into the hallway. His head stays on a swivel. Both hands remain fixed to the grip of the pistol as we funnel out after him.

Little time is wasted. We’re sandwiched between Jacobson and Commander Reynolds as we exit the ward. We scurry down the long stretch of hallway. Both men bring their sidearms to bear. They train them dead ahead of us as the soles of our shoes squeak over the floor. Beams of light burst from the bottoms of their weapons as they sweep the area.

Jacobson holds his arm up in the air. He motions for us to stop as we near the intersection of the other hallway. His back hugs the wall. The barrel of the pistol takes the lead as he carefully peers out and down the corridor.

Gunfire echoes down the hallway to our left. Both Commander Reynolds and Jacobson turn on a dime and take aim.

Cindy remains glued to my side. Her hands claw at my jacket as whimpers escape her lips. I hold her tight, patting her back.

“Come on. Let’s move!” Jacobson moves out into the hallway with Ms. Jones following close behind. Cindy and I follow suit with Commander Reynolds covering our behinds.

Our quick pace changes to a dead sprint. We run hard and fast in the direction of the stairwell. It’s not too far away, but feels like it’s on the other side of the moon when you’re scared. There’s nothing that stands in our way, which adds a bit of relief.

The pounding of the rifles discharging ceases. We reach the door to the stairwell, and Jacobson shoves it open. He stands off to the side, waving his arm for us to hurry along.

Ms. Jones darts into the dim space. We near the opening as a shrill echoes from the darkened halls.

I come to a grinding halt just before the entrance. I turn and look to the dimness of the long stretch of corridor that goes on for what seems like forever.

A body emerges from the left. It stumbles out into the hallway and turns to face us. No, wait. There’s another shadowy figure that comes into view as well. Is that Private Ferris and Carter?

They dash in our direction, grunting and growling. They meld together in the dark space like some sort of alien creature that has four arms and legs.

“Get inside, now!” Jacobson grabs my arms and shoves me inside the stairwell.

Cindy dashes in first, with me close behind. She doesn’t care much for the dark, even though the stairwell is partially cast in a red hue from the emergency lights.

“Sir, come on.” Jacobson moves just inside the entrance, with half of his body lingering in the hallway.

Two shots ring out, followed by Commander Reynolds back peddling inside. He gets clear of the doorway and shifts to the left. His pistol remains up and at the ready as Jacobson slams the hefty door shut.

He flips about and leans against the smooth surface of the door.

“I got one, but grazed the other.”

The chaser collides with a dull thud. It growls and pounds its fists harshly, trying to break through the obstacle that separates us from the ravenous creature.

It’s fortunate that this door isn’t flimsy or has any windows. If the creatures ever figure out how to open doors, we’re screwed.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The chaser hammers the door in a furious rage. Each dense strike is louder and harder than the last.

The light from both men’s pistols wash over the landing and walls. They remain steadfast and ensure the creatures don’t gain access.

We backpedal toward the flight of stairs that goes down to the third floor. Commander Reynolds and Lieutenant Jacobson retreat from their positions and cover our backs. Their weapons stay trained at the entrance.

I head down the stairs as quickly and safely as we can. I glance over the railing to find Ms. Jones and two armed soldiers peering up to us with their weapons shouldered.

Light from the third floor illuminates their panicked faces. We make a sharp turn, and bolt down the last flight of stairs. We hit the landing as the soldiers move closer to the stairs.

“Where’s the commander and lieutenant?” a gruff baritone voice inquires.

“They were right behind us.” I’m winded from all of the running and traversing the stairs. I respond through panted breath.

The soldier cranes his neck as his gun-mounted light searches the floor above us.

Heavy footsteps battering the steps echo throughout the enclosed space. The soldier stays planted as his finger inches toward the trigger.

Commander Reynolds appears first, followed by Jacobson who follows him down the stairs.

“Are you ok, sir?” The soldier steps to the right and steers clear of the commanding officers.

“Yeah. We’re fine,” he sternly responds. He looks to us. “Is everyone all right?”

We nod.

“Is the door holding?” I probe.

Jacobson turns the light off from his pistol, then holsters it. “For now, it is.” He turns toward the soldier. “I want rotating shifts stationed here 24/7. Anything comes down those stairs, you light it up.”

“Yes, sir.” He offers a subtle nod of compliance.

We exit the stairwell and head inside to the third floor. We’re greeted by soldiers and hospital staff that stand worriedly by. Duke and the others are off to my left. He offers a bark, wags his tail feverishly, and lowers to the ground. I think he’s happy to see us.

He breaks free of Cassie’s hand and maneuvers his way through the legs of the people standing before him.

“Duke!” Cindy’s face lights up as she releases me from her clutches. Cindy drops to her knees with her arms stretched out wide.

That long pink tongue of Duke’s dangles from the left side of his snout as he races up to her.

She embraces him by the neck and holds him tight. “Oh, boy. I have missed you so much. Have you been a good boy for James?”

Duke groans. His head moves from side to side as his tail wags swiftly. I rub the top of his head, then run my fingers down his spine. He breaks free from Cindy’s hold and licks her face repeatedly. She doesn’t stop him or push him away like she normally would. Instead, she sits there, allowing him to shower her with love and affection.

Cassie and Lucas make their way toward us with relieved smiles.

Lucas places a heavy hand on my shoulder and looks me over. “Are the both of you ok? We overheard the soldiers talking about some sort of outbreak up on the fifth floor or something like that.”

“Yeah. We’re all right. Some of the soldiers and hospital staff have turned. Lieutenant Jacobson left his team up there to clear them out, but I think the chasers may have gotten them first.”

Cassie’s eyes widen. She leans in close and keeps her voice low. “How many are we talking?”

“Two that we know for sure,” I answer. “Not sure yet about the soldiers who were left up there. One minute there’s gunfire, and the next, dead silence. We had two chasers after us before we got into the stairwell. Not sure what they’re going to do about their men who are still up there.”

Cassie’s lips part slightly. A look of dread washes over her face.

“How are things looking outside?” I’m searching for good news anywhere I can find it.

Lucas shifts his eyes to Cassie who mimics him. He removes his hand from my shoulder and rubs the back of his neck. That can’t be good.

“Not good as far as we can tell,” he says.

“That bad?” I reply.

They both nod.

“The chaser’s keep showing up in droves. The soldiers are struggling to hold them off,” Lucas clarifies.

Great.

Cindy stands up from the floor. Duke ceases his onslaught of tongue bathing her. He stands by her side as she continues to run her fingers through his dingy coat. She looks up to Cassie and Lucas who offer smiles in return.

“And this must be Ms. Cindy who we’ve heard so much about,” Cassie warmly says. “I’m Cassie. This gruff old man next to me is Lucas. It’s a real pleasure to finally meet you.”

Cassie leans over and places the heel of her palms on the tops of her knees. She extends her hand to Cindy, who sinks into me. She cautiously raises her arm out and shakes Cassie’s hand.

I pat Cindy on the side of her arm. “They’re good people, Sis. They helped me find you. Without them, me and Duke wouldn’t be here.”

Lucas dismisses my words with a wave of his hand. “Don’t sell yourself short, James. You have pulled my butt out of the fire a handful of times. Without you, I’d be toast. You’re no slouch and can hold your own. Same for good old Duke here.”

Duke’s ears perk up from the slight mention of his name. He tilts his head back and looks up to Lucas who rubs his head.

I smile even though I don’t feel like I’ve been a big asset to our little trio. The dead bodies that lay in my wake are piling up with each day that dawns.

My dad.

Mom.

My best friend, Dawson.

Tony, the gruff military soldier who helped me out when this all first went down.

And finally, Cassie’s surrogate father figure, Mack.

There are probably many more that have fallen because they have crossed my path, but those are the ones that hurt the most.

“I do have to say that it’s such a pleasure to meet such a strong and brave young lady. I imagine that you’re the best little sister that a big brother could ask for.” Lucas reaches out his leathery large hand to Cindy.

She glances up to him and takes hold of it. “I’m not that little. I’m actually nine, right, James?” Cindy tilts her head to the side and glances up to me, waiting for me to confirm her statement.

“That is right, squirt.”

“In either case, it is an honor to meet you.” Lucas notices the teeth marks in her arm. The indentions aren’t as deep and the flesh doesn’t look to be decaying. The cream-colored tone of her skin around the infected area has come back some. He smiles at Cindy, then shifts his gaze up to me.

The lights overhead dim slightly. They flicker off and on. A low humming sound emits from the bulbs.

“Damn it all. Are we going to lose power again?” Commander Reynolds says.

Lieutenant Jacobson looks up to the ceiling. He watches the dull white lights flicker as if they’re fighting for survival. He pulls free the radio attached to his hip, and adjusts the rounded knob on top.

“How are we coming along on the generators, over?”

Static clings to the air. A voice crackles in through the speaker and battles through the white noise. The sound of machinery in the background drowns out the man’s tone.

“We’ve got one operating at capacity. The other needs a bit more attention. Seems like a cable has come loose or something. We can’t reach it, though. Our hands won’t fit. If we don’t get it back up and running, the other generator will be taxed to the point where it’ll die.”

Lieutenant Jacobson looks to Commander Reynolds who has a scowl on his face.

“All right. Stand by and keep working on it. Over.” Jacobson lowers the radio. He and Commander Reynolds move away from the stairwell entrance and secure the door. They stand a few feet from us and continue to discuss the generators.

“Do we have anyone who we can send down to the boiler room to aid in the repair?” Commander Reynolds inquires.

Jacobson rubs his chin. “Not that I’m aware of. We’re beyond stretched thin right now. We’ve got the majority of our men outside battling the infected, which aren’t letting up. The team on the fifth floor is MIA, and we can’t spare anymore men to go search for them. Plus, we have some other issues I need to brief you on. Privately, sir.”

Doctor Harper approaches the two men. He leans forward and pulls the torn fabric away as he takes a closer look at Commander Reynolds’s arm. “We need to get this dressed and stitched up quickly.”

Commander Reynolds diverts his gaze down to his arm. “It’ll be fine for now. We have bigger problems.”

Doctor Harper releases the bloody, torn pieces of the commander’s shirt. “The longer it goes without being properly treated, the more likely infection will set in. We can’t afford for you to fall ill right now, sir.”

Commander Reynolds offers a slight nod. “All right, let’s go patch it up. Come and debrief me, lieutenant.”

The doctor escorts the commander and Jacobson down the hall. They enter the third room on the right.

Lucas nudges my arm, and nods to his right, indicating he wants to speak in private.

I turn to Cindy, then point to Cassie. “Hey, I’m going to have you hang with Cassie and Duke for a minute while I talk to Lucas, ok?”

“Ok.” Cindy continues to rub Duke’s head.

Cassie half smiles. “I’ll keep an eye on her for you.”

“Thanks.” I follow Lucas away from open ears.

He kicks his voice low. “What do you think we should do? Might be good to have a backup plan in case things go south here and we have to bail.”

I shrug, but then nod in agreement.

I hadn’t really thought past finding Cindy, but having an exit strategy wouldn’t hurt.

Besides, I trust the government right now about as far as I can toss them. They have done some devious things that have made me leery of putting my full faith in them—like destroying one of the main bridges back where I lived and mowing down the people trying to flee this outbreak.

“We could always try to get back to the Humvee. Make a break for it if we must,” I say.

Lucas cringes. “That’d be tough to do, especially with all of the infected they’re saying are in the area now.”

“If push comes to shove, we’ll have to do something,” I counter. “Their men are dropping like flies now, and it seems as though they’re running out of options. I think we should do what we can to help until it’s no longer feasible. I just found my sister, and I don’t plan on any of us dying in this hospital. If we find that we need to cut and bail, then we’ll do it.”

Lucas glances in the direction that Doctor Harper took the commander.

“We may need to find out what they’re discussing,” he suggests. “From what was being said earlier, it didn’t sound too good.”

I nod in agreement. “I’ll go give a listen.”

I walk away from Lucas when he snatches my arm. “Um, you?”

“Um, yeah. Me.”

Lucas releases my arm, then leans in close. “I can do it, James. You have a tendency to lose your cool when hearing bad news.”

I sneer at the snide comment. It’s true most times, but the comment was still uncalled for. “I’ll be fine. Besides, if they catch me eavesdropping, I don’t think they’ll do anything. You, on the other hand, could be a different story.”

Lucas sighs. “Fine, just be quiet, and don’t do anything stupid.”

I wink. “I make no promises.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Lucas walks back over to Cassie and Cindy while I head toward the room Jacobson and the commander are in. I plop down in the chair next to the partially open door. I lean forward with my forearms resting on my thighs. My fingers intertwine as I focus on their voices.

Back home, I was always able to eavesdrop on my parents’ conversations when they spoke in their room. I could tune out any background noises and focus on what was being said. Came in really handy, especially if I was in trouble, and they were figuring out what to do with me.

It’s a bit different here, though, with the discharging of automatic weapons from outside the building and the occasional thunderous rumble of an explosion trying to distract me.

“Jesus Christ,” Commander Reynolds grumbles.

“Sorry, sir. I’m being as gentle as I can while stitching up this wound,” Doctor Harper remarks.

“It’s not that, Jim. It’s this damn mess that we’re stuck in,” Commander Reynolds grouses. “How much longer can we hold out here with the men and supplies we have?”

“Tough to say, sir. We’re running low on ammo and bodies. Without having our gunship around to provide perimeter support, the infected are able to get closer to the hospital,” Jacobson retorts. “We aren’t fully equipped to deal with the influx of infected who are showing up.”

“All done,” Doctor Harper says.

I twist in the chair and peer through the crack in the door.

Commander Reynolds hops down off the bed he’s sitting on. He glances at the wound that has been dressed. Torn pieces of his shirt dangle from his arm.

“I still can’t believe that we lost that bird and those men,” he grumbles.

Jacobson nods. “I feel the same way, sir. The horde of infected that overtook them before they could take off, isn’t too far away from here. There is a chance that they could be heading this way. I don’t think I have to tell you how bad of a situation we’ll be in if we’re still here when they arrive.”

Commander Reynolds rubs his chin, and moves toward the window across the room. He stands firm and looks out through the narrow slits in the blinds. The sun is getting low. The once fiery sky is now changing to a dark palate. Night is coming.

“What was their last known position where they went down?” he inquires.

“They were roughly 7.5 klicks due east, sir,” Jacobson answers.

Commander Reynolds sighs, then lowers his head. His fingers run through his silver hair. “So, given the known pace of the infected and if they stay on their current course, then theoretically they could be at our front door within a few hours?”

“That’s our best guess,” Jacobson answers.

Commander Reynolds turns away from the window. He looks to Jacobson who’s standing with his arms behind his back.

“All right. For now, withdraw all forces we have outside and have them fall back into the hospital. We barricade all entrances on the ground floor. No one is to fire unless absolutely necessary. We need to conserve that ammo.”

The lights suddenly go out. The faint hue of white rises and dims from the bulbs overhead.

Panicked chatter from the people standing in the hall looms in the air.

“We need to get that generator back up and operational,” Commander Reynolds demands. “We still have some tests and data that need to be finished. We can’t afford to lose what we’ve worked so hard to obtain here. We must have someone here who can head down to the lower level and aid in the repair of the generator.”

I think of Cindy and the others, and the mass of chasers who are coming for us. Knowing that certain doom is marching this way sends a wave of worry over me. I can’t lose anyone else.

A thought gels inside my head. We could leave. Load up in the Humvee and take our chances out in the dead state of the crumbling country. But what about Cindy?

I have narrowly escaped the boney fingers of the reaper numerous times. I can’t, in good conscience, do that to her. At least here, with the military, we may have a chance at survival. For now, they haven’t offered me any reason to doubt their intentions. Still, I’ll be keeping a vigilant eye on them.

I spring up from the chair and twist toward the door. I shove it open, and barge into the room.

All three men instantly turn and stare at me. A look of surprise clouds their faces.

“This is a private briefing,” Jacobson growls.

“I can help.” I fight to keep the uneasiness from spilling out through my voice. My stance is firm and rigid.

“Thanks, but not sure what a kid is going to do to help us.” Jacobson dismisses me with a roll of his eyes and wave of his hand. He turns back toward the commander whose gaze is fixed on me.

What a brash asshole. He’s really in no position to be turning away the help of the few people left in this building. Besides, I haven’t seen too many others volunteering to help out. Especially considering that I’m no military grunt, just the son of one.

I turn and point toward the hall. “I have just as much at stake here as anyone. I have family and friends out there that mean the world to me. They’re all I have left, so I will do whatever I have to do to make sure they’re safe. Right now, we’re in this together.”

Jacobson stares at me. I can’t tell if he’s thinking on what I said or if he’s pissed. He always seems to have a scowl on his face when I speak.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. No offense, but you’re just a kid and all. If the crap hits the fan, you’ll have to think on your feet and possibly defend yourself, or others, from that bio-hazard. But, it’s not my call.”

“Thank you for your input, lieutenant!” Commander Reynolds says.

Jacobson snaps to and stands at attention. “Sir.”

Doctor Harper is to my left next to a set of cabinets. He has a tray clasped within his hands that has bandages and other medical supplies resting on its top. He stands there motionless as he looks to me, then the commander. The news of the incoming horde of infected must have him worried.

“We appreciate the offer, James, but not quite sure how you might be able to help us out.”

“I think I’m probably the only one you have here who has hands small enough to fit within that tight space in the generator. It’d be safe to assume that without me, the odds of this place going dark and all of that test data you’re trying to save will go away. Afterall, nighttime is coming, so we don’t have much time. I don’t know about you two, but I’d rather fight the chasers in the light than in the dark.”

Jacobson rolls his eyes, but doesn’t venture a response. “Sir, I think we should have our guys continue-”

“Agreed.” Commander Reynolds glances back toward the window and watches as the sun continues its descent over the horizon.

Jacobson purses his lips, then grits his teeth.

“I’m not overly keen about sending you down there, though, with the infected gathering in mass just outside. Although I’m confident that our men will hold them at bay, if for any reason they fail and the chasers flood into the hospital, it will be difficult to get back here.”

The thought of the chasers getting inside causes me to gulp. I hadn’t really thought of that possibility. Still, I remain fixed in my decision.

“Understood. I don’t plan to hang out down there,” I respond. “I’ll do what needs to be done, and book it back up here.”

The commander looks to me then out of the window as he wrestles with the decision. “All right, son.” He nods to Jacobson. “Make the call.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Cindy isn’t going to care for this idea one bit. There are a ton of unknowns that cloud the air. Hopefully, Commander Reynolds’s men will be able to barricade the front entrance well enough and keep the chasers at bay. At least long enough for us to get back upstairs.

Jacobson hops back onto his radio and relays the commander’s orders to his men out in the field. Static lingers from the speaker as he brushes past. He cuts his eyes down at an angle and narrows them at me.

“I say again, pull all ground forces back and retreat to the interior of the hospital, over.” The radio clicks. He turns to the right and hurries from the room.

The commander strolls across the room with his arms laced behind his back. He stands before me with his face painted in a rigid, yet concerned manner.

“Are you sure you want to do this, son?” he inquires once again.

“Not especially, but it isn’t so much a matter of what I want to do as it is of what needs to be done.”

Commander Reynolds offers a slight smirk. He places his hand on my right shoulder. “You’re a brave young man, James.”

Life has made me brave. One must do things now that would never have been considered before this outbreak happened.

“I’ll have one of my men escort you down to the first floor after they’ve secured the entrance of the hospital. From there, I’ll have the men stationed down there take you to the boiler room.” The commander walks past me and heads out into the hallway.

I take a moment and allow the realization of what’s about to transpire to really hit me. I try not to get too worried about what could happen. Once his men fall back and secure the entrance, they’ll hold the chasers back. I know they will.

I turn sharply around, and make my way out of the room. Cindy and the others sit in chairs near a nurse’s station that has Nurse Debbie and a few other nurses huddled about.

Cindy continues to pet and love on Duke, who is eating it up. He rests on his hind legs with his tongue dangling out of his mouth as she kneads his head.

Lucas spots me and stands up from his chair. “Well?” he asks in a low tone.

I lean in close and keep my voice lowered. “They’re pulling their ground forces outside back into the hospital. Seems like there’s a mass of chasers heading this direction. The chopper we saw when we first arrived apparently went down east of here after they spotted a large horde. Seems they’re heading in this direction. The military is sending in some other transports to provide support and evac us, but it may take a bit. So, we’re going to have to hold out until they arrive.”

“That doesn’t sound good at all.” Lucas diverts his gaze briefly, and looks off into the unknown as he chews on my words.

I remove my hat, and run my fingers through my hair. I slip it back on and clear my throat. “There’s one more thing.”

“What’s that?” Lucas trains his attention back to me.

I point toward the lights. “They’re having issues with one of the generators, which is making the other unit work overtime. Apparently, there’s some loose or faulty wire that they can’t reach. They have some data that they’re needing to back up, and they need the power on to do so. Also, if we don’t get the generators working, this hospital is going dark. As in, no electricity.”

“Ok. That sucks.” Lucas lifts his left eyebrow up.

“I’m going to go down to where they have the generators and see if I can help them out.” I lift my hand in the air. “My small hands might be able to reach in there, and help fix whatever is wrong.”

That same look of concern that Lieutenant Jacobson had clouds Lucas’s face. He glances back to Cindy and Cassie. He rubs his beard before turning his focus back to me.

“You sure that’s a wise decision? They cleared the first floor in case the chasers somehow gain access. If they end up doing that while you’re below, that’s going to be a difficult spot to get out of. You’ll be cut off and on your own.”

I don’t discount the potential dangers that face me.

“Yeah. I’m aware, but the data they’ve gathered is vital to helping us find a way to stop all of this. Cutting and running isn’t an option, as much as I’d like to do that. You’ve been there through all of the narrow escapes and near-death situations we’ve encountered. I can’t do that to Cindy. Not to any of you. For now, I think it’s best that we stick it out here, and do what we can to help keep things going until the reinforcements arrive. If I do nothing, then all those who have died, and WILL die, will be laid at my feet.”

Lucas lowers his head into his palm. He rubs his face up and down and finally sighs. “Fine, but I’m coming with you.”

I shake my head.

“Why the hell not? You’re going to need someone to watch your back while you’re down there. If the crap hits the fan, those soldiers may not give a rat’s ass about your safety.”

I look past him to Cassie and Cindy. “You need to stay here with them. Cindy is all I have left in this world, and I need to know that she’ll be properly looked after. If things do go off the rails, and the chasers get inside, I want her with people I trust with my own life. Besides, your shoulder is still healing. I’ll take Duke with me.”

Lucas chuckles under his breath. He places his hands on his hips and offers a smirk. “No offense, but you’re a stubborn little shit.”

I smirk, then say, “None taken.”

I walk past Lucas, and approach the others. Cindy lays on her side with her head resting in Cassie’s lap. Duke’s sitting on his hind legs next to the chairs as Cindy slowly runs her hands through his coat.

The sight warms my heart. It’s a peaceful moment where we’re not running for our lives or fighting to death with the chasers.

“Looks like someone found a new best friend?” I remark. “Have I been replaced, squirt?” I jokingly ask.

Cassie looks up to me and half smiles as she runs her fingers through Cindy’s hair.

“Maybe.” Cindy tilts her head back and looks up to me. “She does it just like Mom did. Feels really good. Makes me think of her.”

I glance over to Cassie who’s still smirking.

“What did you find out?” Cassie asks.

I look to Lucas, then back to Cassie. I don’t want Cindy to worry. She seems calm now, which is good, and I don’t want to change that.

“Not too much. They need my help with something. Nothing big. I shouldn’t be too long, though,” I say.

Cassie doesn’t seem too keen on what I said. She rolls her eyes, then looks to Lucas who shakes his head.

I kneel down next to the chairs, place my hand on top of Cindy’s head, and smile at her. “Are you going to be all right hanging out with these two until I get back?”

Cindy cuts her eyes back up to Cassie who winks at her. “Yeah. Especially if she keeps running her fingers through my hair.”

I pet Duke’s head, then scratch under his snout. “Would you mind if I took Duke with me, so he can keep me company?”

“Nah. You can take him, James. I know how much he loves going on adventures with you.”

“That he does.” I lift up, and kiss Cindy on her forehead. She leans back on her heels and looks at me with a bewildered gaze as if I have done something extremely odd. “What?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever done that before.”

I kiss her on the forehead again. “Times have changed, squirt.” I stand back up, and Cassie grabs my wrist. Her worried gaze isn’t lost on me. I place my free hand on top of hers, and offer a reassuring half smile.

“We’ll see you and Duke shortly,” she calmly says.

“That you will.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The rich static of the soldier’s radio fills the air around us. It draws my attention away from Cassie. Standing next to Lucas, the soldier holds up a finger as he speaks into the receiver.

“Is the lobby secured? over.” He releases the button and lowers his hand. “You ready to move out?”

“Yeah. I’m good.”

The radio beeps. A panting breath looms from the speaker. Loud crashing noises play in the background, making it difficult to clearly understand what he’s saying.

“Lobby is secured. We’re going to check all possible entry points to make sure we are completely locked down, over.”

“Copy that.” The soldier lowers the radio and attaches it to his hip, as he pulls his rifle close to his chest. “All right, let’s move out.”

I pat my leg, which snaps Duke to attention. He springs up from his hind legs and comes to my side.

The soldier walks past me and heads for the entrance to the stairwell.

Lucas places his hand on my shoulder. He keeps his voice low so as to not draw Cindy’s ear. “Watch yourself down there and no funny business. Get done what needs to be done and haul ass back up here. If things don’t look or feel right, you cut and run.”

“I will. Besides, I’ll have Duke with me. He’ll have my back.” I glance down to Duke who’s staring up at me. His ears stand on end as he waits for my command.

“Come on, we need to move now,” the soldier orders.

“Be back shortly,” I say to Lucas and the others. “Come on, boy.”

I turn and head for the soldier who is waiting for us. Lucas and the others watch as we enter the red hue of the stairwell. We move off to the side as the soldier pushes the door closed.

“You stay on my six, and move as I move. You do as I say without question. Am I clear?” He turns on the light mounted under the barrel of his rifle. The bright beam washes over the walls and concrete stairs.

I confirm with a nod.

The soldier glances down to Duke.

“He’s obedient and won’t cause any problems. We’ve been through worse together, anyway.”

“Better make sure of it. Let’s move.” The soldier turns sharply about and makes for the flight of stairs to our left.

Both Duke and I stay close behind. We pound the concrete steps rapidly as we fly down the first staircase. We continue the quick pace, and make short work of the second flight as well.

I’ve gotten so used to moving fast now that it has become second nature. My once fragile and out of shape body has turned into a system of coordinated muscles that work at peak levels.

Duke maintains a steady pace by my side.

We hit the landing to the first floor. The soldier approaches the door, and carefully opens it up. A slight clatter and banging echoes down through the long stretch of dark hallway before us.

The eerie feel of death lingering in the hallway sends a shiver of uneasiness down my back. I gulp down the fear. I’ve got this. I can do this.

The soldier shoulders his weapon and advances. He sweeps right, then left. He motions with his hand for us to proceed.

Duke heads out first with me close behind.

I shut the door to the stairwell, and stand near the soldier. “Is all of that racket the chasers from outside?”

“Yeah. They’re piling up at the front entrance and banging against the doors,” he says.

A low growl emits from Duke’s throat. I pat his side, and rub his head, shushing him.

The soldier heads down the corridor to our left. He keeps his weapon trained ahead and sweeps any nooks or nurses’ stations we pass by.

The boisterous clamoring of the chasers grows louder with each step we take. Up ahead is another dimly lit hallway. That seems to be where the front entrance of the hospital is located.

As we near the corridor, the soldier slows his pace. He eases out past the corner of the wall. Another soldier is stationed in the hallway, facing the entrance. He looms large within the shadows, looking like a giant keeping watch over his territory. He stops, then turns back toward us. He shines his mounted light from his rifle at our faces.

“Christ, Stevens!” the giant exclaims with a huff. He lowers his rifle and relaxes his tense posture.

The soldier accompanying me trains his rifle to the floor. “Are we secured down here, Lance?”

The giant runs his forearm across his brow and turns back toward the entrance. “For the most part, yeah. Damn things are beating the hell out of that glass front, though. Hopefully, it’ll hold until backup arrives. More and more seem to be showing up. Nothing but a blob of bodies out there now, and it’s only growing.” He looks to me and Duke. “Where you taking the kid and dog?”

“I’m taking him down to the lower level to help out with the generator per the commander’s command,” the soldier escorting us responds.

“Are you staying down here with us?” Lance inquires. “It’s just me and Cooper patrolling the halls down here. The rest are positioned near the front. Holed up behind the front desk and anything else that can provide cover. We lost a half dozen or so out there before falling back. Damn things surged past the blockade. Tore through our men like a pack of damn wolves. There are only about six in total of us down here now covering things on this floor.”

“Yeah. Let me drop them off, and I’ll come assist. Be right back. Watch your six and stay frosty.”

“Likewise.”

We get back on the move through the abandoned halls of the first floor. We maintain a steady, brisk pace. We pass by other corridors that dart off to the left and right. There is nothing more than the familiar, endless gloom that drapes over us like a veil. At least we have the light from the soldier’s rifle, to guide our way.

It looks like we’re heading back the way we came when we first arrived. I spot the lab that we were held in. It’s dark and eerie. I can barely see the outlines of the curtains and bedframes within the ether of blackness.

The clomping of our shoes against the tile floor echoes through the halls. I want nothing more than to hurry up and get this generator operational, so I can get back to Cindy and the others. The thought of being down here with the chasers pounding away on that entrance is almost enough to have me turn around and run back upstairs. If it’s one thing I have learned about the infected it’s to never underestimate them.

Stevens slows us up as we near the exit to the hospital. Beyond that door is the way to the parking garage. Down the stairs and hook a left. Follow along the long, narrow bricked corridor and out through the hefty double doors.

I repeat that in my head a few times to ensure it’s engrained since that’s where our Humvee is parked. You’d be surprised what you might forget in a tense situation.

Stevens pulls down cautiously on the door handle. His fingers press against the door’s exterior as he pushes forward. My heart beats faster. The farther away I travel from Cindy, the more I start to worry. I know the faint whispers of the chasers pounding at the glass entrance doesn’t ease my worry.

The hinges squeak. I cringe and my body tightens from the sharp noise. A black hole of darkness meets our gaze. He brings his rifle up and sweeps the space. The absence of any ambient noise allows me to hear every hard thump of my heart beating. To hear Duke’s heavy panting.

We head inside and down the stairs. The door behind us clicks shut. Stevens cuts to the right, and heads for a single door that has Authorized Personnel Only imprinted on the front of it.

The power fights to come on. A loud humming looms from overhead as the lights flicker and spark to life. Dimly lit, they offer a view of the space, which is washed in a dull, white sheen.

A low growl emits from Duke’s throat. His body tenses and the fur along the ridge of his back stands on end. I pat his side softly, trying to calm him down. Aside from it being creepy, I haven’t noticed any cause for concern.

Stevens opens the door. The melody of machinery grinding greets our ears. It’s low and subtle, but loud enough to break up the silence.

The power dies once more, and we’re swallowed by the darkness. Stevens grumbles under his breath as he fumbles around with the front part of his padded vest. He retrieves a flashlight and hands it to me.

“Here, take this.”

I take it from him and thumb the switch. The light flickers for a few seconds before coming to life.

Stevens pushes the door open farther and steps to the side. He points dead ahead. “The generators are around that first bend there. Simons and Daniels are back over that way working on it. After the repairs are finished, they’ll escort you back up to the third floor.”

I nod, then glance at Stevens. “What about you?”

He looks to the corridor, then back to me. “I’m going to make sure we’re secure down here. Double check the doors and such.”

Stevens pulls the stock of his rifle closer to his shoulder. He steps away and heads for the double doors at the end of the corridor.

Duke continues to growl. He isn’t letting up. I look to my right and train the flashlight inside the dark space. First bend, make a right, and I’ll find the generators. Seems easy enough.

“Come on, boy. Let’s get this done ASAP.”

My fingers slip under his collar, and pull him toward the entrance. He turns about and pauses. I nudge his backside with my leg, trying to move it out from in front of the door. He’s a big dog and not easily moved when he doesn’t want to be.

“Come on, Duke.”

He finally complies, and walks forward a bit more.

I grip the edge of the door and push it to. I catch a sliver of the soldier’s light trailing off toward the parking garage before the door clicks shut.

All right. Let’s get this done.

Duke just stands there with his head lowered to the ground.

“What’s wrong, boy?” I ask.

He tilts his head back and looks up to me. His tongue licks the rim of his snout.

A clanging noise fills the air. My arm springs up with the flashlight, searching for the culprit. It almost sounded like a tool, or something of the sort, was dropped against one of the machines.

“Hello?” I call out. “I’m here to help with the generator. Don’t shoot me.”

I add that last part as a caution. You never know.

No response is given. It’s possible that they could’ve not heard me over the machine’s humming.

“Stay close, Duke,” I command.

Slow and cautious, we advance. The light sweeps the space, probing the inner workings of the pipes and other machinery before us. I spot nothing out of the ordinary.

As instructed, we take the first right, and make our way down the walkway that opens up to a large space. A few lanterns have been setup around the periphery to battle the darkness.

“Hello?” I call out once more.

I’m met with more silence. I pause, and skim over the cluttered area. To my left, narrow gaps wind back through the various machines. Fixed in the center of the space are two large generators. A bundle of wires runs from each unit and into a breaker box on the wall. The unit in front of me rattles and vibrates as if it’s having a hard time running. The unit to our right is dead. That’s got to be the one with the faulty part.

I walk toward the generator that’s closest to me while Duke veers off to the right. The flashlight wanes, struggling to stay alive.

Duke’s nose is trained to the concrete floor. On the ground next to the generator is a tool box. The lid is flipped open with an array of tools and other machine parts scattered inside.

“I’m here to help out with the generator!” I call out again while skimming over the area. “Commander Reynolds sent me.”

I’m confused as to where they would be. Could the chasers have gotten in somehow?

A figure emerges from the other side of the generator. Duke barks and growls, baring his teeth from the sudden surprise.

"Christ!” I yell, startled from the sudden appearance of the soldier. I grab my chest as if I’m having a heart attack.

He parrots my reaction. He back peddles away while trying to catch his breath. It takes him a moment to gain his composure as he breathes heavily.

“SORRY! DIDN’T HEAR YOU COME IN!” he yells at me. He holds up his hand, then digs into both of his ears. “Ear plugs.”

Duke stays by my side as he growls at the soldier. I rub his head, then pat his chest. “It’s ok, boy. They’re good.”

The soldier pockets the plugs and extends his hand. “Simons. You must be James.”

I shake his hand. “Yeah. Where’s the other guy? Daniels, I think it is.”

Simons points to the area against the far wall. “He’s hunting down some parts we need for the other generator. It’s developing some issues from the additional workload.”

Light dances over and through the shelves that are stocked with an array of parts and other machinery. I spot Daniels’s shadowy silhouette within the murk as he trains the light at us. He shines it at my face which causes me to squint and look away.

I blink to clear the stars that fill my vision. “All right. What do you need my help with?”

Simons points at a section of the generator he’s working on, then waves me over. I step around the unit, and train my light at the inner workings of the machine.

“We’ve been trying to squeeze our hands through that narrow gap there, but can’t get them through,” he says. “You see that red cable?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“We need it removed and this other one put in its place.” Simons digs his hand into his fatigues and pulls out another red wire. On both ends are black rounded openings that look like plugs. “When you get that cable out, you’re going to plug this one into that same spot. That’s it.”

Duke growls then barks. He’s facing in the direction of where we need to leave and where Daniels is.

“Hey, I think I found something that might work on this other unit,” Daniels yells from the other side of the generator. I can’t see him, but Duke’s rigid posture lets me know he’s close. “We’ll see how it works. Could buy us a bit more time.

Simons looks over the top of the generator we’re working on and offers a thumbs up. “Do what you can.”

I keep the flashlight trained at the red cable and squeeze my hand through the tight opening. I have to contort it some to maneuver it through, but manage to do so. I snag the wire between two fingers and pull. It resists some, but pops free.

“Got it.” I pull it out and hand it to Simons.

“Excellent.” He takes the greasy cable from me and hands me the other. “The best way to do this would be to plug it into the top slot first, then connect the bottom. There’s only one spot it can fit and it will protrude some. Slip it over and make sure it’s secure in place. That’s it.”

I take the replacement cable and slip it back through. Duke continues to growl at Daniels, but he doesn’t bark. He backs up some and stares at me while I try to find the mark.

The end of the cable brushes along the inner workings of the generator until I find the spot Simons referred to. I slip it over and push. I give it a subtle tug, but it doesn’t pull from.

“I got the top secured, I think.” My fingers trace along the wire to the other end. I repeat the process. It takes a bit more finesse to get it in place, but I manage to do so. “All right. The other end should be good to go.”

“Nice work.” Simons pats me on my shoulder as I pull my hand out of the generator.

I stand up, and move away while rubbing the film of grease from the palm of my hand on the fronts of my pants. Simons stoops down and shines his light at the cable.

Duke groans and continues to growl under his breath. He doesn’t like being here, and to be honest, I don’t either, but it had to be done.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer, boy, and we’ll head back up.” I rub the crown of his head to stay his uneasiness. He stops, but only for a split second.

Click!

What was that?

Static fills the air, followed by voices that bleed in through the white noise.

Simons stands up and looks to his hip. He grabs the radio and brings it up to his ear. He listens close while trying to get past the static that’s coming from the speaker.

“Say your last, over?” he advises as he glances at me.

The crackling subsides. A panicked voice shouts from the speakers, followed by the ear-splitting rattling of gunfire and manic moans from the chasers.

“BREACH!” the soldier yells out. “THE INFECTED HAVE BREACHED THE LOBBY-”

The radio goes dead without a hint of a crackle.

Simons’s jaw drops and his eyes widen. He clips the radio back to his belt and yells, “Daniels, we’ve got a problem!”

The flashlight in my hand flickers, then dies. I bang it hard against the palm of my hand repeatedly until it comes back to life.

The generator to my left seizes up, and dies. It’s so quiet that I can hear Daniels cussing and sighing as he stands up.

“Son of bitch,” he groans. “I’d say we got problems. This hunk of junk just kicked the bucket.”

“The front lobby has been breached!” Simons cries out.

Daniels turns to face us. He cringes from the horrible news, then looks back to the generator he’s working on. “Damn it! We have to get these units back on line or try to.”

Simons nods in my direction. “What do we do with the kid? I think they were wanting us all to evac to the third floor once we had these units operational.”

“How much longer do you need?” I ask.

Daniels shrugs, then kicks the generator. “No telling. We might be able to get that one you’re next to fixed, but if both of these units aren’t operational, it’ll die in no time, and then we’ll be back to square one. As in, we’re screwed.”

“Let me get the kid and the dog to the third floor, and I’ll come back to help out.” Simons places his hand on my shoulder, then looks to the exit.

Daniels runs his hand through his slicked back black hair and grumbles in anger. He shakes his head no. “There isn’t time for that and the odds of you making it back down here will be slim. Besides, for us to have any sort of chance at getting these fixed, we both need to be working on them now.”

I glance down to Duke who looks up at me. He licks around his snout and stands at the ready. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he read my mind.

“You ready to make a run for it, boy?”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

As much as the fear boiling in the pit of my stomach wants to spew from every pore in my body, I shove it down deep and stand tall. If I don’t, I’ll perish in this god-forsaken space, and that just isn’t an option.

“I can’t let you do that,” he says while pointing in the direction of the main hospital area. “Those damn things are inside now.”

I point at the generators while looking at both of them. “Yeah, and you two need to work on these. We’ll haul ass and get up top in a flash. I don’t plan on taking my time.”

Daniels gets back to work without saying anything else. Simons growls, then looks at me. I’m running out of time.

“Fine. Just hurry the hell up, and make it back up there. I can’t have the death of a kid on my conscience. Do you remember the way to go?”

I dip my chin, and back away with Duke by my side. I bump into the tool box on the floor with the heal of my boot. The tools inside clatter about, drawing my focus to the opened weapons valet. Tucked inside the steel box, I spot a pipe wrench. It’s not my machete, but it’ll do.

I grab the wrench and leave. We skirt the blind corner and dash through the walkway. The light bounces up and down along the walls and machinery within my unsteady grasp. I keep the pipe wrench grasped tightly in my hand as we cut to the left and reach the door.

The faint report of gunfire catches my attention. It’s coming from beyond the doors that lead in the direction of the first floor of the hospital and parking garage.

Stevens. Crap.

Two quick breaths in and out. I glance down to Duke who’s ready to move on my command. “All right, boy. We stick together and run.” Duke groans and keeps his focus on our way out.

I jerk the door open, and we sprint out of the space. I slam it shut as we enter the void of darkness. My heart pounds against my ribs, and it takes me a moment to gather my bearings.

Duke growls. I turn and find him staring in the direction of the hallway that leads out into the parking garage. His ears are folded down, and he’s baring his teeth.

I hold the flashlight up, and train it at the long stretch of corridor before us. The double doors at the opposite end are wide open. There is no light source I can see from Stevens’s rifle. Nothing but the ever-present cloak of darkness remains.

The light’s radiance only stretches so far before it fades to nothing. Then again, he could’ve cut his losses and retreated back up to the third floor before the chasers gained access. Perhaps he fired a single shot and fled while he could.

I locate the entrance to the first floor which is to our left.

Duke continues his defensive posture and growling. There is something out that way that he sees or senses.

I nudge his hind leg. “Come on, boy. Let’s get out of here.”

He doesn’t budge. I press a bit harder, and he moves.

We make for the stairs. I spot a ghostly gray silhouette of a figure off in the distance.

Is that Stevens?

It’s hard to see from here. I narrow my eyes and keep the flashlight trained on him. I open my mouth to call his name when another figure materializes to his right. Then another to his left.

Oh hell. Chasers.

They howl and screech. Lumped together like some sort of symbiotic alien, they rush headlong at us.

My feet pound up the stairs as their combined pleas of hunger cling to my ears. I’m drunk on adrenaline from the never-ending strife of fighting for our lives. I hit the landing, and slam into the exterior of the door. I find the handle quickly this time, and sling it open. Blindly, I charge inside, not knowing what dangers are sure to be lurking within.

Duke stands within the doorway, growling and barking viciously at the chasers who are racing up the steps. I grab his collar and jerk him back into the hallway of the first floor. Damn. This dog weighs a ton. Especially when he’s in battle ready mode.

I shove him off to the side, grip the edge of the door, and force it closed. The right side of my body leans against the smooth, steel exterior as the chasers hammer their fists in protest.

Way too many close calls. I feel like a cat that has spent over half of its nine lives. I’m not sure how many I have left.

Gunfire echoes throughout the halls. The fierce yowls of the chasers meld with the shrieks of terror from the soldiers dying.

The uncertainty of whether or not I’ll make it back to Cindy and the others becomes all too real. I’m trapped in a maze of death and carnage that is shrinking by the second.

There is no turning back, though. I can’t leave the way I came. Death’s waiting for me just beyond the door. If I hope to survive this nightmare, I’m going to have to muster what courage remains, and fight my way through the undead.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

My hands shake.

The chasers continue to wail and hammer the door.

Each strike causes me to flinch, and my muscles to tighten.

Before me, darkness looms, as well as the undead creatures that now roam these forsaken halls. I wish I had my Remington, or the machete for that matter. They never failed me. Still, I could be left without a bucket to piss in—one of my grandfather’s favorite sayings. Given my dire situation, it seems fitting.

I lower to the ground. I drape my arm over Duke. His body is as tense as mine. Vibrations rumble through him.

I try to remember which way to go to get to the stairwell, but I’m struggling to fight through the fog that has invaded my head. I know it’s not too far down this corridor.

The rapping of heavy footsteps clomping in the near distance sends me upright. Duke and I get back on the move, and stay close to the wall. The white beam of the flashlight sweeps from side to side.

The chasers are close. I can hear them clearer with every step we make. Their panted breathing and grunts send a wave of fear crashing into me. I scour the hall for the infected as each breath that leaves me grows louder.

There’s a junction coming up. I think it’s the one that Lance was patrolling in earlier. From the way he spoke, the entrance to the hospital wasn’t too far away.

I listen closely, and hear the all too familiar grunts and groans of the chasers.

Damn it.

I don’t think we can make it through the hallway without the creatures spotting us. That, and I don’t know how close they really are.

The lab area we were held up in when we first arrived is to our left. It’s the closest space for us to hide in.

We dart across the hallway, and slither along the wall until we come to the entrance. I grab the handle and pull, but it doesn’t budge. I try again, but it refuses to give any.

Great.

I frantically search for any safe space for us to take refuge in. There are no rooms close by. Nothing but a solid wall that spans to the next hallway.

Two chasers emerge from the dimness. I fumble with the flashlight and turn it off. . They stop dead center in the hallway. They twirl about aimlessly, grunting and growling at one another in the darkness. Their bodies twitch, and their fingers move uncontrollably as if they’re trying to grab a hold of something. That muscle memory from a former life, perhaps.

I press against the wall and remain silent. I shush Duke by grabbing his snout and holding him close. His growls are muffled, barely audible. His muscles are taut. He’s wants to attack—defend me at all costs from the threat nearby.

The chasers haven’t spotted us yet. That much is certain from their behavior.

My hand wraps over Duke’s nose, and gently holds his mouth shut. I hate doing it to him, but I need for him to remain silent. He pulls away from me, then thrashes his head from side to side.

“Boy, please stop,” I sternly whisper into his ear.

I know its nature to want to protect me when he feels there’s a credible threat. Just wish he would, for this once, listen.

His growls grow louder. His body slams into the wall and directs the chasers focus in our direction. Damn it.

They hone in on us.

I release my hold from around Duke’s snout, and scramble to get my feet under me. Duke takes off, charging the undead fiends.

The chasers rush at him. The report of two single gunshots echo throughout the hall. The incoming rounds hiss through the air and strike the creatures in the sides of their heads. They stumble a few paces before they crumble to the tile floor face first.

I scan for the shooter, but can’t spot him.

“Come here, now!” I motion with my hands for Duke to come back to me.

Duke approaches the motionless bodies. He cautiously leans forward and sniffs their heads.

More heavy footsteps capture his ears, and he turns to the hallway to our left. I dash over to him as a figure rushes out from the darkness. I lift the wrench in the air, ready to bludgeon the undead creature until I’m satisfied it’s no longer a threat.

Duke lunges at the shadowy figure, but I grab his collar before he can put too much distance between us.

“Hold on, boy.” I spot a rifle clutched in the man’s hand. He brings it up and trains it at me and Duke.

My free hand springs up into the air. “Hold on, wait,” I plead. “I’m not infected.”

A bright light flashes to life. The beam hits me in the face, and causes my eyes to shut from the harsh transition.

The yowls from the chasers echo through the halls. The gunfire will no doubt bring them this way soon.

It takes him a moment, but he finally trains his weapon to the floor. He stumbles to his right and deflates against the wall. I turn on my flashlight.

“What the hell are you doing down here, kid?” The soldier grimaces in pain. A portion of his neck is missing a chunk of flesh. He’ll be joining the chasers soon.

“We’re trying to make it to the stairwell, so we can get back up to the third floor,” I answer.

A cacophony of the chasers grunting and charging this way sends the soldier’s head twisting to his left. It sounds like a stampede of cattle.

He rolls to the left, and fights to bring up his rifle. “Go, kid. I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”

He unloads on the incoming horde, keeping his finger over the trigger. Fire spits from the barrel like dragon’s breath. With my hand still clasped around Duke’s collar, we race across the hallway.

The pounding of the rifle hammers my ears like a drum. I glance to my left and find a mass of dead bodies charging down the hallway at us—a tidal wave of teeth and mangled flesh.

Bullets tear through their bodies. The impact areas sprout blooms of red that do little to thwart their advancement. The chasers know there’s food within reach, and they are going to trudge through whatever is before them to get to it.

I release my hold from Duke’s collar. We sprint as hard and fast as we can in the direction of the stairwell. I keep my sights fixed for the entrance that should be along the right side of the wall.

The hammering of the soldier’s rifle ceases. A gut-wrenching squeal echoes down the hall before he falls silent. All that remains is the mass of chasers who are hot on our trail.

They’re close. Their insatiable growls tickle my neck. They keep behind me stride for stride.

I spot the entrance.

I veer to the right and race to the door. I push down on the handle and throw it open. It slams against the wall with a dull thud that echoes throughout the enclosed area. I don’t bother trying to secure it in place. There isn’t any time; the creatures are too close.

Up the stairs we fly. I pant hard, my legs stinging and aching, but I fight on.

The chasers charge inside. I glance back and find nothing more than a blob of bloody flesh and opened mouths fighting to get in. They push and shove their way through the doorway, trampling each other.

They make for the stairs, and head up after me.

Gunfire erupts from within the ether of darkness a few floors up from me. Bullets whiz by like fireflies on a hot summer’s night.

The tracers find their marks, nailing some of the chasers in the tops of their heads. They crumple to the stairs as the remaining mass of infected trample over their bodies.

Duke and I keep moving up the second flight of stairs. We hit the landing and make the bend. What few chasers survived the initial onslaught of hellfire from above close the gap.

Greedy fingers grab at my clothing. They try to snare the back of my shirt. I yank and contort my body out of the way. They snarl, and maintain their pursuit. My left hand glides up the railing, stabilizing my body as the chasers close the gap between us.

Something hits my ankle and trips me up. I fall flat on my stomach on the stairs. A chaser climbs on top of me, and fights to bite me anywhere it can. I scream out and battle the undead creature for my life. I thrash about, struggling to escape before it can sink its disease-ridden teeth into my flesh.

Duke engages the creatures. He bites and strikes with his claws. The chasers switch their focus to him. He drives them back and down the stairs.

I flip over onto my back and scramble to my feet. He doesn’t let up, fighting with every ounce of protective aggression to keep the chasers from getting any closer.

More surge up the stairs—an endless river of bodies. Duke can’t maintain holding the creatures back for too long. He won’t make it.

I hurl the wrench at one of the chasers. It spins end over end, and smashes into the chaser’s face. Dazed, it stumbles about before toppling over the side of the railing.

A pistol discharges right by my head. My body flinches and tightens up. The remaining chasers Duke is battling with are taken out with headshots. I glance to my right and find Commander Reynolds standing just a few steps above me.

“Come on!” He places a hand on my shoulder and tugs.

His voice is unable to overpower the pummeling cacophony of gunfire from the landing above us. I dart down the stairs and grab Duke’s collar. My boots step over dispatched chasers who cover the stairs and landing.

Duke gallops up the stairs past me. Commander Reynolds continues firing as we retreat to the third floor.

The continual discharging of the rifles batters my ears. They’re ringing loudly and hurt something fierce. The yellow and orange flashes from the muzzle of the rifle illuminates the soldier’s face in a portrait of panic and determination. He’s leaning over the railing, spraying anything that moves.

Commander Reynolds stops and stands next to him as I dart inside the hall. I twist about and watch the grim scene, unsure if they’ll be able to stop the surge of infected.

The soldier’s rifle falls silent. He back peddles and pats the commander on his shoulder. Both men fall back into the third floor and slam the door. They take positions on either side of the door with their weapons firmly gripped.

“Fire in the hole!” the commander yells out.

A thunderous roar looms from the stairwell. The floor beneath my feet vibrates and shudders. Duke cowers by my side as I drop to the floor and shield him.

The surge of energy from the blast bears down on the door. The shrills of the chasers dying fills my ringing ears.

Burn you bastards. Burn.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Is it over ?

The subtle vibrations coursing through the floor have all but ceased. The nagging ringing festers inside my ear as Duke licks my face. I tilt my head to the right, and look over to Commander Reynolds.

He holsters his sidearm, and wipes away the beads of sweat that have gathered on his brow. Lending me a hand, he pulls me up off the floor.

“You all right, son?” He asks with a worried tone.

I tilt my head. “Yeah. It’s a blood bath down there from what I could tell.”

Cindy and the others charge down the hallway. Beams of light bounce about wildly over the floor and walls.

“James! I’m so glad you’re all right!” Cindy holds her arms out and latches onto my side.

I hug Cindy back, and kiss the crown of her head.

Cassie comes up and gives me a hug as well, which sort of surprises me. Not that I don’t think she cares about me. It just catches me off guard. I hug her back as Cindy remains latched to my side.

“We heard the chasers got inside the hospital. We couldn’t reach the team that was working on the generators or the soldier who accompanied you down there. We thought you were...” Cassie hugs my neck tighter.

“I found Daniels and Simons. Their radio wasn’t getting a good signal. It kept breaking up,” I clarify.

Lucas stands off to my left. Both Cassie and Cindy release their holds and step away. Cindy drops down and loves on Duke.

Lucas places his hand on my shoulder. “Glad you’re ok, James,” he says with a smile. “We tried not to think the worst, but it was hard given the relay of intel that was being fed to us from the first floor.”

“To say things went sideways down there is an understatement.” I offer a half smile and pat Lucas on the back. I dig my finger into my ear, and open my mouth wide to stay the ringing. I look to Commander Reynolds. “Chasers gained access to the sublevel from the parking garage. We got the one generator back up and running, but the other crapped out, so they stayed behind to see if they could fix the problem. They’re trapped down there on the lower level. Stevens is dead as far as I know.”

“Did you happen to see any more of my men down there?” Commander Reynolds purses his lips. He breathes heavy through his nose as his fingers burrow into each of his eyes.

“All dead as well, as far as I know. We only came across one who had been bitten. He held the chasers off as long as he could while Duke and I made for the stairwell. From the screams and yells I heard, it didn’t sound hopeful.”

Commander Reynolds pats me on the shoulder, and offers a subtle bow of his head. “You’re one brave kid, James. Regardless of what happens, this won’t be forgotten.”

The soldier standing nearby carefully cracks open the door to the stairwell. He has his rifle shouldered and the light attached to its bottom turned on. The smell of burnt flesh fills my nose.

Commander Reynolds’s hand instinctively moves down to his sidearm, and his fingers wrap around the grip.

The soldier pushes the door open a bit farther. He steps out onto the landing, his rifle sweeping from left to right. A haze clings to the air as he waves his hand in front of his face.

“How are we looking?” Commander Reynolds inquires.

The soldier steps close to the railing. He carefully leans over and surveys the ground below. I’d imagine the sight is a grisly one full of dismembered bodies and copious amounts of blood spread everywhere. Not a scene that I particularly want to see.

My hand covers my nose and mouth to keep the stench away. Cindy comes back to my side. She leans into me and rests her head against my waist.

The soldier offers a thumbs up. The faint yowls from the chasers who haven’t perished loom in the air. He grabs the door and moves back into the hallway of the third floor as Commander Reynolds steps off to the left. He closes the door, then presses forward, ensuring that it’s latched and secured.

“The first floor is pretty much toast,” the soldier says. “Looks like we got most of them, but the ones who are still alive aren’t going to be running up here. That’s for damn sure.”

“What about the entrance from the first floor?” Commander Reynolds inquires.

“Couldn’t tell. Too much smoke.”

Commander Reynolds releases a deep sigh. He runs his hands through his hair and turns about.

“I think it’s safe to assume that we at least bought ourselves a little bit of time.” He places his hands on his hips, and cranes his neck to look past us. He turns about and glances over his shoulder. “Anyone see Lieutenant Jacobson?”

Cassie points to her right down the hall. “Last I saw, he was down that way.”

Commander Reynolds retrieves the radio from his hip. He brings it up, and speaks into the receiver as he looks down the hall. “Lieutenant, what’s your current position? over.”

Static fills the air for a short minute before Jacobson’s voice crackles through any white noise. “I’ve been on the radio with HQ,” he responds. “I felt an explosion. Is everyone all right?”

“Yeah. Had a mass of infected heading up the stairwell. Took care of it for now. We’re heading your way. Be there shortly.”

“Copy that,” Jacobson responds.

Commander Reynolds lowers the radio and fixes it back to his belt. He looks to the soldier then us.

“Come on,” he says.

We follow his lead and make our way down the dark hall of the third floor. There aren’t too many of us left. The civilians outnumber the military personnel now by a wide margin. Besides, aside from me and the others, it’s mostly nurses and a few doctors who are left.

Not exactly a battle-ready unit. Although, with tossing that grenade down to the lower level, that may provide us the advantage we need.

We hook a right and head down a long stretch of corridor. Commander Reynolds leads us into an open room where Jacobson stands near a desk that has a radio resting on its top. Another soldier is beside him.

The area outside of the large windows is black, with no visible light to be seen for miles. It looks endless, as if the world has faded away to nothing.

Their voices are muttered, barely audible from where I am. A lone lamp sits off to the side near the men—something similar to a portable lantern that one would use when camping. Their faces are cast in odd looking shadows.

They pause, and glance in our direction. They turn about face and salute the commander.

“What’s the latest, Lieutenant?” the commander asks.

“Transports are inbound now, sir,” Jacobson responds. “They got delayed some, but they are heading this way. We’ve got maybe a few hours before they arrive.”

“They are aware of the threat that’s heading this way, right?” Commander Reynolds says.

Lieutenant Jacobson acknowledges with a tilt of his head. “They are aware, sir, but it couldn’t be helped. Units are spread thin with various deployments over the country and battling the chasers. They advised us to move to the upper floors and barricade any access points the infected could use.”

Commander Reynolds scoffs. “That’s not much of a plan.”

“Agreed, sir, but we don’t have much of a choice now. Our options are limited,” Jacobson retorts.

Commander Reynolds laces his arms across his chest. He heads over to the windows and gazes out of them. Not a single word escapes his lips as we stand there, patiently waiting for him to say something.

“How are we currently looking on ammo and men?” he finally says.

Jacobson sighs, although he tries not to make it so obvious. It’s not loud, but the hint of his frustration is apparent. “To be honest, not good. Between the men we sent up to the fifth floor and the men we just lost down on the lower level, we’re sitting rather bare. Same for ammo,” Jacobson says while pointing to the floor above us. He rubs his face, then chin as if to contain the agitation of the dire situation we’re in before continuing. “We’ve got four stationed up here on the third floor, in addition to us. We’ve got a handful of extra rifles left and maybe some additional magazines to go with them. Beyond that, we have depleted the remainder of our cache of ammo. Whatever we’ve got on our persons is all that remains.”

Commander Reynolds turns away from the windows and looks over to us. We’re gathered together, all eyes focused on the commander as we wait for him to lay out what our next move is going to be.

“Well, that isn’t good, but it isn’t the worst situation I’ve ever been in. All we can do is work with what we’ve got.” Commander Reynolds looks to me, Lucas, and Cassie. “It would be a safe bet to assume you three know how to use a firearm, correct?”

Cassie snickers. “Yeah, we do. Anyone who doesn’t wouldn’t last long out there. I particularly don’t like getting too close to those things and would prefer a firearm.”

Lucas and I reaffirm her statement with a tilt of our heads.

Commander Reynolds smirks, then offers a half smile. “All right, then.”

Cassie cuts her eyes over to me and offers a wink. That girl amazes me at times.

Jacobson clears his throat. He points to me and glances my way. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think we should be giving rifles to these three. Especially the kids.”

I turn to voice my opinion on the matter, but Cassie beats me to it.

“Hey, listen, pal. You’re short on soldiers, so you really don’t have a leg to stand on. Furthermore, I know how to handle a rifle perfectly fine.” Cassie barks with a hoarse growl as she glances about at us, then to them. “If you look around, we’re all trapped up here. Besides, the more people we have that can actually use a firearm, the better off we’ll be. If those things gain access to the upper floors and we have to defend ourselves, we’re going to need all the firepower we can muster. Furthermore, James just risked his life to help you out when he didn’t need to, so don’t forget that.”

Cassie is a firecracker, lit, and set to go off. She doesn’t mess around.

Jacobson cuts his gaze back to her. His lips purse, and his eyes narrow. I guess he’s not used to being tongue lashed by a girl in such a manner. He looks back to Commander Reynolds who’s standing there with his arms folded across his chest. “Sir, as I stated earlier, please reconsider giving these insubordinate little shits weapons. They’re kids, and I don’t trust that they won’t end up shooting someone on accident.”

Cassie sighs, then rolls her eyes. “The only thing I plan on shooting is any chaser that lines up in my cross hairs.”

“I understand your reservations, Lieutenant, and under any other circumstance this wouldn’t even be a discussion.” Commander Reynolds unfolds his arms. He turns to the side and points out through the window to the grim darkness that has befallen us. “But we have a mass of dead heading this way that will join the already countless infected below us. Most of our men are dead or turned. Our support won’t be here before those things arrive, so we’re going to have to do whatever is needed to survive this night. If that means that I need to put rifles in their hands to do so, then so be it. They have just as much to lose as we do.”

Jacobson’s lips clamp shut, and he shakes his head. “For the record, I’d like it to be known that I do not agree with this course of action. I feel it is foolish, and it places all of our lives in danger by giving kids high-powered automatic rifles.”

“Noted.” Commander Reynolds acknowledges the lieutenant’s request. He lowers his arm to his side.

“What are your orders, sir?” Jacobson inquires.

“We need to get everyone ready to move to the top floor for when our birds arrive,” Commander Reynolds answers. “All hard drives need to be pulled and secured for transport immediately, Private.”

“Sir!” The soldier standing near Jacobson snaps to attention.

“I want you and another member of your team to go to the far wing and check that second stairwell. Make sure we’re good and secure. If it’s clear, we can evac this floor and make our way up from there. Hopefully, the infected haven’t breached that area yet.”

“Yes, sir.” The soldier salutes Commander Reynolds, then sprints out of the room in a mad dash.

“Lieutenant, take our guests here, and get them outfitted with what rifles and ammo we have left. We’ll rendezvous at the main nurse’s station in twenty minutes. I want to be on the move as quickly as we can. I’m going to inform the nurses and doctors, and have them gather up what data they’ve collected.”

Lieutenant Jacobson salutes the commander as he exits the room. He lowers his arm and shifts his gaze to us with a scowl, but refrains from speaking what’s obviously stewing in his mind.

“Follow me.” Jacobson makes for the door.

We each offer one another an unsettling stare as we fall in line behind him.

A part of me can understand his apprehensiveness about doling out weapons to civilians they just recently met. Afterall, I have grown leery of most individuals I come across in this world.

It’s harder to know who one can trust, and be able to decipher those that are genuine and true from the complete assholes who want nothing more than to rip away what little you have. Even your life.

Jacobson leads us through the halls of the bustling third floor. The nurses and doctors dart past us. The atmosphere is thick with fear and dread. I’m unsure how many of the hospital staff have actually had run-ins with the infected that wasn’t in a contained and controlled environment. Their panicked expressions and labored breathing hints that it hasn’t been much.

We pass by Nurse Debbie, who offers me a worried glance. She shovels papers into a satchel as fast as she can. The flashlight casts her face in shadows that intensify the gloom.

Cindy is anchored by my side. She refuses to leave or venture too far from me. She looks up to me, her eyes glassy from the unknown. “James, are we going to be ok?”

I glance down to her. My hand softly pats her on her back. I offer a reassuring smile. “We’re going to be fine, Sis. I promise. There is nothing to worry about. I am not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Pinky swear?” she counters softly.

“Pinky swear.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I never thought I’d be so relieved to get my hands on a rifle. With the number of chasers we’re facing, it’ll offer us a better chance at survival. That is, if Jacobson doesn’t do something first.

I don’t think that’s a possible outcome, but it’s hard not to think it, considering that scowl is still on his face. He doesn’t have to say much for me to know that he doesn’t like having me and the others around. He’s made that point crystal clear, and I don’t think it’s likely to change. Fortunately for us, he follows orders well. Hopefully, that’ll hold up.

Jacobson leads us into a small room that is mostly empty of any office furniture, or anything else for that matter. We all funnel in, flashlights in hand, as he makes his way over to the far wall.

Four large, green, military weapon cases rest on the floor with their lids removed. I crane my neck and peer inside the empty containers. All of the rifles are missing.

Dad used to go over weapons preparedness training with me. At one time, he had a few of those containers at our cabin. Stored under the floor in the cellar, he had them hidden and out of sight. He’d take me down there periodically, and show me how to access the case and remove the weapons. He even timed me once to see how quickly I could get from the main floor down to the cellar and get one out. You know, for when the end of the world happened. Who knew that would actually come to pass?

Lieutenant Jacobson grabs one of the containers and moves it off the side. The muscles in his arms contract, but he moves the case with relative ease. He bends down and unlatches the clips that hold the lid in place. He lifts it up and slides it off and to the back.

Secured in a nice neat row, are a group of four rifles. Jacobson removes the center bar, securing the firearms in place. He pauses, then shakes his head. He retrieves one of the rifles and stands back up. Clutching it tightly, he turns about to face us.

“As stated before, I don’t agree with giving kids firearms, so I expect you to fully listen to what I’m about to say. These are not toys, and should not be taken lightly.” Jacobson glances over to Lucas. “Would it be a safe assumption to say that you’ve seen and or used one of these before?”

“Affirmative.”

“Good. For you other two, let me break it down for you super quick. This is a-”

“It’s probably an M4, right?” Cassie steps forward, cutting off the lieutenant before he can really get started. “Standard military issue from last I heard. They were replacing the M16’s with the M4’s. Shorter and lighter. At least, that’s what Mack told me.”

“Um, that’s correct,” Jacobson confirms. “M4 Carbine to be precise.”

Cassie points at the rifle. “The M4 is an air-cooled, direct impingement gas-operated, magazine-fed carbine. Max rate of fire is 950 rpm’s. Weight is a modest six pounds or so. It fires the .223 caliber, or 5.56mm NATO round.”

A look of shock covers Jacobson’s face. He glances down at the weapon, then back to Cassie.

She looks over to me and shrugs. “Mack was big on teaching me about guns and safety. Not your typical guardian. He was friends with a bunch of military guys. He got his hands on one of the these, and we were able to fire it some.”

I look to Lucas who appears to be just as surprised as the rest of us.

Mack was a good man, for the brief moment that I was lucky enough to know him. He gave his life to save ours back in that little town where Lucas and I came across him and Cassie. His memory, and sacrifice, will never be forgotten.

“May I?” Cassie reaches out for the rifle.

Jacobson extends the rifle out to her, and Cassie takes it. She holds it in her hands with a familiar grip that looks as though she is used to handling the weapon.

Cassie ejects the magazine, and peers inside. “Standard mag holds thirty rounds, but not this one, since it’s empty.”

Jacobson confirms with a nod. “We don’t keep them loaded when stored.

Cassie glances about the weapon cases as if she is hunting for something. “Where are you keeping the magazines?”

Jacobson turns to his right and points down to a green case next to the container.

“Nice. I’ll also take whatever extra mags you can spare then.” Cassie shoulders the M4 and retrieves a few magazines from the case. She glances over the rounds stocked inside, then slaps it into place. “Mind if I keep this one?”

“No. Not at all,” Jacobson answers.

Cassie trains the rifle at the window to our left. She situates the stock against her shoulder as she moves the muzzle about.

Jacobson bends back down and retrieves two more rifles from the container. He brings them over to us. “Here.”

Both Lucas and I take the rifles from him. Despite the fact that Cassie has an intimate knowledge of the weapon, that displeased frown and furrowed brow still reside on his face. Makes no difference to me if he’s happy about it or not. I’m not as concerned about his feelings as I am about surviving the night.

I look over the rifle, and find where to eject the magazine. It takes me a moment to become familiar with it.

Jacobson heads back toward the weapons case and removes the remaining M4. He slings the strap over his shoulder and moves to the right. He leans over and grabs the smaller green container from the floor. Fixed in his grasp, he brings it over to us.

“Grab an extra magazine,” he plainly orders. “This is all we have left, so I’d use your ammo wisely. Once you run out, that is it.”

Both Lucas and I reach in and grab one. Cassie lowers the rifle. She comes over and procures one as well, leaving a lone one left.

Jacobson pulls it free and discards the container. He secures it in a pouch attached to his belt. I don’t have anything as convenient as that, so I slip the additional rounds between my pants and person.

“Don’t make us regret giving you these,” he tersely sneers. “Come on. We need to meet up with the others.” Jacobson walks away and heads for the door.

Cindy tugs at the bottom of my shirt. She looks up to me while pointing at him. “He’s a scary man. Not nice at all.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about him,” I calmly respond. “He’s just under a lot of stress.”

Cassie slings the M4 over her right shoulder and approaches us. “Yeah. Don’t worry about him. He’s just grumpy.”

Cindy continues to stare at Jacobson as he exits the room. He pauses briefly, and glances back over his shoulder in our direction.

“Well. Are you coming or not?” He continues on as we give pursuit and funnel out of the room.

Lucas brings up the rear with Cassie, Cindy, Duke, and myself walking in front of him.

“Regardless of what happens tonight, we stick together,” Lucas says. “All right?”

We acknowledge with a tilt of our heads.

I fight to stay calm for Cindy. Slow deep breaths escape my lips. I focus on all of us making it out of here alive. On the outside, I’m rather poised, but deep down, I’m fearful for what’s heading this way. Fortunately, we have the advantage of moving farther up the building, putting distance between us and the chasers. That is the one thing that has kept me from really plummeting into a fit of panic.

Any fear that does slither in is for Cindy. She is my world, and I have to protect her. I’m mostly afraid that I’ll fail, much like I did with Dad and the others who have fallen since all of this started.

It’s a heavy burden that has fixed itself to me like a leech. Despite how hard I try to keep those demons at bay, they whisper their taunts of my past failures and possible future blunders into my ears. They’re persistent. I hold as strong and firm as I can, not wanting to let it get the better of me. So far, it seems to be working.

The remainder of the hospital staff, and what few soldiers remain, are clustered in front of the nurses’ station ahead of us. Commander Reynolds stands before everyone. He cranes his neck and peers in our direction. He waves his hand, motioning for us to move faster.

We pick up the pace, and trot down the hallway. Jacobson makes his way to the commander’s side as we gather at the back of the small crowd of people.

The air is dense with tension. The grim looking expressions staring at Commander Reynolds through the shadows shows their apprehensiveness. Any subtle noise causes them to jump with wide, fearful eyes searching for the infected within the murk.

Ms. Jones turns and looks over to me. Her head is fixed with a white bandage that has a red spot showing through the material. She glances down to Cindy, winks, and offers a half-smile that looks forced. I applaud the effort, presenting her with a thankful tilt of my head.

The commander clears his throat. All eyes are honed in on his stern face. He doesn’t appear to be worried, at least not that I can tell. He looks focused, with lips taut and his gaze focused on his rag tag bunch of survivors that’s about to face a formidable foe.

“I’m not going to sugarcoat anything. The next few hours are going be dicey. Not only are we facing the infected who are already down on the lower levels, but we have a much larger horde heading this direction. HQ is sending birds to evac us now, but it is going to take them some time to arrive. With that being said, our plan is to move to the top floor and hold out until they arrive. We’ll fortify any entry points and dig in.”

Commander Reynolds sweeps over the crowd of faces hanging on his every word. Silent worries of doom and panic loom large, but everyone stays in control.

I imagine that before coming on such a mission, a disclaimer of the risk involved would have been presented to everyone here.

“Have we been able to gather up all of the hard drives, and files that need to come with us?” the commander inquires.

Debbie raises her hand. “We’ve gathered most everything we can. There are a few drives and files that are still on the fifth floor that have not been recovered.”

Commander Reynolds looks to Jacobson.

The radio crackles. “The far stairwell is no good! I repeat, the far stairwell has been compromised with infected!” A panicked voice shouts from the speaker. It’s strained and filled with what sounds like yowls from the chasers.

The commander removes it from his hip and brings it up to his mouth.

“Say again, Private?”

“Secure that damn door!” the private yells.

“I’m trying, but I can’t get the damn thing to latch!” another voice growls.

“Private, what’s-”

Gunfire erupts from the speaker of the radio, followed by screams of panic. The combined yowls of the chasers loom in the air. The soldiers continue to fire. They’re screaming out to anyone that will listen, but it’s difficult to make out.

The line goes dead. White noise filters out from the radio. A look of shock and doubt floods the commander’s face.

A faint yowl taints the air and causes everyone to gasp with fright. Every head in the crowd twists down the hallway in the direction of the ominous sound. My heart skips a beat; my body flinches and muscles tighten as the noise repeats once more.

It’s coming from down the hall to our right where the soldiers encountered more chasers. Mumbles of panic and whimpers of the end meld with the sound of the dead.

We’re out of time. The chasers are here. We have to move now.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“ Oh Christ! They’re heading this way!” a voice, from the cluster of people screams out loud.

What few weapons we have are brought to bear. The Carbines slip free from our bodies, and we shoulder them. Multiple beams, from the lights mounted under the barrels, train in the direction of the chasers.

“What do we do?” a strained voice cries out.

“Everybody, fall back to the other stairwell!” Commander Reynolds orders. He removes the pistol from its holster. His stance is rigid with both hands tightly wrapped around the grip. “It’s the only other way that we can get to the upper floors. Now move!”

“What if more of those things are behind the door?” another panicked voice calls out.

“Then we’ll deal with it, but we have to move!” the commander hisses.

I look to Cindy who’s breathing heavily. Her eyes are wide with fright, lips trembling uncontrollably.

“No matter what happens, you keep by my side. Am I understood?” I say.

She whimpers. Tears stream down her face as she nods.

Duke barks and growls. He places himself between us and the chasers who are rushing this way. I can’t spot them within the thick blackness that paints the corridor. Their yowls grow louder, more defined.

The hospital staff and soldiers retreat. They make a mad dash for the stairwell to our left. Footsteps trample the linoleum floor. We sprint after them.

“Duke. Come on, boy,” I yell out.

He continues to bark and growl as he turns about and gallops after us. Commander Reynolds and Lieutenant Jacobson bring up the rear.

“How are we looking, Private?” the commander shouts.

The soldier approaches the stairwell entrance. He presses the side of his head against the surface, and listens.

“I think we’re clear. I’m not detecting any movement.” He steps back and opens the door with his Carbine trained at the entrance. He moves inside and vanishes from our sight. One by one, everyone funnels into the stairwell. They push and shove, trying to make the person in front of them move faster.

Multiple shrills call out from the stairwell we’re running into. Gunfire erupts, followed by screams of terror.

“Private, talk to me!” Commander Reynolds yells.

We approach the entrance with weapons trained at the landing. A handful of hospital staff and soldiers are huddled about on the stairs.

Blood is smeared over the floor, and trails off to the left. I step to the right and find a mound of bodies slumped over onto each other. It’s hard to make out who it is, but it appears they got attacked by the dead.

Cassie moves in front of me and heads in first. She steps over the pool of blood and moves to the right. She reaches out her hand and motions for Cindy to come to her.

“Come on, sweetie,” she beseeches as calmly as she can.

Cindy latches to my side like an abnormal growth. She shakes her head and refuses to budge.

“Come on, Sis. We need to keep moving.” I pull her free of my body. She holds tight around my neck and doesn’t want to let go. Her arms cinch down further, her fingers laced together. I push against Cindy until she releases her hold. I force her over to Cassie. She screams and cries aloud as she scrambles around the blood.

“Contact!” Jacobson yells out.

I glance back over my shoulder, and find a mass of dark figures rushing our way. The light barely reaches their gaunt frames and rage-filled faces.

I move inside with Lucas close behind. The crowd of people on the stairs has disappeared. Cassie latches her fingers over Cindy’s wrist and heads for the stairs. More yowls sound from below us. The landing we’re standing on subtly vibrates.

Damn it.

I peer over the railing and find chasers racing up the damaged staircase—a stampede of dead bodies that fight for position to be in front of the others.

Screw this.

I take aim with the Carbine and open fire. The recoil from the rifle punishes my shoulder. The end of the barrel breathes fire. I spray left to right, trying to take out the ones in the lead. Gouts of blood burst from the chasers’ bodies, spraying the others and the walls with their fluids.

Lucas moves off to my right as Commander Reynolds rushes into the stairwell.

He slaps my shoulder and pulls me back toward him. “Save it, son. We need to keep heading up!”

My finger moves away from the trigger, and I lower the rifle.

Jacobson back peddles inside the stairwell with his Carbine still trained in the direction of the chasers surging down the hallway. The dead climb over the fallen bodies in their way. Jacobson reaches for the door and shifts his body out of the way, but stumbles over the leg of one of the dead nurses. He loses his balance and falls down flat on his back.

A macabre corpse reaches out for him from the flight of stairs near us. I step over Jacobson, and slam the stock end of the Carbine into the side of the chaser’s head. It stumbles to the right and collides with the wall. I slam the rigid sole of my boot into its face, knocking it off balance. Its head snaps back, the deformed nose that is missing a chunk of flesh from the tip crunches upon impact.

The reanimated corpse falls backward into the other chasers who are close behind, knocking them to the stairs. The infected flail on the ground, trying to get up and continue their pursuit as other chasers fight to get through. It buys us a bit of time.

Lucas pulls Jacobson from the floor.

“Move!” Jacobson shoves Lucas to the left just as the horde of undead arrive. He slams the door shut, but an arm slips through the narrow opening, keeping it from latching.

“Go! I’ll hold them off!” Jacobson pushes with everything he has as another arm emerges through the tight space.

“No! You’re coming with us!” I charge and slam the full brunt of my weight into the door.

The chasers force the door open farther. More limbs of the creatures materialize from the darkness beyond. We’re losing ground.

Lucas lines his Carbine up with the opening of the door and opens fires at the infected. The arms retreat back to the hallway as the door slams shut.

I breathe a sigh of relief. The chasers pound and ram the obstacle in their way which makes the door swell with every headlong rush.

“This isn’t going to hold them back!” Jacobson calls out. “Go! Get the hell out of here. I’ll buy you as much time as I can!”

Lucas grabs my arm and yanks me from the door. “We have to move now, James.”

More gunfire echoes throughout the hollow space above.

Cindy.

My head tilts back. More chasers make their way up the stairs to our right.

Shit.

Jacobson belches a determined roar. He growls and snarls as he bears down as hard as he can. He flips around and leans against the door. Facing us, he bends over and retrieves his Carbine from the landing.

“Good luck, kid.”

Jacobson shoulders the rifle and opens fire just as rapacious hands reach for his clothing. Brain matter explodes from the backs of the chasers’ heads in a mist that is narrowly caught by the flashlight’s beam. Their bodies crumple to the landing.

Lucas retreats up the stairs with me in tow. Our feet punish each step. I offer one last look down the stairs, and find the door pushing open farther.

Chasers squeeze through the gap and attack Jacobson as we make the bend. The hammering of his Carbine subsides. The insatiable yowls of the dead are all that remain.

A yell of pain and agony reaches out from the blackness behind us. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I cringe. The sound quickly fades away, consumed by the chaser’s ravenous delights.

The door to the fifth floor is wide open. Lucas trains his Carbine at the opening and slows his pace. The light washes over the door, revealing multiple bloody hand prints that swipe across the surface from left to right.

“Cindy!” I whisper softly.

“They probably kept moving up the floors. She’s fine, James,” Lucas assures.

More blood is slathered across the landing. Two bodies of the infected soldiers who were trapped on the fifth floor, lay on top of a soldier who is prone on his back. His eyes are wide, filled with terror. Blood coats his face. A single hole is visible in the middle of his skull.

Lucas nudges the bodies, checking for any signs of life. They remain motionless.

Heavy footsteps pound each step behind us. The dead are moving up the stairs.

Lucas cranes his neck, and scans over the hallway. Two more soldiers lay face first in a pool of their own blood.

Lucas steps over the dispatched bodies and continues up the next flight of stairs. I stay close to his six and forge ahead.

“How far do you think they went up?” The muscles in my legs burn. Every step I make feels as though they are being probed with a hot poker that sends a searing pain coursing throughout my body.

“I don’t know, but we’ll keep heading up until we find them.”

“James!” A voice calls out from the blackness above.

I stop, and lean to the left. I look up through the narrow opening between the flights of stairs, and find Cassie waving her hands down at us.

“Is Cindy with you?” I call out. “Is she ok?”

“She’s fine. Just move your butts and get up here!”

I glance down and shine the light toward the lower levels. The chasers funnel up the stairs, unwilling to give up their pursuit. They’re a flight below us and closing in fast.

We run hard, trying to put as much distance between us and the dead as possible. Floor after floor, we clear without a moment’s rest. My lungs plead for a reprieve which I cannot extend. They ignite with an intense stinging pain, almost as if they are being doused with a vat of acid.

I pick up the faint sound of Duke barking, which increases with every step we make. Lights up ahead illuminate our way. I have no clue what floor we’re on. They all look the same at this point.

Commander Reynolds comes into view on the landing before us. His pistol is trained in our direction. His light washes over our worn and sweaty faces.

Cassie is off to his left with Duke by her side. She motions with her hand for us to move faster. As if I’m not already going as fast as I can.

Duke lowers his ears and greets us with a single bark.

Commander Reynolds steps to the right, clearing a path for us to dash right past him. Duke groans in excitement. His body shakes, and his rear end shimmies from side to side with joy.

Cassie hugs Lucas, then moves over to me. “I’m glad the two of you are ok.”

“Where’s Lieutenant Jacobson?” Commander Reynolds inquires. “He was right behind me.”

Lucas cuts his gaze over to me. “He... he didn’t make it.”

Commander Reynolds grumbles, muttering something that I can’t make out. His lips purse and his brow furrows.

The caterwauls of the chasers echo up the stairwell. The commander’s hands reposition over the grip of the pistol as we make for the open door. He back peddles toward us. The gleam from his light brings to life the gaunt, bloody faces of the dead racing up the stairs. He grabs the handle of the stairwell door, and slams it shut just as the chasers hit the landing.

For now, we are safe. How long that will last is yet to be seen.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Trapped like rats, we’re at the end of our maze. There is no place else to go. Nowhere for us to flee from the clamoring of the undead horde. If they somehow find a way in, we will die.

The thought tries to tear into my soul like a savage beast, hell bent on feasting upon my fear—a smorgasbord of delectable suffering. I battle it’s will, trying to remain optimistic that the military will arrive before the chasers bust down the door.

A lull of silence fills the void among what few survivors are left. We sit in the hallway, scattered about within the bleakness of the night. Our final resting place before we’re consumed, or worse yet, turned.

All of the soldiers have died. The commander is the only one who hasn’t fallen. I don’t spot Nurse Debbie. I fear that she is one of the bodies I spotted in the stairwell. Ms. Jones and Doctor Harper have made it, along with two other nurses who sit huddled together. Our numbers are few now. Weapons to defend ourselves, even less.

The chasers have blocked our path to the landing pad that is a floor above us. They rotting corpses have filled the stairwell. We’re so close, yet so far away at this point.

Commander Reynolds left to sweep the floor for any infected. He hasn’t returned, which has caused most of us to worry. Lucas volunteered to help, but was asked to stay and help look after everyone. I’m glad he didn’t go.

Cindy is by my side, resting on the tile floor. Duke is down by my feet. His head rests on the fronts of his paws as his ears twitch from the groans of the chasers that seep in through the wafer thin slits around the entrance to the stairwell.

Sitting here, I can’t help but think of Jacobson, and how surreal his departing was. Flashbacks of Mack play out in front of me like a vivid replay within the darkness. What happened to the lieutenant is almost the exact same scenario as when Mack died.

He was faced with a similar predicament—a horde of chasers fighting to get inside that auto parts store. Mack held them at bay for as long as he could, offering us a chance to survive. He never made it back to us. The guilt of Cassie’s loss still weighs heavy on me. I’ll never forget his sacrifice and bravery. Despite how I felt about Jacobson, he gave his life so that we could live. I’ll be forever grateful for that.

“How long have we been sitting here?” Cassie asks. “It feels like it’s been forever.” Her body is slumped over on the floor. The Carbine lays across her legs that are stretched out before her. Her fingers tightly grip the barrel and the stock as she watches the stairwell door with great intent.

“At least an hour. Probably more,” Lucas answers.

I glance to his injured arm. He doesn’t seem to be favoring it as much as he did.

“How’s the arm feeling?”

He tilts his head to the left and peers down. “Still hurts, but I’m managing.”

Cindy groans in discomfort, shifting her weight from side to side. “Are we going to die, James? I don’t want to die.” Her words are brushed with defeat, her tone lifeless and without a hint of hope for me to draw off of.

My head is telling me yes. My heart is hoping for a miracle that I’m not sure will be fulfilled.

I can’t bring myself to speak the truth, among the many others that I have yet to bestow upon her. Like everything else, I must remain the beacon of hope. Her rock to stand on as the tides of despair and hopelessness claw and reach for her feet.

“We are not going to die here. I can promise you that.” I try to sell my words as if they’re made of gold. What doubt and frustration boils in the pit of my stomach stays hidden below. For now, anyway.

Cindy just lays there.

Cassie leans in close to me and whispers in my ear, “You haven’t told her about your parents, have you?”

I shake my head emphatically. “God, no. I’m not sure if or when I’ll have the stomach to tell her the truth. Maybe never.”

Duke’s head springs up from his paws. His ears stand on end. His body is tense, muscles rigid. A low growl sounds from his throat. A threat is close.

“Something’s coming,” I whisper to Lucas and Cassie.

They snap to, and scramble to their feet. I follow suit.

“What’s wrong, James?” Cindy jerks up from the floor in a panic. Fearful cries flow from her quivering lips.

I press my finger to my lips, and shush any further talking. Harsh, but necessary.

The Carbines are shouldered as we sweep the hallway for any signs of a threat. Doctor Harper and the nurses scramble to their feet as well.

“I don’t see-” Cassie pauses. Duke barks and growls. He’s facing the hallway that is down from us. “Yeah. Someone’s coming. They’re not trying to be quiet from the sounds of it.”

We train our rifles at the hallway and patiently wait. Duke’s growls grow louder, more intense with every second that painfully ticks by.

A white light comes into view. It’s being jostled about, bouncing every which way. A body materializes from the darkness. It’s Commander Reynolds. Spent and out of breath, he slumps over. His hands rest on the tops of his knees as he takes a moment to catch his breath.

We lower our rifles and head over to him. I walk past him, and check the long stretch of hallway that is cloaked in darkness for any signs of chasers. Other than the dead who have gathered at the stairwell door, I spot nothing. What had him sprinting back to us?

“We thought you bit it or something,” I say. “What were you running from?”

Commander Reynolds stands up straight, and exhales a long, deep breath. “I was sweeping the floor just to make sure nothing was lurking about up here. I checked the other stairwell as well. I secured it as best I can. But we have a problem.”

Commander Reynolds glances back the way he came. His hand runs over his face. He pushes past me and heads down the hallway.

“What sort of problem?” Lucas inquires as we give chase.

There’s only one problem that I can think of that would have the commander in such a state. The horde of chasers has arrived.

“I need to find a window that looks down to the grounds below.”

“Is it the infected?” I pose.

The commander darts to the left through an open door that leads into a hospital room. He makes a beeline for the window. I stay close, and follow along as we navigate through the cluttered mess of turned over beds and medical equipment that lay scattered over the floor. I dread what we might find beyond the walls.

Commander Reynolds grabs the curtains and shoves them to either side. With eyes wide, he peers down to the darkness that has blanketed the grounds around the front of the hospital.

Lucas stands near me as we look out to the unsettling scene before us.

“Oh, God.” I gasp.

An endless sea of bodies meets our gaze for as far as we can see. The night has cloaked the chasers in black, making it nearly impossible to discern their numbers. Like ants, they meld together as one large group that blankets the landscape. They meander about with no particular destination in mind.

“There’s more on the far side of the hospital as well,” Commander Reynolds mentions.

I point down to the dead, bringing their less than violent tendency to everyone’s attention.

“It doesn’t seem as though they’re converging on the hospital, but more so just passing through. Maybe it’s because there’s nothing stimulating their curiosity. If we remain quiet and don’t discharge our weapons, we should be fine until the choppers arrive, right?”

“Could work,” Lucas agrees. “What do we do if the chasers from the stairwell break through the door?”

I cut my gaze to him. “We’ll cross that bridge when we have to. Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”

“That won’t matter.” Commander Reynolds shakes his head dismissively as he sighs in frustration.

My face contorts in confusion. I’m not following why he is so beside himself. I mean, I get it, but if we stay quiet, then we shouldn’t draw their attention.

“For now, they really aren’t paying us any mind, right?” he poses. Both Lucas and I acknowledge with a tilt of our heads. “What’s going to happen when those choppers land on top of the building? That noise is going to be like a beacon that draws them in. Those damn things will flood this place in no time. Adding to the already shit storm that is inside the building! They’ll be able to get up that other stairwell with no problem. Given their vast numbers, it won’t take long for them to breakthrough.”

I hadn’t given thought to that. The commander is right. The noise from the choppers will surely snare the chasers’ attention. Draw them in to investigate what’s causing the racket.

I spot his radio that is still fixed to the side of his hip. “What if you radio them and have one of the choppers lead them away while the others evac us?” I suggest.

Commander Reynolds removes the radio and holds it up in front of us. “I tried when I first spotted the infected on the other side, but it’s dead. Batteries are toast.”

Commander Reynolds throws the radio at the wall in a fit of anger. It clatters off the wall, then drops to the floor.

A thought gels in my head. I’m not sure I even want to ask what’s brewing on my mind as I fear I already know the answer.

“Do they even know where our exact location is?”

“They know we were falling back to the upper floors, but no, they do not know exactly where we will be.” Commander Reynolds points in the direction of the hallway. “I wasn’t counting on the infected being this far up in the stairwell. The plan was to sit tight, remain silent, and head up to the landing pad when they arrived.”

“So, there’s not any other way for us to reach them before they get here?” Lucas prods.

“That dead radio was our only chance,” Commander Reynolds counters.

A bad situation that has been flipped on its ear. We’re treading water now, and the waves are growing more bold and deadly with each moment that ticks by.

Silence befalls us. I look down to the Carbine tightly gripped within my hands. Three rifles remain between us and the commander’s sidearm. We each have an extra magazine left, but considering the chasers seemingly endless numbers, it’s a moot point.

We’ve exhausted all plans. Nothing congeals that could hint at a way that we make it out of this in one piece. Wicked fatal thoughts slowly consume me like a parasite. It’s a no win scenario that is going to be left to chance and fate itself.

Lucas narrows his eyes and cocks his head to the left slightly.

“What’s wrong?” I prod.

“Do you hear that?” He moves his finger in a circular motion, as if it’s timed with something. “Sounds like a steady thumping sound.”

Commander Reynolds pivots toward the window. He looks up to the eerie, cloudy sky that hangs above us like the grim reaper’s cloak.

I listen closely as well, now picking up the constant thumping sound that’s growing louder. A sense of joy and dread meld together inside of me as the revelation of what it is dawns on me.

The military have arrived.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

It’s do or die. The moment of truth has arrived. We’ve fought for our lives and have lost many. To survive what is to come, we’ll have to fight with everything we’ve got, and then some.

Cassie rushes into the room with Cindy and Duke by her side.

“Is that the military?” she excitedly asks.

A chopper buzzes overhead and comes into view. Flashing red dots, fixed to its hull, indicate its location within the moonless sky overhead.

“There!” I shout, pointing out the window.

Commander Reynolds turns back and looks to Cassie. “Gather everyone, and get ready to move!”

“Move where?” she counters. “Is there another way up to the roof other than the stairwell?”

“Just gather everyone up, now!” Commander Reynolds barks.

Cassie shakes her head, but turns and leaves the room, taking Duke and Cindy with her.

A light from the chopper comes to life and sweeps over the earth that is crawling with dead. Bodies cover the ground. Heads tilt up to the sky, and search for the source of the sound that has grabbed their attention.

The light moves toward the building. I lean forward and press my forehead against the glass. All I can see is waves of chasers forcing their way inside the building.

“Oh hell,” I grumble.

Commander Reynolds looks back out to the ground below.

The chopper turns to the side, its light fixed on the ground floor of the building. It opens fire at the mass of infected that swarm like locusts.

An explosion of dragon’s fire breathes from the side of the chopper. Tracers light up the sky like fireflies. The mass of incoming rounds tears through the chasers’ bodies like a hot knife through butter. It slows the dead down some, but doesn’t cease their advancement.

“Get down!” Commander Reynolds shouts.

The hammering of the gunship’s weapons batters the air. The floor beneath us shakes and shudders from the punishment its being dealt.

Cassie peers around the corner of the door. She waves her arms frantically in the air and shouts, trying to snare our attention. “We’ve got a situation out here!”

Commander Reynolds gets to his feet. He grabs a handful of my jacket and pulls me up from the flat of my butt. We make a beeline for the hall.

We converge in the hallway, huddled together in a circle of uncertainty and panic. Cassie points toward the stairwell. Fists thrash the door as the chaser’s yowls rise in anger.

“Sounds like they’re about to burst through!” she yells out.

We train our rifles at the doorway. An exhale of tension escapes from my trembling lips as Cindy melds into me. Duke barks and growls, baring his teeth. He’s ready for a fight.

A deep thud sounds from the stairwell. The hammering from the chasers ceases. Smoke funnels out from under the door as the reports of gunfire play in my ear.

“Everyone, hold your fire!” Commander Reynolds orders.

The door opens. Beams of red light strike out from the darkness of the stairwell. Bodies charge into the hallway with rifles shouldered.

“Down here!” Doctor Harper yells out.

The red lights sweep across the walls and train in our direction. Our lights bear down on the soldiers who are outfitted in black tactical gear from head to toe. They race down the hall in our direction.

They lower their rifles as they stop just shy of us. A quick salute is offered before one of the soldiers speaks. “Sir, we need to evac now!” He looks over our haggard group quickly. “Is this everyone?”

“Yes.”

The soldier’s radio crackles as a voice barks through the speaker.

More gunfire sounds from the stairwell.

“Stay close and follow us,” the soldier demands. “We need to leave now.” He spins about and twirls his hand in the air. The other two soldiers turn, and head for the entrance of the stairwell. We keep pace with the soldiers.

The gunfire from the gunship outside continues to batter the dead below without pause. Duke gallops by my side as Cindy struggles to keep pace with us.

The bright glow from muzzle flashes within the confines of the stairwell offer brief snapshots of soldiers standing and firing at the surge of dead pushing up the stairs. The deads’ yowls are silenced by the hammering of weapons continuously discharging.

One by one, we’re funneled through the doorway and to the right. Soldiers are positioned close to the railing and the staircase that leads down to the lower floors.

Doctor Harper stops on the stairs. He looks back toward the hallway. He calls out to Commander Reynolds who’s standing before us just inside of the entrance.

I can’t tell what he’s saying. He’s pointing in our direction. Commander Reynolds comes about and cranes his neck. He looks in the direction we came from.

“What’s wrong?” I yell.

“The backup drives were left back down the hall where Doctor Harper was sitting,” the commander yells back. “We need that data!”

Commander Reynolds makes for the opening, but is halted by one of the soldiers.

“Sir, I can’t allow you to leave. I’ve got orders to make sure you’re on that bird.”

The commander and the soldier exchange heated words as I look back down the corridor. I know exactly where the doctor and nurses were sitting. If I run fast enough, I can retrieve the satchel, and make it back. It’s not too far.

I look to Lucas. I pull Cindy from my leg, and move her over to him. I don’t want to leave her, but what’s contained on those drives could possibly aid in finding a cure for the infection, and rid her of this curse.

“I’ll be right back. Watch her!” I take off down the hall in a mad dash with the Carbine slung over my shoulder. The faint whispers of voices calling out to me are drowned out quickly by the barrage of gunfire.

Hard and fast, my feet abuse the floor. My head swivels, frantically searching for the missing satchel within the darkness. I come to a grinding halt, scouring the floor with frazzled nerves.

It’s got to be around here somewhere.

I move closer to the wall to my left, and finally spot it resting in the seat of a chair. I grab the leather strap and toss it over my head. Time to leave.

I make for the stairwell, but no longer spy any soldiers positioned just outside of the entrance. The gleam of muzzle fire has vanished, and the reverberation of weapons discharging has all but ceased.

The caterwauls of the infected loom large from the darkness. The chasers flood out of the stairwell entrance into the hallway in droves. A wave of teeth and unbridled violence spill out before me.

Oh shit.

I stop and nearly lose my balance. I remove the Carbine and shoulder the rifle. My finger presses against the trigger, but I stop. It will just draw their attention more to me. Even if I do take out a handful of the infected, there will be many more to take their place.

The chasers turn and look in every direction. Finally spotting me, they howl at the sight of a warm body to rip into.

They rush down the corridor after me.

I bolt in the opposite direction. I flip on the light on my rifle to guide my way through the maze of corridors.

I’m scared out of my mind, running aimlessly through the halls of the abandoned hospital with a horde of chasers hot on my heels. I try to think clearly, plot out my next move as to how I’m going to make it to the roof before the choppers take off.

Think, James, think.

From what Commander Reynolds said, the roof wasn’t that far away from this floor. But how can I get there without using the stairwell?

I hook a right, and continue my mad dash. The yowls of the chasers remain in tow. Unrelenting and unwilling to give up, they stay the course.

Off to my right, the light plays over the walls until it shines upon an elevator door that is partially open. I stop just shy of the opening. Looks as though someone tried to check out the elevator but stopped.

I train the light through the gap, and find nothing more than a hollow shaft with no elevator. I peer down to the bottomless pit; it nearly paralyzes me in place. I take a deep breath and exhale. I scan from side to side quickly, and find a ladder on the far wall to my right. It has to lead up.

The tidal wave of chasers’ races toward me. It’s now or never. Live or die. It’s as simple as that.

I shine the light at the narrow edge that leads about the shaft in the direction of the ladder.

I secure the Carbine over my shoulder, and force the door open a hair more to allow me to reach the edge.

The pounding of the mob of chasers charging me makes my heart pound against my chest. I become lightheaded from the spike of adrenaline that fires through my veins. I don’t want to die and leave Cindy all alone.

My meager arms pull in opposite directions, forcing the door open wide enough for me to make my move. The infected close in, clamoring and reaching for my body.

I carefully move to the right. My fingers search the wall for anything to grab as my boots find the ledge. A ridge within the wall is discovered. It isn’t much, but it’ll have to do.

I slip down the ledge quickly, but cautiously just as the chasers arrive. Arms stretch out from the opening. Greedy fingers swipe at my jacket with the hopes of finding their mark. My breathing surges to the point that I feel as though I could hyperventilate.

Bodies are shoved from the edge of the opening, and plummet to the deep, dark abyss below. A dense thud marks that they found the bottom.

I make the corner, moving farther away from the chasers. My left boot stretches across and finds the ledge. I move over and continue going. The thought of my family keeps pushing me to battle through my fear of heights. The unrelenting groans and growls from the infected do little to help stay my nerves.

My hand brushes against the side of the metal ladder. It feels close enough to where I won’t have to reach too far. I climb onto the rungs and take another deep breath. My arms are on fire. What few muscles I have are being pushed to the brink of exhaustion. I can’t stop now, though. I must fight through, and get to the roof.

Up I go, leaving the frenzy of chasers stuck at the opening of the shaft. More dull thuds reverberate from within the hollow space. I keep my eyes focused on the roof.

Rung after rung is traversed until I finally reach the end of the line. The thumping of the blades of the chopper are heavy. My hand searches the wall blindly for a latch or something to let me out of here.

I can’t find the latch, or anything that hints at a way out of here. I’m so close yet so far away.

“Come on!” I angrily snarl.

I reach above my head and continue looking. The rigid façade of the brick wall turns to that of smooth steel. I find a crease in the wall. I lift, stretching as far as I can, and follow it up to a handle.

The tip of my finger’s toys with it. I need to move up higher. There’s one more rung to go before I am out of options. I take that final step and grab the handle fully as gravity fights to pull me back down to the endless ether below.

Holding tightly, I pull down. The hatch unlocks and swings outward. A gust of wind rushes inside the shaft, and pelts me like a thousand fists.

I grab the bottom edge and pull myself up. It takes what little strength I have left to pull my frame from the shaft and on top of the roof. I crumble to the rocky surface and flip over to my back.

The climb zapped my energy. I gasp for air as my arms and legs tremble from exertion. My body doesn’t want to move, regardless of how much I need to. My head falls to the right and I spot the glow from the lights inside the chopper.

“Get your ass up, James, and move,” Dad’s voice demands in my ear.

I roll over to my stomach and press up. My unsteady legs fumble underneath me, but still put me upright.

I make for the chopper, going as fast as my legs will allow. It feels as though I’m moving in ponderous slow motion.

One of the choppers on the far side of the roof takes off. It lifts into the air, ascending into the dismal night sky. Standing next to the aircraft near me, I spot Lucas pointing in the direction of the entrance to the roof. He’s but a scant inch away from one of the soldiers who is pushing him toward the interior of the chopper.

I wave my arms franticly, trying to snare his attention as my legs give out slightly. Lucas catches sight of me and points in my direction. The soldier twists to his left and follows his gaze.

Lucas waves me on, motioning for me to hurry up. The soldier turns back toward Lucas and forces him back into the aircraft. The soldier follows close behind.

I jump up on the steel grating to my left and push on through the torment festering in my legs. The pilots in the cockpit are cloaked in darkness, with only the faint hue from the glow of the instrument panels to light up their faces.

I dart around the front of the chopper and move off to the right. I make for the opening as an arm stretches out, followed by Lucas’s body.

He peers down at me with a huge smile plastered on his sweaty face. I take his hand. His eyes suddenly go wide with terror, the smile vanishing.

The soldier off to my right drops to a knee and opens fire. I’m not all the way in yet as the chopper starts to lift off. Lucas keeps a tight grip on my hand as he pulls me in.

I drop to the steel floor of the chopper in a mess of spent energy. Duke rushes over and slathers me in love with his tongue. He’s pulled away by Lucas as I lift up from the flat of my back. I glance out of the opening to find the chasers funneling through the doorway of the stairwell and scattering over the rooftop.

The gunship remains in front of the hospital. It sweeps from side to side as bright flashes of light illuminate from the hull. The building is pelted with missiles that fire nonstop from the sides of the aircraft.

Explosions erupt from the opposite side of the hospital, spewing out flames and busted concrete in every direction. The bottom floors are lit up with a yellow-orange hue that consumes everything.

The hospital buckles on the right side. The chasers scurrying over the rooftop plummet to their deaths as the building collapses. Fires and more explosives burst from the center of the devastation as a thunderous roar fills the air.

We drift away from the destruction, leaving the mass of chasers crushed and trapped beneath the rubble of the hospital.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

That was close. Too close in fact. I’m lucky to be alive. We all are.

The doors to the chopper are sealed shut, severing the flow of wind that has been gusting through the interior of the aircraft. All that remains is the thumping of blades above.

A dim light washes the interior in a haze of yellow tint. It isn’t much, but enough for one to see.

Arms latch around my neck from behind, and squeeze so tight it chokes me. I look to my right, and find Cindy bear hugging the crap out of me.

She finally let’s go after a few moments, allowing me to breathe. “Where did you go?” She punches me in the arm, then folds her arms across her chest.

I recoil from the blow. “I’m sorry. Something was left behind that we needed.”

Cassie, who is settled in directly behind Cindy with Duke by her side, offers me a warm smile.

I parrot it. My face struggles to form in a pleasant manner. I’m so dog tired.

Next to Cassie is one of the soldiers dressed in black tactical gear. His face is stern and void of any pleasantries. A hand presses down on my shoulder.

“Talk about cutting it close there, James,” Lucas says with a grin. “You must be part cat or something because you’ve been burning through your nine lives like crazy.”

I catch sight of Commander Reynolds sitting next to Lucas. He’s speaking with a soldier who’s off to his right. I remove the Carbine from my arm and hand it to the soldier to my left. He takes it from me and secures the weapon.

The satchel is pulled up and over my head. Gripping the leather straps, I hand it over to the commander. The bottom bumps into his leg, drawing his attention away from the soldier. He takes hold of the straps and lifts it up. He sets the bag in his lap and unzips the top. His hands burrow inside as he peers at the contents.

I hadn’t even realized it, but Doctor Harper and Ms. Jones aren’t present. Neither are the nurses who were with them. They’re probably in the other chopper that took off before us.

A sigh of relief forms on the commander’s face. He diverts his gaze down to me and offers an appreciative nod.

“You did a brave thing back there, James. It won’t be forgotten, son.” He reaches out with his hand extended toward me.

I shake it. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Lucas nudges me with his boot. “You’re going to have to tell me how the hell you got to the roof when we land.”

I give him a thumbs up, and lay back down on the floor. There’s room for me to sit next to him, but I’m so tired and spent that moving my body over to the empty seat just doesn’t happen.

My eyes fix on the ceiling of the aircraft. The day’s events have taken their toll on me. Feeling the subtle vibrations and movements of the aircraft, I close my eyes and relax.

Silence befalls the aircraft. No idle banter or conversations fill the space between us. I imagine everyone is pretty exhausted from running for our lives in that dreadful hospital. It feels as though we’ve been in the air forever. I’m clueless as to how long it’s actually been, though.

The commander carries on conversations through a headset. The satchel is nestled between his legs on the floor. An unfolded map sits in his lap.

Cindy curls up next to me, still and motionless.

Duke’s head rests in Cassie’s lap. She runs her hand down his back toward his tail. Cassie’s eyes are closed, her head tilted back and resting against the padded headrest.

Lucas stares out of the window in front of me. I wonder what he’s looking at, or thinking of.

As for me, this is the first time, in a long while, I feel as though we have a moment to catch our breath. Now that we’ve found Cindy, and are with the military, perhaps things will look up from here.

DEAD STATE: EVOLVED

BOOK 5

BY

CHAPTER ONE

Nothing lasts forever. Despite how hard we fight, a gruesome end is inevitable.

That’s all I can think as the military chopper plummets toward the ground, and I am helpless to stop it.

The bleating of sirens hammers in my ears. The whimpers of my sister, Cindy, and our friend, Cassie, merge with the blaring sirens and strained voices of the soldiers as I brace for impact. My dog cowers in their laps. Lucas double-checks his harness, yanking at the bulky straps. He pulls them tighter as we plummet to the ground.

That is the last thing I remember before we crash, and my world goes black.

A sharp breath escapes my mouth as I snap out of my unconscious state. My body jolts, but my movement is restricted by something of considerable weight. My heart races. It takes me a moment to calm down, and remember what happened.

Christ. Did we make it?

The subtle beeping from the aircraft’s cockpit has ebbed to silence. I hear no voices or other sounds. Am I the lone survivor?

My head swells with a pulsating headache that won’t let up. Each breath I take makes it throb more. The rich scent of fuel and smoke fills my nose. It’s hard to breathe without inhaling the toxic fumes.

I’m flat on my back. Something heavy is pinning me to the rigid steel floor of the chopper. My eyes crack open. A thick haze coats my vision. I blink, trying to erase the film. It persists.

“Cindy? Are you all right?” I groan. She doesn’t answer. “Sis, are you ok?”

I’m met with more silence.

I lift my head off the floor of the chopper. It feels like it’s weighed down with cinder blocks. Something wet trickles down the side my face. My temple hurts.

The haze clears from my vision. I skim over the empty cabin of the aircraft for Cindy and the others. There’s no one here but me. I look down to my waist, and find one of the soldiers draped across me. He’s looking right at me, his face is slathered in blood. It sends a shiver of panic down my spine.

A large gash runs from the top of his brow down across his face. His eyes are wide open, but he doesn’t appear to be alive. He offers no movements or hints that he survived the crash. I check his neck for a pulse, but find none.

I push against his shoulders, struggling to remove his dead weight from me. He doesn’t budge. I try once more with as much strength as my meager arms can muster. He moves a fraction more before falling back into place.

“Lucas!” I call out to the man, who has been with me and Duke from near the beginning of our journey, hoping that he’s close by. I get no reply. “Cassie? Commander Reynolds? Anyone?”

My pleas for help go unanswered.

I hear something shuffling about outside the chopper. It’s subtle, but loud enough to grab my attention.

I turn my head to the open door of the aircraft, and look out into the dimness of the building we crashed into. All I can see is the reddish-brown brick wall on the far side of the structure. The ramshackle ceiling has large cracks and is littered with gaping holes that allow light in.

“Hello?” I call out. “I’m stuck in the cabin up here, and can’t free myself! Can you help me?”

The noise stops.

Did I get their attention or scare them off?

I wiggle my body from side to side and lean toward the opening. My arm stretches out to the edge of the chopper as I try to see who might be down there.

Busted brick and wooden beams rest at the base of the aircraft. I crane my neck, and strain to see who is there when I hear rubble being shifted about. It sounds as though whoever it is, is heading this way.

“Yes, I’m in-”

Panted breathing tickles my ears, sealing my lips. Grunts taint the air. It doesn’t sound like Duke, but more like... the chasers.

Oh no.

My mouth slags open, and I hold my breath. I’m flush with panic, and I don’t know what to do. I’m trapped under this soldier with a ghoulish fiend scaling a mountain of rubble to investigate a potential meal.

Christ!

I push harder at the dead soldier’s bulk as I keep watch on the opening. Muscles flood with adrenaline. The thought of being eaten alive by the creature makes me dig deeper, and lift with all of my might.

The soldier flips over onto his stomach and rests on my knees. I’m winded, but I can’t stop. The chaser’s grunts won’t allow it. They become clearer with every passing second.

Move faster, James!

I pull my legs toward me and fight to wiggle them free of the corpse. One leg slips out, but the other remains trapped. The chaser is almost here. I’m out of time.

The soldier’s rifle is draped across his body. I tug at the strap, but the rifle is wedged under the soldier. I can’t get it freed in time. Across the cabin, a M4 carbine is secured to the wall. I reach for the rifle with my fingers wiggling for the strap that dangles in the air.

The creature’s scarred, bald head emerges from the base of the chopper. Bloody hands reach for the aircraft. They land on the steel plate floor. The dark fluid is smeared over the rigid surface.

It pauses.

A flutter of panic escapes my trembling lips.

The chaser skims over the cabin. Strands of moist flesh cling to its chin. Teeth grind, and chew on the meaty mess that’s crammed into its mouth. It slurps up the morsels that hang from its lips. It spots me and growls.

I pat the soldier down, hoping to score a knife or something else that I can defend myself with.

The chaser crouches low and slinks into the cabin. Blood drips from the fiend’s chin and splatters the floor of the aircraft.

It crawls closer to me. Controlled breaths leave its mouth. The chaser moves cautiously—almost like a predator investigating an odd noise.

What is it doing? The creatures don’t normally act like this.

I continue searching the soldier, checking around his waist for any weapons. The chaser inches closer. Sweat bubbles from my brow, and races down my face. Whimpers of panic and impending doom slip from my lips.

Come on!

The chaser’s chest pulsates in and out at a rapid pace. Hollow sockets loom at me. Sallow cheeks are painted with the blood of a recent victim.

Bark!

Duke?

The chaser stops. He turns to the side, tilts his head back, and tests the air with his deformed nose.

Bark!

The gaunt creature trains his attention back to me and snarls. His mouth opens wide, and he lunges at me.

I throw my hands up in front of me, ready to fight the undead fiend until the bitter end.

The creature manages to get but a scant inch away from my person before a single report crackles within the building.

A bullet bursts from the center of the chaser’s skull. A fine-red mist trails close behind. The round zips past me and out of the cabin of the chopper.

The chaser’s body collapses to the floor of the aircraft. Blood and brain matter ooze from the gaping hole in its skull and pools under the creature’s body.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Once more, I’ve escaped the boney fingers of death.

The barking grows louder. I push the dead soldier off my other leg. I lean forward, and retrieve the M4 carbine from the wall.

“Duke, I’m in here, boy!”

I shoulder the rifle, and crawl over the dispatched chaser. On hands and knees, I emerge from the chopper. At the base of the rubble, I spot Duke. He spins about in circles while barking and wagging his tail.

A smile cracks across my face. I slide down the mountain of busted brick, and spot a man heading toward me. He’s wearing a camo jacket with the hood draped over his head, and a rifle slung over his shoulder.

The loose chunks of brick shift under my feet. I stumble, and ride the tidal wave down to my eager dog.

I hit the base of the pile, and drop to my knees before my excited pup. I’m greeted with a tongue bath that licks me from ear to ear. I hug Duke’s neck, and rub his side as the mysterious man looms over us.

My gaze flits to the ominous man as my body grows tense. I stare at his rifle, and watch his movements, making sure he doesn’t try anything.

Duke groans and refuses to let up.

“Ok, boy. I’m glad to see you’re okay as well.”

He stops and steps back, giving me a reprieve from his loving gesture.

The cloaked man looks away as I get to my feet. I extend my hand out to him.

“Thanks for-”

His hand springs up and silences me. “We need to find cover. More dead are coming.”

CHAPTER TWO

Grea t. The dead are here.

The cloaked man shoulders his sniper rifle. He peers through the scope and turns about in a circle. Duke barks and growls.

“You need to shut him up.” Our new friend’s voice is deep, and coarse. It reminds me of those people who have smoked cigarettes for most of their lives, and their throats are trashed.

I present my palm to Duke and say, “Heel!”

Duke groans and licks around his snout. He obeys without fault.

“Who are you and have you-”

“Later,” he snaps. “Did you not hear me when I said we have more dead inbound.”

A snappy response to his more than curt reply reaches my lips before I hear footsteps. Lots of footsteps. The carbine springs up and presses to my shoulder. The side of my face rests against the rifle as I peer through the scope.

We stay close to each other as we move from sound to sound. I skim over the mounds of rubble in search of a gaunt body racing toward us, but don’t find any. I catch brief flashes of something darting from the busted timbers and other piles of rubble and debris. Why are they not just charging us?

“I’ve got movement all over, but they don’t seem to want to charge us,” I say. “Maybe they don’t see us.”

“They see us all right,” the man responds. “They’re just hunting us. Sneaky bastards.”

Hunting us? The chasers have never done that before.

He looks across the building to the far wall and points to a doorway with busted brick. “Come on. We need to move before they cut us off.”

The defunct space is littered with numerous places for the chasers to emerge from. He keeps his sniper rifle trained, and back peddles toward the opening.

As soon as he reaches it, he takes off in a mad dash.

Duke and I chase after him. He moves at a good clip, his boots hammering the ground. The chasers’ yowls increase in volume, growing louder with each step we take. I glance to either side of us, and spot their bony, pale bodies materializing from every nook and hidden spot within the building.

Each step sends a jolt of pain up my leg that punishes my body. My side hurts, and my head thumps. The will to survive pushes my legs on. I can’t afford to fall behind this guy. He could leave me behind.

The chasers race out into the opening, and funnel in behind us. The man before me keeps his steady, brisk pace. Duke is hot on his heels with me being the anchor. Just listening to the grunts and growls of the undead creatures makes me panic.

He darts inside the doorway. Duke follows suit. I slip through the opening behind them.

“Down here!” he calls out from my right. He waves his arm from down the hall.

I hustle down the drab passageway as the chasers cram their bodies through the doorway.

Their squalls combine into one terrifying trumpet of rage. The multitude of dead charging the halls shakes the ground beneath my feet.

More chasers appear in the direction we’re heading. The man comes to a screeching halt and opens fire. The sharp report of the rifle is boisterous in the close quarters. He chambers off three shots.

The heads of the three chasers in front snap back, and they stumble to the unkempt floor. The dead behind them trip over the fallen, and block off the other dead.

He spins around and trains the rifle in my direction. He doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. The white flash from the muzzle fills my gaze as the incoming round zips past my head. I duck and hear the thud of a body crashing to the floor behind me.

He stands up and darts up the stairs to his left. Duke stays on his tail and races after him. The chasers behind me bulldoze their way over the dead bodies and charge on. I reach out, and grab the edge of the wall. I keep my feverish pace up the staircase.

Situated on the landing, the man stands with a four-drawer, black filing cabinet in front of him. He waves me on as the tidal wave of dead collide into one another at the base of the steps.

“Get the lead out, young blood! I don’t want you to be in this thing’s way!” he calls to me.

I pant, struggling to catch my breath. My legs are being bitten by the soreness gnawing at the muscles. Duke barks from the top of the stairs.

The chasers charge up after us. The combined bulk tests the steps’ resilience. The planks creak and pop, acting as though they could snap at any moment.

I slip past the man, and take cover behind him. I double over, and place the heel of my palms on the top part of each knee. A knot forms in my chest and the stabbing pain in my side will not let up. It hurts to breathe, but I fight through the discomfort.

“I knew this damn thing would come in handy at some point. It was just a bitch to move over here without creating too much noise!”

He grabs the bulky filing cabinet and tilts it forward. He grunts and strains to tip it, but manages to do so. It crashes on the stairs and races toward the wave of chasers.

I watch with delight, reveling in the fact that the creatures will be plowed over by the dense metal object.

The man turns and slaps the side of my arm. “Come on. We need to keep moving. That’s only going to slow them down a short bit.” He maneuvers around the banister and runs down the long stretch of walkway.

I stand up straight, and crane my neck to see the dead get plowed by the cabinet.

A handful of the chasers dart out of the way. Their rail-thin frames suck against the wall and railing as it flies past them. The chasers behind them collide with the filing cabinet. Howls belch from their mouths as they’re thrown down the stairs.

The chasers who dodged the filing cabinet train their gaze down to the crushed and battered bodies at the base of the stairs. I’ve never seen the creatures do that before.

Duke barks, snapping me out of my entranced state.

I slip around the banister as the chasers shrill, and sprint up the remaining flight of stairs.

I don’t spot the man or Duke for that matter on the next flight of stairs. His barks are growing faint from the floor above me.

Heavy footsteps tromp the wooden floor, and send me dashing up the steps. I take two at a time. My hand glides along the railing, then takes hold to pull me forward.

I hit the landing, and search for them. They’re nowhere to be found. Where are they, and what is going on with that crazy dog of mine?

Duke’s barks echo from down the hall in front of me. It’s faint, but still loud enough for me to follow the sound.

The insatiable grunts and growls of the chasers rushing up the stairs gets me back on the move. I dash across the open space of the floor, and make for the hallway.

It’s shrouded in darkness. Any light that has seeped in from the holes in the walls or rooms with missing doors succumbs to the dimness of the passageway.

Duke’s barking has ceased. I train an attentive ear, and listen for any noises that may indicate where they have fled to. It’s silent except for the trail of chasers who are still after me.

The grim scene of the hallway causes me to slow my pace. I’m walking in blind without knowing what’s lurking within the closed rooms I pass by.

The hammering of the dead creep closer. Their wails ebb to simple grunts. I peer back over my shoulder in search of the chasers. I keep moving forward, cautiously twisting about as I look from side to side.

“Duke. Where are you, boy?” I whisper.

I spot three chasers near the landing. I’m set deep within the dimness of the hall, so I’m not sure if the dead can see me or not. I crane my neck, and watch the creatures stand close to each other. Only a portion of their frail bodies are seen from where I stand. I don’t want to run the risk of them seeing me.

They look about the space as if they’re searching for us. Simple grunts escape their lips as their arms and fingers fidget and twitch. One of the creatures nods and points at the far hallway, then points up to the next floor.

Is he giving some sort of a command?

The chasers growl, and take off down the hallway. They split up and disappear from sight. The lone chaser turns its focus in my direction and heads this way.

Oh crap.

It won’t take him long to spot me once he enters the hall.

I glance at the walls in search of a room I can hide in. The chasers are acting odd. They seem more coordinated now, and dare I say it, even communicating in a way.

The door next to me is sealed. I reach for the knob as the chaser gives a hoarse growl. I flinch.

A ghastly gray silhouette emerges from the now open door. Arms reach out and fingers grab a handful of my coat. I’m yanked inside with no time to react. The door is pushed to with no noise made.

I take a few hearty steps back, and bring the carbine to bear. The space is dim, which makes it hard to see.

The carbine presses further into my shoulder as I train it at the entrance, and the man who left me out to dry.

“What the-”

“Be quiet.” He steps away from the door and crouches down. He trains his rifle at the entrance and waits.

Duke brushes against my leg. He groans, begging for his pal’s loving touch, even though he left me behind. I remain in position with the carbine fixed on the back of this guy’s head.

I want answers, and I want them now.

CHAPTER THREE

We wait in the dark, anxious to see if the chaser presses its luck, or if it moves on.

It’s quiet. Not a single sound can be heard. Even Duke is mute. He’s crouched down next to me. He wants to bark as deep growls loom from his throat, a warning to the chaser not to enter. I shush Duke with a sharp tone, which curbs his growling.

I lean to the side, and run my fingers over his head, trying to keep him calm. He lifts up to meet me.

“It’s ok, bud, but we need to be quiet,” I whisper to him.

I can hear the chaser’s panting from inside the room. The creatures aren’t running or acting like a savage beast with no control. It’s more focused and in control. Almost as if it’s capable of understanding what it’s doing.

The knob jiggles, which draws a growl from Duke. The door doesn’t budge. The crouched man before me tilts back a hair, bringing the rifle up a few degrees. Perfect placement for a headshot if need be.

The doorknob is tested again, a bit rougher this time. I pull my hand away from Duke’s head, and train the carbine in the same spot as him. I hold my breath, and release it slowly. I’m prepared to fire.

Too many questions swirl inside my head, which makes it hard to focus. Not only on where my sister and friends are, but also what is going on with the chasers.

The chaser moves on. I lower my weapon down to the man as he gets to his feet. He brings the rifle close to his chest and turns to face me. His head is tilted forward with the hood of his jacket still draped over him. He doesn’t move.

“It’s safe, for now. You can lower your weapon,” he says.

“I’ve got some questions that need to be answered, like why the hell did you leave me behind back there?” I hold my position, and keep the barrel trained on his head. I can’t see his face too well in the shadows.

The man slings the rifle over his shoulder, which causes me to double down and hold the carbine steady. He doesn’t act as though I’m a threat. There is no shifting of his weight or hints that he’s looking to make a move on me.

“Come on. Follow me.” He walks past me, testing my resolve. I grumble and lower the carbine. I had no plans on killing him, unless he made a move on me. I just need answers.

Duke trails behind the man as he heads for a dark spot in the wall on the far side of the room. It’s hard to see at first. I squint and notice the busted drywall, then the gaping hole. He ducks down and vanishes.

I secure the carbine over my shoulder and follow Duke through the gaping hole. We emerge into another space that is just as dimly lit.

My eyes adjust to the point that I can make out some of the contents within the room. It’s barren of most furnishings except for what I think is a mattress or something similar in the back corner. A torn and ripped sofa is positioned in front of the door.

He steps behind me and moves what appears to be the top of a round table in front of the hole in the wall. He pushes it in place, and tugs at the top to make sure it’s secure.

“We should be safe in here until they lose interest and move on. We’ll need to keep our voices low. They have good hearing.”

He nudges past me and heads for the corner of the room. He takes a knee next to a crate and rubs the crown of Duke’s head.

“You didn’t answer me back there,” I grouse. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

He reaches for a lantern that rests on top of the wooden box. “You were taking too long, and I don’t know if you noticed or not, but those things were chasing us.”

The lantern comes to life and illuminates the dank, drab space. The walls are covered in what looks to be large water spots and any paint that has survived is peeling away. I glance over to the door, concerned about the light from his lantern giving away our position, but notice that the seam around the door and jamb is sealed with layers of duct tape.

The man turns and rests on the unkempt mattress. He pulls the hood of his coat back, revealing his face. His fingers scratch at the thick, black beard that covers his mocha rich skin. Thick, puffy bags rest under each eye. His face is long and he looks about as haggard as I feel.

I point to the secured door with a look of confusion on my face. “What is going on with them? I’ve never seen them act like that before.”

He leans his head back to the wall. He digs his hand into the rucksack that is wedged between the bedding and the crumbling drywall.

Duke lays on the floor while looking up to me. He offers a big yawn, followed by a shake of his mangy coat.

“Like what?” he poses.

I shrug, unsure of how to explain it. “I don’t know. Coordinated maybe. They seemed to be communicating or working together.”

He rummages a bit more before pulling out a crumpled-up bag from his rucksack. He opens the top and buries his hand inside.

“They’re evolving. Adapting. Have been for a while, at least around these parts. Cunning bastards learn fast. Not sure how that’s even a thing, but it is.”

Evolving? That’s a scary thought in and of itself. If they weren’t dangerous enough before, now we have to contend with smart and logical thinking creatures that can plan and do God knows what else.

My face disfigures in more confusion. On top of everything else that has happened, this is just one more layer to add to an already crappy situation.

“So, they’re able to open doors and avoid dangers? A handful of the chasers knew to move out of the way when you dumped that filing cabinet over and sent it down the stairs.”

He nods as he offers Duke a handful of what looks to be jerky.

Duke gobbles up the meat from his gloved hand. I wonder if that’s the reason he was following him so close and leaving me behind? I always have a hard time competing with his stomach.

The man offers the bag to me. I shake my head, refusing what he’s offering at the moment. Recent events have zapped my hunger.

He shrugs and retrieves more from the sack. “They’ve learned to open doors, work as packs, bypass some of the traps I’ve laid out for them, and other types of things. Not all of them, mind you, but as time goes on, more and more are becoming more aware. Not sure if that’s the right term or not, but it seems fitting.” He pops a few more pieces of the dehydrated meat into his mouth, then points at me. “You’re lucky I was nearby when you were yelling from that chopper. FYI. Not a smart move. Might as well ring the dinner bell for them.”

This guy is kind of an ass. Granted, yelling from the chopper wasn’t the smartest move, but I was panicked with a dead body draped over my waist and my friends and family missing.

Cindy is an intricate component to possibly stopping all of this. With her being immune, she could turn the tide.

“Yeah. Kind of crashed through the roof of a building, and was a bit dazed and confused there,” I sneer. “Given what happened, I was lucky to survive the crash with just a few nicks and bruises.”

He smirks, and continues chomping away.

“That you are. The other folks that exited the chopper were just as lucky. Although, seeing who took them, I wouldn’t call it that.”

I tilt my head to the side. “So, you saw what happened to my family and friends?”

He nods. “I saw what happened when they were taken. Two girls, a big burly guy, and some military officer. They placed a slug in one of the soldier’s legs and left him as bait for the chasers. Your dog here took off when they tried to shoot him. He ended up finding me in the building. It was touch and go at first, but he came around.” The man rubs Duke’s head and gives him some more food. “They hauled ass out of there when the creatures showed up. Now I see why they were in such an uproar and pointing to the chopper. Guess they were referring to you. To be honest, they’re lucky they didn’t put a bullet in each of them since they were only after the military man.”

I slip the carbine from my shoulder and lean it against the wall. My hands rub up and down my face. I get too close to the wound on the side of my head and flinch.

“Nice gash you got there,” the man says. “That needs to be dressed to keep it from getting infected. From the looks of it, it could use some stitches.”

A stinging pain festers in the wound. I grimace and wait for the irritation to subside.

“Yeah, it probably does, but I don’t have any of that, so I guess I’ll just have to deal with it.” I glance over to him.

“Who are these people that took Cindy and the others?”

The man sits the bag of food down and grabs his rucksack. He scoots across the filthy mattress and places it on the floor between his legs.

“A radical organization that formed out of this wonderful apocalypse we now get to trudge through. They go by Hive. Last I heard, they had different cells all over the country. California, Oregon, Texas, New York, and Florida as far as I know. A bunch of militant good old boys who are looking to wreak havoc within the lawlessness we have. Although, with the chasers sudden evolution and all, that has changed their plans some.”

Once more, I’m confused as to why they would take Cindy and the others. Asking for a ransom wouldn’t be feasible given the dead state of things, and well, the fact that money is useless now. Besides, I have nothing to offer up if that is what their endgame is. Although, that group of vile men who nabbed Cassie back in Canyonville, as a bartering tool, were just as depraved. This better not be a repeat of that whole mess.

“What does this Hive want, and do you know where they are located?”

The man snickers as he removes a small first aid kit and a bottle of water from his gear.

“You planning to do something reckless there, Rambo? Charge in with guns blazing and a fist full of bloodthirsty vengeance?”

I don’t appreciate his condescending tone. Not sure what this guy’s problem is, but that tone is getting old fast.

“I’ll do whatever is needed to get them back. Don’t worry, though, I’m not asking you to come with me or anything. You do seem to be a tad hesitant about them.” I don’t know if he is or not. I just want to offer him some of the same treatment he has me.

He glances up to me. His face is void of any smirks or cocky expressions. Perhaps I hit a nerve. He sits there with the first aid kit clutched in his hands then he cracks a smile and chuckles.

“Hot damn, kid. I was wondering how long you were going to let me bust your balls before you manned up and gave it back to me.” He motions with his hand for me to come closer. “Come here and sit down.”

I’m not smiling. For me, this isn’t some sort of game or whatever he thinks it is. My friends and family’s lives hang in the balance with a group of militant dirtbags who are up to no good. I just got Cindy back, and I don’t plan to lose her again.

I walk over, and take a seat in front of Duke. He crawls forward and rests his head in my lap.

The man cracks open the dented medical kit. He thumbs through the bandages and other items that are crammed inside.

“The name’s William by the way, but people call me Bill. Well, they used to. Not sure how many of them are still alive, or not one of those things out there.”

I stroke the top of Duke’s head, and run my fingers down his spine. He breathes out from his nose—a sign that he’s relaxed.

“I’m James. This is Duke.”

Bill pulls out a wad of cotton balls and a large bandage. He twists the cap off the water and soaks the cotton. He grabs my chin and turns my head to the side.

“This may hurt some.” He dabs the wound with a heavy hand.

It hurts some, but not too bad. The cotton presses against the damaged skin which makes me grit my teeth. He isn’t gentle, but it could be worse.

“You weren’t a nurse before this, were you? Not the worst treatment I’ve ever gotten, but not the best either,” I say.

Bill continues dabbing and rubbing the wound. He discards the bloody wad of cotton and gets another.

“I’m not used to doing this much on other people, just myself. I have a high tolerance for pain, so it doesn’t faze me.” He leans in closer, inspecting the wound. “Sorry for coming across as an ass. I haven’t been around too many folks since all of this went down. Hell, even before the end of the world, I was a bit of a loner. Kept to myself and didn’t fit in with the social life that most people have.”

I focus on the lantern as Bill continues to tend to my wound. “It’s no problem. You’re not the first asshole I’ve had to deal with in my life. I imagine you won’t be the last one either.”

Bill chuckles.

“Just to let you know, I am dead serious about finding this Hive. They have my sister and friends.”

Bill rummages some more through the first aid kit as he shakes his head. “I hear you, and don’t blame you one bit, but I’m just telling you they aren’t to be taken lightly. I’ve had some run ins with them, and they are dangerous. Not to mention the fact that there’s an ass load of dead between us and them.”

Not as dangerous as the chasers, I’d imagine. Although, as I have found out, the living can be just as treacherous and depraved as the dead.

“Why would they take a little girl and the others? What is the reasoning behind that?” I ask.

“Leverage,” he answers. “More so for the military officer that they took, but the others could offer that extra incentive they may need.”

“How so? Whose attention are they trying to get? The military?” I chew my lip, trying to connect the dots.

Bill bobs his head in agreement. He presses a bandage over the wound on my head. “Hive has always been a militant group, feeding off the discord within our country and political ecosystem. They’ve always been anti-government, in a sense. When this outbreak occurred and the government’s response was viewed as less than desirable, Hive shifted its focus and wanted to retaliate against the government and military—strike at what they feared was worse than the creatures.”

I look to Bill with a befuddled expression.

“They sound an awful like this group of radicals I came across in Oregon when this whole outbreak first started. They wanted some intel from a soldier who had gone AWOL. From what I gathered, they were going to attack the military because of some bridge incident that involved civilians trying to flee from the chasers, but the military wouldn’t let them. Shot a bunch of the people.”

Bill shrugs. He piles the unused cotton and bandages back into the tin container then secures it in his rucksack.

“It’s possible that they’re linked, but I’m not sure. Last I heard, Hive was trying to get away from the chasers since they have been showing signs of increasing intelligence. They’re becoming harder to kill and aren’t as mindless as they used to be. Not sure where they plan on going, but having that military officer would prove to be a strong bargaining chip for them to get a ride out of here.”

Heavy breathing from the hall snares our attention. Bill places his fingers over his lips and gets to his feet. I move Duke out of my lap and stand up. I tip toe across the room, and retrieve the carbine.

Grunts loom from the hallway as Bill stands in front of the couch with his ear trained. He remains fixed like a statue as he listens to the creature beyond the walls. I shoulder the weapon, and wait for whatever may come next.

A loud crashing noise nearby causes me to flinch and to bring the rifle to bear. It sounds like wood splintering. What is going on out there?

Bill backs away from the entrance with his hands out in front of him. His palms are facing down. His head pivots from side to side as he tries to hone in on the source of the fracas.

The carbine is pressed snug to my shoulder. My finger slips over the trigger.

“What are they doing?” I whisper.

Bill shoots me a concerned glance. “They’re looking for us.”

CHAPTER FOUR

More wood splinters.

The yowls from the chasers double, then triple.

The creatures aren’t leaving the area until they find us.

Great.

Duke’s up on all fours and by my side. His ears are folded back, and he’s baring his fangs. He wants to bark. That deep, throated growl surges from his chest. I present my palm in front of his face to keep him from barking and giving away our position.

Bill has his gear strapped to his back and the sniper rifle slung across his body. The lantern’s gleam has been reduced to nothing more than a dull flicker of light. The room is shrouded in shadows.

“Are they going from room to room looking for us?” I inquire.

Bill nods. He cycles a round into the pistol that he fetched from his gear. He trains it at the entrance.

“That’s what it sounds like to me. I told you they were evolving. This is the first time I’ve come across this, though. I’ve given them the slip a handful of times up here. Guess they’ve learned that I’m still somewhere close by,” he whispers back.

The chasers batter the door across the hall from us. The cracking of the wood rips a gasp from me. Bill flinches, but maintains his rigid stance in the middle of the space with his pistol trained dead ahead.

I move back toward the rear of the room. I’m unfamiliar with the layout of the building, so I’m lost as to where to go if and when we flee from here.

“We’re going to have to do something. They’ll be checking these rooms soon, and I don’t want to be caught with my back against the wall when a wave of dead funnel into here.”

Bill runs his hand over his face. He glances to the table top, then the door to the room we’re in.

“I’ve got a plan. Not sure if it’ll work or not, but it’s all I got.” Bill secures the pistol between the waistband of his jeans and makes for the couch. He stoops down and grabs the bottom. He lifts up and pivots the bulky, torn furniture away from the door.

Each squeak and scratch of the feet grinding against the scarred wooden floor stops him. We listen for a reaction from the creatures. The chasers grunt and mumble from outside the hallway, but aren’t drawn to us, yet.

The carbine remains taut to my shoulder with the barrel trained at the door.

Bill shifts the couch a bit more away from the door. He lowers it down, then digs his hand into his back pocket. He pulls out a long, narrow object and presses his thumb against the side. A blade springs from the tip.

“Turn that lantern off, will ya?”

I look to the lantern, then back to him. Bill steps around the couch and heads for the door. He reaches up to the top left corner of the tape that is fixed around the door and jamb. He pauses, then looks over his shoulder to me.

“James, the light.”

I step softly over the floor, trying to minimize any additional noise that could attract the chasers. I turn off the lantern, and the room is cast in darkness.

It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dimness of the space. I spot the vague outline of Bill’s body. He looks to be nothing more than a shadowy blob. I’m offered hints of movement as his slides across the entrance of the door.

The chasers remain within the area. They scour the spaces close to us without being quiet or stealthy. More crashes and loud bangs fill the air. Duke’s growling increases in volume.

“Be quiet, boy,” I whisper to him. He groans and eases off, but the growling is still there.

Bill finishes cutting through the tape and stands positioned in front of the door. He turns toward me and motions for us to come closer. I hope Bill’s plan is a good one.

I move past the couch with Duke in tow. I lean in close.

Bill rests the side of his head against the door. “I’m going to draw their attention to the room next to us. When they funnel inside there, I want you two to haul ass out of here and down the hallway.” He points in the opposite direction from which we came. “There’s a stairwell at the end of the hall that will take you down to the street below. You keep running no matter what.”

I gulp, then offer an understanding nod. “What about you?”

“I’ll be close behind. This isn’t the worst jam I’ve ever been in.” Bill shimmies past me and Duke. He skirts around the couch, and heads for the table top. He rolls the bulky wooden top out of the way, revealing the blackness of the room next to us. Bill offers a reassuring nod before he ducks down, and disappears into the space.

I look to the door, and take in a deep breath of air. My fingers reposition over the carbine. I’m nervous and afraid. The chasers are more lethal now than ever before.

“Whatever happens, boy, you stay behind me, and don’t stop, ok?” I say.

Duke groans, then yawns. I’ll take that as a yes.

I grab the doorknob, and turn it clockwise. It squeaks and clicks. The sharp noise within the dull silence forces me to stop. I listen for a reaction from the chasers. Nothing. Phew.

Tension spews from my trembling lips as I twist it further. The carbine shakes some in my unsteady hand. I try to stay the uneasiness building inside of me, but my heart beats faster the more I twist the doorknob.

The door pops free of the jamb. I pull it toward me. The rust on the hinges sounds off, low and subtle. I pause and listen.

Heavy footsteps pound the floors close by. Simple grunts fill my ears. I peer through the narrow opening out into the dark hallway. I can’t spot the creatures, but I can hear them. This plan of Bill’s better work. If he ditches us, we’re screwed.

Two dense raps on the door from the other room sound off. The chasers’ feet hammer the floor, charging this way.

I close the door and lean against it. The side of my head presses to the rigid wood grain and I listen. I’m waiting for the right moment to book it out of the room.

Bill continues to yell and batter the door in the other room until the creatures come to investigate. It’s muffled, but I can somewhat hear what he’s saying.

“In here! Come and get me, you bastards!”

The combined grunts and screeches of the chasers build to a frenzy as they strike the door to the room. Fists pound and the dead yowl. The fear swelling inside of me tries to paralyze my body, and keep me from doing what I know I must, but I stay the course and push on.

The door in the other room slams into the wall with a dense thud. I flinch. Multiple footsteps pound into the space.

Sharp reports of gunfire sound off. Two deep breaths are sucked in as I crack open the door and peer out into the hallway. It looks clear.

“Come on, boy,” I say to Duke.

We step out into the hallway. Bright flashes of muzzle fire gleam from the room next to the one we just left as round after round is chambered from Bill’s pistol. The chasers yowl. With the carbine shouldered, we take off down the long stretch of hallway.

I keep my attention focused straight ahead as I repeat Bill’s words over and over again inside my head, so the fear doesn’t consume me or distract my thoughts from where I’m heading.

Take the stairwell at the end of the hallway. Get to the street.

It seems straight forward, and it is, but the creatures could be anywhere waiting for us to run right into their gaunt bodies and disease infested mouths.

I pull the carbine tighter against my shoulder and sweep the hallway for any threats. Both Duke and me are running as fast and hard as we can. Each discharge of Bill’s weapon makes me wonder if he is going to make it out alive, or are the chasers going to add another living soul to their undead army.

Multiple yowls echo down the hallway from the way we came. I sneak a peek over my shoulder, and find two ghastly gray figures sprinting after us.

Damn it.

Duke gallops next to me and matches me stride for stride. Small beams of light radiate from some of the rooms and holes in the drywall that we zip past. The end of the hallway is coming up. I’m on the lookout for the stairwell.

The gunfire has ebbed, and so have my hopes that Bill has survived the chasers who were after him. Once again, Duke and me are on our own, fighting an enemy that has evolved and become an even better predator.

I skim over the doors that are coming up. I can’t remember what side of the hallway he said the stairwell was on. I’m trying to think, but the chasers are close behind, and will catch up to us in no time. I can’t afford to stop and linger for too long. Any advantage we have will vanish.

I glance over each doorway as we pass by. It should have a symbol of stairs on the front.

Duke growls and barks.

“No, Duke. Keep moving, boy,” I command through panted breaths. I have to keep him moving forward, and not let him give in to his protective instincts to engage the creatures.

I catch sight of what looks to be the stair symbol on a door that we fly pass. I stop and back pedal to double check.

Eureka!

I work the handle up and down. It doesn’t budge. It’s jammed or locked. I ram the door with my shoulder. Each strike sends a pulse of pain to my head and the rest of my body. I grumble, but can’t let up.

I take two steps back and ram it harder. Metal crunches and the door bursts open. We rush inside as the chasers close in. I slam the door and press against it, ensuring that its secured.

Duke’s barks echo in the enclosed stairwell. He faces the door, and growls as the chasers pummel the obstacle that stands in their way. The door gives some with each hateful and enraged strike the chasers deal.

The carbine springs up and trains at the door. Quick breaths escape my lips as I back into the metal railing.

Light from above shines down through the gaping hole in the roof of the structure. It brings to life the drab interior of the stairwell. I cock my head to the side and peer down to the lower levels which gradually grow dimmer. I don’t see or hear any movement from below. The clamoring from the chasers beyond the door near us skews that.

I skirt the railing and head for the stairs. The Carbine sweeps the defunct stairwell for any dead who may be concealed in the darkness as we make our way down each flight. The chasers fight to break through the door from above. Their screeches lessen and fade the farther down we go.

Duke matches me step for step, and growls if he catches wind of something that doesn’t agree with him.

I sweep the entrances to each floor as we hit the landing. We stay on the move, and try not to linger for too long. Each step sends a shockwave of misery that floods the battered portions of my body. I want to stop, to take a moment to catch my breath, and to give my aching body a reprieve from the punishment I am doling out to it.

The chasers break through the door, and rush into the stairwell. I stop on a dime and pivot on the heels of my boots. The carbine trains at the landing that’s two floors above us. We’ve gained some distance, but it isn’t enough.

We’re back on the run, moving faster down each flight as the creatures chase after us. Their persistent yowls taint the air. I struggle to control my breathing which becomes more rapid with each passing second.

I spot movement from the landing we’re racing toward. The silhouette of a figure stumbles out of the doorway and spins about. It jerks from side to side, searching for the noise heading its way.

The chaser’s rail thin-frame turns in our direction and its gaunt arms span out to either side. It offers a hoarse growl as it rushes at us. I open fire.

Fire spits from the muzzle of the carbine.

The sharp report hammers my head.

The swarm of rounds pelts the chaser’s chest and head. They tear through the dead creature and exit through its back and skull. The wall and door are painted with blood.

A faint yowl escapes the chaser’s mouth as it crumbles to the landing. We hop over the dead body, and continue on down the remaining flights of stairs.

I catch wind of yowls that aren’t coming from behind us. I grab the railing and peer down to the dark abyss below us. More shadowy figures scurry in the darkness. Grunts and heavy breathing send an unsettling sensation that slithers over me. I look up top and snag a brief glimpse of the dead coming for their meal. We’re sandwiched by the chasers. We have to make a move, or we’re goners.

Fast and furious, we traverse the remaining steps and hit the landing. We can’t head down any farther. We have to find another way.

In a mad dash, we bolt for the wide-open door that leads into the floor we’re on. Copious amounts of the sun’s strident rays beam through the busted windows, and bring to life the defunct hall. It’s a welcome sight.

I hug the jamb, and continue my hastened pace. Three frail chasers rush our way. I squeeze the trigger and fire a short burst at the incoming creatures. The gunfire rips through their chests and stomachs with little effort. They stumble and slam into one another, but they push on.

Damn it. No headshots.

I’m not great at firing while on the run. I just hope that spraying the creatures will strike them in the sweet spot.

Duke surges forward, lunges at the group of dead, and collides with the creatures. He takes two of the chasers down, knocking them hard to the floor. Only one remains standing.

The chaser rushes at me with arms stretched out. Fingers reach for my body. Its mouth chomps, and teeth chatter as grunts slip from his lips.

I tilt the barrel of the carbine up a few degrees, and squeeze the trigger. The rifle barks and fires a single round into the middle of the chaser’s skull. Brain matter and a fine-red-mist explode from the back of its head. I lower my shoulder, and ram the creature, knocking it to the floor.

Duke bites, and claws at the two chasers he took down. They fight to bite any part of his body their teeth can manage to clamp onto. His ears are folded back, and his snout is scrunched up as he presents his glistening fangs.

I’m leery of opening fire on the creatures for fear of hitting Duke. My marksmanship is less than to be desired. I flip the carbine around and ram the stock end of the rifle into the side of the closest chaser’s head.

The creature’s head snaps to the side, and its body slumps over. The chaser shakes its head, snarls, and shifts its focus from Duke to me. I strike again, and continue pummeling the chaser’s bloody and disfigured face until it ceases to move.

The stampede of dead from the stairwell draws closer. The combined yowls of the enraged chasers grow to a fever pitch.

“Come on, boy!” I grab Duke by the collar, and yank him free of the creature’s arm he’s biting.

He resists, lunging toward the chaser who is on the floor, reaching for him. I pull harder, and manage to get Duke to turn around as more of the creatures funnel out from the stairwell.

They clamor and skim over the hallway in search of the source of the noise. We sprint down the hallway.

We’re back on the run with an ever-growing horde of dead hot on our heels. We follow the flow of the hallway and round the bend. I peer over my shoulder to see how close the chasers are. Their screeches and heavy breathing lets me know they’re still close by, even though I can’t see them.

I shift my focus back in front of me as the floor drops out from underneath us. I fall forward and lose my balance. My hands release the carbine as I stumble down the slanted chunk of wood flooring and land flat on my stomach.

The air rips from my lungs as gravity throws me end over end. My world spins so fast I’m clueless as to where I’m going to land.

I fight to slow my descent, reaching for anything I might be able to grab hold of. I crash through a portion of wall that is rotted and free fall for a few seconds before hitting the ground.

The wind explodes out of me. My body is riddled with pain that courses through every muscle fiber. A deep throbbing pounds my head. It hurts to even think.

The palms of my hands press into the grass. I push up when I hear the shuffling of footsteps. It could be Duke. I hope it is, at least.

“Is that you, boy?” I force the words from my mouth, my lungs still aching from lack of air.

I’m offered no barks or groans to indicate that it’s him.

The footsteps creep closer, and I hear that familiar panting that causes me to freeze. There’s more than one from the sounds of it. They snarl and growl as they approach my battered body.

I don’t dare look that way. A billion possible scenarios of how I could flee rush through my mind. Stand up and just run away, or engage the vile creatures until the bitter end. None are feasible, though, considering that I’m struggling to pick myself up off the ground.

The chasers have me dead to rights, and I am powerless to stop whatever ill fate is in store for me.

CHAPTER FIVE

The hardest part is the wait. With certain doom looming over me, I close my eyes, and accept what is about to happen.

Go ahead, do your worst. I hope you choke to death on my bones.

The ends of my fingers burrow into the dirt, then ball into fists. I grit my teeth, waiting for the chasers to do their worst. I glance out of the corner of my eye, and find the vague outline of two sets of legs standing a few feet away. Their bare feet dip below the blades of grass that reach to their ankles. They just stand there.

A thump hits the ground near me. My body flinches, then tightens in fear. A whimper falls from my lips. I wish I had the carbine or even the machete that I had when we first arrived at the hospital where Cindy was being kept. Something of use that I can defend myself with. Being defenseless is no way to go out. Dad would want me to fight till the last little bit of life is torn from my body.

The chaser inches closer on its hands and knees. It looks me over, then leans in. I can feel its warm breath on the side of my face, which makes my skin crawl with disgust. It sucks in my scent as the other chaser moves around behind me.

I panic, the whimpering becoming louder with each grunt the dead creature makes. It snarls, then screeches as the other releases a boisterous yowl.

The distant barking of Duke catches my ear. The creatures grumble and shuffle about within the grass. The report of a single gunshot echoes in the silence.

The familiar buzzing noise grows louder, followed by a splat as it finds its mark. A brief grunt leaves the chaser behind me as it drops to the ground.

I glance to the side, and find the other chaser spinning about in the grass, searching for the source of the disturbance. Duke’s barking has grown clearer. He’s not too far away.

Through cloudy vision, I spot two figures running toward us. Looks like Bill and Duke. The chaser charges at them. Bill opens fire and places a slug in the creature’s skull. Its head snaps back, and it falls to the ground face first.

Duke rushes to my side and whines. His warm, sticky tongue licks across the side of my face.

“All right, boy. I’m happy to see you to.”

He lets up as Bill stoops down in front of me. “You ok, James?” he inquires. “Are you hurt? Did they bite you?”

“They didn’t. Not sure what they were doing, though,” I say.

Bill grabs my arm and helps me off the ground. He looks me over, then turns me to the side.

“I said they didn’t bite me. I think they were working up to it before you arrived, though.” The ends of my fingers burrow into my eyes, trying to clear away the haze in my vision. A dull pain stabs my side and radiates throughout my body. The wound on the side of my head hurts, but at least the dizziness from being rolled has waned. Between the chopper crashing and me tumbling down that floor and hitting the ground, my body has been put through the meat grinder.

Bill looks at the hole in the side of the building that I was belched from.

“You were pretty lucky there. Taking a fall like that, you could’ve broken an arm or a leg. Maybe something worse.”

Duke licks my fingers as I peer at the opening within the side of the decrepit structure. From the looks of it, I fell from the second floor.

“My body would disagree with the lucky part. Spots hurt that I didn’t think could.”

Bill smirks and nods in agreement.

The faint yowl of the chasers booms from the busted windows and gaping holes of the building.

Duke growls at the ominous sound.

Bill ejects the magazine from his pistol and looks it over. A scowl forms on his face as he grumbles. He reaches around his waist and retrieves a fresh mag from his back pocket. He slaps it into the magazine well and cycles a round.

“Here. Take it. We’re going to need all of the firepower we can get if we hope to make it out of this alive.” He holds the gun out to me.

I take the pistol as the clamoring of the chasers grows to a fever pitch.

Bill slides the rifle free of his shoulder and holds it against his chest. “I’ve got a truck parked close by. If we haul ass, we might make it to it before the dead pick us off.”

No rest for the weary.

I spot a chaser rushing out of the doorway of the building behind Bill. I bring the pistol to bear and shove Bill to the side. The pistol barks its harsh report as I squeeze off two rounds. One goes wide and strikes the building while the other round hits the chaser in his upper shoulder. The impact stuns the creature, and twists it to the side, but doesn’t take it down. The chaser gnashes its disfigured teeth and growls while peering at me. I think I just pissed him off more than anything.

Damn it.

Bill shoulders his rifle and takes a knee. He fires a single shot. With a faint yowl, the chaser falls.

A flood of chasers pushes through the narrow doorway of the building and out into the light of day. Gaunt bodies painted in dried blood and other filth fill my gaze.

The barrel of the pistol shifts from one enraged face to another. There’s too many to take out, even if I manage headshots on each and every last one of them.

Duke barks and growls at the horde of dead who refuse to give up.

Bill springs to his feet and grabs a handful of my coat. He forces my arm down before I have a chance to open fire.

“Save it!” he says.

We take off in a mad dash as the chasers charge after us. Side by side, we dart across the overgrown plot of land nestled within the center of the surrounding buildings. Each step I make is painful at best, but the alternative is much worse.

Ahead of us, more chasers emerge from the buildings. Their frail frames and sallow faces hone in on ours.

The corpses surge toward us—a wall of teeth and vile temperament. Bill veers closer to the building next to us and cuts around the corner. The gear in his rucksack clatters with every stride he takes. He huffs and puffs as though he’s out of breath. I feel the same way.

We maneuverer around trash cans and a large dumpster that is filled to the brim with rotting waste. I tip over each can as we race by. It’s a feeble attempt at slowing the chasers down.

They knock the waste bins out of their way, and stay on our six.

“How much farther till we reach your truck?” I ask through each gulp of air.

Bill glances to the side while moving at a steady clip. “Not much farther. Just past this building here and we’re golden.”

The incessant howls and trembling of the deads’ feet punishing the ground keeps me looking back over my shoulder. It feels like they’re not more than a few inches away.

I tighten my grasp over the grip of the pistol as we zip past the edge of the building. Across the street sits a dark-blue Ford truck that faces an open field. It’s covered in dents and rust that has eaten away at the paint job. At least the windows appear to be intact.

Bill points to the bed of the truck as he runs for the cab. “Get back here!”

What the hell?

“Why can’t we sit up front?” I counter.

Bill slings the driver’s side door open. He shoves his pack and rifle into the cab. “The passenger side door is jammed. Has been since I came across the truck. Just get in bed of the truck, will ya?” He slips inside and slams the driver’s side door shut.

I pound the palm of my hand on the tailgate. Duke leaps into the bed. He turns and barks at the mass of dead bearing down on us. I climb up, and scamper to the front of the truck as Bill turns the engine over. It grumbles and whines, but comes to life.

I beat on the back window, and yell, “Go!”

Bill punches the gas. The rear tires spin out, and the back end of the truck fishtails as the chasers close in. Duke rushes to my side and barks at the dead who reach out for us.

The truck takes off as the chasers fight to make their way into the bed. Most fall from the truck. A few cling to the thick steel chain that’s attached to the tailgate.

The smooth, solid surface of the road changes to a punishing ride that rattles my teeth. The ground is unforgiving, tossing us every which way. Each depression and rut sends Duke and I into the air, then back down with a thump.

The horde of dead run faster to shorten the gap between us, but they fall farther behind.

I struggle for a clean shot at the dead who are pulling themselves into the bed of the truck. I can’t keep my arm steady or my aim true.

Duke attacks and bites at the chasers’ appendages. They swat at him with their free arm as they growl in return. Both hands clutch the pistol and fight to stay trained on the creatures, but I can’t get a clear shot without risking hitting Duke.

Crap.

I work my way toward the tailgate as Bill swerves from side to side. I’m thrown into the wheel well as Duke slams into me. His claws scrape along the steel surface of the bed as he tries to find traction.

“Hey! Don’t forget that we’re back here!” I yell.

One of the chasers grabs the top of my boot and pulls me forward. Duke bites the creature’s wrist, sinking his fangs into the decayed skin. He pulls and tugs while growling through a mouthful of the chaser’s limb. I take aim and open fire.

A single shot crackles from the sidearm. The slug nails the chaser between the eyes. It’s head snaps back in a blink as the bullet punches through its skull. Brain matter taints the air as the lifeless corpse releases my shoe.

Duke let’s go, allowing the chaser to fall to the grassy field we’re traveling through. It hits hard and disappears within the tall verdure. One down, one to go.

The last remaining chaser deals Duke a hard blow to the side of his face with his bloody hand. The harsh impact knocks Duke against the side of the truck. A yelp slips from his snout and draws an angered growl from me.

The creature pulls itself further onto the bed of the truck. It gnashes its teeth and reaches for me. My brow furrows and a scowl forms on my face.

I ram the thick sole of my boot into the chaser’s face as hard as I can. Between each violent blow, I capture brief glimpses of its bloody face and disfigured nose. Trails of thick blood race from each nostril and its mouth.

Christ. This thing is stubborn.

Bill jerks the truck hard to the right and sends us sliding about. I grab the rusted chrome railing that runs along each side of the truck bed. He hits a deep impression. The chaser catapults from the truck.

Duke crawls over to me and cowers by my side. I wrap my arms over his trembling body, and hold him close. The rigid bumps of his tongue streak across the side of my cheek.

I remain prone on my back on the bed of the truck as we race across the plot of land that is overgrown with weeds. I spot the chasers running through the tall blades—a glob of pasty white flesh that refuses to give up.

A dull thumping catches my attention from the cab. I glance to the back window and find Bill hammering the glass with his fist.

I move Duke off me, and crawl to the front of the bed. I pull myself up and peer inside the cab. Bill turns and looks to me with a worried expression. He offers a thumbs up, then nods. I shrug, but offer a reassuring thumbs up in return.

Bill drives through a missing section of fence that encompasses the overgrown lot.

The treacherous terrain morphs into pavement. Bill pumps the brake and jerks the steering wheel to the right. The echoing of the engine bounces off the buildings next to us as we race down the alleyway.

I skim over the street ahead for any chasers or other threats for that matter. It looks clear from here, but I can’t be sure.

Bill brings the bullish truck to a dead stop. He keeps the engine idling and hops out of the cab.

“You two good back here? Did we lose those chasers? I lost sight of them.”

I’m winded and wind-blown. I sit there with my legs bent and my arms resting on the tops of my knees. The pistol dangles from my hand as I tilt my head.

“About as good as one can be while being thrashed around the bed of a truck while going ninety to nothing,” I jab. “It was hard to tell if you were trying to lose the chasers or us.” The tone of my strained and agitated voice is laced with sarcasm. I’m joking, some.

Bill smirks, then slaps the palm of his large hand against my arm.

“But did you die?”

No, but that isn’t the point.

A snappy comeback gels in my head.

“Shh.” Bill cranes his neck and looks beyond the field of swaying weeds. I follow his gaze. I don’t spot any movement, but that doesn’t mean the creatures aren’t there. My head is still a bit foggy from the punishment I’ve been dealt over the past twelve or so hours.

Duke stands up from the bed of the truck. The fur running along the ridge of his spine stands on end. A growl looms from his throat and rises with every second that passes.

“How are we fixed for ammo?” I inquire.

Bill rubs his black beard, then cuts his gaze to me. “We need more. Lots more.”

CHAPTER SIX

The chasers are tenacious. I’ll give them that much.

They haven’t given up. I don’t know the area, or if there’s anything else left alive for them to even hunt.

Duke growls at the swaying grass. His body is rigid. He walks to the edge of the tailgate and barks at the incoming horde of dead.

Bill slaps the side of the pickup and backpedals to the driver’s side door. “Come on. Get inside the cab, now.”

I scuttle to the tailgate, and jump down to the pavement. I grab Duke’s collar, and pull him from the bed of the truck. Bill’s waiting by the driver’s side door. He moves his arm around in a circle, motioning for us to move faster.

Duke leaps into the cab and walks across the ribbed bench seat. He turns, looks out through the window, and barks at the incoming mob of dead. I slide next to him with Bill following me in. He slams the door shut and grabs the gear shift on the column. He jerks it down and slams the gas pedal to the floorboard.

The tires squeal and peel out. We race down the narrow passage that has us sandwiched between buildings and the tall chain link fence that runs the length of the field.

The mass of infected barrel out of the weeds and hit the alleyway. They turn in circles, their heads titled back and noses testing the air.

Bill looks to the rearview mirror, then over his shoulder at the gathering mob of dead.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters under his breath.

He jerks the steering wheel from side to side while trying to avoid any debris in our path. Once again, we’re tossed around in the cab, our bodies sliding from one end to the other.

A loud knocking noise comes from the engine. It doesn’t sound promising. The needle squeezes past fifty and continues to rise as we bear down on the road ahead. Through the fence, I spot more chasers racing down the street—a twisted glob of decayed flesh and outstretched arms that want whatever is making the noise.

I point through the windshield. “We’ve got more incoming!”

“I know. I know,” Bill snaps back.

We hit a dip at the end of the alley that bottoms the truck out. Reckless and wild, we slide out onto the street. Bill spins the steering wheel, cutting the tires to straighten us out.

The truck doesn’t respond as fast as we need it too and goes wide. The palms of my hands press against the dash as I brace for impact. The front half of the truck digs into a parked brown sedan. The sound of tortured and groaning metal creates a terrifying crescendo.

Bill pulls us off the car and back to the middle of the street. Smoke sifts out through the crumpled-up hood. The knocking noise grows louder with each passing second.

I turn and peer out through the window to find the gang of dead merging from the alleyway and street. Their bodies merge as one nasty creature that refuses to give up.

“Come on,” Bill growls through pursed lips. He slaps his hand against the steering wheel and grumbles some choice words under his breath.

I keep an eye on the chasers who are gaining some ground.

“We need to go faster,” I advise.

“I’m trying, but I think the engine is toast. We’re losing power.”

I look to the dash, and find the needle dropping like a lead weight in a pond. The truck spits and backfires as the smoke venting from the hood grows thicker.

“So, what’s the plan, then?” I ask.

Bill slams the gas pedal to the floor. He pumps it twice, but the truck doesn’t yield to his command. He pulls over to the side near the sidewalk and puts the truck in park.

“We run.” He throws the driver’s side door open and gets out. I toss his rucksack at him, and hand his rifle over. I shimmy out of the cab with Duke hot on our tails.

The un-nerving chorus of the chasers’ grunts aren’t far behind. Bill takes off down the sidewalk in a dead sprint with me and Duke following in his wake. He’s got his gear slung over his shoulder with the rifle fastened within his hands.

The storefronts on either side of the road are in dire shape. The large glass windows are busted out. Jagged pieces rim the outer portions like teeth. Shards crunch under our boots. Some look to have been ravaged by fires. The brick and darkened interiors are blackened from the heat that consumed the space.

We need to find a place that we can hold up that hasn’t been compromised. From the looks of things, that may be easier said than done.

Bill points to a sign that hangs from the side of a reddish-brown brick building. Pete’s Ammo and Firearms.

“We should be good in there until things die down.”

Seems like as good a place to hold up as any.

He stops, and cuts down the alleyway next to the ammo shop. He traces down the cluttered passage and navigates the dumpsters and trash that the wind has collected into small piles.

“You sure this place is safe?” I probe.

Bill heads for the gun metal door that has steel bars attached to its front. He reaches for the brass doorknob, but pauses.

Blood is smeared across the surface of the door and over the knob. He peers down the long stretch of alleyway, then back to the side entrance of the building.

“Do you think it’s safe?” I ask.

Bill shrugs. “Last time I was in here it was, but that blood wasn’t there, so I don’t know.”

The chasers grow closer the longer we stand here. If we’re not going in, then we need to move to find cover somewhere else.

My head turns in every direction from the groans and shrills of the chasers closing in. My heart punches my chest each second we stand here. I don’t like lingering in the open with the dead hot on our trail.

I bring the pistol up, and train it at the street. “It’s do or die. Once they see us down here, we’re screwed.”

Bill slips his hand through the bars and opens the cracked door. He takes a step back and trains his rifle into the interior of the structure. He heads inside with Duke close behind. I backpedal to the entrance, and dart in just as the chasers come into view.

I’m swallowed by the dark interior of the building. I pull the door to with a gentle touch as to not make any undo noise. I make sure it’s latched and secured by tugging on the knob. It doesn’t budge or move. I do not want another instance like what happened in Sweet Home where I cost Mack his life.

Bill shoves his hand into his coat pocket. I step clear of the door, and move to his side. He pulls a small black flashlight from his pocket and turns it on.

The gleam from the end of the flashlight brings to life the store’s silent and eerie space. The light washes over each aisle as we scan for any threats, dead or otherwise. Rows of shelving run the length of the store from front to back. The walls are lined with what few rifles and other assorted weapons remain.

Beyond the door, I pick up the faint chatter from the dead who pass by. I turn on my heels and take aim at the door, just in case they decide to investigate.

Duke ventures off into the store. His nose is trained to the ground as he leaves my sight.

“Duke. Come here, boy!”

He ignores me and vanishes within the murk of darkness.

Bill nudges my arm. “I’m going to check up front. You want to scope out the office over there?”

“Sure.”

Bill moves down the aisle with cautious footing.

Duke is nowhere in sight, but I can hear the jingling of his dog tag. I back away from the door, and turn toward the office on the far side of the store.

My pistol sweeps each aisle I pass by. The sunlight that shines in through the bared windows up front offers some aid in battling the darkness.

“Duke. Come here now, boy!” I demand. I try to keep my voice low, but it grows louder each time I call for him.

The blood smeared on the front of the office door causes me to pause and approach with caution. It doesn’t look dry. Whatever it came from could still be lurking about, waiting for some unsuspecting person to come across it.

The silence grates on my nerves. At least when the chasers signal their whereabouts with subtle grunts and panted breath, you can gauge where they are. The lack of that ominous sound can be even more troubling and worrisome.

Bill’s light extinguishes, but I can hear him rummaging up front. A scratching noise catches my ear. I stop and listen. I tilt my head to the side, and spot a door that is ajar.

Blackness meets my gaze. I gulp as I listen for any indicators as to what could be making the noise. Duke barrels out of the office, and halts just outside of the entryway.

I flinch and turn toward him with the pistol up and at the ready. He groans and offers a single bark before stepping back into the office. He must have found something. Since he isn’t growling, it doesn’t appear to be a threat. What could it be?

I step away from the door, and make a beeline for the office. My finger hugs the trigger as I expel a deep breath. The squeaking of my boots off the tile floor rattles my nerves the closer I get.

A dull light radiates from the office, and is captured from the open blinds of the window. I crane my neck and peer through the white covering. It’s difficult to make anything out. I squint and hunch down some. I spot a bloody hand pressed to the floor. It doesn’t move.

Duke and his safety springs to mind.

I throw caution to the wind and race around the small shelving unit next to me. I skirt the jamb of the door and slip into the office.

“Duke, get away from-”

I stand there, frozen in place with the pistol fixed at the injured man. Duke is lying next to him with his head resting on the man’s lap. Duke looks up to me with large, sad eyes.

In that single moment, my heart breaks once more. I look upon the motionless, bloody body of the brave man who has helped me and Duke through nearly every step of this horrid nightmare and given us a chance at surviving this deadly plague. “Lucas.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

The world continues to find ways to punish me. I can’t seem to avoid its wrath, no matter what I do.

The pistol lowers to my side. I drop to my knees before Lucas. He doesn’t respond to our presence. There are no movements or hints that he’s even alive. I retrieve the flashlight from the floor next to him, and shine it over him.

His head is tilted forward, his pale face splattered in blood. He’s bleeding from his stomach, and has a bite mark on the side of his neck.

A pistol rests in his hand with his fingers wrapped around the grip. I’m lost as to what to do. He’s been bitten and is losing a lot of blood.

I grab Duke by the collar, and pull him away. He resists, not wanting to budge from Lucas’s side, but he obeys just the same.

“Lucas!” I mutter through quivering lips.

Tears distort my vision. I sniffle, then whimper at the sight of my dying friend. Duke stays by my side and whines. He’s just as heartbroken as I am.

I check for a pulse on the side of his neck. His skin is cold and clammy to the touch. My fingers move through the filth of sweat and death for any signs of life. It’s hard to find, but I manage to track down a pulse. Although weak, it is there.

Lucas moves his head, then grumbles something under his breath. The lifeless words that flow from his lips are incoherent and undiscernible.

“We’re here. James and Duke.”

He twitches, then struggles to lift his weary head up straight.

“James?”

His voice is choppy, and weak. He rests against the front of the metal desk drawers.

“Yeah. We’re here.”

Lucas’s eyes, open slowly, as if it’s a chore. The whites of each socket have thick red lines that spiderweb in all directions. His mouth parts and his tongue glides along the torn, dried flesh.

“Let me go see if I can track down some water for you. I’ll be right back.” I stand up, but Lucas grabs my wrist and keeps me from moving.

He shakes his head, then releases my arm. “Don’t bother. I don’t have much time left before I turn.”

I lower down, and stay by his side. “What happened to you? Are Cindy and Cassie ok? Are they still with Hive?”

Lucas shifts his weight and grumbles in pain. His face scrunches up as he gnashes his teeth. “As far as I know, they’re still with those bastards. After they dragged us from that building, we tried to escape. They shot me in the gut and left me for the chasers. They took Cindy and Cassie back with them. Not sure why. I fought my way through the dead to try and reach them, but there were too many, and they were organized. One got me on my neck. Hurts like a son of a bitch.”

Lucas drops the pistol to the floor and reaches across his body. His fingers grab at the collar of his shirt as he struggles to move it clear of the mangled flesh. He sighs, and deflates against the desk. His arm falls back to this side, lifeless.

Duke groans and paws at Lucas’s arm, which brings a hint of a smile from his tortured face.

I stand and scour the paperwork and boxes within the office for a first aid kit. “Hang in there, Lucas. Stay awake for me, will ya?”

Trying to save him now is futile at best. If the infection from the bite doesn’t kill, then the gunshot wound in his stomach will. Still, I have to do something. Anything. I owe him that, and so much more.

“I’m sorry, James, that I couldn’t save them. I tried my hardest. I wasn’t... strong enough to do it.”

“Don’t worry about that right now. We just need to get you fixed up, then we’ll deal with it.” The flashlight skims over the cluttered shelves of paperwork and boxes in search of something that I can use to ease his suffering.

My hands shove the mounds of paperwork and useless items from the shelves. I growl in aggravation. Not only for Lucas’s condition, but for Cindy and the others as well.

He fades in and out, rambling incoherent nonsense that I can’t understand. The thought of losing another close friend is hard to swallow. The sad part is that it’s happened so much that I have learned to deal with it, and resolve my feelings toward the matter in a more grown up way. No more angry outbursts that threaten our lives, or allowing my emotions to dictate my actions. I have to remain in control, and absorb the pain until I can deal with it properly.

Duke growls, which brings my focus back to them. He’s not facing Lucas, but the entrance of the office instead.

Bill stands near the jamb with his flashlight, and a pistol trained on Lucas’s face.

“James, what the hell do you think you’re doing? He’s been bitten. He’s got the infection.”

I turn away from the shelves and face Bill. “I know him. He’s my friend. He was with the others who were taken by Hive.”

Bill doesn’t take his eyes, or the pistol for that matter, off Lucas. Lucas shifts his weight.

Bill pulls the hammer back on his pistol and bears down on him. “I don’t care if he’s the Pope, he’s going to turn, James. From the looks of him, I’d say it will be sooner rather than later. We need to handle it before he does.”

Lucas sits there, weak, and on the verge of death. He shifts his glassy eyes up to me and nods.

Yeah. I know what has to happen. Damn it.

I raise my hand in the air and motion to Bill to lower his sidearm. “Take your weapon off my friend, now.”

Bill shoots me a puzzled stare. “He’s infected. You know what’s going to happen. He’s a danger to not only you, but me as well.” Bill keeps his piece locked on Lucas with a steady grip.

Duke remains by Lucas’s side. He lowers his ears and bares his teeth at Bill.

I train my pistol at Bill, and narrow my gaze at him. “I said, lower your damn weapon, now.”

Bill’s eyes go wide with shock. Indecision swirls in his face.

“All right, James.” Bill raises his hands into the air and backs off.

I hold my ground for a moment longer before lowering mine. “When it comes time to take care of him, I’ll be the one to handle it. Not you, ok?”

Bill nods in agreement. “Make sure you do, because if you don’t, I will.”

“Fair enough.”

Bill tucks the pistol within the waistband of his jeans. “I’m going to finish gathering what supplies and ammo I can. Don’t take too long, all right?”

Bill offers one last look at Lucas as he steps away from the office and disappears into the darkness of the store. The glow from his flashlight trails off down an aisle and toward the front of the store.

I train the flashlight on Lucas. He struggles to lift his arm to shield himself from the light. Sweat races down his pale face as he diverts his sickly eyes. His breathing is labored and is becoming shallower with each tick of the clock.

“James, forget the first aid kit. It wouldn’t matter anyway. You know that. Either way, I’m done for. Just put me out of my misery. I’d rather go out while I still have a soul left.”

I look away, overwhelmed by his request. I know I told Bill I’ll handle Lucas, and I will, but it’s hard to do. Losing another friend is proving to be more difficult each time it happens.

The back of my hand wipes away the tears from my cheeks. I sniffle, and try to mask the sadness flowing from me.

“Come on, James. You… don’t have much time. Think of Cindy and Cassie. They need you now. More than… ever.”

I peer down to the pistol clutched in my hand. Tears drip from my chin and splatter on the grip. Once more, I’m forced into a corner with no alternatives that are going to save me from doing what needs to be done.

A wheezing noise emits from his lips, followed by a painful hack as I bring the pistol up and take aim at his head. My hand shakes with an unsteady grip. I fight like hell to hold the damn tears back.

Lucas bows his head, then gives a warm smile. “Go save your family, James.”

The pistol barks and fires a single round. Duke cowers, and his tail goes between his legs. Lucas goes limp. His head dangles to the floor. Blood seeps out from the hole in his skull and drips to the tops of his pants.

The hammering of feet charging to the office plays as background noise to my sadness. I stand there, hovering over Lucas’s dead body, trying to pull myself together as best I can.

Bill bursts into the room with his pistol fixed in his hand. He scans over the office and hones in on Lucas. He steps closer to him and checks for a pulse then glances over to me.

“You ok?”

My body floods with emotion. Bill’s voice sounds like a distant echo that fades to nothing before it reaches me. I look down to the pistol by my side.

Bill stands up and walks toward me. His movements are cautious as he reaches for the firearm. He takes it from my hand and sets it on the metal two-tier bookcase that rests below the office window.

Through blurred vision, I stare at Lucas. The guilt, sadness, and remorse I’m holding at bay is one large lump that I’m having trouble swallowing.

Bill places his hand on my shoulder. “You did the right thing, James. Don’t second guess your decision. I imagine your friend would rather go out like that than to turn into one of those soulless bastards. I know I would.”

“That may be, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.” My forearm wipes away the grief from my top lip and nose. I nod in return and clear my throat.

Bill doesn’t counter, or say much of anything else. He just pats my shoulder and steps away. He’s halfway out of the office when he stops and turns to face me.

“We’ll need to bounce once the dead have moved on. I’m gathering what ammo and other essentials I can find, but it’s slim pickings out there. I found a backpack someone left behind if you want to-”

A loud banging noise diverts his attention back to the main floor of the store. I turn, and peer out through the slanted blinds. My fingers part the plastic slats in search of the source. I skim over the space, but spot nothing.

It sounds off again, more violent and intense than the first time. I retrieve the pistol from the top of the bookcase and walk toward Bill.

“Where the hell is that coming from?” I ask.

Bill cranes his neck, trying to pier over the aisles. “I think it’s coming from up front.”

Glass shatters.

The ravenous growls of the chasers filter into the store.

Bill shuts his flashlight off, and I do mine as well. We funnel out of the office, and keep low to the floor. The darkness is our friend and conceals our presence.

Duke crouches down and stays by my side. He’s on high alert with his ears up. A low growl sounds from his throat, but he doesn’t bark.

Bill takes cover at the end of the aisle next to me. He has his back pressed against the shelves. I can only make out the silhouette of his body, and the gesture he’s making as he looks my way. He presses his finger to his lips, then peers around the end of the shelving to the front of the store.

Duke lays flat on his stomach at my side. I stroke his coat, and look out to the discord that has all three of us on edge. From my vantage point, I can’t spot the chaser. What light slips into the building reflects off the shards of busted glass that litter the floor. From what I can tell, it looks to be the entrance to the shop that has been damaged. Fortunate for us the shop has steel bars on the doors that keep the dead from rushing in through the missing window.

Bill cranes his neck a bit more. He leans forward, then back in a blink. “I spotted three dead out there milling about the front,” he whispers. “Could be more of them though from the sounds of it.”

One of the chasers comes into view. I sink back into the darkness, then poke my head out far enough to lay eyes on the creature. Its lank frame pushes against the steel bars as it fights to thread itself through the narrow opening.

“How did they know-”

I stop mid-sentence as the answer floods my mind. A single act of mercy has also become our undoing.

Damn it.

Bill sighs as he keeps a close watch on the entrance of the gun shop.

“Their numbers are growing. I see at least a half-dozen. Maybe more.”

I glance across the store to the door we came through. “If they stay up front, that’ll work. We can slip out through that side entrance and head down the alley. Sight unseen.”

Bill spins in the direction of the door. He lingers there for a moment. I don’t think he’s keen on my plan. It doesn’t matter, though. We’re short on options here, and that’s the best I’ve got.

“All right. Before we jet, I need to grab my gear from up front. We’re going to need the additional ammo I stuffed into that rucksack,” Bill says.

“You sure that’s wise?” I point to the dead gathering at the front of the shop.

Bill looks to the entrance, then points out the barrier that’s holding the dead at bay. “Those steel bars are keeping them back. The windows have them as well. Besides, I don’t plan on leaving here without that ammo, and the weapons I’ve already gathered.” He diverts my attention to the far side of the store behind me. “The backpack I found was on that side of the store. It’s on the floor behind the display glass. Stuff it full then retreat back to here. Say five minutes or so?”

I comply with a tilt of my head.

I’m not fond of his plan here, but agree with him just the same. With the way the chasers have been acting, and me going to rescue my friends and family from the Hive, I’m going to need all of the weapons and ammo I can get my hands on.

Bill turns and vanishes behind the aisle he was crouched in front of.

Duke looks to me with his ears on end and his body on all fours. I offer a few strokes over and down his head while I move away from the end of the long run of shelving.

“We’ve got to be quiet, boy. No barking or any noise, ok?” I say to him.

Duke licks at my face, then groans.

“Come on.”

Low to the floor, we make our way through the darkness until we hit the last row. We hook a right, and work up the aisle. I keep a vigilant eye on the chasers who hammer the glass window with their fists. They look about the store, searching for any life or cause of the commotion that drew them in.

It appears that we are safe, for now.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The dead continue to gather outside of the gun shop in droves. Hopeful pleas of a possible meal to satisfy their sullen stomachs draws more of the dead in.

The window pane at the far side of the store has given way to the creatures pounding of the glass. They’re crammed at the front now like sardines in a tin can. Smirched rags and bloody, gaunt bodies test the steel bars’ resiliency.

Bill retreats to the rear of the shop with his rucksack in tow. I’ve stuffed the backpack he found to capacity. There isn’t much more that can fit inside. Wouldn’t matter much anyway. It’s time to go, while we still can.

The large window in front of me shatters. Millions of tiny shards of glass rain down to the elevated gun display section. The chasers volume dials up another level, and floods into the shop.

Duke barks and growls at the mob of infected. I’m not able to stop it. The creatures search for the source, and spot us on the floor behind the glass display case.

Rapacious hands stretch out through the bars. Their fingers fidget and wiggle with the hopes of snaring a tasty morsel. Screw it. It doesn’t matter now if they see us or not. The cat’s out of the bag.

I stand up, and sling the pack over my shoulder. The front door rattles hard, which sends my head turning back to the noise. The chasers grab the steel bars and pull with every ounce of rage and hate they can muster. It doesn’t give.

“James! Get your ass back here, now!” Bill yells out.

The infected yowl and gnash their teeth. The mere sight of us has offered them ample incentive to keep fighting to get inside the store.

We hoof it to the back of the shop, and meet up with Bill. He watches the front as the infected try to rip the door off its hinges.

“They’re a tenacious bunch. I’ll give them that,” Bill says. “You good to go?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

We can’t leave here fast enough.

Bill looks to the side entrance, then rubs the scruff of his chin. “All right. Let’s move.” Bill bolts for the door with Duke trailing behind him.

I give one last look to the office. The weight of what had to be done is added to the burden that I’m lugging around. The only comfort I can take from this, is that Lucas is free of the affliction, and is now at peace.

“James!” Bill calls out.

I snap out of it, then shake my head. Bill has his hand on the doorknob as I scurry over to them. He presses the side of his head to the door and listens.

“Well?” I inquire.

He listens a moment longer, then shrugs. “Can’t make anything out because of those damn things.”

Bill steps back from the door. His pistol is trained dead ahead. I bring mine to bear, and wait for him to make his move. He turns the knob and carefully cracks open the door. He leans forward and peers out to the alleyway through the narrow slit.

I gulp, swallowing the dense clump of fear that fills my throat. I’m still a bit shaken from what happened earlier with Lucas, but I’ll manage.

Bill pulls the door open wider, but all I can see is the reddish-brown brick building across from us.

Duke stands at my side, his attention on the front of the shop where the chasers are trying to find a way in. I take a few hearty steps back and check on the infected. They haven’t let up, and the mass of bodies has grown denser.

“Ok. I think we’re good to… Christ!”

A chaser appears to the left of the entrance and rushes Bill. His pistol barks its harsh report as he backpedals away from the creature. Multiple shots pelt the infected man’s stomach and chest. It slows him down some, but it doesn’t stop him. I pull the trigger without aiming and fire a wild shot that misses by a mile.

Damn it.

Bill spins on the heels of his boots as the chaser reaches for his jacket. Bill grabs the rail-thin man and shoves him forward into the ends of the shelves.

The chaser collides with the unforgiving metal. The thin layer of flesh covering the infected man’s skeletal frame rips open. What few items reside on the shelves fall to the floor next to the flailing creature, adding to the chaos.

Duke attacks with his snout open and fangs ready. He grabs the chaser’s bicep and locks his jaws as it pushes up off the floor. He jerks his head from side to side and tugs with a mouthful of flesh and bone. The chaser wails and chomps at Duke. It reaches across and tries to nab a handful of Duke’s fur.

“Duke!” I call out.

I attempt a shot at the chaser, but Bill steps in. He kicks the infected in the jaw, snapping the creature’s head back in a blink. It plops to the floor in a heap. Duke doesn’t let up. He pulls, and tears at the limb without pause.

Bill hovers over the infected, then shoves the sole of his boot into the small of the chaser’s back. He trains the barrel of his pistol at the dazed chaser’s skull, and squeezes the trigger.

Fire spits from the muzzle. The slug punches through bone, killing the infected.

A flash of something moving in the alley catches my attention. I spin toward the side entrance and open fire. The flashes from the muzzle illuminate the two chasers rushing headlong at me. Their gaping mouths and blood-stained chins fill my wide eyes.

I sweep to and fro, pulling the trigger until it clicks empty. The swarm of hot lead hammers the chasers’ chests, with a few lucky shots finding the sweet spot between their eyes. They knock me off balance before going limp and crumbling to the floor. I trip over my feet, and fall flat on my ass.

Bill sprints to the entrance in a mad dash as more infected try to take advantage of the open doorway. Chomping mouths and outstretched arms flash before me as he fights to close the door.

“You good?” he inquires while leaning against the door.

Each violent hammer from the chasers’ fists is conveyed through the door as Bill’s body recoils.

I pull myself off the floor, and give Bill a hand. I lower my shoulder and ram the door, pushing it into place. Bill flicks the deadbolt and steps clear.

Cornered, with nowhere to go, is not a good feeling. We’re surrounded by death at every possible exit.

I dig my flashlight out of my jeans, and hone in on Bill. He gasps for air with a lost look lingering in his worn eyes. Duke has released the dead creature’s limb and trots over to me.

Bill looks about the shop for another way out. “Plan B?”

I shrug. “I’m open to suggestions.”

We stand there, plotting out what the hell we are going to do next.

I think back to the small town I met Cassie in, and the abandoned store we fled to. There was an escape hatch in the ceiling that led to the roof. It served us well and saved our lives.

The light washes over the white speckled tiles above us. I search for any sort of steel ladder that may lead to the roof.

“What are you doing, James?” Bill probes.

“Looking for a hatch or something that might lead us out of here.”

“I didn’t notice anything like that, so going through the roof isn’t an option for us.”

He’s right. It had been worth a shot though.

I lower the flashlight, and train it on Bill.

The door behind him rattles. He spins and trains his gun at the door. “We’re going to have to think of something fast, or we’re screwed here.”

Screwed is right. I haven’t seen any other ways out of…

Hold on.

I turn to the back wall of the shop, and search for that doorway I spotted when we first came in. The light moves over the shelves as I sweep from side to side. I spy the bathroom door, which is closed, but find another room with a door that is cracked open.

“There!”

“You find something?” Bill asks.

“Perhaps.” I sprint to the partially open door, and grab the brass knob. “I don’t know where it leads, though.”

The groan of tortured metal from the front of the store sends both of us on the defensive. The combined bulk of the chasers has worked the steel bars from the structure of the gun shop. Our pistols train at the infected who have pulled and tugged at the steel bars of the glassless front door until it has come loose and is hanging on by a mere thread. Growling and fighting to break through, they refuse to yield.

Bill glances to the void of empty space, then sighs. “Hopefully it’ll lead somewhere other than here.”

CHAPTER NINE

The infected break through the battered frame of the entryway and surge into the confines of the gun shop. The swell of bodies flows in like a tidal wave of chattering teeth and decaying flesh.

Bill takes point and approaches the doorway. I hand him my flashlight since his is stowed away in his rucksack. He slings open the door. A stretch of hallway meets our gaze that spans into more blackness beyond.

He moves inside with us close on his six. The side entrance bursts free of the jamb, sending chasers flooding into the store.

I pull the door to and step away. Bill and Duke are halfway down the hall, heading for the unknown. I charge down the narrow passageway as the loud rantings of the chasers grow to a fever pitch.

Bill pauses. I catch sight of some stairs before us that descend into nothingness. He tilts the light down and shines the beam over the space below. It’s cluttered with boxes that are piled high and other junk that fills in any gaps.

It doesn’t look inviting, not by a long shot. But our options are limited. Face the horde of infected and die, or descend into the unknown, and possibly die.

“Do you think we’ll find a way out of here down there?” I ask while craning my neck.

Bill sweeps the cramped space in search of any infected. “Looks like a dead end to me, but hard to tell with all of this crap they have down here.”

The unyielding clamor from the chasers sways our decision and sends us bolting down the flight of stairs. Our bulk punishes each step to the bottom of the staircase. We hit the landing and pause.

Bill points to his rucksack. “Grab my flashlight out, will ya?”

He hands me my light as I unzip his gear. I rummage through the packed contents, and pull out his small, black Maglite.

“Here.” I hand it over his shoulder, then secure his pack as he turns toward me.

“How’s your piece sitting?”

Oh yeah. I forgot it clicked empty.

“I emptied it up top on those two chasers who charged inside.”

My hands fumble with the sidearm, searching for the mechanism to eject the magazine. I find the small button and pop it free.

Bill trains his light at the spent mag.

“You need to reload while we have a moment to do so. Did you manage to grab any extra magazines for it?”

I confirm with a nod of my head. “Yeah. I think the ones I grabbed will work.”

The spent mag is tossed to the side and a fresh one is pulled from my back pocket. I clap it in place and cycle a round.

Bill shines his light around the dreary periphery of the damp, dark, dungeon-like storage area. It’s hard to see the walls, or anything else for that matter, with the stacks of boxes in our way.

“I think it’s safe to assume if there was anything down here, we would have already found out,” I say.

It’s quiet. Dead quiet in fact. Minus the chasers up top, and the subtle dripping of what sounds like a leaky pipe, there isn’t much ambient noise down here.

Bill points to the far wall behind me. “You take over there, and see what you can find. I’ll check back here.”

“Copy that.”

He trains the beam to the narrow passageway that leads to the sales floor of the gun shop. He lifts up on his toes and cranes his neck. “We need to hurry. It won’t take them long to test that door, and see what’s down here.”

Duke comes with me as we slip through the narrow path that weaves through the mounds of boxes. Bill vanishes with only the gleam from his light indicating his location.

It takes a moment to find the wall through the cluttered mess, but we finally do. My nose crinkles from the unwanted stench of mildew, and who knows what else that has amplified tenfold. I thought it was somewhat bad from atop the stairs, but being down here on the ground floor, it has gotten much worse.

Duke groans then offers a low muffled growl that seeps from his maw. So far, I’m coming up short on any such way out of here. Nothing but solid brick and some slimy goo that is on the wall. No clue as to what that is.

The door to this dreadful basement is hammered hard by the chasers on the other side fighting to get at us. I turn toward the landing of the staircase and stare at the door. It hasn’t given way, yet, but the constant barrage of the infecteds’ angered fists will weaken it sooner rather than later.

“I got less than nothing here!” I call out in frustration.

The chasers pound the door harder, which pulls a sharp bark and growl from Duke. I pat his side and rub his head, trying to calm him down. If he gives in to his protective instincts and unleashes a wave of barking, that will for sure whip the infected up into a wilder state, if that’s even possible.

Fortunately for us, they haven’t thought to check to see if it’s even locked. I tried to engage the deadbolt, but it wouldn’t budge, so I left it be.

A loud grinding causes me to squint and the palms of my hands to muffle my ears. Like nails down a chalk board, the unsettling sound grinds in my head.

“I think I got something here,” Bill yells out.

We snake our way through the boxes to the rear wall. I hone in on Bill’s light which lays on top of a stack of deteriorating cardboard boxes. He manhandles a steel shelf that he’s swinging out from the wall.

“What did you find?” I probe.

Bill drops the shelving unit to the concrete floor and retrieves his Maglite. “A possible way out of here, I hope.”

We shine our lights at the black steel grate that is embedded into the brick wall. It looks like it’s been there for a long while from the grime and cobwebs that cling to the bars.

I cut my eyes to him, then back to the black hole before us.

“Um. You’re not suggesting we go in there, are you?”

Bill peers over his shoulder in the direction of the chasers. “We don’t have a choice. The infected will bust through that door any moment, and we’re either going to make our last stand right here and die, or we can take our chances in there. I, for one, plan on taking my chances in there.”

I’m hesitant to agree. In addition to not being a fan of heights, I’m also leery of entering such an enclosed, ominous space. The one thought that sways my decision and makes me chew down the uneasiness is Cindy and Cassie. Like many times before, I’d walk through hell and back for my family. That isn’t going to change today.

“All right. Let’s do this,” I say.

Bill skims over the covering. There’s a rusted chain wrapped around the bars and fed through the eye of a plate that is fixed from the wall to the side of the bars. A large lock bridges the two ends and secures the entrance into the unknown. Bill grabs the lock and jerks down. The chain gives some, but pulls taut.

He steps away from the covering, and motions for us to steer clear with a wave of his hand. He shines the Maglite at the lock, then takes aim with the pistol.

“Be ready to haul ass.”

I breathe in a gob of air, then release it as I nod. Here we go.

CHAPTER TEN

Bill chambers off a single round. The report makes my ears ring. Duke whines and shakes his head. The lock falls open, a hole blasted right through the center. At least Bill hit it on the first shot.

I grab the lock, and twist it about, removing the chains from u-shaped loop. I toss it aside as Bill pulls the length of the chain away from the covering.

The chasers bust through the door. Their insatiable hunger and rage explode down the passage. They rush toward the staircase in a mad dash. Their combined bulk sounds like a stampede of cattle charging this way.

Bill jerks at the bars, which refuse to budge. “That’s not good.”

I look to the landing, and find a wall of ghastly gray bodies.

“Come on. Get us in there,” I urge.

Bill pulls with every bit of strength he has. He grunts and strains. The hinges squeal as it swings open.

The infected charge down the stairs in a mad dash. Bodies fall and tumble down the steps while the horde of chasers behind trample the fallen.

“Go!” Bill yells.

The thought of being ravaged by the chasers sends me charging into the underground black hole. Duke follows me in without hesitation. My ride or die companion.

Gunshots ring out, followed by the howls of the infected. Each discharge of Bill’s weapon punishes my ears and makes me flinch. I hope Bill is punishing those bastards. The last thing I want is to be stuck down in this dark, creepy labyrinth by myself.

Hunched over, I trudge through the foul-smelling tunnel with my sidearm up and the flashlight resting on my forearm. The brilliance from the light washes over the slick masonry walls.

Up ahead, the tunnel ends and opens up. The gunfire ceases, but the chants and ravings of the infected remain just as boisterous. A tumult of hastened footfalls echoes down the tunnel. I peer back over my shoulder. Bill better be coming.

Duke and I pause shy of the edge as I scope out what’s beyond the darkness—a T junction from what I can tell that spans in either direction. I’ve never been in one before, but this looks to be the sewer.

Bated breath captures my attention and spins me about face to find Bill huffing and puffing.

“I thought you bought it?” I shine the light over his sweaty, flushed face.

He nods. “About did. They came at me hard and fast. I took a few down with headshots before retreating into the tunnel. I dumped the shelving in front of the grate to buy us some time. We need to move, though. Damn things were pulling it out of the way when I fled.”

Bill moves alongside me and scopes out the dank chambers. “Which way?”

I shrug, then look back the way we came. “Whichever way doesn’t have infected, or rats. Not a fan of either.”

The chasers are more determined now and aren’t swayed by obstacles. I liked them better when they couldn’t figure out simple things.

Bill hops down into the adjoining passageway. Water splashes as he stands up. He shines his light down both sections of the tunnel.

Duke jumps out, followed by me. My boots submerge up to my ankles in water. At least, that’s what I hope it is. I don’t dare examine the contents closer.

The grinding of the steel shelf being shuffled about by the infected funnels out to where we are. They’ll be inside soon.

Bill trains both the Maglite and pistol to his left. “This way then, I guess.”

He heads out at a brisk pace with us close behind. We’re moving at a good clip, the human waste sloshing over our boots and pants. It builds to a stifling stench the more we churn the water. Acid builds in my throat, and my stomach is on the verge of ejecting any small bits of food that reside in its depths.

“Don’t blow chunks, James,” Bill hisses. “If you do, I’ll spew as well.”

I bite back the sickening sensation, and spit the acidic flavor from my mouth. “We’re going to need to find an exit soon, or I’m going to puke whether you like it or not.”

Junction after junction is taken as if Bill knows where he’s heading. I’m doubtful.

The yowls from the chasers bounce off the walls and trail behind us like the unholy stench that clings to the inside of my nose. No matter how hard and fast we trudge through the human waste, their groans aren’t too far away.

Water splashing in our wake nabs my attention. An unsettling sensation washes over me as if something is close. I stop and come about-face. The flashlight sweeps the dank tunnel for the source of the disturbance as the pistol follows in sync. There’s nothing there. No pale, frail frame within the depths of the blackness charging at us.

Did I imagine it all?

It could’ve been us causing the noise, and my mind tricked me into thinking it was the chasers. It felt so real, though. God, I can’t wait to get out of this hellish labyrinth and back to the surface.

“Not only is the smell killing my stomach, but it’s also damaging my—” I turn around and find that Bill and Duke are gone. Vanished. I don’t see or hear them anywhere.

Oh no. Where’d they go?

Panic floods my body as the light shines in every direction. I’m all alone in the sewer with a horde of infected souls hunting me down. At least there’s no creepy clown down here.

“Guys,” I yell out without thinking. I seal my lips and curse under my breath for being stupid.

Christ, James, why don’t you just say it a bit louder so the ravenous fiends chasing you know where you are?

Bill and Duke must not have noticed that I stopped, and they kept moving. Depending how far they’ve gone and the number of tunnels they’ve taken, there’s no telling where they could be.

Damn it.

I can’t stand idle. It isn’t safe. I have to keep moving. I’ll run into them eventually, right?

Heavy footsteps splash through the water in rapid succession. I can’t tell where it’s coming from, or if it’s even real. It sounds like it is, but who knows.

With my boots submerged up to my ankles in fecal matter, I spin around and check each tunnel for the threat that’s closing in. Each is cleared with no friends or foes in sight. Yet, the sound persists and is almost on top of me.

I’ve checked all of the tunnels, haven’t I?

I shine the light to the ether of blackness to my right, and discover a chaser rushing headlong at me. With arms reaching for my body and soul, it’s blood-stained mouth chatters wickedly.

Oh hell!

I squeeze the trigger. The pistol barks, which sounds more like a canon going off in these close quarters. The white flash from the muzzle is brief. It takes mere seconds for the slug to find it’s mark in the chaser’s right shoulder.

The infected stumbles and falls face first into the human stew below. Its growls of aggravation are muffled by the sewage funneling into its mouth.

I place another slug in the back of the chaser’s head as more splashing bears down on me. I hold fire and back-peddle away from the incoming threat.

I’m back on the move, navigating the tunnels as best I can. I try to think like Bill would then realize that he was just as lost as I am now.

Panic swallows me whole. My heart beats faster, and my palms become sweaty. I feel as though I’m doing nothing more than running in circles. Every tunnel I dart down looks the exact same. I haven’t been able to find any distinguishing attributes to tell me if I’m chasing my tail.

Light from above breaks through the ceiling and illuminates the murky water. Within the damp chambers, its brilliance is most welcome.

I sprint to the light with the hopes that it’s a way out of here, and that Duke and Bill are waiting for me up top. I bask in the warm glow that slices through the steel grate from the street. I scour for a ladder to climb out, but find nothing to scale.

The yowls from the creatures draw closer and send the tiny hairs on the back of my neck on end. Like a pack of hungry wolves, they aren’t going away until they have taken down their prey.

The squelch of steps through the sewage causes my heart to skip a beat. I force my legs to flee the light and enter the dark abyss.

There has to be a way out of this maze. The longer I’m down here, the greater the risk I run of meeting a violent demise.

Junction after junction is taken with little thought or planning. Much like Bill, I’m in survival mode now.

“James,” a voice whispers from the darkness.

I stop on a dime, and search for the source. It’s low and muffled.

“Bill? Is that you?” I whisper back.

The grunts and howls from the infected hot on my heels push me to continue on, but I could’ve sworn I heard Bill’s deep voice.

The light sweeps every which way, but comes up empty. My voice raises out of pure necessity to survive now. If it was indeed him, he needs to speak up and let me know.

“Where the hell-”

A hand clamps over my mouth, and drags me into a nearby tunnel as I thrash and fight to get away.

“James, it’s Bill. Settle down and stop making so much damn noise!” It takes a moment for the fight in me to subside and my mind to recognize Bill’s gruff tone. “I’m going to remove my hand. Don’t make a single sound, all right?”

I comply with a nod.

Bill removes his large hand from my lips.

I spin around and shine the light in his face. “Christ! Are you trying to scare me to death? Where the hell did you go?”

Duke is by his side, quiet as church mouse. He saunters over and licks my hand as I run a hand over his head.

Bill looks past me to the edge of the tunnel we’re hiding in. His face floods with concern as he motions for me to lower the light from his face.

“We got separated. I didn’t realize you had stopped. We’ve been looking for you. Now, turn that damn thing off before they pick it up.”

I fumble the flashlight in my hand while trying to find the switch to shut it off. The chasers’ panting is clear as day now. They’re within range of us.

I thumb the button, and snuff the light. Standing in the darkness, we remain silent and still with only the thumping of my heart pounding in my ears. The disturbance of the sewage signals the infecteds’ position. Sounds like multiple feet moving through the water. It isn’t rushed or frantic, but more controlled as if they’re walking. Hunting even.

My eyes have adjusted somewhat to the dark. Without the use of the flashlight, I’m able to pick up subtle shapes and outlines of the tunnel’s walls. I peer over my shoulder and past Bill to the endless void of blackness.

“Can we not go that way?” I whisper.

Bill shakes his head which is hard to make out in the darkness. “There’s a steel grate that’s welded in place. Can’t be budged.”

A mass of ghastly gray bodies appears at the end of the tunnel. They look like some sort of fiendish creature stalking the depths of the sewers. Bits of their movement blend together, making it difficult to gauge their numbers. They grunt, and snarl at one another as they pause.

Duke stays silent and planted by my side. A tremor courses through his body that indicates that he’s ready to defend us if need be.

The chasers’ yowls echo down the tunnel. I gulp down the large lump of fear in my throat. My finger brushes over the trigger of the gun by my side.

A portion of the pack peels off and vanishes from our sight while one stays behind. The chaser stands before us.

The vibrations in Duke’s throat rises with every second the chaser lingers. It huffs and shifts its head from side to side while testing the air. One of the good things about being in the sewer is that our natural scent is masked by the stench of the waste we’re surrounded by. I don’t think the infected can detect us with the smell being so strong.

The chaser steps up into the tunnel. I feel Bill’s arm rest on my shoulder. His pistol is trained at the creature, and his arm doesn’t twitch with doubt. It takes a single step farther before the other infected call out and stop the chaser cold.

A grunt spills from its mouth as its turns about and dashes out of the tunnel. That was close.

The pent up air rushes from my lungs as I sigh in relief. Bill removes his arm from my shoulder. He brushes past me and heads for the end of the tunnel. Me and Duke keep a few paces behind as he stops just shy of the opening.

He stands still and tilts his head to the side. The chasers have moved on, for now.

He turns to the side and waves his arm, I think.

“All right. Come on. I think we’re good.” Bill’s Maglite ignites and slices through the darkness. He keeps it trained to the sludge below and steps out. He turns to either stretch of the sprawling tunnels as me and Duke emerge from the chamber.

“There has to be one of those manhole cover things around here somewhere,” I say. “I came across a drain a few tunnels back, but haven’t noticed any ladders or other ways to the surface.”

Bill nods. “This time, we stick together. No splitting up. If you have to stop, say it.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. That won’t happen again. “Yeah. I learned my lesson.”

Bill advances forward with Duke crouched low behind him. We don’t run this time, but do move at a good clip. The commotion created by splashing through the water will only offer an advantage to the chasers in tracking us down.

I can hear the infecteds’ growls echoing down the tunnels. Pinpointing their exact whereabouts is difficult at best.

We hook a right, and discover a plot of light beaming from an opening up ahead. It isn’t much, but enough for us to warrant investigating further. It could be a way out of this horrid place.

Bill approaches the mouth of the tunnel with his pistol trained and ready. My head sneaks back over my shoulder to ensure we aren’t being flanked by any dead. I spy no movement within the vast void of nothingness.

Bill holds us up, then peers around the curved bend of the concrete.

“Well?” I probe.

He looks to me and grins. “I think we found our ticket out of here. There’s a steel gate of some sort halfway down the tunnel, but it looks partially open.”

The water ripples around my boots, even though we’re not moving. That’s strange. Hands latch onto my lower legs and pull. I lose my balance, and fall face first to the filthy water.

Duke barks as Bill shines the Maglite behind me. “James!”

I’m dragged away through the water as both Duke and Bill give pursuit. My hands dive into the waste as my face treads the unholy stench. The tips of my fingers scrape along the concrete bottom as the infected snarl. I catch glimpses of Duke and Bill rushing after me.

I kick and thrash my legs, fighting to break the hold of the two chasers who have me. They’re strong, and don’t appear to be letting go.

A white flash catches my attention, followed by the ear-splitting sound of a weapon being fired. My left leg falls to the water. A thump splashes into the murk. I manage to flip over onto my back and strike the infected in the face with my free leg. It shrills, then reels from the blow. Dazed, it shakes its head and reaches for me.

Bill pops off another round. The chaser’s head snaps back in a blink as it crumbles to the water.

I’m pulled from the waste, and Bill looks me over. “You good?”

I confirm with a nod as my hand brushes over my face. I sling the grime from my palm with a look of disgust. “I’m good. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

More chasers charge our way. We can’t see them yet, but their shrills and hastened pace becomes clearer with every passing second.

We run for the chamber as fast as we can. My soaked clothes cling to me. The added weight feels like I’m running through mud.

Bill skirts the edge of the opening with Duke galloping close behind. I never thought I’d be so happy to see daylight in my entire life. He stops at the rusted, steel gate and grabs the bars. He pulls, but the gate moves but a scant inch then stops.

“Come on, come on,” I urge.

The pistol shakes in my hand as the infected converge on our position.

Bill jerks harder on the gate. The rust coated hinges squeal as he forces it toward the wall.

“Come on!” he yells.

Duke rushes through the gate followed by Bill.

The infected breach the corner of the tunnel. They funnel into the small space as one massive blob of hate and rage. Their menacing wails merge as one deafening voice.

I pick my targets at random, and open fire as I backpedal behind the safety of the steel gate. A mixture of upper torso and headshots sends the chasers in the lead crumbling to the water below. The infected trailing trample the fallen and maintain pursuit.

The pistol clicks empty as Bill shoves past me. He grabs the gate, and yanks it shut as the chasers collide into the bars.

“Christ almighty!” he bellows while steering clear of the chasers’ rapacious fingers.

Every inch of the gate has rotting flesh smashed against its reddish-orange steel bars. Skeletal arms swing and reach for us with the hopes of snaring a loose piece of our clothing.

I look to Bill who is next to me and staring at the dead trying to break through. “Will it hold?”

He turns sharply about then shrugs. “It just needs to hold long enough for us to get out of here.”

With their bodies pressed against the gate, they won’t be able to open it. I watch them for a hair longer to make sure it holds.

Bill clears his throat. “You coming, or are you going to stand there and tease them?”

Funny.

I back away from the gate and sneer. I turn to the mound of rubble that sits at the foot of a gaping hole in the ceiling. Bill and Duke are at the top, peering at me.

Bill stretches out his hand and helps me up the slope of busted asphalt and concrete. We’re in the middle of a street now littered with bullet-riddled cars.

“I never want to do anything like that ever again,” I grumble.

“You survived, though, right?”

We did by the skin of our teeth.

“Sure.”

Duke shakes the pooh water from his body. I wish I could do the same. I’m bathed in the filth of humanity from head to toe. I’d love nothing more than to have it washed off, but know that, for now, it isn’t going to happen.

Bill presses the ridge of his hand just above his brow and scans over the buildings that line both sides of the street. He spins in a circle with his head tilted back.

We’re surrounded by large-orange cones that have yellow caution tape fixed to the tips. I squint down the street as my eyes adjust from the darkness to the daylight. It takes a moment, but the subtle haze dissolves.

I listen for any chasers who might be within earshot of us, but hear nothing more than the growls of the infected below.

The city is silent—no hint or whisper of gunfire or other unsettling sounds to trigger my nerves. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. Sometimes, the silence can be just as lethal as any noise.

Bill smacks my chest with the back of his hand.

I flinch, then cut my eyes at him. “What the heck, man.”

He nods at the buildings in front of us. “There, near the corner just inside the alleyway.”

I crane my neck, trying to spot what he’s found, but can’t seem to locate it. “What? I don’t see anything.”

He grumbles, then leans toward me. “Don’t make it obvious you’re looking. You’ll scare him off.”

Him?

I look once more, a bit more discreet this time in search of the person who is watching us. It takes me a moment to spot the dark-brown hair poking out from the alleyway.

“Who is it?”

Bill cycles a round, then glances at the man spying on us. “Hive.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The mere mention of Hive floods my body with anger. I know I should be concerned for our safety, given what Bill has told me about the group, and the fact that he’s chambered a round in his pistol, but I can’t help but see red. Hive has taken the people who matter most to me in this world, and I want them back.

I snarl and grit my teeth. My contempt for the depraved group of thugs is not well concealed. Not by a long shot.

Bill looks to the rooftops of the buildings. He skims over them with a keen eye as I stare at the alleyway.

“We have to play this smart if we’re going to make it out alive and find your friends,” he cautions. “The members of Hive are known for traveling in packs, so where there’s one, there’s probably more.”

My fingers squeeze the grip of the handgun tighter. The blood coursing through my veins boils with contempt for the vile group. With the way I’m feeling, they’re going to need all of the men they can muster.

I nod in the direction of the surly man who locks onto my gaze. “That piece of trash over there could be of use to us. I have questions and he’ll have the answers.”

“Listen, I get it. I know how you’re feeling, but we need to—”

That’s enough talking. It’s time for action.

I take off in a dead sprint up the street while Bill is still speaking. Duke chases after me and matches my sprint stride for stride. The man ducks into the cover of the alley and vanishes from my sight.

“James, wait!” Bill yells out. “It could be a trap!”

His words fall on deaf ears. All I can think of is getting to Cindy and Cassie, and making the people who shot Lucas pay for what they’ve done.

I veer toward the sidewalk, and thread my body through the narrow gap between two trucks that are parked alongside the street. We jump up to the trash-covered walkway and keep running.

Bill continues to holler out to me as he gives pursuit, but I ignore him just the same. My mind is focused on one thing—getting to that guy at any cost.

The gear on my back bounces and shifts every which way. With every step, gravity yanks the bag down and burdens me with the additional load. Despite how tired and out of it I am, I manage to dig deep and push on.

We reach the end of the sidewalk, and slow our pace. I drift closer to the brick buildings and train the pistol at the corner. I look across the street for any movement, but detect no threats, living or dead.

Duke is poised to strike, crouched down low with his ears on end. He looks up to me, waiting for my command. I hold my palm up, which stops him cold.

We creep to the edge of the building. I can hear Bill’s feet hammer down the sidewalk after us. He yells in an angry whisper, which is faint but loud enough for me to make most of it out.

“James, you need to stop right now. We need to think this through before you get yourself, and me, killed.”

I poke my head around the edge of the building. There’s no sign of the man within the trash filled passageway. He could be hiding in any number of places, though. Dumpsters, ramshackle cars, and any of the other buildings that have a side entrance.

Bill catches up just as Duke and me skirt the building and advance into the alley. He sighs aloud, then grumbles under his breath, but he follows me just the same. He could cut his losses and bail. I’m thankful that he hasn’t. He should understand what’s at stake for me, and I believe he does. My family is all but gone, and I can’t risk losing what I have left.

Duke sniffs the ground, then pauses. He lifts his front paw off the ground as he investigates the scent he’s picked up. I follow suit, and sweep the sides of the alleyway. “You got something, boy?”

He looks straight ahead, and groans.

Bill glances to the street, then swipes the back of his hand across his brow. He flicks the sweat from the glove in a huff. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. You don’t know these people like I do.”

I cut my gaze to him. “I’ve had more than my fair share of run-ins with people like this since things have gone to crap, and I do know what they are capable of. My friend is dead because they shot him, and my family’s life hangs in the balance. Every second we keep bickering about this, that a-hole is getting away, and I cannot let that happen. He can probably give us inside information on their numbers and such. Hell, they could be holding my family in a different place now than when you were with them last.”

Trash cans dump over, which stalls our debate. I look down the alley, and find the man pounding the pavement as he glances over his shoulder at us. A portion of his coat conceals his face, leaving only his narrow, mischievous eyes.

“Come on, boy.” Duke and I race after him. Duke pulls ahead and gallops at full speed, widening the distance between us.

A nagging pain festers in my side, and slows my stride. My face scrunches in discomfort as I wheeze and grab my ribs.

Bill gets alongside me and notices that my forearm is cradling my mid-section. “Perhaps we should pull back, and let you rest.”

“I’ll pull back once we have that dirtbag in our grasp,” I growl.

Duke maneuverers through the obstacle course of clutter that spans the alleyway with ease. He doesn’t break his stride as he closes in on our target.

The man steers toward the buildings to our left. He comes to a screeching halt in front of a dark red door. He tosses it open, then offers another devilish smirk as he slips inside.

Duke pushes harder and tries to make it inside before the door shuts. It closes just as he nears the edge. He raises up on his hind legs and scratches at the worn paint on the front. He barks and howls then looks to us.

Bill splits apart from me and charges around a blue sedan that sits parked at an angle in the alley. A large, gray dumpster rests against the wall with bags of trash piled inside and out of the container. I leap over, and dodge the waste as I shoot the gap.

Duke drops to all fours as we approach the entrance. He scoots away as I grab the handle. I pause for only a brief moment to catch my breath before slinging the door open.

Gunfire erupts. We scramble to either side of the door for cover. Four shots rattle off before it stops. Bill toes the jamb of the entrance and returns fire without looking.

His canon barks its harsh report as fire breathes from the barrel. He pulls back and we wait for a counter attack.

No return fire is given from the man. I slide down the wood grain of the door and peer inside the interior of the building.

The man is back on the run down the stretch of hallways. The soles of his shoes squeak with every step he takes.

I head in with my pistol at the ready. Duke stays close. Bill covers our rear as we make our way down the hallway.

We hit the end of the corridor that opens up into a large reception area. Bill hangs back and sweeps the space from the safety of the hallway as I take cover on the opposite side. I rap my hand on the side of my leg which brings Duke to my side.

“He’s got to be somewhere in here,” I whisper under my breath.

A large, wooden receptionists’ desk is nestled in the corner across the room. He could be hiding behind it.

I crane my neck, and lift up on my toes, trying to peer over the scarred top that encompasses the upper half of the desk. Duke pants with his tongue dangling out the side of his snout. He licks around the rim of his mouth, and groans.

Yeah. I hear you, boy.

“You got eyes on him?” I call out to Bill.

He has a better vantage point at the desk and is taller than me. Bill raises up on the front part of his feet and tilts his head back. He places two fingers in front of his eyes, then points in a particular area.

I nod and exhale a short breath through pursed lips as Bill slips out from the safety of his cover. Gunfire erupts from behind the desk. Bill covers his head and scurries back to the corner of the hallway.

Duke cowers next to my legs as I drop to the floor and drape my body over his. Round after round batters the wall above my head. I catch a glimpse of the man darting out from behind the desk and sprinting across the expanse of the space toward the staircase.

The gunfire ebbs as the man lowers his weapon and hits the bottom step. I spring up from my crouched position, and try to get a bead on him. He takes two steps at a time, flying up the flight of stairs.

I hone in on his legs and pull the trigger. The gun clicks empty. I squeeze the trigger again, but get much the same. It takes a second for me to remember that I haven’t changed out the spent magazine from when it clicked empty in the sewers.

Damn it.

I eject the spent mag and toss it. I bury my hand into the backs of my pant pockets, unsure if I have a spare ready to go. I keep my gaze fixed on the man as he sprints up the stairs, then vanishes from our sight.

“You good, James,” Bill calls out.

I nod. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” Bill’s voice is strained and thick with tension.

With joy, I pull the last remaining magazine free of my pocket. I slip it into the well and secure it in place with a rap of my palm against the base. A round is cycled. I’m good to go.

“Let’s go, boy.” Duke and me bolt from the wall and race toward the stairs. Bill gives pursuit as more gunfire spawns from down the hall behind us.

“Damn it!” He hisses as he stops and gets clear of the hallway. He scoots over and leans against the wall near the corner. “They’re flanking us.”

The spiderwebbed glass doors to our left rattle under the infecteds’ fists. I turn toward the disturbance, and walk sideways with the pistol trained on the creatures. They smoosh their faces against the windows, and pound their fists at the door in protest as they stare at us.

“Go. I got this!” Bill yells out over the hammering of incoming gunfire from down the hallway.

He spins out from the corner and returns fire.

Duke hits the stairs and gallops up multiple steps at a time. I follow his lead, and stay fixed on his furry behind. My hand glides along the banister as we work our way up the sprawling staircase that slithers along the wall. I glance down to the main floor, and watch as Bill returns fire.

We stop shy of the first floor. I grab Duke by his collar, and hold him back from the dark hall before us. He lunges forward, but I keep him from charging off on his own.

“Hold on, boy. He could be hiding anywhere up here. Give me a second to check it out.”

Glass shatters below. The chasers charge inside the building, trampling the shards of the busted window as they howl. The sharp report of gunfire echoes through the building. Four shots pop off in rapid succession, followed by the thump of what I hope are the chasers hitting the floor.

Bill.

I step toward the railing, and move my head around to see if I can get eyes on Bill, or the chasers. From my vantage point, I can only see a sliver of the floor. A dead body is sprawled across it. It’s not Bill, that much is certain. The pants are the wrong color, and the tone of the skin is a pasty white.

“Bill!” I call out. I wait for his gruff voice to respond with a snide comment or agitated growl, but get nothing from him.

I move down a few steps to see if I can get a better look. A door slams shut from the hallway. Duke takes off in a dead sprint into the veil of darkness.

“Duke! Wait!” I growl, but he doesn’t listen.

I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. I glance to the ground floor for Bill, then to the hallway where Duke took off. I don’t hear either of them. My stomach twists in knots.

Argh.

I pound the palm of my hand against the railing in frustration.

A faint yelp escapes from the hallway and frays my nerves.

Oh no. Duke!

I race up the steps, and hit the landing of the first floor. I hug the wall, and toe the edge of the eerie corridor. My hand digs out the flashlight from my moist coat pocket. The feeling of the soggy fabric and stench radiating off me adds to the sickening feeling I’m already battling.

“Duke. Come here, boy,” I call out. “I’ve got some treats for you.” It’s a white lie at best that may draw him back to me.

I thumb the button on the flashlight repeatedly, but it refuses to turn on. Christ. Come on! I shake it hard and cuss under my breath until the beam fires from the end. It flickers and dims, then brightens to full strength.

I lean to the side, and train the light down the hallway across from me. I spot no movement within the darkness, and I don’t hear any subtle sounds that would indicate someone is down that way.

My eyes close, and I repeat to myself that everything’s going to be all right. That both Duke and Bill are ok.

I press the pistol to the middle of my forehead and exhale a deep breath. It’s go time.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Before the chaser outbreak, the thought of taking a person’s life never crossed my mind. It wasn’t until the world ended, and I was confronted with the worst humanity had to offer that I started to think otherwise. Now, it doesn’t bother me as much, if at all.

The floor creaks under my weight. I freeze and listen for a reaction from the stretch of hallway before me. A faint whistling sound grabs my ear. Could be coming from the busted windows the chasers destroyed.

I’m starting to regret my decision in pursuing this piece of crap. Bill was right. Perhaps, I should have listened to what he was saying, held back, and plotted out our next move instead of acting on impulse and charging in blindly.

It’s too late for that, though. There is no going back in time and changing anything. I can only handle what is in front of me now, and hope that both Bill and Duke are ok.

“I hope you haven’t hurt my dog, because if you have, I can promise you that you’ll regret it ten times over,” I threaten.

I glance over each side of the hallway for any hints or clues as to where the man might be with Duke. I know he did something with him.

Most of the doors are shut and locked tight. I see no light emitting from under the doors or hear any noises that let me know where they are.

I spot something to my right inside the entryway of a room a few spots up from me. The light hones in on the ghastly gray blob and reveals a dingy golden yellow coat of fur. It’s Duke!

He’s flat on his side. My heart sinks. He can’t be dead.

I rush to his aid. The boards sound off with every hard step I make. I drop to my knees outside of the room, and look him over. The pistol stays trained ahead as my free hand pushes the door open.

I shake him. “Boy, it’s James. Please be ok. You have to be all right.”

My hand sifts through his matted fur as I rub his side. He groans, and shifts his weight. He’s alive! He wags his bushy tail and lifts his head up from the floor.

I collapse on top of him, and wrap my arms around his body. I squeeze him tight as he tries to lick my face. “I’m so sorry, boy. This is all my fault.”

The wooden planks creak behind me—a subtle sound that chills my blood. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. Whatever’s there has me dead to rights.

I turn around to engage whoever is flanking me, but something blunt smashes into the back of my skull. I’m thrown forward, and hit the jamb with my forehead. The flashlight pops free of my hand as I crumble to the floor. I roll to my back while cradling my head. Through blurry vision, I squint at the dark figure towering over me.

He shines the light on his face, and gives me a wink and a smirk before I blackout for good.

A brief recap of the events that have transpired since the virus had been released upon the world plays through my head on a loop. From the day Dad, Duke, and me went hunting to when I discovered Mom was infected and I had to put her at ease. It ends with us on the chopper, and the terrified look Cindy had as we plummeted toward the earth. She reaches out for me, begging that we survive what is about to happen. Everything goes dark, and it replays again from the beginning.

Something blunt slaps my face, and rips me from the tormenting dreams I’m caught in. The skin stings and my jaw aches from the blow.

“Hey there. Time to wake up, sunshine.” The voice sounds jovial, almost as if he’s pleased with himself. “Come on, now. Wakey, wakey, eggs and bacy.”

If I didn’t have a headache before, I do now. My head rests on the floor, the hard-wooden planks digging into my arm. It takes me a moment to realize what has happened and where I was last. That piece of crap wacked me with something that knocked me out, and now, I’m at his mercy.

I try to move my arms, but the rough rope around them refuses to budge. In a fit of panic, I tug harder. The rope bites deeper into my wrists.

My captor’s tepid breath blasts me in the face as he snickers. He grabs me by my shoulders and yanks me off the unforgiving floor. I slam against the wall with a dense thud. Pain lances up through my neck to the base of my skull.

“Hey! Leave the kid alone!” Bill barks in protest.

My eyes crack open just as the man stands up and turns away from me. He struts across the floor toward Bill who is strung up by his wrists from the ceiling. The rope is pulled taut with the tips of his boots searching for the ground.

The lantern’s flame dances against the wall. It illuminates the drab loft we’re in. Through blurred vision, I spot two other guys flanking the man who knocked me out, and Bill hanging by his wrists from the rafters, but I don’t see Duke.

The space is sparse of any furnishings. Just piles of sheetrock and clumps of the ceiling litter the floor.

I blink a few times, trying to erase the dizziness that plagues my mind. The back of my head hurts. My hair is matted together with something that is now stiff. Is that blood?

Duke barks, then growls. I glance about the open space, and find him chained by the neck next to a beam. He’s up on all fours, pacing back and forth. He turns and races toward the man who attacked us in the hall as he walks by him. The chain snaps taut and keeps him from going any farther.

The man points to one of his cohorts, then to Duke. “Keep an eye on that dog, will ya? You know how vicious animals can get when they’re wounded or frightened.”

The portly man nods and leaves Bill’s side. He waddles toward Duke and trains his rifle at his head. His sausage size fingers wrap around the stock as he snorts and clears his throat.

“Get that gun away from my dog, now!” I snap at the unscrupulous, fat thug.

He shoulders the rifle and bears down on Duke. Duke snarls and lowers his ears. He presents his fangs and crouches low to the ground as he sets his gaze on the armed man.

Bill looks to me through his one good eye that isn’t black and blue or puffy. Blood trickles down the sides of his lip and races from his flared nostrils. His breathing is labored as he grimaces in pain.

“I see you haven’t risen above hurting kids, Shane. Not sure if that makes you a piece of trash or a piece of crap,” Bill remarks. “Guess it doesn’t matter much since they both mean the same. To me, you’re nothing more than a dead man walking.”

You’d think Bill’s harsh, but true, statement would pull a violent or aggressive response from the piece of crap that stands before him. A show of dominance that would make one cringe from the mere sight. Instead, the man chuckles as if it were a joke.

“Same old William. Mr. holier-than-thou himself. So, is this the role you’re playing? The vengeful, jaded loaner who is out to right the wrongs of the world? If it is, then that is the biggest joke of all.”

Bill watches Shane with contempt as he strolls around Bill. The gunman next to Bill keeps his sidearm trained at Bill’s head.

“Better to be that than running with you clowns any longer. At least now, I’m no longer part of the problem. If you haven’t noticed, things aren’t getting any better out there. Especially now that the chasers have become smarter and can adapt. Your plans for trying to seize control of any territory and causing the government problems is pointless now. Like I told Ranger, you may as well help out, and be part of the solution instead of making things worse. The dead are taking care of that.”

Shane bobs his head as he chews on Bill’s searing response. He stops on a dime and punches him hard in the kidneys. Bill grunts and winces. His body sways from side to side as the tips of his boots scrape along the wooden planks.

Duke barks and growls, baring his fangs at the obese man.

Shane steps away from Bill and points at Duke. “I’m telling you right now, Bobby, if that dog gets loose and bites me, your fat ass is going to be on the chopping block.”

Bobby shoots him a worried stare that shows his words aren’t full of hot air. He gulps, then turns his attention back to Duke. “Shut the hell up before I make you, you dumb animal.”

Bill spits a wad of blood to the floor that splatters over the planks near Shane. “You haven’t changed any. You still hit like a little bitch. Guess it’s fitting, considering you’re Ranger’s bitch and all.”

Shane looks to Bobby, who’s face floods with shock. He glances over to the other gunmen who licks his lips and shoves the barrel of his canon against Bill’s temple.

“Let me do him now, Shane,” the scrawny man pleads. “Shut this traitor up once and for all.” His fingers re-position over the grip as he waits for the go ahead.

“Not yet, Mark. Just hold on,” Shane snaps. “I want that traitor to suffer first. A bullet to the skull would be too good for him.”

He turns toward me, then points at Bill. “Has he been like this with you, kid?”

I shrug. “From my experience, most people now are dicks. Bill hasn’t been too bad, though. I guess it’s just a matter of what you’re willing to stand. Like you, for instance. I don’t know you, or your two lackies, but what I’ve gathered so far is that you three are a bunch of dick bags. I wouldn’t lose any sleep if a pack of chasers came in here right now and tore through you. I’d call that justice.”

Shane looks to Bill whose face is bloody, and his right eye appears to be swollen. “I see you’ve found someone who’s as big of a pain in the ass as you. He’s about as mouthy as that chick we nabbed from the military chopper.”

He has to be referring to Cassie. She’s a whole other level of angry when she gets pissed off.

Shane squares off with Bill and lays into him. A right cross to the jaw, followed up with two lower body shots that rip the air clean from his lungs.

Bill’s body sways to and fro as he coughs and whines from the punishing blows.

“Hot damn, William. You can still take a beating like a champ, brother.” Shane cradles his hand, then shakes it as if the beating punished him instead. He turns toward me as Bill hangs limply by his wrists. Shane’s knuckles are fresh with Bill’s blood. Shane digs his other hand into the back pocket of his jeans and grabs a black bandana.

“Mark, take William into the other room while I speak with our young friend. Tune him up some more. I’ll come in shortly to finish him off, but not before we have some final words.”

“Sure thing, boss man.” Mark holsters his sidearm and walks past Bill. He heads for a post that has the end of the rope tied off to it. He fiddles with the knot and loosens it up. The rope unwinds, and drops Bill’s battered body hard to the floor. He hits with a thump and doesn’t move a muscle.

Shane nods at Bill. “To be honest, kid, you’re better off without him. He’d have gotten you killed sooner than later. Hell, it may be sooner than you think.”

Mark shoves his boot into Bill’s back. He doesn’t flinch. “Come on, get up, now, and move!”

Bill remains motionless on the floor. Mark probes his body once more with his boot, but gets no reaction.

Shane sighs, then rolls his eyes in frustration. “Why don’t you pick him up and drag him to the other room, then?”

Mark looks at Bill, then back up to Shane as if the request is some sort of joke. He doesn’t say as much, but the unsure look on his face more than conveys that message.

Shane whistles at Bobby, then nods over at Mark. “Give him a hand, will ya? The pooch will be fine for a few.”

Bobby lowers his rifle and slings the black strap over his thick arms. He waddles over to Mark who’s hunched over Bill. His meager arms try to lift Bill’s bulk free of the floor, but Bill doesn’t budge. He grunts and strains, but fails to move him.

Both men tag team Bill, and drag him by the shoulders through an open door on the far side of the room. They vanish into the darkness and slam the door behind them, leaving just Shane, me, and Duke in the main room.

He shakes his head, then rubs his palm up and down his face as if he’s annoyed. The three of them remind me of Frank and his clan of rejects who we faced off with back in Oregon.

The faint glow of light radiates out from under the door and around the jamb. I wonder what they plan to do to Bill in there.

“I tell you what, finding good men who are worth their salt in this day and age can be hard. At the end of the day, guess one must work with what they’ve got,” Shane rattles off.

I glare at him. “You know, I came across a group back in Oregon that you three remind me off.”

“Is that so?” Shane retorts.

“Yeah. Some militant, backwoods group who were trying to hit military depots and such. Their leader, Frank, threatened to kill us if the army guy we were with at the time didn’t give him what he wanted. They wouldn’t be affiliated with your little band of rejects, would they?”

Shane snickers, then steps away. He retrieves a rickety-wooden chair to my left. I look to Duke who remains on all fours with his fiery gaze locked on Shane.

I move my arms back and forth, trying to free my wrists from the rope that binds them in place. The coarse material bites deeper into my skin. It stings, but I persist.

The chair plops down right in front of me as Shane straddles the seat. I flinch and scooch back like a worm. His arms rest on the back as he stares down at me.

“They were a branch of Hive. They went dark some months back. Haven’t heard from them since. What, did you and your mutt over there kill them or something?” Shane smirks.

He must find it amusing. I don’t.

“No. The chasers did. Tore through the lot of them like they were nothing. Served them right since they killed my best friend. I have to say, watching that Chaser bite into Frank was gratifying. One less evil in the world, if you ask me.”

Shane nods, then rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “To be honest, James, and I hate to say this, but the outlook for your friends could be a bit dicey. Much like Frank and his crews’ fate, their future is unknown at this point. To be honest, I’m a bit surprised to see that you’re still alive. We figured the chasers would have finished you off. Survival rates around here are pretty low, so color me impressed.”

A thud resonates from the room where Bill was taken. I cut my eyes over to the room, wondering what they’re doing to him.

“I wouldn’t worry too much more about William. He’s going to be getting what is owed to him soon. Believe me, it will be well deserved. Besides, you have your own set of problems to contend with.”

I set my sights back to Shane, who has his smug expression plastered on his face. It’s one that I have seen many times when the bad guys think they have the upper hand against me. Funny enough, I’m still alive, and the rest of them are dead.

With a tug and the subtle shift of my arms, my wrists become less bound by the dense rope. In the end, persistence pays off.

“Why did you take my family from that chopper anyway?” I probe. “Not sure what use they’d be to you. I doubt the government is concerned with the demands of a bunch of nobodies with hostages. They have bigger problems at the moment than that—you know, with the dead out there killing and turning everyone.”

“Everyone has a purpose in this world, James. Even that bratty sister of yours and that loud mouth chick who is with her. As far as the old guy you were with, Lucas I think it was, well, he didn’t want to listen and decided to play Mr. Hero. He almost got away with the girls, but a bullet to the stomach shut that plan down fast. I imagine he’s either a chaser by now or a pile of tattered, bloody rags.”

My nostrils flair and my lips purse. His words are like a dagger that burrows into my side. Every word he speaks sends the dull blade further in. I’m going to enjoy making him pay for that.

“So, what’s the grand plan here? What are you after? Money? Weapons?”

“The grand plan?” Shane parrots. “The answer may surprise you.”

I chuckle. “Try me. I doubt it will.”

“Simply put, we want out of here.”

I give Shane a baffled stare. “Out of here? As in, out of the city?”

He tilts his head. “The city. The country. Any place that isn’t infested with those things. The government, more so the military, are the only ones who can make that happen.”

“Not what I was expecting,” I respond. “I figured it would be a bit more ambitious than that considering Frank wanted to attack military outposts. At least, that’s what I gathered from what he said.”

Shane glances down to the watch on his wrist.

“Late for an appointment?” I inquire.

He looks to me, then Duke. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Which means our little banter session has come to an end.” Shane slaps his hands on top of the chair, then stands up. He scoots it out of the way and towers over me.

I gulp, but maintain my composure as best I can. “Like I said earlier, the government isn’t going to give two craps about what you want. They’re not going to take you anywhere except maybe a six-foot grave if you’re lucky.

That same smirk slithers across his self-satisfied face. Shane feels pretty confident in their plan. I wonder what he knows that I don’t.

Shane steps closer to me and stoops down. He grabs a handful of my jacket and rips me off the floor. I sit flat on my ass to where we are eye level. Duke growls and inches toward us, but the chain pulls tight.

“Oh, the military will listen to what we want since we have something they need.”

I probe for an answer. The big reveal. It has to be Commander Reynolds, no, wait, Cindy. That’s the only logical choice that springs to mind. But if he doesn’t know about my sister, I’m not about to tell him.

“I doubt the commander will be that big of a bargaining chip with the military. After all, they don’t negotiate with terrorists,” I say while my arms continue to move back and forth.

Shane looks me dead in my eyes. “I’m not referring to just the commander, but your immune sister as well.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The mere mention of my little sister as a means to an end boils my blood. The only saving grace is they won’t kill her, seeing as they need her, for now.

Shane slaps my leg, then stands back up. “You should be relieved, James. She has a purpose to serve, and won’t die, just as long as we get what we want. The military refuses, and well, she loses her value.”

The noise from the other room grows louder. Voices become angered and shouting ensues. Shane stares at the door. I jerk my hands in opposite directions behind my back, and get them free of the rope.

“Hey! What the hell is going on in there?” Shane barks. “Can you two idiots not handle a busted up has been? Christ, it’s not that hard.” Shane reaches behind his back and retrieves a large pistol from his waistband. He cycles a round, then rubs his hand over his face.

Multiple gunshots pop off, one right after the other. Two dense thuds hit the floor. Shane’s amiable demeanor evaporates in a blink as confusion fills his face. He turns on his heels and stares at the door. He’s no longer concerned with me.

Shane heads for the other room. He walks with a cautious step as he trains the pistol at the door. “Fellas. Everything all right in there?”

Here’s my chance to make my move. It’s now or never.

I sit up from the floor. My eyes stay glued to Shane and every subtle twitch he makes. This needs to happen fast. Once I commit, there is no going back.

I grab the flimsy chair, and charge Shane. It isn’t heavy, but weighs enough to at least disorient him. The floor gives me away as the rapping of my boots over the planks makes Shane look over his shoulder. It’s too late, though. He’s already in my crosshairs.

A look of utter shock floods Shane’s face. His eyes go wide and he mouths some unsavory words. He pivots on his heels to try and defend himself. I swing the chair with all of my might as he takes a step back. The legs smash his shoulder, and catch the side of his face. Wood splinters and a squelch of pain, that quickly turns to a hoarse growl, escapes his lips.

The pistol in his hand pops off a round, and strikes the floor by my feet. He stumbles about with unsure footing and reels from the blow. I keep attacking with the chair. More wood snaps and breaks. Shane reaches for the chair, trying to fend me off as best he can. He loses his grip on the pistol. It bounces off the floor away from him.

Blood races down from his blond hair. I keep pounding away with what remains of the chair until he throws his hands up and submits.

Duke barks and growls. The chain scrapes along the floor as it’s forced to follow his every move.

The chair is all but worthless now. Nothing more than a few pieces of busted wood in my hands. I throw them away, and go for the gun. My fingers graze the grip. Shane grabs a handful of my coat.

“You little piece of crap,” he snarls. “I’m going to enjoy pounding you to a pulp.” Shane yanks me backward, then flips me around by my shoulder. He decks me in the face, a solid strike that rattles me.

My head snaps back, and my eyes water. It feels like I’ve been hit with a hammer. He punches me in the gut, then shoves me backward. The air rips from my lungs. I fall flat on my butt, and scoot across the floor.

Each breath I take is strained. I gasp for air as I clutch my stomach. Through watery eyes, I spot Shane grabbing the pistol from the floor. His free hand probes the gash on the side of his head. He gnashes his teeth and glares at me.

“You got balls, kid. I’ll give you that. But play time is over, and so are you.” He trains the pistol at my head. A single shot echoes throughout the loft we’re in. I flinch, and shut my eyes, fearing that I’ve been hit. It takes a moment for my brain to register the pain isn’t there. My hands scour my body for the wound. None is found.

Shane drops the gun and crumbles to the floor. He groans in agony while clutching his shoulder. Bill leans against the wall near the open door. Smoke plumes from the barrel as he breathes heavily. His face is a mess, coated with blood and swollen.

“You ok, James?” he asks in a weak voice.

My hands search my body again for any wounds, just to make sure. “I think so.”

Bill lowers the pistol to his side. He releases a heavy sigh of relief. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

Shane rolls about on the floor, palming his shoulder. Blood seeps out from between his fingers as he grits his teeth. “You’re a dead man, William! You hear me? When Ranger hears about this, you and that kid are toast!”

Bill pushes off the wall. He walks with a bit of a limp. Each step looks laborious at best.

I look to Duke. His tail wags ninety to nothing. He folds his ears down and whines as he paces from side to side.

The tears flowing from my eyes dry up, and the haze coating them wanes. I flip over onto my hands and knees, then push up. The top of my lip is wet with blood. I brush the sleeve of my coat across my mouth and wipe it away. My stomach’s sore, and it’s hard to breathe.

Shane tries to stand up, but is knocked back down by a boot to the chest from Bill.

“Get your damn foot off me,” Shane says.

I trudge over to Duke, and pet his head. He jumps up on me and flicks his tongue across my cheek. “You ok, boy?”

The chain around his neck is tight. I struggle to slip my fingers between it and the fur. He was so worked up that I don’t think he even noticed how tight it was.

“You better kill me now, William, cause if you don’t, I’m going to track you down, and make you wish you had. Same for that damn kid and mutt you’re rolling with.” Shane tosses idle threats around as if they have weight, but no other Hive members are within earshot, and he doesn’t elude that they are even heading this way.

I work the chain lose from Duke’s neck. He gives me another lick across the face before charging Shane. He bares his fangs and lowers his ears as he sinks his teeth into Shane’s shoulder.

“Ahhhh!” Shane yells as Duke latches onto his wounded shoulder. “GET HIM OFF ME!”

Bill cycles a round and squares up with Shane’s skull. “How about I place a slug in your head, and we call it a day?”

I throw my hands in the air, and wave them in protest. “Don’t! We need him to tell us where they’re keeping the others.”

Bill looks at Shane with pure hatred. His brow furrows as he applies more of his weight onto Shane’s chest. “We don’t need him for that. I know where it is.”

Shane reaches across his body and swats at Duke. His feeble blow does little to distract Duke as he keeps a firm grip on his shoulder.

“You don’t know squat,” he mouths. “That isn’t the only place we have. Just the only one you knew about.”

Bill growls and doubles down with the pistol. “Liar! Ranger would have told me if there were others.”

Blood soaks Shane’s long-sleeve shirt. I’d be lying if I didn’t revel in the sight. He deserves it and so much more.

“Where have they taken them, then?” I step alongside Bill, and we both tower over Shane’s bleeding body.

He grimaces in pain and grits his teeth. “Get this damn dog off me and your word that you’ll let me go, and I’ll tell you.”

“Screw that,” Bill counters without pause. He looks at me. “Can’t trust this guy. We let him go, and your family is as good as dead.”

“You don’t and you won’t ever find them!” Shane counters in a pitiful groan.

I push Bill out of the way, and straddle Shane’s waist. My fingers grab a handful of his bloody shirt. I’m done messing with this guy.

“Tell me where they are, now, or I’m going to have my dog rip your arm off!”

“Go to hell!” Shane yells. “You agree to let me go, and I’ll tell you!”

My right hand releases his shirt and balls into a fist. I punch him in the face as hard as I can. The back of Shane’s head bounces off the floor with a thump. I pull my hand back and try to shake away the stinging bite burrowing into the bone.

That’s the first time I’ve ever punched anyone. It hurts like hell.

Shane turns his head to the side and spits a wad of blood to the planks. “Christ. You hit like a little girl.”

I massage my knuckles while starring at him. “Go ahead, boy.”

Duke thrashes his head from side to side. Shane yells out as blood seeps out from around Duke’s maw.

“Fine! You win! Just get this damn animal off me!”

I get off Shane, and grab Duke by his collar. “Come on, Duke. Let him go.” Duke’s jaws are locked tight, and his body is rigid. He has been known to hold a grudge.

After a few seconds of me speaking to him and petting his head, he finally releases Shane.

Shane gasps, and breathes a sigh of relief. He isn’t out of the woods yet.

Duke stays crouched a scant inch away from Shane’s shoulder. A subtle growl escapes his blood-stained snout as he bares his fangs.

I kick Shane in the side, and he recoils from the blow. “All right, he’s off. Now talk! Where are they holding my sister and friend?”

Bill hovers at the end of Shane’s feet. He keeps the pistol fixed on his skull in case he thinks of doing anything stupid.

Shane palms the wound and grumbles in pain. His fingers can’t stay the flow of blood that streams from the mangled flesh. “You remember that old factory we hit up a month or so back?”

Bill shifts his gaze to me, then back to Shane. “Yeah. What about it? That place was a rat-infested dump. I couldn’t see Ranger wanting to set up shop in such a place. He’s too high and mighty for that.”

Shane peels himself off the floor and struggles to sit up. He grits his teeth and breathes heavily while acting wary of Duke who looms over his shoulder.

“Maybe so, but it was solid and had impenetrable walls that the infected couldn’t breach. Ranger wanted it as a backup just in case they breached our main base. With the chasers evolving and becoming more intelligent, it’s harder to keep them out.”

Shane removes his blood-covered hand. He stares at the gnawed skin with disgust. “Before the boys and me went on our run, he said they might hold up in there since no one knew about it. He’s grown worried that the infected are going to find a way through the walls at our main place.”

I stoop down, and stare deep into Shane’s glassy, bloodshot eyes. “You’re not trying to screw us over here, are you? Send us on a wild goose chase that leads us into a death trap.”

Shane sways to and fro, his body shivering as he shakes his head. “I’m telling you what I know, all right. I can’t say one hundred percent for sure that’s where he is right at this moment, but that is what he told me. If I was a betting man, I’d put money on that’s where he is.”

I glance at Bill, who has a scowl on his face. There is no love lost among these two men. They seem to want nothing more than to see the other dead.

“Is he telling the truth?” I ask.

Bill shrugs. “Hard to say. It’s possible. I remember the place he’s talking about. It was solid and didn’t offer many entry points for the infected to get through. We had a hard time trying to get inside. I don’t recall Ranger eluding to ever using it, though. Then again, he didn’t share that sort of info with just anyone.”

“Hey, listen, he only shared it with a few of us. Incase things went south with other members, or the chasers broke through our defenses, he’d have a fallback plan.” Shane interjects, his voice rising in anger.

I fold my arms across my chest and give Shane a pensive stare. I’m hesitant to believe him, considering he’s nothing more than a skid mark on the underpants of what society remains, but I’m kind of cornered here. It’s a tough call, but one I’m going to have to make. “You better hope this pans out, and they’re safe. If they’re not, or you’re leading us into a trap, I will make it my mission to track you down and end your life.”

Duke snarls and inches forward a bit more. Shane flinches and peers over his shoulder at Duke. “Listen, kid. I’m telling you what I know. I might be a low-life piece of crap, but I’m no liar. Ask Mr. Righteous here. He won’t want to admit it, but he knows I’m right.”

Bill rolls his eyes, lowers the pistol, and eases off. “As much as I don’t want to agree with him, he’s always shot me straight. Besides, he knows how much I want to kill him. If I thought he was lying, I’d place a slug in that head of his.”

I wave my hand at Duke, then say, “Heel.”

Duke licks around his snout and backs off. He sits down on his hind legs, but remains close to Shane.

Bill keeps his finger over the trigger and watches Shane with a vigilant gaze as he struggles to get off the floor. “If we’re going to check out either place, we’re going to need a ride. It’ll be hazardous for us to navigate the city on foot.”

I shrug in response. “If you’ve got any suggestions, I’m all ears. This is your city, after all.”

Bill nods at Shane. “They should have a vehicle of some sort close by. They wouldn’t have come into the city without one.”

Blood drips from Shane’s fingers and splatters against the floor as he tries to keep his balance. His face is long, and his eyes are heavy. He’s losing a lot of blood. I don’t think he’ll make it far.

“Where’s your ride at?” I demand.

“We have a Jeep parked a few blocks over from here. Down over on fifth street. What the hell am I going to do? Those things out there will rip me apart in no time in this condition.”

I hold my hand out to Shane, unconcerned with his well-being. His gaze darts from me to Bill, then back to me as if he’s looking for mercy. He’s already been shown what little I have left to spare.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“ That’s your problem. Not ours,” I retort to Shane’s plea. Bill doesn’t have to say anything. The spiteful look on his face says it all. “I’ve run out of mercy for people like you. Scum of the earth. You’re lucky we haven’t killed you right here considering you were going to snuff both of us without batting an eye. I’d suggest you get moving before Bill here reconsiders letting you walk.”

Duke snaps at his legs, which sends Shane scooting away from him and us.

“All right. Fine!” His voice is infused with rage. It sounds like a hoarse growl. He has no one to blame here except for himself.

I hold out my hand, and wiggle my fingers. “Keys, please.”

Shane mumbles under his breath. He looks at us with contempt as he digs his hand into each pant pocket. He grunts and grits his teeth, the movement obviously punishing him. I can’t help but enjoy it.

He pulls the keys out and throws them at my feet. A malevolent glare levels at me from under his furrowed brow as I bend to pick them up.

I scoop the keys up from the floor, and hand them to Bill.

Shane glances to the room where his friend’s dead bodies lay. “Can I at least get one of the pistols? A pack? Something?”

Bill snickers under his breath. “Yeah. So, while we’re leaving, you can shoot us in the back? Not a chance.”

I shrug. “You heard the man. No dice. There’s nothing here for you.”

Shane palms his shoulder, turns, and heads for the door. He trudges across the room as if it’s a chore. The fronts of his boots grate over the wooden planks of the floor. He grabs the doorknob and pauses. He looks over his shoulder at us, offering a scathing gaze that speaks volumes.

We give no final words, though. None need to be spoken.

Shane cracks open the door and peers out into the dark hallway. He leans against the jamb and checks for any demons within the veil of blackness. He rolls out into the hallway and disappears from our sight.

Good riddance.

I head for the window that’s in the corner of the loft. I part the thick, brown curtains that cover the film-coated glass. It’s night time, which means I have been out for a while.

“How long have we been up here?” I inquire.

Bill secures the pistol in his waistband. His face looks like lumpy oatmeal. He probes the puffy skin around his eye, and winces.

“Damn it,” he hisses. “Not sure. It’s been a little bit, though.”

The buildings close by are so dark and empty looking. It makes me wonder if the infected are roaming their halls for any living creature to satisfy their hunger.

“Do you think we should hang here till morning, or are we good to head out now?” I turn away from the window to face Bill who heads for the other room.

Bill skirts the jamb and darts inside the room. He doesn’t answer, which makes me wonder what that means.

I scan for my pack, and locate it near the wall next to the lantern. Duke trots over to my side and walks with me. He’s such a good dog. I’m so thankful that he’s here with us. He’s a life saver.

I grab the thick straps of the rucksack, and pull it off the floor. It feels lighter than it was before. They must’ve rummaged through the contents while I was out.

My sidearm is missing. It’s not on the floor or the crate. I turn and scan over the periphery of the loft. Still nothing.

I sling the straps of the pack over my shoulders, and face the room Bill is in. I can see his shadow playing off the wall near the door. He’s bent over doing something.

“Is my pistol in there? I can’t find it anywhere out here.”

A dense thud hits the floor, followed by Bill cussing loud enough for me to hear it.

“Yeah. They took our weapons. I’m getting our stuff back and checking to see if they have anything of use before we head out.”

Duke sits by my side. He yawns, then shakes the sleepiness from his body. I know how he feels. I’m just as tired.

Bill stomps out of the room with his pack secured on his back and his hands full of firearms. He approaches me with his arms extended out. “Take your pick.”

Doesn’t matter what I grab. Anything is better than nothing.

I take one of the smaller, black guns from the top.

Bill tucks one in his waistband behind his back and keeps the other out.

“That Glock should be good to go. The ammo we pilfered from that gun shop will work in it.”

I eject the magazine from the well and glance over the ammo. It’s stocked to the brim. A welcome sight. I slap it into place and cycle a round. It’s amazing how proficient I’ve become with the various weapons I’ve had to use over these past few months. Never thought I would have a use for them. Guess the world had other plans.

“How far away is this place Shane was referring to?” I inquire.

Bill double-checks the ammo in the sidearm he’s holding. He pushes the magazine into place and chambers a round. “As long as we get our hands on that set of wheels, it shouldn’t be much more than a few hours’ drive from here. On foot, that’ll be a different story.”

He pauses, then spreads his arms out to either side of him as if he’s losing his balance. I grab his forearm and hold tight. “You sure you’re all right to move?”

Bill offers a single tilt of his head. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. This isn’t the worst beat down I’ve ever gotten. I grew up in the projects, and got my teeth kicked in more times than I can remember.”

Despite what he says, I’m not convinced he’s going to be able to move at a good clip, which is going to be crucial for us with the infected crawling all over the place.

“That might be, but you weren’t being chased by ravenous freaks who wanted to rip you apart.”

A faint scream calls out from the hallway. I flinch and spin toward the partially cracked door. I stand close to Bill as we both take aim at the entrance of the loft.

A wave of goose bumps floods my skin. The beating of my heart jumps from normal to manic in a blink. I gulp and listen for any movement.

Duke growls at the unsettling sound. Regardless of how spent he is, protecting his family is job one.

Bill stalks toward the door. One step in front of the other, he moves with caution.

Duke and I fall in line behind him. We can’t stay here. It isn’t safe. The numerous holes in the walls wouldn’t help us out any.

Bill stops, then points to the lantern. “Kill the light.”

I dash across the floor and snuff the flame. Darkness floods the loft. I can’t see anything within the void.

A stark white beam flickers into existence from Bill’s hand. He’s clutching the Maglite. It dims and acts as though it wants to die. Bill raps it against his palm, trying to revive it.

“Damn thing needs new batteries. Not sure how long it’s going to last.”

I pat down the pockets of my coat for mine. They’re empty. It could be stuffed in the pack, but there’s no time to look.

Bill stops at the entrance and listens. I stand off to the side, just behind the rickety door.

“Do you think that was Shane?” I ask.

Bill shrugs. “Maybe. Didn’t sound like the chasers. Either way, it’s not good. I was hoping we could slip out of here to the street, sight unseen. Guess all of the ruckus we caused drew the chasers in.”

I imagine Shane has met a more than nasty demise; nothing but karma being dealt to a bad person who deserved a violent end.

I don’t probe for a plan or any words of wisdom. It’s pretty straightforward. Get to the street as fast as possible without dying. Then again, that’s always the goal.

There is one question that springs to mind. Kind of a biggy. “You do know where Fifth Street is, right?”

More shrills and yowls echo through the corridor. Bill mashes a portion of his palm against the light, snuffing it out. “More or less. If we can’t locate it, we can use the alarm on the key fob as a last-ditch effort to find it.”

I’m hoping it won’t come to that.

Bill steps out into the hall with part of his body still inside the loft. I push out from behind the door, and push it back against the wall. The hinges squeak which causes me to cringe and stop.

Duke stays planted near the wall. I can only make out a vague outline of his body. His panting lets me know where he is.

Bill sweeps the hall with the light from side to side before covering it back up. “Clear that way. I don’t see any chasers or Shane’s body for that matter.”

He pivots on his heels and shines the light down the other end of the hallway. I crane my neck, and peer out through the door in the same direction.

The light washes over a blob of pale, shirtless infected who are skulking down the hallway. There is no mindless wandering, but more of a low, crouched posture as if they’re lying in wait. For us.

Bill pulls the trigger and sweeps the hall. His canon barks, and fire spits from the end of the muzzle. The chasers’ yowls are hard to hear over the report of the pistol.

Duke and I funnel out of the loft and behind Bill as he lays down cover fire. It’s dim, but light enough for us to make out the shadowy bodies of the infected.

Bill moves from target to target, taking out most of the infected with headshots.

The chasers’ heads snap back in a blink as each round rips through their skulls. Bodies crumble to the floor in heaps of decayed flesh and tattered rags. Others are hammered in the chest or go wide, which draws a hoarse growl from Bill.

“Son of a bitch.”

The floor behind us creaks, signaling a warning that something is approaching. I turn about face, but can’t see what’s coming.

“I think we have more inbound from this way as well,” I caution.

Bill’s sidearm clicks empty as he bumps into me. We back away in the direction of the noise looming from down the hall and head into another unseen nightmare. What infected remain mobile growl and grunt as they advance on us.

“Here. Take the flashlight.” Bill shoves the Maglite into my hand and ejects the spent magazine.

I train the beam and Glock at the wall of murk before me. The light pierces the endless void and reveals not one, but a handful of chasers advancing up the hallway. “We’ve got more infected this way!”

Duke barks at the creatures as they rush at us in a dead sprint. The floor trembles beneath my feet. The clamoring from the chasers’ open mouths sends a wave of fright down my spine.

Bill continues to push against me as we’re sandwiched between the infected.

I hold tough, and swallow the lump of fear in my throat. I pick my targets at random and open fire. Each shot hammers in my ears, but I don’t stop pulling the trigger. A few headshots are made, but most strike the chasers in the upper torso or miss them all together.

“We need to find another way out of here, or we aren’t leaving this place at all!” I advise.

The yowls from the infected bombard us from every angle. It’s hard to think straight or devise a plan of action with all of the commotion that we’re drowning in.

“Your guess is as good as mine!” Bill yells.

The few infected I manage to take down doesn’t stop the rest of the dead from charging us. There’s an opening within the hallway to our right. I train the Maglite away from the chasers and discover another hallway.

“Come on! I think I found a way out of here!”

Bill turns around as we veer to the side of the passageway. I fire while on the run, which is futile at best. Each shot goes wide and doesn’t aid us in the least. I’m wasting precious ammo at this point.

In a full out sprint, we skirt the corner of the wall without checking for any threats. The dark hallway appears to be clear.

The chasers collide behind us, and merge into one large horde. A solid wall of chattering teeth and outstretched arms reach for us.

The gear on our backs bounces up and down with every step we make. The contents inside rattle about and shift as we maintain our hastened pace.

So far, it’s clear up ahead. No infected are seen. They seem to be trailing us, which is good.

Duke pulls ahead as we near another junction. The hallway to our right is blocked. A portion of the ceiling has caved in, leaving only one way for us to go.

Macabre arms push through the rubble where the ceiling collapsed as rapacious fingers bat the air. I fight the urge to peer back at the horde of flesh-eating horrors bearing down on us. It feels like they’re only a few paces behind us, and that we’re not going to make it out alive.

Like a race car driver, Duke hugs the corner and goes wide. Bill and I follow his path, trying to keep pace with his gallop. We brush along the deteriorating surface of the wall, kicking up debris. Tiny particles cling to my face, and filter in through my nose. I cough and hack, trying to rid my system of the debris.

The chasers slam into the wall at full speed, cratering in the rotting surface. It slows them down some, but not enough to make much of a difference.

The floor up ahead is missing—a blackhole that descends down to the lower levels. I scan over the walls in search of another way for us to go, but find no alternative route.

“What are we going to do?” I pose.

Bill maintains his heading right for the hole in the floor. “Jump!” he answers.

“We’re going to do what?” I guffaw.

“Just keep running, and jump when you hit the edge.”

Duke veers toward the wall and skirts along the rail-thin piece of flooring, then hops to the other side. Bill pulls ahead of me by a scant inch. We jump at the same time, launching into the air as the chasers close the gap. I stay focused on the other side of the floor.

The pit is cleared by a good foot or so as we hit with a dense thud. My legs give out, and I tumble to the floor. Bill grabs a handful of my coat and yanks me off the ground without pause. He pulls me along as we scurry away from the chasers.

The first line of infected pay no mind to the black abyss before them and fall into the hole in the floor. Two vanish to the lower levels which offers a bit of hope that the rest will follow.

Great.

Hard and fast, our feet punish the wooden planks. I have no clue if we’re heading in the right direction or just rushing into a dead end.

The Maglite dims, then flickers. I pound the steel casing against my palm until the light grows brighter. I spot a banister to our right that runs alongside the edge of the hallway. There doesn’t appear to be any chasers in the direction we’re heading.

We skirt the railing, and fly down the stairs in a mad dash. A festering, stabbing sensation burrows into my side. When we hit the landing, I collapse against the wall, trying to catch my breath.

Bill pants and breathes heavily. He winces and squints his eyes, but he keeps moving just the same. “Come on, James. We can’t stop now.” He peels me off the wall and drags me down the next flight as the infected trample the stairs above us.

I shine the light over the railing, and find that we’re not more than two floors away from what looks to be the lobby. I spy no movement from any infected, or henchmen for that matter, which offers a bit of relief.

We clear another flight, and trample down the last set of stairs. The growling and angered yowls of the chasers keep me going at a good clip, whether I want to or not.

The infected slam into the walls on the landing above. I flinch and lose my footing. Something dense hits me from behind and sends me tumbling down the remainder of the steps. I can hear the chaser’s teeth chattering as it tries to bite me, but can’t find the mark.

“James!” Bill calls out.

Each rigid step punishes my body. I’m helpless to stop my descent. The infected snarls in my ears and keeps a tight grip on my shoulders. The world spins, and I’m lost as to where we are. The Maglite pops free of my hand and clatters down the rest of the stairs.

Entangled with the infected, I hit the ground floor. The chaser’s boney frame cushions my landing. It doesn’t lose its grip from around me as we tumble across the floor.

Bill’s gun barks a sharp report, one right after the other with no pause in between. I can’t see where he is, but the brief flashes of white fire spewing from the barrel of his gun lets me know he’s close at hand.

My head is spinning. I fight to get my feet under me, but the persistent chaser is now on top of me.

Greedy hands grab at my coat, and keep me from scooting away. I kick my legs and lift my hips, trying to rid myself of the vile creature clawing at me. The chaser falls to the side, offering me a chance to get away. It reaches for my foot. The heel of my boot connects with the infected’s face.

I’m still holding onto the Glock with a tight grip as I slide along the dust-covered planks of wood. I take aim at the chaser.

The Maglite’s gleam shines from behind me, and casts the creature’s gaunt shadow along the wall. I lay eyes on Bill firing at the other infected barreling down the steps. Scores of dead topple down the stairs to the landing of the ground floor.

The chaser shakes off the blow and crawls after me. Duke latches onto the fiend’s ankle and jerks his head from side to side.

I line my shot up as best I can and pull the trigger. A single round strikes the chaser in the middle of the head. It collapses to the floor with a hand latched onto the front part of my boot.

Bill’s sidearm clicks empty. He scoots back to me and reaches down. “Come on!”

A chaser tramples the dead infected and rushes at Bill. I unload on the incoming threat. Two in the chest and one that goes wide. The bullet grazes the chaser’s face, removing a portion of the creature’s cheek. It stumbles to the ground and skids across the floor.

“Duke, come on!”

He drops the chaser’s leg, that was attacking me, and races to my side.

Bill retrieves the flashlight from the floor as the dead wallow about. “Here! I think I found us a way out!”

I take out two more chasers at the knees. They fall and crawl along the floor.

It takes me a moment to realize that we’re in the lobby of the building we chased Shane into. I lose sight of Bill and Duke, then spot them running for the long stretch of hallway that we originally came in through.

I turn around and race after them, leaving the infected in my wake.

Ouch!

My ankle hurts which causes me to run with a slight limp. Must have twisted it or something when tumbling down the stairs. A nagging pain lances up my arm through my left elbow that throbs with every step. Christ. I’m a battered mess, but I’m still in this fight.

We bolt down the familiar corridor to the exit of the building. The dead are still within earshot, but seem to be far behind us. Their yowls are faint, and I don’t register any footfalls trailing us.

We emerge from the building, and step out into the gloom of the eerie night. I sweep the alley in both directions for any threats, infected or otherwise. Nothing but the ruined buildings and fluttering trash meets my gaze.

Bill grabs the door, and slams it shut. The side of his body deflates against the surface, tired and spent. Each breath he takes is labored.

We’ve escaped the cold, boney clutches of the reaper more times than I can remember. I feel as though I’m on borrowed time, and that soon, my luck is going to run out.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The will to live and protect the ones you love must trump the pain you feel, or those that matter most will perish.

When the weight of the world is placed on your shoulders, and you feel like you can’t take another step, you dig deep, man up, and rise to the occasion.

Standing in that dark alley, battling the pain probing each muscle strand in my body, I can hear Dad’s voice beckon me from the great beyond—a reassuring pep talk that I’ll make it through this horrid nightmare. After all, there’s still work that needs to be done. Cindy needs me, and I cannot, will not, let her down.

“How far away are we from the Jeep?” I ask while doubled over.

Bill turns to face me. He presses his back against the door. His mouth slags open, and he draws in as much air as he can. “A few blocks down the alleyway there. That is, if he was telling the truth.”

Either way, we need to check it out. Trudging through this city on foot isn’t going to save Cindy and Cassie’s hides. I’m not going to let them die.

Duke waits by my side on his hind legs. His tongue drapes out the side of his snout as he pants. I rub the top of his head as Bill pushes away from the building.

A dense thud smashes the door from the other side and sends him spinning on his heels. He stumbles over to me and Duke as the hammering of fists and screams of rage filter through the seams around the door. That’s our cue to leave. Break time is over.

We bolt down the alley as fast as possible, putting as much distance between us and the chasers as we can. Given their proclivity to problem solving now, they’ll get through that door sooner rather than later.

I’m so tired of running. It’s such a chore and is worse when you’re hurt and tired. I push on, though, and keep my pace consistent with Duke and Bill.

With the sun gone down, the air has grown crisp. The wind washes over my sweaty face and cools my body. That’s about the only saving grace I can think of. The infected are bad during the day, but at least you can see them coming.

Bill moves ahead of me, and veers off to the left toward the building we’re running alongside. He slows from a sprint to a slight jog as we near the cross street. He toes the edge and peers out around the corner.

I glance back the way we came in search of any chasers who may be hot on our trail. The alley is void of any infected. I can only hope that the door will hold them back for a bit longer.

“Looks clear. Let’s move.” Bill waves us onward.

We funnel out of the alleyway and across the street to the row of buildings. I pivot my head from side to side, searching for any chasers hiding within the bleakness of the silent, dark city.

Nothing but large blobs of black objects that I can only assume are vehicles fill the street in either direction.

Bill hits the sidewalk and slips behind a minivan. He presses his hand against the side of the large vehicle and winces.

“Damn side is killing me,” he grumbles.

Duke stands at attention while staring at the alleyway we just left. He’s focused on something. His ears twitch and hone in on whatever it is he picked up. A growl looms from this throat.

The shrills from the chasers calls out from the passageway—a mixture of voices that fills the desolate night air.

I grab Duke by the collar and pull. “Come on, boy.”

His body is taut and attention focused on the alleyway. He growls in response to the ominous sound. I tug a bit harder, insisting that he obey.

Duke breaks his rigid stance and follows by my side. I keep hold of his collar until I’m sure he’s not going to turn tail and run in the direction of the infected.

Bill joins us, and we’re back on the move, sprinting at a good clip down the sidewalk. He points in the direction we’re heading.

“At this next intersection, hook a right. Fifth street should be the next block over, I think,” Bill says.

I focus on the street ahead of us and nothing else. The light in Bill’s hand is unsteady. It bounces every which as it plays over the trash-filled sidewalk. Loose newspapers and other debris carpet the concrete.

A growl looms from the building we’re running past, followed by angry fists that hammer the tempered storefront window. Inside, two infected stand in the dark abyss with their faces smooshed against the glass.

The intersection is nothing but a cluttered mess of cars–a parking lot of abandoned steel. I spy no ghastly gray bodies lurking within the maze of vehicles.

We skirt the corner of the brick building and continue sprinting down the sidewalk alongside the outer edge of the structure. I think, for now, we have given the infected the slip.

Bill trains the Maglite at the street sign ahead of us. The gleam washes over the green-tinted metal and illuminates the wording, Fifth St.

We slow down as we hit the next intersection. Now that we’re here, I can’t remember where Shane said their Jeep was parked.

Think, James, think.

My brain is mush, and I’m struggling to recall where the damn vehicle is.

“Do you remember where he said they left the Jeep?” I ask.

Bill scans over the street, shinning the light over the vehicles that line the sidewalks. “He didn’t say. Just that it was on Fifth St.”

Great. My knowledge of vehicle brands is sparse at best.

A thought gels in my head. The keys Shane gave us had an alarm attached with it, I think. “The keys. Don’t they have a remote alarm, or whatever it’s called on them?”

Bill hands me the light and shoves his hand into the front pockets of his jeans. He rummages through each, but comes up empty. I keep a lookout for any chasers as he pats down his coat.

I watch him dig around in pockets with worried eyes. I’m afraid he’s lost our only ticket out of here.

“Got them,” he says relieved.

“You had me worried there for a second,” I say.

Bill holds the keys out in front of him and mashes the button on the fob. Nothing happens.

I glance to Bill, and give him a worried stare. “Do those things take batteries? Do you think they’re out?”

Bill shrugs. “Most do. Who knows how old they are?”

Batteries have been the bane of my existence for the last little bit. Seems like everything we try to use requires them.

Yowls taint the air. I search for the source, but it’s hard to pinpoint. I don’t want to wait out here too long to discover where it’s coming from, though.

“Try it again,” I urge.

Bill sighs like Dad used to when I’d get on his nerves. “I’m mashing the damn thing, but it isn’t-”

A horn beeps, followed by the quick flicker of headlights to our right. Thank God. I narrow my gaze, and train the light in the direction that I noticed the sound.

“Hit it again, will ya?” I say.

Bill thumbs the button, which creates the beep and the glow from the headlights. “We do that too many more times and that noise will draw the chasers here. It may have already.”

“There!” I point across the street in the direction of a large city bus. “The lights that flashed came from behind that bus.”

Bill tucks the keys back into his coat pocket. He steps off the sidewalk and moves out into the middle of the road. Duke and me follow along beside him.

The light sweeps over the vehicles. Most, if not all, are riddled with bullet holes. I spy no bodies within the cars, but that doesn’t mean too much. I’m not stopping to examine them at great depth.

The large windows of the Greyhound bus are covered in streaks of bloody hand prints. Not a single piece of glass is free of the disturbing imagery. The gruesome sight causes me to gulp as I wonder if any infected reside within the metal tomb.

I stand on the tips of my toes, and tilt my head back, trying to peer inside the bus. There are no rail-thin bodies roaming the interior.

Duke growls and his ears stand on end.

“Whatcha got, boy?” I ask.

His ears twitch, honing in on whatever’s grabbed his attention. He peers straight ahead and down the congested road. He turns on a dime and faces the way we came.

Bill looks back over his shoulder at the intersection and the row of buildings beyond. “Is his radar picking up the infected?”

“He’s picked up something. Could be the chasers. They have a strong scent about them. Not sure how he does it, considering we just trudged through human waste not too long ago. Whatever it is that’s got his attention isn’t good.”

The air always smells of death. It’s tainted with the infecteds’ rotting corpses. The smell has drilled into my nose and fused with my cells. It’s a wretched smell that I have gotten used to, so it’s hard to tell when they’re close. Right now, I smell just like the chasers.

I pat my leg twice, which snaps Duke out of his fixed trance. He shakes his head, turns, and continues on.

We reach the rear of the bus. Bill nudges my arm with his elbow, then points to the area beyond the large vehicle. “Hey, shine the light over there.”

I train the Maglite in the direction he’s pointing, and find a vehicle parked within a garage. The front portion is barely noticeable as its black body color melds with the dark and conceals its presences.

“That’s it, right?”

Bill answers with a tilt of his head. “It’s the only vehicle around the lights could’ve come from. Plus, it’s a Jeep.”

To say that I’m relieved is an understatement.

“Come on. I’m ready to get out of this dam— Look out!”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A dark figure charges from the shadows near the rear of the bus as the Maglite washes over his grotesque frame. Dressed in a blue uniform covered in dried blood, the tall, gangly man sprints from the shadows. His chest has been cracked open like a crab shell, displaying what organs haven’t been harvested from his decrepit body.

I squeeze the trigger without aiming. My shot tears through the paper-thin skin that coats his neck. The man stumbles and loses his footing for a second before correcting and lunging at Bill.

“Christ!” Bill bellows out. His canon pops off two rounds that hammer the man’s skeletal frame. It does little to thwart the man’s advancement. The infected tackles Bill. They fall to the ground in a tangled mess of arms and legs.

Duke turns, then barks and growls, but it isn’t at the ravenous officer on top of Bill. It’s at something else.

Bill opens fire from the flat of his back. The gun barks. Bullets tear through the chaser’s boney body and punch through the blue rags covering him. The infected recoils from the multiple impacts.

“Christ, James. Get this thing off me!”

I can’t get a clean shot without the risk of hitting Bill. Damn it. Come on, James. Work this out!

I think on my feet, and act on the first idea that springs to mind.

Bill bench presses the infected as rapacious fingers claw at his swollen face. I strike the chaser in the side of the head with my boot, knocking it to the side.

The chaser topples to the concrete. Dazed and confused, it shakes off the blow and stands up. I squeeze off another round and place a slug in the middle of the creature’s head. The bus is painted with a mural of bone and brain. Its legs give out, and it drops dead on the street.

“Good shot. Glad you didn’t miss this time,” Bill jabs.

“Yeah. I didn’t see you doing any better.” I sneer, then reach out my hand to help him up.

Duke’s growling and barking hasn’t ceased. He’s focused on the street ahead of us. I train the withering beam at the stretch of road. The light struggles to punch through the darkness. I squint, and spot multiple shadowy figures racing up the road in our direction.

“We’ve got more infected inbound!” I warn.

Bill retrieves the keys from his coat pocket and dashes toward the building. He leaps up onto the sidewalk and skirts around the front part of the vehicle toward the driver’s side door.

The wails from the inbound horde of infected rise with every passing second.

“Come on, Duke. We need to go, now!” I demand. Duke continues barking and growling. We don’t have time for this crap. I grab him by the collar, and drag him to the Jeep. “Duke, let’s move.”

He follows my lead. We jump up to the sidewalk, and make for the passenger side of the Jeep. I thread my frame through the narrow gap between the building and the vehicle. It’s a tight fit. The pack presses to the wall as my stomach slides along the vehicle, but I manage to get through.

Duke waits patiently as I crack open the lone door far enough for him to fit through. It’s tight, but I think he’ll manage. He wiggles up into the front seat and moves to the small space in the rear of the Jeep. I slip the rucksack free of my shoulders, and throw it to the back.

Bill cranks the engine. It fires up on the first try.

“Hell yeah!” He claps his hands as I settle into the passenger seat.

The glow from the dash mounted gauges illuminate his face. His hands feel along the dash as his foot presses down on the gas pedal. The engine revs smoothly. There’re no clattering or other grumbling noises that would cause any immediate concern.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

“Ah.” Bill thumbs a button on the dash near the steering column. The headlights fire up along with more that are mounted to the roof.

The gleam pierces through the darkness and washes over two gaunt chasers standing in the middle of the street. They’re boney chests heave and fingers twitch, but they just stand there. What are they waiting for?

“Punch it!” I urge.

Bill grabs the gearshift and pulls it back into drive. He mashes the gas and sends the Jeep barreling out of the building.

The chasers shrill and charge the vehicle like a bull seeing red. I brace my hands against the dash and roof as the Jeep drops off the sidewalk and onto the street. Through the driver’s side window, I spot a wall of ghastly gray bodies rushing headlong out of the shadows—a wave of dead that will try to overtake us.

“Hold on!” Bill growls through clenched teeth as he plows over the two chasers in our way.

The creatures slam into the grill with a nasty thump. Bill spins the steering wheel around. The tires squeal, fighting for traction. He keeps his foot pressed to the floorboard.

One of the infected vanishes under the Jeep while the other clings to the grill. Bill manages to straighten us out as we speed toward the intersection.

I check the sideview mirror and spy countless frail bodies bathed in the red glow of the Jeep’s rear lights. With arms reaching for us, they sprint as fast as they can.

“Damn it!” Bill growls.

He jerks the steering wheel to the right and sideswipes a sedan parked in the intersection. The crunching of metal and glass breaking sounds off. The Jeep shudders from the impact, but keeps moving.

The chaser clinging to the front of the Jeep climbs up onto the hood as Bill speeds up.

The infected giving chase drop farther back into the murk of night as we race down the street.

Bill cranes his head, and looks to either side as he tries to watch the road ahead through the infected now perched on the hood. “We need to get that thing out of the way. I’m having a hard time seeing with it right there.”

The wind hammers the chaser’s body as it falls flat on top of the hood. Bill swerves from side to side, trying to rid us of the pesky creature.

The ends of the chaser’s gnawed fingers reach for the windshield. They latch onto the lip of the hood just below the wiper blades.

“Whoa!” Bill calls out as we almost ram a truck. He skirts the dented-up bed by mere inches.

My hands press harder against the roof and dash. The chaser lifts up, battling to stay perched where he is. The wind and constant swerving of the Jeep try to throw him from the hood. Like all of the infected, the fiend refuses to yield.

“Hit the brakes, now!” I demand.

Bill gives me a confused stare.

“It should fly off, right?” I clarify.

Bill shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out.”

He mashes the brake to the floor. The tires lock up and skid over the pavement. The chaser flies from the hood. Its body smacks the ground and tumbles end over end like a rag doll.

A strip of blood and flesh paint the concrete. Slowly, the chaser lifts from the pavement and stands on two wiry legs.

Torn pieces of decaying flesh flutter in the wind from the chaser’s chest and face. The ivory bones are visible now through the missing skin that once draped over its forlorn torso. Strands of muscle and tissue stretch and move as the chaser gnashes its teeth.

Screw this thing.

Bill punches the gas and heads right for the creature. He keeps our course straight and right on path for a collision. The chaser stumbles with a bad limp and reaches out to us. Bill tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

With a sickening thud, the infected’s battered frame impacts the steel body of the Jeep.

I crane my neck to see if it managed to hold on this time. There is nothing left of the creature to suggest that it did, limbs or otherwise.

The infected who were in pursuit of us have all but faded to black. There’s nothing in the rear-view mirror except the desolate city.

I rest my head against the seat and think of Cassie and Cindy. Not knowing if they’re ok is killing me. I’ve lost Lucas to that vile band of thugs, and the girls’ lives hang in the balance.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sometimes, it’s the little things that matter most. Like not being chased by ravenous freaks.

I remove my hands from the roof and dash while breathing a sigh of relief. I toss the gun up on the dash and exhale, trying to release the stress my body is battling.

Even in a moment of not having to fight for my life, or that of others, I still can’t relax. The tiny voice nestled in the back of my head makes sure to remind me often that it isn’t an option. For all I know, the days of relaxation are long gone.

Don’t get too comfortable, James. There’s still plenty of time for the crap to hit the fan. You’re not out of the woods. Not by a long shot. Stay sharp and be ready for anything.

Bill yawns, then rubs his hand over his face. He hits a tender spot and growls. “Damn it to hell.”

From here, it’s not hard to see the puffy skin surrounding his closed eye. He pushes the tip of his finger against the swollen flesh with a soft touch, then glances at the rearview mirror.

I can only imagine how bad his face must hurt. I remember getting kicked in the face with a soccer ball when I was young. That hurt. Not quite the same, but it’s close enough.

“Are you able to see the road all right?” I ask. If his depth perception and overall sight are messed up, it might stop him from being able to navigate the treacherous roads, especially at night.

Bill grumbles, then fixes his attention back to the road. “Like I said before, this isn’t the worst beat down I’ve ever been given. I’ll be fine. It’ll heal with time.”

The words spill from Bill’s mouth as if he’s said it a hundred times. The beat down he received would have done in most of the people I knew. He took his and moved on. He’s more than got my respect for that.

I stare out of the front windshield at the buildings we pass. Bill does a good job of navigating the maze of stationary vehicles cluttering the roads.

We hit pockets where we’re able to speed up and cover ground without much issue, but it’s few and far between. Being in the city, much like the others I have braved, is slow going at best.

Bill clears his throat, then nudges my arm. “That was a good call back there. I wasn’t even thinking of slamming the brakes to get the infected off the hood.”

“I’m just glad it worked. I’ve been in plenty of scenarios where they’ve tried to bust through the windshield with their fists.” I retort. “Since they don’t seem to feel pain, they can do a lot of damage in a short amount of time.”

Duke leans between the two bucket seats and licks the side of my face. I rub his head and allow him to do his thing. For once, I don’t mind his rancid breath.

“You doing all right, dude?”

He whines and groans while continuing to bath me with his tongue. I imagine that I don’t taste too good all things considered, then again, I’ve seen what he does to certain body parts of his.

My hand moves down and rubs his side. He’s lost a lot of weight. I can feel his ribs through his fur with ease. He has to be famished and thirsty. I wish I had some food and water to give him.

Duke runs his tongue along the outside of his snout, then yawns. He’s just as worn out as the rest of us. A subtle shake of his head and he retreats back to the shadows of the backseat.

“That dog of yours is pretty special,” Bill glances over his shoulder at Duke who curls up into a ball. “It’s been ages since I’ve been around any dogs. To be honest, I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen a dog as well trained as him. Most are unruly and don’t listen for crap.”

I chuckle. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s a great dog, but he is strong willed when he wants to be.”

Duke perks his ears up, then looks at me. He groans as if to counter what I’m saying about him.

“I think he would disagree with what you’re saying.” Bill smirks as he stares into the rearview mirror, watching Duke.

“He generally does.”

Bill slows the Jeep down as we approach a pile of contorted vehicles that spans the width of the road, cutting off any sort of attempt to pass.

The lights from the Jeep illuminate the graveyard of cars and military transports that sit abandoned. I spy no dead bodies on the streets which makes me wonder if whoever guarded this area survived and escaped, or if they’re infected now, and lurking in the buildings around us.

“Guess the military gave up and retreated. From the way things look, doesn’t seem that they made much headway in containing the infected.” I say with a somber tone.

Bill glances out of the driver side window, then points at a narrow opening within a cluster of vehicles. “I think we can slip through over there. Should be wide enough for us to fit. That mountain of rubble, though, could pose an issue.”

I keep a watchful gaze on the surrounding buildings and the streets for any chasers or unsavory folks looking to steal our ride.

“Works for me. From the looks of the tires of this rig, I doubt it should have any issues going over it. Besides, I don’t want to sit idle for too long. We’ll be asking for trouble if we do.”

Bill agrees with a tilt of his head. He cuts the tires toward the passage and hits the gas. Slow and steady, he threads the Jeep through the military vehicles on both sides of us.

The gleam from the lights shine through the busted windows of the building in front of us. The tires hit the edge of the curb and roll over with ease.

Bill keeps his foot pressed to the gas. We’re jostled about in the cab as the back wheels roll up onto the sidewalk.

He spins the steering wheel to the right and grazes the brick façade of the building. He works the brake and gas in tandem as we traverse the cluttered mess of busted brick that is scattered over the sidewalk.

The interior of the structure is a complete disaster. The walls are blackened and burned to a crisp. A gaping hole in the back reveals more devastation. It looks as though a bomb was set off. A last-ditch effort perhaps to thwart the infected?

“Man. Looks like a war-zone around here,” I mutter.

Bill focuses on the sidewalk jerking the steering wheel from side to side to avoid any debris from the derelict building next to us.

“Most of the city looks about as rough as this. The military tried to contain the spread of the bio-hazard, but failed. The creatures spread the virus too fast and overwhelmed any forces who challenged them. Perhaps, if the infected would have been slower, things could have gone differently. Now, our chances of being able to take back any cities is slim to none, especially since the infected are evolving. At least, that’s how I see it.”

I can’t help but agree with Bill, despite the fact that there could be a possible fix to this plague within Cindy. I’m hopeful it’ll work, but I’m also realistic with my expectations. As long as she is safe, then everything else is secondary.

“At the end of the day, the only thing I’m concerned about now is making sure my friends and family are safe. Once we’re all back together, then I’ll worry about where we’ll end up in all of this.”

The Jeep scales the mountain of rubble in front of the store with little effort. We top the peak and roll down to the other side. We hit the base of busted brick and wood, then drop off the sidewalk to the street.

Bill skirts the remainder of the barricade and gets us back on track. He opens up the engine and sends us barreling down the road.

A sharp pain lances up my arm again. I massage it and grimace. I try to be cool about it, as to not draw any inquisitive stares from Bill. He’s in just as bad of shape as me. Besides, there isn’t anything that can be done. It’s not like we can stop by a hospital and get checked out. We’re on our own, for better or worse.

“How are you doing?” Bill inquires. “You’ve had your fair share of being run through the ringer.”

I stop rubbing my arm, then shrug. “I’m about as good as can be expected. In the past day, I have been in a helicopter crash, fallen down a flight of stairs, and tumbled out of a building. I’ve been bashed in the back of the head and been chased by the infected non-stop since this outbreak kicked off. So yeah, I’m good.”

Bill nods, then cracks a smile.

I catch sight of his smirk and moan. “Is my pain amusing to you or something?”

He waves his hand, dismissing the comment as he tries not to laugh. “It’s not that. We just look like a couple of pitiful people right now. Like we’ve been run through a meat grinder one too many times. Human hamburger helper.”

Watching Bill snicker with a busted-up face and swollen eye causes me to crack a smile. The way I figure it, we either smile or linger on our pain. Lord knows the last twelve hours has dealt me a bad hand.

The road opens up a bit more, and the rows of buildings disappear. The vast darkness seems more infinite without the structures lining the roads. There are still cars littering the road, but it’s not as bad as it was within the city.

I glance out of the passenger side window to the endless ether. The gloom that hovers in the sky paints a more than ominous picture.

The rolling hills in the distance meld with the darkness, leaving only their vague outline visible. I hone in, and get lost within the dark scenery. My mind wanders to Hive and what they have done to my family.

“What’s on your mind, James?” Bill inquires.

His voice isn’t as agitated as it once was. I’m not sure if he’s trying to just keep from complaining for my sake, or what.

“Just thinking about my sister and friend is all. From the way Shane spoke, and what almost happened to us back there, I don’t feel good about their chances with Hive. I’ve had dealings with scumbags before, and know what they’re capable of,” I answer. “Other than Duke, Cindy, and Cassie are all the family I have left in this world. I can’t lose them.”

A solemn expression washes over Bill as he stares at me. His face grows long and swells with guilt. He diverts his gaze back to the road as I look at him.

His demeanor has changed a great deal since our first encounter. The once abrasive and borderline rude personality he had is no longer present. I wonder why. From what Shane said, it could be about Bill’s past deeds. That, or he could’ve just felt bad about being a dick to a kid in need. Who knows?

He rubs his chin, then grabs the top of the steering wheel. “They’re going to be all right, James. We will find them and get them back. As long as they do what they’re told, they shouldn’t be harmed.”

Bill tries to be convincing, but I’m less than inspired by his words. After all, he knows all about Hive, and their deviant leader, Ranger. Hell, he was a member of the radical group at one time.

“I’m curious about something,” I say.

“What’s that?”

“Why are you helping me? What’s in this for you? Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for us. Without you, I would’ve died in that chopper. Just seems like you wanted nothing to do with Hive, and now you’re tagging along with us like you have a score to settle with them or something.”

Bill runs his fingers over the dark stubble on top of his head. He finally looks at me.

“Let’s just say that I have some stuff that I need to atone for. Perhaps helping you and your family out will help me to right some of the wrongs I have done.” Bill pauses and takes a moment before continuing. He glances out of the driver’s side window, then rubs the scruff on his chin. “I’ve done bad things to people, James. Folks that were just trying to survive this whole mess. After a while, I couldn’t stomach it anymore, so I bounced. Ranger didn’t care for that, though. See, Hive is like a cult. Once you’re in, it’s for life. Leaving isn’t an option, unless you’re dead.”

We’ve all done things to survive—horrible, terrible acts in the name of staying alive. I’m no angel by any means, and I’m certainly no one to judge the actions of others. As long as he’s true to his word of helping me get my family back, then his past misdeeds are of no concern to me.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The cab falls silent as we push through the dead of night. The loud humming coming from the large tires of the Jeep lingers inside my ears as I think of Cindy and Cassie. I’m racked with worry and guilt, as if I have failed to protect them.

I gnaw at the skin around my fingernails—a coping mechanism to stay the stress and anxiety burning in my gut. So far, it isn’t working.

Bill’s elbow rests on the door. His palm is pressed to the side of his face as he stares out the windshield with a long, weary gaze. I feel much the same way.

“How much farther until we reach this place?” I inquire.

He rubs the back of his neck and yawns as we follow the curve in the road. “Shouldn’t be much longer. It’s in the next town coming- whoa!”

The brief flash of a man stumbling out into the road from the ditch catches us by surprise. Bill slams the brakes.

Tires screech, and we turn at an angle. I brace myself against the dash. The man’s eyes widen with fear like a deer caught in headlights as the Jeep crashes into him. A faint yelp and the crunching of tortured metal creates a horrifying crescendo.

His broken body flips up onto the hood and smashes into the windshield. The windshield cracks and spiderwebs out from the point of contact. He rolls over the roof and drops off the back of the Jeep.

Bill brings the sliding vehicle under submission and stops us from going into the ditch. We sit there for a moment, panting.

My heart pounds. I feel like I’m going to hyperventilate. The man didn’t appear to be a chaser from the naked fear on his face, but everything happened so fast I can’t be sure.

“You all right?” Bill asks as he glances over his shoulder through the back window.

I gulp, then nod. “Yeah. Where the hell did that guy come from?”

I look to the side of the road where he appeared, but don’t spot any vehicles or anything else for that matter.

Bill peels his hands from the steering wheel and puts the Jeep into park. The steady hum of the engine signals that everything is still operational. I can only imagine what the front looks like.

He points through the busted windshield.

“There’s a car up there in the middle of the road.” Bill grabs his piece, then wraps his fingers over the door handle. He slings open the driver’s side door with his gun trained ahead. “I’m going to check things out.”

I retrieve the Glock from the dash and the Maglite from the floorboard. I open my door. “I’m coming with you.”

Duke leans forward between the seats and turns to me. I put my hand up. “Whoa. You’re staying here, boy. We’ll be right back.”

He groans and paws at my arm as I step out onto the road. I shut the door behind me. His sad eyes stare at me through the window.

Bill slams his door shut and heads to the rear of the Jeep. I follow along the passenger side with the Glock up and at the ready. I sweep the ditch to my right with the light for any more surprises that could be lying in wait.

Busted glass crunches under my boots. I look at the roof of the Jeep and notice the rack of lights are smashed and disfigured. Ouch.

The man is prone on his stomach in the middle of the road. He isn’t moving. Bill approaches with the barrel of his gun aimed at the back of the man’s skull. Bill extends his leg out and nudges the man’s arm with the front of his boot. No response. Bill nudges the man a bit harder. Still, nothing.

“I think it’s safe to assume he’s dead,” Bill says.

I scan over the road and ditch on either side of us before glancing to the body. “Chaser or not?”

Bill drops to a knee, then flips the man onto his back. The glow from the Jeep’s taillights wash over his bloody face. He has numerous lacerations across his forehead and the sides of his cheeks.

Bill reaches his hand out to me and wiggles his fingers. “Let me see the flashlight.”

“Here.” I toss the Maglite to Bill. He grabs it out of the air and trains it at the man’s face. He takes a closer look as if he’s searching for something.

“What is it,” I ask while keeping watch.

He moves the light down to the man’s chest, then pulls the blood-soaked shirt away.

“I know this guy. He’s a member of Hive. He’s also infected. A chunk has been ripped from his left peck.” Bill lets go of the tattered shirt, then grabs his jaw. He pulls the man’s lifeless head toward him. “I don’t think he’ll be coming back, though. His head has been bashed in pretty good.”

“So, it looks like we’re on the right track, then.” I look in the direction of the flipped over car. “I wonder if there are any others who may have survived the crash. If so, we might be able to get some better info on what we’re walking into.”

Bill stands up and walks toward me. We head to the front of the Jeep and stop. The grill is busted and dented in. There doesn’t seem to be any other issues except for cosmetic damage.

A faint voice calls out from the darkness. Bill spins around with his gun up and trained ahead. I stand next to him, sweeping the road and ditch for the source of the tortured voice.

“Help,” the weak voice bellows from what seems to be the car in the middle of the road.

“There’s someone in there,” I say.

“Yeah. They could be infected. Let’s just take a moment to think this through. More could be close by.”

The voice continues to call out from the flipped over sedan.

“There’s nothing to think through.” I hold out my hand for the light. “Give me the flashlight, and I’ll go check it out then. Someone is alive in there, and they could possibly give us some answers.”

Bill sighs, then hands me the light. “All right. Keep your eyes peeled for any movement.”

We advance toward the car with weapons hot and ready. Duke barks from the cab of the Jeep. I keep my focus on the task before us.

The headlights from the Jeep shine on the trunk of the car. I cock my head to the side and bend over, trying to get a visual of the interior of the sedan. I spot multiple bodies through the busted back window, but can’t tell which the plea for help is coming from.

Shards of busted glass and other debris litter the road. Our boots crunch over the glass as Bill grabs my arm.

He lowers down and trains the Maglite through the missing back window. It flickers, then dims. He grumbles while banging it against his palm. “Damn light.”

“Hello! Is anyone there?” a frantic female voice pleads. “Please help me. I’m stuck and can’t get out.”

Female? It’s too old sounding to be Cindy. Could it be... Cassie?

I stoop down, and spot movement on the passenger side. Long, flowing hair tied up in a ponytail brushes along the roof of the car. “There.”

I skirt the rear of the red sedan with my gun trained ahead of me. I swing wide, and skim over the side of the car as Bill focuses the light on the backseat.

“Cassie! I’m here. Hold on. We’re going to get you out of there!”

A bloody palm presses to the window. I step toward the door and reach for the handle.

“James! Is that really you?” the muffled voice cries out.

“Watch yourself. They could be infected,” Bill warns.

I ignore his words of caution, and yank on the door handle. It doesn’t budge. Feels like it’s stuck or jammed. I try again, pulling with all of my might. It refuses to give.

“Hang in there. I’m working on it!” I advise.

Cassie hammers the window harder as a growl looms from the interior of the vehicle. “Hurry up. The driver’s turning!”

I slide down to the open passenger side door and bend down. There’s a man suspended upside down, growling and thrashing about as he fights to free himself of the seatbelt. Consumed with rage, the man gnashes his teeth and reaches for me.

Bill pounds his fists on the window and motions for Cassie to move away. He kicks the window until it breaks. I fire a single shot, and nail the infected driver in the middle of his head.

An arm emerges from the vehicle and waves about. I grab Cassie’s hand, and drop to my knees without thought. The tiny, busted pieces of glass stab at my kneecaps.

I peer inside the cab as Bill flanks me. He shines the light over my shoulder as Cassie looks at me with fearful eyes.

“Are you ok?” I ask.

Cassie latches onto me. Her bloody fingers wrap up into the fabric of my coat. “I’m ok. My foot is caught on something under the seat. I can’t get it loose.”

I drop the Glock to the pavement, then reach my hand up to Bill. “Let me see the flashlight.”

Cassie pulls at her leg, but the seat refuses to let her go. She grunts and whimpers as she fights to break free. I lean inside the cab, and shine the light up to the seat.

Across from her another armed man dangles from the seat. The back of his hand presses to the roof as blood drips from his forehead. I don’t spot Cindy anywhere or Commander Reynolds.

“Stop moving for a minute.” I tilt my head, and look around the seat until I find what has her trapped. “I think I see what the problem is.”

Cassie does as requested. “How did you find me?”

I grab her leg and push up. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you more once we get you out of here.”

Her leg doesn’t budge. I move it from side to side until it slips free. Cassie unlatches the seatbelt and drops to the roof with a dense thud. She turns on her back to face the busted window. I hand Bill the flashlight, then take hold of her shoulders.

“Watch the glass. There’s still some jagged pieces wedged around the window,” I caution.

I pull Cassie out of the car as she scoots her feet along the roof of the sedan. The heels of her shoes run over the mouth of the jagged glass until she’s clear of the vehicle.

Cassie stands up and wobbles about. She braces her palm against the side of the car and takes a moment to get her bearings.

Strands of hair drape over her bruised and bloody face as she exhales a deep breath. I place my hand on her shoulder, then move the hair away from her flush face. She has a few cuts and scrapes, but nothing that looks too serious.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” I ask.

Cassie nods, then glances up to me with teary eyes. She lunges forward and wraps her arms around my neck. She holds me close, whimpering on my shoulder.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see that you’re still alive,” she cries. “I thought for sure those chasers would have gotten you in the chopper.”

I hold her tight, pulling her closer to me. “They would have if it wasn’t for Bill here. He saved my hide.”

Cassie holds on for a bit longer before letting go. She takes a step back, then brushes her hand across her face. She avoids eye contact with us as she sobs in her hands.

I place my hand on her shoulder, and lean in close. “What is it?” Fearing that Cindy has been hurt or even killed, I prepare myself for whatever devastating news she’s about to unload on me.

“Those people still have Cindy, James. They separated us and kept her with their leader. Some guy named Ranger or something,” Cassie whimpers. “We tried to escape, but they caught up to us. They even shot-” She lowers her head in shame, unable to look at me.

“It’s ok. I know about Lucas,” I say with a soft tone.

Cassie lifts her head. Her eyes widen with hope as she wipes away the flow of tears from her face. She cranes her neck and looks in the direction of the Jeep. “You do? Is he ok? Is he with you?”

I shake my head. “We came across him in the city. He was holed up in a gun shop. His wound was pretty bad. Plus, he had been bitten.”

Cassie places the palm of her hand over her mouth. She fights through the pain and tries to stay the flow of sadness seeping from her.

“I’m sorry about the loss of your friend,” Bill says. “I imagine he was a good man.”

Cassie clears her throat, then looks to Bill. She extends her hand. “He was that for sure. Thank you for your help as well. It is much appreciated.”

Bill tilts his head as he shakes her hand. “You’re welcome. I’m just glad that we came across you when we did. What happened here?”

Cassie moves the loose pieces of hair away from her face and slips them over both of her ears. She wipes away any remaining tears as she turns toward the car.

“They were transporting us to some military facility when the guy in the front passenger seat turned. I guess he got infected when the chasers attacked us earlier. Anyway, he bit the driver, which caused us to wreck. The car flipped over a number of times. I hit my head in the process. I thought for sure I was going to die in that car.” Cassie probes the gash that runs diagonally along her forehead. She grits her teeth and snarls from the wound.

I look at Bill who stares at Cassie with a bewildered gaze.

“What military facility were they taking you to?” he inquires.

“Some place in Eureka. It’s close to the coast. They made some deal with the military to exchange us and the data from the hospital for a ride out of here. They couldn’t risk sending in anymore choppers because of the infected,” Cassie answers. “It’s a time sensitive deal since the military is planning on dropping nukes in major cities or high concentrated areas where the infected are.”

Do what? Did I hear her right?

“They’re planning on dropping nukes in the states?” I parrot. “That’s insane. They’ll not only kill the infected, but who knows how many innocent people.”

Cassie bows her head. “I freaked out too. Commander Reynolds said he knew it was an option, but only as a last resort if they couldn’t contain the infected. Since they seem to have evolved and grown more intelligent, I guess that’s the only thing they can think of to stop them.”

“Bastards are going to kill a lot of innocent people and us in the process.” Bill chimes in, his voice thick with anger. “I imagine the cities have been emptied out, but the fallout from radiation will be what gets a lot of the folks. How much time until they blow this place to hell?”

Cassie’s brow furrows as she thinks back. She purses her lips. “I can’t remember the exact time that was said. I think it was supposed to be sometime early this morning, though.”

Christ.

Who knows how much time we have until the bombs drop and pound this planet back to the stone age? I have to find Cindy before that happens.

I turn and head for the Jeep. Cassie grabs my arm.

I stop dead in my tracks, and peer over my shoulder at her. “What? We need to go.”

Cassie licks her lips, then leans in close to me. “I don’t think Hive is planning on doing as they say.”

I stare at Cassie, then turn to face her. “What do you mean?”

Duke barks from the cab of the Jeep, breaking up our conversation. Each gruff warning slips out of the cracked passenger side window as he paws at the glass. Something has him spooked.

“What’s wrong with that dog?” I mutter while watching him fight to get out of the Jeep.

The rustling of grass within the darkness draws Bill’s attention. Cassie flinches, then deflates against the side of the car.

“What was that?” asks with an unsteady voice.

Bill turns toward the ditch with his gun trained at the swaying weeds. The light swims over the blades as he surveys the area. “We need to go, now.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Yowls call from the murk that surrounds us. They’re faint, but grow louder by the second. I retrieve the Glock from the road as we scan over the ditch, then the thicket of weeds for the infected. We retreat to the Jeep, unable to locate the looming threats.

Duke lowers his ears and paws at the window as we approach the passenger side. His groans can be heard from the cab as he lays eyes on Cassie.

“Duke!” she calls out while throwing open the door.

His tail wags fast, and his body swells with excitement as Cassie rubs his head. He laps at her face with his tongue, showing how happy he is to see her.

Bill climbs into the Jeep from the other side and settles into the driver’s seat. “Get in. We need to move out.”

“Duke. Back seat, now,” I hiss.

He stops licking Cassie and hops to the rear of the Jeep. Cassie threads her thin frame between the front passenger seat and the edge of the vehicle. She settles into the seat as Duke sits next to her.

I grab the rounded handle near the dash, and place my foot on the edge of the Jeep. Something grabs my shoulder. My instincts kick in. I twist and throw an elbow, connecting with something that’s but a scant inch away from me. A growl fills my ears as I’m yanked away from the vehicle and thrown to the pavement. I hit the road hard. The Glock pops free of my hand.

From the flat of my back, I spot a man standing near the opened door of the Jeep. Duke barks and growls from the inside as the ominous figure stumbles toward me with a bum leg. Where the hell did he come from?

I glance to the rear of the Jeep and find that the man we hit is no longer on the ground. He’s coming for me.

Gunfire erupts from the cab of the Jeep and hammers the man’s shoulder and arm. He brushes it off and keeps coming. My hand glides over the pavement, searching for the Glock as he growls and snarls. Greedy hands reach toward me.

In a panic, I try to think of my next move. My hand grazes the Glock. I grab the grip and take aim at the infected man’s skull. I squeeze the trigger as he bends toward me.

The brief white flash of muzzle fire lights up his bloody face. The skin on the side of his head looks like ground beef. The bullet punches through his skull and explodes out of the back of his head.

He drops to the ground, lifeless and dead for good this time.

Cassie scrambles out of the Jeep. “James! Are you ok?”

More shrills taint the air. They don’t seem as far away now.

“Yeah, I’m good. Get back in the Jeep!” I get my feet under me and trudge to the Jeep. I hop inside, and slam the door as a chaser rushes headlong into the side of the vehicle. I lean away, and stare at the rage-induced fiend as it hammers the window with bloody fists.

“Cutting it too close, there,” Bill observes.

I take aim at the window, ready to fire in case it breaks through. “The guy we hit wasn’t dead. He is now.”

Bill throws the Jeep into drive and punches the gas. The tires spin out as he bears down on the car in the middle of the road. The chaser sprints after us while pounding on the side of the Jeep.

Bill cuts the steering wheel to the right and heads for the ditch. He swerves from side to side, trying to avoid the debris from the wrecked car. “Hold on!”

We run along the edge of the ditch as Bill maneuvers around the car. The tires dig into the dirt. Bill jerks the steering wheel to the left and sends us back to the blacktop.

I glance into the sideview mirror, and watch as the chaser drifts farther away from us.

“Those things are everywhere,” Bill grumbles. He looks at me and pats my chest with his large hand. “You good?”

I nod, then knock his hand away while staring at him. “Yeah. He didn’t bite me if that’s what you’re getting at. I thought you said he was dead?”

Bill shrugs. “He looked pretty damn dead to me. Hell, we hit him going sixty plus. You saw what he looked like when we checked him out. He should’ve been toast.”

I sit the Glock in my lap. “From now on, we may want to stick them in the head if we’re unsure. That way, we’ll know they’re dead. I’d rather do that than have one sneak up on me, and take a bite out of my hide.”

Bill nods in agreement.

I feel something touch my elbow from the backseat. I flinch, and pull away.

“Sorry,” Cassie says. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s ok. Just a little wound up with everything that is going on is all.” I brush it off with a wave of my hand, then sit up straight in the seat, and twist to look at Cassie. “What were you saying earlier about Hive not doing something?”

“Yeah. Those guys in the car back there talked about how they thought the drives and Cindy could be worth a ton of money. They joked that it would be more than just a ride out of the states,” Cassie answers.

“They didn’t say exactly what they were thinking of doing, did they?”

Cassie bites her bottom lip and tries to break through the brick wall inside her head. Frustrated, she shakes her head no, then says, “It’s all kind of a blur. Bits and pieces are coming back slowly. I’m sorry I don’t remember more.”

I can’t get mad at Cassie for not being able to remember. After all, she was just in a bad car wreck that could have killed her. She has given me enough to know that we need to get to that military base as fast as possible. I’m just glad she is still alive.

Duke pushes his way through the narrow opening between her stomach and the seat. He rests his head in her lap while looking at me with those large eyes.

Cassie continues to probe the cut on her forehead.

I look it over. It’s a nasty gash, but it doesn’t look too deep from what I can see. “You might end up getting a good size bump there. Looks like one’s already forming. Does it hurt bad?”

“It still hurts and throbs some, but the dizziness is waning. At least I’m not trapped upside down in that car anymore.” Cassie lowers her hand.

Duke licks around his snout as Cassie rubs the top of his head. He groans, then sighs through his nose. He looks relaxed, more so than I have seen him be in a while.

“I think it’s safe to say that he’s missed you,” I say.

Cassie runs her fingers down between his eyes and over his snout while speaking softly to him.

“Seems that way. I missed him a lot as well.” She glances up to me, then adds, “I’ve missed you both. I’m glad you two are safe.”

A warm smile spreads across my battered face. Despite how bad I want to panic, I’m trying to hold it together the best I can. Losing it wouldn’t solve anything. Cassie takes things in stride better than I do. She has her moments, then she moves on. I need to learn to do that more.

Cassie offers a hint of a smile which dissolves as fast as it came. Her bottom lip quivers. She diverts her gaze away from me and sniffles.

Perhaps I spoke too soon. Even the strongest of people have moments where they can’t hold back their feelings.

“Don’t worry about Cindy. We’re going to get her back,” I say.

Cassie presses the top of her hand under her nose as she struggles to hold the tears at bay. “I know we are. I just feel so bad about Lucas. He risked his life for us, and now he’s dead. It hurts losing him. Hurts losing anybody else, really, since there’s so few of us left.”

Bill peers over to me and gives me a sad look.

I place my hand on her knee. “Lucas was a good man. I miss him terribly as well, but he’s no longer in pain, and that’s the important thing. What happened to him, to us, is not anyone’s fault except for those bastards who took all of you. If they would have left us be, then things would’ve been different.”

Cassie gives me a reassuring nod, then sits back with Duke still resting in her lap.

I give her some time to process everything. It kills me to think that Cassie feels responsible for what has happened. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Do you know where this military base is in Eureka?” I ask.

Bill nods while keeping his sights glued to the road ahead of us. “Yeah. We’re maybe a couple hours away. Ranger kept tabs on any military installations within the area, among other locations he felt to be of importance.”

“Probably the best place to be with all of these chasers around,” I mention. “You think this base in Eureka is the one they’re at? Shane didn’t say that. Granted, he could’ve been trying to throw us off or something.”

Bill taps the ends of his fingers against his chin as he ponders my question. “It’s possible, or he may not have known. Sounds like it was a last-minute decision, and well, he wasn’t there with them. In the end, it’s beside the point.”

It’s true. The only thing that matters to me now is that we reach Eureka before the bombs drop, and before Ranger has the chance to do anything with Cindy.

CHAPTER TWENTY

My foot raps against the floorboard without pause. The dull tapping against the dense plastic floormat fills my ears as I bite my fingernails.

I’ve been submerged in what if’s and what needs to be done when we reach this military base. My main focus is Cindy. Once I have her, everything else is secondary. I’m not sure how we’re going to steer clear of the blast, but we’ll figure it out. We have to.

The night wears on, long and painful.

It’s a race against time as we slog through this dreary, dismal night.

The highways and towns we pass through have pockets with no activity, while others find us dealing with the creatures in droves.

The headlights bring to life the meager bodies of the damned who wander aimlessly, searching for any source of substance to quell their famished stomachs. We slip past the emaciated infected without incident.

Some of the chasers stagger about on rail-thin legs that look as though they could break with their next step. Lost, without any sense of what to do, they stumble through the blackness of a dying world.

The more evolved chasers react much faster to any curious sounds. In a blink, they’re sprinting after the Jeep with their arms reaching for our tail lights. They’re fast, and manage to keep up for a short stint before they fade to black, and the night swallows them whole.

Bill keeps his attention focused on the cluttered roads and eerie towns. When he’s not telling me to settle down and let him drive, he’s staring out of the cracked windshield at the road before us.

I continue rapping my foot against the floormat without pause.

Bill sighs, then reaches over and places his hand on top of my leg. “You’re killing me with that, James. It’s all I’ve heard for the past hour or more. I know you’re worried, but for all of our sakes, please, give it a rest.”

He’s agitated. That much is certain. We’ve had a rotten few days, and the crap storm we’re trudging through doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon. Plus, I haven’t helped with my constant barrage of questioning his driving.

I stop gnawing at the ends of my fingers, and plant my foot to the floorboard. “Yeah. Sorry. Nervous is all.”

Bill removes his hand from my leg. “I get it, but that noise is grinding on my nerves. Kind of makes it hard for me to concentrate when that tapping is all I hear.”

I peer at the dash, searching for a clock. I can’t find it.

I sigh in frustration, then ask, “Does anyone know what time it is?”

Bill glances to the dash, then shrugs. “Not sure, but we just entered Eureka.”

He points to his right at a sign illuminated by our headlights.

It’s about time.

I glance to the backseat at Cassie. She’s lounged against the leather back of the bench seat with her head resting on the top. Duke is curled up into a ball with his head on her lap. He hasn’t made a peep in some time. He must be sleeping well. The subtle snoring coming from his snout indicates as much.

“Where are we,” Cassie asks through a yawn. She leans forward and rubs her eyes. Duke wakes up and lifts his head from her lap. He sits up and shakes his head as he yawns.

“We just entered Eureka,” I answer.

Cassie rubs her hands over her face and brushes against the gash on her forehead. She grits her teeth and pulls away in discomfort.

“Forgot about that cut up there,” she says. “Probably shouldn’t have gone to sleep since I banged my head pretty good.”

It hadn’t even dawned on me to keep her awake. “How are you feeling? Better?”

Cassie moans, but nods. “I feel a bit better. My head doesn’t feel like it’s full of loose marbles anymore. Just sore is all. Body is stiff too.”

I reach out and knead the crown of Duke’s head. He groans, then licks my palm.

“So, what’s our game plan here?” Cassie poses.

“Hard to say since we don’t know what we’re walking into. Do you know how many men Ranger has with him?” I ask.

“Maybe a dozen or so. Not sure,” Cassie responds. “He had two SUV’s filled with men, along with Cindy and Commander Reynolds. That wasn’t including the three men who were with me in that car that flipped over.”

“Looks like they may be down a carload,” Bill mentions as he brings the Jeep to a grinding halt.

I flinch, then face forward in my seat. I lean toward the door, and peer through the right portion of the cracked windshield.

An SUV is parked on the side of the road with the passenger side doors wide open. The taillights and headlights are lit up, which means this just happened not too long ago.

Mounted on the hood is a chaser who punched through the front windshield. It thrashes about, trying to break free of the jagged glass that tears into its chest.

“Yeah. That is one of their vehicles,” Cassie says while pointing at the SUV. “They must’ve hit that chaser while going pretty fast.”

I skim over the area, searching for Cindy or Commander Reynolds, but don’t spot them among the carnage. Thank God.

Bill points at the chaser while looking at me. “That could’ve been us earlier. We were fortunate that thing rolled over the Jeep, and didn’t come busting through the windshield.”

I couldn’t agree more.

A small group of infected hovers around the vehicle like vultures, picking and feeding on the dead bodies of the men who lay on the ground.

In the middle of the road, away from the rear of the SUV, more chasers feast on the bodies of the armed men who were pulled from the cab. Their bloody hands dig into the corpses like savage beasts and pull moist clumps of organs out. Teeth chew and grind on the meaty strands of flesh and muscle that dangle from their decaying mouths.

Oddly enough, the gruesome sight doesn’t stir my stomach. I have witnessed such horrid things for so long now that it has become second nature.

“Better them than us.” I have no sympathy for the vile men. They deserved it, and so much more.

Bill and Cassie give me a peculiar stare. I guess my statement caught them by surprise. Although, considering who it was geared toward, it shouldn’t have.

The subtle sound of the chaser’s yowls loom just outside of the Jeep. Duke growls from the backseat and stares out of the window next to Cassie. He’s up on all fours with his ears standing on end.

“Oh, Christ!” Bill yells while pointing out my window.

A ghastly gray figure emerges from the fading darkness and charges the Jeep in a dead sprint. I flinch and lean away from the window as the rawboned corpse smashes into the steel body of the Jeep.

Duke barks at the enraged chaser who hammers the window with clenched fists. The noise draws the other chasers from their current meals. They stand up, and stare at us. They swallow what morsels are caught in their mouths and rush the Jeep.

Bill punches the gas and bulldozes through the incoming infected. Their scrawny frames smash into the grill of the Jeep as we plow over the dead bodies in the road. The chasers hold on for a brief stint before disappearing under the vehicle.

The steering wheel shifts from side to side as the Jeep rolls over the bodies. We’re tossed about in our seats from the dead under us.

I scan the sides of the road, but don’t see the other SUV. “Looks like it was just the one SUV. I’m not seeing the other which means they kept moving.”

That’s good for us, seeing as their numbers have been sliced in half.

“I guess it’s every man for themselves, now,” Cassie observes.

“That’s generally Hives M.O.,” Bill adds while skirting around the few vehicles that sit in our way. “From this point forward, we don’t stop until we get to the base. We’re running low on fuel, and I don’t think anyone here wants to walk the rest of the way on foot.”

“Agreed.” I grab my rucksack from the floorboard.

We enter the outskirts of the dismal city as night dissolves. I catch flashes of the buildings and other structures we pass by as I dig inside my pack.

“Everybody, hold on,” Bill growls through clenched teeth.

I look up from the pack and find the street ahead swarming with infected. They stagger about, blocking our way through. Several mangled bodies lie motionless on the pavement. They appear to have been crushed by something of considerable weight. The other SUV must have charged down this way.

Bill jerks the steering wheel to the right and out of the way of the bodies that are scattered over the road. He sends the Jeep climbing over the center median. We hit the grass and race for the other side of the street.

The infected search for the source of the sound. They lock onto the Jeep in a blink, and sprint after us. The tires bounce over the curb and hit the pavement. The backend sways back and forth as Bill fights to regain control.

The wave of infected charge across the median in a mad dash. More emerge from the buildings to our right as Bill straightens us out.

The skeletal frames of the chasers slam into the Jeep without care. Bill tries to swerve out of the way, but tags the infected none-the-less.

“I’m not sure how much more this thing can take,” I call out.

Bill maneuvers around the rest of the chasers and breaks away from the advancing horde. “It just needs to hold up a bit longer until we get through them.”

Cassie holds Duke tight in her arms as we’re thrashed from side to side. Bill skirts the scores of abandoned cars in our way. The tires screech as the tread fights for traction.

I check the sideview mirror, and spot the chasers sprinting after us.

“How much farther to the base?” My voice is strained and thick with worry. I know we’re close.

Bill breathes heavily through his nose. His nostrils flare as he works through the maze of streets.

“Not much, but we may not make it. Not in this tin can, at least,” he grumbles. “I’m getting a ton a feedback in the steering column.”

“What does that mean, in English?” I counter.

The engine rattles and sputters which doesn’t sound promising. Bill stares at the dash with a concerned gaze as he pumps the gas pedal.

“It means that we’re probably going the rest of the way on foot,” he clarifies.

The smell of asphalt funnels into the Jeep through the vents. I wave my hand in front of my face, trying to divert the terrible stench from my nose.

“What is that smell?” Cassie grumbles from the backseat.

“Trouble,” Bill responds.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

The Jeep sputters its last, dying breath and rolls to a stop in the middle of the street. Thin trails of smoke seep through the narrow slits of the hood and grill.

Bill pumps the gas pedal twice, then turns the ignition over. The lights on the dash flash, but the engine refuses to engage. “Time to bail. Grab your stuff, and let’s go!”

He slings the Jeep door open and hops out onto the street. He pulls his seat forward and tilts the backrest toward the steering wheel.

“Come on, come on,” Bill urges as he keeps a watchful eye on the chasers.

I grab the Glock from the dash, and throw my door open. I slip out of the bucket seat and drop to the pavement. The yowls of the infected rushing down the street sends a wave of panic crashing into me. I’m more confident against the chasers in a two-ton vehicle than I am on foot.

Cassie and Duke slip out on Bill’s side. He reaches down into the floorboard of the backseat and retrieves his pack and sniper rifle.

I secure the rucksack to my back, and hold onto the Glock like my life depends on it.

Duke barks, going ballistic from the other side of the Jeep as the infected charge this way. I race toward the front of the Jeep and skirt the bumper.

Cassie and Duke barrel around the other side with Bill flanking them. He’s got his rucksack strapped to his back and sniper rifle secured across his chest.

“Here!” Bill shoves a silver-plated pistol in Cassie’s hand as he moves past her.

We bolt from the Jeep in a mad dash, and chase after Bill through the early morning murk. Our boots hammer the pavement in rapid succession. Quick, strained breaths escape our mouths as we run for our lives. I peer back over my shoulder to the horde that blows past the Jeep.

“They’re still coming!” I yell out, warning the others.

Bill points to the street we’re approaching. He moves off to the right and looks back to us. “I’m going to draw them away. You two haul ass down that street. It’s two blocks over, and you’ll run right into the base.”

“I thought you said no more splitting up,” I say, winded.

Cassie and Duke skirt the corner of the building without stopping. Bill continues pounding the pavement straight ahead as I follow behind them. We slip behind a parked car in the middle of the street to hide from the infected. Crouched down behind the white hatchback, I heave like I can’t catch my breath. My lungs hurt, among the other points on my body that throb without pause.

Bill’s thunderous voice roars at the mass of chasers. I peer over the hood of the car as he gives me one final look. “Come and get some, you sick bastards! I’m right here! There’s plenty to go around!”

The taunt only stirs the crowd of infected into more of a frenzy. The shrills boil to a fever pitch. I want to yell at Bill, and scold him for doing the opposite of what he said. We were supposed to stick together. Damn him.

Bill vanishes down the street. The chasers charge after him. Focused on him, the mob of infected don’t look our way.

Anger swells inside my gut. I ball my fingers into fists and punch the side of the car multiple times. “Damn it!”

Cassie grabs my forearm. She shoves it down while staring at me. “Stop it, James!”

I pull my arm away, and cradle my hand. The knuckles are red and throb with a dull pain. “We were supposed to stick together.”

Cassie leans against the driver’s side door and peers through the window. “The coast is clear. I don’t see any infected. We need to move while we can, though. Come on.”

I grumble under my breath as we slip away from the hatchback. We run down the street as fast as we can. I listen for any reports of gunfire, but hear none. Either Bill has escaped the clutches of the infected, or he is being torn apart.

His decision to draw the chasers away gnaws at the back of my mind. He did it to buy us some time. For that, I am grateful.

Not too much farther. We’re almost to the military base.

That’s what I keep telling myself as we hit the next block and sprint along the sidewalk. Cindy is within reach, and I’m not going to let her slip away from me. Not ever again.

The road up ahead branches off in either direction. Beyond the street is a thicket of tall verdure and dense trees that is still cloaked in partial darkness.

Cassie points at the T in the road and looks to me. “Which way did he say to go again?”

I’m clueless and can’t think. I try to remember what Bill said, but can’t. My mind is a mess. “I don’t think he actually said!”

It’s a fifty-fifty shot of getting it right, or wrong.

The building next to me blocks my view of the street. Same for the other side of the road. We slow down as we approach the blind corners with weapons up and ready.

Cassie holds Duke back by his collar as I creep toward the building’s edge. I crane my neck and glance down the street in the opposite direction. There are no buildings or structures that I can see that would hint at a military base.

I toe the edge of the building, and peer around the corner. A tall chain link fence, with barbwire coiled along the top, spans the length of the sidewalk. Set off within the interior of the secured area is a large building. Multiple smaller units reside toward the back half of the property. That has to be it.

“This way.”

We make our way down the street. I take point while Duke and Cassie flank me. A handful of dead chasers lay in the middle of the road. Their bodies have been crushed by something of considerable weight. A vehicle perhaps? I’m willing to bet that Ranger had something to do with this.

I sweep both sides of the road for any threats. More infected lay motionless on the pavement and sidewalks. Pools of blood stain the concrete. The chasers do not respond to our presence.

We slip through the narrow gap between two cars, and hop up to the curb. We move at a good clip down the sidewalk next to the fence.

There’s a sign up ahead that is partially covered by the tall blades of grass growing unchallenged. The closer we get, the more I’m able to make it out.

United States National Guard Armory.

Bingo.

“This has to be it,” I say.

Cassie peers at the sign and nods. “Agreed.”

I step away from the fence, and look it over. Three rows of razor wire run along the top of the fence. “How the heck are we going to get inside? I don’t think we’ll be scaling this thing.”

Cassie taps me on the shoulder, then points past the guard station near the entrance of the base. “There. Looks like the gate is open.”

It’s worth checking out.

We sprint down the sidewalk. I stare off through the diamond-shaped links of the fence at the guard station. It looks empty from here, but I can’t be sure. The large window on the front of the small building is busted out. The broken pieces of glass litter the base of the structure.

We skirt around the outside of the fence, and step out onto the pavement.

Side by side, we approach the guard’s station. Duke and Cassie take the right as I approach from the left. The exterior of the building is riddled with bullet holes. Shards of the busted window crunch under my boots.

Duke lowers to the ground. His ears stand on end and twitch. He stops, then sniffs the ground.

Cassie trains her sidearm at the open door. She leans to the right and cranes her neck. She looks to me, then points to the interior of the station.

I nod in return and approach the door. I grab the handle, and pull it open. The hinges squeak. I peer inside the cramped space. Sprawled out on the floor, a soldier lays prone on his back with a chaser draped over his chest.

The top of the soldier’s head has been gnawed on. Fragments of his skull are busted and missing. Copious amounts of dried blood cover the desk and surrounding walls.

Cassie peers inside at the ghastly scene, then turns her head in disgust. Duke sniffs at the decaying bodies, then backs away. I push the door shut and move on.

We follow along the drive toward the open gate. Both sections of the fence are damaged. The gray steel bars are bent and contorted.

Fragments of busted plastic lay scattered about. One of the broken pieces looks like it may have come from a headlight.

“Guess they came charging through here in a hurry,” I state. “Come on.”

We follow along the driveway that opens up into a parking lot next to the main facility. A handful of cars are scattered among the grounds. Their steel bodies are covered in holes, and the windows are shattered. Uniformed personnel and infected lay spread out over the area.

Toward the rear of the base is another fenced off area that doesn’t appear to have been breached by the infected, or the living. What scant few military transports and other armored vehicles remain are lined up in nice, neat rows.

“There,” Cassie says while pointing to the rear of the main building. “I think that’s their ride.”

A black SUV is parked on the curb with its doors wide open. They didn’t even bother turning off the lights, which still shine against the cream-colored wall of the building. Although, with the sun dawning a new day, it’s not as bright.

A half dozen hostiles could be all that’s left for us to contend with. Judging by the size of the SUV, at least from here, I’m inclined to think it’s going to be less than that. Like my dad used to say, “Plan for the worst but hope for the best.”

I dart across the parking lot with my Glock trained at the interior of the vehicle. I skim over the dead bodies we pass by for any signs of life. Despite them being covered in blood and gaping wounds, I’m still mindful of them.

Cassie leaps up onto the sidewalk with Duke glued to her side as they scope out the front entrance of the building. A dinging sound plays from the SUV, indicating that a door hasn’t been shut.

My fingers reposition over the grip of the Glock as I scan over the interior of the vehicle. The front seats are clear. So are the back.

I spot something that looks familiar tucked under the passenger seat.

Wait. What is that?

It looks like a, doll. Cindy’s doll. Her favorite.

“What’s wrong?” Cassie inquires as she her and Duke walk up to me.

“Cindy’s doll. It was left behind.”

I push the back-passenger door open farther, and peer into the rear of the SUV for any threats. I retrieve the stuffed toy from under the seat, and hold it in my hands.

A wave of memories floods through my head as I stare at the dingy toy. Cindy playing in her room, speaking to her dolls that she had set up around a table while serving them tea. Then she’d act like a monster, and stomp through them like a hungry beast.

I shake the fond memory from my head, then stuff the doll inside my coat. I back away from the SUV, and glance over to Cassie.

“Can we get in through the front, there?” I ask.

Cassie shakes her head, then nods at the shattered glass doors that are boarded up with plywood.

“It’s locked or something. They wouldn’t budge.” She points to the thick pane windows on the lower level that are tinted and hard to see through. “Worst case, if we can’t find a way in, we can always shoot out one of those windows there. Not the best idea, I know, but we may not have any choice.”

There has to be some other access point. I skim over the structure from right to left. Aside from the front entrance, I don’t see any other ways for us to get inside.

Cassie walks past me along the sidewalk.

“What is it?” I ask while turning to see where she’s going.

“The fence down here,” she retorts without breaking her stride.

I slip around the bumper of the Jeep, and follow after her and Duke.

“We’re not going to be able to climb that fence,” I advise, stating what I figured would be an obvious observation. “Even if we could, Duke wouldn’t be able to, and I’m not leaving him out here alone.”

“Well no duh, James,” Cassie hisses. “I wasn’t talking about climbing over the fence.”

She moves to the edge of the building where the fence curves and meets the outer wall. There’s a smaller gate that is unlatched and ajar.

“How the heck did you spot that?” I ask bewildered.

Cassie points to her eyes, then smirks. “Good vision, plus I’m pretty observant.” She swings open the chain link fence and brings her pistol to bear. She heads inside the fenced off area that spans the length of the sidewalk.

Duke follows along by her side. I check the parking lot one last time for any chasers before following along. I secure the gate. We don’t need any infected flanking us.

I jog after Cassie down the walkway. I peer out through the fence to the military transports stationed in the expansive lot. Through the gaps among the armored vehicles, I stare at the outer buildings for any signs of infected, or unscrupulous heathens.

From what Cassie said, it looks like the base is abandoned. After those bombs drop, there won’t be anything of use here anymore.

I spin around and check the way we came in. At this point, I’m a mixture of cautiousness and paranoia. I always feel like there’s something watching me.

Cassie stops on a dime, then holds up her hand. She turns to face me and places her finger over her lips. She points toward the building and what looks to be an entrance.

I move up alongside her, and check it out.

There’s a single black-steel door with a large hole where the handle should be. It looks like it may have been shot out.

Cassie advances toward the door and stoops down. She leans in close and peers through the hole. She cocks her head to the side and trains an attentive ear.

“I think they’re in there,” she whispers. “I can hear people talking.”

I tap her shoulder. “Here. Let me have a look.”

Cassie moves off to the side. She pats her leg which brings Duke to her.

I take a knee in front of the door, and look through the jagged edges of the hole to the interior of the building. It’s dark. I can hear the voices close by but can’t make out what’s being said.

A hint of light sweeps out into the hallway and shines on the wall from one of the offices to my left. Two armed men emerge from the room, and stop in the middle of the corridor.

“Can you hear what they’re saying?” Cassie whispers.

I catch fragments of words but can’t piece them together. I shake my head no.

A light trains at the entrance, and I scurry for cover. I lean against the wall, and stare at Cassie. My heart beats faster, but I remain calm, and in control. I wait for a few seconds before taking another look.

The armed men walk off down the hallway, and disappear around the corner. I grab the edge of the hole in the door.

“All right. They’re gone. Let’s move.”

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Cassie gulps. A naked fear lingers on her face. She’s scared, and rightfully so. I feel the same trepidation creeping up the back of my neck, but hold it at bay. My sister is counting on us, and we will not let her down.

“We’re going to get through this. All of us. I promise,” I assure her.

She nods in a manner that is less than convincing. “I know.”

“You ready?” I ask.

Cassie exhales and bows her head. “Yeah. I’m good.”

I pull the door toward me, testing to see if it’s latched in place. It doesn’t resist. I step back, and pull it open farther, mindful of any lights that may spring up from the corridor.

Thankfully, the hinges remain silent. I grab the edge of the door, and push it open far enough for us to slip through.

I head inside with Duke and Cassie trailing behind me. The door closes on its own, but doesn’t rest within the jamb. I dig my hand into the pocket of my coat, and retrieve the flashlight. I thumb the button on the side which brings the light to life.

The strident beam washes over the dull white walls and dirty tile floors. I listen for any footfalls or voices. For now, it’s silent.

We venture down the passageway, steady and alert. Cassie takes the left while I sweep the right. Duke fills the space between us as he sniffs the floor.

Each office we pass is checked with a quick pass as we stay on the move. I imagine those armed men have already swept this area, but it pays to be vigilant.

Each empty office is in complete disarray. Papers litter the floors, and the furniture is shuffled about in an odd manner. Some of the offices are locked. We test the doorknobs. They don’t give. I gently rap my knuckle against the door, hoping for a hint at Cindy’s voice, but get nothing for my efforts. We leave the rooms be and move on.

My heart thumps. Every step I take makes it pound harder. I’m anxious and scared, not only for us, but for Cindy and the others.

The squeaking of shoes playing off the tile floor from up ahead stops me cold. Duke’s ears twitch as he hones in on the noise.

“Did you hear that?” Cassie turns away from the office she’s looking over and nudges my arm with her hand.

I nod. “Yeah. Sounds like it’s heading this way.”

We stand in the middle of the hallway with our weapons trained at the dimness before us. The gleam from a light comes into view. I lower my flashlight, and press the tip to my stomach.

Duke growls under his breath. It grows louder the brighter the light becomes. We need to take cover.

I flag down Cassie with a wave of my hand. I point to the office next to her. She tilts her head and darts inside the dim space. Duke stays in the middle of the hall, refusing to budge. His ears fold back as his growling intensifies.

“Duke, stop and come on. We have to be quiet.”

One of the armed men comes into view just as Cassie steps out and grabs Duke by the collar. She drags him inside the office and vanishes within the gloom. I panic and move without thinking. I push open the partially cracked door near me, and slip inside the dark space as the light brushes down the hallway.

I close it back to where I think it was and lean against the wall. The Glock trains at the opening of the office as I wait for the man to pass by. I purse my lips, then breathe out the tension swelling inside me.

His footsteps creep closer. The shifting of his weight buzzes in my ears. The sharp, sour smell of burning leaves fills my nose. Cigarette smoke. It’s a disgusting scent that I’ll never forget.

He stops just shy of the office I’m in. The light washes over the woodgrain of the office door. I gulp which sounds loud enough for him to hear.

The tips of his black boots materialize at the entrance. He reaches out to the door and presses his fingers against the surface. A tattoo of a snake twisting around a dagger is visible from under the sleeve of his coat.

A surge of adrenaline pulses through my body. The Glock trembles in my hand.

The light shines through the crack as he pushes the door open slowly. He takes a single step into the office. The barrel of his pistol becomes visible. I contemplate grabbing the gun, and ripping it from his hand, but stay that foolish thought. I’m not confident I could win that fight.

A subtle ruff sounds from the hall. It’s muffled, but loud enough for me to hear it.

Damn it, Duke.

The man pauses, then backs away. The light remains stagnant on the floor for a brief moment, before it shifts to the wall across the hallway.

The growling grows louder. I toe the edge of the wall, and peer around the jamb. The black-clad figure stalks toward the office where Cassie and Duke are. He’s stout and tall, his wide frame filling the entryway to the office. His pistol is trained ahead of him as his light washes over the office’s cluttered mess.

Be quiet, Duke, please.

Duke barks, and I hear Cassie calling out his name.

I take a step back, and throw open the door to engage the threat.

The man recoils, and opens fire as he backs away. Duke yelps followed by Cassie screaming in horror. They exchange gunfire. White flashes breathe from the tip of his barrel. He continues squeezing the trigger without pause.

I fire at the gunman from behind. The bullet nicks his arm. The hulking brute drops the flashlight and turns to face me while palming the wound. He stares at me with a scowl.

The brute lunges at me as I squeeze the trigger again. He reaches out and swats my hand down as the Glock discharges. The bullet strikes the tile floor near my foot. He rips the gun from my hand and discards it down the hallway.

With a snarl, he bunches his fingers up within my coat, and lifts me off the ground with ease. To say he’s pissed would be an understatement.

“You shot me in the arm you little-”

Cassie continues to unload from the office. The bullets impact the door near his head. The brute ducks, and swings into the office to his right with me held tight within his clenched fists.

He punches me in the stomach, then strikes me across my jaw. The wind rips from my lungs, and my world goes black for a split second. My skull feels like it’s full of marbles rattling about. Even if I wanted to defend myself, my body slumps within his grasp and refuses to act.

The brute throws me over the desk. I tumble over the surface like a rag doll, and fall to the floor, stopping against a cinderblock wall. Prone on my side, I cradle my stomach, and try to catch my breath. The side of my face feels like it’s been bashed in with a sledge hammer.

Cassie rushes in, firing at will. Each shot goes wide, striking the wall and the large, thick-paned window above me. She’s not as poised as she normally is. Her aim is off, and she’s firing at random.

The brute dodges her attempts and disarms her with ease. He knocks the gun free from her grasp, then backhands her across the side of her face. Cassie crumbles to the ground and out of my sight.

I wheeze through my nose as I flop onto my stomach. The palms of both hands press to the razor thin carpet that broke my fall. The brute grumbles as he stomps my way. I push up, but my meager arms are slow to react. He kicks me in the stomach.

“Stay down, kid,” he warns with a hoarse growl.

I gasp for air as he towers over me. Pain lances up through my gut and pierces my skull. I’ve been beaten into submission, and I fear this is as far as we’re going to get.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Everyone’s a hero, until they get the crap kicked out of them. Something I’m all too familiar with.

“When life throws a left hook and catches you on the jaw, you shake it off, and get back up. Don’t ever give up, son. You’ll regret it if you do.”

Another life lesson that Dad drilled into me. One of the many nuggets of wisdom he offered when I’d get into a fight at school and get my teeth kicked in. Mom would pitch a fit and coddle me. Dad, not so much. He’d look me over with a judging stare, then ask if the other guy looked worse than me. I wasn’t known for being a skilled fighter, so most of the time, the answer was no.

“Hey, kid, wake up!” a distant, strange voice demands inside my head.

The memory of Mom and Dad vanish as he smacks me across the face. The stinging bite of his callused palm rakes across my tender, swollen skin. I grumble, then lift my weary head.

My vision is blurry, filled with a haze that makes it hard to see. I blink, clamp my eyes shut, then open them wide. Sunlight filters in through the windows nearby, illuminating the space and erasing the darkness.

Standing before me is a tall, slender man. Not the brute, but this guy is no slouch either. He rolls up the sleeves of his jacket, revealing tattoos that cover both forearms and a snake under the sleeve of his coat.

“Damn, Blain, you messed this kid up,” the man barks.

“The little punk shot me, Ranger,” Brute hisses. “His girlfriend almost took off my head with her piece.”

My head bobbles about like its fixed on a spring. Ranger grabs my chin and holds it in place. A throbbing pain stabs at every molecule in my skull. My ribs are sore, and ache with every breath I take.

I thought being in a helicopter crash was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. It still is, but having my teeth kicked in by that bruiser is a close second.

“James!” Cindy calls out in a panic. I can’t see her, but she’s close.

“Leave the kid alone for Christ sake you piece of gutter trash,” Commander Reynolds barks.

“No freaking way. I thought you looked familiar,” Ranger states. “I thought for sure you’d bite it in that chopper. The more evolved munchers don’t normally let a good meal go to waste. Not sure how you slipped from their grubby hands. Pretty impressive, kid.”

I lick my lips, then swallow the wad of spit that’s caught in my throat. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

Ranger releases his tight grip from around my jaw. He snickers and walks away. I try to move my arm up to rub my eyes, but my wrists are restrained by wire that’s coiled around them and attached to the seat of the chair I’m sitting in. Déjà vu much?

“James, are you ok?” Cassie asks.

She’s in a chair next to me with her arms tied off with more of the wire.

“About as good as can be expected. I think that guy might have loosened one of my teeth.” I don’t spot Duke on the floor near us, which sends me into a panic. My heart skips a beat. I blink rapidly, trying to clear out the film over my eyes as I search for him. “Where’s Duke?”

“That mutt of yours is with your sister,” Ranger answers. “He isn’t dead, yet. I figured she’d shut up if he was with her.”

The haze wanes from my vision, and I’m able to make everything out now. I skim over the large conference room we’re in. Aside from Ranger and the brute, I count one other thug.

To my left and against the wall, Cindy and Commander Reynolds sit in chairs with Duke lying on the floor at her feet. His hind leg is matted with blood. He stares at me with a sad look. Nestled between them is one more armed gunman who is just as beastly as the others.

“Are you ok, sis?”

Tears flow down her flushed cheeks as she nods. She runs the back of her hand under her nose. Oh, man. They don’t have her tied down at the moment. She doesn’t appear to be hurt, other than a few cuts and bruises.

“Everything’s going to be all right, Cindy. We’re going to get out of this.” I try to reassure her.

“False!” Ranger blurts out. “Well, you’re partially right. We’ll be fine, and so will your sister. I can’t have the merchandise damaged. As for you three, not so much.”

I focus on Ranger with a malevolent gaze and tug at the wire bound to both of my wrists. “You do realize that the military is coming, and the odds of them just giving you a ride out of here is slim to none.”

Dad always told me that the military doesn’t negotiate with terrorists, foreign or domestic.

Ranger doesn’t bat an eye. “To that I have no doubt. I’d imagine they’ll come barging in here with weapons drawn, ready to kill anything that looks like a threat. But times are tough, and those munchers out there have forced us to flee to greener pastures.” He points to Cindy and continues his yapping. “Your sister, being the special little ray of sunshine that she is, is going to help us in making that a reality. Not too many folks are immune to the munchers’ bite. Not only that, but they act as though she’s one of them. Staring at her as if she’s some sort of anomaly. I guess she is.”

“You’re not going to get away with this,” Cassie barks.

Ranger shakes his head, and looks away from Cassie.

“Too bad you survived that accident. I didn’t miss that mouth of yours. No worries, though. After we kill those soldiers and lift out of here in their chopper, those nukes are going to pound the western seaboard into oblivion, and you all will be a distant memory. If the blast doesn’t kill you, the radiation will. Speaking of which.” Ranger digs his hand into the trousers of his pants and pulls something out that I can’t see. “Our ride should be arriving soon.”

Man. What a piece of crap. I hate him more than Frank, that fat swine. They seem like they’re cut from the same cloth—both horrible people who deserve a fate worse than death. Frank’s already been dealt his. Ranger’s will be next.

A boisterous crashing noise echoes from the hallway, wiping away the smug smile smeared across his face. Ranger grabs the pistol from the table in front of him. He cycles a round and turns toward the double doors. His armed goons bring their rifles to bear, and take aim at the entrance.

“What the hell was that?” Ranger grumbles.

“Could be the military,” the brute answers.

Ranger rolls his eyes, then sighs. “It’s not the military, you idiot. They’re not going to just come stomping in here while making a ton of racket. They’re more crafty than that. Besides, it can’t be them. They just radioed us not too long ago saying they were inbound. No, it’s something else.”

Chasers. Great.

I look to Cassie, then glance over to Cindy and Commander Reynolds. All give me the same fearful gaze.

“What do we do?” Brute inquires while looking at Ranger.

“Take Simmons, and go check it out. Kill whatever it is.”

Brute nods at the other henchmen standing off to the side of Cassie. He sprints toward Brute, moving in a wide arc around the conference table and follows him out into the hallway.

I work at the wire, pulling and tugging my arm. The gunman standing between Commander Reynolds and Cindy steps away from them.

“Do not move from that spot,” Ranger barks. “Anything or anyone that comes near her, you put down.”

The gunman complies with a tilt of his head, and stays planted between them.

Cassie grumbles and grits her teeth as she struggles to rid herself of the wire. The side of her face is blood red and bruised.

“I can’t get my hands free,” Cassie says.

My arms pull in opposite directions of each other as I try to free my wrists.

“Me neither,” I whisper.

Gunfire echoes from the hallway, followed by the yowls of the chasers. A gut-wrenching scream calls out.

Ranger cranes his neck and tries to peer around the jamb. “Blain! Simmons! What’s going on out there?”

Commander Reynolds shoots me a glance, then nods at the gunman near him.

Blain emerges from the hallway with his face slathered in blood. He looks back over his shoulder at the corridor as he stumbles to the floor.

“Those things are coming! They ripped Simmons apart right in front of me!” he stutters while pointing at the hallway.

Commander Reynolds springs from his chair and punches the beastly man next to him in the kidneys. The gunman yelps in pain as the commander punches him again.

“What the hell!” Ranger growls as he turns and trains his pistol at the feuding men.

A throng of chasers rush into the conference room from the hallway, catching both Blain and Ranger by surprise. They try to scramble away from the enraged creatures.

The infected spread out and attack. Chaos erupts throughout the conference room as the chasers stalk their targets.

I pull and tug at the wire as hard as I can. If I can’t get free, I’m going to be eaten alive at any moment. Commander Reynolds is tossed from the beastly man’s back and thrown against the wall.

Cindy and Duke are nowhere to be seen. I glance about the scene of death and carnage, praying that they are not among the ravenous creatures attacking Blain and Ranger.

“You munchers aren’t going to get me,” Ranger snarls as fire spits from the end of his pistol. A dark-red mist sprays from the backs of several skulls.

Blain slashes at the creatures with a long blade, spilling copious amounts of their blood to the carpet.

I feel something grab my wrist. I flinch and try to pull away.

“Stop moving, James,” Cindy demands as she works at the wire.

Beastly opens fire at the chasers who are rushing toward him. A number of the infected leap up onto the conference table, then lunge at the towering goliath. He moves from target to target, trying to take as many down as he can.

“Um, James!” Cassie yells.

A small group of chasers stalk us from the right. “Cindy, hurry up!”

She releases the wire and runs out in front of us as they break out into a sprint. She plants her tiny frame in front of us as the creature’s charge with mouths wide open and arms stretched out.

Duke stands by my side, favoring his injured leg as he barks and growls.

“Cindy!” I cry out. The thought of watching the dead tear my sister apart brings me to tears.

I jerk my arms every which way, fighting to break free as the infected stop shy of running her down. They tower over her, chests heaving and bloodshot eyes staring at her, then to us.

The chasers growl, and snap at her, but she doesn’t move. They try to go around Cindy, but she blocks their path.

“Kill those damn munchers before they injure my meal ticket,” Ranger barks at Beastly.

He opens fire at the infected which draws their attention away from us. They rush him in a dead sprint. Bullets punch through the decaying corpses with ease, and exit through their backs. His gun clicks empty. The few still standing tackle him as he tries to run away.

Brute slashes through a chaser and discards the mutilated corpse. He’s bathed in their blood as he drops to his knees. A portion of his neck has been torn away. Brute huffs, then falls forward flat on his face.

Someone grabs my shoulder, which causes me to flinch, then pull away.

“It’s me, James.” Commander Reynolds works out both knots and sets me free. He moves over to Cassie and does the same for her.

Ranger ejects the spent magazine from his pistol and slaps in a fresh one. He cycles a round and kills the chasers feasting on Beastly’s large frame. He stands over the fallen goliath and places a slug in his head.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” he huffs. “No matter. As long as I have that girl, then I still have a chance. I just need to remove you three from the equation.”

Ranger trains the barrel of his pistol at my head. Cindy grabs my hand and hugs my waist. I catch sight of Bill stalking him from behind with his piece clutched in his hand.

“I’m not so sure your plan is going to pan out,” I remark.

The weapon barks. I flinch from the sharp report.

Cindy tugs at my arm. Ranger looks at me dumbfounded with a hole in his chest. He drops to his knees, then slumps forward.

I glance to the entrance, and find Bill leaning against the jamb. Trails of smoke plume from the end of his pistol as he offers me a wink.

You sly son of a bitch.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

We’ve survived this encounter, but the worst has yet to come.

Bill lowers his gun, then collapses to the floor in a bloody mess. His face is long and tired. He’s spent and looks weak. Each breath that escapes from his parted lips is labored.

I rush to his aid, but I’m halted by the appearance of armed soldiers that materialize from the corridor. They funnel into the conference room with rifles shouldered.

“NOBODY MOVE!” a thundering voice barks.

I raise my arms in the air, then glance back to Cindy and the others.

The soldiers spread out while keeping their weapons trained at each of us.

Commander Reynolds approaches from my left, then points to Ranger’s dead body. “Captain Peterson, the threat has been neutralized.”

The soldiers check each of the men, and confirm their status with a tilt of their head.

Captain Peterson lowers his rifle and presses it against his chest as he advances toward us. He offers Commander Reynolds a sharp salute. “Sir! We need to evac everyone now! Raptor is inbound and will be delivering the package soon.”

Package?

My face twists in confusion as I struggle to decipher what that means. It takes me a few seconds to piece together what the meaning is. The bomb.

Commander Reynolds nods, then looks to me. “Get everyone outside and onto the choppers, now!”

Cassie and Cindy follow the soldiers outside in a dead sprint while Duke limps behind them. I rush around the conference table and head for Bill. A soldier blocks my path, halting me with his hand raised in the air.

“Don’t. He’s infected.”

The life drains from me as I stare at Bill’s sweaty, flushed face. He coughs up blood that trickles out over his lips. He shrugs his shoulders as I drop to my knees.

“It’s the end of the line for me, kid.” Bill pulls the sleeve of his coat up, showing me the gnawed flesh on his forearm. “Bastards got me earlier. Thought I gave them the slip, but they’re cunning.”

My vision becomes glassy as I fight to hold back the tears. I’m mad and sad at the same time. “You said we don’t split up. No matter what.”

“James, we have to go, now!” Commander Reynolds demands.

“Sir, we have more infected inbound. We have to dust off, now!”

I’m pulled from the floor by the soldiers. A number of the men fall back and leave the area.

Bill motions toward the hallway, then gives me a warm smile. “Get going, James. You got your family and friends back. I think I’m going to hang around here for a bit and watch the fireworks. Take care of yourself, kid.”

The remainder of the soldiers retreat from the conference room and bolt down the hallway. Commander Reynolds and Captain Peterson pull me out into the hallway.

I give Bill one last look before we flee down the corridor. He gives me the peace sign, and that warm smile of his.

We rush down the hallway in a mad dash, and make for the side entrance we originally came through. We hook a left, and fly down the sidewalk to the parking lot.

The thrumming of blades battering the air fills my ears. We pass through the gate and rush out into the parking lot. Two Black Hawk helicopters are stationed a stone throw away from each other. Cindy and Cassie wave at me from the closest bird near the fence where the armored vehicles are parked.

Captain Peterson splits off from Commander Reynolds and me and sprints toward the other chopper. We load up into the aircraft, and take our seats.

The chopper takes off and is airborne within a blink. I glance out of the open door and watch as scores of infected rush into the parking lot.

Commander Reynolds secures the door to my left, then sits back down in the seat across from me. Cindy sits by my side with Cassie on the other side of her. My sister wraps her tiny arms around my waist. She squeezes so tight that it’s hard to breath. I revel in her touch. It makes me think of home.

Duke sits on the floor at my feet. He’s not as active as he normally is. I can only imagine how exhausted he must be.

Two jets fly past us, rattling the Black Hawk as I peer out of the window.

“Where are we going?” Cassie asks the commander.

“An aircraft carrier that’s off the coast,” he answers.

I cradle Cindy in my arms, and kiss the top of her head. I’m still not sure what happened with those chasers not attacking her, but I know that no matter what, she is the key to saving us all.

THE COMPLETE UNDEAD SERIES

BOOKS 0 - 3

BY

UNDEAD APOCLAYPSE: GENESIS

BOOK 0

CHAPTER ONE

The annual stockholders meeting always brought a slew of ideas and meetings of the mind from investors and alumni. It was like clockwork, and something that everyone who didn’t have a silver spoon clutched tightly in their hands expected. For me and the others who actually made things happen for the company, it was always a stressful time. You were either great, or you went home, permanently.

The employee lounge was fairly vacant that day except for a few of us that had the unfortunate duty of pulling the weekend shift. It was hard not being with my wife and son since I was working so much already. Elizabeth was understanding, though, and didn’t bust my chops too much. She knew how important the work we were doing was to me. That and the money I was paid helped cool her jets as well. Payday was her favorite day of the month.

“So, what do you think the brain trust is going to conjure up this year?” Donaldson asks, sipping his coffee and glancing at the TV against the far wall every couple of seconds. Using his right hand, he wipes away any coffee that saw fit to invade his burly, brown mustache that dangles over his upper lip. “Every year, they always up the ante, and expect it to be the next big thing.”

“I don’t know, but how can you stand to watch that stuff?” Clayton asks in utter disdain. He shifts the silver-rimmed glasses on his face and presses them further up on the bridge of his nose. “They never show anything worthwhile. Just who’s been bombed lately, who’s killed who, and how the government has screwed us over lately. Makes me sick to my stomach.”

“Because I love hearing you bitch and moan every time. Helps me get through my day a little easier,” Donaldson replies. “Besides, you don’t hear Saunders and Lentz complaining every few seconds. Hell, Lentz was probably around when the idea of the news was first thought of.” Donaldson chuckles. Lentz cuts his eyes toward him. “Relax there old timer, just messing around. I didn’t think you heard me. Anyways, I thought the both of you were probably too busy trying to think of what you’re going to pitch next. Speaking of that, what ideas do the two of you have swimming in those heads of yours?”

“Actually, I’m trying to tune you out,” Lentz replies. “Your incessant bickering and constant dribble is making it hard for me to concentrate here. Not only that, but I don’t understand why you refer to myself and Christopher by our last names. I think we’ve known each other long enough now to be on a first name basis.”

“Wow. And he fires back with a jab and finishes me off with a right cross, folks,” Donaldson says, smirking. “I guess Dr. Lentz, or Anthony, means business today. What about you?”

“To be honest, I really don’t care,” I reply, reading over the notes on some of the projects we have going.

Donaldson seems to thrive on giving Anthony a hard time about his age. Perhaps it’s because of the gray spreading across Anthony’s head like it’s got a mind of its own or the wrinkles under his eyes and furrows running along his forehead. He hardly ever misses an opportunity to throw shade his way. No one ever takes it as a put down. They take pot shots at one another. Everyone finds it amusing. Anthony takes it in stride, being the most senior of all the scientists around.

“And that’s why I like you, Chris. You don’t get all butt hurt over the insignificant things. Not like Mr. Touchy over here. Oh, I’m sorry. Anthony.”

Dr. Lentz mumbles under his breath as he continues on with his crossword puzzle.

“So what’s stewing in that brain of yours? You’ve had your nose buried in that notebook all morning.”

“Just trying to be ahead of the game. When they ask for suggestions, I want to be ready,” I reply.

“Come on, man. It’s the weekend. I doubt they’re going to do anything now. They normally wait a while after those meetings before probing everyone’s brains for the next big thing. Besides, you need to relax some. You’re too uptight. This place is like a ghost town right now. Kick back and chill out.”

“Well, isn’t that why we have you, Donaldson?” Clayton asks. “You seem to be doing enough of that for everyone.”

“Hey, don’t hate on me because I don’t freak out when those uptight pencil pushers come calling.”

“Well, we’re just assistants. They wouldn’t ask us anyways,” Donaldson says.

The metal door to the lounge opens.

The guys quiet down.

Donaldson clears his throat subtly at first, then a little louder. “Chris.”

“What?” I ask.

He points toward the door at the man in the fine black suit staring at us. His arms are tucked behind his back, head slightly elevated in the air. His face is clean, barren of any stubble and his blond hair is neatly groomed. Higgins is his name if I remember correctly. Not sure if that’s his first or last name. Never thought to ask. He’s new to the company and pretty much the upper managements’ errand boy. Not sure why he’d be here on a weekend, though.

“Saunders, Lentz, Bryson wants to speak with the both of you. Now.”

“Bryson’s here today?” Donaldson asks in shock.

“Yes he is, and he wants to speak with Saunders and Lentz immediately.”

Anthony sets his newspaper down on the table and stands up.

I close my notebook and do the same. I’m a bit nervous. I wasn’t expecting to be summoned upstairs today.

“Good luck,” Donaldson says, raising both of his eyebrows. As much as he enjoys cutting up and ragging on everyone, even he knows when to stow his tongue.

“Thanks.”

Anthony and I leave the employee lounge with Higgins who stays silent the entire time as we walk through the mostly empty building. We step inside the large elevator. Higgins presses the fifth floor button. The door seals us inside. The steady hum of the cables pulls us upwards and echoes within the steel walls.

“So, what do you think this is all about?” I ask in a whisper.

“Who knows. Could be anything. I wouldn’t read too much into it. Yet.” Anthony pats me on the shoulder.

Yeah. Believe me, I’m trying not to.

Ding.

The elevator stops, and the door opens to a space that looks more like an art gallery than an office. Various paintings and décor are perfectly placed around the immense room, creating a Feng Shui environment that feels calm and relaxed. Nothing’s out of place and the subtle rhythmic notes of a saxophone play throughout. I don’t quite remember the fifth floor being so posh last time I was up here.

We make the long trek across the room to a set of large, dark-cherry wooden doors that are cracked open. I see Bryson sitting at his desk on the opposite end of the room through the narrow slit. His right hand presses to the side of his head. He stares at some papers clutched in his other hand. His fingers burrow into the thick, black hair, massaging the top of his scalp.

“Wait here.” Higgins knocks on the door before entering. Bryson glances up, a pair of thick black-frame glasses hanging from the edge of his nose. His face is void of any imperfections and his black goatee is trimmed perfectly. Not a single hair out of place. “Sir, I have Dr. Lentz and Saunders here to see you.”

“Thank you, Higgins. One moment please,” Bryson replies while glancing down at his watch.

I’ve never had the pleasure or displeasure of visiting the executive floor, depending on the reason he wants to speak with the lower minions.

“All right, please, show them in,” Bryson says.

Higgins pushes the doors open a little wider and steps to the side, his face devoid of any discerning pleasantries as he shows us in.

“That’ll be all, Higgins,” Bryson says.

Higgins excuses himself with a gracious nod and ducks out of the office, shutting the doors behind him.

I can’t help but look over Bryson’s office. It’s been outfitted with the highest quality furniture and décor. Detailed artwork hangs on the walls, nestled among the dark-chocolate bookcases. In the middle of the room is an oversized fur rug that compliments the detail in the wooden floors.

“Please, gentlemen, have a seat,” Bryson says with a smile. He pushes his dark-brown executive chair back and stands up. We take our seats in the chairs, the taut leather stretching with our added weight. “Thank you for coming up to see me. I know it’s a bit unorthodox to meet like this on a weekend.”

“Not a problem, sir. What can we do for you?” Anthony replies with an upbeat tone.

Bryson takes his seat and scoots up to his executive desk. He shuffles some papers into a nice, neat pile, and takes a swig from his white coffee mug. “Sorry. It’s been a busy couple of days.”

“Not a problem, sir,” I reply.

“So, as I’m sure you are aware, we recently had our annual stockholders meeting in London. Over the past year, we’ve had some wonderful gains, thanks to ingenious individuals such as yourselves. Not to bore you with the details, but let me assure you the company is doing well and our profit margins are on the rise.”

“That’s good to hear. It’s always nice to see our 401K go up,” I say.

“That it does, and there will be an announcement soon on that.” Bryson stares at us with that all too familiar “and now is the real reason I called for you” smile. “Even with the major strides we made last year, the company is always on the lookout for bigger and better endeavors that can put us that much further ahead. We want to make sure we are at the forefront of innovation and bringing new ideas and concepts to the table before our competitors.”

“I agree. We try to continually push the envelope and explore different avenues that have had little exploration,” Anthony says. “We’ve got some promising projects in the pipeline.”

“Yes, so we’ve heard,” Bryson replies.

The lump in my throat grows. I clear it out by coughing.

“Tell me about Project Starlight,” Bryson says.

Anthony glances my way, his eyes dropping to the notebook clutched in my hands. He raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” Bryson asks.

“No, sir.” Anthony looks back at me.

I clear my throat again, crack open my notebook, and thumb through the marked pages.

“Project Starlight, sir,” I say, clearing my throat. “It’s one of our more ambitious and potentially life changing programs we’re working on.”

“Great. Tell me about it.” Bryson glances at some papers on his desk. He grabs a pen and writes something down. “Just the highlights for now will do.”

“Well, sir, to sum it up, Project Starlight aims to do away with Cancer, Ebola, AIDS, and other alike diseases by attacking those damaged cells. We’ve had some good progress, but seem to be running into a few roadblocks.”

“What sort of roadblocks?” Bryson asks.

“Nothing that we can’t handle, sir.” Anthony shifts in his chair. “It’s all part of the process.”

“I have no doubts about that.” Bryson takes a moment to write on the paper in front of him while Anthony and I wait patiently to see where this conversation is ultimately going. Starlight does have great potential, but the challenges we are currently battling are making it seem more like a fairytale rather than an ambitious attempt at changing the course of medicine.

“I like you two. I don’t have a chance, most of the time, to personally meet with our brightest minds within the organization, but I am glad we were able to sit and chat a bit,” Bryson says with a smile.

“Thank you, sir.”

“It has been a pleasure speaking with you as well,” Anthony replies.

“Well, I know the both of you are probably busy and all, so I won’t take up any more of your time.” Bryson grabs a handful of papers from his desk and hands a stack to each of us.

I take a moment to glance them over. I’m confused as to why we have a new nondisclosure agreement and security clearance along with numerous other amendments. “What is this for exactly?”

“You can think of it as a promotion if you’d like,” Bryson answers.

“A promotion to what?” I’m still not following where he’s going with this. I keep reading over the documents until I come across Project Starlight in bold black letters, and the details of the project outlined below.

“We, the company, want the two of you to put on hold or transfer any projects you’re currently working on and focus exclusively on Starlight. With the potential we see in this endeavor and the amount of time and resources you’ll need to bring the project to a viable state, we are willing to make it worth your while. We already have a team lined up at another facility that has been brought up to speed on what the both of you have accomplished so far. I think you’ll find what we are willing to offer you is more than generous. But please, take the rest of the weekend, read through everything, and let us know on Monday what you think.” Bryson says.

“We sure will. Thank you, sir,” Anthony replies with a big smile.

I’m still feeling the shock and awe of what’s just transpired.

“Great. I’ll be waiting for your decision, then, come Monday morning,” Bryson says. “Higgins will show you out.”

The door to the office cracks open on cue. Higgins steps inside. Bryson stands and reaches over his large desk to shake our hands. I place the documents inside my folder as we’re escorted to the elevator. It takes only a few moments for the carriage to arrive. The door slides open, and we step inside. Higgins excuses himself, and walks away as the door seals and the elevator starts to descend.

“Can you believe this, Chris?” Anthony says, smiling. “We’ve been talking about making this project a reality for so long, and it looks like we’ll have a real shot at doing that.”

“Yeah. It’s great.” I lack the luster that seems to be invigorating Anthony to his core.

“What is up with you? We get handpicked for a high-level project that could totally make our careers, and you act as though you’re unsure if you want it.” Anthony asks, lifting his brow.

“Don’t you find it odd that they already knew about it? Something just felt off about the whole thing,” I answer.

“They knew about it because we have to document and record everything we work on. Company policy. You know that. And the other is in your head. The only thing that felt off or weird in there was your reaction to being offered the chance of a lifetime.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” I’m probably just blowing everything out of proportion.

Anthony pats me on the shoulder, then says, “Why don’t you go home and mull it over. Give me a call later. I can tell you right now I’m in, but only if you are too.”

CHAPTER TWO

I feel so conflicted as we part ways and leave for the day. Anthony’s excited about the new position. In all the years I’ve known him, I haven’t seen him this elated about anything.

My reservations and uncertainty about the project moving as fast as it is keeps me on the ropes. Although being able to leave the lab early for the weekend is kind of a bonus. Elizabeth and Jacob will be happy to see me before dinner for a change.

The drive is sobering at best. I’ve kept the radio turned off as my mind can’t afford the distraction. Traffic is light, flowing through the city with little interruption. I haven’t called Elizabeth to let her know I’m on my way. I kind of want it to be a surprise.

I pass by a billboard that has an image of a child with her hair completely shaved off as she sits in a wheel chair smiling from ear to ear. The caption is what hits me the hardest.

Help Mandy continue her fight. With your help, she can win. Donate today.

I dwell on the image and words as long as I can before I pass it. Is that message speaking to me? I think of Jake, and wonder how I’d feel if that was my child battling a thing like cancer, fighting tooth and nail for just another day to be on this earth. In the end, it really is the little things that matter.

My eyes swell as tears roll down my face. That’s when I finally admit what is holding me back—what’s got me caged inside this cell of contemplation and self-doubt.

Failure.

The fear of being so close to a break through that could change so many lives for the better and to fall short. Flat on my face.

I’ve known families that have gone through the tragic heartache of cancer, and it seems almost unbearable. I’m not one who generally steers away from or shudders in the face of a challenge, but the brick walls we’ve slammed into time and time again have beaten the fight almost out of me.

Until now.

Perhaps Anthony is right. This is a chance to do something good, and with the company fully backing the project, we can persevere.

The hesitation still looms over me like a dull, gray rain cloud, but it isn’t as thick and overpowering as it was. By the end of the drive, the gloomy expression on my face fades to more of a positive smile. Today was meant to happen, and Anthony and I are the ones who can change the course of history.

As I pull into the driveway, Jacob spots me from the middle of the yard and stops playing with his toy trucks. He rushes over to the car as I kill the engine and open the door.

“Daddy.”

“Hey, big man. Are you having fun playing with your toy trucks?”

“Yeah. I’m having a monster truck show.”

“Awesome. Sounds like a lot of fun.”

Jacob hugs my neck tightly and runs back to his toys without a care in the world.

Elizabeth stops working in the flower bed and stands up. Dirt covers her khaki shorts, and her plaid button-up shirt is drenched in a hard day’s work. The tops of her breasts glisten in the sun as sweat races down her face. Her cheeks are a rosy red, and those captivating eyes still sparkle like diamonds. Even dirty she looks amazing.

“Hey, you. What are you doing home so early?” she asks with a smile. “We weren’t expecting you until later on this evening.” She removes her thick garden gloves from her hands as she wraps her arms around me and kisses me on the lips.

“I was given the rest of the day off.”

“You didn’t get in trouble or anything, did you?” she asks, tilting her head to the side and giving me her all too familiar stare.

“No. Not at all. But I do have some news,” I reply.

“So, if you didn’t get in trouble then it’s good news, right?”

“Let’s go inside, and I’ll tell you,” I say.

“Jacob sweetie, let’s go inside for a little bit and cool off,” Elizabeth says to Jacob who stops playing with his trucks and runs past us into the house.

Over the next couple of hours, we talk about the ins and outs of taking the position and what it would mean to us. Elizabeth knows my passion for helping others and that I’ve wanted to further my research for some time. The significant raise the company proposed brought her face to life. Elizabeth was most excited about that, unable to contain the smile on her face.

That night my phone call to Anthony is relatively short and to the point.

“I see bigger and better things on the horizon for us, Chris. Just you wait and see,” Anthony says over the phone. “The world doesn’t know what’s in store for it. Together, we’re going to change lives.”

Monday approaches and I’m back to work. Talking things out with Elizabeth really helped put things in perspective and made me ultimately feel better about moving forward.

I pull into the parking lot, and drive by the front of the Trans Global Pharmaceutical building. Anthony is waiting out front, talking on his phone as he shoots me a wave.

This is it. Today is the start of a new chapter, I say to myself a half dozen times while sitting in the car and looking in the rearview mirror.

I can see Anthony out the passenger window looking over this way. He points to his watch, then waves his hands as if that will make me move faster. I grab my briefcase, get out of the car, and make my way to the front entrance.

“Good lord, man. What were you doing in there? Giving yourself your normal pep talk?”

“Maybe,” I reply as we both chuckle.

“You ready to make history?” Anthony asks.

“Indeed, I am.”

We head inside and make our way to the top floor where Bryson is waiting in one of the many meeting rooms. We hash through any details or questions that anyone has. I have a few minor changes to the agreement and such, but Bryson doesn’t bat an eye. He happily signs off on the amendments, and it’s a done deal.

“On behalf of Trans Global Pharmaceutical, we’d like to thank you for your participation and continued commitment to the company’s mission to expand and explore the furthest reaches of our potential. We see this project as the start of a new phase that will launch us into the future.”

“Thank you for giving us the opportunity. You and the shareholders won’t be disappointed,” Anthony replies.

“We have every bit of confidence in your ability to provide results,” Bryson says. “I know I probably don’t have to reiterate this, but this is a super top secret hush hush project and is not to be talked about with anyone outside its scope. Not even within the company’s network. If they’re not directly involved with Starlight, then they are in the black.”

“Yes sir, we read you loud and clear,” Anthony says.

“Understood, sir,” I say.

“Good. Now that we have all the paperwork and pleasantries out of the way, it’s time to get down to the nitty gritty.” Bryson slides two packages toward us. “One for you, Dr. Lentz, and one for you, Dr. Saunders. Inside those packets you’ll find your new I.D. badges and access cards. You must have these with you at all times to be able to access the restricted labs and other sections of the facility. I cannot stress enough the importance of keeping these items with you.”

I open the sealed white package and reach inside, pulling out the white magnetic access card and hard plastic I.D. badge. Below my name it has Head Researcher and Project Manager in bold letters. It has a nice ring to it.

“Your new security credentials and access privileges have been updated in the system. We’ll be expecting regular reports on the progress that you and your team are making. Do you have any questions?” Bryson asks from across the table.

“Yes, when can we get started?” Anthony asks.

“Now.”

CHAPTER THREE

We’re escorted out of the meeting and down to the parking garage that’s generally reserved for the upper executives. Two gentlemen in nice, dark blue suits and with ear pieces trailing from their right ears and disappearing down the back of their jackets stay at our sides the entire time.

They lead us to a midnight-black SUV. Anthony and I file into the back as one of the escorts boards the front passenger seat.

“What about our vehicles?” Anthony asks. “Are we going to be shuttled back and forth every day like this?”

“For now, yes,” the escort outside the SUV replies.

I catch a glimpse of a handgun tucked into a body holster on his right side as the door shuts. The vehicle instantly rolls out. We traverse the underground garage and fly up a ramp to the street. Before we know it, we’re on the open road, heading to the outskirts of the city.

“How far away is the lab?” Anthony asks the driver.

“About forty-five minutes away.”

“Did you see the gun he had on his side?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

“Yeah. It’s probably company policy and all. We’re not some meager hands anymore. We’re part of something bigger and more important. Without us, they don’t have much of anything. Got to protect your assets.”

“I guess, but it seems to be a bit of overkill, don’t you think?”

“Don’t worry about it. Let them be concerned with security, so we can stay focused on making this project a success.” Anthony’s always been good at wrangling me back in when I dip into left field. “You do realize that once we knock Starlight out of the park, we’re pretty much golden?”

“Well, not sure I’d assume that. I’m just thinking about getting past the initial problems we’ve been facing. I’ll worry about the other later.”

“And that’s why we’re a good team.” Anthony smirks.

The rest of the drive is mostly desolate, minus the cluster of trees that line the highway for most of the trip. Traffic is nonexistent. An added bonus.

We exit the main highway, merge onto a two-lane road, and ride it for a mile or two before coming to a check station just off to our right. We pull up and stop at the entrance barrier gate arm. The driver rolls down his window as a security guard approaches from the small security office.

“We’ve got Dr. Anthony Lentz, and Dr. Christopher Saunders,” the driver says.

The security guard glances back at us with his thick-rimmed sunglasses and SECUIRTY hat covering the majority of his forehead. “I.D. please.” We fish them out of our pockets and hand them to the driver. “Wait here.”

The guard walks back into the office and sits down at his computer. Concrete barricades line either side of the entrance with black cruisers parked behind them. More guards or possibly soldiers, decked in full-black body armor, helmets, and full tactical weapons, circle the SUV. In front of us, beyond the check station, a solid-steel wall blocks off everything else.

The security guard steps out of his office and hands our I.D.’s back to the driver who in turns gives them to us.

“Sorry for the wait, gentlemen. Initial check in protocol. After this, you’ll just need to flash your badge, and we’ll let you right through.”

He pats the side of the door and twirls his fingers in the air. The barrier arm retracts as the gate separates just enough to allow us through. We carefully enter the inner sanctum, following the main road down to a massive-white complex that has blacked out windows covering the front. Numerous cars and more soldiers patrol the grounds.

The SUV pulls around to the west side of the facility and stops under a covered drive. The driver puts the vehicle in park as both men exit. Our doors are opened for us, and we step out and wait. We’re escorted to the entrance that’s bare of any windows—or even a door handle.

“Slide your access card through this terminal. It will grant you access to the facility. Inside, your liaison will be waiting to give you a tour, and show you where you’ll be working. We’ll be here at six P.M. to take you back.”

The escorts close the back doors, load up in the SUV, and drive off.

I take my access card from my jacket pocket, and slide it down the terminal. A green light flashes and a solid-steel door slides open. I take a deep breath, and follow Anthony inside.

CHAPTER FOUR

It’s been two years to the day that we passed through those faithful doors and got to work on Starlight with the full support of the company. Bryson and the rest of the shareholders have been pleased with the progress so far, but we have yet to make it to trial with a host.

Bryson is quick to dismiss or even acknowledge the wins we have. He keeps pushing for the trials, but we aren’t there yet. Doing so could damage the host with the agent as unstable as it is.

The cell phone vibrates on top of my desk, snapping me out of my deep-in-thought moment. I divert my gaze from the monitor, then rub my eyes. They hurt, strained from scanning over test results and filling out my weekly report that I almost dread doing now. I blink a few times to clear out the tiny stars floating in my field of view.

I turn the phone over and look at the clock. It’s midnight. Time has completely gotten away from me, and I totally forgot to check in with Elizabeth.

Hey, babe, just wanted to see how work was going. Me and Jake were hoping you’d make it home tonight so we could see you, but I guess you’re unable to. He’s been asking about you like crazy today. Saying he’s going to give you the biggest hug ever when he sees you. Anyway, text me back when you have a few minutes. Love you, babe. XOXO

Since this project became a reality, my absence from home has grown more and more frequent. She’s been okay with it mostly, but there are times when she voices her unhappiness on the matter. She doesn’t harp or anything like that. Still, I don’t like to see them saddened by my absence.

Hey, sweetie, sorry I didn’t check in. I’ve been knee-deep in paperwork and other stuff and time got the best of me. I miss you guys like super crazy and can’t wait to have my big hug. Plus, some alone time with my beautiful wife. . Love you, sweetie, and hope you sleep good. See you soon.

The door to my office bursts open. Anthony rushes in with papers clutched in his shaking fist. He’s manic, breathing heavy and on the verge of shaking with what I can only guess is good news. Deep furrows line his bloodshot eyes.

“You okay?” I ask. “Your hands are shaking.”

“What?” He glances down at them. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. Too much coffee. Hell, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter, though. We’ve had a breakthrough.”

“Really?”

My cloudy eyes perk up at the news.

Anthony dashes to my desk and hands me the lab reports. He doesn’t bother sitting down. The jitteriness is getting the best of him, causing his hands to shake.

I skim over the results, and find the stabilizing agent we’re using seems to be holding in place. There’s still some degradation, but it’s something.

“This is great.” I reply, elated.

“I know, right. You still got that bottle of rum I bought you for Christmas last year?”

“For sure. Still half full in my bottom right hand drawer,” I reply.

“Well, get it out, then. We need to celebrate this,” Anthony says, pointing at the drawer.

I grab the bottle of Captain Morgan and two shot glasses that have a dingy film lining the inside. I pop the top, pour us each a shot, and slide one of the glasses toward Anthony.

He scoops it up and gulps it down. He puts the glass down, licks his lips, then points to the cup. “Hit me again.”

I pour him some more. He downs it just as fast. I drink mine, savoring every drop as I lean back in my chair. He sets the glass back down. I shake the bottle.

“No, I’m good now,” Anthony replies, holding up his hand and shaking his head. “Do you know how important this is, Chris? We’ve been beating our heads against the wall for months and months, and now we’ve done it. We need to tell Bryson. He’ll flip over the news.”

“Um, let’s not tell them just yet,” I answer.

“Why? This is such a step forward. One they’ve known we’ve been working toward for a while now,” Anthony shots back, confused.

“Shut the door real quick.”

Anthony closes the door, comes back to my desk, and takes a seat. Just as he can read me, I can do the same to him. When his interest is peaked, he’ll raise his right eyebrow slightly and tap his fingers.

I keep my voice low. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but lately after I send our weekly updates to Bryson, all they can ask is when we are going to do live human trials. Regardless of what’s transpired over that week, good or bad, they just keep pushing for that.”

“That’s absurd. We’re not at the stage yet where we can even consider such a thing. Christ, we just made this breakthrough. Granted, we’re crawling closer, but it’s still out of our reach at the moment,” Anthony replies.

“I know. That’s why I want to keep this under wraps and to ourselves until we have some more data to justify human trials.”

“You sure that’s wise?” Anthony asks. “Listen, I’m with you all the way, but if Bryson and the shareholders get wind that we’re withholding information, then their liable to lose their shit. Just saying. And that my friend could land you and me into a boiling bath of lava.”

“I know, but if we pass this along then they could just move forward with human trials and completely destroy everything we’ve worked for on top of possibly hurting someone.”

“Hey, like I said. I’m with you. Just playing devil’s advocate here,” Anthony says.

“Yeah, thanks, Satan,” I reply, chuckling.

“Haha. Do what you want. I’ll back you either way.” Anthony stands up and walks to the door. “I am going to crash on the cot in my office. It’s either fall asleep here or in my car on the side of the road. My car isn’t that comfortable.”

“I’d prefer you to sleep here, then,” I say.

“Will do. Go home and see that wife and kid of yours. I know Lizzy is probably missing you like crazy.”

“They are. I’m probably going to leave here once I get this stuff wrapped up.”

“Tell them hi for me.”

Anthony leaves my office and heads to the right, disappearing from sight. I place our celebratory bottle of rum and glasses back into safe keeping, then skim over the latest lab report once more. Keeping this data from Bryson is a risky move, but one I’m willing to gamble on. Considering how fast they want to move on this regardless of the circumstances is proof enough that caution needs to be taken.

I open my top right file drawer, and place the lab results inside. I secure the lock, grab my briefcase, sling it over my shoulder, and turn off my monitor. I’m spent, and need some downtime but don’t want to spend it in my office. I walk out of my office, turn off the light, and shut my door.

My eyes sag with exhaustion.

A yawn escapes my mouth.

Coffee would be a good companion for the drive home–something to keep me awake and alert.

The cafeteria is on the opposite side of the complex from my office and open 24/7. It’s also next to B-wing that is getting remodeled and upgraded for whatever reason.

I navigate the numerous halls. The labs are still buzzing with techs. Doesn’t really matter what time of day it is or even if it’s a holiday, there’s always someone plugging away every second of every hour.

I dig my phone out of my back pocket, go to my social media feeds, and check on what I’ve missed going on in the world.

My vision is blurry from lack of sleep, and having my eyes glued to computer monitors and lab reports hasn’t helped. I yawn again, feeling the strain of the day’s workload as I round the corner to the cafeteria.

The smell of the freshly brewed java grabs my nose and pulls me in.

The double doors swing open. Two lab techs stroll out, chattering about something. I step to the side, and wait for them to walk by. I catch a glimpse of the plastic sheeting and wonder what could be lurking beyond. The lab techs stop momentarily and turn toward me.

“Dr. Saunders, did you catch any of that football game earlier?” one of the techs asks.

“I sure didn’t,” I reply, distracted by my curiosity.

“You missed out, then. Awesome game throughout and the last two minutes were so close.”

The techs continue on with their conversation as they vanish down the hall, leaving me standing here holding the door open. I peer inside the cafeteria. It’s mostly deserted except for a janitor buffing the floors and a cook wiping down the counter. I turn my attention to the hall to my left, it’s just as empty.

I let go of the swinging door and approach the plastic sheeting. The lights above the entrance to B-wing are turned off. The vent mounted on the wall to the right of the doors whips the plastic with cool air.

My eyes narrow and try to peer through the plastic, but can’t make anything out. I separate a portion of the covering that is overlapping in front of a window to have a better look.

There’s no construction of any kind happening, but a whole other lab that has been setup. It’s similar to the other sections of the facility, but the entrances seem to be portioned off by barriers. The lab workers are diligently working in their respective sections.

“Sir, can I help you with something? This is a restricted area,” a gruff voice asks from behind me.

“Um, no.” I let go of the plastic and take a few steps back.

It’s one of the company’s soldiers that have grown in their presence over the last year. Before they were just outside, now they’re patrolling the inside of the building on a regular basis.

“Just getting some coffee before I leave for the night,” I add while trying to stay calm. Their reflective face plates always keep me on edge. Makes me wonder what lurks under the helmets.

“The cafeteria is right there, sir.”

“Guess I’m just really tired and walked right past it. Sometimes I think I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached.”

He waits there with his weapon pressed against his gear.

“Well, thank you for your assistance. Have a good night.” I walk into the cafeteria and head for the coffee bar, acting like nothing happened. Taking one of the larger to-go cups, I fill it up with coffee and add some sugar and creamer. Stirring the semi beige mixture, I glance over my shoulder at the main doors. The soldier is nowhere in sight, or at least not where I can see him.

I grab a lid for the cup, head out of the cafeteria, and keep going. I rush through the building and out the exit to my car. I fumble getting my keys freed from my jacket pocket, but finally manage to do so. I unlock the driver’s side and climb in, slamming the door behind me. Tossing my briefcase into the passenger seat, and placing the coffee in the cup holder, I take a deep breath.

I start the car and turn on the radio. Music blasts from the speakers. I flinch.

Christ.

I kick the AC on, position the vents at my face, then leave the facility. I head toward the exit, more soldiers watching me drive by. The lamp posts illuminate them in a manner that makes them appear more ominous. I reach the front gate and swipe my card. The gate parts. I drive through. Sammy, the security night guard, shoots me his customary wave as I drive past. I turn on the main road, punch the gas, and make a beeline for home.

CHAPTER FIVE

Morning comes faster than I want.

The sun worms its way through the blinds and small slit in the curtains, hitting me in the face. It took me a while to finally get to sleep after I got home. I bury my head under my pillow, hiding my sensitive eyes from the blinding light.

“Afraid you’ll burst into flames, Dracula?” Elizabeth asks, chuckling.

“Maybe. Might need the blood of a young virgin to keep me healthy,” I reply, removing the pillow from my face.

“Good luck on that. Hasn’t been one of those around forever.”

She comes close to the bed and bends down, scooping up my wadded up clothes from the floor. She tries to walk away, but I grab her around the waist, and pull her onto the bed. I hold her close as I tickle her, her infectious laugh filling the bedroom.

“Stop it, Chris. You know I hate it when you do that.” It’s hard to take her serious when she laughing like that.

“I want to suck your blood.” I sputter in the worst possible Romanian accent anyone’s ever heard. I playfully bite the side of her neck. She screams with laughter.

“Mommy, I’ll save you,” Jacob says, shouting from the doorway. He races over to the bed and jumps on top of me. “Let Mommy go, you monster.”

He ends up getting the best of me and saving the damsel in distress. I die tragically, going limp and closing my eyes.

“Thank you so much for saving me from the evil vampire, Jacob. He should’ve stopped while he was ahead.” Elizabeth smiles, then gets off the bed. “Come on, big man. Let’s get you some breakfast.”

Jacob bounces off the bed and races after her in his red cape and dinosaur-themed underwear. “Better luck next time, Daddy,” he says, leaving the room.

I lie there a few more minutes, then get up, leaving the comfort of the sheets. I grab a quick shower, shave, and get dressed. I’m lured downstairs by Elizabeth’s cooking—just one of the many reasons she captured my heart.

“Something smells amazing down here,” I say, kissing her on the cheek and giving her a big hug from behind.

“Well, Jake wanted some eggs, bacon, and French toast for breakfast this morning, but wanted to wait until you were up.” Elizabeth gives me a kiss.

“Good call, big man.”

Jacob smiles and continues coloring in his superhero coloring book.

I go over to the coffee pot, where my mug is waiting, and pour a cup.

“How was work, sweetie? Making any headway on your project?” Elizabeth asks.

“Busy and long, but we’ve made some significant progress.” I blow the sweltering liquid. “Earlier, I thought I was going to have to tranquilize Anthony because he was so beside himself.”

“That’s great. Hopefully they appreciate all the hard work you put in on this,” Elizabeth says as I sit down. She walks over to the table and scoots some eggs onto mine and Jacob’s plates. “You boys eat up.”

It takes us little time to polish our plates, woofing down the perfectly cooked scrambled eggs, bacon, and French toast. We clean up the kitchen and kick start our day. It’s filled with shopping, a movie, time at the park, and an awesome dinner at our favorite restaurant, Don Juan’s. I’m stuffed to the gills with their signature fajita meat and sauce. Jacob’s been done for a while, and playing on Elizabeth’s phone while we converse about nothing in particular.

My phone vibrates on the table, halting our banter. It’s Anthony.

“Hey, I hope you decided to get out of there for a little-”

“Where are you?” Anthony’s voice sounds stressed, and he’s breathing heavy into the receiver.

“I’m at dinner with Elizabeth and Jacob. Is everything okay?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong, babe?” Elizabeth asks, whispering.

I move the phone away from my mouth. “I don’t know. It’s Anthony.”

I get up from the table and walk outside where there isn’t as much noise.

“Take a deep breath, and tell me what’s going on,” I say, trying to calm him down.

“Someone’s been snooping around your office. Looking in through the blinds and such.”

“Who was it?”

“Don’t know. A couple of guys in suits with a few of those soldiers,” Anthony answers in an raised voice. “Not sure what they’re doing or what they want. I didn’t go ask.”

“Have they gone in? Did they take anything out?”

“I don’t know, Chris. I noticed them briefly while heading to the lab, but I acted as though I wasn’t paying any attention. You might want to get up here ASAP. Got to go. Someone’s coming.”

“Anthony. Anthony.” The line goes silent.

Damn it.

I rush back inside the restaurant, pull my wallet out, and head for our table.

“Is everything okay?” Elizabeth asks, her face thick with worry.

“Not sure. There’s something going on at work that I need to look into,” I answer, shrugging.

“Can it not wait until tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately, it can’t,” I reply. “Jake, buddy, come on. We have to go now.”

The bill hasn’t come yet, but there’s no time to wait. I toss the money onto the table, and we make for the front door. We load into the car and leave the restaurant.

“Slow down, Chris,” Elizabeth says, looking at me.

“Sorry. Didn’t realize I was going that fast,” I reply, taking my lead foot off the gas some.

“So what’s going on at work that has you all worked up?”

“Anthony didn’t say. He just told me I needed to come in as quickly as possible. He knows that I was off today, so for him to call me like that it must be urgent.”

We pull into the driveway at the house as I open the garage door. I leave the car running, hop out, and retrieve Jacob from his seat.

“Are you okay, Daddy?” he asks.

“Yeah, bud. Daddy’s just got to run to work to take care of a few things. I’ll be back after a while.”

Elizabeth takes Jacob by the hand, and they both give me a big hug. “Slow it down, mister.” She gives me a kiss and a smile.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I jump back into the car and wait for them to walk inside the house. Elizabeth waves from the laundry room, blows me a kiss, then shuts the door. I close the garage, back out of the driveway, and head to the facility.

“Call Anthony desk phone.’

The phone rings through the vehicles speakers only a few times before going to his voicemail. I hang up and dial his cell. It does the same. Where is he?

I take some liberties with the speed limit and shave off a little bit of the drive. I pull into the check point to the facility just shy of an hour and go through clearance. I don’t notice anything out of place or out of the ordinary driving down the main road.

I pull into my parking space, step out of my car, and race to the entrance. I swipe my access card and enter the facility. Halfway to my office, Anthony intercepts me and pulls me into a supply closet. He shuts the door and turns on the light.

“Hey, what’s going-”

“Shhh.” Anthony cracks the door and peers out into the hall. I’ve never seen him rattled or paranoid before, so he definitely has my attention. “So these guys in suits came up here early this morning, asking everyone about Starlight and its status. How they feel the project is progressing and such. No one’s talked about what they said. Keeping to themselves.”

“What did you say?” I ask.

“I kept it brief, concise, and to the point. Told them everything is progressing well and that we’re pleased with the progress.”

“Okay, good. Have you seen Bryson around?”

“I haven’t.” Anthony looks more haggard than I’ve seen him for ages. His hair is messy–eyes bloodshot. His clothes are rumpled, and he has some two-day stubble on his face. To be honest, I can’t tell if he actually got any sleep last night or not. From his appearance, likely not.

“Let’s go to my office and figure this out. I’ll make a call to Bryson to find out what’s going on.”

“That could be pointless. For all we know, he sent them and knows all about this.”

“Perfect. We’ll have some answers, then.”

Anthony scoots out from in front of the door as I crack it open. I check the hallway to make sure it’s clear.

No one is in sight that I can see. We step out and close the door. We make our way to my office. The door’s cracked, and there’s a light hue coming from the darkness. I place my hand on the wooden door, and push it open.

Everything’s as I left it, but the computer monitor is on. I turn on the light as we walk inside. Anthony closes the door behind him and peers through the slits of the blinds as I scan over my desk.

“Anything missing?” he asks.

“Not that I can see.” The computer screen is at my login. I type my username and password in. I scan over my desk to see if anything has been tampered with. My top right drawer is ajar. “You haven’t gotten into my locked drawer on my desk have you?”

“No. Why?”

“It’s open.”

“Are any of the files missing?” Anthony comes closer as I extend the drawer out.

All the files appear to be there. “Not that I can tell.”

The computer finally logs in and brings up the home screen. I added a program that runs in the background that captures when the computer was last logged in and what files or programs were accessed. I type in the key combination that loads the program and pulls up a box. There’s no use recorded after I left except for one attempt that was around the time Anthony called me.

“Someone tried to log in around the time we were talking on the phone,” I say. “Doesn’t look like they were able to get past my login screen, though.”

“What do you think is going on here?” Anthony asks.

“I don’t know, but I’m calling Bryson right now to get to the bottom of this.” As I reach for the phone on my desk, the lights grow dim and the power goes out.

Great. Now what.

CHAPTER SIX

The sirens go off, screaming loud. The backup lights kick in. They’re far and few between, cloaking most of the area in and around my office in a heavy shadow. I grab the receiver to my desk phone, and dial as I put it to my ear. Its dead. Not even a dial tone to annoy me. I pluck my phone from my jacket pocket and hit the power button, but there’s no signal. Strange.

“Phone’s dead and my cell has no bars,” I say.

Anthony quickly digs his phone out and checks it. “Same. No signal. What the hell.”

We’ve had power outages before, but nothing to where our cell phones have no signal.

“Wait. I’ve got my old phone in a drawer in my office. Maybe it’s working.” Anthony rushes out of my office in a flash.

I head for the door.

A voice comes over the intercom. “This is a mandatory lockdown. All exits have been secured. Please be patient and wait for further instructions.”

A mandatory lockdown is generally indicative of one or two things. Either a major security breach or a contagion breach. I’m hoping more for the security breach than something from the labs escaping in the ventilation systems.

I step out into the darkened hall and look around. There’s no security guards or soldiers in sight. To my right is much the same. Numerous dark patches plague the halls either way, conjuring a more than creepy vibe in the subtle silence melding with the intermittent ringing of the sirens.

I venture down the hallway after Anthony to see if he’s had any luck with obtaining a signal. Every step I take, the buzzing noise of the alarm jolts my anxiety. My head is on a constant swivel. I look from side to side in the dark spaces that the emergency lights struggle to reach.

The labs have been sealed off; doors locked while what techs remaining in each room peer out into the halls.

Something bangs against the floor behind me. I jump and spin around, trying to find the cause of the disturbance but can’t make anything out in the blinding darkness of the corridor.

I walk a bit faster, picking up the pace. The hairs on the back of my neck reach for the ceiling. Another strange noise captures my attention. It sounds like a muttered moan creeping up on me. I can hear heavy footsteps stalking me from behind. I freeze. My breathing rises harshly as some primal instinct urges me to get out of there.

Going from a subtle walk to a sprint, it shortens the distance between us.

I check the doors near me to see if they’re unlocked.

It shrieks and draws closer.

I fumble with the handles of each door, finding them to be locked. Adrenaline surges through my body as I search for refuge. My heart pounds hard against my chest. My ears perk, catching its low-toned growl and grunt clear as day. It sounds like a wild animal on the hunt.

The next door I check is the copier/supply room. I yank the handle down. The door opens. I slip inside, and slam it shut, locking it behind me. Whatever it is stops. I can see its silhouette through the frosted glass as it inspects the door.

A dim light hangs overhead, casting the small space in a hue of yellow. I back up to the far wall, my hands glide along the counter. The paper trimmers and cutters catch my eye.

I reach for the phone in my jacket, but my fingers tremble so that I can’t grab it. I finally manage to pull it out as the thing strikes the door. My body jerks, and my hands lose their grip.

The phone crashes to the floor.

The creature pounds and beats the wood door in every attempt to gain access.

I reach for the paper cutter blade, grab the handle, then pull it free from the base.

The creature breaks through the glass, shattering the window.

Tiny shards are thrown at me. I put my arms up to protect my face. I lower them down, and find it staring at me with its only eye. The other is nothing more than an open, hollow hole. The creature looks human as far as I can tell. Its face is twisted–disfigured. If it wasn’t for the two arms and legs and the fact it’s walking upright, you wouldn’t be able to tell it’s a person.

We lock eyes.

It shrills and reaches for me.

I swing the blade and hack at his deformed arm, the skin paler and more elongated than normal. The first few blows do little to deter its drive. It still tries to grab me any way it can. Flesh and blood go flying. It seems to ignore the fact that I’m tearing into its arm.

Controlled gunfire breaks out to my left, impacting the creature in its side. It doesn’t go down, but it stops coming after me and looks to its right. It pulls its half-mangled forearm out of the room and bares its teeth. It takes a single step toward the noise. A slug slams into its forehead, taking it down for good.

I stand there in a daze, panting, not sure if what I just experienced was a nightmare or real. Lights play off the wall across the hall as heavy footsteps and radios clicking rush toward me.

“Control, we’ve neutralized the biological,” a soldier says from in front of the door. He shines his light right into my face. “No casualties that we’ve come across yet. We have Dr. Saunders here. Sir, are you okay? Have you been bitten or scratched?”

“N... no,” I say.

“Sir, have you sustained any abrasions from the creature?” he asks once more.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Dr. Saunders appears to be fine, but we’ll have him checked out anyways.”

The lights flicker as the surge of electricity powers throughout. I glance at my hands; they’re covered in blood, and chunks of that thing’s flesh cling to my skin.

I drop the blade, and lean against the counter, trying to make sense of what just happened. More soldiers and guys in hazmat suits arrive.

My brain tunes everything out as I try to calm my nerves. I spot my phone on the floor laying in a small pool of blood. I reach for it.

“Do not touch the phone until we have sanitized it, sir.”

I stop as the door opens. The body has been removed, blood streaking off to the right. Soldiers stand guard outside the room as two guys in hazmat suits walk in. “What the hell was that thing? What’s going on here?” I ask in a raised voice, demanding answers.

They grab my wrist and plunge a needle into my forearm. I try to push them off me.

After a few moments, the room spins, my eyes grow heavy, and I notice a gurney in the hallway. Before I know it, I’m gone.

CHAPTER SEVEN

A disembodied speaks to me. “Dr. Saunders? Dr. Saunders, can you hear me?”

I’m lying down, but it feels like I’m floating in the air. Might be because I’m still lightheaded and all. What did those guys in those hazmat suits drug me with?

A light grows in front of my face. My lids open one at a time. At first, all I can see is stars. I blink and flush out the film clouding my eyesight. My head feels bulky. It’s a burden to lift it.

“Dr. Saunders, how do you feel?” the voice asks again.

“I feel fine, minus whatever I was drugged with,” I reply, groggy. “Where am I?”

“You’re in one of the labs. We wanted to do a quick examination to make sure you’re okay.”

I sit up from the bed, and swing my legs to the floor. “What the hell was that thing in the hall?”

The slight glaze coating my vision wanes as I rub my eyes. There’s a glass of water on the table next to me. I retrieve it, then gulp down half the liquid. Silence falls. I grind my sockets with my knuckles, blink, then open my eyes. Bryson is sitting in the chair across from me–studying my face.

“Hey, Chris, welcome back,” he says. He’s got his right leg crossed over his left as he glances over some paperwork.

“From looking over your chart here, it looks like you’ve got a clean bill of health. Well, your blood pressure is a bit high, and you probably need to manage your cholesterol intake a little better.”

“What are you doing here?” I’m lightheaded. The world spins. My hands press to the bed to keep me stable.

“I came here to check on you and the progress you’re making,” Bryson responds, setting the manila folder down. “You were given a cocktail to help you relax while being checked out. The affects should wear off soon.”

“Did you send the goons in suits to break into my office and go through my files?”

“Consider that a surprise inspection of sorts,” Bryson replies. “This is a highly watched project, and our employers are expecting results. We just want to make sure you’re being completely forthright with your findings.”

“Have we given you any reason to doubt us otherwise?” I ask.

“Not so much, but for us, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Remember, the company has invested a significant amount into this research.”

I run my hand over my face. A sickening feeling torments my stomach from the drugs. I sigh, then lower my hand. “What was that thing that attacked me? It didn’t look human. Not anymore anyways.”

“That is a work in progress that should’ve been contained a lot better than it was. We are looking into how it escaped containment.”

“Hold on. You’re telling me that thing was produced in this facility? What the hell is going on here, and I don’t want to hear any of this ‘it’s classified’ BS,” I say, incensed. “That thing nearly killed me. I want some answers, now.”

“You want answers, huh?” Bryson asks, lifting his brow.

“Yes. I think I’m entitled to some given the circumstances,” I reply.

“I can respect and acknowledge your current situation, given the ordeal you just went through, but I think we need to make something clear here.” Bryson leans forward in his chair, staring me in the eyes with a stern expression on his face. “The only thing you’re entitled to is what I tell you. Beyond that, I don’t owe you shit. Am I clear?”

This is definitely a different side of Bryson than I’ve ever seen. I’d be lying through my teeth though if I didn’t think for one second that this was his true face. From the stories I heard before actually meeting him, this seems like his true nature. Not some front.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Bryson smiles. His demeanor flips. He leans back in his chair, then says, “So, I must confess something, since we’re getting things out in the open here.”

“What’s that?”

“That ‘project’ you came into contact with earlier is something we’ve been working on for some time. Even before we initially talked about Starlight. We were keeping a close eye on your work and the progress you were making. It was kept under the radar.”

Bryson digs into a dark-brown carry bag, retrieving a red folder that has Top Secret in bold white letters across the top. He hands it to me. I blink and rub my eyes some more, then open the folder.

Scanning through the various documents detailing the particulars of the project, the realization hits me like a lightning bolt. “You already had a lot of data on Starlight before meeting with us, didn’t you?”

“We did. While you and Dr. Lentz were working on one end of the spectrum, we were working on a different part—testing and creating different strands to see what effects would be generated,” Bryson replies.

“How, and why act like you didn’t know what we were working on, then?” I ask, confused.

“We keep tabs on everything that is going on inside the company. At the end of the day, you work for us, and regardless of how confidential you think your work is, it isn’t yours. It’s ours. Now as far as the why, let’s just say we wanted to see what the two of you thought about the project. After all, both you and Dr. Lentz gave life to this idea, and we needed to see if you had the fortitude to fully bring it to fruition. So far, looks like you’re well on your way.”

I lower my head, then shake it in disbelief. “I can’t believe this.”

“You and Dr. Lentz have done an amazing job with the work so far, but now it’s time we take it a step further,” Bryson says. “We need to push the boundaries. Reach new heights of what this project can do.”

“I don’t understand something here. Why the separate program running off the same ideas and studies that we’ve been doing? What’s the purpose?”

“That is not for you to worry about. We leave the ifs and whys to the bureaucrats. Our job, and especially yours, is to make things happen.”

“So what are you after here?” I want Bryson to arrive at whatever destination he’s going for.

“The shareholders and I want to bring you and Dr. Lentz onboard with this project. We’re hoping you’ll be able to help refine the processes we’re looking at. We’ve been pleased with the progress you’ve been making. Although, we’d like for the progression to move a tad more swiftly, but none the less, we’re still happy with the direction you’re heading,” Bryson answers.

“So create more of those things?” I say, pointing out of the room we are in. “More monsters.”

“In a manner of speaking. Perhaps not as crude and hostile as you witnessed earlier. You’d still work on Starlight, though, and bring that home.”

A heavy sigh slips from my lips as I close the red folder. It’s hard to fathom what they’re doing—no doubt in B-wing that’s receiving a so-called face-lift. A true circus of horrors lies beyond those doors—one I don’t want a part of.

I toss the folder onto the table next to Bryson, then sigh. He adjusts in his chair. “Thanks for the offer, but I must decline. I couldn’t in good conscious be a part of any experiments such as that.”

“Code of Ethics and all that jazz, huh?” Bryson asks.

“That and being a decent human being.”

“And that’s why we value your work so much, Chris. That moral creamy center you have nestled inside of you.” Bryson stands and waves his hand at the door to our left, motioning at someone in the darkness to come in. “But see, what you have to remember is that you work for us, and I’m going to need for you to reconsider.”

Anthony is escorted in by a man who’s dressed in similar gear as the soldiers, minus the helmet. He doesn’t look like the run of the mill minions that have been popping up everywhere. His suit looks like it’s reinforced with thicker armor and is beefed out more than the others.

His head and face are bare, lacking any hair emerging from his pasty complexion. His eyes narrow in my direction. He seats Anthony in a chair and stands behind him.

“Hi, Anthony, good to see you again,” Bryson says with a smile. Anthony peers up at me, his body posture guarded. His hands are kept in front of him, palms resting on his thighs. “He’s already met Connor, the personal head of our security. You’ll be seeing him more around here.”

It isn’t hard for one to discern what’s going on, but it’s hard to believe it’s actually happening. I could be overreacting, but then again, I’m probably not.

“And what if I just can’t get past the fact that the company wants to manipulate science in such a crude manner? Let’s say after learning all of this I no longer want to work for this company. Actually, I think I’m done here. Consider this my resignation.”

I stand up from the bed, my legs still unsure as I garner my balance. Connor grabs Anthony by the sides of his arms and squeezes them tighter as Bryson paces the room.

“Yes, that is one way to go, but doing so could be detrimental to the two of you and your families’ health. Speaking of family, how’s Elizabeth and Jacob doing?” Bryson asks. “That’s a great looking family you got there. Looking all picturesque. It would be a shame if something happened to break up that happy home.”

I stop cold in my tracks. Did I just here him correctly? Did he threaten my family? My hands ball into a fist, my eyes narrowing in his direction.

Connor pulls a gun from his right side and lets it hang in his hand where I can see it.

“Oh good, I’ve got your attention. Thought that might curb the whole ‘I resign’ nonsense,” Bryson says.

“So the deal here is either I do as you ask or you’re going to kill my family?” I ask, vexed.

“Well, again that’s a crude way of putting it, but yes, that’s the general idea. Don’t get me wrong, you have a wonderful family, and I’d hate to break up a loving home, but the choice of what happens rests with you.”

My body trembles, blood boiling to the point that I’d risk getting killed just to feel my fingers wrap around Bryson’s scrawny neck.

I glance at Anthony who wears a despaired frown as his eyes stay focused at the ground. There’s no telling what they have on him. His ex-wife? Kids? Parents? It could be all three, but one would be more than enough. To say that we’re royal screwed at the moment is an understatement.

“So, what’s it going to be, Chris? Should we file your exit paperwork or just forget that it was even brought up and move forward, together, to bigger and better things?” Bryson asks.

I want to kill Bryson in the worst way, but for now, to keep Elizabeth and Jacob safe, I’ve got to play ball. “When do we start?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Bryson grins from ear to ear like some schmuck. “I knew you were a smart man. From the moment I met you, I could see that. As an added perk for deciding to stay with us, we’ll be giving you and Dr. Lentz an additional raise. See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? You got more money and a new project to sink your teeth into. Sounds like a win-win to me.”

“You played us from the get go. Like a damn violin,” I reply, shaking my finger at him.

“Don’t look at it that way. Once the two of you put the final special touches on both projects, your name will go down in history as some of the most brilliant minds to ever live. We’re actually doing the two of you a favor.” Bryson glances at Connor and flicks his hand. The gun temporally vanishes as he takes a couple steps back from Anthony.

“Not how we see it,” I say, looking at Anthony. “Monsters don’t go down in history as heroes.”

“Come on, guys, perk up. This is a good thing and one that you should be excited for. There are so many wonderful things that I see on the horizon for us. The best has yet to come.”

I relax my tense body as much as I can. My knuckles turn a milky white, fingernails digging into my palms as I allow my fingers to unfold. Swallowing the bitter taste of betrayal is hard to accept.

“I think this would be a good time for us to take a tour of the newest expansion to the TGP family,” Bryson says. Anthony slowly gets out of the chair and stands next to me. “Oh, one more teeny tiny thing before we jump into the good stuff.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“For the time being, we’re going to need the two of you to stay on site. Just until I’m sure we are all on the same page here.”

“As in live here?” I ask. It shouldn’t come as a shock, but for some reason, it does.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, though. We’ve got you some really nice quarters set up. Spared no expense,” Bryson says.

“What about my family? What am I supposed to tell them?”

Bryson shrugs. “Tell them whatever you’d like. I have faith that you’ll handle the matter appropriately.”

We fall in line behind him and walk out of the lab with Connor flanking us. The section of the facility we’re in is unfamiliar, more high tech and with that polished new look to it. Bryson approaches a set of double reinforced steel doors, then flashes his badge in front of a magnetic lock plate. The doors whisk open.

“Both of your cards have already been added to the security database for B-wing,” Bryson says, walking inside.

Connor nudges us in the back to get us moving. We walk once more and enter the far-from-under-construction section of the building.

“We’ve added some additional security to this sector in the interim until we can reinforce the enclosures. We can’t have these experiments mingling with you folks,” Bryson says in a raised voice.

On top of the numerous labs filled with techs, there’s also holding cells interwoven within each space. Most are empty while some have the creatures housed within the clear plastic barriers. Some appear to be completely normal while others look less human and have a more grotesque appearance. Long, sharp claws protrude from the ends of their fingers, and jagged teeth fill their mouths as they stare upon us with soulless eyes.

“Where do you get the test subjects?” I ask.

“Various places. Most are volunteers with little to no ties to the outside world,” Bryson replies. “For now, until the process is refined, we use just about anyone for testing purposes.”

“So these people just agree to come in here to be poked and prodded like some guinea pigs?” I ask shocked.

“You’d be surprised what people will agree to when you offer them a roof and some food,” Bryson answers as if it’s no big deal. “We’ve got you two set up in here, stocked full of all the lab equipment you’ll need.”

There are two soldiers stationed close by with weapons at the ready. Bryson presses his access card to the magnetic lock plate and opens the door. He steps to the side and allows us to take in the full scope of our second lab.

The lab is immense, broken up into two separate work areas that are decked out with numerous monitors and other technical machines. In the back of the lab are two holding cells that are empty.

“Nice digs, huh?” Bryson asks.

“It’s definitely bigger than our current labs. That’s for sure,” Anthony replies.

“You two, Connor, myself of course, and a select few have access rights to the lab. There are cameras covering every inch of the wing. So there’s someone watching at all times. Helps us keep people honest,” Bryson says. “Come on, there’s one more thing I want to show you before we get you settled into your rooms.”

We funnel out of the lab and head down a couple flights of stairs to a long, bright hallway. The temperature drops significantly, even from the labs we just came from. More soldiers are stationed at different points, cameras mounted in every corner. They follow us as we pass by and stop at another room. Bryson opens a panel on the wall and retrieves a light blue surgical mask that he hands to me.

“Put this on.” He grabs a few more and passes them around. “This is where we keep those experiments that are no longer of use to us. Not alive anyways.”

The door whisks open. A burst of cold air rushes us, sending a deep shiver down my spine. The room spans in every direction, boasting stainless-steel hardware and gurneys with body bags attached to their tops. There’s a handful of techs working in various parts of the space.

Bryson leads us to a table with a white sheet draped over a body. Blood stains have soaked through various parts of the fabric. It’s encased inside a plastic box that has gloves mounted on both sides. Bryson moves to the opposite side of the table and slips his arms inside a pair of the gloves. He grabs a fistful of the sheet and pulls it back, revealing the creature that attacked me earlier.

Anthony places his hand over his mouth, gasping and gagging some as he looks away. As much as I want to divert my gaze, the horrid imagery sucks me in.

“The virus effects each host differently. Some experience a more adverse change than others,” Bryson says. “It can take from a couple of minutes to days for them to fully mutate. There doesn’t seem to be a pattern that we’ve been able to find yet to tell us why this is.”

“May I?” I ask.

“By all means,” Bryson replies.

I move my face closer, then slip my arms inside the gloves. I scan its decrepit body, studying every inch of its decayed skin. I reach for its face, and pull back its lids. Its eyes are partially white with the bottom halves completely black.

“Is it blind?” Anthony asks.

“In some rare cases, yes. They are able to track by smell and sound,” Bryson answers. “Most, though, exhibit the change with no degradation to their vision.”

Its mouth is ajar, revealing some of its teeth. Some are normal while others have a jagged appearance to them.

“How was this thing even walking?” I ask astonished. “Just from the mere condition its body is in, it shouldn’t have been able to move.”

“In almost all of the test subjects, the virus shuts down brain activity. Reasoning and self-preservation is tossed out the window, leaving it with a primal instinct. But like I said earlier, we’re hoping to refine the process, so the effects are not as savage as this. Hopefully, it’ll be able to regenerate tissue and improve the overall condition of the human body,” Bryson replies.

It’s scary that this could even happen. The body looks like it belongs in a horror movie on a Hollywood studio set, not in a lab. Plus, the mere fact that this used to be a normal person is just disturbing.

Bryson removes his hands from the gloves and comes back around next to Anthony and me. I pull my arms from the plastic material as I try to peel my eyes away. “What happens to the bodies when you’re done examining them?”

“They’re properly disposed of.” Bryson leaves it at that. A phone rings from inside his coat. He pulls it out, glancing at the screen for a few seconds. “Excuse me.”

Bryson walks off toward the door where Connor is still standing guard, his gaze focused on our every twitch.

“Can you believe this?” Anthony asks. “Jesus, and here we thought the stuff we were working on was out there. What have we gotten entangled in?”

“I don’t know, but for now, we have to play along,” I reply.

“Listen, I’m sorry I got us wrapped up in this mess.” Anthony tilts his head down, his voice resonating with so much guilt. “If I wasn’t so pushy on moving this forward, we wouldn’t be in the pickle we are now.”

“It’s not your fault. I agreed to it as well,” I reply. “We had no idea that they were playing us from the beginning. We started this to make a difference, and we can still try to do that—one way or another.”

“What are you going to tell Lizzy?” Anthony asks.

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something.”

“Sorry about that, gentlemen. Urgent call,” Bryson says, walking toward us. “So, what do you think?”

Anthony and I glance at one another before I answer. “We’ll make it happen,” I answer.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Bryson says, slapping his hands together. “I knew you two would be on board with the project.”

I don’t share his enthusiasm.

“In your rooms, you’ll find all the data on the project to bring you up to speed. Connor will escort you to your rooms.” Bryson’s phone goes off again. He excuses himself and leaves the morgue, disappearing from sight.

We leave shortly thereafter, following Connor through the inner workings of B-Wing. We take an elevator to the top floor and head down a long hallway where a section of the building is still being renovated. He stops in the middle of two doors and turns to face us.

“These are your rooms. Dr. Lentz, your room is to my left, and, Dr. Saunders, you have the other. They are fully furnished with most everything you should need. The phones are preprogrammed with the emergency contacts you provided and to the labs and other departments. They are only to be used to contact internal personnel or to check in with those individuals who are your contacts so as to alleviate any suspicion. The phones are tapped and we’ll be listening to every single call you make. After you’ve reviewed the files, you can start work. Make sure you have your I.D.’s on you at all times. Do you have any questions?” Connor asks.

We shake our heads, indicating that we understand.

“Good. Use your access cards to gain entry.” Connor walks away and down the hall toward the open elevator. Two soldiers are stationed on either side of the elevator. He turns to face us. The light above the carriage flashes. The door slides closed.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” Anthony says. He scans his badge and walks inside his room.

I stand there for a moment, tapping the plastic badge against my palm as I stare at the soldiers. Somehow, some way, I’m going to find a way out of this.

CHAPTER NINE

My home away from home, for however long it maybe, is relatively small and cramped. It looks more like an efficiency apartment than anything else. One big room with a small bathroom to my left that has a narrow shower wedge between the wall and toilet.

The kitchen, if you want to call it that, has a micro fridge and a microwave on a stand cramped next to a floor to ceiling pantry. The company’s definition of fully stocked and mine are worlds apart.

Over by the couch and perched on a metal side table rests a black phone. Sitting next to it is a thick red folder.

I plop down on the stiff cushions of the couch, grab the phone, and set it in my lap. Scooping up the receiver, I dial Elizabeth’s cell when I freeze.

What am I am going to say to her? What if I accidentally let something slip that I shouldn’t?

Just keep it short, concise, and get off the phone as fast as you can.

I recite those words to myself over and over again. It’s going to be hard, and she won’t understand. She’ll probably be mad and upset, but eventually she’ll move past it.

Picking up the receiver once more, I dial Elizabeth’s number and commit. With every ring that penetrates inside my head, I grow anxious, but I need to stay calm and collected.

“Hello?” She says as if speaking to a complete stranger.

Remember, they’re listening.

“Hey, sweetie,” I reply as normal as I can.

“Hey, babe,” she says, elated. “How is work going? Is everything okay there?”

I hesitate for a moment but not long enough to arouse suspicion. “Yeah, everything is good. Just some equipment problems, but nothing too major.”

“Good. Glad you got it taken care of,” Elizabeth replies. “When will you be heading home?”

“Not sure just yet. We’ve just been given another project that’s top priority.”

“Really? Are they having Anthony work this much as well?” Elizabeth asks with a heated tone.

“Yes. He’s been assigned to it, too.”

She sighs into the receiver. I can hear my little man playing in the background.

Remember, keep it short, concise, and get off the phone before you screw it up.

“Hey, baby, I got to run. I have a ton of files I need to go through. I’ll call you soon, okay?”

“Okay, babe,” Elizabeth replies, her tone lifeless. “Try not to work too hard. We love you.”

“I love you too, beautiful. Give Jacob a hug and a kiss for me.”

“I will. Bye, babe.”

“Bye, sweetie.”

The phone goes silent before that nagging dial tone blares into my ear. I hang up the receiver, and lean my head back against the solid cushion.

Damn it.

I sit the phone down on the end table, pluck the files from the top and crack the folder open. I go to the front of the file, reading every note and data reading. I’m struggling to concentrate and focus but push on.

I consume the top secret data page by page. My brain swells from the additional information. I scrounge up a pen and a black notebook and take notes. The more I read, the more ideas conjure up to tweak their recipe. They have a good foundation that was spring boarded off my and Anthony’s research, but there are a few areas I spot that need to be changed.

For the next five hours, I swim in data and formulas. The notebook I found looks like I’ve gone mad. There’s scribble marks randomly placed over most of the pages. As soon as I write something down, it changes for whatever reason. I take some breaks here and there, only to conserve my eyes and ward off any headaches.

Knock, knock.

I sit the files on the couch, and get up to answer the door. Anthony stands in the hall with a black notebook clutched in his right hand. He still looks haggard and tired, the bags under his eyes growing every time I see him.

“So, what do you think?” he asks as he walks past me. “My head is such a damn jumbled mess right now the light bulb is slow to brighten up.”

“I’ve managed to make some headway,” I reply as Anthony plops down on the couch.

“Christ. Got to love the five star accommodations, huh? Reminds me of the days I spent in college in that hole in the wall apartment I had.”

“Yeah, I think Elizabeth’s and my first place was about the size of this.” I pick up the notebook from the couch and thumb through the pages, stopping at one in particular. I flip it around and hand it to Anthony.

Without a word, I walk to the fridge and fetch a bottle of water. The cold plastic sends a brief chill up my hand and through my arm as I screw the cap off and take a drink.

He skims over my notes. It isn’t the first time he’s had to decipher my writing. When you’ve worked closely with someone for as long as we have, you tend to translate their horrible writing with relative ease.

“Do you think this will work?” he asks.

“I’ve run the numbers multiple times and it points to that,” I reply.

“That’s great if it works. This means that we’ll have taken another step forward for Starlight,” Anthony says.

“That and it theoretically could act as a counter to that virus they’ve concocted.”

“You mean, even reverse the most severe cases?”

“Maybe. We’ll just have to test it down in the lab to see,” I reply.

“Speaking of the lab, we probably need to get down there soon. I’d like to start making some head way on this. That and we don’t want them to think we are plotting something,” Anthony says.

“I’d imagine they have our rooms bugged. Like Bryson touted, they know everything that’s going on,” I reply. But Anthony is right. We need to get in the labs and pound this research out. The faster we jump on this the faster we can be done. “Why don’t you take Starlight, and I’ll tackle this other mess.”

“What about your notes?”

“Just tear out the pages that pertain to Starlight.”

Anthony pulls the papers free from the spine of the notebook and hands it back to me. He stands up from the uncomfortable cushion and heads for the door. I pick up my jacket from the back of the couch and the file from the seat, and follow him into the hallway.

We head down to the elevator that is already open with the same two soldiers standing at the ready. Even if it wasn’t the same two, you couldn’t tell. The helmets keep their faces hidden. We step inside the carriage and close the door, the steady hum of the motor taking us down to the labs below.

“So, what’d you tell Lizzy?” Anthony asks.

“That we had a project dumped into our laps that had to be dealt with ASAP, and I wasn’t sure how long it was going to take,” I answer.

“Did she flip out?”

“Let’s just say she wasn’t thrilled by the news.” The carriage dings, and the door slides open. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Likewise,” Anthony replies as he disappears around the corner.

Armed with my notes and the files, I make my way to our lab and dive in. No distractions, nothing to deter me or stray my focus from the task at hand.

The minutes turn to hours, hours to days, and days to weeks before I realize a month has gone by. I’ve seen the sunlight perhaps a handful of times, and each time I soak in its warm rays.

The lab I’m holed up in is like that of a cold, unfeeling shoulder that doesn’t want or embrace you. Luckily, I’m able to fend off such depressing feelings before they take hold. The occasional phone calls I make to Elizabeth rejuvenate my will. She doesn’t ask anymore when I’ll be heading home. We just talk briefly about whatever. Jacob gets on the phone here and there and rambles on about utter nonsense. To be honest, I’ve sorely missed it.

Both projects have come leaps and bounds, putting Bryson in an especially happy mood. He’s had more of a presence in the facility since the incident with the biological escaping its holding cell. He stops by regularly, asking for updates and anything else that might be rattling around in that head of his. Connor is much the same, minus the speaking part. His eyes seem to be everywhere, watching every little thing we do as if he’s hoping to catch us doing something wrong. I’ve thought about it, but quickly dismissed the thought.

“Dr. Saunders, I’ve got the cadaver you requested,” a mortician says through the intercom next to the door to my lab.

Peeling my eyes away from the microscope, I walk to the door. I catch a glimpse of my reflection; a thick-brown beard has taken up residence on my jaw. It’s been ages since I’ve grown one—mainly because I thought they made me look old. I was right.

I open the door. He positions the gurney long ways and carts the body inside the lab. The cool air whistling throughout the room ruffles the white sheet, giving me snapshots of the woman resting peacefully. If things go as I’ve calculated, she won’t be like that much longer.

I pause, staring at her.

“Is there a problem, sir?”

“No, no problem,” I reply, shaking my head.

We move her inside the holding cell, and lock the gurney’s wheels in place.

“So, you think this time it’ll work?” he asks.

“Maybe.” I double check the straps holding her hands and feet in place, set the IV into her left arm, and place a piece of tape over her skin.

I walk out of the holding cell and to the refrigeration unit. I crack open the door, reach inside, and carefully grab a strand of the virus I’ve been testing. This variation will hopefully produce something more than a single minute twitch.

“That’ll be all. Thank you,” I say.

“Let me know when you’re done with it, and I’ll come collect the body.”

He leaves. I’ve never understood how they can refer to these bodies as if they’re unwanted garbage.

I cover her face, unable to look at her. I hold the chilled syringe in my hand, plunge the needle into the tube that’s feeding into her arm, then press the plunger. The substance worms its way through the tube and into her body.

Part of what Bryson had originally told us about the time table for the virus to take affect was true, but with a few minor adjustments I’m hoping to narrow that down some. If my calculations are correct, the reanimation should occur within the next five minutes or so.

I glance at my watch and set the timer for five minutes. Her arm hangs off the side of the gurney, a deep, dark purplish color taking hold of her extremely cold flesh. Her ring finger has a loop indention close to her hand. I wonder if she was happily married and if her husband misses her.

The door to the lab opens. Anthony stumbles in, half beside himself, a wad of papers pressed firmly to his chest.

“I think I’ve got it, finally.” He sits the papers down on his desk as I come over. “I think I’ve got us a working viable serum.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, here.” Anthony thumbs through the mound of papers until he plucks the one he’s after out and hands it to me. “I’ve checked and double-checked the data, and it pans out. The serum should significantly aid in repairing damaged cells.”

I skim over the data, taking in the results that show much promise.

“This is great. We should be able to start live trial testing much faster than we had originally planned.”

“I know. Everything we’ve worked for and sacrificed is finally going to pay off,” Anthony says, smiling.

The timer on my watch beeps, distracting me from the test results. I turn it off, then glance back into the holding cell. The body is still motionless, no signs of movement visible.

“How’s it going with that?” Anthony asks.

“Well, it’s not at the moment. I think I’m close to breaking through the wall, but keep coming up short.”

“I still can’t believe you were able to convince Bryson to use cadavers instead of live hosts. He seemed pretty set on the notion,” Anthony states.

“Yeah well, when you make it sound like you know what you’re talking about that helps.”

Shrill.

The body on the gurney springs to life, her back arching and hands twitching. She shakes, then thrashes her arms and legs. The gurney stays planted, but the wrist and ankle straps give.

“Christ.”

I drop the papers in my hand and rush to the holding cell. I type in the access code to seal the door. It beeps, but it doesn’t close.

The straps around her feet stretch. She thrashes even more, panicked as she tries to get free. The leather material tears from the gurney. She sits up. The sheet falls around her waist. She stares at me with her black eyes, grunts, then yanks her hands up to get free.

“Close the door.” Anthony runs up beside me. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know. It’s not accepting my code.”

She shrills and tugs harder. The remaining straps snap. I type in my code one last time as she scurries off the gurney. Stark naked and mouth wide open, she rushes for us. My hand drops and I stumble back. The door slides shut, sealing her inside.

“Jesus. That was close,” Anthony says, panting.

Her pleas are muted. She strikes the cell with her fist. With every blow, blood splatters against the clear hard plastic. She doesn’t bat an eye at the pain as she continues to explore a way out.

“Yeah. A little too close.”

Anthony helps me to my feet as we stand there staring at what used to be a dead body. Her gaze switches from Anthony to myself. She presses her forehead to the door and growls.

“I think I’m going to leave the two of you alone, so you can get better acquainted,” Anthony says as he pats me on the shoulder. “I’m going to write up my report, and submit it to Bryson. You good here?”

“Yeah.”

“Great, because I wasn’t planning on staying anyways.”

Anthony heads out of B-Wing as I regain my composure. The reanimation of the body happened close to where I predicted, meaning one of two things: Either I’ve nailed it or it was a coincidence. Either way, it isn’t good.

CHAPTER TEN

For the next few hours, I sit at my desk typing up my report. The creature continues to pace the cell. It shrills, striking the holding cell. The deterioration of its flesh is much slower than that of the others. Its kept most of its human characteristics, minus a few obvious changes. The phone next to me rings, diverting my attention from the biological.

“This is Dr. Saunders.”

“Bryson wants to see you in his office, immediately.”

The receiver goes silent, and I set it back down. I save my report, slip on my lab coat, and head out of the lab. The biological’s eyes follow my every move as I leave its sight. I bypass the elevator and venture up the few flights of stairs to the floor where Bryson has set up his office. More soldiers stand guard within the hallway. I walk past them and into his office.

“Good to see you, Chris,” Bryson says from behind his desk. Anthony is already here with Connor standing off in the corner. “Please have a seat.”

I take a seat next to Anthony, who shoots me a quick nod. Wonder what this get together is all about. It’s been some time since he’s called us up seeing that he receives our reports on almost a daily basis.

“So, how’s everything progressing? From your last reports, it looks like you were making some considerable progress on both fronts,” Bryson says from the comfort of his high black leather chair. His arms are resting on the arm rests with his fingers laced in front of him as he peers at us.

“We’ve made some good strides on Starlight. I think we’re about there,” Anthony answers.

“Perfect,” Bryson replies. He then looks at me. “And what about you? How are we looking?”

“Pretty good. We just had a breakthrough of sorts. I was able to reanimate a dead female within five minutes or so. Still need to do some testing, but it is definitely a step in the right direction.”

“Good news all around. I like it.” Bryson grabs a remote from the top of his desk. “Speaking of good news, I’ve got a bit of it myself.”

He points it over his head and turns the large TV on behind him. Multiple images appear on the screen, split into numerous sections. One shows the entire continent of Africa with a red dot pulsating in the southern region while another shows a snapshot of a docking port with the words “Durban Port” under it. Under those is a schematic of some sort of massive underground structure, detailing the various sections and departments contained within.

“What is all this?” I ask.

“One of many black sites the company runs. We have them all over the world. The one you’re in is just one we have here in the states.”

“Okay, so what does this have to do with us?” I ask once more.

“I’m glad you asked,” Bryson replies. “We’re looking to shift a lot of this research over to the facility you see on the screen. We’ve been catching some flak from regulators and government agencies asking questions about certain aspects of the company. Given its remote access and our current pull within the African government, we feel it would be a wise decision to shift operations to a less intrusive environment. The biologicals will be disposed of here of course. We want the both of you to head up the research there.”

“Africa?” I ask once more, not sure if I heard him correctly or not.

“Yes. Both of you. The facility is nearly ready and our man on site, Slade, is making sure all security measures are in place. It will be well stocked with additional support personnel. We even have a tactical base close by in case additional support is needed for whatever reason.”

“There was never any mention about Africa, much less leaving the country,” I say, agitated.

“That is true, but things have changed, like they always do. Adapt or die is what they say, right?” Bryson smirks. “Besides, with the progress you’re making, it shouldn’t take any time at all to get what we want.”

“So we still complete our research, and you let us go, and leave our families alone?” Anthony asks.

“Yes, you have my word,” Bryson replies, holding his hands up.

I don’t trust a word he’s saying, or that he’ll let us walk away after he’s done with us.

“What about my family? I’m not leaving them here.”

“Actually, that’s exactly what will happen. May I remind you that you have no footing here,” Bryson answers.

“Actually, we do,” I shoot back. “Without us, you wouldn’t be anywhere close to where you are now, and you know it. We’ve brought both projects leaps and bounds from where they were, and without us, I guarantee, it will never make it any further.”

The office goes silent. Anthony stares at me with his eyes wide and a look of shock smearing his face.

Bryson’s look of disbelief quickly turns to that of a smirk. “All right. I’ll tell you what. There’s a city somewhat close by. Bedoni I think it is. We’ll put your wife and kid up there until the project is completed.”

“I want to spend time with them as well. As in being with them and not under a time restraint or watched.”

“Maybe. We’ll see how things progress, and if you two play ball and don’t give us a reason to think otherwise, we will see what we can do to accommodate that,” Bryson says.

It wasn’t a flat out no, so it’s better than what I was expecting.

“Dr. Lentz, anything you want to ask for since I’m in a giving mood?” Bryson asks.

Anthony shakes his head.

“Okay good. Now that that’s settled, let’s move on.” Bryson advances to another image that has numerous profiles of people littering the screen. Dozens upon dozens of living men and women. “These are the current test subjects that we’ll have waiting for you at the facility.”

“So, we’re not using cadavers anymore?” I ask.

“No, we are moving past that and back into live trial testing. We’re hoping for some promising results,” Bryson replies. “With that being said, this is our latest and last acquisition for this round of testing that was just wrapped up.”

Bryson advances the screen once more to an image of a man. He has a gritty look to him, thick-black hair, and a hardened expression. He doesn’t have that homely look the others have. Under his picture is his name: Mike Peterson. Ex-military.

“When do we leave?” I ask.

“Immediately.”

UNDEAD APOCALYPSE: DEADFALL

BOOK 1

CHAPTER ONE

My skin feels like it’s on fire–hot to the touch.

The bites on my legs and arms are deep–turning a purple-reddish color. Whatever it is the infected are carrying I can feel it coursing through my veins. Doesn’t seem to be any reason to dress and wrap the bites. They seem to be festering with some thick, yellowish fluid that oozes out.

The flickering light, swinging above my head, is driving me crazy. Between the incessant squeak of the chain and the creatures outside, I can barely hear myself think. Out of all the places to get trapped in, why the hell did we come into this small, dank washroom?

The only person I have come across so far who wasn’t trying to kill me is not saying much. One bullet between the eyes seemed to be the only way to make sure Ray was dead.

I just met up with him a couple of hours ago, running from those crazy bastards. If I’d seen that nasty gash on the side of his neck, I would’ve done him in right then and there.

Ray sits across the room with his brains splattered all over the wall. His deep-black eyes stare at me. I did him a favor and used my last round to send him somewhere better. I will probably be joining him soon enough.

I check my pockets, hoping to find a fresh magazine. My pockets are empty except for an old Zippo lighter with a dragon breathing fire on the side and a photo I.D. of someone that looks like me.

Trenton Gazner.

The banging on the door increases, the sound growing louder by the second. Bet there are tons of them out there now, foaming at the mouth, those razor-sharp teeth glistening from the spit running out as they savor the coming meal.

I finally get the nerve to make a move and try to stand up. I have little to no energy, and my vision is shot to hell. Everything is distorted and foggy, like looking through a coke bottle from the tip and out through the bottom. My one good leg shakes, straightens, then locks into place.

“If you want me, then break down the damn door and get me. Don’t make me wait forever.”

I limp across the room to the grimy sink. My leg gives out. I drop to the floor. I fade in and out of consciousness with the spent Glock gripped in my left hand. The sound of moans and growls loom large from the other side of the door. My mind retreats to another time and place.

“Mike baby, I love you so much!” Becky says as the waves crash behind her.

As I lie there in the sand, the warm sun shining down upon us, I look into her eyes and feel one with her. Her long, dirty-blonde hair flows on the back of the breeze. She smiles as she brushes a few strands behind her right ear. She touches my face and instantly my heart begins pounding, making me feel like a young boy again. I run my hand up her mocha-soft skin, cupping her face in my palm.

Becky gets up and throws the towel wrapped around her waist to the ground. Her body is that of a goddess, and I take in every inch as she runs toward the crystal-blue water. We come to this secluded beach where you can see the ocean floor from the shore every year.

She dives into the middle of a crashing wave, disappearing momentarily. She loves the water so much that sometimes I think she’s a mermaid. I lie there, soaking in the breathtaking scenery that spans for miles. My life feels complete, as if happiness is just something I have, like breathing.

A noise in some overgrown grass distracts me. It sounds like some animal is hurt or growling. The wind picks up, whipping the sand around. Tiny granules penetrate my eyes. I rub each socket.

I hear something run behind me, fast and out of sight before I can even think to turn around. The smell is the only thing I’m able to catch—death and a hint of rot. I’m worried about Becky. I get to my feet and look toward the ocean.

“Becky, where are you? Please answer me.”

For a brief second, I think I spot her just beyond the breaking tides. She seems unaware that anything is going on. I blink again and try to refocus on her, but she vanishes. My eyes feel like sandpaper is rubbing off the corneas. The sand shifts, the waves crashing into the rocks all around me, taking me from worried to full-on panic.

I stumble around, cussing and screaming at the blowing wind. I spot someone or something up the beach some but can’t make it out. It’s just standing there, motionless. I swear I can hear it breathing from where I am—low, deep breathes that sound like an animal about to attack. I scramble, feeling around on my person, searching for any sort of weapon I can use to defend myself. All I have is a pocket knife and the heightened sense one gets when trouble is near.

I bring my attention back in front of me, ready for whatever may happen, but the figure is gone. I take a step back, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, and hear something behind me. I turn around before the thing can react and jam my blade into its flesh, driving it deep with everything in me. Warm blood gushes out and down the blade, swallowing my hand whole.

I let go, allowing the lifeless creature to fall to the sand. My vision clears and my eyes focus on what now lies before me—dead. I discover Becky on the ground, terror filling her teary eyes, instead of some hideous monster.

I drop to my knees, grab her out of the sand, and cradle her head with my hands. My heart is in pieces, broken beyond repair. I close my eyes and grieve, hating myself for what I’ve done.

The familiar putrid stench returns, invading my nose. It’s close.

I lower Becky’s head to the sand, then peer down. Her face is contorted and eyes are wide open, black as night. She is still and not moving, but that faint panting emitting from her mouth pushes out rotted smell.

I lean in close to get a better look. She springs up from the ground and lunges for my throat.

CHAPTER TWO

I awaken to find myself sweating–scared out of my mind. My arms stretch out in front of me, swinging at nothing but air. My heart races a mile a minute. I feel like I’m about to hyperventilate. I look around, dazed and confused.

Ray is gone. Where the hell did he go? A bullet between the eyes should have done the job. The blood splattered on the wall has even been wiped clean, making it look like it never happened.

The door to the room is open, not a single soul in sight. I pull my Glock up and sweep the room, forgetting the damn thing is empty. I check the magazine again and find it fully stocked. Strange.

I’m feeling better somehow. I check my wounds, and they are gone. No pus and both gashes seem to have closed and healed perfectly like it never happened.

I grab the edge of the sink and stand up. The haze coating my eyes wanes. I blink and everything looks clearer now.

It’s really quiet, almost too quiet. The infected are gone. No moans or groans loom from the hallway.

I bring the Glock to bear and inch my way toward the open door. My heart is steady, and I’m more aware of my surroundings now. I don’t feel anxious or afraid anymore.

I near the door and press against the wall, trying to stay quiet, but my thick-soled boots squeak a warning. I scan the hall to the right for any sort of movement. Nothing. Clear as far as I can see.

I move out into the dimly lit hall that is clean and clear of anything out of the ordinary. The musty smell still lingers and the overhead lights flicker, but the infected are nowhere in sight.

My nerves tighten. I remain on guard. My trigger finger hugs the kill switch.

The faintest of footsteps creep up on me. I flip around, grab whoever is stalking me, then slam them against the wall. The muzzle of the Glock presses against her forehead. A whimper escapes her mouth.

The terrified woman trembles. She looks battered and beaten. Her right eye is bloodshot, and both are glassy from the river of tears that made her makeup run.

“Why the hell are you sneaking up on me?” I ask while keeping the Glock pressed to her head.

She whimpers like a wounded dog and just stares at me as if no one’s home. I slide my thumb up her blood-streaked throat and pull her quivering red lips open. Her teeth are normal. They’re not jagged and razor anyways.

“Plea–se h–elp m–e?” Her eyes dart from side to side.

I do a quick once over and see no open wounds or scratches of any kind. “Listen lady, I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m going to ask you a question, and you better damn well answer quick, fast, and in a hurry, or my friends inside this gun are going to do a meet and greet inside your skull. So please, make no mistake, I will wash the wall behind you with your brains if I even get a hint that something’s up, okay?”

She nods.

“Have you been bitten, scratched, or looked at funny by any of the infected crawling all over the damn place?” I ask.

“Trent, why are you doing this? It’s me, Alice.” She’s looking at me now with that familiar gaze, her eyes filled to the brim with tears, as if she knows me somehow.

I lift the Glock in the air and pop off a round into the ceiling above, causing a nasty echo in the corridor. She flinches and yelps.

“I don’t know who the hell Trenton Gazner is, and I really don’t give a flying flip. Answer the damn question or I WILL KILL YOU!” The warm muzzle of the Glock hugs her flush, sweaty forehead.

“No, I haven’t been bitten or scratched,” she replies matter of fact this time.

I hold position for a few moments, trying to read if she is lying. Her eyes dart from side to side. A naked fear looms large in both eyes.

I hear a strange noise from down the hall. It’s a faint sound, like nails being dragged down a chalk board.

I lift my Glock away from Alice and turn my attention down the darkened hallway. Adrenaline flows clean and smooth, heightening my senses. My finger caresses the trigger, ready to pull.

Alice whimpers. “No, no, oh God, no,” she says under her panting breath.

The bone curdling noise comes ever closer. My hands are steady as a surgeon.

“Don’t go down there. Are you crazy?” Alice tries to whisper, but it sounds more like a muffled yell.

I stop cold, cock my head to the left, and cut my eyes toward her. I hear moaning but it’s not coming from down the hall, or even down the opposite way behind me. It’s like it’s within a few feet of us.

I listen close to try and track it down, and spot a dark room with no door attached. I keep my Glock straight ahead, trying to pierce the veil that’s draped over the doorway. I catch a quick glimpse of the thing’s yellowish stained razor-sharp teeth in the flickering light.

Alice stays glued to the opposing wall and muffles her screams by covering her mouth with both of her grimy hands. The thing’s breathing intensifies, spraying me in the face.

It breaks from the doorway and lunges at me; hitting me in the stomach hard and knocking me against the wall and then to the floor. An array of stars floats in my peripheral view.

Damn it, where’s my Glock?

I look for the pistol, but the ravenous demon is on me in seconds. The only thing keeping its mouth full of razors from digging into me is my boot pressed to its gut. I spot another infected sliding up the wall toward me. I can almost spot its disfigured body.

My leg buckles a little. Its head inches toward my face. Its arms swing wild and those jagged fingernails are mere inches from my body. I see my reflection fighting back within the black pools of its eyes. Half of its face is gone, and its jawbone smacks up and down as it moans.

I let go of its left-decayed arm, and grab its cold, slimy throat, pushing its head back as far as I can. It gurgles a little, and its neck crackles like bubble wrap as I squeeze and thrust back. It still lunges forward just the same.

I look to my left and see the other infected fade in and out of the shadows down the hall. It looks just as bad as the thing trying to get at me. It seems to be more decayed and voracious, breathing heavier now that it has spotted me.

The creature I’m battling gets closer and slices my shoulder. The gash stings and burns. I throw everything I’ve got into my arms and legs to push the creature off me. A single gunshot rings out close by.

The faint mist of the thing’s blood sprays across my face as it falls lifeless beside me. I turn my head to the right and see Alice standing there, shaking. My Glock trembles in her hands. Her face is a scene of terror and shock. She stares at the other creature coming at us but doesn’t pull the trigger.

“Alice, snap out of it and shoot the damn thing already,” I say, shouting at her.

She doesn’t reply or move but just stands there, looking at the creature.

I lean forward just enough to remove the knife that I had stowed behind my back. I grab the small, serrated blade, and throw it at the infected. The blade tumbles end over end through the darkness toward the corpse.

The dead man stays the course and doesn’t flinch as the knife hurls toward its head.

The blade slams into its forehead, digging in deep through the soft, pliable tissue that some of the infected seem to have. The heavy breathing stops, and a loud thud echoes down the hall.

I work the dead thing off my legs and get to my feet. Alice stands there, eyes wide, not moving a single muscle.

I step to the side and carefully raise my hands toward the Glock, keeping an ever vigilant eye on Alice.

Alice stands still.

I slide my hands over hers, open up her fingers, and remove the Glock from her grasp. I grab the warm barrel, push it toward the ground, then maneuver the handle up and out of her hands. She doesn’t even flinch or say anything.

The footfalls of more infected loom from down the hall. I slip my Glock back into the waistband of my pants, then look at Alice. “We need to go, now.”

She still stands there, frozen in time. I can see her lips fluttering about as if she wants to say something, but she spit it out.

I leave her behind and take off down the opposite side of the corridor. I continue to hear those things coming ever closer, their nails scrapping along the walls and their lips smacking for a tasty treat. I stop dead in my tracks.

“Mike, you can’t leave her alone. You’re a better person, a better man than that,” a voice says inside my head.

I know that voice, that sweet sounding tone that has melted me more than one time in the past. It’s Becky.

I twist my head around and see a severely burned and disfigured corpse near Alice. Its black eyes focus on nothing but her, and its jagged teeth chomp up and down. She doesn’t move.

Damn it!

I remove my Glock from the front of my pants and take aim at the flesh-eater that’s heading toward Alice. The creature lunges forward with its arms stretched out. Its mouth opens wide.

I exhale and squeeze the trigger, releasing a single shot that zips through the air and right past Alice’s hair, kicking it up a little. It strikes the undead corpse in the right eye and blows its clumpy brains out the back of its mangled, fleshy skull.

Its crumbles to the ground at Alice’s feet, making a loud thud that jolts her back to life. Blood pools out of its skull as she peers down.

“Come on. Now.” I grab Alice by the hand and pull her away as the horde of undead step into the light.

Loud screams and moans chase after us as we run through the barely lit halls, unsure where we’re going next.

CHAPTER THREE

It seems like we’re running circles in some big maze. Every one of the corridors looks and smells the same—putrid-covered walls and the stench of the dead won’t leave my nose. There are crates and drums placed irregularly down the halls.

The magazine is almost out of ammo. I’ve taken down more than I can count, but they keep coming out of every nook and cranny.

“Watch out,” I yell as one of the more preserved creatures comes out of nowhere and steals Alice away from me.

It tosses her to the ground. She kicks with her legs. It falls on top of her. She screams for me to help, to do something, but I’ve got two more barreling down on us.

I pop off two rounds without even aiming and nail both of the creatures in the middle of their heads. They drop to the ground. I rove the Glock and take the other corpse out with a head shot.

Click, Click.

The Glock is spent. I toss it to the side and look around, trying to spot anything that can be used as a weapon. I spot an axe hanging in its grimy-covered glass box.

Alice screams for help. The creature groans and reaches for her face. She pushes back with her arms against its chest.

I toss my right elbow and break the glass, shattering it into smaller pieces that litter the floor below. I rip the axe from its resting place and take aim at the undead creature.

The meat-eater is circling her throat.

Alice pushes it up as hard as she can, slightly raising the thing’s head up high enough for me to get a clear shot.

I swing the axe and hit the thing right in the side of the neck, lopping its head clean off. It bounces off the wall beside them and takes a tumble down the opposite way. Its now headless body spits up blood like a clogged fountain.

Alice screams, then tosses the body to the side. “Ewwwww.”

She gets to her feet and stands behind me, panting and grasping my shirt. We stand there, our backs against the wall as the swarm of undead close in from both directions. The axe in my hand is taut. The blade drips with the thicker than normal blood of the thing’s head I just lopped off.

“What are we going to do now?” Alice asks.

“I don’t know, but whatever happens, stay close and behind me.” I lift the axe up, ready to swing.

A grate above us falls and smacks into the ground right in front of me. I flinch from the noise. I look up and see a bushy-haired man, ragged and worn in the face, extending his arm down from the vent running along this corridor. His hair and beard are black as night, and the bags under his brown eyes look like they are being pulled down by weights.

“Give me your hand,” he says, reaching as far as he can.

I drop the axe and swing around, grabbing Alice by the waist and lifting her up.

“What about you?” Alice asks.

“I’ll be right behind you, now get up there.” He takes Alice by the arm and lifts her into the vent.

Alice climbs into the metal box above and clears out of view, allowing the bushy-haired man to reappear with his arm dangling down at me. “Come on, give me your–behind you.”

I spin around and find one of the infected coming at me, its spiked arms swinging in all directions and its teeth gnashing. It swings its spiked arm, buzzing the top of my scalp. I fall to the ground and roll past it. I get to my feet and grab its head. It squirms in my hands. I rip both of my hands in either direction and hear the snap of its neck. The creature falls to the floor.

I pick the axe up, dispose of two more, then toss it end over end. The bit buries deep into another corpse. It crumbles to the ground with the axe in its skull.

The undead shuffle closer from all directions. I grab one of the barrels near me and work it over to the vent opening. I climb on top of the solid drum. The bushy-haired man is still waiting for me. I jump and snag his hand, dangling in the air. The mob of dead converge under me and reach into the air, trying to grab my feet.

“Don’t worry, brother, I got ya,” he says, pulling me inside the vent.

I take a moment to catch my breath and center my thoughts. A loud thud rocks the vent. I peer back over my shoulder and see a deformed head look inside. One of its eyes has been ripped out. Its mouth is larger–teeth sharper than anything I have yet to encounter. Its skin looks like leather and the smell is atrocious.

It lets out an ear piercing shrill that sends everyone’s hands over their ears, distorting our senses.

It grabs my left ankle and tugs hard. I slide back toward the opening. I can hear the other creatures below clamoring in hopes that something meaty and delicious falls to their feet.

I lift my right leg up as far as I can and shove my thick-soled boot hard into its face. Its head snaps back, but its hands remain gripped on my left ankle.

“You’ve pissed it off good now,” the bushy-haired man says. He pulls a 9mm Beretta from behind his back and takes aim at the unyielding beast.

I cover my ears with my hands. He fires a single round, creating an echo inside the tin can that hurts my ears.

Its releases my ankle. The vent shimmies a bit as the corpse falls to the masses below. I remove my hands from both ears, then raise my head. He places the Beretta behind him.

“Come on, let’s go,” he says. His voice sounds like it’s muffled or something. Probably the ringing from the gunshot.

I nod.

He backs up through the vent and disappears around a corner.

I follow along and snake my way through the vent. It’s not quiet, crackling and popping as I crawl through.

The dead’s groans fade to a distant whisper that soon vanishes all together.

CHAPTER FOUR

I come to the end of the vent and see the bushy-haired man dropping out of sight. Voices carry from the unknown. I peer to the space below, finding Alice among a few other women and a handful of guys pacing the semi-large room with guns resting on their shoulders.

I drop out of the vent, my boots hitting the grayish-concrete floor. The armed men bring their weapons to bear and lock onto me.

“Don’t move or I’ll put two right in the side of your head before you can even think of objecting to it,” a man says, pressing the barrel of his gun press against my skin.

I can’t see his face, but the raspy tone of his voice and the smell of the garbage heap he calls a mouth assaults me just the same.

“Put the gun down, he’s not a threat.” The bushy-haired man speaks up as all eyes and weapons are trained on me.

“Tony, you keep that piece glued to his head.” A taller, slender man walks toward us. He moves with a swagger–eyes fixed on me. His dirty-blond hair is messy, and a half-smoked cigar lays nuzzled between his chapped lips. “And what makes him not a threat? Look at him; he could be infected like those damn things out there.”

My tattered rags are looking worse for wear—ripped clothing, bloodstained jeans and my torn shirt all look rough.

“So tell me–”

“Mike.”

“Mike. Are you a threat?” the tall man asks.

“I’m about as big of a threat as you gun wielding idiots, especially this moron right next to me who forgot to take the safety off his piece and who needs a Tic Tac ASAP.”

The gunman holding me at gunpoint checks the safety on the pistol, taking his eyes off me for a brief second. I lean back and rip the pistol from his hands, then slam my right forearm into his throat. He claws at his throat and drops to his knees.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. All right, let’s calm down and not do anything stupid,” the man says, raising his arms into the air.

I press the barrel of the pistol to his forehead. The cigar leaps from his now quivering lips and hits the floor.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name,” I say.

“Pete.”

“Pete, do you think I’m a threat?”

The only other gun holder just stands there, his blue eyes frozen in place while the other jackass is on the ground grabbing at his throat. He looks to be some young kid, probably in his early twenties.

“Please, let’s not do this for Christ’s sake. We’re all on the same side here,” the bushy-haired man says.

“What do you say, Pete, can’t we all just get along?” I ask, my eyes still keeping a lookout for the other two men while the pistol stays against his forehead.

“Yeah, fine, whatever. Just get that damn gun out of my face.”

“Sure thing.” I remove it from Pete’s head and spin the gun around where the black grip faces toward him. “Here you go.”

Pete takes the pistol from my hand and places it in the back of his black, dirty pants. “A.J., get over here and help me.”

The pair helps their less fortunate friend off the ground. Pete and the other two men walk off, leaving me and the bushy-haired man standing there.

“I’m sorry about that. Not the friendliest welcome I bet you’ve ever gotten,” the bushy-haired man says. “I think everyone’s just on edge with everything that is happening.”

“No worries. I would rather deal with them any day than those things out there.”

“They’re good guys, just give them a chance,” the bushy-haired man replies as Alice makes her way over to us. “Oh, by the way, my name is Deacon.”

“Nice to meet you,” I reply, shaking his worn hand.

Alice walks up to me and wraps her arms around my neck. Her skin is soft as silk, and her body seems to be more at ease now. No trembling or shaking of any kind. “Thank you.”

She presses her ample lips to my cheek, giving me a gentle kiss that says it all. It’s warm and a nice change of pace. I would rather have this than the walking dead outside anytime.

“It’s no problem.” I give a slight smirk.

Alice smiles and leaves us alone, walking back over toward the two other women sitting together across the room.

“Very nice, Mr. Hero,” Deacon says with a smile on his face.

“Thanks. So what do you know about what’s happening here?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Not much, most of us in here don’t remember anything beyond these walls. We remember our daily lives and some near memories before this, but nothing to the point where we could tell you how we got here. It’s like we were plucked from our lives and dropped straight into here. We have, however, come across a schematic of this complex, we think.” Deacon leads me through what appears to be some sort of storage area. The place is filled with crates and other boxes, worn and tattered to the point of showing their age.

The room follows the same decorating style of everything else I have seen so far. The urine stains are void in this room, but the dimly lit web-infested lights above barely tear through the darkness that covers much of the area. Plus, the stale, moldy air is still hot on my trail, keeping pace with my nostrils no matter where I go.

“Is this everyone you have come into contact with that wasn’t a raging psycho? I mean minus the three meat heads back there.”

“No, there were a few more of us, but they didn’t make it.” Deacon enters a room near where the women are sitting.

They huddle together, trying to comfort the others. Their faces are drawn and haggard. Their clothes are filthy, like everyone I have come into contact with thus far, and their bodies look like Alice’s, black and blue. I look past their obvious signs of hardship and look them over as best I can for any signs of bites or major scrapes. I notice some cuts on their arms and their pant legs have holes forming all over.

The older woman to the right, who is doing a little more comforting to the early twenty’s girl, looks up at me and just stares. She doesn’t say a word, blink, or even flinch.

Inside the musty room, the smell of mold and rotten meat mingle, gagging me a little and sending my right hand up to my mouth as I breach the doorway. Deacon doesn’t seem as bothered by the stench, standing behind a lime-green desk with skinny, silver legs.

“Yeah, the smell is pretty bad. Not sure what it is. Think it’s from all the death and rotting meat infesting this place.” Deacon unrolls a blueprint and smoothes it out on top of the scarred, rough desk top. A small etching is carved into one of the corners.

To my wife, Pam. I love you!

I lean over and glance at the schematic. It shows corridors and bays at random points mixed in with hallways and other spaces. I think the facility might be underground, though, from the way some of the exit points seem to point to the surface. It takes me a few minutes of studying the schematic, but I’m able to figure most of it out.

“So, what do you think?” Deacon asks. “Nobody here can make heads or tails of this damn thing. We’ve all looked it over, and we’re not even sure if it’s for where we are or not.”

I remain silent for a moment, memorizing the most direct path that would lead me through the maze to the weapons, communications, and any other important areas.

“Yeah. I can make a few things out.”

“Do you think you could navigate it and get us through?” Deacon asks, a slight glimpse of hope rising on his face.

“Perhaps.” I look around the room we’re in and ask, “You wouldn’t happen to have any food lying around in here, would ya? A vending machine or something like that?”

“There’s a vending machine right around the corner on the other side of this office. There’s not much in it and it’s all stale. Glad you’re not picky,” Deacon replies jokingly.

I’m all too happy to leave the rotting smell of the office.

“Thanks.”

I round the tiny office corner and come upon the only source of food I have seen in I don’t know how long. I step toward the aged-vending machine, my feet crunching on what sounds like hundreds of tiny bugs being squished beneath my boots in the barely lit corner. One lone, little light illuminates the inside, making it a little easier to see what stale pieces of food are left.

The front of the machine is broken out, leaving jagged pieces of thick glass rimming the outside. There’s not much to choose from, though. It looks like it’s been picked clean for the most part. A thick layer of dust covers the black-metal spirals and the food, making a meal out of here a little less than to be desired. A bag of wavy, sour cream chips, some peanut butter crackers, a few varieties of candy bars, and some glazed donuts catch my eye.

I reach into the gaping hole and pull out a Snickers. Dust falls from the bar. I don’t second guess the thought of eating whatever is contained inside. I rip the package open and dive right in, sinking my teeth into the hardened outside. I break off a small piece and chew the chocolate and caramel mixture.

I reach back in, snag a few more of the expired bars, and place them in my pocket for a later time. It’s not much, but something is better than nothing.

I turn away from the fattening food graveyard. The foul stench of death still haunts my nose. It doesn’t matter where I go, it follows me just the same.

I choke down the last little bit of chocolate and walk by Alice, who sits next to the other ladies in front of the office. Her face is long and haggard.

“Here, you need to eat something.” I pull a Milky Way out of my pocket and hand it to her.

“Thank you,” Alice replies, grabbing the bar from my hand.

I nod in return.

“A.J., go check that door again and make sure it’s still secure,” Pete says, pointing to a set of dull-gray doors nestled between some crates.

I turn my head to the side and watch A.J., the young guy from earlier, clutch his rifle tight and cautiously walk over to the darkened corner. He fades in and out of the blackness and moves with uneasiness. His head rotates within the shadows.

A.J. stops in front of the doors and checks the semi-rusted chain that is spun around the double handles on the door like a spider web. A single padlock completes the attempt at comfort, bringing the chain together in the middle. He grabs the padlock and jerks down a couple of times, making an awful racket that sends everyone in the room looking his way.

“What the hell, A.J.?” Pete shouts, then turns away from Tony. “Christ, boy. I told you to check the damn door, not to announce that we’re here.”

“Pete–settle down, it’s okay,” Deacon says, walking out of the office. “He didn’t mean to make so much noise.”

“Whatever, old man.” Pete rolls his eyes at Deacon. “A.J., make sure that door is shut all the way, then get your ass back over here, and try to be a little quieter, will ya?”

“All right, Pete. Dang, I’m sorry.” A.J. replies, pressing against the door.

A.J. turns around and walks toward the group. His eyes connect with me. He has a look of being beat down and run over. He stops within the narrow passageways among the massive-wooden crates. Both hands grip the rifle tighter. His head tilts upwards to the gray ductwork that snakes around the ceiling.

Pete takes notice and asks, “A.J., what are you doing now?”

“I thought I heard something moving in the ducts, scratching even.” A.J. circles one of the access hatches above him. He stood there for a moment, frozen in place, and his weapon trained on the metal grate.

“It’s probably nothing, just some damn mice or noise from the infected being carried around from wherever they are,” Pete says.

The subtle but bone chilling sound dies off as fast as it started, sending A.J.’s weapon back down by his side. “I guess you’re ri–”

CHAPTER FIVE

The grate crashes down on top of A.J. Two of the things emerge from the ductwork. The grotesque fiends drop down from the duct and land on the ground next to A.J. Screams of panic engulf the room, sending everyone into a frantic frenzy.

A.J. trains his weapon at the creatures, trying to get a bead on either one. He pops off a few rounds before both monsters turn their ravenous appetites on him. He manages to hit the one on the left twice in the chest. The slugs tear through its sagging flesh and punch through its back. It screeches out loud, flails its spiked arms in every direction, then falls back onto the ground.

The untouched beast lunges from the concrete floor and lands on top of him, driving its single-spiked arm through A.J.’s chest.

A.J. squirms on the floor, screaming for help. The creature opens its mouth wide and drives its teeth into his stomach. It holds A.J.’s now lifeless body down with its human-like arm and devours his flesh.

The sight is brutal and hard to watch. Blood squirts up and out of A.J. His organs are ripped and eaten from his body. The women next to me scream and back toward the office in a panic.

The noise made by the injured demon sends the others in a feeding frenzy outside of the locked door. Their loud screams and violent thrashing bulge the gray doors. The chain around the handles stretches.

“We need to get the hell out of here before that door busts wide open and those things come pouring in,” I say, yelling to Deacon over the succession of gun fire from across the room.

Tony and Pete fire their machine guns recklessly. Tony finishes off the injured creature as Pete waste more ammo than needed.

“You might want to make sure the kid is actually dead as well,” I say, pointing at A.J.

Pete nudges A.J.’s mangled body a few times with no reaction or movement of any kind.

“Damn, that thing sure tore into his body good,” Tony says, standing next to Pete.

“He looks pretty dead to me,” Pete says, looking at me with their backs to his body. “Looks like we saved all of your sorry asses yet again.”

A.J. sits up from the floor. His face shows signs of the unknown pathogen. His eyes are as black as night. He grabs Tony from behind and wraps his arms around his torso. He digs into Tony’s neck with his teeth and pulls away, tearing a massive chunk of flesh out.

A severed artery sprays blood. Tony raises his arms in an attempt to shake A.J. off his back, firing his machine gun and thrashing his body.

I hit the ground as the ordnance comes in hot, striking the grimy-covered window behind me. Jagged pieces of glass fly in every direction and hit the ground all around us.

“Deacon, hurry up,” I say, getting off the ground and shaking the debris free from my back.

Alice is on the ground next to me, her hands still covering the top of her head. I help her to her feet as Deacon stumbles out of the office in a panic. He has the blueprint folded in no particular way, looking like he finally gave up and just smashed it together.

The undead A.J. feasts upon Tony’s blood-soaked flesh. He looks in our general direction with those black eyes.

“You son of a bitch, I didn’t like your sorry ass anyways.” Pete slams the butt of his machine gun into A.J.’s face, knocking him backwards and sending his arms free from his victim. Tony falls to the floor like a lump of coal, allowing Pete to take aim and fire.

The barrage of slugs cut through A.J. like butter, but do little to slow him down. Most of his chest and stomach region have been dug into and clawed open, exposing portions of his rib cage and organs that are on the verge of falling out.

Cindy lets out a bloodcurdling yell that sends my head searching for the cause of the commotion.

“Oh God, Cindy,” Deacon says, muttering under his breath. She caught one of the stray bullets from Tony’s machine gun in the middle of her head, staining her light-blonde hair dark red.

“Come on, Casey,” Deacon says in a soft and gentle tone. “You have to let her go.”

“There’s nothing we can do for her now. She’s hopefully in a much better place,” I say. “We have to move now, though.”

Casey keeps kneeling next to Cindy. Her wavy, brunette hair spreads all over her chest. She cries uncontrollably. She holds onto the body and doesn’t let go.

I turn back toward Pete, watching A.J. march forward.

“Damn boy, why won’t you die already?” Pete places two rounds into A.J.’s decaying forehead.

A.J. stiffens, then falls lifeless to the ground. Pete walks over to Tony and places the muzzle of his rifle just above his head. He pops off two rounds. “There, loose ends tied up.”

The undead keep pressing against the double-gray doors, peeking through the many bullet holes that have Swiss-cheesed the metal barriers. The lock has been shot to shit and the handles are on their last leg.

“Listen, Casey, I am sorry about your friend, but if we don’t get moving now, you’ll be joining her.” I hear the metal handles give way even more. “So get your ass up now or I will leave you here.”

Casey lifts her head off the dead body and gets to her feet. She doesn’t even look my way. Alice grabs her and holds her close. Deacon takes point and the ladies follow close behind, heading to the only other exit out of there.

I grab Tony’s gun from the ground and take it with me.

Pete rushes past me as the handles to the door pop loose. The sound of metal being torn apart fills my ears. I run away from the swarm of undead pushing against the doors. I hear the handles and chain hit the ground. The dead flood into the room, moaning and screeching as they round the corner.

I glance over my shoulder and see a mixture of slow- and fast-paced dead, each disgusting and disfigured in their own unique way. Their mutilated arms, covered in blood and other nasty fluids, reach out for me. The slow ones amble along as best they can while the runners break from the pack and close in on me.

I can feel them gaining with every step I take. Up ahead, the others rush out of this tomb and into a hopefully better place. Alice points and screams at me to move faster.

I dig deeper and run harder. My legs feel like they’re on fire. Pete pushes Alice out of the way and raises his gun. He trains it at my head.

That mother–

Pete looks me dead in the eye and squeezes the trigger, rattling off a single round before I can even get my gun up. The bullet grazes the left side of my head, digging out a fraction of the skin as it moves past me.

“Hurry up, damn it,” Pete says as the round strikes a flesh-eater right in the middle of its bloody, mangled skull flanking me. It bellows as the bullet blows out the back of its head, then falls to the ground.

I dive into the room and hit the concrete hard, sliding on my side. Deacon and Alice push the thick-metal door closed and lock it.

“I bet you thought I was going to blow your brains out and leave you out there for those bastards, huh?” Pete asks, shouldering his rifle and sticking out his hand. “I thought about it, but figured it would be better to keep your annoying ass around a little longer since my other two boys are now dead.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.” I grab his hand. He pulled me off the ground, then offered a nod.

The mass of undead hammered the metal barrier, moaning and screeching. It wouldn’t hold long and soon; the dead would be inside.

CHAPTER SIX

Alice watches the door surge. She flinches with each dense thud. A naked fear lurks in her wide eyes. “So, what do we do now?”

“I’ve got the blueprints to the facility,” Deacon replies, breathless. “We’re going to try to work our way through the facility and find an exit out of here. Mike is going to lead the way.”

“Out the exit? Whose brilliant idea is that?” Pete asks in a snide manner. “I want out of here as much as you do, but does anyone here have the foggiest idea if those dead walkers are roaming around out there, or how many more of them there are?”

“No, we don’t, but we can’t stay in here much longer either,” Deacon shoots back. “Eventually, our luck is going to run out, and I would rather try to get the hell out of here than wait for one of those things to kill or turn me.”

The tension rises. Tempers flare. The groans and hammering of the door sends everyone on edge.

“You’re both right,” I say. “We can’t just walk through the exit and hope for the best, but we sure as hell can’t stay here anymore.”

“So, what the hell do you suggest we do, fearless leader?” Pete asks, his right hand gripping the strap to his rifle and a look of frustration smearing his face.

“I noticed some cameras while running through the halls. There should be some sort of video or surveillance room showing a landscape of the facility and hopefully the outside perimeter,” I reply, hearing the crumpled up blueprint rustle under Deacon’s shirt.

“That is a big hope you’re going on, buddy,” Pete says. “This place looks like it’s been abandoned for God knows how long, and even if there is some sort of video surveillance room, how do you know the cameras are even working?”

“I don’t, but considering all our other options seem to be lacking, I think this is going to be the best idea,” I say to the group and more so to Pete. “But hey, if you don’t care for it, you can take your chances on your own. I’ll show you the way out of here, and you can be on your way.”

Pete thinks on it for a few seconds. He glances at the group, then to the clamoring of dead beyond the door. “I’ll stick with you for now, you’ll probably need me after you screw up.”

“Whatever. Suit yourself,” I say, rolling my eyes. “How are we doing on ammo?”

I eject the magazine from the machine gun I scooped up earlier and take stock of the few rounds left loaded inside.

“I got about half a mag left and one ready to rock ‘n’ roll. That is if we don’t run into a gang of them along the way,” Pete replies, placing the half-used mag back into his rifle.

“I’m sitting low on the Beretta,” Deacon replies.

“And I’m almost out.” I slap the magazine back into place. “Deacon will take point, Pete can hang in the middle, and I’ll bring up the rear. Is everyone okay with that?”

Everyone nods their heads in agreement.

My vision blurs a bit while the others get into a tight single line formation. My equilibrium is thrown–making me dizzy. A sharp shooting pain spreads through my temples. I try to shake it off and keep the rest of the group oblivious to my discomfort.

Alice turns around, giving me a worrisome stare, even though she doesn’t say anything.

I cough a couple times and nod my head, sending her attention back to the dangerous task at hand. I’m not feeling worth a damn at this point, and don’t know what is going on. The odd sensation coursing through my body is so foreign that I’m unsure what to think or know how to handle it.

The tattered blueprint is wadded back up and placed in Deacon’s back-pant pocket. His Beretta is clutched in his right hand. He moves toward the door that leads into the corridor.

Casey keeps close to Deacon’s side.

Pete shoulders his rifle with his finger over the trigger as we all move together.

The lights in the small room flicker on and off, creating a low-buzzing noise that meshes with the dead beating at the door.

I blink and open my eyes wide. My left eye becomes blurry and itches like a bug is festering deep inside the cornea. It makes it hard to see what is happening ahead or even around me.

I watch the half-faded outline and solid shape of Deacon placing the side of his head to the door that leads out of the room. He stands still for a few seconds, listening.

“What do you hear, old man?” Pete asks, getting a sharp wave of Deacon’s hand indicating he should shut up. “Maybe someone who isn’t a trillion years old should take a listen before we go strolling out there.”

Deacon removes his head from the door and steps off to the side. His fingers reposition over the Beretta. He offers us a single nod, then looks back to the door.

It’s go time.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Deacon grabs the loose knob and turns. It squeaks and pops, creating a boisterous noise amidst the silence. He glances at us and cringes.

Pete presses his finger to his lips, shushing the unwanted noise.

Deacon rotates the doorknob all the way until it opens. He cracks the door and peers out into the dimly lit corridor that is filled with crates and other miscellaneous junk engulfed by the darkness. It’s hard for him to make anything out from his vantage point. He opens the door a little wider and cautiously steps out into the unfamiliar space.

I glance at the door holding back the tidal wave of claws and teeth, checking to make sure it’s still holding. It gave some, but held firm.

Deacon disappears from our sight, leaving a loom of doubt in the air of what discoveries he’s making. A jarring noise sends everyone on their toes. A gasp escapes Casey’s lips.

“What the hell was that?” Pete asks alarmed, training his weapon at the open door. I follow suit. “I hope that old bastard didn’t bite it. He has the damn blueprint.”

“Shut up, you insensitive asshole,” Casey shoots backs, looking back at Pete with malevolent eyes.

He shrugs. “What? All I’m saying is it would suck if he was being torn apart right now and the blueprint got destroyed, that’s all.”

Another jarring noise sounds, like something is falling or being tossed around out in the corridor. No moans of any kind are heard, and Deacon doesn’t yell out in a panic or as if he is being attacked.

“Deacon, everything all right out there?” My voice cracks a little. He doesn’t respond. “Deacon, you all right—”

The door flies open. Deacon rushes in. He looks panicked–face flushed and the Beretta shaking in his hand.

“Christ man, what the hell is wrong with you coming in here like that. We could have blown your freaking head off,” Pete says, trembling.

“You okay?” I ask, my heart beating like a snare drum.

“Yeah, some damn rats came shooting out from underneath some empty crates I was looking around and scared the holy hell out of me,” Deacon says, breathless. “I hate those damn things.”

“Well, I hope all the racket you were causing didn’t alarm those creatures.” Pete lowers his weapon. “Might as well get a bullhorn and call them over here.”

“Well, at least he had the balls to go out there and look, so why don’t you back off, all right?” Alice says, sending Pete’s head swiveling around.

“Everyone calm down,” I say in a commanding tone. “So, what’s it looking like out there?”

“Looks clear as far as I can tell. It’s pretty dark and cluttered in both directions, but I didn’t notice any sort of movement,” Deacon answers.

“What if they’re out there just waiting for something to come along,” Pete asks. “There could be dozens of them we can’t see.”

“If you want to stay here and do whatever, then that is your bit. We are getting the hell out of here,” I reply. “So, either man up or shut up. Deacon, lead the way.”

Deacon gives a quick nod and faces the blackness of the corridor with his Beretta trained straight ahead. Casey follows him close, shadowing his every move as the two of them enter the corridor.

Pete moves forward and catches up with Casey.

Deacon enters the silent and eerie hall, scanning for any movement. His pistol shifts from side to side, looking for anything that poses a possible threat.

The noise in the room we escaped from bustles with those things beating at the door. I check and double check the locks that hold the wave of dead flesh back, feeling their anger and rage seep through the microscopic slivers within the door’s body.

“Hey, you coming?” Alice asks, placing her warm, gentle hand on my left shoulder.

“Yeah, just making sure the door is holding up is all,” I answer.

She gives me a warm smile, similar to what Becky would when she knew something was wrong. It brings a brief and sudden jolt of joy that floods my body.

I smile back, trying to mask whatever is happening to me on the inside. I feel that, sooner or later, the cat is going to be out of the bag.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The dead continue hammering and clawing at the door, trying to break through. Soon, they will.

I leave the room and move out into the hall.

Alice follows close behind. She pushes on my back, staying but a scant inch away from me.

My vision remains blurry. I blink to erase the haze but it persists. My stomach growls, cramping like I ate something bad. The dull headache tormenting me amplifies ten times over, sending points of intense pressure behind my challenged eyes.

The pistol I’m carrying trains from side to side, scanning for any dead. I turn to the right and spot the others up ahead, waiting behind some crates. I can overhear Deacon and Pete exchange heated words.

“Stay close and don’t leave my side for anything, all right?” I say to Alice as we make our way up to the others.

“What the hell were you doing back there, daydreaming?” Pete asks in a low angered tone. “You’ve got us waiting out here in the open like sitting ducks.”

“You good?” Deacon asks with probing eyes.

“Yeah, I’m good. I was just checking to make sure the door was still holding up is all,” I reply. “Remember, be quiet and move swiftly. We’re looking for door D7, Video Surveillance.”

Deacon nods and turns his focus to the darkness, then moves out into the open. He trains his weapon ahead and sweeps the corridor.

Everyone gets to their feet and falls in line behind him, flowing through the congested corridor with a quick but cautious pace. I hear bumps and what sounds like something crawling around close by. The flickering lights overhead do little in the way of providing any sort of stable light for me to see what it is.

I look up and notice a long stretch of pipes snaking along above us. They’re old and rusted in many spots. The metal braces holding them up have lost their tension, allowing the pipes to pull away from the concrete ceiling.

I keep the odd noise close to my ears and turn my focus back in front of me. A dizzy spell attacks me. My body sways. My legs are heavy and acting as if they are encased in concrete blocks.

“Did you hear that?” Deacon asks, pausing and tilting his head to the side, trying to get a bead on the strange noise.

Everyone stops and listens to the same crawling and scratching sound that I heard just a few seconds ago. It is faint and yet loud at the same time.

“What the hell is that?” Pete asks with his weapon trained over the mounds of crates and barrels that clutter up both sides of the hall.

Something moves between the crates close by, sending every gun targeting that area. I’m getting anxious—palms sweating and even shaking a bit.

What is going on with me?

Pete steps forward with his weapon against his shoulder and his finger tickling the trigger. He inches his way to a set of crates that are stacked like Lego blocks—two on the bottom spaced apart and one resting on top—leaving a gaping hole of blackness.

“You don’t think it’s one of those things, do you?” Casey asks, her voice trembling with fear. She steps to the side and huddles up next to Deacon, who looks uneasy as well.

“I can’t see anything,” Pete says in a low tone, reaching deep into one of his pockets that line both sides of his dingy-khaki cargo pants. “Where the hell is my lighter?”

I slip my hand into my pocket and pull out the Zippo with the dragon on it. I still have no clue where this came from. I don’t even smoke. “Here.”

I hand the lighter to Pete, hoping the flame is still good.

Pete flicks the top open and strikes the wheel, producing a spark that catches and illuminates the darkened corner. I stay focused and ready. Pete moves in a little closer, the flame swaying from side to side.

I hear that scratching and squirming noise behind me now. No–wait, it is to my left, and the right. I’m not sure if anyone else hears this as they all seem too focused on what’s lurking within the crates.

Pete kneels, then probes the nooks and spaces around the crate, his head bobbing from side to side. He holds fast. He moves the lighter closer to the blackness.

The narrow flame brings to life a giant rat that jets out of the darkness and darts between Pete’s feet, sending the women into a hysterical scream.

Pete snickers, turns around, and looks at Alice and Casey, extinguishing the flame. “You’ve got to be kidding. After everything we’ve seen, you’re afraid of a damn rat?”

“Shut up, asshole. It scared us and it was huge,” Casey says, her brow slanted down and a scowl plastered on her face.

“Here, you might want to take my gun to fend off those man-eating–” Pete says, laughing under his breath.

A shadowy figure bursts from the stacked crates sitting directly behind Casey. It lunges forward, ramming its spear like arm through Casey’s back. Blood sprays Pete in the face, sending a wave of panic through the now dwindling group.

Pete trains his weapon at the creature and struggles for a clean shot when something crawls out from between the darkened crates behind him. It grabs his feet, yanking his legs out from underneath him. Pete tumbles to the floor. His head slams against the concrete and the gun pops free of his hands. Blood pools under the side of his face. His body goes limp as he’s dragged into the black abyss.

Deacon places a single round in the rotting flesh of the thing’s head that’s eating Casey. It falls backwards into the crates. Casey crumbles to the floor with blood and chunks of meaty, red flesh dangling from her bones.

I drop to my knees and grab Pete’s arms, then pull back, but he doesn’t budge.

I hear the army of undead echoing through the corridor. They’re closing in on us. I lean back and pull with all my might.

Both Alice and Deacon join in and help me.

Pete’s body reverses direction and slowly emerges out of the crates.

I spot one of the undead monsters stalking us from the corner of my eye. It moves slow and quiet. Its arms and hands are stripped of most of its flesh, leaving a thin layer of mutilated-meaty skin that clings to the dull, white bones. The skin from its face is torn and ripped all over. Its eyes are missing–leaving two hollow spaces.

“Behind you,” I say, shouting at Deacon.

He looks about, panting.

The creature reaches for Deacon’s shoulder with its mouth ajar.

Deacon lets go of Pete’s arm and turns to the vile thing. He grabs its throat with his right hand and shoves back. Its jaws snap, and it gives that crazed moan.

I can’t hold on to Pete any longer. I feel drained of energy and let go.

Pete’s motionless body slides back in the darkness, disappearing from sight.

Deacon removes his Glock and places the barrel under the dead man’s chin. Its meatless fingers glide around Deacon’s face as it tries to move in closer. I can hear him grunting and straining to hold the dead back.

The gun barks its harsh report.

The thing’s brains splatter out the top of its head.

Deacon turns my way, then trains the Glock at the ground.

Alice grabs my arm and helps me to my feet.

“We need to get–” Deacon is cut off mid sentence when another one of the infected materializes out of the darkness and grabs him. It tosses him with relative ease against some barrels and crates, creating a clanging sound that echoes through the musty stale air.

I remove Alice’s hold on my arm and shove her behind me. My legs wobble and my one remaining good eye is dimming by the second. I can’t locate my gun in the commotion.

The thing stands there, breathing heavy. Its black eyes stare at me, bearing sharp, stained red teeth and a pale face. It’s dressed in some kind of black combat gear and moves much better than the other dead we’ve encountered.

Saliva oozes from both corners of its crusty, dried lips, and its chest heaves. The other moans draw closer.

“Whatever happens, I want you to run and get the hell away from here,” I say to Alice.

She stays behind me, gripping my sides. Her chin rests on my shoulder as the dead combat soldier lunges forward with arms and hands reaching for us. I meet the soldier halfway, grab its arms and knee it in the side. Its breath smells of rotten flesh that burns my eyes.

It overpowers me and throws me to the side, slamming my already aching body against some crates. The wood splinters and gives way as I bust through it, sending something dull and jagged into my side. Blood flows freely from the gash. I struggle to breathe.

“Alice–get out–of–here,” I say, breathless.

The dead soldier takes his attention away from me, and stares at Alice.

Alice turns to run, but is confronted with a solid wall of dead bodies marching her way. The crowd of mindless dead surge forward and reach for her.

The dead soldier rushes forward and grabs Alice from behind, then tries to sink its teeth into her succulent skin. Its arms wrap around her chest and lift her off the ground.

Alice screams.

All I can do is watch the soldier attack her. Its jaw snaps at the nape of Alice’s neck like a wild animal. She thrashes around, and dodges its every attempt to take a taste, keeping her neck and body forward as much as possible to avoid its lethal bite.

I crawl toward the soldier, trying to reach Alice before it kills her.

Alice tosses her dirty-blonde head back and strikes the dead soldier in the nose. A loud crunch fills my ears. The thick, black, coagulated blood oozes out of its nose like a leaky faucet.

The hard blow did little to deter it from keeping after her. It continues trying to bite Alice. She wiggles out of its grasp and falls to the floor. She twists her head around and looks up at the undead soldier. It advances again, but is stopped by something that grabs it from behind.

The unknown savior wraps its arms around the soldier’s chest and sinks its teeth into the side of the soldier’s neck. He pulls away, ripping a massive amount of rotten flesh that sends blood squirting out the side. Half of its neck missing. The soldier convulses while the mysterious thing devours the meaty mess.

The soldier crumples to the floor at the soles of my feet as the rogue infected kneels down and digs in.

I keep my movement to a minimum, twist my heavy head toward Alice, then wave my hand, trying to get her attention. My eyesight is super blurry now, and I feel as if I will faint at any moment.

Alice looks at the disturbing scene with her eyes wide and her mouth ajar. The squishing sound is nauseating, twisting my stomach in knots. The foul stench of the dead assaults my nose, making it scrunch.

“Alice.” I try to keep my voice low and unnoticeable. She looks my way, tears trickling down her reddish cheeks. I can see the vague outline of something coming up behind her. “Get up and get out of here now.”

Alice scrambles to her feet and gives me one last look of goodbye. Two more dead souls, a man and woman dressed in dingy, light-blue medical scrubs, grab her from behind. She screams and leans forward but can’t get away.

The infected bite at any part of her body they can sink their rotten teeth into. I try to lean forward and help, but my body refuses to move with any such urgency.

The screaming and yelling Alice does distracts the rogue infected from his meal. He gets to his feet and grabs the male nurse, ripping his head clean from his body with relative ease. He releases Alice and falls to the side, motionless.

The black-haired woman, whose jaw is fully exposed and portions of the chewed flesh on her chest show through the rips in her scrubs, doesn’t pay any mind to what is happening, still fighting to get a taste of Alice’s supple skin.

Alice screams, and struggles to escape its clutches any way she can, kicking her legs and swinging her arms in every direction.

The creature rips Alice away from the dead-female nurse and pushes her to the side. It attacks the groaning nurse, sinks its teeth into the side of the woman’s face and tears a sheet of sagging and mangled flesh from her decaying cheek.

The nurse turns her rapacious attention away from Alice to the man standing in front of her. Before she can get her deformed arms up to grab hold, the rogue infected reaches for her neck and snaps it. Her body falls to the ground, hitting with a dense thud.

The rogue infected whips around and gazes upon Alice. He stands there, staring at her.

“Trent–is that you?” Alice says, muttering under her breath. She stands up and looks the creature in its cold, dark black eyes.

Trent. I remember her calling me that when we first met. Is he her husband or something?

The moans and shrills from the approaching dead snap the man out of his dazed state. He lunges forward, scoops Alice up by the waist, and tosses her over his shoulder. I can hear her panting, but she’s not fighting to get free.

The creature turns around and looks me dead in my fading eyes. Blood trickles down from both corners of its crusty lips. He snarls, then bolts in the opposite direction.

Alice’s body bounces up and down on his shoulder as they both fade into the blackness beyond.

I reach around to my back and probe the deep, meaty gash that has spilled so much of my blood. I lay my head back on the cold, wet cement floor as the army of cold-blooded killers passes by me.

One of the dead creatures stops, stands over me, then kneels next to my body. Its mutated hands poke and prod me all over as the herd of infected passes through.

I stay still.

The dead creature moves closer to my face. It looks deep into my eyes, snarls, then moves on.

The remaining dead pass through without giving me a second look and vanish into the darkness down the corridor.

I try to get up but my body refuses to obey.

Silences falls all around me. It’s quiet, extremely quiet—except for the intermittent dripping of water hitting the ground. Panic sets in and my heart races from not being able to get off the floor. I have to relax and focus.

Becky enters my thoughts. I think of the last time I saw her beautiful, smiling face. The mere thought of her puts me at ease and I relax. The tension melts and I’m not so anxious.

I lay on the cold, hard floor a bit longer before I’m able to move my fingers, then lift my head. I sit up, then get to my feet.

The haze plaguing my eyes wanes. My strength is on the rise. I don’t feel as tired and out of it.

I scan the hall for any dead or other threats. Nothing stirs that I can see or hear.

I take a knee next to the soldier’s body and pat him down for anything of value. I fish out his wallet, then crack open the plain looking black-leather wallet. It’s empty. No money, no credit cards, or identification.

I check the rest of his mangled body, going from pocket to pocket, until I come across an access card with three bold-black letters imprinted in the upper right side.

TGP.

The name doesn’t ring a bell.

I slip the card into my back pocket, figuring that it should come in handy at some point. I check the other dead bodies, digging through their blood-soaked clothes. Every pocket is checked but I come up empty.

I stand up and stare down the hall that Alice and the grimacing undead tore off into, wondering if she’s still alive or not. A light-green hue coats my vision, almost like I’m wearing night vision goggles. I rub my eyes, blink, then open, but the hue remains. Strange.

The lights overhead flicker and fight to come on. The low, constant buzzing from the bulb’s grates on my nerves.

I’m lost as to where to go, but figure the best place to start is still with the video surveillance room. I still have the schematic laid out in my brain. I need to get a better idea of where the dead are and find out what the hell is going on here.

CHAPTER NINE

I can feel every cell in my body changing, mutating in some weird, strange way.

It’s an alien sensation. One that I’m learning to get used to. My skin acts as if something’s moving under the flesh. It’s not, but that’s how it feels.

My eyesight is better than ever, and I feel as strong as a bull. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I hope it lasts long enough for me to escape.

The dead have all but vanished, but their presence is all around. Blood smears the walls, and their stench looms in the air, refusing to dissipate. Yowls from the creature’s echo through the corridors, twisting my nerves.

I’m getting close to the video surveillance room, only a few more corridors to work through and I’m there. There’s so much junk and random crap scattered through here, making my eyes work double time in the event that there might one lurking within the mess.

Even though I’m armed with some “sensory enhancements” and other “gifts” I’m not aware of right now, it would be more comforting to have a gun, knife, or any object I can hit, stab, or mutilate with.

I access the vivid schematic in my head and locate an armory that is to the right of the approaching junction and down the corridor. It doesn’t look too far away, and it’s in the same hall as the video room.

I hit the junction and stop in the middle, peering to my right and down the blackness of the hall that has flickers of light spitting out at different points.

My new night vision eyes have a short field of view and beyond that point, it becomes grainy and distorted. Up close, I spot hairs growing out of unseemly places on the infected, but far away, it’s not as useful.

I turn my head and looking the other way, finding the path to the surveillance room to be just as dark, minus the flickers of convulsing wires. I head for the armory first, keeping my third eye on the schematic in my head. I skirt past the mounds of boxes and other crap scattered about.

Water squishes beneath my feet, and more leaks drip from all over, echoing throughout every inch of the hall. The sparks from the wires temporarily give brief snapshots of what’s coming. So far, so good.

Three doors down and it’s on the right.

I maneuver my way through the labyrinth of clutter, finding spent casings all over the floor and bodies lying about in distressed manners. All have been mangled beyond recognition and left for the flies to feast upon. A landfill for the dead.

I count down two doors and have the third in my sights, finding more bodies scattered around. The armory is up ahead and to the right.

Blood streaks and bullet holes have ripped through the door from the inside. I stop and glance around for any waiting predators or trigger happy gunmen. Nothing stirs except for the hand of death sweeping through this building.

I grab the handle and push down. It’s locked, jammed, or just plain fubared. I study the door and notice a black, square device located near the door handle. It has no markings of any kind or lights showing what it might be. It could be some kind of access panel for a security card or something like that. I’ve seen a wide variety of these over the years. I dig into my back-pant pocket and pull out the card, hoping it’s what I think it is. I swipe the card over the black box but nothing happens. I swipe it again, hold it to the box for a little bit longer until a green light appears.

The door clicks and pops open, allowing me access to the armory. I take a step back and slide to the left, grab the handle, and slowly open the bulky door. I don’t hear any movement.

A soft, luminescent light crawls out of the room and greets my eyes. My night vision fades away, the green hue transforming to my normal sight.

The room is empty of any persons, dead or alive. The foul stench of the dead is strong and mixes with the odor of gunfire that assaults my nose.

I look inside and scan over the space, spotting a few more dead TGP soldiers lying on their backs with their stomachs and other organs hanging out of their bodies. Blood paints the floor a crimson red underneath them. Black crates and dull-gray shelves chop up the fairly large room.

I head inside, stepping on the spent casings littering the floor. They crunch under my bulk, breaking up the silence. I head to the two dead men on the far side of the armory, checking to make sure they’re really dead. I kneel next to one of them and reach for his helmet. The black visor hides his face.

I unlatch the taut strap from under his chin and pull the helmet off. His face looks normal. Both eyes have that wonderful, brown pupil with no black or signs of the infection.

I toss the helmet, go to the other soldier, kneel next to the body, and study the visor. Footfalls sound from behind. I stop, then look in the direction of the subtle noise. I catch a glimpse of something stirring behind me, emerging from between some of the oddly shaped black-wooden crates.

The infected’s clothes are shredded to bits, and its body looks like it’s been run through a meat grinder. The creature is bathed in blood. It’s looking at me with those devouring eyes–cold and focused with its dried-crusty lips split apart. Streams of blood and spit mixed together ooze out of its mouth and other open sores that cover its face and body.

I get to my feet and spin around, waiting for it to lunge at me, but it just stands there.

The creature pants. It’s talon like hands flex. I catch it’s one and only eye peer to my right, then come back to me. I train my ears and notice another set of footfalls and deep breathing, almost growling, from behind me.

The one in front shrills and rushes headlong at me. Its gaps open, revealing the stained-red teeth glistening under the lights. I throw up my leg and kick it square in the chest, sending it reeling backwards and smashing through one of the few wooden crates in the room. Something hard and jagged rips through my upper-left shoulder and out through the front. I feel like it should be tearing me apart, making me scream in pain and writhe in agony. But there’s nothing–just intense pressure from something foreign entering my body.

I turn and snap the thing’s limb clean off. The creature shrills, takes a couple of steps back, and looks at me. Its broken stub leaks fluid like a busted hose. I spot a blackish-brown rusted crow bar lying on the ground near me. I reach for the crow bar and scoop it off the ground. My free hand catches the infected by the throat as it bites and fights for my flesh. I hear the other scrambling out of the shattered-wood crate, thrashing around.

I ram the crow bar up through the bottom of its decaying jaw. The tip pushes out through the top of its skull. Chunks of brain matter cling to the rusty edge. Its arms fall to its side and drop to the ground, hitting with a dense thud.

I turn my attention back to the other creature getting to its feet. The razor-sharp limb from the other creature is still in my shoulder. I grab the edge of the limb and pull. The serrated edges tear through my insides. Chunks of my skin and muscle hang from its barbs. My blood is thick and red, coating the outside. It almost looks coagulated, lumpy even. Like oatmeal mixed with red food coloring.

I don’t wait for the infected to advance again, but go after it instead. Its arms flail and mouth chomps at my body. One of its claws slashes the right side of my face, digging deep into my cheek. I knock its arm away and jam the limb into the side of its neck, severing its vocal cord and throat in one fluid motion. It tries to shrill, but produces nothing more than a nasty-gurgling sound that sends blood bubbles squeezing out the side of its neck. I flick my wrist hard and fast and yank the limb across its neck, lopping its deformed head off with ease.

I let go of the makeshift weapon and knock the headless infected out of my way, then kick its head off to the side. It skirts across the ground and smacks the wall, making a subtle squishing sound. I stand still and listen for any more movement but hear nothing. It’s dead silent except for the scurrying sound of rodents and bugs moving about in the horrid mess.

My sense of the surroundings stays on high alert. I rummage through the armory, finding little to be desired. Most of the weapons have been picked clean or are in a state of disrepair. Either I find guns and no ammo, or ammo and no guns to marry them to.

I too scrounge up a couple Glock 17’s, two extra magazines, a shotgun with a strap and flashlight mounted under the barrel, extra shells, some flares, and another knife that I take from one of the dead soldiers.

One of the Glocks is stowed in the waistband of my jeans. I attach the knife to my lower leg under my pants. I throw the extra goodies into a small, black bag near me and leave the dead to the rodents and bugs, making for the door.

CHAPTER TEN

The end of the shotgun barrel inches out of the cracked door.

I can feel damp air rushing through the hall and hitting the gaping wound on my shoulder and cheek. Everything is still–silent. The door squeaks as I push it open a little more and move out into the hall. I flip the switch on the flashlight and scan both directions. Its range looks to be a bit further than my newly acquired eyesight, something that will come in handy.

The video surveillance room isn’t too far. I should be able to make it in no time, barring any run-ins with the dead. I turn around on the heels of my boots and head the other way, trying to keep any noise to a minimum.

I feel as though I’ve been this way before. Everything I see, touch, or even smell seems familiar in a strange way. The layout seems pretty uniform, or at least that’s the way it appeared from the schematic, but I feel like I’m spinning my wheels in mud and going in circles.

I clear five of the six corridors in no time flat. I’m barely out of breath and my legs drive forward with determination. I haven’t run into any more infected or armed TGP soldiers. Tortured screams and moans echo through the halls, but no dead are seen.

My finger presses against the trigger, ready to squeeze if need be. I reach the last corridor, pause, and sweep the hall. My flashlight reveals more death and destruction. Part of the ceiling has caved in. Bodies lay scattered about, both undead and uninfected thrown together in a horrible jumble of human carnage. My destination lays just beyond the cave-in, second door to the right.

I move out from around the corner and make my way up the hall, looking for anything that might be lurking in the blinding darkness. I catch a quick glimpse of scorch marks crawling along both sides of the walls as I approach the cave-in. It looks like someone might have used heavy explosives to seal the area.

The rubble has twisted rebar jetting out of the busted concrete. Exposed wires hang from the open ceiling and dangle above my head like dull-green snakes in a tree. They show no signs of life. I’m not seeing a way to make it through. Concrete and contorted metal block my path.

I catch a series of moans and shrills flanking me. It doesn’t sound like it’s coming from the vents anymore, but from the halls that I just passed through. I look at both sides of the hall, finding available rooms, but the doors have either been blown clean off or are broken beyond use.

The light shines over the rubble, looking for a hole I can squeeze my big frame through. I scan the top and find a small opening. It looks tight and the rebar coiling all adds a degree of difficulty to the task.

I sling the shotgun over my shoulder and climb the pile, mindful of the jagged metal protruding out of the concrete. Chunks of debris slip and give way as I make my way up, creating a loud, clamoring noise. I lose my footing and fall flat on the unforgiving concrete. My chest and stomach jab the busted rock. The sharpened ends puncture my ribs, digging deep.

I get back to my feet and continue. I’m already halfway up the mountain of rubble.

The moans and shrills break the corner of the corridor. I freeze, then search for the dead. The horde of infected is small. A mixture of dawdling and voracious, black-clad figures trudge my way. A few break from the pack and sprint toward the rubble, mouths foaming and their clawed hands reaching for me.

I scramble up the mound, sending more concrete hurling toward the floor below as I reach the summit. The opening looks much smaller now than what it did from the ground.

I remove most of the gear from my person and cram it through the opening. My bag tumbles end over end and slams the ground on the other side. I suck in my gut and go headfirst with the shotgun leading the way. My body emerges on the other side.

The first wave of undead hit the rubble, shrilling and sprawling up the mound.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I pulled the rest of my body through the tiny opening and tumble down the other side. Every part of my body is jabbed by the rubble. I cringe from the pressure.

I hit the bottom, shake my head, then glance over my shoulder. A flesh deprived body emerges with its clawed and spiked arms gripping whatever it can to pull itself through. It looks my way and lets out a different kind of shrill, more precise and focused–almost like it’s trying to signal someone or something.

The creatures body appears to be stuck within the contorted steel. It thrashes around, fighting to free itself. It stretches out its torn and mangled limbs. The open sores ooze yellowish bile over the busted rock beneath it.

I remove the shotgun from my shoulder and train the barrel right between its enlarged eyes. I can hear the others scratching and beating on the rubble from the opposite side, fighting to get through.

I pull the fore-end toward me and pull the trigger. The shotgun explodes with anger and strikes the creature in the head. Chunks of brain matter and thick, pasty-red blood paint the rocks, silencing it.

The barrel smokes with satisfaction. I cycle another shell into the action, ejecting the spent one. I grab my gear and sling it over both shoulders.

The surveillance room is a few more doors down on the right. I backpedal away from the rubble and rush down the hall before the other dead make their way through.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The clamor from the infected dies down but doesn’t go away.

I move past door number one and approach door number two. Streaks of blood and claw marks riddle the outside. The access panel has been ripped off, and exposed wires reach out from the wall in a tangled and useless mess. I grab the handle and pull down, trying to limit any unwanted noise.

The silver handle gives. I train the shotgun straight ahead and pull the handle down all the way, feeling the latch retract and the door break free of the jamb. I stop and listen for any sort of movement, but hear nothing stirring inside.

I press my palm against the door. The thick-red blood smears over my hand as I push it open. The hinges squeak loud in the silence. The glow from the monitors lights up the room, casting shadows throughout the space. I push the door open further and walk inside.

The monitors and control center cover the wall to my right, leaving a lone, empty chair pushed under the desk. I peer past the door’s edge. A woman lies on a couch with a dingy-black coat draped over her upper body. The same three letters are etched into the sleeve–TGP. She’s motionless and doesn’t appear to be breathing. I’m not sure if she’s dead or infected from the way she is laying. Her face is pointed at the back of the couch.

I train my shotgun above her neck, just below the top of her skull. The sweet spot. I keep quiet and move in for a closer look. My nose captures the putrid, rotting smell of the dead. I approach the couch with caution, then place the muzzle close to her skull.

A shadowy figure emerges from the darkness from behind the door and grabs my shoulders. It tosses me with ease across the room. My body slams against the cinder block wall, then drops to the floor.

I lay prone on my stomach, face buried in the dust and dirt of the floor. My mouth slags open as I gasp for air. I tilt my head to the side and glance up. Both eyes are shiny, making it hard to see the figure standing over the woman.

It looks down at her, then over to me. The black clad figure grunts, then rushes me. I get a good-clean shot of its mutated face and the crazed hungry look swimming in its black, soulless eyes.

The creature grabs me again, this time by the throat, and rams me against the wall. My feet dangle off the ground, swinging back and forth, searching for the ground. I punch it in the face to try to break its hold, then ram my elbow into its flesh deprived arm.

The creature absorbs each blow, acting as if he I didn’t hit it. Both of its bloody lips part, revealing two rows of jagged teeth dripping with spit and blood. It lets out one deep growl, stretches its mouth wide, and comes for my throat.

“Stop it, now,” the woman says in a shout.

It stops at the nape of my neck, then peers back toward the woman who is now standing.

“Put him down, Trenton,” Alice says in an endearing voice.

Trenton, huffing and puffing from his disfigured nose that is loosely hanging by a thin piece of discolored flesh, looks my way. He shows his teeth again, then releases my throat.

I fall to the floor hard and clasp my neck. My head tilts forward as I struggle to breathe.

“It’s okay, Trenton; he’s not going to hurt me,” Alice says, walking toward us. Trenton doesn’t seem too keen on leaving her alone with me for some reason. He remains still, not moving a single inch. “Trenton, it’s okay.”

I tilt my head up from the ground, holding my throat.

Trenton walks to the entrance and shuts the door.

“What the hell just happened there?” I ask, breathless.

“I’m really sorry. I’m not sure why he–” Alice takes a few steps back and holds her hand over her mouth as I get to my feet. A look of shock floods her face. Her eyes are wide, filled with sadness. Trenton moves toward me, growling under his breath. “Your face, it’s like–those things.”

I see the distrusting look of terror creep into Alice’s eyes. I’m lost as to what she’s talking about. For some reason or another, she thinks I’m one of them.

I glance at the monitors and find one that is turned off, seeing the bottom portion of my body reflecting back at me. I walk over to the small mono-colored screens, stop in front of one of the disabled units, then lean over. The grayish-colored glass shows my face and the reason for Alice’s response.

Oh my God.

My head shakes in disbelief. I stumble back from the monitors, mortified at the look of my face.

It’s not real, it’s not real. No way is this real.

I rub my eyes, hoping to clear out the horrid sight. My knuckles dig deep into the socket. I’m doing it so hard I feel as if I could rip them out.

Alice keeps her distance and remains silent, watching me come unhinged.

I take a deep breath, lower my hands, and notice that my palms and fingers are not that of a healthy-grown man, but that of the dead. Well, not yet all the way transformed. Almost like a between stage where they still resemble normal living tissue, but show rapid signs of the body dying. I flip my hands over and find the skin to be a dingy, milky white.

My shoulders sag with defeat. I walk forward and look into the disabled monitor once more, finding a hideous and disgusting thing staring back at me. My eyes are as black as Trenton’s, and my face shows the same signs of decay. The skin sags and it’s losing its wonderful, living glow, leaving behind something without a soul.

A simple and complex thought burrows inside my brain. I don’t crave or feel the uncontrollable hunger for human meat, nor do I desire regular food in general. I don’t–anything.

“Are you–okay?” Alice asks from an arm length away.

My head tilt’s forward. I place my hands on the screens to prop me up. My eyes close, and I think of the amazing life I once had that is now burned to ash.

I snap in a fit of rage and bury my fist into one of the monitors. The glass cracks with ease. Sparks fly and puffs of smoke bellow out. Pieces of the screen stick out from my hand. The blood oozing is nothing more than a thick paste.

I smack my hand against my pant leg hard, dislodging the jagged glass, then turn to face Alice and Trenton. He stands next to Alice who is looking at me with a mixed expression. I’m not sure what she’s thinking, but I can see the wheels turning.

Alice doesn’t say a single word. She stands there with her arms folded and her eyes looking me over.

Trenton watches my every move with a vigilant gaze. He acts as though he’s protecting her in some way.

“Give me just enough time to look over what I need to, and I’ll be on my way,” I say, looking at Alice.

After a short pause, Alice says, “It’s okay, you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.”

Alice lets her guard down and relaxes her tense stance. Trenton stands at ease. He’s still watching my every move, but for the meantime, he doesn’t seem defensive toward me. “How did you get away from them? You could barely stand and move.”

“To be honest, I’m not sure.” I pull out the small, black chair from under the control counter and sit down.

Alice sits on the edge of the couch, then leans back. Her head rests against the split cushion. The strands of dirty-blonde hair flows over the edge. Her face looks long and haggard.

I focus on the control board, studying the battery of switches and knobs before me. Hopefully, these monitors will give me some good news, and offer us a chance to get out of this hellish nightmare alive.

CHAPTER TWELVE

My mind is stuck in overdrive, focused on getting out of this facility and finding out who’s behind this madness. Sitting in this worn, broken down chair, staring at the dingy and dull screens, I’m finding that a good portion of the cameras appear to be disabled. They show nothing but snow moving up and down the CCTVs.

I’ve managed to stumble my way through the learning curve of the control board, locating active cameras and getting a better lay of the land. I glance back over my shoulder at Alice who is lying on the couch with that TGP jacket draped over her upper body again. She looks to be sleeping sound, her deep and consistent breathing filling the silent room.

Trenton stands by the door. He looks at me through squinted eyes, then back at the entrance.

I look to the monitors and scan them again, spotting what appears to be a person moving in the murk of one of the corridors. I squint and lean closer for a better look, trying to see the face of the black clad individual that fades in and out of the shadows.

The monitor malfunctions. Snow fills the screen, distorting the feed. I rap my hand against the side, clearing it up.

The figure is gone–vanished without a trace.

I rewind the digital feed and find nothing–just an empty gray scale corridor with nothing and no one stirring, not even the dead. I spot a set of double, steel doors that have the words “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY” painted across the middle in bold-red letters.

My fingers work the knob on the control panel, and pan the camera down both stretches of hallway. It doesn’t appear to be rundown like everything else here. No exposed wires crawl out of the ceilings or bullet holes riddling the walls. Actually, it almost looks like it still has power.

I can see the lights running along the ceiling, keeping a steady glow. No shorts or intermittent burst of blackness. Hold on. Wait. I spot a set of numbers engraved along the walls.

S-2.

I don’t recall coming across these while looking over the schematic, then again, I wasn’t looking for this particular set. I close my eyes and look over the layout again, finding an access shaft in one of the corridors not far from here that looks to be running down into–nothing. It could be something, or it could be chalked full of dead.

Alice stirs on the couch. The worn springs pop and squeak. I open my eyes and find S-2 to be nothing more than the gray snow falling down in a repetitive pattern on the monitor.

“Any luck? Did you find a way out of here?” Alice asks in a soft and disoriented tone.

“Uh. Maybe. I think I found a way out that might work.” My voice skips a little from uncertainty.

“What about the surface? Is it overrun with those things?” Alice asks, hopeful.

I shrug. “I’m not sure. The feed for the surface has been cut, disabled, or there isn’t one. For all I know, there could be hundreds of them wandering around out there.”

“I just want to be done with this,” Alice replies under her breath, tossing the jacket to the side and getting off the couch. “What do you think we should do, then?”

“You can do whatever you like, but I’m not leaving just yet?” I reply. “I’ll tell you how to get to the hatch that leads outside if you want, but from this point on, you’re on your own.”

“You’re not leaving yet? What could possibly make you want to stay here any longer?” Alice asks, confused and stunned.

“If you haven’t noticed, there are D.E.A.D. M.U.T.A.T.E.D. P.E.O.P.L.E. walking around here, and your husband and I don’t quite look right,” I reply.

“Exactly. It’s more of a reason to get the hell out of here and find help,” Alice shoots back.

I sigh, then point to Trenton. “Look at your husband, do you really think you’re going to run him into the local hospital, and they’re just going to patch him right up? Maybe they’ll give him a couple of shots in the arm, place a bandage or two on his cuts, and send him on his way.”

Alice’s face fills with rage and her lips purse. Both nostrils flare as she folds her arms across her chest.

“Listen, I’m sorry for snapping like that,” I say, hearing Becky’s disapproving sighing ringing in the back of my mind. “I’m not sure how much longer I have before I become one of them. I need answers.”

Alice stands at ease and unfolds her arms. She glances at Trenton, then places her hand on his rotting, sagging face. He stares at her with a blank look as she offers a warm smile. “So, what is it that you’re looking for, then?”

I turn and point at the monitor. “I think I’ve come across something that isn’t on the blueprints. Some sort of subsection to this facility that I don’t think were supposed to-”

A sharp, searing pain flares in my stomach, twisting it like a pretzel. I feel like my insides are being pulled to the point of being ripped from my body. It hurts like hell, doubling over in the chair.

My lids clamp shut. I taste the horrid bite of what’s lurking in my system in the back of my throat. I convulse and burp up some god-awful bile. It burns for a moment as it makes for my mouth, trickling out and down to my tattered shirt.

I open my eyes once more and find that I’m alone. The door has been broken open and is hanging by a single hinge. Alice and Trenton are gone. When did they leave? I wipe away the bile from my crusty lips, noticing the thick, yellowish-red paste on my hand. The smell is nauseating and churns my stomach.

I sit up, lean back, and run my dingy hand over my face, trying to focus. My body and mind are being torn in every possible direction.

Beep, Beep!

A low-buzzing noise calls out. I look in every direction, trying to track the odd sound. I spin around in the squeaky chair. My black eyes are greeted by a flashing-red light. I’m confused and lost, not sure what it means or where I should be looking. I glance over the CCTV’s and find that one of the feeds that was filled with static is now back up and running.

An elevator set off by itself with no access doors or any visible rooms comes into view. I take control of the camera and pan to the left, then right, finding nothing stirring among the dimly lit hall. That’s my entry point to S-2 in the lower subsection.

I check the other corridors that lead to the elevator, finding that some are blocked or show signs of the dead lurking about. I trace out a secondary path through some ductwork and other large rooms, bypassing the blockage and infected.

It’s not the best laid out plan, but it will hopefully bring me one step closer to finding out who did this to me and having them right this horrible wrong.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The lights crash and I’m plunged into darkness.

I’m kneeling on the floor, checking the Glock and loading shells into the shotgun, when everything turns to that light-green hue. I peer around the room and train the Glock at the door, making sure nothing is trying to slip inside unnoticed.

My ears pick up the faint sound of the overhead lamps trying to come back on. Must’ve overloaded the circuits or the power source is on the fritz.

I hurry along and finish checking the weapons, then stuff the Glock between my waistband. The extra magazines and flares are tossed over my shoulder. I secure the knife, grab the shotgun, and stand up. I cycle a shell into the action. pumping it once and loading a fresh shell in the chamber.

I head for the door and pause, training my ears to see if I hear anything rustling about in the open. It’s quiet–still. No movement that I can hear from the corridor.

My shoulder hugs the cold-brick wall on the opposite side of the hanging, loose door, then sneaks a peek down the hall. My eyes penetrate the blackness. I don’t see any dead or living, just more random spots of rubble and parts of the structure that have been gutted.

I slide toward the jamb and around the corner, finding that the dead soul I put down on top of the blockage earlier is now gone. The leftover blood splatter from its head remains, but the body is nowhere to be found.

A thought pops into my mind, and I wonder what happened to Alice and Trenton. Hopefully they made a beeline for the exit and are almost there. It would be nice to know that someone living actually made it out of this mess, even if it’s not me.

I shoulder the shotgun, train the barrel straight ahead, then slip out into the silent hallway. The shotgun sweeps from side to side, checking the open doorways for anything that might strike.

My insides gurgle and churn over and over again, but nothing feels like it’s trying to escape from my stomach, for now anyways. I can feel my brain losing its grip. My focus and thoughts hop from one thing to the next–making it difficult to concentrate.

An image of Becky materializes out of thin air and hovers in front of my face. Her pink, moist lips whisper I Love You as she cracks a smile and bats her eyes at me. I smile then reply, but her face fades away and another vision forms.

A memory that I can’t quite place or even try to sort through begins to play back. It’s all hazy and distorted, like I’m out of it or something.

I can hear voices talking all around, but can’t understand what they’re saying. I catch a brief glimpse of their crisp-white lab coats as they walk by and spot that insignia again–TGP.

Three, no wait, four doctors stand with their backs to me. A short, pudgy man holding a large syringe jabs it into something I can’t make out. They back away, revealing a person strapped to a gurney. A few seconds later, the he-she, maybe it, convulses hard and bellows out an ear-shredding shrill that chills me to the bone.

I blink and the daydream is gone. I’m disoriented to the point that I have no clue how I made it here. I swing the barrel of the shotgun around, looking for any movement close by.

My heart pounds against my chest. I pant, then gulp. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and exhale. I peer straight ahead and find that I’ve reached the electrical room. I have no clue how I got here, and I’m unable to retrace steps from just a bit ago.

The gray door is free from any bloody claw or handprints, and the handle feels in working order. It’s not locked, but pulled and latched to the jamb.

I lower the shotgun, then pull down on the chilled-silver handle. The latch clicks and the door creaks open. The low-grade humming sound of electrical currents fills my sensitive ears. I swing the door open and find nothing more than empty space.

I move inside and close the door behind me. I scan the thick, metal tubing running along the ceiling, and the other set of conduit work that scurries up the wall in the same direction. It fades to black in the dying light. An endless void of nothingness.

I sling the shotgun over my shoulder and access the schematic again. The distance from my current position to the next room isn’t too far. A few turns here and there.

I climb the conduit, then peer up and over the blackness that greets my eyes. The green hue takes hold and illuminates the tiny space. It’s a tight fit. If I come across anything along the way, it’s going to be hard trying to defend myself.

Silence looms from the ether. I don’t see or hear anything other than the surging current flowing above and under me. It breaks in and out with a stutter, then fires right back up again. I pull myself up and slide into the confining space. The metal pipes probe my chest and nether regions. The backpack nudges the pipes overhead, pining my frame within the snake pit of metal.

I move forward, army crawling with my arms folded in front of me and my feet pushing me along the way. My eyes play over every little inch of the confining space, probing the nooks and black voids for any unwanted things. I pick up the faint but all too familiar sounds of the infected shrilling, reverberating off the metal I’m encased in. It’s not anywhere close to where I am, as far as I can tell.

Bumps and vibrations stir the pipes underneath me. I stop. My head peers over my shoulder. I see nothing stalking me.

I dismiss the distractions and keep on my way. The green hue picks up bursts of steam emitting from the fractured pipes in the ceiling.

My first junction is up ahead. I pause for a second and watch the steam vent in hard, short bursts, cycling about every thirty seconds. I count down until it stops, then scurry past the blast.

My eyes pan to the right, finding nothing but more than metal pipes and cobwebs. I look in the other direction and come across another section that goes on forever. A shadowy figure lays in the dimness, face down.

I squint and try to get a better look but can see its hands and head. They appear to be more human than deformed. It has a dark-gray jumpsuit on and random patches of hair that look to have been ripped from its forehead, leaving bloody, wet patches in its wake. I’m not sure if it’s dead or unconscious.

Clang.

A sudden strike somewhere along my path fills the cramped space, sounding like a canon exploding. It rattles my skull. My teeth chatter. I look around to see what happened and find the motionless thing is now up.

It lifts its head up and bobbles it in place long enough to spot me. Its nose has been smashed in and the flesh around its right eye is missing. Fluids pour out of its mouth and seep into the metal pipes beneath it as it crawls my way. It’s missing its left hand, but its right hand is functional. The creature pushes with its legs–drawing closer to me.

The steam shuts off and I move, but my right boot slips down between the tight-metal pipes. I jerk my foot, tugging and pulling with the hope it will pop free and I can move on but it doesn’t. It’s twisted sideways and wedged inside the snake pit of metal.

I can hear the undead breathing and clamoring along the pipes in a frenzy to see what’s up ahead. My foot wiggles and I jerk my leg, moving it every possible way I can think to free it.

The stench of the dead’s soulless body and the putrid spray of its breath assaults my nose, making me tug harder on my foot. It gets excited and breathes heavier as it picks up the pace.

My boot loosens. I think I’ve figured out how I need to contort my limb in order to free it. I maneuver it around, feeling the grasp of the metal pipes letting me go. My boot pops out.

The creature grabs my leg and moves up on me with its one hand, then tries to bite me. I roll to my side in the cramped space and grab it by the throat. My pack pushes against the wall of pipes, driving me toward it. It flails around, trying to get closer, positioning its legs on the lips of the pipes and pushing forward. Fluids leak from every open hole in its body. The stench is overpowering.

I dig harder in its throat, squeezing with all my might. My free hand reaches down to my leg, scrambling for the knife, but it’s latched inside the sheath. I wrestle my pant leg up and try to unbuckle it.

The dead advances, snapping at my arm. Its teeth finds the mark, digs into my flesh, and slices away the pale skin from my limb. Blood flows, but it’s thick and pasty, oozing out and staining the creature’s teeth and mouth. I can feel the pressure from it pulling and tugging. It doesn’t hurt, though, or at least something is keeping the pain from shooting up the dead nerves.

I get the sheath unbuckled and remove the knife. I rip my arm from the creature’s flesh-ridden mouth. Chunks of my skin lay packed between its multilayered rows of jagged and irregular teeth.

It looks at me with its one and only black eye and comes for me again. I bury the knife in the side of its temple. The handle and part of my fingers push inside its skull.

I jerk the handle back and free the blade. Blood trails in its wake along with a squishing sound that echoes from the gaping hole. The creature’s head falls like a stone to the pipes and hits hard. Decayed brain matter oozes from the exposed opening.

I inspect my arm, looking past the flesh and seeing part of my femur showing through the ravaged muscle. It looks nasty and well deserved of a field dress, but I don’t bat an eye at the sight of my own exposed bone. I’ve seen much worse.

I tear a strip from my shirt and wrap the bite. The thick blood absorbs into the dingy-whitish cloth–staining it a dark red.

The mash up of the creature’s flesh and chunks of its shattered skull cling to the tainted-red blade, dangling from the serrated edge in multiple clumps. I flick my wrist and sling the decayed brain matter off, then wipe the blade and my hand clean on my pant leg.

The knife is secured back in its sheath. I roll over to my stomach and get on the move.

The steam hisses and vents hard, covering up the sounds of something else stirring from the way I came. The steam stops. I slip past the blast point and snake my way down to the next junction.

I hit the corner and back into the black abyss. My head sticks out far enough to spot a disfigured skull looking in the direction I came from. The steam distorts my view some, making it look much more hideous and vulgar within my green tint. It looks around, mouth ajar and its flesh-deprived nose trained in the air. Its left hand is mutated fully, elongated fingers gripping the pipes while its right, slender spiked arm waves from side to side.

The creature looks my way, past the steam and dead body. It holds its gaze, not flinching or twitching a single muscle.

I’m ready for a quick getaway down the tight space if need be. Every muscle fiber teams with adrenaline. I listen and wait.

The creature turns its head around, then lets out a short, high-pitched shrill that echoes down the pipes. It scurries away in a blink, then vanishes within the murk. Whatever grabbed its attention, I’ll take it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The green-hue lights the black void ahead of me through the maze of pipes that curve and turn into the unknown.

I round a blind corner and find my exit just ahead. A single, dim light shines through the grate, splitting it into multiple beams that illuminate my face. I slow my pace some, trying to reduce any noise that could alert anyone or anything roaming around below.

I creep up to the grate and peer out through the narrow slits into the expansive, but cramped, bay. It looks like the backup lights have kicked in and the main power is out here as well.

The side of my face presses to the grate, and I scan the mounds of crates and boxes spread throughout the bay, trying to get a feel for what I might be stepping into. Thin beams of light trace up and down the crates. I count a half dozen men or so, armed with automatic weapons and dressed in the same gear as the dead TGP soldiers I encountered earlier.

The ground doesn’t look too far away. I can hop down here.

I study the grate, finding that it’s been eaten with rust. I grab the jagged slits and push out. It gives and I reel it in, sitting it next to me. I worm my way up to the opening and stick my head out.

The coast is clear around me and below. Darkness lurks in the nook below me.

I turn and look up, find a lip of sorts within the structure. I crawl out of the opening a little more and torque my frame in a way that both of my hands grab the edge. There’s not much but maybe an inch to an inch and a half of space to hold on to. I pull myself out and fall to the concrete below.

My boots hit the ground, making more noise than I would like. I stand still, crouch, and listen for any movement. I detect footfalls charging my way and beams of light.

I remove my knife from its sheath, blade turned backwards with the serrated edge pointing to the ground. The darkness conceals my presence. The green hue illuminates the containers before me. I move toward the edge and stop.

Footfalls close in on me. I peer around the blind corner and spot a guard walking my way. A bright light from his gun-mounted flashlight crawls across the container and trails toward my face.

I retreat to the darkness and grip the blade a hair tighter. My muscles team with adrenaline and my ears train to every step he makes as he approaches.

The beam of light grows brighter, and the jingling of his uniform signals his position. The barrel of his machine gun breaks the corner first, then him. He doesn’t look to the blackness and keeps moving.

I reach out and grab him from behind, reeling him into my dark world. He thrashes about in my arms. I plunge the blade into his chest. The tip easily slices through the padded vest he’s wearing and tears into his flesh, nicking some ribs and digging deep within his insides. The struggling stops and his body goes limp.

The soldier’s arms fall to the ground. I remove the blade from his chest, then drag his dead body further into the darkness. He’s discarded without further thought. I wipe his blood on his gear before grabbing his gun. I turn the flashlight off and toss the weapon over my shoulder.

I move to the edge of the containers and scan for any additional guards. Zero lights trail along the containers. No footfalls tingle my sensitive ears.

A dim, yellow light from across the way grabs my attention. It’s emitting from one of the containers. I move out from the opening, staying low.

My pack bounces up and down. The machine gun slaps my side. I lean against the adjoining container and slither down the rough and ridged steel.

The light continues to pulsate. I hesitate for a second, then look around for any guards.

I take a few steps forward, keeping my head low and out of the light–bracing for whatever I might see. I stand, then look through the grimy window the gleam radiates from.

A half-naked man is bound to a thick-metal stand. His wrist and ankles restrained by some steel clamps. Both of his eyes are shut, and he’s outfitted in some bright-white shorts. Tubes hang from the ceiling and feed into his body at different points. Fluids flow into his body.

He doesn’t appear to be infected or isn’t showing any physical signs of the change yet. His breathing is steady. The warmth from his mouth creates smoke within the cold environment.

I feel goosebumps roll over me. The odd sensation of having needles forced into my body and some foreign liquid pumped into my veins seems familiar somehow. I close my eyes, putting myself in his place. I wish I knew what they were pumping into him. What they injected into me.

I open my eyes and find the man staring at me. It startles me. I flinch and back away. My heart pounds inside my chest.

He seems lethargic–eyelids hanging heavy just above his dilated pupils. A grim look of confusion and outright disorientation fills his pale face.

I move in closer once more–studying his face, and what is going on inside the pod he’s kept in? His eyes open wide. The catatonic state he was in is now gone.

He looks at me, screaming for help. His motionless body comes back to life and thrashes around, jerking his arms and legs in a panic.

The light inside the pod shifts from yellow to a dark-dank red. A siren blares.

“Shut the hell up, and stop moving around, damn it,” I say, at the glass.

I turn and head for the corner of the pod when one of the TGP soldiers closes in. He trains his machine gun at my head. I throw my hands in the air and stop. His gun-mounted light washes across my face.

“Don’t move,” the soldier says, his voice sounding more robotic than human.

“Let’s take it easy,” I reply.

“Remove the gun from your shoulder and any other weapons you have on your person now,” he says, pointing at me, then to the ground.

I do as he says and reach for the machine gun over my shoulder. I grab the black strap and remove it. A shadowy figure scurry’s about in the blackness behind him. It’s faint and hard to see as his light blinds me. I train my ears and hear whatever it is panting, creeping closer along the steel pod’s outer hull.

The creature emerges from the blackness. Its face is deformed, and most of the skin is shredded. Its lips gone, showing overdeveloped gums that have massive knife-like teeth gleaming in what little light there is in here.

“Behind you,” I say, pointing over his shoulder.

“Shut the hell up, and don’t speak again or I’ll-”

The creature lunges from the darkness and grabs the soldier from behind. It drives its teeth into the side of his neck. It tears through his padded vest with ease and bites his neck.

“Aw.” The soldier squeezes the trigger, spraying the area.

Bullets fly past my body and strike the pods around me. Steam vents from the holes as more sirens sound off. I run at the soldier and kick him hard in the chest, sending both of them back into the abyss of blackness. The muffled robotic pleas quickly die off. The sound of the creature ripping through his suit to the meaty goodness within fills my ears.

I stand there, almost in a trance, watching the thing claw its way to his insides. Every slash of its razor-sharp claws brings so much more blood flowing like a river from his body and pooling around both of them.

The other soldiers are coming. The rapping of their feet hammers the ground, and the heft of their suits shift as they hurry toward the commotion.

The creature pauses, then tilts its head to the side. Fresh human meat dangles from its clawed hands and teeth. Its dead eyes, black as oil, lock onto mine.

“Echo three–fox trot, what’s–status, over.” A faint and choppy transmission sounds from the dead TGP soldier’s mangled helmet.

The bouncing lights trailing along the floor and containers catch my attention. A handful of the soldiers head my way with rifles shouldered and trained at the disturbance.

I look back and find the creature’s head pointed to the ceiling. The dark-tinted blood drips from its chin. It opens its mouth and releases a burst of shrills.

The high-pitched noise is short lived, then fades away. The creature lowers its head and gets back to its meal. A faint, but growing, rattling sound looms from the vent I passed through earlier. It grows louder with each passing second–sounding as if a herd of cattle will come busting through at any moment.

I turn and leave when I feel something hard and blunt strike me in the arm. The impact knocks me off balance and pushes me against one of the steel pods.

The soldiers shout orders. “Spread out and contain whatever is in the warehouse. Use of lethal force is authorized if need be.”

I reach behind me, grab the Glock, and open fire. The middle soldier goes down with a head shot that punches through his visor with ease. His legs give and he drops to the ground.

The other two soldiers break away and take cover behind the pods. They fire a couple of rounds, then duck back. I can hear more chatter and footfalls from all over but can’t place where or how many are coming.

I empty the magazine, keeping the two soldiers at bay.

I eject the spent magazine, then reach back with my wounded arm. A searing pain burns my arm, but my brain overrides the sensation. I grab a fresh magazine, slap it in, then rack the slide.

The shrills multiply and a flood of dead bodies explode out of the vent. The soldiers flinch, search for the source, then train their rifles on the small swarm of mutated dead jumping from the vent.

The creatures spread out into the warehouse like a tidal wave of teeth and utter rage. Gunfire erupts. Screams of agony taint the air. I can smell the dead and the blood that is being spilled. It fills my nose and churns my stomach.

I go the other way, fleeing the madness. I trip and fall face first, then turn over onto my back. A mutated woman lunges at me. She looks somewhat human, but her body and face show rapid signs of the change.

My knees press to my chest as the soles of my boots cradle her torso. Her dark-soulless eyes stare at me. She presses forward and swats at my face with her bloody hands. Spit and other fluids drip from her torn and split lips. Grunts and other unnatural noises emit from her mouth as her legs drive her forward.

I train the Glock right between her black eyes and pop off a single round. The splat of the bullet cratering a hole in her head and blowing out the back of her skull melds with the screams and shrills. I throw her off me, scramble to my feet, then get back on the move.

I roll out from the cover of the pod with the Glock trained ahead. Two mutated creatures rush headlong toward me. They’re taken down with head shots. Bullets ricochet off the steel containers as the soldiers try to take me down. I keep running, darting in and out of the maze of steel.

My Glock clicks empty once more as I take down two more TGP soldiers rounding opposite corners ahead of me. I stow the empty weapon in the waistband of my jeans behind me, grab the machine gun hanging from my shoulder, and open fire on the soldiers and the dead.

I peer over my shoulder and spot three fast-moving creatures galloping toward me. They shrill loud and close the distance with little effort. I run harder, bobbing and weaving among the steel pods, hoping the dead trailing me find a better meal and leave me be.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I’m lost and unsure of where to go through this maze of steel containers with the dead and soldiers chasing after me.

I skirt the blind corner of another steel pod and keep sprinting. An elevator on the far wall meets my gaze. A man with wiry-black hair and dressed in a dingy-white lab coat smashes the lone button on the wall. He glances over his shoulder with a naked fear filling his panicked face.

The white lab coat spots me making a beeline right toward him. His eyes enlarge and he punches the button faster. The elevator dings and the door springs open. White lab coat rushes inside, then mashes the button as he looks me in the eyes.

The doors start to close. I run harder. He waves me off, then steps out of the way to the far wall. I slip through the narrow opening just as the doors shut behind me. The dead slam into the elevator. Fists hammer the steel doors, echoing inside the car. Their shrills and gunfire fades away as the car descends from the tumult.

“Please don’t kill me. Christ, don’t kill me,” the man says, shaking and sobbing. He wedges himself into the corner of the elevator with his hands up in front of him. Tears flow down his red cheeks and through his sparse black beard.

“Shut up, I’m not going to kill you. At least not if you stop that damn whining,” I say, shaking my head and panting.

I work the pack off my back and toss it to the side. I hit the red emergency button on the elevator control panel, stopping the carriage.

“Wha–what are you going to do to me?” the man says, stuttering.

I pull the Glock out from behind me, sit down opposite lab coat, and rest my back against the smooth wall of the elevator. My head slags back and I take a deep breath. The gun hangs loose in my right hand as I take a moment to collect my thoughts.

“What’s your name?” I ask, looking at him.

“Wal–ter Jenkins,” he replies through trembling lips.

“Well, Walter Jenkins, I’m Mike.”

That name, Walter Jenkins, triggers a memory almost on cue after he blubbers it out. It’s hazy and sorta out of focus, but I can see a name badge with the engraving W Jenkins. It’s familiar to me somehow.

“You’re not going to eat me, are you?” Walter asks, peering at my face and cringing.

“No, Walter, I’m not going to eat you, but I am going to ask you some questions. And depending on how truthful you answer them, can and will determine your fate. Do you understand?”

Walter nods. He watches my every move, flinching at the gears above the carriage working.

“Good, now stop your damn blubbering and be quiet for a moment. It’s wearing on my nerves,” I say, holding up my hand.

Walter stops, then folds his arms his chest. He chews the ends of his dingy-looking fingernails while pacing the car.

“Tell me, Walter, what exactly is going on here? From the looks of this structure, and the dead walking around, it doesn’t appear to be your run of the mill warehouse or laboratory,” I ask.

“I can’t really say because I don’t know either,” Walter replies, looking away from me. “Myself and a handful of others are just a small piece to a much larger puzzle. They direct us on what our job is and that is all. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Who is ‘they’ exactly? Expand, please.”

Walter shrugs, then says, “Some pharmaceutical company I was contracted through. I never really met anyone face-to-face. I was contacted over the phone and offered the job. I was told they had been watching me for some time and that they had a top secret project they wanted me on.”

I raise my brow. “And you didn’t find that just a little odd?”

“I did until they told me what it paid. I’ve got an ex-wife that is bleeding me dry, and loans that are drowning me. I’m on the verge of losing everything. At the time, I really didn’t care,” Walter answered, his voice raising an octave.

I pointed up, then asked, “So you have no clue as to what those things are roaming around and why I look like I do?”

“I’ve already said I don’t know what’s going on,” Walter replies, sighing. “I’ve almost gotten bit I don’t know how many times and have seen stuff that will scare the hell out of me for the rest of my life.”

I get off the ground in a huff, then lick my dried and crusty lips.

Walter stops pacing and backs into the wall. His body tenses–head sinks below his shoulders.

“You don’t know anything about nightmares, pal. Do I look like I’ll ever have a normal life again? No, I won’t, Walter. All because of something that happened here. Because of something YOU helped with.”

Walter doesn’t respond, but instead, he cowers in the corner of the car.

I train the Glock at his forehead and walk toward him. “Last time I’m going to ask you. Tell me EVERYTHING you know right now, or I’ll relieve you of your current nightmares.”

“All right fine, just put the damn gun down,” Walter shoots back with his hands in the air.

I lower the Glock to my side. I take a step back to give him some breathing room. “Go on.”

Walter shakes his head. “I hate guns. They always set me on edge.”

“Walter, focus,” I say, snapping my fingers at his face.

“Yeah, okay,” Walter replies. “So, I’ve seen you once before. The group I was with was injecting the stabilizer into test subjects before they were moved onto the next phase of testing. The stabilizer was to control the substance and keep it from getting out of hand. The last phase, from what I’ve heard, is the activation of the substance. A catalyst is administered to the subject, and then they are set free if they don’t spaz out and turn immediately.”

“What is the substance?” I ask, listening close.

“I don’t know what it is. I wasn’t part of that group, and it wasn’t something they shared with me. All I know is what I was working with. That is all. I swear,” Walter says, pleading for me to believe him.

I stare at him, studying his face and body language for a moment without responding.

Walter gulps. “Are you going to kill me now?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m not killing you. Although, you’re a piece of shit and will probably die down here, but that is just a hunch.”

I walk to the elevator control panel, switch off the emergency override, and hit the down arrow. The carriage comes back to life and begins its journey downward.

“Wha–what are you doing?” Walter asks with a shaky tone. “We can’t go down there. There are too many infected all over the damn place. We need to go up and get the hell out of here. You might have a death wish, but I barely made it out of there in one piece, and I’m not going back!”

Walter turns and goes for the emergency stop button, but I’m already two steps ahead of him. I snatch Walter’s scruffy-white lab coat collar and flip him around. My hand grabs him by the throat. I force him back and slam him hard against the elevator door.

“Christ. You’re crazy,” he says, eyes wide and full of terror.

I lift him off his feet. My black eyes peer deep into his, and my fingers close around his windpipe. “I’m going down, not up. You’re coming with me. Whether you’re alive or dead is up to you. Got me?”

Walter nods.

My hand opens and drops him to his feet. He’s bent over, coughing, hacking with his hands on his knees. I scoop up my gear and pull a magazine from the side pocket. I eject the spent magazine that clatters off the floor.

“The damn thing wasn’t even loaded?” Walter says, pointing at the Glock.

“Nope.” I reload and slip the pack over my shoulders as the elevator dings at ground zero.

Walter stands upright, reaches for his throat, and rubs his sweaty-red skin.

The door cracks open, showing a black void with brief sparks of light sparking in the distance. I don’t hear any movement or spot any black-clad figures lurking about.

“I wouldn’t stand that close. There could be something beyond those doors,” I say, nodding at the opening.

Walter looks at me with a peculiar stare with his eyes creased and mouth ajar. He turns and follows my invisible line reference to the black space beside him. He peers back at me and takes a step forward when something grabs him from behind.

“Help me,” Walter says, screaming as he’s yanked back through the opening. His feeble arms catch both sides of the elevator doors, stopping him for a moment.

I grab his wrist, pull, then tug as he continues to yell at me. Whatever has him is strong and pulls Walter free of my grasp. His body vanishes into the black murk of the hall.

A final scream of pain seals his fate.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Walter’s screams of agony ebb, then stop. Silence fills my ears, now. No footfalls, shrills, or moans linger from the dead, or whatever abomination is running loose down here.

I knock out the lights inside the elevator, plunging the car into blinding darkness. I drop to my knees, keeping away from the opening. My face presses against the floor as I stare out into the murk of the corridor.

My eyesight adjusts to the blackness. I scan the corridor but don’t see anything. There’s debris everywhere with more exposed wires hanging like vines from the ceiling. Walter’s body is missing, but the mural of wet blood painted on the floor close to the elevator more than describes his gruesome end.

At the far end of the corridor, I spot my way down to S-2. I stand up and move to the side of the opening. My shoulder presses to the elevator door. I train the Glock at the blackness, then peer to the ground below the carriage. More blood taints the concrete but I still can’t lay eyes on Walter’s body.

I slip through the opening and drop to the ground. Something moves within the rubble that is scattered over the corridor but I can’t find it. My fingers adjust over the grip of the Glock. Every muscle fiber is poised for whatever may come at me.

I make my way through the busted rock and rebar, sweeping the hallway for any movement. Debris crunches under my bulk. The noise is loud in the silence. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves, then exhale through pursed lips.

The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A chill of something behind me sends a warning down my spine. I turn around but find nothing in my wake. A faint noise tickles my ear from the way I need to go. The stench of rotting flesh follows–assaulting my nose. It’s close.

I lunge forward and tumble end over end as I feel the breeze of its claws skim the back of my neck. My feet hit the ground. I spin around, then fire two rounds that find their mark in the creature’s forehead as it comes for me.

It falls to the ground, hitting the busted rock face first. The walnut-sized holes in its head ooze thick, pasty-looking blood that seeps out all over the debris.

I stand, lower my Glock, and walk toward the mutated creature. I nudge its flesh-deprived arm with the tip of my boot. It offers no response. I take a deep breath and look ahead, finding the door that leads down to S-2.

I step around the dead creature and head for the door. My boots hammer the ground–eyes focused on the exit. I make it halfway through the dilapidated corridor before something grabs my pack from behind and pulls.

It throws me against part of the wall that is busted and cracked. The air escapes my lungs and a piece of rebar impales my upper-right thigh. I feel no pain; just more of that dead sensation that registers to my brain that something has ripped into my body.

I place my hands on the wall and push, trying to free my leg from the jagged piece of metal protruding out of the discolored meat. Out of the corner of my right eye, I spot the black-clad creature running toward me. Its mouth is immense with rows upon rows of knife-like teeth gleaming in the flickers of light. It’s the biggest thing I’ve come across while being here.

It wraps its giant cleaver-like palm around my throat and lifts me off the ground. My leg pulls away from the rebar, leaving chunks of my flesh dangling from its rusted edges. The creature snarls and huffs, blowing sticky strings of spit at me. It has no visible eyes that I can see. The flesh from its nose is gone, leaving nothing more than the bone showing through the rough and tattered skin draping down over its head.

The creature shrills out loud and grips my throat tighter, reeling me in with its muscular, tree-trunk arm that has pieces of bone shooting out in every direction. I grab a handful of its bone from its shoulder, break it off, then jab it in the side of its neck. It lets out a roar as it reaches for the reddish-caked bone with its free hand. Blood oozes out and down its deformed body.

My elbow slams its thick arm, and I kick it in the stomach, but the creature doesn’t let go. It flicks its wrist and hurls me across the room with ease. My body hits some metal pipes that dislodge from the wall and start hissing. The fumes hit my nose.

Gas.

I cough and gag from the pungent odor. My eyes scan for the abomination and lock onto it. The creature removes the bone jetting out from its neck allowing the thick blood to bubble out and drip to the floor in clumps.

I peer over my shoulder and find the exit as the creature rushes me. I reach back to my pack and remove one of the flares while on the run. The creature shrills and runs after me. The fumes haven’t made it this far yet.

I pop the top to the flare and toss it back toward the gas. The sparks spewing from the top grab hold of the gas and ignite, creating a thunderous explosion that shakes the ground. A heat wave engulfs the room, incinerating everything in a blink.

My feet crest the exit when the shock wave from the blast overtakes me and slingshots me forward. I hit the ground hard and tumble into a wall. Ash and parts of the building rain down upon my scorched skull. My ears ring and I can smell my flesh burning.

I lay there for a few minutes, trying to regain my composure. My lids crack open. Flames fill my vision along with various white coats and soldiers with weapons drawn and trained in my direction.

The faint sound of chatter fills my ringing ears as they surround me with no possible escape. One of the soldiers towers over me, next to my head. He bends down, then says, “Sir, we’ve got him.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

You’re almost there, baby. Hold tight and keep strong. You’re getting so close. Whatever you do, don’t give up. Soon, we’ll be together.

The sound of Becky’s voice pushes me to keep going. Fight through the pain and torment however I can to make it back to her.

I come to. I’m flat on my back. My lids crack open. A bright light blasts me in the face. I lift my arms up to block the beam but can’t. Both wrists are shackled–restricting my movement.

My legs are restrained as well. I tilt my head to the side and blink, erasing the stars fluttering in the air. A metallic tray filled with medical tools used for surgery meets my gaze. What the hell?

A handful of lab coats walk around me, writing on clipboards. Tubes and other wires run from my body to various machines. The repetitive beeping of the equipment working festers in my ears.

“Hey, where am I, and who the hell are you people?” I ask, groggy. They pay me no mind and keep writing. “Answer me, damn it. Where am I, and what are you doing to me?”

“Let’s calm it down, Mike,” a calm but stern voice says from behind me. “I would hate to have to knock you out again.”

I try to look behind me to see who is speaking, but I can’t see him. I move my head from side to side but find nothing but darkness beyond the light in my face. “Who are you and what’ve you done to me?”

“It really doesn’t matter who we are, but what does matter, Mike, is that you are one of the first to progress where all others have fallen short. Most of the other subjects either became what you’ve seen roaming up top or made no real changes at all. It’s really quite remarkable. You should be very happy and proud of your accomplishment,” the man says in a jovial tone.

“Go to hell. Let me out of here, now,” I shoot back, jerking hard on the chains. The metal links stretch and give some from the pressure. “I’ll be satisfied once I have my cold, dead hands wrapped around your throat.”

Zap.

My muscles seize up–hands flail about. I grit my teeth and try to push past the electricity coursing through my body that has me paralyzed, but struggle to do so.

It stops. The smell of charred flesh fills and assaults my nose. I catch my breath and regain my composure.

“That was a warning, Mike. Do that again, and I’ll turn up the juice,” the man says.

I keep quiet and lay still.

“Good boy,” the man says. I can hear him smiling. “I wish I had more time to stand here and continue our little banter session, but I have to get moving, and you have to get dissected and studied so we can replicate your genes.”

I lay there, defeated, and stare straight into the overhead lamps as the mysterious man whispers something to the two labs coats hanging around my feet.

“Take care, Mike. Your sacrifice will not go unnoticed.” He offers a single nod that is hard to make out from the shadows plaguing his face and shrouding him within the murk.

He slips away into the darkness and leaves my body to the two lab coats waiting to crack me open. One of them splits off and goes across the room. The sound of metal on metal taints the air while the other lab coat stands next to me. He slides the stand holding the tray of cutting utensils out of his way, then grabs my arm.

“Administering the sedative now. He should be good to go in a couple of minutes,” the man next to me says in a dull lifeless tone.

He brings the tip of the needle to my upper forearm, then presses it against my skin. I jerk my arm away, grab the needle from his hands, and ram the tip into his neck. I thumb the plunger and inject whatever’s floating inside into his body.

The man gurgles on his own spit and chokes on the blood draining into his throat. He reaches for the syringe, trying to pull it free. I spot some keys bouncing around on his hip and snatch them up. I push him backwards with my hand as blood trickles out the sides of the needle’s tip and down his neck. He stumbles back into some cabinets and falls to the ground.

The other lab coat runs across the room for some type of control button on the wall. I grab the scalpel from the tray and throw it at him. The razor-sharp blade spins end over end and drills into the man’s temple, dropping him before he can press the button.

I take a deep breath and knock the overhead lamp out of the way, then peer around the spacious lab for anyone else that might be lurking about. I thumb through the keys and try out each one on the shackles until I find the right one. The restraints give and open. My fingers rub each wrist as I slip off the hard metal table to my feet.

I hear movement across the room outside of the door on the far wall. I run to the side of the entrance as it bursts open. Two soldiers rush in with weapons drawn and relaying intel out loud. “I’ve got two coats down and subject is nowhere to be–”

I grab the soldier closest to me from behind. My hand grabs his machine gun and fires on the other soldier taking point. The bullets tear through his padded vest, hitting his body. The soldier drops to his knees and falls face first to the floor. I toss the lifeless corpse I’m holding off to the side.

I strip both men of what gear I can use and double check all weapons to make sure they’re good to go. The two pistols and machine guns are stocked and ready to go. I grab the pack stripped from one of the soldiers and toss it over my shoulder.

A crackle looms from the radio fixed to one of the soldier’s hip. “Red team, come in. We’ve got two more units heading your way. ETA is five minutes.”

I scan the room, trying to find some way out of the lab. The door the soldiers came through is the only way out of here that I see. I continue looking and spot a faint light emitting out from under part of the wall close by. It’s not much but it looks like it could be a way out of here. I make my way over and run my hands over the surface, finding a razor-thin slit in the wall.

A passage of some kind?

My hand presses all around until a portion of the wall pops open. I peek inside and find a lit pathway that goes down and curves past a blind corner.

I reach back into the pack and remove one of the timed explosives. I punch in one minute and set the timer. The seconds count down fast. I sling the magnetic explosive across the room. It attaches to the far wall as I slip inside the hidden room and close the secret door behind me.

I worm my way through the hidden passage, trying to put as much distance between me and the blast radius as possible. My fingers trace along the surface as I make the blind corner. The narrow passageway dead-ends up ahead into another wall.

My pace quickens. I feel over the wall, searching for any sort of hidden switch to let me out. A boisterous clap of what sounds like muffled thunder sounds off behind me. The floor beneath me shakes. The lights above dim and flicker a few times as I hear a rush of something winding down the passageway.

Oh shit.

A tidal wave of fire and shrapnel claws its way to me. I panic, pressing all over the wall until a part of it pops open, allowing me to get my fingertips in the tiny opening. It’s heavy and not moving much. I pull even harder. The muscles in my arms and chest tighten as I force it open just enough to get myself through.

The inferno closes in. I thread my frame through the narrow gap and slip inside. I move out of the way and off to the side.

The fire reaches the end of the hall. The door slams shut. Sirens bellow and the main lights overhead crash. The few backup lights kick in and cast the room into partial darkness.

The sprinklers kick in. Water spews from the ends of each. I run my hand over my face as the water washes away the grime and blood on me.

The water shuts off. The sirens stop and silence reclaims the room.

I train my machine gun straight ahead, sweeping the dead silence for any movement. It looks as though the area has been tossed. Papers are scattered about and tables of all shapes and sizes have been turned over and dented. I’m finding puddles of blood and splatter streaks on the walls and tubes. I don’t see any lab workers or anything else within the low light, but this area is big and with all the clutter about, anything could be lurking within.

I work my way toward the center of the room where a rounded workstation is set up with multiple computer stations and other equipment. Most of the screens have been destroyed. I happen across one that is still running that has a hairline crack running diagonal from the top right to the bottom left. It’s distorting the images on the screen, but I can still make it out some. I pause and look over what’s displayed. A single phrase catches my attention.

System purge complete of all specimens.

Specimens? That doesn’t sound good.

I hit the enter key on the keyboard, hoping to find something more out, but get nothing other than “invalid password” and the screen going blank. I shuffle through the papers scattered on the workstation, trying to come across something that might give me a crash course in what I’m dealing with. It’s gibberish and foreign to me.

Damn it.

I knock the pile of papers from the top of the desk, then turn my attention to the slew of cylinders that housed the specimens. I move in for a closer look, going from one hard plastic tube to the next. A number of intravenous wires funnels in from the top with screens attached to the right. Most are broken while others still function, flickering on and off. I pause at one of the tubes. The hard, plastic shell is busted and chunks of what looks like meat cling to the jagged edges.

My grip on the rifle grows tighter as I move on, passing a few cylinders housing bodies. The screens are off, so I don’t know what their status is. I look inside one of them, trying to see its face. I can’t tell if they’re undead, as a shield of some kind is keeping it secret.

A crackling noise stirs the silence, followed by a short burst of electricity that shoots sparks onto the ground. I twist around, poised and ready. My trigger finger rubs the kill switch as I look for the culprit.

Damn, man, keep it together. Don’t lose it now. Just a monitor spewing its guts.

I lower my gun and take a breather, focusing on continuing my search and moving on. I take a few steps forward and head to the next tube.

A hand grabs me from behind. I spin around and grab whatever it is by the arm and slam its face into the cylinder next to me, cracking the hard plastic. I must have dislocated its jaw, as one side hangs loose, blood pouring out of its decrepit mouth. It’s not moving fast and struggles to get upright.

The creature sways from side to side, moaning, then growling. It comes for me once more with its mangled arms stretched outward, reaching for me as it ambles forward. Its right leg is missing large chunks of flesh, revealing the reddish-tinted femur. The creatures knee cap is scrapped and pieces of bone have been etched out. Its left leg is turned sideways, dragging behind like a useless, unwanted item.

I grab its head and pull, ripping its skull away from its lower half. Its body shuts down and crumbles to the ground, falling at the foot of my boots. I toss the severed head off to the side and turn around.

A horde of lab workers, soldiers, and other various dead shuffle in through a door from across the room. They spot me with ease and close in.

I train my gun at the undead horde and take aim at one of the walker’s ambling toward me. The moans and uncoordinated shuffling fill my ears. I pick my targets and open fire.

The rifle barks its harsh report.

Fire spits from the muzzle. The bullet finds its mark in the creatures head.

The splatter from the back of its skull exploding does little to deter the others. It falls face first to the ground as the others continue on, trampling the dead body. The one behind it is marked with the dead one’s flesh and bone all over its ripped and mangled face.

I continue firing, taking as many down as I can. Something grabs me from behind, sinking its teeth into my shoulder. My finger clamps down on the trigger and sprays the room with ammo as it tugs and jerks. I wiggle free and turn around, finding more dead inching their way closer to me.

The creature that bit me stands but a few feet away. It takes me a moment, but I recognize who it is.

Deacon?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A distant look fills his gaze. He stares at me, chest heaving and fingers twitching.

“Deacon, it’s me,” I say, hoping that some part of him still remembers who I am.

He stares at me with those vacant-black eyes. His face is scratched bad and parts of his chest have been gnawed on. My thick blood covers his lips with part of my clothing and flesh dangling from his stained teeth.

“Deac-”

Deacon lunges for me once more, pinning me against some equipment. He grips me by my tattered shirt, and tries to bite me again. I ram my elbow down on his arms, breaking Deacon’s grip. I knee him in the stomach, then kick him in the chest.

He stumbles back and falls flat on his ass. I draw my pistol and train it on his head as he gets to his feet.

A stray bullet punches through the side of his head and exits out the other end. Blood and brain matter trail the bullet in a thin line. Deacon falls to the ground, motionless.

I scan the room, looking for the shooter as the dead surround me. Their moans resonate in my ears. I spot the gunman, waving his arm and pointing his finger at me.

I peer over my wounded shoulder and spot one of the dead reaching for me. Its flesh-ridden fingertips claw at my clothing. I spin around, grab it by the arm, throw it to the ground, then place a bullet right in its head. Two other men, dressed in TGP gear, emerge from the darkness and mow down the remaining dead with melee weapons. It’s hard to see what they’re using in the low light, but it seems to take care of the dead with relative ease.

I raise my pistol and take aim at the men, not sure if they’re on my side or just getting the dead out of the way before they try to take me down.

“You take one more step toward me and I’ll drop you like a bad habit,” I say, shouting at the soldiers.

The two soldiers holding the bloody, flesh-covered weapons hold still as the faceless gunman approaches me from my left. He’s short and skinny, although the get up they’re wearing probably adds some weight. I train my pistol at his head. He stops dead in his tracks. He raises his hands in the air, shoulders his weapon and reaches for his helmet.

“I’ve got one hell of an itchy finger, so I would use good judgment here,” I say, as he lifts off the head gear.

“If I wanted you dead or incapacitated, you’d be on the floor either way right now. So please, lower the pistol. We’re on your side,” the woman says with a harsh but stern tone.

Her black hair is a dirty mess. Beads of sweat race down the sides of her face.

“Who are you?” I ask, lowering my pistol. “You’re wearing the same getup as the other assholes that have been trying to kill or capture me.”

“We worked for the company, but now we’re independent.” She stares at me long and hard. She studies my face, then looks me up and down. “So, you’re one of them they’ve been watching and studying. You look like shit.”

“Yeah, I met him earlier,” I reply. I cough, tilt my head to the right, and spit out a glob of reddish-tinted mucus that hits the wet floor below. “He had me strapped to a table and was about to play operation on me when I killed his two lab goons. He left before I could get a better look at him.”

“Slade,” she says, muttering under her breath. “How rapid is it? The change I mean.”

“I have no clue,” I reply, wiping my mouth free of the blood I spit out. “I feel fine now, depending on what your definition of fine is.”

She nods. “You’re definitely one of the lucky ones. Most others that we’ve encountered that have been injected, bitten, or scratched, turned rather quickly.”

“Somehow, I don’t feel super lucky.” I check out the two guys out of the corner of my eyes to make sure they’re staying put. One stares at me while the other looks toward the door.

“Why are you down here? If you’re trying to find your way out, you’re going the wrong way.” She asks, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“I’m not leaving until I get some answers on what the hell they’re doing here and how I can fix whatever they did to me,” I answer.

“Cure?” she says, snickering. “I’ve seen a lot down here and have yet to come across any kind of vaccine.”

“Well, I have to try. I can’t stay like this,” I say, coughing again.

“Hey, we need to get moving,” the man standing watch outside the door says while holding his hand to his right ear. “Their sending another unit, and I’ve got eyes on some stragglers heading our way. There might be some of the faster moving ones along with them.”

“All right, Stone, secure that door. What’s your name?” She asks, pointing at me.

“Mike.”

“I’m Natasha, that’s Hound, and the other over there is Stone. You a pretty good shot with that?” She points at the pistol in my hand.

“Yeah, I can hold my own,” I reply.

Stone slips inside and grabs the heavy-steel door, pulling it closed. The moans and shrills from the dead converge on us, sneaking in from the outside. A mutated arm slips in and grabs Stone’s hand. It jerks and twists, ripping his hand clean off.

“Ah. My hand!” Stone stumbles back as the door flies open.

“Stone,” Natasha says in a raised voice.

We train our guns at the door and open fire at a rather large infected that is disfigured. The bullets tear through its muscular frame and exit out its back. Its looks at each of us with its mouth slagged open.

We work our way toward Stone, who is on the ground and bleeding out. Hound wields his blunt weapon and smashes its mangled nose back into its skull. The creature stumbles back and shrills out loud, giving Hound enough room to grab the door once more and slam it shut.

Natasha takes a knee next to Stone to assess the damage. I stand watch with my pistol gripped in my hands–eyes scanning the room. The ravenous beast hammers the door. The metal pushes inward with each hard strike.

“Shit. He’s bleeding bad, and it looks like it scratched the hell out of his arm as well,” Natasha says, worried.

I look down at Stone, his face going pale and the signs of change appearing. His eyes flood with blackness. “Check out his eyes.”

Natasha looks into the tearful eyes of Stone, who is convulsing and spitting up blood. She gets back to her feet, pulls her sidearm from the holster on her hip, and trains it at his head. “I’m sorry, brother.”

The pistol barks. The lone bullet punches the middle of Stone’s forehead. Multiple rapping sounds at the door resonate in my ears as Natasha looks at her fallen friend. Not a single tear falls, but her stern lips and emotionless stare say it all.

“Natasha, we need to get moving, now,” I say.

“I’ve got that unit coming in hot and ready. ETA is just a few minutes out,” Hound says in shout.

“I’ll take point, Hound in the middle, and Mike, you’ve got our backs,” Natasha says, pointing at each of us.

The clamor of dead at the door grows louder. Their crazed moans and incessant pounding weakens the door to the point of giving.

“Stay close and keep up. You fall behind, I will leave your ass without a thought.”

Natasha hugs the wall, returning the way they came in. She opens the door, then steps through to the other side. She sweeps the area, looks back at us, nods, and disappears into the blackness beyond.

Hound moves without thought as gunfire and shrills play in the air behind me.

I rush into the unknown, trailing behind the two rogue soldiers, wondering where they’re going and if I’m being led to the slaughter.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The tidal wave of ravaged flesh and teeth we left behind has occupied the TGP soldiers for the moment. Hopefully, the dead will keep the occupied.

The moans and gun fire has faded away and so far, both Natasha and Hound have not given me a reason to place a single slug in the back of their heads. Like everyone else I’ve encountered, though, they’re all just one pull of the trigger away from an early grave.

Natasha slows as we come to a blind corner. She raises her hand in the air while gripping the pistol with the other hand that’s near the edge. She peers out around the bend. Hound has his hand trained to his ear, relaying positions of the roaming patrols.

“Where are we going?” I ask, bent down and training my gun at the way we came.

“Looks like we’re clear for the next few corridors, but we need to move now,” Hound says in a whisper.

“To get you your answers,” Natasha replies with her attention focused ahead. “Okay, let’s move.”

We move down another long stretch of corridor that has been untouched by the death and violence that has consumed everything else I’ve seen. I look at Natasha and see her peering up at the ceiling.

She stops, holds us up for a few, then waves us on. There are cameras mounted in the corners moving from side to side.

My thoughts drift, and I’m finding it harder to stay focused on anything. When a thought forms in my head it dissolves as fast as it came, going to the next in a blink.

Hound grabs my shoulder and pulls me around. His finger presses to both lips. We’re concealed behind some crates. Natasha looks through a small crack in the thick-plastic containers. I stand up a little to try and see what she’s looking at. Hound grabs my arm and yanks me down.

“Stay down and keep quiet,” Natasha says, in a curt manner.

I manage to get a brief glimpse of two soldiers standing guard, one on either side of a double-metal door. There are no markings of any kind. A single camera pans from side to side with a lone keypad off to the right that’s illuminated in a light-blue haze.

Natasha digs into her left-pant pocket and pulls out something. I try to see what it is but can’t. I focus on what she’s doing; pointing her arm straight ahead and holding it steady at the TGP soldiers.

Hound still has his hand pressed to his ear. He listens for a moment, turns toward Natasha, pats her shoulder once, and gives her a thumbs up. She nods, brings her arm back down, and places whatever it was back in her pocket. Natasha looks at Hound and gestures with her hand. Maybe some signal or code. I’m not sure what it means. Hound sounds off over the mic connected to his headset.

“All units, package and baggage spotted in section G. Proceed with caution as possible infected may be present as well. Converge on targets and terminate anything nonliving. This is a top-level priority and all TGP tactical soldiers should respond.”

I glance at the soldiers standing guard and see them look in each other’s general direction. They nod to one another and head off in the opposite direction.

“Good job, Hound. That bought us a few minutes. Won’t take ’em long to figure out it was a bullshit call. Let’s go,” Natasha says.

Natasha and Hound slip out from behind the containers and race over to the keypad. I’m not as graceful and stumble into the wall. I look over and see Natasha striking the pad, her face calm and collected as Hound keeps his ears to the ground.

“Shit. They’ve changed the access code.” Natasha sighs and clenches her jaw.

“What are we going to do?” I ask.

“Hound, you’re up.” Natasha slides to the right and draws her pistol, training it down the hall as Hound settles in front of the pad. He pounds away, fingers moving so fast it’s almost a blur. “What’s it looking like, Hound? Don’t think we have too much time here.”

“They’ve added some additional security measures. I need five minutes for the work around,” Hound replies, thumbing the buttons on the keypad.

“You got three, so get cracking,” Natasha answers. She looks at me, then asks, “How you holding up back there? You’re looking worse now.”

“I’m–fine,” I reply, rubbing my eyes to try and remove the mental cobwebs.

“Just so you know, Mike, if you go all flesh-eating happy, I’ll put two right through the middle of your skull,” Natasha says.

“As long as you promise to do so,” I reply.

Hound continues to work his magic–fingers dancing over the keypad. The flashes of light change every second.

A loud, single shrill erupts from close by and sends our heads pivoting around in every direction. Our guns sweep the area for the source. A small burst of gunfire follows, silencing the all too familiar sound.

“Where’d that come from?” Natasha asks while looking over her shoulder. “Hound, we need that door open, now.”

Multiple moans and shrills chime off in unison as more gunfire echoes throughout the halls. It seems as if it’s coming from all over and rushing toward us like a massive tidal wave of death itself. I spot a burst of light down the corridor and pick up the distinct noise of empty casings bouncing off the ground.

“Hound. Get this damn door open now, or we’re all shit up a creek without a paddle,” Natasha says, sounding more beast like.

“Two minutes,” Hound answers, keeping his attention focused on the keypad.

Two TGP soldiers back out of the adjoining corridor down from me, firing wildly scrambling away. They look in our general direction, but pay us no mind as the horde of flesh-eaters break into view.

“How are we coming on that door?” I ask, training my pistol dead ahead.

“Thirty seconds,” Hound says, his voice steady and not a hint of worry in his tone.

Two deformed flesh-eaters plow over the concrete, racing along the walls on either side. Chunks of rock hurl into the air. The soldiers fire unhinged, missing mostly, but connecting some.

It does little to deter the masses. The two-ravenous beasts leap from the walls and tackle their prey. The dead rip into the soldiers and devour their insides with little effort.

The trailing herd moans loud and stammers about. Their arms stretch out in front of them with all eyes fixed on us. The two beasts ripping the flesh from the soldiers’ bones stop and pause, staring in our general direction with bloody meat clinging to their jagged teeth. Their human appearance is nearly gone, leaving nothing more than a bad experiment gone wrong.

“Okay, got it,” Hound says, excited.

Access override accepted–

The door opens some, but stops, leaving enough room to fit just part of our body through.

“Damn it.” Natasha growls, kicking the door with her thick-soled combat boots.

The horde of dead continues their advancement as they move past the two feasting on the soldiers. A few of the infected join the meal, reaching in with skinless hands and arms that have exposed muscles showing through. One of the hulking beasts strikes the unwanted corpse in the upper chest. It’s talon-like claws slash it open and lops off its head as its body slams into the passerby’s. The soldiers they ravaged are nothing more now than a bloody mess, clothing and meat mixed together into one nasty, pulpy, red concoction.

“Come on, help me get this open,” I say, gripping the top portion of the left side of the door. Hound grabs below me and Natasha takes the opposite side. “Everyone, pull as hard as you can.”

We pull together, straining and trying to concentrate, not looking back toward the advancement of flesh-eaters on our heels. The door gives some and makes a loud screech, piercing the veil of moans and blood lust.

“Pull harder,” I say, through gritted teeth. A surge of energy washes over me and the sluggishness wanes. “Take my piece and lay down cover fire. Natasha, do the same.”

I shove my pistol into Hound’s hand and nudge both of them out of the way. I stand in front of the stubborn door and grip both sides of the metal.

“What the hell you doin’, Mike? You can’t open that yourself.” Natasha says, her face scrunched in confusion.

“Just kill those bastards, all right,” I reply, trying to force the doors open wider.

Both guns sound off. The sweet melody of bullets tearing through skulls plays in the air.

I grit my teeth and push outward on the doors. Every muscle fiber teams with the surge of energy and strength. The door gives. I push even harder. Becky’s voice cheers me to keep pushing. It gives even more, allowing me to fit my body into the narrow space and push it open further. “All right, come on.”

The lights flicker overhead and the door reengages, trying to shut and crush me in the process. I lock my arms in place and bear down, determined to come out the victor in this battle of wills.

The dead drop in droves, but so many are filtering toward us that it does little to diminish their numbers. The two-larger beasts that have finished their meal of the two soldiers get up and look me dead in the eye. They snarl and advance our way, smacking the animated corpses off to the side like insignificant lumps of meat.

“Shit, I’m out.” Natasha holsters her pistol and slips under my arms and into the room.

My arms give.

The door is closing.

The dead are within reach.

Hound’s pistol jams. He smacks the side a few times, but it does little good. He turns toward the opening and ducks under my arms. A handful of the dead latch onto Hound and pull him back, digging their rotted teeth into his flesh.

Hound swings his arms in every direction, trying to fight off the unholy terror dragging him back into hell. He reaches for me–eyes wide and hands shaking. The dead rip into him and tear chunks of meat from his neck, spraying blood all over me.

The dead take him down. A crowd of hungry flesh-eaters converge on top of him, grabbing at anything and everything they can. His screams subside and only the moans remain.

I catch a horribly disfigured woman out of the corner of my eye as she lunges at me with her blood-stained teeth leading the way. She bites into my forearm.

Natasha shoves a crowbar right through her skull. The dead woman’s teeth release. She falls to the ground. Natasha grabs my arm and yanks me inside. The door slams shut, blocking us from the dead that are now mere inches away from us.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The rapping at the door grows louder, more intense as the seconds tick by.

I slump down, resting my back against the cold metal of the door. The hammering fists from the infected on the other side hits my body. I look at my forearm, inspecting the deep-bite mark that has my pale, dying skin looking bruised and heinous. It doesn’t hurt. The skin just feels pulled and jerked out of place.

“Damn it.” Natasha balls her hands into fists and kicks over some boxes.

The clamoring of the empty containers plays off the walls in the small room. It’s dimly lit and filled with more containers and other odds and ends.

“I’m sorry about your friends.”

“Yeah, me too,” Natasha says with a huff. She tries to compose herself, fighting back the urge to cry, scream, or do something really stupid. She points at the bite on my arm. “You sure you’re not going to go all flesh-eating happy on me?”

“I’m not sure. So far, I haven’t had the urge to want to eat anyone. As a matter of fact, I really haven’t had the urge for much of anything in the realm of food,” I answer, shrugging.

“Well that looks bad, as well as everything else going on with you,” Natasha says.

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Natasha shrugs, then says, “Just calling it like I see it, Mike.”

I stop staring at the bite, then ask, “Now that we’re trapped in here with the dead on the other side of this door, what’s the plan? You do have a plan, right?”

Natasha huffs and sighs, then kicks some more boxes out of her way. She presses part of the wall with her right hand about head high. The solid surface separates and ejects a light-blue scanner. Natasha places her right eye in front of what looks to be some sort of optical scanner and pauses.

“Wow, pretty involved security for just some boxes and containers,” I say, watching Natasha closely.

A row of red lines starts at the top of her eye and sweeps down, pausing for a brief moment. After a few seconds, the blue diminishes and the scanner lights up a dark green.

Natasha takes a step back. The scanner slips back into the wall. A seamless door pops free and slides open.

“So, where does this magical little door lead us?” I ask, pushing away from the door.

“It’s a holding pen for failed experiments and other things,” Natasha replies, ejecting the magazine from her pistol. “There’s a lab in there where they are tested. I’m not one hundred percent sure, though, as I’ve only been down here once and didn’t stay long. Place creeps me out.”

“So, like a morgue where the dead are actually dead and not all walking around?”

“Huh.” Natasha snickers, bending down and pulling a fresh magazine from inside her boot. “You just wish it was that easy. Then again, you’ll probably fit right in.”

“Are we just passing through another freak show?” I ask, walking toward her.

“Yes, unless you want to hang out and get acquainted with whatever’s in there?” Natasha asks in a condescending manner.

“No, I’m good,” I reply, looking at the ground for anything that I can use as a weapon. Since Hound bit the dust and took my piece with him, I’m left without a proper weapon.

My eye catches the large crowbar that Natasha used to kabob that woman’s head. Brain matter and chunks of skull still cling to it. I scoop it off the floor and grip it tight, peering at Natasha who has her piece trained at the opening.

“Keep close and quiet,” she says, looking over her shoulder at me. “The infected should be in cells, but we don’t want to rattle their cages and get them all worked up. Might draw attention to us. Stay on my six and watch my back, and this should be a walk in the park.”

Yeah, right. A walk in the park.

Natasha nears the door and pulls it open all the way. A musty and pungent odor fills the space. She coughs and gags, face contorting in disgust. Natasha places her hand over her mouth and plugs her nose. I smell nothing. She turns to me and nods.

The holding section for the experiments is large with cells that line the walls on the floor below. We creep along the catwalk, slow and silent-like.

Natasha looks down with her pistol following her every move. It’s quiet and loud at the same time. Odd clatters and other strange noises emit from all over.

I look over the rusted railing and peer below, finding a round station with two guards tucked inside. They look pudgy and not the typical soldiers I’ve seen everywhere else that are most muscular and in shape.

Our boots play over the grated steel. The footfalls are low and subtle.

We hit the landing and make our way down the stairs. Natasha keeps her eyes focused on the two guards. She inches toward the bottom floor. They look distracted and unaware that we’re even here. She pauses.

“We have to get inside the control station over there to get through here,” Natasha says, in a whisper. “I know these two jerk-offs. They are probably watching Sports Center or something like that. Just keep quiet and I’ll take care of them.”

I hang back and watch Natasha move toward the control station. Both of her hands grip the pistol that’s trained ahead. A groan from one of the cells close by catches my attention. I glance at Natasha, who is halfway to the ground floor, then move toward the cell. The groaning and strange noises grow louder, more intense the closer I get.

There’s a Plexiglas front with multiple tiny holes all over and a steel plate behind it. I pause once more and look over at Natasha, who gets into position and bends down. She hugs the metal structure and slithers around the control station and out of my sight.

In front of me is a small window within the steel door. I lean in close, place my hands on the plastic barrier, and peer through the opening. The room is all white, and I see nothing stirring about. The groaning has all but stopped.

Come on, come on. Give us a look-see.

I hear a noise from up top, flit my gaze upwards, and scan over the catwalk for the source but find nothing. The TV or radio echoes off the walls.

I bring my attention back to the window, look inside the cell, and find a disfigured face spewing fluids from open sores littering its head. It shrills loud and hammers the steel door separating us with its fists.

Two-consecutive gun shots sound off followed by a repetitive siren that blares every ten seconds. I make a beeline for the control station and find the overweight guards face down on the floor. Blood splatters cover the controls and drips to the floor below.

“Damn it.” Natasha growls, relieving the two men of their weapons. “Here, that crowbar won’t do shit to save your ass when they get here.”

She hands me a Glock and a few extra magazines. I pop the magazine out and check the goods, joyful that I’m sitting pretty with a full load.

“What happened? I thought you had this?”

“Don’t start with me, Mike. I’ll add a third body to the count here and won’t think twice about it,” Natasha replies. “I got this fat fart first but this piece of crap tripped the alarm before I could drop him.”

I stow away the extra magazines and cycle a round as the sound of boots and tactical gear tickle my ear. It’s coming from behind and up top. I’m not sure how many soldiers are behind us, but it sounds like a lot.

We both stay low and well within the confines of the station, bending down with our pistols clutched in our palms. I glance at the two guards, hoping a frag grenade, chemical grenade, or just something that looks like a damn explosive will appear before me, but find nothing of the sort. The soldiers’ weapons train at our backs.

“So, do you want to go out and talk to them or should I?” I ask, half-jokingly.

“I think I’ll let you take this one. After all, they probably want you more than me,” Natasha says with a smirk.

She keeps low and inches forward some, looking up at one of the security monitors. I try to get a peek from where I am but only see a blur of black bodies within the gray CC TV. Natasha takes a few steps back and sighs.

“Toss any weapons you have on your person to the side and step up and out slowly with your hands behind your heads,” an almost computerized voice orders. “You have one minute to comply.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking about taking my chances,” I say. “After all, how much worse could things get for me?”

Natasha looks over the control board, focused as if she’s looking for something. I can almost see the wheels turning inside her head.

“Okay, it’s not the best plan, but the only one that I’ve got right now,” Natasha says. “I hope you’re as good of a shot as I’m hoping you are.”

I don’t have time to ask what Natasha’s planning. She jumps up and smashes a clear-plastic cover with the butt end of her pistol. She places her palm face down and holds it.

“What does that do?” I ask.

The sirens start up again. A bright hue of red catches my eye as it reflects off the controls inside the station.

Natasha swivels while kneeling and turns toward the soldiers. She lifts her pistol, then draws a sharp breath.

I follow suit and get to my feet as the bright glow of lights in front of each cell flashes a dark red.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

The soldiers don’t seem to be concerned with us anymore. They’re more worried about what’s going on with all the cells. Some bolt for the door only to find it sealed shut and not budging at their panicked strikes.

The Plexiglas barriers fall into the ground in perfect sync and the steel doors retract into the wall. Casey lets out a steady, controlled breath as she pauses and trains her gun dead ahead. Silence grips the room and holds everyone’s nerves hostage as movement within the cells strikes a chord and brings everyone back to life.

“Still thinking this was a good idea?” I ask.

“They’re not worrying about us anymore, are they?” Natasha shoots back.

One of the soldiers opens fire at one of the dead barreling out of its cell. Bullets rip through its sagging flesh and impact the wall in its cell.

Its mutated arms stretch out in front of the creature. It lunges and tackles the soldier. The creature tosses the soldier’s weapon to the side with a single strike from its arm, tears into his neck, then tugs at the savory meat.

The soldiers fire at will at all the different abominations bursting from their cells. The cacophony of gunfire hammers the space. They fight as best they can through the chaos and blood bath, taking some of the infected out with precision head shots while others fire wildly.

I can hear the chat of some radioing for backup as their brothers-in-arms are devoured. Their frantic pleas are trumped by the screams of the dying and shrills of the dead.

Natasha fires with pinpoint accuracy. She’s moves from infected to infected, splattering their brains out the back of their heads with single shots.

“Nice shooting. I wasn’t sure–watch out!” I grab Natasha’s arm and yank her to the ground. A barrage of bullets strikes the station we’re huddled up in. I catch the sound of something lurking around us—a clawing noise like fingernails trailing down a chalk board.

It’s burnt and blackened arm darts inside and grabs Natasha by the leg, yanking her out of our safe haven and into the madness beyond. I reach for her arm, but she disappears around the corner, letting out a single yell.

I spring to my feet with little thought and enter the horrid buffet of the dead feasting on the living and deceased soldiers. Blood is splattered all over. A combination of the infected and soldiers canvas the once clean slate. A massive infected creature is dragging Natasha off in the opposite direction of the main mess.

She fires at the back of its skull, missing and hitting it in its shoulders. It doesn’t even flinch as the bullets tear apart its flesh. Her pistol clicks empty.

I take aim and ready my shot. Something blunt drills me in the side and slams me against the wall. My pistol drops from my hand, and I feel the heated and heavy breathing of something trying to get to the side of my head.

Natasha disappears once more around another corner, and I fear that’s the end of her line.

I’ve got my arm placed between me and the dead. Bile oozes out of its contorted mouth to my shirt. It’s strong and unrelenting, pushing harder and harder, trying to overpower me. I throw my weight toward it and gain some distance, enough to slip to the side. I grab it by where I think its shoulders are, and throw it forward head first, slamming its skin-challenged skull into the wall. Its neck snaps, and its head cracks open like an egg. It falls to the ground lifeless.

I peer off in the direction where Natasha was dragged and run. Something falls from above and lands hard behind me. I twist around and find Trenton on top of some kind of mutated animal, plunging his fist into the creature’s body and ripping out its insides.

The creature, standing on its hind legs like a bear, roars out loud as Trenton leans in close and bites its neck. He pulls away, taking a massive chunk of flesh from the creature and sending it falling to the floor before me.

Trenton craters the creature’s deformed skull with his fist. Brain matter covers his hand as he gets back to his feet. He looks up at me, chest heaving and fluid leaking from his torn, dried lips.

I give a simple nod and hurry over to where Natasha was taken. Before I can make the corner, Natasha appears bloody from head to toe and wielding a knife that drips blood. Chunks of meat dangle from the blade’s serrated edge. I look her over, checking for scratches or bites of any kind or size.

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” Natasha says, peering back over her shoulder.

I look into the darkened corner and find the mutated infected slashed to bits; nothing but a pile of ragged meat and bone that is completely unrecognizable. “And here I thought you were the one that was going to end up dead.”

Natasha snickers as the slight smirk is wiped away, and her eyes train straight ahead. She flips the knife with the serrated blade facing outwards.

I tilt my head to the side and find Trenton keeling down and feasting on the abomination’s body. “He’s okay.”

“Okay, my ass,” Natasha replies. “Look at that shit. He’s eating that thing.”

“It’s hard to explain, and I don’t have the first clue as to what is happening, but it seems that he kills the dead and not the living, strange as that may be,” I say, pointing at him.

“Why hasn’t he killed you, then? You look more like them than a non-flesh eater.”

I shrug. “Guess because I’m neither dead nor alive. Maybe something in between—a hybrid?”

The gunfire ebbs and the sound of the remaining dead growling and feasting on the soldiers’ bodies fills the room. One of the two obstacles in our way has been taken care of.

I stare at Trenton for a moment and ponder, If Trenton is here, where is Alice?

The notion is kicked aside as I see a small group of mutated dead glancing our way. The creature’s chests heave and blood drips from their elongated fingers.

A horrid notion gels in my head.

Toss the chick to the hungry wolves over there and get the hell out. She’s pretty much told you where to go. You don’t need her anymore. She’ll just slow you down or worse, betray you and keep you from getting your answers and ultimately, getting back to Becky. You know I’m right.

I peer at Natasha; whose full attention is on the infected before us and not paying me any mind. I could slip away right now and she probably wouldn’t even notice it.

One of the creatures before us shrills loud and advances with its mouth open and hands reaching for us. Trenton explodes out of my peripheral and lands in the meat grinder. He wastes no time at relieving one of the dead of his head, ripping it clean from its body and knocking the headless corpse to the side. The others grab Trenton and focus on him.

“This is our chance to get the hell out of here,” Natasha says. She wastes little time running past me and back to the control center.

Trenton manages to tear into another one of the mutated dead. He grabs it by the throat with his teeth, ripping in the opposite direction and tearing its esophagus from its body.

“Mike, what the hell are you doing?” Natasha asks in a raised voice. “Let’s go.”

One of the remaining dead grabs Trenton by his forehead from behind and yanks his head back, digging its teeth into his neck and not letting go. Coagulated blood runs out from under the infected’s mouth and down his chest.

Trenton’s cold, black eyes gaze upon mine as the weight of the dead flesh on his back throws him to the ground. It pays me no mind, for the moment, as it feasts upon Trenton’s rotted flesh.

I run over to Natasha who has relieved the remaining guard of his pistol. She hands me the bloody knife and grins. Not sure why. “I’ll need the pistol more than you will, dead man walking.”

I could just slit her throat and take both, but again, the extra set of eyes and possible diversion might come in handy. She’s given me no reason thus far not to kill her, but things could change.

A swooshing sound from above and behind us tingles my ears, sending my eyes up top, and then behind me. “Come on.”

Natasha runs out of the guards’ workstation and heads back the opposite way toward the door that is now open next to the stairs. I follow and stay on her ass as the sound of gunfire blisters through the air from every direction. We dart inside the adjoining room, bullets whizzing past us.

A few strays catch me in the upper back and bore through my body, exploding out of my lower torso. A trail of my thick, mutated blood reaches for the ass end of the bullets as they strike the concrete floor. It doesn’t slow me down, but rather knocks me off balance as the door seals shut behind us.

The pinging sound of the bullets striking the steel door continues. The chatter on the other side is faint and muffled. I can’t make out what they’re saying.

Natasha trains her pistol at a control panel on the wall and fires a single round. The display shatters and sends sparks spewing out in every direction.

“That’ll buy us a little time, but not much,” Natasha says. “You’re hit. You okay?”

I peer down and rip open my already tattered shirt where the bullets tore through to find walnut-sized holes. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The flesh around the wounds is decaying and blackened, puss dribbling out and down my rippled stomach.

Natasha’s face twists into a scowl and a look of concern hovers in her eyes.

I gulp hard and clear my throat, the raspy sound horrid and deep. I cover my mouth and hack one time. A thick wad of blood coats my palm. I become light headed once more and everything in the room slows down.

“I’ll be honest with you, Mike, I don’t think you have too much longer before you turn. I can do you anytime, or if I feel endangered by you wanting to tickle my funny bone with your teeth, I will put you down. Just remember that,” Natasha says, staring me down.

“If and when it does get to that point, you do what you feel you need to do.”

Natasha nods in agreement and holsters her pistol. She walks off in the opposite direction while keeping an eye on me.

I take a deep breath, stand up, and try to repress the inner demon fighting to be let loose. For now, I’ve got him contained, but he is at the door and ready to take over.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

My brain feels like mush. It’s hard to concentrate and focus, but I push on as best I can.

I walk toward Natasha. She’s siting in a chair–fingers dancing across an illuminated-digital keyboard. The monitor in front of her scrolls through various data that I don’t understand.

I peer around the lab we’re holed up in. There are more vials and massive test tubes that fill the space.

“What–doing–there?” I ask with almost a drunken slur.

“I’m trying to see if I can gain access to the secured files. That’s where we’ll find all the goodies,” Natasha replies without missing a beat. “Again, I don’t know much about computer hacking, but I’ve picked up a few things here and there. Hopefully, it will work.”

Natasha continues to hack away at the network.

I turn around and spot a tube behind us with something peculiar floating in some greenish-tinted fluid. I stumble over, place my hands on the thick glass, and rest my spinning head against it; trying to keep my balance.

The thing inside is deformed, looking more like a made up creature from some back lot of a Hollywood studio. Its head is rigid and has welts pushing out all over. Its body is tiny, legs and arms protruding out in the weirdest places. It has one big-black eye that is open and looking at me. It’s not moving or showing any signs of life. I think it’s dead.

“Damn it, I wish Hound was here. He would’ve had this cracked open in no time. Probably doesn’t help that I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” Natasha says in a huff.

I keep studying the creature and catch something stirring out of my peripheral view. It’s subtle in the way it moves, slow and timid like.

“Hey.” I whisper to Natasha who spins around in the chair and looks at me frustrated.

“What, and why the hell are you whispering?”

I point around the tube toward some steel-storage cabinets that have one of the double doors partially open. The right door moves just enough to stir our interest.

Natasha gets out of her chair, draws her pistol, then trains it at the cabinet. She points to me, then to the cabinet. I stumble over to the cabinet, grab one of the doors, then glance over my shoulder to Natasha.

She nods.

I move to the left and jerk the door open. The sound of a panicked male voice begging for his life and thrashing around inside the steel cabinet greets me. I can’t see who it is yet, but Natasha has her Glock still trained on him.

“Shut up and stop that damn whining,” Natasha says, barking at the frightened man. “Have you been bitten, or scratched, or anything like that?”

The man plops out of the cabinet and onto the floor, keeping his head down and on his knees. He’s dressed in a white lab coat with a badge dangling from the right pocket. He raises both arms into the air. “Please don’t shoot. I’m unarmed.”

Natasha lowers her weapon and asks, “Dr. Lentz?”

The man freezes and looks up. His wild salt and pepper thin hair is matted to his scruffy face. “Natasha–is that–you?”

Natasha holsters her Glock and walks toward him. She bends down and helps him off the floor. He’s much older and looks haggard from the wrinkles covering his shaking hands and worn face. Massive bags take refuge under both his eyes. The skin is a dark, deep blue.

“I thought you’d been killed or taken away,” Natasha says, relieved.

Dr. Lentz straightens his lab coat, then says, “I managed to slip away and hide before they got to me. Thanks to you of course.”

“I’m glad to see you’re okay,” Natasha says, smiling.

I clear my throat and lean against some metal cabinets. Natasha glances at me, then back to Dr. Lentz. “Doctor, there’s someone I’d like-”

Dr. Lentz turns around and sees me. Terror swarms his face. His bloodshot eyes open wide. The color drains away to a pale white. He scrambles away in a panic, falling backwards to the floor.

Natasha grabs him by the arm and reels him back in, trying to calm him down. “Dr. Lentz, everything’s fine. He’s not going to hurt you. He’s not like the others.”

I keep still in hopes that the good doctor will relax. I’ve got my arms folded across my chest with both hands tucked under my armpits while coughing.

The doctor looks me over with a bewildered, yet curious, stare. The fright that resided in his face fades away and a more inquisitive expression brings the color back to him. Natasha helps him to his feet.

The doctor walks toward me slowly. I can feel his eyes rolling over every spec of my disease-ridden body. He mumbles something, while raising his hand to my face. “May I?”

“Knock yourself–out,” I say, hacking once more.

The doctor grabs me by the chin and slips a pair of thick-rimmed, black glasses on. He leans in close and turns my head from side to side. He continues mumbling, smiling at some points as he releases my face. “Remarkable indeed.”

“Yeah, I’ve been hearing that a lot as of late,” I reply.

“Do you hunger for living flesh?” he asks, lifting his brow.

“I don’t,” I answer. My voice is raspy. “I haven’t had much to eat since I came to.”

Dr. Lentz continues to look me over, studying me with a squinted gaze.

I lean against the storage cabinet keeping me upright, allowing him to examine me.

A wave of light-headedness takes me over, and I’m sent crashing to the ground hard. I see Dr. Lentz and Natasha reaching for me as my eyes roll into the back of my head. Their voices fade away as if a distant dream. My heart slows down.

The cruel hand of death has wrapped itself around me as I plummet into the dark black abyss of nothing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

My eyes explode open and I gasp.

I’m standing in the rain in a cemetery in the dead of night. It’s black all around me, and the only light I see is from the bright-yellow flashes of lightning that crackle and streak across the starless sky. I’m lost and don’t know why I’m here. It’s not a familiar place that I’ve ever been to. I look through the massive rain drops that pelt my face. There’s someone across the way, up on a cliff.

“Hey,” I say, yelling over the raging storm.

The person pays me no mind. I figure they can’t hear me from the crackle of lighting and pounding of thunder. I trudge through the soggy ground. My shoes sink in and soak my feet. I’m chilled to the bone and wrap my coat tighter around me. It does little good.

The trees scattered around are bare. The thin, scrawny branches looking more like oversized-bony arms and hands reaching out for me.

I climb the small hill to the person and notice a grave. “Excuse me, I hate to bother you, but-”

Lightning strikes once more and illuminates the tombstone for a brief second, showing who passed on to the other life. The frigid cold snatches my breath from my body. My mind forgets how to form words. I stand in disbelief at the name etched on the chiseled tombstone. It’s mine.

The shock of my name on the tombstone grips my body, keeping me from moving and screaming. I peer down at the person kneeling at my grave, wondering who it can be. I reach for their shoulder and they stand up.

It’s Becky, crying her eyes out and wiping her nose with the red hankie she gave me when we first met. Her black mascara races down her pale cheeks. Her clothes are soaked through and clinging to her shaking frame. She’s weeping inconsolably.

“Beck-” I say. She turns away from my resting place, and walks right past me, heading toward the cliff.

“Becky,” I say in a raised voice.

She pauses at the edge.

Just turn around baby, I’m right here.

Becky peers over her left shoulder and looks at me. Her face is blank and emotionless. The river of tears has dried up. The redness of her sad eyes looks through me. She whispers, “I love you, Mike.”

She leans forward and falls from my sight. I try to get to her before she’s gone, diving onto the wet grass and reaching for her. I look over the cliff, finding nothing more than the churning sea below crashing into the rocks. She’s gone.

“I think he’s coming to,” a voice sounds out, rattling around inside my skull.

I hear it, but pay it no mind. My torn heart is fading fast as I lay prone on my stomach. I keep peering over the cliff, hoping to find Becky in the water. Even if she is dead, I will gladly jump in just to hold her once more.

My body convulses. A sharp shooting pain lances throughout. I clinch my teeth and both lids slam shut. The pain grinds inside of me for a few seconds, then subsides. I open my eyes to find Natasha and Dr. Lentz looking down at me.

“We thought you were gone and weren’t sure if or how you were coming back,” Natasha says.

“Well, that makes two of us,” I reply, my face and voice thick with disorientation.

Natasha glances at Dr. Lentz, who stares at me with furrowed brow and both arms laced across his chest as if he’s deep in thought.

“So, what is it, doc?” I ask, skipping the bullshit and jumping right into it. My frazzled state feels to be leveling off, but that is all that is getting back to normal.

He rubs his chin, then says, “There’s no antidote to the virus. It will continue to spread and meld with your system until it’s completely taken you over. I’d say you don’t have much longer.”

Wow. I guess I got what I asked for. A straight answer without any fluff or buildup. “I’m not surprised but hoped for a more positive response.”

Dr. Lentz lowers his arms, then waves his finger at me. “However, since there’s not a cure–yet, the only thing we can possibly do is inject a larger dose into you. It may kick-start the catalyst enough to not only stabilize your condition, but might bond with your system on an unprecedented level. It’s a long shot, but the only one I see for you.”

My brow lifts. “You said possibly? What’s the downside to doing this?”

He glances at Natasha, then back to me. “Well, it’s hard to say either way considering you’re the first person I’ve come across who has bonded with the virus as you have.”

“Give me an educated guess,” I reply.

Dr. Lentz continues. “Bottom line, if it works, in theory you should stay the way you are now, but in much better shape. A complete body make over from head to toe. Mostly inside, though. Your appearance will not get any better and may change, depending on the reaction. If it goes bad, the person you are, right at this moment, will be gone and the mutation will fully consume you, both inside and out.”

So, either way I’m screwed. Figures. “Well, doc, since I’m not left with much in the way of reassuring options here, let’s fill ’er up. I’ve got nothing left to lose, right?”

I glance at Natasha whose face is blank and stern, emotionless to my decision.

Natasha grabs my wrists and straps them down, then moves to my ankles, and restrains them as well. She jerks the thick, black restraints tight, leaving my limbs with no wiggle room of any kind.

I turn my head away from the light looming over me and watch the good doctor retrieve a vial from a refrigeration unit. The cool air crawls out from the bottom and spreads, fanning out in all directions. He places the chilled vial into a machine that has dozens of metal tubes lined up in a circle. He slips the vial into one of the tubes and hits a button. The machine comes to life and starts spinning fast, going round and round.

“If for any reason this goes south, kill me, and do it quickly,” I say.

“Don’t worry, I was planning on that all along,” Natasha replies with a smirk.

The machine stops.

Dr. Lentz removes the vial from its holder, placing it into a large syringe that looks like it should be used on an elephant. He presses down on the top, sending the thick-blue liquid squirting out. “Normally, this would be administered through a tube and you’d be sedated, but given where we are and the lack of proper supplies needed, I’m going to have to inject it directly into your neck. The pain will be great at first, but should subside rather quickly.”

“Can’t hurt any more than everything else that has been done to me,” I reply, bracing myself for the pain to come.

Dr. Lentz places his cold, rough hand on my head and moves it to the side, exposing my neck. Natasha stands at a distance from the table with her Glock clutched in her hand and finger over the kill switch.

The needle punctures my flesh and digs in. He presses the plunger. The liquid floods my body. The pain is bearable and I don’t bat an eye. Dr. Lentz injects the full vial of the virus into me. I can feel it working through my body, crawling and attacking everything within me.

The doctor removes the syringe from my neck and takes a few steps back. Both of them look on with curious stares.

I close my eyes and try to focus on Becky as best I can, but the virus is too overwhelming. I know something inside of me is changing, but I’m not sure what or how.

What the hell is that?

I peer down at my hands. Visions of something swimming up from my palms and through my arms fill my eyes. They widen some, as the “novel” sensation repeats all over my body. I’m not panicked and keep my cool, unsure if what I’m seeing is real or just a hallucination.

“Everything all right?” Natasha asks, keeping the Glock trained at me.

“Yep, just thought I saw something–weird,” I reply.

“One of the noted side effects can be hallucinations. So, whatever you think you’re seeing may not be real,” Dr. Lentz says.

Man, I hope so.

I lay my head back down and drift off. Dr. Lentz didn’t say how long this process would take. It could be instant or it could take a while. I hate waiting, but I have no choice. It is what it is.

I hear Natasha and the doctor chatting about something, but I can’t make it out. It sounds muffled and distorted before going silent. No talking or low humming of machines running in the background.

The odd sensation that was working through my body has stopped, almost like time has been frozen, and the only thing still plugging along is my brain. I could be dreaming again, but I don’t think I am. Doesn’t feel like a dream.

I tilt my head up from the table. My lids open to a clarity that is sharp and crisp. I’m still strapped to the table and don’t see Natasha or the doctor anywhere.

The room looks to have been tossed. Some of the cases filled with those weird creatures have been shattered and everything else is in disarray.

How long has it been though? Hours? Days? Weeks?

I pull at the leather straps on my wrists, exerting little energy as my left wrist breaks free. I grab my right wrist and tug, the strap giving just as easy. I remove the remaining two from my ankles and swing my legs over the side of the table. I push off and land on the floor, feeling rejuvenated and better. I take a moment to collect my thoughts and formulate a game plan. My brain is still a little scattered, but I feel much more focused now than I have been.

My hand brushes against my upper leg and strikes something in my pocket. I dig in and pull out some kind of storage device. I walk toward one of the computers still intact and pop the top, inserting the device. An image of Dr. Lentz appears with Natasha behind him. It’s a video.

“If you’re watching this, it means that the injection worked,” Dr. Lentz says. “I can’t say what will happen from here, as again, you’re the first person that has bonded with the virus in such a remarkable-”

The screen goes black, but the audio is still plugging along. I can hear Natasha and the doctor chattering as some loud banging echoes throughout. The video comes back.

“They’re nearly in Dr. Lentz. You need to hurry the hell up,” Natasha says, her voice raising an octave. Her back is to the doctor, and I spot her pistol trained straight ahead.

“I have uploaded what files I could access that goes into more detail about what is going on around here and my notes on possible vaccines. If you make it out, you’ll have a powerful weapon against the corporation. Good luck.”

The video stops and the files the good doctor uploaded appear. There’s a lot, more than enough to sink this titanic into the dark black abyss. I remove the thumb drive and cram it back into my pocket. I sure as hell don’t want to lose the only leverage I’ve got.

I keep quiet and move toward the doors that are ajar on the opposite side of the room. I spot multiple bullet holes that have Swiss-cheesed the door. I glance back to the right where Natasha might have been standing. I don’t see any blood on the floor either.

I push on the door, force it open, then peer out into the hall. TGP soldiers are scattered about down the corridor and mixed in with the dead. I spy some weapons strewn about on the ground.

The door is off its hinge a little and squeaks as I push it open further. I step out into the hall. A hand grabs my shoulder from behind and pulls me back. I throw my arm back hard without pause and slam my elbow right into its face.

Bone crunches and cracks as it let’s go and falls to the ground. I twist around and peer down at the blood pouring from its deformed and broken nose. I kick it in the face hard one more time. Its head slaps off the ground.

My boot smashes its face over and over. I stop after its skull cracks like an egg and the gooey insides slip out.

A loud shrill grabs my attention and pulls me about face. I look down the hall and find two dead eyeballing me. I spot a pistol about midway up the hall. The thick, black handle sticks up from the dead bodies that lay around the soldier. I make for the weapon.

The dead sprinters take off, coming for me as they rush headlong down the hall. I run hard and fast, dodging the bodies on the floor.

The dead leap from the ground and lunge at me, with their razor-sharp talon fingers leading the way. I fall to my knees and slide, leaning back as far as I can as they miss ripping out my throat. They hit hard behind me, knocking dead bodies into the wall.

I get back to my feet, toss one of the dead bodies out of my way, then dig the pistol free from the dead soldier’s hip. I can hear the infected’s breathing. Their tongues slip across their torn and decaying lips, savoring the meal that lies before them.

They barrel toward me. I cycle a round, swing about face, and pop off two rounds.

The bullets tear through their meaty membranes, sending a pink mist of blood in the bullet’s wake. The creatures drop to the ground with a dense thump.

I do a bit more salvaging while all is silent, picking up extra magazines and pistols and other various weapons. I load myself down with what I can carry when a loud static noise sounds off. It’s close but muffled some. I trace the sound to one of the many dead soldiers and remove the radio from his waist.

A familiar voice breaks in over the static. Its a little choppy, but enough for me to make out the gist of what’s being relayed.

“Unit three report. What’s your status? Has the subject been recovered?” a voice asks in a stern manner. It’s Slade.

The two-way goes silent for a moment. I rub the transmit button, thinking of a response. The two-way goes off again.

“Find the subject now. We’ve managed to pick up some loose ends, and I want him found. Kill whatever dead you encounter, but bring him to me,” Slade says, barking orders through the radio.

The two-way goes dead. Slade’s words repeat over and over inside my head. “We’ve managed to pick up some loose ends.”

What does that mean? What loose ends did he pick up?

That is when it hits me. They somehow captured Natasha.

I hear a low groan nearby. It’s not like the dead, but more like someone who’s injured and writhing in pain. I clip the radio to my hip and track down the faint noise, tossing more dead bodies out of my way. I come across a soldier who has a chunk of his left leg chewed off. He’s in bad shape, and I’m not sure when he’s going to turn.

I grab him by the scruff of his armored suit, lift his body from the ground, and bring his pain-filled face in front of mine. “I’m going to do you a solid and put you down before you turn into one of those things. But, before I do, you’re going to answer a couple of questions.”

He squints and tosses his head from side to side, moans escaping through his clinched teeth. His hands grasp at the missing piece of meat that was part of his leg. I can’t tell if he understood me or if he even heard me for that matter.

I slap him in the face once, just to get his attention. My palm reddens and bruises his cheek, his head thrown to the side. “Hey, open your eyes and look at me so that I know you’re listening.”

He complies and opens his eyes further. Terror fills his face and panic washes over him. He mumbles some shit I can’t understand. I hear a shrill in the distance mixed with the clambering sound of something heading this way.

“Where’s Slade?” I ask. The soldier doesn’t reply, but keeps mumbling. I grab his rawhide of a leg, digging my fingers into the exposed-meaty part. He screams out in pain.

“WHERE’S SLADE?” I hold tight for a few seconds, keeping the pressure taut. My fingers are locked in good. The squishy meat mingles between my digits.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, blood ejecting from his red lips. He coughs hard. “He’s–bel–us,” the soldier says with a faint whisper.

I release his leg and hold onto his armor.

His eyes roll into the back of his head and his body goes limp. He’s gone.

I wipe my blood-soaked hand on his suit and get to my feet. The noise of hungry mouths waiting to be fed rushes our way. I grab the earpiece from the dead soldier’s body, place it on my right ear, then plug it into the two-way before turning it back on. I set it to scan all channels, hoping to get a play-by-play of where the soldiers and dead are.

I check the Glock’s ammo situation, finding a full magazine. I slap it back in, cycle a round, then place a bullet in the middle of the soldier’s forehead.

The TGP soldier stops groaning and moving. I look up and peer down the corridor, thinking of only one thing.

I’m coming for you, Slade.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Into the belly of the beast.

I work my way closer to the central hub that’s controlling this mess. I dodge most of the soldiers, but run into small pockets of wandering dead that I have to dispense of. Their thick, lumpy blood covers my face and clothes. Some of the creatures let me be and just pass while others attack.

The hammer in my one hand drips blood from the meat hanging from its red-tinted claw end. I dispatch two more dead with head shots from the Glock in the other hand. The dead lab workers crumble to the floor. Their white lab coats are painted in broad strokes of crimson.

I step over one of the dead lab workers and hug the wall. The bloody hammer remains taut in my hand, ready to kill. The chattering over the two-way radio quiets, but I can hear voices up ahead and around the corner. I approach with caution and stop at the edge, peering around the blind bend.

Dead. Lots of dead bodies fill the semi-narrow corridor. Two sentries stand guard with automatic weapons while gabbing, chuckling, and laughing. Their eyes cut my way every so often.

I grab one of the many dead bodies riddled with bullet holes and jerk it off the ground. I hold it upright and move its back to the edge of the corner to catch the sentry’s attention.

The guards banter session ceases. They become silent. Their weapons click and the soles of their boots squeak against the floor, drawing closer to me.

I prop up the bait against the wall and make haste, disappearing from sight. I don’t go far. I’m still within ear’s reach of the two sentries making for the dead.

Three shots ring out in succession–two to the dead man’s back and one more in the head. The bullet explodes out the front of its head. The creature falls forward and lands on a pile of dispatched bodies as the sentries come around the corner with rifles shouldered.

The TGP guards stop and train their weapons on the ground. They’re covered from head to toe in battle ready gear. One of the soldier’s pokes and prods the dead body, while the other stands back a few paces. He scans the corridor with his rifle shouldered.

I’m buried under some bodies. I push them off and get to my feet. I sneak up behind the sentry covering his partner, grab his head gear, and flick my wrist.

His head bobbles about as his body goes limp. He drops to the ground, dead. I grab him by his upper body and hold tight before he makes contact. My hand snatches his weapon and trains it at his partner’s back.

The soldier in front of me spins around and brings his weapon to bear.

My dingy, blood-covered face reflects in his black shielded face as I open fire. The bullets strike his armor and penetrate, riddling him with holes as he falls to the ground.

I let go of my human shield and allow him to crumble to the ground and lay among the numerous dead bodies. I give a quick look around for any curious individuals, dead or alive. The coast is still clear.

I look over the soldier at my feet from head to toe, taking in his size and how much he might weigh. An idea gels.

I take a knee and strip the dead soldier of everything, making sure to take note of where all weapons and other various objects go. I pick the body clean in no time and get dressed, sliding all of the body armor on. I leave the dead soldier naked, except for his blue and white stripped boxers. I do a double check of everything and look over to the other fallen soldier. Everything seems to be in place.

I grab the soldier I borrowed the clothes from and hoist him off the ground. I notice a door up the way some to my right and on the left that I can stuff him inside. I step over the cluttered dead and make my way there.

The door is locked. I jerk a bit harder and pull it from the jamb.

It’s a tiny storage room that is no bigger than a walk-in closet. I toss the body in and grab the other. The other soldier I killed is added to the cramped space.

I shut the door, head back toward the entrance, and grab the soldier’s weapon before approaching the single door. I look over the barren walls for some sort of control panel or anything that might open it up. Nothing on the sides and the top is clear as well except for a thumbnail-sized, round disk.

Ding. An elevator? Going–down.

The doors separate, revealing a crisp, white-metal interior that has lights illuminating its inside. I lower my weapon to my side, step inside, and turn around, facing the entrance.

The doors move and seal me in. It’s rather cramped, looking to only fit a few soldiers at a time.

The lift releases and sends me downward. It’s only a short ride before it stops and opens once more. I expect to see numerous guards patrolling and people roaming about, but there’s no one in sight.

Odd.

I step out and look both ways. The scenery is much more vivid than where I first awoke. No dark halls or blood and guts spilled all over the floors and walls. The evil and utter horror that is lurking above hasn’t made it down here yet, from what I can see.

Static from the earpiece breaks the thoughts running inside my head, followed by a gruff, stern voice. “All units, sector five is showing heightened activity, and there seems to be a malfunction in the door’s security locking mechanism. Teams three and four, converge on the site and provide cover for the maintenance crew already on scene.”

Static.

“Copy that. On our way now.”

The transmission ceases and the static dies off. I take my chances and go left, still unsure where I’m going. Both hands keep a firm hold on the rifle that’s pressed to my chest. I keep my ears open for any indication of where Slade might be.

I come to a T in the road and keep moving, going right this time and finding a few lab coats roaming the halls. I don’t see any soldiers in the area. The lab coats are peering down at papers and chatting amongst themselves, giving me little to no thought.

I continue down the hall and keep my head forward, peering from side to side behind the dark visor that shields my face. The small group of white coats that were chatting breaks apart and goes their separate ways, leaving just one with his nose buried deep in his work.

I slip in behind him and gaze around for any soldiers or other lab workers. The coast is still clear. I remove the Glock from its holster and nudge it in his back.

“What the hell.” The lab coat drops his papers and tries to turn around, but I shove the barrel into his kidneys.

“Keep your head straight and mouth shut. You call for help or so much as twitch, I’ll place a bullet through that kidney of yours.” I can feel him shaking through the tremors working their way up the gun. “I need to find some sort of control room or something showing a layout of this place. You show me where it’s at, and I just might let you live.”

“I don’t know where anything like that is. I’m just a lab assistant. A nobody. I don’t know anything,” he says, stuttering.

I remove my helmet, lean in close, and whisper into his ear. “How ’bout I just put a bullet in your head right here?”

His head turns and he glances at me. Pure terror smears his face. A whimpering noise emits from his lips. He gazes upon my now hideous face. “Okay, all right, just please don’t hurt me.”

“Smart move, egg head.” I slip my helmet back on. “Pull yourself together and start walking. You make a move that hints to alerting someone, I’ll take my time in devouring every little inch of this pudgy body of yours.”

The lab coat nods his head in agreement. I lower my weapon and holster it. I give a quick look around for anyone coming. Still no one in sight.

The lab assistant picks up his mess of papers from the floor and gets on the move. I keep pace with him as we head further in, turning corner after corner; passing by numerous personnel that pay us no mind.

He rounds one more corner and stops in front of a door with no visible handle. I give a quick look down both hallways and nudge his lower back with my elbow. He looks straight ahead. The door clicks and pops open. I get a brief glimpse of a soldier standing at the entrance.

“What is it? You’re not cleared for access in this sec-” the armed soldier says.

I grab the lab coat by the scruff of his collar and throw him into the soldier, knocking both men to the ground. The Glock sweeps the room as I rush inside and get a head count. There are two on the floor and two more coats sitting at a control panel that is littered with monitors. “Shut this door now.”

The coat to my left turns and flips a switch. The door closes, sealing us inside. I move into the room a little more that has rows and rows of computer servers and various hardware around the space.

“Get up,” I say, kicking the two men on the ground.

The other coat reaches for a weapon under the console.

I put him down quick with one shot right in the side of the head. Blood splatters the monitors behind him and tags his colleague as well. “I would not advise anyone else doing that unless you want to end up like him.”

The remaining men left alive hold tight as I walk forward, looking at the screens. There’s a bunch of activity on the screens, and I’m not sure where the feeds are streaming from. A few seem familiar, but most look foreign.

I point at the monitors. “Tell me where these-”

A blunt object strikes me in the back of the head, knocking me hard to the floor. The room spins and I black out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

My mind is in a fog.

Chains clink together, echoing inside my head. Darkness surrounds me with only a single, dim light dangling above me.

What the hell happened?

A fist slams into the side of my face. My head twist to the side. My jaw feels as if it’s dislodged from its hinge. Two more shots hit my stomach and one more across the bridge of my nose. It breaks upon impact as my head snaps back. The thick, mutated-blood oozes from each nostril and down my lip.

“Oh, stay with me, Mike. We’ve just gotten started,” a familiar voice says.

My vision is shaky and eyes feel like they’ve been rattling around loose inside my skull. I blink a couple of times and clear out some of the fog. That’s when I see him. Slade.

He nods at the bruiser dishing out the punishment. I don’t keep my eyes fixed on Slade. Another right cross hits me hard. The oversized brute’s hammer of a fist slams into my cheek. My head snaps to the opposite side, blood slinging from my mouth and nose. Two more deep and concentrated jabs to my stomach and an uppercut weaken my legs, sending my head dangling forward.

“Shit,” the bruiser says, shaking his right hand as his other rubs the bloody, swollen knuckles.

“Damn, Mike, you sure can take a beating,” Slade says with a joyful glee.

Let me loose and I’ll show you a beating.

Slade walks up to me and grabs my hair, yanking my head back hard. He study’s my face.

“Truly remarkable,” Slade says, muttering. His breath smell’s just as bad as the dead, making my face scrunch.

He releases my hair and my head falls forward. The swelling from the bruiser’s fist sets in. My face is puffy and blood continues to flow like a river out of me.

“I must say, you’ve been a pain in my ass for some time now, Mike. Killing my men and throwing a kink in my plans just isn’t kosher, my friend,” Slade says, disappearing in and out of the darkness. “The people that employ me want results, and we just can’t have some freak interfering with that.”

“I’m happy to disappoint you,” I reply, spitting a thick wad of blood in his direction. “Please let me know how else I can make your life hell.”

Slade pauses, and comes back into the light, smirking. He chuckles as he looks around at some of the soldiers and other unsavory men standing nearby. “I love this guy. Even after he’s beaten and broken, he stills has a sense of humor.”

Laugh it up for now, ’cause soon my cold, dead hands will squeeze the life out of you.

I pull myself up. Both arms are tired and taut. All my weight is bearing down on me like an anchor. I get to my feet, face swollen and my right eye partially closed, but I keep my left focused on Slade.

“You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that,” Slade says with a devilish smirk. “About as much as the good doctor, Natasha, and that nice little dirty-blonde number. Hmmm. Makes me wonder how dirty she really is?”

“If you think I give two craps about any of those people, then you’re more delusional than I thought,” I reply, spitting out another wad of chunky blood that streams across Slade’s black boots.

Slade nods to the soldiers on either side of him. Both men step back and disappear into the blackness. The bruiser who has been using me as his human punching bag is dismissed as well, walking off and wiping the blood that is smeared all over his hands on a white rag.

Finally, some alone time.

I stiffen my arms and pull down on the chains holding me in place. I catch a glimpse of what is dangling from the ceiling as I was being whaled on; a black pulley that has some wear and tear around it. I wait for Slade to step in closer before I make my move.

The sound of a solid-metal door squeaking sounds. More chains rattle in the blackness. Multiple shrills and growls fills the silence. It does little to distract me from focusing on Slade, though.

“Bringing in some guests thinking it’s going to scare me or something?” I ask.

“Oh no, not at all. I don’t doubt that you’re not anxious about the infected anymore,” Slade replies as two hideous and grotesque undead are led into the light by a couple of soldiers.

They are shackled at the neck with chains trailing behind them. The soldiers pause and yank back hard, halting the snarling, ravenous dead. They attach the chains to thick-metal horseshoe-type bars on the floor, then step off to the side.

The dead lunge forward, moaning, and reaching for anything that resembles food. The shackles dig into their rotted flesh, keeping them from moving any further. Slade shoots a glance at one that is mere inches from raking its long, discolored nails down his arm, appearing comfortable with the undead so close. Interesting.

The dead continue to growl and reach out for me. They turn to Slade–fingers fidgeting and trying to snare a piece of his clothing.

I keep my arms taut and fight status peaked. Every mutated muscle in my body pulsates with the urge to maim and kill. My eyes cut from the dead to Slade and then to the soldiers.

Stay sharp. Don’t lose focus.

“I want you to know, Mike, that I’m going to make this as painful as possible. I’m not sure if you can feel pain now, given your current condition, but I guess we’re going to find out,” Slade says with a serious look.

“I thought you wanted to cut me up into tiny pieces and study me?” I ask.

Slade shrugs. “I’ll get whatever scraps they leave after they’ve had their fill.”

Slade gives me one last look, turns around, and walks past the dead. Their ravaged fingers grab his shirt as he disappears into the blackness. The soldiers follow right on his six, leaving me alone with the gruesome infected.

The dead bring their attention back to me. They fight the restraints clinging to their necks. Each mutated creature snarls and growls as spit and blood ooze out between their rotted, jagged teeth.

I glance at the black-rusted pulley overhead and pull down, finding that it’s in much better shape than I thought. I flex my muscles and yank harder, allowing all my body weight to press the rusted metal. Nothing.

Click. Click.

Two clicking sounds echo in the room and send my head searching as I continue to press the pulley. The metal horseshoe restraints that are holding the dead at bay release, and rotate back into the floor. Great.

The undead waste little time and come for me. Their endless appetites drive them toward me like a freight train out of control with mouths gaping open. I lift my body into the air and throw my legs forward, nailing both square in the face. Their bones crack and crunch under my thick-soled boots. Mutated blood squirts out the sides. They stumble backwards and fall flat on their backs, blood splattering across the dirty floor.

The muscles in my arms ripple as I pull my body up higher on the chain. I pause and pull harder. The chain snaps taut. The rusted pulley overhead gives way with little resistance, snapping and sending me crashing to the floor.

The dead pick themselves up and train their thoughtless stares toward me. They come for me once more.

I pick up the loose chain that has the pulley still attached and sling it. The pulley slams into one of the creature’s deformed and battered head. Its head cracks and the infected falls to the floor. Chunks of brain matter fill the air and cake the rusted metal’s exterior.

I jerk the chain back toward me. The pulley scraps along the floor as the other infected grabs me from behind. It digs its ridged teeth into my shoulder and clamps down. It’s strong, holding me in place with its arms that have spots where its forearm is showing through the exposed flesh. The creature pulls and jerks at my meaty body.

I lean forward, ripping my shoulder from its mouth and giving me some wiggle room. Blood streams down my shoulder and onto my chest, soaking my shirt through. I hear two separate metal doors open.

Another mutated undead rushes in, chomping its mouth and sprinting toward us. The other sound is that of gears jostling about, weapons clanging together. I count only one possible soldier.

The dead on my back tries to bite me again, pulling me toward him as the other emerges from the shadows. Blood pours from its lipless mouth, splattering the floor around its mutated feet. I catch a quick glimpse of the lone soldier standing off to the side, waiting with his gun trained at us.

I ram my head back hard, striking the dead again where its nose used to be. It releases me, stumbling backwards and giving me some space to work. I grab it by its deformed arm and hurl it toward the soldier. Gunfire erupts, brightening up the darkness as the other infected sprints toward me.

I jerk the chain still attached to me, step to the side, and slip it around its decaying neck. I pull back, tightening the steel and killing its forward motion. It growls and shrills, arms swinging wildly. I shove my knee in the mid part of its back and jerk the chain down. Its head tears free from its body and rolls across the floor. Blood pumps from its stump.

I kick the dead body to the side and give my attention to the various sounds coming from the darkness. The soldier is laid out as the undead rip chunks of flesh from the body. Multiple exit wounds litter the infected’s back and part of its face is missing, exposing a portion of its cracked cheek bone.

It pauses and tilts its head to the side, staring at me. It bares its teeth and gives a low shrill. The creature springs from its stooped position and lunges forward. I grasp its head and flick my wrist, snapping its neck. It crumbles to the floor.

I kneel in front of the mutilated soldier. The stench of rotted meat penetrates my nose, making it scrunch.

Keys. I need to find some keys and get out of these cuffs.

I rummage through the soldier’s utility belt, then move to the pockets that are lined up and down his pants. I find a set of keys buried deep in his back pocket. I push his body to the side and fish them out. I go through the set fast before finding the right one and removing the restraints.

The soldier’s body is loaded with an array of weapons. Flash-bang grenades, a few frag grenades, pistols, and of course, his machine gun that is still clutched tight in his hand.

I remove the blood-soaked belt from his waist and slip it on, gather what extra ammo he has tucked in his pockets, and grab his machine gun. He’s got a death grip on the rifle. His fingers are wrapped around the butt and one lone finger resting on the trigger.

I grab his stiff fingers and pry them away from the gun and eject the magazine. Its half spent. I discard the mag and slap in a fresh one when I notice something illuminated on his left forearm.

The blue glow from its screen lights up the pool of blood in some weird color. I lift his arm, remove the device, and wipe away the blood that has been smeared across the screen. It takes a minute to decipher what it is.

The screen changes every couple of seconds, showing different images and readouts in real time. Looks to be some sort of digital GPS unit for this facility.

I attach it to my forearm and play around with it, getting the hang of its controls and layout. I widen the scope and get a bird’s-eye view of where I’m at. The dead pile up at the multiple entrances. The blood red color grows before my eyes.

My fingers dance across the screen. I locate the holding cells and get a beat on Slade. He’s not too far from here, but looks like he’s pretty well guarded.

The swarm of guards flows all over. There aren’t too many options before me, but the dead give me an idea.

I trace a route on the screen to the main electrical room for the facility, finding it to be much closer and just a short way up the hall from where I’m at. There doesn’t seem to be many guards patrolling that way at the moment.

I take the fallen soldier’s radio and earpiece and get on the move. The earpiece is fixed to my ear. Static hisses for a moment before voices bleed through the white noise.

The activity seems to be the same as it was before. Most of the soldiers are being routed to the various entrances to contain the dead, leaving a small portion to protect Slade and patrol the halls. Perfect.

The thick-metal door creaks and squeaks as I open it. The barrel of the machine gun takes the lead. Silence.

I glance back over my shoulder, looking over the dead bodies spread across the floor.

The door squeaks more as I push it open far enough for me to slip out into the hall. I get on the move, listening for the slightest noise as I hug the wall.

My weapon stays at the ready, trained ahead of me. I glance down at my wrist as I near the junction in the hall and see a single blob stationary the way I’m going. I peer around the corner, spotting the lone soldier pacing back and forth. He’s not too far from me, walking in the opposite direction with his back to me.

I sling the machine gun over my right shoulder, slip around the corner, and rush toward him. He doesn’t flinch or turn around. I close the gap fast, reach for his helmet with my hands, and flick my wrist.

He crumbles to the floor.

I catch him mid-fall and glance about, checking for any more company. All clear.

The main generator room for the complex is up ahead.

I drag the soldier’s dead weight the rest of the way toward the entrance. The squeaking of my shoes on the floor sounds off. I cringe from the subtle noise but keep going.

My hand grabs the doorknob. I twist and push forward, opening the solid door and slip inside. I drag the dead soldier in and shove him into a corner.

The silent humming of the generators fills the space. I’m on top of a steel-grate catwalk that leads to the left and runs down along the wall. I check the layout on my wrist, but getting nothing except static and snow.

I shoulder my weapon and make my way across the grate to the stairs, scanning for any threats lurking in the space. No shadowy figures are seen, and all I can hear is the generators.

My boots hit the landing and I make my way down the stairs. I stay close to the wall with the rifle trained ahead. It’s quiet. The sound of my boots catching onto the rigid, metal grates lingers.

I make the bottom rung, step to the floor, and pause. I scan from one side to the other, spotting nothing more than steam being vented by some of the generators.

It’s dark and dank. My eyes adjust to the blackness. The green hue taking hold and bringing everything into a much clearer picture.

I move further to locate the main shutoff switch for the generators when gunfire erupts from behind me. Muffle flashes from all around light up the dark pockets.

A swarm of bullets zip past me. I catch a round in my upper left shoulder. The bullet punches through to the other side. I twist around and return fire while backing up. The bright-yellow flashes of fire spitting from the muzzle lights up the space.

I hunch over, dart between some of the generators, and hold up for a few, allowing the soldiers to expend their ammunition. The onslaught of bullets ping off the metal tubes. Blood trickles from my shoulder and down my arm, clopping to the floor.

I return fire and manage to take out two of the soldiers with throat and head shots. Two down, three to go.

The remaining TGP soldier’s split up and take different tactical positions around me, trying to box me in.

“Sir, we’ve got a situation in the generator room,” one of the soldiers says over the radio, gunfire echoing in the background.

“You idiots be careful down there, and watch what you’re shooting at. You knock out too many of those generators and the infected on the other side of those doors will get through,” Slade says, barking through the radio.

“Yes, sir. We’ve got him boxed in and should have him shortly,” the soldier replies.

The line goes silent once more as the gunfire lets up. I hear them chattering to one another. Their voices are low and hard for me to make out.

“We’ve got you surrounded, and there’s no place for you to go. Throw out your weapons, come out with your hands up and you’ll not be harmed,” one of the soldiers says, his voice deep and stern.

I hold tight and keep my position within the murk, not offering a single response. I pick up a faint noise to my left coming toward me. The darkness swallows as I conceal myself between some of the equipment.

The soldier approaches. His footfalls play off the floor. He moves with one foot in front of the other as his piece sweeps the area. He walks past me and continues on.

I step out and grab him from behind, remove the knife on his hip, and jam it hard into his lower back with one fluid motion. His body goes limp, and I lay him down, trying not to arouse any suspicion.

“What’s your status? Did you get him?” one of the soldiers says over the radio.

Static.

“Damn it. Take the far end and flush him out toward me. I’ll be waiting,” the soldier says, to his last and only backup.

I retrieve a flash-bang grenade as the soldier slips out from behind his cover and advances toward me. I pull the clip and toss it. The grenade clangs off the metal, stopping the soldiers cold.

Boom!

The sound is loud and disorienting. The light so immense it rattles me. The soldiers stumble about. I dart out of my hiding space and take out one of the soldiers with a single bullet to the head.

The other soldier opens fire, spraying anything and everything as he stumbles into some equipment. Bullets scream past me as I run for cover. Sirens and red flashing lights illuminate everything in a blood-red color. Pockets of steam vent from the numerous bullet holes. They hiss loud. The massive cylinders convulse and rattle.

I run for the stairs and hit the bottom rung.

A report of gunfire sounds at my back.

A single round whizzes past my head and impacts the concrete wall right in front of me. I tilt my head to the side and find the lone soldier advancing with his weapon trained at my head.

“That was a warning shot. Now put down your weapon and place your hands behind your head. You’re coming with me.” He says, sounding more beast than man. “DO IT NOW.”

Rivets on both ends of the cylinders shoot out in every direction. The metal bows from the pressure. I catch a glimpse of one of the gauges twisting around and shaking.

The soldier takes another step forward with his finger over the trigger. A cylinder behind him explodes, hurling his body across the room and into the wall. The blast knocks me flat on my back.

I shake my head, stand up from the floor, and get moving. The chain reaction of explosions jumps from one cylinder to another. Explosion after explosion make the stairs rattle and the ceiling crumble as fire erupts and engulfs the area. Chunks of metal and rock blow past me, indenting the walls and striking my body.

There’s the door.

My feet touch down on the catwalk and I run harder. A solid piece of the ceiling jars loose and falls, striking the catwalk behind me and ripping the steel support clean from the wall.

I crest the doorway just as the catwalk falls into the fiery inferno below. Another blast propels me out of the room. I slam into the wall across the corridor, cratering the concrete as the pressure blows out the walls. Chunks of rebar and concrete land around me as the deafening noise and the heat from the fire reach into the hall.

I push up from the ground. Dust and bits of concrete fall from my back. I get to my feet and look ahead. The lights are gone and a few backup red lights flash on and off. I dip my chin and peer at my hip.

Damn it.

My radio’s toast. The receiver’s cracked and its guts are hanging out. I rip the ear piece from my ear and toss the scrap heap to the side.

Blood races down both sides of my face. A jagged piece of rebar has skewered my left thigh. I grip the rigid tip and pull the metal out, taking scraps of skin with it that cling to the end.

Smoke billows from the generator room and fills the corridor, creating a thick, throat-clogging haze that moves further into the complex. The device attached to my wrist is now nothing more than a useless paper weight. Sparks spit from the sides and the cracked screen. I unlatch it from my arm and toss it to the rubble around me.

I hear gunfire and loud shrills in the distance.

A handful of dead emerge from around the corner ahead and spot me. They pause for only a moment before rushing headlong my way. Their deformed mouths open wide and mangled arms stretch out. I remove my pistol and fire at will.

I drop two with head shots. The bullets punch through the middle of their skulls and blow out the back of their heads. Their legs give and they skid across the floor face down.

I holster my sidearm, swing the rebar that is still clutched in my right hand, and smash it into the side of a mutated woman’s head whose face has been partially burnt off. The sheared end latches onto remnants of her skin and peels it off, snapping her neck as her head turns to the side.

I pivot around and swing the meat covered weapon up, sending the jagged end through the other one’s mouth. The tip pops free from its skull. Its lone eye rolls into the back of its head and its chomping mouth becomes still.

It falls to the floor as more screams and gunfire meld with the bone curdling shrills that emit from everywhere. More dead are coming.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The sickening feeling of more death heading my way draws closer.

A light-headed spell hits me. My body loses balance and falls against the wall. I struggle to catch my breath.

My head spins–vision is dense and blurry. The recent injuries to my shoulder and thigh are bleeding bad and not showing signs of healing. My body has taken a beating and looks as though it is unable to recoup.

Suck it up and get your ass in gear. You can bitch and die later. Right now, you have work to do.

I place my grimy hands against the scorched, cracked-concrete wall, push off, and get back up. My injured leg buckles some, but it hangs on. The hole in my shoulder is gaping. My middle finger probes the decaying, mushy meat. I can’t hang around here any longer. More soldiers and dead are coming.

The machine gun is still intact and unscathed by the blast. It’s covered in dust. I toss the small chunks of busted concrete away and retrieve the rifle.

I blow the debris from the side and eject the magazine. Dust falls and settles in the undead pool of thick, lumpy blood. The mag is slapped back into place as I stare at the crimson fluid.

A notion forms. An outlandish plan to give me an edge against the soldiers and dead.

I sling the rifle over my good shoulder, kneel down, and palm the pool of blood. The fluid covers my hand. I bring it up to my face and smear it around my neck, then down my body. I gather up some more and fill in any missed spots.

I strain to get back to my feet when another infected creature ambles into sight. It comes my way, moving at a snail’s pace. The creature’s neck is broken, forcing its head to the side. I stand still, ready to draw my pistol if need be.

It nears me, mouth split apart and blood oozing out and dripping down to its deformed, mutated feet. My finger slips over the trigger, palm resting on the handle. It peers directly at me as it continues on, moaning loud. The dead doesn’t charge or attack, but ignores me.

I ease up on the pistol and move on, limping away into the fluttering blackness as fire rages from the destroyed generator room. I make my way to the holding cells, unsure of where the soldiers and dead are lurking.

In the madness that’s surrounding me and all of the death and destruction, Becky is the one and only guiding hope that keeps me going to see this through to the end. I have accepted the harsh reality that I’ll never see her again. I can’t. As much as it pains me, I have let that notion go. Her memory is all I need.

The mass of dead roaming down in the lower levels is crazy. I think they all migrated in search of more food. Pockets and pockets of the flesh-eaters have ignored me, passing through as they feast on fallen lab workers and TGP soldiers.

I have encountered some resistance from the soldiers, and managed to take them out. The wounds sustained in my shoulder and leg are healing at a slower rate, but the damage done still throbs and hinders my movement.

The holding cells are up ahead, set off in a corner and down a narrow flight of stairs. There doesn’t seem to be much in the way of foot traffic so far. It’s quiet. No dead or soldiers lurking about.

A subtle banging sound grabs my ear as I near the entrance. My gun trains at the solid-gray door that has smeared blood and fragments of bone splattered across the middle. The power flickers on and off, casting shadows. My eyes have trouble seeing in the darkness now.

The lights extinguish for what seem like an eternity, then surge back to life. A puddle of thick, chunky blood lies at the base of the entrance.

The door sits ajar. I approach with caution, slip the barrel of machine gun inside, and carefully swing the stout door open. The hinges creak a warning. I step to the side and sneak a peek.

A faint trail of light crawls out. It does little good to brighten up the inside. I push the door open further and move in with the rifle trained ahead. A mutated soldier lies on his back. His head is smashed in and chest turned to Swiss cheese.

That same knocking and clanging noise happens again, echoing up through the metal-rich interior. I step over the dead soldier and descend down the stairs. My leg throbs with the slightest pressure. Blood pumps out with every step I take. The muscle is tender and not wanting to work the way it should.

I make it to the bottom and stop. Blinding darkness greets me. I’m struggling to see anything further than five feet in front of me. A dim, yellow light running on both sides of the floor break up the darkness.

Take it slow. No telling what might be down here.

The knocking noise sounds again. The power surges. My index finger presses to the trigger. There’s nothing in front of me except for a long metal walkway with cells recessed into steel walls. No soldiers stand guard.

The first cell to my right is cracked open. The door is swung out toward me, keeping me from being able to see if anyone or anything is inside. I notice a few more cells down the way that are the same.

I press the buttstock of the rifle against my good shoulder and make my way to the first cell. I make a wide arch, staying closer to the other side. My heart thumps harder in my chest. I gulp, then peer around the door to the inside.

A man dressed in a white lab coat is lying on his side. He isn’t moving. Streams of blood race down the back of his head and drip from the edge of his cot, staining the concrete below. I can’t tell if he’s alive, dead, or unconscious.

I move on when a lone groan of pain emits from the cell. I pause and glance back. Still, no movement. I walk toward the cell with the rifle trained at the back of his head.

The lights crash as I crest the doorway, throwing me into blinding darkness. I can still make out the man’s outline. He isn’t moving or twitching. More clatters from the walls swirl about, pulling my attention in every direction. I don’t know if I’m sinking further into madness or not.

The cocktail the good doctor gave me could go either way—might band aid the problem or just accelerate my demise.

Screw this. Get what needs to be gotten done.

The tarnished lights spawn back to life. The lab coat doesn’t stir. Footfalls sound from behind the door. I come about and pause, training the rifle ahead and peering down the walkway.

Nothing.

Am I losing my mind?

I dig my knuckles into each socket that has beads of sweat invading them. The drops of stinging salt burn and fester in both. I turn and walk away when the dead man emerges out of the cell and grabs me by the shoulders.

Its hands dig in, hitting my still tender wound and overpowering me. The rifle falls from my hands. The dead lab worker leans in for the kill, teeth aiming for the nape of my neck. The lab workers black-hollow eyes open wide. I shove my left forearm against its throat. It’s got a nasty half-inch gash running from the corner of its right eye down to its cheek bone. It forces me against the cells behind me, chomping and making a low moaning noise.

I peer to the walkway and the rifle that’s a foot or so away. The weapon is out of reach.

I push forward with my forearm to give me some space. I lift my sore leg up and jam it into its ribs, moving the creature back far enough for me to reach down with my free arm and un-holster my pistol.

The creature looks like the doctor from earlier. Then again, all the lab workers here look like twins.

I slide my forearm down from its throat to its chest. It keeps its eyes focused on me as both arms flail about and the creature surges forward. I bring the pistol up and bury it under its rotting chin. I pop off a single round.

The top of its head explodes in a mist of blood and brain, chunks of its skull flying out in every direction. The sound of the gunshot reverberates inside the metal tomb. My ears ring.

Get off me!

I push it off and take a deep breath. Some of its brain matter splattered my face. I wipe it free with my dirty sleeve.

I holster the pistol and retrieve the machine gun. The clanging sound comes again, but this time it seems more consistent than before. Not like some mindless, cold-dead body banging around without a purpose, but more like someone who is trying to signal that they’re there.

I move further in. The banging noise increases the closer I get. I train the rifle ahead, scanning from side to side for any more surprises.

A majority of the cells are open and empty. No bodies, or blood for that matter, are inside. The ones that are closed, I stop and investigate. The interior lights flicker on and off, giving me snap shots of what’s lurking within.

A few more soldiers and lab coats sit on the benches or pace about. Some are at the small window, looking out while their mouths move a mile a minute.

I reach the cell where the knocking is emitting from. I approach and peer through the grimy glass, trying to spy what I’m dealing with. The cell is tossed and in disarray. The cot has been broken down and torn to pieces. Parts of the frame are missing and strewn across the floor. I keep silent, not wanting to alert whoever’s inside.

I scan the small room from one side to the other.

Nothing.

A woman comes into view with her back turned to me. She hammers the steel wall with part of the cot frame. I can’t see her face or anything else that might indicate who she is.

I flip the rifle around and ram the buttstock into the door. She continues to punish the steel wall. I do it once more, but harder this time. Each strike blasts an echo down the narrow corridor.

She pauses, then vanishes from my sight.

Where the hell did she go?

I continue to look, pressing my face to the glass. My head rolls from side to side. Another noise captures my attention from behind me. I turn around and train my weapon, but find nothing. The noise stops. My nerves twist.

Now where did you–Oh Christ.

The woman is standing in front of the glass, staring at me. I back away, bring the rifle to bear, and train the barrel at the window. Her face is bloody and looks like she’s been worked over. Her left eye is blackened and swollen shut. The bottom of her lip is split open.

Natasha?

It takes me a moment to get through the bruised and vacant look. I lower my weapon to my side and walk toward the glass. Her one not-so-swollen eye stays locked on me. I’m not sure she even knows who I am or what’s going on.

“Natasha, it’s me. Mike.”

I have no clue if she can even hear me, but she has a distant look in her eye. I glance to the side of the door and find an intercom switch above a keypad. I hit the button and speak. “Natasha, it’s Mike. Do you understand me? Are you okay?”

The vacant look remains. I take a few steps back, aim at the keypad, and open fire. Spark’s shoot up and out from the device. Smoke billows from the metal pad as the door jerks and gives.

I lower my weapon. “Natasha, are you-”

Natasha bolts out of the cell with something in her hand. A scowl forms over her face. She takes a swing at me.

The jagged piece of metal catches my shirt and rips it open, grazing my flesh. She takes another attempt, jabbing at me. I grab her arm and knock the weapon free from her hand.

I flip her around and shove her forward. Her head smacks into the edge of the cell. I press the barrel of the rifle to the back of her skull and say, “You need to give me something here, or I’m going to put you down right here, right now.”

Natasha sits there for a moment on the steel grate. Her hand rubs the fresh gash on her head. The tensed muscles in her body relaxes. She turns toward me.

“Damn, was that your gentle side,” Natasha says. A line of blood trails from the right tip of her forehead down the side of her face. “Man, you look like shit.”

“Have you looked in the mirror lately? Looks like you got worked over pretty good,” I reply, lowering the rifle.

“Yeah. Kind of happens when you become a traitor and all. Who knew killing your employer’s men would get you locked up?”

I extend my hand to Natasha, help her off the floor, and glance down the corridor.

She straightens her clothes, then asks. “Expecting company?”

“Always.”

“Seems like their hands are full. They brought me down here after working me over. I felt the explosion, but didn’t know what it was,” Natasha says, glancing at my wounds. “I take it doc’s little feel-good mix didn’t hit the spot.”

“Sure, seems that way,” I reply. “Speaking of him, where is he?”

A solemn sadness washes over Natasha, eyes tear up. “They killed him–in front of me.”

“I’m sorry. He seemed to be a good guy.”

“He was,” Natasha says, nodding. The tears wane and she shakes her head. “So, why the hell are you still here? I figured you’d be long gone by now.”

“I’ve got unfinished business to attend to,” I answer. “Plus, I had a moment of weakness and thought I better come down here and save your ass. You can say thank you at any time.”

I chuckle and cough hard.

Natasha looks at me with a peculiar stare. “From the looks of it, you couldn’t fight off a paper bag, much less Slade.”

“Yeah well, we’ll see. I just want to take that piece of crap down before he gets out of here.”

“I’ll tell you if you’re going to do it, you need to move fast. I overheard one of the soldiers say they’re packing up and moving on. And with these kinds of people, they don’t leave a forwarding address, if you know what I mean.”

“How much time do you think we have?” I ask, watching the narrow corridor for any movement.

“Not sure. They drugged me up pretty good, so I can’t remember a whole lot, but if he is still here, he’ll be making damn sure he has all of the data and records of what went on. This isn’t their first facility, and it won’t be their last,” Natasha answers.

“We’ll see about that.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I hand Natasha my pistol. “Take this and get out,”

“I can help you. That son of bitch has done so much to so many, he deserves to get what he has coming. I would love nothing more than to place a slug in that fucker’s skull myself.”

Sorry, but that pleasure will be all mine.

“I know he does, but someone needs to get up top and tell everyone what went on. Like you said earlier, this wasn’t their first facility and won’t be their last unless we do something about it. Besides, you know more about what went on here.”

The truth is always a hard pill to swallow, especially when you’re craving the sweet succulent taste of revenge. I can see it on Natasha’s bloody face. Her brows narrow and her eyes fill with rage. She wants that bastard as dead as I do, but she knows I’m right. She takes a deep breath and sighs.

“It’s your rodeo, Mike. Good luck to ya.” Natasha racks the slide of the pistol and walks past me into the darkness. She doesn’t give a second look or any additional words of wisdom. Good luck indeed.

She disappears up the stairs as gunfire trickles from the hall above. The bleeding from my wounds has slowed to a trickle, but the meat is still tender and restricting my movement. I feel sluggish now. Oh well. I was given this unwanted ride and now it’s time to bring it to an end, once and for all.

I head out the opposite way with the machine gun gripped tight in both hands, hunting down Slade before he has a chance to fly the coop. That tracking bracelet would’ve come in handy right about now.

I hit a steel door, grab the handle, and open it up. The hinges creak.

Cold, dead silence hits my ears. I push a little more, slip out beyond the door’s edge, and find more dead bodies laid out like a butcher block. The undead and soldiers are twisted together in piles of flesh and blood.

I step over the mangled bodies and snake my way through to the other side. I can still hear gunfire echoing through the corridors ahead. Th faint sound of shrills and moans play right along. I keep moving, pushing onward toward the meld of unsettling sounds.

The lights go out and it’s back to black. Footfalls shuffling toward me sends my gun up, trying to find the target.

It’s getting close but I still can’t spot it in the darkness. It’s silent now, as if whoever or whatever just vanished.

Power is restored and the lights kick back in. An undead soldier stands a scant inch away from me. Too close for a head shot. Ground and pound, it is.

I strike it in the face with the bottom of my weapon. Its head flops back, then springs forward just as fast. I go for another shot to the head, but it knocks the gun loose from my hands.

Damn it.

It grabs me by my shirt and throws me against the wall. My body bounces off the concrete like a rag doll and hits the floor. I’m rattled from the impact. The pain rises fast in my shoulder and leg. I tilt my head to the side, spotting what looks to be a knife, or at least something sharp and jagged, but can’t be sure. The lights cycle once more and everything’s dark again.

I scramble to where I think the knife is. It grabs a handful of my clothing and pulls me from the ground. The creature breathes in my face, then tries to bite me. I jam the piece of metal clutched in my right hand into its left ocular cavity. Something wet and thick squirts out, hitting me in the face and mouth. The creature releases me, then stumbles backwards, falling to the ground.

The lights spark to life. I wipe the fluid away from my face and spit out the remainder from my mouth. I scoop up my gun and move out, limping.

I encounter more resistance along the way from both the undead and the soldiers. The number of living soldiers is dialing down. The number of dead increases and soon, that’s all that will be left in this underground prison of horrors.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Teeth and bullets. That’s all I come into contact with now.

I’m either smashing in a rotted skull or placing some slugs into a living person’s chest. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy, but it’s something that needs to be done to survive.

I come to a junction where a handful of soldiers are pinned down behind tables and other various junk, fending off the dead with what precious ammo they have left. The infected claw and wade through the junk. The bullets punish the dead. Their heads explode and limbs are torn clean from their bodies. The dead still advance and push forward.

The soldiers don’t seem too concerned with anything else. They’re focused on the approaching horde. I slip past unnoticed and continue on to Slade’s office.

Some of the overhead lights are working, but most have blown out or are too weak to fully operate. I don’t hear or see anyone. It’s silent. From the way things look, seems everyone has flown the coop. Offices have been emptied and desks look like a tornado came through—papers all over the floors and trails of blood leading off into multiple directions. I only have a few shots left, so I need to make them count.

The buzzing from the fluorescent lights plays in my ears, and sparks spitting from loose wires look like sparklers on the 4th of July. I sweep the room, left to right and back again. A few dead bodies lay between desks, blood all over and portions of their insides resting next to them. Almost there.

Slade’s office is partially lit, but I don’t see any movement through the glass door. I’ve been down here for so long that the shadows look like people or the undead lurking.

I close in on the door and take a deep breath. My fingers grasp the doorknob and twist. It turns without noise. The latch retracts back and the door opens.

My palm presses to the door. I push it open and move in with the barrel of my gun leading the way. Slade’s desk is empty. The vintage-desk lamp resting in the corner on the top catches snap shots of the dust fluttering about.

I move in a little farther to check out the room. The door slams closed against me. Glass shatters against my body. Shards of the door slice my face. I’m knocked off balance from the impact. I bring my gun about, but something grabs the barrel and knocks the gun free from my hands. A swift punch to my jaw and I’m on the floor.

“You’re like a freaking cockroach, Mike. I try to stomp you out, and you always scurry back,” Slade says, kicking me multiple times in the ribs as I try to get back to my feet.

I crawl away, my hands raking across the glass spread over the floor. My vision is blurred from the blow, and I think he broke a few ribs.

“You’re definitely one tough SOB. I’ll give you that. Everyone else who’s gone through the program is dead and gone now, but you refuse to die. Why won’t you just die?” Slade asks, sounding more beast than man.

I struggle to get my feet under me. Both legs are shaky. Slade jabs me in the face and follows with an uppercut. My head snaps back. A blood-spit cocktail spews from my mouth as I stumble backward.

Slade comes in for more, throwing a right cross. I block up high with my forearm. I rabbit punch him in the kidneys twice and bury my left knee deep in his abdomen. He gasps for air and doubles over, stumbling back. I collapse to one knee, spent and hurting.

“Damn, you got a little fight left in you still, don’t you, Mike? Regardless of the fact you look like holly hell,” Slade says with a chuckle that sounds a tad winded.

“Don’t worry. I got enough left to finish you off,” I reply.

My head dangles toward the floor. I try to calm my breathing. I catch a glimpse of Slade swinging a fire extinguisher at me, and get back to my feet, catching his arm in midflight.

I hurl him across the room. Slade slams into a glass wall. The fire extinguisher in his hands cracks the glass upon impact. He manages to stay on his feet, laughing for whatever reason.

Slade’s eyes dart down at the gun that is closer to him than me. A wicked grin slides across his face. Blood drips from his busted bottom lip. He darts for the weapon and scoops it up.

I take off toward him, limp and all.

He trains the gun at me and fires a single round. The lone bullet hits my upper stomach as I spear him. We both break through the glass and fall to the concrete below.

The impact steals the air from my lungs, and my head slams against the ground with such force that everything goes black for a moment. Thick blood runs down my legs and sides. I don’t even bother trying to put pressure on the gaping hole. I’m nearly finished with what I started, anyway.

Slade gets to his feet first, groaning and grasping his right arm. Cuts cover his cheeks and forehead. “You know, Mike, you’re cutting into my departure time here.”

He grabs me by the shirt, pulls me from the ground, and throws me against the lab equipment. I have no clue where we are now.

My hands move across the ground, finding a screwdriver on the floor. I conceal the weapon away from Slade under me and try to stand up.

“What’s your wife’s name again? Oh right, Becky. I bet she tastes just as good as she looks, doesn’t she, Mike?”

I give no response as I struggle to get to my hands and knees.

“No matter,” Slade says with a wince. “When I get out of here, I think I’ll pay her a visit. See how she’s coping with your tragic and accidental death. Maybe she’ll be longing for some comfort. At least you can die knowing I will do her right.”

Slade turns his back to me and walks toward the gun.

I ignore the pain pulsating through my body, get to my feet, and race toward Slade. I grab him by the throat, and jam the screwdriver into the mid part of his back where he can’t reach it.

“I hope it doesn’t hurt too bad,” I whisper in his ear.

Slade howls in pain, elbows me in the gut, then knocks me hard to the ground. He reaches behind him, trying to grab the screwdriver embedded in his back.

I can hear the dead all around. A loud banging sound on the walls and doors sounds off.

Slade stares at me. The smirk he once had is long gone, and rage now fills his red face. His teeth gnash and a lone vein protrudes from the middle of his forehead. He rushes headlong toward me.

I ram my leg hard into Slade’s chest as he leans in for me. I drive him back and knock him off his feet.

Slade hits the ground. The screwdriver digs in even more. His body releases a single breath.

Not so funny now, is it?

I drop to the floor, spent and beyond exhausted, thinking of Becky. A tear springs from my eyes, trailing down my face as the mix of emotions overwhelms me. My breathing slows and I wait for the end.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

A hand grips my wrist and pulls, jerking my body. I figure it’s the dead coming to ravage me, so I don’t fight or resist.

“Christ, Mike, wake your ass up. We don’t have time for a nap.” Natasha says in a raised voice. Her hand bashes me across my face, knocking my head to the side. “Get up.”

My eyes explode open. I’m disoriented and unsure how long I’ve been laying here. Natasha kneels over me, looking panicked as she glances over her shoulder.

“It’s about damn time. I was planning on slapping you a little more for good measure,” Natasha says. “I see you got that son of a bitch.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask in a weakened tone.

“Never mind that. We’ve got no time left and need to get out of here. So get off the floor and let’s get moving.”

Natasha grabs both my arms, wrenching me to my feet. My legs wobble, but I manage to brace them as best I can. My body aches all over, stomach feels as though it’s on fire. The crashing noise intensifies. I think whatever’s out there is getting close to breaking through. Natasha puts my arm over her shoulders and spins me around. “There’s a freight elevator over here that’s used to transport supplies and such to the surface. It’s a nonstop trip as long as it has power.”

We pass Slade’s body. Natasha drags my dead weight through what I think is some kind of lab or testing place. We reach the elevator. Natasha palms the lone button on the wall. It lights up and the hum of the cables rolling brings a moment of joy.

“I can’t believe he almost got the best of you. I’m glad he didn’t,” Natasha says.

“Yeah, you and me both.”

The elevator dings and the worn, scratched, forest-green doors part. The carriage stops midway in the opening.

“Well, it’s better than nothing.” Natasha faces the lab as she helps me into the carriage. I struggle to pull myself up. The strain on my injured midsection makes it harder. She hoists me up as best she can with half of my body still dangling off the edge. I drag my worthless ass in.

Natasha climbs in after me.

A single gunshot rings out. Her eyes widen, her grip slips, and she falls to the ground. I crawl over and look out, finding her flat on her back. She’s still alive, but unable to move. I track down the shot to Slade, whose shaking arms train the gun he’s struggling to keep up.

“Looks like it’s a trip for one,” Natasha says, coughing up blood that seeps out from her pale lips. “You need to get going.”

A loud crash from the opposite end of the facility gets my attention. The moans and shrills of what sounds like hundreds of infected pours into the space. Slade smirks, then drops the gun. It’s soon wiped away by a massive, mutated creature that wraps its hand around Slade’s head and rips it clean from his torso. A pack of undead converge and start feeding, tearing into his body.

“Sit up and reach for my hand,” I say, reaching down to Natasha.

The horde of flesh-eaters rush toward us, growling and knocking over equipment in their way. I stretch as far as I can, but can’t reach her.

Natasha lifts her weakened arm, but doesn’t reach for me. She slaps the button on the wall. The doors close. I pull my arm in and watch as she gives me a warm smile with the dead mere inches away from her as the carriage door shuts.

I lay my head back and exhale. Tremors rattle the shaft as the carriage is pulled up. I can hear explosions that are muffled but intense. I think of everyone I encountered on this nightmarish journey, wishing at least one of them was here.

Another thunderous boom rattles my bones. I dig into my pocket and remove the memory stick the good doctor gave me. If I make it out of this, I’m going to bring these bastards down.

More powerful eruptions toss the carriage about. I try to hold on to something and brace myself, but there’s nothing to grip. Metal crunches and contorts as something billows up the shaft, racing toward me. I ready for the impact.

The force of the explosion slams into the carriage and thrusts me upward at warp speed. My body is glued to the floor. The skin on my face feels as if it’s being stretched apart. All I can do now is wait for the ride to end.

Metal grinds on metal. I’m not sure if this coffin will hold together much longer. The carriage slows some, but I’m still coming in hot, and it’s going to be a rough stop.

Bangs and clangs clatter inside the carriage. It jostles about, suddenly stops, then throws my body against the walls. Smoke filters into the car, filling my lungs. I hack on the fumes. A beam of light weaves through the opening of the doors and captures my gaze.

The carriage is off kilter and the floor feels like it’s on fire. I struggle to my feet and head to the door. I look out past the smoke, trying to see where I am. Seems to be some kind of warehouse with the entrance just ahead. I can see daylight and it’s never looked better.

I push through the opening and stumble over debris from the shaft. Sparks spit all around me and the sound of fire eating away at this place buzzes in my ears. There’s not a soul in sight, living or dead.

The area has been tossed and is in total disarray. I limp toward the light. It’s quiet, no sounds of people or movement beyond the outside.

I stop for a moment and brace myself against the rocky wall to catch my breath. I think this is some kind of converted cave or something.

All right, come on, Mike, you can rest later. Let’s get moving.

I head out into the opening, using the wall as a crutch. My hand lifts in the air to shield the sun’s rays from my face. A warm breeze washes over me. The sound of birds flying overhead echoes throughout the cavern. I rub my eyes for a moment and blink, allowing everything to come into focus.

The land is barren, flat, and desolate except for a few dilapidated buildings in the distance. There are no vehicles that I can see, so I venture out on foot. A few paces of freedom are all I manage before a crackle catches up to me and something strikes me center mass. It knocks me flat on my backside.

Footfalls approach–closing in. I try to get up, but can’t move. I’m paralyzed. The figure comes into view, but is cast in a shadow from the sun. The figure leans down and grabs my neck.

“I’ve got one bogey, male, whose showing advanced signs of rapid decay and deterioration. Shall I dispense?” the raspy voice asks.

“No, he might be of some use still. Bag and tag him.”

“Yes, sir.”

I try to lift my arms to fight back as the man slips me into a bag, but can’t, I’m defenseless. The sound of my fate being sealed creeps up from my feet and runs toward my head. The light is severed as the zipper seals me in. I just thought my nightmare was over, but it looks like it’s only beginning.

UNDEAD APOLCAYPSE: RIPTIDE

BOOK 2

CHAPTER ONE

It’s funny how fast the world can go to shit in a short period of time, unravel and collapse in on itself. Peaceful and caring individuals revert to primal instincts that take them over and lead their actions. They kill without thought, regardless if they’re human or not.

The pavement is stained red with blood. The bodies of the dead rest against the buildings as far as I can see. I can only think of how fast the virus has spread and consumed the Dark Continent. It’s only been two months and some odd days, but it feels like a lifetime.

I feel like I’m a million miles away from Becky, stuck in Benoni, South Africa, and holed up in this shit hole of an apartment. I barely made it here before the dead entered the city and started to kill everything in sight. I thought that the underground bunker I escaped from was bad.

This is on a totally different level. No one’s been spared. The women and children are killed and turned just as fast as the men. This window has shown me things I’d care to forget.

Gunshots crackle in the distance–explosions shake the ground beneath my feet. The South African military has tried to stop the surge of the infected, but they’ve failed to contain the biohazard. Most of their military gives up and runs away, or they’re torn to pieces by the creatures—or, worse yet, are turned.

The infected numbers have grown so large that I can’t even comprehend how many dead there are now. For all I know, there could be no other survivors in the city besides me.

I close the dirty-red curtains, having enough of the less than desirable view of the rotting bodies below me, and walk over to the small cot on the other side of the room. I shoved all the furniture I could against the door, barricading myself in. I scavenge as I can, making my trips count when I venture out. The items I hunt for are medicine, ammo, weapons, and what food I can find. I’ve got a nice little stockpile of various items that I’ve come across.

The bites and wounds on my arms and legs have healed some, but still look bad. The flesh is dressed in a dark black and blue. The meat looks like that of those creatures–rotting and becoming unrecognizable as my own. I don’t take much for the pain, just to help me sleep.

A good night’s rest has eluded me for some time, now. Every time I close my eyes, all I see are those creatures, plaguing my dreams. Blood, guts, and everything between. The pills help and the bottles of Jack aid in getting me started, but the outcome is always the same—me trying to stay away from the infected and get my hands on the cure, but I never do.

I fumble for the open bottle of pills resting on the worn-wooden nightstand. I have no clue what I’m taking. I just know it seems to help calm me down enough to rest.

Four pills left. Great. I’ve burned through the other bottles that are scattered across the floor already.

I halve the remaining supply and plop them into my hand. I bring them up to my mouth when a loud thud echoes through the walls. I stop and listen. What the hell is that?

The noise was faint, but loud enough to grab my attention. It wasn’t the typical gunfire or anything like that. It sounded like it came from inside the building. I guess sleep will have to wait for now.

I drop the pills back into the bottle, grab the Glock from the nightstand, and head toward the window. The noise comes again. It’s in the hall.

I bring the Glock to bear–training the firearm at the entrance to the apartment. Is it the dead? It could be the military doing a building sweep for any infected.

I grab the cot and scoot it away from the wall. The metal-feet scrap along the wooden floor. I lean against the dingy wallpaper, grab the edge of a picture frame, and push it to the side, revealing a half-dollar-sized hole. I peer through the hole to the hallway.

The infected have been in here before, going up and down the halls looking for anything alive. They’ve tried to force their way into my room a few times, but stopped when the door wouldn’t budge.

A figure moves up the stairs. I can’t make it out, though. It’s nothing more than a black blob that’s just outside of my field of view. I try to move over a little more to get a better look, but can’t.

My fingers rap against the wall and my foot taps the floor as I wait. It isn’t the infected, they’re not that quiet or stealthy. It must be the military. Maybe they’ll just pass by if they find that the door won’t open. If I don’t have to engage in a gunfight, I’d rather avoid it.

The floor creaks from the opposite way. I turn and look. There’s someone else coming up the opposite side of the hall. Doesn’t look to be military, but–crap TGP soldiers.

I back away from the hole in a hurry. The picture frame swings from side to side. My heart hammers my chest. How the hell did they find me?

I race to the window, toss open the curtain, and peer down to the street. TGP soldiers stand ready at the entrance with more on the opposite side, nestled within the buildings.

Damn it.

I’ve managed to stay off their radar, sticking to the shadows and keeping my eyes peeled for any movement. I’ve been one step ahead of the soldiers, until now.

I scramble for my pack and gather up what weapons I can carry that won’t slow me down. I shove what I can inside. The pounding footfalls converge at the door. I pause and listen. This is a situation I can’t fight my way out of, and I don’t really want to try. I need to stick to what’s been working and not deviate. Stay within the shadows.

My rucksack is secured on my back. I sling the shotgun over my right shoulder and move to the bathroom.

A hard rap hammers the entrance to the apartment.

I flinch, but keep moving.

“We know you’re in there,” a loud, gruff voice shouts from the hall. “You’re surrounded and have no chance for escape. Give up now and you will not be harmed.”

I get to the bathroom and head for the shower. I shove the pasty-white shower curtain out of the way and step inside the brown-stained claw-foot tub. The apartment on the other side of this wall is empty, boarded up, and has been vacant since I’ve been here. A piece of plywood covers the hole leading to the other side. It’s big enough for me to fit through.

The hard raps continue punishing the entrance to the space, followed by dense thuds. I grab the plywood, remove it, and lean it against the tub.

“This is your last warning,” the soldier says in a shout. “Come out now or we will be forced to come inside and retrieve you.”

I lean inside the hole and push against the lime-green sofa in the other apartment.

“That’s it. Knock this damn door in, now,” I hear the man order.

The soldiers ram the door. The wood gives and creaks.

The furniture I stacked in front of the hole scrapes along the aged-wood floor with every blow the soldiers make. I keep calm and continue pushing until I’m able to slip through.

I slip my pack through, then the shotgun. I turn myself around and go feet first, worming my way in. I reach back through the hole, grab the board from the tub’s edge, and secure it in front of the opening.

Crash.

The scarred-black hutch, positioned in front of the entrance to the apartment, gives and drops to the floor. Wood splinters as the door busts open. Footfalls rush inside the apartment.

I crawl out of the hole back into the room. The shades have been drawn, casting the space in darkness. My eyes try to adjust to the low light, but can’t. A small sliver of light bleeds through the curtains on the other side of the room.

A dense thud resonates from the wall to my right. The few people holed up in the apartments close to me scream and yell. I holster the Glock and keep the shotgun in my hand as I strap my gear onto my back. I head to the front door and pause.

The side of my head presses against the door. I listen. No movement in the halls as far as I can tell.

I reach for the bronze doorknob and twist. The door pulls away from the jamb. I peer out into the hall and find a man standing near me with his back turned. He’s alone as far as I can tell.

I lean the shotgun against the wall, remove the blade from the sheath that’s latched to my lower leg, and flip the handle around with the serrated edge pointing down. Two deep breaths and I crack open the door even more.

No hesitation. Just quick and fast.

I spring up from my kneeling position, grab him from behind, and jerk him back into the room. The door shuts as I bury the blade deep into his chest, slicing through the thick-tactical gear he’s wearing.

His sounds are muffled by the helmet he’s wearing. He struggles for a few moments–hands striking at my head in a futile attempt to break free, but it’s pointless. He finally goes limp and his weapon drops to the floor.

The soldier’s lifeless body is dragged to the side and laid on the floor. I sling the shotgun over my shoulder and retrieve the soldier’s weapon. I check the magazine and find it fully stocked. Latched on his belt are a couple of grenades. Those might come in handy.

I check the hall and find it empty. I can hear the soldiers talking and trashing the apartment.

The floor creaks under my foot as I slip out into the hall. It’s not too noticeable. I advance with the weapon up and at the ready down the opposite way–racing the length of the narrow corridor. I hit a junction and round the corner.

Two soldiers appear patrolling the hallway with their backs turned to me. I put on the brakes and pause. There’s a door to my right that I try, and find that it’s unlocked. I don’t think of what might be lurking inside and rush in.

Infected creatures huddle in the middle of the floor. The shadows cloak the dead.

The odor of rotting flesh fills the apartment. Their contorted bodies bleed together, and I can’t make out how many of them there are.

Calm down, calm down. Think, Mike, think.

I skim over the apartment and spot a fire escape through the thin fabric of the curtains whipping about the open window. It’s on the other side of the room behind an old sofa that’s seen better days.

I work my way along the wall, keeping an eye on the mass of dead. The warm, humid air picks up and blows in, stirring the creatures as they slumber. They shift their bodies. Subtle moans emit from the slumbering horde.

I stop.

They shift their bodyweight. Their mutated arms lie in my pathway, strung out over the shag rug. I continue along the wall, moving fast and watching my step.

I make it through the dead and head toward the window. The doorknob jiggles to the entrance of the apartment, stirring the creatures from their rest. I drop to the floor and take cover behind the pungent fabric.

Damn it.

The door flies open. Light from a soldier’s gun blasts the room. The creatures shrill, springing to their feet in a blink.

The soldier opens fire, rattling off round after round as the dead charge him. I keep my head low and body close to the floor. The spent casings striking the worn wood as bursts of light fill the dark space. Bullets tear through the walls and windows. Shards of glass rain down on top of me.

I roll over and peer around the corner. Bullets shred the bodies of the dead to bits as they overwhelm the soldier. They begin to feast on him while he struggles to break free.

“Johnson,” another soldier says, coming into the room, gun blazing.

He nails one of the creatures in the middle of its head. The back of the infected’s skull explodes.

The others lunge for the soldier. Their spiked arms spear his chest and stomach, knocking him back into the hall. More soldiers arrive, spraying everything in a wicked fashion. The dead continue to fight, their numbers dwindle by the onslaught from the soldiers.

I dig out a grenade, pull the pin, and toss it over the couch. It hits the floor with a dense thud and rolls. More gunfire sweeps the room before I hear a soldier yell, “TAKE COVER.”

The gunfire ceases. I get to my feet and move out. The grenade explodes and hurls my body through the window frame. I’m tossed over the top rail. My hand catches the steel railing as a fireball blows out from the apartment.

The frame rattles, shaking free from the building’s brick exterior. I tumble down to the ground below, falling into a dumpster as the railing chases me.

My left arm smacks against the steel and breaks. I gnash my teeth and growl. Smoke plumes from the apartment–lifting into the air.

I stand up and snake through the contorted metal resting on top of the dumpster. I drop from the edge and hit the concrete hard. I struggle to get to my feet. The concrete scrapes my skin. I use my gun as a crutch to help me stand upright. I favor my damaged arm, lean against one of the buildings, and work my way down the long alleyway. The sound of transports and more soldiers converging on the building increases as I slip away.

CHAPTER TWO

The streets swarm with soldiers and the bodies of the dead.

TGP’s presence has grown over the past few hours following the blast. The soldiers patrol with rifles shouldered–searching the buildings one by one.

The sky above is painted with broad strokes of dark gray from the smoke funneling into the air. The stench crinkles my nose. Black Hawk Helicopters hover above the defunct structures. The beating of the rotors looms large. I keep to the back alleys and shadows of the rundown city, trudging through the trash the wind has brought my way.

The infected have been sparse–vanishing from sight. I don’t dare think that they’ve either moved on or have been dealt with. That’s wishful thinking.

My legs are weak and unsteady. Each step made is labored.

My left arm is rendered useless. The broken bone pulsates with every step I take. I try to stifle the pain by cradling it in my other arm close to my body. I think I’ve busted a couple of ribs as well. I’m lucky that dumpster was there to break my fall.

I have no clue where I’m going. The maze of alleyways and streets confuses my tattered mind. I wander about, trying to find a secure place and avoid the roaming patrol of TGP soldiers so I can recoup and figure out what’s next.

The side of my body brushes along the rough exterior of a building–snagging the bloody fabric of my clothing. I glance across the street and find an office that has no front windows and an opened door. The dead could be lurking within, but I need to get off the streets and hole up for a bit.

I listen for a moment for any soldiers or dead that might be within earshot. It’s silent, aside from the gusts of wind howling down the deserted streets and the rotors of the choppers beating the air in the distance. I stumble to the building’s edge and pause.

My tank is running on fumes. I hear a vehicle. The rhythmic hum of the engine draws closer to me. I hold my position, using the structure as a crutch–waiting for it to pass.

The energy drains from my body. My legs give and I crumble to the pavement.

I lie flat on my back–peering up at the dismal sky. Shallow breaths escape my chapped lips. I think back to when I first stepped out from the underground prison I was kept in and my wife, Becky. She’s my sole purpose for pressing on when I want to just give up and fade away. I try to stand up and leave, but can’t. The buildings converging around me have seen better days. Mortar rounds have pounded the structures, leaving most in shambles. Smoke plumes from their tops–the wood crackling in my ears.

A vehicle approaches. It slows–brakes squeaking as it stops in the street near me. Multiple doors open as I stare into the sky, unable to fight what’s coming.

“Chris, what the hell are you doing?” a woman asks in a raised voice. “He’s infected. Leave him be.”

“Just help me put him to the car, Elizabeth,” he shoots back.

“What for? Look at him. We need to get off the streets before any more soldiers or the infected show up,” she says.

“Don’t argue with me right now. Just grab his feet and help me put him in the back of the car, all right?”

She huffs and puffs as only an irritated woman can. She isn’t happy, but complies with his request just the same.

They each grab an end, lift me off the ground, and carry me to their Jeep parked in the middle of the street. They place me in the back and close the tailgate. The couple continues to argue, bickering back and forth from outside the vehicle as they get inside.

“All right, truce,” she says, lowering her voice. “I don’t want to wake Jacob. He’s finally resting. You better have a good reason for doing this and putting us in danger.”

“Don’t worry, I do,” he replies.

Shrills fill the air as well as the sound of transports heading this way. The vehicle takes off down the street as I fall in and out of consciousness.

The seconds tick by like hours. The voices of the couple fade in and out, then stop.

Static taints the air. That’s all I hear. White noise fills my brain. It’s consuming everything and gnawing away at my mind like the festering virus that has ravaged me. I try to move my arms, but struggle to do so. They feel heavy, weighed down. Same thing with my legs.

“Christopher, I think he’s finally coming to,” she says.

I crack my eyes open. My eyesight’s a bit foggy. A haze fills both. It’s hard to make anything out but it looks like I might be in some sort of hospital maybe.

The flickering light dangling overhead allows me to see brief snippets of the barren room. I’ve got an IV attached to my right arm, and my left has been placed into a makeshift sling. Whatever I’m lying on is cool and penetrates through my clothes. It feels good against my warm skin.

I catch a brief glimpse of a woman retrieving a child, a little boy, as a man races into view. The two of them back up as he approaches me.

“Where am I?” I ask, slurring my words some.

“You’re safe, for now,” he replies, opening both of my lids and shining a light into them. “How are you feeling?”

I grumble. “Tired.”

“I gave you a little cocktail to help you relax and sleep. You looked like you needed it. You’ve been out for a couple of days.” He turns the light off.

I run my tongue over my dried lips. My mouth feels as though it’s been stuffed full of cotton. He checks me over, scouring every little portion of my body.

“Here.” He hands me a bottle of water.

I take it and bring it to my mouth. I take a couple of gulps as I watch him write inside a folder. “So, who are you, and why did you help me back there?”

He doesn’t reply at first, but keeps writing inside the folder. His fingers pinch the thin steel of his glasses. He pushes them up on the bridge of his nose. His hair is messy–going in all directions. “It’s not as important who I am as it is who you are.”

“I’m a nobody. Just another unlucky person who’s gotten caught up in this mess like everyone else,” I answer.

He lays the folder on top of my stomach, then walks back to the woman and child. He whispers something to her. She keeps a close watch on me as they turn to leave.

“All right, listen. I don’t know what sick little game is going on here, but I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me what’s going on,” I say, demanding answers.

He turns back to face me, and that’s when I notice it–a heavy insignia ingrained on that white lab coat.

I flinch. My muscles tighten. Anger brews in the depths of my stomach as my lips grow taut and eyes narrow. I struggle to sit up but manage to do so. My right arm strikes the silver surgical tray next to me, sending it crashing to the floor. I slip off the bed and hit the floor–jerking the IV from my arm.

He holds his hands up in protest. “Okay, okay, let’s just keep calm and settle down. No need for this to spiral out of hand. I’m not here to hurt you.”

My fingers touch a pair of scissors on the floor near me. I scoop them up and try to get my feet under me. My legs wobble. I use the bed to hold me upright. “Yeah right. Do you know how many times I’ve been fed that line lately? I don’t really trust you people. Kind of have my reasons.”

“Is everything okay in there?” the woman asks in a panicked voice.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just stay in there.” He keeps his distance–body tense and hands stretched toward me as if he’s going to calm me down. “The company doesn’t know I have you, and I have no plans on calling them. You’re safe here.”

“So I’ll ask again. Who are you and what are you planning to do with me?” My fingers tighten over the scissors, ready to strike if need be. “My name is Christopher Saunders. I was one of three scientists who worked at the facility you were kept at. I met you a few times when you first arrived.”

I point the tip of the scissors at him and hold firm. “So what, you didn’t finish experimenting on me? Haven’t you people done enough to ruin my life already?”

“It’s not exactly like that. I’m trying to right a wrong I guess.” Christopher lowers his hands, dropping them to his side. A sudden look of guilt and remorse washes over him. His eyes well up and his bottom lip quivers.

I glance down and catch a reflection of my face in the tray. It’s normal–not all pale and lifeless as it has been. My hands and arms are void of any bites or wounds. The skin is tight and vibrant.

“How–what–” is all I can mutter.

“Why don’t we put the scissors down and I’ll explain, okay, Mike?”

I place the scissors on the pillow near me, well within reach if I should need them, and lean against the bed. My eyes stay fixed to the tray–unable to leave my reflection. The woman and child from earlier appear in the hall, peering at me with a wondering stare.

“Can you put some coffee on for us, hun?” Christopher asks.

Her narrow eyes look right through me. She doesn’t respond but walks away once more with the child in her arms.

“She makes a mean cup of joe. Should make coming off the medicine I was giving you a bit easier. Besides, we’ll be a bit more relaxed talking in the other room.”

“Sure. Okay,” I reply.

“May I lend you a hand?”

I nod in agreement while grabbing the scissors and tucking them into the narrow opening in the sling.

Chris leads me down the hall to a small break room kitchen that has the fresh smell of coffee brewing. The aroma is intoxicating, bringing a flood of memories back. I’ve truly missed that smell.

We sit at the table. The young boy colors in a dinosaur book on the other side. His tongue pokes out the side of his mouth while trying to color within the lines. He pauses for a moment and glances at me. His big-brown eyes are full of life. A smile appears on his chubby face. I smile as he goes back to work.

“This is my son, Jacob, and that’s my wife, Elizabeth,” Christopher says, pointing at each of them.

“Hi, Jacob,” I say.

“Hello,” he says, continuing his quest to finish the T-Rex that’s standing nestled within the trees.

Elizabeth brings us coffee and sits the dingy-white mugs in front of us. “I hope you like it black. I couldn’t find any creamer or sugar.”

Her red hair is pulled up in a ponytail. Both cheeks are flushed. A worried expression fills her eyes, but she still manages to break a slight smile as she rubs her hand on top of Jacob’s head before walking back to the counter.

“What did you do to me in there?” I ask.

“I injected you with a serum that I’ve been working on for a number of years now,” Christopher answers–blowing at the top of the mug. “I had to sneak it out when I left. Figured it’d be good insurance someday. It’s only a small dose, but it should curb the virus for a little while.”

My brow rises in curiosity. “How long is a little while?”

“The effects that you’re seeing are only temporary, typically lasting anywhere from forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”

“And what happens when it wears off?”

“Your body will start to revert back to the way it was.”

I take a sip of the warm coffee, savoring the bitterness of the beans as I ponder what he’s saying. “You know, you don’t seem like the kind of person that would work for such a company. You and Dr. Lentz seem like good people.”

“You’ve met Dr. Lentz?” Christopher asks, his eyes lighting up with a glimmer of hope.

“Yeah, briefly. He injected me with more of the virus with the hopes that it would counteract the effects and reverse what was happening to me. As you noticed, it didn’t work.”

“Do you know what happened to him?” Christopher asks, sitting forward.

“He was–killed.”

A somber look overtakes Christopher. Both eyes grow heavy once more as he sips his coffee. He shakes his head, then says, “What happened to you and the others was not part of what Dr. Lentz and I were doing there. We didn’t realize what they were doing with the research and development until it was too late. It was supposed to be used for something else. Not twisted and manipulated like they did.”

“And what exactly was it that the both of you were working on?” I ask.

Christopher sits the mug on the table. “A cure of sorts for some of the deadliest diseases known to man. Cancer, Ebola, HIV/AIDS, and a slew of others. Ones that attack human cells and kill them. The hopes were that it would repair the damaged cells and completely eradicate the disease from the body once and for all. The company somehow mutated the strain in such a way that it violently attacks the system, shuts it down, but doesn’t kill the host—at least not in the traditional sense.”

“What possible motivation would they have to create such a virus? Doesn’t seem to be a viable solution to any problem. Nothing like what you were working on.”

Christopher nods in agreement, then shakes his finger. “That’s the million-dollar question now, isn’t it? Once I found out what they were up to, I gathered what research I could and slipped out. Dr. Lentz was supposed to leave as well. I thought he had made it out.”

“Sounds like they’ve taken a lot from both of us,” I say. “How can I get my hands on more of this serum of yours?”

The tips of Christopher’s fingers tap the side of the mug as he looks at me. “Last I heard, they were moving all of the top-level stuff out of the country and transporting it to another facility. There’s a container ship leaving Durban port in the next twenty-four hours. That’ll be your best bet to locate more of the serum.”

I take another sip of the coffee, then ask, “And once I find it?”

“You’ll need to dose out,” Christopher answers. “That’ll include the vial I’m giving you and another from the ship. It should return you back to normal in theory. The stuff Dr. Lentz injected you with was a variation of the serum that I have, but it wasn’t as refined. Thus, why the results were less than desired.”

“In theory?”

Christopher nods. “Yeah. This is all ground-breaking territory. You’re the first human to bond with the virus but not completely turn, and the first to successfully regenerate those dying cells. This proves that it does have potential.”

Jacob finishes his T-Rex. He smiles ear to ear with joyous glee as he shows the page to his dad.

“That looks so good, Jake,” Christopher says, rubbing Jacob’s head.

“I’ve never seen anyone color as good as that, hands down,” I say, adding to the praise.

“I’m going to show Mom.” Jacob grabs his book and hops down from his seat, disappearing in a mad dash of happiness.

The sound of gunfire erupts in the not-so-far distance.

Christopher’s head swivels about and he springs from his chair. He races to a boarded-up window, peering through the small opening. “We’re heading to Durban come morning. I’ve got some colleagues there that we’re going to stay with. You’re more than welcome to come with us if you like. It’s the least I can do for you.”

I watch him close, studying his body language as he surveys the streets through the blinds. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“We should be safe here until morning. There’s a small office back there with a couch. It’s not much, but it’s better than the floor or that metal slab you were on,” Christopher says, pointing to a room to his left.

I peer at the doorway leading to the office. “Thanks. I probably won’t be doing much sleeping, though.”

“In either case, it’s yours to relax in. We’ll see you in the morning, Mike.” Christopher turns away from the boarded-up window and walks away, but pauses for a second. He digs into his pocket and pulls something out. “Here, I came across this in the lab after you arrived. Not sure why I kept it all this time. Guess it was to remind me of what was being done.”

He hands me a creased photo, then leaves the kitchen.

I unfold it. It’s a picture of me and Becky standing in front of our house, smiling from ear to ear. I trace my finger over her face, gazing at her warm-red lips and enchanting eyes that stare at me. Her hair was blonde back then, and she had a tan from our recent trip to the Bahamas. Man, I miss her deeply. Now that was a good day.

CHAPTER THREE

The dawn of a new day.

I’m ready to leave this city. I didn’t sleep much, maybe a few hours at best. I mostly sat there on the couch–lost in distant thoughts of the past and what lies ahead.

The black desk’s lamplight shone on Becky’s photo while I thought of all the wonderful times we shared. I can’t help but to also think of Christopher and his family–that boy of his, Jacob, smiling from ear to ear when death is lurking outside these walls. That, in itself, is worth fighting for.

The activity in this part of the city is ramping up. The gunfire seems like it’s only a few blocks away now. The crackle of each report sounds close.

I sit up off the couch and grab my gear. Becky stares at me with that bright smile of hers. I kiss the photo and place it in the back pocket of my jeans. I head to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee pulls me in.

“Good morning, Mike. How did you sleep?” Christopher asks, glancing up from a map that’s spread across the table.

“Didn’t really sleep any,” I reply, rubbing the back of my neck and yawning.

“Me either.” Christopher looks to the boarded-up window. “I kept watch most of the night. Sounded like some of the infected were outside the building.”

I nod. “Yeah, I heard it too.”

Christopher points at the coffee maker. “If you want a cup of coffee, there’s a fresh pot. It’s the last little bit that I scrounged up out of the can, so it’ll probably be pretty weak.”

I shrugged, then yawned again. “It’s better than nothing.”

“True.”

I grab a mug from the counter and pour myself a cup. I sit down at the table and take a sip. It’s weak and has a bitter bite, but it’s better than nothing. “How far away are we from Durban?”

“Well, it’s only about a six-hour drive, barring any problems. So I’m figuring probably eight hours or so given the current state of things.”

Elizabeth and Jacob walk in with their arms full of bags and other items. She still has this look about her–eyes full of distrust.

Jacob beams with excitement as if he’s never met a stranger before. “I got a few more pages colored in last night.” He drops what he has in his arms and slings his backpack from his shoulders. He shuffles through the books and other odds and ends stuffed inside in a frenzy and pulls it out. Jacob goes to the pages he wants to show me, then hands me the book.

I study the dinosaurs that have been drawn by hand and colored in. You can tell he took his time and tried to make each one perfect. He tried his best to stay within the lines. “Wow, those are good, Jacob. I don’t think I could’ve done a better job.”

Jacob smiles big from the praise. “Thanks. I think they look awesome.”

“All right, Jake. Put it up and go find your backpack so we can get going,” Elizabeth says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are we about ready to go?” Elizabeth asks Chris. “That gunfire seems really close.”

Christopher nods. “Yeah. I got the car packed up. Just need to put that stuff in the back.”

“Okay. I’ll put this in the car and get Jake situated. Come on, big boy.”

They both leave the kitchen through a door that leads into an enclosed garage. Christopher folds up the map and stuffs it into his back pants pocket.

“Does she know that I’m coming along?” I ask, nodding in the direction Elizabeth left.

“Yeah, she does,” Christopher says, gulping down the remainder of the coffee in the bottom of the mug before him.

“Okay, just wanted to make sure. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done and can find my own way to Durban.”

“It’s no problem. Like I said, just trying to right a wrong. Besides, it would be more of a comfort to have you with us, Mike. You know, just in case things get worse than what they already are.”

I help Christopher gather up the rest of their belongings and fit them into the back of the Jeep Cherokee. It’s stuffed to the brim. The back door struggles to latch.

“Here,” he says, handing me a small-metal case.

I crack it open, finding a modified syringe and three-small vials containing a blue liquid. “What’s this?”

“More of the serum. There’s enough there for another three doses or so. Roughly nine days. It’s all I’ve got left.”

“Thanks,” I reply, slipping the case into my pack. “What about your family? Don’t you want to save it for them? You know, just in case.”

“We’ll be fine. I’ve taken steps to ensure that. Besides, you’re already infected and, like I’ve already told you, it’s the least I can do for you,” Christopher replies. “You’ll want to take the dose as late as possible to extend the effect until you’re able to dose out of it.”

An explosion goes off, rattling the building we’re in. Reports of gunfire follow right outside.

Jacob jumps in the seat. His head bounces all over and a look of terror swells in his eyes. “Mom, are the monsters coming for us?”

“Don’t worry, sweetie, everything’s going to be all right,” Elizabeth replies, in a soothing tone. She blows him a kiss and closes the door, then glances at Christopher with a troubled gaze. “We need to go, now.”

She gets in the passenger side and shuts the door.

Christopher heads for the garage door.

I speak up, stopping him. “I’ll open the door. Get in and be ready to punch it.”

I toss my gear into the back seat and shut the door.

Christopher climbs behind the wheel. He fires up the Jeep and revs the engine.

I spot a crowbar leaning against the wall and snatch it up. The dense piece of steel is wedged under my left arm. I bend down and grab the bottom of the door. I look back to Christopher who’s poised and ready behind the steering wheel. I count down in my head.

One. Two. Three.

I pull the door up hard and fast. The wheels clang and bang on the frames steel tracks. The springs tense. The gunfire amplifies ten times over.

A dead TGP soldier races around the corner of the building and makes a beeline for me. He’s missing a portion of his face, and his body is riddled with bullet holes. His arms are in mid-transformation–fingers elongated, and that putrid bile runs out of his mouth.

He tries to grab me, but I duck, grab his arm, and push him away. He runs into the wall, turns about, and comes back at me. I strike him in the head with the crowbar, snapping his neck. His head hangs to the side. It does little to curb his desire to stop. He brings his wobbling head about to face me. I ram the end of the crowbar through his eye socket.

He sputters for a few seconds before falling to the ground. I hear something behind me–heavy breathing tickling the back of my neck. I reach for the crowbar–jerking the end from the soldier’s skull.

Thud.

Another infected soldier lies face first with a knife sticking out the back of its head.

“Come on,” Elizabeth says, rushing back to the car.

I follow suit and jump into the backseat. More explosions rattle the building. Dust rains down on top of the car.

Christopher guns it.

The Jeep tears out of the garage and over the dead.

We hit the chaotic street. Gunfire whizzes past us. He jerks the wheel hard to the right. The back end fishtails as more infected appear.

“Speed up, they’re right behind us,” Elizabeth says, her voice laced with terror.

I peer back over my shoulder through a small opening in the cluttered mess behind me. The mass of dead rushing after us reaches for the Jeep as we put some distance between us.

Tears stream down Jacob’s chubby, flushed cheeks as Elizabeth tries to calm him down. She pats his legs, trying to smile and lighten the severity of the situation.

The streets are cluttered with disabled cars and rubble from bombed-out buildings. More infected lay scattered throughout, carpeting the area. I hope the infected haven’t made it to Durban.

The more we drive, the less activity from the dead we face. The company’s presence lessens, and the buildings and overall scenery are more intact and untouched by the violence. I can only hope that the remainder of the drive is as boring and uneventful as what we just went through.

CHAPTER FOUR

Christopher taps the plastic covering the gas gauge with the tip of his finger. “Looks like we’re going to make it. We might be running on fumes, but we’re going to get there.”

The noise causes me to stir in the backseat. I guess I fell asleep.

My head rests against the window. Both lids crack open to the bright sun that’s high in the sky. I rub my hand over my face, trying to wake, and peer out the window.

The landscape is desolate and void of any dead. Stray bits of grass worm their way out of the barren soil, but there’s not a body in sight. It looks as though the infected haven’t reached this far, yet. I’m thankful for that.

“Do we need to stop and fuel up?” Elizabeth asks. “I’d rather play it safe than sorry.”

“We’ll be fine. I’ve driven this stretch numerous times. Besides, I don’t really want to stop if we don’t have to,” Christopher replies.

I glance out the windshield to the skyline of a city on the horizon. “Is that Durban?”

“That it is. Shouldn’t be too much longer,” Christopher answers.

Jacob is asleep sideways in his seat. His head bobbles back and forth from the bumps in the road. His mouth is opened as he sleeps.

I gently push him back upright. He licks his lips and cracks his eyes open for just a second before going back to sleep.

The next hour or so flies by. Traffic is light as we enter the city with few cars on the road. Groups of people line the sidewalks and streets–securing boards over windows to the buildings and loading down what few vehicles appear operational with personal gear parked on the curbs.

“Doesn’t look like the city has been affected by the outbreak yet, but it looks like they’re preparing for it,” Christopher says. “I think we’ll be safe here for the time being. At least until I can figure out what our next move will be.”

“Where’s the nearest airport?” I ask.

“King Shaka International Airport. Roughly twenty-two miles north of the city. We’ve flown out of there a couple of times back to the states,” Christopher answers, glancing in the rearview mirror.

“Maybe we should go ahead and see about buying some tickets and catching the earliest flight we can. If we wait too long, it might be too late,” Elizabeth says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Christopher glances at her. “Once we’re settled, I’ll check on it.”

I can see the coast coming into view as we drive through the city. Massive container ships are docked at the port. Cranes are off-loading and loading the vessels, swinging the immense containers through the air, and placing them with precision.

Christopher points out of the windshield. “Port Durban is straight ahead.”

“What ship am I looking for?” I ask.

“The classified documents I looked over said something about a ship dubbed the Titan leaving today at six p.m. So, roughly three hours from now,” Christopher replies, weaving through the traffic.

I leaned forward and point at an open space near the sidewalk. “Pull over there. I can walk the rest of the way.”

Christopher pulls close to the curb. He shifts the Jeep into park, then glances back at me. “You sure? It won’t take but a little bit to find the right dock.”

“I am. You’ve done more than enough for me. You’ve given me a second chance and brought me this far. Besides, you need to get your family to safety. Don’t really know how long it’s going to take for the infected to make their way here.” I grab my gear and step out onto the sidewalk. I shut the door and walk around to the driver’s side.

“You’re sure about this?” Christopher asks, one last time.

“Yes,” I say, glancing over to Elizabeth. “Thank you for allowing me to tag along. I really appreciate it.”

The corner of her pink lips slides to the side. “You’re welcome. Good luck to you.”

“Same to you.”

Christopher extends his hand toward me. “Remember, the stuff I injected you with will only last seventy-two hours. Find the serum and dose out.”

I nod and shake his hand. I step away from the Jeep as he rolls his window up.

Jacob pokes his head out and looks at me. He’s still half asleep but manages to smile and wave as they drive off. I wave back.

I step back onto the sidewalk, watching as the Jeep drives down the road and disappears behind a building. My hand tugs at the strap to the gear slung over my shoulder.

I need to find some wheels and track down this vessel, I mutter.

I glance at the watch that I relieved one of the dead soldiers of and set the timer for two hours and thirty minutes. That’ll leave me roughly twenty-five minutes once it goes off. I don’t plan on cutting it that close, but want enough time in case things don’t go exactly to plan.

I head down the sidewalk and keep an eye out for a vehicle that won’t attract much attention. There are not too many parked near me. The ones that are, appear to have been ransacked with the doors ajar and the windows busted out.

I spot a vehicle parked inside a fenced-off area across the street in front of the coast. There doesn’t appear to be anyone around it that I can tell. I cross the street and advance toward the fence, giving it one more look before I decide to head inside.

A gate catches my attention to my right and down a way. It’s unlatched and cracked open. I remove the chain that’s loosely weaved in and out of the fence and go inside.

The car is facing the water. It’s beat up and showing signs of wear. Rust spots cover the trunk, roof, and a good portion of the hood, leaving the rest of the faded-maroon color less than vibrant. The windows are tinted, making it hard for me to see inside from a distance.

I remove the Glock and keep it at my side, trying to conceal it from anyone that might have a wandering eye. I approach the driver’s side and peer into the back seat. The vehicle appears to be empty except for some random junk piled on the seat.

My finger slips inside the trigger guard as I move up a bit more. I lean toward the driver-side window and squint–trying to see inside the driver’s seat. It’s hard to see through the grimy window.

There’s someone inside. A shadowy figure that I can’t make out. I’m unsure if he’s sleeping or dead. His head is tilted in the opposite direction. I give a quick look around the area for any movement.

I reach for the car handle and train the Glock at the door. My fingers pull up and open the door. He doesn’t budge. I reach for his dark-stubbled chin and notice that his throat has been cut, sliced from ear to ear. I pull his head toward me.

His eyes have been removed, leaving two hollow pits glaring at me. I lean inside the vehicle and find the keys are still inside the ignition.

I pop the trunk and grab his body. I drag the dead weight to the back and toss him into the trunk. His right arm falls to his side and a tattoo of a heart with the name Emma is inscribed under it.

I slam the hood shut and remove the gear from my shoulder. I throw it onto the passenger side, slip into the driver’s seat, and close the door behind me. I grab the keys and turn.

The engine grumbles at first, acting as though it doesn’t want to start. I let up for a few seconds before trying again. My foot pumps the gas as I turn the key. The engine spits and sputters before coming to life.

I crack the windows, allowing the rotting smell to vent. I look out over the Indian Ocean as the waves roll onto the shore. The water goes as far as the eye can see. All I can think of is making the journey home to the U.S.

Stop it, Mike. Don’t get distracted. Stay focused, I tell myself.

My head shakes, erasing the daydream. I shift the car into drive, flip around, and head out of the gate. I hang a left and merge into traffic, keeping my speed to a few miles under the speed limit. The car doesn’t act as though it wants to keep running, from the engine backfiring and transmission slipping a gear, but it keeps going, for now.

I run my elbow over the window, wiping away the buildup of grime, allowing me to get a better view of the ships. From the street, it’s hard to make them out, and I only catch a brief glimpse of the immense vessels. Containers stand in rows, ranging from two to four units stacked on top of each other.

Damn it.

I drive along the coast for some time, trying to find a way inside the port that doesn’t have as much traffic and attention. Several roads leading into the docks have men stationed near the entrances. I come across an entrance at the far end that appears to be unmanned at the moment.

I pull inside the yard and go to the right. It’s like being trapped in a maze of metal with containers stacked all over with narrow passages running the length of each opening. I don’t spot any dockworkers around. Odd.

I drive on a bit further and come to the end of the yard. The car rattles–acting as though it could die at any moment. I pull next to a building that appears to be abandoned with grass overtaking the rusted metal. I stop, shift into reverse, and back into the small garage opening.

The engine dies.

I retrieve my gear from the seat, shoulder the leather strap, and head out.

A truck of some sort blowing its horn catches my attention as it heads my way. I race across the open lot and head inside the labyrinth of containers. I hold up and take a knee as a convoy of trucks hauling containers pass by.

I race down the opposite way to the opening at the end. I pause at the edge of the container and assess the situation.

The trucks line up in a row, each one pulling under the massive cranes looming overhead. The crane’s jaws open wide as they’re lowered down, grabbing the containers from the beds, and lifting them skyward. They place each container onto the ship–lowering them down to the deck. Etched on the front of the vessel, I spot Titan written in cursive. Pay dirt.

I don’t see any more transports getting into position to be off-loaded. I need to find a way onto that ship.

Footfalls linger in the air close by.

The crunch of loose gravel tickles my ears.

Two TGP soldiers head my way.

I suck back against the metal wall–watching the soldiers. They stop, point to the ship, then point in my direction.

Damn it. Did they see me?

I can’t tell, but I hold on my position, waiting to see what they do next. My hand reaches for the Glock. The ends of my fingers tap the handle. I glance back out and notice one of the soldiers heading toward the ship, but I don’t see the other one. Where did he go?

My body is poised to strike. Each muscle is tight. I hold a bated breath, then move to the other side. My footfalls are soft with no residual noise made. I poke my head out far enough to spot a soldier coming my way. His boots slosh in the puddles. The tactical gear he’s wearing shifts with every step he makes. I’m ready to strike.

The soldier crests the container’s edge and keeps moving, making it a few steps more before I make my move. I grab him from behind and pull him into the darkness of the metal. I snap his neck with ease. Nice and quiet. I don’t hear any other soldiers scrambling, no chatter over his coms. For now, I’m golden.

I grab him under his arms and drag him in. With the last remaining transports being loaded and my options running out, there’s only one thing I can think of doing.

I strip the soldier down, removing all of his tactical gear. I can hear his coms inside his helmet going off, ordering all personnel to board the ship, as they’ll be leaving soon.

I hurry and dress.

My watch pings at the thirty-minute mark. Great.

The gear is a tight fit, and I can’t really tell if I got it all back the way it should be, but it’ll have to do. I retrieve the helmet from the ground and slip it on. I grab his gun, sling it over my shoulder, and head for the ship, but pause within a few feet.

Becky’s picture and the vials. I almost forgot them and can’t leave them behind.

I dig through my pack and find my picture of Becky and the case containing the vials, then tuck them under the padding of the suit for safekeeping.

“Echo twenty-three, what’s your location?” a voice asks over the com.

I pause for a second, then say, “Boarding now.”

“Move your ass. We’re ready to depart.”

“Yes, sir,” I reply.

The last rig is unloaded. The container is hoisted onto the Titan. I ponder what might be inside. The virus? A horde of infected chained to the walls? Weapons? The list of possible extremes seems infinite.

I advance up the bridge that leads onto the lower deck of the ship when my sides ache. A funny sensation grips me, like an out-of-body experience where I feel detached from my skin. It holds me in place.

The dark voices from the deepest parts of my mind start whispering to me.

All this running from what you are is pointless. Just give in.

How long has it been since that injection? Twenty hours? Twenty-five? I can’t remember.

“You okay, Hobbs?” a soldier says in a shout from atop the bridge.

I nod, then walk the rest of the way up the bridge.

“Shit, wait until we hit open water. That’s when the real fun starts,” he adds, chuckling. “Forty some odd days of bliss on the high seas. I hope the weather isn’t crappy.”

A voice crackles over a loud speaker. “All crew members are accounted for. Prepare for departure.”

The bridge retracts into the ship. Horns sound off.

I hunt for a place to recoup and clear the cobwebs. I can’t let this slow me down. There’s too much at stake. I have to find the rest of that serum, and fast.

CHAPTER FIVE

A trip like no other.

I keep to the lower level of the ship, hunting for a place to ride out the turmoil my body is battling. Each step is more labored than the last as I trudge through the bowels of the vessel. I come across a utility closet, set off by itself and nestled within a section of small storage containers. There doesn’t appear to be any soldiers or ship hands roaming the area that I can see.

Footfalls ping off the steel floor.

I flinch and gasp.

The footfalls draw closer to my position.

I slip inside the room, shut the door behind me, and lock it. The sound grows louder. I lean against the door, remove the stifling helmet, and take a couple of deep breaths.

The pungent odor of cleaning chemicals burns the inside of my nose. I reach out in front of me and feel a chain dangling from the ceiling. A light.

My hand grabs the chain and tugs. The light flickers, then comes to life. The steady hum of electricity flowing through the bulb fills the small room.

A small wash sink with a dingy mirror hanging crooked on the wall presents itself across from me. The bottom right portion of the mirror is cracked and missing. A copious amount of grime runs from the top-left down the side of the mirror. A hose is attached to the faucet with the other end leading to a yellow bucket filled with brown, stagnant water.

I drop the gun to the floor, reach under the gear, and retrieve the case tucked inside. My hands tremble some from the virus coursing through my veins. Hard breaths spew from my lips. I set the case on top of the rusted-metal shelf between the mirror and sink. I contemplate cracking it open and taking a dose, but refrain. Don’t want to take it too early. Got to make it last. Who knows how long it’s going to take to track down the rest of the serum.

It’ll pass. Give it a second, I say to myself. Throw some water on your face and get back on the move.

I remove the hose from the faucet, turn on the cold water, and splash my face. My hands run over my head. The cold water feels good against my hot flesh. I take a couple more deep breaths and focus my mind. The voices rattling around inside my skull ebb, then fade to a distant whisper.

I’m frightened by what I’m becoming. The creature who dwells inside me is waiting for its chance to be free. I glance up to the mirror, afraid of what I might find.

I’ve avoided anything with a reflection over the past few months. Seeing what they’ve made me into boils my blood and sets me off. I must maintain my composure, though, and stay those angry thoughts. Focus on what matters. Survival.

My appearance is devoid of any deterioration. Nothing’s changed. I lean closer to the mirror and pull the skin down under my eyes.

The pupils are normal with no hint of the black. My eyesight is coming back as well. The foggy haze is lifting. For now, things are still manageable.

I notice something hanging from a rusted hook next to me. A long-sleeved, dark-blue jumpsuit and a fitted hat with Titan Labor Crew stitched across the front.

An idea forms while staring at the jumpsuit.

I remove the gear from my body, cram it behind some boxes of Clorox toilet cleaner, and put on the suit. The hat is a perfect fit. I pull it down just above my brow. The machine gun will have to stay, as I have nowhere to conceal it. The weapon goes with the gear behind the boxes.

The picture of Becky goes inside the metal case. I give it a final kiss, stuff it inside, then slip the case inside the jumpsuit. I’ll need to be mindful of the progression of the virus and try to hedge it before it gets out of hand.

I turn off the light and open the door. The sound of waves crashing against the hull greets me. My hands worm their way into the pockets of the suit. I look to either side for any soldiers. There is none in the area.

My head tilts forward and I walk out, but hear footfalls approaching me from behind.

Keep cool.

“Hey, you,” a raspy voice says at my back. I stop. “What are you doing down here? All evening personnel are supposed to be on duty up top. Not down here.”

A soldier in the distance looks this way. His rifle rests against his padded chest.

My head remains tilted forward. “Guess I got lost. Just transferred in from another rig.”

“Turn around,” he says, his tone raising an octave. I comply, keeping the brim of the hat lowered as I turn to face him. He stares at me for just a minute–looking me over from head to toe. “I don’t recall any transfers on this trip. I’ll need to confirm.”

He reaches for his radio that’s hanging from his belt. My heart thumps harder–pulse spikes. He brings it close to his mouth and presses the button on the side when it crackles.

“Simmons, where you at? Got a problem with a door on deck five that I need you on.”

“I’m on it,” Simmons replies, into the two-way radio. “Hey, can you check the system for any transfer paperwork?”

“Why?”

“I got someone down here on the lower decks stating that he was assigned to the Titan from the local terminal here in Africa, but I don’t recall being notified of any transfer or new personnel.”

The radio clicks.

Simmons glances at me while waiting for a response.

“Well, can’t check squat right now. System’s doing a download and when we hit open water, it takes forever. I’ve been griping and complaining to update the satellites for some time, but guess it hasn’t done any good. Besides, I think I remember hearing something about some additional help for this trip. We’re shorthanded as is and this last-minute run left us needing some extra deck hands. Be thankful you have an extra body.”

“All right, thanks.” He latches the radio back to his belt and extends his right hand. “Simmons.”

“Joe.” I grab his hand and shake it. The look of mistrust fades some from his dark-toned face as he lets go.

“Sorry ’bout that, Joe. There’s been a problem here lately with stowaways. People fleeing with the recent outbreak going on and everything. Can’t be too careful. Company policy,” Simmons says.

I dismiss the apology with a wave of my hand. “No worries. Got to be extra cautious right now. Can’t let just anyone on, right?”

“True. This isn’t a cruise ship,” he says with a chuckle. “So, you on the night shift?”

I shrug. “Not sure.”

“Well, for now, why don’t you come with me? I’ll show you the ropes and all.”

“Sounds good.”

Simmons walks past me, removes the radio from his belt, and he speaks into it.

I follow behind him through the vessel. This is not what I had in mind. I need to find that serum, but blending in with these guys and being able to roam the ship without much suspicion should help.

He walks over to a table and retrieves a dirty-brown leather tool belt.

“Here, you’ll need this,” Simmons says, handing me the tool belt. It’s loaded with a hammer, screwdrivers, and other miscellaneous tools. “Good thing about this rust bucket is that there’s always something that needs attention. Never a dull moment aboard the Titan.”

“It’s that bad?” I ask, taking it from him.

“I’ve seen worse. It’ll take a beating and keep burning right along,” he says, pounding his fist against the dull-gray, solid-steel hull. “Gives guys like you and me job security. Come on, we need to head to the upper decks. Got some things that need to be checked out.”

Simmons takes the lead and heads up a narrow flight of stairs. I stay close behind, taking in every corner and hall. I haven’t seen too many other people on the ship.

The halls are silent and barren of any bodies. It could be because it’s later in the evening and the shifts have changed over.

“Okay, we’ve got a door that won’t latch on this deck and an electrical short in one of the rooms. Actually, we’ve got a lot of this type of stuff to work on tonight. Hope you got some sleep,” Simmons says.

We head down the hall and stop at an office on the right. There’s no one inside. The lights turn off, and the stale smell of cigar smoke tickles my nose.

Simmons grabs the door and pulls it closed, but the latch doesn’t catch inside the frame. He reaches for a screwdriver as his radio goes off again.

“Christ,” he mutters, ripping the two-way from his belt and bringing it up to his mouth. “Yeah. Go for Simmons.”

“Hey, we got a problem with some lights on the deck above you. Captain’s wanting you on it pronto,” the voice answers.

Simmons sighs and shakes his head. “All right, be right there.” He glances my way. “Do you think you can handle it here? It’s pretty straightforward. If you need to replace anything, there’s a storage room on the deck below us where the parts are stored. Just take the stairs at the end of the hall down. There’ll be a door labeled ship maintenance. Can’t miss it.”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” I reply, with a thumbs up.

“I’ll be back when I can. Once you have this wrapped up, check out the short down in room D12. If you need anything, there’s a phone down on the wall that’s connected to all of the ship’s communications. They’ll patch you through if you give them a buzz.”

“Copy that,” I reply.

Simmons heads off and vanishes down the hall, leaving me alone. I look at the door, then the latch, and leave it be. I need to locate the lab or wherever it is they’re keeping the serum.

I leave the door ajar and move down the hall, glancing into every room I pass. All are vacant with the lights turned off and no visible movement inside. I hear some noises around the bend. I scoot to the end of the hall and lean against the wall. My head pokes out around the blind corner and spots a bulkhead door that is partially open.

It’s hard to see what’s going on inside with my field of view blocked by the steel door. I can see some movement, but can’t make it out. Looks like TGP soldiers standing guard, but I can’t be sure.

I move out and stay close to the wall, inching my way to the opening. I can hear chatter, but can’t make it out. There doesn’t seem to be much activity going on, though.

A door opens to my right. A man dressed in a biohazard suit steps out. He’s pulling something toward him. Looks like a gurney. He lifts it over the lip of the doorframe and pulls it out into the hall. A white sheet is draped over the top, making it hard to see what’s lying underneath it.

The wheels strike a rivet in the floor, jostling the gurney. A mutated arm slips out from under the sheet. It’s not moving–motionless and absent of any twitching. The mysterious man transporting the infected body stops, grabs the decayed limb, and tucks it back under the sheet.

Pay dirt.

They must be running tests and other experiments on the infected. But how did they load the infected onto the ship? The containers that were off-loaded from those rigs at the docks? That has to be it. I want to a closer look inside there.

I make a mental note of where I am, figuring this will be a good place to start searching for the serum, and move away from the opening and back into the hall. I run into Simmons who startles me, making me flinch.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, in a huff.

“I thought I heard something rattling down this way and came to check it out,” I reply, pointing behind me.

He glances over my shoulder and rubs his chin. “Let me give you a friendly piece of advice. Don’t be too curious. Keep to your job and away from that mess in there.”

“Do you know what they’re doing in there?” I ask.

“I don’t and to be honest, I don’t really care to find out. They’re paying a shitload of money to transport those containers to the states and everybody on board is being paid their fair share. So like I said, stay out of their way, do your job, and by the time this trip’s done, you’ll be a rich man.”

The bulkhead door behind us slams shut as Simmons walks away. “Come on, we need to get back to work.”

CHAPTER SIX

The rest of the night trudges along in the bowels of the vessel.

We work on various parts of the ship–fixing the broken down and rusted components of the Titan using any means necessary. The freighter is held together by what I can only assume is duct tape in hopes that it won’t sink before reaching land. I can’t really complain too much, though, seeing as I’ve gotten a good tour of where most everything is located. That’s been helpful.

The soldiers have kept to certain parts of the vessel. I haven’t seen any more of the guys in the biohazard suits, or anyone else for that matter. It’s strange.

I can’t tell if it’s motion sickness or the virus, but I feel lightheaded–weakened to the point of not being able to function too well. I check the time on my wristwatch. It’s five in the morning.

Christ.

A night wasted.

“You okay there?” Simmons asks, his hands tangled up in a web of wires inside a panel.

I nod. “Yeah, I’m good. Just feeling a bit queasy is all.”

Simmons purses his lips and tugs on the multicolored wires. “It’s pretty choppy out here from time to time, especially on this rig. Easy for one to get motion sickness.”

“I can tell.”

The ship has been swaying back and forth all night, sending my equilibrium into a frenzy. I’ve been trying to hold it at bay. Between the virus and the motion of the ship, my body’s being battered without pause.

“Why don’t you go snag some shut-eye? The graveyard shift is always the hardest the first night,” Simmons says with a grunt.

Poor choice of words.

“You sure?”

He nods. “Yeah. Once I’m done with this mess, I’ll be calling it a night as well. Besides, I’m just glad to have an extra set of hands. I don’t want to run you into the ground on the first day.”

I set the tools I’m holding in the toolbox next to Simmons, then wipe the sweat from my brow. My head’s bubbling–beads racing down my face and clinging to my chin from the hot, humid temperature. There’s some air circulating, but not much.

Simmons yanks a handful of wires out and separates the colors. “Your cabins got a small standup shower. It isn’t much, but better than nothing. We’ll see you later this evening.”

A shower does sound inviting and might help.

I leave Simmons to his work and head down to my room. I use the hull as a crutch to keep me upright. The palm of my hand glides along the steel. I manage to stumble down the few flights of stairs and down the long hall. Numbers are listed above each of the cabins. I find mine halfway down on the right. Six.

My hand grabs the handle and cracks open the door. A stale smell greets me. My nose crinkles from the stench. It’s not inviting, but the solitude is what I’m after. I turn on the light, close the door behind me, and lock it.

The small, cramped space isn’t the Ritz or any other fancy hotel by any means. A single bed with drawers below is nestled in the corner. A tiny-plaid couch is placed under a narrow porthole with a small-oak desk to the right that finishes out the amenities. There’s just enough room to move within the meld of furniture. Not any more than that. Most of the other rooms I noticed on the way here had more than one bed. At least I have my own room without any curious eyes wanting to be nosey.

I open the door to my left. The light inside comes to life over the faded-white sink. The porcelain has a slight-yellowish tint to it. The basin is stained a dingy brown. The toilet is shoved in what little space remains. Behind the door is the shower. It looks more like a coffin.

My hands work the boots off my feet. I kick them over to the couch. I unzip the jumpsuit and retrieve the metal case from my clothes. My fingers crack open the lid and take Becky’s picture out. I run my thumb over her face. Her smile is perfection.

Soon, baby. Soon.

I set the case and picture on the beat-up desk that has deep furrows carved into the wood. Names of individuals are etched all over. Loved ones perhaps?

Don’t worry, Mike, you have me to keep you company, the voices whisper to me.

“Shut up and get out of my head.” I close my eyes and slap the heel of my palm against the side of my skull–silencing the evil within for the moment.

I removed the jumpsuit, toss it over the chair that’s pushed under the desk, and take the remaining clothes I have off. I grab the syringe from the case, load a single vial in the open slot, and head for the shower.

The voice continues speaking to me as I make my way into the bathroom. Its wicked tongue tickles the inside of my ears.

Kill everyone. Kill them all now and consume their flesh.

“No. I will not give in,” I say, muttering in contempt. “You can go to hell.”

My fingers wrap around the syringe. I plunge the needle into my forearm and squeeze the trigger. The serum floods my body. The sensation is intoxicating and euphoric.

I set the syringe on the edge of the sink, then crack open the plastic-shower door. I reach inside and turn on the water. The pipes rattle inside the walls as the water feeds through the tiny showerhead.

It’s lukewarm but will do. I shut the bathroom door and step inside. My head lowers, allowing the water to rush down the back of my neck. I take a deep breath and hold, trying to relax and get my mind focused. It’s hard, but I manage to stay the evil thoughts swimming in the black matter of my brain.

I indulge a little longer before the water turns from warm to cold, telling me it’s time to get out. I turn it off, grab the towel that’s hanging behind me, and step out onto the floor. I keep my eyes away from the mirror. Those things do nothing but distract me.

The towel wraps around my waist. I leave the confines of the bathroom and head for the bed. I can feel the serum fighting the virus, trying to hold it at bay as it pushes throughout my body. It’s a war going on inside me, fighting for my soul.

I lie down and bring my feet up onto the firm cot. The pillow is wafer-thin and feels as though the stuffing inside has been mashed into nothing. There’s just enough room for me to stretch out my legs. The tips of my toes touch the wall in front of me.

I’m spent and didn’t realize how tired I was until now. I take a deep breath, exhale, and drape my right arm over my face, reveling in the few precious seconds I have until I need to get back on the move.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Find the serum and dose out. Find the serum, Mike, and dose out.

That’s all I could think while lying here. My mind never stopped. The wheels turned inside my head as I tried to relax and rest. It wouldn’t let up, gnawing at me as much as the virus. I never got to sleep, lying there with that one single notion playing over and over again.

A loud siren blares near my cabin, jolting me from my semiconscious state. I sit up from the bed in a blink. I rip the damp towel from my waist and grab my clothes, moving fast.

What’s happening? What’s going on?

I rip open the cabin door to members of the crew racing down the hall at a hurried pace.

The intercom that’s mounted to the wall crackles. “All hands report to your stations. I repeat, all hands report to your stations.”

“Joe,” Simmons says from down the hall. “Come on. The captain wants us on the bridge.”

I merge into the river of bodies, flowing with the crew as I make my way to Simmons who’s waiting by a set of stairs. “What’s going on?”

He shrugs and climbs the steps. “Not sure. Just know that the captain requested all deck hands.”

I stay close to Simmons’s six as we fly up the stairs–rushing to the bridge.

The TGP soldiers are stationed further out on deck five with multiple-armed soldiers facing in our direction. Their weapons are held against their chest. It looks like they’ve increased security.

We rush up the last flight of stairs that takes us out onto the main deck. The ship pitches from the current of the open ocean.

Simmons opens the weathertight door. The wind howls and gusts. We step out onto an elevated walkway that leads to the ship’s bridge. Water sprays us in the face. The waves build and surge as far as I can see.

It’s late in the afternoon, 4:50 to be exact, but it doesn’t look it. The sun is gone and the clouds are thickening up on the horizon. Lightning slices down from the heavens above, thunder rumbling in the distance. I keep a good grasp on the steel railing as we make our way up the walkway, then to the bridge.

Multiple men are stationed at the different terminals. The green hue from the screens illuminates their faces as they work. The dim lights overhead flicker with every crack of lightning. A slight loss of power matches each strike.

“Oh good, Simmons,” a burly man says with a heavy southern accent. He clears his throat and takes a swig from his Best Dad in the World coffee mug. “Is this one of our new hands?”

Simmons nods, then points at me. “Yes, sir. His name is Joe.”

“Nice to meet you, Joe. I’m Captain Reynolds.” He gives me a smirk, then extends his hand. Strands of wiry salt and peppered hair grow from his scraggly beard. He reeks of aftershave and his breath has a small hint of whisky resting on his tongue.

“Sir,” I reply, shaking his hand.

“What’s going on?” Simmons asks.

“As you’ve probably noticed, we’ve got a pretty nasty storm brewing right in our path. The NAVTEX is showing some heavy winds and torrential rain,” Captain Reynolds replies.

“Nothing we can’t handle, sir. We’ve been through worse than this,” Simmons says, full of confidence.

“That’s true, sailor. Just want to make sure we’re buttoned-down and everything’s been checked over before we head into the thick of this storm. We don’t have as big of a load as what we normally haul, so this might be a rough ride,” Captain Reynolds says.

“Agreed. How can we help?” Simmons asks.

“We have a handful of containers astern of the vessel that I want checked. Just want to make sure that the lashings are still holding tight and all. There’s valuable cargo riding in those and I don’t want anything to happen to them,” Captain Reynolds replies.

“Yes, sir. We’re on it,” Simmons replies, with a nod.

The door on the opposite side of the bridge opens. Two armed soldiers march in with a bald man in tow. They step to either side of the entryway and stand at attention with weapons laced against their chest.

“Captain, may I have a word with you?” the bald man asks. His skin is pale, face barren of any hair. Both eyes sharpen as he peers around the room. I lower my head and bring the brim of the hat down even further. The soldiers he’s with look to be TGP from their tactical gear, making him an officer of some sort, I guess.

“Can it wait? I’ve got a ship to navigate through some pretty nasty weather. Besides, I thought we had concluded our discussion earlier,” Captain Reynolds shoots back, frustrated by the intrusion.

The bald man places both arms behind his back and walks toward him. He looks over the control board, then diverts his gaze to Simmons and me. “Let’s not forget, Captain Reynolds, that you have your orders from your corporate office. Your tone is sounding as if you have forgotten that.”

“No, I haven’t.” Captain Reynolds replies, staring at the bald man while taking a sip from his mug.

“Are we sure, because I could remind you of what that is?”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Captain Reynolds replies. “Gentlemen, will you please excuse us?”

Simmons pats me on the shoulder. We excuse ourselves and head for the door. I glance at the mysterious man one last time. A look of satisfaction is plastered on his smug face.

We leave the bridge and head back down the walkway. The wind has picked up–whipping about. The waves grow larger and angrier with every passing second. The pitch and roll of the ship sends the vessel in every direction. Simmons plays it cool, opening the weathertight door as we slip inside.

“Not sure how many storms you’ve ridden out at sea, but they are not to be trifled with. The goal here is to check those lashings to make sure they’re good and tight, and get our asses below deck before it hits.” Simmons opens a small metal door with raincoats and boots stacked inside. “Here, put this on.”

He hands me a pair of boots and a coat. I slip them on. There’s a flare attached to the side. “What’s the flare for?”

“In case you get knocked overboard,” he replies, while retrieving two flashlights from a wooden crate in the bottom-right corner. He turns them on and slaps them against his palm. The bulb flashes, then comes to life. “Come on.”

We head down another hall and a couple more flights of stairs before exiting the dryness of the ship’s interior to the main deck. The wind gusts–making the rain ping against my flesh like tiny lances.

The lights mounted around the perimeter of the ship try to penetrate through the stacks and stacks of containers. The cables of the onboard cargo cranes tighten and release with every roll the ship makes. The rocking back and forth makes it hard for one to keep upright.

“I’m going to check this side. You check those over there,” Simmons shouts while pointing to his left, then his right. “Make sure the lashings are good and tight. If they aren’t, we’ll need to fix it fast.”

Simmons walks off and disappears into the blackness between the containers as water explodes up the side of the ship and onto the deck, soaking me to the bone. The containers that were loaded by the soldiers back at the dock are in this general area, I think.

I head off to the side of the ship, trying to keep my footing on the now slippery deck. The rain pelting the metal makes it a bit slick and hard to keep one’s traction, but I persist. I stay close to the containers with my back flush against the wet steel. I work my way down to the end of the first row. There looks to be just a few more sections before I make it to the back.

The shadows cloak the narrow space. I make a beeline for the company’s cargo. They’re lumped together at the end of the ship. The solid black containers bleed together. I turn off the flashlight, not wanting to attract any undue attention to myself.

The overhead lights illuminate the deck just enough, allowing me to assess the situation. I scan over the area, not finding any soldiers on guard. I race across the gap between the containers and approach an open section within the steel structure.

Lightning strikes overhead, creating a brief burst of light that overpowers the dark areas.

My hands feel along the outside, trying to find anything of use that might let me know what’s lurking within. I come to the edge and feel along the backside when I notice a strange glow emitting from all the metal containers. There looks to be some sort of access panel with diagnostics readings. It’s vague and doesn’t give me much to go on, but it’s along the lines of what I thought it would be.

I wipe away the water that’s building up on the screen, and stare at the digital numeric number pad.

Thunder rumbles followed by a burst of lightning, illuminating the container’s end. There’s a metal plate with a handle off to my right that looks as though it might move. I reach for the handle and pull on it.

“What the hell are you doing back here?” Simmons says in an angered whisper. “You remember those soldiers back on the bridge? Well, this is their stuff and it is not to be messed with.”

I grab him by the scruff of his raincoat, slam him against the container. The flashlight in his hand falls to the deck. Low groans and shrills come from within the container. We both pause.

Simmons glances to the side. A look of discontent comes over him. “What–was that?”

“You don’t really want to know,” I reply.

My fingers let go of his raincoat.

Simmons backs away in a blink and scoops up his flashlight. His arms tremble. He’s stricken with fear as he tries to hold the light steady.

I slide open the hatch. The sound of metal grinding on metal echoes around me. A putrid smell of unholy measure rushes out of the opening, assaulting my nose and causing me to turn my head away.

My free hand covers my mouth and I hold my breath. I peer inside the blinding darkness.

“We need to move away from here before someone catches us. I don’t feel like getting shot or worse,” Simmons says in a frightful tone.

There are worse things than being shot and right now, I’m looking right at them. The horde of dead bodies crammed into this metal hold, clawing at the walls, and shrilling bring back a rush of horrid memories that have plagued my dreams since escaping that underground nightmare.

I back up some and skim over the other cargo holds. What if the others are filled with just as many? Every inch filled with those creatures fighting to be free. Great.

“Don’t move,” a soldier says in a loud voice as he appears from the shadows. “What are you doing back here? This is a restricted area.”

“He got lost,” Simmons replies, pointing at me. “He’s new and isn’t familiar with the ship. Plus, this damn storm is making things worse. The captain wanted us to check the lashings to make sure everything’s secure.”

The rain increases.

The howl of the wind builds as more water rushes over the sides of the ship.

Thunder rumbles overhead as lightning crackles and white veins crawl through the dark, swollen clouds.

“We need to get below, now,” Simmons says, yelling over the impending storm.

The soldier approaches me from behind, pushing the barrel of his gun into the small of my back. I shift my eyes over to Simmons, who’s trying to keep calm.

“Move out of the way,” the soldier says, shoving his rifle harder into me.

A massive wave crashes into the side of the vessel, sending a surge of water over the deck. We’re pelted and drenched.

The soldier stumbles.

I make my move.

I step to the side as he squeezes the trigger.

Fire spits from the muzzle.

The report is dulled some by the weather.

I grab the gun and knock it from his hands.

He regains his footing, then punches me in the face.

I stumble backwards. The world spins from the blow.

The soldier comes for me, grabs me by the throat, and squeezes. He’s strong, body like a damn tree trunk.

I punch him in his midsection. It does little to phase him. Streaks of water run down the front of his black visor as I dangle from his grasp.

He tosses me to the side. I hit the deck and slide on top of the water. He pulls a knife from his hip and walks my way. He manages only a few steps before a single shot rings out from behind him.

The bullet grazes his upper right shoulder, tearing through the outer most portion of his tactical gear. He doesn’t go down.

Simmons stands with the gun in hand and a look of panic and regret plastered on his wet face. The soldier sets his sights on him and lunges.

“Kill the bastard,” I say.

Simmons squeezes the trigger, firing multiple rounds. The bullets impact the soldier’s chest and tear through the back of his gear. Simmons empties the magazine in a blink.

The knife drops from the soldier’s hand as he drops to the ground. Blood pours from the bullet wounds, mixing with the water pooling on the deck.

Simmons tosses the gun away, staring long and hard at the man he just killed. More water gushes over the top of the ship. The wind rises as the ship’s pitch grows more intense.

I get off the ground and retrieve the knife. Simmons stares at the dead body with a lost look. I move the pistol from the soldier’s belt and slip it inside my boot. I notice some flashes of light heading our way. I grab Simmons by the arm and jerk him.

“Listen, you had to do it. He was going to kill us,” I say, looking back over my shoulder. They’re close, the light growing brighter. “If we don’t move now, we are as good as dead. So come on.”

He blinks and looks at me with a blank stare. He’s no killer, but that will have to change if he hopes to survive this.

We run away in the opposite direction of the soldiers, racing for the outer portion of the deck. Gunfire erupts from behind us. Bullets ping off the metal containers.

Shit.

The vessel rolls to the left, causing us to lose our footing and slide to the opposite side of the deck. We impact the metal hull–hitting with a dense thud. The cargo crane that’s mounted to the ship across from us creaks and makes a weird noise.

I glance up from my stomach and watch the base give way. “Come on. We need to move.”

Sparks fly.

Metal crunches and contorts as the crane tips over. The support beams yield, caving inward from the weight of the crane.

I help Simmons to his feet and keep moving. Something strikes me in my upper-right thigh. My leg gives. I shove Simmons forward with everything I have as the crane crashes down on the containers housing the dead.

The lashings give, breaking loose and allowing the cargo to shift and move. I try to hobble out of the way, but get caught by falling debris from the crane that pins me to the deck. A large chunk of metal rests across my waist. It doesn’t crush me but hinders me enough from slipping away.

The swaying of the ship makes the crane scrape along the deck. The containers bust open. The sound of tortured metal grinding against metal rings in my ears.

I look through the twisted-steel beams that have fallen around me. I don’t see Simmons anywhere. More water pours from the black sky and rushes onto the ship. Things have now gone from bad to worse.

CHAPTER EIGHT

My vision’s blurry–head heavy. I’m a bit disoriented and struggling to gather my bearings.

“Is he dead? I can’t tell from here,” a man asks near me.

“Why don’t you have a closer look and see? Captain told us to hurry up and see if we could find them. With the infected loose, I don’t want to be up here any longer than need be,” another man replies, in a raised tone.

“Stop rushing me. If he’s infected, we’re leaving him. Besides, if I’m not moving fast enough, then you can check on him your damn self.”

“Whatever. Just check him.”

A gush of water pelts me in the face, smothering my nose and mouth as it invades my body. I can’t breathe and lift my head from the deck. I cough, expelling the water from my lungs.

The rain is still heavy–pounding the vessel without pause. My eyelids crack open, then close just as fast.

“He looks a little roughed up, but I don’t see any bite marks or anything like that. There’s some blood coming from his side, but I’m not sure if it’s from any of those things.”

“If he was bitten then he would’ve already turned. You saw how fast Bobby changed. It didn’t take any time at all.”

“All right, if you say so. But if he bites me, I’m coming for you first.”

“Sure, whatever. Just hurry it up, will ya.”

I open my eyes again to a figure cloaked in darkness reaching for me. Visions of the dead materialize, but I’m too weak to fend for myself. The figure pulls me from the wreckage, tossing my arm over its shoulder and propping me up.

“Did you see Simmons anywhere?”

“I haven’t. He could’ve gotten washed out to sea. This guy right here is lucky he was pinned against the deck. He could’ve ended up as shark bait.”

“What was that?” one of the men asks, holding bated breath.

“Don’t know and don’t care to find out.”

“Grab his other arm and let’s get below deck.”

“What about Simmons?”

“What about him? We’ve looked everywhere that we could and didn’t see any signs of him. If we stay up here any longer, we might suffer the same fate.”

The man grumbles and sputters out some choice words as they drag me away.

I battle to stay awake but slip in and out of consciousness.

Both high-strung men bicker and argue. That’s all I can hear. I’m clueless as to where I am, but figure I’m at least below deck since I’m not being pelted by the rain anymore. I try to open my eyes and see what all the fuss is about, but the bright lights hovering above me keep the scenery cloudy at best.

“So what the hell are we going to do, Captain? We can’t stay in here forever.”

“We’ll be fine, Frank, as long as we stick together and don’t lose our heads.”

“Fine? Are you kidding me? There are literally dead people all over this ship now that are hunting us. Plus, we’ve got those armed psycho soldiers that tried to kill this guy for whatever reason. The last thing we’re going to be is fine.”

“Stow your tongue, sailor. I’m still the captain of this vessel and you will remember that.”

“Are you sure about that–Captain?”

The two men exchange glances. Tempers flare to a point of an all-out fight, but manage to keep the peace while another stands there silent with his teeth gnawing at the ends of his fingernails.

“How long have we been stuck here?”

“Too damn long, Danny.”

“I think ten hours maybe. Could be longer.”

“Captain, I think he’s coming to.”

“Where–am–I?” I ask, still feeling out of it and disoriented.

“Below deck in one of the holds.”

I’m lying flat on my back. The surface under me is hard and rigid. I lift up, then hop down from the crate I was on.

My head’s fuzzy, and aches from the gash on my upper right temple. I probe the wound with my fingers. The meat is sensitive to the touch. I reach for my leg. It doesn’t hurt that much now.

“Frank and Danny found you on the deck. Pulled you free from the wreckage. Patched up your leg too. Bullet just grazed you,” Captain Reynolds says.

“Thanks.” I glance over the room, skimming over all the unfamiliar faces. They look beaten down, haggard. “Where’s Simmons?”

“Don’t know. Can’t find him. He might have gotten swept off the deck in the storm,” Captain Reynolds answers.

“So what happened up there?” a man asks to my right. Both of his arms are laced across his chest as he stares me down. His baldhead is bubbling with sweat–eyes narrowed. His salt-and-pepper goatee has wiry strands of hairs growing in every direction. He inches closer–getting a scant inch away from me.

“Frank, cool it,” Jose says, snapping his fingers. “Give the man a break and some space.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Frank shoots back in a raised voice. “One minute everything’s chugging along just fine and the next we’re knee-deep in some horror freak show. Simmons is missing, and for all we know, dead, and this asshole right here, who none of us know at all, magically survives.”

“What are you saying?” Jose asks.

Frank unfolds his arms and a look of contempt overcomes him. I’ve seen this too many times and know where it leads–normally badly for the other guy. He’s pissed. The wrinkles in his forehead furrow–mouth taut as he takes deep, hard breaths. “What I’m saying is how do we know this guy here didn’t kill Simmons and cause all of the crap up top? I mean, it makes sense.”

“Backup off me now,” I say.

“Or what, Joe? You going to kill me like you did Simmons?” Frank asks, not moving away.

I ram my knee into Frank’s midsection–doubling him over. I grab him by the back of his sweaty-bald head and punch him–landing a right cross across his chin.

Frank stumbles backward and falls to the floor, running his mouth and spitting out figurative words at me. Jose tries to help him up but is pushed away as Frank gets back to his feet.

“You son of a bitch.” Frank charges me again.

“That’s enough, Frank,” Captain Reynolds says, pointing a small pistol at Frank’s head.

Frank stops, then glances at the captain with wide eyes. “What, you going to shoot one of your own crew in the head, Captain?”

“If I need to, yes.” The captain pulls the hammer back, keeping it trained on Frank. “You’ve said your piece and now it’s done. Take a seat and settle down.”

Frank smirks, muttering under his breath while spitting blood from his mouth. He holds up his hands, stepping back and walking away. “Yes, sir.”

Captain Reynolds lowers the hammer and holsters his pistol.

I don’t owe any of these people any sort of explanation or justification for my actions, but seeing that we’re all stuck on this boat with those things now loose I see a means to an end. I do wish I knew what had happened to Simmons, considering he saved my life and all.

“So, Cap, what’s the plan, then? I hate to admit it, but Frank’s right; we can’t stay in here forever. We’ve got no one on the bridge and we need to radio someone about what’s going on. The coast guard or whoever?” Danny asks.

The group of men hashes out their plan of attack in an otherwise bleak situation while I try to estimate how much time I’ve got left until my next dose. The effects will wear off sooner than later and when that happens, these sailors will probably want to burn me at the stake.

“Hey, Joe, what do you think?” Jose asks, with all eyes on me.

“About what?”

“Well, we’re all stuck here and everyone should have a say,” Danny replies.

“Are there any weapons on board? Guns?” I ask, looking at each of the men.

“What does this look like, a military vessel,” Frank replies, in a condescending tone. “Minus the gun the captain has on him, I’ve got a pistol in my cabin, but that’s it. It was deemed by a higher power that crew members shouldn’t be armed except for the captain. I snuck mine on.”

“Wait. There might be some in the cargo holds,” Danny says with his arm raised and finger pointing skyward. “I remember when the soldiers were off-loading their stuff, they were taking a few good size crates down there. There could be some weapons in them.”

“That’s a big if, man. Besides, that’s on the other side of the vessel. Might as well be on the moon. How are we going to defend ourselves while trying to make it over to the cargo hold? To the bridge? To anywhere with the infected roaming the ship now. The captain here has only so many shots and can’t be in multiple places at once,” Frank says.

“Look around, we’ll have to make do with what we have,” Captain Reynolds replies. “There are tools in here that we can use. Hammers, crowbars, screwdrivers. If it’s hard and blunt, it should work.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re holding the only gun,” Frank replies–cutting his eyes at him.

“Here, do you want it, Frank?” Captain Reynolds flips the pistol around with the grip facing Frank. “I can make do with a hammer.”

“Nah, that’s okay. Was just saying,” Frank replies.

“So what happens if no one’s on the bridge?” I ask.

“The ship runs on autopilot, but there still needs to be someone monitoring the helm. It’s a big ocean out there, but a lot of stuff can happen, like the storm we’re caught up in or running into a shipping lane of another vessel. Adjustments have to be made on the fly, and they aren’t done automatically,” Captain Reynolds replies. “There has to be someone there.”

“Where’s the radio?” I ask.

“On the bridge as well. We can send a distress signal out and see if the coast guard will pick it up,” Captain Reynolds answers, lowering the pistol.

“All right,” I say, looking at each of the men. “One group needs to go for the bridge and another needs to head to the cargo hold. Agreed?”

The doubt on their faces is heavy–littered with question marks and ways of trying to offer up an alternative. But none comes forth.

“I’m in,” Jose says.

“Me too,” Danny adds.

I glance over to Frank who’s still got a scowl on his face. His brows slant inward–gaze fixed on me. He still looks pissed.

“What say you, Frank?” Captain Reynolds asks, as all eyes turn toward him.

“I say you bastards are going to need all the help you can get if we hope to have a chance of surviving this,” Frank answers, pointing at everyone.

I nod, then say, “All right, then. Let’s weapon up.”

CHAPTER NINE

The virus is loose once more and the dead now roam the ship. Between the infected and the TGP soldiers, I’ve got my work cut out for me.

Hammers, screwdrivers, and a crowbar. That’s our weapons of choice. It’s better than nothing. I also came across a box cutter that should come in handy.

We’re a rag tag bunch of men, setting out into dangerous waters with basic tools. If this isn’t gumption, I don’t know what is.

“Danny, what the hell are you doing with that on your back,” Frank asks, pointing at Danny’s back.

“What, the torch?” he replies, sliding a hammer and screwdriver through his belt loops. “Do you know how hot these things burn? Shit. It will melt flesh like butter. Same goes for those soldiers’ gear.”

“Better hope they don’t shoot you first,” Jose says, snickering. “They do have weapons that shoot bullets, you know.”

“Yes, I know that,” Danny replies.

I pick up a crowbar and find a nail gun buried in the bottom of the toolbox I’m looting. It’s fully stocked with nails.

“How did that get in here?” Jose asks. “Does it even work?”

I take aim at a crate across the room and squeeze the trigger. Multiple nails rattle off, hitting the wood with tremendous force.

Jose nods. “Okay, then.”

“We ready?” Captain Reynolds asks.

“About as ready as we’re going to be,” Frank says in a less than excited tone.

“Frank and Jose, did you want to go with the captain here to the bridge while Danny and I check out that cargo hold?” I ask the group.

Both men nod, wielding their hammers and crowbars. Danny retrieves a handful of two-way radios from their cradles. “Might be a good idea to take these to stay in touch.” He hands one to me and the other two to Jose and Captain Reynolds.

“We’ll be on channel two,” Captain Reynolds says as he adjusts the dial at the top.

I change ours over and set it down, unzip the jumpsuit, and tie the arms off behind my back. I remove my shirt, leaving the dingy-white tank. It’s hot and my skin needs to breathe some.

“What the hell happened to you?” Jose asks, looking me up and down.

I can feel all eyes in the room staring at the scars on my arms, but I pay it no mind. “A bad stream of luck the past few months.” I snap the radio to my hip.

Jose shrugs. “If you say so.”

I set my weapon down on the crate near me and approach the door. The side of my head presses against the metal, listening for any movement.

“It’s been quiet out there for the last few hours,” Danny says from behind me.

My hands grab the wheel and twist. The latches squeak with every turn. It’s loud and hopefully won’t attract any of the infected. I try to open the door, but something feels like it’s in the way.

“What’s wrong?” Jose asks.

I push against the door, but it doesn’t budge. “Don’t know. The door feels jammed or something.”

Jose comes up next to me and helps me push. We manage to force the door open far enough for us to squeeze through.

I poke my head out with the nail gun trained ahead and peer down both stretches of corridor. It’s empty–no sign of the infected or soldiers.

“Well?” Danny asks.

“So far, it’s clear.” I put the weight of my body against the door and push some more, trying to give me a little more room to check behind on the other side. It gives enough, allowing me to step out and see what’s in our way.

It’s one of the ship’s crew members. He’s been ravaged by the infected. Half of his legs are missing and spots of flesh from his neck and face have been chewed off. His right arm is stretched out–femur exposed as his hand grips the door handle.

He’s already well into the change. Both eyes are black as the stormy night sky and what remaining skin he has is decaying fast. He rolls his head toward me–mouth open. A slight growl escapes through his clenched teeth.

“Oh man, Jones,” Jose says with a saddened tone as the others file out into the corridor.

“Dear God,” Captain Reynolds adds, placing his hand over his mouth.

“Is that what happens when you turn?” Danny asks.

“Depends on how the virus reacts to you. It affects everyone differently,” I reply.

“And you brought this plague onto our ship. Put our lives at risk, and for what?” Frank grabs Captain Reynolds by the scruff of his sweat-stained brown shirt and shoves him against the wall. Jose and Danny grab Frank from behind and try to pull him free.

“I got my orders and followed them same as everyone else here,” Captain Reynolds shoots back in a raised voice. “Now get your damn hands off me.”

“Yeah, and those orders are going to kill us all, you asshole,” Frank says, sounding more beast than man. “That bullshit manifest never mentioned any of those things. Thanks to you, we’ll probably all die on this God-forsaken rust bucket.”

“Frank, let it go. Now is not the time for this,” Jose says, while he and Danny continue to try and break them up.

I take aim at Jones’s head and fire. Multiple nails burrow deep into his skull, killing him.

The men stop fighting.

Frank lets go of Captain Reynolds’s shirt as they look my way.

“The quickest and easiest way to take the infected out is by blunt force trauma to the head. Kills them instantly. Anything other than that is just going to piss them off,” I say.

Frank points at Jones. “You see that, cap? That’s on you. Jones was a good man, and now he’s dead, because of you,” He jerks his shoulder away from Danny and Jose. “Get your damn hands off me.”

“How many more crew members are aboard this ship?” I ask Captain Reynolds. He stands there, eyes heavy with sorrow as he looks on at Jones’s dead body. “Captain?”

“I–I’m not sure. Maybe twenty or so,” Reynolds answers, with a stutter.

“Why does that matter?” Jose asks.

“Because that’s roughly twenty additional problems we could be facing if they’re infected,” I reply.

“Captain, look out,” Jose says, shouting, as another infected emerges from the staircase, and saunters our way. Its body is decomposed with skin sagging and its flesh a dingy-pale color. Its teeth are jagged, and the one eye it does have rolls in every direction.

It reaches for the captain, stretching its arm out toward him. Its boney fingers grab at the air, blood oozing from its lipless mouth. It moans, sounding like a gasp.

Captain Reynolds backs away. Terror fills his face. He fumbles with his gun.

I hold my hand up. “No, you need to conserve what ammo you have. You’re going to need it.”

Jose pushes the infected back and jams his long-handled screwdriver into the base of its neck, right above the collarbone. Blood squirts out, hitting him in the face as it turns its attention to him.

The creature stumbles and falls forward, catching Jose and taking him down. Blood continues to pump out of the wound, bathing Jose.

“Will someone get this damn thing off me?” Jose says, pushing up.

I strike the creature, with the crowbar in my other hand, in the back of the head, cratering its skull. Chunks of bone and flesh cling to the crowbar’s edge. The squishing of its brains being mashed overpowers its moans. It goes limp on top of him.

Jose presses the dead weight off him, throwing the mutated body to the side in a fit of rage. I extend my hand and help him to his feet. The creature’s blood drips from his face.

“You all right? It didn’t bite you or anything did it?” I ask.

“No, I don’t think so,” Jose replies, shaking his head. He takes off his button-down shirt and wipes the blood from his face.

I do a quick once over, scouring his body for any bites. His white tank is ripped and torn, scratches covering his arms and sides. I haven’t seen anyone turn from being scratched, but that doesn’t mean it can’t happen.

Jose lowers the shirt from his face. “Thanks for the assist. The infected are crazy strong for being dead.”

“Don’t underestimate the lengths those things will go to attack you,” I reply. “If you have a pulse, then you’re fair game.”

“Right. I’m glad someone stepped in before it got me.” Jose glances at the others with a scowl.

“What? You had that,” Frank replies.

“You hesitate, then you’re as good as dead. The best thing we can do is stay clear of them and watch out for each other,” I say, peering at each of them. “If you find you can’t get away, then, make sure you kill them before they kill you. If you hope to survive this voyage, this is paramount.”

A multitude of shrills echo through the corridor, sending everyone into a panicked frenzy. Our heads swivel, looking in every direction for the infected. It’s hard to tell where it’s coming from as the noise dissipates.

“Get to the bridge and stay there. Don’t let anything or anyone inside,” I say while scanning the corridor.

“Christ.” Jose grabs the screwdriver poking out from the infected’s chest, pulling it free from its sagging flesh. He wipes the blood clean from the tip with his wadded-up shirt.

“What?” I ask.

“The engine room,” Jose answers. “Someone’s got to go down there to make sure everything’s running all right. We’ve been having some issues with the generators and the electrical system. If that goes belly up, then we’re really screwed.”

“The report I was given before departure stated that all systems were good to go and any notated issues could wait till we docked next,” Captain Reynolds says. “Is this not the case?”

Jose looks at Captain Reynolds. “It was fixed, but I’m not sure whether it’ll hold up in this rough weather without any issues. This tin can has been around the block a lot and it’s getting harder to keep it together.”

More shrills ring out. The noise grows closer with each passing second. We have to move.

“Go and monitor it. Radio us if there are any problems,” I say.

Jose nods, then vanishes down the staircase in front of him. His boots beat against each steel step as he disappears.

“You better keep up, old man,” Frank says, at the captain. “I don’t plan on dying on this ship, and I’m damn sure not looking to play hero, so you better move that ass.”

Another infected appears from the hall behind us. It stops, then faces. It’s breathing heavy. Both spiked arms flex with every deep breath.

“How do we get to the cargo holds?” I ask, watching the creature.

“It’s that way,” Danny replies, pointing in the direction of the creature.

Two more creatures flank the other infected. Crap.

The virus deep inside of me whispers in my ear again. It beckons me to just give in and let it consume my mind, body, and soul.

“Get out of my damn head,” I say, muttering through clenched teeth and closed eyes. It’s growing stronger and my time is running out.

“What the hell are we going to do, Joe?” Danny asks, through quivering lips.

“Is there a different way we can go?” I shoot back.

“Yeah, but it’s going to take a lot longer.”

“Better that than dealing with the infected right now. Move.”

The infected shrill and spring into action. They race down the corridor with a lustful gaze beaming from their darkened pupils. I squeeze the trigger, rattling off nails that impact the lead infected creature in the chest and abdomen. They burrow deep, but do little to slow it down. Bile and other liquids ooze out from the wounds and slowly drip down, clinging to its moist flesh.

We fly down the staircase. Our boots hammer the steel beneath us. Danny bobs and weaves through the many twists and turns of the tight corridor we’re traversing. The portable pack bounces up and down on his back with every step he takes. He stops.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, flanking him.

“I–I’m trying to remember which way to go,” he replies, lips trembling with fear.

The infected are still in pursuit. Their heavy moans stay on top of us.

“Come on, Danny. We need to move, now.”

“This way, I think,” Danny replies, pointing down the corridor to our left.

We’re back on the move as the infected emerge from the corridor behind us. They shrill, bumping and ramming into each other.

The portion of the ship we’re in is dark except for some red bulbs encased in steel that washes everything out in crimson. My eyesight adjusts to the low light. The green hue comes into focus.

We turn a corner and hit a dead end.

“Damn it,” Danny says, slamming his hands against the wall. “We should’ve taken a right back there.”

We don’t have time to backtrack. The infected are closing in.

A set of doors catches my eye close by.

“Here, let’s try these doors.” I grab the steel wheel and try to turn it, but it doesn’t budge. I try again. Still nothing. I head for the next one as one of the creatures comes into view. “Danny.”

“I think I got it.” Danny strains to turn the wheel, but it moves. The gears squeak with every ounce of force he uses to spin it open.

The creature rushes headlong down the corridor, shrilling at the top of its lungs. Its mouth slags open.

I try to get a bead on its head with the nail gun but struggle to do so.

“Almost got it.”

Fluids leak from the infected’s open wounds and drips to the floor. Its spiked arms swing in every direction. I take my shot. The nails find their mark, penetrating the squishy-sweet spot right above its brow. The creature stumbles and slams into the wall, falling lifeless to the floor and stopping right at the tips of my boots.

The other infected track us down, cornering us like rats in a maze with nowhere to go. I fire the nail gun, but it jams. Screw it.

I stand alongside Danny and we both turn the wheel. It hesitates at first, but gives more and more with every muscle we throw at it.

The infected take off in a mad dash–sprinting hard. They collide into one another.

“Keep turning,” I say.

We don’t let up, spinning the wheel as fast as we can. The door pops open. Danny slips in first with me following. I grab the inside handle and pull. It’s almost shut when one of the creatures reaches for me.

Its spiked appendage slips through the narrow opening. Its fleshy, gray-toned face is pressed against the bulkhead door. Blood oozes out from its rotting teeth as it moans and stares at us. The creature swings its arm in every direction. The sharp, boney edge almost catches me, but I manage to keep my distance by staying close to the door.

I keep pulling, unsure how much longer I can hold the infected at bay.

My grip gives–arms weaken. I pull back even harder. The door digs into its skin, slicing through its meaty arm as it continues its pursuit.

Danny reaches down with his torch and holds it at the creature’s face. The light-blue flame cooks its flesh. The skin parts and melts away.

It shrills loud, thrashing to escape. The smell is paralyzing. Chunks of rotted meat drip to the floor. It releases its hold on the door, and removes its spiked arm, allowing me to slam the door shut.

“Well, that was intense,” Danny says, gasping for air.

“Yeah. Good times,” I reply, lying there on my back and taking a breather. “You okay?”

“Peachy. I knew this would come in handy.” Danny turns off the portable torch as we sit there on the floor. We both stay silent, collecting our thoughts and calming our nerves. The voyage from hell and I’m just thankful that I caught a ride. “So, what do we do now?”

CHAPTER TEN

The seconds go by like hours.

The infected remain vigilant, shrilling, and pounding away at the door. I’m not as concerned about them breaching the bulkhead as I am about us being trapped in what seems to be some small storage room.

Every minute that passes, the virus gains in strength inside of me. I can feel my body losing the good fight–succumbing to the whims of the infection.

My breathing is labored, pulse racing, and more demented thoughts flood my mind. I try to focus on Becky, but the virus twists and distorts my thoughts, creating delusions of her being ripped apart, or worse yet, becoming one of them.

“You okay, Joe?” Danny asks. “You’re not going to die on me, are you?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Just feeling under the weather is all.”

“You’re not a very good liar.” Danny sits across from me, studying my face. “My ex-wife used to say the same thing when she was hiding something.”

“You look really young to have an ex-wife.”

Danny shrugs. “Kind of what happens when you marry really young. That and she decided it was cool to sleep around on me when I was at sea. With my best friend no less.”

“Doesn’t sound like a good friend.”

“Yeah well, live and learn I guess.”

We fall silent once more, but I can still feel him looking at me. He’s trying not to make it too obvious, diverting his gaze when I crack open my eyes. I contemplate laying it all out for him, but I don’t think he’ll be able to handle it. I’m not sure anyone can.

The rapping at the bulkhead door ceases. Silence looms from the other side of the bulkhead door. Perhaps the infected have grown tired of their relentless pursuit of us.

I sit up and rub my hand up and down my face, trying to shake the uneasy feeling away.

“You think they gave up?” Danny asks.

“Don’t know. They’ve been at it for a while. It’s possible.”

Danny gets to his feet and walks over to the door. He places his ear against the steel and listens.

“Hear anything?” I ask, watching his face.

Danny shakes his head. “Not really, but this door is really thick and could be muffling any sounds.”

“Let’s give it a minute just to be safe,” I reply. “They tend to linger at times.”

For the next little bit, we sit around and chat. It’s stifling hot in this room. The sweat bubbling on my brow and Danny’s looking much the same.

“Wanna try now?” I ask.

Danny nods. “Yeah. I’m ready to clear out of here.”

He reaches for the handle and pulls it down. The door unlatches. He takes a deep breath, cracks it open, then peers out into the corridor.

“Well?” I ask, waiting for a report.

“I think they’ve–Christ,” Danny yanks the door back and closes it as one of the infected shrills and rushes us. He seals it just in time. The rapping of the dead beating at the bulkhead once more fills the small storage room.

“Damn it. Why are they still out there?” Danny kicks a stack of boxes, toppling them over. He runs his hands over his sweaty forehead. His greasy hair is matted to his head. He huffs and puffs.

I’m ready to talk him down some when I notice a rather large grate on the wall that’s close to the floor. “Where does that lead?”

Danny moves off to the side and looks down. He tosses the boxes, in front of him, out of the way and clears a path to the grate. “What? The crawl space? It runs throughout the ship. Why?”

It takes a couple of seconds for the light bulb to spark above Danny’s head. He doesn’t seem too keen on what I’m suggesting, staring down at the wall while his foot taps the floor.

“You want us to get in there? Do you see how tight that is?” he says, pointing at the small opening. “I’m not even sure we’d fit.”

I glance at the opening and say, “Looks big enough to me.”

“I don’t know if it is or not. Can’t say that I’ve ever had the pleasure of crawling through a damn crawl space before.”

I sigh, then point at the bulkhead door. “I don’t see too many other options here for us. They’re still out there and we’re trapped in here. If you’ve got another idea, then I’m all ears.”

Danny mutters something under his tongue. “Man, this day keeps going from bad to worse.” He grabs my hand and helps me to my feet.

We clear the rest of the boxes from in front of the grate and place them in front of the bulkhead door. I take the crowbar and wedge it between the wall and grate and yank down.

The metal rips free from the opening. The noise stirs the infected on the other side. Fists hammer the steel door.

“Does this run through the cabin area for the crew?” I ask, studying the low light of the opening.

“I believe so, but I’m not sure. If it doesn’t, it should be close. Why?”

“I’ve got some meds in my room that I need to take,” I answer.

Danny examines my face. “Yeah, you’re looking a bit green under the gills. It’s not contagious, is it?”

“Not sure.”

“Fair enough.” We both stand there for a moment, looking at one another before I tilt my head toward the opening then back to Danny. “I’m taking it that you want me to go first into the tight cramped space, huh?”

I nod. “I would, but I don’t know where I’m going. Besides, you seem to know your way around the ship pretty well.”

“Yeah, the ship. Not the crawl space.” Danny removes the portable torch from his back and lowers it down on the floor. He slides it in first, then pauses. “Man, this is some straight-up bullshit.”

“Believe me, there are worse things that can happen,” I reply.

“Thanks for that.”

The radio on my hip crackles.

Jose’s panic-stricken voice breaks through the static. “I’ve got the engines stable for now, but I’m not sure how much longer they’re going to hold together.” A shrill sounds in the background of the radio. Jose’s tone is stressed. He sounds trapped. “The infected found their way down to the engine room. I was able to get the engines running steady before they trapped me.”

“Where are you?” I ask, glancing at Danny.

Jose takes a deep breath. “Held up in an office right across from the engines. Not sure how many are out there, though.”

“All right, hold tight and we’ll see what we can do.”

“Roger that.”

The radio goes silent. I slip it back onto the edge of my pants.

“I think we’re pretty close to the engine room. Shouldn’t take long to make it down there,” Danny says, as he slips inside the crawl space.

“We’re not going down to the engine room.”

He pauses, peering back over his shoulder and eyes narrowing in on me. “Why not? He needs our help.”

“Without those weapons, we’re not going to be much use to anybody. Besides, we have no clue how many are down there, and we could be walking into a shit storm unarmed.”

“So what, we just leave him down there to fend for himself?” Danny asks.

“For now, yes,” I reply. “He knew the risk of heading down there as did we all with what we’re doing. Our best shot of surviving this is if we get our hands on that weapons cache. I’m sorry, Danny.”

“And what if I’m wrong about what might be in those crates in the cargo hold? Say there’s no weapons or anything of use in them?”

“Let’s just hope there is.”

Danny falls silent, shaking his head in disgust. He dips back into the crawl space and works his way inside. His legs vanish into the vent.

“You coming?” he asks, calling out from the vent. “Remember, this was your brilliant idea.”

I grab the crowbar and slip inside. It’s a tight fit for sure, but one that seems doable for now.

Danny’s irritated. He sighs and breathes heavy, but he keeps it in check. I’ve got respect for the crew on this ship. They’ve handled this nightmare as best they can.

After a short period of being inside of the vent, this tight sardine can feels more like a coffin. There’s no airflow and our bodies are generating a lot of extra heat that’s making it harder to breathe.

The voices in the back of my mind continue to work on me, chatting me up nonstop.

Kill him, Mike. Feed us. We’re hungry.

I manage to suppress their horrid suggestions, for now, distancing myself as far away as I can from their pleas. In the end, I know, no matter how far I try to run, they will catch up to me.

“I think the crew quarters are just ahead.” Danny’s voice echoes from the belly of the ship.

It’s a slow-going process army crawling through this tight space. The crawl space pops and creaks from our weight. It’s creating more noise than I would like, but at least we’re on the move again and not within those things’ reach.

Screams and shrills can be heard here and there, I wonder if Captain Reynolds and Frank have made it to the bridge. We haven’t heard anything else from anyone. The radio is void of any chatter. I’m trying to be optimistic, figuring that they made it and that they’re just keeping a low profile, but with the infected on the loose and the soldiers still a possible threat, I’m not so sure.

The impact from the waves crashing into the side of the ship is magnified tenfold inside the crawl space, smashing us against the edges with every shift. The storm must still be churning something fierce. The pressure pressing against the hull feels intense.

“This isn’t good,” Danny says in a whisper.

“What?”

“Take a look.” He moves up some and stops.

There’s a vent covering right behind his boots. I peer down through the metal slits and spot two infected pass under us. They pause.

Their heads slag back–noses testing the air as if they’ve picked up our scent or something. They look moist–skin wet and glistening that emphasizing the gashes and deep folds covering the exposed portions of their bodies.

I slip back down, moving away from the vent as they look our way. “Don’t move a muscle.”

Danny complies and holds his tongue.

I peer through the vents and find that the infected are gathering right below us. I don’t know where my cabin is from here. Doesn’t really matter now anyways. With the infected down there, I’d be hard-pressed to slip in and out without being noticed.

Damn it.

There’s no use waiting here any longer. “All right, let’s–”

The radio on my hip crackles. Static echoes through the crawl space. I scramble to turn it off. The boisterous noise reverberates through the metal enclosure. I kill the sound, then lay prone on my stomach as my heart races. I’m not sure if the infected heard it or not.

We hold our position for a few minutes, waiting to see if the radio gave us away. There is nothing but the sound of our lungs trying to breathe in this tomb. That was close. Time to move.

“All right. Let’s–”

A spiked arm tears up through the crawl space, slicing through my dingy-white shirt. The tip misses my flesh by a scant inch. The creature pulls it down and thrusts up again. The boney appendage appears right in front of my face, covered in blood and skin stuck between the pointed ridges. I try to keep calm and not make a sound.

Danny thrashes against the metal walls, trying to scurry away.

The infected shrill, going berserk. We’ve been made. I forget about the vials for the time being and focus on surviving.

We’re back on the move, dodging the infected attempts to strike a blow. The sound of gunfire echoes down the vent. Danny stops ahead of me, keeping still as more reports sound. It’s moving closer.

I worm my way up to another grate and find TGP soldiers moving in with their weapons drawn. They open fire. The muzzle fire from the end of their guns illuminates their black-faceless helmets in a fiery-orange glow.

The noise pounds on our eardrums. The metal amplifies the volume, splitting my head in two.

“What the hell is going on?” Danny asks, yelling over the gunfire.

I wave my arm–motioning for him to go. “Just keep moving.”

An infected crew member lunges for one of the soldiers. Bullets tear through its spongy flesh as it takes the soldier down.

The creature mounts him. The soldier fights back, pushing against the infected’s chest to keep it from biting him.

Bullets continue to pound the infected, tearing through the back of its uniform. A lone bullet strikes it in the forehead, blowing its skull open and spraying brain matter all over the floor. The soldier tosses it from his waist, then sits up.

A portion of his suit is torn. Blood seeps through the opening and drips to the ground. He removes his helmet, probing the wound with the tip of his finger.

“You okay?” a tall and stout soldier asks, advancing toward him. A deep scar runs from the corner of his right eye down to the bottom of his chin. His head is shaved in a buzz cut and blocked off on the top.

“Yeah. I think I got caught in the crossfire. Doesn’t look bad, though,” the soldier answers, showing the wound to him.

“Well, you know what the protocol is, now. Any wounds sustained while in contact with the infected have to be checked out and cleared,” Buzz cut says.

“I’m fine, really,” the soldier replies, retrieving his weapon from the ground. “It’s just a stray round that tagged me is all.”

“Again, you know what the protocol is. This isn’t up for debate,” Buzz cut says again with a sharp, stern tone.

Two more soldiers come up from behind, grabbing the soldier by the arm as more press on toward the infected.

“You know they’re running tests and shit on non-infected people, right?” the soldier says, raising his voice.

Buzz cut nods. “Yes, but that’s only non-TGP personnel, and that’s supposed to be classified. All company personnel that are infected with the virus will be taken care of accordingly.”

“Yeah, how so?” the soldier shoots back, tugging on his arm.

“Listen, the details of this operation were disclosed to you as well as the inherent risks of dealing with the infected. If you no longer wish to continue your service, we will happily part ways now,” Buzz cut replies. He shifts the pistol clutched in his hand. His gaze is firm and directed at the other soldier.

The soldier gulps and stops tugging his arm. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Good. Take him away.”

The men standing at the ready comply, escorting the wounded soldier off. The gunfire ebbs as they keep the infected in tow. We keep still, waiting for the remainder of the soldiers to trail off before we continue on.

Buzz cut towers over the dead crew member. He places his boot on its arm and flips it over–flat on his back. There’s a gaping hole in its head. Blood oozes out from the back of its deformed skull. He bends down, grabbing it by the chin and moving its head from side to side.

I’m clueless as to what he’s looking for.

“Still nothing, sir,” Buzz cut says aloud.

“Joe, let’s beat it while we can,” Danny says, in a worried tone.

“Roger that. We’ll keep looking for him. The ship is only so big and there are only so many places he can hide,” a voice replies, from what sounds like a radio.

Buzz cut stands up. He holds still for a few seconds before looking skyward. One of his eyes is a milky white. The other is a crystal-blue color. I can’t tell if he sees me or not, but I stay still. He diverts his gaze and walks off, leaving me with a mound of questions.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

What was that all that about?

I’m lost in confusion–mind wandering about who Buzz cut was talking about. Could it be me? Do they know I’m on the ship? I’ve kept a low profile and my head down for the most part.

Damn it.

I can’t think straight. I need out of this metal maze. The walls are closing in around me.

Keep it together, Mike. Don’t lose yourself to this. Fight it.

I tell myself that, but it’s getting harder to do.

“How much farther we got?” I ask.

“Should be up here I think,” Danny answers, breathless.

We crawl for a bit longer before coming to the end of the line. I rub my hand up and down my face, trying to regain my focus.

“Looks like we lucked out. It’s the end of the line for us. Not sure where their stuff is, though, so we’ll need to look through everything,” Danny says, taking a deep breath and wiping the back of his hand across his brow.

“Any sign of those soldiers or the infected?”

“Not that I can see, but it’s pretty dark in there.” Danny scoots out of the vent in a hurry.

I crawl out onto my hands and knees as Danny straps the portable torch to his back. It’s quiet, minus the sound of the waves crashing against the hull and the wind howling like a banshee.

The storm continues to pelt the vessel. Even inside it sounds just as clear and rough as it did on deck–exposed to the elements.

I get to my feet and take a couple of deep breaths before the voices I’ve managed to ignore break in.

Stop ignoring us, Mike. We’re not going anywhere. Why haven’t you killed him yet?

“Yeah, let’s not do that again,” Danny says, staring at the opening of the vent.

“Hey, it got us here, didn’t it?” I reply, wiping the beads of sweat from my face with the palm of my hand.

“Barely.”

“If you have a pulse, then, I consider that a win.”

“How are you holding up?” Danny asks. “You aren’t sounding too good.”

“I’m hanging in there. I’ll be fine.” My eyes adjust to the darkness. The green hue takes hold. It’s weak and not strong now, but it’s enough to let me pierce the veil of blackness.

“Christ. Wish we had a flashlight or something. These overhead security lights aren’t putting off a damn bit of light. The main lighting system is down there, inside a small office just to the left,” Danny says, pointing ahead of us.

“I don’t think that would be such a good idea. We don’t really want to attract any undue attention. Better if we can slip in and out unnoticed.”

Danny grouses. “Then how do you propose we find it? I can’t see very well in the dark, man. I’m not a cat.”

I tap the portable torch. “Use the torch.”

Danny twists the knob on top of the cylinder, then strikes the spark lighter at the end of the brass fitting. It takes a couple of tries, but he finally ignites the tip. He adjusts the output of the blue flame, honing it to a narrow bead. It sheds enough light for us to have a good idea of what we’re looking at. “I think the tank is running low. Not sure how long this is going to keep burning.”

“Just needs to go until we find that weapons cache.”

“You’re pretty optimistic.” Danny holds the handle out in front of him. “Glad one of us is.”

“I’ve been through a lot here recently. Trying to stay positive is all I’ve got.”

“Well, you keep positive for both of us, then.”

The ship creaks and makes all sorts of noises in the dead silence. It’s hard to tell if it’s just the ship giving against the ocean or something else lurking in the deepest part of the shadows within the storage containers.

I grip the crowbar a hair tighter, brush my arm over my face, and wipe the sweat and grime from my brow. My skin feels hot, more so from the virus, I think than anything else. The fever will eventually subside, I hope.

We stop at each section. Danny waves the torch’s flame in front of the cargo to see what’s contained inside. The security lights flicker overhead, diming and coming back to life.

“Okay, I think this is it,” Danny says, focused on the concealed goods before us. “When this pallet was loaded onto the ship, those soldiers were sticking really close to it.” He grabs the corner of the tarp that’s covering the pallet, lifts it up, and pulls the flame closer. TGP is stamped on the outside of the long, narrow crates. “Pay dirt.”

I remove the straps holding the crates in place on the pallet.

Danny rips the tarp free and tosses it to the side.

I ram the claw end of the crowbar just under the narrow crack on the top crate. I pry the lid open. The wood gives and creaks as I push up–revealing what’s inside.

Danny holds the flame over the guns stowed in the crate. “Wow.”

“Yeah, grab what you can.”

Danny digs in, grabbing one of the black, matte-finished pistols while I pry open the lids from the other crates. He stands there, a look of awe smeared across his face as his eyes run the length of the barrel.

“You ever use one of those things before?” I ask, searching through the cargo.

Click.

I stop what I’m doing. An unsettling notion comes over me. I turn to face Danny.

He’s got the pistol trained at me. His hand is jittery and shaking with his finger hovering over the trigger.

I raise my hands into the air and remain still. “Let’s take it easy. We’re on the same side here.”

“Are we?” he asks, a hint of skepticism flooding his tone. “Not from where I’m standing.”

“What are you talking about?”

Danny brings the blue flame from the torch up to my face, holding it in place as he stares at me with a peculiar expression. He moves it from side to side, that curious glint in his eyes turning to un-trust and terror.

“Listen, I can explain this.”

“Yeah, I’ve been hearing that since all of this started,” Danny replies. “I knew there wasn’t something right about you from the get-go.”

“Just keep calm.”

“I am calm,” he replies, bringing the pistol closer to my head. “You want me to stay calm yet you look more and more like those things chasing us. You need to start explaining now and tell me what the hell is going on.”

I sigh, then say, “All right, I’ll explain. Can you please lower the gun?”

Danny adjusts his hand on the grip and keeps the weapon pointed at me. “Not a chance.”

I point at the side of the pistol. “Well, you might want to take the safety off.”

Danny cuts his eyes to the pistol for a brief second, giving me my window to strike. I bring my hands down and grab the barrel, pulling it free from Danny’s grasp, and flip it on him.

“Whoa.” A petrified look of horror washes over Danny as he raises his hands in the air. “You’re not going to eat me, are you?”

“No, Danny. I’m not going to eat you, but I need for you to cool it, okay?”

“Yeah sure, you got it.”

I hesitate at first, but lower the pistol and give it back to him. A sign of good faith and trust.

Danny takes the weapon and doesn’t train it at me.

I explain. “Those soldiers you’ve seen on the ship work for a company called Trans Global Pharmaceutical. I don’t know much, but what I do know is that they’re the reason for the outbreak of infected on this ship and in Africa.”

“How could they have done all this?” Danny asks, looking around.

“They developed some sort of virus or whatever it is that, in laymen’s terms, kills the host, and then brings them back to life, but in the more violent I-want-to-eat-you kind of way. Depending on the person, the virus will mutate in different ways. Some of the infected will still look human while others will change. The latter is more aggressive.”

“So they injected you with this stuff?”

I nod. “Yeah. Me and others. I’m the only one who hasn’t fully changed. I escaped their underground testing facility a couple of months back, and since then I’ve been on the run. I was told that there’s a cure being transported on this ship. That’s one of the reasons I snuck on board.”

Danny lifts his brow. “And the other?”

“I’m trying to reach my wife in the states.”

Danny stares at me with a vague gaze and crooked lip. You can see the wheels turning inside his head, trying to process the story I just laid on him. “Is Joe really your name?”

“It’s Mike.”

“So, Mike, what happens if you don’t find this cure?”

“I’ll stay like this. Probably regress more into one of the infected. I don’t really know.”

Water leaks in from the opening above us, streaming down like a waterfall. The containers and pallets around us shift, sliding from side to side with the motion of the ship.

Danny braces himself against the crates. A discerning gaze forms on his face. Both eyes shift from one end of the hold to the other.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, mimicking him.

“Something’s not right,” he says, as the roll of the ship grows more intense.

The cargo secured to the hull behind us gives. The large gray square containers break loose and fall over. We jump out of the way. Some of the metal containers bust open and an assortment of clothes and toys scatter across the floor.

“Damn, is the storm getting worse?” I ask, as more water surges through the opening above us. “The waves feel like they’re growing stronger.”

“I don’t think it’s that. It’s something else.” Danny looks to my hip. “Radio the captain.”

I take the radio and speak into the mic. “Captain Reynolds, is everything all right up there?”

Nothing but static greets our ears. The sound of the waves pounding the hull builds.

“Captain Reynolds, do you copy?” I ask again, shouting.

Still, no response.

“We need to get to the bridge,” Danny says, his voice laced with urgency.

“What for? Because they aren’t responding?” I ask. “Doesn’t exactly seem like a code red. We are in a bad storm after all.”

“If they’re not responding, then something’s going on and we need to find out what,” Danny shoots back, leaning against the crate.

“You do what you need to, but I’m going after the cure.” I grab a few more pistols from the crates, then stuff them into my pants.

Danny stays silent and stares at me. “What happens if you find this cure and we can’t gain control of the ship? Kind of a pointless endeavor, isn’t it?”

The lashings holding the crates in place are pushed to their limits. Every dip and rise the ship makes increases the strain.

Pop.

One lashing gives. Containers crash to the floor as the ship tilts. More containers break loose, adding to the bedlam. They slide in the hold, nearly crushing us in the process.

Danny tumbles end over end as the vessel pitches down hard, then rolls to the right.

I snag a chain dangling from the ceiling and hold on. My feet leave the floor for a few seconds. Weightlessness tingles my gut.

Some of the infected stumble in from the deck. Their bodies dump over the edge and slam the floor. They crash into the containers. Limbs snap from the painful impact.

“Danny, we need to get out of here,” I say, as the ship levels out some.

My feet hit steel. I hunt for Danny. There’s junk all over the place. Kids’ clothing and action figures are strung out in a heap of clutter and chaos. I don’t see him.

The security lights overhead go in and out, bringing brief flashes of light before the darkness takes hold. My boots find it hard to gain traction from all the water pouring in from up top, slipping and sliding across the floor. I can hear the infected breathing heavy, short bursts of shrills echoing off the hull.

I remove one of the pistols from my waistband and hold it tight. The cold wetness of the steel chills my palm. I keep it lowered and pointed to the floor. I don’t see any of the infected, but I know they’re down here somewhere.

“Danny,” I say, whispering as loud as I can.

Something stirs to my left. A low groan emits from a pile of clothing. The mound shifts. I rack the slide, then train the pistol at the bulge.

Danny’s head emerges from the top of the heap.

“You okay?” I ask, lowering the heater.

“Yeah, just glad it was clothing and not the oil drums.”

I glance around, then extend my hand out toward Danny. “Come on, we need to move, now.”

More infected stumble in from up top, crashing through the wooden crates. They shrill and moan, slowly rising to their feet as they head our way.

Danny digs himself out of the clutter.

A mangled arm emerges from the shadows behind him. Rapacious fingers wrap around Danny’s ankle.

He flinches and wrenches his leg, trying to break the creature’s hold. “Get off me.”

The infected moans as it pulls itself free from the rubble. Its moist flesh is sagging with both eyes missing as it opens its mouth.

Danny tries to slip away, but the creature’s hold is set in. He slams the heel of his boot into its face. The impact snaps the creature’s deformed nose.

I line up a shot at the creature’s head and pull the trigger.

Fire spits from the muzzle.

A single bullet punches the middle of the infected’s skull. Brain matter hits the wall like wet mud. It still has a hold on Danny’s ankle, refusing to let him go.

Danny pries the creature’s wretched fingers from his leg and stands as the sound of shrills and moans converge on us from all over.

“Where’s the exit?” I ask, turning and looking with the pistol up and sweeping the area.

“It’s back over there and to the right some,” Danny replies, pointing to a dim light right above a bulkhead door.

The vessel rolls hard to the left, then right, sending more dead tumbling our way. We brace ourselves as best we can, scooting back as their bodies pound the steel hull.

“Come on.” I grab Danny by the scruff of his shirt as we follow the roll of the ship back the way we came.

Danny manages to snag a few more pistols before the lashings holding the crates in place give, sending them sliding away from us.

I take out two more of the infected with headshots creeping up behind Danny from the shadows. We stay close to the hull and make our way down to the exit.

The dead continue after us. We refrain from discharging our weapons, saving what precious ammo we have for when it’s really needed.

Danny grips the handle and opens the door. It only opens a few inches before snagging on something. “Come on.” He rams his shoulder into the door.

I move next to him, and both of us throw our bodies into the door at the same time.

A trail of dead comes our way, trudging through the mess of busted crates and various items scattered about.

“What the hell is blocking the door this time?” It gives some more, enough for Danny to peer out into the stairwell. “There’s nothing in the way. Some of the bulkhead doors are stubborn and don’t want to open too well.”

“Push harder, then,” I reply, pushing with everything I have.

We grunt and strain, doing whatever we have to do to push it open. The door budges some more. Danny finds enough room to squeeze through.

The ship pitches and rolls to the right, sending the bulkhead door slamming shut. The infected lose their balance, throwing them away from us. I grab the handle and hold tight as the ship levels back out.

The infected are back to their feet in no time, undeterred by the constant movement.

My back presses against the door. It flies open, sending me into the stairwell.

“You okay, Mike?” Danny asks, towering over me.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

The lights inside the hold flicker and flash. The dead are framed in brief poses of stumbling death as they continue our way.

Danny helps me to my feet. We grab the metal handles and try to seal the door shut, but it struggles to close.

“They’re coming,” Danny says, panicked.

“Thanks for the update.”

The infected close in. The stench of their rotting, wet bodies drifts our way. I pull my pistol and take aim, ready to fire. Danny slams the door shut as they reach for us. It locks in place just as the ship rolls back toward us.

A loud thud hits the door, sending us reeling backwards.

“Well, that sucked,” Danny says, bent over and panting.

“Agreed. Let’s not do that again,” I reply, nodding. “How far is the bridge from here?”

Danny stands up straight, then exhales. “So you’re coming with me, then?”

“Yeah. I figured you’d probably need my help.”

“What about the stuff you’re after?”

“It’s not going anywhere. After all, we’re trapped on this ship.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

We trudge through the bowels of the vessel–watching and listening for the dead, or the soldiers.

“Hey, thanks for saving my ass back there,” Danny says, nudging my arm with the back of his hand.

I dismiss the comment with a wave of my hand. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Thanks for not shooting me in the face.”

“No problem. To be honest, I had every intent on doing so.”

My brow lifts. “It looked like it. Why didn’t you?”

“Your wife,” Danny answers.

“My wife?” I asked, confused.

“Yeah. I mean, I kept telling myself to just pull the trigger. One single shot right between his eyes and I’m done with this mess. After all, I don’t even know you. But the way you talked about your wife and trying to get back to her. It seemed real. Not something you could fake if it wasn’t true. At least, I don’t think so. I might be foolish thinking that.”

“Well, it’s all real and true. That isn’t something I would lie about.” I head up the staircase.

Danny grabs my arm–stopping me. “Do me one favor, will yeah?”

“Sure.”

“If there’s anything else I should know, tell me ahead of time and don’t let me run into it, okay? I don’t much like being blindsided.”

“You got it.”

Danny slips past me and takes the lead since he knows where he’s going.

The voices festering in the back of my mind are still running their mouth, trying to distract me and stray my thoughts.

You’re not making it off this ship alive, Mike. All this that you’re doing is pointless. In the end, you will succumb to us.

I keep them at bay, thinking of Becky’s smile and her warm touch.

It’s a constant battle, the good and the evil. The fight for my very soul is unyielding, but I remain vigilant.

“Try to hail Captain Reynolds again, will ya,” Danny says.

“Captain Reynolds, do you copy, over?” I say into the mic. Static crackles from the radio’s speaker with no hint of a connection. “Captain Reynolds, are you there, over?”

No response is given.

“Great. I think it’s safe to assume that something happened to them since we’re not getting a response,” Danny says.

Their radio could be out, or some sort of interference could be keeping us from making a connection, but I’m inclined to think the bridge has been compromised. That or Frank snapped and just placed a bullet into the captain’s head. Either one of those scenarios is plausible.

“Shhhhh.” Danny presses his finger to his lips, stopping at a junction in the tight walkway. It’s dark. The glow of the bulbs cast everything in a bloody-red hue.

“What is it?”

“I thought I heard something,” Danny answers–turning his head.

I place the radio on my hip. My hand squeezes the pistol’s grip with a taut hold. Footfalls echo down the metal corridor. The thick-soled boots play off the floor as it heads this way.

“It’s one of the soldiers,” Danny says, glancing over his shoulder at me.

His pistol hangs from his hand by his side. He brings it up and takes aim.

“Wait.” I push his gun back down and I get in front of him. “We need to conserve the ammo and be as quiet as possible.”

I dig the box cutter out of my pants and extend the blade as far as it can go. I forgo the pistol and wait for the soldier.

He’s getting closer. The footfalls get louder. I poke my head around the bend of the wall, watching as he turns on the light in each room. He does a quick once over, then moves on.

The soldier looks our way, then walks down the small set of steps with his rifle shouldered.

I hold my hand up at Danny, motioning for him to hold tight.

The soldier appears and turns down the other side of the corridor, bypassing us as he continues on his way. I keep low–stalking him from behind. He stops. I strike.

My hand slips under the front part of his helmet. I jerk his head back toward me and press the blade to his throat.

“There’s one of two ways this can end with you still breathing. Tell me where the cure is and I’ll let you live. Don’t, and I’ll kill you right now. What’s it going to be?”

The soldier thrashes in my arms, then says, “Go to hell.” The soldier arches his back and tries to gain some space between us. He rams his elbow into my ribs, trying to break my hold.

I slide the blade across his throat. It digs in deep, slicing through the rubber covering his neck and hitting pay dirt. His hands paw at his throat, trying to stop the waterfall of blood pumping from his body. I toss the soldier into the room next to us and close the door.

“You could’ve just let him keep walking,” Danny says from behind. “He didn’t know we were there.”

I retract the blade and stuff the box cutter back into my pant pocket. “I wanted to see if he knew anything about the cure. Besides, we don’t need any loose ends. What you don’t take care of now can come back and bite you in the ass later.”

Danny nods in agreement. “Come on, it’s this way.”

We’re back on the move, worming our way through the tight quarters of the ship’s bowels.

Danny stays silent–lips sealed. He’s focused on the dead and any soldiers we might cross.

The closer we get to the deck, the more the wind sounds like wolves howling at a full moon. Rain continues to pelt the ship with grave intent. It seems as though it’s been storming forever with no end in sight.

Danny holds up at the bulkhead door that leads onto the deck. He doesn’t say anything but stands there with his hand gripping the wheel.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he replies. “Sounds like the storm hasn’t let up much so we’ll need to move fast. Don’t want to be on deck for too long.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Once up there in that storm was enough for me.

“When I pop open this door, stay on me, and don’t get too close to the side of the ship unless you want to be swept out to sea.” Danny unlatches the door, spinning the wheel and breaking the seal.

“Copy that.”

A loud whistling noise grows with every turn. The wind forces itself through the narrow opening. Water rushes in, leaking through the growing gap between the door and hull.

Danny braces his body against the bulkhead, then pulls the door toward us.

Water sprays us.

The wind gusts.

Thunder rumbles across the black, cloudy sky and lightning crackles.

The ship is hammered by the elements. It’s taking a hard beating, but still plugging along and afloat.

“Come on.” Danny lifts his arm to block the rain pelting his face.

He steps onto the deck–feet slipping from the water and ship rolling from side to side. He grabs a chain that’s hooked to the deck to keep himself upright. Some of the soldiers that got caught within the crane’s twisted beams have turned, looking our way with their arms stretched toward us. I don’t see any other infected, but they could be out there.

We trudge through the storm to a staircase that climbs up to the bridge. I’m drenched from head to toe, soaked clean through to my bones. The water is cold, causing me to shiver.

I peer out into the vast openness of the ocean, watching the massive waves climb and race past us. The ship barrels into a wall of water. The deck and containers submerged for a few seconds before resurfacing. It nips at our heels but doesn’t reach us.

We hit a walkway. Danny steps to the side and points at the dead bodies lying motionless at the entrance of the bridge.

We approach with caution, both of us freeing our pistols and holding them at the ready. I check the stairs behind us, making sure no infected are hot on our heels.

The bodies remain unresponsive to our presence. We step over each corpse, inching toward the bridge. The door is ajar. The wind slams it shut over and over again. I grab Danny by the shoulder, stopping him and moving up to take point.

I stay close to the metal and slide to the opening. I eye the bodies.

The infected are riddled with gunshot wounds. Their thick, coagulated blood clumps despite the rain. There are a few soldiers lying among the dead with their insides ravaged and torn free from their bodies.

I peer through the opening to the bridge. Captain Reynolds and Frank are nowhere in sight. The radio’s been smashed. The damaged parts are scattered all over the console and floor. More soldiers and infected lay on the floor–their bodies lumped together in a bloody mess.

“Christ,” Danny says as he steps in from the rain. “Captain Reynolds? Frank?”

Something stirs from behind the command console. A low, painful groan sounds.

We train our pistols at the ominous noise–fingers pressed against the triggers. Danny works his way to the back end of the helm while I stay put.

“It’s Frank.” Danny slips the pistol back into the waistband of his pants and rushes to Frank’s aid. I stand guard by the door, peering out onto the catwalk to see if there’s any infected inbound. None that I can see.

Frank’s beat up. His neck and right arm are covered in gnarly bites. He’s also been shot in the left shoulder. Blood trickles down from underneath a piece of cloth he has pressed against it.

“Let me have a look,” Danny says, reaching for the crimson-stained rag.

“Don’t bother. It doesn’t matter anyways,” Frank says, pushing his hand away with his palm.

Danny doesn’t comply and removes the blood-soaked cloth anyway. Blood pumps from the wound with every breath Frank takes. He tears Frank’s shirt some more, trying to gain a better look.

“Are you a doctor now?” Frank asks in a weakened tone. “Remember that time Benny lost his finger while latching down those containers in Spain? You nearly lost your lunch.”

Danny smirks. “Ha ha. Glad to see you’re still a dick.”

“Yeah, some things never change.” Frank digs into his right-pant pocket and pulls out a pack of Marlboro Menthol 100’s. His fingers fumble with the lid, trying to flip it back. He looks up to me while placing his last remaining cigarette between his pale lips. “How about you give us a light there, doctor?”

Danny removes the lighter from the pack, striking the wheel a few times before it sparks. The flame is weak but enough to burn the end.

Frank sucks in, inhaling the smoke and blowing it out. He savors every second, slowly exhaling out from his nose and mouth.

“You, my friend, look like total dog shit,” Frank says.

“So I’ve been told,” I reply.

“What happened here, Frank? Where’s Captain Reynolds?” Danny asks.

Frank takes another drag from his cig, staring at me with a curious gaze. “Not sure where they dragged the captain off to. Heard them mention something about taking him below with the others. He was worse for wear. All bloody and bruised. They really did a number on him.”

“How’d you get shot?” I ask, pointing at the hole in his shoulder.

“Those stupid ass soldiers over there,” Frank replies, slapping Danny’s hand away from the wound on his arm. “Leave it be. Doesn’t really matter at this point.”

“All right, fine.” Danny stands and walks around the console, checking the gauges and system settings.

“The infected, or whatever they are, started gathering at the door and these nut jobs just opened fire. Swiss-cheesed the door and glass. Before we knew it, the infected were swarming like damn wasps. I got caught in the cross fire.” Frank grunts and moans, spitting out a wad of blood and mucus from his dried, crusty lips. He hacks. The cough sounds deep and painful. “I gotta say, not how I thought I would go out.”

“Not real sure what any of this means,” Danny says, with frustration clouding his agitated voice. “Looks like our heading has been altered.”

“It has? Where are we heading?” I ask with a raised brow.

“From what I can see here, Savanah, Georgia?” Danny answers, studying the console.

“Why Savanah?”

Danny shrugs. “No clue. We were supposed to be heading further up the coast. Looks like the–”

“Should be on autopilot,” Frank says, winded. “You’ll be good for now, but you need to find the captain. He’s probably the only one left alive that knows how to pilot the ship.”

“Did they say anything to you about why they wanted the ship’s course changed?” Danny asks, Frank.

“After they shot me and kicked the crap out of the captain, I really didn’t ask any more questions.”

“What about Tony? Isn’t he a backup or something?” Danny asks.

“Yeah, he is,” Frank replies.

“Okay, cool. We’ll look for him along with the captain.”

“You won’t have to look too far,” Frank replies, chuckling.

“Why is that?” I ask.

“Because he’s right over there.” Frank strains to lift his right arm, extending his finger toward Danny’s direction.

Danny dips his chin and skims over the bodies.

“The one with the skull tattoo and the snake coming out of the mouth. Right arm.” Frank says.

Danny finds the tattoo on one of the infected. Its flesh is messy, patches of skin missing and covered in blood.

“It doesn’t even look like him anymore.” Danny examines the body. His face scrunches in disgust.

“Yeah. Dude was crazed. Killed a few soldiers before I put a bullet in his head,” Frank says.

“That’s just great,” Danny replies.

“Is there a radio? Communications terminal or something we can use to try and contact the coast guard or whoever?” I ask.

Frank shakes his head. “Shit’s toast. The soldiers took out all communications on the ship.”

Danny inspects the damaged communications terminal. His fingers scan every inch of the bullet-ridden casing. His fingers poke and prod inside the jumbled mess of wires. “With some time and parts from below deck, I could probably have this back up.”

Thunder rumbles behind me. Lightning webs across clouds to the east of us. I catch a few more of the infected heading our way. Their shrills are faint from the rain pounding the deck.

“No time for that. We’ve got inbound infected,” I say, watching the dead come for us.

I take aim, waiting for a clean shot. They’re fast, taking multiple steps with ease as they race up the staircase. I fire a single round, nailing the lead one right between the eyes. Its brains splatter the infected trailing behind it. They knock the motionless body out of their way, continuing up the stairs with a feverish stride.

The wind picks up. The ship rolls from side to side. I struggle to find a clean shot. Beads of water pelt my eyes–blurring my vision.

I lose my footing, slip, and fall to the ground. My gun slips from my grasp, sliding away from me as I try to grab the grip.

One of the infected lunges for the entrance. A thin-bright line of lightning slices down from the heavens and illuminates the creature’s face in a portrait of pure evil. Its hefty-framed body slams into the door, dislodging it from the ship.

The creature stands in the entrance with its mutated arms holding onto the metal doorframe. It surveys the bridge. Veins protrude from its body, lying on top of its moist flesh. Its mouth is stained red–clothing jammed between its razor-sharp teeth. Its black, soulless eyes stare at me while its elongated tongue whips around.

“Christ.” Danny fumbles for his pistol.

The creature goes for him first, shrilling as it stumbles inside. It slaps the pistol from his hand and takes Danny down with ease. Danny lies flat on his back and jams his hand into its throat, trying to keep it at bay. The mutated creature chomps at his head with its tongue unfolding from its mouth and swiping across Danny’s face.

“Get this thing off me,” he says, yelling.

I get a handle on my pistol and take aim. I pull the trigger but nothing happens.

It’s jammed or something.

I discard the weapon and charge the creature. My boot bashes the creature’s head into the command console. The impact disorients it long enough to allow Danny to scurry out of the way.

I retrieve a shotgun from among the mass of dead, pump it once, and take aim. The creature tilts its head to the side, glaring up at me with blood oozing from its busted lip. I finish it off, splattering its brains all over the console and floor with a single shot.

“You good?” I ask Danny. “It didn’t bite or scratch you, did it?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he replies, breathless.

The wind howls against the hull as if angry we’re still alive. Another cry joins it. The combined sound of the dead’s moans and shrills pierce the deluge of rain. I hurry to the entrance and peer down the staircase, finding a mass of infected heading this way. Their numbers are obscure from the raging storm, bleeding together as one symbiotic creature.

“Is there another way out of here?” I ask.

“Um,” Danny says in a lost and trembling tone.

“Danny,” I say, snapping my fingers.

“I’m thinking,” he answers, looking over the room. “Here.”

I pump the shotgun and fire, mowing a few of the infected down as they stagger up the slippery steps.

“What about Frank?” Danny asks, racing back to his side.

We can’t take him with us. He’s too far gone. He could turn at any second.

“Give me a gun. I’ll buy you some time,” Frank says, lifting his weary arm and waving his bloody hand.

“Are you sure?” Danny asks.

“Yes. I’m not going anywhere. So give me the damn gun and beat it.”

Danny retrieves another pistol that’s tucked into his pants. He flips it, gripping the barrel as Frank takes hold of the grip.

The cigarette hanging from his pale lips is almost extinguished. A slight smirk overcomes Frank. Blood runs down from the corner of his mouth. He raises his left hand, and Danny takes it.

“We’ve got to roll now.” I open fire, a controlled burst that finds its mark. I cut the legs out from under one of the creatures, sending it face-first into the steel steps. The others continue, trampling the fallen with little regard.

I retreat and save the ammo, falling back toward our way out. Danny gets back to his feet, racing around the console. The infected gather at the entrance, creating a dam of dead bodies.

“Over here, you pecker heads,” Frank says, with venomous spite.

He opens fire, drawing their attention away from us as Danny goes through the opening. He nails two of them square in the head, dropping the infected to the floor as more pour into the bridge.

They split up. A handful rushes us while the others charge Frank. I don’t fire, saving what precious ammo we have left, and fall back to the exit. I shut the door and hold the handle tight as the infected try to break in. They pound and beat the steel, shrilling as they look upon us through the small window.

The infected somehow manage to open the door some, but I to pull it closed and hold tough. They’re strong and I’m not sure how much longer this tug of war is going to last.

More gunshots sound off, drawing the creatures away from us. I don’t give up my grip on the handle just yet. I step to the side and peer into the bridge, finding the horde of dead converging where Frank is laid up. A couple more gunshots go off before they’re on top of him.

My eyes dart away out of respect for what Frank did. All is silent now except for the mass of dead feeding. I take a moment to gather my thoughts. The virus is trying to sway my humanity,

Kill Danny and join the others in their feast of flesh.

“Mike, you okay?” Danny asks.

I shut down the temptation, the urge building with every second that ticks by. It’s never been this strong or ruthless until now. I’ve got to find that antivirus fast. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“And Frank?”

I shake my head in a disheartening manner. “We need to move while we can.”

Danny nods in agreement. A somber look of sadness and anger fills his red, irritated eyes. He kicks the wall and mutters what I can only guess are some expletives.

Frank lets out a final bone-chilling scream as we descend the staircase back into the bowels of the vessel.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The longer I’m on this voyage, the worse things get. If we make it to land, I’ll be surprised.

Danny’s been quiet since leaving the bridge. His head is trained on the floor. Any remaining fight within him dwindles with every step he takes. I can’t tell if he’s given up hope or not.

I’ve given thought to saying something to him, but I’ve got no words of wisdom or insight to bestow. I don’t think he’d much want to hear anything like that right now anyways. To be honest, I have no words of hope to spare. Us surviving this ordeal seems less likely with every minute that ticks by. It’s almost like death’s boney fingers are tickling the backs of our necks.

Danny stops–head swiveling from side to side like he’s lost.

“Do you hear something?” I ask.

“No, it’s not that. This shouldn’t be here.”

“What shouldn’t?”

“This door and wall,” Danny replies, pointing ahead of us. “It’s out of place from the rest of the ship’s worn and aged look. I haven’t been down this side of the ship since we left port, but it appears that someone has done some modifying to the Titan’s structure.”

Danny runs his hands over the smooth-steel exterior of the door.

There’s a numeric keypad mounted off to the right. The numbers are lit up with a green hue. The door’s surface is smooth with no handle or wheel to move to gain access.

“I’d bet anything that this is where they brought the captain.”

“Yeah maybe, but it’s going to be hard to find out if we can’t open this door,” I reply.

Danny bends down and looks at the wall under the security panel. He runs his hands over it, fingers probing the indents surrounding the metal covering.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for a way in,” Danny replies.

“Without that access code, we aren’t going to make it far.” A faint shrill travels the corridors, greeting my ears with a slight whisper. My head turns, eyes scanning for any infected. There’s no telling how far away they are, but they’re heading this way. “We need to do something here or find another way inside. It isn’t safe being exposed like this.”

Danny raises his right-pant leg and digs into the side of his boot. He fumbles for a few moments before removing a small, thick blade. He carefully slides the tip into the narrow opening.

I keep checking over my shoulder, waiting for a hungry wave of mutated flesh to charge our way.

Danny moves the blade back and forth with care. He pops the panel loose and sets it aside. A web of wires falls out, tangled together in a god-awful mess.

“You know if you cut the wrong wire, it could sound an alarm.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Danny replies.

His fingers touch each color-coded strand, tracing their path back up to the access panel. He grabs a green and yellow wire and slices them apart. No alarms sound. So far, so good.

The shrills inch closer and closer, growing in number and intensity. My boot taps the floor, hands clutching the shotgun tighter. I glance from the end of the hall to Danny, remaining vigilant. I allow him to keep doing his thing and not distract him any more than need be.

He takes the ends and cuts the plastic back some, exposing the wires even more. He tucks the blade inside his mouth and twists them together. The panel activates and opens the door.

I raise the shotgun, anticipating a handful of soldiers startled by our presence, but find no one in sight.

“Wow, that actually worked,” I say under my breath. I didn’t think he had such skills.

Danny removes the blade from his mouth, then stands up.

I take point, stepping inside the company’s restricted area with Danny following close behind. The infected arrive, bumping into each other as they charge us.

They shrill and moan. Their grotesque bodies mash together in the tight space.

My finger rests against the trigger, and I take aim when Danny grabs the barrel and pulls it down.

“Save it.”

He pushes a button on the wall. The doors close while the wave of infected closes in. Their pleas for fresh meat are silenced as their fists pound the door.

Danny looks like he’s ready and focused. The sadness that’s been consuming him has been washed away. “Why the hell would you build a whole other secured section inside of an old rust bucket like the Titan? Doesn’t make any sense. Any of it.”

“My experience with these people is that nothing makes any sense. The only thing that’s clear and easy to understand is that they have no regard for life. If this virus spreads and burns the world to its core, I doubt they’d bat an eye.”

We hear some faint moans up ahead, drawing my attention and the shotgun upward. We stand there for a moment, listening before moving on. It doesn’t sound like the infected, more like something weak and feeble. It’s hard to tell where it’s coming from.

The storm is still blistering. It’s not as intense as it was, but it’s still whipping the ship about.

We head down the corridor, side by side. Our plan is simple–find Captain Reynolds and the vials. That’s all that’s on my to-do list at the moment. Well, and not dying.

“What is that?” Danny asks, staring ahead of us.

“What is what?” I whisper back.

“I thought I saw something in there,” Danny replies, pointing to a room to our right that has a clear barrier placed in front of it.

I think of the bunker where they created and held monsters in similar rooms. What if it’s the same thing–more abominations waiting to break free and wreak havoc on all humanity? “Hold up.”

“What for? There could be someone in there that needs our help,” Danny says.

“Or it could be something else that you won’t want to see. Trust me.”

A human hand appears and presses the clear barricade. It balls up into a fist and strikes it.

“See. No monsters. That could be the captain.”

“Danny, wait.”

It’s pointless. He’s off and running, heading to that containment room without a thought of what he might see. I give pursuit, rushing behind as he stops and looks inside.

“Bones. Mack. Tyrone.” Danny stands in front of the barricade–looking inside.

No monsters, but the room is littered with men barely able to stand. They stagger around the room much like the infected.

“So this is where the rest of the crew went,” Danny says, in disbelief. “Where do you think the others are?”

“They could be dead,” I answer, examining the downtrodden men.

“Danny,” a muffled voice says from behind us.

We turn around. Another holding area? Can’t be too sure as the lights are dimmed and it’s hard to see inside. Bodies stagger through the darkness. I can’t obtain a clear image of whom or what they are.

Danny walks over and peers inside, pressing his face against the reinforced glass. My vision pierces the darkness and finds more of the crew that has been captured. But for what purpose?

“Danny, thank God,” a scruffy older man says with a weakened sound of relief. “You got to get us out of here. Please.”

“Gibson. Why are you and the others in here?” Danny asks, standing but a scant inch away from the glass.

Gibson shrugs. “No idea. Once the infected got loose, we tried to find some place to hide. Those soldiers came and took us away. We thought they were helping and going to protect us.”

More of the crew in the confinement area converge on the glass, beating and yelling through the numerous holes with a lost look set in their wondering eyes.

“What’s wrong with Mack and the others?” Danny points to the other holding cell across from us.

“The soldiers come and take us away one by one. When they return, they’re put over there. Not sure what they’re doing, but whatever it is, it’s not good,” Gibson answers.

“Have you seen Captain Reynolds?” I ask.

“Yeah, they dragged him through here not too long ago,” Gibson nods. “He looked pretty bad. I think he might have been unconscious. You’ve got to break us out of here, Danny.”

“You and the others hold tight. We’ll find a way to free all of you.”

I grab Danny by the arm and pull him to the side. “We don’t have time for that. We need to find the captain first, so we can get the ship’s navigation squared away. Besides, they’ll probably be safer in there than they would be out here.”

“Did you not hear him? They’re probably torturing or doing God knows what to them. I’m not leaving them to the wolves, Mike.”

“What about Captain Reynolds?” I shoot back.

Danny palms my shoulder and pushes me while pointing down the hall. “Go find the captain. I’ll see if I can find a way to free them.”

“You sure you want to split up?” I ask.

“Not really, but I can’t just leave them in there.”

“What if they’re infected?” I point at the men on the other side–ambling about.

“Then I’ll handle it,” Danny replies.

Danny’s not thinking straight. Releasing the crew could bite us in the ass if they’re infected, but seeing as we don’t have time to debate this.

I drop it and move on. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Me too.”

I leave Danny with the crew and scamper down the hall. I know the clock is ticking for the captain, but all I can think of is the vials. If they’re doing experiments on the crew, then, the antivirus would be down here as well. Only seems logical they keep it close by.

I round a blind corner. My shotgun is poised and ready, sweeping the hall before continuing on. It’s quiet. I’m curious as to why there aren’t any guards or other TGP personnel. I move down the hall and notice more rooms with people strapped to beds. They’re hooked to machines with wires running all over their bodies. A flinch of the finger or a wiggle of a toe shows that they’re still alive.

I stop and skim over the sea of blank stares that are peering up at the ceiling. I don’t see Captain Reynolds. They must have taken him to another holding area. I continue my search–navigating the winding corridors and finding more rooms with empty beds. Still no guards in sight–just silence, except for the waves crashing against the hull.

I hear something from the way I came, and glance over my shoulder. I train my ears, listening for any footfalls. Nothing. I notice some writing up ahead on a door. I’m not sure what it is, but it catches my attention nonetheless. I take a closer look.

Specimen Lab - Authorized Personnel Only.

Could this be where they’re storing the vials, both the cure and cancer on the other side of this door?

There’s a small, porthole-style window above the lettering. I peer through the glass and find the lab to be empty. It looks to be refrigerated as well, the cool air swirling. I locate the access panel to the right. It’s similar to the one Danny bypassed earlier.

I take the stock end of the shotgun and smash it into the control panel’s interface. The first couple of strikes doesn’t seem to do much, but by the third and fourth sparks spit from the cracks in the glass screen.

The locking mechanism disengages and retracts, unlocking the door. My heart beats fast, palms sweaty with anticipation.

The hefty door cracks open. Cool air rushes out and greets my moist skin. I enter the lab–focused on nothing more than looking for the cure.

The rows and rows of vials inside the space aren’t labeled. Each looks the same as the other. They’re grouped in batches, segregated from one another. What’s the difference?

I lean the shotgun against the smooth-metal workstation, retrieve one of the vials from the rack, and hold it in front of me. I peer hard at the black viscous substance clinging to the sides of the glass.

Is this it? Do I have the cure right here in my hand?

I tilt the vial from side to side, watching the clumpy liquid ooze from one end to the other.

Footfalls stalk me from behind, creeping up slow and soft. I place the unknown substance back into its holding place. My eyes cut down to the shotgun that’s inches away from my hand.

Something hard presses to the base of my neck. The click of the hammer being pulled back focuses my nerves. He’s breathing heavily with a slight whistle as he exhales through his nose.

“Don’t–don’t move,” he says, stuttering his words. I can feel the barrel slipping on my skin from his hand shaking. “What are you doing in here? This is a restricted area.”

I raise my hands into the air.

“Don’t move. I will shoot you if I have to,” he says, an octave higher.

“Keep calm, friend. I’m not going to–”

I dip to the left.

The pistol discharges next to my head.

I grab the pistol, pull it free from his hands, and jam my elbow into his gut.

He gasps for air.

I whip around, training the pistol at his fat, pudgy head.

The overweight man is on his knees. He coughs and gags on his own spit as he holds his right arm in the air. TGP - Second Level Tech is woven into the fabric of his white lab coat.

I have no plans on killing him, just as long as he doesn’t try anything else. “Do you know anything about the stuff being kept in here?”

He coughs a few more times and clears his throat. He glances up at me from the floor. His eyes widen, mouth sagged open as a look of recognition over takes him. “You’re him. The one they’re after.”

“Yeah. I seem to be popular on this cruise,” I reply. “Seeing as I have little time to waste, I need you to answer my questions quick, okay?”

He nods, struggling to lift his plump body off the floor. He keeps his hands in the air–sweat bubbling from the rolls in his forehead.

“What’s in these vials?” I ask, nodding at the glass cylinders.

“I can’t answer that. If I do, they’ll kill me.”

“I’ll kill you just the same if you don’t answer me,” I reply, placing the pistol right between his bushy eyebrows.

The pudgy man cowers, then says, “Okay, all right.”

I step to the side and move out of the way so he can get a better look at the vials, but keep the pistol trained at his head. He removes a pair of glasses from his lab coat pocket and puts on the thin-framed spectacles.

“So what is all of this?” I ask.

He looks them over. His round fingers grip the ends of the glass tubes and pull them free from the rack. He tilts his glasses down onto the bridge of his nose, inspecting the substances. “You know, with a little ingenuity the human race can really evolve beyond anything we could imagine. You just need a forward thinker with a vision to move you there.”

What is this fat S.O.B. blabbing about? “Spare me your philosophical rambling and just tell me what’s in the damn–”

Something blunt jams into my side, burrowing into the meaty part of my rib cage. A burst of electricity fires off. My muscles seize up.

The pistol drops from my hand. My legs give, sending me to my knees. The lab tech places the vial back into its place and scampers away from me.

“Get up,” a stern voice orders, kicking the pistol away. I take a moment to regain my thoughts. The effects of the shock stick, or whatever it was, ebbs. “Come on, get up, now.”

He kicks me in the side. The front part of his boot hits my ribs. The blow knocks the wind out of me. My lungs starve for air.

“Okay, I’m getting up,” I reply, winded and favoring my battered and beaten side.

I struggle to my feet, legs shaking. He grabs my arm, jerking me up to my feet. He shoves me forward–smashing my face into the wall.

“Cuff him and be quick about it,” he says, to one of his other men.

“You know a simple please and thank you goes a long way.” I tilt my head to the side and count two soldiers armed only with those electro shock sticks. Their pistols are holstered and strapped down.

One of them reaches for my forearm. I grab his wrist and whirl around. I slip my arm under his chin and pull back against his throat. He pushes me into the wall, hands trying to break my grip.

The other soldier springs into action, coming toward us with his stick at the ready. The end buzzes–a light-blue hue outlining the electricity surging from its tip. He takes a shot at me, trying to nail me in the head. He misses, but only by inches. The end hits the wall.

I grab his wrist and kick him in the stomach, doubling him over. I bring my knee up and connect with the bridge of his nose. The bone crunches, blood leaking from his nostrils.

He stumbles backwards. The shock stick drops from his hand.

I shove the soldier in my grasp forward, knocking both men to the ground. I go for the pistols on their hips, trying to pull them free before they have time to react.

“That’s enough,” a different voice says. “If you’d be so kind and remove your hands from that pistol, that’d be great.”

Danny’s in the doorway with a pistol drawn and pressed to his temple. His eye is red and swollen–nose bleeding.

I remove my hands from the soldier’s holster and get back to my feet.

“Color me impressed, Mike,” the milky-eyed man from earlier says. “Even with being infected and going for as long as you have with the virus, you’ve managed to keep from turning. Now I see what Slade was talking about.”

“You okay?” I ask Danny, who’s looking a bit haggard.

“Oh, he’s fine. Caught up to him before he had a chance to release all of our test subjects. Would’ve really put a damper on things,” the milky-eyed man answers.

“Seems like your own men know about that being tested on, huh?” I ask. “Would be a shame if any of them had any unfavorable contact with say an infected and had to be treated and looked over. After all, all company personnel are taken care of, right? One way or another.”

“Yeah, they are,” he replies, glaring at me in a peculiar way.

“Besides, they could’ve used you. Looks like they’ve put you through the wringer already with those weird eyes you’re showcasing.” I point at his face.

The milky-eyed man smirks. “My cocktails are a little more honed. Flavored and tailored to my liking. We save the more extreme goodies for the others.”

“You’re not into the decrepit look, huh? I can say that you’re missing out,” I reply.

One of the soldiers slugs me in the face, knocking me hard to the ground. A shock stick is jammed into my side and held. My body seizes, the pain is excruciating.

The soldiers pound on me for a moment. My insides feel like they’ve been tenderized. They yank me off the ground, each holding an arm to keep me upright.

“What’s that? Anything to add? Perhaps another one of your quips,” the milky-eyed man asks.

I stay silent. My lips sealed. I need to do that more.

The soldiers pull my hands behind me and restrain them with zip ties, cinching them down. They’re not gentle about it either.

“Okay, good. Now that we’re done with the banter, let’s move on to more pressing matters, shall we?” he asks. “Dex, do you have him?”

“We’ve got him. About to bring them down.” The soldier standing next to Danny replies.

“Good. Everything’s prepped and ready to go.”

My vision is hazy and my jaw feels as though it’s been knocked off its hinge. My head hangs toward the floor.

Danny looks petrified. Both eyes are glassy and his lips quiver, but he manages to hold it together.

“Let’s move out.”

Dex leaves with Danny by his side and the pistol pressed into the base of his skull. The two soldiers drag me out of the lab–feet dragging along the floor.

I’m not sure where they’re taking us, but from the sounds of it, we’re probably not going to like it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

We’re surrounded with nowhere to go.

The bald, pale man that spoke to the captain on the bridge grabs my chin and forces my head up. He chuckles, then says, “So this is patient zero.” The haze clouding my eyes ebbs, bringing his familiar face into focus. “And just think, we could’ve alleviated all of this back on the bridge. Sure as hell would’ve saved the expense of my soldiers. Stand him up.”

The soldiers lift me to my feet, release my arms, and take a couple of steps back. I struggle to stand on my own. I’m tired and spent. Danny’s being restrained off to the side by the soldiers. The redness of his eye blossoms.

“Before we start, allow me to introduce myself. The name’s Connor,” the bald man says, standing in front of me. I keep quiet, lips sealed. My body sways with the motion of the ship. “I must say, you’ve been a hard man to track down. Not just on this ship, but back in Africa as well. The company has thrown a considerable amount of resources at trying to bring you in. Who knew all we had to do was spread the word of a possible vaccine and you’d come scampering to us. Damn. It’s actually quite brilliant when you think about it.”

My thoughts shift to Christopher and his bleeding-heart speech about feeling guilty for what the company was doing. Was all that a ploy just to have me drop my defenses so that I’d trust him? “It is brilliant. Your man Christopher played me like a fool, and I bought every word that fell out of his lying mouth. Should’ve known better. Pretty convenient he knew so much about the cure and this ship.”

“Christopher Saunders?” Connor asks, a look of shock appearing on his face. “Chris was a company man through and through until he decided to grow a conscious and bail. He stole trade secrets and other company-owned items that didn’t belong to him. Him sending you into our snare was good luck on our part, and when we catch up to him, we’ll make sure to thank him, among other things.”

“So all this talk of a cure was horse shit just to lure me on board?” I shoot back.

“Of course, there’s a cure,” Connor says, pacing about with his hands tucked behind his back. “Not having a cure with a volatile virus spreading like wild fire would be unethical. Besides, you can’t manufacture a disease without having a cure. Kind of makes for bad business. Anyway, why would you want it? You’ve been given something powerful that man has never had, courtesy of the company, mind you. You should feel privileged and honored to have been bestowed with such a gift.”

I sneer at the comment, then spit a wad of blood to the floor. “I wouldn’t exactly call this a gift.”

Connor shrugs. “Well, for a simple mind such as yourself, I could see where you might think that. Come here, let me show you something.”

This guy is smug, full of himself. Every word that comes barreling out of his mouth is toxic waste. Reminds me of Slade, but his bedside manners are a tad bit nicer so far. Still, he is just as delusional as Slade was.

Every little twitch or breath I take, my ribs protest, but I trudge over to Connor who’s standing near a double-paned window looking inside a room. There’s someone strapped to a table. It looks like one of the ship’s crew members perhaps. Wires are attached to his arms and chest that feed into machines stationed behind him. Round sensors are placed on both of his temples. He’s lying there–eyes wide and looking as though no one is home.

Connor points to the restrained man. “You see, you’re only one piece of a much larger puzzle that we’re working toward. Your reaction to the virus is only one facet of what we’re striving for. The types of applications this transmutagen could be used for are limitless.”

“I don’t follow. All I see is a greedy company willing to sell out the human race and turn everyone into those mindless, flesh-crazed things. So please, enlighten me,” I reply, glancing at him.

“Prepare to be enlightened,” Connor replies, nodding to a lab technician standing at a control panel in the room.

He hacks away at the keyboard, typing in commands as lines of gibberish fill the monitor. The machines come to life, lights flashing, and data spitting out on their displays. The man’s vitals spike up and down while the lab tech continues typing. After a few moments, he gives a thumbs up.

Conner leans in close and says, “Now this is where the magic happens.”

The man on the table comes to life. His body convulses, arms and legs jerking upwards in every attempt to break the restraints holding him down. He thrashes, arching his back and clenching his teeth. He yells out, but his pleas for help or words of anger fall on deaf ears. Then, as fast as he came to life, he stops.

“You’ve got to wait for it. Pretty remarkable stuff,” Connor says with glee.

It’s really sickening watching this piece of trash relish in others’ suffering. I can’t wait to kill this guy.

Connor glances at his wristwatch and his lips move, like he’s counting or something. “And here–we–go.”

He points to the poor soul strapped on the table.

The man’s body changes, mutating into one of the infected. It only takes about a minute or so for the virus to decimate the man’s body. His teeth sharpened to a point, fingers morphing into long, razor-sharp claws. Both eyes turn into black-hollow pits. His skin decays in a blink.

“I’ve never seen anyone change that fast,” I say under my breath.

I’m scared by how fast the change occurred, but even more so by how Connor pinpointed the exact moment it would happen.

Connor lowers his arm and points at the man. “This test subject was injected with a more potent strand. One we calibrated and pumped up. But that’s only part of what happened here. The more interesting detail to note is that this was triggered to happen at a specific time.”

“You triggered the mutation to happen at a particular time?”

Connor nods. “Oh yeah. A simple chip implanted into the base of the skull can be programmed to start at a set time or it can be triggered remotely whenever. On the fly. After the mutation takes hold, we can still control the subject’s actions.”

“A remote–controlled, walking infected time bomb waiting to happen,” I say.

“That’s right. We make the virus dormant until it’s needed. That way, there’s no possible way of detecting its presence,” Connor replies, peering through the barrier to the lab.

The now infected man has been consumed by the virus. There are little human characteristics left as he struggles to worm loose. The restraints give with each tug. The thick leather straps that are chained to the table’s end stretch beyond their capacity.

Connor nods his head at the lab tech. He types a command into the keyboard, then the lab tech spins around in his chair and looks on.

The creature isn’t letting up, jerking at the restraints holding it down.

Connor leans over to a panel on his right and presses a black button. “Get that thing under control now. I want it sedated.”

“I’m trying, sir, but it’s fighting the directives,” the tech replies. He continues to pound away, trying to regain control of the creature. Its right arm rips through the restraint, swings toward the tech, and scratches the back of his neck.

The lab tech abandons his station and runs for the door. He grabs the handle and pulls. The remaining strap gives, freeing the infected. The lab tech beats at the glass.

“Help me,” he says, panicked. “Unlock the door, Connor.”

“You know I can’t do that. We’d run the risk of letting the infection out.” Connor stands watching with a blank stare on his face. The man looks at me, begging for someone to do something, anything to save his life.

Blood splatters on the glass, the creature’s mutated arm protruding through his chest. It knocks the lab tech’s lifeless corpse to the floor and begins to feast on his flesh.

“Not to say that there aren’t a few bugs that we need to work out,” Connor says. “I want a team in there to clean up that mess. Ready the room for the next subject.”

“Sir,” Dex replies. “And what of that thing?”

Connor stares at the creature feasting on the lab tech. “Kill it and move it to the other lab. I want it dissected to see how and why it overrode the protocol.”

“Is this what you want to do to me?” I ask.

“Possibly. Not sure yet. And to be honest, it’s not my call. I was told to apprehend patient zero and transport him back to the states,” Connor answers.

“Back to Savanah, Georgia, you mean,” I say.

“Well, that’s where we’ll be docking, but it’s not our final destination,” Connor replies.

“Where’s Captain Reynolds, you sick bastard?” Danny spouts off as the soldiers struggle to restrain him.

“I’d watch that tongue, boy,” Connor shoots back. “You’re expendable and one less test subject wouldn’t shatter my world at the moment.”

“Go ahead. Kill me,” Danny replies, shouting and tugging at the restraints. “It would be far better than ending up as one of the infected.”

Connor smirks. “Think again. There are numerous ways of making a man suffer. Death would be welcomed in comparison.”

Danny shuts up for the moment and stops jerking at the restraints.

“And not that it matters much, but your captain is in the hold with the other test subjects. Remove him from my sight,” Connor says, jabbing his finger at Danny. The soldiers drag Danny out of the room. He’s lucky that they didn’t shoot him in the back of the head. “Your friend has quite the mouth. Good way to get yourself killed.”

I shrug. “Yeah, well we figure you’re going to do that anyways, so what does it matter?”

The creature gets to its feet and faces us. The lab tech’s blood drips from its arms and mouth. Chunks of flesh are crammed between its jagged teeth. Its black eyes stare at us. It shrills loud, rushes forward, and hammers its fists against the glass.

A handful of vents mounted on the ceiling shift position and open, allowing some sort of gas into the room. The creature pays no mind to it, continuing to strike the reinforced glass. Every blow grows stronger.

The gas consumes the room, spreading to every corner. It strikes the glass a few more times, cracking it before its body goes limp and it plops to the floor. Blood oozes from its mouth and around its eyes.

“Like I said. It’s a work in progress,” Connor says, while peering down at the immobile creature.

Soldiers come up behind me, each taking hold of my arms as the lethal gas is sucked back out of the room.

Connor turns and faces me. “I hope you can appreciate what we are trying to accomplish here. You are on the ground floor of something revolutionary that is going to change the world as we know it.”

“The only thing I appreciate is that all of you have been consistently crazy.”

A shock stick jams into my side, knocking any fight left out of my body for the moment.

“Well, I do hope you change your tone. Either way, you belong to us now. Take him away.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The soldiers drag me out of the room–limp and lifeless.

My head feels like a scrambled mess–vision blurry and equilibrium off-kilter. I catch a brief glimpse of the storage area where the various strands of the virus are being stored, and wonder if the cure is in there.

I’m dragged into a small room with a single metal chair bolted to the floor. The soldiers turn me about-face and throw me into the seat. They strap my legs to the chair, tightening the chilled-thick leather to the point of cutting the circulation off to my extremities. My hands are handcuffed behind the chair.

“Pathetic. Just so disappointing,” Dex says, muttering. “I was hoping to see what you were capable of. Oh well, guess we’ll never know now.”

My head dangles toward the floor. “Untie me and let’s find out.”

“Why? Look at yourself, Mike. Christ, you can barely stand, much less fend off a cold,” Dex answers. “Your face is proof of that. Kicking your ass right now wouldn’t offer much pleasure.”

I glance up at him. “Why don’t you give me that antidote, and we’ll see how this will play out?”

Dex snickers. “We both know that’s not going to happen.”

“I didn’t think you’d go for it anyways,” I reply. “Besides, getting your shit kicked in by a feeble science experiment would be embarrassing. Guess it would be best to save face and leave me be. Being the super bad ass you are, it would be hard to live that down.”

Dex smiles, then chuckles as he walks toward me. He grabs my chin and jerks my head back even further so he can look me in the eye. “You’ve got balls; I’ll give you that. Perhaps some other time. That is, if they don’t chop you up into little pieces.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be seeing you real soon.”

“That you will.” Dex releases my chin, then peers over to the two soldiers standing behind me. “Keep an eye on this wiseass. If he tries anything, hit him again with the shock sticks.” Dex gives me a wink before leaving the room.

The soldiers shut the door and take positions on either side. Their firearms are strapped to their hips, shock sticks clutched in their gloved hands.

My hands work on getting out of the cuffs. I’ve only tried this one other time and it hurt like a son of bitch, but it got me out.

“Man, this sucks,” I say aloud, positioning my hands into place. I try to keep my movements to a minimum. “How many people have you bludgeoned with those things and dragged them in here?”

The soldiers stay quiet, gaze fixed and undeterred. I swish the spit and blood inside my mouth, ejecting it out near the soldiers. “Sorry about that. I was aiming for your boots.”

“Shut your mouth or we’ll shut it for you.” One of the soldiers cuts his eyes to me.

A radio clicks. “We’ve got a possible containment breach in the northeast sector. Surveillance is picking up multiple infected trying to gain access via the air ducts. Requesting additional personnel to investigate and secure if needed.”

“Do you need to check that out? Might be important,” I say. The soldiers stay silent, although I can see the anger brewing by the scowl forming on their faces. “All right, just thought I’d ask. You two big-burley brawns seem like you’re not to be trifled with so I just figured they could use you. I’m obviously not going–”

And just like that, it hits me. A deep pain claws at my side. I lean forward, writhing in pain. I grunt and moan, my insides being ripped apart at every seam.

“What the hell is happening to him?”

“I don’t know.”

The soldier to my right approaches me, his shock stick at the ready.

“What are you doing? Just leave him.”

“We can’t just leave him. What if he dies? Dex will have our heads for doing nothing, and then will put us on the chopping block,” the soldier says. “Get a medic down here now to check him out.”

The soldier prods me with his stick, shoving the blunt end into my chest. “Come on, I need for you to stay with us here.”

I try to ask for help, but it only comes out as a low, incoherent muttered mess. He inches a bit closer, titling his head as if to try to listen. I manage to sputter out the words a little louder this time, but still fail to make the connection.

“Christ.” The soldier fumbles for the leather straps on my wrist.

“Something is interfering with the radio transmission. I can’t get through,” the other soldier says with his two-way in hand.

“Try it again, but use–”

I head butt the soldier standing before me, striking him in the side of his face. He drops the shock stick, stumbling backwards. I reach for his pistol and un-holster it before he falls to the floor.

I take aim and unload two rounds into the other soldier’s chest, stopping him cold before he can come for me. He drops to the floor, dead. I remove the remaining restraints and rush to the door. I kneel down and take the other soldier’s pistol, slipping it into my pants.

The radio clamped in his hand goes off. A voice crackles in through the static. I can’t make it out as it sounds like a garbled mess. I’d better move fast–more soldiers could be heading this way.

I crack open the bulkhead door. The hinges squeak. I train my ears, listening for any inbound troops investigating the gunshot, but hear nothing.

My shoulder pushes the hefty door open a smidge more. I slip through the narrow gap. It’s quiet, not a sound can be heard–not even the waves crashing against the side of the vessel.

The radio goes off again.

I flinch.

“Breach has been contained. Any infected biologicals have been neutralized,” a voice says through the speaker. “Additional support has been sent to possible entry points. Connor wants to take no chances with the infected getting inside of here.”

Danny should be back in one of those rooms. Hope they haven’t started whatever it is they have planned for him.

My strength builds with each passing second. The effects of being pummeled on with those shock sticks ebbs. My lungs fill with air and my equilibrium is not as shaky. I stay close to the wall and use it as a crutch.

I stop at a few of the rooms along the way and peer through the small-porthole windows–finding more men, bound and gagged on tables with wires attached all over them. They’re alone, no other souls within earshot to hear their screams. Some appear to still be human while others are mutating into something else.

There’s movement up ahead. A shadow creeps along the wall.

I pause and look for cover. There’s a narrow opening in the wall across the hall next to one of the experimental rooms. The footfalls build, nearing the blind corner of the hall a few feet in front of me. I drift back into the blackness. I watch the corner and wait.

Two soldiers appear and head toward me. They stop and stare into the rooms near me. I’m not sure what they’re looking for.

“I’ve got this. Why don’t you go down and check on them? Connor hasn’t been able to reach them and wants to see how everyone is holding up. Not sure what’s going on with communications so report back immediately,” one of the TGP soldiers says.

The soldier across the hall leaves while the other stays behind.

Damn it.

I creep out of the shadows. I don’t see the soldier. I toe the corner, and glance to my right. He’s got his back turned to me with his machine gun pressed to his chest. I step out when he turns about and heads this way.

I pull my leg back in and hold tight. I’ve got my pistol at the ready–finger hugging the trigger as he walks towards me. I take a couple of deep breaths, prepared to take care of him.

His radio cuts in and out, stopping him shy of my position. Their communications are still on the fritz, the transmission choppy and garbled.

“Say again, over,” he says into the receiver.

He changes direction and heads back the other way. I slip out of the nook, mindful to be quiet.

“Poss–gunshots–prisoner,” the voice says over the static.

“Securing Sector G. Tango in route to patient zero on status, over?” the soldier replies. More static crackles in the air as I move closer. He stops with the radio held close to his mouth. “Control, do you copy?”

Static.

“Christ. Damn antiquated equipment. Stuck on this freak show and they give us gear that doesn’t work worth a damn,” the soldier says, hammering the two-way against his padded palm.

“Hey, pal, I’d say that’s the least of your problems at the moment,” I whisper in his ear.

He tries to flip around, but I keep him at bay by placing the barrel of the pistol to his temple. I remove the radio from his hand and take the machine gun, slipping it over my shoulder.

“Where are they keeping the other guy that was with me?” I ask.

“You sure you want to do this? You’re in a highly secured facility with no chance of escaping. I suggest you give up now and maybe they’ll just lock you back up.” He reaches for his shock stick hanging by his side.

“I wouldn’t press your luck, pal. The only reason you’re still upright is because I need you. So I’d keep your hands away from that if you want to live.” He moves his hand away from the stick and back into the air. “Good boy. Now, where is he?”

“Go screw yourself. You discharge that gun and you’ll have a hail storm of heavily armed soldiers all over you.”

I press the barrel of the pistol to the backside of his right arm and fire. The sound is muffled some, but not much.

He yells out in pain, until I press the barrel back to his head. “You’re insane.”

“Probably. Most likely. Unless you want to feel where I pull the trigger next, I’d suggest you play ball and let me know where he is.”

“Okay,” the soldier says in a raised voice. Blood runs from the wound, racing down his black suit, and dripping to the floor. “Down this corridor. Fourth door on the right.”

I tuck my arm under his throat and spin around, keeping my body directly behind his. Sounds like the company. Someone or something is inbound.

“I told you that you were screwed.”

“Drop the pistol and let him go, patient zero,” the other soldier orders.

“Sorry, can’t do that. Got someplace I need to be.”

The soldier trains his weapon at us and opens fire, shooting his partner in both legs. He collapses, and I’m caught in the open. I return fire, hitting him in the neck. His hand releases the front part of the machine gun and palms the gash. One more shot to the head and he’s down for the count.

I stagger down the hall as fast as I can while counting the holding rooms to my right.

Three. Four. Should be it.

I lean against the door and look through the porthole. Danny’s restrained on a gurney while one of the scientists preps a syringe. I try the handle, but it’s locked.

The radio cuts in and out with multiple voices bleeding over one another. I can’t make it out, but it doesn’t sound good.

I train the pistol at the door and open fire at the handle. I kick the door hard, dislodging it from the latch, then push it the rest of the way open. I dart inside.

“Put the syringe down,” I say, palming my leg from the impact.

Danny lifts his ponderous head from the gurney. His glassy eyes roll in every direction like marbles. His movements are sluggish.

“You good, bud?” I ask, training the pistol at the lab tech while I undo the straps holding Danny down.

“Mike? Where? What?”

“Sorry about this.”

I smack Danny across the face hard, leaving a red welt on the side of his cheek.

“Ouch,” he says. “What was that for?”

“Just trying to snap you out of it, bud.”

“Jesus.”

I snatch the lab tech by the lapel and shove him against the computer terminal. Danny rubs the side of his face, moving his jaw from side to side.

“Where’s the cure?” I ask, sounding more beast than man.

“What cure?” the lab tech shoots back with both of his hands shielding his weeping face.

I pistol whip him, smashing the grip of the gun into his skull. His thick-framed glasses break in half and fall to the floor.

“The cure for the virus. Where is it? I know it’s on this god-forsaken ship somewhere. Tell me where it is.”

“I don’t–”

I strike him again and again. Blood runs from the repeated blows to the corner of his right eye.

“I can’t tell you. They’ll kill me,” he replies, sniveling.

“I’ll do worse if you don’t.” I place the pistol in the middle of his clammy forehead. “You know I’m infected, right?”

He nods but doesn’t speak.

“So what would happen if I bit you? Would you contract the virus and turn? Might be a nice little experiment.”

He quivers at the notion. His right eye is swelling shut–breathing labored.

Danny staggers off the edge of the gurney and holds onto the edge. His legs wobble. He appears to be coming out of whatever it is they gave him.

“Here.” I pull the other pistol free and hand it to him. “Watch the door. We’ll have company soon.”

“We need to clear out. I spotted Captain Reynolds in a room like this one.”

“Go get him. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

“What about the rest of the crew? We can’t just leave them to these assholes.”

“For now, we have to, Danny. Captain Reynolds is a priority for us getting this rust bucket back on course. Besides, we don’t know if any of them are infected, and if so, how long they have.”

“Mike–”

“Go. This isn’t up for debate.”

Danny mutters under his breath, sighing as he ducks out of the room.

I focus my attention on the lab tech. “What’s it going to be?”

“It’s contained in lab D-3. Starboard side of the vessel,” the lab tech answers.

D-3? That sounds familiar. It takes me a minute, but it finally strikes a chord. “The specimen lab?”

“Yeah.”

“Which vile is it?”

“Cabinet, far wall when you first walk in,” the lab tech replies. “The strand you’re after will be light blue.”

I hear the heavy clump of footfalls charging this way. Time to jet.

“Please don’t kill me,” he says, whimpering and shielding his head.

I strike him again on the side of his head with the gun, this time knocking him unconscious. He slams into the computer terminal, then to the floor.

I slip out of the room and head to the lab. I hang a left and dart down the long, winding corridor. The soldiers keep pace with me. No sirens or alarms have been set off. The squeaking noise of my boots gripping the polished floor fills my ears.

“I’ve got eyes on him,” a voice says, crackling over the radio.

“I need him alive,” Connor replies.

Gunfire erupts from behind me. Bullets zip past as I close the gap to D-3. I return fire while on the move–popping off round after round in an attempt to keep the swarm of soldiers at bay.

“Sir, he’s heading for the specimen lab.”

“Seal the room now,” Connor orders. “Do not allow him in there.”

I focus on nothing but the door, refraining from wasting any more ammo as the gunfire continues to scream past me. I can make it.

A stray bullet catches my right upper thigh and trips me up. My leg gives, sending me to the floor. I flip over to my back and open fire, nailing two of the soldiers in the chest as the rest stop and take cover.

Blood trickles from the wound, covering my hand as I palm the hole.

Get up, Mike. You’re almost there.

A large steel door emerges from the ceiling and seals off the lab–cutting me off from the cure.

“No,” I say, shouting. “You sons of bitches.”

I open fire at the barricade before me.

The magazine clicks empty. I’m so close and yet so far away.

The soldiers march toward me.

I drop the gun and yell, “Come and get me, you bastards.”

A soldier closes in–weapon drawn and pointed at me. “We’ve got him, sir. Will be bringing–”

Gunfire from behind me catches the soldiers by surprise. They bring their weapons up and return fire. I cover my head, watching two more of TGP’s finest bite it in the chest.

“What the hell are you doing? Taking a nap?” Danny asks, rushing toward me. “Get off your ass and move.”

He grabs me by the arm and helps me to my feet. Captain Reynolds is by his side, spraying the corridor with the machine gun clutched in his bruised hands.

“Hurry up, Sailor.” Captain Reynolds’s left eye is swollen shut, dried blood matted to the left crease in his mouth and beard.

“We found a way out of here, but need to move. Can you walk on that leg?” Danny asks, shouldering my bulk with my arm draped over the back of his neck.

I nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”

We fall back. Captain Reynolds holds the soldiers off while we duck around the corner of the hall.

“Captain, come on,” Danny says, providing cover fire.

The machine gun runs dry, ammo spent.

“Move it, old man,” I say at the captain.

A loud thud hits the ground near us.

Danny steps out from our safe haven without pause “Captain.”

“Get back here. You’re going to get shot.” I grab a handful of his shirt and yank him back. Bullets impact the edge of the wall near his head, narrowly missing their mark.

I lean over Danny and find Captain Reynolds laying face first with a hole in his head and blood pooling under his body.

“He’s gone.”

“Damn it,” Danny says through gnashed teeth.

The gunfire ceases. Why’d they stop firing?

“You have nowhere to go and no place to hide,” Dex says from the corridor. “We underestimated your resourcefulness, a mistake that will not be made next time. Come out now.”

“There won’t be a next time,” I shoot back.

“Either way, you and your friend are not leaving here. So we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Dex says, his voice carrying over the silence.

There. On the hip of a dead soldier’s belt that’s lying close to us. A grenade.

I snatch it from his belt and loop my finger through the pin. “I’d cover your ears.”

“Are you crazy?” Danny asks with his mouth gaped open.

“Probably.” I pull the pin and toss it up the hall.

The metal body pings off the floor.

The soldiers scramble to stay clear of its path.

Boom.

The grenade detonates, rattling the vessel to its metal skeleton. The adjoining hall is engulfed with fire and smoke. Debris is blown toward us.

Sirens sound off, bellowing loud as the lights overhead flicker and cease. The security bulbs along the top portions of the wall kick in, cloaking the halls in a dark red, hazy glow.

My ears are ringing. I’m disoriented. I check on Danny whose gagging on the smoke. He swipes his arm across his face, eyes red and irritated.

“You good?” I ask, chewing on the bitter taste of sulfur in the air.

“I guess, you crazy bastard.”

A soldier stumbles into view with his sidearm dangling loose in his hand. Blood races down his charred face–shrapnel embedded in his skin.

Danny trains his pistol at the soldier’s head and fires, killing him with a single shot.

“Save it. Which way.”

Danny says nothing. He walks past me with a gruff growl.

We race down the corridor hard and fast, leaving while we can. Danny cuts to his left and makes a beeline for a bulkhead door. There’s a soldier slouched in the corner–head hanging toward the floor without any visible movement.

“How do we get out?”

“Hand print recognition,” Danny replies.

He grabs the soldier’s arm and drags him over to the panel next to the door. Danny removes the glove, then sets the soldier’s right hand on the reader.

The panel gives off a green glow under the soldier’s hand, scanning his palm and fingertips.

Access Granted.

The soldiers regroup fast.

The reports of multiple gunshots taint the air.

A hailstorm of bullets punches the wall around us.

The hefty bulkhead door’s locking mechanism disengages. The door opens. More gunfire strikes the wall near us, sending our heads down as we slip back out into the unknown.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A disfigured body emerges from the shadows of the bowels of the vessel–stumbling through the web of hanging wires and metal pipes.

A portion of its face has been burned, skin crispy and cracked. Its left forearm is missing. The stub’s end is gamey with the virus’s thick-red bile dripping from its mangled flesh. It moans–low and subtle, legs stuttering toward us with its mouth open.

“Watch out,” I say, pointing at the infected.

Danny grabs the side of the creature’s head. The flesh pulls away from the skull. A thick, stringy membrane connects the decaying skin and bone. Danny rams it hard against the steel pipes a few times before its skull busts open like a rotten melon. Decayed brain matter and the creature’s thick blood cake Danny’s hands. He releases it. The creature crumbles to the steel grates.

A chorus of shrills echoes from the halls.

“We need to find a safe place to hold up,” I say, looking down the corridor for the dead.

Danny kicks the lifeless body a couple more times. The heel of his boot busts through its rib cage with ease. He wipes the blood on his pant legs with his cold, dead eyes. “I know the perfect place.”

The infected cries for flesh creep closer, flowing through the eerie halls.

We run faster.

Danny doesn’t say where this safe haven might be, but remains silent and continues rushing through the narrow corridors.

“In here,” Danny says, darting into the ship’s galley.

The hinges squeak as we push our way through the double-swinging doors. Busted plates and glasses cover the floor. Pots and pans hanging from hooks that are attached to the ceiling sway back and forth, clanging against one another.

Danny walks to the back of the low-lit kitchen and disappears into a storage room. He rummages around–making a fair bit of noise.

“You hungry?” I ask, walking to an opening that overlooks the dining area for the crew. “Figured that’s why you brought us here.”

Chairs and tables are turned over in the dining area with more busted plates littering the floor. The doors leading to the hall sway with the motion of the ship, opening and closing with a subtle glide.

Danny walks out of the storage room and comes up next to me with a bottle of Wild Turkey Bourbon and two small glasses clutched in both hands. He doesn’t say much, popping the top from the bottle and pouring the pungent liquor. He sits the bottle down, takes hold of the thick-rimmed shot glass, and downs it with a single gulp.

It bites him hard–eyes squinting and head shaking. He slams the shot glass down and pours some more.

“We’re pretty screwed, you know that right,” Danny says.

“Yeah, I know.” I grab the glass from the steel counter and gulp it down. The taste is smooth and warm, followed by a bite at the tail end. I savor every drop, licking the residue from my lips.

“Even if we manage to make it off this ship and onto a lifeboat, it would be suicide in this weather. Might as well put a bullet in your head and call it a day.”

“Seems a bit extreme, doesn’t it? A slug right between the eyes.” I watch him down glass after glass of the potent brew. He takes another hit, shooting it without missing a beat.

“How many times have you been to sea, Mike?” Danny asks with a slur. I hesitate. “Well come on. I’m waiting for your brilliant response.”

“None, but I’d rather take my chances out there than stay on this hell ship any longer. Besides, regardless of what we decide to do, we can’t let this ship dock in Savanah.”

Danny downs another shot. “Oh really. What do you propose, then?”

“We sink the ship.”

“Sink the ship?” Danny chuckles. “Maybe you need to drink a lot more.”

“I’m serious. That’s the only way we can be certain that all of this doesn’t make it to its destination.”

“And how are we going to do this? You do know you’re on a cargo ship, right? Not some little dinghy on the lake?” Danny pauses for a moment, staring at me. “And let’s not forget about the crew. What’s your plan for saving those that haven’t been turned, huh?” Danny’s face turns flush, ears red with a single vein protruding from his neck. He takes another shot, gulping it down as his bloodshot eyes burn a hole through my head.

I reach for the bottle. “Why don’t we put that down and take a moment, all right?”

Danny jerks it away with a look of disdain. He’s getting madder by the second–nostrils flaring. “You know what, screw you. Everything was fine until you boarded our ship. Now, the captain’s dead and most of my friends along with him.” Danny slams his shot glass down hard on the counter and shatters it, slicing his hand up pretty good. It doesn’t faze him in the least, though. His attention is focused in my direction.

I take a few steps back, getting enough distance between us to defend myself if need be. “I don’t think you want to do this. You’re a good person who’s had a shitty couple of days like the rest of us. We’re on the same side here.”

His gaze shifts to a knife rack hanging on the wall to his right. He hesitates for only a moment before snatching up the large butcher’s knife at the end. “Maybe if I take your head and give you to them, they’ll let me and the others live,” he says in a raised, angry voice.

The smell of bourbon lingers on every word he says. The spirit drives his actions.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Danny.” I snag a cast-iron skillet dangling above me.

“You smug a-hole. I’m the one with the big knife here.” Danny drops the Wild Turkey and takes a swing at me. I deflect the blade’s razor-sharp edge off the bottom of the pan, punch him in the face, then retreat through a single-swinging door that leads out into the dining area. “I always knew you were a coward, Mike. You let other people die so you can scurry away like the rodent you are.”

I hide behind one of the many flipped-over tables. I don’t want to kill him by any means. Just subdue.

Danny rushes out from the kitchen, blood running down the left side of his lip. He brushes it away with his hand, snickering as he looks over the room. I hold my position and keep still. He’s not thinking straight. The alcohol is impairing his judgment.

He grabs a table and tips it over, creating a lot of extra noise. Danny is so angry he’s growling. He trips over a chair, stumbling into one of the few tables that are still standing upright. Plates go crashing to the floor. Danny mutters more colorful words under his drunken breath.

I glance over the lip of the table and find one of the infected staggering through a door on the far side of the room. There’s only one that I can see.

“Get off me,” Danny grumbles, his body caught in the white tablecloth.

I don’t think he’s noticed the infected yet. He’s too busy fending off that pesky table cover.

“Stop moving and shut it,” I say to Danny in a low voice, watching the creature survey the dining area for the cause of the ruckus.

It takes a few seconds before the infected spots Danny thrashing on the floor. It shrills and makes a beeline for him, running into tables and chairs.

Danny escapes the tablecloth and gets to his feet as the infected closes in on him. The creature lunges for his arm, mouth open with rows of sharp teeth ready to sink into his flesh.

I spring from my crouched position and smash the creature’s face with the pan. Its head snaps to the side, then falls over the edge of the table.

Danny takes another stab at me, slicing my upper left bicep. He seems to be less concerned with that thing that’s trying to eat him than he is with killing me.

“Stop this,” I say, growling.

Danny ignores me. He doesn’t look in the direction of the dead creature that’s getting to its feet.

The creature’s jaw is dislocated, hanging loose and off its hinge. Red bile oozes from the corner of its mouth and down its rotting skin. It shrills louder this time, getting Danny’s attention.

“You want some of this?” He slashes across the chest of the infected, opening it up with ease. The creature brushes off the attack and comes at us with its arms stretched in front of it.

Danny strikes the infected, hacking chunks of its flesh away. He goes for the head and lops it off.

The creature stumbles in place for a few seconds before its body goes limp and drops to the floor.

“Now where–”

I deck Danny in the face, knocking him off his feet and flat onto his ass. I take the knife out of his hand as he lays there with his gaze trained at the ceiling.

I rip a piece of clothing from my tattered shirt and lap it over my bicep. The blood soaks the dingy-white cotton in a blink–turning it a pale red.

I’m about ready for this voyage to be over.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It’s been a few hours since Danny went haywire–causing so much noise that it attracted the infected. He stirs on the floor, then comes to.

“Christ,” Danny says, both hands grabbing his head.

“You good now?”

Danny tries to sit up, struggling to get off the floor. His left eye is black and blue, dried blood stuck to his mouth and hands. “What happened? Did you punch me?”

I nod. “You were out of control, rambling and sucking down some Wild Turkey like a madman. So yeah, I refocused your attention.”

“By punching me in the face?”

“I could’ve used this frying pan,” I shoot back, showing him the pan.

“Well, glad you didn’t hold back,” Danny says. His fingers knead the back of his neck, digging in deep while he swivels his head in a circular motion. “How long have I been out?”

“A while. Had to check to make sure you were still breathing.”

Danny shakes his head. “I should’ve known better. A few beers generally do me in.”

“Yeah. I’d stay away from the hooch next time, lightweight.”

“You’re telling me. How’s the arm?” Danny asks, cringing.

“It’s fine. Not the worst thing to happen to me,” I reply, while looking it over.

Danny glances at the headless corpse, massaging his jaw. “So that happened, huh?”

I glance at the dead body. “Yeah. It found its way to the noise you were making earlier. I’ve been keeping an eye out for more. I don’t think we’ll be able to stay here much longer.”

“Well, thanks for having my back and all, even though I didn’t deserve it.”

“No worries. Just don’t let it happen again.”

There’s only a moment of silence before Danny brings up the Titan. “Are you serious about trying to sink this ship?”

“Yeah. Seeing what they’re experimenting with, we can’t let it out into the general population.”

“Is it really going to make a difference?” Danny asks. “I mean, they could be all over the world with labs and bases. What would sinking this ship accomplish? From the sounds of it, they’re already entrenched in the states.”

“To be honest, probably not much, but it has to start somewhere,” I reply, looking into his glassy eyes. “They’ve taken so much from so many people. I’ve seen a lot of death and hurt over the past six months and watched good, innocent people suffer.”

“What about your wife?”

“I’ll see her again. Whether in this life or the next.” It pains me to speak of such things. My heart is aching and splitting in half without being able to be with Becky.

Danny doesn’t seem too keen on my plan of sinking the ship from the concerned look on his face and the tone of his voice. The Titan has been his home away from home for a while and now someone who has hitched a ride wants to destroy that.

“You’re bat shit crazy, Mike, and suicidal at best,” Danny says, shaking his head.

“Unfortunately, right now we have to think in such a way. Desperate times call for extreme measures. It’s up to us now.”

Danny sighs. “What’s your plan, then?”

I pace about the floor in front of him. “I figure if we can maybe get to the engine room and sabotage the fuel lines feeding into the engines, then, that’ll be enough to take it down. Best-case scenario, we do enough damage and haul ass to the lifeboats before the Titan sinks. Send those bastards to the abyss below.”

“And the worst case?”

I stop and peer at him. “We go out with a bang.”

Danny stands up, grunting.

A sliver of light bleeds through the dense clouds and beams into the dining hall. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen the sun. The glow of its rays brushes over my tired and tattered face.

It lasts for a few moments before the ship’s direction shifts and rolls to the right. The tables and chairs slide along the floor, slamming into the wall near the windows.

The infected are close, the low-toned moans echoing down the halls.

I look to the doorway, then glance back to Danny. “We need to move. How far is the engine room from here?”

“Not too far. It’s located in the bottom and stern of the ship.”

“What about the lifeboats?” I ask.

“They’re also stern of the vessel on the upper deck near the deckhouse,” Danny answers. “It’s a free fall lifeboat. We’ve had some issues with the release mechanism sticking at times, but it shouldn’t be an issue. The captain was going to have it looked over when we made it back to the states.”

That’s good news. At least it’s not on the opposite side of the ship. If we can pull off sinking the Titan, we might have a chance at surviving this. That’s if it detaches without any problems.

We head to the galley and gather up some more knives. Danny’s pistol is nearly depleted, leaving us with just the knives to handle any sort of up close and personal confrontation.

The double doors at the far end of the galley slam open. A handful of infected staggers in. Danny removes the pistol from the front of his pants and takes aim.

I lower the weapon, pushing it back down to his side. “We need to conserve that ammo. Come on.”

We backpedal into the dining area and head for the exit. The boat pitches hard toward the bow, then rolls to the left, sending all off the dining tables in our direction.

More plates crash to the floor as the dead tumble out of the galley and make a beeline for us.

“Go, go, go,” I say, swinging my hand at Danny to move.

Chair’s slam into the wall and break on impact. The tables miss us as we trudge for the exit. The infected can’t find their footing, navigating the debris that’s sliding back and forth.

The vessel rolls once more, sending the right portion of the ship on its side. The creaking and straining on the ship’s hull echoes throughout.

We grab what we can, holding on until it levels back out. Our feet leave the floor, dangling in the air. The infected shrill and are tossed against the far wall. Some slam into the small windows. The tables tumble and crush them on impact.

“Something’s wrong,” Danny says as we start to even out.

We find our footing and hurry to the exit. We slip out into the hall and discover more dead heading our way. There’s more than just a few. Maybe a half dozen inbound.

“Which way?” I ask, the strain on the ship’s structure becoming more pronounced. The walls start to bulge, the rivets looking as though they could burst from the steel at any time.

“Here.” Danny takes off in the direction of the dead, keeping his hands out to his side to brace himself with every roll and pitch the vessel makes.

They waste no time in coming for us, the more able-bodied ones slicing their way through the lumps of dead weight in front of them. Their decrepit bodies crumple to the floor in pieces, blood splattering everywhere.

We hang a right and descend down a narrow set of stairs as the dead reach for us. They’re hot on our heels, keeping pace with every step we take.

We step through a bulkhead door and stop. Both of us grab the weighted piece of steel and try to seal the entrance, but can’t. The stress the storm is putting on the vessel is contorting the steel, making it challenging to secure the door.

“We have to seal this and lock it down,” I say through clenched teeth.

The mass of dead on the other side presses against the door, forcing us back and the door open. I brace my feet as best I can, but there are too many of them to contend with.

Danny drops low and puts his back to the door. He places his feet onto the wall and pushes. We manage to drive the infected back, moving the door closer to closing.

“Almost there,” I say–my legs driving forward.

A few more inches and the door seals, latching into place.

Danny grabs the wheel and spins, locking it. “That was close.”

The infected continue to fight to get through. Each hammering blow sounds through the steel. The lights overhead dim and flicker, a low hum resonates from them.

The ship jerks and rolls hard, tossing us into the steel wall. I bang my head on some pipes. The impact opens a gash on my right temple. The warmth of the blood spreads down the side of my face, dripping from my chin. I blink a couple of times, trying to clear the path of stars cluttering my vision.

Danny yells out in pain, grabbing his shoulder from the flat of his back. His teeth are clenched, spit ejecting from his dried, cracked lips. “I think it’s dislocated.”

His shoulder looks bad, the bone slightly elevated more than his other shoulder. We don’t have the time or luxury to properly take care of this so it’s going to be dirty at best.

“I need to set it.”

“You need to do what?”

“I have to pop your shoulder back into place.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine,” Danny replies, acting as though it isn’t anything. He tries to stand up on his own, grunting and muttering under his labored breath.

“If we don’t set it, it will hurt even more and become inflamed.”

Danny cringes and shakes his head, but agrees. “Ok, just hurry it up.”

I help Danny to his feet. The pitch and roll of the ship make it difficult to keep my footing. I wrap my fingers around his hand, gripping it tightly. Blood flows into my eye, blurring my vision. I swipe it away onto my shirt, the thick-gooey matter clinging to the cotton fibers. “You ready?”

“Yeah, just–”

I jerk his arm down in one fluid motion, his shoulder cracking and popping back into place. He lets out a single yelp, falling back against the wall and clutching his arm.

“Are you all right?”

His lips purse. He pants. “Never better. Have you done that before?”

I shake my head. “Nope, first time.”

The infected continue to pound away, unyielding in their drive to get through.

Danny doesn’t appear to be hurting as bad, but his arm’s out of commission for the moment. He keeps the injured limb pressed to his side and says, “Come on. Let’s keep moving.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The infected are all over the place.

It almost seems like they know what we’re up to, and they’re trying to stop us. We’ve been met at almost every turn, corridor, and staircase on this blasted ship. The only saving grace is there haven’t been any TGP soldiers for us to contend with.

“Watch out,” Danny says, wielding the fireman’s ax he picked up along the way.

He rams the bit into the side of the neck of one of the infected. A painful moan escapes his lips as he favors his injured shoulder.

The ax goes deep, stopping halfway before it hits bone. Blood spews from the open wound, spraying me in the face. Its deformed, boney hands grab me by the shirt, holding tight as I grip the handle and kick it in the stomach. It takes a few follow-up kicks before the creature lets go.

“I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out.” Danny gasps for air, chest heaving and his cheeks pale. “I’m spent.”

“Aren’t we close to the engine room?” I asked, panting.

“Yeah.” Danny points in the direction we’re heading. “Down the next set of stairs and it’s the bulkhead door on the right.”

“We’re almost there, then. Hang in there, bud.”

More shrills echo the way we came, drawing closer with every second that ticks by. A few of the infected materialize around the blind corner of the adjoining hall and rush toward us.

I grab a handful of Danny’s clothes and shove him forward. “Go.”

Danny stumbles, turns toward the staircase, and gets moving. He races past an intersecting hall and is tackled by one of the creatures. It bites him on the shoulder, ripping a chunk of flesh clean from the bone.

Danny howls at the top of his lungs, fear clouding his voice. The creature pulls back, ready to lunge forward again, but I stop it short of digging its teeth into Danny’s pulpy flesh.

I hold it from behind with my right arm and wrench it away from him. “Get off your ass and go.”

The creature is relentless, thrashing in my grasp. It slices my leg multiple times with its mutated arm. Blood runs from the gashes.

Tears flow down Danny’s cheeks, leaving streaks of dirt in their wake.

“Get to the engine room. Move it now,” I say, struggling to keep the creature contained. Danny glances to his left, the pack of flesh-eaters barreling toward us. “Go now or we’re both dead.”

Danny hesitates a moment longer before he takes off down the staircase, vanishing from my sight. I shove the creature face-first into the steel wall and take its head off with one stroke. Its stump pumps clumpy liquid onto the floor as it twitches and jerks.

The open wounds on my legs sting, but I ignore the pain.

I take the fireman’s ax and throw it at the incoming infected. The stained blade rotates end over end and buries deep into the chest cavity of one of the dead. It stumbles and falls, tripping up the other two in the process.

I turn and run as the pack of infected gets up off the floor. My leg tries to comply, but struggles with every step it takes. I don’t let up, pushing on as I stumble down the staircase.

Shrills haunt the halls like the infected are a few feet behind me.

I hit the bottom step and hang a right, tracking Danny’s trail of blood to the engine room. My boots splash into the water that’s gradually getting deeper the closer I get. Is the Titan taking on water? Where’s it coming in?

I take hold of the wheel and try to open the bulkhead. It gives an inch then stops. I keep trying, straining with every muscle fiber in my arms to unlatch the door.

The infected draw closer, racing down the stairs and heading my way.

“Come on, damn it,” I grunt, continuing to work on the wheel as I hear the footfalls of the dead splash into the water.

I pause and let go, facing the incoming threat. They hold still as their cold, dead eyes look into mine. Blood oozes from the chest cavity of the one I axed, dropping to the water in thick, chunky clumps.

The cool air brushes over my leg, sending a chill down my spine. I’m poised and ready, just waiting for them to make their move.

“If you want me, then come get me.”

The creatures shrill and rush me, colliding into one another in the cramped space in a mad dash. My hand balls into a fist–both brows lower. I’m past the point of being scared to die. I’ve done that already.

The door unlatches and cracks open from behind me. A hand grabs me by the shoulder and jerks me into the engine room as the dead close in. I fall flat on my back into a pool of water. My head submerges for a moment before I sit up and watch the door slam shut just as the dead reach us.

“Good timing,” I say, running my hand over my face.

“Danny told me you were still out there and heading this way,” a familiar voice replies.

I blink away the water in my eyes and see Jose. “We thought you were dead.”

“No, just trapped down here.” Jose extends his hand and helps me to my feet. He’s got a nasty gash stretching the length of the right side of his head. Cuts and bruises litter his arms and face. A thin trail of dried blood runs from his nose that is matted to his skin. “I ran into those things and barely made it in here. Busted the damn radio in the process so I wasn’t able to reach anyone.”

“Where’s Danny?” I ask, searching for him.

“He’s over here.” Jose leads me through a couple of doors to the control room. Danny’s lying on the floor. Both lids are cracked open. His breathing is sparse and his face is flush. Blood continues to rush from his shoulder, pooling under his body.

“What happened to him?” Jose asks.

“An infected bit him.” I bend down to check his wound, straining some from the pressure put on my leg.

“Want me to take a look at that?” Jose asks, pointing at my injured leg.

I dismiss the offer with a wave of my hand. “Don’t bother.”

“Looks about as bad as his shoulder and bleeding out just the same.”

“I’ll be fine.” I remove the cloth from Danny’s shoulder. The effects of the virus are already noticeable. Thick strands of blood cling to the fabric, stretching as I pull it away. The skin around the bite is dying and spreading across his chest.

“You made it,” he says in a lifeless tone. “How does it look?”

“Not too bad. Just a little scratch is all. You’ll be fine.”

“Liar.” Danny chuckles. He hacks and coughs up some blood, staining his pale lips a dark red. “You wanna tell him?”

“Tell me what?” I ask.

“The Titan is sinking,” Jose says. “A weak spot in the hull finally gave due to the weather. This rust bucket should’ve been retired and scrapped years ago.”

“Guess we’re not going to have to worry about trying to take it down now,” Danny says.

“How long do you think we have?” I ask, peering up at Jose.

He shrugs. “Not sure. If the weather keeps up it’ll more than likely capsize sooner rather than later. Besides, once the water reaches high enough in here, we’ll be dead in the water. Either way, this ship is going down.” Jose steps away and checks the control board. Warning lights flicker and beam their intense orange glow. “The added weight of the water the ship’s taking on is putting a strain on the engines. Number two is redlining and on the fritz. Crap.”

Clang.

“What’s the problem?” I ask.

“If the pressure gets too great, then the engines can explode, and I’d rather be a long way from here before that happens.” Jose darts out of the room, more banging noises mixing with the steady humming sound of the engines churning through the treacherous waters.

I take off my shirt, wad it up, and press it to Danny’s shoulder. He doesn’t flinch or grimace when I pat the wound. His breathing slows. Both pupils dilate and turn that familiar black.

Clang. Clang.

“I’ll be right back.” I let Danny rest and leave the control room in search of Jose. The rolling of the ship sends water splashing up my legs and against the wall as I close the door behind me. “Jose.”

The room is cast in darkness with small pockets of light. The bulkhead we came through still looks to be intact. The water kisses the base of the round, steel frame.

Clang.

The noise echoes through the double doors across the way. They’re cracked and swinging back forth with the motion of the ocean.

“Jose. Where are you?”

Still no response. It could be that he can’t hear me over the engines. They’re loud.

I approach the doors and grab their edge. I take a look inside. Tools hang on the walls, swinging and bashing into one another. The bulkhead to my right is ajar, water flowing in over the steel lip. I advance on the opening before noticing the water has a red tint trailing off to the left.

Did the dead gain access somehow? I ponder.

I scan over the numerous nooks and tight places that the infected could be lying in wait. The generators must be on their last leg as the lights dim with every passing minute.

A pair of boots stick out from behind a workbench. They don’t move.

I grab a big wrench from the workbench table, and look over my shoulder. My fingers grip the steel with a firm hold. I approach the body.

It’s lying face first in the water, blood seeping from the back of its skull. It looks like it could be Jose, but I can’t tell from here. I bend down, grab its arm, and flip it over. It’s Jose.

“Jose,” I say, shaking his body.

I don’t see any bite marks or wounds other than the abrasion on his head. This isn’t something the infected do. If the dead didn’t do this, then, who did?

Water splashes behind me–rushing toward me. I stand up and turn, but my injured leg screams with pain. I twist my body toward the figure emerging from the shadows.

It strikes me hard, slamming my head into the steel legs of the workbench. The wrench jostles from my grasp, and water splashes into my face. It wraps its arm under my throat and pulls me off the floor.

“Bet you didn’t think you’d run into me again,” Dex says.

“Not really. I figured you’d have your head up Connor’s ass,” I reply.

Dex tightens his hold around my throat. “He wanted me to collect you before the ship goes down, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Well, I was planning on sending you and the rest of you bastards to the bottom of the ocean.” I ram my elbow into his side, trying to break his hold. He’s no softy. His ribs are encased in layers of thick muscle. It’s like hitting a damn brick wall. Each strike I land he brushes off with a taunting snicker.

“I truly hope you have more to give than just this.” Dex releases his hold and flips me about. I try to land a right cross but he blocks it before I can even get close to him. He knees me in the stomach and I double over. I gasp for air.

The extreme tilting of the ship dislodges the tools hanging on the walls, crashing against the workbench and sliding all over the wet steel floor.

Dex grabs me by the shoulders and tosses me backward through another set of double doors. My body breaks through them with ease. I hit the wet floor and I slide to the far wall. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.” Dex knocks the doors open with his boot. A chunk of flesh has been torn from his right cheek–leaving his jaw exposed through the strings of skin and muscle that remain.

I can see his tongue moving through the gaping hole, probing the open wound as he stares at me with malevolent eyes. Claw marks race down his throat and through his suit to a gash on his right side. That’s when I notice a vial hanging from his neck. “You look like shit. Seems like you’re having a taste of your own medicine?”

“No thanks to you and that explosion you caused. It opened a hole that let the infected inside. We were overwhelmed and most of my men were turned into those damn things.”

I get off the floor and scoop up a pipe wrench that’s sitting next to me. I hammer the metal end across Dex’s face, dislodging his jaw even more. His head whips to the side, body reeling from the blow. I take another swing. Dex grabs my wrist. He’s got a vise-like grip, squeezing until the pressure is more than I can stand. I try to hold strong, but he overpowers me with relative ease.

Dex palms his jaw and shoves it back into place. The bone cracks and pops, but it doesn’t appear to have caused him any pain. He ejects some spit from his mouth, smiling as his tongue dances across his lips. “Is that the best you got?”

He punches me in the face multiple times and breaks my nose. He twists my arm, dislocating it from the socket. I fall to my knees before him. He rams his leg into the side of my head, knocking me to the floor. “They still want you alive, but in the end, all they need is your blood really. Perhaps I’ll just deliver your corpse to them instead.”

Dex pulls a large knife from its sheath, grabs me by the hair, and pulls me back up to my knees. He holds the thick, serrated blade to my neck as he jerks my head upright. “I want to watch as you experience death by my hand.”

The blade starts to cleave through my flesh, the stinging sensation rushing throughout my body. Something blunt strikes Dex in the back of his head. The blade falls from his hand, clattering to the ground.

“Get away from him, ass wipe,” Danny says, breathless. He leans against the railing, propping himself up. “Well, come on, sunshine, what you waiting for?”

I scoop up the knife and bury it into the back of Dex’s skull. The blade breaks through the bone and digs into the hilt. He shudders and pauses, arms reaching for the blade. A look of utter shock clouds his eyes as he stares at me.

“I told you we’re going to die on this ship,” I say in utter disdain.

He manages only a few more shallow breaths before dropping to the steel grates. His eyes stay open, staring at me. I notice something peeking up through the top portion of his gear. I inch toward him, grab the chain that’s around his neck, and remove the object. It can’t be.

“What’s that?” Danny asks, his voice drenched in pain.

“It’s–it’s the cure,” I reply while clutching the vial in my hand.

Danny crumples to the floor, spent of any remaining energy he might have in reserve. The infected are close, their shrills echoing up through the lower levels as they draw closer to us. More water rushes in, spilling over the edge like a waterfall.

“Guess there’s only one thing left to do,” Danny removes his pistol and hands it to me. “I need you to finish it now.”

“We don’t have to do that. I’ve got the cure right here,” I say, flashing the vial in front of him.

“That wasn’t meant for me, Mike. Besides, there’s nothing left out there for me.”

“But–”

“Just do it already. There’s no time left,” Danny says, snapping at me.

The infected splash through the water below, racing up the staircase to us.

I hesitate. There should be a better way than this.

“Come on, Mike. They’re almost here.” Danny grabs my hand and presses the barrel to his forehead. The muscles in his arms spaz from the virus consuming him. “Just pull the trigger, please.”

He doesn’t look at me but closes his eyes.

I pull the trigger.

Fire spits from the muzzle.

A single bullet is placed in the middle of Danny’s skull.

His hold on the pistol releases–body collapses on the floor.

I stand there for a moment, the report still ringing in my ears.

Rest in peace, my friend.

The infected race up the stairs, gaining on my position. There is nothing left for me to do but head for the lifeboat on the upper deck.

Water pours into the engine room, falling over the edge of the rail and knocking the infected off balance as they strain to keep their footing on the stairs. My legs get caught up in the current, nearly sweeping me off to the depths below.

Danny’s body is carried off with the rushing water, jettisoning through the maze of submerged piping and steel.

I trudge through the waist-deep water, clomping as I backtrack through the rooms. Jose’s body is nowhere to be seen. I head to the open bulkhead that Dex slipped in through.

The ship’s steel frame buckles under the amount of water it’s taking on. The deads’ moans and shrills are muffled by the raging rapids.

I wade through the rising waters and traverse the inner workings of the sinking vessel. Dead bodies, both of the infected and crew, float in the foaming waters.

It’s getting harder to navigate the rising tide. The flow of water being taken on by the Titan is immense, increasing with every step I take.

The ship’s rolling onto its side and pitching in a way that it makes it difficult to tell where I am. Everything blends together in a jumble of pipe and steel.

“There he is,” a TGP soldier says, shouting in my direction.

“Get him.”

I take off for the bulkhead ahead of me. The throbbing in my leg ebbs, becoming less painful with every step I take.

The soldiers keep their guns lowered–drawing closer to me. They stomp through the rising waters.

I dart into the stairwell, turn, and close the door. I catch a glimpse of the water rushing toward the soldiers as I seal it shut. A subtle thud plays off the walls, the soldiers banging on the door.

I give the dead men the UK two-finger salute and head up the stairs.

The rain is still coming down in heavy sheets, wind howling as the bulkhead door sways with the rolling of the ship. I stop at the opening and try to find my bearings on where the lifeboat is stationed.

Night has turned into day. The sun’s rays needle its way through the ever-looming clouds.

A majority of the containers have slipped into the vastness of the ocean. Some stay afloat, riding the mammoth waves for a short period before getting dragged below the water’s surface.

A few containers remain on the deck–twisted and out of place. Broken ties flap in the wind.

I notice Connor and a handful of soldiers from the bottom of the stairs racing toward the bridge. He spots me, but doesn’t stop. His men follow suit, ignoring my presence.

I give pursuit, slipping on the wet steel as the vessel rolls to the right. I catch the railing as the ocean gushes onto the deck. I hold firm, riding out the swell, and trying to avoid being swept out to open waters.

The ship rolls back upright, the water receding enough for me to move again. I make the catwalk that winds around the front of the bridge.

The wind gusts, catching me and pinning my body to the Titan’s outer wall. I fight it and push on, sliding along the rivets. I lift my arm to shield my eyes as I try to get a bead on Connor.

He races up another set of stairs on the other side of the bridge. Perhaps that’s where the lifeboats are kept.

I round the bend and hit the bottom step, watching as Connor ducks into one of the lifeboats. The hatch seals behind him. I sprint up the stairs and reach for the latch to the boat when something blunt hits me in the face. It knocks me off balance, and I fall flat on my ass. A figure emerges from the steel of the vessel, cloaked within the seething storm.

Connor’s lifeboat releases from the Titan, free falling to the blustering waves below. There’s one lifeboat left.

Lightning crackles, crawling along the angry dark-gray clouds. I catch a snippet of him taking aim with his rifle. I deflect the barrel with my boot and strike him in the stomach with my fist. It halts him long enough for me to stand up. He pulls a knife and takes a jab at me.

The blade’s tip grazes the skin on my stomach as I sidestep his attack. He strikes again, but I knock the blade free from his hand. I scoop up the knife and ram it into his gut, burying the blade deep inside him.

The Titan pitches forward. We lose our balance and fall. I catch the railing and hold on while he tumbles down the stairs and is swept out to sea. More water rushes over the deck, sweeping what few containers remain into the vast-black chasm. The ocean’s fury takes hold and doesn’t let go this time, pulling the back portion of the ship below the water.

I struggle to the remaining lifeboat, hiking up the short staircase as the ship starts sinking. I stumble inside. My head smacks the unforgiving seats. It rattles me but I manage to seal the hatch.

Gravity pulls me toward the nose. There’s not much headroom.

My body is hunched over. The overwhelming musty smell assaults my nose. I settle into the pilot’s seat, pull the harness over my head, and snap it in place.

I skim over the controls. There’s a lever positioned to my right with a note that says Prime to release. I pump it multiple times. The cables holding the boat to the Titan disengage.

The boat slips down the ramp and takes a nosedive into the water. The impact is jarring as the boat slams into a massive wave. The belt bites into my flesh as I’m tossed against the hard metal ribs of the boat. It submerges for only a few seconds before coming back to the surface. I keep a firm hold on the wheel and punch the throttle–moving away from the Titan.

I don’t see Connor’s boat anywhere within the wall of waves.

The turbulent current carries me away from the Titan. I glance out of the small porthole window and watch as the water consumes the massive ship. I’m pulled away from the vessel as it vanishes.

My fingers clutch the vial hanging from my neck. I pull it loose, pop the top, and down the stout liquid with a single gulp. It has a bitter taste. I scrunch up my face and force it down. At first, I don’t feel anything, but then it hits me.

My body convulses, stomach cramping, and heart pounding inside my head. It hurts like hell. My organs feel as though they’re being torn apart one piece at a time. I let go of the steering wheel and press my fingers against the sides of my temples. I yell out in pain.

The lifeboat crashes head-on into a cresting wave, snapping me forward. The worn and frayed harness breaks loose and catapults me forward.

I stretch my arms out in front of me. My skull smashes into the hull. I slip out of the seat, dazed, and drop to the floor. My eyes close.

Don’t worry, my love. Everything will be as it should soon, Becky whispers to me, kneeling over me.

I try to reach for her, my hand struggling to lift off the floor. Blood flows into my eyes, clouding the cab as I slip into the darkest recesses of my fractured mind.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I’m back on the Titan, walking the corridors of the sunken vessel. Dead bodies float past me, their faces wrinkled and bloated from the water. Fish scavenge on their flesh, plucking the jelly from their eyes as they scatter from me disturbing their meal.

A shark appears in the murky water ahead, teeth gleaming as it opens its mouth. Its back fin whips from side to side in a frenzy, propelling it toward me. It snatches up one of the infected in its jaws, clamping down and severing its body in two. Blood fills the water as it darts past me, chewing up the rancid meat.

Something bumps into my arm. I flinch, then turn around. A body is covered in seaweed with tiny fish swarming its face. I move closer. The fish strew and reveal who it is. Dex.

We’re face to face in the depths of the watery grave. He opens his eyes and reaches for me. His hand tightens around my throat. I yell out, but only bubbles rush from my mouth.

I wake up–thrashing on the floor and looking for Dex. It takes a moment, but it sinks in that it was nothing more than a bad dream. A hallucination.

I sit up. My hand rubs up and down my face as I lean against the pilot’s chair but it’s not there. What the hell. I squint, mash both sockets with the tips of my fingers, then glance over the rustic walls and the small-wooden desk in front of me. Somehow, I’ve ended up in the cabin of another ship.

The doorknob turns. I flinch and stare at the entrance with both hands balled into fists. The flimsy-wooden door opens. A big, burly man stands in the entryway staring at me.

“Who are you and where am I?” I ask, in a raised voice.

“Captain Frank Jameson and you’re aboard my fishing trawler, the Dirty Betty,” he replies. “You were adrift at sea in that lifeboat and we brought you on board.”

He reeks of fish and bourbon, his face aged and wrinkled as he looks upon me with a bewildered gaze. Gray-scraggly hairs crawl out from under the dingy-black beanie and dangle over his forehead.

“How long have I been out?”

“You’ve been aboard my vessel for a couple of days. Not sure how long you been out, though,” Captain Jameson answers.

He hands me a bottle of water, keeping his distance as I take it from him. I twist the cap off and down the refreshing liquid. My body relaxes.

“There are some clean clothes over there for ya,” Captain Jameson says, pointing out the clothes near me. “I thought you might want to ditch those rags you got on. It’s not much, but it’s all we had on board. We weren’t expecting company.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

He tilts his head and leaves, shutting the door behind him. His heavy footfalls creak up the wooden planks as he heads back up top. I get to my feet and rummage through the pile of wadded-up clothes lying on the bed. The typical fisherman starter package–jeans, red and black-flannel shirt, and a dark-gray undershirt.

I slip off my clothes and toss them into the corner. I get dressed when I catch a glimpse of myself in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. It stops me cold. I look–normal with no visible hint of the virus. Did the serum work?

I lean in closer, scrutinizing every inch of my skin. The pale tone and dark-blue veins are gone. The blackness dwelling in my eyes has changed back to its normal color. The voices that have haunted me for so long have now ceased. For the first time in a long time, I feel–normal.

The bite marks and bullet holes that plagued my body remain but have healed. I feel more alive now and freed of this burden.

I finish dressing and leave the cabin. The sun shines over the horizon, bathing me in its warm glow. The ocean is calm, water kissing the boat’s wooden hull as birds glide through the sky.

“Try it now, Captain,” a man says from atop the vessel, his voice strained and filled with tension.

I head for the bridge. A garbled static mess cuts in and out.

“What does it mean, Captain?”

“Does this mean we can dock?”

“Everybody be quiet,” Captain Jameson says, snapping as I open the door. “Billy, it’s almost there. Give her a little tug to the right.”

They’re all huddled around the ship’s radio with looks of distress filling the men’s eyes as the voice coming from the speaker cleans up. The men glance my way before the static stops and the transmission comes through.

“To anyone that’s listening, this is Captain Jessup of the Juggernaut. For any inbound sea vessels heading for ports along the United States coastline, change course immediately and stay away. Reports of a serious outbreak have been reported throughout the country. The government has reassured that there’s nothing to worry about and everything is under control, but I’ve seen these things first hand. They killed most of my crew as we were leaving port. I don’t know what’s going on, but–Tommy, what are you doing? What’s wrong?”

A loud shrill rings out from the speaker before the transmission ends.

“Captain, what the hell was that?”

“Yeah. Christ, what was that thing?”

“Everyone stow it for a minute,” Captain Jameson says again with his hand in the air. “I don’t know what it is or what it means. This is the first transmission we’ve received in the last week. Let’s not lose our heads here.”

“How far are we from the coast?” a man asks.

“Captain, I see something on the horizon,” Billy says from atop the vessel’s roof.

The men rush out of the bridge and pile onto the deck, racing to the front of the ship. I look out through the grimy windows and see trails of smoke in the sky as far as I can see.

Captain Jameson skims over the horizon with his binoculars. He doesn’t say anything, but grunts and runs his tongue along his crusty, dried lips.

I stay silent. There’s only one thing I’m trying to accomplish now and that’s finding Becky. If the virus has, in fact, spread to the United States, then, things have gotten a billion times worse.

“I don’t have the foggiest idea what’s going on, but what I do know is that we’ve been out here over our scheduled time and need to head back to the mainland to refuel and resupply. If we don’t, we may not make it back,” Captain Jameson says.

“So, what’s next?” I ask.

Captain Jameson glances my way. “We go home.”

UNDEAD APOLCAYPSE: DEAD RECKONING

BOOK 3

CHAPTER ONE

Well. This sucks.

The last seven and a half months have been a total mess and it isn’t getting better. I gained some space from the company and infected only to find out that the United States might have fallen from the infection that ravaged Africa. The only thing we’ve had to go on is the sketchy transmission from another fishing trawler, the Juggernaut, and a snapshot of the coast that is framed in a moment of uncertainty.

Captain Jameson has been reluctant to say much since the last transmission. His binoculars have been glued to his eyes. A heavy sigh escapes his taut lips every so often. He’s held up the Betty for making port but I do not know why yet. I can only imagine he’s trying to make sense of what’s happening on land.

I’ve messed with the radio to see if I can pick up any chatter to gauge the current situation on the mainland. So far, I’ve got nothing except for some static plaguing the eerie silence.

“Captain. I’ve got something in the water off the starboard side,” Billy says, in a raised voice.

Captain Jameson and I rush out of the bridge and onto the deck where the crew is peering into the water. I spot a pair of legs with its boots floating downward in the choppy current.

“Grab the gaff, Billy,” Captain Jameson says, while keeping his gaze focused on the body.

“You’re not going to bring that on board, are you?” Pete asks, pointing at the body. “Look at the back of its head.”

“No, I’m not, but I want to see if it’ll give us some clue as to what the hell is going on,” Captain Jameson replies.

“It’s a dead man in the water. Mystery solved,” Pete says. “That’s what it is and we should leave it be. Food for the sharks, man.”

Billy rushes back, slipping on the wet deck as his boots struggle to find traction on the glistening, aged-wooden boards. He doesn’t go down but catches himself, then stands back up. He hands the gaff to Captain Jameson.

“Be careful, cap,” Randall says.

Captain Jameson leans over the edge of the Betty and nabs the body by the shirt. The current pulls the body out, carries it back in, and slams it against the Betty’s hull. Jameson hooks its arm and rolls the body over. The corpse has a bloated face with both eyes plucked from its skull, leaving nothing but dark, bloody holes amid its pale, wrinkled skin.

“Christ,” Pete says, grimacing and looking away with a scowl.

Billy cups his mouth and rushes off.

The rest of the crew gasp in horror, squinting and looking nauseous as they look at the grisly body.

“What the hell is that?” Darren asks.

“Whatever the hell it is, it doesn’t look human anymore, that’s for damn sure,” Pete shoots back.

“Doesn’t really matter what this thing is or what’s happening on the mainland. We need to dock somewhere and resupply,” Captain Jameson says.

“Captain, you can’t be considering making landfall. I mean, come on. Look at that thing. We don’t know what’s going on over there, and from the sound of that last transmission, I’m not sure I want to know,” Pete says, looking at Captain Jameson with both brows raised.

“Captain’s right. We don’t have a choice, Pete,” Randall replies.

“Sure we do.” Pete points at the deck of the trawler. “We just stay on the Betty and figure something else out. We’re safest here.”

“Yeah. Why would we want to dock now, anyways? We’re safe on this boat. Nothing can get us out here, can they?” Billy says, mumbling through trembling lips.

The crew of the Dirty Betty argues with Captain Jameson for the next half hour on the deck. Everyone’s standing around barking at one another like dogs. I stay out of it and keeping my opinions to myself. If for any reason the captain changes his mind and wants to stay out at sea, that’s their bit. If need be, I’ll grab my stuff and get to swimming.

“If we have to dock now, why don’t we head up the shoreline a bit. It could be safer.” Billy says, pointing up the coast.

“Because we don’t know if another town is any safer?” Jameson shoots back. “We could waste what little fuel we have left in the tanks and then we’d be screwed. We know every inch of this town like the backs of our hands. All I’m saying is that we dock long enough to get what we need, and then we’re back on the high seas.”

“Then what?” Darren asks. “Where do we go from here? Christ, for all we know, every place could be in just as much of a mess.”

“We hit up an island or something,” Randall says, with wide eyes while looking out to the expanse of the ocean. “There’s a map in the bridge next to the Betty’s console. I bet there are plenty of places that we could go. We find one of the islands that aren’t close to a highly populated place and hold up ‘til whatever this is blows over. Clyde, what do you think?”

“Doesn’t matter to me much.” Clyde places a wad of chewing tobacco into the corner of his mouth. “Either way, it’s going to be a crap shoot.”

“Well, for us to do anything like that we’ll have to refuel and resupply. We won’t make it with what we currently have on board,” Captain Jameson replies.

“So, let’s put it to a vote, then,” Randall says, scanning the faces of the other men. “All for staying on the ship and going up the coast further, raise your hands.”

“You damn people have lost your freaking minds.” Pete raises his hand in the air. Darren and Billy join him.

“All for making landfall and resupplying here?” Randall asks.

Captain Jameson, Randall, and Clyde raise their hands.

“Of course, it would be a damn tie,” Pete says, snarling. “Doesn’t really matter much anyways. This is the captain’s boat and he’s going to do whatever the hell he wants like always.”

“What about him?” Billy points in my direction. “Shouldn’t he get a say in what happens?”

“Hell, no,” Pete says, shouting and pointing in my direction. “He’s not part of the crew. He’s lucky we brought him on board and didn’t let that lifeboat he was in drift right past us.”

“Last time I checked, Pete, you weren’t the captain of this ship,” Clyde replies. “And to be fair, you’re lucky you’re even out here considering the shit you pulled last time.”

Pete’s eyes narrow. His lips grow taut, and his ears turn red as he glares at Clyde.

Captain Jameson raises his hands, then says, “Everyone, shut it.” He glances my way. “What say you?”

“I say we dock here and take our chances. Like you said, the next place could be just as bad,” I answer with both arms folded across my chest.

Pete sighs. “Freaking great You all are going to get us killed.”

“Suck it up, buttercup. Whatever it is probably doesn’t want your nasty ass anyway,” Clyde shoots back.

Pete sneers. “Please. Can’t be any worse than that harpy you hooked up with way back when.”

“Stow the chatter now,” Captain Jameson orders. “It’s settled. We’re going ashore here.”

“Man, cap, I can’t tell if you’re drinking again or not but this is a stupid decision and you know it,” Pete says, in a raised voice, making a fist.

“And what happens when the Betty runs out of fuel and we have no food left?” Randall asks. “What then?”

“We’ll manage. Besides, I’m not going to let the captain kill us all. You all might have a death wish, but I don’t.” Pete storms off, making a beeline for the bridge. “If no one else will do anything about this madness, then, I guess I will.”

“Slow it up there, Pete.” Randall grabs him by the shoulder. “This isn’t–”

Pete backhands Randall in the face, knocking him hard to the deck. Blood runs from his nose as the rest of the crew stare at Pete with a disturbed look.

“Yawl just need to stay out of my way. You’ll thank me later.” Pete walks away but I grab his shoulder. “I told you–”

Pete whips about and throws a punch, but I block his arm and grab him by the throat. I sweep his legs out from under him and put him down on the Betty’s deck with a forceful thud.

“Listen, friend, you need to open those ears of yours and pay attention,” I say, squeezing his throat tight. “We’re going ashore now and there’s nothing you can do about it. You pull that shit one more time and I’ll personally feed you to the sharks. You feel me?”

Pete’s pupils dilate and fill with terror. He glances at the crew who remain silent.

“Do you understand me?” I ask, sounding more beast than man.

“Yeah,” Pete replies, muttering.

I let go of his throat and step away. The indentation of my fingers remains around his scruffy neck.

Pete lies flat on his back, staring at me with malevolent eyes.

The crew leaves the dead body alone, the waves carry it back out into the vastness of the ocean. Darren comes over and helps Pete to his feet. Pete stomps down the side of the boat, disappearing from sight.

Captain Jameson claps his hands. “All right, everyone, let’s get back to our posts and stay alert.”

The rest of the crew disbands to their plots on the Betty. Jameson stows the gaff and walks past me, giving me a slight nod. We head back to the bridge as Jameson removes the black beanie and strums his fingers through his messy hair. He takes his post at the helm as he slips the black cloth back over his head.

“So where exactly are we docking?” I ask.

“Morehead City, North Carolina,” Captain Jameson answers. “It’s not a densely populated town, so if there’s something going on, there shouldn’t be much we’ll have to contend with. I figure we’ll make land in roughly fifteen minutes or so.”

“If it’s a small town, then, why was your crew freaking out, to begin with?” I ask, leaning against a cabinet next to the door.

“They’re good men. Good fishermen, but I’d be pretty sure they’ve never dealt with or seen anything like what we just saw in the water. Probably spooked and all. Can’t say I blame them either. I don’t know what’s happening and I’m not sure I want to know.”

Jameson fires up the Betty’s engines and heads toward the coast. The crew scurries over the Betty’s deck.

“Not sure where you’re heading once we dock, but you’re more than welcome to stay with us if you’d like,” Captain Jameson says. “We’ve come across some nice spots out there. Perfect place to kick back and not worry about any of this shit. These guys aren’t so bad under normal circumstances.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got somewhere I need to be,” I reply.

“Aw. I get ya. Been away too long, huh?”

“Yeah, something like that,” I reply, with my eyes fixed on the coast. “As soon as my feet hit dry land, I’m going to find me a ride and hit the road. There’s only one thing I’m concerned with and nothing’s going to get in my way.”

“A man on a mission saying that kind of stuff,” Jameson replies, while handling the helm. “Aren’t you worried about what’s happening?”

I shrug. “Not really. I’ve been through worse.”

“I’ll make you a deal, friend.” Jameson digs into a cubbyhole to his right, fumbling through a mess of papers in search of something.

“The name’s Mike.” I can see the dock getting closer and closer, plumes of smoke billowing from various parts of the small town.

“All right, Mike. I’ll make ya a deal here. You help us resupply the Betty and you can take my truck. It’s an old-white Chevy pickup with a bumper sticker that says gone fishing. It’s parked next to Mandy’s diner in town. She’s got some mileage on her, but she should get ya to wherever it is you’re heading or close to.”

“You sure? Aren’t you going to need it?”

“Nah, I’ve got no plans of going ashore. An old sea dog like myself isn’t going to offer up much to nobody. I’ve been needing to retire for some time now. The only reason I’ve kept coming out here and doing all this was for the men. Besides, kicking back on a deserted island and drinking some rum every day under the sun sounds pretty great.” Jameson glances over at me with a smile and gives a subtle chuckle. “That sounded stereotypical, didn’t it?”

“Just a little.”

Jameson hands me the keys. He grabs a faded-white thermos from the ledge above the sagging wooden console and takes a swig. “It’s coffee by the way.”

“No explanation needed.” I pocket the keys and leave the bridge. I head below deck and gather up what few possessions I have. I don’t bother with the tattered rags that saw their way through the voyage on the shipping vessel. That journey will make me think twice about ever taking a cruise again.

CHAPTER TWO

The Betty draws closer to shore.

I head back up the stairs to the deck where Randall is nursing his wound. He spots me coming up and ejects a wad of spit over the side of the boat. “What do you think?”

“Think about what?” I ask.

“The fish bait we hooked with the gaff? Seems a little surreal, doesn’t it?” Randall presses a rag against his nose, dabbing at the blood to stop the bleeding. “That dead body. Some real freaky stuff, man. I’ve never seen anything like that before in my life.”

“I wouldn’t dwell on it too much. When we hit dry land, just get what you need and get back on the Betty.”

Pete comes into view on the other side of the boat, his gaze fixed dead ahead at the town. He doesn’t look our way, but I can still see a scowl crawling up the side of his face.

“That man is one step away from having a major heart attack or going postal,” I say.

“Who Pete? Naw. He’s just an asshole and doesn’t handle stress too well. This is actually tame compared to some of the stuff he’s pulled in the past.” Randall swipes more blood away, another bead appearing in its place.

“Why does the captain keep him around, then?” I ask, watching Pete skim over the town. “Seems like a distraction that you really don’t need out here.”

Randall shrugs. “I guess at the end of the day, family sticks together. Even the ones who deserve to have their asses handed to them every once in a while.”

Captain Jameson slows up the Betty as we approach the dock, cutting her speed to less than half. We pull alongside the pier. Jameson kills the engines, bringing the Betty to a stop.

My eyes skim over the buildings for any infected. It’s eerily silent. The waves crashing against the boat’s hull are the only noise that can be heard. The rest of the crew filters into the front of the boat, silent while looking over the ominous landscape.

It’s gloomy and overcast with a thick, dull-gray haze looming over the town. Thunder rolls in the distance, lighting striking within the swollen clouds.

I’m not hearing any shrills or seeing any movement but can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad surprise waiting for us. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I’m getting off this boat.

“Are we really doing this?” Billy asks, his voice quaking with fear.

“You’ll be all right, kid. Just don’t do anything stupid that’ll get us killed,” Pete replies, nudging his arm with his elbow.

“Now remember, get only what’s needed and get your asses back to the Betty. No messing around,” Captain Jameson says.

“Who’s going to refuel the Betty?” Billy asks.

“I’ll take care of that,” Jameson replies.

He’s got a Glock clutched in his hand. The crew nods. Each is wielding anything they could find. Everything from a gaff to meat hooks. Crude and not as efficient as the Captain’s pistol, but it’s better than nothing.

“Hey, Captain, why not let one of us take the Glock. You’re staying close to the Betty. Besides, don’t much think you’ll want to discharge that firearm with all the vapors that will be looming after you get finished fueling her up. I’d like to have her in one piece when we get back,” Pete says.

Jameson peers down at the Glock and glances in my direction. He hands me the piece and a box of shells.

Pete’s brow furrows as he points at me. “What the hell, Captain? I was kind of referring to me. Not this dick bag.”

“Right now, I trust him more than you. Be thankful I’m sending you out there with what you’ve got,” Jameson replies.

I pocket the shells and disembark the Betty. Pete’s gaze follows me as I hop onto the pier. I can feel his eyes boring through the back of my skull. I don’t pay him no mind, though.

“Hey, Randall, why don’t you take the kid and captain-suck-up here over to Johnson’s store and see what supplies you can scrounge up. Me, Darren, and Clyde will hit up a few of the others,” Pete says in a condescending tone.

Randall nods. “Sure.”

The juvenile taunts slide off my back with ease as we head up the rickety pier. The wood planks creak under our weight in the dead silence. We traverse the stairs and make land, then split up and head our separate ways.

“Do you think any of those things we heard on the radio are out here?” Billy asks in a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Randall replies. “I don’t really plan on being out here long enough to find out.”

“Let’s just concentrate on what we need to get done. Grab what we can, and get it back to the Betty,” I say.

Some of the buildings we walk past are scorched, the wood still smoldering and the smell of cooked flesh looming in the air. Randall and Billy don’t mention the stench even though it’s undeniable.

Glass litters the concrete before our feet from the busted-out windows of the store. Billy climbs through one of the busted windows.

I grab him by the arm. “Hold up.”

Billy stops, then looks back at me. “What’s wrong? You see something?”

The inside of the store is pretty dark from the clouds keeping the sun at bay. Since taking that serum, and becoming free of the virus, certain attributes have left me. My vision is still as sharp as ever, if not better now, but I’m no longer able to pierce the veil of darkness with any sort of accuracy.

“You wait here while Randall and I check it out. Once we’ve got it cleared, we’ll bring you in. If you see or hear anything, let us know,” I say.

“Wait, what?” Billy’s eyes enlarge. “You want me to stay out here by myself with those things possibly running loose.”

“It’ll be okay. Just give us a few minutes to check the place over, all right?” Randall shoots back.

Billy sighs, then says, “Fine, but hurry it up. I just want to get this over with and get back to the Betty.”

A vending machine that’s lying on its side blocks the front door. The only way in that I can see from here is through the windows.

The shards of glass crunch under my boots as I step inside the store. I hit the wooden floor with a subtle thud, the beams creaking. Randall follows close behind. “Doesn’t look like there’s much left for us to pick over.”

From where we’re standing, the store appears to have been picked clean with not much food or supplies remaining. Slim pickings for sure.

“There might be some boxes in the stockroom we can use to pack what we can. Mr. Johnson was a pack rat and didn’t like throwing out anything that didn’t need it.” Randall heads toward the back of the store and through a set of double doors, disappearing from sight.

I move in a bit farther and take stock of what little remains on the shelves. Some corn beef hash, sardines, and a few cans of dented anchovies. It’s not much and lacks in what I would call tasty, but at least it’s something.

I rummage, trying to find items that aren’t torn open or busted and that won’t be a burden to carry. I need to stay as lightweight as possible so I can’t have too much slowing me down.

The pack slung over my shoulder is relatively empty at the moment. I spot some spam and canned corn on the floor. My stomach churns at the thought of the potted meat touching my tongue. I bend down and take it anyway, stuffing it and an array of other items into my pack.

A banging noise sounds from the stockroom, drawing my attention. I take aim with the Glock at the double doors. I don’t see anything through the grime-covered windows at the tops of the doors. It could be Randall or someone else that isn’t infected.

I catch a whiff of something putrid. Every muscle fiber in my body tenses, ready to strike. The smell is faint, but enough to know that something isn’t quite right.

The foul stench grows stronger, invading my nose with every second that ticks by. I glance out the window and find that the kid is gone. So much for our lookout.

The double doors explode open. Randall stumbles out with his arms full of boxes. He trips over his own feet and falls hard to the floor. The boxes go everywhere. I keep the Glock trained on his head, waiting to see if he’s got that special gleam in his eyes.

“Christ,” he says, pushing up off the floor.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. This dog-sized rat came out of nowhere and scared the wholly hell out of me. Nearly pissed myself.” Randall turns my way, allowing me to get a good look at his face. As soon as he notices that I have the Glock pointed at him, he shudders and stops.

“So there wasn’t anything back there, then?”

He glances back to the double doors and shakes his head. “Aside from ratzilla, not that I could see. I wasn’t going to hang around and find out if there was.”

I don’t see any visible scratches or bites on him. Both eyes look normal.

“Do you smell that?” Randall’s nose scrunches.

I place my finger over my lips as I pick up something stirring on the opposite side of the store. Randall scrambles for the meat hook hanging from his pants. He stays silent.

“Where’s Billy?” Randall asks, whispering.

I shrug.

The pungent smell gets closer. I can’t see where it is. I stoop down and lean against the shelves–picking up its labored breathing behind me. I tilt my head to the side, stand back up, and peer over the dingy-white shelves.

Our unwanted guest pauses and turns in my direction. I can only see a portion of its stomach, sunken in and the bottom half of its rib cage protruding out. As far as I know, it doesn’t notice we’re here. Its black eyes look past me. There may be more close by and we don’t want to give them a reason to come and investigate.

After a few minutes, it continues down the aisle. I shoot a glance at Randall that I hope he’s picking up on. I’m not sure if he understands. The closer the infected gets to Randall the antsier he becomes.

It heads toward the back of the store with a gimpy limp with every step it takes. I wave at Randall to come toward me as it closes in.

He nods and heads down the aisle. His foot kicks a can. He pauses as both eyes go wide as it bangs against the bottom of the steel shelves.

Shit.

The infected shrills and hastens its pace. Randall bolts from the back of the store, but blunders over his own two feet and falls flat to the floor. He tries to get up, but can’t find his footing as his boots slip in some liquid under him. The infected slams into the rack, reaching through the shelves and knocking it over on top of him. It opens its mouth, rows of sharp teeth teeming within its rotting hole.

“Come on,” I say, yelling.

Randall tries to remove the rack, pushing it upwards and away from his body but can’t. He screams, and pounds on the shelf as he tries to move it.

The infected falls on top of him. Its bony arms reach through the steel for any portion of Randall’s body it can grab hold of. His body is positioned in a way that he can’t strike it with the meat hook either.

Damn it.

I fire a single shot, nailing the creature in the upper portion of its head and splattering its decayed brain matter all over. It goes limp.

“Get this thing off of me, will ya?” Randall presses up, trying to rid himself of the lifeless corpse.

“Keep it down. There may be more around.” I roll it off Randall and pull the rack free from his body.

He scampers away and climbs to his feet.

“Christ, did you see that thing? What the hell?” He stares at it, his expression of utter terror fading to sadness and sorrow.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Mr. Johnson. He’s the owner of the store,” Randall answers. “He’s been here for as long as I can remember. Was a good man. Shame he ended up as one of those things.”

“Yeah, it is, but if we don’t hurry up, we’ll suffer a similar fate.”

Clang.

We come about-face.

I lift the Glock, ready to take out another one of those things.

“Jesus, Billy,” Randall says, in a huff. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Billy huddles behind a rack of chips–frozen with a blank stare covering his youthful face as his body trembles.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay put and keep an eye out?” I ask, in a raised voice.

“I thought I saw something down the alley and got spooked,” Billy replies, in a low tone.

I lower the Glock. “All right. Let’s load up what we can. That gunshot is like an SOS signal for those things. There’s no telling how many are crawling over this town.”

Multiple shrills flood our ears, coming from every direction and surrounding us in the tiny supply store. I can’t tell how many there are, but one is more than enough to have to contend with.

“I told you I saw something,” Billy says, standing and shouting.

“Shut it, kid,” I say.

“Forget this. Let’s just get back to the Betty. I don’t feel like biting it today over a can of corn or spam,” Randall shoots back, breathing heavily.

“Yeah, man, let’s get the hell out of here,” Billy says, nodding.

Under the circumstances, I’m willing to agree. I think Captain Jameson will understand.

“All right. Let’s–”

A ghastly corpse emerges behind Billy, wrapping its blood-soaked arms around his chest. It leans in close and tries to bite the side of his head. A portion of its skin is missing from the right side of its jaw, exposing its red-stained teeth.

Billy yells in terror, thrashing within the creature’s grasp as he tries to break free. I don’t have a clear shot without killing Billy in the process.

Shit.

More shrills echo from the supply room. I tuck the Glock in the front part of my pants and advance toward Billy. He’s screaming at the top of his lungs as the infected clings to his back. I grab what I can of its sparse strands of black hair as it chomps at the nape of Billy’s neck.

“Get it off me,” Billy says, thrashing his body.

I yank the creature’s head back, pulling its teeth away from Billy. The soft, pliable skin pulls free from its skull. Thick strings of blood and tissue string from its scalp to the back of its head. It’s enough though to distract the creature and allow Billy to slip free from its clutches.

It turns toward me. Both of its black-hollow eyes stare at me as its tongue glides along its teeth. I grip its jaw and flick my wrist, snapping its neck. Its body goes limp and plops to the floor in a heap of rotten flesh.

Two more breaks through the double doors in the back, staring at us with wanting eyes. They appear to have recently changed, their bodies not as weathered and decrepit as the one I just killed. Their chests heave while they look us over.

“Move toward the windows,” I say, while reaching for the Glock.

The infected hold their ground, watching us instead of attacking. Billy tumbles into a rack and knocks it over, sending the dead into a feeding frenzy.

“Run.” I open fire as Billy jumps out the window.

Randall traverses the tossed store in an attempt to get as far away from those things as he can.

I can’t get a clear shot. The creatures keep using the darkness and clutter of the store to their advantage to gain position on us.

“Come on. Save it,” Randall says, while darting past me.

I manage to nail both of them in the legs, tripping them up. I don’t bother with wasting any more ammo and trail Randall out of the store.

The infected don’t stay down for long, bulldozing through the cluttered mess and out through the busted glass in pursuit of us.

Billy is a ways in front of us, sprinting hard. He’s running along the sidewalk, then glances over his shoulder. His face is painted in terror–eyes wide and mouth gaped open.

Not much farther. The Betty up head and around the bend.

I spot a few of the crew making for the safety of the ship. Their arms appear to be empty as they race across the dock. Looks like Jameson might have her fueled up and ready to leave, smoke billowing from the exhaust on top of the boat.

Billy passes by one of the alleys as an infected trips him and sends him crashing into some trash cans. It looms over him with its muscular chest flexing and twitching as it breathes. The creature bares its razor-sharp teeth and rests its slender, spear-like arms on the concrete. Regardless of how big these things get, they’re never a match for a bullet to the head.

I draw the Glock while on the run and fire a single round, nailing the creature in its right eye socket. It gives a deflated shrill, then falls forward.

Randall helps Billy to his feet, picking him up out of the town’s waste. I’ve only got a couple of rounds left in the Glock, I think. It’s not enough for us to keep those things off our tails.

“Go. I’ll draw their attention,” I say, waving them onward.

“You don’t have to. We can all make it,” Randall replies.

“Tell the captain to have a drink for me. Now go.” I shove Randall and Billy, then turn toward the dead that have grown in number.

There are a dozen now, maybe more, swarming toward us from every nook and cranny in the buildings. I wave my arms in the air, yelling to draw their attention. It doesn’t take much to send their hungry gazes in my direction.

“That’s it. Right here. Come and get some.”

A good portion of the pack makes a beeline for me while Randall and Billy head for the Betty. I backpedal down the alley as the dead funnel between the brick buildings.

I notice a fire escape crawling up the side of the building to my left. The steel appears fragile, as if it might crumble under any sort of duress. I don’t have a choice and give it a go. The end of the alley is blocked by a trash truck that has rammed into the side of a building, causing an avalanche of brick and mortar that seals off any kind of escape.

The ladder is partially down–not far enough for me to reach from the ground, though. I notice a beat-up station wagon that’s parked right under it. A body is flailing about in the driver’s seat, restrained only by the seat belt. The car is positioned in a way that I might be able to reach the ladder.

I take off in a dead sprint, leaving the dead in my wake. I leap onto the hood of the wagon, then step up to the roof. Two more steps are all I’m afforded before I’m at the edge and jump.

The tips of my fingers grip the bottom rusted-steel bar. I hang there as the dead gather under me, reaching skyward. I fight with everything I’ve got to get a better grip and pull myself up.

Their moans grow in unison, arms swiping at my feet.

My right hand gives, sending me closer to the hungry horde. I struggle to hold on–fingers slipping from the ladder. I rock my body back and forth a few times to build up some momentum. It’s enough to get my right hand back into position around the bar.

I readjust my grip and reach for the second bar, grasping it, and pulling myself upward. After three more rungs, my feet hit the bottom bar, allowing me to get a breather.

More infected file into the already overcrowded alley, the noise drawing them in like moths to a light. I continue up the ladder.

The steel buckles with every step I take, wobbling as if the bolts could break free from the building’s exterior and send me down to the mass of dead below. The building isn’t too tall, and the roof is within reach.

I hasten my pace, taking multiple steps at a time as the frame shifts and squeaks. It jostles, even more, loosening as I near the top. I make the roof and get clear of the fire escape as its upper portion tears away from the building. It falls backward and slams into the adjoining building, creating a loud crescendo.

Bricks and debris rain down on the infected, but they don’t seem to care. They’re still peering up at me, arms reaching upward.

Reports of gunfire crackle in the air from where the Betty is docked. I race across the roof, my stride long and fast, as the mast comes into view.

The gunfire is coming from the boat as the infected charge toward it. One of the crew limps across the dock, but I can’t tell who it is from here.

Move your ass. They’re right there and gaining on you.

The infected overtake him, knocking him to the wooden planks, and tear into his body. The feeding frenzy captures the attention of a handful of them while the rest of the dead sprint past, making a beeline for the Betty.

Smoke pours out of her exhaust as she pulls away from the dock. The dead lunge from the dock at her wooden hull, but come up short. They slam into the side of the boat as the Betty makes for open water.

God speed to the captain and his crew. I hope you find your island.

CHAPTER THREE

Persistent little bastards.

The mass of dead is thick below. Their mutated bodies are packed in tight like sardines. It makes me wonder where they all came from. One minute this place is like a ghost town and the next, it’s crawling with those things.

A small portion of the infected has left, but the horde is still dense, leaving me with no room to escape the way I came.

A pipe runs from the roof down to the ground on the opposite side of the building. There are no infected in sight at the moment, but that can change fast. I need to get down and to Captain Reynolds’s truck. From what he told me, it shouldn’t be too far away. I hope it starts.

I eject the magazine from the Glock and find that I’ve only got two rounds remaining. Perfect.

I straddle the ledge and glance down. Being on a fire escape is one thing, but crawling down a pipe is completely different. After that tumble out of the window in Africa and smacking into the dumpster, I try to play it a tad bit more cautious.

A couple of deep breaths and I’m on my way.

I take my time, finding my footing on the brackets that are holding the pipe to the building. I hope it’s better than the fire escape.

The wind rushes over the rooftop, hitting me in the face with its salty smell. I get below the roofline and make my way down, slow and easy. There isn’t much for my feet and hands to hold onto.

My grip has never been all that great. Back in my special op’s days, I was always in some knee-deep shit that required some sort of scale this or traverse that. Looking back, I think I survived all that because I’m stubborn as hell and perhaps a little lucky to boot.

A handful of infected appears below me, stopping just shy of the pipe’s bottom. I halt, trying to hold on while the creatures look around.

They tilt their heads skyward and sniff the air. I’m not sure if they’ve picked up my scent or that of someone else hiding close by. They shrill at one another, baring teeth in a crude manner. After a few minutes of barking at each other, they move on.

I scurry down the rest of the way, the pipe shaking from the added weight. My boots hit solid ground and I survey the area for any curious infected.

The coast is clear.

I pull a piece of wood from a pallet that’s leaning against the wall. It’s got multiple nails protruding from its end. It’s not what I had in mind for a weapon, but it’ll do.

The dead shuffling in the distance echoes through the streets, but I can’t pinpoint where they’re coming from. Something moves close by.

I peer to my left, the path ahead is congested with dumpsters and other garbage that would make perfect hiding places for the infected. To my right, there’s a fence. A small portion of the chain link has been cut and pulled back some.

Heavy breathing rattles in my ears. They’re getting closer.

I make for the opening. It’s a tight fit, the jagged edges catching on my clothing. I force myself through, trip over something in the overgrown weeds, and fall flat on my face.

I roll to my back and hold still. The infected rushes to the opening of the fence and stops. Its bones protrude through its skin, its frail frame heaving with every deep breath it takes. I don’t think it can see me within the brush.

The creature leans in close and sniffs the torn fabric from my shirt hooked on the fence. Its moist disfigured nose moving up and down. It wraps its elongated fingers through the steel frame, scanning over the open field with its beady-black eyes. It scales the fence, then pauses.

Gunfire sounds in the distance, multiple shots echoing through the town. Its head pivots in the direction of the noise, mouth splitting open and displaying its enlarged tongue that slithers out of its corroded mouth.

It glances back to the field for a second before hopping off the fence and disappearing from sight. I lie there and wait for several minutes. I get back to my feet and stay low within the thick brush. I move across the field, staying close to the fence and keep my eyes peeled for Jameson’s truck.

The dock comes into view where the Betty made her getaway. A handful of those things are on their knees, feasting on the corpse of one of the crew.

I look away and scale the fence as quick as I can. The metal frame shakes and rattles with my added weight. I toss my legs over to the other side, hurry down, and try to locate the truck. I scan the area, not finding anything at first, but then notice it tucked between Mandy’s diner and another building across the street. That should be it. I don’t see any other vehicles in the area.

I survey the perimeter, scanning every nook for any movement. It’s not that far.

I rush out from behind my cover and make for the truck. I don’t see anything or anyone stirring inside the dark confines of the diner. I dig inside my pocket for the keys, making sure that I’m ready.

My head’s on a swivel as I hit the driver’s side. I glance inside the cab. It’s empty.

I grab the silver handle and pull the door open. The hinges squeak. I pause. I crack it open a little farther to allow my body to squeeze through.

It’s got that old-musty smell. The vinyl bench seat is cracked and rigid. I toss the piece of wood to the floorboard followed by the Glock in the seat. I slide in and gently close the door.

I’m clueless as to what key it takes to start the engine. Fortunately, there aren’t too many to have to mess with.

One by one, I try the silver keys until I come to the right one. It slips into the ignition and I try to turn it over. The engine grumbles at first, refusing to start. Jameson didn’t say how long it had been sitting here, so I hope it has fuel.

I twist the key again, glancing about for the dead. The truck sputters and dies. Shrills fill my ears, gnawing at my unsettling thoughts. It sounds close. I pause and scan over the area, but can’t find it. One of the dead busts through the diner’s window and jumps on top of the hood.

It flails about at first, disoriented and unsure of what the noise was. After a few seconds, it makes eye contact, shrills, and pounds its bony fist against the windshield.

I pump the gas pedal multiple times, trying to get it to start.

The creature perched on the hood doesn’t let up, pummeling the glass with a feverish rage. Blood from its hand smears across the busted portion of the window as it stares at me.

“Come on and start you piece of crap.”

More shrills in the distance sound off.

Its hand breaks through the glass, sending fragments of the windshield into my face. It reaches for me, the jagged glass digging into its sagging flesh and ripping it open. Blood pours from its vein, hitting the dash and dripping to the floor. Its sharp nails slice the air in front of me, barely missing my nose.

I lean back and continue to turn the engine over.

The truck whines a moment longer before the engine rumbles to life. It spits and sputters, backfiring as smoke billows from the exhaust. I kick it into reverse and hit the gas.

The back tires dig into the soft soil, slinging mud into the air. I glance back through the grimy window and notice a handful of dead charging my way.

I run over the dead as they smack into the tailgate and disappear under the chassis. One manages to topple over and into the truck’s bed. I take out two more by ramming them into another car, crushing their bodies between the vehicles.

The impact rattles my head and body.

The Glock is tossed from the bench seat into the passenger side floorboard. The creature’s arm rips free from the elbow down. It bounces off the dash and into my lap. I knock it away and spot more dead funneling out of every dark place in the town and heading toward me.

I throw the truck into drive and slam the gas. The creature in the back tries to stand, but loses its balance and stumbles out of the bed. I jerk the steering wheel from side to side, trying to rid myself of the dead body on the hood.

The creature fights to stay where it is. It digs its claws into the truck’s frame, struggling to keep hold. I jerk the truck back and forth. One hand pops free and it slides, falling off the side. I plow through more of the dead. Their bodies beat up the front end of the truck with a loud thud as I clear a path.

The engine rattles and makes a squealing noise. I hope it hangs in there.

I make through the remainder of the dead, ease up on the gas, and take a deep breath, thankful to still be alive.

CHAPTER FOUR

If this thing makes it another mile, I’ll be surprised. I can see why Jameson was ready to part ways with the rust bucket. Sneaky old bastard.

The truck spits and sputters. The engine light comes on–that ominous-orange glow lighting up the dusty panel. The gas gauge hovers above empty. Guess I should be thankful it got me this far.

I’m in the middle of nowhere without much clue of where I am. I haven’t seen any sort of signs indicating my location. A Shell sign peaks over a rise of trees up ahead. It looks to have seen better days. I hope the station itself has some supplies.

I turn my blinker on, out of habit, and pull in under the awning next to the gas pumps. The truck lunges a few times before giving out. Great.

I shift into park and glance out the passenger side window. There’s a car on the other side of the stall and a few more parked in front of the store. I hang tight and wait. There’s not any movement I can see, dead or living. I pop the hood and open the door, almost forgetting my sidearm and blunt weapon. I retrieve the nailed board and Glock from the floorboard, slip out of the cab, and look over the area.

The weather hasn’t gotten much better. It’s still overcast with a slight drizzle raining down. The sun’s trying to break through the thick clouds but struggles to do so.

I tuck the Glock in the waistband in the back of my pants and walk around the front of the truck. The grille is busted to shit with chunks of flesh embedded inside the metal grates. Steam vents into the air from the radiator.

The latch that holds the hood in place is bent and jammed. It doesn’t want to release. It’s a tight fit for my hands, but I manage to slip them in through the contorted steel and get it loose. I raise it up, allowing more steam to escape.

My hand bats the air over the engine so I can try to get a sense of what’s going on. I can’t tell if the radiator is busted or not. Either way, I hope this station has some sort of water source available so I can find out.

I leave the hood up to allow it to breathe and cool down some while I check the gas pumps. They seem to be operational from the digital readout on the front.

I glance inside the cars as I make my way toward the store. They appear to be empty of both people and anything of use. If the truck doesn’t start, some of these will have to do.

The lights inside flicker, showing that the power seems to be running throughout. I stop shy of the door, rap on the glass, and wait. My gaze peers through the window, looking for anything moving within the neatly stocked aisles. Nothing.

I pull the door open and step inside. A bell rattles above my head. It’s humid and the air is stale, stagnant.

I make my way toward the end of the clerk’s counter and make the bend. There’s blood smeared on the floor that trails off to the register. I grip the plank of wood a hair tighter and follow it.

The clerk is flat on his back, his rib cage cracked open like a lobster’s shell. A man dressed in overalls and a flannel shirt is hunched over his body, digging inside, and ripping out his organs. He pauses and sniffs the air, blood and chunks of meat dropping from his red-stained chin. He looks my way.

The right portion of his face is missing. A shotgun lies next to the clerk. Guess he should’ve been a better shot.

He growls and bares his teeth, then tries to stand. I take a swing at his skull. The board smashes the side of his head, the nails burying deep into his pliable skull. The wood snaps from the impact, breaking clean off. The infected slams into the counter and crumbles on top of the clerk. I prod him with the wood just to make sure he’s dead and no longer a threat. He’s gone.

I grab the pump-action shotgun and set it on the countertop. I stoop down and rummage through all the junk below, hunting for a box of shells.

My hand knocks papers and all sorts of worthless items to the ground until I find a full box of 12-gauge shells. Jackpot. I grab a bag to my right and drop the box inside, locate the gas pump controls, and turn on eight.

I stand and slip out from behind the counter–grabbing some snacks on the way out. I hit the cooler and grab multiple bottles of chilled water. There’s a storage closet nearby with a large-yellow bucket sitting on the floor.

The door is cracked. A pair of boots is visible from where I’m standing. I press the barrel against the door and push it open. A man sits in the corner, tucked between the wall and some shelving that has cleaning supplies stocked on it. To my left, there’s a faucet with a red hose attached to it.

He’s slouched over, the back of his head opened up and brains clinging to the wall. A pistol is clutched in his hand with his finger over the trigger. There’s a piece of paper in his lap, dribbles of blood smear the ink. I retrieve the paper and read it.

To whoever finds this, I’ve failed. I wasn’t strong enough to save my family. So, my penance is death. For to live this life without my daughter, Judy, and wife, Bethany, is no life that I want. May you have better luck.

Roger

Poor bastard. I can’t say that I haven’t teetered with the notion of just ending it all in my darkest hour, especially when the virus had taken residence inside of me.

I’m sorry, Roger. I hope you and your family are reunited.

I remove the pistol from Roger’s hand and eject the magazine. It’s stocked. I tuck it behind me and feel his pants. Nothing else of use.

The front of my boot pushes the bucket forward as I slip the hose inside of it. I turn the water on. The pipes rattle, shaking within the walls as water dumps out from the hose into the bucket. It doesn’t look too appetizing with its brown tint. I’m thankful there was some bottled water left in the cooler.

The bucket gets halfway full before I turn off the water. I leave Roger and head for the front door, snagging a funnel on the way out to the truck.

The steam seems to have stopped. I reach for the radiator cap, making sure not to scald my hand if it’s still sultry.

It’s warm, but not that bad. I twist it off, relieving what little pressure remains. It hisses for a moment, then ebbs. I place the funnel inside the opening and pour the water, emptying half the bucket. I take a few steps back and look under the truck to see if it’s leaking out. Not a single drop escapes.

I finish pouring the remainder of the water. The radiator holds as the liquid fills to the top. I replace the cap and head for the driver’s seat to make sure the truck will start.

The key goes into the ignition when I notice the check engine light is no longer on. I go turn it over. The engine whines a little at first, but catches and fires up. It still has a bit of that vibration going on, but it doesn’t seem to be too bad. Nice.

I kill the engine and get out. I make for the gas tank when I hear a shrill in the distance. It’s faint, but close enough for me to hear. I can’t tell where it’s coming from.

I top the gas tank off, replace the nozzle, and screw on the cap. The hood doesn’t want to come down, stopping midway. It takes a bit of doing, but I manage to slam it shut.

The one long-distance shrill has now turned into multiple ones that are growing louder and closer with every second.

The infected sound like they might be coming from where I came or from behind the gas station. I’m not sure.

I slip inside the truck and slam the door. The truck sputters back to life. I shift into drive as I spot some movement in the thick grass to the left of the building. Lines in the grass race toward me.

I let off the brake and smash the gas pedal to the floor. The dead emerge from the weeds and give chase as I tear ass out of the station.

They keep up for a short distance before falling behind and stopping in the middle of the road.

CHAPTER FIVE

All the radio stations are dead. Nothing but static crackles inside the truck’s busted speakers.

I’ve been scrolling through stations for the last hour or more trying to find a broadcast of any kind. I figured they would’ve been running the emergency signal with any updates or areas to avoid. Granted, I’m assuming there’s still someone at the helm to do so.

What if the government has been overrun and there’s no one left in charge of the country except for those things? Makes for a bleak outlook.

Captain Jameson had the right idea about that island. I’m going to get Becky, and we’re going someplace that is far away from this madness where we can be alone.

The long stretch of road I’m on is void of any life, or sunlight for that matter. It’s still overcast and gloomy. Cars stretch for as far as I can see along the road. A depressing scene that doesn’t instill much confidence in me.

What is going on here?

I stop the truck and glance through the bloody glass tips of the gaping hole in the windshield. I don’t see anything stirring within the graveyard of rubber and steel, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t anything there.

The wheels twist inside my head, trying to figure out what my next move is. There looks to be enough room for me to squeeze through, but if the shit hits the fan, it’ll be hard to make a quick getaway. Screw it.

I proceed with caution, taking it slow and enter the gauntlet. I keep my eyes peeled for anything lurking within the cluttered mess. Most of the vehicles are empty, but a few still have guests confined to the inside. The occupants appear to be incapacitated from multiple gunshot wounds. Who would open fire on people trying to flee this horrid virus is beyond me. They don’t appear to be infected. I drive a little farther.

A TGP transport is parked on the side of the road. Its front end is in the ditch. I reach for the shotgun next to me.

The engine clangs and clatters as the truck lunges forward in an attempt to keep moving. The check engine light comes on–flashing its bright-yellow gleam. The truck looks to be overheating again. The temperature gauge spikes into the red zone. Perfect.

I kill the engine and put it into park. Smoke vents from under the bent hood. There are a lot more than before. Damn it.

My hand wraps around the shotgun, I throw the driver’s side door open, and get out. I scan the area for any movement, dead or alive, while heading toward the front of the pickup but spot nothing stirring. I sit the shotgun down on the ground and lean it against the bumper, then slip my hand under the dented metal.

The tips of my fingers search for the latch, feeling all over before they find it. I release it and pull up, lifting the contorted hood into the air. Smoke erupts as I try to assess the damage. Looks to be coming from the radiator again.

I take a step back and peer under the truck. A steady drip of water hits the concrete. A heavy sigh escapes my lips. The palm of my hand rubs over my face.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. An eerie sensation crawls over me. Someone screams. I stand, grab the shotgun, and press the stock to my shoulder. Multiple reports crackle in the air. It doesn’t seem far. Two more shots fire off, followed by a blood-curdling scream. Sounds like it’s coming from the dense trees off to my right.

I decide to investigate, figuring someone is in trouble and in need of help. I retrieve the pistols from the cab, and make my way through the maze of cars and down the sloped hill. The gunshots have ceased, but I can still hear something or someone grunting and struggling.

Take it slow, Mike. You don’t know what you’re walking into.

I stop at the edge of the tree line, stoop down, and listen. I try to pierce the thick foliage to get a better idea of what is happening but struggle to do so.

Branches snap close to my position. The shotgun trains toward the noise. Another scream taints the air. It’s much clearer now than before. Sounds like a young kid.

I enter the forest and follow the noise, trying to be cognizant of my surroundings and footing. The disturbance is getting closer, signs of a struggle becoming more apparent. I see some men up ahead and take refuge behind a tree.

I peer out from behind the thick trunk and notice three men dressed in combat gear swarming the base of a tree. They appear to be infected from the multiple wounds in their backs leaking the thick, mutated liquid.

The shotgun presses to my shoulder tighter. Both hands adjust on the forend and over the trigger. I step out from behind the tree and advance on the soldiers.

My foot cracks a twig. The dead divert their attention away from the tree and back toward me. The infected snarl and rush me.

I take the one on the right out first, removing its head with surgical precision. I pump the shotgun once, ejecting the spent shell, and shoot the soldier in the middle, splattering bone and meat against the tree’s trunk. Smoke puffs from the barrel as the remaining infected soldier charges at me. Its mouth slags open and takes a swing at me with its sharp nails.

I duck under its arm, turn around, and ram the stock end of the shotgun into its face. The soldier’s nose breaks and it stumbles backward. I remove the pistol from the front waistband of my pants and place a single bullet in its eye socket. It takes a few steps before dropping to the forest floor. I glance up into the tree and find a young Hispanic kid nestled within the branches.

“You okay?” I ask, training the pistol at the ground. He looks down at me but doesn’t respond. “I’m not going to hurt you, kid. It’s safe to come down now.”

“You alone?” he asks. “You’re not with them, are you?”

“What, with those soldiers? No, I’m not. And yes, I’m alone.”

He worms his way down the branches–eyes focused on me the entire time. I take a couple of steps back to give him some room as he dismounts from the tree.

“I didn’t need your help. I had it under control,” he says.

“Yeah, it looked like you did,” I reply. “What are you doing out here by yourself? Not exactly a safe place for a kid to be hanging out.”

“I wasn’t alone.” He points at the soldiers. “These things got my boys over there. We were out scouting for supplies when they caught us by surprise. Stupid bendejo’s.”

The kid kicks the dead soldiers’ bodies multiple times before rummaging through their gear. I glance to my left and find two bodies lying on the ground. They start to move, limbs twitching. A muffled moan and growl emits from their bodies. I walk over to them as they try to get up. A single bullet in each of their heads silences them.

“We need to get moving. If there are any more in the area, the gunfire will draw them in,” I say, making my way back to him.

The kid finishes looting the dead soldiers, mumbling in Spanish as he comes up empty. “You got a ride?”

“If you want to call it that. It’s been giving me problems.” I point in the direction of the main road. “It’s back up on the road cooling off. Not sure how much farther it’s going to make it.”

The kid walks over to the two men he was with and takes their guns. His hands tremble. He ejects the magazines, huffs, then tosses the pistols to the side. His fingers dig their wallets out from the backs of their pants and stuffs them into the pack on his back. He lowers his head and places his hands on the bodies, speaking softly. It’s a fleeting moment before he runs his hand under his nose and stands up. “This way.”

We head back toward my truck. The kid is out in front of me, keeping quiet and to himself.

“Hold up for a second.”

The kid stops just shy of the tree line, then looks back over his shoulder. “What is it?”

I train my ear toward the road and listen. It’s hard to make out, but I manage to pick up the low steady moans of the infected. They stumble into view–rushing through the meld of vehicles. “There.”

The kid glances to the highway and spots the infected searching the vehicles. There are not too many, maybe three at most that I can see, but more could be close by. We stay hidden within the cover of trees and plot our next move.

“The ride me and my boys came in is back up the road some, but it’s not going anywhere. Not without some work anyway. Damn problems with the engine or something. Not going to be much use to us. What about you?”

I nod. “Same. Crack in the radiator. Doubt it’s going anywhere either without a major overhaul. Besides, I don’t think it’s worth the risk with those things up there now.”

“Well, seeing as we’re both stranded, why don’t we make a deal here. My cousin has a shop back in the city. If you help me get back there, I’ll hook you up with a new ride. Much better to have some wheels than trying to get around on foot.”

“Sure, kid.”

“Cool. I’ll make sure my cousin hooks you up with a really nice ride,” he replies.

“If it runs well and has four tires, then, I’m good.”

The infected look this way, peering into the foliage we’re using as cover. Not sure if they’re picking up our scent or what.

I nudge his arm with mine and whisper, “We need to get going.”

“I know a back way that’s off the beaten path. Hope you like the countryside, cowboy.”

“I’ll take any place that isn’t crawling with these things.”

We fade back into the thickness of the woods, leaving the dead to scavenge the asphalt for their next meal.

CHAPTER SIX

The woods are dense, concealing our presence but also making it hard to spot the dead.

The kid trudges through the leaves with his attention focused ahead of him. He scans the trees with both hands in the pockets of his jeans. He’s been silent since we left, until now.

“By the way, my name is T. It’s not kid, sonny, youngster, or little man. I just figured I need to get that out of the way seeing as we’ll be hanging together for a bit.”

I nod. “Yeah, no problem. What does the T stand for?”

“Terrance, but everyone calls me T for short. Probably because I get in trouble all the time. Or at least, that’s what my cousin says.”

“Sounds like your cousin needs to lighten up some,” I reply, walking alongside him.

T shrugs. “He means well. Besides, he can’t help being a dick.” He snickers. “What do I call you?”

“Mike will do.”

“Typical white-boy name, but it seems fitting. I was actually thinking The Duke or something like that,” T says, glancing at me.

My brow rises. “What do you know about The Duke? You don’t seem old enough to know anything about that.”

“My grandparents used to watch a lot of John Wayne back in the day, so when I’d go stay with them, I got a taste of the Wild West. You just seem to have that same swagger he did.”

“Thanks,” I reply. “So, your cousin’s shop, how far away is it?”

“Not too far, if you’re riding in a car and not taking the long way to get there. On foot, it’ll take us a while.”

I was hoping it’d be closer, but I guess I’ll have to deal with it if I want a chance of getting a vehicle. Well, alleged vehicle.

T glances at the shotgun I’m carrying and tilts his head at the weapon. “You know, you handled yourself pretty well back there. Used that shotgun like a surgical instrument. Haven’t seen too many peeps with chilled nerves take down those things like that before. Most of the homies in my cousin’s crew use more of the spray method and hope they hit something than actually trying to do the one-shot kill.”

I pat the shotgun. “Nothing to it. Just concentrate on what your objective is and handle business before that business handles you.”

“Handle business before it handles you. I like that.” T falls silent for a few moments as he drifts back to my side. His head tilts down and turns toward the pistol tucked into my pants. “So, since you’re pretty lethal with that beast there, why don’t you let me carry that pistol? After all, we’ve got crazed cannibals after us and who knows what kind of people we might run into. It makes sense.”

I take less than a second to mull that suggestion over. “Yeah, not going to happen.”

T’s brow furrows, then he huffs. “Why not? Come on, Mike. You’re mister badass cowboy Wild West here. You can spare that pistol, at least until we get to my cousins.”

“Just because I’m helping you get back to your cousin’s doesn’t mean that I trust you,” I answer.

“Oh, so you’re one of those guys, huh?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, bewildered by T’s accusation.

“Dudes with trust issues. Figuring because I’m a young adult, I can’t handle that hardware. Or maybe it’s because you think I’m going to take that pistol and put a bullet in your head.”

“I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind,” I reply. “One can’t be too careful.”

T shakes his head. “I knew some homies who thought like you do.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, you met them back at that tree, their guts and shit tore out of them. They didn’t want to give me a piece neither because they didn’t think I could hold my own. Now their asses are dead and guess who’s alive. You might want to stew on that, Mike.”

“No need to. I’ll take my chances.”

T rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when your back’s against the wall and one of those things are trying to eat you.”

T is a peppy ball of fire. He’s more than full of himself and thinks he can take on the world.

He drops the pistol notion as we trudge through the drudgery of the gloomy woods. The ground feels like a sponge, my boots sinking into the mushy-forest floor with every step I take. I glance up through the canopy, the clouds appearing thick as if they could burst at any moment. Thunder rolls in the distance, shaking the ground beneath us.

“We may want to find some cover if we can,” I say, pointing skyward. “Looks like the sky might open up on us at any time.”

T nods. “I’m already two steps ahead of you. There’s an old-abandoned house me and my cousin’s boys came across recently when we were scouting for supplies. If I remember correctly, I think it’s close by. It was creepy as hell at night and we only stayed the one night.”

“Sounds cozy.”

It starts to rain as we clear the woods and emerge into an open field. In the middle of the overgrown weeds is a derelict house that looks like it’s seen better days.

Lightning crackles overhead, illuminating the dull, gray sky with its intense bolts. Thunder claps above us. We flinch.

The heavens open up as we race across the field. What was once a slight drizzle has turned into a swarming downpour. We hit the front porch. The aged wood gives some under my weight. Streams of water work through what shingles remain and drip from the patio cover above us.

“Isn’t much to look at, but it should keep us dry until the storm passes. Come on.” T shakes the water free from his coat, walks to the side of the house, and stops at a cracked window. He tries to lift the window up, but it refuses to budge. “This stupid window is a pain in the ass. It doesn’t open too easy.”

I crane my neck and point at the entrance to the house. “Don’t want to use the front door?”

“Can’t. It’s jammed. Besides, that’s not a bad thing considering what all is going on.”

“Need a hand?” I ask.

T waves me off with a flick of his hand. “Naw. I got it.” He lifts again and shimmies it up far enough to slip through. “Suck it in, big man.”

I squeeze through the opening and enter the house. T grabs a lantern from an end table close by and turns it on. Even though it’s still daytime, the storm rolling in has made it feel like night. The dense clouds are blotting out the sun.

He lifts the lantern in the air and moves it from side to side, revealing the debilitated interior. Shreds of light bleed through the numerous baseball-sized holes in the walls. A portion of the roof is missing–rain falling inside the house. “This way. Got a nice little spot on the second floor. Can you get that window?”

I grab the top of the chipped wood and push down, shutting the window all the way. We head across the dank room to the staircase. The wood floor creaks with every step we take. The wind whistles through the openings as we walk up the rickety staircase.

“Did you find much of anything of use the last time you were here?” I ask while looking over the derelict interior. “Seems pretty well picked over.”

“We found some tools and a couple of cans of food in the kitchen. Some thought it was a waste of time, but we didn’t come up empty-handed at least. It was better than nothing.” We hit the second floor. T trains the lantern downward. “Watch for holes in the floor. There were some rugs covering them up, but we removed them so we wouldn’t stumble into one.”

He steps to the side and bypasses a gaping hole in the wood that would make an express way down to the first floor. I follow suit, peering down through it. We walk a ways before making a left, and head down a long hallway.

Graffiti is splattered over the walls with people’s names and various imagery covering the dingy wallpaper. Many of the doors are missing. Debris and leaves cover the floors. We head to the last room on the right at the end of the hall.

T runs his hand along the top of the doorframe, retrieving a key.

“Hold this, will ya?”

He hands me the lantern as he grips the door handle.

I take the light and shine it at the door.

T slips the brass key inside the lock.

Noises from within the walls tug at my nerves, sending me about-face. I shine the lantern down the hall, waiting for something ghastly to appear out of the darkness. “What was that?”

“Probably mice. The house is infested with those rodents.” T wiggles the key back and forth and unlocks the aged, worn door. He swings it open, then says, “Welcome to my casa. The penthouse suite.”

I walk inside, shut the door behind me, and lock it.

T takes the lantern and blows it out. The large window in the room is intact and uncovered, allowing what little light there is outside in.

The immense room is sparse of any furniture. A dresser rests against the far wall with a shattered mirror attached to its top. Glass litters the floor around its base. A massive fireplace sits to our left with a dingy-flower chair nestled right in front. A worn mattress rests on either side of the chair.

“Take a load off. We may be here for a while,” T says.

He rummages through a pile of wood next to the fireplace. T grabs a hatchet and chops it into smaller chunks, then tosses them into the blackened pit.

I walk over to the window and glance out–watching the rain beat the glass. I struggle to make anything outside between the rain and the thick cluster of trees.

T manages to get a considerable fire going. “There we go. Guess my mom was right. Those few years I spent in Boy Scouts were well worth it. My cousin’s crew lit the fire last time. They didn’t want me to accidentally burn the place down. I told them I knew what I was doing.”

The orange glow of the flames lightens up the room. He removes his pack from his back, plops down on the mattress, and sighs.

I walk over to the chair across from him and sit down.

The heat from the fire feels good and aids in drying out my wet clothes. I set the shotgun on the side of the chair and lean it against the arm. My body slumps in the seat. It’s not the most comfortable chair I’ve ever been in, but my aching feet and tired back aren’t complaining.

“So, what do you think?” T asks.

“Not bad. Not bad at all.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

A whistling noise fills the silent space, ripping me from my slumber.

I flinch, startled by the wind probing the many fissures in the walls. The heels of both palms press to my eyes and rub. I blink away the slight film coating each. I lean forward from the back of the chair and yawn.

My mouth slags open. I stretch my arms and legs. The warmth of the fire and chair made it hard to resist falling asleep.

I sit there for a moment, allowing my brain to come back online. The fire has died down–reduced to nothing more than a smoldering pile of ash. How long have I been out?

It’s dark. Not a shred of light can be seen outside. The wind presses against the house’s frail frame, causing the whistling noise that woke me up.

T is laid out on the mattress, snoring and motionless.

I dig my knuckles into my eyes again, then slap both sides of my face to wake up.

A scratching noise comes from the hall. I lower my hands, snatch the shotgun, and spring to my feet. I take aim at the door and keep silent–listening close.

I don’t hear anything at first, but a creak from the hallway sounds off. Perfect. I take a few steps back and nudge T with my boot. He rolls over and continues to snooze. I dig my boot into his side–snapping him out of his slumber.

He sits up with a scowl on his face. “Yo man, what the-”

“Shush.” I press my finger to my lips, then point toward the door. “I think something or someone is inside the house.”

T shakes his head. “You’re tripping, Mike. It’s probably just the–”

The floor in the hall creaks again. T peers at the doorway with eyes wide.

“Expecting anyone?” I ask in a whisper.

“No.” T gets off the mattress and moves to the door. He presses the side of his head to the wood.

I stand at his side with the shotgun trained at the entrance. I can hear whatever it is moving about, the floor giving with each footfall.

He reaches for the door handle and turns the lock.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m taking a look,” T answers, keeping his fingers on the lock. “It could be some of my cousin’s crew looking for me. We should’ve been back by now.”

“Or it could be the infected,” I shoot back.

“True, but either way we need to find out.” T twists the doorknob and pulls the door open far enough for him to peer out into the hall.

“See anything?”

“Someone’s in the room across from us,” T replies, moving his head around. “I can’t see who it is, though. Hold on. It’s moving back toward the hall now.”

My finger cradles the trigger. T gasps, then ducks behind the door. “What?”

“It’s one of those things,” he replies, whispering.

“Shit. I thought you said this place was locked down tight,” I say, pointing at the hall.

“I never said locked down tight. I just said the front door was jammed. Not the same thing,” T says, pushing the door close to the jamb. “Oh wait, there is a hole in the wall down on the first floor. I think–in the dining room. It could’ve gotten in through there.”

“That would’ve been pertinent information to have earlier. Did it see you?” I ask, keeping the shotgun trained at the door.

“No, I don’t think so.” T glances back into the hall. “Okay, it’s moving away from us.”

T shuts the door. The hinges squeak. He pauses, clenching his teeth. He peers out into the hall. “Oh shit.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, adjusting my grip on the shotgun.

T slams the door and locks it. “I think it spotted me. It knows we’re in here.”

The infected shrills and charges up the hallway. Its heavy footfalls punish the wood floor. T backs away with a lost, frightened look. The infected hammers the door. It rattles inside the jamb. Our bodies tense.

T looks at me, then points at the door. “What you waiting for? Use that canon. Cut that thing in half, man.”

“It’ll make mincemeat of that door and easier for that thing to get inside,” I shoot back. “Besides, we don’t know if there are any more out here.”

T hurries to the fireplace and digs something out from between the wall and the brick’s build-out–a rusted fireplace poker.

“Is there another way out of this room?” I walk over to the window and glance out. It’s a straight shot to the ground with nothing between.

“If you want to take the express way down then that window is going to be our best bet. However, I’ve got another way out of here that might be a bit better and less likely to break both of our legs.” T snatches the lantern from beside the mattress and walks to the dresser pressed to the wall. “Come give me a hand, will ya?”

I lower the shotgun and help T move the dresser away from the wall. He shines the light at a hole that looks big enough for us to pass through.

“Where does it lead?” I ask, squinting.

“The room next to us.”

The door splinters and the infected’s mutated hand breaks through the wood.

T goes through the opening first, disappearing into the darkness. I duck and slip through the hole.

“Come on,” T says, as we move through another hole in the opposite wall that puts us farther from the infected.

We rush to the wall next to the hall and wait. I take point and inch my way close to the doorframe. T hands me the lantern, but I push it away. The light will only draw unwanted attention from any infected lurking within the shadows.

My shoulder hugs the edge of the wall. I peer out into the hall. I do a quick sweep, then glance over to the room adjacent to us. There appears to be no other infected that I can see.

“Well?” T asks.

“Hold on.”

A few more strikes from the infected are all the door to the other room can handle before it gives. It charges into the room and disappears from my sight.

“All right. We need to keep as quiet as possible and move–”

Something emerges from the shadows, rushes toward us, and knocks me flat on my back into the room. The shotgun pops free of my hand and clatters off the floor. I catch a quick glimpse of another infected charging me.

I reach for the pistol, but can’t get it out fast enough. The infected straddles my body, leans in with its mouth open, and tries to bite me. I grab it by the throat and push up. Its lengthy tongue slithers out of its mouth and takes a swipe at my face. The tip grazes my cheek, sliding across my face and over my nose.

It presses its weight down, blasting me in the face with its sickening breath. I scramble for the pistol–hand reaching for the weapon. A spine-chilling thud stops it cold. The infected goes limp, then drops on me.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. First time ever I’ve actually used a fireplace poker like this,” T replies.

He pulls the rusted hook portion out of the creature’s skull as I roll it off me. T extends his hand to help me up. The infected appears in the hole in the wall. Its hands grip the sides of the busted drywall and rushes into the room.

The lantern crashes on the floor at its feet. The flames take hold, consuming its body in a fiery inferno. It stumbles backward into the wall, spreading the flames to the house’s interior. The creature’s arms flail about until it falls face-first to the floor.

T helps me to my feet and hands me the shotgun while the infected cooks in the corner of the room. Smoke billows around us, making it difficult to breathe.

“Ballsy move considering this place is perfect tinder,” I say while coughing.

“Yeah well, it stopped it, didn’t it?” T replies.

The orange glow of the flames illuminates the room as we scurry into the hall. The crackle of the wood plays on our ears.

We advance on the staircase and catch a shadowy figure rounding the corner. My finger pulls the trigger, cutting the figure down with the shotgun. The impact sends it over the fragile railing and to the first floor. I pump the shotgun, ejecting the spent shell and loading another one. We hit the landing and make our way down the stairs.

The body is sprawled out in the middle of the living room with blood seeping out from under it. There’s a hole in its chest revealing a glimpse of its chest cavity with chunks of flesh and clothing clinging to the bones. Next to the grisly scene is a pistol that I don’t recall seeing before.

“Hold up,” I say.

“Why?” T asks, his voice trembling.

The barrel of the shotgun trains at the motionless corpses as I approach and examine it. “It’s not infected.”

“How do you know it’s not?”

“Because the infected don’t use firearms,” I reply. T comes closer. A grimace forms on his face. He leans over and glances at the man. His fingers dance across his chin but he stays silent. “It’s not one of your cousin’s men, is it?”

“Naw. Looks like one of the Warlocks thugs. See that W there?” T points to the right side of the man’s neck. “That’s their brand. They hit up newbies who want to join their little club with that mark.”

“All right. Well, let’s get out of here before any more company shows up. Stay quiet just in case he wasn’t alone.” I get a brief flash of something on the porch heading toward the window we came in through between the narrow slits of the wood covering the windows and walls. T notices it as well. He pats the back of his hand against me. “Yeah, I saw it. Where’s the dining room?”

“Back this way.”

We head past the stairs and through an archway that leads to another room. Busted-up furniture litters the floor. The wind howls through the opening that I now see. I grab T by the arm and hold him up as I take point.

“Wait right here,” I say in a whisper.

T nods in agreement.

I approach the hole. It looks large enough for someone to fit through. My back presses to the wall as I stop just shy of the opening’s edge. I bend down and lean toward the opening to see if the coast is clear.

Gunshots erupt.

The bullets punch the wall close to my head. I duck and stumble back–falling to the floor. I stay low and scoot away.

T is prone on his stomach with his hands covering his head. “Who the hell is shooting at us?”

“Don’t know and don’t care to find out. Is there another way out of here?” I ask as the bullets pierce the house’s siding.

“Um–the basement. Yeah. There’s a tunnel down there that we came across.”

“A tunnel? Where does it go?” I ask.

“Who knows. Does it really matter at this point?” T says, in a raised voice. “It’s better than staying here, isn’t it?”

The gunfire hammering the house’s dilapidated exterior stops, leaving only the pop of the fire eating away at the house from the second floor.

Flames crawl across the ceiling above us, spreading with each passing second.

“Where’s the basement, T?”

“This way.”

We get off the floor, rush across the house, and into the kitchen. An armed man materializes from the side of a brownish-white fridge and grabs T by the collar of his shirt. I ram the stock end of the shotgun into the side of his face, releasing his grip on T, and knocking him hard into the kitchen wall.

He shakes off the blow and gets back to his feet. I grab the top of a china cabinet and pull it toward me. It crashes into the adjoining wall. A portion of the ceiling above gives way and crashes down.

The fire spreads to the first floor, slowly consuming the walls and everything else. The shadowy figure is buried under the pile of rubble and flames.

“This way,” T says, waving his hand at me.

I run down the hall. T is waiting inside the staircase with a flashlight clutched in his hands. He descends the stairs to the basement.

The house is falling apart all around us. I dodge fiery rubble and duck past flames that singe my flesh as I shut the door behind me. I spot T’s light below, at the bottom of the stairs.

“Man, who were these people?” I ask, coughing from the smoke seeping in through the good hole above.

“No clue, but right now I’m glad these people were paranoid.” He shines the light at the blinding darkness within the hole in the wall and coughs on the smoke.

A pounding noise emits from the basement door, followed by the doorknob rattling.

“Go.” I grab T, shove him inside, and follow behind.

“What? What’s wrong?” I ask, as he’s stooping in the dirt motionless.

“I’m kind of claustrophobic,” T replies, breathing heavy.

“Have you ever been through here before?”

T shakes his head and remains planted where he is. “No. I only found the hole while rummaging through the basement. Never had a reason to get inside.”

If I don’t calm him down quick, fast, and in a hurry, he’s going to lose it. “I don’t care much for tight areas like this either, but we’ve got to man up and deal, or otherwise, we won’t get out of this hole. Don’t think about being down here, but walking out the other side. You got this, T.”

“Yeah, okay.”

A couple of deep breaths and we’re on the move. We’re only able to move so fast as we’re hunched over within the confined space.

I can hear T’s breathing escalating at times, but he manages to keep it together.

Water drips from overhead, running down the sides of my face. The sudden fear and realization that a cave-in could occur at any moment sends me hurrying along.

I keep on T’s heels, nudging him forward, when I catch the faint sound of something trailing behind us. A dull light shines at my back.

Shit.

“Move faster.” I press my hand into T’s back and push.

The smell of smoke fills the tight space, strangling my lungs. The fire has spread to the basement.

T glances over his shoulder and see’s the blob of light through the thick haze. A gasp leaves his parted lips and he moves faster.

The closer we get to the exit the more the mud transitions into a thick, clumpy mess that holds us down. Our hands and feet sink in, restricting any real forward movement.

“I think I see the exit,” T says.

Lightning strikes, illuminating the exit as the pounding rain continues to pelt the ground. Water rushes into the hole, complicating matters.

T struggles to traverse the muddy slope. He claws and fights his way up and out.

Hurry the hell up, T.

He manages to climb out and move out of the way. I toss the shotgun out first and work my body up the sludgy, soggy ground.

My hands slip and slide through the goop, struggling to catch hold of anything substantial. I crawl up through the opening to the ground above and take a deep breath.

T pats my back, then asks, “You all right?”

“Yeah.”

I cough and scoop up the shotgun, my lungs burn some from the smoke. I glance toward the house that is engulfed in flames.

The orange-fiery radiance gives us a bit of light within the mass of darkness that surrounds us. We stand there for a moment and collect our thoughts. I’m not sure who those people were, but we’re not going to stick around to find out.

CHAPTER EIGHT

One too many close calls.

I’ve escaped the clutches of death’s grasp a lot here as of late. It makes me wonder if my time will soon be up. In the end, as long as Becky is safe, then, whatever fate I’m dealt, I’m more than willing to accept it.

We’ve been plodding through this thick set of forest for hours. The rain has ceased, giving us a reprieve from being soaked to the bone. The infected haven’t been seen for some time now. No deathly groans of hunger or shrills of intense rage plague our ears. For the most part, it’s quiet.

The morning sun crests over the horizon. The warm effulgence breaks through the thick canopy hanging over us. It feels good to have the sun on my face. It makes the world a little less horrible.

“Well, that was messed up.” T picks up a rock and hurls it off into the distance. “Not only do we have to watch out for the dead now, but we also have to worry about the living. To be honest, Mike, I’m getting the impression that you’re bad luck. I didn’t have as much shit go wrong before I met your ass.”

I glance at him with a raised brow. “To be honest, you were already in a pickle before I showed up. When our paths crossed, you were up in a tree away from the infected with no place to go, and I kind of saved your butt.”

T sneers. “Yeah, well–whatever, dude.”

We walk a little farther and spot a road through the trees ahead of us. There’s a wrecker parked in front of a disabled car. Both passenger tires are blown out and the front-side window has been smashed to bits. I don’t see anyone from where we’re standing. We get to the edge of the tree line and stop.

“What do you think?” T asks as we assess the situation.

I point at the wrecker, and say, “I think I’d much rather have a set of wheels than keep trekking through the woods. Hopefully, that wrecker is still running.”

“Agreed,” T replies. “I don’t see anyone. The coast looks clear.”

“Stay behind me and follow my lead. Be quiet. No noises.”

T gets behind me as we step out from the brush and make our way to the road. My head stays on a swivel, eyes scanning the area and assessing the scene the closer we get.

Our feet hit the pavement. We advance on the vehicle and put our backs up against the wrecker’s passenger-side door. I peer into the cab and find it empty. The keys are in the ignition and the driver’s side door is wide open. There’s a bloody handprint on the black-padded handle.

“Well?” T asks, in a low voice.

“Keys are in the ignition, but no one’s home that I can see,” I reply, looking through the opened driver’s side door. “There’s some blood on the inside of the driver’s side door, though.”

“Let’s get out of here, then.” T stands up, but I grab his arm and yank him back down.

“Keep it down. We don’t know if we’re alone.”

I slide past T and move to the back of the truck. He sticks to me like glue, mirroring my every move. I glance inside the beat-up car. Blood is splattered on the cracked windshield, making it hard to see anything. I swing past the outside of the bumper and duck under the hook and chain. I catch wind of a faint noise that stops me cold.

T inches closer to me. “Did you hear that?”

I nod but remain silent.

We inch along the cool metal to the end of the wrecker. I lean out to find the missing driver of the truck. The driver of the wrecker is spread out on the road with an infected yanking out his organs. He stares at me with his eyes wide open. He appears to be dead and unresponsive to the creature feasting on his body.

The infected doesn’t know we’re close–focused on feeding on the plump, fat man. It grunts and growls as it shoves hunks of meat into its bloodstained mouth.

“What do you see?” T asks, over my shoulder.

“A problem we’ll need to deal with before taking this truck,” I reply, watching the creature’s every move. “Let me see that fireplace poker.”

“Why do you need that? You have a damn shotgun. Just shoot it so we can roll out.”

“I’d prefer not to. There could be more infected close by and we aren’t exactly in a great position at the moment,” I reply. “Here. You can hold the shotgun and keep an eye out.”

It only takes T a second to decide. He hands me the poker.

I pass the shotgun to him. “No messing around, all right? Just stay put and don’t do anything stupid.”

“I told you I know how to work this shotgun, Mike,” T replies.

I step out from around the back of the truck and advance on the creature, ready to strike. The poker is lifted skyward and over my shoulder.

The infected pauses, pieces of flesh hanging from its sharp teeth as it sniffs the air. It turns and glances our way, but it’s too late.

The hook end of the poker connects with the side of its head, smashing it in. The rusted steel burrows deep, cracking its skull with ease. Its hands go limp. I yank the poker free, and it falls to the ground.

“Nice swing. Good form,” T says, walking up behind me. “A little more power and you could’ve probably taken its head completely off.”

Blood drips from the end of the poker. I hand it back to T and take my shotgun back.

“We can switch for a while if you want to. Seems like you’re pretty comfortable with that fireplace utensil there.”

“That’s okay. I’ll stick with what I’ve got. Besides, you handle yourself well with it,” I reply.

T nods. “This is true.”

I step over the dead bodies and get inside the truck.

T double times it around the back to the passenger side. He swings open the door and hops in. “I can drive, you know.”

“That’s okay. You just show me the way to your cousin’s shop.” I grab the ignition and turn it over.

The wrecker fires up without pause. The engine seethes.

T grouses. “Damn, man, you are no fun at all.”

I pull my door to and put it into drive. We maneuver through the remainder of the stalled cars before hitting open road.

“You know, you shouldn’t doubt me so much just because I’m a kid,” T says, adjusting his backside on the firm bench seat. “I’m a lot more resourceful than you think.”

“I’m not doubting your skill set. I just want to get there as fast and safely as we can. If we run into any more trouble, I’ll be able to handle it better being behind the wheel.”

“Says who?” T shoots back.

“Me.” I cut my eyes over to him. “Are we going to do this the entire way there? I thought we had an understanding. If this is what it’s going to be, I may just cut my losses and drop you off here.”

T holds his hands up and says, “Hey, man, no need for the hostilities. I’m only messing with you. Sheesh.”

He shuts his mouth and stares out the window.

I focus on the road ahead as we make for the city, wondering what new horrors might be waiting for us.

CHAPTER NINE

The morning wears on with no encounters from the dead.

The sun hasn’t been bothered with any clouds, its rays shining through the windshield of the wrecker and hitting me in the face. I’d rather have the sun beating down on me than the cold chill of this northern air any day.

The way we’ve been traveling has been mostly barren of any vehicles. Nothing more than wide-open road with no other drivers to contend with. Things must be bad if T and his group are having to search for supplies this far out from where they are held up.

“Y’all were a long way from home,” I say. “Seems like the city would be a better place to stock up on supplies than way out in the middle of nowhere.”

“We tried multiple times, but there are more infected in the city than way out here. Like a ton more. We lost a lot of people in the process. So, my cousin suggested we branch out and try the smaller towns,” T replies.

“Do you go on many of these supply runs?”

“I go when I can. My cousin doesn’t like for me to do it too much. He tries to look out for me as best he can, and for the most part, he has done that. Then again, I am that pain in the ass that just won’t go away.” T smirks.

Amen to that.

The city comes into view over the tree line. The tops of the sprawling skyscrapers and other buildings span for as far as I can see.

“How much farther do we have?” I ask, glancing at the gauges on the dash.

“Not too much,” T answers, peering out of the windshield. “His shop is on the outskirts of town. Makes it easier to go on these runs. Why? Getting anxious or something?”

I tap the plastic covering the gauges. “No. We’re running low on fuel. I’d hate to try to hike in on foot.”

T leans over and stares at the gauges. He doesn’t seem worried about the truck’s lack of fuel from his blank stare. “There should be enough. It isn’t too far.”

The city grows in size. There aren’t as many stalled cars heading in as there are leaving. I can only imagine the mass pandemonium that gripped the city and its people trying to escape with their families. Makes one wonder what happened to all of them.

“Crazy, huh? Making a quick exit out of the city is a lot harder if you don’t know where to go or what you’re doing.”

“Were you here when it all went down?” I ask.

“Oh yeah. Sure was. Never seen anything like it before in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen some messed up stuff. Homies being gunned down in the streets and crime around every corner. Most places weren’t safe to walk alone without fear of ending up dead. Hell, most people thought that was the worst that could happen. Man, were we wrong.” T peers out the passenger-side window. “Once the first couple of reports hit the news of people eating each other, everyone thought it was a joke–an elaborate hoax that some folks came up with just to get attention. I mean, who ever heard of people attacking and trying to eat one another. Maybe in the movies, but not in real life. I didn’t believe ‘til I saw it first-hand.”

T’s eyes water and turn red. He doesn’t look toward me but keeps his face pointed at the passenger-side window. I can see the emotion grip him in the window–tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Hey, we don’t–”

He continues. “When things started to get bad everywhere, schools closed and everyone was told to stay inside. My pop worked for the city, doing maintenance and whatever else they needed. He came home one night with his arm wrapped up tight. Said something about someone attacking him. Said that they bit his arm and that he was fine and for us not to worry. Now, my old man was as tough as they came. Nobody in our neighborhood or anywhere else for that matter messed with him. He commanded respect without having to say a word most times. Nothing really ever phased him. Everything changed that night, though.”

I glance to the road, then back to T. “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I still remember it like it was yesterday. Fresh and vivid. It was hot in our apartment, especially in my room. Middle of the night and I was spread out on my bed taking in the ceiling. The power had been out for a few hours at that point. One of the neighbors said, ‘It was due to some issues at the power plant.’ Without the AC blasting, it was quiet. Like, you could hear every little noise quiet. After a few hours of staring into space, I finally drifted off, and then I heard a strange noise.”

T wipes the tears from his eyes as he points to an exit sign for Durham St. “Take that exit. This will help us avoid most of the city and take us through a train yard. My cousin’s shop isn’t too far from there.”

We leave the highway and veer to the right, heading down the exit ramp to the street below.

“Anyway. It was hard to make out and at first, I brushed it off, but then it happened again. The second time it was much louder. Like something fell. I got up and went out into the hall. There was this noise coming from my parent’s room, almost like a growl. It didn’t make any sense since we didn’t own any pets. I grabbed a flashlight from the hall table and went to check on my parents. Man, my heart was pounding in my throat. My hands were clammy as hell. The closer I got, the more anxious I became.”

T glances down at his hands–eyes big and full as if he’s right there reliving his nightmarish memory. He pants with a fearful gaze covering his face.

I keep silent and give T a minute to gather himself as we enter the train yard. The truck runs over tracks and bumps in the road, bouncing T about in his emotional frozen state.

The part of the city we’re in is abandoned, or at least it seems that way. The streets running along the chain link fence, around the train yard, are barren of any living thing. The buildings look intact, void of any damage. Perhaps things here aren’t as bad as what T had thought.

“Anyways.” T wipes his hands on his pants. “The fear of what it might be almost kept me from pushing open that door, but curiosity spurred me on. I didn’t even hesitate. I was more worried about my folks and figured that I was just tripping. I shined the light over the room, but couldn’t find them. They weren’t in their bed. The sheets were all in a mess and pulled over to the floor on the side my mom slept on. I wanted to call out their names, but couldn’t. I was too afraid of what might answer. That growling or whatever it was grew clearer the closer I got to the bed. I shined the light over into the gap between the wall and the bed and found my pop kneeling over my mom. He didn’t say anything. He just sat there above her. The closer I got the more I noticed blood covering the sheets and my pop’s white tank he always wore. He was covered in it. My mom wasn’t moving–still and motionless. That’s when I finally realized what was happening. He was eat- Watch out.”

An infected appears from one of the train cars in front of us. We hit it head-on, knocking it on top of the truck. Its left arm crashes through the windshield, missing the right side of my face by mere inches.

The truck swerves from side to side. The train tracks cause us to lose control that much more as the infected tries to free its arm. Its bloated frame blocks my view. I try to look past it to see where we’re going, but can’t.

We crash through a gate and hit the city street. The tires gain some traction on the smooth pavement, allowing me to bring the vehicle under submission, but it’s too late. We ram a parked car head-on. The impact slingshots the infected free from the hood and over the car’s roof. Our airbags deploy, cradling our faces as we’re thrown forward.

The horn bellows loud. I pull my face from the inflated bag and lean my head back against the headrest.

“You–okay?” I ask, disorientated. My vision is blurry and my head pulsates pain. Every inch of my body aches–bones throb to the marrow.

T palms the back of his neck and looks over at me. He’s got a gash on the right side of his forehead and what looks to be the making of a black eye.

“I’m fine,” he replies, with a groan. “Man, that thing came out of nowhere.”

Blood runs down the left side of my head, tickling my face as I try to regain my bearings. The horn stops blaring a few moments later.

A mass of shrills converges on us from all around. T gasps, then looks through the windows. I look as well but can’t spot the dead.

“We need to get this thing going, Mike,” T says, stuttering as the chilling sound creeps closer.

I turn the engine over but it just whines. Come on. I give it a moment, pump the gas, and try again. It grumbles but refuses to start. I slam my fist against the steering wheel.

Something moves in the distance in front of us. A blur of flesh heads this way. I clamp both lids tight, then open them. The horde of infected charges toward us with more closing in from both sides of the wrecker.

“Anytime, would be awesome, homie.” T stares out of the back window.

I pump the gas and turn it over once more. The engine grumbles but starts. I shift into reverse and punch the gas but the wrecker doesn’t move. It jerks as if it’s caught on the car we rammed. I pin the gas pedal to the floor, burning the back tires until it gives.

The wrecker rips away from the car and backs up at warp speed. The infected bump over and around the car with their mouths open and black eyes focused on us. We hit the fence to the train yard and come to a dead stop.

The infected converge from all sides, slamming into the truck. There are so many that I get lost in a sea of mangled, bloody faces. They fight to get in, punching the glass as hard as they can. It cracks to the point of shattering.

I put the car into drive and hit the gas. The added weight from the infected bogs us down even more, but we’re able to move.

“His shop is a couple of blocks over that way,” T says, pointing to the left.

The wrecker runs over the endless bodies in our way. We get some room between us and them and pick up some speed. We have a few stowaways in the back and one holding onto the contorted hood. I jerk the steering wheel from side to side, losing the one on the front and back, but some remain.

An infected head butts the back glass, breaking through. It plops into the seat between us. The truck swerves to the right and rams into a parked car. The thick-metal bumper tears along its side, but we keep going.

“Jesus,” T says, backing closer to the passenger door as the infected thrashes in the seat.

It lunges for him, but I wrap my hand over its throat and press it to the seat. It opens its mouth, showing us its bloodstained teeth as its tongue slithers over my hand.

A flathead screwdriver rolls out from under the passenger-side floorboard. Blood oozes from the infected’s wounds as it lays flat on its back staring at me.

I check the driver’s side rearview mirror. The infected are still in pursuit. Their numbers have grown.

The majority of side streets and alleyways are blocked with cars and various military vehicles. The farther we move into the inner city the more war-torn it is.

“Christ,” I mutter while trying to dodge a concrete barricade that’s planted in the middle of the street. The bodies of the infected are mixed with what looks to be TGP soldiers. “How long has the army been engaging the infected?”

“Haven’t seen any traditional military. Just those dudes in the dark, black-futuristic soldier suits are all,” T replies.

The truck rolls over a pile of dead bodies. I wrench the steering wheel to miss what I think is a tank.

T keeps his back pressed to the door and points out of the cracked windshield. “Okay. Up here, take the–”

A tire blows on the front end, shredding to pieces and sending the truck barreling out of control. It plows into a concrete divider.

The mass of dead is not too far behind us, their shrills growing in unison.

We exit the truck with our weapons and gear and race down the sidewalk. I peer over my shoulder and spot a handful of infected breaking from the pack and cutting the distance between us. We head down the alleyway, running full speed. T hangs a left and makes for the street.

Across the way is a large-solid wall that spans out in both directions, attaching to buildings on either side of it. It’s too high to see what’s on the other side, but I can only assume it’s T’s cousin’s shop.

“Open the gate,” T says, yelling and waving his arms.

We hit the sidewalk and rush up to the gate. T bangs on the thick, metal wall. The gate cracks open with an armed man standing on the other side. His gaze cuts from T to me.

“T. Where the hell have you been and where are the others?” the armed man asks. “And who is this? You know your cousin doesn’t like letting in random people.”

“Let me deal with it. He saved my life and got me back here. Now open the damn gate. The infected are close by.”

“T, you know–” He pauses–gaze focused on the buildings across the street. The infected are within sight, making a beeline right for us.

“Stop screwing off and let us in,” T demands, pounding the gate with his fist and pushing against it.

The guard scrambles for the hefty lock, slips the key in, and opens it up. We rush inside as the infected make the street and charge this way. The guard locks the gate back as the infected slam into the wall with a dense thud.

“Thanks for cutting it close, dummy,” T says, breathless. “You’re lucky nothing happened.”

The armed man is big, dwarfing T by a good two or three feet. He’s not so much muscular as he is portly. A dagger through a rather realistic skull covers his right bicep with what appears to be fresh ink. “You know your cousin’s rules. He’s going to be pissed when he finds out.”

“Like I said, let me deal with that,” T replies. “Where is he?”

The guard turns and points at a large building. “Last I saw, he was in his office.”

“Come on, Mike.”

The guard presses his ham hock of a hand against my chest. “Hold on there, homie. I’m gonna need your weapons, friend.”

“Seriously?” T asks.

“Hey, you’re lucky I even let him in here. If he wants to go any farther, then he has to give up the guns. If not, he can leave and take his chances out there. His choice.”

“Mike, you don’t–”

“No, it’s cool.” I relinquish the shotgun and remove the pistol from the front of my pants and hand it to him.

“I’ll make sure you get your stuff back,” T says.

The armed man steps aside and stares at me while we head toward the shop.

On the roof of the building, there are a few more men on watch. More patrol the outer walls with pit bulls on leashes.

The infected continue to shrill, moan, and search for a way in as we head inside the shop. The smell of grease and rubber greets my nose along with a spicy aroma. Whatever it is, it smells good.

The shop buzzes with activity, people working on cars in every stall while others patrol the building. I can’t tell what they’re doing to the cars, but it looks like they’re scrapping them for parts maybe–stripping some down while others are being fixed and modified.

“He’s been looking for you. He’s pretty pissed right now,” a woman says, as we walk past her.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard,” T replies, with a mumble.

All eyes in the building focus on us. I can’t tell if their disapproving gaze is meant for T, me, or both.

“Is Jesse back in his office?” T asks one of the mechanics who is elbow-deep in an engine.

“Last I saw, he walked out back,” the mechanic answers, without looking our way. “Haven’t seen him come back in yet.”

We stroll through the remainder of the shop and exit out the back to find more armed men policing the grounds. A handful are speaking to someone who is faced away from us. He has a massive cross covering most of his muscular back.

“That’s my cousin, Jesse. Let me do the talking. He’s not exactly big on strangers. Or white people for that matter,” T says, in a low voice.

“Good to know.”

The men stop gabbing and glance our way. They tighten their grip on their weapons while staring at us.

“Terrence, is that you, homie?”

CHAPTER TEN

Here we go.

Jesse turns to face us. He stares at T and glances my way every so often. Tattoos cover his chest and arms. The black hair on his head is trimmed close, perfectly styled to frame his chiseled face.

“What happened to Diego and Butch?” Jesse asks.

T clears his throat. “The infected got them while out on a supply run. Car broke down and they were on us before we knew it. Mike happened to be close by and killed the infected before they could get to me. Butch and Diego died protecting me.”

“I’d say you’re pretty lucky that he was close by.” Jesse trains his narrowed gaze at me, then back to T.

“I wouldn’t have been able to handle the situation and make it back if Mike hadn’t been there,” T replies.

“Sure. If you say so.” Jesse rubs his chin, then huffs. “That’s two more that we’ve lost, T. I don’t know how many more times we’re going to have this discussion before you get it. I don’t want you going out on any more supply runs. It’s getting too dangerous. I’m trying to keep you safe, bro, but you’re making that hard to do.”

“Let me-” T says, but is stopped by his cousin raising his hand.

“No explanation is needed, right? You don’t really owe me one, do you? After all, you’re a man, and a man can certainly look out for himself, can’t he?”

Jesse’s condescending tone crashes down onto T. His nostrils flare and his eyes widen, but only briefly. His chin dips and his head tilts forward with a look of defeat on his face.

Jesse walks over to T and stands in front of him with his hands clasped behind him. “I’m waiting for your answer, bro.” T holds his tongue, not responding. Jesse looks my way. “We’ll continue this later, cuz. Who’s your friend?”

“Mike,” I reply. My focus bounces from Jesse to the numerous armed men standing behind him. Each member of his crew stares at me with a cold, dead gaze.

“Well, Mike, I’d say for the moment that you lucked out seeing that I don’t care for people that aren’t part of my familia,” Jesse replies, facing me. “So, what’s your story?”

“Story?” I ask, my brow lifting.

“Yeah. Why the hell are you in my garage?” Jesse replies, with his arms outstretched encompassing his territory. “Are you part of another group trying to scope out what we’ve got so you can take it later? Because if that’s the case, homie, it isn’t going to work out too well for you. I’ll slit your damn throat and hang your body from one of those light posts.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m not with anyone else. Your cousin promised me a ride if I helped him get back, so that’s my story, and all you need to know.”

Jesse snickers under his breath, glancing over to his men who remain unamused by my presence. “I tell you what, white boy, you certainly got some nerve coming into my place and dictating what I need to know. I’ve killed people for much less than that.”

I don’t doubt it.

“I get that my cousin here promised you something, but to be honest, he didn’t have the right to do so seeing that whatever you see here is mine and not his.” Jesse points out the cars around, then says, “This isn’t a car dealership, and I’m sure as shit, not some salesman trying to make a quick buck.”

A radio screeches within the crowd of armed men, followed by a panicked voice muffled by the infected shrilling and other commotion.

“There’s too many at the front wall. The gate is starting to buckle. Don’t know how much longer it can hold on.”

Jesse holds out his hand and wiggles his fingers. One of his men tosses him the radio. Jesse holds the mic near his mouth and says, “The gate is fine and will hold. Just calm down and don’t lose your shit. I’m sending backup to you.”

The radio clicks. Static looms from the speaker without a response.

Jesse shifts his attention to his men, then points at them. “I knew I shouldn’t have put him on perimeter control. That fool flips out too easily. You three, get up there and give them a hand. Draw as many infected away from the gates as you can. Use morning glory if need be. No gunfire unless absolutely necessary.”

His men disperse, funneling around the narrow openings of the building and disappearing from sight. It’s just the three of us and a few of his men now standing within the remnants of broken cars and other junk.

I can hear more infected outside the walls. It doesn’t sound as much as what’s out front, but we’re still surrounded.

“See, T. This is what happens when you don’t listen,” Jesse says, jabbing his thick finger in his cousin’s direction. “If you would’ve stayed inside the walls like I’ve told you a billion times, then, those damn things wouldn’t be beating at our front door. We survive here by not drawing attention to ourselves.”

“Boss, I’ve got some activity at the back-right corner of the fence. Got a handful of infected trying to gain access,” a man says, over the radio. “Might be worth checking out just to be safe.”

Jesse turns to face the building behind him and looks toward the roof. He gives a thumbs up. “Go check it out. If there’s a problem, take care of it discreetly.”

His men scatter.

Jesse shakes his head in frustration, then trains his gaze at T who has his arms folded across his chest. A loud-popping noise sounds from the front portion of the shop, followed by a bright-red flare shooting into the air. More flares follow, one right after the other.

“Does that actually work?” I ask.

“Sometimes. Just depends on how determined they are,” Jesse replies.

I glance around the junk yard, skimming over the cars. “So, why don’t you point me to whatever scrap heap I’m rolling out of here in, and I’ll be on my way.”

“I wouldn’t get too far ahead of ourselves there,” Jesse says, holding his hand in the air. “But, seeing that you haven’t given me a reason yet to shoot you in the head, I guess I can throw you a bone.”

“If by bones you mean keys, then yes, toss them here,” I reply.

“Funny. Like I said earlier, I don’t exactly have a plethora of running vehicles at my disposal that I can just give away. Most of what you see here has been scraped together from other junk yards around the city. A lot of this crap doesn’t currently run. I’ve got the best crew working on trying to remedy that. I do, however, have a sidepiece that I’ve been playing with that might work for you. Just depends on how bad you want it.”

“If it’s got four wheels and is drivable, then, I’m game,” I answer.

“It’s got the wheels, but isn’t drivable, yet,” Jesse smirks while glancing at T who’s still clasping his arm. “You should have Lucy take a look at you, bro.”

T shakes his head. “Naw, I’m good.”

Stubborn ass.

Jesse waves his hand, motioning for me to follow him. “Here, let me show you what I’ve been tinkering with.”

We head to a smaller building as more of Jesse’s crew scurries out of the shop and patrols the inner perimeter of the fence. It’s just the three of us.

“I’m pretty proud of this right here. Not sure too many people have got the vision to hook up something like this with the apocalypse happening right outside their doors. A part of me just wants to leave it as is. A piece of art, bro.” Jesse grabs the bottom edge of the steel roll-up door. He pulls it up and steps back. “Take a look at that shit. Does that interior look tricked out or what?”

“So this is why you’ve been having the guys doing those runs?” T asks, pointing at the vehicle.

Jesse nods. “For sure. I wanted to keep it under wraps ‘til I had it running to see how it’d work out on the streets with the infected. Kind of like a trial run. Not quite there yet, but close. I’ve got some other variations in the works as we speak.”

“It’s definitely different. That’s for certain,” I reply, staring at the Frankensteined car.

It’s small in stature. The front end has pieces of metal that have been cut and shaped in a way for maximum carnage.

Jesse tilts his head at the car, then says, “Go ahead and take a closer look.”

I step forward and inspect the vehicle. It has numerous blades that protrude from the sides of the vehicle’s body. On each wheel, spikes are mounted with jagged notches running along each side.

“The body’s been reinforced which has added some weight to it. That’s why we dropped a V10 engine inside and added another fuel tank for a reserve. The glass is bulletproof all the way around with steel plates for additional protection. Each of the side windows can be unlatched for firing from the vehicle while still protecting the occupants.”

Jesse goes to the driver’s side and opens it up. The interior is pretty modest and doesn’t boast much out of the ordinary except for an overly large navigation display mounted in the center of the dash. “Not sure how much longer these navigation systems will work but figured it was better to have them installed just in case we can still get a signal.”

“This would probably do some major damage to the infected.” I glance into the back of the car.

Jesse smirks. “That and then some. This beast right here will mow down most anything that gets in its way, bro. No question about that.”

“And you’re just going to give this to me?” I ask, looking at Jesse.

“Oh no, not give. Like I said earlier, it all depends on how bad you want it.”

I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. There’s always a catch.

“And here I thought we were starting to become pals,” I reply, smiling.

“Like I said, at least you’re not dead,” Jesse shoots back.

I stand up straight. “Okay, so what’s the catch?”

“It’s kind of a two-part scenario here. One that I don’t think you’ll have a problem with.” Jesse digs in his back pocket and pulls out a folded-up piece of paper that he hands me.

I take it, then hold it up. “What is this?”

“A shopping list of parts that we need to get it up and running,” Jesse answers, “There are also some additional parts that are needed as well for some of the other rides we have going.”

“Listen, I’m not here to be your little errand boy. Just give me something else that’ll start and I’ll be on my way.” I hand the list back to Jesse, but he doesn’t take it.

“I’d like to think that we’re starting to see a common goal here, bro, so I’d suggest you don’t muddy the waters with being a dick and all. There are two, maybe three ways you’re leaving here. One, on foot through the front gate or two, through the front gate in a badass killing machine.”

“And three?” I ask.

The smirk on his face evaporates in a blink. “Option three is the one you’re least likely to take me up on as it would end with me placing a bullet in your forehead for wasting my time and pissing me off.”

I don’t doubt Jesse would kill me. He comes across as someone who’s killed for much less.

“Doesn’t look like I’ve got much of a choice, then.” I shove the list into my pants.

“There’s always a choice. Just got to pick the right one,” Jesse replies.

“So what’s the second part of this deal?” I ask.

“Fortunately for you, doing the second part will make getting the first part that much easier,” Jesse replies. “You see, there’s this band of coño’s that have been cutting in on our turf and threatening our way of life here. Scooping up parts, supplies, and other shit that belong to us. Not only that, they’ve also cost me some of my boys. I can’t let that stand.”

“You’re talking about the Warlocks, right?” T asks. “We had a run-in with them but Mike took care of it.”

Jesse shakes his head. “Yeah. Those Neanderthal bikers have become a massive pain in the meat of my ass. They’re getting more brazen and pushing closer and closer to us here. You take care of them and get me the parts, you’re golden. Like I said, easy.”

I snicker. “It’s never that easy. Something I learned a long time ago. You can spin a turd any way you like, but in the end, a turd is still a turd.”

Jesse shrugs. “Well, perhaps, but if you’re wanting a ride, I suggest you take my offer and complete the task. Don’t think you’ll find anything better anywhere else, bro.”

My hand rubs over up and down my face. “So, just so I’m straight here, I take care of these Warlocks and fill your little shopping list and the car is mine? No strings attached after this?”

“That’s right,” Jesse replies, nodding. “Besides, if you fail and die, I’m not out anything.”

I peer at the vehicle. “You must really want them dead to give up such a car.”

“More than you know, bro. There’s a lot that’s at stake here. Is that going to be a problem?”

It takes a moment for me to mull over Jesse’s proposition, seeing that I’m left with little in the way of other options.

“Not at all. When do I start?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

One does what one must in order to save the one he loves, regardless of what’s asked of him.

I can’t believe that I agreed to barge into some crew’s shop, kill them, and take their stuff for a set of wheels. How far I’ve fallen from the man I was. The man I used to be. I’ve done some shady stuff in the past that I’m not proud of, but nothing to this extreme. I know Becky wouldn’t approve of this course of action, but I hope she’ll understand it was for the greater good. For her. The hardest part now will be living with it.

We’re gathered around a beat-up table. A handful of Jesse’s men, me, T, and a shitload of arsenal that could be used to invade a small country. I would know. I’ve done it.

“So, you’re really going to do it?” T asks.

“Seems that way.” I load a fresh mag into a Glock, then cycle a round.

“You know–”

“Has Lucy checked your arm out yet, cuz?” Jesse walks up behind us, cutting T off.

He glances over his shoulder and shakes his head. “Not yet. She was busy earlier, and I forgot to go back and see if she was free.”

“Well, I just saw her and she wasn’t busy.” Jesse nods in the opposite direction, then says, “Go get that looked over. Besides, this is grown folk’s business right here.”

T looks to me, then walks away from the table without offering a quick jab and witty remark.

Jesse watches him leave, shakes his head, then glances at me. “That damn kid is going to kill me faster than the infected. After his folks died, I took him in and have been trying to keep him safe from all of this, but Christ, he’s on a warpath to make that impossible.”

“I’d imagine we were all a pain in the ass around that age,” I reply.

“For sure,” Jesse says. “So, is the spread to your liking?”

I skim over the various firearms laid out before me. “Um, yeah. There is no shortage of firepower.”

“We’ve been stockpiling as much as we can for raids like this. We only use our weapons when absolutely necessary. Besides, it’s not the shortage of guns that’s problematic at the moment. Those damn things are a dime a dozen, but it’s the ammo that’s the key. Finding a good cache is few and far between. That’s why when we find one, we clear that bitch out.”

I nod while stuffing a couple of Glocks between the waistband of my pants.

“We’re not going to have any trouble out there, are we, Mike?” Jesse asks, raising his brow. “I think we have a clear understanding here of both our objectives.”

“Nope. We’re solid.” I scoop up a couple of grenades and sling an M16 over my shoulder.

“Good deal. Don’t know where you’re heading, but it must be important.”

I adjust the sling attached to the M16 on my shoulder. “More important than anything. Nothing is going to stop me from getting to where I need to be.”

“That’s good. It will be motivation for you, then.”

“I think we’re clear, boss,” a man says, flanking Jesse.

Jesse turns, nods, then peers back to me. “All right. Looks like it’s go time. I’ve got four of my most ruthless homies accompanying you to make sure the deed is done. Complete it and haul ass back and you’re golden.”

I hope it’s that easy.

“Have the infected moved away from the gates?” I ask, facing Jesse.

He shakes his head. “Naw. Those stubborn bastards will set up shop for a good bit before they move on.”

“Isn’t that going to make it kind of hard to get out, then?” I’m not following the plan here. “And won’t that increase the chances of them getting inside?”

“You won’t be on the street, at least not at first,” Jesse replies. Jesse motions with his hand as he walks away. “Come on,”

We head out the back of the shop toward the outer perimeter of the gate. I’m still trying to figure out what the plan is here, but it clicks as Jesse bends down next to a manhole.

“We’ve checked it out and didn’t find anything down there. Looks clear right now,” one of his men says, while exiting the blackness.

“The sewer?” This will be fun.

“Yes, sir. Hell of a lot better than taking your chances on the street right now. There aren’t too many infected that get below, so we use the sewer lines when the horde gets to be like it is. I just wouldn’t take your time, is all.” Jesse says, pointing at the opening and smirking.

I glance into the hole, finding it difficult to penetrate the darkness beyond what the light can touch.

Jesse hands me a flashlight. “Remember. Get the stuff on the list and take care of that problem and you’re rolling out of here. You got my word.”

“You double-cross me or give me any more BS, I’ll kill you,” I reply.

The smirk remains on Jesse’s face. He slaps the side of my arm with his hand and says, “Sounds like a date. Happy hunting, white boy. Watch your step. That first one is a doozy.”

Jesse walks off, leaving me and his four babysitters to get to the matter at hand. One by one, each of them descends into the depths of the city’s underbelly.

I don’t notice the smell until my nose crests the threshold of the manhole. I’m not sure what smells worse–the city’s excrement or the infected.

I climb down the ladder and peer up at the sunny sky one last time as the cover is slid over the hole, cutting off the light. Below, beams of bright, yellowish-tinted light play all over the cloudy water and trash. I miss my footing and fall.

My boots splash the unmentionable water. I turn on the flashlight and check my surroundings. It’s not as tight and enclosed as I thought it would be, but it’s dark. So many spots within the murk the infected could hide catch my eye.

Two of Jesse’s men take point while I funnel into the middle of the pack. With it being so dark and dank and everything looking the same, it would be easy to get lost down here. I’ve got a good memory and make sure to keep a mental map of how to get back here–just in case I’m alone.

I keep the M16 slung over my shoulder and opt for the Glock. I pull it free from my waistband as we venture farther into the maze of tunnels.

The water isn’t too deep, barely reaching the tops of my boots. There’s a constant dripping sound that follows us with every turn we make. So far, I think I’ve got our path mapped out inside my head. I’ve been tracking down various objects that stand out as a way to mark our location.

“Everybody hold up.” Jesse’s point man holds his hand up and balls his fingers into a fist. We stop dead in our tracks.

Something disturbs the water up ahead. We train our flashlights and find nothing in the rippling current. We hold our position while he advances. One foot moves in front of the other as he approaches a junction of tunnels. He presses his back against the wall and checks the tunnel to his left with his pistol sweeping the space. He clears each one, then turns to face us.

“Okay, we’re clear,” he says, as the water behind him ripples past him. “Guess it was a–”

He coughs as blood trickles down the sides of his lips. He’s frozen in place, eyes wide. The outline of something or someone stands behind him.

“You okay, homie?” one of the armed men asks.

A painful grimace takes hold as a spiked arm erupts out of his chest. His body convulses, shaking as his gun falls from his grasp. A deformed face, soggy and moistened to the point of appearing mushy, rears its ugly head and looks our way before dragging him off down the tunnel.

Jesse’s men rush past me and give pursuit of the creature and their brother in arms.

“Hey, where the hell are you going?” I ask, in a raised voice. “I don’t know where to go to get out of here, damn it.”

My words fall on deaf ears, drowning in the dismal waters below their feet. They round the corner, hollering their friend’s name aloud. Not the smartest move considering now we know at least one infected is roaming the city sewers. Where there’s one, there could be more.

Great. I contemplate my options. One, go after the three pinheads that left me here. Two, screw them and find the next exit out of here, and see if I can find this place from up top. And three, the least viable option, make my way back to Jesse’s and thank him personally for sending four dipshits with me.

The water behind me splashes. I spin around and train both the flash light and Glock into the blackness beyond.

There’s nothing there. I can hear something moving through the tunnel to the right, or is it the left? I’m not sure. It could just be my mind creating sounds that aren’t even there.

That water dripping and pinging off the metal pipes racing along the walls makes it hard to stay focused. I shine the light at the murky water being disturbed to my right. Gotcha.

I get close to the slimy wall, point the flashlight down, and move to the tunnel. My fingers grab the grip of the Glock tighter. I stop shy of the edge, kill the light, and take a couple of deep breaths. I can hear something breathing on the other side. I’m not sure if it’s an infected or one of Jesse’s men.

I spring from my cover and grab it by the throat. I shove the barrel to its forehead.

“Stop. Please,” a familiar, panicked voice says.

I take a step back, keep the Glock locked on it, then thumb the switch on the flashlight–revealing the figure’s face. “Jesus T, what are you doing down here? I could’ve killed you.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t.” He coughs and rubs his throat. “Figured you might need some help, and from the looks of it, I was right. Shit, man, you got a hell of a grip. Where are the others?”

I lower the pistol. “An infected attacked and dragged one of your cousin’s men off. The others gave pursuit, leaving me here to fend for myself.”

T massages his throat a moment longer. “Good thing I came, then. Don’t thank me all at once.”

“Do you even know where I’m going?” I ask, standing at ease.

“Oh yeah. I’ve used these tunnels a lot to get in and out of places all over the city. Jesse doesn’t know that and I don’t think he needs to either. Besides, I overheard enough to know what Jesse sent you out here to do.”

“You know, for a kid, you sure have some strange hobbies.”

“So I’ve been told,” T replies.

A number of shrills taint the foul-smelling air. It’s hard to judge how far away the infected are as the noise bounces off the walls. I catch a glimpse of T’s hands that are empty and void of weapons.

“Do you normally come down here unarmed?”

“Not if I can help it.” T pulls a Glock from the back of his pants. “I grabbed this when no one was looking.”

I listen for the dead, trying to pinpoint their position. “I hope you know how to use that thing.”

“Regardless of what my cousin thinks or says, I know a lot more than he realizes.” T racks the slide of the Glock and holds it in his right hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

T takes the lead with me in tow. We don’t get far before gunfire overpowers the rhythmic tone of the infected. It sounds close. We take a few more steps before picking up something rushing toward us from behind.

I turn around and fire a single round, nailing an infected in the head.

“How’d you know it was one of them?” T asked, staring at the dead body.

“I didn’t.”

More shrills fill the tunnels, bombarding us from every angle.

We leave the infected face-first in a pool of the city’s excrement, and haul ass. T takes the lead once more. He seems like he knows where he’s going.

T stops at each junction, looks at the tunnels, then gets back on the move. The infected are still close, or at least that’s the way it sounds.

“I don’t know if you’re bad luck or not, but I’ve never had this much trouble before,” T says, panting.

We come to another terminal and hold up for a minute to catch our breath. The infected’s shrills and moans cling to us like the stench of the human waste we’re trampling through.

T leans back against the wall–gasping for air while palming his side.

“How much farther do we have to go?” I ask, winded.

“Not too much,” T replies.

Light from above shines through a grate in the street, illuminating the near painful expression on T’s face who’s taking in big gulps of air.

“We need to keep moving. Can’t stay still for–” I train my Glock at the tunnel to the left of T as two figures emerge from the darkness.

“Hold up. Don’t fire,” a defeated voice says, from the shadows.

“Rodriquez? Stone? Where are the others?” T asks, lowering his hand from his side.

“Dead. Well, infected and dead and probably heading this way.” Rodriguez bends over and pants. “We tried to save them, but those things kept coming at us from every angle, so we had to bail.”

I open fire past Jesse’s men and take out an infected sprinting up the tunnel behind them. More are on the way, their shrills combined into one horrific melody. T nails one from the way we came, knocking it off balance and into the wall.

“Move,” I say aloud as the endless footfalls and splashing of the dead echo around us.

Two more infected come into view, chasing after us. I bring up the rear, firing at the creatures while backpedaling through the ankle-deep waste. One by one the infected fall.

We run hard and fast. I hold fire. I’ve already gone through one whole magazine and need to conserve the ammo I have left.

“The exit is right up here,” Rodriguez says.

We reach the manhole without a moment to spare. Rodriguez goes first, followed by Stone who scurries up the ladder. T stops and fires as two more infected come toward us.

“Save it. You’re going to need it.” I grab his gun and push it down. “I’ve got something that might buy us some time. Now get your ass up there.”

I palm a grenade with my finger through the pin.

“And here I thought I was the crazy one.” T tucks the Glock into the front waistband of his pants and hauls ass up the ladder.

The light that bleeds through the steel grates from the street above illuminates the scourge of dead swarming this way. Their heavy breaths carry as one in the cramped space.

I trail T and scale the rusted ladder in a blink. The footfalls stop at the bottom of the opening. I glance down and find the infected staring up at me.

They shrill, flashing rows of jagged teeth that smile up at us. They climb up the ladder, scrambling after me.

I reach the top, climb out, and get to my feet. I place a bullet into the infected’s head that’s closest to us. It falls, taking out the others who were trailing it. “Take cover.” I pull the pin and drop the grenade into the sewer.

The metal incendiary splashes into the water. I grab the steel cover and slide it over the opening, then move away.

The street rumbles and shakes. The pressure from the blast sends fire racing up and blasts the cover off.

“Christ. What was that?” Stone asks, covering his head.

“Something to get the infected off our backs,” T replies.

“Hopefully, that didn’t stir up any infected close by, or the Warlocks for that matter,” Stone says, lowering his arms.

“What the hell are you doing, T? Does Jesse know you’re out here?” Rodriguez says, shouting.

T nods. “Yeah, he knows I’m with you.”

“You’re so full of shit. Man, he’s going to go ballistic when we get back. Thanks, small fry,” Rodriguez replies, as smoke plumes from the manhole.

“Should we get on the radio and at least let him know he’s with us?” Stone asks.

“I lost it in the sewers running from those things,” Rodriguez replies.

“So, then?” Stone looks at Rodriguez, waiting for an answer.

“We don’t have a choice. He comes with us,” I say, getting off the ground.

“Are you mental, white boy? We’re not taking T with us.” Rodriguez inches closer to me, his lips taut and body rigid.

“Then what? We send him back by himself on the city streets and hope he makes it in one piece. Go ahead. I don’t think Jesse will mind that one bit,” I shoot back.

Rodriquez sighs, “All right fine. When we get close, we put him somewhere safe until we’re done with what we need to do. We clear on this?” He looks my way.

“Agreed.”

“Sure. I can be the lookout,” T says.

“You will stay hidden and out of sight and not, I repeat, not help in any fashion. Am I clear?” Rodriguez points a stern finger at the rebellious teenager.

T rolls his eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”

“All right. Now that’s settled, which way do we need to go?” I ask as the faint shrill of the infected catches my attention.

“We were supposed to be much closer to the Warlocks’ compound. The sewer system leads right inside their guarded walls,” Stone replies. “I’d say maybe three blocks away at best.”

“Can you get us there from here?” Rodriguez asks.

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be a problem if we stick to the alleys and keep off the streets as much as possible,” Stone answers, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “They generally have eyes watching.”

“Then lead on,” I say.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A part of me wishes we were back in the sewer system instead of exposed on the streets.

Stone was right about the Warlocks and their ever-vigilant gaze. He’s pointed out snipers on the rooftops and street sweepers passing through. There are lots of dead infected spread all over the place, riddled with bullet holes.

I’m unsure of how we’re going to breach the Warlocks defenses. It doesn’t really matter. Even if I have to knock down the Warlocks front door, I’ll do what’s necessary to get the job done.

The alleyways are congested with trash and miscellaneous junk. Portions of the passageways are blocked off, making it harder to maneuver.

Something stirs above us on the building to our right. Stone throws up his hand and makes a fist, signaling for everyone to stop. He flits his gaze skyward, waves his hand at us, and whispers, “Find cover.”

We spread out and hide. T and I take cover in the back of a U-Haul truck while Stone and Rodriguez split up. We lose sight of them.

“You see anything?” T asks.

My back nudges the metal ribs of the truck’s interior. I lean toward the edge and peer up. “Nope, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t anyone up there.”

“Stone, man, I’ll tell you what, he’s got some uncanny hearing. Homeboy can pick up two roaches having sex a mile away seems like,” T says, in a low tone.

“He seems pretty interesting to say the least.” I glance at T. “How does he know so much about the Warlocks’ habits? Movements? His insight feels a little too good to be true.”

“At one time, Stone was part of the Warlocks,” T answers. “He was an infiltrator for the group. He’d go out and find other groups, earn their trust, and then report back what they have and their numbers. Dude is crazy smooth and can really turn on the charm when need be.”

“How did he end up with you all? Jesse doesn’t really like strangers too much, or it could just be me.”

“Stone ended up saving Jesse’s life and came clean with what he was up to. Generally, Jesse wouldn’t bat an eye at disposing of a person who has such ill intent, but the two of them found they had more in common than they realized. Stone wanted out of the Warlocks, so he defected, and Jesse allowed him to stay. Thought it’d be useful to have a former inside man in the crew. Besides the infected, the Warlocks are one of his biggest problems.”

I nod, then peer out of the back of the truck. “Pretty useful indeed.”

“Let’s move,” Rodriguez whispers, appearing around the corner of the U-Haul and waving his hand. “Keep it low and quiet.”

We jump down from the truck and stick to Rodriguez’s back. Stone takes point as we scurry through the rest of the alleyway and slip inside an opening in the wall to our left. We take a moment to regroup and strategize what our next move is going to be.

“How close are we?” I ask.

“It’s just a couple of buildings over,” Stone replies.

“Good.” I head for the alley, but Stone stops me.

“Not that way.”

I glance to the alley, then back to Stone. “How are we supposed to get over, then, if we don’t take the alley?”

“We go up?” Rodriquez says, pointing up with his finger.

“Up?” I ask, puzzled.

“Yeah. We stick to the building’s interior. As long as they haven’t discovered my way in or out, we’ll be fine,” Stone says.

An uneasy feeling comes over me, but Becky is worth whatever lays beyond this brick-and-mortar building. “All right. Lead the way.”

Stone heads up a rickety staircase to our left followed by Rodriguez, then T, and me. He goes up two more floors before heading down a long hallway to our right.

The wind howls and whistles as it blows through the numerous cracks in the walls. Debris litters the floor, chunks of brick and portions of the roof resting under our feet. The sky has been overcast by the thick clouds rolling through. Brief moments of sunlight tear through and shine down, illuminating the interior of the dilapidated structure.

The dead bodies of the infected and living can be found throughout, captured in what were their last moments of life. Some lean against the walls while others lie face-first on the dingy wooden floors. We walk past an infected whose left arm has been severed at the elbow and the uppermost portion of its head from its nose up has been crudely removed. You can see the bone and meaty interior of its skull.

We continue down the long hall with a cautious pace before coming to a gaping hole in the building’s exterior. A wooden plank runs from this building to the next.

Stone holds up his hand. We stop. He stoops down and brings his rifle to bear. He peers through its scope at the opening on the other side.

“How’s it look?” Rodriguez asks.

“Good. Don’t see any infected or Warlocks.” Stone lowers the rifle and glances to the rooftops, searching for any wandering bodies.

He swipes his hand across his forehead, removing the sheet of sweat building on his brow. I step to the side and stare at the ground below. A body is being torn into by an infected. It digs its elongated talons into the man’s stomach, ripping out organs and shoveling the bloody mess into its mouth without a care in the world.

Stone steps onto the narrow plank and walks to the other side. His feet move with precision–no hesitation or unbalanced jerks. Dust and debris fall from the building’s exposed structure to the ground below, catching the attention of an infected. The creature stops, turns with a mouthful of human meat clutched in its jaws, and looks up.

We freeze, remaining still.

The infected surveys the area. It grunts while chomping on the meaty strands, then shifts its attention back to the corpse before it.

Stone stands off to the side in the structure adjunct to us. He whistles, then waves his hands for us to come across.

“T, you go,” Rodriguez says. “Take it slow and don’t look down and you’ll be okay.”

“Man, I got this.” T steps onto the wooden plank, his focus set on Stone who has his rifle slung over his shoulder and his arms stretched out. He waves his hands toward T, motioning him to come to him.

T holds his arms out to the side like a tightrope performer, trying to maintain his balance. His legs wobble–footing unsure. He shuffles his feet along the plank. The wood creaks and pops.

The infected glances up and spots T halfway across. It shrills through its bloodstained lips, discards the meal before it, and darts into the building we’re in, disappearing from sight.

“Move your ass, T,” Rodriguez says.

T’s arms windmill and his body tilts precariously to the left from the sudden outburst, but he manages to keep upright. “What the hell, man.”

“You need to get across now. We’ve got at least one infected inbound,” I say, as calmly as I can.

T scampers the rest of the way across.

Stone grabs his hand and helps him safely off the plank.

The infected grunts and shrills as it clamors up the stairs. Heavy footfalls signal the creature is getting closer.

“Go. Get across. I’ll make sure it doesn’t follow,” Rodriguez says. He turns, puts one knee to the ground, and shoulders his rifle. His gaze is set down the hall in the direction we came.

“I know how these things operate. I can–” I say but am cut off by Rodriguez.

“Listen, I’m not going to debate this. I know this area better than you and can find another way across. Now go.”

The infected reaches the top and pauses. It looks to the left then the right, spotting me and Rodriquez.

“See look, there’s only one,” I say. A few more rush up the stairs behind it, just as decrepit and disfigured as the other. “Well hell.”

“Come on. We need to move, now,” Stone says, from the other building.

Rodriguez waits for the perfect shot as the infected charge down the hall.

“Good luck.” I step onto the plank. My gaze focuses on Stone and T who motion for me to hurry up. I’m going as fast as I can without falling. My feet shuffle along the board as I hold my arms out to either side to keep me balanced. I catch a glimpse of the alley below.

My balance wanes–legs shake and body sways. Vertigo floods my mind as the world spins, causing me to stop. My heart pounds my chest. I pant. T and Stone’s pleas become distant whispers as the subtle report of Rodriguez’s rifle plays behind me.

“You’re fine. Just a few more steps and you’re clear.” I repeat that over and over as my breathing relaxes and the dizzy state gripping my senses releases its hold.

A few big steps and I’m clear on the other side. I place my hands on my knees, exhale, then turn and face the other building.

Rodriguez grabs the edge of the plank, pulls it toward him, and allows it to plummet to the ground.

The infected rush him, closing in on Rodriguez. He gives us a single nod before advancing a couple of steps and hooking a right. He disappears from sight with the infected in pursuit.

“Is he going to be okay?” T asks, with trembling lips.

“He said, he’s going to take another way over to meet up with us,” I reply.

“There isn’t another way over.” Stone grips his rifle tighter and walks past us. “Come on. We need to keep moving.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Stone moves down the hall, checking every room he passes. T leans against the wall, staring at the other building. He doesn’t say anything, but his trembling lips and guarded posture speak volumes.

I place my hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” T rubs his eyes and brushes his hand under his nose as he pushes off the wall. “It just gets old after a while seeing people you know bite it. Rodriguez was a hard ass and busted my chops almost as much as Jesse, but he saved my butt more than I can remember.”

“There’s nothing saying that you won’t see him again,” I reply, patting his shoulder. “He seems pretty resourceful.”

“Thanks, but it’s best not to get one’s hopes up nowadays. You’ll just be let down more times than not.” T walks down the hall after Stone with his arms laced across his chest. I give a single nod in respect to Rodriguez, hoping he’s as cunning as he comes across.

We work our way up four more flights of stairs and cross into another building by way of the plank. It’s quiet. There are no signs of infected, or Warlocks for that matter.

“We need to get to the roof.” Stone pauses at the bottom of a stairwell that dead-ends at an old, beat-up door. “From there, we’ll hopefully be able to get across into the Warlocks’ compound.”

“And if we can’t?” I ask.

“It’ll be a bit more challenging, then. Wait here.” Stone heads up the stairs with his rifle trained at the exit. What little bit of sun there is bleeds through the numerous bullet holes and dents covering the metal door. I stay on high alert, checking the way we came for any unwanted guests.

Stone stops and takes a knee after he reaches the top step. He grabs the silver handle and pulls it down. The barrel of the rifle presses against the door–opening it. Stone slips through the opening and is gone for a few minutes before coming back into view. He waves his hand, motioning for us to come up.

We move out onto the roof as Stone slings the rifle over his shoulder. A wall of brick runs along the edge of the building, giving us enough cover to keep from being noticed. A portion of the wall has been knocked out ahead of us, offering a clear view of the Warlocks place.

“Is that where we’re going to cross?” I ask.

We stay low and walk toward the opening. Stone peers out from the side of the busted brick and points to the Warlocks compound.

It’s hard to get a sense of what we’ll be dealing with from this angle. We can’t see the ground or any movement. A massive stone wall impedes our view in either direction and has razor wire running along its top. Multiple buildings, staggered against each other, add a degree of difficulty in spotting any patrolling Warlocks.

Stone checks his wristwatch, muttering under his breath. “As long as they haven’t switched up the guard’s movements, we should be good for the next ten minutes or so.”

“How do we get across?” I ask.

Stone glances up at a set of power lines that run from this building to two separate structures within the Warlocks’ guarded walls.

“You have got to be kidding me. Won’t these things fry us?” I ask, studying the thick-black cabling.

“The power has been cut off to this building for some time. Since all this chaos has hit, the power grid has been choppy at best. See, watch.” Stone stands up and moves to a small-brick platform that’s just to the left of the way we came. He climbs up and looks at the lines.

“What are you doing?” I ask, as Stone reaches for the thick-stranded aluminum wire without any hesitation. I cringe and wait for the sparks to fly and his body to go up like a Roman candle.

He grabs hold. He doesn’t burst into a ball of flames or even get the slightest bit of a shock. “See. No power. Just like I said.”

“Yo, Stone. You’re one crazy bastard,” T says.

“I don’t find anything about that amusing,” I reply.

“What do we need to use, then, to get across?” T asks. “I’ve got this belt I can use. Will that work?”

“You’re not coming with us. You’re staying right here,” Stone answers.

“Yeah. It’s going to be too dangerous over there for you. We don’t know what we’ll be walking into. You’ll be safer here,” I say.

“How do you know it’ll be any safer up here?” T asks. “I might be a kid and all, but I’m not stupid. I know the infected back there are probably munching on Rodriguez as we speak. Besides, I could be useful. Help out in whatever way I can. Help carry the parts or be a lookout.”

“You’re waiting here and that’s the end of it.” Stone raises his voice at T and narrows his gaze. “It’ll be a hell of a lot safer up here than down there. Trust me.”

“I agree,” I place my hand on T’s shoulder. “Just keep out of sight and wait for us to return. Please.”

T wrenches his shoulder away from my hand. “Whatever, man.”

“You still got that Glock?” I ask.

“Yeah, I still have it,” T replies.

“Don’t fire it unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Stone says. “Don’t want to attract any attention.”

T grouses, then says, “All right.”

I’m not keen on Stone’s plan of gliding through the air on a power line while being out in the open with Warlock snipers possibly waiting to pick us off. That and the whole height thing gnaws at me as well. “So, what’s the plan for us to get over there?”

Stone removes the belt from his pants and tosses it over one of the power lines to his right.

I guffaw. “Seriously?”

Stone tugs on both sides of the belt he’s grasping. “Either that or you can use your hands. Wouldn’t advise it, though. Might burn some.”

“Yeah. Funny.”

Stone takes off, leaping from the small-brick platform–sliding along the power line and away from the roof. All I can think is how crazy this is and that I’m probably going to slip and fall to my death.

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights, bro,” T says, while leaning back against the side of the brick exterior just to the left of the door.

I remove the belt from around my waist and sling it over the cabling. I take two deep breaths, and force myself from the safety of the roof before I come to my senses.

The stale smell of the city’s rotting infestation of decaying flesh smacks me in the face as I cross the alleyways and city streets below. The Warlocks’ compound speeds toward me. My eyes catch numerous infected below, shambling about as they wander the streets.

Stone reaches the building inside the compound and dismounts the power line with ease. He shuffles off to the right, removes the rifle from his shoulder, and sweeps the area.

There doesn’t appear to be much room to get off before smacking into the side of the wall. Maybe a handful of steps on the narrow platform is all I’ll get before I have to move to the side.

My heart jumps into my throat as I try to time it just right. Stone glances up at me and moves his hand down fast. I release the hold on my belt and fall to the rock-covered roof.

My boots hit solid ground and slide. Both arms flail about to keep me from falling.

“That’s one hell of a transit system,” I say, glancing back the way we came.

“Yeah. Beats trying to go through the front door.”

I loop the belt back through my pants and remove the Glock that’s in the waistband of my jeans. I palm it with both hands. “Where do they keep the parts at?”

“They’re in a small storage room that’s attached to a garage across the compound,” Stone replies.

“All right, let’s get this over with. You lead, and I’ll follow.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Stone moves to his right and heads down a narrow set of steel stairs that run along the outside of the building. His rifle is tucked firmly against his right shoulder–hands perfectly positioned on the weapon in case of an encounter.

The way Jesse’s crew moves, especially Stone and Rodriguez, makes me think of when I was in the military. Their surefooted movements, and remaining calm under pressure, remind me of doing raids on foreign soil when you didn’t know what was lurking around the next corner.

We hit the bottom step and make our way to the next blind corner. Stone stops and peeks around the bend.

“Well, that doesn’t look good,” he says, in a whisper.

“What is it?” I move alongside him and look out to the ground below. The open yard is full of vehicles that have been thrown together, much like what Jesse’s doing. There’s also a handful of tactical and beefed-up, military-type transports.

“Why would the military be here?” I ask.

“I don’t think it’s the military,” Stone replies.

He points to a group of men conversing next to a Hummer that’s got a machine gun mounted to a rack on the roof. Stone’s right about it not being the armed forces.

“Those aren’t military,” I say, watching the men converse.

“Yeah, it’s those soldiers we’ve seen throughout the city. They haven’t done much to help with what’s happening. I wonder why they’re here. I’m shocked Damien hasn’t killed them yet and taken their stuff,” Stone says, pointing to the men.

“Damien?” I ask, without diverting my gaze.

“He’s the leader of the Warlocks. Pretty sick and maniacal guy. To say he has a few screws loose is putting it nicely. He makes Jesse look like an angel, man. One of the main reasons I wanted out. A person can only handle so much crazy, you know. That’s why I jumped at the chance at coming back here and putting that fat lard down for good.” Stone answers.

“From the way you describe him, he sounds just as bad as the infected.”

Stone nods. “The infected are mindless meat grinders with legs. The Warlocks know full well what they’re doing.”

Damien and the TGP soldier conclude their conversation and part ways. Numerous vehicles fire up as most of the TGP soldiers mount their armored trucks and Humvees and roll out toward the gate while a small portion remains behind.

Warlocks emerge from the surrounding buildings, get into the modified vehicles, and fire them up. Damien watches as his men pull in behind the soldiers.

The few Warlocks perched on top of the wall open fire as the massive steel gate shifts and opens. A handful of infected rush inside the compound, but are taken out with headshots.

One by one the caravan of steel rolls out and disappears to the right, leaving the Warlocks sanctuary a lot less guarded. The gates retract and seal the compound off from the horrors that lay beyond its fortified walls.

A small group of TGP soldiers and Warlocks hang in the yard while Damien retreats into the safety of one of the buildings. They fan out and split up.

“So, how are we supposed to get across the compound and over to that garage without being noticed?” I ask.

“Carefully. Just stay on me and try to keep the noise to a null, all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Once we have the parts, I’ll take care of Damien. He’s mine,” Stone says, sounding more beast than man. “You can tell Jesse that you took care of him.”

“No problem. He’s all yours.”

We steal away from the safety of the building and move to another set of metal stairs. We descend the short stack of steps and hit the ground. Stone works the surroundings, covering the open yard with me as his shadow.

“Shit.” Stone stops and backpedals.

We hide behind a set of crates that have tarps draped over their tops. He pulls his knife free from its sheath on his right ankle and stands at the ready.

My eyes catch sight of a familiar logo that’s burned into the side of one of the crates. TGP.

The footfalls draw closer; the shuffling of tactical gear makes it easy for us to track. Stone flips the serrated side of the blade down and strikes, as the TGP soldier comes into view, with a single stroke across his throat.

The sharp edge easily slices through his suit and opens his esophagus. Blood runs from the wound. Stone snatches the soldier and pulls him behind the cover of the crates. The radio on his hip beeps.

“We’ve got a large mass of infected heading this way. Let’s make sure that gate is secured,” a voice says, over the radio.

Stone ignores the incoming transmission. He wipes the soldier’s blood off the blade and slips it back into the sheath on his ankle. “Come on.”

We stick to the outside perimeter of the compound, staying in the shadows cast by the buildings. We hold up behind some black drums as a patrol of Warlocks strolls by.

“You see that door right over there?” Stone points at a small building in front of us. “That’s where you’ll get in. Once inside, you’ll hang a right and head to the back. They keep everything on shelves and should have the parts you’re looking for. Good luck.”

Stone pats me on the shoulder, backs out from our cover, and vanishes behind a TGP transport. I peer through the narrow opening between the drums and scan the area for any patrolling guards.

It’s mostly clear except for a Warlock who stops by the garage. He removes a cigarette from his right ear and slips it between his lips. He fires up the tip and takes a drag. The guard stands there with his eyes closed, head slagged back, and his cheeks sucked in. He removes the cigarette a moment later and exhales the smoke through his mouth and nose as he continues on.

I seize the opening and rush out from the drums, making a beeline for the door. My head is on a swivel, eyes checking every vantage point for any patrols surveying the compound as I near my target.

My heart pounds, adrenaline pumping hard. I grab the flimsy-rusted doorknob and push, but the door doesn’t budge. I shove my shoulder against the door. It pops open.

I step inside and shut the door behind me.

It’s dark and dank. A handful of overhead lights dangling from brownish-red chains break up the darkness in brief chunks. I can hear chatter outside the building. It sounds close.

Okay, hang a right and go to the back.

My hand digs in the side of my pack–removing the list of parts needed as I move farther in. I head to the back of the shop–scanning over the sparse list while looking at the shelves. Thankfully, I’m familiar with what I need. If I didn’t have a clue, this would be a challenge.

I remove the pack from my back, drop it to the floor, and get to work. One by one, I go down the list, scooping up parts from the shelves and stuffing them into my pack. It’s filling up fast. Almost busting at the seams.

Got to move faster. Pick it up.

My finger trails down the list, mentally checking off what I have so far. Two more items and I’m done, then out of here. I survey the shelf once more but don’t see the transmission belt and ignition switch. Come on.

I move behind the rack to the shelf behind it. My eyes and hands scour every dingy piece of machinery for my two items that are left.

Where are they?

Some parts fall from the shelf and hit the floor. I pause.

Don’t lose it, Mike. Stay focused. Stay calm. You’ll find it.

I take a deep breath and exhale to calm my nerves and take one more go over the rack. I work my way down and find the ignition switch, then the transmission belt on the bottom shelf. Both are retrieved. Time to jet.

I step out from the shelf and find my pack missing. That’s when I hear the click in the silence of the shop.

Shit.

“Don’t move or I’ll put you down,” a man says, from the shadows to my left. I keep my head tilted down and raise my hands in the air. He takes a few steps into the light as he comes closer. “What are you doing with all these parts?”

A TGP soldier. Great. “What I was told. I was given a list of items needed to fix one of those pieces of shit in there, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“Bullshit. You’re no Warlock,” he replies. “We’ve had enough experience with these degenerates to point them out without pause, and you are not one of them. So, if you’re not with them, and I know for a fact you’re not with us, then who the hell are–”

He stops speaking mid-interrogation, silent at first before a slight chuckle escapes his lips. I hold my position and continue to keep my head pointed down and my face as much out of his sight as possible.

“Holy shit. You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says, in laughter. “Today must be my lucky day. I never thought I’d see you again after they hauled your ass off all lifeless and bound to that gurney.”

“Wait. What?” I lift my head–eyes working their way up his gear to his face.

The soldier is clean-cut with his head shaved except for a patch of light-brown hair on top. His dark, blue eyes light up with excitement. A smirk forms on his face. “What? Don’t remember me, Mike. I’m not surprised. The drugs they hit you with and all the other stuff they did probably scrambled your brain.”

I’m lost at first, but the more I look at him the more it comes back to me. My first day on the job. The dock. He was there.

“Yep. There it is. The wheels are turning now,” he says.

“You brought me into that shit storm of a mess, Steve,” I say, clenching my jaw. “You ruined my life, you son of bitch.”

A single step is all I can afford before Steve presses his rifle right between my eyes. The coolness of the steel tickles my flesh.

“You haven’t lost that temper either. I’d suggest you keep it in check, though.” His eyes narrow. He looks from side to side. “You know, for a dead man walking you look pretty good.”

“Yeah well, I’m no longer infected with that crap the company injected me with.”

“Interesting. Connor thought for sure you went down with the Titan.”

“I’m happy to disappoint,” I reply.

Steve smirks. “Keep that sense of humor. You’re going to need it.”

“So, why did you do it? For kicks or was there money involved?” The haze that’s been looming over my memories from that day is lifting more and more.

“Of course, there was money involved. Lots of it. A man’s got to make a living somehow.”

“Well, I hope you spent it wisely ’cause you’re not leaving this building alive,” I say, growling.

“Damn, man. I really don’t want to kill you, seeing that the company would prefer you to be alive and all, but either way I’ll get paid. Speaking of fine, that wife of yours is super fine. Got all those curves. Man. I imagine she could use some proper attention.”

“You have Becky?” I ask. Both eyes swell and my body trembles.

“Oh, we do. After you went night-night from the initial injections, we conjured up a story involving your untimely death. It was sad really listening to her cry. She was so beside herself. We thought she bought the story at first, but then she started to hang around. Asking too many questions. Wanting proof and to see your body. We couldn’t have that,” Steve replies.

“Where is she?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll find out soon enough. Well, maybe you will.” Steve snickers. “Depends on how nice you play. Now, how about we turn around and place those hands behind your back.”

My blood boils from the revelation–temper brimming with rage. I bite my tongue and turn around as requested. I place my hands behind my back as a million thoughts swarm my brain at a mile a minute. Steve is going to die. Slow and painful like.

“Good boy. Love. I tell you what, it’s the root of any man’s downfall,” Steve says. He grabs my hand and hold’s it as he places a pair of handcuffs over my wrist. He clinches it down, the steel biting my flesh. He goes for my other wrist.

A loud explosion erupts, shaking the shop. The lights dim to the point of going dark but manage to stay on.

I grab his forearm, spin around, and knock his gun out of his hand before he can fire. He punches me in the face, knocking me against the steel shelf. Parts fall and clang on the floor as he stares at me. He doesn’t go for his weapon that’s well within his reach.

“What? Not going to shoot me?” I ask.

Steve shakes his head. “Naw. I’m just going to beat the ever-loving shit out of you with my bare hands.”

“Then stop running your mouth and come on.” My fingers feel along the shelf and grab the first substantial thing they find.

Steve takes a swing at me. I shift to the right and sidestep his punch. His fist slams into the shelf hard, the bone cracking and popping on impact. I smash the side of his head with the part I pulled from the rack.

The impact knocks him off balance. Both his legs wobble as he stumbles backward. Blood seeps from the wound.

I charge and spear him in the gut–forcing him into a table. We both topple over the metal top and hit the floor.

The lights flicker and fade in and out as we pick ourselves up. Dust floats in the air, creating a slight brume. My hands press to the concrete and I push myself up. Steve jams a knife through the top of my left hand.

“Oh, did that hurt?” he asks, working the blade side to side.

I deck him in the face multiple times, knocking him against a workbench. I grab the handle and pull up. The blade is covered with my blood, dripping from the wound in the middle of my palm. The pain is intense, but I fight through it.

Steve takes another swing at me but fails to connect. I grab his arm and throw him face-first to the dingy floor with his limb contorted at an angle behind him. I push up, even more, dislocating his shoulder.

“Aw,” he says, squealing.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt?” I ask, torquing his arm even further.

“Screw you.” Spit strings from Steve’s lips to the floor. “You’ll never see your wife again.”

“We’ll see about that.” I slam his injured arm to the floor and ram the knife through his right palm. He yells in pain. “Where are they keeping her?” I move the knife from side to side.

“Refer to my last rebuttal.” Steve snickers under each wince of pain.

I straddle his back with my knee pressed to his good arm, pinning it to the floor. I grab his right index finger and shove it to the side, breaking the bone. “I’m going to ask you again, where are they keeping her?”

Steve pants, but refuses to give me what I want. “Screw you. You’ve got no place to go and they’ll search this entire compound and find you. You’re screwed.”

“Wrong answer.” I grab his middle finger and break it. Two more fingers go down before Steve succumbs.

“Okay. Christ,” he says, in agony.

His hand looks like a jumbled mess, fingers bent with the blade still stuck through his palm. Blood pools under his hand and runs down toward his legs.

“Talk,” I say, wanting answers.

Steve takes a deep breath. Sweat covers the side of his face. He talks. “She’s being kept in a research facility just outside the city. It’s an old government installation that the company snagged up some time back as their main base of operations. Logan’s Military Base is what I think it was called at one time. But like I said, you’ll never get close to the building.”

“You let me worry about that.” I reach under Steve’s head and pull up, snapping his neck. His body goes limp.

My chest heaves. I glance at Steve’s dead body for a second, then rip a piece of my shirt and wrap my bloody hand. Becky’s all I can think of, wondering what those bastards are doing to her.

The noise outside the building sounds like all hell has broken loose. I didn’t notice it before, but Steve’s radio is going mad with chatter. It’s hard to discern, people talking over one another in a god-awful mess. I wonder if Stone is okay or if he even had anything to do with the explosion for that matter.

The door to the shop opens, allowing the madness to invade the building. I hold still, listening as the sound of boots rushes in. I stay low, I scoot back, and peer through the shelving, spotting only a single Warlock. He heads this way, stopping frequently while looking to either side. From where I am, I can only see his lower half.

I lift up off Steve and move back to the narrow opening between the table and a gray-metal rack. The Warlock comes closer.

His radio goes off, along with Steve’s. The echo of the transmission draws his attention. He creeps forward and stops just shy of the table before leaning over.

“I’ve got a body here. Looks to be a TGP soldier,” he says.

“Where are you?” a voice replies, from the radio.

“Inside the–”

I spring from the shadows to his right as he turns toward me with his weapon drawn. My good hand grabs the barrel of his rifle. I throw it skyward and bash him square in his sweat-covered face. It stuns him enough for me to remove the pistol from his holster as I toss his body over the table and on top of Steve.

I retrieve my pack from the floor and sling it over my shoulder. I work my way to the corner of the shop and peer out into the yard. It’s filled with a heavy haze with the outlines of bodies running past the open door. The pungent smell of smoke wafts into the garage. My arm presses to my nose, I tuck the pistol into my pants behind me, then leave the shop.

The smoke has a stranglehold around my throat, making it hard to breathe. The building to my left is ablaze, a gaping hole in the middle of the structure. Brick and rubble cover the yard. Warlocks and TGP soldiers run in every direction like headless chickens.

Gunfire erupts at the gate. The orange glow from the numerous weapons slicing through the cloud of black smoke plumes from the building. A dead TGP soldier lies in front of me with a portion of his body buried under brick and concrete.

“WE’VE GOT A MASSIVE HORDE OF INFECTED GATHERING AT THE GATE,” a voice says, but is muffled by the rampant gunfire.

“DOES ANYONE HAVE EYES ON DAMIEN?” another asks.

“WE CAN’T GET INSIDE BECAUSE OF THE FIRE.”

A couple of TGP soldiers run past me, heading for the gate. I keep my head low and move across the yard to the other side. Soldiers and Warlocks mount what vehicles are left. Those who stay behind try to gain access to the smoldering structure.

I glance to the right as the gate surges from the overwhelming onslaught of infected. My feet trip over something pawing at my ankle, sending me face-first to the ground. I scramble for my pistol and flip over–ready to fire. It’s Stone.

Blood pools around him as he releases my ankle. A thick-red line trickles down the side of his mouth. He’s been shot a few times, once in the chest and once in the stomach. His face is covered in soot, eyes full of anguish as he tries to speak.

“You crazy bastard. What did you do?” I ask, while palming the wound on his stomach.

“Don’t bother,” Stone grumbles. “I told you–Damien was mine.”

Footfalls charge us. A Warlock comes into view with his weapon drawn. I pop off a single round, nailing him in the chest. He stumbles and falls.

“Come on, we need to get out of here.” I try to move Stone who squirms in agony.

He knocks my hand away from him. “Just go. I’m done. You and T–get back to Jesse’s place.”

The front gate swells like a heartbeat, the massive latch holding it together squealing as it’s pushed to the max. What men are left press against the gate in a futile attempt to slow the infected’s advancement.

“Go while you still–can,” Stone says again, louder.

The gate buckles and the flood of ravenous undead surge into the compound. One by one, the Warlocks and TGP soldiers disappear among the decaying flesh.

A modified Hummer with reinforced body armor unloads on the horde with a .50-cal machine gun mounted on the roof. The Warlock at the helm sprays from side to side, cutting the decrepit bodies in half with relative ease, but it isn’t enough. The dead push forward, moving farther inside the base.

“Stone, I’m not–” He stops moving. I check his neck for a pulse. He’s gone.

Shrills mixed with sparse gunfire play in the air. I spot multiple infected heading my way out of the corner of my eye. I pull the sidearm from the waistband of my pants and cut them down, depleting the magazine, but more are on the way.

The infected race across the compound for me. A small portion of the horde peel off, attacking wounded or distracted Warlocks, but enough of the flesh-hungry undead continue toward me.

I discard the pistol and take off for the staircase. I fly up the first set of stairs, the growling and grunting of the dead close on my heels. More explosions erupt in the yard, shaking the buildings.

I lose my balance and fall against its brick exterior. An infected sprints toward me, its chest riddled with holes. It takes a swing at my head. I duck as its sharp talons scrape along the building, cutting into the brick. I punch it in the face and kick it in the stomach, knocking it back into the pack.

I traverse the remaining stairs and hang a right. There’s a ladder attached to the side of the structure that leads to the roof. I climb the aged piece of steel to the top, pull myself up, and glance down at the madness below.

The infected gather on the metal walkway just below me. Their arms rise, hands reaching for me in every attempt to place their deformed paws on any part of me. This building is set higher than the one we landed on. A thick wire runs back to the building that T is on from a pole bolted down to the roof. I remove the belt around my waist, toss it over, and grab the other end. I don’t think twice about jumping this time and go.

I glide down the rigid strand of wire. Bodies cover the ground below me with more infected swarming the area. Some feast on the recently deceased while the rest pour into the compound.

The building hurls toward me at lightning speed. The taut line jerks and gives, slowing me down some.

Come on, just a bit farther.

It sinks farther and farther below the roofline. I lift my legs up as I come in hot. My hands let go of the belt and slide on my back. The rigid and unforgiving surface claws at the pack strapped to me. I lay on my back–breathless.

“It’s about time you showed up.” T helps me to my feet. The door that leads down into the building is open with a couple of infected dead inside the entryway. “Wait here they say. You’ll be safer here.”

“Looks like you took care of it.”

“Sure enough,” T replies. “Where’s Stone?”

“He didn’t make it.” I cough hard, trying to rid my lungs of the toxic air.

“What the hell happened over there?”

“Don’t know for sure, but I think Stone had something to do with it,” I reply. “We need to get out of here, though. The infected are crawling all over the area now. How are you looking on ammo?”

“Ran out taking these turds to school,” T answers, pointing at the dead bodies. “Had to use a piece of pipe I found to finish them off. Wasn’t pretty. You?”

I shake my head. “Nada. Barely escaped. Had a pack hot on my heels and spent what I had.”

T scoops up the bloodied pipe and tosses me a crowbar. “Guess we’re doing this old school, then.”

“Yeah, guess so.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The sun retreats.

The thick clouds overhead converge on the city, cloaking the sprawling buildings and streets in dark shadows. I check my watch–finding that the day has escaped us and night will soon take hold.

“Damn it,” I say, lowering my arm.

“What?” T asks.

“We’re losing daylight. It’ll be night soon.”

T looks to the darkening sky. “Yeah, I’d rather not be out here after dark if at all possible.”

“You know how to get back, right?” I ask, while moving toward the door.

“Of course. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good. Let’s go.” I step over the mutated infected in the doorway and descend into the depths of the building.

The once bright halls are now plagued by low-lit corners and shadows. We rush down the halls heading to the crossing point to cross into the adjoining building.

The plank is gone.

I toe the edge of the opening and peer down at the ground below–finding it and two infected impaled by rebar jetting up through their bodies.

“Guess we’re not crossing here.” I glance to my left. There’s a staircase leading down to the next floor. “Come on.”

We move down the ramshackle stairs to the second floor. More dead bodies lay strewn about. Blood is splattered on the walls and the wooden flooring is painted in body parts.

Shrills and other clanging noises from outside the building nab our attention. We peek out the window at the street. There’s a few infected, shambling about in a discontent manner.

“Well, that sucks,” T says. “What are we going to do?”

We watch the infected walk past one another and keep going on about their meager existence. An idea gels. It’s crazy, but it’s all I got.

“Okay, I think I have a way for us to slip by them without drawing any attention to us.” I head over to one of the infected and flip her onto her back. She’s been shot in the head. Her hollow gaze stares up at me. The left portion of her breast is missing, appearing to be gnawed off. “If we cover ourselves in their blood, I think we can blend in and walk right past them.”

“You’re kidding, right?” T asks. “You want to just stroll on out there? How do you know it will even work?”

“I don’t per se. Just call it a hunch.”

“That’s a big damn hunch,” T replies, staring at me.

“Do you have a better idea?”

T squirms at the notion, but never says anything.

“It’s settled.”

My hand holds the shaft of the crowbar close to the end. I bury the bent claw into her stomach, digging into her flesh. It rips the skin apart. Her thick, clumpy blood oozes from the wound. I widen it some more, revealing her internal organs. The smell makes me want to puke, but I hold steady.

“Dude, I think I’m going to be sick,” T says, as if he’s gagging on his own vomit.

“Would you rather be sick or alive?” I continue working on her gut.

T swallows, then shakes his head in disgust.

“Grab those curtains behind you,” I say without removing my focus from the dead woman.

T palms his mouth, grabs the edge of the thick, dingy-brown fabric, and pulls it free from the wall. He takes the rod out and hands the curtains to me.

I slice the fabric in two with the claw end of the crowbar and add a small slit in the middle of each. “Put that over your head.”

T does as requested with a disgruntled wheeze. I put mine on as well–a makeshift poncho.

I bend down, drop the crowbar, and bury my hands inside her body. I scoop out some of the blood and press it to the fabric, then smear it all over. I rinse and repeat, coating most of the curtain and the majority of my face and hair. “Come on, T.”

“Yo man, I can’t do this,” he replies.

“Do you want to die? ’Cause if you don’t do this, you’re as good as dead. Now come on. We don’t have time for this shit.”

T walks over and stands next to the body. I slather him with blood and guts. I wipe my hands off as best I can on a small portion of the fabric that’s untouched. T picks up the crowbar and slips it under the curtain.

“Keep that out of sight,” I say.

T gags and acts as though he’s going to hurl but he stays the feeling. “If this doesn’t work, I’m going to beat you to death with this crowbar.”

“Yeah, well you might have some competition.”

We head down the hall, stepping over mounds of bodies, and make for the remaining staircase. I stop at the landing and scope out the main floor. The area is clear of any infected. We descend the stairs and approach the entrance.

“When we get out there, try to walk and move like them. No talking. No bullshit. Got it?” I say.

“Yeah, I got it. Better hope this works,” T replies.

I duck through the missing door and step onto the front part of the building. The infected shift their gaze to me. I don’t move or make any sudden movements. After a few moments, they lose interest and go about their business, paying me no mind. T comes out and stands behind me. We amble down the steps to the street.

Being this close to the infected without them trying to dig out our insides is surreal. They have this blank stare covering their grotesque faces. I’m nervous that they’ll discover us but maintain my composure. T manages to do the same, trying to blend in as best he can.

We worm our way through the remaining horde of dead flesh and find an opening. We duck into an alley and take a moment to gather ourselves.

“Man, you are one lucky-white boy,” T says, with a sigh of relief. “I cannot believe that actually worked.”

“You and me both,” I reply. “Which way?”

“Follow me.” T takes the lead and heads down the alley toward the street. We near the sidewalk and pause. He glances each way. I’m not sure what he’s looking for.

“Well?” I ask.

“This way.”

We go left, walking down the sidewalk while keeping close to the buildings.

The sun has retreated, bringing the dark of night. The only saving grace is the full moon hanging low in the sky. My eyes adjust to the darkness, making it easier to see.

For the next couple of hours, we worm our way through the city’s inner workings. We’re held up here and there by small packs of infected who send us running for cover. We manage to elude their gaze. Although the blood-soaked rags have fooled the dead so far, I’d rather not chance it if we don’t have to.

“Almost there,” T says, with a labored tone. “We’re about a block away I think.”

We hold up.

I’m spent. My body and mind are drained. I lean against the exterior of a building we’re near and tilt my head back, then exhale. T does the same, breathing a sigh of relief as the cool-night air brushes over our sweaty skin.

Something stirs the way we came, catching our attention. Both of our heads train to the darkened alley. We keep silent, trying to gauge what might be lurking within the blackness. It’s hard to make anything out at first, but we finally notice the shape of a body.

I hold my hand out. “Here, give me the crowbar.”

It shrills and storms toward us, knocking over trash cans as it heads our way. T fumbles the crowbar out from under the curtain and hands it to me. I take a swing and smash the bent claw into the side of its head. The impact knocks it against the wall. It tumbles to the concrete. I strike it a few more times, bashing in the side of its skull.

“Guess your genius idea of bathing in blood is not working anymore,” T grabs the curtain and lifts it off.

I brush my hand over the curtain that’s draped over me. It isn’t as moist as it was, dried and crusty to the touch. I follow suit and do the same, removing the smelly fabric from my body.

“Hey, it kept you alive this far. Getting rid of these blood-soaked curtains should help us move faster now.”

Shrills sound off close by. The noise grows. We race down the sidewalk, then to the street. We maneuver through numerous abandoned cars and sprint to the front gate. It’s all but clear until more infected appear out of the shadows from across the street and head toward us.

“Here.” T cuts to the left and dashes down a narrow walkway between two buildings.

The infected follow, slamming into one another as they funnel into the tight space. Their shrills and grunts tickle my ears as they move to overtake us. We emerge and hook a right, sprinting with every ounce of energy we have left in our fatigued legs. The infected trip over trash cans and fumble over the hood of a car, then explode from between the buildings in a chaotic rage.

“They’re gaining, T. How much farther?” I ask, winded.

“It’s just up here,” T replies, breathless. “Open the gate.”

We make one more right and stop. The cries of the infected surge toward us.

I glance around the corner. The dead’s ghostly outline moves within the shadows.

T beats the gate with his fist, yelling and screaming. It’s not as big as the main gate at the front, but still hefty enough. More infected flood in from the street and down the alley toward us.

A rustling sound emits from the other side of the gate as it opens. T dashes in as an infected rushes me. I take a swing, striking it in the head and knocking it off balance. It’s only down for a short minute before it stands up and comes once more.

Gunfire bursts to either side of me. The bright-orange glow of muzzle fire captures the infected’s tormented gaze in a snapshot of horror. I’m jerked back into the compound as Jesse’s men unload on the undead heathens. They retreat and fall behind the protected walls, shutting the gate as the infected claw and fight to gain access.

I’m thrown to the ground, and the pack stripped from my back as I’m held at gunpoint. My ears are ringing from the weapons being discharged so close to my head. I can hear T yelling, but have a hard time seeing from the flashlights shining in my face.

I blink a couple of times and dig my knuckles inside both sockets before I notice Jesse approaching us. The overhead spotlights illuminate his angered face. His eyebrows are bent down and the wrinkles on his forehead have turned a nice shade of red. If he’s double-crossing me, he’ll regret it.

“You’re damn lucky I don’t beat your ass and have you confined to your room,” he says, at T. “Do you have a death wish? Doesn’t seem to matter how many times you escape being eaten, you still insist on going outside these walls.”

“I can help if you’d just let me, and stop acting like you’re my father,” T shoots back.

Jesse’s eyes widen–mouth taut as he backhands T. The impact knocks T to the ground. His hand presses to the side of his face. I hold my tongue, not wanting to get into the middle of it.

“Take him to his room and make sure he doesn’t leave without my say-so. If he wants to take a piss, I want someone hovering over his shoulder,” Jesse says, pointing at his men.

T is lifted off the ground by a couple of armed men and carried away. He shoots me a quick look, tears filling his glassy eyes.

Jesse takes a deep breath and runs his hands over his face. He turns his attention to me.

“What is this? I thought we had a deal?” I ask.

“Lower your weapons,” Jesse says, to the two men with their weapons trained at my head. “Sorry about that. Infected activity has been crazy for the past few hours. Plus, we got wind of the Warlocks moving through our territory. Thanks for bringing T back, yet again.”

“No problem. He helped get us back.”

“Where are the others?” Jesse stares at me.

I shake my head. “They didn’t make it. We barely made it back ourselves.”

Jesse sighs. “Damn it. They were good men.”

“Yes, they were.”

He helps me to my feet, then asks, “What happened out there? Why are the two of you covered in blood?”

“Had to slip through a pack of infected,” I reply, nodding toward the gate. “Covered some curtains with some infected’s blood and wore it like a poncho.”

“You’re freaking kidding me. Did it work?”

“We’re here, aren’t we?”

“That’s some of the craziest stuff I’ve ever heard,” Jesse says. He points at the pack I carried. “Are these all of the parts?”

“Yeah. I think I got everything on the list.”

Jesse grabs the pack and opens it up. He skims over the items stuffed inside with an approving nod. “Nice. You must want to be on your way, now.”

“You have no idea,” I reply.

“What about the Warlocks? Should I assume that has been taken care of as well?”

“Well, minus the caravan that was leaving when we first arrived, yes. Their compound was overrun by infected by the end,” I reply.

“And Damien?”

“Same as far as I know. Stone insisted on handling that matter himself. Didn’t want to deny him. Seemed pretty important to him.”

“Yeah. He didn’t have any love for those thugs. That and he knew how their whole operation ran. The perfect inside job.” Jesse looks down at the blood-soaked rag wrapped around my hand. “That doesn’t look so hot.”

“It’ll be fine. Not the worst thing to ever happen to me.”

“I’d imagine not, but it’s going to be a little while ’til the car is up and running, so you’ve got time to have someone clean it up,” Jesse says.

“How long is a while?” I ask, looking at him.

“I’ll have the guys start on it now, and it should be ready by midmorning. Besides, you look like you could use some shut-eye and some water to rinse all that off you.”

Sleep? I’m dragging ass and my brain feels like a pile of mush. I won’t be any good to Becky or myself for that matter like this, so it probably wouldn’t hurt to try and snag some shut-eye if I can. “Okay, sure. Why not?”

Jesse takes the parts and leaves with his men in tow. The infected continue to beat the gate, grunting and shrilling as they try to find a way in. I’m escorted back to the main building and taken to the make-shift nurses’ station upstairs. It’s silent with little activity going on in the dead of night.

The nurse is efficient, wasting no time in removing the dingy-red rag and addressing the wound. There isn’t any talk, small or otherwise. She cleans the wound and stitches me up. She wraps my hand with some gauze, hands me a bottle with a few pain pills rattling inside, and sends me on my way. Even though I only sat in that chair for a short time, exhaustion kicked in.

I’m then taken to my room for the rest of the night. Well, it’s more like a small closet with a bed pressed to the wall and a stand to the right. A small light is mounted next to a medicine cabinet that’s missing the mirror, and a bowl of water with a semi-white rag sits on the stand’s worn top.

The blood caked to my face and matted in my hair has been irritating my skin for the last hour or so. I dip the rag in the cold water and brush it over my face. It takes no less than a good scrubbing to brush the infecteds’ fluid free from my body.

I wash my hair out, as best one can with a shallow bowl, and turn off the light. I pop the pills into my mouth and lay down on the wafer-thin mattress. The wetness from my head soaks the pillow, but I don’t mind.

A single, small window to my left allows me to see the stars. I place my arm under the damp pillow and think of Becky. Tomorrow is going to be challenging at best, but I’ll do what is necessary to reach her.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The night slipped away in a blink.

I stared at the cracked ceiling–lost in thought. My mind ran without pause, thinking of Becky and if she was safe or not. Not knowing killed me a little more, and made it harder for me to sit still.

The sun peaks over the clouds, and shines into the room. I brush my hand over my face and swing my legs off the bed. I sit there for a moment, preparing for the day’s treacherous mission ahead of me.

A knock sounds at the door.

“Yes,” I say.

The door squeaks open.

Jesse pops his head inside. He looks as haggard and drained as me. The bags under his eyes are highlighted with a bluish purple. I imagine I look much the same.

“Get much sleep?” he asks.

My arms stretch in front of me as a yawn escapes my mouth. “Not so much. Too much on my mind.”

“Yeah. I don’t either nowadays. Kind of hard to relax and let go when you have those things constantly trying to find a way in,” Jesse replies. “Since you’re up and all, let me show you something.”

I get off the bed and follow him down the walkway. It’s still quiet with only a few people working below in the early morning silence. We move through the main building and head out to the back of the yard.

The infected that were fighting to get in at the back gate are no longer there. Perhaps they gave up and moved on, or they were mowed down with extreme prejudice. Either way, the silence is golden.

“So, thanks to yours and the others’ efforts, we’ve completed the work needed for this beast.” Jesse stands next to the shop’s roll up door.

He bangs his fist against the metal and smiles as it rolls up. A mechanic stands off to the side covered in grease. His face is long and his long, black hair is pulled back into a ponytail.

Jesse nods at the vehicle. “Fire it up.”

The engine comes to life with little hesitation. Another mechanic sits in the driver’s seat as he revs the engine. The ground vibrates under my feet. Jesse steps to the side and waves his hand. The car pulls out into the yard and comes to a stop. Jesse runs his hand over the welded steel covering the hood, then moves his hand across his throat. The mechanic inside the car kills the engine and steps out.

“Badass, huh?” Jesse says, with jubilee. “My boys got this baby purring like a lion.”

I tilt my head and look over the vehicle. “It sounds intense.”

“Oh, it is. There’s no key to have to mess with. Instead, we added a push-button ignition switch as well as some run-flats. Plenty of high-end additions under the hood.”

“Nice.”

I move to the passenger-side door and peer inside. It’s still pretty barren of any luxury amenities and has been stripped clean except for the two-tattered bucket-racing seats in the front.

“What, no NOS?” I ask, while peering over the car’s rooftop.

“The store was fresh out,” Jesse shoots back. “So, where you heading, cowboy?”

I hesitate, but he might have some insight that could be useful. After all, his crew seems to know this area pretty well. I rest my forearms on the car’s top. “Do you know where Logan’s Military Base is?”

Jesse points toward his wall. “Yeah. Those soldiers we’ve seen around town are holed up in there. Word has it that’s their base of operations for the Eastern seaboard in fighting this infection. To be honest, can’t tell if they’re really making an impact or not from the way things look out there.”

“How far is it from here?”

“Just west of the city. A couple of hours barring you don’t run into any trouble or road blockades.” I can see the wheels clicking from Jesse’s expression. His head leans to the side and nods. I can’t tell if he thinks I’m stupid for asking or what. “You’re not planning on going out there, are you? Not really a tourist destination.”

“I’ve got some business that needs tending there,” I reply.

“What kind of business?” he asks.

“Personal business. They may be holding my wife there,” I answer.

Jesse’s face fills with confusion. “Your wife? What would they want with your wife?”

“It’s a long story, but just know that stopping this virus and helping us out is probably not high on their to-do list.”

Jesse leaves it alone. “Man, I don’t know what kind of shit you’re involved in with those people, but whatever is going on sounds heavy.”

“The heaviest,” I reply.

“Well, this hell on wheels will get you there. We’ve got it juiced up with as much octane as we could scramble together. My boy, Scrappy, can hook you up with a decent route that should avoid most of the problem areas. Definitely want to keep away from the city streets as much as possible. They’re chock-full with infected and abandoned vehicles.”

Jesse walks back to the front of the car. I do the same as more of his men patrol the wall behind him.

“Great. I really appreciate it.” I extend my hand towards Jesse who in turn smirks and takes hold.

“No problem. Like I said, I’ve already got a few other cars in the works, so it’s not a biggie, cuz. They’ll be done soon. Besides, you saved my familia more times than he deserves and rid me of the Warlocks. It’s the least I can do, but don’t let these jokers hear that. I’ve got an image to uphold.” Jesse chuckles.

I smirk. “Will do. Oh, there’s one more thing.”

“What’s that?” Jesse asks.

“Do you have any more weapons you can spare?”

“I think I might be able to part with a few more. Come on.”

Jesse leads me back into the building through a side door and down a narrow, dimly lit hallway that dead-ends with a thick, heavy steel door. He pulls a gaggle of keys free from his right pocket and reaches for the hefty master lock securing the door. He thumbs through a few of the various shaped keys until he pinches the end of one and allows the others to fall.

“Can’t be too careful. I trust most everyone here with my life, but a few have done me the disservice of trying to break into my artillery and take my weapons. That’s no bueno.”

Jesse unlocks the weighted lock and removes it. He swings the hasp to the side, drops the lock to the concrete, and grabs the handle, pushing it down. The door unlocks.

Jesse pulls it back. A single-fluorescent light hanging by a few chains at either end sparks to life. “Now you see why I keep this room locked up.”

I skim over the wide, open room, taking in the numerous racks of various weapons and artillery lined up in nice neat rows. Each is organized with ordnance within arm’s reach. Jesse’s weapon bunker is similar to that of terrorist organizations I’ve raided when in the military.

“How’d you secure such an arsenal?” I ask.

Jesse crosses his arms. “By being persistent and knowing where to look. That and we raided some weapons depots that we got wind of. Think it was part of those soldiers’ cache. They had minimal coverage at the time, so it was easy to take. In and out.”

I look over all the goodies. There’s so much to choose from, but I need to keep it light and easy to manage. Something that packs a punch, but that won’t bog me down.

“Anything, in particular, you’re looking for, homie?” Jesse asks. “There are more than enough goodies to choose from.”

It’s hard to choose but I try to keep my shopping list short and sweet.

“Not really.” I scoop up a couple of handguns, grenades, and a few semi-automatic weapons along with some extra magazines.

“Nice, bro. Keepin’ it light, but still packing some punch,” Jesse says, with an approving tilt of his head.

I set the arm full of weapons on the metal table in the middle of the room.

Jesse tracks down a small, black duffle bag from a steel storage locker against the far wall and brings it to me. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” I check each weapon to make sure it’s fully stocked and ready to rock at the drop of a dime before I slide each into the duffle along with the extra ordinance. I sling it over my shoulder. The weight is bearable and doesn’t feel too bad.

“You done shopping, homie? I’ve got a couple of grenades and rocket launchers you might like.”

I shake my head. “Tempting, but this should suffice.”

We leave the weapons cache and head back into the building. It’s buzzing with more activity. People whisper as I walk by. They point and stare, then divert their gaze when I look at them.

“So, why is everyone looking at me weird like?” I ask.

“Word spread that you helped smoke Damien and his Warlocks. Some think you’re some sort of guardian angel,” Jesse answers.

Far from it, but I’ll take the accolades regardless.

We weave through the bustling structure until we reach a set of double doors that lead to a small filing room.

“Scrappy, we need a moment,” Jesse says.

He’s bent over a table. His body gyrates from side to side like he’s dancing in place or something. He’s muttering something that I can’t quite understand as he pauses briefly, stands erect, and points to his right. Then he’s back to hunching over once more.

“It’s music. Helps him think and focus. I’ve told him not to have it so loud so he can hear the alarm if it goes off.” Jesse touches his shoulder. Scrappy shudders and stops. He yanks the earbuds free of his ears. “SORRY, JESSE. I mean, sorry, Jesse.”

He’s got some cuts on his left jaw and his right eye is black and blue. The music blares from the headphones. His fingers fill the outside of the device and turn it off.

“Lord, you’re going to go deaf listening to that so loud,” Jesse says. “My man here needs some intel on the old military base outside of town. Logan, I think it is. I need you to hook him up.”

“Yeah, sure thing.” He digs inside his right-pant pocket, lifts a device out, and fumbles with it for a few moments before setting it down on the table. “Hi, the name’s Scrappy.”

“Mike,” I reply, shaking his hand.

He’s fairly tall and his clothes drape over his wide frame like a blanket. He’s got a scraggly-looking goatee and his face looks like it hasn’t been clean for some time.

I glance at Jesse and point to my eye.

“Card game. Some people didn’t like him winning so much,” Jesse replies, with a chuckle. “They don’t look much better.”

Scrappy rummages through tubes stored in racks on the floor and walls. He puts his hands on each while talking to himself. He lifts some up and rotates the brown cylinder before setting them back down.

“What’s he doing?” I ask.

“Finding what you need,” Jesse replies. “Don’t ask. It’s his special filing system. Anyone else would be lost trying to find anything in here.”

“Ah, here it is.” Scrappy pulls a tube from one of the steel racks.

He grabs the white, dingy seal and pulls it free from the tube’s end. His dirty hand reaches inside, pulls out a map, and lays it out on the table. He smooths it out and steps back.

I peer at the aerial view of the city, and any outlying areas, noticing marks penciled in on various locations. My hand traces over each, taking in the names until I come across Logan that is now classified as TGP Northeast HQ.

“Weapons depots and military installations that are close by,” Jesse says. “A lot of the maps are broken up by what we need at the time. Makes it a hell of a lot easier to look at the stuff we need instead of everything being clustered on a single map.”

“So, where are we at on the map?” I ask.

“Here.” Scrappy points next to a red circle with a dot in the middle.

I trace my finger from the red dot to Logan, finding that it’s a good distance apart–at least on the map anyway. “That’s a lot of dead bodies to plow through.”

“That it is,” Scrappy says. “If you want to go the path of least resistance, or at least it was the last time we mapped out the route, then you’ll want to go this way.”

Scrappy traces his finger to the left and goes a ways out of the city and hooks it back up north, approaching the facility from the west.

“What’s the time difference between going through the city and the other way?” I ask, looking up at Scrappy.

“Well, if you want to compare just the distance alone and barring any trouble that you could run into or any road blockades and such, then going through the city would cut the drive time down by a few hours. We try to update these routes as often as we can, but it’s been a while since these have been gone over,” Scrappy answers. “The last time they were checked, the city was more congested than the rural route. Doable, but a lot more caution would need to be taken.”

“As far as gas, am I good either way?” I ask Jesse.

“With what we have you topped off at, you should be good,” he replies. “Now one thing about approaching from the city is that there will be a bit more cover and you won’t be as exposed. We’ve had some folks say there’s a road that leads along the back portion of the facility that isn’t patrolled as much. Now that was a few months back, so you might take that with a grain of salt.”

“Can you trace out both routes for me? I’ll decide once I’m on the road,” I ask.

“Yeah, sure thing. Give me a few minutes and I’ll have it ready for you,” Scrappy replies, with a nod.

“So, what you thinking?” Jesse asks.

“Don’t know yet.” I chew over the intel both Scrappy and Jesse have fed me.

Playing it safe would probably be the most advantageous way to do this, but seeing that they could have Becky, that kind of changes things a bit.

“The city will have much more infected and the rural areas are known for having many more bandits. Whichever way you decide to go, that metal beast should treat you right,” Jesse says.

“All right. Here you go.” Scrappy hands me a smaller map that’s folded up. “This map will be much more manageable while on the go. Plus, it has the roads and streets listed out a lot better.”

“Thanks. I appreciate all your help.” I hold my hand out toward him.

“You’re welcome.” Scrappy shakes my hand before going back to his work.

Jesse leads me out of the filing room. On the way out of the building, someone grabs my arm and stops me.

“Leaving?” T asks.

“Yeah. I’ve got some pressing business to tend to,” I reply. “Stay out of trouble, will ya? I’m not going to be around to save your butt.”

“Please. More like I saved your white behind more times than I can count. You know, to think about it, I don’t recall ever getting a thank you for it,” T shoots back.

“You’re right. Thanks for having my back, T.”

“Likewise, homie.” We lock hands and bring it in for a brief man-hug that lasts only a few seconds. He sniffles as he releases my hand and swipes his coat sleeve across his eyes. “Don’t die out there.” T turns and walks away with his head lowered. He rushes past the bustling people and disappears from my sight.

“Haven’t seen him broken up like that in a long while. You must have made an impression on him,” Jesse says. “He doesn’t get like that with too many people.”

“To be honest, I couldn’t tell.”

We head out back to the car where I find a pack perched on top of the hood. I open it and find some bottles of water, medical supplies, and what appears to be a SAT phone.

“For the trip home. If you need anything, hit us up on that phone. We’ll have your back,” Jesse says, with a warm smile.

“Thanks, for everything.”

“No problem, bro.” Jesse pats my shoulder.

“Hey, boss, the coast is clear. No infected in sight,” a voice says, over Jesse’s two-way radio.

“Copy that.” Jesse looks at me, then nods at the car. “If you’re going to go, now would be the time.”

I toss the pack in through the passenger-side window and move around the back end of the car to the driver’s side. I slip into the bucket seat and shut the door. Jesse grabs the metal-plated passenger window and pulls it up, locking it into place.

The tip of my finger mashes the ignition button.

The engine thrives to life. The rumbling chatters my teeth.

I set the map in the seat next to me, put it in drive, and head for the back exit.

The gate opens up.

I creep out into the alleyway, drive down the alley, and out onto the deserted city street. I hook a right, leaving the haven of walls and weapons in my rearview mirror, and head for Logan.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Into the unknown.

My head’s on a swivel, eyes peering through the narrow slits within the reinforced steel covering of each window. There’s no infected in sight.

The sun has fought its way through the swollen clouds looming over the city, shedding some much-needed light on things.

It’s still hard to fathom how fast the world crumbled under the weight of the infection from the abandoned sidewalks and buildings. There’s no hint of life anywhere. What I could only imagine was once a thriving metropolis is nothing more than a giant tomb for the infected.

I bring the car to a halt at the fork in the road, wrestling with which way to go. I thought I had made up my mind and decided to take the long way around and play it safe, but Steve’s voice is still taunting me with the notion that the company could have Becky.

I snag the map sitting in the passenger seat and unfold it. It rests on the steering wheel while I look over each route and take into consideration the pros and cons of each path once more. I’m not as concerned with bandits, or the infected for that matter, as I am with either slowing me up to the point of not being able to reach Becky.

I glance at the on-ramp that ascends into the air and leads out of the city. I decide to take my chances within the city’s hardtop network. Being able to possibly shave off a couple of hours is well worth the gamble. Either way is risky, but riding in this beast should allow me to handle any situation that may arise.

The map is discarded to the passenger seat. My foot mashes the gas pedal, sending the car lunging forward.

The morning drones on with no infected or living person in sight. The utter silence of the abandoned streets and buildings is more eerie than a relief. It’s made this easier than I was told, but I expected some resistance. I didn’t imagine I’d skate through this metal maze without running into at least some issues. It makes me wonder if something worse is waiting for me.

My gaze watches the buildings and cars, almost missing the body lying in the street. I stop the car and assess the situation.

He’s flat on his back and not moving. I’ve got a clear view of his face. It’s dingy and looks roughed up a bit with a few cuts on his forehead and a bloody nose. He doesn’t show any signs of the infection.

The way he’s positioned in the road makes it impossible for me to pass without running over him. Cars and debris to either side of him box him in, leaving me with no way around.

Damn it.

I put the car into park, kill the engine, and grab a handgun from the passenger’s seat. I take a moment to see if any activity drums up, but nothing changes.

Make it quick, Mike. Move the body and get back in the car.

I open the door, step out, and glance around at the busted windows of the buildings surrounding me. Each reveals a rich darkness that goes beyond its jagged glass. No movement still.

My palm squeezes the grip of the Glock. I advance toward the body. The wind blows steadily, creating a whistling noise through the cracked windows in the vehicles close to me. The air has a pungent odor consisting of that same stench of death and decay.

The body doesn’t move the closer I get. He lays there lifeless with no twitch or flinches of any sort. I scan over his face, then nudge his arm with my foot, but his body remains motionless.

I tuck the Glock into the back waistband of my pants, grab him by his ankles, and drag his body to the side. I take him far enough to clear the way for me to move past him, and lay him to rest next to a Volkswagen beetle.

A figure emerges from behind the car.

I drop his feet and reach for the Glock.

“Wouldn’t do that if I was you,” a gruff voice says. “We’ll get to that shortly.”

I stop, my hand hovering over the gun. “What do you want?”

“That souped-up ride you’re rolling in for starters, and everything else that you have.”

He presses his weapon to my head, then steps around in front of me. He looks just as scruffy and beat down as the guy on the ground. A portion of his long, brown hair snakes out from underneath the blue hoodie he’s wearing. His wiry beard is all over the place, hairs going in every direction. His left arm dangles by his side, a wound of some sort on his forearm. Blood drips from the tips of his fingers to the ground.

“Nasty wound you got there, friend. Sure hope it isn’t infected,” I say.

“What if it is?” he replies, in a manic giggle. “One bite or scratch and you’ll have it.”

“Is that the best you’ve got? Threatening me with the infection?” I ask. “I mean, you’re obviously the brains of this operation here and your cohort lying here is your bait.”

The frazzled and mentally disturbed thug trains his weapon down and chambers off two rounds in the man’s body. He doesn’t move or budge from the impact of the bullets burrowing into his chest cavity. Guess he was dead after all.

He brings it back up and points the barrel at my face. “Now give me everything you got, right now.”

“How many shots you got left in that canon of yours?” I catch the sound of numerous shrills in the vicinity.

A worried glaze fills his eyes as his hand shakes.

“Probably shouldn’t have fired that bad boy off. Hope you got enough.”

He diverts his gaze in the direction of the impending storm of teeth and dead flesh to our left, giving me an opportunity to make my move. I strike his arm with my right hand, knocking it down to his side as another round fires off. I scramble for his forearm and manage to free the pistol from his grasp.

It drops to the ground. I kick it away. He pulls his arm from my clutch, rams me in the stomach with his shoulder, and drives me back against the car. The ground beneath us trembles, indicating the infected are close.

I pound his upper back with my elbow, each blow more intense than the last. He lessens his hold, allowing me to grab the scruff of his neck and smash my knee into his face. He stumbles back and drops to his ass. I deck him in the face. Blood runs from both of his flared nostrils. He falls to his back and lays there as the wave of infected comes into view.

“Good luck to you, pal.”

I can see the faces of the horribly infected mass surging toward us as I run for the car. Some amble along while the more disfigured breeze past them with their mouths wide and their clawed hands reaching for us.

I open the door, drop into the driver’s seat, and hit the ignition button that brings the sleeping giant to life. I slam the beefy door closed as something plops onto the hood.

“Don’t leave me out here, man. Let me in,” the thug says, hammering the window with his fists.

The infected converge on top of the car. They attack the vulnerable thug, biting and tearing into his body as they drag him off the hood and to the side. The clamoring racket of the infected shrilling and beating against the armored body of the car is deafening.

I put the car into drive and punch the gas. The added weight of the bodies piled on the car bogs it down some, but not enough to keep it from charging forward.

I plow over the infected standing in my way, their bodies vanishing under the car or bouncing onto the hood and slamming against the windshield. A woman holding onto the steel that’s welded to the window looks in through the cracks with her teeth chomping up and down as bile pours out. I veer to the left. She slams into the edge of a bus we pass by.

A few infected hang onto the roof as I put some distance between me and the rest of the horde. I check the rearview mirror and find the mass of infected is fading fast.

I swerve from side to side, trying to shake their hold. One slips off, slamming into the side of a parked minivan. One down and one to go.

The creature pounds away on top of the car, the roof giving from the rapid impact. It shrills with each blow. I slam the brakes and bring the car to a halt. The mutated abomination bounces off the hood and hits the ground in front of me.

It gets to its feet and shrills in my direction. Its colossal size dwarfs the car, I think twice about ramming it. I peer to my left and find a narrow opening between a dump truck and a suburban that’s flipped on its side. I think I can make it and hope the sidewalk is clear.

I shift into reverse, hit the gas, and back up. My foot and hands work in tandem. I stop, slip it into drive, and gun it. The back end fishtails. The tires scream.

The infected beast charges and swings its club-like hand, but misses as I shoot through the gap. Both doors scrape along the vehicles on either side, but I manage to squeeze through.

The sidewalk is littered with trash and debris, but I plow through it just the same. I keep my speed steady to gain some distance from the infected chasing after me. I glance into the rearview mirror and see nothing but the infected’s decrepit flesh and mutated hands reaching for the trunk of the car. Up ahead, multiple vehicles are smashed together with one on its side blocking the road.

Light shines through a hole in the building coming up. Windows perhaps?

My hands find the light switch and turn the headlights on as I punch the gas. The infected falls back some but keeps its pursuit. I time it just right and jerk the wheel. The driver’s side of the car hammers through a small portion of the building’s structure.

The left headlight flickers and dims as busted brick pelts the windshield and hood. The impact sends me fishtailing to the left through the building’s interior. I wrestle the steering, bringing the car under submission.

Garment racks and mannequins ping off the hood. The infected shrills as it closes in on me.

Up ahead is a row of windows, or what’s left of them. Some are busted out while others are cracked.

I brace for impact as the car explodes from the building, obliterating the remaining glass. Shards hurl in every direction. The tires find traction and hold tight as I pump the brake and spin the steering wheel. The tires squeal and the back end fishtails. The infected leaps out of the building and chases after me.

I get a great view of its disgusting face from the passenger window.

The back of the car straightens out. I hit the accelerator. The infected slams one of his clawed hands on the trunk before he slips and wipes out, slamming into the building next to me.

He’s down for the count and no longer a threat.

I punch the gas and put as much distance between us as possible. He grows smaller in the rearview mirror as I tear ass down the city streets, leaving it and the other horrors behind me.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Going through the city was more than I bargained for.

The horde of ravenous infected that swarmed to the steady hum of the car’s beefy engine made it more challenging to slip through without incident. I’ve garnished more battle scars on the vehicle’s reinforced body, but it’s held up just the same. I couldn’t have imagined doing this with a regular stock car and making it out of that first encounter alive.

The tall buildings and congested streets of the city’s inner workings fade to the open road. The number of abandoned vehicles decreases, making it easier to navigate.

My mind wanders in the subdued bliss of nature and the void of distractions. I think back to all who have helped me along my arduous journey. Giving their time, property, or even their lives. Without that, I’m unclear of where or who I’d even be at this very moment.

I spot a structure of sorts off in the near distance. I pass by a sign that has “Logan Military Base – straight ahead,” dangling by one side. The weeds try to overtake it. I slow down, unsure of what sort of security they have near the base. Neither Scrappy nor Jesse divulged any such information.

I glance to the map, then back to the road, watching for the turnoff that was mentioned. Not a car is in sight. Perhaps the company disposed of any travelers and removed their vehicles.

The closer I move toward the base, the more the multiple structures come into view. From here, it doesn’t look like very much–just a bunch of old buildings spread out over the area and contained within a chain-link fence. Is this it? I was expecting much more than this.

Up ahead, I notice the road that Scrappy mentioned to the east. There are no street signs and the weeds have grown so high that it’d be easy to miss. I ease off the gas and turn down the paved road.

A row of overgrown vegetation and trees conceals the car to the west. I drive a bit further, then pull next to a row of trees. I kill the engine, grab the map, and study it. My eyes skim over the area and the red dot Scrappy made. I look straight ahead, then to my left, finding nothing but open fields with no other structures in sight.

My fingers stroke my chin. I’m lost and unsure of where to go now. Some movement to my right catches my attention.

One of the larger buildings facing my direction splits apart and opens. A convoy of massive armored vehicles spills out into the base. TGP soldiers march alongside the vehicles as they continue to roll out.

I fold the map, toss it to the floorboard, and grab the duffle bag’s handles. I pop open the driver’s side door and sneak out, making sure to keep a low profile from the soldiers across the way. There’s plenty of distance between me and the base. Plus, the trees and weeds provide some additional cover.

I stay huddled behind the car, shut the door, and take a knee.

The hum of an engine looms in the air close to my position. I back away from the car and take refuge within the dense weeds. The rich vegetation conceals me. I drop to my stomach, with the duffle bag cradled next to me, and watch a Hummer head toward me.

The heavy drum of the tires rolls up on the car. It stops shy of the vehicle’s back end. Two TGP soldiers dismount the armored vehicle with weapons drawn. They approach the car as I make my way to the back of the Hummer.

I move to the opposite side of the rig and peer around the corner–looking at the soldiers while they inspect my ride. A plan forms to help me gain access to the base.

I stow the duffle bag under the Hummer, then pound my fist against the armored body. The noise grabs the soldier’s attention. They look back to the rig. I drop to my stomach and worm my way under its rear. I wait and watch as the soldier to my right heads my way.

The other soldier continues to inspect the car, opening the door as his cohort moves within striking distance. He moves with one foot in front of the other, making his way toward me. The soldier stops and scans the area, allowing me to sweep his legs out from under him. He falls flat on his ass. I drag him under the Hummer and tuck my arm under his chin. I squeeze with all my might. His squirming subsides and his body goes limp.

The noise catches the other soldier’s attention. He pulls away from the interior of the car and trains his weapon in my direction. I take the unconscious soldier’s rifle, roll out from under the Hummer, and peer through the windows.

The soldier walks toward the vehicle with his weapon shouldered as he scans over the area. He works his way down the driver’s side of the Hummer.

My footfalls move in sync with his. I stop at the edge, keep low, and wait, listening for his footsteps as he comes around to the rear.

He pauses, then turns around.

I grab his helmet from behind, flick my wrists in opposite directions, and snap his neck. He goes limp. I catch his dead weight, then drag him to the weeds on the far side of the road. The other soldier is pulled from under the Hummer and dumped next to his partner. They both appear to be about the same height and build as me.

Both men are stripped to their boxers. One set of armor is discarded while I put the other on. It’s a bit snug in places, but it will do.

I put the duffle bag in the trunk of the car, then settle into the driver’s seat of the Hummer. I start the armored vehicle back up and make a U-turn, then head for the highway.

The main entry gate isn’t too far away. Droves of heavily armed vehicles exit the base and turn onto the highway. They drive past as I wait to turn in. After the last vehicle leaves, I’m motioned to proceed inside.

I turn into the base and drive to the building I spotted earlier. The soldiers have all but dispersed, leaving the area unguarded. My car appears to be hidden well among the thick weeds and trees. It’s barely visible from here.

The Hummer stops on the side of the structure. I kill the engine and dismount. I grab the rifle from the floorboard, secure the sling over my shoulder, and advance on the entrance.

The drive slopes down and veers off to the left. A staircase runs along the side of the wall.

A support vehicle heads toward me, its throaty diesel engine churning as it slows and stops shy of the entrance. A handful of TGP soldiers in the covered back wave for me to come on board.

I climb into the back and take a seat next to the other soldiers. I keep silent, my attention forward as the truck shifts into gear and descends into the building.

There’s no chatter among the soldiers. Their face masks shield their faces and mine. The echoing of the truck’s oversized tires on the concrete and its brakes squeaking sound off.

The light from outside vanishes as the door retracts and seals us inside. The driver grinds the gears, the truck lunging with every shift he makes as we flatten out. He hooks a right and drives some more as the base expands in all directions.

Numerous armored vehicles of various sizes and shapes are lined up in nice neat rows. Sections of crates are stacked among the vehicles. Groups of soldiers and other personnel scurry all over as speakers overhead spit out status reports and updates. Jesse wasn’t lying about this being one of the company’s main bases of operations. This place is serious business.

The truck comes to a halt. The soldiers hop out and move about their business. I follow suit, sticking close as they march in unison toward a large elevator. There’s a door just to the right that has an image of stairs. I split from the pack and go for the door.

It burst open. Two soldiers walk out. They pay me no mind as I enter the stairwell and descend the stairs. My boots play off the steel grates of each step and echo in the expansive well. I’m going where my gut tells me Becky might be, if she’s here.

I notice a sign on the wall next to a door that reads “Sublevel B.” I grab the silver handle, pull down, and pass through the doorway into the hall. There are a few lab coats walking about with their faces buried in paperwork. They shoot me a quick glance, but keep on their way as I continue down the hall.

My head turns from side to side, taking in the numerous rooms where different projects are taking place. There’s no telling where they might be keeping Becky. If they have some kind of holding sector, that might be a good place to start.

I take the next blind corner and notice a lab tech keying data on a large graphical display mounted to the wall. His fingers move with precision, advancing each screen fast. He taps a few more buttons and swipes his hand to the right, taking the screen back to a menu-type layout.

He moves on, leaving the display available to use. I glance around for any curious stares and advance to the terminal. The screen displays the numerous departments contained within the substructure as well as a rotating 3D model of the overall base that is all located underground.

I study each department, but one stands out as worrisome—Advanced Genetic Research and Biohazard Disposal and Containment.

I continue on, and come across the Detention sector. That could be where they’re keeping Becky.

“Can I help you with something, soldier?” a voice asks from behind me.

I turn around, facing the soldier. “Looking for the Detention Center. Just recently transferred in and was told to report to that sector ASAP.”

“Follow me. It’s a couple of floors down,” the soldier replies, without pause as he walks past me.

I fall in line behind him as we march down the hall and hook a right. We step into an elevator and turn about-face. The single-sleek steel door whisks shut, sealing us inside. He presses the number five button. It illuminates, then the number lights up above the entrance.

The carriage descends. I feel the brief weightlessness in my stomach. It comes to a gradual stop as the locking mechanism engages and holds the carriage in place.

The doors open to a single soldier who is sitting down at a desk in front of a steel wall with a heavily reinforced door to his right. The fluorescent light shines off his bald, shiny dark head as he glares our way. We step out and walk toward the desk.

“Got a transfer here that’s to report to this sector,” the soldier standing in front of me says.

The soldier at the desk glances at me then looks down for a few seconds. “I’ve got no such pending requests. It could be they haven’t sent the paperwork down yet. Let me check on it real quick.”

I slam the stock end of the rifle into the back of the soldier’s helmet, knocking him hard against the desk. He falls to the floor. The other soldier goes for something out of my view below the desk.

I train my weapon at his forehead. “Not so fast there. Stand up and let me see those hands.”

His eyes stay locked on me as he follows my command. The soldier I pounded in the back of the head stirs on the floor. I slam my boot between his back and helmet, putting all my weight onto the back of his neck.

“Open the door, now,” I say, pointing the barrel at the middle of his forehead.

He snarls instead.

I glance in the direction I’m wanting to go, then look back to him. “That door over there appears to open by handprint recognition. Meaning, I only need your hand and not your entire body. So, unless you’re content with losing an appendage, I suggest you move your ass and open that door.”

His brow furrows. He huffs but does as requested. He stands up, steps away from his desk, and heads to the door. He places his gloveless right hand on the scanner and holds it in place. The pad lights up as red lines scan various parts of his palm. After a few seconds, the scanner goes green and the door unlatches.

“Go ahead,” I say, motioning with the rifle for him to take point. “Keep it slow and steady. No funny business.”

He pushes the door open and we step inside. It’s not big, boasting six smallish cells with clear barriers in front of each. “Do you have anybody here?”

“The last cell on the right,” he replies.

“Move.”

He doesn’t budge. I grab him by his gear, then shove him forward ‘til we hit the end of the row. Someone is on their knees, planted on the floor and facing the wall. I can’t tell from here if it’s a man or a woman, given the long hair. It looks similar to what Becky had the last time I saw her but I can’t be sure it’s her.

The rifle stays trained on the soldier. I approach the barrier and pound my fist on the plastic. My heart pounds. There’s a bit of hesitation before the individual turns to face us. It’s a beleaguered older woman, her face dirty and long. It’s not her. It’s not Becky.

Damn it.

A wave of anger swells inside of me. I punch the barrier, then face the soldier. “Has there been anyone else in here in the last few days?”

The soldier stares at me with a blank expression as if he didn’t understand me. I point the rifle down below his waist and fire a single bullet into his right upper thigh.

He yelps in pain–palming the wound. His leg gives, sending him to the floor.

“WAS THERE ANOTHER WOMAN THAT WAS BEING KEPT IN HERE?” I ask again, shouting.

“YES.” Blood seeps from between his fingers and runs down the side of his leg. It drips to the floor as he scoots back and leans against one of the cells.

“WHERE WAS SHE TAKEN?” He doesn’t respond at first. He paws at the open wound with little effect in stopping the bleeding. I move the muzzle of the rifle up and press it between his eyes. “TELL ME NOW AND I WON’T SPLATTER YOUR BRAINS EVERYWHERE.”

“They came and took her late last night,” the soldier answers, wincing. “To one of the labs. AGR I think.”

“What is AGR?” I ask.

“Advanced Genetic Research,” he says, writhing in pain on the floor.

My mind explodes in every direction, thoughts trailing to every possible devious plan those sick, maniacal bastards have in store for Becky. I must get to her before it’s too late.

“What floor is it on?”

“Seven.”

The lights dim, flickering as they slowly come back to life. A crackling noise fills the cellblock. A soft-spoken, feminine voice talks over the speakers.

“Perimeter breach. Perimeter breach. Infected biologicals have entered the west portion of the compound. All tactical personnel report to your stations. This is not a drill.”

The infected found their way home and managed to gain access to the inner perimeter of the base. Evil has come home to rest in the bed with its creator.

I glance over my shoulder and lay eyes upon the displaced woman. She buries her face back into her legs–arms cradling her knees as she rocks back and forth. I can’t just leave her trapped in that cell.

“How do I open these cells?” I ask the wounded soldier.

“The panel over there,” he answers, pointing to my right. “The security code is four, seven, five, two, six.”

I locate the security control panel and punch the numbers in. The barrier clicks and opens halfway before the power cycles again. It stops but leaves enough room for her to escape.

“Come on.” I extend my hand toward her. She backs farther into the corner. She looks petrified of me–body trembling with every inch I advance toward the barrier.

“You’re not going to-” the soldier says, through clenched teeth.

I turn and fire, placing a bullet in the middle of his skull.

His head slumps forward, arms resting to each side of his body.

I leave the Detention Center and race toward the elevator. I press the button numerous times, anxious.

Come on. Come on.

The light above the entrance is lit but then dies. What? Another power failure? I press the button harder and faster but nothing happens. I punch the door and step back, trying to figure what I’m going to do now.

Something moves behind me. I whirl about with my rifle shouldered. It’s the woman from the cell. Her long-ratted hair is draped in front of her face–body still as a statue. Her eyes bleed through the knotted strands of hair. She stares at me, then points to her right at a door.

I race over and open the door. The rifle takes the lead as I peer inside the stairwell and sweep every corner of the dark space. The lights haven’t come back on yet, the deep glow of the backup lights drenching the space in a blood-red color.

I extend my hand once more and offer to bring her with me. She doesn’t shudder at the gesture this time, but turns and heads back into the cellblock without a single word.

I advance into the stairwell and descend the steps. A door explodes open a few flights down from me. Footfalls hit the stairs and charge toward me. I hold my position and glance over the edge of the railing to see where they’re going.

My finger rests on the trigger. I wait for them to get closer so that I’ve got a better shot.

They stop on the floor below me and funnel in through the door, disappearing from sight. I fly down the remaining floors until I reach number seven.

The door is cracked and it’s silent, except for a subtle alarm echoing through the hall. I open the door a bit farther, step inside the hall, and search for Becky.

My heart pounds in my throat as I scour each lab for her. Room by room is cleared until I come to a lab that has a woman strapped to an oversized, padded steel chair. Her head is leaning forward, her short hair dangling in front of her face. Both wrists and ankles are secured with wires running from various points on her body to machines close by. Becky?

She squirms in the chair. She pulls at her wrists and legs as a soldier appears to her right. He yanks her head back by her hair, giving me a clear view of her face. It’s Becky.

I pound the glass to try and get her attention. Her head bobbles about, unable to keep it steady as she looks my way. She doesn’t pay me any mind. Christ. The helmet.

I shoulder the rifle and fiddle with the helmet ’til I’m able to remove it. I drop it to my side. She gazes upon me once more with a blank look. What have they drugged her with?

I look for a way inside the room, but I see no door. I punch the reinforced glass multiple times as fear sets in her weary eyes.

“BECKY,” I say, yelling while hammering the glass.

A door to her left opens. A figure walks into the room. He isn’t dressed in the typical lab attire but outfitted in a jet-black suit that’s tailored to fit him. He has a smug expression on his clean-shaven face as he shoots me a quick glance. He stands behind her–eyes focusing on me as he leans down and whispers in her right ear.

“GET AWAY FROM HER, YOU BASTARD,” I say, shouting.

Becky struggles at first, but stops and looks my way. Her face is frozen, eyes glassy as tears stream down her flushed-red cheeks. I step back from the glass, remove the rifle, and take aim when I feel something blunt press to the back of my head.

“Good to see you, Mike. And here we thought you perished on the Titan,” a familiar voice says, in my ear. “Let me relieve you of that.”

The rifle is snagged from my hand as Connor steps around in front of me. He keeps the barrel of the gun pressed to my skull as it furrows into my skin.

“Too bad you couldn’t catch your seat to the bottom of the ocean with that drone of yours,” I say. “I’d imagine he’s probably fish bait by now. Don’t worry, though. I plan to have you join him soon in the afterlife.”

“Good luck with that,” Connor replies, unmoved by my threat.

Something blunt strikes me on the back of my neck. My knees weaken–vision goes blurry. The last image I see is the man standing behind my distraught wife, smiling from ear to ear.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

They’re going to die. Every last one of them.

The heaviness I feel in my head and shoulders lift. The haze looming in my eyes fades as I notice Becky across the room. She’s been seated in a chair with a soldier just to her right, his gun trained at her head.

“Don’t worry, baby, everything’s going to be okay.” I try to reassure her. The fear and uncertainty remain in her large, shiny eyes. Considering our current situation, I’m not confident about our chances, but I’ll do whatever it takes, or die trying.

“Sir, our men are having a hard time containing the horde of infected flooding the base. Reports are coming in that the east portion has been compromised and that the infected are funneling down into the lower levels,” Connor says. “I suggest we conclude our business here and be on our way before it’s too late.”

“What? And have me miss this opportunity to meet the man responsible for costing us so much money and wasted research? If we don’t have the time, then make it,” another unfamiliar voice replies.

The lights above flicker. Explosions rock the concrete beneath our feet. I glance around the low-lit space, finding a few more soldiers, Connor, and the mystery man whom I’ve never seen before. I try to move, but can’t. I’m not restrained, but my muscles don’t respond to my commands. It’s a powerlessness that I’ve never felt before. No matter how hard I fight to move, my body doesn’t respond.

“Cool, huh? Just one of the latest projects we have going.” the mystery man says, with glee. “New and hot off the R&D press. The little device we attached to the back of your neck transmits signals to your muscles to shut them down. It controls if and when you’re allowed to move. Pretty cool stuff.”

“What? Destroying mankind with a virus not lucrative enough for you?” I ask. “Or is it all part of the company’s grand plan? From the way things look out there in the real world, seems like you’ve lost all control and the saddest part is I don’t even think you give a shit.”

“True. We’ve had some setbacks with the virus being released as it was. And yes, we do give a shit. After all, if all your customers are dead and eating everyone, who are we going to sell to?” he asks.

“You’re insane thinking that after all the death and destruction you’ve caused that anyone would want such a thing,” I reply.

“Mike, you’d be surprised how a story can be spun. Never underestimate the power of the media. Besides, if we can eliminate loose ends that keep interfering, such as yourself, then it will definitely make it much easier.

“Happy to muddy the waters for whomever you are. It’s the least I could do considering everything you’ve put me and my family through,” I shoot back.

“The name’s Bryson and let me just say that when we have this little hiccup back under control, and what we’ve learned about the virus’s interaction with you, governments will be lining up to pay for our product in droves. The shareholders would’ve been pleased with what you have accomplished if they all hadn’t died. It is curious how you were able to merge with the virus in a way to keep from completely turning and garnish some extraordinary abilities in the process. The blood sample we took from you will be most useful.”

I sneer. “Hate to piss on your party here, pal, but I’m no longer infected. I was able to snag some of the anti-virus off the Titan before it went down.”

“Even better. That sample should give us more than what we need,” Bryson replies. “Dr. Saunders did marvelous work on you. That’s for sure. Too bad he won’t be around to see his project adapt and morph once more.”

“I highly doubt you’ll find him. He should be long gone by now,” I reply, trying to force my body into action.

“Well, Mike, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid that Doctor Saunders, his wife, and little boy have had an unfortunate accident that they just didn’t survive. It’s really tragic.” Bryson bows his head while walking toward Becky.

“You son of a bitch.” My tone increases as I continue to try and move, but only muster a slight twitch in my left forearm.

Bryson stands near Becky, peering down at her. “It seems as though everyone you know is dying off. All you have now is this fine beauty right here, so I’d watch the tone before you lose her as well.”

Connor’s radio goes off. Reports of gunfire loom from the speaker. Multiple people talk over one another. He pulls the radio from his hip and places it flush to his cheek, listening closely.

“You’ve got what you’ve been after since Africa. Just let me and my wife go now, and I’ll make your death mostly painless,” I say, clenching my jaw.

“That is tempting, but I don’t plan on killing your wife just yet. You, yes, but her, I may have a use for–scientifically speaking, of course,” Bryson answers.

“The infected have overrun most of the base, Bryson. We need to evac now while we still can,” Connor says, lowering the radio from the side of his head.

“Do we have a chopper en route?” Bryson asks.

“One is inbound. ETA is fifteen minutes out. North landing pad,” Connor replies.

“Good. Let’s conclude our business here and–”

The faint sound of shrills silences the chatter. Bryson and Connor turn and scour the space for the source of the noise. The soldiers shoulder their weapons and train them at the walls as the shrills grow louder and louder.

Connor looks in every direction–eyes wide as he tries to pinpoint the location of the infected. “Probably a good idea to–”

An explosion erupts on the far west wall as the power dies, blasting fragments of concrete in every direction. I’m blown over in my chair as the concussion from the blast rattles me. More gunfire ensues as well as the infected’s moans and shrills. They’re close.

The dust and debris are heavy in the room, hovering in the air. I shake my head and try to locate Becky. Visibility is shit. I squint to pierce the heavy veil.

“BECKY,” I say, shouting and hacking on the debris.

There’s no reply except for some coughing and movement, but I can’t tell who or what it is. I try to extend my arm. At first, it twitches a bit more than before, then my fingers flex and bend. The adrenaline pumps hard.

Shrill.

Two mutated TGP soldiers run in, groaning and moaning. They pause and survey the space. The soldiers stagger to stand up and open fire, hitting the infected soldiers everywhere except the head. The infected attack, taking the soldiers out with ease.

“BECKY,” I yell out again, this time hearing her sweet voice as she calls out for me.

“Mike.”

As more of the debris clears out, I spot Becky struggling to sit up from the ground. Her face is covered in dust and she has a gash across her forehead. She wipes her eyes a few times, blinks, and smiles when she finally sees me.

“Hold tight, baby. I’ll be right–”

Bryson emerges from behind her and grabs Becky by the waist. He pulls her to her feet as he stares long and hard at me. “Kill him and double-time it to the chopper.”

“With pleasure.” Connor approaches me as Bryson drags Becky through a doorway. She screams and reaches for me before vanishing.

“Man, have I been waiting to do this.” Connor trains his pistol at my head and smiles. Something rushes up behind him and shrills. Connor shifts his attention away from me and fires on an infected that has most of its body burnt.

My muscles come back online. I’m able to move my legs and arms. I reach for the back of my neck, grip the tiny device, and rip it from my flesh.

“Now, where were–” Connor says, towering over me.

I grab his legs and yank.

Connor falls backward on the ground.

I climb on top of him. He brings the pistol up and tries to fire it at my head, but I block it with my arm. I punch him in the face twice before he backhands me hard, knocking me to the side.

Connor straddles my stomach and wraps his leather-gloved hands around my throat. I grab his wrist and strain to push him to the side, my arms shaking while his fingers close around my throat.

“You’re too good for a slug to the head. I’m going to choke the life out of you so your last fleeting moments will be filled with the fact that you couldn’t save that wife of yours.”

My eyes catch a glimpse of his pistol close by. He’s bearing down on me. I struggle to breathe. I release my hands and reach for the pistol. The tips of my fingers graze the barrel. I glance back up and see an infected standing behind Connor. I stay still.

It grabs him from behind and buries its teeth in the side of his neck. Connor’s hold around my throat releases. The infected pulls him off me. Connor screams and squirms in pain, trying to fight back as it rips a chunk of meat away. Blood sprays my face as it takes him down to the ground. I clear my throat and massage my neck with my hands as I sit up.

Connor stops fighting back as the infected feasts on his body.

I reach over and retrieve the pistol.

The infected looks at me. Its mouth is dark red with Connor’s blood. I chamber off a round, nailing it in the head. Its mutated body slumps over next to Connor, who’s bleeding out all over the rubble. I stand and place a bullet in Connor’s head as well. No loose ends.

I rush the doorway Becky was dragged through as more infected funnel into the space. I pause and look both ways, unsure of where to go.

A faint scream through the hazy blackness. It sounds like Becky. I rush off, following the sound.

The faint plea for help stops as fast as it started. I stand still for a moment, trying to weed out the echoes of gunshots and the shrills of the dead roaming the halls.

Where did Bryson take her?

Think, Mike. Think.

I’m not going to lose her again.

An infected lab worker stumbles from the shadows with his right eye missing, and most of his nose and upper lip have been torn off. He ambles toward me–mouth gaped open. A low groan spills from his putrid mouth. I bring the pistol to bear and shoot him in the head. The noise from the gunshot draws the infected to my position. Their short grunts and shrills play in the darkness behind me.

I notice something on the wall near me that’s partially covered by a rack that’s leaning against it. The glow it’s emitting draws my curiosity. The rack is cleared of the wall, revealing one of the directories I came across earlier.

The cries for anything meaty creep closer and closer as I start my search. My fingers work, scanning through every section, until I find what I need.

I tap the North Landing Pad. The directory gives me a quick route from where this terminal is currently located. It isn’t too far. I can make it if I hurry the hell up.

The screen glitches and becomes nothing but snow as another infected grabs my shoulder from behind. I whirl about, and plant its face into the screen. Sparks spew from the busted glass as it drops to the floor. I glance over my shoulder and find more emerging from the darkness beyond, heading this way.

I leave, running as hard as I can as the faster infected keep close by. Hall by hall, I run with every fiber in my being while dodging debris and anything else that stands in my way. I reserve the remaining ammo I have, not using it unless necessary. The remaining bullets left have Bryson’s name written all over them.

I rush past the blind corner in the hall without stopping. Light shines down into the darkness and illuminates a set of steel steps ascending to the open door. The noise of the chopper’s rotors beating the air gives me hope. That has to be it.

I dart up the stairs and outside to find the chopper growing closer. Bryson and Becky wait for it to land. The infected hit the narrow stairwell and rush up after me. I slam the door shut and find part of a pipe to wedge between the handle and a steel grate covering some ductwork to the left.

I stay low and silent, stalking Bryson from behind. The infected crash into the door, snaring Bryson’s attention. He grabs Becky by the arm, pulls her in front of him, and presses a knife to her throat.

“Not another step,” he says, shouting at me. “Lose the canon or I’m going to make it rain.”

“All right.” I hold my hands up in the air. “Just don’t hurt her.”

I toss the gun to the side as I look at Becky. Tears flow from her eyes. Both hands shake as her fingers grip his wrist.

“Too bad Connor couldn’t finish the job.”

“This is your last chance. Give me my wife now, and I’ll think about not beating you to dust,” I say.

“You are in no position to make any sort of threats. As long as I have your wife, you’re not going to do shit except die.” Bryson looks to the sky where the chopper is hovering to the right of the landing pad and waves for them set down. Becky slams the heel of her boot into Bryson’s left foot. It knocks him off balance as he yells in pain. She grabs his forearm, brings it up to her mouth, and chomps down. He loosens his hold on the blade that tumbles out of his grasp.

Bryson punches her in the face, then tosses her to the side.

I charge him and punch him in the face. The blow doesn’t faze him. He looks at me, gnashes his teeth, and narrows his eyes. I throw another right cross, but he thwarts my attempt by lifting his arm in the air.

He punches me in the side, then decks me in the face. His heavy hand dazes me. I rock back on my heels. Bryson roundhouse kicks me. I fall flat on my back on the pad’s edge.

Below us, numerous infected raise their arms in the air. Bryson grabs me by the scruff of my shirt and yanks me off the ground. He punches me in the face once more and tries to shove me off the pad. I grab a handful of his coat and hold tight. He looks at me with a curious stare as I head-butt him square in his nose.

Blood gushes from the wound as his hands spring to his face. I knee him in the stomach and finish it off with another right cross. I take another swing. Bryson grabs my arm and flips me end over end. He digs his brutish arm under my neck and squeezes.

“This is the part where you die,” he says, in my ear, growling.

Bryson tightens his hold to the point of me passing out. He stops, then yells. He releases his arm and gets to his feet. I turn to see what happened and notice a knife buried in the small of his back.

Becky scoots away as Bryson reaches for the knife. He grabs the handle, jerks it free, then goes after Becky. She backs away and loses her footing as Bryson brings the knife down to stab her. The both of them fall off the landing pad and out of my sight.

“BECKY.”

I scramble to my feet and find her dangling from the edge and Bryson on the ground. The fall didn’t kill him, but the infected tearing into his body and eating him alive does.

Becky reaches for me with one hand.

I grab her forearm, then pull her up to the safety of my arms. I hold her close and kiss her forehead as she weeps in my chest. The chopper turns and bugs out.

The door gives.

The pipe rattles and shifts with every punishing blow the infected deal.

Becky flinches in my arms, shaken by the feverish rage of the dead’s determination as her body tenses with every strike.

“Mike, what are we going to do?” she asks.

I glance at the door, then look to where the pipe is wedged and notice a bit of ledge that might give us enough room to climb up to the top of the building.

“Here.” We move to the door. I lace my fingers together and hold them down. Becky puts her boot on my palm as I lift her up. She places her left foot on the ledge and reaches for the lip of the building. She struggles at first to pull herself up, but manages to do so.

“Come on, baby,” she says, to me.

The pipe clatters and bends, the door opening another few inches. The infected’s clawed fingers slip through the narrow slit and grip the door as they continue to shrill and fight to breakthrough. I move back to give myself some room to run.

Becky dangles her arm over the building’s edge as I take off.

The door opens more.

The hinges rip from the structure, the screws pulled out as cries from the infected become clearer.

I grab the steel grate and pull myself up far enough to place my foot on the ledge as I reach for Becky’s hand. She snags my wrist and pulls with all her might as the infected bust down the door and flood out onto the landing platform.

She struggles to hold onto me as I reach for the building’s roof. The infected search for their prey, not noticing me at first, but spot my dangling body moments later as they shrill and moan. They race toward the wall and reach for my legs.

“You’ve got to pull a little more, sweetie,” I say as my fingertips graze the edge.

Becky pulls enough for me to get a better grip. I tuck my legs and pull myself up from the infected. The dead converge below us, huddled together and shrilling as Becky grabs my pants and helps pull me onto the roof.

I lay flat on my back, panting. She hugs me tight and assaults my face with kisses.

“What did they do to you, baby?” she asks, weeping while cradling my face.

“It doesn’t matter now. We’re together and that’s all I care about.”

We lay on top of the roof, holding one another as the ravenous infected shrill and snarl.

“So what do we do now?” Becky asks, with lost hope resonating in her timid voice as she sits up. “Those things are everywhere and we can’t go home.”

I wrap my arm around Becky, holding her close as smoke billows from the various buildings and wrecked vehicles littering our bleak landscape. The infected continue to scour the grounds, searching for anything to feast on.

“To be honest, I’m not sure, but we’ll figure it out. As long as we’re together, nothing else matters.”

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Also By Derek Shupert

DARK DAYS OF THE APOCALYPSE COLLECTION :
DARK DAYS OF THE APOCALYPSE

LAST DAYS SERIES:

THE LAST DAYS OF WANT

THE LAST DAYS OF PERIL

THE LAST DAYS OF HOPE

AGE OF COLLAPSE SERIES :

GRID DOWN

BROKEN LANDS

SURVIVAL POINT

CHAOS ENDURES

FINAL JUSTICE

THE COMPLETE SURVIVE THE FALL SERIES :

POWERLESS WORLD

MADNESS RISING

DARK ROADS

TOTAL COLLAPSE

FIGHT BACK

THE COMPLETE SURVIVE THE FALL SERIES BOXSET

THE COMPLETE BRINK OF EXTINCTION SERIES :

SUDDEN IMPACT

STAY ALIVE

GET HOME

THE COMPLETE BRINK OF EXTINCTION SERIES

THE COMPLETE UNDEAD APOCALYPSE SERIES :

THE COMPLETE UNDEAD APOCALYPSE SERIES

THE COMPLETE DEAD STATE SERIES :

DEAD STATE : CATALYST<br>(PREQUEL)

DEAD STATE : FALLOUT

DEAD STATE : SURVIVAL ROAD

DEAD STATE : EXECUTIONER

DEAD STATE : IMMUNE

DEAD STATE : EVOLVED

THE COMPLETE DEAD STATE SERIES BOXSET

THE HUNTRESS BANE SERIES :

THE HUNTRESS BANE (SHORT STORY)

TAINTED HUNTER

CRIMSON THIRST

THE COMPLETE BALLISTIC MECH SERIES :

DIVISION

INFERNO

EXTINCTION

PAYBACK

About Author

Derek Shupert is an emerging Science Fiction Author known for his captivating dystopian storylines and post-apocalyptic-laden plots. With various books and anthologies underway, he is also the author of the Survive the Fall and Age of Collapse series.

Outside of the fantastical world of sci-fi, Derek enjoys reading, exercising, and watching apocalyptic movies and TV shows like Mad Max and The Walking Dead. Above all, he is a family man who cherishes nothing more than quality time spent with his loved ones.

To find out more about Derek Shupert and his forthcoming publications, visit his official website at www.derekshupert.com.

Table of Contents

THE COMPLETE DEAD STATE SERIES
DEAD STATE: CATALYST
1. CHAPTER ONE
2. CHAPTER TWO
3. CHAPTER THREE
4. CHAPTER FOUR
5. CHAPTER FIVE
6. CHAPTER SIX
7. CHAPTER SEVEN
8. CHAPTER EIGHT
9. CHAPTER NINE
10. CHAPTER TEN
11. CHAPTER ELEVEN
12. CHAPTER TWELVE
13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DEAD STATE: FALLOUT
14. PROLOGUE
15. CHAPTER ONE
16. CHAPTER TWO
17. CHAPTER THREE
18. CHAPTER FOUR
19. CHAPTER FIVE
20. CHAPTER SIX
21. CHAPTER SEVEN
22. CHAPTER EIGHT
23. CHAPTER NINE
24. CHAPTER TEN
25. CHAPTER ELEVEN
26. CHAPTER TWELVE
27. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
28. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
29. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
30. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
31. CHAPTER SEVETEEN
32. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
33. CHAPTER NINETEEN
34. CHAPTER TWENTY
35. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
36. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
37. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
38. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
39. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
40. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
41. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
42. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
43. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
44. CHAPTER THIRTY
45. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
46. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
DEAD STATE: SURVIVAL ROAD
47. CHAPTER ONE
48. CHAPTER TWO
49. CHAPTER THREE
50. CHAPTER FOUR
51. CHAPTER FIVE
52. CHAPTER SIX
53. CHAPTER SEVEN
54. CHAPTER EIGHT
55. CHAPTER NINE
56. CHAPTER TEN
57. CHAPTER ELEVEN
58. CHAPTER TWELVE
59. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
60. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
61. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
62. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
63. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
64. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
65. CHAPTER NINETEEN
66. CHAPTER TWENTY
67. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
DEAD STATE: EXECUTIONER
68. CHAPTER ONE
69. CHAPTER TWO
70. CHAPTER THREE
71. CHAPTER FOUR
72. CHAPTER FIVE
73. CHAPTER SIX
74. CHAPTER SEVEN
75. CHAPTER EIGHT
76. CHAPTER NINE
77. CHAPTER TEN
78. CHAPTER ELEVEN
79. CHAPTER TWELVE
80. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
81. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
82. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
83. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
84. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
85. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
86. CHAPTER NINETEEN
87. CHAPTER TWENTY
88. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
89. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
90. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
DEAD STATE: IMMUNE
91. CHAPTER ONE
92. CHAPTER TWO
93. CHAPTER THREE
94. CHAPTER FOUR
95. CHAPTER FIVE
96. CHAPTER SIX
97. CHAPTER SEVEN
98. CHAPTER EIGHT
99. CHAPTER NINE
100. CHAPTER TEN
101. CHAPTER ELEVEN
102. CHAPTER TWELVE
103. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
104. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
105. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
106. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
107. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
108. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
109. CHAPTER NINETEEN
110. CHAPTER TWENTY
111. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
112. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
113. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
DEAD STATE: EVOLVED
114. CHAPTER ONE
115. CHAPTER TWO
116. CHAPTER THREE
117. CHAPTER FOUR
118. CHAPTER FIVE
119. CHAPTER SIX
120. CHAPTER SEVEN
121. CHAPTER EIGHT
122. CHAPTER NINE
123. CHAPTER TEN
124. CHAPTER ELEVEN
125. CHAPTER TWELVE
126. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
127. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
128. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
129. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
130. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
131. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
132. CHAPTER NINETEEN
133. CHAPTER TWENTY
134. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
135. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
136. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
137. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
THE COMPLETE UNDEAD SERIES
UNDEAD APOCLAYPSE: GENESIS
138. CHAPTER ONE
139. CHAPTER TWO
140. CHAPTER THREE
141. CHAPTER FOUR
142. CHAPTER FIVE
143. CHAPTER SIX
144. CHAPTER SEVEN
145. CHAPTER EIGHT
146. CHAPTER NINE
147. CHAPTER TEN
UNDEAD APOCALYPSE: DEADFALL
148. CHAPTER ONE
149. CHAPTER TWO
150. CHAPTER THREE
151. CHAPTER FOUR
152. CHAPTER FIVE
153. CHAPTER SIX
154. CHAPTER SEVEN
155. CHAPTER EIGHT
156. CHAPTER NINE
157. CHAPTER TEN
158. CHAPTER ELEVEN
159. CHAPTER TWELVE
160. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
161. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
162. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
163. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
164. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
165. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
166. CHAPTER NINETEEN
167. CHAPTER TWENTY
168. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
169. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
170. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
171. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
172. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
173. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
174. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
175. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
UNDEAD APOLCAYPSE: RIPTIDE
176. CHAPTER ONE
177. CHAPTER TWO
178. CHAPTER THREE
179. CHAPTER FOUR
180. CHAPTER FIVE
181. CHAPTER SIX
182. CHAPTER SEVEN
183. CHAPTER EIGHT
184. CHAPTER NINE
185. CHAPTER TEN
186. CHAPTER ELEVEN
187. CHAPTER TWELVE
188. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
189. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
190. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
191. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
192. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
193. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
194. CHAPTER NINETEEN
UNDEAD APOLCAYPSE: DEAD RECKONING
195. CHAPTER ONE
196. CHAPTER TWO
197. CHAPTER THREE
198. CHAPTER FOUR
199. CHAPTER FIVE
200. CHAPTER SIX
201. CHAPTER SEVEN
202. CHAPTER EIGHT
203. CHAPTER NINE
204. CHAPTER TEN
205. CHAPTER ELEVEN
206. CHAPTER TWELVE
207. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
208. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
209. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
210. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
211. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
212. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
213. CHAPTER NINETEEN
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