CHAPTER ONE

Daddy was sick.

It didn't matter how old Sarah became—eight, eighteen, or twenty-eight—he would always be daddy. The woman sat at his bedside. A sheen of perspiration dotted along his brow. Despite the tubes from the tank draped around his ears looping back around to his nose, his breathing remained labored. The extra oxygen funneling to his lungs did little to help.

“Oh, daddy,” she said, reaching out to dab the sweat from his forehead with a damp cloth. The sixty-three year old family man had been in and out of the hospital for months now until the doctors finally decided there was nothing more they could do with him. Their suggestion was to take him home and make him comfortable in the last moments of his life. Sarah did her best. It was difficult for her to hear him wheeze and watch him slowly suffocate.

Her mother remained a fixture at his side sitting in her distinctive cherry rocking chair. The back was curved with a reddish brown finish, the grain slightly wavy in the dense wood. Her brother, Sarah's uncle, had made it with his hands before his own passing many years earlier. She barely remembered the man, but the chair made a lasting impression. No one, except for her mother, was allowed to sit in it. When her father was discharged from the hospital, Sarah had been ordered to move it to the bedroom.

By now her mother had cried all the tears she possibly could. The wrinkles around her eyes were more prominent than before, the dark circles indicating a lack of sleep. Her face was slender now, the skin loose around her jowls where she'd lost a significant amount of weight. The sandwich Sarah left hours earlier she noticed hadn't been touched.

“Momma, you need to eat something,” she urged her, but the old woman just contorted her face in disgust as if the thought of food itself was a sickening one. The chair creaked as the woman rocked, a knitted quilt draped over her lap brushing against the floor. “How long have you been awake?”

“I'll sleep when I'm dead,” was her response and the curtness of her delivery stated that the topic, at least when it came to her, was closed.

A few moments of silence stretched between them until Sarah finally sighed with defeat. Head turning to stare at the small table beside the bed, she eyed the car keys for a long time before reaching for them. “I'm going to the pharmacy to pick up his meds,” she informed her mother. A hesitance in her step and a reluctance to leave her alone, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Will you be okay?”

Their modest house was in a secluded part of the country sounded by nothing more than wheat-fields and farms. Down the street was an orchard where the Parson family produced wine and had expanded one house into three. Beside them was the Rydell farm where they had recently built a small dairy shop with exclusive ice creams and fresh milk. There was also a venue for weddings.

But when it came to shopping for necessities, the drive was a long one out to the nearest shopping center which was forty-five minutes out. There was a price to pay for the seclusion of being out in the countryside. “I'll be fine,” her mother assured her, the woman's voice cracking from dehydration. Clearing her throat, she reached for the glass of water beside the plate of food. The ice had melted and condensation had formed a ring, but at least she was putting something in her stomach and it made Sarah feel slightly better, if not by much.

Hand to the knob on the door, Sarah was stopped by the question she'd been dreading to hear. “Have you spoken to your sister?”

“No,” she lied. “I haven't heard from her.”

Quickly she rushed out the door before she could ask anything else. As she shut it, she could hear her father asking, “Lena?” while her mother tried to calm him down.

Lena wasn't coming. The last telephone call they'd had resulted in an argument. Sarah didn't understand the animosity between her sister and her parents. Lena always insisted they were fake, they didn't actually care about her, and since her mid-twenties she hadn't returned home. Though Sarah would have liked to say she was fond of her sister, there was a six year age gap between the two of them and they'd never been particularly close. Sarah could recall tumbling after her elder sister in admiration during her youth only to be shooed away for being a pest.

Over the years, Sarah had come to see Lena's narcissistic nature and she found herself detesting her for the strain she constantly put on the family. Only contacting her parents when she needed a bailout, now that their father was on his deathbed, Lena had the nerve to say good riddance—and Sarah, for the first time, lost her composure.

Sarah had never been going anywhere in life, not like Lena who went everywhere, but she'd sacrificed what little independence and freedom she did have to stay and look after her parents. It would have been nice to share the responsibility with someone, but Lena was anything but responsible. After their turbulent conversation, Sarah had tried to contact her sister one last time only to find the number had been disconnected. To that, she callously repeated the words Lena had told her and said, “Good riddance.”

A cool autumn breeze rose the hair on the back of her arms as she stepped outside onto the deck Trees were starting to loose their leaves, a majestic warmth of colors decorating the lawn crunching beneath her footsteps as she made her way to her car. Out of the three vehicles, it was the only one that had gotten any use within the past few weeks and she doubted the others would start if she even tried after having sat idle for so long. Inserting the key into the ignition, the engine of the Toyota Camry revved to life and the radio sounded through the static in the speakers.

Twisting the tuner to adjust the clarity, Sarah leaned back against the seat and stared at the presets as she listened to the music playing over the radio. It was the tail end of a song by a band called The Grim. The lead singer, Johnny Blackburn, was actually a native of their community—the town of Fairburrow, so small on the United States map that it might not even exist. As she shifted the car into gear, she paused her movements once the announcer started speaking over the outro.

“And that was The Grim, in town for a performance this weekend. Remember to stay tuned for you chance to win tickets to-”

Sarah turned the radio off.

It had been years since she'd seen Johnny. Her sister had been one of his groupies and, to the best of her knowledge, they'd had a relationship. Their parents had never approved of Johnny, thinking he was a nobody throwing his life away, and their disapproval had enticed Lena all the more to continue seeing him. Sarah didn't know what had happened between them, but she did remember peeking into Lena's room once to find her cursing his name and ripping his picture into pieces.

He was well known—at least around the town. He was their pride and joy. The one person they could point to and say that he'd done something. People who once hated him now used his name where ever they went claiming to know him back when. Once or twice she'd been asked her opinion about him. There was one memory, sitting with her sister on an old beat up couch, watching him practice. Her sister had dragged her there when she was supposed to be baby sitting and Sarah had sat with her arms crossed in a huff wishing she could go home and watch cartoons instead. Johnny must have taken notice of the surly girl and he rallied the band to play the theme song to one of her favorite television shows to cheer her up. He seemed nice, she would say, but add that she hardly knew him.

The drive to the pharmacy seemed long and arduous. All she could think about was her mother at home beside her father. Chest constricting, she worried something would happen before she returned. Sarah's footsteps quickened as she walked towards the building, carelessly almost running into someone coming out of the door.

“Excuse me,” she said politely, offering an sheepish and apologetic smile. The person ignored her giving no indication that they'd even heard her other than a disgruntled growl of frustration. The woman shirked back wondering what his problems was when her eyes fell to the man's wrist. Indention of teeth left red swollen marks and she could see the bottle of peroxide he'd purchased from the store. A painful dog bite, she concluded as she made her way inside. She supposed being attacked by a wild animal would make anyone cranky.

Johnny Blackburn walked along the dirt path leading home. He had aviators over his eyes and a black cap on his head, and wore jeans and a tank top. A thin sweat formed over his skin as he had been walking for a long time now, the sun as hot as the weatherman predicted. Everything surrounding him was as he remembered it. Beautiful and calm, and fresh unlike the cities he had toured recently. He lived in one of the cities now, but this was his true home. Many memories ran through his mind until he noticed the patrol officer riding up the path from behind on a motorcycle. The officer came and pulled up next to the musician.

"Johnny Blackburn, welcome home," the cop said, taking off his helmet and greeting him with a handshake and a smile. Johnny oblidged and nodded.

"Ethan Hall, you're a police man now?" Johnny asked.

"Deputy sheriff," he replied. "Fairburrow is in my jurisdiction. Say, aren't you supposed to be a big deal now? You're a rockstar, why are you walking home on foot?"

"I left my mates back in town, I like to be alone when I visit home."

"Understood. I'll leave you to it then." Everyone in town had heard about what happened to the Blackburn's...Ethan stumbled his words and tried to ease the conversation elsewhere. "Your show is still on, right?"

"Of course."

"I'll see you then, good to see you Johnny. Oh, and they're giving out free flu shots to the locals this weekend. I recommend getting one while you're here, you know all the crazy crap that's been going around in the city."

"I don't actually, what's been going on?"

"Lotta people getting sick, real sick. Take care of yourself, Johnny."

Johnny continued to walk on as the officer turned and drove back the way he came, his radio crackling on about something urgent.

Ethan was always the quiet, smart type if he remembered correctly. He also remembered getting a bully off of Ethan one time, which was a big deal in the school that got him laid quite a bit. Good times. Now the guy could arrest him, he was just happy that they never butted heads before.

If he had come in with his tour bus on the main road, he would have been ambushed by a parade of the locals awaiting him. All the fame stuff could wait until the show, for now he wanted solitude. Everytime he came home he had to be alone, for it was extremely painful for him as this place was where his parents were buried. Having been a bit successful in life, he was able to keep their old house and left it as was. He paid for it to be well kept, though the caretakers were out of town in the moment.

Making it to the house, he first went to the backyard where his parents were buried together, under their dead apple tree. He knelt and said a prayer to them, letting his tears fall knowing that no one could see him at his weakest. He blamed himself for their death, as he bought them a vacation to a beautiful island. The plane they rode on went down and they died together, but they would have never gone if he hadn't prepared the trip for them. It was three years now until that day.

He slept in his old room that night. In the morning he took his father's old remington rifle and fired at a few placed bottles outside. It relieved his stress and there were none around to hear it or bother him. On the side of the house was an old bomb shelter that held all of his father's weapons still, the shelter went a few floors under the ground. On the other side of the house was the garage, of which still housed his father's motorcycle.

"Right where I left you," he said, starting it up and heading back to town.

The evenings out here were wonderous. A gorgeous aura lit up the skies that formed a million shapes. It felt like a dream as he rode the backway into the small town of Fairburrow. The closest thing to him was the pharmacy, so he decided to take the sheriff's advice before he met up with his band members. He went inside and got the flu shot with relative ease, saying hello and nodding to those that recognized him.

On his way out he recognized a girl, one who's name he couldn't quite place at the moment. However, he remembered her and went over to her. Then it came to him. He used to date her sister at one point in time. "Hey, it's you!" he started, though was still drawing a blank on her name. "Uhm, Sherrie, right? Long time no see, what's been going on?" In his mind he was impressed by how she turned out. She was pretty, and from what he could remember of her she liked his music. "It's me Johnny, how've you been?"

The small white bag crinkled in her hand as the pharmaceutical technician handed it over. “Thank you,” she said, voice tentative and shy by default as her chin tucked closer to her chest. Sarah side-stepped out of the way allowing the next in line to step forward. There was an anxiety gnawing at the back of her mind urging her to hurry though her eyes drifted towards the center eyes lingering on the baubles.

They were poorly made with cheap glassy marbles detached and sitting on the shelves rather than the indentations in the plaster. The faces were hideously disfigured taking on the appearance of melted wax with elongated features. There was no need for her to look at them, she had no intention of purchasing them, but Sarah felt she needed an excuse to take her time. Returning back to the house quickly was the thing she ought to do, she knew this, but even though she was the golden child—a title she resented Lena for giving her—she needed time to herself every now and then. Getting out of the house and running errands where her parents could not was the only time she truly had that was hers.

Sarah sat the emerald marble back where it belonged and it balanced precariously threatening to roll off the foundation. When that was done she began to trudge her way to the register falling in line behind another customer and taking a candy-bar from one of the boxes lining the way. Not noticing the people around her, she briefly surveyed her surroundings and had to do a double take when she saw the man approaching her.

'Speak of the devil,' she thought.

She recognized Johnny and he seemed to recognize her as well, greeting her in an affable manner. At first she thought it was a mistake, glancing around her for any sign of someone she might have recognized as Sherrie before realizing he really was addressing her. It crossed her mind to let him continue thinking that, she hated confrontation and doubted after this moment they would communicate again, but she had too much pride to allow that to happen. “It's Sarah,” she corrected. Shifting the weight on her feet, she gave an upward shrug of her right shoulder. “Not much, I guess.” Starting to fidget, she yearned for the line to move.

The person in front of them was unabashedly watching and a large empty space opened between them and the cashier. “You're Johnny Blackburn, aren't you?” The man got excited, completely forgetting the check out, as he approached the musician. “I love The Grim, man. Been following you guys since high school-” Noticing Sarah was standing and waiting, he moved out of the way. “Oh, sorry,” he apologized. “Go on ahead.” Taking the opportunity, she moved ahead in line placing her items on the counter while the man engaged Johnny in a conversation about music.

Swiping her card through the reader, her eyes shifted back to Johnny. He had tried to talk to her and she had given him little to nothing in return. There was the feeling of guilt building in the pit of her stomach making her nauseous knowing she hadn't even tried. Sarah was a naturally guarded individual and had been told more than once she needed to be more sociable and receptive. “Johnny,” she said to get his attention. The man stopped talking, looking back at her and she felt embarrassed being the center of attention. “Have a good show.” The statement came out more inquisitive than she would have liked in her insecurity, but she felt proud of herself for speaking all the name. Just as she was about to leave she felt her phone vibrate once in her pocket.

Taking it out she looked at the screen reading over the text coming from her mother: Come home now.

Johnny was caught a bit off guard by the local fan. He watched Sarah as he spoke to the man, eventually giving him tickets to the show and signing them for him. Sarah left quickly, but he followed right after and tried to catch her before she fled.

"Sarah, sorry you look like you're in a hurry but uh," he said and pulled out another pair of tickets for her. "If you're not doing anything, you should come. We're playing on Silent Hill, you know, the old makeout hill where the moon tower is. Your sister should come to. I mean, or whoever you want to bring. I hope to see you there!"

It didn't end well with Lena, her sister, however he was much more mature these days. Before he could say much more to Sarah, a small mob of people noticed him and surrounded him with praise. He tried to watch Sarah but they overwhelmed him.

From there he headed up to the Kirkman motel where his band members were staying at. They were all passed out from liquor and weed, as expected, and so he slept on the couch and awaited the day of the show.

A sense of urgency pressed against her chest upon and she wondered if this was how her father felt as she tried to catch her breath. Sarah quickened her pace, almost to the car, when she was stopped again by Johnny. Turning to face him, she tried to conceal the worried expression etching its way onto her face. If her mother was texting her, it was important. The woman didn't like technology; she abhorred it. Sometimes Sarah believed they were the only house still in possession of a land-line. It was only at her insistence that her mother had gotten a cell phone and this was many years ago. She'd never upgraded from the flip phone and refused to, but she was aware that the best way to reach her was through a text message. The skill was learned reluctantly and only used when essential.

“A little bit,” she confessed. “I'm really not trying to be rude. It's just my father-” The woman paused and scolded herself for breaching the topic of parents. It was no secret around town what had happened to the Blackburns. The plane crash and their deaths had been front page news when it'd happened. Sarah hadn't known them well enough to go to the funeral, but she'd thought once or twice of sending her condolences before deciding that she hadn't really known Johnny well enough to do that either. She knew some folks however that had attended, not to pay their respects, but for the reprehensible act of catching a glimpse of fame. “He's sick. And my mother's not herself lately.”

It felt like too much personal information to divulge, but she felt she owed him an explanation all the same for her sudden departure. Sarah often felt she needed to explain her actions. The curt way she spoke and excused herself from conversation due to her shyness was commonly misconstrued as a superiority complex.

Taking the tickets from his hand, she stared at them. “My sister...?” It shouldn't have surprised her that he wanted to see Lena. Her sister had a way of getting into someone's mind and never leaving. People asked about her often, especially her old conquests, or reminisced about how much duller the small town of Fairburrow seemed now that she was gone.

Sarah would have been lying if she said she didn't want to go, but in truth she didn't know if she could. The second ticket in her hand was also an issue. She didn't want to go alone, and there were many who would have appreciated the extra ticket as rarely did any type of special event come here, but she'd lost touch with all of her friends ages ago and the thought of contacting them out of the blue to ask if they wanted to attend a concert with her made her uncomfortable. “Thank you,” she said after a moment. “I'll try to make it.”

It was something she considered more on the long drive home.

Back at the house, Sarah dreaded the worst. A silence welcomed her as she called, “I'm back.” She expected her mother to greet her, informing her of why she'd sent her such a cryptic text. Her stomach churned at the bottom of the steps in the foyer as she glanced up to the second story where the bedrooms were located. “Mom?”

The cars were still untouched in the driveway. They had to still be here and she wondered why no one was answering. A sigh of frustrated, she wished things could just be simple once in a while. Sarah wondered where Lena was, what she was doing, and if she ever felt any remorse for abandoning her to care for their aging, ailing parents on her own.

Arriving at their bedroom door, she gave a knock of warning before her hand moved to the handle.

Thud!

Sarah jerked back in surprise as something collided against the door. From the other side she could hear raspy breathing and she assumed it was from her father though he hadn't been out of bed in weeks. A scratching coming from the other side, she pressed her shoulder against the door using her weight to push back the force on the other side. “What is going on in here!” she exclaimed. Her mind drew a blank, having no idea what her mother and father could be doing to make so much racket.

The door didn't get half-way open before she stopped. Recoiling away with her hands over her mouth, she shuffled backwards into the wall.

Blood.

It gathered in the fibers of the carpet, fresh, shining where it pooled together. Her first instinct was to check on her parents, but she found she couldn't move. Paralyzed with fear, she wondered who it was—her mother or father—before she noticed a corner of the yellow quilted blanket peeking out beside of it and the slender bend of her mother's wrist beside it. Along with the fear was anger and confusion. Why hadn't her mother chosen to text her of all things rather than call the police? Just as she found the strength to take a step forward, to peek into the room to see what happened, someone slowly shambled from behind the door. Their head was turned away, but she could tell instantly who the frail figure was.

“Daddy?”

His head whirled towards her and she shrieked as she noticed his face was covered in blood. He stumbled, but moved with more life than he'd had in months as he was fueled by little more than animistic instinct. Sarah dodged out of his grasp, but that didn't stop his pursuit. She tried to appeal to him again. “Daddy! Stop! It's me! Sarah!”

But there was no recognition behind his glossy eyes. They glazed over, staring at her, past her, and soon he lunged towards her. Pushing away her assaulter, he fell backwards and she heard the sickening crunch of a bone crack. Sarah hesitated in horror at what she'd done. “I'm so sorry,” she managed to choke out, eyes watering at the events happening. Again, she tried to get through to him. “What's going on? Why are you doing this...?”

The old man refused to stay down. Standing on his broken leg, he moved with the same speed and intensity as before. If he was in any pain, he wasn't letting him slow it down. Doing the only thing she could think to do, Sarah ran.

Down the steps, she hurried out the screen door without bothering to shut it before locking herself in her car. With shaky hands she fumbled for her phone before calling the police.

They arrived within the hour. Sarah sat in the car watching as they brought her mother out in a black body bag. They'd tried to take her father, but he refused to go quietly. Ignoring their demands for him to freeze, he continued forward, ready to go against their guns with his bare hands. It wasn't until he'd bitten a man in the prescient, taking a chunk of flesh from his neck, that they'd fired. Her father was dead. The police seemed to think he'd lost his mind. She heard someone propose that he was trying to go out on his own terms. Sarah didn't believe either of these; she hardly believed that those were really her parents and if she hadn't seen them with her own eyes then she wouldn't have.

She couldn't stay in the house. Not after that. After hours of what seemed like endless interrogation she rented a hotel room. Reporters were calling her phone wanting the details of what had happened. Certainly in a small town such as this news would have quickly spread and by now everyone would have known what had happened.

Ethan

Ethan lowered his handgun, complete shock on his face. He had fired a bullet into the sick man's head, but the old man walked right through the earlier shots. He had never seen anything like it, but very similar stories were happening throughout the county.

He spent the rest of the night keeping his wounded officer alive until the paramedics arrived. He noticed Sarah, one he knew from back in high school. They rarely talked, nothing had changed through the years either. He had a crush on her back then, but has since married the love of his life and has a young baby boy. He shook his head and focused on the dying officer, it's funny what goes through your mind in traumatic situations. Maybe it was because he just killed her father that kept her on his mind.

The bitten officer died hours later. There was a lot of confusion and sadness running through Ethan's mind, and after all of it he recieved calls from the government. Apparently these bites were becoming more and more frequent. Ethan knew he would get no sleep this night.

In the morning Ethan drove a patrol car to the hotel in the city, he knew Sarah was starying there and he had to be the one to talk with her. Knocking on the door of the room she was supposed to be in, he started speaking. "Sarah, It's Ethan Hall. Deputy sheriff, I'm just here to make sure you are okay. We think your father's actions last night, they might be involved in something bigger. I need to speak with you, ma'am."

Johnny

By noon the venue on Silent Hill was already set up. The audience wouldn't show for many more hours, but Johnny and his band were there early. They did a quick test setup and then went about their own ways.

The drummer of the Grim, James, was a hunter on the side and a cook. He was always near the grill when it was smoking, creating something unique and delicious. He was the youngest of them all yet probably the most talented.

His brother Tim was the lead guitarist and was the polar opposite of James. He liked to hunt as well, but that and music was where the similarities lied. Tim was the ringleader of the group and was usually yelling at something.

The bassist was Russel, and he was the cool one that all the ladies liked, aside from the frontman. His long hair and smile was a trademark at every show, lord knows what the fans would do if he were to cut it.

Johnny used to be the wildman, but through the years he's become much more of who he wants to be. His parents death changed him forever and now he takes little for granted. He generally strayed away from the crowds of people when he could, but when it was time to be the rockstar he knew how to flip the switch.

The manager was Perry, a tall lanky fellow who also went to school with them all. He was the band's voice and made all of the decisions, and was responsible for making them stay rich.

By midday they would all reunite from wherever they all had gone and play a show for the people who were just starting to show up. Surrounding the venue was a large hill that overlooked the valley, with many trees looming around them. The hill was high enough to see almost every building in town.

While the band waited to play, they all gathered in one of many large tents. Perry had recieved word on what was going on with the shooting last night. Making sure the show wasn't to be cancelled, he informed the rest of the group. When Johnny heard it was Sarah's family, he instantly thought about speaking with her just moments before. Something horrible was going on and all he could think to do was give her concert tickets. Still, he hoped she would show so that he could tell her how sorry he was. If anyone knew what she was going through it was him, but he refrained from mentioning running into Sarah to the band.

Before long the sky was beginning to darken and the show had started. Taking a fresh sip of whiskey, Johnny cleared his mind and headed for the stage. The opening riff to one of their recent hits started and the crowd erupted in cheers. He walked through the curtains and grabbed the mic. "Are you ready? Lets go!" Everyone on the hill seemed to jump to the beat of the song.

The news had never interested her, but it had been the only thing her parents ever watched. That and preached sermons filmed from megachurches that made the skin on the back of her arm crawl once she started contemplating how much money they spent on frivolous displays of extravagance. In a way, that accurately described her parents. They were not particularly good people, not when you peeled back the layers and took a closer look.

Charity did not exist. They held tightly to their wealth; any penny given was one that needed to be returned with interest. While the Hanson's may not have been considered a rich family, they were safely located in the middle class of society and would do whatever they could to remain in that position. They were also not fond of people who were different from themselves. Words escaped their lips on more than one occasion that made her sit in an uncomfortable, yet complicit silence.

But they were her family. They had showered her with love and nothing less even if their expectations sometimes exceeded her capabilities. Sarah loved them—or she had—with everything in her heart, flaws and all. The loss was devastating.

That was why she was watching the news. The sound of the newscaster was a comforting familiarity in the background as her mind wandered. She wasn't listening to what the woman was saying, but her eyes read scroll on the bottom of the screen catching her up with world events.

A string of violent outbursts had been happening all over the country and they were now calling it an epidemic. There was little comfort to be had in knowing her father hadn't been in his right mind when all she could see when she closed her eyes was the crimson pool gathering on the carpet and the red smear on her father's menacing, emancipated face.

The knock on the door startled her and she leaned over for the remote sitting beside her on the blankets to mute the television. Her head turned towards the door, body erect, and brows lifted. Driven by her paranoia, she held her breath wondering who it could be. Hearing the deputy on the other side, Sarah exhaled a sigh of relief. Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, she scooted forward and made her way to the other side of the room. Even though she knew who it was, she still took a quick glance out of the peek-hole.

“Deputy Hall,” she said as she opened the door to allow him inside. She knew him, or more accurately knew of him, from their high school days. They'd had little communication then and even less now. There were little facts she knew about him based solely on the fact that everyone in Fairsburrow knew everyone else and gossip was a popular form of entertainment. “Thank you for coming to check on me, but really, I'm fine.”

It was another lie. The previous night she gotten little to no sleep. By the time she jerked awake from the nightmares, her sheets had been drenched in sweat; it had been embarrassing to call room service asking for a change and she spent the rest of the evening watching infomercials.

“Does what happened have something to do with the things that have been happening on the news?” Her blue eyes drifted towards the muted screen.

"I think it might," Ethan replied. "It's some epidemic, it seems. Happening all over the county and beyond. There have been similar attacks, I recommend you stay here for awhile. Or if you have friends in the city, I could drive you anywhere you want to go. All I was supposed to do today was watch over the rock concert." He told himself in his head to stay on topic. "Whatever it was, it wasn't your father. It wasn't his fault, or yours. I promise you I will find out what this is."

Ethan nodded his head to assure himself. "Ma'am, let me know if there's anything I can do." If not, he would make his leave and head out to investigate further.

The Grim concert was going normal for a few songs, everyone seemed to be having a good time. Johnny was in the zone, however he did notice there were a line of military helicopters flying toward the city. They disturbed him and almost made him mess up the song he was playing. Just as soon as they appeared, they were gone.

During a break between songs Johnny scanned the crowd, noticing a few familiar faces of old. "It's great to be home." he said as the drummer kept a steady beat going. Johnny lit up a joint and quickly shared it amongst his bandmates, some in the audience doing the same. "There's a fucking party at the moontower people, and you mother fuckers are invited!" Everything he said got the crowd riled up, no matter how cheesy. "We came here tonight to do two things, rock and roll baby. Lets go." The next song played, one of their more famous hits.

Ethan's visit did little to assuage her fears. Sarah hugged herself, her head tilted and she fixated on a discolored stain on the carpet in an attempt to focus her mind.

She had few friends anymore. Her life revolved around her family and now they were gone she found herself lost without their guidance. Everything she'd ever done had been to appease them and without that motivation to push her forward she felt hollow.

“Really, I'm fine. You don't need to-” she began before something he said perked her attention. Sarah lifted her head, eyes meeting his with a curious tilt of her head. “You said rock concert? For the Grim?” The words supposed to had not been lost on her as Sarah noted rather than watching over the concert he was instead checking on her well-being and she appreciated the concern as she found being alone right now difficult.

It was an ill time to attend a concert or a party, but she recalled her encounter with Johnny at the pharmacy earlier that day and the kindness he'd showed her. There was a nagging at the back of her mind and a groundless suspicion that he understood what she was going through. The passing of his own parents three years prior had been a tragic occurrence with near strangers offering their condolences and the media swarming him for comments.

A quick glimpse at the clock informed her the concert would be over soon, but the after party would be starting shortly. “Actually, Deputy Hall, do you mind giving me a ride to the Moontower?” The words had come out without much thought to the question. It was a spot with a scenic overlook and a perfect view of the night sky. The area was fenced in by a thick forest of trees creating a canopy of privacy. Though good for bonfires and parties, it was also the make-out spot and it wasn't a place that Sarah had ever frequented. She'd been only once with a boyfriend in her junior year, at his insistence, and the night had ended in disaster.

“I need to speak with a friend.” Calling Johnny a friend was a stretch, but for some reason he was the only person she could think of that she could talk to.

The entire ride over to the concert, Ethan tried to speak to Sarah but he kept stopping himself. He realized they had so few memories together that there was no point. It made for an awkward ride until his radio started going off. There was another report of a similar incident, somewhere just outside of the city.

When they arrived to the concert, Ethan left her with "Stay safe, call me if you need a ride back okay?" He gave her his personal number and then left. There was an epedemic going on, yet everything still felt normal. He sighed wondering if the concert was even a good idea.

The Grim played one last song for the audience and then a few fireworks shot off over the lake. Just when Johnny was done saying his farewells, he turned to walk off stage and saw Sarah there. Perry knew her as well and let her in, giving her a backstage seat while she was there.

"Sarah!?" Johnny started, then he just walked up to her and hugged her. "I'm so sorry, I heard. I've been thinking about you all day! Listen, come with me. We're all going to my house for an after party, we should talk there. Nothing crazy like a frat party or something, we're all pretty chill. Come on, we're taking the tour bus!"

The entire ride over Johnny stayed by Sarah, keeping her from the party and the noise surrounding them. He closed the curtains to keep them secluded on the bus, though he couldn't do much about the people on the other side.

"When my parents died, not only did I feel I was to blame, but I felt lost," he told her along the drive. He remembered he wrote an entire album about it. "You're not alone, not when Johnny Blackburn's in town." He suddenly felt closer to her than ever before, even though they rarely knew each other. "Sorry that was cheesy, I'm still kinda in rockstar mode. It's a process."

They arrived to Johnny's parents house in style. After the tour bus came a long line of an entourage. Kegs were set up and music was played, loud enough for the entire country side to hear therm.

"If you don't want to talk about it, I understand," he added as they exited the bus and walked around the property. Strobe lights were in full effect and more and more people showed. The party extended to the barn and all the land in between. It looked as if nearly half of the audience was there. "Do you drink?" They walked to a bar set up and Johnny grabbed himself a beer and offered her anything she wanted.

At one point Sarah could have sworn Ethan had been about to speak, but the silence continued to stretch between them. Without conversation, the sounds of the gentle rumble of the engine and the hiss of air coming from the vents resounded in her ears. It was awkward and the woman began feeling self-conscious. To stave off further discomfort, she removed her phone from the pocket of her jeans and began to browse. Alerts and warning messages were plastered across the internet not by officials, but by random people who seemed frustrated with the lack of answers they were receiving. On the message boards she read one person saying they refused to step outside. Another warned not to go to a hospital. Someone said their hometown had been quarantined, but most others claimed the original poster was a liar. Sarah didn't know what to believe.

Stepping out of the cruiser, she lingered at the car as Ethan spoke for the first time since they'd left the motel. He sounded like a concerned parent. Aware from small town gossip that he'd become a father over the years, she could tell, and she imagined in ten years he'd be having this same conversation with his own daughter. Though she offered a smile of gratitude the wounds were still fresh. Slipping his number in her pocket, she made her way to the venue set up showing her tickets at the gate.

Her name, as expected, had gotten around. Sarah was let backstage where she was offered a seat. From behind the curtain her crystal eyes scanned over the cheering masses, the sound of their collecting yells and the music was deafening. Rock had never been her thing, not really, preferring to listen to country crooners. It'd been an acquired taste. While Sarah had always been more of a bubble-gum pop girl, Lena was the one who'd listen to Rock, Alternative, and Heavy Metal. Once, out of spite, her sister had blasted Death Metal and Sarah remembered the lead singer, if singing is what it could even be called, sounded like a clogged drain pipe. It was the content of the music her parents had opposed to and as a result all music with the exception of country, oldies, or gospel had been banned from the Hanson household.

Johnny startled her out of her thoughts and she stood to meet him, body stiff from surprise as he took her in a hug. She didn't say anything allowing him to do the talking for both. The goal for the evening had been to take her mind off of things, but she found it was still wandering, still drifting, and no matter where she turned to look it always drifted back to the stain on the carpet and the blood on her father's hands.

He was more attentive than she thought he'd be and she appreciated his attempts to distract her. From behind the partition she could hear the muffled sounds of people having fun. They didn't seem to care about anything that was happening or, like her, they knew and were just trying to take their minds off of it as well; she couldn't tell which.

Sarah leaned against Johnny during the ride to his house, wisps of blonde curls draped across his shoulder as her eyes blankly fixated on the velvet curtains in front of them. It had been a leap of faith to turn to Johnny and in the moment she felt she'd made the right choice. He understood what she was going through.

When the bus pulled up to the house there were already dozens of cars parked on the winding driveway. Eager party-goers had already unloaded their equipment, setting up radios, lawn chairs, and portable strobe lights out in the yard. Others carried kegs on their shoulders waiting for someone to open the door, an antsy jerk to their step as if they'd break it down themselves if it didn't happen soon. With half the concert and nearly half the town in attendance, the main house wasn't enough to contain the revelry and it extended out to the barn where a small group of people already drunk tried to lure the horses from their stables to give them alcohol.

Following him to the bar she was beguiled by the array of colorful drinks and while she didn't drink, she was tempted to take one all the same. “Not so much,” she admitted with a sigh. Instead of one of the jello shots, she chose a turquoise blue wine cooler. She imagined it would taste like the blue flavored Popsicles she would get during the hot summer months. It did not taste like a Popsicle. Grimacing at the sterile, inflammatory taste lingering in her mouth, she decided to hold the glass bottle rather than drink the rest. Scanning over the crowd, she stopped a man vaguely families in appearance. Absentmindedly she brought the bottle to her lips before the smell of fermented fruit abandoned at bottom of an airless cellar reminded her of the unpleasant taste and she lowered it again.

The bandage around his hand sparked the kindling of a memory and soon she recognized him as the man with the dog-bite from earlier. He was more wan than he'd previously been and sweat covered him head to toe. The man wasn't smiling even as his friend chatted at him and playfully punched him in the shoulder. He stumbled back, scratching at the gauze. The bite appeared infected as its reach spread traveling in large red streaks up his arm like a spiderweb up his arm. The medical bandage around his wrist had putrid yellow stains soaking through it. Sarah looked away from him, but she listened in on the conversation as one of the girls in the group informed him that he needed to see a doctor about the bite—not given by a dog, but a rabid homeless man—and his response that he already had along with a vial of antibiotics back at the house.

“He was at the pharmacy,” she recalled to Johnny, but remembered Johnny had arrived after the man had already left. There was a guilt for listening in to their private conversation and to make up for it, she began to wander away from the group giving them ample space.

Johnny took Sarah away and over to a firepit that started in his front yard. A small group of them gathered around cooking food and smores, James the drummer brought over an acoustic and played some campfire songs. Johnny didn't think anything of the bitten guy, shrugging off the thought as that man wandered over toward the barn with a few others. There he seemingly passed out on the grass, with no one realizing that he was slowly dying.

Meanwhile, back in town Ethan Hall drove his police vehicle in to the morgue, a small building that was -taking in more dead bodies than ever before. Ethan brought in yet another dead person, similar story to the rest. When he brought the body in the mortician opened the bag up and took a look. She had been there all night, and she told Ethan that the main thing in common was the bites.

"That's the forth one this week, Ethan," she said and sighed, pushing her glasses up on her face. "Whatever it is, I fear it's highly contagious and spreading fast."

"There are already barricades being set up by the military outside of town," he stated. "It's getting worse, is it airborne?"

"It's too early to tell, but very well could be," she replied. "It's a viral infection I believe. Mercy Hospital in the city is packed with people showing similar symptoms. Something horrible is spreading."

"We'll figure this out, I'll have a broadcast set up by the morning," he said as he made his way to exit the building. "Keep me posted, I've got a few more stops to check out." Ethan exited the morgue, and off in the distance he could hear the partying and noise from the Blackburn residence. He decided to leave them alone, giving them one final night of fun before news really broke out.

As Ethan peeled away, the mortician put on her headphones and started listening to her favorite music, classical. She continued working on the fresh corpse, not noticing the one rising up behind her. Slowly the dead bodies rose from the tables, pushing through the open bags they were set in. Keeping her back to the danger, she couldn't hear the snarling and movements as more of the dead began to stir and rise.

She paused briefly, and when she took off her earphones and turned, it was too late. She didn't even have time to scream as she was instantly pounced on. One of the walkers forcefully bit into her throat, ripping out her flesh and preventing her from screaming. Then two more piled on top of her and tore her apart until there was little left but blood and bone.

When the meal was finished, the undead walkers pressed against the unlocked doors and slid out into the open night air, where the sounds coming from the Blackburn party caught their attention. The walkers went toward the noise.

Johnny came back to the firepit and handed Sarah a plate of food and some water, sitting back down and joining the conversation. They were discussing the news and everything that was going on recently, while simultaneously relaxing and not making such a deal about it all.

"It's gotta be something coming from the shipments over seas," Perry, the band's manager blindly stated. "Probably carried over from China."

"Nah man, it's a disease the birds carry," Russell added.

A young blonde girl, nicknamed 'Barbie' for her resemblance to the doll, came over and sat next to Johnny. Laying her head on his shoulder, she whispered, "Ditch the lame chick, lets go to your room Johnny."

Johnny winced, he had made it clear to Barbie before that they were no longer a thing and were just friends, yet when alcohol was involved she seemed to forget all of that. Trying not to make a rude scene, Johnny leaned back to her and whispered, "She just lost her family, back off okay?"

Barbie huffed and gave Sarah a glare briefly, then got up and headed away and toward party goers at the barn. She walked right past the bitten man who was lying dead on the grass, though he reanimated and she was the first flesh of notice. Pulling and dragging toward her, he followed into the barn unseen by anyone.

Arriving in the midst of theories and hypotheses, Sarah slowly lowered herself into a bright fuchsia camping chair with flimsy thin steel legs and the silent hopes it would carry her weight. Not noticing his departure, she was surprised when he returned offering her a plate of food and red plastic cup filled with water. She took the plate first and sat dumbfounded wondering what to do with the bottle in her hand before opting to set it down in the grass where it tilted at a precarious angle threatening to spill its contents.

She wasn't hungry; she'd barely eaten anything since the incident. Everything looked and smelled unappetizing, but since he'd gone through the trouble, she tried. Holding the cup between her thighs, she forced herself to eat a potato chip. The seasoning powder was unevenly spread and it was drowning in salt. Sarah sighed as she picked up another one, but she tapped it against her plate as she listened to the circle talk about what was happening.

Birds. Boats. None of them explained what had happened to her father. He'd been in a sterile environment since his release and hadn't left the house, hadn't left his own bed, since. If it was a disease as people were claiming then it would have effected her mother or herself, but it hadn't. She was fine. Her mother, though stricken with grief, had been healthy as well to the best of her knowledge.

Snapped to attention by the derogatory whispers, Sarah suddenly felt uncomfortable and unwelcome. Glancing through the loose strands of hair that hung in front of her face, she saw the woman glaring at her, blaming her for Johnny's rejection. Leaning over in her chair she whispered, “You could have gone.” Sarah didn't want her presence to dampen everyone else's evening as it appeared to be doing.

Taking a stand, she sat her things in her chair. “I think I'm going to take a walk,” she told him, excusing herself for the moment to clear her head. But just as she turned to leave a blood-curdling scream emerged from the barn and the woman who'd been trying to entice Johnny earlier limped out covered in blood.

"He-he bit me?" Barbie blurted out in her shock, falling to her knees in the grass. The reanimated man suddenly charged her from the side of the house and tackled her to the ground.

"Whoa!" Johnny yelled as everyone stood up. Someone turned the music off and the place seemed to erupt in instant chaos. People were screaming frantically from the barn, while those along the path to the house were getting mauled. People were too intoxicated to understand the situation.

From over the hill, the morgue walkers pounced on anyone close to them. When others tried to intervene, they were attacked as well. Within moments a great number of people were being swarmed. Everyone else ran toward the front of the house.

Some people drove off, while those that remained gathered around together in the front yard. Barbie screamed as her flesh was being ripped from her, but the rest of Johnny's bandmates were able to tackle her attacker off where Tim held him firmly against the ground. "What the fuck??" he shouted as the infected man attempted to reach back and bite him.

As they continued to hold him down, Perry held Barbie who was still alive. She was gargling on her own blood, unable to speak. The shear look of fear in her eyes as Perry looked helplessly at her. Her body was shaking, but then she stopped dead. "Holy fuck," Perry muttered. He began doing CPR on the girl, unsure if she was still alive or not. Eventually he stopped and checked her chest, feeling no heartbeat. "I think she's dead!"

People were moaning and crying for help near and in the barn, being left along the grass half eaten and wounded. Johnny was helping Tim hold down the infected man when he noticed more were coming after them now. Pushing off and backing away, they still even tried to reason with them. "Back up man!" Tim yelled as he pulled out his gun. James ran over and cracked the closest one over the head with an acoustic guitar, then also pulled out his gun. The brothers always carried their weapons, though Johnny realized all of the rest of the weapons were in his father's bomb shelter.

"She's breathing again!" Perry shouted, he had seemed to be zoning out all around him. When he felt her moving, he pressed his ear to her chest. She rose quickly and grabbed ahold of his head, then began biting harshly into his skull.

Tim and James fired, they shot every bullet they had in their weapons. They fired upon those infected closest to them, hitting them in their chests and limbs. It seemed to work as everything fell over, but to be sure the brothers moved in closer and reloaded their weapons standing above the dead.

"They're not getting up from that..."Tim started, but they arose again. One bit deep into Tim's ankle, while another caught James' leg and brought him down. More of the dead stood from the hill, doubling their numbers. The brothers tried to fight them off but more and more surrounded them and attacked, overwhelming them both.

Johnny smashed a beer bottle over one's head as it approached him, open mouthed bleeding. They stumbled for a bit as it kept pushing forth, but eventually Johnny got on top and started stabbing the broken glass into the infected's face. He could feel its facial bones breaking with each stab, and he did not stop until the thing stopped moving. Blood covered his entire face as he backed off, seeing many more coming from around the house.

Russell ran into the tour bus, attempting to start it but it staled. Before he knew it the bus was surrounded and the walker's broke through the glass of the door. Russell screamed as he was ripped apart on the floor of the vehicle.

Other survivors started to run, anywhere, just off and away from Johnny's house. He himself followed for a while, having a good lead on the infected. He turned around and watched in horror as everyone he knew and loved was being eaten alive, then rising up again and eating someone else alive. The screams continued throughout the neverending horror as Johnny made his way out to the field. He could see people running in every direction, knowing it was miles before any of them would come across anything.

The vehicles were surrounded by the undead, and the horses were being cornered and eaten alive as well. More and more dead ones rose, all of them finishing their meals and continueally heading toward the rest. Johnny ran through the field, until he saw Sarah. She was the only one left he saw that was still alive and still here. "Sarah!" he yelled and ran, nearly out of breath, toward her. "Are you okay? We have to stick together, okay? We have to keep moving." The undead were far off and moving slower now that they had plenty of meat, but they would never stop following.

Everything around them quickly devolved into chaos. While people dove to help the wounded, Sarah was frozen in her spot. The scenery around her shifted from the comforting yellow glow of the bone-fire to the dreary house she'd grown up in. In the background the screams were barely audible, sounding muffled as if coming from a downstairs TV. She stood in front of the cracked door leading to her parent's room, her mother's body sprawled out on the plush carpet staring at nothing with vacant glazed eyes. On the outside someone grabbed her arm to pull her away, but all she could see was the face of her father. With each memory it evolved into a more menacing figure now with sharpened teeth, gray skin, and jaundiced eyes. Sarah screamed and flailed, hitting the person attempting to help her.

When they let her go she took off running in the opposite direction, away from the barn. Reality had settled in and she was back outside again, but the screams were still there. She could hear them begging their assailants for mercy.

At the top of the hill her feet skidded to a stop, her heel digging into the ground to create a mound of dirt. Coming from the direction of town at a brisk speed were more of them. With no time to stand around and count them she had to double back around, running in an arc towards the direction of the field beside and away from the main house.

The growing wheat stalks hit her shins as she ran and Johnny's home grew smaller in the distance. Once she'd created enough distance between herself and the threat she reached a shaky hand into her pocket to take out her phone along with the thin sheet of paper containing Ethan's personal number. Sarah hadn't thought she'd need to use it at all let alone so quickly, but she praised the officer on his forethought.

“Ethan!” she cried breathlessly into the receiver once she heard the line click. “The party! People are dead! It's happening again! It's-” Sarah wasn't able to get into much detail before she heard her name and yelled out, “Johnny!” Her body was shaking, but unlike some of the others nearby with scrapes, bruises, and one with a gaping wound where they'd been attacked, she was unharmed. Nodding her agreement, she said a firm, “Okay,” before remembering she had Ethan on the line. Her voice trembled.

“The Parson's orchard is nearby. We're gonna go there. Oh, god, Ethan. It was terrible. It-”

The words halted once she saw the attacked party goers moving at deceptively slow pace towards the wheat fields. Eyes wide as she stared at them, her eyes lingered on one of them that drifted forward with their intestines hanging out of their stomach. “Run!” she cried out, dropping the phone in her hand. There was no time to retrieve it. The only thing they could do was manage to keep ahead and get to the Parson's.

--------------------------------

The sun sank low over the flat horizon, the headlights brought the next road sign into focus:

Fairburrow 15 miles

“There’s a town out here?” the driver muttered to herself as she brushed stray curls from her face, a dirty hand left a dark smudge against her tan cheek.

“The burrow? Sure, I came out here for cute things, knick knacks, that ‘organic crap’ you keep teasing me about…” the unidentifiable lump of blankets in the passenger seat mumbled, shifting a little to look at the dashboard, “We need gas…. They’re cheap.”

She and the passenger were covered in a layer of dirt, faces riddled with sweat lines, and a general appearance of dishevelment. Their exit had been a last-second decision, their dirty pickup truck one of the precious few to legally make it past the quarantine barrier before they shut down interstate traffic in or out of the city.

Rebecca clearly recalled the soldier’s look of general exhaustion and tense anxiety as his thick gloves fumbled with her ID, the look of his crusty brown eyes as they hollowly inspected her from behind the glass of his gas mask.

‘Off with the mask’ came his muffled order, she could imagine his cracked lips.

She moved her own face mask long enough for him to look, a simpler one, the kind for the drugstore; they said it took days for infection, but she did not want to believe it. He shoved her ID back to her, waved her along with those thick gloves again, and they moved along with the sluggish line of minivans, smart cars, and various other vehicles. Her tail lights illuminated another truck before she spied in her rear view the guard wave his arms, the barricade was shut. A general roar of disapproval, shouts, and screams. She felt for them, she did, but they had made it out.

They had made it out all because her sister had practically dragged her out of her apartment, bags packed, and nearly duct taped her into the passenger seat. Miranda was always the artsy one, the one who got a wild hair, and for the most part, Rebecca was happy to follow, as long as she could drive to the countryside to hunt or fish for the weekend, she was a happy camper. Her sister certainly did not turn down her small trophy antlers, there were at least six pieces in Miranda’s new collection that were comprised entirely of animal bones from animals Rebecca had caught.

It had been about thirty minutes to the main turnoff where larger freeways lead to larger cities, but with the general panic about small spaces and people, the way the virus spread, Rebecca knew that a cabin in the woods, a hunting lodge, literally anything but farther into the snarl of traffic, was a good idea. Wrapped in her cocoon of blankets, Miranda had posed no disagreeing word as she pointed to a lesser used turnoff, just happy to not have to drive anymore. She was a city girl, happy with the conveniences of everyday life, but put her in a forest and there was no girl more at home. Their mother had once called them the Hipster and the Lumberjack. They were not cruel nicknames, but inside jokes. Both girls were gorgeous in their own right, slender frames with muscles built from their everyday life; they both loved to walk and Miranda was currently a Crossfit fanatic. People often guessed incorrectly though who was the hipster and who was the lumberjack.

Rebecca with her green eyes and tight blonde curls was called a prima donna until she offered to showcase her gun collection. It was always a comical sight to see Rebecca dressed up in her pink polos and beige capris, hair in a high ponytail, showing off her favorite weapons. Miranda was the dark haired brunette, thick straight locks like their mother chopped in a severe asymmetrical bob that highlighted the pale tones of her skin, her dark hazel eyes nearly hidden by long bangs. Rebecca always thought Miranda should be a model, but she never had time for other people’s art tastes. She liked to build, with her hands, to touch the organic components of her work and make them into something no one had seen before. Paint, sculptor, clay, ink, pen, typewriter, fabric; everything she could touch was a medium, everything new was a piece not yet explored.

Among many things, curiosity was what the sisters shared most, but they never adventured alone, always together. While a few years apart with Rebecca at the lead, they had never fought as age conscious siblings might. Raised in a forested suburb, exposed to the madness of an artistic, wilderness loving woman who did her best to encourage each girl to flourish at their own pace, to be responsible, to care about the environment, and above all to be kind to each other at the least. Free-range children, they would be called today, but back then they had just been kids who occasionally got caught near Jeffery’s chickens and shooed off with a cookie and some fresh milk; that was back before people cared about bacteria.

Now as they rolled through the empty streets, the town asleep save for a few who wandered stiff-legged store to store. Rebecca pulled up her truck to the gas pump, on auto-pilot she filled the tank, unaware that the unintelligible noise accompanied with the lights in the distance was not a party but a mass murder and resurrection. Miranda rolled down her window, the dark-clothed woman finally emerged from her cocoon, red plaid button-up hanging from her thin shoulders like an oversized jacket, “Looks like they haven’t been touched yet… No doubt those cute soldiers will be rolling into here soon… Think he’ll call me?”

“Myra, no one ever calls when they say they will.” Rebecca retorted, returning the hose to its holster, her yellow polo shirt smudged from the ambient ash that had begun to fall from all the fires in the city.

Her boots sounded heavy as she walked around the truck, fixing the blanket that protected their belongings from the elements, a compound bow and the muzzle of a hunting rifle barely visible amid the tangle of black duffle bags and patchwork quilts they had brought along.

“Oh! OH! Becky you hear that!? It sounds like a party! Please Becky PUH-LEASE! We haven’t been to a partyinsolongandI’mtiredandnastybut Iwannadance-” Rebecca cut her off by raising a hand.

“Myra, It’s night time, we just got out of traffic three hours ago, we were in traffic to get to the city almost twelve hours ago. I’m tired, we should move on and find a place to set up. It’ll be a couple days till we can get to the cabin…” She paused as she finally looked at the pitiful look her sister was giving her, “Oh alright, no more than an hour, ok?”

“YAS thank you thank you thank you!” Miranda gushed, her dirty hands leaving marks on her pale cheeks.

As a punishment for her prodding, Rebecca was going to not let her know. Less than presentable the sisters headed out again, the blonde driver taking haphazard directions from the overly excited brunette. After a brief tangle with a ditch, they were happily bounding along beside a field when the screams began to be clear.

“Is that...?” Rebecca muttered, her sister’s shout startling her into reaction more quickly than she was able to grasp the situation

“Look out!”

Rebecca slammed on the breaks, narrowly missing a person as they staggered into the dirt pathway. Wheels cut hard the heavy truck had no problem gaining traction, but at the speed, they were going she had no control over how the car spun with the weight taking them directly into the field. Rebecca’s knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel, shaking a bit as she calmed her breathing, her sister’s voice like a monotone buzz; what was wrong with people? Who just walked out in a road when they heard a vehicle?

“Becky Lou! There are other people in the field!”

“He… He’s…. NO Myra don’t leave the car!” she shouted as her sister moved to get out, check on the man and hail the people, in her rearview she got a clearer look of the man they had missed in the road; her tail lights illuminated the shine off his intestines.

"Go to the military checkpoint, go now!" Ethan spoke to his wife over the phone. "I'll be there as soon as I can!"

He was in the sheriff's office, a small brick building that stood alone on the winding road leading up toward the mountains. When he hung up the phone he buried his head into his hands and sighed, things were getting far worse. The military was now evacuating people from the entire state, claiming for all residents to go to the checkpoints.

His partner lay across the floor, blood scattered everywhere around him. Just moments before the bitten officer attacked Ethan, forcing him to shoot. Ethan sat in silence with his head buried, contemplating what had just happened. He knew it was the disease that made his partner go mad, but now he was dead. Slowly the deceased partner started to move along the blood stained tile floor.

There was only one other living person in the sheriff's office, a man who was sitting on a bench behind steel bars, held as a prisoner. He wore a black suit and tie with a white undershirt, a dark overcoat over top. His hair was slicked back and his face was handsome and seemingly young, though he was much older than he appeared.

His name was Dallen Larson, arrested for murdering his wife and the state attorney she cheated on him with. He was to be held here until they could transfer him back to the city but numerous complications since then have kept him put.

"You should try the head," Dallen said calmly. Ethan's partner rose to his feet once again, a shriek coming from his mouth as he stood and stared at them with blank eyes. Ethan aimed his gun again and hesitated. The partner hadf already taken three shots to the chest. As the infected officer rushed forward, Ethan fired a bullet into his skull and it fell limp to the floor. Ethan kicked his arm to make sure it was dead. "See! Now we're both murderers."

"I'm not a murderer!" Ethan replied while he reloaded his weapon. He had already prepared a large rucksack of weapons and ammo from the station, placing it in the trunk of his police vehicle outside. Even he knew it was time to leave, the transport was over a day late which never happened. "You're the murderer, I was just defending myself. Something was wrong with him, you saw!"

"Something was wrong with the people I murdered as well," Dallen admitted, a sly smile spread across his face.

Ethan's phone rang and he quickly picked it up, though the line was full of static on the other end. He could hear that it was Sarah and she seemed to be going through something similar, again. "Sarah...okay, I will meet you there!" The line went dead.

"Sounds like something bad is happening," Dallen stated. "You should take me with you. Don't leave me here, officer...Hall." He had to look at the man's badge on his uniform to remember his name.

"Someone will come for you, I need to look after the residents..." he started, knowing that things were getting far worse than he ever imagined. He was going to get Sarah and the others, then head to the military encampment to get them all out. This man, however, he didn't trust. His conscience was fighting an inner battle as he knew time was of the essence.

"No one is coming," Dallen said, still calm though a little agitated. "I'll starve here, it will be on you. Then you really will be a murderer."

"Shut up and turn around," Ethan gave in, putting handcuffs back on the man through the bars. He opened the cage and released him, taking him and placing him in the backseat of his cruiser. "Don't make me regret this." Then they headed for the Parson's house, just beyond the hill.

....................

"Stay in the car!" Johnny shouted. He and Sarah had just run up on the entire accident, having been running through the fields. He picked up the largest rock he could find and walked out in view of the people in the crashed vehicle. Holding the rock in one hand and motioning for Sarah to stay behind him with the other.

Across the road stood the infected, and it started walking faster once it saw him. Organs and chunks fell from its chest as it lopped forward with each step, its mouth open and screaming a chilling tone. Johnny rushed in and smashed the rock as hard as he could across its temple, bringing it toplling over to the pavement. From there he started smashing its head in with the rock, over and over just as he had done moments ago with the broken bottle. When its head was mush he backed away and began to vomit.

"Fuck, what the fuck!?" he mumbled between heaves. He continued to vomit until he was finally done, then almost vomited again from vomiting. "We need- we need to get out of here."

Johnny walked over the crashed car after he was finished and sat on the side of the hood, taking in breaths and wiping away blood and sweat. "I think I got it, it's not moving anymore," he said, mainly to Sarah. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, then lit up a smoke and regained himself for the moment. "You two okay? You can relax, I'm famous..."

The chilling scream the infected had let out moments earlier was repeated from another, as the sound echoed from within the fields. They were being pursued by the walkers, all of them now. Slowly the undead pushed through the wheat and corn, their direction in movement seemed to come from the noise and screaming.

"We don't have time, we're meeting the sheriff at this house down the way," Johnny explained through the glass of the window, speaking louder than he wanted to and pointing in the direction he intended. "Does your car work?" If not, it would be a walk but was doable.

Cowering inside the front seat of his icy blue BMW 6-series Gran Coupe, the young ashen-brown haired man behind the wheel noticed he was shaking like that one time he’d drank six shots of imported French espresso in an hour. His frail hands, pale with manicured fingernails, were vibrating something awful as they clutched the leather wheel. He realized it was only the five or so time he’d touched the wheel of his own car—he preferred being chauffeured because the traffic patterns upset him and it allowed him to multitask on his way to wherever he was going.

When Charlie, the family butler, wasn’t busy, he was usually happy to escort him, and Aeres found him to be good company. His mother, retired model Emelyn Taylor, though now she was known as Mrs. Skyfell, insisted that he no longer refer to Charlie as a butler because the term was becoming taboo and in poor taste; that was, modern etiquette dictated he be referred to as something gentler like a house keeper. Unfortunately, Charlie did not have free time off duty to drive him to the concert and party he’d received tickets for that evening.

In his place was Soren, one of Aeres’ three elder brothers—or rather in his place had been Soren, one of Aeres’ three elder brothers. Soren, he concluded as his pale blue eyes drifted nervously to the passenger seat where a polished Springfield Armory EMP with a bullet missing laid, having been dropped from his own hand just minutes prior. Soren was now outside the car face down in the dirt with a bullet hole in his chest.

Soren was—had been a bully like the rest, but still, Aeres never intended to kill him. Being the youngest of four boys was as uncomfortable as it was difficult, especially when they all had knacks for sports and competitions and social work that he did not. Ezra was the eldest, the favorite of his parents, barely bothered to visit home these days because he was too busy micromanaging their father’s land and development in Europe. Griffen, the next eldest, spend his time playing professional lacrosse and was always on the move.

Soren, however, was the closest in age to Aeres, and happened to stay at least in the country, volunteering for charities and other disgusting, show-off things he did in between trying to find a job with his accounting degree. How Soren even managed to get a college degree was a mystery to the youngest brother, because he knew all too well that his brother wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed—he was kinder than the others and bullied him the least, handsome and well-dressed like his entire family, but he wasn’t blessed with intelligence and wit. Now he was outside of the car, lying face down in the dirt.

Breaths shaking, the well-groomed twenty-one year old blinked at the scene, daring to peer out the window again. There was Soren, right where he left him—right where he’d shot him after he nearly rammed his car into a tree. No, perhaps that wasn’t right; the young man exhaled and tried to think again. Soren had gone quiet, he had let off the peddle and braked, he had complained of sudden illness and pulled over on the road a short ways away from where the party was to be held. He'd said something weird had happened to him earlier but that it would be fine to just see a doctor when they got back--he didn't want to go to some shabby little hospital in the middle of the farmlands. The strange barricades due to the thing going on set up around the city limits had made them late enough to miss the performance, but they agreed to attend to after party anyway—what was that thing going on? He slowly let his hands fall off the wheel and ran them through his ashen brunette hair in attempt to get a literal grip on reality. There was an ugly blood splatter on the designer button-up and custom embroidered velveteen tie that hugged his lean frame, the body that was never quite as muscular as those of his brothers. The gym wasn’t his thing. It smelled like body odor, even the one in his own estate home tucked away from the general population.

Soren and him resided with their parents still, though the arrangements were far from crowded. The nine-thousand square foot estate allowed for him to keep an entire floor, the top one, to himself, though it had been awhile since he stayed there for a long period of time. He’d just completed his university degree in history with a specialization in the medieval ages, something his entire family shunned him silently for because it didn’t serve to increase their already full coffers. The other boys had jobs that could roll in the cash, follow in their father’s footsteps and take over land ownership one day to manage all the places they owned and rented, but he was simply interested in knowledge and the past. He spent his time holed up in various places with his skinny, defined nose stuck in books and texts with a tea or coffee cup nearby.

Movement caught his eye and yanked him out of his own head, hands grabbing onto the wheel again. For some godforsaken reason, his bother’s body was twitching. After he’d gotten out of the vehicle, Aeres had remained inside with the windows rolled up, waiting as he claimed to need fresh air—the windows had saved him as his brother turned back around and began ramming himself against the car, clawing to get inside, smashing furiously like a mad dog until he caused himself to bleed. In a moment of insanity and fear of his own life when Soren began fumbling around like he might try the door, Aeres had pulled his handgun from the glove box and rolled down the window, shooting him through the chest.

Five or ten minutes had passed and he hadn’t even phoned the police. The latest smartphone was in his back pants pocket, buzzing from notifications, but he felt frozen. The window had been rolled back up, but now the body was moving. Maybe he hadn’t killed him—he didn’t know. He’d never shot anyone before. The gun was for his own protection in an emergency, and it had been, as far as he could tell, a severe emergency.

Starting the engine, it didn’t take a moment’s longer of hesitation before he pressed on the gas and sped the BMW up ahead, running over the wriggling remains of his brother. He continued on ahead, but stopped again when he saw commotion in front of him. Figures moved in the distance, some of the fast, some slow, and he squinted to make out what was happening. The sudden clarity sent him into a wild reaction of panic and he snatched his cell phone, pressing the power button rapidly five times until it autodialed the police.

The audio came on his car speakers through the Bluetooth connection and he mumbled, “Hello,” he began, his throat dry and feeling scratchy, “this is Aeres Skyfell and I’ve just shot my brother, Soren Skyfell.” His voice, although somewhat shaken, was shockingly calm, or at least he felt it was. He couldn’t really tell what was actually happening anymore.

“I’m sorry, sir, can you repeat that? Can you repeat your name please?” came a woman’s voice, the reception somewhat poor—that’s what he got for driving out to the middle of nowhere. “Aeres Skyfell. Aeres, with an extra E, like the god but with an E, Skyfell like the sky just fell down.” He’d been saying this all his life. Why had his parents made things so difficult for him? As if their last name wasn’t odd enough, they wanted to make him as weird as possible to all people he met just in case someone thought he might be average. Sometimes he wished his name was just John or Tom or Will. “I shot my brother. Then, actually, I ran him over. He was acting crazy. I think he wanted to kill me.”

“You shot your brother? Is he dead?” came the receptionist’s concerned voice in response. She had been trained, clearly, to keep her cool in tight situations, and he almost wanted to praise her. It was nearly like they were having a normal conversation over breakfast between the two of them.

“I don’t know,” Aeres replied stalely, his blue eyes wandering to the mirror to check the distance behind him. “I think something’s wrong with him. I just got into Fairburrow. We were headed to the concert venue.”

“Can you explain what happened to your brother? Can you explain his behavior before you shot him?” asked the patient woman, but Aeres jolted as an awkwardly stumbling body drifted into sight in front of his vehicle. The woman was bloody but moving, and in his anxious state of mind, he thought no further than to react on his instincts. “No, I can’t, I’ve gotta go, I’m so sorry but I’ve really got to go now,” he muttered, the words rolling out joined together, “goodbye.” He pressed the end call button on his touch screen and drove off.

-----

The car was out of control. Johnny motioned for her to stand back, but the gesture would do little good against the careening car. The tires kicked the soft soil and sprayed it the same way a broken faucet leaked water. Sarah shielded her face from the debris with her arms, but her jeans and her light green jacket were both covered with brown dirt.

Looking away from Johnny as he vomited in the dirt, she stood anxiously becoming more impatient by the moment as she silently urged him to hurry. As much as she sympathized, it had been the most difficult thing in her life to watch Ethan pull the trigger on her father, they couldn't stop now. Once the man finally started talking sense, Sarah reached out to tug on his arm. “Then lets go,” she pleaded, her tone insistent. The woman turned to head one way, but paused when her lax grip no longer had a hold of Johnny's hand.

The man had gone in the opposite direction, advancing towards the careless vehicle rather than away from it to safety. The blinding headlights only allowed her to look for a moment noting the dark shadowed outline emerging before she was forced to look away. White spots lingered in her vision with each blink of darkness.

Sarah made the difficult decision not to wait. To that end, she respected Johnny. The man was willing to loiter, risking his life to check on the two individuals not only making sure they were safe, but that they remained that way. She, on the other hand, was not a hero. Self-preservation won.

If he said anything more to her, she didn't hear. Sarah had taken off through the fields looking back over her shoulder to see Johnny leaning over the glass window speaking into the car. They saw him, honing in on his location. Another smaller group began to flank him on the side.
She wasn't sure if he noticed them, but she knew she couldn't look anymore; she couldn't watch him get torn apart like the other poor souls at the party. Only one thought flashed through her mind and she focused on it as if her life depended on it. Get to the Parsons'.

There was no logical reason why she thought it would be safe there. Sitting on five acres of land, the Parsons' small orchard had evolved over the years into the Vineyard—the only other notable thing about Fairburrow other than being Johnny's hometown. Out of habit, Sarah continued to call it the orchard as did most everyone else from town.

She knew she was getting close when she climbed over the fence coming face to face with rows of golden spice pear trees emptied from a recent harvest little less than a month ago. Their pear cider with a dash of cinnamon was the best cider she'd ever had. Beyond that were hundreds of grape vines. Wine was where the Parsons' made their money, but Sarah couldn't attest to the taste of it like she could for the pears.

It seemed Sarah wasn't the only one seeking shelter at the orchard. Cars were lined up and angry people waited, shouting outside. Squeezing through the crowd, she could see Mr. Parsons standing in front of the door to their home in his sweater-vest. “We have no more rooms,” he drawled. The man adjusted the thick black-rimmed glasses on his face. Unfazed by the hostile cries of outrage, he maintained a stoic demeanor. The epitome of calm under pressure, he remained passive and almost bored. “You'll have to try the motel back in town.”

Most of these people were strangers, Sarah realized. Only when she overheard someone speak did she discover they were all refugees from the city, fleeing when they had the chance and coming to seek shelter in their small haven. Squeezing her way through trying to make it to the front, she heard her name being called. “Sarah? Sarah Hanson, you get over here.”

Turning, she found Mrs. Parsons scurrying from the side of the house towards the main building. It'd been years since she'd seen the Parsons. Not since junior year of high-school when her relationship with their son, Wes, effectively ended. The woman's brunette hair now possessed silver streaks from age. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were more prominent and her figure more plump than she remembered. Her white apron had cherry stains splattered on it and in her hands was a bucket filled with dark red liquid. Noticing the way Sarah's eyes fixated on it, she tried to move it from her sight. “So many people were injured up at that Johnny Blackburn's party. The hospital is overflowing. You can't even get to the ones in the city what with the checkpoints and all. Wyatt brought a couple of them back here.”

Wyatt was Wes' brother.

“C'mere, my dear,” she cooed, taking her into a one armed hug which Sarah awkwardly returned. “You've been though so much.” The heat from the headlights radiated on her and Sarah could feel drops of sweat forming along her back. Once Mrs. Parsons released her from the hug, she shook the jacket from off her shoulders and tied it securely around her waist. The fitted white t-shirt beneath it was damp from running through the fields with dirt stains caked on it. “You're a mess. Come inside and we'll get you cleaned up.”

“But I thought the place was full, Mrs. Parsons.”

The woman waved off her concern. “How long have I been asking you to call me Julia?” she asked with a small smile. “It is. To the brim. We've even taken on more than the fire marshal would allow.” A look was exchanged between them translating to I won't tell if you won't.

Sarah's body was still shaking from the party. Her eyes looked over her shoulder through the vineyards for signs of an enemy approaching. Off in the distance she could hear the faint sounds of terrified screams piercing the silence and she hoped none of them belonged to Johnny or the people he had stopped to help. But she needed to focus on herself, her own safety, and her own sanity at the moment.

Giving one final announcement to the crowd, the Parsons and Sarah retreated into the house. The sounds of the shouting crowd were drowned out through the brick and mortar until, with no one left to engage them, they finally dispersed.

"It's not safe out here," Johnny told the sisters in the car. "Come with me and...Sarah?" Johnny turned around and saw that she was gone. Looking in the direction of the Parsons' house, he could see someone running off away from him. "Sarah! Sarah wait for..."

The undead from the party burst out from the tall wheats in the field, coming out in droves. They were moving together in one big group, heading directly toward Johnny. "Let me in!" he shouted to the girls, grabbing the backseat door and attempting to enter. It was locked and the undead weren't slowing down.

Johnny ran backwards but tripped over his own feet, his body nearly in shock from the terror he was feeling. He busted his head against the pavement and almost knocked himself out, but he was still aware. He began to crawl as they came right up on him. He saw his bandmates coming for him, they were dead but he could still make them out. Eyes wide, he completely froze in place as the horde moved in.

Suddenly a police siren sounded out nearby, the colors of red and blue filled the area. The cop car crashed into the nearest of the undead, flattening the corpses to the pavement as it gave Johnny time enough to move again. Pulling to a stop, the young sheriff came out and raised his weapon.

"You need me!" Dallen yelled at him, still handcuffed in the backseat. "I can help! Give me a gun!" He motioned his head toward the shotgun that was placed in the front seat. Ethan seemed to oblidge as he reached in and took the weapon, but instead turned and handed it to Johnny.

"Aim for the head!" Ethan instructed.

Without hesitation the two of them began firing, blowing off heads and splattering brains all over the road. Body after body fell, the two of them taking turns to reload with ammunition from inside the vehicle. The walkers were slow, each of them an easy target. They could hear more coming from the distance, but the horde around them was down, all of their bodies lying in one big pile of flesh and blood.

"We're heading to the Parsons," Johnny told the sheriff, who nodded. "Their car is down." He pointed to the sisters who were still in their vehicle.
"Can we all ride with you?"

"There's a convict in the back..." Ethan told him, as he paused to think. The sounds of the undead still wandering through the field was becoming louder.

"Great."

There was another vehicle coming down the road, a blue BMW, which would have plenty of space for everyone and Ethan could follow them in the police car. It wasn't in his right to do such a thing, but chaos was spreading fast and things were starting to change drastically. The city was on fire.

Ethan held out his badge and stood in the middle of the road as the BMW approached, the undead pile of bodies made it difficult if the driver wanted to speed through. Ethan walked up to the driver side and noticed the blood on the vehicle, but only on this day would he let such a thing pass.

"Sheriff Ethan Hall, we need to use your vehicle, sir," he told the driver, keeping his hand close to his holstered firearm. "I need you to follow my police cruiser to a resident house not far from here. It's an emergency. You're not going to find anything heading the way you're going except the longest line of traffic jams the world has ever seen. I'll see about compensating you when it's all over." He walked by the sisters car and told them to get into the SUV with Johnny, then slowly led the way toward the Parsons orchard.

Johnny entered the front seat, still covered in other people's blood and some vomit. They waited for the sisters and then followed the cop. "Hi, thanks," Johnny said to the driver. There were more undead slowly coming out from the field, few and far between now. "I'm Johnny," he said and then extended his hand to shake, but when he saw the blood all over his fingers he pulled it back.

Not much longer and they would drive up on the Parsons lot. The fields here were filled with people that were alive, seemingly camping in their vehicles for the night. Ethan drove up to the front and got out, he was immediately bombarded by people with questions and concerns of which he had no answers to. All he wanted to do was get back to his family.

There were rooms around the back of the house closer to the orchards and the winery where the guests stayed. The main house was usually reserved for family and friends only, but Julia Parsons always had a big heart. It was a trait Sarah had always admired.

Now the house was filled with strangers congregating in the narrow hallways, huddled together around their phones listening to emergency broadcasts or watching clips from helicopters on the news of the epidemic that was rapidly spreading across the nation. Entire cities had been blocked off and quarantined with news anchors warning to stay away from places such as hospitals.

None of it made any sense, but they were simple enough instructions to follow and the people were looking for direction of some kind. No one here was a leader it seemed, the closest to it being Mr. Parsons yelling for his sons to start reinforcing the doors and windows. Wes returned moments later pushing a brocade camelback sofa against the front door. Sarah wasn't sure if he was simply ignoring her presence or truly hadn't noticed her, but his lack of acknowledgment had her hiding her face and scurrying to the next room with the other guests.

“You think it's the end of the world?”

“Of course not. They'll have this cleared up in no time.”

“What if we're the only survivors?”

The topic of conversation was morbid and she shivered recollecting the events at the party. No matter how hard she tried, she found it near impossible to push the images from her mind. They replayed like a stuck tape.

“Heard the eldest found someone attacked by one of those things. They're taking care of 'em out back.”

“Wyatt? Never was a smart one. Haven't they been listening to the news? You don't go near anyone who's been attacked...”

Sarah didn't want want to listen to anymore. Wanting nothing more than a hot shower and a room to collapse in until it all ended, she went off in search of Mrs. Parsons. Turning the corner she ran into Wes instead this time one arm filled with planks while the other held a box of nails and a hammer. He seemed surprised to see her.

Though she thought she saw a flash of relief behind his gaze it quickly turned into indifference. “Glad you're okay,” he said with an added afterthought, “Sorry to hear about your parents.” He gave a nod towards the windows, a silent request for her to help him, and she obliged by following after him. “You wanna hold or hammer?”

“It doesn't matter.”

She held the board up to the windows as he hammered the nails to keep it in place. The two of them worked in silence to finish the one window and then they were out of boards for the next; he'd misjudged the amount they'd needed from the shed.

“Have you seen Johnny or Ethan around?”

He looked around the room to double check they weren't there before saying, “No clue.” Sarah sighed, regret pooling in the pit of her stomach for abandoning Johnny and the others the way that she had. She hoped they had gotten somewhere safe. Seeing her worried expression, his brows knitted in concerned before he heaved a sigh and said, “Hey. Don't think the worst, okay? I know how you like to get lost in your own head.”

Sarah became defensive. “I do not.”

He didn't notice. “They could be around here. You'll have to ask around.”

With that, he left her to her own devices going out to get more wood for the windows.

----

Miranda stiffened as her sister yelled in the cab, screaming in horror as the man took a large rock and beat the other in the head until he could not lift the heavy rock anymore. Rebecca’s hands hurt from the force with which she gripped the steering wheel, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted as she watched the man vomit then sit his dirty ass on her new brush guard.

“GET. THE. FUCK. OFF. MY TRUCK.” she screamed, the thick glass muted her words as she snarled at the thing.

He was not human. He was a murderer. There was something obviously wrong with the man who no longer had a head, but that did not mean this self-proclaimed celebrity could do as he pleased.

“Murderer! Sicko! CREEP!” Miranda screamed tears left trails through her thick eye makeup, each girl tensed as he began to run around the side of the truck, trying the back seat doors only to find them locked.

He shouted something at them and a patrol car came slamming through the field, narrowly missing the large truck and filling the cab with more screams.

“THIS TOWN IS FUCKING INSANE MYRA!” Rebecca screamed, shaking, unused to the bloodshed, the abject violence.

People liked to tease her when she revealed she was a hunter, a marksman, and it always boiled down to sport and necessity. She hunted for food, she hunted for sport, she never hunted something smarter than her, and she certainly did not hunt humans.

“Becky, get us the fuck out of here, NOW. I don’t know what’s going on but oh my god we’re not staying here. I don’t know why I said stop. I’m so sorry.” Miranda gushed, she melted into a puddle of muttering and hiccuped cries.

“Myra, it’s fine… It’s ok… I stopped here, you had no idea. I had no idea. We’ll get to the cabin, we’ll be ok. Once the city opens back up we get the police zoned in on this place, or we can move. I don’t care which.” Rebecca calmed her sister down, a wane smile stretched across her face, but it did not reach her eyes.

With her phone, Rebecca took a few pictures of the men who had mowed down the hurt individuals, but she froze again as the self-proclaimed police officer told them to follow. Like hell, she would take her sister along with murderers. She smiled, nodded her head as if she would follow and as the men made it into their vehicles, she fandangled with the key in the ignition. Sturdy, a bit old, and reinforced for hell and back, her truck roared to life, thick mudding tires spun in the soft, blood-soaked earth before catching traction. Rebecca tore back the way they had come, clear of the undead- although the girls did not quite know it yet- and began again for their mountain home away from home.

Tired and on edge from the carnage they had witnessed, Rebecca reasoned it was best to steer clear from any farm or another heavily populated area until the military was able to roll through and patch things up. The face of the guard swam to the forefront of her mind and she sighed, it might be a bit longer than they hoped.

----

Aeres scooted his BMW to a halt when the sight of a human-looking man caught him by surprise. Glacier eyes big with pupils dilated, all he found he could do was to nod and gulp as Ethan introduced himself and ordered him to drive along with the others towards a place he didn’t even mentally process. He didn’t hear the rest of the sheriff’s order or explainarion, as his mind was focused solely on holding onto the wheel like death would find him if he released his grip.

Someone got into his vehicle, or maybe he imagined it, but either way the young man didn’t respond to the greeting he was given. Instead, he watched as the new passenger settled himself in, and as soon as it was safe to drive on, he did as he had been told and followed the police car. The man had an awful stench that filled his car, overpowering the pine air freshener hanging from the mirror, and the smell tickled his nostrils. It would be rude, he thought, to say anything about it, and so he remained strangely silent.

When the car in front of him stopped, so did he. He turned off the ignition and parked but did not get out. Glancing over at the other passenger in the front seat again, he stared for an uncomfortable amount of time before asking, “We stop here? Can we get out? Is this safe?” Slowly with a deep sigh, he let go of the wheel and folded his hands neatly in his lap over his blood-splattered trousers. They had never seen so much filth—he kept his attire tidy and dry cleaned only.

Johnny couldn't help but to tap the dash of the bmw as they followed the police car into the Parson's land. He did it without realization, as he watched all of the people making camps in the field. About half were leaving as they arrived, and after everything Johnny had just witnessed he couldn't blame them. When the driver asked him if it was safe here, he didn't want to bullshit the kid.

"It's not safe," he said bluntly. "There's enough guns here to protect us for the night at least." He noticed many of the local hunters were here, all of them knew these lands very well. "Come on, I might be able to get us in the house. Everyone knows me here." The thought of even sleeping on the house floor was comforting at this point.

As he walked out through the field toward the house, he could see and hear that they were boarding it all up. Making it only halfway, his attention drifted as Ethan and some of the hunters formed a barricade with vehicles around the property. Everyone was helping out in one way or another, with a few of the undead coming out from the tall grass in the distance.

They would spend the entire night out on watch, many in lawn chairs and holding beer and rifles. Every time one of the undead came out from the shrubs and trees, someone would call it out and a marksman would take the shot. Babies were crying in tents and a radio was broadcasting from atop a truck.

"Report unusual behavior. Barricade your homes. Avoid all contact with infected individuals. Wait for official instruction." The message went on longer but repeated, as it seemed live streaming was not possible anymore. The power grid in the city went out and FEMA broadcasted a loop.

Ethan tried to reach his wife again with no luck. All he got now was static and it worried him, though he still had a lot to deal with here. A fight nearly broke out as a man with a bite was revealed by another holding a shotgun to his face.
The sheriff managed to cool down the confrontation, but the bitten man was forced to leave the property immediately, so was anyone else that had been infected. Already these people were becoming aggressive, though the wounded left without much resistance.

"We're all tired and aggrevated, I know," Ethan spoke to everyone that was gathered around him. "Get some sleep, we've set up shifts for everyone. In the morning, we can discuss our options. I think we should all gather together and head to Fort Benning, it's the nearest military outpost. I've lost contact with them, but last I heard they were evacuating citizens by helicopter. As far as I know that's still the case. Rest up, we head out early in the morning."

There was a firepit made in the field, a circle of people surrounding it. Food was being served out, though many weren't hungry. Johnny saw Sarah from within the windows of the house, but instead of going to speak with her, he just stayed by the fire. They were safe for now, so he rested his head on the soft grass and drifted to sleep from his weariness.

Ethan released Dallen's handcuffs from him, though still kept him locked in the backseat of the cop car. There were too many things going on for him to have to babysit the man. Joining the Parsons in their home, Ethan explained to them the situation and how these people wouldn't be here for long. Though even as he spoke to them, he felt unsure of what he was saying.

_____

Aeres felt as if he should’ve expected his passenger’s response. Perhaps asking whether or not they were safe was only a stab into an already open wound—he knew nothing was right in the least and it felt stupid to believe they would be safe anywhere, in a barricade or in a house or in a car. He didn’t respond to Johnny, though the lack of words wasn’t personal—he was internalizing his concern for the time being, believing it would help him push through until everything went back to normal. For now, he was choosing to think that things would go back to normal rather than the all-too-possible theory lingering in the back of his mind that it wouldn’t.

Choosing to trust Johnny, Aeres locked up and left his BMW, stuffing the keys into his pocket, keeping his hand there as he followed him out onto the grass and up to the house. He barely made it a few minutes before he was instructed again to move his car to help the barricade, to which he agreed and did, moving it along the edge next to others to help create a barrier. Although there was a call to round up all arms, he chose not to say anything about the gun in his car—he wanted it to himself just in case something went wrong. He knew no one around him, he’d never seen a single one of their faces before, save for Johnny, who looked familiar because of his career, and he wasn’t about to give away his belongings to strangers from a tiny, poor-looking small town. His parents had taught him that people like them often hated his kind and tried to take advantage of them at any opportunity.

Fueled by adrenaline, he found himself wide awake though dazed during the conflicts that broke out over a bitten man discovered among them but chose to distance himself. Through listening and watching, he began to piece together what was going on—some disease, he gathered, was infecting and spreading rapidly, causing its victims to become bloodthirsty and insane. It explained Soren, who popped into his head every few minutes regardless of how much effort he put into thinking of anything else. A bite must’ve been what he thought the hospital could address after the party; it seemed he had been wrong.

By the time he found Johnny again, the man had not found a way into the house as he’d said he would—he was passed out in the grass, a pathetic and disgusting site by the young man’s standards. Grimacing and groaning, he stepped back from the sight, thinking of how many bugs would crawl on Johnny as he slept where he was, and retreated back to the comfort of his BMW. He crawled into the front seat, reclined it, and from pure exhaustion, eventually fell asleep there.