 
Prodromal World:

When it Ends...

Kate Rhoads

Book One of the Series

Prodromal World:

When it Ends...

Kate Rhoads

# Copyright Page

Revised and re-titled version of Prodromal World

### Revised Edition February 2015

### Smashwords Edition

### Copyright 2014 Kate Rhoads

### Smashwords Edition, License Notes

### ISBN: 9781310411137

### Title: Prodromal World: When it Ends...

### Author: Kate Rhoads

### Cover by: Kate Rhoads and Holly Cutright

### Edited by: Gina Fiserova

### Publisher: Smashwords, Inc.

### Smashwords Edition: License Note:

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

The people and places described in this book are based in reality but have been altered to suit the needs of the story and are based on my probably flawed memory. Those of you who recognize names of streets and businesses please allow my artistic license.

# Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

License Page

Chapter 1: In the Beginning

Chapter 2: Confusion

Chapter 3: Uncertainty

Chapter 4: New Horrors

Chapter 5: Insanity

Chapter 6: Wednesday: Hospital

Chapter 7: Holding Vigil

Chapter 8: Second Wave

Chapter 9: Choices

Chapter 10: Lesson Learned

Chapter 11: Terms of Living

Chapter 12: Stumbling in the Dark

Chapter 13: Looking for Hope

Chapter 14: Reaching Out

Chapter 15: Raging Baby

Chapter 16: Sweeping Blind

Chapter 17: Stumbling Hero

Chapter 18: Magnet for Need

Chapter 19: Capturing Rage

Chapter 20: Finally a Plan

Chapter 21: Wait and See

Chapter 22: Game Over

Chapter 23: Prelude

Chapter 24: Windmill

Chapter 25: Returning Home

Chapter 26: Waking Up Wrong

Chapter 27: What's in Store?

Chapter 28: A House Divided

Chapter 29: Learning and Helping

Chapter 30: Reasonable but Not

Chapter 31: Hesitant Invitations

Chapter 32: What Really Matters?

Chapter 33: Paradigms in Flux

Chapter 34: Rages, Wakers Learn

Chapter 35 Visitors and Visit

Chapter 36: Friday Treehouse

Chapter 37: Mobile Relief

Chapter 38: Return to the Scene

Chapter 39: Saturday: Awakening

Chapter 40: Shop till You Drop

Chapter 41: Recriminations

Chapter 42: Meanwhile

Chapter 43: Saturday: Windmill Refugees

Chapter 44: Saturday: New Immune Surface

Chapter 45: Saturday: Rage Explosion

Chapter 46: Saturday: More Immune

Chapter 47: Gatherings

Chapter 48: Saturday Call to the Hospital

Chapter 49: Sunday: Worshippers

Chapter 50: Sunday: Windmill Visit

Chapter 51: Windmill Surprises

Chapter 52: Home

Chapter 53: Sunday: Growing

Chapter 54: Sunday: Sunday Chores

Chapter 55: Bonding and Learning

Chapter 56: Sunday: Fire and Ashes

Chapter 57: Sunday: Rager De-raged

Chapter 58: Sunday: Father and Friend

Chapter 59: Endings

Chapter 60: Answers without End

About the Author
Dedication

To my husband who has supported me through it all.

A Special Thanks

A special thought to Gina Fiserova, my editor.

" _Everything is energy and that's all there is to it. Match the frequency of the reality you want and you cannot help but get that reality. It can be no other way. This is not philosophy. This is physics." Albert Einstein_

# Chapter 1: In the Beginning

The scream from his wife pierced his heart. It was rife with her frustration, anger, and pain, yet Al popped another cookie into his mouth and wiped away his tears with a big meaty hand. He was doing his best to ignore it, as he had so many other screams through the night and early morning hours. Al Sturgis once again wished for a beer, however cookies were all she had allowed in the house.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" he finally bellowed as he held his head and pulled at his close-cropped hair, no longer able to ignore the earsplitting yells. "Can't you shut the hell up!"

He was tired; his nerves were fried, his hands were shaking. He had not slept beyond dozing, since Ruthie had started seeing cats attacking her bedroom window, and certainly not since she had begun that crazy, terrifying screeching. He renewed his furious pacing from his computer to the TV, dripping in sweat, still in the same clothes he had been in since Monday.

He had come home for a late lunch and had found his wife having an anxiety attack. He had tried to calm her even though it took the remainder of the afternoon. When she finally calmed, he had called the main office of his employer to let them know he was not coming back, though no one had answered. He got a soda and a bag of cookies from the refrigerator and turned on the television. Astounded and disbelieving, he had watched as the local news bulletin took over the regularly scheduled programming. "What the f...?"

At first, they had reported mass hysteria clogging doctors' offices and hospitals. Within hours, it had gone pandemic with billions cowering in the streets all over the world, lost in their confusion, outnumbering the unaffected millions to one.

Al had saw videos of confused and agitated hospital patients wrestled to the ground by staff and family members in hospital after hospital. People in waiting rooms and hospital halls had frantically battered and slapped themselves, in battle with things only they could see. An eighty year-old woman, well dressed with silvered, coiffed hair and exquisitely made-up face shrieked in terror and lifted her cane to send it crashing down on a child clinging desperately with skinny arms to her leg. A heavily pregnant woman had climbed up on a chair as though she had seen a mouse and danced in her terror, until she fell into the melee on the floor, while her husband, who was trying to stop her, had been tackled from the side by a rushing quarterback 'wannabe' wearing a "That's So Sick" t-shirt.

As the evening had passed, Ruth's anxiety attacks had increased in frequency and he had spent most of his time holding her, talking her down. He had tried to call the doctor's office but he got a recording.

A human but mechanical voice came on the line.

" _This is Internal Medicine Associate. If you are calling because someone has symptoms of anxiety or panic attacks, please be advised not to come to the offices, as we cannot take any more patients today. If the symptoms are severe, please hang up and call 911 for emergency assistance."_

At his wit's end, he had tried to call the hospital though again got a recording.

" _This is the Fork Grove Hospital. Due to the nature of the emergency, we are unable to respond at this time. We are urging you to follow the advice of the Center for Disease Control. 'Stay in your homes. Stay off the streets and away from others who may be infected.' If you can, give sedatives, or anti-anxiety pills, and keep them in a dark quiet room to reduce any unnecessary stimulation."_

He had nothing to give except over the counter pain pills and some antihistamines that Ruthie had claimed made her sleepy. The pills had seemed to work a little that first night along with the darkened room. He thought of going to the pharmacy to look for something stronger, in spite of the fact there were reports they were under siege with people demanding help; some people were looting and violent.

Al made do and held her in their darkened bedroom stroking her hair and shushing her tears. When she quieted enough to sleep, he could do nothing beyond sleep as well.

By early Tuesday morning, Ruth had hysterically sworn cats were crawling out of her skin; that they were going to take over the world. It had taken him an hour to talk her down enough to take a left over narcotic pill he had found from his oral surgery two years ago. He had to get his Glock 9 mm from the back of the closet and promise to sit beside her bed, before she felt safe enough to sleep.

He had paced and slammed the wall, all the while his own anxiety was building inside him, like air in an over inflated balloon pushing outward, stretching him to the point of bursting against the sharpness of reality. For the last thirty-six hours, he had tried to keep his mind focused on her needs, yet he knew he was losing it. What sane man would tie his wife to the bed so he could rest? Was he even rational anymore? 'Yeah, like you ever were ass.'

He kept listening for more news, whenever he could, only there had nothing real time, everything was on repetitive loops. No cause. No cure. No treatment beyond keeping calm with medications to which most people did not have access.

'Keep calm! Geez! Keep calm? Calm does not work you idiots! Tell that to those people running around, screaming, and carrying on like...like...'

Like Ruthie.

When she was quiet, like now, it was hard to credit all this insanity just by looking out the window to the peacefulness of his one-acre farm surrounded by empty fields.

Then she shrieked again.

# Chapter 2: Confusion

"Craziness, if you ask me," Dale Ricker grumbled as he watched Marty, Cowboy, and Nate drive away three hours into the day. "What the hell got in to them?" Already eccentric geniuses on a normal day, they were acting like a bunch of goats standing in a pond full of crocodiles. Shouting at them had only made it worse, so in a pique of disgust he clocked them all out and sent them all to go see a doctor. "Bunch of clowns."

Now he was behind schedule on this project and every project in the entire shop, since the other half his crew did not even show up.

He returned to his worktable, where the parts of an antique popcorn maker lay waiting for his torch. The project was finally near completion. It had been tough to find all the parts so he fabricated a few of the rusted out pieces. Still, with all the hassles, he could see in his mind's eye what the finished project was going to look like and he was pleased.

He forgot about everything, as soon as his eyes refocused on the project. He pulled down his welding hood and went back to work; work that Marty was to have completed this morning, had he not turned all girly and gone home whimpering about something not even there.

He finished his weld, flipped his helmet back up, and killed the torch, admiring his work. As he did, he heard a blood curdling shout from the shop TV. Who the hell had turned it off the news station! Then he caught what looked like the local Super Center parking lot where people were rioting. His felt queasy as he turned up the sound.

"... _Most of the people you see here are already infected; some showing the flu's first stage of severe anxiety, some with the more advanced symptoms of hallucinations and abject hysteria. Authorities again request that you stay at home, stay off the streets and away from crowds as much as possible. However, it appears that the authorities are as affected as the crowds they are trying to control."_

"Flu, my ass!" Ricker hit the off button, and ran for the door. The emergency sirens suddenly went off as he fumbled out his keys, nearly giving him a heart attack with its loud wail. He opened the truck door shaking and cursing with emotion at his stupidity. He should not have shrugged it off, should have listened to the news as he usually did.

He had sent his son, Austin, and stepson, Tyler, off to school this morning, without even a good morning to them. He had simply growled and told them not to forget to lock up before they left. He tried to remember if they had seemed extra nervous, edgy or sick but being so wrapped up in his own attitude they were a blur.

His second wife, Lisa, Austin's stepmother, had been on another one of her high horses and had slammed out of the house before him, leaving everyone's ears ringing. She was off to do some errands including picking up supplies for the shop at the Super Center before she came in to work. It was past noon. He should not have let his fight with Lisa this morning, stick his head up his butt.

He groaned.

That was over three hours ago. Please be back already. Please be safe. He tried Lisa's cell, unfortunately it went to voice mail. His legs were turning to jelly and his belly felt hollow. Had this flu affected the schools as well? He tried his sons. No answers.

Ricker pushed the shop truck through the streets as fast as he could go to the high school. In the neighborhoods, people were hysterical, running through yards, darting out between cars and seemingly unaware of their surroundings. Some of them had that goat and crocodile thing going on, same as his crew had. Damn, he felt guilty now about yelling at them, sending them out into this mess.

Some people were frantically looking for help or standing, dazed at what they were seeing. As he turned the last corner to the school, the scope of the problem hit him hard.

Teens in cars had crashed into each other; simple fender benders from the looks of it, but the drivers sat cowering inside the cars with their hands covering their ears. Some cars kept moving, though erratically, as though the student had never attended Drivers Ed. Others drove up onto the sidewalks and roared over the grass, scattering students who had fled from the mayhem of the crowds nearer the buildings and lots. Fights were breaking out here and there but they were short lived. Individuals repelled each other like opposite ends of a magnet.

Ricker stopped his truck in someone's yard and got out running, dodging through the crowd. He climbed on top of an abandoned and still running souped-up Ford scanning for the two boys. "Austin! Tyler!" His shouts were useless in the cacophony of yells and bellows. He hopped down and ran for the side parking lot hoping to find the boys in the truck or, better yet, that it was already gone. Surely, they would head directly home... if they were still thinking straight.

He climbed to the first vehicle's hood in time to see Austin's truck race over the football practice field. It turned onto the track and swerved out the stadium parking lot onto Graphic Arts Road. Relieved, Ricker raced back to his own truck. He peeled off sod as he popped the clutch then he floored the accelerator and raced the final mile north to his home.

His neighborhood was an older subdivision that boasted large lots and 2500 square foot homes, fenced in yards and double car garages. His home sat in the middle of a long curving block that ended in a cul-de-sac. He squeezed his eyes shut in relief to see the Austin's '68 Ford F-100 parked in its usual spot. Ricker hit the garage opener and blew out the breath he had not realized he was holding. Relieved to the depths of his soul, he saw Lisa's Jeep Cherokee in her space.

He took a moment to bow his head in thanks before he ran inside and grabbed her tight, spinning her around like a young stud, instead of a fifty-year-old man with a bad back. He let her go, laughing as he grabbed both his son and stepson, Tyler, around the shoulders, hugging them tight. They were both fifteen years old, only a month between them, and both nearly as tall as he was. Tyler favored his mother, though, and had a more slender physique than Austin whose shoulders were broad like Ricker's own.

"Damn! I don't ever want to feel like that again!" he proclaimed, his voice husky with emotion. "Thank God you all made it."

"They dismissed school, dad! It's all over the internet. Pandemic, dude. Madness! Dude, you should have seen the kids at school. Practically everyone was nuts! Even the principal, cringing and flapping his hands as if he didn't have a clue. Nobody recognized me, not even Chaz or Rochelle. I tried to find José but couldn't. I barely found Tyler." Austin, stopped to take a breath, opened his mouth to start again, however Tyler beat him to it, words and emotions pouring out of his mouth.

"Bro, you should've seen the parking lot and the streets. I thought the halls inside were crazy! Then that siren went off and everyone detonated!"

Lisa had moved back into his arms as soon as he released the boys. She was tall, like him, with long highlighted brunette hair that fell past her shoulders. He could see she was badly shaken by her experience at the Super Center.

"Dale, it was horrible. People went from nervous ninnies to lunatics in a in the short time I was inside. I couldn't even get through the checkout, because all the checkers were going ape-shit, too. Those that were 'sane' people ran through the store looting. What are we going to do?"

He could tell she was on the verge of tears, for all that she held it together. He picked up the remote control and turned their big screen television to national news.

" _...it has reached epidemic proportions since the early hours of this morning, flooding hospitals and physicians' offices beyond capacity. Reports are coming from all over the country with unconfirmed reports coming from beyond US borders."_

He surfed through the menu for regional news and found similar situations going on.

" _...The CDC released a statement that the new symptoms of what they are calling 'faux rabies' may be traced to a new strain of viral flu that attacks the nervous system...'_

Lisa's question echoed in his head. 'What are we going to do?'

He rubbed his fingers up and down the end of his considerable nose then pulled on his soul patch while he thought. "We're okay; we going to be alright. We're going to hunker down right here, like they keep saying and wait." He gave her an encouraging smile and squeezed her shoulders. "Don't worry, sweetheart." Ricker headed to the fridge for a beer, hoping like hell he had enough to get through the siege.

# Chapter 3: Uncertainty

Ricker was not a survivalist by nature; however, last summer when the power had gone out for almost thirty-six hours, he had realized how dependent they were on electricity. He had taken to heart the warnings for preparedness and his basement had a few days of food and necessities stored, for which he would forever be grateful. He wondered how long the insanity would last. Would he or his family would come down with it? He pushed that thought away.

Keeping busy seemed to be a good idea. It would get their minds off the uncertainties for a while. He set Lisa to making an inventory of everything perishable they had in the house. "We'll start eating all the fresh stuff first and anything that needs to be refrigerated, in case the power goes off. No need to inventory what is in the freezer."

Lisa looked at him with her big doe eyes and smiled gratefully, understanding what he was doing. She leaned into him and kissed his lips, then set off to her domain.

"Boys, go downstairs and pull out the extra flashlights, lanterns and batteries, and our camp stove. Check 'em out to make sure they're operational. Then check those jugs of water are still there and handy. Open up the bathroom window a crack while you're down there, will you? I'm going to go out back and hook up the rain barrel with a hose. We'll run it to flush the toilets in case we get short on water."

"You think we'll be here that long, dad?" Austin frowned.

Austin ran his hands up his shaven temples onto the short, moussed Mohawk. His thick hair dyed an impossible red on the right side. Tyler nudged his stepbrother and grinned. "Probably long enough for your hair to fade out to pink, bro. This is an apocalypse, don't you know? Instead of zombies, we got crazy people. I hope you have enough mud to keep your 'hawk standing tall, till we can raid the stores."

Austin shoved Tyler back and laughed looking at the boy's head of black hair pulled back in a topknot. "Look who's talking, bro."

They pushed and nudged each other toward the basement and disappeared down the stairs, still giving each other slam for slam.

Ricker watched them go, answering the question for his own benefit. "God knows how long we'll be here... but it'll give us something to do while we wait."

Out the back door, he peered over the fence to his neighbor, and best friend Roberto's yard. None of the Sanchez family was in view, still Ricker knew Juanita and little Maria should be there in the house. He decided to check on them however before he finished the thought, Roberto's youngest son, José's green pickup whipped into his driveway. He rushed into his house with a quick wave. Ricker could tell he was panicky.

Roberto himself slammed into the driveway; threw a wave to Ricker, speeding into the house. Ricker waved and went back inside his own home grateful they were all home and safe. He wanted to talk with Roberto; on the other hand, he knew the family would need time to sort themselves. Which was what he was trying to do.

He kept them busy filling more containers with water. Lisa served them a crazy but filling lunch of left overs and fresh fruit. Once everyone had finished their tasks, there was nothing to do but wait. They tried calling family and friends but everything went to voicemail. They listened to the news, despite the fact it was not encouraging as some stations began looping old news repeatedly. Did they go crazy with the virus? The boys started a video game; Lisa started cooking and baking bread. Ricker stared out the window, drinking a beer. He pulled his cell out and called Roberto.

"Hey, _amigo_ , my friend," Roberto's still mildly accented voice responded. He sounded harried and in the background; Ricker could hear Juanita sobbing. "Everything okay there, buddy?"

Ricker was relieved to hear his friend's voice though he could tell something was not right. "Yeah, buddy, everything's okay here. How are you guys?"

"Not so good, Ricker. I think Juanita and little Maria have this virus. They are... _loco_ , crazy. They are like those people they show on TV. I don't know what to do for them. They say don't go to the hospital. They can't help. Stay home. I don't know what to do, _amigo_."

Ricker was silent a moment, then "Man, I wish I could help. You fixed okay for food and supplies, batteries. You know, in case the power goes out?"

"Aw, you know Juanita. We got plenty of food for now. I got flashlights and stuff. I got José filling bottles with water and stuff. I let you know if I need anything. Humph. I guess I'm not laughin' so loud now, about you buying up all that surplus stuff last year."

"Yeah, well, got plenty so send José over if you need anything. I'll load him up. Oh, and hey. They said to keep the sick as quiet as possible so, umm... Lisa has these pills, you know, for anxiety and stuff. You think you can get Juanita and Maria to take some? Maybe it'll help."

"Yeah, maybe so. Thanks. I got to go. I'll call you again, later. You know, to talk."

"Yeah, hombre, I know. We'll get through this. I'll send one of the boys over with those pills. It says one every six or eight hours but TV says every four for severe symptoms."

Ricker folded his cell closed. Damn. He took a long swig of beer and closed his eyes for a minute. What was happening to the world?

Suddenly he could not sit still any longer. He got up, went to his workroom in the garage, and started puttering around with half his attention on the only radio station still broadcasting. The sirens were still blaring, testifying to the lack of functioning authority in the community.

# Chapter 4: New Horrors

The news had gone downhill from Monday.

The same or similar footage repeated ad nauseam through Tuesday as live coverage became non-existent. The CDC and all military broadcasts were equally as silent. Could the authorities be as crazy as the rest of the people now?

In the early hours of Wednesday morning, only one station in the 500-channel network was still broadcasting live. It had a crew of one. The commentator barely held it together at the station. He was unshaven; eyes bleary with lack of sleep and dark with worry and fear. He showed videos from his camera of the scene outside his window. He shared his thoughts, fears, and general lack of any new information. Mostly, he read from the disaster plan manual he had found in an executive's file cabinet. He added comments, helpful advice, and sometimes he laughed at the stupidity of what was in the book.

" _Hey, look at this! They even have a plan in case of Zombie attack! Wow. Oh, even one for a scenario for the defense against magic zombies! Bite that!"_

Finally, the correspondent broke down and gave up the watch. " _I don't know if anyone is still out there to hear me, but if you are...Good luck!"_ He reached for the control to set the equipment to loop videos. As Al watched, the broadcaster shouted and turned his camera toward a blurred moving figure. Al heard a shout as the camera dropped, the view of the wall unilluminating. The sounds told the story with a cacophony of pounding, growls, and snarls no one would associate them as coming from a human throat. It bombarded his ears until the signal finally went dark.

By that time, Al was on his feet in horror, when the silence hit him, he demanded, "Come back you son a...! Get back here!" Al roared his torment at the dying man. In his anger he did not care that the man was probably dying. Bottom line was he was alone, cut off with no sane connection to the outside world. Al spat every obscenity he knew at the TV, then made up more until he was purple in the face.

He punched the remote changing the channels as fast as he could, overwhelmed by a sense of abandonment and finality. The Sirius channels broadcast music on a continuous pre-recorded loop; other channels looped reruns of Andy Griffith in Mayberry and old movies, but no live broadcasting. Furious, he threw the remote at the forty inch screen still shouting invectives then crossover-kicked his foot into it, shattering the screen and knocking it from the mount on the wall.

It did nothing to ease his anger and helplessness.

Ruth screamed from the bedroom, upset by the noise he was making. Al froze. Something was different about the sound, something more menacing, angrier, and more primal. She howled, pounding her fists on the door, evidently having broken loose from her restraints from the bed. Oh, hell. Al closed his eyes against the pain in his heart; took calming breaths, in, out while he counted to ten as she had taught him. He got his breathing back under control, even as the pounding from her room continued. Her screeches were becoming hoarse, turning to growls.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the room's bay window in a blur. He did not see the sunrise brightening, or the fog that hung low outside blurring the trees to ghosts. He saw his memories instead: he saw her, them, as they had been before. All else faded away in a moment of temporary respite born of desperate need.

Al's mind snapped back to the brightening scene outside when he became aware of movement breaking through the fog. Two figures emerged; one ahead of the other, arms pumping for speed making for Al's front door, the other reaching out trying to grab hold. Al could see their faces plainly as the morning light sharpened the lines on their faces. He could read the drama unfolding in their features grossly contorted with emotion. He tensed with fear, wanting them off his property, away from his home. Go away!

They were on the gravel road drive, thirty feet from his front door. Rage distorted the female chaser's face, her bare feet disregarding the rough sharpness of the gravel, her legs flashing as her bathrobe flapped around them. The beard on the male runner's face did nothing to hide the sad, desperate terror on his face as his arms pumped for speed.

"Turn around and face her, idiot!" he roared. "Man-up and turn around!" Al was heading toward the door to help as the woman caught her prey. They went tumbling to the ground amid growls, screams, and groans. Punches sounded wet and fleshy, and her teeth snapped as the woman tried then succeeded to use her teeth to tear out a mouthful of the man's defending arm. The poor fool screamed the most unmanly scream Al had ever heard and renewed his frenzy to buck the woman off his chest.

He grabbed up his Glock, slipped the safety off reaching for the doorknob. His eyes were still on the horror of the woman's bloody mouth.

Damn!

Zombies?

Al had visions of old horror movies that slowed his rush to help. He saw the raging woman raise the man's shoulders above the sidewalk and smash his head hard to the cement surface. Al saw blood fly, heard the contact like a rifle shot, and knew the man was dead even before the man himself did. She must have super strength or the man was weaker than he had looked. She continued to pound and hit, then got up and kicked repeatedly until she stumbled into the trellis.

Al still held the gun; all the same, he retreated away from the window, deeper into the house. He could hear the woman continue to vent her rage on the trellis. She banged, whacked, and pounded until suddenly the morning went quiet as a cemetery.

He was hyperventilating. His ragged breathing sounded loud and harsh. Again, he tried to calm himself, breathe in, and breathe out, in, out. His heart continued to pound. His head refused to clear but his breathing slowed. He could hear the quiet as he continued to stare toward the window. It was more frightening than the bloody scene and he could feel all his efforts coming undone. He began to tremble. He could smell his own fear and taste the bile of indecision. Is this how Ruthie felt? Am I getting the virus?

Finally, he was able to take one last deep breath and broke free from where he stood frozen. He moved cautiously toward the window and peered out.

The man's body was still there, but there was no Zombie woman feasting on it. What the f...? That makes no sense; Zombies always eat the brains at least didn't they? Where'd she go?

He could not see or hear her. It was unnerving. The low wispy clouds nearly masked the fallow fields that surrounded his mini-farm. The trees in the distance were gray, naked branches rising out of the fog off the river. Silence was eerie in the opaqueness of the morning.

Al could hear the clock tick. Tick. Tick. The dead man did not rise. The quiet nagged at him.

# Chapter 5: Insanity

Ricker slammed his cell phone shut and bolted out into the garage. He did not even call out to Austin to let him know he was leaving the house. Lisa saw him from where she'd been cowering on the couch and began chasing him.

"Dale Ricker, don't you dare go out that door!" She was more lucid than she had been for most of the day. She rushed to stop him from exiting the tool room's exterior door, but Ricker was out and running before she could reach him. He heard the door slam behind him and hoped his wife would let him in, when he got back. Her temper was fierce when she felt she was right and she could make his life miserable if he ignored her, however, her temper was not what he worried about this time.

She had the virus.

He ignored the slamming door and ran through the dark night across the short expanse of lawn that separated Roberto's house from his.

It was after midnight, so technically it was Wednesday morning. The third day of hell. Roberto's call had sounded desperate and terrified. "It's bad, man. Come quick to the basement window across from your tool room. _¡Rápido, amigo!_ Hurry, my friend. Do not come in the house!"

A window-well provided egress from José's bedroom. Directly across from his workroom, Ricker remembered, yet he had no idea why Roberto wanted him there rather than the front or back door. Although he guessed it could not be good. They had talked several times since they had holed up. Cell service remaining miraculously viable. They had burned up the minutes checking in on each other's family, a macho way of getting and giving courage and reassurance. Roberto tried hard to deal with Juanita and their seven-year-old daughter's increasing hallucinations and screams.

When he got there, Ricker dropped into the deep four by three foot window well, feeling his fifty-year-old knees complain as he landed, and instinctively, quietly tapped on the screen. "Roberto," he called softly. "Roberto! What's going on, _amigo_." He scratched again, and the curtain jerked aside revealing Robert bloody face. A grin of relief split its bleakness, but even in the dimness, Ricker could see the deep trenches the last two days had gouged into it.

His friend opened the window and pushed out the screen. Ricker heard it immediately although could not make sense of the growling and pounding coming from the bedroom door across the room.

"Roberto, what in hell's going on?"

"No time, my friend," Roberto cried. "They will break through any minute now. Help me get my son out the window."

Ricker vaulted into the room following his friend to the bed, where the fifteen-year-old José lay bleeding from a head wound, unconscious. Ricker helped get him to the window and leapt up on the dresser grabbing the kid under his arms. He steadied the boy while his father lifted him from the knees and then hoisted him to the top of the dresser. Ricker squeezed back out into the well then turned around, changed his stance, wrapped his arms under José's armpits again, and pulled. It was harder than he thought it would be - the kid was a dead weight and a limp noodle and the limited space in the well barely held Ricker's mass. They got the boy's head out and his butt on the sill before the bedroom door cracked under constant hammering.

"Hurry my friend!" Roberto hissed. "Mary, Mother of God! _¡Ándale!_ Hurry!"

Ricker pulled the boy's legs through into the well, rolled onto grade level, squatted to his previous grip, heaved, and rolled the still unconscious boy out. He reached back for Roberto to give him a hand. The door blew open just as they grabbed for each other. He pulled and got his friend into the well, but Juanita was already on him. A formidable woman in regular times, she now seemed to have super human strength and had no trouble wrenching him away from Ricker as he was adding his grip.

"Go, _amigo_ , save my José! Go!" Roberto yelled the last words from the floor where he'd fallen in a heap on Juanita and Maria. His last words pitched higher to an agonized, pain-filled, gurgling scream as his wife sunk her teeth deep into his throat and tiny Maria beat and clawed at his chest with her hands then began furiously, savagely kicking him with her feet. In the moonlight, Ricker saw their faces. They seemed no longer human, distorted with rage.

Gasping in panic, he climbed back out and started dragging José away from the house; kept going until he made it to his garage. He pounded frantically, watching José bleed into the grass then finally thought to turn the handle. Lisa had not locked the door. He dragged the comatose boy inside, and then shoved the door shut against the screams.

Ricker's knees buckled, his vision blurred with tears and he slid down the door. He could not remember the last time he had cried. He felt no shame in breaking the man code now, the screams of his friend still echoing in his mind. Roberto had been more than a friend; he had been like a brother, and to see him die like that... The tears would not stop. They were for Roberto, for his wife and daughter, for José, for a world suddenly gone mad.

# Chapter 6: Wednesday, Hospital

"I'm telling' ya, Sophie, you ca go back out there! You saw his eyes! He was not reacting to stimulus like the rest of them. He was not going to calm down and go hide in a corner. Didn't you see his eyes? He was stark raving insane! Homicidal!"

Jesse Maxwell's eyes were big with fear and incredulity as Sophie Norton glared back at him. His fear was for her; what he knew she would try to do if he stepped away from the door. The rest of the panting, frightened remnants of the hospital staff temporarily disappeared into background noise for both of them, as she squared off to push her demands on the head of security.

"I know that!" she shouted at him.

Six had made it this far without succumbing to the Insanity virus, the 'faux rabies' flu. Six out of the hospital's 500 weekday staff including maintenance, housekeeping, medical, nursing, therapists, lab techs, volunteers, and administration, then add the family members who had stayed to help with their loved ones. Nine remained unaffected of all those souls after two full days of this madness. Nine, if you counted the three who had separated from them when raging maniacs had burst into their ranks; cut off while they retreated from the impossible odds and overwhelming violence on the second floor.

Nine, if they were still alive.

Those three and their fate were the subject of Sophie's demand to go back outside the temporary haven they had found.

She glared at the man in front of her. Jesse was not overly tall at five feet eleven, then it did not take much to tower over Sophie's own five feet four frame. He, like everyone else, had dark heavy bags and bloodshot eyes that testified to lack of sleep and rest. His dark skin was taut with fear, though suffused with anger too, as he continued to glare back his opinion of her rashness.

"I know that, Jesse," she spoke again, slower, trying but failing to sound reasonable. "All the victims are going to escalate into that... rage! I understand that! Even more reason, why we can't forget about Doc, Anne, and Jack! We can't leave them out there! We can't abandon them!"

Sophie hated that she could hear her voice crack with impending tears and the near panic she was feeling. She struggled to keep them under control, knowing if she let go she would collapse into an ineffectual ball of emotion. She could not afford that. No one could afford that, not now, not yet. The events of the past two days needed processing, losses needed mourning, and time needed to stand the hell still so they could do it.

Jesse blew out a sigh and took a shuddering breath back in. He looked like he was trying as hard as she to drag himself back from the edge. "Phee," he began quietly, obviously choosing his words with care, as though he were counting to ten. "I did not say we were going to forget about them. I mean we have to be smart about this. We have to catch our breath and think before we run off halfcocked. We don't even know where they went. We do know if all the madders have turned into raging homicidal maniacs, they outnumber us close to twenty to one in here. So stumbling around in a madhouse is not the best idea we can come up with. Doc is a smart man and Anne is no slouch either. They had as much chance to have reached somewhere safe as we did. Trust Doc and leave it in God's hands for a while."

'God's hands?' Sophie thought. 'Oh, you mean the One who let all this happen in the first damned place! 'She wanted to scream it at him, but her conscience and her nursing soul would not let her.

She had known Jesse for the ten years she had worked at the hospital. He was head of Security and a friend. She knew him well enough to understand his faith was the core of his being. She had lost her faith, yet that did not give her the right to pull the rug out from under others.

She could see how close he was, how close everyone, including herself, were to the edge of sanity. Therefore, she swallowed her anger and her self-pity and her self-righteous indignation and counted to ten, again.

Plus, Jess was right. Going back out there would be beyond foolish. Pick your battles, girl. Damn, she hated when she was wrong. Her shoulders dropped in defeat and exhaustion; she leaned her forehead on his chest, smelling his scent, and felt him stiffen in hesitation before his arms went round her in comfort.

"You're right!" She winced. It had come out sharper than Jesse deserved. She tried again. "You're right. I'm sorry."

She moved away from him embarrassed that she might have presumed too much on their friendship even though she wanted to stay there, comforted by his presence. The nurse looked at the four who sprawled in chairs around a table. They were all looking at her. 'Probably wondering if I've finally caught the virus.'

Back still against the door, Jesse relaxed his stance beside her and spoke to reassure the group that things were settled for now. "I think we should stay here for a while, catch up on ourselves, get some rest; sleep if we can and then we'll figure out our next move. I'll take first watch."

They all turned to Sophie for confirmation of Jess words, but also looking for signs of further irrational behavior. Sophie had been second in authority after Doc, during the crisis. So many other capable hands had been lost to the madness than for any other reason. She hated leading. She forced a cheerful smile for them.

"Yeah, 'what he said'. Guess this means we're all officially on break and..." she eyed the white haired administrator, Roger, "I think it' safe to say: smoke 'em if ya got 'em."

They laughed shakily, although even the non-smokers acted as if they were wishing for one; or more likely, wishing for a stiff drink. They broke up, looking for a comfortable spot where they could stretch out or lay down their heads. At least there was a carpet on the floor, not plush or nappy, yet better than cold tile or concrete.

Thank the powers, the wing was devoid of bodies as most of the administration staff who had reported for work Monday morning had not lasted long before supervisors sent them home. Those who had stayed, courageously volunteered to join the healthcare staff, when the flu went epidemic until they themselves joined the ranks of crazies, going over the edge, turning homicidal. The staff had thought they had closed off the hospital from those who had escaped outside and had gathered everyone remaining on to the third floor. They had restrained, either chemically or physically, those who were already ill with other issues, but did not have enough for the sudden influx of anxiety-ridden patients. These remained unrestrained and had hidden in dark corners or ran from room to room fleeing unseen and unknown monsters. They presented the most danger to themselves as well as those around them, especially as they turned more and more aggressive in their delirium. The last hour of the insanity, before the rage hit the ground running, the overwhelmed staff had mostly cowered behind the nurse's station, exhausted, and frightened.

In the wee hours of Wednesday morning, fearing for their safety, Dr. Colton, 'Colt', had ordered what was left of the beleaguered caregivers to abandon the second floor, where they had concentrated as many as they could to facilitate care. Nine of them had fled down to the first floor where the operating rooms, labs, and emergency department lined long corridors that led to the hospital's business and admissions offices. Fire doors had closed and segmented the halls when the power went out. The staff had thought they had closed off the hospital from those who had escaped outside and had thought the lower floors were uninhabited. They were soon disabused of any ideas of safety.

Sophie and four others had been ahead of Doc, Anne, physical therapist, and Jack the eighty-year-old man who had stayed to help his wife. The two had flanked their slower older companion who had fallen behind when growls suddenly shattered the silence. Three maniacal attackers had caught sight of and chased Sophie's group, hopefully not seeing the Doc and Anne guarding Jack.

Jesse had led them at top speed through several fire doors randomly changing directions; hoping there were no other raging monsters ahead of them; hoping to get far enough ahead that the insane would lose their trail. They were almost inhumanly fast but, thankfully, the fire doors had slowed and distracted them enough for the group to get clear. 'Throw some attention deficit into the mix of symptoms,' Sophie thought.

She forced herself to look around the room where they had ended their run. They had taken refuge in a small conference room at the south end of the administration wing. She took stock of their situation. The emergency backup generators had kicked in when the power went out (coincidentally after the first patient had gone berserk). Jesse had explained it powered only critical outlets and vital equipment as well as a few strategically placed hall lights. It was early morning now, and light from the north windows illuminated the meeting room they had chosen for a base. The room held a small conference table with supporting cushioned chairs, little else.

Jesse stirred behind her as she focused on the four faces before her. There were two other nurses: Tracy Larten and Vahan Coven, both RNs, registered nurses like herself, both younger; a housekeeper, sweet natured Lilliana Esposa, short and rounded, in her early forties with enough English to get by; and the CEO of the hospital, Roger Wrind, tall, thin, though fit for a man who had passed his sixty-seventh birthday. Sophie moved to each of them as they settled into those chairs; no one spoke as they regarded her with fatigue-fogged eyes, and tried to smile. They were at the end of their ropes. In silence, they let her check for bites or scratches. Various grunts and moans answered her question: "how are you holding up?"

She found nothing major, but some wounds needed tending so she propped the bathroom door open, washed her face and hands thoroughly, then set about doing what she could for them. Her lab coat pockets had a small supply of antibiotic ointment, gauze, and tape to complement the handfuls of wet and dry paper towels. Infection would be a problem until they could get back to the supplies on the second floor (not likely at present), or to the supply closet behind the nurses station on the third floor.

As she worked, she worried about her lost companions, Dr. Colton, a thirty-three year old oncologist who had been doing rounds, intending to dismiss his two cancer patients; Anne, Sophie did not know her last name, who was a twenty-seven years old, beautiful, blonde, big boned, well-built six foot tall physical therapist. The last was an elderly man, Jack Frank, the eighty-year-old husband of the first victim admitted with the panic virus late Sunday night. Sophie hoped they had made it to safety.

Wearily, she finished with the last scratched arm and made a final trip to the bathroom to check and deal with her own wounds and fatigue. She leaned forward from her hips and dangled her arms, letting them go limp. Their dead weight and gravity slowly stretched out her aching lower back muscles. She felt every one of her thirty-two years, as she stretched hearing the popping of several vertebrae back into alignment. She felt the heavy ache of her shoulders as the knotted muscles slowly began to unwind. She breathed deeply, listening to the sound as she let it out, raggedly took it back in, let it out. Each time her back relaxed more, and she sunk lower toward the floor. Her dark caramel colored hair fell around her, giving her a feeling of a caterpillar in a cocoon. She felt her head and sinuses fill up as her world shrank to the rhythmic throb of her blood pumping through her veins. She wished she could stay that way.

With a sigh of resignation, she rolled herself back up, one vertebra at a time, raised her arms to the ceiling, and pushed her head back stretching her chin to the sky before returning to a normal stance. She waited with her eyes closed for the blood pressure to even out and her mind to reengage.

Finding a spot on the floor to stretch out, Sophie could hear the others around her slipping off to sleep as their respirations deepened and slowed. Tired as she was, sleep eluded her; the events of the last two days kept wheeling around in her thoughts, which refused to settle until she tucked them in one by one. It did not help that she was hungry.

They were all hungry. Roger had helped by making runs to the kitchen for everyone the first day, there were plenty of portable foods, yet there had literally been no time to eat more than quick bites, and go on to the next task of taking care of wounds. There seemed no end to wounds self-inflicted during devastating anxiety attacks. IVs ripped from arms; heads cracked open when people fell from chairs trying to climb to imaginary safety; broken bones from smashing fists into walls or even each other as the violence of the patients escalated. Bloody noses. Then of course, moving bodies of patients whose other health problems failed with the virus present.

# Chapter 7: Holding Vigil

Rolling over onto her back, she heard paper rattling and looked over to see Jesse breaking a candy bar in half, popping one part into his mouth. Eyes on her, he wordlessly tossed her the other half. She caught it on her chest, smiled her thanks, and ate a piece of heaven. She tasted salty caramel and peanuts.

She kept her smile as she relished each mouthful, envisioning herself hiding in a candy store up to her knees in them. She laughed and let herself fall backwards until she lay on a bed of the delicious bars, making snow angels and burrowing deeper into their salty sweetness. Some started floating above her, soaring gracefully. Some burrowed beneath her began to scratch at her skin, and her smile faded. Some went airborne and began dive-bombing her. Banshees were all around her. Hands were grasping and scratching to burrow into her clothes. They tore at her skin, tried to get into her mouth no longer banshees or candy bars, but dead bodies. She could hear them breathe; some got up again and pounced hungrily on others who did move. Sophie knew she needed to hide yet each time she moved, hands pulled on her ripping and pounding.

She heard a scream and sat up sharply arms flailing to keep back the hordes. She slapped repeatedly at the strong bands around her chest that pinned her arms against her. She could hear a soft shushing in her ear. Slowly she calmed enough to see Jess black frizzy hair, feel his warmth holding her, and identify his soothing voice full of comfort and reassurance. She went limp with relief.

"It's OK. I'm OK." She reassured him. "I'm fine now." she tried to calm her breathing down but gulped air, greedily. Finally, she pushed on him so he would know he could release her now.

"That must have been some nightmare." He offered a wry grin.

"Yeah, sorry." Killer candy bars. "Did I wake anyone?"

"Naw, they're sleeping so sound, they didn't hear a thing.

"Good." She pulled her legs up and put her head on her knees to hide her embarrassment, trying to remember why the dream felt so important, howerver it was gone. She found herself wondering if this was how the sickness started for the others.

Jesse stood up and offered her his hand. "If you think you're okay, you can take the next watch. I'm beat." She loved him for not making a big deal about it.

"Yeah, sure." It was still light in the room; she checked her watch. Eleven am. She had been asleep for hours. Damn! No wonder Jesse sounded so ragged. "Anything happen while I was out?"

Jesse nodded to the windows where he had set up his watch post. His face was blank. The afternoon light did little except highlight his nearly forty years.

"The Ragers - that's what I call the most aggressive, violent ones - are pretty vocal with growls and roars. As near as I can tell from the view here, there are more of them swarming the streets. They seem to attack the calmer ones if they find 'em. For a while, it was a bloodbath. They... beat them to death, used their teeth to bite and tear... Well, you get the idea. He choked on his words turning glistening eyes to meet hers. "Not many of them left. Guess they're all dead or turned rager."

He picked up the report with a steadier tone, "Looks like they tend to leave each other alone unless their personal space is threatened. They attack inanimate objects randomly, smashing and breaking. Can't see a lot from the window, but they seem fast and strong. Like they're running on adrenaline."

The silence between them lengthened as Sophie studied her friend's face. Jesse's skin was dark, the color of mahogany, his high strong cheekbones stood out more now than they had before the chaos of the last few days. His large liquid brown eyes seemed more sunken between his prominent brow ridges and the dark heavy bags under them. His wore his hair short and it was a bit matted; usually he had delicate sideburns, a small mustache, and a thin beard that lined his jaw. The whole effect was enough it made the nurses swoon. Heavy stubble connected them now and deep frown marks furrowed his high forehead. His vulnerability tugged at her and something in her chest ached when she gazed at him.

"I got this," Sophie groaned, getting up. "Try to sleep."

He nodded. "Wake Roger in a couple of hours for the next watch."

Sophie watched him walk away to a far corner, stretch out with a deep sigh, and fold an arm over his eyes. She felt like a voyeur watching him sleep. Fascinated by a side of him she had never seen before, as he began to snore softly. Still smiling, and feeling closer to her friend, she turned to the window.

The smile disappeared from her face.

# Chapter 8: Second Wave

Lisa had not even raised an eyebrow. Nothing.

When he entered the living room with José in his arms, still bleeding profusely, she was in a fetal position on the couch, off in some world with her own crocodiles. Austin had gotten bandages, towels, and hot water when he had stumbled from his room and saw what was happening. Together they had cleaned the boy up and dressed his still bleeding head wound as best he knew how. He hoped he hadn't botched it; he was used to engines and sheet metal, not nursing skin and bone.

She had shrieked when she saw Ricker carrying bloody clothes out of the bedroom. Austin had tried to comfort her as Ricker finished cleaning up, only Lisa had run from him.

When had she started to withdraw into herself, started pacing, startling at sudden noises? Suddenly she leaped up from the couch and started pacing again, rubbing her arms, as if she was cold.

Looking back, that seemed to have been a turning point. Lisa was not a screamer or queasy at the sight of blood; she was not a crier.

At the time, he had no room to judge, not after the tears he had shed over Roberto and his family. The stress was getting to all of them. Now, denial was evaporating like a fog under an Egyptian sun; she had the virus.

Ricker's attention went to Tyler. The boy had been twitchy, with a short fuse. Austin had tried in vain to get him interested in video games. Usually, Tyler came off as a jokester; always grinning and pulling some spoof or another and Ricker would scold him to start taking things more seriously many times in the past.

Surely, it was the situation. Surely, he was worried about his mom. If it were the Madness, surely the symptoms would have begun a lot sooner. Now, after he had brought José in, Ricker could deny it no longer: 'surely' was a mirage along with denial.

Ricker glanced out the window, at his watch. There was still plenty of the night left, but he could see there would be no sleeping.

"How's he doing, dad." Austin asked looking up from the movie he was watching when Ricker returned from checking on his best friend's son.

"Not good, he's lost a lot of blood and he's still unconscious. I don't know what else to do." Ricker answered, watching Lisa. The world pressed down on him.

Austin changed the subject, trying to keep up pretenses. "Hey, I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving. How about I make some French toast?"

Ricker wanted to hug the boy for his efforts to lighten the situation. He did not know for sure, however he reckoned Austin knew what was going on. He had always been a pretty smart kid, picking up on what Ricker called "people" things, emotions and stuff, way before he did himself.

Neither Tyler nor Lisa responded. Lisa would never allow a male in her kitchen and Tyler was always hungry. Neither made any indication they had heard the exchange.

He grinned sadly at his son. As long as Austin pretended, he did not know Ricker could pretend the problem was fixable. "Sure!" with fake enthusiasm. "Make me some with blueberry!"

"Only if you go out and pick some. Last time I checked we only had strawberries in the freezer."

The levity was becoming a strain he cocked his head toward the kitchen. "Go ahead and make us some breakfast and coffee, kiddo."

Tyler growled then retreated to a corner. It was progressing faster than Ricker had thought. He felt deflated, defeated. It had not always been easy living with Lisa and a stepson, though overall they had five good years together. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, sadly, when he tried, she pulled away as if he had shocked her hard.

When breakfast was ready, Ricker moved Tyler and Lisa to the table while Austin set it with food and syrup. Both picked up their silverware only to shove their food around. Ricker tried to feed them however, it seemed to agitate them so he stopped. He and Austin choked down bites as they tried to carry on a conversation with the other two. Occasionally they would look up and focus on the speaker, but more often than not, they stared at their food or off into the distance with fearful eyes.

Father and son finally gave up and cleared the table when Lisa gasped and stumbled out of her seat, backing away as she frantically looked around and rubbed her arms, shivering as though someone had walked on her grave. Tyler started rocking back and forth emitting a tuneless hum as his eyes darted around the room.

Austin excused himself to check on José and try the ham radio again. Ricker put Lisa and Tyler on either side of him on the couch and put his arms around them. They seemed to calm down for a while, leaning into him for comfort.

Outside he could hear occasional shouts and growls, crashing noises, which reminded him of the direness of their situation. When Lisa and Tyler became too restless, Ricker wished he had those nerve pills back from Roberto's house. They had seemed to help Juanita and Maria, at least in the early stages.

He went to the medicine cabinet, found an old prescription for Vicodin, and managed to get each to take a couple, but it was not easy and did not last as long as he had hoped.

"I'm going to take them to the spare rooms in the basement," Ricker spoke, looking meaningfully at his son.

The teen raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes and nodded.

With memories of Juanita and Maria, Ricker went to Lisa's chosen haven. He got down on one knee in front of her, and then gently pulled her up to stand. She whimpered and her knees began to buckle. He picked her up, carried her down the steps, and placed her on the bed of one of the spare rooms.

"Lisa, sweetheart. I hope you can hear me. I wish I could take back all the harsh words between us, and put sweet ones in their place. I wish it were me and not you and Tyler. I'm sorry, baby; I do not know what else to do. I love you. I always have." He hung his head and fought the tears until she began to squirm and slap at herself, at unknowable things that were plaguing her.

He returned upstairs for Tyler who cowered and cringed, but allowed Ricker to lead him to the second spare room. The one next to Lisa's. He thought about putting them in the same room, though he worried they'd feed off each other's anxiety.

Ricker spoke softly, soothingly to Tyler, trying to get him to settle on the bed. "I love you, Ty; like you're my own kid. You've been a good kid. Always a joy to be around... mostly. I would have liked to see you build your first car, go to the prom, have a grandkid for your mom. I'm so... so sorry, this is happening to you." Ricker's voice broke. "I..." he did not know what else to say so sat with him on the bed.

He nearly wet himself when Tyler shouted and hopped to his feet and let out a blood-curdling yell. His eyes dark with fear, as he jigged around trampling down whatever it was he saw. Roberto had told him about the hallucinations shutting his wife and daughter into their rooms, what good that had done him and José.

Ricker backed out of the room and closed the door. He split his attention between his wife and stepson's closed doors as he continued backing, until he backed into the basement storage room where he kept their guns in a locked case. He pulled out the three .22 rifles and wrapped them in a blanket; found a duffel bag of ammunition and the hand guns; strapped his holstered .22 pistol on his hip. He did not know how much time he had left, as fast as the symptoms were progressing, it could be a matter of very little time. He knew he could not put it off, as Roberto must have. It was the hardest decision Ricker had ever had to make; still he realized what he had to do to keep Austin and himself safe.

He did not know if he had the strength to do it.

"What are the guns for?" Austin demanded, blinking in confusion, his eyes so like Ricker's own. He was obviously nervous with the conclusion he was drawing, especially when he noted the holstered pistol.

Ricker blinked back, puzzled by his son's question, his mind still in the basement with his stricken wife and stepson. He glanced to the wrapped bundle in his arms, looked back at his son, still confused, then frowned as he caught on to Austin's concern. He shook his head to clear the funk, moving away from the open door of the basement. "Close the door for me, son."

He moved to the kitchen counter, cleared space, and deposited his load. He took a deep breath and turned to his fifteen-year-old son. Time to stop pretending. "You remember I told you about Roberto and how he died? How Juanita and Maria were?"

Before he could steel himself, the memories, the insane faces flashed into his mind. He staggered under the weight of it putting his hand on the counter to steady himself, as he relived Roberto disappearing back into the basement. He heard again his screams of pain and desolation; knew again his own inability to help. His next words were raw and sounded broken. "I think that's the next symptom of this crazy flu stuff."

Austin continued to look at him. His eyes clouded, still suspicious. Ricker saw him look to the closed basement door then after a few moments, he nodded, giving up his pretense. "Yeah, that's what they're saying on the ham. they call them ragers or homicidal maniacs. People are dead and dying from their attacks."

Needing to get it out into the open, Ricker pushed on. "You saw Tyler and Lisa... They have it. That's going to happen to them." Ricker did not even try to hide his distress from his son. He wished he could shield the boy from the awfulness of it, but he knew a hard reality was facing them both and nothing would be the same again.

"It's a symptom of the flu, though, right? They'll get better won't they? If we take good care of them? Keep them from... you know... hurting themselves till it is over?"

"I don't know, son. I sure hope so. We're going to take as good care of them as we can, for sure."

He watched his son's eyes go out of focus and slide away again. Ricker was silent, allowing the boy to process as best he could. Hell, taking time to process it himself.

When he was ready, Austin turned his face back to Ricker. He was pale, eyes dark with emotions, obviously shaken. Ricker could see fear and also a determination to be strong. "How long?"

"Don't know. Roberto told me Juanita started getting anxious on Sunday night, then she started getting paranoid, then hallucinating. Say forty-eight hours, give or take. Lisa and Ty both seemed touchier than usual all day yesterday, Tuesday. Hard to say with everyone already so upset." Ricker shrugged helplessly. "I'm guessing they're about a day or so behind everyone else. They'll get progressively worse today. I think Ty is already hallucinating. So, by Thursday or Friday morning..."

A scream outside punctuated the gravity of the situation then silence, except for the clock ticking.

# Chapter 9: Choices

The silence was trying to tell Al something important, but he could not force past the raging woman somewhere out there in the fog. He could not fathom the significance the silence.

Then it hit him. His head jerked up and snapped toward Ruthie's room. He stiffened. His ears straining for sounds from her. Ruth had stopped pounding, stopped screaming. He listened to the silence. It should have been glorious but it felt unnatural. It was the first silence since her anxiety had escalated to feverish hallucinations; the first silence since her madness had turned aggressive. He chuckled at the irony of it. Two days. Two days of crying, pleading, demanding, screaming, grunting, mindlessness. Two days he had spent praying for silence.

Ruthie always believed you should be careful what you asked for.

Then his heart leaped and hope surged and galvanized him. He smiled. The "flu" had burnt itself out. The madness had finally eased, and she would look at him again with her warm blue eyes and smile.

It's over! He grinned and ran to her door yet paused a second, to lean his forehead against the coolness of the barrier, to collect himself. He did not want her to see how upset he had been, so he had to get his trembling under control. Maybe, she's thirsty and hungry. She had not eaten since he was able to coax her to take bites of yogurt yesterday. Yesterday? Seemed like a lifetime ago to him. Maybe he should get her something to eat. He did not want to wait. He wanted to see her and hold her. He pictured her in her bathrobe, the way he had last seen her...

An imaged of the raging woman in her bathrobe, chasing the man across his property flashed in his mind. He jerked back from his wife's door as though it had shocked him.

Is it over? Is this what happened to them outside? Had Ruth turn into a raging homicidal maniac? Was she a zombie? Or... whatever that woman had been? Dammit! He did not know and the only way he would know was to open the door. Schrodinger's cat. He wanted to run away, hide from the whole thing. He could not stand to see her like that. Not like that! Please, God. Not like that.

In the silence, he lost his nerve.

A soft chuckling sound seemed to grow louder and more hysterical; he realized it was coming from him as his mind slipped away from him and hope died. His face tightened. He felt at the 9mm still in his hand. He slipped off the safety.

He lifted his hand to the knob and slowly pushed open the door.

One hundred fifty pounds of raging fury hit him hard, knocking him back against the wall and was on him like grease on an engine; tearing long strips from his face with gouging nails, kicking him with her feet and kneeing him in the stomach. He tried to capture her arms, pin them against her but she was like a windmill in a hurricane force wind. He saw her eyes, bloodshot and dilated to black orbs that seemed to absorb every ounce of light and give nothing back, vacant, mindless. Her snarling lips pulled back, stretched thin against her bared teeth. He could see nothing of Ruth in those eyes, or that face.

He struggled and threw her off toward end of the short hallway. He needed to put some space between them, but she was back on him quicker than he could get himself turned around. Like before her mouth was wide open in a scream, fists flying. He grabbed her wrists and swung her past him, closed his arms around her waist and pulled her tight to him. The momentum took them into the living room, crashing into the couch and flipping over it backwards. Once again, they tumbled apart. He was trying to defend himself without hurting her, but she was maniacal in her rage to tear him apart. She was stronger and faster than she had any right to be. "Ruthie! Stop!"

He knew he was not going to be able to keep her off him. He did not want to hurt her, yet knew he was going to lose the fight like the man outside, if he did not do something more than defend. She attacked him again kicking his head, his ribs. She fell on him, teeth sinking into the arm he raised in defense. She got past him; in close, she had clawing fingers in his hair, thumbs in his eyes. Somehow, he found the gun that had flown from his hand when she had first attacked. He swung the muzzle toward her intending to hit her in the head, but she jerked back with a mouthful of blood and meat and the gun went off.

The recoil of the Glock threw his hand up and back; the sound deafened him; the smell of gunpowder assailed his nose; and her body became soft and compliant once again, draping heavily over him in a way at once familiar and horrible. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, tears filling his ears as they leaked past his barriers like the blood from her head.

Al lay on his back, the gun fallen beside him, holding her in his arms. He shuddered with sobs and held her close. "I'm so sorry, Ruthie. I'm so sorry," he cried, stroking her matted and tangled hair. It still smelled like lavender shampoo.

He did not know how long he had lain there, until he finally became aware of birds singing; smelled gunpowder; felt the cold of her body and the crust of dried tears on his face. He gently rolled her off him taking great care to lay her out gently, pushing the hair from her eyes, and smoothing it as best he could. "What am I gonna do without 'cha, babe? Who's gonna keep me in line? Damn! Woman. Why'd ya have to go and get sick on me? I was supposed to go first, remember. I'm so sorry. I should have found another way."

His tears flowed again; when they dried, he sat up, looking around the room where they spent so much time together. Their books on the shelves, her craft table neatly cluttered, his trophies and magazines, his gun cleaning table, the couch where they came together to watch TV, now upside down.

Like their lives.

He sat reliving memories, ignoring the flaming pain in his arm, the growing pressure of his bladder and hunger in his belly. Such mundane things should exist when the most momentous thing in your life happened.

Then came anger; that awful thing she had helped him tame. It stirred like a live thing in his belly, worming its way up, creeping through his blood until it found his heart and then surged reborn back through his arteries.

"Arrrrrrrrghhh!" he roared lurching to his feet tossing chairs, knick-knacks, and whatever was in reach. An onlooker would not have known him from one of the sick crazies for a few tense minutes as he vented. "Damn you! Why the hell, did you make me do it? Why couldn't you stay tied up!"

He fell to his knees beside her still warm body. "Why?" he sobbed. "Come back, please, God, please bring her back. I swear I'll never lose my temper again if you'll bring her back. Please...." She continued to lay there, in a darkening pool of blood amid the chaos and destruction of their once happy home.

It was his fault. He should have been a better man for her. He should have taken her to the hospital, gotten some help. Instead, he had sat eating cookies, watching the news, trying to pretend she was not in the next room hurting and frightened. His fault she died. He did not deserve to live. It should have been him, not her. He should be lying here. He looked at the gun in his hand. He did not deserve to live.

# Chapter 10: Lesson Learned

"You going to shoot them?" Austin asked, nodding to the guns.

"What?! No!" Ricker recoiled in shock. "No. No." He breathed, wondering if that was true. He ran his hands though his thick graying hair then rubbed his face, heavy with two days of unshaven stubble. "No, but, there are a lot of folk out there who have this... madness... I don't want to shoot anybody. Nevertheless, I'll do what I have to do to keep you safe, Austin. I hope we can hide out here, until it burns itself out, that they'll come back to us when it does. Truth is we don't know what's going to happen next. I want to keep us - and them - safe." Ricker looked at the closed basement door. "We'll try to contain them downstairs; if they get loose and come after us... we'll run if we can; go to an empty house, something, anything. Shooting will be a last measure. You understand, son?"

Austin nodded.

"Roberto waited too long. How could he know? We know how it will get, so we're going to restrain them in their beds, maybe put some 2x4s across the opening that we can duck under when we go in to take care of them. I think we should do it sooner, rather than later since we have no idea..."

Austin stared at him in silence for a few heartbeats and then nodded. Ricker put an arm awkwardly around his son, needing the contact, suspecting his son did too although he was reluctant to show it. Ricker saw the dawn outside the kitchen window. 'Damn, what a long night.' he thought. Quickly he explained what he was going to do and asked his son to keep watch by the door.

Turning the lights on in the garage, he went to his tool room. Outside its exterior door, the one he had dragged José through only hours ago, he could hear voices raised in loud and incoherent angry sounds. They sounded as though they were getting closer. Was that Juanita's voice? Then he heard a male voice, further away.

He brought his thoughts back to his task, moving quickly until he found his roll of duct tape, some straps he had used to secure his four wheelers to the trailer and some lengths of rope, and then shut the lights out. He returned to Austin waiting in the kitchen.

"I don't think we're in any danger from Lisa or Tyler for maybe another twenty-four hours." His eyes returned to the basement door. "Don't open this door before I tell you it's ok, no matter what you hear. Run if it's anyone but me. Got it?"

"Dad..."

"Promise me, Austin. Promise you'll do as I say."

Austin's eyes narrowed in momentary defiance and pain, but in the end, he nodded. "Be careful."

"My middle name, son." He smiled weakly, knowing he would have to work quickly to complete his task while this lull in the anxiety lasted. "Say a prayer or two. Or four."

Austin returned a twisted smile. "Don't break a leg, old man."

Taking one quiet step at a time, Ricker descended the narrow closed-in staircase and peeked into the large open media room. He moved to look into Lisa's room. She was in a corner; quiet her arms over her head. Is she sleeping? He decided to work with Tyler first.

The boy was not in view from the doorway, but Ricker could hear him moving around, whimpering softly, and mumbling to himself.

Moving around the door, Ricker watched Tyler startle and dive onto the bed in a fetal position. Like all of them, he was still fully dressed. Working quickly, talking softly as he had done before while he cautiously straitened Tyler's legs, Ricker used duct tape to hobble him at the ankles. He talked about how they would go hunting or four-wheeling when he got better, as he straightened him out, aligning him in the center of the bed. He wrapped the broad straps around his torso, arms and legs, padding them with towels to prevent chafing then ratcheted them tight around the mattress and bed frame. He had never tied up a person before. How tight was tight enough? When he was finished, he took blankets, gently tucking them in around the boy who lay there looking at the ceiling eyes wide though always moving.

Ricker reached for the doorknob and silently pulled it shut, feeling rotten to the core but slightly safer. In the next room, he moved toward his wife, careful not to stumble as he kept his eyes on her, watching her closely, his heart in his throat despite his efforts to stay cool. Please be okay, Lisa. Please God.

She was in an upright fetal position in the corner near the dresser, her face buried in her knees, her beautiful brown hair cascading over her slim shoulders. Gently, hesitantly, he reached out, touching her shoulder, as he squatted in front of her, prepared to run while wanting to take her in his arms and hold her.

"Lisa, honey?" No response, not even a twitch, or a whimper. He rubbed her arms. "Lisa, come on honey, let's go to bed, okay? Let's go lay down on the bed and get under the blankets. It'll be so much warmer. Safer." He kept his voice soft and soothing, saying whatever came to mind, not really knowing what the words were. Finally, he could feel her muscles tighten; felt more than saw her become aware of him. She raised her head and regarded him with tired lost eyes that seemed more sunken, more shadowed. He could tell she knew him, but she did not speak; did not smile. Then it went as quickly as a heartbeat and her eyes darted fearfully around the room, her mind gone somewhere else, and he did not exist for her. Did she know what was happening to her and Tyler?

"It's going to be okay, sweetie. I promise. I'm aim to take care of you and Tyler. Come on, baby. Let's get you into a bed." He pulled her arm gently. She rose with him, gliding up the wall in her graceful way to stand with him. He closed his arms around her and kissed the top of her head holding her tight. Hope filling him, allowing himself a small smile. Maybe he was wrong, maybe the last few days had strung Tyler and her out. God knew he was walking wounded himself, nerves raw and exposed to any passing movement of air.

He guided her to the bed. Compliantly she let him strap her in and tuck the covers around her, as though she might be aware of why he was doing what he was. He had almost convinced himself that everything would be all right, until he saw her constantly moving eyes stop and go vacant, staring at the ceiling.

Reality slammed him hard - again. He remembered Juanita's eyes. The total absence of anything resembling sanity, the speed, and strength with which she viciously attacked and killed the man she loved. He did want to face Lisa like that. Could not.

As he finished, she began a tense and low moan and she began to twist in her bonds. When he listened, he could hear Tyler was thrashing now too. He watched for a few moments checking the bindings, padding them, hoping they would hold.

Ricker retreated upstairs as quietly, as fast as he could, calling softly to Austin before he opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. Neither ventured a word, standing there, in the morning light; lost in their own thoughts.

"I'm going to check on José." Ricker sighed. Austin moved with him, for which Ricker was thankful. He did not want to be alone right now.

As soon as they entered the bedroom, Ricker knew José had passed away. Maybe it was the silence but he did not really know. When the light revealed José peaceful waxen face, Ricker was not surprised, only sorry he was not there and the boy had died alone. Austin took a deep breath in and sat down in the chair beside his friend. Ricker dropped his meaty hand on his son's shoulder and together they mourned his passing.

After a while, they pulled the sheet over his face and left the room. "We'll bury him and Roberto as soon as we can do it safely." Ricker promised.

They held bedside vigil with Lisa and Tyler for the next few hours, trying to sooth them when they became agitated, trying to get them to drink sips of water during calmer moments. They tried to doze in chairs beside the beds, yet the periods of quiet came fewer and farther apart; the begging to make it stop became louder and more vehement. The shouts of warning, garbled mumblings and thrashings became increasingly violent, but the restraints held. When the hallucinations began, neither ever recognized their caretakers again.

Not able to take it any longer, Ricker pulled his son from Tyler's bedside. "Come on, kiddo. I need a cup of coffee and you need to rest. There nothing else we can do for them sitting here." He glanced toward one of the high basement windows. "It's daylight, I want to see what's going on out there. See if we can get anything on the ham radio." They stood silent for a moment more, the victims of inertia.

The day was cloudy, so dawn had come and gone without drama. The wind blew the treetops; it appeared blustery for an early April day. For the moment, with the bedroom doors shut and the basement door closed, it was blessedly, relatively quiet, no mewling, shouts, or banging.

Ricker put water on the stove to boil for instant oatmeal and fired up the coffee pot. Austin disappeared into his room until Ricker called him to breakfast.

Nothing new on the shortwave from officials, he reported. No broadcasting locally or regionally. Austin had sent out calls reporting to any who could hear of their circumstances and location. A few operators answered from over the world still alive though alone or in dire straits; all caught off guard when the madness turned murderous.

They drank in dejected silence. Austin polished off the milk and Ricker drained his coffee before moving to the living room where they sat watching out the window. It was deceptively peaceful watching the wind blow the trees, and the birds darting from branch. When the wind died occasionally, the occasional sounds of metal crashing, windows shattering, incoherent shouts filled the air.

After a while, Ricker got up and went to the bundle of firearms he had moved from the kitchen to the couch. He unwrapped them and handed Austin his .22 pistol along with some ammunition and the tooled belt he had made him for Christmas. He retrieved the gun cleaning kit from his office, lay out old newspaper on the ottomans, lay the rifles between them, and set about keeping their hands busy. They glanced out the window from time to time as they cleaned and loaded their weapons.

Both saw the lone figure run down the street, silent but frightening in its speed as it stopped and started, flailing its arms, reminding Ricker of a prizefighter shadow boxing. Suddenly, in the distance a child screamed in pain and terror. Ricker and his son froze. They could not tell where it came from and it did not repeat.

# Chapter 11: Terms of Living

It was some time later that Al laid the gun aside. He inspected her face; the whole in her forehead no longer shocked him into tears. "I know you forgive me, 'cus that's who you are, but there's no way I can forgive myself." He did not deserve to live, yet he did not deserve a quick death either. He deserved to suffer and feel the guilt that would torture him the rest of his life. He had to go on, alone and hollow.

His face stung where she had raked him with her nails. It throbbed although it was nothing compared to the raw pain of the bite and his arm. Was he infected? Like in the zombie movies? He went to the bathroom and washed his wounds carefully, and then poured peroxide over them until the bottle was empty, taking the pain as his just due. The bite was not as deep as it had originally seemed, although the skin was broken, and the area was bruising already. It took him a while to find where she kept the bandages, yet he got it done then wrapped an ace wrap around it to keep it in place.

He gently moved Ruth to their bed where he tucked her in, gentle like, then tiptoed around the room as though afraid to waken her. He found his hunting jacket and grabbed his boots; put some clothes in a gym bag.

He would leave here. He did not deserve to stay comfortable in their home any more.

He thought about what was out there now. The hospitals were crowded with crazy sick people. He wondered if they all went violent like the woman earlier. Like Ruth. Would the crazies stay crazy until they killed each other off? Until none of them was left.

He considered Ruthie's body and wondered who would take care of the dead when this was all over. Then decided it did not matter.

Were there others besides him who had not gotten sick? Others who survived attacks from their loved ones? Survivors, murderers like him, who would have to learn to deal with their own dead as best they could. Like he had to do.

He thought of the body on the front walkway. It made him think of zombies again so he went to investigate. It gave him pause when he saw the remains of the dead man still there, not moving, the brain still intact. The corpse had not turned yet. The stories all claimed it was fast, never more than a couple hours.

'Why ain't he turned?' he worried. Al could not figure why, nevertheless, zombie or not, he was not taking any chances. Out of respect for the man, he put his knife through his eye, destroying the brain. 'Gross, it's not as easy as they showed it on TV'. He dragged the body away from the house, leaving it in a shady bed of tall soft grass where she would not have to see him.

Back in their room, he started gathering more things, throwing them into the old suitcase from under the bed. He was not coming back here, this was her tomb, not his home. He took his time, talking to Ruthie as he worked. Asking where she had put this thing or that.

He had intended to leave her lying peacefully in their bed as though she were sleeping, but that would leave him with a false image. There was too much denial in that. The image was too pretty, she was dead and he had killed her so he could not leave her this way. She deserved a burial. She would have loved to be near her flowers not cooped up in the house, so he dug a grave in the soft dirt she had tilled for a new bed of roses and laid her there to rest.

Sitting on his front porch in his usual bib overalls with a hunting jacket and cap, and his heavy work boots added against the cold of the spring evening. He spent some time in the barn, his mind coming and going from reality until it settled firmly in the now and his grief receded enough for him to function. He tried to put his mind in survivalist mode, seeing himself trying to live off the land and hunt his own food.

Problem was he was not a survivalist beyond his armchair. He knew how to do it theoretically, though he never prepared much for it. Yeah, he had some knowledge of guns, only mostly repairs. He had hunted, yet he hated gutting and cleaning his prey; he loved to sleep out in a rainstorm on the back porch, still, he hated camping. He was a mill-wright, he designed and built machines so he could probably cope if he had to, but...

He packed his two handguns: the 9mm Glock, noisy and a heck of a kick and intimidating, and a .22 caliber Saturday night special, quiet with no recoil, with a faster repeat fire should he ever need it. Then he had his Mossberg 12 gauge camper special shotgun. It was his favorite because he was not such a great shot. He also had a hunting knife he strapped around his waist. He put a small hand axe he found in his barn, under the front seat of his van.

He called it The Beast, a Pontiac Montana, late model but on the wrong end of a collision. He used it to haul things and get back and forth to work, not for its prettiness. Right now, it was loaded with the things he had decided to take, though he had no memory of exactly what those things were. Shrugging off his lethargy, he got into the Beast and drove slowly down his long drive, looking back toward the house. He was half-expecting Ruth to wave to him, call him back, laugh at the joke she had pulled on him. It was vacant looking, abandoned. A veil of unreality lay between him and it that he knew he would never be able to penetrate.

It was nearing sunset. Wednesday night. America's Funniest Videos should be on showing some dillhead, busting his balls skateboarding on a rail or an old couple falling over each other at a wedding dance. People laughed at other people's pain; that's how they held reality at bay, like whistling in the dark at a cemetery. He did not suppose too many people were laughing now with so much pain.

He started whistling, realizing he had no clue where he was going; or which direction to take. Should he go north into farmland with fewer people, infected or no, or south into the outskirts of town. He shifted into gear, heading the Beast north down the gravel road away from town. He did not know why, six of one.

At the first driveway, an eighth of a mile on past his own, Al wondered if John and Ruby were alive. He supposed he could check on them, see if they needed anything; put them out of their misery if they were 'zombified.' He liked the elderly couple and their son, Bill, who still lived with them. Ruby had brought his wife cookies every now and again and John had always been quick to share his expertise and offer to help if Al asked. Bill had plowed his drive when the snow got deep. Guess he owed it to them.

He picked up his Glock and knocked on the back door. Like most Midwestern American farms, no one used the front door much so he had only ever been inside the back door. It led into the kitchen where they had shared glasses of tea with him. They should be eating supper, however the kitchen was dark, nothing was on the stove. With all his bravado, his gut still clenched and his heart started pounding as he stood in the silence, waiting. He knocked again, louder, then waited.

# Chapter 12: Stumbling in the Day

Below her, in the parking lot Sophie saw mutilated bodies some in tattered hospital scrubs, some in street clothes, and all in pools of blood. Sophie saw two figures windmilling through the parking lot below. One approached a truck and did a 21st century imitation of Don Quixote as he attacked it with fists, leaving huge dents in its fenders and spider webs of cracks in the drive window. The other figure moved on, unfazed by her fellow rager, but intent on some other unseen enemy. She attacked the nearby fire hydrant. Sophie had a quick mental flash of the hydrant opening sending the woman tumbling in a rush of water like a beach ball down a slide. Macabre humor.

Across the street, a small assisted living complex of one-story apartments sat peacefully like an island in a river. Over the trees she could see smoke rising; a muffled boom sounded somewhere in the distance, faintly rattling the huge bank of windows in the room. A gas line exploding, she wondered vaguely; the world cracking just a little bit more. A tear ran down her cheek, she wiped it away, though she could not keep up with the flood that followed, as she kept witness to the ending of the world.

She closed her eyes and listened to the comforting hum of the backup generator somewhere in the building; letting its sound cover every synapse of her brain, until her thoughts lost their sharpness and her tears stopped. Then listlessly, she left the window and moved around the room, listening to the occasional moans from her friends as they shifted in their sleep, confronting their own nightmares.

Sometime later, Sophie heard Tracy, the twenty-five-year old, buxom surgical nurse get up and head to the bathroom. She did look her way, nor did she focus on the lengthening afternoon shadows. Thoughts of her sister and parents had been nudging her for attention and now she examined them. She had talked with them on Monday evening, when it became apparent she would be working overtime to help stem the flood of panic attacks in the emergency room. "Yes, everyone's fine," her mom, Audrey Norton, had reported. "Cathy's worried about Joe. He's been out of town all week and was due to come back tomorrow. She talked with him yesterday, but nothing today. The twins are a little fussy, nothing to worry about. How are you, dear?" Sophie's parents were frightened, but calm. She sent her love and told them she would call again when she could.

She had talked with them only once since then, sparing a moment as she ate an apple. "Yes, Sophie, we're all okay. Cathy packed up the girls and drove over here. They made it with only a couple of scares." Her mom admitted they were all frightened but don't worry, they would be fine. "You know your father, he's Mr. Prepared. We have the basement all set up in case we need to go down there."

Last night she had tried to call again; her cell was dead. They lived on the east side of town, in an older section, too far away to try to reach them, especially now, since the power was out and the flu shifted gears to maniacal violence. Sophie was frightened for them as she thought of those precious bundles of energy that were her nieces. She adored them, ached to hold them, and remember what it was like to hold her own daughter killed in a car crash so long ago.

Brushing the thought away before it could catch her in its sharp claws, Sophie thought of birds singing from her ornamental pear tree at home, about watching the clouds scuttle across the sky. So many things she missed; she felt fragile, vulnerable, and ready to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head hoping she would awaken from the nightmare.

"So, what's the word?" Brown haired Tracy had come back and stood beside Sophie, craning her neck to see as much as she could of the parking lot wreckage and the figures milling around in it. "Shit!" she gasped when she finally interpreted the inert forms on the ground as bodies covered in congealing blood. "Shit, Sophie!" It was more of a whining protest this time.

Sophie did not comment, letting her younger colleague soak it all in at her own speed. Really, what was there to say anyway? Nothing would soften the blow.

"Shit." She whispered it this time, apparently frozen in a mental loop.

Leaving Tracy to deal as best she could, Sophie did a tour of the hallway; then went back to the window. Tracy sniffed and wiped her nose on a miraculously clean handkerchief from her pocket. "What are we going to do now?" she asked softly?

"Don't know. Guess we should start looking around in the desks for something to eat."

Tracy shook her head and took a deep breath as she straightened up to her full height of five feet eleven and threw her shoulders back, unconsciously enhancing her buxom look. Sophie could almost see her putting on her nursing persona and preparing for another battle. The younger nurse glanced at Sophie and shook her head. "No, I mean out there; and the world. What's going to happen out there? With them and their madness."

Sophie shrugged then took the easy way out and repeated. "Don't know." She said a little too shortly; she did not mean to be difficult, at least not this time. She simply did not want to think about it at this point.

Tracy looked sideways at her, so she gave in, shrugged again, adding, "Guessing here, but they're acting like they have rabies, there's an inflammation of the brain definitely consistent with what they radio reported. Only we both know rabies couldn't have gone pandemic in hours. It didn't spread like rabies; no bites and way too fast."

Tracy insisted. "That's why they called it a faux-rabies virus."

"Yeah, though it, basically, doesn't fit anything I remember studying so your guess is as good as mine is about what's going to happen next. It might have been curable or even treatable if it hadn't happened on such a large scale. Colt might have some better ideas now that there are more symptoms for a diagnosis. We'll have to see what he thinks."

Getting him back and answering that question were on their list of things to do. He and the other two were still lost somewhere on the first floor. They were painful loose ends and aside from personal feelings, she could not abide loose ends. She had grown attached to them. She needed them.

Tracy continued voicing her thoughts. "It's been about eight hours now since the first patient started turning aggressive. You'd think they'd be running down by now, they have to be dehydrating. We couldn't get them to eat or drink."

"You'd think." Sophie acknowledged, still not totally engaged in the conversation.

"I wonder how many are left out there. People like us, I mean. We seem to be immune to this thing whatever it is. Is this... you know... an apocalypse thing or what?"

An unwanted thought occurred to Sophie. "If we are immune. The incubation period is still unknown and so far, we've seen new cases begin at least twenty-four hours after the first cases began. Of course, the ragers would have killed them, since they'd be weaker, unless they stayed well hidden. As for apocalypse, I don't know, but the death toll must be horrendous." She thought about her family again.

Silence pervaded the room again until Tracy shook herself back to the present. "I'm hungry." she sighed, relenting on her speculations, getting back to basics.

That was something Sophie felt she could get a handle on. The present was something over which she might be able to exert some control.

Roger walked up drying his face and hands. Sophie gave him her report; letting him take in the scene below in silence.

Sophie recruited Tracy to start searching offices and desk drawers for hidden snacks. Roger told them to go to his office, gave them the key. "There's a big bag of snacks in there. Some nuts. Stuff like that. I bought it from one of the secretaries selling for her son's school. I bought it for the grand kids. I kept forgetting to take it home."

Sweet!

Vahan and Lilly were starting to stir, probably cramped and aching from so long on the hard, carpeted floor. Jesse slept on for a couple more hours, but once everyone was more or less awake and immediate needs taken care of, they gathered around the conference table. It took up the majority of the small room so they spread out what Sophie and Tracy had found at one end and shared a meal loaded with energy however not much else, while they discussed what to do next.

# Chapter 13: Looking for Hope

Sophie deliberately hung back on the edges of the discussion. She wanted to see what the group was thinking and what they were planning. She was capable of leadership when it dealt with what she knew, but this... she was so overwhelmed. She did not want to take on more responsibility. Let Roger do it. Or Jesse; both were capable.

"Hey, we don't need to go anywhere." Tracy argued when the subject came up. "The ragers have to be running out of steam. They can't keep that kind of metabolism up without eating or drinking. I don't mean to sound heartless, yet eventually, they are going to drop dead or go into a coma. Ask Sophie."

All eyes turned to Sophie. Oh, wonderful! She rolled her eyes at Tracy.

"We were merely guessing, Tracy. I don't know what's going to happen any more than you do. It sounds logical, still how much of this "flu" is logical? Maybe they'll turn to zombies for all we know." Sophie went back to eating her peanut MMs. "Going out there is something to do though and we need to find Doc, Anne, and Jack."

"I agree." Roger stated, surprising everyone. Sophie had expected him to be the conservative one. "We need to find them. We need real food, but more importantly, we need information. We need to know what's going on out there and with the world. Maybe it has been long enough that some are slowing down, I think we need to find out."

"I not go out there with _muy cosas locas_!" Lilly shrilled, her eyes huge with fear and her round face pale with the thought.

"Lilliana, _mi amiga_ ," Vahan interjected with exaggerated patience, as though holding back his temper. His dark hair framed an olive complexioned face that was slightly androgynous with clear green eyes and sharp features. He too, like almost everyone else in the world seemed to Sophie, was tall with the physique of a swimmer. He was considerate of Lilly's limited English. "Those crazy things out there are people. _Familia_. Family. _Amigos._ Friends. _Están enfermos._ They are sick." He turned to scan the rest of them. "At least that's how I see them. They may be homicidal maniacs, but they didn't ask to be that way."

Roger nodded. "I agree with you, Vahan although they are still very dangerous. Lilly is right to be afraid to go out there."

Vahan held up his hands. "I know. I saw what they can do. I don't want us to lose sight of the fact; they are not monsters by choice. As far as going out there. All of us don't need to go on what's basically a scouting mission. Even if we do go after supplies, it should only be one or two people."

Jesse agreed. "Winding down or not, they still outnumber us. A couple of people could sneak around better than a larger group."

The room got quiet, everyone gauging everyone else to see their reaction to Vahan's assessment. Sophie considered him with new awareness. They had not worked together before the madness. He was day shift, her nights. She had seen him work tirelessly, competently, and compassionately at whatever job he took on. He was a strong ally to have.

Rubbing his beard-rough face, Jesse spoke up. "Vahan and Roger are both right. I'll go and take one volunteer. See how far we can get, what we can find out. If it's feasible, we'll continue to the cafeteria to get what food we can. Shouldn't take us more than an hour if all goes well. If the coast is clear, we can all move down there."

"I'll go." Vahan volunteered.

Jesse nodded. "It's settled then. We'll leave in five."

"The cafeteria will help a lot, if we move down there." Roger declared. "When I made my runs, I was in those store rooms; boxed cereals and mixes, canned stuff that needs cooking. Some industrial sized canned goods. Stuff in the fridge will still be good, the refrigerator and freezer should be on emergency generators so everything should still be viable but hardly portable. If you get that far without trouble, you've got it made to the basement storage areas. There are emergency supplies stored down there: flashlights, a few MREs but especially the short wave, and two-way radios. If you can get those back here, especially the shortwave with its batteries, we can contact anyone out there who's broadcasting or listening. I'll get you the key from my office and make a map for where it's located."

Jesse and Vahan nodded and followed him into his office.

Sophie was waiting for Vahan and Jesse when they met at the conference room door. "I'm going with you."

Both men looked at her then over her head at each other. Vahan held up his hands and backed away the distance of a ten-foot pole, leaving Jesse alone with Sophie. 'Chicken!' she thought as she watched him go, though her opinion of him upped another notch. Smart man, for not arguing with her.

She eyed Jesse, her eyes narrowed with speculation and a hint of amusement. He shuffled his feet, rubbed the back of his neck, and then spoke up. "Look, Phee. We went through this before. If Doc, Anne and Jack made it, they are as okay as we are, probably better. If they didn't, then there's no helping them. I get it, however, let Vahan and I go and see what it's like out there first. We might even run into them. Then we'll go from there. First things first, okay?"

"Fine," Sophie replied blowing the wind out of his sails with her seeming acquiescence. "But I'm still going."

Jesse rolled his eyes, though Sophie could tell he knew her well enough, to know she would not let this go. She would wait until they were gone, and then go anyway. "Dammit, Phee," he swore in surrender and pushed through the door.

Fork Grove Hospital was not a particularly large one, only fifty-three beds, however it had been renovated a couple of times which left the layout highly convoluted. That was not good news for them, because now it was also mostly dark. Thanks to the backup generators, about every fifty feet or so a soft light glowed; not much more than a night light to keep from stubbing your toes. Or running into a berserk patient, Sophie thought. In addition, it was quiet; she could hear the building breathe in some places.

Jesse took the lead, Sophie followed, and Vahan kept watch behind them. They had no weapons and no wish to hurt any of the patients, but they needed to be able to defend themselves so they decided the rolling pins in the kitchens would be the best first stop. Then they would go down to the basement, before they headed into the known populated areas and trouble looking for Doc and his group.

Sophie winced at the clunking noise when they pressed the access bar on the first fire door leading to a more direct route to the cafeteria. It sounded like a cannon signaling their whereabouts. They had not passed this way on their initial flight so it was nerve wracking, not knowing what would be on the other side of each door. This kind of door was no real barrier against the ragers; no thinking necessary, leaning on it would open it from either side.

They took turns, two staying well back, hiding in a room with a door when possible while one tried to quietly and slowly open the door blocking the way. It was like Russian roulette, click, empty chamber. Then they would move on and repeat. Leapfrogging, it did not take long before they reached their goal, although nerves had them strung tight as bows, when they finally arrived at the cafeteria entrance feeling extremely lucky.

They peeked in the two side windows flanking the cafeteria main entrance, yet could see no movement in the gloom inside. The door snicked quietly shut behind them. The room, illuminated by light coming from high windows on the exterior wall, was dim in the deeper recesses, especially nearer the kitchen. As the trio peered around, assessing the potential danger spots, looking for places to hide, if ragers came running, they took in the chaotic mess of tables and chairs flung everywhere. It was clear a rager had been here since Roger had made his runs.

Almost immediately, they became aware of a low growling and a soft rhythmic thud off to the right behind the half-wall that led to the bathrooms. Jesse put a finger to his lips. He led them to the left, to put as much debris as possible between them and the rager while aiming to make it behind the serving stations. As Sophie moved, a pair of cranberry colored legs came into view. Cranberry was Maternity's color.

"Maggie?" Sophie mouthed softly, slowing her pace and craning her neck to see who the rager was. Jesse and Vahan had moved further into the gloom, thinking she was right behind.

She sidestepped further into the center of the room until she could see the woman sitting, legs outstretched on the old black and white tiles, leaning against the cinder block wall, thumping her head against it in an autistic rhythm while blood trickled down her temple. Sophie gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth, unfortunately, it was too late and the gasp was too loud. 'Maggie!' Sophie was happy to see her best friend, but the black bottomless pits that fixated on her, as the woman's head snapped around reflected no recognition. In the blink of an eye, her friend was on her way toward Sophie, roaring mindless, unfeeling rage.

So much for them slowing down, Sophie thought.

"Sophie, run!" Jesse shouted. "Now!"

Sophie could not move, torn with desire to help. Maggie was her best friend. She had drawn Maternity duty Monday, however, when Sophie had helped sweep the hospital and round up the affected, nonfunctioning staff and patients, Maggie had not been one of them. She had thought Maggie had gone home or wandered outside like so many others. Seeing her here elated her even though the way she was charging toward her was too unreal. On some level, they all knew that some of the afflicted who had turned ragers were their coworkers and staff from the hospital nevertheless this hit her hard. This was Maggie; the same woman who had barhopped with her on the rare occasions they were off on the same weekend. She had shared a gallon of ice cream with her, when she lost a boyfriend. Sophie had stood as her bridesmaid at her wedding.

"Sophie, damn it! Come on!" Vahan's voice had joined Jesse's, urging her to move. "Move, move, move!"

She could hear them behind her and suddenly she worried Jesse would try to come to her rescue. Unfortunately, Maggie was almost on her; she could almost reach out and touch her friend. She could see the redness in her eyes, veins in her temples, the blood oozing from her wounds; there was no way she could get away now. She had waited too long.

# Chapter 14: Reaching Out

The child's scream did not repeat although it echoed in their ears.

Austin implored his father. "Do you suppose we could...? Should we try to go to the Thomsen's house? They have kids. Maybe some of them are not... sick... hiding..."

The Thomsens lived two doors down, halfway to the curve to the east. They had two children, both of whom were much younger than Austin. Seeing the intensity of his son's look, Ricker weighed the dangers against their need to do something positive, to help. Was he prepared to risk his life? Could he kill a human being, no matter how berserk? It might come to that. Did it make him equally hard, equally guilty to stand by and not try?

From the basement, Lisa and Tyler's renewed muffled cries and pleas decided him. He needed, no, they needed to know what to expect. They needed to 'not hear' the heart wrenching sounds for a while.

They were both exhausted from lack of sleep, still they would not rest knowing they might be able to save someone. Not with the cries and shouts coming up from below. He met Austin's eyes and nodded, reluctantly though determined. "We'll search the immediate neighborhood. Look for anyone we might be able to help. Let's head east. It's closer to the Thomsen's place. Depending on what we find, we'll work our way back up the other side of the street then back down ending with checking on Juanita and Maria. We'll go as far as we can, but if it gets too dangerous, we'll have to come back." The boy nodded, wide-eyed, obviously scared. Ricker's chest filled with pride that his son was putting others before his own fears.

It felt good to have a plan, to feel proactive instead of reactive.

They dressed warmly against the wind, settled their handguns on their hips. "I hope these aren't necessary, but if it gets really nasty..." Ricker let it hang in the air as he met his son's eyes. They took a baseball bat each.

The houses in the neighborhood were large and the families, as far as Ricker knew, were small, so the number of possible ragers should be limited to the locals and maybe a few roamers. At the first house, they peered in the front windows; seeing nothing so they worked their way around to the back, looking in as many windows as they could reach before moving on. Like most houses in the neighborhood, the yard was fenced. This one had six-foot cedar planking yet the gate was standing open into the side yard.

Keeping close to the house, they moved along its depth then peeked into the back yard. From his position, Ricker could not see much, as the manicured stone walkway led past a tool shed, around some decorative evergreens and onward to where he knew from past visits with the previous owners, a tiled area surrounded a lap pool. As they moved past the obstacles, the view widened. Loose items, towels, and floating toys lay tromped and shredded. Pool furniture was everywhere including in the bottom of the pool; on its surface floated a woman's body.

Neither knew the Winslow family well. They had only moved in a month ago from Wichita, but they knew her name was Janice.

"Do you think she was running away or just crazy when she fell in?" Austin asked in a choked whisper, his voice betraying his shock of seeing fatal violence, up-close and personal involving someone real, someone he knew instead of on a video game or in a movie. Ricker wished he could shield his son from this.

"I can't tell from here." Ricker responded in a quiet whisper. Then he noticed the trail of blood leading back to the house and the sliding glass door that was shattered all over the patio. He nudged his son, indicated the blood, and motioned for him to follow. When they got to the doorway, the site confirmed, one of the couple had been insane with the flu.

Pots and pans, foodstuffs, dishes and even the contents of the refrigerator lay strewn or splattered on every flat surface including the walls and ceiling. Even the refrigerator was pulled out and lying on its side. Judging by the sheer volume of it, Ricker felt that more than one hapless soul was sick. Surely one person could not do this much damage. They checked the entire 2,500 square feet of the house. Chaos was everywhere but no more bodies, no one hiding. Evan and their two boys, Dave and Ben, lived in the house with Janice. "They're loose somewhere in the neighborhood, sick or frightened and hiding." Ricker observed, sounding calmer than he felt.

They went back to the pool and fished Janice out. Ricker carried her indoors, lay her on the couch, covered her with her afghan. It would have to do for now.

They found a little girl in the next house, the Thomsens' house. She was about 10 years old and she lay at the bottom of the stairs, her neck broken by her fall. They moved her to a couch and covered her. Her sisters were in their room and Austin lost his breakfast at the carnage. They closed the door and tried to wall off the memories.

They moved to the next house. An older couple lived there, although it appeared neither had been home for some time. The house was locked up, no windows broken and no vehicles in the garage or drive.

The next two houses they found more chaos and blood. A man in the basement in the first house, beaten to death, and in the other a woman in an upstairs bathroom impaled with what was a towel bar. Her small dog lay broken and bloody in the sink. Ricker did not know either except to wave. Still he and Austin covered them and mourned their passing. The ragers from each house had evidently smashed a window out to escape. That made at least two more running loose in the neighborhood.

The next two houses were also vacant, however, outside the second, they hid in the bushes while a man, dressed in nothing but his skivvies, who neither of them knew, chased a barking dog down the street, its tail between its legs.

By this time, they worked their way around to the Thurman's house directly across the street from them. They checked it for broken windows, in case someone had broken in to hide, but it was intact. Two houses later, they found a six-year-old girl huddling in a basement closet.

Austin heard her whimpers first and nudged Ricker, pointing to a hall of closed doors. Her sniffles led them to her hiding spot. When Austin opened the door, she screamed hysterically and tried to run; pushing past the startled boy, fortunately, Ricker was there and caught her around the waist.

# Chapter 15: Raging Baby

"Whoa! Whoa, sweetie. Hold on, we not going to hurt you. It's okay. It's okay." The little girl fought until she exhausted herself, which was long enough to leave Ricker battered and bruised. She was skinny and weak. Probably she had not eaten much, since her family had come down with the virus. Ricker worried she might have the virus like Tyler and Lisa, but in the end, it didn't matter. She was so little, so helpless. He thanked God they could save her. He tried not to wonder how many thousands like her were out there.

Austin brought a blanket from the bedroom and helped Ricker wrap her up. They found her room, gathered a few things, her coat, warm clothes, and shoes, packed them in a bag, and then cautiously stepped back out into the gloomy April day.

The sun had come out to shine weakly for a few minutes, while they had been searching though it had not stayed long. The wind was still bone chilling, strong from the northwest so they had it pushing against them as they made their way back home with their treasure. It nearly tore the storm door from Austin's hands, when he held it for his father and the girl.

The warmth inside was more than welcome once out of the wind, yet Ricker was suddenly mindful that it was cold in their huge living room. Had he thought to turn the heat up all night? The child needed to get warm.

Ricker tucked her in tightly on the couch and sat down beside her. Austin brought more blankets from the bedroom. Then he started to heat up some water in the microwave, was stymied for a while pushing dead buttons before he realized what was wrong. "The power's out." He told his father.

Ricker swore under his breath even though he had been half expecting it, but it still hit him hard. The world continued to crumble around them. Austin did not miss a beat; he went to the stove and put a pan full of water on one and the leftover coffee on another ring. The gas was still on, though not the electronic pilot light so he used matches to ignite the gas. Then he went downstairs and came back with the camp furnace, set it on the coffee table near the little girl and lit it for some immediate warmth. Marveling how his son was taking things in his stride under such circumstances, Ricker's heart swelled with pride and ached with sorrow for the necessity.

As Austin worked in the kitchen, Ricker unwrapped a granola bar and handed it to the wide-eyed child. She was obviously starving, yet hesitant to reach out for it. Still, she seemed interested in food, which gave him hope. The virus did not let its victims eat or drink. He put it on her blanket and gazed out the window, waiting in a non-threatening way.

Austin caught his father's eye and smiled as he handed him a cup of coffee then went back to making instant oatmeal and hot chocolate. Ricker found some of the bread Lisa had made Monday... He sighed and made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for her and lunchmeat for himself and his son.

Austin found some fruit left in the crisper and peeled apples and oranges. When he finished, he brought it all over on Lisa's favorite tray and served them in the living room.

Ricker had observed the little girl finally take the granola bar and let her eat in silence, carefully avoiding looking at her. He wanted her to relax. By the time she finished, Austin came round with the small feast and offered her hot chocolate. She took it with a tentative smile.

"Be careful, it might still be pretty hot." Austin smiled.

"What's your name, sweetie," Ricker asked.

She frowned at him. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

Austin laughed softly. "Yeah, dad, don't you know anything?" Then addressing the girl, he grinned, "Am I a stranger? We wave to each other all the time, when I'm on my bike and I see you and your mom in your yard. My name's Austin. This is my dad, Dale." They shook her hand formally then Austin continued. "Since we have been introduced, is it okay if we talk a little?"

"I guess," she answered. "Can I have some more to eat?"

"Sure, you like oatmeal?"

"Yeah, but I'd rather have a candy bar." She countered rather coyly.

"Huh. Boy, females sure learn fast." Austin said in a theatrical whisper to Ricker. "I tell you what, munchkin, you eat a bowl of my famous oatmeal with raisins and cinnamon and help us eat all these sandwiches, and I'll see if I can scrounge up something chocolate. Deal?"

Her smile widened. "Deal!" She took the oatmeal and ate it cautiously at first, then with great relish.

Austin grabbed a sandwich, as did Ricker and they all eyed each other with smiles born of great eats and companionship. She had long, blonde, matted hair, a small frame, and a round face with clear blue eyes, the color of periwinkles. A spattering of freckles stood out starkly on her nose and pale cheeks. She seemed to be considering a reply. "My name is Kim Beeker. Did you find Molly too?"

Ricker shot her then Austin a panicked glance. "Molly? Is there someone else in your house I missed?"

"Molly is my doll, silly. She was with me in the closet. I dropped her when I ran. Did you find her?"

The two rescuers relaxed. "Yeah, sweetie. She's with your things. I'll go get her."

An agonizingly long wail pierced its way through the floors and vents, ending the interlude. Kim gasped and scrambled into Ricker's arms, burying herself as deep into his chest as she could. He held her shivering, trembling body tight. "It's OK!" He tried to reassure her. "It's OK. I have you. It's OK." He seemed to be saying it's OK a lot, when it was not even close to being OK.

It was not OK for any of them.

He motioned to Austin to take the child from his arms. Kim did not want to let go, until Austin produced Molly.

Ricker rushed to the basement, wary of what he would find, afraid his loved ones had broken their bonds. He found them thrashing about. He tried to sooth them; however, they were deep into it. His shoulders slumped. He felt his face stretched taut. They were both worse, although had not yet turned. He did not know whether to be relieved or glad. Was it wrong to wish them to get it over one way, or the other? Helplessly he made sure their bonds were strong and hopelessly left them in the darkened rooms, closing the doors.

When it came to his work, taking his time to understand the mechanical things he took apart, patience came easily. When it came to people and emotions, things he knew very little about, he was often impatient and short. He hoped they would get better, instead of taking that next step into insanity. He wanted to believe that if they did succumb, they would come back; wake up and everything would be back to normal.

Part of him hoped everyone would wake up but the rest of him hoped some of ragers would not come back. He was thinking of the parents who tore their children apart, or the husbands who had killed their wives. He could not imagine living with that and would not wish it on anyone. One thing was certain. No one would be left unscathed if they survived.

He wondered how many people it would take to restart the human race; it was a brief wisp of a thought. He was not the type to moralize or think too deeply. Still, this... sort of whacked you in the face, shook you by the balls, and demanded attention.

Austin had gotten Kim resettled when Ricker got back. He had helped her get into some warmer clothes and was combing her hair. Austin had explained to Kim what was happening; they were hoping they could save Lisa and Tyler. Kim took it all in with a serious face.

"Mr. Dale. Can you help my mom and dad too?"

Unsettled, Ricker knelt in front of her. "Do you know where they are?" When she shook her head he continued hesitantly, not wanting to disappoint her yet realizing he could give her what she wanted more than anything. "If I can find them, I will try to help them, but I can't promise you that. They are a lot stronger than I am and there are a lot of people out there like them. I promise I'll help them if I can."

She played with Molly's feet for a moment then spoke with determination. "Okay. I can help look for them."

This made Ricker think. With a couple hours of daylight left, Ricker debated with Austin on whether or not to finish their tour of the neighborhood. In the end, there was no real question. Sit on your butt and do nothing against go out and try to help. A no brainer even if it meant he had to go alone this time.

He left Austin with the little girl, who had immediately fallen asleep and approached the house past Kim's. There were two more on the far side of the street then four on his side, though the fourth was Roberto's home.

After scouting the perimeter of the first two houses, he could account for all of the occupants, saw them rampaging inside, not yet broken out.

When two ragers burst through the hedges, which bordered the corner property he climbed onto the porch roof and hid. They moved aimlessly about the yard below him, viciously attacking whatever glimmer of movement or hallucination caught them up. He shivered from the cold and from the emotion of watching human beings caught in the throes of their insanity. They scared the bejesus out of him, yet they had not asked to be this way.

When they disappeared, he moved on. A single man, whom he had never met, occupied the first house on his side of the street. The man lived alone and kept to himself. The windows were broken, the man gone. The next house was also quiet, the windows broken out, no survivors to be found.

From the back door of Roberto's neighbor, he found an elderly woman, Mrs. Mullin, viciously tearing up her flowerbeds in the back yard, attacking the tool shed and the potted plants. As soon as he slipped inside the house, he saw Mr. Mullin, dead on the kitchen floor, no apparent wounds, and the entire house was total chaos. Ricker wondered if he had a heart attack.

He was about to leave, having covered the man's waxen face with a dishtowel when he heard a baby's angry cries from deeper in the house. Cautiously he made his way to the living room, wondering if the old couple had visitors when this all came on.

Tangled in the netting of her playpen, in the living room, an infant, maybe six months old struggled weakly, soiled and stinking. Looking at her face, Ricker could tell the child was sick with virus. He stood there. What the hell do you do with a homicidal infant?

Shaking his head, he moved around the room gathering the child's things and diaper bag. Rager or not, he could not walk away and leave her here. Keeping an eye on Mrs. Mullin still raging on the old garden, he moved to the kitchen, found some cans of formula and some bottles, some jars of baby food. When he was ready, he cut the baby free of the netting and cleaned her up as best he could with her limbs flailing in all directions. He was terrified Mrs. Mullin would come back into the house and he would have to abandon the baby. Feverishly, he kept working and found out the hard way, she had a tooth and knew how to use it.

It was not going to be easy getting the baby home with the way it was wailing angrily. He feared the noise would attract every rager in the neighborhood. He only had to cross two yards, half the Mullin's, Roberto's, and half of his own still, it seemed like an awful long way. He had no idea what to expect when he passed Roberto's, whether Juanita and Maria were still inside or about to come charging out.

Wrapping the baby tightly and muffling her cries, Ricker made what seemed to be the longest run of his life. He passed Roberto's without incident but nearly wet himself with fright, when a small dog came round the corner and ran alongside him, apparently happy to chase someone instead of being chased. It rushed inside the door as he let himself in.

Ricker heard his son cry out in surprise as he slammed the front door closed and leaned back against it huffing and puffing.

"I'm getting too old for this." Ricker complained, moving forward juggling the squalling squirming infant and the bags of paraphernalia.

His son gaped at him. Kim slept soundly, unaware of the drama unfolding or of the dog wagging itself excitedly back and forth between father and son.

"Well, don't just stand there, Austin, take some of this stuff, before she squirms right out of my arms and I drop her." Ricker yelled frowning.

Austin moved but started laughing. "You look like you saw ten demons chasing you and then discovered you're carrying another one in your arms. Where'd the dog come from?"

The dog started barking adding to the confusion and Kim woke up, frightened, and started crying. Ricker turned purple with disgust at the whole situation as Austin took the wiggling bundle from his father. He was still grinning when he sat down and unwrapped the squalling baby. He smile froze then drained off his face, along with all his color.

"Dang, dad! What are we going to do with a crazy baby?"

# Chapter 16: Sweeping Blind

With thoughts of Zombies and rabid dogs in his head, Al went back to his truck for his flashlight; the daylight was failing fast. He let himself into the old farmhouse and made it as far as the living room. It was trashed, furniture overturned and broken. John and Ruby lay entwined on the floor. Like he and Ruthie had been. John had a hole blasted through him and Ruby lay cold beneath him, the shotgun between. She had gotten him, but he had gotten her. Or maybe her heart had given out in the struggle. Their son, Bill, was missing in action.

Al left them where he found them, nothing he could do for them. Outside in the cold evening wind, he leaned on the fender of his van, letting his mind come to grips. His situation was now slightly more real. It was extending beyond his own nightmare. He waited until his mind slipped back into neutral.

Quietly he went down to the barn and slid the door open, staying back, gun ready for John's unpredictable dog. Nothing hurdled out at him. Instead, the old dog came plodding out, his tale between his legs, wagging tentatively, cowering, whining. Al had to shake his head. Was this the same dog? Al patted him and hoped he would survive without his masters.

He opened the gate to the horse pasture so the horses could come and go as they pleased. He did the same for the cows. The spring grass was barely up tall enough yet in most places.

With still no sign of Bill, Al walked back to his Montana leaving the dog and livestock to fend for themselves, then headed toward town; for no particular reason other than that's the way the steering wheel turned.

The only other neighbor he had was south of him. He guessed they were the couple on his sidewalk. He did not know them, though knew they had goats, chickens, and the cutest beagle puppy he had ever seen, even if it did bark half the night. She had a boy, he recalled.

He did go not inside; did not want to see what was left of the boy, but he let the goats, the chickens, and the dog out of their pens. The beagle was unusually subdued and quiet, he tried to follow him into the van; Al gently pushed him away and moved on. The dog would only get him killed with his antics or barking. He hoped it would be OK on its own with the river nearby. He continued south and drove across the river bridge, the road now asphalt. He stopped midway.

Ahead was dark, foreboding. No porch lights. No streetlights. When had the power gone out? He felt a frisson of fear at the back of his neck. What was he doing out here in the dark? Damn fool thing to be doing. Where was he going? He should have stayed hunkered down at home until daylight. Or left earlier, or at least have a plan. 'Crazy, damn fool.' Al berated himself.

Keeping his headlights off by instinct, he moved ahead slowly through the first two subdivisions that bordered the street. He felt the lack of light shrink his world down to the front seat of his van. He knew the houses in this area were few, large, and far apart. The sky was dark enough now that constellations were easy to see against the crystal blackness of the night. He drove slowly, gawking, without seeing anything except shadows within shadows.

When he realized he was on the bridge that crossed the interstate, he felt like he had been moving for hours but the bridge was only a mile from his house. He needed to be able to see!

Moving around in town with streetlights would be bad enough if there were more of these things around, doing it in full country dark was stupidity. Obviously, he had not thought this through. 'Dumb, Al, very dumb'.

Well, he was out here now, he was not going back; he would drive until he saw something to make him stop. Using his flashlight, he dug around under the seat until he found the night vision goggles he had bought on line for cheap. Ruthie had rolled her eyes at his supposed cleverness, still, you never knew when you might need something like this. He chuckled because here they were coming in handy. His humor died. He would rather have Ruthie.

He adjusted the goggles to keep the straps from rubbing the scratches on his face, slipped the van back into gear, and drove forward. 'I've gotta keep my head on a swivel, and keep moving,' he cheered himself, feeling like GI Joe.

He needed a plan. He would feel better with a plan. No way was he going from house to house turning animals loose and confronting heart-breaking scenes like John and Ruby again. Screw that!

Nothing better came to him as he drove slowly full of morbid curiosity, scanning the neighborhoods, getting used to the weird colors of the goggles as well as the even weirder things happening beyond his windshield. He saw a man beating the crap out of a telephone pole; so totally intent on punching and kicking it, that he paid the van creeping past him no mind, even when Al pulled up beside him.

Exactly like the woman in his yard, like Ruthie as she attacked him, rage distorted this man's face into something inhuman. Al turned away.

Across the street, a woman was walloping all over one of those big black plastic trashcans, people set out on the curb. Hot anger shrieked from her throat, as she picked up the lid and started beating the ground, then the can, then randomly anything else in her line of sight. She was raging worse than if someone had stolen her favorite Prada shoes.

The more Al investigated, the more he saw that, though the raging zombies were not everywhere, they were trashing whatever was near them. Some were going after cars, busting out windows, pounding dents on the hoods with their bare fists; some banged on drain spouts or home windows and doors, busting out not in.

A dog ran out of one house and a rager ran after it. Damn, it's fast! The rager, not the dog, because the young woman caught the dog, picked it up and started shaking it. It was a big dog and it fought the skinny rager with everything it had. Still the rager managed to throw it to the ground then grab it by its tail and whip it around; sending it flying into the line of trash cans like a bowling ball into pins. A kid dove into the mess and started kicking an errant can, and the woman, seeming to forget the dog was ever there, moved on to something Al could not see. Neither she nor the kid attacked each other. In fact, it dawned on him that he had seen none of the victims attacking each other.

Al continued to cruise down the streets slowly, watching in stunned amazement. He saw two others get within range of each other and they tangled up like a couple of rabid raccoons, then as quickly, they shoved each other away and moved on to other targets. Yep, they pretty much left each other alone, maybe preferring easier targets. Everything else, though, was fair game. It did not have to be much to entertain them. One found a patch of bare ground and started tromping; the other attacked an abandoned but apparently menacing tricycle. Al tried not to think of what had happened to the child. He kept rolling the van slowly forward. Quietly he tried to keep under their radar.

He realized what he was seeing, he could no longer call zombies; these people did not act like deaders. They did not have big bites taken out of them or have missing limbs and guts hanging about them. Some had wounds, though he guessed they were self-inflicted from their one-sided battles. Not zombies; if anything, they were crazies, as he had seen on the continuously looping news reports yesterday, only taken to the next level. There were bodies lying about, but none appeared cannibalized. He was certain now this raging craziness was another symptom of the "faux rabies flu". Not zombies only scary and dangerous all the same.

The closer the houses got, the denser the population of ragers. Three or four were in loose groups in every yard or so. More if there were apartment buildings nearby. Driving on, he saw five well-dressed ragers growling and pounding on the side of a plate glass window of a corner house. First time he had seen more than one beating on the same thing in such a concentrated manor. Something must have really gotten their attention.

A faint glimmer of light flickered through the cracks of the blinds. Someone was in there, someone who knew how to use a flashlight or candles and so was still not showing symptoms of the madness.

Afterwards he tried to figure out what possessed him to pull his truck around the corner and park, leaving it running as he watched the house. A curtain in an upstairs window pulled back. He could see a kid opening it and look back into the room. Another figure, looking like an older child or a small woman, moved to help him. Al heard the window in front shatter as the ragers broke through.

Still wearing his goggles, he grabbed his .22 pistol, checked the magazine, and slipped off the safety. He turned the overhead dome light off so it would not come on when he opened his door, then slipped out as quietly as he could onto the grass. There were no ragers on this side of the house, but he could hear some in the back yard. The two kids had a chance to slip down the porch roof, though from there it would be at least a ten-foot drop, or a chancy climb down an antenna pole, which might or might not support them. He hoped they had their superhero capes on.

He tried to get their attention, before they started down so they would not scream their fool heads off when they saw him. He searched the road for some gravel, anything, to toss up to them. Nothing. He reached into his pocket and found some change. Switching the gun to his off hand, he tossed one. Too far away. Shit! He had to move closer, out into the open. He moved ten feet out into the yard and tossed another coin. Missed. Come on, can't you hit the broadside of a house?

He was running out of coins. He moved out another ten feet, feeling exposed, fighting the instinct to run back and let the kids fend for themselves. Why in the hell did I stop? He heard the screen pop out; they were out the window.

Al tossed another coin and the two froze, crouched on the slanted roof. He threw another one. They looked up. He waved them on. The older one grabbed for the younger one's mouth, stifling his scream, although otherwise neither moved.

What the hell? He hopped up, pulled his goggles from his head, and whispered a yell, "Come on, dammit!"

They came unfrozen and moved to the edge of the roof. The older one helped the little one over the edge and Al ran to help him take the fall, stuffing his goggles in his shirt and his gun in his pants. He hoped it would not go off.

Once the kid was on the ground, he shoved him toward the truck and reached up to the girl dangling off the edge by her stomach. "Come on, I've gotcha!" he whispered loudly. She pushed off, dangled from her arms, then let go and they both tumbled to the grass in a tangle of legs and arms.

A rager came around the corner like bolt of ground lightening, heading right for them.

# Chapter 17: Stumbling Hero

"Go! Go!" Al yelled as he pulled his pistol and fired without taking aim, hitting the raging woman in the leg. Surprised that he had even hit the woman he congratulated himself. "Not bad for not having aimed," he thought. She fell to the ground without trying to put her hands out to catch herself. She landed smack on her face. "Whoa, bet that hurt." Al got up, taking advantage of the opportunity, running for the van. "Get in! Go, go!"

The young girl climbed in behind the boy and Al slammed in beside her. The rager was still down yet crawling on all fours nearly as fast as a three legged dog, and two other raucous figures were streaking toward the noise of the gunshot. Al dropped the Montana into gear and peeled out, looking over his shoulder and at the rear view mirror. He couldn't see a thing.

"Hold the wheel and keep it straight," he told the girl and was surprised she moved instantly to comply with his demand. He slipped the goggles over his head, wincing as it scraped his still raw scratches, and took the wheel back. The downed rager was now the center of attention, surrounded by the others who kicked and bashed, fighting over their prize for a few seconds before they broke off from each other in that peculiar way Al had witnessed when rager met rager.

They were not following and no others seemed to notice the brief scuffle. As soon as they were clear of the danger, not wanting to attract attention from some other venue, Al let up on the gas and returned to a slow cruise. He was glad the house was on the corner and bordered an open lot and not in a more densely populated area of the town.

His heart was pounding, but his breathing was regular despite the short run. Adrenaline which had surged through his system drained, leaving his legs a bit jittery and rubbery on the pedals. He glanced over to the shadowy face of the girl, who was watching the boy in the seatless, cavern of the van. They were both the watching out the rear window behind them.

He turned his attention back to the dark road, and maintained his slow speed in the dark. The moon still had not risen, although its waxing crescent shape would not give much light when it did; anyway, with his goggles, he saw well enough. There were a few crazies milling around, not near enough to worry about, unless he made enough noise or movement to attract their attention.

"Thanks, Mr. for saving our butts." The girl said softly.

Al grimaced and mumble to himself about damn foolishness and damn kids and damn crazy sick people. Ignoring the girl, he berated himself silently. 'You damn fool! Why did 'ya stop? 'Ya could'a got yourself killed and you can't die yet. Not until you've suffered for your crime. Damned idiot.'

"My name's Christy," the girl continued, undaunted by his silence. "That's Josie. We're neighbors. I've been taking care of her."

Al studied the image in his rearview mirror. With the goggles, he could see his mistake. The girl with her hair under a ball cap looked to be about eight or nine and scared to death. Her big wide eyes melted some of the gruffness as he turned his narrow field of view the goggles afforded him back to the road.

"Pretty scary stuff, huh?" He asked her.

The child did not answer. She must have nodded, though Al did not look back at her.

"Yeah, well, I'm Al."

Still, the young girl did not answer. That was all right with Al, he was busy trying to think of how he could get rid of these two, anyway. He did not want the complications or responsibility. They would slow him down; get him killed by their stupidity or worse, he would get them killed or... something.

The girl, Christy settled sideways in her seat, inviting Josie to sit with her. She wrapped the kid in comfort and warmth with her arms. Al cranked up the heat. Damn kids.

"Where are you headed?" Christy asked when Josie finally quieted.

"Nowhere particular. Just headin'." After a minute, he asked her. "You got relatives or someplace you think might be a good place where I can drop you?"

Christy must have shook her head then answered "No," her voice, small and soft in the darkness. "All my family is up north. I'm here at the university working for my Masters in Information Systems, for what that's worth now. Josie's a foster child and her foster folks left for the hospital when Mr. Garver's panic attacks got so bad.

"Mrs. Garver asked me to take care of her 'till she got back. The TV ordered everyone to stay away from the hospitals because they were already over run, but Pamela couldn't see straight for fear and worry. So I agreed. Josie's a good kid, so I didn't mind. We helped each other get through most of the scary parts, when the Garvers didn't come back."

Al was silent, thinking about the hospital. They were not all that far from there, probably. The news had reported it overrun and to stay away. It would be full of ragers by now, probably no one left alive. The police station? Probably no one left there either. Where was it likely to be safe enough to drop them? 'Sure as hell, they aren't staying with me.' he reassured himself silently.

He kept the van moving, creeping silently along the streets, and not knowing where to go, trying to think. He was on autopilot. He slipped into a funk fueled by the night and surreal events.

Under the best of conditions, Al could get lost in a paper bag. In the dark, he did not know precisely where he was or which direction he was moving. Tonight with the limited vision he had with the goggles and having taken so many turns, he was lost. He kept moving, turning when things seemed like they might be getting too intense, with more cars abandoned in the streets or more ragers tearing things up. As far as he knew, they could have been going over the same territory.

They drove past lawns littered with bodies looking like they had been beaten to death. He was letting go of the idea of zombies, yet he still found it hard to pin such devastation on a flu-bug. He was glad his two passengers could not see the details without streetlights.

Fork Grove was a small city of 25,000 or so that swelled by about four thousand or so students each semester at the State University. He did not hobnob with the townsfolk much, even though he had been born there. It was pretty much a blue-collar town, its main employers being a dog food plant, three meat and one chicken distribution centers, and a soybean processing plant. Then of course, there was Al's own company, which fabricated alternative solutions for residential power in the form of solar panels and wind turbine systems.

'That's it!' In a flash of insight, he knew where to take his passengers, and maybe even hole up himself for the night. Course getting out of the paper bag thing and all was still a problem. He was not about to get out and ask for directions.

CleaNRG was located on the east side of town near the dog food plant. However, the company was developing a model community north and west of the city on the southwest bank of the Neosho River, almost in Al's back yard. The majority of the apartment complexes neared completion, waiting on final inspections, but remained unfurnished. The demo units, though, were move-in ready with furniture and all appliances. He would ditch them there. Maybe even spend the night and get a better start in the morning. Al began whistling, happy finally to have a plan if not exactly a direction.

"What?" Christy asked out of the darkness. She had been so quiet for the last ten minutes, that with his limited field of vision the goggles gave him, he had almost forgotten he was alone.

"I thought of a plan," he grinned, forgetting she could not see his expressions.

She waited. "Mind sharing?" she asked nervously when he did elaborate.

He frowned, irrationally resenting her intrusion into his thoughts and plans, but finally shrugged it off.

"You know that place up north with the giant windmill they put up?" He explained his idea. "It's isolated enough so there shouldn't be any crazies out there. We should even be able to turn on the lights and cook some food. I got enough supplies for a day or two and the water is well water with the pump hooked up to the solar batteries. You should be okay... Whoa!" His arm shot out to guard Christy and Josie as he cranked the wheel.

# Chapter 18: Magnet for Need

With a curse, Al slammed the breaks and turned the wheel to avoid a late model truck that had pulled out in front of them from the side street. Neither vehicle was moving very fast so when they collided it was more noise than damage. Still, in the present circumstances where the number of crazies was more than Al was comfortable being around, noise was a big factor.

As the crash subsided, Al wanted to get out and give the other driver a piece of his mind, but he could hear the low growling of lunatics in the distance explode to rage; the sound was getting closer, fast. He cranked the wheel hard, dropped into reverse, backed up enough to clear the other truck, and peeled out like a druggie with the law on his tail.

The other truck merely sat there. "Move it or lose it, idiot!" Al yelled uselessly as he passed. He imagined the vehicle had stalled out and the driver was frantically trying to get it to kick over. In a spared brief glance as Al passed the truck, he could see two passengers throwing their arms around in panic.

There was nothing Al could do if he stopped, he knew that, so he cursed at them again, and himself, as he moved away from the intersection. He floored it, squealing his tires more than he really had to as he shifted, dropped out of gear, revved his engine then shifted again squealing tires without picking up more speed. He yelled for the girl to keep an eye out on the sides, for anyone coming up on them, and to let him know when the truck started moving again. The noise of his getaway redirected the growing, speeding mob away from the relatively quiet stalled truck.

"Come on, get the thing started!" Al growled to himself. The ragers were on him, thumping the van's panels. He had to move. When the truck had apparently started back up, the driver turned on its headlights to let him know he was moving and ready to follow Al away from the danger. Al cursed him again. 'Shit! He's gonna make us both a target!'

Thinking fast, Al turned on his running lights and was gratified to see the other driver shut off his headlights. Smart man, he thought, even if he was a dumb shit, for slamming into him in the first place.

He drove on. Under normal conditions, it would have been no contest, even if the mob was superfast, but the streets were not clear. Bodies littering the street and cars impeded his progress. He was having trouble running silent and having the idiot behind him doubled the noise, so the number of ragers attracted to them was constant. Enough until he could break through to a less densely populated area, he knew he could not stop or go any slower.

Al had learned that a rager's single-mindedness was intense though easily distracted. He could see them, but he believed the original cluster was falling off behind them, sidetracked by something closer. Still, at every block other marauders heard the noise, saw the moving lights, and came howling in their direction.

"Look out!" Christy squawked, grabbed for the 'oh, shit' handle and held on to Josie. He bounced up the curb, running up on the lawn and back down the neighbors' drive to get past a blockage. The truck stayed with him.

Finally, the road cleared, the landscape opened up and they came upon a church and cemetery. The number of new crazy ragers dropped as far as Al could see. Al hoped there would be no rising dead, as he wound through the graveyard. He kept his pace slow to keep the engine noise to a minimum, even when he found the street he had been looking for. Al, wound as tight as a compressed spring, relaxed a bit with the familiar territory. At least the streets were relatively clear of vehicles and bodies. Still, he kept his head swiveling as he moved along.

He knew he had turned in the right direction that he would have a clean run to his turn-off to the compound. He was beginning to feel good about the whole thing, until he remembered the truck was still following him. He had no clue what side of the stick they stood on. Ally or foe? He did not know what to do. Should he try to ditch them or let them follow him? There were always choices, but sometimes no good ones.

"They're flashing their lights," Christy spoke for the first time since she had shouted the warning. She must have been watching her side mirror. When he looked in his own mirror the headlights went out, the brake lights came on. Both vehicles were on the bridge over the interstate, so Al knew he was going the right way and they were safe to stop. He knew he was going to have to make a decision.

He cursed himself and pulled over. 'Bad idea, Al. Bad, bad idea.' He wanted to ditch them all and his original idea was a still a good plan. If these people were good folk, it left him the way he liked it with no responsibilities. If they were bad guys...

He pulled his nine mm off the dash, took off his goggles, and let his eyes adjust as he waited for the other driver to come to him.

"Keep an eye out on that side of the truck," he told Christy, not that she could see much. It was pretty dark. "Yell if you see anyone trying to sneak up on us." The little girl, Josie, went to the back window, not so silently climbing over the gears while Christy watched the side mirror. He could see the driver moving up from behind, leaving his cab door open with the dome light illuminating two companions, both women. The man moved closer, circling wide and keeping his hands in the air, which was a good thing because in one hand he held a cross bow in a manner that made him look like he knew how to use it.

Al was nervous, yet without knowing why, he suddenly felt better, knowing he was not dealing with a fool. By leaving the light on the man indicated, he had nothing to hide. By carrying a weapon, he sent the message that he was wary, but wanted to parley. Al left his parking lights on reciprocating the gesture and improving visibility for both of them, then got out of the van, his nine mm high in the air with the safety off. He left his night vision goggles on the seat.

The night was clear and out here in the open, in the dark, the clearness made the sky seem huge. He should not have been able to see much of the sky and it was damnably quiet, where there should have been interstate traffic roaring below them. Al suddenly felt so out of place and insignificant under the vastness of the stars overhead. Everything seemed unreal. He was fast losing all his reference points, the things that could anchor his sanity.

The man who approached appeared to be about the same age as Al, although where Al was tall and muscular; the stranger was more rotund and sported shaggy hair with sideburns around a mostly clean-shaven face. He wore a backwards ball cap, an oversized polo shirt, and baggie Dockers.

"Sorry about the crash back there." Polo man offered his words mushy in his mouth. "Last thing I expected was another vehicle on the road. Dumb move on my part, but I was never so glad to see people who are sane." He gave a weak grin. "If you want we can exchange insurance cards."

Al nodded acceptance of his statement and flashed a grudging grin at his humor, yet kept his finger on the trigger. End times brought out the best and the worst in people. He started rocking from foot to foot. He wanted to pace as he usually did, when he was worried. "Who ya have in the truck back there?" He asked.

"My girl Mica, she's pregnant, and a woman named Yoona." We were overrun where we were. We were looking for some place safe, when we ran into you. Don't mean you any harm, and I'm hoping you might have some answers. Don't mind admitting I'm lost for what to do next."

Al thought for a bit, still rocking. Man seemed harmless enough and his words had a ring of truth. Still, he had seen too many post-apocalyptic movies and had known too many politicians to trust to man's good nature.

"Come on man," the bowman continued, uncomfortable with Al's silence. "Give me something here. I've been up front with you and I feel damn nervous about standing in the middle of the street near shouting back and forth."

Al considered it a moment more, and then gave a little. "Name's..." he thought of the little girl in the van. "Al, just Al. I got a woman and a kid in the van. Little girl 'bout 8. Strays."

The man nodded, relieved. "My name's Sam. Sam Lee. I used to work at Hopkins, night shift supervisor. Don't mind telling you it's been a rough few days. Ran out of food, not good for the baby." He patted his stomach with his free hand, "or me. I went foraging in the complex where we lived and got surprised by a bunch of raging crazies this morning. Took me hours to get back to Mica.

"I found Yoona on the way, she had this truck. When we pulled around back to the fire escape to get Mica, she was already out the window climbing down. Scared and crying. Ragers hot on her trail." His voice broke. "It couldn't have got any closer, dude. I thought I'd lost her."

Al did not reciprocate with his own story. It was no one's business. Besides, he wanted the man to trust him, so he could get him to agree to take his two passengers. No one would trust a murderer. So he stopped rocking, decided, and hoped he was not making a mistake.

"Get back in your truck, and follow me, if you've a mind to. I got a place we can claim. It's out in the country, so I won't take offense if you decide to go your own way."

Sam nodded, and grinned in relief, then backed toward his vehicle a bit. Finally, he turned, un-cocked his bow and laid it in the bed of the truck.

Al watched Sam go, then backed up to his own still open door and got in. Leaving his headlights off and the running lights on, so the man would have something to follow, he put his goggles back on, took a deep breath, and eased the van forward.

He was worn down. The roller coaster of adrenaline and fear with the loss of his wife, made him feel like an old man. He wanted to be home playing computer games or watching TV with Ruthie. His heart squeezed with loneliness and guilt at the thought of her, as he had last seen her.

He worried that he had made the wrong decision about Sam Lee. He hated having the responsibility that his decision would affect Christy and Josie.

'Damn fool! Why did ya stop? Why did ya get involved? Idiot!'

# Chapter 19: Capturing Rage

At the last possible second, Sophie threw herself low into Maggie's legs and rolled. Maggie went flying as she tumbled over Sophie and landed hard on the tiled floor, still snarling and growling. Before she could right herself, Jesse was straddling her. His fist made acquaintance with her jaw in a right cross. Maggie's head snapped to the left where Sophie could see the peaceful visage of her friend return, as her whole body went limp with Jesse's left hand fisted in her scrubs top. He lowered her to the floor gently.

He watched, one eyebrow raised and a sardonic half smile on his face, as Sophie half-crawled half-stumbled to Maggie's side.

"Damn, woman. You do tend to be contrary, don't you?" he growled at her.

Sophie regarded him innocently, "What?"

"Come on you guys!" Vahan hollered from behind the counter. "Get away from her before she comes to. Let's get out of here!"

"Vahan! Get something to tie her with!" Sophie hollered taking charge. "Jesse, use your belt to strap her legs together. Hurry, Vahan! Move!"

Sophie worked Maggie's top up and pulled her arms out of the sleeves, noting bruising and bloody gashes from who knew what. Quickly she pulled the top back down with Maggi's arms pined inside binding her like a straightjacket. Jesse finished with her ankles and glared at Sophie, obviously expecting a better answer.

Sophie gave him a look that said, "Oops."

After a lot of clacking and crashing, Vahan came back with the cord from one of the window blinds and they wrapped it around Maggi torso as many times as they could, then tied it off.

"Think that'll hold her for long?" Vahan asked, dubiously.

Sophie sat back on her heels and shook her head. She agreed it did look somewhat pathetic, remembering the strength and speed a rager wielded. "Long enough to find something stronger. Let's go get some more cord. Jesse, if she starts to wake up, knock her out again."

"You realize you have complicated our lives to the nth degree don't you?" Jesse asked when they finished wrapping Maggie like a Christmas present. They all stood, looking down on the still unconscious rager.

"What? No, not true. I solved one of our problems. Well, part of one anyway."

Jesse gave her a raised eyebrow.

"Okay. I know." Sophie nodded. "I know, but we couldn't leave her; she's my friend. Though no matter who it was, it had to be done; we came for information." She gestured grandly with a wave of her arm. "Jesse, Vahan, meet the horse's mouth."

The two men stood staring at Sophie for a full minute in silence, obviously united in their opinion of her mental stability.

"What makes you think you can control her any more than we could the ones upstairs?" Vahan asked, scratching his head.

"Uhhhhh... three to one are much better odds?" Sophie grimaced and regarded Vahan with more confidence than she felt. She was flapping about like a fledgling, flying from branch to branch, reacting more than planning her flight. "Besides, keeping them sedated was working on those who were bed ridden and strapped in. We couldn't handle the hundreds that turned all at one time. That took us by surprise. We didn't have an inkling they would get worse, instead of getting better. Now we know to expect the unexpected."

She looked down at Maggie and smoothed her hair from her eyes. "Maggie's going to help us learn a lot first-hand about what's happening to the victims of this virus. Aren't you, Maggs?"

"So we're... what, going to take her back to the others? Or bring them here? That's going to put everyone at risk if she gets loose." Vahan sounded like he understood, but had no idea how to accomplish the goal.

Sophie shook her head. "No, I agree. We'll have to keep her separate, and transporting her will be a problem considering our neighbors. I'm guessing staying here would be best until we can get her under control. I'll stay with her and minimize the risk."

She held up her hand to deter objections, daring Jesse to challenge her on this, her eyes pleading with him to understand and support her. He dropped his gaze and shook his head in exasperation.

"Which makes getting the radios even more important." He stood and stretched out his lower back, rubbing it, and thinking. "Vahan and I'll go on down to the store room and get whatever we can carry. We'll at least find some blankets and maybe rope or duct tape to secure her better."

They agreed.

"All right. First things first. Vahan, help me get her into a closet or something. While we gone, Sophie, check the kitchen for whatever you can find. I'm starving."

The two men helped Sophie clear a broom closet. By that time, Maggie was awake, eyes bulging, yelling, snarling, and thrashing so much they had to manhandle her into the closet. They left her there on the floor and closed the door.

Sophie felt so helpless. It pained her to leave her friend so callously in the darkness on a cold floor, fortunately, to her relief it was not long before Maggie seemed to calm down.

She noted the response. Was it the dark, the lack of stimuli, or the disease losing its grip, winding down? Sophie did not know, but she hoped for the latter. Actually, she hoped for both. Who believed you should not be greedy in hoping. She hoped this was the end of it, but after this morning's fiasco, she didn't count on it.

"Under no circumstances do you open that closet door, until we get back, Sophie." Jesse grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look into his eyes. His face was intent with the determination to temper her inclination of taking on trouble independently. "Promise me, Phee. I mean it. You have to promise."

Sophie saw the concern, and got lost for a time in his soft brown eyes. He was not a drop-dead gorgeous man, even with his heavily muscled arms and well-defined cheekbones, but he was strikingly handsome to her, with his chocolate skin and eyes. Something about him had always pulled at her, made her notice when he was in the room, made her feel safer when he was around. Seeing his concern for her so intense in his eyes and puzzled by her own response, she put her hand on his rough bearded cheek and nodded.

He accepted her implied assent and started toward the employee's door.

Vahan and Jesse moved out of the cafeteria cautiously finding the corridor deserted and moved on to the stairwell that led down to the basement. A coded doorknob requiring no electricity provided access to that stairwell, so there was no danger of meeting with a rager. Unless someone in the early stages of anxiety had taken refuge down there. Sophie watched them go, then closed the door.

She was at a loss as to what was happening between her and Jesse. She could tell he was feeling it too, but was it the stress of the situation or was there something deeper being born? Quickly she shrugged it off, hid it away. Whatever the feeling was, it had no place in this time or space. Survival and the tormented were first priority.

As much as she would have liked to hold Maggie's hand through this ordeal, and tend her wounds, Sophie also wanted to hold the ambient stimuli bombarding the maddened woman's already frayed neurons down as much as she could. Accordingly, she kept the closet door closed as promised and make as little noise as possible as she found the makings for a meal.

She opened a large can of chicken noodle soup and emptied it into a pot. The gas was still viable. She found some eggs and put them on to boil. She thought about frying up the bacon, then hesitated, wondering if the ragers would be enticed by smells. Then again, someone would have to be dead not to drool at the smell of bacon. 'Oh hell, go for it girl.'

As she worked, she thought about her next move. They needed IV supplies and sedatives. She could get them from two places. Both prospects were extremely risky. The second floor might still have some supplies it also had the densest population of victims of the virus. The third floor was unoccupied nevertheless, it was a long convoluted way to get there without the elevators and probably had its share of crazed victims. She dreaded the task of going by herself, however there was no help for it.

Her thoughts took her deeper into the unknown. So much had happened. Roger was right, they did need more information about the outside world as well as about the disease. They needed to know if anyone else was alive. Surely, they could not be the only ones.

The radio might help with that, but not everyone would have access to a shortwave radio, like her family. She certainly had no clue how to use one, and doubted many did. Could it broadcast so regular radios could pick it up? In the old days, she could simply google it on her smartphone. Of course, in the old days, she would have no need to wonder about shortwave radios.

Whatever. Roger was right they needed more information, but she thought he was wrong about how to get it.

Snick!

Sophie flinched at the sound, clear and precise in the painfully silent room. Adrenaline flooded into her system and she prepared to do whatever the situation would call for. 'Damn'. She should not have been so cavalier about the bacon.

The sound was definitely the cafeteria front door. Why had they not barricaded it? Someone had come into the room. She was sure of it. She could feel their presence slightly decrease the echoing stillness in the air since Maggie had quieted down. Vahan and Jesse had left through the kitchen employee entrance, which was back behind her, not the dining room ahead of her where the noise had originated. Vahan and Jesse would have called out right away.

Sophie held her breath. No, growling, no raging. It was quiet. Slowly she straightened up to peer over the counter. The room appeared abandoned, though she couldn't see the entrance from where she hid. Holding her breath, she waited. Was it immune people or another stage of the virus?

Snick. The sound again, she was definitely not hearing things. Would a rager be this quiet? She waited another forever. 'How many forevers are there in an eternity?' It had to be someone who was immune; Doc, Anne, and Jack were the only ones she knew of, however Sophie was terrified to move. Maybe some druggies came in off the streets. Finally, the sound of whispering came softly to her ears. Movement caught her eye so she changed her line of sight; caught a flash of a white lab coat, then a six foot Amazon all scrunched over and trying to be invisible while sniffing the air. Sophie giggled, then started laughing outright. She slapped her hand over her mouth, hearing the laugh come out slightly hysterical.

"I should have known bacon would draw you here!" she stood up so they could plainly see her. The giggle escaped again, this time she did not try to hide her delight at seeing her two comrades. She was around the corner of the counter, running and laughing, and threw her arms around the two speechless characters standing dumbfounded but obviously drooling.

"Sophie! Holy crap, you scared the life out of us!" Anne cried and all six feet of her enveloped Sophie's body in a welcoming hug.

"Yeah," Colt agreed with a crooked grin, reaching out to touch her shoulder as Anne released her. "What she said and 'don't ever do that again' thrown in. What the heck's wrong with you?"

However, he hugged her in his turn. They had not known each other well before the crisis. Doctors and nurses did not usually run in the same circles, and therapists contracted in, often floating between several hospitals, so she didn't know Anne all that well either. The last two or three days had made comrades of them all. No, more than comrades, more like brothers and sisters, or in Jack and Roger's case, father, and grandfather. It was good to have these two back again, even if standing beside the two made her feel like a ten year old out with her parents.

Sophie frowned as she thought of Jack. She glance at their faces already knowing the answer but hoped for hope. "Where's Jack?"

# Chapter 20: Finally a Plan

Neither Anne nor Doc would look her in the eye. A sure sign Jack was gone. "Oh, the poor man!" she sobbed softly. "What happened?"

Anne spoke first as Colt moved away, rubbing his eyes, shoulder's slumped. "Colt blames himself, but there really was nothing he could do. Jack's heart gave out and Jack ... gave up. He missed Wendy so much since she died. You know that. He wanted to be with her. We were in the lab and couldn't get past the ragers to get to the pharmacy or a med room. We managed to find some oxygen for him, unfortunately, he had used the last of his nitro. We couldn't even find an aspirin."

"Oh." Sophie remembered the first time she had seen Jack. Maggie had been on day duty in the emergency room and Sophie was coming on for the night duty Sunday night. Maggie was having an anxiety attack, which was so unlike her, but obviously now, had already caught the flu. Jack had walked up to the admissions window where Sophie was trying to talk Maggie down.

"I'm afraid it will get a lot worse, young lady." He surveyed those in the waiting room who seemed to be distraught and nervous for no apparent reason. Sophie had frowned with confusion as he continued. "She's acting like my Wendy did when she first started. Like most of these folk, l bet."

The elderly lady was admitted for severe anxiety and panic attacks in the wee hours of Monday morning, making her the first of forty others admitted, before they realized it was pandemic and started treating only the worst with injections of anti-anxieties and monitoring them. They had kept Wendy Frank sedated and comfortable with IV fluids, but her heart had seized. They had lost her on Monday night.

The sweet old man had taken it well at the time, thanking God she was out of misery and this crazy world she could not understand. They had let him stay with her for as long as he wanted, then covered her and rolled her into the then deserted maternity suite.

Jack had elected to stay and help the beleaguered staff.

Sophie was a good nurse and like every nurse, she knew how to wall herself off from the pain of loss and against the second-guessing of not having done enough. However, few nurses or doctors worth their salt could stop themselves from caring for their charges. She stood in silence with the others for a moment, and then Anne asked sheepishly, "Is that bacon I smell?"

Sophie went with them to the kitchen and subconsciously stood between them and Maggie's door. She did not want to tell them about Maggie yet.

"Where's everybody else, Sophie? Did you get separated too?" Anne asked between gulps of tap water, much needed fluids, drawing one for Colt as well while he shoveled bacon and eggs into plates.

Sophie reported on her group and their activities of the last several hours, thinking it did not sound like much had happened and yet the world had totally changed. When she came to the part about Maggie, both companions froze and looked around.

Colt guessed it out first. "Is that why you're guarding the closet door?"

Anne stepped back, reflexively. Sophie could tell by her reaction and the look in her eyes that the two of them had not told her their whole story.

"It's fine, Anne. We tied her up. Sort of. We put her in there for her sake as well as ours. She's my best friend but she's still in the raging stage of the disease so she's not safe to be around."

"Ya think!" They both reacted in unison.

"What in the world are you thinking?" Colt demanded before Anne could say any more. "Sophie, we fought them! We saw one of them tear another to bits! Over nothing! Now, you have one locked in a closet?"

"Come on, Colt. Think like a doctor!" Sophie shot back. "Raging is another symptom, like the anxiety, the panic attacks, the aggressiveness! They've been in this stage for about ten to twelve hours now. What's the next stage? We don't know, although we do know they've had nothing to eat or drink for almost two days. They're burning up from the inside. I think they're slowing down; going to stop. Then what? What's next? Are they going to die, or will they recover? Think about it. We need to know what is going to happen next and Maggie is going to help us find out."

Colt shook his head. "I agree we need information except this is a damn dangerous way of getting it."

"Damn straight, we need information, for our sanity if for nothing else. I can't bring myself to believe they're all going to die. I refuse to write them off. No matter how lunatic they're acting now, it's the disease and we don't know if it's permanent or fatal." She paused and grinned lopsidedly. "Except for the whole killing each other and everyone around them part."

"You're right, of course." Doc mumbled, around a mouthful of eggs waving a piece of bacon to punctuate his sentences. "Let's say they burn out and are still alive. You do realize they'll probably be brain damaged, don't you? The chances are, they'll be vegetables or otherwise incapacitated. We don't have the resources for mass rehydration. Most of them are going to die, Sophie. You do understand that, don't you?"

Sophie narrowed her eyes in response to Colt's pronouncement. She knew he was right, yet she refused to budge from her stance. "When they come out of it, we'll do what we can. When we get the radio working, there may be other places out there, better off than we are. In the meantime, we monitor Maggie's progression. We'll know soonest what to do."

Doc shook his head worriedly. "Okay. We can sedate Maggie. We watch her. Nevertheless, Sophie, prepare yourself. The world is about to get much smaller."

"Maybe," Sophie insisted stubbornly, then looking to Anne for support, she saw the tall woman had gone very quiet, her eyes incredibly sad for a moment then it was gone. Was she thinking of her family?

The back door to the cafeteria opened with a soft bang as Jesse and Vahan returned. They came in with arms and shoulders loaded.

"I gotta say, Sophie. There always seems to be something happening when you're around." Vahan commented laconically as he and Jesse noticed she was not alone. He was grinning from ear to ear, dropping his load of supplies and reached out for Doc's hand. "Good to see you made it, Doc, Anne." He nodded to the tall, beautiful woman and smiled.

Anne smiled back and nodded, with a shyness somewhat at odds with her usual confident demeanor. Jesse made his rounds silently, grinning like a kid confronted with a wish come true, gripping each in an unabashed but tender bear hug.

Maggie took the opportunity to reinsert her reality on the group with some loud thrashing and shouting. Somewhat sobered by her renewed furor, they piled their plates with the food Sophie had prepared and the group moved to a table as far from Maggie as they could get, by unspoken accord. The gloom settled even heavier as Anne and Doc shared the story of their odyssey. It had been worse than theirs by every yardstick Sophie had.

Vahan pulled pack onto the table and revealed the treasures he and Jesse had come back with. "We found a lot of stuff down there."

Jesse's right eyebrow lifted and his lips twisted in a wry grin eyeballing Sophie. "More than everything we came for, though maybe not the way we had expected."

"What?" She frowned, pretending she did not know what he was saying.

"You suspect that the disease is slowing down," Doc began, "by the way you described Maggie sitting there like she was resting, that's very possible. However, she's still plenty dangerous, so we need to get her sedated. Do you have a plan on how we can do that, Sophie?"

Sophie went over what little plan she had work out. "I was thinking, I'll go to the nurses' station on the third floor, ICU. It'll have supplies there for IV fluids and probably some sedatives or anti-anxiety drugs." Sophie cringed inwardly at the thought of going alone to the third floor. It was not a very good plan, but it put the least amount of people in danger. "Jesse, can you stay with Maggie until I get back? This place is as safe as any; at least for now. Especially if we can barricade those entryway doors so the employee entrance is the only way in and out."

Vahan nodded acceptance to the idea so far. "The original idea was to bring the others back here if it was feasible, but with Maggie... It might be too dangerous until we know you can get her sedated. I'm thinking, Doc, Anne, and I, can take care of getting the radio and a hot meal back to the group and share what we found out so far. Then wait till we get the all clear to come back."

Sophie had seen Jesse nod to closing off the entrance although it was clear he did not think much of her overall plan. "It's a long way to the third floor," he remarked. "Isn't there something down here closer? The emergency room or maybe the operating room? The pharmacy?"

Doc answered, also clearly uncomfortable with the plan. "We used what little those departments had early in the game. We might find some things, but they don't have much storage in either place so it's doubtful they have everything we need. We'll end up having to go to multiple places. The third floor has a large supply room that we haven't tapped yet, except it's going to be a convoluted and dangerous trek from here."

Jesse was clearly still unhappy with the assessment and plan. "Right, but I'm going to the third floor. Make me a list of what you need. Doc, Vahan and Anne you go on back to the others. Take some flashlights. Who knows how long the generators are going to keep going."

"Oh, hell no!" Sophie interrupted with all the reasons why not. "You can't go! There's no way I can tell you what to get or where exactly to find it. I have to be the one to go. It's my idea and I can't stay here, knowing I've put someone else at risk."

Jesse's jaw tightened obviously fighting for control as he gritted his teeth in anger and frustration. It seemed they were constantly butting heads. "Whatever," he bit off tersely, "I'm going with you, period!"

"Jesse's right, Sophie." Doc admitted. "You're going to need two sets of hands anyway to carry all that stuff through dangerous territory, especially if the lights go out. I'll stay here with Maggie." There was finality and authority in his voice that matched Jesse's dictum. It was his Doctor giving orders to a nurse voice.

"It splits the group too much and endangers too many." A weak argument though it was all she had.

"Can't be helped. This is important as you indicated, Sophie. You can't have it both ways." Jesse backed Doc.

Vahan and Anne were looking back and forth between the two factions, and then glanced at each other.

"Then it's a plan." Vahan confirmed without hesitation. Anne nodded and expressed her agreement. "Doc stays here with Maggie and holds down the fort, you two go to the third floor, and we get the food and radios back to the others."

# Chapter 21: Wait and See

Without waiting for anyone to change the scenario again or make any other response, Vahan opened one of the packs and extracted flashlights, batteries, and something that made Sophie feel better about splitting the group. He had two-way radios.

Jesse took his cue and extracted more of the same, assigning frequencies to each group but cautioned them. "The danger with these things is the noise with transmissions going off when least wanted. So use them with the thought in mind, that you may be endangering whoever you are calling, at least for the next couple of hours."

Everyone nodded as they fumbled with the unfamiliar equipment.

"Doc, if there's a dire emergency and you absolutely have to call Vahan or us, use the beep feature. Two in a row means get to a safe place and call back. Please try real hard not to hit the beeper accidentally."

"I won't call you at all in the next two hours. We need any help, we'll call Doc." Vahan added.

"Whatever happens, call him, and give him an update in two hours. Doc, we should be back by then. We'll beep you twice when we are ready to head back down."

Each group took a radio and everyone took a flashlight. They barricaded the doors, and Jesse locked them with his master key. Colt saw them out the back door with a grim smile. "Be careful, all of you. As good company as Maggie may be, I don't want to spend the night with her alone."

The trip to the third floor was a lot worse than Sophie had expected. She did not say it, but was very thankful Jesse was with her. By the time they returned, they were both sick with the realization of how violent it had all turned.

She had counted ten beaten and bloodied bodies in the OR alone. Not that she was counting, still, it had become a point of pride, that it took that many before she lost her first meal in two days. Jesse held her hair out of her face and rubbed her back while he nervously scanned the halls for roaming chaos. Barfing is not the quietest of commentaries. Face red with the effort and embarrassment, she staggered on, wiping her mouth, miserable but determined.

When they had detoured around raging colleagues in the emergency department, taking the corridor past the lab, her stomach tried to turn itself inside out in a fit of dry heaves. It only took nine mutilated bloody corpses that time and the recognition of another good friend. Not that she was counting.

After more than a few tense moments of screwing up courage to enter the north stairwell, she and Jesse found it was blessedly unpopulated all the way to the deserted third floor of the oldest building of the hospital. Once there they crossed to the newer building's third floor and the ICU via a connecting covered walkway. The way was clear and hauntingly silent.

Looking out over the cityscape in the fading light of day, they could see ragers, randomly moving, lashing out at anything and nothing; bodies dotted the parking lots and grassy areas like flotsam. It was unnerving to see the scope of it. Off in the distance to the north they saw the still dark clouds of smoke pillaring up into the sky where a fire still burned. Sophie wished the whole town would burn down.

"From what I saw this morning, their movements don't seem as frantic, although it's hard to say for sure. I think we may be catching a break." Jesse observed pulling her onward away from the scene.

Once at their destination, they were able to gather a box of IV tubing and paraphernalia, bags of saline water and glucose (sugar water) drips, but they could only find a few days' worth of meds suitable for sedation. Sophie was disappointed yet she knew it was going to have to be enough. The IV drips would go a long way to help Maggie survive. Until...

What could possibly come next in this horror of a virus? She slammed the thought into an obscure trunk in the back of her mind and locked it tight. Sophie refused to think beyond getting back with their prizes; one step at a time.

Carrying the pole and stand was difficult, the wheels wanted to rattle and the whole load was ungainly with the drip monitor, especially burdened as they were with the other items they carried. In the end, Sophie decided not to take it. They could jury rig something. At least they would have the battery powered drip monitor.

She would not have made it alone. By the time they retraced their steps, hiding out from wandering nearly silent ragers, they were both sweating and exhausted. It had taken the full two hours and Colt was beginning to fret when they walked in.

He handed them each a bottle of cold water, letting them rest as he checked in with Vahan who seemed to have made it without major incident. "Roger got on the shortwave immediately, but so far, nothing aside from static. He's broadcasting, though."

Once rested, Jesse and Doc went into the closet with Maggie, fought to hold her still, and gave her a heavy injection of sedative, while Sophie got the lactated Ringer solution (electrolyte balance water) IV set up and primed. When Maggie actually appeared comfortable and managable, Sophie cleaned her wounds, and settled her onto a pallet of clean blankets brought up from the basement. She did not waken as they swaddled her in blankets and duct tape.

However, since Maggie was dehydrated, it was hard finding a vein they could use for the IV; thankfully, in the end, Sophie got it started. Then there was nothing to do aside from watch and wait. Jesse and Colt wrapped themselves in more blankets and took first watch. It would be the most critical period for the newly inserted IV in rather iffy veins requiring visual checks every fifteen minutes for the first two hours. After that, they felt safe in monitoring the drip with a tag team.

Sophie turned on the ovens and gas burners in the kitchen so the area stayed above freezing during the night. It was a risk of carbon monoxide poisoning, though not much of one. Then she lay down with blankets and a pillow and moaned at the luxury despite the hard floor beneath her. It had been a long, grueling day both mentally and physically not to mention emotionally. Though she wondered what tomorrow would bring, she was asleep before the thought finished forming.

# Chapter 22: Game Over

Sophie studied her watch. It was seven am; dawn. Was it Thursday? She was not sure.

She had pulled the last watch of the night and had been pacing the cafeteria trying to stay awake. Maggie was resting comfortably and seemed quieter, her face a bit more relaxed between periods of thrashing.

Sophie was thinking about her family again, worrying if they were all right. She wanted to hear their voices, see their faces. Even at thirty-one, Sophie still needed her father to wrap his big arms around her and tell her it would be all right. Her mom would brush her hair from her eyes and tell her she had the strength to see this to its end. Her sister would jab her in the ribs with her elbow and tease her about trying to solve all the world's problems before she even had breakfast. She wanted to hold her nieces, help them stay safe.

"Hey, anybody awake over there? Over." The radio squawked in crackling piercing tones. Sophie nearly shot out of her skin. She grabbed the radio and flipped the switch before it could squawk again. A quick glance noted the other two snoring softly, undisturbed.

"Yeah, this is Sophie. Over."

"Hey, Sophie, it's Tracy. Do you have a view of outside where you are? Over." Tracy sounded excited about something.

"Not really, Tracy. What's up? Over." The windows were too high up and even with the night lightening to soft gray, the view was only a narrow corridor of sidewalk between two buildings.

"Lady, you are not going to believe this. There were ragers outside in the parking lot all night. I could hear them more than see, since it's been so dark. Now, they're dropping to the ground as I'm watching. Like someone turned off a switch. They're collapsing wherever they happen to be. Some still moving around are attacking the fallen, beating on them, although they are slow and sluggish I think this is it, Phee! I think the virus has burned itself out! At least that's what it looks like! How's Maggie? Over?"

Sophie began running as she thumbed the transmitter. "Out!" She ran to Colt's sleeping form and shook him awake. "Come quick!"

He fumbled his glasses, threw his cover off, and was on her heels as she reached Maggie's closet door. Behind her, Sophie could hear Jesse stirring, asking what was wrong as he staggered to join them.

Breathlessly Sophie repeated Tracy's news as she opened Maggie's closet door. Jesse rushed to the window and climbed up trying to see something, anything.

She shone her light on Maggie's face. Her friend lay quietly amid her blankets, her eyes closed and still. The IV was still intact. She opened the door wider so the others could see and shine their flashlights on the scene as well. The slowly growing daylight from the windows helped dispel the shadows. They could see Maggie's face seemed softer now, the muscles gone slack, as if she was asleep or in a coma compared to the rigid muscle tone that had been a part of the raging symptoms.

At a touch on her shoulder, Sophie got out of the way so Colt could look Maggie over. He checked her pupils and watched the way she breathed. He took her vitals, all much improved since the last time almost four hours ago. He stopped the drip of sedative but continued the electrolyte balanced fluid drip.

"Not knowing what to expect next," he began, looking first at Sophie as a nurse. "I'm going to advise to continue the restraints, IV solutions, and precautions as before. Hold all sedatives. She's in a coma. Seems to be breathing well on her own, still, we'll watch for respiratory distress." He stood and maneuvered out of the closet.

"A coma. What does that mean?" asked Jesse coming up behind Sophie.

"Well, without diagnostics, I'd say her brain is fried. She is totally unresponsive to pain or outside stimuli. If she wakes up, she could be a total vegetable."

"God, let this be the end of it," Jesse prayed, his voice barely a whisper but Sophie heard it.

Jesse and Colt moved away from the closet while Sophie moved to Maggie's side. She wet her friend's lips with a soft towel, then took a tooth swab and wet the inside of her mouth, trying to rehydrate the thickened leather tongue. She talked softly to her friend as she worked to clean her up and resettle her.

She joined Jesse and Colt in the kitchen making coffee and scrambling some eggs. Jesse handed her a cup, holding on to it a moment longer than was necessary. Their fingers touched. Sophie met his eyes, her breath caught at how deep and warm they seemed.

"Care to speculate on what we can expect from here, Doc?" she asked, clutching to that hope like a buoy in the middle of the lake.

Colt pushed his glasses up his nose again and sighed as he cocked his head in speculation. "Officially, no. The raging seems to be over. At least for Maggie." Picking up the radio, he called Tracy to find out more of what was going on outside.

As Doc took the radio, Sophie set to buttering bread. She tried not to think. She looked towards Maggie's door. The IV fluids might have mitigated the damage and the odds for a full recovery for Maggie were much better than those outside. Still, it would be miraculous if she came out unscathed. As for those outside, the majority who woke up, if they woke up, would die of dehydration, or secondary causes, like infections from their wounds or exposure. A lot would depend on how long the coma lasted and what their minds were like when they woke up. It looked as though most of the world would die brain dead.

She could not believe it. She had to believe it would only be a matter of rehydration and nutrition. People would go back to their jobs as soon as they recovered. The lights would come back on, furnaces, TV, cell phones, traffic lights and trash trucks. There would be normality, routine, and recovery. She had to believe the world would recover.

Jesse took the butter knife and bread from her shaking hands and pulled her close. She could feel his warmth through the leather jacket he wore and she melted into it as tears leaked from her eyes. She feared her knees would buckle, but he held her up. She felt him tremble too, as he processed for himself what all this meant. Doc leaned heavily on the stainless steel counter, as he passed on his diagnosis and speculations.

They had all been working to help everyone get through this as best they could. They had not had time to think about the possibilities, the consequences, or the future. They had been convinced that help would come, they would persevere, and the virus would burn itself out, and leave its poor victims untouched.

It would get better. Some would die, had died, yet overall, everything would be okay. Everyone would be back on Facebook posting recriminations against the government with platitudes and photos.

'They are going to need our help even more now.' Sophie thought. 'They'll wake up wanting help. We need more immune people to help them all. How many others survived in the town? There had to be others! We have to find them.' Her heart ached with need for her family. She had to get to them; they could help rescue any who woke up. She started pacing, thinking.

Colt closed his conversation with Roger, who had taken over from Tracy when she could not continue. After a few minutes, Sophie fired her shot. "I need to go look for my family. We need to go out and look for more survivors to help these people when they wake up, because they will wake up and they'll want us to help them."

Jesse and Colt looked at her, totally surprised by her statement. When they recovered, she could tell from their expressions that they had thoughts on the matter that did not fit her agenda. Her temper began to rise.

Jesse raised his hand to forestall her, met her eyes with understanding "I know how you feel, Phee, and the answer is yes we'll go, but hear me out. This is... beyond comprehension right now. Doc has made an educated guess, nevertheless even he will admit, there's no way of knowing what's coming next."

"Jesse is right, Sophie." Doc confirmed. "I know I've been saying brain damage and death, but... This virus, this whole scenario is so unnatural. What if this is a lull? Suppose I'm wrong and the virus has gone dormant for a while. If they all went out about the same time, they could all come back about the same time. They could be regrouping for more insanity."

"What? You're saying they'll wake up and start raging again. That makes no sense! Their bodies are dehydrated. They are at the limits a human body can survive without water. It's impossible!"

Sophie was confused with the direction the two men were taking. She had thought they were all on the same page, but they were off in some...

"Wait. Are you thinking zombies are the next stage?" She could not help it. She laughed at the absurdity. "For real?"

Doc stepped between them, reaching for the pan of scrambled eggs forgotten on the stove. "Actually, Sophie, they've been mindless, brain-dead animated bodies for about twenty-four hours now. That isn't such a far-fetched leap to make."

She exhaled a disbelieving, incredulous. "What!?"

Doc scraped some eggs into his plate and put the pan back on the stove, turning the gas off. "Come on, Sophie, think like a nurse. No one is saying 'walking dead', but mutations of the human genome have been linked to viruses that splice onto our chromosomes. This is an unknown disease with an unknown process and an unknown origin. Since we don't know this disease will not turn violent again, we can't risk being out there and vulnerable. Our best bet is to sit and wait, watch Maggie. That's what you decided; she's our indicator. Roger and the others will be our eyes and ears for out there. In here, Maggie is our canary."

"Wait. Back up here. You think a virus can link with our chromosomes and cause mutations. That sort of thing takes eons, not three days." Sophie frowned and shook her head in disbelief. "Zombies? Mutants? Are you coming down with this virus?"

Doc sighed. "Sophie, it is possible. Maybe even probable in this case. The point is, we don't know. We have to wait and see. Exposing ourselves out in the open, to the unknown is a bit reckless at this stage. While we wait, I suggest we plan and prepare to help those who come out of it as you hope. Figure out how we can save as many as we can."

"Fine, you sit and plan. I can't do that right now. I have been on duty for four days straight. I deserve a chance to go home and check on my family. We all do." Sophie hit with a low blow. "Doc, do you have family out there?"

His shoulders slumped. He picked at his food. "No." he murmured simply.

Sophie was almost sorry she asked. She was sorry he could not find out what happened to his family, but she was not sorry she had driven her point home, by calling up those feelings. Too much was at stake. She struck again.

"Look, I know you're right about helping any survivors recover. I'm all about helping the sick and the survivors. My family is full of survivors. It will only take an hour. I can get to them and get them back here to help. Please understand. I need to do this. You know it's important and I am willing to risk it." She tried another tack.

"No matter what we do for the sick when, not if, they awaken, it won't be more than a drop in the bucket given there are only eight of us. We need help. We need to regroup with other survivors. Our families can help."

"We'll go, Sophie," Jesse repeated. "I'm asking you to wait for a few hours or so. See what develops. If they are still under by then, we'll risk it no matter what. While we wait, we prepare like Doc says."

She wanted to scream with frustration. It galled her that she could not get to her family. They were only a couple of miles away. Right or wrong, she had to know what happened to them so she could carry on.

In the end, she let it go, for now.

# Chapter 23: Prelude

Austin had been listening for news on the shortwave radio off and on ever since official channels started going silent, but until last night, Ricker knew his son had not had any luck raising anyone regionally or locally. Then Ricker had joined his son in whooping as if they had won the lottery when the static resolved into a low, droning voice telling of a group of survivors at the hospital.

Their celebratory noise had agitated Lisa, Tyler and the baby into another round of heart-rending chaos, dampening their spirits momentarily yet they had continued to grin quietly as they listened to the group's story. Their enthusiasm deflated a bit more as they realized there was no official organization or agency operating a rescue center. Still, they were relieved and happy to hear other sane living beings had survived.

Ricker was not sure why he stayed Austin from broadcasting a response; he could not explain it to Austin when the boy raised his eyebrows in puzzled astonishment. With his wife and stepson thrashing and crying downstairs and the baby howling and snarling, Ricker was not yet ready to let anyone into his tight little world, which was barely balancing on the edge of the proverbial knife.

However, this morning, the knife had teetered and slipped out of balance, slicing through his false sense of control. He had awakened late to an unusual silence that had drawn him to the baby's pallet near the stove. She was limp and non-responsive but breathing.

"What's wrong with her, dad? Is she dying?"

Ricker did not know. He had tried feeding her, to get moisture into her, yet he could do nothing to calm her or ease her rage. Now she was a limp rag. Breathing, warm, and unresponsive. "I guess she ran out of steam. She looks like she's unconscious."

Austin had gone to the window. "Dad, look! There's Evan from next door, he was roaming around when I went to bed last night."

Ricker put the baby back into her nest on the floor and joined his son at the window. After a minute, he tipped his head and pulled on his soul patch. "It's like he collapsed where he stood." He knew something was not right. Nothing moved outside except the stray dog, which had been sniffing around the day old corpse in the next yard over.

"Go call the hospital group. See if they know anything. Maybe they're coming out of it. God, I hope this is the end of it." He had visions of everything being sorted out and getting back to normal.

Impatiently he listened as his son called out to the hospital. He wanted to be hopeful. This could mean that Lisa and Tyler would come out on the other side of this horrible nightmare. He wanted to believe that and so he quashed any contrary suspicions like gnats, as they flittered into his awareness. He paced back and forth from the front window to the radio set up in Austin's room.

He scrubbed the whiskers on his face. He thought he should shave. Thursday. Nearly four days of this...

The radio continued to produce static. It was old; Austin had picked it at a garage sale and had worked diligently restoring it at the shop. Maybe it was not working anymore.

"It's working fine, dad. They are not answering," the boy reported, as if he heard the thought.

Austin was the expert on the radio. Ricker had been so proud of Austin's restoration and interest he had paid for both boys and himself to struggle through the convoluted rules, regulations, materials, and exam to get their ham operators' license. At first, it had been a source of adventure and bonding for all of them. Ricker and Tyler both enjoyed playing with it though the novelty had worn off for himself and his stepson. Austin, though, never tired of it. He enjoyed spending an hour or so after schoolwork, and late at night on weekends, chatting with people all over the world.

Ricker sighed, was all that over? Were internet and cell phones, chatting with people all over the world anytime from anywhere all gone? He remembered how annoyed he was every time he had seen someone with their phone glued to their ear.

Ten eons later, static finally resolved into the voice they had heard last night. It responded excitedly and breathlessly to Austin's transmission.

"Thank God! Good to hear another voice out there. Who are you? Where are you located?" Despite the mechanical quality of the voice, the man, sounded relieved and happy.

Austin gave his name and location. Ricker could hear the slight disappointment and really could not blame the man on the other end when he heard they were only a couple of yokels and not the CDC or government. As happy as he and Austin were last night to make contact with someone still sane, they too had been hoping for someone a little more... official. They got through the introductions, and then asked Roger for information on the sudden lack of movement outside.

"Yeah. That's the good news. The raging seems to be over. They started dropping like they just ran out of Red Bull." Roger's voice sounded like he was grinning. "They are not dead. We managed to capture one of them and have had her under restraint since late yesterday. She is not dead. Doc says she's in a coma. We're assuming the others are as well. Over."

"So do you think this is the end of it? Is it safe to go outside? What will happen next? Over."

Ricker could hear the uneasiness and reluctance in the man's voice as he told them everything they knew about the virus and Doc's diagnosis of brain damage or death. "It's a 'wait and see what's next' kind of thing."

"Is there anything we can do for them while we are waiting? Over." Austin asked.

"Not much. We are playing a waiting game right now. Preparing to help however, we can. We have bottled water, blankets. Most of our people have gone out looking for survivors, starting with their families. Don't think any of them headed in your direction, so if you are in a situation where you can do it safely, the fallen will need blankets and water first, those who make it. Still, be aware. The doctor is speculating that if the infected come out of the coma, because of the neurological nature of the disease, there will probably be brain damage. We are praying that won't be the case, but... prepare yourself. Any who survive the coma may be complete vegetables. If that's the case... there's nothing we can do for them."

Stunned Ricker listened to the remainder of the conversation. Listened to Austin mumbling his thanks for info and promised to keep in touch before he signed off. He saw his son put his head down on his arms to hide his grief. He groaned and collapsed onto his son's bed, running his fingers through his hair. Father and son sat in silence, their thoughts on those downstairs whose minds and personalities might be gone forever. They were devastated, and numb.

"What are we going to do, dad?" Austin asked softly, his voice breaking mid word.

Slowly, Ricker straightened up and leaned forward onto his knees. He pulled thoughtfully on his soul patch; then shared his resolve with his son. "We're going to keep going. Wait; see what happens. Pray. Hope Lisa and Tyler will be different since we've been taking care of them. Love them. Somehow, we'll weld it all back together, a piece at a time."

# Chapter 24: Windmill

Once they turned off the main road, Al turned his headlights on and hit the brights. The new, recently asphalted road lead back into the Windmill Community; then cut through a small border of trees and farmland for a hundred yards, before coming to the main gate.

Al killed the Beast and fumbled for the key to the gate control.

"Windmill Community, huh?"

Al jerked around and cursed Sam who had come up behind him. Cursed himself for losing sight of his surroundings.

"How is it that you have a key? You own this or something?"

Al growled as he turned the padlock on the panel that protected the electronic controls to the gate. "I work here, worked, project manager."

"I heard about it. Supposed to be some sort of green living community isn't it?"

"Yeah. Solar. Wind."

"What makes you so sure there are no crazies in there?"

Al frowned at Sam. "The gate's locked."

Sam looked around. "So, nobody lives here then? I thought they sold all the units and had the grand opening or something."

"What is this? Twenty questions."

"How come this place isn't packed with people, then?"

Al rolled his eyes and decided it would be faster to tell the man. "It's not finished. They had sold most of the units but they wouldn't let anyone move in until the entire project was completed. Another month and they were going to have the grand opening." He pushed a combination of buttons; a light turned green and then he closed the panel.

"I put the gate online. We can use the code to open it now instead of a key."

"So, what's the code?"

Al looked sharply at the man he just barely knew. 'This is it. Trust or get off the pot'.

"Zombie." he shared.

"That's funny, dude." Sam chuckled as he walked back to his truck. "Real funny."

The Model, as some clever corporate person dubbed it, showed up in the headlights a minute after they cleared the gate. It sat on the north border of the property near the river. Technically, the surrounding area was in the flood plain of the Neosho, but the elevation of this strip of land was enough to exempt it from that stigma.

It, like all ten buildings barely seen in the darkness, was three stories high. Solar panels mounted on the roofs extended outwards, providing cover for the south facing porches. It was an impressive sight in the daylight, though looming up in the glare of his headlights, Al had to admit it felt downright spooky.

"Whoa." The little girl leaning over his seat from the back spoke for the first time.

"This is it?" Christy's voice echoed the uncertainty.

"Yeah."

"Can't we just hide behind the chainsaws?" Josie paraphrased the Geico commercial.

Al raised his eyebrow and turned his head enough to see her out of the corner of his eye.

"Maybe we should have stayed in the cemetery." Christy quipped as she opened her door.

Al turned his engine off but left his headlights on. "Wait here, I'll put it online and turn the lights on."

Al had flipped the switch engaging the electrical to the batteries full of stored solar energy. The lights in the service hall came on. He picked out the keys for the first and third floor south facing units.

"This is a lot bigger than I imagined. How many apartments are in this building?"

"Damn it, Sam. Stop sneaking up on me!"

"Sorry, Al. How big is this place?"

"Each floor has four, two bedroom apartments with its own energy source and controls. There are ten different buildings on the campus. Come on. I'll set you all up in the first unit on the ground floor for tonight."

"Check it out," Sam's girlfriend, Mica chortled as she waddled into the living room. "This is classy. They sure spent some money on staging this place."

The others followed her in, making ooh and ah noises as they wandered around. Al ignored them and flipped another switch listening to the furnace click active.

"Ugh. No food in here. I'm starving." Sam's second passenger was an oriental woman who spoke in a clipped accented English. She frowned at the empty refrigerator.

Al rolled his eyes. "Come on Sam, I have a cooler out in the van with some stuff out of my refrigerator at home. Maybe there's enough in there for everybody."

"Thanks, Al." Mica smiled as he passed her going out the door.

Christy touched his arm. "Thank you, Al. We would never have made it without you."

Al blinked, then frowned and followed Sam outside.

By the time he and Sam brought in a load of foodstuffs they could feel the two-bedroom apartment begin to warm up. Mica and Yoona fixed hot chocolate on the electric stove. Josie fixed sandwiches.

"Al!" Christy squealed. "Do we have hot water for showers?" She peeked around the door of the room she, Yoona, and Josie chose to share. "Please, say yes!"

Al frowned at her. They had been a day without electricity and she was already desperate for a shower? 'Women.'

"Of course we have hot water," he frowned, "but it is on demand, and of course electrically heated, which means battery." Excited squeals ensued from both bedrooms.

He was talking to a closed door.

"Females," he muttered.

"So, tell me." Sam grinned. "I'll let them know later."

"The batteries are not unlimited. Don't let all this fool you. Solar and wind energy is renewable, not inexhaustible. So ration the time you use all appliances. There's a battery monitor connected to the thermostat so you should know where you are at all times on all draws." He pointed the panel out. "I'm gonna sleep on the top floor, front."

Al shook his head, and walked back out the door, feeling a measure of relief at finally being alone again. He had always been a loner. Even with Ruthie, who enjoyed her own company as well, alone times and places were sacrosanct.

He pulled his flashlight and gear out of the van and headed upstairs. The main entrances for the upper levels opened onto individual sunny decks, accessible by a covered private stairway grounded and flanked by private common carports for the three stacked apartments on each corner. This made each apartment independent and private from the others while allowing for covered entry and sociability. He headed to the outer stairwell.

As he stepped away from the van, he froze. He listened hard. There was a rustling in the underbrush in the trees behind the building. A twig snapped and he heard a grunt.

Al's heart thundered so loud he could barely hear the next rustling of leaves. It sounded like a clumsy elephant it was making so much noise. Or a rager.

He laid his gear down and moved the Mossman into position.

'Shit.' He could not remember being this scared since he was a five-year-old kid lost in the woods when his father had thought it would be fun to see if he could find his way out at night.

Snap, then another grunt.

How many of them were out there? How did they get across the river or the stone walls? He berated himself for thinking he was safe. Of course, it did not matter for him, though he could not let anyone else die because of his cowardice.

Snap, crash!

Should he get Sam? Should he warn the others?

Maybe it was a deer or one of the neighbor's cows. How'd it get across the wall?

He took a step forward leading with his gun, his flashlight held in line with it, like a commando. Each step he took he felt his legs tremble. There had been a bear that night. He had wet his pants and his father had laughed then taken another swig of beer, when Al had finally stumbled out.

His mouth was dry. A beer sounded good right now.

Al stopped sixty feet from the tree line. The noise stopped.

Before he could take another breath a shadow bounded out of the blackness directly toward him. Al jerked his Mossman down toward the movement, but hesitated a split second as he realized it was not a rager.

He blew out a few cuss words and collapsed to the grass in time to catch the bouncing beagle as it bounded into his arms. "Damn! Trouble!" He laughed as relief flooded his system.

The dog squirmed and wiggled all over him, licking and wagging himself in an ecstatic burst of happiness to see him.

"Damn, dog. You near made me wet myself. How'd you get over here?" Al rubbed the excited dog and fended him off at the same time.

"Woof."

Al froze again. The beagle leapt away from him and sprang to grab the ear of the old dog sitting quietly a few feet away.

"Woof."

Dang. Two mutts. "Okay big guy. Come on."

Both dogs blurred into motion and overwhelmed Al in their obvious delight to be around a human again. "Dang dogs." he groused again. It seemed like a lifetime ago when he had left them, behind a few hours ago and he was surprised to find he was not upset at seeing them again.

He picked up his Mossman and returned to the van where he dug out a box of jerky he had packed, and then led the dogs to the stairs that led to the third floor front apartment.

He turned on the units' power systems, turned on the furnace to take the chill off. This apartment had no furniture, unlike the one below. He settled near a window with Ruthie's sleeping bag and his Mossman, pulling out his night vision goggles. He did not really think he would need to keep watch way out here, least-wise not concerning ragers, but wherever there were people, there was the possibility of rogues and low-lifes taking advantage of any situation. They had the front gate locked and the doors and windows locked, but someone else might remember that Windmills would be a great place to establish a base.

He thought of leaving the dogs outside to guard; he was not certain they would do that, and he was pretty sure the beagle would bark all night.

# Chapter 25: Returning Home

"Has Roger been able to pick up any broadcasts on the shortwave?" Jesse was trying to redirect Sophie.

She knew he was trying to get her mind off her pain, yet she still resented it. Did he have family nearby? She tried to remember, if he ever talked of anyone, and came up blank. They were friends, though she began to realize how little she really knew of him.

"Nothing outside the city, we don't have the range or power." Colt answered. "Someone listened all last night and this morning Roger broadcast on the hour."

Jesse and Doc talked a while, throwing out ideas while Sophie moped and listened. They had hundreds of cases of bottled water in the basement. When the people in the hospital awoke, it would help not to run back and forth from the faucet, although distribution to the city was laughable with only eight people. Still there were, rather, had been several hundred, at a guesstimate, victims in the building that they could reach. More outside within reach so they decided to continue to bring up water and supplies from the basement. A small step, but they felt like they were doing something positive.

An hour later, Maggie remained in a coma.

On her last trip up, Vahan met her at the doorway grinning as if he was in a toothpaste commercial, his teeth gleaming against his olive skin. Roger, followed closely by Tracy, Lilly and Anne followed her into the kitchen in equally good spirits.

"Sorry we didn't call first, but we were in the neighborhood. Thought we'd drop in," Tracy quipped as she off-loaded the pack she carried onto the nearest table. "I like what you've done with the place," still grinning, looking around, moving in for hugs.

"Besides," Roger chuckled, "we knew you'd have a hissy-fit about the road conditions, so we came anyway. Which, by the way, are gruesome though navigable. No one moving about that we could see. Inside and out it's still as... death. Pardon the pun. Nothing stirring. It was beginning to creep us out." He set the ham radio on the floor.

Sophie hugged everyone; Doc shook hands with Roger and Vahan, and shoulder hugged all the women. Jesse continued to grin his welcome to their comrades. They had the look of refugees, eyes sunken and clouded with fatigue, finger combed hair, rumpled stained clothing, but Sophie noted a nuance of relief in the set of their shoulders now that they were reunited.

Sophie was relieved to have the group back together. She felt giddy, happy. There seemed to be no reason now, not to venture out. She knew for sure Tracy had family in town. Anne, she did not know about, though Lilly Esposa most certainly did. Vahan and Roger were also unknowns, however, it didn't matter, and she was going.

"Now that everyone is here, I'm leaving." She informed the group with firm resolve.

Everyone froze in action and turned their heads to look at her.

"Where?" Tracy broke the silence after a moment. "We just got here."

"I'm going to look for my family, Tracy. I'll go alone if necessary, though any of you is welcome to go." She waited for the arguments to start.

"I'm going with you, Sophie," Jesse frowned stepping in next to her. "I don't have family here in town but I don't want you going alone."

Vahan chimed in, quickly, looking relieved. "I'm going too. I need some fresh air and I thought I'd check on my roommate. Anyone want to ride along with me?"

"Por favor. ¿Puedo encontrar a mi familia, también? Please. My family also?" Lilliana pleaded.

Vahan agreed to take her along with him. Anne and Tracy decided to team up, as their families lived in the same area of town. They began making plans and talking amongst themselves. Sophie refrained from doing a happy dance and running to the nearest exit, though she could not entirely hide her smile of triumph and relief as she turned to Jesse.

"Thank you, Jesse. Thank you, thank you, and thank you. We can be back in an hour, I promise." She threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek. "Let's go."

"Now, wait," Jesse cautioned those leaving. "Each group take a radio and take some extra batteries in case you get cut off. We are looking for any survivors as well as our families, so make as much noise as possible, but do it from the safety of the cars. That should draw any survivors out or at least let them know there is someone else alive."

"We don't know what's going to happen, so in case any victims wake while you are out there... well I guess it will depend on how they awaken. It'll be your call. Try to remember, you can't possibly help them all. Get your families and get back here. Roger and I will hold down the fort here." Colt told them.

"Be safe. There could still be ragers walking around so be alert and stay together. We're a precious commodity and we can't afford to lose any of us." Jesse reminded them before they pulled out of the hospital parking lot, being careful not to hit the organic or metal obstacles that littered their paths.

Fork Grove was only five miles across east to west and three miles across north to south. The town was eerily still. Dogs were venturing out, squirrels kept to the trees. If there were any cats, they stayed hidden. Even with driving slowly, honking the horn, and calling out the window it did not take Sophie and Jesse long to arrive at her parent's neighborhood.

Most of the houses, including her parents', were small, 50 to 100 years old and situated on long narrow lots, close together and the families were large. Jesse and Sophie had to park a block away because of the number of bodies in the street. From their vehicle they wondered how many were comatose and how many were dead.

As she walked through the maze of bodies, she had no trouble telling; it was eerie seeing people apparently sleeping lying next to someone obviously, violently dead. There were many more dead than comatose. Tears threatened and emotion choked her throat even as she gagged at the stench of bodies already decomposing. She steeled herself to keep looking, identifying people she had grown up with or around; people she had known all her life. She mourned them, ached to help the sleepers who lay wounded and cold. There were so many children, dead or dying. She could do nothing to help most of them, so, how do you choose which to help?

She and Jesse moved a comatose neighbor, Mrs. Peters, from the front porch of the Norton home, laying her gently on the grass nearby. The screen door hung from its hinges. Sophie visibly shook, imagining that the ragers had come so close to breaking into her parent's house, but sagged with relief when she realized the door was solidly tight.

Jesse held her elbow for support. She knocked and called out to her family. "Mom! Dad? It's me! Sophie." Her voice thundered in the eerie silence of the morning. A couple of dogs came cautiously out of hiding. Sophie thought she saw a cat in a nearby tree.

"Maybe they're in the basement." She said hopefully. "They must have taken shelter down there when Mrs. Peters attacked the front door." She went to the small basement window that barely illuminated the laundry/storage area of the house. She knocked and called out again. This time she heard a loud thumping from deep in the house. Her heart leapt in her chest and she nearly bowled Jesse over as she raced back to the front porch. Impatiently she slapped openhanded knocks and called out again.

Suddenly the door popped open and her sister, Cathy, stood with both hands covering her mouth, tears flowing from her eyes in amazement and confusion all wrapped up in the joy of seeing her sister alive. She lunged into Sophie's open arms with squeals of joy. They cried, hugged, and rocked each other as more arms wrapped around their shoulders and two tiny pairs of arms hugged her legs. They were safe. All of them!

Grateful and relieved she pulled away from them, took in every detail she could of them then began to cry and hugged them some more. When she caught Jesse's smiling chocolate eyes, she whistled for silence. She introduced her father and mother, Barry and Audrey, then Cathy and the twins, Tina and Talley.

"Family, this is Jesse. He's a really good friend." She reached out and pulled him into the group.

Questions started popping out like corn in a hot kettle from every mouth. Sophie put up her hand, but it was Jesse whistling this time. Startled, they all gaped at him. "Sorry, but I'd feel safer if we did the rest of this inside." He grinned to soften his words, and then urged them inside herding them like a multi-legged beast, as they could not stop hugging each other.

When they got inside, Sophie looked back to see Jesse close the doors quickly and carefully peek out through the nearby curtained window. Something was not right.

"What is it, Jesse?"

# Chapter 26: Waking Up Wrong

"They're waking up." He moved quickly to another window pulling the curtains aside, and peered out.

Sophie gasped, disentangled herself from her now silent family's arms, and rushed to join him. Conflicting emotions gripped her, tightening her chest. They're waking up; what will they be like?

Sophie could see a few of the bodies beginning to stir; she had to look closely at first. Saw Mrs. Peters' fingers twitch. As she listened, she could hear her moan quietly. The nurse in her looked at her watch. Four hours. Two days, one day, four hours.

As she watched intently, her family joined them, drawing back the curtains for all to see. They all watched as several wakers spent some time discovering their arms and legs, touching everything, wide-eyed. She wanted to rush out to help them. "Mom, Cathy, get some blankets!"

They all started chattering at once, scurrying and offering suggestions until Jesse hissed to Sophie.

"Wait!" Jesse grabbed her back from her move toward the front door. "Look!"

The awakening victims were sticking fingers, clothes, whatever was handy into their mouths; like infants rooting for the nipple. They were actively moving, actively problem solving. Not vegetables. Not brain dead! Yes! She whooped and turned back to Jesse.

"Quiet!" He admonished her.

Confused that he did not share her joy and relief, she watched him continue to stare out the window for a second before she snapped back to the view outside. "What? Oh, shit!" she groaned. Tears sprang to her eyes.

Her delight disappeared. Horror crashed in its place as she saw Mrs. Peters, an older woman who had been a friend of her mother's, tear a chunk of meat from the bloodied body they had lain her next to and suck the blood greedily. However, the true horror for Sophie was that the woman was doing it quietly, calmly, as though she were on a picnic. The gray haired Mrs. Peters sat up, pulled the corpse's arm to her, and greedily, hungrily took another bite.

Cathy drew the girls away from the windows with the help of her mom. Her dad continued to watch with Jesse. Sophie turned away. Her stomach lurched; she began retching.

"Oh, God." The words were a habit, that calling on a higher power. They were lacking any spiritual connection, simply another interjection of emotion. When she could control her stomach again, Sophie wondered how anyone could keep his faith in times like these. Without speaking or calling again upon a name that had never answered when her child and husband lay dying, she watched the scene unfold. Two others, who were near enough to a body when they awoke, partook of the immediate source of food. She wanted to run out and shoo them away, run them off.

Instead, she tried to make sense of the nightmare. Colt's words came back to her. Not zombies or mutants, just hungry cannibals. Were they so brain damaged that they were unaware of what they were doing? Did it matter? Her eyes roamed over the macabre scene. The number of wakers was small compared to the numbers of the dead and the number of cannibals even smaller.

"They're not all eating." Jesse pointed to some not reacting to the nearby food. Instead, they stood, swayed, looked around, but ignored the corpses at their feet. Jesse watched a young teen, dressed in a nylon ski jacket and droopy pants stagger past the cannibals who growled softly but otherwise remained passive.

"They're looking for something else. They're choosing not to eat corpses. What makes them different?" She watched long enough she could tell all of the wakers were aware of their surroundings yet did not seem to comprehend the significance of anything. "We have to help them find food and water or they might..."

"Look." Jesse pointed. There was a garden hose laying beyond the porch.

Sophie nodded, she had been thinking the same thing. "Is the outside water turned on, dad?"

Her father left for the basement to turn it on.

"Dad, would you get your intruder deterrent?" Sophie called after him.

"Mom, Cathy, we're going to give them water and food. Maybe that will stop them from... the other thing. We need some big bowls or clean buckets and finger foods; whatever you have."

Her dad came back with a baseball bat and handed it over. "Water's on. Be careful."

"Jesse." Sophie laid her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes as she handed him the baseball bat. "Please be careful; you're becoming important to me."

"Back at you, Phee" Jesse beamed at her holding her hand longer than was necessary, his eyes sparking with emotion.

She grinned with delight and took the buckets and a sack of peanut butter crackers from her mother, then followed Jesse as he led the way cautiously out the door and down the porch, away from Mrs. Peters at the bottom of the steps. They moved slowly and carefully to the railing and climbed over. Sophie kept her eyes on the cannibals as well as the others who were staggering around as she and Jesse moved behind the bushes to the water spigot. He watched as she got the hose connected then dragged it out into the yard. They filled the two buckets, carried them across the street, and froze when the ambulating wakers moved in their direction.

It took everything she had and a good strong grip on Jesse to keep her from running in panic. The five wakers paused and watched her as she splashed the water and drank from a cupped hand, then opened five packages of crackers and left them nearby. As they drew in closer Jesse hissed softly to retreat. He picked up the second bucket and began to move while she followed along with the sack of crackers.

"Stay calm. Don't run." Jesse reassured holding the bat at the ready.

"Put the bucket down here," he instructed after they had gone to the middle of the next yard. She opened more crackers then he took her hand. "Now head..."

Before he could finish two cannibals rose from their feast.

Sophie's heart started thundering in her chest. Jesse pushed her to move a bit faster. She found it hard to watch all the advancing people and step over the bodies littering the way back. She settled on watching the closest one, navigating a route that led them behind a pickup truck, and letting Jesse keep guard. It struck Sophie as surreal. They were watching human beings, as though they were a pack of wild animals. She was having trouble breathing. Jesse held her close as they watched from the relative safety of the truck and waited.

The two cannibals, both men, dressed in dirty coats and scarves turned their attention from Sophie and Jesse and rocked back and forth, seeming indecisive about leaving their food source. Finally, one moved, stepping over his meal towards the still unattended second bucket of water.

As they watched the drama unfold, a woman neither of them had seen before discovered the running hose and watched it bubble out water that splashed to the dry grass at her feet. She put it in her mouth and looked happy at her discovery. Other curious wakers appeared from down the street and joined the non-cannibal group or the woman at the garden hose. One picked up the third bucket that Sophie had left there and put it in front of the woman holding the hose.

"I can't believe I'm seeing this." Sophie whispered.

Mrs. Peters, dragging the partly chewed corpse with her, went to the second bucket, skirting the small group drinking at the hose.

"Do you see that?" Sophie pointed. "They're going out of their way to stay clear of these other guys. I wonder why?"

"Maybe because there are fewer over there?" Jesse ventured watching a new waker, a child move from between two houses. "Look, that little girls over there. She's passing up the bucket with the cannibals and moving over to the larger group." The first group by now was investigating and approving the crackers left behind.

Sophie and Jesse decided to go to the house across the street. "I think we should open up some of these houses and bring out some blankets and scatter them around. They'll start exploring once they get their fill of water."

Sophie's mother and father saw what they were doing and brought out some old blankets and some loaves of bread from inside the house. Barry ventured as far as the curb then left the supplies there. The cannibals ignored him but the drinkers watched and slowly moved toward the pile as Barry backed away.

Sophie and Jesse finished their task opening a second house and putting a trail of food on the outside porch leading inside before they returned to the safety of the Norton home.

"My God. There are so few waking up." Audrey whimpered. It was heart breaking. "They're dead. Bill and Ellen. Jake and Jackie. Mr. Brahmwell. All those children."

Barry held his wife close. No one spoke.

Sheltering in Jesse's arms, Sophie fought back her tears as she watched her mother crying into her father's shoulder while his tears dripped into his wife's hair. Cathy sat on the couch with her arms around the twins who hid their eyes in their mother's breasts. She stroked their hair and whispered soothing sounds while her own face was blank with shock and fear. Sophie knew she was thinking of her husband so far away.

Sophie turned her attention back to Jesse, who stared out the window, his face set and tight. There were so many dead.

# Chapter 27: What's in Store?

It was some hours after they finished a subdued breakfast with Kim. Ricker could tell she knew something was wrong and stayed quiet, out of the way while they had gone through the motions of caring for their charges downstairs and the now silent baby.

Ricker was trying to keep his spirits up for the kids' sake, for all that he was broken inside. His heart still beat, but there was no hope in it. He kept wondering why he bothered. They were going to die anyway or be vegetables for the rest of their lives, which wouldn't be long if they couldn't eat. He had not looked out the windows since that first time; did not want to see the corpse of the world outside his four walls. The world was over. This was the end. He wanted to... crawl into a hole and pull the dirt in after him.

The radio crackled loudly. Kim startled and gasped; the dog raised its head, though remained silent. Ricker motioned to the little girl that everything was okay while Austin stirred himself and went to answer the call. Ricker trailed after him with Kim in tow.

"Are you all right over there?" Roger's tone was dejected and hesitant. "Have you seen it? Over."

"We okay. Why? Seen what?"

"I take it you've not looked outside. They woke up. Not many survived, but those that have, seem to be moving about on their own. Some of them are... they're... they're... they're eating the dead."

Neither Ricker nor Austin reacted. They were numb. Too many shocks. It was too much to take in. Incomprehension kept them silent.

"Are you there? Austin, Ricker? Respond. Over."

Austin shook his head in confusion. "Say again. Over."

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. It's been a shock for all of us. It's what I felt too when I heard it. I had to see it for myself. ... look outside. I'll stand by."

Ricker and Austin looked at the window, not moving at first, and then slowly moved toward it. They stood silently taking it all in until Kim tugged on Ricker's hand.

"Mr. Dale. What's wrong? Can I see?"

Austin picked the six-year-old child up and took her to the bed. The dog jumped up beside them. Ricker went to the radio. He did know what to say so he stared at the machine.

"Ricker," the radio crackled. "It is not all bad news. There are many more waking up and not eating like that. The others are moving around on their own looking for food. They appear to be curious, watchful, but so far, non-aggressive and non-verbal."

"Are they... do they know who they are? Who you are?" Ricker asked.

Roger hesitated again. Not good.

"We dodged the bullet on the brain damage as far as physical mobility is concerned, and Dr. Colton is rather surprised the damage was not more extensive. By all known science, the viciousness of the virus should have fried both nervous systems. Their bodies appear to be sound, but... Dr. Colton confirmed his suspicions after observing Maggie. The language and memory centers of the brain carried the brunt of the damage so... so, that would be a no. They appear to be totally without speech and unable to understand or form words; personal memories are gone. Over."

"Will they recover... someday? Will they be able to learn?" Austin was first to ask the question Ricker wanted to know.

"Doc says it's too early to tell if the damage is permanent or how deep into the learning centers it goes. Jesse, our head of security who went out into a neighborhood, says they caught on quickly about refilling buckets of water, though that might be instinct... Over."

There was silence again until Roger came back on.

"Oh crap!. I'm sorry; I should have caught on sooner. Do you have someone waking up?"

Ricker explained their situation. "Is there anything we can do for them?"

"Doc says, encourage nourishing fluids as soon as they wake and be careful. Chicken broth, water, anything you have is better than nothing, except maybe alcohol."

Ricker was ready to sign off, but Roger continued. "Of those who are waking, they are not aggressive... only thirsty and hungry and in need of help. So, if you're so inclined they need to be gotten indoors and warm.

"On a brighter note, we have found other immune people, mostly families of our staff, but a couple at the college. Some are gathering here at the hospital to regroup. We hope to figure out what to do from here. Share observations and resources. You are welcome to join us. We have some supplies and medical equipment for any wounded. Over."

Ricker glanced to his son before he opened the mike to answer Roger. Ricker shook his head.

"Thanks for the invitation, Roger; we can't leave here right now."

"I understand. You have your hands full with your family. Keep in touch." Then Roger wished them good luck and signed off.

***

One again, Ricker and Austin faced sitting in the house and watching the situation evolve or actively participating in the outcome. There was no need for discussion. Austin grabbed his coat along with Ricker's and opened the door. When Ricker stepped outside, pulling his hooded jacket up against the gusting, freezing wind, the mutt bouncing happily at his heels, he surveyed the mess that littered the neighborhood. Trash everywhere, shrapnel from broken car and house windows and torn-up bushes and trellises, yard ornaments and bloody bodies. The sun was trying to break through the cloud cover. It gave the gruesome scene a clarity that seemed surreal. A few bodies were scattered over the lawns up and down the street. Some were awake, shivering and exploring their immediate surroundings. Some would never rise again. Down the road, he saw two figures moving slowly away from the neighborhood, one was dragging a bloody arm.

Ricker added the weight of his holstered pistol on his hip, called out to Austin to bring some bottled water, and then walked to the two waking figures nearest him. Evan Winslow and his boy, Ben, Ricker thought, sat in the grass looking around as if they woke from a dream. Ricker wrapped a blanket around them, twisted off the cap of the water bottle, and showed them how to hold it and drink. It was gone in a matter of seconds. Ricker took them into Roberto's house.

He looked for Juanita and Maria as they had escaped the house, so he wrapped his friend's body in a blanket, carried him out to the back yard and dug a shallow grave wide enough to lay him and José to rest.

When he finished, he leaned on the shovel and scanned the yard, all fenced in, promising a repeat of Juanita's lovingly tended flowers, Roberto's awesome backyard cookouts; and Maria and José's laughter and clowning antics. Promises that had died, when the virus changed everything.

With Eve in his arms and Austin holding Kim, they stood solemnly in the backyard cemetery and mourned old friends and an old way of life. Ricker thought of everything lost and gone forever. Austin finally broke down, no longer able to keep up the strong façade of stoicism and cried for his friend, for his stepbrother, for everyone he had known that would not be coming back. He let his father wrap his arms around him and hold him, Kim and Eve tight between them. Kim cried for her mom and dad, her warm bed, home baked cookies and ice cream.

Ricker hated leaving his son alone. Hated dragging Kim and the baby out, but he needed to do something. So did Austin. It wasn't altruism. It was selfishness. They both needed to feel hopeful; to feel like something they could do mattered in a dying world.

Ricker took Kim and the swaddled Eve to ride with him in the truck, leaving Austin to help any locals. Before he left, he counseled his son. "I'll work my way west block by block doing the same thing we've been doing here. Do we still have those two-way radios? Good. We can keep in touch that way then. That'll be Kim's job. You call her every fifteen minutes. Don't take any chances, son. You wait for the ones who come to get water. If they don't look like they're going into the houses, help them inside. If they look like they've been eating a body, stay away from them. Keep that pistol on your hip and keep it loose. If you have to, don't hesitate to use it. Got it?"

The boy nodded. "I got it, dad."

At their first stop, Ricker turned to the little girl. "Okay, Kim, you stay in the truck. Here's Austin's radio. When he calls, you squeeze this button and talk to him. Let go of it to listen to him."

"Okay, Mr. Dale. I'll keep a lookout for you and honk the horn if anyone comes near the truck or the house you're in, or if I see my mom and dad. Right?"

Ricker laughed. "Good, girl. You're pretty smart. So, I know you're going to be fine. I'll be back in a few minutes. It will seem like forever, so if you get scared or you feel like I've been gone too long, you honk the horn and I'll come right back. Okay?"

"Yep." Kim smiled. "I'll keep Eve happy, too."

Ricker watched Eve playing happily in her car seat on the floorboard of the truck with toys all around her. He would only be gone a couple of minutes, he told himself. Five minutes at the most, in and out. Child protective services would have a hay day if they saw this.

This street appeared similar to his. Trash covered some yards while some stayed pristine. Bodies scattered here and there, with wakers moving around. He drove through the yard of the first house and parked near where he thought there might be a water spigot. When he found it, he grabbed a bucket from the bed of the truck and filled it while he watched the moving figures around him. It felt different here than on his street. He felt vulnerable and alien. He had not known these people before. He glanced to Kim who was studying the wakers. He knew she was looking for her parents.

He turned off the faucet and carried the bucket to the street. Those walking shuffled weakly toward him, giving him a rush of adrenaline, so he backed away quickly and watched as they lapped at it, and then tried to cup their hands to drink. Once one learned the other imitated. It was clear their memories were gone, right down to bare instinct, but they could learn. It cheered him and gave him hope for Lisa and Tyler.

He could tell they had associated him with the appearance of water. When they had drank their fill, they watched him expectantly. He had moved to the door of the house giving himself some space from the group that gathered. He wondered if they understood he went inside or if they thought he disappeared like babies do when you play peek-a-boo.

He ran through the house throwing doors open and grabbing blankets from bed, loaves of bread, anything he could find in the fridge that was edible. When he came out with food, he had their interest again. He had left a trail inside from the doorway to the kitchen where he had turned on the faucet. He opened the loaves of bread and left them on the stoop, then dashed for the truck, and moved on.

He opened one spigot and a couple of houses per neighborhood with the same intelligent responses. The cannibals, those still eating from the corpses, crouched and huddled against cars or buildings and watched him, warily guarding their bloody treasures. They were slow to respond to the appearance of water and never approached the houses while he was there. As Roger reported, they showed no signs of offensive aggressiveness, only wariness.

He found two children about nine years old, who looked enough alike to be related, still breathing but not comatose, too weak to get up. Their eyes fluttered weakly open then closed again. He could not turn his back so he bundled them into the passenger cab of the truck. He and Kim wet their lips and tongues until they revived enough to swallow. Kim named them Tammy and Cindy.

He tried to imagine Lisa and Tyler this way and failed miserably. They would be different; his heart told him. He would teach them, keep them safe, and feed them. I am not turning my back on them.

# Chapter 28: A House Divided

Thursday morning, after digging out more food from the old Beast for himself and the dogs, Al knocked on Sam's door. Trouble nearly bowled Josie over when she answered it.

"A puppy!" She giggled and roughhoused with the beagle. "Eeew", you stink, puppy!"

The old dog, whom Al had decided to name Dog, waited off the porch. Josie called to him but he ignored the girl.

"He's an old dog and not so friendly, so be careful of him."

"Are they your dogs?"

"Nah, I'm a cat person. These mutts lived across the river. Guess they were out hunting last night and found me, before I went upstairs." Al moved past her into the house. He smelled bacon frying.

Christy handed him a couple of pieces of bacon and suggested he take Sam on a quick tour of the grounds to get out from under foot, until breakfast was ready. The apartment was only 900 square feet so with five adults, a kid and a rambunctious beagle, Al felt claustrophobic so he agreed without an argument. Josie and the dogs followed along.

Al was proud of the place and enjoyed telling Sam about its marvels. A center hub corridor for each building contained a large elevator flanked by closets in an offset star-like pattern. These closets contained the solar batteries that stored the energy collected by and for each unit. "These are all accessible out here for maintenance without disturbing the tenants. The staircases are for daily casual use. The elevators are functional, but designed for occasional use for moving in large furniture to the upper levels. They satisfy the handicapped accessibility clause too. They take a hell of a lot of energy, so the supervisor keeps the key and its use is scheduled." Al opened a battery room and showed Sam the instruction/operations manuals on a shelf.

In his mind, Al was preparing Sam for when he bugged out, from under all the responsibility he was beginning to feel.

In the light of day, ten buildings identical to the Model, swept along the riverbank to the east and followed the property line south then back west to the entry road forming a giant D. East of the entry road into the community, in the center of the D stood the well house topped with a farm-sized windmill. "It has its own solar panels to pump water to each of the buildings as well. They need to be checked frequently, like all the panels, for defective or damaged cells but they are basically damned rugged."

"Which is a good thing," Sam grimaced, "since they won't be making replacement parts anytime soon."

West of the road lay open, fallow farmland that made up the remainder of the irregularly shaped eighty-acre subdivision. The towering hundred-foot tall industrial windmill, which gave the place its name stood near the farthest western edge, looming over the now silent turnpike. It dominated the scene. Al could tell both Sam and Josie were impressed by its size and presence.

Al and Sam climbed into the pickup's cab and Josie joined the beagle in the back. Dog chose to stay right where he was, thank you very much, see you when you get back.

They checked out the machine sheds; then drove to the far end of the property to check out the wind turbine. Al continued showing Sam where things were and how to power the systems up and down, where they kept the repair and maintenance manuals. Josie surprised him as she listened intently, her face somber and pensive.

The Windmill was still running smoothly. Al listened to its steady almost subliminal whump, whump, whump. It was quiet, but then he had not expected otherwise with the sound of the high gusting winds masking it. The tower stood gleaming in the morning air. It was a marvel to him, both statuesque and monumental.

"How come they got solar power and wind power?" Sam asked craning his neck to see the top of the structure.

"We have enough solar cells to keep the batteries charged to capacity while keeping up with the demands of an average household for a normal forty eight hour period. That's only on sunny days. On cloudy days, the short winter days, and at night, we draw on windmill-generated electricity to keep the batteries topped off. Everything is subsidized by the wind."

"So why not just windmills then?" Sam asked.

Al measured Sam. He liked the guy. He asked good questions and while they talked, Al could forget the world was ending and he had killed his wife.

"To really generate enough power to handle a steady, moderate, daily drain, the wind has to blow within a certain speed range more or less continuously. Even in Kansas, the wind at ground level is not constantly at the needed range, but the higher up you go, the better your chances of a strong, more constant wind. Ya gotta be careful, though. Too strong a wind can torque your knickers, so it has an auto breaking system."

They returned to the house for hot coffee and the promised breakfast. Josie swung her legs while she ate and watched Al from dark eyes and a too-serious face. He watched her watch him; then impulsively stuck his tongue out at her. Her eyes widened in surprise, then began to twinkle as she held back most of the grin playing at her mouth. Al chuckled and returned his attention to his meal.

"So, Al, are you from around here? You have any family?"

Suddenly he lay his fork down, glowered at the room in general, refusing to meet Mica's eyes; angered by the question. Deliberately he pushed his chair back trying to keep control. Breathing deep as Ruthie had taught him, he took his plate to the sink and concentrated on rinsing it clean. He squeezed his eyes closed as the anger morphed into a wave of guilt and nausea. It gripped his gut and choked the air from his lungs. He could not believe that even for a brief moment he had forgotten about her.

"Uh... well, Al. How 'bout I help you unload your van." Sam offered to fill the awkward silence. Al waved him off and almost ran out of the apartment. Dog lifted to his feet and kept pace with him as he walked into the cold wind but Al did not notice. He did not pay attention where he was going. He walked blindly.

***

"Al, you okay, man?" Sam came up behind him, but this time he had heard him coming. It might have had something to do with him whistling, as the beagle ran circles around him.

"Yeah. Of course." Al continued looking through his van on the pretext of taking stock of what he had left. He was also trying to decide if he was going to stay. There were enough apartments available so he could be off on his own and avoid situations like this morning, but he could not see himself living in any of them like some normal person.

Problem was, he could not see himself living anywhere else either. Maybe he should wander. Not settle down.

"Of course." Sam nodded and let the silence stretch a moment. "We decided to do some scavenging nearby. I was wondering if you want to go along."

"It's a dang fool thing to do with homicidal maniacs everywhere."

"Yeah, I know," Sam admitted. "I can't stand not knowing what's going on out there. We're going to those houses nearby. The ragers ought to be far enough apart, not as if it was deeper into town. It's daylight." He bent down and ruffled the beagle ears, getting sloppy hand kisses in return. "The ladies need some personal items." He added as it that clenched the deal.

Al shook his head. "I got things to do. I got plenty of stuff to keep me for a while."

Yoona and Christy went with him.

He retreated to his upper level apartment and watched Mica, and Josie wave them off. Trouble chased them down the drive a few yards, then bounced back to the girls' side. Al stretched out on his sleeping bag to read and pretended he did not notice Dog at his feet.

***

A couple of hours later, Sam, and the two women came back in two vehicles. The back end of each truck overflowed with stuff. Mica waddled out to see what they had and Josie quietly climbed into one. Sam whooped and hollered for Al to come down. He was all excited like a kid who had seen his favorite rock star.

When Al dropped off the staircase, Sam burst into an excited monologue. "Bro, you are not going to believe what we saw. The people aren't crazy anymore! We didn't see anyone at first. Nothing more than a bunch of dead bodies, but by the time we finished in the first house and moved to the next, some of them were moving! We watched them and kept clear, trying to get our business done and get the heck out of there. Most were lying around weak and clueless as moles in daylight, but some! God, Al, they were eating the dead bodies!"

Al was listening. 'The crazies stopped raging?' Blood drained from his face as an image of Ruthie's cold, pale visage with a bullet between her eyes overwhelmed him once again. 'Ruthie might have been okay?' He stumbled. He had thought he could not feel any worse than he did, when he realized he had killed her, although this time that searing stab of guilt and remorse was salted with confusion and despair. 'Damn. Ruthie, what have I done?' He sat down hard on the porch steps, not listening to Sam until... Something clicked in his brain. 'They were cannibals?'

Al grasped at those gruesome images, let them overshadow Ruthie's face, and harden his heart, telling himself Ruthie would not have wanted to live like that. His heart loosened and he was able to breathe a bit easier. He knew it was irrational, he was grasping at straws, but he could not help it.

Sam went on obliviously; telling gruesome details of how the rager, well, not really a rager because he was calm and peaceable, was acting like it was no big deal to be eating a corpse. Yoona and Christy looked green around the gills, as they moved away from the telling, dragging a horrified Mica with them. They went to the back of the truck to unload.

"I'm telling you, Al, and that's not all!" Sam Lee informed him in his soft mushy tones then paused dramatically in the telling of the biggest news. "After we loaded we drove around a bit. There's a man out there turning on water faucets and opening houses so those cannibals can get a drink of water! Plus I saw him pick up a couple of them, kids, and put them in his truck, like you would a hurt dog you found on the sidewalk. Isn't that something, Al?"

Looking at Sam, Al finally concentrated on what he was saying. He frowned and narrowed his eyes. "Come on, Sam, why would someone do something like that? That's gonna make things worse for survivors. Why would he help cannibals?"

"I don't know, bro, I didn't go up and ask him... though Christy and Yoona wanted me to. I thought it would be best if you and I go, you know, in case there's something hinky going on. We did follow him, though. He's living not far from here. I didn't see which house, but he drove a truck with Ricker Restorations painted on it and it has a dented back bumper. He ought to be easy enough to find, if we want to ask him. Are you going to help me unload?"

Sam waited expectantly for Al to say something, then gave up and continued unloading. Al watched him struggle for a moment with an awkward box spring and mattress set before joining him. Sam continued to talk about the things he had seen. The body count and the property damage. Al cut him off every time he tried to talk about the man helping the cannibal. More than half-afraid he might hear something, that would bring his teetering world crashing down around his ears, again.

Christy, Yoona, and Mica cornered Sam and Al when they finished unloading the truck. Al cringed at the looks on their faces. Whatever they had on their minds, he knew he was not going to like it.

Mica spoke up first. "Christy and Yoona told me about all those people lying out there in the streets, cold and dazed. Some of them are children. How could you not help, Sam? How could you leave them out there?"

Sam hung his head, chastised. He glanced to Al for support, but Al suddenly noticed the asphalt had a fascinating pattern to it.

"We decided we can't stay here in luxury, while they are out there hurting. We're going out there to see if we can help." Mica stated, daring anyone to challenge her decision.

Al exploded. "They are cannibals, Mica! And before that, they killed a lot of people. You saw it! You were almost torn apart yourself. What if they start up again, what if they're just resting?"

Mica refused to be intimidated. "Then we'll find out when we go out there. If there are sick children out there, sick men, and women who need help, we have to help them!"

"That man we saw seemed to think they're worth helping." Yoona added in a rare moment of speech. "We are going and we are taking my truck."

Sam glowered hard at Mica and put his foot down. "No!"

She glared back at him equally as hard and determined yet spoke softly, barely above a whisper. "Yes."

"It's too dangerous, Mica, think of the baby! You can't be serious!"

"I am going to drive the truck. If you want to keep me safer than that, you will have to ride shotgun!"

Christy turned to Al. "Children, Al. You didn't see them. They were... so lost and alone, sitting out there wondering how they got there and what happened to them. They have to be cold, hungry, and thirsty. Some may have lost their sanity, but they were not all eating bodies. That man was giving them food, water, and opening up houses for them to go in to get warm. He was helping the sickest, picking them up, and caring for them.

"That could have been Josie. Or me. Or anyone you knew and loved. Do you have any friends who could be out there, needing help?"

Al paled, stabbed by her words. Images of Ruthie, sitting out there, lost and alone flooded his mind. He roared and threw what he was holding at the side of the building, then bent over double, gasping for breath. "No!" he denied. "They're cannibals; and mindless! They are not who they were. She's gone and she's never coming back!"

He stalked off, forcing himself not to run, not to show the depths to which her words had wounded him. "No." he kept shaking his head, repeating like a mantra to hold back the darkness that was enveloping him. "No! They're cannibals. Not people." He had to hold on to that.

He knew he losing it and it was crushing him.

# Chapter 29: Learning and Helping

"Let's take them home to Austin, Kim."

Austin had decided to use Roberto's home as a shelter for the weak or injured. Not all were awakening at the same time so when Ricker got back he was surprised to see that Austin had collected a couple more survivors.

He noticed the two men from up the street who had apparently not managed to break out of their home sitting in Austin's group. Austin had named them Jack and Ken.

Ricker frowned. "Why didn't you leave them in their home?"

"Apparently neither cook," Austin shrugged. "There was nothing in their cabinets or refrigerator to eat; nothing but wine, beer, and moldering take-out food. So, I grabbed the booze and led them back here like a couple of puppy dogs. I decided it would be easier to consolidate."

Ricker brought Tammy and Sandy in and laid them on the carpet in the living room. Austin got warm blankets and hot water and started working on them. Ricker chortled at the thought of the beer and promised himself one, when he quit for the day. "Why don't I leave Eve with you now? It seems like you won't be leaving the house much, except maybe to run next door for something. I think she'll be more comfortable here. Hey, is that Mrs. Mullin?"

The mighty flower slayer, Eve's grandmother or, at least, her babysitter, took the child from Ricker, smiled, and made faces at the child, though it was clear she did not remember Eve.

Kim showed her how to give the baby her bottle and then sat back and played with the mutt.

"Did you name him?" Ricker asked.

She grinned and shot a glance to Austin.

"If you must know," the boy answered for her. "I named him Goofball."

Ricker rolled his eyes then nodded to Mrs. Mullin's bandaged hands. Austin had cleaned them up and bandaged them. "Nice job, Nurse Austin."

"Huh! That's Doctor Austin to you. You and Kim should have some stew before you go back out. Doctor's orders."

Austin had started cooking some of the meat from the freezer, putting a roast in the oven and one on the stove in a pot. It smelled wonderful. He opened jars of Juanita's canned garden vegetables to add to it, and boxes of crackers; he had unwrapped leftovers he found in the fridge that had not spoiled, warmed them up and handed them out. He had also brought out blankets, pillows, coats. Then closed off the hallway to reduce the space for heating.

"You've done a great job here, son. I'm proud of you."

Austin looked around as if he were seeing the entire scene for the first time. "Yeah, I guess I have."

Ricker and Kim chowed down and then left again though Ricker tried to get her to stay behind; she insisted she had to find her mom and dad. As they moved from neighborhood to neighborhood, opening spigots and houses, the scope of the job was overwhelming; the number of bodies was horrendous. The small numbers of survivors were depressing.

The Samaritans continued through evening, when two more children, five and thirteen years old, moaned, and shivered, blue with cold; they would not make it without warmth and one-on-one care. Ricker carried them to the warmth of his truck. Kim named them Abbey and Wendy and gave them water and wrapped blankets around their shivering shoulders.

"I think this is it, Kim. We're about to run out of daylight and I know you have to be tired."

"We haven't found my mom and dad, yet, Mr. Dale."

"I know, sweetie. Maybe we'll find them tomorrow. You know how people have been finding their way into the houses even without our help. We'll pray they were among them."

"We have to find them, Mr. Dale. Please. We have to find them!" She broke down, sobbing. Ricker drove with one arm around her, holding her close.

The route home circled round to the back of their own neighborhood but suddenly Ricker tightened his grip on Kim and slammed on his brakes. A large form had caught his eye. Juanita. "No way," he breathed and slammed the gear into park. He saw George, Kim's dad next, and then scanning the area, he located the tiny body of Maria and the still supine body of Kim's mother, June. All four of them were on the same block and seemed newly awakened or severely debilitated, or both. He glanced heavenward.

"Kim, look sweetie. Is that your mom?"

Kim climbed to her knees and into his lap. "Where?" then squealed in her excitement when Ricker pointed them out. She wanted to run to them, but Ricker held her back and talked with her.

"You know how careful we had to be all day, sweetie. Because nothing has happened, doesn't mean its safe out there. Stay here. Guard us from cannibals, like before." She had seen enough to know the problems they were facing, so she calmed down, but kept her eyes on her parents.

He drove the truck closer. Moving slowly. The four were fairly close together, near a newer house littered with bodies. Ricker hoped his neighbors weren't the ones responsible for the dead nearby, but tried not to think about it.

All four appeared much worse for their exposure to the elements. Juanita, her clothes dark with Roberto's blood, and Kim's dad, George, dressed in a heavily dark-spattered cable-knit sweater and equally disreputable casual slacks were awake but moving groggily. Little Maria, in only her pajamas seamed barely alive and her lips blue. Kim's mom was still comatose or dying -or dead.

Ricker grabbed blankets and rushed as fast as he dared to Maria in the next yard. She was not responding; he wrapped her in blankets and laid her on the floorboard of the still running truck where the heater blew directly on her. He grabbed another blanket and went to June.

She was stirring when he approached her. Naively compliant she took the water he offered; let him sit her up. He half carried her stumbling, weak-kneed form to the passenger back seat side. Kim flung her arms around her mother who stared at her, then leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

Kim's eyes pleaded with Ricker. "She's tired, sweetie. She'll be okay."

He had talked with her through the day, trying to make sure she understood that her parents, if they found them, would not remember her, but it had been hard to know if she really understood. It hurt to see reality knocking its giant fist against her little head.

He fastened June's seat belt. Praising her softly he tucked blankets around her and handed her a bottle of water and a strip of jerky.

"Kim, don't forget to watch. I still need your help." It would give the girl something to focus on. He hoped.

Ricker went to Juanita, talking to her as he approached her; he crouched over, to diminish any perception of threat. He held out water and helped her drink. Looking over to George as he did, Ricker smiled and offered him an uncapped bottle of water in his outstretched hand, gesturing for him to come get it.

He set it down in the grass as far from himself as he could reach, and then returned his attention to Juanita, trying to get her considerable bulk up off the ground. 'Short and Stubby' Roberto had called her. 'Word' as Austin would say in teen-speak. No shit, he thought now.

Ricker's back and knees had other words for her, but after some tries, he managed. He was praying she was able to walk on her own and could get to the truck with minimal help.

By the time he had Juanita off the ground and wrapped in blankets, George had come for the water. 'Yeah, buddy, where were you a second ago?" Ricker gave him some jerky, and then helped Juanita to the truck. He wondered how he was going to get her to climb up into it. Kim patted the seat encouraging Juanita. She got down out of the truck and climbed back in. Juanita finally got the message. He gave her a water bottle and some beef jerky and patted her shoulder. She took it, sniffed, tasted it with a lick, then started gumming it happily; her dentures had fallen out somewhere during her misadventures.

When he turned from fastening her into the back seat, George was behind him, had followed him still holding his drained bottle of water. Ricker motioned him to follow him to the other side of the truck.

Ricker moved little Maria from the floor, motioned George to get in. Evidently, he had watched Juanita learn, and clumsily took the step into the cab. "Move over, George." He told the man with a shooing motion, and then placed Maria in the seat beside him. He could not get the seat belt around them both so he wrapped the big man's arms around her. He had not been sure if George would understand, but the waker's arms went instinctively around Maria's form and drew her tight, as he closed the door.

Relieved and oddly excited that George had learned to do this, especially so soon after he awakened, Ricker rewarded him with a pat on the shoulder and a piece of jerky.

He eased the truck into gear and moved out slowly. His heart raced with worry that the sudden sensation of motion would throw them into a panic. They seemed helpless, yet they had probably killed, before they went comatose. He was unsure, about what he should do with his latest additions to the group.

Juanita had murdered her husband, with Maria's help. He still had gut wrenching memories of the horror of those deaths flashing in his mind. George and June also may have killed, as well as some of the others he had already helped, but Ricker had not seen them do. Until he faced Juanita as she sat up, he had not emotionally connected the wakers with the bloody massacre of the human race.

He had a dilemma.

Maria was sick, maybe dying. He needed to monitor her closely. June seemed to be responding and not critical, still he knew Kim would want to be near her mom and dad. That meant bringing them into his own home, risking his family when they were most vulnerable.

"Kim is going to have to understand." Austin said helpfully when Ricker outlined his concerns. "It'll be okay, dad. If you're worried about their stability, moving them in with two screaming ragers sure won't be helpful to anyone. Kim'll understand."

So, they settled the three adults into Roberto's place and tended their wounds encouraging warm fluids. Austin sat in a kitchen chair with Maria near the oven, rubbing her arms and legs to try to increase the circulation. She was conscious enough to take sips of water, but did not fully rouse or open her eyes. Her mother, Juanita, seemed to have no connection to or concern for the failing child.

Austin had been cooking while they were out, so they fed their motley crew of survivors. Ricker closed up the oven, leaving it on low. He turned the water faucet to a fast drip, and set the leftover roast and potatoes on the counter.

When they were ready to head back home, he wished he were as sure of Kim's reaction as Austin was. He knew it was the right thing to do as he watched her for a moment holding her mom's hand and watching her father across the room. Concern, puzzlement, and sadness showed in her eyes. Austin picked Maria up and Ricker explained to Kim, his reasoning for keeping her mom and dad away from Lisa and Tyler. He was surprised when she hugged his neck and cried. "Why don't they know me, Mr. Dale?" She sniffled and let him take her back to his house.

They put Maria on the loveseat and dragged it over to the stove. Austin warmed more blankets in the oven and piled them on her. Her color was looking better, though she still looked deathly pale. They kept an eye on her as they settled in.

"We did well today, son. I'm proud of you."

"Yeah, dad. We did."

Everyone was tired and beyond, yet not quite ready for sleep. Ricker fed Eve and watched as Kim played listlessly with Molly and the mutt. He hated that her childhood would not be as carefree and safe as Austin's had been. He swallowed back the emotions that threatened to crush his chest and wiped his eyes clear of the dust that was making them water as he rocked baby Eve. She had fallen back asleep and her thick dark lashes rested like delicate silk on her still pale cheeks; her breathing sounded normal, slow, and rhythmic.

She had seemed like any other six-month-old when she had awakened this morning and he wondered if she would be the same as the others. She had so few memories to lose, and her brain was still forming, so maybe she would grow up normal. She could learn; she would grow up socialized. He pulled the bottle from her sleep slack lips and marveled that she had survived at all.

"Can I hold her?" Kim asked, plopping down next to him on the couch. Her eyes avoided Ricker, however he heard the need in her voice. He had held her in his arms for a long while, when they first came back. It had helped though nothing could fill the emptiness she felt.

"Sure, kiddo, but she's sleeping now, so you'll have to sit quiet and pretty still so you don't wake her. Can you do that?" Ricker asked.

Kim regarded him seriously for a moment, giving it considerable thought for a six-year-old, and then nodded solemnly. Ricker fixed the two of them up in the middle of his big chair, propping the baby on pillows in her arms, and stood back to watch.

Kim was a natural. She touched her new sister gently and promised her, she would look after her and never, ever forget her, and teach her how to climb trees and ride a tricycle and even let her wear some of her favorite shoes when her feet got big enough.

Ricker took it all in with mixed feelings, but the sight of the young survivors gave him hope that helped him survive when the heartbreaking sounds from downstairs slowly filled his awareness. With a hand to Austin's shoulder as he passed by, he headed down to check on Lisa and Tyler.

When he returned upstairs, he found Austin on the couch sacked out and Kim sound asleep with the baby in his favorite chair. He went to the fridge, took out a bottle of beer, took a long pull, and sat at the table. Thursday. It had been a long, long day. He thought of the past, of Lisa and the boys. He stared at the photos on the walls and remembered. When he felt the remorse threaten to overwhelm him, he took another pull of beer.

He wondered how the hospital folk fared. Maybe he should call them. He wondered if they had called while he was out. Ricker tried to think of the future.

He sighed heavily, feeling the weight of responsibility. He was only one man with a boy, a child, a baby and two nonfunctioning adults to care for. No, now he was also responsible for another twelve low-functioning souls as well. In addition, he felt a responsibility to all the lives he had seen and touched on his rounds through the neighborhoods. He shook his head, rubbed his face, and then pushed his fingers through his short graying hair. Who would teach the wakers? Were they doomed to go back to the Stone Age?

He finished his warm beer then put his head on his folded arms and fell asleep before his head hit his arms.

# Chapter 30: Reasonable but Not

The others had not waited for Al to come back from his sudden emotional departure. The women had won the argument and they had gone out to mimic the strange efforts of the man helping cannibals. Sam riding shotgun, Christy, and Yoona hopping out opening water spigots and making sure houses were open. Mica stayed with Josie.

When the sun had set and the dark crept in, they returned. Sam sought him out in his third story apartment where he kept watch at the window petting the dogs.

Sam told him how they threw blankets and food on the doorstops and then moved on; how they were able to pick up a few children and carry them into houses. A few adults allowed them to help them walk. It was all he could do to keep them from bringing some home. There were so many, they realized. They were putting band-aids on a major wound; still they were doing something.

They ate in morose silence. The reality of the world was sinking deeper and deeper into their bones. Only Al had not seen the shape of the new world. Although he wrestled with himself on the subject, he knew he had to find out. To see it for himself.

"It's too dark to see tonight anymore," Sam said, sensing Al was wavering in his stance. "We're going back out tomorrow, you can come with us." Sam talked about wanting to go to his old neighborhood tomorrow. He did not have family here. Neither did Mica. That was part of what had brought them together in the first place, but they had friends. He wanted to know if they had survived.

"Why don't we go call on that dude tonight, though if you want? See what's up. He might have some news. Tell us what's going on. There's strength in numbers and all."

"I'm going, too." Josie stood from her place on the floor with the dogs. She crossed her arms and spread her legs, looking like a solid force to reckon with.

Al started to voice a strong "No!" until he caught the look of determination in her eyes.

"Okay. You stay in the truck until we know what's going on with this guy."

Josie nodded.

As Sam had promised. There was not much to see in the dark. The truck headlights picked the litter of damaged property and occasionally dead bodies in the streets. It was silent and it was beginning to smell of rotten meat. An obvious cannibal huddled over a body in the lea of a car. His guilt and remorse for Ruth's death eased enough for him to breathe a bit easier at the sight. She would not have wanted that, he knew that.

Finally, they pulled up to a ranch style home where they assumed Ricker lived. The house was in an older, upper middle class neighborhood with a mixture of house styles and lot sizes. It appeared dark and abandoned; they saw no movement inside at first, but Al thought he saw a flicker of a candle. The company truck sat in the double drive next to a Jeep Cherokee so they were sure they had the right place.

"Well, do we go in and introduce ourselves? Or what?" Sam Lee asked, bringing Al back from his thoughts. Al noted the lack of bodies lying around the immediate area of this man's house. It looked like a normal neighborhood on a normal evening, if you ignored the devastated landscaping, broken vehicles, and the occasional whiff of decomposition from somewhere nearby.

Al shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. It looks harmless enough, even though he's a do-gooder who helps cannibals."

"We'll be back in a minute or so to get you, Josie. Stay put." He got a flashlight out of the glove box and nodded to Al.

They got out, headed to the front door, and knocked as if it was a perfectly normal evening and they were calling on neighbors. Al shook his head at the craziness of it all as he scanned the street; he shivered and suddenly felt exposed.

Sam peeked in the flanking window. A minute passed. Sam knocked again, louder. A dog started barking ferociously, however Al could tell it was a small dog. Probably was a pompous poodle or a chunky Chihuahua. They heard movement, as if something heavy fell, a muffled curse, then urgent voices. Sam knocked again with a patterned rap.

Al moved back from the door, pulling Sam with him so they were easily visible from the windows, and raised his arms with his hands open. Sam mimicked him pointing the flashlight down from above his head, illuminating themselves. Al saw movement as a curtain twitched. The dog's barking stopped suddenly.

"Don't mean any harm." Sam Lee called out in his mushy drawl, loud enough for those inside to hear him. He turned a full circle then urging Al to do so himself so their visitors could see they were unarmed. "Saw your truck out and about. Thought we'd come introduce ourselves. Find out if you had news of what's going on."

"Name's Sam Lee. This here's Al. We are staying north of here a bit. We have women, one of them pregnant, and a little girl, she's out in the truck. We were out looking for some supplies when we saw you opening water faucets. Presumed you must know some things we don't."

Al waited, dropped his hands to his side, and nudged Sam Lee to do the same; he was tired of being on display. This bozo better make up his mind quick or he was going to walk.

The door opened. The man who stepped out was of medium height, rangy looking, with about three days of stubble and a soul patch, matching his red blond and grey crew cut hair. Bushy eyebrows and deep laugh lines framed piercing eyes indeterminate of color in the shadowy entryway. He had a prominent nose; evident in profile, though what caught Al's attention was the hand that held a .22 pistol pointed downward with the safety off. Another smart man, Al approved.

# Chapter 31: Hesitant Invitations

"Name's Ricker." The man's voice was gravelly, deep. "Don't mind saying you gave us quite a scare coming to the door like this."

Sam returned. "Yeah, it seemed almost normal there for a minute for us, too. Except for no porch light. Well, we wanted to introduce ourselves. We took over the Windmill community over near the river."

Ricker nodded. "Heard of it. Been meaning to get over there, see what all the rant's about. You got solar and wind turbines, right?"

"Yeah, it's awesome. Al, here, used to work there, installing the systems. Six of us got there last night. None of us ever met before; kind of found each other looking for a place to land. Safety in numbers and all. There's room for more if you're inclined. Got heat and water. No furniture or nothing, but if you want to set up one for yourself, we could help each other out," Sam declared.

Al rocked on his feet and cringed inside. Even without the cannibal question, he did not like a whole lot of people around and opening up to a stranger like this was dumb. Yet here he was seemingly part of a welcome wagon, inviting a cannibal lover to join their club. He kept quiet adding another tick on the side of leaving against staying. He knew of a few other places in town that had one or the other system power system set up.

"Generous offer, Sam. It sounds tempting. However, I'm not certain it's unanimous by the looks of Al here," the man replied as he looked back over his shoulder at the sound of a small whisper and grinned. "At least one of us is all for it."

"Yeah, well, you're welcome to come, so take your time deciding. We aren't going anywhere and there are plenty of apartments." Sam assured him, frowning at Al.

Al continued to watch and fume quietly, getting antsy to leave, although Sam had his own agenda. "What's up with the faucets?"

Ricker grimaced, hesitated, and then made a decision. "It's cold. Come in and I'll tell you what I know over some coffee. Good to see more people alive."

"Thanks. Can we get Josie from the truck? She's a curious kid and wanted to come meet you." Sam waved the flashlight at the truck and Josie burst out, slammed the door, and ran to join them.

"Ricker, this is Josie. Al found her and her babysitter, Christy last night, then they found Mica, Yoona, and me."

Ricker smiled at Josie and stepped back opening the door wider. Al hesitated at the threshold, wondering if there would be cannibals inside. He was uncomfortable with no one being cautious or suspicious. The man was letting strangers walk into his home. Didn't he have any sense of self-preservation?

Ricker introduced his son, Austin, who had turned up a camp lantern, which spread its wavering light over a tousled living room. There was a tiny little girl, about six, buried in pillows in an easy chair. Ricker introduced her as Kim. She was holding her arms tightly around a bundle that could only be a baby. Deeper in the gloomy room, another child lay sleeping, wrapped in blankets on a love seat near the stove. Ricker did not introduce her. Then there was the mutt sneaking up behind everyone sniffing at their heels.

The boy, Austin, holding a rifle, pushed the safety back on while looking Al in the eye, then shook hands with him and Sam. He winked at Josie. The little girl, Kim, started squirming, obviously wanting to get up and join them but was mindful of her duty to the baby. The boy moved over to her, stood the rifle in the corner, and then lifted the baby from her sister's arms. Kim was up like a shot and ran to Ricker taking his hand. She stared at Josie.

Josie startled, nearly squawking as she sidestepped to reveal the Pomeranian mutt. It must have stuck its cold nose on her ankle.

"Oh, you have a dog, too."

"That's Goofball," laughed Austin. "He adopted us yesterday."

"You gentlemen want coffee? I have a couple of bottles of Sam Adams. Room temp, still it gets the job done." Ricker asked, moving toward the kitchen.

Sam seized the offer and Al mumbled a reluctant no thanks. He knew what alcohol would do to him. Ruthie had made him promise never again.

"Kim, why don't you and Austin keep these guys company while I start some water and see if I can find us some cookies or something? Would you girls like some hot chocolate? Austin?"

Josie nodded and Kim echoed "yes, please" grabbing both Al and Sam by the hand, leading them where she wanted them then pushed them down into the sofa, apparently taking her duties as hostess seriously, if somewhat aggressively. Al landed with an "oof" into the soft leather couch. Sam chuckled.

Al eyed the bossy little girl who now stood in front of them, with her hands on her hips staring at them. He tried to show he was intimidated, but his smile fell flat. She intimidated the hell out of him; most kids did. He threw a quick appealing look to Josie; then returned his eyes to the source of his discomfort.

Kim was nothing like Josie. Her face was heart-shaped and open with wide-set, blue eyes that hid behind over-long, gold brown bangs. Being six to Josie's eight, she was shorter but not by a lot. While he could see the sadness in her eyes, she returned his look with sharp-eyed scrutiny until Josie wedged herself between Al and Sam, and sat on the edge of the couch in a territorial forward lean. Al felt grateful for the buffer and stupid for letting a six-year-old get to him.

Kim turned away and picked up her doll then sat on the coffee table returning Josie's stare. Dang. He had never seen children act this way. Course, he never noticed kids that much except to stay well clear of them.

Al's attention went to the teen. He was tall and lanky, with a modified version of his father's features. His hair was bicolored although in the glooming shadows of the camp lantern, he was barely able to make out the colors. Black and lime green, maybe. It hung limp and shaggy from the top over shaved temples so that Al suspected he usually wore it in a ridiculous spiked Mohawk.

After fussing with the baby a bit, the boy tucked it under more covers inside a wooden crate set near the oven. Returning, he pulled the little girl off the table to sit with him in a side chair.

"Have you guys seen much of town while you were out looking around?" Austin asked, seeming as awkward with the situation as Al, unsure how to treat them.

Al let Sam do the talking. He had seen what he wanted; now he wanted to go.

Sam told what they had done after they seeing Ricker, making it seem as though all of them had pitched in. "We mimicked your dad; not knowing why really except it was helping the... people. We didn't take any home like I seen your dad do, but we did take 'em indoors and give 'em water and food."

Ricker sat down on the edge of the pillow-filled chair offering cookies and the cups of hot liquids and a beer for Sam and himself

"We came to find out what's going on. What's wrong with them? We saw enough to know they are not in their right mind. Aren't they dangerous?"

Ricker shared his own observations about the wakers. "The doctor at the hospital seems to think the virus fried their brains and they're lucky not to be vegetables." he finished.

"What! Wait. Hospital? A real doctor?" Sam was excited with the news.

"Yeah, an MD. He had been expecting the victims to be complete vegetables that would not even come out of the coma. He was very surprised that total amnesia seems to be the only thing wrong with them. That and they don't talk."

"Like being a cannibal is not wrong?" Al erupted.

Sam slipped in with another question to try to sooth the tension. "That's great we have a real doctor, and a hospital! Awesome! I so did not want to deliver the baby. How do you know all this? Why aren't you over there with them? Are there others there too?"

Ricker let Al's outburst go and answered Sam's questions. "We have a shortwave radio and heard them broadcasting. Eight people were immune and survived. We talked this morning. When the immediate threat of ragers passed, those who have family in town went out looking for them. They were all out there when they started waking. They had radios and called in reports. Roger passed it on to me."

"They told you about the cannibals and you went out and started helping them?" Al was incredulous. Who goes around helping the people who massacred the human race and then ate them?

Sam elbowed Al and went on with his questions. "Did they find other immune?"

Al was getting salty but Josie leaned into him, reminding him of Ruthie. 'Breathe. It's not your concern; you're leaving anyway.'

Ricker once again let it pass. "Yeah. Don't know how many. We haven't talked with them since this morning. Seems like a lifetime ago. We've been somewhat busy. Roger invited us to join them, too. They thought were going to try to gather the immune there, as well as care for as many survivors as they could reach. I decided to open a branch office."

If it weren't for Josie leaning heavily on his legs, Al would have gotten up and started pacing. He was beginning to feel trapped and a bit rabid and when that happened, he attacked.

"So, without memories, what we have are basically wild animals, some of whom are fond of eating human beings and all of whom are capable of learning. There seem to be way more of them than there are of us and you want to teach them how to survive so they can climb ahead of us on the food chain?" Al couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer. He was incensed. "They are cannibals, man! Before that, they were ragers! They are homicidal and they outnumber us, and these Soft Hearts are taking these cannibals in under their roof? How smart is that?"

"We are helping any who need help to survive." Ricker was obviously trying to maintain his calm, however, judging by his body language as he leaned toward Al, and the fire in his eyes, he was finding it difficult. "The cannibals, as you call them, don't come near the others, and stayed clear of me as well. They are wary, territorial, and they stayed off by themselves. The others are peaceful and from what I've seen, the peaceful outnumber the cannibals."

Al wiped his palms on his pant knees. "Sounds like a recipe for disaster, to me. Their first instinct is to eat people. They're cannibals, man! Who knows what the "peaceful" ones are going to do? What are you shooting for? A Planet of the Apes knockoff?"

Al had become aware of Josie taking his hand, as his voice rose in volume and his anxiety level along with it. He stopped his tirade and tried to count for calmness.

The man sitting across from him was frowning and opened his mouth, no doubt with a scathing rebuttal, when he was interrupted.

"They are not bad people!" Kim exploded up from Austin's lap, indignantly stamping her foot. "They're my mommy and daddy and they're sick! Mr. Dale is gonna fix them, like he's gonna fix his family, too. You take that back! You take that back!" She screamed as Austin pulled her back. Her anger lent her strength and she pulled from him, defiantly fisting her tiny hands and planting them on her non-existent hips. She held the pose for seconds before her face, losing the war of emotions, crumbled into abject devastation and her courage failed her. She threw herself into Austin's lap and sobbed while the entire house held its breath in chastised astonishment.

Al closed his mouth; shamed by this tiny fireball of loneliness. Josie squeezed his hand though remained quiet. He closed his eyes. When overwhelmed, retreat!

'Damn it!' He should have held his peace. It's after all their lives. It had nothing to do with him, if they wanted to risk it all on altruism; yet it enraged him. They needed to understand the potential for danger or they were going to end up dead! Why couldn't they see it? What was so hard to understand? There was no fixing this. These mindless cannibals outnumbered them, and situations like these always bring out the worst in people. The only good thing about cannibals and wild humans was compared to the viciousness that men could stoop to the cannibals were at least open.

Still he felt ashamed and remorseful for his outburst. He did not want to be the cause of more grief for the little girl. He sighed and opened his eyes. He was getting so tired of beating his head against a brick wall.

"Aw, Kim, I'm sorry. I'm sure your parents were good people, and they will have help with you, Mr. Ricker and Austin. I wasn't talking about them, specifically..." Sam nudged him. Maybe he should quit before he tripped himself up again. He tried to catch her eye, or Austin's, but only Ricker was looking at him, still glaring.

Ricker continued to frown at him, though he addressed Kim. "It's okay, sweetie. We know they aren't bad people. So does Mr. Al. Austin, why don't you take Kim in and help her get ready for bed. It's been a long day."

Kim peeked at Al and hiccupped as she tried to talk, checking his face out for sincerity. "You promise you won't hurt them?"

Al cringed. Damn kid. Now he'd have to give his word. "Yeah," he promised, meaning it. "I promise I won't hurt your family or anyone you love. However, I won't let any of them hurt me either. Can you live with that?"

Kim held his eyes a little longer, and then nodded with a final sniffling hiccup. "Okay." She turned her face back to hide in Austin's shoulder and he carried her out of the room.

Al, along with everyone else, watched the boy and girl go.

"Really, Ricker. I did not mean to upset her. Wife always told me I needed to think before I opened my mouth."

"Despite what you think, Al." Ricker stood, emphasizing his assertions. "We are well aware of the potential danger. We're all learning what this sickness is like and how to deal with its victims. Maybe they will turn, tonight, tomorrow. Next year. Point is, we don't know. What we do know, right now, is they are people. People who can't fend for themselves and who don't even understand the concepts of right and wrong. All they know is cold, hunger, thirst. All they have is what little relief they have been able to discover on their own; and some lucky few now have more because of what we have been able to show them.

"Those of us, who help them, think the risk is worth it. I understand your fear of them and reluctance to accept them. I feel it too. It's okay if you can't see them differently, but don't think for a minute, that you know what we are dealing with here. The future hasn't been written yet. It's a blank slate. Like all those minds out there."

Al held his eyes for a few minutes. He could sense the tension around him, as if the world waited for his reply. "Fair enough. You're right. It is your life, your opinion. I respect that and I appreciate that you respect mine as well."

These fools could not possibly understand the dangers outside if they were sympathetic toward them. If they did, they would not be trying to help them. Al supposed a hasty retreat was in order. "On that note, I guess we should get out, so I can lick my wounds."

Sam acted as though he wanted to say something else, though he took Josie's hand and led the way toward the front door.

Al studied Ricker and Austin. "I am sorry I upset the little girl. At least now we know where we stand with each other. We good?" He put out his hand in sincere acceptance and treaty and waited for the man to make his move.

Ricker took the offered hand.

"Good. The offer still stands, Ricker," Sam reminded him, offering his own hand as well. "Al knows he does not speak for the group. You are still welcome, regardless."

Al nodded his agreement, hesitantly. He would not deny the kids the comfort the Windmill had to offer.

Ricker nodded again. "Thanks, we'll be staying here a while longer. We have ... obligations to see to."

Sam nodded; relieved the tension had abated some then raised his own agenda. "Hey, you say the hospital is still open for business. Think the doc would look after my Mica?"

# Chapter 32: What Really Matters?

Sophie ushered her family into the hospital cafeteria and found Roger about to haul another case of water upstairs "We're on the second floor, checking to see who needs help most. We're not even through the first wing yet we did get those down here sorted out." He explained after brief introductions.

Her family dropped their suitcases and bags then started to follow Jesse's lead, grabbing a pile of blankets to head upstairs. Sophie held her dad back but addressed her mother. "We have this. Mom, will you keep the kids down here and get into the kitchen? Fire up the ovens and burners. I imagine Doc's going to want to bring everybody down here. They're going to need somewhere warm, and clean. That's your job, dad, and watch for the others. When you see Anne, she's a six-foot Amazon, ask her and Tracy to go to the third floor nurses' station and bring back as much as they can in the way of supplies to set up a field hospital in here."

Barry nodded.

"When she's finished, with hauling stuff from the third floor, Anne can help you get this place cleaned out. When Vahan gets here, he's Middle Eastern, send him upstairs. Keep Lilliana, she's Mexican down here to help. If anyone else shows up, you are in charge of deploying them as you see fit. Any questions about anything medical; see Tracy or Vahan. Talk to Anne and Roger about supplies or logistic questions. I'm going to send Roger back down here to monitor the radio."

Her father patted her hand. "Don't worry, sweetie. I got this."

"Cathy, how's your stomach?" She turned to her sister. "It's going to be very bad upstairs as confined as they all were. Especially if any of them turned cannibal. Think you can help Jesse transport people down here as we clear them?"

"I'll sure try." Her sister looked pale at the thought, also determined. She had done well back at home following Sophie's lead, except she had stayed clear of the dead.

The second floor was far worse than Sophie could have imagined. Bodies everywhere and the mordant smell of blood clogged her nose. Nothing she had not seen already, out on the streets, yet somehow it was worse in the closed confines of the hospital halls. Surprisingly there were a few people left alive. Cathy gagged and retched though she held it together.

Jessie and Roger were moving among those awakening, helping them drink from the bottles, getting them on their feet down the stairs. Sophie motioned Cathy to one of the patients designated by a triage note Doc had left for them written on a paper towel.

She caught Roger as he headed downstairs with his burden. "Roger, I need you to stay down stairs on the radio. Cathy will take over here. My dad is down there, he's in charge, but he's going to need some advice. It's your turn to rest, so take advantage of it, please."

She found Colt in the middle of the waiting room, bent over a young girl. Sophie put her hand on his shoulder. "Doc, I'm here. What do you want me to do first?"

"Sophie! Good. Continue triage that way. Don't forget the rooms. I've marked the ones I've seen who need to go into the operating room. X means 'pray'. The others just give them fluids for now; get them downstairs, then food as tolerated."

She told him about the instructions she had given downstairs "Good. I'm taking this one down to the OR where I can do some stitches." He was near tears, as he stood with the young girl in his arms. He considered the horrific scene over the tops of his displaced glasses. "We'll abandon this place."

Sophie sorted patients, finding many more dead as were still alive. There were no cannibals. Everyone here seemed too battered to do more than stir despite the scent of blood everywhere. Before she finished two young men arrived, college age.

Tony, the taller of the two, athletic looking with sharp featured, introduced himself and his companion, Arthur, explaining they came in with Vahan from the east of the college campus. "The Doc wanted me to tell you he nabbed Vahan to the operating room until Tracy gets back from third floor," Arthur said. He was shorter, had deep ebony skin with dark owl-round glasses.

She got them started carrying the surviving downstairs.

An hour later, Sophie's back was aching, like everyone else's, she imagined. Her energy was flagging. She wondered if anyone was keeping track of the numbers. She met Anne in the hall outside the operating helping her dad move bodies out of sight. "Anne. Did you find your family?"

Anne's eyes clouded. She nodded her head and moved on. They had not made it.

Sophie went in to check on Vahan and found him in the far corner starting an IV drip on a woman who seemed to be feverish. He did not respond at first when she asked about his roommate. Finally, he slumped and raised his eyes to her. Tears started down his cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, Vahan. Were you close?"

Vahan's jaw tensed and she could see he was struggling with his emotions, then he nodded and moved on to tend to the next patient.

Sophie took stock of the room, the forms lying on the floor on blankets. She recognized the young girl Doc had taken to get stitches, and Tracy was monitoring her vitals. Doc was bringing in another patient with a splint. He conferred with Tracy for a minute then left again. The remainder she remembered from triage. Dehydrated, but with the limited number of IV hookups available, only a few had them. The next best recourse was pushing oral fluids. Sophie saw cans of Ensure near several of them.

"Good thinking on the Ensure." She complimented Vahan, trying to bridge an awkward gap. I wish we had some Gatorade as well. I wonder if they have some in the pharmacy."

Vahan shook his head. He had already sent someone to look and while they had brought back a lot of helpful medicines and dressings, there were no oral electrolyte fluids.

"Vahan," Sophie pushed. "I know it's hard to talk about, so I want to say, I'm so sorry for your loss."

Vahan surprised her by turning into her, laying his head on her forehead and letting her put her arms around him for comfort. He sobbed quietly, until he could pull himself together, wiping his eyes on paper towels. "His name was Brandon. We were both going to come out together, then announce our engagement. We were going to get married, when he finished his masters this semester."

Sophie hung her head in acknowledgement of his pain. She knew what it was like losing someone that close. Nothing she could say would remove the pain, though having someone listen, could make it bearable. While he related his story, they moved around the room, starting one more IV and giving fortified fluids while monitoring vital signs. Sophie listened to him talk of Brandon and their plans and what happened when he went to look for him.

"When I went there, he was gone. The door had been broken open." He had searched the campus with Lilliana in the streets between the school and their apartment. Lilliana had understood his frantic search, nevertheless they both knew they had to give up and get Lilly to her family.

"While I was throwing some things together, Arthur and Tony came out of the apartment across the hall carrying baggage and two kids hey had rescued. They looked like they'd seen hell. They told me they heard voices Tuesday night, shouts and an argument but never saw Brandon.

"Lilliana has this huge extended family. They all live next door to each other. A brother and his family, cousins, in-laws. They lost several cousins to the virus who then killed several others, when they turned to ragers." Lilliana's father, Emilio Esposa and brother, Carlos, were able to restrain both their wives, when their ravings got too bad; they woke up as Vahan and Lilliana arrived. Of the 30 original extended family, only twelve immune remained, mostly children. Carlos and his three teenage children; Emilio and Lilliana; and Lilliana's cousin, Julio Vasquez, his wife, Patricia, and their four children.

"Lilliana stayed with her family to help them decide what they wanted to do. Stay or move to the hospital. The guys and I opened spigots and houses until Roger called saying we were needed back here."

Sophie's head came up at the sudden sound of a minor whirlwind as Lilliana and her family arrived amid relieved smiles and much welcoming. Lilly introduced them in broken English and told Sophie that everyone wanted to begin immediately to help.

It was getting late in the afternoon and would soon be too dark inside and outside to work, so, though the newcomers were tired, they would be welcomed as additional workers. Even the kids.

Barry sent Carlos and Mr. Vasquez with Jesse to bring up more supplies from the basement. He assigned Lilly to take Mrs. Vasquez and some of the new children to the older section of the third floor to prepare enough rooms and beds for everyone to rest. Emilio, Lilly's father could not speak English so one of the children stayed with him as he went to the kitchen to help Audrey Norton prepare a hot meal for everyone.

Sophie showed Emilio where he could put his waker wife and daughter-in-law on pallets in the cafeteria next to Maggie who was alert but weak from hunger.

"Maggs. You're looking good, woman. I like what you've done with your hair." Sophie smoothed her ratted, matted hair. Memories overcame her for a moment, and kept talking, hoping Maggie would show some sign of remembering.

Maggie looked at her with curious eyes then hesitantly returned a smile, but there was no glimmering of recognition on her face.

"Damn, Maggs. I hope this is temporary. I miss talking to you. You remember Jesse." She quietly snorted a laugh and dropped her eyes down at her hands. "Of course you do; you told me a long time ago to hook up with him, but I was stubborn." Tears were flowing. "I was still hurting too much from losing Cara Beth and Charley in the accident. Now I'm losing you, too." She wiped her face and sniffled. "We went by your house, Maggs. The babies never woke from the coma. Jeff was there, but I could tell he had the virus. I'm sorry." Sophie sniffled and blinked up at the ceiling, letting her tears fall. "This is so screwed up."

Maggie's hand touched her head, a frown of puzzlement across her face, but not a hint of understanding.

"Sophie, Doc wants you in the operating room." Tracy touched her shoulder softly from behind her.

Sophie frowned at Maggie and wiped her tears. "Well, some things don't change, do they? Got to go or I might get fired."

When she turned to Tracy, she could tell from her face, that she had lost her family as well. So many losses.

***

The cafeteria dining area was crowded with forms lying on blankets on the floor. With all the patients now transferred to this one area, there was barely room to walk and maneuver between them. The room had only warmed up a little, because of the constant opening and closing of doors. Still, it was warmer there than anywhere except the kitchen proper.

The employees' door to the kitchen became the main entrance for the caregivers providing a quieter environment for the recovering patients. The accessing hall inherited some of the tables and chairs from the dining room for future breaks or meals.

As the Esposa's children came back down and reported beds and rooms were ready, Anne passed out flashlights from the basement supplies to the adults and older teens. "Use them only as necessary, conserve the batteries," she told them. She set up a couple of lanterns in the kitchen and cafeteria.

Roger made up a schedule to make sure there were staff and lay helpers enough to help through the night.

They worked by lantern light for a couple of hours to clean and disinfect the walls and floors in the halls and waiting room around the cafeteria. Infection was a major concern. As the work began to wind down, Barry took the list and made assignments, then sent non-essential people off to eat and report to Mrs. Vasquez for room assignments. He started with Doc and Roger, and the aging Mr. Esposa, none argued.

When it was her turn, Sophie dragged herself up the stairs to the third floor. She had noticed as she worked with the awakened on the second floor, that most of the dead had died a violent death from the ragers, but more than a few had died from natural causes exacerbated by the virus, like dehydration or organ failure of one kind or another. She was convinced that though the virus had left its victims brain damaged, it was not a fatal disease if treated properly. The tragedy lay in its virulence; how easily and quickly it had become pandemic. Medical teams and authorities simply could not cope with the numbers of victims in the time span involved.

Not that it mattered at this stage, Sophie thought as she settled down on the bed assigned to her. It is what it is and the here and now really are the only things that matter.

# Chapter 33: Paradigms in Flux

On Friday, Sophie and the team moved out into the immediate parking lot sometime after dawn, when someone noticed there were still some people needing help and still some down on the cold ground. They had been surprised that anyone was still alive, given how long they had been without fluids, and out in the elements, but alive they were. The air was bitingly cold especially in the wind.

Yesterday, Sophie had lost count of how many she had aided and who was where. This morning as they had prepared for the task outside, she tried to count the patients lying on the cafeteria floor. There were over a hundred, so few survivors.

She looked over to Maggie, who had followed her around this morning, keenly watching everyone with interest. Her day of recuperation with fluids and calories along with the IV fluids she had received pre-coma, put her in much better shape than most of the others. Sophie had decided to enlist her as an aide. She did not speak, but by watching and a few pantomimes from Sophie, she recognized what to do and was able to help without constant direction. She gave a half-quizzical smile at Sophie's praise and the sight of her working alongside them cheered everyone.

Maggie followed Sophie as they moved the freezing wakers inside. They started a second ward in the now clean though only slightly warmer halls outside the cafeteria for these new souls. Two of the teen helpers handed out more water and protein bars.

By the time, the sun was well up and the day had warmed considerably, the halls were full and they noticed an influx of wakers wandering in from other areas. They carried things in their arms clutched tightly to their chests. Roger worried that handing out food would keep them hanging around and not continue to search and scavenge on their own.

"As much as I, and you, want to help them, we simply do not have the room or the resources. If they are in need of treatment, then maybe we can help, but they need to keep moving and scavenging to survive. Anne told me we have nearly two hundred already. Sanitation is already becoming a problem." So reluctantly, the nurses and aides moved back inside.

Sophie continued to watch the newly wakened people moving around beyond the hospital grounds. Jesse went out with Arthur and Tony to open a few houses and spigots around the neighborhood behind the hospital. They had opened the fire hydrant in front of the hospital where there were no houses but quickly realized it was too strong a flow to be effective, so they shut it back off.

With the immediacy of emergency response past them, Sophie's mind kept looking for something besides death and destruction to keep it busy. From what she saw working with the wakers, cannibalism seemed more and more like a choice consciously made. If it was instinctive, all of them, or at least the majority of them would have done it, but most had chosen to search further afield to satisfy their needs.

They had offered food to those who were eating corpses; most had shown nothing but disdain, though they did accept the water. There had been some yesterday in her parents' neighborhood though, who had lain beside corpses yet accepted scavenged food. She wished she had been able to observe more of their habits and interactions, to see if her theory was true, but she was certain the longer they stayed with their cannibalistic choice, the less likely they would be to give it up. Which was not a good thing.

She decided to mention it to Jesse when he returned from the neighborhoods. Even if cannibals were not a majority, a society of them could lead to some very disquieting consequences down the road, like when the ready supply of relatively fresh source of meat became inedible.

"Sophie, you coming?" Jesse came up behind her, interrupting her musings, the sight of him jarred the frown from her face. "You need to eat something."

She sighed and let him draw her away, but before they cleared the glass doors to the hospital, the sound of a vehicle approaching caught their attention.

An old truck pulled up to the doors. The driver, a youngish man, and an obviously pregnant woman flanked by an older Asian woman, grinned widely at her as they exited the truck. They were obviously delighted but not surprised to see other survivors. The man, who introduced himself as Sam, asked where they could find the doctor. Sophie would have loved to stay and talk with them, but Vahan called to her for assistance.

Jesse frowned. "Go ahead. I'll catch up with you in a few minutes. I need to hear who these folks are and what's going on." Jesse stayed behind.

Vahan, Tracy, and Anne had decided the awakened needed names to cut back on the confusion of talking about their care and progress, especially now that they were beginning to move around. They had come up with permanent markers to write their newly given names on their wrists.

"Some had wallets with their names, so I used them, naturally, but I'm running out of names. My mind is coming up with blanks." He explained to her. "Anne is recording them, on a master list and Tracy is recording it on the chart, the paper towel Doc had originated during triage, and I am writing their names on the inside of their wrists. Our problem is, they are moving around and the 'charts' are becoming the worse for it. Right now, with so little data, it's not that big a deal, but Doc wants us to remedy it as soon as possible. Can you figure something out?"

Sophie groaned. 'Great!' With everything changed, reduced to basics, human beings still found the need for paperwork.

Jesse caught her later, bringing sandwiches and bottled water. "The man's name is Sam. They're from the Windmill. You know anything about it?"

"Enough to know I'm green with envy at the thought of hot water for showers, if the place is up and running, they have electricity. What I would give for a hot shower and some shampoo."

Jesse seemed excited, too. "Evidently the place is huge and there are only six of them there right now."

"Wow. Are we invited?"

"We'll have a meeting tomorrow to talk about it. Roger and Doc are discussing it. What are you working on?"

While he lent a hand with implementing the system she had worked out, she told Jesse her concerns about the cannibals.

He put his hand on hers and squeezed gently. "No doubt that's a valid concern, but not something, we can do anything about at the moment. Don't go borrowing trouble, Phee. One day at a time for now at least."

Sophie heard his words, but her attention was on his hand on hers, on the feeling in the pit of her stomach and the increase in her heart rate.

"Okay, you two, what have you worked out here?" Vahan asked with a tired sigh. "Just so you know I'm not talking about the hand holding thing. That's none of my business." Vahan kept a straight face and took a seat across from Jesse who grinned crookedly and stood up, gathering the food refuse.

"I'll see you two later. I smell more paperwork coming on and I've had my fill for now."

She watched him go and admired his lean silhouette and purposeful swagger. When she turned back, Vahan was looking at her with laughing eyes. This time she did blush.

"Vahan, I want to ask you about this whole cannibal thing. I'd like to get Doc's opinion, too, but he's swamped and maybe I'm mistaken. Did you notice any of the wakers yesterday who were eating flesh, then stopped and took food?"

"No, sorry, I was... No. We made things available and then ran on to the next place. Why?"

She told him what she had observed and what concerned her.

Vahan rubbed his face and took another swig of the coffee Audrey had provided for them. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I don't know if your observations are a true picture of the overall situation, Sophie, but I do think your concerns are valid. I think Jesse is right: it may be a problem down the road, but I also think we need more data."

He frowned and scratched his head, hesitated, and glanced at her sideways. "This is going to sound a bit off the subject at first, but hear me out. While researching my master's thesis, I sidetracked on reports of mad cow disease. Have you heard anything about it?"

"Yeah, is it the one that turns the cow's brain into Swiss cheese? I think I remember it can also cross the species barrier and was transmittable to humans."

"Right. A protein found normally as a protection for the nerves, which fails to fold properly, causes it. An accident of nature really. It's called a prion and it is highly contagious and notoriously hard to kill because they aren't alive. They have an incredible shelf life and so can stay in the ground wherever the host dies for about forever."

"What do you mean they aren't alive? How do they reproduce to colonize and kill the host?"

"They don't reproduce like viruses and bacteria. One prion, getting close to another protein can destabilize it causing it to misfold. It goes exponentially from there. In addition, as you said, there's a human version of the mad cow prion. So, eating human flesh, aside from the obvious, yuk-factor, is dangerous because of the chance of meat being infected with a prion disease."

"That's relatively rare is it?"

Vahan nodded, but continued. "That's where the old wives' tale comes in that says people who practice cannibalism go mad. We have cannibals. We have an unknown, unnatural virus. I worry that the virus/prion/whatever that caused the insanity, is still in the bodies and the meat is tainted. Even if they ate only one bite or licked the blood, the waker could re-contaminate himself, the virus would likely mutate into a variant, and the waker would... who know. Like your theory, the more they eat, the more risk there is. So yeah, I'd be surprised if we didn't have problems with the cannibals down the road or sooner.

"Can Doc test for it?" Sophie asked.

"Afraid not. He can autopsy a brain and see the resulting Swiss cheese effect but the actual prion is very hard to detect."

Sophie agreed it was a theory. Her thoughts had gone in the same direction, but Vahan took it from gut feeling to something far more plausible and probable. Then her mind caught up to something Vahan had breezed past.

"Unnatural? You mean like manufactured, bio-terrorism gone wrong. You think terrorists invented this... Insanity Virus and somehow disseminated it all over the world?"

"That or a bio-weapon got loose and screwed the pooch wherever it came from, its path is unknown, and pun intended, misfolding." He shrugged.

"Damn, Vahan. Rain on parades much?" Sophie remembered her conversation with Doc and Jesse. "Doc was saying something similar, right after people started running out of juice. Something about the virus not being natural. I thought he was reaching at the time, since he was trying to talk me out of doing something. Now... You sound like him."

She wanted an ally, someone to help her worry about her theory. She had not expected a full-blown thesis gone sci-fi on her. "I don't know what to say, now. What you're talking about is likely, I guess and, the conclusions are pretty much, what I was thinking. Though, right now, I think we need to concentrate on the practical and gather more data."

"I agree, that will help us long term. Let's go out there and see what we can see while we're opening houses."

"Maybe we should make a run to the grocery store and seed the houses with healthier food. Let's see what Jesse says but, Vahan. Nix on the prions and conspiracy theory for now."

Vahan rolled his eyes. "You asked."

# Chapter 34: Rages, Wakers Learn

On Friday, Lisa and Tyler began raging in the post-midnight hours. It seemed Ricker had not been asleep very long when their piercing wails had changed to rage in tone and intensity; the quality was undeniably born of raging insanity. Kim screamed until Austin could get to her and hold her close. Eve woke but was silent.

Ricker cautiously ventured downstairs to check on them. The doors were holding. The two by fours he had put up to slow down any breach were in place. He plodded wearily back upstairs and nailed two by fours across the closed basement door. He thought that would be enough. He had thought all they would have to do is sit tight and wait. He imagined it would be about twenty-four hours, give or take. The waiting would be hard but doable.

He had not counted on the noise, muffled as it was.

It was not loud, but it was there and nearly constant, coming up through the furnace grates. Ricker had flashbacks of Roberto's death. Kim also seemed to be flashing back on memories of her mom and dad hunting her.

Ricker decided to move everyone to Roberto's house for the rest of the night. He stopped pacing, comforted by the solution until he saw Austin sitting on the loveseat beside the too still body of little Maria. Everything in Ricker seemed to die, when he saw the lifeless child.

She had awakened and had taken some fluids earlier, had appeared to be weak but stable so Ricker had not fretted about her sleeping. He had felt encouraged, even dared hope she would pull through.

He put his hand on his son's shoulder, sharing his pain. Kim came to stand next to Austin. After a moment of silent tears, she pulled back Maria's covers and tucked Molly in her arms, then covered the both of them, saying goodbye. Austin choked a ragged breath then stood up abruptly.

"Get your things together," he told them. "We're going next door to wait this out." Heart sore and exhausted, they crossed the lawn in the dark of night. It was cold but he and Austin put the kids between them and pulled sleeping bags over their heads hoping to finish out the night without another disaster.

They slept late. The sound of people getting up going through cabinets woke Ricker. He checked his watch and sat up. The day had well begun; life moved on despite their heartaches. Austin remained under his covers, his arm over his eyes. Ricker knew he was awake but feared the boy was giving into the depression he also felt. He looked to Kim. She lay on her side, her eyes wide open, staring at him, as silent as she had been when he first brought her home. Little Eve lay beside her tucked under her protecting arm, still sleeping.

"I want to go home, Mr. Dale."

He knew the feeling. He wanted to have life back the way it had been. All he could do was to smile sadly and reach out his hand to touch her face.

Her eyes moved from his face to watch her mom moving past the doorway, and he watched with her as the people they had rescued moved about the house. "Come out to the kitchen. Help me fix some breakfast, will you?"

The roast left over from yesterday was gone. The plate licked clean. He grabbed sausage out of the freezer. Only partially thawed it was still good and cold so he made patties and put them on the stove to fry.

Jack and Ken, the two bachelors from down the street, had found the pantry and were busy shaking boxes and inspecting jars of home canned vegetables. Kim took a package of snack sized peanut butter crackers from Ken's box and tore the packaging off while the man watched. Ricker took the jar from Jack, twisted the ring, then pried the lid off the jar of green beans, smelled it and gave it back to Jack with a fork, then demonstrated the manual can opener on one of the several cans of soup Evan had found.

George was returning from the upstairs bathroom with the sound of the toilet flushing. He was leading little Abbey. Others were standing in the hall, waiting their turn; lessons evidently learned and remembered from Austin yesterday.

Ricker looked up from staring at his feet and saw Ben bent over Kim, offering her a piece of bread and a cup of water. Something thawed inside him as he watched Kim sit up and take the bread, while Ben looked on, pleased.

"Austin." Ricker waited a moment for the boy to look up. "Look at Ben with Kim." Austin moved his head so he could see the little girl take the water from Ben and drink. Ben turned aside, looking at Austin as though he felt him watching him then offered another piece of bread to the gaping teen. 'Awesome.' Ricker's mouth turned upwards at its corners, hope fluttering in his chest.

Austin took the piece of bread. "Thanks, Ben." The child beamed again and moved away only to return with a cup of water. Austin smiled back. The boy grinned and cocked his head. Austin drank and the boy nodded, moving away pleased, apparently satisfied.

"Wow."

"Yeah," Ricker agreed.

"They don't make any noises." Austin observed. "I would have thought by now they would at least be grunting and trying to say words, but as much as I've talked to them and encouraged them. They don't talk."

"Uncle Dale, something's wrong with Wendy." Kim whimpered as she tugged on his pant leg.

"What?" Ricker followed her to the living room where the young teen lay resting on the couch and noticed she seemed listless, her eyes glassy.

"Austin, can you get me the first aid kit?" He went to the girl and felt her head. Fever. "Bring the aspirin, will you?"

Austin had cleaned and dressed Wendy's wounded arm as he had done on everyone with cuts and scrapes yesterday. After examining the dressing, Ricker filled a bowl with hot soapy water, grabbed a clean dishcloth and set about removing the soiled dressing. He talked to Wendy, smiling, as he worked. Austin returned with the kit and knelt down beside the couch, showing the child the pill and encouraging her to swallow it. She made a face but took the pill. "Did I mess up the dressing, dad?"

"No, I don't think so?" Ricker pulled the gauze away and smelled the dressing. It had a funky smell about it despite the antibiotic ointment and the wound itself was beginning to look inflamed, hot to touch. Ricker cleaned it again, applied peroxide, and rinsed it then more ointment before he redressed it. He worried for her and for themselves, knowing they could not afford another loss emotionally, especially so soon after Maria. Austin still moved like a half inflated helium balloon. Depression had him by the tail, dragging him around.

"Let's call the Doc. Maybe he can tell us what to do." Austin pleaded, needing to know she would be all right.

Ricker agreed; it was past time to check in with Roger anyway so he sent Austin off to raise him on the radio.

"Here, Uncle Dale." Kim handed him a cup of water for Wendy.

"Thanks, Kim. You make a pretty good little sister for Wendy. Will you sit here with her while I check the others and make sure they're okay?"

***

Roger took the message and sent a runner to get Doc while Austin passed on about the Windmill people. "We had a visit last night from two immune living over at Windmill Community, just a bit northeast of here. There's a group of six people and they saw dad out doing his thing, then stopped by to introduce themselves. They have solar and wind power for electricity, but one jerk, Al, has issues with the wakers especially the ones eating flesh. Seems if one is cannibal, they all are in his mind. The other man, Sam, seemed okay, but it was clear he was walking soft around Al. Sam has a pregnant wife so he'll probably be headed your way to see the Doc, if he's not already there. They invited us to move in there, says there's lots of room."

"We'll look for him." Roger said as the runner returned with Doc's message to bring Wendy in along with any others that concerned them.

Austin sighed with relief and sent his thanks then signed off. Excitedly, he volunteered to take Wendy but Ricker hoped the doctor could do something for Lisa and Tyler's suffering as well.

"We'll take Mrs. Mullin and Eve as well. First," he sighed, dreading bringing the subject up, "we'll put Maria to rest next to her father and brother."

Ricker and Austin moved like an old men out into the garden with their burden. Kim beside them and Austin carrying Eve. They placed some of Lisa's artificial flowers on each mound and walked away, heads hanging in dejection, hearts aching though somehow lightened that these at least had a proper burial and someone to mourn them.

# Chapter 35: Visitors and Visit

"We've got company, dad." Austin whispered.

A young blonde-haired woman waved from the passenger seat of an old pickup truck and looked delighted as Ricker came around the side of the house, his family following. She and the driver, an older Asian woman with long dark hair tied back at the nape of her neck, got out.

"Hey, Mr. Ricker," the blonde-haired woman stepped up and offered her hand. "You must be Austin. I'm Christy. This is Yoona. We're with Sam and Mica over at the Windmill."

Ricker considered them, as he shook their hands. Yoona, the older woman, appeared Korean to Ricker. She was short, with a medium, solid build with arms that were not exactly buff, but spoke of strength and capability. Her face had a pinched look as if she had drunk a glass of vinegar, until she smiled at Kim. "You must be Kim. You made a big impression on Mr. Al. Good to meet you." She spoke in accented clipped sentences.

Christy, the twenty-something blonde, was also short but maybe an inch taller than her companion was. Her hair was cropped pixie short, but with bangs that swept across her forehead to the right where it mixed with a shock of hair that covered her ear. She was very cute and with curves, Austin was having trouble ignoring.

Ricker introduced Austin, Mrs. Mullin, and Wendy along with Eve and Kim. "We're getting set to go see the Doc. What can we do for you?"

"You're heading out? We're glad we caught you before you left, then. If you're going to see Doc, you might see Sam and Mica there," Christy told him. "They were both thrilled to know there's a doctor there. I know Yoona and I were getting worried we'd have to deliver the baby ourselves."

Ricker grinned his appreciation at dodging that bullet. "So what brings you here?"

Yoona shared what they had done yesterday, thanks to his inspiration. Christy told him they were on their way to open more houses but wanted to check with him to see where he'd been. "No sense duplicating work in the same areas." Yoona stated.

Pleased by their attitude Ricker got out a map and showed them where he had been, what he had been doing, what he was planning on doing in the afternoon.

"The hospital staff had been too busy with their two hundred people to do much of this kind of work, but yesterday, their staff went out searching for their families and worked their immediate neighborhoods. They found about twenty other immune who are now helping them at the hospital. I hope we'll run into more. So far, I haven't but there could be some outside of town."

The two women were excited about the found families. "We have so much space at the Windmill. Not to mention the utilities and heat. I hope Sam invites them out to live there." Christy hesitated, and then spoke up. "I heard you kind of butted heads with Al. It's true he's paranoid of the "cannibals" taking over the world, and is unhappy about sharing space with the wakers, but I think he'll come round as soon as he sees how peaceful they are. He really is a good person deep inside. I wish you'd reconsider and bring your family to live there too. You can work from there like us."

Ricker could tell that Austin and Kim were all for the idea and now that he had met Christy and Yoona he agreed, he would think about it. "My wife and stepson are... haven't gone into the coma yet. Even when they come out of it, we won't leave them behind."

Christy nodded. "I understand. I hope that by this time next week, Al will see how safe and relatively normal these people are. In the meantime, we'll do all we can to set them up to survive."

"Glad to hear you say that. Good to have met you."

They turned to go, but Christy whirled around. "Oh, I almost forgot. Al told us Myson's has solar and gas-generator power, so their freezers probably still run. The same way with Menu Foods on the south end of town, he hopes."

***

The parking lot for the ER entrance, where Roger had indicated they were set up, was clear of bodies and people. It seemed deserted until they entered and found the waiting room and halls covered with piles of blankets and supine people who were obviously in bad shape. A few dim lights run by the emergency generator illuminated the gloom further into the building.

A child, who was passing out food and water, pointed them deeper into the gloom when Ricker enquired about the doctor. "In the cafeteria," the lad pointed. "It's the 'firmary now. They have the front door blocked off, so go around to the employee entrance down the side hall."

"Thanks, young man."

Dr. Colton was tall, very dark skinned with black framed glasses. He seemed to be middle aged and had a slender build, that might have been turning to fat before all this, but now he seemed almost gaunt. Certainly, his eyes were as dark and shadowed as his unshaven face. He greeted Ricker and his group warmly.

"What seems to be the problem?" The doctor looked at Wendy, speaking to her and made motions to her arm. "Can I take a look at that?"

When she nodded, gave him a half smile, and showed him her arm, he set about removing the dressing. "You've done a great job keeping it clean. I'm afraid though the infection started long before you picked her up," he told the worried looking father and son. "Tracy. Can you get this young lady set up with an injection loading dose of antibiotics?"

The woman who was assisting the doctor, nodded and moved toward a table covered with assorted medical looking supplies.

Doctor Colton turned his attention to Mrs. Mullin, giving her the same courtesy he would do to any cognizant person. Ricker was impressed and pleased especially when the doctor suggested he leave them with him.

"Naw, Doc. You have enough on your hands. Austin and I can follow instructions. You tell us what to do and we'll do it."

The doctor frowned but his relief was evident as he dictated instructions to Austin. Ricker explained about Lisa and Tyler and the doctor grimaced in empathy for them. He told Ricker to go to the nearest pharmacy, spelled out the name of the supplies and medicine to acquire, told him how to use them. "Stop them immediately if they begin having difficulty breathing, but otherwise this should keep them more comfortable and easier to be around."

"I sure hope so Doc. It's hard seeing them this way. One last thing. Can you look at Eve here? She appears healthy enough, but... well, she's had the virus and... Is there anything special I need to do for her?"

Doc stared at Eve a moment. "Good heaven. How did she survive?" He took Eve to a chair and knelt down beside her on the floor to unwrap her as Ricker told her story.

"She appears no worse for the wear. You've done a great job with her. Maybe some diaper rash cream would help her little bottom and I'll add some vitamins for you to give her in her formula, but she seems to be adapting well. Pick up some baby food in jars and cereal. She's probably already started solids a long time ago, so reintroduce them to her one at a time. After a while, you can start giving her mashed food. I'll look at her more thoroughly in a week."

Ricker thanked him and asked for Roger. The beleaguered man was anxious to get to the pharmacy to get the meds for Lisa and Tyler, but he knew he needed to do the politic thing. As luck would have it, Roger had been expecting him so was near to hand.

Roger shook his hand. "Good to put a face to the voice. You have been an inspiration to the staff and everybody here has benefitted from that."

Ricker dropped his chin, uncomfortable with the praise. "I guess we have a mutual admiration society going. Glad you all survived." They shared a moment of camaraderie before Ricker begged off. "Got to hit the pharmacy and get back to my family. One of these days, when the crisis is over, we all need to sit down and talk long term. In the meantime, we have work to do. Doc thanks again."

# Chapter 36: Friday Treehouse

"You did what?" Al boomed incredulously.

"Calm down Al," Sam rubbed the back of his neck with nervousness. "It's going to be okay. They're going to keep them locked up and there's only one or two of them and these people never were cannibals."

"Sam! Because they haven't been, doesn't mean they won't be!" Al was pacing, as he always did when he was angry, back and forth on the narrow path "What in the world were you thinking? They're cannibals! They're dangerous! You don't know these other people! Even if they're immune to the virus doesn't make 'em good people. Some of 'em could be as bad as or worse than cannibals. Geez, Sam! What were you thinking! Thirty people? Holy population explosion! We've a kid here! What about her? What about your baby? How are you gonna feel when they eat your baby, you dumb idiot!"

Al kept pacing.

Sam had sought him out to tell him of the day's events. He and Mica had visited the hospital to meet the doctor. They had invited the entire group to live at the Windmill. Nearly 30 people!

The news had floored him, had made him feel like he was losing control of his life and his environment. Five days since the world collapsed. He had spent the day alone, pacing and wrestling with his guilt and conscience and had ended up here at the river, looking across to the back of his home. He couldn't see it exactly, the naked limbs of a stand of trees stood in the way. Nevertheless, he knew it was there. She was there.

Sam had found him and now he was ranting; knew he was ranting beyond reasonableness. Half the time he suspected he was not making sense but he couldn't help it. Was he wrong? Was everyone else right? It was sheer insanity! Why could no one but him see it? Wakers, cannibals, whatever you called them, may have been people once, but the virus burned out everything that had made them human. They were nothing but wild animals now and that meant unpredictable. He believed that. He had to believe that.

"Al, get a grip. It'll be okay." Sam tried reassurance again. "The people at the hospital have hundreds of sick people they're taking care of and they're still reaching out into the neighborhoods like Ricker and us. I'm not saying it's going to be easy, Al, but we need other survivors, and it was the whole package or nothing. Besides, it might be temporary for some of them. They are thinking about fixing up the nursing home next door. You could help them fix that up with some of those solar thingies and they have got that big pond for water. So relax. It'll be okay."

Al had started to listen until he heard the numbers. What? Hundreds? Seriously? Hundreds of cannibals or potential cannibals right next door and that was supposed to make him feel better? Al glared at Sam incredulously and kept pacing; muttering under his breath, until Sam finally gave up and walked away. Al watched him get into Yoona's truck and head back across the property. He sat on a log and hung his head.

Whenever Al and Ruthie had an argument, she had walked away from him until he came to his senses. He had gone into his man cave and fired up his computer game, then pretended nothing had happened. It always took his mind off things, the mindlessness of funny little characters running around picking up fruit and cookies, or sometimes, when he was really salty, the loud booms of Warfighter.

This time he had no computer and the thought reminded him how screwed things were. Ruthie was gone. His home, his life before, was gone.

Then for whatever reason, Josie's serious, sad face came into his head. For a brief moment, he wondered what her sadness was, but he shoved it down hard. It only increased his confusion, frustration, and worry. He paced some more. They were all going to get themselves killed. Damned Soft Hearts were making everything crazier. He continued to pace.

***

Sometime later, Al found himself considering Sam and the others across the room from the front door of their newly adopted home. He had come to a decision. "Okay, dudes, I give up. You're on your own if that's the way you want to play it, hooking up with Soft Hearts, risking being eaten by cannibals. I think you're all crazy, but that's evidently just me. I'll get gone. That was my original plan anyway."

Al was proud of himself, the way he was talking. He was not shouting; actually, he never shouted, he talked passionately, and loudly. In this case, he spoke quietly. He would go off where he could limit the number of factors that could screw with his head. He could hole up in other places.

"Oh, Al, no. We don't want to run you out of here," Christy's voice broke slightly, countering his bluster with reasonable tones, the way Ruthie used to do. "You found this place and brought us in. You saved Josie and me. We owe you more than we can ever repay. You let on to be hard-hearted, but we know you're not, not really. Stay with us, Al. We need you."

Al snorted. "Wrong thing to say. I don't want to be 'needed'. I don't want no responsibilities. I got no claim on this place. You all do what you think you want to. I'm not going to stand in anybody's way; this place is ideal for a base camp. I'm telling ya though, you want to take on the care and feeding of a bunch of wild cannibals, go right ahead, but I don't want any part of it."

Christy sighed, finally exasperated with trying to reason with him. Yoona retreated and Mica and Sam flushed sheepish and guilty. Josie, however, moved in closer.

She climbed up on the couch facing Al, closer to his eye level and confronted him face to face, waiting for him to make eye contact. When he wouldn't, (he was no fool) she put her hand to his cheek and pushed his face toward her. "Make a treehouse."

Al blinked at the non sequitur, glanced to the others for help in translating little girl speak, but no one was interested in meeting his eye. He moved his eyes back to her big, sad, brown eyes and serious face. Knew he was about to be outmaneuvered, but could not figure out how, so he tried to look away; she would not let him. "Make a tree house." She insisted, pronouncing each word as if for a smaller child while she held his face with both eight-year old hands.

Al frowned, giving her his evilest eye then made his mistake. "What do you mean?" he asked.

She seemed smarter than her eight years, more world wise, streetwise. Living as a fostered child may have done it, but she seemed to be a loner like himself and they had bonded somehow, with that one interplay at breakfast.

She jumped down off the couch and took his hand then pulled him outside. He let her lead him as they walked in silence across the newly greening grass. He was confused, but curious about what she was doing. He was also aware he was letting her take his mind off the tense situation at the house. Soon she stopped in the middle of the field and pointed to a huge oak tree near the Project Manager's trailer, his office, before all this went down. The tree's bare branches still showed no sign of budding out as the weather began warming up, but its huge lower limbs swept outward from the main trunk in majestic, graceful, successions of branching that climbed upwards to a large promising spot midway before soaring to its full height. Al shuddered at the height of it.

"You want me to make you a tree house? I don't know anything about making tree houses and I... well... I'm kind of scared of high places," he told her honestly, frowning. He shivered at the thought of going up a ladder. Sure he did it all the time for a living, but never if he had a choice.

"You can see everywhere from up there. Even bad people if they come. It can be small and warm and safe," she insisted.

Al looked back at the tree. Yeah, a look out, a retreat, but he would much rather have a man-cave on the ground, or under it would be better. He eyed the trailer. It was cave-like if you squinted at it right. He could see himself living there. It would be better here than going to town where the corpses and cannibals were. He looked back to the Model a couple of hundred yards away, then back to the trailer and the little girl. He could fence it in and put up a keep out sign and once the trees filled out and the weeds grew tall; it would insulate him from them. He could even put up a fence.

"I can help you build it," Josie assured him in a perfectly serious tone, almost as if she was reading his thoughts.

"Yeah," Al said, looking down at her. "I bet you can. You're pretty smart aren't you?"

"Come on, I'll draw it for you," she took his hand and pulled him toward the trailer-office that sat sheltered under the trees. Overhead wires connected it to the solar panels on the adjacent tool shed roof that sheltered the compound's mowers, and other larger, construction machines. Damn smart kid, he thought with some pride for her. Ruthie would have loved her, his tenseness returned.

He unlocked the trailer, put the power system on line, turned on the lights, then Josie found some paper in the drawer of his desk and began to draw while he cranked up the furnace and explored his old workspace with a new perspective. It was long and almost modern, but small, and obviously adapted from a trailer home but best of all it was definitely man-cave material with a bit of judicious tinkering.

Used as a project office and meeting room at one time, the main room now held an old couch at one end. Near the desk, blue prints, tacked all over the walls, showed diagrams, notes, and specs for various aspects of the job. In the back rooms more than half filled with smaller tools and files, he found his mini refrigerator that contained a couple of cool cans of cola. He ogled the cans as he carried them to the desk and offered one to Josie glancing down at her drawing. 'Shit! The kid can draw a blueprint!' He was stunned.

"Where'd you learn to do that?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I saw one on the wall over there."

Al inspected the blueprint on the wall then Josie's, a little spooked. "You mean you understood how just by looking at one? What are you some kind of savant or something?"

Josie shrugged and continued to draw using the tools she had found in his desk. After a minute, she peeked up at him. "Are you going to send me away, too?"

"What? Why would I send you away?" he was genuinely puzzled. She had a tendency to come at him from left field.

"Most everyone does, when they find out I can do things they can't," she squirmed in her chair, swinging her legs in nervousness.

"Oh. Well, no... I'm not gonna send you away..." he hesitated. "You gotta promise though, you won't make fun of how dumb I can be sometimes."

She held his gaze for a long moment as she watched his face, then he could see the doubt turn to trust and she lit the room with a smile brighter than any solar lamp could make it, as though he had given her a giant chocolate sundae with all the trimmings in a bucket.

He watched for a while as she worked, asking questions, making suggestions, and they talked about things like pressure and counter pressure. It continued to amaze him how easily she seemed to grasp the concept of engineering and construction. How eager she was to learn. For all that, he still saw the shy, frightened little girl who looked at him with sad eyes.

Later, they went back to the apartment, holding hands, quiet. Mica had gone to rest; Yoona and Christy sat in the kitchen making a list of some sort, while Sam kicked back on the couch. They stopped talking when Al pushed the door open for Josie to enter before him.

"I guess I'm staying." Al drawled.

"Yes!" Sam catapulting from the couch.

"Hold on there, now. I'm moving out to my office trailer, far away from all people you're bringing in. I'm putting a fence up. No trespassing from anyone. If I get to where I can't abide it any longer, I'm gone. No harm, no foul."

"If that's the way you want it, Al."

"I meant what I said. You're on your own. You make your own decisions. I'm not a leader. Hell, I'm not even a good follower. Don't want to be. I'll help as far as keeping the equipment going, but you're gonna have to learn all of it yourselves, 'cause if things go south, I'm gone." Al gave Sam a hard look. "I hope you know what you're doing, Sam, because a lot is riding on the decisions you make.

Sam looked at the others who nodded in turn.

"Done!"

Christy spoke up. "I'm glad you're staying, no matter what terms you set." She reached out to shake his hand. "You'll make a good neighbor."

"Humph."

Al drove the Beast to the trailer and Sam helped him unloaded his things. He was committing to staying. When he'd gotten it all put away, that is, thrown on the sofa and stacked on the floor, he fired up the computer, but it had no games on it. He checked his email. Server was down. "Damn and not even Free Cell. It looks like a trip to the Super Center is in my plans for tomorrow."

# Chapter 37: Mobile Relief

Five days had passed. Five days since the world started falling apart. They had made their way through it, reacting to whatever the universe decided to send their way. The plan she and Vahan had come up with, loose as it was, energized Sophie. It made her feel like she was doing something proactive for the longer term for a change. It would give her and the others a sense of control. She could not wait to put it into motion.

"I think we ought to include Roger in on this, too." Vahan explained as the searched the common areas. Do some brainstorming about the 'what' and 'how'. Get as many involved as we can."

Sophie nodded agreement. "I was working with Maggie this morning, and I saw the Esposa wakers working a bit in the kitchen. They seem to learn. Maybe they can help with our mobile relief units."

"Mobile relief units? That's a pretty grand title, you sure there's nothing else you want? Maybe if you take a minute you might think of something grander," Jesse grumbled, when they approached him. He seemed bemused, but also skeptical of her sanity.

Roger shook his head. "No, these are good ideas and good goals. I talked with Ricker yesterday and today. He found another group of immune and both groups are doing the same thing. They have covered most of the northwest. So stay south of 15th and east of Prairie. Since we have more help, maybe we can accomplish more than we think. If anyone still has the energy to go, then let's make some runs."

Jesse listened and nodded, still looking skeptical. "We'll need to beef up our supplies if we going to seed the houses."

"Super Center seems to be the best place for that. That should be fairly safe, do you think?" Vahan suggested.

"No," Jesse stated flatly. "It's too big. Let's hit Reedles Grocery. It's in our territory anyway. We should be able to get enough for a run or two tonight before it gets dark."

"That's it then. Vahan, you round up some willing bodies. Sophie you pick a waker or two who you think can handle the job." Roger suggested.

"Wait a minute, Roger. We are forgetting these people could be dangerous." Jesse glowered, looking sharply to everyone. "We've been lax, and granted everything seems to be coming up rosier than we expected, but there are a number of ways things could bite us in the butt."

He started ticking things off on his fingers:

"There could still be ragers out there. Late bloomers and while these folk seem stable that's not necessarily true of those, who have been on their own since they woke up. Especially in groups.

"Let us not forget that other survivors out there may not be as altruistic as we are. Ricker has been lucky, plus he's dealing with the less populated areas. Judging by your folks' neighborhood; Phee, the more populated areas will almost certainly be a nightmare of security problems."

Sophie's elation came down a notch. Jesse was right and Roger was nodding his head in agreement.

Sophie thought the risk was worth it to head off the cannibalistic tendencies of these people as well as secure their survival was important.

"These are risks we need to take, Jesse, but you're head of security. What do we need to do? Will it help if no group goes out without an armed spotter? Would that be safer?"

Jesse snorted. "Armed would be good if we had police types but we're talking ordinary citizens not used to fighting. Yeah, spotters are good. Not ideal but better than we were doing."

Sophie nodded solemnly but inside was pumping air in victory. Vahan looked like he might be doing the same, judging by the twinkle in his eyes. Roger was thoughtful.

Jesse spoke. "Vahan, add enough volunteers to include at least one spotter. Two, if we have enough. I'll look at a map, and assign areas."

She could tell he was unhappy as she watched him walk away.

It turned out there were a lot of volunteers, but only three teams Jesse thought strong enough to risk the city. Arthur and Tony formed one, their spotter being Anne. Jesse and Barry Norton would take Sophie's sister Cathy. The last was Vahan and Carlos, who spoke better English than Lilliana, and Carlos' cousin, Julio Vasquez who spoke perfect English.

Sophie was thrilled with the number of volunteers. She was heading the group of workers who would load the trucks at the grocery store. Sophie would team with Maggie and support Jesse's truck; Sophie's mother, Audrey was going to direct a waker named Bill and they would support Anne's Truck; Lilianna agreed to direct Fred and would load Vahan's.

"Everybody ready?" Jesse stood on a chair so he could see everyone. They all nodded and gave a rumble of assent.

"Okay, you know the plan. The three Mobile Unit teams will back their vehicles up to the store. Spotters, you climb up on the roof of the trucks immediately. I'll get the door to the store open. Then Vahan and Tony, your teams go in, Vahan you go far left, Tony's team goes far right. We'll check the aisles as we pass them. If you see any wakers approach carefully, if they are cannibals, stay clear; in both cases beep your spotter on the two way. Spotters if you hear that signal you hold your loaders back. Otherwise, loaders you head on in after three minutes, understood?"

"If it's clear, loaders grab your baskets and clear the first main aisle by the cash registers of any protein snacks, breads, carbs you can find and load them in the trucks. Fifteen minutes is all we are going to take to do this because we have a lot of area to cover before dark. Tomorrow will be another day."

Jesse caught Sophie's eye and held it, then pulled in each of them and held their attention. "Be careful. Use common sense and stay safe."

There were plenty of bodies in the store parking lot and the store itself was a mess, but empty of feral wakers. Maggie, Ben, and Fred had kept pace and pushed shopping carts filled by their partners. In the allotted time, they were able to clean out the bakery, the produce section, bread and cereal isles, find enough pre-cooked meats, protein bars, jerky, nuts, snack crackers and whatever else they could find to fill all three trucks full.

Sophie and the others were on a high. No cannibals lurked nearby and though the noise they made attracted a dozen or so feral wakers, they were only curious. Sophie left them a pile of edibles.

Jesse was the only one who was still soberly serious by the time they finished. The planning and caution seemed like overkill to everyone else.

"Do not get cocky, people. There could still be ragers or the cannibals may get hostile. Sophie, take your people back now. No stopping on the way. The rest of you, you know the plan. We have about two hours of daylight left. One house per block. Pick a house that is relatively free of roamers and definitely free of cannibals. Don't assume the house is vacant, though. Look out for survivors and be aware, survivors can also be as dangerous as ragers can. Drivers, keep the vehicles close to your people. Drive right up to the houses and make sure you have a clean line of escape. Get in, and get out. Spotters, Doc wants information about the cannibal wakers. Keep mental notes on numbers, behaviors, and movements if you can. Vahan spray your seeded houses with paint on the way out. Go!"

Sophie watched them leave the grocery store and a sudden premonition washed over her. It was no more than a bad feeling in her gut, that made her uneasy and it was over before she could put her finger on it. She forgot about it as her crew laughed, joked, and patted each other on the back while climbing back in the van that was crowded with loot and got the loading teams heading back to the hospital.

Two hours later, it was getting dark. Sophie waved to Doc who had finished with his last patient, then headed toward the kitchen for a hot meal. It had been a long day, though much less stressful than the last two and Sophie was beyond bushed; desperately wanted a shower but she was too anxious to feel it. She checked her watch. The three teams were not back yet. They should have been back by now; it was getting dark. Each passing minute confirmed in her mind that something had gone wrong.

Jesse had been adamant they should return before dark but not even he was back. Suddenly, without warning, all the bottled up worry, fear, frustration, uncertainty, hopelessness, and delayed mourning gushed out, twisting her face in an anguished caricature she hid behind her hands.

She did know how long she sobbed, but when she got hold of herself again, Sophie felt like she would never be able to move again. Depression had melted every muscle and replaced them with apathy. She felt herself start to slide down the wall, but felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She was not startled to see Maggie in the dim light; Sophie tried to smile at her but it was faint and halfhearted.

"Hey, Maggs. You always seem to be around when I need someone. Like before." She laid her hand over Maggie's as it rested on her shoulder and gave her another weak grin.

Maggie withdrew her hand, put her arm around Sophie's waist, and urged her into the hospital, out of the cooling dusk. Sophie resisted at first, looking toward the street, but Maggie insisted.

Once inside though, Sophie went to an unoccupied spot against the reception desk and slid to the floor where she could see the crews when they came back. Maggie sat down beside her and then Sophie was asleep before her eyes closed.

She awoke, cramped and aching, trying to shake the meaningless noise in her head into some coherence. Her eyes did not want to open, but when she heard her name called again; she opened them enough to see Maggie crouched in front of her protectively but calmly. A dark but familiar figure held a flashlight on them.

"Sophie!" Vahan's voice; filled with fear and concern. "Sophie, you okay?" He was obviously distressed but trying to stay calm.

"Yeah, Vahan, except you interrupted me in the middle of the largest steak they had at Montana Monty's. What's going on?" Sophie tried to straighten cramped muscles and swollen joints. She reached out to Maggie and touched her shoulder. "It's all right, Maggs. It's fine."

Maggie moved back beside her and wrapped her arms around Sophie's shoulders. Vahan moved closer and collapsed. He was exhausted, like her, but there was something else about him, an extra slump to his shoulders. She wished she could see his face. Then she noticed the dark stains on his hands and clothes when the beam of the flashlight passed over them.

"What happened?" she whispered, deflated, certain it was horrible news.

"There was a survivor. Immune." His voice cracked. "We were at our last stop. There were about ten or fifteen wakers around the neighborhood. We'd been doing so well, we... I... forgot there could still be ragers out there. Mr. Vasquez was talking with an immune young woman who was laughing and crying, so happy and relieved to have found us.

Then this rager came out of nowhere. Screaming around a corner, smack into the group of wakers that was near them. All of a sudden... It was like an explosion. Every one of the wakers went crazy all at once.

We could not get to her. She was so surprised they had her down and killed her, before she could even scream. She had survived, Sophie, until we showed up." His tears were silent, but his voice had cracked several times in the telling.

"Oh, damn, Vahan." Sophie whispered and moved to hug him tight. "It wasn't your fault, Vahan. It wasn't your fault." She rocked him, holding tight, giving him reassurances, letting him vent whatever he needed as long as he needed, while she cried too for the poor unknown soul, for the horror of what she had must have felt being pulled down. She'd been so close to her goal.

Sophie feared for the other teams. Worried they had found trouble as well. Jesse. She felt more fragile than she had felt since the death of her husband and baby girl.

She was stunned, devastated, numb, and so, so, tired.

When Vahan got a hold on himself, he moved out of her arms wiping his face dry but stayed close, shoulders touching. They sat silently against the wall wrapped in guilt and despair, Maggie beside her. The three of them, shoulder to shoulder in the middle of a tiny pool of light in a cold echoing world; each lost in their own minds.

They held vigil for the missing teams.

Jesse and Anne came in laughing, excited and feeling like the accomplished something shortly. They stopped when they saw them sitting on the floor.

"What happened, Phee?"

Sophie told the story to spare Vahan from having to repeat it. They all listened silently through the abbreviated version of what had happened. Their shoulders drooped, heads hung low, realizing what could have happened to their own teams. Sophie suspected they had been less vigilant than they should and it was long before they began to shift their gazes, nervously toward the hall leading toward the cafeteria, coming to the obvious conclusion. They said nothing, simply left for the cafeteria. Sophie, Vahan, and Maggie followed them a few moments later.

Really, there was nothing to say.

Most of the immune were waiting for them, dinner on hold until everyone got back. They all looked uncertain, shocked, and scared. Sophie did not need to share Vahan's story about the rager explosion and the survivor. Carlos and Julio Vasquez had shared their version with those still awake. She could see eyes slip sideways, nervously, toward the recovering epidemic victims

They were seeing them in a new light, Sophie knew. They did not know what to do. She could see they were torn. All of them had gotten to know at least three or four pretty well, as they shared the task of caring for them. Sophie could see they were having a hard time, not seeing them now as potential threats. She frowned at her companions and friends, understanding what they felt, wondering what they would choose to do.

The original group of victims, which had been inside the hospital when the coma struck were up and moving on their own. Some, like Maggie had been helping the staff with various simple chores from dishwashing to bathroom duty to caring for those in the halls that still needed help.

"These people won't be like that." Sophie assured the silent group. "We have a theory that there's a link between the wakers who ate dead flesh and this... reverting back to raging. We went out there to look for information and to try to understand it as well as to help the wakers. Most of our people were found before they had the chance to cannibalize for food."

Doc spoke quietly, thoughtfully. "Vahan, you said they were peaceful before it happened. Are you sure you didn't see anything out of the ordinary with their behavior. There were no chewed on bodies at all in the neighborhood?

Vahan shook his head. Julio spoke up, his voice quiet. "After Vahan and Carlos went inside, I got up on the truck for a look. I thought I had seen some roamers down the street. By the time I'd gotten up there, I didn't see anything strange in the distance, but some of the nearby people were looking around too, maybe a little nervous. Usually they watched me watch them. I tried to see what Vahan and Carlos were doing, but then all of a sudden this woman came out of the house next door and..."

Doc interrupted. "Nervousness. What did they do when the woman came out in the open? Did they gather round closer, get more nervous? Did they try to move away?"

Julio looked sheepishly at Jesse and dropped his glistening eyes. "I'm... ashamed to admit, that I did not pay attention. I focused only on the señora."

"Well." Doc scanned around the lantern lit room. "We have more information, but it seems non-conclusive. Not enough to add any scientific validity to Sophie and Vahan's idea. However, I feel it's a safe and workable assumption. As Sophie said, we know that none of the folk that were in here when they woke ate flesh. We can say some of those in the halls are as safe, but there are definitely some who are questionable, because they came to us later, after they'd been awake a while. We and the wakers should be safe if we quarantine those who are questionable to a different area."

"Should be." Roger commented skeptically, but the plan was accepted.

"Okay, let's get these folk settled, then everyone upstairs and get some rest. Before we come back down in the morning, we'll meet again and discuss how to proceed. I have some ideas to share with you, but I want everyone present and with time to think."

They set up the buffet line and served a hot meal of ham and biscuits with thick wonderfully seasoned gravy that Emilio had executed with the help of the Vasquez and Esposa children. Old donuts, coffee, hot chocolate and apple sauce rounded it out.

Sophie watched as the people moved through the serving line while the staff and helpers assisted from behind the relative safety of the serving counter.

The wakers, (they would have to think of another way to refer to them) were coming of age. Despite their ragged appearance, they were no longer feral, like those who wandered outside. They were social and civilized in some ways. Not that that made them better, but they were assimilating.

They were definitely becoming more self-sufficient and she and the group had been thinking of them as peers, fellow survivors working together to rebuild a world where everyone could have a chance at a better life.

Now there was a barrier, a separation, a 'them-and-us' distinction that no one was happy about. Sophie could tell that each of the immune was wishing they could be sitting beside their new companions, enjoying their company like before. They still smiled and chattered at them as they served the meal, but they kept themselves apart.

Sophie felt as though she was somehow betraying them with her fears. Even Maggie and the two Esposa women were encouraged to stay on the other side of the line.

"I'm sorry, Maggie," Sophie apologized as she walked her back into the cafeteria proper after the meal was over. "I want you to stay down here tonight and keep an eye on things for me." She fixed a new pallet for the three women in the kitchen, so that if someone exploded into madness anywhere else, they would be safer.

Maggie looked at her, cocked her head then looked at the pallet. She twisted her lips in a sad little half smile, then nodded. Sophie knew she understood what it was about and threw her arms around her friend to try to soften the betrayal. "I'm so sorry, Maggs. Tomorrow we'll sort this out. I'm sure of it."

Inside the recovery room, earlier cleaned of bodies and blood, they set up the ward for those whose history was unknown. As much as she wanted to believe otherwise, she saw them now as wild cards, possibly volatile. Sophie guessed they had nearly twenty-five people there. More than a few still needed individual attention. A few were not going to make it through the night despite the antibiotics, fluids, and food.

Sophie checked on them one last time and knew she would not be able to sleep upstairs knowing no one was down here to bear witness to their passing.

She turned to find Doc to make her decision known but Doc and Jesse already stood there, holding lanterns and thermoses of coffee. She chuckled at the two men and herself.

# Chapter 38: Return to the Scene

Sophie woke, not sure why. She checked her watch. It was Saturday and six in the morning. Ugh.

Clunk.

Maggie's up, she thought, maybe headed to the bathroom, but before she could go back to sleep, Maggie came to her pallet and shook her urgently.

"What's up, Maggs?" Maggie tugged on her arm urgently. Sophie's instincts flared. "What was wrong?" Something was making Maggie uneasy. She got up slipping into her shoes, clicked on her flashlight, and followed Maggie to the hall in time to hear another door click quietly shut. Maggie began running; Sophie, close behind her.

In the parking lot, Maggie led her to a newer model Chevrolet where, in the flashlight's beam, Vahan was fumbling his keys trying to start the car. "Vahan! What's going on? Where are you going alone?"

Vahan slumped his shoulders, and then straightened to look at her. "Don't try to stop me, Sophie. I have to do this. I can't leave her out there. I shouldn't have left her before." He bent back to his task.

Sophie knew what he was going to do and she wasn't going to let him go alone. She ran to the passenger side, shoved Maggie into the back seat, and then got in the front beside Vahan. He did not even look at her; he threw the car into gear, flipped the lights on, and pulled away from the hospital.

They rode in silence, dawn breaking slowly around them revealing shadowy, ghostly shapes of buildings in pockets of morning fog. It was more real than the deceptive clarity of buildings she had seen yesterday. Then she could pretend people were still moving, living, watching, and wondering behind the walls and windows. However, the shadow less shapes and ghostly masses could only be what they were, the aftermath of a world-killing apocalypse.

It took them about three minutes to drive to the main crossroads of down town Fork Grove, then another three minutes south to a populated and old part of town. Along the way, the streets were deserted; the sun, promising warmth, was still minutes from breaking over the horizon. Everything was gradually brightening, so Sophie had no trouble making out the horror immediately surrounding the house when they arrived.

The gutters swirled with red tinged water and pooled in muddy puddles around broken and twisted bodies, too many of them fresh.

Sophie's mind tried to wrap itself around what she was seeing. It was a battlefield. Somewhere in the lightening gloom, a half-buried woman had died during rescue. A weird sense of guilt wormed its way into her chest and gripped her gut. It was not anyone's fault but she sensed Vahan's feelings of guilt were stronger and about to overwhelm him.

He got out of the car looking around nervous, scared; she followed him. Maggie had curled up on the back seat, apparently enjoying the warmth, uninterested in anything outside herself, now that she had set off the warning. How had she known that Vahan was up to something? Why would she think to wake Sophie?

Slowly they walked through the bodies, forcing themselves to look at the faces, the devastation. It was the least they could do to mark the passing of so many lives.

"What do you suppose set them off, Vahan?" The rational part of her mind was trying to make sense of what happened even as she kept her eyes sweeping the area. No one moved. No curtains twitched. The place was... dead.

Vahan spoke in ragged broken sentences as he narrated the scene. "I don't know. Before I could even call out, the group exploded like a spark into a cloud of gas. All of them went crazy between one heartbeat and the next. None of them acted like cannibals, Sophie. We didn't see any eating flesh but then it was getting dark. They didn't avoid each other so...maybe they were all cannibals." Vahan dropped his eyes.

"I yelled for Mr. Vasquez to run. He had started pulling the woman away, but they both too close to the edge of it. One of the ragers dragged her down. Another from around the front of the truck tackled Mr. Vasquez. I grabbed something off the ground, a stick or bat or something, I don't know. I got him off him.

"Carlos was right behind me. We picked Mr. Vasquez up but she was gone beneath the pile of insanity. We got into the truck and shut the door. That must have made us invisible, because they never came after us. She didn't even scream, Sophie. It was so fast, she didn't even scream before they killed her. We never found out her name."

"Vahan, you did everything you could. It was not your fault. If it was anyone's fault, it was mine. I wanted so badly to get more information to prove my idea. I insisted we send people out. If it's anyone's fault, Vahan, it's mine."

Vahan glared at her. "Don't!" he snapped. "Don't you dare presume to take this guilt from me! Who do you think you are? Some big shot that you could order me around, to do something I didn't want to do! Don't you dare think you can absolve me from this sin, as if you're some kind of priest! You're not that special. I was here. I was leader. I knew the risks, same as you and I should have kept them safe!"

She was shocked at his vehemence. She stepped back from his anger and the finger pounding her chest as he made his points. She stared at him, mouth open.

He glared as his jaw worked, teeth grinding. Anger had evaporated his tears, so he was dry eyed when he turned from her and walked deeper into the carnage.

She shuddered, coming out of her shock, her eyes darting fearfully to catch someone sneaking up on them while they had been so vulnerable. She knew Vahan was right, and knew he couldn't let go of his guilt any more than she could. She watched him bend over to remove limbs and torsos from the nameless woman, the survivor who had not survived. When he had her in his arms, Sophie moved to open the back car door where he put her and watched as he crawled in alongside her to cradle her bloody form.

Maggie scurried out the other side and got into the front seat, not willing to sit next to death. Sophie drove in silence back to the hospital, thinking they had been treating the awakened like children, like lost sheep, forgetting they really didn't know anything about them. They didn't know what the virus had done to these people. The survivors were growing complacent in the hubris of thinking they could fix the world, when they did even know what was wrong with it.

She glanced over at Maggie who had dragged her awake to follow Vahan; who had come to find her and offer her solace when she felt so beaten; who now sat there beside her, staring out into an unfathomable world. She was not a rager anymore. Would she turn, revert, like the others back there, seeming docile one minute, and exploding the next? Vahan had speculated the neighborhood could have been a gathering of cannibals. Were they trying to make the facts fit their theories?

# Chapter 39: Saturday Awakening

Ricker awakened from a deep sleep around two the next morning, thinking it was time for another round of injections. The house was quiet except for Austin's gentle snoring. The decided they could bypass watches for the night, so both could get much needed rest. He listened to the night noises for a few minutes. Off in the distance a dog barked. The night was warmer bringing the hope of more spring weather. For a while, he lay in the silence letting his mind drift back to happier times, pretending he was sleeping in late and Lisa was fixing breakfast.

Shaking off the depression when reality continued to insist on horning in, Ricker dragged his stiff bones up. It was still quiet. Lisa lay quiet when he approached her bed as she had since the blessed injections began, but there seemed to be something different. Her sleep was deeper, her breathing deeper and more regular and even.

Could it be?

Suddenly he knew it for what it was. He ran to check Austin. They were comatose! Near to tears, he undid their bonds and hugged them with all his strength and heart. Happiness energized him as he moved back and forth between Lisa and Tyler moistening their dry chapped lips, thick leathery tongues, and insides of their mouths with wet washcloths. He washed them, changed their bedding and clothes, cleaned the wounds on their legs and arms where the straps and tape had chafed and broken their skin. He brushed Lisa's hair and spiked Tyler for fun.

He worried for a moment about them not recognizing him, but refused to let that thought dampen his mood.

He wanted to celebrate the miracle that they had survived. Yeah, and he wanted to shout it to the world. He ran upstairs full of joy. They would awaken soon and he did not want either of them to be alone when they did.

"Austin!" he whispered as loud as he dared and shook his son. He did want to wake Eve or Kim yet. "Austin! Wake up boy. It's time."

For some strange reason he thought of his ex-wife waking him from a sound sleep, the night Austin was born. Tyler and Lisa would be re-born when they awoke if they were like the others. The thought came back again but he shoved it aside as Austin woke confused.

They moved around the kitchen putting on water for hot drinks and broth for the sleepers and fixed a huge tub of oatmeal, seasoned it with raisins and took it next door and set it out to cool while they gave Mrs. Mullin and Wendy another dose of antibiotics. They were obviously feeling better. Even Wendy, whose temperature must have broken during the night with the antibiotics, was looking like she felt much better.

"Dad, I read somewhere about something called sleep teaching. That the mind can learn while the body is resting. I wonder if that would work with them."

"What like talk to them and stuff?"

"Yeah, and maybe play some music or read to them or something."

"Hmm. yeah. Well, it could not hurt. It'll give us something to do than stare at them till they wake up."

Austin got his and Tyler's iPods. Ricker found Lisa's favorite cookbook and Austin found Tyler's last year's yearbook. They talked about whatever came to their minds and laughed at their own jokes and played music.

It was a bittersweet one-sided reunion when Lisa's eyes opened. It was one thing to believe she would have no memories of the world, but to see it in her eyes, the way they looked at him and everything in complete wonder was tragic. She did not know him or anything except that she was hungry and thirsty.

Going on instinct, heart, and experience from yesterday's work with the wakers next door, Ricker and Austin talked with Lisa and Tyler as though nothing had changed, telling them of their last few days, and recalling stories of their lives together, as they helped them to satisfy their awakening needs.

When confronted with fatherhood, Ricker had felt inadequate so he had read some of Charlotte's books on babies. He remembered reading that the first years of life were formative in how they responded to people and their environment. He and Austin operated under the assumption that the first few hours Lisa and Tyler were awake, would be as formative for them. He wanted them to be different. He wanted them back and he was going to do everything he could to change the odds. He hoped they would bond like babies with parents.

Kim lost her bounce early into the happy scene and Ricker could tell she was thinking of her mom and dad so he went next door and brought them back with him. It kept her occupied to see them and interact with them. It was obvious they enjoyed her company and felt a grown-up's instinct of caring for a child, any child, but there was no recognition in their demeanor.

He was happy.

Well, as happy as a man can be post-apocalypse, having had his life and the world torn apart could be. At least he was after he had Kim take Lisa into the bathroom and show her how to use the toilet. As he watched both of them learning to wash themselves and brush their teeth, by watching his movements. He noticed though, Lisa and Tyler learned more easily than those they'd taught the day before. Even so, Ricker was at least content; they learned fast.

When Lisa and Tyler were able to move around a bit, Ricker moved them upstairs to the relative warmth of the living area. In the meantime, the others needed his attention. He refused to part with both Lisa and Tyler for even a short time, so he took them and Kim's parents back to Roberto's house.

The people there had fed themselves from the pot of oatmeal and surprised Ricker by using plates and spoons on their own. They had generally done well with their personal cares, too. Mrs. Mullin was finger combing the little five-year-old girl's hair.

Jack and Ken were poking around at the various appliances and gadgets. Curiosity? George and Evan had learned out how to open the back door and gone out on the deck, testing each thing by feel and taste.

By this time, the sun peeked out for a shine. It looked like it might rain off to the south, but it had been dry so long, Ricker did not even hope. The wind too had died and though it was not warm outside, it was warmer than it had been in days.

Roberto's yard, like his own, was fenced with five-foot redwood panels so Ricker had no worries of cannibals wandering in. He watched as others joined them and they explored the huge back yard and warmed themselves in the late morning sun.

"Hey, Austin. Why don't we do a big smoke out today? Feed the whole neighborhood and anyone who comes around. We need to cook up all this meat in our freezers before it goes bad. Even with as cold as it's been, I'm guessing it would not be so good tomorrow. Especially the pork."

Austin, loving the idea, went back home, drug out their old portable griller and smoker, and put them on the driveway of Roberto's house. He added Roberto's smokers and grills and challenged his dad. "I'll do the grilling. You know I'm the best in town." Ricker matched his levity and took the challenge. "Yeah, you're best, right after me, kiddo. Be prepared to be amazed."

Austin moved the vehicles down the street for more room and they went to work, involving anyone who showed any curiosity as much as he could.

Ricker put a large pan of pre-made enchiladas from Juanita's freezer into her oven along with an enchilada casserole. He put pans of now thawed frozen vegetables on the stovetop.

The feral who had taken up residence in other nearby homes and his... tame? No, that was not the right word to use. It made them sound like animals. What to call those he had already taught? How to distinguish them from the feral humans? He had to think on it.

As the crowd grew, they set up more grills from neighbor's garages and went about showing them how to use the grills and start fires. They showed the people a potato and then made motions about looking for it in the houses until they finally caught on. Then roasted any potatoes they found, but there were not that many. Mainly they concentrated on what had been in the freezers.

Austin showed George how to make up hamburger patties, while he seasoned up trays of pork chops found in various freezers. Hot dogs cooked on the grill, then ate one right out of the package to show them they were good that way also. They taught can-opening 101 along with heating them on the grills, but did not open many, wanting to concentrate on the perishable foods first.

It was a busy day made easier as the people learned the basics of outdoor cooking and fire tending. A few burgers and chops were charred, but they learned quickly and continued roasting, grilling, and eating as much as they could. He wished he knew how to make jerky or how to preserve other foods, but he didn't so they ate their fill.

Kim played with the kids on the big play set in the back yard, showing them how to swing, slide, climb, and generally get dirty. They made no sounds. It was weird to see the children happily hop up and down without the squeals of delight or surprise.

The sun disappeared and the skies continued to threaten rain, but it was all bluster. When the wind picked up and started biting with cold, the party broke up. They divided the meat among the people and everyone moved back to the surrounding houses.

More than 50 people, attracted by the smells had joined the feast. Ricker had no doubt there would be more tomorrow, as more people migrated out of the slaughterhouse that was the inner city. He guessed that with the numbers dead, there would be enough shelter for them until they could think of something more long term.

# Chapter 40: Shop Till You Drop

"Would you like to go into town with me?" Al asked Josie on Saturday morning when he knocked at Christy and Yoona's door. The two women had taken the bedroom furnishings from Sam's apartment and set up their own spaces in the unit next door. "I wanna get a bed and some things for the trailer and maybe some things for the tree house."

Josie looked at him, nodded, but seemed hesitant.

"What?" he asked her.

"Can I get a doll?" She peeked at him from under her eyebrows, her head still bowed in uncertainty.

"Of course you can get a doll, kiddo!" He chucked her on the chin, grinning and feeling all gushy in side.

"Hey, Al, Can you drop Yoona and me off at the truck rental place in town? We need a hauler to get some beds and mattresses so we can haul more than the pickup, and we won't have to be dependent on you for a ride."

Al squinted at her, suspicious that she was making a snide remark but nodded his agreement. "Aren't you going out to help the cannibals this morning?"

"Yeah. We talked with Ricker yesterday. Between us, we have the north here pretty well covered. We'll go to the mattress store, then the Super Center with you once we get the truck and then go back to the houses and drop off more food."

When they arrived at Jake Hanson's Hauler Rental, Al broke into the office, and Yoona retrieved two sets of keys then got behind the wheel of one of the smaller trucks and Christy got in another.

"Two trucks?"

"Yeah, We presume with the new folk coming they're bound to need beds. Might as well be a step ahead."

Al watched them go, frowning. He surveyed the business areas up and down the main crossroad through town. There were no crazies in sight so far but he was convinced there was danger lurking out there somewhere. He sniffed. The bodies lying around were getting ripe. He worried about the two women off by themselves. Christy could take care of herself according to her. Yoona could probably wrestle a salmon away from a hungry grizzly one handed.

He traded his van for a hauler for himself, gas hogs though they were, they could carry more per trip so he guessed it was a fair enough tradeoff. Behind the wheel, set to go, he fumed and fussed at himself, but ended up heading off to the mattress store after them.

He bundled Josie up in a big work coat left in the trailer, set her on the hood of the hauler, and gave her a wrench. "Pound hard if you see anything bad coming and stay put till I get you. Okay? I won't be long. I'm going to get a mattress and a bed frame then we'll head to the Super Center and get your doll."

As they worked, he also kept an eye on his surroundings. He had a tense moment when he saw two people carrying bulging sacks and bundled in layers of clothes, but they crossed the street and moved on. They were wakers. They seemed docile, but he watched them till they disappeared.

He shivered and hurried everyone up. He could not keep himself from imagining dark shapes darting furtively out of the corner of his eye.

When he and Josie pulled up to the Super Center, they toured the parking lot. No cannibals about, even though it was littered with bodies, overturned carts and debris of unbagged merchandise. He drove to the rear of the store, broke in, found the generator room, and checked it over. With Josie holding the flashlight, he filled up the tank with diesel, which he had appropriated from a couple of vehicles across the street at the truck stop, and cranked it up. It was kind of a waste, but he was not taking Josie inside in the dark building with who knew what could be going on. Christy and Yoona would be here soon anyway.

Low-level emergency lights dispelled some of the gloom, so it was easy to make his way around the stock room. He made as much noise as he could, when he opened the bay door keeping a close eye out for anything moving. When the silence filled his ears again, he waited. Leery of moving forward. In the movies, the bad guys always came out when you thought you were safe.

He found no one living and he almost wished he had, because that would be a reason to retreat, but he had promised Josie a doll. As it turned out, there were no bodies in the dock area, or the stock room either. Maybe everyone had left when the panic started Monday. He moved about cautiously and assumed there was someone here, somewhere.

The door slammed! Al drew his pistol from his waitband, whipped around and crouched to make himself smaller. He was out in the open. 'Idiot!'

"Al. What are you doing?" Christy and Yoona arrived as planned and grinned at him, crouching on the floor.

"Did you lose something, Mr. Al? Josie asked as she came out from behind them.

"Um, no... Had to tie my shoe."

"Look, there are boxes of futons over there. What do you think, Yoona? Those will work especially for the kids, don't you think?" Christy browsed them over thoughtfully as she moved off, trying not to grin at Al's discomfiture.

Al glared after both women, but otherwise ignored them while helping Josie into the front of a cart fitted for older children. They moved into the store proper through the stock room doors and Josie kept the camp lantern going in a slow arch across the bow of their little raft illuminating the dimness while he kept his head on a swivel, trying to hear beyond the loud rumble of the cartwheels. 'Whose idea was this again?' he wondered. 'This is dangerous, and for what? Some bedding and computer games? Oh, yeah, and a doll.' He was getting as soft hearted as the others.

Al and Josie stopped at every department, choosing things to set up housekeeping. He had not intended to, but Josie was having so much fun, he played along. He rolled his eyes in mock despair, when she picked out a colorful little girl bed-in-a-box set of sheets and pillows, while he picked up the first plain colored ones he found for himself. She made him get lavender gray bathroom towels instead of the black he would have gone for. He stopped at the toy department where Josie picked out her new doll and a cart full of games and stuffed animals. They laughed and joked occasionally but were mostly quiet, enjoying their time together.

Never did he let his guard down.

He admired the Ruger Single Six Hunter .22 LR Convertible Revolver w/.22 Mag Cylinder on display in the case; it was nice, and the price was right. After unlocking the case in a somewhat unconventional manner, he liberated it along with the tooled hip holster displayed beside it. The set reminded him of the cap gun he'd had when he was a kid, sort of. He took a minute to load it and wrap its holster around his hips. He tried a speed draw, like the old cowboys; Josie giggled. Red faced, he straightened up and finished his business at the counter.

"Here, Mr. Al. This is for you." Josie giggled.

He saw the ten-gallon hat she had found in the toy department. "Ha, ha. Very funny." Nevertheless, he took the hat and put it on, then strutted bowlegged to their cart. "Come on, missy. It's time we mosey on."

They had made several runs in the hour or so they were there. Occasionally they crossed paths with the two women, or heard them off in the distance. On the way back from their last run, Al saw Josie eyeing a display bicycle. He could tell she was really 'jonesing' for it and it would make a great way for her to come down to visit him in the trailer. It took some doing and a lot of noise, but he freed it from its prison and let her ride it beside him back to the truck.

They had not gone far when Al heard the sounds of shuffling feet, he assumed was Christy or Yoona. It was time to leave and shut the generator down. "'Bout time you all showed," he barked, turning around.

A single roamer, a middle-aged white man in a dirty polo shirt and khaki pants seemed agitated and lurched toward him. Al instinctively put himself between Josie and the waker then scanned the area. No other roamers were nearby, but this one was trouble enough. He seemed to become more agitated with each step. Al flashed his light toward the quickly approaching man and caught a dark gleam of encroaching insanity in his eyes. Josie shouted at and Al whirled to make sure another had not attacked her.

"Josie! Get to the truck. Now!" She sped away on her bike.

"Christy! Yoona! Ragers! Where are you?" He pulled his gun but did not want to shoot, until he knew where they were.

"Over here!" They were behind him and to the left.

Suddenly the man bellowed and charged. Al raised his new pistol and aimed. In his mind, he saw Ruthie running at him. If he didn't shoot her this time, he could save her. He had to hold his fire this time. The rager was nearly on him, when he finally saw it wasn't Ruthie.

Bam! The report was thunderous. A small black hole blossomed between his eyes and in slow motion, the man jerked backwards and fell in his tracks. Al looked at his still unfired gun then turned.

"You okay, Al." Christy stood solid, her gun still clenched between both hands. Her eyes were wide with shock, glued on the fallen rager. She started trembling. Al moved away from her line of fire. Yoona moved up carefully alongside her whispering softly and pried the gun from her hands then pulled her in close.

Christy sobbed, her shoulders shaking "Oh, my God. I killed him. I killed somebody!"

Josie barreled into Al's legs also sobbing. Weak legged, Al collapsed to one knee and put his arm around her shoulders, his gun hanging limply at his side. "It's all right, Josie. It's cool." He reassured her and buried his face in her hair.

None of them moved as the shock and adrenaline passed through them, leaving them numb and weary to the bone. Al was ashamed he had frozen, and that he had been useless because he had lost touch with reality. There would have been a certain amount of poetic justice if Christy had not intervened. He closed his eyes and held Josie tighter for a moment.

He felt her stiffen and pull away. He looked to where her gaze fixed, not at the body of the rager, but beyond to the small group of roamers moving toward them.

He shouted and raised his Hunter.

"No!" Shouted Josie grabbing his gun hand and pulling it back down. "No, Mr. Al. They're not cannibals. Don't shoot them!"

"Josie, get back!"

"No, please, they're friendly. Not like him. I promise they're okay!"

Al watched them as they stood stock still, waiting for him to make up his mind. Bundled up in layers of clothes and carrying bags filled with loot, there were three children about Josie's age, two black and one white, along with two adult women. They were staring quizzically at Josie who stared back, an odd look on her face. Al watched her watch them.

She was curious, but showed no signs of fear. They watched her for another few intense moments then moved on, apparently heading for the open bay door.

Josie giggled. "They tickle my brain."

# Chapter 41: Recriminations

Mica had hot food ready for them when Josie and Al came back to the apartment. She was bright and cheery, bustling in the kitchen. She glanced up at them, curiously, and then narrowed her eyes. "You're back in time for lunch. Where are Christy and Yoona?"

Al kept his head down. "Where's Sam?"

"What happened, Al? What's wrong? Did something happen to them?" She was beginning to get upset.

"No," Al told her, "they left the Super Center and headed out to cook for the cannibals. They're fine."

He had argued until he was blue and even though Christy had not fully recovered, she refused to be detoured; they would be all right, she insisted. Al looked into her eyes and saw her guilt and pain. She would continue helping, he figured, it was her way of making reparations for taking a life. He knew her pain and her guilt. Even more so now when they both thought the man, could have come out of it and lived, if they had only found another way to stop him.

Christy had forced herself to take the gun back from Yoona. Al shook his head, knowing she would hesitate the next time, as he had. He gave Yoona a rifle and a box of rounds. He hoped there would not be a next time.

Two very different women drove away from the Super Center that afternoon. Al had joked about their ability to take care of themselves, but he was not laughing now. He had been a fool to think himself the only one who could not handle the hell life was throwing at them. The two women were survivors like himself; Christy had come through for Josie before, and now she had come through for him as well. She was a tough woman. So was Yoona.

"Al?" Sam came out of the second bedroom where he had been working on setting up a nursery, putting the baby bed together. "Al! Thank God, you're here. I was about to pull my hair out with these danged instructions." He stopped mid step. "What's wrong?"

Al glanced at Josie, then flopped on the couch letting out a big sigh and hung his head. He guessed he would have to tell the humiliating truth. Although that didn't feel right since it was really Christy's story.

"Mr. Al got me a bike and a doll. The bike has a basket and I'm going to name the doll Zeena and she can ride in my basket as a watcher." Josie rattled on, chattering more than he had ever heard her, since he had known her. He guessed she was trying to create a diversion and it seemed to be working.

Mica set the food on the table and invited him to eat. He thought about begging off; he had wanted to run outside already, but Josie had not let him, did not want him to be alone, he suspected. She was a smart little girl. He would have brooded himself into a funk, if he had gone off by himself.

When the meal was over, Mica took Josie out to the hauler to unload some of the new stuff she had gotten for her room. Sam had gotten quiet during the meal, almost moody so when they were left alone, Al wanted to know what was bothering the man.

"Spit it out, Sam. What's bugging you?" Al growled.

"Aw, nothing really, I guess... It's just that... setting up that crib, it's sort of hit me that the baby will be here soon. Look at this world, Al. Falling apart. No hospital. We got a doctor, but what if something goes wrong. He won't have the equipment he'll need to... whatever it is he'll need to do.

"We got a better than good place here with the windmill and solar panels, Sam. It could be a whole lot worse." Al chided him.

"Al, what happens when it breaks down? There's nobody to run the factories, to machine new parts; everything we got is dependent on those systems. I don't know if I'm ready for this, Al. No, I take that back, I know I'm not ready. It's... a bad time to be having a baby; to be rearing a child. I sit here in this apartment and everything seems so normal. I keep thinking I'll run over to McDougal's and grab a couple of burgers, or I'll go to Draums Dairy, grab a sundae, and pick up some milk.

"What are we going to do for milk, Al? Babies need milk don't they? I mean after nursing their mama. They're going to need cow's milk aren't they? What if one of us gets hurt out hunting, or falls off the roof trying to fix it or gets bit by a snake or even gets poison ivy." He took a deep breath and got himself under control. "I'm getting scared I guess. I can't let Mica know I'm scared. I'm supposed to take care of her and the baby. How can I do that Al, if I don't know how this new world is going to work?"

Al was stunned. He had guessed Sam was going to tell him he had invited every cannibal in the town to live here or something. Instead, he was starting to appreciate the precariousness of their situation. Not that it would make anything better, but Al now knew he was not in denial about it. On the other hand, Al had no answers for him.

Telling the man that ragers still existed was not something, he wanted to do right now. Not while he was all wound up. He stumbled around for words. Nothing came to him that did not sound stupid, so he went with the first thing that rolled off his tongue.

"Yeah, it's gonna be tough and different, but look at what you have, Sam. Concentrate on that."

"Yeah, that's the other thing, Al. I go out there and see all those people who don't even have enough to eat, or heat to stay warm, or people who care about them as individuals. They don't even have their memories so they can't try to make it better. I feel like such a selfish heel that I can come in here and leave it all behind. They can't."

Only day's ago, Al would have snorted at Sam's whining and told him to suck it up. Only, ever since he had met Josie... Al scratched his head trying to figure Sam and his worries. The topic came real close to violating his man code against thinking too deeply. Overall, he thought he would rather talk about shooting a rager, in the Super Center and admitting he froze, but somehow he thought that would not be helpful now.

Luckily, the front gate buzzer went off rousing both men from their unanswerable questions.

"Wonder who that is?" Sam asked as he got up to the com.

"Well, we know it ain't the landlord," Al quipped.

Sam pushed the button, "This is Sam."

"Sam. This is Roger from the hospital. I know it's short notice but we were hoping you could take some of our people in today. We had something come up and... well, can we talk?"

# Chapter 42: Meanwhile

When Sophie brought Vahan and Maggie back to the hospital entrance on Saturday morning, everything looked the same. The lot was clear of bodies and roamers. Still in the same spots, the three trucks they had used for yesterday's forays remained unloaded.

Jesse and Anne were sipping on steaming cups of coffee inside the entrance, watching for them, talking. She breathed a sigh of relief as they came to greet them. Sophie killed the engine, solemn faced and went to open the door for Vahan and his awful burden.

Jesse waited for them, he was angry. "Why didn't you take radios with you?" He searched her eyes, then turned and met Vahan's for a long moment. He jerked his head toward the entrance.

"We'll put her in the back operating room for now." He turned and led the way while Anne took Sophie and Maggie upstairs where everyone waited more or less patiently to discuss their next move.

The children were on the floor; the adults took the chairs; everyone crowded into the biggest room they could find. Roger and Doc had taken the rolling office chairs from the nurses' station and sat in the middle opening of a horseshoe arrangement.

By now, everyone knew about the massacre, but Sophie needed to say something before Roger began the promised meeting. She wanted to remind people what was in their own hearts, so she shared her experiences with Maggie. How she had offered comfort, helped with the sick, and alerted her to Vahan's leaving. She was relieved when some shared their own similar experiences with Fred and Bill, Silvia and Ester, the Esposa women, and others, praising their capacity to learn and be empathetic with the sick as well.

"I'm glad to hear you all remember the good and not only the bad." Roger began. "We're all hit hard by this sudden turn of events and the death of the young woman." He was silent for a moment, and then glanced at Sophie and Vahan who both slid their eyes sideways from him.

He continued, "I want to say this for the benefit of everyone here, because we need to make sure everyone is on the same page. It's best we know where we stand in relation to our goals and mission. From what Doc has told me, everything about this disease has defied the laws of reason and medical expectations."

"Yes." Doc cleared his throat. "The amount of neuronal overload, the little electrical impulses that send messages through the nervous system, the amount these people have had, for as long as they endured it, should have burned every brain cell completely out. They should never have come out of their comas in the first place. They should have been complete vegetables. Look at them! They appear to be perfectly healthy aside from being brain wiped."

He surveyed the room, catching everyone's eye. "I don't know what they'll be like next week, next year, or next generation. They may regain all their memories, some, or none. They may go on learning at the rate they are and become normal again. On the other hand, they may never progress beyond where they are now. Point is, we don't know, and bottom line is until we learn more, we can only plan for today."

Roger picked up the lead again. "What we do know is that we have to rebuild our lives, starting with answering this question: Do we adopt these people into the society we're building, making them equals, or do we view them as less?"

He looked around. "We've been through the end times and came out the other end diminished. We are on the cusp, the brink, of a new civilization, and, quite possibly, we may be seeing the first signs, the prodromal stage, of a new type of human with a new paradigm, a new way of looking at life. These People may be the same as us, but this virus has also changed them beyond us. Do we count them as little brothers or turn them loose to develop their own civilization as they will undoubtedly be doing elsewhere in the world?"

Tony, the tall, black student, spoke up. "A world of a new species of human? That's pretty heavy 'sci-fi' stuff. What put you on this track?"

Vahan spoke up. "It gets a bit technical and I will be happy to go into the scientific details later, but as Doc says this is not a natural disease. It was manufactured."

Roger took up the thread. "As Doc says, it doesn't matter until we get more information, but we must take into account in the backs of our minds, that this could go down to genetic levels. We can talk about that later. Roger brought the discussion back to the point. "Do we include the wakers, the People, as equals or treat them as subhuman?"

Arthur introduced himself. "Excuse me. I was a biology major studying for my masters with a minor in sociology so yes, when we have a better opportunity, I would like to listen to this working theory of yours, the whole idea. Right now, I gather you are asking if we stand back and let the wakers find their own way while we try to find our ours; or blend them and us. Do I have that right?"

"Precisely," agreed Roger.

Carlos Esposa cleared his throat. He had been translating for his father and sister. "My father would like to say something." The older man, nodded and began speaking, pausing for Carlos to translate.

"It appears we are outnumbered considerably here in our city. If it is the same all over the world, as it is here, these people will inherit the earth. Each pocket of immune survivors will have this decision to make. Si? I think the sins of the father no longer stain these people since they have no memories, no hatreds or prejudices. They are like infants. They will learn those things from us. Perhaps we have more to learn from them. My family will commit to this."

'Sweet!' Sophie happily found his entire family agreeing. Her family also nodded approval. "Well said," someone shouted. Everyone applauded.

The two college students nodded as well. Unanimous.

Roger cleared his throat grinning. "We are united in this."

"The next order of business: Our visitor yesterday. Some of you know this already. I had a visit yesterday from a man, Sam Lee, representing a group of six up by the river.

"I think we all heard of The Windmill Community. They have solar power for electricity, heat, and a windmill to run the well water and some construction equipment."

Roger grinned, seeming to anticipate the reception of his next words.

"Sam and his group invited us to set up a clinic out there and it has housing for all of the Immune. They have a small amount of land that is also within the gated community to plant a garden for fresh vegetables."

The room erupted with cheers again and everyone began talking at once. The words 'electricity' and 'hot water', brought happiness and hope to people's faces.

Roger stood for quiet. "However, he says that though they would be okay with a few People, wakers, they were not sure about the kind of numbers we have here and that was before this new development with the reverters, the cannibals who started raging again."

"No! We will not separate from our brothers." Carlos stated vehemently. "We will not trade our souls for electricity. The hospital can shelter us until we can establish farms and homes."

Everyone seemed to agree, though Sophie, along with more than a few winced at giving up a hot shower.

Roger put up his hand for silence. "We can't stay here. The hospital is too big and sprawling for our needs and we have to consider the numbers of dead, not only here in the building but everywhere within the city. They make the situation an untenable biohazard. Therefore, I am recommending that we evacuate the hospital."

He waited for them to calm down.

"This offer from Windmill is a very generous offer and I am urging all non-hospital folk, especially those of you who have children, to take them up on it as soon as you can get packed up. It will be safer for them. The rest of this meeting will be about the details and location for evacuation of the People and might get rather long for the little ones anyway. So please go now, before we move on. Get the children settled. Then come join us."

No one moved at first, and then Carlos spoke to Emilio who gathered all the children, and herded them out with his wife and daughter in law. Cathy asked one of the Vasquez girls to look after the twins and the two children from the college.

"Good. So let's have suggestions, thoughts, and questions." Roger reopened the meeting.

Tony spoke up first. "I know a lot about farming. We need to take over a farm, outside the city. Well water, preferably. We can turn it into a community. Maybe build our own windmill."

"There wouldn't be enough housing for everyone out there but otherwise it sounds like something that is going to need to be done sooner rather than later," someone from the group summarized.

Anne spoke up. "Why don't we bus out to the Holiday Nursing Home? It should hold all of us with a bit of crowding, but then there is plenty of room to expand as we assimilate wakers. It's far enough out, that the dead will not be such a... an issue. I think it's near to the Windmill, and there's lots of farmland nearby and the river's right there."

"We have enough muscle to clear the place and make it habitable in a very short period of time. We can set up a clinic there as well." Audrey shrugged.

Everyone agreed enthusiastically.

"Wonderful," Roger cheered, the continued. "Last item of business. We made the mistake of hubris and blind altruism. Up to now, we have been extremely lucky, or divinely protected. We still have to survive, us as individuals, and us as a group. We must do a better job of keeping all of us safe."

Thrown once again to the darker side of reality, there was silence for a while.

"Jesse, how about security? Can you give us any recommendations on what we can do to improve our safety while we're work with these folk?"

Jesse humphed and shook his head. "No, short of body armor and teaching people how to shoot, which opens a whole new set of moral questions. For right now, we'll have to stick with spotters when we go out again. We'll cut the number of teams and increase the number of spotters. We know better now, so we'll be more alert."

Roger nodded agreement.

"Okay. So how about this: Carlos, you and your family move into Windmill tonight. Audrey, and Cathy, you go too, with the twins and little Dawn and David. Get some rooms set up for yourselves. Tomorrow we will need Audrey and Emilio over at the Holiday to open the kitchen and start cooking whatever we can find there. Arthur, Tony, Barry, and Jesse would you join me there to clear out the bodies? Bring some gear. Doc, how many of the people are well enough for physical labor this afternoon? We'll take them with us to help clean up. Then you, Sophie, Vahan, Anne, and Tracy will remain here with the rest of the People overnight to keep their routine going but in the meantime, locate trucks or buses to transport them first thing in the morning."

"Jesse and Sophie, can I talk to you before you leave?" Roger called to them, before they could get out of their chairs.

"I'll set up a shortwave for you in the cafeteria, before we go and show you the basics of how to use it. I'll call you at dusk and then at dawn. However, I'll leave the radio on all night, so if anything happens you call us. We can be here in less than ten minutes."

"Thanks Roger. We'll be fine. I'll keep the two groups separate and stay on guard if anyone needs to work with the second group. No problems." Jesse responded with confidence.

"Good. Jesse, would you accompany me to my home? I'd like to get my personal belongings and my teddy bear." He made a face and laughed.

Sophie was shocked when she realized that everyone had been home to get personal things but Doc and Roger. Their selflessness hit her hard. Jesse assured Roger he would happily go along and Sophie volunteered to take Doc.

"I believe Anne will be going with Doc. We won't be long and maybe everyone will be ready to head over to the Windmill by then.

Sophie caught up to her parents and sister. She spent some time with them, making sure they were okay with what was happening. Audrey and Cathy both insisted on starting a supper soup as they had unpacked very little in their stay at the hospital. Barry had already started on the task of sorting through and loading foodstuffs and supplies to take to contribute to the community chest at the Windmill.

She followed the others outside and noticed the sky. Though it was past noon, the sun had made an appearance, hiding deep behind too low, too-heavy clouds that promised rain. The countryside needed it; the town could use it to wash away some of the horror, but it could mean a drop in temperatures which would further weaken the wakers. She was startled to see two unfamiliar vehicles coming from the west, turning into the parking lot. Jesse called urgently from somewhere near the furthest truck. Evidently, he had seen the vehicles approaching as well.

# Chapter 43: Saturday: Windmill Refugees

Sam buzzed Roger into the compound then fixed his attention on Al.

"Al, before you say or do anything, listen to what he has to say. We need that doctor close by."

Al frowned but nodded. He could not deny these people, a safe place to live especially since they were mostly children. Not after what he had seen at the Super Center. He supposed he should tell Sam and Roger about the rager.

Sam let out a big sigh and clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Al. You won't regret it. I'll make sure of that. I promise."

He left Al in the dining room and went next door to get Mica. The two of them stood on the porch and Josie hung back by the door where Al was standing, as Roger exited a little two-door hybrid.

The older man was a tall, gaunt man in his late sixties or early seventies with silver gray hair and a neat mustache that was not so neat anymore. He was as rough and ragged but not as dirty as any of the wakers, Al had seen; his eyes rimmed in heavy bags from lack of rest and sleep.

Roger shook Sam and Mica's hands, nodding to the unsmiling Josie and Al behind her. "Good to see you again, Sam. I am sorry it's happening this way, but we need to take you up on your offer as soon as possible."

Sam tilted his head and Al could see his easy grin slip. "What's up, Roger?"

"Yes, well, I want to tell you up front, that last night one of our groups who were out helping the roamers found a survivor. Unfortunately, before they could do anything, the group of wakers reverted to ragers and attacked each other. The survivor as well as the wakers died."

Al kept his silence. He had seen it himself on a smaller scale.

Sam raised an eyebrow at Al, puzzled. "Al, aren't you going to say I told you so?"

Al ignored him and regarded Roger, waiting to see if the man divulged the remainder of the story.

"I can see you aren't surprised. You have been expecting this to happen all along. We'll I'm sorry to say, so did we, although the precautions we took proved inadequate." Roger said. He told them of events at the hospital and with the Mobile Units, the precautions they took and the results.

Al listened with narrowed eyes and then disbelief when the older man started talking about some theory they had come up with concerning a mutated virus in the corpses re-infecting the cannibals.

"So it isn't safe for our people to be in town anymore, especially all the children we have. We are hoping you will let them move in here. They have their own personal items and food, so they won't be a burden on your own supplies. They are good and willing people who will be an asset to you here."

Sam reassured their fellow survivor. "Of course you can bring them in, but I think I should have listened to Al. I draw the line. No wakers, roamers, reverters, People, whatever you call them. We want this to be a safe place for children."

"I understand what you are saying, Sam, but hear me out please. I told you about eating dead flesh." Roger rubbed his jaw. "One of the families coming here, have women, Silvia and Grandma Ester, who are wakers. Neither they nor most of the other wakers we have at the hospital have ever eaten corpses. The family has agreed to keep them in tight control for a few days, until you feel more comfortable having them around, they have become nearly self-sufficient and practically run our kitchen at the hospital. The rest of our people will be going with Doc and the rest of us next door to the Home. Only these two, Sam. They're family, old women. They have not been re-infected."

Al noticed Sam still looked to him for answers. They had discussed this before though granted, it was prior to this new development. Uncertain himself, Al looked down to Josie. She nodded. He shrugged.

"Like I said, Sam. It's your baby." He did not feel guilty for the pun as Sam paled. Al had to admit Roger believed what he was saying and it made sense even to him. Their visitor might be exaggerating on the wakers' usefulness, but it was not his concern. He knew more about what was out there now, though his gut still wrenched when he thought of Ruthie being one of them and alive, maybe even happy.

He left them with their mouths hanging open and retreated out the door with Josie behind him to unload her bed and mattress for her room. "Can't I stay with you, Mr. Al? You're my best friend."

Al paled and stuttered. "Uh... I... uh. Hum. Thank you, Josie. That... means a lot to me for you to feel like that. I... I like you too, but...You need other kids and women around, Josie. I don't know nuthin' about taking care of a little girl. I'm a loner and I don't usually play so nice with other people."

Josie seemed to wilt. She picked up some more of her bedding and headed to Christy's apartment without another word. Al grabbed her bed frame, relieved that she dropped the subject so easily but feeling oddly unsettled.

Sometime later Al peeked out the trailer's window that had a view toward the Model. He watched the newcomers going about the business of unloading belongings and boxes, ferrying them up the stairs to the second floor above Sam's place or using the elevator for the heaviest stuff. There appeared to be a lot of kids moving around, actually helping, four of them small, like Josie, the others appeared to be teens. Of the six adults, he could not tell who the wakers were.

He felt no compunction to join them and help.

Evidently, neither did Roger. Al watched the old man shake Sam's hand and wave good-bye to his people then drive away. Al wondered if he was going back for more people. The whole thing suddenly struck him as ridiculous, a bunch of crazy people trying to save crazier people. All of them running around like a bunch of ants, in and out of the hill, carrying this and that from here to there, thinking they were going somewhere and doing something. When really, all they were doing was pissing in the wind.

As much as Al wanted to reassure Sam, he knew he was right about this; the solar energy, and the wind turbine, all it was going to do was keep them comfortable while they all died off. Josie would be an old woman in a world full of cave dwellers and wild animals.

# Chapter 44: Saturday: New Immune Surface

"Everyone get into a vehicle or indoors till we see who this is." Jesse ordered as he watched the new vehicles of unknown people arrive.

Sophie grabbed Maggie and stuffed her into Vahan's car. Everyone else scattered like cockroaches in a room when the lights go on. Within seconds, the area was devoid of human beings.

Jesse stood firmly in the middle of the parking lane, warily watching but visible to the vehicles approaching. An old beat up Chevrolet truck driven by a teen-aged girl accompanied by a boy maybe two years younger parked in a space, dutifully, as though the rules of the past were somehow still valid. It told Sophie something about the driver's state of mind and she could relate to the need to hold on to something of order and habit, even if it was meaningless.

The vintage Toyota Matrix behind her was not so concerned with rules; driven by a middle-aged man accompanied by two female passengers.

The newcomers radiated joy and relief.

Sophie relaxed and put her neck back in alignment as she saw Jesse do the same. He signaled the 'all clear'.

The young girl and her passenger got out of the truck steps ahead of the older people in the car.

"We are so glad to see you!" she exclaimed with joy and tears. "WooHoo! I can't believe it! We're saved! We saw your cars in our neighborhood last night. We couldn't believe it. I told Seth! I told him! I'm Ines. This is my brother Chuck; it took us a while to figure out where you came from, but you're real! Where is everybody, the soldiers and police and all the people."

Roger moved to Jesse's side smiling at the young girl's enthusiasm and obvious pleasure. He put out his hand to welcome her, but she would have nothing of it; instead she threw her arms around him, and danced him in a circle laughing. Chuck held back his enthusiasm, obviously a bit embarrassed by his sister's behavior, but smiling broadly nevertheless.

The other three newcomers didn't wait for introductions either; they joined in with backslapping, hugs, and 'so glad to meet yous' all around the group. Stan Alton, a professor of chemistry from the college, accompanied by two students, Reann and Carla, all wiping tears from their eyes.

Sophie shared their happiness, but hated the thought they would soon have to disabuse them of any notion of official control of the situation. It was obvious that Ines at least was hoping this was some sort of government refugee camp for survivors. She was not surprised when their disappointment seemed to melt the smiles off their faces, as Roger introduced himself and Jesse in their official capacity.

"While I know you're let down that we're not official, let me assure you, we do have some organization. Let's go inside where it's warmer and talk."

"You all look as if you're are packing up to go or maybe just got here." Sophie heard one of them saying as they walked away.

She turned to Anne who was chatting happily about the sudden increase in numbers of immune. They all felt their spirits lift, but Sophie worried about the dynamics of the group and their goals with the addition of new personalities, needs, and dreams. It made her nervous to think they might not agree with her group's goals. She supposed it would be foolish to think everyone felt as they did: wanting to put the overall good ahead of self. People, historically, were like that.

Surely, a near extinction event would change the people deep inside, humble them, and reinvent them even. Foolish as it was, she did hope those remaining in the world would evolve, see this tragedy as an opportunity to progress away from the hatred and bigotry of the old world. She turned back to the tasks she was given.

Sophie added a final load of supplies to the truck heading over to Holiday Home when Roger and Jesse led the group back outside. The newcomers were considerably more sober, than when they had arrived, though they appeared to be relieved and not unhappy with the situation.

Roger shared some of what they'd discussed. "They're from the collage. There's about twenty or so gathered so far. They're going to talk things over with their group. Those who can live with our rules and goals, and want to be an active part in it, will join us at the Home tonight to help make it ready for everyone. I told them we can't invite them to the Windmill as it is not ours, but we will set up a meeting for them with Al and Sam."

Tony and Arthur came out in their coats, shook hands with Ines and Chuck, and then climbed into the back of their truck.

"Where are they going?" Sophie asked.

"To provide security. There are eight of them all together, all children. Two of whom are safe wakers. Rather than disrupt them tonight with nothing more safe or comfortable ready for them, they'll be staying where they are. I'm hoping I can get Sam to take them in, but the wakers..."

"They're safe." Sophie interrupted indignantly.

"We have yet to convince Sam of that. They agreed to take two on trial. I can't force him to add two more even if they are children."

Sophie put up her hands in a placating gesture, "No, of course not. So the people are their parents."

"No, they're kids, too, teenagers to be exact, apparently neighborhood friends. Ines's mom was not strong to begin with, so when she got the virus her heart couldn't handle it. Their dad has been gone for a long time. The other immune are cousins that ran to Ines and her brothers' house when their folks started acting weird. When everyone fell, the immune helped where they could and searched for the cousin's parents, but only found Niki and Nate. Those kids actually helped the other wakers get into houses like we did."

Amazing, even near helpless kids as they were, they helped the wakers find shelter, they saw past the horror of the cannibals. Sophie was feeling optimistic about the evolution of humans.

Sophie couldn't help herself. She surprised Ines with a hug and put her arms around the boy as well. "You guys rocked it. Not everyone could have kept it together, the way you have and stayed safe. Your folks would be proud of you."

Both kids hugged her tight and they stood that way for a while, seeming to draw strength from Sophie, releasing some of the pain and fear.

"Be careful. Look for me when you get there tomorrow. I'll make sure you get settled," she told them as they drove away.

Jesse came up behind Sophie and put his hand on her shoulder. "Um... Listen... Phee. What you shared at your mom's: 'you're becoming important to me'? I feel the same way, so stay safe while I'm gone."

Sophie put her forehead on his chest and let him wrap his arms around her. Her heart made a little bound and she felt a little weak in the knees when he conceded that small feeling. "Thank you."

# Chapter 45: Saturday: Rage Explosion

Dale Ricker checked his watch when they had packed up after the grand cook-off, still a couple of hours of daylight left. He was tired and wanted to go home and put his feet up; he and his family had done enough.

Still, he had a feeling there was something else he needed to do as he finished with the cleanup and took his family back to their home. Austin was not pleased when Ricker told him he was going out for a while.

"It's getting close to dark, dad. You need to rest. There can't be anything you can do out there that can't wait."

"You're right, son. Maybe my mind needs to decompress, maybe I need the wind in my face for a minute. I'm guessing you could use some down time as well. Tell you what. Tomorrow is Sunday. Why don't we go to church, and then go to the Windmill; visit Christy."

He waggled his eyebrows, teasing his son, and enjoyed watching his face redden. "Meet Mica. Give Al another chance. Give the place a once over. The folk around here can get along without us. How does that sound?"

"Yes!" Kim cheered. Is everybody going?"

Ricker didn't really think about where he was going. It was the first time in nearly a week when he felt no pressure to do or be anything in particular. It felt rather good actually. He thought about going over to his shop to grab the generator and getting some heat back in the house. Maybe, but it sounded like a lot of effort and he didn't think he had it in him tonight.

He took a swig of the warm beer he had grabbed from the garage. No worries about getting pulled over or having an accident. He headed south on Graphic Arts Road then remembered the subdivision nearby he had been through the day before. There had been a larger number of cannibals gathered than he had seen together before and he was suddenly curious to see if they had advanced to scavenging for food, or were still guarding their gruesome fare.

He kept his distance, parking down the street, and watched the small group of maybe ten people gathered around the spot where he had left the dripping garden hose. He wondered why, since the inside faucet was also on and it was warmer in there. Then he noticed the partially bare stoop of the house he had opened earlier. He had left it open yesterday with clothes and blankets on the stoop as well as a pile of food had been left, everything but the food was gone.

He watched them. The cannibals kept together in a closed group but none seemed to be touching or huddling for warmth. As he watched, some stood suddenly, looking around nervously. They started milling around, appearing anxious. His gut clenched, something was definitely wrong.

He noticed two men on the western edge of the group were eating from two corpses. They began to posture toward each other. Their behavior was more aggressive than he had noticed over the last three days. As their aggressiveness grew, it spread to the others in the group.

Ricker scanned the neighborhood trying to gauge the situation. He saw movement at the windows inside the nearby house; its front door closed as he watched. It reminded him of townspeople expecting an old west shootout at the corral.

Suddenly the two original aggressors were in motion, rising, their faces livid as they circled each other like two snarling jaguars. They attacked simultaneously with a crunch of bones and at that instant, those that had been backing away from each other, suddenly reversed their movement and slammed together into a brawling melee.

Ricker had seen bar fights where opposing groups took up the leaders' fight and the resultant melee was chaotic and destructive, but he had never seen anything at the intensity and sheer viciousness he witnessed now.

The explosion of rage was not like before. It seemed as far removed from the rage he had seen on Juanita's face, as her rage had been from a two year-old's tantrum. This time they were aware of what they were doing, alert, and thinking in the way they fought and defended, but so maniacal it was clear it would be to the death. So focused on their battle they were oblivious to pain and injury. It was awesome in is ferocity.

He watched the fights and when one rager finally lay dead, broken, and pulpy on the ground, the victor did not hesitate despite obvious severe injuries. Driven by insanity he dove into the pitched battle nearby, making it a three-way until one fell. "Holy, crap!" It was like watching a pack of wolves fighting; tearing each other apart until literally, until everyone was dead, or bleeding out and soon to be dead.

Austin. Ricker's shock turned to horror when he suddenly remembered the situation at home. He had no cannibals in his home, but he could barely hold his panic in check as he reversed the truck and squealed away.

When he burst into the living room the front door slammed into the wall, bouncing back to knock him off balance. All faces turned to him. Kim gasped and ducked beneath the coffee table, Austin, whose mouth was set in a grim line, faced him, his knuckles white as he held his pistol aimed at him, safety off.

Ricker had taken in the calm domestic scene as soon as he had thrown the door open, so when the door bounced back and knocked him off balance, he unlocked his knees and sank, drained by relief. He stayed down to make himself smaller, less a threat then put his hand up diffuse the situation. "Sorry, son! It's all right. Put the gun down. I'm fine; a bit embarrassed, but ok."

"Geez, dad! What were you thinking, blowing in like that? I could have shot you! What's wrong? You look all turnt up!" Austin hissed angrily, teen slang slipping in, snapping his pistol into the air, pushing the safety back on, and glowering in anger.

Ricker ran his fingers through his hair realizing how close he had come to being shot by his frightened, teenage son. He shook the images away as he pushed himself up and staggered to his son, grabbing him in a bear hug. He had imagined the worst would be waiting for him, feared the worse could still happen, as long as the world remained without rules.

The day had been so calm, so like the old days that he had become complacent and shortsighted about the new reality. Now he had been stupid by barreling into a room filled with potential violence.

"I'm sorry, son. I'm getting stupid with fatigue. That was an idiot thing to do. I... "He hesitated, glancing to Kim, "had a bad feeling something was wrong, so I came flying home. Good reactions, son. I'm glad to see you haven't let your guard down." He grinned ruefully and sat on the ottoman.

"Did you see something bad, Mr. Dale?" Kim asked, coming over to take his hand.

"Yeah. A nightmare. Are you okay, kiddo? Can you go get me a drink from the kitchen?"

Ricker was torn. He didn't know what to do, but he could not leave the situation the way it was, it would be beyond unconscionable. He did not want to believe his people would revert to ragers, but he had no proof, they would not and plenty of information to say they could. He assessed Lisa and Tyler for signs of restlessness and found none, yet.

"What's up, dad?"

He told his son what he had seen. "I don't know how stable they are."

Austin groaned. "We just got them back, dad. Are we going to lose them again?"

"I don't know." He shook his head, running his hand through his shaggy crew cut and shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, Austin. None of our people has ever been cannibals. This group, I know for a fact had been. God I hope that's what it was."

"Let's take the kids into the bedroom. Maybe we should call Roger's group, see what they know about this."

# Chapter 46: Saturday: More Immune

"Never thought I'd say instant coffee tasted good," Sophie mused as she inhaled the aroma of the dark hot liquid, "and I still won't. This stuff is crap."

"Beats nothing', though." Vahan shrugged. "Bet you'd gripe if you were hung with a new rope, too."

"Of course," Sophie chirped brightly, winking at Anne who sat with them drinking tea. "New ropes are scratchy and stiff. I go out... I want to be comfortable, thank you very much."

They all snapped upright, ears reverberating with the loud muffled banging the came from the front door. The thankfully locked door.

"What the ..." Vahan whispered.

"Somebody wants in." Ann observed.

"Ya, think? Can't be Jesse back from the Home. He'd use the side door; he's got a key."

"Quiet!"

They listened for a moment. Silence. Inside and out.

Boom, boom, boom. Rhythmic.

"Shave and a hair-cut..."

"Friendlies?"

"Must be or they'd be breaking through the glass, not announcing themselves, wouldn't they?"

"Let's go out the side door so we can see them, before they see us." Vahan suggested. "Anne, guard the door."

In the dimming light of day, a man, dressed in grey slacks and a heavy wool coat peered into the darkened interior of the hospital's glass doors. He was tall, probably slender under the dark, heavy coat. Sophie thought he looked harmless enough. She nodded to Vahan.

"Hello!" Vahan called out to the man as he stepped out ahead of Sophie. The man whirled around, obviously startled. He wore dark framed glasses and sported a shaggy five-day stubble of beard. The whites of his eyes bulged with fear, until he saw whom he was facing.

"Whoa, sorry. We didn't mean to give you such a scare, but we had to make sure you're friendly." Vahan raised his hands as he approached the man, his arm out from his sides.

"Damn, man. You almost made me as white as you!" He stepped forward, introducing himself as Darren, grinning goofily. He was a friendly man with grey in his short black, nappy hair, and laugh lines etched in his mahogany skin. He wore a hoodie under the dark stadium coat. Sophie noticed his eyes were bruised and bloodshot. He looked deeply tired and sad. "I was out scouting and saw some signs about you, folk. After I got my people settled in, I decided to check it out. Good to meet more survivors, especially the immune kind. Are there more of you? I hoped there'd be something a bit more official."

"Yeah, we been getting that a lot lately it seems. Sorry to disappoint. The only thing official about us is my decoder ring, but that's back home on my dresser. For what it's worth, the core of our group is Medical and employees of the hospital."

Vahan started to explain their situation but the sound of an engine and the honk of a horn interrupted. Vahan and Sophie tensed.

"Hey, chill, don't worry, I know this guy." Darren reassured them quickly.

Sophie's heart slowed. 'I'm getting too old for this.' "My partner, Lamont, and I met him this morning. Name's Homer; he's got two partners, Gabby and Andre. Looks like he found some trouble since then."

The newcomer slammed on his brakes and jammed it into park. He appeared to be about 35 or so, brown hair cropped short on the sides with the top long and pulled into a tail. His heavy canvas coat was shrugged over a wool neck scarf tied around his throat. The bed of the pickup contained people, bloody with fresh wounds.

Sophie and Vahan ran to help as soon as they realized what the cargo was. They did not ask questions; simply started in to assess the severity.

Homer talked fast explaining. "They were caught on the edge of some wakers going ballistic. They were trying to get away, but didn't make it quick enough. There were more injured, but these are the worst. Two women I'd never met, immune like us, were passing food out and stumbled across us when it started. They helped get them clear and told us about you all. Said you'd help."

"Of course we'll help." Sophie spoke more to the woman who had suffered deep gouges in her arm, down to the bone. She wished Doc was here, but Roger had called Tracy and him to the Home to care for some other wakers who had severe injuries.

"Did any of these people eat flesh even once when they first woke up?" She explained the current theory they were working with.

Homer shook his head. "I don't know. Does that mean you won't treat them?"

"No of course not. Let's get them inside." Sophie quickly reassured him. Further explanations would have to wait. "Let's take them to the gift shop. It'll be close to the others and it's relatively clean and has a door we can isolate them." Vahan suggested.

Maggie and Anne washed and treated the wounds of the others with Darren's help while Sophie assisted Vahan with the stitches on the woman's arm, wrapping an abdominal pad over the wound until Doc could look at it.

"They'll stay here tonight of course." Sophie told them when they finished. "Let's go get something hot to drink and talk."

Their stories were grossly similar. They were single adults, with no families. Like most folk, the madness had caught them off balance with little to eat in their homes. They had checked on friends nearby, did what they could until they became too violent, to stay with them. Though the details changed, the scenes the two men described were heartbreakingly the same. The streets were crazy anthills of wild, anxious, hallucinating, terrified, and aggressive people. At first, they could easily avoid them.

"I was up north of the college, at the Health Center," Homer informed them, "in the middle of their parking lot, when I saw the first of them turn homicidal again. Thank God none of the crazies were anywhere near me."

Darren nodded. "I was more southeast of there. I lived in the Village Apartments helping where I could. They were so totally unaware of what was outside of themselves, not looking where they were going, falling off balconies. Then one after another, they went berserk as though they were suddenly aware of the world outside themselves and hated it with a passion." Darren continued sadly. "They attacked and killed those who were still withdrawn for no apparent reason. I ran for cover and watched the massacre.

"I don't think they had any idea what they were doing, because they went after anything that moved, animals, leaves, flapping curtains, it didn't matter. At some point, they quit attacking each other, maybe by then, all were insane, and repelled each other, similar to the same poles of a magnet."

Homer scratched his four days of beard on his neck remembering what happened next. "Later some noticed one who staggered and appeared weak, and all of a sudden, they were fair game again, attacked and beat the poor guy to death. When another started looking weak, they attacked him and so on until the last one went down themselves. It's a wonder there are as many wakers as there are."

When it had been quiet for a few hours, each man told how they crept out and staggered in shock, back to their homes to find their friends, and neighbors dead, though rare others had seemed to be in a coma. When those started stirring, they helped as best they could in their sections of town. Where the population was dense, the ratio of dead to those waking was nearly a hundred to one.

Homer sighed, finishing his story. He shifted in his seat and wrapped his arms around his thin chest. "If they were breathing and moving, I dragged them into a nearby house to get them warm, and then went back for more. When I got too far away to carry them back, I opened another house, filled it. When I saw the first one eat from the corpse next to him, it turned my stomach. Scared me proper, I can tell you. I knew by then they were amnesiac, so I tried to help 'em, thinking they were confused, but they warned me off, hissing, so I let 'em be except I made water available."

"Most people's pantries were pretty skimpy, but when I found a house with something edible, I shared it out. Finally, I found a truck with keys in it and moved them all into a couple of houses near each other that were... unoccupied. Didn't realize how many I'd collected that first day until then."

Darren huffed a sardonic sound. "Yeah, know what you mean. Yesterday I'd collected near a hundred or more. Then I met up with Sidney who'd met up with Lamont. Same story for them pretty much. Forage in the nearby neighborhoods ran dry and the stink was getting to us. We decided we'd move on up north to more open less populated areas, where we thought there would be fewer bodies."

Each immune found a truck, loaded it up with blankets and first aid supplies, and a few of the weakest people, and moved out slowly so the wakers could follow or not as they chose. "They don't talk and they acted... well, like newborn babies in a lot of ways. I explained what I was going to do to my people, not knowing if they understood me or not."

"Today," Homer added, "we found homes here and there that were open, and outdoor faucets were running. Red marks on the curbs or driveways. Until yesterday, I thought I was the only one left who could talk and think about what to do next. I cried like a baby when I first saw Gabby."

As Sophie listened, the stories put her in awe, for these brave Nightingales who had helped without thinking twice. She and her group had leaned on others for help, but these people had been alone, in a crowd of mute and non-functioning humans. She also gained a new perspective on the wakers' plight and experiences. She tried to see the last few days from their point of view but could not imagine waking up in the middle of a strange place with no memories, no reference points and no idea of who or what they were.

Bang! Bang! Bang! It had no rhythm this time, just frantic pounding.

# Chapter 47: Gatherings

Sophie jerked alert along with everyone else at the suddenness of the sounds. Cannibals? Her first reaction was panic.

However, Vahan and Anne were rushing to the side door, grabbing a lantern from the table nearby.

"Go to the front door and keep them distracted!" he yelled. She and Homer split off following the beam of her pocket flashlight, while Darren grabbed up a lantern and followed them.

Maggie came out of the room where she been on watch with the isolated group of wakers. Sophie motioned for her to stay where she was and ran on.

Beyond the glass doors, she saw a hysterical woman pounded frantically, tears of frustration and anger coursing down her cheeks. Her eyes were shadowed with fatigue, but as sane as any Sophie had ever seen. Her pickup was on the sidewalk with its front bumper only feet away from the plate glass.

Vahan and Anne came up behind the woman and she tried to drag him to the truck. Sophie could not hear them, but when Vahan motioned to her, she knew wounded were out there.

The six of them moved the wounded inside after taking one look and knew there was nothing to be done for them except make them comfortable. Sophie put her hand on the woman's arm. "I'm sorry there's nothing we can do. Even if Doc was here, their injuries are too extensive."

Her name was Janice and her story was similar to the others. "Except, I didn't start out as a loner. There were three of us, my friends Greg and Sanders, and myself when the ragers passed into a coma. We split up immediately and went to our own home neighborhoods. We kept in touch by cell phones that we had recharged by car batteries." Janice's two cohorts had been auto mechanics and had figured it out, while the three of them stayed trapped in a garage during the raging.

"This evening," Janice continued, "my group had settled into a couple of houses, but a few of them were by the truck with me, getting some supplies for the night when I noticed that another group of wakers was coming down the road. I finally pegged them as cannibals."

"Up till then, the occasional cannibal had kept their distance from my group, but there was a group of them and they were moving around outside, acting nervous and aggressive with each other, when they should have been in for the night. I turned to grab my sleeping bag and noticed that a couple of my people nearest me started rocking back and forth on their feet and flinching, at the breeze on their skin, I guess. I don't know what was upsetting them, but then all of a sudden their faces went tense."

Janice said she knew she was in trouble. "I looked back at the cannibals approaching and saw them racing toward me. I ran but those with me went insane and grabbed for me. Five wakers came barreling out of the house we'd claimed and raced toward me. I thought I was a dead woman then. I thought they had turned too, so I swerved to avoid them. Instead of coming after me, they intercepted the ragers. They put themselves between the ragers and me and... fought them, stopped them. The other group had imploded on each other." She nodded to the dying wakers. "These two survived. The other three and all of the ragers died. They saved my life," she sobbed unabashedly.

Wiping her tears she resumed, "I called Greg and Sanders. Warned them. I knew these two would not survive without some help, and I got some of my people to understand I wanted to put them in the truck, and then I rushed here hoping there would be a doctor or something."

So much was happening, Sophie was feeling overwhelmed. She was obviously happy to have more immune survivors, and the information they had learned about both developing cultures. The connection between cannibals and reverting seemed clear.

Sophie took in the wide hallway filled with tables where the men and women, who had instinctively committed themselves to helping, sat drinking coffee, talking among themselves.

Maggie had enlisted a couple of the core group of People who were not yet asleep to warm up the left over supper soup to feed everyone. Had she not been so distracted, Sophie would have been pumping air in happiness at her initiative and empathy with the situation.

She was overwhelmed, knowing the logistics of caring for the hospital's group of two hundred and there had been seven of them with plenty of supplies and no cannibal attacks. She could not imagine what it took to help what amounted to about a hundred per immune constantly on the go, scrounging and scavenging, with who knew what injuries among them. She told them so.

"We need to find you all someplace safe and talk about how we can help each other."

"Before we do that, I'd like to call my partners. Get them in here."

"Hey, you think you can have them swing by and pick up my guys too?"

Janice used her cell.

Vahan used the shortwave and called Home.

While they ate, she and Vahan made rounds. The sequestered patients were calm. No sign of anxiety or nervousness. The two who Janice had brought in, were comfortable. Everyone in the cafeteria was doing well enough; the staff discontinued the remaining IVs.

Anticipating Jesse's arrival, Sophie and Vahan returned to the hall of tables and found it loud with conversations.

There were several new faces and Anne was getting out more food. Sophie started counting. Six more than accounted for by partners and Jesse had arrived.

Smiling she worked her way toward him and squeezed his arm. His expression made her feel welcome. 'Oh, yeah, I'm definitely happier when he's around.'

There were fifteen immune, each representing an unknown number of people. They need help to move through the city to a place of safety. It was evident that that task was becoming increasingly dangerous as the number of incidents of reverters escalated.

Jesse pulled out a chair, helped Sophie up on it so she could see everyone, then let out a piercing whistle, and grinned when they all turned to him. She formally introduced herself, Vahan, Anne, and Jesse. She brought them up to speed on what was happening at the hospital as well as the other locations they knew about. She told them of Ricker. How his wakers were cooking on grills for themselves already, and how the hospital's own were performing complicated tasks. "Once yours get a chance to do something more than forage, they'll catch up quickly."

She turned to Vahan and asked him to explain their working theories (without technical details) of how the disease affected its victims and of the cannibal's re-infection by eating corpses. "The way some of you have described the flash rages seems to validate the theories. Especially in the light of what Janice described. So, if you do not know your people's history, consider them at high risk of reverting. Though there is some evidence that they are able to somehow sense the difference between themselves, there also seems to be some hazy lines, so just be aware.

"These flashes began, as far as I know, Friday night when I witnessed one. Its twenty-four hours later. Maybe those who are going to turn have turned. Maybe it depends on how much flesh they ate."

"Good to know," Oren, one of the last four to arrive nodded and rubbed his chin. "We have a few hanging around us, and some of my people do keep themselves segregated. Now I know why, but I wonder how they know the difference. They don't talk, not even to each other as far as I can tell. They must have some way of communicating. I've see them cooperating with each other."

A man in the back spoke up and introduced himself as Reggie. "I saw something like that happen this afternoon. It went pretty much as you described. Except, there was only one waker who had reverted, and he came out of nowhere. No one had the time to react before the rager was on one of the wakers, tearing him apart. Some others hurdled into the fray, folk I know for a fact had not eaten flesh, pulled the rager off, and held him down... maybe for a couple minutes, until he went limp.

"I thought they'd strangled him to death and I didn't blame them. They picked him up and moved him away off into the grass, went about their business. I took care of the wounds of the man attacked, cleaned up his wounds. When I was done with him, I glanced over to the rager and saw him twitching. I thought, what the...? Don't mind telling you, I worried right then the man was rising from the dead. None of the other wakers were even looking his way and he didn't move any more beyond that, though I could see he was breathing."

"Not a clue why I did it, but I went over to the fellow. His eyes were open, staring at the sky. He would blink, but he didn't move. I thought he was awakening again from the rage so I tried to get Damon, a waker and my right hand man, to help me get him inside a house. He and all the wakers refused, so I tried to do it myself, but they wouldn't let me. They mimed 'empty'." Reggie turned his closed fist upside down, then opened it, then turned it palm up to show nothing there. "As far as I know, the man's still there, staring at the sky."

Everyone was quiet. Vahan's distant look went past Reggie, his thoughts doubtless trying to reconcile what he'd seen with what he'd heard. Sophie's mind was off following a hundred ideas, implications, or meanings so fast she could not capture any one of them.

Jesse cleared his throat and Vahan snapped back. "Obviously we have a very complicated situation here. So let's keep all this in mind as we move on from here. In the meantime, since Jesse has specialized in security, I'll let him take over from here."

Jesse nodded and stepped forward. "We found a map of the city over at the Home so we can look at it and come up with a place for you all to settle. My thought is to get you out of the biohazard zone as quickly as possible, but to also get you a place with some housing, running water, and land nearby for a long-term stay. While Sophie and Vahan were talking, I circled a few places in the area close to us so we can all work together."

He handed the map over and they gathered around.

Two newcomers worked their way to where Jesse, Vahan, and Sophie were talking. The first man, Oren introduced himself and his partner, Jamal who was short and heavily built, with deep brown skin and cornrows. He was a marked contrast to his partner Oren, who was short like himself but ruddy complected and skinny as a rail.

"We already have a place staked out, south of here, down by the Cottonwood River on the edge of town. It's on the other end of town from where you all are setting up, maybe five miles, but its close by Menu Foods distribution plant, which is a ready source of protein, at least while it lasts. The place has solar and gas generators so their freezers are still working, so all we have to do is keep the gas flowing and hope for sunshine. Unless you found somewhere a whole lot better, we decided we'd stay put."

Jesse nodded. "Understand bro. You let us know if you need anything. Maybe we can trade for some of that meat."

"No. It's cool. It's cool." Jamal assured him. "We don't lay claim to the Menu. It's open to all. In fact, since we have already landed, maybe we can bring out loads tomorrow afternoon to their locations so they don't have to scavenge on the way. The quicker they get through town, the safer. We hope."

Sophie threw her arms around the man's neck. "We are so glad you survived. You're going to make a great neighbor."

Everyone cheered and thanked Oren and Jamal when it was announced, obviously relieved.

Jesse offered to provide workers and any other assistance they might need in getting set up. "We are removing bodies ourselves tonight, so most of us are in the same boat in that respect. At least we are getting some basics covered. Safety, food and water, and shelter."

The others picked a spot, plotted a route, and finished off the first hot meal they had eaten for a while, then wished each other luck and headed off. In the now silent building, Sophie returned to the cafeteria to hear Ricker calling.

# Chapter 48: Saturday: Call to the Hospital

"Hospital. This is Sophie. Over." The voice from the radio was quiet and mechanical sounding but welcome to Ricker's ears.

Austin responded. "Hey, Sophie. This is Austin Ricker. We've spoken to Roger before. How's it going over there? Over"

There was a long hesitation before she answered and another long hesitation after hearing her summation of events since the last been in contact. Ricker whistled with the amazement of how much could happen in one day.

"Yeah," Austin snapped clear first, "well, that's why we called. Dad was there when a bunch of cannibals started raging. Here, I'll let him talk. Over."

"I'm sorry, was anyone hurt? How did it start, Ricker? What appeared to have triggered it? Over."

"There were maybe ten cannibals who annihilated themselves. I hadn't seen that many together in one place before." Ricker took a few minutes and recounted the scene; the blood and gore still appallingly clear in his mind. They were both silent for a moment then Sophie came back.

"Vahan didn't get to see what triggered the explosion he saw, but the others we've talked to tonight, knew for a fact that cannibals were there. We're thinking that the virus is still in the meat and when reintroduced into a system, it re-infects the eater, probably with a mutated form of the original virus. Over."

Ricker frowned; he did not really care about what caused the problem unless it was more germane to survival. "So what does it mean? Are you still taking care of them? Over."

"Definitely. We believe it's tied to cannibalism and most of our people were never cannibals. We have a few we aren't so sure of, so we are caring for them, but have them isolated from the others. Keeping our fingers crossed."

Austin and Ricker breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that none of their people had ever eaten from the dead. "Are you serious? You are so confident in this theory of yours that you'll sleep in the same room with them? Over."

"Yeah. We all are. The stories we heard from these roaming bands confirm it." She went on to give him more details of waker people saving lives and fighting off ragers. "Safe or not, they are still people who need care."

Ricker groaned, properly chastised.

"Okay. We'll keep in touch. Thanks for the support, Sophie. Out."

"You're welcome. However, one last thing: We have suggested some of the new groups move to Presby, Candlewood, and neighborhoods up near you. You will be having neighbors up that way, before dark tomorrow. Including us. Over and Out."

Ricker turned to his son and pulled on his soul patch. They sat silently for a few minutes. Austin broke the silence. "So now we have to decide who is 'safe' and who isn't. Those in Roberto's house were never cannibal, right?"

Ricker nodded.

"If the theory holds true that they are segregating themselves somehow..."

Ricker interrupted him. "I'm not sure that's a good-enough indicator, because there were folk in the same area. Those in the houses knew enough not to come out, but those on the lawn didn't realize, until it was almost too late before they started backing away. I think Sophie's right in thinking it might depend on how much was eaten.

"Right now, we're safe enough with our little group. The rest of the neighbors are a mixed bunch. We'll need to be more cautious than we have been."

Austin nodded. "When the others get here, sounds like there will be hundreds more wakers of unknown types all around us."

Ricker nodded. "We have to decide if we abandon them on a suspicion, or keep working with them and take the risk?"

"Dad, you remember the Hopkins' farm on the other side of the turnpike? It's not far from the Windmill as the crow flies, actually. It's big, open, well water, huge barn, and sheds with livestock. Either way, a place like that would be a good place to take our people to keep them safe from potential problems. It will be a more long-term home, like those other groups are doing."

Ricker nodded hesitantly. "It might be a place to start on a small scale, but we don't know anything about gardening and farming. Sorry, son, I think staying here is our best bet, as far as housing is concerned."

Seeing Austin suddenly wilted at the prospect, Ricker amended his decision. "Still it would hurt to check it out and there is always the Windmill. Tomorrow before church, you go over there. Check it out. Hopefully, the Hopkins' are still alive and want some company."

# Chapter 49: Sunday: Worshippers

They made it through the night without a stir of trouble.

Ricker stood at the foot of the bed in the master bedroom; he watched Lisa and little Eve sleep. It was not his bed anymore. Out of a confused sense of propriety, he had given it to them while he slept on the couch in the living room.

He wanted to hold Lisa tight in his warmth, but after the first night, he had felt awkward around her as it became clearer she did not know him, much less love him. He sighed, letting go of his hurt and pain. It was pointless.

Austin was in the living room, anxious to get started on his trip to the Hopkins' farm. It was early yet, but that was okay; there were things to do, people to meet. What time would the raging start again? Morbid joke, he told himself.

Ricker repeated his instructions and cautions to his son. Austin rolled his eyes. "I got it the first ten times you told me, dad." He took off looking excited but sober. He's a good kid, Ricker thought with pride but he worried anyway.

Ricker started the coffee and warmed up Eve's bottle. Lisa came out of the bedroom and handed Eve to Mrs. Mullin who had wandered over from next door, then opened a jar of baby food. Ricker found himself wondering irrelevantly what ancient cavewomen fed their young.

Lisa took the bottle, a small spoon, and a towel then sat with Mrs. Mullin on the couch to double team feeding little Eve. All the waker women took turns caring for her, apparently, the instinct to preserve the young of the species seemed to be alive and well in them.

While breakfast cooked, he checked in on Wendy and gave her the next antibiotic dose. Tonight he thought he would combine the two households by moving the others from Roberto's house into the basement. Save some going back and forth. That got him to thinking about the future. Austin might be right about moving them out to the farm. He wondered if any other immunes knew anything about farming or tending animals.

By the time breakfast chores ended, Austin was back.

"They were dead on the front porch, dad. I'm sorry." Ricker winced and nodded. No surprise. Everyone from the past was dead in one way or another.

Austin filled a plate of left over breakfast. "I checked on the animals. They seem to be doing fair. They're going to need some help soon though or we'll have to let them go forage for themselves. Seems like an awful lot of potential over there."

Ricker drove Roberto's suburban with the women squeezed in with the baby, and Austin drove his truck where the kids and most of the men piled into the bed. He decided to go to the nearest church, rather than chance a drive clear across town to their own. One happened to sit on a large corner lot, next to the Super Center parking lot. Less than a mile away.

They approached the church with the sun peeking out from behind clouds and the sky opening up like a window on a new day. The temperature last night had dropped to 27 degrees, but today promised to be a spring warm day.

Ricker and Austin pulled up side-by-side in front of a large but simple modern building and stared. A large number of wakers were exiting the building, dressed in bizarre combinations of clothes and blankets. They looked like a congregation of what they were, homeless people.

Some were carrying packs, some had bundles wrapped up in blankets. It was clear they had spent the night sheltering in the building. None appeared to be active cannibals and there did not appear to be any immune among them, so not one of the roaming bands Sophie had mentioned. They halted their descent down the front steps as the two vehicles came to a stop, waited for a moment, then as one, turned to the north, and moved out. Ricker counted about thirty men, women, and children.

The last man to leave was tall and stood straight with his chin high. He eyed Ricker and held it, not challengingly, but definitely assessing. Ricker nodded and gave a casual salute. He did not know if he imagined it but the man's face appeared to soften from wariness, as he turned and moved off after his group.

"Wow. Where do you figure they're headed?" Austin had come up to Ricker's window so quietly, Ricker started.

"Dang, Son. What were you thinking? You don't know their history. They could have been cannibals."

Austin shrugged his shoulders, "Come on dad, the irony would be too much, if they suddenly turned to devils after sleeping in a church."

Ricker rolled his eyes and got out of the suburban. "Stay here. Keep an eye out and watch George. If he gets interested in anything, lay on the horn and get them away. They are all vulnerable in the open in the back of the truck like that; I'll go check out the church and make sure there are no laggers."

He pulled his pistol from the dash of the car and hoped the Lord would understand. It seemed like a sacrilege but he could not justify going into an unknown building without some modicum of caution.

The vestibule was small and easily visible through the front glass doors. It had a glassed back wall so the church sanctuary glowed with soft streams of colored light from the stained glass windows inside it; enough so that Ricker was able to see the way was clear.

It always awed him to walk into a beautiful church and feel the gentle ambiance millions of prayers imbued into the walls and furniture. He walked in slowly, scanning for stragglers. The entire place was spotless of trash and the residue one would expect from a group of squatters. Nothing. Not even a discarded food wrapper.

It was eerie in a way that sent a shiver of awe through Ricker. Had they felt the holiness of the place and reasoned it deserved respect?

Austin led the family into the church while Ricker held the door. His new extended family gawked the same as Kim and Austin, sensing the rightness of being here at this time in this place. He led the way to the front and ushered them into the first pews where they sat in silence for a time, then Ricker opened the hymnal, found an old hymn he remembered and softly began to sing. Kim sang with him and Austin joined in. Ricker met Lisa's eyes, as she stood next to him on his left and returned her smile, relishing the bright wonder and peacefulness he saw there. To his left, he noticed Tyler too seemed to be feeling the serenity of the church and their shared peace.

Eve's squirming and snorting broke the spell, but the group left smiling and feeling lighter in spirit than they had in days.

# Chapter 50: Sunday: Windmill Visit

Motorists passing Fork Grove could see the windmill for miles from both the turnpike and the interstate. It was a great advertisement for the company and the new community. Ricker had seen it many times, but had never had time to go check it out, though it fascinated the hell out of him.

Today they stopped at the front gate and buzzed the model home. A couple of large trees flanked the dark, decorative metal gate. A new, decorative fieldstone wall extended both ways away from the gate making Ricker wonder if it went all the way around. Pretty fancy. Youngish trees flanked the short driveway leading to the gate giving it a sense of seclusion.

"Won't they get a little puckered when they see all of us?" Austin had asked with a sly grin when Ricker suggested they take Lisa, Tyler, Kim and her parents, June and George, along with the baby with them for their visit to Windmill.

Ricker had nodded, reveling in being a bit perverse. They were family and presented no danger. Al would have to suck it up.

Once inside the gated entry, he drove slowly down the road. The view had opened up to a large clearing of maybe eighty acres of flat land, most of which lay to the west of the road and ended with the namesake windmill. He had to admit it was an impressive sight. Turning back to the buildings and the people moving around there, he saw Christy and Yoona in conversation. He waved as he pulled to a stop.

"Hey, neighbor," he called as both women broke off their conversation and came over to his window. "Thought we'd come over to introduce ourselves and check your place out. Is this a bad time?"

"You are welcome anytime, Mr. Ricker." Yoona spoke in the clipped syllables of her accent. "We had finished getting Josie's bed set up."

"Yeah, now Yoona wants to start tilling the land over there and planning out a vegetable garden. I'm not much into gardening, so I was trying to think of something else to do to get out of it." Christy grinned and shouldered into Yoona good-naturedly. "So your timing is perfect Ricker, I can give you a tour while she plays jolly 'short' giant. How about we start by introducing Kim and Austin to the kids their age?"

"Hey," Austin spoke up, blushing with hormones, a bit miffed at being referred to as a kid by his new crush. He covered his embarrassment by coming round the truck. "Ms. Yoona, there's a green house in the yard next to us that has a bunch of baby plants, you can have. I mean, if you want. I mean if they're still alive."

"Yeah. I forgot about them. Don't know if they are vegetable or flowers, though." Ricker confirmed clapping his son on the back, further adding to the boy's embarrassment around Christy. "Good thinking, son."

Yoona was delighted, excited to go look at them right away. She excused herself and went into one of the apartments.

Kim hung back shyly until Austin took her hand and followed Christy to the apartment building east of where they stood. A woman of medium height and graying, short, curly hair tucked behind her ears answered Christy's knock on the storm door. She wore wire glasses and a friendly smile played at her full lips when she saw Christy and behind her, Kim and Austin and the others.

Inside the room and behind the woman, whom Ricker guessed to be in her late fifties, he could see two children about Kim's age, laughing at an older man, probably the woman's husband, who was making faces to entertain them. When he noticed them, he stopped and came over to the door, still smiling.

"Audrey and Barry Norton, I'd like you to meet Dale Ricker. I'm sure you've heard about him. He and his family would like to meet everyone and say hello."

Audrey invited him in and offered coffee. They all trouped into the not yet furnished living room/dining room but Ricker declined the coffee. "Thanks, but we know everyone is busy. We heard you moved in last night and we have a list of chores of our own to get back to as well. I wanted to introduce my family, my son and right-hand man, Austin. This is my wife Lisa, and my stepson, Tyler. This is Kim, and her mom and dad, June and George and finally, this is Eve."

The Nortons shook hands all around, smiling with genuine pleasure. Audrey called to the two children who came over shyly and stood behind Barry, peeking out from behind the man's legs in curiosity. "Kim, this is Dawn, she's five, and her brother David, who is seven. Kids, this is Kim. How old are you Kim?"

Kim answered "six" in a tiny voice but continued to hang back, uncomfortable (for once) with being the center of attention. The kids stared at one another, until Barry suggested they go outside, show Kim the well house windmill, and introduce her to Tina, Talley, maybe Melina, and Marcos if they could find them. David whooped and ran for his coat with Dawn on his trail. Kim asked Ricker for permission, then happily followed them as they pulled her outdoors.

Audrey immediately reached out for Eve, cooing and gushing grandmotherly love. "Come here you, precious one." Lisa smiled and handed the little girl over.

"Barry and Audrey are Sophie Norton's parents." Christy said to prompt conversation. Their other daughter, Cathy and her twin girls, Tina and Talley live right next door."

Ricker nodded acknowledgement. "I talked with Sophie on the ham radio last night. They had a rather busy experience over."

Audrey and Barry regarded him quizzically.

He elaborated, telling of the fifteen immune with their followings. "I don't know any details though, sorry, you'll have to talk with her."

Christy changed the subject, by telling Barry that Yoona was talking gardening again and was planning a trip to Ricker's greenhouse. "I think I remember you mentioned you are an enthusiast as well, so I thought you might be interested in going with her."

"While you're gone, we are going next door to introduce this little bundle of joy and her family to Mica and Sam. If that's okay with you, Dale?"

Ricker stopped Barry as he grabbed his coat to head out. "Stay alert when you are out there. There's been more raging going on in the last twenty-four. My place is full of people, but I do know the history of those in the neighborhood."

# Chapter 51: Windmill Surprises

Sam and Mica were in the nursery, hanging curtains. Sam came forward and shook Ricker and Austin's hands then turned and pridefully introduced Mica who instantly honed in on the baby. She grinned and took Eve from Audrey. Ricker introduced Austin, his family and Kim's parents.

"It's good to see you again, Sam." He took a deep breath. "Have you heard from Roger and his group or the hospital since last night?"

"Nope, haven't had chances to get over there. Still getting these folk set up here. What's up?"

Ricker concisely told him of what he'd learned. "After Roger left, a number of immune drifted in with stories of more brushes with the cannibals. Some were killed on both sides."

"Oh, God. Al was right after all." Mica said, sitting down.

"It sort of looks like it, although the hospital group seems convinced; it fits with their theory of people re-infecting themselves by eating corpses. She and I staked our lives on it last night. I take it you don't have a radio."

"No, no radio. I suppose he'll be asking' me to house all these new people and their wakers?"

Ricker and Austin let out a bark of a laugh. "No, that's not going to be an option, Sam. There's fifteen new immune, but they are each claiming a hundred wakers under their care." He waited until Sam picked his jaw up off the floor. Christy and Mica were dumbfounded as well.

Sam finally found his voice. "We've been hoping more immune survived and worrying about all the wakers out there, but I have admit... I don't know how I feel about all this."

"I guess some of them are going to try to set up, over at Presby and Candlewood. There are other places too, but you'd best get details from Roger. I wasn't exactly taking notes last night."

Sam shook his head.

"We really need to see about you getting a radio over here, Sam. I was thinking of sending some of my folk out to these new settlements tomorrow to see if they could help teach the wakers to cook for themselves. They are as intelligent as you and I, Sam, only their experience is limited, and they don't do the whole talking thing."

"What about you and your family. We could sure use you all around here. Did you think about moving in here?"

Ricker smiled crookedly and ducked his head. Time to fess up. "To tell you the truth, I have been thinking about taking you up on the offer, but I won't leave my little group. I was hoping you all had talked it over and relaxed about having them here. That's why I brought some of them for you to meet."

Sam started as he realized that most of the folk he had met were wakers. He shuffled his feet and closed his gawping mouth while Mica spoke up. "You are right, Ricker. What you've told us today is both frightening and encouraging. You vouch for any you bring and we will accept them here. Al has given us free reign here. We'll consider the third building and over to be yours to divide how you need."

"Yes!" Christy pulled both fists into herself. "Sweet, Ricker!"

"Righteous!" Austin grabbed his dad and hugged him, then pumped Sam's arm up and down. "Thanks! This is great."

Ricker felt his stomach drop. He had not really expected it would be so easy. He was not quite prepared to leave his home, his neighborhood. It needed to be done, but... well... he needed some time to take it in.

He smiled, thanked them, staggered under Sam's welcoming backslap, and let Christy end the conversation saying she wanted Austin to meet the kids his age.

"You guys go on, but I'm keeping Eve till you're done, at least. I need the practice and she is so adorable." Mica informed them with a twinkle in her eyes, as she cooed at the baby.

Ricker liked Carlos Esposa immediately. He introduced his wife, Ester who nodded and shook hands with everyone, then went back to stirring a pot of deliciousness. There was an intangible something about her stance, about the way she related to Carlos that let Ricker know she was a waker. Maybe it was the sadness in Carlos' eyes as he spoke her name. That, and like all the wakers, she did not speak. Lisa and the others seemed comfortable in her presence and drifted over to see what she was doing.

"Austin," Carlos grinned, "my son, Manny is next door. I think you two know each other, yes? Take Tyler and go next door; he and his brothers are helping their grandma unpack things with their grandpa. It will be good for you to be with people your own age again, not hang around us sober old windbags."

Austin whooped when he heard Manny's name and flew out the door calling his friend's name.

"Ricker and Austin are moving in, Carlos. Isn't that great?" Christy crowed.

"Bien. Bien! Good. Good, my friend. They have let you bring your family! Bien! This will be great for my Ester and my mother as well!"

Ricker spoke a few moments with Carlos, finding they had a lot in common besides the pain of losing their wives in such a unique 'gone, but not gone way' and felt a bond grow between them in the few minutes they talked.

Christy excused their group citing a tour of one of the free apartments and the grounds.

"Well, now you've met all the adults, except Carlos' cousin Julio and his wife and family." Christy chattered as they moved back downstairs to the grassy area in front of the building. "Both are immune. There are seven kids, including Manny in this family, from fifteen down to seven. Then there is Josie who is eight and the perfect sidekick for Al. Come on, I'll show you the overview of this place. For details on how it works, you'll have to talk with Sam or Al."

Ending the tour back by the truck, he turned the conversation back to what he thought of as reality. This place was good to have for the kids, but it was extremely easy to come in here and forget the grimy reality of what was still out there. He got out his city map and Christy pointed out where she and Yoona had gone Friday and Saturday. They talked of numbers and of what she had seen.

"To tell you the truth, Ricker," Christy confessed. "I knew about some of the roaming bands of wakers led by immunes and the reverters. Yoona and I ran into one of them yesterday. We didn't say anything to Sam, because he has his hands full with the refugees from the hospital." She shrugged. "We assumed Roger would get around to saying something."

He shrugged. "Understandable. Mica said Al has turned the place over to Sam. Does that mean he's outta here?"

"No, but the only reason he's still around, is because Josie seems to have gotten under his skin. He moved down there to the project manager's trailer, his old office actually, where Josie showed him he could make himself a man cave there. He's a loner, Ricker, likes to keep to himself. He's a good man, but he's hard to read sometimes. He's going to teach us how to maintain the equipment, but he wants no responsibilities for anyone here."

"Anyway, back to work. We really didn't do much yesterday; everywhere we went they were already in houses. We did show them how to use can openers."

"Yeah, I plan on teaching them how to cook rice and grains today. After that, I figure they'll be set to teach others what they know. Course they can't read the cans so they are going to have to learn the hard way if what's in them is good or bad."

Christy sobered. "Yeah." I also noticed one or two places where there were cannibals sitting on the fringes of the group. We didn't know what to do. I mean I know firsthand how deadly they can be, but short of shooting them..." she finished with her eyes downcast, clearly feeling like she had done something bad."

Ricker clapped her on the arm. "Unless they're a direct threat, they have a right to live. It's not their fault. You know not to go out without a designated watcher, now though, right?"

Christy nodded, but would not meet his eyes. "I wish there was something we could do to counteract, whatever it is that's causing them to go crazy. There are so few people left. I wonder what the rest of the world is like."

Ricker decided to change the subject. "You people are on well water, but the rest of the town isn't. Now that we are getting larger numbers, we need to look at the bigger picture. I guess I need to talk with Al and maybe some of the college people Roger has. See if anyone has given thought to the water and waste situation."

Christy shrugged and looked around. "You're right. You need to talk with somebody besides me. This kind of thing is way out of my universe. There's Al. Ask away."

Ricker ducked his chin and straightened his shoulders then asked Lisa and the others to wait for him at the truck. Christy led him over to where Al appeared to be piddling with something on the well's miniature windmill. Despite their first clash, Ricker liked what little he knew of the man; he was brassy but upfront in the way he spoke his piece and moved on.

"Al, you remember Dale Ricker. He's got some concerns and wondered if you might have some suggestions." Christy sighed with relief when the two men shook hands in greeting. She left Ricker to explain and sat on the truck bumper with her eyes glazed over, while they talked shop.

Ricker found the man receptive and knowledgeable but a bit taciturn. Still, he listened and before long, the man volunteered to check out the systems and let him know, then walked away without another word.

Returning to where his tour guide rested, Ricker was pleased with the way the day had gone. "Well, I've taken up enough of your time, Christy, I'd better get the kids and get going, and I've got a lot of things to do today."

"Why don't you leave the kids here for the day, Ricker? Give yourself and them a break. Especially Austin. He looks like he's ready to crack."

Ricker looked at her sharply. He had noticed Austin had been depressed when José and Maria died, but the boy had been a steadfast rock whenever Ricker needed him. Was she was right, he wondered. He was only fifteen. He had seen and done things no kid should have to do; he sighed. Kim had played with the waker kids, but she never seemed to relax, always taking care of them. They deserved this.

However, he needed a shotgun/watcher where he was going and what he planned to do.

"That would be great for Kim and Eve, but unless you have someone who can ride shotgun for me, I need Austin." Ricker fished.

Christy paled, but put her shoulders back. "I was reared on a farm and dad taught us all how to shoot. I'm a fair shot. I'll take his place." She seemed hesitant with her offer at first, but then her countenance cleared and she put out her hand. "You have yourself a watcher."

# Chapter 52: Sunday: Home

The convoy from the hospital arrived at Home later than they had anticipated. There had been six deaths during the night. It had not felt right, driving away, and leaving the dead and though they could not bury all, or even any, of them they could light a pyre, symbolically honoring them.

So it was a little before noon when Doc stopped Sophie's truck, carrying hospital equipment and wakers in need of medical care, and directed it to the small parking lot closest to the community building where he had decided to set up the Clinic. He waved Jesse, Vahan, and Anne, driving the school buses filled with People, on down the road to the Home proper. They moved the unknown wakers into one of the apartment fourplexes and helped them get settled. No one was sure how long they would have to keep them isolated.

Sophie looked around the peaceful setting. She had been here before, in another time, another world, visiting elders placed for rehab after injuries at home. It seemed the same as before, but it certainly did not smell the same. They were burning bodies in the employee parking lot behind the main building and though the wind blew from the south, there was more than a trace of the pyre stench in the air.

Ignoring that, she saw there were ducks on the pond and beside the road strutting in the warm sun. She was pleased to see geese winging back from their summer quarters and landing. She remembered them harassing the elderly residents of the fifteen square, one-story buildings dotting the clearing, begging for breadcrumbs. A band of saplings bordered the path around the pond on the east side and west beyond the units across the bisecting road completed the impression of exclusive peace.

She saw workers carrying cleaning supplies coming and going from various apartments, which made up each four-plex unit. The setting was stark with the trees still naked, though the warming sun gave her hope that spring would finally arrive. A week into April and still winter showed little inclination, to give up its grip on the weather. She pulled her hoodie up over her head and shivered through her thin jeans.

She glanced sideways at Maggie who stared, in awe, of the scene before her. Ducks, icy pond, everything was new to her. Sophie tried to see it, as though for the first time, but gave up when memories of what was, refused to go away.

"Doc, do you have any beds set up yet for our patients?"

"Yes, we cleaned out that building's front unit, the closest one. Took out all the furniture and put pallets down. I think we can get them all in there for now. I'll help you get them in there, till more hands arrive in a bit."

With that, an hour passed by, with crazy but effective industry. She, Vahan, Doc, and Tracy directed and sorted until it was all unloaded and the patients made as comfortable as could be on the carpeted floor. The unit had two bedrooms and a fair sized living/dining room so though everyone fit; it was definitely over crowded.

It was getting close to hungry time. Sophie wondered if they needed to forage out of their stash, or if Roger had something planned at the Home. The clinic had a kitchenette with a home sized stove but it was, wait for it, all electric. Go figure.

The Home itself was incredibly warm compared to the clinic. Unlike the outside with its smell of burned bodies, the Home smelled of disinfectant, bleach and something homey she could not quite place. Its halls teamed with busy people dressed in clean, though ill-fitting clothes, moving back and forth from one wing to another.

She found Roger near the front door by a reception desk covered with papers and other miscellaneous items.

"Any news about the 1,500 displaced people relocating?" Sophie asked, after hugging Roger and assessing how he was holding up.

"We sent over a team of waker and immune to each of their locations this morning to cleanup and set up. The people themselves are still in transit, but so far no more attacks. Here," he gestured around them, "our wakers are getting settled. Thanks for sending Maggie down. She's been quick to figure out what we need; directing the wakers. I can't get over how well they communicate with each other, but I'm not going to look at the proverbial horses' teeth."

"It is happening so fast. We have plenty of help but of course, most of it is unskilled. Most everything on the priority list seems to require skilled help. I don't mind telling you I am overwhelmed at this point."

Sophie grinned at him. They both knew there really was not any other option. You folded up your popsicle stand and went home or you continued hawking it, until it melted. In the meantime, chill.

"So, what's on the menu? Food first and business second. I'm starving," she asked taking a deep breath and smelling something wonderful. "Apple pie?"

Roger laughed. "Yeah, seems Professor Stan is a self-professed gourmet chef and took over our kitchen. He's fixing a buffet that will keep running 24-7 since setting regularly scheduled meals with everyone coming and going is somewhat pointless. Nothing fancy, but the pies are going to be wonderful to celebrate our homecoming."

"Great!"

"This place had their own store of emergency supplies though far less than I would have wished. Still, it has flashlights, more two-way radios, and its own shortwave. I'm giving it to Windmill, so we can keep in touch better. We'll find more so each group has one. Keep the one you had, for the mobile medical unit Doc's setting up."

Sophie was absentmindedly looking at the charts and hand drawn maps taped to the walls of the reception room. "You're keeping track of where everyone is setting up house, Roger?"

"For key personnel only for now. Doc's probably already told you where you'll be staying. You're welcome to change if you don't like it just let me know. Minus the units dedicated to the clinic and the isolated wakers, we have thirty apartments up for grabs, but everyone has to share a bedroom with at least one person. Some of the men have elected to stay here, giving the more private quarters to the women. Can't guarantee you'll be able to do more than sleep there though. We'll keep pretty busy for a long time recovering from all this."

"I don't see you up here anywhere. You plan on sleeping in your office?" It was a joke, but Sophie was surprised when Roger soberly nodded his head.

"I'm going to move in here in one of these offices temporarily until everything settles down. I'll act as sort of a project manager and keeper of the records, so to speak."

"Roger! You can't do that. You need to rest as much as any of us."

"Calm, down, Nurse Sophie. I'll be fine. I have always been a workaholic, so this will suit me fine. One of the college kids brought up a mattress from storage and moved out a desk. Done. No worries."

Changing the subject, he turned away from the wall map. "I'd like to have a meeting after dark for the immune and any of the people who wish to come. Not sure how much they will understand, but I want them involved too. We'll introduce everyone and spell out the situation so far."

"Ugh, you administrative types always want to have meetings." Sophie groaned.

Roger winked. "It's what we do." He picked up an apron and put it on. "Anyway, if you would tell the folks at the clinic about the buffet, I have to get back to the kitchen. I'm on KP for the next hour and Stan is a very stern taskmaster." He tipped his non-existent hat and walked through the dining room.

Sophie watched him walk away thinking them lucky to have him and his organization skills. That he was working kitchen duty was no surprise to her. He had always eagerly pitched in. If he saw something that needed doing, and he could handle it, he started right in working as hard as anyone. She admired him, tremendously, even if he was management.

She allowed herself a quick tour of the building to see what was going on. As she walked down the halls, enjoying the sight of people helping people, she peeked into the bathhouse and found a few of her former patients happily washing bedding in the large whirlpool tub in one of the bath houses by lantern light. They all waved at her in recognition, and then went about their washing. Teams were pulling the wadded sheets between them, twisting to wring out the water. Human adaptability. The smell of bleach.

The buffet was a bit of a misnomer. Stern Stan had someone available to dish out controlled portions of food, but it worked both ways. A thin, young woman she had not met yet, tried to refuse the two generous slices of bread that was part of the portion. The server growled that Doc ordered it, unless she was allergic or had some medical condition that contra-indicated it. The student raised an eyebrow when the server went on to say that if that was the case, she was to report immediately to him for consultation.

"I'm on a low carb diet!"

"Sis, you're going to need all the calories you can get from now on, so if you don't want it, talk to Doc. Otherwise, eat up!"

# Chapter 53: Sunday: Growing

Sunday morning, Al looked out from his trailer window like a busybody old lady keeping an eye on the neighbors. He had been up early and done a tour of the machinery and panels, checking tolerances and battery levels, keeping a maintenance journal, as if he were still an employee of the CleaNRG and safety regulations still applied. He needed Sam down here to learn all this stuff, but from his window, he could see the newcomers were keeping him busy. Maybe he needed to find someone else to learn to be the maintenance person. Pain in the ass.

That done he had started cleaning out the second back room, which he was thinking of as a bedroom and then stopped halfway through, wondering why he was doing it. No one was going to live there.

Josie had asked to live with him; he had turned her down. It was best for her. He had wanted to say yes; hated the look of rejection and disappointment on her sad face. The eight-year-old girl was getting under his skin. She was becoming important to him. He wanted to take care of her, make sure she was happy and safe, and be able to give her things just to see her smile again.

If he were honest with himself, he would admit he wanted her to be his little. When she was with him, he kept seeing her serious face and then the radiant rare smile. He shook his head to dislodge the thought, she would be better off with Christy; what he knew about children in general would fit on the head of a nail. Worse, she was female on top of that. He rarely understood Ruthie, much as he loved her; there was no way he would be able to understand a child and know what was best for her. Besides, Al knew he was moody and quiet. He was selfish, self-centered, brash and... a murderer. No, he had no right to ask her to be his daughter.

He did a double take when he saw Ricker arrive with two vehicles loaded with people. What the hell? The man has his wakers with him! He started searching for justifications that made it okay for him to tolerate the wakers in the compound. The least of which was the knowledge that Ricker would make a good maintenance man.

Later he ran an errand to the well house and found himself confronted with Ricker. Taken off guard, he listened and grew interested, and agreed, not because he was feeling generous or helpful, but because it genuinely caught his interest. Short term, he hoped the whole water and waste thing would be a challenge, because babysitting the compound's mechanicals was not a full time job. He needed something to tire him out enough, so he would sleep instead of dream. Nightmares of Ruthie turning continued to haunt him; leaving him waking up still tired.

He could not let go of her, or forgive himself for what he had done. He wanted to blame the disease, or anything, which would make it all right for him to have murdered his wife, the sight of the Esposas reminded him people had seen their loved ones through the ordeal. They were not the same people, but they were not burdens or monsters.

If he had not been so self-centered and taken better care of her, kept her safer, she would be alive today. He would be able to see her face without the hole in her forehead.

Josie seemed to know when Al was preparing to leave the compound to check out the water systems; she had radar or something. He did not know what it was, but it was effective because she suddenly appeared by his van as he came out of his trailer.

"Can I go too? I can be a watcher, like before." She was short for her age, but had a wiry build and moved with the sureness of someone comfortable in her body as she shoved off her bike. She wore a hooded jacket, new jeans, and had her brown hair tied back in a high tail. The doll, Al had helped her pick out rode watcher in her handlebar basket.

Al smiled at her serious face and couldn't keep his heart from turning to mush. "Yeah, I guess it would be safe enough. I'm going to look over the treatment systems in town, then head to the shop to see what they have in stock. You might get bored though, it's a bunch of machines."

"It's okay. I want to go with you." She insisted.

"Then help me throw your bike in the back of the truck and we'll stop by to tell Christy."

"Christy isn't here. She went with Mr. Dale to be his watcher, while he ran errands and stuff. Yoona went to Mr. Dale's house to get some seedlings with Mr. Barry. Mica and Audrey are playing with the baby. Mr. Carlos wanted me to play with Melina, Marcos, and the other kids, but they're too young. The older kids are busy with the new boys from Mr. Dale's family."

Al felt his chest tighten, listening to the way she seemed passed around from one person to another, without anyone putting her first. Tough kid, never complained, but he knew from his own experience what it was like not to have a solid rock to hang on to, when he needed one. Once again, he wished he could be her rock.

"Okay, we'll talk to Carlos then. You and I can be odd men out together. Maybe if things go okay, we can stop by the lumber yard and get some materials for the tree-house."

Sam caught him heading back from talking with Carlos. "Hey, Al. I thought you might like to know we have some new residents; all kids led by twin 18 year olds. I put them on the third floor of this building." He grinned and shook back his long hair. "We got a lot of kids here. I think that brings it to eighteen, and fourteen adults. We're going to need a school and a teacher real soon." Sam gave a nervous chuckle and Al could tell something else was coming.

"Spit it out, Sam," he growled.

"Well, I don't know if you know or not, but fifteen more immune contacted the hospital last night. They've been foraging through town scavenging for supplies and collecting quite a following of wakers. They've had some hard times and battles. Cannibal wakers attacked them. They lost some folk, but most got away and showed no signs of turning rager themselves. Some even defended the immune, according to the new group. Good news, actually."

He shared what he knew of the new groups and where they planned to settle, then repeated what Ricker had reported about his folk doing their own chores and cooking. Al kept his silence, but was getting impatient with the man's ramblings. He tried not to feel threatened, not to get angry. Josie put her hand in his. He calmed down.

"Ricker would like to move here, help us out, but he won't do it unless we reconsider letting wakers live here. You know, he has five or six close family members that are safe. I'm letting them, those we know never were cannibals, especially the children move in here; it would make more room at the Home. I know you aren't comfortable with the people, but well, I thought you should know."

Al stood still, thinking and holding Josie's hand. He remembered the raging man who had nearly killed him yesterday and the small family that 'tickled' Josie into a smile. He still feared they would revert. Still, something about Ricker implied he could trust the man to be real and not hedge his bets. Ruthie would have wanted to help the children. She would be one of the adults, if she had lived.

Josie squeezed his hand. Besides, he soothed himself with the thought that he hoped Ricker would want to come here. The man was knowledgeable and could learn to run the Windmill mechanicals if anything happened to him.

"Sam, I've told you before, it's your choice. I trust your judgment and Ricker is a top player." He pushed his plan forward. "You're a good man, too, Sam, but filling this place up? That's 450 people. Waker or not, that's a lot to keep in line. If I were you Sam, I would make him responsible for any problems they cause."

# Chapter 54: Sunday Chores

Ricker grinned when Christy agreed to accompany him on his day's chores. He felt a little guilt about manipulating her but, hey; he'd trade his son in for a pretty, young woman? He would have to be dead or crazy to ignore that opportunity.

He briefed her about his agenda as he drove out of the Windmill. "I want to make a run to Myson's Meats to check the place out. See if they are like Al thinks and their systems are still up and the freezers still running. Then I want to check out a farm nearby. It's a mile from here by road and actually less than that from the windmill itself. Maybe in the future we could run lines to tap any excess if there is any. Then back home to cook some rice."

Ricker pulled up in front of the Hopkins' farmhouse and shut off the engine of Roberto's mini-van. The house and countryside was silent, except for the occasional bird calling from the trees. He was dreading dealing with the bodies on the porch.

"I've known the Hopkins' family for a long time," he told Christy. "My dad and old Jackson Hopkins had been in the Army together. Marshal Hopkins, old Jackson's son, was a year ahead of me in school, but we worked together for a while before I opened my shop. His wife was on the school board when Austin was in grade school, and she and my ex-wife were good friends. We didn't see much of each other after that. It proved too awkward, but we remained friends and I visited Ol' Jackson a couple times a year."

Christy, along with Lisa, June, and George went exploring the barn while he dug the graves. When he had finished he found them feeding the two horses who were looking a bit lonely. George was happily brushing down the mare and June had found the family cat and dog. Lisa eyed the horses with awe, but seemed not to care about interacting with them. Instead, she had a couple of gadgets, which she intently examined while she sat on the bale of hay in the sun.

Christy called to everyone to help with the chickens. Ricker went with them. He had never been in a chicken coop before, so he was in almost as much awe of his surroundings as his family. He suddenly understood a little more about what the wakers must be feeling with every new experience. They had no names for the things they saw, no words for the actions they witnessed or the emotions they felt. He was even more amazed that they were not going stark raving crazy, with the newness and complexity of the world in which they woke.

The birds fluttered and clucked everywhere, running in from the fenced yard as soon as the humans entered the coop. Some were sitting on nests. Large funnels kept the feed replenished by gravity so they had plenty of feed but were running low on clean water. Christy showed them how to refill it then George and June helped her haul cleaner if not fresher water from the horse tank.

She showed Lisa how to get the eggs out from under the hens and marked all the eggs with a marker. "So when I come back tomorrow, I'll know which are fresh. The rest we'll let hatch and increase our flock. It'll be nice to have some fresh eggs I can give to Emilio."

Smiling absently at Christy's enthusiasm, Ricker focused on watching Lisa. Where she had disliked the larger animals in the barn, she seemed fascinated with these smaller, feistier critters. She was smiling and gesturing animatedly with Juanita. He grimaced at the stab to his heart. His Lisa had hated animals before.

They were heading back to the truck when Christy made an observation. "From the looks of those cows in the field out there, they're calving. Possibilities for future meat, maybe a spot of milk." She smiled like a kid that got the hoped for Christmas present. "I've been wondering, what I could do to help and I think I've found it. I miss the farm. My family. I wanted to be a veterinarian when I was younger. I wonder..."

She looked up at Ricker, hope and anticipation written all over her face so even he could read it. "Would some of your people be interested in working and living out here with me? I could teach them some basics about tending animals."

Ricker liked this girl. She was small, but she hand spunk and courage. "Looks like June and George would enjoy it. I'll introduce you to the rest and you're welcome to bring them out for the experience. See if some are as intrigued as this group. For now we'd better be getting on with my list."

Ricker parked his vehicle near the front door of the nursing home. The air smelled faintly of smoke, burning hair, and bones. He had similar plans this afternoon for his neighborhood. Inside the building, the air smelled of cleaning products overlying a faint odor of death, but also smelled of spoiled food.

Ahead a half wall provided separation for the dining rooms and beyond it the door leading to the kitchens. Ricker peeked in. "Ho, Roger!" he called to the man who came out of the walk-in refrigerator carrying a box of spoiled produce. Three men followed him also bearing boxes.

"Hey, Ricker, Christy. Let me dump this stuff. I'll be right back." Then followed the other two men out the back of the kitchen." When he returned, he took off his mask and gloves. "What brings you two here?"

Roger introduced the two men with him who had thrown another load outside, as Arthur and Tony, college students. Both in their early to mid-twenties, graduate students; the former biology and the latter, botany.

Ricker raised his eyebrows at Christy, questioningly. The resources and talent these two represented seemed a fated blessing for her newfound project. She seemed happy, yet oddly unsure about the happenstance as she returned her attention to the three men and asked, "Anyone know anything about farming and raising animals on a practical level?"

The black skinned kid, Arthur, maybe 20, had the look and demeanor of a geek. "I enjoy working with animals, but I don't have any practical experience of raising them."

The other, taller, and more athletic looking, slightly older man, Tony, said he grew up on a farm where they did large-scale farming. "I can run and maintain all the machinery involved, as well as knowing when and how to plant and harvest and everything in between. Hated it growing up, but really miss it now. Why do you ask?"

Christy, hesitated, and Ricker could sense her uneasiness. Maybe it was at the thought of moving out there with two unknown men, especially if she took Josie. He thought it was a bit ironic that she would feel safer around wakers than with the men. He watched her, wondering how she would respond.

"We found some chickens, and a few horses and cows who are calving out on a farm Ricker showed me today. I'm thinking to take a few wakers out there to see if I can get a chicken farm started. Thing is, there is also a lot of farm machinery and fields that look as if they're ready to plant. Cows are going to need hay for winter. We are going to need wheat for making flour eventually. She trailed off, dangling the bait.

"Awesome," Tony remarked. "Right up my alley. I could come out there and help you work it between jobs here, if it's okay with Roger."

Roger raised his hands, releasing Tony for the effort as he saw fit.

Arthur, having watched the exchange from behind his owl-sized glasses, interjected his enthusiasm as well. "Anyway, I don't have any practical experience, but I do know a lot about animal anatomy and physiology. I am willing to get my hands dirty and learn, muck stalls, and deliver calves and such, some vet work maybe. I would like an opportunity to help teach the people about how to do things."

Christy, apparently feeling better about the whole thing, accepted both offers with an air of relief. She told them she was going back out there tomorrow morning; they were welcome to join her. Ricker's opinion of her went up another notch. Gutsy.

Ricker talked a bit more with Roger while Christy got to know the two young men, before they headed on to his next chore.

# Chapter 55: Sunday: Bonding and Learning

Al and Josie toured the town's water supply system, starting with the water treatment plant situated near the Super Center. It processed river, ground, and rainwater into drinkable water then pumped it from there to the water tower on the other side of downtown. The other side of the coin was wastewater treatment, whose plant stood on the south of the tower on the edge of town. From what he could tell, it was all still running and functioning properly, for now.

He broke into the offices of each and took operations manuals and anything that would help him understand the system. He talked with Josie the whole time, telling her what he saw and how it ran, not worrying if the whole thing was over her head, talking aloud. Josie seemed to be listening intently; she asked questions beyond her eight-year-old level.

From what he could tell, at least part of the system ran on electricity, produced by biogases from the bacteria used on the solids extracted from the water. The clean water treatment plant ran like an abbreviated version of the wastewater plant. Bottom line, low tech and more than sufficient for their immediate and short term needs. Barring leaks or faucets left on, which could drain water towers in three days to fifteen days after the electricity went out, even if no one was using it. They had water faucets running all over town. So pumping needed to stay on line, or they needed to downsize severely the whole operation. The majority of the living survivors of the madness were moving north. If they could shut off everything, except the northwest side of town, it might be easier. Then all they would have to deal with was rural water.

As far as he was concerned, they were golden in this department as long as they could supply power for the pumps and a few of the mechanicals. Long term they would eventually run out of everything. Short term, they were okay with power for the plants.

The immediate problem, the biggest problem, for everything really, was maintenance of the systems. That meant knowledgeable people to monitor and check things were going well. Josie offered a solution. "I bet the college library would have lots of training tapes and books on the subjects. I bet the people could learn from pictures and maybe there are some of those college people who might know some of this stuff."

Al was proud to know this unique little girl. She was adult smart, but still only a child emotionally. He hugged her and enjoyed having her with him.

CleaNRG had opened a subsidiary that handled the production of solar cells, as well as fabrication and installation of the systems in Fork Grove and Al had worked in the branch since it opened. He had moved up to Project Manager twelve years later for the experimental community.

"Let's head over there." Al suggested. "Take advantage of the beautiful day." It was warming up and the sun was actually shining. Something it had not done a lot that winter and on into the new spring. "Good thing we have the windmill, 'cuz the little bit of sun we've been having wouldn't have run a flashlight."

Still, it was a pleasant day to be out doing what he loved and to have the company of his best girl. He started whistling.

"What's that?" Josie asked pointing out the window ahead of her and to her left at a cloud of dark smoke rising above the tree line. "Something's burning."

"Don't know". He rolled his window down and took a whiff. Ah... the unmistakable aroma of burning flesh. "Must be one of the new groups cleaning up for a base camp. Want to go say hello?"

At her agreement, he passed by the parking lot entrance of CleaNRG, then Menu Foods, then turned east past large, widely spaced homes that sat on three-acre rectangular plots along Wanamaker Road. As soon as he entered, he knew he was driving into a settlement of wakers. A group of about ten or so wakers moved around each house.

At the far end, the expected funeral pyre burned under the careful supervision of two immunes standing watch on the back of a pickup. They turned his way when they heard his truck approach and waved. They wore bandanas over their faces against the smell and smoke. Al pulled up and asked Josie if she would stay safely in the truck. She nodded, but he could tell she was slightly miffed.

"You are in time for the services," the first man, wearing bib overalls like his own and a cowboy hat called as he jumped down from the tailgate. He gestured to the fire that was slowly dying out. "Believed they need some respect. Least we could do for 'em since we're moving into their homes. Name's Oren, this here's Jamal."

Al shook his hand. "Name's Al. That's Josie, in the truck. Heard there are groups all over. Fifteen hundred or so."

"Yeah, well, that total might be a bit light. Hard to say. We're strung out.

"Looks like you're better off than most." Al admired the way the people were working on clean up and cooking.

"For now. At least we didn't have to travel through the cannibals to find a spot. Haven't had one around here and none of these folk turned. Counting our blessings."

"You got a shortwave radio to keep in touch in case something happens?" Al asked, thinking that eventually the cannibals would come calling.

"Yeah, I found one in one of the houses, as providence would have it. Guy must have been a packrat or he found it at a government surplus store. Still works but battery is running low. Hooking it up to car batteries right now."

They talked a few more minutes about the current state of the world then shook hands again and Al went back to the truck with Josie who had snuck out of the cab and appeared next to him halfway through the conversation.

The unlikely twosome jogged back over to CleaNRG and decided to eat the lunch, Carlos had packed for them before going inside. They sat on the tailgate in the sun, out of the wind.

"Thought you agreed you were going to stay in the truck, Josie." It bothered Al that she left the safety of the truck when she given her word. "I can't rest easy if I can't know I can trust you to keep your word." He frowned at her. She hung her head and mumbled about how nothing happened. "After the fact isn't the point, is it?"

They both squirmed uncomfortable in the uncharted newness of their relationship. "I am responsible for you, while you are out here with me. If something happens to you... Don't know what I'd do. It would kill me, I reckon. Aside from that, trust is a hard thing to give. I think you learned that the hard way. So it leaves me a bit confused you don't seem to understand what your word is worth." He scratched his head and thought furiously, fumbling around for the right words to say that would help her form values to live by. He felt so inadequate. Another reason he had no business dreaming about asking to be her guardian.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Al. I won't do it again. I should have called out and asked you, before I got out of the truck. I promise I will think very carefully before I give my word again." She looked contrite and watched him with serious eyes and Al knew she understood what he was trying to teach her, but it did not get past him that she left herself a big loophole in her wording. It was a smart loophole he had used himself. He nodded and squeezed her hand.

# Chapter 56: Sunday: Fire and Ashes

While Christy watched the neighborhood, Ricker's people emerged from the homes nearby, mingling amongst themselves like any bunch of neighbors except they were surreally quiet. They gathered expectantly near the grills standing haphazardly in the driveways and streets. Some had bags of charcoal they evidently had foraged from the surrounding neighborhoods, anticipating the evening cookout.

When Ricker had his crew ready, Christy climbed to the top of Ricker's truck, standing watch for him, gun in hand, safety off. Beside her stood George. Christy had reminded him, that since they seemed to self-segregate, it would be a good idea to have one of them on guard as well. Ricker was not so sure, but signed to George, pointing at his eyes and then at the neighborhood until he seemed to get the idea. The man nodded and followed Christy to their vantage point.

Neither expected trouble, but the unexpected is what got you killed; he was glad to see she took her duty seriously.

"Are you thinking they are going to learn to speak if you keep telling them the names of things? Is that why you talk to them so much?" Christy called down from above him."

"Yep. They may never learn to speak, but I'm hoping they will be able to understand the words."

Ricker waved his arms at the group and told them to start a fire in each of the grills. Then he passed out matches to each of them. They were smart; he knew they would figure it out, even without experience. He was sure they were ready to feed themselves hot food, without being dependent on him. Lord knew he was ready for them to be ready. He stood back and watched them, surprised when they sorted themselves into teams around each grill and performed the task. Each griller, he noticed, was someone different from the previous day. Yeah, they were learning.

When all ten grills fired up, he showed them bags of rice and several seasonings, and a measuring cup and told them to go find some. It took them a while but some came back with it. Then he demonstrated measuring water and rice according to the number of people who would eat it. This would really show how much they could understand and not mimic. It amazed him how well they caught on. He let them taste and smell the seasonings; then got them started. He hoped the rice would cook well on the uneven heat of the coals.

Teaching them the idea of time passing was the hardest, but the end product turned out to be more or less edible and filling, especially after they added canned vegetable and seasonings. The meal completed, Ricker turned to the task he had been dreading.

Through the last few days, they had removed the bodies from the houses, yards, and streets and had gathered them in the abandoned lot at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was time now to honor them. Using gas syphoned from one of the vehicles, he set the pyre. He did not know how he felt about the bodies, per se; but the lives they represented, the hopes, dreams, laughter, tears, and love, deserved the honor of a remembrance. He stood vigil as it burned.

Christy's shout pulled him out of his reverie. He looked to the point that held her attention. He tensed at the sight of a large group of feral wakers standing down the street, at what he thought of as a respectful distance.

"They've been there some while." Christy told him. "Simply watching. George doesn't seem concerned about them."

Ricker squinted. "Well, I can't say as I'm surprised. All they had to do was follow their noses." He moved forward, toward where Christy stood, and closer to the newcomers. "We met this group at Church this morning. They showed a remarkable reverence... respected it as a special place."

The group sat on their haunches in the middle of the street, their accoutrements in piles around them, waiting. The tall man who had lingered on the steps at the church made eye contact with Ricker, then stood and moved slowly toward him. He stopped and waited.

"I guess he wants you to meet him halfway," Christy nudged Ricker with her comment.

Ricker gauged the resident wakers who had also noticed the arrival of the new group. They stopped what they were doing, but none seemed concerned and returned to their warming themselves by their grills, as the evening temperatures began to drop. Ricker shrugged and approached the man.

He did the 'me Tarzan, you Jane' introduction, naming the gray-eyed man Moses, then put out his hand in a gesture of friendship. The man looked at his hand then clasped his own hand to it, in a firm grip and smiled. Ricker motioned him to take his group to the grills where the wakers offered left overs and dipped out cans full of warming water to make hot chocolate or coffee. Moses' group pitched in with items from their packs, sharing with any who seemed interested.

They numbered thirty, which increased his caseload of wakers to 80 something. He wondered at the numbers of refugees who would continue wander out of the abattoir of the town and cheered with each life, each victory over the madness. Since his folk had learned to mine the riches of canned items, start a fire, cook different meats, and make rice and canned vegetable now, they would be the perfect teachers for the other groups. The wakers had a chance. Their dependence on him was decreasing exponentially as they gained experience on how to deal with the world as a pantry.

He caught Christy's attention.

"Here you go, lady. Here are your farm hands." Ricker gestured to the men, women, and children spread out around them, following the family's example of cleaning up and gathering trash.

She gave him thumbs up and a grin but still maintained vigil.

It was getting dark when Austin and Tyler returned without Kim and Eve. They said Mica had wanted to keep the baby overnight and Kim had begged to stay with her new friends for a sleep over. He felt his load lighten, a little.

Ricker thanked Christy for her help and time and shook her hand warmly. Ricker could tell Christy was drooping, but she had not complained. "You let me know what I can do to help with your new project whenever you're ready." He told her.

"Ricker, it's been an eye-opener watching you work with your people. I learned a lot today. I'll stop by after dawn in the morning and I'd like to take a pickup full of adults; let them see what it's like. Bring them back in the evening. There was an outdoor grill there; I can see they are fed before we get back."

She took the mini-van back to Windmill and Austin, looking worlds better for his respite, mounted guard on top of the truck as the evening progressed. Ricker had plenty of help as he dug a grave for the bones.

They put up a cross. RIP 30 Souls.

It should have read 30 Billion Souls.

# Chapter 57: Sunday: Rager De-raged

They spent about 45 minutes looking over the company's warehouse of solar equipment. It was all in various stages of assembly. Al checked every nook and cranny and came up with a system suitable for the Clinic to have limited electricity. If he could find the help to install it. He knew what to do, how to do it, but not exactly how to accomplish it with the people on hand. He shrugged. It'll happen or it won't. Spring was a couple of weeks away and then summer.

"What do ya think kiddo? Want to try stopping by the lumberyard for some two-by-fours for the tree house. Are you getting tired yet?"

Josie nodded her approval of the plan and climbed into the truck.

"I hope they have the yard unlocked. Don't feel much like going into a dark building looking for the yard keys." Al mused as they pulled up to the lumberyard gate. His eyes caught movement across the street where a middle-sized two-story Budgetary Inn sat hunkered between a gas station and a fast food joint. The parking lot resembled a campground with a long string of wakers heading in from the east off down the street. They looked tired and worn from constant moving from place to place.

The smell of charcoal hung over the ubiquitous odor of decay, coming from beside a small hauler. Five or six people had operated several grills and as the smell of cooking meat started wafting toward them he watched. Al could not tell and who was immune from the way they moved around who was a waker. None of them spoke so he presumed they were all waker. A figure came out of the front office carrying cleaning supplies and when he saw Al pull up, he shouted out an invitation across the street.

"Let's go meet them." Josie pleaded.

The man introduced himself and reached for Al's hand. "Name's Reggie. You with the Home group, too. Want to thank you all for getting this place cleaned out for us. Our group is worn slick pushing to get here, with enough time to make a decent camp. Had no idea someone would be kind enough to think to set us up like this."

Al introduced himself. "We're from Windmill, neighbors of Home. Got quite a group following you."

Reggie nodded. "About a hundred and a half, hard to say, they keep moving around. My partner over there, Ursula thinks it's more than that, but a couple of them are trailers. Left them behind when we started moving so fast."

Al examined the man's truck, which was loaded with scavenged items and Al could see those that arrived carried more which they dropped wherever they found a place to squat and rest.

"Ursula and I were hoping to make it to the River on up the road, that's the site we picked out for setting up a base. Sorry we didn't make it; I am getting tired of being a nomad. I'm sure they are too. Thanks to the Home people, at least we have a hot meal and won't have to clean out rooms before we collapse."

When he heard Josie call out Al waved her to come meet everyone. She shot out of the truck like a puppy let off its leash. "Mr. Al... there's a cannibal here! It isn't safe! Run!"

"Whoa, Josie, what? How do you know?" Al and Reggie could see something was wrong. Every waker in view began running, scattering, hiding.

"I just do, Mr. Al. They all tickle my brain, but this one feels stingy. Like a bee! He's getting closer. I can't tell where he is. Come on! Hide! Get in the truck." Al moved quickly picking Josie up, and then ran for his truck. He assumed Reggie did the same, but he didn't look back to find out.

Before he could get there, a figure tackled him throwing him to the ground. He twisted and let go of Josie as he went down trying to set her more or less on her feet, then reached for the cannibal's face in time to turn his snapping teeth. He couldn't see Josie; hoping desperately that he was buying her enough time to get away.

The cannibal was on top of him, swinging, and connecting time after time. Al caught a brief look into his eyes and saw knowledge there, not the vacant, mindlessness he had seen in Ruthie's eyes, but rage driven by cunning insanity.

Al knew he was in dire trouble when a blow broke his nose and everything went red. He went down on the asphalt and felt every one of the savage blows the rager sent his way. He couldn't get to his feet, couldn't clear his vision, or stop the world from spinning.

Al had made his way through high school scuffling in some mean street fights, so he knew some moves, but it had been a long time and the man was incredibly strong and had caught him off guard. He tried to suck in air, but things were getting fuzzy around the edges and his lungs felt like they would explode. As a last ditch effort, he stopped trying to defend himself and tried to get to his gun before he died. He had to do something. He couldn't leave Josie. She would be next.

Suddenly, the beating stopped. His face throbbed with each beat of his pounding heart blinding him repeatedly with the pain. All he was aware of was the throbbing that even outweighed the pounding fists of the rager. He kept moving, rolling to his side despite the sharp pain that told him his ribs were broken. Josie was depending on him. He had to get his gun. If he could only get it out of the holster. He rolled, as the seconds stretched like eternity waiting for that next blow that would take him the rest of the way out.

Josie!

Suddenly his mind cleared enough to realize the pounding was inside, not out. Taking in shallow quick breaths to minimize the pain in his chest, he managed to clear his vision and to see a wall of legs rising above him and the sounds of a scuffle beyond that. He pushed himself to his knees with a groan; then to his feet.

From his new vantage point, he could see the wall of legs had turned to a wall of shoulders, all of which were encircling what he thought were two men pounding something on the ground. It was hard to tell, with the brief glimpses he caught, while he searched frantically for Josie.

He tried to call her name, but the sound that came out was a croak and a cough. Pain flashed through his mind and face. His nose was broken, probably some ribs cracked, he thought. He tried again, but before he could get it out, a hand landed on his shoulder. He reacted, rearing back his right fist for an offensive smash.

"Whoa, big guy. Hold on. It's okay. You're okay. Your daughter is in my truck. One of my people grabbed her and ran as soon as she landed. She hit her head and was unconscious, but she's awake now. As you can see, Damon is handling the rager."

It took Al a minute to stand down; blink himself back to something resembling rationality. He shifted his stance and nodded his thanks to Reggie.

"Don't thank me, Al. Damon and the other wakers saved you. Thank them." Reggie said handing him a towel to stem the blood coming from his nose. The man walked back toward his truck, leaving Al with his pain and his shifting paradigm.

He was confused as he saw the waker group open up, giving him a clear view of Damon and his buddy pushing up off of the battered rager, who was still alive but unconscious. They hoisted the man to his feet, dragged him over to the strip of grass between the lot and the street, and then laid him gently on the grass.

They had not killed the rager and it dawned on Al, that they did not intend to prevent him from waking up and doing it again.

He mentally shook his head, trying to clear his mind and comprehend what he was seeing. When his vision cleared, Al focused again on his opponent and saw him waking. He tensed to call out a warning, but the man simply lay there and stared at nothing. Everyone else ignored him.

What the...? Was this rage or another phase of the virus? He did not know. As he continued to suck air and try to get his heart rate back to normal, one thing was crystal clear: he felt sympathy for the rager. Maybe a bit of pity, but suddenly he knew that the wakers, whether cannibal or survivor, were victims of this insane disease and were being tossed about like a cat in the jaws of a pit-bull. Even the cannibal that had brought him down.

He was a man. A father, or son, who had not asked to contract a terrible disease that ripped his soul from his body; he had not asked it to rip his mind out as well. Poor bastard.

Al watched as the other wakers walked away from the former rager. They were turning the other cheek. Choosing to not judge or punish, only defend.

Al was not a religious man, but he believed in God. He believed man had free will to choose. These people, wiped clean of all prejudice and preconceived morals and judgments, had exercised their choice to limit their reaction to necessary force. They deserved respect and perhaps a little awe.

He pushed himself to step forward past the men and women who ringed Damon.

"Damon." Al put out his hand when the man turned to face him. "I owe you." The man looked at him with intelligent brown eyes and nodded, then took his hand. Al looked at the second man who had helped subdue his attacker and shook his hand. "And you."

When he looked around the circle, he nodded and shook each by the hand, memorizing their faces. Even if he had no name to attach, he would remember them.

# Chapter 58: Sunday: Father and Friend

"Mr. Al!" Josie screamed from the cab of Reggie's truck; her fear and concern for him broke him away from the crowd. He turned and staggered toward her, his arm outstretched as he went to one knee. She ran to him, crying, and laughing at the same time.

Al couldn't hold back the groan of pain as he wrapped one arm around her. She pulled back and looked at the wadded bloody towel at his nose, touched his swollen, battered face. "Are you going to die, Mr. Al? I don't want you to die. I love you." Her face, streaked with tears and dirt, scrunched in emotions so strong they clouded her eyes and flushed the color from her cheeks.

He hugged her gently, fighting to keep the love and relief he felt from overwhelming him, and whispered into her hair, "I'm here, Josie. I love you too. Hush sweetie. Don't cry, okay?"

When their emotions subsided a bit, he pushed her away a little and began to check her over, noting the huge bump on the back of her head and scrapes on her arms and legs. "Are you okay?" he asked her. She hesitated, her brown eyes slid sideways as though she were hiding something.

Al brought her chin back around and made her look at him. "Remember what you say is your word. Tell me again; are you all right? I don't mean just your body. Are you okay?"

She nodded "I'm okay, Mr. Al, but, my head is. Something is different. Remember I told you they tickle my brain..." She nodded to the wakers, and then hung her head like a whipped puppy expecting a beating.

Al glanced over at the wakers, who were watching them. He remembered her near hysterical words and the conviction of her warning before he picked her up and ran. "Yeah, and then you said 'this one feels stingy. Like a bee'... You meant the rager didn't you?" He narrowed his eyes, uncertain of what to think, but certain it was upsetting her.

She fingered her goose egg and nodded. "After I hit my head and woke up in the truck, the tickle I always felt when they're around was gone. Now I hear them talking. They are talking to each other and I can... hear them... sort of... more like pictures and feelings than words although, they are learning some words too. Please don't hate me, Mr. Al. It's not my fault. I can't help it if I know stuff and learn fast. It's not fair nobody likes having me around. I'm sorry!" She wailed and threw herself at him, hugging, and sobbing into his neck. "Please don't send me away, too."

'Damn! Who did this to her?'

He pulled her away from his neck and looked at her hard, seeing the fear and utter helplessness of a little eight-year-old girl. He did not know what he was feeling, but he did know one thing. This little girl, no matter how she was put together and what strange things were going on in her head, was more important to him than his own life.

"Aw, Josie, don't cry. I'm not going to send you away. I told you once I wouldn't ever send you away. How could I? You're my little girl. I need you around. I've gotten used to you and you don't make fun of me when I seem stupid."

Josie sniffled and wiped her tears. "Your little girl?"

"Yeah." He realized what he had verbalized and how right it sounded. It scared the pants off him, but pleased him, too.

He frowned for a minute wrestling with his inadequacies, but the terrified, desperately hopeful face tore all his doubts away.

He smiled, grinned, and then laughed aloud. "Josie. What's your last name?"

"Bonner."

"Josie Bonner, would you do me the great honor of letting me be your guardian. I... well, I don't know if you want to or not, but would you mind maybe see your way clear to calling me... 'Dad'; or something besides Mr. Al?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"You mean you want to adopt me? Forever and ever? You mean it? For real?" Josie cried and hugged him as he nodded.

"Forever and ever. I give you my word to always be your dad and love you as my daughter."

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" Suddenly they were both laughing and hugging and then she pumped air and did a happy dance; she stopped suddenly and really looked at Al. Apparently, she did not like his broken nose and blackening eyes.

"You need to go see the doctor, daddy. We need to have him fix you up." She looked toward the man still lying supine in the grass. "We need to take that man too."

"What? Why? Josie, you do know he's dangerous. Right? He tried to kill us."

She shook her head. "He's not dangerous anymore. He's gone. I don't feel him in my head anymore. They say he's 'empty'. I think they mean his mind is gone, not just his memories. I think the doctor needs to see him."

Al did not understand what she was saying but he knew she was convinced and dead set on taking the... empty man with them. That was enough for him.

It turned out it was not enough for anyone else.

Reggie shook his head in refusal. "Sorry dude, I'd help you, but I don't think they'll let you even near him. They may sometimes seem like monkeys mimicking what we do, but they have intelligence and minds of their own and are not shy about saying no, when it means something. They've done this before; stopped a rager and held him till he went still. When I objected and tried to kill him, they restrained me until I understood they were serious. They wouldn't help him, but they would let me harm him either. The man never moved again, simply lay there. Might still be lying there as far as I know. I never went back to look."

Al looked at Josie then back to Reggie. "We have to try to make them understand, we won't harm him. We want to get him to the doctor. Maybe I should go talk to Damon."

Al took Josie across to where Damon was helping a group fix their evening meal. "Josie, you think you can make him understand about taking the man to Doc?"

"I don't know. I can try to make pictures of what we want to do; I have to think in pictures."

Al frowned, trying to understand what she meant, then had a 'dah' moment, when he realized his confusion was exactly like their confusion. He had no experience of what it's supposed to mean. How could he help them understand?

Josie went to Damon and concentrated for what seemed to Al and his throbbing pain, to be hours. He stared at the man lying alone and unmoving, his eyes open. Finally, Josie nodded. "He understands and he'll help us get the man in the van."

Al nearly passed out in relief.

They pulled up at the Clinic a little before three. The building had once served as a community room for the more independent elders who lived on the grounds. It was not a big building and when they entered looking for help Al could see it was already crowded with equipment, and workers setting it up.

Al had spotted the doctor and plotted a path over to him when a hand touched his arm.

"What the hell happened to you? Come here let me see you." The nurse, had to be Sophie, grabbed his arm, and led him to a chair near the sink area covered with dressings and bottles of medicines. He had never met her before, but he knew about her and had seen her around once before. She was short, businesslike, and used to being in charge.

He started to resist, but Josie was pushing him from behind. He gave up and sat where she placed him with a sigh of relief, aborted by a groan of pain from every part of his body.

"You be good, daddy, let Ms. Sophie take care of you. I'll go get the doctor." She was gone before he could blink.

"Daddy, huh? When did this happen?" The nurse seemed pleased and smug at the same time.

"When I almost lost her to a rager, today."

"Oh, god, no! How many were killed?"

Al found it difficult to talk and breathe at the same time with his nose out of commission and the pain in his ribs. It was blinding at times, so he waved her off and kept his silence.

She put on gloves and took the towel away from him. "It's stopped bleeding, but it is broken. Doc is gonna have to take a look. Are you allergic to any medications? Good. Here, take this. It's a painkiller. I'll see about getting you a place to lie down. We don't have beds set up in here yet, but I can clear the couch."

Al stopped her. "No. This is fine." He refused to budge. She unbuttoned his shirt and checked for more wounds, then wrapped his midsection to support the cracked ribs. By the time the painkiller kicked in, Doc had come over and popped his nose back into place without warning.

"Arrrrrghhhh!" Al screamed blinking furiously against the pain and watering eyes. "You got a mean bedside manner there, Doc."

"Sorry, but I found it's best to do it this way."

Al nodded and continued to blink away the tears then tested his nose. He could draw air through it, at least. "Don't tell him about my ribs, Sophie."

"So, you want to tell me about this rager you have in the back of your truck?" Doc asked.

Sophie's head snapped around and she gasped, "What!"

Able to breathe a bit better and feeling like he was floating in a fog somewhere with no pain, Al told them of the story, but left out Josie giving the warning.

"The wakers refused to kill him. I thought you might want to see if you can help him. It got somewhat tricky with the wakers until we made them understand that we would not hurt him. Seems they're pacifists and have minds of their own."

He saw Doc and Sophie exchange glances then Doc heaved a sigh. "Usually it's Sophie who brings home the strays. I would never have guessed you for this kind of thing. What else happened that we don't know about? What changed your attitude toward the cannibals?"

Al shrugged. "Nothing. Everything."

# Chapter 59: Endings

Doc insisted Al and Josie stay overnight for observation in the apartment they had fixed up as a ward. Al was in too much pain to argue, so he lay down on a pallet in the same room as the 'empty man' as Damon had pantomimed. Josie took the bed beside him.

They spent the first two hours with Sophie frequently checking on their neural responses and vital signs. She was friendly, but not overly talkative which Al appreciated greatly. He turned his head. Despite his eyes being nearly swollen shut, he could still see Josie's tiny form turned to him, watching him anxiously.

"Hey, sweetie." he croaked. "I'm sorry we didn't get anything for the tree house." It was not what he wanted to say.

He thought about what had terrified her even more than the attacking rager had. "Please don't hate me, Mr. Al. It's not my fault. I can't help it if I know stuff and learn fast. Please don't send me away."

He could not get her pinched and tearful face from his mind as she begged him to love her. A wave of weakness washed up from his gut and tightened his heart and throat. Tears sprang to his eyes and leaked out down into his ears. The poor kid. He could not begin to imagine what she must have been through, to become this terrified. Where were her parents? What had happened to them? She had never referred to them in any of their conversations and he had never asked, respecting her privacy. Why had they passed her to foster care instead of a school for gifted children?

He thought of having asked her to be his daughter and the weakness in his belly turned to quivering jelly, but all his previous objections were gone. For better or worse, he was going to do the best he could and give her as much love as she deserved.

He wanted to talk about what she had told him. "I hear them talking. They are talking to each other and I can... hear them." There was so much he wanted to say, but not when Sophie could over hear.

"That's okay, dad. I didn't make that up, did I? You still want to be my dad, don't you?" He couldn't see her face very well, but he knew that too serious look of hers and could hear the angst in her voice.

"Forever and ever, Josie" His voice croaked and rasped. He wanted to say more but it was too painful.

"You want some water, dad? Sophie left some here for us." She got up slowly and helped him drink it then lay down beside him being careful not to bump his battered body. He lifted his arm and pulled her in closer. "I'm gonna sleep a little while, kiddo, okay?"

He could feel her nod and he would have drifted off if Sophie had not come back in to check their vital signs. "Sorry, Al." She grimaced as she finished with Josie. "This will be the last time for about four hours. You two get some sleep." She checked that Silva was still comfortable then pulled the door almost shut. "I'll be in the living room if you need anything."

Al was asleep before she finished talking.

***

When they awoke later, for Sophie's round of vital signs, Josie was happy to see that Christy or Yoona had brought her doll and a book for her to read. There was a note for him with it.

"I wanted to congratulate you and Josie for making it official. My happiest wishes for the both of you. Someone wise once said 'it takes a community to raise a child.' You need any help...I make a great listener and believe it or not, so does Yoona.

Good Luck

Christy"

"She dropped by earlier but you were asleep, so she left the note and doll. Said she'd talk with you later." Sophie told him.

Al and Josie were alone again. "Josie, tell me about hearing Damon and the wakers talking in their heads. Does it scare you?"

"No... Not scared. It feels weird but it still tickles. I don't really hear them. At least, not clear like I can hear you. They sound like they are in a radio and I don't have them tuned in really good and when I do, I can't understand them very well, because they use more pictures that flash by so fast I can't see them clearly. I knew when the second man, the one Reggie called Markus, was talking to me when we sat with him and Damon. I don't know how I knew it was he, though later when he said good-bye, I knew it was his mind. Damon too. They feel different, like voices sound different."

"It must have been scary at first."

She was quiet for a minute while she considered it. "I guess it might have been, if I hadn't been already scared for you."

"Dad. Don't tell anyone, please. The kids at school used to think I'm weird, because I knew all the answers. They laughed and made jokes about me. The kids here don't, yet... I don't want them to think I'm weird."

Al thought about that. "Josie, I won't say anything, but I think you should look around. There are more weird people out there, than there are 'normal' anymore. Don't worry, Josie. I'll keep your secret, till you are ready to tell."

"Thanks, dad."

She drifted off to sleep holding her watcher doll.

***

Monday went by uneventfully, but with an even flow of visitors. Later that evening, Al looked himself in the eye. Determination to save Josie from the rager had kept him going through the punishing battle. He knew he would have died to keep the rager occupied so she could get away. With Ruthie, he had put his life first before hers, but this time, he had put Josie's life first. It was because of Josie he was still alive, not some misguided sense of guilt that he didn't deserve to live. He nodded to the man who looked back from the mirror, as he realized he had done the best he could both times, given the circumstance.

Doc released Al and Josie, after that and told them to take it easy for a few days. When they drove into the Windmill and pulled up to the trailer, Yoona and Christy pulled in behind them with a pickup loaded with Josie's bed and other things.

"We thought we'd help you get your daughter settled in Al, if you don't mind help from a couple of women."

Josie was delighted and hugged them both. They got the remainder of the room cleaned out and Josie's bed assembled and made up in her new princess sheets.

Christy explained she had decided to start an animal farm about a mile away. "Ricker let me take some of his people out there to see if they would like it. Some of them took to it right away. In a day or two, I will move over there permanently, along with the people who seem most interested. Wanted you both to know. Josie, don't forget to come see me. I'll teach you to ride a horse and gather eggs. Okay?"

Ricker and his extended family were moving in to one of the buildings on the same day they went home. He had taken a minute to visit and explain what was going on as well as express his congratulations to Al on becoming a father. "I kind of like what you've done to your face, Al. It's an improvement."

Al tried not to smile because it hurt so much, but he barked a laugh, and then grimaced. "Glad you're here, man. You and your people. Sorry I was such a jerk before. You get settled in, come get me, I'll show you the ropes of this place."

It seemed to Al that once Ricker moved in, things started happening. The front gates opened and wakers streamed in, mostly the children. Some of the college people from Home moved in to start a school for the kids. One woman knew American Sign Language and started teaching anyone who would attend. Nearly every immune did the first day, to get the basics and practice on each other.

The wakers settled in with their Immune guardians and slowly things began to look like promising. Food was not a problem yet. People were taking time to organize and breathe.

He went to see Silva each morning and then again in the evening. He was not sure why but somehow it was cathartic. Friday evening, Al overheard Doc and Sophie talking over their patient.

"I know it sounds callous, but I asked Jesse to go to the hospital, clear the lab and autopsy theatre, and see if he can get the lights on for those areas. I want to see how the virus has changed his brain. This could be the break we need to get some questions answered." Doc told Sophie.

Puzzled, Sophie replied, "We've been doing blood tests, urine samples, and x-rays on nearly everyone, Colt. Are you finding anything? Does it really matter now?"

Colt frowned at her and nodded. "It matters, Sophie. More than you think, but I don't want to say anything until after the autopsy. If I'm right... well, let's wait and see. Ok?"

Al walked in as Doc left, nodding to him. "Is he still alive?"

Sophie nodded and stepped aside for him as she asked him, "Al, I realize it's none of my business, but why do you still come here?"

He laughed. "Hell, I don't know." Then he sobered and watched Silva breath. "It feels like he's someone important and he shouldn't be left to die alone."

When Silva' body finally shut down the next morning, Al was there and closed his eyes like closing a door in a room no longer useable. He went to Sophie with the news then turned to leave.

She sighed. "I'll go tell Doc. He wants to do an autopsy right away. He thinks Silva may have some answers for us."

"What do you expect to find?" Al asked moving with her toward the front door.

She shrugged. "Ask Doc," she nodded at the man as he approached rubbing his hands in a washing motion.

"Ask me what?" Doc queried.

Sophie told him Silva had passed and repeated Al's question.

"I'm interested in the physical changes in the virus victims. You know we talked about how someone manufactured it. It's not natural. We know it causes total personality loss, memory loss, loss of vocalizations, increased empathy, and possibly telepathic communication skills. Not natural. I think I am going to find the virus scrambled their brains physically somehow. I think I'm going to find evidence of the antigen, the pathogen, the cause of this disease because I can't find it in the blood. All I'm seeing are anomalies that are a result of this thing, but not the thing itself."

"Why?" Al asked, genuinely curious. "What difference does it make if you know why or how it happened? It's done. Silva showed us the last stage. It's over. We live with it. Move on." Al frowned.

"Knowing these things puts us back in control, Al. We need to know what else has happened to us and to the people. Somebody made this... Insanity Virus. Maybe I'm being cynical, but I am fairly certain they released it on purpose. This autopsy might give us proof 'somebody' wanted to control or remove us."

"Let's say that's exactly what happened." Al conjectured, starting to get annoyed. "Okay! So what? Is anything going to change? Are we going to do anything different? No, so let's move on. Call ourselves lucky and deal with it."

"That would be a good choice, Al," Doc sighed deeply, dropping his voice to almost a whisper; as though he were talking more to himself than either Sophie or Al. "If I thought this was over."

"What do you mean? You don't think it's over?" Al's protectiveness sensed a threat to the community and therefore to Josie.

"I think they are going to come looking to see what they have wrought, or maybe looking to see who survived. Sooner or later, they are going to find us and the People."

"What!" Al exploded. "We don't have enough to worry about? You got to go looking for more?" Al argued. "You got to waste time and resources to find out something we can't do anything about?"

Doc's face darkened several shades as his blood pressure rose. He was losing control. Al had never seen him raise his voice or lose his mild-mannered demeanor, but he startled Al by stepping forward and pounding his finger into the man's chest.

"How do you know we can't do anything about it? How do you know? You're sticking your head in the sand! If I'm right, someone is going to come after them. After the survivors. When they do, they are going to do something we damn well better be able to prevent!"

Al back peddled under the irate physician's onslaught. Surprise overcame his fear for Josie and his feeling of impotence. He stood for an awkward moment with his mouth open. He finally spit out. "Damn, Doc. Passionate much?" He took off his cap, ran his fingers through his thick hair, and then put his cap back on buying time to get back in control. He was sorry he had lost it.

Doc blinked, pushed his glasses back up his nose, and dropped his eyes. If his skin hadn't been so dark, Al thought he would have seen Doc's face pale, then suddenly flush with embarrassment.

"Yeah, um. Sorry. I guess this is all getting to me." The doctor mumbled, still not looking anyone in the eye. The two men stood apart, shuffling their feet with their heads down, reminding Sophie of two schoolboys who had been caught scuffling on the playground. Sophie was trying to hide a grin, as she looked to Al. "You did ask."

# Chapter 60: Answers without End

They arrived at the hospital, started up the generators and cut off all areas except the one for the morgue and lab. Sophie, Vahan, and Doc went quickly to work preparing the autopsy theatre. Doc insisted on taking extra precautions in locating formalin and formic acid for sterilization. It was clear he was expecting to find prions, because prions were highly infectious and resistant to normal decontamination procedures.

Jesse and Anne stood guard at the end of the long basement hall that led from morgue to the stairwell up to the lab. They were not expecting trouble. The number of reported attacks and people reverting had gone down to near zero in the last two days, but they stayed alert at Jesse's insistence.

"There have been plenty of dead around, why haven't you autopsied them?" Vahan asked.

"It was gruesome, but I tried looking at the older corpses, unfortunately they were too far gone to tell me anything for certain. Anyway, now we've finished correlating the blood samples and other tests from all the groups and factions. The information I've gotten from them tells me a lot, but it brings up questions which can only be answered by an autopsy."

Doc made his first incision and Sophie's stomach protested. She turned away as Doc worked quickly with Vahan's more experienced help.

This was her first real autopsy. She had done the obligatory dissection in anatomy class. It had been a walk in the park compared to working on an unpreserved human, especially one she had known, however little. She gagged a time or two, but forced herself to do her job of taking and preparing tissue samples.

"That's it then." Doc concluded, finally, putting his equipment aside.

Sophie looked at the clock. Four hours. She was exhausted physically, but her mind was racing with what she had heard, as Doc discovered changes by the virus.

They decontaminated themselves and the instruments. He and Vahan finished by stripping off their gloves and protective eyewear placing them all in a biohazard bin followed by their gowns. They carried the samples to the lab with Jesse and Anne as escorts.

Doc got straight to work, constantly checking reference books for comparisons. The place was quiet as... well, a morgue. Maybe they brought the stillness with them. The faint hum of lights and whir of equipment seemed to reverberate off the bare walls. After what seemed like forever, he looked up from the final sample, made some notes, and shoved himself back.

Doc sighed, rubbing his forehead while the room's occupants held their breaths, waiting for him to give the big pronouncement. "I was right but I never dreamed how far it would go. Someone manufactured and released this thing on purpose. No question. They have mutated the human genome and we are being dragged through evolution by the tail.

"What are you saying, Doc?" Anne demanded.

"Vahan, suspected prions, which are specific kinds of proteins found in the nervous system; they are susceptible to misfolding, unwinding or losing their structural pattern. This is a destructive process. They do not rebuild or repair and they are not intelligent enough to orchestrate the complementary changes we saw in Silva, where one portion of the brain is destroyed, but another portion is enhanced."

"Do you understand so far?"

Anne and Jesse, the two lay people, nodded cautiously so Doc continued.

"What we saw in the autopsy... is medically impossible given the time frame and progression of circumstances. Look at this." He stood up from his microscope and waved Vahan over to look.

While he did, Doc started pacing and went on. "While some areas grew, other areas shrank. Bottom line their memory, personalities, everything but instinct and ability to learn permanently disappeared along with verbal speech centers. Which explains their inability to talk. There is some growth elsewhere, but I can only guess at what those mean maybe increased empathy, and possibly telepathic communication skills."

Sophie shook her head and hugged herself. "No wonder they went mad. It must have felt like electrical eels crawling around in their heads with nonstop fireworks going off. Neurons and synapses firing billions of times a second."

"So, the victims of this "flu" will always be like this. Their kids as well." Anne conjectured.

"Not necessarily so, but more than probable." Doc agreed.

Sophie put her fingers on her forehead and leaned on the desk. Poor Ricker. Sophie prayed the new Lisa would fall back in love with him.

Vahan had motioned Sophie to look at the microscope while Doc was talking. He was puzzled and now Sophie knew why. "This looks like a piece of the weird things, the anomalies we've been seeing in everyone's blood. It's the constant, isn't it?" she asked, looking up.

Doc was standing beside her. "For Jesse and Anne's benefit, let me backtrack a bit. I've been taking blood samples from every one I can get a needle into trying to see, if I can get some information on what is happening to the people. I have compared their blood in every stage. Infected pre-rager blood, Maggie's as a rager; Maggie's in a coma and as a waker, Silva's blood, and ours."

"Hold on to your seats, everyone." Sophie advised, cringing, keeping her fingers crossed that she was wrong. "Doc is about to drop a bomb on us."

Doc gave her a wry smile. "We have anomalies in our blood, which are related to, but not the same as any of the other anomalies."

Jesse stood up tall, away from his lean on the wall near the door, the watchful guard gone, replaced by an incredulous man. "We? As in the immune?"

"Yes. I'm afraid so. I'm thinking these anomalies in general are artifacts of the prion that combined with the virus that then coupled with this," he indicated the microscope. "The constant; the one thing that is the same in every sample I've taken. It's not organic. I've heard of them, but I've never seen one before. I suspect it's a nanite, a microscopic robot, which appears to have attached to an antibody in our blood and to some changing variable in the other stages of the disease. I suspect the nanite acts as an accelerant and maybe a targeting system for the virus/prion."

Jesse shook his head and opened his eyes wide as if trying to clear his vision. "Back the truck up a bit, here Doc. What does it mean if we have this anomaly thing in our blood?" Jesse's face reflected his concern.

"Not sure, Jesse. It could be nothing more than an indicator that we were exposed; the antibody took out the culprit antigen before it could hook up with the prion."

"This is crazy!" Jesse spat it out like pure lemon juice.

"Nanite? Are you serious?" Sophie heard herself wail, her voice way higher than she wanted. She could feel herself losing control as they moved into this futuristic scenario. She could almost feel these things crawling under her skin. "We have machines in us?"

Jesse moved over to wrap his arm around her shoulder. "Easy, Phee." he whispered, but she could hear his unease was nearly as strong as hers was and somehow that comforted her.

Sophie's eyes traveled from face to face to see how they were dealing with all this. Some of it she had known, but the ramifications were starting to worm their way into her mind like the nanites under her skin. Did the others feel it too? Vahan's face was a study in concentration, pursuing some deep thought to see where it led. Anne, her head back on the wall looked numb, her mind disengaged. "Doc," her voice was quiet, scared. "Are these things still active in us? Did they misfire or maybe are still floating around like a time bomb?

Everyone's eyes snapped toward her, as they registered the question then snapped to Doc where he'd stopped pacing and stood with his mouth open as though he'd been about to say something.

Doc blinked. "Hmmm, good question. I don't know."

Vahan stepped forward. "Okay. Say, you're right; someone did this deliberately with a goal in mind. Paranoia tells us it was not for the good of all humanity since it killed almost everybody. Something must have gone wrong, because what we ended up with are humans with no memory, but more than able to learn, and do not condone unnecessary violence. Where's the down side here? I mean besides losing 90 percent of the world's population. It seems this is what religion has been trying to achieve since Jesus, mankind with a moral sense and the ability to understand each other."

Doc shrugged. "More likely they were trying to make a living, reproducible, malleable, zombie workforce but you're right. From here, it makes no sense. "

"Won't they be surprised when they find out the world died and their worker race is not zombified?" Sophie quipped.

***

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, won't you please remember to leave a review for my book at your favorite retailer? Thank you, Kate Rhoads

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About the Author

Kate Rhoads is retired after a lifetime of varied careers in photography, negative retouching, and nursing. She lives with her husband of twenty years on a mini-farm in central Kansas where she putters in her garden, obsessively paints landscapes, and compulsively works on becoming a writer. Her grasp of grammar comes from the Benedictine nuns who taught her sentence diagraming in grade school. She studied Painting and Design at Kansas University, and nursing at Emporia State University.

She has been writing short stories for herself and friends since she was ten, and though she never aspired to be a writer, she finally wrote the novel, which she always dreamed of writing. She feels that writing is painting pictures with words. They both are an art.

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