

Jason Borrego

INFECTED FREAKS

VOLUME 1

FAMILY FIRST

# Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Infected Freaks Volume One: Family First

Copyright © 2014 Jason Borrego

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means –electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or another—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published by Broken Light Studios at Smashwords

First Edition: August 2014

<http://www.jasonborrego.com/>

# Table of Contents

Copy Right

Author's Note

Prologue

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VOLUME 2: THE ECHO OF DECAY

CORDYCEPS FUNGUS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

OTHER BOOKS BY JASON BORREGO

CONTESTS

#  Authors Note

INFECTED FREAKS isn't your typical zombie apocalypse. The survival horror series brings to life the struggle of Abraham Heinz, his family, and the torment of a world facing extinction. The series, fused with emotion, will be delivered in a volume of novella-sized episodes that will make up a much larger tale of tragedy. Think of it as a favorite TV show or comic that will continue to build upon each breathtaking volume.

Dare to enter into the promise of heart-wrenching decisions? Make sure to leave the light on first.

# Prologue

Abraham Heinz sipped his whiskey and settled into the stiff wooden chair in his two-story barn. The salvaged police radio was ready to broadcast in the studio he built on the second floor. He took a long look at the rusty microphone he recovered and exhaled. This was his last chance to reach his two missing children in the ruins of America. Abraham, a devoted father of five, had three of his grown children with him on the mountain farm. His two missing children, a son and daughter, fled to different sides of America's second Civil War. In his heart, he knew the broadcast was limited, but he was determined to try anyway. Abraham would never rest until he discovered the fate of both Robb and Alison. He started his broadcast the same way he did every one of them, with a description of how things got to where they were today. He always tried to give information to any who may be listening in for the first time.

"It's been three years since the planetary object known as Red Dead first appeared in the sky. What's left of my household thinks that's the least of our worries, but I don't think it was a coincidence the first shots of combat happened hours later. It wasn't long after the United States of America erupted in a merciless Civil War. Again, the greatest nation in the world was alienated by an extended version of the Mason Dixon Line. The rest of the world followed suit, picking sides for reasons only God knows. That's when I packed up my family in Denver and fled to the Rocky Mountains. I had to get out of the city. The good state of Colorado banded together with Kansas and Utah, shaping America's only neutral zone. Working together, the three states were safe from the effects of the Civil War."

Abraham hated his digital voice; it sounded arrogant and gaudy. His sun-weathered skin itched from a dozen hay pricks and the combined smell of human and animal feces assaulted his broad, wrinkled nose. "We took over a small farm a few clicks from the Heart of Colorado. It took some getting used to, living in the mountains away from all the glamor of the Mile High City. But we had everything we needed, and most important, my family was safe. Then, life got real. Some say the Northern Republic was the first to drop a nuclear bomb. Still, others suggested the dirty rumor was all a setup organized by the Southern Liberty. All I know is that one year into the dreadful war every nation launched whatever it had. According to the news, the hardest hit regions were overseas, but that didn't mean America escaped unscathed.

"The East Coast of America was reported to be a radioactive wasteland. A few days later, a terrible silence blanketed the airwaves. Televisions were reduced to static. Odd enough, the antenna radio stations lasted for a few more days. The self-proclaimed experts explained that the sheer force of the countless bombs provoked perpetual tremors throughout the tectonic plates. Mother Nature responded to our stupidity with a fury that devastated more or less every inch of dirt. The last bit of news we heard was that California had broken and slipped off into the salty sea. I guess, in the end, all those conspiracy shows got it right."

Abraham knew handheld radios existed out there somewhere. What he didn't understand was why nobody responded. It was always a one-way address. "It took almost six months before we came across our first set of survivors after the initial bombing. For the longest time, I thought the mountain folk might have been all that was left. Then, rumors of the sickos, murderers, and the ruthless assaulted our ears. In the southern part of the state, the wicked banded together and plundered the weak and the innocent. A few of them drifted my direction. I killed to protect my family, and I would do it again. By the grace of God, we managed to endure. Only a few survivors ever managed to find my farm. Most of them stayed true to the far-reaching highways leading toward Denver and promise of its bright lights.

"I didn't trust anyone. My wife made me give a few of the travelers a night's stay in my barn. One of them I was forced to murder. The other thanked us and continued on toward the Mile High City. The Stiles, a nice bunch of folk, they asked me and my family to tag along and I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about it. Yet, my wife was quick to remind me that no one ever came back from that direction. We spent many nights watching the vacant roads. Her words gave me an eerie feeling, so I declined. I figured my chances were better in the sticks. Don't know if they ever made it, and right now, I don't care."

His words sounded like a monster with terrible fangs, terrifying anyone out there listening. He took another deep gulp and wiped the wetness from his cracked lips. His back was soaked with sweat, his nerves on end. Yet Abraham was determined to finish his routine broadcast.

"My brother used to say we needed struggles to polish our hearts. I still think that's a crock of bologna. One year into this senseless war, right before the first bomb fell, my sweet son Robb ran away with some foolish scientists. He decided to fight for the South. I told him we didn't have a stake in this accursed conflict, but he went anyway. It broke my heart and damn near killed my wife. A few days later, my youngest daughter, Alison, enlisted in the Northern Republic Army. Her new husband was a high-ranking officer. That was the real reason she left.

"Still, that night I suffered my first heart attack. Looking back, death would have been much kinder. But I'm sure you've had troubles too. When it rains it pours. It seems the end of the world was simply the beginning of my nightmare. Partner, if you're out there in the wilderness, listening to me ramble on this old police radio, then you already know about the infected freaks. That's what my family calls them. They aren't senseless like those zombies you used to see in the movies. These things are right out of a nightmare."

Abraham sighed. He saw a great mountain when he closed his stinging eyes. The mound was covered in fresh graves, and he wished he could have been buried in one before all this trouble went down. _Breathe, you need to breathe._ He gripped the longstanding microphone and rasped. His tired hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"My sweet mama used to tell me to turn on the nightlight if I was scared. Bless her soul, the whole night sky is a pulsating red light, but I don't feel any safer. My family thinks I'm crazy, and at this point I might be. I've studied that foul crimson light escaping Red Dead. I've seen the way it nourishes the infected freaks. I was reading a book about photosynthesis and I'm willing to bet my farm that's exactly what's going on. Those creatures aren't dead. They're living monsters that don't need to sleep or rest. The only thing they need is to spread those spores by devouring man and beast."

As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he saw frightening images in the rough wood timber of the construct. He pushed away the whiskey bottle and decided to be more careful about his life choices. Was he an alcoholic? He didn't think so.

"Materials are slim. Most of the neighboring ranches have been looted. It seems the infected have already consumed everything outside of fifty miles of my farm. As much as I hate the monsters, I hate the buzzing sound chiming in their foul mouths ten times more. It hurts my old ears. If you hear something that sounds like a swarm of bees riding hell's wave, you better run until you can't run anymore. I learned to love the overcast skies at night because the churning clouds blot out the crimson color of night. When the cherry light is blocked, the infected seem to go away. I don't know how else to explain it. Red Dead did this. I don't know how, but everything is linked to the approaching planet. Peter, my oldest son, says the planet is still out near the edge of the Milky Way. To me it looks as close as the moon."

The creaking boards under the pressure of the hissing wind brought his attention back toward the rocking loft doors. It was almost dark, and that meant locking down and praying nothing infected ventured this far into the woods. "I've been thinking hard about packing up and heading to Denver. The infected have stalked closer to the farm in recent weeks. I don't know how we've survived this long. That and the dwindling supplies have kept an old man like me second guessing the safety of the farm. I want to find my missing children. I guess that is part of the reason I've been talking your ear off for the last few months. Is it safe? Does anyone know what is happening in Denver or anywhere else? Is anybody out there?"

Abraham wanted nothing more than to stay at that farm. The Civil War separated him from his blood and getting them back was his deepest desire. Had Robb and Alison stayed at the farm, he might have relaxed for a small time. For all he knew, the farm was the last bit of civilization left in post-apocalyptic America. Perhaps both sides of the war killed what little life was left on Earth. Abraham didn't want to think what it meant if his family was all that remained. _We will never be alone._ His mind centered on the infected monsters creeping closer with each new season.

"This is Abraham Heinz, and if you can hear this, I will help you. Meet me at the dinosaur gas station where Highway 24 and 9 intersect. Do it tomorrow before dusk. I will help you in exchange for labor or answers. Robb, Alison, if you can hear this, you get your butts home. If anyone else is out there, the daylight is all burned up. You best get somewhere safe and do it fast. That daunting, blood-soaked sky is going to get them vile things moving in a hurry. You can have all the money in the world. You can drive fancy cars and travel across the oceans. But without family, you have nothing. Goodnight." Abraham flicked the power switch and buried his carven face in his hands. _How did this happen?_

He told himself he was done with the silly broadcast, but in his heart, he thought he might try it again tomorrow night. He was beginning to think it might help him survive.

#  I

Abraham's sour features hovered above the rocks, needles, and yellow grass, inching closer to the threshold of the cliff. His face was etched in rich dirt and carved by close to sixty years of strenuous life. The foul stench of his breath told of wasted hours spent watching and observing. Out in the distance, he saw a glimmering light kindle through the broken window of the abandoned gas station. Using his collar, he wiped at his sweaty cheek and took a second glance. His age had left his eyes in question. Yet, without a shadow of a doubt, he saw the spark of a flickering candle. _Somebody's in the station_. What he didn't know was how that was possible. Looking at his black banded wrist watch, he wondered if the intruders had been in there since last night or maybe longer.

The slanted sign with the goofy green dinosaur reflected the dying sunlight, causing a glare. Exhaling a grave breath, Abraham realized the comfort of daylight was about to diminish in a hurry. It was hard for him to believe it had been three years since Red Dead first appeared in the sky. He shifted back, his sore spine aching, and waited for the durable rucksack to sink into the soft earth. His deep-rooted eyes steadied and searched for his grandson. A faint outline stood erect near an old ponderosa pine. "Come on over," he whispered, careful to cup his hands around his chapped lips. It wasn't long before Hunter joined him on the tangled overlook. The view gave them a faultless line of sight. The teenage boy had become his strength over the tumultuous years. Still, Hunter was brash and unwise.

"Are we heading home?" Hunter questioned, crouching near a berry bush. The boy's stonewashed jean jacket was smeared in a week's worth of filth and briny sweat. He slipped his hands into his pockets and stared. "What's wrong?"

The agony on Abraham's stamped face spoke volumes to the type of world he was forced to withstand. It had become an ugly place of horror and death. "We're not alone." Abraham pointed to the lambent light. He watched the boy unsling a bolt action rifle and slip behind its scope. "Can you see anything?" Abraham asked as he rested his hands on his hips and waited for the boy to scan the tiny strip of town.

"I see a filthy man in the building." Hunter pulled back and adjusted the optics. "He's the only one inside the gas station as far as I can tell."

Abraham was amazed Hunter could see through the broken windows of the ruined structure. "Is it your father? Is he inside the building?"

Hunter sighed. "Nope, the flesh is too dark." Abraham knew his grandson was ready to give up on his missing father. Robb, the boy's father, left in a hurry two long years ago. Nobody had heard from him since, and in all reality, he was most likely dead. At least that's what his grandson believed. Abraham hated hearing him whine. He had told Hunter a hundred times that he sounded like a little girl. It wasn't meant to be mean; it was just the way Abraham was wired. The Apocalypse caused the old man to callous. In a way, Abraham knew Hunter was having a difficult time. That's why he put up the sass.

"Is it one of those things?" Abraham asked, leaning closer. He had only encountered the creatures a few times. Each time, the infected scared the piss out of him. The buzzing hum was terrible.

Hunter rolled up his cuffs, pinching his gun between his side and elbow. "The infected, no, this is a normal human best I can tell."

Abraham had come to hate the infected freaks. Whatever they were, it was something dreaded. "Daylight is running out. You ready for this?"

"Let me go," Hunter pleaded. "You're getting too old to keep rushing into the darkness. It should be me down there."

Abraham shook his head and scrunched his white, bushy eyebrows. "What did you say?"

His grandson showed his teeth and this only pinched Abraham harder. "Nothing," the boy muttered.

Abraham heard the smartass loud and clear. He decided to ignore it. "You're the better shot," Abraham explained, believing in the boy's raw talent. "Besides, I left my glasses at the farm."

"Why don't we leave him?"

"What if he knows what's going on? I need answers. I can't stand the silence. I need to know if Denver is a smoking crater. Nobody ever comes back from that direction. Or maybe it's all that is left."

His grandson looked at him as if his words bored him. "Alright, do what you need to do."

"Oh, never mind." Abraham looked up at the planetary object, knowing that in less than an hour, its crimson light would bring the infected out to the abandoned highways in swarms. He didn't want to think what the cities might actually look like. "I promise, next time you can go, and I'll cover you. But this time, I need your eagle eyes scanning for threats. My radio broadcast is far-reaching and we don't want any trouble." Abraham had fed the boy the same line at least half a dozen times over the last month.

"Okay, Grandpa. Remember the candle light, you'll draw those things like a moth to the flame once the daylight dies," his grandson reminded him.

Hunter made it sound as if he were a parent reminding a child. This only burned Abraham's patience more. He thought about the wretched creatures and how fast they sprung upon the Stencil Ranch and its bright lights. If Abraham hadn't dragged Hunter out of it, his grandson would have perished with the entire family of ranchers. Remembering the sight of moldy blood threaded through the freaks' fast fangs brought a shade of gray to his tough features. The screams of terror echoed in his mind. The monsters seemed to enjoy the warmth of light.

"We got about twenty minutes. Keep me safe." Abraham gulped.

"Whatever," Hunter said, rolling his piercing eyes. He rested his elbows on the edge of a dubious boulder. On his belly, he placed his focus on the optic and rested his finger parallel to the trigger.

"Never touch the trigger until you're ready to shoot," Abraham repeated for the third time this trip. The words _Remington_ were stenciled to the stained wood frame of the high-powered rifle. The gun had served Hunter well over the years. It was the same rifle Hunter used to kill a man, a real, living human.

It took a moment for Abraham to muster the strength to carry on. Once he did, he hiked down the curved dirt pathway, staying low for cover and support. To the left and right were knots of rocks and weeds that stretched on for miles in every direction. Wild bushes and pine trees dotted the rigid landscape. A light breeze whispered through his blue flannel shirt as he kept an eye on the empty highways that intersected at the strip of town. The several buildings etched together didn't deserve to be called a town. It was too small.

The sudden retreat of shadows at the edge of the uninhabited structure gave him pause. _Fifteen minutes. I better play it safe._ Abraham quickened his step. The last time he stayed out after dark, he all but lost his life in a bloody chase that left him bruised and his imagination on the brink of insanity. He sprinted down the final stretch of road careful to check every direction. _Looks safe._

The glass doors at the front had been shattered for years. The owners fled to Denver with everyone else after the first bombs fell. Yet, Abraham wasn't sure if Denver survived the global catastrophe. Part of him only believed in what he saw, and for the last six months, he hadn't seen a soul outside of a few neighbors. Maybe what was left of his family and the specks of locals were all that survived? Had the world evolved into the new stomping grounds for the infected? Perhaps humanity was already lost?

He entered the ruined building ready to fight. _Get it together, old man_. The sloping shelves of sheet metal were empty minus the inch-thick dust that had settled like an unfavorable blanket. When he moved around the chipped counter, his hands dropped to the butt of his pistol holstered at his side. Bloody handprints painted the floor and continued up toward the backroom. He maneuvered around the smears, trying not to picture the blossomed features of the diseased freaks.

Against better judgment, Abraham followed the smudges into the backroom of the gas station. His eyes followed the flicker of shadows toward the deep corners. The prompt pounding of fists against the sealed freezer door stole his breath. The freezer was held shut by a length of metal pipe. His heart drummed to the rhythm of an unforgiving beat. A trail of bloody footprints swerved around several inclined shelves.

Then, he saw the man lying against the inside wall of the backroom. "What happened to you?" Abraham muttered, unable to blink. Chunks of the dark-skinned man's neck hung like a ruffled collar of flesh. His sore, pink eyes stared up at Abraham and then back to the walk-in freezer.

"Can you help?" wheezed the man, his white button-up shirt saturated in clotted blood.

"Did one of the infected do this?" Abraham questioned, focusing on the candle melting on the floor nearby. He still didn't understand the savage, diseased oddities and their purpose. The clotted wound of the man was caked in a strange, almost demonic-looking fungus. It had interlaced itself with the human tissue.

"Help me," the man snapped, fighting off an intoxicating case of chills. "There is a pack of them on Highway 24. They came fast."

Abraham wished he had listened to his smartass grandson. He should have gone home while he had the chance. "What's in the freezer?" His mind drifted to a dark place of wonder and fright. Abraham's blood pressure increased. This was the closest the infection had come to his farm and the truth of if left a foul taste on his tongue. The continuous pounding echoed in spans of agony. "What the hell is in there?" Abraham stared at the freezer, trying to calm his nerves.

"It's my daughter, Wheezy, oh sweet Wheezy." The dark-skinned man licked his lips. He sat in a puddle of his own blood. The man was going to die no matter what Abraham did and this brought a sour tang to his gut. After the crimson glow kissed his dark flesh, the man would come back as a pawn.

"Is she infected?" Abraham felt heartless. He turned his focus to the glassless window panes and ran his eyes up toward the blurry overlook. He knew Hunter was watching him and his new friend. The sun had set, and the dying light rattled his senses. _Time is getting short._

"I asked you a question." He unsnapped the button on his hip holster. Abraham wasn't afraid to shoot and ask questions later. This was the standard of survival over the years.

"Why, you want a piece of her?"

Abraham stepped back. _What is wrong with this guy?_

"I heard you talking on the radio," the man replied, applying pressure to his raw neck. "You said you could help." His breathing quickened and his eyes closed. The man's right hand swung to the left, spilling the burning candle. The wax ran in a snaking current and ignited a pile of useless debris. All Abraham could see in the blue of the flame was a swarm of infected rushing their direction. _The fire calls the infected._ The man snickered, accepting his fate. "The fire is bright, the fire is tight, it's the only way to keep things right," the dark-skinned man sang through constricting lungs.

"You need to get it together." Abraham looked at the freezer door and tried his best to listen to the faint voice coming from the other side. Was the man's daughter infected or was she a victim to the man's insanity? "Listen, I need answers."

"We got attacked up the road a few miles back."

_Shit, the infected are too damn close._ "Were you heading to Denver?"

"Denver, it survived. My friend took off there a while back and never returned. It must be nice." The dark-skinned man looked at the growing flames and raised his voice higher and continued to sing his fevered song. "Fire calls them. Fire inspires their plagued dreams of red."

"Listen, that fire is going to kill us both. I need you to crawl toward the window. You might have a couple of hours till you turn." Abraham would have wanted to spend them with his family if he were in the man's shoes. Seconds, hours, and days were something he had learned to treasure.

The man only sung louder. "The fire is a mother's love—the fire tingles like a first kiss on a carnival night."

_Screw you_. Abraham scrambled to the freezer door. There was no blood and no sign of contamination. When the man locked his daughter in the freezer, she would have been leaking like a sink if she were infected. There was no turning back for Abraham. With the blistering heat fingering his flesh, he plunked out the metal pipe holding the freezer door shut. He gulped and prayed she wasn't diseased. In the background, the flames ran up the walls and exploded out, setting fire to a quarter of the arid building. _The calling card of the dead_ , he remembered, peeling back the door.

First, he heard the shuffling of steps falling toward the back. A beautiful ebony-skinned girl stood amid a pile of spoiled boxes. Real tears wet her eyes. She tugged at her short-shorts and waited to see what Abraham would do. Stuck on her hands was a black pair of fingerless weight lifting gloves. All the girl could muster was a panicky smile.

"About time," she said, twisting her hands. The girl had obviously been through hell.

Abraham shifted back and pointed the pistol at the thrashing cleavage exploding out of her tiny green tank top. "Are you infected?" It was a simple question. If she was, he would kill the girl and her father. If she wasn't, then he hadn't the faintest idea of what the future would hold.

"Gramps, we have to go!" He heard Hunter's voice boom through the broken window of the backroom. "The fire's going to attract them!"

"What are you doing? Go back to the cliff," he snapped, keeping the weapon aimed on the girl. He couldn't think. All he could hear was the crazy man still singing his song of fire and affection. The smoke blurred Abraham's senses as he tried to calm his nerves. "Dammit, I told you stay." He wished his grandson would listen. "You're just like your father. You don't listen!"

Hunter looked like a ghost as he stood at the window, speechless. Abraham saw in his grandson's eyes he wasn't anything like Robb. _I shouldn't have said that._

"I'm not infected," the teenage girl stammered with southern attitude. Abraham saw she wanted to say more, but fear must have held her tongue.

Abraham frowned.

"Gramps! We have to go. Now!" shrieked Hunter.

Abraham knew he could be stubborn. He had overheard Hunter talking about how it was him and his constant need to control Robb that drove Hunter's father away. Abraham didn't want to argue with the headstrong boy.

The fresh cinders polluted the air with thick smoke and choked the dark-skinned man and his damning song. A soaring spark set fire to parts of the roof. Still, the dying man remained in place, singing his song through clogged lungs. The girl inched out of the putrid freezer and didn't seem to care one bit about the mysterious man. The hate in her eyes burned brighter than the flames dancing around the ruins.

"I can't save your father," Abraham muttered, sliding back toward the glassless window ledge. The fire was overtaking the building. He lowered his gun and motioned for the frightened girl to join him. "The building is going to collapse. We have to hurry."

The girl took one last glance at the black man and then turned away and heaved.

Abraham wanted to tell her to sort out her feelings later. He didn't have time for weaklings. But he couldn't find the heart. "Get out the window." The groan of the burning timber wailed as she wiped her mouth and followed him. Through the thick smoke he could see the tiny black girl had no love for the foul man.

"I hope it hurts, Rictor," she yelled back toward the black man. Rictor's congested lungs brought a makeshift smile to her reflective face. She quivered, taking Abraham's hand, and toppled back out the window. Yet, it was Hunter who grabbed a handful of her arm and yanked. The way she regarded Hunter was less than innocent. "I don't need your help," she said, pushing him back.

The smell of burnt flesh swirled about as Rictor's shrieks of sweet fire transformed into blood-curdling cries for help. If any infected were near, they would be on them in a few minutes.

"Hurry up," Abraham cracked, pounding the ground with his black boots. The daylight had disappeared behind the brush of the endless mountains. The night sky glittered in a crimson cloak from Red Dead as it had for the last three years.

Abraham fell to the ground, covering his head as a massive explosion rocked the landscape, leaving him in awe. Shards of burning wood reached out far into the parched background, setting the nearby brush ablaze. Brushing off the tiny embers, Abraham broke off the highway and into the woodland. His memories of a world so cold left him dazed. _Here they come,_ Abraham thought, pushing Hunter up the slope of the overpass.

A sudden buzzing sound cut through the sparkling red night. Abraham shoved his grandson again while looking back over his shoulder. He knew hiding in the trees was their only option of escape.

"Move it!" The ominous sound reminded him of Stencil Ranch. Only this time the callous sound was louder. He hardly believed it when he reached the top of the mountain. His heart beat out of control as he spun around to see if any of the things had followed.

"What do we do?" the girl asked, pulling at her loose pig tails.

"Hush," snapped Abraham, watching the fire crackle and claim new territory. Yet it was the sound of an angry bee hive magnified by the sound of a thousand burning bodies, if that were possible, that frightened him. He dropped down into the dirt and plugged his ears. The blaze had devoured the building, giving Abraham a false sense of daylight. He had avoided the gas station over the years because of its close proximity to the highways. At first, it was the criminals he was trying to avoid, but now it was the infected freaks layered in morbid fungus and evil desires.

"Here they come," Hunter warned.

The horde of freaks emerged down the highway, sprinting toward the warmth of the flames. They swarmed fast and reached the blazing flames rising up into the bloodstained sky. The buzzing sound hit Abraham like a bag of icy bones. The creatures wouldn't touch the flames or bright light. No, the infected only wanted to be close to the warmth.

"I don't want to die," the girl whimpered.

"You won't," Hunter replied, reaching out to touch the girl's hand.

Abraham watched her pull back fast like a snake. _I don't have time for children._ He wanted to take a hot shower. Yet, the cool refreshing water would never wash away his haunted memories.

Abraham shuddered, hoping the fire killed whatever scent was left. He couldn't prove it, but those things could smell better than a bloodhound. Most of their faces were clustered in deep rifts of fungi. He was almost positive the monsters couldn't see out of their rotten eye sockets. _They must use some sort of sonar like a bat._ For a moment, he feared the infected would stalk up the narrow path and overtake them. Little could be done to stop such a large horde. He looked down at his pistol and wished he had brought a bigger gun. _I'll eat a bullet before I become one of those things._

Abraham knotted his fist in the dirt, wishing he was home enjoying his wife's good cooking. The infected freaks rocked back and forth, ogling the smothering flames from a safe distance. Abraham didn't want to study the monsters anymore. He wanted to run home and check on his family.

Then and there, out of the burning building sprinted the sizzling black man. Rictor cried for mercy, howling for help as he collapsed. In an instant, the inhuman creatures attacked. Abraham turned away as the monsters tore out chunks of Rictor's cooked flesh and stuffed it in their famished maws. They wouldn't tear him apart, only injure him enough to carry on the infection.

"You don't have to look," Abraham whispered, eyeing the girl. However, the girl almost seemed to enjoy the sight of the black man getting torn asunder. Abraham's soul started to shake. _We must remember who we are or risk becoming a monster._ "We need to get moving," he slurred, crawling away from the edge. "We messed up staying out this late." His worse fear was leading the monsters back to his family, and it showed on his quivering lips.

#  II

Abraham, Hunter, and the girl hurried through the forest for what felt like hours. The long way home took them miles in the wrong direction. Nevertheless, it kept the chances of running into the infected freaks down a few notches. Abraham fell against a pine tree, panting and praying nothing had followed them. Salt dripped down the side of his engraved face.

"Let's take a break," he muttered, touching his throbbing chest. The sweet sound of the forest at night was a symphony of crickets, owls, and coyotes. It was a thousand times better than the gurgling, buzzing sound that escaped the infected freaks. _If only this was a bad dream,_ he considered. "Why don't you tell us about your travels? What brought you out here?" He fixed his gaze on the mysterious girl and sighed. It was hard for him to trust anyone.

The girl hadn't spoken a word for the duration of their tedious hike. "I really don't know where to begin." She hesitated and had maintained her distance throughout the trip. Abraham could tell the girl didn't trust them. Dependence was a monster that devoured everything in this world. This was something he understood and respected.

Abraham sighed. "It couldn't be easy watching your father die. But you know he was already dead." Words never came out right for the old man. However, sometimes the truth was better in one big gulp. "Once the infected scratch or bite, a person is as good as dead. Still, I'm not sure about inhaling the spores they seem to produce."

"We don't know anything for certain," Hunter interjected. Abraham and his grandson had spent many nights discussing the diseased abominations in the recent months.

"Rictor wasn't my father," the girl snapped.

Abraham wondered how long had it been since she was free. Had it been the entire three years? The intensity of his beating heart drove him to rest a hand back against a nearby tree trunk. Put under the primal stress of a world without rules, his mind created walls to protect his family. _I should have left her_.

Sam slipped a few fingers into her tight front pocket and withdrew a single pill. She swallowed it and seemed pleased by the effects. Abraham forced his gaze down toward his muddy boots. He remembered his encounters with humans turned criminals over the last few years. He wanted to say he understood the girl's pain, but lacked the nerve.

Abraham swore the hearts of men were almost as dark as the infected. Though the words were never spoken, he understood the girl was somehow the black man's slave. What he didn't understand was how to talk around it. He needed answers before he would bring the girl back to his farm. Part of him wondered if the girl could have been part of some larger group plotting an ambush.

"What should we call you?" Hunter's voice echoed.

Abraham gave his grandson a crossed stare and waited for the boy to reply by rolling his eyes.

A swirl of fire flies orbited the space in front of her innocent face. "My name is Samantha, but you can call me Sam." Reaching up, she clutched a small heart shaped locket woven on a dirty silver chain.

"Nice too meet you, Sam. My name is Abraham and this piece of work is my grandson, Hunter. Are you hungry?" Abraham slipped out of his rucksack and then tossed a little container to Hunter.

"You had food all this time?" The crimson light filtered through the trees, highlighting the woods around them. She took a piece of jerky from Hunter and swallowed. "So do you guys always rescue women you don't know? Tie them up and keep them in your basement?"

Abraham couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth. She reminded him of Hunter. _Damn disrespectful teens._ "You bet," he answered, tired of getting shit from young punks.

Sam only stared back at him. He knew she was considering running.

"Did you see a lot of infected on the road?" Abraham stared at Sam and wiped his clammy hands on his pant legs.

"I guess." Sam shuffled back and then saw the menacing curve of his smile. "You got any running water at your farm?"

"We got solar and wind power," Hunter replied.

"So the shower is actually hot?"

"Hunter," Abraham said, holding up his hands.

Sam showed her teeth. "I get it, you don't trust me, and I sure as hell don't trust you. But what choice do we have? I mean, the infected are combing the mountains searching for us, so maybe we should keep on moving."

Abraham thought that was a good idea. He wasn't one for long talks about feelings and by what he could tell, neither was Sam.

***

Abraham froze, his heart pounding. There was no sign of the infected. Yet, the hideous sounds were all around. It was the rigorous wail of a stadium infested with bees. He moved past a mound of branches, careful to plot his steps. Abraham located a variety of potential hiding places, but none of nooks seemed promising against the horde of undead. Through the high buzzing, he recognized the familiar trickle of a creek and remembered the old mill house that sat at the edge of the back roads.

The name of the place escaped his memory, but the vast collection of warehouses and a water-powered wheel that once produced electricity was etched into his mind. The wheel had been damaged during the initial fall of the world, and last year's drought reduced the waterway into a thirsty, dry bed. Still, the four connected buildings promised thick walls against the unseen oddities. Jumping over a falling aspen, he spotted the outline of the complex. It wasn't long before Abraham and his group reached a broken door on the front of the compound. The entrance was already open and begging him to come inside.

Abraham entered the nameless mill several times over the years, and knew the other side opened to a clearing. He gathered himself for a few seconds, listening to the song of decay and marched into the empty lobby stripped of all furnishings. The disease had never been this close to home. It happened too fast, and his thoughts drifted toward the safety of his family at the farm house.

"This place is dark," Sam stuttered through clenched teeth.

Abraham was pleased the dense walls had drowned out the worst of the buzzing moans stalking the forest. "Darkness is better than that god-awful crimson light." He strode through another set of doors and turned to secure them safety behind. _Breathe slowly. They don't make heart medication anymore_ , he told himself, placing his boot a few inches in front of the other and inching across the dark space.

Hollow stalls and the stink of a ripe outhouse that hadn't been emptied in years filled the larger vaulted room. He closed his eyes and remembered the loads of people who slept in the stacks of hay during the beginning of the apocalypse. All of them were heading to Denver, chasing a fading dream. He cast a curious glance into the first stall they passed and saw moth-eaten blankets and a stack of trash consumed in a vigorous bloom of mold. He didn't think much of it. As he passed the third stall, he saw a half-eaten horse decaying on a stack of piss-colored hay. Again he noticed a terrible blight consuming the compartment. Behind him, he heard Sam try to stop herself from vomiting.

"People have to eat," he muttered, looking up to the second level balcony.

"What was that?" asked Hunter, turning back.

Abraham heard the shuffling of unsteady steps and then a distant door rattled. "Shit, they must smell us," he said, crouching down.

Abraham doubled checked each direction. As his eyes adjusted, he saw fungus thriving in the dark damp environment. It was everywhere. Afraid, he made his way to a set of metal stairs to get a better view. Each step reverberated throughout the mill in an uncanny manner. The second level balcony was only a fourth of the mill, and he saw a third level thrice as small as the second. No walls separated the floors, only a crusty grate and broken set of rails.

Then, he heard a tin scatter across the first level floor in the obscurity. "Hurry," he mouthed, gliding up and praying for a miracle. A metallic tang of fear nested on the tip of his tongue. Desperate, he blinked away the horrible thoughts and refused to give up and give in. He found the second floor covered in a web of vines and draped in a colony of alien growth. It appeared months old, healthy and bright in wet colors. Parts of it looked alien, tattered, and tooth marked; a fragment of it pulsated with each icy breath.

Abraham knew if any of them screamed, they would die. He could only hope the teenagers could swallow their fear and accept the horror. Behind him, Hunter tensed. A quiet rustle followed the silence. Then the snapping of a twig alerted them of the presence of infected. _They followed us in._

Abraham shifted for a better view. All he could see was Sam squeezing Hunter's forearm. He crouched down, and through the gap in the grate flooring, he saw something bloated and infected. His pulse quickened with each fearful breath. Abraham was moving again, this time across the second floor toward a warped ladder leading up to the third-level balcony.

"Go first," he said, trying to forget what he thought he saw.

A clouded cone formed around his labored breath. The temperature had dropped in the late hour. He waited for both of them to climb to the top of the small balcony and then followed. The makeshift balcony was the highest point in the crumbling structure. A single dirty window was etched into the far side. He wiped a small spot clean and then leaned over the filthy window edge. What he saw almost brought him to his knees. Outside, under the now-familiar red glow of night, the entire west side of the mill was flooded with undead abominations. A sharp pain set fire to his weak heart. He took a seat on the floor and cupped his jaw.

"How is this possible?" Never in his life had he seen this many in one place. His old eyes fluttered in distress. Abraham's underclothing was saturated in sweat and zest, causing him to pull at his clothing. The breeze from the cracked tower brought the powerful smell to his nose.

"What are we going to do?" Hunter pinched back the bolt on the rifle and then smashed it forward after checking the loaded chamber. "You led us here to die. They'll reach the farm and kill everyone."

Sam placed an icy palm on Hunter's tense shoulder and smiled. "We still have a chance," she said, pointing at the drainage ditch. "I think it's a straight shot out into deep woods."

Abraham thought about correcting Hunter's attitude, but he didn't have the strength. "It might work if we work together." He brought a quaking hand to his constricted chest. Another rattle echoed across the blackness below. "Shit!" His white hair was slicked back in grime and his puffy eyes bulged at each sharp pain stabbing his heart. _Not another heart attack._

"Are you alright?" Hunter asked.

Abraham knew the painful prompts were written all over his face. He knew if he died, everybody died. And still that wasn't the reason for his mounting sorrow.

"Take it easy," Hunter said, helping Abraham to the ground.

"I'll live," Abraham panted. "I need one of you to set a distraction on the south end of the mill." Beads of sweat glistened on the slope of his nose. "Did you hear me?"

Hunter looked at him with fear and compassion. "Fire—it will buy us time to get out and cover our scent."

Sam hesitated. "It will call every one of them in the area. Do you really want that?"

Silence and stealth were the rules now, and Abraham was aware that violating those rules meant a swift death. "There's no other way. Fire will draw them to the mill and clear us a path." He knew from experience that the infected freaks never came out during the day. "Have you ever seen one of the infected during the daytime?"

Sam shook her head.

"I have a theory. I think these things don't like the sun. It appears that the darkness of this place keeps them safe from the burn of daylight. Places like this must serve as nests or hives."

"And you just reunited the super horde with this small nest. Great job, Gramps," Hunter said. "The farm is going to fall."

"I always wondered where they went during the day," Sam said, rubbing her arms furiously.

For the longest time, Abraham thought they might be nocturnal creatures, but now, he wondered if the sun burned them or cooked the fungus somehow. What type of monsters were these things that nested in the damp darkness of an old mill? His mind was running through various theories.

"How far is the farm?" Sam chewed at her fingernails.

"I'd guess a few miles," Hunter answered.

"Can we make it?" she questioned, crossing her eyebrows.

Abraham growled as if life slapped him clean across his face. It was the sharp burn in his heart. "We have too. But with all of these infected, we won't last for long."

"A huge fire will draw every infected to the mill." Hunter's voice was quick, but quiet. He looked once more at his struggling grandfather. "Do you really think this is a nest?"

"I think they seek shelter underground and perhaps in places like this." Abraham didn't want to scare them with all of his crazy notions.

"So if we destroy the hives, will this infestation stop?" Sam rubbed her forearms.

"It's an idea." Abraham spat, feeling lightheaded. "But dark places dot the surface of the Rocky Mountains. So destroying them all will be impossible."

"Are you going to be safe up here?" Hunter glanced around while asking as if he were checking the walls for climbers.

"I'll be safe enough. It's you two who are heading back down. But I think they are drawn out into the crimson night—it feeds them, or comforts them... Shit, I don't know, but they seem to need it. So the bottom level should be mostly empty until dawn. Except the ones that followed us."

"But..." started Hunter.

"Go now, and be quick about it," Abraham interrupted, giving his concept more thought. He slid down flat on his back and stared up at the rotten wood of the water wheel outside of the window. "Wait! The water wheel—can we climb down it?"

Sam was closest and moved her head up and down. "I think it's possible."

"Good, now use that shit in your survival pack to set that fire and get your butts back up here." There was a time when Abraham had believed old things held beauty. Yet in this agonizing moment, he wished everything would be torn down and made anew. In a haze, he listened to the teens make their way back down the creaking ladder. It killed him sending his grandson toward danger, but his damaged heart didn't give him any other options. _I believe in you,_ Abraham thought, scooting closer to the tower ledge.

#  III

Hunter Heinz scanned the endless shadows of the abandoned mill. A narrow gangway caked in purple mushrooms connected to an adjoining building on the second level. Could it be a way out? It threatened to bloom in the same alien fungus. To Hunter the puffs lining the gangway looked like wet peaches that breathed. He didn't think it was any safer in that direction. The timber construct of the mill was moist and thriving in damp mold. He needed something dry to start a fire. A string of bruised mushrooms grew out of the grated floor and appeared to glow red in the dark. Every time Hunter left the farm, his grandpa was quick to remind him to take his survival bag. This time he was glad he listened. He pulled out his lighter and rolled the top, striking a flame. The wet mushrooms quivered and the boy could have sworn they hissed. Had Hunter know the hissing came from below, he would have never produced such a light in this dark place.

Then and there an ear-bleeding buzz erupted. Hunter dropped the lighter and clamped his hands over his ears and cowered, unable to think or move. Sam was next to him, trembling. Her dark eyes swept about the gloom as if whatever made the noise was near. After a few fast breaths, the energetic sound stopped as did the small quake it produced.

_Oh, my God,_ Hunter thought, peering over the broken ledge. He positioned his rifle as if it were an assault rifle, scanning the first floor below. Whatever had made that squeal must have been gigantic.

"It came from below," he suggested to Sam.

Sam stayed tight to his back, giving Hunter butterflies. He bent over and snatched up the lighter as his boots clapped against the damp surface with each step. Hunter wanted to show his grandfather he could pull his own weight. He felt bad for all of the rude comments he made, but then again, he was only a teenager living in this nasty world.

"The mushrooms are a part of the infection, don't you think?" he heard Sam ask.

"I don't know," he whispered back to her. One of the nearby pillars on the second level balcony was tangled in a devilish vine that produced a nasty-looking flower with teeth. The thing seemed to glow in the dark. Hunter wanted to test the theory despite his gut feeling. His lighter struck a flame and graced the center of the flower. The bud recoiled and shut its mouth. It hissed as if it were in pain. Hunter's scrunched face told of a deep fear. He killed the glimmer of light fast and waited for the screeching to subside. Broken steps staggered below and dared him to strike a light again. The infected were searching for a way up.

As Hunter's courage built back up, a quaking buzz stole his breath. It was louder than before, and high in the vaulted ceiling, a small amount of dirt rained down upon his head. All he could think about was taking a shower. The short distance to the stairs leading back to the first floor left his skin prickled in bumps. Below, he heard the shuffle of evil steps echoing across the shrill landscape in haste. Carefully, he took aim.

"A gang of them down there," he mouthed back to Sam. His eagle eyes could make out a dozen shapes. By the way the things moved, he could tell they saw the flicker of light earlier.

Sam remained silent and pointed. One of the infected freaks looked like something he had never seen. Most of the infected corpses were regular human carcasses rotted in ambiguous fungus. Yet, this one was different; its flowered head had switched places with its right shoulder. Its leather flesh was bloated ten times its normal size and its hands were replaced with some sort of moldy cord of vines. He forced a second glance at the twelve foot monster stalking the open levels of the first floor. The colossal diseased corpse was too big to fit under the balcony, and now paced in front of a fortress of hay.

It was more than enough to burn the mill to the ground.

"Don't you dare think about it," Sam said. "We can start the fire from up here."

"This mold is damp. Hopefully some of that hay is dry." He stood alert, his rifle sight following his cunning eyes. "Besides, I think you're right. The fungus is alive, and it feels the fire." Excruciating pressure flourished in his swirling thoughts with a rush of throbbing adrenaline.

"I've never killed one before," she admitted. She grabbed a fistful of his jean jacket and stared into his hazel eyes. "I need you to keep me safe." Her trembling hands fumbled forward against his strong heartbeat.

"Don't worry. You stay up here where it's safe. I need to go down there and start the fire," he said. "Remember, they're not like us." He held out an empty brown bottle and turned his gaze downward toward the beast with contorted limbs and deep-rooted toadstools. "If they back me into a corner, use this to draw them away. We only get one chance."

She took the old beer bottle from him.

Hunter was fueled by the will to impress his grandfather. He had lasted this long. Of course Abraham had kept him alive for the most part. Nevertheless, now he had a chance to shine. He bit his lower lip, on the edge of courage in his awareness.

"Be safe." She kissed him on the cheek and hurried back toward the center rail of the balcony for a better view.

_God, help us,_ Hunter thought, plugging his nose. He glided down the stairs as soft as a cat. His vision had adjusted to the dark as he stepped to the first floor. His heart pounded loud in his ears. A gang of the infected stumbled around the mill arranged more like an abandoned maze. He slipped to the right, then stood tall against one of the seedy support beams. He couldn't see them all, but the big one sounded like a rabid dog. Congested buzzing through its branched nose and nasty groans left it sucking in air and spreading foul spores. Rows of warped wood herded the infected in various directions. For several seconds, with muscles tight, sweat steaming off his skin, Hunter climbed through and over a series of wooden fences. The lumber dripped with a slimy yellow fungus the boy was careful to avoid.

Looking up, he saw Sam watching him from the balcony. This gave him courage as he weaved through the obstacles, avoiding the infected at every turn. Hunter felt smart and adept. Then, he heard something drop from the balcony. It smashed hard into the ground level, alerting the monsters in the mill. _At least it was on the other end._

The infected staggered about, almost smelling their air with their blooming, clustered faces of living mold. Hunter crouched into a small void under a warped cubby and waited. The withered feet of one of the creatures stomped in front of the space. There was nowhere to run. If he fired the rifle, the creature would die, but its friends would be on him faster than flies on dung.

A second pair of rotten feet still wearing a pair of blood-soaked basketball shoes joined the first. The buzzing sound sliced through his brain like a piercing wail of evil. His sweaty hands tightened around the rifle as the cracking joints of their knees bent down. It was too late. They must have sensed him.

Out of the blue, a second crash burst in the other direction. The two infected stood erect and darted toward the sound clinking and buzzing in waves. He tore out from under his hiding spot, ready to finish the mission. Yet, before he was out, he felt the presence of another infected. He fell back and avoided the creature marching toward the sound, its budding face spilling offensive spores in haste. A nasty wound on its left thigh was knotted in rotten lumps of cool puss and bright-colored flesh. Had the boy been hydrated, he might have pissed his pants. Nonetheless, after his nerves settled, he stepped out, this time more concerned with his surroundings.

Ten yards ahead sat the dead, grass-colored fortress of hay. Already moving, he darted through the bend and slid under a broken piece of metal serving as a divider. He froze near a water trot and realized the big, nasty one stood guard near the bundles of hay. His eyes drifted up and searched for Sam, but there was no sign of the southern girl. He needed her to lure the beast away. _She already used the bottle._ At that moment, the big, nasty infected creature, clear as day, erupted in a buzzing sound that brought down a section of the second floor balcony.

_Sam_! He listened for any moans from the girl. The cry of the freak was followed by the immense creature stomping forward in a manic rage. The shock had almost immobilized Hunter. Once it passed, he crawled forward and climbed up the bundles of hay. He reached into his pocket and prayed his hands would be steady enough to light the fire. He had no idea how he was going to get back to the stairs.

The heavy-rooted feet of the massive creature stumbled around, and its foul, infected face parted like the red sea as a cord of vines danced back and forth. The powerful new sound stole Hunter's breath. He was sure the monster could smell him. _I'm fucked._

Trapped between the hay and an infected freak towering over twelve feet, Hunter had no hope. He wedged his frame between rolls of hay and the back wall, hoping to remain undiscovered. Hunter imagined the monster's hot breath as its slow, approaching steps shook the ground. The thing reeked of decomposing excrement. Hunter squeezed his rifle and prayed. It was all he could do.

***

The abysmal creature's feeler arms stretched against the front of the pyramid of hay, searching for the boy. The terrible odor resonating from the foul thing worked to disorient the boy.

Eyes fixed in horror, Abraham had the fright of a father watching his child get run over in the street. As he sucked in a quick breath, ready to burst, he touched Sam's shoulder and covered her mouth. He didn't want her to scream. He knew she would react poorly, and worked hard to twist her back, so she could see his face.

The fright in her eyes caused his hand to slip off her quivering mouth.

"Get to the third level," Abraham whispered, his dry lips pulling back from her ear. She squirmed back and darted for the ladder to the third level. A nauseating stab churned his stomach as he was forced to imagine the terrible things Rictor must have done to her. _Hunter_ , he reminded himself turning back toward the broken rail overlooking the first floor.

For Abraham, it was far worse knowing he would have to do something stupid to save his grandson. He could only hope and pray he was faster than the monster and its lesser brethren. At his age, the odds weren't in his favor. He leveled his pistol at the rotten head of the thing; it was the size of a large truck. _It's not enough,_ he thought, spotting a half empty whiskey bottle near the second-level ledge. He crossed the grate, and suppressed his fears. His hand turned counterclockwise and the liquor splashed down upon the head of the anomaly. He longed for the harsh drink to be pouring down his throat.

The giant freak screamed, causing a momentary brain mismatch: anger, terror, and everything in an eternal nightmare too loud, too piercing. Abraham jolted back like a frightened child, dropping the bottle. Yet, he wasn't a child; he was an old man. The buzzing continued it was the sound of demonic steel knifing into every frequency ever known. He reached into his survival pack and produced a homemade Molotov cocktail. He readied the weapon quick as he could. The flint of his lighter exploded in color, giving away his position. The rag lit and the glass left his hand in the blink of an eye. It exploded when it shattered upon the bloated frame of the immense infected freak. The flames spread out, shocking the rest of the infected scurrying about in a dark rage.

Fighting the sudden light, Abraham hurried toward an old pulley tangled with a hook. He twisted its crane-like frame, and prayed the twine wasn't frayed. The hook swung down low, smashing the infected giant across its boiled face, and continued toward the stack of hay.

"Hunter, get your ass up here," he snapped. The blister of flames devouring the lower levels spread about quick and wild. The thick smoke made it hard to breathe. "Hunter, move! Now!"

A second later, the teenage boy climbed to the top of the pyramid of hay and jumped into the hook. Abraham heaved with all his might, and thanks to the boy running up the backside of the wall, he managed to heave him over the balcony rail.

Below, the flames stunned the infected. Abraham yanked Hunter to his feet and moved through the darkness. The boy was dumbfounded. Abraham found himself dragging Hunter back to the ladder leading up to the third level. Hunter stared at him as if he could not comprehend what had happened. Abraham reached out and slapped his grandson. He was out of options. It worked as Hunter erupted in a rapid cough caused by the building smoke. Abraham knew it was the boy's asthma.

"Only a little farther," Abraham grunted, trying to settle down.

A band of sweltering infected scrambled up to the second floor, zoning in on the boy's uncontrollable cough. Some of them were human torches. In a matter of seconds, they were nearly on him. Hunter tried to level his rifle, but the monsters came too fast.

Abraham drew his pistol and fired, recounting the people he had killed over his lifetime. "Climb, you stupid boy!" he shouted as he emptied the magazine. The first wave was dead. However, the burning bodies ignited part of the second floor.

Hunter gripped the ladder and scaled it though the harsh coughing continued. Abraham emptied a second magazine, then pushed the boy the rest of the way up using the side of his sweat-filled, flush face. Below, he heard the infected scratching, howling, and struggling to climb at the base of the ladder. The flames were trapping them in the mill.

"At least they can't climb," he breathed out.

Sam had already opened the window and slipped out onto the water wheel. The wood was warped, the beams fractured, and when Abraham and Hunter joined her, the weight drove them down in a hurry. Plywood ripped from parts of the great wheel as the frame crumbled. Yet, the soft dirt of the dry riverbed insulated their hard fall. The metal base of the wheel whined as they scrambled forward, the snapping sound of metal echoing in the crimson night.

Abraham ran, afraid to look back. He envisioned one of the infected dragging him into the hard soil to feast upon his flesh. The two teenagers were a good twenty yards ahead of him, sprinting into the void. Terrified beyond belief, he ran, screaming prayers in his dark mind that his heart would not give out. The blistering sound of the fire was nothing compared to the final screech of the giant creature. Was it dead? Could such a thing die? All he knew was a bunch of the creatures were trapped in the flames. He jolted forward past every tangle of shrubbery and every shadowy tree, trying to convince his own running mind that living was worth the challenge of survival.

#  IV

A few hours' journey would bring them to the last remaining safe spot on the planet, at least that's how Abraham felt after everything he experienced. It took a lot of running, but together Abraham, Hunter, and Sam outran the horrors of the mill. His bruised heels begged for rest. The desire of his heart was to see his family with his own eyes. His blue flannel shirt had rubbed him raw under his armpits, and his boots were a filthy muddle from small pools of water that dotted the riverbed. For one length of the run, they were forced to climb out and travel amongst the sharp rocks. Abraham didn't want to risk losing time stuck in the muddy sand.

The riverbed gave way to a thicket of trees that spotted the final mountain peak. Over the final peak rested Abraham's humble little farm. The copse of trees on the mountainside was broken into a variety of sections and species. He loved the aspens and the smell of the bristlecone pines, yet it was the implanted cottonwood in the summer he favored the most.

He led them, his pistol never leaving his hand, praying his family at the farm was alive and untouched. It was sad that the dread was normal for him, changing only in degree and circumstance. Part of him, like a frightened child, wondered if it might have been better to have died back at the mill. _Stop that weak thinking._ As long as his family was alive, death wasn't an option. He stomped and trampled on fevered memories of agony. Hundreds of infected swarmed the old factory, and the big guy almost devoured his grandson. Was it foolish to set out to the gas station? Did he believe his two missing children were still alive after two years? As a father, he had no choice. It was part of what kept him going. But he had put the rest of his family in danger.

"Can we stop already? I have to use the bathroom," Sam said. It was the second time she had asked.

Abraham could tell the girl was tough, but then again, he didn't fully trust her. "Alright, make it quick." Abraham stopped and scanned the stunted firs and assortment of pines for any sign of danger. Once he was satisfied, he took a seat on a log covered in green lichen and exhaled. _Everything happens for a reason,_ he heard his wife saying in his mind. Was the girl a reason worth risking his life and the life of his grandson? _Each person you meet is a string connecting you to your destiny,_ his wife again whispered in his stubborn mind.

He watched both Hunter and Sam scurry in opposite directions. It dawned on him that they were still mischievous teenagers. Nonetheless, the fear of survival kept both looking over their shoulders, almost expecting danger. _What has this world become?_

Abraham held the thought, fingering the white stubble on his weathered face. Falling farther back on the log, he felt the throbbing pain in his ankle for the first time. There were too many sharp spaces and unsettled rocks in the riverbed to escape unscathed. Nevertheless, his grit kept him stumbling forward away from the god-awful sounds of the infected. He told himself it was only a mild sprain.

In the darkness he heard Samantha call out. "I've never seen a big guy like that."

"Hope we never see one like that again," Abraham answered.

"It looked like its moldy insides were on its outside," said Hunter, somewhere in the red night. "Does that make sense?"

Abraham didn't know how to explain the abomination. "It reeked worse than a highland skunk."

"Funny, I almost shit my pants," said Hunter. Then, he must have remembered he was with an attractive female. "I mean, not literally." He laughed, lowering his eyes.

"Let's call it a septic," Sam said, emerging from the dense tree line. "It smelled like an old septic tank back in a trailer park I used to live in."

"A septic—I like it," grunted Abraham. He remembered the swollen frame of the septic blistering when the fire swam across its dead flesh. "I wonder if the fire was enough to kill the foul thing."

"It's dead," said Hunter. "Do you think it's a hiccup or are their more weird hybrids out there?" Hunter stopped in front of Abraham and saw his grandfather pointing to his fly. "Oh snap," the boy slurred, making uneasy eye contact with Sam.

She laughed and lowered her tense shoulders. She appeared somewhat comfortable for the first time.

"I don't know." Abraham was finding it hard to imagine, at least on the surface.

"It's not an anomaly," Sam blurted. "The man I was traveling with, Rictor, he had heard of some different versions of the cordyceps fungus infection. I never saw any of them. But Rictor always talked about them when we were walking. I overheard about the zombie infection from hundreds of different sources, but I didn't understand it, at least not at that point in my life. To tell you the truth, I still don't understand. But I think it started overseas." Sam pulled at her pig tails.

"What the hell is a cordyceps fungus?" Abraham hated fancy words.

"Rictor told me it was some sort of parasitic fungus that transformed insects into puppets. It attacks its host and takes total control. I don't know really."

"I heard of that on one of the nature shows. I remember them talking about how the fungus was able to take over the insects mind. But they said it would never work on a human."

"That's what Rictor told me, sugar," she replied. "I don't know if it's real. But I must admit it makes sense."

Abraham saw the devil in her eyes. As if she was daring him to call her a liar. "How did you and Rictor meet?" Abraham couldn't deny the girl had a certain allure for trouble. Was it the tiny shorts, the southern tongue, or sassy attitude? _Probably a little of everything,_ he considered.

"He wasn't always a bad man. I mean, when I met him, he talked a good game. He gave me protection, food, shelter, and saved my brother more than a few times. We met when I was still wandering the south with my brother."

"What was your brother's name?" Hunter asked.

"Hunter," she answered, blinking her eyes. "Kidding, it was Tyrell. It was me and him for the longest time. We were trying to escape the super famine in Texas. Denver was the city of dreams, or so we heard from others heading north. Making a new life there was all my brother would talk about—clean air, plenty of food, and no bullets flying through the thin walls."

"Why don't we walk and talk?" Abraham suggested. He averted his strong gaze from the girl and stared up at the stars. He would listen to her story and decide if she was worthy to stay at the farm. Sam and Hunter led the way as he struggled to walk on his swollen ankle.

Sam swatted a bug threatening her neck and then continued her story. "We hitched a ride with a nice couple to a town called Durango. At least that's what the locals called it. The strip town was crammed with refugees talking about the super infection killing everything overseas. Rumors suggested that the infection had reached America. Tyrell told me it wasn't true. Now I know he lied to keep me from being scared."

Abraham noticed how tight his shoulders had become and rolled them back to ease the tension. He couldn't stop looking back. His mind kept replaying imagines of the infected.

"We met Rictor in Durango early on. He was the only other black man in the city. He told Tyrell that brothers needed to stick together. I thought it sounded stupid."

"Durango, is it still a gambling town?" Abraham looked at her scowling back at him, the moment taking on overtones of familiarity and fear. Abraham heard tales about the casinos early on when people were still heading toward Denver, before the terrible silence. Durango was close enough to the southern border that it attracted a lot of soldiers looking for a good time in a safe environment.

"You better believe it," she replied. "That's where all of the riffraff came to play and prey upon the poor and the weak."

"So you didn't like the town?" Hunter questioned, ducking down to examine a broken twig.

"I didn't say that. A town like that has many uses. Tyrell made us a fine living playing cards and tossing dice. We had a small chalet, nothing to brag about, but it was home."

_Here it comes,_ Abraham told himself, reading the girl's curious face. _She is going to finally give me some answers._

"Unfortunately, many people came through the town. I heard the Northern Republic scum dropped the first nuclear bomb on Jackson, Mississippi. After that, both sides traded everything they had, and the world followed the America way, killing everything. Rictor was the one who told us about the cordyceps fungus infection."

Abraham took his hand off the grip of his holstered pistol. "I reckon that sounds about right." He didn't understand much about the fungal infection. It didn't matter. All that mattered was finding a safe place for his family until some scientist put a stop to the monsters.

Abraham moved between the branches, feeling the softness of the aspen's bark. All around the wind was playing a sad tune of misery. Abraham found himself thinking of the infected freaks again. He didn't miss the crooked smiles or the troubled sounds.

"A lot of the stuff you said on that radio broadcast, it is true, and it is truer than you know, sugar. Rictor and Tyrell ended up taking their gambling winnings and going into the devils water business, brewing it in an old mine they purchased after riding a three-day win streak. It was a huge success. We moved up into a fancy house with working water and solar power. It was the best living since Red Dead first appeared."

The breeze brushed against his cheeks bringing a sense of insecurity. Abraham smiled as if the girl had taken the words right out of his mouth. _Everything went to hell after Red Dead._ He offered her a strip of jerky and the ebony-skinned girl accepted with a half-smile.

The whispering wind had carried its first burning cinders to their location. It reminded Abraham of their daring escape, but only for a moment. He was more interested in hearing the girl's tale. Abraham's dad had told him a man could learn a lot more about a person or situation by listening. This was something he had tried to teach Hunter and failed. "Do you know a man named Robb? He was my son and he might have headed that direction right before the first bomb fell."

Sam nodded. "I remember you saying that on the radio, and sorry, too many faces to remember during our stay in Durango. Thinking back on it, I wish we had only traveled through Durango and continued to Denver." She paused. "I don't know anything real about Denver. I heard a lot of tales and some of them are bunk, and still others might be true. I know you want answers about the Mile High City, but I don't know up from down. But I believe my brother is alive, and that means I need to find him."

Abraham closed his eyes. His brain whirled in mysterious thoughts. "So Rictor told you about other infected breeds—or should we call them types? We have only seen the normal infected corpses in the mountains until the mill."

Sam whirled. "Yes, he told me about monsters. I always thought he was lying, but after seeing the septic, he had to be telling the truth. Toward the end of our stay in Durango, a group of men dressed in expensive suits came to talk to Tyrell. They gabbed loudly when they chugged whiskey. They told many stories amongst themselves about the different infected species. They told my brother that the longer the fungus thrived, the more severe the effects of the infection grew. Maybe that big guy at the mill had been carrying the infection a little longer than the rest."

Abraham heard something shuffle in the distance. It sounded like small game, but he wasn't going to play around. "Stay alert," he whispered, drawing his gun.

"Should I stop talking?"

"No keep talking and walking."

Sam nodded. "So, my stupid brother left for Denver without telling me much. I think it must have been a month back. He told me he would be back in a few days. That was bullshit."

_And what did Rictor do to you?_ Abraham could smell out the plot, but he wasn't sure how it went down. He saw Hunter creep down and examine a trail of deer scat.

"Weeks ran by, and his mood grew fouler."

Abraham watched the girl watch his grandson. He could see the quiet beauty exchange between the two. _Hunter needs a friend._ _She could be good for him._

"Rictor hit me a few times asking questions, but I didn't know anything about the business side of the arrangement. At least he didn't hit too hard."

Abraham understood her pain. He knew what it meant to cling to the idea that someone was alive. "A man should never strike a lady." He stopped and adjusted the furrowed collar of his filthy shirt and then picked up his pace. Abraham was surprised to find her somewhat smiling as she led the way through the forest. However, he understood the tale was about to shatter into a deep rift of tragedy.

Sam sped up and wrapped her arms around her chest. "When Rictor asked me to tag along with him to search for my brother, I thought it would be for the best. I dreamed of living in Denver. But my dumbass brother left me."

Ahead, Hunter blended into the shadows, following the faint trail into the dense brush. The boy's deep sweat reflected the soft red light and brought a crimson glow to a hefty web towering above the boy. Abraham stayed true to the trail. "Hunter, get your ass back on the trail."

"Or what?" the boy snapped.

Abraham clenched his teeth and darted in that direction.

"Then, life got real. Our ride was stopped near Salida. It was an ugly town, run down and operated by a bunch of savages. If you're ever heading that direction, I'd stay the hell away. Anyhow, a series of sentries had set up a roadblock. They demanded we pay the Wrench his toll. I guess this guy was some sort of king pin living in that damn city. Rictor got pissed, but he paid. They didn't know he knew they were prisoners who escaped Canon City Federation Prison. If I had to guess, I would say that the Wrench was the worst of them."

Abraham knew about the massive prison break. He killed a few of the outlaws who traveled his direction. _And I would do it again,_ he thought, parting the branches as he followed Hunter.

Sam touched her silver heart-shaped locket and then hooked a right to follow them.

"Is that a gift from your brother?" Abraham asked, trying to keep her clam.

"Yes," she answered.

Abraham could see the bond between her and her brother was stitched deep. The bond between him and his grandson was blistered. Hunter would always blame Abraham for chasing off his dad. This was something Abraham was learning to deal with.

"We continued through Salida and continued north on Highway 285."

"They were waiting for you, weren't they?" questioned Abraham.

"Your damn right those miserable bastards were waiting outside of town. They blocked the road with an old trash truck. Then they smashed into us from the side. Rictor fought them off."

"Rictor sounds like a tough dude," Hunter spat from the shadows.

The boy had been quiet. Abraham almost lost him.

"Rictor was a monster."

"What do think they would have done to you if they caught you?" asked Hunter. He didn't think about the tenderness of the situation.

"Shut up, boy," Abraham growled, rolling his eyes.

"We walked after that for what felt like forever. There was nothing but silence everywhere we went. It was the scariest thing I had ever experienced. Each night, Red Dead seemed to fuel his nasty mood. He muttered curses aimed toward my brother under his breath. But Rictor kept us safe from the pockets of infected we came across."

Abraham looked at Hunter with raised eyebrows.

Hunter was standing over the bloody carcass of a deer. "It seems a gang of infected tore it apart." Hunter thrust his rifle over his shoulder and placed his hands on his hips. "Judging by the tracks, the small pack that killed it scurried toward the mill in a hurry."

Abraham was amazed at the rate of mold that had already painted the festering wounds of the dead animal. "The fire worked," Abraham reminded them. "Sorry, go ahead and finish," he said to Sam, staring at the red glow at the peak of the mountain. "And let's get back on the trail."

Sam wanted to finish her story. No, she needed to tell the tale. He saw this in the way her eyes watered. Abraham followed the sound of an owl up toward the sky trying to make her comfortable.

"Rictor's urges grew with his frustration, first a quick fondle, and then more kisses. He treated me like a dog." She had hated the touching and it showed on her expression. "Every night, he tried something new, and every time, I screamed and fought." Sam swallowed hard then a violent shiver followed. "I couldn't sleep for weeks. The fear had taken over."

Talking about it would free her from its internal torment. But Abraham wasn't going to force the girl to do anything. "I'm sorry," he offered.

"Fuck him! After a few more days, we came to an abandoned farm house. At dusk, he forced himself on top of me and licked his nasty tongue up and down my neck. My wrists were held up above my head with one of his large hands. That fucker went back to the button on my shorts." Sam looked down in shame and disgust.

"You don't have too," Abraham said, turning his focus back toward the bastard sky. _Stop staring._

"He didn't rape me," she spat, unable to hold back her tears. "He would have, but..." She burst into a deep crying, and when Hunter went to comfort to her, she held out a hand to stop him. The poor teenage boy didn't understand the sensitive nature of the subject. Abraham knew Hunter only wanted to help, but in certain cases, comfort meant reliving bad memories.

Abraham would explain that to his grandson later. He realized he was marching through a clump of weeds covered in sharp pricks. He shrugged off the slight pain against his flesh. _Damn blood flow must be getting worse_.

"The buzzing sound came hard and fast. That sicko was struggling to get my shorts down. I bit, fought, kicked, screamed, and gave everything I had. I was mad enough to kill him. Do you think that was wrong?"

"Hell no, you should of fucking killed him!" Abraham stammered and Hunter agreed.

Sam glanced about, seemingly unsure of her feelings. "'Be brave, girl,' he told me over and over. I was exhausted. I couldn't fight him—he was too strong. In that moment of defeat, an angel came to rescue me. One of the infected freaks tore into the room and bit him in the neck."

The foul smell of decay slapped Abraham's nostrils, bringing the horrors of the mill to life.

"In the end, Rictor survived, and he drove a screw driver through its rotten brain until nothing was left but mush. Without a word, we stared at each other from across the room. I stayed close to a lamp and imagined smashing it across his forehead. It was in that moment that your broadcast came over a shortwave radio near the nightstand."

"I thought for the longest time I was talking to myself," Abraham said, feeling at ease. "And those infected freaks are no angels."

Sam canted her head and disagreed by shaking her head. She would have been Rictor's had the infected thing not come to her rescue.

"Rictor pleaded with me to help him to the gas station. He apologized a thousand times. What choice did I have? I was hoping maybe you could help me find my brother. By the time we reached the old station, he was starting to change. He took me by the hair and locked me in the freezer." The poor girl was shaking from head to toe.

"It seems the universe gave him what he deserved." Abraham noticed a shift in the wind, and the smoldering smell of fire subsided.

"Were you serious about heading to Denver? On the radio you said you thought about it. Was that for real?"

Abraham chewed on her words. Would he leave his farm? He hadn't given it serious thought until he discovered the nest a few miles away. If she had asked him a few days ago, he would have said no, but now the infected were within striking distance. It would only be a matter of time. "The thing is... nobody who's gone to Denver has ever come back."

"Why would anyone leave a city with food, wine, and power? You've seen what the Rocky Mountains have become. Or did you lie about wanting to go to Denver?"

"I didn't lie." Then, why did he feel guilty? "I like you, Sam, and I'll give it a hard thought. But for now, we must keep moving." He had taken an interest in the southern girl. Maybe this was fate or the hand of God guiding him toward one of his missing children. That, of course, made him think of his loving wife, Beth. Beth was a timeless beauty frosted with age. Most of his family was still alive and accounted for, and for that he was grateful. The world had taken a turn toward hell; it was fading. Or was it dying? He holstered his pistol and continued on toward the farm in silence. He needed time to reflect. He needed answers to his many burning questions.

#  V

"Look," Samantha said, pointing through the cords of branches.

Abraham followed her finger, fighting the annoying stab in his heart. He winced as if his eyes had deceived him. He followed the tip of the dirt road downward, past the staked fence, all the way to his worn farm house. He saw white paint smeared across the two-story barn.

INFECTED: STAY AWAY, it said in bold, bright letters.

_You got to be shitting me,_ he mused.

"Is that your farm?" Sam asked, touching her lower lip.

Abraham looked at his warm home dotted in emptiness, feeling as if a part of him faded with the wind. The durable house was full of character despite its many imperfections. In a way the humble home had reminded Abraham of his own beat-up persona. Now it was tainted.

Without another word, he ran. Hysterical, he shouted his wife's name, then his eldest son's. As he stumbled down the narrow pathway, small runnels of rock and sand crumbled down with him. Mad in sorrow and thought, he leapt across a trifling crevice and continued in haste. His face was full of detestation and every carved etch was highlighted in the blood light of the early hour. He thought of his wife's expression, innocent with age. _It cannot end this way_. There are sorrows too great and troubles that never end, but he never imagined his home falling to the decay of the infected. This was a world that had died in that drumming moment.

Coming to a stop at the front door, he studied a mandatory evacuation notice pinned to the panel frame. Unable to sit still, he exploded through the unlocked front door and studied the milky foam spread thickly over the living room walls. It reminded him of the remnants of a fire extinguisher. It was bubbled and an ivory color that gave off a sick, sweet smell.

"Beth," he wailed, fumbling toward the stairs. _She has to be alive_. Bleeding through the curtains in his bedroom was the putrid color of red.

The storm raged on in his feeble mind, and Abraham couldn't gage the reality of the situation. "Beth!" he shrieked, moving across to the guest room, where his eldest son was keeping some of his things. "Where did they go?" His arms seemed to seek out the walls as he staggered back down the swaying stairwell.

"Why!" he shouted, collapsing to his knees. He fell forward to his hands and lowered his drumming chest toward the stained floor. Still, he clawed his way back into the living room and scooped a hand across the end table, knocking off a bottle of medication. His quaking fingers had trouble gripping the bottle, and even more opening the childproof top. He hadn't used the heart medication in two years, and when he broke the top, he swallowed the pill dry. Falling inch by inch to the floor, he rolled to his aching back.

"Beth," he gasped.

"Here," Sam said. She nudged a glass of water to his dry lips and gave it a tilt. "Drink up, sugar." After, he felt Hunter grip him under his arms and lift him to the couch. There would be answers in a few moments, but for now, he knew he needed to close his eyes and rest.

"You will not steal my wife," he whispered. "You will not touch my family!"

Sam brushed his fevered brow with her dirty hands and hummed a beautiful old tune. In a haze, and then a blur, Abraham listened to Hunter's heavy footsteps running through the house. The world distorted, and minutes later, the boy settled in the cozy chair across from him. Abraham knew better than to ask if he had found anyone. If Hunter had, he wouldn't have been shedding tears like a snake skin, hard and abrasive.

Abraham worried about his family. He closed his eyes as he was taken back two years ago. One year after Red Dead first stained the sky in blood. The same night he suffered his first heart attack. The same night he lost Robb to the war.

***

The blistering illumination of Red Dead burned the sky. The thick, cream-colored curtains were pulled tight, though it wasn't enough to keep the glow out of his bedroom. Red Dead had entered the solar system one year ago, the exact day the accursed Civil War began. The mountains promised his three sons, two daughters, and handful of grandchildren priceless safety. Leaving the congested city was the smartest thing he ever did, or so he thought.

The Neutral Zone Federation promised a safe haven for families wanting to escape the Civil War, but Denver was constantly patrolled by the Federation Military. The Mile High City felt more like a refugee camp under martial law. In the mountains, Abraham and his family relished their freedom. Both the North and the South signed the Treaty of Life and respected the neutral ground of Colorado, Utah, and Kansas. Surprising enough, only a few Americans sought sanctuary in the safe zone. Everyone else was sucked into the bloodlust of combat.

The Civil War enlisted every nation on the planet. The political lies came hard and fast. Each side had its own warped version of freedom and liberty. Abraham always used to tell his children that freedom in this country was an illusion. _Nobody is laughing anymore._ Stuffing the feathered pillow over his eyes, he wondered if all of the hard fighting had something to do with that alien planet. He knew the elect would never spill the truth as he scrunched his wrinkled face.

War never changed; it was the same stench of rotting bodies and endless terrors. Abraham served in the U.S. Army before the Civil War when he was but a boy. However, now he believed the old "red, white, and blue" was a distant memory. The latest weapons threatened to pulverize every damn continent like a festering wound stuffed with radiation. The carnage coming was like nothing the world had ever faced. _And all for what?_

Wide awake, the internal chaos brought his sore eyes to his tiny wife sleeping beside him. Listening to his wife's tiny snores, his cheeks dimpled. Beth was the sweetest soul. Dust danced upon the shards of crimson light that highlighted her gentle features.

"You awake, Beth?" he asked brushing an auburn curl out of her face. The only answer was a huff of air as she stirred in peaceful harmony. "I don't know what I would do without you," he mouthed. Beth had lost two brothers to the senseless violence. Both of them wore the navy blue jackets of the Northern Republic. Sweet Beth begged them not to go. She knew both sides were wrong. You could never justify kindergarteners in coffins. Nevertheless, her brothers were stuffed with testosterone and whiskey when they enlisted. The vicious conflict left countless fractured families and broken homes.

_I can't believe that was a year ago_ , he thought, rolling to his side and kicking his stiff legs. Africa, Australia, Europe, Japan, Canada, and Israel made up the superpowers sided with the North. The South aligned itself with China, Russia, South America, and most of the Middle East. As bad as it was in America, most of the counties overseas were far worse. Hate had reached its boiling point. All that was left was the nuclear option. It hadn't happened yet, but most people believed it was only a matter of time.

He shifted to his aching back and stared up at the white ceiling. His focus rocked back and forth like he was watching an endless tennis match. He prayed for the infinite torment of his running mind to end. Nonetheless, the end ever came. Abraham didn't know what to do or if anything would help him sleep. He hated the red shimmers of light. It affected him, made him angry and restless. Maybe it was causing all of the worldwide bloodshed?

A slight ringing tapped in his left ear. As if he could hear the phone before it erupted in tone, his age spotted hands scrambled for the receiver. He didn't want to wake his tranquil wife. In few days the first bombs would fall and the phone lines would be forever gone. The whole world would fester.

"Hello?" he whispered, cupping his mouth with his free hand. He slid on a frameless pair of glasses and waited.

"Dad," said Peter loud enough to reverberate.

"Peter, is that you?" Abraham climbed out of his tangle of blankets.

"Sorry to wake you," his oldest son replied, breathing heavily through his nose.

"You didn't wake me."

Peter sighed "Still not sleeping?"

"A little here and there," Abraham whispered, sliding his feet into a pair of slippers at the edge of the bed. He slipped out into the shadowy hall, wondering why Peter was calling this early in the morning. Peter was his oldest son and a humble man. He was considered Abraham's good kid. Peter had taken up residence a few miles down the dirt road. All of Abraham's family lived nearby, and that was a blessing.

"Have you talked to Robb?"

Abraham shook his wary head. He hadn't talked to his son in three weeks. Robb was the middle boy, and a bit different in a peculiar way. Robb loved science and math. He could read and understand things that made Abraham's head drum. That wasn't to say the rest of his children were dumb. All of them were successful in their own ways. Yet, Robb was rocket science, fly-you-to-the-moon smart. He never played with toys; he never played sports. All he ever wanted to do was read and build things.

After a slight pause Abraham sighed. "You know, I haven't spoken to him since he started that conversation about the joining the Southern Liberty. Abraham hated war. Robb wanted to go work for a private contractor somewhere in Texas. It was a nasty fight and no walls were thick enough to keep them safe. Abraham wasn't going to lose a child to the mindless ploys of the rich. Abraham somehow knew he was recalling this memory and that made the pain of losing Robb worse.

"I just got off the phone with an ecstatic Robb." Peter said it almost as if he was proud. "He said he's going tonight."

Abraham dragged his clammy hands across his exhausted face. "What?" He wondered aloud.

"Robb told me to gather the family and head to your house. He was going to give us some big speech. He said the end of the world was near."

"He's coming here?" Abraham gasped. "Why would he tell you such things?"

"Robb said time was short."

Abraham still didn't believe his son was threatening to join the South. "What the hell's wrong with your brother?" He rushed for the second floor window and parted the ivory blinds with his meaty figures. His heart almost stopped when he saw a slick car's high beams coming down the dirt road.

"Someone's coming," Abraham said full of passion.

"Robb," breathed Peter. "What should I do? Should we come?"

"Maybe your brother was out drinking. This doesn't make sense." Abraham hurried down the old creaking stairs and lifted the curtain at the front window, a big bay window of length. He squinted as the high beams blinded him for a moment. "He's driving like a manic. And how did he afford the gas?"

The silver vehicle swept across the long driveway and slid to a screeching halt. Abraham stepped back, holding his pained heart. _Too much pressure,_ he thought, falling back into his comfortable plaid recliner. Robb would have to wait. Abraham reached over and popped the top of his heart medication. Two blue pills tumbled from the vial into his rough palms and then shot into his dry mouth. He swallowed hard as the agony increased. The medication had kept him heart attack free so far.

"Dad?" called out Peter. "Dad, are you alright? Who was in the vehicle?"

Abraham tensed as he let the phone fall out of his hand. He hadn't seen Robb in three weeks. He sat slack jawed, his brown eyes bulging as Robb burst through his front door like he had over the years.

"What is going on?" Abraham met the gorgeous eyes of two of his grandchildren shuffling in behind their zealous dad. Their shrieks grew with his drumming heartbeat. Robb puffed and panted as he ignored Abraham and kept moving.

"Dad, please don't go!" wailed Emme, tugging at Robb's pin-striped blazer. The little black pack on her shoulders must have weighed close to thirty pounds. She was a sweet girl of ten back then, with a spirit bright enough to rival the daylight. Abraham enjoyed Emme the most of his seven grandchildren. The reality of the situation forced him to pick up a stale glass of water and take a sip. The medicine was working, but its effects were too slow for his liking. His heart hammered in his overused chest as he sunk farther into the folds of the chair.

"I'm going with you, Dad," exclaimed Hunter, picking up his bags. The teenage boy had sideswiped bangs and a lean frame. His personality matched the bad boy presence attributed to teenage angst. However, Abraham's son, Robb, in his late-thirties, looked pale and sick.

He watched Robb yank at Hunter's denim sleeve and speak with authority. "I will be back. You'll be safe here with Grandma and Grandpa."

"What the hell is going on?" demanded Abraham, trying to stand up, yet the tightness in his chest kept him seated. "You're going to get yourself killed." All of his swelling anger came back with vengeance in his hard glare. "I forbid you from joining the South."

Robb's grin mocked him. "I called Peter, Benjamin, Lilly, and Alison. I told them to make haste for the farm. We need to talk." The red glisten from the terrestrial object bled into the room, highlighting Robb's dark hair laced with a hint of his mother's curls.

"Do you know what time it is?" questioned Abraham, adjusting his glasses. The clock on the wall confirmed the late hour, but Robb didn't seem to care. "Where is your wife, Robb?"

"Tori went to warn her dad."

"Warn Glenn about what? That you've gone off your rocker?" Glenn was Abraham's closest neighbor and Emme and Hunter's other grandpa. The crazy man was far from someone Abraham would call a friend. They had plenty of disputes between them over the last year.

At that strident moment, Beth rushed down the stairs, threading her frail arms around her trembling grandchildren. "What is the meaning of this?" she said.

Abraham pounded his fists. "That fool of a boy is going to fight for the South."

Her thin lips quivered as she hugged little Emme in a somber embrace. "Robb, is it true?"

"Tori and I must go if the world is to survive what is coming. The apocalypse is on its way."

"Why do you always talk in riddles?" snapped Abraham, wanting to slap the stupid out of his son.

"Are you listening to me? Get off your high horse and use your brain."

Abraham was more than frustrated with his dim-witted son. Robb always thought he knew best, but he didn't understand respect.

"Hush now. That's your father," Beth spat. "Show some respect."

Abraham exchanged dark glances with his son.

After several deep breaths, Robb turned back to his mother. Beth was always willing to listen to reason. "I'm leaving my children with you. I'll return as soon as possible."

With a dejected look, Beth wiped the wet corners of her coffee-colored eyes. A grandmother always loved her grandchildren in a way she never could her own children. Abraham knew this to be true. Both Hunter and Emme melted into her warm embrace. However, the little girl continued to wail. It was like a banshee's cry to Abraham as he cringed.

Abraham fought his way up despite the throbbing numbness climbing up his left side. His shaggy white eyebrows on his old face cut together.

"You'll need guns." Robb shifted back toward the door. "And shelter after the bombs settle."

"Guns are illegal here," snapped Abraham as Emme fell silent upon Beth's hammering chest.

"Is everything okay?" questioned Tori as she burst into the house.

Everyone muttered a different word for no. Nobody was fine; in fact, it was the complete opposite.

Abraham saw the terror in Tori's body language. Her straight, yellow hair fell down her slender back. "Robb, we have to go," she said to her husband.

"The rest of my brothers and sisters haven't arrived," Robb replied.

"My daddy is coming," Tori muttered with hollow eyes. She ran to her frightened children and took them in her loving arms. "It's going to be okay," she assured them.

Robb sighed. "I thought you said he wasn't a problem?"

The scattering of loose gravel alerted them of someone else's arrival. Was it the rest of the Abraham's children or Tori's crazy old father?

"The world is about to change. The North and the South are getting ready to launch a barrage of nuclear devices," Robb said.

Abraham watched Robb clear the blemished coffee table between them. A pile of books and a glass tub of shiny hard candy crashed onto the carpeted floor. The sharp sound echoed across the space as tension between father and son intensified.

Robb swung up a hardened suitcase with a bang and clinked open the two plastic snaps. Inside was a variety of guns including assault rifles, hunting rifles, shotguns, and even pistols. Robb pointed back to another suitcase near the door and spoke soft and easy. "It's stuffed with extra ammo. Hide it in the barn or one of the hunting cabins. Bury some of it out in the woods. I'm sure you remember how to use it, Dad."

"A nuclear war?" Abraham gazed at Robb's arsenal and then back to his somber son. He loved Robb, but the conflict had made his boy crazy. _I think you need to leave,_ he thought, but couldn't say the words. All he wanted was for his son to stay. Abraham couldn't process the information fast enough. His eyes sunk a little deeper in his sullen expression. The red shade of the planetary object brought a fevered mien to his stoned appearance. He returned his eyes to his humming wife. "Did you hear him?"

"I heard him," Beth hummed, rocking Emme.

"I don't want to die," Emme whimpered louder. Emme must have felt protected, sandwiched between her grandma and her mother. There was no safer place on the planet.

"Take care of your sister," Robb said to Hunter. "We'll be back."

"What good are guns in a nuclear war?" asked Abraham, interlacing his fingers behind his head.

"Don't go, Mom," moaned Hunter, climbing into her familiar arms.

"I don't have a choice." Tori sobbed, running a hand through his messy hair. Abraham could see she didn't want to leave her babies.

"There will be no home if we fail," added Robb. He touched his boy gently across the shoulder and then turned for the door with Abraham hot on his heels.

Standing next to a rusted pickup truck was Tori's father, Glenn. "Come out here, boy. I want to have words with you," the crude rancher said, smacking his thin lips. Abraham watched Tori rush out the door. She pleaded with her drunken father. The whiskey breath must have burned her damp eyes by the jerk reaction she presented.

Robb followed his wife out and down the porch steps. Glenn had family serving in the Northern Republic. Everyone knew he hated all ties to Southern Liberty. The slender farmer scowled as his brow rose. He opened his pinkish eyes and stared. "I'll tell you something, Robb. You try and run off and join the South, I'll kill you."

Robb smiled like a playful boy. "You don't understand. They need brilliant minds to fight what's coming."

"Fuck you, and your alien talk."

"It's the spores that are going to change the world. It will make you wish for death, but it will never come."

Abraham didn't like the tone of the conversation. He moved back for a moment to the arsenal of weapons. He hadn't fired a gun since his days in the service. The Neutral Zone Federation had a weapon ban it enforced with an iron fist in the city, but in the sticks, their presence was limited.

At first, Abraham thought about heading to Mexico. He believed the weapons ban was ploy for something sinister. He didn't like the idea of living amongst a government of unarmed civilians. But he felt this place was the only way to keep his family out of the Civil War. _Screw the rules,_ he thought as his fingers scratched the glossy gun metal of a pistol. He pressed the magazine release and frowned at the stack of .45 rounds, ready to do some damage.

The shouting outside intensified. Tori called for Abraham to join them outside. The fear in her tone gave him the balls to stuff the gun into the back of his gray pajama pants. Muttering sinful curses under his breath, he strode out into the crimson night.

"Hold on, Glenn," he mumbled, taking in his wily neighbor's unpredictable eyes. It was grandpa verse grandpa.

"I never liked your son. He's weak like you, Abraham," Glenn spat with a stream of chewing tobacco dripping out of his mouth.

"I've pissed harder than you've ever fought." Abraham took another step closer, watching a new set of headlights dip through the thicket of trees. "That's going to be Benjamin Heinz," he suggested, watching Glenn turn back to the rumbling sound of the vehicle. "How many times did my son kick your son's ass? Close to a dozen if I remember right. Funny, your boy was two years older and a good foot taller. What do you think he's going to do to you?"

Glenn laughed, then busted Robb in the mouth. Robb never saw the sucker punch coming. Glenn moaned, then tucked his fist back, wincing in discomfort. "Piss on you, Abraham. Don't worry. I got me a Northern soldier on the way. He's going to take care of this Southern traitor," Glenn promised.

Abraham sucked in a lungful of thin air. His daughter Alison was engaged to a Northern soldier named Steven who happened to be on leave in the area. Most of the soldiers on both sides took their vacations in the neutral zone. It was the only safe place for a combatant. Steven had a certain savvy about him that disgusted an old man such as himself. Maybe it was because the soldier reminded Abraham of his own persona during his youthful time in the military.

Abraham never liked Glenn. The troublesome neighbor had given his family a barrage of issues because of Robb and Tori's relationship. Nevertheless, it was the poisoning of his dog that burned in his soul.

Abraham watched Benjamin jump out of his vehicle. One of the straps on Benjamin's brown overalls was busted and swung with each heavy step. Ben was the largest in the Heinz family with refined muscles that never took a day of rest. He continued in a straight line for Glenn, only taking his eyes off of him once, glancing down to check his injured brother.

"Nobody hits Robb except me," he said.

Glenn spit at the ground and showed his toothless grin. "Ben, you don't know what he did."

Ben's oil stained hands were balls as he crushed Glenn in the stomach. Glenn fell, clutching tight to his swollen belly. "Tell me he deserved it, Robb," Ben snapped at his brother. "Tell me!"

"Every ounce of it," Robb answered.

Abraham gawked at the edge of the driveway. He saw another car he didn't hear drive up. This was one of those fancy electric vehicles. A tall man slipped out the back of the car on polished dress shoes. The navy blue trousers held up by suspenders told Abraham he was in serious trouble. He knew the Northern scumbag was here for Robb. Abraham felt the tension inch down his spine. The man was indeed Steven Waller, his youngest daughters, fiancé. Steven had two fellow Yankees following his every step. "This isn't a war zone," Abraham called out, though everyone appeared to ignore his words.

"Is it true?" Steven asked, coming to a stop several feet back.

Abraham's stomach wrenched. "This is neutral ground. You got no right."

"A little birdy tells me Robb claims to have information about a nuclear war? And news about some sort of nasty virus?"

"Go to hell." Robb spat out a wealth of blood as he climbed up to his feet. "Your people did this," he accused, drenched in sweat and salt. "The Northern Republic is responsible for the coming apocalypse."

"Both sides use bombs, but nuclear bombs are against the rules. You will be coming with us. I promise you, Abraham, no harm will come to him." Steven pointed and his two Yankee goons descended on Robb.

Benjamin cut off the two soldiers in a hurry, his breath hot in their shaved faces. "Nobody's touching my brother." The two soldiers looked back to Steven for orders.

"For America," Glenn slurred as he took another cheap shot at Robb, splitting his left eye. Robb staggered and then fell into the dirt.

Abraham fingered the stubble on his strong jaw as he stepped forward. He saw his son on his knees, bleeding through his teeth and tracing a finger over his gashed eye. Part of him loved the sight; Robb needed to get his butt kicked. He'd always been weak. Yet as a father, Abraham wasn't going to let some man his age take a swing without consequences.

Increasing his speed, Abraham saw his chance and took it with fury. A straight jab brought Glenn to his knees. "Nobody is touching my family!" Enraged, Abraham turned his scowl toward Steven and his cronies. "Get off my property right now. Screw the North and the South!" Abraham felt the vein in his temple throbbing. "You think the blood spilled by the Northern Republic doesn't stain your hands, Steven?"

Glenn rose and threaded his hand in his daughter's yellow hair. He yanked her back hard. "You have turned my own daughter into a criminal." He pushed her into the dirt and charged Robb again.

Weak, hairy arms grabbed around Glenn's collar and tugged. It was Robb, and the sight made Abraham proud. His son had never fought back. During Robb's teen years, the boy would come home with black eyes and tales of how he only cowered. Whatever cause Robb was sworn to, it made him fight. This was something new. Robb forced himself on top of old Glenn and more slapped than punched.

"Nobody touches my wife," he howled.

It was in that moment that Abraham realized the crimson night had turned the weakest of souls into fierce predators. Everything that happened after blurred as the onset to his first heart attack ensued. Steven and his men thought it would be a good time to take advantage of a stunned crowd. One of them, a plump man with a splash of freckles, swung at Abraham. The heart medication made Abraham numb to an otherwise stinging blow. He took a second punch to the gut and spit. Then he gave a series of his own.

He could hear Beth screaming at the door's edge. Then and there, as sudden as it began, the screaming stopped. Abraham imagined the end of the conflict. The tussle would see Steven and his men away and Glenn back to his home. Imaging the typical ending, he failed to see Crazy old Glenn reaching for something in his pocket.

"I always hated you," Glenn slurred through his whiskey breath. "Either the soldiers take him or I kill him." As he pulled out his hand, a knife flashed in the crimson light.

"Put it down," Abraham snapped, holding up a cautious hand. It had happened too fast. "Glenn, you're not thinking right." Breathing hard and waiting for the pain in his knuckles to subside enough for him to gage the situation, Abraham trembled with raw adrenaline. The silence stretched across the shadows of the farm in an uncanny manner.

After three or four seconds, Glenn stood above Robb and held his three inches of honed steel at the ready.

"I need him alive," slurred Steve, holding a hunk of flesh dripping from his fat lips. He tried to sit up, but the beat down suffered at the hands of Benjamin left him stunned and tangled.

"This isn't you, Glenn." Abraham slid his hand back and grasped the familiar grip of the pistol. "Nobody has to get hurt. We can still all walk away from this and fix it another day."

"I do this for the good of the country," Glenn said, his voice shaky as he took a moment to appreciate the daunting blood-colored night. Closing his big eyes, Glenn ran his hand down in a swift downward motion. Red Dead must have spoken to Glenn in a rage of consuming fire as if a dark god were forcing his hand. The pleas fell silent on his deaf ears. Red Dead had ushered in commands that could never be disobeyed.

"Die!" Glenn shrieked.

Adrenaline rushing, Abraham swung the pistol and steadied his aim. Yet, before he could pull the trigger, a loud bang rang in his old ears tearing the color from his world.

He could smell the gunpowder, and when he turned and saw his grandson Hunter with a rifle, the color came back in a flash. The teenage boy was trembling as the sound echoed throughout the mass of the trees.

Everyone cried out his name, but Hunter stood still as if nothing else in the world existed. At the first release of his salty tears, he pointed the gun at Steven. "Leave my father alone!" The wild in Hunter's eyes told the soldiers he wasn't playing—that and the gaping hole in Glenn's chest.

Abraham scrutinized Steven and his men as they retreated to their vehicle. In the still moment, he saw many memories of war. Was this a victory? Or the beginning of something far worse? Steven drove away and Abraham couldn't help but wonder if the fool would return with the authorities. Guns were illegal. The spinning wheels pounded over ruts and potholes, the vehicle almost scraped its springs. _Steven is gone._

A few moments later, his oldest son, Peter, rolled up in his station wagon with Abraham's daughters, Lilly and Alison. This would be the last time the entire Heinz family stood together on the farm. Abraham gazed at each of his five children and staggered back to the steps of the porch. His heart fluttered. The wild fire in his chest was spreading. And then all he saw was darkness.

Nobody standing there on that dreadful night understood the far-reaching truth of Robb's words. Yet, it was there for all of them to see two years ago. Had Abraham listened back then, things might have been different. He didn't know how, but he needed to believe.

#  VI

Abraham's eyes flickered back to reality, pulling hard from the recollection. Remembering had put him in a dark corner with little optimism. He grunted a cry as he felt the sharp edge of a dagger pull out of his sore chest cavity. The memory seared him as he swept upright and steadied his feet on the carpet. Clutching his throat, he fought for air as the panic of the past curled back and left him to his disturbed thoughts. In his twisting and turning, he had thrown the decorative pillows from the couch.

"Beth," he said, feeling her heartbeat within his own. After the breathless moment ended, he glared around the room. Across from him Hunter sat, his rifle in his hand, the safety off. The boy's eyes were bottomless holes of confusion. Abraham grunted as he reached for his frameless glasses on the coffee table.

"You okay?" Hunter questioned, looking back over his shoulder. Near the big bay window was Sam, crossbow slung over her narrow back as she stole a peek outside into the blood-colored night. The crossbow was Abraham's son's. Peter had kept it up stairs in the spare bedroom for over a year.

"Did you find them?" Abraham asked, fighting a bad case of the shakes. The nightmare relived took a toll on him. _Hard to believe it's been two years._

"I found tracks, bus tracks. I think some sort of military or government agency must have come to the farm. The word 'infected' is spray painted on the barn door and its sides. I think they evacuated our family."

"Did you go in?" Abraham was up and ready to fight.

Hunter looked down and then up. "No. There really are some infected trapped in the barn. I can't get inside without freeing them. They are everywhere now. I was out scouting and saw a horde of them heading this direction."

"The bus tracks," Abraham said, "can they be followed?" A bitter chill had crept up his waterlogged back. He looked at his black-banded watch and realized he'd been out for a half hour. The daylight would soon break the horizon and chase away the monsters.

"I followed the tread back to Highway 9. They were heading toward the dinosaur gas station. If the people are stopping to pick up survivors, we might be able to catch them. Maybe Denver is safe and sound."

"Someone's coming," whispered Sam, too loud for the moment. She ducked inside the curtains as the harsh buzzing sound left the three of them plaster-white and begging for a break.

"You mean something," Abraham corrected. With a quick, one-eyed glance around the corner, he caught sight of more shadows near the back door. "They have us surrounded." He knew they weren't going to escape though the first floor. "Get upstairs, to the roof."

Abraham worked his way up to the second floor and then rattled the stubborn window open. Both teenagers slipped out onto the roof and inched toward the side of the house. Abraham knew after Robb left, Hunter would sneak out to the roof and stare at the enormous red planet. That explained how the boy knew the terrain so well.

"Should we wait?" Sam questioned.

"No, if they surround the house we will be trapped." _Curse you, Red Dead_ , Abraham thought, scrambling down the rough bark of the devolved tree. Before he knew it, he was squirming around the backside of the barn, and by God's good grace, avoided the infected monsters clawing at the front windows and door.

"Barony Tompkins," Abraham whispered. It was a neighbor twenty miles west of his farm. They had shared drinks on a fishing trip after Robb left. Barony's son had joined the South too, and both Abraham and Barony were heartbroken to lose their children.

"It's not him, at least not anymore," Hunter reminded his grandfather.

This was true. The fungus had woven itself amongst his human tissue creating a cluster of peeled flesh and oozing sores. It was hard to think this man was once human. The thing screamed one of its best buzzing sounds and then the rest of its friends trapped in the barn joined in like a group of baying wolves. Was that how they communicated? Could they communicate? Abraham didn't know, but he was pretty sure they were locking in on his scent.

The sound of shattering glass was sure to be the front windows back at the farm house. His old friend didn't wait; Barony hurried toward the sound at a frightening pace. When he did, Abraham cut across the empty space, praying the rest of the way was clear.

He weaved behind a cylindrical garbage can, then a tree, and from there, it was a straight shot toward his closest hunting cabin. The rattling of chains gave him pause, and when his eyes adjusted, he saw Greta Tompkins trying to get into the crude cabin. Inside, he had hid the keys to the old Blazer and a wealth of supplies, guns, and ammo. Nonetheless, the woman who used to bake him apple pies was guarding its only entrance. Only she was infected.

"We have to get in there," he called back to Hunter.

"You want me to draw it away?"

"Hell no, there are too many of the infected stirring about. We need to be silent." Abraham turned his stoned glare toward Samantha. Her ebony skin blended in the shadows and gave her a healthy advantage when it came to natural camouflage. "Samantha, what is your last name?"

"Why?"

Abraham only growled.

"Downs, Samantha Downs."

"Samantha Downs, can you shoot that thing in the head?"

Sam's finger edged at the base of the crossbow and whipped it in front of her chest. "My brother taught me to hunt small game back in Durango. It was how we ate before he got good at cards. I had this exact model."

"Can you kill it?" Abraham asked, realizing how monstrous he sounded. Hunter was already forced to grow up too fast, and now he was asking the girl to do the same. He would need them both if they were to survive. He would worry about giving Peter back his crossbow later.

Sam didn't smile. She had the look of a person who had never killed.

"It's not a person," Abraham said.

"I can do it," she replied

Abraham knew what it meant to fight the smothering demons of fear.

On feet as soft as a cat, she scurried toward a fern, then took aim at the head. Everyone could see ring worm scratching through the putrid eye holes of the freak, and the sight caused her to look away for a moment. She whispered something and it must have inspired her.

"Go help her," Abraham whispered back to his grandson.

Hunter paused and before he could move, Sam had positioned herself for the shot. The bolt was snug in the flight groove, and the stock wedged tightly against her shoulder. One hand gripped the trigger and the other the clasp. The string was trapped and the iron sights lined up seamless with her eyes.

The corpse rattled the chain binding the front door to the hunting cabin, and then it was over. Sam blinked hard and pulled the trigger. The bolt sang through the air and bit hard into the neighbor's skull. The thump of its dead frame brought a certain joy to her face. Abraham could almost hear her say, _I did it._

The padlock parted as Abraham used a tarnished key that hung around his neck. He left the door ajar and went to collect supplies. Looking through the window in the back, he saw another of the infected stirring about outside. It pushed its nasty, decomposed flesh against the window and pressed, revealing hideous details in the dim, red light. It sensed them. Abraham approached and opened the window. The thing reached out its infected hands and threaded them through the opening.

"You filthy monster," he whispered as he hammered an old railroad spike into the things eye—deeper and deeper until the infected freak slipped down into the blanket of pine needles.

"It's dead," Sam said, showing a great deal of resolve. Abraham didn't like the look she gave him. Her wide eyes accused him of enjoying the killing. He wanted to remind her she smiled when she saw Rictor burning, but he didn't have the time.

Behind them, Hunter slung a few bandoleers of ammo across his chest and then picked up a fresh survival pack. "And to think three years ago, I thought you were crazy," he said as his face broke into a tired grin.

"Hurry up and get to the Blazer," Abraham replied. He slung an assault rifle over his shoulder and thought the icy chill of the metal felt respectable. Then and there, he saw Sam twanging the crossbow. He almost understood her awareness as he flinched at the sound of the cord flinging forward and launching the bolt. Abraham hit the ground in a hurry, and felt his body for holes. _That crazy bitch_ , he told himself. Lost in the moment, he shifted and saw the bolt deep in the skull of the diseased thing he had just stabbed. A starburst of gore and bone fragments splattered about.

"I guess it wasn't dead," she said, shrugging her narrow shoulders. "You didn't think I was going to shoot you, did you?" she asked, showing her teeth.

Abraham snarled as quiet as he could. He snatched a survival bag and then tossed it to the girl wearing a menacing smile. "You might prove useful," he whispered, careful to watch her fluttering eyes. Abraham was annoyed by his grandson's soft laugher in the background. "Shut up!" Hunter fell silent when he saw the curved edges of Abraham's mouth. For the first time the boy actually listened.

It was dark outside as a gust of wind ushered in a series of dark clouds. It shielded them from the eerie crimson light of Red Dead, and it felt pacifying upon his exposed skin. The temperature had an icy tint to it, cutting through his flannel and pinching his skin. Abraham crept across the space back toward the farm house. Cautious, he avoided a pair of infected freaks, their gazes locked toward the darkened sky. Their vacant eyes, slack jaws, and seedy faces suggested they missed the crimson color of the night. _I hope you never see the red again_. He watched them for any proof to his theory.

The dead appeared to freeze in place like a child searching the sky for life. They all looked up as if to curse the storm clouds. "I knew it," he said, wishing his son Robb had stayed behind. Robb would have understood the science behind the phenomenon. Yet, the fool stormed off to save the day, and was now probably dead. He had to be; everything was dead and rotting in a discolored kind of way.

"Should we burn it to the ground?" Hunter asked.

Abraham focused on the last three years and tried to remember any bit of good. Yet, all he recalled was a string of bad memories. It was here his grandson lost his father and mother to duty. It was here he watched his daughter Alison join the North with her no-good husband. It was here Hunter killed his other grandpa, and in doing such enabled Robb to escape to the South. And it was here the rest of his family was torn away from him by an unknown group. Abraham struggled to overcome the strangling thoughts of reality, his reality. He felt like screaming and then killing every infected corpse on the farm. Was this the beginning of his lunacy? Or had it begun a long time ago? _I don't think so_ , he thought, welling up in tears.

"We leave it," he finally said, winded and shaking. _I'll return one day,_ he thought, _and I'll have my family with me._ He marched quiet toward the big black '76 Blazer. The shadows of the slight stirring from the infected made his heart race. However, they remained frozen and locked upon the churning and rolling clouds. The best part was the high frequency of the buzzing had fallen too.

Scratching at his chin, he reflected on a poem his wife had told him. _Nothing comes close to a mother's love and the way she feels and adores her children._ Was this the same love Red Dead shared with the infected freaks? Was that even possible? Were they somehow that planet's bastard children? It sure seemed to be. That crimson illumination seemed to give the diseased freaks life and power. It was like the shade of red was a cheerleader, calling out praise for every inch of space they infected and spoiled.

Bringing a strained hand to his eyes, he wondered what would happen if the mother was taken away forever. Would the infected corpses fade away or would they unleash a child's scorn? Or was Abraham mad?

"Grandpa Heinz! Grandpa, it's time to go," said Hunter, shaking his grandpa's shoulder.

Abraham turned and pressed his back to the cold steel of the vehicle, his fists doubled, his wits stretched. "Good-bye," he said, peeling the door open. There were too many of the infected oddities. He knew they wouldn't stand a chance. Beth told him to stay away from the gas station. Maybe he should have listened. It might have saved his family. Good-bye never came easy, and it left its nasty residue upon his sticky mind.

"Good gracious," he muttered, trying not to choke up. The clouds had parted for the moment. Then, a thunderous boom assaulted his ears. As he stood there with his hands pressed over his lobes, the infected freaks came back to life and with them the terrible buzzing sound from hell. Yet, that wasn't the assaulting sound he heard. He looked out across the daunting house to the sealed barn and saw the glowing mocha-colored eyes of a little girl standing near the open loft doors on the second level of the barn.

"Emme," he said, closing the truck door. "And she has a gun."

#  VII

Abraham was up and on the run. A bittersweet sense circled his soul. _Emme's alive._ He plucked a hammer from a work bench and split the first putrid skull close to enough to taste his wrath. He ducked under the branches of the cottonwood, splashing his carved features with fresh blood. More and more plasma slapped his body as he swung the hammer toward the diseased freaks breaking out of the big red barn. The trapped creatures poured out like a river.

"Emme, you wait up there," he yelled, and when he did, a band of infected shifted his direction. He slapped them across their temples and followed up breaking one's moldy cheek. Rotten, withered hands reached out to greet him. He howled at them and swung down hard, fracturing bone and spilling brains. They didn't smell too good; of course, he didn't smell fresh himself. His nostrils flared like a thoroughbred champion kicking down the final stretch of the track.

"Let go of him, you jack wagon." He heard Emme scream. That was something he used to say. "Go back to hell," the twelve-year-old hollered, tossing down a shovel at one of the infected. "I hate you!" Emme had picked up her foul mouth from hanging out with Abraham.

"Emme, hold on!" Abraham glided over a broken car and stomped down an infected freak. His boot crushed the soft, rotten noddle until it spilled a bunch of plump worms.

"Get back!" Emme screamed, tossing a rake down. On her shoulders was her little black backpack stuffed with little girl things. She was too innocent for this world.

He continued toward his barn, killing anything that stood in his way. Sucking air through his mouth, he clenched his fists tight around the base of the hammer. Standing in a web of fungus was Mr. Tompkins.

"You stay back," Abraham slurred. "Dammit, Barony, I'm not playing with you!" Like the mindless beast he was, Barony staggered forward and dove for Abraham. The blast from Hunter's gun left Abraham's ears ringing as a gaping hole was left in the middle of his neighbor's face. "I warned you," Abraham stuttered. Abraham didn't feel bad that would come later.

Emme managed to kick a bucket down to the first level. The squishy thud brought Emme back from the ledge as she shook in violent tremors. "Take that, you piece of garbage," she yelled down.

It was Barony's brother, Timmy; he rose with fractured limbs and lunged toward Abraham. Old Abraham dropped his hammer and reached for his pistol. The crusty old man swallowed his agony and fired, his eyes cold as a serpent. The first shot slammed into Timmy's clustered shoulder. However, the creature's momentum drove Abraham into the ground. The dull teeth of Timmy tore at Abraham's flannel like a zealous dog, his dislocated jaw swallowing clumps of the cheap fabric.

That's when something snapped in Abraham Heinz. His hands nailed up under Timmy's cleft chin, and after the third strike, he gripped Timmy's neck and squeezed. Rolling over, Abraham was now on top of the flesh-eating disease. He clawed his thumbs through its puss-filled eye sockets and pressed his fists through the decomposed skull. A slurping sound followed the creature's brain as it shot out its eyes, ears and nose.

"You killed him," Emme wailed from the second floor. Abraham saw her wide eyes flooded with tears. He knew her little mind was trying to understand what she had witnessed. "You can't do that."

"Dammit, Emme, get down here," he snapped. He rested his stained hands on his knees and climbed to his feet. _No cuts_ , he considered, looking at his hands.

"Timmy came by yesterday. I saw him talking with Grandma," Emme shrieked. "And you crushed his face." She disappeared, hiding in the shadows of the second floor. "You're not my grandpa."

"Timmy wasn't himself, not anymore. Listen to me—we have to go," Abraham said, turning back toward the mind bending sound of something immense. "Seriously? Can't I get a flipping break?"

"Grandpa, we have a problem," hollered Hunter, sprinting into the battered barn. He stopped short when he caught the sight of Abraham. "You got blood all over you."

"So do you," Abraham replied, wiping a clump of flowery gore from his flush cheek. The appearance of his grandson wavered and then came back into focus.

"It's a septic," shouted Sam somewhere outside in the darkness.

That was a major problem. Encouraging thoughts were in short supply. For all Abraham believed, there hadn't been a shred of good luck in three years.

"Hunter, get up to the second floor and get your damn sister." Abraham sprinted out of the barn and stopped dead in his tracks. Mad as hell, he holstered his pistol and cussed. At the far edge of the driveway, the frenzied septic stomped its feet into the ground, shaking everything within an acre. Abraham lifted his slung 55.6 carbine and fired a few shots into its cauliflower, pug face. The bullets had no effect. The deep-seared skin of the septic gave life to his nightmare. "It's the big guy from the mill," he hollered back. "It must have followed us."

"It's still alive," Hunter barked, breaching the crown of the ladder to the second floor of the barn. On the second story, the boy was on the same level as the hysterical septic; its skin reeked of excrement, ash, and fouler things. "Coming straight for us," the boy warned, sending the rifle bolt forward and getting ready to send the demon back to hell.

Abraham watched his grandson proudly.

"Make it go away!" screamed Emme. The freak's sonic cry boomed like some sort of futuristic military weapon out of a science fiction movie. The sound forced Emme to tear the rechargeable hearing aids from her ears. There was a ring of birds that scattered from the trees and darted for safer branches, if such a thing existed. "I want Grandma!"

"I do too," Hunter said as he got down and took aim at the parasitic features of the profane fiend. He fired with surgical precision. The empty brass flew out as he rocked the rifle bolt back and then inserted the next. It was a big fucking round. Yet, it did nothing to the walking septic tank. Its saturated stink of fungus and parasites swallowed the bullets. Hunter looked at the rifle to make sure it wasn't a toy. "It's not working."

"Where's Sam?" Abraham shouted turning away from his grandchildren.

Hunter scanned the shadows. "She's on the roof of the farm house."

At the base of the tree was a horde of the infected tearing at the jagged bark. At that moment, the rest of the clouds parted as if the Red Mother were coming to the diseased freaks' rescue. Abraham had slammed one of the large bay doors closed and was working on the second. With every reserve of strength, body, and mind, he heaved. Yet, when he sensed the crimson light, he knew the bad was about to take a dive for worse. _Shit! Shit! Shit!_ The second door crashed closed and he fixed a wedge of timber between the rough notches and fell back. "That ought to hold them," he gasped, reaching out his hand and climbing back to his feet.

At first there was only scratching at the bay door, then the rest of the infected slammed against the sturdy wood, trying to pry it open. He stood slack jawed and grinned. "Is that all you got?" His head felt empty, and he sank back toward the ladder, vision clouded, pain raging from the depths of his body. His hair was stained red and dripping in the remains of his undead victims.

As if the alien fungus understood his wise crack, the brutal septic charged like a steaming bull fighting to protect its life.

"Grandpa!" Hunter shrieked, rolling away from the high loft doors, above the locked bay doors. It was too late; the foul thing lowered its frame and exploded into the lumber, tearing apart the hinges. The twisting sound of metal was pleasant compared to the hideous sound waves of the immense freak. Emme curled up as part of the roof caved. The septic smashed over and over against the splintering wood. It was relentless in its desire for revenge.

"Are we sick? I don't want to be one of them," Emme said, plugging back in her hearing aids. Abraham's other daughter Lilly was a scientist and created a rechargeable battery system for the device. Emme could hear without them, but certain frequencies fell deaf upon her eardrums. Starved of the solar power of the farm, she would have to learn to survive without them.

"Holy smokes," Hunter snapped, aiming down the slanted loft doors. It was like awakening from a nightmare. Hunter was too young to understand what his grandfather had experienced in conflict. All Abraham could hear was his little granddaughter both far and near. At that point, the floor splintered and he felt gravity sucking him down toward the mammoth mouth of the creature. Hunter wedged his feet between fractured timbers and poked the tip of the barrel against the final notch and held his position for the moment. "Help!"

"Hunter!" Emme weaved through the broke structure and tossed down a cord of rope that was already secured to a hinge. "Climb, you stupid boy!" Emme must have sounded like her grandpa to Hunter. Abraham watched everything with bated breath.

The towering septic paused a moment just below the loft doors. The crimson light shone on its blistered face and must have reminded Emme of the terrible day her mother and father left. Abraham remembered Tori planting kisses on Emme's forehead and squeezing her like a teddy. He saw the color disappear from her cheeks. Abraham shot across the barn, ready to face the beast.

The septic howled its buzzing cry, then slammed against the loft doors again. It was trying to tear Hunter down. Sometimes Hunter was a jerk to his sister, but the boy didn't deserve to digest in the foul-smelling things stomach.

"Grandpa, do something!"

Hunter lost his rifle as it slid down into the monster's rampage. He wrapped his forearms around the frayed rope as the rest of the floor boards were sucked down. It was like a jagged wood chipper crushing several yards below. The boy did the only thing he could—scream like a little girl. Hunter dangled above the snapping jaw of the septic as Abraham felt a certain rage take over him.

Abraham gripped the icy steering wheel of his tractor until his knuckles were white. He loved his grandchildren too much; it hurt to think of anything else bad happening to one of them. Both had lost their parents and he lost his son.

He screamed in a hysterical frenzy as his foot floored the gas pedal. The engine of the tractor whined as it plowed ahead. The sound of the timber exploding was followed by the spurts of toxic blood spraying against the protective windshield with a thump. He didn't stop; instead, he slammed the pedal harder, despite the parasitic gore raining all around. The right leg collapsed under the septic as it was forced back, snapping whatever moldy joint was holding it together. The creature was distracted and disoriented, and on its back.

Abraham knew this was his only chance. He pressed harder as the wheels fought for footing, digging deeper into the awful flesh of the beast and a dozen of its lesser friends. The septic's auditory yowl lasted for several seconds as its branched hands tried to heave the big green tractor off its mushy frame. Abraham simply stared ahead at the fifty shades of red, gasping and trembling, until his eyes took him to a dark place. A place that only existed in the mind of a parent trying to save their child—or grandchild.

Then, it was over, the carnage, the fright; it all ended with a loud slurping sound crushing the remains of the septic like a blender. The huge wheels spun in reckless abandon, the sound a sweet symphony.

"Nobody hurts my family," he sang. "I don't care how big you are."

Abraham slumped forward in the torn tractor seat, pressing his hands tighter against the wheel. Sometimes he could think clear, and sometimes it was the demons whispering their lies. He touched the cold door handle and exhaled. _Is it over?_

He winced as he hit the ground. Yet, standing there like an angel in the distance was sweet little Emme. She pushed her purple glasses up the slope of her button nose, then ran to him. No matter what, he had loved her from the first moment he could remember. Even as a baby, only Grandpa Abraham could calm her frantic crying spells. The warm embrace must have meant safety.

He held her against his pounding chest and whispered, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she replied, wiping her dripping nose against the only clean spot on his shirt.

He pulled back and looked her up and down. "What happened?"

"The men in yellow suits with breathing masks came and told Uncle Peter it wasn't safe. They said the infection had claimed all of the nearby towns. Uncle Peter tried to tell them we were staying and waiting for you, but the men insisted. Our family was loaded up on armored buses and taken. Grandma was crying like crazy." Emme looked as if she were about to cry again.

"They left you behind?" he asked, brushing one of her rebellious light brown curls out of her shaky face.

"I hid. I didn't want to go without you. I knew you would come back. I got trapped in the barn with all of those dead bodies. Only they weren't dead." Emme's arms and legs were stiff when she wiggled out from his grasp. "There is blood on the ground, blood on the sky, and blood all over you!"

"Trust me, I hate the color red too," he said, realizing the infected had devoured all of the farm animals.

Far off over the mountains, Emme heard the buzzing of more infected freaks. When her brother placed a hand on her back, she quivered. "More are coming," she said, putting an arm around Hunter and giving him a big hug.

He only stared at her with big eyes. "Can you hear them?" Hunter questioned trying to listen for the buzzing sound. "I can't hear anything."

"They are coming," she warned, adjusting her hearing aids. "They're still far away, but they're coming."

In the background there was only the sound of heavy wind and the drip of water. It was the first time Abraham felt like he was without the terrible sound. Morning had come to save them. The sunlight would chase the monsters back into the dark crevices of the mountains. "We should be safe," he replied.

The swelling in Hunter's face was bright and would leave a healthy bruise. The boy had a few minor cuts from the collapsing of the barn, but considering the size of the septic; Abraham thought he got off easy. Showing his smile, he pulled the boy and his sister into his warm embrace and sobbed.

"Where did these men take them?"

"I would guess Denver. What about the farm?" Emme asked, placing an ear to his chest as if to listen to the pounding of his heart.

Abraham had come to this place to survive, and it was going to be hard to leave. One moment, they were laughing and playing games, the next moment stole everything. Abraham turned his head back toward the farm house and sighed. "Our time at the farm is over. Fix your eyes in the opposite direction, for that is our future."

He listened for the voice of reason. However, only the terrible evil spoke to him. The animals were dead, his family taken, but at least two of his grandchildren were safe. He grabbed the little girl and pulled her close. "We'll find Grandma and then the rest of our family. I swear that to you, my little princess."

"That thing got enough juice to make it to Denver?" Sam asked, emerging from the curve of the farm house. Her green tank top was now brown-red. She picked up the hammer Abraham had used from the dirt and held it out in her open palm. "Sugar, you might want to keep this. I think it suits you."

Abraham made himself look at all the carnage. Flesh, fungus, and blood battered together like a cake mix. It took him a moment to realize these things had once been human. The infected no longer looked like people. The fungus had eaten their eyes, and sometimes their faces. He took the bloody hammer and smiled.

"I did what I had to do, and would do it again," he promised, adjusting his glasses. "If the rest of the way is stuffed with this infected dung, then no, we won't make it to Denver with the little gas left in the tank." He regarded the bits of bones and pieces of flesh strung about the area. "But it is a step in the right direction."

He watched his grandson look up and noticed Sam's curvy figure.

"Glad you made it," Hunter said, smiling at the beautiful girl.

"Honey, I'm not going to die. Not until I find my brother. It seems that fate has strung us together. And it's clear as mud it wants us to travel to Denver or whatever is left of the Mile High City. How about we all get a change of clothes before we set out into the great unknown?"

"But more of them are coming," Emme warned, tugging on her grandpa's sleeve.

"Look," Hunter said, pointing at the first rays of dawn. "The sun will drive them away. We should be safe until dusk."

Abraham chewed on Sam's words. They were the same words his wife would have spoken. Yes, believing everything happened for a reason was a bit childish. The universe was vast; the country alone more miles than he could ever walk. The wind could have been wrong, but maybe he simply needed to believe in something. Somewhere out there, far away, his family needed him. The connection of his heart wavered in his heavy chest. _I'm coming, Beth._ Looking up at the fading stars, he wondered if his wife was looking up at the same blistered morning sky and thinking of him. He turned back toward the truck while everyone else took off to the house. He heard Emme introduce herself to Sam, and promise Sam that she could wear some of her aunt's clothes. The morning glory had stretched across his wary face, and the daylight gave him strength, strength to fight on in a world of shit and piss. _I will search for my family for now and forever._

#  VOLUME 2: THE ECHO OF DECAY

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If you enjoyed Infected Freaks: Volume One, please consider giving a review and sharing your experience with a friend.

Abraham's nightmare has just begun...

After a narrow escape, Abraham Heinz and the rest of his group set out to find his missing family members. The hostile territory takes them to an old friend, hiding away in what is left of a crumbling mountain town.

Abraham finds his friend and is thankful for shelter from the infected freaks roaming the desolate landscape. However, he quickly discovers that his old friend has dangerous secrets. Abraham must decide if the life of a stranger is worth trading for his missing family.

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#  CORDYCEPS FUNGUS

MIND CONTROLLING FUNGUS FOUND IN BRAZILIAN RAIN FOREST:

Most fictional zombie infections are a product of a deadly virus. However, in the deep forests of Brazil a real cordyceps fungus has done the impossible. It has brought to life the zombie apocalypse on the insect world. Originally thought to be a single class of fungi, the cordyceps is now divided between four distinct species with the possibility for many more. This is part of the inspiration for my book series INFECTED FREAKS.

"The newly discovered phenomenon is frightening scientists around the globe. This is because of the mind controlling abilities the fungi presents. Scientists have announced the zombie fungus species can infect ants, take over the brain, and then kill the insect in a spot that is desirable to grow more fungi and help spread the spores. Some of these ants could travel miles to find the right spot. This makes the body of the ant a puppet to the fungi.

The parasitic spores attach to the ant, eventually breaking through the exoskeleton using mechanical pressure and enzymes. A bite, a scratch, a tear in the flesh would be enough for the fungi to invade the blood stream with the ultimate goal of the brain.

Next up is the yeast stage. The fungi spreads in the ant's body and presumably produces compounds that affect the ant's hemocoel and utilizes the evolutionary trait of an extended phenotype to manipulate the behavioral patterns exhibited by the ant. Zombie ants begin to have irregularly spaced full body convolutions which sends them to the forest floor. The insect climbs up the stem of a plant and uses its mandibles to secure itself to a leaf vein, with abnormal force, leaving dumbbell-shaped marks on it.

Once the mandibles of the ant are secured to the leaf vein, atrophy sets in destroying the sarcomere connections in the muscle fibers, and reduces the mitochondria and sarcoplasmic reticula. The ant is no longer able to control the muscles of the mandible and will remain affixed here. This lockjaw trait is popularly known as the death grip, and is essential in the fungus's fitness. The fungus then kills the ant, and continues to grow as its hyphae invade more soft tissues and structurally fortify the ant's exoskeleton. More mycelia then sprout out of the ant, and securely anchor it to the plant substrate while secreting antimicrobials to ward off competition. When the fungus is ready to reproduce, its fruiting bodies grow from the ant's head and rupture, releasing the spores. This process takes 4 to 10 days."

The discovery by David Hughes and colleagues is something of wonder and terror. The fungal growth is only thought to harm the insect population. However, with each new species of fungus the risk to humans seems paramount. The fungus is capable of adapting to various environments and victims. Should the fungi ever infect a human brain the results may be similar to the fantasied zombie apocalypse.

The cordyceps fungus is an ever evolving species that scientists are just beginning to understand. With thousands of zombie fungi in tropical forests across the globe yet to be discovered, the chances of a human infection are high according to some of the specialists in the field.

The fungus uses its host to spread the infection. The human body is capable of spreading such a virus in an uncanny manner. Instead of devouring flesh the will of the creature would be to infect other hosts. This is exactly what these zombie ants do to its own colony. Once an ant is infected, the fungus forces the bug to bit other ants and in doing so allows the infection to spread at a frightening rate. The same concept applied to humans is exactly what the zombie apocalypse entails. However, unlike zombies a brainless body would bloom into a forest of fungus and create pockets of spores to infect the next unlucky person to stroll close enough. The human tissue would feed the fungi for a wealth of time allowing the process to devour mankind in a short period.

However, ants are smart and if they sense infected member they will carry them away from the colony hoping to avoid the infection. Of course the fungus infecting humans is speculation at this point. But in my new book series Infected Freaks the outbreak is real and possibly alien.

Learn more about the cordyceps fungus on the Web:

<http://www.jasonborrego.com/>

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XuKjBIBBAL8>

<http://www.jasonborrego.com/cordyceps-fungus/>

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dA02gyLwh0A&list=PL_qbtwt0bvuUlYqIpEqMyd_jCkK3VzelS

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7WHaFWgKSsU&list=PL_qbtwt0bvuUlYqIpEqMyd_jCkK3VzelS

 http://www.wired.com/2013/09/absurd-creature-of-the-week-zombie-ant-fungus/

 http://www.scientificamerican.com/article/zombie-ant-fungus-parasite/

 http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2011/03/pictures/110303-zombie-ants-fungus-new-species-fungi-bugs-science-brazil

#  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jason Borrego is author based in Denver, Colorado. He is leading the charge against hard-hitting political issues such as who would win in a fight—a pirate or a ninja. Please let him know on Facebook or Twitter.

In addition, in these troubling times Jason aims to expose major cover ups such as dragons behind every major war, zombies boosting the coffee industry and the unicorns unionizing movement plaguing the nation.

How is a lowly author supposed to focus? As an exhausted war veteran, a college grad with endless debt, a parent without a clue, and future knight of the round table—most will find his writing chronicles his own journeys and struggles in life. That should scare you!

Are you still there?

Great, you must be crazy too!

Now we can share stories of fishing with Golem in Mordor. Please join me on Facebook, Twitter, and visit my Website for all things bold, even though I feel italic.

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#  OTHER BOOKS BY JASON BORREGO

 A Prisoner of the Wasteland: Antonio is a hero of war, a deeply felt soldier that questions the limits of sanity. A lifetime of gut wrenching pain has left him as a fractured shell of his former glory. His gut wrenching journey reminds us that we are all vulnerable. The conclusion offers no easy answers.

A College of Spirits and Warfare: Ray's inspiring adventure begs for belief in the impossible. Discovering a whole new world hidden in plain view at an infamous college, requires admirable friends. He must discover to walk with friends in the dark, or die alone in the light. Ray shows us that the shoulder of a friend is sharp as any sword.

The Inner Workings of Decay: Jude's is left to ponder what it is to be human. The stealth assassin never belonged, but the reason will shatter his every conviction. Jude must look past his flesh, and discover the true meaning of his existence. The only question that remains is will he still believe?

Untold Secrets of Redwood: Rose's struggle is a heart stopping tale of tragedy that exposes the carnal nature of a divided family, in a supernatural world. It will appeal to fans of hard hitting heroines.

Stuffed Courage: This children's fantasy is an epic adventure about enduring and overcoming bad dreams and nightmares. In addition to facing his fears, Alex will have to take on his nightmares, an annoying sister, and his clueless parents that only get in his way. This young boy and his teddy bear find their courage pushed to its ghostly limits in this brave adventure!

#  CONTESTS

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