I.


The world ended in my backyard. I was there when it imploded in the messiest, most horrifying way possible and with enough force to shock me and the rest of the human population, to the point our brains probably resembled Jell-o.

But wait; I’m getting ahead of myself here. There’s more to the story and here is how it began.


Vrrrrrr. Chink. Chink. Chink. I gritted my teeth through the complaints of the engine as my old pickup truck rumbled down the dusty, rock-studded road, if you could call it that when it was more of a beaten path. The uncomfortable ride I could handle, but the sound- I cranked the radio up another five notches until the band I was listening to screamed in my ears- I’d been meaning to get a mechanic to check on the car but hadn’t found the time, or the necessary auto shop. Now, almost back in town from my latest job, there was nothing to do besides hope Mr. Gyles, the resident handyman, was available.

The thing is, I was smack dab in the middle of the country, or, as I liked to say, the middle of nowhere. There wasn’t a godforsaken house for miles and pit stops to refill the greedy tank were few and far between. About all you could see in every direction was flat, barren land dotted with the occasional scraggly tree or jackrabbit. The dust was sometimes so thick you’d find it in your underwear days after the wind picked it up and threw it at you.

It was the Midwest, it was Nebraska, it was a pain in the ass, but it was home.

At least, it was home when I had last left it.

A low ring brought me back from my wandering thoughts. I tried to ignore it, glaring out the windshield at the unchanging landscape, but it continued to ring persistently, a dull, bright jingle in my ears. Why had I chosen that for my ringtone in the first place?

Sighing, I kept one hand on the wheel and dug around in my pocket for the offending phone. I came up with two gum wrappers, some loose change and an old concert ticket before I finally found the damn thing.

I flipped it open; silencing the ring, didn’t bother to check the caller ID, and launched into my tirade, “Cory, you idiot! What did I tell you? I’m on my way, just wait to get your stupid money until then-!“

“Zach? That you? Thank God! Listen closely. I don’t have much time…” the voice on the other end of my good, if often misled, friend Cory crackled with static and I had to strain to hear. But what I did hear made my heart clutch painfully, if only for a second. I didn’t know why because I wanted to bash Cory for calling and proceeding to order me around more than anything before the tone of his voice struck a chord.

It was tense, as strung out as a rope at the end of its tether, and underlain with a relief so clear and out of place for him the angry reply died in my throat. Cory wasn’t talking either.

I swallowed my apprehension. “Hey, Cory.” Silence. “Cory?” Only static. “Cory! Son of a b****! If this is a prank call I’ll-!”

“Zach? You still there?”

I paused, and then sighed. “Yes.”

“I need help.”

“What do you mean? Did you get in trouble again?”

“No!” Frustration leaked through his strained voice. “I mean no. I would apologize but there’s no time.” Again with that phrase, sending a shiver up my very spine. “It’s not just me. We- the entire town needs help before-“

The failing connection cut off Cory and I slammed the phone on the dashboard. Come on! I needed to hear what he said! Inside, I knew it was important; important enough to make Cory sound like that.

Suddenly, the crackle returned and with it- screams.

It sounded like it was in the background, but close enough to the mouthpiece on the other end it made me wince.

Then, what I’d been hoping for, “Zach!”

“What is it, Cory? Tell me!” I felt the need to shout over the cascade of horrific sounds that were coming from where he was, and apparently he did too, his desperation and terror tainting everything.

“It’s… unbelievable!” Crack! Snap! Cory’s exclamation was punctuated by a gruesome noise and I swore that one of those screams ended in a gurgle. “No! No! Agh! Get away!”

For several heartbeats all I could hear was Cory yelling and crunching, like some animal was indulging itself in a bloody meal and I couldn’t stop myself from screaming into the phone.

“Cory! Cory!”

I clenched the phone in my fist so hard it might’ve broke if his, much fainter, voice came through the dying call. “ No…. I can’t explain everything Zach… there’s no way. Just…”

No way was I settling for that! My longtime buddy had gotten himself into more than a shoplifting incident, and if I heard right the entire town was in chaos as well. “Cory, I don’t care if you can’t tell me now, because you can tell me to my face! I’m almost there-“

My pickup groaned as it hit a large bump in the road with an excuse to whine about the last few miles.

“NO!”

The undiluted horror scared me, no, terrified me and I wasn’t even there to witness what was making those god awful sounds, those shrieks and growls that were in no way human.

“I’m still going into town,” I grit my teeth. A need to know dominated my instincts on red alert; you know… those ones that are supposed to keep you alive, with the knowledge that something big was going down.

If I was right about anything during the course of my misfortune-plagued life it was that.

“… If you can hear me, Zach…” A frown dragged my face down. He hadn’t heard me? Damn. I opened my mouth to try again when his next words stopped me cold.

They were barely more than a whisper, but each syllable felt like an icy punch to the gut.

“If you can hear me… don’t come into town. Take that rusty truck of yours, slam on the accelerator and get away from here as fast as you can.” His breath seemed to rattle over the phone and my heart skipped a beat. “Don’t look back. Don’t you ever look back! Just keep driving.”

I stared at the phone, unable to speak, move, or feel… nothing. And, somehow I knew that, if I could, Cory couldn’t hear me. Later, I would look back and wonder, if I had tried, would things have been any better? Would that one-sided conversation be more than a warning? Maybe I would’ve talked some sense, or he would realize that I cared, that I had from the very beginning, and that, if I’d done more than listen, maybe I wouldn’t have to watch him die.

But at that moment, I could afford to pay attention to the broken words through the screaming. That phone of mine was nearly dead, even without the terrible connection. If I hadn’t been so shell-shocked, as impossible as it sounds, I may have not caught the final ones, but the fact I was in a suspended state actually increased their impact.

“It was great knowing you, Z-man.”

“Oh god no… Cory…” I muttered helplessly as the connection finally gave out in a terminal crackle while my cell bleeped its own funeral dirge.

Stuck in my pickup without any way to contact the outside world, not that I was aware that there wasn’t going to be much of one any longer, sure that my friend had said his farewells and lacking any anchor, I was tempted to just break down and cry.

And I would have. It was practically guaranteed… if I didn’t still have Cory’s plea resounding in my head.

To say I had a penchant for disobeying direct orders and doing the exact opposite of what I was told would be an understatement. Of course, Cory knew me well enough to realize even on pain of death, or his, that would never change. The mere fact he had attempted to sway me was evidence of how bad the situation had to be.

The situation I had no real idea of as I gunned the engine I had left idle when my foot had unconsciously slid to the brake, and roared down the dusty path. Blurry buildings- the kind of effect that is often induced when someone is dehydrated underneath the blazing sun for hours and understandably delusional and mistakes a sand dune for an oasis of water in an elaborate mirage- were rapidly becoming more solid, more real and I forced the truck to go even faster.

As far as I could tell, there was either very little time left or, the unthinkable option, none at all. What I would do with it was another matter altogether. However, any doubts that a high school education country boy like myself couldn’t be of any help were dissuaded by my stubborn determination.

That stubbornness led me further down the road and into the maw of something big and hungry.

Out of nowhere, a tall, human figure appeared in the middle of the narrow, rutted path. I couldn’t see who it was exactly, but you wouldn’t need to check to see it was Mr. Rogers to avoid hitting him would you?

I swerved to avoid him best I could with the limited space, my truck skidding onto the dust and rocks. Then, the craziest thing happened.

The dude, whoever it was, actually leaped in front of the moving vehicle before I had a chance to drive into the sunset and I slammed on the brakes unthinkingly. A body flew across the windshield and I jolted in my seat, turning the steering wheel to the right sharply. Tires squealed and the truck spun almost full circle before coming to a screeching halt.

I bounced forward in my seat belt before my body likewise slid into a stop. I stayed there, slumped over until my brain began to catch up to recent events. For starters, I wasn’t dead.

That much I could tell as I blinked blearily at my legs and then at the dashboard unusually close to my head. I was expecting it to clear my oddly clouded vision, and it partly worked, for one eye at least. My first, panicked thought was that the collision had left me half-blind. It was a frightening thought, but thankfully unfounded.

Finding my arm in working condition, I probed the area around my left eye. It was sticky and I pulled it away to see dark red at the tips of my fingers. Strangely fascinated, I investigated, following the lines of blood past my eyebrow, up my forehead, until it touched upon the hairline and I jumped slightly from the sting.

It continued to hurt afterwards, but I exhaled a sigh of relief and wiped the blood from my vision. Within moments, more dripped down, like a deep hole infringed by a pile of discarded dirt that continues to fall. I would need a bandage to stop the bleeding.

I read somewhere that scalp wounds tend to bleed a lot, though they weren’t often serious and that offered me some modicum of comfort, especially since it appeared to be my only injury this far.

My pickup on the other hand, was another story. The windshield was shattered, broken glass spilling onto the dashboard and glinting at the edges. I suspected a shard had cut me, or possible impact with the steering wheel. Through the open gap where the glass once was I could see the hood was dented, a minor dent, but smoke was rising from its innards.

Across my mind’s eye I watched a body flying into the truck, moving at unlawful speeds, hitting the hood and smashing into the windshield. It continued to replay until I pinched the skin of my arm. Following that unfortunate train of thought, I let my gaze wander to the area around the truck. More glass, skid marks and the distinct smell of burnt rubber, but no body.

Huh.

First things first, I rummaged through the glove compartment for a first aid kit. I came up empty. I knew I had one at one point, losing it when I actually needed something from it, but I found a yellow bandanna instead. Hurriedly, I tied it around my forehead, hopefully covering the scrape, if not all the blood. My fingers fumbled with the knot, feeling numb and slow.

It was gradually beginning to dawn on me that I had actually hit a person. No. Not just hit, I had possibly killed someone. The mere thought made me want to gag and once the bandanna was secured, I unbuckled my seatbelt, grabbed the door handle and pushed open the door of the truck.

Air, free of the cloying mix of the iron of blood and burn of rubber blasted me, the wind carrying it away long enough for me to take several revitalizing gulps of pure oxygen.

Lungs full and mind clearer than before, I began to walk around my truck, surveying the damage while keeping an eye out for the body I knew existed. But, as I finished circling and returned to the front of the vehicle I had seen no blood and heard no moans of agony.

For one second I was hopeful that it had never really happened. That I had thought I’d seen someone and ended up smashing into something else. But that sort of wishful thinking was destroyed as I stared at the remnants of the windshield and the body-sized dent in the truck hood.

Smoke was still curling up from within and I grimaced. Somewhat resigning myself to the truth, I lifted up the hood and bent over to see the mechanisms of the truck. The engine was overheating, which could’ve been a problem if it had been running longer. Ironically, forcing the truck to a stop had possibly saved me from the outbreak of a fire. I was too absorbed with reaching my destination to have noticed otherwise.

I went about checking everything and amending problems like the engine. I remained hunched over my work, head and shoulders underneath the open hood when my legs were pulled out from under me with a yelp.

The only thing I registered was a pair of cold, clammy hands grabbing my ankles and I was being dragged on the ground, a wrench still in my hand.

I screamed. There was no other way to put it as I tried to find purchase on the ground and, quickly discovering none, flipped onto my back. I kicked and hollered while my struggles only brought me closer to my attacker.

A man with wide, blank eyes, glazed over almost like in post mortem, and a leering mouth was reeling me in like a fish on a hook. Those eyes scared the living daylights out of me, and a burst of adrenaline shot through my body. I yanked my foot out of the iron grasp and swung it at the man.

To be honest, I hadn’t been aiming, flailing out wildly as I was, and that was my only excuse as the sole of my boot connected with his crotch.

He didn’t even flinch.

I barely had time to freeze in disbelieving shock because, though he demonstrated no pain, his grip slackened and I tore my other leg away. I scrabbled out of reach on my hands and knees before I glimpsed his face. If I’d known what I know now I would have realized it showed no emotion, but at that point I thought he had loosened his hold in a surprise that flashed dully in his eyes.

That was only temporary.

He lunged towards me and I was on my feet, meaning to run for my truck, but he was fast and before I could react he was upon me. The touch of the cold hands steeled my will for what was to come and I cringed, ducking beneath his open arms. My own hands tightened around a length of metal, remembering the wrench I held when I had not. Cursing my stupidity, I brandished it when the man turned around.

I don’t know what possessed me, considering he had no reaction to being kicked in the most sensitive spot a man can be hit, but I couldn’t die without a fight.

We attacked at the same time, he silent, as ever, he hadn’t made a single sound since he grabbed me, and me yelling loudly. I thought it was brave during that time as my wrench surged into the side of his head, cracking the skull and dipping into the soft brain. I thought I was lucky as his clammy fingers fell from my shoulders.

But as he slumped to the road, slouching to the dust from where we all came and would inevitably return, all I could think about was the pant of my breathing, the bodily fluids dripping off the wrench, and, now I was up close and personal, the ripped shirt stained with blood that I hadn’t noticed earlier.

So, he was the one I hit…

The mere realization was enough for exhaustion to overcome me and a numb feeling pulsed from my scalp as some blood dripped from my bandanna to join the spreading puddle around the man.

I finally moved, the entire incident forcing me back to the conversation with Cory. Trudging back to my car, murder weapon in hand, I kept on glancing at the unmoving man, fearful questions flashing through my mind.

Is he really dead? Did I really kill a person? Should I bury him, or at least move the body?

I mulled over the last for a while, my hand hovering above the door handle.

Turned out, the world decided for me.

Something moved in the distance and I pivoted quickly to see. No. There was more than one. In that mirage-like state a crowd of figures were appearing on all sides of the road, my truck… and me. They all walked with a strange, lurching gait and they were getting closer.

The rest I didn’t wait to find out.

Heart jumpstarting, I yanked open the door to the driver’s seat and piled in, locking the door behind me. I gave the bloodied wrench in my hand a long look, bits of cerebral tissue sticking to the end, before tossing it on the passenger seat.

I shoved the key in the ignition and turned. The truck bucked several feet, and then stopped and I swore. Through the empty windshield, the figures were now people, and their blank eyes bored into my body. I tried again frantically, and on the third try the engine coughed to life, the hood still baring it to the sky.

They were pouring on the rough path now with a disturbing single-mindedness and I didn’t hesitate to slam on the accelerator. Even if they couldn’t feel pain, whatever they were, and I was certain they were the same as that man, I plowed through them, their soft bodies colliding with the sides and hood in a pattern that was simultaneously sickening and satisfying.

It was better them than me, and it seemed escape was near as the first buildings of town loomed over the road. Then I heard the scrabbling, the dreadful scrape of nails on glass and metal. I risked a glance and saw hands clinging to the truck’s sides and something thumped on the roof. With a grunt, I pushed the car faster and took note as a few lost their grip, collapsing into the dirt. Someone crashed into the open hood and I cried out. More hands, this time skimming vulnerable flesh, reached through and I lashed at them blindly. The truck swerved dangerously with no direction and I grabbed the nearest object, which just so happened to be my faithful wrench.

Little league baseball finally paid off and the thing groaned when I impaled its face. Still, it scrabbled, persistently searching for warmth in the form of my body. Unthinkingly, I pulled back my fist and punched it. I never saw where it connected, but the creature fell back, its gnarled nails scratching my cheek before fading out.

My truck burst into flames as I head on crashed into what was once a post office. The engine had failed, but I was still alive. Heedless of the blood running down my cheek, I kicked the cracked door open and heaved myself out of the wreckage.

I rolled onto the firm ground and stared at the flames rearing up from the crushed front. Whereas, one collision hadn’t totaled my abused truck, its end had come and I couldn’t help feeling sorry I hadn’t appreciated it better.

“It’s too late now, Cory,” I muttered the outright truth.

Though, that didn’t last long when the primal urge to run in the face of fire reared up in me and I jumped to my feet. Before I left the site, I saw the corpse of the blank-eyed person halfway on the hood and half on the ground. The absurd heat was already beginning to blacken the skin and it seemed to sneer at me.

I shivered and did the only reasonable thing- I ran. Though, it wasn’t how Cory had probably intended his words to be taken, I had gotten away… for now.

* * *


This wasn’t sightseeing, but as I fled my truck, the fire dimming yet the creatures approaching and soon to be swarming over it, I realized I hadn’t returned to the same town I’d departed from that routine life weeks, maybe months, ago; far from it.

It wasn’t something visible that anyone could see. Oh no… it was… it’s hard to explain, but it was like there was some type of poison in the air, rippling every now and then, making it difficult to breathe. That poison coupled with the deserted streets, even down the Main that I was sprinting on, and curtained, shuttered houses. The bustling, if small town I’d been born in was lacking cars, cyclists, dogs, but, most obviously, people.

And I was about to find out why.

The orange haze and dark smoke forbade the sight of multiple house fires merging into a raging inferno. I didn’t break my stride until a pungent stench hit the roof of my mouth. The scent that I’d just smelled from the owner of the scratch marks on my cheek, but that paled in comparison. This flesh had been cooking for a considerable amount of time and it was more widespread- there was more than one victim.

I came to an auto garage, not yet touched by flames, and one of the few I could see intact after making it into downtown. Soon, it would also be consumed. I slowed to a walk, the smoke in the sky wracking my body with coughs.

Then, a small, plaintive sound reached my ears from inside the garage- ironically the same place Mr. Gyles ran- the sound of a distressed child crying. Here’s where my bravery, and my idiocy, emerged. I crept along the side of the building, constantly starting when I mistook the crackle of the fire for something worse, which was perfectly understandable. I headed towards the back cautious enough with those eyes seared into my mind, and came to the “Employees Only” entrance besides the huge door for deliveries.

I clutched the doorknob, looked over my shoulder, took a deep breath and twisted. It opened without a single protest, which was alarming in itself. Old, paranoid Gyles kept everything in the garage locked up and I’d listened to more than one story about the punishments he dealt out when his employees didn’t do the same.

Sure, nothing was normal anymore by my reckoning, but that didn’t stifle the rising panic in my chest. The only sound was my own breathing, short and insufficient, as I slipped inside. It was dark, no glare from the flames in here.

Thud!

“S***!” I bit my tongue before I could announce my presence any louder and let go of my throbbing foot. Glaring at the offending box of spare parts, I shuffled along more carefully, letting my eyes grow accustomed to the lack of light.

The indistinct shapes of cars on platforms and crates teased me. Each time I thought I saw those darker shadows move I had to reign in that growing apprehension. That’s when the sobs of a young child started again, the same kind that had drawn me into this place.

I rushed ahead until I saw metal barrels baring the sign for hazardous material, waste from the chemicals used in the garage that had never been disposed. A tuft of honey blonde hair stuck out the side.

Carefully, I went around, so not to startle the kid. There a little girl crouched, arms pulled over her knees and big, fat tears dampening her pink tank top. I dropped to one knee and spoke softly.

“Hey there, do you need some help?”

Okay, it was supposed to come out friendly, like that voice adults use with small children. Unfortunately, I hadn’t noticed the sharp edge that had developed in my voice over time or that touching her arm was a bad idea. A very bad idea, as my luck went.

Her eyes popped open, bulging in fright when she saw my (blood-covered) face and her crying broke off with a tiny gasp. Just long enough for her to take in a long gulp of air and scream.

If you’ve never been right next to a kid when they start screaming… Good for you. I wouldn’t recommend it. I winced and covered my ears while I backpedaled, the earsplitting sound still ringing throughout the room.

Conveniently masking the sounds of someone’s approach.

When I stood I had just enough time to make out glazed over eyes behind me to slide to the side. An arm swiped over the place my head had just occupied and the breeze ruffled my hair.

The girl screamed hysterically, louder if possible, and it took me a moment to realize why.

When I dodged, I’d left her open and defenseless. My assailant moved towards the girl and she curled into a tight ball. He obviously wasn’t too picky about who he mutilated.

I did the first thing I could think of, even if it was partly so those terrified screams, which had abated into heart-wrenching sobs as hands reached for her, would end and so I wouldn’t have nightmares about it later. I dashed in between the expressionless man and the girl, but if I was going to stand there and be torn to pieces, hoping he would be satisfied and leave her alone; I’ll be damned.

I charged, bowling into him like I’d seen countless wrestlers do on TV. I wrapped my arms around his body and drove him to the ground.

The little girl squeaked and I roared, “Run! Get out of here!”

There was no way I could check she would follow my orders, but the pit in my stomach guessed that, considering how I’d found her, she was too terrified to move like any sane person would be.

Did that mean I was crazy? Looking back at how I was trying to get one of those things in a head lock- probably.

I wrestled with the man on the concrete, as cold as not merely his hands, but his whole body, each of us taking a turn with the upper hand. That is, until, when my efforts began to weaken with exhaustion he got his grubby fingers around my arm and I could hear the crack.

The pain came a second later, but when it did… God.

“Agh!” I howled.

His fingers didn’t loosen, seeming only to squeeze my broken arm maliciously. Any fight I had went out of me in a giant whoosh as the agony made me gasp and tears collected in my eyes.

Dressed to kill in that sneer I was beginning to associate with fear, pain, and now, death, the man like creature’s other hand went to my throat. With my working arm I scratched and spit, even with no strength desperate to stay alive, but the darkness was never ending.

It was about to swallow me whole when there was a resounding bang, like that of a gunshot.

Suddenly, the man dropped away from me and I was able to force oxygen back into my lungs. The shock of air sent me into a wave of wet coughing and I was still gasping, holding my throat where merciless fingers gripped me previously when a shadow fell across my vision.

Chak! I glanced up, no longer flat on my back, but forced to crane my neck to see straight down a gun barrel. My eyes lifted further to see the finger primed on the trigger, safety unlocked and the face of someone familiar.

“Far…rell?” my voice was hoarse and scratchy and nearly unrecognizable, but the boy identified me all the same.

I thought he would drop his gun in surprise, but he lowered it warily and gradually, like a true vigilante, and it made me wonder what else could’ve possibly happened for his eyes to look so haunted.
A relieved, if bitter smirk quirked his lips, “Back so soon, Zach?”
Damn it. I coughed again and glared at him. Farrell was the same after all.
“Help me up, would ya?”
Farrell obliged, and grabbed my good arm before lifting me from the ground. I swayed dangerously and he righted me by taking the other elbow. I cringed, and barely silenced the cry that bubbled to get out as my broken arm sent out wave after wave of pain.
He must’ve seen that pain because he quickly released my elbow, frowning. He brushed off his own sleeves and clapped me on the back before bending down to examine the man he’d shot, because, as much as I hated to admit it, and never aloud, he’d saved my poor excuse of a life.
With one nudge of the nose of his gun, he was satisfied and straightened out. I nearly laughed, reminded of those past days when we’d go to the river and poke things with sticks.
“Come on, buddy. Let’s get you fixed up,” Farrell placed a guiding hand on my left shoulder. But even through the anguish, I remembered the reason I had fought in the beginning.
I strained to see over Farrell’s head. “But, the girl-“
He looked like he was about to ask what I meant when a shout interrupted us.
“Carrie!”
A disheveled woman pushed past us, her blonde hair in knots, and bundled up the silently crying girl in a frantic embrace.
The girl, as I had subconsciously predicted, had scarcely moved an inch, but now she leapt into her mother’s arms, wrapping her arms around her neck and the tears flowed relentlessly.
And I was in too much pain to register that sound that had brought chaos upon us once again.
Farrell and I stood by, he almost protectively, as though it was his duty to escort this distraught woman and her child, until she, with the little girl’s head resting on her shoulder, rose on shaky legs and walked towards us.
As they passed, the girl turned her head and looked straight at me with wide, startlingly blue eyes. Her pudgy cheeks shone with tears and one of her pigtails had come undone, yet she was otherwise unharmed, and at that moment, somehow she found the innocence to smile and say, “Thanks for saving me, mister.”
I was sure my mouth dropped open, jaw agape from the mere thought that she could look over the terror she’d experienced mere minutes before, the kind that would scar a grown man, and thank the one who had-tried- to shield her.
Then I was able to think again and I fumbled over my words.
“It wasn’t really me… you should be thanking this guy here…”
But then they were gone and my last glimpse of blissful ignorance with them.
I stumbled forward as a hand patted me on the back and embarrassment shot through me at how easy I was to unbalance. Farrell paid no mind to my thoughts though and smiled cheerfully, “Don’t worry about it, Z-man. If you hadn’t head butted that thing she would be dead now.”
With that pleasant thought, he resumed guiding me past a line of worn cars, where the woman and girl had been headed. We walked mainly in silence. I didn’t have much to say and what there was would’ve showed the suffering in not just my arm, but also my entire body.
Farrell apparently felt similarly because he didn’t utter a word apart from soon after we left the bleeding corpse behind, and I couldn’t help thinking they were vaguely ominous.
“Next time, when someone thanks you…” he had begun, his eyes always scouting ahead and around us as we progressed. “… Take it in stride. Believe me, even if it wasn’t all you, appreciate it while you still can.”
See what I mean? I was still mulling over the endless, and horrifying, possibilities when we reached a door. This one had a sign on it like the back door, only it read,” Manager’s Office,” and underneath, in smaller lettering; Mr. Thomas Gyles.
He opened it without any hesitation with me noticing it wasn’t locked either. However, when I made to follow him inside his arm blocked my way. I looked at him sharply, demanding an explanation.
His expression was dead serious. “Once you get inside, be careful what you say. I’m only going to remind you once, if I need to at all at this point, but these people are like a bunch of live wires. Don’t step on any toes.”
Then, he dropped his arm from my chest and extended it in a ‘welcome home’ kind of gesture. His smirk spoke the same… if only.
One light on the ceiling lit the small, sparse room and scattered about five pairs of eyes stared at me, in surprise, in anger, but most evidently, distrust. And when I got used to the artificial light I was able to recount and discover that three owners of the eyes were men and the other two, the by now familiar mother and child.
When Farrell shut the door behind him with an audible click I jumped, and while the other occupants of the room had tensed my reaction seemed to afford some amusement. The little girl, Carrie, smiled and waved, recognizing me immediately, before the woman pulled her closer. She regarded me with the stance of a mother bear prepared to protect her young with her teeth, claws, and own body if need be.
The feeling sent a distinct, unpleasant sensation from the tips of my fingers and it spread infectiously. I don’t know what I would have done, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, or Farrell for that matter, when the amusement caught up with us.
It started with a chuckle, so strange and out of place, I, the obvious odd man out wasn’t the only one to switch their attention to the sole pieces of furniture in the room. Two of the men sat at the manager’s desk, the metal lapel the sole thing remaining when its previous owner had been there. Everything else, papers, pens, a family photo even, had been swept to the floor carelessly and had been replaced with what looked to be a map of the town and the surrounding area. Which was, as you might remember, a whole lot of nothing.

The darker of the pair, a brown tan that spoke of days working in the blazing hot sun occupied the swiveling office chair, while the second sat on the edge of the desk, leaning over to examine the map. It was he who was laughing softly now, drawing a glare from the third man, hovering protectively next to what must’ve been his wife and kid.

Farrell moved as though he was thinking of silencing him and I looked to my friend, and only person I knew in here, when the man laughing cleared his throat.

“Hehe, sorry. But I’m just a little shocked to see someone like him alive,” the man, thinner than his companion and bearing a scar on his chin snorted derisively and I bristled. “What kind of trash are you saving the ungrateful asses of now, Farrell?”

Let me be clear now. I wasn’t the sort of guy to anger easily, or get into a fight over minor things, but this coupled with my unexpectedly bad day pushed me over the edge. If Farrell hadn’t grabbed my arm, the bad one, with enough force to let me know this was his problem, I might’ve done something rash. Which, in this case, most likely would’ve gotten me killed.

Farrell approached the desk and leaned close enough to the man’s face that he flinched a little. So would I if I saw that grin on his face.

“Hey, Blake, are you telling me how to do my job now?” I smelled a challenge, but still wondered, his job? What exactly had Farrell been up to since I’d been gone?

The man scowled, but didn’t back down. Neither did Farrell. “Because last time I checked, when you find someone tussling with one of those things with their bare hands and trying to keep a kid safe, one of our own nonetheless, it was the right thing to do to help them out a little. Don’t cha think?”

He gave the older man some breathing room again, looking more than a little satisfied to give him time to think about it. And, boy, did it seem like a mouthful.

Farrell’s disclosure, while directed at this Blake character, had been heard loud and clear by everyone in the office and they all started. Their eyes seemed wider than usual as they stared at me with newfound interest, and, if I wasn’t fooling myself, the beginning of respect. That is, everyone except Farrell, who smug as always, already knew the story of how I was nearly killed, and Blake.

“How many have you killed?”

The sudden question left me speechless and I felt more like a fish in a glass bowl than ever before as everyone waited for my answer. When I didn’t reply, or rather I couldn’t because I’d never been asked something remotely like that before, Farrell nudged me in the side.

“How many have you killed?” he repeated in a whisper.

“I heard him!” I snapped and Farrell held up a hand in mock surrender.

Blake’s voice leaked condescension. “Answer the question, boy.”

His emphasis on boy irked me almost as much as his very voice.

I met his hostile glare with my own, “Two.” Even as I spoke the simple digit sent an icy wave washing over me as I finally accepted the truth that I had in cold blood ended the lives of two people. The fact they weren’t completely human did not dissuade that freezing reality or comfort my mind.

A glimpse of what might’ve been grudging admiration flashed in Blake’s eyes, but vanished just as quickly. “How did you do it with scrawny arms like those?” He pointed at my arms and I almost pointed out that they looked that way because one was broken and both were clothed in a jacket.

This time I didn’t need prodding.

“A wrench.”

Behind Blake, the man in the chair barked out a single peal of laughter.

“A wrench?” he repeated, eyes wide with disbelief.

I nodded stiffly.

“A wrench!” he laughed again and threw his hands up. “That’s got to be the most goddamned thing I’ve heard!”

From beside his family, a dry voice sounded, “We get it, Anthony. The boy’s a certifiable genius. Can we get on with things please?”

The other man settled down some and folded his hands together, big and calloused, another testament to hours toiling over the fields. His kind, brown eyes shined as he gazed at me, looking more impressed than anything.

“Well, you’ve got to admit it’s pretty damn creative,” Anthony smiled at the father, who looked exhausted and weary beyond his years, making his brown hair droop and his eyes dull. He merely sighed and covered his face with one hand.

“It was the only thing I could find,” I added sheepishly. Usually I wouldn’t mind being the center of attention, though I wasn’t an attention whore like Farrell, but Blake continued to glare daggers at me, seeming to refuse to accept anyone younger than his fifty-plus years could accomplish something as grand as murder.

I began to twitch from the discomfort. Then, Farrell came to the rescue the second time that day, or was it night? I couldn’t keep track of time in here.

“Anthony. Blake. Hederick.” He nodded to each of the men in turn and smiled at the girls. “Since you have finished interrogating my friend, isn’t it about time we got down to business as Hederick has suggested?”

“Wait a minute! I’m not letting some freaking stranger waltz right in and-“

Before Blake could finish, Anthony cut in, “What my dear comrade is trying to say…” He leveled a glare that seemed more potent than any of the others at his ‘comrade.’ “…Is, all we know about this boy is he’s gone and gotten blood on his hands like the rest of us. We don’t know who he is, where he came from…. Hell! We don’t even know his name!”

Farrell frowned, and then opened his mouth. “He’s-“

“I can talk, Farrell,” I stopped him. He gave me a curious look, but when he saw that I was, in fact, calm, and not traumatized, he shrugged. I gazed straight at the others, and was proud to hear that my voice didn’t tremble.

“My name’s Zach. Zach… Marchers.” Some things I couldn’t remedy, as I had to pause though the wince was stamped out. “I’m nineteen. I was born and raised here, and lived here for most of my life. It was just recently I left to find work. I came back to at least visit for a while and…” From their averted gazes, I could tell they pitied me and it burned as much as a physical fire. Anyone that returned to find his or her hometown like… this, was automatically unfortunate, cursed even. “And… that’s it,” I finished in a hurry.

There was a heartbeat of silence before Hederick pinned me with his dark eyes, suddenly and surprisingly alive looking compared to the rest of his demeanor.

“Nineteen, eh? Can’t say I envy your situation, but…” Everyone seemed to strain to hear what this world- weary man thought. “So be it.”

Farrell exchanged a smile with Anthony and I watched him in confusion. Did this mean I was a part of their group, or just safe from being killed?

However, Farrell ignored me and focused his attention on the crinkled paper on the desk. He tapped the center of the map that was circled in red marker. “Now, you know Zach… have you been keeping an eye on the group we sent out?”

Blake actually appeared anxious for a second and Anthony coughed into his hand.

“Ah, about that… the last we heard they were over here,” he pointed past the red mark and I recognized it as one of four warehouses in town.

“Last?” Farrell clarified, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Blake growled. “We lost contact with them about an hour ago.”

In the corner, the woman’s breath hitched and she buried her face in her husband’s chest, body heaving with sobs. Farrell’s face took on a stricken cast and none of the other men seemed comfortable being bearers of such bad news. But I was thinking about what they’d said and one detail stuck out in my mind.

I walked over to the desk, clutching my broken arm. “An hour ago? Did you say an hour ago?”

Blake’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, unless my memory’s gone to hell. What’s it to you?”

Anthony suddenly sat up straighter, and even Hederick seemed intrigued.

I answered his question with another one, a sense of urgency shooting through my veins. “Was there someone named Cory in that group?”

Farrell’s breath went out in a hiss beside me, and the others looked to Blake expectantly. His brow was furrowed, and though I was beginning to doubt he was capable of such things, he seemed deep in thought.

“Huh… let me think…” he mulled and I resisted the urge to point out that was exactly what we’d been doing for the past five minutes. A spark suddenly lit his face up with some intelligence. “Yeah! I do believe there was someone by the name of Cory there… tall, on the scrawny side, impeccably coifed hair?”

His companion in the chair had the courtesy to cuff him on the head. Farrell wore a furious expression that hinted he would do much worse. And, though, making fun of a life or death situation was normally enough to set anyone off, myself included, that was what placed it at the very back of my mind.

Slam!

The desk shuddered as my sole good hand connected with the wood grain. Blake and Farrell, Anthony attempting to be the peacemaker, were jolted out of their glaring contest. “What’s happening here? Tell me! Where’s Cory?”

“Calm down, Zach. One question at a time,” Farrell spoke soothingly, or what was supposed to be because it didn’t calm me one bit.

“No.”

“Now let’s take it easy…” Anthony suggested.

Blake took the opposite approach. “Who does this kid think he is? Barging in, demanding answers and having the balls to threaten us!”

Farrell ignored the chaos around him and began to lead me like a lost sheep as he had earlier. “How about we get your arm taken care of? And that nasty gash you’re hiding-“

“No,” I repeated stubbornly, sick and tired of being complacent. To be frank, I thought I had the right to be annoyed. “Not, until they give me some answers.”

“It couldn’t hurt…” Anthony sighed.

“As long as he stops yelling in my ears,” Blake grumbled and scratched the scar under his chin.

“There.” Farrell announced the dispute’s finality. “Now, just sit down for a minute. Mr. Hederick here is a doctor.”

Reluctantly, I leaned against the cool, cement wall that felt oddly relaxing and allowed Hederick to look.

He wasn’t satisfied with just looking to say the least.

“Hold out your arm,” he ordered. I complied, raising my left, uninjured arm. “Looks like we have a smartass, just like our very own Farrell.” He shot a pointed unappreciative glance at my friend who waved back.

“Your other one,” Hederick clarified. “And don’t think I won’t use force if you cause any trouble.” The glint in his eye convinced me to move the deadweight.

“What a devil he is,” a voice muttered under his breath. Hederick’s wife and Carrie watched me with wide, fearful eyes.
After inching my arm a little way out from its bent position it cramped and the pain returned with a vengeance. I gasped before clenching my teeth, hard, to keep my agony to a minimum volume.
“Better,” Hederick nodded and reached out. When his hands touched the mangled thing that was my arm, I actually did cry out.
“Aaargh!” The office swam before my eyes and black tinted my vision as the kind, merciful doctor began probing the broken mass expertly. I barely, just barely managed to stay conscious, which was a small gift; if I had fainted my low standing with this group of misfits would plummet even more.
“S***,” I moaned. Somewhere to my right, where I couldn’t clock him, Farrell released the breath he’d been holding as the man examined, and probably reset- taking the immense agony into consideration- some of my bones, and used that breath to snigger.
I didn’t know if I should be touched that he’d been somewhat worried for me, or righteously furious at his amusement and that I was being put on center stage, the others in the room watching me almost as intensely. I settled for a silent bout of swearing in my head.
Now my language cannot be a source of entertainment, so take that, Farrell! Ha! I was definitely under too much stress. At least pain kept everything into focus, especially since it wasn’t searing my nerves any longer.
The worst of the indescribable pain passed as Hederick withdrew his accursed hands. “Multiple breaks in the wrist and in both the humerus and fibula. I can’t do much more than splint it and put it in a sling for now, but consider yourself lucky.”
“Lucky?” I croaked.
“Yes,” he smiled, not so comfortingly. “That creature sure did a number on you before Farrell helped, but they’re clean breaks, so you won’t heal abnormally and end up with a disfigured limb.”
“How did you know-“ I started to ask how he knew how I broke my arm, when I realized how obvious it was. “Never mind… Thanks.”
Hederick grunted in acknowledgement.
I stared at anywhere but my arm while Hederick tended to it with his bag of doctor’s supplies. Carrie held my attention the longest. She smiled and clapped her hands, and looked all around cute- once more the antidote to the reality that was happening around her. Was it possible she wasn’t touched by the unseen plague in the atmosphere that was inflicting the crushing fear and desperation in most of us?
Negative thoughts brought me back to negative things, but important things- at least in my book.
“What’s happening?”
Naturally, I aimed my question at Farrell to begin with. He was, after all, a friendly, if not entirely recognizable face- who, apparently, was in the mood for playing with my obvious vulnerability.
“Well, the doc’s fixing you a splint and sling, maybe rinse some of that blood off of you as well. Then, you’ll take a nice rest before we go on a nice jaunt,” Farrell finished with forced cheerfulness. I think Carrie could have seen through his broad smile.
I narrowed my eyes and growled slowly, “You know what I mean. What’s happening out there?”
He followed my gaze to the window in the office door, and whatever monstrosities lay behind it.
“It’s hard to explain…”
“Spit it out. Now.”
Farrell glared at me angrily and I returned it with pleasure. Finally, he looked away and ran his hand through his hair roughly in that nervous, frustrated way I’d often seen him do.
“The problem is that…”
“… Even we don’t know what really happened!” Blake finished.
“By the way, who’s this ‘we’? It sounds pretty exclusive.” Huh, I must’ve been recovering from my traumatic experience of the day if that came out of my mouth. Hederick tightened the bandage around my splint suddenly and I cursed as my bones ground against each other.
“We being the only survivors,” Anthony sighed heavily and the expressions of everyone in the room darkened. My jaw slackened in shock, and Carrie squirmed in her mother’s grip. “You see… well you probably don’t see, none of us do… nevertheless, sometime this morning…” He caught my expression and smiled bitterly. “Yeah. You probably didn’t think it was that recent did you? That it could get so bad so fast? Neither did we. But, this morning, a crowd of patients escaped from the hospital, more than there were before actually. ‘Escaped’ because they were all incredibly ill, dying in fact, and were under quarantine. They went on a rampage you could say and pretty soon it was madness wherever you turned. It went downhill from there.”
I swallowed and stared. There wasn’t much else I could do considering that I was choking on the information Anthony had just given out, and the worst possible outcome come true to boot.
Farrell gave me a concerned glance. “You okay? You’re looking a little green.”
I shook my head slowly and slumped back against the wall.
“Maybe you could’ve told him a little…more sympathetically? Toned it down?” Farrell wondered.
Anthony shrugged, focused on the map more than anything. “I wish I could.”
“The boy asked for it,” Blake hissed. “We left out the gory details so his parents will allow him to hear just fine.”
I blocked out the ensuing bickering as I thought of my parents. My family. There were a few reasons why they hadn’t come to mind until recently. Number one was that I knew they were safe otherwise I would have turned the town upside down to find them and get them out of here in spite of the things roaming around. Both my parents were out of town, planning to go on a road trip or something like that and my little sister, Tamara, would be with them. As long as they weren’t here, where I had the misfortune of being, and together, they would be fine. That was what kept me going this deep into this nightmare.
Yet, as I stared at the shiny nameplate remaining on the office desk, glued to the wood, another thought floated forward.
“Mr. Gyles,” I muttered weakly. “Where… is he?”
Farrell tensed perceptibly and the others regarded me with a mixture of sorrow and anger, a strange combination in my opinion. The way the corner of Farrell’s mouth was twitching reminded me of something.

A snippet of conversation really, “Once you get inside, be careful what you say. I’m only going to remind you once, if I need to at all at this point, but these people are like a bunch of live wires. Don’t step on any toes.”

The meaning of my friend’s words dawned on me too late.

“The late Mr. Gyles…” Farrell was thankfully the one to answer my ill-begotten question. “… Was found outside his home. Next to his dead wife, with a kitchen knife through his chest.”

“May he rest in peace,” Hederick’s wife spoke with a bowed head for the first time since she was reunited with her daughter. The others followed suit and I gathered enough wit to honor my former employer and friend, though we didn’t see eye to eye a good chunk of the time.

I kept on waiting, foolishly it seemed, to stop being stunned by these sort of things, but of course, I would have to wait much longer for merely the beginning of numbing acceptance. And such a change wasn’t always good.

A reasonable voice rooted in my head urged me not to speak anymore, to prevent ‘stepping on more toes’. Unfortunately that voice was currently overburdened with a workload from the rather less rational voice. “Cory. We need to get to him.”

For a second, I thought they hadn’t heard me and I was doubtful I could find the strength to repeat those few simple words. My fretting was unnecessary.

“He’s right.” I wasn’t the only one who seemed zapped by who was the one to agree.

“What?” Blake asked irritably as we all stared at him as if he might become a blank-eyed creature that wanted to kill us. It wasn’t improbable.

Hederick exhaled in exasperation. “Why, oh why, did it take him this long, in the middle of a red alert emergency, to become agreeable?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Farrell pushed past Hederick as he tried to force a drop of water from the single canteen us refugees possessed. He grabbed the crinkled map and brought it so close his nose skimmed the paper. We craned our necks, or at least Anthony did, to see what had him so captivated.
Had he discovered the secret of the universe and why it hated us so damned much?
“Oh for the love of-!” If Farrell halted his swear it was only for the benefit of the woman and Carrie. Anthony picked up the map where he had crumpled it and thrown it on the floor.
When he saw nothing that would cause his reaction, he demanded, “What is it?!”
“It would be easy, so easy,” Farrell bemoaned whatever fate we weren’t aware of-yet. He stared at the miserable occupants of the room and kneaded his forehead. “You know how the warehouse is practically across the street? Just a few houses to the right?”
“Yes,” we answered in perfect synchronization.
“And you know how that’s where Cory and the rest of the scouting team should be?”
I shivered from the implications. “Yes,” everyone replied impatiently once again.
“Well, it would be a piece of cake to rescue them…” I dreaded the ‘if’ or ‘but’ that was sure to come. “If…” I groaned. “There wasn’t a giant fire in between here and there.”
We blinked, not certain how to take this news.
“Um, how big is this fire?” I questioned hesitantly.
“Picture the biggest, wildest inferno you could imagine… You got it?” I nodded and Farrell continued. “Imagine that doubled and it’s still spreading.”
“You’re kidding,” Anthony dared him to say no.
My friend shifted uncomfortably. “I guess I was exaggerating a bit. But the smoke is starting to blot out the sky last I glimpsed of it, and it really is spreading, making a bunch of baby fires.”
“What I don’t get is the importance of this revelation… Farrell?” Hederick added bluntly.
Which was mostly along the lines of what the rest of us were thinking, but weren’t sure how to say so.
Meanwhile, Farrell said nothing, only fidgeting and showing particular interest in the floor.
“Are you meaning to tell us that your version of a ‘rescue’, and I use that in the loosest sense of the word, was to blindly charge into the building that’s probably crawling with those things, locate the team and guide them out if the fire hadn’t been in the way?” The good doctor put it in such a way that I knew Farrell was busted before he’d had the chance to argue.
“Ah, well… okay. I guess. But it wasn’t that terrible of a plan, okay?” I offered him a small, pained smile and he sat down next to me in surrender.
I thought someone else was about to come up with a magnificent strategy, presumably Hederick since he seemed knowledgeable about these things, and we were running out of time.
Instead, Anthony proved me wrong by parting his lips and, “I think it could actually work.”
“What?!” Hederick spluttered and the rest of us were hardly better off. Farrell smirked like his old self and I pictured that shotgun in his hand, aimed at me. I wasn’t supportive of that image.
Anthony demonstrated his calming authority by silencing our objections with a wave of his hand.
“Wait one minute and allow me to explain. We’re dealing with… these creatures that act on primal instincts like a beast, which would lead to the logical conclusion that we act in a similar mindset by charging in and taking advantage of their single-mindedness that has them killed much faster than an ordinary human. Not only that, but, honestly, we don’t have the time for a nice little chat and I don’t hear any more grand ideas…”
Anthony waited a few moments and when none were forthcoming, “There we have it. Pack up. We’re moving out.”

* * *