He opened the truck door.
There was no drone, no sound at all save the thin whistle of a rising breeze. Rebecca wiped her eyes clear and looked through the ruin of the window into the store, just in time to see a flash of brightness, a spectrum of swirling color that faded as the sun came out.
The brown filament that coated the shelving went dark, then black, dripping to the floor in oily clumps.
The puffball that grew from the back of the red-suited man fell in on itself with a moist plop.
The stench of rot filled the air, even as bubbling black goop spilled from the store. Shaun climbed back inside and closed the door, thankfully masking the worst of the smell. Across the lot a row of tall puffballs gave out one last belch, then collapsed inward, bubbling and suppurating until all that was left was more black rot.
Adam stirred in Rebecca’s arms. His hand came up and he tore off his mask to take a deep breath. The brown filaments on his face went black, then gray, then faded away completely.
“I was dreaming, Mum. Blue Hills and a long valley—but it’s all dead now. Are we home yet?”
Fresh tears filled her eyes as she pressed the boy close to her.
They sat there for long minutes as the infection died around them, but no one ever came out of the store.
* * *
“So what now?” she asked.
It was almost an hour later when they went back down Church Street toward the harbor. There was no sign of brown—just oozing black rot and collapsing puffballs. A rising wind was already blowing away the remnants of the looming clouds and the warmth of the sun seemed to be accelerating the rate at which the fungus fell in on itself.
“Is it over?” she said again.
“I don’t think so. If the doc was right, we just killed this node and the bits of the infection that it controlled up this end of the peninsula. But we know how to do it now. They didn’t die in vain.”
They rounded the last corner and the boat came in sight, still sitting on the dock.
“So what do we do?” she asked again.
“We do what that stuff does—only better,” Shaun replied. “We take territory—we adapt—we survive.”
Shaun flashed his headlights half a dozen times, and the vessel’s horn honked back at them. It sounded joyous, almost triumphant.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
William Meikle is a Scottish writer, now living in Canada, with twenty novels published in the genre press and over 300 short story credits in thirteen countries. He has books available from a variety of publishers, and his work has appeared in many professional anthologies and magazines. He lives in Newfoundland with whales, bald eagles and icebergs for company. When he’s not writing, he drinks beer, plays guitar, and dreams of fortune and glory.
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
DarkFuse is a leading independent publisher of modern fiction in the horror, suspense and thriller genres. As an independent company, it is focused on bringing to the masses the highest quality dark fiction, published as collectible limited hardcover, paperback and eBook editions.
To discover more titles published by DarkFuse, please visit its official site at www.darkfuse.com.
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