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.
First Edition: August 2014
https://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.
Infected Freaks Volume One: Family First Page 1
